Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 The deformed boy
 Eighteen hundred thirty-eight's...
 Fanny and her dog Neptune
 Small losses
 Spring in the city
 A vision
 Back Cover

Title: Pretty little stories for pretty little people
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00014527/00001
 Material Information
Title: Pretty little stories for pretty little people
Series Title: Pretty little stories for pretty little people
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Creator: Miss Sedgwick
Publisher: William McKenny
Place of Publication: London ( Great Orford Street )
Publication Date: 1850
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00014527
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA6984
ltuf - AMF2409
oclc - 30645605
alephbibnum - 002447155

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter 1
        Front Matter 2
        Page 1
    Half Title
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Table of Contents
        Page 5
        Page 6
    The deformed boy
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
    Eighteen hundred thirty-eight's farewell
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
    Fanny and her dog Neptune
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
    Small losses
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
    Spring in the city
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
    A vision
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
    Back Cover
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
Full Text

NL. _






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frA. i











The Deormed Boy.................................. 7
Eighteen Hundred Tbhrty-elght's Farewell ............ 1
Mu tin ........................................ 16
Fanny and her Dog Neptune ........................ 7
Sceptia ........................................ go
Ella ....................................... 26
Small LIO" ...................................... IS
Spring th e ity ....... .................*.......... l1
A Vlison .................................... .S


"Tas great Basil mentionoi certain art of drawing
many doves by anointing the wings of afew with a
fragrant ointment, and so sending them abroad.
that by the fragrance of the ointment they may
allure others into the house whereof they re do-
We would borrow hint from the article of th
ingenious bird-catcher, and record, for the beuet
of some of our young friends, a few aets of prtin-
lar goodness that have chanced to fall under ear
own observation, in the hope that their love f
virtue may be augmented by contemplatiag I
lovely aspects and certain results.
The example of gratitude which wes. abhoet to
record, though it i derived from me of vr7 limed
means and in bumble life, will, it is hoped, serve to
illustrate the duty so often and so saly efoA ed by
our benevolent philosopher Franklin, the duty of
looking upon our fellow-beings as allchildeof oe
parent-member of one family; so that if we re-
eive a favour from one individual vhb.we cannot
return, we should bestowi on eme ether member
of the family, and thus, to e the doeter'own eax
prdon, keep it going round."

Much occurs to us to say on the uses and felicity
of a grateful temper, but we are so well acquainted
with the habits of our young friends, that we know
they will skip the general remarks to get at the story,
a nimbly sea squirrel will leap over heap of rub-
bish to grasp a single nut. To the story, then.
In one of the small cities on the Hudson there
lived a Mrs. Aikin; a lady eminently blessed with
afluence and happiness, and one who gratefully ao-
knowledged the truth "freely ye have received,"
and faithfully obeyed the admonition "freelygive."
On a bright but bitter cold morning in January,
Mrs. Aikin's family were assembled in the parlour
to breakfast; a fne ire of hickory blazed on the
hearth, and seemed to crackle defiance to the terrors
of the cold, if indeed there was a crevice through
which the cold could enter this snng and nicely
walked parlour.
The family had just risen from their morning
devotions; the servant was bearing in a tea-tray
loaded with the hissing coffee-pot, tempting saus-
ags, and a plate of buckwheat pancakes, when a
violent ring at the door, thrice repeated, called
every one's attention.
SRun William, and open the door quickly," said
Mrs. Aikin; "I would not keep a dog on the outside
of my door ti morning."
William beyed, and immediately returned, MA
lowed by a little fellow who ran, or, rather, W4 m.
dledin alterhim. Thechild hadshort legs, s

disproportionately large, and a hump on his back.
His head, though rather overgrown, was well form-
ed, his hair light and curling, and his skin very
fair, his eye a deep clear blue, and his whole ex-
pression that of infantine sweetness and innocence.
Such a head and face surmounting a deformed body
looked somewhat like a beautiful fruit on a gnarled
stalk. The boy seemed almost stiffened with the
cold; but, regardless of himself, and apparently
impelled by instinct, he ran up to Mrs. Aikin, and,
grasping her gown, he said, with a voice so tremu.
lons as to be almost inaudible, Oh, ma'am, do oome
and see what ails mother."
Why, who is your mother, child I and who am
you 1" asked Mrs. Aikin.
"Oh, do come and see, ma'am-now-quick. I
am afraid mother will burn the house up, for she in
lighting the fire with all our clothes; she does not
actlikemother; do-docome and eewhat all her."
Little Lucy Aikin, a rosy-cheeked, ind-bearted
little girl, was at first impatient at the delay at he
breakfast; but she soon forgot herself, and, appa-
rently with the expectation of comforting the child,
took a sausage, and, wrapping it nicely in a buck-
wheat cake, she offered it to him.
No, no," said he, bursting into crie that ex-
pressedimpatienceand grief, "no, I ma ot hungry.
I was hungry last night, and we were all hungry.
Iotheruaid so; and she began to ry, butshe isa
-PT now I"

"There is something very urgent in this case,"
said Mrs. Aikin, turning to her husband. "Let
William serve you and the children, and I will go
with the child."
Mr. Aikin assented, for he perceived the boy's
distress was deep and unaffected-how shouldit be
otherwise I he was not, apparently, more than five
or six years old.
Mrs. Aikin threw on her cloak, and, taking the
child's hand, he led her through a lane, which, run-
ning by the corner of her house, formed the com-
munication between the street she lived upon and
a streetin the rear of that, where there were several
one-tory houses, or rather hovels, which had been
erected as temporary habitations for the pooret
class of people. Into one of the most wretched of
these Mrs. Aikin followed her little conductor, and
there she beheld a picture of misery that suffiently
explained the poor child'sdistrese. His mother est
on the hearth, with a pale, half-famihed-looking
Inbat in her arms, crying piteously, and seeking
nourishment at her breath, where, alas! there was
none. She was deliberately tearing up a cotton
frock, and throwing it, piece by piece, on the few
cmber that lay in the fireplace.
She roe an seeing Mrs. Aikin, asif from habitual
good mnnesn; and, after looking round for a ehir,
she smiled and aid, Oh I I remember, they
my chai ; but pray be heated, ma'am. I
been trying," she continued, "to kindle a L

warm my baby and me; but my staff is so light it
goes out directly, and we don't seem to get warm,
Mrs. Aikin perceived at a single glance at the
poor woman's burning cheeks and parched lips, that
she was in the delirium of a fever. She approached
her, and offered to take the child.
"Oh no," she said, "not my baby; you know,
when they took all the rest, they promised not to
take my baby."
"But letme try to quiet her for you."
"No, I thank you, m'am ; she is only fretting
for her breakft." She put the infant again to
her best ; the child eised it with the eagermes
of strvation, and thea redoubled its cries.
I make but a poor nurse," mid the mother,
smiling faintly; "I think it does not agree with
me to live without food. Do you think that ea
be the reason my baby does not thrive, ma'amt"
and she raised her eyes to Mrs. Aikin, af appeal-
ing for her opinion. The tear of eompedol
were streaming down Mrs. Aikin's cheeks, and the
poor woman, apparentlyfrom par sympathy, brt
into lod sober. The little boy threw himself on a
bed in a corner of the room, and burying his
head in the bedclothes, tried ths to spppress his

mrs. Alkin, aware that the wants of these If-
4#W would not ustify a moment's delay of the
*Ur they needed, called the boy to hr, mu


despatched him to her husband with a note, which
she hastily wrote with a pencil on the back of a
letter. While he was gone she had leisure to ob-
serve the extreme wretchedhess of the apartment,
in which there was not an article of furniture save
a straw bed and its scanty covering. There were
shreds of the garments strewed about the floor,the
"light stuff" the poor crazed woman had been
burning to warm her infant.
"Have you been long sick, my friend I" she
asked, with the faint hope of obtaining a rational
"Sick I sick I" replied the mother; "yes a
good while-I have been sick a trifle-the intermit-
tent and the typhus-but I am getting the better
of it all, for yesterday I felt quite hungry."
"And did you take anything 1" asked Mrs.
Oh yes," she answered, drawing near to Mrs.
Aikin, and whispering with an air of great self-
complacency, I did indeed take something-all I
had in the house-an excellent thing to blunt the
edge of one's appetite-landunum-you know,
ma'am, it i doctor's stuff, and the doctors know
how to cure an appetite."
u God help you, poor woman !" exclaimed Mrn.
God help me 1" reiterated the poor ereNl
with a piercing cry; "there is no help for
t she sunk on the side of the bed and wept frij4

- -.

Mrs. Aikin was sensible that in thisreturning on-
seiousness of her miseries there was a dawning of
reason ; she was aware that her tears were a na-
tural expression of feeling, and would afford her
the quickest relief; and she permitted them to flow
on without interrupting her.
In the meantime Mr. Aikin arrived,accompanied
by a woman servant laden with necessaries and
refreshments, and a boy with a barrow of wood ; a
fire was kindled; nourishment was provided for
the baby, and food offered to the deformed boy,
who, now that he saw relief at hand for his mother,
ate ravenously. Cordials were administered to the
mother; a physician was summoned, and a nurse
provided for her ; and, in short, everything was
done that could be done, where there was benevo-
lenee to devise and ability to execute.
The lapse of a few days found Mrs. Shepard (for
that was the poor woman's name) quite recovered
from the delirium into which she had been driven
by sickness and extreme misery. She related to
her benefactress the few particular of her melan-
choly history. It was not an uncommon one, and
we shall not detail it at length, for we would not
cloud the cheerful faces of our young readers with
unneessary sadness.
Mrs. Shepard was the daughter of a respectable
favsw ; the youngest of a numerous family. She
w married when very young to one of those mi-
ssr-tbe beings who are always meeting with disap-

pointments and bad luck, those sure plagues of the
idleand shiftless. Her husband had wealth, a good
trade, and abundance of friends; but, as the pro-
verb says, Who can help those who won't help
themselves I" Shepard changed one branch of bu-
sinew for another; he moved from place to place,
but he never left behind him the faults that caused
the failure of all his enterprises.
He went in the beaten track from idleness to in-
temperance and to bad company; and finally, lost
to all sense of duty, he abandoned his wife and lit-
tle ones in a strange place, after a sheriff had strip-
pod his wretched dwelling of the little wreck of
furniture he possessed.
But Mrs. Shepard was not left to perish. In her
greatest extremity, when there seemed no help,
and sickness and the sight of her starving children
had driven her to distraction, Heaven directed to
her relief a kind and efcient friend. Mrs. Aikin's
discretion and good sense equalled her benevoleene.
She thought that as God in his kind providence
had seen fit to exempt her from the sore evils of
life, she was bound to testify her gratitude by
doing all in her power to mitigate the sufferings
of others.
She remembered that our Saviour was familiar
with our sorrows and acquainted with our grib ;
and as it was not with her a passing desire, bat the
rule of her life to imitate him, she did not eoatet
herself with sending a servant with an inquiry or

gip to the poor, or with subscribing to charitable
soeties, but she visited the sick and the aficted,
and listened patiently to their very long, and often
to her a well as to others, very tiresome stories.
She would enter .with benevolent sympathy into
the history of their care and wants, and would
even forget she had nerves while she gave her ear
to the detail of a loathsome ickness; in short, she
never forgot that the common people have minds
and hearts, and that often a more essential
charity is done by gaining an inalenoe over them
than can be effected by a pecuniary relief. We
entreat our young friends to believe that, if they
will cultivate their benevolent affections, they will
have treasure of kindness to impart far more va-
luable than Alladdin's lamp, Fortunatus' cup, or
any gift of fay or fairy.
But we a digressing from our story-not use-
lesly, however, if we have strengthened the love
of goodness in the breath of a single reader. Mrs.
Aikin visited her humble friend every day till she
was restored to comfortable health. It was then
necessary that some means should be adopted for
her permanent relief She could be received with
her children into the almshouse, but she preferred
making any struggle to being a dependent on public
charity; for that," she said to Mrs. Aikin, "was
what nobody took pleasure in giving, and no one
was thankful for receiving."
After many oonsulations with her benefaetreas

it was determined that she should hire a small,
cheap apartment, and take in sewing. Mrs. Aikin
promised her constant aid, and performed more
than she promised ; and Mr. Aikin, who was one
of the aldermen of the city, obtained for her a small
weekly stipend from the corporation, who find this
a much better mode of aiding the industrious poor
than removing them from the excitements and plea-
sures of their own homes to public institutions.
Mrs. Shepard's health was infirm, and her means
were scanty, but she was so diligent and economical
that she maintained her children with decency.
With the present she was not only contented, but
grateful; the past she had borne with fortitude and
patience. Mny a time," she said to Mrs. Aikin,
when I have been reduced almost to despair, those
words, 'Put thy trust in the Lord, he will never
leve nor forsake thee,' have come to my remem-
banme, and I havetaken courage and goe on again.
When Richard, my poor little crooked boy was
born, I had two children older than he ; they were
both sick with the whooping cough ; the baby, that
it, Dick, took it; I was myself in a weakly way;
we had none of us the necessary medicines nor food;
both my boys died, my poor baby was neglected;
he mastered the whooping-cough, and fell into the
rickets, which ended in making him the little mis-
shapen thing you see. But it seems as if God had
'Vempered the wind to the shorn lamb, for a better,
i4jn the main, a happier rlild there never was
than Dicky."

