to which he was fast hastening, and anon with gross earth. A beautiful girl, who knelt by his pillow, as some half-murmured sentences fell on her ear, exclaimed with a voice of uncontrollable emotion, "Oh! father, father, we cannot remain alone in this heartless world; we must follow if you are to leave us. Far away in our own land we may have friends, but here, here in this stranger country, this new home, who are to shield and assist the unprotected? None-none! For myself, there is little fear, but oh! father, look at my young brother, so bright, so gay, so warmhearted," she continued, wildly clasping her hands, and bending her tearful face so low to her parent's that the warm drops bedewed his attenuated features, and hung, glistening, on his hair; "who is to guide him in duty's path, who to watch his growing years, and (though the truth is terrible to dream of) who is to procure him bread?" "Hush! hush! Liza, dearest, do not waken him to the bitter realities that press so heavily on yourself," returned the invalid, gazing with intense affection on a fair boy beside him, hushed in the calm peaceful slumber that makes childhood look so beautiful, so innocent and heaven-like; and then turning with an interest equally as fond to his daughter, he resumed "I have encountered no friends yet in this new land, but then I have been too ill to seek them, and as accident has deprived us of the little wealth hoarded to procure you a pleasant home in this blessed retreat for the exile, and health seems to have forsaken me forever, it is necessary, love, for you to endeavor to bring to my couch those who can smooth this pillow, whisper soft music-toned words of peace to the failing spirit, and protect and cherish my children. Will you undertake the performance of what I desire, sweet Liza?" he asked, carelessly smoothing with his wasted and trembling fingers his daughter's tresses. The maiden uttered no reply-she imagined him delirious, and again the fount of sorrow overflowed, while she encircled his neck with her arm, and pressed closer to his side. Friends! he talk of friends who had been but a single season inhaling America's air, and during that period scarce cognizant of the little enacting even in that close chamber where he lay. He talk of friends, who was poor and ill, and from whom the family with whom he resided had shrunk away, as from contamination, because he had murmured in his sleep of sweet mystic relations; of ties sacred and beautiful that bound him to some distant but cherished objects. After a brief indulgence of her grief, the young girl arose from her recumbent position, and putting back the invalid's hair, bathed his temples, while she soothed him tenderly as a watchful mother soothes her infant, for the thought had obtruded, that her own agitation might produce consequences, perhaps fatal, to his enervated frame. The sick man observed her silently for several minutes and then again asked, "Will you endeavor to perform a duty for your father, Liza, ere his eyes close on life? Will you go out into the streets of this strange city and seek for one who can comprehend the nature of this," he said, placing a paper in his daughter's hands, which he had more than once been attentively regarding."You think me wandering, love-that the approaching doom shadows my intellect," he continued, with a faint effort to smile, "but you are wrong, quite wrong. Draw near, sweetest, and I will tell you what a hope is mine at this hour. Do you remember your brother Templer's connexion with a band of brethren on whom we looked suspiciously, because their mode of initiation and some of their forms were necessarily concealed from public gaze-and can you recall how we became acquainted with their tender charities, their beautiful virtues and the injustice of our suspicions,' when he lay suffering for long weeks with that terrible fever, and you too young to be his nurse? Do you mind how those noble-hearted men, fearless of danger, gathered round their brother and ministered to his necessities when even those of his own kindred shrank away terrified from the pestilential chamber; and how, at last, after watching night after night by his side until life failed, what a sweet spot they selected for his resting place, and what groups of attached ones followed him, with slow and solemn steps to the grave, while soft, melancholy music floated on the air for his dirge? Do you remember all this, love," asked the invalid, whose voice grew faint from exertion. "Oh! yes, I mind me well when dear Templer pressed his parting kiss on my cheek," replied the girl, "and bade me tell Stanwood of his cheerful death-bed, and urge him when he grew old enough to join his band of tried and faithful brothers. I would we were among Templer's womanlike watchers now, dear father, and you were one of them, we should not be so desolate." "I am one of them, dearest," said her father. "When I comprehended the motives, the acts, the hopes, the charities that linked Templer with those God-like men, my hand met theirs in a clasp of love, while my lips murmured words of faith never, never to be cancelled. This was far away across the blue ocean, but their ties are the same all over the wide world, and it is yours love, now to endeavor to discover from among the inhabitants of this fair city one who can understand and reply to my mystic language. Whatever may be the standing of such, my Liza, you are safe, for an Odd-Fellow's truth is inviolate-an Odd-Fellow's protection sacred as a kindred's." "You dream, father," exclaimed the maiden, "our sex may not be taught the mystic sign of recognition. How then am I to know one of those whom I must ever love for lost Templer's sake, and remember for their virtues?" "I can devise but one method to discover what