of his destination; some
supposed that he had gone to Europe; others thought that he had
emigrated to the 'far West'; while many persons imagined that he had
exhausted his fortune, and been obliged to leave by the persecutions of
creditors. Those who had been accustomed to borrow money from him,
regretted his departure; but those who had been afflicted with jealousy
at his good looks and popularity with _la belle sex_, expressed
themselves as 'devilish glad he'd gone.'

But, in truth, Frank had neither gone to Europe, nor to the far West,
neither had he been driven away by creditors; his fortune was still
ample, and adequate to all his wants, present and to come. Where, then,
was our hero flown? impatiently demands the reader. Softly, and you
shall know in good time.

It was a beautiful afternoon, in spring, and Boston Common was thronged
with promenaders of both sexes and all conditions. Here was the portly
speculator of State street, exulting over the success of his last
_shave_; here was the humble laborer, emancipated for a brief season
from the drudgery of his daily toil; here was the blackleg, meditating
on future gains; and here the pickpocket, on the alert for a victim.
Then there were ladies of every degree, from the poor, decent wife of
the respectable mechanic, with her troop of rosy children, down to the
languishing lady of fashion, with her silks, her simperings, and her
look of _hauteur_. Nor was there wanting, to complete the variety, the
brazen-faced courtezan, with her 'nods,' and becks, and wreathed smiles,
tho' to class _her_ with ladies of any grade, would be sacrilege.

The weather was delicious; a soft breeze gently stirred the trees, which
were beginning to assume the fair livery of spring, and the mild rays of
the declining sun shone cheerily over the noble enclosure. In the
principal mall a young lady was slowly walking with an air pensive and
thoughtful.

She could scarce have been over sixteen years of age--a beautiful
blonde, with golden hair and eyes of that deep blue wherein dwells a
world of expression. In complexion she was divinely fair; her cheeks
were suffused with just enough of a rich carnation to redeem her angelic
countenance from an unbecoming paleness. Her figure, _petite_ and
surpassingly graceful, had scarce yet attained the matured fullness of
womanhood; yet it was of exquisite symmetry.--Her dress was elegant
without being gaudy, and tasteful without being ostentatious.