Title Page
 The ruby to the reader
 The pensioner's legacy
 The proud parroquet
 Love wins love
 Back Matter

Title: father's present
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00057087/00001
 Material Information
Title: father's present
Series Title: father's present
Physical Description: Book
Publisher: Leavitt & Co.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00057087
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
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Resource Identifier: ltuf - AMF1465
alephbibnum - 002446221

Table of Contents
    Title Page
        Title Page 1
        Title Page 2
    The ruby to the reader
        Page 5
        Page 6
    The pensioner's legacy
        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
    The proud parroquet
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
    Love wins love
        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
    Back Matter
        Page 64
        Page 65
Full Text

'TRai cazagUL"-ftp M



~'Ai1E.'IF a1f'S kIHIFESI





,C", at.orii. 0 Aef ;r C%--, In tl YOU is",
in th ChAk's O & oflb. Diotri t Cort ot dho Usited 8t,%to
I n d fo rL. Sootter Dtriot ot New York.

9lW0.4Wd by RWodd & Sar.V,
13 Cblaber. otrft, P. T.


IT may seem presuming, for such
simple little things as I and my
companions, to call ourselves gems,
and to take the precious names of
the RuBY, the ToPAZ, the EMERALD,
and the AMETHYST. But, as our
kind friend, the publisher, has pro-
vided us with a beautiful casket, to
keep us together, and to preserve
us from injury, we deem it nece-
sary, on our part, to assume a


corresponding style. Besides, the
wisest of men has said, that Wis-
dom is better than rubies;" and, as
we aim to teach our young friends
good lessons, we may, perhaps, to
the more thoughtful of them, whose
approbation we most value, justify
our title in that way.
December, 1846.


Onz of the most conspicuous per-
sonages in the village of Cliton, wa
George Marston, an old revolution-
ary pensioner. He served through
the whole war, and took part in sev-
eral of the most important engage-
ments. His father was killed in the
first skirmish at Lexington; and he,
though but a lad, instantly shoul-
dered his musket, and joined "the

1 0


rebels" at Boston. He was under
the very eye of Washington, in all
the succeeding campaigns, crossed
the Delaware with him on the night
of the famous 25th of December,
wintered at Valley Forge, scaled the
fort at Yorktown, and witnessed the
surrender of Cornwallis. He was a
poor man, as most of those old he-
roes were, having sacrificed every-
thing to purchase independence, and
received, from those who had noth-
ing to do but enjoy it, the scanty
pittance of ninety-six dollars a year.
On this small sum, with the little he
could earn by an occasional job of


work in the village, and the charity
of his neighbors, he had lived to a
good old age, enjoying the confi-
dence and respect of all who knew
Marston was an unmarried man,
and all the boys in the place were
in the habit of claiming him as fa-
ther. It was his delight to gather
them about him, on the green, and
recount the adventures of his early
days, the encroachments of England,
the hardships of the revolutionary
struggle, andthe glorious end it came
to. He taught them to give three
hearty cheers,with hats off, whenever


the name of General Washingtcn
was mentioned. the only piece of
property he owned, was a small
brass gun, such as is usually called
a swivel, which he brought home
from the war, as a kind of trophy,
having obtained it from the enemy
with his own hand, by surprising
and securing a sentinel, on a certain
outpost, where the swivel was sta-
tioned as a signal-gun.
This gun, which had the letters
J. B. R. on its breech, and, from
that circumstance, was called "John
Bull's Roarer," was an important
affair on all public occasions, and


especially on the Fourth of July.
On that day, Marston was the lead-
ing character. The boys contribu-
ted their mites all round, to pur-
chase the powder, which the old
pensioner made up into cartridge.
A tent was erected on the green, in
true military style; boy-sentinels
were posted at proper points, with
wooden guns, and everything was
made to assume, as much as possi-
ble, the aspect of war. Three na-
tional salutes were fired at sunrise,
at noon, and at sunset, accompanied
with the shouts and cheering of all
the little patriots of Clifton. This


was a great day for Marston, and he
seemed to renew his youth as often
as it came round.
For more than fifty years, that
same brass swivel had uttered its
thrice-thirteen voices of rejoicing
on the day of our nation's birth;
and with every utterance, the old
pensioner had joined his loud and
hearty huzza. The day had never
gone by without the ceremony, nor
without his presence to give it eclat.
But the old man's frame, though
seemingly as hard as iron, was mor-
tal. In the winter of 18-, he be-
gan to feel that he was going the

