tertain any very high opinion of Mr. Grabber. In a few minutes a tall, gentlemanly man of about thirty entered the room; he seemed immensely popular and perfectly easy; he nodded to Grabber, and cast a passing glance at me; something whispered me directly that this was the man I was brought to see, and so it proved, Mr. Grabber having immediately notified me of that fact as soon as he could communicate with me without the gentleman's observing it. Presently Mr. Grabber brought the gentleman to the next table from the one where I sat ostensibly reading the newspaper, and strange to say, propounded the identical question that was offered to me, 'What's up? to which, stranger still, the professional returned the same answer, 'Nothing.' Then Mr. Grabber said: 'You did n't get in on that New-Orleans arrangement?' The professional said he did n't, and seemed to fight rather shy of Mr. Grabber, as though he had known enough of Mr. Grabber, and was slightly suspicious. By this time I was getting a little uneasy, remembering the old adage that 'a dog that fetches a bone will carry a bone,' slightly distrustful myself, as it were, of Grabber, and counting over mentally what might be the result if it were known to these professional gentleman that I was a spy in the camp. I considered my business finished when I had once studied that man so that I might recognize him. This I had accomplished, and even more, I think; I had studied most of the professional gentlemen in that room, so that if I should meet any of them in time to come, I would be likely to know them again. With this end reached, I slipped quietly out, rather hoping in my own mind as I returned to my room, that some of them would discover the traitor in their camp and give him his deserts. No such good fortune awaited Mr. Grabber, as he turned up the next day as natural as life, a little the worse for whiskey, and deeply regretting that I had not staid awhile longer, as it was his intention to have brought the man out fully for my satisfaction. He however retailed the compliment to me that this professional gentleman declared I was too wide awake for him so far, but he would 'fetch me yet.' Mr. Grabber was anxious in his inquiries as to the period of my next departure, which I, with remarkable openness, told him would occur on that day week, at the same time resolving to get away the next night, in which I succeeded, starting in the evening train for Richmond, Virginia, where I had business. I kept my eyes well about me all the way down, concluding the second night, as I went to my room at the Ballard House, that I had at least this time given the professional gentleman the dodge. I transacted my business and came up to Baltimore, where I was obliged to stay over night. The next morning I was issuing from the office of Barnum's, leather bag in hand, about taking my departure, when whom should I see quietly walking backward and forward through the entry but my professional friend. If I did not jump physically it was not beeause I did not feel like it mentally. I wandered back to the office and called out one of the book-keepers with whom I was acquainted, describing the gentleman, and requesting that he would go into the hall, take a look, and let me know if he was stopping there, and how long. The book-keeper was back in an instant, pointing out the gentleman's name on the register, and giving the information that he had arrived in the same train as myself the night before. I certainly had respect for that professional gentleman; I could not help it. If it were only for the deadly cool manner with which he saw me pass out on my way to the cars, even as though he were resolved upon a stay in Baltimore for at least three months, and I were one whom he had never before seen, and he had not set his life upon the hazard of my leathern bag. After this, I was sure the professional gentleman was after me, though I did not see him any more until I arrived in New-York, where upon the third day of my stay I had the pleasure of meeting him full upon Broadway, in the broad glare of the sunshine. Two days after this I left New-York for Canada via Buffalo; the spirit of the professional gentleman was with me, and my bag on this trip well worth his acceptance. I began to feel a wild hilarity in the chase. I was detained in Buffalo one week, Toledo one week; at Toronto, while transacting business I saw the gentleman on the street. Ha! ha! unearthed again. By Jove! I began to love him. Away for Montreal. A long detention; almost three weeks; I hoped the professional gentleman's purse would stand the delay: I sincerely trusted he would not be obliged to give it up for the want of funds; I would much rather myself have been his banker than have the expedition fail from such an ignoble cause. Whether it was with this intent, or what my object might have been, I looked for my professional gentleman every where; I was at the hotels, in the parks, the promenades, the drives, and at church. I thought no certain calculation could be made on that gentleman; he might as readily turn up in church as elsewhere. I could not find him, and I was obliged, as I believed, to leave Montreal without him. Over by Rouse's Point, down the line to Burlington, from Burlington to Springfield. Ah! I have not lost my friend; I have the pleasure of dining with him at the Massasoit House. He is an epicure, by-theway, wants birds, and sends for olives with his sherry. Perhaps, I thought, the poor fellow's business anxiety has been so great that this is the first good dinner he has eaten since he left New-York. Not for the world would I disturb it. How painfully unconscious was he of my presence; I trust I played my part as well, but I am afraid not. Away we went, my friend and I, (for I presume he travelled with me though I did not see him,) to Boston; another detention in Boston; bad for my friend; if this goes on much longer he will not be able to dine on birds and drink sherry. I must hurry my business or I shall weary my friend and he will be obliged to return home without me. At last I left the fair town of Boston behind me, having spent almost a month in its hospitable shades, during which time I had only had the pleasure of meeting my friend the professional once: that time it was over the glove counter of a fashionable dry-goods establishment in Summer-street. So