NE cold after-soberly around. It was perceived by the stranger, after she had walked on for some distance, and caused her to stop quickly, while a shudder ran through her frame, and she clasped her hands together with a quick, involuntary

noon in November, after the pleasant Indian Summer had passed away, and the chilly season that immediately precedes winter had set in, a girl, whose age seemed not more than nineteen, paused before a large house in Walnut street, and stood for some minutes with an air of irresolution. Then she walked on, drooping her eyes to the pavement, as she did so. Her face was very fair, but pale and anxious; her form slender and graceful; her dress worn and faded, yet fitting neatly her well formed person; her air and manner like one who had moved in a much higher circle than that to which she now seemed to belong.

motion.

"I must do it. There is no other hope for me," she at length said, with forced resolution. And turning back, she approached the house she had twice before hesitated to enter. Now, without giving herself time to hesitate, she walked firmly up the steps, and rung the bell with a strong hand. A few moments elapsed, and the door was thrown open.

"Can I see Mrs. -?" she asked, in a timid voice. For all her forced resolution had given way.

"Walk in, and I will see. What name do you send up?"

There was a slight hesitation.

"Tell her a young girl wishes to speak to her."

The waiter looked at her curiously, and then told her to walk into the parlor, and he would see if Mrs. was disengaged.

After walking on for nearly two squares, she paused, stood thoughtful for several minutes, and then turned and went slowly back. Again she was before the handsome dwelling we have named-again she stopped and remained some time in debate. At length she ascended the marble steps leading to the door, and timidly rung the bell-or, rather, attempted to ring it; but she drew the wire with too feeble a hand. The bell answered not to the effort. For nearly five minutes she stood, waiting for the door to open. But, no one came. Now her heart seemed to fail her again, for, instead of ringing with a firmer hand, she quietly turned, and descending the steps, moved with evident reluc-wringing her hands, murmured bitterly. tance away, frequently pausing, however, to look back.

In about ten minutes the lady came down. What pased between her and the stranger is not known. Their interview did not last long.

In

The

a little while the latter retired through the
front door, and was again upon the pave-
ment. It had become dark, and the wind
swept coldly along the street. The stranger
shuddered as she felt its penetrating chill.
light of the next lamp showed that she was
weeping bitterly. She walked on, now, with a
quick pace, but, evidently, without any design,
for she had not gone far, before she paused, and

"Where shall I go? What shall I do?"
An elderly man passed at the moment. He

By this time the dusky twilight began to fall perceived the movement, but did not hear dis

"Poor frightened creature!" murmured the old man. I would not harm a hair of your head for the world." Then adding with a sigh,{ing, she sprang away like a frightened fawn. I as he resumed his walk

"No-no," he said. "The girl's need n't dis- innocent, but in distress. The single glance turb themselves. I am not tired."

the fact is, as I have said. It seems to me as if she must be bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh."

The tea bell rung and broke the chain of conversation. It was not resumed at table. Somehow or other a feeling of restraint crept over each member of the family, which was so strong as to keep all silent and thoughtful.

CHAPTER II.

was ascertained that she had gone to Cincinnati. But that was all that could be learned. After the lapse of ten or fifteen years, it was generally conceded that she was not living. At the death of her father his will directed the investment of fifty thousand dollars for the benefit of her children, should it be found that any were living. At the expiration of a certain period, should no issue be discovered, the property was to pass over to the children of Mary, his second, and only remaining daughter. One of the executors under this will was his son Joseph, and the other, Mr. Grant, the husband of Anna.

Through the influence of Grant, whose interests, or, at least those of his two daughters, were too deeply involved in the peculiar provisions of his father-in-law's will, no adver

MASON GRANT was a merchant engaged in an extensive business with the South and West. He lived in very handsome style, and was thought to be possessed of considerable wealth. Of his character as a man, little need be said. It will be enough to remark, that he had histisement for the children of Anna had been share of selfishness, and that just in the degree that this prevailed, was he disregardful of all who could not, in some way or other, minister to the gratification of his ruling ends in life. His wife was a lover of the world-fond of effect, and desirous to be thought a personage of consideration. She was, besides this, more deeply selfish than her husband-so selfish, that even her love of fashionable eclat was often overshadowed by it.

They had two daughters. In the preceding chapter, the family of Mr. Grant was briefly introduced. The old man, in whom the reader has doubtless felt more interest than in any of the rest, is a brother of Mrs. Grant, named Joseph Markland.

