unwilling or reluctant damsel. All this Mr. St. Clair vigilantly observed; and he was now determined to break off an attachment, which, in his estimation, was calculated only to entail upon his beloved child much misery and wretchedness.

As soon as Edgar had left the house, Mr. St. Clair entered the room, in which his daughter was sitting; and, with that peculiar expression of countenance, which denotes some important communication, he thus addressed his child :- Isabel, my love, how long have

I deserved to lose your confidence?"

"Confidence!" gasped Isabel, "what does my dear father mean?" "Isabel!" continued Mr. St. Clair, mournfully, "you deceive

me!"

"Deceive you-my beloved father! oh! no-I could not do that!" "You love the boy, Walton," resumed Mr. St. Clair; in a tone of some asperity, and this you have concealed from me."

Isabel turned pale, trembled, and then blushed. “I do, indeed, love Edgar Walton, my dear father; and so do you love him, and every one who knows him: and does not he regard us in return ?"

"My poor simple child," said the father, with a melancholy smile: "You do not know what Love is."

"Indeed I do!" answered Isabel, with enthusiasm-" When I anxiously watch the budding of sweet and beautiful flowers, and see them expand into blossoms of rich fragrance, I love them ;—when; in your absence, I gaze upon the darkening sky, and see the bright and beautiful stars appear-followed by the lovely moon-I love them, because I know they will light my dear father to his home, and be cause I feel, in my silence and solitude, that he gazes at them, too; -and when I sit by the side of the clear and rippling stream, watching the birds and insects sporting in their happiness, I love it, and them, and all things around me and do I not love you-and is not this love, my father ?”

Oliver St. Clair regarded his child with a strange feeling of admiration and solicitude: of her artlessness he had no doubt,-of its consequences he felt a sad and fearful foreboding. "These things, I know, you love, Isabel, but do you not love young Walton more than all ?"

"What! better than you, my dear, kind father? Oh! no, no!" "Well listen to me, Isabel. The time is coming, when it will be necessary, that you should be introduced into society. The persons, with whom you will then associate, will be your equals, and not, like this young menial, your inferiors; and it will then become you, as my daughter, to avoid all farther intercourse with persons in his situation. However, as regards Mr. Walton, I shall remove him to my property at Perth, where his services are particularly required : he has grown by far too familiar of late."

Isabel, in her simplicity, would have remonstrated against this purpose of her father, but he immediately quitted the room, leaving her to reflections, at once novel, interesting and mournful.

Mr. St. Clair sought Edgar, whom he found just mounting his horse to proceed to Pitt-water: he requested his attendance for a few minutes, and led the way into the library. "Mr. Walton," he said, and there was a coldness in his manner, very different to his usual course-" I have particular need of your services at my Perth estate: the overseer, there, has been acting very improperly, and I want a person of your steadiness and activity to supercede his negligence, and get the men into proper trim again."

"Sir!"-faltered Edgar, "you greatly overrate my poor abilities, and it would be easy to engage some person better qualified than me for such an undertaking."

"Mr. Walton," replied Mr. St. Clair, who experienced some difficulty in restraining his indignation towards Edgar, for maintaining, as he considered, a clandestine correspondence with his daughter:"Mr. Walton, I have perfect confidence in your abilities, and, without another word, I expect to be obeyed by you, as well as by every other person, over whom I may have any control."

"Obeyed! control!"-echoed Edgar, "Indeed, Sir, I do not understand you."

"Must I speak plainer, then?" replied Mr. St. Clair, now giving vent to his passion, "Let us understand each other, Mr. Walton. Your attentions to my daughter (you need not start, Sir !) have been of late, such as she ought not to receive, nor a person in your situation to bestow: if, therefore, you wish to remain in my service, you will immediately proceed to Perth."

Edgar's young blood was on fire, and he replied warmly :-" I know not what you mean, Mr. St. Clair," he said, "by thus taunting me with my servitude to you,-still less do I understand your meaning, as regards Miss St. Clair. My attentions to her, Sir (here his voice grew tremulous) have been those of a grateful heart, for kindness to a forlorn and friendless orphan-and I hope they will never be otherwise: but, Sir, if you mean to urge any arbitrary conditions with respect to my servitude, I tell you at once, I will not recognize them."

"Truly, young Sir, you speak proudly: it would better become a person in your dependent situation, to behave rather more humbly." "Dependence, Sir!" exclaimed Edgar: "How am I dependent upon you, who receive the full benefit of my services? The obligation is, at least, mutual."

You may think so, Mr. Walton; but I do not."

Then, Sir, here our connexion ends: from this moment, I consider myself absolved from your servitude!" and, so saying, the impetuous young man rushed out of the room, left the house, and rode immediately to Hobart Town.

Surprised, and somewhat nettled, as Mr. St. Clair felt at this resolute demeanour of Edgar-for whom he really felt an esteem,-on cooling, he experienced some degree of satisfaction at his absence. The young fire-brand!" he muttered, "he'll carry my daughter

off by storm, if I do not mind. However, I must have my eye upon him he has acted a faithful part towards me, and I must not yet desert him." He rang the bell, and desired the servant to send Mr. Martin to him.

This Mr. Martin was a prisoner, but a person of superior endow ments, and, even, of very considerable acquirements; and Mr. St. Clair had obtained him as an assigned servant, more out of compassion to the individual, than from any actual want of his services. Sly, specious, and cunning, with a semblance of sanctity, which imposed even upon the penetration of his patron, Martin had completely ingratiated himself into Mr. St. Clair's favour, and he had a degree of confidence reposed in him, which was a matter of marvel to all other persons. When he entered the library he saw that something had occurred, which he was determined, as usual, to turn to his own advantage.