TRa 1 nMaNKcR's LUOAOr. 13

way of all the earth. He called the
little company of bright-eyed boys
about him, who had shared iq all
his patriotic zeal, and there solemn-
ly, in the presence of Justice Par-
ker, who drew up an instrument in
due form for the purpose, bequeathed
to them, "the boys of the village of
Clifton, for ever: one brass swivel,
or gun, known by the name d
'John Bull's Roarer,' on codi-
tion-which wnu ever to be vdltid
or neglected for any easw or reass
Aateever--that, on the fourth day
of July, of every year to the end o
time, the old tent should be ereald


on the green, as in times past, and
the three national salutes fired, at
sunrise, noon, and sunset, of said
day, three cheers accompanying
every discharge, in honor of that
greatest and best act in the history
of human freedom-the Declaration
of Independence by the congress of
the United States." At the close
of the paper, the old hero added a
modest request, that they would also
remember the poor pensioner, and
give one additional gun, and one
cheer, at sunset, to.the memory of
George Marston.
SBefore the last snow of that sea-


mo had disappeared from the neigh-
boring hills, the old soldier was laid
in his grave, honored by all, and
sincerely mourned by his youthful
legatees. They all attended his f-a
neral, preceding the hearse in sol-
emn military procession, with muf-
fled drums, and black crape upon
their left arms, which they continued
to wear till the following Fourth of
Several years had passed away,
since the death of George Marston.
One generation of boys had almost
given place to their successor. The
glorious Fourth had been always

16 T3H rPNUIOm n's LoGACT.

observed, and the last will and t-
tament of the old pensioner sacredly
regarded in every particular; and
it had come to be looked upon as a
solemn trust, by the old, as well as
the young.
At the lower end of the village,
there was a considerable factory.
The establishment consisted of one
high narrow building, seated on the
brink of the river, a few rods from
the bridge, seeming so to overhang
the stream, that a strong wind in
the right direction might easily cap-
size it. This building was sur-
mounted with a small cupola, or


belfry, with a rod and vane aboe it
The foreman of this factory wa an
Englishman by birth, and retained
all the feelings and prejudices of his
birthright, in regard to the matters
of difference between the two coun-
tries. He had never relished the
noise and glee of the fourth of July,
and made several attempts to with-
hold from his men the usual indul-
gence of a holyday on that occasion,
pleading that it was a useless waste
of time.
Having succeeded in introducing
into the factory three or four of his
own countrymen, he fxmeaia.plaa


to ajoil the fun of the village boys
on the following anniversary. He
promised his men to give them an
additional holyday on the day of the
king's coronation, if they would get
possession of the swivel, and con-
ceal it for their own use, until that
day should arrive. Though a pub-
lic treasure, it was kept somewhat
exposed, in a small shed attached to
the village hay-scales, at the upper
end of the green. Taking advan-
tage of a dark, stormy night in
June, the factory boys, disguised as
Indians, in case they should chance
to meet any one, went up, secured


the swivel, and deposited it, for safe-
keeping, in the belfry of their s-
The great day was drawing ner.
The boys began to bring in their
contributions for powder, and diree-
tions were given to have "John
Bull's Roarer" rubbed up, and put
in order for the Fourth. To their
utter consternation, it was gone.
The whole village was in an uproar.
Every boy, every child, every man,
yes, and every woman, was moved
and excited. It was the town talk.
It engrossed the whole space usn-
ally occupied by politics, scandal,


and gossip. There was a sporta-
neous gathering on the green, to
consult abodt the strange robbery.
But what could they do I Nobody
could guess what had become of it.
Day after day passed of, and no
trace was found of the robbers. No
clew was given to the mystery.
The first of July arrived, and
still the mystery was not cleared up,
the swivel was not found. When
it disappeared, how long it had
been absent from its place, no one
could tell. A proposal was made
ta procure another, in order that
the boys might have their usual

