a lovely blue-eyed girl of sixteen; her auburn hair was plaited neatly over her smooth forehead, and falling back gradually until it reached the back part of as beautiful shaped head as ever graced a human shoulder, it fell down in ringlets, luxuriating on a neck that would have called up passions from the icy heart of the most noted Benedick of the day. Her's was a beauty

"As Guido would have loved to dwell upon."

As we are not au fait in the matter of describing the comparative qualities of beauty, we shall leave the reader to fill up the sketch by drawing on his imagination, and if his draught should be too extravagant, why then he needs must reduce the coloring down to a standard more in accordance with dame nature, and her more correct rules, by which all such things are regulated. Lucy was beautiful, let that suffice.

"Now, George," exclaimed the father, "let us hear your story."

"I have no story, father, only I heard that a British brig had just arrived, I thought I would just go down and try to learn the news."

"I could not hear much, however. This I heard, that orders had been received to end the war by all means, and put down the rebel spirit by every stratagem in the power of the officers commanding the British forces."

"Aye, by acts as oppressive as those which caused it. No matter, let us to labor-go, George, and see to the garden; you, Lucy, with your flowers to market, and Switzer, let you and I have a little chat in relation to this piece of ground, claimed under the Penn treaty. I want to show you a parchment I have in relation to the same, which I think will make some people stare."

About fifteen minutes after the above conversation, Lucy was seen on her way to market with a little basket of flowers, which was her daily occupation. These she sold to the officers of the army, at a very high price.

Lucy Somers never again returned to her father's home. That gay, lovely morning, bright in its clear sunshine and refreshing breeze, musical with the notes of happy birds, that morning was the last that ever broke upon her vision of sight in the vicinity of her humble home! The spot of all others most dear, associated with the recollection of her kind and affectionate mother, and the rembrance of all those infantile amusements, which make home the heaven on earth, the paradise of the land, and which is the only spot we leave with regret, whether it be to go hence on the wide world, or down to the cold silent grave. Some one, a gifted poet, no doubt speaking of home, says:

"There is a magic in that little world;

It is a mystic circle, that surrounds

Comforts and virtues never known beyond

Its hallowed limits."

Lucy Somers never again crossed the threshold of her father's humble dwelling. "Its hallowed limits" were to her -barriers Olympus high! Yet was she virtuous, and as modest as the rose-buds that blossomed in her little garden.

Few there are, who have the least idea of the state of the city of Philadelphia, during the time the British held possession of it. It was not alone the inconvenience

under which her citizens labored, nor the insults offered to those who refused to bend the knee to sovereign power. All the privations were tamely submitted to; but that was not all, a greater and a more mighty cause stirred the people to thoughts and deeds of revenge, which in after days were carried out so fearfully. The commander-in-chief, as well as the immoral crew that surrounded him, considered every female as a part and portion of their booty, and as such were bound to obey them in all things. Years have not yet enlightened the English upon the subject, which shows that the old feudal system, barbarous as it was, still forms a part of their creed; for, during the last war, it will be remembered, that the watch cry at the battle of New Orleans was beauty and booty." It is true, they dared not step into the higher circles, and bear off the daughters of the rich man by brutal force; but whenever a lovely girl was to be found who had no protector or friend, and whose poverty could raise up no champion to defend her wrongs, insult and outrage followed, and to such an extent were these vile acts carried, that houses were established for the express purpose of being used as prisons for the victims of their base and licentious designs. Lord Howe, himself, set the example, and his open violation of all decency, and respect to civil and military law, in his connection with the celebrated Mrs. Loring is too well authenticated, not to be mentioned here in connection with the subject of our just censure.

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There stood in the days of our revolutionary struggle a large white house in the vicinity of Second and streets, which was occupied at that period by a mess of officers, whose characters were of the most depraved kind. Their midnight orgies and hellish acts were the terror of the whole neighborhood, and yet they were men high in rank in the British army. The Borgias of France could never have

imagined things more horrible than those which were committed by these men. It would be a fearful tale to tell, if we were to relate but a part of their proceedings. It would be to account for various bones, which to this day lie scattered in the vaults of the house in question, for it is still standing. It would be to speak of music and the dance-it would be to speak of screams, of horror, and of death! It would be to speak of lasciviousness in all its prismatic coloring? We have said the house is still standing. So it is. The walls are cracked-the plaster in many places has fallen off-the old oak floors are dark, and in many places, spotted as if with blood. The footpaths of the ghosts are visible there yet!

In one of the large rooms of this house, on the morning of July 1st, 1778, sat an officer, wearing the British uniform. His age might have been forty-his height was gigantic, and his stalwart frame seemed to have been made expressly for the endurance of labor and the gratification of indulging in every vice that the world engenders for the worst of men, and their vile propensities. His features were not handsome, though regular-the curl of his lip and the fiendish glare from a piercing black eye destroyed that, which otherwise. might have been looked upon without a shudder. Before such a man stood a fellow by the name of Lawson. The character of Lawson is an every day one, a pliant tool for any man that would employ him-his business was to cater for his patron, though it were to sell his sister's virtue for the price offered. His was a vile trade, and is hereditary in the world!

“Come nearer, Lawson-look at me."

"I do so."

"Well now, mark me, twice you have fool'd me about this girl. Twice has she been permitted to return home,

without the interview-listen-" and, as he spoke, he hissed in the ear of the trembling slave-"If she escape the third time-your life-aye, it is in my hands-shall pay the forfeit. You know me. These vaults, deep as dungeons, which lie beneath the building, must witness a new inmate, if Lucy Somers be not here-here-mark me! by ten o'clock this night. You have the day before you, and there is more money for you. Remember, Lawson, there is blood upon your soul, and I can be your executioner!"

"I will obey you, sir; the girl shall be here at the time specified," adding half aside, "Curses on his power, but my time may come yet." So saying he suddenly left the apartment.

"Ha! ha! I have him in my toils-the wretch will do my bidding to save his life,-life, loathsome though it be, still has charms for the vilest. Pshaw! why should I

moralize."

We now draw a dark curtain over the scene; for the exultation of a bad man in his crimes, and his mockery of those whom his acts have ruined, cannot be interesting to our readers.

CHAPTER III.

SUSPENSE-ALARM-THE LOST ONE.

The evening shades were lengthening o'er the earth, the birds had ceased their warbling, and the tinkling of the cowbell was silent. The waters of the beauteous Delaware reflected back the red glare of the setting sun, and looked like a running stream of molten gold. So rich is nature,