"Mr. Martin," said the Master, "young Walton has left me in a passion."

“Has he, Sir? The more fool he!" replied Mr. Martin, coolly. "I don't know that, Mr. Martin; he may better himself."

"That he can't do, by going into any other service in the Colony," said Mr. Martin, coolly, again.

"Well, well; be that as it may; I do not wish to lose sight of him. He has just now gone on to Hobart Town, and I want you to go after him, and reason with him on his rashness; and do, if you can, persuade him to take the situation at Perth. I have, really, a regard for the young man, and would not like to part with him-at least, in this way."

Mr. Martin listened with profound attention to the master's directions, and bowed in acquiescence as he concluded. As he turned to depart, Mr. St. Clair said, "Do not, Mr. Martin, give Edgar to understand, that I sent you on this errand: you must seek him out, and persuade him on your own, sole account: you understand me, Mr. Martin ?"

"Perfectly, Sir, perfectly," and, sinking his voice, as he closed the door, into a low, growling whisper, he continued-" Aye! I will seek him out, and find him, too! But if ever he sets his foot on the Perth estate, or on any other belonging to my proud, and high-minded master, may Francis Martin be sentenced to the Hulk chain-gang! That boy has been my stumbling-block,-but I have him now, safe, safe-safe!" He dressed himself for his ride to Hobart Town, and rode thither slowly through the bush, that he might cogitate without interruption on the dark schemes, with which his wicked mind so abundantly teemed.

We must now follow Edgar Walton to Hobart Town. It was not until he had reached the rivulet, which crossed the bridle road, but which was not then covered with a bridge, that he began to reflect upon the step he had taken; and, even now, this reflection would not have occurred, had not the horse stopped short in his career, in or

der to pick his way through the stony creek. Edgar's first impulse was to return, and humble himself to Mr. St. Clair, but this was speedily dissipated by his pride and impetuosity. "No! I will not do that, (he thought) let what will happen-I have been a good and faithful servant to him, and, if he values my services, let him seek them. And as to Miss St. Clair-what does he mean by my attentions? Do I love her? I could if I were her equal. And who knows, but what I am? Pshaw! What use is it for a poor, unknown, friendless, forlorn youth like me, to think of such happiness;"-and, spurring his horse, he rode briskly along towards the town.

The New Town Road was not, in those days, the noble high way it is at present a mere bridle road through the bush, not even fenced in on either side, led from Hobart Town towards the Ferries, till within about a mile of the former, where a more elaborate attempt at a public road had been made. Just before Edgar had cleared the bush, he overtook a bullock cart, drawn by six bullocks, belonging to Mr. St. Clair, which was going to town for a load, and which was driven by a man who had formerly been on the farm at Pittwater. Edgar naturally checked his horse to speak to the man, who was glad of the courtesy, as our hero (for so he is) was universally beloved by all the men on the estate. Edgar asked the man, how he liked his new birth, when the man said—" Why, Mr. Walton, the place be good enough, for Master's kind and easy, and Miss Bell behaves like an angel, when any on us is sick or poorly: but that Mister Martin, as they calls him, he's a bad 'un, I knows."

"How is that, Stevens? The Master seems very fond of him, and he's not a man to be fond of bad people."

That may be, Mr. Walton; but this Mr. Martin is very cunning, like; and as good as a play actor in pretending to do good. But I know'd him at home,' Sir, and he wan't lagged for being good, I know-and he a lifer too."

"Well: but what makes you say, he's a bad man, Stevens? Has he ever offended you?"

"No, no, Sir-he knows better nor that, because he knows I'm up to him; but he does a great deal of mischief with the Master, and tries to set him against the people."

They had now reached a very awkward bend in the road, when they heard the sound of horses' feet, as well as that of several human voices approaching in the opposite direction. "Take care of your beasts, Stevens," said Edgar, drawing back, "I think the Governor's party is coming;" but before the driver could either draw his bullocks on one side, or urge them into the bush, the Governor, who was riding, as was his practice, a spirited young horse, had advanced on the foremost bullocks, who became restive, and the result was, the fall of His Honor.* Edgar, perceiving the Governor's

Before the accession of Colonel Arthur, the Lieutenant Governor, being entirely under the surveillance of the Governor-in-Chief at Sydney, was entitledHis Honor,"

peril, had dismounted, and was by his side in an instant. "I hope," he said, as he assisted him to rise, Your Honor is not hurtespecially as this accident may have been in some degree caused by my carelessness in talking to the driver, and so diverting his attention at all events, the man is not to blame."

The Governor, who was only shaken by the fall, gazed with a look of eager curiosity on our hero; and ere he had uttered his thanks for his prompt attention, the officers of his suite rode up, when Edgar retired, and, re-mounting his horse, rode quickly on towards Hobart Town.

There is a spot in the district of Glenarchy known by the designation of Amboo's Bottom, to which I have been given to understand, the following legend is attached.

Immediately before, or soon after the English took possession of this Colony, a very peaceable family of the Aborigines inhabited the land on the bank of the Derwent, beyond where Bridgewater now exists, and towards New Norfolk. In one particular valley, the spot to which I have alluded, sheltered on three sides by high hills, and removed about half a mile from the River, was the place of their usual repose. Hither the father who was noted for a character of