TnW rPnioxaZRn' LInACT. 31

sport on the Fourth. To this Gw-
trus Maitland, one of the oldest d
the boys, who had known the Pen-
sioner, and honored his memory,
'strenuously objected, declaring that
old George Maraton's bones would
not rest easy in his grave, if any
piece,but his own favorite swivel
should be heard on that day; add-
ing, that it could not have disap-
peared without hands, and by some
means or .other it must and should
be found.
The Englishman enjoyed deeply
the consternation and chagrin of his
neighbor, and felt that his triumph


was now complete. It chanced,
however, that one of his men, who
had been engaged in the robbery,
was making his addresses to Betsey
Howard, a very clever, good-natured
girl, who had lived, as a nurse, in
the family of Mr. Maitland. While
there, Gustavus had been her pet;
and he was still a great favorite with
her, as he was with every one else.
Her lover was so delighted with the
success of his adventure-for he
was the leader in it-that, lover-
like, he could not refrain from git-
nlg her a hint of what was going on.
He did not boldly let it all out, but


gae forth some oracular intimations
from which the shrewd girl gathered
the whole secret, or, at least, satisfed
herself that she knew all about it.
The good-natured Betsy was in
a quandary. She was a Yankee, of
the warmest kind, and could not
bear the idea of the boys being
cheated out of their patriotic sports
on the Fourth. On the other hand,
she did not like to expose her lover,
by betraying his secret. She had
been at Mr. Maitland's, had seen
Gustavus several times, and knew
how sadly he felt the loss of the
swivel, and the prospective defeat


of their customary arrangements for
celebrating the national birthday.
Betsy's love of country, and old
associations, finally so far prevailed
over her new attachment, that she
resolved to do as much for Gustavus
as her lover had done for her-give
him a hint. She accordingly put
together a few rude lines, in the
form of a riddle, and, as often as
she saw Gustavus, sung them to a
familiar air. The lines were these:

If Gustau could bet fly,
Very, very, very high,
Two ny thing together dwell-
John Bal's Ror mad the bel s
Tbh Raw deeps beside the bel."


The name of the Roarer" exi-
ted Gustavus, whenever he heard it.
And he immediately turned upon
Betsy, to know what she meant.
"Oh! only a little riddle from an
old play," was her reply; and she
went on singing it over again and
again.. She did this several times,
apparently taking considerable pains
to throw herself in the way of Gus-
It was then the second day of
July. Gustavus laid awake several
hours that night, pondering deeply
on the mystery of the Roarer. At
length it flashed upon his mind, that


he had divined the meaning of Bet-
sy's riddle. He remembered hav-
ing heard the foreman of the factory
give out some of his flings at Yan-
kee Independence. He had often
heard him speak in praise of Old
England. He remembered, also,
that one of his men was said to be
Betsy's particular friend. He put
these things together, and, having
made up his mind to know some-
thing more of the matter on the
morrow, he fell asleep.
The next day, Betsy could not
be found. She had gone away, very
early in the morning, to visit her


mother, some twenty miles off. He
therefore communicated his surmi-
se to two of his chosen companions,
'with whom he held a long consulta-
tion. They three went together to
examine the factory more particu-
larly, and consider what should be
done. They took their station on
Sthe bridge, and seemed to be watch-
ing the eddying of the water, as it
rolled, and tumbled, and foamed, in
the little basin, and then whirled
away, through the arches of the
bridge, into the expanse below.
While there, a plan was formed,
which was to be executed at mid-

38 nM PmNIORIt's LeACAr.

aight; and they parted, to meet at
eleven, on the green.
Everything was quiet in the vil-
lage, when this self-constituted com-
mittee of three, muffled in strange
clothes, took up their march for the
bridge. Everything was quiet there,
too, except the everlasting roa of
the waters. Not a soul was stir-
ring, not a light, could be seen,
about the factory. Bidding his
companions wait on the bridge, till
they should hear him whistle, Gus-
tavus crept softly round to the base
of the tower, and, laying hold of the
lightning-rod, proceeded to climb

mu nmroinO's LMer. a

up toward the belfry. It'was hard
work, and several times he sipped
back, losing several feet of what he
had with so much difficulty gained.
He was not of a disposition, huwer*
er, to give up a thought, when he
had once adopted it as practicable.
He persevered, and triumphed. He
gained the belfry; and there-Bet*
say's riddle was solved: The Roaer
slept beside the bell."
His first impulse was, to give a
loud huzza. He restrained himself
however, lear he should rouse some
opposition to his motions. Moving
the Roarer carefully toward tha


