AND HIS DOG.
Written jf the
Massachusetts Sabbath School Society, and
by the Committee of Publication.
MASSACHUSETTS SABBATH SCHOOL SOCIETY,
Depository, No. 13 Cornhill.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851,
BY CHRISTOPHER C. DEAN,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of M sJ husetts.
ONE pleasant October evening, Arthur
Hamilton was at play in front of the
small, brown cottage in which he lived.
He and his brother James, were hav-
ing a great frolic with a large spotted
dog, who was performing a great va-
riety of antics, such as only well-edu-
cated dogs understand. But Rover
had been carefully initiated into the
mysteries of making a bow while
Wy ___ -- ----------------
8 LEAVING HOME.
standing on his hind legs, tossing
pieces of bread off his nose, putting
up his fore-paws with a most implor-
ing look, and piteous whine, which the
boys called begging for money,"
and when a chip had been given him,
he uttered a most energetic bow-wow-
wow, which they regarded as equiva-
lent to thank you, sir," and walked
While they were thus amusing them-
selves, their mother was sitting on the
rude piazza which ran albng the front
of the cottage, now looking at the
merry children, and then thoughtfully
gazing at the long shadows which were
stretching across the road. Mrs.
Hamilton was a woman of wonderful
strength, and energy, both of body
and mind; and she had been sus-
i ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ______________________: i
LEAVING HOME. 9
trained for many years by the Christian's
*hope; but there was now a heavy
burden resting on her soul, which even
her native energy and Christian trust
were unable to remove. She had
known many days of worldly pros-
perity, since she had resided in that
little cottage; but of late, trials had
multiplied; and days and nights of
heart-crushing sorrow had been ap-
pointed unto her. He who should
have shared life's trials and lightened
their weight, had proved recreant to
his trust, and was now wandering, she
knew not whither; and poverty was
staring the deserted family in the face.
Debts had accumulated, and though
Mrs. Hamilton had done all that could
be done to meet the emergency,
though she had labored incessantly,
10 LEAVING HOME.
and borne fatigue and self-denial, with
a brave and cheerful spirit, it had been
found necessary to leave the home so
dear to her,-the home where she had
been brought a fair and youthful bride ;
where she had spent many happy
years, and which was endeared to her
by so many sweet and hallowed, as
well as painful, associations. Every
foot of the green meadow, the orchard
on the hill, and the pasture lying be-
yond, was dear to her; and it was
painful to see them pass into other
hands. But that heaviest of all the
trials which poverty brings to the mo-
ther's heart, was hers also. The con-
viction had been forced upon her, that
she must separate the children, and
find other homes for such as were old
enough to do any thing for themselves.
This necessary separation had now
taken place. Her eldest son had gone
to a distant southern state, carrying
with him, his mother's prayers and
blessings ; and a strong arm, and stout
heart, with which to win himself a
name and a place in his adopted home.
John, the second, still remained with
her, assisting, by his unceasing toil, to
earn a supply for their daily wants.
Henry, the third son, a bright-eyed
youth of sixteen, had attracted the
notice of his pastor, and by his advice
and assistance, had been placed on the
list of the beneficiaries of the Ameri-
can Education Society, and was now
at an Academy, preparing for College.
James was living with a farmer in the
neighborhood, and was now on the
green with Arthur. These changes
_ ------- --------... .----------
12 LEAVING HOME.
had already taken place, and now,
could she part with Arthur,-her
sweet-tempered, gentle Arthur ? That
was the question which agitated and
saddened her. An offer had been
made her, by Mr. Martin, who lived
in an adjoining town, and whom she
knew to be an excellent man. He
wished to take Arthur, and keep him
till he was twenty-one; would clothe
him, send him to school, and treat him
as one of his own family ; training him
to habits of industry and economy.
Could she hope any thing better for her
darling boy ? There was a younger
brother and two sisters still remaining
at home, and embarrassed as she was,
ought she not to be grateful for such
an opening, and thankfully avail her-
self of it ? Such was the view another
& L----....... -----------------. ...... .---------- (
might take of the subject, but to her it
was unspeakably painful to think of
the separation. Arthur was ten years
old; but he was a modest and timid
boy, whose sensitive nature had led
'him to cling more closely to his
mother's side than his bolder and
more active brothers.
Mrs. Hamilton knew that this was
no time for the indulgence of senti-
ment; she knew that duty must be
done, even though every chord of her
heart quivered with agony. After
much consideration and earnest prayer,
she had concluded to let him go, and
the thought of sending him away from
her, and all he loved, among entire
strangers, was what made her so sor-
rowful. She strove to calm herself by
the reflection, that she had done what
14 LEAVING HOME.
seemed to be right, and by remember-
ing the. blessed promises of God's
Holy Word to the fatherless, and to
all those who put their trust in Him.
With a cheerful voice, she called the
boys, telling James it was time for himd
to go home, as Captain L., with whom
he lived, was a very particular man,
and would be displeased if he staid
out beyond the proper time. Mrs.
Hamilton's sons had been trained to
obedience, and James never thought
of lingering and loitering for half an
hour, as I have seen some boys do,
after being told to go. He just gave
Rover a good pat on the back, and
saying a hasty good-night" to his
mother and Arthur, he ran home.
Arthur was alone with his mother,
and she told him of the arrangement
LEAVING HOME. 15
she had made for him, and the reasons
for it. Arthur was quite overcome at,
the idea of a separation from the mother
he loved so dearly, and exclaimed-
Oh, mother, don't send me away
from home, I can earn something, and
will work very hard if you will only
let me stay. Please mother, let me
stay with you! "
It is quite as painful to me, Ar-
thur," said his mother, to part from
you, as it can be to you ; but I think
it is best for you ; and I am sure you
will not increase my trials by com-
plaining. Be a brave boy, Arthur,
and learn to submit cheerfully to what
God sends upon you. Trust in Him,
and he will bless you wherever you
are. Always remember He watches
over you, and loves you. I think Mr.
and Mrs. Martin will be kind to you,
and I hope you will make yourself
very useful to them. They are quite
aged, and a pair of young hands and
feet can be of great service to them.
Always do cheerfully whatever they
wish of you, even if not quite so agree-
able at the moment. Always be re-
spectful in your manners to them, and
to all others with whom you come in
contact, and try to make them happier.
A little boy may do a good deal to
make others happy, or unhappy. I
hope you will try to do what is right
at all times, and I doubt not you will
be contented and happy there, after
you become accustomed to it."
Arthur had dried his tears, but his
heart was heavy as he laid down in
his bed that night, and when he was
*): ; -- -_________________________,
alone, his sobs burst forth afresh. It
seemed to him very cruel to send him
among strange people, and he thought
he should rather go without much to
eat or wear, than to leave home.
About ten days after, John carried
Arthur to Mr. Martin's. Mrs. Hamil-
ton had made his clothes look as neat
and tidy as possible, by thoroughly
washing and mending them, (for she
could not afford to get any new ones),
and John had made him a nice box, in
which they were all carefully placed.
Arthur tried to be a brave boy, as
his mother wished; but he could not
eat his breakfast that morning. Every
mouthful seemed to choke him; and
when he bade his mother and the chil-
dren good-bye, the tears would come
fast and thick into his eyes, in spite of
18 LEAVING HOME.
all he could do to prevent it. Tears
were in his mother's eyes too, but she
Well, Arthur," said she, it will
be only six weeks to Thanksgiving,
and Mr. Martin has promised you shall
come home then; and how glad we
shall all be to see you! "
It was a sunny, autumn morning.
