Front Cover
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Frank Netherton
 Brighter Days
 The Cousins
 Frank Leaves Home
 School Trials
 Blessed are the Peacemakers
 A Sabbath Day at School
 Love Your Enemies
 A Sad Holiday
 Good Resolutions
 The Talisman
 There is No Place like Home
 The Chamber of Anger
 The Confession
 Sunshine after Storm
 Heart Sins
 God Knows Every Thing
 Missionary Thoughts
 A Time of Trial
 The Mystery Explained
 Better than a Prize
 Home for the Holidays
 The End
 Back Cover

Title: Frank Netherton, or, The talisman
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002198/00001
 Material Information
Title: Frank Netherton, or, The talisman
Alternate Title: Talisman
Physical Description: 196 p., <4> leaves of plates : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Baker, William Jay ( Engraver )
American Sunday-School Union ( Publisher )
American Sunday-School Union -- Committee of Publication
Publisher: American Sunday-School Union
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
Publication Date: c1852
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Truthfulness and falsehood -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Forgiveness -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Courage -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Cousins -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
School stories -- 1852   ( local )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: School stories   ( local )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Statement of Responsibility: revised by the Committee of Publication.
General Note: Written for the American Sunday-School Union.
General Note: Added title page: engraved by W.J. Baker.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002198
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002229944
oclc - 02533381
notis - ALH0284
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front page 1
        Front page 2
        Front page 3
        Front page 4
        Front page 5
        Front page 6
        Front page 7
        Front page 8
    Half Title
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Table of Contents
        Page 7
        Page 8
    Frank Netherton
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
    Brighter Days
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    The Cousins
        Page 24
        Page 25a
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 31
    Frank Leaves Home
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    School Trials
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
    Blessed are the Peacemakers
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
    A Sabbath Day at School
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
    Love Your Enemies
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
    A Sad Holiday
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
    Good Resolutions
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
    The Talisman
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
    There is No Place like Home
        Page 88
        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
    The Chamber of Anger
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
    The Confession
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
    Sunshine after Storm
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
    Heart Sins
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
    God Knows Every Thing
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
    Missionary Thoughts
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
    A Time of Trial
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
    The Mystery Explained
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
    Better than a Prize
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
    Home for the Holidays
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
    The End
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
    Back Cover
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
Full Text

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1122 CasSTNUT STRaT.

antrav aeonfing b ae qof Congrssm the year 1851, by Oh
in the Clerk' Ojee of he Ditrict 'ourt of the Auters District of

4r No books re published by the AxauecRC S8umAxT-caooL Unmon
without the sanction of the Committee of Publication, insisting of
fourteen members, from the following denominations of Christians,
viz. Baptist, Methodist, Congregationalist, Epiecopal, Presbyterian, Lu-
theran and Eetormed Dutch. Not more than three of the members
san be of the same denomination, and no book can be published to
Whid4 any member of the Committee shall object.


FRANK NETHERTON........................................... 9
BRIGHTER DAYS............................. ................ 16
THE COUSINS.............................. ..................... 24
FRANK LEAVES HOME.......................................... 82
SCHOOL TRIALS.......................... ........................ 89
BLESSED ARE THE PEACZMAKES .......................... 46
A SABBATH-DAY AT SCHOOL................................. 68
LovE YOUR ENEMIES........................................ 60
A SAD HOLIDAY.................................. ......... 68
GOOD RESOLUTIONS ................ ............................ 74
THE TALISMAN............................... ................... 81
THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME....................... 88
MISSIONARIES ................... ................ ............... 96
THE CHAMBER OF ANGER................................... 102
H 1ART SINS 0......................................... ....... 109
tflA1IONARY THOUGHTS..................... ......* ....... 118


GOD KNows EVEBY THIGo.............. .................. 12f
A TIMi OF TRIAL.................................. 138
THE CONFESSION............................** *................ 149
SUNSHINE AFTER STORM....................................... 148
RETRIBUTION .................................................. 166
THE MYSTERY EPLAINED. ................................. 164
BETTEB THAN A PaIE................................... 174
HOMX FOR THE HOLIDAYS................................. 181
Tas EnD. .................0........................ ... 9....1..: 191


THE mother of Frank Netherton died at his
birth, and from that time his father would
scarcely suffer him to be out of his sight. No
one thought that the infant would have lived;
but God, who tempers the wind to the shorn
lamb, took care of the little, motherless one,
and raised him up to be a comfort to his sur-
viving parent. Frank was never so happy as
when seated on his little stool at his father's
feet, learning "something new," as he termed
it; or listening to the wonderful histories of
foreign lands which he used to tell him.
When Frank was six years old he knew more
than most boys of ten or twelve, and was so
quick and diligent that it was a pleasure to
teach him. Many people rertarked, and with
truth, that he understood almost too much for
his age; and that he often sat poring over his
book when he ought to have een playing %bout

in the green fields. That might Aave been
partly the reason why he was not strong and
healthy like other children, but used often to
come and rest his weary head against his fa
their's knee, and ask him to repeat the story of
the child who went out to his father among the
reapers, and said to him all on a sudden, My
head! my head !" and was borne home to his
mother and died, and was raised again by the
power of God. Frank liked all the Old Testa-
ment histories, but this was his favourite at
such times, and he never grew tired of hear.
ing it.
Mvr. Netherton was a man of studious and
retired habits. After the death of his wife,
whom he tenderly loved, he cared less than
ever for society, and wholly devoted himself to
his books and the education of his little son.
But his health rapidly declined; so rapidly of
late, that the old housekeeper, who had lived
in the family for many years, and was much
attached to her master, thought it her duty to
write to his sister, (the only relative he had in
the world,) and confide to her the fears she felt
for the result.
Mrs. Mortimer set off immediately on receiv-
ing the letter, and arrived quite unexpectedly,
and much to the surprise of every one but the
faithful domestic before mentioned. The bro-
ther and sister had not met since the death of
his wife. She had been opposed to their mar-
riage; but all unkind feeling on both sides was

Duriel in the grave, and Mrs. Mortimer em
braced her little nephew with almost maternal
"lie is very like you, William," said she,
looking at her brother with the tears in her
eyes. "But how short for his age! Why, my
Frederick, who is only a year older, is more
than head and shoulders taller. And how pale
he is! I am afraid that he does not take exer-
cise enough. William, you are killing this boy
by inches."
"My dear sister!" exclaimed Mr. Nether-
ton. "But he is not ill. You are not ill,
Frank, are you ?" and he trembled as he took
the boy's little thin hand in his.
"No, father; my head does not ache to-
"Go away, child," said Mrs. Mortimer.
"Go into the garden and amuse yourself."
Frank immediately obeyed-her; but he took
his book with him, and sat down under the trees
to read it.
"You are killing the boy, I tell you," re-
peated Mrs. Mortimer, when he was gone, and
yourself too. The air of this close room is ab-
solutely poisonous. No wonder the poor child
looks so pale and miserable. You must get him
a pony the first thing."
He shall have one to-morrow," said Mr.
"And you must ride and walk with him
every day."

I do not think that I could walk very far,"
said her brother, with a sigh-thus uncon
sciously admitting his own weakness.
"Not just at first perhaps; and yet how you
and I used to walk, William! Do you re-
member ?"
"Yes; we were children at that time."
"About the age of our children now. Do
you imagine that Frank could walk as you did
then ?"
"I am afraid not."
"Well, well, I will not say (as I have heard
some people) that what is done cannot be un-
done, but will try and help you to undo it as
fast as possible. Look at the boy now. In-
stead of playing about like other children, there
he is, lying under the trees, reading. William,
o will be very sorry for all this if you should
lose our child."
"I am sorry now," replied the sick man,
meekly. "You are right, dear sister. I am
afraid that I have been very thoughtless and
selfish. God forgive me. You will stay here
a little while, will you not, and help me to
amend the past?"
Mrs. Mortimer was touched by his gentle-
ness and forbearance, and with much kindness
of manner promised not to leave the Grange
until they were both better.
Mrs. Mortimer was by several years older than
her brother, and had always exercised upon
him that influence which a strong mind invari.

abty possesses over a weak one, until his mar
rage, which, as before stated, she had opposed.
It matters little now what her reasons were for
this opposition. She thought herself right at
the time, but was very sorry for it afterwards,
and when, alas it was too late. She wrote and
told her brother this; but, with his loss still
fresh upon his mind, his reply to her letter was
such as prevented all intercourse between them
for some years.
Beneath a somewhat rough exterior, Mrs.
Mortimer possessed a kind heart, and much
practical good sense, which only required at
times to be exercised in a gentler spirit. At
the period of which we are speaking she was a
widow, with one son, Frederick, and a little
girl, whom she called Helen, after her sister-in-
law. Mr. Netherton was pleased when she told
him of this mark of attention, and begged
earnestly that the child might be sent for, and
that Frederick might also be permitted to spend
his holidays at the Grange; to all of which Mrs.
Mortimer willingly agreed.
"I am so glad that you are come," said he.
"It was very kind in you, after that cruel letter.
I have often thought of sending to ask you, but
I put it off from time to time, and should have
done so, I believe, until it was too late. I used
to think, when I am dying she will not refuse
to forgive and come to me again."
"We were both to blame," answered Mrs.
Mortimer, with tears in her eyes: "I the most

sB; but my little Helen must plead for me.
Now do not let us say any thing more about it,"
added she, observing that her brother looked
pale and exhausted; "and I will write at once
and make arrangements for her coming."
But before Mrs. Mortimer began to write, she
went into the garden and took Frank's book
away, bidding him run about, and not lie there
on the damp grass.
"Have you a hoop ?" she asked.
"Yes, aunt, I believe so."
"Well, we must look for it; and when your
cousin Frederick coues, he will teach you all
sorts of games. Shall you not like to have some
one to play with?"
"Yes, very much," answered Frank; "but
I like being with my father."
"Are any of these flower-beds your's ?" in.
quired his aunt.
"No, the gardener takes care of them."
"We must ask your father to give you one
to dig and plant, and do what you please with-
shall we ? And a little rake, and a hoe, and a
watering-pot ?"
Frank's eyes glistened with pleasure.
That would be delightful !" exclaimed he.
And then slipping his hand into Mrs. Morti-
mer's, he added, in a confidential tone, "It is
very strange, but I was just reading about
flowers when you came into the garden; and
'ow some bloom till December, while others
perish in May. I think that if I were a lower,



dear aunt, I would rather die in May, when
every thing looks so bright."
"But as you are not a flower, Frank, but a
little boy, I do not see any use in thinking
about it."
"One cannot help thinking," said Frank.
"What a little, old-fashioned thing he is,'
murmured his aunt. "But then Frederick
might have been the same if he had had no
mother:" and passing her hand carelessly over
his long hair, which she inwardly determined
should be cut off the first opportunity, and
cautioning him not to remain after the dew
began to fall, she went into the house to write
her letters.




WHEN Frank returned to the study, he fourL
his father still sitting where he had left him,
with his face bent down and buried in his
"Are you ill?" he asked, gently. Mr.
Netherton started, and drawing Frank towards
him, embraced him in silence.
"Father," exclaimed Frank, after a pause,
"you are thinking of what my aunt said just
now about me; but indeed I do not want to live
after you are gone."
Mr. Netherten aroused himself at the voice
of his child, and, struggling against his own
weakness, both of mind and body, answered
"You must not say that, Frank. I hope,
if it is God's will, that you may live to be a
great and good man, and do good to others."
Like Howard, for instance, who went about
visiting all the prisons. How much good he
Yes; you must study hard while you are
a boy-that is, not too hard; and when you
are a man, there is no fear but what God will
give you something to do for himself aud others.

