BY ANN E. PORTER.

To assure my readers that I am telling them what is truth, and not drawing upon the treasury of fancy for a sketch, I will first relate to them in what manner I became acquainted with the Doctor and the Widow. I was once a teacher: yes, for seven years I held sway in the school-room, and learned by severe discipline the art of self-government, and to bear in secret many a sorrow of which the cherished daughter in the domestic circle remains in blissful ignorance. Whenever I see a young lady, at the close of school-hours, turning with a weary step to her solitary room in some boarding-house, my first impulse is to go and ask her to share my own fireside, sit down at my table, and forget for a while, in my little family circle, that she is away from the loved ones of her own home.

I shall never forget my first preparations for leaving home. I was to go eight hundred miles,—a long journey in the days of stages and canal-boats. My little purse grew thin and lank under the unusual exertion. I had a trunk and a large bandbox (the latter article I have since learned to dispense with): in this was placed all the "varieties" of my wardrobe, as Parson Milton would call them; or the accessories to strengthen the arsenal, as Bonaparte termed the feminine requisites to the toilet. My little store of collarets, ribbons, and cravats, my lace capes and fancy handkerchiefs were all folded in one box, and placed inside the larger one. They were few in number; but what girl of eighteen does not cherish her own small hoard of treasures? I was to go as far as Pittsburg in the company of a lady and her brother, a boy of sixteen. Three days and nights we were to travel by stage, stopping only for meals, and occasionally an hour for rest, besides the intervals caused by changing horses. Two strangers, young gentlemen from Philadelphia, joined us at the latter city, and remained with the party to Pittsburg. Nothing, perhaps, makes people better acquainted with the disposition of their companions, than the old-fashioned mode of coach-travelling; the petty troubles and peculiar annoyances excite the mirth of some, but elicit only the grumbling of others, so that for days together we are entertained by the fun of laughter-loving girls, and gallant young gentlemen, with growling interludes from some gouty old man, or the groans of an epicure, who talks only to condemn the dinner, and curse the cooks.

I had never spent a whole night out of my bed before, and though the excitement kept me up at first, I found myself so exhausted by the middle of the second night, that it was with difficulty I could retain my seat.

One of the passengers, perceiving my situation, and alarmed by my almost deadly paleness, requested the driver to stop, and ordered a cup of tea. This, and a resting-place for my poor head, relieved me a little; but with what joy did we hail, the next day at evening, the smoky city of Pittsburg.

"Ladies, shall we have the pleasure of meeting all our little party together in the parlour this evening?" said one of the gentlemen. The next morning we were to separate, taking three different routes. We therefore cheerfully acquiesced, and Miss S. and myself repaired to our rooms to dress. What was my astonishment to find my treasures gone, and with them a valuable breastpin, the gift of my grandfather, shortly before his death! I was weary, sick, and sad; but at the earnest request of my companion, I put on a black silk dress, and felt not a little refreshed by my bath, and the privilege of using thoroughly the brush and comb, which, denied me for two days and nights, had given to my head, with its exuberance of hair, a most moppish appearance on the outside, while the brain within seemed to share the entanglement without.

But the efforts of my companions could not chase away the homesickness of the heart. The morning would find me alone in the world. Sixty miles of my journey were yet to be travelled: and, wearied in body and faint in spirit, I longed to see my dear father, and be at home again under his protection. I shrunk, too, from the duties before me: they seemed more arduous and difficult as I approached them; and with a sad feeling of my own incompetency and the lack of personal charms, which might prepossess my employers, I laid my head upon my pillow that night and watered it with my tears. Sleep! blessed, blessed Sleep! Thou dost take the burdens from the weary and fling them into the waters of oblivion; the infant, in its guileless rest, is pillowed on thy lap, and the aged lean lovingly on thy shoulder. Merciful was the great Father of all, that he did permit thee to follow Adam from Paradise, and travel with his children in this world of guilt,—thus are we permitted to forget, for a while, at least, our sorrows and our sins. Early the next morning I went on board a steamboat for Wheeling, and though shrinking and timid, I still found protection and kindness when needed; but when we arrived, at midnight, in the village of P., and I found myself alone in a large, desolate-looking room of the hotel, all the former feeling of sadness came over me, and with them an indefinable dread of the future.

