Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Chapter I: Christine and her...
 Chapter II: Christine at the...
 Chapter III: The countess and the...
 Chapter IV: More good fortune
 Chapter V: The long lost son
 Chapter VI: The story of Charles's...
 Chapter VII: How Charles found...
 Chapter VIII: A new surprise
 Chapter IX: Congratulations and...
 Chapter X: The anniversary
 Back Cover

Group Title: Pet lamb : a tale
Title: The pet lamb
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00028369/00001
 Material Information
Title: The pet lamb a tale
Physical Description: 130 p., 1 leaf of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Schmid, Christoph von, 1768-1854
William Oliphant & Co ( Publisher )
M'Farlane and Erskine ( Printer )
Publisher: William Oliphant & Company
Place of Publication: Edinburgh
Manufacturer: M'Farlane and Erskine
Publication Date: [1877?]
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Honesty -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Lambs -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Pets -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Charity -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children and death -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Country life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Prize books (Provenance) -- 1877   ( rbprov )
Bldn -- 1877
Genre: Prize books (Provenance)   ( rbprov )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: Scotland -- Edinburgh
United States -- New York -- New York
Statement of Responsibility: by the author of "The basket of flowers."
General Note: Date of publication from prize inscription.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00028369
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002237179
notis - ALH7661
oclc - 61250538

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Table of Contents
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Chapter I: Christine and her lamb
        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
    Chapter II: Christine at the castle
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
    Chapter III: The countess and the cottager
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
    Chapter IV: More good fortune
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
    Chapter V: The long lost son
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    Chapter VI: The story of Charles's youth
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
    Chapter VII: How Charles found his mother
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
    Chapter VIII: A new surprise
        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
    Chapter IX: Congratulations and exhortations
        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
    Chapter X: The anniversary
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

The Baldwin Library



P/' ,Ae 20.






(late Schenck & M'Farlane),










* 7

. 21

S 31

. 42

* 53








* 90






NE day, ivhen little Christine was
about eleven years of age, she
was gathering strawberries in the
forest near her mother's cottage. It was a
very hot summer day, and the rays of the
sun were so oppressive and suffocating that
the light straw hat which the young straw-
berry gatherer wore afforded her scarcely
any protection from the heat. She pur-
sued her work diligently however, "for,"
said she to herself, as she wiped the per-


spiration from her forehead with her pocket-
handkerchief, "it is for my poor sick mother
that I am working, and when I sell my
strawberries I can purchase for her some
little comforts with the money which I get
for them."
When she had filled her basket, she
hung it upon her arm and set out for
home. The clouds became overcast, large
drops of rain began to fall, and by the
time she had reached the outskirts of
the forest a strong wind had arisen,
a heavy shower of rain beat fiercely in
Christine's face, and on the red sky of the
declining day there hung, like immense
mountains, dark and ominous clouds, fore-
boding the approach of a violent storm.
Christine sought shelter from the tempest
under some nut-trees, in preference to the
great oaks which stood all around her;
and in this she was right, for she had
learned from her mother, that in conse-


quence of lofty trees acting as a great
attraction to lightning, they should be
avoided in a storm.
While standing there, waiting until the
storm should have passed away, she heard
plaintive sounds, like the cries of a young
child, proceeding from an elder bush near
her. Neither the tempest, nor the rain,
nor the thunder, could prevent the com-
passionate Christine from going to see what
it could be. She ran to the spot, and what
was her surprise to find a tender little
lamb, drenched with rain, trembling, and
not knowing where to take refuge.
"Oh! the poor little creature!" she ex-
claimed, on approaching it; "no, you shall
not perish. Come; I am going to take
you with me."
She carefully lifted it up in her arms,
and, as soon as the rain had abated a little,
she carried it to the cottage where she
dwelt with her mother.


"See here, mother !" said she, on enter-
ing the small and mean, but tidy apartment
which formed the whole of their dwelling.
"See what I have found A pretty little
lamb What a pleasure it will be to me !
I shall take care of it; and in future it will
be all my joy."
"Child !" replied the mother, rising with
difficulty from the humble bed on which
she was lying, suffering and unhappy, and
supporting her head upon her hands with
difficulty, "My dear child you forget the
little lamb must already have an owner. It
is only lost, and it must be restored. It
belongs, no doubt, to the rich farmer at Oak
Farm. We ought not to keep other people's
goods. So take it back immediately."
"Are you foolish or mad ?" cried a gruff
voice through the window. "There is no
need to take so much notice of that."
The speaker was a mason, who was em-
ployed in making repairs on the outside of


the cottage, and who had heard the recom-
mendation of the mother. She, as well as
Christine, heard them with fear; but he
continued saying, "Don't make such sim-
pletons of yourselves. We will skin the
animal and divide it between us. Its flesh
will make us exactly two joints for roast-
ing, and we shall obtain some money for
the skin. Your rich farmer possesses more
than a hundred fat and handsome sheep;
and he'll never be richer or poorer, whether
he has this lamb or not. I will kill it
directly. Fear nothing. No one will know
of it; and you may place confidence in
me. I am discreet." And in saying this,
he threw a trowelful of mortar against the
Christine was terrified at these words;
for the thought of keeping the little lamb
already seemed hateful to her.
"You are wrong," said she to the mason,
with emphasis, "in saying that no one sees


it. God sees it. But you, my good
mother, are right; and that which you
have said, I ought to have thought sooner.
I should have liked to keep it," added she,
shedding tears; "Oh! yes! but we must
first obey the voice of our conscience, and
the will of God, and always do what is
right." She wrapped the lamb in her apron,
and hastened to carry it to the Oak Farm,
without waiting until the rain had ceased
to fall.
When Christine arrived at the farm, she
found the farmer's wife at the door, sur-
rounded by her children, and holding the
youngest in her arms. They were looking
at a beautiful rainbow which appeared
after the storm, with all its brilliant colours,
in the midst of the dark and greyish clouds.
"See !" said the mother, pointing to the
horizon; "and bless Him who created it.
By these flashes of lightning and this for-
midable thunder, God makes known to us


His almighty power; and by the beautiful
colours of the rainbow he assures us of His
mercy and His goodness."
Christine amused herself in watching
alternately the sky and the smiling coun-
tenances of the children. She kept silent
until the rainbow had entirely disappeared;
and then, uncovering the lamb, she placed
it on the ground, and related how she had
found it.
It is very good of you," said the farmer's
wife, graciously, "to have brought it back
the same evening, and through this rain.
You are a good, kind-hearted, honest little
"Yes, you are indeed, my little dear,"
said the farmer, coming out of the house.
"My children, may you always be as wise
and as honest as this poor child, and take
her for a model. It is better not to possess
a single lamb, and be honest and'just, than
to have an hundred, and be dishonest and


unjust. The honesty of this child who has
restored to us our lost lamb, is a treasure of
the heart that will make her richer than a
thousand flocks; and this treasure no wolf
can take away.
Francis, one of the sons of the farmer,
went into the fold, to find the mother of
the lamb and restore it to her. What
transports of joy were manifested by the
poor lamb! It leaped around its mother,
and cried to it for its caresses. Christine
watched it, and said, Oh! if it were only
to see the joy that the poor creature feels,
I should never repent that I had brought
it back. If it would have loved me like
that, I -should have had great pleasure in
taking care of it."
"Ah! well," said the good farmer; "since
you are so honest, and this lamb causes
you so much longing for it, I will make you
a present of it. But just now it will be of
no use to you; and, if deprived of its


mother's milk, it would soon perish. In a
fortnight it will be strong enough to be
able to be fed upon herbs and grass; and
then my son Francis shall bring it to you."
"You must take good care of it," said the
farmer's wife, "and it will not cost you any
great expense for its keep. When you are
gathering strawberries, or working at your
knitting, you can easily find it pasture;
and you can easily dry grass during the
summer which will serve for its provision in
winter. When it grows up, the milk that
it will give you will be a great help in
housekeeping; and its wool will always
supply you with a good pair of stockings
every year."
"Indeed, if good fortune favours you,
you may, in time, hope to have a whole
flock," said one of the sons of the farmer.
These good people, moreover, gave to
Christine, some milk, with bread and
butter; and the generous farmer's wife


gave her, in addition, a large slice of butter,
as yellow as gold, which she wrapped up
in some large vine leaves; and then add-
ing to it a dozen of eggs, "Take these to
your mother," she said to her, and placed
them carefully in her apron. "Make my
compliments to her, and may it please God
soon to re-establish her health."
Christine, full of joy, ran quickly home
to her mother. The sky was cleared, and
shone with a thousand sparkling stars, as
well as the light of the new moon, which
had, that evening, commenced its course.
A cool breeze was scattering the drops of
rain from the plants and flowers, and filling
the air with the sweetest odours. The
heart of Christine was filled with an inde-
finable happiness. "After every storm,"
she said to herself, "the sky and the earth
are more beautiful, and seem to be born
again; but never did they appear to me so
lovely as on this evening."


