• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 The useful and happy life
 Daughters from home
 Advertising
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: My teacher's gift
CITATION PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00055034/00001
 Material Information
Title: My teacher's gift
Physical Description: 104, 2 p., 1 leaf of plates : ill. ; 15 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Jarrold and Sons
Publisher: Jarrold and Sons
Place of Publication: London
Publication Date: c1871
 Subjects
Subject: Girls -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Daughters -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Sunday schools -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Temptation -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1871   ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1871   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1871
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
 Notes
General Note: Date from inscription.
General Note: Publisher's advertisement follows text.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00055034
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 - 002234772
notis - ALH5208
oclc - 57510224

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Page i
        Page ii
    Frontispiece
        Plate
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    The useful and happy life
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        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
    Daughters from home
        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
        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
    Advertising
        Page 105
        Page 106
    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text




















Za 9i"-,I:,, Zv,~r



1 A ^'-
---
-^^, ^/
(7^y










,I --- .' ~ ~ -*-


-I -- ,























il Ellen, I ain so glad yo -ire aIt hom
,!7See A" ,,","
' ,,II ,!I


,_- : ,'
! __ . : .-... . -. 1I,',l

Oh },',en I ams ld5 4 rt horn !
.%iM7e3







































LONDON: JARROLD AND SONS,

12, PATERNOSTER ROW.

















Ou %9 ful ami vapTg SiP.



T was Saturday afternoon, when the
factory closed earlier than usual, and
MARY THOMPSON, a girl about 16
years of age, went from her work to
the house of her cousin, ELLEN
WALTON; any one might see that
she had something pleasant to go about.
"Oh, Ellen," said she, as a girl about
two years older than herself opened the
door, "I am so glad you are at home; I
want you to trim my bonnet for me, you
are so clever; I know you can do it as
well as they would at the shop, and it
will be much cheaper for me."
"I'11 do my best, Mary. Can you






4 The Useful and Happy Life.

come in and stop a bit? I have nearly
done putting things straight for Sunday!"
The good-natured girl was soon ready,
and while watching the progress of her
bonnet, Mary said, suddenly, "Ellen, I
think I shall leave Sunday school."
"Oh, Mary, why? I thought you were
so fond of it."
"Yes, I used to be, but I am so big
now; two or three girls in our class are
going to leave, and they laugh at me so."
"And what do you mean to do on
Sundays"
"Oh, I don't know; stop in the house,
or when it's fine, go walks with Ann
Morris and John Launton, and perhaps
sometimes go to church or chapel; or I
can read a chapter in the Bible at home."
"And what will you do that for, Mary!
should you call that serving God, or do
you think He will accept such service?"
"Why, Ellen, you know we have been
used to reading the Bible at School, and
going to church or chapel on Sundays,
and I thought I could do that still, with-






Study the Bible. 5

out being cooped up all day, as we are
in the week."
"Well, I don't think there's anything
displeasing to God in our taking a walk
on Sunday, as we are shut up all the week
from seeing the beautiful fields and trees
He has made; but surely it is very sad
if, after reading the Bible as we have done
at school, we should be so ignorant as
to think that just reading a chapter, or
going to a place of worship on Sunday,
would do to please God or quiet our
consciences. You would not think, when
the over-looker in the factory calls your
name at the end of the week, and you
have to show how much work you have
done before your wages are paid, that it
would make up for not having done your
work to tell him you read one of the
rules of the factory sometimes. I know
I find it such a pleasure to meet with
others on the Sabbath to study the Bible,
that I should be very sorry to give up
the school, though I am older than you.
The more we study the Bible, the more







6 The Useful and Happy Life.

interesting it becomes. I may have to
leave school myself soon. If mother is
not able to take care of baby, I should
think it was my duty to stay at home;
but I'll take care to be in my class as
long as I can. It is a great blessing to
have the Bible to read at home; but I
find when several of us read the same
passage together, we seem to see more
of its meaning, and each has something
different to say about it."
While talking to her cousin, the interest
she felt in the subject sometimes made
the work drop from her hands, but re-
membering time was going, she set to it
again with diligence; as one of the things
her Bible and religion taught her was, to
do everything in the best way she could,
and to try, as far as she was able, to
please those around her.
She had too much prudent taste and
sense of what was becoming to the sta-
tion of life to which Mary and herself
belonged, to try, by any silly imitations
of fashion, to give the bonnet a look that






The New Bonnet. 7

could neither be called pretty nor re-
spectable, though it might be very fine,
yet so neatly and nicely was it trimmed,
that Mary had the good sense not only
to be satisfied, but to thank her cousin,
and say-"Well, Ellen, I can't help
liking your kind of religion; one need
never be afraid of asking you to do a
kindness. I think I'll go to school to-
morrow, at any rate."
She went, and perhaps partly from the
good influence of Ellen's conversation
the night before, really enjoyed the en-
gagements of the school, and felt very
much inclined to give up her idea of
leaving; but a sort of feeling of anger
rose in her heart, as she heard some of
the girls say, "Look, there's Mary
Thompson; she said she was going to
leave. I suppose she is only come to
show her new bonnet."
It happened, however, that their
teacher had been speaking to them of
ONE who invited each girl, however
poor, ignorant, or unknown she might






8 The Useful and Happy Life.

be, to occupy a station far higher than
that of any earthly king or queen. "If
you accept this invitation," she said,
"you will be guided and blessed every
day of your life, and when death comes,
carried to perfect happiness in heaven.
But you cannot conceive any earthly
sorrow so great as what will certainly
befal you if you refuse this high station-
this great happiness which is offered you;
for 'what would it profit a man to gain
the whole world, and lose his own soul!'
You know very few persons are called to
be rich or great in this world; the larger
number are called to hard labour, and
many to poverty. But the high calling-
the invitation put before every one, which
neither poverty nor any sorrow can de-
stroy-is, to be a child of God; an heir
of Heaven; a Christian; and He who
invites you to this is-Jesus Christ."
Mary was much struck with this, and
particularly with Miss Elton's closing
words; "Remember, if you Wish to be






The Higz Calling. 9

a Christian, you must seek to follow
Christ's example in every thing."
Perhaps just then, when Mary really
felt she had been listening with attention
and interest to the conversation in her
class, and had even come to school that
morning because of her cousin's conver-
sation the night before, it was particu-
larly vexing and trying to be laughed at
for this very thing. But at that moment
the words she had once learned came
into her mind-" When he was reviled,
he reviled not again," and she answered,
in quite a good-tempered manner, "Well,
I hope my new bonnet was not the only
reason why I came to school this morn-
ing; at any rate I have had something
of more consequence to think about
since I did come."
The girls were surprised that she did
not either rudely deny what they had
said, or answer them again in an angry
way. What Mary had heard about "the
high calling" had made a deep impres-
sion on her mind, and in the calm of that






Io The Useful and Happy Life.

Sabbath eve, she seriously thought of
her own imperfection in the sight of God,
and resolved to become a Christian.
Sunday passed, and the six o'clock
bell on Monday morning called Mary to
her work in the factory. Had she any
thoughts of trying to be a Christian
here? I believe she had, but she did
not find it a very easy thing at first, as
*the word now seemed to her to mean a
great deal. There was very often lan-
guage heard in which indeed she had
sometimes joined, which now seemed to
..* her not suitable for a Christian. She
ventured to say so to the girl who worked
opposite her; and for this, as well as be-
cause it was noticed she continued at the
Sabbath school, where her behaviour was
much more grave and quiet than it used
to be, she was continually laughed at;
her companions saying, in a rude coarse
manner, "Mary Thompson has turned
saint-we shan't do for her now-come
along, we don't want her or any of her
cant." But Mary tried to shew them






Temptations. II

she did not pretend to cant; she only
wished to do what she now believed
to be right. Some days she certainly
did feel it lonely when they were all
talking, and did not say a word to her,
or left her to walk home alone, when
they were in many groups; but often
it would have been easier for her, if they
had left her quite alone, for there were
some who at times joined her only to put
strong temptations in her way.
One day, ANN MORRIS, a bold, for-
ward girl, came up to Mary in a way
that professed to be very friendly, and
after talking a few minutes on other sub-
jects, said, "Mary, what do you do with
your wages?"
"Why, Ann, what do you ask for? I
give them to my mother, to be sure, ex-
cept a shilling a week for clothes."
"Yes, I just expected it was so; and
you are kept very strict, ar'n't you ? and
made to wash and mind the children at
nights? I have been used to the same
thing, but I'm not going to stand it any
B




//
12 T/e Useful and Happy Life.

longer; I'm going into lodgings. I can
keep myself very well there, and I shall
be my own mistress. You will do the
same, if you have any spirit. I could
get you a place where I'm going." Ann
knew that Mary had really not a com-
fortable home, (her father and mother
caring very little about her) and that the
proposal would be a temptation to her;
she also perhaps hoped to quiet her own
conscience-which was not quite easy-
if she could persuade another to take the
same steps she was going to do.
But happily there was now a some-
thing in Mary's heart that made her
think before she did anything-is it right?
And she at once said, "Thank you, Ann,
for thinking about me, but my mother
did a great deal for me when I was
a child; I ought to do what little I can
for her now. But are you really going
into lodgings ? Don't you think, taking
everything together, you would be better
at home ?"
"No, indeed, I don't mean to be tied






Work for Christ. 13

to any body's apron-string, if you are so
soft."
Here they parted. It was well for
Mary that she had the friendship of her
cousin Ellen, who rejoiced sincerely to
believe, from the altered conduct of the
girl who had but a short time since
laughed at her for her religion, that she
had indeed the high aim in her every-
day life of being a Christian, and the
two had often much useful and pleasant
conversation together. They often talked
of the discomforts of Mary's home, and
Ellen felt this for her very much. Mary
asked her what she thought of Ann's ad-
Vice. "Well, you know, Mary, you
have told me that since the lesson at
school about the 'high calling' put be-
fore every one of us of being a Christian,
you had made up your mind you would
seek to bear that blessed character; and
if we say we will take Christ for our
Master, and be His servants, of course
that means we will strive diligently, obe-
diently, and faithfully to do His work.