I must send word to the patrons of the school that I had arrived: and fearful that their expectations would be disappointed, I could not sleep. The next morning I despatched a messenger, and two of the trustees called. They were polite, but said little, excepting what related to business; but when they left me, remarked, "We will procure a more agreeable home for you than this." I thanked them with my lips, but they little comprehended how earnestly the heart craved for a home again. The day passed, and I saw no one till the twilight shadows were creeping into that lonely room, and with them also dim visions of home and friends, bringing with them that sad heart-longing which the young feel during their first absence from home, when I was startled from my reverie by a gentle knock at my door. I opened it, and an old lady stood before me, so kind, so motherly in her appearance, and so plainly yet tastefully dressed, that my heart clung to her at first sight. If my Father in heaven had sent an angel to me, I should certainly have chosen just such a face and garb, in my present condition, rather than the white robes and bright-winged cherubs of Raphael's glorious fancy.

"Why, my dear child," said she, as if struck at once by my girlish figure and pallid face, "you must have been lonely here to-day, and you need a mother to nurse and take care of you after your long journey. My name is Warner, and I am going to take you home with me, if you will go. My brother called this morning, and my husband would have accompanied me, but he was very busy; and I was so fearful that you would be homesick, that I thought I would come and introduce myself."

My heart bounded with delight, and I could hardly speak for gratitude; and I said so little, and that in such a blundering way, that I was afraid she would not know how much relief she had brought me.

"Come, my dear, get your bonnet," said she pleasantly, "and I will send for your baggage."

I obeyed, and in a few minutes we stopped at a large but neat residence, almost hid in a profusion of shrubbery. The climbing multiflora rose covered one side of the house, and, with welcome intrusiveness, peeped into the chamber windows, while a honeysuckle and woodbine threw their mantle of green over the door, and mingled their blossoms with those of a tall snowball tree, which had grown high, and, clinging to the house, showered a white welcome upon every corner. A few steps from the house, on the right side, but in the same enclosure, was a small brick office;—on the other side a cottage, shaded by two large beech trees, children of the forest, spared by some merciful woodman when the land was cleared. Such was the outward appearance of my new home—a word as to its inmates. My companion ushered me into a small sitting-room, prettily furnished, and occupied at the time by two persons,—one a tall, white-haired old gentleman, with spectacles on nose, reading the newspaper—the other Mrs. Travis, a young widow, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Warner, who had returned again to the home of her youth. She was sewing as we entered, but, laying aside her work, rose to greet us. Her countenance was plain, but a pair of sparkling black eyes gave animation and expression to her features; and, as I returned her salutation, I thought her welcome not quite so cordial as her mother's. It seemed to express this—"Whether you and I like each other will depend on circumstances." But the old gentleman looked at me for an instant over his spectacles; then, laying them aside with his paper, rose, and taking my hand, welcomed me to the West with a hearty greeting; then, placing a chair near to his own, begged me to be seated. His whole countenance was expressive of goodness; and, as I sat down by his side in all the timidity of a girlish stranger, I felt, for the first time since leaving home, a delicious sense of security and peace. It seemed as if the wing of some guardian angel was over me, and a refuge opened in time of sorrow.

And here, en passant, I must add, those first impressions never changed; and, from that hour till the day when that blessed spirit was carried by angels to its own pure home in heaven, I always found consolation in trouble, advice in perplexity, and gentle reproof in error, by the side of the good old man. How sweet was the fragrance of his daily life, and how precious the kiss he imprinted upon my forehead, and the blessing he implored upon my head when I bade him farewell! Oh! the hopeless darkness of atheism, which draws the veil of oblivion between us and all further intercourse with such spirits! No, no!—let us rather say with St. Paul, "I know in whom I have believed;" and with Job, "I shall live again."

