Brainard sighed, fixed his attention a few minutes on the stage, and when his head again turned, it was to contemplate the fair Esther

"Who is the young gentleman beside Miss Esther-Estelle, I should say?" "The son of Dr. Chadwick, an eminent surgeon, of this city."

"An elegant looking fellow, truly! Is he paying his addresses to Miss Estelle ?"

"Not that I am aware of. He seems more fascinated with the lovely Miss Walton; uselessly so, however-for his family, who belong to our élites, would never consent to the match."

For the rest of the evening, Brainard devoted his attention to Mademoiselle Calve, and seemed to hear nothing but her thrilling voice until the curtain fell.

As he was passing from the illuminated garden into the street, with Ellery, he found himself directly behind the Clintons. Their elegant private carriage was standing at the entrance; but, as usual, there was some difficulty with the hackmen, who were furiously whipping their horses and swearing at each other, in total disregard of everybody present. Just as Esther's foot was on the step of her father's carriage, the whip of a half-intoxicated coachman accidentally struck one of the highly-mettled horses attached to it. Instantly he began to plunge and rear, and spring toward the sidewalk.

"Catch his rein, quick! catch the horse's rein, and you are made!" whispered Ellery, pushing Brainard forward.

Brainard comprehended him; and, thrusting aside a couple of gentlemen who were going to offer their assistance, he rushed up to the rearing animal, and seized him boldly by the rein. The horse instantly became quiet; but Brainard, who knew his position was a graceful one, remained, forcibly holding up the creature's head, with his eyes fixed upon Esther. That young lady tottered backward, and looked as though she thought this a very proper occasion to faint, but had not fully concluded upon so doing. Brainard's position and timely aid, were not, however, lost upon her; and when he ventured to come forward and hand her into her carriage, she raised her eyes to his, with an expression which Fanny Kemble might have studied, and murmured, "My deliverer!"

"Bravo, Brainard!" exclaimed Ellery. "Fortune has made up her mind to smile upon you; that little scene made more impression on the fair lady's heart than a five-month's courtship could have done. To-morrow you must call on her, with me, to inquire as to the state of her health after her 'terrible accident.' Do not forget that you saw her 'extreme peril,' and that your arm is lamed in consequence of protecting her. Suppose you wear it in a sling?"

"As you please; to-night we tried the graceful, to-morrow we assume the interesting; anything to escape having one's digestion injured by Mr. Badger!"

A FEW days after the evening spent at Niblo's, Miss Rachel Clinton alighted from her carriage at the door of Mr. Lemming. She entered, without ringing, and was ascending the stairs, when the parlor door opened and a sharp-visaged face peered forth.

"Who's there? Oh! is it you, Miss Clinton?”

Rachel's ears were familiar with that harsh, shrill voice, yet it sounded so unexpected from behind her, she could not help starting.

"It is I, Mrs. Lemming; is Miss Walton at home?"

"Yes; she is in her chamber. Will you not walk into the parlor?" she added, in a more courteous tone; at the same time opening the door sufficiently for the whole of her tall, gaunt and shrivelled person to become visible.

"Thank you, I will go to Arria's chamber."

"It's always to Arria's chamber!" muttered Mrs. Lemming, as she shut the door somewhat ungently. "One would suppose there was nobody living in the house but Miss Arria! They will find, some day, who is mistress here, and will have to look for their pretty favorite somewhere else, that I can tell them!” Rachel, with a quickened step, ascended to the third story, and, without knocking, entered the apartment of her friend. Her step was so light that she was unnoticed by Arria, and she could not help pausing on the threshold to contemplate the chastely beautiful tableau before her. The room was small; but what perfect neatness reigned throughout, and how much of the character of its occupant could be read in all its little arrangements! The floor boasted no better covering than a rag carpet, and there were but two rickety chairs against the wall. The narrow trundle bed in one corner was adorned with a patchwork quilt, representing the rising sun”—the work of Arria's own hands. A miniature stand, in another corner held a tumbler filled with flowers, its base surrounded by a circle of evergreen moss, among which some golden-hued beach shells were fancifully imbedded. Several fine engravings were nailed to the wall, and wide black tape bands were neatly fastened around them—an ingenions substitute for frames. The picture immediately over the bed represented Raphael's "Messiah," and directly above it hung a wreath, which, at the first glance, might have been taken for a delicate painting. Rachel knew that it was not so, for she had seen the flowers culled, pressed in a manner to retain their color, then carefully attached with a pellucid gum to paper, and after that the paper cut away, leaving a crown of natural flowers, the hues of which remained unperishing. At the foot of the bed was a small hanging library, well filled, and beneath it a large box, crammed with books for which there was no other repository. The window was open, and a rude shelf without it held half a dozen pots of monthly roses, mignonettes, and geraniA Canary bird was singing in a wicker cage, which was fastened to the

ums.

