Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Back Cover

Group Title: Shades of character ;, 1
Title: The holiday week, and other sketches
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002055/00001
 Material Information
Title: The holiday week, and other sketches being the first series of "Shades of character"
Series Title: Shades of character
Physical Description: 229 p. : ill. ; 17 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Sargant, J. A ( Jane Alice )
General Protestant Episcopal Sunday School Union ( Publisher )
Pudney & Russell ( Printer )
Publisher: General Prot. Episcopal Sunday School Union
Place of Publication: New York
Manufacturer: Pudney & Russell
Publication Date: 1851
Subject: Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1851   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1851
Genre: Embossed cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
Statement of Responsibility: by the author of "Charlie Burton".
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002055
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002237055
oclc - 24194053
notis - ALH7535
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front page 1
        Front page 2
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Table of Contents
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Full Text


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W (h t)tjr Ikrtclts.












THE HOLIDAY WEEK, ........ 5
THE BIRD'S NEBT, ...... ..... 29
MAY DAY, . . . 61
THE WRECK, . ..... 67
CONSCIENCE, .......... 75
Lucy GOODWIN, .. ....... ... 87
JOE COLLINS, . . .. 95
THE CRUOTCH, ............. 128
WHAT O'CLOCK Is IT? . . ... 145



THE FICKLE GIRL, ... ........ 165
MrSS PERT, .. . . . 174




jit ^nlitat Ci- ; or, 4Mr am aurtr
of ltasr.

"HURRA! hurra 1" exclaimed Edward
Winter, rushing into the parlour to his
mother, and throwing up his cap to the
ceiling, "Hurra! the Queen for ever!
You may well look, mamma; would


you believe it? the Queen has got us a
week's holiday I" and he began to sing
a verse of the national anthem.
"It is very kind, indeed, of her,"
returned his mother.
"Kind I" repeated Edward, "I believe it
is kind; all the boys think so, for we were
tired to death of the tasks the Doctor
has given us. And now, mamma, may I
spend the week as I like? I have laid out
a plan for every day, and I am determined
on enjoying myself-may I, mamma?"
Mrs. Winter had been revolving the
request in her own mind. "Yes, Ed-
ward," replied she, I give my consent."
"Thank you, mamma; thank you,"
cried Edward, kissing her. "Hurra I
the Queen for ever 1"
But, stay;" said Mrs. Winter. I, also,
have a request to make-I-"




"Ask me any thing you like;" quickly
interrupted Edward, "I will do it--only
I am determined this week to take my
"You shall do as you wish," replied
his mother; "but take care, my dear
boy; pleasure is very apt to fly the faster
the more eagerly we pursue it; and few
seek it in the paths in which it is most
likely to be found. My request is simply
this-that you will tell me each night
how your expectations have been an-
"Is that all ?" said Edward. "I will
readily promise you that; for I am sure
I shall only have one answer to make-
'Capitally, mamma; I have nothing to
wish for'-there it is, ready cut and dried."
Mrs. Winter smiled, and the conversa-
tion ended.

_ __





Monday came, for the foregoing dia-
logue passed on the previous Saturday.
"Saddle my pony," exclaimed Edward
to the servant. "Mamma, you must not
expect me till you see me. Now, my
pretty fellow," said he, as he sprang
upon the pony's back, "we'll have a
thorough day's enjoyment." He nodded to
his mother, and was soon out of sight.
"Well, mamma," said he, throwing
himself on the sofa, when he returned;
"I have had riding enough to-day. I
never was on horseback so many hours
before. Tiny and I have been half over
the country."
"I hope you enjoyed yourself," said
Mrs. Winter.
"Excessively," answered he. "I could
not possibly have enjoyed myself more:
but I am very tired. I should like to


go to bed as soon as tea is over. May
I, mamma?"
"Certainly," was the reply, and Ed-
ward, availing himself of the permission,
was in bed and asleep long before his
usual hour.
Morning beheld him with bright eyes
and looks of animation and pleasure.
"I am going with my cousins a fishing,
marlma;" said Edward, "you have no
objection to it, have you?"
'You are to do as you please," replied
she. I am not to interfere with your
pursuits this week, you know."
Edward smiled, and thanked her. The
breakfast was quickly dispatched; the
tackle was already prepared; hooks,
worms, flies, and paste, all in order,
and, with his rod in his hand, he de-



The day was fine, the sport excellent.
" Look, mamma, look 1" cried he, display-
ing the bag of fish, which had been slung
over his shoulder; here is a fine dish
of fish for you to-morrow, and such a
treat for puss, besides, as I think never
fell to her lot before."
"Are you going with your cousins
again to-morrow?" asked Mrs. Winter,
"for I think I heard them ask you:'
"They did," replied Edward; "they
never know when to be tired of fishing-
that's not my case; standing so many
hours, and trying to throw a trolling-rod,
is no joke, I can tell you, mamma," and
he suppressed a yawn. "I don't wish
for any tea; if you please, I will go to
my own room at once."
"You don't repent going with your
cousins, I hope?" said Mrs. Winter.



"Oh! no; not at all," replied he. "I
have passed a delightful day, but-good
night, mamma, I will tell you more to-
Before Mrs. Winter had left her room
the next morning, Edward tapped at her
door. "May I come in, mamma?" said
he. "I have something very particular
to say to you." Permission was instantly
given, and Edward, with eyes sparkling
with pleasure, and holding a letter in
his hand, entered.
"Only think, mamma," cried he; "is
it not kind of uncle George? He has
written me this note to say, that if you
will allow me, he will take me to the
grand Review that is to take place in
the Park to-day. You will allow me
to go with him, will you not?"
"Most willingly," replied his mother;

-1 __ ~~ ___~_ ~_ -


"here, take the keys, and begin to make
breakfast. I will follow you almost
"No, thank you," said Edward; "I
don't care for my breakfast. I shall take
a piece of bread, and be gone directly;
for my uncle says I must not lose a mo-
A review is certainly a grand and an
exciting spectacle; and so Edward felt
it. The music, the troops, the general
officers, the splendid uniforms, glittering
arms, and beautiful horses, the volleys
of musketry, and the boom of cannon,
the vast concourse of people, the elegant
equipages, gay dresses, and animated
countenances that everywhere met his
eye, caused a degree of exhilaration more
exhausting to his frame than could have
followed any bodily exertion. "I only


wanted you, mamma," said he, as he
finished the relation of all that he had
seen, and of the pleasure he had expe-
rienced; "and never should I have passed
such a delightful day."
Suppose, then, I were to say I know
of something similar to the Review which
is to take place to-morrow, at -," said
Mrs. Winter, "will you go with me?"
"Certainly, mamma, if you wish it,"
replied he.
"Then you do not desire it on your
own account?" asked his mother. "To
tell the truth," said he, "I never met
with any thing that tired me so much
as this Review has done. In short, it is
a beautiful sight for one day, but-"
"You had rather go to the fair to-
morrow," said Mrs. Winter, finishing the
sentence for him.



Edward smiled, "Perhaps I would, if
you will go with me."-
This Mrs. Winter, however, declined;
and Edward, with his cousins, set off
at an early hour for the village whew
the fair was to be held. They had plenty
of fun, to use his own expression; thy
saw every thing that was to be seed,
and returned in high spirits.
"But what has brought you home
so soon?" inquired Mrs. Winter, "I
did not expect you for some hours
yet; I am afraid you did not find
so much amusement as you anticipa-
"0 yes, I did," replied Edward, "I
enjoyed myself very much for the time;
but a fair is but a vulgar thing after
all, and one cannot laugh at nothing
for ever, you know. I am very glad that


we went; but I shall not regret it if I
never see a fair again."
Next morning, at breakfast, Mrs. Win-
ter expressed a fear that he must have
exhausted his stock of anticipated pleas-
ure; but he assured her that he had
not. "To-day," said he, "there is to
be a grand cricket match in Mr. Gor-
don's grounds: every body is going. It
is to be a very splendid thing altogether;
and I am so fond of cricket, that I could
never be tired either of playing, or see-
ing others play at it."
Whatever might have been Edward's
expectations, or even those of others
more experienced in such matters than
himself, all fell short of the reality. It
was, indeed, as he had said, a very splen-
did thing. Several matches were played
in the very best style, and with such
I 15


equal skill on each side, that the greatest
interest was excited. Edward was as
active as he was permitted to be, nor
did he leave the ground without having
played a game himself, to the admira-
tion of some of the best judges present.
Indeed, it was a proud day for him, for
the youth against whom he played had,
hitherto, been always the conqueror.
This time Edward displayed a skill so
superior to his antagonist, that the vic-
tory remained on his side. It was with
no small degree of exultation that he
related to his mother all that had passed.
She listened to him with complacency,
neither interrupting the repetition of
every minute particular, nor attempting
to check the pride which he evidently
It was now Saturday morning.-


"Heigho!" exclaimed Edward, as he
dressed himself, "this is the last day
of my holidays; and now how shall I
spend it?" He revolved many schemes
in his mind, but none seemed to suit
his taste exactly, and in this uncertainty
he sat down to breakfast. His mother,
however, soon decided the point, and
fixed in the most agreeable manner his
"Edward," said she, "I do not know
what your plans are; but if you have
made no engagement, I have something
to offer you which I am sure will give
you pleasure. Here is an invitation from
Mrs. Norcott for you to spend the day
at the hall. It is George's birth-day;
and there is to be an archery party, a
pony race, fireworks, and, in short, I
cannot tell you what besides."
B 17




That's quite enough, mamma I" cried
Edward, "0 how delightful! I had
rather go to the hall than to any other
place in the world. I don't wish for
any more breakfast, thank you. I sup-
pose the sooner I go the better, for I
should not like them to wait for me."
Mrs. Winter smiled, but offered no
opposition to his wishes. The pony was
instantly saddled. His common suit was
quickly exchanged for his best clothes;
and as he rode out of the yard with
his bright and glowing face, nodding
pleasantly to his mother in token of
good bye, she thought, and thought
justly too, that few boys could make a
better appearance.
The pony seemed fully to understand
his master's impatience, for he required
neither whip nor spur to urge him to



greater speed. The hall was in sight,
and Edward even fancied he heard the
voices of the young Norcotts. "Come,
Tiny," said he, shaking the rein, "gallop
along, there's a good boy;" and Tiny
was obeying, when, as they turned the
angle of the road, a horse at full speed
came nearly in contact with him, and at
the same time a piercing shriek rang on
his ear. He had nearly lost his seat, but
being a good rider he quickly recovered
himself and looked around to see what
accident had occurred. Stretched on the
ground at a little distance he perceived
a woman with an infant in her arms.
Hastening to her, he instantly dismount-
ed, when to his great distress he saw
both mother and infant covered with
"I fear you are very much hurt,"



said he, "what can I do for you?"
then seeing a cut upon her forehead,
from which the blood flowed, he took
his pocket handkerchief and endeavour-
ed to staunch it.
"The baby is not hurt, I hope," sigh-
ed the poor woman. "This blood is
mine. I hardly know what is the mat-
ter with me. I am very faint."
Edward ran to the stream which was
near them, and filling his hands with
water, he sprinkled it in her face. This
revived her; but, alarmed at her condi-
tion, he looked around in the hope of
obtaining assistance. Perceiving a cot-
tage not far from them, he ran to it,
told his tale, and begged the good
woman, who was the only person with-
in, to return with him. This was imme-
diately done. Finding that the stranger


had not sustained any serious injury that
disabled her from walking, Mrs. Jones
proposed that she should try, with her
aid, to reach her cottage. The poor
creature thankfully accepted the offer.
Edward assisted her to rise; then taking
up the baby, "I'll carry this," he ex-
claimed, and bidding his pony, who was
as docile as a dog, to follow him, he
walked by their side, patting the infant
which had begun again to cry. When
they had reached the house, Mrs. Jones
expressed a fear that the stranger was
more hurt than she at first slipposed,
for that the cut on her head was evi-
dently very deep.
"Then I will instantly ride back,"
said Edward, "and fetch Mr. Clarke;"
and without waiting for another word
he jumped upon his pony, and faster

___ _



than they had come, he rode to the
town. Mr. Clarke was at home, and in
a few minutes was on his road to Mrs.
Jones' cottage, while Edward trotted to
his own home. Mrs. Winter felt not a
little alarmed at thus unexpectedly see-
ing him, and hastened into the yard to
speak to him. Her fears were quickly
allayed. And though Edward very mod-
estly related the circumstance, she saw,
with pleasure, that he had acted as she
could have wished.
"I have been thinking, mamma," said
Edward as he finished his story, "that
the poor woman will want many things
that Mrs. Jones has not to give her:
can't I take her whatever you think
necessary? and that dear little baby, it
is such a pretty thing, it will want


"They shall have all they require,"
said Mrs. Winter, and I will myself go
and see her; but do you recollect that
it is already getting late, and that you
will see nothing of the archery party?"
Edward was thoughtful for a few in-
stants, and a shade overspread his coun-
tenance; but almost immediately it was
dispersed, and in a tone of unalloyed
cheerfulness he exclaimed:
"Would you believe it, mamma? I
really had not once thought of the hall
and what is going on there till you
put me in mind of it. I should certain-
ly have liked to be one of the archery
party; but, no matter. Let me have the
things for the poor woman; I will take
them at all events: and, as I find I
have time or not, I will either go on to
the hall, or return to you. But did you



not say you would go to the cottage
Mrs. Winter repeated her intention,
adding, that she would walk there in
the cool of the evening. Edward smiled
in satisfaction, as it were of his own
thoughts; then taking the packet his
mother gave him, he again mounted
his pony and trotted gaily away.
"Then you could not go to the hall,"
said Mrs. Winter, seeing him return
sooner than she expected: "I am sorry
for that."
You need not be sorry, dear mamma,"
replied Edward, "I have only made an
exchange of one pleasure for another.
Mrs. Jones was very thankful for what
you sent her, and will be much obliged
to you if you will take the trouble to
go there; and, mamma, I shall go with



you. I have been to the hall and made
my apologies."
"And saw nothing of the archery
party?" said Mrs. Winter.
"I believe it was all over," replied
he; "but to tell the truth I rather
avoided learning any thing about it,
for fear-"
"For fear of what?" said his mother,
for he hesitated.
For fear," murmured he, coming be-
hind her, and laying his cheek to hers,
"I should act like a boy, and not a
Mrs. Winter said nothing, but tender-
ly kissed him. The evening came, and
mother and son set off on their walk
to the cottage. Every thing concurred
to make it agreeable: the way seemed
as nothing, and the welcome they re-




ceived would have more than repaid
their fatigue, even if they had felt any.
Edward was sure the baby knew him
again; while the pleasure the mother
evinced at seeing him, and the grateful
praises she bestowed on him to his own
dear parent, gave him a sensation it
would have been difficult for him to
"Well, mamma," said Edward, when
they had returned, "my week's holiday
is over."
And has it answered your expecta-
tion ?" inquired she.
He rose from his seat, stood as near
his mother as possible, and looking arch-
ly at hef, said, "You always know how
to read one's thoughts, so I shan't ex-
actly answer your question; but"-he
paused, and his features became more


serious. "Oh! what a happy day has
this been to mel I have made a discov-
ery. I have found out the true source
of pleasure. I have, certainly, enjoyed
myself every day, but it was enjoyment
only while it lasted. Every evening I
felt there was something wanting. I
fancied this might be because I was
tired; but the truth is clear to me
"And what was the something want-
ing, my dear boy ?" asked Mrs. Winter,
smiling affectionately on him.
"Can't you guess, mamma?" replied
he, "I almost suspect you do. It was
the feeling that I had been useful to
others. All the gratification of the
previous days were selfish, and ended
as they began, in self, and self alone.
The little I have done for that poor




woman and her pretty baby fills me with
real delight; the victory I obtained over
myself, in returning immediately from
the hall to accompany you to the cot-
tage, is worth twenty such triumphs as
I obtained on the cricket-ground. Oh
yes! I feel I could not only live such
a day over again, but could wish the
day to last for ever."

As Thomas Knox and William White
were one day crossing the meadow on
their way to school at Westbrook, a vil-
lage three miles from their own home,
they saw a bird fly suddenly out of the
"Look, look," cried Tom, "did you
see that linnet? I dare say there is a
nest somewhere near; let's go and see
if we can find it."
They set down their basket, which
contained their dinner, and began their
search. In a few minutes they discov-


16 VrWs %tot*




ered a nest with two young birds in
it, and immediately possessed themselves
of the prize.
"Ah! ah!" said William, laughing,
applying his finger first to the beak of
one and then of the other, "I dare
say you think you are going to have
a nice breakfast: but you are mistaken.
See, Tom, how they open their mouths
when I touch them-the silly, little
What shall we do with them ?" said
Tom, "they have no feathers, and will
be sure to die."
"Then let's kill them at once," re-
turned William; and, so saying, he
despatched the little creatures without
thought or pity.
They now returned to the place
where they had left their basket, when,






to their great vexation, they found it
had been overturned and emptied of
its contents. "Who can have done
this ?" exclaimed Tom. "Here's a pretty
job, indeed: we shall have nothing to
eat all day." At the same moment he
beheld a dog with a piece of meat in
his mouth, making his way through a
gap in the hedge. Tom sprang after
him, and, with a bit of broken bough
which he had snatched up in his way,
he was about to give a violent blow
to the animal.
"Stop," said a stranger, arresting his
arm: "before you beat my dog, let me
know what he has done to offend you."
"He has eaten our dinner, like a
thief that he is," cried William, who,
with the nest in his hand, had now
joined them.



That is a harsh word," returned the
owner of the dog, "and be sure be-
fore you bestow it on another you do
not deserve it yourself. What's that
you have got in your hand, and how
did you come by it?"
"Why, it's only a bird's nest," replied
William, looking rather confused.
"And who gave you a right to take
it?" asked the other.
"Nobody," returned William.
"Then you have taken what did not
belong to you," said the stranger, "and
are no better than my dog. There is
this difference, however, between you
and him; he carried off the contents
of your basket, which you had negli-
gently left in his way, to satisfy his
hunger, for we have walked many miles
this morning without having eaten any



thing; while you have robbed a poor
bird of her home and young ones, through
mere wantonness and cruelty. I heard
all that passed between you as I stood
on the other side of the hedge, and was
by no means sorry when I saw Rover
at your basket-but look that way."
The boys did as he desired them.
A bird with an insect in its bill had
approached the hedge near them. Her
wings fluttered with joy; but unhappily
the spoiler had been to her nest in her
absence, and had borne off her young.
The instant she discovered her loss, her
pinions fell, the morsel she held in her
bill dropped to the ground, a shrill note
of pain followed, and hopping restless-
ly from twig to twig she showed both
by her movements and cry the distress
she was enduring.
c 33



"And was it to gratify the thought-
less cruelty of boys like yourselves," said
the stranger, "that that poor bird made
her nest so carefully and skilfully, and
that she deprived herself of -the food
she needed, and refused herself the lib-
erty so natural to her? Well, indeed,
may you appear ashamed."-For the
boys held down their heads, and stood
motionless before him.
"I'm sure," said Tom, in a low voice,
"if I had thought I should have given
the poor bird such pain, I would not
have touched her nest."
"All boys do it," said William; "it
comes natural to one to go bird's nest-
ing. We never meant to distress the
old bird."
"I dare say not," returned the stran-
ger; "but distress of any kind is not



the less felt by those on whom we in-
flict it, because we did not intend to
give it. Want of thought for the com-
fort of others in our gratification is
selfishness in ourselves, and the very
reverse of doing to others as we would
wish to be done by."
"I am very sorry," said William,
looking at the birds as they lay dead
in the nest.
"Then let me hope," replied the stran-
ger, "that you will never be guilty of
the same fault again; we can prove
our sorrow for past errors only by not
repeating them." So saying, he passed
on, and the two boys hurried to school
as fast as they could.
At dinner time they felt very hungry.
They made no complaint, however,
though they could not help looking



at their empty basket with some degree
of regret.
"Well," said Tom, as they withdrew
from the rest of their companions who
were eating their meal together, "it is*
no more than we deserve; I don't care
about myself, I shall have a good sup-
per when I get home, and a comfortable
bed to lie upon afterwards; but the
poor bird! I can't forget her. She has
no nest now, and no young ones to
keep warm and feed; and when we
are happy she will be sad."
"Don't say another word, Tom," ex-
claimed William, "we can't help it now:
but I'll never rob another nest so long
as I live."



-- -- --


4f titti (girl mn rmnuh not th jetr

JANE WILSON was a little girl who
had such a habit of talking, that wheth-
er she had any thing worth saying to
another or not, she could never hold
her tongue. This made her very trou-


blesome to those who sat near her at
school; so much so, that though she
was really a good-tempered and amiable
child, she was generally avoided.
One day she happened to be placed
on the same form with Ann Smith, and
close to her. The latter, though young-
er than herself, was much higher in the
class, and was remarkable for being a
very industrious, quiet girl. Jane soon
began to indulge in her old habit of
"Dear me! what bad cotton mine is,"
exclaimed she; "is yours better, Ann?
I buy mine at Mr. Norton's: where do
you get yours? I dare say at Mr. War-
ner's, don't you? And my needle is so
thick and clumsy that I can hardly
work with it. Have you one to lend
me? Has your little brother got over


the measles? I have not had them yet:
have you?"
Ann made no reply, nor indeed did
Jane give her an opportunity had she
been so disposed. Without any pause
she continued; "I wonder what o'clock
it is! I'll just measure how much of
my seam I've done-one finger, two
fingers, three fingers, four-there now,
my cotton is broken ; and there go my
scissors and thimble on the ground.
How tiresome!" She picked up the
scattered articles, and, having again
seated herself, resumed her incessant
talking. "Now, we are all right again,
Ann. How many fingers can you do in
a quarter of an hour ?"
She now fairly waited for a reply.
"I don't know," said Ann; "I never



"Well, I am surprised;" cried Jane.
"And why not?"
Because it is a loss of time," re-
plied Ann. "I always work as fast as I
can, and never think so much of what
I have done as of what I have to do."
"And a very good way too," said
Jane, "I must say that; but I should
be tired to death if I did not, now
and then, look how I was getting on.
I hope it will be a fine evening: do
not you?"
"Pray, Jane," said Ann, entreatingly,
"hold your tongue; you tire me to
death with talking, as you do, about
But Jane was not to be thus easily
checked. She continued to talk without
ceasing, till having exhausted the pa-
tience of her companions on each side,


they glided unperceived by her to an-
other form.
"Dear me," said she, murmuring to
herself, as she walked down the school-
room to obey her mistress's summons to
show her work, "how odd it is that
I should not have seen them go!"
Mrs. Truman took the shirt, and,
whilst she was preparing some work for
another girl, told Jane she might look
out of the window, which commanded a
pretty prospect of the surrounding coun-
try, and especially of the meadow ad-
joining the school-house. She seemed to
be much amused, and her lips still
moved, though out of respect to her
mistress she did not speak aloud.
"Well, what do you see?" asked
Mrs. Truman.
"O! such a droll sight," replied Jane,




-her tongue gladly set at liberty,-
" there is a magpie standing on a
sheep's back, chattering as earnestly as
if he thought the whole flock wished to
hear him. Now he bends his head
down as if he expected the sheep to an-
swer him; now he leans on one side as
if he was deaf, and was trying to catch
what was said; now he stretches out
his neck and prates faster than ever
though none of them notice him. How
silly he looks !"-And Jane laughed
"Jane," said her mistress, fixing her
eyes significantly upon her, "don't you
know any one who is like that silly
magpie; who, though she has nothing
worth repeating, and no one is desirous
of listening to her, still chatters on, and
heeds no rebuff?"

I .-


Jane could not mistake Mrs. Truman's
meaning. She coloured very deeply,
and tears came into her eyes. "I know
whom you mean, ma'am," said she, in a
low voice. "How foolish I have been!"
She was silent a few moments, and mor-
tification was marked on her features.
The cloud, however, quickly passed
away, and in a more lively tone she add-
ed: "If I am like the magpie, I'm sure
Ann Smith is like the linnet we were
looking at in the garden a little while
ago. It had scarcely began its nest then,
and now it has worked so fast, and
minded its own business so quietly, it is
nearly finished: I am determined to
copy Ann for the future."
Mrs. Truman looked at her with an
approving smile, and as she returned her
work to her, she said, "I am glad the



lesson is not lost upon you: chattering
as you do, or, as I hope I may say, as
you have done, is a very foolish and a
very improper habit; making us not
only ridiculous in the eyes of others, but
troublesome and disagreeable. You are,
however, a good girl to acknowledge
your error, and still more to do justice
to the merits of another. Do, as you
say; copy Ann, and give me cause to
be equally pleased with you both."
Jane kept her determination, though
not without difficulty. Evil habits of
any kind are not easily got rid of; but
she took a great deal of pains to break
herself of the failing, and succeeded en-
tirely. She now talks only when she
has something worth saying, and never
measures how many fingers' length she
can sew in a quarter of an hour; but


contents herself with getting to the end
of the seam as quickly as she can. The
magpie, however, still follows his cus-
tom; and her companions have remark-
ed, that Jane never seems to enter into
their fun when they observe him, and
generally turns her head aside, with a
look which they cannot comprehend,
but which has evidently a meaning well
understood by herself.


_ ___

How I wish it was always summer !"
exclaimed little Amy Willis; don't you,
dear father?"
"' No, Amy," said he; I do not indeed."
"Well, I am surprised that you don't,"
cried she; "the evenings are so cool,
and the flowers smell so sweet, and
every thing looks so beautiful And then
it is so charming to eat one's supper out
of doors, and gooseberry fool is so very
nice. O! I am sure I should like it al-
ways to be summer."
Mr. Willis made no further observa-
tion, but waited till a better opportunity
presented of correcting her judgment.

64t At(q nf WisbfS #


Autumn came, and Amy thought no
more of summer. She rambled among
the corn-fields, joined in the cries of
harvest-home, and enjoyed the fruits that
were then in abundance around her.
Winter succeeded, but Amy played at
snowball, slid on the ice with compan-
ions as merry as herself, and never once
lamented the enjoyments of summer or
And now spring returned; the hedges
were white with blossoms, and cowslips
and daisies covered the meadows.
"Look, father, look!" exclaimed Amy,
displaying her bonnet, which she had
decorated with the flowers she had gath-
ered. "Are they not pretty? 0! I
should never be tired of spring. I wish
it would last for ever."
"Ah, Amy !" said her father, "happy



it is for you that there is a good and
wise God, who rules the seasons as He
sees fit, and whose purposes are not to be
moved by our fancies. It is not very
long since you wished it could always
be summer; had your desire been grant-
ed, you would have lost the enjoyments
of autumn, the pastimes of winter, and
the gay flowers of spring."
Amy coloured, and, laying her head
on her father's arm, she said--"How
silly I have been! I see it now."
"Learn, then," replied he, returning
her caress, "to be content with that
which the Almighty gives you. He only
knows, in all things, what is best for
us; and never does He show his mercy
more clearly than when He denies the
foolish wishes we are all, both young
and old, too apt to form."

As Mrs. Birch and her niece were
ofie fine summer's evening taking their
usual walk, they were tempted by the
beauty of the weather to extend it to
a greater distance than they were accus-
D 49


tomed. Feeling fatigued, they proposed
asking permission to rest themselves in
a cottage which they perceived near
them; and, with this intention, turning
from the road, they entered the path
that led to it.
The neat little dwelling stood in the
midst of a small but well-stocked gar-
den, surrounded by a hawthorn and
privet hedge. Directly in front of it
was a piece of greensward newly mown;
upon which, near the door, was seated
a group which at once attracted the
admiration of the ladies. Three healthy,
intelligent-looking girls, one apparently
about twelve years of age, the next
nine, and the other still younger, were
sitting on a low bench together; the
eldest evidently teaching one of her sis-
ters to read, and the other to work. A



child of two years old was placed at
their feet, and was amusing herself with
pulling the flowers that grew within
her reach; and on the side opposite
to her a fine boy lay reclining on the
ground, eating his supper of bread and
milk, the head of his dog resting on
his knee with upward glance, watching
each motion of his master's hand. All
were too much occupied to perceive the
approach of the strangers, who now
paused to observe them.
What a pretty book this is said the
youngest girl, whose name was Peggy:
"may I read a little more, Jane?"
"IAnd welcome," replied her sister,
"we will not go into the house till
Ned has finished his supper." The
boy nodded his head in token of his

_ __ __ __


Peggy raised the book, and, sitting
very upright, read aloud: "Every thing
we see was made by a wise and good
God, and either cheers our hearts by its
usefulness, or delights our eyes by its
beauty. The corn waves in the fields,
the grass covers the earth, the stately
tree spreads its wide branches as a shel-
ter to man and beast, and the humble
daisy decks the green,-"
"Daisy, daisy," cried the infant, holding
up one in her hand, her attention caught
by the sound of the familiar word.
"Hush, hush, Betsy," said the boy,
"be still; Peggy is reading."
In an instant she was quiet, but,
creeping closer to her brother, she laid
her curly head upon the dog's shaggy
side, who by a gentle movement of his
tail bade her welcome.


Peggy continued-" All, all is for man I
Shall we not magnify the Lord then for
his goodness towards us? Shall not chil-
dren, as well as saints and angels, join
in adoring the great Creator? Shall not
the mouth of sucklings utter His praise?
Oh! let us rejoice in His holy name, and
sing of Him all the days of our life."
"Jane," said the other little girl soft-
ly, "may I read a little now?" and so
saying, she gave the handkerchief she
was hemming to her sister.
"You have done your task very neat-
ly," said Jane, kissing her, "and very
quickly too." Peggy crept closer to her,
"And won't you kiss me too ?" said she.
"That I will," replied Jane warmly.
"You are both very good girls."
And who taught us to read and
work?" exclaimed both in a breath.


" You, Jane, you; and we can never
thank you or love you enough."
Jane smiled on both with affection.
"But if you had refused to be taught,"
said she, "or been idle and careless, all
I could have done for you would have
been little."
"How happy the evenings are now!"
cried Peggy, "and then they are so
short-only too short-and they used
to seem so long!"
"So they did," said Mary: I'm sure I
can't think how it is; but certainly I
seem to love every body better than I
did, and every body seems kind to me."
"I know why," exclaimed Peggy,-
"because we have always something to
employ us, something to look forward
to, and that leaves us no time to be
fretful or cross."



"Nor any wish to be so, either, I
hope," replied Jane.
"Indeed I have not," said Peggy,
"but thanks to you for that too; for
who but you taught me not to give
way to my temper? I hope I shall
never be peevish and disagreeable any
more. Do you think I shall?"
"No, to be sure," answered Ned, his
spoon balanced in one hand, as he look-
ed up towards her face. "Who leaves
a thing on the road he is ashamed of,
and goes back to look for it?"
"But bad habits," said Jane, "are not
thrown aside all at once; and without
care we shall very soon fall into them
"I wish I could make a fine shirt,"
said Mary; "but I shall never do that
till I can get into the school: and I


am afraid there's no chance of that;
do you think there is, Jane?"
Jane shook her head. "Not that I
know of," replied she. "But never mind;
we are very happy now; and it is better
to be grateful for what we have, than to
sigh for what we have not."
"IThere, Trip," said Ned, "there is
a little left for you;" and so saying, he
held the bowl to the dog: "you didn't
think I had forgotten you, did you, old
boy?" He then gravely, thanked God
for his good supper, and his kind sister
for having taught him to do so.
Little Betsy now began to be uneasy.
"Come," said Jane, taking her in her
arms, "she is tired, poor little thing! We
must go into the house now; or if you
like to stay where you are, I will go and
put her to bed, and come again to you."


"Oh! do, do," cried her sisters, "make
haste-good night, Betsy," They rose
to kiss the child as they spoke, when
they perceived at the same instant the
two ladies, who now stood close to
them. Jane made a low curtsey, and,
colouring deeply, asked them modestly
if they wanted her mother.
No, my good girl," replied Mrs. Birch,
"I came merely to request permission
to sit down and rest myself; but the
pleasure I have felt in seeing you all
(and she looked kindly on each) has
taken away my fatigue.
"My mother is not come back from
market, ma'am," said Jane, "but I am
sure she will be very much pleased if
you will walk in." So saying, she led
the way into the cottage, while the
other children, on seeing the ladies ad-



dressing Jane, followed her, and imme-
diately placed chairs.
Mrs. Birch was delighted with the
cleanly appearance of all she saw, and
with the modest and proper replies that
Jane made to her questions. Finding
that she went to the School at P- ,
she inquired whether either of her sis-
ters accompanied her.
"No, ma'am," replied Peggy; "but
Jane teaches us when mother does not
want her."
"She is a good girl, then," said Mrs.
Indeed she is," exclaimed the children;
"you don't know how good she is."
But I think I can give a pretty near
guess as to the matter," said Mra. Birch,
smiling at Jane, whose cheek was dyed
with a deep blush; "and it rejoices me


to find how good a use she already
makes of the advantages she enjoys.
Such conduct carries a blessing with
it, and ensures a present and a future
reward; for God mercifully considers
himself served, when we truly and con-
scientiously serve our fellow creatures. I
should be very glad to show how much
I am pleased with this dear sister of
yours;" added she, addressing the little
girls, for Jane had been obliged to
take the baby up stairs, "and should
like to do so in the way she would like
best. Can either of you then tell me
if there is anythingthat she particularly
wishes for?"
The children looked at each other,
then at Mrs. Birch, but neither spoke;
when Ned having caught Mrs. Birch's
eye, at once exclaimed, "She would

__ _
__ _



rather get Peggy into the School, than
have anything for herself."
"Then Peggy shall go to school,"
said Mrs. Birch, "if not immediately, in
a very short time. She shall be my
little girl at the School; and this is
the request I shall make of her-to do
me credit, by following her sister's
"O, Jane," exclaimed Peggy, who had
run first to hold open the gate through
which the strangers were to pass, and
who now, with sparkling eyes and glow-
ing cheek,) for Mrs. Birch had not
only thanked her for her attention, but
had assured her with a very kind smile,
that she would not forget her,) threw
her arm fondly round her sister, "0,
Jane, if I were not as happy as I am,
how I should wish to be you!"

"COME, Fanny," cried Mary Richards,
putting her head in at the door of neigh-
bour Thompson's cottage. Come. How
late you are Don't you know this is
May-day? All the girls in the place

r .r
%\. I
I ri r


are gone to the green to throw over the
garland. And it is such a beauty; lilacs,
and tulips, and laburnums, and-"
"Hush! hush!" returned Fanny, "don't
speak so loud; I can't go with you; I
am getting mother's breakfast ready.
We have got such a dear little baby!
It was born last night: and, as nurse
can't come till to-morrow, mother says
I must do my best to wait upon her."
Fanny's countenance told plainly how
pleased she was to be made of such im-
portance; and that the nurse's absence
was no matter of regret to her. She
was trying on a clean apron as she
spoke, and now took up the tray on
which she had placed the basin of tea
she had made for her mother. "Don't
go till I come back, Mary," said she:
" I shan't be a minute; and then, if you




like, I will give you a peep at the
baby; it is such a pretty one."
"Thank you," replied Mary hastily,
"I can't stay now; they are all waiting
for me: but I will come back presently
and see it." So saying, away she trip-
ped; rejoicing in her heart that'she had
nothing to keep her away from the
Morning, noon passed,-but no Mary
came: at length, late in the evening,
she made her appearance. "Well," said
she, throwing herself into a chair, "are
you moped to death? What a stupid
day you must have had!"
"No, indeed," said Fanny, quickly,
"I never felt so happy; and as to a
stupid day, I never passed one that
seemed so short, or so pleasant."
"Indeed4" returned Mary, "that's very



odd. We have had all manner of games;
and then, to finish, we have been play-
ing at 'thread-my-needle,' till I could
run no longer. Oh! we have had such
fun! But, good-night; I must go home
now. I wish I could stay a little longer
to tell you about all our sports; but I
dare not." So saying she left the cot-
tage; not, however, briskly as in the
morning, but with a slow and evidently
weary pace.
"How tired she seems!" said Fanny,
to herself, looking after her for a min-
ute; "she may have had a great deal
of fun; and I dare say she has: but
though I have not thrown one ball over
the garland, as I hoped to do when I
helped to gather the flowers, and my
legs ache from not having sat down
hardly all day, I would not change



with her if the day could come over
And very unwise would Fanny have
been could she have done so. There
is no pleasure so great as that which
arises from a sense of having done our
duty; and no fatigue so easy to be
borne, as that which is caused by hav-
ing given relief or assistance to those
who have stood in need of our aid.






jLe : j


.- 7 .67

"IT blew a tremendous gale last
night," exclaimed Mr. Thompson to his
son William, as he entered the break-
fast-room; "I fear we shall hear of great
damage done to the shipping."

_ I


Jones has just told me," replied Wil-
liam, "that there are two brigs on the
sands near the Goodwin light; and only
think, papa, that noble vessel, which
sailed with the morning, tide yesterday,
is totally wrecked! She, too, was driven
on the sands in the course of the night;
and though it seems she succeeded in
getting off, she was so much injured
that she almost immediately afterwards
went to pieces, and nearly all on board
perished with her."
"Put on your hat," said Mr. Thomp-
son, "and we will walk to the pier;
we shall get back before your mamma
is ready for breakfast."
William instantly did as he was bid-
not that it was his usual custom to do
so; for, like many other little boys, he
was very headstrong, and too often pre-


ferred doing what he liked himself to
obeying his parents. Curiosity now
prompted obedience, and he was by his
father's side without the slightest delay.
No sooner had they reached the har-
bour than a fearful sight presented itself
The sea was still violently agitated, and
the waves continued to dash over the
end and sides of the pier, while the
wind, still blowing with strong gusts,
rendered standing almost impossible. All
was bustle and anxiety; the sailors and
fishermen were passing to and fro, too
much occupied by their own thoughts
to heed the questions that the mere
spectators put to them. Several dead
bodies lay extended on the pier-head.
William shuddered. "0, pray let us
go home 1" exclaimed he; but before his
father could make any reply, the at-


tention of both was attracted by the
piercing lamentations of a poor woman,
who was kneeling by the side of a boy,
apparently about twelve years old, and
who was wringing her hands in an
agony of distress.
"0 Ned, Nedl" she sobbed, "and is
it come to this then again and again
she repeated, "but he would always
have his own way."
Mr. Thompson, turning to one of the
bystanders, asked an explanation of the
unhappy mother's words.
"I don't like to speak ill of any one,"
said the fisherman to whom he address-
ed himself "and especially of them
who can no longer defend themselves:
but, if the truth must be spoken, the
poor boy that lies there was always a
sad, wilful lad, who would have his

_ __



own way, come what would of it. He
was very anxious to go to sea; but
neither his father nor mother was wil-
ling he should, for he was their only
child, and not very strong. All they
said, however, was of no use-nay, per-
haps, for that is the case with all obstin-
ate, self-willed people, it made him still
more determined to have his own way.
So yesterday morning, when his father
was still away with the mackerel boats,
he got on board the 'Resolution,' and
sailed before any one knew any thing
about the matter. His mother was look-
ing for him, half distracted, all the day,
and has been on the pier the greater
part of the night. His dead body has
just been hauled up with several others
that you see there."
William -again grasped his father's


hand, and, hearing another shriek, drew
him from the spot. "I cannot, indeed
I cannot stay any longer," cried he.
Mr. Thompson obeyed his motion; they
walked quickly away, nor was a single
word spoken by either till they reached
the house. Mrs. Thompson was waiting
breakfast for them. William sat down
in silence, but the expression of his
countenance having caught the attention
of his mother, she anxiously asked what
was the matter. William returned no
answer, but, rising from his seat, he
threw his arms around her neck, and
burst into a violent flood of tears.
"0 mammal" sobbed he, as soon as
he could speak, "I have seen such a
sight I I have heard such cries! 0, I
shall never forget them," and he shud-
dered at the recollection." Forgive me,"

-L --



he continued passionately, "for being so
naughty and obstinate as I know I
have often been. Forgive me now; and
never, never, will I try to have my
own way again, and disobey you."
Mrs. Thompson looked at her hus-
band, who, in a few words, explained
what had occurred.
"Thus," said he, as he concluded his
distressing story, "thus has God thought
fit, in the instance before us, to punish
the breach of his holy commandment-
'Honour thy father and thy mother, that
thy days may be long in the land.' The
sea, by His permission, has swallowed
up the disobedient child almost in sight
of his home; and made his fate an
awful warning to all who, like him, are
tempted to forget the great and sacred
duty they owe to their parents."

=L4 ~L~
L-2 ~IC~ r=Zr


~-~ i/


A LITTLE boy called Jem Roberts,

having been set to weed in a gentleman's

garden, observing some very beautiful

peaches on a tree which grew upon a wall,

was strongly tempted to pluck one.

L f


"If it tastes but half as nice as it
looks," thought he, "how delightful it
must be I" He stood for an instant
gazing on the tree, while his mother's
words, "Touch nothing that does not
belong to you," came vividly to mind.
He withdrew his eyes from the tempting
object, and with great diligence pursued
his occupation. The fruit was forgotten,
and with pleasure he now perceived he
had nearly reached the end of the bed
which he had been ordered to clear.
Collecting in his hands the heap of
weeds he had laid beside him, he re-
turned to deposit them in the wheel-
barrow which stood near the peach tree.
Again the glowing fruit met his eye,
more beautiful and more tempting than
ever, for he was hot and thirsty. He
stood still, his heart beat, his mother's




command was heard no more, his reso-
lution was gone! He looked around,
there was no one but himself in the t
garden. "They can never miss one out
of so many," said he to himself. He
made a step, only one, he was now
within reach of the prize; he darted
forth his hand to seize it, when, at the
very moment, a sparrow from a neigh-
bouring tree, calling to his companion,
seemed to his startled ear to say, "Jem,
Jem." He sprang back to the walk, his
hand fell to his side, his whole frame
shook; and no sooner had he recovered
himself, than he fled from the spot.
In a short time afterwards he began
thus to reason with himself:-" If a
sparrow could frighten me thus, I may
be sure that what. I was going to do
was very wicked."



And now he worked with greater dil-
igence than ever, nor once again trusted
himself to gaze on the fruit which had
so nearly led him to commit so great
a fault. The sparrows chirped again as
he was leaving the garden, but he no
longer fled at the sound.
You may cry, 'Jem, Jem,' said he,
looking steadily at the tree in which
several were perched, "as often as you
like, I don't care for you now; but
this I will say, I will never forget how
good a friend one of you has been to
me, and I will rob none of your nests


_ _~__ I_ __~ _


I'.- _;:: M,~~ *r\

r lafppiEst alq ik t Mrtk.
THE dew still glittered on the leaves
of the thorn, still hung on the flowers
of the woodbine, and sparkled on the
harebell, when little Martha Truman
tripped down the lane which led from



her own cottage to a small but neat
row of alms-houses, belonging to the
town of W- ; in one of which lived
a very respectable woman, who had
been for many years blind. It was
Martha's office to lead Nurse Clark to
church, and, as this was some distance
from the village in which she lived,
she was obliged to be thus early. She
filled her hands with all the flowers
she could collect, and then, fearful lest
she should have overstaid her time,
ran almost the remainder of the way.
"How are you, Nurse?" said she, as
she entered the neat little apartment.
"I hope you are quite well this morn-
ing. Look what a beautiful nosegay I
have brought you." Nurse shook her
head. "Ahl dear, dear," resumed Mar-
tha, mournfully. "I forgot you could


not see; but smell," added she, with her
wonted cheerfulness, "smell how sweet
they are-you can do that."
She held the flowers to the good
woman's head as she spoke. Nurse
praised their fragrance, thanked her
kind little friend, begged her to put
them into a broken pitcher to which
she directed her, and then place them
within the grate.
After resting for a short time, the
pair left the cottage and proceeded
across the meadows to the church. The
morning was more than usually lovely.
Some slight showers of rain had fallen
during the night, which had refreshed
the face of the country, and given an
appearance of universal verdure: the air
was scented with the sweetest odour,
the birds sung from every thicket and
F 81


tree, and the bright but tempered beams
of the sun spread additional beauty over
the surrounding landscape.
"Oh Nurse 1" cried Martha, "what
would I give if you could see how
pretty every thing looks this morning!"
"It is very kind of you to say so,
Martha," replied Nurse; "and I should
be very happy indeed if I had eyes
like you; but since it has pleased God
to deprive me of sight, I will not com-
plain. His will be done. He has taken
away one blessing, only to bestow on
me another-loss of sight has procured
me a home; and besides, I have many
enjoyments still; I can smell the sweet
air, and hear the pretty birds, and,
(she raised her head, and half threw
back her bonnet,) I can feel the soft,
pure breeze blow over my forehead.

___ __ ___.____ ____ ________ __


Oh how pleasant it is Let us rest a
few minutes, Martha, for it is very warm,
and we are yet quite early enough for
Martha guided the poor woman to a
fallen tree, and then seated herself by
her side. A light and happy heart
make words flow easily.
"Now, Nurse," said Martha, after a
very short pause, during which her
bright eyes had glanced on all sides
over the fine country that surrounded
them, "don't you think that every thing
is more pleasing, that the flowers smell
sweeter, the birds sing more delightfully,
on Sunday than on any other day in
the week? I don't ask anything about
the flowers, they oan know nothing of
the matter; but do you think the black-
birds and thrushes, and especially the



larks, have any notion that it is Sun-
day ?"
"No, certainly they have not," replied
Nurse. "God has given that happiness
to human beings only. We alone know
that 'this is the day which the Lord
has made,' and that we ought to 'be
glad and rejoice in it.' Don't you re-
collect what the good rector said last
Sunday ?"
"I dare say I shall remember some-
thing about it," replied Martha, "if you
will repeat a few words."
"'The difference you feel is in your
own heart,' said he, 'and not in what
you see and hear. It is not that the
sun does shine more bright, or that the
fields are indeed more fresh, or the
- flowers more sweet upon this than upon
any other day. It is only that we are


apt to think thus because our minds
are attuned to order, and to piety, and
to contemplation.'"
"But don't you wish," said Martha,
"it could be Sunday all the week long?
would not that be charming ?"
"No, Martha, no," replied Nurse, "I
wish no such thing. God has ordered
it otherwise; and whilst we are on
earth we must attend to our earthly
duties. The time will come when it
will be always Sunday, though not in
this world; and as we labour for the
rest that the earthly Sabbath brings, so
must we be content to labour for the
rest of the heavenly Sabbath. But
come, we must make the best of our
way to church, or we shall be too late."
Martha instantly took the good wo-
man's hand, and led her again into


the path. Well, Nurse," said she, "I
must not contradict you, because you
must know better than L The birds,
the fields, the flowers, may be just the
same one day as another; but this I
must say, and will always say, Sunday
is the best and the happiest day of the
"Nor will I contradict you," returned
Nurse. "Sunday is all you say; and
God grant that we, and all who feel
as we do, may enjoy that Sabbath here-
after, which shall know no end."


No obedience is so valuable as prompt
obedience: they who obey the command
of a superior only when it suits their
own convenience or pleasure, forfeit all
claim to merit, and consequently to re-


Xtu funbmitu


Lucy Goodwin was a good girl,
who, though neither obstinate nor wilful,
had a habit of delaying to do what she
was desired, and, when reproved for her
neglect, of excusing herself by saying
she was just going to do what she was
bid. One day she and her mother, who
was a poor, but very industrious woman,
were washing the week's clothes at the
same wash-tub; the baby, who was little
more than a year old, being seated on
the floor near the fire, was amusing her-
self with the playthings which she held
in her lap. Child-like she soon became
tired of these, and stretched out her
hands to reach whatever she was able.
An empty pitcher stood on a stool not
far from her; attracted by its gaudy
colours, she had gradually crept nearer
to it, and in her own language expressed



her determination to possess herself of
it. As she grasped the leg of the stool,
Mrs. Goodwin perceived her intention;
"Take that pitcher away," said she to
Lucy, "and put it on the shelf."
"Yes," said Lucy, "I will directly;"
but Lucy moved not a single step, and
her mother, intent upon her occupation,
took no heed of what was passing, till a
sudden crash recalled her attention.
"Lucy," said her mother angrily,
"didn't I tell you to set the pitcher on
the shelf? See what you have done by
your neglect-that pretty pitcher, which
I bought only yesterday, is broken to
pieces. Do you think things are to be
had for nothing that you are so care-
less about them?"
"0 dear! 0 dearly" cried Lucy, as
she picked up the scattered fragments;



"I am very sorry, I am indeed, I was
just going to take it away as that
naughty little thing pulled it down."
"If you had done as I bade you at
once," replied her mother, "this would
not have happened. Where is the use of
your just going to do a thing? Do what
you are bid at once, and then there
may be some reliance on you: as it is,
both you and I, as I expect, will have
cause to lament your bad habit."
"0 mother," said Lucy, "don't say
any more now, I am so very sorry
about the pitcher! The next time you
tell me to do anything, you shall see if
I don't obey you at the very instant."
Mrs. Goodwin hoped it would be so,
but reminded her that bad habits were
not got rid of in a minute. Lucy, how-
ever, showed her, as she thought, that,

__ __



in her instance, at least, they could;
for a few minutes afterwards her mother
had scarcely uttered her command before
it was obeyed. A second time she was
equally prompt; and if Lucy had not
convinced her mother that her judg-
ment was correct, she had certainly con-
vinced herself.
It was now getting near tea-time, the
water was on the point of boiling, when
Mrs. Goodwin desired Lucy to take
the kettle off the fire till she came in
from the garden, whither she was going
to hang up some linen. Lucy heard
her, but unhappily the old habit prevail-
ed; she was employed about something
else, and was only just going to the fire-
place when the gush of hot water spout-
ing from the kettle, followed by a shriek
of agony from the baby, who was' with-



in reach of the scalding drops, though
not of the full stream, made her dash
forward, and almost at the same mo-
ment brought her mother into the house.
0 Lucy, Lucy cried she, snatching
up the screaming child, "why did you
not do as you were bid? Look at
your poor little sister's legs, and see
what an agony she is in."
"Indeed, indeed," sobbed Lucy, "I
was just going to--"
"Let me hear no more of just going,"
cried her mother; "if baby had been
only a few inches nearer the fender, she
would have been either scalded to death,
or a cripple probably for life; and then
what amends could you have made to
her, or to me ?"
Lucy was a kind-hearted girl, and the
cries of her sister, of whom she was



very fond, pierced her to the heart. She
said no more, nor attempted to make
further promise; but she resolved with-
in herself to overcome the habit she
had contracted, and the sight of the red
marks which for some time remained on
the child's legs, and the words "poor
poor l" plaintively uttered long after all
suffering had passed away, as the little
creature pointed to her limb, had a very
salutary effect upon her, and, acting as
a constant remembrancer, was the means
of maintaining her resolution, and con-
firming her in the good habit of prompt
obedience which she was acquiring.







-.- oJ
,.. -


930 fallins; or, 1rlas Bare rasrsms.
JOE COLLINS was the son of a hard-
working man, whose business it was to
attend to a water-mill on the farm of a
respectable farmer in a village in Cam-
bridgeshire. Joe was a sharp, active boy,

i---- '


always professing readiness to. obey, but
commonly neglecting to do so; in con-
sequence of which he frequently in-
curred the anger of his father, and was
tLh cause of much inconvenience to
him, and sometimes even of more serious
loses. If Collins commanded him to
take the meal to the hog, "0 yes, father I
to be sure I will," was the immediate
r., v; but too often a pretence offered
itself of deferring to obey, and with his
usual conclusion-" it will do just as
well a quarter of an hour hence," he
set about something else, and if the poor
pig failed to make his hunger known
to any one else, he lost his breakfast.
"Draw the hen-coop under the shed,
Joe; I see a kite hovering in the air."
"I will, father, directly;" but Joe
waited a n :ute or two only to throw






a handful of parsley to his rabbits; and
the loss of a chicken or two was the
"Look to the trimmers that were set
last night, Joe; the wind blows so
fresh, and is so shifty, I dare not leave
the mill."
0 "I'm gone," cried Joe, and off he
darted; but according to his reasoning
the delay of a few minutes could make
no difference, he would finish gathering
the vegetables before he went. Other
occupations then came in the way, and
"somehow or other," though he never
intended it, he forgot his father's order
The trimmers consequently remained
unattended to, and when Collins came
to examine them the next day, the fish
had either been stolen, or the hooks had




been broken off by accident-at all
events no pike were to be seen.
"Mend that break in the fence at the
end of the mill-field, that the sheep
may not get through."
"1That I will, you may depend upon
it," was the prompt reply; but, accord-
ing to custom, the intention was not
fulfilled-a straggler escaped from the
adjoining meadow, and was drowned
in the stream.
Collins had frequently and severely
chastised him for his fault, but still Joe
remained incorrigible. One morning his
father having caught some very fine
tench, and being desirous of marking
his gratitude to the squire's lady, who
had been very kind to his family during
an illness which had afflicted them, bade
him take a brace of the largest and



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