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82 Mitten, you have had a full display of all the crockery, china, and silver, that your mother possessed from the year 1773, to the year 1787, when the whole disappeared with sister Jane, upon her marriage.” “You surely mistake some things, brother, said Mrs. Mitten, smiling, “and, therefore, it is quite likely you mistake the amount and kind of mother’s table-ware. Mother never let us saun ter about the table when she was fixing for com pany. She never sent you in your coarse cloth ing to call American officers to breakfast—— ’ “Just stop there a moment, sister, and I'll ex plain matters to your entire satisfaction.— When mother invited me over to uncle’s for the evening, she invited me home again at day break the next morning. I accepted the invitation, and was prompt to the time, knowing that ladies always get in a pucker when fixing for company, especially for ‘ the Quality ;’ and that it would have been very undutiful in me to add a scruple’s weight to mother’s disturbance of mind upon such occasions. I know I should have reflected upon it with pain, as soou as the company re tired. ‘Go,’ said mother, on meeting me, ‘to the spring, and fetch a keeler of water, and take it up in the loft, and wash and dress your self; and come down to my room ; you will find your clean clothes on the bag of dried apples.’ I did as I was bidden, and came down in my Sunday suit, and walked into mother’s room.— She ran her eyes over me, pulled up my breeches, pulled down my jacket, spread out my shirt collar, looked for dirt on my neck and behind my ears, didn’t find any, clasped my shoes a little tighter, comlied my head, powdored it, and bade me take my seat in the dining room. All this was done, doubtless, that I might have it to say, in after times, that I had seen General Greene, Colonel Washington, and Colonel Wil liams ; that they had supped, and slept, and breakfasted, at my father’s house; and (per chance,) that I had actually spoken to them, and been spoken to by them. It may be, too, that the good lady, finding me getting a little boor ish, was disposed to give me some knowledge of nice entertainments and genteel society. If my improvement was her object—if she design inspire me with military order, she missed it.— When the officers first took their seats at the table, I was deeply interested in their looks and con versation ; but when I saw all the luxuries of the table going under their voracious appetites with a perfect rush, alarm entirely suffocated ad miration. The vanishing ham, 1 didn't care so much about; but as piece after piece of chicken disappeared, and egg after egg, and biscuit after biscuit, till all were gone but two chicken necks, one hard egg, two slices of ham and three quarters of the loaf of bread, I became perfectly furious, and a Tory outright; and I said to myself, “ if these are the sort of fellows who are fighting for our liberties, I wish that Cornwallis and Tarle ton (they talked mostly of them,) would catch and hang every rascal of them. “The same breakfast-set was paraded again, near the same time, when Colonel Lee supped with us, and never again until Jane’s marriage. “And now, sister, raised as we have been, where did you get your refinement in love and maternal indulgence from ?” “In your zeal to display all mother’s crockery, you put one plate too many on the table, bro ther.” ■ “No, I didn't; Uncle John was expected to breakfast, and prevented from coming by a shaking ague that very morning. Mrs. Mitten had her tears turned to smiles, at least by the Captain’s account of “the old folks at home," and this was more than he ligped for, after reading William's letter. He begged his sister to give William no encouragement to hope for a removal from Waddel's, promised to write to him himself, and left her. [to be continued.] — From a Late London Paper. BIBLE PRINTING MONOPOLY IN ENGLAND. On Monday next, Mr. Baines, M. I’., is to ask the Home Secretary, “Whether it is the intention of her Majesty’s Government, on the expiration of the patent of the Queen’s printer for England and Wales on the 21st of January, 1860, to propose the renewal of that patent, so far as it relates to the printing of Bibles and Testaments, or any restric tion on the free printing of the Holy Scriptures.” In these days of free trade, most people will be surprised to learn that the printing firm of Eyre ana Spotiswoodc, and the universities of Oxford and Cambridge, ui e the only persons and bodies who may print Bibles in England. The patent was granted in the reigq of George IV., and is very stringent, for, that nothing whatsoever may be done, “ whereby the profits which may accrue ” to the patentees may be diminished; it forbids “all and singuar the subjects of us, our heirs