• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Dedication
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 I
 II
 III
 IV
 V
 VI
 VII
 VIII
 IX
 X
 XI
 XII
 XIII
 XIV
 XV
 XVI
 XVII
 XVIII
 XIX
 XX
 XXI
 XXII
 XXIII
 XXIV
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: The wide, wide world, or, The early history of Ellen Montgomery
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002163/00001
 Material Information
Title: The wide, wide world, or, The early history of Ellen Montgomery
Alternate Title: Early history of Ellen Montgomery
Physical Description: 2 v. : ; 17 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Warner, Susan, 1819-1885
Low, Sampson, 1797-1886 ( Publisher )
Wilson and Ogilvy ( Printer )
Publisher: Sampson Low
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Wilson and Ogilvy
Publication Date: 1852
Edition: [1st English ed.]
 Subjects
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Family -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Grandmothers -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Country life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1852   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Embossed cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
 Notes
Summary: Ellen has difficulty believing that God will take care of her when her dying mother leaves her with the unloving Mrs. Dunscombe.
General Note: Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
Statement of Responsibility: edited by a clergyman of the Church of England.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002163
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002239468
oclc - 29572335
notis - ALH9997

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front cover 1
        Front cover 2
    Dedication
        Front cover 3
    Title Page
        Page i
        Page ii
        Page iii
        Page iv
        Page v
    Table of Contents
        Page vii
    I
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
    II
        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
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
    III
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
    IV
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    V
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        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
    VI
        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
    VII
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        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
    VIII
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
    IX
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
    X
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
    XI
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
    XII
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
    XIII
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
    XIV
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
    XV
        Page 215
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
        Page 222
        Page 223
        Page 224
        Page 225
        Page 226
        Page 227
        Page 228
        Page 229
        Page 230
    XVI
        Page 231
        Page 232
        Page 233
        Page 234
        Page 235
        Page 236
        Page 237
        Page 238
        Page 239
        Page 240
        Page 241
        Page 242
        Page 243
        Page 244
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
        Page 248
        Page 249
        Page 250
        Page 251
    XVII
        Page 252
        Page 253
        Page 254
        Page 255
        Page 256
        Page 257
        Page 258
        Page 259
        Page 260
        Page 261
        Page 262
        Page 263
        Page 264
        Page 265
        Page 266
        Page 267
        Page 268
        Page 269
    XVIII
        Page 270
        Page 271
        Page 272
        Page 273
        Page 274
        Page 275
        Page 276
        Page 277
        Page 278
        Page 279
        Page 280
        Page 281
        Page 282
        Page 283
        Page 284
        Page 285
        Page 286
        Page 287
        Page 288
    XIX
        Page 289
        Page 290
        Page 291
        Page 292
        Page 293
        Page 294
        Page 295
        Page 296
        Page 297
        Page 298
        Page 299
        Page 300
    XX
        Page 301
        Page 302
        Page 303
        Page 304
        Page 305
        Page 306
        Page 307
        Page 308
        Page 309
        Page 310
        Page 311
        Page 312
        Page 313
        Page 314
        Page 315
        Page 316
        Page 317
        Page 318
        Page 319
        Page 320
        Page 321
        Page 322
        Page 323
    XXI
        Page 324
        Page 325
        Page 326
        Page 327
        Page 328
        Page 329
        Page 330
        Page 331
        Page 332
        Page 333
        Page 334
        Page 335
        Page 336
        Page 337
        Page 338
        Page 339
        Page 340
        Page 341
    XXII
        Page 342
        Page 343
        Page 344
        Page 345
        Page 346
        Page 347
        Page 348
        Page 349
        Page 350
        Page 351
        Page 352
        Page 353
    XXIII
        Page 354
        Page 355
        Page 356
        Page 357
        Page 358
        Page 359
        Page 360
        Page 361
        Page 362
        Page 363
        Page 364
        Page 365
    XXIV
        Page 366
        Page 367
        Page 368
        Page 369
        Page 370
        Page 371
        Page 372
        Page 373
        Page 374
        Page 375
        Page 376
        Page 377
        Page 378
        Page 379
        Page 380
    Back Cover
        Page 382
        Page 383
    Spine
        Page 384
Full Text

























































The Baldwin Library
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S / THE



WIDE, WIDE WORLD;


OR,

THE EARLY HISTORY OF


ELLEN MONTGOMERY.


EDITED BY A

CLERGYMAN OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND.


IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.




LONDON:


SAMPSON LOW, 169, FLEET STREET.


1852.

























































Wilson and Ogilvy, 57, Skinner Street, Snowhill, London.













IT would be no easy teak to deine in a few words
the ohamoteristics of this work, now presented in
an English dress and commended to English
reader; but it may be allowable to my, that its
main aim is to show that no aictumstnoes ate too
trying, and no diliculties too great, even for the
youngest Christian, when the aid of God is earnestly
besought,-and that real happiness and peace can
only be found in the faithful service of God.
The anthoress has beautifully delineated what
always ought to be the character of the good, and
therefore what always will be the aim of every real
Christian. The deep, earnest tone of the work will
commend itself. The naturalness of the characters
described in it will strike every reader, and, per-
haps, most of all in those cases in which, by a few
touches, an expessive outline is exhibited, without
delaying the reader by long and tedious develop-
ments. To many it will have a special value from
its descriptions of American scenes and customs of
the backwoods, with the sociality of that life where
every one must neesarily depend on his neighbour,








and where, as a consequence, a law of sympathy
and hospitality holds its sway, quite unknown to
what is called highest civilization.
There are valuable though different lessons to be
read in the plain honesty of Mr. Van Brunt, the
stern smartness of Miss Fortune Emerson, the pert
waywardness of Nancy, as well as the mild, hearty
Old English family of the Marshmans, comprising
in it characters so dissimilar as of Mrs. Gillespie
and the chastened Mrs. Channcey,-the easy lady,
aunt Sophia, with the deep-toned, seriousMr. George.
It is, however, in the life of children, and their
feelings, that our authoress shines. She has trodden
again paths seldom well traversed,-often left in a
very tangled state, and more likely to trip up and
hinder than explain and conduct calmly the young.
The Editor's duty has not been of a very serious
character : he has, in revising the work, carefully
abstained from any alterations which in his opinion
might interfere with the object and character of
the work, and has contented himself with suoh
trifling changes as would adapt it to English
readers without trenching on the originality of the
authoress.
The Editor earnestly commends the work to the
reader for the perIasive character of its religion,
as exhibited in the minutia of life, and never laid






V

aside for a moment, -for its originality, its simple
style, and its general excellence. He believes that
such works will do much to check that flood of
vicious fiction which, issuing from the press under
every guise, fosters folly, feeds the mere imagina-
tion, and never benefits the mind or guides the
wanderer in his way. Such works as this are
calculated to overcome evil with good, by pointing
to realities, by using arguments instead of romantic
occurrences, and by showing that life is made up
of trials, which can only be overcome in the strength
of humility by the teaching of God's Holy Spirit.
The Editor would remark, as minor recommenda-
tions, that the authoress has an interest in the sale
of this work, and that it has already acquired an
extensive popularity in America.

NOTE.-There is occasional reference to the coinage of
America, and it may be well to apprise our younger readers,
and others not conversant with it, that a Dollar is 100 cents,
or 4s. 2d. English,-a cent being equivalent to an English
halfpenny ; and that a Shilling in New York is 121 cents,-
equivalent to 6d. English.


LODON : December, 1851.











CONTENTS OF VOL. I.




Chap. Page
I. Breaking the news 1
II. Gives sorrow to the winds 11
III. The worth of a finger-ring 28
IV. The bitter-sweet of life 45
V. A peep into the wide world 55
VI. Night and morning 75
VII. Strangers walk as friends" 89
VIII. Leaves us in the street 107
IX. The Little Queen in the arm-chair 126
X. Mud-and what came of it 146
XI. Running away with the brook 165
XII. Splitters 180
XIII. Hope deferred 191
XIV. Work not deferred 202
XV. Mother Earth rather than Aunt Fortune 215
XVI. Counsel, cakes, and Captain Parry 231
XVII. Difficulty of doing right 252
XVIII. Loses care on the Cat's back 270
XIX. Showing that in some circumstances white
is black. .289
XX. Headsick and heartsick 301
XXI. Footsteps of angels 324
XXII. Shows how Mr. Van Brunt could be sharp
upon some things 342
XXIII. How Miss Fortune went out and Pleasure
came in 354
XXIV. Sweeping and dusting 366











THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD.





CHAPTER I.
Enjoy the spring of love and youth,
To some good angel leave the rest,
For time will teach thee soon the truth,
"There are no birds in last year's nest."
LONGFELLOW.
MAMMA, what was that I heard papa saying to
you this morning about his lawsuit ?"
I cannot tell you just now, Ellen : pick up that
shawl, and spread it over me."
Mamma!-are you cold in this warm room ?"
"A little,-there, that will do. Now, my daugh-
ter, let me be quiet awhile-do not disturb me."
There was no one else in the room. Driven thus
to her own resources, Ellen betook herself to the
window, and sought amusement there. The prospect
without gave little promise of it. Rain was falling,
and made the street and everything in it look dull
and gloomy. The foot-passengers plashed through
the water, and the horses and carriages plashed
the mud; gaiety had forsaken the side-walks, and
equipages were few, and the people that were out
were plainly there only because they could not help
it. But yet Ellen, having seriously set herself to
study everything that passed, presently became
engaged in her occupation; and her thoughts tra-
VOL. I. B







2 TH ID, WIDE, W WOBLD,
selling dreamily from one thing to another, she sat
for a long time with her little face pressed against
the window-frame, perfectly regardless of all but
the moving world without.
Daylight gradually faded away, and the street
wore a more and more gloomy aspect. The rain
poured, and now only an occasional carriage or
ootstep disturbed the sound of its steady pattering.
Yet stll Ellen sat with her face glued to the window
as if spell-bound, gazing out at every dusky form
that passed, as though it had some strange interest
for her; at length, in the distance, light after light
began to appear: presently Ellen could see the dim
fig of the lamplighter crossing the street, from
ade to side, with his ladder;-then he drew near
enough for her to watch him as he hooked his ladder
on the lamp-irons, ran up and lit the lamp, then
shouldered the ladder and marched off quick, the
light glancing on his wet oil-skin hat, rough great
coat and lantern, and on the pavement and iron
railings. The veriest moth could not have followed
the light with more perseverance than did Ellen's
eyes, until the lamplighter gradually disappeared
from view, and the last lamp she could ee was lit;
and not till then did it occur to her that there was
such a place as in-doors. She took her face from
the window. The room was dark and cheerless;
and llen felt stiff and chilly. However, she made
her way to the fire, and having found the poker, she
applied it gently to the Liverol coal with such
good effect that a bright ruddblae sprang up,
and lighted the whole room. en mied at the
result of her experiment. "That is something
like," said she to herself; "who says I cannot
poke the fire P Now, let us see if I cannot do
something else. Do br t see how those chairs are
standing--one would think we had had a sewing-






TE wIDa, WIDE woum a
circle here-there, go back to your places,-that
looks a little better; now these curtains must ome
down, and I may as well shut the shutters too-and
now this table-cloth must be content to hang
straight, and mamma's box and the books must lie
in their places, and not all helter-skelter. Now,
I wish mamma would wake up; I should think she
might. I do not believe she is asleep either-she
does not look as if she was."
Ellen was right in this; her mother's face did not
wear the look of sleep, nor indeed of repose at all;
the lips were compressed, and the brow not oamn.
To try, however, whether she was asleep or no, and
with the half-acknowledged intent to rouse her at
all events, Ellen knelt down by her side, and laid
her face close to her mother's on the pillow. But
this failed to draw either word or sign. After a
minute or two Ellen tried stroking her mother's
cheek very gently; and this succeeded, for Mrs.
Montgomery arrested the little hand as it passed
her lips, and kissed it fondly two or three times.
"I have not disturbed you, mamma, have I P"
said Ellen.
Without replying, Mrs. Montgomery raised her-
self to a sitting posture, and lifting both hands to
her face, pushed back the hair from her forehead
and temples, with a gesture which Ellen knew
meant that she was making up her mind to some
disagreeable or painful effort. Then taking both
Elen's hands, as she still knelt before her, sbe
gazed in her face with a look even more fond than
usual, Ellen thought, but much sadder too: though
Mrs. Montgomery's cheerfulness had always been
of a serious kind.
S"What question was that you were asking me
some while ago, my daughter P"
"I thought, mamma, I heard papa telling you








4 MHE wMa, wIDs woaI ,
this morning, or yesterday, that he had lost that
lawsuit."
You heard right, Ellen,-he has lost it," said
Mrs. Montgomery, sadly.
Are you sorry, mamma P-does it trouble you P"
Youknow, my dear, that I am not apt to con-
earn myself over-much about the gain or the loss of
money. I believe my Heavenly Father will give me
what is good for me."
"Then, mamma, why are you troubled P"
"Because, my child, I cannot carry out this
principle in other matters, and leave quietly my all
in His hands."
"What is the matter, dear mother P What makes
you look so P"
"This lawsuit, Ellen, has brought upon us more
trouble than I ever thought a lawsuit could-the
loss of it, I mean."
"How, mamma ?"
"It has caused an entire change of all our plans.
Your father says he is too poor now to stay here
any longer; and he has agreed to go soon on some
government or military business to Europe."
Well, mamma, that is bad, but he hasbeen away
a great deal before, and I am sure we were always
very happy?"
"But, Ellen, he thinks now, and the doctor
thinks too, that it is very important for my health
that I should go with him."
Does he, mamma P-and do you mean to go P"
I am afraid I must, my dear child."
"Not, and leave me, mother P"
The imploring look of mingled astonishment,
terror, and sorrow, with which Mlen uttered these
words, took from her mother all power of replying.
It was not necessary; her little daughter under-
stood only too well the silent answer of her eye.






THl wMI, WID WOmW. *
With a wild cry she lung her arms round her mo-
ther, and hiding her face in her lap, gave way to a
violent burst o grief, that seemed for. a few mo-
ments as if it would rend soul and body in twain.
For her passions were y ture very strong, and
by education very imperfectly controlled: and time,
"that rider that bre youth," hadn't as yet tried
his hand upon her. And Mrs. Montgomery, in
spite of the fortitude and calmness to which she had
steeled herself, bent down over her, and folding her
arms about her, yielded to sorrow deeper st0 and
for a little while scarcely less violent in its expree
sion than Ellen's own.
Alas! she had too good reason. She knew that
the chance of her ever returning to shield the little
creature who was nearest her heart from the future
evils and snares of life was very, very small. She
had at first abolutel refused to leave Ellen when
her husband proposed it; declaring that she would
rather stay with her and die than take the chance
of recovery at such a cost. But her physician
assured her she could not live long without a change
of climate; Captain Montgomery urged that it was
better to submit to a temporary separation, than to
cling obstinately to her child for a few months, and
then leave her for ever; said he must himself go
speedily to France, and that now was her best op-
portumty; assuring her, however, that his circum-
stances would not permit him to takeEllenwiththem,
but that she would be secure of a happy home with
his sister during her mother's absence: and to the
pressure of argument Captain Montgomery added
the weight of authority-insisting on her com.
pliance. Conscience also asked Mrs. Montgomery
whether she had a right to neglect any chance of
life that was offered her; and at last she yieldedto
the combined influence of motives no one of which
n2







S SUM WIIDW, WIDr woaLD.
would have had power sueicient to more her, and
though with a secret consciousness it would be in
vain, she consented to do as her friends wished.
And it was for Ellen's sake she did it after all.
Nothing but necessity had given her the courage
to open the matter to her little daughter. She had
foreseen and endeavoured to prepare herself for
Ellen's anguish; but nature was too strong for her,
and they clapd each other in aconvulsive embrace,
while tears fell like rain.
It was some minutes before Mrs. Montgomery
recollected herself, and then, though she struggled
hard, she could not immediately regain her com-
posure. But Ellen's deep sobs at length fairly
alarmed her; she saw the necessity, for both their
sakes, of putting a stop to this state of violent ex-
citement; self-command was restored at once.
"Ellen! Ellen! listen to me," she said; "my
child,-this is not right. Remember, my darling,
who it is that brings this sorrow upon us-though
we must sorrow, we must not rebel.
Ellen sobbed more gently; but that and the
mute pressure of her arms was her only answer.
You will hurt both yourself and me, my daugh-
ter, if you cannot command yourself. Remember,
dear Ellen, God sends no trouble upon his children
but in love; and though we cannot see how, He
will no doubt make all this work for our good."
"I know it, dear mother," sobbed Elen; but
it is just as hard !"
Mrs. Montgomery's own heart answered so
readily to the truth of Ellen's words that for the
moment she could not speak.
"Try, my daughter," she said after a pause,-
"try to composeyourself. I am afraid you will
make me worse, Ellen, if you cannot,-I am, in-
deed."