At

Mr. Markland married at a very early age, one of the most beautiful, accomplished, and lovely women in Philadelphia. She died in three months. He never married again. that time his sister, or rather half-sister, now Mrs. Grant was but a child. A twin-sister named Anna had married, a few years previous, contrary to the wishes of her friends, a young man of excellent character, but moving in a circle below that of her family. Incensed at her conduct, her father and step-mother, and even her brother, treated her with harshness and neglect and absolutely refused to notice her husband in any way. A high spirited woman, she could not brook this. Deeply attached to the man she had married, and justly so, she resented as an indignity the contempt manifested for him, and cut herself off from all intercourse with her family. She lived with her husband in Philadelphia for some time, when they removed to the west. For years her family made no inquiries after her; when they did so, all efforts to find her proved fruitless It

made, although old Mr. Markland had been dead
for a number of years. The management of
the estate of his father had been left pretty
much in the hands of Mr. Grant, by Joseph
Markland, the co-executor, whose advanced age
made him willing to be freed as much as possi-
ble from the cares of business. His own fortune,
accumulated by trade, was very large. It is
true, that he had frequently urged upon his
brother-in-law, the propriety of advertising for
the children of Anna, and the latter had as often
promised that he would do so forthwith.
still the public notice had not yet appeared.

But

After tea, Mr. Grant, his wife, and Mr. Markland were alone, the girls having something to employ them in their own rooms. But few words passed between them, for none seemed inclined to talk. Mrs. Grant, especially, was very thoughtful. Something seemed to press upon and disturb her mind. Her brother was likewise in an absent mood. Both sat musing, with their eyes upon the floor, while Mr. Grant occupied himself with a book. This had continued for nearly an hour, during which time not a word had been spoken. At the end of this period, Mr. Markland said, looking toward his brother-in-law,

"I believe, Mason, there has been no advertisement yet made for Anna's children."

Mrs. Grant started at this, while the blood rose quickly to her face. She turned herself partly away from the light to conceal the effect of her brother's unexpected remark.

"No, that is true. I have neglected to attend to it. But it shall be done," replied Mr. Grant.

"So you have been saying for the last fourteen years, and only a year remains for their discovery, should my sister have left any chil

dren. I am to blame for not having seen to this myself. I don't know what I could have been thinking about. It must be done at once, Mason."

"So it can.

the matter.

There need be no trouble about
I will attend to it."

"Let it be done, then, to-morrow."

"You are very much concerned all at once, brother," remarked Mrs. Grant, who had regained her self-possession. "No one has believed, for the last twenty-five years, that Anna, or any one belonging to her was living. As to advertising, it is the merest formality that can be imagined. I don't see what can have put it into your head all at once."

early life, and, at a later day, so shamefully neglected and wronged. In a little while he arose and retired to his own apartment. Closing the door after him and turning the key, he went to a closet and unlocking an old chest that stood in one corner, took therefrom a small box, and placed it upon a table. A bunch of keys was then taken from a drawer, one of these opened the box. A faint sigh heaved the bosom of the old man, as he raised the lid. The contents were various, and from their character, evidently tokens of remembrance. There was an old fashioned gold locket, enclosing the hair of some friend or relative. A diamond ring-a brooch of gold-a watch and chain, and many other "It is a simple duty that ought to have been things of a like character. These were lifted done many, many years ago," quietly replied out, but not regarded. The old man Mr. Markland. "There yet remains a short sought for something else. At length his hand time in which that duty can be performed, and { brought forth a small morocco case which he the sooner it is now done the better." opened quickly. It contained the miniature of { a young and beautiful woman, upon which his eyes were instantly fastened with an earnest gaze, while his breast heaved more freely, and his respiration quickened. Suddenly he raised his eyes towards the ceiling, fixed them a moment, and then murmured,

Oh, as to that, the thing is easily enough done.

I will attend to it," said Mr. Grant. "It is too easily done," returned the old man, and that is why it has been neglected for so long a time. I can see to it just as well as not."

"You do n't believe that Anna or any of her children, if she ever had any, are living?" As Mrs. Grant asked her brother this question, she looked him steadily in the face.

"It is not impossible," he replied. "Nor improbable either. Indeed, I should n't at all wonder if both she and her children were alive. However, be that as it may, I am going to do my part towards ascertaining the fact."

