Mr. Dalton only answered by offering her his arm, with the kind and familiar politeness of an old friend, as she looked a little fatigued, and they walked together some distance in silence. At last Mrs. Beauchamp inquired, "Was Fanny's mother like herself?" "No, Emily. My poor dead Fanny," and his voice trembled slightly, "was very sweet and amiable, but not at all like my living one." "Your marriage was happy then? I am glad of that." "I should have been the most ungrateful of men had it not been so; and yours too, Emily I hope"---- He stopt, he hardly knew why, while, with her eyes fixed on the ground, she answered slowly, "I am happy, very happy now!" A feeling of profound respect and admiration held Mr. Dalton silent for a few seconds, and then he said, in the tone of one who expresses an earnest conviction, "You are the most noble minded woman I ever knew." Mrs. Beauchamp made no answer, and it was not till they stood together in the hall, that she said in her natural tone of kind and calm cheerfulness, "And now, Mr. Dalton, let us look for Edmund and Fanny; and if you please, in order that they may learn of our mistakes that trust is the nobler part of love, we shall tell them this story of THE LOST LETTER." LIFE AT A WATERING-PLACE. THE LIONNE. By Charles Astor Bristed. From Frazer's Magazine. One day at Oldport Springs went off pretty much like another. There was the same continual whirl, and flurry, and toiling after pleasure--never an hour of repose--scarcely enough cessation for the two or three indispensable meals. When they had walked, and flirted, and played ten-pins, and driven, and danced all day, and all night till two in the morning, the women retired to their rooms, and the men retired to the gambling-house (which being an illegal establishment had, on that account, a greater charm in their eyes), and kept it up there till broad daylight; notwithstanding which, they always contrived to appear at breakfast a few hours after as fresh as ever, and ready to begin the same round of dissipation. Indeed it was said that Tom Edwards and his most ardent followers among the boys never went to bed at all, but on their return from "fighting the tiger," bathed, changed their linen, and came down to the breakfast-room, taking the night's sleep for granted. It was a perpetual scene of excitement, relieved only by the heavy and calm figure of Sumner, who, silent and unimpassioned, largely capacious of meat and drink, a recipient of every diversion, without being excited by any, went through all the bowling, and riding, and polking, and gambling, with the gravity of a _commis_ performing the national French dance at the Mabille. There was much rivalry in equipages, especially between Ludlow, Benson, and Loewenberg, who drove the three four-in-hands of the place, and emulated one another in horses, harness, and vehicles--even setting up attempts at liveries, in which they found some