Front Matter
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Mary's first home
 The voyage
 The new home
 First day at school
 Lucy's friends
 The farm
 Country pleasures
 The bower
 Vanity a bad guide
 The good physician
 The beautiful soul
 The premium
 Christmas Eve

Title: Cousins, or, Mary Mowbray and Lucy Lovett
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001718/00001
 Material Information
Title: Cousins, or, Mary Mowbray and Lucy Lovett
Series Title: Cousins, or, Mary Mowbray and Lucy Lovett
Physical Description: Book
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001718
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA1767
ltuf - ALG5107
oclc - 15257639
alephbibnum - 002224839

Table of Contents
    Front Matter
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Table of Contents
        Page 7
        Page 8
    Mary's first home
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
    The voyage
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
    The new home
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
    First day at school
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
    Lucy's friends
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
    The farm
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
    Country pleasures
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
    The bower
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
    Vanity a bad guide
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
    The good physician
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
    The beautiful soul
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
    The premium
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
    Christmas Eve
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
Full Text





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MARn MOWnBAT and Lucy Lovett were
cousins. They had often heard of each other,
and Cousin-Lucy and Cousin Mary had been
failiar words with them as soon as they
could peak; yet they never met till they
were more than nine yen old. Mr. Mow-
bray, the father of Mary, wa married to
the sister of Lucy's father, Mr. Lovett, who
resided at another part of the country. After
his marriage, Mr. Mowbray returned to his
own home, and there, in G-, was Mary
Mowbray bon, and thee did she spend the
first nine years of her life: and that fint
home Mary still loves better than any other
place in the world, and nothing pleses her
more than to sit &pwn of an evening, and

10 TsH coOsIIs.
Mary lives now with her Unole and Ann
Lovett in N- and she always begins he
description of her childhood's home by say
ing that the houe was not at all like thi
houses in N- one-sided, because thej
have rooms, generally, only on one side o0
the hall or entrance, while her father's house
had rooms on both side--large rooms, and
several of them, so that it covered more than
twice as much ground as most of the house
in N- do. There were no marble manter
in it, she oonfeses, nor shining black grates;
but, then, she adds, the fireplace were not
such little things, casting, as she speaks, a
somewhat contemptuous glance at her uncle's.
They were wide and high, and when a fire
was needed in them, which was not often, it
was not made of little pieces of black ooal,
but of great logs of oak wood and sUioks of
pitch pine, or, as Mary calls it, light wood,
which made such a bright, cheerful blaze,
that children might play by it a whole win-
ter's evening without thinking of a candle
or slmp. But these were only the mallest
part of the pleasures of that dear home. Its
greatest enjoyments were not to be found
within doors. These in standing ard-

MAiT's rlne eOMI. 11
ed by her nurse on the river' edge, to e her
father's fisherman paddle out in his boat and
throw his line r for sh, or, in the still even-
ing, a the boat glided noiselesly along, art
his net for shrimp or prawn, or in long ram-
ble through the fields and along roads bor-
dered on each side by woods; and sometimes
she was allowed to extend her rambles into
these woods in search at jesamines, in the
early spring, and of blackberries and whortle-
berries in summer. And oh, the beauty and
the frarance of those woods I I have been
almost tempted myself to spend one winter,
at least, in that far Southern land, when I
have heard Mary describe them, with their
clumps of honey-suckle, their wreaths of
yellow jessmine twining from tree to tree,
the white fringe-tree waving its long, snow
tendrils over the crimon flowers of the red-
bud, and the myrtle, and the bays, and the
laurels, and the wild orange, and the wild
olive, and the spring violets, and-and--
thousand others, whose names I cannot pro
tend to remember, but which Mary rattl
a; mingling trees, and shrubs, and vin
and plants in most bewildering confusion
Then, when she leave the woods and oome

12 THn coOuVIs.
home again, it is to tell you of the orange-
groves, which often showed the golden fruit
of the last year and the white flowers of this
gleaming together from its polished dark-
green leaves, and of the birds-the red-bird,
with its one clear, sweet note-the black-
bird, with its merry whistle, and the mock-
ing-bird, that prince of songsters. Not one
poor bird shut up in a cage," she says-
and here she is apt to cast the same glance
at her aunt's birdcage which she had given
to her uncle's fireplace-"but dozens of them
flying from bough to bough, and tree to tree,
and singing so joyously-just as if they were
so happy that they could not help it."
But Mary had remembrances of her home
which touched me more than all these things.
She told of her mother's reading and praying
by the bedside of the sick and dying negro;
of her taking Mary with her on Sunday to
the house which the negroes called their
"Prayer House," and gathering the children
of her husband's plantation there, to teach
them hymns and Scripture texts, and to pray
with them. Once, when describing these
scenes, Mary dropped her head on her aunt's
lap and burst into tea. It wa long before

she could explain why she wept. At length
she mid that it was because she remembered
waking in the night and hearing some one
whispering by the side of her little crib; that
she was frightened at first, till, opening her
eyes, she saw, by the shaded night-lamp,
that it was her own dear mother kneeling
down and praying softly for her. Do you
not pity Mary for having so kind and tender
a mother taken away from her t
Mrs. Mowbray was ill for many weeks be-
fore her death. She knew she would never
be well again, and, though satisfied that this
was right and best for her, since her heavenly
Father ordered it, there was one earthly car
of which she could not quite free herself
This care was for Mary. Mr. Mowbray was
a very tender and indulgent father, but he
could scarcely be expected to devote himself
to the education of a little girl as a mother
would have done. Mr. Mowbray had neither
mother nor sister to whose charge the mother-
less Mary might be confided, and he rejoic-
ed almost as much as his wife did when her
brother, Mr. Lovett, having received intelli-
gence of her extreme and hopeless illness,
came to visit her, and begged that he might

be permitted to take his niece home with hi
In Mrs. Lovett they both knew that Ma
would find a devoted and conscientious fries
Had this plan been communicated to Ms
under any ordinary circumstances, she wot
probably have refused her consent to it; I
when her mother, in a still, darkened chain
ber, propped up in bed by pillows, called I
to her side, and in a low, husky voice told I
that God, who had given her a kind moti
so long, was about to take her to Himse
that she was to go home with her Un<
Lovett, in order that her Aunt Lovett mig
take the place to her of this dear lost moth
and charged her to love and honour this gc
uncle and aunt, and always to remember tl
their wishes were the wishes of her oi
mother, Mary was awed, and had no pov
nor wish to object to anything. She cot
only weep in anguish over the thought
parting for ever with her from whom she b
never parted, even for a few hours, with<
6-- rmL- -- :--. lir--. u .j.3 &L


were her father; and soon after her mother's
death she gave a very strong proof of her
readiness to be controlled by his wishes.
We have spoken of Mary's nuu This
was a negro woman, who had nuled and
attended on her always from her birth,
and as she was kind and affectionate, Mary
had become very much attached to her, and
Mr. Mowbray had intended to send her to
her uncle's house with her, but to this
Mr. Lovett objected. "She is a very good
woman," he said, and takes great care of
Mary-too great care, for she is now old
enough to take care of herself; in my house
she will not need a nurse: but this is not all
In Mary's new home she must learn many
new habits and unlearn many old one*.
This cannot be always pleasing to her, and
her nurse, being too ignorant to understand
my reasons, would listen to her complaints,
increase her dissatisfaction, and perhaps, often
teach her to evade my wishes. You can see
how much more difficult this would make
the task of her improvement both to her and
to me."

15 THaI oo l
Mr. Mowbray acknowledged the truth of
this statement; yet he was so unaccustomed
to deny any of Mary's wishes, that he could
not bear to disappoint her, and Mr. Lovett
found that Mary's cheerful compliance was
necesn to the accomplishment of his design.
Calling her to him, he placed her on his
knee, and said, You told me the other day
you loved me. Now I want to know what
you mean by loving me-how you feel
towards a person that you love 1"
Mary hesitated a moment, and then, throw-
ing her arms around his neck and kissing
him, said, "I feel so."
"That is very pleasant now, but I might
be ill-so ill that even to touch me would
give me pain; you would not kiss me then,
but you would still love me, would you
not t"
And how would you prove that you loved
me I"
SAfter a little thought, Mary answered,
a By doing whatever you told me to do."
"Very good I And you would do this, not
because you were afraid of me, but because
you liked to do it-because you wished to

MAIT'SI raST Box. 17
give m pleasre-to make me happy. I it
not o f"
"Then you believe that I wish to make you
happ.Mnd if I should ask anythinQunplea-
sant Sem you, you would know that I had
some good reason for it, for I could not love
you and yet desire to make you uncomforta-
ble; and now I am going to ask you to show
your love for me by giving up a great plea-
sure to gratify me. I cannot very well explain
to you my reasons for asking this; yet, while
you believe that I love you, you must know
that they are good reasons. Whom would you
like, most of all, to have go home with us I"
"Father I" said Mary, looking smilingly
around at Mr. Mowbray, who sat silent, but
attentive, in the same room.
Ah I but you know that father cannot go,
so that is a pleasure I cannot ask you to give
up; but whom, next to father, would you
most desire "
"I thought so; and now I wish you to
leave nurse. Do you love me well enough to
gratify me in this 1"
Mt. -- __ &__ -_ -- - - .. __ --

which Mary sat with a downcast face, her lip
quivering, and her bosom heaving with soree-
suppressed sobs. At length Mr. Lovett raid,
"Speak, Mary I remember, I only ask this, I
do not command it. Shall nurse go or stay I"
Mary looked up in his face, and said, with
a great effort, She must stay;" and, unable
longer to control herself, dropped her head
upon his bosom and sobbed convulsively.
Lovett !" said Mr. Mowbray, I cannot
inflict such suffering on my child. Your
family are all strangers to her, and she was
always fearful of strangers; her nurse had
better go with her."
Mr. Lovett caressed Mary tenderly and
soothingly while he replied to this: I know
it must be severe suffering to Mary to part
with an old friend, and such a kind friend au
her nurse, and I love her too well to inflict
such suffering on her for any slight cause.
Even now, important as my reasons are, if
Mary finds it too difficult to grant my re-
quest, I will not urge it."
Mr. Mowbray took Mary from her uncle's
knee into his own arms, and said, You hear
what your uncle says, my daughter; nurse
shall go if you wish it."