mr WIDl, wra WOUsL. 7
Ellen had plenty of faults, but amidst themall
love to her mother was the strongest feeling her
heart knew. It had power enough now to move her
as nothing else couldlnave done; and exerting a her
self-command, of which she had sometimes a good
deal, she did calm herself; ceased sobbing; wiped
her eyes; arose from her crouching posture, and,
seating herself on the sofa by her mother, and
laying her head on her bosom, she listened quietly
to all the soothing words and cheering considera-
tions with which Mrs. Montgomery endeavoured
to lead her to take a more hopeful view of the
subject. All she could urge, however, had but very
partial success, though the conversation was pro-
longed far into the evening. Ellen said little, and
did not weep any more; but in secret her heart
refused consolation.
Long before this the servant had brought in the
tea-things. Nobody regarded it at the time, but
the little kettle hissing away on the fire now by
chance attracted Ellen's attention, and she sud-
denly recollected her mother had had no tea. To
make her mother's tea was Ellen's regular business.
She treated it as a very grave affair, and loved it as
one of the pleasantest in the course of the day.
She used in the first place to make sure that the
kettle really boiled; then she carefully poured some
water into the tea-pot and rinsed it, both to make
it clean and to make it hot; then she knew exactly
how much tea to put into the tiny little tea-pot,
which was just big enough to hold two cups of tea,
and having poured a very little boiling water to it,
she used to set it by the side of the fire while she
made half a slice of toast. How careful Ellen was
about that toast! The bread must not be cut too
thick, nor too thin; the fire must, if possible, burn
clear and bright, and she herself held the bread on






8 THE Wr I, WDI) WOn D.
a fork, just at the right distance from the coal to
get nicely browned without burning. When this
was done to her satisfaction, (and if the first piece
failed she would take another,) she filled up the
little tea-pot from the boiling kettle, and proceeded
to make a cup of tea. She knew, and was very
careful to put in, just the quantity of milk and
sugar that her mother liked; and then she used to
carry the tea and toast on a little tray to her
mother's side, and very often held it there for her
while she ate. All this Ellen did with the zeal that
love gives, and though the same thing was to be
gone over every night in the year, she was never
wearied. It was a real pleasure; she had the
greatest satisfaction in seeing that the little her
mother could eat was prepared for her in the
nicest possible manner; she knew her hands made
it taste better; her mother often said so.
But this evening other thoughts had driven this
important business quite out of poor Ellen's mind.
Now, however, when her eyes fell upon the little
kettle, she recollected her mother had not had her
tea, and must want it very much; and silently
slipping off the sofa she set about getting it as
usual. There was no doubt this time whether the
kettle boiled or no; it had been hissing for an hour
and more, calling as loud as it could to somebody
to come and make the tea. So Ellen made it, and
then began the toast. But she began to think too,
as she watched it, how few more times she would
be able to do so-how soon her pleasant tea-
makings would be over-and the desolate feeling
of separation began to come upon her before the
time. These thoughts were too much for poor
Ellen; the thick tears gathered so fast she could
not see what she was doing; and she had no more
than just turned the slice of bread on the fork






THB WDa, WIr WOBMz. 9
when the sickness of heart quite overcame her;
she could not go on. Toast andfork and all dropped
from her hand into the ashes; and rushing to her
mother's side, who was now lying down again, and
throwing herself upon her, she burst into another
fit of sorrow; not so violent as the former, but
with a touch of hopelessness in it which went yet
more to her mother's heart. Passion in the frst
said, "I cannot;" despair now seemed to say, "I
must."
But Mrs. Montgomery was too exhausted either
to share or to soothe Ellen's agitation. She lay in
suffering silence; till after some time she said
faintly, "Ellen, my love, I cannot bear this much
longer."
Ellen was immediately brought to herself by these
words. She arose, sorry and ashamed that she should
have given occasion for them; and, tenderly kissing
her mother, assured her most sincerely and reso-
lutely that she would not do so again. In a few
minutes she was calm enough to finish making the
tea, and having toasted another piee of bread, she
brought it to her mother. Mrs. Montgomery
swallowed a cup of tea, but no toast could be eaten
that night.
Both remained silent and quiet somewhile after
this, till the clock struck ten. You had better go
to bed, my daughter," said Mrs. Montgomery.
I will, mamma."
Do you think you can read me a little before you
go "'
"Yes, indeed, mamma;" and Ellen brought the
Book; where shall I read P"
"The twenty-third psalm."
Ellen began it, and went through it steadily and
slowly, though her voice quavered a little.
"'The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.'









10 TEu WDI, wIna WOnLn.
"' He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;
He leadeth me beside the still waters.'
"'He reetoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the
paths of righteousness for his name's sake.'
"'Though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art
with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.'
"' Thou prepares a table before me in the
presence of mine enemies; Thou anointest my
head with oil; my cup runneth over.'
"'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days f my life, and I will dwell in the house
of the Lord for ever.'"
Long before she had finished, Ellen's eyes were
full, and her heart too. "If I only could feel these
words as mamma does I" she said to herself. She
did not dare look up till the traces of tears had passed
away; then she saw that her mother was asleep.
Those first sweet words had fallen like balm upon the
sore heart; and mind and body had instantly found
rest together.
Ellen breathed the lightest possible kis upon
her forehead, and stole quietly out of the room to
her own little bed.













CHAPTER II.


Not all the whirpen that the soft winds utter
Speak eath thing-
There mingleth there sometime., a gentle uster
Of ang*e wings.
Axr LAn oPr.
Sounow and excitement made Ellen's eyelids heavy,
and she slept late on the following morning. The
great dressing-bell roused her. She started up with
a confused notion that something was the matter;
there was a weight on her heart that was very
strange to it. A moment was enough to bring it all
back; and she threw herself again on her pillow,
yielding helplessly to the grief she had twice been
obliged to control the evening before. Yet love
was stronger than grief still, and she was careful to
allow no sound to escape her that could reach the
ears of her mother, who slept in the next room.
Her resolve was firm to grieve her no more with
useless expressions of sorrow; to keep it to herself
as much as possible. But this very thought, that
she must keep it to herself, gave an edge to poor
Ellen's grief, and the convulsive clasp of her little
arms round the pillow plainly showed that it needed
none.
The breakfast-bell again startled her, and she re-
membered she must not be too late down stairs, or
her mother might inquire and find out the reason.
" I will not trouble mother-I will not -I will not,"
she resolved to herself as she got out of bed, though
the tears fell faster as she said so. Dressing was








12 THE WIDE, WIDE WOBLD.
sad work to Ellen to-day; it went on very heavily.
Tears dropped into the water as she stooped her
head to the basin; and she hid her face in the towel
to cry, instead of making the ordinary use of it.
But the usual duties were dragged through at last,
and she went to the window. "I will not go down
till papa is gone," she thought, "he will ask me
what is the matter with my eyes."
Ellen opened the window. The rain was over;
the lovely light of a fair September morning was
beautifying everything it shone upon. Ellen had
been accustomed to amuse herself a good deal at
this window, though nothing was to be seen from it
but an ugly city prospect of back walls of houses,
with the yards belonging to them, and a bit of nar-
row street. But she had watched the people that
showed themselves at the windows, and the children
that played in the yards, and the women that went
to the pumps, till she had become pretty well ac-
quainted with the neighbourhood; and though they
were for the most part dingy, dirty, and disagree-
able-women, children, houses, and all-she cer-
tainly had taken a good deal of interest in their pro-
ceeding. It was all gone now. She could not
bear to look at them; she felt as if it made her sick;
and turning away her eyes, she lifted them to the
bright sky above her head, and gazed into its clear
depth of blue till she almost forgot that there was
such a thing as a city in the world. Little white
clouds were chasing across it, driven by the fresh
wind that was blowing away Ellen's hair from her
face, and cooling her hot cheeks. That wind could
not have been long in coming from the place of
woods and flowers, it was -o sweet still. Ellen
looked till, she did not know why, she felt calmed
and soothed,--as if somebody was saying to her
softly, Cheer up, my child, cheer up;-tings ae







Tn WIDE, WIDI WOnRLi. 18
not s bad as they might be:-things will be bet-
ter." Her attention was attracted at length by
voices below; she looked down, and saw there, in
one of the yards, a poor deformed child, whom she
had often noticed before, and always with sorrowful
interest. Besides his bodily infirmity, he had a
further claim on her sympathy, in having lost his
mother within a few months. Ellen's heart was
easily touched this morning; she felt for him ery
much. "Poor, poor little fellow 1" she thought;
"he's a great deal worse off than I am. Hi mother
is dead; mine is only going away for a few months
-not for ever-oh, what a difference I and then the
joy of coming back again!" poor Ellen was weeping
already at the thought-" and I will do, oh, how
much I while she is gone-I'll do more than she can
poibly expect from me-I'll astonish her-I'll de-
light her-'ll work harder than ever I did in my
life before-I'll menid all my faults, and give her so
much pleasure! But oh! if she only need not go
away! Oh, mamma Tears of mingled sweet and
bitter were poured out fast, but the bitter had the
larger share.
The breakfast-table was still standing, and her
father gone, when Ellen went down stairs. Mrs.
Montgomery welcomed her with her usual quiet
smile, and held out her hand. Ellen tried to smile
in answer, but she was glad to hide her face in her
mother's bosom; and the long close embrace was
too lose and too long;-it tola of sorrow as well as
love; and tears fell from the eyes of each that the
other did not see.
Need I go to school to-day, mamma ?" whir-
pared EllDen.
SNo; I spoke to your father about that; you
sall not go any more; we will be together now
while we can.







14 TH WED, WIDB WOBUD.
Ellen wanted to ask how long that would be,
but could not make up her mind to it.
Sit down, daughter, and take some breakfast."
"Have you done, mamma P"
"No; I waited for you."
"Thank you, dear mamma," with another em-
brace, how good you are! but I do not think I
want any."
They drew their chairs to the table, but it was
plain that neither had much heart to eat; although
Mrs. Montgomerywith her own hands laid on Ellen's
plate half of the little bird that had been broiled for
her own breakfast. The half was too much for each
of them.
"What made you so late this morning, daughterP"
"I got up late, in the first place, mamma; and
then I was a long time at the window."
At the window I were you examining into your
neighbours' affairs as usual?" said Mrs. Mont-
gomery, surprised that it should have been so.
"Oh, no, mamma, I did not look at them at all-
except poor little Billy;-I was looking at the sky."
And what did you see there that pleased you so
much P"
I don't know, mamma; it looked so lovely and
peaceful-that pure blue spread over my head, and
the little white clouds flying across it-I loved to
look at it; it seemed to do me good."
Could you look at it, Ellen, without thinking of
Him who made it ?"
No, mamma," said Ellen, ceasing her breakfast,
and now speaking with difficulty; "I did think of
Him; perhaps that was the reason."
And what did you think of Him, daughterP"
"I hoped, mamm,--I felt-I thought-e would
take care of me," said Ellen, bursting into tears,
and throwing her arms again round her mother.







"M wrID, wm wowa. Ui
He wil, my deardaughter, He will, if you will
only ut your trust in Him, Ellen."
Ellen struggled hard to get back her composure,
and after a few minutes succeeded.
Mamma, will you tell me what you mean exactly
by my 'putting my trust' in Him.
Do't you trust me, Ellen P"
'" Certainly, mamma."
"How do you trust me P-in what ?"
"Why mamma:-in the first place I trust every
word you say-entirely-I know nothing could be
truer; if you were to tell me black is white, mamma,
I should think my eyes had been mistaken. Then
everything you tell or advise me to do, I know it is
right, perfely. And I always feel safe when you
are near me, became I know you will take care of
me. And I am glad to think I belong to you,and
you have the management of me entirely, and I
need not manage myself, because I know I cannot;
and if I could, I would rather you would, mamma."
My daughter, it is just so; it is just so that I
wish you to trust in God. He is truer, wiser,
stronger, kinder, by far, than I am, even if I could
be always with you; and what will you do when I
am away from you ?-and what would you do, my
child, if I were to be parted from you for ever P"
0, mamma said Ellen, bursting into tears,
and clasping her arms round her mother again-" 0
dear mamma, don't talk about it I"
Her mother fondly returned her caress, and one
or two tears fell on Ellen's head as she did so, but
that was all, and she said no more. Feeling severely
the effects of the excitement and anxiety of the
preceding day and night, she now stretheherself
on the sofa and lay quite still. Ellen placed herself
on a little bench at her side, with her back to the
head of the sof, that her mother might not see her







18 T~ WIDM, WIDI WOUBD.
face; and possessing herself of one of her hands, sat
with her little head resting upon her mother, as quiet
as she. They remained thus for two or three hours,
without speaking; and Mrs. Montgomery was part
of the time slumbering; but now and then a tear
ran down the side of the sofa and dropped on the
carpet where Ellen sat; and now and then ]her lip
were softly pressed to the hand she held, as if they
would grow there.
The doctor's entrance at last disturbed them.
Dr. Green found his patient decidedly worse than
he had reason to expect; and his sagacious eye
had not glanced many times between the mother
and daughter before he saw how it was. He made
no remark upon it, however, but continued for some
moments a pleasant chatty conversation which he
had begun with Mrs. Montgomery. He then called
Ellen to him; he had rather taken a fancy to her.
Well, Miss Ellen," he said, rubbing one of her
hands in his; what do you think of this fine
scheme of mine ?"
"What scheme, sir ?"
"Why, this scheme of sending this sick lady over
the water to get well; what do you think of it,
ehP"
Will it make her quite well, do you think, air P"
asked Ellen earnestly.
"' Wil it make her well!' to be sure it will; do
you think I don't know better than to send people
all the way across the ocean for nothing? Who
do you think would want Dr. Green if he sent people
on wild-goose chases in that fashion ?"
"Will she have to stay long there before she is
cured, sir asked Ellen.
0, that I can't tell; that depends entirely on cir-
cumstances-perhaps longer, perhaps shorter. But
now, Miss Ellen, I have got a word of business to






ma wna, win woenM. 17
my to you; you know you agreed to be my little
nurse. Mrs. Nuse, this lady, whom I put under
your care the other day, is not quite as well as she
ought to be this morning I am afraid you have
not taken proper care of her; she look to me if
she had been too much excited. I have a notion
she has been aeretly taking half a bottle of wine,
or reading some funous kind of a novel, or some.
thing of that sort-you understand P-Now mind,
Mrs. Nurse," said the doctor, changing his tone-
" she mnt not be excited-you must take care that
she is not-it is not good for her. You must not
let her talk much, or laugh much, or cry at all, on
any account; she must not be worried in the least
-will you remember Now you know what I
shall expect of you; you must be very careful-if
that piece of toast of yours should chance to get
burned one of these fine evenings, I will not answer
for the consequences. Good bye," said he, shaking
Ellen's hand-" you need not look sober about it,-
all you have to do is to let your mamma be as much
like an oyster as possible;-you understand Good-
bye." And Dr. Green took his leave.
Poor woman sid the doctor to himself as he
went down stairs (he was a humane man)-" I
wonder if she will live till she gets to the other
side! That is a nice little girl too. Poor child!
poor child!"
Both mother and daughter silently acknowledged
the justice of the doctor's advice, and determined to
follow it. By common consent, as it seemed, erah
for several days avoided bringing the subject of
sorrow to the other's mind; though no doubt it
was constantly presentto both. It was not oken
of-indeed, little of any kind was spoken o, but
that never. Mrs. Montgomery was doubtless em-
ployed during this interval in preparing for what
c2






18 iHn WIDI, WID WOUDrs
she believed was before her; endeavouring to resign
herself and her child to Him in whose hands they
were, and struggling to withdraw her affeetions from
a world which she had a secret misgiviving she was
fast leaving. As for Ellen, the doctor's warning
had served to strengthen the resolve she had already
made, that she would not distress her mother with
the sight of her sorrow, and she kept it, as far as
she could. She only let her mother see a very few
tears, and those were quiet ones; though she drooped
her head like a withered flower, and went about the
house with an air of submissive sadness that tried
her mother sorely. But when she was alone, and
knew no one could see, sorrow had its way; and
then there were sometimes agonies of grief that
would almost have broken Mrs. Montgomery's reso-
lution, had she known them,
This, however, could not last. Ellen was a child,
and of most buoyant and elastic spirit naturally; it
was not for one sorrow, however great, utterly to
crush her. It would have taken years to do that.
Moreover, she entertained not the slightest hope of
being able by any means to alter her father's will.
She regarded the dreaded evil as an inevitable thing.
But though she was at first overwhelmed with
sorrow, and for some days evidently pined under it
sadly, hope at length would come back to her little
heart; and no sooner in again than hope began to
smooth the roughest, and soften the hardest, and
touch the dark spots with light, in Ellen's future.
The thoughts which had just passed through her head
that first morning as she stood at her window, now
came back again. Thoughts of wonderful improve.
ment to be made during her mother's absence ;--of
unheard-of efforts to learn and amend, which should
all be crowned with success; and above all, thoughts
of that "coming home," when all these attainments






