l now rang, and company was announced. Leaving the young couple
to entertain their guests, we have stolen away in search of the absent
Wayland, and bring him once more on the tapis, to give some account of
his protracted wanderings, and learn what are his hopes and prospects
for the future. By what devious track we shall be pleased to pursue the
rover, our next chapter will reveal.

CHAPTER XV.

"O, Charity, what art thou? Mystic thing!"

Being rather benevolently inclined ourselves, we feel a desire to look
in once more upon the "Ladies Literary Benevolent Combination for
Foreign Aid," which is to-day congregated at the residence of Mrs.
Rachel Stebbins, president of this humane and Christian body. She is
sitting in majestic presence on her throne of office, with her
gold-bowed spectacles astride her stately nose, and her devoted subjects
clustering around her, their tongues and fingers nimble as ever in the
good cause of universal philanthropy. Prominent in the ranks is Mrs.
Sykes, while ever following her, like a shadow, is her bosom friend,
Miss Jerusha Sharpwell. Mrs. Fleetfoot also appears in the rear; a sort
of shadow of a shade, or refrain to the song. Little Miss Gaddie
composes and sings alone now; her sister, Miss Pamela, having
accompanied her missionary husband to the shores of benighted Bengal, to
aid in his labors for the conversion of the heathen world.

"Well," said Miss Jerusha, as she sank down in a soft-cushioned chair
beside Mrs. Sykes, with a pair of checked muslin night-caps in her hand;
"what's the good word with you, sister, these suffocating days?"

"La! nothing, sister Jerusha, as I know of. My girl, Hannah, has gone
off and left me, so I have to keep close at home and slave myself with
hard work all the time, and have no opportunity to learn what's going on
about town," answered Mrs. Sykes, in a doleful voice.

"Why, where has your girl, Hannah, gone?" asked Miss Jerusha,
sympathetically; "I never heard a word about her leaving your service."

"She didn't leave me of her own free will;--catch Hannah to go away from
this roof, unless she was bejuggled by other folks. But she'll repent
her rashness when 'tis too late, I'm afeard," said Mrs. Sykes.

"Why, didn't you know Hannah Smith had gone to work for the widow
Orville?" inquired Mrs. Fleetfoot, looking up from the blue yarn sock
she was knitting, which was destined, no doubt, to conv