., ..I

The good mother was not blinded, as fond mothers
sometimes a, by prtialityto unfrtunate ehildre
for Richard, or Dicky as he was familiarly, or ra-
ther Dcky as he was most commonly called, in as
allusion to his short legs, Ducky was a perfect phi-
losopher. Not a single crook of his little body had
twisted his temper, or given one wrong turn to his
How much of his philosophy he owed to the faith-
ful care of his mother, we leave to be estimated by
those of our young readers who are so blessed as to
possess parents who are continually watching over
their morals and happiness. Mrs. Shepard was
poor woman, but she had received a good cmmon
education, the birthright alike of rih and poor in
New England, where she was brought up. She sel
dom found time to read a book herself; but devo-
ted mothers an do that for their children whisk
they cannot do for themselves; and Mn. Shepad
found, or made tim to teach Richard to red be-
fore he could walk.
She would tie her baby into a chair beeide her
while she was washing, or ironing, or mending, and,
at the same time, teach Dicky to repeat hynm and
stories in vere which be had learned in her child-
hood. It was really a pleasing, and, at the sme
time, an aflfeting eight to mo the little fellow, de-
prived as he was of the active pleasures usual
his age, sitting hurled up on his chair, with his head
rastsr ny drawdown onhisbosom,fix hisbright,
so "

18 Tan nDronxun nov.
eager eye on his mother, repeat the words after her
without missing a syllable, and chuckle with delight
when he had mastered a couplet. Oh who, when
they see calamities thus mitigated, can help recall-
ing that sentiment of Scripture," He remembereth
our infirmities and pitieth us, even as a father pi-
tieth his children."
* But how did Dicky escape the fretfulness of tem-
per which so often attended deformity t Surely not
by learning hymns. No; though this occupation
lightened many an hour, we cannot attribute such
power to it. He had naturally a sweet and cheer-
ful temper, but this would probably have given
place to the irritability that so often attends and
aggravates disease and privation,but for the uncea-
sing watchfulness and patience of his mother. If
he ever got into a pet (as what child does not some-
timee I) her rebuke was mildly spoken; and if the
pet amounted to a passion, it was soon sbdued by
her firm, tranquil manner. The sound of her low,
gentle, and tender voice operated like oil thrown
on the stormy waves, which is aid to smooth their
surface wherever it touches them.
Mrs. Aikin suggested to Richard's mother that
she might give him a useful occupation by teach-
ing him to knit. She immediately improved the
hint; Diek was delighted with his new employment,
and soon became such a mater of the knitting
needle that he might have rivalled aaiot amy old
woman in the country. He was sittlgo e day s iM

mother's door step, protected from the aun by the
shadow of fine elm-tree, finishing a pair of ss-
penders which Mrs. Aikin had bespoken for her
on, when a company of boys cme marching in
military procession up the street.
The young soldiers were equipped with wooden
muskets; their hats were garnished with cook's
tails for plumes; half a dozen pocket-handkerchieh
tied together, decked with white paper stars and
attached to a stick, formed their flag, their" star-
spangled banner," and was as proudly carried by
its bearer as more magnificent colors have been ;
a tin kettle served for a spirit-stirring drum, and
a "shrill fife" was blown by a sturdy little fellow,
whoso lungs seemed s inheuaustible a.the wind
bags of old Aolus.
When they arrived opposite to Mrs. Shepard's
door, a proposal was made to halt under the elm-
tree till their captain, Frank Hardy, should join
them. "And, in the meantime, gentlemen," ol-
ed out a mischie*vus little urchin in the rear, let
us give a salute to MissDucky Sheprd, knitter to
to the light-infantry."
Hurrah for Miss Ducky I" shouted the boys,
and the soldiers lowered their muskets, the
standard-bearer waved his colours, and the little
drummer bet a flourish. Dicky had at first en-
tered into the sport, but now his countenance fell,
and be resumed his knitting which he had laid
down,bothis eye wer blurred with teashishands
tremled, and his stitches dropped.

SAh 1" cried out the lieutenant, Mis Ducky
don't like your slute ; never mind Dick, Mir
Ducky you hall be no longer. Gentlemen, fel-
low-soldier, all who re for electing Mis Ducky
captain pro tem. will please bold up their right
hands." Fifty right hands were istantly elevated,
and another shout of Hurrah for captain Dick!"
made the welkin ring.
As soon as the sounds had cesed, Advance,
Corporal Seaton," aid the lieutenant, "and help
me to eoort the captain to the head of his com-
pany." The two boys took the unresisting child
in their arm and placed him at the head of their
corp. Turn out your toes captain," mid the
lieutenant, touching Dicky's short bow legs with
hi musket; "there, gentleman, is a fne leg for a
marh I"
Hold up your head, captain," aid the corpo-
ral; "there's a captain to are the enemy I" But
pr little Diek could not hold up his head, and
the ters tht he had manfully reprened now gush-
ed rmen his eyes and rolled down to his bosom.
At this critical momentthere wasasdden move-
ment in the ranks. What is all this ?" sid the
real captain, Frank Hardy, springing on his lieu-
tenant and corporal, and laying them on theirmar-
row bones. "Coward' play, boys-cowards pl 1
here, Diok, y little man, take my hand; il
away your teas, and I'l ee yourighted." Die
grasped te friday hand that was extesd

him, and Frank, after replacing him on the door-
step, instituted an inquiry into this crel sport.
The eyes of the company were now turned to
their popular commander, and all were preparing
to trim their vesels whichever way he should
case the tide to set. He soon stisfed himself
that the fence demanded an exemplary punish-
ment; and, ordering his company to form into a
hollow square, he made them a speech, fell of elo-
quence and feeling, on the merits of Dicky, and
their own demerit, or, rather, the demerit of their
ringleaders, for he skilfully contrived to make
them the scape goats, and to bind the fences of
all the culprit on theirbaks. After the spesh,
he proposed that the lieutenant andoorporalbould
be degraded from their high command to the pri-
vate ranks, and should be sentenced to pay a e
to Dicky of six eents each. The sentence was
passed by acclamation ; the captain aiw the ded.
slon enforced. The money, which had been cae-
fully husbanded for a treat after the day's drll,
was sullenly delivered into theeommander' hand,
and reluctantly received from him by Dicky re-
luctantly, for our little simple friend did not quite
eomprehead how "might made right;" and his
feelings bad been too deeply wounded to admit of
cosolaen in this form. He was, however, in a de-
gretedlorted bytheinterpoitionofCaptain Frank
in hbtalf; he felt that itconferred consequenee
a ih Ihr Frank Hardy was a univetml favour-

ite among the boys; stout and active, good-hu-
moured and kind-hearted, he was the ebampion of
all theoppressed, and the correctorof all the wrongs
in his neighbourhood.
When the company marched away, poor Rich-
ard's sorrows broke out afresh, and running to his
mother's room, he threw the knitting on the floor
and aid, in a voice half suppressed with sobs, I
will never touch that work again."
Why, what is the matter with you Dicky t"
asked his mother; I never saw you in such a
Richard recounted, as well as he was able, the
story of his wrongs, and Mrs. Shepard listened with
all a mother's patience; and, when he concluded,
she tried in vain to remove the impression from his
mind that it was his "girl's-work that had been
the cause of his mortification. "Hurrah for Miss
Duoky, knitter to the light-infantry," still sounded
in his er, and drowned every argument she could
rge. Shame, that most unpleasant feeling, was
eer after most indissolubly associated with his
work. The most obedient of all good boys, he
would resume his knitting in compliance with his
mother's commands, but he never took it up voln-
tarily-never again relished it. Thus was the por
little fellow deprived of an innocent and usll
pastime by a company of unfeeling boys. P
we ought rather to msy inconsiderate, for
people are more apt to be thoughtless th

and we believe that those who laughed loudest and
longest at Diky'sdroll littleo gure,would have wept
with the ingenuous sorrow of childhood if they
could have known the pag their laugh iflicted.
Our young readers may have. heard of the phi-
losopher's stone; there i an art tht far exceed*
the power scribed to that gem of the alehymiet;
the art by which a good person extracts instructor
from every event, however adverse, is certainy
superior to that which tranmnute bse metal into
The incident we have related made Mrs. Shepard
fully aware of Richard's susceptibility to the mori-
ficationsto whichhis deformity rendered him liHab
and henceforward she constantly endeavoured to
arm him with fortitude. It is unnecessry to e-
count all she sid and did to aeoomplish this pe
pose. Perhaps it would not make much figure in
print, for Mr. Shepard was so quiet and simple
her way, that one would as soon expect (prorwed
there was neither experience no knowledge n the
subject) a tree to grow from an aon as any great
effect to proceed from her effort. She had good
materials to work on, a docile disposition and sweet
temper; and so completely sueeseul was she, that
Ribard, as he grew older, bore all sorts of jibes
and jokes without wincing. His sweet, enduring
temper disrmed mischief of its sting, and convert-
ed idlee into respect. At the Lancaster school,
VlOhe was monitor of a clan composed of boys

of every dispostion, some much older, and all a
head taller than himself, he was treated with as
much defremee as if he had been six feet high, and
had had the limbe of Apollo.
Since the memorable day of the training, he had
maintained a constant friendly interourse with his
champion, Frank Hardy. Diek would do anything
on earth to serve Frank, and Frank was sword and
shield to Dick. But, notwithstanding this strict
alliaene between them, they were in some respects
widely different. Unfortunately, those good prin-
oiples had not been instilled into Frank that prompt-
ed chard to do right, as well from duty as from
impale. Frank's mother was a widow, and he was
he only child; and she indulged him excessively,
er retrained him unreasonably, according to the
hu mr Ahe happened to be in, without any regard
tothe right of the eae or his ultimate good.
Prmk was what everybody call a warm, good-
earted fellow, with a bright, sunny face and a
mrry dispostion, that won his way to all hearts.
He loved pleasure extravagantly, as was natural,
for he was on all oeeasion contriver of the sport
and master of the revels. On one fourth of July he
had planned a filing excursion to a village in the vi.
cinity. Each member of the party was tocontribute
half a dollar to the expenses, and poor Frank was
in utter consternation when, on applying to his mo-
ther, in the confident expectation of obtaining the
money, she denied it to him. He entreated an

TRB DFzroRoD Dno. 25
expostulated, but all in vain ; she wa out of hu-
mour, and if she had been a Midas she would not
hare given him the half dollar. Frank left her
disappointed and mortified; he knew that his
companions were awaiting him, and, ashamed to
meet them and explain the cause of his inability to
join them, he went in quest of Diek to bear his
errand to them. He found him at a hueksters
shop, where he was in the habit of going in his lei-
sure time, and making himself useful by perform-
ing small service.
Richard was alone in the shop, busily arranging
some fruits which were to be placed inthewindow
as speeimene. Oh I" he exclaimed, on seeing
Frank, what a royal day you have got for yeu
A royal day indeed," replied Frank,looldngup
wistfully to the bright, cloudles sky.
You had better make haste, Frank, for th
boys will be waiting for you. Jim Allen ad Harry
Upham went along half an hour ago. Jim bought
twelve oranges of Mr. George, and Mr. George
lent Harry his nute; two merrier fellow I never
saw; and they told me, if I aw you, to hurry
you on."
I am not going at all, Dick."
outgoing tall!" exclaimed Richard, strek by
the words and by the sorrowful tone in which they
wae uttered. Are you ek, Frank t" he
askd, looking with great concern in his friend's

No, not iek," replied Frank, and half ashamed
that he had betrayed so much feeling on the sub-
ject, he averted his eye,and it fell on a newly-coin-
ed glittering half dollar, which was lying on the
counter. "Oh, if that half dollar were mine,"
wasthefirst,and,certainly themost natural thought.
He turned again to the door-all the military of
the town were out in honour of the day-drums
were beating merrily, colours flying, and every
body, old and young, seemed to be animated with
the spirit of the day. Franklooked down the street,
he saw two or three of his young associates run-
ning towards the river. He again turned his eye
to the tempting half-dollar. Richard's back was
towards him-temptation presed-opportunity
favoured ; one moment more of reflection, and he
would have resisted, but he did not allow himself
that moment ; he graeped the half-dollar, and, when
Riehard again turned, he was gone.
Riehard wondered a little at the singular man-
nor of his friend; but he was too intent on the
task that had been assigned him to think mueh of
it, till, his work being finished, he looked for thp
money, which had been left on the counter, in pay-
ment for a brush he had sold in the absence of
George Sutton, the clerk, who had gone on an
errand to the next street.
The poor child was trembling with the discovery
of the loss when the clerk came in. "SoDickey,
he said, "you have made a sale in my absence. I

met Mrs. Lincoln's servantwiththebrush. Where
is the money Dick I" he continued, unlocking the
money-drawer, and standing ready to put in the
half dollar.
"I have not got the money, Mr. George" Rich-
ard replied, with a trembling voice,
"Not got it I" exclaimed Sutton; and a sspi
cion darted across his mind which he could not bear
to harbour for a moment. "Not got it I" he re-
peated. What does this mean, Dick; where
is it I"
"I cannot tell," aid Richard, faltering so much,
that the words were scarcely articulate.
George Sutton sprang over the counter; took
the poor child, who now shook like an aspen leaf
by the arm, and, looking him steadily in the face,
which blushed crimson, he exclaimed," What a
have tempted you to steal that money 1"
Richard started back-his face became pale a
death-his little crooked form was drawn up to an
expreeeio of dignity, for it expressed truth and
innocence." Steal I Mr. George," he aid, and he
now spoke with a firm voice; "you know I would
not steel one penny for the whole world."
"I don't think you would, Dick-I ean't think
you would," replied George, touched by thechild's
appeal, and more than half convinced by his fair
direct look. "I have always found you homet,
boy, and true a the sun. But where is the mo-
ey I Has any one been in the shop since the ma
bought the brush 1"