"Strange ! How like! How very like !" In this attitude he remained for many minutes, when he again referred to the miniature he held in his hand, and gazed upon it intently, until his eyes grew so dim with moisture that he could see nothing but a faint outline befor him. All the past, with its memories, had arisen. Early years had come back. Early affections were re-kindled. The loved and lost were around him. But, it was all a dream. And, a consciousness of this, even in the vision, Mary," and her brother looked at her half-pressed upon his spirit with a most touching sternly as he spoke, "would you be willing to see your children unjustly possessed of the property willed to those of your sister?"

"Nonsense! You are always getting some notion or other into your head.”

sadness.

It was nearly an hour, before, with a heavy sigh, the old man closed the box, and returned

"Joseph, you do n't know what you are talk-it to the place from whence it had been reing about."

"You may think so."

A dead silence followed. Mr. Grant looked thoughtful, and his wife worried and perplexed, while the old gentleman fell into a state of deep abstraction. In the mind of the latter arose images of the past. His twin-sister was before him his sister that he had so deeply loved in

moved. But the miniature he retained, though he did not again look at it.

The occurrences of the evening had disturbed his mind a good deal, for he walked the floor rather quickly for a very long time before retiring to bed. And it was an hour after he had done so, before sleep stole over his senses. (To be continued.)

A MOTHER'S LOOK.

THERE is not a grand, inspiring thought
There is not a truth by wisdom taught,
There is not a feeling pure and high,
That may not be read in a mother's eye.

And ever since earth began, that look

Has been to the wise, an open book,

To win them back from the lore they prize,

To the holier love that edifies.

For Arthur's Magazine.

THE WOODCUTTER

A TALE FROM THE GERMAN OF CAROLINE PICHLER.

BY MARY

DAVENANT.

NNUALLY, if his business permitted it, Herr von Z. was in the habit of taking a journey on foot. Health, diversion and relaxation from the toilsome duties of his profession, were the immediate objects of these walks; he also gained, by them, a familiarity with many exquisite scenes in nature, and an acquaintance with a variety of interesting circumstances which pleased his imagination and occupied his mind. He used, often, in after years, to think over these little incidents, and to recall the pleasing images and benevolent feelings which his memory retained to beautify, and adorn the monotony of his life in the capitol.

soul a feeling of respect for the man whose genius and activity were the means of subsistence to so many, for Herr von Z. was full of the principles of industry and economy which occupy our age, and every triumph of them over rude, uncultivated nature, was to him a source of joyful satisfaction.

So it was at this time. Pleased, and observing all he saw, he wandered through the place; talked with the workmen, inspected their work, inquired about materials, profits, sales, &c. with as much interest as if he had been going to write his travels, and, as the day closed, went towards the dwelling house in hopes of making the acquaintance of its owner, whom he was already disposed to honor.

The sun had sunk behind the mountains, but its golden splendor still streamed with glory through the valley, and with wonderful beauty upon the broad and now peacefully gliding mountain stream, on whose clear surface the image of the dark fir trees waved over the roseate glow. It became stiller and stiller through the region; the evening bell sounded; the noise of the workmen was silenced, the dark hills rested peacefully and protectingly around the quiet vale, while above them towered fearfully the giant form of the rocky mountain, like the lord and sovereign of all beneath him.

One adventure was dear to him beyond the rest, and he often, gladly, referred to it. In the autumn of the year 1808, he came through a pleasant mountain path into the charming valley of R. where iron mines, smelting furnaces, forges and saw mills announced the busy, restless life of its inhabitants. The thick black smoke mounted steadily from the pyramidal forge, hammers beat, waters rushed, coal pits smothered, and sooty workmen went to and fro among their scattered huts, all poor but indus- After enjoying, for a while, the lovely scene, trious and contented. Upon the right hand, which strongly affected the heart of the travelwhere the giant head of a bare and rocky moun- ler, he approached the house. It was a large tain rose above a wooded height, stood a large, building, surrounded on three sides by out stately and handsome old house, to which, how-houses and a wall, which formed a roomy court ever, a new roof, covering one entire wing, gaveyard. Two large walnut trees in the centre of a somewhat singular appearance. It was the dwelling of the wealthy iron master, and all the workmen in the surrounding valley depended on him for employment. He it was who gave to all the means of life. Z. looked with pleasure through the busy vale, and then arose in his

the court, shadowed a table surrounded with benches, at which sat several men. At the door, a young, simply dressed woman was seated, on whose lap played a little child. Z. saluted her as he approached, and the young woman replied with kindness and civility. He