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Castle and Cabin; -OR,— Lord Edwin’s Vow. A TALE OF ENGLAND AND THE GREAT WEST BY C. H. WEBSTER. CHAPTER XII. THE DEPARTURE. Next morning, early in the gray twilight of the autumn dawn, % anee Tarbell, the young fur- dealer from the distant settlement, was astir to complete his bargains with the Pawnees ere he took up his departure for his home again. For the past three yrer.rs he had traded with the Indians in the intervals of his farm labor; and it was on one ol these excusions he had been absent in the preceding May, when David Brandt had visited his cabin with his love con fession for his pretty young sister Johanna. And lately, Vance had found these trading trips very profitable; hence he gladly continued in them, hailing with joy the wealth that should enable him to surround sweet Lucy Brandt, when she redeemed her plighted, troth, with the luxuries which it would delight him to lay at her feet. At this last trip he had purchased a larger quantity of furs than usual; and his train of pack-horses now stood heavily laden in the early morning, and l.is preparations tor departure were nearly made. His route homeward was to lie in a south easterly direction, tarrying a day at a trading post, where he disposed of his furs to the government agents; then he would take up his way to his own settlement again. On the preceding evening Sir Hugh Raleigh had informed him ot his determination to accept, for himself and cousins, his cordially given in vitation to visit the settlement with him, and Vance now awaited, in the gray morning, the appearance of the Fnglishmen from their tent. A parting walk bad been taken yesterday by Lord Edwin and the beautifnl Wind-Flower during the short period that elapsed between his decision to leave the Pawnee village and the early afternoon twilight, in which the youth had spoken of his departure on the morrow; but true to his promise, he had uttered no vows, although he took especial pleasure in dwelling on the fact that he should return again with the following spring time. But his firmness was sorely shaken by the un affected sorrow which the artless forest girl knew not how to conceal, although all the warm impulses ©f youth cried out against leaving her thus without a word of what was surging through his heart. It was a hard test; bHt his word was passed, and so he only held Wind- Flower’s little brown hand for a moment, and said calmly: ‘Adieu, Y/ind-Flower. In the spring I shall visit the Pawnee village again.’ And the dark eyed girl bent her steps, in the sad pride of disappointed expectation (for what had all their past betokened but that he loved her?) back to her wigwam; and the young Eng lishman went to his own lodge to make prepara tions for his departure. Now, in the gray of the morning, Vance Tar bell stood awaiting the appearance of his com panions for the journey. Eagle Plume with his braves, bad superintend ed the lading of the last pack-horse; breakfast features, and with the true barbfr^love* 1 ^ splendor in her ornaments, came out from f wigwam and approached him r0m a tow; do you do this A few minutes later the fur-dealer and his companions were riding away from the Pawnee village; while Wind-Flower sat disconsolate and lonely in her wigwam. CHAPTER XIII. A SORROWING MOTHER. The sesaon in London was at its height; and, among the titled queens of beauty, none at tracted more homage than the Lady Amelia Sutherland. But, although she had come up to the metrop olis to enjoy its winter gaieties under the chap- eronage of her aunt, the Duchess of Argyle, and entered with the zest of but twenty summers into the enjoyments of society, yet her young heart was ever faithful to her absent lover. Admirers in crowds there were, who