14 The Useful and Happy Life.

"This is what my teacher said to me
some time since, when I was situated
something like you, and will tell you
what to think of Ann's advice better
than anything I can say." Mary had
rather wondered to see Ellen begin to
read something she took from a safe
place in her tidy work box, but listened
attentively. "If we love Christ, we shall
wish to do something to serve Him, and
we can't always choose what we would
like to do; there might be a good deal
of pride in that, but if we are really
humble as a true Christian must be, we
shall try to do just exactly what Christ
gives us to do, and that will be sure to
be to do good to some one or more of
our fellow-creatures; for that was Christ's
own work, and what He employs His
people in. The soul of every being in
this world is dear to Christ, for He died
to save all, however ignorant or wicked
they be. It may be, and doubtless is-if
He sees you wish to serve Him-He has
given you some work to do for Him in






Teaching by Example. 5

your own home-to do good to your
father or mother, or brother or sister, or
to them all, and this home-work you
could do so much better than a stranger;
for when it is seen how industrious and
careful you are, ready to do anything in
the house when you have time, kind and
good-tempered-in short, what a good
girl you strive to be, is it not likely to
have a good effect ? Probably some
one might wish to look into that Bible
you read with such interest, and you
don't know what good you may do. If
you are always wishing to do good, you
may find plenty of opportunities; and
remember nothing is too small for Christ
to notice, if it is only a kind word you
have said, or by some way prevented
angry words from being spoken; any-
thing, if done from a pure heart, is owned
by Christ as His work."
"Did you remember all that, and write
it down yourself, Ellen ? "No, I
thought a good deal of it, so I asked my
teacher if she would take the trouble to






16 The Useful and Haply Life.

write it for me; and Mary, I think it
suits you as well as it did me ? I am so
glad you did not attend to Ann's advice;
I am sure when girls like us do leave
their homes to go into lodgings, they
must run into many temptations; if
they do think they are their own mis-
tresses, there are plenty of people who
will try to get them into their power,
and do them harm. You don't know
what good you may do at home. I do
believe you may make it a great deal
happier than it now is, dear Mary." The
evening was getting over, and the girls
parted; Mary full of the idea of trying
to do good at home.
Ellen Walton was rather differently
situated to Mary; she was employed in
needle-work, and being the eldest of six,
and her father often in feeble health and
out of employment, what she could earn
by sewing, and her mother by occasional
washing, was greatly needed for the sup-
port of the family. Her mother would
have liked her to go to service, but when





Do Good at Home. 17

about fourteen, an aunt offered to teach
her dress-making, and as there was diffi-
culty in placing out a girl of that age,
her parents were glad to accept the offer.
Her health was not equal to very hard
labour, and since her mother had been
often out at work, her presence was
needed at home, where her kindness,
steadiness, and thoughtfulness, made her
very much loved and valued by the whole
family. She had perhaps not so many
temptations to do wrong or to be led
astray as Mary; she was of a gentle,
retiring disposition; and a quiet walk or
a book when her work and other duties
were over, was really more pleasure to
her than going to places of amusement,
or idling about the streets (as some girls
do in a way that is very unbecoming).
Still she had many trials both in her
home life and in her work. There were
times when more was expected of her
than she could get through, and she
found it difficult to be paying the close
attention necessary to her work, and at






18 The Useful and'Happy Life.

the same time looking after the house;
or sometimes her parents would express
displeasure at her earnings being so
small, when it was no fault of hers; but
Ellen remembered the words-" If when
ye do well and suffer for it, ye take it
patiently, this is acceptable with God."
And the thought of being able in the
least degree to behave in a way that was
pleasing to Him whom she wished to
serve, always supported her, though it
was with deep humility she thought of
it, and in no boasting spirit. By degrees
the whole family became conscious that
there was about Ellen something differ-
ent to themselves ; they saw that when
the daily meal ran scanty, Ellen was the
one to cut short her own share, that
others might have enough, and how she
was always contriving some little thing
or other to give them pleasure. They
could not help loving her, and felt that
indeed her life showed forth the religion
in which she took delight.
Then again in her employment many






Wishing to be a Christian. 19

difficulties awaited her. Often her most
careful efforts to please were useless, or
she had to wait in vain for work which
had been promised her, and many a time
she might have been led into sin if she
had not possessed real Christian princi-
ples to guide her, and remembered, "I
may do wrong in little things, as well as
in great ones ;" but she tried ever to re-
member, I wish to be a Christian, and if
nothing is too small to escape the eye of
God-if not even a sparrow falls to the
ground without His knowledge, surely
everything that I do is noticed by Him;
for though I am young and unknown,
and poor, yet I am one of those for
whom Christ died, and who He has said
may live with Him for ever."
Mary Thompson did not at first find
it quite So easy as she expected to do
good at home: at least, she did not see
the fruit of her efforts. She was one day
telling her teacher, before the rest of the
class assembled, how difficult she found
the work she had so readily fixed her-






20 The Useful and Happy Life.

self, and said she feared she could not be
a Christian. "Perhaps, Mary," her
teacher said, "you forget one very im-
portant thing; perhaps you tried to do
all this in your own strength, forgetting
that we cannot do a single good thing of
ourselves, but must humbly ask the help
of God's Holy Spirit in all we wish to do
that is right. I think you know, Mary,
what is meant by being a Christian.
You must feel that you are a sinner in
the sight of the pure and holy God your
Maker, and deserve only His anger; but
that so great was His love to you, that
He suffered His own Son to bear the
punishment of your sins. You have no
goodness of your own to boast before
God, but He will give you His care and
love, if you ask it, because Christ your
Saviour was holy, and perfectly kept His
Father's law. But never think you can
do anything right without Christ's help,
and you may be quite sure He knows all
about you, and all your little difficulties,
when He even could speak about a wo-





A Kind Teacker. 21

man making bread. You remember that
verse, 'The kingdom of heaven is like
leaven, which a woman hid in three
measures of meal.' That means, you
know, the influence of Christ's kingdom
was to spread in the same way."
Mary then remembered she had been
trying to do what she believed was right,
but without asking the help and guidance
of the Holy Spirit, and resolved still to
try how much good she could do at
home, but in a more humble spirit, re-
membering Christ's eye was ever on her,
and that if He cared for sparrows, He
would not deny her His love and care.
Mary's teacher, knowing how many
difficulties surrounded her class, (both
those in it who had a real desire to do
right, and those who were careless, or
inclined to go on the wrong road,) wrote
down a list of subjects on which she
thought she might give them a few hints
as to their everyday life.
In conversing with them one sabbath,
she said, "The subject on which I wish






22 The Useful and Happy Life.

to speak to you first, is decision. You
know as you go through the world, you
must be one thing or the other-either a
Christian, or an enemy of Christ. Surely
each will determine to be the first of
these. If so, then I want you to remem-
ber what a Christian should be. It is a
very high calling. See you don't dis-
grace it. If you love a person, or call
yourself the servant of any person, you
will not choose to behave just in the way
you know that person would not like.
Christ says-' If ye love me, keep my
commandments.' You know, Mary, if
your friend Ellen were to profess to be
very fond of you, and pass as your com-
panion, yet if she were continually doing
little things she knew would vex you, or
if, when you particularly wanted the help
of a friend, she were to seem quite shy,
and as though she had not the least
interest in what belonged to you, you
would very much doubt if she were your
friend at all-would not you ? A quiet
smile passed from one girl to another at






Quietness and Modesty. 23

this, and some of them felt it was indeed
an honour worth seeking to be Christ's
friend.
"Now, dear girls," said Miss Elton,
when they next met, "I am going to tell
you a few of the little things most desi-
rable to be practised by a young woman
who has some feeling of the value of her
soul, and desires to be a Christian. You
will not all be situated quite alike, but I
think you will all find some of these
hints suitable. The first is, try to have
a quiet, modest manner. You, Sarah,
who are expecting to be a servant, do
attend to this; yet it belongs just as
much to those who work in the factory,
or are employed with the needle; nothing
seems so unsuitable for a girl as a coarse,
rough manner, and nothing so shocking
as boldness. If you go into a room,
don't always look out for the best seat;
it may be selfish to do so, or it may be
only forward, but it is not becoming.
Don't be always ready to put forward
your opinion, whether it is asked or not;
C






24 The Useful and Happy Life.

of course you must have an opinion on
different things, but don't always seem
to think you know ,better than every
body else. I know some girls have natu-
rally a more quiet manner than others,
but all may gain it, and gentleness and
politeness too, however rough and hard
their work may be. Have as merry a
laugh as you like at proper seasons, but
don't let people say, 'There's Mary, or
Sarah, one may always tell when she's
about, by her tongue.' I name these
little things, because the Bible says,
'Whatsoever things are lovely, and of
good report, think on these things.'
"Then, as your friend, I would advise
you to choose neat, quiet looking dress;
let it be as good as you can afford with-
out neglecting other things; but nobody,
whose opinion is worth having, would
think you looked half so nice and re-
spectable with fine flaunting-looking
clothes, as with those that are neat and
nice and good. Those of you, especially,
who are dress-makers, may have temp-






