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® u mmm mim to wsmtob, m mto mb scamas. mb to sihml immiiaaieii. ■_?_.*. t i I For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. PARTING, STANZAS. ■ I Bv Mrs. C. W. DrUosE. ■ Fare thee well, and God he with thee— I I Guard thy life from every ill; ■ Os His “race the richest perfume I I Hound thy path in love distil! I May Ilis spirit linger near thee, I I Shedding blessings on thy head— ■ All the darker shades dispelling, ■ By tho glory round thee spread. tM&y it safely keep thee, guard thee From the tohch of human w oe— laKl | thy spirit pure and lovely, 9 Stainless as the winter's snow. and sadly shall we miss thee— ■ Miss the music of thy voice; ; s the smile, whose light so gladsome, ■ .Makes our very hearts rejoice! t we may not wish to keep thee, ■ I Wh n the voice of duty sails, ■ ‘ TVimrli the mournful sound of parting, Fa lly on our spirit falls. now, we tender to thee, ■I I’.irting word, of troth and love ; we commit thy keeping To the care of Him abuve! we trust He will restore thee T‘* our loving hearts again ; 1 though hitter now the parting, Hopefully we wait till then. V ..p thco well, thou dearly loved one— ■ ■ May Ilis blessing on thee rest, hioi. afar from home endearments, Thou wilt rove, the stranger’s guest! ■st the stranger smile upon thee, ■■ And supply our place awhile — ■ ‘ !1 tip’ loneliness of absence ■ strive by kindness to beguile 1 thee well, best and dearest— II Fadly now we bid thee go ; ■ tingled tears and mingled blessings, I S From our hearts in sorrow flow ! I Tnim/uUla, Sr/>t , 1849. H jil A j'J i; S .it. ’ For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. | [.IX ,V XVOMAN S I,OKU. I BY A LADY. OF GEORGIA. CHAPTER X . it an absence of several weeks, Mr. P - Dupont arrived at home. Ascetid p Wolf from the landing-place, they themselves on a rude bench, a sta p convenience, which was overshad-, l"'dh majestic oaks. Immediately I them, was the almost precipitous [terminating in a distinct border of Id, from which the tide had recently On this, the waves curled np peace nil fell in rippling, pleasant imir -1 hough oft-times lashed into fury, y were quiet, hiding beneath a fair i that destructive power ever lurk te mighty mass. In front of them open spot, but so surrounded by ■oves, it seemed as if the sunlight ly struggling for an occasional beneath their shadow. On the the front, a hundred yards off, was t that seemed to be very luxuriant, n every side, orange trees, with bt still hanging, relieved the eye * sombre green hue that Surround- Still farther on the right, was, dain, large building, which was the nn hospital; and closing the view lirection was the cottage, and the H wound with the irregularities of tb from the landing-place, to the ‘he court-yanl. On the left, seen “lie irregularity among the over ’ verdure, were the white-washed die family servants. Extending them, and soen, as far as the allow the vision to reach, was a single track, leading directly -■be island. ins particular in describing this p 'ause it i s the last time I shal] cull up such recollections of Gniievra’s ear ly home. If it be true, that “coming events cast their shadows before them,” may it not he, that Genevra felt that these things were to pass away from her?— Else, why that tearful eye, as she gazes with fixed attention on the road—and sad ly smiling, too, as if the music of other days was impressing its last, but sweetly lingering notes upon her heart. The nurse from the hospital, who was rather a privileged character, advanced to wards them. She made a courtesy to her master, and rather more familiarly took her mistress’s hand. “ Why, Miss Genevra, what made you go away, when you knew Massa Charles was coming here so soon 1 Why, do you know, my dear, he came the very day you went away ?” “Is it possible, Maum Gracey,” said Genevra. “ But why do you think I knew he was coming ?” In the meantime, the nurse had perceiv ed a dark scowl on her master's face, and thinking she had been too familiar, said, with more precision— “ Because he told me so, my dear mad am. He says he wrote you a letter, two days before he left Savannah.” Genevra turned with the energy of one stung to the quick, and said—“ Dupont, is it possible?” But the half-finished sen tence was scarcely uttered, before she faint ed in the nurse’s arms. She was taken to the house, and soon recovered, hut with consciousness, came a conviction that was more painful to her than death. “ Is it possible that Dupont could be ca pable of deception so base ? Is it possible he would even desire to separate me from those who have loved me so tenderly, and who have always treated him, until he threw them ntf, with so much considera tion ? Now, I know that the visit South was not to give me pleasure, hut to accom plish some deep design.” And yet she loved him; and she clung to the fond idea, that this was all done that he alone might be the object of her affections. What was Dupont's course ? Accident had in a moment