offered their homage, but went away disappointed when they pressed a warmer affection; and many young lady rivals in society vowed ‘ ’twas the strangest thing they ever knew—Sir Hugh to remain so long in those foreign wilds, leaving his lady-love to flirt so shamefully with their lovers!' But the lovely Lady Amelia, secure in her own high-minded course, calmly pursued her ‘We are about the same age; perhaps Hortense may be even a trifle younger than I—not mow than forty. She was married young, and we did not meet for many years. Her trouble has not aged her sweet face, except for the sadness it has thrown over it; but I saw threads of silver in her abundant hair. I don’t think she will ever get over her great grief.. If it was a buried sor row, she might have rallied from it; but her daughter did not die—she was stolen. I never knew of it before.' ‘Stolen, Aunt Harriet ?’^echoed Lady Amelia. ‘How? Do tell me!’ •Yes, my dear; and I mention it to you that you may not unintentionally wound her feelings while she is our guest. It is a strange, sad story, and Madam does not speak of it often; but I had a portion of it from her lips to-night. They were in America—the marquis and his wife- traveling there for a few years, I think, and their little Hortense suddenly disappeared from their apartments when only six months old; and no tidings were ever gleaned of her fate. Immense rewards were offered, and the officers of the law employed for years; but all re mained buried in profound mystery; and at length they were forced to give her up*Bs dead. Do you wonder that the poor mother never smiled again, and drags herself so restlessly ‘Oh, it is sad indeed? Poor Madame De Tre maine ! I will do all I can to cheer her lonely heart while she remains with us,’ said Lady Amelia, pityingly. ^ TO BE CONTINUED. Waiting for the Dawn. BY IRENE INGE COLLINS. even way, neither inviting their homage nor dis-1 aroun(J the world—bereft of home, husband, dainfully declining the many honest friendships an d child?’ she secured in the society into which her annt introduced her; and, meanwhile, she eagerly awaited such times as her faithful Sir Hugh should return from his wanderings with his young relative. The true reason which took the traveller to America had not been imparted to any person; only to Lady Amelia did Sir Hugh say that this journey was absolutely necessary to his young cousin’s health and happiness; and the youth’s pale face and altered mien, since the death of his father, was considered a sufficient reason for the trip which would divert his sorrow by change of scene. It was a brilliant morning of early January; and in the elegant mansion of Grosvenor Square which the Duchess of Argyle had made her win ter residence, the two ladies sat in the duchess’ boudoir, the Lady Amelia with an open letter in her fair, jewelled hand. ‘Now, my dear, go on with your reading,’ said the duchess, for they had been momentarily in terrupted by the appearance of a servant with some message. ‘ What more does Sir Hugh wr te respecting young Lord Edwin’s accident? How shocking it was—and what a wild, venture some life they are leading ! But he says he is convalescing at the time of writing ?’ ‘Yes, annt; the wound was fast healing, and, indeed, Edwin had fully recovered from a fever caused by the attendant inflamation; but Hugh mentions that the susceptible youth has fallen victim to more dangerous shafts than buffalo- horns, viz: Cupid’s arrows, flung from the bright eyes of a prettv young Indian girl who has been , his nurse at the Pawnee village whither they CHAPTER XXIY. Eloise came back to a land upon which change had deeply set its foot prints. The war between the states had been begun and ended since she had sailed away that memorable morning. Death