Richard's countenance again fell-again his
voie faltered. "O, do not ak me, I cannot tell
you, Mr. George," he maid.
But you must tell me, Dick, or you must never
come into the shop again."
"Then I never will come into it again," replied
Richard, "for I never will tell;" and, bursting into
tears, he ran out of the shop, leaving the clerk
utterly at a los what construction to put on his
George Sutton, though not the proprietor of the
shop, was the sole manager of its concerns. His
master was engaged in another branch of business;
and, knowing his clerk to be perfectly trustworthy,
he confded the afairs of the shop entirely to him.
Thm trusted, young Sutton felt the obligation to be
very exact in the performance of his duties. His
first determination was to expose the ahir to his
principal; but he had one of the kindeet hearts in
the world; he really loved poor little Dicky; and
believing him innocent, he could not bear to expose
him to the bad opinion of a stranger; he therefore
paid the half dollar out of his own pocket, and sid
not a word to anybody on the subject.
Richard returned home with his heart fll. He
passed without notice all the gay parade of Inds-
pendence"-and there was enough of it to stis
patriots and charm boys-and entered his mother'
humble dwelling ; and there he would probably
ave yielded to the inquiries she would naturally

have made into the came of the disturbance-for
what boy of nine years could withstand the sympa-
thy of a tender mother-but Mrs. Shepard was in
no state to observe his agitation. She had been
seized that morning with pains and guess, which
were, a she well knew, the prelude to violent ick-
Richard was instantly despatched for a physi
cian, who came, but could not avert a terrible fever
which raged for four week, and then left this f
flicted woman in a hopeless consumption.
Mrs. Aikin had removed the previous spring to
the country ; but, before her departure, she had
taken care to recommend Mrs. Shepherd to somne
her friends, who were humane and active in their
charities, and Mrs. Shepard's wants were soo
known and relieved, as far as benevolence could
relieve them. Mrs. Aikin was informed of her
humble friend's situation, and she wrote herakiad
letter, enoloeing some money, and telling her to
spare hself all anxiety about her little gir, fe
she would take her into her own family, and pro.
vide for her so long a she should want hane.
Thusrelieved from solitude ooneerning heyo~Qy
et child, all Mrs. Sheprd's anxiety eented in
Riehard. He was too young to be apprenticed to
Stade; and there was no peron whom Mn Shep-
ad ad the right or the courage to ask to preaide
fer him in the mean time.
Our young readers are, we truit, quite inel p

rienced in the sorrows of life: when they learn
them, as learn them they must, may they have
that spirit in which they can be borne-even the
sorest of them-poverty, sickness, and death.
Better than many a long sermon on resignation
and trust in the goodness of God-far better would
it be if we could present to the mind's eye the
humble apartment of this Christian woman, when,
conscious of the fast approach of death, and that
this was perhaps her last opportunity of prayer
with her children, she had, in the energy of her
feeling, raised her weak and wasted form from the
pillows which supported her. Richard and little
Mary knelt by her bedside; she held their hands
in hers ; her raised eye gleamed brightly, for
"The immortal ray
Is-s more elearl through the shrine' decy;"1
and, making a last effort, she uttered in a low but
perfectly distinct voiee," My father in heaven, to
thee I commit these little ones." She passed, and
closed her eyes-onee more she opened them,
smiled on her children with an expression of inef-
able pease, and murmured in a law whisper," God
will provide her face was then slightly convalsed,
she let go their hands, and sok back on the pillow.
The physician had stood unobserved lathe door-
way; he now moved towards the bed, and exclaimed
involuntarily, "She is gone i" Poor little Richard
had never seen death before, but he knew what It
all meant he looked his arms around his mother's

neck, and sobbed out," Mother-mother-mother i'
till he could speak no longer ; and his little ister,
crying because her brother cried, repeated again
and again, "Mother will speak to you when she
wakes up, Dicky-do stop crying."
But we mst pass over this scene and the two
sad daysthatfollowed. The little girl was remov-
ed to the house of a friend of Mrs. Aikin, and was
sent to that lady by the first conveyance that offer-
ed; and, without Richard's knowledge, arrange-
ments had been made for his being transferred
to the almshouse immediately after the funeral.
There were but few persons who followed the
remains of Mrs. Shepard to the grave ; but if the
hearts of thoee few had been laid open, it would
have been seen that there was more honour paid to
her humble,unquestionablevirtue (if humanmeteem
confers honour,) than is rendered by many asweep-
ing prooeeion, that attracts the eyes ofmultide
with its unseemly parade. Among thee few fol-
lowers was Frank Hardy; since the 4th of July he
had never spoken with his little friend. He had
sometimes seen him in the street; but coacelemee
that most uncomfortable companion to the guilty
eonsience, had led him to avoid Richard. Hardy
had accdently heard of Mrs. Shepard' death, and
his good feeling prevailing over every other, he
went to the funeral, and returned from the grave
to theLuee,anxious to know how Richand was to
be provi for. The phystan andthe elrgy-

12 Tas DUOrnKD Bor.
ma also went home with the child, and after
consoling him as well a they were able, they
told him that he wa to go to the almahoue for
the present.
"To the smahouse I" heexclaimed. "Oh don't
take me to the Iamahouse."
"But where will you go, Dicky t" asked the
SI have nowhere to go," replied the child ; "I
will stay here ; I can't afraid to stay alone in mo-
ther' room."
You cannot stay here, my poor boy; thisroom
is not your you know; what objection have you
to'the slmbouet"
"Oh, Idon't know. Ihatethealmshouee. Every
body hates the almahouse;" and the poor little
fellow turned fom his friend, laid his head on hi
mother's pillow, and wept bitterly.
Frank Hardy had stoodaside, listening with con-
arn to every word that wa uttered ; henow drew
ear to Richard and whispered, Why don't you
go, Dicky, and speak to Mr. George Sutton I he
m always a friend to you."
He is not my friend now," replied Richard, in
a voice which, though scarcely audible, reached
Frank' heart.
What makes you think so, Dick I" asked
FPeak, so agitated that he hardly knew what he
id. had m the pill,
Richard raise hi head from the pilow, and

fixed his eye on Frank. "Frank," he aid," Mr.
George thinks it was I that stole the half-dollar
*from him last Independence."
These few words revealed the whole stato of the
case to Frank. He perceived that Richard had
been suspected, and had voluntarily, magnanimouy
borne suspicion rather than betray him; his tea-
derest feelings had been awakened by the desolate
condition of the aSlited child ; and he now looked
at him with a sentiment of awe,for his little oo.k-
ed body really seemed to him to contain a deesmal
spirit. "Oh, Dicky I you have been too good to
me," he exclaimed ; and, unable to endure or re-
press his feelings, he ran out of the house.
The gentlemen told Richard that they oould
wait no longer for him, and he prepared to aeeom-
pany them; but when he looked round upon his
home for the last time, it seemed as if his bert
would burt. If our young friends will consider
what it is they love in their homes, they will not
wonder at Richard'grief. It surelyisnot a great
house nor fine furniture; but it is the voes of
kindness, and the unwearymg, unchanging loe of
parents; the ports and caresses of brothers ad
sisters, and all the endearment that make a hapU y
home a picture of Heaven.
The doctor soothed, the clergyman wiped Rich-
ard's eyes; and at last, sueeeding in quieting him,
they led him between them to the almshowe, and
99 c

after many kind expressions of good-will, they left
him there.
The poor child slunk away into a corner of the .
large desolate apartinent into which he had been
conducted; he looked round upon the sullen, dis-
contented faces of the strange throng that filled it,
each taking his or her evening meal at a solitary
board ; he thought of the nice little cherry table at
which he had been accustomed to participate the
simple meal with his mother and sister, theirhearts
flled with thankfulness and cheerfulness, and their
face lit up with smiles. He did not, perhaps, in-
stitute precisely the comparison we have made, but
it was the change-the change-that struck upon
his heart. I can't-I won't stay here," he said
to himself; "I had rather starve in the street than
stay here." Some supper was offered to him, but
he declined it; and a little time after he stole un-
observed into the passage, groped his way into the
yard, run into the street, and was out of sight long
before he was missed.
He knew not whither to bend his steps; scarcely
knew where he was, till, looking, up, he perceived
that he was lose to George Sutton's shop ; the re.
collection of the young man's former kindness
darted a ray of hope upon his darkened mind. It
was perhaps more his pressing need of pity than
any defned expectation of relief that made him
ascend the steps, but there his heart failed him,
and he sat down. He was wearied, and exhausted;

It was a frosty night early in November, and he
was shivering with cold. He felt utterly forsaken.
He looked up to Heaven; the moon was shining
brightly; he thought of his mother ; he rmem.
bered that he had seen her, when in the deepest dis-
tres, kneel down and pray to God, and rise up again
comforted. He recollected her lut words, "God
will provide and he repeated the Lord's prayer.
He who feedeth the young ravens when they cry
unto him, heard and answered the helpless child.
Richard had scarcely aid "Amen," when he was
startled by the opening of the shop door, and, rvi.
ing on his feet, he saw Frank Hardy coming out
of the shop.
"Oh, Dicky,is that you he ezlaimed. "Come
in, come in; I have told everything to Mr. George,
and he likes you better than ever, now ; and I am
sure," he added, putting his arm round Richard's
neck, "I am sure I love you better than all the
world besides."
Richard was astonished; he knew not what to
say, but he followed Frank into the shop.
"Is that you, my good boy, Dicky I exclaimed
George Sutton at the fit glimpse of him; and,
grasping his hand, he mid, "you ar an honest boy,
and a noble boy, Dick, and I always believed you
were, in spite of appearance ; but now Frank ha
made all clear, and, if he had known every thing,
he would have done you justice long before this,
Dicky : reparation wipes out offences, and I'm

sure you will forgive and forget all, especially when
you see how Frank repents the puat; bitterer tear
has he shed than any that have dropped from your
eyes my poor boy."
"That I have, indeed," said Frank; "and, till
this evening, I have never had one soch real happy
hour since Independence s I had before ; but I'm
sure, Dicky, I never had a thought of the trouble
I had brought you into. I have read on many a
tombstone that 'an honest man's the noblest work
of God;' but, for my part, I think an honest boy,
and eh a little boy a you Dick, that will bear to
be suspected rather than expose a friend, is some-
thing nobler still."
How long Frank would have run on thus, we
know not, for happiness is very talkative but he
was interrupted by Richard. The sudden change
from the outest feeling with which he had st on
the door-tep, from the solitude and tillness of the
night, to the lighted shop, friendly voice, and
cheerful looks, overpowered him with a confused
see ofhappinee; he burt into ters; "I don't
know what it is makes me cry now," said be, "for
I feel very glad."
You have been tried too much today, Disky,',
replied George Sutton. "Sit here by the fire with
Frnk, while I go and bring you some supper; id
then you hall go to bed in my bed, in th little
back room, and in the morning we will mse what
can be done. I am not afraid," he continued,

he opened the shop door, "for all that has come and
gone, to leave you and Frank in the shop together.',
When his kind friend returned, Richard ate his
supper heartily; and when he mugged down in
bed along side of George Sutton, he thought again
of his mother's last words, and fell asleep repeating
to himself God will provide."

Eighteen months subsequent to the events we
have related, Mrs. Aikin paid a visit to the place
of her former residence. One of her fLrt inquiries
was for Richard Sheperd. She immediately went
there, and found Mr. Sutton established in a well-
furnished store of his own. As soon as she had
introduced herself and made known her errd,
Sutton called "Dicky ;" and Richard ceme wad-
dling into the shop as fst as his little legs seald
bring him, and delighted beyond expression at the
sound of Mrs. Aikin' voice. Hi eyee glitened,
and his face brightened and smiled all over. After
she had made many inquiries of him, had drawn
from him a particular account of his mother's last
hours, and had told him that, with Mr. SEtton's
permission, she should take him into the country
to pas a little time with his sister, she dismissed
When he was gone, she inquired of Mr. Sutton
if he continued as good a child as he had been.

"As good, ma'am I there can be no better; he
is worth his weight in gold to me. ie understands
the shop business almost as well as I do myself ;
and he i so good-natured and obliging, and has
such pleasant ways, and is, withal, such a droll-
looking little chap, that he brings many a customer
to the store."
Mrs. Aikin thought, as she looked at Sutton's
honest, frank, and benevolent face, that he did not
stand much in need of aid to attract good-will to
the shop. "I understand," she said, "from Rich-
ard's account of himself, that he has been with you
ever sinee his mother's death. I do not quite see
how you could provide for him all that time; for
I think youdid notbegin foryourselftill lastapring."'
I did not, maam; and I found it difficult to
arve enough out of my small wages to pay the boy's
board, though I got him boarded for a trifle. But
I did make it out without any miracle; it was only
working a little harder, and faring a little harder,
and you know that is nothing, ma'am, after it is
"But how," asked Mrs. Aikin, "could you, in
such circumstances, think of assuming such an
expense "
Sutton seemed for a moment greatly embarrassed
by this question. He blushed deeply, and h.
eyes filled with tean. "I could not help it,
ma'am," he replied; when I was five years old,
my parents died, and left me, as I may ay, on

the street. Some kind people took me in, brought
me up, and provided for me ; and when this poor
little motherless child eome to me, I seemed to hear
a voice saying Remember what wasdone for thee;
go thou and do likewise.'"