KxAXYr I rn sons. 19
rtppe I don't want her to go now."-
MrnMowbray was afraid that there was a
little anger about this decision, and that when
it pased awayy Mary would repent. He wa,
therefore, anxious to learn her reason for it,
and asked her earnestly, Why not-why
do you not want her now to go I"
"Because I know that poor mamma doesn't
wish her to go," whispered Mary, leaning her
head on her father's shoulder.
Surprised and overcome by this unexpected
mention of his wife, Mr. Mowbray could not
speak for a few seconds. When he could com-
mand himself sufficiently, he asked gently,
"How can you tell, dear Mary, what mamma
wishes about this; she never spoke to you of
it, did she 1"
No; but you know she said that Uncle
Lovett's wishes were her wishes too."
A fervent embrace was the only answer
which Mr. Mowbray could make to his child,
but Uncle Lovett praised her and called her
his good child; and, soothed and comforted,
Mary went almost cheerfully to communicate
to her nurse the new arrangement. To re-
concile her to this arrangement was quite
impossible. By turns she wept over Mary

nd railed against Mr. Lovett, saying often,
I think he is a bery hard cse, dat de poor
Wild must go to strange people, and not eben
ab poor Nurse wid 'em to see ifdey treat 'em
ood or bad."
Mr. Lovett was very indulgent to the old
eoman's expreslon of her feelings, for he
new that parting with Mary was a severe
rial to her, and that she could not understand
is motive; but her intemperate language
showed Mr. Mowbray how correct Mr. Lo-
ett's views had been, since every unpleasant
uk imposed upon Mary during the course
f her education would probably have ex-
ited her anger against those who were her



Is. LovuTr and Mary came by se to N- .
t was January, but the weather was mild
or the eson, and very calm, so that,
hough their voyage was long, it was not un-
_l .... _* m l. .. . A_- I-_ _i ... _, L_ -__-s

Ua m TVTAG. X1
the ship. Mary was sick only for a few
hour, during which her Uncle Lovett nursed
her as tenderly a her nune or even her
mother, oould have done. He cried her on
deck in his arms, told her stories of her
Cousins Lucy, and Charles, and Emma, and
read to her from some little books which her
father had bought for her. When she became
efficiently secustomed to the motion of the
ship to stand alone and walk on the deck, he
had many a romp with her there. He was
on the watch, too, for all the wonders of the
se, that he might show them to her. When
a dolphin was caught, he ran down stair and
brought her up quickly, that she might ee
the beautiful colors of the dying fih. He
pointed out to her, at a distance, a jet d
water spouting up from the calm sea, and told
her it was thrown out from the nostrils of the
small species of whale called the grampus.
But the moet interesting to Mary of all sh
saw at se were the little birds, which the
sailors told her were called Mother Oarey's
chickens. She was never weary of watching
them, a they rested for a moment lightly
on the rest of one wave, and then flw off to
.. .. . t -A ---

ed at them, and though assured that this was
their native home, she could not but think
that they would be much more comfortable
on shore, fed and housed a her pet pigeons
were, or flying among the woods and gather-
ing their food in the fields of her home.
As they approached the shore, there were
other objects which interested and surprised
Mary. It was quite early when Mr. Lovett,
who wished Mary to see the lighthouse while
its light still beamed upon the water like a
large and brilliant star, wrapped her up
warmly and took her on deck with him. It
was a cold day, and the air had a sharp, cut-
ting feeling, which Mary had never expe-
rienced before. It made the tears come in
her eyes, but she had too much curiosity
about the land they were approaching, and
which it would soon be light enough for her
to see distinctly, to be willing to leave the
deck. Mr. Lovett gathered together all the
blankets, and cloaks, and shawls he could,
and, getting a little nook for her, sheltered
from the wind, he suffered her to stay with
As the light from the light-house grew dim,
what had seemed to Marv to he rrat elmnls

lying along the edge of the sky, so low that
they touched the water, became more distinct
in form and colour. They were the hills of
N- Mary, who had lived always in a
level country, and who had never seen a hill
of half the height of these, clapped her hands,
and cried, Oh Uncle Lovett, se the moun-
taine-the mountains I"
Uncle Lovett smiled, but he did not unde-
ceive Mary, for he said to himself "When
she sees a mountain she will readily enough
perceive the difference."
The wind was fair and the vessel sailed fet,
so that they soon came to that part of the
bay called the Narrow. There had been a
great deal of snow, and the whole country
was white with it.
Mr. Lovett related some pleasant stories
of his snow-balling, and making snow men
and snow houses when he was a little boy.
There is a telegraph on -- island, and
when they passed it, her uncle showed Mary
how its great arms were moving about, and
explained to her that the signs which were
thus made conveyed the intelligence that a
ship was coming, and even what ship it was.
You will readily believe that, with observ-

24 TUB coWsIn.
ing all these thing, an4 watching the Tv
going and coming, which seemed to her v
numerous, though they were fewer tha tH
would have been in a summer's day, M
did not find her sail tedious. But from
time that the steeples of the city bees
visible, Mary could see nothing but them, a
think of nothing but her new home, and
unknown aunt and cousins who were to r
come her to it. I am sure that all my reach
who may have been obliged to leave tl
own dear homes, and their fathers
*others, to go among strangers, will feel
Mary, and will desire to know someth
about this home, and the reception she
likely to meet at it. We ill, therefore, le
Uncle Lovett to get a carriage, and to see
and Mary's trunks put on it, and to lift M
into it, and, following her himself _to d
to No. 96 Street, in the upper per
the city, where we will go before him,
take a peep at the house, and at Aunt In
and the children.

Hun NEW BOM3. 2



house does not seem very large, but it
very nice and tidy. The door is quite
, and the knobs of the lock are as bright
rer. Now we will go within the house.
need not take hold of the bell-handle:
take you in without ringing. Now we
i. The hall is not very wide, but the
loth which covers it is spotlessly clean ;
s we look up the stairs, the bra. rods
i confine the carpet shine as if they
ust been cleaned.
w we are in the basement, and is it not
esant loom, with the sun shining so
,tly on the windows, whose white muslin
ins shade, but do not shut out, his ray.
canary and mooking-bird do not want
dhade, and so they are hung inside the
ins; and how they twitter and jump
side to side of their perches, as if they
d to get out and havermore of the golden
. Ah, see, there site Aunt Lovett her-
with her foot on the cradle, in which

little Emma, a baby of only eight mot
old, lies sleeping. She is teaching Charli
boy of four years old, to spell, and is, at
same time, sewing on a dress which seem
be intended for a little girl, probably
Lucy, who sits beside her, busy, too, with
needle. But Charles has done his les
and, as he goes to put his book away, I
drops her work to talk a little.
"Mamma, I wonder if they will come
day 1"
"I hope so, Lucy, but they will certa
not come any sooner for your laying :
work aside. Remember, that skirt mus
finished to day."
Lucy measures the skirt to see how a
she has done, and, discovering that more 1
half yet remains unhemmed, she sews '
industriously for several minutes ;-then
needle is held suspended while she i
Mamma, did you not say that Cousin I
had never been to school 1"
Yes, Lucy, I did, and I told you so I
should you find your cousin less advance
her education than yourself, you should
consider it as a proof that she was less c
ble: but only as a remn for beincr 1

gent to her, and for endeavouring to
her forward in her lessons."
Few minutes more of silence succeed, and
Lucy says, "Mamma, I had one hundred
twenty credit marks for good lemons,
seventy-three for punctual attendance,
st quarter.
'he credit marks for punctual attend-
Lucy," answers her mother, "should
been given, I think, to your father and
or making you get up often against your
and hurrying you to school."
t a carriage drives to the door. Charles,
has been looking out of the window,
his hands, and cries "Papa, papa !"
Lovett starts up. Lucy drops her work
lances about, and the baby, awoke by
mstle, holds out her dimpled hands to
ken up, and laughs aloud at the antics of
les and Lucy, doubtless supposing them
enacted solely for her amusement.
r. Lovett came at once to the basement
Mary. His wife and children crowded
id him to give him their welcome home.
on as he had returned their affectionate
ings, he presented his companion to
, saying to Mrs. Lovett, I have brought

28 Tun coOUSIs.
you another daughter: this is our li
To Mary he said, "Here are Cousin LI
and Cousin Charles, Mary. I hope you 1
all love each other very much, and be v
happy together."
"I love Cousin Mary," cried Chai
hugging and kissing her with such earn
ness that he almost threw her down. L
kissed her too, but more quietly; and e
Emma, whom her father had taken from
cradle, seemed, by her laughter, and her
cooing tones, to invite the stranger to
sociable; but Mary could not so soon
sociable. She had never been more the
few miles from her father's house bel
and everything here seemed so strange
so new to her, that she felt her distance f
home and the change in her condition
more than she had done when on the 1
sea, with no companion but her uncle. T
her uncle had talked to her about being i
at home, but now they were at his hc
and Mary thought it could never be Aom
her. Her lip began to quiver, and the t
rushed into her eyes. She remembered
nm nAl tiAnnht It .iha I A -n -1

she would have thrown herself into her
a and sobbed out all her sorrows.
[rs. Lovett saw something of Mary's feel-
,and thought them very naturaL She
ed the poor motherless child, thus sent
y from all she had ever known, and seat-
herself, she drew Mary affectionately to
and, placing her on her lap, said, Come
e, my dear little girl, and let me take off
r wrappings, and warm your hands by
fire. You must be very cold." Her
B was so soft and gentle that Mary gined
age to look up in her face. Mrs. Lovett
quite touched by the anxious, beseeching
*esion of Mary's eyes, and, bending her
I down to hide her own tears, she pressed
Lips tenderly on her forehead. But Mary
seen those tears, and feeling at once that
had found a friend, she dropped her head
her aunt's bosom, and wept there as
idingly as she could have done in her
e's arms. Mrs. Lovett did not ask Mary
t she was crying for, or tell her that she
t not cry, but she soothed and caressed
parting her hair from her forehead, and
ng her her dear little girl, till the sobs
n to die away. Then she asked her some

questions about her voyage-such qua
as only required yes or no for an ans
and Mr. Lovett, taking Charles on one
-Emma was already on the other-told
of the dolphin, and the grampus, and M,
Carey's chickens, and of what Cousin
thought and said when she saw them
Mary became interested too, and sat upoi
aunt's lap, and listened, and smiled, and
For some time there was no work at
study for Charles and Lucy; but after di
which was served at two o'clock, Mrs. L
said, "Come, Lucy, your skirt must be fi
ed : two hours' steady work will complex
and then you can get your tea-set, an(
cook shall bake you some little cakes,
your cousin and you may have a
Lucy did not like the beginning of this
tence, but towards the last of it her eyes
kled, and she cried joyfully, "Oh, t
you, mamma!" and was seated at her
in a minute. For an hour her needle
quite fst, and she lost no time, except
and then a very little in measuring how i
she had done. During this hour Charles

another leson to his mother, had talked
ary, and romped with Emma, who waa
ping about the floor. Mary had played
i Emma, and made acquaintance with the
king-bird and the canary, and pulled off
only rose on Mrs. Lovett's pet rose-bush,
ch seemed a very trifling affair to her who
been accustomed to see perfect trees of
same rose blooming all winter in the
a the afternoon wore away, Lucy began
ook at the windows a if she feared the
light would be gone before her task was
e, and Mary to watch the progress of the
k with a doubt whether there was much
ipect of an enjoyment which depended on
completion. At length Mary drew near
cousin, and inquired, "Is it 'most done I"
Almost done exclaimed Lucy, oorrect-
her cousin's 'mot, without, perhaps,
rving it. "Almost done no indeed!
ish it were."
Sew more and measure lea, Lucy, and it
a will be," sid Mrs. Lovett, gently.
Can you hem, Cousin Mary a"ked
y, after a few minutes' silent application
he needle.