and desolation had brooded over the South; many of Eloise’ friends were dead upon the battle field—among them one whose true heart had beat so warmly for her in that vanish ed long-ago. Sydney Farnam— the brave, the tender, the true had fallen in the cruel battle of Sharpsburg, while charging at the head of his command. The terrible news had been convey ed to his stricken home by a letter from Fred Denman—a letter full of deepest sympathy and telling plainly how the writer mourned the loss of his friend. He gave all the particulars of the gallant young officer’s death,knowing that such details would be dear to the hearts that cherished the noble son and tender, thoughtful brother. As he wrote the lines telling her favorite broth er was no more, Fred’s heart bled to think of the pain he was inflicting upon Carrie—Carrie bore him. Isn’t it romantic, aunt? And this j w i 10 * m he s till loved, though the estrangement Indian maid bears the poetical name of Wind- between them still existed; the gulf that pride Flower. Quite a charming episode in their for-) anc j misapprehension had dug, had never been est life !’ said Lady Amelia. | c j oae( j though across it two hearts were silent- ‘Absurd in the extreme. In very bad taste, I j v vearn i D g. think,’replied the aristocratic lady. ‘But I trust | ■" y ain Farnam and Bertram had gone through But I trust that Sir Hugh will restrain his young relative ! the w^r"with honor. from committing any imprudence; for Lord Ed win is very young and impulsive, and his boy ish freaks might might be carried too far. I wish they would return to England.’ ‘Why, aunt, you don’t suppose Lord Edwin would engage himself to any one out of Eng land,’ said the Lady Amelia; who, in her own exclusive sphere, could not conceive of such an Anna was still unmarried. .'?ri“' 6r .o“ d 5; b ™i lin , e th « •Ppattaoce'of I P*int thi, likene* lite'.iS‘“„naT' *° the girl. yoa have C0 me‘ t oVee SuiT SoifS >««v, .ad yon will • •les—Pawnees all miss Inclose W ^ miss ’em more than other,’ said the eiri li pretty affectation of impartingV valnabl© nf h & of news. ‘Tall, slender youL Tnll* v PI6Ce spend much time courtin’ handsome P ™ S£ weep “*■ ““p-“S painting his face a’niTTr 8 “A 1688 of skins . Wind-Flower. But really {W 7 . “ arryiD 8 win has exquisite tLffo c 1 d tblnk Lord Ed - which Hugh ba amnln V S6e ’, f th , i8i8 her face, Ula but he on this bit of cardS h T eIf by Etching * as harbored by ,nfi goddess of the western wilds. - - me - one is a genu- I mean to Charles Ennis had not gone into the army. Al though he acknowledged allegiance to the old flag he had found it. impossible to reconcile his patriotism with his regard for the Southern friends who had been so kind to him and his love for the Southern &rl who still had his heart in her keeping thoughjne had not heard from ,'her in so lone. He her know- .Phoney Lad been',^ and he had now given her ? w , for her > ever-eitherdead-or—worse TheTif° for ‘ he could hardly allow to rest’forV- 44 ‘ hougLt his mind, but he hadbecome consdous^tw 7 was harbored by many, and he felt . that 1(: shame of the stain upon his ‘Ah such i! I never dreamed that you h»,l a grand passion before; but I oLn’t f°ethFt you have begun to loook 1 ike a shadowyet Utit Xono,’ said Tarbell gravely affantin„ J*’ ^ e stand that he supposed herself to h« 8 fh° U1 ? der ' of the girl’s information ‘If w® thes - ub J 80t die of a broken heart \ono von n g0ln g to word when you begin, for I shouldin® 1 ** 1 me ing such a curiosity.’ en Joy see- zit SUrj^ss ** son lips, and replied: gd ber fn 1 cnni ‘ •White fur-trader pretend to be dull fool- w he know all the time, that \ro„o “ uu . 