I should like to be a missionary, such as
ienry Martyn was, whose life you were reading
the other morning."
"There is time enough to think what you wil'
be ten years hence. And now I will tell you
something that I think will give you pleasure.
You remember the pretty bay pony which you
admired so much the other day ?"
"Oh yes, to be sure I do."
"Well, it is your's; and to-morrow you shall
begin to learn to ride."
Frank clapped his hands for joy.
"But will you not ride too, father ?"
Yes, as soon as ever you are able to accom-
pany me."
How delightful that will be How kind in
you to think of it !"
"It was your aunt who first thought of it,
Frank; so you must thank her. I nred not
tell you to be very obedient to her, and to do
all that she bids you, for I am sure that it will
be for your good.
Frank promised that he would. And then
he related to his father what she had said
about the garden, and obtained his willing con-
sent that a small portion of it should be allotted
to Frank's exclusive use.
"I will see the gardener about 't the first
thing to-morrow morning," said Mr. Netherton,
"and order him to procure tools suited to your
size and strength, and whatever seeds or cuttings
you may require."

I must ask my aunt about that," said
At that moment Mrs. Mortimer entered the
study, and smilingly inquired what he was
going to ask her with that radiant countenance.
"I declare the boy has quite a colour," said
she, pinching his flushed cheek. "But come
to tea now, and then to bed. I never allow my
children to sit up late. You know the old
proverb, William," added she, turning to her
Early to bed, and early to rise,
Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.'"

"I knew a great many things once that I
have forgotten," replied Mr. Netherton, as he
offered her his arm. "You must remind me
of them, my dearest sister."
"To be sure I will. Come along, Frank."
And her cheerful voice sounded pleasantly in
the long silent halls of the old Grange, where
no female, except the domestics, had ever come
since the death of its gentle mistress.
"But about the seeds, aunt," said Frank,
as soon as they were seated at the table.
"What sort had I better have ?"
"Come to me to-morrow morning, and we
will talk it over. You will find me in the gar-
den by six o'clock."
"Six o'clock !" repeated Frank.
"Well, is that to4 early ? Do you not think

that you are as capable of getting up early as
I am?"
"Why, I suppose you are used to it, aunt."
Mrs. Mortimer could not help smiling.
"And you must get used to it, too, Frank.
Do you understand any thing of arithmetic ?"
Yes, aunt."
"Well, then, to-morrow you shall calculate
for yourself how many years are wasted in
an average lifetime by lying in bed in the
"And the shorter the life is," said Frank,
thoughtfully, "the less we can spare them. I
will begin to-morrow morning. I am deter-
"Do so, my dear boy, and you will so8na
reap the benefit of it every way. And in order
that you may be the better able to keep your
good resolutions, I would advise your going to
bed at once."
Frank was very obedient; and hastily swal-
lowing his tea, he arose from his chair, and
went away without another word,-having first
kissed his father, and held up his face to his
aunt with an affectionate confidence that com.
pletely won her heart.
God bless you, my child!" said Mrs. Mor-
timer; and then turning to his father she
added, "I need not ask whether you have
taught him to pray. Whatever you may have
neglected, William Iam sure that you have not
forgotten that."

After Frank was gone, Mr. NethertcD a&d
nis sister had a long and earnest conversation
together, in which he admitted the justice and
good sense of all her plans, and promised his
assistance in carrying them into practice. And
then they both kneeled down and asked God's
blessing upon the future, without which they
could never hope to succeed, leaving the result
to Him who orders all things for the best, and
who, as Mr. Netherton said, had sent her to
save his child.
From that time Mr. Netherton ceased to
talk to Frank of the past, but spoke cheerfully
and hopefully of the present and of the future.
A pd when -he did allude (as he could not help
occasionally doing) to her who was never long
absent from his thoughts, he spoke of the joy
that it would give her-if angels are permitted
to behold what passes upon earth-to see her
beloved child good and happy.
Since Mrs. Mortimer's arrival, a change
seemed to have come over the whole establish-
ment at the Grange. Some of the servants were
sent away, and no one missed them; while the
others were obliged to do their duty, and, above
all, to attend public worship regularly on the
Sabbath, besides being ready for family worship,
which Mr. Netherton conducted with his hcuse-
hold morning and evening. 4t such times, or
when she listened to the merry voices of Frank
and his cousin Helen, and saw her master
smilingly regarding their childish sports, the


faithful housekeeper blessed the hour when God
had put it into her heart to write :he letter
which had brought back Mrs. Mortimer to thq
home of her childhood, and made them all
friends again.
Helen was a quiet, good-tempered little girl,
and Frank soon became very fond of her, and
used to give ner all his prettiest flowers, and
was never weary of playing with her, and re-
lating stories, the greater part of which she did
not half understand.
How much cousin Frank know !" said He-
len one day to her mother.
Yes, I dare say it appears so to you, Helen,
who are only a little girl."
Frank coloured.
"I do not believe that Frederick knows half
as many wonderful things," persisted Helen.
" Tell mother about the nasturtiums, cousin.
Only think, dear mother, on summer nights they
actually-what was it, cousin ?"
"Emit," interrupted Frank.
Emit sparks of fire. Who was it that first
saw them, Frank ?"
"The daughter of Linnaeus, the great botsa
"I forget what you told me botany meant."
"The natural history of plants and vegeta-
bles," replied her mother; "in which Linnaeus,
by great perseverance and application, was well
skilled. It has been said of him, that he never
took 4 thing in hand whi h he did not resolutely



accomplish and bring to an end; and therein
lies the secret of his success. Application and
Observation are two very desirable qualifica-
tions. It was doubtless by means of the latter
that his daughter made the discovery about the
nasturtiums. We may all make discoveries, if
we will only learn to use our eyes."
"'Eyes and no eyes,' Helen. You remem-
ber that story ?" said her cousin. "How I
should like it if you and I could make some
wonderful discovery !"
But we are only children," answered Helen,
"I have heard my father say," continued
Frank, "that it was two little children who
first invented, or led to the invention of the
telescope. They were playing one day in their
father's shop at Middleburg-we will look for
Middleburg on the map when we go in-and
chanced to set up two pieces of glass, such as
are used in making spectacles, at a little dis-
tance from each other, when, to their great sur-
prise, they saw the church steeple, which was
in reality a long way off, nearer than they had
ever seen it before, and every thing else as near
in comparison. Did you ever look through a
telescope, Helen ?"
"Yes, once when we were by the seaside;
and it seemed to bring the ships close to the
shore, so that we could see what some of the
men were doing on board."
"Well, I suppose the children could not see

quite o3 plainly as that; but they were very
much astonished, and ran to tell their father
what they had discovered, who immediately
procured some pieces of glass of the same size,
which he fixed in tubes; and so the telescope
was first invented."
"How strange, was it not, mother?" said
Not strange, my dear, but very interesting.
It was observation led to the invention of the tele-
scope, and application which finally brought it
to its present perfection. I am glad, my dear
Frank, to find how well you remember what
you read and hear. After dinner I will have
the great telescope fixed up on the balcony, and
you shall both look through it as long as yo:




IT was a hippy day for Helen when her
brother arrived to spend his holidays at the
Grange; for she was very fond of him, notwith-
standing he used to tease her a great deal.
Frederick, as his mother had observed, although
only a year older than his cousin Frank, was
at least a head and shoulders taller. He was
a fine, active, high-spirited boy, somewhat wilfld
and overbearing, but good-natured and warm-
Nothing could be more unlike in appearance
and disposition than the two cousins. Fre-
derick was cheerful and talkative, and often
said a great many things which were better
left unsaid; and for which, (although he was
too proud to acknowledge it,) he was sorry
afterwards. Frank was also cheerful, but
quieter. When he did speak, it was generally
to the purpose. Frederick was so restless that
it was with difficulty he could sit still, or fix his
attention. upon any subject for more than a
few moments at a time. Frank sat and studied
too much, and seldom cared to take that exer-
cise and relaxation which is so necessary, as
well as natural, for the young. The one wanted
application, the other activity.

.franlt Nctbetton.

Frank and his pony.

p. 25.



Frederick was proud and sensitive; the fear
of ridicule, or the laughter of his companions,
would turn him away even from what he knew
to be right. He was not physically, but morally,
a coward. He was afraid to think for himself.
Frank was singularly fearless both in mind and
body. He always said what he thought, with-
out caring what others thought of him. Mr.
Netherton had been very anxious to encourage
this feeling; but he also never failed to remind
him, that although the truth must be spoken at
all times, it should be spoken in love; thai we
may be perfectly sincere, without being hrsh
or unkind. To be sure, Frank had yet to karn
whether he could bear being ridiculed for his
It is strange how the fear of God casts out
the fear of man. If we can feel quite r.wur
that God approves of our thoughts and actions,
how trifling, in comparison, appears the approval
of others!
The cousins had been talking together a few
weeks after Frederick's arrival.
"I dare say," observed he, "that I am just
as good as you, only I do not make such a fuss
about it. If I did, I should Ie well laughed at
at school, I can tell you."
"I do not pretend to be good," answered
Frank; but I do not see why I should be
ashamed of trying to be better, or of talking
about that which can alone make me so."
"It is all very well here, with my uncle



and little Helen; but we have no saints at
"I have heard my father say," replie Frank,
"that the word saint is often used in the same
sense as believer. Are there no believers at
your school ?"
Pshaw !" exclaimed Frederick, impatiently
"Do you take us for heathens?"
"Then if Christians, why be ashamed of
Christ ?"
"It is all very well at present," said Frede-
rick, "but I should like to see what you would
do at school: and it is not improbable that 1
may, from what I overheard mother say yester-
day to my uncle."
Why, what could that be ? But do not tell
me. If my father wishes me to know, he will
tell me himself."
"Should you like to go back with me,
Frank ?"
"I do not know; I never thought about it.
I think I should; only I should be sorry to
leave my dear father. Wordsworth, I remem-
ber, calls his school-days 'the golden time.' "
Ah! that was when he was a man. But I
can tell you that it is a great bore, having to
study so many hours, and being obliged to learn,
whether you like it or not. To be sure, the
play-time is pleasant enough; and the half-
holidays, when it does not rain. But I do not
know what you would do in play-time. Why,
ycu do not know a single game."



