Front Cover
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Pierre, the Organ-Boy
 What was Gained?
 The Elder Sister
 The Village Doctors
 Sunday-Work No Profit
 Think Twice
 The Bishop and the Young Preac...
 The Timely Aid
 Back Cover

Group Title: Arthur's juvenile library
Title: Pierre, the organ-boy
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001942/00001
 Material Information
Title: Pierre, the organ-boy and other stories
Series Title: Arthur's juvenile library
Alternate Title: Organ boy
Physical Description: 150 p., 2 leaves of plates : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Arthur, T. S ( Timothy Shay ), 1809-1885
Sherman, Conger, 1793-1867 ( Printer )
Gihon, William B ( Engraver )
Waitt, Benjamin Franklin, b. 1817 ( Engraver )
Croome, William, 1790-1860 ( Engraver )
Lippincott, Grambo & Co ( Publisher )
L. Johnson & Co ( Stereotyper )
Publisher: Lippincott, Grambo & Co.
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
Manufacturer: C. Sherman
Publication Date: 1852
Subject: Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Immigrants -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Friendship -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Sisters -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Statement of Responsibility: by T.S. Arthur ; with illustrations from original designs by Croome.
General Note: Stereotyped by L. Johnson & Co., Philadelphia.
General Note: Some illustrations engraved by Gihon and Waitt.
General Note: Added series title page, engraved.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001942
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002221311
oclc - 08455429
notis - ALG1532
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front page 1
        Front page 2
        Front page 3
        Front page 4
    Half Title
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Table of Contents
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Pierre, the Organ-Boy
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    What was Gained?
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    The Elder Sister
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
    The Village Doctors
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
    Sunday-Work No Profit
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
    Think Twice
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
    The Bishop and the Young Preacher
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
    The Timely Aid
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
    Back Cover
        Page 152
        Page 153
Full Text

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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
In the Clerk's Offe of the District Court of the Eastern District of




PIERRE, THE ORGAN-BOY.......... ............... .......

WHAT WAS GAINED?............................................. 24

THE ELDER SISTER.............................................. 39

THE VILLAGE DOCTORS......................................... 60
SUNDAY-WORK NO PROFIT.................................. 94

THINK TWICE............................................................. 116


THE TIMELY AID................................................... 140



" GO 'way-go 'way from here 1" exclaim-
ed Mr. Thornton, throwing open the
window-shutters and addressing in angry
tones an organ-boy who had stationed him-
self in front of the house, and was filling the
air with the not very melodious tones of his
poor instrument. "Clear out from here, or
I'll have you taken up for a vagrant, and
sent to the workhouse," he added, as the
startled lad ceased playing and hastily lift-
ed his organ to be gone.
Idle, loafing vagabonds !" muttered Mr.
Thornton, as he drew in his head and part-
ly closed the shutters he had thrown open
so suddenly. "If had my way, I'd send
A3 T


every rascal of them to the workhouse.
What right have they to disturb peaceful
citizens with their horrid din? I'd as lief
hear an old tin pan and a poker as one of
these squealing organs."
Pierre Merlin-that was the name of the
organ-boy-started in alarm at the angry
exclamations of Mr. Thornton. Although
he could not understand the words that
were uttered, he comprehended, from the
tones of his voice and the expression of
his face, that a threat of consequences
was in what he said. Hurriedly he moved
off, and did not again venture to play on
his organ until he was several squares dis-
tant from the house of Mr. Thornton. Pierre
was of a gentle, timid disposition, but love
for his sick sister made him firm and brave
in meeting his lot in life and striving to
overcome its evils. The children were
orphans in their old home in sunny France,
and had been tempted to visit America from
having heard, through ter who had friends
there, much that e land desirable.



There were none to dissuade them from
their purpose, for none felt much interest
in them. To America they came. Not
until they were a few days in Philadelphia,
without friends, without the means of sup-
port, and with only a few francs in their
pockets, did they understand the great
error they had committed. Marie was
younger than Pierre by two years, and he
was but sixteen. She had thought but
little herself about the change of home.
She had confidence in Pierre, and was ready
to go wherever he thought it best for them
to go. Under this feeling and with this con-
fidence she had accompanied him to the
United States.
They had been in the country for only
a few weeks when Marie began to droop.
She was pining for the vine-clad hills and
bright streams of her own land. The bloom
left her cheek that had lost its roundness;
her eye was sad and full of tears just ready
to gush forth. Thy had been taken in by
a countryman ofA;ir own, who happened


to find them at the hotel where they went
on first landing, and where they stayed un-
til all their money was gone. This person
thought that Marie would make an excel-
lent domestic for his wife, and that Pierre
would serve him as an apprentice in his
business of cordonnier. To Marie's low
spirits and failing health was added labour
beyond her strength, and Pierre's own po-
sition was by no means an easy and agree-
able one, Of that he would not have com-
plained had Marie been well and happy;
but he could not bear to see her look so
pale 'and weary, and to find her so often
"I wish we were home again, Pierre,"
Marie said to her brother one day, express-
ing for the first time the feeling that had
long subdued all others, while her lip quiver-
ed and her eyes became blind with tears.
"Home in France, Marie?" said Pierre
quickly. "Then we will go home."
"But how are we to get home? We
have no money."


"I will earn money," said the boy, with
a brave look and confident tone.
"But how, Pierre? How?" asked Marie,
doubtingly, and yet with anxiety.
"I'm strong-I can work-I can earn
money," said Pierre.
"Mr. Martin will not give you money
for your work?"
"No; but I won't stay here. I will do
something for money."
"What can you do, brother?"
This question Pierre could not answer
very satisfactorily, but his confident man-
ner inspired Marie with hope. Weeks pass-
ed, however, without any way opening be-
fore the lad's anxious eyes by which he
could earn money. In the meantime, Marie's
condition became more and more distress-
ing to him. She grew paler and weaker;
yet no eye but his seemed to notice the
change, nor did any heart but his feel for
her any sympathy. She was to Mrs. Mar-
tin a good household drudge, and was treat-
ed as such. If kind words had accompanied


her daily toil, they would have lightened
it; but there were no kind words for her
ear except those spoken by her brother.
One day, a customer in the shop, a French-
man, mentioned to Mr. Martin that a man
living near him had died, leaving a wife and
child without the means of support. The
man had only been in the country a short
time, and had supported his family by going
about the streets with a hand-organ.
He was doing very well," remarked the
customer, "with his organ, and would soon
have had a little ahead. It is a great pity
for his widow. I don't know what she will
do. I think her an excellent woman."
Pierre thought a good deal about the
poor widow and the organ, but said nothing
to any one. As soon as night came around
he went to see the woman. She was in
sorrow and trouble, but there was something
about her that Pierre liked. He asked a
great many questions about the business
her husband had followed, and learned that
he sometimes made as much as two dollars


a day-rarely less than one. Finally he
proposed to pay her three dollars a week
to board himself and Marie, and one dollar
rent for the organ. To this the woman
gladly assented. Marie was very happy
when Pierre told her what he had done; but
Mr. and Mrs. Martin were angry, and said
that they should not go-that they could
and would compel them to stay. Poor
Marie was dreadfully frightened, but Pierre
told her, as soon as they were alone, not to
cry, for he knew that Mr. Martin could not
make them stay.
"We will go away this very evening, as
soon as it is dark;" he said, "and if they
come for us we will not go back."
But they may force us to go back," said
"They can't-I know they can't. Ro-
bert says we are not bound by law, and
that we may go away, if we please-and
Robert knows."
Robert was the oldest apprentice of Mr.
Martin, and had answered the anxious



question which Pierre had put to him,
Without further debate, the children, as
soon as night came and they could get away
unobserved, tied up their clothes in two
stout bundles, and stole away from the
house of Mr. Martin. As soon as the
Frenchman discovered their absence, he
was very angry, and went with threats to the
house of the poor widow. But she was un-
moved by them, and told him that if the
children preferred her house to his, they were
very welcome to stay. Finding that both
Pierre and his sister, as well as the poor
widow, were not to be moved by any thing
he said, Mr. Martin went away and left
them to themselves.
It was quite time that Marie was re-
moved from the service of her hard mistress.
On the second day after she had entered
her new home she was taken very ill, the
consequence of over-exertion and exposure
to cold, and remained sick for a long time.
Pierre went out with his organ, and was


