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& JFamUfi to mterature, ttit arts, Science, asriculture, Strucntion, jForeCfln an* Bosustic EwtcUffience, Rumour, scc. VOLUME I. (p©[£Y[&Y a From the “Family Companion.” MY MOTHER. BY HENRY R. JACKSON. Paie fooled Time, Head ‘isht Upon my Mother's brow ! The chord of life is slight Which holds thy burden now : Spare, spare Hope’s lingering hours, Which fade before thy breath Like summer’s fragile flowers Beneath the frosts of death ! Thou ruthless tyrant, take What hopes mv bosom fill — Earth’s buds rtf promise break — 1 yield them to thy will; But spare those sacred beams, Oh ! spare that dark eye’s light, Which sunned me in my dreams — My cradled dreams at night! E’re yet my heart was cold. Or sadness clothed my brow, In life’s bright days of old— Far sunnier than now 1 When thought ol pure delight Came, summoned at her tone, From rosy morn to night: Oh! whither are they flown ? I'd offer—had I them— With callous heart and cold— Golconda's brightest gem, Or Peru’s richest gold : But spare, destroyer dread. In mercy to my prayer, My Mother’s widowed head— Oh 1 whiten not a hair! MOS©EiL[L^Y o From Graham’s Magazine. | EDITH PEMBERTON. PY MIIS. EMMA C. EMBURY'. <V| 1 days of youth and joy long clouded, Why thus forever haunt my view ? While in the grave your light lay shrouded, Why did not memory die there too ? Moore. ‘My dear,’said Mrs.Pemberton,drawing her needle through a very dilapidated stock ing which she was darning, ‘my dear, do j you know how much your old friend Ellis is worth V Mr. Pemberton looked up from his news-1 paper with some surprise, as he replied, ‘I canlth&ell exactly, but I should think his pro perty cannot fall short of one hundred thou sand dollars.’ ‘ That will be twenty thousand a piece for ■each of his five children,’ said Mis. Penber ton, apparently pursuing some hidden train i<f thought. ‘ I am not so sure of that,’ returned her husband, with a smile, ‘ it is difficult to cal culate the fortune of a child during the life •of a parent. Mr. Ellis is a hale hearty man, and may live long enough to double his for tune or perhaps to lose it all. But why are you so interested in his affairs just now, ba- i rah V ‘To tell you the truth, husband, I have j Been thinking that Edward Ellis would be j a good match foi Caroline.’ •< Pooh! pooh ! Carry is but sixteen, it •will be time enough three years hence, to think of a husband for her.’ J3 tl t if a good opportunity should offer, it ! would be the height of folly to let it slip on- j ly on account of her youth. Edwards is •certainly very constant in his visits.’ I ‘ His intimacy with Charles, sufficiently accounts for his frequent visits, and his at- j tendons, if they mean anything, are rather ■directed to Edith, as far as I can judge,’, said Mr. Pemberton. ‘ Ob, that is only because Edith is the el ■dest. • 1 could easily manage to keep her out of the way, if she were to interfere with Caroline’s prospects.’ ‘But why not secure him forEditJi. if you are so desirous of allying him to the family?’ ‘Mercy on me, husband, what should Ido ! without Edith ? I would not, upon any ac- j count, put such a notion into her head ; no body could supply her place if she were to marry just now.’ ‘ Rotation in office, my dear, is the true and just system in family government, what ever it may bo in politics ; it is time that. Caroline shared some of Edith’s manifold duties,’ said Mr. Pemberton. ‘How little men knows of domestic af fairs,’ exclaimed Mrs. Pemberton ; ‘ do you suppose that such a giddy creature as Car ry could ever be taught the patience, indus try and thoughtfulness which seem so na tural to Edith ? No, no, I must keep Edith at home as long as possible.’ ‘ So vou have come to tho conclusion that she is to useful to be allowed to seek her own happiness.’ ‘ Oh, Mr. Pemberton, how can you talk so 1 I am sure if Edith really loved any body I would never throw any obstacle in her way. She is quite contented now and I don’t believe marriage is necessary to the happiness of every body.” * Why then are you so anxious to make matches for your girls ? Why not wait and see whether Carry is not also content to be single.’ * Because Caroline is such a hare-brained, thoughtless girl, that nothing but domestic duties will over give liersteadiness of char acter, and therefore I am anxious to see her settled in life.’ ‘Well I don’t think you need waste any feminine manoeuvres upon Edward Ellis, for whatever fortune his father may possess, he will never support his sons in idleness. He means that they shall work for thein- Aft OIfTWFH t PWT ip A Ifv selves tis he has done, and though he has given Edward a liberal education, be in tends to make him a thorough merchant.’ * Edward wishes to study a profession.’ ‘ I know old Ellis well enough to believe that he sets too high a value on time and money to consent to such a plan. He would never be willino to maintain Edward during the next ten years, as must necessarily be the case, if he adopted a profession.’ ‘Edward is a remarkably fine young man.’ ‘ Yes, he possesses excellent talents and an amiable disposition, but his character is yet to he formed by time and circumstance.’ ‘He is two and twenty, husband ; and you were married when you were not that * 1 know it,, Sarah,’ said Mr. Pemberton, drily, ‘ and we both martied five years to soon. I became burdened with the support of a family at the outset of life, and you were weighed down with domestic cares, while yet in yourgirlhood ; the consequence to me has been, that I am now obliged to labor as hard for a living at forty-five as 1 did at twenty, and with as little prospect of making a fortune ; while the result to you has been broken health and wearied spirits.’ ‘1 am sure I never repented our marriage, my dear,’ said Mrs. Pemberton half re proachfully. * Nor I, my dear Sarah,’ replied her hus band kindly, * it would be but an ill requital for all your affection and goodness; but should we not be equally happy and less care-worn now, if we had deferred our uni on until we had been a little older and wiser V ‘Ah well,’sighed Mrs. Pemberton, feel ing the truth of her husband’s remark, but unwilling to confess it, ‘ there is no use in retrospection ; we have a large family around us, and there are no finer children than ours i:i the whole circle of our acquain tance. If lam broken down with the care of bringing them up, I can forget all my trouble, when I have so much cause to be proud of them. A better daughter than Edith, a more steady boy than Charley, and prittier girls than Caroling and Maria, are not to he found any where in society; and I dare say I shall be just as proud of the little ones in the nursery as they grow up.’ i ‘ I dare say you will, my dear,’ said her husband, smiling good-humoredly, ‘ it would be very strange if you were not, and quite as strange if I had not similar opinions; Edith is as good as she is handsome, and 1 only wish young Ellis was in circumstances to marry her.’ ‘ Don’t speak of such a thing, husband, I cannot consent to part with her for the next four or five years.’ ‘ Yet you want to get rid of Caroline.’ ‘ I have already told you my motives ; there never were two sisters more unlike.’ ‘ Edith has ail the prudence and kindli ness which befits a good wife, and therefore deserves to be well mated.’ ‘ She does not seem to think of such a thing as marriage, and lam truly glad she is so indifferent about it, indeed 1 almost be lieve that Edith is destined to be an old maid.’ ‘lt needs no great prophetic skill to per dict that, if you keep tier forever in the back-ground.’ ‘ lam sure Ido no such thing,’ said Mrs. Pemberton, warmly. , ‘ I don’t pretend to know much about these matters, but I have noticed that when the girls are invited to a party it is general ly Edith who is left at home.’ ‘ It is not tny fault, Mr. Pemberton, if she takes no pleasure in gay society.’ ‘ Are you certain she always stays at home from choice V ‘ I dare say she does, at least she is never controlled tty me.’ ‘ But you know as well as I do, that the slightest expression of a wish is sufficient to influence her. The truth is, Edith has made herself so useful in the family that we all depend upon her for a large portion of our comforts, and are too apt to forget that she often sacrifices her own. Do you suppose that she actually preferred staying at home to nurse little Margaret, the other night, to going to Mrs. Moore’s grand ball ]’ ‘ No, I can’t say she did, for she seemed rather anxious to attend that ball, and had ’ trimmed a dress beautifully for the occasion.’ ‘ The child was certainly not so ill as to require her attendance in addition to yours, and why, therefore, was she obliged to re main V ‘ No, the baby was not very sick, but she cried so bitterly when she saw Edith dressed for the party, that I was afraid she would bring on a fever.’ * Therefore you disappointed Edith mere ly to gratify the whim of a petted infant.’ ‘I left her to Jo as she pleased ; she im mediately changed her dress, to pacify Mar miret, and took her usual place by the cra dle.’ ‘ Yes, you left her to do as she pleased, after she had been allowed to discover ex actly what you wished she should do. This is always the way, Sarah ; the incident just mentioned, is only one out of hundreds, where Edith’s kind feelings have been made to interfere with her pleasures. I have long seen in the family a disposition to take ad vantage of her unselfish character, ami it seems to me exceedingly unjust. I do not want to part with Edith, and should give her to a husband with great reluctance, but 1 insist that she should have a fair chnnco, and not be compelled to join the single sis terhood whether she will or not. You had better let match-making alone,Sarah; leave the girls to choose for themselves ; only be careful that they have tho right sort of ad- PUBLISHED WEEKLY, BY C. R. IIANLEITER, AT TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. MADISON, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, APRIL 26, 1842. misers, from which to select their future master.’ Editlr Pemberton was the eldest of a large famijy. Her father, immersed in business like most of our American mer chants, spent the working days of every week at his counting room, only returning at evening, jaded and fatigued, to read the newspaper, and to dose upon the sofa until bed-time. Governed by the erroneous ideas, which led men, in our country, to at tempt the accumulation of a rapid fortune, in the vain hope of enjoying per sect leisure in their later years, Mr. Pemberton had be come a little more than a money-making machine. He loved his family but he had little time to devote to them. He spared no expense in the education of his children, liberally provided them with comforts, and punctually paid all the family bills, hut he left all the management of household mat ters to his wife, who soon found it utterly useless to consult him on any domestic ar rangement. His purse was always open to her demands, but his time he could not give. The consequence was that Mrs. Pemberton while endeavoring conscientiously to per form her duties, made the usual mistake, and fell into those habits which often con vert our good wives into mere housekeep ers and nurse maids; ‘ household drudges’ as our grumbling cousin Bull calls them. A rapidly increasing family, and her utter ig norance of her husband’s business prospects, induced her to practise the strictest econo my which was consistent with comfort. Abandoning the elegant accomplishments which she had acquired with so much ex pense of time and labor at school, she se cluded herself in her nursery, and in the care of her children and the duties of house keeping found full employment. In childhood, Edith was what old ladies call ‘ a nice quiet little girl.’ Her delicate features, fair complexion, and blonde hair, established her claim to infantile beauty, while her bright smile, sweet voice and graceful gentleness seemed to win the love of all who knew her. Endowed with no remarkable intellect, no decided genius, she yet managed, by dint of good sense, indus try and perseverance, to maintain her place at the head of her classes, and to leave school, which she did at fifteen, with the reputation of a very good scholar. A plain, hut thor ough English education, a little French, a few not very ill done drawings in water co lors ; some velvet paintings and a profound knowledge of the art of stitching in all its varieties, were the fruits of Edith’s studies. Gentle readet, do not despise the scanty list of accomplishments which she could num ber. It comprised the usual course of edu cation at that time, and perhaps, in point of real usefulness, would bear a fair compari-; son with the more imposing ‘ sciences’ and ‘ ologies ’ which are now presumed, to he taught in schools of higher pretensions. Her skill in needlecrqft was a most valuable ac quisition to the eldest daughter of so numer ! ous a family, and Mrs. Pemberton availed herself fully of its aid. Edith returned from school only to take her place as an assistant to her mother in the nursery. The maid whose business it was to take care of the children, was not trustworthy, and it became the duty of Edith to watch over the welfare of the little ones, while she employed her busy fingers in shaping or sewing their mul tifarious garments. Kindly in her feelings, ’ affectionate in her disposition, gentle and .patient in temper, she was dearly loved by j the children. It was soon discovered that her influence could do more than ihe clamor of an impatient nursemaid, or the frown of a mother whose natural good temper had been fretted into irritability. If a child was refractory, sister Edith alone could ad minister medicine, or smooth the uneasy pillow, and in short Edith became a kind and second mother to her five sisters and ! three brothers. Had her nature been in the slightest de gree tainted with selfishness, she might have reasonably murmured against the heavy bur dens which were laid upon her at so early an age. But Edith never thought of her self. To contribute to the happiness of oth ers was her chief pleasure, and she seemed totally unconscious of the.value of her dai ly sacrifices. If any particularly disagreea ble piece of work was to be done, it was al- j ways concluded that Edith would not refuse to undertake it ; if any one was compelled to forego some anticipated pleasure, the lot was sure to fall on Edith ; and in short the total absence of selfishness in her seemed to | he the warrant for a double allowance of that ingredient of the characters of all around her. Have you never met, friend reader, with one of those kind, affectionate, ingenuous persons who have the knack of doing every thing well, and the tact of doing every thing kindly ? and did you never ob serve that with this useful and willing per son, every body seemed to claim the right of sharing their tumbles ? Such an one was Edith Pemberton. But Edith was not proof against that pas sion which is usually libelled as selfish and engrossing. Edward Ellis had cultivated an intimacy with hor young and studious brother, solely on her account, and the pa tience with which the gifted ‘ senior,’ assist ed the efforts of the zealous ‘sophomore,’ might ho attributed less to friendship than to a warmer emotion. Ellis was talented, ambitious and vain, but he was also warm hearted, and susceptible to virtuous impres sions. The perfect gentleness, the feminine delicacy, the modest beauty of Edith had charmed tho romantic student, and her unaf fected admiration of his superior mental en dowments, completed the spell of her fas cination. His parents, well knowing how strong a safeguard against evil influences, is ! a virtuous attachment, rather encouraged i his intimacy with the Pemberton family, without enquiring closely into his motives ; and Edward was content to enjoy the pre sent, leaving the future to take care of itself. In compliance with his wishes, his father had given him a liberal education, but when, upon leaving college he requested permis sion to study some profession, he met with a decided negative. ‘ I wish you to be a merchant, Edward,’ said his father, ‘I have given von an education which will enable you to be an enlightened and intelligent one, but upon yourself it depends to become a rich one. Talents and learning without mo ney are of as little use as rough’gems ; they are curiosities for the cabinet of the virtuo so, not valuable to the man ol sense ; they must be polished and set in a golden frame before they can adorn the possessor, or seem precious in the eyes of the multitude. If you are wealthy, a little wisdom will procure you a great reputation ; if you are poor yourbrightest talents only serve as a farthing rushlight to show you your own misery !’ Such were the views of Mr. EJ lm, and though his son differed widely from him in feeling, yet he dared not gainsay the assertions which he deemed the result of ex perience and wordly wisdom. It was but a few days after the conversa tion just narrated that another of a different character took place between two of the parties interested. Edith was returning from a visit to a sick friend, just as evening was closing in ; when she was met at the door, by Edward Ellis. ‘Come with me, Edith,’ said Edward hurriedly, ‘ wrap your shawl about you, and walk with me on the Battery.’ * Not now, Mr. Ellis,’ replied Edith, ‘ it is quite late, and little Madge is waiting for me to sing her to sleep.’ ‘ Pslia ! Edith, you are always thinking of same family matter ; do you ever think of your own wishes ?’ ‘Yes,’ replied Edith, laughing, ‘and I confess I should prefer a pleasant walk with you to a warm and noisy nursery.’ * Then come,’said Edward, drawing her arm through his, ‘ I have something of great consequence to say to you.’ Edith looked surprised, but the expres sion of Edward’s countenance was anxious and troubled, so sbe offered no further op position. They entered the Battery, and walked along the river side, for some min utes in perfect silence, before Edward could summon courage to enter upon the subject nearest bis thoughts. At length as they turned into a less frequented path, he abrupt -ly exclaimed, ‘Da you kuoy.-,-Edith, that I am going away V Edith’s heart gave a sudden bound, and then every pulsation seemed as suddenly to cense, as with trembling voice she uttered a faint exclamation of astonishment. ‘ You are surprised, Edith, I knew you would be so, but have you no feeling at this announcement of my departure I Nay, turn not your sweet face from me ; I must know whether your heart responds to mine.’ Edith blushed and trembled as she thus listen and, for the time, to the voice of passionate tenderness. Feelings which had long been growing up unnoticed in her heart, and to which she had never thought of giving a name —fancies, beautiful in her vagueness —emotions undefined and unde termined; but still pleasant in the indulgence —all the “ countless tiling's j That keep young hearts forever glowing,” round in that instant their object and their aim. Edith had never thought of Edward as a lover, she had never looked into her heart to discover whether she really wished him to be such, but at the magic voice of affection, the mystery of her own heart was revealed to her, its secret recesses were un veiled to her gaze, and she knew that his image had been long there unconsciously enshrined. Her lover saw not all her emo tions in her expressive countenance, but he read there no repulsive coldness, and as he clasped the. little hand, which lay on his arm, he said : ‘ Listen to me, dear Edith ; my father in formed me to-day, that he has made an ar rangement with my uncle, (whom, as you know, has long resided at Smyrna,) by [ which I am to become the junior partner in the house, and he has directed me to be rea dy in three weeks, to sail in fine of his ships, now lading for that port. How long I shall be absent, is uncertain, but as my uncle is desirous of returning to America, I pre sume that it is intended I shall take his place abroad. Years, therefore, may elapse ere I again behold my native land, and I cannot depart without telling you how dear you have long been to my heart. Yet let me not deceive you Edith : I have confessed to my father my affection for you—he ac knowledges your worth, and does nut dis approve my choice, but be has positively forbidden ine to form any engagement for the future. lam violating his commands in thus expressing my feelings to you.’ ‘ What are his objections, Edward V fal , tered the trembling girl. ‘Oh it is the old story of over-prudent nge; he says we may both change longbc fore I return, and that it is best to be unfet tered by any promise ; then no harm can happen to either, and if you love me you will wait my return, without requiring any engagement to confirm your faith. Thus he argues and I can make no reply, I have no means of supporting a wife, therefore 1 dare not ask you of your parents, and my father’s daution deprives me of the only comfort which hope might have afforded me in my exile.’ Edith was deeply agitated, and her cheek grew pale, as she murmured : ‘ You 1 are right in obeying your father, Edward ; happiness never yet waited on one who was deficient in filial duty.’ * And is this all you can say, Edith,’ ex claimed Edward passionately. ‘ls this cold approval all I can hope to receive from the object of my first and only love ? Have not my every look and tone told you how deep ly I loved you, and can you let me depart without one word of tenderness or regret] Must I remember your gentle face but as a dream of boyhood 1 Shall your low, sweet voice be but as the melody of by-gone years? May I not bear with me, in my banishment, a hopeffaint and cold it may be as the win ter sunbeam, yet lighting my dreary path with something like a promise of future hap piness ? Edith I ask no plighted faith ; 1 wish you not to pledge me your hand till 1 can come forward and claim it openly ; but I would fain know whether my love is but ■as incense flung upon the winds. If you’ can offer no return to my affection) dearest, let me at once know my fate, arid with all the force of an overmastering will, shall my heart be silenced, if not subdued. Say that you love me not, Edith, and though the stream of my life must forever hear your image on its surface, yet you shall never know how dark has been the shadow it has cast. Say that you love me not, and yon shall never hear a murmur from my lips, nor shall your peaceful existence be saddened by the gloom which must ever pervade mine. You are silent Edith—you cannot bear to utter the words which must condemn me to despair.’ Ellis paused, and strove to read in Edith’s face, the feelings to which she could not give utterance. But her eyes were bent upon the ground, while the big tears fell like rain from beneath the drooping lids and in her flushed cheek he saw only displeasure. “ It was right, Edith,” said he, sadly, “ you do not love me ; forgive and forget my folly, but let us not part in coldness.” He took her hand again, as he spoke: ‘‘l perhaps deserve punishment for my selfisb hessin thus asking the heart when I could not claim the hand ; when I am gone, some happier lover will perhaps ask both and then”— “ He will be denied,” interrupted Edith, hastily, turning her agitated face towards I her suitor. “This is no time for maiden I coyness, Edward ; your happiness arid mine are both at stake, and therefore I tell you, what till this moment was unknown even to myself, that my affections are in your keep ing.” “ Deare st, dearest Edith, then am I su premely happy ; 1 ask no more ; let the on ly bond between us be the secret one of cherished love.” “ Not so, Edward ; you have promised your father not to enter into any engage ment, but I am bound by no such restraints. You are, and must remain free from all oth er bonds thant'oseof feeling, butsf it will add to your happiness to be assured of my faith during your absence, I pledge you my word that my hand shalj be yours whenever you come to claim it.” “ But your parents, Edith—what will they say, if they find you clinging to a remem bered lover, and perhaps rejecting some ad vantageous settlement I” “ They will suffer me to pursue my own course, Edward, and will be satisfied with any thing that hinds me to my childhood’s home. lam too much the companion of my parents to he looked upon in the light of an intruder, when I prolong the period of filial dependsne?.” “ Then be it so, dearest; hound by no outward pledge, we will cherish our affec tion within our hearts, and since we must part, you will still gladden vour quiet home with your sweet presence, while I will wan der forth to win the fortune which can alone secure me my future happiness.” Three weeks after this interview, Ed ward Ellis sailed for Smyrna, and Mrs. Pemberton, as she witnessed the jll-disguis ed agitation of the lovers, was compelled to acknowledge that ‘ after all, she really be lieved, if Edward hud staid, there would have been a match between him and Edith.” But Edith buried within her own bosom, her newly awakened emotions. Her man ner was always so quiet, that if her step did become less light, and her voice grew softer iti its melancholly cadence, it was scarcely noticed by her thoughtless com panions. She had learned that she was be loved, only in the moment of separation, and therefore there were few tender and blissful recollections to beguile the weary days of absence ; but “ Woman's love can live on long remembrance, And oh ! how preciousls the slightest thing Affection gives, and hallows !” • She was one of those gentle beings who draw from the font of tenderness within their own bosoms, a full draught of sym pathy for the sufferings and wants of others. She returned to her self-denying duties with a more,thoughtful spirit and a more loving heart. Her character always full of good ness and truth, seemed to assume an eleva tion of feeling, such as nothing but a pure and unselfish attachment can ever create. A desire to become in all respects, worthy of him whom she loved, gave anew tone to all her impulses, and her vivid sense of duty became blended with her earnest desire to merit her future happiness. Edward wrote very punctually to liis young friend Chailcs Pemberton, and every letter contained some message to Edith, but she alone could de tect the secret meaning of the apparently careless lines. They afforded sufficient nu triment to the love which was rapidly be coming a part of her very being ; and Edith was cootent to abide her time ! In the mean time Mrs. Pemberton, wfio became on adept in’ match-making, busied herself in providing for her younger girls, and was fortunate enough to secure two most eligible offers. Caroline, at eighteen became the wife of a promising young law yer, while Maria, who was nearly two years younger, married at the same time a pros perous merchant, who had lately set up his carriage and, as he had no time to use it him self, wanted a wife to ride in it. Mrs. Pem berton was in ecstasies, for shchad succeed ed in all her plans. Editor was still at home, as a sort of house keeper, head cook, chief nurse, etc. etc., sharing every body’s labors and lightening every body’s troubles, while the two giddy girls who had resolved not to become useful as long as they could avoid the necessity of it, were respectably settled in their own homes. She was never tired of extolling the talents of one son-in-law, and the fine fortune of the other, while she spoke of Edith as‘that dear good girl, who, I am happy to say, is a confirmed old maid, and will never leave her mother while she lives.” But this mancevre did not discou rage several