Dress. 25

stations in this way; but I would advise
you not to try in every little way you
can to imitate the fashion, just because
you know how to do it; it would not
look becoming and well on you, and
would be sure not to do you any good
in the opinion of those who employ you.
I don't mean by all this that you should
care nothing about your appearance-
quite the contrary; there is nothing
Christian-like or becoming either in dirty
or untidy dress, and I don't say young
girls should choose the gravest-looking
things, that would be very suitable for
their grandmothers. Do pay proper at-
tention to your persons, but remember
what Christ meant to teach when He
said, 'Consider the lilies how they grow,'
and 'Why take ye thought for raiment?'
not that this was to be neglected, but
that it was not to be considered the most
important thing, while gaining the robe
of the Saviour's righteousness for the
soul was forgotten."
Some of the girls felt as though Miss






26 The Useful and Happy Life.

Elton had been looking at them when
she talked of fine clothes, especially Julia
Denton;, who had on a smart bonnet,
with flowers that certainly did not orna-
ment it, which she pawned her warm
winter shawl to get, and had scarcely
any decent under clothes. She had also
been so unwise as to buy a parasol,
which could have been done without,
instead of an umbrella, and so many a
time got wet, or had to stay at home, if
it rained.
The next time the girls met, their
friend took occasion to tell them, "That
one very important thing for those to
attend to, who desired to be Christians
-to follow the example of Christ-was,
to do every duty, however trifling, in the
best possible way. Whether you are in
service or in the work room, let your
employers always be able to say, 'She
is sure to do her work as well as she
possibly can, for you may depend on her
principles-she is a Christian.' And try
to do your work well to make yourself






The Laundry Maid. 27

valuable; you glorify God by this.
Don't let people have to say, 'Ah, poor
thing, she means well, I dare say, but
she does her work so badly, we really
can't employ her.' Still less should it
be said, 'Ah, she makes great professions
of being a Christian, and having good
principles, but she does not show it much
in her conduct.' A lady was making
enquiry about a person, who applied for
the situation of laundry maid; she could
not obtain a very good account of the
way in which she did her work, but was
assured very confidently the young wo-
man was a Christian. She replied, 'I
should, indeed, be very glad to have a
Christian in my service, but I must have
a good laundry maid.' I think," said
Miss Elton, smiling, "I should feel sure
if I asked Ellen Walton to do anything
for me, that she would do it well." Ellen
coloured at this, and all the girls looked
pleased, for they felt that their teacher
was right, and all were fond of Ellen.
"Almost as part of this subject, dear






28 The Useful and Happy Life.

girls, I would say, be industrious; nobody
would think there could be any truth in
saying of a girl, 'Oh, yes, she is a Chris-
tian,-but she is very idle:' the two could
hardly go together-could they? 'What-
ever thy hand findeth to do, do it with
thy might.'"
"I must say a word too on honesty.
Perhaps you may be surprised at this, as
I dare say none of you ever thought of
stealing; but when at your work, using
the property of your employer, are there
not often times when you might put a
thing to your own use and think 'nobody
will know.' You know, Fanny, you
might slip a reel of cotton into your
pocket from the work-room table, just
to use a little of it at home, perhaps not
a farthing's worth, but you would have
no honest right to do so-or a few cut-
tings of silk that have not been given
you, which you thought would never be
missed; but that's not honest. And how
thoughtlessly some girls who are ser-
vants, will injure their master's goods, if





Honesty. 29

it be only a brush or a cloth, or throw
away a bit of bread, fancying it looks
quick and dashing to do so; but that's
not honest. Christ taught us not to waste
when, after He had fed the multitude
with five loaves, He bid His disciples to
gather up the fragments that nothing be
lost.
"Never try to hide a thing; if you
have made a mistake, say so honestly.
I know this may be difficult, but depend
upon it you will not be happy unless you
do. And remember, the eye of God is
always on you: 'The- darkness hideth
not from Thee.' You have heard the
account of the little boy, whose father
took him into a field to steal turnips.
When they came to the place, the man
looked carefully round, to be sure nobody
was watching; 'Father,' said the boy,
'have you looked up ?' No, lad, why
should I?' 'You forget, father, that God
sees.' The man went home and did not
take the turnips.
"I want you to have high principles,






30 The Useful and Happy L ife.

so that those who have to do with you
need never think of watching you; you
don't know how a person is valued who
is prudent and to be depended on in
every thing; whose conduct is clear and
open as the day."
"And as well as this, be sure you are
truthful and trustworthy. You would, I
know, be shocked at the idea of telling a
lie, but would you not, sometimes, like
others to believe that which was not quite
true? Suppose you, Esther, had been
sent on an errand, and were not back
till long after the time you were expected,
but your mistress thought you had been
kept by her business, at the house where
you were sent, and so did not blame you,
when in truth you had been to see some
acquaintance; you might think you had
told no lie, and yet, unless you confessed
exactly how it had been, there would be
two things not quite truthful in your
conduct-allowing your mistress to be-
lieve what was a mistake, and using her






High Testimony. 31

time for your own purpose, which you
had no right to do."
Some of the girls looked surprised that
little things of this kind should be called
untrue, as they remembered several times
when they had acted in this way. I
wonder," said Sarah Brown to Julia
Denton, as they walked home after this
conversation, "how many more things
Miss Elton will find to tell us about! I
suppose Ellen Walton minds all these
things; as nobody would say she is not
a Christian, and nobody could help liking
her; she's so kind, and never does any
mischief to anybody." "Yes," said Julia,
"and I fancy Mary Thompson is taking
after her. They always seem to go to-
gether; and you can't think what a
quiet, peaceable girl she is to work with
now."
The next Sabbath morning when Miss
Elton entered the school-room, she saw
with pleasure her class already assembled,
and that Julia Denton's bonnet had-a
much more becoming appearance than it






32 The Useful and Happy Life.

used to have; while the look of interest
on the faces of all seemed to tell her that
her desire to do them good, would, by
God's blessing, be granted. In the course
of the lesson she spoke to them of the
love Christ showed to His mother when,
as He was going to leave her on the
earth He gave her to the charge of His
loved disciple John. Then she said,
"You know, home, after all, is the place
where our real character is best known,
and where there are every day so many
little things to show whether we try to
'adorn' the beautiful name of Christian-
so do you try to be the example in the
family. I don't mean to be always
..;.: about your religion, but let it be
felt and seen. There will be many a
little way in which you can add to the
comfort of your father and mother.
Surely, few things could be more de-
lightful than to hear them say, 'Ah,
she's a good girl; we may thank God
for her.' Then, let your brothers and
sisters always be sure that in you they






Dangers. 33

will find a friend; one who will not make
mischief among them, or join in their
quarrels, but who will always try with
kindness and gentleness to set things
right; and if they want anything done,
let them always be able to say, 'Oh, I
know my sister will do it if she possibly
can; she has a kind word and look for
everybody.'" Mary Thompson felt the
tears come into her eyes as her teacher
spoke, for her father had only a few days
before, used Miss Elton's very words:
"She is a good girl;" and added, "we
may thank God she ever took to going
to Sunday school."
It was a great joy to Miss Elton, to
see in several of the class an increasing
interest in God's Holy Word, which she
had set before them as the "guide to
their feet, and lamp to their path." And
she told them, one Sabbath, that she
knew there were many dangers to which
young women were exposed; against
which, as their friend, she must warn
them. First, she said, "I would advise






34 The UseJul and Happy Life.

you to be careful how you get into the com-
pany of young men, and if in their com-
pany, to be watchful over your manners.
Especially be cautious of the company of
soldiers, if you should happen to live
where they are stationed. A girl can
hardly mix much with them, I am sorry
to say, and certainly cannot seek to at-
tract their attention, without gaining a
bold, coarse manner, that is very unlovely.
You may see some poor girls standing
about the gates of the barracks, or of the
factory, ready for an idle word or laugh
with any one; perhaps this only begins
from idleness, or curiosity, but it soon
leads on to what is worse. I think you
would all admit this is not the way to
get a good husband, if that is what you
wish for; but it has led to many a con-
nection that has ended in misery. I
don't say that all soldiers are of worse
character than other men; nor do I want
you to be always what you would call
stiff and prim, or to seem afraid of all
acquaintance into which you may be





Take Care of Character. 35

properly led, but don't be always on the
look out.for it. A young woman who
is modest, retiring, and respectful in her
behaviour, will be much more likely to
gain admiration and respect than those
who are forward and giddy, though there
are always people ready to bestow plenty
of notice on them." This was naturally
a subject that called forth a good many
conscious looks, and Susan Dobson said,
"I heard some soldiers and some more
lads at the tea-gardens, chaffing some of
the lasses that work at our factory about
their frocks when they were at a dance,
and they got into a fine passion; I was
glad to get away from them."
"I am glad you did get away, Susan;
but do you know, I think it would have
been far better if you had never gone-
you did not get any good, did you? And
I dare say, not much pleasure. I should
advise-indeed, I should beg all girls
who wish to take care of their money, or
health, or character, to keep quite away
from all tea-gardens, fairs, theatres, and
D






36 Th/e Useful and Happy Life.

dances. There is, I know, nothing wrong
in the two first, in themselves-one is
meant to be a market where goods may
be honestly bought, and there is nothing
amiss in taking one's tea in a garden, in
fine weather; but don't we know how
these are abused, and what evils they
lead to, as well as the other amusements
I named ? You remember the words,
'My son, if sinners entice thee, consent
thou not.' You know when you want to
entice anything, you do it very gently,
so as not to give alarm. If you want to
entice a bird or mouse into a trap, you
let it see the tempting cheese, or crumbs.
It has no idea of any danger. If the
cage looked a very frightful place, the
bird would fly away instead of entering it.
So if you were asked to do anything very
wrong, you would perhaps be shocked;
but it sounds very pleasant to go to a
tea-garden, and very merry to go to a
fair; but from them you may be led on
to things you little thought of; to spend-
ing money foolishly, or that you had no