I desire, my daughterlisten, and do not shrink from it if the task appear somewhat difficult," said the invalid, to whom an unnatural strength seemed to have been transiently permitted, raising himself and articulating with earnestness, "These are the days of light and knowledge, and this, a land of free privileges, but we have, unfortunately, fallen among those who look on all foreigners with suspicion, and deem their actions faulty, their words trea sonable. Il and suffering as I have been, (though still believing health would be restored,) I could not institute inquiries concerning those whose assistance is needed, so you, dearest, as my only friend, forgetting your maiden timidity and bashfulness, must wander out into the streets of this populous city, accosting those whom you encounter until one recognizes and replies to this card on which is inscribed my name and Order. When such is found he will obey the call of his stranger brother as readily as my Liza would fly to hers, were he sick or suffering. Nay, do not weep love; the mission should not be undertaken with tears since it may bring happiness to you and Stanwood, and protection when this wasted form is laid to rest," said the sick man, and fatigued with the unusual exertion, his momentary strength vanishing, he lay with blanched cheek, closed eyes and scarcely perceptible respiration until again roused by the sobs of his child. Liza Wallace had seldom acted for herself; she had ever been a sweet, petted plaything, docile and obedient to the wishes of those she loved, so when she observed the affliction they caused her father the tears were speedily dried on her pale cheeks-pale from sorrowful watchings and tender anxieties, they were not always pale, for never did sweeter, fairer roses bloom in southern gardens than those that made a bed on Liza's dimpled checks, rivalling the inner hue of the ocean's pride, the boasted and rich-tainted sea-shell-and with her pretty bonnet, partially shading, though not concealing her modest face, she prepared to undertake the required mission. First making more comfortable the position of her father, who prayed for her success, and kissing him tenderly, she roused her young brother from his happy dreams to watch by him, and set out on her singular errand. It was a clear, bright summer afternoon, and the sky wore its loveliest robe of unspotted azure, while the atmosphere was rendered pleasant by a soft, cool breeze, Long immured in a small chamber, too full of tender sorrow for her sick parent to think of the various scenes in the out-door world, Liza moved like a somnambulist and was many paces from her home (?) ere she recovered from her bewilderment. When she awoke to a consciousness of what was enacting around her, and remembered the object of her errand, she trembled and felt unequal to the task. What! could she who had ever shrunk from strangers-she so bashful and retiring, attract the attention of passers in the public streets, like some halffamished mendicant, to be replied to perhaps in cold and insulting language? No-no. Though the object of her mission was simple and perfectly understood by herself she felt, that situated as she was she could not make others understand her. She gazed with a terrible sensation of utter loneliness on the unfamiliar objects that met her glance. Men, occupied with their own thoughts, their own anticipations, their own employments, pursuits, and cares, hurried by so rapidly that she would have failed to attract their observation had she essayed. Others looked so stately, so proud, so unlike her bland and gentle father, and others again so bold and impertinent that she feared to explain why she gazed about so wistfully even when they addressed her, as several of them did, with "have you lost your way young girl?" or, "whom do you seek pretty one?" staring in her face meantime so rudely that the rich color rose up to her white forehead and tinged even her fair throat with a bright glow. Many of her own sex passed on, but Liza, though she longed to whisper her mission to them yet feared to do so, for she knew that many in her own land, where their numbers were widely diffused, looked distrustfully on the secret institution to which her father was attached.* One fair ma This is true; and in our own America, known as the exile's home, the refuge of the oppressed, Odd-Fellowship, like the chamomile flower, was well trodden upon ere it increas. ed. Idle and ridiculous absurdities were once circulated respecting their rites and rules, and some suspicious ones dared to insinuate that scenes not too innocent, were enacted within their sacred halls, while women catching at the frightful supposition, refused to countenance them; but, happily, few sensible persons of either sex allow themselves, these days, to misjudge what they may not entirely comprehend.-THE AUTHOR. ternal face was turned on the young stranger as she moved timidly onward, and won by her tender glance she was about to address her, when she disappeared from her view. Again Liza encountered her, but her courage failed and she suffered the lady to pass on, while her features remained impressed on her memory. At length the thought of her father so near to death, her own and her brother's orphanage, together with the remembrance of the numberless petty annoyances they were doomed to endure in the family with whom they resided, acted magically in awakening her to some determination and energy. She stopped a moment, in front of a large and handsome residence, to collect herself, unconscious that two boys, who had followed her steps for some time, were attentively regarding her, and that a young man from a window above was curiously inspecting her charms as she stood, her sweet lips pressed firmly together with new