“Who is it?” I asked.

“Do you see that poor creature, slowly moving along just opposite?”

“Yes.”

“Twenty years ago, there was not a gayer girl in the city; nor one more truly beloved by all.”

“She?”

“Yes.  Nor one of fairer hopes.”

“Hope has indeed sadly mocked her!” said I, giving almost involuntary utterance to the thought that instantly passed through my mind.  Just then I caught a glimpse of her face, that was partly turned towards us.  Though marked by disease and sorrow, it was yet no common face.  It still bore traces of womanly beauty, that no eye could mistake.

“Poor Flora! what a history of disappointed hopes and crushed affections is thine!  What a lesson for the young, the thoughtless, the innocent!” the old man said, as he retired from the window.

“Who is she?” I asked, after a brief pause.

“You have seen that beautiful old mansion that stands in—­street, just above—?”

“Yes.”

“It is now used as an extensive boarding-house; but in my younger days, it was one of the most princely establishments in the city.  It then stood alone, and had attached to it beautifully laid-out grounds, stocked with the rarest and richest plants, all in the highest state of cultivation.  No American workman could produce furniture good enough for its aristocratic owner.  Every thing was bought in Paris, and upon the most extensive scale.  And truly, the internal arrangement of Mr. T—­’s dwelling was magnificent, almost beyond comparison at the time.”

“And was that the daughter of Mr. T—?” I asked, in surprise.

“Yes, that was Flora T—­,” the old man said, in a voice that had in it an expression of sad feeling, evidently conjured up by the reminiscence.

“You knew her in her better days?”

“As well as I knew my own sister.  She was one of the gentlest of her sex.  No one could meet her without loving her.”

“She married badly?”

“Yes.  That tells the whole secret of her present wretched condition.  Alas! how many a sweet girl have I seen dragged down, by a union with some worthless wretch, undeserving the name of a man!  There is scarcely a wealthy family in our city, into which some such an one has not insinuated himself, destroying the peace of all, and entailing hopeless misery upon one all unfit to bear her changed lot.  The case of Flora is an extreme one.  Her husband turned out to be a drunkard, and her father’s family became reduced in circumstances, and finally every member of it either passed from this world, or sank into a state of indigence, little above that of her own.  But the worst feature in this history of wretchedness is the fact, that Flora, in sinking so low externally, lost that sweet spirit of innocence which once gave a tone of so much loveliness to her character.  Her husband not only debased her condition, but corrupted her mind.  Oh, what a wreck she has become!”