eaves of the belfry, he gave it a sud-
den plunge; and his satisfaction was
complete, when it fell noiselessly
upon the soft soil below.
With a triumphant whistle, the
brave boy slid down by the same
way that he went up. The swivel
was lashed to a pole, placed across
the shoulders of his two comrades,
and restored to its wonted place of
dignity, in the centre of the green.
A heavy charge was put in, and the
committee of three stood as send-
nels, till the day dawned. As the
first faint streak of light appeared
in the east, the match was put to

SU nxSmoNrion's IGuCr. a1

the Roarer, and a shout, as loud
three young voices could raise, o-
icompnied its reverberations to al-
most every ear in the village.
In a few minutes, the green was
filed with men and boys; and great
was the ecstasy of all in the recov-
ery of the swiveL Three cheen
were at once proposed to .Uustavue
and his friends; and they were giv-
en with such right good will, that
the echo reached to the factory, aad
roused the foreman from his dreams.
Expecting to enjoy the chagrin
of the disappointed Yankees; he
marched proudly up to the gresn,

S2 TraZ PrNIONUeR' LZtoOr.

and arrived just in season to see the
match put to the Roarer, for the
firt of the sunrise round.
Three cheers for Johnny Bull's
belfry!" shouted Gustavus, as soon
a he saw the Englishman.
The cheers went up from hun-
dredd of voices, instantly followed
by one long groan. The discomfit-
ed foreigner turned quickly upon
his heel, and was never after seen
in that part of the village.

L. __


whether k had a a l, or o,
I not pretend to say-
But It talked, and talked, the Ilvelong day,
And had a wondrous knowing way
Of looking wondrous wise."

THEna never was a more beau-
tiful creature of the species, than
Arthur Mellen's parrot. Her plu-
mage was richer than I can well
describe.' Not only were all the
colors of the rainbow richly blended
there, bu; there were some feathers
so singularly variegated, and so

8 *


deeply dyed, that it was difficult to
say which part was most beautiful.
Her tail was very long, and as gau-
dy as a peacock's; while each sep-
arate plume in it had its distinct and
appropriate hue, there was such a
marvellous blending of shades in
the whole, that an artist might have
taken from it an admirable lesson
in "the harmony of colors." Her
eye was peculiarly bright and ex-
pressive, with such an amusing
twinkle at times, as would make
you laugh in spite of yourself. It
seemed to convey volume of unut-
terable wit.


It is my opinion, by the way, that
the parrot is the undefended victim
of deliberate injustice. She is too
often spoken of as a mere imitator,
repeating, without intelligence, the
lesson she has been taught, as me-
chanically as the'clock strikes the
hour, or as Maelzel's chess-player
utters his triumphant "check." She
is ranked with the owl for wisdom,
being ironically allowed a mock-
place in the scale; and, though al-
ways expected to chatter nonsense
for other, is not permitted to speak
a word for herself. Let me stand
frth as her champion.


Arthur Mellen's parrot was as
sensible as she was beautiful; and
she had a very high sense of her
own dignity and importance. There
was scarcely anything in the range
of Arthur's little affairs and rela-
tions, that she did not seem to un-
derstand. If Arthur was in diffi-
oulty with his playmates, Poll would
take his part at once, flying in the
face of his assailants, and crying,
"Let Arthur alone!-let Arthur
alonee" till they were glad to get
out of hl way. If he ventured
out of the yard, into the street,
when he was forbidden to go, Poll