"Oh I yes."
Now those who remember that MarM
been accustomed to ramble in the woods
watch the fisherman, and that she wai
father's petted plaything, will easily be
that she had not spent much time in se'
y.t she was quite right in saying tha
could hem. Mrs. Mowbray had taugh
daughter to sew very neatly, though
could not induce her to do much of ii
day. To hem around the skirt of a
would have seemed to Mary like a
around the world, the hemming one sid
pocket-handkerchief in a day having
the greatest feat she had ever performed
the needle.
"I wish Harriet Freeman were here '
Lucy. She paused a while, expecting
asked why she wished it; but as n
thought of this, she added, She is sc
-she would help me directly."
Mary was too quick of understanding
to read this hint as it was intended, am
replied, "If I had a thimble I would
"I can lend you a thimble. Mi
Cousin Mary wants to help me; can

my gold thimble just this after-

le wishes to help yon, certainly. Do
h it, my dear 1" asked Mrs. Lovett,
I been engaged with the baby, and
t heard the previous conversation be-
he cousins.
was some charm in sewing, for the
ie in her life, with a gold thimble,
,ry answered, "Yes. ma'am," more
than Lucy perhaps expected. The
-a birthday present to Lucy from
idmother-was produced, and Mary
I her needle.
1 I give you half to do 1" asked Lucy.
looked frightened, for half of what
to be done on the skirt seemed to
rest deal. Mrs. Lovett marked the
on of her face, and said, "Oh! no
quarter of it will help you very
besides, you could not get along so
th your cousin working so near to

irter was marked, and Mary's labours
She was really desirous to sew very
h from a good-natured wish to help
in, and for her own credit's sake;

but steady application to anything is
easy for one who has been accustomed
to amuse herself, and before Mary's
quarter was finished, Lucy exclaimed
have done then, looking over Mary,
added, oh, dear me I why, you have al
a finger to do yet !"
"I will do that," said Mrs. Lovett, kil
taking the work from Mary's hand.
examining the sewing, she added, "
cousin Mary's work is much better
yours, Lucy. It is very neat, indeed."
"But I did mine more than three tim
fast. I think hers ought to be best."
There was a little roughness in L
manner, as if she was vexed at her mot
praise of her cousin. Mrs. Lovett too
notice of it, except by looking steadily a
for a moment, which Lucy understood
reproof for she hung her head, and Ic
ashamed. It was in a somewhat diff
tone that she asked, a few minutes ,
"Mamma, may we have our tea-party n
She was reassured by her mother's c
ful reply, Certainly; you and your c
can set out your table in this corner, v
..m r wrill ,n t. ^ *6 h u... .- arl r- ,

a it, while I get your cups, and nu-
d plates, down from the shelf."
moment the little folks were all in
SThe table was soon arranged; the
washed by Mrs. Lovett herself, was
on it; the servant-girl, who was called
ambermaid, but who also acted as the
brought in the cakes which the cook
ade for them; and when Mr. Lovett
d from a visit he had been making, he
Mary, and Lucy, and Charles, and
doll seated at table. He placed a
or himself at one corner of the table,
Sa cake, and drank a cup of tea with
declaring both to be excellent. The
went on very merrily, till Charles,
helped himself to butter with his own
Lucy seized his arm, exclaiming,
Charles, don't you know that it is
ide to put your own knife in the but-
Poor Charles, who had been playing
itleman of the party to his own perfect
Ition hung his head, and looked quite
I. Nor was he the only person made
unpleasantly by Lucy's ill-timed re-
Mary's knife, too, had been in the
and she feared that Lucy had een it,

36 TUn COusINs.
and intended her observations for her a
as for Charles. This was a mistake. I
knew nothing of Mary's misdemeanor.
deed, her rebuke to Charles was chief]
tended to display, to her newly-an
cousin, her acquaintance with the rule
conduct observed among polite persons,
she was sincerely grieved at the evi
gloom her leson had cast over the party
"My daughter," said Mr. Lovett, "Ch
was certainly wrong to put his knife in
butter; but Charley," placing his hand a
tionately on the little boy's head as he si
"has not been much in society; he
know better one of these days." Ch
was consoled, and returned his father's
glance with a bright happy smile.
Lovett continued : "If Charles was wroi
what he did, you were far more wroo
your manner of correcting him. Remer
after this, Lucy, that love is the best <
teachers, and anger the worst."
It was now Lucy's turn to feel aba
but Mr. Lovett practised his own rule
did not long allow his daughter to think
angry with her. His kind and pleasant
ner soon dispersed the little cloud, an

nmainder of the evening passed away cheer-
illy. At nine o'clock Lucy and Mary went
p stairs to a small room beside Mr. and Mrs.
ovett's, in which they were to sleep to-
Both of these little girls had been taught
[ways, before they lay down to sleep, to re-
lember their Father in heaven, and to ask
[is pardon for the faults of the day, and His
ind care through the night. As Mary whis-
ered, in low, soft tones, her simple prayer
i this first evening in her new home, she
it that the words, I pray God to bless my
ocle, and aunt, and cousins," which she had
earned from her mother, and had repeated
rery evening from her infancy, had new
leaning in them. It was for the first time
real prayer, for there was love in it.

Hn next morning, when there was just
Lylight enough to show distinctly the objects
i the room in which Mary and Lucy slept,
[rs. Lovett stood by their bedside.

Lucy, get up, my child I get up, or j
will not have time to put your room in or
before breakfast."
Oh, mamma, it's so soon l" and Li
rubbed her eyes, and made a vain attempt
open them.
I have been out of bed for an hour, Lu
Come, I will help you up." And Mrs. Loi
lifted her daughter playfully from the I
and placed her on the floor.
Mary slept on without stirring. Mrs..
Yett leaned over her, intending to awake I
but remembering her voyage, and remark
the depth of her slumbers, she said, I I
not awake your cousin yet, Lucy; she
probably fatigued by her voyage. Let
sleep till you are ready to make the bed, i
then call her."
Mrs. Lovett turned from the bed, but bed
she reached the door, Lucy said, sulk
Mamma, must I make the bed for Cot
Mary every day?"
" No, Lucy, you must make it for y(
self ; and if you do not wish your cousin
sleep with you. she shall have another ro
and I will make her bed."
T-.. 1Imsol .1.L.- -,. :- Ill n.

ovaLTIZu. 39
not conquered, for she still muttered, as
Baking to herself, I don't see why Cousin
7 can't make a bed as well as I I"
Lucy," said Mrs. Lovett, "you grieve me
uch selfishness When you wept for the
h of your cousin's mother, and hoped
, papa would bring her home, I hoped
would take pleasure in being kind to her,
that you would be willing to do for her
greater service than allowing her to sleep
our bed after you had made it." Mrs.
tt paused, but, as Lucy did not reply,
resumed, I wish your cousin's new
e to be pleasant to her; yet much of the
dance, and many of the indulgences to
h she has been accustomed she cannot
Here. She will not be less happy-nay,
nk she will be more happy for this, if
sees that we love her, and strive, by our
Itions, to prevent her missing them.
kindness on our part will make her
us too, and learn our habits, in ordet
she may help us ; so that on both sides
labours will be from love, which makes
abour light."
t this moment Mary moved, and half
ling her eyes, and, perhaps, seeing Mrs.

Lovett dimly, said, "Mother I" Lucy's hee
was touched; the love which her mothe
words had failed to awaken stirred with
her, and she said, Do not get up yet, cousi:
the room will be warmer presently, and
will call you in time."
When Mary did get up, Lucy assisted 1
very cheerfully in dressing herself. She th
uncovered the bed, and rang the bell for t
servant. Jane, the servant girl, came in, aw
turning over the bed, arranged it for t
clothes, which, after she had gone out aga
Lucy spread upon it very carefully, walk
around the bed several times to be sure tl
they did not hang lower on one side than
the other. She had not yet disposed the hes
quilt to her perfect satisfaction, when I
Lovett again entered. Both Mary and Lt
had thick and curling hair, and, as they co
not well comb and brush it themselves, N
Lovett had come to do it for them. As Bc
as she had finished doing this, they we
with her first into her own room for Emi
and then down into the basement, where ]
Lovett was seated, with a Bible and hyr
book on the table beside him. Charles cal
1,. -1A anA Tn- anA -hn. .11 -l.... -n

mOymLTIIB. 4t
,ovett read two verse of a hymn. Mrs.
tt, Lucy, and the servants had each a
i-book. Charley looked on his mother's
though we doubt whether he could read
r of the words correctly, and Lucy,
ig found the hymn, held her book so
her cousin could sing with her. After
ymn, Mr. Lovett read a part of a chap-
i the New Testament, and then, kneel-
lown, he thanked God for his care of
all during the night, and prayed him to
and be good to them through the day.
D was nothing strange to Mary in this
I of beginning the day, for her father
een accustomed to do the same.
ter breakfast Mr. Lovett went out. He
a lawyer, and when he was in N-
ally passed the whole day at his office.
Lovett, when the breakfast-table had
put away, was for some time engaged in
kitchen, and, during her absence, Lucy
hharles devoted themselves to the amuse-
t of Emma, who was seatdl in the cradle.
irse for Emma seemed to Mary a great
in her uncle's household, and she pro-
I to her aunt to send to G-- for one,
din. Lovett assured her it was not requi-

Ita T7 US UVUD*Ia.
site, as Emma was not accustomed to be cai
ried in the arms in the house, and when sh
was abroad Jane always carried her.
About 12 o'clock, when the air was warn
est and the sun brightest, Mrs. Lovett ser
Emma out with Jane, and she went out wit
Charles, and Lucy, and Mary. They walk
first around a large enclosure, planted wit
trees and laid out in plots, which Lucy tol
her cousin were covered with grass in sun
mer. They were now white with snow. Thi
enclosure was called W- Park. They the
passed into B- Street. Mary had nevE
seen so many houses in all her life togethE
as she saw on that morning, nor dreamed <
so many people as were hurrying throng
the street. She asked her aunt who eae
person was that passed them at first, but sh
soon found, to her surprise, that of most
them Mrs. Lovett knew as little as herself
We have not time to tell you of all th
novelties which Mary found in her preser
abode. She soon, as her Aunt Lovett ha
predicted, began to do many things she ha
never done before, in order to help her kin
friends, and, as the exercise of grateful an
affectionate feelings is always pleasant, Mar

ei industrious, and acquired habits of
ar employment without any disagreeable
Pry and Lucy often surprised each other
eir different modes of speaking. That
used many very singular expressions
it be denied; nor will it seem very won-
I, if it be remembered that she had
1 much of her time with her nurse.
Peen surrounded, at the period when she
earning to talk, with untaught negroes.
had Lucy been as clear-sighted to her
faults as to those of others, she would
are assumed so arrogant an air of supe-
y to Mary on this subject, for she was
herself free from inaccuracies of language,
ill be proved by the anecdote we are
; to relate.
arles was one morning busily engaged
king a kite, in which employment he
tred papers and twine about the room,
little regard to the fact that his sister
just been putting it in order by their
er's wish.
Iharles !" exclaimed Lucy, angrily, "what
e use of my puttingthe parlour in order
a will make such a mua 1"

