pported, apparently
without opposition, for a seat in the national councils.

Eliza Austin was the daughter of a deceased minister, who had worn
himself out in the cause of benevolence, and died, leaving his wife
and daughter penniless. She was several years younger than George and
Emily; but early trials seemed to give an early maturity to her mind.
She was seldom their companion, for her young days were spent in toil,
aiding her mother in her efforts to obtain a scanty subsistence. Her
intelligence, her perception of the beautiful, and her devotion to her
mother made a deep impression upon George, and led him to regard her
as he regarded no other earthly being. Long before the idea of love
was associated with her name, he felt for her a respect approaching to
veneration. He had often desired to write to her during his absence,
but his entire ignorance of her situation rendered it unwise.

The waters of affliction had been wrung out to her in a full cup. The
long and distressing sickness of her mother was ended only by the
grave. She was then invited to take up her abode with her father's
sister, whose intemperate husband had broken her spirit, but had not
exhausted her heart. It was sad for Eliza to exchange the quiet home,
the voice of affection, of prayer, and of praise, for the harsh
criminations of the drunkard's abode. She would have left that abode
for service, but for the distress it would have given her aunt.

Death at length removed the tormentor, and those who had ministered to
his appetite swept away all his property.

The mind of Aunt Mary, now more than half a wreck, utterly revolted at
the idea of separation from her niece. Eliza could not leave her.
Declining an eligible situation as a teacher in a distant village, she
rendered her aunt all the assistance in her power in her lowly
employment--believing that the path dictated by affection and duty,
though it might meet with the neglect and the scorn of men, would not
fail to secure the approbation of God.

CHAPTER III.

"Well, George," said Mr. Earl, as they were seated at the
breakfast-table, "how do you intend to dispose of yourself to-day?"

"I have a great many old friends to visit, sir."

"It may not be convenient for some of them to see you early in the
morning."

"Some of them, I think, will not be at all particular respecting the
time of my visits. There is the white rock by the falls which I must
give an hour to; and I must see if t