"Write often for thy secret eye-to lure thy thought from sorrow, That telegraph of mind is dearer than wealth or wisdom, Enabling to please without pain, to impart without humiliation." BUT, though Col. Tyng resided in the country, he was a frequent visitor in town. One evening, a few weeks after the premulgation of the engagement of which we have spoken, Mrs. Hanford's parlor was the scene of another "reading." As in that with which we began our chapters, Horace was performer-his audience consisting of nearly the same individuals as before.Another narrative "by the author of Grace Murray" was read and analyzed, with even more unqualified commendation than had been bestowed on that fortunate production. "We are promised a portrait of the writer," remarked Horace, when the hum of applause and of criticism had, in some measure, subsided, at the close of the reading-" in the next number of the It may, or may not be a likeness, but it will, at least, decide the question whether a lady or gentleman merits the laurels of authorship." "And if a lady," responded young Edward Barton, "I, for one, ain prepared to adore her." "Without regard to collateral possibilities ?" asked a gentleman who was addressed as Mr. Lyon. "Suppose, now, she should be disagreeable in appearance?" "That is not a possibility. A woman who can so think, and so give forth her thoughts to instruct and delight others, must possess that order of beauty which is independent of features or complexion and, having which, no countenance can be really disagreeable." "I will not quarrel with your taste, but I prefer to fancy her beautiful as her intellectual creations. If she so prove-perhaps, |