This is the real instance of that efficient grati-
tude which makes a favour "go round," alluded to
in the beginning of our story. It is neither exag-
gerated nor embellished by fiction; and we hope
we have not misjudged in deeming it a fat worthy
of being rescued from the oblivion that is too
apt to pss upon the good as upon the bad actions
of men.
One word more, and this humble tale is finished.
Frank Hardy reaped all the benefit that is to be
derived from virtuous associates. The friendly
counsel of Sutton induced him to fix himself in a
regular employment, and his subsequent upright
conduct fully expiated his single offence. He never
cesed to feel and manifest affection and gratitude
to Richard; and he has been heard to say, that he
was sure, if Solomon had known Dicky, he would
have pronounced that, instead of four, "there be
five things upon the earth which are little, but they
are exceeding wise."
We scarcely need add, that Richard wasallowed
the gratication of a visit to his sister ; but our

readers may have some pleasure in being told,
that when the brother and sister again parted, Mrs
Aikin presented each of them a breast-pin contain-
ing their mother's hair, and on their reverses was
inscribed," God will provide."


A paread ia be framed
By art ad atae's skill.
Of madry loanrd flowms,
In tokm of good-will-
The blmld crown of glory.
And the hope which us do fil."

IT is not neessary to remind you, my der girle,
of the eircumstancee under which this FPewei'
was written; but a word to those to whom it eight
otherwise be incomprehensible. All my young
readers know that the time that elapses between
being ready for a pleasure and the actual rival of
the pleasure, i tedious and seems never-ending.
To ll up this chaem the Farewell was written. As
it i the voation of an old lady to advise, and (as
you think, doubtless) the destiny of school-girk to
be advised, I ventured to infuse a little of this me-
dieall quality into my evening's entertainment.

The girls gathered round me, and I began the read.
ing with fear and trembling, leet, on this occasion,
consecrated to festivity, I should offend some one's
self-love, awake some discordant note. Never hall
I forget the animation, the sweetness, and, I may
add, the gratitude with which my little essay was
received. Could there be a stronger proof of the
candour and magnanimity of the circle whose mer-
ry voices still ring inmy ears If any were want-
ed,it is afforded in the wish expressed by one and
all, that the "Farewell" should be printed in their
It was New-Year's eve, and the girls of a cer-
tain school somewhere between Georgia and Maine
had put the last stroke and stitch to their gifts for
the next day's fete. How many bright thoughts,
kind thoughts, and hours of patient labour had
been bestowed on them I how many hard-earned
sad mme hardly husbanded shillings had been ex-
pended on them I how many pleasures had been
foregone for other's pleasures on that happy fete-
day I
The celebration was to be held on the evening
of Newyear's day. The beautiful custom of the
German evergreen tree, with some little modifica-
tion (an exotic must undergo some changes in a
new soil and climate,) has been planted in ur
home-ground for some four or five year, so tha
it has fairly taken root, and hasitsassmoiationa ad
fond memories. The Italian have a superstitim

that a transplanted tree will not thrive till it has
been danced around. This acolimating proom
has not been neglected with our evergreen.
The girls had planted their tree for 1839. Their
preparations, as I have aid, were finished. They
were smembled round the iron stove. The fre
had been replenished for the last time by a certain
little vestal, who supplies it aseagerly as any es-
tal ever fed the acred fire. The howling winds
swept over the hills, and the light were burning
dimly, when a singular knocking wa heard at the
door that opened into the all. The strokes were
three times three, distinctly repeated. Every voiee
was hushed, every sleepy eye wide opened. Our
girls were good and rational, and not more addict-
ed than other girls of the nineteenth century to
reading and believing ghoat store ; but there was
something new and ominious in thesound, andthey
very naturally hesitated to move, and probably
would not have stirred till daylight, if Arid, the
youngest among them," a dainty spirit," who never
hesitated long, had not sprang forward and open-
ed the door.
A woman (an old woman, as it seemed, from her
tremulous voice and faltering step) entered. Her
peron was completely enveloped in a long gray
serge cloak, and her head and face hidden by a
little black bonnet and an impenetrable veil. Ariel
tarted back. U You wish to see Mr. she

Mr. then I"
"No I my visit is to you, young ladies. Shut
the door, my child, and take your station among
the rest." The girls were confounded ; but obey-
ing the impulse of their habitual courtesy, several
rome at the same moment to offer the stranger a
chair. She declined the civility; and, leaning on
a staff which she held in her right hand, and by the
aid of which she seemed, with much difficulty, to
stain her tottering person, she began : "You see
in me, my young friends, the dying year. The time
of my departure is at hand. When the clock trikes
twelve I shall be no more. But I did not come
here to sigh over my own mortality, but to prepare
you to receive my successor in such a spirit that
you will part with them without regret or remorse.
I have watched over you through our twelve
monthly acquaintance. The knowledge you have
saquired, and the good you have done will survive
my death. I carry with me the aoount of these
yor imperishable riches.
Some among you have diligently used the op.
portunities I have afforded you. You have heaped
treasures on treasure as the months passed on.
There are others who have not seemed to realize
that these opportunities were passing by, and that
they and I should vanish together. But you have
all, I may it with pride and pleasure, pointed in
ome degree by my existence. So much have I

become attached to you, that I could not quit the
world without bidding you farewell, giving you my
dying advice, and telling you a secret"
".A secret I a secret exclaimed the girls in
a breath; and they all draw nearer to the ollady,
who thus proceeded : U Dying people may be sin-
cere without giving office, and therefore I do not
hesitate to tell you that your program is hindered
by certain faults, to which you are yourselves qite
blind. These fults operate like weight or dogs,
holding you back, and in every way impedag yo
advancement. It is your blindness to them that
I beg you to cure before the coronation of my se-
cessor, her majesty Eighteen hundred thirty-nin."
But how can we," asked little Aril, if we ae
unconscious of our faults II am ur I can't, for
"I foresaw that answer from you, my Arel,"
replied the old lady, in a voice that indicted a
smile ; a range word that ever-ready 'an't' e
your, for a little girl whoe actions all say 'se.'
But, to proceed, I have provided against the di-
culty you suggest, Ariel. I have brought in this
vial a preaioau uexae, which, if you will swallow it,
will intantaneouely remove the blinda ea to wih
I have alluded, ad will, beside, ave tihe m -
velolr eseet of iiting you to rid youralf ofy
faults, to detach those weights that so embames
you." She placed a vial on the table. Now far
my sret," she resumed ; I have yet other visit
to pay, and no time for delay."

To-morrow evening (if you have before swal-
lowed my extract), previous to your meeting round
the ever-green tree, asemble in the south-west
chamber of this mansion. In the centre of the
apartment you will see a miraculous shrub, called
'pro omnibus vera,' bearing flower of all hues and
all sons. On their stems you will perceive to
be written the names of the virtues of which each
flower is the symbol. Pluck the flower which typi-
fle the virtues most opposed to the fault my ex-
tract has revealed to you ; place it in your bosom,
and from it will distil juice of such marvellous
propertie,thatit willssurely (though morealowly)
remove the fault a my extract will cure your blind-
ess. One thing I have omitted. After you have
plucked the flower, look steadfastly at the stem;
if buds or blossoms unfold-upon it, remember what
they typify, and take them at their word. They
my phrase, but they will not flatter. Farewell,my
dear girls," her voice faltered. "You have been a
garland of sweet, beautiful blossoms around my
brow ; may my successors hail the fruit. I grieve
to say farewell !"
Farewell I" responded the girls, as if they felt
the solemnity of parting, but not the grief, this the
yeung cannot feel at the departure of the old year.
The door opened and hut, and the figure vanished
for ever.
The girls eagerly grasped the vial, and read the
label, Extract of religion, for the emndatme ."

"Extract for the conscience I" exclaimed Lau-
ra. "I don't need that. I ee my own faults
plain enough, or weights, a the old lady called
"It will be Msfet, Laura, for each to take her
lhare," mid Livia, dryly.
Pray don't take more than your shaue, Lara,"
interposed Leila, for I shall need all mine."
"I rather guess you will to ee your falts, Lel-
a," said Belinda. "We want no extract to we
the fenlts of others, and none of us ever saw yoam
unless it be lisping, and some sueh trifle that it
needs no miracle to cure."
Oh, Belinda, the old lady didn't make any
exceptions, and I am sure he was right not to ex-
cept me: so let me swallow my hare and have
done with it."
I should like to prove the virtue of good Ma-
dam Eighteen hundred thirty-eight' preseription"
said Belinda; "anything to help me on ; 'go-a-
head' is my motto, you know ;" and Belinda boldly
swallowed her portion.
Maris humbly aid, I think I feel my weights ;
but give me the vial; if I can get rid of them, I
hall blew the old lady as longas I live."
There's always something new going on in this
home I" cried Ariel; somethingfor all-us-girls
to do. I wish the time would come when I shall
go hom, and have nothing to lea, and no mre
fault to cure."

"Amen I" cried Belinda, and "amen re-
sponded all the girls, none louder and none somer-
rily laughing at her own charateriuio neliam-
tionm little Ariel, who ended the joke by swal-
loing unfaltering a double portion of the extract.
You may give me my doee too," mid Eloise,
advasning timidly and shrinking," though I know
perfee y well it won't do me any good."
And give me mine too," mid Sabina, "for we
ouht all todo what the poor old woman requested "
UIvia" cried Belind, why don't you come
forward Come-here's your portion."
Avisapproachedreluctantly. "I know I need it
as muh as any of you," she mid; "but I hateto
take it, it make me feel so horridly tobeconvinced
ofd y faults; bt it's 'no ong, no spper'-no ex-
tret, no cure-so I'll take it."
"And so will I," id Julia. "I had as lief
try it snt, though I am ure I have no need of
All now had honestly taken their portions, and
they retired, but not for a long while to deep.
Their emotions and meditation must not be re-
vealed. It is enough to ay that those who had
taken it timidly, were equally arprised by the
disoveries they made. The most humble and
feaaful had least reason to be shocked.
Through the following day they were serious,
but tranquil and happy ; for though asMredofthe
existence of the evil, they were also ared of the

As evening approached there were whisperings
and perturbations among them; but this as the
whole house was in a bustle, passed without ob-
The girls were dressed, the candles lighted, and
some fancied they already heard the gingling bells
of the sleighs that were tobring the dear friends from
SO*****. The moment for visiting the mysterious
shrub must not be delayed, and with beating hearts
the girls met in the passage that led to the south-
west apartment. Abrilliantlight streamed through
the crevices of the door. The most timid among
them started back, shrinking from whatthey deem-
ed supernatural. Why are you afraid I" said
Belinda, in a low firm voice; the flowers you
know, are the symbols of the virtues; light should
come from them."
Stop one moment, Belinda," cried Leila; "let
me goin with you." "And me too, pray," said Livia;
and each clung to her as Belinda slowly opened the
What a brilliant sight was that now before their
eyest A porcelain vase,as beautifulas Sevreschina,
stood in the centre of the room, bearing the mi-
raculous shrub, whose branches were all blooming
with different flowers, having their own peculiar
hues, and sweet as if they were growing in the gar
den mould, and were wet with the dews of a June
morning: from their leaves emanated a light soft
as alight of the frefly ; and along the stems an
99 D

Sbrilliant spiral flame that emmittednoheat. The
girls arranged themselves around, silent and almost
breathless with admiration.
The true, serious, and prompt Belinda was the
first tospeak. "Pro-omnibus-vera !" she said.
"' Trpth for all'-and here is truth for me ;" and
she plucked a fringed gentian.
Oh, Belinda I that can't be yours," cried Liela.
"Why, you know the gentian is tho emblem of
modesty-it certainly is-because, you know, it
lingers behind the other flowers, and opens its eyee
m timidly."
Belinda shook her head. I know very well
what it means," she said.
"Then why take it I" insisted her fond friend.
SI am sure no one will dare to say you want mo-
"No, dear Belinda, indeed you do not," said Li.
via. "And I don't think you do I" "And I am
sure you do not I" reiterated all the girls.
"I am very glad you think so, girls ; but I cer-
tainly do want deference, which is first cousin to
modesty; and here you may see the word written
in tiny letters on the stem. The moment I swal-
lowed that infallible extract, I perceived that I had
the habit of taking the lead on all occasions, and of
too loudly asserting my opinions. Blessed little-
eyed Bower, I thank you You shall be iy fower,
the emblemof the grace I need. But what is this "
she exclaimed, as a little stalk shot from the stem

of the gentian, and from it unfolded the fragrant
blossom of the white jasmine.
"Oh, it's candour I" cried Leila, clapping her
hands. "Do you not rememember what the old
lady said I Look steadfastly at the stem; if blds
or blossom unfold upon it, remember what they
typify, and take them at their word. They may
praise, but they will not laterr' The jasmine
praises, but does not flatter you, Belinda; you
are candid, and every thing that is first cousin to
Little Ariel now sprang forward, her ehle
eyes becoming almost black, and sbsolut" glow-
ing : "I may as well take my flowers first last,
she said.
"Flowers I Do you take two, Ariel I" asked
"Yes, I must have a double portion-its too
bad! Here is the violet; disinterestednei, you
see it means. There is no doubt of the goodness
of the extract, girls." Tlie girls might have thought
it did not err in Ariel's case, but they did not say
so. It is marvellous to see how gentle it makes us
to others' faults to have our eyes opened to our
own. I hate to take this," resumed Ariel, break-
ingoff a sprig of lavender, under whose greenlaves
was % rittengratitude. "I never suspected I wanted
gratitude till I used the old lady's extract; and I
do not, only when I am out of patience with my
lessons, or break some rule, and throw the blame

on Mrs. who is always so patient and kind;
but I hope I shall be cured I" A sweet smile played
over her lips, and forth from the lavender sprang
the delicious flowers of the trailing arbutus, inter-
spersed with small leaves of live-for-ever.
You have come off very well, Ariel, after all,"
said Laura ; "you have a double portion of virtues
to match your double portion of faults."
So I have I" replied Ariel, clapping her hands.
" I know the arbutus means resolution, for it flow-
ers amid snows; but what do these pretty little
live ver leaves mean 1"
E for-ever I Why, is that notanother name
for truth, Ariel "
Ah, Ariel," said Eloise, as she gently broke off
her bower (also the arbutus)," the arbutus praises
you, but me it admonishes. As soon as I swal-
lowed the extract, I saw that in everything I wanted
But see, Eloise," interrupted Belinda, that
mignionette coming out all over the-coarse stem of
the arbutus. The mignionette, you know, typifies
tenderne and refinement: how well itsuits you I"
Maria broke off a white rose, that so perfectly
unfolded every one of its pure leaves, that it
scarcely needed the word frankness on its stem to
interpret its meaning.
Srely, Maria, that is not your flower I" cried
Laurs; "well, perhaps you are a little too shy-
too eseved ; but it is reserve that springs frm