On her arrival, she related to her mother
all that had happened. "You see," said
her mother to her, "it is that which I have
always repeated to you; nothing is superior
to a tranquil conscience. When we do well,
our heart is filled with a sweet and holy
joy. It is by the state of our conscience,
that God lets us know whether He is satis-
fied with us. So then, my Christine, never
do anything which is not dictated by virtue,
and which is not good and just in the
eyes of the Eternal. Thou knowest, 0
God, that we are poor, and that we possess
but few worldly goods; but do Thou be
pleased to preserve to us a good conscience.
We shall then be always rich enough, and
our joy will never fail."
Christine anxiously counted the days
that would have to elapse before she re-
ceived her little lamb. She would have
consulted her almanac, if she had pos-
sessed one; but, not having one, she looked


at the shape of the moon every evening,
and then went to bed quite full of joy;
"For," said she, "when the moon shall be
quite round, I shall have my little lamb."
At length the full moon arrived, and
soon after it began to wane; but still the
little lamb did not appear Christine was
very much disappointed, and as she waited
and waited, she almost lost all hope of it.
I expect that I shall never hear any
more of my little lamb," said she, one
evening as she was sitting sadly near her
mother's bed.
"Have patience, my dear Christine," she
replied. "Patience is a virtue that pre-
vents many evils."
She had scarcely spoken these words,
when the door of the apartment was sud-
denly opened, and they saw the lively and
joyful son of the farmer, accompanied by
the lamb.
Christine could scarcely contain herself


for joy! She rose hastily, and throwing
herself on her knees by the lamb, caressed
it affectionately, exclaiming-
"Oh! how large and handsome it has
grown I scarcely knew it again. And
how white its wool is, and how pretty it
curls! Oh I am so happy !"
"I would have brought it you some
days ago," said the farmer's son; "but my
father forbade me, in order that it might
stay longer with its mother, and that it
might grow bigger and stronger."
"Your parents and you are very good,"
said Christine. "If I were not so poor, I
would also make you a present However,
from the first wool that my little lamb
shall give me, I will knit you a nice pair of
stockings. You shall be sure of them, and
you may depend upon me keeping my
promise as faithfully as you have kept
The little farmer departed; and Chris-


tine led her lamb to a pen which she had
made in the apartment, and gave it some-
thing to eat. The little lamb soon became
so much accustomed to its new mistress,
and so fond of her, that it would eat bread
from her hand, and drink milk from her
cup. It would follow her wherever she
went like a little dog; and when she called
it, it would run to her immediately.
The mother of Christine, seeing the de-
light which the lamb afforded her daughter,
would sometimes say, Do you now repent
having obeyed me, and taken it back to
its owner?"
"Oh! no, mamma !" Christine would
reply; As the little lamb obeys my voice,
so I wish always to obey yours; for I am
sure that you love me even better than I
love my lamb."



HE hamlet where Christine lived,
was situated at the foot .of a
densely wooded mountain, on the
top of which was an old castle, defended
by a large tower. Madame de Waldheim
and her daughter had lived there for some
years; and the castle had formerly be-
longed to her, but, since the death of her
husband, she had only enjoyed it as her
dowry. A part of the castle having fallen
into ruins, she had rebuilt a portion of it,
in an expensive and elegant manner. She
resided in that retreat, and devoted herself


entirely to the education of her only daugh-
ter, Emily, an amiable young girl, about
the same age as Christine.
During the fruit season, Christine went
to the castle almost every day. Emily
bought strawberries of no one else, and
called her her genteel tradeswoman. The
strawberries that Christine gathered were
always thoroughly ripe and of a rich scarlet
colour. The vessel in which she carried
them, although of common clay, was al-
ways very clean; and her clothes, although
coarse, were always so tidy, and her de-
portment so modest, that the little fruit
merchant was truly genteel.
Christine had not been at the castle for
eight days; and Emily, who was fonder of
strawberries than of any kind of sweetmeats,
complained bitterly of the absence of her
little purveyor. At length, one fine morn-
ing, she went again to the castle; and the
cook went into the apartment of her mis-


tress to inform her of it, while Christine
waited at the door. Emily immediately
went out, and said-
What has become of you ? Why have
you left me so long without strawberries ?
It is not good of you; for you know that
I never buy them of any one but yourself.
If you pay me so little attention, you shall
lose my custom."
The pretty blue eyes of Christine were
instantly filled with tears.
"My good lady," said she, "my mother
has been ill,- ever since the beginning of the
spring, and this week she has been worse
than ever; so that I durst not venture to
leave her bedside, even for a moment. It
was only yesterday that she felt herself a
little better, and this morning, at daylight,
I made haste to the forest, that I might
again earn a few pence by gathering straw-
berries for you."
"Why did not you let me know sooner


that your mother was sick ?" replied Emily.
"My mother is not without pity for the
poor; and she certainly would not have left
you without assistance."
"Oh! miss," said Christine, "I knew your
charitable feelings, and those of my lady
your mother towards poor people; but my
mother often says, 'As long as we can earn
our own bread, we ought not to throw our-
selves upon the kindness of others. How
many unhappy persons there are who are
not able to work It would be a crime to
deprive them of their bread !'"
These words pleased Emily very much.
"Wait a moment," she said, affection-
ately, and then ran to speak to her mother.
Madame de Waldheim wished to see Chris-
tine, and Emily brought her in to her lady-
ship's boudoir. One may imagine what
was the surprise of the poor child, at the
sight of so magnificent an apartment. The
walls were green, and painted with flowers


of different colours. A large looking-glass
was enclosed in a frame of gold. The side-
boards and tables were of a beautiful brown
wood, brilliantly polished. The chairs and
the sofas were covered with green silk. The
floor was beautifully inlaid. Christine had
never before seen such magnificent things;
and she contemplated them with surprise
and delight.
The lady, who was sitting before an em-
broidery frame, was sensibly moved at the
sight of the timid child, with her poor but
tidy garments of striped linen, her little
yellow straw hat, on which she wore a nose-
gay of strawberry leaves intertwined with
flowers; and with her eyes full of tears.
Christine stood at the door holding the
basket of strawberries in her trembling
"Come near," said Madame de Wald-
heim to her, in a gentle voice. "You have
nothing to fear."


