She was beautiful, at least in his eyes, and evidently young. Her dress, more marked for its uniform simplicity than fashionable display, while her manner, at once so earnest and sincere during the sacred rites, might well rebuke the inappropriate thoughts of Auburn within that holy pile, who, in short, during those few brief moments, quaffed deeply of love’s soul-entrancing draught. The services over, the two girls left the church, still followed by Auburn. A thousand rash resolves floated through his dizzy brain. He would address them; he would even boldly declare the interest awakened; he would demand in return the name of the fair one. O, that some lucky chance, or mischance, might call forth the offer of his services. Why might they not be terrified by the cry of “mad dog,” or nearly run over by some careless cab-man; any thing, in fact, short of absolute death, so that _he_ might attract their notice. But, to his great chagrin, nothing of this kind seemed likely to happen. Like two beautiful swans, side by side, gracefully glided the fair ones along, until reaching the corner of a fashionable street, they turned down. Auburn was about to do the same, his heart leaping at the thought of discovering at least the residence of his fair enslaver, when his arm was suddenly seized, and a good-humored voice exclaimed, “Ha! my dear fellow, I am glad to meet you! I have been looking all over town for you; but whither so fast? Stop, I want to say a word to you.” “Not just now, Evans—I—I—the fact is I am engaged—I—” “Engaged!—how?—where?” continued his friend, holding on perseveringly to his arm. “Come, I want you to go with me; but what are you looking at—who do you see?” following the direction of Auburn’s eyes eagerly straining down C—— street. “No one,” answered Auburn, in a tone of vexation; for, alas! in that very moment, when his attention had been unavoidably given to his friend, the fair vision had disappeared, and, like a vision, “left not a rack behind.” CHAPTER II. From the _pave_ we will now step into a spacious drawing-room. A lively Italian air, exquisitely sung by a fair young girl, falls with delightful cadence upon the ear, while touched by the fingers of one scarcely less fair, the piano adds its pleasing accompaniment, filling the lofty apartment with thrilling melody. Seated in a comfortable lolling chair, is a gentleman of middle age—the only listener, by the by, to the charming music of his niece and daughter, yet more than compensating by his true love of the “art divine,” and the heartiness of his approval, for the superficial plaudits of a fashionable assembly. This is evidently the dwelling of a man of fortune and of taste. Elegance without ostentation mark its adornments. A choice collection of paintings from the old masters decorate the walls, and scattered around are various specimens of rare artistic skill and beauty. The song ended, a lively conversation ensued.