The white frost lay on the grass and
the fences, and the north-wind was
chilly, as the boys drove on. Rover
persisted in following them, and finally
Arthur begged John to take him in,
and carry him over. Rover was de-
lighted, and laid himself down in the
bottom of the wagon, and looked affec-
tionately into Arthur's face.
"Poor Rover," said he, "you will
miss me I know ; and I shall miss you
a great deal more. I wonder if Mr.
Martin has a dog ? "
I guess not," said John, for he
took no notice of Rover, and every
body who likes dogs speaks to Rover,
because he is so large and handsome.
I am afraid you will be homesick at
first over there, but we must do the
best we can, for these are hard timE.
I don't see how we can do any thing
more than pay the rent this yeat, after
all my summer's work; for the dry
weather ruined the potatoes, and corn
won't bring more than fifty cents a
bushel; and how we are to live, I
don't see. I am not afraid for myself,
but it is too bad for mother, and the
little ones; so, if you are homesick,
you must try to get over it again, and
not come back, or let mother know it,
for she has just as much trouble as
she can bear already."
Oh, no," said Arthur, I won't
be homesick, I will be a brave boy, as
mother calls it, and never complain,
let what will come ; but I do wish we
were not so poor."
"I don't know," said John, I
think poor folks that work hard, enjoy
about as much as anybody, after all.
It isn't a disgrace to be poor, if we are
only honest, and do what is right;
and you know the minister said last
Sabbath, that Jesus Christ when he
lived on the earth was a poor man,
and worked with his hands for a living.
He won't despise the poor now he has
gone into heaven again; for he will
remember how he was poor once.
Mother says, nothing will break her
LEAVING HOME. 21
heart but living to see us do some
wicked deed, and that she could not
survive that. We must be careful not
to break her heart, musn't we, Ar-
thur ? "
So the lads rode on till noon ; and
when the sun shone out warmly, the
forest-trees looked more magnificent
in its golden light, than King Solomon
in all his glory. There was the crim-
son-leaved maple, and the yellow
beach, and the variegated oak, mingled
with the fresh green hemlocks and
pines. There was something in the
quiet, and deep stillness of the woods,
which made the boys silent, as they
rode through; they felt the influence
of its exceeding beauty, though they
could not have expressed it in words ;
for God always speaks to us through
22 LEAVING HOME.
his works, and if we will listen to the
voice, our hearts will be softened, and
pleasant and profitable thoughts will
It was two in the afternoon, when
John and Arthur reached Mr. Martin's.
He was not at home, but Mrs. Martin
received them kindly, saying, she
expected they would come that day."
She was a grave-looking old lady, who
wore spectacles, and the inquisitive
manner in which she looked over the
top of them into Arthur's face, quite
frightened the little fellow, and hg
could only reply in very low monosyl-
lables to the questions she asked him;
so John gave her such information as
she desired. Mrs. Martin showed
them the small chamber in which Ar-
thur was to sleep, and John carried
LEAVING HOME. 28
up the wooden box, and put it down in
one corner. After staying half an
hour, John thought le must go. A
sense of the loneliness of his situation
among strangers, where no one famil-
iar voice would be heard, and not one
familiar object seen, came over the
heart of poor Arthur with such force
at this moment, that he burst into a
flood of tears, exclaiming-
Oh, don't leave me here, John!
don't leave me, I cannot stay." Brush-
ing the tears from his own eyes, John
drew the sobbing child out into, the
yard, saying, as he put his arms affec-
tionately about his neck,-
But Arthur, what do you think
mother would say to see you coming
back with me ? How it would distress
her .Indeed you must stay, and try to
24 LEAVING HOME.
be contented. I think it looks like a
pleasant place here. This is a very
pretty yard, and yonder is a large
garden; I dare say Mr. Martin will let
you have a bed in it next spring."
But it is living here all alone,
which I dread," said Arthur.
You know mother says we are
never all alone," said John. God
will be with you, and if you try to be
a good contented boy, he will approve
of your conduct, and love you. Only
six weeks too, remember, till you
come home. Just think how soon they
will be gone "
Rover had been gazing wistfully
into Arthur's face, as if he wondered
what was going on that made them all
so sober, and now he gently laid his
paw upon his hand. Arthur caressed
him fondly, saying-
LEAVING HOME. 25
"Oh, Rover, dear good fellow, how
I wish I could have you for company."
SI wish you could," said John, "but
I don't think it would be right to leave
him, for Mr. Martin might not wish to
John now untied his horse, saying,
Try to be contented for mother's
sake, dear Arthur."
Many years after, when John was a
middle-aged man, he told me that
nothing in his whole life had made him
feel worse than leaving little Arthur
behind him, that day. I can see
the poor little fellow now," said he,
"just as he looked standing at the
gate, weeping bitterly."
Rover refused at first to leave Ar-
thur, but John lifted him into the
wagon, and drove off.
26 LEAVING HOME.
It was a lonely evening to Arthur.
There was no frolic with Rover and
the children on the green; no kind
mother's voice to call him in; no
affectionate good-night kiss for the
little stranger. Mr. and Mrs. Martin
were very kind-hearted people, but
they had little sympathy with a child,
and made no conversation with him.
There was no hardship imposed on
Arthur ; indeed they required less of
him than he had been accustomed to
doing at home, and had he been a
courageous, light-hearted boy like his
brother James, he would soon have
been very happy in his new home.
But we have said he was shy and sen-
sitive; like a delicate plant he needed
sunshine to develop his nature, and
shrank from. the rough chilling blast.
None, who has not experienced it,
can know any thing of the suffering
such a child endures when deprived of
the sweet influences of home. Such
an one often appears dull and stupid
to a careless observer, when there is
throbbing under that cold exterior, a
heart of the keenest sensibility. Let
the bold, healthy, active boy be sent
from home, if necessary ; a little hard-
ship, and a little struggling with the
rougher elements of life, will per-
chance but strengthen and increase his
courage, and prepare him for the con-
flicts and struggles of after years ; but
oh, fond mother, keep that delicate,
timid child which nestles to thy side
with such confiding trust, which trem-
bles at the voice of a stranger, and
shrinks like the mimosa, from a rude
28 LEAVING HOME.
and unfamiliar touch, under thine own
sheltering roof-tree, for a time at least;
there seek to develop and strengthen
his delicate nature into more manly
strength and vigor; there judiciously
repress excessive sensibility, and in-
crease confidence in himself and others;
if it can possibly be avoided, do not
expose him, while a child, to the ten-
der mercies of those who do not un-
derstand his peculiar temperament,
and who, however kind their feelings,
cannot possess his confidence.
We need not dwell on the first
weeks of Arthur's stay at Mr. Martin's.
They thought him a little homesick,
but presumed he would soon get over
it; he performed the little tasks they
exacted of him with .great alacrity,
and was quite a favorite with Mrs.
LEAVING HOME. 29
Martin, who said he was the most
quiet, and well-behaved child she ever
saw. At first, Arthur thought of
nothing but home, and home-scenes;
but he struggled bravely to rise above
sad and sorrowful thoughts, and to be
contented. They shall never hear
me complain," he said to himself,
" and dear mother too shall never
know how bad I feel. I want to do
my duty, and be a brave boy."