I suppose I could learn."
"I do not know," replied Frede:ick, gazing
rather contemptuously at his cousin's slight,
delicate form. "We call such fellows as you,
girls, at school."
"Never mind, Frank," said little Helen,
kindly. "I do not mind being called a girl."
Neither of the cousins could help laughing.
That is because you are a girl. But you
would mind being called a Tom-boy," said her
"She need not," interrupted Frank, be-
cause it would not be the truth. It does not
signify what any one says of us, if we know that
it is untrue."
"Very well, Mr. Philosopher," said Frede-
rick, shaking his head; we shall see."
Frederick was right in supposing that, in all
probability, his cousin would accompany him
back to school. When Mrs. Mortimer first
spoke of it to her brother, he instantly and
decidedly refused to part with him; but she
gradually succeeded in convincing him how
much it would be for Frank's advantage in
every way, and a reluctant consent was at
length obtained.
"Be it so," said Mr. Netherton. Let him
go and form fresh connections and associations
that may be needful for him, should it please
God to take me away. As it is, I fear that such
an event would break the poor child's heart."
"Let us hope better things," replied his



sister, gently. "You are already considerably
stronger; and Frank is quite a different boy
from what he was a month ago."
"Thanks to you."
"Thanks to God! my dear brother. I trust,
if it be his will, you may be spared many years
to see your son become all that you could wish.
Frank is a noble little fellow; but as yet he is
only a dreamer. It will be good both for his
mind and body to associate for a time with other
boys, and learn to act as well as to think for
himself; and to join not only in their studies,
but their sports. It is not enough to be wise
and learned; we must also be useful and active
-men and boys more especially."
Mr. Netherton admitted that she was right,
with a sigh for his own helplessness. Sorrow,
and a lingering, although painless dipase, had
made him what he was: but it had not been so
in past days, and he could still anticipate a
brighter future for his child.
Frank could not help feeling sad at the
thought of leaving home, and, above all, his.
kind and indulgent parent, from whom he had
never before been separated, even for a single
day; but Mrs. Mortimer had warned him, for
that parent's sake, to try and control his emo-
tion. The little fellow obeyed her as well as
he was able: but it was a hard trial for his for-
titud---almost his first trial. Even the bay
pony and the flower-garden came in for a share
of his regrets, although little Helen promised



to take the latter under her own .are; Mrs
Mortimer having consented to continue to re-
side at the Grange, at least for the present.
Frederick did very little towards encouraging
his young companion, for he warned him he
must not look to him for every thing, but fight
his own battles, as he himself had been obliged
to do when he first went to school. To which
Frank replied, that he did not want any one to
fight his battles, and that he had no doubt but
what he should do very well, although, in his
heart, he could not help thinking his cousin
somewhat unkind.
It was not ill-nature, but the fear of being
laughed at, which made Frederick determine to
hold back until he had seen how Frank was
likely to be received. He felt half ashamed
that a cousin of his should be so profoundly
ignorant of all that he thought it necessary for
a school-boy to know.
"What is the use of his Greek and Latin,'
argued Frederick, "when he understands no-
thing of cricket, and cannot even play at foot-
ball? And then he is such a little fellow--
though, to be sure, he cannot help that-and
has such old-fashioned notions. He is sure to
be quizzed."




THE ev rming before Frank left home, he went
into the Etudy to have what he called "a last
look." There stood his father's easy chair, and
his own little stool on which he had so often sat
at his feet, and listened to his conversation, in
which amusement, instruction, and something
higher still, were ever carefully blended to-
gether; where he had so often heard his favour-
ite story of the child and the reapers. And
now he was going away for months, and he
might never hear that dear father's voice again.
Child as he was, Frank knew the sad meaning
of the word death. His little heart was full to
bursting; and kneeling down before the chair,.
he buried his head in its cushions, and wept.
Mr. Netherton entered unperceived, and
thinking that he was praying, stood a moment
unwilling to.interrupt him, while his own heart
ascended in earnest supplication to the throne
of grace; until aroused by a passionate sob.
"My son, my dear son!" exclaimed Mr
Netherton, bending over him. The sight of his
pale face recalled to Frank his aunt's warning,
sad he hastily arose.


"Forgive me," said he. "I could not help
weeping just for a moment when I thought of
all the happy hours we have spent there together.
But I dare say that I shall be very happy at
school after a time."
"I hope so, Frank. You must write to me.
My chief pleasure when you are away, will be to
hear of your well-doing. It is pleasant to think
that your cousin Frederick will be with you."
Frank was too truthful to say yes; so he
said nothing. Mr. Netherton sat down in his
easy-chair, and Frank placed himself once again
at his feet.
"Tell me a story, father," said he, after a
pause: "one more story, as you used to do
before my aunt came."
There is no time for a story now, Frank;
or we shall keep that kind aunt waiting tea for
us. But I will tell you a little anecdote I read
the other day, and which I believe to be a
A negro woman, in one of the West Indian
Islands, was once forbidden by her master to
attend public worship, and threatened with se-
vere punishment if she ventured to go. Although
a slave, the poor woman was a sincere and hum-
ble follower of Him who, when he was reviled,
reviled not again. The greatest pleasure which
she had was in going to the house of God to
hear about the Lord Jesus Christ, and that
better land where there shall be no more sorrow
nor sighing, and which he had purchased for her


with nis precious blood. Her disappoitment
was great; but she only lifted up her hands and
eyes to heaven, and answered meekly, 'I must
tell de Lord dat.' It is said that this touching
reply,-this quiet appeal to a higher tribunal,-
so affected her owner that he no longer refused
the desired permission. God softened the heart
of the master, for the sake of his poor, oppressed
"I like that !" said Frank.
"And will you endeavour to remember it,
my dear boy; and bring all your little trials
and troubles to the Lord, to your heavenly
Father-in full assurance of his love and tender
compassion for Jesus' sake ? Commit your way
unto the Lord, and he will bring it to pass.
Tell your difficulties and disappointments to
him. Leave every thing in his hands. He
knoweth best, and will do for us above all that we
can desire or deserve. You believe this, Frank ?"
"I am sure of it," replied the boy, raising
his bright, trustful glance to his father's face.
It is well. And now I have a present for
you, my dear boy, which I think you will like,"
said Mr. Netherton, placing a small clasped
Bible in the hands of his son. "I need not tell
you to value it."
"Oh, thank you, dear father. I do like it
very much indeed," replied Frank, with glis.
tening eyes.
"You will read a chapter, as usual, morning
and evening," said Mr. Netherton. And you


must not neglect to pray at the same time. 1
know that you will have a great deal to do and
to think of at school, and very little time to
yourself; but, as the good Mr. Cecil observes,
'a Christian will find his parenthesis for prayer
even through his busiest hours.' "
I suppose he meant that he would make it,"
said Frank.
It is not improbable that such was his mean-
ing. But I have one more thing to say. I am
not afraid of your being idle, Frank, so much
as I am that you will study too hard. Remem-
ber that I would rather see a little colour in
your cheeks, than the first prize in your hand."
He could not trust himself to add more; but
Frank knew by the faltering voice, and the
trembling of the hand which rested upon his
shoulder, how tenderly he was beloved, and pro-
mised faithfully to recollect and obey his injunc-
tions; after which they went into the drawing-
room to tea.
Notwithstanding all Mrs. Mortimer's efforts to
the contrary, in which she was warmly seconded
by her son, the evening passed gloomily away.
Little Helen wept at the thought of parting
with her "two brothers," as she called them;
and Frank, but for shame, would fain have sat
down and mingled his tears with hers. Al-
though he endeavoured to exert himself to ap-
pear cheerful, his heart was sad whenever he
looked up and met his fathe 's gaze fixed ear-
n1stly upor him.


It had been arranged that the boys were te
start by an early coach on the following morn-
ing, accompanied by a trustworthy domestic;
and Mr. Netherton had promised not to attempt
to rise at so unusual an hour: the parting,
therefore, was to take place at night. Frank
bore it bravely for his father's sake.
"What if I should never see him again!"
exclaimed Mr. Netherton, as the door closed.
"Let us hope better things," said his sister;
"but endeavour, nevertheless, to say, 'God's
will be done.'"
Mr. Netherton bent down his head, and his
whispered "Amen" spoke of a meek and chas-
tened spirit.
Mrs. Mortimer came into Frank's room after
he was in bed. The pillow was wet with his
tears, and he turned away his head, that she
might not see how freely he had wept.
"Never mind, Frank," said his aunt,-ten-
derly embracing him. It is natural that you
should grieve at leaving home for the first time.
You have shown a great deal of self-control
before your poor father, and I am much pleased
with you."
Do you think my father so very ill?" asked
Frank, earnestly.
He requires great care; but there is nothing
at present that need render you uneasy. I need
not tell you that he will be taken good care of
in your absence."
"And if he should be worse ?"-


"1 will send for you at once:-not that you
could do any good, but because it would be a
comfort to you."
"My dear, dear aunt, how kind you are "
exclaimed Frank, throwing his arms round her
neck. "How much I love you!"
"I am glad of that. I want you to love me,
and to look upon me as a mother."
A pang of sorrow went through Mrs. Morti-
mer's heart as she pronounced the last word;
but Frank's affectionate caresses soothed her
"Now go to sleep," said she, (after a pause,
and laying him gently back on the pillow,)
"that you may be able to rise early to-morrow
morning. I hope that you aid Frederick will
be good friends. I give you the same advice I
have always given him. Let nothing induce you
to deviate from the truth, or to tell tales of your
companions. The liar and the talebearer are
despised. Study in school, and play out of it.
The more exercise you take, the better. Be
neither a tyrant nor a slave; but kind, and ever
ready to oblige. Do your duty; and always
endeavour to act rightly, without caring about
the consequences. Have no fear but the fear
of God. May he bless *nd watch over you, my
dear child, for Jesus' sake I"
Again Mrs. Mortimer kissed his cheek, and
Frank felt a tear there that was not his own;
but before he could speak, she was gone.
Frank did not see his father again before he



started; but when he bent forward to catch a
last glimpse of the old Grange, he noticed that
the blind in Mr. Netherton's room was drawn
slightly aside, and felt that he watched and
blessed him.
"Do not cry, Frank," said his cousin, at
length. After all, you will not find a school-
life so bad, when once you are used to it. I
rather like going back now. But to be sure, I
felt as you do at first."
It is not that. I should not so much mind
going to school," said Frank, "if I were quite
sure of finding all right on my return."
"You are thinking of your father. He will
get better."
"Oh, I hope so!"
"I am sure of it," repeated Frederick, en-
couragingly. "My mother is a capital nurse."
Frank did not reply; but after a few mo-
ments he wiped away his tears, and spoke cheer-
fully. He had placed the matter in God's
hands, and asked him to take care of his dear
father far him until he came back again.



NEARLY all the boys had returned, and were
assembled in the school-room when the cousins
arrived. Mr. Campbell received them kindly,
and having shaken hands and exchanged a few
words with his new pupil, he introduced him to
his school-fellows, and consigning him more
especially to the care of his cdusiri, left them
Frederick had a thousand things to tell his
companion%; a thousand questions to ask and
answer as to where they had been, and what
they had done during the holidays; and Frank
meanwhile stood by, unnoticed and alone, and
feeling almost ready to cry. .When at length
they did begin to notice him, he was not much
better off, for they only smiled and whispered
to one another; and he observed that Frederick
appeared to be as much amused as the rest.
Frank began to look as well as feel very sad
and dismal in that room full of strange faces,
and a tear stole down his flushed cheek.
"What is the matter?" asked one of the
boys. "Are you mother-sick already ?"
"That cannot be," answered Frank, "for 1
have no mother."


