The present season was remarkable for the many skating tournaments which were held upon the ice in the vicinity of Fredericton.  Among those who distinguished themselves were Captain Hansard, an officer retired from the service, and a young gentleman afterwards known in connection with the Crown Land Department and later as a member of the Executive Government, yet an active member of the Legislative Council.  The most astonishing feats were performed during the time thus occupied.  The officers of the 81st were superior skaters, among whom was Major Booth whose remarkable evolutions gained great notoriety.  It is a matter of question whether the feats of the present day to which our attention is sometimes directed, could in anywise compete with those of the days of which we write.  Lieutenant Trevelyan had acquired a proficiency in the art that was worthy of admiration.  In this healthy pastime he took secret delight.  It afforded moments when he could steal miles away and give himself up to those quiet reveries from which the dreamer finds relief.  To a sensitive and poetic mind, what is more enjoyable than the silent hours of solitude when the soul is revelling in the delights of idealism; its sweet commune with kindred spirits; its longing and fanciful aspirations?  Who that is not possessed of those precious gifts of the soul can realize the happiness that Guy Trevelyan derived from this source?  He could, as it were, divest himself of earthy material and live in the ethereal essence of divine communion.  In those flights of bliss the loved form of Lady Rosamond was ever near.  Her presence hallowed the path whereon he trod.  None others invaded the sanctity of this realm of dreams.  One soul was there—­one being—­alas! to wake in one realty.

Mary Douglas was at all times a true sympathizer.  She always took a deep interest in her friend Guy.  She liked to sit beside him and recall little scenes wherein Lady Rosamond took part.  Her merry ringing laugh showed the purity of the mind within.  Together they spent many hours in interesting and amusing conversation.  Not a thought save that of true friendship entered the mind of either.  From this alone arose the full confidence alike reposed in each.  Mary Douglas was even more beautiful than Lady Rosamond.  Her features were formed as regularly as a model of an Angelo; her expression might be a life-long study for a DaVinci, a Rubens, or a Reynolds.  Yet such beauty had not power to fan anew the smouldering fire which consumed the vitality of Lieutenant Trevelyan’s existence.  On the other hand this lovely girl saw not in her companion anything that could create any feeling akin to love.  Such was the entire confidence thus reposed that they were amused at any trifling remarks of those who daily summed up what evidence supported their conjectures.  Frequently Mr. Howe turned his attention to the affairs of the unfortunate lieutenant, vainly wishing that such an attachment might be formed and likewise reciprocated.