and suc cessors, whatsoever and wheresoever abiding, and all others whatsoever,” to print “any Bible or New Testaments in the English tongue, or any transla tion, with notes or without notes,” or “to import, or cause to be imported, sell, or cause to be sold, any books, volumes, or works whatsoever in the English tongue, or in the English tongue mixed with any other tongue whatsoever—the right of printing which is vested in the patentees—under the penalties and forfeitures bv the laws and stat utes of this realm in that behalf made and provid ed.” So that not only any one who may reprint the existing edition, but any one publishing a new translation, or a commentary, or a polyglot, is at the mercy of the patentees, who may at once drag him into the Court of Chancery for ihe offence. It is an important fact that the same restriction formerly existed both in Ireland and Scotland, but that it has now been abolished in those coun tries. In Ireland, in 1794, the patentee applied to the Irish Court of Chancery to restrain a printer (rom publishing an edition of the Scriptures; but Lord Chancellor Clare declared that “he could not conceive that the king bad any prerogative to grant a monopoly as to Bibles for the instruc tion of mankind in revealed religion;” and from that day the Irish patent became a nullity. In Scotland, a lady and gentleman held the pa tent, but in 1837 a committee of the House of Com mons recommended that the patent should not be renewed, and that “the people of Scotland should have the advantage of the competition which the free introduction of Bibles and Testaments” from England will afford. The result of the non renewal of the patent was most decisive—not only in the lowering of Bibles in Scotland, but in England also, so that the prices of Spottiswoode’s lists, which in November, 1840, amounted to twenty pounds, one shilling, six pence, had fallen in Feb ruary, 1841, to nine pounds, fourteen shillings, five pence, or about one-half. The impression that the existence of the monopo ly secures correctness iserroneour, in as much as the patentees are under no obligation to print cor rectly, while they are secured against competition. In fact, some of the “authorised” editions have con tained many, and some curious, blunders. One old edition omitted the word “not” in the seventh commandment; another called the parable of the vineyard the “parable of the vinegar,” and so was known as the “vinegar edition.” It was also stat ed before the House of Commons committee that twelve thousand errors bad been found in one edi tion alone! It will rest on the patentees to show why they should continue to enjoy so extraordinary and in defensible a monoply, and all who would advocate any restrictions on Bible printing to prove why the sacred Scriptures should be “protected,” as no other volume is, or needs to be. 1 111 In Austria no one can receive a license to marry unless lie is able to subscribe liis name with his own hand to the certificate. XKB 80R8SKI VXB&S JU» BMUSBXB*. JACK HOPETON AND HIS FRIENDS OS. the AUTOBIOGRAPHY of A GEORGIAN. BY Wit W. TURNER. The horseman waved his cap, and shouted. He approached nearer, and all doubt was re moved. He recognized Tom Harper, and an ex ultant huzza went up, as he galloped in among us. We grasped his hands. “Oh Tom !” were my first words, “what do you think of my deserting you ?” “Think 1” said he, “why, you came off to bring the rangers to my assistance, did you not ?” “Certainly, I did.” “Well, I think you acted very wisely.” “But I felt very mean about it. My first im pression was to ride back, and die with you, after slaying as many of the red skins as possible.” “Which would have been very Quixotic and foolish.” “I acknowledge it.” “How, in the name of common sense,” asked Captain Preston,” did you think that would mend the matter ?” “I didn’t think—at first. As soon as I did think, I changed my plan.” “Well, you did think then. But, Tom. how did you get loose from the Indians ?” “ Let’s start back, and I’ll tell you.” The order for a countermarch was given, and as we rode along, Tom first gave the Captain an account of his old adventure with Shjyley and the Indians, then of our morning’s work. “When I went to get my horse,” he continued, “and found he was gone, I tried to hide, and might have succeeded, if the cursed Indians had not sent part of their force around to cut off our retreat. As luck would have it, they were rid ing along, and saw my horse burst out from his cover. Os course, they rode in, and scattered, to find the horse’s rider. I was soon discovered; and yielded myself a prisoner.” “Without a blow ?’’ enquired I. “Certainly. What would you have had me do?” “ Why, it seems to me, when I found my case a hopeless one, I would, at least, have shown them what a desperate white man, well armed, can do.” “ You’ve got a great deal to learn, Jack, as all boys have. Had my case been desperate, I might have acted as you suggest; but this was not so, as the sequel has proven.” “ I again stand corrected.” “ Well,” resumed Tom, “I was bound, and buffeted about considerably by the younger war riors ; and then the greater part of my captors joined in the chase after you, and the darkies. They all soon gave it over as a bad job. you know, and then they returned to me, in no very good humor at your escape. I was in rather low spirits, I confess. They all gathered round in a ring to stare at me. Suddenly, one of them approached, and said ; “White man, know me ?” “His face seemed familiar, but I could not re collect where I had seen him. He continued : ‘White man friend to me once. He forget me. Ino forget him. Indian no forget friend. You keep bad white man from shootin’ me.’ ” “ Suddenly, I recollected him. He was the Indian whom I had protected when Shirley sought his life, and now I was repaid. He was in authority, and, after making a speech to his companions in his own language, he loosed my lionds. They allowed me to take Shirley’s horse, and I galloped back as fast as possible to relieve you all of apprehension on my account.” “ You were lucky,” said Captain Preston. “I think, Tom,” said I, “we had better stay close to camp during the rest of our sojourn in Indian land.” “ I ’spcct you’ll listen to me, next time,” growled old Hinks, who had ridden near enough to hear most of our conversation. CHAPTER VIII. I had my fill of adventure on the prairies. I shot the buffalo ; I learned to noose the wild horse ; I fought the Indian on more than one oc casion ; and, finally, we turned our faces home ward. Reaching the statiou from whence we had started, I there bade adieu to my friends. I rejoiced the heart of our huntsman, old llinks, by presenting him with my best horse. “Much obliged to you, for ‘Charley,’ ” said the old fellow. I never was much afraid of the In juns, and now I can be just as sassy to them as I please, for there is nothing on the prairie that can keep up with this horse.” “I am glad you are pleased with him,” said I. “Whenever he bears you out of danger, just think of me.” “I will; but when shall we see you out this way again ?” “Never, I expect.” “What 1 Why, I thought from the kindness you showed for our way of life, you’d fell in love with it” “I love it well enough ; but I must now fill another station in life. I’ve got to go to college, yet” “I wonder es you are going to college! Es you do, you’ll be spilte, by gosh!” “I hope not, Hinks.” “Yes you will. You’ve got the right sort of grit to make a man, but college lamin’ will spile you. See es it don’t.” “Well, when I get through my course, I be lieve I’ll come back, just to show I am not spiUe.'' “ ’Taint worth while. But I needn’t skeer myself. Es you go to college, you wont come back here. “ Don't go,” continued the old fel low, earnestly and entreatjngly. Don't go. I likes you, and I don’t want to see sieh a good stick spilte." “Hinks,” here interposed Tom Harper, “do you think a man can’t be colleye lurnt, and a good woodsman besides ?” “That’s jest what I think." “You are mistaken, then.” “No, sir ; I’ve been hunting a long while, and I’ve seen these college-bred chaps come out here many a time to hunt, but they were just as ten der and no count as a raw ’tater.” “What do you think of me, as a hunter, Hinks ?” “You? You’ll do. Es Mr. Jack Ilopeton here, would jest foller your example, he’d be a man.” “What do you think of Captain Preston ?” “He is the right sort, es ever there was one.” “Well, now open your ears. We are both ‘college bred.’ ” “Is that a fact?” asked Hiuks, after a pause of the utmost astonishment. “It is afjet” “Well!” again said the old huntsman, draw ing a long breath, “that’s the reason you missed that Ingun ’tother day.” “And what made you miss the deer?” “Dura the deerl I didn’t miss ’em. My cursed gun wouldn’t shoot. But yours did, and you missed; and let this youngster beat you.— Let him go to college, though, an’ come back, if you want to see him miss deer, an’ Inguns, too.” “Never mind, you incorrigible old scamp, when we start out again, I intend to follow you, just to shoot down aU the game you start." “Es you ken. I used to think you was able to do it, but sence I hear you are college-lffrnt, I think I can shoot better against you. But I've got to go.” Hinks came forward, and grasped my hand, as in a vice: “Good-bye,” he said, “I hope you’ll change your notion ’bout goin’ to college, yet; but any how, es ever you come out this way agin, re collect old Hinks is ready to do any thing he can for you.” “Even if I come from College ?” “Yes”—was the reply, after a moment’s hesi tation. “Good-bye, then.” I