shutter; and in front of him, on a low bench, sat Arria. The loose white robe, slightly girdled at the waist, showed to advantage the outlines of her slender but well-developed figure, and formed exactly the contrast to her dark and simply knotted hair which a painter would have desired. She was bending over her work, every once and a while raising her head to look at the Canary, and imitating his notes with a low murmuring sound, as she plied her needle.

“Why, Arria! have you eyes for your Canary alone?" said Rachel, after her pause.

“Dear Rachel! have you indeed come to spend the morning? How kind in you!"

"I have come to visit your 'bower,' as Esther would call it; and indeed, dear Arria, even such unromantic persons as you and I might apply that term to your little chamber without its being more poetical than appropriate. And the bower has more than one bird in it."

"We will try to make it a 'bower of joy,' then,” said Arria, gaily; “and the songs of the birds shall always be blithe. But, throw off your hat; take my little bench, there-now lean back against the cornice, and you will find the seat about as convenient as an arm chair. You see I study comfort."

"Other people's comfort you always studied."

"And my own, too. Besides, I take comfort in seeing others comfortable. Have you brought your work?"

"To be sure! Do you suppose I would venture into the hive of such a bee as you without it?"

66

"Nay-I shall think you are showing your sting in the hive, if you laugh at that restless quality which keeps me always employed. Now, confess-can there be anything more agreeable than for two friends, who love each other as we do, to be shut up together in a cosy little chamber, such as this, with our fingers and tongues equally employed-opening our hearts to each other whenever we open our lips? And do you suppose we should chat half so freely or naturally if our hands were idle? As for me, I should find some difficulty in keeping mine away from mischief."

"There was a time when I might not have comprehended your argument; but of late you have quite inoculated me with your industrious mania. came you by it?"

Pray, how

"My industry, as you call it, is partly constitutional, and partly springs from the conviction that our time in this world is at best so short that we ought to take advantage of every minute."

"Tell me, dear Arria, what is the reason that you always look so smiling and happy? How do you manage to take an interest in every body and every thing? How comes it that you find enjoyment every where ?"

"How am I going to answer all these questions without showing a great deal of vanity? However, my vanity shall not interfere with your wishes. In the first place, then, you must know I have a thousand every-day causes and sources of happiness."

"What are they? You are not rich; you are an orphan; your uncle is, forgive me, a tyrant; you live secluded; you are forced to work for yourself, make all your own clothes; you are".

66

Stop-stop-stop!” cried Arria, placing her delicate hand over the mouth of her friend. "Am I not young, and in health? Have I not friends who love me, and opportunities of enjoying their society? Have I not books, and time and inclination to read them? Have I not the most invaluable of guardians, the best counsellor and friend, in Mr. Lemming? As for my uncle, you do him injustice.

He permits me, almost always, to do as I like. And you know some wise person has said, the only way to please a woman is to let her have her will.'" "But are these things enough to make you happy?"

"One secret of my happiness is, that I never suffer myself to be idle. If any thing annoys or grieves me, after trying to philosophize-do not be frightened at the long word-upon it for a while, and to find out what good may proceed from it, I take up an interesting book and forcibly fix my attention upon that—or I busy myself with my needle, or employ myself in any way that occasion offers. I believe that almost any body may be happy, or at least contented, who earnestly desires to be so-who feels convinced that God placed his creatures on the earth for their enjoyment here, and that they might so perfect themselves as to be capable of higher enjoyment hereafter; and that almost all their misery proceeds from the violation of physical, civil, or divine laws. I am indebted kind Mr. Lemming for many of my ideas on this subject. I have been taught to believe that any yielding to discontent and morbid melancholy was an actual sin; that it so moulded the spirit as to render it less capable of happiness and consequently more susceptible of misery; and that this impulse, communicated to the soul, would affect our future as well as our present life."

"Yet it is not always possible to resist a sensation of depression and weari

ness.