THU WIDU, WID WOnmD. 19
and accomplishments should be displayed to her
mother's delighted eyes, and her exertion receive
their long desired reward ;-they made Ellen's heart
beat, and her eyes swim, and even brought a smile
once more upon her lips. Mrs. Montgomery was
rejoiced to see the change; she felt that as much
time had already been given to sorrow as they could
afford to lose, and she had not known exactly how to
proceed. Ellen's.amended looks and spirits greatly
relieved her.
'h What are you thinking about, Ellen said she,
one morning.
Ellen was sewing, and while busy at her work her
mother had two or three times observed a slight smile
pass over her face. Ellen looked up, still smiling,
and answered, 0, mamma, I was thinking of diffe-
rent things-things that I mean to do while you are
gone."
"And what are these things?" inquired her
mother.
0, mamma, it would not do to tell you before-
hand; I want to surprise you with them when you
come back."
A slight shudder passed over Mrs. Montgomery's
frame, but Ellen did not see it. Mrs. Montgomery
was silent. Ellen presently introduced another
subject.
Mamma, what kind of a person is my aunt V"
"I do not know; I have never seen her."
How has that happened, mamma P"
Your aunt has always lived in a remote country
town, and I have been very much confined to two
or three cities, and your father's long and repeated
absences made travelling impossible to me."
Ellen thought, but she did not say it, that it was
very odd her father should not sometimes, when he






20 mra WiD, WDl wonBn.
ws in the country, have gone to see his relations,
and taken her mother with him.
"What is my aunt's name, mamma ?"
"I think you must have heard that already, Ellen;
Fortune Emerson."
"Emerson! I thought she was papa's sister P"
"So she is."
"Then how comes her name not to be Mont-
gomery P"
"She is only his half-sister; the daughter of his
mother, not the daughter of his father."
I am very sorry for that," said Ellen gravely.
"Why, my daughter P"
I am afraid she will not be so likely to love me."
"You must not think so, my child. Whether
she loves you or not will depend solely and entirely
upon yourself, Ellen. Do not forget that. If you
are a good child, and make it your daily care to do
your duty, she cannot help liking you, be she what
she may; and on the other hand, if she have all the
will in the world to love you, she cannot do it unless
you will let her-it all depends on your behaviour."
"Oh, mamma, I cannot help wishing dear aunt
Bessy was alive, and I was going to see her."
Many a time the same wish had passed Mrs.
Montgomery's mind I But she kept down her rising
heart, and went on calmly.
You must not expect, my child, to find any-
body as indulgent as I am, or as ready to overlook
and excuse your faults. It would be unreasonable
to look for it; and you must not think hardly of
your aunt when you find she is not your mother;
but then it will be your own fault if she does not
love you, in time, truly and tenderly. See that you
render her all the respect and obedience you could
render me; that is your bounden duty; she will






rX wmn, WWa WOMlM. 21
staed in my place while she has the ca of you,-.
remember that, Ellen; and remember too that she
will deserve more gratitude at your hands for show-
ing you kindness tan. I do, because she cannot have
the same feeling of lore to make trouble easy."
0, no, mamma," mid Ellen, "I do not think
so ; it is that very feeling of love that I am grateful
for; I do not care a fig for anything people do for
me without that."
"But you can make her love you, Ellen, if you
Well, I will try, mamma."
And do not be discouraged. Perhaps you may
be disappointed in first appearances, but never
mind that; have patience; and let your motto be
(if there is any occasion), overcome evil with good.
Will you put that among the things you mean to
do while I am gone ?" said Mrs. Montgomery with
a smile.
I will try, dear mamma."
You will succeed if you try, dear, never fear;
if ou apply yourself in your trying to the only na-
failing source of wisdom and strength,-to Him
without whom you can do nothing."
There was silence for a little while.
What sort of place is it where my aunt
lives P" asked Ellen.
Your father says it is a very pleasant place;
ha says the country is beautiful, and very healthy,
and full of charming walks and rides. You have
never lived in the country ; I think you will enjoy
it very much."
Then it is not a town P" said Ellen.
No, it il not far from the town of Thirlwall;
but your aunt lives in the open country. Your
father says she is a capital housekeeper, and that
you wi learn more, and be in all respects a great






22 MM wws, wMa woONa.
deal happier and better of than you would be in a
boerdini-sehool here or anywhere."
Ellen's heart secretly questioned the truth of
this last assertion very much.
Is there any school near P" she asked.
Your father says there was an excellent one in
Thirlwall when he was there."
Mamma," said Ellen, I think the greatest
pleasure I shall have while you are gone, will be
writing to you. I have been thinking of it a good
deal. I mean to tell you everything absolutely
everything, mamma. You know there will be
nobody for me to talk to as I do to you:" Ellen's
words come out with difficulty; and when I feel
unhappy, I shall just shut myself up and write to
you.' She hid her face in her mother's lap.
"I count upon it, my dear daughter; it will
make quite as much the pleasure of my life, Ellen
as of yours."
"But then, mother," said Ellen, brushing away
the tears from her eyes, "it will be so long before
my letters can get to you The things I want you to
know at once, you will not know perhaps in a
month."
That is no matter, daughter; they will be just
as good when they reach me. Never think of that;
write every day, and all manner of things that
concern you, just as particularly as if you were
speaking to me."
"And you will write to me too, mamma P"
"Indeed I will-when I can. But, Ellen, you
say that when I am away, and cannot hear you,
there will be nobody to supply my place. Perhaps
it will be so indeed; but then, my daughter, let it
make you seek that Friend who is never far away
nor out of hearing. 'Draw nigh to God, and He will
draw nigh to you.' You know He has said of His






aM WiDs, waDn VOZD. W
children: Before thecall, I will answer; and
while they are yet ,peking, I will hear.' "
But, mamma,E aid Ellen, her eyes filling
instantly,-" you know He is not my frend in the
mame way that He is yours." And hiding her face
again, she added, Oh, I wish He was I"
You know the way to make Him so, Ellen.
He is willing; it only rests with you. O, my
child, my child I if losing your mother might be the
means of finding you that better friend, I should
be quite willing-and glad to go-For ever."
There was silence, only broken by Ellen's sobs.
Mrs. Montgomery's voice had trembled, and her
face was now covered with her hands; but she was
not weeping; she was seeking a better relief where
it had long been her habit to seek and find it.
Both soon resumed their usual composure, and the
employment which had been broken off; but.
neither chose to renew the conversation. Dinner,
sleeping, and company, prevented their having
another opportunity during the rest of the day.
But when evening came, they were again left to
themselves. Captain Montgomery was away, which
indeed was the case most of the time; friends had
taken their departure; the curtains were down, the
lamp lit, the little room looked cozy and com-
fortable; the servant had brought the tea-things,
and withdrawn, and the mother and daughter were
happily alone. Mrs. Montgomery knew that such
occasions were numbered, and fast drawing to an
end, and she felt each one to be very precious.
She now lay on her couch, with her face partially
shaded, and her eyes fixed upon her little daughter,
who was preparing the tea. She watched her, with
thoughts and feelings not to be spoken, as the little
figure went backwards and forwards between the
table and the fire; and the light shining full upon






24 Tw W WI, WIDs WOBLD.
her busy face, showed that Ellen's whole soul was
in her beloved duty. Tear would fall she looked,
and were not wiped away; but when Ellen, having
finished her work, brought with a satisfied face the
little tray of tea and toast to her mother, there was
no longer any sign of them left; Mrs. Montgomery
arose with her usual kind smile, to show her grati-
tude by honouring as far as possible what Ellen had
provided.
You have more appetite to-night, mamma."
I am very glad, daughter," replied her mother,
"to see that you have made up your mind to bear
patiently this evil that has come upon us. I am
glad for your sake, and I am glad for mine; and I
am glad too because we have a great deal to do, and
no time to lose in doing it."
What have we so much to do, mamma P" said
Ellen.
O, many things," said her mother; "you will
see. But now, Ellen, if there is anything you wish
to talk to me about, any question you want to ask,
anything you would like particularly to have, or to
have done for you,-I want you to tell it me as
soon as possible, now while we can attend to it,-
for by and by, perhaps, we shall be hurried."
Mamma," said Ellen, with brightening eyes,
"there is one thing I have thought that I should
like to have, shall I tell it you now P"
Yes."
Mamma, you know I shall want to be writing a
great deal; wouldn't it be a good thing for me to
have a little box with some pens in it, and an ink.
stand, and some paper and wafers P Because,
mamma, you know I shall be among stranger at
first, and I shall nt like asking them for these
things as often as I shall want them and may be
they would not want to let me have them if I did."






"TM wrDn, wiDE WOMLD. Wf
"I have thought of that already, daughter,"
said Mrs. Montgomery, with a smile and a sigh.
I will certainly take care that you are well pro-
vided in that respect before you go."
"How am I to go, mamma ?"
"What do you mean P"
I mean, who will go with me P You know I
cannot go alone, mamma."
"No, my daughter, I will not send you alone.
But your father says it is impossible for ims to take
the journey at present, and it is yet more impo-
sible for me. There is no help for it, daughter, but
we must intrust you to the care of some friend
going that way ;-but He that holds the winds and
waters in the hollow of His hand can take care of
you without any of our help, and it is to His keep-
mg above all that I shall commit you."
Ellen made no remark, and seemed much less
surprised and troubled than her mother had ex-
pected. In truth, the greater evil swallowed up the
less. Parting from her mother, and for so long a
time, it seemed to her comparatively a matter of
little importance with whom she went, or how, or
where. Except for this, the taking a long journey
under a stranger's care would have been a dreadful
thing to her.
"Do you know yet with whom I shall go,
mamma ?p
Not yet; but it will be necessary to take the
first good opportunity, for I cannot go till I have
seen you off; and it is thought very desirable that
I should get to sea before the severe weather
comes."
It was with a pang that these words were spoken,
and heard, but neither showed it to the other.
It has comforted me greatly, my dear child, that
you have shown yourself so submissive and patient
D





26 THE WIDA, WIDE wORLD.
nnder this affliction. I should scarcely have been
able to endure it if you had not exerted self-control.
You have behaved beautifully."
This was almost too much for poor Ellen. It re-
quired her utmost stretch of self-control to keep
within any bounds of composure; and for some
moments her flushed cheek, quivering lip, and
heaving bosom, told what a tumult her mother's
words had raised. Mrs. Montgomery saw she had
gone too far, and willing to give both Ellen and
herself time to recover, she laid her head on the
pillow again, and closed her eyes. Many thoughts
coming thick upon one another presently filled her
mind, and half an hour had passed before she again
recollected what she had meant to say. She opened
her eyes: Ellen was sitting at a little distance,
staring into the fire, and evidently as deep in medita-
tion as her mother had been.
Ellen," said Mrs. Montgomery, did you ever
fancy what kind of a Bible you would like to have P"
"A Bible mamma," said Ellen, with sparkling
eyes, Do you mean to give me a Bible P"
Mrs. Montgomery smiled.
"But, mamma," said Ellen, gently, "I thought
you could not afford it P"
I have said so, and truly," answered her mother;
and hitherto you have been able to use mine, but I
will not leave you now without one. I will find
ways and means," said Mrs. Montgomery, smiling
again.
0 mamma, thank you said Ellen, delighted;
how glad I shall be!" And after a pause for con-
sideration, she added, "Mamma, I never thought
much about what sort of one I should like; could
not I tell better if I were to see the different kinds
in the shop ?"
"Perhaps so. Well, the first day that the





THR WID, WIDI WOULD. 27
weather is fine enough, and I am well enough, I
wil go out with you, and we will see about it."
am afraid Dr. Green will not let you, mamm."
"I shall not ask him. I want to get you a Bible,
and some other things that I will not leave you
without, and nobody can do it but myself. I sal
go, if I possibly can."
"What other thing mamma?" asked lien,
very much interested in the subject.
"I do not think it will do to tell you to-night,"
said Mrs. Montgomery, smiling. I foresee that
you and I should be kept awake quite too late if we
were to enter upon it just now. We will leave it
till to-morrow. Now read to me, love, and then to
bed."
Ellen obeyed; and went to sleep with brighter
visions dancing before her eyes than had been the
case for some time.












CHAPTER m.


Sweetheart, we shall be rich ere we depart,
If airing come thus plentifully in.a--SHArA .

Emiax had to wait some time for the desired fine
day. The equinoctial storms would have their way
as usual, and Ellen thought they were longer than
ever this year. But after many stormy day had
tried her patience, there was at length a sudden
change, both without and within doors. The clouds
had done their work for that time, and fled away
before a strong northerly wind, leaving the sky
bright and fair. And Mrs. Montgomery's deceitful
disease took a turn, and for a little space raised the
hopes of her friends. All were rejoicing but two
persons: Mrs. Montgomery was not deceived,
neither was the doctor. The shopping project was
ket a profound secret from him and from every-
bod except Ellen.
en watched now for a favourable day. Every
morning as soon as she rose she went to the window
to see what was the look of the weather; and about
a week after the change above noticed, she was
greatly pleased one morning, on opening her win-
dow as usual, to find the air and ky promising all
that could be desired. It was one of those beau-
tiful days in the end of September, that sometimes
herald October before it arrives,-cloudless, bril-
liant, and breathing balm. "This will do," said
Ellen to herself, in great satisfaction. I think
this will do; I hope mamma will think so."





rHs wID, winI wOusa W
Hastily dressing herself, and a good deal excited
already, she ran down stairs; and after the morning
saluttions, examined her mother's looks with a
much anxiety as she had just done those of the
weather. All was satisfactory there also; andllen
ate her breakfast with an excellent appetite; but
she said not a word of the intended expedition till
her father should be gone. She contteted herself
with strengthening her hopes by making constant
fresh inspections of the weather and her mother's
countenance alternately; and her eyee returning
from the window on one of thee excursions an
meeting her mother's face saw a mile there which
said al she wanted. Breakfast went an more vi-
gorously than ever. But after breakfast it seemed
to Ellen that her father never wouldgo away. He
took the newspaper, an uncommon thing for him,
and pored over it most pereveringly, while Ellen
was m a perfect fidget of impatience. Her mother,
seeing the state she was in, and taking pity on her,
sent her up stairs to do some little matters of busi-
ness in her own room. These Ellen despatched
with all possible zeal and speed: and coming down
again found her father gone and her mother alone.
She flew to kiss her in the first place, and then
make the inquiry, "Do not you think to-day will
do, mnmma P"
As fne as possible, daughter; we could not
have a better: but I must wait till the doctor has
been here."
Mamma," said Ellen, after a use, m n a
great effort of self-denial, I am aaid you ought
not to go out to get these things for me. Pray do
not, mamma, if you think it will do you harm. I
would rather go without them; indeed I would."
Never mind that, daughter," said Mrs. Mont-
gomery, kissing her; "I am bent upon it; it would
D2






o0 THE WIDE, WIDB WOULD.
be quite as much of a disappointment to me as to
you not to go. We have a lovely day for it, and
we will take our time and walk slowly, and we hare
not far to go either. But I must let Dr. Green
make his visit first."
To fill up the time till he came, Mrs. Montgo.
mery employed Ellen in reading to her as usual.
And this morning's reading Ellen long after remem-
bered. Her mother directed her to several passages
in different parts of the Bible that speak of heaven
and its enjoyments; and though, when she began,
her own little heart was full of excitement, in view
of the day's plans, and beating with hope and plea.
sure, the sublime beauty of the words and thoughts,
as she went on, awed her into quiet, and her mo-
ther's manner at length turned her attention entirely
from herself. Mrs. Montgomery was lying on the
sofa, and for the most part listened in silence, with
her eyes closed; but sometimes said a word or
two that made Ellen feel how deep was the interest
her mother had in the things she read of, and how
pure and strong the pleasure she was even now
taking in them; and sometimes there was a smile
on her face that Ellen scarce liked to see; it gave
her an indistinct feeling that her mother would not
be long away from that heaven to which she seemed
already to belong. Ellen had a sad consciousness
too that she had no part with her mother in this
matter. She could hardly go on. She came to
that beautiful passage in the seventh of Revela-
tion:-
And one of the elders answered, saying unto
me, What are these which are arrayed in white
robes P and whence came they And. I aid unto
him, Sir, thou knowest. And he said unto me,
These are they which came out of great tibulation,
and have washed their robes and made them white






T=R W m WIDs wORsL. 1
in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they be.
fore the throne of God, and serve him day and night
in his temple; and he that sitteth on the throne
shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no
more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the
sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb
which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them,
and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters:
and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."
With difficulty, and a husky voice, Ellen got
through it. Lifting then her eyes to her mother's
face,i she aw again the same singular sweet smile.
Ellen felt that she could not read another word; to
her great relief the door opened, and Dr. Green
came in. His appearance changed the whole course
of her thoughts. All that was grave or painful fed
quickly away; Ellen's head was immediately full
again of what had filled it before she began to read.
As soon as the doctor had retired, and was fairly
out of hearing, Now, mamma, shall we go 9 said
Ellen. You need not stir, mamma; I will bring
all your things to you, and put them on; may ,
mamma ? then you will not be at all tired before
you set out."
Her mother assented; and with a great deal of
tenderness, and a great deal of eagerness, Ellen put
on her stockings and shoes, arranged her hair, and
did all that she could toward changing her dress,
and putting on her bonnet'and shawl; and greatly
del ted she was when the business was accom-
Now, mamma, you look like yourself; I have
not seen you look so well this great while. I am
.. ga you are going out again said Ellen, put-
tin arms round her; I do believe it will do you
good. Now, mamma, I will go ad get ready; I