and high resolves, her clear bright eyes bent modestly downward, and her white and ungloved hand still grasping the mystic card, a beautiful representation of girlish thoughtfulness. She was roused from her meditations by a voice remarking, "your eyes deceive you Charley Gibson-the lady may be sick or troubled, but, my word for it, she has her sober reason." "You are right Leonard, and I am heartily ashamed of having so indiscreetly expressed myself," returned another voice that had evidently made some remark to which the first speaker's words seemed a reply, "and as she appears to be a stranger I will speak to her. Perhaps these crowded walks are new to her and she has lost her way-in that case we can set her right." "Thank you, dear boy," said our heroine, advancing and laying her hand on the speaker's shoulder, "these crowded streets are new to me, for I have not walked abroad since I left my home, on the other side of the ocean, four months ago, but I have not mistaken my way." Charles Gibson, as his young companion had called him, gazed in Liza's face with deep interest while she uttered the foregoing, and when she added, "my father is ill, we are strangers here and friendless," he thrust his hand with a quick generous movement in his pocket, but, blushing, withdrew it again saying, "I cannot give you the assistance you may require, for money is not all those like you want, but come home with me and mother with her kind voice and soothing words will make your very heart glad-she loves the stranger and feels for the destitute." Liza smiled faintly, while her thoughts reverted to the sweet matron whom she had met, and whose benignant glance seemed closely to resemble the speaker's, but she shook her head, saying, "I cannot accompany you home, but my heart will never forget its debt of gratitude, or cease to cherish your memory, if you will assist me in the performance of a mission undertaken for a dying parent." She then explained the desire of her father, though with considerable embarrassment, for Liza knew but little of the land where she had sought a home, and Mr. Wallace, though he was confident a few of his tried band existed somewhere in our Republic, yet was he ignorant what blessed spot beheld the commencement of their labor of love. Scarcely had Liza unfolded her errand than all fear and embarrassment vanished, for grasping her hand with genuine warmth the boy exclaimed, "Leonard Moreland would say 'luck's every thing,' or 'how fortunate,' but I think it Providential, sweet lady, that you were directed to your humble servant, since my dear father numbers one of the few you name. Come," he cried delightfully, "you cannot refuse to bear me company now when I tell you my mother has sweet words for the comfortless and my father will welcome you tenderly." He interpreted the grateful smile that lighted up the girl's face and was hurrying her forward, when from the door of the handsome dwelling above mentioned, a young man emerged, and descending the marble steps passed them, but not until his eyes had drank in the matchless beauty of Liza's face, and called a rich glow to neck, cheek and brow by the earnestness of its enamored glance. Reader, is there such a thing as love at first sight? If there is, then it must have been that tender emotion, and that alone, that rendered young Eustace Moreland so taciturn and meditative after his rencontre with Liza Wallace, for him it was who had passed her with that look of undisguised admiration. Concealed by the ample curtains of the window where he was stationed, he had watched her thoughtful position, heard the remarks of his brother Leonard and Charles Gibson, beheld the maiden's snowy hand placed upon the shoulder of the latter while she confided to him her simple history in language soft, low and musical, and then seizing his hat he had hurried to obtain another glance of the only face he had ever deemed perfect. Charles Gibson speedily conducted the young stranger to his own dwelling, and led her into the presence of his father, encouraging her with his cheerful voice, and bidding her disclose her errand. Liza attempted but in vain to obey her little guide; the words she would fain have articulated died away on her lips, and all resolution failing, she covered her face with her hands and wept unreservedly. "You speak to her mother and quiet her fears," said the boy, to a lady who entered the room, and he turned aside to hide the sympathizing drops gathering in his own eyes. The trembling Liza looked up as the lady replied, "I will Charles," and encountered the maternal face that had so interested her in the street, the matron whom she had felt tempted to address. Assured by such gen tle presence, her fears dissipated, language came fluently, and a few minutes sufficed to acquaint the Odd-Fellow's wife with her little history. "How that they had left the old world to seek an asylum in the new—that in removing from the ship in which they had voyaged, a trunk containing nearly all of their wealth was misplaced or stolen; that her father being too ill to investigate the affair it could not be recovered. How that they had sought a transient home in a small dwelling on the suburbs, hoping the air, less confined and heated than in the midst of the populous city, would be beneficial to the invalid, but that he grew hourly worse, and now that he was near to death, he had commissioned her to bring to his couch those the card she bore named." Mr. Gibson was a noble-hearted man, just such an one as the "Bard of Avon" thus describes: "His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; His heart as far from fraud, as heaven and earth." Need we explain the result of our heroine's application to such an OddFellow? No, for her after life will show, and that, |