"My extract did not tell me that, Laura," re-
plied Maria; and, while she spoke, all along the
rose's stem unfolded the fragrant flowers of the
lily of the valley, emblem of humility.
"You see, girls, I did need the extract as well
as the rest of you," said Leila, breaking offa golden
What does it mean I what does it mean I" ex-
claimed the girls in a breath ; "I am sure we can-
not guess." Leila held up the flower, and they,
seeing the word hardiness, exclaimed, "The ex-
tract is true, Leila is a little over-sensitive-and
there, see I" they added, the flowers of the sen-
sitive plant budding out, which signifies how quick
she feels for others; and, bless us I there too is an
arbutus : a fit companion for her sensitive flow.
ers; for with you Leila, feeling and action go to-
None of you will doubt this belongs to me,"
said sweet Sabina, with a smile, as she broke off
crocus; a flower that ventures into the still frosty
air should tipify the very opposite of 'chicken-
heartedness. "
"We need no voice from poor dear eighteen
hundred thirty-eight," said Livia, "to tell us this
is your flower, Sabina; no extract to reveal it
But what is this winding round the stem I How
true too I Honeysuckle, type of lovingness."
Julia languidly approached to select her flower.
It was the beautiful clematis, symbol of elevation.

"I knew, before I swallowed the extract," said
Julia," that I am content to be just what I am."
Strange I" said Livia; for here arethe pur-
ple flowers of the bee-larkspur, symbol of diligence;
strange, Julia, that you should be like the squirrel
in a cage, content always to be at work, but never
to go forward."
Two only were now left, and on these two, con-
spicuous among their companions, all eyes were
fixed. Livia made a difficult effort, and broke off
a careopsis, which, steadily blossoming as it does
through the heats and showers of summer, the
cold winds of autumn, and on the frosty borders of
winter, is a fit type of imperturbableness. A
pretty long word," said Livia, laughing, asshe held
up the stalk ; but you need not take the trouble
to read it, girls; you are all acquainted with my
irritableness." Before she had finished speaking
the stalk of her careopsis was gemmed with daises,
and wound round and round with the pink convol-
vulus, types of generosity and affection.
Never mind, Livia," said Belinda, kissing her.
"we do not care for the careopsis; but we all love
the dasies and convolvulus."
A stalk of sweet-peas was the only flower left.
Laura broke it off, slightly blushing, and courage-
ously held it up, that all might see the werd sim-
plicity. As she did so, the bee-flower opened on
the stem, and with it the rosemary, ancient type
of the noble virtue,fidelity.

Their task was done, and they were all said.
They preed the flower to their bosoms, and one
and all asked a leaf of Laura' rosemary, to re-
mind them of their duty. LMau needed not to
rob er lower of praise (so she oslled them) o a
single leaf; for, at the wish expressed, rosemary
was added to each bouquet.
"Now," sid Liv, quick, before t bell ring,
for the ever-green tree; let us all go down and
tell our story to Mrs. -, and show our flower."
Yes, ye, we will, we will," was the general
exclamation; and suddenly appeared in each bou-
quet, overtopping every lower, the queenly white
lily magnanimity.


SOuz of you, my dear girls, remember that, in
November, 1837, our secluded home was visited by
a sanger whom all the civilized world delight to
honour, and that you soon found the honour, rever-
ence, and observance due to the celebrated writer
merged in your love for the woman.
You remember the story of the Greek girl Ma-
riets, which she told us one happy evening, when
you were permitted to gather round her in the
little parlour. We can recall her sweet voice,
the graces of her language, and the varying ex-
prssion of her face, while she related the start-
lig incidents of the young girl's life, and recalled
the vivid interest that a personal knowledge of her
had excited.
These pleasant recollections will invest the story
with a charm to you, which it cannot posses for
my other readers, for whom the picture must
be transferred from a painter's to a common light.
But, asthere are some pictures worth looking asin
any light, I trust to my true unadorned sty to
fix attention for a few moment.
You do not remember, my dear young rndlm,

but you may have heard of the bloody war which
the oppressed Greeks waged for their independ-
ence against their cruel masters the Turks.
It was a long time before the Grecian island
Acio took any part in the contest. The Turkish
dominion was less felt there than in Greece. The
island, as you will perceive if you look at your maps,
lies almost under the shadow of the Asatic coast.
It has a rich soil, and in its happy days was so
highly cultivated, so loaded with the fruits and
flowers of that fortunate lime, that it is described
as filled with gardens. There was a higher clti-
vation there, too, than that of the earth. There
were schools and colleges, richly endowed, where
the people of both sexes were instructed in the
sciences, and in the accomplishments of the mset
civilized parts of Europe. The Sciots had an ex-
tensive commerce. They had resident merehmat
in the great commercial cities of Europe. They
carried on nearly all the trade between Greece ad
the Turkish cities of Smyrna and Coustaimople.
Their wealth was deposited in these cities, a we
may may, in the very coffers of the Turks ; they
had, therefore,much more to hazard by a war than
their compatriots. Their civil government was in
the hads of elders, who administered it mildly
and ndsatly. Prudence is the virtue (par ezeo-
leos)4felders. They do not rashly risk thesea-
rity, esperlty, and ease of peace, for the pre-
eMt glury, and distant and doubtful advantage of

war. But if a war can ever be approved by Heaven,
it was the war waged by the Greeks for religion
and liberty. The patriot Sciots could not very long
remain passive spectators of the struggles of their
countrymen ; nor did they long wait before the
aggressions of their masters gave them occasion
and impulse.
In May, 1821, a small squadron of Ispariots
(patriot Ureeks) appeared off the coast. The aga,
or military governor, immediately resorted to
measures that had already been taken at other
Greek islands of the Archipelago. He seized forty
elders and bishops, and shut them up in the castle
as hostages for the good conduct of the people.
A large number of troops was brought from the
neighboring coast of Asia Minor, and garrisoned
in the island, and the inhabitants were subjected to
their excesses and lawless depredations. Assassi-
nations were frequent; the wealthy inhabitants
were plundered on erary side, till, stung to mad-
nes ,there was an attempt made to rouse the peo-
ple to resistance. But hard it was themselves to
light the fire that aas to consume their pleasant
homes, and sweep over the garden-lands, and they
were still hesitating, when two adventurers, Bur-
nia and Logotheti, from Samos, landed on Seio,
with a small band of followers. The prudent el-
ders made every effort to prevent the peamntry
joining them. The aga took his measures-tyr-ta
never hesitate-and, selecting lhs victims from the

best families, be doubled the number of hostages.
The aga expected aid from the continent. The
Sciots hoped the Greek fleet would come to their
aid, but they hoped in vain. On the 22d of April
a 'l urkish fleet ol fifty sail anchored in the bay,
and immediately began to bombard the town. The
Sciots were deserted by their Samian friends, who
seemed to have come among them, as the falcon
returns to his species, to lure them into the hands
of their enemies.
Scio became the scene of indescribable horrors.
Its inhabitants, men, women, and children, were
all massacred. The houses weplere plundered, and
then burned, not one left standing, excepting those
belonging to the foreign consuls.
Three days passed before the Turks left the city
to pinetrate into the recesses of the island. The
following passage is from an eye-witneea who es-
caped. He wrote to his friend, Oh God I what
a spectacle did Scio present on this memorable oc-
casion I On whatever side I cast my eyes, nothing
but pillage, murder, and conflagration appeared.
While some were occupied in plundering the villas
of rich merchants, and others in setting fire to
the villages, the airways rent with themingled groans
of men, women, and children, who were falling
under the swords and daggers of the infidels. The
only exception made during the massacre was in
favour of young women and boys, who wre pre-
served to be afterward sold as slaves. Many of these

young women, whose husLands had been butchered,
were running to and fro frantic, with torn gar-
ments and dishevelled hair, pressing their trem-
bling infants to their breasts, and seeking death as
a relief from the fate that awaited them."
My dear girls, when you read such details, hor-
rible but not exaggerated, of the miseries that have
been suffered in our days, do you realize them I I
believe not. The people are thousands of miles
removed from you. They speak foreign language.
Their religion is not your religion ; their customs
and manners differ from yours. But all human
being are essentially alike; they have the same
pasions, affections, and wants, and their resem-
blance increases as they approach the same grade
in civilization. The Sciots were an instructed and
accomplished people. They were Christians. And
if in imagination you will transfer the sciences above
described to your own towns and villages-to your
own happy homes, and, if you can, picture to your-
selves your fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters,
the subjects of these cruelties, your sympathies, I
think, will no longer sleep I
But I am aware that the picture of a famishing
Jewish mother, wandering with her child away from
her fallen city, would affect you more than a crowded
canvass, which should represent all the multitude
of the Jews realizing the curses that had been de-
nouneed upon them, so I fancy of the'most minute
history of the massacre of Seio.

Perhaps you consider yourselves already taken
in by being compelled to read this prefatory bit of
history, as the customers of the Yankee pedlar
were, who, if they purchased one of his cheeses,
were compelled to take also one of his grindstones.
Pardon me-I will go to my story.without farther
delay. Ten days were given to slaughter. Gar-
deners and others, who hadbeen seized and carried
on board the Turkish ships, on the supposition that
they could reveal hidden treasures, were, to the
number of 500, hung I This was the signal for the
execution of the hostages in the citadel. Many
young women, with their children, had fed to the
mountains and hidden themselves in eaves, where
numbers died of terror and hunger, and other
lived on fearing a worse destiny. Among these
was a noble Grecian lady, the mother of Marietza.
Her husband and three sons had been massacred
before her eyes; and with the two remaining chil-
dren, Marietza and a boy, she had, almost by mir-
acle, escaped, and hid herself and them in a cavein
the mountains. There they were discovered and
dragged forth by the hair of their head. They
hoped and prayed for death, but death was no lon-
ger the order of the day. They were reserved for
market, put on board a Turkish ship, and conveyed
to Alexandria. They were exhorted and com-
manded by the man who called himself their owner
to renounce their religion. They endured all sorts
ofpetty persecution; mut, wrethed,wearied, weak
and young as they were, they remained steadfast.

The Greek religion is a modification of tle Ro-
man Catholic, and does not essentially vary from
it. It is difficult for you, my dear girls, to con-
ceive the detestation that an oppressed people feel
for the religion of their oppressors ; but, I hope,
not equally difficult to imagine the clinging you
would feel to the religion that had made you pa-
tient in such tribulations as our poor Greek mother
and her children had endured. They were still
very young; Marietza, I think, about twelve, her
brother a year older ; and their mother, fearing
they might yield to the threats or persuasions of
their Turkish master, continually exhorted them
to steadfastness. She soon had the saddest proof
that her fears were groundless. She was stand-
ing with her children in the balcony of a
house near the river, and overlooking it. Their
Turkish tyrant was insisting that her boy should
give some sign of faith in the Prophet. The boy
refused; and, with all the fervour of his Greek
nature, expressed his hatred of Mahomet, his
faith, and his followers. The Turk struck him.
The boy was maddened; and, springing to the
ground he ran to river. Whether he intended to
drown himself, or whether he merely obeeA&n
impulse to escape anywhere from the Ir l eimp
the Turk, no one could tell; for, while LhohinC e
still above water, the Turk drew a ipd fhra hi
belt and shot him through the brain. Tbh laeh
and sister saw this, and lived I and I have no

doubt that, after the first horror was past, they
blessed God the boy had escaped from the evils
that still impended over them.
The sister of the Pacha of Egypt was then at
Alexandria. She was a Mahommedan fanatic, so
sincerely devoted to her religion that she bought
captives to convert them to the Mohammedan
faith. The master of Marietza, hoping the zealous
lady would set a due value on the possibility of of-
fering to the Prophet two such beautiful converts
(for the mother was still handsome, and Marietza
lovely as an Houri,) took them to the princes's
apartment. They had entered the court, but there
was some delay in getting admission. While they
stood on the steps, the shrinking, frightened girl
leaning on her mother, who could have recognized
in her drooping figure the same being who, but a
few weeks before, was gayest among the gay girls
of Seio, dancing on the sea-beach, by the moon-
light, and by the music of ruste pipes, the Ro-
maika, their classic national dance I Who could
imagine this figure, that looked now pale andfixed
as if it were cut in stone, linked with other young
and graceful forms, chasing in the evolutions of
this poetic dance the retreating wave, boldly fol-
lowing it till it turned, then, as it chased her back,
dashing off the foam from her winged feet I Yet
this had been, and in spite of Marietza's present
despair, something very like it was again to be.
Aftr a tedious waiting they were led to-a small