betrayed his baseness; but in the strength and determination of his will, he resolved it should only serve to advance his purposes. lie knew the strength of her love, and determined to absent himself from her, that she might, in desiring his presence, forget the impres sions of the past. Thus, after a night's rest without repose, Genevra found herself alone for the first time in her life—on an island, with none but servants around her. Before she was deserted, no image intruded into her mind but her brother’s; now, Dupont’s was ever before her, in a varied and ever-varying character. At one time, she would think of him as she once knew him—captivating her whole soul; then she would pass on to the different exhibitions of his charac ter, and after pondering for a long time, the conviction that he had deceived her would force her to weep bitter tears. But time rolled on, and he came not; and after a while, she found in her heart ex cuses for his deception and regrets for his absence. At last, during the winter, he re turned for a short time, hut, like the wily serpent, it was only that he might secure the last coil around his victim. When he left again, which he said was on pressing ‘political engagements, she was already im molated on the polluted altar of a selfish heart. Excuse me, my reader, for giving you a hurried view of passing events. X\ itn melancholy pleasure would I follow her and detail to you her life—for she was gentle—she was enduring—she was un conscious of evil. In the earliest month of Summer in the following year, a young man of noble and benevolent countenance landed at the same old landing-place, on the Island. This was Charles Elliston. He asked if his sister was there, and hurried to the house. I will throw a veil over their meeting; but oh! how painfully interesting were those moments! attended, as they had been, with distrust of each other's affection. “But why have you left Athens before the Commencement ?” said Genevra, “Because 1 wished, if possible, to save you from ruin,” said Charles. “What is tlie meaning of this advertisement ;” And so saying, be took a paper from his pocket, and read : “ To be sold, on such a day, that valuable Island, the residence of Mr. Dupont, and lately owned by Mr. El liston—together with negroes, stock, &c., &c.” “ I know nothing about it, I assure you. This is the first I have heard of it,” said Genevra. “Bui, Genevra, your husband would not have the audacity to do such a thing, un- less he had some excuse for it. Are you sure you have never signed a paper?” said Charles. “ Yes, I signed something in the winter, hut 1 did not know what it was,” said Ge nevra. “He said he wanted to draw some money, and my signature was necessary.” Charles turned away with emotion. “ Well,” he said, “ poor girl! you are doomed. Your husband has gone to the North to spend your money, and election eer for popularity. You are left here to suffer all the privations and inconveniences of solitude; to be torn rudely from all those associations which have grown with your growth and strengthened with your I strength.” 1 will not dwell upon this scene. Charles had a plantation in MiJdle Geor gia, to which he removed his sister before the sale of her property. He told her, that from that time, she should enjoy the pro ceeds of the place, as if it was her own; lie would only retain the privilege of ap pointing the agent, and of requiring that his people should be well treated. We must pass by these scenes, without dwelling long upon them. Charles, pos sessed of an energetic and determined mind, with fitm and generous resolves, entered, without delay, a mechanics’ school at the I North, in which he remained one year. In 1 that year, many things had happened to make Genevra drink the bitterest cup that life could offer. Her husband had met with disappointment in his aspiring hopes; in deed, he was poUtiealli/ dead. Even after the sale of all Genevta’s property, he had no money, and made such frequent demands j upon her, that she was left penniless often. | before her remittances would be due. Then he would leave home, and at the time we now wish lo introduce the reader, he had been absent for several months, no one knew where. Charles had been engaged to superin tend the building of a large steam-inill in Savannah, where he received the counte nance and support of all who knew his exalted character, his strong mind, and the elevated and refined devotion that impelled him to work. Yet there were many who looked upon the mechanic with contempt, and who hesitated not to whisper their opinions among their dear confidential friends, with regard to his reception from some of the elite of their circles. When Charles visited his sister, he found her in attendance on the sick bed of a dy ing infant. A kind neighbor was with her, who whispered,words of cqmfort; but Ge nevra heeded them not. Cold and unmov ed, she looked upon his stiffened form, and fearlessly she shrouded him. “Why is this, my sister ?” said Charles. “Where is