1001 ’ but about when he" comes“horne^’ amW 5 ^ J * in pressed with this whim-for’theLadr/ T' was something of an jmaiJ. ,? Lady Amelia away her leisure in her eleganUittle i W J- aed she carefully lai.i aura*. n , gaDt Bttle studio— gold ini• i ,“ ‘t‘ ftrss s « b r ef ^ °°'«- ss? & SK amssjs ' Lad y Amelia, upon self near her aunt.Vho"‘w^— 119 ' f ° UDd W peers of the realm • and the f . ,? blg best tion with a lady of middlo years, of eLTuTpr"! ence and rare beauty, but with such*?settled ouame oi tne stain upon his ily name. Perhaps this w , „ d pr ° Ud !am ‘ and causing her cruel silence fencing Auna udice of her fathe™ gains?^those ^ pre J' deadly enemies to h?m and his D I n °,e h f d b / 6n years, operated against his (Chlriesft f ° r f ° Ur perhaps Anna herself no longer hopes,and log for the f *,f days when no chasm r>f w eased to I°^e in the lo/edo„el,yVe^er.h™" d ' °° gt " 6 “ “»« go; he could no‘XMT 1 -. U ~ in his state of restless bL™.. busmes « he finished, turning ronnd upon his auditors and pinching the cheek of his wife, who was say ing: ‘For shame, Sam, see how you are making Carrie blush.’ ‘Not I,’ returned Carrie. ‘The cream of the joke does’nt turn upon me, though the knight drank my cream. He had come to see another maid beside my humble self.’ and she looked at •Fair sister, is it so ?’ asked mischievous Sam. ‘The rider was the dark-browed knight of mys tery—Bertram by name. I thought he would no more do his tourneying upon these prem ises; that he had been warned away by a fair ladie’s frowning brow,’ then more seriously, ‘Anna, you once gave Bertram to understand that his society was not acceptable. Do you like him better.’ ‘She colored deeply, but answered promptly: ‘No, I do not.’ •Sam looked at her keenly a moment, then he hummed carelessly: ‘My heart’s in the Northland, my heart is not here My heart’s in the Northland a-hunting the deer.’ Again Anna’s face was suffused with color. ‘Carrie,’ said Sam, ‘what became of young En nis, Eioise’s brother? have you heard anything of him since the surrender ?’ ‘No,’ said Carrie, ‘not a word,’ and she glanced warningly at Anna. ‘It is strange,’ Sam said, not noticing her look. ‘I thought he would have let us hear from him. I hope he was not killed; he was a fine fellow, manly and honorable; didn’t you think so Car rie ?’ ‘I did indeed, and lather and mother thought the same. I wonder why we have not heard from him, and if he ever traced Eloise.’ It was this latter remark that Charles heard as he stood a moment on the piazza before enter- ing. ‘Is it possible that she has never received any of my letters,’ he thought as he turned the bell handle. Sam answered tho summons. The light of the hall lamp fell upon the face of Charles, and Sam uttered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure. ‘Charles! Charles Ennis, is it possible?’ he cried. ‘Old fellow, I am heartily glad to see you alive and with us once more.’ They clasped hands long and cordially. Charles said: ‘Sam, I never wanted to see faces as I did your family’s. How are all ?’ ‘All are here; come in and see how they are. Ah ! here they come; they have recognized your voice.’ Mr. and Mrs. Farnam and Carrie came at once to the door, and gave Charles a welcome whose friendliness astonished and gratified him be yond power of expression. Tears filled his handsome eyes as he held their kind hands. He had feared they would regard him with cold ness, perhaps repulse him altogether, because of the terrible disrupture of friendly relations caused by the war. After he had spoken to them he still looked around; he was looking for Anna. ‘Come in,’ Carrie said understanding his look. He turned to the sitting-room. In the door, leaning against the frame, stood Anna. She was pale as death, and as he took her hand, it trembled like a frightened bird. He caught both hands and pressed them in