85s TT WIDJ, wn WOULD.
will be very quick about it: you shall not have to
wait long for me."
In a few minutes the two set forth from the
house. The day was as fine as could be; there was
no wind, there was no dust; the sun was not op-
pressive; and Mrs. Montgomery did feel refreshed
and strengthened during the few steps they had to
take to their first stopping-place.
It was a jeweller's shop. Ellen had never been
in one before in her life, and her first feeling on en-
tering was of dassled wonderment at the glittering
splendours around: this was presently forgotten in
curiosity to know what her mother could possibly
want there. She soon discovered that she had
come to sell, and not to buy. Mrs. Montgomery
drew a ring from her finger, and after a little bar-
gaining parted with it to the owner of the shop for
eighty dollars, being about three-quarters of its
real value. The money was counted out, and she
left the shop.
Mamma," said Ellen, in a low voice, "was no
that grand-mamma's ring, which I'thought you
loved so much P"
"Yes, I did love it, Ellen, but I love you better."
Oh, mamma, I am very sorry I" said Ellen.
"You need not be sorry, daughter. Jewels
in themselves are the merest nothings to me; and
as for the rest, it does not matter; I can remember
my mother without any help from a trinket."
There were tears, however, in Mrs. Montgomery's
eyes, that showed the sacrifice had cost her some-
thing; and there were tears in Ellen's that told it
was not thrown away upon her.
"I am sorry you should know of this," con-
tinued Mrs. Montgomery; "you should not if I
could have helped it. But set your heart quite at






TR WfID, WXDE WORLD. a5
rest, Ellen; I assure you this use of my ring givn
me more pleasure on the whole than any other I
could have made of it."
A grateful eese of her hand and glance into
her face was Ellen's. answer.
Mrs. Montgomery had applied to her husband
for the funds necessary to fit out Ellen comfortably
for the time they should 'be absent; and in
answer he had given her a sum barely sufficient for
her mere clothing. Mrs. Montgomery knew him
better than to aak for a further supply, but she
resolved to have recourse to other means to do
what she had determined upon. Now that she was
about to leave her little daughter, and it might be
for ever, she had set her heart upon providing her
with certain things which she thought important
to her comfort and improvement, and which Ellen
would go very long without if sde did not give them
to her, and now. Ellen had had very few presents
in her life, and those always of the simplest and
cheapest kind; her mother resolved that in the
midst of the bitterness of this time she would give
her one pleasure, if she could; it might be the
last.
They stopped next at a bookshop. Oh, what a
delicious smell of new books!" said Ellen, as they
entered. "Mamma, if it was not for one thing, I
should say I never was so happy in my life."
Children's books, lying in temptg confusion
near the door, immediately fastened Ellen's eyes
and attention. She opened one, and was already
deep in the interest of it, when the word Bibles
struck her ear. Mrs. Montgomery was desiring
the shopman to show her various kinds and sises
that she might choose from among them. Down
went Ellen's book, and she-flew to the place, where
a dozen different Bibles were presently displayed.







34 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD.
Ellen's wits were ready to forsake her. Such
beautiful Bibles she had never seen; she pored in
ecstacy over their varieties of type and binding,
and was very evidently in love with them all.
"Now, Ellen," said Mrs. Montgomery, "look
and choose; take your time, and see which you
like best."
It was not likely that Ellen's "time would be
a short one. Her mother seeing this, took a chair
at a little distance to await patiently her decision;
and while Ellen's eyes were rivetted on the Bibles,
her own very naturally were fixed upon her. In
the excitement and eagerness of the moment, Ellen
had thrown off her light bonnet, and with flushed
cheek and sparkling eye, and a brow grave with
unusual care, as though a nation's fate were decid-
ing, she was weighing the comparative advantages
of large, small, and middle sized; black, blue,
purple, and red;-gilt and not gilt;-clasp and no
clasp. Everything but the Bibles before her Ellen
had forgotten utterly; she was deep in what was to
her the most important business; she did not
see the bystanders smile; she did not know there
were any. To her mother's eye it was a most fair
sight. Mrs. Montgomery gazed with rising emo-
tions of pleasure and pain that struggled for the
mastery, but pain at last got the better and rose
very high. "How can I give thee up!" was the
one thought of her heart. Unable to command
herself, she rose and went to a distant part of the
counter, where she seemed to be examining books;
but tears, some of the bitterest she had ever shed,
were falling thick upon the dusty floor, and she
felt her heart like to break. Her little daughter at
one end of the counter had forgotten there ever
was such a thing as sorrow in the world; and she
at the other was bowed beneath a weight of it that







THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 35

was nigh to crush her. But in her extremity she
betook herself to that refuge she had never known
to fail; it did not fail her now. She remembered
the words Ellen had been reading to her but that
very morning, and they came like the breath of
heaven upon the fever of her soul. "Not my will, but
thine be done." She strove and prayed to say it,
and not in vain; and after a little while she was
ab le to return to her seat. She felt that she had
bee n shaken by a tempest, but she was calmer now
than before.
Ellen was just as she had left her, and apparently
just as far from coming to any conclusion. Mrs.
Montgomery was resolved to let her take her way.
Presently Ellen came over from the counter with a
large royal octavo Bible, heavy enough to be a good
-weight for her. Mamma," said she, laying it on
her mother's lap and opening it, what do you
think of that ? is not that splendid ?"
A most beautiful page indeed; is this your
choice, Ellen ?"
"Well, mamma, I don't know;-what do you
think ? "
I think it is rather inconveniently large and
heavy for everyday use. It is quite a weight upon
my lap. I should not like to carry it in my hands
long. You would want a little table on purpose to
hold it."
"Well, that would not do at all," said Ellen,
laughing; I believe you are right, mamma; I
wonder I did not think of it. I might have known
that myself."
She took it back; and there followed another
careful examination of the whole stock; and then
Ellen came to her mother with a beautiful minia-
ture edition in two volumes, gilt and clasped, and






86 TH WIDE, WIDI WOBLD.
very perfect in all respects, but of exceedingly small
print.
"I think I'll have this, mamm" said she: "is i
not a beauty? I could put it in my pocket, yoi
know, and carry it anywhere with the greatest
ease."
It would have one great objection to me," sai
Mrs. Montgomery, inasmuch as I cannot possible,
see to read it."
Cannot you, mamma P But I can read it pei
feetly."
"We, my dear, take it; that is, if you will mak
up your mind to put on spectacles before your time.'
Spectacles, mamma I hope I shall never wee
spectacles."
"What do you propose to do when your sigh
fails, if you shall live so long ?"
Well, mamma,-if it comes to that,-but you
don't advise me, then, to take this little beauty P"
Jude for yourself; I think you are old
enough.
"I know what you think though, mamma, and I
dare say you are right too; I will not take it,
though it is a pity. Well, I must look again."
Mrs. Montgomery came to her help, for it was
plain that Ellen had lost the power of judging amidst
so many tempting objects. But she presently sim-
plified the matter by putting aside all that were
decidedly too large, or too small, or of too fine
print. There remained three, of moderate size
and sufficiently large type, but different binding.
"Either of these, I think, will answer your pur-
pose nicely," said Mrs. Montgomery.
"Then, mamma, if you please, I will have the red
one. I like that the best, because it willput me in
mind of yours."






Vtm WID, WIDn wo"i. 87

Mrs. Montgoasry could find no fault with this
reason She paid for the red Bible, and directed it
to be sent home.
"Shall I not carry it, mamma P" said Ellen.
"No, you would find it in the way; we have
several things to do yet."
"Have we, mamma P I thought we only came
to get a Bible."
-" That is enough for one day, I confess; I am a
little afraid your head will be turned; but I must
run the risk of it. I dare not lose the opportunity
of this fine weather; I may not have such another.
I wish to have the comfort of thinking, when I am
away, that I have left you with everything necessary
to the keeping up of good habits-everything that
will make them pleasant and easy. I wish you to
be always neat, and tidy, and industrious; depend-
ing upon-others as little as possible; and careful to
improve yourself by every means, and eapeciai by
writing to me. I will leave you no excuse, en,
for faiin inany of thee duties. I trust you will
not disappoint me in a single particular."
Ellen's heart was too full to speak; she again
looked up tearfully, and pressed her mother's hand.
I do not expect to be disappointed, love," re-
turned Mrs. Montgomery.
They now entered a large fancy stationer's shop.
" What are we to get here, mamma ?" said Ellen.
A box to put your pens and paper in," saidher
mother, smiling.
O, to be sure," said Ellen, I had almost for-
gotten that." She quite forgot it a minute after.
It was the first time she had ever seen the inside
of such a shop; and the articles displayed on every
side completely bewitched her. From one thing to
another she went, admiring and wondering; in he
VOL. I. -







88 THR WIDE, WIDE WORLD.
wildest dreams she had never imagined such beauti-
ful things. The shop was fairy-land.
Mrs. Montgomery meanwhile attended to busi-
ness. Having chosen a neat little japanned dress-
ingbox, perfectly plain, but well supplied with
everything a child could want in that line, she
called Ellen from the delightful journey of discovery
she was making round the shop, and asked her what
she thought of it. I think it's a little beauty,"
said Ellen; "but I never saw such a place for
beautiful things."
You think it will do, then ?" said her mother.
For me, mamma! You don't mean to give it
to me 0, mother, how good you are! But I
know what is the best way to thank you, and I'll
do it. What a perfect little beauty! Mamma, I am
too happy."
I hope not," said her mother, for you know I
have not got you the box for your pens and paper
yet."
Well, mamma, I'll try and bear it," said Ellen,
laughing. But do get me the plainest little thing
in the world, for you are giving me too much."
Mrs. Montgomery asked tolook at writing-desks,
and was shown to another part of the shop for the
purpose. Mamma," said Ellen, in a low tone, as
they went, you are not going to get me a writing-
desk P"
Why, that is the best kind of box for holding
writing materials," said her mother, smiling;-
do you not think so ?"
I don't know what to say!" exclaimed Ellen.
"I cannot thank you mamma;-I have not any
words to do it. I think I shall go crazy."
She was truly overcome with the weight of hap-
piness. Words failed her, and tears came instead.






TEN WID, WIDn WOrLD. 89
From among a great many desks of all deserip
tions, Mrs. Montgomery with some difficulty sue-
ceeded in choosing one to her mind. It was of
mahogany, not very large, but thoroughly well
made and finished, and very convenient and perfect
in its internal arrangements. Ellen was speechless;
occasional looks at her mother and deep sighs were
all she had now to offer. The desk was quite
empty. Ellen," said her mother, "do you re-
member the contents of Miss Allen's desk, that yon
were so pleased with some while since F"
Perectly, mamma; I know all that was in it."
Well, then, you must prompt me if I forget
anything. Your desk shall be furnished with every-
thing really useful. Merely showy matters we can
dispense with. Now let us see.-Here is a great
empty place that I think wants some paper to ill it.
Show me some of different sizes, if you please."
The shopman obeyed, and Mrs. Montgomery
stocked the desk well with letter-p r, large and
small. Ellen looked on in great satisfaction. "That
will do nicely," she said;-" that large paper will
be beautiful whenever I am writing to you, mamma,
you know, and the other will do for other times
when I have not so much to say; though I am sure
I do not know who there is in the world I should
ever send letters to except you."
If there is nobody now, perhaps there will be
at some future time," replied her mother. "I hope
I shall not always be your only correspondent.
Now what next P
Envelopes, mamma."
To be sure; I had forgotten them. Envelopes
of both sizes to match."
"Because, mamma, you know I might, and I cer-
tainly shall want to write upon the fourth page of






40 THE WID, WID WOULD..
m letter, and I could not do it unless I had en-
A sufcient stock of envelopes was laid in.
"Mamma," said Ellen, what do you think of a
little note-paper P"
Who are the notes to be written to, Ellen P"
mid Mrs. Montgomery, smiling.
You need not smile, mamma; you know, as
you said, if I do not know now, perhaps I shall by-
and-by. Miss Allen's desk had note-paper; that
made me think of it."
So shall yours, daughter; while we are about it
we will have all that can be desired. And your
note-paper will keep quite safely in this nice little
place provided for it, even if you should not want to
use a sheet of it in half a dozen years."
How nice that is !" said Ellen, admiringly.
I suppose the note-paper must have envelopes
too P" said Mrs. Montgomery.
To be sure, mamma; I suppose so," said Ellen,
smiling; "Miss Allen's had."
Well, now we have all the paper we want, I
think," said Mrs. Montgomery; "the next thing is
ink,-or an inkstand rather."
Different kinds were presented for her choice.
0, mamma, that one will not do," said Ellen,
anxiously; "you know the desk will be shaking
about in a trunk, and the ink would run out and
spoil everything. It should be one of those that
hut eight. I do not see the right kind here."
The shopman brought one.
There, mamma, do you see P" said Ellen; it
shuts with a spring, and nothing can possibly come
out; do you see, mamma P You can turn it topsy-
t" see you are quite right, daughter; it seems I







THU WIDm, WIDM WOL. 41
should get on very ill without you to advise me.
'Fill the inkstand, if you please."
Mamme, what shall I do when my ink is gone
that inkstand will hold but a little, you know.
Your aunt will supply you, of course, my dear,
when you have finished this."
I would rather take some of my own by half,"
said Ellen.
You could not carry a bottle of ink in your
desk without great danger to everything else m it.
It would not do to venture."
We have excellent ink-powder," said the shop.
man, in small packages, which can he very con-
veniently carried about. You see, ma'am, there is
a compartment in the desk for such things; and the
ink is very easily made at any time."
0 that will do nicely," said Ellen, "that is just
the thing."
Now what is to go in this other square place
opposite the inkstand ?" said Mrs. Montgomery,
"That is the place for the box of lights, mamma."
"What sort of lights P"
For sealing letters, mamma, you know. They
are not like your wax taper at all; they are little
wax matches, that burn just long enough to seal
one or two letters; Miss Allen showed me how she
used them. Her's were in a nice little boxjust like
the inkstand on the outside; and there was a place
to light the matches, and a place to set them in
while they are burning. There, mamma, that's it,"
said Ellen, as the shopman brought forth the article
which she was describing, "that's it exactly; and
that will just fit. Now, mamma, for the wax."
You want to seal your letter before you have
written it," said Mrs. Montgomery,-" we have not
got the pens yet."







4 2 TW wIDn, WIDS WOBn.
That's true, mamma; let us have the pens.
And some quills too, mamma ?"
Do you know how to make a pen, Ellen P"
No, mamma, not yet; but I want to learn very
much. Miss Pichegru says, that every lady ought
to know how to make her own pens."
Miss Pichegru is very right; but I think you
are rather too young to learn. However, we will
try. Now here are steel points enough to last you
a great while,-aud as many quills as it is needful
yU should cut up for one year at least;-we
have not a pen-handle yet."
Here, mamma," said Ellen, holding out a plain
ivory one,-don't you like this? I think it is
prettier than these that are all cut and fussed, or
those other gay ones either."
I think so to, Ellen; the plainer the prettier.
Now what comes next ?"
"The knife, mamma, to make the pens," said
Ellen, smiling.
True, the knife. Let us see some of your best
penknives. Now, Ellen, choose. That one will not
do, my dear; it should have two blades,-a large as
well as a small one. You know you want to mend
a pencil sometimes."
So I do, mamma, to be sure, you are very right;
here is a nice one. Now, mamma, the wax."
"There is a box-full; choose your own colours."
Seeing it was likely to be a work of time, Mrs.
Montgomery walked away to another part of the
shop. When she returned Ellen had made up an
assortment of the oddest colours she could find.
I will not have any red, mamma, it is so com-
mon," she said.
I think it is the prettiest of all," said Mrs. Mont.
gomery.






THR WIDI, WID wOnLD. 4
"Do you, mamma then I will have a stick of
red on purpose to seal to you with."
"Ana who shall have the benefit of the other
colours ?" inquired her mother.
"I declare, mamma," said Ellen, laughing, "I
never thought of that; I am afraid they will have
to go to you. You must not mind, mamma, if you
get green and blue and yellow seals once in a while."
"I dare say I shall submit myself to it with a
good grace," said Mrs. Montgomery. "But come,
my dear, have we got all that we want P This desk
has been very long in furnishing."
You have not given me a seal yet, mamma."
"Seals! There are a variety before you; see if
you can find one that you like. By the way, you
cannot seal a letter, can you P"
"Not yet, mamma," said Ellen, smiling again,
"that is another of the things I have to learn."
Then I think you had better have some wafers
in the meantime."
While Ellen was picking out her seal, which took
not a little time, Mrs. Montgomery laid in a good
supply of wafers of all sorts; and then went on
further to furnish the desk with an ivory leaf-cutter,
a paper-folder, a pounce-box, a ruler, and a nest little
silver pencil; also, some drawing-pencils, India-
rubber, and sheets of drawing paper. She took a
sad pleasure in adding everything she could think
of that might be for Ellen's future use or advantage;
but as with her own hands she placed in the desk
one thing after another, the thought crossed her
mind how Ellen would make drawings with those
very pencils, on those very sheets of paper, which
her eyes would never see I She turned away with
a sigh, and receiving Ellen's seal from her hand, put
that also in its place. Ellen had chosen one with
her own name.






44 THI WIDE, WIDS won D.
Will you send these things at once maid Mrs.
Montgomery; "I particularly wish to have them at
home as early in the day as possible."
The man promised. Mrs. Montgomery paid the
bill, and she and Ellen left the shop.
They walked a little way in silence.
"I cannot thank you, mamma," said Ellen.
"It is not necessary, my dear child," said Mrs.
Montgomery, returning the pressure of her hand;
"I know all that you would say."
There was as much sorrow as joy at that moment
in the heart of the joyfullest of the two.
"Where are we going now, mamma P" said Ellen
again after a while.
"I wished and intended to have gone to St. Clair
and Fleury's, to get you some merino and other
things; but we have been detained so long already
that I think I had better go home. I feel some-
what tired."
I am very sorry, dear mamma," said Ellen,-" I
am afraid I kept you too long about that desk."
"You did not keep me, daughter, any longer
than I chose to be kept. But I think I will go
home now, and take the chance of another fine day
for the merino."











CHAPTER IV.
How can I live without thee how forego
Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly oined.-MNror.
WHzu dinner was over and the table cleared
away, the mother and daughter were left, as they
always loved to be, alone. It was late in the after
noon, and already somewhat dark, for clouds had
gathered over the beautiful sky of the morning, and
the wind rising now and then made its voice heard.
Mrs. Montgomery was lying on the sofa as usual,
seemingly at ease; and Ellen was sitting on a little
bench before the fire, very much at her ease indeed,
without any seeming about it. She smiled as she
met her mother's eyes.
"You have made me very happy to day, mamma."
I am glad of it, my dear child. I hoped I should.
I believe the whole affair has given me as much
pleasure, Ellen, as it has you."
There was a pause.
"Mamma, I will take the greatest possible care
of my new treasures."
"Iknow you will. If I had doubted it, Ellen, most
assuredly I should not have given them to you, sorry
as I should have been to leave you without them.
So you see you have not established a character for
carefulness in vain."
"And, mamma, I hope you have not given them
to me in vain either. I will try to use them in the
way that I know you wish me; that will be the
best way I can thank you."






46 THI WIDE, WIDI WOBLD.
"Well, I have left you no excuse, Ellen. You
know fully what I wish you to do and to be; and
when I am away I shall please myself with thinking
that my little daughter is following her mother's
wishes; I shall believe so, Ellen. You will not let
me be disappointed P"
0 no, mamma," said Ellen, who was now in her
mother's arms.
"Well, my child," said Mrs. Montgomery, in a
lighter tone, "my gifts will serve as reminders for
you if you are ever tempted to forget my lessons.
If you fail to send me letters, or if those you send
are not what they ought to be, I think the desk will
cry shame upon you. And if you ever go an hour
with a hole in your stocking, or a tear in your dress,
or a string wanting, I hope the sight of your work-
box will make you blush."
Work-box, mamma P"
Yes. O, I forgot; you have not seen that."
No, mamma; what do you mean P"
Why, my dear, that was one of the things you
most wanted, but I thought it best not to over-
whelm you quite this mormnng; so while you were
on an exploring expedition round the shop I chose
and furnished one for you."
0 mamma, mamma!" said Ellen, getting up and
clasping her hands, what shall I do F I don't know
what to say; I can't say anything. Mamma, it is
too much."
So it seemed, for Ellen sat down and began to
cry. Her mother silently reached out a hand to her,
which she squeezed and kissed with all the energy
of gratitude, love, and sorrow; till gently drawn y
the same hand she was placed again in her mother's
arms and upon her bosom. And in that tried rest-
ing-place she lay, calmed and quieted, till the shades
of afternoon deepened into evening and evening into







TM wrDz, win woaMw. 47

night, and the light of the fire was all that was left
to them.
Though not a word had been spoken for a long
time, Ellen was not asleep; her eyes were fixed on
the red glow of the coals in the grate, and she
was busily thinking, but not of them. Many sober
thoughts were passing through her little head, and
stirring her heart; a few were of her new posses-
sions and bright projects-more of her mother. She'
was thinking how very, very precious was the heart
she could feel beating where her cheek lay-she
thought it was greater happiness to lie there than
anything else in life could e-she thought she had
rather even die so, on her mother's breast, than live
long without her in the world-she felt that in earth
or in heaven there was nothing so dear. Suddenly
she broke the silence.
Mamma, what does that mean, He that loveth
father or mother more than me, is not worthy of
me '"
"It means just what it says. If you love any-
body or anything better than Jesus Christ, you
cannot be one ofhis children."
"But then, mamma," said Ellen, raising her
head, "how can I be one of his children P I do
love you a great deal better ; how can I help it,
mamma P"
"You cannot help it, I know, my dear," said
Mrs. Montgomery, with a sigh, except by His
grace who has promised to change the hearts of his
people-to take away the heart of stone and give
them a heart of flesh."
But is mine a heart of stone, then, mamma,
because I cannot help loving you best P"
"Not to me, dear Ellen," replied Mrs. Mon&
gomery, pressing closer the little form that lay ih
her arms; I have never found it so. But yet I







48 THI WIDI, WIDB'WOBLD.
know that the Lord Jesus is far, far more worthy of
your affections than I am, and if your heart were
not hardened by sin you would see Him so; it is
only because you do not know Him that you lore
me better. Pray, pray, my dear child, that He
would take away the power of sin, and show you
Himself; that is all that is wanting."
I will, mamma," said Ellen, tearfully. 0,
mamma, what shall I do without you P"
Alas, Mrs. Montgomery's heart echoed the ques-
tion; she had no answer.
Mamma," said Ellen, after a few minutes, can
I have no true love to Him at all unless I love Him
beat ?"
I dare not say that you can," answered her
mother, seriously.
"Mamma," said Ellen, after a little, again raising
her head and looking her mother full in the face, as
if willing to apply the severest test to this hard
doctrine, and speaking with an indescribable ex-
pression, "do you. love Him better than you do
seef
She knew her mother loved the Saviour, but she
thought it scarcely possible that herself could have
but the second place in her heart; she ventured a
bold question to prove whether her mother's practice
would not contradict her theory.
But Mrs. Montgomery answered steadily, I do,
my daughter;" and with a gush of tears, Elen sunk
her head again upon her bosom. She had no more
to say; her mouth was stopped for ever as to the
right of the matter, though she still thought it an
impossible duty in her own particular case.
I do indeed, my daughter," repeated Mrs.
Montgomery; that does not make my love to you
the less, but the more, Ellen."
O mamm m a," said Ellen, clinging to







Tta wD)n, WIDN WOURD. 40
her, "I wish you would teach me I have only
you, and I am going to lose you. What shall Ido,
mamma P"
With a voice that strove to be calm, Mrs. Mont.
gomery answered, "' I love them that love me, and
those that seek me early hall find me."' And
after a minute or two she added, "He who says
this has promised too that He will 'gather the
lambs with his arm and carry them in his bosom.'"
The words fell soothingly on Ellen's ear, and the
slight tremor in the voice reminded her also that
her mother must not be agitated. She checked
herself instantly, and soon lay as before, quiet
and still on her mother's bosom, with her eyes
fixed on the fire; and Mrs. Montgomery did not
know that, when she now and then pressed a
kiss upon the forehead that lay so near her lips, it
every time brought the water to Ellen's eyes and a
throb to her heart. But after some half or three
quarters of an hour had passed away, a sudden
knock at the door found both mother and daughter
asleep; it had to be repeated once or twice before
the knocker could gain attention.
What is that, mamma ?" said Ellen, starting up.
Somebody at the door. Open it quickly, love."
Ellen did so, and found a man standing there,
with his arms rather full of sundry packages.
O, mamma, my things I" cried Ellen, clapping
her hands; "here they are "
The man placed his burden on the table, and
withdrew.
0, mamma, I am so glad they are come! Now
if I only had a light-this is my desk, I know, for
it is the largest; and I think this is my dresing-
box, as well as I can tell by feeling-yes, it is, here
is the handle on the top; and this is my dear work-
box-not so big as the desk, nor so small as the
P







60 THE WIDN, WIDI WORLD.
dressing-box. 0, mamma, may I not ring for a
light "
There was no need, for a servant just then entered,
bringing the wished-for candles, and the not-wished-
for tea. Ellen was capering about in the most
fantastic style, but suddenly stopped short at sight
of the tea-things, and looked very grave. "Well,
mamma, I'll tell you what I will do," she said, after
a pause of consideration; I will make the tea the
first thing, before I untie a single knot; won't that
be best, mamma ? Because I know if I once begin
to look, I shall not want to stop. Do you not think
that is wise, mamma P"
But alas! the fire was very low; there was no
making the tea quickly ; and the toast was a work
of time. And when all was over at length, it was
then too late for Ellen to begin to undo packages.
She struggled with impatience a minute or two, then
gave up the point very gracefully, and went to bed.
She had a fine opportunity the next day to make
up for the evening a disappointment. It was cloudy
and stormy; to go out was not to be thought of,
and it was very unlikely that anybody would come
in. Ellen joyfully allotted the whole morning to
the examination and trial of her new possessions ;
and as soon as breakfast was over and the room
clear, she set about it. She first went through the
desk and everything in it, making a running com-
mentary on the excellence, fitness, and beauty of all
it contained; then the dressing-box received a share,
but a much smaller share, of attention; and lastly,
with fingers trembling with eagerness she untied
the packthread that was wound round the work-
box, and slowly took off cover after cover; she
almost screamed when the last was removed. The
box was of satin-wood, beautifully finished, and
lined with crimson silk; and Mrs. Montgomery







THB WIDZ, WImD WOnBL. 51
had taken good care it should want nothing that
Ellen might need to keep her clothes in perfect
order.
"0, mamma, how beautiful! 0, mamma, how
good you are! Mamma, I promise you I will never
bea slattern. Here is more cotton than I can use
up in a long time-every number, I do think; and
needles, oh, the needles what a parcel of them !
and, mamma! what lovely scissor did you choose
it, mamma, or did it belong to the box P
"I chose it."
"I might have guessed it, mamma; it is just like
you. And here is a thimble-fits me exactly; and
an emery-bag! how pretty! --and a bodkin! this is
a great deal nicer than yours, mamma-yours is
decidedly the worse for wear;--and what is this P
-0, to make eyelet holes with, I know. And 0,
mamma! here is almost everything, I think-here
are tapes, and buttons, and hooks and eyes, and
darning cotton, and silk-winders, and pins, and all
sorts of things. What are these, mamma "
"These are scissors to cut button-holes with.
Try it on that piece of paper that lies by you, and
you will see how it works.
I see!" said Ellen, "how very nice that is.
Well, I shall take great pains now to make my but-
ton-holes very handsomely."
One survey of her riches could by no means
satisfy Ellen. For some time she pleased herself
with going over and over the contents of the box,
finding each time something new to like. At
length she closed it, and keeping it still in her lap,
sat awhile looking thoughtfully into the fire; till
turning toward her mother she met her gaze, fixed
mournfully, almost tearfully, on herself. The box
was instantly pushed aside, and getting up and
bursting into tears, Ellen went to her. O, dear







U5 THE WIDE, WIDE WOrLD.
mother," she said, "I wish they were all back in
the shop, if I could only keep you !"
Mrs. Montgomery answered only by folding her
to her heart.
"Is there no help for it, mamma P"
"There is none.-We know that all things work
together for good to them that love God."
Then it will be all good for you, mamma; but
what will it be for me P" And Ellen sobbed
bitterly.
"It will be all well, my precious child, I doubt
not. I do not doubt it, Ellen. Do you not doubt
it either, love; but from the hand that wounds,
seek the healing. He wounds that he may heal.
He does not affect willingly. Perhaps he sees,
Ellen, that you never would seek Him while you
had me to cling to."
Ellen clung to her at that moment yet not more
than her mother clung to her.
How happy we were, mamma, only a year ago,
--even a month."
"We have no continuing city here," answered
her mother, with a sigh. But there is a home,
Ellen, where changes do not come; and they that
are once gathered there are parted no more for ever;
and all tears are wiped from their eyes. I believe
I am going fast to that home; and now my greatest
concern is, that my little Ellen-my precious baby
-may follow me, and come there too."
No more was said, nor could be said, till the
sound of the doctor's steps upon the stairs obliged
each of them to assume an appearance of composure
as speedily as possible. But they could not succeed
perfectly enough to blind him. He did not seem
very well satisfied, and told Ellen he believed he
should have to get another nurse,-he was afraid
she didn't obey orders.







TEN WID, WID1 WOMLD. 58

While the doctor was there Ellen's Bible was
brought in; and no sooner was he gone than it
underwent as thorough an examination as the boxes
had received. Ellen went over every part of it
with the same great care and satisfaction; but
mixed with a different feeling. The words that
caught her eye as she turned over the leaves seemed
to echo what her mother had been saying to her. It
began to grow dear already. After a little she rose
and brought it to the sofa.
Are you satisfied with it, Ellen ?"
Oh yes, mamma; it is perfectly beautiful, out-
side and inside. Now, mamma, will you please to
write my name in this precious book-my name,
and anything else you please, mother. I'1 bring
ou my new pen to write it with, and I've got ink
here;-shall I ?"
She brought it; and Mrs. Montgomery wrote
Ellen's name, and the date of the gift. The pen
played a moment in her fingers, and then she wrote,
below the date-
"' I love them that love me; and those that seek
me early shall find me.'"
This was for Ellen; but the next words were not
for her; what made her write them ?-
"' I will be a God to thee, and to thy seed after
thee.'"
They were written almost unconsciously, and as
if bowed by an unseen force Mrs. Montgomery's
head sank upon the open page; and her soul went
up with her petition:
"Let these words be my memorial, that I have
trusted in Thee. And oh, when these miserable
pe are silent for ever, remember the word unto
Ty servant, upon which Thou hast caused me to
hope; and be unto my little one all Thou hast been
r2








54 THu WDB, WIDE WOSLD.
to me. Unto Thee lift I up mine eyes, 0 Thou
that dwellest in the heavens!"
She raised her face from the book, closed it, and
gave it silently to Ellen. Ellen had noticed her
action, but had no suspicion of the cause; she sup-
posed that one of her mother's frequent feelings of
weakness or sickness had made her lean her head
upon the Bible, and she thought no more about it.
However, Ellen felt that she wanted no more of her
boxes that day. She took her old place by the side
of her mother's sofa, with her head upon her
mother's hand, and an expression of quiet sorrow
in her face that it had not worn for several days.












CHAPTER V.


My ohil is yet stranger in the world,
She hath not een the ohange of fourteen year.

THE next day would not do for the intended shop-
ping; nor the next. The third day was fine, though
cool and windy.
"Do you think you can venture out to-day,
mammaP" said Ellen.
I am afraid not. I do not feel quite equal to
it; and besides the wind is a great deal too lugh for
me."
"Well," said Ellen, in the tone of one who is
making up her mind to something, we shall have
a fine day by and by, I suppose, if we wait long
enough; we had to wait a great while for our first
shopping day. I wish such another would come
round."
But the misfortune is," said her mother, "that
we cannot afford to wait. November will soon be
here, and your clothes may be suddenly wanted
before they are ready, if we do not bestir ourselves.
And Miss Rice is coming in a few days-I ought
to have the merino ready for her."
"What will you do, mamma P"
"I do not know, indeed, Ellen; I am greatly at
a loss."
Could not papa get the stufs for you,
mamma "
"No, he is too busy; and besides, he knows
nothing at all about shopping for me; he would be






6O THI WIDE, WIDE WOULD.
sure to bring me exactly what I do not want. I
tried that once."
"Well, what will you do, mamma P Is there
nobody else you could ask to get the things for
you Mrs. Foster would do it, mamma l"
"I know she would, and I should ask her without
any difficulty, but she is confined to her room with
a cold. I see nothing for it but to be patient and
let things take their course, though if a favourable
opportunity should offer, you would have to go,
clothes or no clothes; it would not do to lose he
chance of a good escort."
And Mrs. ontgomery's face showed that this
possibility of Ellen's going unprovided, gave her
some uneasiness. Ellen observed it.
Never mind me, dearest mother; do not be in
the least worried about my clothes. You do not
know how little I think of them or care for them.
It is no matter at all whether I have them or not."
Mrs. Montgomery smiled, and passed her hand
fondly over her little daughter's head, but presently
resumed her anxious look out of the window.
"Mamma!" exclaimed Ellen, suddenly starting
up, a bright thought has just come into my head I
I will do it for you, mamma!"
"Do what P"
"I will get the merino and things for you,
mamma. You need not smile,-I wil, indeed, if
you will let me."
"My dear Ellen," said her mother, I do not
doubt you would, if good will only were wanting;
but a great deal of skill and experience is necessary,
and what would you do without either P"
But see, mamma," pursued Ellen eagerly, I
will tell you how I will manage, and I know I can
manage very well. You tell me exactly what
coloured merino you want, and give me a little






rTH wmna, WIDI wOMl 57
piece to show how fine it should be, and tell me
what price you wish to give, and then I will go to
the shop, and ask them to show me different pieces,
you know, and if I see any I think you would like,
I will ask them to give me a little piece of it to
show you; and then I will bring it home, and if
you like it, you can give me the money, and tell me
how many yards you want, and I can go back to the
shop and get it. Why cannot I, mamma P"
"Perhaps you could; but my, dear child, I am
afraid you would not like the business."
Yes I should; indeed, mamma, I should like it
dearly if I could help you so. Will you let me try,
mamma P"
I do not like, my child, to venture you alone on
such an errand, among crowds of people; I should
be uneasy about you.
Dear mamma, what would the crowds of people
do to me P I am not at all afraid. You know,
mamma, I have often taken walks alone,-that is
nothing new; and what harm could come to me
while I am in the shop P You need not be the least
uneasy about me;-may I go ?"
Mrs. Montgomery smiled, but was silent.
"May I go, mamma P" repeated Ellen. "Let
me go at least and try what I can do. What do
you say, mamma "
"I do not know what to say, my daughter, but I
am in difficulty on either hand. I will let you go
and see what you can do. It would be a great relief
to me to get this merino by any means."
"Then shall I go at once, mamma P"
As well now as ever. You are not afraid of the
wind P"
I should think not," said Ellen; and away she
scampered up stairs to get ready. With eager haste
she dressed herself; then with great care and par-







05 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD.
ticularity took her mother's instructions as to the
article wanted; and finally set out, sensible that a
great trust was reposed in her, and feeling busy and
important accordingly. But at the very bottom of
Elen's heart there was a little secret doubtfulness
respecting her undertaking. She hardly knew it
was there, but then she could not tell what it was
that made her fingers so inclined to be tremulous
while she was dressing, and that made her heart
beat quicker than it ought, or than was pleasant,
and one of her cheeks so much hotter than the
other. However, she set forth upon her errand with
a very brisk step, which she kept up, till on turning
a corner she came in sight of the place to which
she was going. Without thinking much about it,
Ellen had directed her steps to St. Clair and
Fleury's. It was one of the largest and best shops
in the city, and the one where she knew her mother
generally made her purchases; and it did not occur
to her that it might not be the best for her purpose
on this occasion. But her steps slackened as soon
as she came in sight of it, and continued to slacken
as she drew nearer, and she went up the broad
flight of marble steps in front of the shop very
slowly indeed, though they were exceedingly low
and easy. Pleasure was not certainly the upper-
most feeling in her mind now; yet she never
thought of turning back. She knew that if she
could succeed in the object of her mission her
mother would be relieved from some anxiety; that
was enough; she was bent on accomplishing it.
Timidly she entered the large hall of entrance. It
was full of people, and the buzz of business was
heard on all sides. Ellen had for some time past
seldom gone shopping with her mother, and had
never been in this shop but once or twice before.
She had not the remotest idea where, or in what





THI WIDI, WlDI WOAL. 59
apartment of the building, the merino counter was
situated, and she could see no one to whom she
could speak. She stood irresolute in the middle of
the floor. Everybody seemed to be busily engaged
with somebody else; and whenever an opening on
one side or another appeared to promise her an
opportunity, it was sure to be filled up before she
could reach it, and disappointed and abashed she
would return to her old station in the middle of the
floor. Shopmen frequently passed her, crossing the
shop in all directions, but they were always bustling
along in a great hurry of business; they did not
seem to notice her at all, and were gone before poor
Ellen could open her mouth to speak to them. She
knew well enough now, poor child, what it was that
made her cheeks burn as they did, and her heart
beat as if it would burst its bounds. She felt con-
fused, and almost confounded, by the incessant hum
of voices, and moving crowd of strange people all
around her, while her little figure stood alone and
unnoticed in the midst of them; and there seemed
no prospect that she would be able to gain the ear
or the eye of a single person. Once she determined
to accost a man she saw advancing toward her from
a distance, and actually made up to him for the
purpose; but with a hurried bow, and I beg your
pardon, Miss!" he brushed past. Ellen almost
burst into tears. She longed to turn and run out
of the shop, but a faint hope remaining, and an
unwillingness to give up her undertaking, kept her
fast. At length one of the clerks in the desk ob-
served her, and remarked to Mr. St. Clair, who
stood by, There is a little girl, sir, who seems to
be looking for something, or waiting for somebody;
she has been standing there a good while." Mr.
St. Clair, upon this, advanced to poor Ellen's relief.
"What do you wish, Miss ?" he said.







WU THN WID, WID WOmLD.
But Ellen had been so long preparing sentences,
trying to utter them, and failing in the attempt,
that now, when an opportunity to speak and be
heard was given her, the power of speech seemed to
be gone.
Do you wish anything, Miss P" inquired Mr.
St. Clair again.
Mother sent me," stammered Ellen,-" I wish,
if you please, sir,-mamma wished me to look at
merinoes, sir, if you please."
Is your mamma m the shop P"
No, sir," said Ellen, she is ill, and cannot
come out, and she sent me to look at merinoes for
her, if you please, sir."
Here, Saunders," said Mr. St. Clair, "show
this young lady the merinoes."
Mr. Saunders made his appearance from among a
little group of clerks, with whom he had been nm-
dulging in a few jokes by way of relief from the
tedium of business. Come this way," he said to
Ellen; and sauntering before her, with a rather
dissatisfied air, led the way out of the entrance hall
into another and much larger apartment. There
were plenty of people here too, and just as busy as
those they had quitted. Mr. Saunders having
brought llen to the merino counter, placed himself
behind it; and leaning over it and fixing his eyes
carelessly upon her, asked what she wanted to look
at. His tone and manner struck Ellen most un-
pleasantly, and made her again wish herself out of
the store. He was a tall, lank young man, with a
quantity of fair hair combed down on each side of
his face, a slovenly exterior, and the most disagree-
able pair of eyes, Ellen thought, she had ever beheld,
She could not bear to meet them, and cast down her
own. Theirlook was bold, ill-bred, and ill-humoured;
and Ellen felt, though she could not have told why,






sr waID, WIDZ WOrLD. 51
that she need not expect either kindness or polite.
ness from him.
What do you want to see;little one P" inquired
this gentleman, as if he had a business on hand he
would like to be rid of. Ellen heartily wished he
was rid of it, and she too. Merinoes, if you
please," she answered, without looking up.
Well, what kind of merinoes P Here are all
sort and descriptions of merinoes, and I can't pull
them all down, you know, for you to look at. What
kind do you want F"
"I do not know without looking," said Ellen;
" please to show me some."
He tossed down several pieces upon the counter,
and tumbled them about before her.
There," said he, is that anything like what
you want There's a pink one,-and there's a
blue one,-and there's a green one. Is that the
kind P"
This is the kind," said Ellen; but this is not
the colour I want."
What colour do you want P"
Something dark, if you please."
Well, there, that green is dark; won't that do P
Bee, that would make up very pretty for you."
"No," said Ellen, "mamma does not like green."
Why don't she come and choose her stuffs her-
self, then What colour does she like F"
Dark blue, or dark brown, or a nice gray, would
do," said Ellen, if it is fine enough."
"' Dark blue,' or 'dark brown,' or a nice gray,'
eh! Well, she's pretty easy to suit. A dark blue
I've showed you already,-what's the matter with
that P"
It is not dark enough," said Ellen.
Well," said he, discontentedly, pulling down





02 THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD.
another piece, "how will that do? That's dark
enough."
It was a fine and beautiful piece, very different
from those he had showed her at first. Even Ellen
could see that, and fumbling for her little pattern
of merino, she compared it with the piece. They
agreed perfectly as to fineness.
What is the price of this P" she asked, with
trembling hope that she was going to be rewarded
by success for all the trouble of her enterprise.
Two dollars a yard."
Her hopes and her countenance fell together.
" That is too high," she said, with a sigh.
Then take tis other blue; come,-it's a great
deal prettier than that dark one, and not so dear;
and Iknow your mother will like it better."
Ellen's cheeks were tingling, and her heart
throbbing, but she could not bear to give up.
Would you be so good as to show me some
gray?"
g e slowly and ill-humouredly complied, and took
down an excellent piece of dark gray, which Ellen
fell in love with at once: but she was again disap-
pointed; it was fourteen shillings.
Well, if you won't take that, take something
else," said the man; you can't have everything at
once; if you will have cheap goods, of course you
can't have the same quality that you like; but now,
here's this other blue, only twelve shillings, and I'll
let you have it for ten if you'll take it."
No, it is too light and too coarse," said Ellen,
" mamma would not like it."
Let me see," said he, seizing her pattern and
pretending to compare it; "it's quite as fine as
this, if that's all you want."
Could you," said Ellen, timidly, "give me a
little piece of this gray to show to mamma P"







TUE WIDa, WIDN WOULD. 08
Oh no t" said he impatiently, tossing over the
cloths and throwing Ellen's pattern on the floor;
we can't cut up our goods; if people don't choose
to buy of us they may go somewhere else, and if
you cannot decide upon anything I must go and
attend to those that can. I can't wait here all day."
What's the matter, Saunders ?" said one of his
brother shopmen, passing him.
Why, I've been here this half hour showing
cloths to a child that doesn't know merino from a
sheep's back," said he, laughing. And some other
customers coming up at the moment, he was as good
as his word, and left Ellen to attend to them.
Ellen stood a moment stock-still, just where he
had left her, struggling with her feelings of morti-
fication; she could not endure to let them be seen.
Her face was on fire; her head was dizzy. She
could not stir at first, and in spite of her utmost
efforts she could not command back one or two rebel
tears that forced their way; she lifted her hand to
her face to remove them as quietly as possible.
"What is all this about, my little girl?" said a
strange voice at her side. Ellen started, and turned
her face, with the tears but half wiped away, to-
ward the speaker. It was an old gentleman, an odd
old gentleman too, she thought; one she certainly
would have been rather shy of, if she had seen him
under other circumstances. But though his face
was odd, it looked kindly upon her, and it was a
kind tone of voice in which his question had been
put; so he seemed to her like a friend. What is
all this ?" repeated the old gentleman. Ellen be-
gan to tell what it was, but the pride, which had
forbidden her to weep before strangers, gave way at
one touch of sympathy, and she poured out tears
much faster than words as she related her story; so
that it was some little time before the old gentle.







64 THB WIDB, WEID WOaD.
man could get a clear notion of her case. He waited
very patiently till she had finished; but then he set
himself in good earnest about righting the wrong.
" Hallo I you sir he shouted, in a voice that made
everybody look round; "you merino man! come
and show your goods; why are you not at your
post, sir"-as Mr. Saunders came up with an
altered countenance-"here is a young lady you
have left standing unattended to I don't know how
long; are these your manners ?"
The young lady did not wish anything, I believe,
sir," returned Mr. Saunders softly.
You know better, you scoundrel," retorted the
old gentleman, who was in a great passion; I saw
the whole matter with my own eyes. You are a
disgrace to the shop, sir, and deserve to be sent out
of it, which you are likely enough to be."
"I really thought, sir," said Mr. Saunders,
smoothly,-for he knew the old gentleman, and
knew very well he was a person that must not be
offended,-" I really thought-I was not aware, sir,
that the young lady had any occasion for my ser-
vices."
"Well, show your wares, sir, and hold your
tongue. Now, my dear, what did you want?"
"I wanted a little bit of this gray merino, sir, to
show to mamma; I could not buy it, you know, sir,
until I found out whether she would like it."
Cut a piece, sir, without any words," said the
old gentleman. Mr. Saunders obeyed.
"Did you like this best ?" pursued the old gen-
tleman.
"I liked this dark blue very much, sir, and I
thought mamma would; but it is too high."
How much is it P" inquired he.
Fourteen shillings," replied Mr. Saunders.
He said it was two dollars!" exclaimed Ellen.






TUB WIDZ, WIDE WORLD. G6

I beg pardon," said the crest-fallen Mr. Saun-
ders, the young lady mistook me; I was speaking
of another piece when I said two dollars."
He sid this was two dollars, and the gray
fourteen shillings," said Ellen.
Is the gray fourteen killings p" inquired the
old gentleman.
"I think not, sir," answered Mr. Saunders-" I
believe not, sir,-I think it's only twelve, -I'll
inquire, if you please, sir ?"
"No, no," said the old gentleman, I know it is
only twelve-I know your tricks, sir. Cut a piece
off the blue. Now, my dear, are there any more
pieces of which you would like to take patterns to
show your mother P"
No, sir," said the overjoyed Ellen; I am sure
she will like one of these.
Now, shall we go, then ?"
If you please, sir," said Ellen, I should like
to have my piece of merino that I brought from
home; mamma wanted me to bring it back again."
"Where is it P"
"That gentleman threw it on the floor."
"Do you hear, sir ?" said the old gentleman;
" find it directly."
Mr. Saunders found and delivered it, after stoop-
ing in search of it till he was very red in the face;
and he was left, wishing heartily that he had some
safe means of revenge, and obliged to come to the
conclusion that none was within his reach, and that
he must digest his indignity in the best manner he
could. But Ellen and her protector went forth
most joyously together from the shop.
Do you live far from here P" asked the old
gentleman.
O, no, sir," said Ellen, "not very; it is only at
Green's Hotel, in Southing-.treet."
02







66 IBE WIDE, WIDI WORLB.
I will go with you," said he, "and when your
mother has decided which merino she will have, we
will come back and get it. I do not want to trust
you again to the mercy of that saucy clerk."
"0, thank you, sir!" said Ellen, "that isjust
what I was afraid of. But I shall be giving you a
great deal of trouble, sir," she added, in another
tone.
No, you will not," said the old gentleman, I
cannot be troubled, so you need not say anything
about that."
They went gaily along-Ellen's heart about five
times as light as the one with which she had
travelled that very road a little while before. Her
old friend was in a very cheerful mood too, for he
assured Ellen, laughingly, that it was of no manner
of use for her to be in a hurry, for he could not
possibly set off and skip to Green's Hotel, as she
seemed inclined to do. They got there at last.
Ellen showed the old gentleman into the parlour,
and ran up stairs in great haste to her mother.
But in a few minutes she came down again, with a
very April face, for smiles were playing in every
feature while the tears were yet wet upon-her
cheeks.
Mamma hopes you will take the trouble, sir, to
come up stairs," she said, seizing his hand; she
wants to thank you herself, sir."
It is not necessary," said the old gentleman,
"it is not necessary at all:" but he followed his
little conductor nevertheless to the door of her
mother's room, into which she ushered him with
great satisfaction.
Mrs. Montgomery was looking very ill-he saw
that at a glance. She rose from her sofa, and ex-
tending her hand, thanked him with glistening eyes
for his kindness to her child.






TER WIDI, WDRB WOBLD. 67
"I do not deserve any thanks, ma'am," said the
old gentleman; "I suppose my little friend has
told you what made us acquainted P"
She gave me a very short account of it," said
Mrs. Montgomery.
She was very disagreeably tried," said the old
gentleman. "I presume you do not need to be
told, ma'am, that her behaviour was such as would
have become any years. I assure you, ma'am, if I
had had no kindness in my composition to feel for
the child, my honour as a gentleman would have
made me interfere for the lady."
Mrs. Montgomery smiled, but looked through
glistening eyes agam on Ellen. I am very glad
to hear it," she replied. "I was very far from
thinking, when I permitted her to go on this
errand, that I was exposing her to anything more
serious than the annoyance a timid child would feel
at having to transact business with strangers."
I suppose not," said the old gentleman; but
it isn't a sort of thing that should be often done.
There are all sorts of people in this world, and a
little one alone in a crowd is in danger of being
trampled upon."
Mrs. Montgomery's heart answered this with an
involuntary pang. He saw the shade that passed
over her face, as she said sadly :
I know it, sir; and it was with strong un-
willingness that I allowed Ellen this morning to do
as she had proposed; but in truth I was but
making a choice between difficulties. I am very
sorry I chose as I did. If you are a father, sir,
you know better than I can tell you how grateful I
am for your kind interference."
Say nothing about that, ma'am; the less the
better. I am an old man, and not good for much






68 THE WIDI, WIDI WOULD.
now, except to please young people. I think my-
self best off when I have the best chance to do that.
So if you will be so good as to choose the merino,
and let Miss Ellen and me go and despatch our
business, you will be conferring and not receiving a
favour. And any other errand that you please to
entrust her with, I will undertake to see her safe
through."
His look and manner obliged Mrs. Montgomery
to take him at his word. A very short examination
of Ellen's patterns ended in favour of the gray
merino; and Ellen was commissioned not only to
get and pay for this, but also to choose a dark dress
of the same stuff, and enough of a certain article
called nankeen for a coat; Mrs. Montgomery truly
opining that the old gentleman's care would do
more than see her scatheless,-that it would have
some regard to the justness and prudence of her
purchases.
In great glee Ellen set forth again with her new
old friend. Her hand was fast in his, and her
tongue ran very freely, for her heart was completely
opened to him. He seemed as pleased to listen
as she was to talk; and by little and little, Ellen
told him all her history: the troubles that had
come upon her in consequence of her mother's ill-
ness, and her intended journey and prospects.
That was a hay day to Ellen. They returned
to St. Clair and eury's; bought the gray merino,
and the nankeen, and a dark brown mermo for a
dress. Do you want only one of these ?" asked
the old gentleman.
Mamma said only one," said Ellen; that will
last me all the winter."
Well," said he, "I think two will do better. Let
us have another off the same piece, Mr. Shopman."






TaH WDIM, WIDu WOBLD. 69
But I am afraid mamma will not like it, sir,"
said Ellen, gently.
Pho, pho," said he, "your mother has nothing
to do with this; this is my affair He paid for it
accordingly. "Now, Miss Ellen," said he, when
they left the shop, "have you got anything in the
shape of a good warm winter bonnet P For it is as
cold as the mischief up there in Thirlwall; your
pasteboard things will not do; if you do not take
good care of your ears you will lose them some fine
frosty day. You must quilt and pad, and all sorts
of things, to keep alive and comfortable. So you
have not a hood, eh Do you think you and I
could make out to choose one that your mother
would think was not quite a fright ? Come this
way, and let us see. If she does not like it, she can
give it away, you know."
Heled the delighted Ellen into a milliner's shop,
and after turning over a great many different
articles, chose her a nice warm hood, or quilted
bonnet. It was of dark blue silk, well made and
pretty. He saw with great satisfaction that it fit-
ted Ellen well, and would protect her ears nicely;
and having paid for it and ordered it home, he and
Ellen called forth into the street again. But he
would not let her thank him. It is just the very
thing I wanted, sir," said Ellen; "mamma was
speaking about it the other day, and she did not
see how I was ever to get one, because she did not
feel at all able to go out, and I could not get one
myself; I know she will like it very much."
"Would you rather have something for yourself
or your mother, Ellen, if you could choose, and
have but one P"
"Oh, for mamma, sir," said Ellen-"a great
deal I"







70 THE WIDE, WIDE WOrLD.
Come in here," said he: "let us see if we can
find anything she would like."
It was a grocery shop. After looking about a
little, the old gentleman ordered sundry pounds of
fige and white grapes to be packed up m papers;
and being now very near home, he took one parcel
and Ellen the other till they came to the door of
Green's Hotel, where he committed both to her
care.
"Will you not come in, sir P" said Ellen.
No," said he, I cannot this time-I must go
home to dinner."
"And shall I not see you any more, sir ?" said
Ellen, a shade coming over her face, which a minute
before had been quite joyous.
"Well, I do not know," said he kindly-" I hope
you will. You shall hear from me again at any rate,
Promise you. We have spent one pleasant morn-
ing together, have we not ? Good-bye, good-bye!"
Ellen's hands were full, but the old gentleman
took them in both his, packages and all, and shook
them after a fashion; and again bidding her good-
bye, walked away down the street.
The next morning Ellen and her mother were sit-
ting quietly together, and Ellen had not finished her
accustomed reading, when there came a knock at
the door. My old gentleman I" cried Ellen, as she
sprung to open it. No,-there was no old gentle-
man, but a black man with a brace of beautiful
woodcock in his hand. He bowed very civilly, and
said he had been ordered to leave the birds with
Miss Montgomery. Ellen, in surprise, took them
from him, and likewise a note which he delivered
into her hand. Ellen asked from whom the birds
came, but with another polite bow the man said the
note would inform her, and went away. In great
curiosity she carried them and the note to her






THIE WID, WIDE WOls. 71
mother, to whom the latter was directed. It read
thus:-
"Will Mrs. Montgomery permit an old man to
please himself in his own way, by showing his regard
for her little daughter? And not feel that he is
taking a liberty. The birds are or MiuM El."
"Oh, mamma I" exclaimed kEen, jumping with
delight, "did you ever see such a dear old gentle-
man? Now I know what he meant yesterday,
when he asked me if I would rather have something
for myself or for you. How kind he is! to do just
the very thing for me that he knows would give me
the most pleasure. Now, mamma, these birds are
mine, you know, and I give them to you. You
must pay me a kiss for them, mamma; they are
worth that. Are they not beauties P"
"They are very fine indeed," said Mrs. Mont-
gomery: "this is just the season for woodcock, and
these are in beautiful condition."
"Do you like woodcocks, mamma?"
"Yes, very much."
"0, how glad I am!" said Ellen. "I will ask
Sam to have them done very nicely for you, and then
you will enjoy them so much."
The waiter was called, and instructed accordingly,
and to him the birds were committed, to be delivered
to the care of the cook.
"Now, mamma," said Ellen, "I think these birds
have made me ppyfor all the day."
Then I hope, daughter, they will make you busy
all day. You have rufes to hem, and the skirts of
your dresses to make,-we need not wait for Miss
ice to do that: and when she comes you will have
to help her, for I can do little. You cannot be too
industrious."
"Well, mamma, I am as willing as can be."
This was the beginning of a pleasant two weeks







72 THE WiTD, WIDE WORW.
to Ellen; weeks to which she often looked back
afterwards, so quietly and swiftly the days fled away
in busy occupation and sweet intercourse with her
mother. The passions which were apt enough to
rise in Ellen's mind upon occasion, were for the
present kept effectually in check. She could not
forget that her days with her mother would very
soon be at an end, for a long time at least; and this
consciousness, always present to her mind, forbade
even the wish to do anything that might grieve or
disturb her. Love and tenderness had absolute rule
for the time, and even had power to overcome the
sorrowful thoughts that would often rise, so that in
spite of them peace reigned. And perhaps both
mother and daughter enjoyed this interval the more
keenly because they knew that sorrow was at hand.
All this while there was scarcely a day that the
old gentleman's servant did not knock at their door,
bearing a present of game. The second time he came
with some fine larks; next was a superb grouse; then
woodcock again. Curiosity strove with astonishment
and gratitude in Ellen's mind. Mamma," she said,
after she had admired the grouse for five minutes,
"I cannot rest till I find out who this old gentle-
man is."
I am sorry for that," replied Mrs. Montgomery,
gravely, "for I see no possible way of your doing

"Why, mamma, could I not ask the man that
brings the birds what his name is He must know
it."
Certainly not; it would be very dishonourable."
Would it, mamma P-why F"
This old gentleman has not chosen to tell you
his name; he wrote his note without signing it, and
his man has obviously,been instructed not to disclose
it; do you not remember, he did not tell it when






m3X wJs, w3D WOrLD. 73

you asked him, the first time he came. Now this
shows that the old gentleman wishes to keep it secret,
and to try to ind it out in any wa wouldbe avery
unworthy return for his kindness.
"Yes, it would not be doing as I would be done
by, to be sure; but would it be dihonrable,
mamma?"
"Very. It is very dishonourable to try to find
out that about other people which does not concern
you, and which they wish to kee from you. Be-
member that, my dear daughter.'
"I will, mamma. I will never do it, I promise
you."
Even in talking with people, if you discern in
them any unwillingness to speak upon a subject,
avoid it immediately, providedof course that some
higher interest do not oblige you go to on. That is
true politeness, and true kindness, which are nearly
the same; and not to do so, I assure you, Ellen,
proves one wanting in true honour."
Well, mamma, I do not care what his name is,-
at least I will not try to find it out ;--but it does
worry me that I cannot thank him. I wish he knew
how much I feel obliged to him."
"Very well; write and tell him so."
"Mammal" sid Ellen, opening her eyes very
wide,-" can I P-would you "
"Certainly,-if you like. It would be very
proper."
"Then I will!I declare that is a good idea. I
will do it the first thing, and then I can give it to
that man if he comes to-morrow, as I suppose he
will. Mamma," said she, on opening her desk,
"how funny! don't you remember you wondered to
whom Iwas going to write notes ? here is one now,
mamma; it is very lucky I have got note paper."
More than one sheet of it was ruined beoi Elaen
VOL. I. x







74 THE WIDE, WIDE WOBLD.
had satisfied herself with what she wrote. It was a
full hour from the time she began when she brought
the following note for her mother's inspection:-
Ellen Montgomery does not know how to thank
the old gentleman who is so kind to her. Mamma
enjoys the birds very much, and I think I do more;
for I have the double pleasure of giving them to
mamma, and of eating them afterwards; but your
kindness is the best of all. I cannot tell you how.
much I am obliged to you, sir, but I will always
love you for. all you have done for me.
ELLEml MONTGOMERY."
This note Mrs. Montgomery approved; and Ellen
having with great care and great satisfaction en-
closed it in an envelope, succeeded in sealing it
according to rule, and very welL Mrs. Montgomery
laughed when she saw the direction, but let it go.
Without consulting, Ellen had written on the out-
side, "To the Old Gentleman." She sent it the next
morning by the hands of the same servant, who this
time was the bearer of a plump partridge To Miss
Montgomery ;" and her mind was a great deal easier
on this subject from that time.












CHAPTER VI.


Mae. What is the night P
Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is which.
MAOBXH.
OCTOBED was now far advanced. One evening,
the evening of the last Sunday in the month, Mrs.
Montgomery was lying in the parlour alone. Ellen
had gone to bed some time before; and now in the
stillness of the Sabbath evening the ticking of the
clock was almost the only sound to be heard. The
hands were rapidly approaching ten. Captain
Montgomery was aoad; and he had been so,-
according to custom,--or in bed, the whole day.
The mother and daughter had had the Sabbath to
themselves; and most quietly and sweetly it had
passed. They had read together, prayed together,
talked together a great deal; and the evening had
been spent in singing hymns; but Mrs. Mont-
gomery's strength failed here, and Ellen sang alone.
She was not soon weary. Hymn succeeded hymnn
with fresh and varied pleasure; and her mother
could not tire with listening. The sweet words, and
the sweet airs, which were all old friends, and
brought of themselves many a lesson of wisdom and
consolation, by the mere force of association,-
needed not the recommendation of the clear childish
voice in which they were sung, which was of all
things the sweetest to Mrs. Montgomery's ear.
She listened,-till she almost felt as if earth were
left behind, and she and her child already standing
within the walls of that city where sorrow and







76 Ta WIDE, WIDE WOeMD.
ahing shall be no more, and the tears shall be
iped from all eyes for ever. Ellen's next hymn,
however, brought her back to earth again; but
though her tears flowed freely while she heard it,
all her causes of sorrow could not render them
bitter.
God in Israel ows the eeds
Of affliction, pain, and toil;
These pri and ahoke the weed&
Whih would se o'er.pread the soil.
Trial. make the promise sweet,-
Trials gire new life to prayer,-
Tris brnmg me to his eet,
ay me low, and keep me thee.
It is so, indeed, dear Ellen," said Mrs. Mont-
gomery when she had finished, and folding the little
singer to her breast,-" I have always found it so.
God is faithful. I have seen abundant cause to
thank Him for all the evils He has made me suffer
heretofore, and I do not doubt it will be the same
with this last and worst one. Let us glrify Him
in the fires, my daughter; and if early joys be
stripped from us, and if we be torn from each other,
let us cling the closer to him,-He can and He will
in that case make up to us more than all we have
lost."
Ellen felt her utter inability to join in her mo-
ther's expressions of confidence and hope; to her
there was no brightness on the cloud that hung
over them,-it was all dark. She could only press
her lips in tearful silence to the one and the other
of her mother's cheeks alternately. How sweet the
sense of the coming parting made every such em-
brace This one, for ularreasons, was often
and long remembered. A few minutes they re-
mained thus in each other's arms, cheek pressed
against cheek, without speaking; but then Mrs






THn WIDr, WIDr wOLD-. 77:
Montgomery remembered that Ellen's bed-time had
already passed, and dismissed her.
For some while after, Mrs. Montgomery remained
just where Ellen had left her, her busy thoughts
roaming over many things in the far past, and the
sad present, and the uncertain future. She was
unconscious of the passage of time, and did not
notice how the silence deepened as the night drew
on, till scarce a footfall was heard in the street,
and the ticking of the clock sounded with that sad
distinctness which seems to say,-" Time is going
on-time is going on,-and you are going with it,
-do what you, wil you cannot help that." It was
just upon the stroke of ten, and Mrs. Montgomery
was still wrapped in her deep musings, when a
sharp brisk footstep in the distance aroused her,
rapidly approaching ;-and she knew very well
whose it was, and that it would pause at the door,
before she heard the quick run up the steps, suc-
ceeded by her husband's tread upon the staircase.
And yet she saw him open the door with a kind of
startled feeling which his appearance now invariably
caused her: the thought always darted through her
mind, perhaps he brings news of Ellen's going."
Something, it would have been impossible to. say
what, in his appearance or manner, confirmed this
fear on the present occasion. Her heart felt sick,
and she waited in silence to hear what he would
say. He seemed very well pleased; eat down be-
fore the fire rubbing his hands, partly with cold
and partly with satisfaction; and his first words
were, "Well! we have got a fine opportunity for
her at last."
How little he was capable of understanding the
pang this announcement gave his poor wife But
she only closed her eyes and kept lierfectly quiet,
and lie never suspected it.






78 TH WD)1, WTrD wOWUL.
He unbuttoned his coat, and taking the poker in
his hand, began to stir the fire, talking the while.
I am very glad of it, indeed," said he,-" it is
quite a load off my mind. Now we shall be gone
directly, and high time it is-I will take our pas-
sage in the 'England' the first thing to-morrow.
And this is the best possible chance for Ellen-
everything we could have desired. I began to feel
very uneasy about it,-it was getting so tate,-but
I am quite relieved now."
Who is it?" said Mrs. Montgomery, forcing
herself to speak.
Why, it is Mrs. Dunacombe," said the captain,
flourishing his poker by way of illustration,-" you
know her, do you not ?-Captain Dunseombe's
wife-she is going quite through Thirlwall, and will
take charge of Ellen as far as that, and there my
sister will meet her with a waggon, and take her
straight home. Could not be anything better. I write
to let Fortune know when to expect her, Mrs.
Dunscombe is a lady of the first family and fashion
-in the highest degree respectable; she is going
on to Fort Jameson, with her daughter and a ser-
vant, and her husband is to follow her in a few
days. I happened to hear ofit to-day, and I imme.
diately seized opportunity to ask if she would
not take Ellen with her as far as Thirlwall; and
Dunscombe was only too glad to oblige me. I am
a very good friend of his, and he knows it."
How soon does she go ?"
Why-that is the only part of the business 1
am afraid you will not like,-but there is no help
for it;-and after all it is a great deal better so,
than if you had time to wear yourselves out with
mourning-better and easier too, in the end."
How soon" repeated Mrs. Montgomery, with
an agonized accent.





