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that word. Asking more than that of him, was sure to meet with his imperturable-No.

The day before the principal scene in our story was laid, the different committees of many of the charitable societies of the city of L. had been collecting their usual gratuities of the citizens, and as if to test the benevolence of the place, the citizens were almost besieged by the beggars in the streets. It was towards the end of this daythe loveliest part of it, that a group of young ladies were chatting beneath the rural shade in the front grounds of Mr. W.'s noble residence. They were several friends and mates of Miss W., who had been visiting her during the afternoon. After the usual topics incident to such a knot of young ladies had been prattled over and expatiated upon, begging, then so common, was introduced. During the conversation something was said about Mr. S., the baker, of his cold selfishness, at which one of the more sanguine rather eloquently remarked, that she would pay a forfeit of so much to the beggar-girl that would get one penny from this gentleman. Yes, she would defy the shrewdness and deception of a Gipsey beggar, with all of their art at begging, and with even the beauty of his daughter FANNIE to affect his golden heart one farthing's worth. There was no assailable point-no "heel of ACHILLES"-to this banker. He • had been completely immersed in the Styx. His heart, like his treasures, was locked up in a salamander safe. This was said in such an earnest manner, and ́seemed so true that not one of the young ladies seemed to doubt it for a moment. This closed the conference. The young ladies bade their friend, Miss W., good evening, and went home.

It is mid-afternoon, in one of the principal streets of L., whose broad center is alive with drays, carts and carriages, passing and re-passing, and on each side of which, over the solid pavement, flows, fluent and refluent, its

usual current of people, with here and there an isolated group standing like an island in either current. To one of these groups I will direct your attention. It is composed of three. The principal figure you recognize is Mr. S. The other two are beggars. They appear to be decent looking young women, but poorly clad. They appeal to Mr. S. for something for their poor sick mother. But they have heard the imperturable No, from him, and he is about to go on, when an accent in the voice of one of the females arrests his attention. There is something in the accent-the tone of the human voice, at times, that has the charm of magic upon one's feelings; it awakens the dearest memories of our lives. It is a touch of nature.

WILLIS, who has many felicitous touches in his writings, represents TAGLIONI as being enchanted as she catches, in one of her performances on the stage, strains of music she had heard in her childhood.

And young HARRY BERTRAM, while wandering over the craggy hillside of Ellongowan Hight, catches a strain in the song of a Gipsey girl that is washing by a fountain at the foot of the slope, that awakens the memories of his lost youth. He thinks of a fragment of an old song he once knew he listens-she sings it. He wonders why it is, that the memories of his chilhood are so vividly brought before him. Why should the song of that Gipsey girl' affect him thus?

You see that an accent of this beggar girl's voice has arrested Mr. S.'s attention. He does not know why, but his stoicism begins to relent, and he feels inclined to hear, at least, what she has to say. A few words tell the sad story of their poverty and wretchedness, and ere she gets through, the girl, gaining confidence from the assurance that Mr. S. is more and more interested in what she has to say, raises her head and he catches a full view of her

face, which he had not done before. He knew not why, but she seemed to him his beautiful FANNIE, in rags, pleading for bread to carry home to her poor sick and starving mother. This touched his heart. He put his hand into his pocket, and taking out a gold dollar remarked as he gave it to her, “I never saw a girl look so much like my daughter FANNIE as you do. Take this as a compliment to that resemblance, and for your sick mother." And he left them.

In the fine residence of Mr. S., at evening, the family were seated as usual at table. The story of Mr. S.'s giving the gold dollar to the beggar girl was related by himself, and listened to with much interest by the family.

Some time after this the subject chanced to occur in the chat at the dinner-table. Then you think, said Miss FANNIE, that one of the beggar girls resembled me, do you? Her father replied that he did. She then informed him that those two beggar girls were now in two of the most affluent and respectable families in their city, and not only that, they were much esteemed by the inmates of those families. He felt some little pleasure in hearing this; it might be that the gold dollar had been the means of doing something of it. He inquired in what families they were. She would inform him at supper, and as they were to visit BIDDIE, their servant girl, that afternoon, he might have the opportunity of seeing them if he wished.

Miss W. was FANNIE'S guest that afternoon; they were schoolmates, friends, and in love and affection were wedded to each other.

After the usual tea-table chat, something was said by Mr. S. about the conversation at dinner. Miss LAURA and FANNIE had retired to another room, when Mrs. S. replied that if he would step into the other room, she would introduce him to the young ladies of gold-dollar

memory. He complied, and was introduced to two young women resembling those he had seen in the streets enough to distinctly recognize them. He addressed them a few words about their sick mother, to which they replied very prettily, that she was well. He then inquired for Miss LAURA and Miss FANNIE. One of the young ladies replied, taking off her bonnet and showing one of the loveliest of faces, and looking at him with all the playful witchery of a pair of charming eyes, "Don't you think, Mr. S., that there is something very FANNIESsque about me?" and then pointing to her friend, who had also unbonneted her head, "and don't you think this young lady looks exceedingly LAURAESque ?"

The surprise had been sprung upon him so suddenly that, for a moment, his mind wavered between a recognition of them and the ruse they had played him, so much so that he wondered who they were.

But while he was thus pondering, it was but the work of a moment, their beggar dresses that they had merely slipped on over their others, were thrown off and Miss FANNIE S., and Miss LAURA W., stood before him.

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Capital! capital!" exclaimed Mr. S., who had now emerged from the unpleasant perplexity the surprise had thrown him into, "this is capital! You deserve a rich "benefit' for this. But, you witching rogues, don't you babble this about!" There was an exposure of himself about the farce that he did not like, after all.

Miss FANNIE resumed, "My dear father, the play is out. I know it sounds trite, but it is just as true, when I say there is a moral to it. You have met your daughter FANNIE many a time in rags and wretchedness in the streets of this city; her equals in beauty, affection, love and worth. The only difference is, this meaner garb," pointing to the one she had just thrown off, "and this princely

mansion, and that wretched hut yonder," referring to the beggar's home. "You were not cheated last week, when Miss LAURA W., and your daughter FANNIE asked alms of you. They were cheated in you-they mistook you for a benevolent man, but found that your benevolence, like the frozen fountain, wanted thawing before it would flow. This is all, save the sequel. Now for that," she cried, as she turned to her friend. "I accepted the challenge so boastingly given the other day, to touch the 'heel of ACHILLES' in my father's heart. I have done it. But others must know it. I understand that there is a pretty reward pledged to the winner of this citadel."

The following note was elegantly penned and sent to the young ladies whom we have noticed in the first part of our story as giving the challenge.

RESPECTED LADIES:

Your ACHILLES has been conquered. The

arrow of PARIS has laid him low. I claim your forfeit.

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This story is true. Should you ever take a trip down the "Great Father-of-waters," one of the finest steamers on that magnificent river would be pointed out to you bearing the name, as a tribute to her worth, of the heroine of our story.

THE NORTHERN SCHOOL-GIRL THAT WISHED TO BE PUT IN MY BOOK.

"And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace
A nymph, a naid, or a grace,
Of finer form or lovelier face!

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