his. He did not speak; the emotion of both were too deep for words. Carrie, sympathising with all her warm heart, passed her arm around her sister’s waist and led her to a seat on the divan. Charles sat down beside her and gradually the color came into her cheeks and her eyes turned to her lovers’ eloquent with love and trust. The hours passed unheeded while they talked. Many questions were asked and answered. The war’s changes and trials were discussed; poor ixuiu tuoua^ed the tribute of tears and broken while hers tnhlm'ha.dneve' 1 ' n6 Y e '*^* e e sieved; i IlfetJtieJfigro’s death on the field of battle, and tination. He made no seer [o^htf r des! ' 1 t0 U * 6 th0m 1D C ° n ' and his joy at seeing hex lelin lT? 0lADaa that she was and knowing wronged her, he shall suffer for it with his life.’ His face grew so dark that Anna, looking at him, shuddered and changed color. •Remember,’ she said low, ‘that your life is not yours alone now. It belongs to me. Clasping her to him, he thanked her for the sweet assurance. . , ‘Charles,’ she said presently, ‘I know how you loved your sister, and how very dear she was to my brother Sydney. Her name was the last on his lips, In the midst of the pain of death he thought of tne woman he had loved and mourn ed for so long. It seems that he would rejoice if I tried to fill the place left vacant in your heart bv her loss. And if we ever find her we will ad mit her to both our hearts. If she is sad and unfortunate, we will cheer and sustain her. Never would I have you desert her.’ *My own noble love,’ Charles returned, look ing fondly into her face. ‘Anna, I never knew vour worth before. Forgive me darling, but you looked so ‘coldly sweet, so proudly fair I bad a trembling fear that my fair statue should lack a warm heart. I did you great injustice dearest.’ ,, - ‘No, you did not; it is your own warmth and earnestness that has warmed the statue.’ Charles remained several days at Oak.anct. it was a time of sweetest rest and happiness to him. This warm-hearted, frank and hospitable family formed a retreshing contrast to the society he met in his city home, and then’what a pleasure to stroll through the green shrubbery and along the winding walks that intersected Oakland s ample grounds. Before he went away it was decided that they should he married in six months. Charles plead for an earlier marriage, but Anna gently reminded him that her parents were now quite old,that Carrie s health was deli cate, and that the sudden change the abolition of slavery had brought about, the necessity of such work and such anxiety and exertion as her parents had never been accustomed to, would not permit her to leave them yet. She must stay awhile to cheer them and to help them, for since their misfortunes, and especially since the death of Sid, their hope and pride, they had been gloomy and despondent. ‘But you must promise to write often, Anna, I can stand no more gaps of dreary silence. _ ^ ‘Three times a week, and Sunday tor a rarity, she answered, laughing- as they talked together in the pretty summer-house the evening before he went away. TO BE CONTINUED. A Tender Poetic Tribute, (See Illustration of ‘The Hero Brothers.) There are few readers of newspapers, either at the North or the South, whose hearts have not been softened and whose eyes have not been moistened by the reading ot that touchingly beautiful poem (so frequently re-publisued even now by the press generally,) entitled ‘Somebody s Darling,’ written by Miss Marie La Coste, a sifted and accomplished young lady of Savan nah, and first published in 'The Southern Church man.' Nations may learn to war no more, and soldiers may beat their swords into pruning hooks, in the ‘good time coming, but the tender pathos and simple beauty of this exquis- itly drawn pen picture, will keep it alive in lo\- ing hearts until ‘all things earthly shall pass away’ into eternal oblivion. The talented authoress of this poetic gem was a welcome visitor to the once happy and un broken home-circle in which the ‘Hero Brothers formed such an attractive feature. Rumor has suggested that the poem was called forth by the death of Capt. Joseph Clay Habersham, although it admits and indicates a more general applica tion. Be this as it may, the following extracts from several verses are quite appropriate to that that she was unmarried and still He gave Mr. Farnam a brief acconnt nf k~* ness and of his family His sZV w h t - S busi ' s&Wftffi.'r :r " ra Somebody Wearing or- with happiness ov« rhTreikffiTW^lJ^V 111 * so long mvided bv these two was thoughtful a nd Si? &nd dan « er ’ «ke that all should retire Jt D , 10as ’ f nou g b to arrange two iovers together Thin leave tbe other and tfeir conversatio^ 7 Sdt near eaob the lingering light of his boytaoSfo^race Somebody's darUn'° n ° f en thread; race— is still and dead. Somebody cl ; forehead lay, ■ to his parting hand. , . gether at thepensionnat inl^ris^ndToife I** t0 iT I hxssssl my old friend Hortense Marckmont M.d" la Marquise De Tremaine. We " me ‘I feel the need of yourYov<f ITet said. I think too I can n V t more tban eTer , ’ he a ;jR7 e 41“?/ •« sparing him to ” a whornhe , ®“ t:10 aDd Joveable old lady, oiu b* knar. „s mother, bade him good-by^ each : affectionate grow pale; you mix Pawnee "blood wTth ITn f U ces and it fade out: an Indian oirlTnlu P fa ' people too well. She mean wfnd-Flnl«f ° Wn when the young white brnvn’a f » • °? Fer pme in a?, lodges of on^tribe/ 001 “ 1 “' 1 “» v »«•««» SGddrt.’gS.’.TaV"*"’ f “ be ' aum '“ ‘Cer ainement —an da little for her own .’said the them saw herliTv^ v“ v , e seea her - man was positive he saw her leave ° rk ’ aDd 0ne bound for Lurope These f n a stea mer to have had t£?r riS P f h T s claimed period, while I was g absent from V &t v be Sarue is strange the detective did n t W lork - It pale-faced, sweet, sad-voiced French^ laV w Sald . took Lady Arnold, proffered han f L“ Sl,e "8 to •» jnnr annt to-morron;and me look on your younp hrirrbt r, A u w don't lowSiV £and, y „r e ‘y'"' fl'j'on I ?r«ye the sight of yonth .nd"“igh, e j "’'hMgh you are an Indian and opposed7o T’ because 1 a , m . d ® nied the sight of them ’ • gb but here’s this handsome ^ml t ° amalga f l a t 1 °n; ry quintessence of Pawnee 6 "o the , Ve ‘ of your chief, who d« 8 K L daughte r by this ?’ asked TarbeH ” “ 4 d you mean cess and safety. ~ P ra - Vef « tor his sue- j !t not for the testimony 1 of these persons I d ° Wn SoutWd was a constant I ^Vl^LtlorirmistSf' -f Slatfntsl B rT 3 o 6 { r 7a7 be Th°e I aad of my sK nnworthy oT^/Sly fc'HHUV* honaes’ to.?.* Lor guilty.^Bat^oh’ An^Ja’^'’ 1 wiU t0 hi ‘ leaves are gone, AI ^mhest glories dead : Hive bri = ht tIlal1 •' na\e « 11H their partin'*- The noble heart that treasured life- Win. ~ '"“t- treasure If,,/. 1 . 1 ! % oice of truest glee— had e nm ena ' S , th ; ltd ^th had not singled thee. might claim. and towns, ana gen He reached evffieitly^adiotmSnUo 1141 ^7 ba ° k ’ She and now endeavored tn ,.° sa y.what she had, smiling it away Then T, 1 18 memor y step forward, in half resn! SUddei ?i y sbe took a to Vance's ear the o n Sion ^ whis P«ed in- peopS? “ a2 k66p a secr&i ' 1 ’ You no tell your ^though, alas! I haVe no ES I ^ = sadly. " ■ now - ‘I am sure that I shall regard you verv dearie madam, if you are the cherished friend r i J ’ hear d aunt Harriet so often mention, ’ replied^he Lady Amelia, with sweet, girlish grace Is . ‘Of course! k now how to be silent. What Moganna/ D ° b ° dy kD0WS ‘ U the old squaw, ‘Your mother?’ nodded Yance gtnn e .