livelihood might easily be obtained, if she would but adhere to a resolution never again to fall into the arms of vice.[8] Maria’s heart leaped with gratitude, and she could not give utterance to her feelings in the lameness of language. She pressed his hand and watched his benevolent countenance, and took courage from his unostentatious demeanor. Although betrayed most piteously thus far in life, by every man she had known as an acquaintance, still a conviction dwelt in her nature that there were yet men on earth who were truthful and virtuous in the sight of heaven. Sunlight to thy soul poor thing! you were right. Following the suggestions of this humane individual, Maria applied for work at the counter of an extensive tailoring establishment in Washington street. It was readily obtained. By this she could earn, and was earning, a livelihood. Solitude was now her society, and her voice of song oozed through the shingles of the roof, and without was heard by the passer by. In her hours of recreation, her mind was occupied by literary pursuits. The epistle “to a friend,” as given below, was written by her, and is one of the very best pieces of composition our eyes ever met with. It was forwarded by her to the Editor of the Boston “Olive Branch,” who published it with glowing commendations, and it afterwards went the rounds of the newspaper press throughout this country and Europe. TO A REFORMED FEMALE FRIEND. Life has its hours of sentiment and romance, which Time, with his envious wing, can never darken or obliterate. Such bright and pleasant hours _we_ have had, never to be forgotten--such happy moments, in the friendly intercourse of thought and feeling we have enjoyed. We have wandered in the gardens of Fancy and Hope, and gathered the mayflowers of the spirit--the fadeless roses of the heart. We have had seasons of intimate converse of pure enjoyment, such as lend to life a halcyon wing of rainbow hue, as it glides on, with swift pinion, to its infinite home. There is a celestial calm--an elevated joy, in the trance of mind; it is a pure and quiet sense of nobler being. There is a sweet serenity--a bliss divine, in the simple and noiseless expressions of virtuous esteem and friendship. And have we not had such serenities and joys, consecrated on the memory and the heart? Ah, who would lose the remembrance of pleasures past--the light of by-gone days, when the confidence of friendship, and the hope of its perpetuity--when the festivals of intellect and the delights of sympathy were truly ours, such as raise and illumine a strengthening attachment, with the fond endearments and bright emotions of undeceitful and happy spirits?