antechamber, where persons having business with
the princess were passing and repassing. Some
Greeks, who had been that morning bastinadoed
for refusing to abjure their religion, were stretched
on the floor writhing with pain. A very old man
beckoned to Marietza. She threw aside her veil,
and leaned respectfully towards him. "Do not
think, my poor child,"said he, that you can suffer
stripes as well as bonds. I am old, and death is
better for me than life; and yet, when I felt the
bastinado to-day, I bit my tongue through to save
myself from saying, as they bade me, that their
cursed Mahomet was the prophet of God. Con-
fess him now, my poor child, and retract when you
can. You are young-you will have time for re-
pentanee-time to hope for God's forgiveness."
"No, father, no," replied Marietza ; "my mo-
ther has told me there is double guilt in sinning
because you know God forgives sin I No ; mother
says we must be baptized with Christ's baptism-"
Poor child, you are so young, you cannot en-
dure it."
"I eon, if it be God's will. See here; I have
been trying what I can endure ;" and she pushed
up her muslin sleeve, and showed the old man
where, while she had been standing there, she had,
to prove her fortitude, and without shrinking,
pinchhed arm black. The old man uttered an
exclamation of mingled pity and admiration. Be

side. it would be a double shame for me to turn
infidel," she added, "for my name is Murieta."*
A euree upon ye, then I" mid a brutal old
Turk, spitting in her face in token of the hatred he
bore her name. Another Turk, an old man too
(there are good Samaratans in all nations,) extend-
ed to her an embroidered handkerchief drenched
in a delicious perfume. She wiped away the de-
filement, and the blood gushed from her heart to
her cheek, and she raised her eyes, glowing with a
silent prayer, as she remembered that her Saviour
was spit upon.
At this moment, when she looked M beatlfal
as one of Raphael's saint, two young Englishme
came from the audience room. They stopAd,
rivettod to the spot by Marleta's beauty. He
mother advanced and drew down her vll, and dl-
.retly after their master signed to them to follow
him to the presence of the prinoes. She was
evidently so much struck withthe extreme beat
of Marleta, that the cupidity of the Turk was e-
cited, and be asked for her double the prioehe had
intended. The princess refused it. He abted,
but till insisted on extravagant term; and at last
the prince, quite disgusted, told him that she
would have nothing more to ay to him; and like
many a grasping trader, bitterly repenting his
avarice, he withdrew. The hearts of our poo
Mar i the Greek for Mary, sad the am* b gr
Ia bomr of the Virgin.
t-9 a

captive sank as they turned away. They had
hoped to escape from the hateful presence of the
'nurderer of their son and brother,and there had
seemed something like esape from despair-eome-
thing bordering on protection, in paying into the
hand of one of their own seM.
The two young Englishmen were awaiting their
return, and followed them at a respectful distance.
Soon after they sought an interview with their
Turkish muter, and eagerly inquired of him the
mes, ruak, and former condition of his captives.
They ascrtained that he had failed in his treaty
with the prineee; and also that, in consequenee
of this dimppointment, he was prepared to lower
hi terms.
The young friends wee filled with pity for the
cmptiven,ao doubt augmentedby Marietsa'sbeauty;
far it mut be onfeed tht beauty is wonderful
inier of a young man's ompssion. One of the
young men, Reginald Bter, was the son, those
who heard the rtory will remember, of a fried of
the lady who told it to us. He w an oly so,
mot beloved, and most worthy of love. His mo-
ther, a widow in easy cireametnees, was reidig
with her daughter in England, while hewa seek.
ing (and finding, too) his fortune abroad. He wae
not, however, rich enough to pay the money d-
manded for the redemption of the captives; but
he would not leave them in the Turk's hands and
he and his friend agreed to pay equal portion of

MARItr A. 67
the purebase-money. They did ao, and Marieta
and her mother were traferred to then. My
dear young friends, you know so little of the evil
in the world, that I trout you will hardly ndr-
stand me when I uay that Butler's asodate looked
on Marietza with too bold an eye ; and Btler,
fearing that some undue advantage might be taken
of her helpless and dependent state, paid to his
partaMr is portion of the purohase-moey, and
removed the mother ad daughter to a little eeo-
try-bhoe in the nighbourhood of Ablaandria,
where he provided them with every coemrt and
indulgenee within his power to procure for them.
They had no common language in whh they
could hold communication; and these poor febml
believing that they had only changdowners, w
apprehending every possible, and evea impoile
evil. The terros they had seed, the aarvati
they had endured, and, more than all, the unms
disruption of their deareet ties, hbad paire their
health and affected their Imaginatiios, a tht tey
were ea the brink of inmalty, sad looking a evm7
idsed newdanges and mierie. Btler sid
thata~ iua was so emaiated, thethe sometimes
th^ when he looked at her, she might di.
pesaiwi hsl eight like the White adyo fAvem.
He bhebt a hme for her to ride, in the hope tha
the emelee and the fresh air would give new ima
pde to her young life; but bse awards said
thnt, never he took her out, e thobhtie was

going to conduct her to some wild place to murder
her I He provided every delicacy the market af-
forded, and bought her the most delicious fruits ;
but poor Marieta for a long while rejected every-
thing, tormented with the imagination that he was
Swatting her to kill her.'
By degrees, both mother and daughter truly in-
terpreted the language of his generosity and most
assiduous kindness, and then there was no limit to
their gratitude. The mother, content and grate-
ful for the present, became in some good degree
resigned to her calamities; and Marietza, with
the elasticity of girlhood, returned to health, and
all the brightness of health and hope a soon as she
was relieved from the pressure of her fears. Then
she rode and ate, and became as fat and as bloom-
ing as her benefactor desired.
You perhaps know that in warm climates the
person is earlier developed and the physical sys-
tem sooner matured than in our cold land. At
twelve Marietaa had the attractive graces of a girl
of sixten. Her benefactor's benevolence was
transmuted to love. He wrote to his mother in
England all the particulars of Marietza's story,
onfessed the state of his heart, and proposed
to her to receive Marietza under her protection,
and to give her an education fitting the wife of her
The project might have struck some elderly la-
dies as romantic, but Mrs. Butler sympathized

perfectly with her son. She had entire confidence
in the truth and steadfastness of his affeetiom.
She would have preferred, she aid, that he would
have married one of his own countrywomen; bet,
for the world, she would not thwart the wish of
one who had fulfilled all her wishes. Thrioeblee-
sed,my dear girls, is the mutual confidence of pa-
rents and children I
I do not know how Butler reconciled Marieta's
mother to parting with her child ; but you aft know
that mothers will make any personal seriflce for
the advantage of their children ; and probably the
hearts of both mother and child were so overflow
ing with gratitude to their benefactor, that they
would have acquiesced in whatever he proppei,
even their parting. Parted they were.
Marietza went to England, where she was re-
ceived into Butler's family as if she had a natural
claim to their love. She was at one daughter
and sister. Her exquisite beauty, et off by her
Greek costume and Oriental graee, riveted every
eye ; her enthusiasm, affectionatenes, buoyancy,
of spirit, and the free and animated manner natural
to her people-which no misfortune could long
depress, or conventionalism retrain, or eve an
English atmosphere damp-made her a perpetual
spring of delight to every circle she entered. She
was courted and flattered on every side. Men
richer, handsomer, and of higher rank than Regin-
aid Butler, were devoted to her ; but her affeo
tious never for a moment wavered from him.

Fahion robbed her of some of heroutward gaes,
for toy took her to Paris, and submitted he to the
leveing processes of dres-maker miller, and
hairdresser; but the world did not invade her
At the ezpirioa of four or Ave year Butler
ee to England to caim his bride. His friends
dreaded the meeting. Ie had sfered from pro-
tr~ted ilne. His face was sllow and furrowed,
and he had beoom,not absolutely lld, but so near
it as to look ore of years olde than when Ma-
ristm had pr d hrm him.
"Do I ot look to you shodkingly daged, Ma-
rit I" he asked, as soon a the firt emotions of
stiag wer over.
*Shloddogly I No, not shockingly obhanged,
RginaMl. Your heart is not changed-nor is

Thb wweds, uttered with all her characteristic
Srvur, mtio d hbr lover, and he w not in the
leot trbed when she said, with a mieohevios
il of her beautiful lipe, I have daed in Lon.
Swith prettier men than you, Reginald I"
Mristm betryed an Oriental love of mgnifi-
ssewhbathearrangements for the wedding were
making. The Btlers were a quiet peopl, who
dislikeddisplyand notoriety; but they yildd la
th, asi everything, to aitas. She wolha
theb rel bellsrng,andaprocelmionof g
a In hr own entry. Her lower lavished

most costly bridal gifts upon her, and she showed
her trousseau to my friend with the sort of estatio
pleasure that a child has with its holyday gifts.
She clapped her hands, and sdippedover chair and
sofa. Immediately after their marriage they re-
turned to reside in Alexandria.
And here, if I had invented the story, I should
leave it; for the weddings the legitimate stopping-
place in a tale, though in life but the beginning of
its deepest interests.
Eighteen months after the departure of Butl
with his beautiful young Bride, his mother reseiv-
ed a letter from him, informing her that MaUietl
had died in his arms with the plague I
This seems to you, my dear girls, a sad ooasel
sion ; and sad is always the disruption of dmentie
ties; but remember it is but a paying sdaes.
Death is to the good the last of pain, and trial, and
disappointment; and to the good, death opes the
gates of immortality and felicity.


S"MAsM, may Sarah and I go down to Violet
Cove t"
"Ye, if you will promise me not to go to any
dangeos places, ad if you will take Neptune with

I need not promise that, mamma; for Nep-
tne always will go with me, and I always want
him too. Neptune I Neptune I here, Neptune I"
At this ll from his little mistress, Fanny Dale,
large blaek Newfoundland dog, with spotted feet,
long, soft, black curly hair, and a physiognomy
that expremed the virtues of his race, affection-
ataenem ad resolution, came bounding after the
two little girls, who were bending their steps from
a country house in the vicinity of New York, near
the Hudson, to a low bit of ground near the mar-
gin of the river, a sort of bsin, called, from the
powerss that abounded there in early springtime,
Violet Cove. Fanny Dale was a hardy little girl,
who was permitted by her mother to enjoy to toh
full the happiness of country life. As soon as
badfnibhed her leson and doae hbr tasks.
an out of doon, mrambledeversbel andebaai

over fields, often with no companion but Neptune.
Some of Mrs. Dale's friends wondered that she
could let Fanny get so tanned ; but Mr. Dale
thought the health, and strength, and innocent
pleasure she gained were an over-payment for a
pretty deep embrowning. Indeed, if the truth
must be told, there was far more beauty in Mrs.
Dale's eye, in Fanny's blooming cheeks, roand
limbs, free and light step, than in the delicate forms
and lily complexions of her city cousins.
It is natural to children to love the country and
the freedom that belongs to it. Does your mo-
ther let you go out often without your nrse,
Fanny 1" asked her companion and cousin, 8emh
"To be sure she does. Don't you know, Sarah,
I have not had any nurse ever since we earn to
Rose Lane 1"
"Oh, I wish I hadnetany. Iner ea stir ot
without Becky; and she never wants to go whaw
we children do-you know grown peopleever do ;
and then she walks slow, and, as n want
to stop and look at anything pretty,ahe lebabhur-
ry. I do think a nurse is a botheration."
"I should think so too; andif I we you, I
would persuade my mother to get such a dog a
Nqepte. Mammasys she always feels perfectly
ea when Neptune is withme ; and he is a great
d onnier companion than a nurse, you know."
Swa lnteempted by Sarah's drawing eleee to

her and touching her arm toattract her observation
to a shabby looking man who had just got over the
fence and was approaching them. "Oh," aid
Fanny, in reply to Sarah's movement, which ex-
premed inquiry and fear, "it is only some one eros-
sing the field to go by a nearer way to Manhattan-
ville-but ee, now, what Neptune wildo." Nep-
tune waspparently, at thi moment, pursuing his
own please without heeding his mistress. He wa
running on in advance, now and then turning from
hisaeeae and inmung the earth. He retraced his
teps, and approached the stranger with a low,
suspicious bark, as much a to say Who are you,
sir t" "He never likes habby-looking people,"
whispered Fanny. Be quiet, Neptune-now
just see what he will do." Neptune walked slow-
ly round the man, as if thoroughly to reconnoite,
then marched to Fanny's side, and stalked along
tep by step Ithher, with all the dignity ofan ap-
pointed guardian, till the strager was quite out of
sight, when he ran on as before.
aDoes he really know that he has to take are
of you asked Sarah.
I don't know what he really knows, because he
aa't speak; but be seems to know almost every-
"Oh, I wish we had such adog I Where did yo
get him, Fanny I"
Why, two summer ago, Mr. Wilas s at
bere to makeppaa isit; ad beotveryilli ad

it wasevero hot; and I at by him to keep of the
flie, and used to bring him drinks, sidso on ; nd
he thought it wa a great deal for a little girl todo
-you know, two summers ago I was little girl,
Sarah" (Fanny was now eight years old) "and
when he got well and went away, he mt mespre-
sent of a pair of emerald earrings."
Oh, did het My mother has promised me a
pair for my next birthday."
"Yes, he did ; but mammadoes not mean I all
ever wear earrings. She ays it is not hitting fr
civilized people to pieree their leh to put in orns-
ments like savages, ad so mamma sent them bae
to Mr. Wilson."
Was not he laronted 1"
"Oh, no; mamma wrote him a note, and Isup
pose she told him-what she told m-that she did
not wish me to have any other reward than the
pleasure of doing him a service; bat Mr. Wileb
would not letit run on so, and he brought me Nep
tune-he wa a pup then. Mr. Wilson midamma
must not refuse him, because, a we lived so near
the river, mamm was always getting frights abeut
me, and she need not have any saiety if I had a
Newfoundland dog to attend me. So mamma was
glad emqgh to take him, and now he seems just
likeoem of the family ; and when Beerly Thomp.
son olered ape a hundred dollars for him, pos
id he eight as well oer to buy me: and e.
diei papp told him the dog was min "

