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'I dare say I shall in soree: it was not without sorrow I parted with her sister'

'I can iood--better in one respect'

'What is that?'

'She's honest'

'And the other is not?'

'I should not call her DIShonest; but it must be confessed she's a little artful'

'ARTFUL is she?--I saw she was giddy and vain--and now,' he added, after a pause, 'I can well believe she was artful too; but so excessively so as to assuuarded openness Yes,' continued he, s that puzzled me a trifle before'

After that, he turned the conversation to eneral subjects He did not leave ates: he had certainly stepped a little out of his way to accompany me so far, for he noent back and disappeared down Moss Lane, the entrance of which we had passed soret this circumstance: if sorrow had any place in er walking by htful intercourse was at an end He had not breathed a word of love, or dropped one hint of tenderness or affection, and yet I had been supremely happy To be near hihtand duly appreciating such discourse--was enough

'Yes, Edward Weston, I could indeed be happy in a house full of enemies, if I had but one friend, who truly, deeply, and faithfully loved ht be far apart--seldoh toil, and trouble, and vexation ht surround me, still--it would be too much happiness for me to dream of! Yet who can tell,' said I within myself, as I proceeded up the park,--'who can tell what this oneforth? I have lived nearly three- and-twenty years, and I have suffered much, and tasted little pleasure yet; is it likely h will be so clouded? Is it not possible that God rant me some beams of heaven's sunshine yet? Will He entirely deny to iven to others, who neither ask thee them when received? May I not still hope and trust? I did hope and trust for a while: but, alas, alas! the ti one distant gli which scarcely anything was said--while I alking with Miss Matilda, I saw nothing of him: except, of course, at church