Dancing. 37

right to spend; to drinking; to being out
at hours which no respectable girl would
choose, and which ruins the health; and
then when you have got so far, how shall
you get back to be even what you were
before ? not without great sorrow and
mortification, I can assure you. It is far
easier to keep from forming bad com-
panions, than to leave them when once
connected with them. Dancing, too,
may not be wrong in itself, but what it
leads to IS; so I beg you very earnestly
to have nothing to do with it, or theatres
either. People commit only a little sin
at first, then the next is rather worse, and
so it goes on.
"You know, there are public places to
which you may go without any harm, and
find both amusement and instruction.
In some places there are public parks and
museums open, where you may see the
animals of other lands. I have known
many girls who work in the factory and
at other employment, greatly enjoy a
holiday or summer's evening at these





38 The Useful and Happy Life.

places, when they would have been
shocked to think of any of those we have
been speaking of; and yet they have been
happy, I can assure you. I am right,
am I not, Ellen?" Ellen's happy face
gave the answer without words being
needed.
One Sabbath the teacher and her class
had been speaking a little about the
beautiful text, "I know in whom I
have believed;" when Miss Elton told
the girls that "another kind of tempt-
ation and danger was brought to her
mind by this subject, which perhaps
some of those who were beginning to
have a slight interest in what b,1i,:.:.!.'1
to religion might be liable to. Did
you not tell me, Susan, that Martha
Foster, who was once in this class, had
become a Mormonite?"
"Yes, ma'am, she did; she used to set
up for being very religious, and then she
went with the Roman Catholics, but in
about half a year she changed for the





Be Steadfast in Faith. 39

Mormonites. I don't know whether she
belongs to any of them now."
"That is the very thing I mean; and
yet I rememberwhen this poorgirl seemed
to have some pleasure in the Sabbath
school; but she had not a steady pur-
pose; the seed that had been sown in her
heart fell, indeed, into very stony places,
where it had no root. Probably she
was too self-confident, and then she gave
herself up to what pleased her vanity
and amused her most; but surely it
must have been only the cunning of the
evil spirit that could call this by the
beautiful word Christianity,' or the ser-
vice of God. Now there is continually
something new springing up very likely
to attract the young, because something
in their hearts will whisper that they
ought to mind what concerns God and
their souls, and yet they like best to
do this in their own way. Now I want
to guard you against all these 'false doc-
trines,' as the Scripture calls them. Re-
member what we spoke of some time






40 The Usefzld and Hafpy Life.

since, the high calling set before each
one of us of being a Christian, and then
take for your guiding motto the beau-
tiful words, 'I know in whom I have
believed.'"
The girls who assembled in this Sab-
bath class, as years rolled on, were sepa-
rated and had to fill various situations in
life; but many of them treasured up the
instructions that had been given in the
Sabbath school, having the stedfast de-
sire to be the Christian in their every-
day life; and in the joys, as well as
sorrows that came with increasing years,
they kept closely the remembrance-
"All that affects me in this world is
known to God, and in His time, my sor-
rows will be all taken away, and I shall
only have perfect happiness for ever."














gaunghfi from u wni|.



,N the platform of the South Eastern
S Railway there stood, among other
Passengers, one bright sunny morn-
ing in June, a neat pleasant-looking
country woman, in widow's mourn-
ing, evidently one of that better
class of poor, who are held by their
neighbours as "good sort of people," but
"high;" and that these were the early
days of her widowhood, her fresh mourn-
ing and the young baby she carried
testified. This baby, of three months,
had a sad look on its small fair face; it
might be the stamp of fatherlessness;
but there was a peculiar expression in






42 Daughters from Home.

its large blue eyes, certainly not idiocy,
but no less certainly neither natural nor
child-like. As she pressed it closely to
her bosom, she marked that the little
one was never once moved by the sounds
which were so confusing to her, but was
as calm and passive as if among the
Surrey lanes of its home.
Passing over the dangerous crossings
and through the crowded streets of
Cheapside, she was soon far up Holborn,
and looking anxiously out for the name
of the large drapery establishment in
Oxford street, of Messrs. Reeve and
Parker, where stood, like a dragon to
guard the entrance, a gentleman with
gold chain and white neck-tie; and
looking down the long vista of counter,
broken only by lay-figures clad in shawls
and mantles, she saw on either side a
line of similarly clad clerical-dressed
men, but not one female head was there.
The guard of the shop had followed the
widow to the centre, and on her turning
round asked what she wanted. "I am





Mary Aston. 43

come," was the reply, "to see my daugh-
ter, Mary Aston." A motion of the
head, something between a bow and a
nod, was the only reply, and, now that
it was pretty well ascertained that the
widow was no customer, such a shower
of suspicious glances were directed to
her that she felt confused and bewil-
dered. At last, to her great relief, she
espied at the further end of the shop a
female head bending over the counter,
with a piece of silk which she was en-
deavouring to match with fringe; and,
although at the risk of disturbing a
whispered conversation between the
young lady and a male official, she ven-
tured to ask for her daughter. The girl
looked up astonished; the assistant,
without altering his position, looked at
her with a fixed stare, intending, no
doubt, to put her out of countenance.
"Mary Aston ?" said the girl. "Oh
yes, she is within, but she is in the work-
room, and you cannot see her in work
hours."






44 Daughtersfrom Home.

"I heard that she was ill," said the
widow. "I came from Dorking this
morning, and must not stay long in
town. My object for coming just now
is to learn if I may take her to the
doctor's."
I am afraid you have had your walk
in vain; we take our dinner here, and
we have but half-an-hour allowed.
Would that be time enough ?"
"Is she very ill ?" asked the mother,
anxiously; "I cannot understand from
her sister's letter what ails her."
"Oh, she has a cough; but most of us
have coughs."
"I cannot go without seeing her. Is
there no one of whom I could ask leave
-where is the master? Is it that gen-
tleman who stands near the door?"
The girl laughed. "Oh dear no! he
is nothing to us; and the master, you
may as well think of getting to see the
Prince of Wales. Mr. Parker comes up
once a day in his brougham, but we
never see anything of him ; he lives at






The Baby Sister. 45

Clapham. Mrs. Denison, the head lady
of the work-room, is the one you must
ask; but she is awfully particular, and
very cross to-day. You had better sit
here till one o'clock, and then I will try
what I can do to get you a look at your
daughter."
A quarter of an hour passed heavily
along, and the baby was sleeping in her
arms, when a step she knew was heard
on the stairs, and her Mary stood before
her. Hurried and agitated was the poor
girl's manner, as hastily kissing her
mother, she told her how impossible it
was to obtain any favour that day. She
looked at the babe tenderly, and for the
first time, her eyes filling as she did so,
for she had loved the father of her little
sister dearly.
"You had better," at last she said, "go
to our lodgings in Pentonville. It won't
do to stay here, and it is of no use to
think of seeing Jessie either at this time
of day. Mrs. Hart will settle about
your bed and all that."





46 Dazugtecrs from Home.

"But your cough, Mary!"
Oh, there is nothing the matter with
me. I have had a cold a long time; but
do go, mother, pray. I'm in Mrs.
Denison's black books already."
Once more in the busy streets on
which the June sun was pouring down
in streams of heat, she began to feel an
overpowering weariness; and yet, with
the natural fascination which the gay
shops generally exercise over country
women, she could not resist the temp-
tation of gazing in at their treasures.
She had a small parcel, too, to deliver
from one of her Wotton friends to a
counter-woman at the Soho Bazaar; pro-
ceeding thither with an aching heart, she
made the best of her way to the counter
specified, and asked for Miss Barton.
" Miss Barton," answered a little girl,
girl, "was ill and away from London for
her health; the next counter perhaps
would take charge of the letter." The
"next counter" appeared from behind a
screen of baby clothes, little holland





A "Friend in Need." 47

jackets, and fancy pinafores; and a
pleasant sight, pleasant as a sunbeam
through a cloud, was the calm sweet
face which looked on the poor widow,
and asked kindly if she should take
charge of her packet.
"But sit down," she said, placing a
chair for her behind the counter. "You
look tired; rest a bit, and nurse your
baby if you like. Miss Barton will be
sorry to miss anyone from Wotton. She
often talks of it till she makes me long
to go."
"Yes, it is a pretty spot, ma'am; but
death clouds and changes the prettiest."
There was no curious or impertinent
inquisitiveness into the cause of her
journey, but in a kind, sympathising
tone, she drew forth her confidence at
once, and when a little refreshed with
the cup of coffee and biscuits which were
placed before her, her tale was soon
told; and she added, "I have been five
months a widow, ma'am, but never till

E





48 Daughters from Home.

to-day felt what it is to be a widow and
desolate."
Something the counter-woman said, in
a low modest voice, of trusting in God,
and so never being desolate; but of this
trust, beyond the vague, helpless trust of
despondency, the widow knew nothing.
It must be a trial to you, indeed,"
she added. "I have not known such
sorrow as yours, perhaps, but.I can and
do feel for you. And, ma'am," she said,
putting her hand on the widow's arm
tenderly, if those dear girls of yours, of
whom you speak, need a friend in Lon-
don-and they may, remember me."
The widow little knew at that moment
how great was her children's need; but
she did not the less estimate the kind-
ness of the offer, and taking out her
purse, asked what she was indebted for
her refreshment, and prepared to depart.
"Put back your purse," was the reply;
"you are heartily welcome. About your
daughter going to the doctor, though;
you must apply to the superintendent,





The Kind Counter-woman. 49

she will surely spare the girl an hour.
But let me see you again before you
leave London, Mrs. Aston. I wish you
would bring your girls on Sunday after-
noon ; I lodge at No. I, street. Be
with me by three, and I will make
you a cup of good tea and give you a
welcome."
"I ought to be home by Saturday
night," she answered, "for I have left
three children at Wotton with their
grandmother, and she is old and feeble;
but if possible I will come, for the girls'
sake."
So saying, and pressing the kind
hand of the counter-woman, she walked
away, and felt as she left the square,
how much less lonely London seemed
than it appeared an hour ago. If God's
presence be the world's sunshine, the
friendship and love of our fellow-crea-
tures are as the world's stars. It was
now three o'clock, and having enjoyed a
luncheon free of cost, she thought she
might indulge in the luxury of an omni-