"A muss!" thought Mary, who v
present; "What can that be 1" Mouse ca
nearer the word than any other she had e'
heard, and she supposed that Charles mi
be cutting a paper mouse. Still she was i
quite satisfied with this idea, and she woi
have addressed her question to Lucy, had a
not feared to excite that taunting laugh whi
always made her so angry. Lucy left I
room in a few minutes, and she then appi
to Charles.
What are you cutting, Charles?"
I am making a kite, Cousin Mary; i
you ever see a kite sailing up, up as high
the clouds 1"
"No, Charley; but I thought Lucy a
you were making a mouse."
"Well, she did say I was making a mum
"I am sure that kite does not look like <
A mice said Charley, who did not vI
well understand the distinctions of numb
or of different orders of animals; "oh 1
she did not mean a mice; mie are little n
are they not?"
"Well, what did she mean t" asked Ms
.wn.. nnA.l *h#I.- -r..A --,.I..lw fabi

e, from her inquiries, to laugh at the
riders of Charles.
Oh, she meant a-a muss; Cousin Mary,
must ask papa; he will tell you'll about

nd Mary did ask her uncle in the evening,
n Lucy was not present. He laughed
tily at her story, and then bade her call
y, saying that she must explain the word,
t was one lie never used. When Lucy
e, he said to her, My daughter, your
in says you told her this morning that
rules was making a mouse in the parlour,
she wants to know what kind of mouse
Ir. Lovett spoke very seriously, but Lucy
w there was a laugh under his grave looks,
, like a great many older and wiser people,
y could not bear to be laughed at. Her
flushed with anger, and she replied, in a
a tone, I think Cousin Mary had better
n to speak properly herself before she
Ihs at me. I do not say, 'Do don't, and
r, and-' she stopped abruptly, for her
ier had seized her arm, and was looking
her face with a sternness he seldom as-
ed to his children. As Lucy ceased speak-

ing and hung her head, the sternness
away from Mr. Lovett's face, and its e:
sion became deeply sorrowful as he sa
was only disposed to laugh, Lucy, at ye
correct language, but I can scarcely fi
weeping at your improper temper."
Mary was quite grieved at the disagr
feelings her innocent question had e=
Sidling up to Uncle Lovett, she put her
on him, and said softly, Do don't be
with Cousin Lucy."
"I will not," said Uncle Lovett, "if 4
Lucy will show me that she is not
with you."
Mary drew near to Lucy, and puttir
arm timidly around her neck, said, Y
not vexed with me-are you, cousin ~"
Lucy's No" was not very frank, bi
Lovett said, Then I am not vexed
and you shall come here," lifting Lucy
knee as he spoke, "and Cousin Mary
placing her on the other, "and we wil
a lecture on language ; you shall give
meaning of muss, and she shall give
meaning of do don't, and then I will ti
what I think of them both."
In a moment the ill humour ai

OVXLf Ia. 47
r had all vanished from the faces of the
girls, who entered heartily into what
d to them a very amusing play. Lucy
tenced the definitions, and, as she was a
and witty child, she gave a very amus-
count of all that was meant by muss.
in a great many people are collected in
reet, and they begin to shout, and run
in different directions, that is a muss;
when there has been a great deal of
and it thaws, and the streets are muddy,
;hey are all in a muss; and when the
eaves the dirty dishes on the table, and
,ts and kettles on the hearth, there is a
muss in the kitchen; and when Charles
papers over the carpet, and leaves his
a one chair and his kite on another, he
I a muss; and when mamma upsets her
basket, she makes a muss; and when
-when papa gets down to his office, I
he makes a muss sometimes."
s was all very archly said, and not only
ris, but Mr. Lovett too, laughed merrily
e conclusion. When the laugh was
Mr. Lovett said, "Well, Lawyer Lucy,
ave argued your case, and have cer-
made all you could of a muss. Now

we will hear Lawyer Mary plead for
don't.' What have you to say for it, Mar
Mary's ideas of do don't" seemed nc
clear as Lucy's of a muss, for she hesita
as if she did not know exactly how to
press her meaning.
"When do you use 'do don't,' Mar
asked Mr. Loveti.
"When I want to beg a person not t
"You said to me just now'do don't
vexed; can you not ask the same thin;
other words I"
Mary thought for a moment, and 1
said, "Please not to be vexed."
"Very well," said Mr. Lovett; "no
understand what you mean; but let me
you what' do don't,' seems to others to m
Please to be-Please not to be vexed.
now both causes have been heard, Ji
Lovett will pronounce sentence. Mus
declares to be inelegant, and altogether u
cessary, since there is some good and
English word expressing each thing for w
it is used. Do don't' he thinks quite i
missile, because it commands two din
opposite things, to do, and not to do, at

time; so he condemns thee two faulty
ssions to be banished forever from the
any of Mis Lucy Lovett and Miss
I Mowbray; but the court will take a
, as I see mamma is preparing to pour
us did this kind father and uncle endea-
to improve his children in a cheerful,
ant manner, correcting at once their
i of language or manner, and their worse
i of temper and feeling. He was often
ly pained at a display of vanity and sel-
em in Lucy, which made her always
)us for praise herself, and jealous of any
e bestowed on another. These faults ir
had increased greatly during the last
a part of which she had passed away
home. Her absence was caused by a
*e illness, from which she suffered the
oer before Mary's arrival, and which left
so feeble that her physician advised that
should travel. To travel at that time
scarcely possible for Mr. and Mrs. Lovett,
they gladly accepted the offer of a friend
hke Lucy with his own family to --.
spent some weeks with these friends at
Springs and afterward at N- At

both these places ILcy met with though
people, who, amused by the silly, affected
caused by her excited vanity, were ever re
to flatter her by saying, "How pretty,
"How graceful," or "How sensible a c
Lucy Lovett is I" I said these people i
thoughtless; I should have aid they i
cruel, for a moment' amusement to th
selves to cherish a great evil in a cl
When they had laughed a while over Li
vanity and credulity, they forgot her, but
did not forget them or their praises.
returned home with her health restored,
perhaps many persons would have said, ,
her manners improved. Lucy had form
been rather careless about her dress; she
now very attentive to it, and, but for
mother's good taste and firmness, she w
often have adorned herself in a way
would have been quite ridiculous. She
entered a room easily, and conversed q
as readily as her father and mother. In t
Lucy was no longer a little girl; she v
little lady, but a vain and selfish lady,
pecting all to be occupied with her, and
and offended when she saw others ol
more notice than hersel Never had

d Mrs. Lovett grieved over their daughter's
mens as they now grieved over her faults.
e have sid that Mary Mowbray was a shy,
aid child. There could not be a more per-
t contrast than between Lucy and herself
company. She was bashful, awkward,
d silent. Mr. and Mrs. Lovett would have
idly seen her more at ease, but they felt
r awkwardness to be a less evil than Lucy's
nity; yet even this evil they hoped that
icy's affectionate heart and good under-
miding would overcome, aided, as these were,
r their constant teachings, in which they
er prayed God to direct them aright. Poor
ycy I it required severer trials than her
under parents could have inflicted on her to
stroy this "root of evil" within her.

ra must begin a new chapter, for we are
Ding to describe a very important event in
[ary Mowbray's life. The first day at school!
'hat girl does not remember it-does not

recollect how her heart ank within he
father, or mother, or friend, left her tl
alone with strangers I So felt Mary, wl
about a fortnight after her arrival, her A
Lovett left her at Mrs. Butler's school 1
her Cousin Lucy.
"With her Cousin Lucy!" my ree
exclaim; why, then, she was not alo
Ah I but I doubt whether Mary found n
comfort from the presence of Cousin L
If from want of acquaintance with the r
of a school, or want of education, she she
commit any error, Mary knew that not
of all the strangers around her would di
it more quickly, laugh at it more provoke
ly, or report it at home so eagerly as Co
Lucy. "How ill-natured Lucy must 1
been !" you are all ready to say. No,
young friends, Lucy was not ill-natured,
always ready to display her own superior
even at the expense of wounding the fee]
of another.
The first morning of Mary's school life
passed in such an examination of hei
quirements as might enable her teach
assign her a place in the various clae
which her hoe l r. ----. nmrp

tler's first question, "To what studio have
i ever attended, my dear 1" Mary found it
y difficult to reply. She looked up and
ked down, grew red and grew pale, but
d not a word. Lucy Lovett, who neglect-
no opportunity of showing her informa-
a on any subject, called from a distant
-t of the room, "Mrs. Butler, Cousin
xry never studied at all; she never was at
Mrs. Butler saw the workings of quick
ling, as well as of quick temper, in the
rs that sprang to Mary's eyes, and the
-p red that burned in her cheeks as Lucy
is published her want of education. Mr.
tier's manner was always gentle, but it
s dignified as well as gentle, and Lucy's
) sank abashed beneath the grave expree-
a of here, as she said, When I desire my
ormation from you, Mis Lovett, I will
Ires myself to you." She then drew
iry nearer to her, saying, "I know, my
ir, that you have not been to school, and
*haps you have not had regular lessons at
me; but you have read some books, have
i not 1"
SV-1.- 1'*

And what were they ? Can you not to
me something of them 1"
I have read Early Lessons, and the P
rent's Assistant, and Peter Parley's books
all Peter Parley's books."
By a few judicious questions, Mrs. Butl
found that Mary was well acquainted wi
the most important facts in early Engli
history. For this information, Mary w
indebted rather to her mother's wisdom ai
perseverance than to her own. Mrs. Mo
bray had insisted on her daughter's reading
small portion of history to her every do
when she would explain to her whatever a
did not understand, and would often impri
an important circumstance on her mind
telling her some pleasant story about it.
And now," asked Mrs. Butler, at lengi
"can you tell me what England is-whetl
it is a continent or-"
It is an island," answered Mary, withe
waiting for the conclusion of the question.
And in what geography did you le
that 1"
I didn't learn it in a geography."
In what, then ?"
"In a map."

A succession of questions followed, and
here, again, it was found that Mary had
learned a great deal of the situation of differ-
rent places, the boundaries and relative size
of countries, and the names of great rivers
and high mountains, by merely playing, as
she considered it, with a map at her mother's
feet. Great was Lucy's surprise, and, we
fear, scarcely less great her dissatisfaction,
when she found Mary placed in the same
class with herself in geography. But a yet
more mortifying surprise awaited her, when
Mrs. Butler told her that she intended to
place her in the class which had just com-
menced the History of England, Lucy red-
dened, and pouted, and almost wept with dis-
She was a little consoled, however, at the
result of Mary's examination in arithmetic,
for it was found that, though she could add
and subtract, and multiply and divide, she
knew no rules, and no table but the multi-
plication table. In spelling and defining
words, too, Mary was often at fault, doing
the firstvery imperfectly, and the last scarcely
at all.
Well, Mary, how do you like school, or,

rather, how do you like your teacher, for yon
scarcely know any thing of school yet 1" in-
quired Mr. Lovett, when the little girls re-
turned home in the afternoon.
Oh! I like her very much, Uncle Lo-
vett; she was so good to me; she called me
my dear, and she said I had learned a great
deal of history, and she put me in the Eng-
lish history class."
Yes," said Lucy, giving vent to the feel-
ings which had been painfully suppressed at
school, "and she put Cousin Mary in my
geography class, and I think it was very par-
tial in her."
"Did not Mrs. Butler examine your cousin
in geography before she placed her there 1"
"Yes; but Cousin Mary said herself she
never had studied a geography; she only
learned what she knew from playing with
maps; and if people can learn so easily as that,
Don't see the use of going to school and study-
ing, and I never mean to study any more !"
Lucy was very much excited, or she would
hardly have ventured to speak to her father
in the way she was now doing. Her voice
was raised, her face flushed, and, as she con-
eluded her sneach she burst into tear

Mr. Lovett rose from his chair, and, taking
his daughter's hand, led her up stairs to a
little room which was called his library.
Before leaving her there, he pointed out to
her the hateful character of that envy which
caused her present unhappiness.
Lucy !" he said, "I am grieved at your
sorrow, but far more grieved at its wicked
cause. I have brought you here, not to
punish you, but that you might, in this quiet
room by yourself, think how sinful your feel-
ings are, and repent of them, and ask God's
pardon for them. If you will examine those
feelings closely, my dear child, you will see
that they are like those which we learn in
the Bible, belong to the wicked one-to
Satan. Your cousin has done you no harm,
has done nothing to displease you; yet you
are angry with her, and though you may not
be willing to acknowledge it, you hate her in
your heart I"
I don't hate her, papa," sobbed Lucy.
Mychild, we hate those to whom we wish
evil, whose misfortunes would give us plea
sure; now I fear that in your present tam-
per you would take pleasure in your cousin's
mortification. I will not ask you to answer

68 THa ousIs.
the question to me, but I wish you to ans
it to yourself, whether you would not be gl
at any thing which would make her 1
pleasing in my eyes or in those of Mrs. Bi
ler. If this be so, you have the feelih
towards her which Cain had towards his b
their Abel, whom he hated because he though
that his father Adam, and even the just a
holy God, were partial to him, preferring h
to himself; and remember, my dear daui
ter, that these feelings, not being resisted
Cain, made him a murderer."
Had Mr. Lovett spoken harshly to Lu
she would probably have continued to I
angry, to think hardly of her cousin, and
believe that she herself had been treated v
badly, and was little, if at all, to blame; I
he was so affectionate, and spoke so tends
to her, that all her anger passed away; i
then she could see that Mary had been qi
innocent, and that, in truth, her own ft
ings had been like those of Cain. When
father solemnly reminded her to what t
feelings had led Cain, she shuddered, i
said, softly, Oh, papa II am very sorry.
"Then, my daughter," said Mr. Lov
6-:--~ 1.- 4-_J-1- 4911- ... 4-11 -- I*-.

other that you are sorry, and ask Him to
give you, and to take this evil temper of
ry and hatred away from you."
rhe father and daughter knelt down to-
ther and prayed, and when they rose up,
-y went down stairs, quiet and thoughtful,
t happy. When they entered the parlour,
iry was seated on a low bench with a book
her lap. Lucy dropped her father's hand,
d sat down by Mary, and put her arm
)und her. The colour came up quickly
;o Mary's cheeks, and she moved, as if she
nted to push away her cousin's arm, for
a had seen Lucy's unjust feelings, and
rented them; and she thought now that
icy caressed her, not because she liked her.
It in order to please her father. As she
red, however, her eye rested on Lucy's
ee, and she saw that tears were in her eyes,
at the angry expression had passed from
ir countenance, and that she looked gentle
id loving. Mary's resentment was gone in
moment; she put her arm around Lucy's
ick and kissed her, and for the firt time
acy and Mary really loved each other.
That evening at eight o'clock Lucy closed
r books, having committed all her lemons

perfectly, while Mary still sat, turning f
one to the other of hers, yawning over the
and thinking studying lessons a very we
some business. As Lucy passed her fat
to lay her books on the shelf he said, i!
whisper, "Could you not help Cousin Mar;
Lucy returned cheerfully to the table, I
did help her cousin so effectually, that
half an hour Mary too could put her be
aside, and feel that her tasks were done.
"And now," said Mr. Lovett, "come h
and I will answer for you a question wI
Lucy asked this morning, and which, I
pect, Mary has very often felt a wish to
this evening-what is the use of stud;
Mr. Lovett's explanations were always
pleasantly given, that in a moment l
little girls stood at his side with smiling
attentive faces.
"First," began Mr. Lovett, "let me
that nothing can be learned without trou
Even Mary did not learn what she kn
without a great deal of trouble."
"Oh, yes I did interrupted Mary;
never had any trouble at all."
"Ah that may be; you never had 1

I, in order to make things so simple and
in to you that your learning them should
m like playing. Very few people are
ling, or have the leisure necessary to give
much attention to one child as she gave
you; therefore, if children wish to learn
r thing, they must generally take some
uble themselves; they must study. But
in if every child could have such an atten-
e teacher, it would be far better for them
" What! if they could learn without it I"
claimed both children.
SYes, even if they could learn without it.
n you tell me what it is to study 1"
" To read your lessons over and over till
u know them," said Lucy.
"But suppose, while reading your lemons
er, you are thinking of something else;
muld that be study ?"
There was no answer to this, and Mr.
ovett continued: "To study is to fix your
ind earnestly on any subject, to think in-
ntly upon it. The power to do this, like
rery other power we have, improves with
cercise. Do you remember how awkwardly
m held a needle when vou first began to

sew I Now you do it easily. Just so g
will be the difference in this power of stu
ing between one who exercises it and
who does not; and as there are many thi
with which sensible men and women de
to be acquainted that cannot be well tin
stood without study, I think you will aq
with me that it is better for little boys
girls to exercise this important power, i
though they could learn without it."
Lucy and Mary acknowledged that
Lovett had answered very satisfactorily
question, What is the use of study 1"
have heard other girls besides Lucy and .
ask the same question, and we hope t
will be as well satisfied with the answer.

AT the same school with Lucy and h
was a young girl named Ann Noel, i
wanting talent, or industry and persevere
enough to become a good scholar, had
sufficient shrewdness to perceive Lucy's

LUOYr' rn1nls. 68
int, and, by flattering her vanity, to obtain
r aid in the performance of her tasks at
hool. Her battery became doubly grateful
hen Lucy had ascertained that she lived in
very handsome house, which was furnished
ith great elegance; but when Lucy had
card Mis Ann Noel play a very simple
me in very bad time on a beautiful rose-
ood piano, and had been informed by her
iat she attended a dancing-school where
iey sometimes gave fancy balls, and that t.
ei next fancy ball she intended to wear a
tce dress looped up with roses, she began to
nsaider it quite an honour to be permitted
> perform Mis Ann Noel's sums, to write
at for her the answers required by her lea.
mn in geography and history, and to furnish
er every week with a composition, which
he was quite satisfied to show as her own.
Lucy and Mary had been frequently in-
ited to pass the Saturday, which was always
, holy-day in their school, at Mr. Noel's
iouse. To these invitations Mrs. Lovett
Lad always replied that she seldom allowed
ier children to visit without her. At length
isir Ann Noel proposed that, since her
iend Lucy could not come to her, she would

come to Lucy, and bring her brother, a b
of nine years, with her. As Mrs. Lovi
really knew nothing against the children, a
did not think it necessary to mortify Lu
by declining this proffered visit, and on t
following Saturday Emma's cradle was i
moved up stairs, and the basement was reli
quished to Lucy and Mary, and Miss Ai
and Master Thomas Noel. Mary was i
particularly pleased with these visitors. St
she had assisted Lucy in her preparation
for them, and brought out her toys, and d
her best to amuse them. Before we rels
the result of these efforts, we would remit
our young readers of what we have said
Mary's inaccuracies of language. Her desi
to please her Uncle Lovett had done mu
to overcome these, but still they were i
wholly forgotten; and when Mary was e
cited, so that she spoke rapidly and with
thinking, she often used them.
For the first hour after the arrival
Master and Miss Noel things went on ve
well. She dressed the dolls in the stg
most approved at fancy balls, and he amus
himself with a dissected map of the sovereig
of England; but when once he had sucem

n putting it together, the map was thrown
Ie, and, wandering listlessly about the
m, he stopped near the bird-cages. After
sing the canary a minute, he asked Mary
at they fed it on. She told him hemp
I canary seed, sugar, and occasionally
lething green.
'But fie--don't you give it flies 1"
If Mary had been allowed sometimes to
incorrect language, no one had been more
efully taught the far more important
ion that she should love and be kind to
the creatures of God, and she could only
:laim in her horror, "Flies!"
'Yes; we catch flies for our birds at home,
I they pick them out-of our fingers, and
' What I eat the poor flies 1"
"Yes, eat them; and here's a fly now;
Scatch it, and you shall see how quickly
a little fellow will nibble it up."
"Oh, no-do don' /" exclaimed Mary,
sping her hands in a perfect agony of
right for the poor fly ; "do don't "
" Do I well, I am doing it as fast as I can,"
d the rude and taunting boy, pursuing the
as he spoke.

66 Tu cOU8IKs.
"Oh, don't-please don't; the bird lo1
sugar a heap better-indeed it does, and ]
get you some sugar for it."
A heap I how high a heap 1" and agi
his sneering laugh made the colour gr
brighter on Mary's cheeks; but the poor
had been chased to the window, it seen
almost caught, and Mary forgot herself.
"Aunt Lovett would a heap rather
should eat sugar; en't it, Cousin Lucy !"
A heap, en't it-now do don't," said
insulting boy, dancing up to her, and flouri
ing his poor struggling captive in her fi
Miss Noel had greeted every specimen of
brother's wit with a loud laugh. This M
did not mind much-not very much-
now her cousin Lucy laughed too, and 1
did wound her bitterly.
Where did she learn to talk so 1" as
Miss Ann Noel, contemptuously.
Lucy, vexed and mortified that her cox
should do or say anything that might
thought ungenteel before the rich and fauhi
able Noels, and anxious to clear her <
family of the charge, answered hastily, "(
at the South; you know everybody t1
learns tn talk like thi n.arnpr"


his was too much for Mary's endurance.
threw off all restraint, and stood with
eyes dilated, her cheeks glowing, and her
de frame quivering with passion, while
exclaimed, "They don't I they don't talk
I negroes any more than you do; and if
y did, the negroes are a great deal better
a you-a great deal better; and I love
m better, and I would rather talk like
m, and I will talk like them; I will
do don't, buckra, en't it, neber, yerre,
-ary was stringing together every negro
iression she had ever heard, and many
ich she had never used. How much
ger the list would have been we know
,, but Mary felt a hand laid softly on her
d, and, looking up, she met the grave,
nest eyes of Uncle Lovett. Completely
irpowered by her emotions, she cast her-
f into his arms, sobbing, Oh, let me go
me! let me'go home to my own papa,
ere nobody will laugh at me."
Do don't, which Is not a negro exprelon, bat only a
rindealim common to the people of the Southern State
merica has been already explained; buckry mea
te man or woman; en't It. I It not so; nober, never;
re, hear; cungo, come, let n go.

"Nobody shall laugh at you here,
dear child; nobody would laugh at
who was not too rude to deserve your not
Come with me up stairs, and I will sa
you these beautiful prints, and someth
yet more beautiful, which I have in i
box. I was bringing them for the ami
ment of your visitors; but I cannot supi
that a young gentleman who finds enterth
ment in catching flies, or young ladies i
take pleasure in wounding the feelings
others, could derive any enjoyment fi
such things."
Saying this, Mr. Lovett left the room,
trying the still weeping Mary in his ar
Soon afterward, Mrs. Lovett entered
basement with Emma, and seated her
there. Lucy knew, from this movemi
that her mother was not pleased with
present companions, or willing to trust
alone with them. They evidently did
like the restraint of Mrs. Lovett's presei
and their dissatisfied glances and impe
manners made Lucy so uncomfortable, t
she was not sorry to hear them say, imme
ately after dinner, that they must ret
home. They soon took their leave; I

ingh Lucy had grieved her cousin, dis-
ased her parents, and offended against her
n sense of right to please them, they so
mected her with the disagreeable events
the day that they parted from her very
dly, and without inviting her to return
eir visit. Neither did Mrs. Lovett ask to
them again, and Lucy felt that her inter-
irse with them was at an end. You will
nk that she had no great reason to regret
t, and yet Lucy did regret it; for so silly
I her vanity and love of admiration made
, that she thought she derived some credit
m being the friend of a girl who was so
i as Miss Noel, and was always dressed so
idsomely, and who could go to fancy balls
I wear lace frocks.
'And for such a disagreeable, ill-bred girl
that, Lucy, you could treat your cousin
kindly," said Mrs. Lovett, sorrowfully, as
i door was closed on the visitors.
Lucy had endured many disappointments
ring this day, and her spirits were so de-
esed that, when she attempted to answer
Smother, she burst into tears, and sobbed
, "I didn't do anything to Cousin Mary,
mma; I only laughed a little at what

Tom Noel said; and Cousin Mary did say a
great many strange words."
"Not stranger than 'you hadn't ought to,'
which Master Tom Noel more than once re-
peated since I came in, or 'you ben't going,
be you which his sister said to you just
before she went away; why did you not
laugh at these I"
I didn't think it would be right to laugh
at my company."
And do you think it was right to laugh
at your cousin, whom her dying mother sent
here, believing she would find only friends in
her uncle's house I You may lose your father
and mother, Lucy, and be sent with Mary tc
her home. What would you think, in such
a case, of her laughing at you, or encourage.
ing her friends to laugh at you 1"
"I could not help laughing, mamma."
"Yea, Lucy; had you been more affect
tionate to Mary when they began to treal
her rudely, and shown, by your seriousness
your disapproval of their conduct to her, ii
would have checked them, and, what yoi
may think of more consequence, they would
have respected you far more than they now

TBx FAAM. (1

ucy wept on silently for a few minutes,
I then said, I am very sorry, mamma I"
' Do you feel that you have done wrong,
-7, and are you sorry for that, or are you
y sorry for having displeased me 1"
' I am sorry I did anything to vex Cousin
ry, mamma."
'Then tell your cousin so," said Mrs. Lov-
giving her daughter a kiss of forgiveness.
dary had dined up stairs with Charles,
1 Lucy found her in noisy, merry play
h him. Mary's anger towards her cousin
1 softened, and, had it not, she could not
re withstood Lucy's weeping overtures to-
rds reconciliation; so peace was again
bblished between them.


D now we are going into the country, for
nmer has come, and the air of the city is
t and disagreeable, and Emma droops, and
Iws pale and languid, no longer springing
o her father's outstretched arms but just
iing her acknowledgment of his invite-

tion, while her head rests on her mother
shoulder. Mary Mowbray is charmed at t
thought of spending the summer in t
country, for she thinks of long rambles
the flowery woods, and all the pleasures
the country at home. Some of these pl
sures she will not find, but she will ha
others instead, of which she knows nothii
Such, to her, will be the fields of new-moi
hay, with its perfume, the spicy clover, a
the honeyed buckwheat. Lucy would ha
liked another journey to 8-- better th
the quiet farm which her father had chose
for the summer retreat of his family. TI
farm was three or four miles.distant fr
the country town of N- The far
house was of stone, built roughly, and lo(
ing weather-stained, and smoked with
but within it was clean, neat, and comfo
able. The rooms were large, the walls v
white, the foors covered with bright hon
made carpeting, and the white pine table
and even the rush-bottomed chairs, w
spotless. The house was built nearly at I
foot of a hill, up the side of which extend
the apple orchard. On one side of the hoi
ran a clear brook, which. a little lower doi

THEn FA 73
made to turn a saw-mill belonging to
same farmer; and on the other side,
mated by a narrow road, was a clover-
I. Beyond this might be seen waving
just-ripening wheat and rye. All looked
to Mary, and full of curiosity; she asked
thousand questions of her uncle. After
ier he walked out, and she turned to her
t for information. Mrs. Lovett, finding
t she could not fully satisfy her, referred
to Mrs. Nye, the farmer's wife, who was
he parlour, "fixing up things a little," to
her own words. This good woman was
ie pleased at Mary's interest in the farm-
and she asked her if she would like "to
around a bit" with her, and see the chick-
and the little ducks. There were few
igs Mary would have liked better, and
I her Aunt Lovett saw, though she was
bashful to express all her pleasure.
Lrles, too, begged to go, but Lucy, when
ited, drew back, saying she did not care to
ducks and chickens. Good Mrs. Nye's
eo bonnet, coarse dress, and stout shoes
not recommend her to the companion.
Sof a fine lady, such as Lucy Lovett al-
rs strove to appear.

Charles and Mary cared for none of the
things, so they walked down to the broo
and saw the ducks sail along upon it with
slow, graceful motion, arching their necks
if to look at their own image in the cle
water; then, dipping their bills and flutte
ing their wings, throw a sparkling show
over their glossy backs. Then they took
peep at the chickens and saw Mrs. Nye fei
them. This Mrs. Nye was a very good-n
tured woman, and seeing that the child
liked their ramble, she took them to the sav
mill, which was then at work. There sl
showed them the wheel which, in turning
moved the saws up and down; and greatly
surprised they were to see how.quickly thot
saws would make their way through boar
more than an inch thick. Farmer Nye w
at the mill himself, and he answered s
Charley's questions, and laughed heartily a
some of them.
I mean to come back here to-morrow
said Charley.
Then, my little man, you will have it a
to yourself for I shall not be here myse
u Wh ar.a Ann &inen 1" alkd the litt:

'TH rARN. 75
r, who had already made himself quite at
"If the sun shines I shall be in the hay-
Id. Did you never hear make hay when
e sun shines 1'"
Yes; and may I go there too 1 I should
:e to go to the hay-field."
Yes, you maygo if you'll help us towork."
"Well, I'll help," said Charley, stepping
th more dignity at the thought of his im-
irtance in being able to help to work.
"Can't I go too 1" asked Mary, pulling
.rs. Nye by thb apron and looking timidly
the farmer; "can't I go too 1"
You; I am afraid you'd be tired; be-
des, little ladies don't like to make hay: it
oils their clothes."
"Oh! I don't mind that," said Mary,
*hose earnestness overcame her bashfulness,
I don't mind that; and I know I shouldn't
et tired, for I used to go to the cotton-
ouse, and to the barn where they thrashed
ice, when I was at home, and I never got
hired, though I helped sometimes to pick the
cotton "
Why, where was your home I thought
*on lived in N-- ."

"So I do now; but I mean my pal
home in Georgia."
In Georgia why, how far the child
come !" exclaimed the farmer. Well, wh
home do you like best, little miss "
I like my papa's home best," said Mai
"but I like this better than N- ,"
added, looking around on the green a
flowery fields.
"You like this better than N-,
you I" repeated the farmer, smiling v
pleasure at the preference given to his hoi
" Well, since you like the country so wel
think I must let you go to the hay-field t(
And now," said Mrs. Nye, "suppose
help me pick some raspberries for tea 1"
Both children gave a glad consent, i
away they went to the garden, stopping
the kitchen that Mrs. Nye might get a basI
One side of the garden was hedged with r
berry-bushes, which were now covered a
the rich ripe berries, and on the other a
clusters of the transparent red and wl
currants were hanging thickly from tl
slender stalks. Mrs. Nye soon had her bao
filled with rspberie, though it is double

THa rARM. 77
ak out. Mary, however, picked very steead-
r, and when they were going in Mrs. Nye
ve her a handful of the berries. She was
ite pleased at this, for she thought of her
usin Lucy, who certainly looked, when
ey entered the parlour, as if she needed
mething to cheer her. Lucy was yawning,
af asleep, over the pictures in a Farmer's
magazine which she had. picked up, and
which was the only thing she could find to
cause her, as her father had not yet returned
)m his walk, and her mother was too much
cupied with Emma to unpack her books
"Here, Cousin Lucy," exclaimed Mary,
*esenting her offering as soon as she entered,
here are some raspberries."
"I picked them !" said Charley. "Cousin
[ary, and I, and Mrs. Nye picked some too,"
B added, "and I am going to make hay to-
torrow. Did you ever make hay, mother 1"
"No," said the smiling Mrs. Lovett,
"Well, Cousin Mary and I are going to
ake hay to-morrow. I promised Mr. Nye
> help him, and Cousin Mary begged to go

But you begged to go too, Charley," ai
Mary; "you begged to go before Mr. Ny
said any thing about your helping him."
"Yes, but then he said I might go if
would help him, but that girls couldn't hell
because it would spoil their clothes."
But afterward, you know, he said I migl
go, when I told him I didn't mind aboi
spoiling the clothes."
"But I am afraid I must say somethir
against that; I doubt whether all the he
you and Charles will make will pay for spoi
ing your clothes. However," added Mi
Lovett, as she saw the blank faces of the di
appointed pair, "we will think about thai
it will be time enough to determine about
to-morrow. Let me hear now what you ha'
seen this afternoon."
An animated description of Mrs. Ny4
poultry-yard and garden, and of Farm
Nye's saw-mill followed; and do you n
think that Lucy, when she heard their pie
sant account, and saw their bright faces, ai
thought of her own sleepy, weary afternoc
regretted the foolish pride and self-conce
which had made her refuse to go out wi
Mrs Nve t

ihile Mary was yet in the midst of her
ises of good, kind Mrs. Nye and her rasp-
ries Charles, who was looking out of a
idow, cried out, Oh see the cow-the
,utiful spotted cow I"
11 eyes were attracted to the window, and
re was a very pretty, gentle-looking cow,
Hiking quietly along the road towards the
ise, and, following her with a switch in
I hand, which, however, she seemed to
re no occasion to use, was a little girl, with
t such a calico bonnet, such a coarse dress,
I such stout shoes as those worn by Mrs.
e. The bonnet had fallen entirely from
Head, and hung by its strings around her
,k. On one arm she carried a calico bag,
gently containing books, and on the other
empty basket.
*What a pretty little girl I" said Mrs.
rett, as she saw the glossy, waving brown
r, the glowing, healthy complexion, and,
at pleased her most, the frank, smiling
session of her face.
'That is my daughter Clara, ma'am," said
Pleased Mrs. Nye, who had heard her
ough the open window of the parlour, as
i stood in the yard below.

"She seems to have books with her, Mn.
Nye; has she been to school I"
Yes, ma'am, she goes to school every day
except Saturday; and when she is coming
home in the evening, as she passes the pas-
ture, she just drives the cow along with her,
and that puts me in mind to go and milk
the poor thing; she seemed to want it bad
enough." Mrs. Nye turned away to look for
her pails.
"Aunt Lovett, don't you think Mrs. Nye
would let me go and see her milking the
cow;" said Mary.
"Ask her, my dear; there, she is passing
the window."
Mary looked wishfully at her, but could
not summon courage to call; but Charles
cried out from his window," Mrs. Nye, won't
you let Cousin Mary and me come with you1"
Oh, yes, come along."
"And Cousin Lucy," said Mary, looking
doubtfully at Lucy.
And sister Lucy too," sung out Charles to
the now distant Mrs. Nye.
"Yes, oh yes!" was returned; and this
time Lucy was as ready as any to get her
bonnet and run to the orchard, where the cow

as quietly eating hay out of the hand of
*etty Clara Nye, while Mrs. Nye knelt beside
,r, and drew the rich, foaming milk into her
ean, bright paiL

Ez next morning's sun rose as brightly as
ren Farmer Nye could have desired, and
ng before Mary and Charles were awake,
3 and his men were in the field cutting the
ase with their long scythes, and laying it
>wn to dry. Charles was quite vexed when
e heard this from Mrs. Nye; but she com-
rted him by saying that they would all
'me home to their dinners at twelve o'clock,
id that he could go with them when they
turned to their labours. Accordingly, while
ie men were dining, Mrs. Nye came to see
the children would like to go. They might
de to the field, she said, in the empty cart,
which was going to bring back some hay that
ad been made already. "Mr. Nye," she
Aided, *will drive to the school and take

82 THE COUvsIs.
Clara in, and they will have, I dare say,.
a nice time."
A shout of delight from Charles, ani
beseeching looks of Lucy and Mary, se
to put any objection from Mr. and Mrs. L
out of the question; but they had no <
to object; for Mr. Lovett thought the ri
the field, and the sport in the open air, i
be healthy as well as pleasant. The chi
read consent in his smiling face befo:
spoke, and, long before the cart came t
gate, they were on the steps awaiting it.
Lovett said it was quite a treat to see sud
ous face as theirs were when, waving
hands to Emma, they drove off. Not les
ous was that of Clara Nye when her f
having obtained an afternoon's holyds
her from her teacher, lifted her into th
beside them. Lucy was generally mor
able with strangers than Mary, but sh
not yet quite reconciled to Clara's coarse
and she remained silent and reserved.
Clara Nye been coarse and vulgar i
banners, we would not have blamed
for this reserve, but she was a gentle, p14
affected girl, with a great deal mor
nolitenem than Tanev'r fuhinnmahla -

Miss Ann NoeL Mary felt much more at
ease with her than she had done with any of
her cousin's favourites in N- who had
never seemed to her children like herelf but
little men and women. Accordingly, Mary
began the conversation with Clara, asking
her, "Did you ever see them snake hay 1"
"Oh, yes, a great many times."
"Did you ever help to make it?" asked
Yes," said Clara; "father, didn't I help
last year some 1"
"To be sure you did."
But didn't you spoil your clothes? Your
father told my cousin Mary that making hay
would spoil girl's clothes."
"Ah! but my girl's clothes are none of
your flimsy things, like your cousin's and
your sister's there; they're stout, strong
clothes, made to wear in the country," said
Farmer Nye, looking at Lucy's and Mary's
muslin dresses as slightingly as Lucy had
done at Clara's.
They were soon at the hay-field, and for
two hours they ran about in the sweet
balmy air, and the bright sun, as busy as the
bees, and as sportive as the butterflies that

flew around them; sometimes turning o
the hay, and sometimes overturning a
other. As no one could be hurt by a fall
the hay, the overturns only caused a lau
When the cart was loaded with hay, Farn
Nye sent a man home with it, while he
the children by what he called a "sh
cut," through a lane, another field, and
orchard, home. They were quite in time
see the milking again.
This had been a very happy day to
whole party, and we doubt whether Li
would not have preferred her ride in the a
her two hours' merry sport in the hay-fil
and her walk home through the flowery I
and orchard, to being dressed up amoni
crowd of gay people, even though she I
heard two or three out of that crowd i
"What a pretty girl Lucy Lovett is I"
When Saturday-Olara's holyday-c
Lucy and Mary were very desirous to ki
how she would employ her time; so imi
diately after breakfast they went in sea
of her. They found her churning the but
and when that was done, she told them
was going to sew till dinner-time, and a
5e . a n ,

all into a wood where there were a great
many blackberries. Nothing could be more
delightful in the children's eyes, and back
they ran to Mrs. Lovett with the report. It
did not seem to her quite so unobjectionable
as to them. Their clothes, she thought,
would be torn to pieces by the blackberry-
briers, and their thin summer slippers seemed
very unsuitable for walking in a wood
where the ground could scarcely fail to be
I wish I had some clothes like Clra
Nye's," said Mary; "her father says her
clothes were made on purpose to wear in the
country." Lucy turned away with a pout-
ing lip, thinking, perhaps, that not even the
pleasures of a blackberry-gathering could re-
pay her for wearing such clothes.
That is a very wise wish, Mary," said
Mr. Lovett; then, turning to his wife, he
added, We should have thought of this be-
fore; the country will be of no service to
them unless they can be out in the air, and
these thin slippers and fine frocks will scarco
endure a day's walking through woods, and
dusty or muddy roads."
I thnnorht an entirely of anr little Em-

86 THN coUvsms.
ma's wants that I quite forgot theirs," i
Mrs. Lovett; "but, if I could get some str
calico, I could soon make them each a wi
"I dare say I could get some for yoi
N- ," said Mr. Lovett, naming the court
town near them. "If Farmer Nye can
me have a horse, I will try this morn
While I go to ask him, measure their slipl
for me, and I will bring them each a pai
thick shoes. I can easily be back to din
so cheer up," putting a hand on each li
downcast head; "with your feet well ]
tectod from damp, we must run the rial
torn dresses for once, and let you go for
Mary clapped her hands with pleas
exclaiming, "Thank you, thank you, Ui
Lovett;" but Lucy remained silent. W
her father had left the room, and her mol
asked for her slipper to measure its lenj
she said, sulkily, I don't want to wear g
coarse shoes like Clar Nye's."
Mr. Lovett hesitated a moment, and t
said, Give me your slipper, Lucy; ;
father will get the shoes for you, and t
vnn shall have vmr nhnim~ I~tween waw

hem or staying at home." Lucy gave her
dipper very reluctantly.
Mr. Lovett got the horse and went to
N--, and returned to dinner with two pairs
)f thick leather boots, some strong calico, and
iome coarse linen check, out of which, he
said, a sort of carman's frock might be made
For Charles, which would keep his clothes
lean when at play out of doors.
As soon as Mary had dined, she was busy
with her shoes, putting in the strings and
lacing them up, talking all the time of
pleasant remembrances of blackberrying in
Georgia, and her equally pleasant expecta-
tions from it here. During all this time
Lucy sat at the table, looking very uncom-
fortable. She still continued there when
Clara Nye, with her bonnet on and a basket
in her hand, made her appearance at the
door, asking if they were ready.
I am almost ready, Clara," said Mary,
quickly. "I have only to put on my bonnet,
and to get-oh I I haven't any basket."
"Never mind that-I'll lend you a basket;
but, Lucy, are not you going too t"
Lucy looked at her mother and said no-
thing. Answer, my dear," said Mrs. Lovett,

o00 iJa vuouDa..
"it depends on yourself; here are your shoes,
holding them out to her as she spoke.
Lucy hung her head, and her face gre'
red as she muttered, I don't want to wes
those ugly shoes."
Then Lucy, you must stay at home; bt
think well of it; your afternoon will be ver
lonely when Mary, and Clara, and Charl
have all gone."
Lucy burst into tears. Mary took tl
shoes from her aunt, and, going up to he
said, Don't cry, Cousin Lucy; I'll put ti
strings in your shoes, and you can soon i
ready; and they are very nice shoes, indee
when you get them on: just look at mine
and she held out her foot. But Lucy woun
not look at any thing. She wept on, az
Mr. Lovett, taking the shoes from Mar
and giving Charles his hat from the shle]
told them to go. Mary still lingered am
ment at the door, but Lucy did not move
Clara called to her, and soon the blackberry
party was out of sight and hearing.
Mary thought sadly at first of Lucy's Ion
iness and vexation, but it was impossible
think sadly long on such a bright, beutil
afternoon, with chirping birds and g

1wers all around her. When they arrived
the blackberries, the only thought for
me time was who should first have a full
They were about half-way home again
hen Mary exclaimed, Oh, I am so glad !
ere's Cousin Lucy I"
She was quite right. Coming towards
em through the winding footpath, hidden
ery now and then by the thick green
iughs, and again, as the path turned, stand-
g out clearly before them, were Cousin
icy and Uncle Lovett. As they drew near,
cy hung her head. She had on the thick
.oes, and probably thought they would re-
ember how unwilling she had been to
ear them. The joyful meeting she received
Dm the little folks of the party must soon
Lve put her at ease.
" Mrs. Nye, does this wood belong to Mr.
ye I" asked Mr. Lovett.
" Yes air--at least part of it does."
" You have some fine large trees here, and
have been thinking that, with his permis-
on, I would like to put up a swing on one
' them for these young people."
" To besure, sir I there's nothing to hinder

you, if you would like to do it Nc
likes to see children happy better thai
You may believe that few proposi
could have been more popular with
children than this of a swing in a beai
shady wood.

Tne dresses for Mary and Lucy, and
apron for Charles, were soon made. *
now," said Mr. Lovett, the day after
were finished, "dress yourselves for
and come with me into the wood."
Lucy made no objection to wearing her
stantial dress with such an object in
and the party were soon equipped. Mi
vett borrowed a hatchet from Farmer
and looked very workman-like as he le
way, wearing a white jacket, and carrying
hatchet on his shoulder.
It was not long before he began to ui
f- .1-4 --.4r~- -8 -:I- A-- .1L -

ie turned aside from the path, lopping away
he branches and shrubbery, and working his
ray gradually towards a large black walnut-
ree, which might be seen from a distance
vertopping the wood. Though it was only
few yards from the path, and Mr. Lovett
id not undertake to make a very clear or
ride road to it at first, he was nearly an hour
i reaching it, so thick were the tangled
oughs and underbrush which opposed his
rogres ; but when he reached it he felt quite
paid for his work by a sight of the beauty
round him. The tree grew on a small hil-
wck. Its large roots and dense shade seemed
> have banished from its immediate neigh-
ourhood all growth larger than the blue
arebell and yellow dandelion, which sprung
p in patches here and there, insinuating
themselves even into the crevices of the roots.
his tree seemed to bound Mr. Nye's wood
a the west; for beyond it, on that side, the
round sloped suddenly down for some feet
> a sort of dingle, through which ran a clear,
arkling spring, singing as it passed over
ie pebbly surface. On the farther side of
is spring was another thick wood, sur-
ounded by a rude fence. The ground con-

tinued to sink beyond the fence for su
distance that from the little hillock you m
catch glimpses of the western sky, and
the setting sun gleaming through the fol
of the nearer trees. In descending to
spring, they found the ground near it cov
with various-coloured mosses as soft
bright as velvet. Though they could noi
any house, Mr. Lovett thought there w
farm within that wood, and not far a'
for he heard the barking of dogs, and occae
ally a voice apparently speaking to some
at a distance. Mr. Lovett seated himself
one of the gnarled roots of the walnut-
and, while he rested there, the children pl
ed some of the flowers, and looked around
berries. They found only a few who
berry-bushes, the fruit of which was noi
ripe. They could not extend their se
very far before Mr. Lovett called out tlu
was going back. As he went, he wid
and cleared yet farther the path he had i
menced, and made the children throw o
the way the branches and brush he cut a
us well as the dead wood which already.
m the ground, so that, when they rea
;he old footpath, they left behind the

n as well as clear way to the walnut tree.
Liner was ready for them when they reached
me, and you may believe that, after such a
ming's work,they were quite ready to eat it.
'he next day the children expected to be
in summoned to the wood, when they saw
Lovett put on his working jacket, but he
lingly bade them amuse themselves at
me, adding that he should not go farther
n Mr. Nye's saw-mill himself For a
ek after this he continued to go out with-
them, seemingly spending all his time at
saw mill. One evening he came in so
i that they had taken their tea without
i. When the children came to bid him
d-night, he said," I have something very
tty to show to those who can get up early
ugh to take a walk to morrow before
fastt" "I will I" and "I will 1" sounded
ously in the voice of each of the party as
y withdrew.
And they kept their words, standing in the
d all ready for their walk when the only
is of the sun were the crimson and gold
h which a few light clouds, lying on the
tern sky, were tinted by his approaching
ms. Mr. Lovett soon joined the children,

and, after ascertainingthat they all wore this
shoes, he set offbriskly in the direction oftl
Oh! I know what it is; papa has put
the swing. Have you not, papa I" exclaim
Yes, I have put up the swing."
General expressions of delight follow
and Mr. Lovett's followers pressed so close
upon him that he was compelled to quide
his footsteps. At the rate they now wall
it took them but a few minutes to reach 1
walnut-tree, and there was the swing hi
on one of its largest branches, made o
large, strong rope, of whose breaking t]
need not feel afraid, and with a good sea,
it. But the swing, with all its excelled
attracted less attention than some other
jects under the walnut-tree. Several
seats were there with backs to them, ai
table, and the children almost believed I
both seats and table were a part of the t
for they were just the colour of its tn
The legs of both the chairs and table i
made of unbarked wood, and the seats,
back of the chairs, and top of the tab]
-- -:-- 6-:1.-A -.-A Ik-:A-A ci*:n

gether. When they had admired theme
iw wonders, and placed themselves by turns
i each of the seats, to be ratified that they
would really bear sitting on, and were not,
Charles suggested, only "play chair,"
r. Lovett called their attention to the
ble, saying, as he pointed to its top, Here
something you have not seen."
They came nearer, and read the words,
Lucy's and Mary's Bower," in very rude
tters, and very irregular in size, it is true,
it still sufficiently distinct, formed by the
listed vines.
"And where's mine 1" asked Charley,
ith a countenance expressive of disappoint-
" Here, my son," said Mr. Lovett, leading
im to the swing, and showing him his name
painted on the board which formed its set.
Never did a kind design meet with a more
grateful reception than this. All were de-
ghted, and it was with difficulty Mr. Lovett
mild persuade them, after swinging till he at
ast was tired, to return home. As they
ok a lat look at the furniture of their beau-
iful bower, Mary exclaimed, "I wish Clar
ad come with us."

"I wish I could give a tea-party here,"
said Lucy.
Well, let us give one," replied her cousin
Lucy laughed sneeringly as she replied,
"Who shall we ask to it 1"
"Why, Uncle and Aunt Lovett, and Mr
and Mrs. Nye, and Clara. You know we could(
get Mrs. Nye to send some chairs here for the
grown people.
And what should we have for tea 1'
asked Lucy, still laughingly.
We could have raspberries and currants
and, I dare say, Farmer Nye would give u
some of the nice cherries Aunt Lovett like
so much, and Mrs. Nye would give us som
milk and some biscuits-"
And plates, and cups and saucers, an
spoons, and send them there for us, and-al
that trouble for mamma and papa, and Clar
Nye, that we see every day. No, Cousi
Mary, if you choose to do it, you may; bu
that was not the kind of party I meant."
And what kind of party did you mear
then, Cousin Lucy 1"
Why, I meant to have lamps hung among
the branches of the walnut-tree, as they do i
the public gardens, and for you and me to 1

dressed up, and have all the girls we liked
come to spend the evening with us, and have
refreshments handed about as they have at
parties in N- ."
Mary said nothing, but she thought she
would rather have Uncle and Aunt Lovett,
and Clara, than such visitors as her Cousin
Lucy would like.

You will not doubt that Lucy and Mary
were often at their bower. When Clara was
at home, she delighted in being there with
them. They would swing each other a while,
and then they would either play with their
dolls, dressing them, and taking them to visit
each other, or they would get up a little feast
of different fruits, making leaves of various
sizes their dishes and plates, cups and sau-
cers. Sometimes they would entertain each
other with stories which they had either
read or heard, and sometimes with relating
circumstances which had happened to them-

selves, or describing places which they had
seen, or persons with whom they had associ-
ated. Clara would tell of the changes which
the different seasons brought to the employ-
ments and enjoyments of the country; Mary
would grow eloquent in her description of
her Southern home; and Lucy would pic-
ture the gay scenes she had witnessed, and
those of which she had heard in N- but
only heard, since her father and mother did
not permit her to be present at them.
"Would not you like to go to such a
party she said to Clara one day, after one
of her most brilliant descriptions.
Clara shook her head, and Mary, taking
courage from that silent negative, said, "I
would not; I should be so afraid all the
time of doing something to make the people
laugh at me, that I should not have any
comfort at all."
"I should not be afraid," said Clara; "but,
from what you tell me, these fine people
don't play, and laugh, and talk as I like to
do, and I should soon get tired of them, I
And you would not be afraid of them I"
nnmt.i nn..l M-a :*Ik .m41

"No said Clara smiling; "I used to feel
i you say when I saw strangers, and was
afraid to look them in the face; but my
scher told me that, though I might think
Ais was being very humble, I was mistaken;
iat indeed, it was vanity that made me feel
I Vanity I don't see how that could be,"
%id Mary.
" Why, she said, if I was really humble, I
rould not suppose that people were noticing
ie, and thinking of me all the time. She
aid that strangers seldom paid much atten-
ion to what children said or did, unless they
sw that they wished to be noticed."
"That may be with some children," mid
incy, "but it i not so with all; for I am
are, Cousin Mary, you have seen that stran-
ers often take notice of me. Even persons
hat did not know my papa and mamma
ave asked who I was, and talked to me a
reat deal, when they have met me at other
But maybe, Cousin Lucy, they thought
rou wanted to be noticed," mid Mary simply.
Lucy's face grew red, and she would, per-
hape, have made an angry answer to this, but

Clara interrupted her by saying, "My teach
taught me some pretty lines to show tha
I was humble, I would not be afraid of w
people might say of me."
Clara then repeated :-

He that is down needs fear no fall,
He that is low no pride;
He that is humble ever shall
Have God to be his gunlde."
Mary became thoughtful ; for she said
herself, "If all this be so, then I, who h
always blamed Cousin Lucy's vanity so mi
may be vain myself 1" On Lucy the c
versation had made less impression, and
said to Clara, I should not think you ol
saw any strangers here to be afraid of."
Oh yes, we do; in the summer time
have almost always some strange folks
our house: and Mr. Smith over the:
pointing to the wood below them, "to
boarders, and Mr. Stevens on the other i
too, and their boarders sometimes come a
to see ours."
"They have not had any boarders 1
summer, have they 1" asked Lucy.
"Not till this week: father told mot
last night that Mr. Smith told him yes

day that he had some grand people from
N- at his house; he said they had brought
their carriage and horses with them, and
their own help. They have a sick baby, so
Mr. Smith didn't mind their bringing some-
body to 'tend that; but they brought a
woman to cook too, just as if Mrs. Smith
couldn't cook good enough for them."
What seemed so unreasonable to Clara was
with Lucy quite a recommendation to Mr.
Smith's boarders. "I shouldn't wonder," said
she to Mary, if it was the Noels." Ann told
me, her little brother was sick, and she knew
we were coming here, and so she may have
begged her father to come where she could
be near me-you know we are so intimate."
Lucy spoke to Mary, but what she said was
really meant to show Clara that she had
friends of the same class with these "grand
folks" at Mr. Smith's. Neither Mary nor
Clara replied to her; for while Clara cared
little about the matter, Mary was silently
hoping that their neighbours would prove to
be more civil people than Ann and Tom Noel.
I do wish I could see some of them-if
it was only the coachman I should know
him, for I have been in Mr. Noel's carriage."

108 Tnus ouINIs.
This was intended as a still farther proof
Lucy's intimacy.
I can't show you the people," said Clar
"but I can show you the house they a
staying at, if you will come a little way ov
the fence, and into that wood below."
Lucy rose at once to accompany Clara, bi
Mary stopped her, saying, "Cousin Luc
you know Aunt Lovett said you must I
careful not to get your feet wet, because yc
had a cold already." We fear Mary though
as much of preventing the recognition of tl
Noels as she did of enforcing obedience 1
Aunt Lovett's commands.
Her remonstrance had little effect on Luc
who exclaimed impatiently, "Dear me
Cousin Mary, how can I wet my feet wit
such thick shoes as these on 1"
The next moment she was down the slol
which led to the spring with Clara. The
crossed the spring on some stepping-stones
little below the walnut-tree. Clara the
proceeded up again on the other side of tl
spring, till she was above the walnut-tre
before she turned to the fence: "What a,
you going this way for, Clara I I though
we were to climb the fence I"

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