When Christine was approaching the
lady, she saw her own image reflected in a
large mirror. She had never before seen a
glass of such dimensions; for that which
she herself possessed was a small one,
which could be carried in the pocket. At
first, she thought it was another little straw-
berry girl who stood before her, and who
was come to deprive her of custom. She
stopped, and stood still, quite stupefied.
She was astonished that this little girl had
exactly the same dress as herself. All was
alike: the same nosegay of strawberry
leaves on her hat, the same worn frock, and
the same basket of strawberries in her
hand. She soon perceived that she was
deceived, and a blush mounted to her
Madame de Waldheim could not help
smiling at the innocent mistake of the poor
girl; and full of compassionate interest,
inquired respecting the situation of her


mother. Christine took courage, and re-
plied to every question as well as she
could; but when she came to speak of the
wretchedness and sorrows of her affectionate
mother, she was so heartbroken that she
could scarcely speak. She sobbed, and
the tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
"Don't cry so, my little girl," said Ma-
dame de Waldheim. "I will take care of
your mother. Tell me where you live."
"In the last cottage in the village," an-
swered Christine. "You can see the roof
of it down among the trees from your win-
"Yes, I see it," said Madame de Wald-
heim; "that little house with white walls
and yellow roof, standing out from the
green trees. And it is there that your
mother lives ? And what is her name?"
"Her name is Rosalie West; but the vil-
lagers generally call her Poor Rosalie."
The good Madame de Waldheim paid


Christine three times the value of the straw-
berries, and had the earthenware vessel
which had contained them, filled with some
excellent broth for her mother.
"What a very amiable and 'good little
girl," said Madame Waldheim to her daugh-
ter Emily, after the departure of Christine.
" In spite of all her poverty, she is a perfect
model of tidiness; and the love that she
bears for her mother, is a strong recom-
mendation of her. Such a heart filled with
filial love is far preferable to a brilliant star
of diamonds worn upon the bosom. Oh!
Emily, if, some day, and that day will per-
haps come, I should be sick and miserable,
like the mother of Christine, would you at-
tend to me with the same care, the same
devotion, the same love ?"
Emily, whose eyes had been already
filled with tears at the recital of Christine,
cast herself, sobbing, into the arms of her


"May God preserve you!" she cried,
"Oh! my dear mamma, from sickness and
misery! May He keep those things far
away from us. However, if it should be
His will to afflict us, with such evils and
hardships, oh be sure that I should not do
less for you than Christine has done for her
"God bless you, my child!" replied Ma-
dame de Waldheim, who was moved to
tears. "Oh! remain always in the same
mind, and your days will flow happily on
the earth; for, believe me, God grants peace
and happiness to all those children who love
their parents. Christine will yet see happy
days shining upon her."
In the mean time, Christine returned
home, contented and joyful. Her mother
was greatly rejoiced on hearing what had
taken place at the castle; and the strength-
ening broth of the charitable lady rallied
greatly the strength of the poor woman.

"Dear Christine," she said, fervently
raising her hands towards heaven, God
never abandons his servants. He always
assists them, when they need it. Let us
rely upon Him for our future, which, we
hope, will be, like our past, honest and
without reproach; for you see, if your love
for me had not induced you to gather straw-
berries, and if you had not listened to my
recommendations of order and tidiness, we
should not have had the happiness to see
that noble lady and her daughter interest
themselves in our unhappy lot. No good
act, even the most trifling, remains without
reward; and God will always move some
generous hearts to relieve us in our neces-



HE day following was Sunday. In
the evening, Christine, after having
put the house in order, and given
pasture to the little sheep, seated herself by
her mother's bed, and read to her in a gentle
and clear voice. It was a fine evening;
and the bright rays of the setting sun, pene-
trating into the little room through the vine
leaves that were trained along the trellis
before the window, produced a pleasant and
beautiful effect. Unexpectedly, the door
opened, and they saw Madame de Wald-
heim and Emily enter.


"The good lady and her daughter!" ex-
claimed Christine. The sick woman was
strongly moved at this unlooked-for visit.
Madame de Waldheim looked round the
narrow apartment with an air of satisfac-
tion. The walls were as white as snow.
The few cups and plates, placed upon a
small table, shone neat and bright. The
table, the benches, and the chairs, were as
clean as hands could make them, and the
floor was swept; and the sick woman, al-
though old and much worn, had been re-
cently washed. Madame deWaldheim took
her seat upon the chair which Christine was
sitting upon when she entered the apart-
ment. She noticed with satisfaction, that
the order and cleanliness that prevailed
throughout this poor dwelling, were entirely
owing to her care. She turned over the
leaves of the book which the girl held in her
hand. She approved of the reading of it,
and expressed her satisfaction at the pro-


nunciation of Christine, which she heard as
she was entering the room. She appeared
equally pleased with the work of the mother
and daughter, when she saw two pieces of
knitting that were placed upon a chest of
drawers which stood against the wall.
"You do not, surely, belong to this vil-
lage," said she; "for here neither you nor
your daughter could have learned to knit
or sew. Some peculiar circumstances must
have brought you hither."
Yes, certainly, there were circumstances,
and very painful ones," replied the sick
woman; and she began to relate them.
" My husband," she said, "was a huntsman
in a manorial domain on the other side of
the Rhine. We had only been married a
few years,-years passed in a happiness
the serenity of which was never troubled
by a single cloud,-when war broke out
with France. Our masters took flight, and
we were obliged to accompany them. Fol-


lowing their advice, my husband enlisted in
a regiment of cavalry; and as it was im-
possible for me to follow him with my little
girl, then so young that she could scarcely
pronounce the name of father, we were
compelled to separate. Alas It was the
last time that I was to see him. From
time to time, he wrote to me that he was
well; but I learned suddenly that he was
grievously wounded, and soon there arrived
the frightful news that he had died of his
wounds. I will not attempt to express to
you the affliction that I suffered. My hus-
band was a good, honest, and just man. I
do not know where his remains lie, but I
am sure that he died happy. Wretched-
ness and poverty soon came upon me and
my daughter. I had gone back to live
with my parents; but the war extended its
cruel ravages to their dwelling, and they
lost all that they possessed. A prevailing
fever carried them off, some time after, and


left me without resources, in the deepest
deprivation. I left the place. My goods
were soon collected; and I had nothing
but my two hands to enable-me to live. I
wandered, for a long time, from one place
to another, and at last I came to this vil-
lage. This cottage was at that time unin-
habited; and the good peasants who owned
it and the adjoining one, permitted me to
live in it, on the sole condition that I
should teach their two little girls to sew
and knit, which I did with pleasure. I
have suffered much; but God has always
taken care of me, and has powerfully helped
me, until this moment, when he has vouch-
safed to conduct you, noble and kind-
hearted lady, to my humble roof. Thanks
be to Him, for my joys as well as for my
This narrative affected Madame de Wald-
heim, who had listened to it with much at-


"Alas !" she said, "my lot resembles
yours, and is even more sorrowful. I have
not only lost my husband and my parents,
but also my only son. My husband was
major in a regiment of hussars. In the
first battle that opened the campaign, and
in which he displayed great valour, he was
grievously wounded. At this frightful
news, I fled to him, with both my children.
The sad hope of being able to embrace
him once more, sustained my courage. He
died in my arms. You may imagine the
blow with which I was struck. After that
unhappy battle, there was a complete over-
throw of our army, and the roads were
crowded with fugitives. I was dragged
along in that immense crowd, without
knowing -where I was going. My two
children, a charming little boy, nearly four
years old, and my little girl, who was then
not a year old, increased my difficulties
and my sorrows. When I arrived with


them on the banks of the Rhine, the crowd
of chariots, cannons, waggons, and car-
riages filled with wounded soldiers and with
baggage, was so great that I was not able
to approach the bridge. By that time the
sun had set. The battle was still going on
at a distance, to protect the passage of the
river; and the noise of the cannon ap-
proached nearer and nearer. That fright-
ful evening was the most terrible of my
life. Some of the fugitives, in order to
reach the opposite bank, had taken posses-
sion of a boat which they found a little
lower down the stream. Out of pity, they
took me in, me and my children; but the
boat was so overloaded, and so badly
managed, that it upset.
An officer who was standing on the
opposite bank, perceived the danger that
we were in, and sent to our assistance a
few soldiers, with a small boat, the only
one that he could find there. They ar-


rived at the moment when our boat was
engulfed. I and my daughter, whom I
pressed closely in my arms, -were carried
away by the waves, and left upon the land,
half-dead. My poor son was lost for ever,
and I never could hear of him any more."
Here Madame de Waldheim, whose
tears prevented her from proceeding, hid
her face in her handkerchief. A few
moments after, she resumed, "We should
have died of cold and want, but for the
benevolent charity of a nobleman, who was
flying as we were, and who, in passing, took
us into his travelling carriage. The fear
and terror which our catastrophe produced,
the severe affliction which the death of my
husband and my son occasioned me, with
the obstacles and difficulties of our flight-
all these united prostrated my strength,
and I became ill. When my health was
restored, the double loss that I had sus-
tained, presented a new subject of trouble.


As my husband had died without a male
heir, our property reverted by law to his
family. They immediately took possession
of our castle, and converted it into an
hospital for the sick and wounded soldiers.
I was left without income and without help,
which I could only attribute to the diffi-
culties of those disastrous times; and
having no longer a residence in the castle,
I was obliged to hire one in the city, where
I endured all sorts of privation. At length,
I obtained a widow's pension, which was
sufficient for me. The arrears were paid
to me; and, under the title of dowry, I
had allotted to me a residence in the castle
which had formerly belonged to me. But
all this could not console me for the irre-
parable loss of my husband and my son.
Yet, however great and sorrowful that loss
has been, it has been the means of produc-
ing for me some good; for God has per-
mitted that my sorrows should render me


more sensible to the sufferings of others.
And what can we desire better upon earth,
than to have a little spot where we may
serve God, live in peace, and do good in
the sweet hope of meeting one another
again in another world, and in the same
happiness with those whom we have loved
here below ?"
During these recitals of their cruel misfor-
tunes, the day had disappeared. Madame
de Waldheim looked at her watch, and
seeing that it was getting 'late rose to go.
"Have you need of a physician ?" she
Oh no," replied the poor but contented
cottager. "I would not refuse the atten-
tions of a good physician, but I am not
willing to trust myself to any of those un-
skilful ones that abound in the country."
You are right," said Madame de Wald-
heim. It is better to be without help, than
to endure its counterfeit." She then pro-


mised that she would send her own physi-
cian; and she sought to console her with
the hope that, by the assistance of God,
her health would soon be re-established.
She then directed Christine to come to
the castle, every day, to fetch food for her
mother, and, having wished them good-
night, Emily and she took their departure.



FORTNIGHT afterwards, Madame
de Waldheim and her daughter
came again to see the poor invalid,
whose health had greatly improved since
the last visit of her benefactresses. The
excellent medicines and the nutritious food
which they had provided for her, had been
successful in subduing the disease. On the
arrival of Madame de Waldheim, Rosalie
was seated on a bench before the table,
and was at work. As soon as she perceived
that charitable lady, she rose immediately
and hastened towards her. Tears trickled


down her pale cheeks, and she could
scarcely utter a single word to express
her thanks.
Madame de Waldheim seated herself on
the other side of the table. She had
brought her work-basket with her, and
she took some embroidery from it, and
commenced to work. She permitted Emily
to amuse herself with Christine, in the
orchard, which extended from the cottage
to the brook, and which belonged to the
good peasant who lived in the adjoining
cottage, and who had so charitably as-
sisted Rosalie when she first came to the
While the two mothers were conversing
respecting their own adventures, their two
daughters were entertaining each other in
the garden. Christine showed the little
lamb to Emily, who was much delighted
with the sight of it. As she had been
brought up in a large city, she knew no-


thing, so to speak, of sheep,-except from
the pictures she had seen of them. She
had never before seen or approached a
living lamb.
Christine's lamb allowed Emily to caress
it, ate from her hand the fresh grass which
she presented to it, and ran after her, as if
to ask for more. Emily was in ecstasies,
and earnestly desired to have one like it;
but she took care not to permit her desire
to be apparent to Christine.
"No," said she, "I would not, for the
world, deprive the good little girl of her
only amusement."
After Madame de Waldheim and Emily
had departed, Christine described to her
mother the pleasure which her little lamb
had afforded to Emily. Her mother then
said to her:
"Listen, Christine. Emily and her
mother have heaped benefits upon us.
But for them, I should have died, and


you would no longer have had a mother.
It is, therefore, just that we should show
them our gratitude by all the means that
are in our power. You are able to give
Emily great pleasure; but I fear that it
will cost you too much. However, if I
were in your place, I know well what I
should do-"
"You mean that I should give her my
little lamb!" exclaimed Christine, interrupt-
ing her mother. "Yes; that is what I will
do. She shall have it early to-morrow
morning. Her mamma has preserved to
me the most precious friend that I have
in the world, my good and tender mother.
Should I not, therefore, make Emily a
present of the dearest thing that I have
after you, my little lamb ?"
"My good child !" said Rosalie, embrac-
ing her. "I am happy to see that you
have a grateful heart. It is more precious
than if you had received its weight in gold.


Her mother remembered that she had
amongst her things a little band of red
satin and some gilt spangles. She looked
for them, and immediately set about mak-
ing a collar for the lamb; and with the
spangles she worked the name of Emily,
who had given to Christine a pretty white
handkerchief, in one of the corners of which
the name of Emily was worked in blue silk.
These letters served Rosalie for a model;
and she determined not to go to bed until
the work was finished. Christine kept her
company, threaded her needles, and picked
out the handsomest and most brilliant of
the spangles. At length, towards midnight
the work was finished; and Christine re-
garded it with such satisfaction, that she
could scarcely sleep the whole of the night.
The next morning, as soon as daylight
dawned, this amiable girl ran to the river,
and used her last piece of soap in washing
the little lamb, which she made as white


as a lily. Then Rosalie put round its neck
the red satin, which, with its letters and its
threads of gold, had a beautiful effect in
the midst of the locks of white wool. Chris-
tine and her mother could not refrain from
looking upon it and admiring it.
Christine then led the lamb to the castle.
She first went to the old cook, who had
always shown her the greatest kindness;
and she consulted with her as to the most
suitable manner of offering her present.
The cook was delighted at the sight of
the pretty little lamb, and'much praised
the ingenious idea of Christine in making
such a pretty collar. She took it, and
opened very quietly the door of her mis-
tress's apartment. Madame de Waldheim
was employed on some embroidery, near
an open window. Emily was reading to
her; and they were so much occupied that
they did not perceive anything. The cook
led the lamb into the apartment, lightly


closed the door, and returned to the
Madame de Waldheim and Emily had
not seen anything of it. The lamb stood
near the door; and then, looking around,
it began to bleat. Emily lifted her eyes,
and immediately exclaimed-" Oh! dear
me, here is Christine's little lamb!" She
took from the cupboard a piece of bread,
which had remained from the breakfast,
and offered it to it. The pretty little crea-
ture, which had had nothing to eat since
morning, ran towards her, and ate it from
her hand. Emily felt an inexpressible joy.
The lamb appeared to her to be, beyond
comparison, the. most beautiful she had
ever seen; and when she saw, on the collar,
her own name in letters of gold, and came
to the conclusion from whom the present
came, her joy was increased. Oh !" she
exclaimed, "how kind it was of Christine to
think of giving me that which she loves so


much I almost hesitate to take it. Ought
I to accept it, dear mamma? What do
you think of it ?"
"You must accept it, for otherwise you
will distress this excellent little girl. I will
compensate Christine another way."
Emily then ran to the kitchen to call
her good strawberry girl. Christine had
wished to return immediately, but the cook
had detained her; and Emily had great
difficulty in prevailing upon her to ap-
proach her mother.
In the meantime, Madame de Waldheim
took from her escritoire a piece of silver,
on which was represented a sheep. "You
have a heart as good as it is grateful, my
dear child," said she to the timid and blush-
ing girl that Emily brought in. "You have
made my daughter a present that you
would not have parted with for gold. Ac-
cept then, in return, as a mark of my satis-
faction, this beautiful medal."


Christine was so much troubled at the
delicate manner in which it was given, that
she found it difficult to decline the offer.
She was distressed at the idea that they
should think her gratitude called for a
reward, and so great was her embarrass-
ment, that she burst into tears.
"Oh! no, my lady," said she, at length;
"I cannot accept that silver. It would
spoil.all my pleasure. Pure and sincere
gratitude has alone induced me to make
Miss Emily a present of my lamb for all
your great kindness to me and my mother;
it is but a feeble gift, and one for which it
is impossible for me to accept so rich a
In spite of all their entreaties, she re-
mained immovable in her resolution.
Such disinterestedness on the part of so
poor a little girl charmed Madame de
Waldheim much more than her rustic


Well," said she, "I will find for you as
a recompense, another reward, more worthy
of your acceptance. You shall be, for the
future, the companion of my Emily. In
your society, she will not run any risk of
contracting bad habits, or of entertaining
evil sentiments. Come here, for the future,
every day, after you have got through your
own work at home. I will give you both
some work, and we shall see, by and by,
what can be done.
When Christine had related to her
mother the good fortune which had befallen
her, she was delighted at the conduct of her
"You see, my dear," said she, "it is as I
have often told you. The poorest child,
when it has a good heart, always finds peo-
ple who esteem it more for its virtues, than
if it had been adorned with gold and pearls.
In like manner the most beautiful and the
richest little girl, when she has no other


qualities, is sure to incur the contempt or
displeasure of all. The happiness of being
loved and esteemed by worthy people is
the only thing that gives us true and real



ROM the embroidery in gold which
ornamented the collar of the little
sheep, Madame de Waldheim was
able to judge of the skill of Rosalie, who,
finding that embroidery would not afford
her a subsistence in that poor village, had,
for a long time, given up attending to it,
and had confined herself to sewing and
knitting. Madame de Waldheim gave her
some embroidery work to do, and also ob-
tained her more from some ladies of her
acquaintance. By these means, Rosalie
was able to procure not only an honest


subsistence, but she had also frequent
access to the castle.
At first. Madame de Waldheim attended
to her from commiseration; but, when she
knew her better, that pity changed into
esteem. She found every day new charms
in her company. People were astonished
that a great lady, the widow of a superior
officer, should form a friendship with the
poor widow of a common soldier. To this
Madame de Waldheim replied, with a smile:
"Well! and would you have me forget
that my husband, the major-general, was a
soldier? Certainly he was one; and it is
because the husband of poor Rosalie was
one too, and because, like mine, he had the
glory of dying for his country, that I am
interested in her misfortunes. The simi-
larity of our destinies brings us together.
Like me, she is a widow; like me, she has
had to endure many sufferings and diffi-
culties; and like me, she has an only


daughter. Our two children are of the
same age, and love each other tenderly; and
if my Emily should become as good and as
grateful as the mother of Christine, I shall
esteem myself very happy. Men ought, no
doubt, to hold the respective ranks which
belong to them in the great family of
humanity; but a good and noble heart
forms the only ground of true merit. This
poor widow of a soldier is so modest, so
gentle, so honest, so exercised with griefs,
so tenderly pious, and, at the same time,
so intelligent and so well-informed, that I
glory in calling her my friend."
Madame de Waldheim was always mani-
festing more and more interest in her poor
friend. She went to the village, every
Sunday, that she might take her to church;
and she never passed the cottage of Rosalie
without entering, and remaining there, at
least a short time. She often told Chris-
tine, who came to the castle every day, to


bring her mother with her; and they often
passed the whole afternoon there. Madame
de Waldheim, Emily, Rosalie, and Chris-
tine, would seat themselves round a work-
table, and employ themselves, for hours, in
embroidery and needle-work. The two
ladies would then take tea, and give the
children some bread and butter. In the
evening, they usually-walked out for a
On one occasion, they were walking in
the forest which surrounded the mountain
vpon which the castle was built. There
were many shady walks upon the green
turf; and benches, placed here and there,
invited the travellers to rest. During the
day, the heat had been excessive; and the
evening breeze had not entirely dissipated
the sultriness of the air. Madame de
Waldheim seated herself, with Rosalie, on
a stone bench that had been cut out of the
rock, and which was shaded by two oak


trees. The place, from which a magni-
ficent view was seen, was the favourite
termination of a walk.
Emily and Christine, each having an ele-
gant basket on her arm, had gone on before
a short distance. It was then the season
for raspberries, and Emily had for a long
time desired to gather some herself. Chris-
tine conducted her to a place which a fall
of the wood had left clear of timber, and
which was covered with raspberry bushes.
The two girls gathered them carefully, and
took great pleasure in the sweet-smelling
fruit; calling to one another, from time to
time, "Here Here are some still finer!"
The finest were put by for the mother of
Emily. During this time, the little lamb,
which had accompanied them, was gambol-
ling around the bushes; here browsing on
the tender herb, there nibbling the bushes:
and by little and little it had gone a great
way off.


Suddenly Emily perceived a stranger,
who was caressing the lamb, and also ap-
peared to be examining its red collar with
great attention. The little friends imme-
diately ran towards it; for they were afraid
that he was about to carry aw.ay the collar,
or even the lamb itself. The stranger lifted
up his eyes, when he heard them coming.
He was a fine young man, with a blooming
countenance, and wearing a deep green
coat, with a round beaver hat. He seemed
moved even to tears; and he looked upon
Emily with a kind of surprise, mingled with
great emotion. At length, he politely took
off his hat with his right hand, and, with
his left, presented a gold ring to the as-
tonished and frightened Emily.
"Compose yourself, Miss," he said, when
he saw her emotion. "I am not wishing
any ill to this little lamb, which, I sup-
pose, belongs to you. My attention was
solely directed to the three letters em-


broidered on this collar. Are they your
initials ?"
"Yes," replied Emily, who was both sur-
prised and perplexed. "They are my
initials. These three letters in gold are
E. D. W. My name is Emily de Wald-
"Emily! Emily!" exclaimed the stranger,
with a little excitement.
Emily was frightened at the suddenness
of the exclamation. She supposed that
the young man was not in his right senses,
and thought that it was dangerous to
remain there any longer. "Come; it is
not good to remain here," said she to Chris-
tine, taking her by the hand, and dragging
her away. But the stranger stopped them,
and said gently:
"I pray you stay for one moment. I
have here a gold ring on which are engraved
those three letters. See, E. D. W. It was
on that account that I was considering with


so much attention, the characters so well
embroidered on this collar. It is of great
importance to me to know where this ring
came from. However," he continued, "it
is not probable that it belongs to you; for
by the side of these letters is the date 1786.
That indicates the date of my birth; and,
at that time, you could not yet have been
Emily replied, "But my mother bears
the same name as myself. She also is
called Emily de Waldheim."
How !" exclaimed the young man. Is
such really the case ? Perhaps this ring
may have belonged to your mother. Can-
not you conduct me to her ?"
"With pleasure," said Emily. "She is
only a short distance off. Will you have
the goodness to follow me?"
They went forward; the stranger walking
at the right hand of Emily, and Christine
following them, with the little lamb.


When they arrived at the stone bench,
the young stranger remained in the back-
ground, and, for some moments, contem-
plated in silence Madame de Waldheim.
He was as pale as if terror had obtained
the mastery over him; and the hand which
held the ring trembled violently. At length,
taking courage, he approached nearer, bowed
with politeness, related in a few words the
singular coincidence of the letters, and held
out the ring. Madame de Waldheim took
it, and, at the sight of the letters, she uttered
a piercing cry, and would have fallen sense-
less had she not been assisted by Rosalie.
"Just heaven! What is that ?" she ex-
claimed, as soon as she had a little recovered
from the violence of the shock. It is my
husband's wedding ring. See that which
I wear upon my finger. It is that which
he gave me when we were betrothed. I
always wear it in memory of him. It is
manufactured with as much skill, but it is a


little smaller. Oh! speak; tell me; how
has that ring come into your possession?
Who are you ? Who are your parents ?"
The young man became still paler, and
trembled in every limb. "My father," said
he, "was killed in battle. My mother was
a beautiful woman, wholly dressed in black,
and weeping much. I had a little sister
who was called Emily. My mother was
crossing the Rhine with us, when the boat
which carried us upset. I was then nearly
four years old. I was taken out of the
water; but, from that time, I have never
heard anything more either of my mother
or my sister. This ring was found, with
some other little things, in a bundle con-
taining child's clothes, and which conse-
quently were supposed to belong to me. I
know nothing more either of my parents or
of my country. My name is Charles."
"Oh Charles," cried Madame de Wald-
heim, "you are my son! Yes, truly, you


are! You are the very image of your
father! Oh! God, how mysterious and
wonderful are Thy ways!" she exclaimed,
lifting up her hands towards heaven, and
shedding an abundance of tears. The
young man was so completely overcome,
that he could with difficulty utter the words,
"My mother! my mother! Oh! God, I
thank Thee !"
Emily, trembling and weeping, was lean-
ing upon Christine. "Emily," said her
mother to her, "Emily, see, it is your
brother. Charles, it is your sister. Oh!
embrace each other."
Charles clasped Emily in his arms, and
said, "Oh! my good, my dear sister! Oh!
God, what joy Thou art heaping upon me
to-day! To recover here my mother and
my sister!" Her tears prevented Emily
from saying anything more than, "My
brother! My dear brother!"
All the three found themselves so happy,


and had so many things to ask and to
tell, that they forgot all the world around
them. The sun had set, and it was already
night before they had perceived it. Rosa-
lie at length noticed that it was time to
return. Madame de Waldheim followed
her advice, and went back to the castle,
having one of her children on each arm,
and followed by Rosalie and her daughter.



HEN they arrived at the castle,
Madame de Waldheim had a
family supper served up to cele-
brate this happy return.
Emily spread upon the table a linen
cloth of the finest texture and the purest
whiteness. The soft light shed from two
wax tapers on silver candlesticks, was re-
flected from the polished surfaces of the
service of the same metal. Charles took
his seat between his mother and sister.
Rosalie and Christine also partook of the
repast; "for," said Madame de Waldheim,


"but for you and the little lamb, I should
never have had the happiness of recovering
my dearly beloved Charles."
Charles, whose journey had sharpened
his appetite, did justice to the supper; but
the joy of his mother and his sister was so
great, that they were scarcely able to par-
take of it. They could do nothing but look
at him, and they addressed to him a crowd
of questions. After he had partaken of
the supper, they requested him to relate
his history, which he did in these terms:
"My infancy and my youth," he said,
" were passed, after the evening when I was
saved from the water, at the residence of
a clergyman, named Engelhardt, who lived
on the other side of the Rhine. The recol-
lections of the preceding part of my life
would have been confined, and very few in
number, if the good clergyman had not
often repeated to me the little that I had
been able -to tell him at that time, being


only about four years old. I have only
some vague recollections of our journey;
but my kind benefactor, whoie residence
was not far from the scene of the occur-
rence, and who had carefully collected
every possible particular that related to
me, often described to me that terrible
evening, with all its horrors.
War, attended by all its terrors and
calamities, had spread over the country,
like a devastating storm. Villages in
flames cast afar their frightful brilliancy,
reddening the clouds, which threw back
their fearful reflections upon the river.
The conquered army fled to the other side
of the river, and the conquerors followed
them closely. So dreadful was the roar of
the cannon, that it resembled the thunder
of a terrible tempest; and the discharge of
musketry was scarcely less terrible. Whole
families, fathers, mothers, children, wives,
old men and maidens, were flying from


these places, some afoot, and others in
carriages, not knowing where to take
refuge. All was tumult and confusion.
The fugitives crowded into the dwelling of
the clergyman, who was charitably em-
ployed in affording them consolation and
succour, when suddenly there were loud
knocks at the door. He opened it, and
saw before him a soldier, carrying in his
arms a child. That child was myself.
"'For the love of Heaven, Mr Clergy-
man,' said the brave soldier, 'have pity
upon this poor child, and take care of him
near you. I have taken him from the bot-
tom of the river; and don't know where to
put him or what to do with him. This
little wet parcel contains his clothes, and
some other little things. Take it all; for I
must hurry forward with my comrades.'
The charitable clergyman took me in his
arms; and the soldier went away saying,
'God will recompense you.'


"From what I was able to tell him, the
generous clergyman concluded that my
father had, without doubt, died on the field
of battle, and that my mother had perished
in our shipwreck. He did not, however,
cease from seeking information as to
whether my mother and my sister had, by
chance, been saved from the waves. As
soon as it became possible, he made a cir-
cuit of the neighbourhood, to endeavour to
gain intelligence of them. He met with
some persons who had been in the same
boat with them, and who had escaped from
death. All of them spoke with interest
and compassion of the officer's widow, their
sad and resigned travelling companion;
but they all agreed in the opinion that she
and her little girl had perished. The force
of the current had carried some persons
towards the bank that they had just left;
but it was not probable that they had been
able to reach it. The good clergyman per-


severed in his inquiries, as far as he was
able. The war interrupted, for a long time,
the communication between the banks of
the Rhine; and when intercourse was re-
established, his renewed inquiries did not
lead to any other result. No one had seen
the person of the lady, and it was de-
finitely concluded that she was no longer in
"The clergyman kept me near him, in
order that he might bring me up. He was
an amiable old man, a true friend of child-
ren; and my youthful years could not pos-
sibly have flowed on more happily. He
was always affable and gay; and he could
direct me with a glance of his eye; yet,
with all his affability, his mien was dignified
and grave; and he inspired me with such a
veneration for him, that I would not, for all
the world, have allowed myself to appear
in the least thing culpable in his sight.
"The first object of his solicitude was to


bring me up in the principal duties of re-
ligion. He spoke to me, on that subject,
with so much clearness and conviction, that
I soon loved, with all my soul, God and our
Divine Saviour. He taught me to read
and to write; and when he thought he dis-
covered in me some marks of progress, and
some inclination for learning, he gave me
the first principles of the Latin language.
He read with me from Latin books; and
he always knew how to select passages
which were best suited for my age and my
intellect. That which I read I was obliged
to transcribe in German. I took great
pleasure in this; and it gave me an in-
credible facility in reading every Latin work,
provided that its contents were not beyond
my comprehension. Afterwards he taught
me a little Greek.
"His pretty little parsonage-house was
surrounded by a neat flower-garden and an
orchard. After having studied for some


time, we would go to work in the garden;
for he cultivated it himself, and I assisted
him. This employment furnished us with
recreation. In winter and on rainy days,
he spent his leisure hours in drawing, an art
in which he had attained considerable pro-
ficiency. He was able to colour his design
so well, that connoisseurs would place his
productions by the side of those of the first
masters. I had a taste for drawing and for
painting; and he allowed me to employ
myself upon them, but only as a relaxation
from my other labours. Under such guid-
ance I was soon able to make rapid pro-
gress. It was thus that my days flowed on
peaceably in the midst of sweet and agree-
able occupations. Under that hospitable
roof, I was always as happy and as con-
tented as it was possible to be.
"The good clergyman had to suffer
many calamities from the war, which
pressed upon him w;th great force. The


lodging of soldiers, and the furnishing of all
kinds of provisions for them, occasioned
him considerable expense; and two or
three times his house was plundered. The
importance that he attached to it would
not have been so great, if he had not had
me to take care of.
"He had often promised me that he
would enable me to complete my studies;
and although his income was not very con-
siderable, he had been able, by economy,
to save as much money as would be suffi-
cient to defray the expenses of my main-
tenance at college during my studies. That
aid, however, it became impossible for him
to bestow, as the disasters of the country
reduced him to great straits, indeed, even
to poverty.
"He had, however, at Vienna, a friend of
his childhood, who occupied a high posi-
tion, and who had numerous connections
amongst the great and the learned. He


wrote to him and asked whether he could
not procure for a poor young man the
means of prosecuting his studies, for which
he had ability and aptitude for learning.
He soon received a reply, that I was ex-
pected with open arms, and that they would
undertake the expenses of my maintenance.
They wrote to him, besides, that I must
set off immediately, in order that, on my
arrival, I might pass a preparatory exam-
ination, and have my name inscribed
amongst the number of the students.
"A merchant, who was closely con-
nected with M. Engelhardt, was at that
time about to set out for that city; and he
offered to take me with him, without re-
muneration. I accepted with joy, an offer
which allowed me to make nearly half my
journey in a good travelling carriage, and
without any expense.
"The recollection of the morning on
which I took my leave of my venerable


benefactor will always remain firmly fixed
in my memory. The worthy, pious man,
with pale countenance and grey hair,
clasped me in his arms, and bathed me
in his tears.
"'Dear Charles,' he said to me, 'the
time has arrived for your entrance into the
world. In our remote and quiet village,
and especially in my house, you have,
God be thanked, seen nothing but good
examples; but it will be far otherwise
in the great city in which you are now
going to dwell. You will be, it is true, in
the dwelling of a virtuous man; and will
there become acquainted with none that
are otherwise; but alas! how many wicked
men you will meet with What evil words
will reach your ears! Oh Charles, never
forget my salutary counsels. Never de-
part from the good way. Be always a
brave and loyal young man. Never cease
to be faithful to our holy religion. It is