Tr= nUovD PAuOQUzT. 37

would instantly report him, Moth-
er, Arthur run away I- Arthur run
away!" She would then fly after
him, calling out, "Arthur, mother
says come home! and then, hast-
ening back to the house, she would
perch on the window, crying-
" Mother, Arthur wont come back I
-Arthur naughty boy!"
One day, hearing the hens cack-
ling in the yard, she said, "Mother,
biddy lay an egg I go bring it in 1"
Repeating it several times, and ma-
king rather more noise than was
agreeable, Mrs. Mellei id, sharp,
ly, "Poll, hold your tongue I" PeI


was very indignant, and immediate-
ly replied, "Hold your tongue
hey I-hold your tongue hey
that's pretty talk! where'd you
learn that I" She then went into
her cage, and refused to come out,
or to speak another word, for the
whole day.
On one occasion, when Mrs. Mel-
len had company, Poll was rather
ofieious, and so full of talk, that
Arthur was directed to take her
away into another room. But Poll
would nao at his bidding; so he
took a smclk, that he had been
playing with, and attempted to dir


lodge her from her perch over the
door, and drive her out. For some
time, he could do nothing to move
her; for every time he raised the
stick toward her, she would catch
it in her bill and hold it fast. At
length, getting vexed with her ob-
stinacy, Arthur suddenly struck her
a pretty smart blow with the stick.
Upon this, she drew herself up, with
an air of offended dignity, ruffing
the feathers about her neck, as if a
strong wind were blowing upon
them, and instantly flew wn upon
a chair by the side ofcjIr, crying,
"Strike Poll l-strike Poll 1-Ar-

40 Tanm iow PArUOQUET.

thur strike Poll t"-with such a
look and tone, that, pet as she was,
Arthur was afraid of her, and moved
away. Poll pursued him, with the
same indignant look and tone-
"Arthur strike Poll I Mind how you
behave !"-till the poor boy, fear-
ing what might happen, if he ofend-
ed her more, was glad to make his
escape into another room.
When Arthur came in to tea,
Poll was perched quietly in her
cage; but every now and then, she
seemed to be muttering something
to herself. 'Presently, Arthur told
hi father what had happened be-


tween his pet and himselE Before
he had quite finished his story, Poll
interrupted him, exclaiming, with a
bitter emphasis, "Father, Arthur
strike Poll l-Arthur strike Poll I
-can'tbearthat!" Several times
after that, during the evening, she
would start up, as from a revery,
and say, Can't bear that I"
Poll was very delicate in her
taste, and fond of a nice bit, when-
ever she could get one, One day,
when Mrs. Mellen had been baking
a quantity of nice cakes, she laid
them out upon a table, previously to
putting them away in the pantry.


Poll immediately alighted upon the
table, saying, "Help yourself, Poll I
-help yourself, Poll I" and actu-
ally bit a piece out of several of the
cakes, before her mistress could
come to the rescue.
Not long after this, she flew into
an apple-tree, that stood near, the
house, and commenced biting the
apples, and throwing them down on
the ground. She was peremptorily
ordered to desist, but only went on
the more earnestly, saying, Polly
like the fun 1" After calling to her
several times, and getting no an-
swer, but Polly like the fun," or

WTn rPaov r auoir. 48

" Stand away from under," and bo-
ing seriously vexed at the loe of
his fruit, Mr. Mellen took up one
of the apples, and threw it at her,
with so good an aim, a quite to
dislodge her from her peich. In a
great rage, she flew directly at her
assailant's face, giving him a severe
bite, exclaiming, That's your way,
us it and then, passing though
the window, dashed into the look*
ing-glass, shivering it into a thou-
sand pieces, shouting, "Do that
again if you dare."
This violence of passionate re-
venge, only increased her master's

44 Ts PraUD PAesOQnUT.

,displeasure,'which he attempted to
manifest by whipping her with a
small switch. Looking fiercely at
him, she said several times, "Polly
can't bear that," and then, as he
continued striking her, she added
in rather a mournful tone, Poor
Polly die," and, spreading her
wings, dashed out again at the win-
dow, and disappeared among the
Night came, and the bird did not
return. Another day, and another,
and yet a third passed by, and noth-
ing was seen or heard of poor Poll.
Peeling no doubt, that when she


was sufficiently hungry to forget
the chastisement she had received,
she would come back in a better
mood, they made no effort to find
her; though poor Arthur was sadly
at a loss to know what to do with-
out her; On the fourth day, he
was permitted to go out and seek for
her. But she could not be found.
The sometimes cheerful, but often-
er sad and plaintive call, Poll-
poor Poll-Arthur wants Poll,"
met no response from any quarter;
and Arthur returned, with a heavy
heart, weeping for the loss of his
pet companion.


