A NEW ARRIVAL IN THE TOWN.

A town pleasantly situated in the south-western part of Tennessee, the name of which for the present shall be Westminster, was at the time of which we write one of the most cosmopolitan places imaginable for its size—that is, for a southern town. It contained probably two thousand regular inhabitants, but these were constantly augmented, it being at times a rallying point for tourists from every clime, and the temporary abode of men who, in the aggregate, during a season, came well-nigh representing every shade of opinion, if not every phase of character.

A quiet little hotel, or perhaps it would be better to say a residence, with accommodations for a limited number of guests, was situated near the outskirts, and so pleasant in all respects were the location, surroundings and appointments, that its name, Harmony Place, did not seem at all inappropriate. In two important respects it was unlike any other hostelry in the town—there was no bar, and the guests all had an air of respectability in keeping with the house itself. It was kept by a planter, in ordinary financial circumstances, whose name was Marshall; he was assisted in his duties by a colored roustabout of uncertain ancestry, a circumscribed present, and a future wholly undefined. Mr. Marshall's wife, and daughter Claire, did their part by generously entertaining the visitors. There were at the time of which we write three guests—a lawyer named Brown, who had established himself at Westminster; a doctor calling himself Slocum, who was giving the town a trial with a view to locating in it if the patronage warranted; and a tourist whose name was given as Reverend Fitzallen, and whose object seemed to be the pursuit of health, pleasure and information, and incidentally, the dissemination of the gospel according to his faith. Naturally, with so limited a circle of patrons, each having been there for some length of time, the associations all around were more like those in a family than such as exist between landlord and guests. An evening in the parlor with everybody but the Ethiopian present, the daughter singing to her own accompaniment on the piano, while the doctor turned the music for her, was often enjoyed, and there was rarely if ever a discordant circumstance to mar the serenity of these occasions.

It was early in September, 189—, the most enjoyable part of the year in Westminster. A man, who was readily distinguishable from the town-folk, not only by his strange face but by his attire, and by that indescribable air which appears the more plainly the more a stranger tries to discard or conceal it, made his way leisurely to the gate fronting Harmony Place, and continued his way up the walk leading to the door. He was met by Mrs. Marshall and informed, in response to his inquiry, that he could obtain lodgings there. The colored man took the guest's valise and led the way to a room on the second floor. After washing himself and brushing off the dust from his clothes, the stranger reappeared in the sitting room, and taking up a paper waited the announcement that refreshments were ready, which was not long in coming.

He was somewhat above medium height, well proportioned, not unusually well dressed, but still appeared presentable in good society, and had a countenance which, while not decidedly handsome, was regular and of that caste which attracts attention; his voice was quite pleasant, his natural conversational faculty proved to be good, and he was so well fortified with current facts and all the pleasantries of the day, that before the meal was over he was quite in harmony with the hostess, who was not only happy to answer any question he asked, but look advantage of every opportunity to propound queries for herself. Within an hour from the time of arrival, the new guest seemed to be nearly as well acquainted as if he had been an inmate of the house for a month at least. This ability of rapidly forming acquaintance is very rare; and particularly in the case of travelers, no amount of money or graces can recompense its absence. Those who possess it do not need an extended reference to its usefulness to be made aware thereof, while those who are not in possession of it can never be made fully to understand its value by means of cold type and white paper.

The landlady has learned the name of the latest arrival before the reader has—it is Charles Durant, aged thirty, and he comes from the West—a rather indefinite abiding place to those of us who are residents of, or are familiar with, that division of our country. It is satisfactory, however, to a majority of our eastern and southern brethren who have never placed feet upon the shores of the Missouri, or crossed its waters, and who seem to entertain a vague idea that Westerners all come from one place, and are all alike in most respects.

Later in the day Durant took a stroll through the suburbs of the town, and returning was introduced to Mr. Marshall, to the guests, as they appeared one by one, with all of whom he was soon on the most cordial terms, and finally to the young lady, the sole representative on earth of her devoted parents, who, being twenty years of age, as pretty as a dream, well informed, and altogether attractive, was not likely to bear their name much longer, albeit at this time reveling in "maiden meditation, fancy free."

It was truly an interesting circle and the interest did not abate in the least by reason of the latest arrival.