THn WDL, WIDe WOBLD. 7T
"Why-I am a little afraid of startling you-
Dunscombe's wife must go, he told me, to-morrow
morning; and we arranged that she should call in
the carriage at six o'clock to take up Ellen."
Mrs. Montgomery put her hands to her face and
sank back against the sofa.
I was afraid you would take it so," said her
husband,-" but I do think it is not worth while.
It is a great deal better as it is,- great deal better
than if she had a long warning. You would fairly
wear yourself out if you had time enough; and you
have not any strength to spare."
It was some while before Mrs. Montgomery
could recover composure and firmness enough to go
on with what she had to do, though, knowing the
necessity; she strove hard for it. For several mi-
nutes she remained quite silent and quiet, endea-
vouring to collect her scattered forces; then sitting
upright, and drawing her shawl around her, she
exclaimed, I must waken Ellen immediately I"
Waken Ellen!" exclaimed her husband in his
turn,-" what on earth for P That is the very last
thing to be done."
Why, you would not put off telling her until
to-morrow morning ?" said Mrs. Montgomery.
Certainly I would-that is the only proper way.
Why in the world should you wake her up, just to
spend the whole night in useless grieving -unfit-
ting her utterly for her journey, and doing yourself
more harm than you can undo in a week. No, no,
-just let her sleep quietly, and you go to bed and
do the same. Wake her up, indeed! I thought
you were wiser."
"But she will be so dreadfully shocked in the
morning!"
Not one bit more than she would be to-night,
and she will not have so much time to feel it. In







u THu WIDE, WIDB WOBLD.
the hurry and bustle of getting off she will not have
time to think about her feelings; and once on the
way she will do well enough;-children always do."
Mrs. Montgomery looked undecided and un-
satisfied.
"I will take the responsibility of this matter on
myself-you must not awake her, absolutely. It
would not do at all," said the captain, poking the
fire very energetically,-" it would not do at all,-
I cannot allow it."
Mrs. Montgomery silently rose and lit a lamp.
You are not going into Ellen's room ?" said
the husband.
"I must-I must put her things together."
But you will not disturb Ellen P" said he, in a
tone that required a promise.
"Not if I can help it."
Twice Mrs. Montgomery stopped before she
reached the door of Ellen's room, for her heart
failed her. But she must go on, and the necessary
preparations for the morrow must be made;-she
knew it; and repeating this to herself she gently
turned the handle of the door and pushed it open,
and guarding the light with her hand from Ellen's
eyes, she put it where it would not shine uponr
her. Having done this, she set herself, without
once glancing at her little daughter, to put all
things in order for her early departure on the fol-
lowing morning. But it was bitter work for her.
She first laid out all that Ellen would need to wear,
-the dark merino, the new nankeen coat, the white
bonnet, the clean frill that her own hands had done
up, the little gloves and shoes, and all the et ceteras,
with the thoughtfulness and the carefulness of
love; but it went through and through her heart
that it was the very last time a mother's fingers
would ever be busy in arranging or preparing







STM wID, wID wOeas. 81
Ellen's attire the very last time she would
ever see or touch even the little inanimate things
that belonged to her; and painful as the task was,
she wasloth to have itcometo an end. It was with
a kind of lingering unwillingness to quit her hold
of them that one thing after another was packed
carefully and neatly away in the trunk. She felt
it was love's last act; words might, indeed, a few
times yet come over the ocean on a sheet of paper;
but eight, and hearing, and touch, must all end
henceforth for ever. Keenly as Mrs. Montgomery
felt this, she went on busily with her work all the
while; and when the last thing was safely packed,
she shut the trunk and locked it without allowing
herself to stop and think, and even drew the straps.
And then, having finished all her task, she went to
the bedside: she had not looked that way before.
Ellen was lying in the deep sweet sleep of child-
hood; the easy position, the gentle breathing, and
the flush of health upon the cheek, showed that all
causes of sorrow were for the present far removed.
Yet not so far either;-for once when Mrs. Mont-
gomery stooped to kiss her, light as the touch of
that kiss had been upon her lips, it seemed to
awaken a train of sorrowful recollections in the
little sleeper's mind. A shade passed over her
face, and with gentle but sad accent the word,
"Mamma!" burst from the opening lips. Only a
moment,-and the shade passed away, and the
expression of peace settled again upon her brow;
but Mrs. Montgomery dared not try the experi-
ment a second time. Long she stood looking upon
her, as if she knew she was looking her last; then
she knelt by the bedside and hid her face in the
coverings,-but no tears came; the struggle in her
mind and her anxious fear of the morning's trial







82 THE WIDB, WE=I WOUBD.
made weeping impossible. Her husband at length
came to seek her, and it was well he did; she would
have remained there on her knees all night. He
feared something of the kind, and came to prevent
it. Mrs. Montgomery suffered herself to be led
away without making any opposition; and went to
bed as usual, but sleep was far from her. The fear
of Ellen's distress, when she should be awakened
and suddenly told the truth, kept her in an agony.
In restless wakefulness she tossed and turned un-
easily upon her bed, watching for the dawn, and
dreading unspeakably to see it. The Captain, in
happyunconsciousness of his wife's distress,and utter
inability to sympathize with it, was soon in a sound
sleep, and his heavy breathing was an aggravation
of her trouble; it kept repeating, what indeed she
knew already, that the only one in the world who
ought to have shared and soothed her grief was not
capable of doing either. Wearied with watching,
and tossing to and fro, she at length lost herself a
moment in uneasy slumber, from which she sud-
denly started in terror, and seizing her husband's
arm to arouse him, exclaimed, It is time to awake
Ellen!" but she had to repeat her efforts two or
three times before she succeeded in making herself
heard.
What is the matter P" said he, heavily, and not
over well pleased at the interruption.
It is time to wake Ellen."
"No, it is not," said he, relapsing,-it is not
time yet this great while."
"Oh, yes it is," said Mrs. Montgomery,-" I
am sure it is; I see the beginning of dawn in the
east."
"Nonsense it is -no such thing; it is the glim-
mer of the lamp-light; what is the use of your







THI WIDE, WIDs WOLsD. 88
exciting yourself so for nothing P It will not be
dawn these two hours. Wait till I find my re-
peater, and I will convince you."
He found and. struck it.
"There! I told you so-only one quarter past
four; it would be absurd to wake her yet. Do go
to sleep and leave it to me: I will take care it is
done in proper time."
Mrs. Montgomery sighed heavily, and again
arranged herself to watch the eastern horizon, or
rather with her face in that direction; for she could
see nothing. But more quietly now she lay gazing
into the darkness which it was in vain to try to
penetrate; and thoughts succeeding thoughts in a
more regular train, at last fairly cheated her into
sleep, much as she wished to keep it off. She slept
soundly for nearly an hour; and when she awoke
the dawn had really begun to break'in the eastern
sky. She again aroused Captain Montgomery, who
this time allowed it might be as well to get up; but
it was with unutterable impatience that she saw him
lighting a lamp, and moving about as leisurely as
if he had nothing more to do than to get ready for
breakfast at eight o'clock.
"Oh, do speak to Ellen!" she said, unable to
control herself. "Never mind brushing your hair
till afterwards. She will have no time for anything.
O do not wait any longer! what are you thinking
of ."
What are you thinking of said the Captain;
"there is plenty of time. Do quiet yourself-you
are getting as nervous as possible. I am going
immediately."
Mrs. Montgomery fairly groaned with impatience
and an agonizing dread of what was to follow the
disclosure to Ellen. But her husband coolly went
on with his preparations, which, indeed, were not
long in finishing ? and then taking the lamp, he at







as THE WIDB, WIDB WOBLD.
last went. He had in truth delayed on purpose,
wishing the final leave-taking to be as brief as
possible; and the gray streaks of light in the east
were plainly showing themselves when he opened
the door of his little daughter's room. He found
her lying very much as her mother had left her,-
in the same quiet sleep, and with the same expres-
sion of calmness and peace spread over her whole
face and person. It touched even him,- and he
was not readily touched by anything;-it made
him loth to say the word that would drive all that
sweet expression so quickly and completely away.
It must be said, however; the increasing light
warned him he must not tarry; but it was with a
hesitating and almost faltering voice that he said,
"Ellen !"
She stirred in her sleep, and the shadow came
over her face again.
"Ellen Ellen!"
She started up,-quite awake now;-and both the
shadow and the peaceful expression were gone from
her face. It was a look of blank astonishment at
first with which she regarded her father, but very
soon indeed that changed into one of blank despair.
He saw that she understood perfectly what he was
there for, and that there was no need at all for him
to trouble himself with making painful explana-
tions.
"Come, Ellen," he said, "that is a good child,
make haste and dress. There is no time to lose now,
for the carriage will soon be at the door; and your
mother wants to see you, you know."
Ellen hastily obeyed him, and began to put on
her stockings and shoes.
"That is right-now you'll be ready directly.
You are going with Mrs. Dunscombe-I have en-
gaged her to take charge of you all the way quite
to Thirlwall; she is the wife of Captain Dunscombe,







THR WDw, wrIh WOLUL. 85
whom you saw here the other day, you know; and her
daughter is going with her, so you will have charm.
ing company. I dare say you will enjoy the
journey very much; and your aunt will meet you
at Thirlwal. Now, make haste-I expect the
carriage every minute. I meant to have called you
before, but I overslept myself. Do not be long."
And nodding encouragement, her father left her.
"How did she bear it asked Mrs. Montgo-
mery, when he returned.
Like a little hero. She did not say a word, or
shed a tear. I expected nothing but that she would
make great fuss; but she has all the old spirit that
you used to have,-and have yet, for anything I
know. She behaved admirably.
Mrs. Montgomery sighed deeply. She under
stood far better than her husband what Ellen's
feelings were, and could interpret much more truly
than he the signs of them; the conclusions she
drew from Ellen's silent and tearless reception of
the news differed widely from his. She now waited
anxiously and almost fearfully for her appearance,
which did not come as soon as she expected it.
It was a great relief to Ellen when her father
ended his talking and left her to herself: for she
felt she could not dress herself so quickly, while he
was standing there and looking at her, and his
desire that she should be speedy in what she had
to do could not be greater than her own. Her
fingers did their work as fast as they could, with
every joint trembling. But though a weight like a
mountain was upon .the poor child's heart, she
could not cry, and she could not pray,-though
true to her constant habit she fell on her knees by
her bedside: it was in vain; all was in a whirl in
her heart and head, and after a minute she rose
again, clasping her little hands together with a
T









o THE WIDE, WIDE WOBED.
expression of sorrow that it was well her mother
could not see. She was dressed very soon, but she
shrank from going to her mother's room while het
father was there. To save time she put on her
coat, and everything but her bonnet and gloves;
and then stood leaning against the bedpost, for she
could not sit down, watching with most intense
anxiety to hear her father's step as he came out of
the room and was going down stairs. Ever minute
seemed too long to be borne; poor Ellen began to
feel as if she could rot contain herself. Yet ve
had not passed away when she heard the roll of
carriage-wheels, which came to the door and then
stopped, and immediately her father opened the
door to come out. Without waiting any longer
-Ellen opened her own, and brushed past him into
the room he had quitted. Mrs. Montgomery was
still lying on the bed, for her husband had insisted
on her not rising. She said not a word, but opened
her arms to receive her little daughter; and with a
cry of indescribable expression, Ellen sprang upon
the bed, and was folded in them. But then neither
of them spoke or wept. What could words say?
Heart met heart in that agony, for each knew all
that was in the other. No,-not quite all. Ellen
did not know that the whole of bitterness which
death had for her mother she was tasting then.
But it was true. Death had no more power to give
her pain after this parting should be over. His
after-work,-the parting between soul and body,-
would be welcome rather; yes, very welcome. Ms.
Montgomery knew it all well. She knew this ias
the last embrace between them. She knew it was
the very last time that dear little form would ever
:lie on her bosom, or be pressed in her arms; and it
almost seemed to her that soul and body must part
ceempany too when they should be rent asunder.






TaBX VID, w n WONWul. 87

Ellen's grief was not like this ;-~e did not think
it was the last time;-but she was a child of very
high spirit and violent passions, untamed at all by
sorrow's discipline; and in proportion violent was
the tempest excited by this first real trial. Perhaps,
too, her sorrow was sharpened by a sense of wrong,
and a feeling of indignation at her father's cruelty
in not awaking her earlier.
Not many minutes had passed in this sad em-
brace, and.no word had yetbeen spoken, no sound
uttered, except Ellen's first inarticulate cry of mixed
affection and despair, when Captain Montgomery's
step was again heard slowly ascending the stairs.
" He is coming to take me away !" thought Ellen;
and in terror lest she should go without a word
from her mother, she burst forth with, Mamma
speak I"
A moment before, and Mrs. Montgomery could
not have spoken. But she could now; and as
clearly and calmly the words were uttered as if
nothing had been the matter, only her voice fell a
little towards the last.
God bless my darling child! and make her His
own,-and bring her to that home where parting
cannot be."
Ellen's eyes had been dry until now; but when
she heard the sweet sound of her mother's voice, it
opened all the fountains of tenderness within her.
She burst into uncontrollable weeping; it seemed
as if she would pour out her very heart in tears;
and she clung to her mother with a force that made
it a difficult task for her father to remove her. He
could not do it at first; and Ellen seemed not to
hear anything that was said to her. He was very
unwilling to use harshness; and after a little,
though she had paid no attention to his entreaties
or commands, yet sensible of the necessity of the






88 ToI mWID m VID woaD.
case, she gradually relaxed her hold and suffered
him to draw her from her mother's arms. He
carried her down stairs, and put her on the front
seat of the carriage, beside Mrs. Dunscombe's maid,
-but Ellen could never recollect how she got
there, and she did not feel the touch of her father's
hand, nor hear him when he bid her good bye; and
she did not know that he put a larg paper of
candies and sugar-plums in her lap. She knew
nothing but that she had lost her mother.
It will not be so long," said the Captain, in a
kind of apologizing way; she will soon get over
it, and you will not have any trouble with her."
"I hope so," returned the lady, rather shortly;
and then, as the Captain was making his parting
bow, she added, in no very pleased tone of voice,
" Pray, Captain Montgomery, is this young lady to
travel without a bonnet ?"
"Bless me! no," said the Captain. "How is
this? has she not a bonnet? I beg a thousand
pardons, ma'am,-- will bring one in an instant."
After a little delay the bonnet was found, but the
Captain overlooked the gloves in his hurry.
I am very sorry you have been delayed, ma'am,"
said he.
I hope we may be able to reach the boat yet,"
replied the lady. "Drive on as fast as you can!"
A ver polite bow from Captain Montgomery-
a very slight one from the lady-and off they drove.
"Proud enough," thought the Captain, as he
went up the stairs again. I reckon she does not
thank me for her travelling companion. But Ellen
is off-that is one good thing:-and now I will go
and engage berths in the England.' "













CHAPTER VII.


"So fair and fool a day I have not seen."
XL&OBUH.

THE long drive to the boat was only a sorrowful
blank to Ellen's recollection. She did not see the
frowns that passed between her companions on her
account. She did not know that her white bonnet
was such a matter of merriment to Margaret
Dunscombe and the maid, that they could hardly
contain themselves. She did not find out that Miss
Margaret's fingers were busy with her paper of
sweets, which only a good string and a sound knot
kept her from rifling. Yet she felt very well, that
nobody there cared in the least for her sorrow. It
mattered nothing; she wept on in her loneliness,
and knew nothing that happened till the carriage
stopped on the wharf: even then she did not raise
her head. Mrs. Dunscombe got out, and saw her
daughter and servant do the same; then, after
giving some orders about the baggage, she returned
to Ellen.
Will you get out, Miss Montgomery P or would
you prefer to remain in the carnage ? We must
go on board directly."
There was something, not in the words, but in
the tone, that struck Een's heart with an entirely
new feeling. Her tears stopped instantly, and
wiping away quick the traces of them as well as
she could, she got out of the carriage without a
word, aided by Mrs. Dunscombe's hand. The party
12







90 THR WIDE, WIDE WOULD.
were presently joined by a fine-looking man, whom
Ellen recognized as Captain Dunscombe.
Dunscombe, do put these girls on board, will
you P and then come back to me; I want to speak
to you. Timmins, you may go along and look after
them."
Captain Dunscombe obeyed. When they reached
the deck, Margaret Dunscombe and the maid Tim-
mins went straight to the cabin. Not feeling at all
drawn towards their company, as indeed they had
given her no reason, Ellen planted herself by the
guards of the boat, not far from the gangway, to
watch the busy scene that at another time would
have had a great deal of interest and amusement
for her. And interest it had now; but it was with
a very, very grave little face that she looked on the
bustling crowd. The weight on her heart was just
as great as ever, but she felt that this was not the time
or the place to let it be seen; so for the present she
occupied herself with what was passing before her,
though it did not for one moment make her forget
her sorrow.
At last the boat rang the last bell. Captain
Dunscombe put his wife on board, and had barely
time to jump off the boat again when the plank was
withdrawn. The men on shore cast off the great
loops of ropes that held the boat to enormous wooden
posts on the wharf, and they were off!
At first it seemed to Ellen as if the wharf and
the people upon it were sailing away from them
backwards; but she presently forgot to think of
them at all. She was gone!-she felt the bitterness
of the whole truth;-the blue water already lay
between her and the shore, where she so much
longed to be. In that confused mass of buildings
at which she was gazing, but which would be so
soon beyond even gazing distance, was the only spot






MEx wMI, wmDN wORM. U1
she cared for in the world; her heart was there.
She could not see the place, to be sure, nor tell
exactly whereabouts it lay in all that wide-spread
city; but it was there, somewhere,--nd every
minute was making it farther and farther off. It is
a bitter thing, that sailing away from all one loves;
and poor Ellen felt it so. She stood leaning both
her arms upon the rail, the tears running down her
cheeks, and blinding her so that she could not see
the place toward which her straining eyes were bent.
Somebody touched her sleeve,-it was Timmins.
Mrs. Dunscombe sent me to toll you she wants
you to come into the cabin, miss."
Hastily wiping her eyes, Ellen obeyed the sum-
mons, and followed Timins into the cabin. It
was full of groups of ladies, children, and nurses,-
bustling and noisy enough. Ellen wished she might
have stayed outside; she wanted to be by bhrself;
but as the next best thing, she mounted upon the
bench which ran all round the saloon, and kneeling
on the cushion by one of the windows, placed her-
self with the edge of her bonnet just touching the
glass, so that nobody could see her face, while she
Vould look out nearly as well as from the deck.
Presently her ear caught, as she thought, the voice
of Mrs. Dunscombe, saying in rather an under-tone,
but laughing too, "Whata figure she does cut in
that outlandish bonnet !"
Ellen had no particular reason to think ehe was
meant, and yet she did think so. She remained
quite still, but with raised colour and quickened
breathing, waited to hear what would come next.
Nothing came at first, and she was beginning to
think she had perhaps been mistaken, when she
plainly heard argaret Dunscombe say, in a loud
whisper, Mamma, I wish you could contrive some
way to keep her in the cabin,--cannot you P she




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