"Poor little fellow! Leave him alone," said
an authoritative voice. The boys drew back
and continued to whisper; all but one, whc
went up to where Frank stood, and holding out
his hand said in a low voice--
"I have no mother either. Let us be
"With all my heart," replied Frank.
"I did not hear what Mr. Campbell said your
name was ?"
"Frank Netherton."
"Mine is Howard."
"Have you been long at school ?" asked
"Yes, nearly a twelvemonth; but I do not
like it better than the first day I ctme."
"Mr. Campbell appears to be very kind."
"So he is, when we do right. But the worst
of it is, I never can do right for a long time
together; and then he is very stern, and I get
so frightened that I do not know what I am
"Have you a father?" asked Frank.
"No, I am an orphan. My aunt is very kind
to me; only of course she does not love me as
well as her own children."
I, too, have an aunt," said Frank; and a
father also."
"You are very young to come to school, are
you not?"
Only a Tear younger than my cousin Fre-


"Then you are very little fcr your age.'
"That was what you were all laughing at, I
suppose," said Frank; "but I did not make
myself, you know."
"Why, Philip Doyle did call you an odd
looking, old-fashioned little thing; and then
Mertimer said that you were as old as you
looked, and they would find it out by-and-by."
"It was very unkind in Frederick to say
that," observed Frank, colouring.
"I do not think he meant it unkindly; but
he always laughs when the rest do."
"And who is Philip Doyle ?"
"One of the smartest boys, and one of the
greatest tyrants in the school. I would do any
thing rather than offend him. When once he
works himself into a passion, it is quite terrible
to see him, and a very little will do it."
"Who is it now talking to my cousin, and
looking at us?"
"Claude Hamilton. He is very bright too.
Every one loves Claude Hamilton. It was he
who interfered just now, when they were going
to tease you for crying. I am sure it is only
natural to cry when one comes to school for the
first time."
"It may be natural, but I am afraid that it
was very foolish," said Frank; "and I do not
mean to cry again if I can help it."
There were no lessons that evening. It
seemed a very long evening to Frank. Frede-
rick never once approached him until just before



bed-time, when he came to warn him not to be
too intimate with young Howard.
"He is the greatest dunce in the school,"
said he, and a coward as well: the less you
have to do with him the better."
"He was very kind to me," answered Frank,
a little bitterly, "when no one else came near
Frederick coloured.
"I warned you beforehand," said he, "that
you must fight your own battles."
"And so I will. But even if you are not on
my side, surely you need not be against me."
"Who said I was against you ? Did Howard
say so ?"
Never mind," answered Frank. "I do not
want to quarrel with you, nor you to quarrel
with any one else on my account. But I did
think it hard, when your dear mother said that
we should be like brothers."
Well, well," said Frederick, holding out his
hand, "I did not mean to be unkind. But you
must not expect too much. 'Every one fcr
himself,' you know, is the old proverb."
"Yes," replied Frank, "I have heard it, but
I never felt it before."
Mr. Campbell was surprised upon question-
ing Frank, the following morning, to find how
much he knew, and how carefully and thoroughly
he had been taught; and said a great deal that
was highly gratifying to his feelings nu the


"Contrary to my usual custom," observed
he, "I shall place you immediately in one of
the upper classes; and it must be your care to
prove that I am justified in so doing."
Frank thanked him gratefully, and promised
to be very diligent. As soon as he had returned
to his seat, Frederick congratulated him in a
whisper upon his "good fortune," and spoke so
kindly that he quite forgot the past.
Frank was very happy in attending to his
studies, until the play-hour arrived; and then,
when all the other boys rushed forth with glad
shouting, the old melancholy feeling stole over
him again, as he stood, forgotten and alone.
His new friend Howard was not permitted to
leave the school-room. He was often in dis-
grace. Frederick never thought of him. Frank
listened to his merry laugh, and tried not to
feel sad.
"Halloo, my little fellow!" exclaimed Philip
Doyle, shaking him roughly by the shoulder.
"Are you going to cry again ?"
"No," replied Frank, "I am not. As to
being little, I cannot help that; it is no disgrace.
'Magnu8 Alexander corpore parvus erat-The
great Alexander was in stature small.' "
Do you think that I could not have trans-
lated your Latin doggerel for myself, badly as
it was pronounced ?"
"I do not know."
"What do you mean by saying that yoi do
not know?"


"I mean what I said," replied Frank fear.
"For shame, Doyle!" interrupted Claude
Hamilton, stepping between them. "Surely
you would not strike such a child."
"He is old enough to be impertinent, and
had better keep out of my way," muttered
Doyle, as he passed on.
"As for you, Alexander the Great," said
Claude Hamilton, with a smile, I would advise
you in future not to rouse the slumbering lion,
or quote Latin out of school-hours."
"He began," said Frank.
"Well, never mind. Are you not going to
play at something? I will introduce you?"
But I do not know any games," said Frank,
shrinking back. "I never played before in my
"Why, where in the world have you been
brought up ?"
"My father was always ill," pleaded Frank;
" and I never left him until now."
"Ah, I see; that is what makes you look so
pale and sickly. But you can learn, can't
you ?"
"To be sure I can, if any one will teach and
have patience with me."
Come along then. But you must not mind
being laughed at."
I will not,-if I can help it."
But Frank could not always help it, although
he persevered notwithstanding. When they



told him that he held the bat like a girl, he tried
again and again until he had succeeded in doing
better. In all his little trials, Frederick's
laugh seemed the hardest to bear; but Claude
Hamilton stood his friend, and he tried not to
care for it.
Poor Frank was not strong, and soon grew
weary, especially just at first; and used to fling
himself down upon the ground with a beating
heart and throbbing temples. Oh! how he
wished himself back in his father's quiet study
at such times. But he forbore to complain, and
few guessed how much he suffered.
He wrote home in a cheerful spirit, merely
mentioning that he was learning to play cricket.
His father little dreamed of the fatigue and mor-
tifications which he cheerfully endured. The
same unselfish affection marked that father's
reply; in which he dwelt largely on the slight
improvement visible in his own health, and said
nothing of the long hours of weariness and de-
pression, in wkich his little companion was so
sadly missed.



BEFORE long, Frank had other and harder
trials than learning to play cricket: such trials
as all must expect to endure, more or less, who
would live godly in Christ Jesus. The days of
martyrdom are past; but even a school-boy may
bear his faithful and unflinching testimony to
his Master's cause, and fearlessly take to him-
self the sweet consolation of Scripture, If ye
suffer for righteousness' sake, happy are ye:
and be not afraid of their terror, neither be
"Did I not warn you of all this?" said
Frederick, upon one occasion, when Frank could
not help feeling a little "troubled" for the
moment, but it was only for a moment. Did
I not tell you how you would be laughed at ?"
"Yes, you warned me, and that was all that
you did do. You never helped me; but, please
God, I will help myself."
That is right, Netherton," exclaimed Claude
Hamilton, encouragingly. Rome was not
built in a day. I prophesy that the time will
come when no one will venture to laugh at
Thank you," said Frank, "I can bear being
laughed at in a good cause."


"And what is the good cause at present in
dispute ?"
Frank was silent; but Howard answered for
The boys call him a Methodist, because he
reads his Bible every morning and evening, and
says long prayers-longer, that is, than any of
the rest of us."
The latter may easily be, I should imagine.
But what harm is there in Netherton's reading
his Bible ?"
I do not know; unless it is because none
of the other boys do the same."
"The more is the pity. But you must not
be too sure of that, Howard; only they may
not read it so openly as your friend Nether-
When I was at home," said Frank, I had
a little room to myself; but it is not so now.
And after all, there is nothing to be ashamed
of. We need only be ashamed when we do
Claude Hamilton coloured slightly.
"Shake hands, Netherton," exclaimed he,
"for I am as bad as you are. I also read my
Bible every morning and night; and I hope to
do so as long as I live."
"I am so glad," said Frank; and the tears
came into his eyes. "I wish you slept in our
"So do I," answered Hamilton. "We may
be together some day, perhaps."

Then you are a Methodist, too," exclaimed
"Yes, as much as Netherton is," replied
Hlamilton, looking fearlessly round. So laugh
away, all of you." But no one ventured to
laugh at Claude Hamilton.
From that time Frank's heart yearned to-
wards him, and he longed to deserve and gain
his friendship; although he scarcely dared tt
hope that one so much his superior would ever
be brought to regard him as a friend.
Frederick was partly right in warning his
cousin against being too intimate with Howard.
But Frank could not forget that he had been
the first to be kind to him, nor be unmindful of
his evident affection. He was not a boy whom
he could love, or make a friend of, because he
did not respect him; but he could not avoid
pitying him very much, and was always ready
to help him out of his difficulties as far as it lay
in his power.
The time came, however, when even Frank
was tempted to desert him. Howard had no
punishment to bear; no hard lesson to learn.
He was not obliged to remain in the school-
room alone, when all the rest were enjoying
themselves without; but he was afraid to go
among them, for he knew that no one would
speak to or play with him. To screen himself,
he had told tales of one of his school-fellows,
and the rest had hooted him out of their society.
Frank alone lingered, and looked back.


If you show yourself his friend ncw,' said
Frederick, everybody will think you just as
bad as he is."
"As for that, I do not much care what
'everybody' thinks, and I do nAt think myself
that I ought to leave him, now he is alone and
in trouble. He is not my friend, but he was
kind to me when no one else was."
"Let him go," said Doyle, laying hold of
Frederick's arm, and pulling him away. You
know the old adage-' Birds of a feather flock
together.' '
His mocking laugh rang in Frank's ears as
he rejoined Howard.
How kind in you to stay, Frank! But are
you not afraid of being seen with me ?"
I am not afraid of any thing."
"I wish I was not, for then I should not
have told as I did about poor Rushton. I sup-
pose they will never forget it."
"Never is a long time. It was a wrong and
cowardly action. You must tell Rushton how
sorry you are; and you must never do it again,
come what may."
"Never, never-that is, I hope that I shall
cot. But I am always doing wrong; and it is
)f no use trying to do otherwise. And after
all, there is no one who cares for me. I have
no father, no mother, no friend in the world."
"You must not say that," replied Frank.
"Have you forgotten One who has promised to
be the Father of the fathe-less-who has said,



'As one whom his mother comforieth, so will 1
comfort you--who is the Friend of the friend.
less, the Saviour of sinners, the good Shepherd,
seeking after the lost sheep; and, not content
with bidding them follow him, bearing them in
his arms, and upon his bosom ?"
"I know very little of these things," said
Howard; "I wish that I knew more."
You will not learn by wishing," replied
Frank. You must read your Bible, and ask
God to help you to understand it. You have a
Bible, I suppose ?"
I believe so."
"You only believe so! Oh, Howard! But
we will look to-night when we go to bed, and
if not, I can lend you mine."
"You are very kind," said his companion,
hopelessly. "And will you be my friend, and
help me?"
"I cannot promise to be your friend; but I
will help you willingly, whenever I can be of
any assistance, because you were kind to me the
first day I came to school."
"That was a happy day for me," said Howard. '
"I never liked any one as I do you. But I
deserve that you should despise me."
I have too many faults of my own to dare
to despise any one," answered Frank.
"But what do you advise me to do ?"
"Go at once to Mr. Campbell. Tell him
how sorry you are for what has occurred; and
ask him to forgive Rushton, or else permit you


to share his punishment. You would not mind
a hard lesson, would you?"
No, it is not that; but I am afraid of speak-
ing to Mr. Campbell.'
"Nonsense! Think how pleasant it would
be if you could carry Rushton his pardon,
and ask him to be friends with you. If not,
you can tell him how sorry you are for what
you have done. Rushton is a warm-hearted
fellow, notwithstanding his provoking ways and
"I have a great mind to try," said Howard.
"Come at once, then, before the rest return."
Frank went with him, and even knocked at
the study door; and when they heard Mr.
Campbell's voice bidding them come in, there
was nothing left for Howard but to enter.
When Frank returned to the play-ground,
many a mocking voice inquired where his friend
Howard was.
We must take care what we do," said Doyle,
Sor Netherton will be turning tale-bearer next.'
"Not I," exclaimed Frank, "if I died for
it. But I must say that I do not think it fair
the way you all treat Howard. He has done
wrong, ar.d he is very sorry: what more would
you have ?"
Hear him!" exclaimed Doyle, with a laugh
At that moment Rushton and Howard en-
tered the play-ground hand in hand, and it was
soon whispered about how the latter had gone to
Mr. Campbell to beg Rushton off; and even



offered to share his punishment. Many of the
boys went up and shook hands with him.
"It was well done," said one. "I did not
think that it had been in him."
"Little Netherton was right," observed an-
other. Let us say nr more about it. He has
had his lesson."
Frederick Mortimer sided, as usual, with the
multitude; while his cousin kept apart, for fear
Howard, in his gratitude, should betray him.
The sight of his radiant-looking face was hap-
piness enough. As soon as he could, he stole
away and re-entered the house. Claude Hamil-
ton was leaning against the door, and, as he
moved aside to let Frank pass, he said in a low,
sweet v ice, "'Blessed are the peacemakers.' "