5o Daughtesrs from Home.

bus ride, to help her on her way to
Pentonville; and about four in the after-
noon she presented herself at Mrs. Hart's
door. It was a cheery little dwelling in
one of those sloping streets which over-
look so large a portion of the great
metropolis; but the street itself was
clean and airy, and for London, quiet.
The milkman's cry, and the strawberry
girl's somewhat mournful song, were in-
deed the only sounds which fell on the
widow's ear, as lifting the little knocker
she waited for admittance. Mrs. Hart
appeared in answer to the summons, a
fresh-coloured, stout, and to Mrs. Aston's
relief, very clean-looking personage of
fifty or thereabouts; and on her hearing
the name, she said, pleasantly enough,
" Oh, walk in," and showed her into a
little back parlour, neat, as all belonging
to Mrs. Hart was, but painfully full of
furniture.
The matter about the bed was soon
settled. Mrs. Hart had one which she
could let for a night or two on moderate






Mrs. Hart's Lodgings. 51

terms, but thinking that food was of as
much consequence as sleep, she asked
her visitor what she would be pleased to
take. Porter, sausages, bloaters, save-
loys, and bacon being each in turn de-
clined, Mrs. Hart proceeded to set on
the kettle and make a cup of tea, a far
more tempting beverage to our country-
woman than the London porter, on
which the good landlady throve; and
saying briskly, that she might as well
have her tea herself now as by and bye,
Mrs. Hart spread the table, and having
deposited the baby in a clothes basket,
for lack of a cradle, they sat down to-
gether, their only companion now, a pale,
sallow girl, considerably bent in figure,
and with so little appetite, that she only
trifled with her food, although she drank
her tea eagerly. So little life or anima-
tion indeed was there on those pale
features; that they might have been
those of a statue. Only once, when the
child in the cradle made a low murmur-
ing sound, did the dull eye brighten, and






52 Daughters froM Home.

something like an expression of interest
pass over her face. The meal was not,
however, a silent one. Mrs. Hart was a
very loquacious person; and when Mrs.
Aston asked the single question as to
the actual state of her girl's health, she
received so many answers that she was
bewildered. Yet she could not but re-
mark that behind this cloak of many
words were some thoughts neither cor-
dial nor pleasant; and nervously alive
as she had suddenly become to the
exposed position of her children, she
said, in an agitated voice, that she
trusted they were good girls, and steady
and regular in their habits.
"Well, ma'am," said Mrs. Hart, "I
can't say much to that. They are like
all other young folks, a little given to
gadding; and though it is no business
of mine, I wish one day they mayn't rue
all this pleasuring. A visit to the Cre-
morne Gardens or the Parks, or down
the river is all very well sometimes; but
you see they aren't satisfied with some-





Painful Revelations. 53

times, and are always craving for some-
thing new on Sundays."
"On Sundays!" gasped Mrs. Aston.
"They were always taught to keep their
church. I hope you don't mean--"
"Oh yes, I do mean they make their
holidays on Sundays, and I don't know
that one can blame them, mewed up as
they are in the work-room and the shops
week in and week out. 'Tisn't that I
find fault with, but it is the late hours
they come home, and the lots of ac-
quaintances they pick up. But deary
me, I often wonder at them who have
safe homes, however homely, in the
country, sending young girls out to shift
for themselves in a city like this. It is
a dreadful risk. They are slaves in the
week, and when Sunday comes, and they
are, as one may say, at loose hand, they
are like wild things. I may say, and I
do say, 'Miss Aston, if you please, I
should thank you to be home in decent
time to-night;' but I can't order them
as a mother could, and I never was one





54 Daughters from Home.
to scold much. But I always feel such
girls' ruin booked, as one may say, and
pity them from my heart. Jessie is a
pretty girl, and she knows it; and you
don't suppose that in her walks from
Ludgate hill to my house she doesn't
receive at least as much notice as her
jaunty dress and careless manner court.
Yes, don't be vexed with me, Mrs.
Aston, I ain't unkind, but sometimes the
truest things sound the hardest. I say
court notice, for when a girl dresses her-
self up to be looked at, she is looked at
as a matter of course. I haven't kept a
lodging for ten years without gaining a
little knowledge of these matters, and,
rather than send my girls (if I had any),
to get their living in shops and work-
rooms, I would see them hoeing potatoes
in the fields, or even maids of all work."
"It may seem proud of me to say so,"
answered the widow, "but my girls are
too good for potato weeding and maids
of all work. They have had some edu-
cation. Mary served her time in Dor-






The Late Hours. 55

king, as an apprentice, and it would be
hard, after all our savings, that they
should come to that now."
"But there are scores of good places
besides maids of all work. What now is
more respectable than a nurse's situa-
tion ?"
I have heard of many nurses' temp-
tations too," answered Mrs. Aston, "and I
never can believe that girls brought up
like mine, will go very far wrong. As
to the late hours, that is no fault of
theirs."
"That is the very thing, late hours are
crying evils which are destroying hun-
dreds of our young people, body and
soul. It isn't in the light of day that
idle young men, with bad intentions,
come out like beasts of prey to destroy
girls' virtue, but in the night, ma'am-in
the night. They know all about the
late hours; they see the pretty shop-
woman going to her counter in the
morning, and the smart draper's work-
woman tripping to her work, and they





56 Daughters from HIome.

know the chances are that what with the
clearing away which falls to the lot of
one, and the orders coming late in the
day to employ the other, that it will be
nine, aye ten, before they are on their
homeward way again."
"True, Mrs. Hart, but it seems to me
you are laying the blame on the wrong
head. The masters are the people to
blame."
"May-be, too, but we cannot be their
masters and dictate to them the laws
they shall make. We might persuade a
few to alter, but the ten-hour bill is not
for the benefit of shop-women and
mantle-makers at all events. The fact
is, the market is over stocked. Employ-
ers can make their own terms, and while
the world is as selfish as it is, and while
the railways are always pouring in
streams of girls from every county to
make the drapers and shopkeepers more
independent still, why the nature of
things is that they will grind, and exact,
and oppress. Millinery and dress-ma-





Want of Good Servants. 57

king, and such like employment, can
only take up a moderate amount of
labour at a fair pay. So then competi-
tion comes, and the results are grievous.
Girls are ill paid, over worked, and at
last killed, when they might have been
happy domestic servants, fitting them-
selves for good wives and mothers.
Then what a cry there is for good ser-
vants! Oh, Mrs. Hart, do you know of
a really good, trusty, superior servant?'
I'm sure if I'm asked that question once
I am a score times in a month, and I
look about me and see all those who
really might have just filled the place,
shut up in the dressmaker's back par-
lour, or the close rooms at the drapery
establishments, stitching away for dear
life, and growing old before their time.
Reduce the crowd of applicants for em-
ployment at these houses, and you
would soon see a better, fairer state of
things. But I daresay you have got the
notion that the 'millinery' is genteeler
than the nursery or the kitchen. Well,





58 Daughters from bome.

there's no accounting for taste, but for
my part I think respectability the best
gentility ; at all events, it is the safest."
As Mrs. Aston listened, her conscience
bore witness that Mrs. Hart spoke truth;
but there was whispered, too, a truer
and graver truth than Mrs. Hart, with
all her world's wisdom, had hinted at.
It was this, that the girls for whom she
had thus planned and aspired, were sent
forth into the world, unarmed; and that
something was wanting.
The baby had by this time awoke,
and the sallow-faced shirt-maker, who
inhabited the back attic, retired to her
lonely chamber to stitch, stitch, stitch,
and to sing-but that she never sang-
"The Song of the Shirt." Jessie came
in at nine, and was not a little surprised,
perhaps more so than pleased, to see her
mother in the front parlour. But the
interest of seeing the little child, who
had been added to the home-flock under
circumstances so mournful, soon chased
away the cloud of restraint; and when





An Inhuman Practice. 59

her mother looked on the beautiful face,
she felt almost inclined to think that
Mrs. Hart had wilfully or blindly exag-
gerated the dangers of her child. She
made no complaints either, except of
pain in her ankles and legs; but that
was the standing, and it was what all
had to endure.
"You should sit down when you can,
Jessie, to spare yourself," said her
mother; "surely you don't stand all
day long!"
"Ah but we do, mother; whether the
day is busy or dull, the shop full or
empty, we are not allowed to sit; in-
deed, I don't know where we should sit.
I tried it once outside the counter, but
was told by one of the overlookers that
behind the counter was the shop-woman's
place, before it the customers; and there
being no chairs in the shop-girls' places,
why they are fain to stand."
Her mother, only half-satisfied, chan-
ged the conversation by asking about
her sister's ailments.
V






60 Daughters from Home.

"I see so little of her, mother, except
at nights," was the reply, "and then I
am so sleepy; but it seems to me as if,
whenever I was awake, she was cough-
ing, and of a morning it is dreadful to
hear."
Home news then followed, and at ten
o'clock, or soon after, Mary returned, so
faint, weary, and exhausted, that she
could do little but hold her mother's
hand, put her thin burning cheek on the
soft fair face of her baby sister, and
finally cry, partly in joy, partly in sor-
row, till her mother soothed and per-
suaded her to go to rest. The racking
cough, however, which sounded at inter-
vals through the night, determined Mrs.
Aston to lose no time in taking her to a
physician in B- square, and she
immediately wrote a respectful note to
Mrs. Denison, the head work-woman,
explaining the object of her visit to
London, and her anxiety about Mary.
The early breakfast, but a comfortable
sort of meal, was soon over. Mr. Hart,





