ed, arrived in
the great city, until the confused tumult that rose everywhere
around--the endless lines of glittering lamps that stretched far away
in the darkness, and the rough jolting of the coach over the hard
pavements, told too plainly that she was in a new world, surrounded by
a new order of things. As they drove rapidly through the crowded
streets, she caught a glance at the brilliantly lighted stores, and
the many gayly-dressed people that thronged them. Again the scene
changed, and she looked upon the dark-brick walls that loomed up
before her, and knew that in one of those buildings she was destined
to pass many sad and solitary days. How prison-like they seemed! Her
heart sunk within her as she gazed; the lights--the confusion
bewildered her already wearied brain; and as she sunk back into the
corner of the coach, and buried her face in her hands, she would have
given worlds to have been once more in her still, pleasant home. The
feeling of utter desolation and loneliness overcame completely, for
the time, her firm and buoyant spirit.

She was roused from her gloomy reverie as the stage stopped before the
door of a small but very comfortable dwelling, at some distance from
the principal thoroughfares. This was the residence of a sister of
Mrs. Jones, to whom she had a letter, and who was expecting her
arrival. She met Mary upon the step with a pleasant smile of welcome,
not at all as if she had been a stranger; and her husband assisted the
coachman to remove the various packages to a neat little room into
which Mary was ushered by her kind hostess, Mrs. Hall. She was very
like her sister, but older and graver. Mary's heart yearned toward her
from the moment of kindly greeting; and when they entered the cheerful
parlor together, the young guest was almost happy once more. The
children of the family, two noisy little rogues, who were very proud
of a baby sister, came for a kiss, ere they left the room for the
night; and then, with Mrs. Hall's piano, and her husband's pleasant
conversation, Mary forgot her timidity and her sadness as the evening
wore away.

"Mr. Hall will go with you to-morrow to the scene of your new life,"
said her hostess, as she bade her young charge good-night. "We have
arranged every thing, and I trust you may be happy, even though away
from your friends. We must try to make a new home for you."

Mary "blessed her unaware" for her kindness to a stranger; and though
nearly a hundred mi