About a week after this, the poor
create was found, lying dead un-
der a tree, near the bank of the
river, about a mile from the house.
The man who found her, had oeen
at work at no great distance from
the spot; and he remarked, that he
had heard,, often during the first
two or three days of the week, the
voice of the parrot, seemingly very
near him, calling "Arthur," but did
not know whence it came. Several
times she added, '"Arthur, poor
Polly die," or, nobody love Poll."
Each day the voice grew fainter,
and then was heard no more.

v[ rPaouD rPAROwr.' 47

Now, who wiB venture to say
that Poll was a mere chatterbox,
an animal echo, without any notions
of her own I The beautiful bird
still remains, scientifically stufed,
and set in a glass case, as an orna-
ment to the very parlor, which was
the principal scene of her living
glory. But alas I her ready wit,
her sprightly talk, her inimitable
repartee; I can only say, as was
said of another musical character,
"We e'er dn look pon her Hk aga."


TILL me, why I it, tf you lend
But forty dollar to your nrid,
It doe your kindne morn ommend,
Then if fie hundred yo should send

Why i eleven an ill-ntatred age 7

What reeedl I t wMh w is always'edding
leae to move

To what quesio do yo always auwer, yeot

Why Is k wrnf to wiper ln company I


THE village school was just dis-
missed, and a gay, happy, frolic-
some troop of boys and girls issued
from the door, all eager to improve
their liberty. "Come, Anna," said
a little girl to her companion,
"come and gather wild flowers with
me, before you go home."
I can not," said Anna, I must
hasten to my dear mother. She


looked so pale and sick when I
left her this morning, that I have
thought of'nothing else all the day.
I could not learn my lesson, I felt
so sad."
"Do come," said Kate; "you
can not make your mother better."
"I know it, but I can fan her
when she sleeps. I can bring her
drink, and smooth her pillow, and
talk with her when she is able to
"0 how can you like to be in a
sick room, this beautiful summer-
Because I love my mother bet-


ter than the beautiful lowers;" and
she bounded away with the fleet-
ness of a fawn, and was soon at the
cottage. Quietly she opened the
door, and entered on tip toe her
mother's room. She found her
seated in an easy chair, her eye
beaming with unearthly brightness,
and her cheek glowing with the
hectic flush, which, to a child's inex-
perienced eye, seemed the hue of
health. The little girl with joy
Exclaimed, "Oh mother, I am so
happy-you will soon be well, and
we shall ramble together in the
woods-will we not, dear mother 1"


Mrs. Arnold kissed her daughter,
and, clasping her fondly in her arms,
said, "I shall soon leave you, dear-
eat; but our heavenly Father will
take care of you. He has prom-
'sed to be a father to the father-
Anna laid her head in her moth-
sr's lap, and wept bitterly. Mrs.
Arnold, too, was unable to speak;
out'in earnest, silent prayer, she
commended her little one to Him
Swho feedeth the young ravens when
they cry, and clothes the lilies of the
field in beauty. Her only tie to
earth was this beloved child; and

Lova Ws LovT. U

when, in confiding faith, she could
commit her to the guardian care of
her heavenly Father, she became
calm, and endeavored to lead her
daughter's thoughts to that happy
home, where her father and beloved
brother had gone, and where she
hoped they would all be reunited.
Mrs. Arnold had only one rela-
tive to whom she could look to take
Anna. This was a brother of her
husband, a gentleman of wealth in
distant city. He had spentmany
years in South America, and r-
turned with a large fortune. But
he had never proffered any aid to


her, though he knew how samty
was the pittance upon which she
lived, and that she must necessarily
oil at her needle, to procure the
means of support. The attage
where she lived, was her only earth.
ly property, and the clustering
vines and beautiful flower, which
were arranged with tasteful ele-
gance in the garden, gave it a charm
which many splendid mansions do
not posses. The neat parlor too,
with its plain furniture, the only
ornaments of which were hooks and
lowers, had such a look ofiAfit,
that one who entered it would love


to linger, a if the genius of the
place wa happiness.
In truth, though Mrs. Ariod
was not ibc in the common pedcp-
tation of the term, she was r* in
the priceless gift of a heart open to
beauty, and a taste that found inex-
haustible treasures of thought in
all the wurks of God. Her elegant
accomplishments were sources of
useAlness and happiness; and she
made everything around her con-
tribute to her intellectual and mor-
al improvement. Her tones were
gentleness and love. Her words
were all kindness She seemed to


throw around an atmosphere of
love and peace. She dreaded the
thought of placing Anna in the fam-
ily of her uncle, where fashion and
selfishness reigned, and where her
affectionate heart would be chilledA
and all her generous impulses
Day after day, and week after
week of hopeless languishing pass-
ed, before she could decide to ac-
quaint her brother with the state of
her health, and ask his protection
for her child. When she did, his
reply was brief and cold, conclu-
ding with a promise that he would