Every fortnight a letter came from
home, and though Arthur read it with
streaming eyes, it was a precious
treasure. He would read them over
and over, till he seemed to hear his
mother's voice once more, and feel
her loving hand upon his head. He
answered them ; but wrote only a few
words, saying, he was well, and the
30 LEAVING HOME.
other common place remarks children
usually write. He was not happy,
but he was calmer now, and did not
every night cry himself to sleep. The
visit at home, was a bright, cheering
spot, to which he often looked for-
ward; and as week after week passed
away, slowly indeed, he rejoiced in
the certainty that that long-looked-
for period was getting nearer and
nearer, and would come at last.
THANKSGIVING! dear, delightful
Thanksgiving! What a happy sound
in all childish ears! What visions of
roast turkeys, plum puddings, and
pumpkin pies rise before us at the
name What hosts of rosy cheeks,
sparkling eyes, nicely-combed little
heads, and bounding feet; what blaz-
ing fires and warm parlors; what
large stuffed rocking-chairs, with
comfortable-looking grandpapas and
grandmamas in them; what huge
bundles of flannel, out of which, plump
blue-eyed babies roll; what stuffed
hoods and cloaks, fiom which little
boys and girls emerge; and better
than all, what warm hearts brimming
with affection; what sweet songs of
joyful praise; what untold depths of
" sacred and home-felt delight," be-
long to thee, dear, glad, Thanksgiv-
Let us look in at Mrs. Hamilton's
on Thanksgiving eve. Every thing in
her little sitting-room is just as clean
as it can possibly be ; the fire burns
brightly, and the blaze goes dancing
and leaping merrily up the chimney,
diffusing throughout the room an as-
pect of cheerfulness. Henry, the
student," as John calls him, is at
home; for of course it is vacation in
his school; and his mother looks with
^<------ ------------ ~N~M--^----------
pride on the manly form and handsome
face of this her favorite boy, who has
certainly grown taller and handsomer
since his last visit at home, in her
eyes at least ; and who is now enter-
taining himself by teaching his pet,
Emma, (a little girl of four,) to repeat
the Greek alphabet, and whose funny
pronunciation of Alpha, Beta, Gamma,
Delta, &c., is received with peals of
laughter by the other children.
We will make a famous Greek
scholar of you yet," said Harry, "wvho
knows, darling Em, but you may be a
great poetess before you die? But
you won't be a blue stocking, I
"My stockings are red," said the
unconscious Emma; mother don't
make me blue stockings," sticking out
9i? *________________________________________ -- "
her little feet by way of confirming the
Charlie, the baby, as he is called,
now almost three years old, has
donned his new red flannel dress, and
white apron, in honor of the day.
James is cracking butternuts in one
corner, and a well-heaped milk-pan is
the trophy of his persevering toil.
Lucy, the eldest sister, has come
home, and she and Mary are deep in
some confidential conversation the
opposite, side of the room, stopping
every now and then to listen, as if
expecting to hear some pleasant
sound. Among them all, the mother
moves with a beaming face and quiet
step, completing the arrangements of
the table, which is standing at the
backside of the room, covered by a
snowy cloth, and decorated with the
best plates, and china cups and sau-
cers, the relics of more prosperous
Hurra, they've come! they've
come !" said James, tossing down his
hammer, and bounding over the pan
of nuts ; "that's our wagon, I know."
All are at the door. 'Tis they!
Yes, 'tis John and Arthur, our dear
little Arthur home again! How they
all seize upon and kiss him! How
the mother holds him to her heart
with tearful eyes! Ah, this is joy;
such joy as can be purchased only by
separation and suffering. Who that
looked now on Arthur's beaming eye,
and glowing cheek, could dream that
they had been clouded by sorrow, or
dimmed by tears ?
Of all the happy groups that were
assembled in our old Commonwealth
that night, few we think were happier
than this. Rover was by no means a
silent witness of the joy. He would
not leave Arthur's side a moment,
and constantly sought to attract his
notice. Arthur had been always very
fond of Rover, almost more so than
the other children, though he was a
great favorite with all, and Rover had
missed him since he went away almost
as much as Arthur had missed Rover;
so it was a joyful re-union on both
sides. He was a large dog, of the
Newfoundland breed, with shaggy
hair. He had beautiful white spots,
and long, silky ears, and was a very
good-natured dog. He -would let
Charlie get on his back, and ride him
all about the yard; and the boys had
made a little sled to which they fast-
ened Rover, and Emma, well wrapped
up in her hood and cloak, with her
woolen mittens on, would have quite
long rides after him; sometimes in the
yard, and sometimes in the street.
How much the children had to talk
about that night; how many stories to
tell Arthur, and questions to ask him
in return! Arthur had decided be-
forehand not to make any complaint,
or to say he was unhappy, or home-
sick; and indeed in the pleasure of
being at home again, he almost forgot
he had ever been unhappy. He was
to stay till Monday morning, and to
him those four days seemed a long pe-
riod of enjoyment, quite too long to be
saddened yet by the thoughts of sepa-
*s ------------------------ ----- '
The night settled down on the in-
mates of the cottage, and sweet sleep
sealed up all eyes; even those of the
weary mother. The year had brought
many trials, and some heavy ones, but
there was in spite of them all, much
to be thankful for, especially that all
her beloved children had been pre-
served to her, and were so healthy, so
promising, and so likely to prove
blessings to her. Ah, how long after-
wards did she recall that merry even-
ing, and those beaming faces, with a
SK: a -- -
THE SEPARATION. 89
THANKSGIVING is over! Its dinner,
its frolics, its boisterous mirth, are all
in the past! It is Sabbath evening.
A sadness seems to hang about the
party. Lucy had returned to her
aunt, with whom she lived. James
was to go home that evening. Henry
and Arthur in the morning. They
with John and their mother, sat
thoughtfully around the fire; the
younger children were in bed; little
was said by any one, but Mrs. Hamil-
ton, wishing to have a more private
40 THE SEPARATION.
interview with Arthur, took him to
her room. There she questioned him
about his new home more particularly.
To her amazement, the moment she
spoke of his returning, he burst into a
flood of tears. Poor Arthur! he meant
to be brave, and to hide his troubles,
but now that his heart had been
warmed by the light of affection and
home-joy, the idea of going back was
terrible to him. He could not de-
ceive, or keep back any thing. With
passionate earnestness, he besought
his mother to let him stay at home.
".I will only eat a potato and a
piece of bread, if you will let me stay,
mother; indeed I won't be much of a
burden to you, but oh, dear mother,
don't send me back there," cried he,
sobbing as if his heart would break.
This was a sad trial for Mrs. Ham-
ilton, and she paused to think what
was right, and to ask for guidance
from on high. It seemed to her that
Arthur's dissatisfaction arose from his
own weakness of spirit, rather than
from any thing really disagreeable in
his situation. They were kind to
him; he was not over-worked; could
attend a good school; and would it
not be an injury to him, to indulge
this excessive love for home, and yield
to his entreaties ? Would he ever be
a man, with courage to face the storms
of life, if she, with a woman's weak-
ness, allowed her feelings to prevail
over her judgment ? It must not be.
