Year: 1859

! t%@NS NaAS
the young man.


While this process was going on with Rich
ard, in Martha the wildness of childhood
sobered gradually down into the demure cir
cumspection of the Quaker girl. Her step
became less buoyant, her glance less free, her
speech less frank, her air more reserved and
as time wore on, Richard occasionally paused
in the midst Of one of his sallies, and looked
at her i'll surprise, in kind Of awe, as If he
already felt a foreshadowing of the approach
| of majestic womanhood. But nevertheless,
when he came one day to bid her farewell be-
fore his exodus into the world, her heart was
too full OF the memories of her childish years
to remember its new conventionalism, and
she stood before him with her hands crossed
upon her bosom, gazing in his face with a
look OF girilish fondness, that was made still
softer by the tears that stood trembling In
her beautiful eyes. He was to proceed to
London, to be completed in his initiation in
to mercantile business, and might be absent
for years-perhaps forever--for his mother
was to accompany him and Martha felt the
separation as her first serious distress. Rich
ard was old enough to be aware of the nature
of his own feelings and perhaps If Martha
had been in one of her grand moments, he
might have dared to appeal to the growing
woman in her heart. But she appeared to
him on this occasion so young, so gentle, so
delicate, that he would have thought it q pro-
fanation to talk to her of love. As the mo-
ment of parting arrived he drew her towards
him with both hands 5hs arm encircled her
waist /; and-how it happened know not,
for the thing was wholly out of rule--his lips
were pressed to hers. The next moment he
started from his bewilderment his eyes daz-
zled: Martha had disappeared. He did not


know, when in the morning the stage-coach
was carrying him from Elm's Cross, that
young girl was sitting behind blind in the
highest room of that house watching the veh-
icle as it rolled away, till it was prematurely
lost in her binding tears.


| am unable to trace the adventures Of
Richard Temple in London but they appear
to have been comparatively fortunate, since,
at the end OF only three years, he was junior
partner in young but respectable firm. He
had seen Miss Hargrave several times during
the interval; but need not say that theii
intercourse had entirely changhd its character.
Richard was not only interested, but likewise
in some degree amused, by the transmutation
of the young girl into the demure and circum-
spect Quaker. In essentials, however, she
was not altered, but improved and exalted !;
and even her physical beauty acquired a new
character of loveliness as the development OF
her moral feelings went on. But over all,
there was what seemed to the young man,
now that he was accustomed to the common
world, an iciness of manner, which repelled
his advances and he continued to love on
without daring to disclose the secret of his
bosom. What matter2 1t was no secret to
her whom it concerned; for friend Martha,
with all her occurrences, had woman IS heart
and woman's eyes. AT the end of the three
years have mentioned Mrs. Temple died,
and Richard now alone in the world, and with
tolerable prospects in business, began in due
time to ask himself, with qual1ing heart and
a flushing brow, whether it were possible fol
him to obtain the Quaker girl for his BRIDE
After much cogitation on this subject, and
thousand misgivings, his Characteristic dar


ing prevailed and addressing to Martha an
eloquent history of his love, accompanied by
a frank statement of his affairs and prospects,
| and solicitation to woo her for his wife, he
enclosed the letter, open, in briefer one to
her father, and dispatched the fateful missive


The reply came from Mr.. Hargrave. It was
cold, caln, decisive. He was obliged by the
good opinion entertained by his young friend


of his daughter. but Martha had altogether
different views. Setting aside the opposite


ness of their circumstances and position in
this world, which would in itself be an in
surmountable objection, their religious views


were not so much alike as was necessary in


the case of two persons pressing forward,
side by side, to the world whi;h is to come.


He hoped friend Richard would speedily forget


what, to rational-minded person, ought to


be hardly a disappointment, and, when his


fortune permitted it, select from his own de-
nomination wife of his own degree. This


insolent letter, as the young man termed it,
had no effect but that of rousing the fierce


and headlong energy NJ his nature. He


knew Martha too well to believe that she had
and share in such production; and he wrote
at once TO Mr.. Hargrave to say that his
daughter was now old enough to decide for
herself, and that he could not think OF receiy-
ing at second hand reply involving the hap
piness or misery of his whole life. On the
+ following day he would present himself at his
, house in Elm's Cross, in the hope OF hearing
his fate from Martha's own lips, II in the
presence of her father and mother.


When Richard Temple passed across the
' Dutch-like lawn Of the house, with its drill
ed shrubs and flowers describing mathemati
, cal figures on its level green, and ascendei
the steps, as white as driven snow, his hans
, tremhled as he raised the knocler, and h
i felt his heart die within him. The sound h
1 made startled him by its incongruous want o
:. measure, and he looked round timidly, as
S he had committed an indecorum. When tn
a respectable middle aged servant marshalle'
e him up stairs to the drawing-room, he follow
: ed the man with Difference, as il he had some
: thing to say in the decision. The room wa
: empty, and he stood for some time alone, look
o ing round upon the walls, the furniture, tn
S books, the flowers, and reading in them a
e the ruin of his, hopes. There was an unoi
n tentatious richness in that room, method i