"Perhaps not, when that sensation springs from physical causes; but if from mental causes, it is possible. Are we not most apt to find what we look for? If I should ever keep it in mind to observe how many sources of evil there are in life, I should probably contemplate nothing but misery. But if my inclination led me to observe the sources of happiness, I should find food for enjoyment every where. Do you remember the anecdote of the painting which some Italian artist put in the market-place, desiring every body who looked upon it to point out its defects? When he came for his painting at nightfall, he found every part of the drapery and every feature marked as defective. The next day he placed it in the same position, desiring those who passed by to point out its beauties. Again he found his painting covered with marks—but they were of approbation ; and something to admire had been discovered in every touch which, on the previous day, had been condemned. So it is that we find exactly what we look for."

"But tell me, Arria, have you never any causes of unhappiness, for which you do not seek?"

66

Perhaps I have some few causes that would make me unhappy if I permitted them to do so."

"But will you not tell them to me? I do not ask out of mere curiosity. I have been reflecting a great deal on these subjects of late, and I wish to judge of the justice of your assertions."

ness.

"I am an orphan, and I often feel the absence of a mother's love. My heart yearns to know something, to form some idea, of her who gave me birth—that I may think of her and love her as a bright and holy being dwelling in heaven. But when I attempt to speak on this subject, to my uncle, he silences me with sternFor that uncle, too, I feel an affection which he never permits me to express. I long to do something to cheer his gloom; to be more frequently with him, that I may exert a happier influence over him. It gives me pain not to be beloved, and I can not but realize that he has no tenderness for me. And then I know he is embarrassed in his circumstances, and that my expenses here make a troublesome call upon his purse. I lately proposed to him that he should permit me to become a teacher in some school, but he rejected my proposition with indignation. I am a burden upon him, and am becoming one upon Mr. Lemming, in

as much as my uncle is somewhat in his debt. Then I am in want of many little necessaries, with which I can ill dispense; and I have no means of supplying myself—that is, I had none, until Dr. Chadwick kindly procured me a ticket for the 'Ladies' Depository,' so that I am enabled to dispose of the produce of my needle, without troubling my uncle or wounding his pride. Look-is not this scarf beautifully embroidered? I really took pleasure in forming these roses. It is for the Depository. Do you think it will sell?”

Oh!

“Well, then, I— I really believe I have enumerated all. Let me see. yes; then I am very fond of society, of social intercourse, of the opera, concerts, et cetera. With the exception of your family, my uncle forbids me to pay any visits unaccompanied by him; and as for concerts and operas, I know but little of them. But then your society is a great deal; and my bird makes good music at home. There! now I have enumerated all my 'woes and grievances.' They do not make a very formidable array. But are you satisfied?"

"You have forgotten Mrs. Lemming's harsh disposition, and her habitual unkindness toward you. I believe it would kill me to live in the house with such a woman."

“You wrong her; she is not unkind; it is her way-that is to say, her manners are a little peculiar. And if you think of the causes which impaired her disposition, you could easily forgive her. She is childless; and she has longed so earnestly to become a mother! Had she a child, it would inherit the property left by her aunts, which must otherwise descend to some very distant branches of the family."

"I find this no excuse for her peevish numor, and her dislike to beholding the happiness of others."

But think how good Mr. Lemming is!" "Yes, he adores you; and who does not? How I envy your temperament! I have none of your sources of discontent, yet I am not half so cheerful. But then I have one annoyance which you have not. Nature has made me so very very ugly, and you—you are so beautiful!" she exclaimed, gazing admiringly upon her friend.

"Oh! no, Rachel," answered Arria, with energy; "you are not ugly. How could anybody be ugly with such a lovely soul as yours? Does not Shakspeare say,

'In Nature there's no blemish but the mind'

and that virtue is beauty'? You are not ugly to those who love you: you were never ugly to me."

In spite of Rachel s homely features, less partial eyes than those of Arria, at that moment, would have looked upon her as not ugly. Her light gray eyes, generally so dim-looking and languid, were illumined by an expression of admiring affection, and the smile about her ill-shaped mouth disclosed teeth of brilliant whiteness, while it animated every feature of her face. Beside this, the winning sweetness of her voice forced you to think of the beautiful internal, which lent a charm even to so plain an exterior.

"You are partial, Arria; but I am ugly, and I have had reason to feel it bitterly My nurse used to call me a little fright; my very mother has reproached me for my ill looks, and in earlier years refused me the finery with which she decked out my younger sister. Sometimes I have felt like a criminal for being so ugly, and thought that even the eyes of strangers could not rest upon me without pity. I