LOev wrs LOVe. 57

call at F- on his way to Cin-
cinnati, in the course of a few
For many days, Anna'watched
at her mother's side, sad and fear-
ful every morning, but encouraged
with delusive hopes every afternoon,
when the hectic flush was on her
cheek, and she looked like her
former self. One day, as the set-
ting sun' threw a gorgeous light on
all the clouds, Mrs. Arnold desired
Anna to lift the curtain, that she
might look once more upon the
glorious sunset. Just then, a car-
riage stopped at the door, and Mr.


Arnold was announced. "Mother,"
said Anna, "will you see uncle
now l"
"Now 1" said she, impressively.
Mr. Arnold entered, with a look
of importance, as if he were ex-
pected to confer favors. Mrs. Ar-
nold grasped his offered hand, and
murmured-" My child 1" Then,
siaking back upon her pillow, she
Tie little orphan refused to be
comforted. The only mourner, she
followed her mother's remains to
the grave, and wished to lie down
in the same bed.


In a few days, Mr. Arnold, with
the young orphan, a child of only
ten years, was on his way to New
York. Anna would often caress
him, as she was wont to caress her
mother. But his stern look almost
frightened her. "Will you love
ime I Will aunt love me 1" she
timidly inquired, as they stopped
at the door of a splendid mansion
in NewYork. "Ifyou are a good
Girll" was the only reply. Then
you hall love me, for I will be very
Her aunt received her coldly,
and, had not Anna's young heart


been absorbed with her own grief
she would have felt it keenly.
After many days of solitary sad-
* nes, she longed to pour out her af-
fections, and love her uncle and aunt,
as she had been wont to love. For-
mality and coldness were every-
where. The little attentions which
her heart prompted her to pay, were
all rendered by servants. If her
uncle wanted a paper, a servant was
called to hand it to him. If her
aunt wished for anything from her
Sdressing-room, a servant was rung
for to do her bidding. Little Anna
felt as if these expressions of Ibve


were inseparable from love; and
she longed to win a way to the heart
of her uncle and aunt.
One morning, as she entered the
breakfast-room, she saw that the
newspaper was not at his seat, and
she ran hastily and placed it before
him. A smile rewarded her-the
only smile which illumined the
morning's repast. "Oh I" said lit-
tle Anna to herself, "a smile is like
sunshine. I will try and get an-
Assiduous to please, the little
girl would bring her uncle his slip-
pers; if he returnedfrom a walk

62 Lore WIrm LoS.

or a ride, she would run to the door
to take his hat and cane. If after
dinner, he walked in the garden,
she would pluck a bouquet, and lead
him, by her fanciful explanations,
to feel an interest in flowers which
was altogether new. Every day the
table was decorated with flowers;
and these little silent messengers of
love were not unheeded.
Every look, every wish, of her
uncle and aunt, were regarded; and
when, after much consultation, it
was determined that Anna should
be sent to a boarding-school, Mrs.
Arnold asked, "How can we do


without her I fear the sunshine
will go with her."
True," replied her husband;
"I never knew, till now, how grate-
fil are the attentions rendered from
love. The sweet child has taught
me a lesson I shall not forget-to
seek to make others happy."

TO -,

It, while the years ae taking wlg
You're anxious to improve,
.Obh heed these two serial things
Obedience and Love.
Obedience wins the smile of God,
And gives you peace of mind;
Love makes our lif a flowery road,
And leaves no thorn behind.

Then let each opening year begi
Whh high resolve, and prayer,
STo cherish kindly thoughts within,
And outward faults repair:
And may you find ech ye, e y each day,
New cause of grateful Joy,
That He to whom we loudly pray,
Has bleed our darling boy.

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