your tender, sympathizing heart, that used to melt at others’ sorrows, and shrink at the thought of death ?” “Death is a happy relief to those who suffer,” said Genevra: and the expression of her countenance shewed the internal anguish she endured, “ There are greater sorrows in every-day life than there is in the grave, my dear brother. Oh ! how of ten have I wished to die; and in thus wish ing, my heart lias closed against the sym pathies of life.” Btit the A course of human events” was hurrying on to a close, and we cannot lin ger. Genevra's health was failing so per ceptibly, that her brother and kind Mrs. Yillers felt the greatest anxiety on her ac count. In the course of a month, they were on their way to Apalachicola, whejc they embarked, for the West Indies. The vessel they went in, slopped at Key West; and as they intended remain! ng till the next day, our party went on shore for the pur pose of seeing the place, and lodging for the.night. Little did they realize the fatal terminatron of theii stay there, or the im probabilities of life that would surround them before the morning came. They were aroused in the night by the noise of con tending elements. The waters seemed ra ging in mighty wrath, even at their very doors. They could hear the angry dash— the boiling, surging violence, with which they still continued to rise around them. The winds, in angry contest, seemed to be gathering strength from every point of the compass, to meet with fury at this devoted spot; and it seemed as if the heavens above, the earth beneath, and the waters around them, had formed a league for their destruction. All was darkness, tumult and dismay: but, foriunately for our party, Charles was calm amid the confusion, and Mrs. Villers, who had accompanied them, possessed great self-control. She was one of whom very little was known, hut all who knew her loved her. She had been living in the settlement near Mr. Elliston’s plantation for a year past, as a teacher in a neighboring school. Her kind and ju dicious management of the children, togeth-. er with her gentle but dignified manners, bad won the admiration and respect of all. She was, in appearance, rather tall, well proportioned, ami with a fine figure; but her face was extremely sallow, and she wore a most unbecoming cap, which con cealed with its wide frills all appearance of hair. She had, on every suitable oppor tunity, introduced herself to Genevra’s no tice by her kind attentions, and this partic ularly when Dupont was away. Now, that he had not been beard from for so long a time, she had made herself almost necessary to the suffering Genevra: and when Mr. Elliston desired to procure a ser vant to attend his sister, she offered her services, which were thankfully accepted. Having a mind that re-acted under misfor tunes, and gained fresh energy under diffi culties, she was the best female aid Gene vra could have had in their present trying situation. Many touching scenes could be descri bed. that transpired in that awful night. As they heard the rush of the waters around them, the tumbling ruins, the cries of hor ror, mingling with the howling blast with out, it was indeed interesting to behold our trio within. Charles, calm and self-pos sessed, supported his sister with an encir cling aim, while he spoke cheerfully and hopefully of the future. Mrs. Villers spoke words ol trust and confidence of the pres ent—and so earnest, so truthful, was her manner, it seemed as if only experience couhl have dictated them. Still the ele ments raged in their mightiest fury; the night shrouded them in her blackest pall: but Hope and Faith rise above the storms which so often obscure the physical and j mental world. Towards morning, the winds lulled, and as the earliest dawn appeared, they were enabled to realize more fully the dangers that surrounded them. Houses were sub merged, and many that the day before were joyous with the light of iife, were now passed away from earth, finding a grave in the mighty deep. Vessels were driven off from their moorings, and some could be descried far off', with their mastless and dis mantled forms tossing about on the still angrv billows. There was nothing visible but the mighty waters which surrounded them; and the fate of still falling houses warned them to escape, if possible, from this doomed spot. The billows were heaving in majesty, but the contention seemed to be past. The heavens above were clear, but still dim with the lingering night, while all around the horizon was a dense border of clouds, which looked like still threatening judg ments from the past terrible night. A boat, driven by the impetuous flood, ad vanced towards them; and Charles, with that firmness and determination of will which so often controls circumstances, was prepared for the event. He liad, before this, drawn tile bedstead to the window, and fastened one end of a long substantial rope to pile of the posts. lie then fasten ed it to himself, and as the boat came ca reering wildly by, impelled by the