"But would not you sell him for a hundred dol-
lars, Fanny I"
"No, indeed, I would not."
"Oh, Fanny I Only think, with a hundred dol-
lars you could buy a baby-house completely fur-
nished-chambers, drawing-rooms, parlour, and
everything-even to a Nott stove in the hall."
a And do you think for that I would give up a
creature that loves me I No, indeed, Neptune-
good fellow, Neptune I not to get all the baby-
homs in the wide world would I sell you."
Thus talking, the girls reached the core, where,
to their great disappointment, they found the early
violets were all out of blow. We could get plenty
of roes," said Fanny, "and wild geraniums, and
purple columbines on the rocks a little farther up,
close on the bank of the river ; but the rocks are
steep and slippery just after the tide is down, and,
yea know, we promised mamma we would not go in'
any dangerous places."
"You promised, Fanny ; I did not."
But mamma understood the promise was for
both, and so that is just the same."
Sarah Tileon's notions of the obligation of a
premise were not quite so strict as Fanny's.
Nonsense I" she cried ; come aag, an ;
ye know I don't want togo in any dan
we can only look and see the flowers gn
what a pretty place this is !" she
Famny led her to a little footpath that

course of the river's bank, running down to the
very edge of the river, where the descat of the
shore would allow it, and, where the beak was too
rocky or precipitous, ascending to the level of the
adjacent grounds. Now and then they would get
entangled in wild shrubbery, when Neptune would
push on before them, and clear the way for them.
Now they would sit down on the bare roots of some
old tree, whose branches threw their deep shadow
on the water below; and there they would watoh
the sloops that were passing up and down the river,
their sails glistening in the rays of the unelouded
sun of one of the b~ghtest afternoons in June.
The steamers, just finishing their short day's voy.
age, were in sight of their havens. Fanny, accus-
tomed to walk with her mother, and to observe the
beautiful features on the face of nature, tried to
make Sarah enjoy these passing objects, and the
deep shadow that the opposite shore cast on the
water, and how it looked like melted silver where
the sun's rays lay upon it; but Sarah was impatient
to get the flowers which she had promised herself
the pleasure of making into a wreath, and she urged
Fanny to shew hera placewherethey grew. "Well,
oome along," said Fanny, "and I will shew you;
but we can't get them, Sarah 1"
"Can't I Our tutor says we should always leave
J last letter out of can't." Thus applying rules
SJe they served her purpose, and discarding
Swhen they opposed it, Sarah followed bent on


getting the flowers.-They soon reached a wild
looking plae, where the bank was steep and rocky.
" There you see the roee," aid Fanuy, "and all
along those pretty blue Bowers, with such delicate
levels, growing out of the very crevice of the rocks
and higher up are the oolumbine ; but you see we
can't get any of them. Don't they look as if they
knew we could not get at them, so quite and cou-
tented "
Yae; bow provoking I But se thee, Fanny-
jIt ri there s a very good stepping-place, and
we a hild on by the roebush, you know."
But my promise to mamma, Sarah-and I know
she would call that a dangerous place "
"Well, eling it so don't make it o. I know I
an walk there just as well as here-at any rate, I
ern get the roes i' and without more hesitation
she prmeded to the spot; and when there she
broke of the seea, and cried exultingly, that it was
jut thesMmethere a on the foor at home. "Now,"
said she, Fanny, thereare ome lovely little white
flower a little lower down, jut like white stas-I
on get them perfectly well."
"Oh, don't go there, Sarah; don't you ee the
roes are wet and slippery t"
But Sarah was too much accustomed to b*lt
her o way to give heed to her eoueim, ad, Air
se dUealty, she descended the roek. In ld
dow, ohe found too late that the roete s we i'
pery, ad, becoming alarmed, sbe di owt d to

retiree her step ; but, seeing another ph. or
she fancied she could get up safely, adloi ded
a little farther, and found herself iwRil more
difficult position. "Oh, Fanny I" sheoipdj I never
in the world can get back unless yolA, give me
yourhand. Justeome down that firpq0tPk-here
is a dry place for you to stand, and my ~o slip so."
" That is not a very dangerous plaoe," ght she.
"I am sure I an stand perfectly well ltIj-l aM
sure Lought to help Sasah, and mammra Mpld say.
so too;" and she adva pito the position Sa a
had pointed out.
Neptaunetood bsa dl. ~ra.4 nhemoved '
farther down, if he eoauld .p oken it seemed
that he would. He wagged ln il and whined,
but did not move. u Now, Bab, stop crying, and
don't be frightened."
"Well-there, Sarah," she said, grasping the
bush with one hand, and stooping toward Sarah
as to give her the other; there-se your feet
bard down."
Fauny, without beingaware of it, ad put bes
in a mort perilous position. By leaping towards
Sarah ber weight inclined towards the water. Sarah
had Iapresence ofmind to enableheLtobey Fan.
any's itretiom s She was almost hipie by be
tean; na, instead of planting her feit Mly hi
the best place, she set it in a weak, shelving spot;
Aad, the moment she raised the other foot, she slip-
ped, and, losing her foothold entirely, and holding

Fanny's band in her like a vice, she fell back into
theriver and dragged Fanny after her. Thi was
all the work of an instant; there was no time for
a shriek; and, even if they had screamed, there
was no one near enough to hear. No one but Nep-
tune ; but he needed no cry to spur him. The in-
stant Fanny fell he sprung from the rock; dove as
she msnk, and, taking her clothes in his mouth, he
swam with herseveral yards. Itwould havebeen
impossible to send where Fannyfell without6brui-
*lig and tearing her apgad t the face of the rock;
with unerring instint, he selected a point where he
took her up without injury; he laid her on the
gms, and after howling over her, and licking her,
and amuring himself that she was not quite inen-
ible, for her recovery from the water had been so
qitek that she never loit her consciousness, he re-
tr d to the rie in search of poor Sarh. Inthe
mm, time, Fanny raised herself up, looked around
her, become fully awmar where and hk e was,
sad that arh wa not with her. erUmmed
f r hep, but her ries were feeble. ted
to eappro ethe bank ; but weak, tf d fint,
e sank down again, and in another mt Nep-
ti re-appeared with Sarah, and aid hr at her
gmin's feet, and then, s if overcome with joy at
adding Famy moving, he etetched himself %L
her, ieked hr hands and heeswgged hbis
if he would wag it off, and di Althat doglifh
to expreu his joy.

Fumy could not then exprem her graitmde to
him. Her feelings and thoughts were all givr to
poor SBaah; and the neoesity of acting fo br t
once restored life nativity to Fanny. Thepeer
girl lay stretched onthe gras; the limbs, thatbut
a few minutes before were soaetive, now motionlek
and powerless; the face, so lately bright with exe
eie, was white and fixed amble; and the rby
lips, that curled with smiles, were stiff and blMe.
Fanny raised Sarh's heed and aid it on herbee, 1
and laid her obeek o hbweemin's, crying, "Sara
Sarah I dear Sarh I" but no ound, no modes wa l
returned; the body was lifeless and ,leat. Al'Ni
looked round in the hope of seeing smoe bumi -
help, and a the only point where beh bad a glimpse
of theroad de sw a man paying. -
She sprang up and ran towards him, Iatl. ',
and beckoning; but at the distaee he was he oe
not hear her feeble rie d ,ad woul a ot, if NWpie
inspired by his mistree, had nsD qp a b aching
or rathrbowling, thamstosesodm a'htss tioU
and Fanny had the inmepmiedlld llaf of seeng
him get over the fence and r wardss her.
But few words were neM y to oommuaite
her cousin's condition.
"She has ot spokenyet, nor moed,i" l Im
The nan made no reply, but lifted Sarah Ie* -
reed,shook her violently, struck the palmsesO *
kb s, rubbed her limbs with all his might, ad
thu, looking up at Fay, he suid,
99 1

Och I my childer I she'll never move nor spake
again--he is dead."
"Dead I Oh I she can't be dead; it i such afew
moments. Oh, pray carry her home to mamma;
she will know what to do for her."
"That will I; but first, though I think there's
none but He that raises the dead can put breath in
the poor thing again, we'll be after giving her a
chance." So saying, he took off her wet clothes
and wrapped her in his woollen roundabout ; this
will warm her," he added, "if it's warmth can
eometo this little cold body again."
To Fanny it seemed impossible that life should
so soon be extinct. Wet and heavy as her clothes
were, and washing round her feet at every step,
she ran forward as if she had nothing to encumber
her, Neptune bounding on before her. At the
gate opening into Rose Lane she was met by her
mother, who, anxious at her prolonged stay, had
omeo out to meet her.
Fanny did not scream or faintt t ightof her
mother, a some girls would have done after such
a scene of terror, danger, and.ditress. She
thought not of herself, of her past danger and es-
pe, but only of the possibility of relief for Sarah.
Shad learned that thoughtfulness for others
the example of her mother, which Mrs. Dale
manifested, even in this moment of surprise and
terror, by returning immediate to the heuse to
prepare Sarah's mother, a pooklejtl woman, for

the spectacle that migh kill her if seen without
any preparation, and to get ready all possible
means for Sarah's recovery. Even with this pre-
caution Mrs. Tileson was thrown into fainting-fits,
from which she did not recover till the usual re-
luedies for drowned persons bad been resorted to
for Sarah-but in vain: life never returned.
This event had a remarkable effect on Fanny
Dale's character. She never saw death before
she saw the lifeless body of her cousin and play-
mate ; she had never realized it before. It inspir-
ed no fear. She had never seen much of her eo-
sin; they were not much alike; she had no vry
strong affection fur her; and she bad therefore,as
was natural, more thoughts than feelings excited
by her death. "Oh I how suddenly death may
come I" shie thought; "how soon we may pa
from this world to anotihr. I have often heard
them say so, but it seems to me I never knew it
-at least I never felt it till now. This world al-
nays seemed to me so far from the other world;
but now they appear to me to be joined together,
and God seems far nearer than before." Fanny's
meditations were interrupted by her mother's en-
trance. Mrs. Dale drew a chair to the footstool
on which Fanny was sitting, and taking her head
said, Whatsh you thinking, my child I" Famy
told her. "Well, my dear, if the other WA as
near, and if seo time or other we shall g to it,
what then t"

"Why, then, mother, I think we ought always
to be ready to go; so that if we re called, and
mustgo without a minute's warning, we shan't be
uarprisd nor frightened."
"But how are we to make ourselves ready,
Fanny 1"
"Oh, mother I you must tell me that," she re-
plied, laying her cheek on her mother's lap.
U What do you think life is given us for, Fanny t"
Fanny hesitated. It is not esy, 1 know," con-
tinued her mother, for abild to answer such a
question ; but every child shield be able to an-
swer it. Whenever a gift is made to you, Fanny,
your frst thought is, To what use can I put it I
Lte is the greatest of all gifts ; rely you should
be able to ay for what it is given. Can you think
Snothing to ay, Fanny t"
SI ean think of so much mother, that I don't
knew where to begin; but is not the whole of it,
that I mst be as good as I can, and do all the good
I an "
"Yes, my child, I believe that comprehends the
whole. And if you do indeed all the good you can,
yeo will be able to say, whenever your summoned
eones, though it comes as suddenly as Sarah's,
'Father, I have finished the work thou gavest m
to do.' We have all a work to aeomplish ;ad
if we be the spirit of Cist, we shall wish, -
bh epeamsed it, to be about our Famther's
Do not wait for another year or another ay to do

this work. You must live this very day, and
every day with the ense that you are to live
"I knew all this before, mother, but I nevr
felt it a I do now. It seems to me when I look
at Sarah, as if I could see into the other world.
But, mother, it does not frighten me to think that
I may die as suddenly as she ha died."
"It should nt, my child. We never shrink
from the preasM of those we love; and if we
truly love God, dmiU we be frightened by am
event which we belife is to bring us still arer
to Him than we ae here "
"But, mother, it seems to me that people-I
mean good people, mother-are often afraid to
die why are they t"
Some, Fanny, fear the pain of dyiqn; this is a
weak fear. I have heard physician my that
most persons offered many time in their ve
more than in the act of dying. Many, in th mai
good people, suffer because they are ooelouso they
have not finished the work given them to do and
that what they have done was done very imper
fedly ; but with the greater part, Fanny, I belie
it is a weak faith. They do not more thn half be-
lieve the Revelations God has made by Jm
Chris, and they fea to go away rom what they
know and see. But if we really believe, -a Cht
has aid, that in our Father's hose there a may
mansios, and that he will come again ad rweeiv
us, we shall not be troubled nor afraid."