Going to the Doctor's. 61

a railway porter, had to content himself
with cold tea, made over-night, and a
slice of cold bacon and bread, for he was
off to his work by six, and it did not
suit either Mrs. Hart's inclinations or
habits to rise so early. Jessie just crept
downstairs in time to hurry down her
cup of coffee and roll; and Mary, who
could taste neither, was rejoicing in the
half-hour's extra rest before the visit to
the doctor's. The sempstress upstairs
had been at work since day-dawn; and
Mary, knowing her fondness for little
children, asked her mother if she would
dare to leave the baby under Susan's
care whilst they paid their visit to the
doctor. But she said" No, she should
prefer taking it." Sometimes she owned
she thought all was not right with the
child, it was duller than a babe of three
months should be; and then observing
Mary's anxious look, she hastened their
departure. Mother and children in due
time found themselves at the door of
Dr. G.'s house. They bore a letter from





62 Daugh/ters from Home.

the doctor's sister at Wotton; and his
character for benevolence as well as
skill was so high that there was little
formidable to anticipate in the visit.
Several patients were waiting for their
turn, and Mary and her mother had
ample time to remark these. Girls, with
racking coughs, bent spines, and swollen
limbs too. Maidens were there, grown
prematurely old, and precociously know-
ing in the world's ways, with a painful
expression of shrewdness and cunning in
their sharp pinched features, whilst their
dress was of the shabby genteel and
tawdry fine order, too common among
their class.
The time seemed long until the
widow's turn came, and when it arrived
and she stood before the doctor, she
trembled a little, for there were secret
fears for both children, which, although
.scarcely assuming any actual form,
caused some heart-sickness. Dr. G. was
very kind; he had long known her name
in his native village; and although he





The Dressmaker's Tale. 63

did not allude to her loss, his every tone
and look spoke pity and comfort.
"Your daughter is ill, my sister says.
I hope I can be of use to her;" and
bidding her sit down, he began a close,
attentive examination of her case, not
rejecting any detail as unimportant, and
when it was ended, asked whether she
were in service. On the reply in the
negative, and the information that she
was in a cloak and mantle department
of a drapery establishment in Oxford
street, he questioned her as to the hours
and place of work, and the hours given
for relaxation.
The tale was a common one, and Dr.
G. was by far too charitable and judi-
cious a man to comment on the conduct
of the employers; but he drew gradually
from the girl such a history of her daily
life as it may be worth while for those
to ponder who place gentility first in the
list of life's necessities.
"I am at the entrance door by a little
before eight. By a quarter-past we are






64 Daughters from Home.

all at work. We work till one, then we
are allowed to have half-an-hour for
dinner. We do not go home, we always
take our meals with us. We then work
till tea, which takes another half-hour;
and at eight we clear away. This takes
a good half-hour, but it is seldom we are
so lucky as to be let off at eight. Very
often at six or thereabouts, there comes
in a lot of work, marked orders, and it
is our order to work at them till ten,
sometimes later. We are paid ild. an
hour for this overtime. My wages are
from 9s. to ios. a week. We may not
refuse to work. A girl did last week,
and when she came next day she was
sent about her business. We have
sometimes a cup of coffee given to keep
us awake, and one of the young ladies is
always kept to read to us. We take
several papers. The Family Herald,' I
think, is our favourite, but The London
journal' is very good. There are seven-
and-twenty of us in the room, which is





The Sabbath Rest. 65

not large, so that we are often faint and
tired enough."
"Do you often get a holiday ?"
No, Sir, not often, except Good-
Friday and Christmas-day, and half-a-
day during Easter and Whitsuntide; we
have no regular holidays. Saturday are
the same as any other days, except that
we don't often work over-hours unless
for mourning. I have worked a good
way into Sunday morning, at those
times, but we get over-pay for that."
You have indeed described a busy
life, but there is still one day left you;
that day of rest which God Himself has
given. I think you must often thank
God for the Sabbath."
"I am so tired on Sunday morning."
"No doubt; still some part of the
day, once at least, you are found, I
suppose, in God's house."
Mary coloured. I began when I first
came to London, Sir, but somehow, I
was almost crazy, especially when the
May-days came in, for a sight of the





66 Daughters from Home.

pleasant country; and I do not think,
Sir, there can be any harm in such as
us going out into the fields and parks
the only once a week we have the
chance."
"But there are few places where you
would not find God's house open; and,
surely, if you must go into the country,
you can spare just an hour or two for
worship there."
I don't believe it's expected of me to
keep Sunday like those who can please
themselves all the week."
Then you seriously think, that when
God said, Remember the Sabbath-day
to keep it holy,' He had not you or such
as you in view; that He designed Sun-
day to be a day of rest to all but those
of your class. Poor needle-woman and
mantle-maker indeed, say I. Robbed of
all power to keep holy an earthly Sab-
bath, where will be the preparation for
the heavenly one? My poor girl, for
you, indeed for you God made the
Sabbath-day-He offers you rest upon






Sympat/zy and A dice. 67

it. You need rest, and yet you will not
accept it."
But," Sir, interposed the mother, it
is their only time, and it seems hard to
judge."
"I am not judging; I am sympathis-
ing and trying to advise. I think that
the advantages of those long pleasure
excursions, those hot, wearisome walks
in parks and public gardens, which too
many of our young women take on the
Sunday, are vastly over-estimated. I
believe that a walk without the town,
such as in your girl's position, for instance,
may easily be accomplished to Highgate,
or Hampstead, or at all events Islington
or Holloway, where there are houses of
prayer open, and where the glad tidings
may be heard every Sunday, would be
more useful both to body and soul than
the excitement, and heat, noise, and
smoke, into which girls are voluntarily
plunging, either on board steamers, or in
those dangerous Sunday tea-gardens.
Besides, you forget that God knows your





68 Daughtersfrom Home.

circumstances. He may not, nay, I am
sure He does not expect of your daugh-
ter the same amount of service that He
has a right to demand of mine; but He
does expect, I think, at least -a willing-
ness to render honour to Him in the
way which He has appointed. Yes, I
do believe," he said, turning to Mary
again, "that a blessing would rest on
many a one who now knows no blessing,
if she would but be honest to her own
soul, and cease to rob it of the means of
good which are provided for it in the
churches and chapels of our land. I
have heard the history of many a poor
girl, who has walked the streets, a
scorned, loathed creature, a woman in
scarce anything but the name; I have
stood by many a death-bed of such an
one, in hospital, in workhouse, in garret,
and in cellar, and I have never failed to
find that one of the first steps in the
path which began their ruin, was the
neglect of the day of rest."
Afew more simple rules for diet, and






The Deaf and Dumb Baby. 69

a request to see her again in another
week, closed the conference, and, turning
to the mother, he asked if that were all.
She hesitated, but at length said, "I
only wished to ask a question about
baby, Sir; would you tell me if it is all
right with her ?"
She seems a very quiet one," answered
the physician, smiling, and has healthier
cheeks and arms than your town child
at all events. Come, what is it?" and,
taking the infant from her, he carried it
to the window, to examine it more closely.
The child was fully awake, but looking
dreamily as was its wont, when, taking
up a letter-weight which lay on the table,
he let it fall heavily. There was no start,
no expression of distress on the infant's
face, but the same calm, still, immovable
gaze. "Take your child," he said so
gently, it was almost a whisper, but
every word seemed burned into the
mother's soul-" It must give you sorrow
now to know that the power of hearing
and of speech God has denied, but I





70 Daughters from Home.

pity you more for your girl there than
for this little silent one. You may teach
or have this one taught if you will of the
love of God, and the gift of His dear
'Son. Your child will be silent here, but
the day will come when its tongue shall
be unloosed; and, meanwhile, of a world
of sin and danger it need know happily
but little. All that it has lost may be
more than made up by that from which
it is saved. Take and comfort it ; your
comfort is all-sufficient at present, and
God comfort you both, my poor friend,
and bless you."
They left the house more tearful than
they had entered; but something there
had been in the doctor's last words,
which, more than the truth he had told,
fastened on the widow's heart, and look-
ing at her eldest child as she walked
beside her, and remembering her light-
hearted Jessie in her daily life of temp-
tation and danger, she prayed "God
grant that I may never have a sorer





The Pernicious Romance. 71

trial than you, my baby, my poor silent
child!"
The clock struck twelve as Mary
timidly took her place among the work-
women. No notice was taken of her
late appearance; a heavy press of busi-
ness, and a large amount of fresh orders
for mourning was not a convenient time
to quarrel with a good pair of hands,
and the work went on without inter-
ruption till dinner, when the majestic
Mrs. Denison enquired what the doctor
said, and what he had given her for her
cough, then recommended licorice and
linseed tea, and dismissed the matter.
A new story was begun that evening, a
story of love and passion; such senti-
ments there were scattered here and
there among its pages as would, the very
mildest of them, but a year ago, have
called the burning blush of outraged
womanly modesty to Mary's cheek; but
soon the good doctor's counsel, the
sorrow of her widowed mother, her own
critical state of health, were all forgotten
G





72 Daughtersfrom Home.

in the absorbing interest of a romance,
which, as the dram put to the lips of the
fevered patient quickens the beating of
his throbbing pulse, awoke in her bosom
those unutterable feelings which are the
girl's most dangerous companions, and
which, so far from crushing at their birth,
she nursed with fond fascination, eagerly
drinking in the hidden poison conveyed
in the sweet draughts of that corrupt,
impure stream, which disgraces our.
nation's press and for which God will
one day have an account. Alas! alas!
if on that day we shall see every idle,
sinful word noted in the book of remem-
brance, and sink confounded at the view,
what shall we say of that long, black
list of publications which shall be ar-
rayed, as so many sins, in judgment to
condemn us ? Little baby, little silent
baby, better to have thine eyes closed,
even though the voice of the mother's
love shall never penetrate those sealed
ears, nor thine own response burst forth
in lisping accents from thy sealed lips,