‘C r e™„Tg“ S ‘ h S j** *** Mo- though the time comes whe^hV kD ° W J 6t ~ opened.’ flen bls car will be ‘Well, mine is already Wn. u your precious secret, for ?°e e V,° ? r ° I }- i ? to U a-e coming, and I mr-t h, ^ . tbe En ghshmc-n impatiently. Ust Dfe off * nodded Vance, and her tongue had*b ? egun?o ° ff tip J° ed hearer, the words: gUQ to utter her secret in ‘Moganna knows; she savs Win a t?i But just then, piercing the air '° f d J Flo , w ? r 18 ~’ Ca VNono!Nono! ?fthe ° ld Squaw ' "uZgblfify: of thni, wigwam; then ah.K^“ “• <>»* ‘Well, keep your secret till I come agaffi tie Nono, sang out Yance Tarbell JI? m Q ht * to his horses, while the girl wm Y ? back obey the bidding of her dusky “othw^ 111118 40 £«. tt:5;Br.r5s s case's i 10 ” 811 ™ i ssaffiisK-t■: i s I 8 °" 0 ^ ln ,g ““M for her whole life was dark- i 1 ■ il J. br : r eari y married years by the loss of a ° V6dy ., h tle . d »hghter. Since then she has raL! SftS^ferS^atoto^pK, - r - the waste lands, torn fo" jt-«» amihar fa^ Sidney’s old office was unoccu- L.J.m„ b y ' d d “ a s ; r .“"" e ‘ 1 ' Eer f*mily Came were alive and well. H e - A “naand , son , efI .-:„„ veyanee and was soon approa; among nf„ ed k t i‘ r 8 “ 0 , a , est l!!* 18 Lome, half Lid - >. a.aen up the avenue, he saw _ not believe this stigma of her flighTwould fassen^ 611 afraid ingness to bear the name of Ennis • Wl11 ' ‘Never.’ Anno We parted in the winter time Wonff^SL.ljeejmmerLavM W^ dreamed that those ofs’primr Or that t'h OV0U , f ° r pull7 PnU = I stand ^^llyetbe^ivTdTa^ChS I*1 r ght that Eugene Bertram holds the keyfo tLttys! l A ° n ; a ’, do yon be lmve this? Tell Oh ! I have tried hard tn tV n* no evidence ’ pp.d»wn“i t e‘*tL’bn” t 1 Ih,‘ r; ' leaTO » »» he knew all about Eloise’’ ? ways hdieved things caused this belief Jj gh , ' Many little This is the reason I ° d s f r6ng thened it. tions, I hoped inf* h permuted his atten- momenf tn in some unguarded or confidenfioi And mut'clv“7'!.p dmi , rt b; TheSenV' U HangfnVS^^ daad cap, lThy t7«urc b o7 the y wah£ S ° ncemar The sun’hufeeased 'u'fpAv haU = eJ - An d yet I would n T To cull Fame’s sli fi ue souls like ked, lot c;: i short li fhe back ed - flowers— moment t'o iHduoe"himT«T* U j aor coalide oti a l that would be of use l ° let ^ rop S0UJ8 wor d ter. But I have been J0U W fiadiDg your sis ' nave been unsuccessful. He has sad world of oursT But still these hum And th: ' As blind! been always suspicions ? have had my" Andthrp^.r- a be^^ aclle Our ■gutar. A. tiiroueh tb« oner, “ vou «e, ne saw inside Sam and famiIy groap £«,*%' Ler dM.lTaonTe.Yh 4 ooirp” “l° ?““““l orfiaM °^ ten t ba ^t she goes into society, and I was lF 0 *’ 8, Carrie and Anna Yes-\h U ‘’“‘’Facions confirmed bv Utn — • “““ “y braime ot ner sorrows. I have invir„,i I ““®Joke had been bxoafhed « thought they sawS and “J I P~nokced of a “ anthem! ^ emesis, _ i , —• I bay© invited lier tn make her home with us; and when I return to JfEP’V 8ba11 insi8ton ber accompanying an f . pass tbe spring and summer. In must be so sail, my dear, to have no hearthstone or kin- d lu d ter 7 Dd w bich;our hearts’ best affections may ‘Sad indeed, Aunt Harriet,’ replied the Lartv ' and ^ am d ®t* g hted that you have invit ed Madame to make one of our household for' h 7, r ‘J’“'f* a toward her themome'at l w«id5bi2aS.| by tbe mirth-ro7ing C Sam!Tffike n th!t n ♦S atri ! upon her having acted that , tar ued Sft re S Sa“‘f ^ ftr- KSJftafrsfftxa: also tliffwA ~ "mise in New loi in<* fearfrl -n f £6pt ? way from ever y Eiois - -1-f' aD ^i aDxl0US * and l took in the horrors" which V |, '' dy * P art he “o.“ffi?' 1 Bh0 “« “ »« w si:zn would censure her? She might have kno“n I third generation,_«d prophesieTa^dealh of°dis! grace to all his race. Twentv “““w a«3aSS®S»I^Sa&^Si^