ALTHOUGH Frank,(thanks to the pains which
his father had taken with him,)knew more than
most boys of his age, he was totally unaccus-
tomed to the regular mode of instruction to
which he was now obliged to submit; and it cost
him no little pains to maintain his position in
the class in which Mr. Campbell, (misled by his
ready and correct answers to his questions,) had
first placed him. His present systematic course
of study was neither so easy nor so pleasant as
it had been to listen to the eloquent and in-
structive conversation of Mr. Netherton, and
turn with him to maps, globes, pictures, and
books of reference. Frank's memory had be-
come a kind of treasure-house, but it.sadly
wanted method and arrangement.
Mr. Campbell was not long in discovering the
error which he had committed. He said little
upon the subject, but kindly and patiently
assisted Frank to correct it; and the more cheer-
fully when he saw how willing he was to assist
himself, and how hard he worked in order to
maintain his present position. Mindful of his
aunt's injunctions, Frank took all the exercise
he coull out of school-hours; and his health,
sc far from suffering from his severe application



at other times, seemed to be slightly improved;
and he dwelt with pleasure upon the delight
which it would give his father to see h'm so
changed. His cousin found him, one day, look-
ing intently at himself in the glass. lie wanted
to see if there were any traces of colour on his
pale cheeks; but he found none as yet.
It was a rule in Mr. Campbell's house to lay
aside all tasks on the Lord's day, making it, as
it ought and was intended to be, (a day of rest.)
Outwardly at least, no books were read but
those of a religious tendency; but the absence
of Mr. Campbell generally proved a signal for
the production of others of a totally different
character. What shocked Frank more than
any thing else was, to observe that many of the
boys concealed these stolen volumes within the
covers of their Bibles, which they thus appeared
to be diligently perusing. Notwithstanding his
horror of such duplicity, the books were a great
temptation; and it cost him many a struggle to
refuse to read them when they were offered to
"If you would only lend it to me to-morrow,"
said he, upon one occasion-
"Now or never !" replied Rushton.
"Then it must be never," said Frank.
"It is such a beautiful story," observed
Howard, "about two Indian children, who
were accidentally carried out to sea in the boat
in which they were playing, and cast upon a
desert island 1. I am sure tha* you would like it."


I dare say I should," said Frank, turning
resolutely away. But he could not help won-
dering to himself what the children did on the
desert island; and was glad when Mr. Camp-
bell came in, after his usual custom on the Sab-
bath evening, to read and talk with them. And
when he laid his hand upon his shoulder, and
spoke kindly to him as he passed, Frank felk
pleased that he had done nothing to deceive
him; and thought how he should have winced at
his touch, and shrunk away from his glance, had
it been otherwise.
They read that evening the eighteenth chap-
ter of the Acts of the Apostles. The twenty-
eighth verse came to Frank; but he paused, and
remained silent.
"Well?" exclaimed Mr. Campbell, inquir-
I was just thinking, sir, how far the eunuch
came to worship."
The boys looked at one another and smiled;
but Mr. Campbell answered gravely,
"Yes, Frank, it is worth observing. African
Ethiopia lies below Egypt; he must therefore
have come some hundreds of miles to worship
at the temple."
"But he had his reward, sir."
"Yes, he had indeed. Now let us finish the
chapter, and afterwards I will show you a pic-
ture which I have of what is supposed to have
been the eunuch's well."
The chapter was concluded, and the picture


produced. It was beautifully finished from a
drawing made on the spot, and Frank bent over
it in silent admiration.
Claude Hamilton inquired what the old ruins
were supposed to represent, which were visible
in the vicinity of the well.
"They are imagined to be those of some
ancient church, or convent, which formerly
stood on this spot," replied Mr. Campbell; "but
nothing certain is known on the subject. I have
heard it maintained that it could not have been
here that the eunuch was baptized, because he
is represented to have come in a chariot from
Jerusalem, whereas this road is not passable for
carriages. Chariots of old, however, were very
different from our present coaches, the wheels
being lower and much broader and stronger, and
the vestiges of an ancient carriage-road are yet
to be perceived all the way from Jerusalem to
Hebron. Still it is very uncertain whether this
was the place where the eunuch was baptized.
I have several other views taken in the Holy
Land, which I will show you at some future
"I suppose it was called the Holy Land be-
cause the Holy One lived and walked there,"
said Frank, thoughtfully. How I should like,
when I am old enough, to go to Jerusalem, and
tread, as it were, in the footsteps of the Saviour!"
"You may endeavour to do that without
going to Jerusalem, or waiting until you are
older," said Mr Campbell

"Yes, sir, I know," replied Frank, colour.
ing; "but I did not exactly mean that."
Never mind. It is better to act than to
dream. With God's help, you may begin at
once practically to follow in the footsteps of the
blessed Redeemer when he walked on earth; to
take up your cross and learn of him, and be
meek and lowly in heart; while it must neces-
sarily be many years, if ever, before you visit the
Holy Land. What I say to you, I say to all."
After a pause, Mr. Campbell asked Howard
which was the oldest book in the world.
"Homer, sir."
Mr. Campbell shook his head.
Rushton, in a whisper to his companions,
suggested "Robinson Crusoe."
"Well, Mortimer, can you tell?"
"The Bible, sir."
"Right. Herodotus and Thucydides, the
oldest profane historians whose writings have
reached our times, were contemporary with
Ezra and Nehemiah, the last of the historians
of the Old Testament. It was nearly six hun-
dred years after Moses before the poems of
Homer appeared. The preservation of the
Bible is very remarkable. At one time, during
the captivity of the Jews in Babylon, not only
their temple was burned, but the very ark in
which the original copy of the law was kept;
and their city laid waste for more than a hun-
dred years. We read, also, that Antiochus
Epiphanes, when he took Jerusalem, murdered

about 40,000 of its inhabitants, sold as many
more to be slaves, and ordered that whoever was
found with the book of the law should be put
to death; and every book that could be dis-
covered was burned. Under these circumstances,
is it not remarkable that this book of the Jews
should have been preserved, and that not a sin-
gle book of the Egyptians, the Chaldeans, or
the Phoenicians, (the most flourishing and civil-
ized nations which lived at that time,) should
have reached us?"
"It is indeed remarkable," said Claude Ha-
"God took care of the Bible," said Frank.
"That is the right and only way of account-
ing for it," said Mr. Campbell.
Is it true," asked Philip Doyle, that a Bible
in the reign of King James cost seventy pounds ?"
"Perfectly true. We are also told by Top-
lady, that the time was when the word of the
Lord was so precious in the land, that a farmer
in the reign of Henry VIII. gave a cart-load
of hay for one leaf of the Epistle of St. James
in English!"
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Howard.
"Yes; it appears strange now, when Bibles
are so cheap that few, we should think, need be
without one in their homes. But it is time for
"Now for black Monday, and hard lessons,"
said Howard to Frank, as they went up-stairs
to their room.

I have often thought," replied Frank,
4'how nice it would be to have no Monday
morning. But we must wait till we get to
heaven for that."
"How do you know ynu will ever get to
heaven?" asked one of the boys, jestingly.
How do I know? 0 Herbert! do you not
believe in the Lord Jesus Christ ? But you only
say this to tease me."
You are a strange fellow, Netherton," ex-
claimed Herbert, touched by the earnestness
with which he had spoken. Good-night."
"Good night," replied Frank. His little
heart was full. "How do I know?" thought
he, as he kneeled down beside the bed, forget
ting that he was not alone. "Blessed Lord
Jesus! because I believe and trust in thee.
Oh, how sweet it is to believe and trust !"


THE following morning, when Frank entered
the play-ground, Claude Hamilton came to meet
him with a smile on his countenance.
See !" exclaimed he, I have brought you
the book which you refused yesterday. I
thought you would like to read it."
And so I shall," said Frank. How kind
in you to think of it! But how came you to
know what happened yesterday? I looked at
you once or twice, and you appeared to be com-
pletely absorbed in Keith's Prophecies.' "
So I was; but I heard all that passed, not-
withstanding, and was glad that you were able
to resist the temptation. I determined to pro-
cure the book for you if possible to-day, and
here it is. But you must read it quickly. You
will find it very interesting."
Frank thanked him gratefully, and ran off
with his prize to a large tree which stood at the
farther end of the play-ground, and in the
branches of which he loved to sit and read,
swinging himself to and fro all the while with
a pleasant motion. It was not often that he
permitted himself to indulge in this quiet lux.
ury, and he consequently enjoyed it all the
more upon the present occasion. Frank wab in

the very middle of the story, when he was eud-
denly interrupted by the loud voice of Philip
Doyle, desiring him to come down directly, as
he wanted to take his place.
At any rate I must finish my book first,"
said Frank calmly. "I shall not be very
"Just as if I should wait while you finish
your book! Come down at once, or I will make
you. You have no business there."
"I did not know that the tree was your's,"
said Frank.
"Never mind whose it is, but come down
directly." And he gave one of the branches a
violent shake as he spoke.
"Thank you," exclaimed Frank, laughing,
and swinging backwards and forwards. "It is
very pleasant."
You had better come down," said Howard,
who, together with several other boys, had been
attracted to the spot. "There is another tree,
almost as good."
"I will come down when I have finished
what I am about," replied Frank, "and not
Take care, Doyle !" exclaimed Herbert, as
he again shook the tree with violence. "Take
care, Netherton! He might break a limb if he
"Then why does he not come down quietly,
when I bi 1 him?"
Why should he ?"

