name of the village in which Joe Wayring lived, was acquiring some fame as a watering place. There were four springs in the vicinity, whose waters were supposed to possess some medicinal virtues, the scenery was grand, the drives numerous and pleasant, and the fishing (and the shooting, too, in the proper season), could not be surpassed.
At the foot of the path that led from the carriage-porch to the lake, was a boat-house which afforded shelter to some of Joe's friends whose acquaintance I was soon to make, and a short distance from its door his sail boat, the Young Republic, rode at her moorings. It was indeed a pleasant scene that was spread out before me; but before I had time to admire it sufficiently, Joe and his companion went up the stone steps three at a jump, rushed into the hall, fired their caps at the hat-rack, and without waiting to see whether or not they caught on the pegs at which they were aimed, ran up the wide stairs that led to the floor above. I held my breath in suspense and wondered what in the world was the matter now; but I afterward learned that I had no