regretted parting with Tom Harper and Cap tain Preston, exceedingly, and urged both to visit me, if ever they felt disposed to wander to’old Georgia. “You will never see me there,” answered the Captain. “I would like much to visit you, Jack; but my lot is cast out here. Tom there, how ever, is a perfect cosmopolite, and he had just as well go to Georgia occasionally as not.” “It is by no means improbable that you will receive a visit from me,” said Tom. “Do come, then. I think I can show you some people—numbers of so-called ‘society’— who are possessed of the article called a heart.” “Perhaps,” answered my friend, with a sad smile. “But, Jack, I have never told you that I am a native of Georgia?” “No.” “Well, I was l-om within forty miles of your county town.” “Pish! hush! I thought so noble a fellow must be a Georgian." “I can’t help feeling an affection for the State,” was the answer, as a melancholly expression stole over my friend's countenance, and his fine eye assumed a dreaming, musing expression; “for the bones of my fore-fathers sleep there, together with those of my brothers and sisters. Ah! ‘They softly lie ami sweetly sleep Low in the ground,' while I am tossed on life’s stormy ocean. ‘Life is a sei how fair its face. How smooth its dimpling waters pace— Its canopy how pure ; But rocks rielow, and tempests sleep. Insidious o'er the glassy deep, Nor leave an hour secure.’ “Oh! it is a hard, unsatisfactory thing—this we call human existence. But •There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found; They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low In the ground.’ ” Tom was completely lost in a reverie. I had seen him gay, dashing, impetuous, and I had witnessed the overflowing of bitterness from his heart; but now, I saw him in still another light, and I almost loved him for this new feature in his character. A pensiveness almost holy seemed to envelop him with its influence, as he con tinued : “Yes, Jack, the place where I was born, and where sleep three- generations of my ancestors, is still my property. Though the ungrateful ness and want of toleration on the part of my father’s old friends caused me to shake off the very dust of my feet against them, my reverence for the memory of my parents, and my family pride, would not allow me to sell their graves. But I have not visited the spot for years. The house stands, no doubt, for it was of solid struc ture, and calculated to resist the attacks of time for a long series of years; yet, the lands are un cultivated, and, what is worse, the grave-yard must be over-run with weeds and briars, and the tombstones covered with moss.” “It is strange. No doubt it seems to you shameful,” he continued, “that I have not at least had an agent to keep the grave-yard in or der ; but I wanted tiie sacred spot preserved un profaned by strange hands; and, although I have not seen it with my material eye for a great while, many are the mental pilgrimages I make to it, as the Mecca more holy than any other on earth.” “ I trust, then,” said I, “ that now you are ready to go back; and I even indulge the hope that you may once more reside in your native State.” “It is not impossible, though hardly proba ble. Georgia is a noble State, in some respects; but, oh 1 there are so many things in which her children are wrong.” “ Come back, then, and try to alter this state of things.” “And to do it—to have any influence or weight, I should be compelled to enter into politics. No, my friend—the very idea frightens me. If I go home, it will be to live a quiet, secluded life. ‘The times’ maybe—nay —are ‘out of joint,’but I was never ‘bom to set them right.’ That ‘cursed spite ’ is spared me.” “ But somebody must do it.” “True; yet, hear me: I would not enter into party strife, expose myself to the bitter enmity, the malignant jealousy, the meanness, the treach ery, of ‘ Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart,’ for the empire of the world.” “If you really wish,” continued he, “ to per suade me to return, don’t urge these thiDgs on me.” “I will certainly forbear. Come aud live quietly, then, with your books, and friends, and dogs, and ” —I added, slyly—“ the pretty wife you must pick up." “Ah!” was the gay reply; “you tempt mo now. Well do I remember the fair girls of your State. I have seen the beauties of Eastern Georgia, but they can’t be compared to those of our Georgia. I remember one, Jack, whom I loved. She was tall and commanding. I’ve looked on the Queens and Empresses of Europe, as well as the proudest dames of their aristocra cy, and I’ve beheld the most celebrated beauties of our own sunny South —the land of beauty— the abiding place of loveliness —but never have my eyes rested on one who looked and moved a queen as did Leonora . “I said she