"Tell us a story, Netherton," called out
several of the boys,, out of fun.
"With all my heart," replied Frank, as a
sudden thought came into his mind. "Once
upon a time"-
"Will you come down?" shouted Doyle
-hoarse with passion.
Keep off! Wait until he has told his story.
He shall not be interrupted till then," exclaimed
the boys, laughing, as they gathered around the
tree. "Go on, Netherton."
During the war with France," said Frank,
"previous to the Revolution, an English drum-
mer-boy having wandered from his camp too
near the French lines, was taken prisoner, and
brought before the commander. On being
asked who he was, he answered that he was a
drummer in the English service. It appears
that they took him for a spy. A drum was
sent for, and he was desired to beat a couple
of marches, which he immediately did. The
Frenchman's suspicions, however, not being
entirely removed, he commanded the drummer
to beat a retreat. 'A retreat, sir?' replied the
boy; 'I do not know what that is.' "
"Bravo, Netherton !" exclaimed his school-
fellows. You deserve your seat, and shall
keep it. You shall not 'beat a retreat' for any
They bore off the struggling Doyle in triumph,
and Frank was left alone; but somehow their
praise did not make him happy.

fiaqx n rNaTON. a8
SAfter all," murmured he, "I could have
finished my book just as well anywhere ebe. I
wish now that I had given up; and so I would,
if he had asked me kindly.'
He tried to go on with his reading, but the
story seemed to have lost all its interest; and
a few moments afterwards he slipped quietly
down from the tree, and went to seek Philip
Doyle. He found him, as he had expected, all
alone. He was leaning against the gate, carv-
ing the top of a walking-stick into a lion's head.
He looked up at Frank's approach, and his face
was white with passion.
"I am come to tell you that you can live
the seat now, if you wish it. I would have
given it up at once, if you had only asked me
properly; but I do not like being ordered to do
a thing."
Doyle made no reply; but, carried away by
the violence of his passion, he lifted up the
heavy stick he was carving, and hit Frank a
blow with it upon the temple, which felled him
to the ground. Doyle walked away without
erceiving the effects of his cowardly attack.
He did not think how heavy the stick was, nor
did he intend to have hurt Frank as much as
he did. When he was in one of his passionate
fits, he never thought of any thing, and was
like a mad person.
For several moments Frank lay completely
stunned. When he came to himself, he arose
with difficulty; and gaining the house, without

meeting any of his companions, went up-stairs
into his room, and kneeling down by the bed,
rested his aching head against it. He tried to
pray, but his thoughts were too confused. Pre-
sently he called to mind the passage in the fifth
chapter of St. Matthew: I say unto you, love
your enemies, bless them that curse you-and
pray for them which despitefully use you, and
persecute you; that ye may be the children of
your Father which is in heaven."
"It is a hard lesson," murmured Frank.
"Blessed Lord Jesus! help me to learn it by
He was aroused, after a few moments, by the
voice of the housekeeper. "Master Nether-
ton !" exclaimed she; you are breaking rules.
You have no business up here at this time of
the day."
"I wanted to bathe my forehead," said
Frank, turning round.
Poor child! you have hurt yourself indeed.
Why, how did this happen ?"
Frank did not reply.
"Well, never mind; come with me, and I
will see what I can do for you ?"
Frank followed her, scarcely knowing where
he went. His head ached terribly; but, after
a time, the cold appli nations, tenderly applied
by the rough but kind-hearted housekeeper, so
far relieved him as to enable him to rejoin his
companions in the sch )ol-room.
Philip ),yle, who was standing near the

door, started, and changed countenance when
he looked at him.
"Why, Netherton, what is the matter?"
exclaimed Claude Hamilton, coming hastily
It is my head," said Frank, trying to smile;
and then stopping suddenly, and with difficulty
repressing a cry of pain, he added, "It hurts
me a little when I speak."
"How did you do it ?"
He looks as if he had been fighting," said
Rushton. Frank shook his head.
"Did you fall off the tree, or did he do it ?"
asked Howard, pointing to Doyle.
"Never mind," answered Frank. "It is
done, and it cannot be undone. I do not mean
to tell you any more; and I wish you would not
tease me."
Leave him alone," said Claude Hamilton,
"Does your head pain you very much, Frank ?"
"Yes, very much; but I dare say it will be
better presently, if I could only be quiet."
And Frank sat down before his desk, and buried
his flushed face in his hands.
He did not sleep, but the hum of the school-
room seemed to go a long way off; and the usher
had to call to him two or three times before
he could be aroused to reply. Claude Hamil-
ton went immediately and asked Mr. Campbell
to excuse Frank for the remainder of his lessons,
as he did not seem to be very well, and he was
once more left to himself.


When Frank again looked up, aroused by the
unusually kind voice of his cousin, all the boys
had gone except Frederick, and Doyle, who
stood with his back towards them, drumming
against the window-pane.
Will you not come to tea ?" said Frederick.
"It may do your head good."
"Thank you, yes. I will follow you in a
moment. I would rather you would not wait
for me."
"But you will come?" said Frederick, lin-
gering a moment; while Frank passed his
hand across his burning brow, as if to recollect
"Yes, I promise you."
When his cousin left him, Frank arose with
difficulty, and crossing over to where Doyle
stood, said in a low voice, "Philip, the sun
is almost down."
Well, what of that 2" asked his companion,
without moving.
"Does not God say in his holy word-I
forget where now-' Let not the sun go down
upon your wrath?' See, it has nearly dis-
appeared. Let us be friends."
Philip Doyle turned round, and the tears
started into his eyes as he grasped the little,
feverish hand so eagerly extended to him.
"Forgive me, Netherton,' murmured he. "It
was cowardly m me to strike you; but I did
wt mean to hurt you thus, indeed I did not;
sad I am very soiry for it."


"Let us go in together," said Frank, "ac
then no one will suspect that you did it. I
will promise not to tell."
There was a sudden silence when they
entered the room. The boys looked at one
another in astonishment.
Then it was not Doyle after all,"-whis.
pered Howard to Rushton. "I dare say that
he really did fall off the tree."
Do you feel better Frank ?" asked Claude
"Yes, much better, thank you. I shall be
quite well to-morrow, I hope.'
Philip Doyle hoped so too. He was really ,
sorry for what had happened; but he dared
not express too great an interest in Frank,
for fear of exciting suspicion. He shrank
from'the exposure of his own cowardly und
brutal conduct to one so much younger and
weaker than himself; and felt grateful to
Frank for not betraying him to his sche4.




THOSE who slept in the same room with
Frank, heard him, as they said, talking and
telling stories all night long. The next morn-
ing he was in a high fever. The wound on
dis temple appeared to be much inflamed;
and Mr. Campbell, who had been unavoidably
absent from the school-room on the previous
day, was angry because he had not been sooner
informed of it. The best medical advice was
immediately procured, and towards evening
the fever appeared to be somewhat abated.
"What is the matter ?" exclaimed Frank,
opening his eyes and seeing Mr. Campbell
standing by the bedside. "Where am I ?"
"You have not been very well," replied his
preceptor, soothingly. But you are better
again-only you must keep very quiet."
"I remember now," continued Frank, rais-
ing his hand feebly to his head. "I hope I
have not said any thing wrong.
"No, no; lie down and try to sleep."
"I am afraid my mind wanders sometimes,"
said Frank, looking eagerly into Mr. CampbelU'
face; and I do not know what I say then. I
hope I have not betrayed any one."
Never feai ; yjur-secret is safe."


Thank God," said Frank. I may tell him,
but I must not tell any one else, you know."
Mr. Campbell abstained from questions or
even replying to Frank's words.
"It is, then, as I suspected," thought he.
" Who can have done this ?"
Presently Frank spoke again. "Have you
written to my father, sir ?"
"Not yet. I shall await Dr. Ewart's opinion
when he comes this evening."
"You do not think me likely to die, sir ?"
"God forbid, my dear boy."
"Then do not write at all, if you please.
I can bear a great deal of pain; but I cannot
bear to think of my father's uneasiness. He
loves me so much. Perhaps he would insist
upon coming; and the journey might kill him."
I will not write if you do not wish it; and
if you will try and be still, in order that you
may get better the sooner."
"Yes, I will be very still," said Frank,
closing his eyes. I will do any thing you
bid me--only do not write. to my father."
He soon afterwards fell into a quiet sleep;
and Mr. Campbell, leaving him in charge of
the nurse, returned to the school-room. Every
voice was hushed as he entered. Philip Doyle
longed to speak, but dared not.
"I hope poor little Netherton is not worse,
sir,' said Claude Hamilton, at length, observing
that Mr. Campbell looked unusually grave and


I hope not. He has just fallen asleep. It
may restore him, Dr. Ewart says, or he may
awake an idiot! If Netherton dies, God help
and forgive him who struck that cruel blow.'
Philip Doyle shuddered and turned pale;
but so did many others at those solemn words.
Then you think, sir, that the wound could
not have been occasioned by a mere fall?" said
Claude Hamilton.
I am sure of it-and with reason."
"Has my cousin told who did it?" asked
"No; he never will tell. And he must not
be questioned."
Philip Doyle drew a long breath, and the
tears gushed forth.
"Never mind, Doyle," continued Mr. Camp-
bell, laying his hand kindly on his shoulder,
"there is nothing in your tears to be ashamed
of. Your little school-fellow is worthy of your
tears. I could almost have wept myself, to hear
him talk just now."
"What did he say ? Did he ask for me ?"
inquired Frederick, under the privilege of rela-
"No, he never mentioned your name." And
Mr. Campbell briefly related what had passed.
"Poor little fellow!" said Claude Hamilton.
"Who could have the heart to injure him?"
Hamilton knew nothing about the dispute
between Frank and Doyle; and the rest
shrank from mentioning it: it seemed such a


terrible accusation to bring against him, and
was contradicted by the friendly behaviour of
Frank towards him on the previous evening.
The whole affair seemed to be wrapt in m.
tery. Whoever the guilty person might be,
every one felt that he was sufficiently punished
in the anxious interval that would elapse before
Frank awoke.
Mr. Campbell had given the boys a holiday
-it was a sad holiday. A profound stillness
reigned in the school-room, broken only by an
occasional whisper: but thought was busy.
We will not attempt to describe the feelings
of Philip Doyle. Their impression remained
until his dying day. Recollections of unkind
words and acts came back to many a heart,
and made it wish them again unsaid and
undone; bringing sorrow and repentance,
when both, perhaps, were unavailing. Frede-
rick recalled to mind his mother's often re-
peated injunctions to be kind to his cousin,
with a pang of self-upbraiding. He remem-
bered how the frail life of Mr. Netherton was
bound up in that of his son; and he thought
how differently he would behave to him in
future, if Frank were only to get well again.
Claude Hamilton had no self-accusations; but
he loved and was sorry for the boy, and prayed
inwardly that, if it were God's will, he might
be restored to them.
As they sat together thus, the sinking sun
peeped into that silent room, as if to inquire

what made them all so strangely quiet. Phi:ip
Doyle could not help thinking of Frank's words.
"The sun is going down," murmured he,
"and may never rise again for him. God be
merciful to us both!" And he leaned his
head against the window-sill, and sobbed aloud.
Come, come," said Claude Hamilton, en-
couragingly; "let us hope for the best. If not"
-and his voice faltered slightly; if not, Frank
is ready to be taken, trusting in his Redeemer."
I did not think that Doyle would have felt
it so deeply," whispered Howard to Rushton.
"He is sorry, I suppose, for what passed
between them yesterday."
Hush !" exclaimed Claude Hamilton: was
not that a bell rung ? He must be awake."
A few moments afterwards, Dr. Ewart
kindly looked in to tell them that Frank
was awake and was much better, and that
he hoped all danger was past. "Thank God !"
exclaimed Claude Hamilton; and many a voice
was heard to say, "Amen." Philip Doyle
uttered not a word. He felt as if a heavy
weight was lifted off his heart, and it was
filled, instead, with joy and gratitude.
"You have not written, sir, have you?"
were Frank's first words, when he again
opened his eyes, and fixed them upon the
anxiouss countenance of his preceptor.
"No; I promised that I would not, if you
were better. And you are better. You feel
better, do you rot?'