able to earn enough to pay the widow the
four dollars a week as agreed upon, and a
small sum over. But it was very fatiguing
for him to carry the organ all over the city
and to stand in the hot sun to play; and
often, after he had stood before a house and
played for some time, he had to pass on
without receiving even a penny. Some-
times he was driven off with threatening
words, and sometimes rude boys would an-
noy him sadly; but he was patient and
persevering. For Marie's sake he was iil-
ling to bear any thing. If for a time he
would grow weary and despond of ever
earning enough to take them back to their
old home, the thought of his sister, whose
cheek grew paler and paler, would inspire
him to new efforts.
On the day that Mr. Thornton so angrily
drove him from before his house, he had
met with two or three similar repulses, and
when evening came and he returned home
to Marie, he was sad and dispirited. On
the next day, instead of going about the



streets as heretofore, Pierre left the city
and wandered some distance into the coun-
try, playing from house to house as he passed
along. At almost every place where he
stopped he was offered refreshments, be-
sides having a few pennies or a coin of
greater value dropped into his hand. So
grateful to his spirit was the kindness he
received, that he lost the sense of weariness
which he experienced, and wandered on
farther and farther from the city, meeting
with a warmer welcome as the distance in-
Mr. Thornton, notwithstanding the un-
favourable light in which he appears in the
beginning of our story, was not a passionate,
unfeeling, ill-natured man; but he was often
governed by impulse, and easily affect-
ed by external circumstances. Two or
three things had combined, just at this
time, to put him in a bad humour. In the
first place, his family had been absent in
the country for some weeks with his oldest
child, who was an invalid. He could only


visit them twice a week. On his last visit,
Caroline was not so well as usual. She
was too feeble to sit up. To his earnest
inquiries, the physician replied evasively.
On this day, the third since he had seen or
heard from his family, he had intended
going out to visit them, but letters by the
morning's mail notified him of the return
of two unpaid drafts, and he had to remain
in order to get money to lift them. Besides,
an old and good customer from the West
was in town, and it would be necessary for
him to be at the store when he called.
These causes, with others, would probably
keep him from seeing his family for at least
a day or two longer, and made his humour
a rather unamiable one, as may be supposed
from his language when the organ-boy's
music broke suddenly upon his ears.
As early as it was possible for him to
leave his business, Mr. Thornton, on this
day, mounted his horse and rode at a rapid
speed into the country to see his family.
His anxiety for Caroline had become very



great. She seemed worse when he last saw
her, and his fears were much excited in
consequence. An hour's ride brought him
to the pleasant farm-house where his family
were boarding for the summer. Giving his
horse to the servant who met him at the
gate, he entered the house and passed into
the parlour, but found no one there. The
sound of an organ struck upon his ear,
but not quite so offensively as on the day
before. Stepping to the window that look-
ed out into the pleasant yard in the rear
of the house, a scene met his eyes that
caused a dimness to come over them.
Caroline was sitting in an easy. chair,
with her mother by her side, a light
breaking out from her young face such as
he had not seen glowing there for weeks.
Two younger children were dancing just
before her, and the music that gave life to
the whole scene was from the organ of the
lad he had driven from his door on the pre-
vious day with angry words and mexiace.
Silently he regarded the group before him,


and particularly the delicate, mild, but sad
face of the minstrel-boy, whom he saw to
be a stranger in a strange land. From his
face his eyes turned to that of his sick child,
and in his heart he thanked the lad, and
felt that music was indeed a blessing.
For a long time Mr. Thornton stood si-
lently gazing on the scene without, his
thoughts reverting to what he had done on
the previous day and to the feelings he had
then entertained. At length he stepped
into the yard, and at his appearance the
music ceased and the children gathered
round him. Caroline smiled sweetly as he
took her hand and placed on her cheek a
tender kiss.
"How are you, my dear?" he asked.
"I feel better now, father," she replied;
"better than I have felt all day."
"What has made you feel better, dear?"
"It is the music, I believe. I have felt
so much better since I heard it."
While Mr. Thornton was talking to
Caroline, the lad, who was no other than
aL-24 as


Pierre, lifted his organ and walked hastily
away. He had recognized Mr. Thornton
as the man who had spoken threateningly
to him on the day before, and he was going
off in alarm as fast he could.
Seeing this, and guessing at the cause,
Mr. Thornton called after Pierre; but the
boy only retreated the more rapidly. He
could not understand what was said to him,
but believed that the man who had driven
him away the day before was angry at see-
ing him there. Finding that he still re-
treated, Mr. Thornton started after him,
and, on overtaking him, laid hold of his arm,
and when the boy looked up fearfully in
his face, he smiled so kindly upon him that
tears came into his eyes. Then placing a
dollar in his hand, he motioned him to re-
turn. The lad went back gladly.
"Now, Thomas," said Mr. Thornton to
his oldest son, who was about twelve years
of age, "you must try your French upon
this organ-boy, and see if you cannot get


something of his history. I am sure it must
be interesting."
All gathered around Pierre, while Thomas
spoke to him in French. At the first word
uttered in his native language, the lad's
face brightened as if a gleam of sunshine
had gone over it. With earnestness he re-
lated his history, which at short intervals
was interpreted to the eager listeners by
Thomas. When .the lad spoke of Marie,
his eye wandered off with a sad expression
to the face of Caroline. She, too, was a
pale child of Sickness, and the tremulous-
ness of his voice told that his love was full
of anxious fear.
Deeply was the heart of Mr. Thornton
touched by the lad's story. "How little,"
he said to himself, "do we know of the hopes
and fears, the cares and peculiar anxieties of
those around us! How quick are we to
take offence where none is meant, and to
find fault where there is no real occasion!
It hardly seems possible that I could hai
been angry with this poor boy."



Mr. Thornton kindly inquired of Pierre
where he lived, and when the lad finally
went away, with a heavier purse and a
lighter heart than he had owned for many
days, he promised that he would call and
see him and do something toward aiding
him in his earnest wish to return to his
home in France.
Mr. Thornton was as good as his word.
In a few days he went to see Pierre and his
sister. In Marie he felt even more inte-
rest than in the boy. Thomas, his eldest
son, was with him; and when he informed
Maria that his father would send them
home in a ship that was about sailing for
Havre, the little girl sank down in tears
beside him, and clasping his knees, invoked
the blessing of Heaven upon him.
In a week, Mr. Thornton had the plea-
sure of seeing them on shipboard-a light
in Marie's eye and a flush of returning
health on her cheek-and of receiving their
ardently expressed thanks for his kindness.


It need hardly be said that the merchant
felt happier by far than on the day he
drove from his door, with angry words, the
poor organ-boy.


TWO men who were friends, engaged to
do a piece of work, and to share,
equally, the sum of money earned. One
of them was named Henry Williams and
the other Edwin Jones. When the work
was completed, Jones went to the employ-
er for a settlement. The amount paid to
him was thirty-three dollars, for which he
gave a receipt in his own name and also
in that of his friend, for whom he had been
authorized to act. Now, Jones was rather
selfish in his feelings. As he turned his
steps homeward, he talked thus within
"We ought to have had more for that


job. I was sure of getting thirty-five or
forty dollars for it. Sixteen dollars and a
half! I earned twenty, every cent of it,
myself. Williams is rather slow,. some-
times. I'm sure he didn't do near so much
as I did. In all justice, I am entitled to
the largest dividend."
Thus he went on communing with him-
self, until he finally determined to keep
eighteen dollars and give his friend only
fifteen. But, as the agreement looked to
an equal division, he must, of course, con-
ceal the real amount received. In other
words, he must say what was untrue. How
naturally does one wrong lead to another!
Jones had a good deal of debate with
himself; and felt some shame at the pur-
pose which was in his mind. But his cu-
pidity overmastered him. So, when he
met his friend and fellow-workman, Wil-
liams, he gave him only fifteen dollars,
saying that it was the half of what he had
received. Williams expressed some sur-
prise at the smallness of the sum, but


showed not the least suspicion of unfair
play, for he suspected none from Edwin
So, Jones was a gainer in the little ope-
ration of one dollar and a half. But this
sum, unjustly acquired, was no sooner in
his possession than it proved, instead of a
blessing, a curse; for, in place of that sa-
tisfaction which he had looked for, a sense
of shame oppressed him. It was his cus-
tom to call around, almost nightly, at the
house of Williams, and spend the evening
with him, in reading or pleasant conversa-
tion. On this occasion, tea being over, he
strolled forth, but did not take his way as
usual to the house of his friend. He had
wronged, and did not wish to meet him,
or feel the stinging rebuke of his welcome
smile. So he wandered about the streets,
aimlessly, and at last, hoping to get, as it
were, away from himself, opened the door
of a refectory, and walked in among its idle,
and, in too many cases, vicious inmates.
The next thing was to call for oysters and



brandy. With these he regaled himself,
and by the time both were consumed, he'
felt much better. An old acquaintance
now espied him.
"Ah! how are you, Jones? How are
you? I am really glad to see you again.
Where in the world have you been hiding
SAnd the man grasped his hand and shook
it with much cordiality.
Jones returned the greeting warmly. A
fresh supply of liquor was ordered, and the
two men drank together in token of friend-
ly feelings. How truly they were friends
may be inferred from the fact that, in a
very little while, they were playing at
dominos, each trying with all his skill to
win the other's money! The old acquaint-
ance of Jones proved the most skilful
player. When the two men separated at
eleven o'clock that night, Jones had not
only lost the dollar and a half unjustly ob-
tained from his true friend, Williams, but
also nearly five dollars besides.



Unhappy man! That one false step-
how far from the path of safety and peace
had it already led him! The moment we
turn ourselves away from what is good, that
moment are we in danger-for that moment
do we remove ourselves from the protect-
ing sphere of Heaven.
How wretched was Edwin Jones as he
walked forth from that haunt of sensualism
and evil passion! The cool night-airs that
pressed against his burning temples, allay-
ed not their feverish heat. Ah! what
would he not have given for the innocence
he had abandoned? What would he not
have given for the power to act over again
a few brief scenes in the past? One dollar
and a half he hadl gained, yet how fearfully
had he lost through that gain! Honour,
honesty, peace of mind were all gone-and,
beyond this-though really least to be con-
sidered-he had lost, for a poor man, a
large sum of money. He was as the fool-
ish dog and the shadow. What was gain-
ed? Oh, mocking question!


The "small hours of the morning" were
passed by Jones in sleeplessness and self-
upbraidings. A heavy slumber followed-
long after sunrise he awoke, unrefreshed,
and suffering from the keenest sense of
shame. In justification of the wrong done.
to Williams, he now tried to find a self-
sustaining argument. The sum was but a
trifle-he said to himself-a trifle at best;
and he was very sure that he had done
much the larger share of the work, and, in
justice, was entitled to even a greater
proportion of pay than he had taken. This
failed to satisfy him, however. The voice
of conscience could not be hushed; and
that accused him of both dishonesty and;
falsehood. Poor man! how much had he''
sacrificed for a paltry gain; and the gain
had been like a snowflake in the sunshine.
To meet Williams was a severe trial to
Edwin Jones; and it was with some diffi-
culty that he dragged himself to the shop
where they daily worked together. How
his eyes drooped beneath those of the friend


he had meanly injured; and how stammer-
ingly and unsatisfactorily he answered the
earnest question-
"Where were you last night, Edwin?
Mary and I had prepared a little treat for
you; we were so disappointed. Were you
not well?"
How evil acts lead into temptation!
"I was not very well, and stayed at
home," replied Jones, after partly giving
some other reason, and then hesitating, with
a confused, averted look. Another false-
"You don't.look well. I am sorry," re-
plied Williams, puzzled at the unusual ap-
pearance and manner of Jones; yet, in his
entire freedom from suspicion, crediting the
story of indisposition.
With how little heart did Jones go to
work. How great a pressure was on his
feelings. Several times, during the morn-
ing, as his thoughts brooded over the loss
sustained on the previous evening, he let
his hands fall idly by his side, while the


purpose to leave his work, go to the drink-
ing-house and seek to win back his money
again, was forming itself in his mind.
"Ill make one more trial," said he at
length, speaking to himself. "Fortune, I
am sure, will favour me."
At this moment, the door of the shop
where he was at work opened, and a little
girl, the child of Williams, came in. She
was a pleasant, good-tempered child, and
attracted almost every one. Jones had al-
ways liked her-in fact, he often called her
his little favourite.
"Any thing wanted, Anna?" said Mr.
Williams kindly.
"Mother says," replied the child, "that
my shoes are not good enough to wear this
evening, and she says, won't you let me get
a new pair?"
Williams let his eyes fall to the floor,
and stood silent for some moments. A sigh
passed his lips. He then said-
"I'll think about it, dear."
"But won't you get them, father?" re



turned the child, a look of disappointment
coming instantly into her face.
"I'm afraid not, dear. But, don't let it
make you unhappy. I'll talk to mother
when I come home at dinner-time. If we
can spare the money just now, you shall
have the shoes."
How the child's disappointed tones smote
upon the heart of Edwin Jones! How her
sad face rebuked him!
After Anna had left, Williams said to
It hurts me to disappoint the child; and
yet I don't see how the money is to be
spared just now. I have already paid away
ten dollars of the sum received yesterday;
and to take out of what remains a dollar
and a half for a pair of shoes, in order that
Anna may go to the birthday party of one
of her schoolmates, will be to draw too
heavily on the little store. I calculated on
at least sixteen dollars and a half; but
Jackson is a hard man to deal with-al-
ways cutting down poor workmen whenever


he can get a chance to do so. The disap-
pointment has made me feel poor."
Jones made no answer, and Williams
said nothing further. A new train of ideas
having been excited by the incident of the
child's appearance, the former thought no
more of leaving his work for the drinking-
house, there to win back, if possible, the
money lost on the previous evening. No
one need envy him the feelings that agitat-
ed his bosom. Here was the fruit of his
injustice-and the taste was bitter; bitter
to the palate of an innocent child.
"Who makes your children's shoes?"
asked Jones, with affected indifference, as
he was putting on his coat to leave the
shop at dinner-time.
"Peterman," was replied.
"Do you like his work?" asked Jones.
"Yes. It is very good."
"McLean is an excellent workman."
This was said by Jones to turn the
thought of Williams from what was in his


Even before Williams reached his dwell.
ing, a pair of shoes had been conveyed there
for Anna. Sad at the thought of meeting
his disappointed child, the father entered
his home.
"Oh, papa!" exclaimed Anna, holding
up her new shoes, "I am so glad you bought
them for me. You are a good father?"
And the child kissed him tenderly.
We leave Mr. Williams to offer the best
explanation of the matter in his power, and
turn briefly to Jones. Though his heart
felt lighter for having bought Anna a pair
of shoes, thus, making restitution, he was
far from being at ease in his mind.
What had he gained by his selfishness
and dishonesty? Rather say, what had he
lost? Ah! it is hard to make that calcu-
lation. Even his very soul had been
brought into great peril; and all to gain
the trifling sum of one dollar and a half,
that passed from his hands almost as soon
as gained.
Shame, fear, and disappointment com-


bined to produce a feeling of wretchedness.
"What," he asked himself, "if Williams
should find out the real sum received from
Jackson ?"
A cold shudder ran along his nerves at
the thought. Miserable man that he was!
and all in consequence of yielding to a sin-
gle temptation. Small causes often pro-
duce important effects, whether for good
or for evil. A single wrong step may lead
to untold wretchedness.
Glad are we to say that Edwin Jones
did not, when night came again, turn his
steps to the haunt of vice where he had
spent the previous evening. From suffer-
ing he had grown wiser. Ah! what would
he not have given could he have lived over
the past two days again? That, however,
was impossible. A sad record had been
made in his Book of Life, and though he
might repent deeply and tearfully, the re-
cord would still remain, to trouble him like
a haunting spirit, whenever the fingers of
memory turned the closely written leaves.



Months went by ere Edwin Jones could
think of that single wrong act, without a
sense of fear lest it should, through some
accident, become known to his friend.
This, however, did not happen. Williams
never knew that his friend had deceived
him; and it was better that he remained
Nothing is ever gained by wrong-doing.
There may seem, in many cases, to be a
gain; but the real loss will ever overbalance
it fearfully.


"FLORENCE, dear," said Adel6 Mor-
Ston, as her young sister came bound-
ing in from school, "I have a letter from
"Oh! have you?" exclaimed the little
girl, clapping her hands together, while a
light came into her face.
"Yes, I received it this morning. He is
in London, and talks about coming home
by the next steamship."
"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried the child.
"Won't you read it to me, sister?"
"Yes, dear." Adel6 took from a drawer
the letter, and with one arm around Florence,
read to the happy child the tender words
that were written for both.


"In less than a month he will be here,"
said Adel4, as she folded the letter.
"In so short a time? And yet it will seem
so long," rAturned the little girl.
"It always seems long for an expected
good to arrive," said Adel6; "and as this
is the greatest good we can at present de-
sire, even a few weeks will appear a very
long period. But time keeps ever moving
on. The moments steadily come and go,
whether we are awake or asleep. Quicker
than we think for now, the days and weeks
will pass away."
"How glad I will be!" murmured the
child, speaking half to herself.
It was six months since Mr. Morton went
abroad on business. He had two children,
Adel6, in her twentieth year, and Florence,
just eleven years old. The mother died
when Florence was a babe, and since that
time, Adel6 had been to her more than a
sister. The affection existing between them
was of the tenderest kind. Mr. Morton
was the senior partner in an extensive im.


porting-house, and frequently went abroad
on business connected with the firm. On
the present occasion, he had remained long-
er than usual. Since the death of his wife,
or rather, a portion of the time since the
death of his wife, Adel6 had taken entire
charge of his household, as there was no
female relative to come in and assume that
responsible position. This circumstance
tended to mature and strengthen her cha-
racter, and to give her higher views of life
than are usually entertained by young
ladies moving in the same social circle.
Hopefully did the sisters await the next
arrival from abroad. Two weeks elapsed,
and another steamship came in. It brought
not their father, but the painful intelli-
gence that he was seriously ill. In trem-
bling anxiety another fortnight went by,
and then came the heart-breaking news
that the illness had terminated in death.
Almost immediately on the reception of
this information, the firm of which Mr.
Morton had been the senior member, sus.



ended payments, and in the closing up of
its affairs, proved utterly insolvent. No
provision for the sisters was made, and ere
the drooping lids of Adel6 were raised from
her wet cheeks, she' became aware of the
fact that she and Florence were to be thrown
upon the world, penniless and alone.
For a short period, her mind sank almost
nerveless under the sudden shock. An
event like this had never come within the
range of her anticipations, as her eyes
glanced along the coming future; and she
was altogether unprepared to meet it. But,
care for hef sister first lifted her heart from
its deep prostration. There was no one to
whom Florence could look but to herself.
She must not only be her guardian and
friend, but her protector and supporter.
It is painful to see the suddenness with
which friends sometimes recede, when mis-
fortune comes. In this case the desertion
was complete. About the character of
Adel6 there was something that rather re-
pulsed than attracted the more frivolous of



those with whom she was thrown into as-
sociation; and it was not surprising that
all of this class who were numbered among
her acquaintances should at once turn
away when a change of fortune came.
From the wreck of her father's crushed
estate, only a few hundred dollars remain-
ed in the possession of Adel6 when she
went forth from the old homestead, friend-
less and almost a stranger in the city of
her birth. But though stricken, her heart
was not palsied. Love made it strong to
endure; and care for Florence, that she
should not feel too severely the change,
caused her half to forget her own suffering.
Perhaps the severest trial this sad change
brought for the heart of Adel6, was the
turning away from her of one whose atten-
tions had awakened something more than
a feeling of friendship. The loss of fa-
shionable friends was not the cause of much
regret; but the continued absence of one
who had approached her seemingly as a
lover, touched her heart with exquisite


pain. When a great reverse, mingled with
affliction, comes suddenly, the mind sinks
under the shock and lies for a time weak
and powerless. Then there is a feeble re-
action. If there be native strength of
character, this reaction is the beginning of
a new development. Whatever be the re-
lations to the world, that have now to be
assumed, strength equal to the day comes.
So it was with Adel6. As the elder sister,
she saw that entirely new duties awaited
her; and in preparing to enter upon these,
she was sustained under the pressure of se-
vere affliction. Indeed, in her unselfish
concern for Florence, something that ap-
proached to a cheerfulness of temper took
possession of her mind.
While yet undetermined as to her exact
course in the future, Adel6 received, from
a relative of her father, residing at the
West, a letter, in which a home was offer-
ed to Florence.
She will be a heavy care for you, under'
your changed circumstances," said the let.


ter; "and, as we can make a place for her
in our family, without being crowded, we
have concluded to offer her a home. We
will care for her, and educate her*as one
of our own children. Relieved from this
burden, you will be yourself less embarrass-
When a part of this was read to Florence,
she threw herself in tears upon the bosom
of Adel6 and sobbed.
"Do not send me away, sister! Oh! do
not send me away!"
"No, Florence, no!" said Adel6 with
much feeling, drawing her arm tightly
around her sister, "you shall not leave
Without hesitation or debate, Adel6
wrote an answer to the letter, in which she
expressed both her own and her sister's
warmest thanks for the offered home, but
declined accepting it, as it was the wish of
both not to be separated.
Even if Florence had felt inclined to go,
Adel6's unselfish love for her sister would



not have permitted the separation. She
well knew that no one living could so well
care for and seek her good; for no one
knew or loved her so well.
The prompt decision of the question of
separation turned Adel6's thoughts more
earnestly upon the means whereby a sup-
port for herself and Florence was to be ob-
tained. This could only come through
the exercise of some ability to serve others.
Unable to decide upon any certain course,
and seeing no avenue for her feet to walk
in, Adel6 ventured to call upon a lady, for
whose judgment she had always entertain-
ed a high respect, and ask her advice.
This lady's name was Marion. She was
received with a kindness that was grateful
to her feelings. When Adel6 mentioned
the purpose of her visit, Mrs. Marion's first
inquiry was-
"What can you do?"
"My education is good," replied Adel6.
"I can teach many things."
Music ?"


"Yes; I believe myself competent to give
instructions in music."
What is your knowledge of the modern
"I was two years in a French school,
and speak the language, I am told, with
much accuracy."
"Are you at all familiar with Spanish
and Italian?"
"I have studied both."
"There is a lady here from Charleston,"
said Mrs. Marion, "who is desirous of pro-
curing a governess for her three daughters.
She asked me, yesterday, if I knew of any
one qualified to take charge of them. If
you are willing to go, she need look no fur-
ther. She says that the salary will be six
hundred. dol aiN
Adel6 did ltweceive this intelligence
with so warm an exhibition of pleasure as
Mrs. Marion had expected.
"I could not accept such an offer, how-
ever advantageous it might be to myself,"


said Adel6, "unless a home ir the same
family were provided for Florence."
"That is rather more than you can ex-
pect," replied Mrs. Marion, a little coldly.
Perhaps it is," said Adel6, with a slight
expression of sadness in her tone. But I
will forego all personal advantages for the
sake of my sister. She is at an age when
she most needs my care; we cannot be se-
"You might see the lady," remarked
Mrs. Marion. "She is at the American
Hotel, in Broadway. If you wish to do
so, I will give you a note of introduction."
There was an air of indifference in the
way this was said that hurt Adel6, but she
stifled her feelings, and said that she would
be glad of such a note, and would call and
see the person forthwith.
S" I would like to know the result," said
Mrs. Marion, as she handed what she had
written to Adel6. "Will you call again
after you have seen her?"
Adel6 promised to do so. On present-


ing her note of introduction to the lady,
she was received with much kindness.
Both were favourably impressed.
Mrs. Marion speaks highly of both your
ability and family connections," said the
lady; "and if first impressions are any
guide, I think I may say that you will
suit me in every respect."
Many questions were then asked, the re-
plies to which were received by the lady
with much apparent satisfaction.
"I have an only sister," said Adel4, her
voice slightly trembling as she referred to
a subject so near her heart. "We lost our
mother when she was but a babe. Since
then, I have been to her more a mother
than a sister. We have never been sepae
rated a day, and we cannot be separated
A change was instantly visible in the
lady's face.
"How old is your sister?" she inquired.
"In her twelfth year."
The lady shook her head.



Adel6 arose and said, as she half turned
away, "I will forego any advantage to
myself, rather than be separated from my
sister at her tender age."
"I am sorry," remarked the lady. "I
think you would have suited me in all re-
spects. But I would not like to take into
my family a strange young girl, nearly of
the same age with my own children."
"I feared as much," said Adelh. "But
unless my sister goes with me, I must re-
main here."
"I cannot but honour your devoted af-
fection," returned the lady, touched by the
manner as well as the words of Adel4;
"and I sincerely hope you will never be
compelled to part with the sister you so
tenderly love."
Adel6 thanked her for the kind senti-
ment and withdrew.
"Well, Adel4," said Mrs. Marion, as the
young lady entered the room where she
sat; "have you made the arrangement?"
Adel6 shook her head.


"Why not?" asked Mrs. Marion.
"The objection was to Florence."
"I looked for nothing else. But you
certainly did not decline so good an offer on
that ground?"
"Had the salary been doubled I would
have refused it," said Adel6 with firmness;
"and upon that ground alone."
"I think you are very foolish," remarked
Mrs. Marion, evincing by her manner that
she was annoyed at the young lady's firm-
Adel6 sat for some moments without re-
plying. She then said-
"I would like best the place of teacher
in some good school in the city."
"Such places are not easily obtained,"
said Mrs. Marion coldly. "I doubt very
much whether you will find such a vacancy
in New York, if you wait for it a twelve-
Adel6 sighed.
"If you should hear of such a place, I
would be glad to know of it." As Adel4



said this, she arose, and, drawing her shawl
around her, turned toward the door.
I will let you know, certainly," replied
Mrs. Marion. But there was indifference
in her tones, and they failed to inspire
any confidence in the heart of Adel6, who
thanked her for the interest she had al-
ready manifested, and retired.
Mrs. Marion had a daughter named
Fanny, about the age of Adel6, who was
present at this interview. She had been,
previously to the death of Mr. Morton, on
terms of pleasant intercourse with Adel6.
But now she looked at her coldly, and
bowed with a reserved and distant polite-
ness, as the poor girl entered and retired.
"She'll have to give up that foolish no-
tion," said Mrs. Marion, as Adel4 left the
"I don't see how she can expect anybody
to take her sister as well as herself. I'm
sure we wouldn't be willing to do so, if we
employed a governess," remarked the young


"No, indeed! Her own good sense ought
to teach her better."
Just then the door-bell rang, and the
conversation ceased.
"Mr. Edgar is in the parlour," said a
servant, entering the apartment soon after.
"He has called for me to ride with him,"
remarked Miss Marion as she arose. Tell
hini," addressing 'the servant, "that I will
be down in a few minutes."
This Mr. Edgar was the young man re-
ferred to, as having been, previous to the
reverse suffered by. Adel6 Morton, so atten-
tive as to awaken in her heart tenderer
feelings than those of friendship. He had
not meant to awaken such feelings; for,
though always pleased with her society, he
had never sought to win her affections.
"Was not that Adel6 Morton whom I
saw leaving your house as I drove up?"
said Edgar to Miss Marion, after they were
beyond the noise of the city.
Fanny replied that it was.
"It is the first time I have seen her sindo


her father's death," remarked Edgar. Was
there any thing left after the settlement of
his estate?"
"I presume not," said Fanny, "for she
is anxious to get a place as teacher, some-
"Indeed! Is she reduced so low as that ?"
The young man spoke in a tone of sympa-
"Yes," replied Fanny. "She called to
ask mother if she would not interest herself
for her. And mother did find her an ex-
cellent place; but Adel6 would not accept
of it."
"Why not?"
"It was the situation of governess in
the family of a wealthy Southern lady.
Adel6 wanted to take her sister with her;
but the lady would not, of course, consent
to that arrangement. And so Adel6 re-
fiused to accept the liberal offer that was
"Because she was unwilling to be sepa-


rated from her younger sister?" said Mr.
"Yes; that was her only reason. She
thinks she can get a place as teacher in
some school here, and thus be able to keep
Florence with her. But mother told her
very plainly that she might wait for a
year and not find a vacancy."
The young man made no reply to this,
nor remarked any thing further on the sub-
ject. But it was far from passing from his
mind. He was not pleased at the indif-
ference manifested by his companion in a
case that had so much about it to awaken
sympathy. There was an air of dejection
in the whole manner of Adel6, as she left
the house of Mrs. Marion that morning,
that Edgar did not fail to observe. It had
fixed itself in his memory, and touched his
feelings whenever he glanced at the image.
"If so true-hearted as a sister," were the
thoughts that came into the mind of the
young man, as he sat alone that evening
thinking of Adel6, "will she not be even



truer-hearted as a wife? With such a com-
panion, a man need not tremble when re-
verses look him in the face."
That was the beginning of an interest in
the now friendless girl, that found a daily
increase. Edgar had an aunt in whose
judgment, discretion, and genuine kindness
of feeling he could fully confide. To her he
mentioned what he had heard, and asked
her to see Adel6 and confer with her about
her future prospects. This was done; and
at the suggestion of Edgar, various efforts
were made to induce her to separate her-
self from her sister, in order to secure some
personal advantage. But Adel6 never yield-
ed to them a moment. Already she was
beginning to occupy herself in embroidery
and fine needlework, as a means of earn-
ing something; and when this was object-
ed to as likely to make inroads upon her
health, she replied, that if the good of her
sister required the sacrifice of even health,
it would be made cheerfully.
"Noble girl!" said Edgar, when this was


told him by his aunt. "Such unselfish
love is a treasure not easily found in this
world. She shall have a home both for
herself and her sister, if she will accept one
at my hands."
"Who do you think I saw in Broadway
this morning?" said Fanny Marion to her
mother, about two months after this time.
She spoke with a mingled expression of dis-
appointment and surprise.
"I'm sure I don't know," replied Mrs.
Marion indifferently.
"Mr. Edgar and Adel6 Morton."
"Not together?"
"Yes; and talking and looking at each
other so earnestly that neither of them saw
me, though I met them face to face."
"That is strange!"
"I don't understand it."
"Have you heard the news?" said Mr.
Marion, coming in just at this time.
"What is it?"
"Mr. Edgar is to be married next week.



But to whom? I don't think you would
guess in an hour."
"To Adel6 Morton?" said Mrs. Marion.
"Yes. But why should you think of
"Fanny met them in Broadway this
"Its the strangest thing I ever heard!
What will happen next ?"
"People say," remarked Mr. Marion,
"that he has shown his good sense."
"Good sense!" exclaimed the mother of
Fanny. "Btit what in the world induced
him to offer himself?"
"He heard of her unselfish love for her
younger sister, the exercise of which you
condemned so much, and said to himself,
like a sensible man, 'If so true-hearted as a
sister, will she not be more so as a wife?'
Here you have the whole story."
Mrs. Marion and Fanny remained silent.
They felt rebuked for the want of sympa-
thy which both had manifested toward the


noble-minded girl who was about receiving
her reward. When Adel4 came back, as the
honoured wife of Mr. Edgar, into the circle
from which misfortune had banished her
for a short period, Mrs. Marion and her
daughter were as prompt to welcome her as
any; but they never felt happy in her
presence. How could they? The virtue
of which they had thought lightly-for
which they had condemned her in misfor-
tune-had proved the means of her eleva-
tion; and, for this reason, they could not
see her without an unpleasant reaction, that
was felt as a rebuke.


" lTUMPH! so we are to have another
physician here," said Doctor Sinus,
a self-important soq of Esculapius, to a bro-
ther in the healing art, who lived in a town
of some six thousand inhabitants, not a
hundred miles from New York.
"Indeed! And who may he be, pray?"
responded the individual addressed, shuf-
fling in his chair uneasily.
"Some green one, just from college, I
suppose," was the answer.
"Well, there's no room for him here,
that's certain! Our town doesn't yield
those of us who have been in it for half
of our lifetimes, any thing like a decent

Irv /j i
4; ii Iii i
n j 1 .Z;IJij ~7 1


I i -


Page 89.




That it does not, Doctor Clavicle. And
we must take measures to keep him out.
If any more are allowed to come here, we
shall be totally ruined."
Have you seen Doctor Deltoid about'the
matter ?"
Well, doctor, I think we had better see
him at once, and talk this matter over."
You can see him," Doctor Sinus replied.
"But he and I are not on the very best
terms, just now."
Why, I never heard any thing of that
before,, doctor. What is the matter?"
"It is something that I didn't intend
speaking about. But now that its come up,
I will mention it to you. The fact is, he
has violated professional courtesy."
"Indeed!" ejaculated Doctor Clavicle,
looking ten times graver than before.
It is true, sir." And the voice of Doc-
tor Sinus sank to a deep, important whis-
per. "You know that I have been the
family physician of Mrs. Goodpay, for the



last ten years. Well-about two months
ago, having occasion to call in a consulting
physician, I sent for him. He came, of
course, and attended with me for about a
week, but didn't suggest a single remedy
that could have been administered with
safety. After Mrs. Goodpay became con-
valescent, he continued his visits, not pro-
fessionally, but in a friendly way!"
"Is it possible!"
"It is true, Doctor Clavicle."
"That was ungentlemanly, indeed!"
"And that isn't all," pursued Doctor Si-
nus warmly! "he has contrived to work
himself, somehow or other, into her good
graces, so as to get regularly employed as
her physician."
"Too bad!" ejaculated Doctor Clavicle.
"Isn't it! Its the most outrageous
breach of professional etiquette that has
ever occurred in this town; and I, for one,
am determined to set my face against it."
But wouldn't it be well for us, now that
this young whipper-snapper doctor is about


squatting here, to look over Doctor Deltoid's
outrageous conduct, at least for a time, and
all join to put him down at once?"
"I don't know," musinglyy.) "Perhaps
it would be as well. But then I can't see
how I shall be able to treat Deltoid with
any kind of civility."
"Oh, you can.do it, I know."
"Well, I will try."
"Then suppose we call over now, and
see him?"
Doctor Sinus consented; and the two
turned their steps toward the office of the
individual they had named.
"How do you do, gentlemen? How do
you do?" said Doctor Deltoid, smiling, and
extending his hand, as his two brother
physicians entered. "I am really glad to
see you."
Doctor Sinus took the proffered hand,
and shook it quite heartily. An observer
would have never imagined that he had
other than the kindest feelings toward his
rival practitioner. -



"We have dropped in to have a talk with
you," said Doctor Clavicle, after they were
all seated, "about this young fellow who is
going to settle in our place. Its our opi-
nion that he ought not to be encouraged, but
discountenanced in every way. What bu-
siness has he to come in here, and interfere
with our practice?"
"Very true, doctor," replied Deltoid.
"Let him go off to the South or West,
where there is room enough to make a
practice without interfering with regular
"Who is he, anyhow?" asked Doctor
"His name is Costal," replied Doctor
Deltoid. "He is said to be from New
York. One of the last batch of M. D.'s, I
"Have you seen him?"
"Yes, I met him yesterday-and he
tried to be very sociable. But I was cool
enough, I can assure you. I have no idea
of encouraging these interlopers. Doesn't



he know that there is not enough practice
for the physicians that are already here?
Of course he does. And of course he ex-
pects, if he gets any practice at all, to take
it from us."
At this stage of the conversation, a fourth
physician came in, for the town could boast
of four doctors.
Ah, Doctor Lavator, I am glad to see
you!" said Deltoid, as the person he ad-
dressed entered. "We were just talking
about this Doctor Costal, who, it is said, is
about settling here."
Rumour tells truly," said the new-comer,
"for as I came along just now, I saw his
sign on the window of one of those beauti-
ful offices on Main street."
"It aint possible I" ejaculated the three
physicians at once, with looks of astonish-
ment and chagrin.
"It is too true, gentlemen. But then,
when I come to think of it, I don't know
that we need care about it. He is a young
man, and a stranger, and all we have to do


is to discountenance him in every way. If
we pursue this course, he will soon break
down. He can't stand it."
"I, for one, shall not countenance him,"
said Doctor Clavicle.
"Nor I," said Doctor Sinus emphatically.
"Nor I," responded Doctor Deltoid.
"And of course I shall not," Doctor La-
vator said in a decided tone.
It was, perhaps, about a month previous
to the time when the above conversation
took place, that a man sat near the window
of a house in New York city, conversing
with a young woman who seemed to be
his wife. He had a fine, intelligent coun-
tenance; and her face was fair, yet thought-
ful. A moment's observation told that a
shadow was on their path.
"I am really discouraged, Mary," said
the young man, in reply to a remark which
she had made. "Here I have been for
three months, and yet have had only about
a dozen calls, and they were of no conse-
quence. Our money will not hold out for


six months longer; and there is, certainly,
no prospect that, in so short a time, I shall
have practice enough to meet half of our
expenses. I really feel discouraged."
"But some thing will turn up in our fa-
vour, Henry-I am sure it will," answered
his young wife, looking up into his face af-
fectionately. "We may be tried severely,
but I feel a strong confidence that all will
come out well. Very few young physicians
can get into a practice at once."
"I wish I could feel as confident, Mary.
But every thing looks so gloomy, that I am
well nigh discouraged. If I were making
our expenses, moderate as they are, I would
be satisfied. But to see our little all wast-
ing away, hour after hour, and no further
supply in prospect, disheartens me."
"You talked, before we came here," said
his wife, after a pause, "of going to some
country town, where our expenses would
be small, and trying to make a practice
there. Is not the plan still worth pursu-
ing ?"


"I am afraid, Mary, that it will be my
only course. But I shrink from burying
myself in that way. I feel that my true
sphere is a large city like this, where a
high degree of eminence is to be attained.
I am not afraid to enter the arena, in a
strife for eminence and excellence; but I
long-in vain, I fear-for a chance of becom-
ing a combatant. I am young and a
stranger, and have not the means that will
enable me to wait until I can make myself
known. But I must lay aside ambition,
and devote myself to humbler, and, perhaps,
more satisfying pursuits."
His wife did not reply, and both sat in
thoughtful silence for many minutes.
"I believe you are right, Mary," he at
length said, in a calmer tone. "We will
leave New York, at least for a time; and
perhaps a way will open, in a few years,
for me to return."
Where would you go, Henry ?" his wife
"When I was thinking of this matter



before," he replied, "I thought of many
places, but none seemed to promise as well
as M-- in New Jersey. There are fbur
physicians there now, it is true. But then,
they are fifty years behind the science: I
could soon give evidence enough of supe-
rior medical knowledge, to insure a com-
fortable living, if no more, even if they com-
bined to put me down, a result that may
occur.-For old physicians, who -have ne-
glected to advance with the improvements
in medical science, are, too often, jealous of,
and unkind toward younger ones, who are
fully furnished with the latest theories and
discoveries. They set their twenty and thirty
years' experience at the bedside of their pa-
tients, against all the 'new fangled notions
of the schools,' as they call them, and sweep
aside, or at least endeavour to do so, every
young man who comes in their way. It is
true, that there are many, indeed very
many, honourable exceptions. But the
four physicians of M--, are not among
the number. Therefore, if we go there, I
XI.-- 13



shall have, I doubt not, to encounter this
kind of unpleasant opposition. I do not
fear it, of course, but I had much rather
avoid it."
It was soon determined by Doctor Costal,
for that was the young man's name, to re-
move with his family to M-- and en-
deavour to make a practice there. In a
few weeks all the arrangements for leaving
New York were made, and the young cou-
ple settled themselves down quietly in a
pleasant little dwelling in that village.
This fact, of course, soon became noised
through the town, and buzzed about the
ears of its four doctors, with a sound al-
most as unpleasant as the hum of a dozen
wasps. How they were affected by it has
been already partially shown.
On the same day that Doctor Costal open-
ed his office, an elderly gentleman, with a
mild, benevolent countenance, stepped in,
and said, after he was seated, and had ex-
changed the civilities of the day-
"Doctor, there is a case of disease in my


family, that has, thus far, baffled the skill
of all our physicians. I don't know that
you can do any good-still, I feel bound to
call you in, under a feeble hope that you
may be able to do something. I have but
one child-a daughter, now just twenty
years of age-and her disease is the same
that, many years ago, carried her mother
to an early grave-consumption. There
is no cure for it, I know-but it seems to
me that some relief might be afforded, and
her life prolonged for years, even if she at
length sank under its influence."
"How is she affected?" the young phy-
sician asked.
"She has a violent cough, which lasts
through the fore part of the night, with
free expectoration-has weakening night-
sweats-and is wasting away rapidly."
The symptoms are certainly alarming,"
remarked Doctor Costal gravely.
"But do you not think, doctor, that
something might be done for her?" inquired
the father in an anxious tone.



"She might be relieved, sir; but, I fear,
not cured."
"I do not expect that, doctor-but I cer-
tainly think that she ought to be relieved."
"And can be, doubtless," was the confi-
dent reply.
"Will you undertake her case, then?"
"Is there a physician now in attend-
ance?" asked Doctor Costal.
"Oh yes. Two are in regular attend-
ance. Doctors Sinus and Clavicle-but
they do not give her any relief."
"If it is your wish, then, that I should
be called in, i conjunction with them, and
they are willing to attend with me, I shall
be glad to see your daughter-and I think
that I may relieve her, but I cannot say
"Attend with you!" said the old man, in
a tone of surprise. "Of course they will
attend with you! Why did you seem to
think that they would not?"
"I have no particular reason for think-
ing so. I only put in a qualifying clause."


"Well, I will see them to-day; and then
I will call and let you know at what hour
to meet them at my house."
"Very well, sir; I shall be ready t6 at-
The old man went directly from the of-
fice of Doctor Costal to that of Doctor Sinus.
"How do you do, Mr. Allenson?" said
Doctor Sinus, as he entered. "How is
Florence to-day?"
"She is no better, doctor. Her cough
was exceedingly troublesome last night, and
she is very feeble to-day in consequence."
"I will call around, Mr. Allenson, and
see if that cough cannot be relieved-though
I must say, as I have said before, that I
have little hope of allaying it."
"Yes, doctor, I should like both you and
Doctor Clavicle to see her this afternoon
in company with Doctor Costal."
"With Doctor Costal!" ejaculated Doctor
Sinjs, in tones of surprise, rising at the
same time, unconsciously, to his feet.



"Certainly, doctor. And why not ? Mr.
Allenson asked.
"See your daughter with Doctor Costal!
A mere adventurer! Some student, green
from college, without a particle of real, solid
medical experience. Oh no, sir, I cannot
do that."
"You certainly are not in earnest, doc-
tor?" said his visitor, in a calm, but serious
"Certainly I am. And I must say, that
I am surprised that you should think of
calling in this unknown interloper."
"Have you visited and conversed with
him?" asked Mr. Allenson.
"No, of course not."
"Then how do you know any thing
about his medical knowledge?"
From a very natural inference. What
correct knowledge of diseases and remedies,
as they really exist and have relation to
each other, can a young fellow just from
college have? But little of course! And
here you wish to bring him in to instruct



us, who have been practising physicians
for the past twenty or thirty yeia|. No,
no, I cannot submit to it."
"Will you be kind enough to see Doctor
Clavicle," said Mr. Allenson in a quiet tone,
"and ask him if he will visit my daughter
in company with Doctor Costal, to-day at
four o'clock. I should be glad if you would
come also; but you must use your pleasure."
"Of course I cannot come; nor do I be-
lieve that Doctor Clavicle will. Indeed, I
am sure that he will not."
"You and he will have to use your plea.
sure then, doctor. I shall invite Doctor
Costal to meet you at my house at four,
and I sincerely hope that you will come."
Mr. Allenson then rose, and bowing
"Would you believe it, doctor!" exclaim-
ed Sinus, in tones of surprise and chagrin,
entering, about ten minutes afterward, the
office of Doctor Clavicle-" old Alleson
wants us to hold a consultation with tii
Doctor Costal in the case of his daughter."


"It isn't possible!" was the surprised and
indignant response.
"It is true. He has just been at my of-
fice, where he mentioned his wish."
"And what did you tell him?"
"That I would not consult with Doctor
"Of course not! Nor will I."
"So I told him."
"He said that he should ask that young
fellow to meet us at his house at four o'clock,
and wished me to call and mention the sub-
ject to you." 0
"And you have mentioned it."
"And there it will rest. I shall not go
a step, that is certain."
"Nor I."
"Ha! ha! It makes me laugh to think
how quickly he'll send that girl to her
journey's end, if he undertakes her case
alone, which I suppose he will do of course."


"Oh, of course; and he'll make a finish
of her in double quick time."
"Well, no matter. If he loses her, it
will be all over with him; and I am as cer-
tain that he will, as that I am sitting here.
Anyhow, she cannot live over a few months,
let who will attend her."
At four o'clock, punctually, Doctor Costal
repaired to the residence of Mr. Allenson,
but no other physician came. He felt pain-
ed, and in some doubt what course to pur-
sue, when he became fully aware that two
of the principal physicians of the place had
declined to see a patient with him.
"You feel sure that they will not come?"
said he, half an hour after the appointed
time, in reply to a remark made by Mr.
"Oh, of course. I have not expected
them since Doctor Sinus's positive declara-
tion that he would not consult with you."
"He refused, then, did he?" and the co-
lour rose instantly to the face of Doctor


"To speak plainly, doctor, he did."
"I cannot but regret such unfriendly,
unprofessional conduct," said Doctor Costal,
rising and taking his hat; "but as I am a
stranger, I must submit to it in silence."
"But you are not going, doctor?" said
Mr. Allenson in surprise.
"Certainly, sir; I am only here to con-
sult with your regular physicians. As they
do not appear, of course, I have no business
to remain."
"But I wish you to examine and pre-
scribe for the case, nevertheless."
"I cannot Zo that, sir, under existing
"Why not, doctor?"
"Simply, because your daughter is the
patient of these gentlemen. They have
the case still in charge, and I could not, of
course, come in and interfere with them.
Besides, they have attended her for years,
and it is requisite, before I could begin to
prescribe with certainty, that I should know
from them how she has been affected, and



what has been the treatment pursued in her
case. The very remedies which her symp-
toms would indicate to me, may have been
repeatedly tried, and my use of them would
only cause a delay that might be seriously
prejudical to your daughter's prospect of re-
Before replying to this, the old man mused
for some minutes with a troubled coun-
tenance. He saw and felt the difficulties
in the way of the young physician, at the
same time that he was indignant at the
conduct of the others, who were old ac-
quaintances, and had received hundreds of
dollars of his money. At length he said-
"I am as much in favour of paying re-
spect to social and professional courtesies
as you can be, Doctor Costal. But, in a
case like this, it seems to me that your
course is plain-at least, I intend making
it plain. I wish. you to see my daughter
in connection with her regular physicians
-they refuse to consult with you. Very
well! What next? I will dismiss them, and


call you in. -You cannot, under such cir-
cumstances, refuse to give attendance?"
"I should feel it my duty to do the best
in my power. Still, I shall regret such
a course."
"It is the only plain course left, doctor.
Call in this evening at eight o'clock. In
the mean time, I will formally dismiss Doc-
tors Sinus and Clavicle."
"I will be in attendance," Doctor Costal
said, bowing, and then retiring.
Punctually at eight, he entered the cham-
ber of Miss Aljenson, and met her with a
cheerful, confident air, that, of itself, made
her feel a hundred per cent. better than she
had felt all day. He did not seem to be
examining her symptoms all the while that
he was making the closest observations.
He preferred not to appear to do so, but
rather to gain the confidence and good feel-
ing of his patient, and then gradually to
lead her to disclose all that was important
in regard to the disease that he saw had al-
ready made sad inroads upon her constitu-


tion. After spending an hour with her and
the. family, charming them with his con-
versation on many subjects, he made some
slight prescription, and left the invalid's
Old Mr. Allenson went down-stairs with
him, and held him some time in conversa-
"What do you really think of her case,
doctor?" he asked, in a tone, and with a
look of much anxiety.
I dare not flatter you, my dear sir, with
false hopes," the doctor replied. "Your
daughter's case, I fear, is one that will ulti-
mately baffle all remedies. Still, I think
there is no immediate danger, if she be pro-
perly cared for. Medicine will not do her
so much good as cheerful company, exer-
cise in the open air, and nourishing food.
I should think, from my observation to-
night, that she is inclined to become low-
"That is true, doctor. And yet, I have
not seen her so cheerful for weeks."



"Is she fond of riding out ?"
"Do you take her out often?"
"But rarely. The doctors said nothing
about it, and she seemed so little inclined
to go, that I have never urged her on the
"I think that it would be very useful to
her, and would, therefore, recommend you
to take her out once every day. I will call
in to-morrow, and prescribe it myself."
"Do, if you please, doctor. If you tell
her you think it will be good for her, she
will make no objection."
In the morning Doctor Costal called, as
he had promised, and entered the chamber
of Florence with a cheerful word and smile.
She had been so pleased with his conversa-
tion and manner on the evening before, that
she had already begun to look for his visit;
and when he came in, her heart bounded
with a more healthy motion, and her eye
brightened with a sincere pleasure. The
grave, and sometimes solemn faces, and si-


lent, portentous movements of her old phy-
sicians, had always depressed her spirits,
and made her feel worse,
"You look better this morning, Florence,"
Doctor Costal said, as he sat down by her
"I think I do feel a little better, doctor,"
she replied, with a smile and a look of con-
"Did you rest any better last night?"
"Oh yes, a good deal better."
Well, that's encouraging." Then, after
feeling her pulse for a moment or two, he
"What do you say to a ride out, this
"Do you think I can bear the fatigue?"
"Oh yes, of a short ride. A little fa-
tigue won't hurt you, and you will feel all
the better for some fresh air."
"I will go then, doctor."
"Very well. We must try and help na-
ture along, and see if it won't act against