was tall. She was above wo man’s average height; but her form was almost perfect in its proportion. Her hair was very dark and luxuriant. Her features were as if chiselled by the hand of some more than human artist. It is rare to see so much regularity, and so much expression, united in the same face. A complexion which the most skillful painter on earth would strive in vain to transfer to canvass, and eyes of dark hazel—some would call them black—complete the picture, if we consider the description of her physique a portrait. “ But the soul which beamed from those eyes i No words ean give you an idea of it. Often have I gazed into those unfathomable depths, those well-springs of feeling, till the power to look away was taken from me, and I was per fectly fascinated and bewildered by their beauty. You think me extravagant—demented, perhaps; but no human epithet can do her justice. She was divinely beautiful—bewitcliingly lovely—bc wilderingly fascinating!” “My dear friend,” said I, “ what became of this paragon ?” “ I know not. I have never inquired; nor do I wish to discover, for I suppose she i 3 long since married. I loved Leonora, Jack —loved her with all the depth of love of which man is ca pable ; loved her with fervor wild and foolish; and yet never ‘told my love’—l mean, never said to her in words that I loved her. My eyes be trayed it, constantly. Believe me, and recollect this, for it may be 'of service to you—you can not conceal your passion from her who is its ob ject, if you indulge it as I did mine. You must crush it, smother it; but do not hope to nurse it in your heart, and at the same time conceal it, merely by refraining from speaking of it.” “ Why, I can hardly conceive, Tom, of cir cumstances which would render it necessary for me to conceal a love I wished to cherish.” “ Nevertheless, Jack, such circumstances may exist, and did, in my case; but I cannot tell you more now. I hope to see you soon, in your own house, but I can set no time.” “I start to the University of Virginia,” an swered I, “ soon after I get home, and will be in Georgia only during vacations, for the next three years. I hope, for your sake, Leonora is yet single; or, if she is married, that you may find Georgia still has other beauties.” And so Tom and I parted. I started for home, passing through Texas, on my route. At Gal veston, I found a letter from home. For a long, long time, I had been without tidings from my father and mother, and I eagerly broke the seal. I read, and staggered with emotion at the con tents of my epistle. It was from my father, and contained a summons to come immediately home, if I would see my dear mother once more alive. Only those who have been placed in my situation can conceive of my feelings. I immediately hastened to my hotel. Walk ing rapidly along, with my eyes fixed on the ground, I heard several persons approaching me in conversation, and recognized a voice. It was impossible ever to forget those cold and measured tones, and I looked up to encounter the gaze of Lorraine. He knew me at a glance ; and the old expression of cold-blooded malig nity came over his face. I was too much absorbed in grief," even to look defiance, and I passed quickly on, as he did not offer to address me. Turning an angle, I came suddenly upon two men engaged in a desperate conflict with bowie knives. No one was near ; though crowds from several quarters were has tening up, attracted by the noise of the fight. Just as I got close to the combatants, one of them bore the other against a wall, and was in flicting repeated and deadly stabs, while the victim shouted, “murder," in the most harrowing tones. For my life I could not resist the impulse to interfere; and I seized the arm which was doing the violence. As I did so, he who had shouted murder sank upon the ground. The crowd was collecting, and I saw in it the face of Lorraine, who had turned back to see the cause of the up roar. I could not bear the idea of being de tained as a witness, when my mother might be dying, and breathing my name; so I slipped into an alley, and continued my way to the hotel. Arrived there, I paid my bill, sent my baggage on board a steamer, which, luckily, was to sail that very day, and at that very hour, and was soon steaming away from Galveston. The steamboat and the steam-car soon carried me to the rail road station near Ilopeton. I went to the agent. “ Mr. Harris,” I began. “Why, halloo, Jack!” he broke out. “ Got back from the West?” “Yes, sir, back once more.” “ And you had a pleasant trip, I suppose; but you look haggard. Health been bad ?’’ “ I’ve had fine health,Mr. Harris,” I answered, trying to gain courage to ask after my mother. “ Have you heard from our family lately?” “ Ah! 1 see how It Is; you’ve heard bad news from home, poor fellow!” “ But how,” I gasped, still fearing to ask the question, “how is my mother now?” “I am glad to relieve you, Jack. She is out of danger.” “ Thank God!” I exclaimed, as I sank into a chair, and covered my face. My meeting with my parents was a happy one, because I found my mother in a stato near ly approaching health—at least entirely out of danger—when I had expected to find her at the door of death, or already past its portals. I re mained at home a few weeks, though, till she was strong and blooming as ever. [to be continued.] — Tomb of the C.esars. —A correspondent of the Baltimore American , writing from Rome, communicates the following discovery: “ Immediately beyond the tomb of the Scipios wo entered the deep vault recently discovered, containing the urns and ashes of persons attached to the family of the Caisars. The largest one contains six hundred and twelve stone urns, and the smaller ones five hundred and twelve, each filled with ashes and charred bones. The walls are of stone, with pigeon holes, in which the urns arc set, and over each is an inscription on white marble set in the stone. The chambers are about thirty feet deep, with stone steps and an iron bannister to descend them, all as per fect as when last used, 2,000 years ago. Discouraging Childhood. —It is somewhere related that a foot soldier, having had his skull fractured, was told by the doctor that his brains were visible. “Do write to father,” he replied, “ and tell him of it, for he always said I had no brains.” How many fathers and mothers speak thus to their children ; and how often do such remarks contribute not a little to prevent any development of the brain! A grown-up person tells a child he is “brainless," or “foolish,” or that he is deficient in some mental or moral faculty, and nine cases out of ten the statement is believed; the f thought that it may be partially so, acts like an incubus to repress the confidence and energies of that child. Let any person lookback to childhood’s days, aud he can doubt less recall many words and expressions which exerted such a discouraging or encouraging in fluence over him as to tell upon his whole fu ture course of life. We knew an ambitious boy, who, at the age of ten years, had become so depressed with fault-finding and reproof, not duly mingled with encouraging words, that at an early age he longed for death to take him out of the world, in which he conceived he had no abilities to rise. But while all thus appeared so dark around him, and he had so often been told of his faults and deficiencies that he seemed to himself the dullest and worst of boys—and while none of his good qualities or capabilities had been mentioned, and he believed he had none, a single word of praise and appreciation, carelessly dropped in his hearing, changed his whole course of thought. We have often heard him say “ that word saved him.” The moment ho thought he could do well, lie resolved that he would—and he has done well. — in mm Monument. —A monument commemorative of the foundation of the Russian Empire one thousand years ago, is to be erected at Nov gorod, at a cost of five hundred thousand silver roubles, to represent six epochs: Burik (862), Valdimir (988), Demetrius (1380), Johann 111. (1791), Michael Feodoryiclit, the first Romanoff, (1643), and Peter the Great—tho competition being open to Roman artists alone. ]For the Field and Fireside.] SONNET. How they bark at me !”— King Lear. I’ve roused the kennel! They are at my heels, The whole cur rabble—the promiscuous pack— Sneak, Skunk, and Scurril, dogs of low degree, Who think my shadow much too large for me! One growls, one yelps, another squeaks or squeals— Well, with such venom, that in teeth they lack; A stick, or stone, would send them howling back. But where the profit ? ’Twere but loss of time, And he who hath his goal in sight—such goal As rouses all that's God-like in the soul— Who sees his temple, with its towers sublime, High, in the distance, with great dome and arch, Looking fond welcome, urging him to march— Hath little need to chafe in heart or mind, Content to leave the curs so far behind ! W. Gilmore Simms. [Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.] TOIL AND VICTORY. BY MISS ANNIE E. BLOUNT. (CONCLUDED.) George walked slowly to his hotel, and, hearing music in the parlor, entered. Several lady boarders were there; and among them a stranger, wearing a foreign dress and foreign manners. They were talking with animation, all but the stranger, who seemed to be “ a new arrival,” and reclined languidly oh the sofa. “Well, Mr. Carleton, have you heard the news ?” “ What news ?” asked he, carelessly. “ Why, about Nettie Vinton; it is all over town; and everybody is perfectly astonished!” “All, but me, and I expected nothing better of her mad