left hand, and being able to use it almost as readily as he had been his right one, had obtained lucrative employment as clerk in a manufacturing establishment, not far distant from his home. She inferred, therefore, that his depression was occasioned by some other cause than the loss of his arm. She knew that ere he left home to enter upon a military life, he had been greatly interested in a young lady, of an age near his own, who was a grand-daughter of the late Mr. Weldron. Loraine was much attached to this relative, whose name was Fanny; yet she appeared regardless of his feelings, and treated him with all the heartlessness of a real coquette.

His mother felt confident that had the influence of this individual been exerted over the mind of her son for good, he would never have pursued the course which had been attended with such unfortunate results as had his volunteering to fight for his country. She feared, though he had not seen Fanny since his return, that a remembrance of the past cast a shade of gloom over his mind. In this, however, she was mistaken; as she soon learned from the effects of a letter which he received from the place where he last enrolled his name as a soldier.

The letter was written by a gentleman, who was the father of a young lady, to whom he had engaged himself to be united in wedlock, ere he went to engage in scenes of war. He had visited her while on the way to his mother, and knew that, although he was changed in person, her feelings towards him remained the same as they were when he last saw her, at their sad parting. While with her, on his return, his emotions were mingled and various. He was ardently attached to this interesting

young person; yet he felt embarrassed in regard to speaking upon the subject of their union, now that he had become a cripple, and resolved to remain silent in reference to it, unless it should first be introduced by the father of Eliza.

As he was anxious to behold his mother again, he did not tarry long with these friends, at this time, but hastened home. Not one word in reference to his engagement with Eliza had been spoken by her father, during his visit; and he feared that pride would prevent his consenting to receive a person into his family, situated as he then was. No wonder, then, when he broke the seal of this letter, and perceived that it had been written in a spirit of kindness, by Eliza's father, that his mind was at once relieved of the burden of anxiety which had for sometime oppressed it.

The old gentleman expressed a desire that he should return to N as soon as he could, consistently, and informed him that he was as willing, now, to have Eliza become his bride, as he was before the occurrence of his misfortune. Loraine did not need urging to the discharge of the duty he owed his much-loved Eliza, and made preparations to return to her immediately.

His mother grieved at the idea of another separation ; still she was glad that the mind of her son had risen superior to the baneful influence which the attractive, yet indiscreet Fanny had once exerted over him; and when he left her she was consoled by the reflection that he was not now to be afloat upon the wide world, without a friend to confide in, but was soon to settle in life with a woman whose influence over him would be good.

CHAPTER VI.

Coquetry - Clandestine Marriage-Lost Mother
Lonely Anna.

ANTICIPATING the desire of some of our readers to know something more of Fanny, we shall here give a sketch of her history. Dark is the picture presented when crime is portrayed in the character of the sterner sex; but a darker shade overspreads it when woman-she who ought to exert her influence over man on the side of morality and religion becomes guilty and degraded.

Such a portrait is placed before the reader in the character of Fanny Rice.

She was the eldest daughter of parents who prided themselves in training her so that she might become an object of attraction among the fashionable and genteel. They taught her to regard the letter of the moral law (though themselves understood not its spirit), and wished her to obey its precepts. By undue indulgence, they early sowed the seeds of pride and vanity in the mind of Fanny, yet seemed unconscious of the mournful fact.

Fanny was not exquisitely beautiful, though she was fair to look upon. The expression of her countenance was amiable, and intelligent, and full of vivacity. Her form was slender, yet well proportioned. She knew that she

was considered handsome, yet this knowledge did not excite her vanity.

When arrived at an age to admit of her appearing in the ball-room, and in other circles of fashion, her company was constantly courted by the gay, while her wit and good humor made her popular with all. She loved notice, and too often sought to gain it at the expense of the feelings of others.

Fanny was strongly disposed to coquetry. Her mother greatly deprecated this trait in her character; and warned her against its indulgence. Her warning, however, was unheeded by the giddy girl, who fancied that she could do, with impunity, what had brought upon others wretchedness untold.

She gaily danced along, from year to year, in the bewildering maze of vanity and mirth, until she attained the age of nineteen. Among the number who courted her society and smiles, was a young physician, possessed of brilliant talents and highly respectable character, whose name was Dickson. This gentleman was naturally modest and diffident; still, his personal appearance and manners were prepossessing.

Fanny regarded this young gentleman rather favorably, and often allowed him to visit her, and to accompany her to places of amusement. Her feelings towards him, however, were not those of real affection, though she permitted him to think otherwise. Her fondness for conquest led her to conduct herself in such a manner towards him, that he was led to think she loved him sincerely. He offered her his hand in marriage, which she promised to accept, and he considered himself the happiest of the happy, in

prospect of becoming, as he ardently hoped, the husband of her choice.

Fanny, however, was averse to having any special time appointed for their union, and whenever Doctor Dickson alluded to it, replied evasively, and tried to lead his mind to other subjects. The partiality of the confiding man was so great as to warp his judgment. He was blind to her faults, and supposed that shyness and delicacy, rather than a want of interest, induced her reserve, upon a subject that mostly occupied his thoughts.

At the same time that this unstable girl was receiving the addresses of Doctor Dickson, she was visited by another, who was his avowed enemy. The character of this man was dissolute. The mistaken girl was aware of the fact, yet she allowed herself to sit and chat with him for hours; and would sometimes sing for him, and walk and ride with him.

She often said she knew that Mr. Coomer would not do for a husband; and with an unthinking air would add, ‘he makes an excellent beau.' Her mother often chid her for her indiscreet conduct. At such times the daughter invariably became angry, and often told her mother that she was only flirting a little, which she had a right to do if she pleased.

Had the mother studied more the character of her child, and better understood her disposition, she would have been better fitted to reprove her faults; but as it was, she knew but little even of herself. She was proud, ambitious, and extremely passionate. Her feelings in regard to Fanny's unbecoming behavior, savored more of wounded pride than of grief.