the disease, without the debilitating influ-
ence of medicine."
After chatting in a cheerful strain for
half an hour, Doctor Costal returned to his
Pursuant to his advice, Florence Allen-
son rode out, and found herself much better
in consequence. Under the doctor's direc-
tion, she went out in the carriage every
day, and, at the end of the week, walked
for a little while, which she had not done
for months.
In a town like that of M- .such an
event could not take place without its be-
coming known in almost every family.
The four doctors found themselves inquired
of, concerning this wonderful change, at
every turn, much to their chagrin and an-
noyance. But they solemnly pronounced
it as their opinion that Doctar Costal was
giving Miss Allenson some stimulating
draught, that was producing a mere tempo-
rary excitement, which would wear out the
remaining strength of her system, and carry


her suddenly to the grave. This opinion
was, of course, received by numbers, and
over many a tea table the matter was dis-
cussed, with remarks of wonder att the
strange folly of Mr. Allenson, in trusting
the life of Florence to a mere young adven-
turer like Doctor Costal.
But, in spite of all this, Florence continu-
ed to gain strength under her new treat-
ment; and the consequence was, that not
only Doctor Costal, but his young, intelli-
gent, and lovely wife, received many calls
from the first families in the village. He
was becoming popular for professional skill,
and she admired and beloved for her truly
ladylike manners, combined with intelli-
gence and moral worth, that could not be
Finding that secret detraction did no-
thing toward destroying the rapidly ad-
vancing reputation of Doctor Costal, the
four physicians determined to break him
down by exposing him to the public ridi-
cule of all the influential people in the vil-


lage. They had a kind of Lyceum, in which,
during the winter months, the four physi-
cians of the town gave lectures on various
subjects connected with physiology and
medicine, assisted by several literary gentle-
men, who varied the exercises by introduc-
ing more general topics.
As the season approached for opening
the course of lectures, the four doctors made
some advances toward the young physi-
cian, and finally asked him if he would not
give a few lectures during the winter. To
this he readily consented.
"On what subject, doctor?" was next
"I have some beautiful models of the
ear and eye, which were imported from
France. If it will be agreeable, I will give
a few lectures on these organs, illustrating
them by reference to my models."
This was agreed to, and the opening lec-
ture of the course was announced to be given
by Doctor Costal. But the subject was
not named, although it was understood



that it was to be the anatomy of the eye.
His models were sent over to the Lyceum,
and at the appointed hour Doctor Costal
attended there, and found a crowded audi-
ence. Among the rest was Florence Allen-
son, looking better than she had looked for
years. A table stood on the elevation from
which the lecture was to be given, and his
models, as he supposed, were upon it, con-
cealed from view by a white cloth.
At the hour, Doctor Costal arose, and, be-
fore announcing his subject, removed the
cloth from the table, revealing, not his
beautiful models--but a huge frog!
This unexpected appariti'oa took the
young doctor, of course, by surprise. He
saw in an instant its true meaning-and
on the instant determined to give those
who expected thus to mortify and injure
him in the eyes of the whole town, a sig-
nal defeat. The surprise he felt, and the
rapid mental process that was going on,
were not apparent to the audience, most of
whom, though disposed to smile at the great



frog that lay streteed out upon the table,
supposed that of"course all was right. A
few, however, had been made acquainted
with the subject of the intended lecture,
and had come prepared to see the doctor's
magnified models of the eye, and to hear a
lucid exposition of its anatomical structure
and functions. These were, of course, dis-
appointed, and indignant at the trick, which
they readily comprehended. As for the
four doctors, they looked on with an effort
to seem grave, but sundry restless motions
and twitches of the muscles of the face
showed therif to be exceedingly amused at
the smartness of their trick. After a brief
pause, the lecturer said-
"I did intend to occupy your attention,
this evening, with a brief description of one
of the most delicate and wonderful organs
of the human body, and to have displayed
before you some exquisite models of that
organ, so as to render my descriptions per-
fectly clear to you. But as the directors
of this institution have thought it best to



substitute the animal before you for my
models, I am induced to change my sub-
ject to one which I think will interest you
even more than the attractive one I had
"The physiologist, who is in love with
his subject, finds a wide field for inteest-
ing investigation in comparative anatomy,
or that branch of anatomy which considers
the difference between the structure and
functions of organs in man and the infe-
rior animals. And, to a portion of this
subject, I will call your attention this eve-
ning, viz., that which has reference to re-
spiration and the respiratory organs. The
order of my subject will be to trace these
organs from thqir feeblest development, as
it is first distinctly perceived in insects and
worms, up, through fishes, amphibious ani-
mals, birds, and beasts, to its highest per-
fection in man. The curious breathing-
apparatus of amphibious animals will occu-
py the main portion of the lecture, as I can
make that much clearer and more interest-



ing to you by the aid of the animal with
which I have been kindly supplied."
With this introduction, Doctor Costal
commenced his lecture, and then proceeded
in a calm, lucid manner, that showed him
to be entire master of the subject under
consideration, to open to the minds of his
audience a little world of delightful know-
ledge. This was done in such a familiar
manner, and without the least apparent ef-
fort at display, that every one was charmed
with the man as well as with the subject.
Even the four doctors forgot their chagrin
and envy in the absorbing interest which
he threw around his theme.
When he closed his lecture, and sat down,
he was repeatedly cheered and even the
clique of village doctors joined in the gene-
ral praise by coming forward and shaking
him warmly by the hand. They saw clear-
ly that they had mistaken their man, and
that, in their efforts to break him down,
they were destroying themselves as fast as



After that, no one of them dreamed of
refusing to consult with Doctor Costal, who
magnanimously forgave them for the trick
they had attempted to play upon him, as
he could well afford to do. Florence Al-
lenson lived three years under his judicious
treatment, when nature could bear up no
longer against the inroads of a fatal disease,
and she sank quietly to rest.
Five years residence in that beautiful
village sufficed to give Doctor Costal a few
thousand dollars above his expenses, and
with this sum, as a means of support until
he can become known, he has removed to
New York, where, we doubt not, that in a
few years he will rise to eminence in his
profession. H' four medical friends again
enjoy a monopo y of the practice of the vil-
lage, right glad to find themselves once
more freed from such kind of competition as
that offered by Doctor Costal. But it is
very certain that they will never forget his
lecture on the frog, nor the useful lason
which it taught them.



A POOR man, named James Gray, lived
many years ago near a place in
New York, called New Windsor. He had
a wife and two children; one a little girl
ten years old, and the other a boy named
James, who was but five years of age.
And he loved them all Iry much. Mr.
Gray was a miller, and "tended" mill for a
man named Harding.
This Harding was one of those men who
care only for themselves. He was a lover
of money, and scrupled not to obtain it in
any way not forbidden by law. As Mr.
Gray was industrious and faithful, his em-




Page 109.



ployer paid him his wages, and was glad
to have him work in his mill.
This mill was always kept running on
the Sabbath, and the owner often tried to
get Mr. Gray to work on that day. But
the latter told him that he could not break
the commandment requiring him to reve-
rence the Sabbath-day. This reply usually
irritated Harding, and sometimes he would
ridicule Gray for being religious, and some-
times get angry and threaten to discharge
him. But nothing moved the poor man'
from his integrity of purpose.
It so happened, at last, that the head
miller, who had always run the mill on
Sunday, was taken sick, and there was no
one but Gray to keep it going. Late on
Saturday night, Harding came into the
mill, and said to him-
James, you will have to run the mill
"Indeed, Mr. Harding," he replied, "I
cannot do it."



Yes, but you must 1" And Mr. Harding
spoke in a positive, angry tone.
If I did not think it wrong, Mr. Hard-
ing, I"
I don't want to hear any of your ex-
cuses," returned the employer, still more
angrily. "You have got to run the mill
to-morrow, or be discharged; one or the
other. I won't have any man about me
who has so little regard for my interest."
"But, Mr. Harding"-
"I won't hear a word from you, James
Gray! Take your choice. Work to-morrow,
or leave my employment !" And so saying,
he turned angrily away, and left the mill.
It was then eleven o'clock at night, and
by twelve the morning of the Sabbath com-
menced. Mr. Gray felt very much troubled
in mind, when he thought of his wife and
dear little ones, but he looked up in silent
confidence for direction. The hour that
passed from the departure of his angry
employer, until twelve o'clock, he spent in
going through the mill, and seeing that

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