rewell, variety.

Henriette Clinton;

Or,

Reverses of Fortune.

At the foot of the Alleghany Mountains stands the flourishing village
of Hollidaysburg. On the banks of the blue Juniata, that winds on till
it buries its waters in the rolling Susquehannah, stood the elegant
mansion of Esquire Clinton, the village lawyer. He had lost his young
wife many years since, and Henriette, his only child, shared largely
in the affection of her father. Her every wish was gratified, and she
was educated in the fashionable etiquette of the place. She was the
guiding star in the fashionable circle in which she moved, and a
general favorite.

But there came a change. The father was seized with sudden illness,
and in a few short hours was no more. The grief-stricken Henriette
had watched with an agonized heart the progress of the disease, had
attended to his wants, and supplied his necessities with her own
hands. A skillful physician had done all that medical aid could do,
but nothing could avail. The grim messenger lingered not, and the
beautiful Henriette was left sole mistress of the splendid mansion.

But Frederic Clinton had made preparation for that event, and his lamp
was trimmed and burning when the Master came.

Henriette, too, had given her heart to God, while the freshness of
youth was yet upon it, and now he supported her in her hour of trial.
Her father was borne to the grave, with all the splendor of wealth, a
long train of sympathizing friends following in the procession, and
showing every attention to the bereaved orphan, who was the only
mourner.

Henriette returned with an aching heart, to the home of her childhood,
and seated herself in her father's library, overwhelmed with grief.

It was a cheerless autumn day, and nature seemed sympathizing in her
sorrow. The fitful gusts of wind came sighing down the mountains, and
sweeping over the usually placid waters of the Juniata, tossed its
waves into tumultuous motion, and drove it more rapidly on in its
serpentine course. The beautiful magnolia that stood before the
window, was filled with its second crop of yellow flowers, that were
faded and ready to pass away, and the surging blasts swept them
unceremoniously from the branches, as it came sighing down the
mountains, and sweeping along the valley. The sun had long since hid
himself behind the summit of the eternal hills, that she had loved to
watch with her father, from that window, while learning le