rounded, and in the many pleasant objects which met his admiring view. He began to appear like himself; and seemed to get rid of the idea that it was necessary, after having fallen into temptation, to pursue a course of wrong doing for a certain length of time, ere he could return to the right path.

On the third day after leaving home, this cheerful company returned to their dwellings, and he for whose sake the excursion had been planned, was one of the liveliest of the number. He felt truly grateful for the interest his friend, Mr. Sumner, manifested, and purposed to evince his kind remembrance of his regard, by striving in future to avoid temptation. This he did for nearly two years; and exerted his influence on the side of temperance. Being possessed of genius, he employed his talents in endeavoring to benefit those who had erred like himself,

After this, he again yielded to temptation, and again brought disgrace and sorrow upon his wife and interesting daughter. He passed the remainder of his life in the same manner as he spent that part of it which has been described; and it is a matter of doubt, whether the daughter he deserted in infancy suffered more from his unnatural absence, than did the one who was so often mortified by witnessing her father's derelictions from virtue. It is hard to decide which of these daughters is most entitled to sympathy. It is true, however, that both Susan and Frances were objects of peculiar interest to most who knew them, and there was much in the history of each to call forth the pity of every feeling heart.

The reader will expect to know more about them, and will realize this expectation in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XIX.

Two sisters, Susan and Frances, unknown to each other Their father's mortification - Disgraceful conduct Sickness of Mrs.

NEVER were were two sisters more unlike each other, than were Susan and Frances. Susan bore a strong resemblance to her father, both in countenance and disposi tion, while Frances was almost an exact likeness of her mother. Both were called handsome.

Susan was of middle stature. Her form slender, yet well-proportioned; her hair and eyes rather dark; and her countenance expressive of intelligence and good sense. Her sister was tall and graceful; her hair and complexion light; and her eyes, though mild, were expressive of sprightliness and good humor. Her disposition was very amiable. Her father ever spoke of her with feelings of exultation, and often boasted of her loveliness.

The influence exerted over the mind of one of these sisters, was very unlike that which was felt by the other. The first time Susan ever heard the name of her father mentioned, it was done in such a manner, that with the remembrance of it a feeling of contempt was ever afterwards associated. She longed to enjoy the blessing of a father's care and protection; but there were very few to

whom she ever unbosomed her feelings, or spoke of him who had regarded her with such cruel indifference.

Sometimes she was rudely questioned concerning her father, which was a source of great pain to her sensitive mind. On such occasions, she always strove to make evasive replies, and change the subject of conversation, as soon as common courtesy would admit; often wondering that there were those possessed of so little sensibility as carelessly to wound the feelings of others, by inquisitively prying into circumstances which are distressing to another to dwell upon.

Susan heard indirectly that she had a brother and sister younger than herself. She heard, too, of the death of her brother, but was told that her sister still lived, and she longed to behold her. In imagination she often visited this unseen relative, and wished very much to know with what feelings she regarded her father.

Frances, at an early age, was informed by her mother that she had a sister dwelling in a distant place, whom probably she would never behold. She was told, too, that the mother of this sister had once been the companion of her father, and that a separation took place between them because the lady had not patience to endure the faults of her husband. Frances greatly desired to become acquainted with her far-distant sister. O, it cannot be,' she would say, 'that we sisters were born to live and die without once beholding each other. She often inquired of her father respecting Susan, and on one occasion innocently asked him if he loved her. Being answered in the affirmative, she said, then how can you bear to live so many years without seeing her?'

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Confused at the question, he endeavored to reply evasively. But Frances was not satisfied, and continued her interrogations until he told her he did not wish to hear any more upon the subject. She said no more at that time. It was not long ere she again renewed the conversation; for it was a topic which occupied her thoughts much every day.

Mr. Johnson did not wish to converse upon the subject, for it caused him pain; and he wished his daughter had never been made acquainted with the fact that he had deserted an innocent and helpless child. He told his daughter if she would talk no more about it, he would endeavor to visit Susan, as soon as he possibly could, and then he would acquaint her with every fact he could learn in regard to her.

This assurance was a comfort to Frances, and she ceased to importune her father respecting her unseen sister. Events, too, occurred at home which occupied each waking moment of the unfortunate girl. The health of Mrs. Johnson, which was never firm, had suffered greatly on account of the anxiety she had been called to endure in consequence of the conduct of her husband. About the time Frances attained her sixteenth year, her mother was prostrated on a bed of dangerous illness, to which she was confined for several weeks. Mr. Johnson was far from being habitually unkind to his family, and he would cheerfully make any personal sacrifice for the comfort of his suffering companion, so long as he was enabled to bear up under the trial of her sickness. But he was one of those who are greatly agitated whenever alarming disease invades their dwelling. His rest at night was necessarily

disturbed, and his anxiety on account of his wife, deprived him of any relish for food. Under these circumstances he very readily yielded to temptation, and partook of some brandy, which had been brought into the house for Mrs. Johnson. Having once tasted, he, as on former occasions, continued to drink deeper and deeper of the ruinous cup, until he was ashamed to appear in the presence of his family, and deserted his home, at the very hour when he was most needed.

Poor Frances felt that her cup of sorrow was more than full, ere her father thus abruptly left her, even while she was pleading with him to stay for the sake of her dear afflicted mother. After he was gone, she wrung her hands with a feeling of agony. The source of her sorrows was of such a nature that she felt but few could sympathize with her; and her heart revolted at the idea of being obliged to hear those vulgar expressions which the many are wont to utter on such an occasion.

She concealed the fact that her father had gone from her mother, as long as possible; and when she could no longer do so, palliated the case as much as she could, and carefully kept her ignorant of the truth that he had taken with him nearly all the money they had. This unkind. act the distressed girl determined should remain a secret in her own bosom. If her mother knew they were thus left almost penniless, Frances was aware that her troubles would be augmented, and a feeling of pride also made her anxious that others should never know the extent of their pecuniary embarrassment.

'No;' reflected this affectionate daughter, it will be of no avail to inform others of our difficulties; that could only double the trial. It is bad enough to know that peo