satisfaction before her departure.

A few days before she left me, a gentleman arrived at the inn, and came
immediately to my cottage. She introduced him to me as "a friend." No
one said what kind of a friend he was; but I could entertain no doubt
that he was one who would supply the place of her brother to her.

"Her mind will not be left without a keeper," thought I, as I saw them
direct their steps to the brother's grave. "Thank God, her grandfather
is not her only remaining stay!"

They quitted the place together; and many a sympathizing heart did they
leave behind them--by many an anxious wish and prayer were they
followed. The last promise required from me was, that I would see that
the grave of her brother was respected. What a pang did it cost her to
leave that grave?

I heard tidings of her three times afterwards. Her letters pleased me;
they testified a deep, but not a selfish or corroding grief--a power of
exertion, and a disposition to hope and be cheerful. The last letter I
received from her, arrived more than five years ago. She had taken the
name which I conjectured would in time be her's. She had lost her
grandfather; but the time was past when his departure could occasion
much grief. She was then going abroad with her husband, for an
indefinite period of time. If they were spared to return to their native
country, they proposed visiting my little dwelling once more, to gaze
with softened emotions on scenes sadly endeared to them, and to mingle
their tears once more over a brother's grave.

Perhaps that day may yet arrive.