perhaps, for here is a procession in which
appear figures in the long robe of the monk, and I think I can discern a
cross on that banner borne at their head. But what, dear Aunt Nancy,
could you possibly find in our land of yesterday, to associate with such
a scene?"

"Our people may be of yesterday, Annie, but our land bears no marks of
recent origin. The most arrogant boaster of the Old World may feel
himself humbled as he stands within the shadow of our forests, and looks
up to trees which we might almost fancy to have waved over the heads of
'the patriarchs of an infant world?'"

"And you have seen some such forests, and on the branches of these old
trees 'hangs a tale' which you will tell us. Is it not so, Aunt Nancy?"

"I have seen such a forest, and I have a sketch of certain events
occurring within its circle. The narrative was given me by my friend,
Mrs. H., who was acquainted with the parties. You will find it in her
handwriting in the compartment of my desk from which you took the
engraving."

Annie found the paper, and I saw a quiet smile pass around as she read
aloud its title. Mr. Arlington, at my request, took the reader's place,
and we spent our evening in listening to

THE HISTORY OF AN OLD MAID.

It is an almost universal belief among those who have faith in man's
immortality, that when his spiritual nature has been divested of its
present veil--the bodily organization by which it at pleasure reveals or
conceals itself--it shall be manifested to all at a glance in the
unsullied beauty of holiness, or the dark deformity of vice. Shall our
vision extend further? Shall we read the soul's past history? Shall we
know the struggles which have given strength to its powers? The fears
which have shadowed, and the hopes which have lighted, its earthly path?
Shall we learn the unspoken sacrifices which have been laid on the altar
of its affections or its duty? Shall we see how a single generous
impulse has shaped the whole course of its being, and been as a heavenly
flame, to which every selfish desire and feeling have been committed in
noiseless devotion? If this be so, how many such records shall be
furnished by the life of woman? How often shall it be found, that from
such a flame has risen the light with which she has brightened the
existence of others!

Meeta Werner was the daughter of industrious, honest Germans, who had
emigrated to the western part of Pennsylvania when she was a child of
only