capers. I always knew she would come to some bad end.” “ Why, what is the matter, ladies? Has Miss Vinton killed anybody, or committed suicide ?” asked George, with real interest. “No; worse than that!” “Worse? My imagination cannot conceive it!” “ Why, she is going to marry that fiddler, Carl Rodweski, who came here with an opera troupe!” “And is that all?” asked George, much re lieved. “All! I should think that was enough. A rich girl to throw herself away in such a manner! —it is positively shameful. Why, he may have a dozen wives, for aught she knows. I hope he has —it will teach her a lesson. Who is he, any how ? A common adventurer —maybe a robber in disguise—possibly a spy—at any rate ” “A very handsome and highly gifted man,” added George. But the absent violinist had an abler cham pion. The stranger lady raised herself from her recumbent posture, and, looking around with a polite smile, said: “ Ladies, if you hav* finished all you have to say, I will give you some infor mation on the subject, as you seem so intensely interested. lam so fortunate as to be intimate ly acquainted with Signor Carl Rodweski, having lived since my early youth in Italy, and resided for several years in the city which claims the honor oftho birth of so extraordinary a musician, who has made a successful tour in Europe, and won plaudits in the New World. You have char itably wished that he may have a dozen wives; I now inform you that ho is far from being a Brigham Young, and is so unfortunate as to be unable to claim, just now, even one. As to be ing au adventurer—the word has many mean ings—he is certainly no fortune-hunter. Bom of a noble, though reduced family, young Carl, hav ing musical genius of the highest order, studied undor the best masters, and made his debut in his native city. It was a brilliant success—a magnificent triumph. Being fairly launched on the stage, he supported his mother, father, and sisters, by the proceeds of his musical talent; and his public fame, great as it is, is much less than his private virtues demand. A brighter day dawned for him; a miserly old relative died, and left him solo heir to an honorable title and princely estate. This redeems him from your imputation of fortune-hunter; for he could scarce ly find an heiress anywhere his equal in wealth. Having become enamored of his profession, he has, as yet, refused to quit it; and I must say that, were I twenty years younger, I know of no one I would sooner wed than Signor Carl Rodweski.” She paused, and one of the ladies, a little bold er than the rest, asked aloud: “And who are you?” “ 11” she raised her head a little haughtily. “ I am Katrine De Lodi 1” “Wife of the eminent artist of that name? Katrine Vinton, formerly of this city ?” “ The same. I wonder none of you recognized me.” The discomfited ladies gathered around her, anxious to pay homage to the world-renowned beauty, whose husband's fame was on every tongue. One of them said: “As for me, I always believed Rodweski was somebody; his very look bespoke noble birth. I said so when others de famed him.” Katrine bowed, and gave her a queer smile, but said nothing. In about ten minutes, Nettie came dancing into the parlor, followed by her stately mother. “ All 1 Aunt Katrine, is it really you ? How naughty of you to stop at a hotel, instead of coming to us immediately.” “I preferred to remain incognito for a while, my child. I needed rest after my tiresome voy age. Mrs. Vinton, how do you do? Judging from your appearance, I should say that it was but yesterday you and I stood brides at the altar.” “And you, Katrine, are sadly changed.” “Yes; I have buried my husband—consump tion was my rival, and death won him from me.” Tears gathered in her large, beautiful eyes. “Where is my sister?” “Alas 1 wo buried her years ago.” “Dead ? aU dead —all that I loved 1” Katrine sank back on the sofa, and covered her face witli her hands. What was it to her that the world rang with her praises ? She teas a widow ! “You muSt come with us now; I will send for your trunks to-night.” “Yes.” She suffered herself to bo led passively away; all places were the same to her now. After their departure, George Carleton retired to his room, and sat there for a few minutes, when he hoard a quick, nervous rap at the door. He opened it, and stood face to face with his pompous old friend, Mr. Weston. “Glad to seo you, Georgo, my boy. Every body praises you—it pleases me to hear of it, for you have to thank me as being the first one of your stepping stones to advancement.!’ Georgo started —his delicacy would have shrank from boasting, or from forcing gratitude. “I do thank you, sir, most heartily; be seated.” They talked about a little of every thing, and then Mr. Weston fidgeted, and said: “Emma is in town; she is free now, eh! George?”