The old gentleman and his wife came home in excellent spirits, having heard who had become the purchaser of their former abode, and Mr. Middleton’s mind quite at ease respecting his favorite elm trees; and when they learned further of all that had occurred during their absence, and how their darling Sophy—now so smiling and happy—was to become the mistress once more of the dear ‘old place,’ their cup of joy and contentment seemed full to overflowing. Grandmother reminded Sophy that “she had told her a year ago that Archie Harris would make the best husband in the world—always excepting _her_ old man;” while grandfather could only clasp his withered hands, and raise his sightless eyes in silent ejaculations of gratitude and love. Genuine lovers of love stories like to hear of that devoutly wished-for consummation—a wedding; but editors, and some other people, best fancy jumping at the conclusion at once. So, most kind reader, whoever you may be, please to imagine Archie Harris and his bride quietly settled at Brookville before the autumn commenced—the happiest people in the wide world; while grandmother is busiest of the busy, all day long, in her accustomed haunts; and grandfather sits under the shadow of his beloved elms, almost forgetting his misfortunes, or their year of exile, in the added happiness of his darling Sophy. * * * * * THOU’RT NOT ALONE. Written on hearing a young lady exclaim, “Alas! I’m all alone!” BY N. CURTISS STINE. Thou’rt not alone—the greenwood’s shades are round thee, When summer comes, with all her joyous train; And playful winds at eve have often found thee, And murmured in thine ear Hope’s sweetest strain. Thou’rt not alone—each gaily tinted flower, That smiling greets us on the dewy lea, The painted clouds at sunset’s golden hour, To me are friends, and should be so to thee. Thou’rt not alone—the red stars gleaming o’er thee, At midnight lone, with whispering voices tell, Old tales of those who passed away before thee, In brighter lands beyond the sun to dwell. And when the robe of Autumn gaily shining, With rainbow hues is o’er the forest thrown, Go, list the winds among their boughs repining, And learn on earth thou ne’er can’st dwell alone. Thou’rt not alone—the shades of the departed, On radiant wings are soaring softly by— Thou can’st not see them, but the gentle hearted To visit thee oft leave the azure sky. What though the world in chasing flying Pleasure, With icy heart should past thee coldly hie? Look—look on high—thou hast a richer treasure, Than all its gems and glittering dross can buy. * * * * * THE WIDOW AND THE DEFORMED. BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER. PART I.