was inquiring, for
Charlestown, near Boston--an error which has frequently been made. Nor
is it as gross a one as some others which have been perpetrated; as, for
instance, that of the late Prince Schwartzenberg, minister of Austria,
who directed some dispatches for our government to "The United States of
New York."

And now behold little Margaret actually launched upon the stormy ocean
of life! for her small bark was destined soon to be severed from its
guide and conductor, and to be left, without a pilot, to the wildly
tossing waves and bleak winds of a selfish world. Did I say without a
pilot? not so! a hand, unseen, directed her fate, and although she was
called to pass thus early through troubled waters, the end will
doubtless show that all was well. But the present trial was a very
bitter one. A few days only after the embarkation, Mrs. Roscoe's weak
frame gave way, under the combined influence of sorrow, fatigue, and
anxiety; she was only ill a week, then sank, and was consigned to a
watery grave. Little Margaret could not be separated from her for one
moment during her illness, but, clasping her mother's hand in hers,
remained by her, smoothing her pillow, bringing her the cooling draught,
and seeking, in a thousand loving ways, to cheer and relieve her.

Before her death, Mrs. Roscoe called the Captain, and committed little
Maggie to his especial care. She told him of her expectation that her
brother, Mr. Alan Roscoe, a prominent importing merchant in Charleston,
would immediately come on board to claim his niece, when the vessel
arrived; but to guard against any possibility of a mistake, she gave him
the number of the street in which he resided. The bluff, but
kind-hearted man drew his red, hard hand repeatedly across his eyes, as
he listened to her anxious directions about the little girl she was so
soon to leave. He told her he didn't know much himself about either
Charleston or the people who lived in it, as he had been engaged until
very lately in the South Sea trade; but, of course, his consignees at
Boston would, and if there were any difficulty, he should put the matter
into their hands. He begged her to be under no uneasiness--her daughter
should be well attended to.

On the last day of her illness, the little girl sat by her in the berth,
and for the first time appeared to realize that her mother, her only
earthly friend, was about to die. Her little cheek was now almost as
white as the dying woman