from seeking the hand of the gentle girl. Her father wondered when she refused two of the most unexceptionable of fers, and even her mother felt almost sorry, when she declined the addresses of an elder ly widower, endowed with a fortune of half a million, and a family of fine children. But a total want of congeniality of feeling in all her immediate friends, had taught Edith a degree of reserve which seemed effectually to conceal her deepest feelings. She was patient and trustful, she considered herself affianced in heart, and though conscious that not even the tie of honor, as the world would consider it, bound her lover to his troth, she felt no misgivings as to his fidelity. She trod the even tenor of her way, diffusing cheerfulness and comfort around her, think ing for every body, remembering every thing and forgetting only herself. None sought her sympathy or assistance in vain ; in her own family—in the chamber of sick ness or death, among her friends—in the hovel of poverty and distress, she was alike useful and kindly. Every one loved her, and even those who tested her powers of endurance most fully, almost idolized the unselfish and affectionate daughter aud sis ter. Years passed on, and brought their usual chances and ch n;is. Carolina became a mother, and fancied that her cares were quite too heavy for her to bear alone. Edith was therefore summond to assist and soon found herself occupying a similar station in her sister’s nursery to that which she had long filled at home. The baby was often sick and always cross ; nobody but Edith could manage him, and therefore Edith took the entire charge of him, while the mother paid visits arid the nurse gossiped in the kitchen. Maria too began to assert claims upon her. She, poor thing, was entirely too young for the duties she had undertaken. Thoughtless, fond of dress, and profuse in household expenditure, she had no idea of systematic housekeeping, and Edith was called in to place matters on a better footing. But before Maria had attained her eighteenth year, het family was rather liberally in creased by the addition of twin daughters, and again the agency of the useful sister was required, lier girlhood had been con sumed amid womanly cares, and now her years of blooming womanhood were to be wasted in supplying the deficiencies of those who had incurred responsibilities which ex ceeded their powers. Yet Edith never thought of murmuring'. She had been so long accustomed to live for others that self sacrifice had now become habitual, and she never dreamed too much might be asked of or granted by sisterly affection. It is a common remaik that the years seem to grow shorter as we advance in life, and they who could once exclaim ‘ a whole i/ear /’ in accents of unqualified alarm at its length, at last find themselves referring to the same space in the careless tone of in difference as ‘ only a year.’ T welve months had almost seemed an eternity to Edith when her lover first bade her farewell, and the time that intervened between bis letters to her brother seemed almost endless. But as she became engrossed in new cares, aud her youth began to slip by, the years seemed to resolve with greater speed, even although Charles was now in a distant part of the country and the correspondence between him and her lover, if it was still continued, never met her eye. She had formed an in timacy with Edward’s mother, and, as the old lady was very fond of needle-worked pincushions, net purses, worsted fire screens, and all such little nick nacks, if obtained without expense, Edith was soon establish ed in her good graces. She was thus en abled to see Edward’s letters to his parents, and though they were very business-like commonplace affairs, not at all resembling a lady’s beau ideal of a lover’s epistle, still Edith was satisfied. It was strange that so strong, so abiding, so pervading a pcs non should have taken possession of a creature so gentle, so almost cold in her demeanor. But the calmest exterior often conceals the strongest emotions, and, if the flow of Edith’s feelings was quiet it was only be enuse they worked for themselves a deeper and less fathomable channel. Seventeen years—a long period in the anntds of time, and a longer in the records of the heart; seventeen years passed ere Edward Ellis returned to his native land. He had left it a romantic warm hearted youth and he returned a respectable, intel ligent, wealthy man. The ambition which would have led him to literary fame, had been expended in search of other distinc- I tions in the world of commerce. He had become a keen observer of men and an NUMBER 4.