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ture's own curls over her snowy neck, and rested, as she reclined, upon her arms, bare to the shoulder, as was the prevailing custom, while the sleeves of her dress were looped up with pale blue ribands. One tiny foot peeped from beneath her white robe, encased in that now obsolete deformity, a high-heeled shoe; and the thought would at once have occurred to a spectator of any taste, "how much prettier that foot would appear in a slipper of white satin !"

A YEAR had passed since the events recorded in our last chapter, and we will now introduce our readers to the drawing-room of a neat mansion, adorned with heavy, oldfashioned furniture, which had been conveyed from old England to this country-not exactly in the "May Flower," but soon after the voyage so celebrated in the annals of our country. Chintz curtains, covered with the most gorgeous flowers of all colors, draped the windows. The chairs were of massive oak; the seats covered with worsted embroidery in the form of diamonds, varied as the tints of the rainbow. The fire-place was constructed of tiles, representing Æsop's Fables, Joseph's Flight into Egypt, and other interesting subjects. A large and comfortable couch, by far too ponderous to be much of a locomotive, stood on one side of the fire-place, on which reclined the grace-employment until only one poor rose reful form of a young girl. A simple dress of white cambric, sitting close to the figure, displayed its beautiful proportions, scarcely yet advanced beyond the period of childhood. Her eyes were of that brilliant black, which seemed to dart fire with every glance, shaded by lashes an Eastern Peri might envy. Her hair, of the same ebon hue, parted in the middle of her forehead and fell in na

The young girl seemed busily occupied in separating the flowers of a bouquet, and, with somewhat of a petulant and mischievous air, tearing to pieces blossom after blossom which composed it, till her dress, the sofa, and a few yards around her on the floor, were thickly strewn with the fragrant treasures. After continuing this interesting

mained entire in her fairy fingers, she looked at it a moment as if undecided as to its destiny, and then, suddenly turning towards a young lady who sat a little behind the couch deeply absorbed in reading, she exclaimed:

"You are enough to spoil the temper of an angel, Helen. Here have I sat for full ten minutes, and not a syllable passed your lips. There, read away;" and the rose, de

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scribing a circle in the air, alighted on the book of which the fair occupant of the couch was so jealous.

"Flora, you do not deserve your name," replied her companion, smiling, and at the same time placing the fugitive rose in her own dark hair.

"Was there ever such a spirit of destructiveness! What would St. Clair say if he knew the fate of his beautiful present?"

dark-eyed Flora sprang from her stooping position to the side of the speaker. Every trace of color had flown from her late animated countenance; and with a trembling voice she repeated the words

"Edward Lester !"

"Yes," replied Helen, much surprised at the agitation of her friend.

"He was taken prisoner, as I told you, and is now ill in the British camp, where Clarence Grahame has become much inte

"St. Clair may say what he pleases," returned the dark-eyed damsel, slightly pout-rested in him. But be not anxious on acing her lip. "It is a matter of perfect in- count of your old playmate, Flora. He does difference to me." not mind fatigue, and is doing nothing more than he would to any one in such a situation. Suppose you had a brother, or any relative ill in an enemy's camp, would you not think it hard if he found no kind friend to comfort him?"

"Nay, Flora, be more consistent. This indifference, I am confident, is merely assumed."

"Thank you for the compliment, my lady," replied the capricious beauty, who was now busily engaged in collecting the scattered fragments of the bouquet. No sigh of pity was breathed over the ruins, but while her fingers were at work and her head bent down, she said:

"You received a letter yesterday, Helen. May I inquire if it contained any important news ?"

It was now Helen's turn to betray embarrassment. "My letter came from the ranks of the enemy, as you call them, Flora, and therefore cannot interest you."

"I beg your pardon, lady fair," returned Flora; “I have a very particular friend in those ranks, named Clarence Grahame. I should be gratified to hear of his wellbeing."

For an instant the brilliant color fled from the cheek of our heroine, but she fixed her searching eye upon the countenance of her friend as she raised it a moment, and, satisfied with the scrutiny, answered—

"He is well, and gaining favor every day with the royal troops; but he observes that for several weeks he has suffered from fatigue and anxiety, watching over the couch of a wounded prisoner, taken in a late sortie upon the American fortress. He mentions his name too, I believe-Edward Lester."