irregular current, though many feet below, he jump ed into it. With his strong arm, he soon brought it, by the aid of the rope, beneath the window, and hailed the ladies with a cheering voice. Confidence and trust, with a cheerful manner, inspire the same feel ing in those around us; and so it was in this instance. Mrs. Villers now displayed her firmness and ingenuity, its well as her devoted inte rest in Genevra She unloosed the rope from the bedstead, and drawing it round the post, fastened it with one end left for their use; for the boat being several feet beneath them, and dancing in the uncer tain eddies that went whirling around the building, there would have been, in jump ing, great risk of missing even the strong arms of Elliston. She made, therefore, a long loop in the end of the rope, and en couraging Genevra to step in, she was soon lowered into the arms of her brother. But now it would be more difficult to make the descent herself, and she would not consent that Charles should leave the terrified and almost fainting Genevra. So, taking the looped end, and making a slip tie around the already tightened cord attachod to the boat, she slipped down, and was safely received below. They were now freed from the danger of a falling house, but abroad on the wa ters, without rudder or helm. Charles, however, was still calm and self-possessed, and sculled the skiff with the strong arm of manhood and the skill of an experienced boatman. They would, perhaps, have still lingered around the settlement, but that one vessel, nearer than the rest, seemed to he the surest refuge, and the quickest way of getting on to their point of destination. The clouds that had lain in a dense fol I around the horizon, were now gradually spreading themselves over the face of the sky; hut before it was entirely covered, the sun for a moment shed a glaring light on the dark and foaming waters, ft was like an unconscious and ghastly smile on the face of the suffering. The air was heavy and motionless—the clouds hung lower and lower—and the waves mounted tip with their snowy summits, as if in sym pathy, to meet them. Charles looked with anxious eyes upon this still and awful scene, and made renewed exertions to reach the vessel hefore the storm. In the midst of this tcene, they saw near them an individual lashed to a floating timber, and they determined on his rescue. This they accomplished with some difficul ty, and found, to their horror and astonish ment, that it was Arthur Dupont. What Gcnevra's emotions were, may be more ea sily conceived than described. He had been the ohject of her first and her devoted love. She had looked up to him. through her imagination, as a pattern for every thing noble and perfect in this life. Why should she not still hope that, helpless and senseless as he lay by her, he would re vive to life, and be won to her side once more. Tiiese were woman’s vain imagin ings. springing from woman’s folly in con fiding in a purely selfish nature. But to the sequel. When Dupont revi ved, he recognized Genevra, and not only removed his head from her support, but re fused every manifestation of her affection. “Genevra,” he said, in a faint and hesi tating voice, “ I will die honest: I have never loved you.” And the poor girl wept, because he told hei so. He had persecuted her; he had robhed her; he had deserted her: yet, with Woman’s pvcr-hnpinp: avor-truatiag Fan,!, she had clung to a fond ideal. When received on hoard the vessel, dis mantled and mas-tless as it was, there was certainty a greater degree of safety; yet those who would have needed that con sciousness the mosl, appreciated it, at this moment, least of all. Dupont, writhing with pain and exhausted with suffering, lay helpless on the deck, his head support ed by a coil of ropa, with a cloak flung over it. His wife sat by his side, over whelmed with mental anguish. He had lost all nobleness of appeaiance, and ex cepting that his Jetty hair clustered with the same grace around his polished brow, there was nothing left of the proud and noble-looking Arthur Dupont. His coun tenance indicated his impatience at Gene vra’s presence, ami as if to crush the very sense of feeling within her heart, he said : “ When you hear what I have been, and what I have done, perhaps you will not he quite so loving, f will tell you now, my nalure needs no sympathy from yours. I have been a deceiver. I sought yon in the seminary, that I might lay the founda tion for future action. I sought you in Savannah, that 1 might perfect my plan, and realize my golden dreams. 