She must be firm for his sake;. cruel
as it seemed, it was real kindness, and
42 THE SEPARATION.
she trusted he would soon be con-
tented. If not, she could then change
her determination if she wished. So
she told him once more, that duty and
not present enjoyment was to be con-
sulted; that she still thought it was
best for him to stay at Mr. Martin's,
and she still believed he would find
contentment and peace there, in doing
his duty. She did not upbraid him,
but told him very tenderly, she wished
him to acquire more strength of pur-
pose, and to gain the habit of controll-
ing his feelings. If he did not, he
could never be happy or useful, and
it would be sad indeed to grow up a
weak, timid and useless being, who
had not strength of character enough
to pursue what was right, if difficulties
Qk -------- --------- ------------------S
THE SEPARATION. 43
lay in the path. "Whenever you are
lonely and sad," said she, think of
me, and how much pleasure you are
giving me by staying and doing your
duty. Think of your Father in heav-
en, who watches over you, and will
be well-pleased when you try to sub-
due your faults. Never forget to ask
Him for strength to do right, and He
will give it, if you ask in sincerity.
Remember always that He has placed
us in the world to become his chil-
dren, and grow holy ; and it is often
through trial, we are made better.
You will be a better boy if you con-
quer your weakness, and become
cheerful and contented, than you
could have been, had no sacrifice been
required of you. My dear child, I do
44 THE SEPARATION.
believe God will bless you, and enable
you to conquer."
With such words Mrs. Hamilton
sought to soothe and strengthen her
child, while her own heart was throb-
bing with painful emotions. She
could not sleep that night, for her
heart yearned over her darling boy,
and she longed to fold him under the
shelter of a loving home. She felt
that she needed in her own heart
more of that perfect submission to
God's will which she enjoined on
others, and it was only by earnest and
humble prayer that she could calm
her troubled spirit, and feel trust and
confidence that all was for the best.
But she had found prayer to be a balm
for the wounded spirit in many an
THE SEPARATION. 45
hour of suffering, and she now realized
the sweetness of that inestimable
Oh not a gift or blessing
With this can we compare;
The power which he hath given,
To pour our souls in prayer."
46 THE PRESENT.
ARTHUR left home early Monday
morning. It was a cold, dreary day
without, and a dreary one within to
Mrs. Hamilton. She had no unoccu-
pied moments in which to sit down,
and pore over her troubles; but amid
all her cares and labors, the pleading,
sorrowful face of her boy would rise
before her, like an accusing angel.
She feared she had shown him too lit-
tle sympathy in his sufferings, and had
too much repressed the manifestation
of his feelings. She seemed to her-
THE PRESENT. 47
self, as her imagination followed her
weeping boy, a cruel, heartless moth-
er; and again only in prayer could
she find relief and peace, and even
then, a weight still rested upon her
A few days after Arthur's depart-
ure, an idea occurred to Mrs. Hamil-
ton which she was sure would give
him pleasure. This was to send him
Rover, to keep as his own. But
would the children be willing to part
with their pet and playfellow? And
if they were, would Mr. Martin give
his consent ?
That very evening she proposed it
to the children, and she was pleased
to find how willing they were to make
some sacrifice for their little brother's
sake. Even Emma, who loved so
___ |- __---
48 THE PRESENT.
dearly to play with him, and ride on
the sled after him, seemed ready to
part with him when she found it would
make Arthur happy. Yet it was with
a mournful voice, she told him, as she
patted him and stroked his long ears,
"You must be a good doggie,
Rovet, and make my brother Arthur
happy. He be good brother, and you
must be good doggie too. Won't you,
Rover, good fellow ?"
Mrs. Hamilton wrote to Mr. Mar-
tin stating Arthur's fondness for the
dog, and that if he had no objections,
they should like to give him to Arthur
for his own; but added, that she did
not wish to do so unless perfectly
agreeable to him. She was quite sur-
prised to see Mr. Martin coming in at
the door on the second morning after
the letter was sent. He said he had
come within three miles on business,
and thought he would just ride round,
and take the dog.
I fear you may find him trouble-
some, sir," said Mrs. H., for my
children have allowed him to take
great liberties with them."
Not a bit! Not a bit!" said the
old gentleman; to be sure my wife
don't take to dogs overmuch, but you
see, the boy is a little home-sick, and
we want him to feel more contented,
if we can; so I was very glad to take
the dog. He is a noble fellow, on my
word. How old is he ?"
Two next Spring," said Mrs. H.,
and he is a very kind, faithful crea-
ture, I assure you. We all love him
,. ,---------- ----
50 THE PRESENT.
Emma and Charlie, who had just
comprehended that the stranger-gen-
tleman was going to take away the
dog, began to look very grave indeed.
Emma was no martyr, to suffer calmly
for conscience' sake, much less little
white-headed Charlie, who obstinately
asserted with a most heroic air, that
nobody should tarry off his doggie."
"But your dear brother Arthur is
all alone, and he cries at night when
he goes to bed, because he has no
brother nor sister there, not even a
pussie or a dog. He won't cry if
Rover is with him. Don't you want
Rover to go ?"
"Esmaam I do; but I want Rover
to stay here with me too."
But he can't make Arthur happy
then. Arthur, poor, dear Arthur,
will have nobody to comfort him."
Rover must go," said Emma, sor-
rowfully; "but I wish there were
two Rovers, one for Arthur, and one
It was a pretty sight to see these
children put their fat, little arms
round Rover's neck, and hug him
over and over again, and kiss his
rough face with their rosy mouths,
and let their sunny curls lie among
his shaggy locks. Great tears rolled
down Emma's cheeks as the dog went
out of the door; but though Emma
was no martyr, she was a warm-
hearted, generous little girl, and she
did not want to keep the dog away
from Arthur, though so sorry 'to part
"We have got you and I, and two
kitties, haven't we Charlie," said she,
"and sister Mary and brother John."
"And your mother beside, who I
hope is worth counting," said Mrs.
Hamilton. You can spare Rover
very well, I think."
After Arthur left home on that
dark, cheerless Monday morning, he
felt very sorry indeed that he had
made any complaint to his mother;
for he knew that by doing so, he had
given her trouble, instead of being a
comfort and help to her, in the midst
of her sorrows. Besides, he had bro-
ken his resolution; for he had most
firmly resolved not to complain ; he
had yielded to the strong impulse of
the moment, and now he was afraid
he never should gain self-control.
THE PRESENT. 53
But there was nothing to be done, but
to make stronger efforts to be content-
ed and useful in his new home. He
humbly asked God to enable him to
do better, and to pardon the weak-
ness of the past.
Whenever a little boy desires with
his whole soul to do right, and prays
to God for strength, he will certainly
find he can, however difficult it may
seem at first. God, our kind heaven-
ly Father, has promised to give us his
Holy Spirit if we ask Him for it in sin-
cerity; and however young you are,
or weak, or ignorant; however far
away from earthly friends, or human
sympathy, He will hear the softest
word you utter, the faintest breathing
of a silent prayer, and will come into
your soul and bless it. That glorious
A3 ------ ,--------------------
54 THE PRESENT.
spirit is infinite. It gives life to the
archangel hosts; it blesses the weak-
est, and lowliest child.
Arthur found that by making a
great effort, a very great one, he could
restrain his tears and turn his thoughts
away from his own troubles, and in-
deed from himself entirely. He had
a few books, and he became fond of
reading them. Sometimes Mrs. Mar-
tin would ask him to read aloud, and
though she seldom wished to hear
any thing but newspapers, that was a
diversion of his thoughts. Arthur
had a clear, pleasant voice, and read
very well for a child of his age; and
every time he read aloud, he was im-
proving himself in this part of educa-
tion. Another pleasant change was,
going to school. Arthur had dreaded
THE PRESENT. 55
this very much, because all the schol-
ars would be strangers to him, and he
had never been to school without
older brothers and sisters with him.
Being so shy and timid, he did not
form acquaintances so readily as some
boys; but in two or three weeks, he
had become quite friendly with some,
particularly Theodore Roberts. The-
odore was two years older than Ar-
thur, but recited in the same classes.
He passed Mr. Martin's on his way to
school, and usually called for Arthur.
They walked about half a mile, part-
ly through a wood, to reach the
school-house ; a little brown building,
with only one room in it. Theodore
was a bold, generous-hearted boy, and
his influence over Arthur was very
good; while Arthur's gentler nature
and more refined manners were of
service to Theodore, who was not
very particular about little things.
One night, as Theodore and Arthur
were coming home from school, they
stopped to look at a squirrel's nest in
a hollow tree, just in the wood. A
pretty striped squirrel was running up
and down a tree at a little distance,
whisking his bushy tail, and watching
them with his large, bright eyes.
They found a large store of nuts in
the hollow tree, and Theodore pro-
posed they should take them out.
Oh no, no !" said Arthur, "would
you have the poor squirrel starve ? "
"Oh, he'll find enough to eat, never
fear," said Theodore, a squirrel is
too cunning to starve."
"But it isn't right to take them,
W FI*- - s
Theodore. Just think how many
hours the little fellow worked, and
how hard he tugged to get them all in
here, and they are his now, I'm sure;
he has a good right to them, and I
wouldn't any sooner rob him of his
nuts, than I would a man of his mon-
"La, what a fuss you make about
it;" said Theodore with a loud laugh,
"but since you feel so bad, I'll let
his squirrelship alone, this time."
"Thank you," said Arthur, "and
now, Theodore, I must say if you had
done it, I wouldn't have liked to play
with you so well as I did before, for I
should think you were a cruel boy,
and I couldn't love you."
"You are a curious fellow," said
Theodore, with another loud laugh.
Such lessons were not lost on Theo-
dore, for though he had had very lit-
tle instruction in tiorals or manners,
he had a heart in the right place un-
der his rough outside.
"We'll begin our stone house to-
night, if you'll come in, Theodore,"
said Arthur, as they reached Mr. Mar-
No, I can't stop to-night. Sister
Susan is coming to see us, and I want
to get home early."
This made Arthur think of his sis-
ters, and it was with rather a heavy
heart he entered the yard. Mr. Mar-
tin stood near the door, and as Arthur
passed him, he said,
I have got a present in the house
for you !"
A present for me, sir !" said Ar-
THE PRESENT. 59
"Yes, for you; and something
you'll like too, I guess. What do you
think it is ?" Rover, who knew the
sound of Arthur's voice began to bark
loudly, and in a moment the door was
opened, and he was in Arthur's arms.
Never was there a more joyful meet-
ing between old friends. Arthur was
so excited that he laughed and cried
at once, and said all kinds of wild
things to Rover, who in his turn, kept
caressing his young master, and tell-
ing him in his way, how glad he was
to see him again. And indeed the
poor dumb animal seemed to express
as much affection and delight, as if he
had had a tongue to say in words, how
much he loved him.
"How do you like your present,
my boy ? said Mr. Martin.
60 THE PRESENT.
Arthur could hardly speak for emo-
tion, but in a moment he replied,
" Very much,indeed, sir, an&dyou are
very good to get him for me. But
may he stay here with me ? "
"Yes, he is your dog now, Ar-
thur; they have given him to you at
home; they seem to set a great deal
by him too, there."
Arthur well knew how dearly they
all loved Rover, and he felt sure it
must have been hard for them to give
him up. His heart was touched by
this generosity and he resolved to be-
come worthy of it, and to strive to do
something to make the family happy
Rover seemed to impart new life
to Arthur. He had now something to
love, and something that loved him;
THE PRESENT. 61
and though it was only a poor dumb
animal, it filled the vacant place in his
heart. Never had Mrs. Martin seen
his dark eyes sparkle so, and his pale
cheek look so bright.
And did the children at home re-
gret making this sacrifice for their lit-
tle brother's sake ? If any little
reader asks this question, we fear
they have never tried the experiment
of giving up something they loved, to
make another happy. If they had,
they would know, what great delight
there was in it; what a warm, deli-
cious feeling it spreads throughout
the heart. It is more blessed to give
than to receive," and happy as Ar-
thur was in receiving this precious
present, they were still happier in
having given it. As Mrs. Hamilton
62 THE PRESENT.
was undressing Emma that night, the
latter said, Mother, do you think
Arthur has got Rover yet ? "
Oh yes, some hours ago, I hope.
I dare say he found him there when
he got home from school; and how
happy he is to-night! Dear child!
I can see just how bright and happy
he looks, as he strokes Rover, and
talks to him "
Oh, I am glad he is gone, mother,
for this dear brother was all alone."
"So I glad," echoed Charlie, who
was snugly tucked into the trundle-
bed. Yes," said their mother, kiss-
ing them both, it always makes us
glad when we have made another hap-
py; and I am glad you have had an
opportunity of learning early how
pleasant it is to make sacrifices for
THE PRESENT. 68
The darkest lot is not all gloom,"
thought she as she sat down by her
little table and began to sew. Pov-
erty can teach many sweet lessons,
and give us many rich enjoyments."
And her eyes filled with tears ; but
they were sweet, refreshing tears.
64 BRIGHTER DAYS.
ARTHUR was never lonely now; for
Rover was constantly at his side, ex-
cept in school, and he always went to
the school-room door with him in the
morning, and often when Arthur came
out of school at night, he would find
Rover standing by the door, waiting
for him. A happy dog was Rover, in
his new home. Mrs. Martin fed him
with her own hand, and many a nice
dainty did he get, which he was not
accustomed to. Arthur was such a
sweet-tempered, obliging boy, so rea-
dy to obey her, and had such gentle,
respectful manners, that the good old
lady was glad to make Rover happy
for his sake. Obliging little boys al-
most always find that those they live
with, are obliging too; whilequarrel-
some boys usually find it their fortune
to fall among quarrelsome compan-
ions; for good temper and bad tem-
per are both contagious and infect all
those who come in contact with them.
On bright, cold winter mornings,
after eating his nice breakfast, Rover
would scamper off to school with Ar.
thur. He was in too fine spirits to
walk by his side, so he would bound
off before him, plunging into the snow
drifts up to his neck; then bound
back again, with a short quick bark,
shaking himself from the feathery
snow; and away again for another
a ---------- --------..---------------- 1
66 BRIGHTER DAYS.
merry race. If he was separated for
an hour from Arthur, he would leap
up at his return, and almost over-
whelm him with his rough embraces.
But this seldom happened out of
school hours, for let Arthur go where
he would, to the barn, the brook, of
an errand, or on a visit to his friend
Theodore, there Rover was sure to
follow. Arthur would sometimes take
him into his room at night and let
him lie there, but Mrs. Martin did not
approve of this, but as she was always
up by day-light, she would open the
door and Rover would go scampering
up the stairs ready for a great frolic
on Arthur's bed.
As the school continued, Arthur
became attached to his teacher and
was quite a favorite with his school-
--- LC-L----- -L ,
mates. "Little Arthur Hamilton" he
was always called by them, not be-
cause there were not many other boys
smaller than he, but from his gentle-
ness and timid softness, he seemed
one to be protected by them; and the
roughest boy never thought of push-
ing and striking him.
Arthur made a visit of two days at
home in the spring vacation. His
mother's heart was cheered by the
visible improvement in her boy; and
she told him he had done much to
make her happy, by rising above his
weakness and gaining the victory over
his besetting sin. Nothing," she
told him, "could ever grieve his
mother's heart like seeing her chil-
dren do wrong; nothing ever make
her so happy as their doing right."
Henry was still at the Academy,
hoping to enter College the ensuing
Commencement; Lucy with her aunt;
and James at Captain L's. Arthur did
not see them, but he had a pleasant
visit with the rest. He went to all
his favorite places of resort; the
orchard, the old pasture," and the
little brook in the meadow. He led
Charlie in one hand, and Emma in the
other out on the green grass in' the
lot, and picked for them the pretty
wild-flowers which were springing up
everywhere among it, while Rover
ran along by their side, or bounded off
in a merry frolic. They were all
glad to see Rover once more, and
never was a dog so petted and caress-
ed, as he was on this visit to his old
BRIGHTER DAYS. 69
When Arthur returned home, he
found that the spring had brought
a variety of labors with it. Mr. Mar-
tin was a farmer, and there were ma-
ny things to do, suited to his age and
strength. He did all that was requir-
ed of him with alacrity, but he often
found at night that his limbs were very
weary when he lay down in bed. Mr.
Martin soon found he could not en-
dure so much as most boys of his age;
but said he to his wife,
Out-of-door work will do him
good, and make him hearty; a wo-
man never can bring up a boy prop-
Mrs. Hamilton also hoped that ex-
ercise in the open air would give tone
and vigor to his somewhat delicate
system, and develop his slender
70 BRIGHTER DAYS.
frame into manly strength and symme-
try. She wished nothing better for
her sons than to become intelligent,
industrious, and honest farmers; and
such with God's blessing she hoped
Arthur would in time be.
SAD NEWS. 71
IT was a hot Saturday in August,
when Henry Hamilton left school to
go home and spend the Sabbath with
his mother. This he frequently did,
as it was but ten miles distant, and
such a walk was only pastime to the
vigorous youth, now glowing with
health and strength in every vein.
On this day however, the walk ap-
peared unusually long to him; and he
sat down twice by the road-side to
rest himself. This was very uncom-
mon; but he said nothing of fatigue
when he reached home about sunset.
He met them with his usual cheerful
smile, and had a laugh and pleasant
words for the children as they crowd-
ed round him. Of all Mrs. Hamil-
ton's children, Henry was the most
sanguine and light-hearted, and when
at home, he was always the life of the
family circle. He was sincerely de-
sirous of gaining a thorough educa-
tion, and of doing credit to his pat-
rons and friends, and he hoped to be
permitted to accomplish much good in
the world, when he had acquired his
profession. There was much enthu-
siasm in his character, and much of
generous impulse; yet they were
modified by Christian principle. Hen-
ry was a sincere Christian. There
was little of noisy pretension, or loud
profession; but in his soul was a
deep and abiding sense of obligation
to God; a supreme desire to do his
will, and a fervent love to his fellow-
men. To a remarkably fine person,
was added an intellect of uncommon
quickness and discrimination, and his
teachers spoke in high commendation
of his progress. We have said he
was the favorite son of his mother ;
and if a thrill of pride passed through
her heart as she gazed on his beaming
face, if she garnered up in her inmost
soul many precious dreams of a bril-
liant future, who can wonder ? Who
shall blame her ?
It is now many years since the
dust fell on that sunny brow," but I
well remember Henry Hamilton-
"handsome Henry Hamilton"-and
seldom indeed since have I seen a
more striking form and face. There
was a frank, joyous expression beam-
ing forth from his dark eyes, and his
mouth had always a sweet smile play-
ing about it; there was a high intel-
lectual forehead, indicating thought,
though it was half hidden by the sun-
ny, brown curls which clustered about
it, and gave a youthful look to even
this portion of his face. His tall,
well-developed figure was the perfec-
tion of manly symmetry, and his mu-
sical laugh was ever ringing out freely
and unconsciously. His temperament
was .just the reverse of Arthur's.
Bold, courageous, self-relying, he
hoped all things, and feared nothing
that man could do; by nature too, he
was quick and passionate, yet full of
affection and all generous impulses.
-------~ -- rr
Such was Henry Hamilton, now eigh-
teen years of age-the pride of his
family-the favorite of all who knew
The night of his return home, he
became violently ill, and no remedies
appeared to relieve his sufferings. I
will not pain my young readers with
a recital of his agonies. They were
most intense; and on the third day
after he was attacked, at six o'clock
in the afternoon, he went from an
earthly to a heavenly home ; from the
bosom of his mother, to the bosom of
his God There were few intervals of
sufficient ease. to allow of conversa-
tion. During these, he expressed en-
tire confidence in the Saviour, and
perfect submission to the will of God,
though death then was most unex-
76 SAD NEWS.
pected to him. He also expressed
regret that he had done so little for
God, and besought a friend who stood
by his bedside, to be faithful to his
The last struggle was a fearful one;
but his mother supported him in her
arms to the last ; and to her his last
look was given,-a look of sweet
affection, trust, and gratitude.
I stood beside his dead body an
hour after the spirit had left it. I had
never before, and have never since,
seen one so beautiful in death. The
last rays of the setting sun streamed
softly in at an open window, and one
sweet ray fell upon his head. It was
a bright halo,-a glorious crown, for
that sleeping dust to wear. The fair,
wide brow, the rich, dark curls, the
SAD NEWS. 77
softly-closed eyelids, the beautiful
mouth, had never been so lovely,
All was life-like,-radiant. There
was an expression of heavenly joy I
have never seen in a sleeper since. I
had not seen him in his mortal agony,
and now it seemed impossible he
could have ever suffered. Can this
be death, thought I ?-Ah, there is a
stillness too deep for life Those
closed lips do not move; those eyes
do not open; there is no lingering
breath, no beating heart! It is only
dust. The spirit has fled! Beautiful
sleeper There shall be no waking of
thy precious dust till the resurrection
Others came in, and I left the room,
reluctantly, for it was pleasant to me
to be near one I had loved in life. I
>. __ ___ __ ____ ___ ^ ,
78 SAD NEWS.
went into the sitting-room'; several
neighbors were moving about, but the
mother was not there. I'found her In
the piazza ; she was calm, but oh, who
could fathom the depths of her an-
guish ? Who but He who formed the
soul with all its mysterious capacities
for suffering ?
The red light lay on the western
hills, and they were very beautiful in
their summer greenness, stretching
along the horizon in wavy outlines;
the summer sky above was beautiful,
and so'were the quiet fields, and the
ancient trees standing breathlessly
silent in that glorious twilight. Rays
of heaven were blending with all that,
was 'loveliest on earth; but though
the mother's eye was fixed upon the
scene, it was evident she did not see
)------- --\--- ------ -------<
SAD NEWS. 79
^ ^ ^ _^^^ ___ ^,^ ^, _- -- r -__
it, nor feel its healing power. What
wonder ? 'The agony was too recent,
-the blighting of all her hopes too
sudden for resignation and peace to
'oane into her soul at once. The
heavy blow had fallen, and her heart
was crushed! No tear was in her
eye, no trembling in her voice, as she
replied to questions; but a face more
expressive of utter woe I have seldom
seen. What word of consolation could
a mortal speak at such an hour ?
The heart knoweth its own bitter-
ness," and a stranger may not inter-
meddle with its griefs. Let it be alone
with God !
James was sent the next morning to
bear the heavy tidings to Arthur, and
to bring him home to see the precious
dust committed to its kindred dust.
a-----------------' -- '
80 SAD NEWS.
Arthur was stunned by the sudden-
ness of the blow. He rode back with
James, scarcely speaking a word. He
could not feel that Henry was dead ;
it seemed like some fearful dream
from which he must rouse himself.
But when he saw his mother, and felt
himself pressed in speechless agony
to her heart, his tears burst forth in
torrents. Childhood can weep over
its sorrows; it is only later griefs that
refuse the healing balm of tears.
p~C: -- -- --
THE GATHERING. 81
IT was thought best to lay Henry's
beloved form in the earth on the day
following his death. It was one of
those intensely warm, sultry days,
August often brings. Not a leaf stirred
upon the trees, not a cloud dimmed
the sky. One by one, neighbors and
friends dropped in, with noiseless
step. Hushed voices and stifled sobs
alone were heard in the house of
death. Many, very many had loved
Henry, and many looked with tearful
eyes on his peaceful form. The life-
82 THE GATHERING.
like glow had passed away from his
sweet face, the marks of the destroy-
ing angel were more clearly visible,
but there was a soft repose, still beau-
tiful to look upon, diffused over every
feature. Aged men and women who
had known him from a child, sobbed
as they gazed on one so young, so
gifted, snatched away from life. The
pastor who had baptized him when an
infant, and one from the adjoining
town were there. Both had known
Henry, and both had loved him. Both
spoke with tearful eyes and quivering
lip of his worth and loveliness. Holy
words of prayer were spoken,-the
bereaved mother and weeping children
were commended to God, the only
refuge in this hour of darkness, and
fervent intercessions were offered,
THE GATHERING. 83
united with grateful thanksgivings for
all that had been enjoyed in the past,
and for all the cheering hopes which
brightened the future. The hymn
Why should we mourn departing friends,
Or shake at death's alarms ? "
was read and sung.
Once more the children were all
together under the roof where they
had often met ; all save the son whose
home was now in a sunnier clime.
But how unlike was this to their last
joyful gathering Hours of rejoicing,
and hours of mourning, ye are strangely
blended in the experience of human
The little village burying-ground
was not far distant. A grave was
opened there, for him who but one
short week ago was as full of life, of
bounding vigor and of high hopes, as
the strongest there.
Oh, had it been but told you then,
To mark whose lamp was dim;
From out the ranks of these young men
Would ye have singled him ?
"Whose was the sinewy arm that flung
Defiance to the ring ?
Whose shout of victory loudest rung ?
Yet not for glorying.
Whose heart in generous thought and deed,
No rivalry could brook ?
And yet distinction claiming not;
There lies he,-go and look!
Tread lightly, comrades! we have laid
His dark locks on his brow;
Like life, save deeper light and shade,-
We'll not disturb them now!"
Of all who stood by that open grave,
none wept so passionately as little
Arthur. He could not control his
emotions, and it was in vain that
THE GATHERING. 85
friends tried to soothe him. Poor
child did a sad presentiment of com-
ing evil pass over his soul ?
Slowly and sadly they laid him
down," and slowly and sadly" they
returned home; that home now so
vacant, so desolate! There let us
leave them; sorrowing, but "not sor-
rowing as those without hope." It is
on just such scenes as these, that the
light of Christian Faith shines with a
pure and holy radiance, cheering the
bereaved heart, and speaking sweet
words of reunion, of immortality, of
glory which fadeth not away."
86 MORE TRIALS.,,-,,,,,--,,~
THE next day Arthur returned to Mr.
Martin's. His affectionate heart was
saddened, and every pleasure seemed
to have lost its charm. But the griefs
of childhood quickly pass away; and
Arthur in a few days became calm
and cheerful. A close observer,
however, might have seen a deep-
er shade of thoughtfulness in his
eyes, and a softer tone in his always
gentle voice. He went to school
again, and mingled in his quiet way,
with the sports of his companions.
MORE TRIALS. 87
Theodore could not be spared from
home-duties to attend school in the
summer months, and Arthur saw much
less of him than formerly. They
would meet occasionally after tea, and
with Rover by their side, stroll down
by the stream which wound in fanciful
little curves about the lot; or would
play at ball, on the green before the
house. Arthur seemed less inclined
than usual for noisy sports, and Theo-
dore sometimes thought he was a sad,
stupid playfellow. One evening about
five weeks after Henry's funeral, Mrs.
Martin said to her husband,-
It seems to me, Arthur is not
well to-day. He has complained a
great deal of his head, and his face
looks flushed and feverish."
I haven't noticed him to-day,"
replied Mr. Martin, but he certainly
is not a healthy boy, and I am afraid
never will be."
The next morning, Arthur refused
to eat; and before night a burning
fever had evidently seized upon him.
A physician was called, who said at
He is a very sick child; his head
is so hot, I fear a brain fever. You
had better send for his mother, for
mothers I find are generally the best
nurses. He's a fine little fellow, and
we must try to save him."
Mr. Martin went himself for Mrs.
Hamilton the next. morning. It was
indeed heavy tidings that he bore.
Was God about to strip her of all she
loved ? Her little, tender-hearted
Arthur was a precious child, and must
he be taken too ? But she quietly
prepared to go to him. That was
manifestly her first duty. There was
no time for the indulgence of grief,
though heavy forebodings weighed
upon her heart.
When Mrs. Hamilton reached the
bedside of her child, she found him
delirious, and was shocked to see he
did not know her. He was much
sicker than she expected to find him,
and her heart sunk within her.
Is there no hope, Doctor ?" she
asked, with a quivering lip.
Certainly there is a chance for a
boy of his age; but he is a very sick
child, Mrs. Hamilton. 'Twill be a
hard struggle for life, and it is impos-
sible to tell what will be the result."
Day after day, night after night, the
Jfc--~------ -^- .------- --------.----..- ..
90 MORE TRIALS.
mother bent over the sick-bed of her
child ; her heart sickening with alter-
nations of hope and fear. Sometimes
the pulse would lessen, and the medi-
cine seem to affect him favorably, and
she would hope her prayers had been
heard, and that life and not death was
to be his. fate; then the fever would
rage with renewed violence, and his
little frame would be convulsed with
pain. At no time did he appear to
know who was with. him, or have the
slightest gleam of consciousness.,
He talked but little, and that inco-
herently ; like one in a dream. Those
were long, sad hours to the anxious
mother's heart. How I lived through
those days and weeks of anguish, I
know not," she afterwards said, "but
strength was given me according to
MORE TRIALS. 91
And where was Rover, faithful,
affectionate Rover, in these mournful
days? The poor animal moaned and
howled perpetually. He would it
through the whole day and night, upo
the. stairs leading to Arthur's room,
endeavoring to gain admittance, and
when driven away, would contrive to
return to his post, watching with
intense eagerness those who entered
or left the room; continually making
that dismal moaning which a dog in
distress usually does. It was heart-
rending to hear him. One day, they
allowed him to enter the room, hoping
it might quiet him; he jumped upon
the bed instantly, and disturbed the
suffering child so much that he was
never permitted to go in again. Poor
Arthur! he no longer had a smile or
caress even for Rover, the companion
of his lonely hours, the sharer of his
exile! He did not even notice him,
except by raising his hand to keep
After three weeks of severe suffer-
ing, a change came over the beloved
child. The physician thought it barely
possible that such a crisis might ter-
minate favorably, and had prescribed
powerful stimulants, but it was soon
evident that he was rapidly sinking in
spite of them. He suffered no longer,
but the shadows of the grave were
gathering upon his face, and it was not
probable he would. survive till morn-
ing. But Mrs. Hamilton did not wish
any one to sit up by his bedside ex-
cept herself. They were wearied,"
Sshe said, by watching; she should
not sleep if others watched, and if
any thing was needed, she would call
them." So she passed the night alone
with her sweet boy. In after years, I
have often heard her speak of it. It
was one of those glorious moonlight
October nights. The loveliest of land-
scapes lay before her eye as she stood
by the window, and gazed out upon
the scene. Green hills, with inter-
secting valleys, forest trees lifting their
tops toward the sky, wide-spreading
pasture lands, and, threading its way
among them,'a little mountain-stream,
bright and pure as innocence itself;
all these were visible, and over all,
lay that holy moonlight bathing each
object in its spiritual radiance. Who
would imagine, to look on the earth
on such a night, that it could be filled
~IIIIIIIIIIIIIIC --- ~n
94 MORE TRIALS.
with sin and suffering, that those glo-
rious skies bent over breaking hearts,
and opening graves ? The scene was
full of calming influences, and the
heart of the mother as she gazed, was
soothed and elevated. She felt the
presence of God who had made the
universe; and she knew that while
he guided those glorious orbs in
their courses, he also felt compas-
sion and love for her poor suffering
heart. He had afflicted her, and He,
in his infinite power and love, knew so
much better than she what was best
and good, that it was pleasant to com-
mit all her interests into his hands.
Her older son, her bright, beloved
boy, had gone she believed to mingle
his songs in a purer worship than that
of earth, and would she call him back
a ;g __ '
MORE TRIALS. 95
from glory ? ,As she lifted her eyes
up to the serene heavens, she almost
fancied she heard his voice, saying,
He doeth all things well, do not
fear to trust him." And when she
returned to her dying child, it was
with a feeling of sweet confidence.
I will not fear to trust him, even
with this darling child. His gentle
spirit was not fitted for earthly strifes ;
now it shall expand in an atmosphere
of perfectlove. 'The Lord gave him,
the Lord taketh him away ; blessed
be his name.' "
,The dying boy breathed gently, and
looked as if in a sweet sleep, some-
times a smile would play around his
mouth, as if he were in a pleasant
dream. There was no perceptible
change till nearly morning, then Mrs.
96 MORB TRIALS.
Hamilton called Mr. an4 Mrs. Martin.
They stood in tearful silence round
his bed, (for they loved Arthur almost
as a child), watching his shortened
breathing. There was no pain, no
sigh, but as the morning light gleamed
across the eastern hill, the spirit passed
~W I W
THE SECOND1 GATHERING. 97
THE SECOND GATHERING.
ONCE more the family stood together
under the cottage roof; once more
the neighbors and friends one by one,
silently passed in; once more a coffin
stood upon the table, and aged men
and women, and middle-aged and
children looked into it with weeping
eyes; once more stifled sobs were
heard; once more that mother with
her children sat in the inner room;
but not all; all were not there. The
pale weeping boy was no longer cling-
ing to his mother's side. He slept;
98 THE SECOND GATHERING.
and tears would never dim his eye-
Sweet, gentle Arthur ; his dust was
now fair to look upon. He had never
been a beautiful child, but his face
wore a sweet and mild expression in
life, and it was serene and sweet in
death. Once more, the voice of
prayer was heard, and the sweet
hymn was sung; once more they
walked to the place of graves; and
he, who just eight weeks before had
stood weeping there, was now gently
laid down to sleep that sleep, which
knows not waking" till "the trump of
God shall sound."
"Un'vail thy bosom, faithful tomb!
Take this new treasure to thy trust;
And give these sacred relics room
To slumber in the silent dust."
Once more, slowly and sadly, the
--- -`-----..---- ~- ~-~----- ,_.~~ __ _____ ~__ _) -*._lr ----- ----
THE SECOND GATHERING. 99
stricken family went to their home,
now still more vacant-still more des-
olate Once more Christian faith
shed its soul-cheering light into the
aching heart; once more the sorrow-
ing found there was balm in Gilead,
and a physician there."
100 ROVER: WHIRE IS HE ?
ROVER, WHERE IS HE?
THE day little Arthur was laid in the
grave, Rover was seen to stand in
Mr. Martin's yard, as the body of his
young master was carried out; and
when Mr. and Mrs. Martin returned
home and found Rover was not there,
they supposed he had gone with the
procession, and had remained behind
at his old home, and therefore they
felt no anxiety about him. At Mrs.
Hamilton's when the question was
asked, "Where is Rover ? some
one replied, "he staid at Mr. Mar-
-~1~1 I-----i --7 -7---- --~T~ --------------~------ _rr--R
ROVER : WHERE IS HE ? 101
tin's probably; nothing has been seen
of him here."
He would now be more fondly
cherished than ever by the brothers
and sisters of his beloved master;
and they resolved to send for him as
soon as possible and bring him back.
He had been such a fond and faithful
friend to dear little Arthur, and had
contributed so much to his enjoyment
the last year of his life, that hence-
forth he would be associated with the
image of that dear, dead brother, and
would have for them a tender and
mournful interest. When they sent
for him, nothing could be found of the
poor creature; no one had seen him,
nor did long and protracted search
discover any tidings or traces of him.
Had he wandered off into the woods
102 ROVER: WHERE IS HE ?
on that mournful day, and laid down
and died of grief? Had he been
stolen and carried off? Had he been
accidentally destroyed ? No one
could tell. No one ever knew. But
now, after long years have passed
away, with the memory of little Ar-
thur Hamilton is associated that of the
faithful Rover; and an allusion to the
dear child so early called away, is
sure to bring up the remembrance of
Rover, and of his mysterious end.
W IM s
THE TWO GRAVES. 103
THE TWO GRAVES.
IT is twenty-two years since Henry
and Arthur Hamilton were buried in
that little grave-yard. Last spring,
passing by the spot, I got out of the
carriage and entered the quiet little
enclosure. I well remembered where
they lay, after this lapse of years, and
without difficulty found the spot.
Two small white stones had been
erected, and I sat down on the grass
and spent an half hour in gentle mus-
ing, and in half-sad, half-pleasing
memories. Once more the manly
&3------------------ --- -
104 THE TWO GRAVES.
form and beaming face of Henry Ham-
ilton rose before me, and I seemed to
hear his clear, ringing laugh. I
thought of all his sanguine hopes and
earnest plans for usefulness; how
eagerly he had striven to excel in
study; how warmly he had sympa-
thized with the suffering and sorrow-
ful; how joyfully he had entered into
the recreations of the happy; and
then I thought of the sudden blight-
ing of all those warm affections, those
passionate desires. But were they
blighted ? Rather, was not all that
was good and lovely in him, still
existing and perfecting ? Was he not
still loving, sympathizing, rejoicing ?
True, that outward form was now
dust beneath my feet, and it was sad
that any thing so beautiful should have