"God Help You 73

than hear words which thy sister Mary
heard that night, unblushing and un-
shamed.
It was a sorrowful tea at Mrs. Hart's;
the kind-hearted woman failed in her
efforts to comfort, from not touching the
sore place in the mother's heart with the
mother's touch; it is not the way to try
to reconcile people to their sorrows, to
tell them they must be resigned; and it
was not quite the sort of balm her wound
needed to say it would be a good thing,
please God, to take the child. Mothers'
hearts cannot receive this mode of con-
solation.
The pale sempstress indeed had said
nothing but a murmured "God help
you!" but this had done something
towards comfort, and when the widow
saw her take the little one in her arms
tenderly, and with that peculiar skill,
which one is apt to think belongs only
'to the motherly instinct, she could not
but notice the wild longing look in her
usually heavy eyes; and when the child





74 Daughters from Home.
grew restless, and the needlewoman rose
to walk with it that its mother might
take rest and refreshment, she overheard
the mournfully muttered words, "Ah,
baby, baby, they would not mourn so
for your loss if they knew what you may
have escaped. The world is a bad place,
baby, and the less you see and hear of
it, the better. I wish I had been born
like you, and that I had never heard all
that my ears have heard, or uttered all
my lips have uttered. God send your
poor mother comfort, baby, and tell her,
by your silence, there are worse sorrows
in the world than to have a silent child."
And the baby looked up with its large,
mournful blue eyes, and lay calm and
still, and the pale sempstress, as she
gazed, seemed to have borrowed peace
from the infant, until some little move-
ment of its head, which it turned to her
bosom, brought back the dark look, and,
giving it suddenly, though with no un-
gentle hand, into its mother's arms, she
said, "Ah, Ma'am, there may come a day






The Poor Sempstress. 75

when you shall thank God for that little
dumb girl;" then, rushing from the room,
she ran to her solitary chamber, and
burying her head in her pillow, sobbed
bitterly.
Is she often so strange ?" asked Mrs.
Aston.
"No; she is generally as you have
seen her, quiet and silent; but a baby
always excites her, as you see. I don't
know much about her early history, and
don't want; it never does to enquire too
closely, but I know this much, she had
a baby and it died. She is a very good,
steady, young woman now, and so long
as she is, I don't trouble myself about
by-gones."
Jessie came in at eight, tired and
sullen, and greatly put out because her
mother had included her in her plan of
visiting the Soho counter-woman next
day, but the tale of little Kate's affliction
soon softened her; and, when they parted
for the night, it was very sincerely that
she told her mother how she wished to






76 Daughters from Home.

be a comfort to her, and to make up so
far as possible this great loss. Poor
Jessie! her quick, warm affections, and
light-heartedness, needed some better
guide than impulse upon her perilous
way. When all the household slept, and
the mother was alone with that little
one so mysteriously afflicted, she felt
this as she had never felt it before. How
weak all her appeals! how powerless
her love! And as the Sunday bells
woke her from her fitful slumber, a sweet
smile, which rested on the baby's lips,
reminded her of the doctor's words-
"She has a soul, and you may teach her,
if you will, of Jesus, the Friend of
sinners." But how should she teach
what she knew not? Just the same
want that she felt in her efforts with her
elder children, she saw now to come
between her and her silent child. One
light she might hold to that mind from
which so many other lights were ex-
cluded, if she had it; but alas! she had
it not. She had given her children edu-





Miss Mason. 77

cation, but she had failed to give them
the knowledge of God. The morning
passed heavily; no one in that little
household went to God's house. Indeed,
Mary and Jessie were not downstairs
until too late, and after dinner, it was
time to set off to their new acquain-
tance's lodgings.
She was watching for them at the
window when they arrived. Her plea-
sant face wore a calm and beautiful
smile, and although the sisters looked at
first a little superciliously at the dress of
Miss Mason, which certainly was neither
of fashionable make nor material, nor
her cap one which any London milliner
would have owned, there was an air of
refinement which no dress could dis-
guise; a refinement which knows no
counterfeit, even that of the Christian.
It was impossible to resist the genial
hospitality of the kindly little woman,
nor the genuine interest with which she
listened to the mother's tale, told with
all a mother's love.






y8 Daughters from Home.

"I cannot comfort you, my poor
friend," she said, "but I can pray for
you;" and the widow felt the tearful
sympathy come closer to her heart than
whole homilies on resignation. And
then the kind consoler spoke of the
future of the little silent one so hopefully
that the mother's tears dried. She had
been ready to fold her hands in despair;
but now she saw that there was a work
to be done, hope came in. But the hea-
vier sorrow still pressed, and for this,
where was the remedy? The worst of
it was, that the girls themselves saw no
fear; and when their mother had only
that morning tried to impress on them
the perils of the path they were treading,
they had turned off the counsel with a
laugh, and thought their mother's gloomy
views of London and London life the
result of ignorance or prejudice. Yes, it
is easy to laugh, but laughter often hides
a heavy heart-ache; and times had been
when, in the crowded steamer or the gay
and gas-lighted gardens, the girls had






True Sympathy. 79

felt the truth of the words, "Vanity of
vanities-all is vanity!" Something of
her fears the mother had confided to her
new friend when they went upstairs to-
gether for a few moments to lay the
baby on the clean coarse pillow of the
little chamber; and when they came
downstairs, Miss Mason seemed thought-
ful and silent for a few moments, as she
looked on the faces of the two sisters.
At length, after she had set the little
tea-table, and gone into her landlady's
kitchen to be sure of a good fire for her
kettle, she came back, and looking into
her young visitors' faces, took a hand of
each, and said, "My dears, I am going
to tell you a story, if you are not too old
to listen. It is a true one, and I pray
God will do you good. The fact is, I
am a kind of missionary in my way, not
sent out by any society, nor yet exactly
self-sent; but ever since it pleased God
to take me out of the broad road and
place me in the narrow one, I have
looked right and left on the broad way,





80 Daztghtersfrom Home.

which I can see from my narrow one, to
beckon, to woo, to warn, to draw, if I
can, a few travellers to walk with me.
Yes, I never tread sorrowful streets but
I look around and see if there is no one
who will listen to my warning. I never
come home from my day's labour, but
ere I enter my peaceful little chamber, I
look up the street and down the street,
to see if there is no homeless one who
will listen to my Saviour's message, Go
and sin no more.' I have told the story
of His love, that dear Saviour's, whose
voice of mercy stopped the fierce actions
of judgment, until the hardest and the
most shameless ones have wept; for the
Saviour died as much for the outcast
woman, as for the virtuous unstained
maiden. There are not two ways, one
for the moral, one for the immoral;
there is only one, and Christ is that way.
I hope you know that. Now for my
tale-
I was seventeen when I and my sister
Kate, one year younger, came to London.






Miss Mason's Narrative. 8I

I had never remembered a mother's love.
My mother died when Kate was born,
and our home lay in the chill shadows of
motherlessness. My father was a tender
loving parent, and my aunt, who ruled
his little household for him, was indulgent
and kind according to her notions of
kindness, but she knew nothing of sym-
pathy. It is one thing to feel for a
person, another to feel with him. Joy
and sorrow both need sympathy-we
had none in either; so my sister and I
were all the world to one another, and
we lived a sort of double life, being good
before our elders, and every-day children
enough in the house; but when alone,
leading a kind of ideal existence, and
indulging our own fancies and wild
visions, which would have done no harm
could we have shown our minds' pictures
to a wise mother; but as it was, we grew
very romantic, wild girls.
"We were educated for something that
was not to be service; this was always a
prominent lesson of that education. We





82 Daughters from Home.

looked down on servants; and very likely,
had times continued to go wellwith our
father, we should have been kept at home
until we married; but farming went
badly, crops failed, a new landlord raised
the farm rent, and we must seek our
fortunes. I was bound apprentice ac-
cordingly to a milliner in Bond street,
and my sister Kate to a dressmaker of
a second-class in the neighbourhood of
Islington; and here we were on the
threshold of life, with no more know-
ledge of the world and its dangers than
the child in the nursery. We had been
brought up to very strict notions of
propriety-were taught to be extremely
reserved and silent in the company of
young men-were always frowned on by
our aunt at the most distant reference to
love, and were even told we should never
think of such a thing. Our religious
education had consisted in going once a
day to church, in learning our catechism
and collects; we were told to speak the
truth and to be honest in all things; and





Madame Barretti. 83

if we ever thought about our responsi-
bility at all, I believe we were persuaded
that we were all right and safe, both for
this world and the next.
"My new home in London was a
perfect contrast to my old one in Devon-
shire. At first I scarcely knew whether
I liked or disliked the change. The
severance from my sister was the one
part I decidedly did not like. Between
her place of abode and mine quite a day's
journey seemed to lie, and although we
made many resolutions to meet regularly
every Sunday, we soon found that there
were obstacles, besides distance, to
prevent.
"Madame Barretti, my employer, was
to me a very wonderful person, a com-
plete law-book of fashions. She was an
Englishwoman by birth, and went to
Paris simple Jane Barrett, but in three
years' time appeared in London as
Madame Barretti, and the e and the i I
believe gained her the patronage. She
was a good-tempered easy person, and
H





84 Daughtersfrom Home.

took some pains with the rustic country
girl. I believe she acted justly by me,
taught me my business well, and I was
comfortably lodged and boarded in her
house with four other young ladies, all
older than myself. Oh, what a child I
seemed among them! They knew so
many French customs, French words,
and French habits;. learned were they,
too, in French novels, which on busy
days Madame Barretti read to them
aloud to incite them to industry.
"'There is nothing new under the sun,'
it is written; and in the London Journals
and Lloyd's Miscellanies of the present
day, I can recognize a great many of the
old tales, in a new dress, which corrupted
my virtue in youth. We can, all of us,
I dare say, look back to some circum-
stances, or train of circumstances in our
life which has in some way given it a
bent. I have asked a great many of our
class, whose histories have been mourn-
ful enough, what was the beginning of
evil with them, and I have remarked that,






