“No, I have not; what about him?” “Why, you know that Mr. Warden ruined him, and his property was sold to a gentleman in ——, and the mechanic and his family moved to the West. This was about three years ago. Well, Mr. Warden’s son was violently in love with Mr. Merritt’s daughter, Emma; a fine looking fellow he was, too; and he felt so terribly about his father’s failure, that he immediately left the village; and where should he go, accidentally, but to the very man who purchased Mr. Merritt’s property, and who employed him as a clerk. He happened to suit his employer exactly—for, as I said before, he is a fine looking fellow—and somehow or other he found out lately that young Warden was so much attached to Mr. Merritt’s Emma; and what does he do but give William a deed in full of all the property, and resigned business in his favor, then sends him off to Illinois, to marry the daughter, and bring back the whole family to their old home. And, sure enough, last night they came, bag and baggage, and have commenced housekeeping already. Young Warden and his wife, are the handsomest couple I ever saw. I hear that they are to give a party to their old friends as soon as they are settled.” * * * * * TO MY SISTER E . . . . A. BY ADALIZA CUTTER. Sweet sister, at this twilight hour, While sings the bird her evening lay, And gentle dews refresh each flower That drooped beneath the noontide ray; While cool, soft breezes play around, And gently fan my burning brow, Falling with sweet and soothing sound Upon my ear like music now; While trembling there in yonder sky That little star looks down on me, I’ll wipe the tear-drops from my eye, And trill a simple song for thee. My heart is full, oh, sister dear, Of tender thoughts of one whose love No longer lights our pathway here, But purer glows in worlds above; And though a year has almost flown Since we have laid her down to rest, To-night her form sat by my own, Her lips upon my brow were pressed; Her low, sweet voice was in my ear, Entranced I listened to each word, So soft, so silvery, and so clear, As ne’er from mortal lips was heard! With glowing eye she talked with me Of our own happy childhood’s hours, When hand in hand we sisters three With chainless footsteps sought the flowers; Or sat beneath the forest trees, Upon some green and mossy bed, While, stirred by the low, murmuring breeze, The leaves made music overhead; While on the gentle summer air The birds poured forth their thrilling song, Till every green leaf waving there Seemed the sweet echoes to prolong.