With a bound like a startled fawn, the

Flora did not immediately reply, but walked quickly across the room and rang the bell violently. A fine-looking negro girl appeared at the summons, and Flora, catching her by the sleeve, drew her into a corner, and began to talk to her in low tones, with as much familiarity as if she were a favorite companion. Indeed, the intelligent look of the girl would have convinced any one that she was far above a common menial. Philis Wheatly was one of the rare examples among her race, of a mind cultivated in no ordinary manner. Her eye was large, dark, and brilliant, her features well proportioned, and instead of that stupid, vacant expression of countenance peculiar to Africans, hers was lit up with animation and intelligence. In early childhood she had exhibited remarkable talents, but, being a slave, had little prospect of receiving the advantages of education. But a kind master indulged her wishes to improve, and she became so noted for her poetic talents, that several ladies of high rank corresponded with her. She addressed several of her poems to General Washington. we shall speak further of Miss Philis in a future narrative, relating to a family with whom she was more nearly connected. She was at this time housekeeper to Flora's

But

father, who was a widower, and almost worshipped her young mistress, though she sometimes presumed to oppose some of her wild schemes. Helen, utterly unconscious that any thing she might have said caused this mysterious conference, went on with her reading as if nothing had occurred.

"Philis, you remember Mr. Lester ?" asked the young lady.

"Remember him, dear Miss Flora! that I do. He was a noble young gentleman. What of him?"

some important news ;" and the young lady, in spite of her affliction at the imprisonment of her friend Edward, threw herself upon the couch, and indulged in a long fit of merriment.

Deacon Jones was a fine specimen of the olden school. His sleek, gray hair retreated from his forehead, and was braided with great precision in a long queue tied with black ribbon. His snuff-colored coat was buttoned up close to the chin-the buttons of shining brass, nearly as large as a half dollar. His

"He is a prisoner in the British camp, face wore a perpetual calm. No one had Philis."

"God forbid!"

"And you must release him, Philis, some way or other. Hush! don't speak loud— Miss Helen don't favor the American cause. Can't you go to the camp?" The more experienced African smiled at the proposal. "Why, dear Miss Flora, you talk as if I was proof against rifleballs and swords. What good could I do?" "Effect his release; or at least take care of him in his illness."

"And do you suppose they will allow me, who am a rebel, to go into their camp, Miss Flora ?"

"You a rebel pooh !" exclaimed the impatient young lady. "Women have nothing to do with party terms. I suppose you call Miss Helen a tory, then, Philis ?”

Philis smiled a peculiar smile; for she was shrewd, and saw farther into character than her volatile mistress, and she doubted whether the letters that passed to and from the British camp contained tory sentiments; but she made no comments upon the subject, and Flora went on :

ever seen him laugh heartily or frown angrily. But we will let the good deacon speak for himself.

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'So," said he, as he laid down his broadrimmed hat, and seated himself, without ceremony, by the side of Flora; "so that graceless son of Madame Dumont's has gone off to the tory army. The best place for him; and I wish to my soul his mother was "long of him, instead of employing herself in deluding the minds of sinners, and preventing them from hearing and profiting by the truth. Our godly sister, Betsey Charity More, had made arrangements to establish an indigent orphan school on evangelical principles, where the children of the poorer. classes could be clothed and instructed in the ways of truth. All her plans are to be defeated by the interference of this Catholic bigot. She went round among the parents, and threatened them with the vengeance of the priest if they dared send their children to a heretic school; and I understand she has offered to advance three hundred pounds towards establishing a Catholic orphan asylum. I hope our Christian brethren will put down such a scheme at once."

"But why do you include Clarence in his mother's plans?" asked Flora.

"Philis, you don't know how important it is that Mr. Lester should be free at this time. That hateful St. Clair still persecutes me with his attentions, and my father favors him. Miss Helen, there, is in league with him, and, indeed, it seems to me that the whole world is against poor Edward. Only get a letter to Mr. Grahame from me, and he will not refuse my request. Oh dear, dear! there comes Deacon Jones, big with | brought up at his mother's apron-string, and

"Like mother, like son, I take it," replied the deacon. "I am glad he has not been sent to scatter his pernicious doctrines among the youth of our army. (Philis, tell the Gin'ral I want to speak with him.) A poor, miserable, spoiled, effeminate coxcomb!

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