But my limits forbid any extended notice of the members of the family, though the years I spent under that charmed roof are marked in my life with a white stone. There I emerged from the bashful, timid girl, into the more active, energetic woman; and under the blessed influence of love I trust I grew wiser and happier.

When, at nine o'clock, the family Bible was opened, and father

and all knelt at the family altar in prayer, my own heart was full, and I was thankful that no eye could see my face. Soon afterwards the old lady said, "You look tired, and must retire; I will show you to your room." Then, leading me through a small entry, she opened the door of a commodious room, saying, as she did so, "This will be yours." It was carpeted, a centre-table was in the middle of the room, an open stove with its grate, ready at any chilly hour for coal, and a nice, cosy-looking bed in one corner of the apartment. The old lady lighted a candle, and bade me good night. Did she, or did she not, think I was a cold-hearted little thing, that I said good night in such a low, tremulous tone? I know not; but this I do know, that, as soon as she had left the room, I sat down, and, laying my head on the table, burst into tears.

They were tears of thankfulness and joy, and they refreshed the heart, as a summer shower the parched earth.

I seemed a child again, and, with my childhood's prayer upon my lips, I dropped to sleep that night. I would love to sit and write till night about my after-life there, but I have limited myself to one little episode, and to that I will proceed. I had been there some months; Elizabeth had learned that we were so unlike that we could love, and neither be enemies nor rivals. Her high, ambitious, buoyant spirit had nothing to fear from the timid, yielding, sensitive girl who was to be her companion. Not a single trait in the character of each came in collision. One was self-reliant, could keep her own secrets, extricate herself from her own difficulties, feared none but God, cared little for the opinion of others, loved deeply, hated cordially. The other had an inordinate "love of approbation," lacked hope and courage, but, supported by a stronger arm, could endure the bitterest trial even to the end. The one was proud to uphold, the other loved to trust.

And thus we moved on, loved and loving, whereas, had we resembled each other more closely, bitter heart-burnings and jealousies might have been the result. One day we sat together in the little sitting-room. We were reading "Deerbrook," by Miss Martineau, and wondering that such want of trust and faith should ever take place between sisters, when the door-bell rang, and a young gentleman, a total stranger to us, was ushered in. He was a tall young man, with a fresh countenance, a somewhat diffident manner, and gray eyes, which had a downcast expression. It was difficult for him to observe that simple rule of politeness, "Look directly at the person to whom you speak." Mr. Warner endeavoured to make him more at his ease by casual remarks upon the weather, and other topics of the day; but he elicited little besides "Yes, sir," "No, sir," "I agree with you perfectly, sir," and suchlike replies. At last he drew a card from his pocket, and handed it to Mr. Warner, saying, "I have been in town some days, and am looking out for an office. Learning that the one near your house is unoccupied, I have made an early application."

"I will think of it," said the old gentleman. "This is Dr. Vandorsen, ladies, come to take up his residence in our village." This somewhat awkward introduction over, I took the opportunity to slip out of the room, just as they commenced talking upon the terms of rent and other business matters.

"Well, now," said Elizabeth, as she came hastily into my room, an hour afterwards; "what do you think of the Doctor?"

"Why, I haven't thought of him since I left the room; I have been preparing my lesson in Butler's Analogy, and I assure you it requires all the strength of my feeble brain to grasp his arguments and make them clear to my class."

"A truce to such work! I thought you had been studying the young stranger's physiognomy, and were prepared to give me an analysis of his character."

"Let me see," I said; "I cannot give you his character, but I believe his personal appearance I can remember; cheeks like your rusty-coat apples, rusty brown with a touch of red, foxy eyes, slick, very slick hair, as the Yankees say, an inflexible spine, and in one respect only like St. Paul."

"Pray what is that?"

"Brethren, I came unto you in much weakness of speech."

Lizzy's eyes snapped, and she looked, for a moment, almost angry. "Then," said she, "I really thought you had some penetration of character, but I must be mistaken. Did you not see the evidence of fine feelings beneath that bashful exterior? And then he was so modest and unassuming; why I no sooner heard his errand than my fancy drew a beautiful picture in perspective. He seemed so much like yourself,—you that we are beginning to love so much, that I thought it would be love at first sight. Father will let him have the office, and then here's the cottage: a nice, snug place it would be for you, and we could have you always with us, and a doctor handy to cure 'the ills to which flesh is heir.'"

"You have a vivid imagination, truly; but let me tell you that you are right in supposing that I have very little penetration of character. I have none; but sometimes, though I cannot account for it, I have a strong aversion to a person on the first meeting; and when it is so, I never overcome it."

"Nonsense," said Lizzy, "that is all imagination; a belief without reason, but it cannot be so in this case."

"We will leave this for the present," I said; "and I will take more particular notice of the Doctor the next time. If you like him, I have no doubt I shall also. But why so disinterested? why not take the good Doctor yourself, and then the office and cottage will follow as a life possession for him?"

"Why, don't you know, my dear child, he is not the man for me? I should be the death of so amiable a personage in two years. If I marry again, it must be a man of boldness and spirit. I care not if he have the temper of Bonaparte, if he have his courage and spirit."

"And could you endure like Josephine? You forget the broken vows and crushed hopes."

A shade passed over her countenance a moment.

"Let us not talk about marriage now," said she.

"Agreed," I replied. "I must study, and bury all other aspirations for the present in my school."

The next day the Doctor took possession of the office, and long rows of vials and boxes of bones usurped the place of law books and deeds. The boy pounded medicines in the morning, and the Doctor played on his flute at night.

He was neighbourly, and very attentive to both the young ladies, evidently studying to make no difference in his attentions. To be sure, he talked most with myself, and I noticed whenever an opportunity occurred, Lizzy would direct the conversation to some subject in which I was especially interested. Every Wednesday evening we went to a lecture, and he was usually present to accompany the family. The whole family seemed interested in him, and good old Mr. Warner too, especially as he now spoke of his intention to join the church. When that event did take place, I found some excuse for staying at home. The more I tried to overcome it, the stronger my aversion became. I thought it must be groundless—the rest of the family had more experience and wisdom than myself,—why then should I feel such an unaccountable prejudice towards an innocent young gentleman who had done me no harm?

I determined to overcome it, and most severely did I blame myself for suspecting that any other than holy motives led to this public act of consecration. The next evening, when he proposed to me that we should take a short walk, I cheerfully consented. As we passed a large flouring mill, he said, "This, I believe, is Mr. Warner's?"

"Yes," I replied.

"It seems, to be a very valuable one."

"One of the most so in the region. The old gentleman came to this country many years ago. Like Abraham, he went forth, not knowing whither he went, and like him has he been prospered. He has flocks and herds, houses and lands, and, what shall I call those?" I asked, as a drove of swine marked by him came grunting along with their snub noses in the gutter.

"Oh, that is but one species of property," he remarked, "and has its value. The good old man seems to be very worthy."

"Worthy!" I repeated to myself—what harm in that, and yet I didn't like the question, or rather the tone of the remark.

"He is one of the excellent of the earth—belonging to that species of salt which never loses its savour."

"They seem to be a very affectionate family, no wonder they feel almost idolatry for their interesting daughter. Did you know her husband?"

"Not at all," I replied, and by my silence indicated that I had no wish to continue this conversation.

The very next morning I had occasion to go into the private room or study of the old gentleman, to deposit in his hands a sum of money, the proceeds of my labour, and for which he gave me good interest and security. I found the old lady there, and as I opened the door she remarked, "Oh yes, husband, lend him freely if he needs; he is young, and a hundred dollars may aid him greatly now; I have perfect confidence in the Doctor."

I bit my lip, for I found myself inclined to smile, and did not wish to be observed. But the old gentleman remarked the expression of my face, and looking over his spectacles archly said, "Ay, ay, my little schoolma'am! and so you don't think so highly of the Doctor as the rest of us, or do you sail under false colours just now?"

"I have no cause for that," I replied, "and if I had, your penetration would find it out; so honesty is really my best policy, for no other reason than because I can have no other."

"Well, time works wonders; I only desire that you settle among us, and I must say, prudence would hardly advise the Doctor at present; so take good care of yourself and all will come right," so giving me my receipt and a kiss on the cheek, I left the good couple in the act of counting out a hundred dollars for the Doctor. Weeks passed, and Lizzy, delighted at every new patient the Doctor had and at the increasing reputation she thought he was gaining, always had some interesting fact to relate to me when I returned from school at night. At one time he had refused all pay from a sick old woman, one of Lizzy's protégés, whom he visited daily. At another time, he had spent half a day in the garden with her good mother, budding, trimming, and tying up her bushes; again, he had gone into the field and mowed for three hours, to help her father, when there was a prospect of rain. "And wouldn't he make a good husband, Sissy dear?" she said.

"Yes, love, if he was only a little more fiery, like Bonaparte, and had the courage and spirit of a hero."

Lizzy looked annoyed. In the mean time, common report had, to my great vexation, coupled the Doctor's name with mine; but to attempt to stem the current of village gossip is like using Dame Partington's broom to sweep the sea. Firmness and patience are the only salves for such annoyances. Happily, a vacation of a week occurred, and I was to spend it with one of my pupils.

On my return, it was a pleasant summer's evening, the doors were open, and the same vines and trees which the year before looked so inviting to the little homesick girl, were again loaded with blossoms. The old folks sat just inside the door enjoying the mild air, and Lizzy on an ottoman, which stood on the broad step. The Doctor, with a hideous black patch on the side of his forehead, and one arm in a sling, stood leaning in a picturesque attitude by her side. Lizzy's eyes looked milder than I ever saw them before, and when she turned them upon the Doctor, there was an expression of interest and sympathy which I had never noticed before. "The victory is won," I said to myself, and then, like a shadow on my heart, came those first impressions, which no after acquaintance had removed. Mr. Warner came forward to welcome me, and wait upon me into the house, saying to the Doctor, with a smile, "We will excuse all want of gallantry this evening."

"And excuse me, also," he replied, "I will do myself the pleasure of calling on Miss Porter to-morrow," he said.

"What in the name of wonder has happened?" I said to Lizzy, who had flown to my side as the Doctor left.

"Oh, it is quite a story, I assure you; but I ought not to tell you, for I shall spoil it for the Doctor to-morrow. He tells it so well; you'll find that your stammering St. Paul can speak with the tongue of an angel sometimes."

But my curiosity would not allow me to wait: and in truth, neither would Lizzy's enthusiasm permit her to do the same; so she gave the outlines, promising that the Doctor should fill them up in the morning.

"Would you believe it," she commenced, "the Doctor has been robbed and shot at, and"—

"Shot at, and then robbed, Sis," said the old gentleman.

"There, I knew I should spoil the story."

"Never mind, do go on," I said, "where, pray?"

"Why, on the turnpike road to McConnelsville; don't you remember a piece of woods there?"

"Why, yes; but honest black Gassoway's house is near about half way as you pass the woods. I came from there on horseback, at eight o'clock in the evening, only two weeks ago."

"You must never go there again, my child," said Mrs. Warner, in a sort of sepulchral tone; "it may be the death of you."

"Just as the Doctor came to where the woods commenced, two horrible-looking ruffians with masks came out of the woods, and while one seized the horse's bridle, the other pointed a pistol to his heart, and demanded his money. He had two hundred dollars by him, which he was then taking to a man he owed. It was all the spare money he had; you know the Doctor is just commencing his profession, and he does not wish to urge his debtors too hard at present. But he was too brave to yield at once; he knocked the pistol aside, but it went off, grazing his arm; but after a hard fight with his opponents, he found they were too much for him, and after resigning all his money he came back home. Isn't it too bad, so industrious and prudent as he seems to be?"

"It is a hard case surely; but for the life of me I cannot imagine how robbers dared come so near the town; the pistol-shot must have been heard at Gassoway's."

"No, it was midnight, and they were sound asleep, probably. I wish they had heard and gone in pursuit."

The next day was Sunday, and, as usual, I went to meeting in the evening. Lizzy complained of slight indisposition, and did not accompany us; but when we returned we found the two invalids together, and one at least looking very agreeable, though Lizzy's face expressed embarrassment whenever she caught my eye.

The next morning the good old lady called me into her room a little while before the hour of school, and, bidding me sit down by her side, said affectionately, but seriously,

"My child, do you love the Doctor?"

Though not naturally mirthful, I could scarce refrain from laughing in the old lady's face. Respect forbade, and I answered, with all the seriousness I could command,

"Dear Aunty, because you and Lizzy wished it, I have tried hard to do so; but I do not love him, and I am convinced I never can."

The good woman looked relieved, and said, "I am glad it is so; you are far away from home and friends, and I should be sorry to have you in trouble while with us. Come to me at all times with your sorrows, and I will try and be a mother to you."

The smiles were now exchanged for tears. What in the world does any one wish to cry for, when they are grateful? But some seem to have that unfortunate propensity.

"I was only to add," said the old lady, "that the Doctor loves Lizzy; and I feared," she said, "it might make one heart sad. We fancied you felt more interest in the Doctor than you are willing to acknowledge."

"I now give you a solemn promise," I said, and it was sealed with a kiss, "that I will always speak the truth to yourself."

This conversation only gave me new cause for regret. I could not see my dear Lizzy married to the Doctor, so long as I was unable to shake off my own dislike to him, and my own mouth was fettered by the suspicions concerning myself. For two days I was pondering in my own mind what could be done; and learning that Mr. Warner would permit no engagement to take place at present, concluded that time and patience would bring all right.

Thus I mused, with my book open, but my mind wandering, when Lizzy burst into the room.

"Heigh-ho! my little hypocrite, you never can keep a secret, you say. Is that the truth?" And she held a card towards me.

"I never had any secrets to keep, Lizzy, so I don't know how much strength I possess."

"Well here, then—'Joseph Dushey, St. Louis, Mo.'"

"Upon my word, Lizzy, I know no more about this gentleman than yourself. Does he wish to see me?"

"That he does, and is waiting your ladyship's presence in the parlour."

"Some business relating to the school," I said. "I must not keep him waiting."

So to the parlour I went, and soon found myself in the presence of a gentleman upon whom nature had put her unmistakeable sign of nobility. His address and manner were those of one accustomed to refined society, and his ease and suavity quite overcame my own timidity. But, after a few minutes' general conversation, it was his turn to become embarrassed; and, after apologizing for interference in my private affairs, he said that, hearing that an engagement of marriage existed between myself and Dr. Vandorsen, he had felt it his duty to expose the character of the Doctor. It was painful, but it seemed to him an act of justice and mercy. He then related the history of this adventurer—a reckless swindler, ingratiating himself into the favour of others, and then repaying kindness with black ingratitude. "I have often," he said, "from regard to his father, helped him to money. He is owing me now; and, learning that I was in the vicinity, he invented the account of the sham robbery, which he says took place on Saturday evening." He then placed in my hands the papers containing proofs of that which he had asserted, and again, with much delicacy, apologized for his intrusion.

I thanked him most sincerely for what he had done, and assuring him that no such engagement existed between us, yet these papers were valuable as guarding against future trouble for others.

He allowed me to retain them. On going to my room I sat down and examined them carefully, and blessed God that I had it in my power to save Lizzy from a dreadful sacrifice. I laid them aside, determined to place them in the hands of Mr. Warner in the morning.

When morning came, the Doctor's office was found deserted; the key hung upon the outside, his valuables were removed, and from that time to this I have heard nothing from Dr. Vandorsen, nor has my good mother Warner or her family. Neither have the two hundred dollars, which they at different times loaned him, ever been returned.

Lizzy is most delightfully situated, and I know of but one drawback to her perfect happiness, viz., that her husband is one of the most amiable of men, never allowing his temper to conquer his reason, and never likely to allow ambition to overpower the deep affection he bears his wife.