object to make a present, in her own sweet way, to her husband's friends? Ha! this little hand is opening,-there, you have the notes." "Oh, Charles-that will be delightful. Those good creatures! and yet, I am almost ashamed to offer them money." "But, dearest, you can plead that you were ignorant of what might be acceptable to them—a woman can know little of a sailor's tastes-unless she happen to have a relative in the service,and so “Well, it shall be done-I can be quite free with that dear, odd creature, Jack Adams. He is himself so frank. Besides, as he says, 'Give him ginteel speech and soft words, and he'll consent to anything." "And now, Sophia," said Alleyne, "I have a present for you; and one that I enjoin you to take especial care of; because I shall come and take a peep at it sometimes." "A present? dear! what is it? You must make haste, for Cicero is coming to announce that breakfast is ready—and see!—Mr. Somerville is looking out of the parlour window." Charles took out a rumpled and tattered piece of paper;-he smoothed it,—and handed it to Sophia. "Why, dearest, this is a dollar bill!" said Sophia, laughing. "Yes," returned Alleyne, gravely:-" but it WAS MY LAST DOLLAR!! When I am proud, I will run and look at that, and it shall teach me humility. When I am disposed to look severely at the faults, or coldly on the misfortunes, of a fellow being, I will turn to that, and it will teach me charity. When I am on the bed of sickness, or sinking under the pressure of affliction, impatient, perhaps, and murmuring;-do you, my love, show me that tattered piece of paper, and it will recall a lesson which I hope never to forget-the necessity, the virtue of resignation to the DIVINE WILL. And," whispered he,-pressing the blushing and tearful girl fondly to his bosom, "if we are blest with children, dearest, should they betray a disposition to become extravagant, or idle, or addicted to play, we will show them that little bill, and tell them how their father, by following a similar line of conduct, was at one time reduced to-his LAST DOLLAR !" A SCENE IN THE LADIES' DRAWING-ROOM. No! I will It was a beautiful day in not mention the month, for fear of the consequences. Two ladies were sitting in the "LADIES' DRAWING-ROOM," in the TREMONT HOUSE. The elder of the two (if it be fair to guess at a a lady's age,) was about thirty; yet so lightly had the hand of time dealt with her, that most people would not have taken her for more than three or four-and-twenty. Her companion was certainly under sixteen. "Dear aunt," cried the younger lady, holding up the Transcript newspaper, "here is such a delightful article on OLD MAIDS,' I wish you would read it." Her aunt smiled, but colored slightly. "My dear Julia, I have read it; and, as I have made up my mind to live and die an old maid, it |