Danger of Bad Books. 85

with very few exceptions, they have said,
'Bad books.' First, then, on my list of
dangers in any life, I am bound to place
bad books. In my days the circulating
libraries supplied us with dangerous
reading; in yours, the cheap periodicals.
If you have bought any of such, burn
them; if you must listen to them, close
your heart, if you cannot your ears,
against them. But at all risks, at any
price, give up those poisonous papers;
for I tell you with sorrow, and with
shame, that the very first time I had a
thought which I would have blushed to
own to my sister or my dead mother, I
had been reading a bad low novel. No
matter that the hero and the heroine,
both of them, held loose and dangerous
principles-that an elopement and a duel,
lies and deceptions, were among the most
prominent parts of the story, I began to
identify myself with the beautiful Flora,
the heroine, and was only now on the
look-out for a Theodore, picturing to
myself my rival killed-the father, who





86 Daughters from Home.

opposed the match, dead-and all ob-
stacles surmounted, entering a life of un-
broken happiness and dazzling pleasure.
It was surprising how rapid, and yet how
specious, was the progress of the evil.
All my ideas of virtue were distorted or
mystified. Nothing under the garb of
love and passion seemed unlawful; and
I grew restless, discontented, and im-
patient of control. Bad reading begot
foolish conversation. I do not know
that I was more frivolous than my
companions: but they certainly did not
surpass me in folly; and many a time,
when we needed sleep, or when our knees
should have been bowed in prayer, has
our impure and unhallowed mirth been
as the sin which separated our souls
from God-the cloud through which our
prayers could not pass. Bad books, bad
conversation, and then bad pursuits.
The theatre was no uncommon reward
given by our employer for especial good
conduct; and, whatever may be said of
the stage teaching morality, so far as my





Broken Sundays. 87

experience goes, ft teaches nothing of
the kind. There is only one teacher of
morality good for anything, and all true
morality is based upon it-It is the
Bible, God's own book of truth. The
theatres to which we were taken were
not of the first order; I never came out
of them, but I seemed to have made
some progress in the knowledge which
was working my ruin. Then came
broken Sundays. At first, my Sundays
were comparatively innocent; my sister
and I spent them together; but as at
neither in her home or mine, was any
special provision made for our Sunday
accommodation-as in winter and sum-
mer alike, her employer and mine spent
the day from home, what was left to us
but to walk the streets and parks in
summer, and in winter to accept the
invitations, which were not lacking, to
spend the day among the acquaintances
which we had made, and who, many of
them, had homes in London. I will not
give you a detailed account of these





88 Daughters from Home.

Sundays-of the unhallowed mirth of
our pleasure parties to Greenwich or
HIornsey-of our wild follies in the Park
and public gardens-of our utter forget-
fulness of God, and dishonour of His
day. Familiarity with young men soon
became habitual. The coarse joke, or
indelicate compliment, which would once
have called forth the burning blush or
the indignant reproof, was now received
unheeded, weakly laughed at, or tacitly
approved. From foolish talking with
men, I began to be less shocked at
familiarity of action; and each time I
allowed it, it became less offensive.
Soon a distance crept in between my
sister and myself. Our meetings were
less frequent; I used to think her changed,
and she must have thought the same of
me. I could see her danger, and could
expostulate with her; but I found, that
to be a successful reprover of sin, we
must have clean hands and a pure heart.
Sharp words passed between us, and
some weeks passed without a meeting.





Kate's Birthday. 89

I heard through a mutual friend that
Kate's head was turned by the prospect
of some great match; and irritated and
jealous at her want of confidence, I made
no advances to reconciliation. My poor
father's usual visits were now discon-
tinued. A rheumatic fever so far dis-
abled him that he was kept much to his
own fireside; and although on the occa-
sion of my visit home he must have
marked something amiss, sickness and
infirmity had rendered him apathetic,
and beyond a few general cautions to
take care of my conduct, for that
Madame Barretti had complained of my
frivolity and carelessness, I escaped cen-
sure. However, I took warning, for I
knew by this time too much of the
hardships of other places to desire a
change. We were now each in the
second year of our apprenticeship. It
was Kate's birthday-she was eighteen.
Some thoughts of our childish joys came
over me that birthday morning, and I
was almost on my way to Islington to






90 Daughters from Home.

seek her out, and to be reconciled, when
a friend persuaded me to accompany her
to St. James' Park. While sitting be-
neath the shade of a tree to rest, we saw
a figure which we both recognized as
that of my sister Kate. How lovely
she looked that day! her soft, golden
ringlets fluttering in the summer air,
her bright eye dancing, her rich colour
mantling, as she fed the water-fowl in
the park. A lady was her companion,
handsomely, but not showily dressed;
and the idea at once struck me that this
richly-dressed and matronly person was
in some way connected with Kate's
brilliant prospects and rumoured eleva--
tion. So I at once hastened to the spot
where they were seated, but there was
no cordiality in her welcome; the lady's
annoyance and /autteur were so obvious,
that I felt much confused, and, little
encouraged to pursue my pacific inten-
tions to my sister, withdrew. I can now
remember the half-relenting, half-timid
way in which Kate seemed inclined to





A True Friend. 91

turn back and recall me, the sister's old
love so evidently battling with the power
which held her fast, but of the nature of
which I little dreamed.
"They left the park. I saw them
every now and then turn their heads to
observe whether I followed, and when
once out of the gates they summoned a
a cab, and drove, I knew not whither.
I cannot tell you what it was that seemed
to tell my heart that this was nearly my
last look at Kate, but my spirit sank,
and I could not repress my tears. I was
leaning mournfully against a tree, when
my companion, who had no taste for the
contemplative mood, suddenly remem-
bering an engagement, left me, with a
cool 'good night,' and I thought myself
alone, when a hand touched my arm,
and lifting up my eyes, I saw a person
of whom I had only a slight knowledge,
an assistant in one of the drapers' estab-
lishments in the city, a steady, well-
principled young man. We had often
laughed at him for his scruples in not






92 Daugktersfrom Home.

joining our Sunday parties; and I was a
little surprised that he thus greeted and
sought out one whom he had always
shunned. 'Excuse me, Miss Mason,'
he said rapidly, 'do you know the per-
son who is with your sister, with whom
she has just left the park ?'
"' No,' I replied, flippantly, my sister
has many new acquaintances of whom I
know nothing.'
"'This is no time for pique, or for
jokes; if your sister spends a night
beneath that roof, she is a lost girl.'
"I turned faint, and thought I should
have fallen, but he roused me in an
instant. 'There is no time to be lost,'
he said; 'give me a slip of paper, in
your handwriting, authorising me to
bring her away; at least, not me,' he
said, colouring, 'it is a matter for older
hands than mine.'
"'But Mrs. Bartlett, her employer!' I
said, surely she will be the best person
to apply to.'
"'Mrs. Bartlett! did you not know

A





The A attempted Rescue. 93

she left her a week since ? I hoped and
believed she had gone home; one of our
young ladies told me she had done so.'
"Alas! my poor sister! and had my
own worldliness, my jealousy, my self-
love come between her and her safety?
A lost girl! the words sounded still in
my ears as half-dreaming and trembling,
I entered a cab, and he placed himself
beside me. I never can forget, as I
never can repay the kindness of that
true-hearted man. But if you are be-
ginning to fancy that he was in love with
me, I must warn you of your mistake.
He was already united to one worthy of
his love; this I could never have been.
He said very little during that drive;
once he bade me be comforted, as I wept
vehemently. At length we stopped
'before a small neat house in Canonbury,
and springing out, bidding me sit still, he
opened the door without ringing, and in
less than ten minutes his father, a grey-
haired old man, dressed in an old-
fashioned garb, like that of ministers in






94 Daughters from Home.
old times, appeared, and took his seat by
my side. My son has told me all,' he
said; 'we must do what we can, and
when we have done all, we must take
refuge in prayer.'
"On we drove; the journey seemed,
like the whole affair-a dream, until we
stopped at the corner of Jermyn street.
He dismissed the cab there, assisted me
out, and then told me gravely to wait
where I was till his return, and not to
attempt to follow him. For a moment
there was a little distrust in his eye, but
seeing my genuine distress, he said, "I
may trust you, I am sure, for a body
and a soul are alike in peril;' and,
as he spoke, he left me alone. It was
now the hour for evening prayer. The
street in which I stood was alrhost
deserted and silent. A gentleman or
two, who had turned out for an even-
ing stroll, passed and looked at me
curiously, honouring me with that sort of
notice, to which, of late, I had become
accustomed. Would he never come, I





A Lost Girl. 95'

thought, as shrinking into myself, I
paced a few yards impatiently-would
he never come? I ventured to peep
round the corner; at last I heard a step,
but it was a very slow one, and I saw a
girl, pale, emaciated, and bent, standing
close by. Her hollow cough, wild un-
settled eye, loose dress, and uncovered
head, telling her tale, as gazing on me,
with folded arms, within a stone's throw
of the pavement on which I stood, she
wished me a light 'good even.' I shrank,
I cowered, for she drew nearer, and,
seizing me by the arm, she pointed to
the street which my protector had just
entered, and said, 'Are you going there ?'
I shook my head, and tried to release
myself. She laughed bitterly. 'Ah!
you need not look so scornful,' she said;
I was in that grand house once, not so
many years ago either.'
"I trembled as she spoke. Oh Kate!
Kate! will you ever be such a one as
this?' I thought.
"'You look very ill,' I said humbly;
I




University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs