ence. "Tell me
all--like to serve my fellows--no other occupation; out with it, as
the doctor said to the little boy that swallowed his sister's
necklace."

The lovesick youth informed the obliging young man that he loved and
was beloved by a young lady of Boston, whose aunt, acting as her
guardian, opposed his suit. He was going to Boston to put a plan of
elopement into operation. He had prepared two letters, one to the aunt
renouncing his hopes, to throw her off her guard; the other to the
young lady, appointing a meeting at the Providence cars. The
difficulty was to get the letters delivered. This the obliging young
man readily undertook to do in person. Both the aunt and niece bore
the same name--Emeline Brown; but the aunt's letter was sealed with
black, the niece's with red wax. The letters were delivered with many
injunctions to the obliging young man, and the two new-made friends
parted on the arrival of the cars in Boston.

The Providence cars were just getting ready to start, when, amid all
the bustle and confusion, a pale-faced young man "might have been
seen," as Mr. James, the novelist, says, nervously pacing to and fro,
and occasionally darting into Pleasant Street, and scrutinizing every
approaching passenger and vehicle. At last, when there was but a
single moment to spare, a hack drove up furiously, and a veiled lady
hastily descended, and gave her hand to her expectant admirer.

"Quick, Emeline, or we shall lose the train!"

The enamoured couple were soon seated beside each other, and whirling
away to Providence. The lady said little, but sat with downcast head
and veiled face, apparently overwhelmed with confusion at the step she
had taken. But it was enough for young Dovekin to know she was beside
him, and he poured forth an unbroken stream of delicious nonsense,
till the train arrived at its destination.

In the station house the lady lifted her veil. Horror and confusion!
It was the aunt! The obliging young man had delivered the wrong
letter.

"Yes, sir," said Miss Brown, "I am the person whom you qualified, in
your letter intended for my niece, as a 'hateful hag, in whose eyes
you were throwing dust'. What do you say to that, sir?"

"Say!" replied the disconsolate Dovekin. "It's no use to say any
thing; for it is my settled purpose to spring over the parapet of the
railroad bridge and seek oblivion in a watery grave. But first, if I
could find that obliging young man, I'd be the death of