1 always knew that you were weak; but little did 1 expect so easy a triumph.” Dupont looked at Genevra with so cold and contemptuous an expression of coun tenance, that from an appearance of in tense affection, she passed to one of indig nation. Her cheek flushed, her eye bright ened, her head, which had been bowed, was raised ; she even stood up, and point ing to the awful scene around them, said : “ The vengeanre of Heaven will over take you, Dupont, for your base decep tion.” “So Sister Madeleine “aid ; but yet I may be saved,” said Dupont. As he uttered these words, a form ap peared beside him, tall, dignified, and beau tiful, in the calm expression of her saint like eyes. Her noble brow, fair and smooth as marble, looked as if it had received the impress of the Deity. Her soft, luxuriant, dark brown hair, lay in rich folds around her classic head. His eyes were rivetted upon her face, and you could see that the strong, proud spirit was quelled. “You said that f would die,” he mutter ed. “Genevra Elliston, you will now be avenged.” “Yes, Arthur Dupont, your time has now arrived. This vessel is commanded by Antonio—that man who was with you in your wanderings—who has pandered to your crimes. According to that prophecy which you so proudly repeated to me, that 1 until a bird of the ocean lure you twice to stray, your star would be in the ascendant,’ your time is now arrived. This vessel is named the Sea-Gull.” “1 feel that it will be so,” said Dupont. Genevra Elliston, you are the first wo man I ever loved, and to you I will make confession. 1 desired wealth and political power, The first 1 secured, by robbing your niece—intending, if disappointed in my political designs, to fly the country and enjoy my affluence with one I had loved, and had wronged.” “ Angelina?” said Genevra Elliston. His only answer was a deep groan, and then he said, in a half-unconscious lone — “Oh! Antonio, would l couid hear your voice hefore I die.” Then there was a pause, in which, rose a clear, sweet young voice, sounding high up among the shrouds, and floating around like something etherial and unearthly.— Arthur Dupont's life of sin and excitement was fast drawing to a close, and now, for the first time, an expression of repose rest ed on his countenance. Genevra Elliston kneels beside him, and with Christian char ily. points him to a Saviour. The lasi words he ultered, were these : “ I will make restitution of all. My pa’ pers will shew where the money is. It is still in Georgia. Genevra Elliston, for the sake of that Saviour whom you love take care of my little Antonio.” She said, “I will;” and then he breath ed his last, amid the muttering thunders and flashing lightnings of a coming storm. In the meantime, Charles Elliston, who looked with horror upon the dying wretch, had taken his sister into the cabin, where he made use of every art to tempt hermind from dwelling tenderly upon the passing scene. He at first encouraged her indig nant feelings, believing that it would be the means of rescuing her from desponden cy and death. Then lie lold her of the identity of Mrs. Villers with Sister Made leine—of Sister Madeleine with their aunt Genevra, who had disappeared so myste riously ; so that when Miss Elliston enter ed the cabin, Genevra fell into her arms —:k ana uevoujii ui a lov ing child. Thus were the machinations of an arch fiend thwarted by an over-ruling Provi dence. Though he had flourished like a j “green bay tree,” in the temporary success |of his designs—though he had trodden beauty, intelligence and worth beneath his feet, and had triumphed in the acquisition of power—yet, his doom had overtaken him at last. Hearts which would never have been united if he had lived, were now enjoying the perfect union of souls. The violet was restored again to its natu ral soil; the bud that had been crushed well-nigh to bursting, resumed its fresh and beautiful appearance, and peace, hap piness and joy once more dwelt in the old family mansion in Maryland. criAPTFin xi. When T.ove scalters flowers around the pathway of the young, and imparts with his magic influence, happy thoughts and virtuous desires, they care little for the comments of the cold world. The finger of scorn, and the cold eye of jealousy, are unheeded ; the censorious tongue unheard, amid the harmony of their own souls. We have conducted our hero to the happiest period of his life—where his no ble mind has found an equal and a match; hut as the world of Clarksville was not ac quainted with his history, and his motives of action, let us take, for a few passing moments, a reminiscence of their “sayings and doings.” ft has been rumored in the air, that villages are famous for scandal and gossip, though we ourselves deny the charge, believing lhat the whole world is inhabited by the same kind of people, pos sessing like propensities. in a parlor in one of the hotels of Clarks ville, was collected, one bright autumnal morning, a little coterie of talkers. Among them was Miss Ormstead, a lady of very i questionable age, whom everybody knew, and whom everybody thought very enter taining in a general way. Yet Miss Orm stead was in the habit of spicing her con versations with many little etceteras, which, although they seemed very trilling at the time, always left an indelible impression,— The most striking peculiarity of it was, lhat she never made any distinct charge against any one; yet there were a thou sand insinuations made, and a no less number of blanks, lelt