Fanny was touched by the solemnity of her mo-
ther's manner, and, after a little hesitation, she
said, "Oh, mother, I wish we could go to those
mansions now. It seems to me there is a great
deal of danger and distress in this world. Only
think of poor Aunt Tileson I"
Yes, my dear child, we are exposed to danger
and distress while we live. But, remember, it is
a part of the work given us to do, to meet the dan-
ger with courage, and to endure the distress with
The courage and patience of both mother and
child were, before long, put to a painful test.
Nanny's father had been born to a large fortune.
Very few persons born to fortune in this country
tresmit it to their children. We cannot here en-
ter into the reason of this; so is the fact. While
maay men, who had started in life with Mr. Dale,
without one penny, were every year, by their in-
dstry, becoming rich, he was getting poorer and
poorer. He was an idle and a selfsh man, and he
loved pleasure. To the experienced, this would
euiciently explain the waste of his property. Our
young friends must live and learn. Mrs Dalehad
persuaded him to remove from New York to Rose
Lae, where she thought they might live in retire-
ment with great economy on the small rmuat of
their fortune; but she did not know how bd her
husband's a&Mrs were till about a year after Sarah
Tilegn'sdeath, when Mr. Dale died very esddenly.

PANHT AND RBB Doo00 1Nrr1 87
On esrnmbat of herooncerMs, Mrs. Dale found
that eand Fanny, after her husband's debt w
paid, would be left pennies. The debts she rol-
red should be paid to the uttermost fwtai; and,
to ooomplish this, she was obliged to ll her fia
niture, her ornaments, and, indeed, every artde ef
value he possessed, even to a beautiful drMein
case, writing-desk, and work-tble, tht had bm
her bridal gifts. Fanny nv heard he msier
express me repining word tbht sbr we obUg to
dothis. On the onmtrry, she heerfully expre
her gratitude that he was able to do it; ad thu
she gaveher childs leso ofintegrity, of trslh
and of submission, that sunk deeper into om
heart than if her mother bad talked abomt
virtues for a month.

rapidly. Mrs. Dle had engaged a plae M
keeper with Mrs. Smith, a woman who
a large millinery, and very nea to whom
sehoolat whih Fanny was to be played. They
to leave Roe Lane the following day. Fany tok
her lat walk with Neptune, and was coming up th
steps on the piasa with him, talkag as usual, sif
Snderstood and could reply to her. "Poor Np-
tan," mid she," do you know ths i to beor ast
walk together for many a day But they will be
kind to you at Mr. Thorne's, for they are kid to
every thing that live ; ad every Sturday I hll
oeat eut to see you, for Mr. Thorne ays he will

have me to pas every Sunday with him, soLhat I
shan't get a New York look; and Mr. Tho uays,
Neptune, the meeting of friends pay for the part-
ing." Mr. Thorue, a neighbour, and very kind
friend of Mrs. Dale, had offered to keep Neptune
as long as she had not a home of her own for him;
and thisarrangement being so much better than any
Fanny had expected, her heart wa too full of gra-
titude to leave any room for regret.
She brought from the kitchen the bones sud rem-
namt daily set aside for her to dispense to Neptune.
"Here is your dinner, Neptne," she said. "Oh,
dear,to-morrow you'll takeitfrom trangen' bands;
but I know you'll be thinking of me, and that is
sme comfort. You'll miss our walks to the river,
Won't you I But we'll go down to Violet Core early
. 4Mry Sunday morning, before anybody is up at Mr.
S Home's, just to show you we don't forget; won't
we, Neptne I ad so weball hare good time after
all" Thus wisely looking on all that was plant
and cheering before her, Fanny left Neptune
mebhing his bone, and went in to her mother. She
foud her, not busily occupied as she had left hen
but languidly leaning on her hand, and evidently in-
tent on some painful subject, for her eyes were red
with weeping. Fanny put her arm round her mo.
thes neck ad kissed her. You are too tire,
mother she maid.
"No, Fany, I am not tired."
"I suppose, then, mother, it is because you fel
so bad at leaving Roee Lane !"

u No, my dear child, you know we he made up
our minds to that long ago."
Then I suppose, mother, you are thinking how
disagreeable it will be for you to go among tran-
gen to earn your living 1"
"No, no,Fanny. It ispainful oto me to goaw
from a home; but Mrs. Smith seems more like a
friend than a stranger to me; and you know, my
dear child, how truly thankful I am for an oppor-
tunity of ensting our living, instead of living with
any of our relatives, a we might have done, in in-
dolent independence; and I feel it to be such a
blessing that we are not to be smarated, except
while you are at school and I am at work, that I fnd
reason enough in going for gratitude and cheerful-
ness-none for tears."
Then, mother what is it that ails you I You
have been crying, and you won't toll me why."
Mrs. Dale was in the habit of telling Famy
everything of her soneerns that the child could
fully comprehend. She wished the sympathy,
communion, and companionship between them,
which wa her greatest earthly pleasure, hold be
as perfect as is possible between a mother and a
child of ten years; and after a little hesitation,
she said, You know, Fany, I thought I had
paid our debts to the last penny, and now here is
a billU t in to me, amounting to nearly a hn-
ded dollars, and we have butfive dollar in the
world ; ad certainly there is nothing left to be

"No, I am sure there is not," said Fanny,
looking mournfully around the empty apartments,
of which the doors were all open. As she spoke,
as if to remind her there was yet one unsold thing,
Neptune walked slowly in. All the blood in her
body seemed to gush into her head and neck as the
truth that she might pay this debt darted through
her mind. She even turned away her head, as if
by not seeing Neptune, she could exclude the
thought. "The recollection of this bill," continu-
ed Mrs. Dale, "will be a continual torment to me,
for I see no better prospect of paying it in future
than now. My salary at Mrs. Smith's, with the
strictest economy, will barely meet our necessary
expenses, and your school bills, most necessary of
all, since your education is to qualify you to earn
your future living."
"And yours too, dear mother," said Fanny,
glancing her tearful eyes at Neptune, and for the
first time thinking it possible, for her mother's sake,
she might put with her preserver.
But what is the bill for I" she asked, turning
her mind eagerly from the consideration of how it
was to be paid.
"For some purchases of yor father," replied
Mrs. Dle, hastily thrusting the bill, which wu
lying on the table, into her portfolio. The W
was from Delmonico, the restaurateur, and uS
for sundry bottles of champagne and Burgzndy,
for parties, omelets, souffes, fruit, &c., &e.; loa-

rile in which Mr. Dale had indulged when his
wife and child were living with the strictest self-
denial. Mrs. Dale could not bear that Fanny
should be obliged to sigh over her father's selfish-
Oh, if young persons could but realize the mul.
tiform injustice and selfishness to which the in-
dulgence of the animal appetites leads, they would
early subdue them by wholesome discipline. Chil-
dren early accustomed to deny themselves akes,
sweetmeats, candies, &c., Ac., &e., find it after-
ward a very easy matter to control their appetites
when health, economy, or any other reason renders
it important to do so.
"Purchases of father's," resumed Fanny, as if
thinking aloud; "they should be paid for-how
badly we should feel to know that any one wa
blaming him. I don't think, mother, you will be
happy a minute till that debt is paid ; and I M
sure," she added, throwing her arms round her
mother's neck, and bursting into a flood of tea*,
"you would sell anything in tbp world-anything
but me, mother, to pay it." Mrs. Dale who little
suspected the struggles in Fanny's mind, was asr-
prised at her emotion. My dear child," she
aid, we must neither of us waste our feelings in
tear, but keep them for action. If either of us
should be able to obtain this money at any as-
eficle, I trust we should feel willing to make it."
These erbs, uttered without reference to any

particular sacrifice, sunk deep into Fanny's heart,
and decided the conflict going on there.
She wiped away her teas, and tried hard to
smile as she aid, I am going down to Emma
Blake's, mother. I promised to call before I went
to town. I shall soon come home agalh." So
baying, she again put on her bonnet, aid followed
as usual by Neptune, left the house. She proceed-
ed slowly, and petting and stroking Neptune, drop-
ping tear after tear, but speaking not a word till
she reached a certain beech-tree, her favourite
resting-place. This tree had a limb, which, hav-
ing been distorted by some accident, grew out
horizontally near the bottom of the trunk for some
indes, and then rounding upward, formed a sort
of swinging seat, particularly attractive to Fanny.
Here in her walks with Neptune, it was her cus-
tom to sit and hold discourse with him ; but now
she rather sank than mat down; and when Nep-
tune laid his head upon her lap, she dropped hers
on him and sobbed violently.
To explain her emotion and the resolution under
which he was acting, we must go back, and remind
our readers that one Mr. Beverly Thompson had
even before Neptune's renown as Fanny's preser-
ver, offered Mr. Dale a hundred dollars for him-
Now it had so happened-most strangely, just at
that time, as Fanny thought-that, as she was that
very day returning from her walk to Violet Cove,
bse met Mr. Beverly Tbompsm, who had eome

from town to pas the day with the father of her
friend Emma Blake. He stopped his gig: Ah,
Miss Fanny Dale," said he, "how are you and
there is my old friend Neptune; as good a fellow
as ever, I suppose 1"
Ten times better, sir," said Fanny.
Ah, that's right; you ae a good constant girl,
good-morning to you my dear ;" and be was driv-
ing on, when suddenly it occurred to him that he
had heard the Dales were breaking up, and that
they might wish to dispose of the dog; atany rate,
that in their circumstances a hundred dollars mut
be acceptable; so, halting again, he id, Min
Fanny, I once offered you a hundred dollar for
Neptune; will you sell him now !"
Sell Neptune I No, indeed, sir, I could not ell
"But why not, Miss Fanny I"
"I could not, sir. I would A soon sll a human
being. How eeold anybody ell a creature that
L feeling and affection like Neptune I No, Mr.
Thompson, I can't sell Neptune."
S Oh, verywell; good-by, my dear; ouly rmm-
her, if you should change your mind, I still stand
ready to give you the hundred dollars."
It was with this offer fresh in her mind that she
had been made acquainted with her mother's n-
happiness about the unpaid bill; and a devoted
ld as she was, and with her mind always set on
dotegtherig thing, it was, peap, nogreat we

der that she should make up her mind to part with
Neptune; but that she should do it so promptly,
and without paining her mother by communicating
her struggles and grief, we think was what few girls
of ten years would have done.
Once resolved, her resolution did not waver. She
cried heartily, but there was no bitterness in her
tears; and when, as she soon did, she began to talk
out herfeelingsto Neptune, she was greatlyrelieved.
You never would blame me for it, Neptune," she
said, still osbbing, "I am sure you would not, if
you knew all I would not sell you for anything in
the world, Neptune, but just because I ought to do.
No, not for as many hundred dollars as could lie
between here and New-York. I am only trying,
Neptune, to be as good as you have been-as faith-
ful to my mother as you have been to me. But
come along, Neptune; I guess we shall both feel
better when it's over."
Fanny omuld not help feeling as if Neptune knew
all about it, so wistfully did he look up in her fao&
no doubt struck by the unusual sadness of her voieed.
Fanny proceeded to Mr. Blake's, and, after p-
sing a few moments with her friend Emma, she
made known her errand to Mr. Thompson. He
was struck as much with the change in her counte-
nance as the change in her determination since he
had seen her bounding along with Neptune; and
imagining that Mrs. Dale's necesities had madl
her urge this saealee upon Fanny, he was too 4e11

eate to make any inquiries, and Fauny made no
explanations, though Emma Blake exclaimed, "Oh
Fanny Dale I how can you part with Neptune "
and all the Blake children gathered about her, ex-
pressing their surprise and horror.
Mr. Thompson aw Fanny' moist eyes and trem.
bling lips, and with how much difficulty she suppre-
sed her emotion; and, being a very kind-hearted
man, as soon as he had given her a check for a hun-
dred dollars,, he silenced the children and said,
My dear Miss Fanny, you will oblige me if you
will take Neptune home with you, and, when you
come to town, fetch him tomy home yourself. That
will be the best way of introducing him to his new
home; and, after he gets a little acquainted there,
I shall send him to pay you a daily visit."
"Oh, thank you, sir, thank you," aid Fanny,
greatly relieved to have the moment of parting de-
ferred, and dreading to expose her feelings before
so many spectator.
&Thee-aad we trust there are many-of oa
g readers who know the full delight of per-
forming well a painful duty, will easily iagine
Fanny's happinoe when she returned to her mother
with the means of paying Delmonico's bill. "My
dearchild," aid her mother, after her Arst emotion
was over, "it is a great joy to me to be able to die-
ehage this painful debt, but a far greater to ee
you capable of making a sacrifice in obedience to a

sense of duty, without any suggestion or persnuion
of mine."
Mrs. Dale was soon established in her new occu-
pation, and Fanny became a day scholar to Madame
C-'s school. Neptune, after receiving two or
three lessos, learned to go to Mrs. Dale for Fan-
ny's lunch, and to carry it safely to school and pre.
sentit to her at the hour of reees.
Mr. Dale continued in her employment for three
years. Some of her former friends, honoring her
for her exertions, were more attentive to her than
they had been in the time of her greatest prosperity;
others fell of and forgot her; but for this she did
not ore, for she had only time for her real friends.
At the expiration of three years she was enabled,
by a legacy left her by an uncle, again to hire the
cottage at Rose Laae, and to live there with indo-
pendoe saud comfort. She returned there about
On Newyear' morning, as Fanny was paian
through the entry, there was an unually loadr
at the door. She sprang to open it, and in bound'
Neptne, with a letter in his mouth, addressed to
er. Se opened it, and read as follows:
"My master, Beverly Thompson, having, without
any reference to my well-being (as might be expect-
ed from a master who buys his servant,) decided
a s going to Europe, I have, with his full coeut,
some to throw myself at your feet, and begy to

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