"Tes," said Frank, "my head is much
easier. Will you tell my cousin Frederick
so, and"-he was going to say Philip Doyle;
but he checked himself, adding instead, "and
the rest of my school-fellows. I suppose I may
see some of them to-morrow, sir ?"
"I do not know," replied Mr. Campbell;
"we must wait until to-morrow comes. Dr.
Ewart does not wish you to talk or think more
than you can help for the next few days."
It seems hard not to be allowed to think,"
observed Frank, with a sigh. "But I must
try and bear it as patiently as I can. Do
not let me keep you, sir," added he, after a
pause, during which Mr. Campbell was busy
arranging his pillows, in order that he might
lie more comfortably. "I promise to be very
quiet. How kind you are to me!" And he
put his little hand into that of his preceptor.
Mr. Campbell waited until he again slept,
and then returned to the school-room, where
the boys, by his desire, still remained.
"Let us return thanks to the Lord," said
he, "that one among us has been this day
preserved from the commission of a great
crime. I never mean to ask any questions
on the subject. The name of the offender is
known only to God and that poor child who
has refused to betray it. To his God I leave
him Let us pray.' The boys kneeled down
in silence; and that solemn day was long
remembered by all of them.


SEVERAL days past before Frank was allowed
to see any of his school-fellows. His cousin
was first permitted to enter the sick-chamber;
and, although he made no apology for the past,
or promises for the future, Frank felt that he
was changed, and that they should be more
like cousins and friends for the time to come.
All Claude Hamilton's spare moments were
spent by the bedside of the little invalid, to
Frank's great comfort and delight; for there
was no boy in the school whom he liked so
well, or whose friendship and good opinion
he was so anxious to gain. Howard was also
a constant visitor; but Philip Doyle came not!
At first, Frank was glad.
It is best so," thought he. "They would
only have suspected something." But, by-and-
by, he began to feel hurt; and in the long,
weary hours, when he lay suffering and alone,
it seemed unkind and unnatural that he who
was the cause of all should keep away thus,
and make no effort to see and be with him.
"I would not have acted so," murmured
Frank, on one occasion half aloud. I would
have run any risk, had I been in his place."
"Forgive me," exclaimed a low voice by his



side- "I shall never forgive myself. But I
have not forgotten you, Frank. [ have
watched and listened at your door for hours,
when all the rest were asleep; and every groan
that you uttered went to my heart."
Would not have groaned, if I could have
helped it, had I known that you were there,
0 Fra.k !" continued Doyle, "if suffering
can atone for doing wrong, you have beeb
amply revenged."
But it cannot; nothing but the blood of
our Lord Jesus Christ can do that-' the
Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of
the world.' Besides, I do not want to be
"I wish I could feel like you, Netherton,"
said the once proud Doyle.
"You would not if you knew all. Even
when you entered, my heart was full of hard
and murmuring thoughts."
"Yes, I know; you thought me a brute,
and no wonder. It was not so much the fear
lest the other boys should suspect something
which kept me away; but because I dreaded
to look upon what I had done. But this
evening, when I heard you talking to your-
self, all alone, I could not help creeping in."
"It was very wrong in me to talk," said
Frank. "Others might have crept in also.
I have got into the habit of talking to myself,
of late.


"Does your head pain you very much?"
asked Doyle, anxiously.
"No; scarcely at all now."
0 Netherton, if you had died !"
"I am glad that I did not," said Frank,
"for my father's sake, and for your's, Philip.
God has been very good to us all."
"He has indeed. It will be a lesson to me
for my life."
At this moment Clude Hamilton entered the
room. He was glad to see Doyle there, and
told him so.
"You cannot think how anxious he was
about you," said he, turning to Frank.
"Was he?" replied Frank, without looking
"If you had been his own brother lhe could
not have taken it more to heart. But then we
were all sorry for you."
SYou are all very kind," said Frank.
"He is better than you expected to find him,
eh, Doyle? It was a narrow escape. You
are quite a hero, Netherton, and have behaved
like one. Do you remember, Doyle, when you
all called him a talebearer, because he took
Howard's part in that affair of his about
Rashton? No one will ever call you a tale-
bearer again, Frank."
"No, never again. But do you not think
that the guilty person ought to be known
and punished inquired Philip Doyle sud-



Certainly not. What good would it do Ne-
therton, or any one else ? He has been sfo-
ficiently punished: as Mr. Campbell says, 1
us leave him to God."
Being anxious to change the conversation,
Frank now inquired after Howard, and asked
the reason why he had not been to see him as
The old reason," replied Claude Hamilton.
" He is in disgrace again. I never knew such
a fellow; he is always getting into some scrape.
He told me that he was afraid you would mia
him, and guess the cause."
"I did miss him," said Frank. "It has
been a very long day."
"It appears so to you, lying there; but I
assure you that I have found it short enough
for all I have had to do."
Even when I am able to get up," continued
Frank, with a sigh, "Mr. Campbell says that I
must not be in a hurry to go on with my studies.
I shall be sadly behindhand. No prize, and no
healthy colour in my cheeks, to make amends
for it, as my father said. Do I look very ill,
Hamilton ?"
"No, not very."
Frank sighed again; and as he did so he
felt a tear fall on his hand.
"How dark it is !" said Claude Hamilton.
Sppose I ask for a light, and read to you a
little ?"
Thank you, I should. like it very muck


Forgive me," added Frank, as he quitted the
room; pray forgive me, Doyle. I had for.
gotten that you were by. I shall soon be well
again, and make up for lost time. Whc knows
but what I may carry off a prize after all? It
is only working a little harder. And now that
we are friends, you will help me, will you not ?"
"I will do any thing in the world for you,
"Then try and cure yourself of those ter-
rible fits of passion, dear Philip. Do try for
my sake;" and he put his little, thin arms
around the neck of his school-fellow, as he bent
over him. "And ask God to help you, will
ybu, Philip ?"
"Oh, if I could !" answered Doyle, whose
heart wassompletely subdued.
"I have heard," continued Frank, "that,
among the superior classes of the Hindoos, it
is customary to have, in their dwellings, a par-
ticular apartment, which is called 'knodha-
gara,' or 'the chamber of anger,' and into
which any member of the household, who feels
himself to be out of temper, immediately retires,
remaining there until solitude has calmed and
tranquillized him. We read, also, that Plato
retired to his cave to be wise. Could not you
manage to go away when you feel the fit coming
on---somewhere where you can be alone, and
think, and pray ?"
"I am not much used to praying," said


But if you only repeated the Lord's pray-
or, it would keep away bitter thoughts. You
remember that part where it says, 'Forgive us
our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass
against us?"
"I am not like you, Netherton. I could not
,ome and hold out my hand to one who had
injured me."
Yes, you could, after a time. It was dif-
ficult at first," said Frank, thoughtfully. "Ci-
cero's rule, not to injure any one unless pre-
viously injured, is easier to follow than that of
Christ, who bids us love our enemies. It would
be easier to forgive others if we could only re-
member how much need we have of forgiven&a
You remind me of Archbishop Dranmer,"
said Doyle; of whom it is recorded, that the
way to have him for a friend was to do him an
unkindness "
"Hark !" interrupted Frank; "Hamilton is
returning. You will do what I asked you, will
you not Philip ?"
Yes, I promise."
"With God's help."
"With God's help," repeated Doyle, solemn-
ly. "Good-night, Frank."
"Good-night," answered Frank, as Hamil-
ton entered; and thank you for staying with
me so long. You will come again ?"
"Certainly, if you wish it."
"What a strange fellow Doyle is !" said



Claude Hamilton. "I did not think he had so
much feeling. It is wrong in us to judge one
another. I shall like him better in future for
his kindness to you. And now, if you are
quite comfortable, I will read you the conclu-
sion of the history of the two children who
were cast away on the desert island."
"I forget where I was," murmured Frank.
"How long ago it appears since I began it!
How much has happened since then! I do not
seem to care about it now; for, you know, it is
not true. I would rather hear you read a
chapter in the Bible, if you please."
"Would you prefer any particular chapter ?"
asked Claude Hamilton, good-naturedly.
No, thank you. It is all truth there."
His companion turned to the twelfth chapter
of the Epistle to the Hebrews; and Frank lis-
tened, and was happy.
It is a happy thing to believe, as he did, that
the Scriptures are all truth; to be able to
"look unto Jesus, the author and finisher of
our faith," and feel ourselves accepted and for-
given for his name's sake. Thus only can we
"serve God acceptably, with reverence ard
godly fear." Out of Christ he is "a ccnsum-
$ng fire."



THE next day, Howard came as usual to see
Frank, but he looked sad and dejected. "You
heard, I suppose," said he, "what kept me
away yesterday ?"
"I did not hear the particulars."
It does not signify. It was the old story.
I am always doing wrong, and it is of no use
trying to do otherwise."
Oh, Howard, you must not say that so
"Why not? It is the truth."
"But have you really tried ?"
"To be sure I have, again and again. "
"And in the way you promised, Howard ?"
I forget now what it was that I did promise.
I only know that I am weary of trying. Every
thing goes against me. How do you manage,
Frank, never to be in disgrace ?"
"Because I have a talisman," said Frank.
"A talisman What, a real talisman, such as
we read of in fairy tales ? I thought there
was no truth in those things."
Frank smiled mysteriously.



How I should love to see it! Wiat is is
like ? Is it a ring that pricks you whenever
you are about to do wrong ?"
"No; it is a lamp."
Howard had read of Aladdin and the won*
derful lamp; and he remembered something
about a lamp invented by Sir Humphry Davy;
but Frank told him that it did not resemble
either of those, but was called David's lamp.
Was that the name of the inventor ?" asked
"No; the lamp existed, although in an in-
complete state, before David's time, but it was
he who gave it that name."
And what do you do Y Do you rub it?" in-
quired Howard, still thinking of Aladdin.
"No; I read it."
"I understand now," exclaimed Howard,
*with slight accent of disappointment. "You
have been talking of the Bible all this time."
"Yes," replied F ank, "the word of God is
my talisman; as David says, a lamp unto my
feet, and a light unto my path.' And yet Da-
vid's Bible was very short, compared with ours;
for he had neither the Gospels nor the Epistles,
nor a great part of the Old Testament. But
a lamp cannot give light if we shut it up and
never look at it."
"I have no time."
We are told by some one," replied Frank,
"that when time is devoted to God, we are sure
to have enough for all other uses."


But I never can get up the moment I wake.
And afterwards it is as much as I can do to
dress before the breakfast-bell rings."
"And why cannot you get up ?"
"I do not know. I never could."
"Neither could I once; but it is easy
enough now. As some one says, 'You lose
an hour in the morning, and are all day trying
in vain to catch it.' "
"That is true enough," observed Howard,
with a sigh. "But how does your talisman
keep you from doing wrong, Frank ?"
"By teaching me to do right, and warn-
ing me against the snares! and temptations
into which I might otherwise fall; and so
proving 'a lamp unto my path,' without
which I should be continually stumbling.
In trouble and perplexity, it has always an
answer ready for those who seek it in prayer
and faith."
"I wonder what it would say to me!"
exclaimed Howard.
Frank opened his little Bible at the twelfth
chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, begin-
ning at the ninth verse. "Listen," replied
he, "to what it says to all: 'Let love be
without dissimulation. Abhor that which is
evil; cleave to that which is good. Be kindly
affectioned one to another with brotherly love;
in honour preferring one another; not slothful
in business; fervent in spirit; serving the
Lord; rejoicing in hope; patient in tribula-



tionv: continuing instant in prayer; distribute
ing to the necessity of saints; given to
hospitality. Bless them which persecute you;
bless, and curse not. Rejoice with them that
do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.
Be of the same mind one toward another.
Mind not high things, but condescend to men
of low estate. Be not wise in your ows
conceits. Recompense to no man evil for
evil. Provide things honest in the sight of
all men. If it be possible, as much as lieth
in you, live peaceably with all men. Dearly
beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give
place unto wrath 6 for it is written, Vengeance
is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. There-
fore, if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he
thirst, give him drink: for in so doing thou
shalt heap coals of fire on his head. Be not
overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.'"
Frank ceased reading, and for several mo-
ments neither of them spoke.
"I will begin from this day," exclaimed
Howard, at length, "I am determined; and
read the Bible every morning and evening.
I see now what made you, or rather helped
you, to be so patient and forgiving; and why
you would not tell who it was that had hurt
you. I will try and make it my talisman also.
I am sure I want a lamp, for every thing seems
dark enough sometimes: but it is my own fault.
Oh that I could 'cleave to that which is


"My talisman likewise says," continued
Frank, "and the words are those of our
Saviour himself, Come unto me, all ye that
labour and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn
of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart:
and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For
my yoke is easy, and my burden is light' "
"I should like to find rest," said Howard,
wearily. "I have never found it yet."
"And you never will out of Christ. He
is not a hard taskmaster. I am sure I may
say so," exclaimed Frank, with tears in his
eyes. "What would have become of me if
it had been otherwise ?"
Frank might well say that. What would
become of any of us?
That day Howard made a great many good
resolutions. It was a pity that he forgot them
again so soon.
A modern writer has truly observed-" It
is with our faults as with horse-radish: it is
terribly difficult to extirpate it from the earth
in which it has once taken root; and nothing
is more discouraging to him who would banish
this weed from his ground than to find it, so
lately plucked up, shooting forth again and
again from the old root which yet remains
buried in the earth." Yes, it is difficult
certainly, and discouraging; but let us take
heart, and remember that nothing is impossible
with God.


As soon as Frank was able to leave his i om,
Mr. Campbell had him carried into his own
study, where he could remain quiet; and
Frank was very careful not to disturb him
when he came in to read, or write letters.
It was a pleasant room, with a low window
opening upon the lawn, and commanding a
view of the play-ground beyond. As Frank
sat there, he could hear the merry voices of
his school-fellows: and yet he did not feel sad,
or wish to be with them. He was in a very
peaceful frame of mind, for he knew that
every thing happens for the best. He wished
that he could always feel as he did then; but
the lamp, as we all know from experience,
does not always seem bright. Every now and
then a shadow comes across it, the shadow of
our own sin and unbelief; and God appears, as
it were, to hide his face from us. But let us
wait and pray, and, by and by, the darkness
passes away, and it is light again.
It was a sunny day; the boys had worked
hard, and enjoyed their play afterwards.
Philip Doyle alone remembered the little
invalid; and he only knew whose fault it was
that he was prevented from coming among
them. As he crossed the lawn, he saw Frank
sitting by the open window, and called to him.
Are you alone, Netherton ?" said he. "What
are you doing ?"
"Nothing," replied Frank, "but enjoying
myself, as Mrs. Fry says, and giving thanks.



What a beautiful day; and how merry you all
seem !"
Not all, Frank; I cannot be merry while
you are alone, and suffering."
"I am not suffering now; and I do not mind
being alone."
"But cannot I do something for you ?"
"Yes, go away; and let me hear you laugh-
ing and playing with the rest. I do not say
this because I want to get rid of you," added
Frank, as Doyle turned sorrowfully back to
his companions, "but because I want to see
you happy."
SThen I shall stay with you," said Doyle.
and he entered the study with a bounding
When Mr. Campbell came in some time
afterwards, and found him there, he praised
him for his kindness to his little school-fellow.
Doyle received his commendations with a
flushed cheek and downcast eye. He longed
to tell him all. There is nothing more humi.
liating than to listen to the praises which we
feel conscious we have not deserved.



FREDERICK MORTIMER gained one of the
prizes, and his cousin tried not to feel envious.
"Never mind," said Howard; "it is not
your fault. Every one pities you. You are
not laughed at, and called a dunce, as I am.
And a dunce I shall be all my life, I suppose.
It is a good thing for me that my aunt would
never dream of my bringing home a prize; so
she will not be disappointed."
We must see what we can do next year,"
replied Frank, cheerfully. "Your aunt may
be agreeably surprised some day yet."
Howard shook his head despondingly. "I
know I am a dunce," repeated he; "and I
cannot help it."
"But Mr. Campbell says you are not a
lunce, and that it is your own fault that you
do not get on better; you are only careless
and indolent."
"Did he say that ?"
Yes; Hamilton heard him as well as my.
self. Suppose we both try and begin a new
year when we come back, Howard--shall we?
-and see what we can do."
I have tried sc often."
"Never mind; try again But you must



not forget the talisman. You will never get on
without that."
You are right," exclaimed Howard, as the
remembrance of his former resolutions came
across him. "I will try again, and in right
good earnest. I will turn over a new leaf, as
the saying is, and see if I cannot make fewer
Frank warmly encouraged him in this de-
termination. Rushton, to whom Howard
made a point of telling every thing that
passed, and with whom, since their recon-
ciliation, he had become very intimate, said
that it was a wise resolution, and he hoped
that Howard would be able to keep it; but he
Was afraid. And as for the talisman, it was
all stuff; and he should be sorry to see him
converted into a Methodist, like his friend
As the school was to break up -so shortly,
it was not thought worth while for Frank to
re-commence his studies; and the time hung
heavily on his hands until the holidays arrived.
Of the wound on his forehead nothing now
remained but a slight scar; but its weakening
effects were but too plainly evident in his pale
cheek and heavy eyes, and were severely felt
by Frank in his inability to fix his mind steadily
on any object, and the intense headache which
was the inevitable result of such an attempt.
It was partly this feeling of incapacity which
gave him a childlike longing to be home aga;n



and seated once more at his father's feet in that
little, quiet study, listening to the old story of
the child and the reapers.
It was all over at length; the distribution
of prizes, the cheerful and somewhat boister-
ous breaking up," and the joyous parting of
the school-fellows-joyous, because they were
going home, and because they should meet
again so soon. But all were not happy. At
the distribution of prizes, Frank, as we have
said, had a hard struggle with himself not to
feel envious. Philip Doyle won the first prize,
but it gave him little satisfaction. Howard
looked on in despair. At the breaking up,
Frank stood apart from their noisy mirth,
and leaned his aching head upon his hands.
He did not know that Doyle was watching him,
and that the sight took away all his pleasure.
Their parting, notwithstanding all Frank's
assumed cheerfulness, was a sad one. What
if he should never return!" thought Doyle,
as he gazed upon his slight form, and pale,
smiling face. "Take care of yourself," whis-
pered be, as they shook hands; "for my sake,
Netherton, try and get well."
"Never fear," replied Frank, gayly.
Claude Hamilton also mingled cautions with
his farewell; and was so kind and friendly that
Frank felt quite happy.
The cousins enjoyed their drive home.
Frederick was very cheerful and talkative;
he said a great deal about his prize, which



was the first that he had ever gained, and of
which he was very proud, and longed to
exhibit it to his mother and sister. Frank
was soon able to enter into his feelings with.
out a single remaining shadow of self-regret.
But not before he had, more than once, re-
sorted in memory to his talisman, and recalled
to mind that it is written therein, "The spirit
that dwelleth in us lusteth to envy. But he
giveth more grace."* And again, Charity suf-
fereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not."f
After a time Frank's thoughts wandered;
and he could not help wondering how he
should find his father. Just before the coach
entered the village, he turned to ask Frederick
whether he really looked so very ill, and if the
scar showed much.
"No, scarcely at all when you brush your
hair over it; and the air has given you quite a
." I am so glad," exclaimed Frank.
The first person they saw was little Helen,
evidently looking out for them; for as soon
an she perceived the carriage approaching,
she clapped her hands and ran away to pro-
claim the welcome intelligence.
Mrs. Mortimer met them on the hall-steps.
"Your father is better," whispered she to
Frank, as she gave him a hasty kiss. "He is
waiting for you in the study. But, bless the
boy! what has he been doing to himself ?"
James iv. 6, 6. t I Cor. xiii. .



"It is nothing," replied Frank; and in
another moment he was in his father's arms.
"God be thanked! God be thanked!"
murmured Mr. Netherton, as he embraced
him. And then, pushing him a little way
from him, and trying to smile, he added,
"What a fuss I am making about a few
months' absence. Let me look at you, my
dear boy. You have been ill!"
It was only an accident," replied Frank,
carelessly; "it is all over now." But Mr.
Netherton was not satisfied.
Mrs. Mortimer did not leave them long
together. She kissed Frank again when she
entered, with much affection, parting back the
hair from his forehead as she did so; and then
dismissed him to wash his hands, and get ready
for dinner. "It is quite ready for you," said
she. "I knew you would be hungry after
your drive."
Frank forbore to assure his aunt that he
was not at all hungry, and would rather re-
main where he was, for he knew that it would
be of no use, and therefore went and did as
she desired him.
"It is nothing," exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer,
meeting her brother's anxious glance;-" a
mere scratch."
"But do you not think Frank looks very
pale and thin ?"
"He is tired, and shall go to bed early.
He will be aP right to-morrow."


Frank was not sorry to go to bed early;
and the next morning, as his aunt had pro-
phesied, he seemed to be quite himself again.
He was always pale, and therefore, as Mrs.
Mortimer said, it was no sign of ill health.
Nevertheless she nursed him in her own quiet
and judicious manner; and Frank was soon all
the better for her management.
Frederick's prize received its due share of
notice and commendation, especially from his
sister, who was never weary of looking at it,
and admiring the handsome binding, and the
beautiful handwriting upon the title-page,
showing it to be the reward of merit. But
it might have been observed that Helen never
asked to look at it when Frank was by, or
spoke of it in his presence. Her own kind,
thoughtful heart taught her to act thus.
Helen had become quite a favourite with Mr.
Netherton; so much so that Frank told her
he had a great mind to be jealous; and then
ended by thanking her for her loving care.
It was settled that the two families should
continue to reside together, and the arrange-
ment seemed to give satisfaction to all parties.
As Mr. Netherton said, he did not know what
he should do now without his sister to manage
every thing for him; neither could he bear to
be separated from the little, golden-haired
child who had so wound herself around his
heart, and whose very name was linked with
fond memories of the past.


Frank was pleased to think that his father
would have some one to cheer and amuse him
when he should have gone back to school. And
Helen, with her low, sweet voice, her win-
ning and playful ways, and gentle countenance,
always busy and helpful, and yet quiet and
unobtrusive, was no unwelcome addition to
that dear old study, which he so enjoyed whei
at home, and thought about when away.



FREDERICK related the history of his cousin's
illness, as far as he knew it; and the mystery
which still hung over its author; hinting that,
now Frank was at home, and among his own
family, there could be no impropriety in his
disclosing, in confidence, the real name of the
offender. Not but what I have my suspicions,"
said Frederick; "but I should so like to know
for certain."
There are several things that I should like
to know for certain," replied Frank, laughing.
I want to know who the man with the iron
mask was. And what made the famous tower
at Pisa lean."
"Some people say," answered his father,
"with regard to the latter, that the ancient
builders, aiming at eccentricity, erected it as
it now stands; while others conceive its re-
clining position to be occasioned by a sinking
of the earth. The conjectures concerning the
identity of the man with the iron mask are
"But seriously, Frank," continued his cou-
sin, "I should like to know who hurt you."
Seriously, Frederick, you never will know
from me."

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