to be filled up by the imagination of the hearer. “ Have you heard of the interesting in cidents that happened at the Falls lately ?” said Miss Ormstead. •‘No,” said Mrs. Newell, “I have not. What are they ?” “ Why, that Charlotte C'arey, that pat tern of maidenly dignity, had quite anadven ture, with a young man lately come into the neighborhood. It seems, when the party went on to the base of the Falls, she preferred remaining alone on the flat rock —some say, no doubt with the intention of having a private interview.” “ Im]ossible,” said the sensible married lady “Miss Carey's character would scarcely allow of such an interpretation.” “ Oh! my dear madam, you are very charitable,” said Miss Ormstead, with a peculiarly ironical tone; “but you do not know what us young girls will do, when impelled by the power of the gentle god.” By the by, Miss Ormstead was neither young, nor handsome, and worst of all, was never known to have excited, at the most remote period, a tender feeling in the heart of man. “ To what gentleman do you allude ?” said a young lady sttting near. “To a man by the name of Elliston,” said Miss Ormstead. “A mechanic, I be lieve, employed by Mr. Oliver about some of liis improvements; for you know he is forever carrying on some foolery or other.” “1 expect,” said the same young lady, “he is the very man my papa met one evening walking into town, leading a poor old horse—for he asked hitn where Mr, Oliver lived.” “ Perhaps it may be, ’ said Miss Orm stead. “It seems he has been hard at work in Savannah for some time, and in Augusta. I hear he is a great factory builder.” “ 1 believe you are quite mistaken, la dies,” said another lady of the company. “ I dined at Mr. Oliver’s, with Mr. Ellis ton. He is a perfect gentleman in appear ance, and I was told, though not by one of the family, that he is very wealthy.” “ Perhaps Miss Carey had heard the same news,” said Miss Ormstead, “and thought it would be a fine speculation. At any rate, she risked a good deal to malfe it, for they say that she came near falling into the river, and by him.” “lnde.ed!” said the last lady. “But what is ones lile worth, compared to sil . v* anu gold ‘!” “Oh! but,” said Miss Ormstead, “to fall with a certainty of being saved, and then receiving a large price for the risk, would, I should say, he a good speculation. I have heard it rumored lhat Miss Carey is engaged to Mr. Elliston; and I thought it hardly possible that Mr. Carey would con sent to her marrying a poor mechanic. He must have been very successful at his trade.” This was said with a sneer and emphasis upon the last word. Miss Ormstead little thought that any one there knew that her origin was a few degtees below the tradesman; for the world had been kind to her: they had allowed her many privileges, in consideration of her many weaknesses. Just then, very apropos to the subject in question, Charlotte and Emma Carey called, accompanied by Mr. Elliston and Mr. Gef fries. Miss Carey introduced the gentle men with ease and grace, and all the time she remained, she conversed with the great est life and vivacity. Indeed, there seem ed to he anew impulse imuarted to both the sisters. Miss Carey, from being rath er haughty and reserved, was affable, and even playful—while Miss Emma, from be ing the giddiest and the gayest, had become, like magic, changed into the dignified and agreeable woman. Why should I dwell upon the manners of the gentlemen? for as we know that they have resigned their lordly selves into the hands of the fair, we also know they must have been most agreeable— at any rate, to those who lov ed, they were just what they should he. \Y hen they departed, they became again the subject of comment. Miss Ormstead said “she believed now , it was true, what she had beard about Km -1 tna Carey. Poor girl! her father was go- I ing to make her marry her cousin, because he was heir to a large fortune. She look -led so serious, she knew there must be i something preying on her mind. Besides, .-.lie was so young—so very young—only 1 fifteen her last birth-day.” 1 beg leave to inform my unsophisticated i readers, that she knew that Emma Carey was seventeen. She continued— “Any how, I hear they are to be mar ried very soon, and to go down and spend the winter in Savannah. I suppose Air. Elliston may have a jab engaged there.” Sad changes come over the spirits of out dreams sometimes; hut alas ! how crue’ it is to stop the easy flow of words, from such prolific tongues! to put a sudden check upon the enjoyment of those who delight to dwell upon the imperfections and the misfortunes of others! nay, more, to tear down, with a rude hand, that beautiful structure that we have reared in our imag inations, composed altogether of either the supposed or desired failings of those we call friends. An elderly lady, who had shewed her interest in the conversation, only by an occasional indignant glance at Miss Orm stead, now laid down her knitting for .a moment in her lap, removed her spectacle*!, and said: