• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Never too late
 The goldmakers' village
 Little Harry and his Uncle...
 Advertising
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: The Youth's story book
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001906/00001
 Material Information
Title: The Youth's story book
Physical Description: <9>-180, <9>-180,<7>-178, <2> p. : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Appleton, George Swett, 1821-1878 ( Publisher )
Burdett, Charles, b. 1815
Zschokke, Heinrich, 1771-1848
Copley, Esther
D. Appleton and Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: D. Appleton & Co.
Geo. S. Appleton
Place of Publication: New York
Philadelphia
Publication Date: 1851
 Subjects
Subject: Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1851   ( rbbin )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1851   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1851
Genre: Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
Publishers' advertisements   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: by Charles Burdett, Heinrich Zschokke, and Esther Copley.
General Note: Publisher's advertisement, <2> p. following text.
General Note: Added engraved title page for Poplar Grove, a tale / by Esther Copley.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001906
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002240314
oclc - 45568701
notis - ALJ0861

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover
    Frontispiece
        Frontispiece
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Title Page
        Title Page 1
        Title Page 2
    Never too late
        Page A-9
        The poor widow's boy
            Page A-9
            Page A-10
            Page A-11
            Page A-12
            Page A-13
            Page A-14
            Page A-15
            Page A-16
        The rich man's son
            Page A-17
            Page A-18
            Page A-19
            Page A-20
            Page A-21
            Page A-22
            Page A-23
            Page A-24
        Looking for employment
            Page A-25
            Page A-26
            Page A-27
            Page A-28
            Page A-29
            Page A-30
            Page A-31
            Page A-32
            Page A-33
            Page A-34
            Page A-35
        The midshipman's warrant
            Page A-36
            Page A-37
            Page A-38
            Page A-39
            Page A-40
            Page A-41
            Page A-42
        The rescue
            Page A-43
            Page A-44
            Page A-45
            Page A-46
            Page A-47
            Page A-48
            Page A-49
            Page A-50
            Page A-51
            Page A-52
            Page A-53
        The young midshipman
            Page A-54
            Page A-55
            Page A-56
            Page A-57
            Page A-58
            Page A-59
            Page A-60
            Page A-61
            Page A-62
            Page A-63
        The meeting
            Page A-64
            Page A-65
            Page A-66
            Page A-67
            Page A-68
            Page A-69
            Page A-70
            Page A-71
            Page A-72
            Page A-73
            Page A-74
        First reverses
            Page A-75
            Page A-76
            Page A-77
            Page A-78
            Page A-79
            Page A-80
            Page A-81
            Page A-82
            Page A-83
        More misfortunes
            Page A-84
            Page A-85
            Page A-86
            Page A-87
            Page A-88
            Page A-89
            Page A-90
            Page A-91
            Page A-92
        Temptations
            Page A-93
            Page A-94
            Page A-95
            Page A-96
            Page A-97
            Page A-98
            Page A-99
            Page A-100
            Page A-101
            Page A-102
            Page A-103
        The trials of poverty
            Page A-104
            Page A-105
            Page A-106
            Page A-107
            Page A-108
            Page A-109
            Page A-110
        A new era
            Page A-111
            Page A-112
            Page A-113
            Page A-114
            Page A-115
            Page A-116
            Page A-117
            Page A-118
            Page A-119
            Page A-120
        More changes
            Page A-121
            Page A-122
            Page A-123
            Page A-124
            Page A-125
            Page A-126
            Page A-127
            Page A-128
            Page A-129
        A discovery
            Page A-130
            Page A-131
            Page A-132
            Page A-133
            Page A-134
            Page A-135
            Page A-136
            Page A-137
            Page A-138
            Page A-139
        Poverty, suffering, and death
            Page A-140
            Page A-141
            Page A-142
            Page A-143
            Page A-144
            Page A-145
        Brighter hours
            Page A-146
            Page A-147
            Page A-148
            Page A-149
            Page A-150
            Page A-151
            Page A-152
            Page A-153
            Page A-154
            Page A-155
            Page A-156
            Page A-157
            Page A-158
        The spirit working
            Page A-159
            Page A-160
            Page A-161
            Page A-162
            Page A-163
            Page A-164
            Page A-165
            Page A-166
            Page A-167
        The Magdalen
            Page A-168
            Page A-169
            Page A-170
            Page A-171
            Page A-172
            Page A-173
            Page A-174
            Page A-175
        Conclusion
            Page A-176
            Page A-177
            Page A-178
            Page A-179
            Page A-180
    The goldmakers' village
        Page B-9
        Oswald returns from the wars, and what is said of him
            Page B-9
            Page B-10
            Page B-11
            Page B-12
        What Oswald sees in the village
            Page B-13
            Page B-14
            Page B-15
            Page B-16
        The wise discourse of the miller
            Page B-17
            Page B-18
            Page B-19
            Page B-20
            Page B-21
        What strange things Oswald does, and all to no purpose
            Page B-22
            Page B-23
            Page B-24
            Page B-25
            Page B-26
        How Oswald is persecuted by his enemies, and what he does
            Page B-27
            Page B-28
            Page B-29
            Page B-30
        The new schoolmaster
            Page B-31
            Page B-32
            Page B-33
            Page B-34
            Page B-35
            Page B-36
        How Oswald kept his school
            Page B-37
            Page B-38
            Page B-39
            Page B-40
        What else happens in the school
            Page B-41
            Page B-42
            Page B-43
            Page B-44
            Page B-45
        The Sunday school, and what happened at the mill
            Page B-46
            Page B-47
            Page B-48
            Page B-49
            Page B-50
            Page B-51
        Oswald becomes very unpopular
            Page B-52
            Page B-53
            Page B-54
            Page B-55
            Page B-56
        Elizabeth makes many friends
            Page B-57
            Page B-58
            Page B-59
            Page B-60
            Page B-61
            Page B-62
        The landlord of the lion sets out upon a journey, and what happened to him
            Page B-63
            Page B-64
            Page B-65
            Page B-66
            Page B-67
        The goldmakers' league
            Page B-68
            Page B-69
            Page B-70
            Page B-71
            Page B-72
        The astonishment of the goldenthalers
            Page B-73
            Page B-74
            Page B-75
        Oswald inquires about their debts - The savings-bank and the soup kitchen
            Page B-76
            Page B-77
            Page B-78
            Page B-79
            Page B-80
            Page B-81
            Page B-82
        The number of public houses diminishes, and what the old peasants say about it
            Page B-83
            Page B-84
            Page B-85
            Page B-86
            Page B-87
            Page B-88
        The parsonage is struck by lightning - A new clergyman
            Page B-89
            Page B-90
            Page B-91
            Page B-92
            Page B-93
        More of the new clergyman
            Page B-94
            Page B-95
            Page B-96
            Page B-97
            Page B-98
            Page B-99
            Page B-100
            Page B-101
        What was said of the goldenthalers
            Page B-102
            Page B-103
            Page B-104
            Page B-105
            Page B-106
            Page B-107
            Page B-108
            Page B-109
        The new overseers and the landlord of the lion
            Page B-110
            Page B-111
            Page B-112
            Page B-113
            Page B-114
            Page B-115
        The Augean stable must be cleaned
            Page B-116
            Page B-117
            Pages B 118-119
        The debts must be paid
            Page B-120
            Page B-121
            Page B-122
            Page B-123
            Page B-124
            Page B-125
        Once more, the debts must be paid
            Page B-126
            Page B-127
            Page B-128
            Page B-129
            Page B-130
            Page B-131
        Still greater improvements take place
            Page B-132
            Page B-133
            Page B-134
            Page B-135
            Page B-136
        There is still great distress in the village
            Page B-137
            Page B-138
            Page B-139
            Page B-140
            Page B-141
            Page B-142
            Page B-143
        What the goldenthalers did with their paupers
            Page B-144
            Page B-145
            Page B-146
            Page B-147
            Page B-148
            Page B-149
            Page B-150
            Page B-151
            Page B-152
            Page B-153
        Practice is better than theory
            Page B-154
            Page B-155
            Page B-156
            Page B-157
            Page B-158
            Page B-159
        Another novelty
            Page B-160
            Page B-161
            Page B-162
            Page B-163
            Page B-164
            Page B-165
        What the goldmakers' village had become
            Page B-166
            Page B-167
            Page B-168
            Page B-169
            Page B-170
            Page B-171
        The christening
            Page B-172
            Page B-173
            Page B-174
            Page B-175
            Page B-176
            Page B-177
            Page B-178
            Page B-179
            Page B-180
    Little Harry and his Uncle Benjamin
        Page C-7
        Harry's parentage
            Page C-7
            Page C-8
            Page C-9
            Page C-10
            Page C-11
            Page C-12
            Page C-13
            Page C-14
            Page C-15
            Page C-16
            Page C-17
            Page C-18
            Page C-19
            Page C-20
            Page C-21
            Page C-22
            Page C-23
            Page C-24
            Page C-25
            Page C-26
            Page C-27
            Page C-28
        Uncle Benjamin's projects - The birth of Harry - Family arrangements
            Page C-29
            Page C-30
            Page C-31
            Page C-32
            Page C-33
            Page C-34
            Page C-35
            Page C-36
            Page C-37
            Page C-38
            Page C-39
            Page C-40
            Page C-41
            Page C-42
            Page C-43
            Page C-44
            Page C-45
        The poplar grove
            Page C-46
            Page C-47
            Page C-48
            Page C-49
            Page C-50
            Page C-51
            Page C-52
            Page C-53
            Page C-54
            Page C-55
            Page C-56
            Page C-57
            Page C-58
            Page C-59
            Page C-60
            Page C-61
            Page C-62
        Small beginnings
            Page C-63
            Page C-64
            Page C-65
            Page C-66
            Page C-67
            Page C-68
            Page C-69
            Page C-70
            Page C-71
            Page C-72
            Page C-73
            Page C-74
            Page C-75
            Page C-76
            Page C-77
            Page C-78
            Page C-79
            Page C-80
            Page C-81
            Page C-82
            Page C-83
        Advancement
            Page C-84
            Page C-85
            Page C-86
            Page C-87
            Page C-88
            Page C-89
            Page C-90
            Page C-91
            Page C-92
            Page C-93
            Page C-94
        Filial affection - Harry a schoolboy
            Page C-95
            Page C-96
            Page C-97
            Page C-98
            Page C-99
            Page C-100
            Page C-101
            Page C-102
            Page C-103
            Page C-104
            Page C-105
            Page C-106
            Page C-107
            Page C-108
            Page C-109
            Page C-110
            Page C-111
            Page C-112
        A digression
            Page C-113
            Page C-114
            Page C-115
            Page C-116
            Page C-117
            Page C-118
            Page C-119
            Page C-120
            Page C-121
            Page C-122
            Page C-123
            Page C-124
            Page C-125
            Page C-126
            Page C-127
            Page C-128
            Page C-129
            Page C-130
            Page C-131
            Page C-132
        Purposes, endeavours, and success
            Page C-133
            Page C-134
            Page C-135
            Page C-136
            Page C-137
            Page C-138
            Page C-139
            Page C-140
            Page C-141
            Page C-142
            Page C-143
            Page C-144
            Page C-145
            Page C-146
            Page C-147
            Page C-148
            Page C-149
            Page C-150
            Page C-151
        The wind up
            Page C-152
            Page C-153
            Page C-154
            Page C-155
            Page C-156
            Page C-157
            Page C-158
            Page C-159
            Page C-160
            Page C-161
            Page C-162
            Page C-163
            Page C-164
            Page C-165
            Page C-166
            Page C-167
            Page C-168
            Page C-169
            Page C-170
            Page C-171
            Page C-172
            Page C-173
            Page C-174
            Page C-175
            Page C-176
            Page C-177
            Page C-178
    Advertising
        Advertising 1
        Advertising 2
    Back Cover
        Back Cover
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text





























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THE


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BY

CHARLFS BURIYErr,
HEINRICH ZSCHOKKE,
AND
ESTHER COPLEY.


NEW-YORK:
D. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY.
PHILADELPHIA:
OO. S. APPLETON. 164 CHESNUT-ST.
1851.











NEVER TOO LATE.



CHAPTER I.
THE POOR WIDOW'S BOY.

ON a cold and stormy night in the month
of December, 18-, a little boy, whose age,
perhaps, might be twelve or fourteen years,
was standing, shaking and shivering, on the
corner of Broadway-that great thoroughfare
in the greatest city of this Union-and one of
the numerous streets which cross it from east
to west. The snow, which had been falling for
several hours, and which covered the ground
several inches in depth, was still driving through
the streets with violence, and the cold northeast
wind forced it through even the smallest crev-
ices. Very few persons were in the streets, and
such as were compelled to be out from their
homes, were hurrying along with rapid pace,
their persons sheltered from the violence of the
storm by warm and comfortable cloaks or coats,
and their faces buried within their ample folds
4oots to shield them from the driving snow.











NEVER TOO LATE.



CHAPTER I.
THE POOR WIDOW'S BOY.

ON a cold and stormy night in the month
of December, 18-, a little boy, whose age,
perhaps, might be twelve or fourteen years,
was standing, shaking and shivering, on the
corner of Broadway-that great thoroughfare
in the greatest city of this Union-and one of
the numerous streets which cross it from east
to west. The snow, which had been falling for
several hours, and which covered the ground
several inches in depth, was still driving through
the streets with violence, and the cold northeast
wind forced it through even the smallest crev-
ices. Very few persons were in the streets, and
such as were compelled to be out from their
homes, were hurrying along with rapid pace,
their persons sheltered from the violence of the
storm by warm and comfortable cloaks or coats,
and their faces buried within their ample folds
4oots to shield them from the driving snow.






NEVER TOO LATE.


On such a night as this a little boy, whose
age, as I have said, might have been twelve or
fourteen years, was standing on the corner of the
street just named, and his appearance, as well
as it could be discerned by the light of a dimly-
burning street lamp near which he stood, or
rather moved about to keep from freezing, was
such as to excite the deepest sympathy. His
little feet were covered by a pair of old cast-off
shoes, many sizes too large for him, which he
had picked up from the streets; but they af-
forded no protection from the cold and snow
which penetrated their open seams. His other
garments were sadly rent and scarce covered
his shivering body, and, with his hands deep-
buried in his pockets, and his face bowed down
to screen it from the snow, he stood there bare-
headed, seeking charity.
Please, sir," he said to a gentleman, who
passed him rapidly, wrapped in a cloak, with
his cap drawn down over his face-" Please,
sir, give me something for my sick mother."
Go home, go home, and don't stand here
begging on such a night as this," was the gruff
reply, as the wayfarer passed on, and rudely
freed himself from the grasp of the shivering
boy (who had, in his anxiety, seized hold of his
cloak), little dreaming how cheerless was the
home to which he bade him return.
Home," muttered the little, shiverialboy;






THE POOR WIDOW'S BOY.


" it won't be a home long, poor as it is, if I
don't get something to-night."
Oh, sir, for God's sake, give me some-
thing!" he exclaimed, as he saw another per-
son about passing him. My mother is very
sick, and I am afraid she will die if I can't get
something for her."
That's the old story, boy. How much
have you got to-day ?" he asked, with a sneer,
as he too passed on.
Another and another passed hurriedly on,
heedless of his demands, and the little fellow's
heart sank within him. He was nearly frozen
himself, but the thought of the dearly-loved
and suffering mother at home cheered him up,
and he felt almost ready to stand there and
freeze into eternity, rather than return to her
empty-handed. The tears came involuntarily
to his eyes; but, hastily brushing them away
with the sleeve of his ragged jacket, he ap-
proached another person, who was coming
toward him.
"My poor dear mother!" was all he could
say, for his heart was too full for words; and
he was now so chilled with the cold he could
scarcely articulate a word intelligibly.
The person accosted was a young man who,
perhaps, had seen eight-and-twenty summers,
and, as he heard the voice of the little mendi-
cant, he raised his face from the folds of his
cloak and stopped before him.







NEVER TOO LATE.


My dear mother," sobbed the boy, as well
as he could articulate between grief and cold,
encouraged by the stranger's stopping.
Poor boy!" exclaimed the stranger; "how
long have you been standing here ?"
Nearly two hours, sir," replied the boy,
whose spirits were at once cheered and en-
livened by hearing words of compassion, and
who forgot his own sufferings, for the moment,
in the prospect of being able to alleviate those
of his mother.
Two hours in such a storm and in such a
dress! Did you say you wanted it for your
mother? Here, I am not rich, but, in the
name of the Lord, take what I have, and much
good may it do your mother;" and, thrusting
a few pieces of silver into the boy's hand, he
would have passed on, but his cloak was seized
with a firm grasp, and he was compelled to
pause while the little fellow poured out the
grateful feelings of his heart. His manner and
language struck the stranger with surprise, and,
asking the boy where his mother lived, he
passed on.
The little beggar, in his joy at obtaining a
prize so far beyond his expectations, forgot his
own sufferings, forgot his cold, forgot, indeed,
all but the beloved mother, whose sufferings
he hoped to be able to alleviate, and, with tears
of joy streaming down his wasted cheeks, he
hurried onward to his home, his heart bound-







THE POOR WIDOW'S BOY.


ing with such emotions as can only be felt or
imagined by those similarly situated.
In a small room in the basement of an old
frame house in A- street, destitute of ev-
erything which might be called furniture, if I
except a bundle of straw in one corner, covered
by an old tattered fragment of a blanket, three
females are assembled. One is lying upon the
straw, and evidently her last hour is at hand;
the others are inhabitants of the same house,
scarcely better circumstances than herself; but
the sympathy which is always to be met with
in the female heart has drawn them to the dy-
ing couch of the sufferer.
"Poor thing!" said one of them; "how
she has suffered! I almost wish I was as
near my end as she is; and she was so good,
too."
"Yes; you never heard her complain,
though I really think she has actually starved
to death!"
God be merciful to the poor!" was all the
response.
At that moment the female on the straw
groaned heavily, and the two strangers drew
nearer to her side. She was evidently near
the end of her career on earth.
Can I do anything for you ?" asked one
of the humble sympathisers.
My poor boy! my poor dear boy!" feebly
gasped the dying woman; "what will become
2







NEVER TOO LATE.


of him ? Oh, Lord, take him in thy keep-
ing."
Yes, the Lord will, I know," replied the
other ; I know he will, for the sake of the
humble, trusting mother. He will guard and
guide him, I know."
Oh, Lord, save and protect my boy, and
forgive my sins," exclaimed the dying woman
with a last effort, and, heaving a few heavy
gasps, she was no more.
She is gone," said one of the watchers-
"gone to a better world. She will never suffer
again."
But," said the other, "what will become
of that boy? Her very soul was wrapped up
in him, and he was as fondly devoted to her;
it will break his little heart, I know it will.
Where is he now ?"
He went out to beg something a long time
ago; but, poor little fellow, I should almost be
afraid he would freeze to death, he has been
out so long in this dreadful storm, and he so
thinly clad !"
He is an uncommon child, is he not?"
"Yes, he is, indeed; and his mother was an
uncommon woman. I never knew how it hap-
pened she was so dreadfully reduced; but any
one could see she had been used to better
things. I never heard her murmur; she seem-
ed to live only because God willed it, and for
the sake of that boy. He is a goodboytao;







THE POOR WIDOW'S BOY.


and if he don't forget the good lessons he has
learned from his poor dead mother, he will
grow into a good man. Here he comes; I
know the little fellow's steps," she added, as
the subject of their conversation was heard
stamping the snow from his shoes, before he
descended the stairs which led to his desolate
home-alas no more a home for him.
Here, mother, dear mother see what the
Lord has sent you! Enough to buy food and
fire, and medicine, too. Dear mother, I am so
happy now!" exclaimed the little fellow whom
we have seen begging in Broadway, as he hasti-
ly entered the room and approached the mis-
erable pallet where he had left his mother a
few hours before.
As he received no reply to his exclamation,
and perceived no motion, he imagined that she
was asleep, and, turning to the women, who
were crouched on the floor close to a few
cinders which were smouldering in the fire-
place, he exhibited to them the silver which
had been given to him, and asked in a low
voice, as if fearing to awaken his mother, See
that is not there enough to make her com-
fortable ? How long has she been asleep ?"
Not long, my boy," replied one of the
women, not very long; but it will be very
long before she will awaken."
The truth flashed at once across the mind
of the devoted son, and, springing to the hum-







NEVER TOO LATE.


ble couch where the body was lying, he seized
one of the hands, and found it icy cold.
Oh, my mother my dear, dear mother!
why did you die? Oh, my poor mother! Oh,
dear mother, speak to me once more, only
once more Do speak to me once !" and he
threw himself on the floor by her side, and,
placing his little face close to that of the sense-
less corpse, pressed his lips on the forehead of
her whom he loved so truly, and sobbed as if
his heart would break.
The women saw how vain it would be to
attempt to check the grief of the affectionate
boy, and how useless it would be to offer con-
solation; but, noiselessly stealing from the
room, they left the boy alone with the remains
of his dearly-loved parent. The little fellow
made the walls resound with his exclamations
of grief, and his calls on his "dear mother" to
speak to him only once more, were heart-rend-
ing.
But the voice of her whom he loved so
dearly, and for whom he would cheerfully
have laid down his life, was never more to sa-
lute his ears, and, at length, being fairly ex-
hausted with the violence of his grief, he sob-
bed himself to sleep, his arm clasping the neck
of the corpse, and his little face laid close to
her own. And thus the night was spent--the
living and the dead alone in that cold and deso-
late apartment.







THE RICH MAN'S SON.


CHAPTER II.

THE RICH MAN'S SON.

On the same night, and at the same time as
has just been described in a preceding chap-
ter, Mr. Rawson, a wealthy merchant of New
York, was seated before a glowing fire in the
parlor of his elegant mansion in B. street.
He had been reading one of the daily papers,
but it had fallen unnoticed from his hand, and
he was evidently lost in deep meditation, from
which he was aroused by some person ap-
proaching him from behind, and imprinting a
kiss upon his broad and manly forehead.
He started, and looking upward, exclaimed:
"Ah, my dear, I am glad you have come down
at last; I was at that moment thinking of our
boy, and you have come just in time to help
me form some'plans; sit down."
Mrs. Rawson, a lovely and amiable woman
in the most worldly meaning of those terms,
drew a chair close to her husband, and laughing,
said :"I suppose you were thinking that I had
spoiled him."
Why not xaetly that you had spoiled him,
2*






NEVER TOO LATE.


my dear, but that you certainly would do so,
if I did not check you before you go much far-
ther with him."
That is the way you always talk, Edward;
you know very well, that there is no only child
who was ever petted less than Eugene, and for
one so delicate, I think hardly care enough is
taken of him."
Yes," laughed Mr. Rawson, you may
well say delicate, for after you have stuffed
him with trash one day, you physic him the
next, and that is enough to make any child
delicate. But we won't talk about that now.
Eugene is now old enough at least to begin to
learn something. Let me see, he will be four-
teen next August, I believe, and he does not
know as much as boys ordinarily do at ten
or twelve at the utmost. He is very far be-
hind his age."
Oh, fie, you know better than that, Ed-
ward. The boy is well mannered, and is
quite as well educated as any boy of his age;
besides, I think his health is so delicate, he
ought not to be pushed in his studies yet
awhile. It might injure him very seriously."
"If he is not pushed now, my dear, he will
be very soon, I assure you; for if you let him
go much longer in ignorance, he will find it
very difficult to learn at all. I had nearly
made up my mind to send him to boarding-
school in the country next spring."







THE RICH MAN'8 SON.


Well, Edward, I must say that is the most
unkind word you have spoken to me for a long
time. To think of sending my only darling
boy away from his mother at such an age.
What would become of him, if he was taken
sick away from me? I should not have a min-
ute's peace, I am sure I should not."
I think there is much less danger of his
being taken sick away from you, than you ap-
prehend. If he is sent to a good school in
the country, he will have plenty of exercise,
fresh air, and no trash-nothing but whole-
some food and hard study."
Now, Edward, don't talk any more of send-
ing Eugene away. I can't listen to it. The
very thought of it makes me unhappy. He
can not stand hard study yet.".
Well, my dear, I don't want you to be
unhappy if I can avoid it; so at present I will
say no more about boarding-schools; but he
must go to school somewhere, that is settled.
Here he comes himself; let us see what he
has to say about it."
Master Eugene Rawson, as he entered the
room, certainly belied the assertion of his
mother as to his extreme delicacy, for he was
to all outward appearance, a hearty, handsome,
lusty boy.
Come here, my son," said Mr. Rawson,
and as the boy came up to him, the father took
from his hand a large piece of rich cake upon







NEVER TOO LATE.


which he was busily engaged when he made
his appearance. "Now, my son," he con-
tinued, as he threw the cake in the fireplace,
with a pshaw," we have made up our
minds that you are old enough to begin to
learn something, and I intend to send you to
school; what do you say to it ?"
Eugene looked at his father a moment, and
seeing that he was serious, turned to his
mother; she too appeared the same, and he
promptly answered:-
Well, father, I have no objections. I don't
see why I can't go school as well as other boys.
I am sure you can't say I ain't old enough."
Mrs. Rawson felt more than half vexed that
her son was so willing to part from her and go
to school; but she said nothing lest he should
chime in with his father's wishes, and go to a
boarding-school away from her; and he added:
" The other day I was talking with Mr. Jones's
son, Edward, the youngest you know, pa, and
he went on telling me about what he was learn-
ing, till I was glad to get clear of him, for I
was ashamed that he should know so much,
and I not know anything."
"Well, you shall not have cause to be
ashamed on that account any longer. You
shall go to Mr. Beach's school next week, and
I hope you will soon be able to converse with
Edward Jones without having cause to feel
ashamed of your ignorance. There, you had







THE RICH MAN'S sON.


setter go to bed now; it is late for you, and I
qave much to say to your mother."
Eugene Rawson was, as has been said, the
only child of wealthy parents, but the few words
he has spoken, have convinced the reader, I
trust, that he was not utterly spoiled. True,
his mother had petted and indulged him in ev
erything, but he had fortunately much natural
good sense, and while he claimed and received
every indulgence he desired, he was kind, af-
fectionate, and in a measure obedient. He
had grown up to the age of fourteen years
without any fixed principles for good or evil,
and was just of the age when example makes
the strongest impression on the youthful mind.
He had early shown an inclination for every-
thing connected with the water, and his taste
for boats and such toys, had caused his moth-
er the greatest uneasiness, lest he should take
it into his head to go to sea. Although it is
my purpose to follow Eugene through the
changing scenes of his life, it is proper I should
say now, that while his parents indulged the
fondest anticipations for him, they had taken
no pains to found his character upon the only
sure basis, that of religion; and consequently,
even at the age of fourteen years, when he is
first brought to the reader's notice, he is thor-
oughly unacquainted with everything connected
with that most important requisite to human
happiness, knowing only that he was taken oc-







NEVER TOO LATE.


casionally to church, where he was permitted
to read or sleep, as best suited his fancy, and
considering it indeed rather a hardship to go
at all.
Mr. and Mrs. Rawson passed in the world
for estimable people. They were wealthy,
gave excellent entertainments, moved in the
first circles, and had everything about them
which wealth could procure to render them
happy. Indeed, they had so much to attach them
to this world and its fleeting pleasures, they
had neither of them cast a thought upon the
great hereafter. And yet they fancied they
were happy. All their hopes were centred
in Eugene, and as he would be the sole inher-
itor of his father's wealth, it was their purpose
to educate him in such a manner, as should fit
him, in their estimation, for the rank and stand-
ing in the world which he would occupy. It
was of course intended that he should follow
nominally some profession, and Mrs. Rawson
had lately begun to look forward with some
anxiety to the period .when that should be
fixed upon, as she had, as I have said before,
a secret presentiment that he would choose "a
life on the ocean wave."
Mr. and Mrs. Rawson remained in conver-
sation for a long time after their son had re-
tired, and lest the reader should imagine that
they were planning for his future career, I will
mention, that they were discussing the propri-







THE RICH MAN'S SON.


ety of giving an entertainment to a distinguished
foreigner, who had recently arrived, and to
whom they had been introduced at a party a
few evenings previous. The discussion was
long and animated, but was at length termina-
ted in favor of the foreigner, and it was settled
that it was to be the most magnificent entertain-
ment of the season.
After this important question was settled,
Mr. and Mrs. Rawson turned the conversation
upon the probable prospects of Eugene. Mr.
Rawson, who in the ordinary acceptation of
the term, was a man of good sense, was wil-
ling that the choice of a profession should be
left entirely to his son; but Mrs. Rawson, hav-
ing ever the fear of the sea before her eyes,
and ever present to her mind, was for select-
ing one for him, and urging, him to pursue it.
Nothing definite was decided upon. both hav-
ing the good sense to think that it was rather
too early to form plans, or select a profession
for a boy, who had as yet given no indications
of being qualified for anything whatever, at
least so far as mental culture was concerned.
Meanwhile, Eugene lay upon his luxurious
couch, his little head filled with visions of a
beautiful model of a vessel he had that day
seen, and he worked himself up to a pitch of
unbounded enthusiasm, by fancying himself
the captain of just such a vessel, on a larger
scale. His mother came into his room as was






NEVER TOO LATE.


her custom before she retired to bed, and was
surprised to find her son still awake, and she
was almost struck dumb with astonishment,
when he abruptly addressed her as she entered
and said, Mother, I am going to be a sailor,
I have made up my mind to that."
Mrs. Rawson knew it was of no use to say
anything at that moment in opposition to his
views, so she merely answered, Well, well,
we will see about that one of these days ; go
to sleep now ;" and left him, almost crying
with vexation to see that his thoughts ran con-
tinually upon the sea.
She communicated to her husband the oc-
currence just detailed, and he received it with
a hearty laugh, as he fancied to himself, his
son, brought up in the indulgence of every
luxury, dressed as a sailor, and working in
his tarry clothes about a vessel. Mrs. Raw-
son did not like to have her feelings, as she
conceived trifled with, and was somewhat in-
clined to be angry with her husband for laugh-
ing at her, but was pacified when he assured
her that however his boy's fancy might run
now, he was well assured, that when the real-
ity was presented to him, his ambition to be-
come a sailor would be dissipated, and they
would hear no more of it. Mrs. Rawson could
not, however, conquer her secret misgivings,
and only hoped that something would occur
to drive this all-absorbing idea from his mind.







LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT


CHAPTER III.

LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT.

I LEFT the living and the dead lying beside
each other in the desolate chamber in A-
street, and let us now return to that cheerless
abode. The boy is still asleep, and so sound
are his slumbers one might almost fancy he had
gone to join his loved parent in the world of
spirits. Soon after daybreak the orphan boy
awoke, and again the reality of his desolate sit-
uation came upon him with fearful force. He
kissed again and again the cold lips of her who
could no more return, as she had ever fondly
done, his warm caress, and, when the poor fe-
males who had watched by the bedside of the
dying woman on the previous night, entered
the room in the morning, the boy was found
kneeling by the head of his mother's corpse,
and pouring out his soul in prayer.
The proper persons were despatched by the
city authorities to bury the deceased, and be-
fore night the orphan was alone in the world,
even the corpse of his beloved mother having
been taken from his sight for ever. It were a
3






26 NEVER TOO LATE.

useless attempt to describe the grief of the af-
fectionate boy as the "dead-cart" moved away,
bearing the remains of his mother to their last
resting-place; but, amid all his wretchedness
and misery, and the feeling of utter desolation
which overwhelmed him, he had one source
of consolation which, young as he was, he had
learned to prize and to appreciate. He could
commune with his heavenly Father, and,
strengthened by grace from above, was ena-
bled to bear up against the emotions of despair
and sorrow which struggled for the mastery of
his soul.
It is, perhaps, proper now that the reader
should know something of the history of this
boy, whose future career, I trust, will prove
of some interest to those who may become ac-
quainted with it.
Mrs. Edgar, his mother, was the widow of
a captain from the east, who, as is too often
the case with those who follow the sea for a
livelihood, had spent his money as fast as he
had earned it, and, when he died, left his wid-
ow destitute, with one child, George, to pro-
vide for. Mrs. Edgar was an orphan girl,
whom he had met in a southern city during
one of his voyages. Her parents were but
moderately wealthy, and had given her such
an education as would render her at once use-
ful and accomplished. She had the advantage
of a pious mother, to whose mira the necessi-






LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT.


ty of instilling religious principles into the
mind when it was yet untainted by contact
with the*world was ever present, and Maria
grew up in the fear of the Lord, growing in
grace from day to day, and, as we have seen
her, closing her career here, in the full hope
that, with all her imperfections, sins, and guilt,
the intercession of the blessed Redeemer, in
whom alone she had placed all her hope and
trust, would prevail for her, and that she would
be admitted into the eternity of bliss above,
provided for those who have loved and served
him here below. She was, when young, the
favorite of a kind-hearted and wealthy uncle,
who was unmarried, and who had often prom-
ised that she should be his heiress; but he had
gone on a voyage to the East Indies shortly
before her marriage with Mr. Edgar, and, as
no tidings had ever been heard from him since
his departure, it was presumed he had perish-
ed at sea, and he was mourned as one de-
parted.
When Mrs. Edgar was left a widow, George
was quite young, too young to be of any ser-
vice to her; but his devoted affection and obe-
dience amply repaid her for all the care and
toils she had to encounter while struggling to
maintain them both by her needle. At a very
early age he was taught to love and fear God,
and the sincerity and fervency with which he
joined in the humble devotions in which she






NEVER TOO LATE.


daily engaged, was a source of pleasure to the
widow's heart, which worlds of mere earthly
gratification could not have tempted her to part
with; and she felt often constrained to thank
God that she was not wealthy, lest the influ-
ence of the world, and its deceitful pleasures
that kill the soul, should be brought to bear
upon his young mind, and lead him astray from
the path of virtue and morality.
The story of her destitution is, unfortunate-
ly, too common to render it necessary for me
to repeat it here. Sickness had overtaken her,
and, having no longer the health to use her
needle, poverty and deep distress came on her.
One by one every article required for comfort,
as well as necessity, was parted with, until, at
the last, when her sufferings were ended here,
and she was called to enjoy the happiness
which her faith had taught her to expect here-
after, she had nothing left which she could call
her own, except a ring containing some of her
mother's hair, which her uncle had given her,
and which no necessity could induce her to
part with. This ring her son secured after his
mother had left him for ever; and this, with a
lock of her own hair, was all he had left of her
who loved him with all the fervor of a pious
mother's love.
George Edgar felt that he was now indeed
alone in the world, but he would not despair,
for his trust was in God; and after he had






LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT.


seen the remains of his mother removed to
their last resting-place, he returned to the lone-
ly chamber she had occupied, and there, in
deep humility, implored Divine guidance and
protection.
He was sadly off, indeed, for clothing, as
we have already seen; but he had the good
sense to know that he could procure neither
clothing nor employment by sitting still and
grieving. Commending himself, therefore, to
the protection of God, he started off, deter-
mined to leave no effort untried that could
procure him employment of some kind by
which he might earn a subsistence, be it ever
so scanty.
He strayed down toward the docks on the
East river, and went on board several vessels,
offering himself as a boy to go before the mast.
His appearance, however, was much against
him, for all classes are but too apt to form
opinions from outward appearances, and the
best of men are sometimes prejudiced against
the worthy and deserving, solely from their
outward indications of poverty and distress.
George had almost begun to despair, as he
was weak, cold, and hungry; but, trusting still
in Divine mercy, he persevered. Toward the
close of the day, after he had wandered about
without tasting a morsel of food, and almost
perishing with cold, he went on board a brig
which, from appearances, was just ready to
3*






NEVER TOO LATE.


sail on her voyage, and, on reaching the deck,
he approached a large, portly man, whom he
took to be the captain.
"Do you want a boy, sir?" he asked mild
ly, endeavoring to restrain the tears which his
bodily sufferings and the fear of another disap-
pointment had forced from his eyes.
The captain, for such he was, eyed him for
one moment, and said, What can you do on
board ship ?"
I can learn to do anything, sir," replied
George.
What is your name ?"
George Edgar, sir."
"Where are your parents, and where do
they live? Do they know you want to go to
sea?"
My father died many years ago, sir, and
my poor mother died last night."
"Poor fellow!" said Captain Hart. "What
was your father ?"
He was a sea-captain, sir," replied George,
somewhat proudly.
Then you have no friends here at all ?"
inquired Captain Hart.
"None but God, sir," was the meek re-
ply. .
You are the boy I want, George," said
the worthy captain in benevolent tones. "You
are just the boy for me; and if you trust in
God, he will soon make friends for you. But






LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT.


you seem frozen half to death. Are you not
very cold ?"
Very, sir, and very hungry, for I have not
tasted a mouthful of food to-day."
"Here, doctor doctor !"* the captain ex-
claimed, as a stout negro came out of the gal-
ley and ran aft; here, take this youngster
and give him something to eat-plenty of it-
and then go in the cabin and get him some of
the clothes that young vagabond left the other
day when he ran away. George, you go with
the doctor, and when you have warmed your-
self you may come down in the cabin, and I
will see what I can do for you. Poor fellow!
half frozen and half starved How much we
have to be thankful for !"
George could not say anything, for his heart
was too full; but the tear of gratitude coursed
down his wan cheek, as he silently followed
the cook into the galley. The good-hearted
negro set before him a kidt filled with good
and wholesome provisions, such as had not
passed his lips for many a day, and he watched
the poor lad with eager interest, as he silently
and thankfully devoured his meal.
"I tell you what, youngster, you may
thank God you came across Captain Hart.
"Doctor" is the term always applied to the cooks
of merchant vessels.
t A wooden vessel, in which the victuals for the
crew are put, when cooked.






NEVER TOO LATE.


There an't many such men as he on blue wa-
ter."
I do thank God with all my heart for
this, and for all his other mercies," replied
George.
That's a fine fellow. I am only a poor
nigger; but I have sailed with Captain Hart
these seven years, and I would not leave him
ifor all the brig could carry. He is the best
,man and the kindest captain I ever sailed
with; he'll make a man of you, I promise
you. I used to curse, and swear, and drink,
like a brute; but Captain Hart, God bless
'him, has showed me better things than that,
although I am only a poor negro cook, and I
guess he hain't got many men who would go
farther for him than the old doctor. But come,
eat away, and I will go down and get you
some clothes. We had a young scamp aboard
last voyage; but he did not like to have Cap-
tain Hart talk to him about God, so he ran
away, and left his clothes. They will just
about fit you."
When George had finished his meal, which
he devoured with a grateful heart, the cook
dressed him out in a suit of warm and com-
fortable sailor's clothing; and so great was the
alteration in his appearance, he would hardly
have been recognized as the same boy. His
-countenance was remarkably intelligent, and,







LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT.


beaming, as it now was, with gratitude and
happiness, he appeared to.great advantage.
On descending the cabin hatchway, he found
Captain Hart looking over some charts; but,
when he perceived George, he came up to him,
and turning him around two or three times,
and gazing earnestly on his beaming counte-
nance, he exclaimed, "You are cut out for a
sailor, and I hope you won't be spoiled in the
making and disappoint me."
I will try with my whole heart to please you,
sir," said George.
I don't doubt it. You don't look like a
bad boy, and if you do please me, you may
find many a harder man to serve than old Jack
Hart. But I must tell you first off-I never
permit any man on board my ship to swear, and
I allow no drinking among my crew."
I never swore an oath in my life, sir, and,
please God, I never mean to. I have been
brought up to know that God 'will not hold
him guiltless who taketh his name in vain;'
and if I had ever so great an inclination to
drink, the remembrance that you forbid it
would stop me."
Well, that's spoken like a man. You have
been well brought up, whoever your parents
were, and if you go through life with such
principles, you need never fear but you will
anchor safe at last. I will take you this trip
on trial, and if you suit me, you need not look






34 NEVER TOO LATE

for another berth, unless you choose, for I
never want any man to sail with me who does
not like to. My wife and girls are coming
down to-morrow to see the brig before I sail,
so you can help the doctor put the cabin in or-
der."
God bless you, sir," said the grateful boy,
grasping the hard hand of the worthy captain.
" I hope I shall please you, for I want to do
so, and I am sure I shall try."
Well, well, go along now, and tell the
doctor to come aft and get things in order."
George had seen the old cook come when
the captain called for the doctor, and was about
ascending the hatchway, when Captain Hart
called him back, and asked if there was any-
thing he wanted.
You have left me nothing to wish for; but,
if you please, I wish you would do something
for me. This," he added, pulling the ring and
lock of his mother's hair from his breast (for he
had hung it around his neck by a string)-" this
is my poor mother's; will you please to keep
it safe for me; and, if you please, sir, to lend
me a bible, so that I can read when I have
time."
"Yes, that I will, George," said Captain
Hart, taking the ring; and I will tell one of
the girls to get a small bible for you. I wish
there were more boys to ask for that book."
George then went on deck, and, going to







LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT. 35

the galley, related to the cook what had occur-
red in the cabin; and the good-hearted old
negro received the news with real pleasure, for
little as he had seen of George, he had become
quite attached to him by his deportment and
manners. He promised to make a sailor of
him, and, while they were at work in the cabin,
gave him a great deal of advice in his own
homely way; but it was all good, and George
listened respectfully, for he felt his need of a
friend, though that friend should be a negro
cook.
The day was passed by George in such work
as was pointed out to him by the cook, and at
night he retired to rest in the forecastle, not,
however, until he had poured out his soul in
grateful praise and thanks to the Great Dispo-
ser of events, whose goodness had provided for
him so kind a friend and protector in his hour
of direst need.







NEVER TOO LATE


CHAPTER IV.

THE MIDSHIPMAN'S WARRANT.

IN the morning Eugene Rawson awoke with
his head full of the sea and the pleasures of a
sailor's life, and he brought tears to his moth-
er's eyes at the breakfast table by interrupting
the conversation very suddenly, and exclaim-
ing, I have made up my mind to go to sea,
mother."
Why, Eugene !" said his mother, who had
hoped it was only the whim of a moment, which
would pass off, "are you crazy? You go to
sea! Think once, what would you have done
last night in such a storm, and the snow flying
so, if you had been at sea, and were forced to
walk the deck all night, instead of being seated
.by a comfortable fire, or nicely covered up in
bed. Don't be so foolish, my son. You could
never live through one voyage."
"I don't care for that, mother. Mr. Jones's
son has just been appointed a midshipman, and
I mean to be a midshipman, too. Won't you
have me appointed, father ?"
"No; he will not," interrupted Mrs. Raw-






TH MIDSHIPMAN'S WARRANT.


son. He will do no such thing, I am sure,
for I will not consent to it. Will you, Mr.
Rawson ?"
Why, I am not sure but it is the best thing
we can do for him. A naval officer has certain-
ly an honorable position, and I do not see why
Eugene might not rise there as well as others,
who have had fewer advantages. For my own
part, I see no very serious objections to grati-
fying him, except the great difficulty of pro-
curing an appointment."
Eugene's eyes sparkled with undisguised
pleasure as his father spoke, while Mrs. Raw-
son could have cried with vexation to hear
him. She exclaimed, before Eugene had time
to say a word, Why, Mr. Rawson, you can
not be in earnest! Just think of Eugene go-
ing away for three years at a time, and who
knows what habits or associations he might
form in that time."
That is all very well," replied her hus-
band, who seemed to have made up his mind;
" but, as I can not expect always to have him
near me, I must take care to place him with
such a man as will see to that for me."
Oh, father, you need not be afraid of daat.
I know enough of a midshipman's life to guess
what it is, and, as I want to go to sea so very
badly, I hope you will try and get me an ap-
pointment, instead of sending me off as a sail-
or, for I would rather go before the mast than
4







NEVER TOO LATE.


not go to sea; and to sea I am bent on go-
ing."
Before the mast!" ejaculated the horror-
struck mother. "My son a common sailor,
with tarry hands and greasy clothes I should
never survive such a sight. If you must go,
whl can't your father make you a captain at
once ? I am sure he is rich enough to buy a
vessel for you."
Mr. Rawson could not stand this, but laugh-
ed so heartily at his wife's ideas of making his
son a captain off-hand, that she arose from the
table, and was quitting the room, really hurt
and offended; but he brought her back, and,
when he had smoothed down his face to some-
thing approaching seriousness, he explained to
her how utterly ridiculous was such a proposi-
tion. He showed her that years of toil and
danger were necessary to qualify a man for
the important trust of commanding a vessel,
and guiding her across the trackless ocean;
but he satisfied her that, in the navy, the young
officer, if he possessed merit, even to medioc-
rity, was sure of -ventual promotion, and, he
added, as Eugene will not be compelled to
live upon his pay alone, 1 do not know of any-
thing I would rather see him select than a pro-
fession in which he may have the opportunity
of distinguishing himself so highly."
Eugene, who had listened to his father with
commendable patience, conceived that all was







THE MIDSHIPMAN'S WARRANT.


now settled, and that the dearest wish of his
heart was soon to be gratified, and visions of
dirks, embroidered coats, and cocked hats,
flashed across his mind. Rising from the ta-
ble, and leaving his meal half finished, he
danced about the room in the exuberance of
his joy, which his mother's tears and reproach-
es failed to check.
His father, however, soon brought him to
sobriety by explaining how difficult it was to
obtain an appointment as a midshipman in the
navy when there were so many applications,
and, even if he succeeded, it must be a long
time before it could be accomplished, as there
were, doubtless, many having prior claims to
him. Eugene listened patiently, and, having
extorted a pledge from his father to make im-
mediate application, he promised to pursue his
studies diligently until it was obtained, in order
that he might be at least on a par with those
with whom he might be associated in his new
profession, for he now considered it quite a
settled affair.
After Mr. Rawson had left the house to go
to his business, Mrs. Rawson used every ar-
gument in her power to induce Eugene to
change his purpose; but she herself had been
so accustomed to yield all to him, that he, at
length, succeeded in extorting from her a prom-
ise that she would make no more opposition
to his wishes. This important point being set-






NEVER TOO LATE.


tied, he went to school that day with as much
pleasure as he ever had felt in going to any
place of amusement. He felt that he was al-
ready sure of his appointment, and, although
his father had expressly forbidden him to men-
tion the conversation of the morning to any of
his schoolmates, he could not refrain from tell-
ing three or four of his confidential friends that
his father was going to get him a midshipman's
warrant. Of course, the whole school soon
knew it, and while some of the boys gazed
upon him with feelings of envy, others, who
had never entertained such an idea, tormented
him wofully by telling stories (which they man-
ufactured) of certain captains who flogged their
midshipmen every day to make them grow.
Others told him of salt junk and hard biscuit;
but he made up his mind not to believe any-
thing, and, as he had once dined with his fa-
ther on board a man-of-war with the lieuten-
ants, he fancied that he should always live in
the same manner; and though the table was
not so luxuriously furnished as that of his fa-
ther, he thought he could get along very well
with that.
The next day Mr. Rawson had some gen-
tlemen dining with him, and among them Com-
modore R- of the United States navy, and,
in the course of the conversation, after the cloth
had been removed, the subject of Eugene's de-
sire for an appointment was talked of. Corn







THE MIDSHIPMAN'S WARRANT.


modore R-, who was under many obliga-
tions to Mr. Rawson, was pleased at the oppor-
tunity thus afforded him of repaying them in
a measure, and promised to use his best per-
sonal exertions to procure the warrant for Eu-
gene, and, as he intended going to the seat of
government on the following day, he could
urge the application with more prospect of
success in person than by writing.
Mr. Rawson prudently concealed this from
Eugene, lest, in case Commodore R-
should fail in his application, the disappoint-
ment would prove so severe that he might be
tempted to go to sea before the mast; for his
heart was so bent upon following that profes-
sion, nothing, young as he was, could turn him
from it. Mrs. Rawson, however, was inform-
ed of the promised co-operation of the commo-
dore, and, as she had schooled herself to con-
tentment with the choice Eugene had made,
she hoped his efforts might not be unavailing;
so that if her son must go to sea, he would, at
least, go as a gentleman.
While this important subject is yet unde-
cided, let us turn again to George Edgar,
whom we left assisting the cook in clearing up
the cabin of the "Irene," for that was the
name of the brig commanded by Captain Hart,
who had fancifully christened his vessel (for he
had just launched her for her first voyage) after
his youngest and favorite daughter.
4*






NEVER TOO LATE.


George had worked so cheerfully, and ap-
peared so sincerely desirous of making him-
self acquainted with his duties, and rendering
himself useful on board the vessel, the old
doctor was wonderfully pleased with him. As
they had much time to spare before the ex-
pected visitors would arrive, the cook took
George about the vessel, explaining the names
of the different pieces of rigging, and the vari-
ous parts of the vessel-the situations of the
rigging, their uses, &c.; to all of which he
was an earnest and attentive listener. This
done, they seated themselves in the galley,
and the cook interested his young listener with
the narration of some of his own adventures,
which approached somewhat too near the mar-
vellous for the credibility of the unsophis-
ticated boy; but he wisely kept his own
thoughts to himself, not choosing to offend his
new friend, even by appearing to doubt him.
To tell the truth, the doctor did deal rather
strongly in extravagances; but he was only
like nearly all old sailors of his day, who have
spun their yarns so often, without having them
doubted, they actually believe them to be true;
and once this impression is fixed on the mind
of an old salt, nothing can offend him more
than to doubt the truth of any story, no matter
how fanciful or extravagant it might be.






THE RESCUE.


CHAPTER V.
THE RESCUE.

GEORGE was listening with deep attention
to a narrative of shipwreck in which the cook
had been one of the sufferers, when the noise
of feet on deck aroused them, and, looking out,
they perceived Captain Hart with his wife and
three daughters. Captain Hart himself was,
as the reader has noticed, a pious man, and,
when I say that his whole family were brought
up to love and fear the Lord, I have said
enough to recommend them to the reader's
favor. Mrs. Hart was an elderly, amiable
looking woman, and her countenance did am-
ple justice to her heart, which was filled with
pure benevolence and Christian kindness.
The two eldest daughters were not beauti-
ful, but there was something peculiarly inter-
esting in their appearance, which attracted the
attention of observers, and commanded as well
admiration as respect. The youngest, and the
pet of the whole family, was Irene, who had
given her name to the beautiful vessel on board
of which she was now standing; and she was






NEVER TOO LATE


unlike either of her parents in everything. She
had light, flowing hair, bright, sparkling blue
eyes, and a countenance ever varying in its
expression; but that expression was always
pleasing. She was a merry, laughing thing,
full of innocent playfulness, but so affectionate,
so dutiful, so obedient, she was the beloved
of all. At the age of twelve years, when she
is first introduced to the attention of the reader,
she promises a lovely womanhood, and, as her
heart is as pure as her face is beautiful, it is
not too much to say that she deserves all the
warm and ardent feelings she has inspired in
those so nearly connected with her.
When George saw who had come on board,
he came out from the galley, and, as he ap-
proached the spot where they were standing,
the manner in which the ladies observed him
convinced him that his kind protector had
spoken of him to them, and this consciousness
called to his face such an expression of grati-
tude mingled with happiness, as could not fail
of attracting their attention and exciting an in-
terest for him.
Irene, as soon as she saw him, fixed her
bright blue eyes upon him, and, after gazing
at him a moment, she ran up to him, and grasp-
ing his hand in both her own, said, I know
pa will like you, and I am sure I shall, too."
George blushed, but said nothing, and, with
a laugh, the whole party proceeded aft and






THE RESCUE.


descended into the cabin. After partaking of
the refreshments provided there, they came on
deck, and Captain Hart showed them around,
explaining the uses of some of the mysterious
appurtenances, and trying to give satisfactory
answers to the inquisitive Irene, who had most
of the talking to herself.
All at once she observed something hanging
up over the stern of the vessel, which attracted
her attention, and with a bound she sprang on
the taffrail to examine for herself. The snow
which had fallen the previous day, had been
swept off, but there was a glaze left on the
wood, which she had not noticed. As she
planted her feet on the taffrail, they slipped
from under her, and a scream and splash gave
notice of the terrible catastrophe which had
occurred.
The whole family rushed to the stern of the
vessel, screaming with terror; and as they saw
the beautiful girl sink beneath the water, they
caught sight of another body descending with
the rapidity of lightning.
It was George, for he had seen Irene as she
fell, and without a moment's hesitation, he
leaped overboard to rescue her. The dock
where the brig lay, was filled with large masses
of floating ice, and for an instant, both were
lost sight of. In another moment the head of
George emerged from the water, and, placing
one hand on a cake of ice near which he rose






NEVER TOO LATE.


he dragged to the surface the inanimate body
of Irene. The old cook, who had observed
the whole proceeding, sprang into a small boat
which was lying alongside, and with one push
sent it to the spot where George was hanging.
He dragged the young girl into the boat, and
George having scrambled in the best way he
could, he pushed it again alongside of the
brig, and mounted the side with Irene in his
arms.
The whole was accomplished so quickly,
and with such presence of mind, that before
the emotions of terror which had seized the
parents and sisters of the hapless girl had fair-
ly obtained the mastery of them, they were
succeeded by feelings of the contrary nature;
for at the instant when it appeared that Irene
was gone for ever, she was rescued from the
watery grave which threatened to engulf her.
Captain Hart took his precious burden from
the arms of the cook, and descended into the
cabin, followed by all the family, as well as by
the cook and George. Providentially, Irene
had been rescued from the water so quickly,
that but little difficulty was experienced in re-
storing her to animation. This done, she was
wrapped up in blankets, and placed in one of
the state-rooms, while the cook was despatched
to the house for dry clothing.
As soon as George had the satisfaction of
knowing that Irene was recovering, he ascend-






THE RESCUE.


ed to the deck, and going to the galley, seated
himself before the fire; but he was of course
wet through and shivering dreadfully. He
was soon aroused by the voice of his kind cap-
tain calling him aft, who having seen his be-
loved daughter restored to consciousness, be-
thought him of her generous preserver.
(eorge went into the cabin, and was at once
directed to go and change his clothes in the
state-room, where the boy's chest had been
kept. This was soon done, for there was an
abundance of everything necessary for the
comfort of a seafaring boy, and in a few min-
utes he made his appearance in dry warm
clothing.
"Come here, my boy,' said Captain Hart,
while tears streamed down his weather-beaten
cheek, and as George approached him, he
laid his hand upon his head, and said with so-
lemnity, May God bless and prosper you,
George. To your brave conduct we owe,
under God, the life of our beloved daughter.
I need not say how grateful we are. Hence-
forward I am your friend, and so long as I
have a home and a crust of bread, you shall
share them with me. Let us return thanks to
Almighty God for his wonderful mercy;" and
falling upon his knees, as did all present, he
poured out, in language which was prompted
by the feelings of a heart sincerely devoted to,
God, the grateful thanks he desired to render,






NEVER TOO LATE.


for that his child which had been dead was re-
stored to him.
It was a solemn and impressive scene. The
old grayheaded captain, who had passed near-
ly two score years upon the ocean wave, who
had passed through dangers and perils the most
imminent, from which he had been preserved
only by the kind providence of God-to see
him surrounded by his family, all shedding
tears of the most exquisite happiness, and to
hear him ascribing all the praise and the glory
to the great Disposer of all events, whose faith-
ful servant he was.
Irene was lying in the berth, and now, for
the first time, learned to whom she owed the
preservation of her life, and, as her father con-
cluded his praise and thanksgiving, in which she
joined with all her heart, she could not forbear
exclaiming through her tears, There, George,
I told you pa would like you, and I am sure I
shall always love you;" nor would she be con-
tented until she had kissed and thanked and
blessed him again and again.
George received the caresses of Mrs. Hart
and her daughters, and their congratulations
and praises of his bravery, with that modesty
which always accompanies true merit, and, as
he again mounted the steps and reached the
deck, he felt that he would not at that moment
change places with the proudest monarch of
the earth. He walked forward and resumed






THE RESCUE.


his seat in the galley, and, while musing over
the wonderful occurrences of the day, he raised
his heart in devout thankfulness to God, who
had enabled him to be of such infinite service
to one who had proved a friend when all the
world had turned in coldness from his poverty
and distress.
The cook soon returned with clothes for
Irene, and, having called a coach, the ladies
were placed in it and driven home, while Cap-
tain Hart intended to follow on foot. George
and his negro friend had scarce time to con-
verse upon the accident which had occurred,
when the former was summoned by Captain
Hart to follow him, which he obeyed without
asking any questions. They had walked some
distance, when Captain Hart, who had appa-
rently been lost in meditation, suddenly ad-
dressed George, and said, "I am going to
take you home to dine with me to-day. You
have rendered me a service, for which I can
never prove too grateful; and if you conduct
yourself as you have given me reason to hope
you will, your future prosperity will be en-
swed."
I shall trust in God, sir, and do my best;
but I don't see why you make so much of my
going overboard after the little girl. I can
swim like a duck, and there was not the least
danger; besides, I am sure I would have






NEVER TOO LATE.


jumped over just as quick for any one else as
for her."
I know that, George, and that is the rea-
son why I value the service the more. You
did not save my child because she was my
child, and the action is, therefore, the more
meritorious. But no matter now. So long as
you choose to stay with me and conduct your-
self properly, so long I will do my best to ad-
vance you, and if you don't like to sail with
me, or follow the sea, I will try and get some-
thing else for you. Irene had bought a little
bible for you, but I believe she had it in her
pocket when she fell overboard, so it is spoiled
now; but she intends getting another for you,
and she wished me to bring you up to dinner
to give it to you herself."
At the request of Captain Hart, George
then gave him a history of his parents, as far
as he knew of it himself, and the terms of af-
fectionate endearment in which he spoke of
his mother, called tears not only to the eyes
of the orphan himself, but to those of his lis-
tener.
At the house of Captain Hart, George was
received by all the family with such warm-
hearted kindness that he forgot, as was in-
tended he should do, the difference in their
situations, and the ease and confidence of his
manners assured them that his natural talents
had been well and carefully cultivated. The





THE RESCUE.


impression he made upon Irene, who would
not quit his side for a moment, exhibited itself
in her exclaiming in the midst of an animated
conversation, Pa, I know George will sail
the Irene himself one of these days."
Yes, my child," replied the worthy cap-
tain; and if he does ever sail her, I have no
doubt he will take as good care of the one as
he has of the other."
Before they left the house Irene gave her
youthful preserver a pocket-bible, which she
had purchased for him, and in which she had
written his name; and when, at length, he took
his final leave, it was with the embraces and
heartfelt blessings of the whole family.
I hope the reader will not think I have been
too tedious or minute in relating these passa-
ges in the early history of the orphan boy. I
have endeavored only, thus far, to exhibit him
in such a light as will, I trust, induce you to
have patience with me, and follow him through
the successive pages which his history will fill.
We see him now, instead of a friendless, pov-
erty-stricken orphan, overwhelmed with de-
spair, comfortably situated in the employment
of a worthy, excellent man, who, though not
over-ready to form his estimates of human
character on a short acquaintance, was yet al-
most prepared to love the youthful preserver
of his child as though he were his son. I hope
no one will doubt the gratitude of the orphan,





NEVER TOO LATE.


not only to his earthly benefactor, but to the
great Disposer of events, who had so merci-
fully provided for him when his prospects were
so dark and dreary.
The crew of the vessel came on board the
next day, and Captain Hart, having provided
his young protege with everything necessary
for his comfort, sent him forward in the fore-
castle to take his chance with the rest; but
not without having first given him such advice
for his conduct as was necessary for a boy
thrown thus among men, whose habits and
manners were so different from those he had
been accustomed to meet. He profited so
well by the advice of his worthy friend and
benefactor, and was so willing, obliging, and
respectful, to the old sailors, that they took a
fancy to him at once, and one old salt, who
had passed nearly thirty years at sea, adopted
him as his chicken," this being a term which
the sailors always apply to a boy whom they
select as a pet. The berth of chicken is not
always the most enviable or desirable, for some
sailors are fond of thrashing their chickens un-
mercifully, as a payment, I suppose, for the
instruction they impart; but George had the
good fortune to secure the good will of one
who believed his chicken could'get along with-
out a thrashing.
The brig sailed the next day, and, after
briefly mentioning the route intended for her






THU REnaCU. 53

cruise, which would occupy about two years,
I will leave George for the present. The Irene
was bound to the west coast of South Ameri-
ca, where, after trading away her cargo at the
various ports from Cape Horn to Panama, she
would fill up and return home. The crew
consisted of the captain, two mates, and ten
men before the mast, besides George and the
old cook. And now that he is fairly off, I will
turn again to Eugene Rawson, the young aspi-
rant for a midshipman's appointment.
6*







NEVER TOO LATE.


CHAPTER VI.

THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN.

ABOUT a week after the dinner party, at
which Commodore R- was present, a large
yellow package, addressed to Midshipman
Eugene Rawson," was brought to the counting-
house of Mr. Rawson, and the frank of the secre-
tary of the navy assured Mr. R. that the applica-
tion of the kind commodore had been success-
ful. He was truly pleased himself, and could
scarcely forego the pleasure of sending it to
the school where Eugene was, not, I am bound
to say, studying his lessons, but filling his slate,
and the blank leaves of all his books, with rude
pictures of vessels in all possible positions.
When he went home t- dinner, Mr. Rawson
placed the package i i the plate laid for
Eugene, without having informed even his
wife of the success of Commodore R-- 's
application. Eugene came in, as usual, late,
and, having seated himself, turned over his
plate, when the package caught his eye, and a
single glance at the superscription let him into
the truth at once. He tore it ooen, and un-






THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN. aw

wounded indeed was his delight when he took
out his appointment as a midshipman in the
navy of the United States. The envelope con-
tained, in addition, a pattern for the embroid-
ered collar of his uniform, and orders to pro-
ceed to Norfolk with as little delay as practica-
ble and report to Commodore W- for
duty, on board the sloop-of-war F- then
fitting for sea, for a voyage to the Pacific sta-
tion.
Mrs. Rawson could not restrain her tears as
she saw the exuberant delight with which Eu-
gene received the notice of his appointment.
In the bitterness of her own feelings, she for-
got for the moment that -he was but a boy, and
that it was but natural, considering the manner
in which he had been educated, to exhibit such
joy at the gratification of his own desires, al-
though it cost his mother so much pain.
Mr. Rawson was pleased and grieved. He
was pleased that the road to honorable em-
ployment and preferment was thus opened to
his son, and he was grieved that his wife raised
so many objections to his following a profes-
sion so honorable, in which distinction and ad-
vancement were the sure reward of merit.
It is not, however, my purpose to enter into
the feelings of a parent upon such an occasion,
nor shall I inform them of the means Mr. Raw-
son took to reconcile his wife to a parting with
her son. Suffice it to say, that, as Eugene had







NEVER TOO LATE.


money at his command, his equipment was
soon completed, and in ten days from the re-
ceipt of his appointment and orders he was on
the road to Norfolk to join the F- sloop-
of-war, which was destined for a three years'
cruise on the western coast of South America.
Before parting, his mother gave him much
advice as to his conduct, manners, &c. It
was such advice as a mother so eminently
worldly would give, and such as suited Eu-
gene exactly.
Having reported himself to the commodore
of the station, he received additional orders to
proceed at once on board the F--, and, in
the course of a few hours, he found himself
installed in the steerage as one of the midship-
men of that vessel.
Two days after joining the vessel, he was
allowed to go on shore with some others, with
directions to return at an early hour in the
evening, and, having dressed himself in full
uniform, he was landed in the city. And now,
for the first. time, he felt his own importance.
Wherever he went his uniform commanded
respect and, from many, obsequiousness, which
was peculiarly agreeable to his feelings.
Having plenty of money, he soon found
plenty of friends, and a party was made up to
have what was termed a great day's sport.
What that sport consisted of it is not material
to state; but the day closed upon Eugene






THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN 07

Rawson in a state of helpless intoxication, and
in that condition he was taken on board.
The next morning the first lieutenant, who
was a worthy, excellent officer, not disposed
to attribute all the follies of inexperienced youth
to confirmed vice, sent for him, and having
admonished him of the consequences which
would inevitably result from a continuance of
such a debasing habit, and having extracted
from him a promise not to be guilty of similar
misconduct for the future, he permitted him to
escape without punishment for that time.
When he returned to the steerage, Eugene
was laughed at for being such a weak-headed
boy as to get drunk so soon, and was advised
by some of the older midshipmen, who had
passed through many such scenes, to practise
a little more before he went on shore again for
a day's sport.
Eugene was chafed by these sarcasms, and,
forgetting the kindness of the first lieutenant in
overlooking an offence so severely punishable
in the navy, he determined not to keep his
promise to that officer, but to be more cautious
for the future, and avoid, if possible, a repe-
tition of such a scene with the "first luff," as
he had already learned to call him.
And now, reader, both boys are fairly start-
ed in the world. The one in the humblest
sphere in life, grateful for the situation of boy
before the mast in a merchant vessel; the oth-







NEVER TOO LATE.


er proud of his appointment as a midshipman,
proud of his uniform, and proud of the posi-
tion he holds by reason of his father's wealth.
The one has ever before him the fear of
God, the remembrance that his all-seeing eye
is ever on him, and a heart filled with deep
gratitude to him for his merciful goodness.
The other has never learned to think of heav-
en, much less of the great hereafter. Schooled
only to dread the evil opinion of the world, he
is sent out in it with all the appliances that
wealth and rank can command, and with a
prospect, amounting to a certainty, of eventual
promotion.
It is my purpose to follow the career of
these two boys, in the humble hope that the
examples afforded by a brief history of their
fortunes may point out to some one, at least,
the folly, the wickedness, and the danger of
looking only to the fleeting shadows of this
world for that happiness which the world never
yet has given, and never can give, to its vota-
ries.
The F- sailed in about three weeks af-
ter Eugene joined her, from Norfolk, for the
western coast of South America; but, before
she departed, Eugene had so conducted him-
self that the first lieutenant was compelled to
set him down as a wilful, dissipated boy, and
he determined to put some check upon him
for the future, by restraining him from going






THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN.


on shore, this being a severe and often-tried
means of punishment, known among midship-
men as being quarantined."
As Eugene had a natural taste for the sea,
he soon acquired some insight into his profes-
sion, and by the time the vessel reached Rio
Janeiro, where she stopped to fit for the bois-
terous passage around Cape Horn, he was
looked upon as a promising young officer.
The first lieutenant, however, had not forgot-
ten his conduct at Norfolk, and when his day
for going on shore came around (which, by
custom on board United States vessels-of-war,
is once in three days), he was mortified to
learn that he alone, of all the midshipmen, was
debarred from that privilege, and, as he con-
sidered that his father's wealth must give him
a claim to the partiality, of the commander, he
determined to apply directly to him.
Proceeding at once to the commander, he
applied to him for permission to go on shore;
but was peremptorily told that he must first
deserve such favors before he could expect
them. Thus rebuffed, he retired to the steer-
age, and, for the first time, felt completely dis-
gusted with his profession. He had hereto-
fore been so much accustomed to have his
own way in everything, he could not now
brook control, and his indignation was aroused
to the utmost against his superior officers ; nor
was it at all lessened when he was summoned







NEVER TOO LATE.


on deck to go in one of the boats, which was
to go on a watering party, to be absent nearly
the whole day. At that moment, if he had
had the opportunity, he would have resigned
his appointment and returned home; but, be-
fore he had time even to express his feelings,
he was hurried up, and received a sharp repri-
mand for keeping the boat so long in waiting.
This was particularly cutting, for, by the es-
tablished custom, he could not be required to
perform any duty on that day, and he descend-
ed the side of the vessel with an air of mortifi-
cation and rage. He was particularly cau-
tioned against allowing the men to procure
liquor, or to leave the boat, and, with this last
injunction ringing in his ears, the boat was
shoved off.
On the passage to the shore, while he lay in
the stern sheets of the boat, moodily commu-
ning with himself, the coxswain, who was an
old sailor, and who saw through the character
of Eugene at a glance, attempted to console
him for his mortification by speaking of the un-
necessary harshness of the first lieutenant, and
Eugene, instead of promptly checking him, en-
couraged him by his silence. The crew, too,
who knew they had a hard and hot day's work
before them, used every effort to get him in a
good humor, and they succeeded so well that,
by the time they reached the watering-place
he had made up his mind that the order to de






THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN.


prive the men of their liquor was unnecessary
and harsh, and he determined not to obey it.
The result was, that, when the boat was ready
to return to the ship in the afternoon, out of
the ten men who composed the boat's crew,
three had deserted, and four were in a state
of intoxication too evident to be concealed.
Eugene's feelings, as he pulled back to the
ship, were anything but agreeable. He knew
he had wilfully disobeyed the orders of his su-
perior officer, and that he was justly open to
severe punishment; but he determined to
brave it out, and to say that the men had ob-
tained the liquor without his permission, for-
getting, at the moment, that he had himself left
the boat for some time to go to a neighboring
coffeehouse and indulge his own growing pro-
pensity for that iniquitous practice.
As he stepped on the deck of the F-
he was met by the first lieutenant, to whom he
boldly reported his return.
Yes, sir, I see you have returned, and how
faithfully you have obeyed my orders. I had
intended, if you had exhibited any desire to
make amends for your past misconduct, to
permit you to go on shore before we sailed.
Now, of course, you can expect no such favor.
Go below, sir, and remain there until I send
for you."
The crew, who were desirous of shielding
themselves from punishment, betrayed Eugene
6






NEVER TOO LATE.


without any compunction, and told the truth
as to the manner in which they had obtained
the liquor.
This was reported to Captain L-, and
the consequence was, that Eugene received a
reprimand, such as he would not be likely to
forget soon, and was ordered to keep an extra
watch, day and night, until further orders.
Eugene would have very cheerfully resigned
his appointment at that moment, but, as the
commodore of the squadron was not, at pres-
ent, in port, he could not, and was most re-
luctantly compelled to submit in silence to his
well-merited punishment. The most galling
part of the whole, however, was the laughter
and jeers of his messmates, who almost suc-
ceeded in forcing the tears from his eyes by
their tormenting taunts. His punishment, it is
true, had one good effect; it convinced him
that he must obey orders, and that there was
no prospect of success for him in contending
against his superiors. A little reflection taught
him that, unless he altered his course, he would
not be allowed to go on shore at all during the
cruise, and he determined to make an effort to
avoid, if possible, so disagreeable a punishment.
In this he succeeded so well that, before the
vessel had reached Cape Horn, he was relieved
from his extra watch duty, and the first lieuten-
ant exhibited some tokens of having forgotten,
or, at least, forgiven, his past misconduct. He






THE YOIUNG MDl1HIPMAN.


had, too, learned by this time that he was not
superior to his messmates by virtue of his fa-
ther's wealth ; but this lesson was only learned
after two or three severe battles, caused by his
own impudence and arrogance, in which he
had been soundly thrashed. His passion for
the sea was rapidly diminishing, and he had
almost made up his mind to resign as soon as
the F- reached port, and return home in
some merchantman. The passage around Cape
Horn was very cold and boisterous, and Eu-
gene suffered much, but he stood it out manful-
ly; and, when the vessel had weathered the cape,
he was gratified by receiving a complimentary
expression from the first lieutenant, which was
followed the same day by an invitation to dine
in the cabin with the captain.
Unfortunately, he attributed this kindness to
a wrong motive, and his own self-importance
increased wonderfully; but he dared not ex-
hibit it among his messmates, as he had already
received such severe lessons on that score.





NEVER TOO LATU.


CHAPTER VII.

THE MEETING.

THE course of the Irene, carried her on
the western coast of South America, and it
chanced that on one of her trading trips, she
entered the port of Valparaiso, in Chili, where
the F-- was then lying, on board which was
Eugene Rawson, as one of the midshipmen;
and as she came in under the American flag,
it was generally supposed she had letters from
home. A boat from the F- was accordingly
ordered to be manned, and one of the lieuten-
ants despatched on board, to receive letters if
she had any for the squadron, Eugene being
sent in charge of the crew, as the officer of the
boat.
On nearing the Irene and hailing her, it was
soon ascertained that she was not directly from
home ; but Lieutenant F- who was a great
admirer of beautiful vessels, saw something in
the Irene which attracted his attention, and he
determined to go on board and examine her.
He was received by Captain Hart at the gang-






THE MEETING.


way, and invited into the cabin, but he saw
so much to excite his interest as a sailor, in
the neatness and trimness of the Irene, that he
could not go below without complimenting
Captain Hart, upon the appearance of his vessel.
Eugene also mounted the side of the Irene,
and was met by George, who stood there,
gazing with something of astonishment and
pleasure, at the uniform and dirk of the young
midshipman.
"Why don't you touch your hat, you
young vagabond ?" exclaimed Eugene, as he
stepped on the deck of the Irene, and he add-
ed, before George had time to reply to the in-
solent and imperious salutation of the haughty
young officer, if I had you on board the
F-, I would teach you better manners in a
short time."
One of the old sailors, standing in the gang-
way as the boat came along side, who was
particularly attached to George, and who had
heard him addressed thus insolently without
having given any offence whatever, immedi-
ately took off George's hat, and placing his
hand on the boy's head, bowed it very low,
and as George returned to an erect posture,
he said, There, Mister Midshipman, he has
made his manners to you. If you live long
enough, you may see the time when you will
be glad to touch your hat to him. Come,
George, it is grub time now; leave this young
6*






NEVER TOO LATE.


ossifer to practice his manners, and go below
and get the dinner ready."
Eugene looked at the old sailor, as though
he would gladly have tested the metal of his
dirk upon his ribs, but as the old man did not
quail beneath his angry glance, he wisely re-
frained from saying anything, and tossing his
head contemptuously, he strode aft to the cabin
door, and indulged himself by wondering what
they had to eat and drink on board such a
craft as that. The lieutenant did not keep
him long in waiting, but soon returned on deck,
and ordered Eugene into the boat with a stern-
ness, if not rendered necessary for the preser-
vation of discipline, at least sufficiently marked
to convince any one who heard him, that it
was not by his choice, Eugene had charge of
the boat.
The day after the arrival of the Irene, Cap-
tain Hart took George ashore with him, and
giving him a few reals,* told him to look
around for himself, and return to the con-
signee's house before sun-down. George thank-
ed the captain heartily, but would quite as
willingly have remained with him, as he knew
not a word of the language, and there was not
a soul in the place whom he knew.
He stood on the mole watching the rece-
ding form of his kind benefactor, and was


* Shillings.






THE MEETING.


aroused from a very pleasant revery, by the
sound of "oars all."*
Turning to the bay he beheld a boat from the
F- in which were seated three midshipmen
in their uniform, talking and laughing long and
loud, and among them George recognized the
young officer who had treated him so rudely
on the day of his arrival. Eugene, for he was
one of them, did not recognize in the trimly-
dressed boy, the rough looking lad whom he
had insulted on board the Irene, and as he
landed, he merely glanced at him with a sneer
of contempt.
Come, boys, now for a lark," he shouted,
as the boat from which he had landed put off
again for the ship.
I'll bet you a dozen segars, Eugene," ex-
claimed one of his companions, you will cut
some caper to day for which the first luff
(i. e. first lieutenant) will quarantine you for
a good six months."
"Done, if you except breaking your head
for impudence," gayly exclaimed Eugene.
Oh yes, that goes for nothing of course."
Well, I don't expect to get ashore again
in a hurry, so I mean to have a real spree this
time. Come let us go and freshen the nip."t

The word of command for the crew of a man-of-war
boat to toss their oars, when near a landing, or side of a
vessel.
tA sailor's term for drinking.






NEVER TOO LATE.


This, although it was only about ten o'clock
in the morning, was readily acceded to by all,
and they started for the hotel, to pass the morn-
ing in drinking and playing billiards.
George strolled about the city in utter list-
lessness, and had wished himself on board the
Irene half a dozen times, when he fell in with
one of the crew of the Irene, who had, like
himself, been permitted to come ashore for the
day, and under his guidance, he was soon made
acquainted with everything that was worth see-
ing in the place. He passed the time very
pleasantly till near sundown, when he went to
the consignees to meet Captain Hart, and they
both went to the mole, and made signals for a
boat to come off and take them on board.
While waiting the arrival of the boat from the
Irene, a boat from the F- came to the land-
ing to bring on board the young officers who
had landed in the morning, and who were al-
ways required to come off in the sundown
boat. In a few minutes, they came down tow-
ard the boat, and between them was Eugbne,
who it was evident was very nearly helpless
from intoxication. His companions were evi-
dently ashamed of him and his disgraceful sit-
uation, and as they supported his staggering
form down toward the boat, they turned their
heads, so as not to be recognized by Captain
Hart, who was watching them with the most
painful emotions.






THE MEETING.


Just before they reached the boat, Eugene,
who like all other drunken persons stoutly de-
nied that he was intoxicated, insisted on being
suffered to go alone, and though it was plain
he was not able to take care of himself,
his companions, who had already been suf-
ficiently disgraced by his conduct in the city,
very willingly suffered him to have his own
way. Perceiving the boat from the Irene ap-
proaching the mole, and not seeing his own
boat which was waiting for him on the other
side, he made for the former, which was near-
ing the end of the landing, and staggering along,
he fell into the sea. The boat from the F-
was at once shoved off and pulled around to the
place where he had fallen, but before they
reached the spot, George, who had watched the
whole proceeding, had plunged in after him, and
by the time the F- 's boat came around, he
was clinging to one of the posts which support-
ed the mole, holding the half-drowned and
half-sobered midshipman above water by the col-
lar of his coat.
Eugene was dragged into the boat almost
senseless, and unconscious of the danger he
had escaped, while George scrambled back on
the mole, having received the hearty cheers
of the gallant boat's crew, who admired and
loved his fearlessness and intrepidity.
Captain Hart could not say anything. The
whole scene reminded him of the occurrence







NEVER TOO LATE.


in New York, when his beloved Irene was
preserved from death by the same fearless boy,
and he felt how truly George had spoken at
that time, when he said he would have jumped
overboard to save any other person, just as
quickly as to save Irene. He felt proud of
his young protege, and mentally resolved that
so long as he owned a plank to float on, George
should share it with him. He knew that George
did not expect to be commended for the deed
which he had performed, and he did not at-
tempt it, but when he reached the Irene, he
ordered him to go below and shift his clothing,
and while that was being done, he related the
occurrence to his mate in the hearing of the
old cook, who soon carried it to the forecastle,
and the sailors who were fond of him before,
now absolutely loved him, and would have sac-
rificed anything to serve or please him.
On the following morning, Eugene was sent
for by the first lieutenant of the F- and
was conducted into his state-room.
Well, Mr. Rawson, this is the first time I
have trusted to your pledges ; I suppose you
expect it to be the last, do you not ?"
Eugene attempted some excuse, but even
his tongue failed, and he could only say he
was very sorry.
Sorry well you may be sorry, and I am
only surprised that you have no other term for
your feelings. I presume you must be aware






THE MEETING.


how you have disgraced the uniform and the
service by your conduct yesterday. I did
hope you would not so soon have forgotten
yourself. Do you know to whom you are in-
debted for the preservation of your life ?"
Eugene acknowledged he did not, for, at
the time of the accident, he was almost help-
lessly intoxicated, and, when placed in safety,
was well nigh senseless, from the combined
effects of the liquor he had drank and the
quantities of salt water he had swallowed be-
fore he was rescued. Indeed, he had a very
faint recollection of having been overboard at
all, and the idea that his life had been endan-
gered had never once presented itself to his
mind.
Well, I will tell you, sir," responded Mr.
W- and I hope you will return suitable
acknowledgments to him. It was a boy on
board the brig Irene. You may go on board
of her, if you desire to return him your thanks,
and that shall be the last time you leave this
vessel, except on duty, while I am first lieu-
tenant."
The mention of the boy on board the brig
Irene, called to the mind of Eugene the oc-
currence of the previous day, and his cheek
tinged with shame, as he thought of his rude-
ness to the boy to whom he owed his life. That
feeling so unnatural to him, soon wore off, and as
he retired from the presence of Mr. F-, his






NEVER TOO LATE.


thoughts were occupied with inventing some
mode by which he might be rid of such tyranny,
as he termed the conduct of the first lieuten-
ant.
He would gladly have avoided an interview
with his gallant young preserver, not because
he could not feel grateful to him, but as he
judged others by himself, he thought George
had treasured up his rudeness of the previous
day, and if he did not remind him of it, would
at least give him reason to know he had not
forgotten it. However as he knew it was ex-
pected that he would go on board the Irene, he
obtained a boat for that purpose, and pulled
alongside, where he was received by Captain
Hart with great kindness, and he expressed
great pleasure that he had not suffered from
the accident of the previous night. But, my
dear young friend, let an old sailor speak a few
words to you in kindness of spirit. I see that
you, like many others, think you can not be-
come sailors, unless you can swear and drink
rum. Now, sir, swearing is sinful, and drink-
ing is disgraceful. That is the experience of
thirty years at sea, man and boy, and if you
live half that time, you will acknowledge that
what I have said is true."
Eugene did not relish the reproof of the
kind-hearted captain, but putting on the best
face he could, he thanked him, and promised
to remember and profit by his advice. He






THE MEETING.


then inquired for George, and Captain Hart
having sent for him, the two boys again met.
I have come," said Eugene, "to thank
you for the preservation of my life."
You need not have taken the trouble, sir,"
said George, modestly; "I should have done
the same to any other person, and neither ex-
pected nor desired thanks. But if you will
grant me a favor, I shall deem myself sufficient-
ly repaid, if indeed you consider yourself under
obligations to me."
"I certainly can not refuse anything you may
choose to ask," said Eugene, nothing doubt-
ing that George was about to ask some pecu-
niary reward, and he had come prepared to
make such a compensation.
Then, for the sake of your health, your
happiness, and, more than all, for the- sake of
your soul's salvation, never again suffer your-
self to be led into the same situation as you
were last night. Abandon drinking as you
would live here or hereafter. Do this, and
you amply repay me, and will feel more grate-
ful to me for having asked you, if you adhere
to it, than you can, that I was the humble in-
strument under God of rescuing you from a
watery grave."
I am much obliged to you for your kind
wishes," said Eugene, somewhat haughtily; "I
came to return my grateful thanks for your gal-
lantry in saving my life, and will endeavor to prof-
7






74 NEVER TOO LATE.

it by your advice. Good morning;" and Eu-
gene left the cabin burning with shame and mor-
tification at having been reproved, and so justly
too, by one whom he considered so much his
inferior.
Ah, George," said Captain Hart, as Eu-
gene pulled off toward the ship, for he had
heard the whole conversation, I am afraid no
good will come of that young man."
George replied, looking up to his benefactor's
face with emotion, It is never too late, sir,"
and returned to his work. And thus these
two boys met and parted for the first time. The
one an officer in the service of his country-
the other an humble cabin boy, thankful for the
kindness which gave him a home, though it
was upon the boisterous deep, and trusting in
God to preserve, guide, and protect him, in his
wanderings through life.






FIRST REVERSES.


CHAPTER VIII.
FIRST REVERSES.

WE left George on board the Irene, in the
harbor of Valparaiso, and, as he is, doubtless,
doing well, I will turn for a time to the family
of the worthy Captain Hart, who have already
been briefly introduced to the reader.
Mrs. Hart was, in every sense of the word,
a Christian. Kind, humane, and charitable,
her whole heart was filled with the purest be-
nevolence and kindly feeling. She had, in
early days, known and suffered many of the
ills which flesh is heir to, and her sympathies
were, in consequence, readily excited by any
scene of suffering or distress. Her soul had
been converted to God during an afflicting dis-
pensation with which she had been visited, and
the prosperity which had continued since to
pour in upon her in most abundant streams, so
far from alienating her heart from the great
Disposer of events, had tended to fix her faith
more firmly, and to render her gratitude more
deep and abiding.






NEVER TOO LATE.


Through her instrumentality, it had pleased
her heavenly Father to turn the heart of her
husband to the only true source of happiness,
and she had the pleasure of seeing him, who
was once the rough, careless, boisterous sail-
or, now converted into the humble, but firm
believer in those precious promises so freely
held out to all who seek them in the right
way.
It is hardly necessary to say, that the chil-
dren of such parents had been brought up in
the right path. They had been taught to love
and honor God from early infancy, and the
impressions made upon their minds had be-
come, at least so far as could be judged from
appearances, durable and ineffaceable. The
two eldest girls, Maria and Emily, were modest
and well educated, and I hope it will detract
nothing from the good opinion which the reader
ought to have of them, when I say that neither
of them was handsome. They were, in fact,
almost plain; but there was something about
them so interesting, it might almost be termed
charming, that no person could be in their
company long without discovering their good
qualities, and appreciating them, too.
Irene, the pet, the favorite, I have already
described, and I need say no more of her at
present; but with such parents and such chil-
dren nothing but pure happiness could be
found. Blessed with every comfort and con-






FIRST REVERSES.


venience to render life comfortable, endurable,
and desirable, they raised their hearts in devout
thankfulness for them, and, while they hoped
for the continuance of these blessings, they
were prepared in their hearts to resign them
at any moment when it should please their
heavenly Father to take them away, and they
were so deeply imbued with faith and the spirit
of resignation, as to be enabled to submit cheer-
fully to any dispensation with which they might
be visited.
Captain Hart was, as I have said, part own-
er of the Irene, and the rest of his property
was invested in such a manner as to produce
a comfortable income independent of his earn-
ings at sea, which he always managed to lay
by so as to increase his capital. Although he
was a careful, prudent man, he was too apt
to place implicit confidence in any statement
which might strike his mind as plausible, and,
under the influence of such feelings, he had
permitted the greater part of his money to lie
in the hands of a firm with whom he had had
many transactions, and who, he was persuaded,
were as safe and sure in the possession of his
capital as though it were secured by any other
possible means of investment.
The gentleman who was the owner of the
other part of the Irene acted as his agent du-
ring Captain Hart's frequent absences, and was
clothed with full powers to act in all things for
7*






NEVER TOO LATE.


him, and in him, also, he had placed the most
implicit confidence.
About six months after Captain Hart had
sailed on his last voyage, this gentleman, whose
name was Egbert, called one morning upon
Mrs. Hart, and, without the preface which
should have marked the cautious man, and
which, under the circumstances, was essen-
tially necessary, communicated to her the in-
telligence that the firm of B. & Co., in which
her husband's fortune was invested (with the
exception of that employed in the Irene), had
failed, and that, too, in such a manner as to
leave their creditors hopeless of any future
benefits from a final settlement. This was a
terrible shock to the whole family; but all
were imbued with that Christian spirit of resig-
nation, which enabled them to bear up against
the blow with a calmness and fortitude only to
be known and possessed by those who have
derived them from the same source, and, al-
though the intelligence thus suddenly conveyed
placed before them the alternative of resorting
promptly to the most energetic measures for
their support, their prayers and praises were
offered with the same faith, fervor, and devo-
tion, as though the afflicting dispensation had
not been visited on them.
Mr. Egbert, who had become thoroughly
acquainted with the conduct of B. & Co., and
who was well assured that they would never






FIRST REVERSES.


realize one cent in the dollar from their assets,
felt that, in communicating to the family the
intelligence of the disaster which had befallen
them, he had performed all his duty. He
knew not how to offer sympathy or consola-
tion, and, as he did not know that Captain
Hart's family must suddenly be reduced to in-
digence by this failure, he made no offers of
assistance, presuming that Captain Hart had
not been so imprudent as to invest his all with
them. As his agency was closed by this fail-
ure, he took no more trouble concerning them,
but awaited the return of Captain Hart.
As soon as possible, Mrs. Hart and her
daughters set about establishing themselves in
such a situation that they could, by industry
and strict economy, maintain themselves in
comparative comfort. Although she had abun-
dant credit with those persons with whom her
husband had been wont to deal, she prudently
declined using it, well knowing that, on his re-
turn, he would be the more pleased to know
that she had managed with the utmost frugality
and economy, and thinking it probable, also, that
he might not be in a situation to pay the in-
debtedness she might incur.
Accordingly, having given up the comforta-
ble house in which they had passed so many
happy years, they hired neat apartments at a
rent which they thought they could surely
meet. Mrs, Hart took in some plain sewing,






NEVER TOO LATE.


and, as the girls had been brought up with a
view of being useful, as well as ornamental
members of society, they were not at a loss to
render themselves serviceable by taking in
light work from a fashionable tailoring estab-
lishment in the lower part of the city.
Alas they soon discovered the vast differ-
ence between making up articles for their own
use and making them up for others. Mrs.
Hart, who had always prided herself upon the
neatness with which she made up her hus-
band's shirts, was mortified at the manner in
which her work was scanned and criticised by
the foreman of the shop from which she had
obtained the shirts, a beardless boy, whose in-
solent manner and contemptuous language to
a woman of her age, and circumstanced as she
was, stung her to the quick. Smothering her
feelings, however, she received in silence, but
with an aching heart, the miserable pittance
allotted to her for the hard labor of a whole
week, and was alarmed sorely at the threat
held out, that, unless the next lot was fin-
ished better, he should deduct largely even
from that.
As she felt the necessity of keeping up, at
least in appearance, her spirits, she forbore to
relate the mortifications of the day to her daugh-
ters, and, indeed, she almost forgot them as she
listened to the recital of the kindness with which
Emily had been received by Mr. T- the






FIRST REVERSES.


tailor from whom she had obtained work; the
encomiums he passed upon her work, the read-
iness with which he paid the stipulated price,
and his voluntary offer even to advance her
money, if she needed it, on the strength of the
new work she had brought home.
When the girls had finished the new work
given out from Mr. T- Maria was deputed
to carry it down and receive the money, and
her reception by the gentlemanly proprietor
was even more flattering than that of her
sister.
She was so much engrossed with the kind
attention of her affable and courteous em-
ployer, she did not at first observe two young
gentlemen, who had been standing in the back
part of the shop, watching her narrowly, and
eying her with looks which they intended for
those of admiration, but which alarmed her.
Hastily gathering up the work which she was
to carry home, she turned and left the shop,
hurrying homeward, as if she feared they were
in pursuit of her.
As soon as she had departed, these young
men came forward and held a long and whis-
pered conversation with Mr. T- the pur-
port of which it is not meet I should relate
here. They parted, however, apparently mu-
tually satisfied, and arranged to be there again
when Maria or Emily should return their work
which had just been given out.






NEVER TOO LATE.


In this manner a month had passed away,
Mrs. Hart each time suffering fresh mortifica-
tions and insults from the ill-bred youth, who
had not the sense or feeling to sympathize
with her misfortunes, and the girls more and
more gratified that they had been so successful
as to find so kind and punctual an employer
as Mr. T-.
With all their economy and prudence, the
family had not been able to save up sufficient
to meet the month's rent now due; and, as
they possessed nothing with which they could
part to raise the necessary amount, they be-
gan, for the first time, to foresee difficulties
and troubles. Emily, however, remembering
the offer of Mr. T- to advance her money
at a time when she did not require it, deter-
mined, if her mother would consent, now, that
there was occasion for it, to apply to him,
nothing doubting that he would promptly grant
her request.
Accordingly, she hastily threw on her shawl
and hood and went to his store, where she
found the same young men so often noticed by
Maria and herself. Blushing at the necessity
which compelled her to ask such a favor, she
timidly preferred her request, and, to her de-
light as well as surprise, Mr. T- promptly
handed to her the amount she required, with
which she started homeward with a light and
happy heart.






FIRST REVERSEa. a

The rent was paid punctually, to the great
delight of the whole family, who now hoped
that, by the time another month came around,
they would receive tidings of their father-
such tidings, they trusted, as would relieve
them from their immediate embarrassments.






NEVER TOO LATE.


CHAPTER IX.
MORE MISFORTUNES.

NEARLY three weeks of the second dreary
month had passed over the family of Captain
Hart, and although each one strove to appear
cheerful, each inwardly felt that, unless some-
thing was heard ere long from the absent fa-
ther and husband, their situation would be de-
plorable, indeed. Maria and Emily had tasked
their powers to the utmost to make sufficient
to repay the loan so kindly advanced by Mr.
T- ; but they found that, beyond paying
that, during the month they had gained very
little. The cold season was approaching, and
they looked forward to it with fearful appre-
hension. Mrs. Hart, by the most severe labor,
and by working half the nights, was barely able
to earn a pittance which her necessities com-
pelled her to accept, and which was so small
in proportion to the amount of work required,
for the honor and credit of manhood, I will not
name it. The only encouragement she had to
persevere she found in the hope, that it could
not be long before she heard from her husband.






MORE MISFORTUNES. 3o

She had frequently called on and sent to Mr.
Egbert, who was as deeply interested as her-
self in the success of the voyage on which the
Irene had sailed; but he had received no ti-
dings of her. She did not make known to him
their real situation, or, it is probable that, cold
and calculating as he was, he would have af-
forded her some assistance. He presumed
that she was doing well enough, and did not
give himself any trouble about her concerns.
About a year after the Irene had sailed, Mr.
Egbert saw among the marine disasters an ac-
count of the shipwreck of the brig and the rec-
ord of the loss of all on board. As his share
was fully insured, this caused him no uneasi-
ness, and, being a man of little feeling, he did
not care to be a witness to the grief which the
news of this dreadful disaster must cause to
Mrs. Hart and the family of the worthy cap-
tain; so he merely marked the paper in which
he had read it, and sent it up to her with a
cold and formal note expressing his regrets.
He added, that Captain Hart was also insured,
but had assigned the policy to him, to cover
his advances to nearly the full amount insured,
and, if she was prepared to refund those ad
vances, he would transfer the policy to her.
This note and paper reached the family aa
they were seated at their cheerless, hard-earn-
ed dinner, and Irene, to whom it was delivered
at the door, not doubting that it contained the






NEVER TOO LATE.


joyful news which they had all so long antici-
pated, ran into the room where they were all
seated, shouting in joyous tones, News from
father news from father!"
Mrs. Hart took the paper from her daughter,
and, inwardly thanking God for this blessing,
vouchsafed at this hour of trial, hastily opened
it. A single glance showed how cruelly all
were deceived, and, with a heavy groan, she
fell senseless to the floor.
The active efforts of her affectionate chil-
dren soon restored her to consciousness, and
her grief found vent in copious tears, in which
she was now joined by all, for all had eagerly
read the sad record of their father's death.
It were a vain task to attempt to describe
the feelings of this family at the dreadful be-
reavement. All felt that their only earthly
friend and protector had been taken from them,
and, though they bowed with meek resignation
to the blow, and were ready to kiss the hand
which had inflicted it, they could not but mourn,
and with the most affectionate sincerity, the loss
of their dearly-loved parent.
Mrs. Hart, seeing that everything had now
fallen upon her, called at once upon Mr. Eg-
bert, and, being satisfied by him of the justice
of his demands against her husband, could not
deny his right to retain the amount for which
Captain Hart was insured, although it was a
sum which would have rendered her independ-






MORE MISFORTUNES.


ent. She related to him their present situation,
and, although she did not directly ask his as-
sistance, he saw that she required it, and, to
prevent a direct refusal, he told her his affairs
were so embarrassed, he really feared ever he
could not maintain his standing as a merchant
without assistance, and added that, if any ad-
ditional tidings of Captain Hart should reach
him, he would communicate it to her at once.
With this assurance she left him, feeling that
nothing short of absolute starvation could in-
duce her ever to apply to him. And now, for
the first time, was exhibited the importance of
the grace imparted to them. When Mrs. Hart
reached her home, after the visit to Mr. Eg-
bert, she found the girls all industriously em-
ployed.
Well, my children," she exclaimed, as she
took off her hat and shawl, and placed them
carefully away, "we must now look only
to God and our own industry, or we must
starve."
"Well, mother," exclaimed Irene, looking
up a moment from her work, what of that.
God has always been our friend, and, as we
have ever trusted and hoped in him in pros-
perity, he will not surely desert us in adver-
sity."
And you know, mother, it is good for us
to be afflicted, for whom the Lord loveth, he
chasteneth," said Maria.






NEVER TOO LATE.


I don't despair, mother, by any means,"
said Emily. Mr. T- will give us con-
stant work, and so long as our health is spared
to us we can get on very well. Irene is learn-
ing to help us, and very soon we mean that
you shall not work at all. Besides, this dread-
ful news may not be true. The Irene may be
lost, but father may yet be alive; and if he is,
we shall surely see him shortly."
That is wrong to indulge in such hopes,"
replied Mrs. Hart, deeply affected. The
news comes to us too correctly to leave a doubt
of its truth."
But, mother, suppose George should be
saved. Do you think he would not hunt the
earth over after us ?" exclaimed Irene; for
you saw how grateful he was to father."
"Ah! my daughter, you do not know the
human heart. Even if George should have
been spared, he will scarcely cast a thought on
us, and, even if he should, what could he pos-
sibly do to assist us, situated as he was-a poor
beggar-boy, preserved from starvation only by
your father's kindness."
"Yes, mother, and that is the very reason
why I say, if he is alive, he will never forget
us. I am sure I shall never forget him, for,
if it had not been for his courage, I should not
be here now to assist you."
Come, come, my child, you must not talk
thus. You may feel as grateful as you pleasb






MORE MISFORTUNES.


toward George, but you will never see him
again. He was a good boy, and, if he had
been spared, would have made, by the blessing
of God, a worthy man. But this is no time
to think of what might have been; we must
now look forward. I do not see what we are
to do; we can not afford to stay here another
month, for we can not make up the rent. We
must look out for another place."
The girls sighed, as they looked around the
room now so neat and comfortable; but they
could not deny that their mother spoke truly
and wisely. They tasked themselves to the
utmost of their powers, and could make barely
sufficient to procure the merest necessaries of
life, without being able to lay by one cent to
provide against the rapidly approaching inclem-
ent season.
Leaving the girls at their work, Mrs. Hart
started out in search of other rooms; and while
she was absent, they were agreeably surprised
by a visit from Mr. T- the kind tailor,
who came for the ostensible purpose of hurry-
ing on some work which he had given to them,
and which must be at the store by eleven
o'clock next morning. He admired the neat-
ness and order which pervaded the apartment,
and when Maria, with tearful eyes, informed
him of the sad blow which had fallen on them,
and which would compel them to leave this
comfortable place, he declared they should
8*






NEVER TOO LATE.


not; that he would give them a higher price
for their work than he had paid any other per-
son, as it was done so much more neatly and
thoroughly; and he appeared amply repaid
for this apparent generosity by the grateful
thanks which were poured out to him. Before
he left, he again urged the necessity of having
the clothes at the store at eleven o'clock.
Soon after he had left, Mrs. Hart returned,
and, when her daughters communicated to her
the fact that Mr. T- had called, and his
generous offer, they were surprised to notice
that she did not receive the intelligence with
any appearance of pleasure. In truth, some
thoughts flashed across her mind, to which she
did not then choose to give utterance, lest she
might do injustice to a kind and generous
man ; but, before she determined to accept of
any further assistance from him, she made up
her mind to institute such inquiries as would
enable her to discover any sinister ends he
might have in view. To this end, she deter-
mined to carry home the next work herself,
and she thought she could judge by his treat-
ment of her, whether he was sincere in his
profession of friendship.
Accordingly, on the following morning, she
proceeded to Mr. T-'s store, who was en-
gaged at the time in earnest conversation with
the same young men who have been noticed
there before. As he did not know Mrs. Hart,






MORE MISFORTUNES.


never having seen her before, he bade her,
gruffly, wait a few minutes, and, without pay-
ing any further attention to her, he proceeded in
his conversation with his customers. This was
carried on in low, whispered tones; but she
could not avoid hearing a word now and then,
and the few words she did hear were sufficient
to attract her most earnest attention. Her sur-
prise may be imagined when she heard the
names of Maria and Emily frequently men-
tioned in terms of coarse adulation, but coup-
led with epithets that shocked her ears. At
length, after they had kept her waiting nearly
half an hour, one of them, pulling out his gold
watch and marking the time, remarked he
thought she would not come at the hour, and,
turning an angry look at Mr. T- he added,
"I guess you have been speaking two words
for yourself and one for us," and they both
left the store.
Mrs. Hart saw at once the snare spread for
her daughters' ruin, and she inwardly blessed
God that she had thus timely discovered it.
She was so shocked and stunned at the discov-
ery, she was for a few minutes completely lost,
and was only aroused to consciousness by the
voice of Mr. T- roughly asking her if she
had brought home any work.
Approaching the counter, she merely said,
"My name is Hart, sir, and I have brought
home the clothes which my girls have fin-






NEVER TOO LATE.


ished, as they were too busy to come them-
selves."
The sudden change in his manner at the
bare mention of her name convinced her that
her suspicions were well founded, and she re-
ceived his affected attentions and politeness
with ill-concealed looks of scorn and contempt.
She refused firmly to take the money for the
work, alleging that, as they were already in his
debt, they had determined not to take up any
more until that was settled.
Mr. T- professed himself grieved that
he could not be permitted the pleasure of as-
sisting her, and when, at length, she had parted
from him, she hurried home with a heart agi-
tated by contending emotions. As she walked
on, she revolved in her mind the best course
to pursue, and finally determined not to men-
tion her suspicions to her daughters until they
had completed sufficient work to pay the amount
advanced by him; and this work she determin-
ed to carry home each time herself, hoping by
this plan to defeat at least one of the nefarious
schemes which she could not doubt had been
planned deliberately for their ruin.






TEMPTATIONS.


CHAPTER X.

TEMPTATIONS.

MRs. HART was in hopes she would be able
to break off entirely with Mr. T- without
informing her daughters of the real truth of the
case, and at first they expressed no surprise
when their mother insisted on carrying home
their work. For two or three occasions she
was received by Mr. T- with marked po-
liteness, and she was careful so to receive his
attention as not to excite his suspicions; but
she observed that the young men who were there
on the occasion of her first visit were always
present when she came again. This confirmed
her in the suspicions which the previous con-
duct of Mr. T- had excited, and she de-
termined, let the consequences be what they
might, she would never allow her daughters
to go again to his shop.
After having returned the work several times,
Mr. T- ventured to inquire if her daugh-
ters were ill, and the suddenness of the ques-
tion, which was quite unexpected, threw Mr.







NEVER TOO LATE;


Hart off her guard, and she replied, with equal
truth and innocence, that they were not.
This reply satisfied Mr. T- that some-
thing was wrong, and, after paying Mrs. Hart
for the work she had brought, he informed her,
in reply to her request for more work, that he
had none at present, but would send her some
as soon as he had any. She did not wish he
should adopt this course, for she was desirous
to break off all connexion with him, and she
really dreaded a renewal of the intercourse be-
tween himself and her daughters, even though
it was only that of employer and employed;
yet, as this work was their only dependance,
she dared not give vent to her real feelings, but
left his store with a heavy heart, scarce know-
ing which way to turn, or what to do.
On her return home, she communicated the
refusal of Mr. T- to deliver any more work,
which was received by the girls with saddened
hearts, and, without once dreaming of the true
reason which had led to the refusal, they be-
thought themselves only how they might pro-
vide against the consequences of being thus
suddenly thrown out of employment. Maria
and Emily offered to put on their hats and go
to see Mr. T-- themselves; but their moth-
er opposed this so strenuously, and with such
earnestness, they at once abandoned the idea,
without inquiring her reasons for this oppo-
sition






TEMPTATIONS.


The cheerfulness which formerly reigned in
the bosoms of the happy family now seemed
to have given place to lowness of spirits and
melancholy, almost amounting to despair. All
knew how difficult it was to obtain work from
establishments where they were unknown, and
even should they succeed, very few gave such
liberal prices as Mr. T- though had they,
for an instant, suspected the motives which in-
duced him to pay them the unusually large
prices which he had been giving, while he was
allowing others for the same work barely suffi-
cient for an existence, they would have shun-
ned him as they would a pestilence.
Irene alone maintained something like cheer-
fulness, and, young as she was, she felt the
necessity of keeping up good spirits in such a
trying time. The only thing they could do,
viz., seek for other work, was proposed and
adopted, Emily and Maria starting out at once,
but going in different directions.
Emily naturally, or rather from the force of
habit, bent her steps toward the street where
the most fashionable and expensive establish-
ments were kept, and made several unsuccess-
ful applications, in some places being treated
with bare civility, and at others with positive
rudeness; for too many, alas! are to be found,
who deem that the garb of poverty is but an-
other guise for guilt, and as such they feel priv-
ileged to insult the hapless wearer. Having







NEVER TOO LATE.


been repulsed three or four times with rude-
ness, she found herself opposite Mr. T- 's
store, and, without giving a thought upon the
opposition her mother had made in the morn-
ing to her going there, she entered. As she
did so, and caught sight of Mr. T- in ear-
nest conversation with the two young men
whom she had often observed before, she re-
membered what her mother had said, and start-
ed back, but not in time to avoid the eye of
Mr. T- who had observed her. He reach-
ed the door before she could get away, and, as
he called her in, she saw no avenue of escape,
and entered, her face crimsoned with blushes,
as she thought of the wrong she was doing.
He inquired, in bland terms, why she had
retreated, and the first lie she had told for
years was uttered in her reply, which was, that,
seeing him engaged, she had turned back, in-
tending to return again. Little did she dream
of the consequences entailed upon her by this
single sentence, or she would have sooner re-
mained dumb for ever.
Mr. T-, seeing the daughter return to
his store so soon after work had been refused
the mother, formed opinions which, though
they had no real foundation, nevertheless bore
the appearance of plausibility. He fancied
that Emily had attributed the refusal to her
mother to the fact of her being an old woman,
and that she had determined to try the effect






TEMPTATIONS.


of youth and beauty upon him. This was ex-
actly what Mr. T- wanted; but nothing
could have been farther from the truth. How-
ever, one end had been gained-the reappear-
ance of the girls-and Mr. T- determined
to make the most of it. He told her that when
her mother left he had no work in readiness,
but had since received several orders, and she
should have as much as she chose to take home
with her. While he was speaking with her,
one of the gentlemen with whom he had been
conversing when she entered the store came up
to them, and remarked, "1 believe this young
lady made the last vest for me. I hope you
will give her all my work, it is so well done."
Emily looked up, and blushed as she drop-
ped a light courtesy to the handsomest man
she had ever seen. He bent his gaze upon
her for one instant, and his large, lustrous eyes
seemed to penetrate to her very soul. I will
take it as a favor, Miss Hart (Emily never
thought how he could have found out her
name), if you will have the vest done by to-
morrow afternoon." He said this merely for
the sake of addressing her, as he had not fail-
ed to notice the effect which his first words and
look had produced upon her.
Emily had not the moral courage to refuse
the work proffered by Mr. T- and thus
retrace the unfortunate step she had taken in
opposition to her mother's wishes; but she de-
9







NEVER TOO LATE.


termined to relate faithfully to her mother the
accident by which it had been obtained, and
she promised herself, if she was displeased, not
to take any more from that shop, or ever to go
near it again.
Mr. T- read her hesitancy in her looks,
and, divining rightly the cause, he said, Miss
Hart, I have another establishment farther up
Broadway, kept by my partner in his own
name. If it is more convenient to you, you
may return the work there, and we can send it
home from there, as well as from this place,
as 1 know it is a great distance from your resi-
dence to this store. It is No. -, near L-
street."
Emily blushed to feel that he had so truly
read her thoughts, but merely said she would
leave the clothes at the upper store, and de-
parted, afte& receiving one more glance from
the large, deep-black eyes.
Before she had fairly made up her mind
how to act, or what to think of the occurren-
ces of the past few minutes, Emily was at the
door of her own house, and she formed the
determination, as sudden as it was erroneous,
that she would say she had received the work
from the upper store, the name and number of
which Mr. T- had given her. Two cir-
cumstances operated on her mind in the form-
ing of this opinion-one, lest she should of-
fend her mother by having gone again to Mr.






TEMPTATIONS.


T- 's store, notwithstanding her opposition,
for she had entirely forgotten her good resolu-
tion of telling the truth to her mother, and act
for the future according to her advice; the
other was the fear of being thrown entirely out
of employment, which was especially to be
dreaded at the present time, as winter was
approaching, and many things, necessaries
as well as comforts, would have to be pur-
chased.
I will not surmise whether the recollection
of the handsome man, with the eloquent
eyes, had any effect in influencing her deter-
mination, but will leave that to be determined
by time and its unerring consequences. For-
tunately for her resolution, but most unfortu-
nately for Emily, her mother was out when
she entered, not having yet returned from the
shop whither she had gone to carry home some
work, and she found less difficulty in telling
Maria and Irene, who were at home awaiting
her return, the story she had invented. Her
conscience smote her with terrible force and
truth, as she narrated the occurrences of the
hour, changing, however, the name of Mr.
T- to that of his partner at the upper
store. It was her first lie to her sisters, and
the first time she had ever attempted to deceive
them.
Maria, too, had been successful in obtaining
work, but at greatly reduced prices, and Emi-






NEVER TOO LATE.


ly felt a glow of shame thrill through her frame
as she saw her sister seat herself quietly and
composedly to her work. She longed to lay
open her heart to her, and tell the whole truth;
but, having gone so far, she had not the moral
courage to recede from the false position she
had taken, though she inwardly acknowledged
that she could cheerfully have sacrificed any-
thing within her power could she but recall the
words she had spoken. But they were spoken,
and the guilty, disobedient child retired to her
own room to shed tears of bitter sorrow and
regret over her folly and falsehood. Once
alone, she endeavored to justify to her con-
science the step she had taken, but it was a
hopeless task; she could only feel that she
was guilty, without a shadow of excuse, and
her only dread now was, that her mother should
discover her duplicity. And thus we see how
far astray one single false step may lead us.
Had Emily refused to receive from Mr. T-
the work which he never had intended to refuse
to her, or her sister, all would have been well,
and she would have gained, not only the peace
of mind resulting from a consciousness of rec-
titude of principle, conduct, and motive, but
she would have avoided burthening her con-
science with the many silly and wicked lies
which she was forced to invent to cover her
first fault.
In a few minutes Mrs. Hart returned, and





TEMPTATIONS.


now was the grand turning point in Emily's
whole life. She had been early instilled with
Christian principles, and her fond parents had,
as they thought,reason to believe that the seed
had been sowed in good ground, and would
bring forth fruit abundantly, even a hundred
fold. Hers, however, was the religion of ex-
ample. She had seen her parents and her sis-
ters kneeling, day after day, and year after
year, before the throne of Divine grace, in
humble, trusting supplication; she had knelt
with them, too, and thought she was sincere;
she had for years been a regular attendant at
the house of God, where she was an attentive
listener. But now the time of her trial had
come ; if she proved victorious, she was safe;
if Satan triumphed now, her fall was sealed.
As she heard her mother's step slowly and
wearily ascending the stairs, a thousand con-
tending emotions harassed her. In one thought,
she would tell her mother all; in the next, she
had already told one lie, and to cover that she
must tell more; and, before she had time to
settle in her mind which she would adopt, her
mother stood before her, and Emily's fate was
sealed.
Well, daughter," said Mrs. Hart, I am
glad you have succeeded so soon in getting
work, and at such good prices as Maria tells
me you have."
Yes, mother," said Emily, scarcely daring
9*







NEVER TOO LATE.


to look up, lest her mother should read the lie in
her face, I have been very fortunate, indeed."
Let me see it," said Mrs. Hart, and Em-
ily, with hands trembling with excitement, hand-
ed to her the vest pattern which Mr. T-
had given her to make for the young man who
had addressed her. The sight of it recalled
him to her mind, and she could not tell why,
but that seemed to give her courage to go on
in her guilt.
Where did you say you obtained this ?"
asked Mrs. Hart, with something of a stern
ness in her voice which startled Emily, who
could not conceive to what she was to attrib-
ute it.
From Mr. M- 's, No. Broadway."
Mrs. Hart examined, for a few moments, the
pattern in silence, while Emily was trembling
with an apprehension for which she could not
account, and went out of the room without say-
ing another word, leaving Emily in a state of
terrible excitement. Could it be that her moth-
er had discovered her falsehood ? that she had
followed and observed her enter the forbidden
tore ? Oh, what would she not have given at
that moment to recall all she had said, or what
would she not have given for the grace and
strength to throw herself at her mother's feet
and confess her unworthiness and guilt. The
very idea that she was detected in a falsehood
caused her to tremble, and cold drops of per-




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