At the beginning of this experiment, after completing the furniture of her house, Mrs. Darlington had about three hundred dollars.  When the quarter’s bill for rent was paid, she had only a hundred and fifty dollars left.  Thus, instead of making anything by boarders, so far, she had sunk a hundred and fifty dollars.  This fact disheartened her dreadfully.  Then, the effect upon almost every member of her family had been bad.  Harry was no longer the thoughtful, affectionate, innocent-minded young man of former days.  Mason and Barling had introduced him into gay company, and, fascinated with a new and more exciting kind of life, he was fast forming associations and acquiring habits of a dangerous character.  It was rare that he spent an evening at home; and, instead of being of any assistance to his mother, was constantly making demands on her for money.  The pain all this occasioned Mrs. Darlington was of the most distressing character.  Since the children of Mr. and Mrs. Scragg came into the house, Edward and Ellen, who had heretofore been under the constant care and instruction of their mother, left almost entirely to themselves, associated constantly with these children, and learned from them to be rude, vulgar, and, in some things, even vicious.  And Miriam had become apparently so much interested in Mr. Burton, who was constantly attentive to her, that both Mrs. Darlington and Edith became anxious on her account.  Burton was an entire stranger to them all, and there were many things about him that appeared strange, if not wrong.

So much for the experiment of taking boarders, after the lapse of a single quarter of a year.

(To be continued.)

* * * * *

DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY OF SIXTEEN.

BY MRS. L.G.  ABELL.

  Oh, I cannot, cannot think of her without a starting tear;
  So late, in youthful loveliness, I felt her presence near: 
  Her healthful form of fairest mould, I seem to see her still,
  And to hear her sweet and gentle voice, as the voice of summer rill.

  Her eye of blue, like azure sky of clear pure light above,
  With soft silk fringes on the lids, shading the deepest love,
  Was a light that gleamed from out the heart, and its rainbow hues
      revealed—­
  A ray from its own full happiness, too full to be concealed.

  At twilight’s calm and silent hour, on the hushed lake’s quiet breast,
  I saw her gliding joyously, as glide the waves to rest—­
  And music, too, was on the air, soft as Eolian strain;
  But I thought not then that Death was near, a victim soon to gain.

  Oh, can it be that this is life!—­a thing so frail as this! 
  Like a lovely flower that only smiles to give one thought of bliss—­
  That blooms in light and beauty a fleeting summer day,
  Then closes up its sweetness, and passes thus away?

  How still she lies! her ringlets droop, of pale and soft brown hair—­
  Parted upon her marble brow, they fall neglected there;
  Her cold hands folded on her breast, her round arms by her side—­
  How sad all hearts that knew her well that she so soon has died!