the most precious treasure that we possess
upon the earth. It is the heavenly bread
of our immortal souls. Serve God, not
only openly and without fear, but also
consecrate the silence of your chamber to
His worship, mentally and with fervour.
Bear in mind that His watchful eye is
always looking down upon you; that He
is everywhere; and that all your actions
ought to be performed as if He were be-
fore your eyes. Confide all your diffi-
culties to Him. Repose yourself in Him.
Do not forget Him, and He will never for-
get you.
"'You will often hear wicked and light
discourse respecting religion. Carefully
avoid those who indulge in it. He who
follows the instructions of the Christian
religion, learns, from the state of his own
soul, that they emanate from God Him
"' With the convincing proofs afforded


by its divine Author, religion, like the
purest gold, may be submitted, without
fear, to every kind of proof. I have con-
firmation of it, by an experience of nearly
threescore years and ten.
"' Preserve yourself from evil, and never
enter into a compromise with your con-
science. Do not associate with people who
laugh at innocence and modesty, and make
sport of honour and virtue. Fly from them
as from a pestilence. Dissolute companion-
ships have ruined many young persons,
who had not strength enough to protect
them from vice, and whose enfeebled
frames soon perished, sinking to the tomb
before they reached the common age of
our race. Preserve a heart pure and with-
out stain, and you will preserve also the
blooming colour of your cheeks, the fire of
your eyes, the repose of your conscience,
and the clearness of your mind. The first
look that I shall cast upon you when we

meet again, will tell me immediately if you
have listened to my advice, and fulfilled
my injunctions.
"'Be assiduous in the duties of your
situation. Those of the student are noble
and honourable. Whether you seek to
become a mathematician, a physician, or
a preacher, your hours of study, well em-
ployed, will always procure you, if not a
permanent means of subsistence, at least a
temporary resource. It will be discredit-
able to you, if you do not devote your
heart and your energies to the acquisition
of skill in your profession, and if, in-
stead of consecrating them to the welfare
of mankind, your ignorance and idleness
should produce nothing but evil. The
years of study are a seed-time. Employ
that precious time before it flies away; for
if it once is allowed to pass without being
put to profitable use, the loss is irrepar-


"Above all, never neglect your duties as
a Christian. Mature yourself in the read-
ing of the Gospel. Persevere in constant
watchfulness. Derive your strength and
your consolation from prayer ; and evil
cannot overcome you. Oh! my son, per-
haps this is the last time that I shall clasp
you in my arms, or hold your hand in
mine. My career is advanced; and soon,
no doubt, God will bring it to a termina-
tion. Remember, I entreat you, the tears
and the counsels of him, who has, for SG
many years, been as a father to you. I
confide you to the protection of God. May
His will be done; and blessed be His holy
"After these touching words, the good
old man took from his purse the two pieces
of gold which remained in it, and placed
them in my hand. He also gave me a
Testament, blessed me for the last time,
and tenderly pressed my hand, without


being able to utter a word. Weeping and
sobbing, I departed from the house."
Here, Charles, seized with strong emo-
tion, was unable to refrain from tears, and
could not proceed. His mother, his sister,
Rosalie, and Christine, partook of his emo-
tion; Madame de Waldheim exclaimed,
with an accent of the deepest gratitude,
"May God recompense your worthy bene-
factor I"

Z-7 I- -



FTER a moment of silence, and
having wiped away his tears,
Charles continued his narration.
"The merchant who had so generously
offered me a seat in his carriage, was an
upright and excellent man. A cheerful
travelling companion, he had always some.
pleasant thing to relate; and he did all he
could to assuage the grief of my recent and
sorrowful separation. Now he would relate
a pretty, interesting history. Then he would
put some interesting questions to me, or he
would sing different airs. He knew the


names of all the villages that we passed
through; and he showed me, in the cities,
the curiosities which they contained.
"About three leagues from this place, we
parted, as our roads were no longer the
same. He wished me a pleasant journey,
and the divine blessing upon the future.
He encouraged me in the fear and confi-
dence of God. He took care to recommend
my portmanteau to a carrier, that it might
be transported to its destination. He made
me a present of a piece of gold; and warmly
pressing my hand as a signal of farewell, he
departed, and I was left alone.
"This new separation added to my
sorrow. For the future, I was separated
from every person that I knew. I pursued
my way on foot; and towards the evening,
I crossed the forest which surrounds this
castle. The heat of the day, and the
fatigue of the journey, to which I had not
been accustomed, had wearied me. I seated


myself upon a bank of turf, which I found
under the shade of a beech tree, for the pur-
pose of obtaining a few minutes' repose.
This ancient castle, gilt by the rays of the
setting sun, stood out amongst the wood-
crowned mountains, which threw to a dis-
tance their gigantic and fantastic shadows.
It presented to the painter a most pic-
turesque and most beautiful landscape. I
took a sheet of paper from my portfolio,
and began to make a sketch of it.
"Soon, however, I was obliged to abandon
this distraction of my cares. The setting of
the sun, the silence of this solitary forest,
and the approach of night, for the stars
were already shining in the sky, all filled
my soul with melancholy and with sadness.
A feeling of loneliness overcame me.
"'Alas!' I said, 'already has the night
spread its sombre shades, and I know not
where to lodge. For many leagues around
me, I do not know a single person; and,
6 F


for the future, I shall live only among
strangers. My worthy adopted father, from
whom I had never until now been separated
an entire day, is now very old, and perhaps,
alas! I may never see his gentle and vener-
able figure any more. And my good
parents, I scarcely knew them. I have no
other recollection of my father than the re-
membrance of his death, and of my mother
than that of her black mourning garments
and her eyes red with weeping.'
"These thoughts pressed heavily upon
me, and moved me deeply. I took the
gold ring which the good clergyman had
given me.
"'He told me,' I said, that this ring came
from my parents. It is the only heritage
that I have received from them. Poor
orphan! These three little letters are the
initials of the dear names of my father or
my mother, and I am not able to tell what
that name is. This ring was evidently worn


by my father, who has for a long time
rested in the tomb, or by my mother, who
perhaps is still living. Yes; perhaps she
still lives; and who knows but that she in-
habits some place here, in the country
through which I am passing?'
"These thoughts pierced me to the heart.
A mingled emotion of deep sadness and
holy hope filled my bosom. I fell upon my
knees. I joined my hands; and lifting my
eyes with fervour towards heaven, I said,
'Oh God! Thou alone art able to cause me
to find my mother again. Perhaps Thou
has not undesignedly left this ring in my
hands; and these letters that are engraved
upon it may, with Thy assistance, at length
restore to me my affectionate parent. Oh !
what joy would she feel, if she could press
me in her arms, now a young man; and
what happiness would it give me to contem-
plate her gentle and benevolent counte-
nance, to be able to thank her for all that


she has done for me, since I have not yet
been able to acknowledge the love that she
bore towards me, and the blessing of life
that I owe to her. How sweet and how
great a happiness I should feel, in now being
able to prove all my affection, and to be-
come the stay and support of her old age !
Oh God Father of the widows and orphans,
hear the humble prayer of an abandoned
child. Vouchsafe, if Thou hast preserved
my mother to me, to conduct me to her
After having thus prayed, I was contem-
plating the blue sky, through the foliage of
the beech tree, when I suddenly heard a
slight noise in the neighboring bushes. I
approached, and perceived the lamb. The
letters of gold which shone, in the last rays
of the setting sun, upon its scarlet collar,
struck my eyes. An unspeakable and ex-
traordinary sensation, the effect of a fan-
tastic vision, pervaded my entire being. I


felt as though I were illuminated by a ray
from heaven; and the letters shone as if a
flash of lightning from on high had given
them their sudden brilliancy. I believe
that God was, at that moment, manifesting
His almightiness; and that the leaves of
the trees which surrounded me, trembled
with veneration for Him. I experienced
an internal feeling which said to me, 'Your
prayer is granted.' And so, in fact, it was.
I was not deceived; for there immediately
appeared to me, as an angel from heaven,
my sister in her white garments, and she
told me, for the first time, the dear name
of my mother. It is thus, my good
mother, that God has restored me to your
love, and has cast me into your arms, my
dear sister !"
"Yes; it is so. Oh! my children," said
Madame de Waldheim, enfolding them in
her arms, "He has again united us. He
took you, dear Charles, a feeble infant,


from your mother; and He confided you
to a noble and worthy man, who, animated
by a most holy feeling of humanity, has
given you an education which it would have
been impossible for me to have furnished
you with,-me, a poor woman, a discon-
solate, friendless, and impoverished widow.
I recover you, a fine handsome youth; and
God has changed into tears of joy, the tears
of grief and of regret that I shed on losing
you. Yes; God has done all things well.
He has directed everything by His wisdom
and His love. Oh, my dear children! let
us, with devout humility, and from the
depths of our souls, thank Him for all His
blessings, and His divine providence."
They all three remained, for a long time,
silent and filled with emotion. Their hearts
conversed with God alone. Rosalie and
Christine partook of their emotion. With
their hands joined together, and their eyes
full of tears, they scarcely breathed, they


were so deeply impressed with a profound
respect for the decrees of Providence.
"What joy," said Charles, at length,
"will the generous old man, my second
father, experience, when he hears of our
wonderful and unexpected reunion! This
very night I must announce to him the
happy intelligence."
It was near midnight when Charles
ascended to the chamber which had been
prepared for him; and yet he did not feel
any need of sleep. He found it impossible
to lie down. He seated himself at a desk
he found there, and he wrote to the worthy
clergyman, his adopted father, with so much
happiness and enthusiasm, that he was still
writing when the first rays of the morning
began to shine into the windows, and to
make his candle grow pale.



HARLES lived in the castle of his
ancestors, as happily as if he had
been in paradise. The more he
became acquainted with his mother, the
more affection he felt for her. It was the
same with regard to his sister, whom he
learned, from day to day, to cherish more
tenderly, she was so good, so gentle, and so
obliging. His arrival at Waldheim was
the cause of- a new increase of happiness
and of well-being to the family. Their
castle, which had formerly been the property
of his father, had only been accorded to his


mother, as her dowry; but now it reverted
to Charles as his paternal inheritance; and
the newly recovered son of Madame de
Waldheim would in future regard the sur-
rounding hamlets as part of his property,
and their inhabitants as subject to his
authority. His mother conducted him, full
of joy, through all parts of the castle and
the estate attached to it, and showed him
all their dependencies and all the neighbour-
hood. She pointed out all the property
that belonged to him; and she conversed
with him, for a long time, on the high and
holy mission to which he was called, that
of promoting the happiness, and of being,
as it were, a father to all the inhabitants of
that little village.
In the midst of conversations like these,
one day Madame de Waldheim, Charles,
and Emily, were seated, after noon, on a
bench of pine wood, placed near a rustic
table, without the courtyard of the castle,


in a place that was carefully covered with
turf, and shaded by two fine chestnut trees.
Suddenly, they saw approaching them a fine
old man, with white hair, and wholly habited
in black. He held a walking-stick in his
hand, and carried a three-cornered hat under
his arm. "Can it be my adopted father!"
exclaimed Charles, running towards him,
with open arms. Is it possible that it can
be you ? How have you come here ?"
"Dear Charles, my beloved son !" said
the clergyman, "as soon as I received your
letter, I determined to undertake the jour-
ney, notwithstanding my advanced age. I
believe that my presence here will be useful
and even necessary. Besides, I was de-
sirous of becoming acquainted with the
mother and sister of my Charles, and of
witnessing the joy that God had accorded
to you all three. I wished to partake of it,
not at the distance where I was, but the
scene of the occurrence,-at the Castle of


Waldheim." Charles fell upon the neck of
the venerable clergyman; and Madame de
Waldheim, as well as Emily, were unable to
find words to give expression to all their
gratitude to the worthy preserver and
protector of their son and brother.
The old man, fatigued with ascending
the mountains, seated himself near them, on
the bench. Madame de Waldheim offered
him some refreshments; but the good clergy-
man had not, at that moment, any desire
either to drink or to eat. He was wholly'
occupied with the object of his journey.
He immediately began to speak somewhat
at large of the incredible means employed
by God for the exercise of his beneficence
and his solicitude. He then enlarged upon
that which He had done for Charles, now
become a nobleman of the country, a worthy
descendant of the family of Waldheim. He
also discoursed, for a long time, upon that
which Charles had still to learn, in order


that he might become the wise and good
father which his future subjects would wish
him to be.
During this time, Rosalie and her
daughter arrived, as was usual; and
Madame de Waldheim introduced them
both to the clergyman.
"See, Mr Engelhardt," said she, "see in
this excellent girl who, with her lamb, has
made us so dear and so precious a gift;
and see in her mother, who embroidered
upon the collar the three letters, the un-
doubted source of our happiness."
The good clergyman was delighted with
seeing Rosalie and Christine, whom he
welcomed with the greatest cordiality.
Madame de Waldheim requested Rosalie
to bring to them, under the chestnut tree,
tea, with bread and butter, wine and fruit.
Emily and Christine, on their part, ran off
to search for the little lamb, which was
charming to look upon. They ornamented


it with a crown of fresh and green leaves,
intermingled with roses. They put on its
red collar embroidered with gold, and led
it to the clergyman. The good old man
contemplated it with pious joy. He ca-
ressed it affectionately, and said to Madame
de Waldheim and to Emily-
"You have made me acquainted with
two estimable persons, whom God has em-
ployed in order that He might give you
happiness. You have not even forgotten
this innocent lamb, which has contributed
so largely to this result. Now, I wish also
to make you acquainted with him who was
chosen by God, to prepare this happy event
for you, and to do all that man could do,
towards preserving the object of your feli-
city. I am about to speak of the brave
soldier who, at the risk of his life, plunged
into the midst of the Rhine, and brought
our dear Charles, a little and fragile child,
from the waves which threatened to ingulf


him for ever. This brave man has, since
that time, experienced many misfortunes.
He has been in many campaigns, has suffered
a thousand reverses, has undergone unheard-
of privations, and at last was dangerously
wounded, and placed upon a waggon, that
he might be conveyed to a distance. On
arriving at the gate of a little city, on the
banks of a river, they passed the house of
an honest dyer.
"The brave soldier had formerly lodged
in that house, and had been able to pre-
serve it from the violence of some soldiers
by whom it was attacked. He had thus
averted certain loss and probable destruc-
tion from his host. The dyer was looking
out at the window, and perceived, amongst
the crowd of wounded, his generous liberator
who was lying in pain upon the waggon,
with his eyes turned towards him. The
worthy man immediately ran out of the
house, and requested the officer who con-


ducted the party, to leave with him the
poor dying man. The surgeon was appealed
to; and on his declaration that the condi-
tion of the unhappy man was such that he
was not likely, with many others, to reach
the hospital, the officer permitted him to
be carried into the house of the benevolent
dyer, in order that he might receive at least
some solace and comfort in the sorrow of
his last moments.
Every possible care that could be inspired
by a lively feeling of gratitude and by the
deepest commiseration was lavished upon
the poor soldier. These attentions, the
repose that he enjoyed, and the generous
interest that was shown in his welfare, so
mitigated and relieved his sufferings, that,
contrary to all expectation, he was ulti-
mately restored to health. He remained,
however, feeble for a very long time, so
much so, that he could not employ himself
in any occupation, however light the labour


might be. The dyer, who was a wealthy
man, and without any near relations, kept
him at his house, with pleasure; and the
soldier, who was a pretty good scholar, and
who wrote a beautiful hand, carried on his
correspondence, and kept his books with
the greatest care and exactness. The two
esteemed and respected each other more
and more, and lived together in the closest
harmony and concord.
"Soon, however, the aspect of affairs
was entirely changed. Scarcely had the
brave soldier had his health re-established,
and all his strength restored, when the
honest dyer suddenly died. Death seized
him so suddenly, that he was not able, as
otherwise he certainly would have done,
to remember his friend in his will. His
property went to his parents. His estab-
lishment was sold; and the heirs-at-law
turned away the brave man, empty-handed.
Obliged to go in search of other means of

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