following morning she did not appear. When dressed, I went on tiptoe into her room, and found her lying in a deep, calm sleep, her arm over her head. I looked at her for some minutes, and thought I had never seen a finer creature. I then turned, with a whispered blessing and adieu, and went on my way. This is all I can tell. If, at the time, I had not been travelling against time, and with a mind most fully and painfully occupied, I believe I should have been tempted to accompany my heroine to Deuxponts at least I should have retained her narrative more accurately. Not having made any memoranda till many days afterwards, all the names have escaped my recollection; but if you have any doubts of the general truth of this story, I will at least give you the means of verifying it. Here is her name, in her own handwriting, on one of the leaves of my pocket-book-you can read the German character: Bety Ambos von Zweibrücken. THE ORPHAN. WASHINGTON'S ADVICE TO A YOUNG LADY-AN ORPHAN. DEAR HARRIET, I received your letter of the 21st instant, and shall always be glad to hear from you. When my business will permit, inclination shall not be wanting in me to acknowledge the receipt of your letters; and this I shall do more carefully, as it will afford me opportunities, at those times, of giving you such occasional advice as your situation may require. You * Occupied as my time now is, and must be during the session of Congress, nevertheless I will endeavour to inculcate upon your mind the delicacy and danger of that period, to which you are now arrived under peculiar circumstances. are just entering into the state of womanhood, without the watchful eye of a mother to admonish, or the protecting aid of a father to advise and defend you; you may not be sensible that you are at this moment about to be stamped with that character which will adhere to you through life, the consequence which you have not, perhaps, attended to, but be assured that it is of the utmost importance that you should. Your cousins, with whom you live, are well qualified to give you advice; and I am sure they will, if you are disposed to receive it. But if you are disobliging, self-willed, and untowardly, it is hardly to be expected they will engage themselves in unpleasant disputes with you, especially Fanny, whose mild and placid temper will not permit her to exceed the limits of wholesome admonition or gentle rebuke. Think, then, to what dangers a giddy girl of fifteen or sixteen must be exposed in circumstances like these. To be under little or no concern may be pleasing to a mind that does not reflect; but this pleasure cannot be of long duration, and reason, too late, perhaps, may convince you of the folly of misspending time. You are not to learn, I am certain, that your fortune is small. Supply the want of it, then, with a well-cultivated mind, with dispositions to industry and frugality, with gentleness of manners, an obliging turn, and such qualifications as will attract notice, and recommend you to a happy establishment for life. You might, instead of associating with those from whom you can derive nothing that is good, but may have observed everything that is deceitful and bad, become the intimate companion of, and aid to, your cousins in domestic concerns of the family. Many girls before they have arrived at your age, have been so trustworthy as to take the whole charge of the family from their mothers; but it is by a steady and rigid attention to the rules of propriety, that such confidence is obtained, and nothing would give me more pleasure than to hear that you had acquired it. GEORGE WASHINGTON. PITY THE ORPHAN. "Friendless orphan, sad and lone, I was travelling among strangers. As the shades of Saturday evening came stealing over the earth, a stillness preparatory to the rest of the Sabbath was around me. I was approaching a large islandcity, where, in a quiet hotel, I found a peaceful retreat in which to spend a day. I attended "Divine service" in two different churches, but was not greatly profited. The ministers were learned, spoke eloquently and fluently, and won much admiration. A sermon is lost on me, unless before it is ended I am led to repent past misdoings and neglects, and resolve to live a better life-to "keep a conscience void of offence towards God and man." The object of the assembling of the people together, however, seemed to have been answered. Many of them had a splendid ride, in splendid carriages with splendid horses. All had had an opportunity to exhibit the life of fashion in their dresses, and of gentility in their demeanour, and had listened to a most eloquent sermon; for while it denounced all sin in general, it touched no sin in particular, and of course no sinner. Alas! that the Sabbath should be made a day of show-for bringing out for exhibition and envy, all the silks, and laces, and jewelry, that ill-gotten wealth can purchase. Alas! that ambassadors of the Most High do not sit more often at the feet of the Saviour upon the mount, and learn from his example to preach simple truths in simple language, exposing the errors and the sins of the times. Sick of all this mockery of what is good and holy, I hastened to my chamber, and as the sun began to decline I felt my spiritual nature wrapped in sadness, and longing for communion with those spirits who are set free from the pride, and weakness, and sinfulness of earth. I immediately sought the place where the high and the low, the rich and the poor, the proud and the humble, are equally consigned to be food for worms. Here, wandering around among the dead, and reading inscriptions on tombstones, and listening to the wailing of the wind through weeping willows planted by the graves of loved departed ones, I spent two hours. As I was retiring from this lonely spot, casting my eye into an humble corner of the grave-yard I beheld a little child lying upon a new-made grave. As I approached near, I found it was a little girl about eight years of age, fast asleep. Every now and then she would heave a sigh, catching for breath, and evidently showing that she had gone to sleep weeping. As I shook her gently, and she was half awakened, she exclaimed in a sweet voice-" Father, is that you?" Poor thing! she was dreaming. Her father lay buried beneath her, and she fancied what she was longing for had happened--that she was dead and |