fearful was I previous to this time that he had deserted me, and so gratified at meeting him again, that I could have thrown myself into his arms with a thrill of pleasure. I almost fancied there was a flash of intelligence passed between us as our eyes met. And so I reached home after an absence of ten weeks: I relieved myself of my charge, run up my accounts, brought all square and right, related my adventures with my friend the professional, 'shouldered my crutch and showed how fields were won,' and engaged myself to dine with the elder partner of the house that evening. I had only about time to return to the hotel, wash, bathe, dress, and beautify. I considered myself now at home for a holiday of two weeks at least ; no more watching necessary, no more sleepless nights, no more fingering of revolvers in breast pockets. That article was carefully laid away, divested of its caps, for a rest after its arduous duties, while I should play the gentleman. A very pleasant dinner we had. I was called on for the story of my professional friend; his perseverance was praised, and his retiring modesty made the subject of eulogy. His absence was lamented, but in his absence we drank his health and better success to his next adventure. It was a pleasant dinner, therefore we sat late into the night; I am pretty sure it was after midnight when I bade the old gentleman 'good-night' on the stoop; he had been cautioning me not to relax my vigilance even now while I was off my duty, as I could not make any calculation in the matter; this man, he said, might imagine that he could not take me amiss at any time; that he was not to know that I left all matters of value away from me while in the city, and perhaps might strike a blow when I would not be on the look-out. This was putting the matter in a new light, and I must admit a most uncomfortable one. I thought of it as I turned out of Thirty-first street on to the Fourth Avenue, but soon dismissed the idea. The cars did not overtake me, and I walked on; I thought of my professional friend, and the trouble I had been to him without any reward. I thought how bad was the miscarriage of his speculation; three months' time, and countless sums of money for birds and sherry, without any return, unless he had been fortunate enough to pick up some trifles on the way. All this I was revolving in my mind when I heard a soft step coming close behind me; I was passing under a gas lamp at the time; I turned my head quickly, and the blood stood still at my heart. One moment only. There stood my friend the professional! - I trust I shall not lose character by this confession, but that it will be taken into consideration that my nerves were considerably shattered by three months' travel and my professional friend. I cast one long, lingering thought to that revolver lying uncapped in my trunk at the hotel; I took a sudden mental inventory of my pockets and--oh! that I should make so dreadful a confession-ran! ay, Sir, ran ! I have never seen my friend since that evening. I freely confess that I was frightened, and thought it entirely useless to attempt to show what I did not feel. The better part of valor is discretion,' and I showed this latter quality. I have frequently been asked how it could be that this rascal could have kept himself so well advised of my movements. I do not pretend to account for it beyond the supposition of his treating it as a business, and by making his inquiries properly among the servants in a hotel, who are always ready to act as spies for a fee, he managed to keep the run of my departures. Combined with this, he could pretty well understand the routes I would take; perhaps sometimes he would lose me, then he would chase me up again. In this way, by devoting his entire energies to the matter, it is not strange that he kept my track so well. Since that time I have had several attempts made to get possession of that leather bag, but none of them held any importance beside the efforts of the man who followed me over the land for nearly four months in all. Peace be with him! FORBEARANCE. 'CALL me not, Love, unthankful, or unkind, 'Grant me but solitude! I dare not swerve From my soul's law — a slave, though serving thee. The free gift only cometh of the free.' LITERARY NOTICES. ALMOST A HEROINE. By the Author of Charles Auchester,' ' Counterparts,' etc. Boston: TICKOR AND FIELDS. 1859. THE signal merit of Almost a Heroine,' as of the previous novels of the unknown but certainly very young authoress, is that it dwells in a region of peculiarly refined sentiment and thought. The characters move in a world of delicate sympathies and motives, of which we read with something of the interest that we take in the garden of Eden, the halls of the Valhalla, the isles of the blest, or the millennial ages. Yet, the book is not a light romance of the ideal and impracticable; it is written with great intensity of feeling, and exhibits very peculiar and remarkable power; and it is plain that the authoress thought she was treating this life, and dealing with it to a purpose. But though the temper, style, and meanings of her last are precisely the same as of her earlier novels, the execution seems to us far less elaborate and matured. Indeed the whole work is an example of a glorified nebular state. The unresolved nebulæ of music, mesmerism, temperaments, sympathic marvels, and romantic motives make the staple of the story, and ideas as distinguished from impressions, a plot as distinguished from a succession of moods, or characters as distinguished from the obedient subjects of certain weird and, for for aught we know, astrological and alchemistic influences, are not to be found in the volume. It is only the mental power of the writer, the serious persistency with which she dabbles in the metaphysics of the passions, the charming à plomb with which she announces her mystical doctrines, as if they were solid human interests, and a conviction that her mental and sentimental tendencies are in the main right and admirable though adapted only to persons of a certain literary and social culture; it is only these considerations that can induce the reader to be interested in her eccentric characters, who are almost universally doing, so far as they are doing any thing, just what nobody in the world would ever think of doing. There is one eminent |