Citation
The Youth's story book

Material Information

Title:
The Youth's story book
Creator:
Appleton, George Swett, 1821-1878 ( Publisher )
Burdett, Charles, b. 1815
Zschokke, Heinrich, 1771-1848
Copley, Esther
D. Appleton and Company ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
New York
Philadelphia
Publisher:
D. Appleton & Co.
Geo. S. Appleton
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
<9>-180, <9>-180,<7>-178, <2> p. : ill. ; 16 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1851 ( rbbin )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1851 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1851
Genre:
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) ( rbbin )
Publishers' advertisements ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- New York -- New York
United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia

Notes

General Note:
Publisher's advertisement, <2> p. following text.
General Note:
Added engraved title page for Poplar Grove, a tale / by Esther Copley.
Funding:
Brittle Books Program
Statement of Responsibility:
by Charles Burdett, Heinrich Zschokke, and Esther Copley.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
027034441 ( ALEPH )
45568701 ( OCLC )
ALJ0861 ( NOTIS )

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YOUTH’S

STORY BOOK.

BY

CHARLES BURDETT,
HEINRICH ZSCHOKKE,
AND

ESTHER COPLEY.

NEW-YORK :
D. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY.

PHILADELPHIA:
GEO. S. APPLETON, 164 CHESNUT-ST.

1851.






NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER I.
THE POOR WIDOW’S BOY.

On a cold and stormy night in the month
of December, 18—, a little boy, whose age,
perhaps, might be twelve or fourteen years,
was standing, shaking and shivering, on the
corner of Broadway—that great thoroughfare
in the greatest city of this Union—and one of
the numerous streets which cross it from east
to west. The snow, which had been falling for
several hours, and which covered the ground
several inches in depth, was still driving through
the streets with violence, and the cold northeast
wind forced it through even the smallest crev-
ices. Very few persons were in the streets, and
such as were compelled to be out from their
homes, were hurrying along with rapid pace,
their persons sheltered from the violence of the
storm by warm and comfortable cloaks or coats,
and their faces buried within their ample folds
‘of collars to shield them from the driving snow.



NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER I.
THE POOR WIDOW’S BOY.

On a cold and stormy night in the month
of December, 18—, a little boy, whose age,
perhaps, might be twelve or fourteen years,
was standing, shaking and shivering, on the
corner of Broadway—that great thoroughfare
in the greatest city of this Union—and one of
the numerous streets which cross it from east
to west. The snow, which had been falling for
several hours, and which covered the ground
several inches in depth, was still driving through
the streets with violence, and the cold northeast
wind forced it through even the smallest crev-
ices. Very few persons were in the streets, and
such as were compelled to be out from their
homes, were hurrying along with rapid pace,
their persons sheltered from the violence of the
storm by warm and comfortable cloaks or coats,
and their faces buried within their ample folds
‘of collars to shield them from the driving snow.



10 NEVER TOO LATE.

On such a night as this a little boy, whose
age, as I have said, might have been twelve or
fourteen years, was standing on the corner of the
street just named, and his appearance, as well
as it could be discerned by the light of a dimly-
burning street lamp near which he stood, or
rather moved about to keep from freezing, was
such as to excite the deepest sympathy. His
little feet were covered by a pair of old cast-off
shoes, many sizes too large for him, which he
had picked up from the streets; but they af-
forded no protection from the cold and snow
which penetrated their open seams. His other
garments were sadly rent and scarce covered
his shivering body, and, with his hands deep-
buried in his pockets, and his face bowed down
to screen it from the snow, he stood there bare-
headed, seeking charity.

“« Please, sir,”’ he said to a gentleman, who
passed him rapidly, wrapped in a cloak, with
his cap drawn down over his face— Please,
sir, give me something for my sick mother.”

‘“*Go home, go home, and don’t stand here
begging on such a night as this,” was the gruff
reply, as the wayfarer passed on, and rudely
freed himself from the grasp of the shivering
boy (who had, in his anxiety, seized hold of his
cloak), little dreaming how cheerless was the
home to which he bade him return.

‘* Home,” muttered the little, shiveriag’ boy 3



THE POOR WIDOW’S BOY. 11

it won’t be a home long, poor as it is, if I
don’t get something to-night.”

*¢ Oh, sir, for God’s sake, give me some-
thing!” he exclaimed, as he saw another per-
son about passing him. ‘ My mother is very
sick, and I am afraid she will die if I can’t get
something for her.”

“‘ That’s the old story, boy. How much
have you got to-day?” he asked, with a sneer,
as he too passed on.

Another and another passed hurriedly on,
heedless of his demands, and the little fellow’s
heart sank within him. He was nearly frozen
himself, but the thought of the dearly-loved
and suffering mother at home cheered him up,
and he felt almost ready to stand there and
freeze into eternity, rather than return to her
empty-handed. ‘The tears came involuntarily
to his eyes; but, hastily brushing them away
with the sleeve of his ragged jacket, he ap-
proached another person, who was coming
toward him.

‘* My poor dear mother!” was all he could
say, for his heart was too full for words; and
he was now so chilled with the cold he could
scarcely. articulate a word intelligibly.

The person accosted was a young man who,
perhaps, had seen eight-and-twenty summers,
and, as he heard the voice of the little mendi-
eant, ‘he raised. his face from the folds of his
cloak and stopped before him.



12 NEVER TOO LATE.

‘‘ My dear mother,” sobbed the boy, as well
as he could articulate between grief and cold,
encouraged by the stranger’s stopping.

“‘ Poor boy !”” exclaimed the stranger; ‘‘ how
long have you been standing here ?”

“‘ Nearly two hours, sir,” replied the boy,
whose spirits were at once cheered and en-
livened by hearing words of compassion, and
who forgot his own sufferings, for the moment,
in the prospect of being able to alleviate those
of his mother.

“Two hours in such a storm and in such a
dress! Did you say you wanted it for your
mother? Here, I am not rich, but, in the
name of the Lord, take what I have, and much
good may it do your mother ;” and, thrusting
a few pieces of silver into the boy’s hand, he
would have passed on, but his cloak was seized
with a firm grasp, and he was compelled to
pause while the little fellow poured out the
grateful feelings of his heart. His manner and
language struck the stranger with surprise, and,
asking the boy where his mother lived, he
passed on.

The little beggar, in his joy at obtaining a
prize so far beyond his expectations, forgot his
own sufferings, forgot his cold, forgot, indeed,
all but the beloved mother, whose sufferings
he hoped to be able to alleviate, and, with tears
of joy streaming down his wasted cheeks, he
hurried onward -to his home, his heart bound-



THE POOR WIDOW’S BOY. 13

ing with such emotions as can only be felt or
imagined by those similarly situated.

In a small room in the basement of an old
franie house in A street, destitute of ev-
erything which might be called furniture, if I
except a bundle of straw in one corner, covered
by an old tattered fragment of a blanket, three
females are assembled. ne is lying upon the
straw, and evidently her last hour is at hand ;
the others are inhabitants of the same house,
scarcely better circumstanced than herself; but
the sympathy which is always to be met with
in the female heart has drawn them to the dy-
ing couch of the sufferer.

“Poor thing!” said one of them; ‘‘ how
she has suffered! 1 almost wish I was as
near my end as she is; and she was so good,
too.”

“Yes; you never heard her complain,
though I really think she has actually starved
to death!”

** God be merciful to the poor!’’ was all the
response.

At that moment the female on the straw
groaned heavily, and the two strangers drew
nearer to her side. She was evidently near
the end of her career on earth.

‘Can I do anything for you?” asked one
of the humble sympathisers.

‘“My poor boy! my poor dear boy!”’ feebly
gasped the dying woman; “what will become

2





14 NEVER TOO LATE.

of him? Oh, Lord, take him in thy keep-
ing.”
e Yes, the Lord will, I know,” replied the
other; “1 know he will, for the sake of the
humble, trusting mother. He will guard and
guide him, I know.”

«¢Oh, Lord, save and protect my boy, and
forgive my sins,” exclaimed the dying woman
with a last effort, and, heaving a few heavy
gasps, she was no more. .

“ She is gone,”’ said one of the watchers—
‘‘ gone to a better world. She will never suffer
again.”

“ But,” said the other, ‘‘ what will become
of that boy? Her very soul was wrapped up
in him, and he was as fondly devoted to her ;
it will break his little heart, I know it will.
Where is he now ?”

‘« He went out to beg something a long time
ago; but, poor little fellow, I should almost be
afraid he would freeze to death, he has been
out so long in this dreadful storm, and he so
thinly clad !”*

«« He is an uncommon child, is he not?”’

‘“ Yes, he is, indeed; and his mother was an
uncommon woman. I never knew how it hap-
pened she was so dreadfully reduced ; byt any
one could see she had been used to better
things. I never heard her murmur;. she seem-
ed to live only because God willed it, and for
the sake of that bey. He is a good boy, tae;



THE POOR WIDOW’S BOY. 15

and if he don’t forget the good lessons he has
learned from his poor dead mother, he will
grow into a good man. Here he comes; I
know the little fellow’s steps,” she added, as
the subject of their conversation was heard
stamping the snow from his shoes, before he
descended the stairs which led to his desolate
home—alas ! no more a home for him.

‘¢ Flere, mother, dear mother! see what the
Lord has sent you! Enough to buy food and
fire, and medicine, too. Dear mother, I am so
happy now!” exclaimed the little fellow whom
we have seen begging in Broadway, as he hasti-
ly entered the room and approached the mis-
erable pallet where he had left his mother a
few hours before.

As he received no reply to his exclamation,
and perceived no motion, he imagined that she
was asleep, and, turning to the women, who
were crouched on the floor close to a few
cinders which were smouldering in the fire-
place, he exhibited to them the silver which
had been given to him, and asked in a low
voice, as if fearing to awaken his mother, “See
that! is not there enough to make her com-
fortable? How long has she been asleep ?”

“Not long, my boy,” replied one of the
women, “not very long; but it will be very
long before she will awaken.”

The truth flashed at once across the mind
of the devoted son, and, springing to the hum-



16 NEVER TOO LATE.

ble couch where the body was lying, he seized
one of the hands, and found it icy cold.

«Oh, my mother! my deaz, dear mother!
why did youdie? Oh, my poor mother: Oh,
dear mother, speak to me once more, only
once more! Do speak to me once!” and he
threw himself on the floor by her side, and,
placing his little face close to that of the sense-
less corpse, pressed his lips on the forehead of
her whom he loved so truly, and sobbed as if
his heart would break.

The women saw how vain it would be to
attempt to check the grief of the affectionate
boy, and how useless it would be to offer con-
solation ; but, noiselessly stealing from the
room, they left the boy alone with the remains
of his dearly-loved parent. The little fellow
made the walls resound with his exclamations
of grief, and his calls on his ‘‘dear mother” to
speak to him only once more, were heart-rend-
ing.

But the voice of her whom he loved so
dearly, and for whom he would cheerfully
have laid down his life, was never more to sa-
lute his ears, and, at length, being fairly ex~
hausted with the violence of his grief, he sob-
bed himself to sleep, his arm clasping the neck
of the corpse, and his little face laid close to
her own. And thus the night was spent—the
living and the dead alone in that cold and deso-
late apartment.



THE RICH MAN’sS SON. 17

CHAPTER I.
THE RICH MAN'S SON.

On the same night, and at the same time as
has just been described in a preceding chap-
ter, Mr. Rawson, a wealthy merchant of New
York, was seated before a glowing fire in the
parlor of his elegant mansion in B. street.
He had been reading one of the daily papers,
but it had fallen unnoticed from his hand, and
he was evidently lost in deep meditation, from
which he was aroused by some person ap-
proaching him from behind, and imprinting a -
kiss upon his broad and manly forehead.

He started, and looking upward, exclaimed :
** Ah, my dear, Iam glad you have come down
at last ; I was at that moment thinking of our
boy, and you have come just in time to help
me form some plans; sit down.”

Mrs. Rawson, a lovely and amiable woman
in the most worldly meaning of those terms,
drew a chair close to her husband, and laughing,
said :.“‘I suppose you were thinking that I had
spoiled: him.”

“Why not exaetly that you had spoiled him,

Qe



18 NEVER TOO LATE.

my dear, but that you certainly would do so,
if I did not check you before you go much far-
ther with him.”

‘s That is the way you always talk, Edward ;
you know very well, that there is no only child
who was ever petted less than Eugene, and for
one so delicate, I think hardly care enough is
taken of him.”

‘‘ Yes,” laughed Mr. Rawson, “ you may
well say delicate, for after you have stuffed
him with trash one day, you physic him the
next, and that is enough to make any child
delicate. But we won't talk about that now.
Eugene is now old enough at least to begin to
learn something. Let me see, he will be four-
teen next August, I believe, and he does not
know as much as boys ordinarily do at ten
or twelve at the utmost. He is very far be-
hind his age.”

‘Oh, fie, you know better than that, Ed-
ward. The boy is well mannered, and is
quite as well educated as any boy of his age ;
besides, I think his health is so delicate, he
ought not to be pushed in his studies yet
awhile. It might injure him very seriously.”

‘“ be very soon, I assure you; for if you let him
go much longer in ignorance, he will find it
very difficult to learn at all. I had nearly
made up my mind to send him to boarding-
school in the country next spring.”



THE RICH MAN’S BON. 19

és Well, Edward, I must say that is the most
unkind word you have spoken to me for a long
time. To think of sending my only darling
boy away from his mother at such an age.
What would become of him, if he was taken
sick away from me? Ishould not have a min-
ute’s peace, I am sure I should not.”

‘«©T think there is much less danger of his
being taken sick away from you, than you ap-
prehend. If he is sent to a good school in
the country, he will have plenty of exercise,
fresh air, and no trash—nothing but whole-
some food and hard study.”

‘¢ Now, Edward, don’t talk any more of send-
ing Eugene away. I can’t listen to it. The
very thought of it makes me unhappy. He
can not stand hard study yet.”.

“Well, my dear, I don’t want you to be
unhappy if I can avoid it; so at present I will
say no more about boarding-schools; but he
must go to school somewhere, that is settled.
Here he comes himself; let us see what he
has to say about it.”

Master Eugene Rawson, as he entered the
room, certainly belied the assertion of his
mother as to his extreme delicacy, for he was
to all outward appearance, a hearty, handsome,
lusty boy.

‘© Come here, my son,” said Mr. Rawson,
and as the boy came up to him, the father took
from his hand a large piece of rich cake upon

e



20 NEVER TOO LATE.

which he was busily engaged when he made
his appearance. ‘‘ Now, my son,” he con-
tinued, as he threw the cake in the fireplace,
with a ‘“‘ pshaw,’”’ “we bave made up our
minds that you are old enough to begin to
learn something, and I intend to send you to
school; what do you say to it?”

Eugene looked at his father a moment, and
seeing that he was serious, turned to his
mother; she too appeared the same, and he
promptly answered :—

‘* Well, father, I have no objections. I don’t
see why I can’t go school as well as other boys.
Iam sure you can’t say I ain’t old enough.”

Mrs. Rawson felt more than half vexed that
her son was so willing to part from her and go
to school; but she said nothing lest he should
chime in with his father’s wishes, and go to a
boarding-school away from her; and he added:
*¢ The other day I was talking with Mr. Jones’s
son, Edward, the youngest you know, pa, and
he went on telling me about what he was learn-
ing, till I was glad to get clear of him, for I
was ashamed that he should know so much,
and I not know anything.”

“Well, you shall not have cause to be
ashamed on that account any longer. You
shall go to Mr. Beach’s school next week, and
1 hope you will soon be able to converse with
Edward Jones without having cause to feel
ashamed of your ignorance. ‘There, you had



THE RICH MAN’S SON. 23

etter go to bed now; it is late for you, and I
nave much to say to your mother.”

Eugene Rawson was, as has been said, the
only child of wealthy parents, but the few words
ne has spoken, have convinced the reader, I
trust, that he was not utterly spoiled. ‘True,
his mother had petted and indulged him in ev.
erything, but he had fortunately much natural
good sense, and while he claimed and received
every indulgence he desired, he was kind, af-
fectionate, and in a measure obedient. He
had grown up to the age of fourteen years
without any fixed principles for good or evil,
and was just of the age when example makes
the strongest impression on the youthful mind.
He had early shown an inclination for every-
thing connected with the water, and his taste
for boats and such toys, had caused his moth-
er the greatest uneasiness, lest he should take
it into his head to go to sea. Although it is
my purpose to follow Eugene through the
changing scenes of his life, it is proper I should
say now, that while his parents indulged the
fondest anticipations for him, they had taken
no pains to found his character upon the. only
sure basis, that of religion ; and consequently,
even at the age of fourteen years, when he is
first brought to the reader's notice, he is thor-
oughly unacquainted with everything connected
with that most important requisite to human
happiness, knowing only that he was taken oc-



22 NEVER TOO LATE.

casionally to church, where he was permitted
to read or sleep, as best suited his fancy, and
considering it indeed rather a hardship to go
at all.

Mr. and Mrs. Rawson passed in the world
for estimable people. They were wealthy,
gave excellent entertainments, moved in the
first circles, and had everything about them
which wealth could procure to render them
happy. Indeed, they had so much to attach them
to this world and its fleeting pleasures, they
had neither of them cast a thought upon the
great hereafter. And yet they fancied they
were happy. All their hopes were centred
in Eugene, and as he would be the sole inher-
itor of his father’s wealth, it was their purpose
to educate him in such a manner, as should fit
him, in their estimation, for the rank and stand-
ing in the world which he would occupy. It
was of course intended that he should follow
nominally some profession, and Mrs. Rawson
had lately begun to look forward with some
anxiety to the period when that should be
fixed upon, as she had, as I have said before,
a secret presentiment that he would choose ‘a
life on the ocean wave.”

Mr. and Mrs. Rawson remained in conver-
sation for a long time after their son had re-
tired, and lest the reader should imagine that
they were planning for his future career, I will
mention, that they were discussing the propri-



THE RICH MAN’S SON. 23

ety of giving an entertainment to a distinguished
foreigner, who had recently arrived, and to
whom they had been introduced at a party a
few evenings previous. The discussion was
long and animated, but was at length termina-
ted in favor of the foreigner, and it was settled
that it was to be the most magnificent entertain-
ment of the season.

After this important question was settled,
Mr. and Mrs. Rawson turned the conversation
upon the probable prospects of Eugene. Mr.
Rawson, who in the ordinary acceptation of
the term, was a man of good sense, was wil-
ling that the choice of a profession should be
left entirelv to his son; but Mrs. Rawson, hav-
ing ever the fear of the sea before her eyes,
and ever present to her mind, was for select-
ing one for him, and urgin,, him to pursue it.
Nothing definite was decided upun, both hav-
ing the good sense to think that it was rather
too early to form plans, or select a profession
for a boy, who had as yet given no indications
of being qualified for anything whatever, at
least so far as mental culture was concerned.

Meanwhile, Eugene lay upon his luxurious
couch, his little head filled with visions of a
beautiful model of a vessel he had that day
seen, and he worked himself up to a pitch of
unbounded enthusiasm, by fancying himself
the captain of just such a vessel, on a larger
scale. His mother came into his room as was



24 NEVER TOO LATE.

her custom before she retired to bed, and was
surprised to find her son still awake, and she
was almost struck dumb with astonishment,
when he abruptly addressed her as she entered
and said, ‘“‘ Mother, I am going to be a sailor,
I have made up my mind to that.”

Mrs. Rawson knew it was of no use to say
anything at that moment in opposition to his
views, so she merely answered, ‘‘ Well, well,
we will see about that one of these days; go
to sleep now ;” and left him, almost crying
with vexation to see that his thoughts ran con-
tinually upon the sea.

She communicated to her husband the oc-
currence just detailed, and he received it with
a hearty laugh, as he fancied to himself, his
son, brought up in the indulgence of every
luxury, dressed as a sailor, and working in
his tarry clothes about a vessel. Mrs. Raw-
son did not like to have her feelings, as she
conceived trifled with, and was somewhat in-
clined to be angry with her husband for laugh-
ing at her, but was pacified when he assured
her that however his boy’s fancy might run
now, he was well assured, that when the real-
ity was presented to him, his ambition to be~
come a sailor would be dissipated, and they
would hear no more of it. Mrs. Rawson could
not, however, conquer her secret misgivings,
and only hoped that something would occur
to drive this all-absorbing idea from iiis mind.



LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT 25

CHAPTER III.
LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT.

I tert the living and the dead lying beside
each other in the desolate chamber in A
street, and let us now return to that cheerless
abode. The boy is still asleep, and so sound
are his slumbers one might almost fancy he had
gone to join his loved parent in the world of
spirits. Soon after daybreak the orphan boy
awoke, and again the reality of his desolate sit-
uation came upon him with fearful force. He
kissed again and again the cold lips of her who
could no more return, as she had ever fondly
done, his warm caress, and, when the poor fe-
males who had watched by the bedside of the
dying woman on the previous night, entered
the room in the morning, the boy. was found
kneeling by the head of his mother’s corpse,
and pouring out his soul in prayer.

The proper persons were despatched by the
city authorities to bury the deceased, and be-
fore night the orphan was alone in the world,
even the corpse of his beloved mother having
been taken from his sight for ever. It were a

3





26 NEVER TOO LATE.

useless attempt to describe the grief of the af-
fectionate boy as the ‘‘ dead-cart’”” moved away,
bearing the remains of his mother to their last
resting-place ; but, amid all his wretchedness
and misery, and the feeling of utter desolation
which overwhelmed him, he had one source
of consolation which, young as he was, he had
learned to prize and to appreciate. He could
commune with his heavenly Father, and,
strengthened by grace from above, was ena-
bled to bear up against the emotions of despair
and sorrow which struggled for the mastery of
his soul.

It is, perhaps, proper now that the reader
should know something of the history of this
boy, whose future career, I trust, will prove
of some interest to those who may become ac-
quainted with it.

Mrs. Edgar, his mother, was the widow of
a captain from the east, who, as is too often
the case with those who follow the sea for a
livelihood, had spent his money as fast as he
had earned it, and, when he died, left his wid-
ow destitute, with one child, George, to pro-
vide for. Mrs. Edgar was an orphan girl,
whom he had met in a southern city during
one of his voyages. Her parents were but
moderately wealthy, and had given her such
an education as would render her at once use-
ful and accomplished. She had the advantage
of a pious mother, to whose mit.u the necessi-



LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT. 27

ty of instilling religious principles into the
mind when it was yet untainted by contact
with the’world was ever present, and Maria
grew up in the fear of the Lord, growing in
grace from day to day, and, as we have seen
her, closing her career here, in the full hope
that, with all her imperfections, sins, and guilt,
the intercession of the blessed Redeemer, in
whom alone she had placed all her hope and
trust, would prevail for her, and that she would
be admitted into the eternity of bliss above,
provided for those who have loved and served
him here below. She was, when young, the
favorite of a kind-hearted and wealthy uncle,
who was unmarried, and who had often prom-
ised that she should be his heiress; but he had
gone on a voyage to the East Indies shortly
before her marriage with Mr. Edgar, and, as
no tidings had ever been heard from him since
his departure, it was presumed he had perish-
ed at sea, and he was mourned as one de-
parted.

When Mrs. Edgar was left a widow, George
was quite young, too young to be of any ser-
vice to her; but his devoted affection and obe-
dience amply repaid her for all the care and
toils she had to encounter while struggling to
maintain them both by her needle. At a very
early age he was taught to love and fear God,
and the sincerity and fervency with which he
Joined in the humble devotions in which she



38 NEVER TOO LATE.

daily engaged, was a source of pleasure to the
widow’s heart, which worlds of mere earthly
gratification could not have tempted her to part
with ; and she felt often constrained to thank
God that she was not wealthy, lest the influ-
ence of the world, and its deceitful pleasures
that kill the soul, should be brought to bear
upon his young mind, and lead him astray from
the path of virtue and morality.

The story of her destitution is, unfortunate-
ly, too common to render it necessary for me
to repeat it here. Sickness had overtaken her,
and, having no longer the health to use her
needle, poverty and deep distress came on her.
One by one every article required for comfort,
as well as necessity, was parted with, until, at
the last, when her sufferings were ended here,
and she was called to enjoy the happiness
which her faith had taught her to expect here-
after, she had nothing left which she could call
her own, except a ring containing some of her
mother’s hair, which her uncle had given her,
and which no necessity could induce her to
part with. This ring her son secured after his
mother had left him for ever; and this, with a
lock of her own hair, was all he had left of her
who loved him with all the fervor of a pious
mother’s love.

George Edgar felt that he was now indeed
alone in the world, but he would not despair,
for his trust was in God; and after he had



LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT. 29

seen the remains of his mother removed to
their last resting-place, he returned to the lone-
ly chamber she had occupied, and there, in
deep humility, implored Divine guidance and
protection.

He was sadly off, indeed, for clothing, as
we have already seen; but he had the good
sense to know that he could procure neither
clothing ner employment by sitting still and
grieving. Commending himself, therefore, to
the protection of God, he started off, deter-
mined to leave no effort untried that could
procure him employment of some kind by
which he might earn a subsistence, be it ever
so scanty.

He strayed down toward the docks on the
East river, and went on board several vessels,
offering himself as a boy to go before the mast.
His appearance, however, was much against
him, for all classes are but too apt to form
opinions from outward appearances, and the
best of men are sometimes prejudiced against
the worthy and deserving, solely from their
outward indications of poverty and distress.

George had almost begun to despair, as he
was weak, cold, and hungry ; but, trusting still
in Divine mercy, he persevered. Toward the
close of the day, after he had wandered about
without tasting a morsel ef food, and almost
perishing with cold, he went on board a brig
which, from appearances, was just ready to

3*



30 NEVER TOO LATE.

sail on her voyage, and, on reaching the deck,
he approached a large, portly man, whom he
took to be the captain.

«Do you want a boy, sir?” he asked mild
ly, endeavoring to restrain the tears which his
bodily sufferings and the fear of another disap-
pointment had forced from his eyes.

The captain, for such he was, eyed him for
one moment, and said, ‘* What can you do on
board ship ?”

“IT can learn to do anything, sir,” replied
George.

“What is your name ?”

“‘ George Edgar, sir.”

‘Where are your parents, and where do
they live? Do they know you want to go to
sea?”

‘“‘ My father died many years ago, sir, and
my poor mother died last night.”

“¢ Poor fellow !”’ said Captain Hart. ** What
was your father ?”

‘“‘ He was a sea-captain, sir,” replied George,
somewhat proudly.

“Then you have no friends here at all?”
inquired Captain Hart.

‘““None but God, sir,” was the meek re-
ply...
“You are the boy I want, George,” said
the worthy captain in benevolent tones. ‘You
are just the boy for me; and if you trust in
God, he will soon make friends for you. But



LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT. 31

you seem frozen half to death. Are you not
very cold ?”

“ Very, sir, and very hungry, for I have not
tasted a mouthful of food to-day.”

‘¢ Here, doctor! doctor !’’* the captain ex-
claimed, as a stout negro came out of the gal-
ley and ran aft; ‘here, take this youngster
and give him something to eat—plenty of it—
and then go in the cabin and get him some of
the clothes that young vagabond left the other
day when he ran away. George, you go with
the doctor, and when you have warmed your-
self you may come down in the cabin, and I
will see what I can do for you. Poor fellow!
half frozen and half starved! How much we
have to be thankful for !”

George could not say anything, for his heart
was too full; but the tear of gratitude coursed
down his wan cheek, as he silently followed
the cook into the galley. The good-hearted
negro set before him a kid? filled with good
and wholesome provisions, such as had not
passed his lips for many a day, and he watched
the poor lad with eager interest, as he silently
and thankfully devoured his meal.

“‘T tell you what, youngster, you may
thank God you came across Captain Hart.

* « Doctor” is the term always applied to the cooks
of merchant vessels. .

t A wooden vessel, in which the victuals for the:
crew are put, when cooked. -



32 NEVER TOO LATE.

There an’t many such men as he on blue wa-
ter.”

‘I do thank God with all my heart for
this, and for all his other mercies,’ replied
George.

‘‘That’s a fine fellow. I am only a poor
nigger; but I have sailed with Captain Hart
these seven years, and I would not leave him
for all the brig could carry. He is the best
‘man and the kindest captain I ever sailed
with ; he’ll make a man of you, I promise
you. T used to curse, and swear, and drink,
like a brute; but Captain Hart, God bless
‘him, has showed me better things than that,
although I am only a poor negro cook, and I
guess he hain’t got many men who would go
farther for him than the old doctor. But come,
eat away, and I will go down and get you
some clothes. We had a young scamp aboard
last voyage ; but he did not like to have Cap-
tain Hart talk to him about God, so he ran
-away, and left his clothes. They will just
about fit you.”

When George had finished his meal, which
he devoured with a grateful heart, the cook
dressed him out in a suit of warm and com-
fortable sailor’s clothing; and so great was the
alteration in his appearance, he would hardly
shave been recognised as the same boy. His
countenance was remarkablv intelligent, and,



LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT. 33

beaming, as it now was, with gratitude and
happiness, he appeared to. great advantage.

On descending the cabin hatchway, he found
Captain Hart looking over some charts; but,
when he perceived George, he came up to him,
and turning him around two or three times,
and gazing earnestly on his beaming counte-
nance, he exclaimed, ‘‘ You are cut out for a
sailor, and I hope you won’t be spoiled in the
making and disappoint me.”

‘‘T will try with my whole heart to please you,
sir,” said George.

**T don’t doubt it. You don’t look like a
bad boy, and if you do please me, you may
find many a harder man to serve than old Jack
Hart. But I must tell you first off—I never
permit any man on board my ship to swear, and
T allow no drinking among my crew.”

*¢T never swore an oath in my life, sir, and,
please God, I never mean to. I have been
brought up to know that God ‘will not hold
him guiltless who taketh his name in vain ;’
and if I had ever so great an inclination to
drink, the remembrance that you forbid it
would stop me.”

“* Well, that’s spoken likea man. You have
been well brought up, whoever your parents
were, and if you go through life with such
principles, you need never fear but you will
anchor safe at last. I will take you this trip
on trial, and if you suit me, you need not look



34 NEVER TOO LATE

for another berth, unless you choose, for I
never want any man to sail with me who does
not like to. My wife and girls are coming
down to-morrow to see the brig before I sail,
so you can help the doctor put the cabin in or-
der.”

‘‘ God bless you, sir,” said the grateful boy,
grasping the hard hand of the worthy captain.
“1 hope I shall please you, for I want to do
so, and I am sure I shall try.”

‘¢ Well, well, go along now, and tell the
doctor to come aft and get things in order.”

George had seen the old cook come when
the captain called for the doctor, and was about
ascending the hatchway, when Captain Hart
called him back, and asked if there was any-
thing he wanted.

‘© You have left me nothing to wish for; but,
if you please, I wish you would do something
for me. This,” he added, pulling the ring and
lock of his mother’s hair from his breast (for he
had hung it around his neck by a string)“ this
is my poor mother’s; will you please to keep
it safe for me; and, if you please, sir, to lend
me a bible, so that I can read when I have
time.”

*‘ Yes, that I will, George,” said Captain
Hart, taking the ring; “and I will tell one of
the girls to get a small bible for you. I wish
there were more boys to ask for that book.”

George then went on deck, and, going to



LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT. 35

the galley, related to the cook what had occur-
red'in the cabin; and the good-hearted old
negro received the news with real pleasure, for
little as he had seen of George, he had become
quite attached to him by his deportment and
manners. He promised to make a sailor of
him, and, while they were at work in the cabin,
gave him a great deal of advice in his own
homely way ; but it was all good, and George
listened respectfully, for he felt his need of a
friend, though that friend should be a negro
cook.

The day was passed by George in such work
as was pointed out to him by the cook, and at
night he retired to rest in the forecastle, not,
however, until he had poured out his soul in
grateful praise and thanks to the Great Dispo-
ser of events, whose goodness had provided for
him so kind a friend and protector in his hour
of direst need.



36 NEVER TOO LATE

CHAPTER Iv.
THE MIDSHIPMAN’S WARRANT.

In the morning Eugene Rawson awoke with
his head full of the sea and the pleasures of a
sailor’s life, and he brought tears to his moth-
er’s eyes at the breakfast table by interrupting
the conversation very suddenly, and exclaim-
ing, ‘“‘I have made up my mind to go to sea,
mother.”

‘s Why, Eugene !” said his mother, who had

‘ hoped it was only the whim of a moment, which
would pass off, ‘are you crazy? You go to
sea! Think once, what would you have done
last night in such a storm, and the snow flying
so, if you had been at sea, and were forced to
walk the deck all night, instead of being seated
‘by a comfortable fire, or nicely covered up in
‘bed. Don’t be so foolish, my son. You could
never live through one voyage.”

‘¢7 don’t care for that, mother. Mr. Jones’s
son has just been appointed a midshipman, and
I mean to be a midshipman, too. Won't you
ihave me appointed, father ?”

‘*No; he will not,” interrupted Mrs. Raw-



THE MIDSHIPMAN’S WARRANT. $7

son. “ He will do no such thing, I am sure,
for I will not consent to it. Will you, Mr.
Rawson?”

‘*‘ Why, [am rot sure but it is the best thing
we can do forhim. A naval officer has certain-
ly an honorable position, and I do not see why
Eugene might not rise there as well as others,
who have had fewer advantages. For my own
part, I see no very serious objections to grati-
fying him, except the great difficulty of pro-
curing an appointment.”

Eugene’s eyes sparkled with undisguised
pleasure as his father spoke, while Mrs. Raw-
son could have cried with vexation to hear
him. She exclaimed, before Eugene had time
to say a word, “ Why, Mr. Rawson, you can
not be in earnest! Just think of Eugene go-
ing away for three years at a time, and who
knows what habits or associations he might
form in that time.”

“* That is all very well,” replied her hus-
band, who seemed to have made up his mind;
‘but, as I can not expect always to have him
near me, I must take care to place him with
such a man as will see to that for me.”

“Oh, father, you need not be afraid of chat.
I know enough of a midshipman’s life to guess
what it is, and, as I want to go to sea so very
badly, I hope you will try and get me an ap-
pointment, instead of sending me off as a sail-
or, for I would rather go before the mast than

4



°

38 NEVER TOO LATE.

not go to sea; and to sea I am bent on go-
in ad

e Before the mast !”’ ejaculated the horror-
struck mother. ‘My son a common sailor,
with tarry hands and greasy clothes! I should
never survive such a sight. If you must go,
why can’t your father make you a captain at
once? I am sure he is rich enough to buy a
vessel for you.”

Mr. Rawson could not stand this, but laugh-
ed so heartily at his wife’s ideas of making his
son a captain off-hand, that she arose from the
table, and was quitting the room, really hurt
and offended; but he brought her back, and,
when he had smoothed down his face to some-
thing approaching seriousness, he explained to
her how utterly ridiculous was such a proposi-
tion. He showed her that years of toil and
danger were necessary to qualify a man for
the important trust of commanding a vessel,
and guiding her across the trackless ocean ;
but he satisfied her that, in the navy, the young
officer, if he possessed merit, even to medioc-
tity, was sure of eventual promotion, and, he
added, “as Eugene will not be compelled to
live upon his pay alone, 1 do not know of any-
thing | would rather see him select than a pro-
fession in which he may have the opportunity
of distinguishing himself so highly.”

Eugene, who had listened to his father with
commendable patience, conceived that all was



THE MIDSHIPMAN’S WARRANT. 39

now settled, and that the dearest wish of his
heart was soon to be gratified, and visions of
dirks, embroidered coats, and cocked hats,
flashed across his mind. Rising from the ta-
ble, and leaving his meal half finished, he
danced about the room in the exuberance of
his joy, which his mother’s tears and reproach-
es failed to check.

His father, however, soon brought him to
sobriety by explaining how difficult it was to
obtain an appointment as a midshipman in the
navy when there were so many applications,
and, even if he succeeded, it must be a long
time before it could be accomplished, as there
were, doubtless, many having prior claims te
him. Eugene listened patiently, and, having
extorted a pledge from his father to make im-
mediate application, he promised to pursue his
studies diligently until it was obtained, in order
that he might be at least on a par with those
with whom he might be associated in his new
profession, for he now considered it quite a
settled affair.

After Mr. Rawson had left the house to go
to his business, Mrs. Rawson used every ar
gument in her power to induce Eugene to
change his purpose ; but she herself had been
so accustomed to yield all to him, that he, at
length, succeeded in extorting from her a prom-
ise that she would make no more opposition
to his wishes. This impertant poiat being set-



40 NEVER TOO LATR.

tled, he went to school that day with as much
pleasure as he ever had felt in going to any
place of amusement. He felt that he was al-
ready sure of his appointment, and, although
his father had expressly forbidden him to men-
tion the conversation of the morning to any of
his schoolmates, he could not refrain from tell-
ing three or four of his confidential friends that
his father was going to get him a midshipman’s
warrant. Of course, the whole school soon
knew it, and while some of the boys gazed
upon him with feelings of envy, others, who
had never entertained such an idea, tormented
him wofully by telling stories (which they man-
ufactured) of certain captains who flogged their
midshipmen every day to make them grow.
Others told him of salt junk and hard biscuit ;
but he made up his mind not to believe any-
thing, and, as he had once dined with his fa-
ther on board a man-of-war with the lieuten-
ants, he fancied that he should always live in
the same manner; and though the table was
not so luxuriously furnished as that of his fa-
ther, he thought he could get along very well
with that.

The next day Mr. Rawson had some gen-
tlemen dining with him, and among them Com-
modore R. of the United States navy, and,
in the course of the conversation, after the cloth
had been removed, the subject of Eugene’s de-
sire for an appointment was talked of. Com-





THE MIDSHIPMAN’S WARRANT. 41

modore R: » who was under many obliga-
tions to Mr. Rawson, was pleased at the oppor-
tunity thus afforded him of repaying them in
a measure, and promised to use his best per-
sonal exertions to procure the warrant for Eu-
gene, and, as he intended going to the seat of
government on the following day, he could
urge the application with more prospect of
success in person than by writing.

Mr. Rawson prudently concealed this from
Eugene, lest, in case Commodore R
should fail in his application, the disappoint-
ment would prove so severe that he might be
tempted to go to sea before the mast; for his
heart was so bent upon followifg that profes-
sion, nothing, young as he was, could turn him
from it. Mrs. Rawson, however, was inform-
ed of the promised co-operation of the commo-
dore, and, as she had schooled herself to con-
tentment with the choice Eugene had made,
she hoped his efforts might not be unavailing ;
so that if her son must go to sea, he would, at
least, go as a gentleman.

While this important subject is yet unde-
cided, let us turn again to George Edgar,
whom we left assisting the cook in clearing up
the cabin of the “Irene,” for that was the
name of the brig commanded by Captain Hart,
who had fancifully christened his vessel (for he
had just launched her for her first voyage) after
his youngest and favorite daughter.

4*







42 NEVER TOO LATE.

George had worked so cheerfully, and ap-
peared so sincerely desirous of making him-
self acquainted with his duties, and rendering
himself useful on board the vessel, the old
doctor was wonderfully pleased with him. As
they had much time to spare before the ex-
pected visiters would arrive, the cook took
George about the vessel, explaining the names
of the different pieces of rigging, and the vari-
ous parts of the vessel—the ‘situations of the
rigging, their uses, &c.; to all of which he
was an earnest and attentive listener. This
done, they seated themselves in the galley,
and the cook interested his young listener with
the narration of some of his own adventures,
which approached somewhat too near the mar-
vellous for the credibility of the unsophis-
ticated boy; but he wisely kept his own
thoughts to himself, not choosing to offend his
new friend, even by appearing to doubt him.
To tell the truth, the doctor did deal rather
strongly in extravagances ; but he was only
like nearly all old sailors of his day, who have
spun their yarns so often, without having them
doubted, they actually believe them to be true;
and once this impression is fixed on the mind
of an old salt, nothing can offend him more
than to doubt the truth of any story, no matter
how fanciful or extravagant it might be.



THE RESCUE. 43

CHAPTER V.
THE RESCUE.

GrorcE was listening with deep attention
to a narrative of shipwreck in which the cook
had been one of the sufferers, when the noise:
of feet on deck aroused them, and, looking out,
they perceived Captain Hart with his wife and
three daughters. Captain Hart himself was,
as the reader has noticed, a pious man, and,
when I say that his whole family were brought
up to love and fear the Lord, I have said
enough to recommend them to the reader’s
favor. Mrs. Hart was an elderly, amiable
looking woman, and her countenance did am-
ple justice to her heart, which was filled with.
pure benevolence and Christian kindness.

The two eldest daughters were not beauti-
ful, but there was something peculiarly inter-
esting in their appearance, which attracted the
attention of observers, and commanded as well
admiration as respect. The youngest, and the
pet of the whole family, was Irene, who had
given her name to the beautiful vessel on board
of which she was now standing ; and she was:



44 NEVER TOO LATE

unlike either of her parents in everything. She
had light, flowing hair, bright, sparkling blue
eyes, and a countenance ever varying in its
expression ; but that expression was always
pleasing. She was a merry, laughing thing,
full of innocent playfulness, but so affectionate,
so dutiful, so obedient, she was the beloved
of all. At the age of twelve years, when she
is first introduced to the attention of the reader,
she promises a lovely womanhood, and, as her
heart is as pure as her face is beautiful, it is
not too much to say that she deserves all the
warm and ardent feelings she has inspired in
those so nearly connected with her.

When George saw who had come on board,
he came out from the galley, and, as he ap-
proached the spot where they were standing,
the manner in which the ladies observed him
convinced him that his kind protector had
spoken of him to them, and this consciousness
called to his face such an expression of grati~
tude mingled with happiness, as could not fail
of attracting their attention and exciting an in-
terest for him.

Irene, as soon as she saw him, fixed her
bright blue eyes upon him, and, after gazing
at him a moment, she ran up to him, and grasp-
ing his hand in both her own, said, “I know
‘pa will like you, and I am sure I shall, too.”

George blushed, but.said nothing, and, with
a laugh, the whole party proceeded aft and



THE RESCUE. . 45

descended into the cabin. After partaking of
the refreshments provided there, they came on
deck, and Captain Hart showed them around,
explaining the uses of some of the mysterious
appurtenances, and trying to give satisfactory
answers to the inquisitive Irene, who had most
of the talking to herself.

All at once she observed something hanging
up over the stern of the vessel, which attracted
her attention, and with a bound she sprang on
the taffrail to examine for herself. ‘The snow
which had fallen the previous day, had been
swept off, but there was a glaze left on the
wood, which she had not noticed. As she
planted her feet on the taffrail, they slipped
from under her, and a scream and splash gave
notice of the terrible catastrophe which had
occurred.

The whole family rushed to the stern of the
vessel, screaming with terror; and as they saw
the beautiful girl sink beneath the water, they
caught sight of another body descending with
the rapidity of lightning.

It was George, for he had seen Irene as she
fell, and without a moment’s hesitation, he
leaped overboard to rescue her. ‘The dock
where the brig lay, was filled with large masses
of floating ice, and for an instant, both were
lost sight of. In another moment the head of
George emerged from the water, and, placing
one hand on a cake of ice near which he rose,



ec NEVER TOO LATE.

he dragged to the surface the inanimate body
of Irene. The old cook, who had observed
the whole proceeding, sprang into a small boat
which was lying alongside, and with one push
sent it to the spot where George was hanging.
He dragged the young girl into the boat, and
George having scrambled in the best way he
could, he pushed it again alongside of the
brig, and mounted the side with Irene in his
arms.

The whole was accomplished so quickly,
and with such presence of mind, that before
the emotions of terror which had seized the
parents and sisters of the hapless girl had fair-
ly obtained the mastery of them, they were
succeeded by feelings of the contrary nature ;
for at the instant when it appeared that lrene
was gone for ever, she was rescued from the
watery grave which threatened to engulf her.

Captain Hart took his precious burden from
the arms of the cook, and descended into the
cabin, followed by all the family, as well as by
the cook and George. Providentially, Irene
had been rescued from the water so quickly,
that but little difficulty was experienced in re-
storing her to animation. This done, she was
wrapped up in blankets, and placed in one of
the state-rooms, while the cook was despatched
to the house for dry clothing.

As soon as George had the satisfaction of
knowing that Irene was recovering, he ascend-



THE RESCUE. 47

ed to the deck, and going to the galley, seated
himself before the fire; but he was of course
wet through and shivering dreadfully. He
was soon aroused by the voice of his kind cap-
tain calling him aft, who having seen his be-
loved daughter restored to consciousness, be-
thought him of her generous preserver.

George went into the cabin, and was at once
directed to go and chauge his clothes in the
state-room, where the boy’s chest had been
kept. This was soon done, for there was an
abundance of everything necessary for the
comfort of a seafaring boy, and in a few min-
utes he made his appearance in dry warm
clothing.

‘Come here, my boy,’ said Captain Hart,
while tears streamed down his weather-beaten
cheek, and as George approached him, he
laid his hand upon his head, and said with so-
lemnity, “‘May God bless and prosper you,
George. To your brave conduct we owe,
under God, the life of our beloved daughter.
I need not say how grateful we are. Hence-
forward 1am your friend, and so long as I
have a home and a crust of bread, you shall
share them with me. Let us return thanks to.
Almighty God for his wonderful mercy ;” and
falling upon his knees, as did all present, he
poured out, in language which was prompted.
by the feelings of a heart sincerely devoted to:
God, the grateful thanks he desired to render,.



48 NEVER TOO LATE.

for that his child which had been dead was re-
stored to hin.

It was a solemn and impressive scene. The
old grayheaded captain, who had passed near-
ly two score years upon the ocean wave, who
had passed through dangers and perils the most
imminent, from which he had been preserved
only by the kind providence of God—to see
him surrounded by his family, all shedding
tears of the most exquisite happiness, and to
hear him ascribing all the praise and the glory
to the great Disposer of all events, whose faith-
ful servant he was.

Trene was lying in the berth, and now, for
the first time, learned to whom she owed the
preservation of her life, and, as her father con-
cluded his praise and thanksgiving, in which she
joined with all her heart, she could not forbear
exclaiming through her tears, ‘‘ There, George,
I told you pa would like you, and I am sure I
shall always love you;” nor would she be con-
tented until she had kissed and thanked and
blessed him again and again.

George received the caresses of Mrs. Hart
and her daughters, and their congratulations
and praises of his bravery, with that modesty
‘which always accompanies true merit, and, as
he again mounted the steps and reached the
-deck, he felt that he would not at that moment
‘change places with the proudest monarch of
the earth. He walked forward and resumed



THE RESCUE. 49

his seat in the galley, and, while musing over
the wonderful occurrences of the day, he raised
his heart in devout thankfulness to God, who
had enabled him to be of such infinite service
to one who had proved a friend when all the
world had turned in coldness from his poverty
and distress.

The cook soon returned with clothes for
Irene, and, having called a coach, the ladies
were placed in it and driven home, while Cap-
tain Hart intended to follow on foot. George
and his negro friend had scarce time to con-
verse upon the accident which had occurred,
when the former was summoned by Captain
Hart to follow him, which he obeyed without
asking any questions. They had walked some
distance, when Captain Hart, who had appa-
rently been lost in meditation, suddenly ad-
dressed George, and said, “1 am going to
take you home to dine with me to-day. You
have rendered me a service, for which I can
never prove too grateful; and if you conduct
yourself as you have given me reason to hope
you me your future prosperity will be en-
sawed.

‘TJ shall trust in God, sir, and do my best;

but I don’t see why you make so much of my

going overboard after the little girl, I can

swim like a duck, and there was not the least

danger; besides, I am sure I would have
5



50 NEVER TOO LATE.

jumped over just as quick for any one else as
for her.”

‘‘] know that, George, and that is the rea-
son why I value the service the more. You
did not save my child because she was my
child, and the action is, therefore, the more
meritorious. But no matter now. So long as
you choose to stay with me and conduct your-
self properly, so long I wilt do my best to ad-
vance you, and if you don’t like to sail with
me, or follow the sea, I will try and get some-
thing else for you. Irene had bought a little
bible for you, but I believe she had it in her
pocket when she fell overboard, so it is spoiled
now; but she intends getting another for you,
and she wished me to bring you up to dinner
to give it to you herself.”

At the request of Captain Hart, George’
then gave him a history of his parents, as far
as he knew of it himself, and the terms of af-
fectionate endearment in which he spoke of
his mother, called tears not only to the eyes
of the orphan himself, but to those of his lis-
tener.

At the house of Captain Hart, George was
received by all the family with such warm-
hearted kindness that he forgot, as was in-
tended he should do, the difference in their
situations, and the ease and confidence of his
manners assured them that his natural talents
had been well and carefully cultivated. The



THE RESCUE. 51

impression he made upon Irene, who would
not quit his side for a moment, exhibited itself
in her exclaiming in the midst of an animated
conversation, “ Pa, I know George will sail
the Irene himself one of these days.”

“Yes, my child,” replied the worthy cap-
tain; ‘* and if he does ever sail her, I have no
doubt he will take as good care of the one as
he has of the other.”

Before they left the house Irene gave her
youthful preserver a pocket-bible, which she
had purchased for him, and in which she had
written his name; and when, at length, he took
his final leave, it was with the embraces and
heartfelt blessings of the whole family.

I hope the reader will not think I have been
too tedious or minute in relating these passa-
ges in the early history of the orphan boy. I
have endeavored only, thus far, to exhibit him
in such a light as will, I trust, induce you to
have patience with me, and follow him through
the successive pages which his history will fill.
We see him now, instead of a friendless, pov-
erty-stricken orphan, overwhelmed with de-
spair, comfortably situated in the employment
of a worthy, excellent man, who, though not
over-ready to form his estimates of human
character on a short acquaintance, was yet al-
most prepared to love the youthful preserver
of his child as though he were his son. I hope
no one will doubt the gratitude of the orphan,



52 NEVER TOO LATE.

not only to his earthly benefactor, but to the
great Disposer of events, who had so merci-
fully provided for him when his prospects were
so dark and dreary.

The crew of the vessel came on board the
next day, and Captain Hart, having provided
his young protegé with everything necessary
for his comfort, sent him forward in the fore-
castle to take his chance with the rest; but
not without having first given him such advice
for his conduct as was necessary for a boy
thrown thus among men, whose habits and
manners were so different from those he had
been accustomed to meet. He profited so
well by the advice of his worthy friend and
benefactor, and was so willing, obliging, and
respectful, to the old sailors, that they took a
fancy to him at once, and one old salt, who
had passed nearly thirty years at sea, adopted
him as his ‘ chicken,”’ this being a term which
the sailors always apply to a boy whom they
select as a pet. The berth of chicken is not
always the most enviable or desirable, for some
sailors are fond of thrashing their chickens un-
mercifully, as a payment, I suppose, for the
instruction they impart; but George had the
good fortune to secure the good will of one
who believed his chicken could’get along with-
out a thrashing.

The brig sailed the next day, and, after
briefly mentioning the route intended for her



THE RESCUE. 58

cruise, which would occupy about two years,
I will leave George for the present. The Irene
was bound to the west coast of South Ameri-
ca, where, after trading away her cargo at the
various ports from Cape Horn to Panama, she
would fill up and return home. The crew
consisted of the captain, two mates, and ten
men before the mast, besides George and the
old cook. And now that he is fairly off, I will
turn again to Eugene Rawson, the young aspi-
rant for a midshipman’s appointment.
6*



54 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER VI.
THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN.

Apour a week after the dinner party, at
which Commodore R. was present, a large
yellow package, addressed to ‘* Midshipman
Eugene Rawson,” was brought to the counting-
house of Mr. Rawson, and the frank of the secre-
tary of the navy assured Mr. R. that the applica-
tion of the kind commodore had been success-
ful. He was truly pleased himself, and could
scarcely forego the pleasure of sending it to
the school where Eugene was, not, I am bound
to say, studying his lessons, but filling his slate,
and the blank leaves of all his books, with rude
pictures of vessels in all possible positions.

When he went home t« dinner, Mr. Rawson
placed the package : =~ the plate Jaid for
Eugene, without having informed even his
wife of the success of Commodore "5
application. Eugene came in, as usual, late,
and, having seated himself, turned over his
plate, when the package caught his eye, and a
single glance at the superscription let him into
the truth at once. He tore it oven, and un-







THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN. 55

pounded indeed was his delight when he took
out his appointment as a midshipman in the
navy of the United States. The envelope con-
tained, in addition, a pattern for the embroid-
ered collar of his uniform, and orders to pro-
ceed to Norfolk with as little delay as practica-
ble and report to Commodore W. » for
duty, on board the sloop-of-war F , then
fitting for sea, for a voyage to the Pacific sta-
tion.

Mrs. Rawson could not restrain her tears as
she saw the exuberant delight with which Eu-
gene received the notice of his appointment.
In the bitterness of her own feelings, she for-
got for the moment that-he was but a boy, and
that it was but natural, considering the manner
in which he had been educated, to exhibit such
Joy at the gratification of his own desires, al-
though it cost his mother so much pain.

Mr. Rawson was pleased and grieved. He
was pleased that the road to honorable em-
ployment and preferment was thus opened to
his son, and he was grieved that his wife raised
80 many objections to his following a profes-
sion so honorable, in which distinction and ad-
vancement were the sure reward of merit.

It is not, however, my purpose to enter into
the feelings of a parent upon such an occasion,
nor shall [ inform them of the means Mr. Raw-
son took to reconcile his wife to a parting with
her son. Suffice it to say, that, as Eugene had







56 NEVER TOO LATE.

money at his command, his equipment was
soon completed, and in ten days from the re-
ceipt of his appointment and orders he was on
the road to Norfolk to join the F sloop-
of-war, which was destined for a three years’
cruise on the western coast of South America.

Before parting, his mother gave him much
advice as to his conduct, manners, &c. It
was such advice as a mother so eminently
worldly would give, and such as suited Eu-
gene exactly.

Having reported himself to the commodore
of the station, he received additional orders to
proceed at once on board the F » and, in
the course of a few hours, he found himself
installed in the steerage as one of the midship-
men of that vessel.

Two days after joining the vessel, he was
allowed to go on shore with some others, with
directions to return at an early hour in the
evening, and, having dressed himself in full
uniform, he was landed in the city. And now,
for the first. time, he felt his own importance.
Wherever he went his uniform commanded
respect and, from many, obsequiousness, which
was peculiarly agreeable to his feelings.

Having plenty of money, he soon found
plenty of friends, and a party was made up to
have what was termed a great day’s sport.
What that sport consisted of it is not material
to state; but the day closed upon Eugene







THE YOUNG B*‘DSHIPMAN 57

Rawson in a state of helpless intoxication, and
in that condition he was taken on board.

The next morning the first lieutenant, who
was a worthy, excellent officer, not disposed
to attribute all the follies of inexperienced youth
to confirmed vice, sent for him, and having
admonished him of the consequences which
would inevitably result from a continuance of
such a debasing habit, and having extracted
from him a promise not to be guilty of similar
misconduct for the future, he permitted him to
escape without punishment for that time.

When he returned to the steerage, Hugene
was laughed at for being such a weak-headed
boy as to get drunk so soon, and was advised
by some of the older midshipmen, who had
passed through many such scenes, to practise
a little more before he went on shore again for
a day’s sport.

Eugene was chafed by these sarcasms, and,
forgetting the kindness of the first lieutenant in
overlooking an offence so severely punishable
in the navy, he determined not to keep his
promise to that officer, but to be more cautious
for the future, and avoid, if possible, a repe-
tition of such a scene with the ‘first luff,” as
he had already learned to call him.

And now, reader, both boys are fairly start-
ed in the world. The one in the humblest
sphere in life, grateful for the situation of boy
before the mast in a merchant vessel; the oth-



58 NEVER TOO LATE.

er proud of his appointment as a midshipman,
proud of his uniform, and proud of the posi-
tion he holds by reason of his father’s wealth.

The one has ever before him the fear of
God, the remembrance that his all-seeing eye
is ever on him, and a heart filled with deep
gratitude to him for his merciful goodness.
The other has never learned to think of heav-
en, much less of the great hereafter. Schooled
only to dread the evil opinion of the world, he
is sent out in it with all the appliances that
wealth and rank can command, and with a
prospect, amounting to a certainty, of eventual
promotion.

It is my purpose to follow the career of
these two boys, in the humble hope that the |
examples afforded by a brief history of their
fortunes may point out to some one, at least,
the folly, the wickedness, and the danger of
looking only to the fleeting shadows of this
world for that happiness which the world never
yet has given, and never can give, to its vota-
ries.

The F sailed in about three weeks af-
ter Eugene joined her, from Norfolk, for the
western coast of South America; but, before
she departed, Eugene had so conducted him-
self that the first lieutenant was compelled to
set him down as a wilful, dissipated boy, and
he determined to put some check upon him
for the future, by restraining him from going





THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN. 59

on shore, this being a severe and often-tried
means of punishment, known among midship-
men as being “ quarantined.”

As Eugene had a natural taste for the sea,
he soon acquired some insight into his profes-
sion, and by the time the vessel reached Rio
Janeiro, where she stopped to fit for the bois-
terous passage around Cape Horn, he was
looked upon as a promising young officer.
The first lieutenant, however, had not forgot-
ten his conduct at Norfolk, and when his day
for going on shore came around (which, by
custom on board United States vessels-of-war,
is once in three days), he was mortified to
learn that he alone, of all the midshipmen, was
debarred from that privilege, and, as he con-
sidered that his father’s wealth must give him
a claim to the partiality, of the commander, he
determined to apply directly to him.

Proceeding at once to the commander, he
applied to him for permission to go on shore ;
but was peremptorily told that he must first
deserve such favors before he could expect
them. Thus rebuffed, he retired to the steer-
age, and, for the first time, felt completely dis-
gusted with his profession. He had hereto-
fore been so much accustomed to have his
own way in everything, he could not now
brook control, and his indignation was aroused
to the utmost against his superior officers ; nor
was it at all lessened when he was summoned



60 NEVER TOO LATE.

on deck to go in one of the boats, which was
to go on a watering party, to be absent nearly
the whole day. At that moment, if he had
had the opportunity, he would have resigned
his appointment and returned home; but, be-
fore he had time even to express his feelings,
he was hurried up, and received a sharp repri-
mand for keeping the boat so long in waiting.
This was particularly cutting, for, by the es-
tablished custom, he could not be required to
perform any duty on that day, and he descend-
ed the side of the vessel with an air of mortifi-
cation and rage. He was particularly cau-
tioned against allowing the men to procure
liquor, or to leave the boat, and, with this last
injunction ringing in his ears, the boat was
shoved off.

On the passage to the shore, while he lay in
the stern sheets of the boat, moodily commu-
ning with himself, the coxswain, who was an
old sailor, and who saw through the character
of Eugene at a glance, attempted to console
him for his mortification by speaking of the un-
necessary harshness of the first lieutenant, and
Eugene, instead of promptly checking him, en-
couraged him by his silence. The crew, too,
who knew they had a hard and hot day’s work
before them, used every effort to get him in a
good humor, and they succeeded so well that,
by the time they reached the watering-place:
he had made up his mind that the order to de



THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN. 61

prive the men of their liquor was unnecessary
and harsh, and he determined not to obey it.
The result was, that, when the boat was ready
to return to the ship in the afternoon, out of
the ten men who composed the boat’s crew,
three had deserted, and four were in a state
of intoxication too evident to be concealed.

Eugene’s feelings, as he pulled back to the
ship, were anything but agreeable. He knew
he had wilfully disobeyed the orders of his su-
perior officer, and that he was justly open to
severe punishment; but he determined to
brave it out, and to say that the men had ob-
tained the liquor without his permission, for-
getting, at the moment, that he had himself left
the boat for some time to go to a neighboring
coffeehouse and indulge his own growing pro-
pensity for that iniquitous practice.

As he stepped on the deck of the F
he was met by the first lieutenant, to whom he
boldly reported his return.

* Yes, sir, Lsee you have returned, and how
faithfully you have obeyed my orders. I had
intended, if you had exhibited any desire to
make amends for your past misconduct, to
permit you to go on shore before we sailed.
Now, of course, you can expect no such favor.
Go below, sir, and remain there until I send
for you.”

The crew, who were desirous of shielding
themselves from punishment, betrayed Eugene





62 NEVER TOO LATE.

without any compunction, and told the truth
“as to the manner in which they had obtained
the liquor.

This was reported to Captain L » and
the consequence was, that Eugene received a
reprimand, such as he would not be likely to
forget soon, and was ordered to keep an extra
watch, day and night, until further orders.

Eugene would have very cheerfully resigned
his appointment at that moment, but, as the
commodore of the squadron was not, at pres-
ent, in port, he could not, and was most re-
luctantly compelled to submit in silence to his
well-merited punishment. The most galling
part of the whole, however, was the laughter
and jeers of his messmates, who almost suc-
ceeded in forcing the tears from his eyes by
their tormenting taunts. His punishment, it is
true, had one good effect; it convinced him
that he must obey orders, and that there was
no prospect of success for him in contending
against his superiors. A little reflection taught
him that, unless he altered his course, he would
not be allowed to go on shore at all during the
cruise, and he determined to make an effort to
avoid, if possible, so disagreeable a punishment.

In this he succeeded so well that, before the
vessel had reached Cape Horn, he was relieved
from his extra watch duty, and the first lieuten-
ant exhibited some tokens of having forgotten,
or, at least, forgiven, his past misconduct. He





THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN. 63

had, too, learned by this time that he was not
superior to his messmates by virtue of his fa-
ther’s wealth ; but this lesson was only learned
after two or three severe battles, caused by his
own impudence and arrogance, in which he
had been soundly thrashed. His passion for
the sea was rapidly diminishing, and he had
almost made up his mind to resign as soon as
the F reached port, and return home in
some merchantman. The passage around Cape
Horn was very cold and boisterous, and Eu-
gene suffered much, but he stood it out manful-
ly; and, when the vessel had weathered the cape,
he was gratified by receiving a complimentary
expression from the first lieutenant, which was
followed the same day by an invitation to dine
in the cabin with the captain.

Unfortunately, he attributed this kindness to
a wrong motive, and his own self-importance
increased wonderfully ; but he dared not ex-
hibit it among his messmates, as he had already
received such severe lessons on that score.





64 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER VII.
THE MEETING.

Tue course of the Irene, carried her on
the western coast of South America, and it
chanced that on one of her trading trips, she
entered the port of Valparaiso, in Chili, where
the F was then lying, on board which was
Eugene Rawson, as one of the midshipmen;
and as she came in under the American flag,
it was generally supposed she had letters from
home. A boat from the F was accordingly
ordered to be manned, and one of the lieuten-
ants despatched on board, to receive letters if
she had any for the squadron, Eugene being
sent in charge of the crew, as the officer of the
boat.

On nearing the Irene and hailing her, it was
soon ascertained that she was not directly from
home ; but Lieutenant F , who was a great
admirer of beautiful vessels, saw something in
the Irene which attracted his attention, and he
determined to go on board and examine ber.
He was received by Captain Hart at the gang-









THE MEETING. 65

way, and invited into the cabin, but he saw
so much to excite his interest as a sailor, in
the neatness and trimness of the Irene, that he
could not go below without complimenting
Captain Hart, upon the appearance of his vessel.

Eugene also mounted the side of the lrene,
and was met by George, who stood there,
gazing with something of astonishment and
pleasure, at the uniform and dirk of the young
midshipman.

‘‘Why don’t you touch your hat, you
young vagabond ?”” exclaimed Eugene, as he
stepped on the deck of the Irene, and he add-
ed, before George had time to reply to the in-
solent and imperious salutation of the haughty
young officer, ‘if I had you on board the
F , 1 would teach you better manners in a
short time.”

One of the old sailors, standing in the gang-
way as the boat came along side, who was
particularly attached to George, and who had
heard him addressed thus insolently without
having given any offence whatever, immedi-
ately took off George’s hat, and placing his
hand on the boy’s head, bowed it very low,
and as George returned to an erect posture,
he said, ‘‘ There, Mister Midshipman, he has
made his manners to you. If you live long
enough, you may see the time when you will
be glad to touch your hat to him. Come,
George, it is grub time now ; leave this young

- 6





66 NEVER TOO LATE.

ossifer to practice his manners, and go below
and get the dinner ready.”

Eugene looked at the old sailor, as though
he would gladly have tested the metal of his
dirk upon his ribs, but as the old man did not
quail beneath his angry glance, he wisely re-
frained from saying anything, and tossing his
head contemptuously, he strode aft to the cabin
door, and indulged himself by wondering what
they had to eat and drink on board sucha
craft as that. The lieutenant did not keep
him long in waiting, but soon returned on deck,
and ordered Eugene into the boat with a stern-
ness, if not rendered necessary for the preser-
vation of discipline, at least sufficiently marked
to convince any one who heard him, that it
was not by his choice, Eugene had charge of
the boat.

The day after the arrival of the Irene, Cap-
tain Hart took George ashore with him, and
giving him a few reals,* told him to look
around for himself, and return to the con-
signee’s house before sun-down. George thank-
ed the captain heartily, but would quite as
willingly have remained with him, as he knew
not a word of the language, and there was not
a soul in the place whom he knew.

He stood on the mole watching the rece-
ding form of his kind benefactor, and was

* Shillings,



THE MEETING. 67

aroused from a very pleasant revery, by the
sound of “ oars all.”*

Turning to the bay he beheld a boat from the
F in which were seated three midshipmen
in their uniform, talking and laughing long and
loud, and among them George recognised the
young officer who had treated him so rudely
on the day of his arrival. Eugene, for he was
one of them, did not recognise in the trimly-
dressed boy, the rough looking lad whom he
had insulted on board the Irene, and as he
landed, he merely glanced at him with a sneer
of contempt.

“ Come, boys, now for a lark,” he shouted,
as the boat from which he had landed put off
again for the ship.

‘“T’ll bet you a dozen segars, Eugene,” ex-
claimed one of his companions, “ you will cut
some caper to day for which the first luff
(i. e. first lieutenant) will quarantine you for
a good six months.”

‘Done, if you except breaking your head
for impudence,” gayly exclaimed Eugene.

‘*Oh yes, that goes for nothing of course.”
_ Well, I don’t expect to get ashore again
ina hurry, so I mean to have a real spree this
time. Come let us go and freshen the nip.”t



* The word of command for the crew of a man-of-war
boat to toss their oars, when near a landing, or side of a
essel,

tA sailor’s term for drinking.



68 NEVER TOO LATE.

This, although it was only about ten o’clock
in the morning, was readily acceded to by all,
and they started for the hotel, to pass the morn-
ing in drinking and playing billiards.

George strolled about the city in utter list-
lessness, and had wished himself on board the
Trene half a dozen times, when he fell in with
one of the crew of the Irene, who had, like
himself, been permitted to come ashore for the
day, and under his guidance, he was soon made
acquainted with everything that was worth see-
ing in the place. He passed the time very
pleasantly till near sundown, when he went to
the consignees to meet Captain Hart, and they
both went to the mole, and made signals for a
boat to come off and take them on board.

While waiting the arrival of the boat from the
Irene, a boat from the F came to the land-
ing to bring on board the young officers who
had landed in the morning, and who were al-
ways required to come off in the sundown
boat. In a few minutes, they came down tow-
ard the boat, and between them was Eugene,
who it was evident was very nearly helpless
from intoxication. His companions were evi-
dently ashamed of him and his disgraceful sit-
uation, and as they supported his staggering
form down toward the boat, they turned their
heads, so as not to be recognised by Captain
Hart, who was watching them with the most
painful emotions.





THE MEETING. 69

Just before they reached the boat, Eugene,
who like all other drunken persons stoutly de-
nied that he was intoxicated, insisted on being
suffered to go alone, and though it was plain
he was not able to take care of himself,
his companions, who had already been suf-
ficiently disgraced by his conduct in the city,
very willingly suffered him to have his own
way. Perceiving the boat from the Irene ap-
proaching the mole, and not seeing his own
boat which was waiting for him on the other
side, he made for the former, which was near-
ing the end of the landing, and staggering along,
he fell into the sea. The boat from the F
was at once shoved off and pulled around to the
place where he had fallen, but before they
reached the spot, George, who had watched the
whole proceeding, had plunged in after him, and
by the time the F *s boat came around, he
was clinging to one of the posts which support-
ed the mole, holding the half-drowned and
half-sobered midshipman above water by the col-
lar of his coat.

Eugene was dragged into the hoat almost
senseless, and unconscious of the danger he
had escaped, while George scrambled back on
the mole, having received the hearty cheers
of the gallant boat’s crew, who admired and
loved his fearlessness and intrepidity.

Captain Hart could not say anything. The
whole scene reminded him of the occurrence







70 NEVER TOO LATE.

in New York, when his beloved Irene was
preserved from death by the same fearless boy,
and he felt how truly George had spoken at
that time, when he said he would have jumped
overboard to save any other person, just as
quickly as to save Irene. He felt proud of
his young protegé, and mentally resolved that
so long as he owned a plank to float on, George
should share it with him. He knew that George
did not expect to be commended for the deed
which he had performed, and he did not at-
tempt it, but when he reached the Irene, he
ordered him to go below and shift his clothing,
and while that was being done, he related the
occurrence to his mate in the hearing of the
old cook, who soon carried it to the forecastle,
and the sailors who were fond of him before,
now absolutely loved him, and would have sac-
rificed anything to serve or please him.

On the following morning, Eugene was sent
for by the first lieutenant of the F » and
was conducted into his state-room.

** Well, Mr. Rawson, this is the first time I
ave trusted to your pledges ; I suppose you
expect it to be the last, do you not ?”

Eugene attempted some excuse, but even
his tongue failed, and he could only say he
was very sorry.

“¢ Sorry ! well you may be sorry, and T am
only surprised that you have no other term for
your feelings. I presume you must be aware





THE MEETING. 71

how you have disgraced the uniform and the
service by your conduct yesterday. I did
hope you would not so soon have forgotten
yourself. Do you know to whom you are in-
debted for the preservation of your life ?”

Eugene acknowledged he did not, for, at
the time of the accident, he was almost help-
lessly intoxicated, and, when placed in safety,
was well nigh senseless, from the combined
effects of the liquor he had drank and the
quantities of salt water he had swallowed be-
fore he was rescued. Indeed, he had a very
faint recollection of having been overboard at
all, and the idea that his life had been endan-
gered had never once presented itself to his
mind.

‘“‘ Well, I will tell you, sir,” responded Mr.
W—, “and I hope you will return suitable
acknowledgments to him. It was a boy on
board the brig Irene. You may go on board
of her, if you desire to return him your thanks,
and that shall be the last time you leave this
vessel, except on duty, while I am first lieu-
tenant.”

The mention of the boy on board the brig
Trene, called to the mind of Eugene the oc-
currence of the previous day, and his cheek
tinged with shame, as he thought of his rude-
ness to the boy to whom he owed his life. That
feeling so unnatural to him, soon wore off, and as
he retired from the presence of Mr. F » his







72 NEVER TOO LATE.

thoughts were occupied with inventing some
mode by which he might be rid of such tyranny,
as he termed the conduct of the first lieuten-
ant.

He would gladly have avoided an interview
with his gallant young preserver, not because
he could not feel grateful to him, but as he
judged others by himself, he thought George
had treasured up his rudeness of the previous
day, and if he did not remind him of it, would
at least give him reason to know he had not
forgotten it. However as he knew it was ex-
pected that he would go on board the Irene, he
obtained a boat for that purpose, and pulled
alongside, where he was received by Captain
Hart with great kindness, and he expressed
great pleasure that he had not suffered from
the accident of the previous night. ‘* But, my
dear young friend, let an old sailor speak a few
words to you in kindness of spirit. I see that
you, like many others, think you can not be-
come sailors, unless you can swear and drink
rum. Now, sir, swearing is sinful, and drink-
ing is disgraceful. That is the experience of
thirty years at sea, man and boy, and if you
live half that time, you will acknowledge that
what I have said is true.”

Eugene did not relish the reproof of the
kind-hearted captain, but putting on the best
face he could, he thanked him, and promised
to remember and profit by his advice. He



THE MEETING. 73

then inquired for George, and Captain Hart
having sent for him, the two boys again met.

‘“T have come,” said Eugene, ‘to thank
you for the preservation of my life.”

‘* You need not have taken the trouble, sir,”
said George, modestly ; ‘I should have done
the same to any other person, and neither ex-
pected nor desired thanks. But if you will
grant mea favor, I shall deem myself sufficient-
ly repaid, if indeed you consider yourself under
obligations to me.”

“I certainly can not refuse anything you may
choose to ask,” said Eugene, nothing doubt-
ing that George was about to ask some pecu-
niary reward, and he had come prepared to
make such a compensation.

“‘Then, for the sake of your health, your
happiness, and, more than all, for the- sake of
your soul’s salvation, never again suffer your-
self to be led into the same situation as you
were last night. Abandon drinking as you
would live here or hereafter. Do this, and
you amply repay me, and will feel more grate-
ful to me for having asked you, if you adhere
to it, than you can, that | was the humble in-
strument under God of rescuing you from a
watery grave.”

‘Tam much obliged to you for your kind
wishes,” said Eugene, somewhat haughtily; «I
came to return my grateful thanks for your gal-
lantry in saving my life, and will endeavor to prof-

7



74 NEVER TOO LATE.

it by your advice. Good morning ;” and Eu-
gene left the cabin burning with shame and mor-
tification at having been reproved, and so justly
too, by one whom he considered so much his
inferior.

“ Ah, George,” said Captain Hart, as Eu-
gene pulled off toward the ship, for he had
heard the whole conversation, *‘ I am afraid no
good will come of that young man.”

George replied, Jooking up to his benefactor’s
face with emotion, ‘' Jt zs never too late, sir,’
and returned to his work. And thus these
two boys met and parted for the first time. The
one an officer in the service of his country—
the other.an humble cabin boy, thankful for the
kindness which gave him a home, though it
was upon the boisterous deep, and trusting in
God to preserve, guide, and protect him, in his
wanderings through life.



FIRST REVERSES. 75

CHAPTER VII.
FIRST REVERSES.

WE left George on board the Irene, in the
harbor of Valparaiso, and, as he is, doubtless,
doing well, I will turn for a time to the family
of the worthy Captain Hart, who have already
been briefly introduced to the reader.

Mrs. Hart was, in every sense of the word,
a Christian. Kind, humane, and charitable,
her whole heart was filled with the purest be-
nevolence and kindly feeling. She had, in
early days, known and suffered many of the
ills which flesh is heir to, and her sympathies
were, in consequence, readily excited by any
scene of suffering or distress. Her soul had
been converted to God during an afflicting dis-
pensation with which she had been visited, and
the prosperity which had continued since to
pour in upon her in most abundant streams, so
far from alienating her heart from the great
Disposer of events, had tended to fix her faith
more firmly, and to render her gratitude more
deep and abiding.



76 NEVER TOO LATE.

Through her instrumentality, it had pleased
her heavenly Father to turn the heart of her
husband to the only true source of happiness,
and she had the pleasure of seeing him, who
was once the rough, careless, boisterous sail-
er, now converted into the humble, but firm
believer in those precious promises so freely
held out to all who seek them in the right
way.

It is hardly necessary to say, that the chil-
dren of such parents had been brought up in
the right path. They had been taught to love
and honor God from early infancy, and the
impressions made upon their minds had be-
come, at least so far as could be judged from
appearances, durable and ineffaceable. The
two eldest girls, Maria and Emily, were modest
and well educated, and I hope it will detract
nothing from the good opinion which the reader
ought to have of them, when I say that neither
of them was handsome. ‘They were, in fact,
almost plain; but there was something about
them so interesting, it might almost be termed
charming, that no person could be in their
company long withaut discovering their good
qualities, and appreciating them, too.

Trene, the pet, the favorite, I have already
described, and I need say no more of her at
present ; but with such parents and such chil-
dren nothing but pure happiness could be
found. Blessed with every comfort and con-



FIRST REVERSES. 77

venience to render life comfortable, endurable,
and desirable, they raised their hearts in devout
thankfulness for them, and, while they hoped
for the continuance of these blessings, they
were prepared in their hearts to resign them
at any moment when it should please their
heavenly Father to take them away, and they
were so deeply imbued with faith and the spirit
of resignation, as to be enabled to submit cheer-
fully to any dispensation with which they might
be visited.

Captain Hart was, as I have said, part own-
er of the Irene, and the rest of his property
was invested in such a manner as to produce
a comfortable income independent of his earn-
ings at sea, which he always managed to lay
by so as to increase his capital. Although he
was a careful, prudent man, he was too apt
to place implicit confidence in any statement
which might strike his mind as plausible, and,
under the influence of such feelings, he had
permitted the greater part of his money to lie
in the hands of a firm with whom he had had
many transactions, and who, he was persuaded,
were as safe and sure in the possession of his
capital as though it were secured by any other
possible means of investment.

The gentleman who was the owner of the
other part of the Irene acted as his agent du-
ring Captain Hart’s frequent absences, and was
clothed with full powers to act in all things for

7*



78 NEVER TOO LATE.

him, and in him, also, he had placed the most
implicit confidence.

About six months after Captain Hart had
sailed on his last voyage, this gentleman, whose
name was Egbert, called one morning upon
Mrs. Hart, and, without the preface which
should have marked the cautious man, and
which, under the circumstances, was essen-
tially necessary, communicated to her the in-
telligence that the firm of B. & Co., in which
her husband’s fortune was invested (with the
exception of that employed in the Irene), had
failed, and that, too, in such a manner as to
leave their creditors hopeless of any future
benefits from a final settlement. This was a
terrible shock to the whole family; but all
were imbued with that Christian spirit of resig-
nation, which enabled them to bear up against
the blow with a calmness and fortitude only to
be known and possessed by those who have
derived them from the same source, and, al-
though the intelligence thus suddenly conveyed
placed before them the alternative of resorting
promptly to the most energetic measures for
their support, their prayers and praises were
offered with the same faith, fervor, and devo-
tion, as though the afflicting dispensation had
not been visited on them.

Mr. Egbert, who had become thoroughly
acquainted with the conduct of B. & Co., and
who was well assured that they would never



FIRST REVERSES. "9

realize one cent in the dollar from their assets,
felt that, in communicating to the family the
intelligence of the disaster which had befallen
them, he had performed all his duty. He
knew not how to offer sympathy or consola-
tion, and, as he did not know that Captain
Hart’s family must suddenly be reduced to in-
digence by this failure, he made no offers of
assistance, presuming that Captain Hart had
not been so imprudent as to invest his all with
them. As his agency was closed by this fail-
ure, he took no more trouble concerning them,
but awaited the return of Captain Hart.

As soon as possible, Mrs. Hart and her
daughters set about establishing themselves in
such a situation that they could, by industry
and strict economy, maintain themselves in
comparative comfort. Although she had abun-
dant credit with those persons with whom her:
husband had been wont to deal, she prudently
declined using it, well knowing that, on his re--
turn, he would be the more pleased to know
that she had managed with the utmost frugality
and economy, and thinking it probable, also, that
he might not be in a situation to pay the in-
debtedness she might incur.

Accordingly, having given up the comforta--
ble house in which they had passed so many
happy years, they hired neat apartments at a
rent which they thought they could surely
meet. Mrs. Hart took in some plain sewing,



80 NEVER TOO LATE.

and, as the girls had been brought up with a
view of being useful, as well as ornamental
members of society, they were not at a loss to
render themselves serviceable by taking in
light work from a fashionable tailoring estab-
lishment in the lower part of the city.

Alas! they soon discovered the vast differ-
ence between making up articles for their own
use and making them up for others. Mrs.
Hart, who had always prided herself upon the
neatness with which she made up her hus-
band’s shirts, was mortified at the manner in
which her work was scanned and criticised by
the foreman of the shop from which she had
obtained the shirts, a beardless boy, whose in-
solent manner and contemptuous language to
a woman of her age, and circumstanced as she
was, stung her to the quick. Smothering her
feelings, however, she received in silence, but
‘with an aching heart, the miserable pittance
allotted to her for the hard labor of a whole
week, and was alarmed sorely at the threat
held out, that, unless the next lot was fin-
ished better, he should deduct largely even
from that.

As she felt the necessity of keeping up, at
least in appearance, her spirits, she forbore to
relate the mortifications of the day to her daugh-
ters, and, indeed, she almost forgot them as she
listened to the recital of the kindness with which
Emily had been received by Mr. T——, the



FIRST REVERSES. 81

tailor from whom she had obtained work; the
encomiums he passed upon her work, the read-
iness with which he paid the stipulated price,
and his voluntary offer even to advance her
money, if she needed it, on the strength of the
new work she had brought home.

When the girls had finished the new work
given out from Mr. T , Maria was deputed
to carry it down and receive the money, and
her reception by the gentlemanly proprietor
was even more flattering than that of her
sister.

She was so much engrossed with the kind
attention of her affable and courteous em-
ployer, she did not at first observe two young
gentlemen, who had been standing in the back
part of the shop, watching her narrowly, and
eying her with looks which they intended for
those of admiration, but which alarmed her.
Hastily gathering up the work which she was
to carry home, she turned and left the shop,
hurrying homeward, as if she feared they were
in pursuit of her.

As soon as she had departed, these young
men came forward and held a long and whis-
pered conversation with Mr. T , the pur-
port of which it is not meet I should relate
here. They parted, however, apparently mu-
tually satisfied, and arranged to be there again
when Maria or Emily should return their work
which had just been given out.







82 NEVER TOO LATE.

In this manner a month had passed away,
Mrs. Hart each time suffering fresh mortifica-
tions and insults from the ill-bred youth, whe
had not the sense or feeling to sympathize
with her misfortunes, and the girls more and
more gratified that they had been so successful
as to find so kind and punctual an employer
as Mr. T .

With all their economy and prudence, the
family had not been able to save up sufficient
to meet the month’s rent now due; and, as
they possessed nothing with which they could
part to raise the necessary amount, they be-
gan, for the first time, to foresee difficulties
and troubles. Emily, however, remembering
the offer of Mr. T to advance her money
at a time when she did not require it, deter-
mined, if her mother would consent, now, that
there was occasion for it, to apply to him,
nothing doubting that he would promptly grant
her request.

Accordingly, she hastily threw on her shawl
and hood and went to his store, where she
found the same young men so often noticed by
Maria and herself. Blushing at the necessity
which compelled her to ask such a favor, she
timidly preferred her request, and, to her de-
light as well as surprise, Mr. T promptly
handed to her the amount she required, with
which she started homeward with a light and
happy heart.









FIRST REVERSES. 68

The rent was paid punctually, to the great
delight of the whole family, who now hoped
that, by the time another month came around,
they would receive tidings of their father—
such tidings, they trusted, as would relieve
them from their immediate embarrassments.



84 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER IX.
MORE MISFORTUNES.

Near_y three weeks of the second dreary
month had passed over the family of Captain
Hart, and although each one strove to appear
cheerful, each inwardly felt that, unless some-
thing was heard ere long from the absent fa-
ther and husband, their situation would be de-
plorable, indeed. Maria and Emily had tasked
their powers to the utmost to make sufficient
to repay the loan so kindly advanced by Mr.
; but they found that, beyond paying
that, during the month they had gained very
little. The cold season was approaching, and
they looked forward to it with fearful appre-
hension. Mrs. Hart, by the most severe labor,
and by working half the nights, was barely able
to earn a pittance which her necessities com-
pelled her to accept, and which was so small
in proportion to the amount of work required,
for the honor and credit of manhood, I will not
name it. The only encouragement she had to
persevere she found in the hope, that it could
not be long before she heard from her husband.





MORE MISFORTUNES. 85

She had frequently called on and sent to Mr.
Egbert, who was as deeply interested as her-
self in the success of the voyage on which the
Trene had sailed; but he had received no ti-
dings of her. She did not make known to him
their real situation, or, it is probable that, cold
and calculating as he was, he would have af-
forded her some assistance. He presumed
that she was doing well enough, and did not
give himself any trouble about her concerns.
About a year after the Irene had sailed, Mr.
Egbert saw among the marine disasters an ac-
count of the shipwreck of the brig and the rec-
ord of the loss of all on board. As his share
was fully insured, this caused him no uneasi-
ness, and, being a man of little feeling, he did
not care to be a witness to the grief which the
news of this dreadful disaster must cause to
Mrs. Hart and the family of the worthy cap-
tain; so he merely marked the paper in which
he had read it, and sent it up to her with a
cold and formal note expressing his regrets.
He added, that Captain Hart was also insured,
but had assigned the policy to him, to cover
his advances to nearly the full amount insured,
and, if she was prepared to refund those ad
vances, he would transfer the policy to her.
This note and paper reached the family as
they were seated at their cheerless, hard-earn-
ed dinner, and Irene, to whom it was delivered
at the door, not doubting that it contained the



86 NEVER TOO LATE.

joyful news which they had all so long antici-
pated, ran into the room where they were all
seated, shouting in joyous tones, ‘‘ News from
father! news from father !”

Mrs. Hart took the paper from her daughter,
and, inwardly thanking God for this blessing,
vouchsafed at this hour of trial, hastily opened
it. A single glance showed how cruelly all
were deceived, and, with a heavy groan, she
fell senseless to the floor.

The active efforts of her affectionate chil-
dren soon restored her to consciousness, and
her grief found vent in copious tears, in which
she was now joined by all, for all had eagerly
read the sad record of their father’s death.

It were a vain task to attempt to describe
the feelings of this family at the dreadful be-
reavement. All felt that their only earthly
friend and protector had been taken from them,
and, though they bowed with meek resignation
to the blow, and were ready to kiss the hand
which had inflicted it, they could not but mourn,
and with the most affectionate sincerity, the loss
of their dearly-loved parent.

Mrs. Hart, seeing that everything had now
fallen upon her, called at once upon Mr. Eg-
bert, and, being satisfied by him of the justice
of his demands against her husband, could not
deny his right to retain the amount for which
Captain Hart was insured, although it was a
sum which would have rendered her independ-



MORE MISFORTUNES. 87

ent. She related to him their present situation,
and, although she did not directly ask his as-
sistance, he saw that she required it, and, to
prevent a direct refusal, he told her his affairs
were so embarrassed, he really feared ever he
could not maintain his standing as a merchant
without assistance, and added that, if any ad-
ditional tidings of Captain Hart should reach
him, he would communicate it to her at once.
With this assurance she left him, feeling that
nothing short of absolute starvation could in-
duce her ever to apply to him. And now, for
the first time, was exhibited the importance of
the grace imparted to them. When Mrs. Hart
reached her home, after the visit to Mr. Eg-
bert, she found the girls all industriously em-
ployed.

** Well, my children,” she exclaimed, as she
took off her hat and shawl, and placed them
carefully away, ‘‘we must now look only
to God and our own industry, or we must
starve.”’

‘Well, mother,” exclaimed Irene, looking
up a moment from her work, ‘‘ what of that.
God has always been our friend, and, as we
have ever trusted and hoped in him in pros-
perity, he will not surely desert us in adver-
sity.”

“ And you know, mother, it is good for us
to be afflicted, for whom the Lord loveth, he
chasteneth,’’ said Maria.



38 NEVER TOO LATE.

‘I don’t despair, mother, by any means,”
said Emily. ‘ Mr. T will give us con-
stant work, and so long as our health is spared
to us we can get on very well. Irene is learn-
ing to help us, and very soon we mean that
you shall not work at all. Besides, this dread-
ful news may not be true. The Irene may be
lost, but father may yet be alive; and if he is,
we shall surely see him shortly.”

‘* That is wrong to indulge in such hopes,”
replied Mrs. Hart, deeply affected. ‘ The
news comes to us too correctly to leave a doubt
of its truth.”

“But, mother, suppose George should be
saved. Do you think he would not hunt the
earth over after us?’’ exclaimed Irene; “ for
you saw how grateful he was to father.”

“Ah! my daughter, you do not know the
human heart. Even if George should have
been spared, he will scarcely cast a thought on
us, and, even if he should, what could he pos-
sibly do to assist us, situated as he was—a poor
beggar-boy, preserved from starvation only by
your father’s kindness.”

‘Yes, mother, and that is the very reason
why I say, if he is alive, he will never forget
us. Iam sure I shall never forget him, for,
if it had not been for his courage, I should not
be here now to assist you.”

‘* Come, come, my child, you must not talk
thus. You may feel as grateful as you please





MORE MISFORTUNES. 89

toward George, but you will never see him
again. He was a good boy, and, if he had
been spared, would have made, by the blessing
of God, a worthy man. But this is no time
to think of what might have been; we must
now look forward. Ido not see what we are
to do; we can not afford to stay here another
month, for we can not make up the rent. We
must look out for another place.”

The girls sighed, as they looked around the
room now so neat and comfortable ; but they
could not deny that their mother spoke truly
and wisely. They tasked themselves to the
utmost of their powers, and could make barely
sufficient to procure the merest necessaries of
life, without being able to lay by one cent to
provide against the rapidly approaching inclem-
ent season.

Leaving the girls at their work, Mrs. Hart
started out in search of other rooms ; and while
she was absent, they were agreeably surprised
by a visit from Mr. T , the kind tailor,
who came for the ostensible purpose of hurry-
ing on some work which he had given to them,
and which must be at the store by eleven
o’clock next morning. He admired the neat-
ness and order which pervaded the apartment,
and when Maria, with tearful eyes, informed
him of the sad blow which had fallen on them,
and which would compel them to leave this
comfortable place, he declared they should

8* ;





90 NEVER TOO LATE.

not; that he would give them a higher price
for their work than he had paid any other per-
son, as it was done so much more neatly and
thoroughly ; and he appeared amply repaid
for this apparent generosity by the grateful
thanks which were poured out to him. Before
he left, he again urged the necessity of having
the clothes at the store at eleven o’clock.

Soon after he had left, Mrs. Hart returned,
and, when her daughters communicated to her
the fact that Mr. T had called, and his
generous offer, they were surprised to notice
that she did not receive the intelligence with
any appearance of pleasure. In truth, some
thoughts flashed across her mind, to which she
did not then choose to give utterance, Jest she
might do injustice to a kind and generous
man ; but, before she determined to accept of
any further assistance from him, she made up
her mind to institute such inquiries as would
enable her to discover any sinister ends he
might have in view. ‘To this end, she deter-
mined to carry home the next work herself,
and she thought she could judge by his treat-
ment of her, whether he was sincere in his
profession of friendship.

Accordingly, on the following morning, she
proceeded to Mr. T ’s store, who was en-
gaged at the time in earnest conversation with
the same young men who have been noticed
there before. As he did not know Mrs. Hart,







MORE MISFORTUNES. 91

never having seen her before, he bade her,
gruffly, wait a few minutes, and, without pay-
ing any further attention to her, he proceeded in |
his conversation with his customers. This was
carried on in low, whispered tones ; but she
could not avoid hearing a word now and then,
and the few words she did hear were sufficient
to attract her most earnest attention. Her sur-
prise may be imagined when she heard the
names of Maria and Emily frequently men-
tioned in terms of coarse adulation, but coup-
led with epithets that shocked her ears. At
length, after they had kept her waiting nearly
half an hour, one of them, pulling out his gold
watch and marking the time, remarked he
thought she would not come at the hour, and,
turning an angry look at Mr. T , he added,
‘“‘I guess you have been speaking two words
for yourself and one for us,” and they both
left the store.

Mrs. Hart saw at once the snare spread for
her daughters’ ruin, and she inwardly blessed
God that she had thus timely discovered it.
She was so shocked and stunned at the discov-
ery, she was for a few minutes completely lost,
and was only aroused to consciousness by the
voice of Mr. T » roughly asking her if she
had brought home any work.

Approaching the counter, she merely said,
‘‘My name is Hart, sir, and I have brought
home the clothes which my girls have fin-







92 NEVER TOO LATE.

ished, as they were too busy to come them-
selves.”

The sudden change in his manner at the
bare mention of her name convinced her that
her suspicions were well founded, and she re-
ceived his affected attentions and politeness
with ill-concealed looks of scorn and contempt.
She refused firmly to take the money for the
work, alleging that, as they were already in his
debt, they had determined not to take up any
more until that was settled.

Mr. T professed himself grieved that
he could not be permitted the pleasure of as-
sisting her, and when, at length, she had parted
from him, she hurried home with a heart agi-
tated by contending emotions. As she walked
on, she revolved in her mind the best course
to pursue, and finally determined not to men-
tion her suspicions to her daughters until they
had completed sufficient work to pay the amount
advanced by him; and this work she determin-
ed to carry home each time herself, hoping by
this plan to defeat at least one of the nefarious
schemes which she could not doubt had been
planned deliberately for their ruin.





TEMPTATIONS. 93

CHAPTER X.
TEMPTATIONS.

Mrs. Harr was in hopes she would be able
to break off entirely with Mr. T- without
informing her daughters of the real truth of the
case, and at first they expressed no surprise
when their mother insisted on carrying home
their work. For two or three occasions she
was received by Mr. T with marked po-
liteness, and she was careful so to receive his
attention as not to excite his suspicions ; but
she observed that the young men who were there
on the occasion of her first visit were always
present when she came again. This confirmed
her in the suspicions which the previous con-
duct of Mr. T had excited, and she de-
termined, let the consequences be what they
might, she would never allow her daughters
to go again to his shop.

After having returned the work several times,
Mr. T ventured to inquire if her daugh-
ters were ill, and the suddenness of the ques-
tion, which was quite unexpected, threw Mrs.











94 NEVER TOO LATE:

Hart off her guard, and she replied, with equal
truth and innocence, that they were not.

This reply satisfied Mr. T that some-
thing was wrong, and, after paying Mrs. Hart
for the work she had brought, he informed her,
in reply to her request for more work, that he
had none at present, but would send her some
as soon as he had any. She did not wish he
should adopt this course, for she was desirous
to break off all connexion with him, and she
really dreaded a renewal of the intercourse be-
tween himself and her daughters, even though
it was only that of employer and employed ;
yet, as this work was their only dependance,
she dared not give vent to her real feelings, but
left his store with a heavy heart, scarce know-
ing which way to turn, or what to do.

On her return home, she communicated the
refusal of Mr. T to deliver any more work,
which was received by the girls with saddened
hearts, and, without once dreaming of the true
reason which had led to the refusal, they be-
thought themselves only how they might pro-
vide against the consequences of being thus
suddenly thrown out of employment. Maria
and Emily offered to put on their hats and go
to see Mr. T themselves; but their moth-
er opposed this so strenuously, and with such
earnestness, they at once abandoned the idea,
without inquiring her reasons for this oppo-
sition









TEMPTATIONS. 95

The cheerfulness which formerly reigned in
the bosoms of the happy family now seemed
to have given place to lowness of spirits and
melancholy, almost amounting to despair. All
knew how difficult it was to obtain work from
establishments where they were unknown, and
even should they succeed, very few gave such
liberal prices as Mr. T , though had they,
for an instant, suspected the motives which in-
duced him to pay them the unusually large
prices which he had been giving, while he was
allowing others for the same work barely suffi-
cient for an existence, they would have shun-
ned him as they would a pestilence.

Irene alone maintained something like cheer-
fulness, and, young as she was, she felt the
necessity of keeping up good spirits in such a
trying time. The only thing they could do,
viz., seek for other work, was proposed and
adopted, Emilv and Moria starting out at once,
but going in different directions.

Emily naturally, or rather from the force of
habit, bent her steps toward the street where
the most fashionable and expensive establish-
ments were kept, and made several unsuccess-
ful applications, in some places being treated
with bare civility, and at others with positive
rudeness ; for too many, alas! are to be found,
who deem that the garb of poverty is but an-
other guise for guilt, and as such they feel priv-
ileged to insult the hapless wearer. Having





96 NEVER TOO LATE.

been repulsed three or four times with rude-
ness, she found herself opposite Mr. T "3
store, and, without giving a thought upon the
opposition her mother had made in the morn-
ing to her going there, she entered. As she
did so, and caught sight of Mr. T in ear~
nest conversation with the two young men
whom she had often observed before, she re-
membered what her mother had said, and start-
ed back, but not in time to avoid the eye of
Mr. T , who had observed her. He reach-
ed the door before she could get away, and, as
he called her in, she saw no avenue of escape,
and entered, her face crimsoned with blushes,
as she thought of the wrong she was doing.

He inquired, in bland terms, why she had
retreated, and the first lie she had told for
years was uttered in her reply, which was, that,
seeing him engaged, she had turned back, in-
tending to return again. Little did she dream
of the cousequences entailed upon her by this
single sentence, or she would have sooner re-
mained dumb for ever.

Mr. T , seeing the daughter return to
his store so soon after work had been refused
the mother, formed opinions which, though
they had no real foundation, nevertheless bore
the appearance of plausibility. He fancied
that Emily had attributed the refusal to her
mother to the fact of her being an old woman,
and that she had determined to try the effect











TEMPTATIONS. 97

of youth and beauty upon him. This was ex-
actly what Mr. T wanted ; but nothing
could have been farther from the truth. How-
ever, one end had been gained—the reappear-
ance of the girls—and Mr. T determined
to make the most of it. He told her that when
her mother left he had no work in readiness,
but had since received several orders, and she
should have as much as she chose to take home
with her. While he was speaking with her,
one of the gentlemen with whom he had been
conversing when she entered the store came up
to them, and remarked, ‘1 believe this young
lady made the last vest for me. I hope you
will give her all my work, it is so well done.”

Emily looked up, and blushed as she drop-
ped a light courtesy to the handsomest man
she had ever seen. He bent his gaze upon
her for one instant, and his large, lustrous eyes
seemed to penetrate to her very soul. “| will
take it as a favor, Miss Hart (Emily never
thought how he could have found out her
name), if you will have the vest done by to-
morrow afternoon.” He said this merely for
the sake of addressing her, as he had not fail-
ed to notice the effect which his first words and
look had produced upon her.

Emily had not the moral courage to refuse
the work proffered by Mr. T , and thus
retrace the unfortunate step she had taken in
opposition to her mother’s wishes ; but she de-









98 NEVER TOO LATE.

termined to relate faithfully to her mother the
accident by which it had been obtained, and
she promised herself, if she was displeased, not
to take any more from that shop, or ever to go
near it again.

Mr. T read her hesitancy in her looks,
and, divining rightly the cause, he said, ‘“ Miss
Hart, I have another establishment farther up
Broadway, kept by my partner in his own
name. If it is more convenient to you, you
may return the work there, and we can send it
home from there, as well as from this place,
as 1 know it is a great distance from your resi-
dence to this store. It is No. ~, near L
street.”

Emily blushed to feel that he had so truly:
read her thoughts, but merely said she would
leave the clothes at the upper store, and de-
parted, after receiving one more glance from
the large, deep-black eyes.

Before she had fairly made up her mind
how to act, or what to think of the occurren-
ces of the past few minutes, Emily was at the
door of her own house, and she formed the
determination, as sudden as it was erroneous,
that she would say she had received the work
from the upper store, the name and number of
which Mr. T had given her. Two cir-
cumstances operated on her mind in the form-
ing of this opinion—one, lest she should of-
fend her mother by having gone again to Mr.









TEMPTATIONS. 99

T ’g store, notwithstanding her opposition,
for she had entirely forgotten her good resolu-
tion of telling the truth to her mother, and act
for the future according to her advice; the
other was the fear of being thrown entirely out
of employment, which was especially to be
dreaded at the present time, as winter was
approaching, and many things, necessaries
as well as comforts, would have to be pur-
chased.

I will not surmise whether the recollection
of the handsome man, with the eloquent
eyes, had any effect in influencing her deter-
mination, but will leave that to be determined
by time and its unerring consequences. For-
tunately for her resolution, but most unfortu-
nately for Emily, her mother was out when
she entered, not having yet returned from the
shop whither she had gone to carry home some
work, and she found less difficfilty in telling
Maria and Irene, who were at home awaiting
her return, the story she had invented. Her
conscience smote her with terrible force and
truth, as she narrated the occurrences of the
hour, changing, however, the name of Mr.
T to that of his partner at the upper
store. It was her first lie to her sisters, and
the first time she had ever attempted to deceive
them.

Maria, too, had been successful in obtaining
work, but at greatly reduced prices, and Emi-







100 NEVER TOO LATE.

ly felt a glow of shame thrill through her frame
as she saw her sister seat herself quietly and
composedly to her work. She longed to lay
open her heart to her, and tell the whole truth;
but, having gone so far, she had not the moral
courage to recede from the false position she
had taken, though she inwardly acknowledged
that she could cheerfully have sacrificed any-
thing within her power could she but recall the -
words she had spoken. But they were spoken,
and the guilty, disobedient child retired to her
own room to shed tears of bitter sorrow and
regret over her folly and falsehood. Once
alone, she endeavored to justify to her con-
science the step she had taken, but it was a
hopeless task; she could only feel that she
was guilty, without a shadow of excuse, and
her only dread now was, that her mother should
discover her duplicity. And thus we see how
far astray one single false step may lead us.
Had Emily refused to receive from Mr. T:
the work which he never had intended to refuse
to Aer, or her sister, all would have been well,
and she would have gained, not only the peace
of mind resulting from a consciousness of rec-
titude of principle, conduct, and motive, but
she would have avoided burthening her con-
science with the many silly and wicked lies
which she was forced to invent to cover her
first fault.

In a few minutes Mrs. Hart returned, and





TEMPTATIONS. 101

now was the grand turning point in Emily’s
whole life. She had been early instilled with
Christian principles, and her fond parents had,
as they thought, ‘reason to belicve that the seed
had been sowed in good ground, and would
bring forth fruit abundantly, even a hundred
fold. Hers, however, was the religion of ex-
ample. She had seen her parents and her sis-
ters kneeling, day after day, and year after
year, before the throne of Divine grace, in
humble, trusting supplication ; she had knelt
with them, too, and thought she was sincere ;
she had for years been a regular attendant at
the house of God, where she was an attentive
listener. But now the time of her trial had
come ; if she proved victorious, she was safe ;
if Satan triumphed now, her fall was sealed.

As she heard her mother’s step slowly and
wearily ascending the stairs, a thousand con-
tending emotions harassed her. In one thought,
she would tell her mother all; in the next, she
had already told one lie, and to cover that she
must tell more; and, before she had time to
settle in her mind which she would adopt, her
mother stood before her, and Emily’s fate was
sealed.

“Well, daughter,” said Mrs. Hart, ‘*T am
glad you have succeeded so soon in getting
work, and at such good prices as Maria tells
me you have.”

“Yes, mother,” said Emily, scarcely daring

9*



102 NEVER TOO LATE.

to look up, lest her mother should read the lie in
her face, “I have been very fortunate, indeed.”

‘* Let me see it,” said Mrs. Hart, and Em-
ily, with hands trembling with excitement, hand-
ed to her the vest pattern which Mr. T
had given her to make for the young man who
had addressed her. The sight of it recalled
him to her mind, and she could not tell why,
but that seemed to give her courage to go on
in her guilt.

‘«¢ Where did you say you obtained this ?”
asked Mrs. Hart, with something of a stern
ness in her voice which startled Emily, who
could not conceive to what she was to attrib-
ute it.

“From Mr. M ’s, No. — Broadway.”

Mrs. Hart examined, for a few moments, the
pattern in silence, while Emily was trembling
with an apprehension for which she could not
account, and went out of the room without say-
ing another word, leaving Emily in a state of
terrible excitement. Could it be that her moth-
er had discovered her falsehood? that she had
followed and observed her enter the forbidden
store? Oh, what would she not have given at
that moment to recall all she had said, or what
would she not have given for the grace and
strength to throw herself at her mother’s feet
and confess her unworthiness and guilt. The
very idea that she was detected in a falsehood
caused her to tremble, and cold drops of per-







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YOUTH’S

STORY BOOK.

BY

CHARLES BURDETT,
HEINRICH ZSCHOKKE,
AND

ESTHER COPLEY.

NEW-YORK :
D. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY.

PHILADELPHIA:
GEO. S. APPLETON, 164 CHESNUT-ST.

1851.
NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER I.
THE POOR WIDOW’S BOY.

On a cold and stormy night in the month
of December, 18—, a little boy, whose age,
perhaps, might be twelve or fourteen years,
was standing, shaking and shivering, on the
corner of Broadway—that great thoroughfare
in the greatest city of this Union—and one of
the numerous streets which cross it from east
to west. The snow, which had been falling for
several hours, and which covered the ground
several inches in depth, was still driving through
the streets with violence, and the cold northeast
wind forced it through even the smallest crev-
ices. Very few persons were in the streets, and
such as were compelled to be out from their
homes, were hurrying along with rapid pace,
their persons sheltered from the violence of the
storm by warm and comfortable cloaks or coats,
and their faces buried within their ample folds
‘of collars to shield them from the driving snow.
10 NEVER TOO LATE.

On such a night as this a little boy, whose
age, as I have said, might have been twelve or
fourteen years, was standing on the corner of the
street just named, and his appearance, as well
as it could be discerned by the light of a dimly-
burning street lamp near which he stood, or
rather moved about to keep from freezing, was
such as to excite the deepest sympathy. His
little feet were covered by a pair of old cast-off
shoes, many sizes too large for him, which he
had picked up from the streets; but they af-
forded no protection from the cold and snow
which penetrated their open seams. His other
garments were sadly rent and scarce covered
his shivering body, and, with his hands deep-
buried in his pockets, and his face bowed down
to screen it from the snow, he stood there bare-
headed, seeking charity.

“« Please, sir,”’ he said to a gentleman, who
passed him rapidly, wrapped in a cloak, with
his cap drawn down over his face— Please,
sir, give me something for my sick mother.”

‘“*Go home, go home, and don’t stand here
begging on such a night as this,” was the gruff
reply, as the wayfarer passed on, and rudely
freed himself from the grasp of the shivering
boy (who had, in his anxiety, seized hold of his
cloak), little dreaming how cheerless was the
home to which he bade him return.

‘* Home,” muttered the little, shiveriag’ boy 3
THE POOR WIDOW’S BOY. 11

it won’t be a home long, poor as it is, if I
don’t get something to-night.”

*¢ Oh, sir, for God’s sake, give me some-
thing!” he exclaimed, as he saw another per-
son about passing him. ‘ My mother is very
sick, and I am afraid she will die if I can’t get
something for her.”

“‘ That’s the old story, boy. How much
have you got to-day?” he asked, with a sneer,
as he too passed on.

Another and another passed hurriedly on,
heedless of his demands, and the little fellow’s
heart sank within him. He was nearly frozen
himself, but the thought of the dearly-loved
and suffering mother at home cheered him up,
and he felt almost ready to stand there and
freeze into eternity, rather than return to her
empty-handed. ‘The tears came involuntarily
to his eyes; but, hastily brushing them away
with the sleeve of his ragged jacket, he ap-
proached another person, who was coming
toward him.

‘* My poor dear mother!” was all he could
say, for his heart was too full for words; and
he was now so chilled with the cold he could
scarcely. articulate a word intelligibly.

The person accosted was a young man who,
perhaps, had seen eight-and-twenty summers,
and, as he heard the voice of the little mendi-
eant, ‘he raised. his face from the folds of his
cloak and stopped before him.
12 NEVER TOO LATE.

‘‘ My dear mother,” sobbed the boy, as well
as he could articulate between grief and cold,
encouraged by the stranger’s stopping.

“‘ Poor boy !”” exclaimed the stranger; ‘‘ how
long have you been standing here ?”

“‘ Nearly two hours, sir,” replied the boy,
whose spirits were at once cheered and en-
livened by hearing words of compassion, and
who forgot his own sufferings, for the moment,
in the prospect of being able to alleviate those
of his mother.

“Two hours in such a storm and in such a
dress! Did you say you wanted it for your
mother? Here, I am not rich, but, in the
name of the Lord, take what I have, and much
good may it do your mother ;” and, thrusting
a few pieces of silver into the boy’s hand, he
would have passed on, but his cloak was seized
with a firm grasp, and he was compelled to
pause while the little fellow poured out the
grateful feelings of his heart. His manner and
language struck the stranger with surprise, and,
asking the boy where his mother lived, he
passed on.

The little beggar, in his joy at obtaining a
prize so far beyond his expectations, forgot his
own sufferings, forgot his cold, forgot, indeed,
all but the beloved mother, whose sufferings
he hoped to be able to alleviate, and, with tears
of joy streaming down his wasted cheeks, he
hurried onward -to his home, his heart bound-
THE POOR WIDOW’S BOY. 13

ing with such emotions as can only be felt or
imagined by those similarly situated.

In a small room in the basement of an old
franie house in A street, destitute of ev-
erything which might be called furniture, if I
except a bundle of straw in one corner, covered
by an old tattered fragment of a blanket, three
females are assembled. ne is lying upon the
straw, and evidently her last hour is at hand ;
the others are inhabitants of the same house,
scarcely better circumstanced than herself; but
the sympathy which is always to be met with
in the female heart has drawn them to the dy-
ing couch of the sufferer.

“Poor thing!” said one of them; ‘‘ how
she has suffered! 1 almost wish I was as
near my end as she is; and she was so good,
too.”

“Yes; you never heard her complain,
though I really think she has actually starved
to death!”

** God be merciful to the poor!’’ was all the
response.

At that moment the female on the straw
groaned heavily, and the two strangers drew
nearer to her side. She was evidently near
the end of her career on earth.

‘Can I do anything for you?” asked one
of the humble sympathisers.

‘“My poor boy! my poor dear boy!”’ feebly
gasped the dying woman; “what will become

2


14 NEVER TOO LATE.

of him? Oh, Lord, take him in thy keep-
ing.”
e Yes, the Lord will, I know,” replied the
other; “1 know he will, for the sake of the
humble, trusting mother. He will guard and
guide him, I know.”

«¢Oh, Lord, save and protect my boy, and
forgive my sins,” exclaimed the dying woman
with a last effort, and, heaving a few heavy
gasps, she was no more. .

“ She is gone,”’ said one of the watchers—
‘‘ gone to a better world. She will never suffer
again.”

“ But,” said the other, ‘‘ what will become
of that boy? Her very soul was wrapped up
in him, and he was as fondly devoted to her ;
it will break his little heart, I know it will.
Where is he now ?”

‘« He went out to beg something a long time
ago; but, poor little fellow, I should almost be
afraid he would freeze to death, he has been
out so long in this dreadful storm, and he so
thinly clad !”*

«« He is an uncommon child, is he not?”’

‘“ Yes, he is, indeed; and his mother was an
uncommon woman. I never knew how it hap-
pened she was so dreadfully reduced ; byt any
one could see she had been used to better
things. I never heard her murmur;. she seem-
ed to live only because God willed it, and for
the sake of that bey. He is a good boy, tae;
THE POOR WIDOW’S BOY. 15

and if he don’t forget the good lessons he has
learned from his poor dead mother, he will
grow into a good man. Here he comes; I
know the little fellow’s steps,” she added, as
the subject of their conversation was heard
stamping the snow from his shoes, before he
descended the stairs which led to his desolate
home—alas ! no more a home for him.

‘¢ Flere, mother, dear mother! see what the
Lord has sent you! Enough to buy food and
fire, and medicine, too. Dear mother, I am so
happy now!” exclaimed the little fellow whom
we have seen begging in Broadway, as he hasti-
ly entered the room and approached the mis-
erable pallet where he had left his mother a
few hours before.

As he received no reply to his exclamation,
and perceived no motion, he imagined that she
was asleep, and, turning to the women, who
were crouched on the floor close to a few
cinders which were smouldering in the fire-
place, he exhibited to them the silver which
had been given to him, and asked in a low
voice, as if fearing to awaken his mother, “See
that! is not there enough to make her com-
fortable? How long has she been asleep ?”

“Not long, my boy,” replied one of the
women, “not very long; but it will be very
long before she will awaken.”

The truth flashed at once across the mind
of the devoted son, and, springing to the hum-
16 NEVER TOO LATE.

ble couch where the body was lying, he seized
one of the hands, and found it icy cold.

«Oh, my mother! my deaz, dear mother!
why did youdie? Oh, my poor mother: Oh,
dear mother, speak to me once more, only
once more! Do speak to me once!” and he
threw himself on the floor by her side, and,
placing his little face close to that of the sense-
less corpse, pressed his lips on the forehead of
her whom he loved so truly, and sobbed as if
his heart would break.

The women saw how vain it would be to
attempt to check the grief of the affectionate
boy, and how useless it would be to offer con-
solation ; but, noiselessly stealing from the
room, they left the boy alone with the remains
of his dearly-loved parent. The little fellow
made the walls resound with his exclamations
of grief, and his calls on his ‘‘dear mother” to
speak to him only once more, were heart-rend-
ing.

But the voice of her whom he loved so
dearly, and for whom he would cheerfully
have laid down his life, was never more to sa-
lute his ears, and, at length, being fairly ex~
hausted with the violence of his grief, he sob-
bed himself to sleep, his arm clasping the neck
of the corpse, and his little face laid close to
her own. And thus the night was spent—the
living and the dead alone in that cold and deso-
late apartment.
THE RICH MAN’sS SON. 17

CHAPTER I.
THE RICH MAN'S SON.

On the same night, and at the same time as
has just been described in a preceding chap-
ter, Mr. Rawson, a wealthy merchant of New
York, was seated before a glowing fire in the
parlor of his elegant mansion in B. street.
He had been reading one of the daily papers,
but it had fallen unnoticed from his hand, and
he was evidently lost in deep meditation, from
which he was aroused by some person ap-
proaching him from behind, and imprinting a -
kiss upon his broad and manly forehead.

He started, and looking upward, exclaimed :
** Ah, my dear, Iam glad you have come down
at last ; I was at that moment thinking of our
boy, and you have come just in time to help
me form some plans; sit down.”

Mrs. Rawson, a lovely and amiable woman
in the most worldly meaning of those terms,
drew a chair close to her husband, and laughing,
said :.“‘I suppose you were thinking that I had
spoiled: him.”

“Why not exaetly that you had spoiled him,

Qe
18 NEVER TOO LATE.

my dear, but that you certainly would do so,
if I did not check you before you go much far-
ther with him.”

‘s That is the way you always talk, Edward ;
you know very well, that there is no only child
who was ever petted less than Eugene, and for
one so delicate, I think hardly care enough is
taken of him.”

‘‘ Yes,” laughed Mr. Rawson, “ you may
well say delicate, for after you have stuffed
him with trash one day, you physic him the
next, and that is enough to make any child
delicate. But we won't talk about that now.
Eugene is now old enough at least to begin to
learn something. Let me see, he will be four-
teen next August, I believe, and he does not
know as much as boys ordinarily do at ten
or twelve at the utmost. He is very far be-
hind his age.”

‘Oh, fie, you know better than that, Ed-
ward. The boy is well mannered, and is
quite as well educated as any boy of his age ;
besides, I think his health is so delicate, he
ought not to be pushed in his studies yet
awhile. It might injure him very seriously.”

‘“ be very soon, I assure you; for if you let him
go much longer in ignorance, he will find it
very difficult to learn at all. I had nearly
made up my mind to send him to boarding-
school in the country next spring.”
THE RICH MAN’S BON. 19

és Well, Edward, I must say that is the most
unkind word you have spoken to me for a long
time. To think of sending my only darling
boy away from his mother at such an age.
What would become of him, if he was taken
sick away from me? Ishould not have a min-
ute’s peace, I am sure I should not.”

‘«©T think there is much less danger of his
being taken sick away from you, than you ap-
prehend. If he is sent to a good school in
the country, he will have plenty of exercise,
fresh air, and no trash—nothing but whole-
some food and hard study.”

‘¢ Now, Edward, don’t talk any more of send-
ing Eugene away. I can’t listen to it. The
very thought of it makes me unhappy. He
can not stand hard study yet.”.

“Well, my dear, I don’t want you to be
unhappy if I can avoid it; so at present I will
say no more about boarding-schools; but he
must go to school somewhere, that is settled.
Here he comes himself; let us see what he
has to say about it.”

Master Eugene Rawson, as he entered the
room, certainly belied the assertion of his
mother as to his extreme delicacy, for he was
to all outward appearance, a hearty, handsome,
lusty boy.

‘© Come here, my son,” said Mr. Rawson,
and as the boy came up to him, the father took
from his hand a large piece of rich cake upon

e
20 NEVER TOO LATE.

which he was busily engaged when he made
his appearance. ‘‘ Now, my son,” he con-
tinued, as he threw the cake in the fireplace,
with a ‘“‘ pshaw,’”’ “we bave made up our
minds that you are old enough to begin to
learn something, and I intend to send you to
school; what do you say to it?”

Eugene looked at his father a moment, and
seeing that he was serious, turned to his
mother; she too appeared the same, and he
promptly answered :—

‘* Well, father, I have no objections. I don’t
see why I can’t go school as well as other boys.
Iam sure you can’t say I ain’t old enough.”

Mrs. Rawson felt more than half vexed that
her son was so willing to part from her and go
to school; but she said nothing lest he should
chime in with his father’s wishes, and go to a
boarding-school away from her; and he added:
*¢ The other day I was talking with Mr. Jones’s
son, Edward, the youngest you know, pa, and
he went on telling me about what he was learn-
ing, till I was glad to get clear of him, for I
was ashamed that he should know so much,
and I not know anything.”

“Well, you shall not have cause to be
ashamed on that account any longer. You
shall go to Mr. Beach’s school next week, and
1 hope you will soon be able to converse with
Edward Jones without having cause to feel
ashamed of your ignorance. ‘There, you had
THE RICH MAN’S SON. 23

etter go to bed now; it is late for you, and I
nave much to say to your mother.”

Eugene Rawson was, as has been said, the
only child of wealthy parents, but the few words
ne has spoken, have convinced the reader, I
trust, that he was not utterly spoiled. ‘True,
his mother had petted and indulged him in ev.
erything, but he had fortunately much natural
good sense, and while he claimed and received
every indulgence he desired, he was kind, af-
fectionate, and in a measure obedient. He
had grown up to the age of fourteen years
without any fixed principles for good or evil,
and was just of the age when example makes
the strongest impression on the youthful mind.
He had early shown an inclination for every-
thing connected with the water, and his taste
for boats and such toys, had caused his moth-
er the greatest uneasiness, lest he should take
it into his head to go to sea. Although it is
my purpose to follow Eugene through the
changing scenes of his life, it is proper I should
say now, that while his parents indulged the
fondest anticipations for him, they had taken
no pains to found his character upon the. only
sure basis, that of religion ; and consequently,
even at the age of fourteen years, when he is
first brought to the reader's notice, he is thor-
oughly unacquainted with everything connected
with that most important requisite to human
happiness, knowing only that he was taken oc-
22 NEVER TOO LATE.

casionally to church, where he was permitted
to read or sleep, as best suited his fancy, and
considering it indeed rather a hardship to go
at all.

Mr. and Mrs. Rawson passed in the world
for estimable people. They were wealthy,
gave excellent entertainments, moved in the
first circles, and had everything about them
which wealth could procure to render them
happy. Indeed, they had so much to attach them
to this world and its fleeting pleasures, they
had neither of them cast a thought upon the
great hereafter. And yet they fancied they
were happy. All their hopes were centred
in Eugene, and as he would be the sole inher-
itor of his father’s wealth, it was their purpose
to educate him in such a manner, as should fit
him, in their estimation, for the rank and stand-
ing in the world which he would occupy. It
was of course intended that he should follow
nominally some profession, and Mrs. Rawson
had lately begun to look forward with some
anxiety to the period when that should be
fixed upon, as she had, as I have said before,
a secret presentiment that he would choose ‘a
life on the ocean wave.”

Mr. and Mrs. Rawson remained in conver-
sation for a long time after their son had re-
tired, and lest the reader should imagine that
they were planning for his future career, I will
mention, that they were discussing the propri-
THE RICH MAN’S SON. 23

ety of giving an entertainment to a distinguished
foreigner, who had recently arrived, and to
whom they had been introduced at a party a
few evenings previous. The discussion was
long and animated, but was at length termina-
ted in favor of the foreigner, and it was settled
that it was to be the most magnificent entertain-
ment of the season.

After this important question was settled,
Mr. and Mrs. Rawson turned the conversation
upon the probable prospects of Eugene. Mr.
Rawson, who in the ordinary acceptation of
the term, was a man of good sense, was wil-
ling that the choice of a profession should be
left entirelv to his son; but Mrs. Rawson, hav-
ing ever the fear of the sea before her eyes,
and ever present to her mind, was for select-
ing one for him, and urgin,, him to pursue it.
Nothing definite was decided upun, both hav-
ing the good sense to think that it was rather
too early to form plans, or select a profession
for a boy, who had as yet given no indications
of being qualified for anything whatever, at
least so far as mental culture was concerned.

Meanwhile, Eugene lay upon his luxurious
couch, his little head filled with visions of a
beautiful model of a vessel he had that day
seen, and he worked himself up to a pitch of
unbounded enthusiasm, by fancying himself
the captain of just such a vessel, on a larger
scale. His mother came into his room as was
24 NEVER TOO LATE.

her custom before she retired to bed, and was
surprised to find her son still awake, and she
was almost struck dumb with astonishment,
when he abruptly addressed her as she entered
and said, ‘“‘ Mother, I am going to be a sailor,
I have made up my mind to that.”

Mrs. Rawson knew it was of no use to say
anything at that moment in opposition to his
views, so she merely answered, ‘‘ Well, well,
we will see about that one of these days; go
to sleep now ;” and left him, almost crying
with vexation to see that his thoughts ran con-
tinually upon the sea.

She communicated to her husband the oc-
currence just detailed, and he received it with
a hearty laugh, as he fancied to himself, his
son, brought up in the indulgence of every
luxury, dressed as a sailor, and working in
his tarry clothes about a vessel. Mrs. Raw-
son did not like to have her feelings, as she
conceived trifled with, and was somewhat in-
clined to be angry with her husband for laugh-
ing at her, but was pacified when he assured
her that however his boy’s fancy might run
now, he was well assured, that when the real-
ity was presented to him, his ambition to be~
come a sailor would be dissipated, and they
would hear no more of it. Mrs. Rawson could
not, however, conquer her secret misgivings,
and only hoped that something would occur
to drive this all-absorbing idea from iiis mind.
LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT 25

CHAPTER III.
LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT.

I tert the living and the dead lying beside
each other in the desolate chamber in A
street, and let us now return to that cheerless
abode. The boy is still asleep, and so sound
are his slumbers one might almost fancy he had
gone to join his loved parent in the world of
spirits. Soon after daybreak the orphan boy
awoke, and again the reality of his desolate sit-
uation came upon him with fearful force. He
kissed again and again the cold lips of her who
could no more return, as she had ever fondly
done, his warm caress, and, when the poor fe-
males who had watched by the bedside of the
dying woman on the previous night, entered
the room in the morning, the boy. was found
kneeling by the head of his mother’s corpse,
and pouring out his soul in prayer.

The proper persons were despatched by the
city authorities to bury the deceased, and be-
fore night the orphan was alone in the world,
even the corpse of his beloved mother having
been taken from his sight for ever. It were a

3


26 NEVER TOO LATE.

useless attempt to describe the grief of the af-
fectionate boy as the ‘‘ dead-cart’”” moved away,
bearing the remains of his mother to their last
resting-place ; but, amid all his wretchedness
and misery, and the feeling of utter desolation
which overwhelmed him, he had one source
of consolation which, young as he was, he had
learned to prize and to appreciate. He could
commune with his heavenly Father, and,
strengthened by grace from above, was ena-
bled to bear up against the emotions of despair
and sorrow which struggled for the mastery of
his soul.

It is, perhaps, proper now that the reader
should know something of the history of this
boy, whose future career, I trust, will prove
of some interest to those who may become ac-
quainted with it.

Mrs. Edgar, his mother, was the widow of
a captain from the east, who, as is too often
the case with those who follow the sea for a
livelihood, had spent his money as fast as he
had earned it, and, when he died, left his wid-
ow destitute, with one child, George, to pro-
vide for. Mrs. Edgar was an orphan girl,
whom he had met in a southern city during
one of his voyages. Her parents were but
moderately wealthy, and had given her such
an education as would render her at once use-
ful and accomplished. She had the advantage
of a pious mother, to whose mit.u the necessi-
LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT. 27

ty of instilling religious principles into the
mind when it was yet untainted by contact
with the’world was ever present, and Maria
grew up in the fear of the Lord, growing in
grace from day to day, and, as we have seen
her, closing her career here, in the full hope
that, with all her imperfections, sins, and guilt,
the intercession of the blessed Redeemer, in
whom alone she had placed all her hope and
trust, would prevail for her, and that she would
be admitted into the eternity of bliss above,
provided for those who have loved and served
him here below. She was, when young, the
favorite of a kind-hearted and wealthy uncle,
who was unmarried, and who had often prom-
ised that she should be his heiress; but he had
gone on a voyage to the East Indies shortly
before her marriage with Mr. Edgar, and, as
no tidings had ever been heard from him since
his departure, it was presumed he had perish-
ed at sea, and he was mourned as one de-
parted.

When Mrs. Edgar was left a widow, George
was quite young, too young to be of any ser-
vice to her; but his devoted affection and obe-
dience amply repaid her for all the care and
toils she had to encounter while struggling to
maintain them both by her needle. At a very
early age he was taught to love and fear God,
and the sincerity and fervency with which he
Joined in the humble devotions in which she
38 NEVER TOO LATE.

daily engaged, was a source of pleasure to the
widow’s heart, which worlds of mere earthly
gratification could not have tempted her to part
with ; and she felt often constrained to thank
God that she was not wealthy, lest the influ-
ence of the world, and its deceitful pleasures
that kill the soul, should be brought to bear
upon his young mind, and lead him astray from
the path of virtue and morality.

The story of her destitution is, unfortunate-
ly, too common to render it necessary for me
to repeat it here. Sickness had overtaken her,
and, having no longer the health to use her
needle, poverty and deep distress came on her.
One by one every article required for comfort,
as well as necessity, was parted with, until, at
the last, when her sufferings were ended here,
and she was called to enjoy the happiness
which her faith had taught her to expect here-
after, she had nothing left which she could call
her own, except a ring containing some of her
mother’s hair, which her uncle had given her,
and which no necessity could induce her to
part with. This ring her son secured after his
mother had left him for ever; and this, with a
lock of her own hair, was all he had left of her
who loved him with all the fervor of a pious
mother’s love.

George Edgar felt that he was now indeed
alone in the world, but he would not despair,
for his trust was in God; and after he had
LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT. 29

seen the remains of his mother removed to
their last resting-place, he returned to the lone-
ly chamber she had occupied, and there, in
deep humility, implored Divine guidance and
protection.

He was sadly off, indeed, for clothing, as
we have already seen; but he had the good
sense to know that he could procure neither
clothing ner employment by sitting still and
grieving. Commending himself, therefore, to
the protection of God, he started off, deter-
mined to leave no effort untried that could
procure him employment of some kind by
which he might earn a subsistence, be it ever
so scanty.

He strayed down toward the docks on the
East river, and went on board several vessels,
offering himself as a boy to go before the mast.
His appearance, however, was much against
him, for all classes are but too apt to form
opinions from outward appearances, and the
best of men are sometimes prejudiced against
the worthy and deserving, solely from their
outward indications of poverty and distress.

George had almost begun to despair, as he
was weak, cold, and hungry ; but, trusting still
in Divine mercy, he persevered. Toward the
close of the day, after he had wandered about
without tasting a morsel ef food, and almost
perishing with cold, he went on board a brig
which, from appearances, was just ready to

3*
30 NEVER TOO LATE.

sail on her voyage, and, on reaching the deck,
he approached a large, portly man, whom he
took to be the captain.

«Do you want a boy, sir?” he asked mild
ly, endeavoring to restrain the tears which his
bodily sufferings and the fear of another disap-
pointment had forced from his eyes.

The captain, for such he was, eyed him for
one moment, and said, ‘* What can you do on
board ship ?”

“IT can learn to do anything, sir,” replied
George.

“What is your name ?”

“‘ George Edgar, sir.”

‘Where are your parents, and where do
they live? Do they know you want to go to
sea?”

‘“‘ My father died many years ago, sir, and
my poor mother died last night.”

“¢ Poor fellow !”’ said Captain Hart. ** What
was your father ?”

‘“‘ He was a sea-captain, sir,” replied George,
somewhat proudly.

“Then you have no friends here at all?”
inquired Captain Hart.

‘““None but God, sir,” was the meek re-
ply...
“You are the boy I want, George,” said
the worthy captain in benevolent tones. ‘You
are just the boy for me; and if you trust in
God, he will soon make friends for you. But
LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT. 31

you seem frozen half to death. Are you not
very cold ?”

“ Very, sir, and very hungry, for I have not
tasted a mouthful of food to-day.”

‘¢ Here, doctor! doctor !’’* the captain ex-
claimed, as a stout negro came out of the gal-
ley and ran aft; ‘here, take this youngster
and give him something to eat—plenty of it—
and then go in the cabin and get him some of
the clothes that young vagabond left the other
day when he ran away. George, you go with
the doctor, and when you have warmed your-
self you may come down in the cabin, and I
will see what I can do for you. Poor fellow!
half frozen and half starved! How much we
have to be thankful for !”

George could not say anything, for his heart
was too full; but the tear of gratitude coursed
down his wan cheek, as he silently followed
the cook into the galley. The good-hearted
negro set before him a kid? filled with good
and wholesome provisions, such as had not
passed his lips for many a day, and he watched
the poor lad with eager interest, as he silently
and thankfully devoured his meal.

“‘T tell you what, youngster, you may
thank God you came across Captain Hart.

* « Doctor” is the term always applied to the cooks
of merchant vessels. .

t A wooden vessel, in which the victuals for the:
crew are put, when cooked. -
32 NEVER TOO LATE.

There an’t many such men as he on blue wa-
ter.”

‘I do thank God with all my heart for
this, and for all his other mercies,’ replied
George.

‘‘That’s a fine fellow. I am only a poor
nigger; but I have sailed with Captain Hart
these seven years, and I would not leave him
for all the brig could carry. He is the best
‘man and the kindest captain I ever sailed
with ; he’ll make a man of you, I promise
you. T used to curse, and swear, and drink,
like a brute; but Captain Hart, God bless
‘him, has showed me better things than that,
although I am only a poor negro cook, and I
guess he hain’t got many men who would go
farther for him than the old doctor. But come,
eat away, and I will go down and get you
some clothes. We had a young scamp aboard
last voyage ; but he did not like to have Cap-
tain Hart talk to him about God, so he ran
-away, and left his clothes. They will just
about fit you.”

When George had finished his meal, which
he devoured with a grateful heart, the cook
dressed him out in a suit of warm and com-
fortable sailor’s clothing; and so great was the
alteration in his appearance, he would hardly
shave been recognised as the same boy. His
countenance was remarkablv intelligent, and,
LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT. 33

beaming, as it now was, with gratitude and
happiness, he appeared to. great advantage.

On descending the cabin hatchway, he found
Captain Hart looking over some charts; but,
when he perceived George, he came up to him,
and turning him around two or three times,
and gazing earnestly on his beaming counte-
nance, he exclaimed, ‘‘ You are cut out for a
sailor, and I hope you won’t be spoiled in the
making and disappoint me.”

‘‘T will try with my whole heart to please you,
sir,” said George.

**T don’t doubt it. You don’t look like a
bad boy, and if you do please me, you may
find many a harder man to serve than old Jack
Hart. But I must tell you first off—I never
permit any man on board my ship to swear, and
T allow no drinking among my crew.”

*¢T never swore an oath in my life, sir, and,
please God, I never mean to. I have been
brought up to know that God ‘will not hold
him guiltless who taketh his name in vain ;’
and if I had ever so great an inclination to
drink, the remembrance that you forbid it
would stop me.”

“* Well, that’s spoken likea man. You have
been well brought up, whoever your parents
were, and if you go through life with such
principles, you need never fear but you will
anchor safe at last. I will take you this trip
on trial, and if you suit me, you need not look
34 NEVER TOO LATE

for another berth, unless you choose, for I
never want any man to sail with me who does
not like to. My wife and girls are coming
down to-morrow to see the brig before I sail,
so you can help the doctor put the cabin in or-
der.”

‘‘ God bless you, sir,” said the grateful boy,
grasping the hard hand of the worthy captain.
“1 hope I shall please you, for I want to do
so, and I am sure I shall try.”

‘¢ Well, well, go along now, and tell the
doctor to come aft and get things in order.”

George had seen the old cook come when
the captain called for the doctor, and was about
ascending the hatchway, when Captain Hart
called him back, and asked if there was any-
thing he wanted.

‘© You have left me nothing to wish for; but,
if you please, I wish you would do something
for me. This,” he added, pulling the ring and
lock of his mother’s hair from his breast (for he
had hung it around his neck by a string)“ this
is my poor mother’s; will you please to keep
it safe for me; and, if you please, sir, to lend
me a bible, so that I can read when I have
time.”

*‘ Yes, that I will, George,” said Captain
Hart, taking the ring; “and I will tell one of
the girls to get a small bible for you. I wish
there were more boys to ask for that book.”

George then went on deck, and, going to
LOOKING FOR EMPLOYMENT. 35

the galley, related to the cook what had occur-
red'in the cabin; and the good-hearted old
negro received the news with real pleasure, for
little as he had seen of George, he had become
quite attached to him by his deportment and
manners. He promised to make a sailor of
him, and, while they were at work in the cabin,
gave him a great deal of advice in his own
homely way ; but it was all good, and George
listened respectfully, for he felt his need of a
friend, though that friend should be a negro
cook.

The day was passed by George in such work
as was pointed out to him by the cook, and at
night he retired to rest in the forecastle, not,
however, until he had poured out his soul in
grateful praise and thanks to the Great Dispo-
ser of events, whose goodness had provided for
him so kind a friend and protector in his hour
of direst need.
36 NEVER TOO LATE

CHAPTER Iv.
THE MIDSHIPMAN’S WARRANT.

In the morning Eugene Rawson awoke with
his head full of the sea and the pleasures of a
sailor’s life, and he brought tears to his moth-
er’s eyes at the breakfast table by interrupting
the conversation very suddenly, and exclaim-
ing, ‘“‘I have made up my mind to go to sea,
mother.”

‘s Why, Eugene !” said his mother, who had

‘ hoped it was only the whim of a moment, which
would pass off, ‘are you crazy? You go to
sea! Think once, what would you have done
last night in such a storm, and the snow flying
so, if you had been at sea, and were forced to
walk the deck all night, instead of being seated
‘by a comfortable fire, or nicely covered up in
‘bed. Don’t be so foolish, my son. You could
never live through one voyage.”

‘¢7 don’t care for that, mother. Mr. Jones’s
son has just been appointed a midshipman, and
I mean to be a midshipman, too. Won't you
ihave me appointed, father ?”

‘*No; he will not,” interrupted Mrs. Raw-
THE MIDSHIPMAN’S WARRANT. $7

son. “ He will do no such thing, I am sure,
for I will not consent to it. Will you, Mr.
Rawson?”

‘*‘ Why, [am rot sure but it is the best thing
we can do forhim. A naval officer has certain-
ly an honorable position, and I do not see why
Eugene might not rise there as well as others,
who have had fewer advantages. For my own
part, I see no very serious objections to grati-
fying him, except the great difficulty of pro-
curing an appointment.”

Eugene’s eyes sparkled with undisguised
pleasure as his father spoke, while Mrs. Raw-
son could have cried with vexation to hear
him. She exclaimed, before Eugene had time
to say a word, “ Why, Mr. Rawson, you can
not be in earnest! Just think of Eugene go-
ing away for three years at a time, and who
knows what habits or associations he might
form in that time.”

“* That is all very well,” replied her hus-
band, who seemed to have made up his mind;
‘but, as I can not expect always to have him
near me, I must take care to place him with
such a man as will see to that for me.”

“Oh, father, you need not be afraid of chat.
I know enough of a midshipman’s life to guess
what it is, and, as I want to go to sea so very
badly, I hope you will try and get me an ap-
pointment, instead of sending me off as a sail-
or, for I would rather go before the mast than

4
°

38 NEVER TOO LATE.

not go to sea; and to sea I am bent on go-
in ad

e Before the mast !”’ ejaculated the horror-
struck mother. ‘My son a common sailor,
with tarry hands and greasy clothes! I should
never survive such a sight. If you must go,
why can’t your father make you a captain at
once? I am sure he is rich enough to buy a
vessel for you.”

Mr. Rawson could not stand this, but laugh-
ed so heartily at his wife’s ideas of making his
son a captain off-hand, that she arose from the
table, and was quitting the room, really hurt
and offended; but he brought her back, and,
when he had smoothed down his face to some-
thing approaching seriousness, he explained to
her how utterly ridiculous was such a proposi-
tion. He showed her that years of toil and
danger were necessary to qualify a man for
the important trust of commanding a vessel,
and guiding her across the trackless ocean ;
but he satisfied her that, in the navy, the young
officer, if he possessed merit, even to medioc-
tity, was sure of eventual promotion, and, he
added, “as Eugene will not be compelled to
live upon his pay alone, 1 do not know of any-
thing | would rather see him select than a pro-
fession in which he may have the opportunity
of distinguishing himself so highly.”

Eugene, who had listened to his father with
commendable patience, conceived that all was
THE MIDSHIPMAN’S WARRANT. 39

now settled, and that the dearest wish of his
heart was soon to be gratified, and visions of
dirks, embroidered coats, and cocked hats,
flashed across his mind. Rising from the ta-
ble, and leaving his meal half finished, he
danced about the room in the exuberance of
his joy, which his mother’s tears and reproach-
es failed to check.

His father, however, soon brought him to
sobriety by explaining how difficult it was to
obtain an appointment as a midshipman in the
navy when there were so many applications,
and, even if he succeeded, it must be a long
time before it could be accomplished, as there
were, doubtless, many having prior claims te
him. Eugene listened patiently, and, having
extorted a pledge from his father to make im-
mediate application, he promised to pursue his
studies diligently until it was obtained, in order
that he might be at least on a par with those
with whom he might be associated in his new
profession, for he now considered it quite a
settled affair.

After Mr. Rawson had left the house to go
to his business, Mrs. Rawson used every ar
gument in her power to induce Eugene to
change his purpose ; but she herself had been
so accustomed to yield all to him, that he, at
length, succeeded in extorting from her a prom-
ise that she would make no more opposition
to his wishes. This impertant poiat being set-
40 NEVER TOO LATR.

tled, he went to school that day with as much
pleasure as he ever had felt in going to any
place of amusement. He felt that he was al-
ready sure of his appointment, and, although
his father had expressly forbidden him to men-
tion the conversation of the morning to any of
his schoolmates, he could not refrain from tell-
ing three or four of his confidential friends that
his father was going to get him a midshipman’s
warrant. Of course, the whole school soon
knew it, and while some of the boys gazed
upon him with feelings of envy, others, who
had never entertained such an idea, tormented
him wofully by telling stories (which they man-
ufactured) of certain captains who flogged their
midshipmen every day to make them grow.
Others told him of salt junk and hard biscuit ;
but he made up his mind not to believe any-
thing, and, as he had once dined with his fa-
ther on board a man-of-war with the lieuten-
ants, he fancied that he should always live in
the same manner; and though the table was
not so luxuriously furnished as that of his fa-
ther, he thought he could get along very well
with that.

The next day Mr. Rawson had some gen-
tlemen dining with him, and among them Com-
modore R. of the United States navy, and,
in the course of the conversation, after the cloth
had been removed, the subject of Eugene’s de-
sire for an appointment was talked of. Com-


THE MIDSHIPMAN’S WARRANT. 41

modore R: » who was under many obliga-
tions to Mr. Rawson, was pleased at the oppor-
tunity thus afforded him of repaying them in
a measure, and promised to use his best per-
sonal exertions to procure the warrant for Eu-
gene, and, as he intended going to the seat of
government on the following day, he could
urge the application with more prospect of
success in person than by writing.

Mr. Rawson prudently concealed this from
Eugene, lest, in case Commodore R
should fail in his application, the disappoint-
ment would prove so severe that he might be
tempted to go to sea before the mast; for his
heart was so bent upon followifg that profes-
sion, nothing, young as he was, could turn him
from it. Mrs. Rawson, however, was inform-
ed of the promised co-operation of the commo-
dore, and, as she had schooled herself to con-
tentment with the choice Eugene had made,
she hoped his efforts might not be unavailing ;
so that if her son must go to sea, he would, at
least, go as a gentleman.

While this important subject is yet unde-
cided, let us turn again to George Edgar,
whom we left assisting the cook in clearing up
the cabin of the “Irene,” for that was the
name of the brig commanded by Captain Hart,
who had fancifully christened his vessel (for he
had just launched her for her first voyage) after
his youngest and favorite daughter.

4*




42 NEVER TOO LATE.

George had worked so cheerfully, and ap-
peared so sincerely desirous of making him-
self acquainted with his duties, and rendering
himself useful on board the vessel, the old
doctor was wonderfully pleased with him. As
they had much time to spare before the ex-
pected visiters would arrive, the cook took
George about the vessel, explaining the names
of the different pieces of rigging, and the vari-
ous parts of the vessel—the ‘situations of the
rigging, their uses, &c.; to all of which he
was an earnest and attentive listener. This
done, they seated themselves in the galley,
and the cook interested his young listener with
the narration of some of his own adventures,
which approached somewhat too near the mar-
vellous for the credibility of the unsophis-
ticated boy; but he wisely kept his own
thoughts to himself, not choosing to offend his
new friend, even by appearing to doubt him.
To tell the truth, the doctor did deal rather
strongly in extravagances ; but he was only
like nearly all old sailors of his day, who have
spun their yarns so often, without having them
doubted, they actually believe them to be true;
and once this impression is fixed on the mind
of an old salt, nothing can offend him more
than to doubt the truth of any story, no matter
how fanciful or extravagant it might be.
THE RESCUE. 43

CHAPTER V.
THE RESCUE.

GrorcE was listening with deep attention
to a narrative of shipwreck in which the cook
had been one of the sufferers, when the noise:
of feet on deck aroused them, and, looking out,
they perceived Captain Hart with his wife and
three daughters. Captain Hart himself was,
as the reader has noticed, a pious man, and,
when I say that his whole family were brought
up to love and fear the Lord, I have said
enough to recommend them to the reader’s
favor. Mrs. Hart was an elderly, amiable
looking woman, and her countenance did am-
ple justice to her heart, which was filled with.
pure benevolence and Christian kindness.

The two eldest daughters were not beauti-
ful, but there was something peculiarly inter-
esting in their appearance, which attracted the
attention of observers, and commanded as well
admiration as respect. The youngest, and the
pet of the whole family, was Irene, who had
given her name to the beautiful vessel on board
of which she was now standing ; and she was:
44 NEVER TOO LATE

unlike either of her parents in everything. She
had light, flowing hair, bright, sparkling blue
eyes, and a countenance ever varying in its
expression ; but that expression was always
pleasing. She was a merry, laughing thing,
full of innocent playfulness, but so affectionate,
so dutiful, so obedient, she was the beloved
of all. At the age of twelve years, when she
is first introduced to the attention of the reader,
she promises a lovely womanhood, and, as her
heart is as pure as her face is beautiful, it is
not too much to say that she deserves all the
warm and ardent feelings she has inspired in
those so nearly connected with her.

When George saw who had come on board,
he came out from the galley, and, as he ap-
proached the spot where they were standing,
the manner in which the ladies observed him
convinced him that his kind protector had
spoken of him to them, and this consciousness
called to his face such an expression of grati~
tude mingled with happiness, as could not fail
of attracting their attention and exciting an in-
terest for him.

Irene, as soon as she saw him, fixed her
bright blue eyes upon him, and, after gazing
at him a moment, she ran up to him, and grasp-
ing his hand in both her own, said, “I know
‘pa will like you, and I am sure I shall, too.”

George blushed, but.said nothing, and, with
a laugh, the whole party proceeded aft and
THE RESCUE. . 45

descended into the cabin. After partaking of
the refreshments provided there, they came on
deck, and Captain Hart showed them around,
explaining the uses of some of the mysterious
appurtenances, and trying to give satisfactory
answers to the inquisitive Irene, who had most
of the talking to herself.

All at once she observed something hanging
up over the stern of the vessel, which attracted
her attention, and with a bound she sprang on
the taffrail to examine for herself. ‘The snow
which had fallen the previous day, had been
swept off, but there was a glaze left on the
wood, which she had not noticed. As she
planted her feet on the taffrail, they slipped
from under her, and a scream and splash gave
notice of the terrible catastrophe which had
occurred.

The whole family rushed to the stern of the
vessel, screaming with terror; and as they saw
the beautiful girl sink beneath the water, they
caught sight of another body descending with
the rapidity of lightning.

It was George, for he had seen Irene as she
fell, and without a moment’s hesitation, he
leaped overboard to rescue her. ‘The dock
where the brig lay, was filled with large masses
of floating ice, and for an instant, both were
lost sight of. In another moment the head of
George emerged from the water, and, placing
one hand on a cake of ice near which he rose,
ec NEVER TOO LATE.

he dragged to the surface the inanimate body
of Irene. The old cook, who had observed
the whole proceeding, sprang into a small boat
which was lying alongside, and with one push
sent it to the spot where George was hanging.
He dragged the young girl into the boat, and
George having scrambled in the best way he
could, he pushed it again alongside of the
brig, and mounted the side with Irene in his
arms.

The whole was accomplished so quickly,
and with such presence of mind, that before
the emotions of terror which had seized the
parents and sisters of the hapless girl had fair-
ly obtained the mastery of them, they were
succeeded by feelings of the contrary nature ;
for at the instant when it appeared that lrene
was gone for ever, she was rescued from the
watery grave which threatened to engulf her.

Captain Hart took his precious burden from
the arms of the cook, and descended into the
cabin, followed by all the family, as well as by
the cook and George. Providentially, Irene
had been rescued from the water so quickly,
that but little difficulty was experienced in re-
storing her to animation. This done, she was
wrapped up in blankets, and placed in one of
the state-rooms, while the cook was despatched
to the house for dry clothing.

As soon as George had the satisfaction of
knowing that Irene was recovering, he ascend-
THE RESCUE. 47

ed to the deck, and going to the galley, seated
himself before the fire; but he was of course
wet through and shivering dreadfully. He
was soon aroused by the voice of his kind cap-
tain calling him aft, who having seen his be-
loved daughter restored to consciousness, be-
thought him of her generous preserver.

George went into the cabin, and was at once
directed to go and chauge his clothes in the
state-room, where the boy’s chest had been
kept. This was soon done, for there was an
abundance of everything necessary for the
comfort of a seafaring boy, and in a few min-
utes he made his appearance in dry warm
clothing.

‘Come here, my boy,’ said Captain Hart,
while tears streamed down his weather-beaten
cheek, and as George approached him, he
laid his hand upon his head, and said with so-
lemnity, “‘May God bless and prosper you,
George. To your brave conduct we owe,
under God, the life of our beloved daughter.
I need not say how grateful we are. Hence-
forward 1am your friend, and so long as I
have a home and a crust of bread, you shall
share them with me. Let us return thanks to.
Almighty God for his wonderful mercy ;” and
falling upon his knees, as did all present, he
poured out, in language which was prompted.
by the feelings of a heart sincerely devoted to:
God, the grateful thanks he desired to render,.
48 NEVER TOO LATE.

for that his child which had been dead was re-
stored to hin.

It was a solemn and impressive scene. The
old grayheaded captain, who had passed near-
ly two score years upon the ocean wave, who
had passed through dangers and perils the most
imminent, from which he had been preserved
only by the kind providence of God—to see
him surrounded by his family, all shedding
tears of the most exquisite happiness, and to
hear him ascribing all the praise and the glory
to the great Disposer of all events, whose faith-
ful servant he was.

Trene was lying in the berth, and now, for
the first time, learned to whom she owed the
preservation of her life, and, as her father con-
cluded his praise and thanksgiving, in which she
joined with all her heart, she could not forbear
exclaiming through her tears, ‘‘ There, George,
I told you pa would like you, and I am sure I
shall always love you;” nor would she be con-
tented until she had kissed and thanked and
blessed him again and again.

George received the caresses of Mrs. Hart
and her daughters, and their congratulations
and praises of his bravery, with that modesty
‘which always accompanies true merit, and, as
he again mounted the steps and reached the
-deck, he felt that he would not at that moment
‘change places with the proudest monarch of
the earth. He walked forward and resumed
THE RESCUE. 49

his seat in the galley, and, while musing over
the wonderful occurrences of the day, he raised
his heart in devout thankfulness to God, who
had enabled him to be of such infinite service
to one who had proved a friend when all the
world had turned in coldness from his poverty
and distress.

The cook soon returned with clothes for
Irene, and, having called a coach, the ladies
were placed in it and driven home, while Cap-
tain Hart intended to follow on foot. George
and his negro friend had scarce time to con-
verse upon the accident which had occurred,
when the former was summoned by Captain
Hart to follow him, which he obeyed without
asking any questions. They had walked some
distance, when Captain Hart, who had appa-
rently been lost in meditation, suddenly ad-
dressed George, and said, “1 am going to
take you home to dine with me to-day. You
have rendered me a service, for which I can
never prove too grateful; and if you conduct
yourself as you have given me reason to hope
you me your future prosperity will be en-
sawed.

‘TJ shall trust in God, sir, and do my best;

but I don’t see why you make so much of my

going overboard after the little girl, I can

swim like a duck, and there was not the least

danger; besides, I am sure I would have
5
50 NEVER TOO LATE.

jumped over just as quick for any one else as
for her.”

‘‘] know that, George, and that is the rea-
son why I value the service the more. You
did not save my child because she was my
child, and the action is, therefore, the more
meritorious. But no matter now. So long as
you choose to stay with me and conduct your-
self properly, so long I wilt do my best to ad-
vance you, and if you don’t like to sail with
me, or follow the sea, I will try and get some-
thing else for you. Irene had bought a little
bible for you, but I believe she had it in her
pocket when she fell overboard, so it is spoiled
now; but she intends getting another for you,
and she wished me to bring you up to dinner
to give it to you herself.”

At the request of Captain Hart, George’
then gave him a history of his parents, as far
as he knew of it himself, and the terms of af-
fectionate endearment in which he spoke of
his mother, called tears not only to the eyes
of the orphan himself, but to those of his lis-
tener.

At the house of Captain Hart, George was
received by all the family with such warm-
hearted kindness that he forgot, as was in-
tended he should do, the difference in their
situations, and the ease and confidence of his
manners assured them that his natural talents
had been well and carefully cultivated. The
THE RESCUE. 51

impression he made upon Irene, who would
not quit his side for a moment, exhibited itself
in her exclaiming in the midst of an animated
conversation, “ Pa, I know George will sail
the Irene himself one of these days.”

“Yes, my child,” replied the worthy cap-
tain; ‘* and if he does ever sail her, I have no
doubt he will take as good care of the one as
he has of the other.”

Before they left the house Irene gave her
youthful preserver a pocket-bible, which she
had purchased for him, and in which she had
written his name; and when, at length, he took
his final leave, it was with the embraces and
heartfelt blessings of the whole family.

I hope the reader will not think I have been
too tedious or minute in relating these passa-
ges in the early history of the orphan boy. I
have endeavored only, thus far, to exhibit him
in such a light as will, I trust, induce you to
have patience with me, and follow him through
the successive pages which his history will fill.
We see him now, instead of a friendless, pov-
erty-stricken orphan, overwhelmed with de-
spair, comfortably situated in the employment
of a worthy, excellent man, who, though not
over-ready to form his estimates of human
character on a short acquaintance, was yet al-
most prepared to love the youthful preserver
of his child as though he were his son. I hope
no one will doubt the gratitude of the orphan,
52 NEVER TOO LATE.

not only to his earthly benefactor, but to the
great Disposer of events, who had so merci-
fully provided for him when his prospects were
so dark and dreary.

The crew of the vessel came on board the
next day, and Captain Hart, having provided
his young protegé with everything necessary
for his comfort, sent him forward in the fore-
castle to take his chance with the rest; but
not without having first given him such advice
for his conduct as was necessary for a boy
thrown thus among men, whose habits and
manners were so different from those he had
been accustomed to meet. He profited so
well by the advice of his worthy friend and
benefactor, and was so willing, obliging, and
respectful, to the old sailors, that they took a
fancy to him at once, and one old salt, who
had passed nearly thirty years at sea, adopted
him as his ‘ chicken,”’ this being a term which
the sailors always apply to a boy whom they
select as a pet. The berth of chicken is not
always the most enviable or desirable, for some
sailors are fond of thrashing their chickens un-
mercifully, as a payment, I suppose, for the
instruction they impart; but George had the
good fortune to secure the good will of one
who believed his chicken could’get along with-
out a thrashing.

The brig sailed the next day, and, after
briefly mentioning the route intended for her
THE RESCUE. 58

cruise, which would occupy about two years,
I will leave George for the present. The Irene
was bound to the west coast of South Ameri-
ca, where, after trading away her cargo at the
various ports from Cape Horn to Panama, she
would fill up and return home. The crew
consisted of the captain, two mates, and ten
men before the mast, besides George and the
old cook. And now that he is fairly off, I will
turn again to Eugene Rawson, the young aspi-
rant for a midshipman’s appointment.
6*
54 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER VI.
THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN.

Apour a week after the dinner party, at
which Commodore R. was present, a large
yellow package, addressed to ‘* Midshipman
Eugene Rawson,” was brought to the counting-
house of Mr. Rawson, and the frank of the secre-
tary of the navy assured Mr. R. that the applica-
tion of the kind commodore had been success-
ful. He was truly pleased himself, and could
scarcely forego the pleasure of sending it to
the school where Eugene was, not, I am bound
to say, studying his lessons, but filling his slate,
and the blank leaves of all his books, with rude
pictures of vessels in all possible positions.

When he went home t« dinner, Mr. Rawson
placed the package : =~ the plate Jaid for
Eugene, without having informed even his
wife of the success of Commodore "5
application. Eugene came in, as usual, late,
and, having seated himself, turned over his
plate, when the package caught his eye, and a
single glance at the superscription let him into
the truth at once. He tore it oven, and un-




THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN. 55

pounded indeed was his delight when he took
out his appointment as a midshipman in the
navy of the United States. The envelope con-
tained, in addition, a pattern for the embroid-
ered collar of his uniform, and orders to pro-
ceed to Norfolk with as little delay as practica-
ble and report to Commodore W. » for
duty, on board the sloop-of-war F , then
fitting for sea, for a voyage to the Pacific sta-
tion.

Mrs. Rawson could not restrain her tears as
she saw the exuberant delight with which Eu-
gene received the notice of his appointment.
In the bitterness of her own feelings, she for-
got for the moment that-he was but a boy, and
that it was but natural, considering the manner
in which he had been educated, to exhibit such
Joy at the gratification of his own desires, al-
though it cost his mother so much pain.

Mr. Rawson was pleased and grieved. He
was pleased that the road to honorable em-
ployment and preferment was thus opened to
his son, and he was grieved that his wife raised
80 many objections to his following a profes-
sion so honorable, in which distinction and ad-
vancement were the sure reward of merit.

It is not, however, my purpose to enter into
the feelings of a parent upon such an occasion,
nor shall [ inform them of the means Mr. Raw-
son took to reconcile his wife to a parting with
her son. Suffice it to say, that, as Eugene had




56 NEVER TOO LATE.

money at his command, his equipment was
soon completed, and in ten days from the re-
ceipt of his appointment and orders he was on
the road to Norfolk to join the F sloop-
of-war, which was destined for a three years’
cruise on the western coast of South America.

Before parting, his mother gave him much
advice as to his conduct, manners, &c. It
was such advice as a mother so eminently
worldly would give, and such as suited Eu-
gene exactly.

Having reported himself to the commodore
of the station, he received additional orders to
proceed at once on board the F » and, in
the course of a few hours, he found himself
installed in the steerage as one of the midship-
men of that vessel.

Two days after joining the vessel, he was
allowed to go on shore with some others, with
directions to return at an early hour in the
evening, and, having dressed himself in full
uniform, he was landed in the city. And now,
for the first. time, he felt his own importance.
Wherever he went his uniform commanded
respect and, from many, obsequiousness, which
was peculiarly agreeable to his feelings.

Having plenty of money, he soon found
plenty of friends, and a party was made up to
have what was termed a great day’s sport.
What that sport consisted of it is not material
to state; but the day closed upon Eugene




THE YOUNG B*‘DSHIPMAN 57

Rawson in a state of helpless intoxication, and
in that condition he was taken on board.

The next morning the first lieutenant, who
was a worthy, excellent officer, not disposed
to attribute all the follies of inexperienced youth
to confirmed vice, sent for him, and having
admonished him of the consequences which
would inevitably result from a continuance of
such a debasing habit, and having extracted
from him a promise not to be guilty of similar
misconduct for the future, he permitted him to
escape without punishment for that time.

When he returned to the steerage, Hugene
was laughed at for being such a weak-headed
boy as to get drunk so soon, and was advised
by some of the older midshipmen, who had
passed through many such scenes, to practise
a little more before he went on shore again for
a day’s sport.

Eugene was chafed by these sarcasms, and,
forgetting the kindness of the first lieutenant in
overlooking an offence so severely punishable
in the navy, he determined not to keep his
promise to that officer, but to be more cautious
for the future, and avoid, if possible, a repe-
tition of such a scene with the ‘first luff,” as
he had already learned to call him.

And now, reader, both boys are fairly start-
ed in the world. The one in the humblest
sphere in life, grateful for the situation of boy
before the mast in a merchant vessel; the oth-
58 NEVER TOO LATE.

er proud of his appointment as a midshipman,
proud of his uniform, and proud of the posi-
tion he holds by reason of his father’s wealth.

The one has ever before him the fear of
God, the remembrance that his all-seeing eye
is ever on him, and a heart filled with deep
gratitude to him for his merciful goodness.
The other has never learned to think of heav-
en, much less of the great hereafter. Schooled
only to dread the evil opinion of the world, he
is sent out in it with all the appliances that
wealth and rank can command, and with a
prospect, amounting to a certainty, of eventual
promotion.

It is my purpose to follow the career of
these two boys, in the humble hope that the |
examples afforded by a brief history of their
fortunes may point out to some one, at least,
the folly, the wickedness, and the danger of
looking only to the fleeting shadows of this
world for that happiness which the world never
yet has given, and never can give, to its vota-
ries.

The F sailed in about three weeks af-
ter Eugene joined her, from Norfolk, for the
western coast of South America; but, before
she departed, Eugene had so conducted him-
self that the first lieutenant was compelled to
set him down as a wilful, dissipated boy, and
he determined to put some check upon him
for the future, by restraining him from going


THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN. 59

on shore, this being a severe and often-tried
means of punishment, known among midship-
men as being “ quarantined.”

As Eugene had a natural taste for the sea,
he soon acquired some insight into his profes-
sion, and by the time the vessel reached Rio
Janeiro, where she stopped to fit for the bois-
terous passage around Cape Horn, he was
looked upon as a promising young officer.
The first lieutenant, however, had not forgot-
ten his conduct at Norfolk, and when his day
for going on shore came around (which, by
custom on board United States vessels-of-war,
is once in three days), he was mortified to
learn that he alone, of all the midshipmen, was
debarred from that privilege, and, as he con-
sidered that his father’s wealth must give him
a claim to the partiality, of the commander, he
determined to apply directly to him.

Proceeding at once to the commander, he
applied to him for permission to go on shore ;
but was peremptorily told that he must first
deserve such favors before he could expect
them. Thus rebuffed, he retired to the steer-
age, and, for the first time, felt completely dis-
gusted with his profession. He had hereto-
fore been so much accustomed to have his
own way in everything, he could not now
brook control, and his indignation was aroused
to the utmost against his superior officers ; nor
was it at all lessened when he was summoned
60 NEVER TOO LATE.

on deck to go in one of the boats, which was
to go on a watering party, to be absent nearly
the whole day. At that moment, if he had
had the opportunity, he would have resigned
his appointment and returned home; but, be-
fore he had time even to express his feelings,
he was hurried up, and received a sharp repri-
mand for keeping the boat so long in waiting.
This was particularly cutting, for, by the es-
tablished custom, he could not be required to
perform any duty on that day, and he descend-
ed the side of the vessel with an air of mortifi-
cation and rage. He was particularly cau-
tioned against allowing the men to procure
liquor, or to leave the boat, and, with this last
injunction ringing in his ears, the boat was
shoved off.

On the passage to the shore, while he lay in
the stern sheets of the boat, moodily commu-
ning with himself, the coxswain, who was an
old sailor, and who saw through the character
of Eugene at a glance, attempted to console
him for his mortification by speaking of the un-
necessary harshness of the first lieutenant, and
Eugene, instead of promptly checking him, en-
couraged him by his silence. The crew, too,
who knew they had a hard and hot day’s work
before them, used every effort to get him in a
good humor, and they succeeded so well that,
by the time they reached the watering-place:
he had made up his mind that the order to de
THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN. 61

prive the men of their liquor was unnecessary
and harsh, and he determined not to obey it.
The result was, that, when the boat was ready
to return to the ship in the afternoon, out of
the ten men who composed the boat’s crew,
three had deserted, and four were in a state
of intoxication too evident to be concealed.

Eugene’s feelings, as he pulled back to the
ship, were anything but agreeable. He knew
he had wilfully disobeyed the orders of his su-
perior officer, and that he was justly open to
severe punishment; but he determined to
brave it out, and to say that the men had ob-
tained the liquor without his permission, for-
getting, at the moment, that he had himself left
the boat for some time to go to a neighboring
coffeehouse and indulge his own growing pro-
pensity for that iniquitous practice.

As he stepped on the deck of the F
he was met by the first lieutenant, to whom he
boldly reported his return.

* Yes, sir, Lsee you have returned, and how
faithfully you have obeyed my orders. I had
intended, if you had exhibited any desire to
make amends for your past misconduct, to
permit you to go on shore before we sailed.
Now, of course, you can expect no such favor.
Go below, sir, and remain there until I send
for you.”

The crew, who were desirous of shielding
themselves from punishment, betrayed Eugene


62 NEVER TOO LATE.

without any compunction, and told the truth
“as to the manner in which they had obtained
the liquor.

This was reported to Captain L » and
the consequence was, that Eugene received a
reprimand, such as he would not be likely to
forget soon, and was ordered to keep an extra
watch, day and night, until further orders.

Eugene would have very cheerfully resigned
his appointment at that moment, but, as the
commodore of the squadron was not, at pres-
ent, in port, he could not, and was most re-
luctantly compelled to submit in silence to his
well-merited punishment. The most galling
part of the whole, however, was the laughter
and jeers of his messmates, who almost suc-
ceeded in forcing the tears from his eyes by
their tormenting taunts. His punishment, it is
true, had one good effect; it convinced him
that he must obey orders, and that there was
no prospect of success for him in contending
against his superiors. A little reflection taught
him that, unless he altered his course, he would
not be allowed to go on shore at all during the
cruise, and he determined to make an effort to
avoid, if possible, so disagreeable a punishment.

In this he succeeded so well that, before the
vessel had reached Cape Horn, he was relieved
from his extra watch duty, and the first lieuten-
ant exhibited some tokens of having forgotten,
or, at least, forgiven, his past misconduct. He


THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN. 63

had, too, learned by this time that he was not
superior to his messmates by virtue of his fa-
ther’s wealth ; but this lesson was only learned
after two or three severe battles, caused by his
own impudence and arrogance, in which he
had been soundly thrashed. His passion for
the sea was rapidly diminishing, and he had
almost made up his mind to resign as soon as
the F reached port, and return home in
some merchantman. The passage around Cape
Horn was very cold and boisterous, and Eu-
gene suffered much, but he stood it out manful-
ly; and, when the vessel had weathered the cape,
he was gratified by receiving a complimentary
expression from the first lieutenant, which was
followed the same day by an invitation to dine
in the cabin with the captain.

Unfortunately, he attributed this kindness to
a wrong motive, and his own self-importance
increased wonderfully ; but he dared not ex-
hibit it among his messmates, as he had already
received such severe lessons on that score.


64 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER VII.
THE MEETING.

Tue course of the Irene, carried her on
the western coast of South America, and it
chanced that on one of her trading trips, she
entered the port of Valparaiso, in Chili, where
the F was then lying, on board which was
Eugene Rawson, as one of the midshipmen;
and as she came in under the American flag,
it was generally supposed she had letters from
home. A boat from the F was accordingly
ordered to be manned, and one of the lieuten-
ants despatched on board, to receive letters if
she had any for the squadron, Eugene being
sent in charge of the crew, as the officer of the
boat.

On nearing the Irene and hailing her, it was
soon ascertained that she was not directly from
home ; but Lieutenant F , who was a great
admirer of beautiful vessels, saw something in
the Irene which attracted his attention, and he
determined to go on board and examine ber.
He was received by Captain Hart at the gang-






THE MEETING. 65

way, and invited into the cabin, but he saw
so much to excite his interest as a sailor, in
the neatness and trimness of the Irene, that he
could not go below without complimenting
Captain Hart, upon the appearance of his vessel.

Eugene also mounted the side of the lrene,
and was met by George, who stood there,
gazing with something of astonishment and
pleasure, at the uniform and dirk of the young
midshipman.

‘‘Why don’t you touch your hat, you
young vagabond ?”” exclaimed Eugene, as he
stepped on the deck of the Irene, and he add-
ed, before George had time to reply to the in-
solent and imperious salutation of the haughty
young officer, ‘if I had you on board the
F , 1 would teach you better manners in a
short time.”

One of the old sailors, standing in the gang-
way as the boat came along side, who was
particularly attached to George, and who had
heard him addressed thus insolently without
having given any offence whatever, immedi-
ately took off George’s hat, and placing his
hand on the boy’s head, bowed it very low,
and as George returned to an erect posture,
he said, ‘‘ There, Mister Midshipman, he has
made his manners to you. If you live long
enough, you may see the time when you will
be glad to touch your hat to him. Come,
George, it is grub time now ; leave this young

- 6


66 NEVER TOO LATE.

ossifer to practice his manners, and go below
and get the dinner ready.”

Eugene looked at the old sailor, as though
he would gladly have tested the metal of his
dirk upon his ribs, but as the old man did not
quail beneath his angry glance, he wisely re-
frained from saying anything, and tossing his
head contemptuously, he strode aft to the cabin
door, and indulged himself by wondering what
they had to eat and drink on board sucha
craft as that. The lieutenant did not keep
him long in waiting, but soon returned on deck,
and ordered Eugene into the boat with a stern-
ness, if not rendered necessary for the preser-
vation of discipline, at least sufficiently marked
to convince any one who heard him, that it
was not by his choice, Eugene had charge of
the boat.

The day after the arrival of the Irene, Cap-
tain Hart took George ashore with him, and
giving him a few reals,* told him to look
around for himself, and return to the con-
signee’s house before sun-down. George thank-
ed the captain heartily, but would quite as
willingly have remained with him, as he knew
not a word of the language, and there was not
a soul in the place whom he knew.

He stood on the mole watching the rece-
ding form of his kind benefactor, and was

* Shillings,
THE MEETING. 67

aroused from a very pleasant revery, by the
sound of “ oars all.”*

Turning to the bay he beheld a boat from the
F in which were seated three midshipmen
in their uniform, talking and laughing long and
loud, and among them George recognised the
young officer who had treated him so rudely
on the day of his arrival. Eugene, for he was
one of them, did not recognise in the trimly-
dressed boy, the rough looking lad whom he
had insulted on board the Irene, and as he
landed, he merely glanced at him with a sneer
of contempt.

“ Come, boys, now for a lark,” he shouted,
as the boat from which he had landed put off
again for the ship.

‘“T’ll bet you a dozen segars, Eugene,” ex-
claimed one of his companions, “ you will cut
some caper to day for which the first luff
(i. e. first lieutenant) will quarantine you for
a good six months.”

‘Done, if you except breaking your head
for impudence,” gayly exclaimed Eugene.

‘*Oh yes, that goes for nothing of course.”
_ Well, I don’t expect to get ashore again
ina hurry, so I mean to have a real spree this
time. Come let us go and freshen the nip.”t



* The word of command for the crew of a man-of-war
boat to toss their oars, when near a landing, or side of a
essel,

tA sailor’s term for drinking.
68 NEVER TOO LATE.

This, although it was only about ten o’clock
in the morning, was readily acceded to by all,
and they started for the hotel, to pass the morn-
ing in drinking and playing billiards.

George strolled about the city in utter list-
lessness, and had wished himself on board the
Trene half a dozen times, when he fell in with
one of the crew of the Irene, who had, like
himself, been permitted to come ashore for the
day, and under his guidance, he was soon made
acquainted with everything that was worth see-
ing in the place. He passed the time very
pleasantly till near sundown, when he went to
the consignees to meet Captain Hart, and they
both went to the mole, and made signals for a
boat to come off and take them on board.

While waiting the arrival of the boat from the
Irene, a boat from the F came to the land-
ing to bring on board the young officers who
had landed in the morning, and who were al-
ways required to come off in the sundown
boat. In a few minutes, they came down tow-
ard the boat, and between them was Eugene,
who it was evident was very nearly helpless
from intoxication. His companions were evi-
dently ashamed of him and his disgraceful sit-
uation, and as they supported his staggering
form down toward the boat, they turned their
heads, so as not to be recognised by Captain
Hart, who was watching them with the most
painful emotions.


THE MEETING. 69

Just before they reached the boat, Eugene,
who like all other drunken persons stoutly de-
nied that he was intoxicated, insisted on being
suffered to go alone, and though it was plain
he was not able to take care of himself,
his companions, who had already been suf-
ficiently disgraced by his conduct in the city,
very willingly suffered him to have his own
way. Perceiving the boat from the Irene ap-
proaching the mole, and not seeing his own
boat which was waiting for him on the other
side, he made for the former, which was near-
ing the end of the landing, and staggering along,
he fell into the sea. The boat from the F
was at once shoved off and pulled around to the
place where he had fallen, but before they
reached the spot, George, who had watched the
whole proceeding, had plunged in after him, and
by the time the F *s boat came around, he
was clinging to one of the posts which support-
ed the mole, holding the half-drowned and
half-sobered midshipman above water by the col-
lar of his coat.

Eugene was dragged into the hoat almost
senseless, and unconscious of the danger he
had escaped, while George scrambled back on
the mole, having received the hearty cheers
of the gallant boat’s crew, who admired and
loved his fearlessness and intrepidity.

Captain Hart could not say anything. The
whole scene reminded him of the occurrence




70 NEVER TOO LATE.

in New York, when his beloved Irene was
preserved from death by the same fearless boy,
and he felt how truly George had spoken at
that time, when he said he would have jumped
overboard to save any other person, just as
quickly as to save Irene. He felt proud of
his young protegé, and mentally resolved that
so long as he owned a plank to float on, George
should share it with him. He knew that George
did not expect to be commended for the deed
which he had performed, and he did not at-
tempt it, but when he reached the Irene, he
ordered him to go below and shift his clothing,
and while that was being done, he related the
occurrence to his mate in the hearing of the
old cook, who soon carried it to the forecastle,
and the sailors who were fond of him before,
now absolutely loved him, and would have sac-
rificed anything to serve or please him.

On the following morning, Eugene was sent
for by the first lieutenant of the F » and
was conducted into his state-room.

** Well, Mr. Rawson, this is the first time I
ave trusted to your pledges ; I suppose you
expect it to be the last, do you not ?”

Eugene attempted some excuse, but even
his tongue failed, and he could only say he
was very sorry.

“¢ Sorry ! well you may be sorry, and T am
only surprised that you have no other term for
your feelings. I presume you must be aware


THE MEETING. 71

how you have disgraced the uniform and the
service by your conduct yesterday. I did
hope you would not so soon have forgotten
yourself. Do you know to whom you are in-
debted for the preservation of your life ?”

Eugene acknowledged he did not, for, at
the time of the accident, he was almost help-
lessly intoxicated, and, when placed in safety,
was well nigh senseless, from the combined
effects of the liquor he had drank and the
quantities of salt water he had swallowed be-
fore he was rescued. Indeed, he had a very
faint recollection of having been overboard at
all, and the idea that his life had been endan-
gered had never once presented itself to his
mind.

‘“‘ Well, I will tell you, sir,” responded Mr.
W—, “and I hope you will return suitable
acknowledgments to him. It was a boy on
board the brig Irene. You may go on board
of her, if you desire to return him your thanks,
and that shall be the last time you leave this
vessel, except on duty, while I am first lieu-
tenant.”

The mention of the boy on board the brig
Trene, called to the mind of Eugene the oc-
currence of the previous day, and his cheek
tinged with shame, as he thought of his rude-
ness to the boy to whom he owed his life. That
feeling so unnatural to him, soon wore off, and as
he retired from the presence of Mr. F » his




72 NEVER TOO LATE.

thoughts were occupied with inventing some
mode by which he might be rid of such tyranny,
as he termed the conduct of the first lieuten-
ant.

He would gladly have avoided an interview
with his gallant young preserver, not because
he could not feel grateful to him, but as he
judged others by himself, he thought George
had treasured up his rudeness of the previous
day, and if he did not remind him of it, would
at least give him reason to know he had not
forgotten it. However as he knew it was ex-
pected that he would go on board the Irene, he
obtained a boat for that purpose, and pulled
alongside, where he was received by Captain
Hart with great kindness, and he expressed
great pleasure that he had not suffered from
the accident of the previous night. ‘* But, my
dear young friend, let an old sailor speak a few
words to you in kindness of spirit. I see that
you, like many others, think you can not be-
come sailors, unless you can swear and drink
rum. Now, sir, swearing is sinful, and drink-
ing is disgraceful. That is the experience of
thirty years at sea, man and boy, and if you
live half that time, you will acknowledge that
what I have said is true.”

Eugene did not relish the reproof of the
kind-hearted captain, but putting on the best
face he could, he thanked him, and promised
to remember and profit by his advice. He
THE MEETING. 73

then inquired for George, and Captain Hart
having sent for him, the two boys again met.

‘“T have come,” said Eugene, ‘to thank
you for the preservation of my life.”

‘* You need not have taken the trouble, sir,”
said George, modestly ; ‘I should have done
the same to any other person, and neither ex-
pected nor desired thanks. But if you will
grant mea favor, I shall deem myself sufficient-
ly repaid, if indeed you consider yourself under
obligations to me.”

“I certainly can not refuse anything you may
choose to ask,” said Eugene, nothing doubt-
ing that George was about to ask some pecu-
niary reward, and he had come prepared to
make such a compensation.

“‘Then, for the sake of your health, your
happiness, and, more than all, for the- sake of
your soul’s salvation, never again suffer your-
self to be led into the same situation as you
were last night. Abandon drinking as you
would live here or hereafter. Do this, and
you amply repay me, and will feel more grate-
ful to me for having asked you, if you adhere
to it, than you can, that | was the humble in-
strument under God of rescuing you from a
watery grave.”

‘Tam much obliged to you for your kind
wishes,” said Eugene, somewhat haughtily; «I
came to return my grateful thanks for your gal-
lantry in saving my life, and will endeavor to prof-

7
74 NEVER TOO LATE.

it by your advice. Good morning ;” and Eu-
gene left the cabin burning with shame and mor-
tification at having been reproved, and so justly
too, by one whom he considered so much his
inferior.

“ Ah, George,” said Captain Hart, as Eu-
gene pulled off toward the ship, for he had
heard the whole conversation, *‘ I am afraid no
good will come of that young man.”

George replied, Jooking up to his benefactor’s
face with emotion, ‘' Jt zs never too late, sir,’
and returned to his work. And thus these
two boys met and parted for the first time. The
one an officer in the service of his country—
the other.an humble cabin boy, thankful for the
kindness which gave him a home, though it
was upon the boisterous deep, and trusting in
God to preserve, guide, and protect him, in his
wanderings through life.
FIRST REVERSES. 75

CHAPTER VII.
FIRST REVERSES.

WE left George on board the Irene, in the
harbor of Valparaiso, and, as he is, doubtless,
doing well, I will turn for a time to the family
of the worthy Captain Hart, who have already
been briefly introduced to the reader.

Mrs. Hart was, in every sense of the word,
a Christian. Kind, humane, and charitable,
her whole heart was filled with the purest be-
nevolence and kindly feeling. She had, in
early days, known and suffered many of the
ills which flesh is heir to, and her sympathies
were, in consequence, readily excited by any
scene of suffering or distress. Her soul had
been converted to God during an afflicting dis-
pensation with which she had been visited, and
the prosperity which had continued since to
pour in upon her in most abundant streams, so
far from alienating her heart from the great
Disposer of events, had tended to fix her faith
more firmly, and to render her gratitude more
deep and abiding.
76 NEVER TOO LATE.

Through her instrumentality, it had pleased
her heavenly Father to turn the heart of her
husband to the only true source of happiness,
and she had the pleasure of seeing him, who
was once the rough, careless, boisterous sail-
er, now converted into the humble, but firm
believer in those precious promises so freely
held out to all who seek them in the right
way.

It is hardly necessary to say, that the chil-
dren of such parents had been brought up in
the right path. They had been taught to love
and honor God from early infancy, and the
impressions made upon their minds had be-
come, at least so far as could be judged from
appearances, durable and ineffaceable. The
two eldest girls, Maria and Emily, were modest
and well educated, and I hope it will detract
nothing from the good opinion which the reader
ought to have of them, when I say that neither
of them was handsome. ‘They were, in fact,
almost plain; but there was something about
them so interesting, it might almost be termed
charming, that no person could be in their
company long withaut discovering their good
qualities, and appreciating them, too.

Trene, the pet, the favorite, I have already
described, and I need say no more of her at
present ; but with such parents and such chil-
dren nothing but pure happiness could be
found. Blessed with every comfort and con-
FIRST REVERSES. 77

venience to render life comfortable, endurable,
and desirable, they raised their hearts in devout
thankfulness for them, and, while they hoped
for the continuance of these blessings, they
were prepared in their hearts to resign them
at any moment when it should please their
heavenly Father to take them away, and they
were so deeply imbued with faith and the spirit
of resignation, as to be enabled to submit cheer-
fully to any dispensation with which they might
be visited.

Captain Hart was, as I have said, part own-
er of the Irene, and the rest of his property
was invested in such a manner as to produce
a comfortable income independent of his earn-
ings at sea, which he always managed to lay
by so as to increase his capital. Although he
was a careful, prudent man, he was too apt
to place implicit confidence in any statement
which might strike his mind as plausible, and,
under the influence of such feelings, he had
permitted the greater part of his money to lie
in the hands of a firm with whom he had had
many transactions, and who, he was persuaded,
were as safe and sure in the possession of his
capital as though it were secured by any other
possible means of investment.

The gentleman who was the owner of the
other part of the Irene acted as his agent du-
ring Captain Hart’s frequent absences, and was
clothed with full powers to act in all things for

7*
78 NEVER TOO LATE.

him, and in him, also, he had placed the most
implicit confidence.

About six months after Captain Hart had
sailed on his last voyage, this gentleman, whose
name was Egbert, called one morning upon
Mrs. Hart, and, without the preface which
should have marked the cautious man, and
which, under the circumstances, was essen-
tially necessary, communicated to her the in-
telligence that the firm of B. & Co., in which
her husband’s fortune was invested (with the
exception of that employed in the Irene), had
failed, and that, too, in such a manner as to
leave their creditors hopeless of any future
benefits from a final settlement. This was a
terrible shock to the whole family; but all
were imbued with that Christian spirit of resig-
nation, which enabled them to bear up against
the blow with a calmness and fortitude only to
be known and possessed by those who have
derived them from the same source, and, al-
though the intelligence thus suddenly conveyed
placed before them the alternative of resorting
promptly to the most energetic measures for
their support, their prayers and praises were
offered with the same faith, fervor, and devo-
tion, as though the afflicting dispensation had
not been visited on them.

Mr. Egbert, who had become thoroughly
acquainted with the conduct of B. & Co., and
who was well assured that they would never
FIRST REVERSES. "9

realize one cent in the dollar from their assets,
felt that, in communicating to the family the
intelligence of the disaster which had befallen
them, he had performed all his duty. He
knew not how to offer sympathy or consola-
tion, and, as he did not know that Captain
Hart’s family must suddenly be reduced to in-
digence by this failure, he made no offers of
assistance, presuming that Captain Hart had
not been so imprudent as to invest his all with
them. As his agency was closed by this fail-
ure, he took no more trouble concerning them,
but awaited the return of Captain Hart.

As soon as possible, Mrs. Hart and her
daughters set about establishing themselves in
such a situation that they could, by industry
and strict economy, maintain themselves in
comparative comfort. Although she had abun-
dant credit with those persons with whom her:
husband had been wont to deal, she prudently
declined using it, well knowing that, on his re--
turn, he would be the more pleased to know
that she had managed with the utmost frugality
and economy, and thinking it probable, also, that
he might not be in a situation to pay the in-
debtedness she might incur.

Accordingly, having given up the comforta--
ble house in which they had passed so many
happy years, they hired neat apartments at a
rent which they thought they could surely
meet. Mrs. Hart took in some plain sewing,
80 NEVER TOO LATE.

and, as the girls had been brought up with a
view of being useful, as well as ornamental
members of society, they were not at a loss to
render themselves serviceable by taking in
light work from a fashionable tailoring estab-
lishment in the lower part of the city.

Alas! they soon discovered the vast differ-
ence between making up articles for their own
use and making them up for others. Mrs.
Hart, who had always prided herself upon the
neatness with which she made up her hus-
band’s shirts, was mortified at the manner in
which her work was scanned and criticised by
the foreman of the shop from which she had
obtained the shirts, a beardless boy, whose in-
solent manner and contemptuous language to
a woman of her age, and circumstanced as she
was, stung her to the quick. Smothering her
feelings, however, she received in silence, but
‘with an aching heart, the miserable pittance
allotted to her for the hard labor of a whole
week, and was alarmed sorely at the threat
held out, that, unless the next lot was fin-
ished better, he should deduct largely even
from that.

As she felt the necessity of keeping up, at
least in appearance, her spirits, she forbore to
relate the mortifications of the day to her daugh-
ters, and, indeed, she almost forgot them as she
listened to the recital of the kindness with which
Emily had been received by Mr. T——, the
FIRST REVERSES. 81

tailor from whom she had obtained work; the
encomiums he passed upon her work, the read-
iness with which he paid the stipulated price,
and his voluntary offer even to advance her
money, if she needed it, on the strength of the
new work she had brought home.

When the girls had finished the new work
given out from Mr. T , Maria was deputed
to carry it down and receive the money, and
her reception by the gentlemanly proprietor
was even more flattering than that of her
sister.

She was so much engrossed with the kind
attention of her affable and courteous em-
ployer, she did not at first observe two young
gentlemen, who had been standing in the back
part of the shop, watching her narrowly, and
eying her with looks which they intended for
those of admiration, but which alarmed her.
Hastily gathering up the work which she was
to carry home, she turned and left the shop,
hurrying homeward, as if she feared they were
in pursuit of her.

As soon as she had departed, these young
men came forward and held a long and whis-
pered conversation with Mr. T , the pur-
port of which it is not meet I should relate
here. They parted, however, apparently mu-
tually satisfied, and arranged to be there again
when Maria or Emily should return their work
which had just been given out.




82 NEVER TOO LATE.

In this manner a month had passed away,
Mrs. Hart each time suffering fresh mortifica-
tions and insults from the ill-bred youth, whe
had not the sense or feeling to sympathize
with her misfortunes, and the girls more and
more gratified that they had been so successful
as to find so kind and punctual an employer
as Mr. T .

With all their economy and prudence, the
family had not been able to save up sufficient
to meet the month’s rent now due; and, as
they possessed nothing with which they could
part to raise the necessary amount, they be-
gan, for the first time, to foresee difficulties
and troubles. Emily, however, remembering
the offer of Mr. T to advance her money
at a time when she did not require it, deter-
mined, if her mother would consent, now, that
there was occasion for it, to apply to him,
nothing doubting that he would promptly grant
her request.

Accordingly, she hastily threw on her shawl
and hood and went to his store, where she
found the same young men so often noticed by
Maria and herself. Blushing at the necessity
which compelled her to ask such a favor, she
timidly preferred her request, and, to her de-
light as well as surprise, Mr. T promptly
handed to her the amount she required, with
which she started homeward with a light and
happy heart.






FIRST REVERSES. 68

The rent was paid punctually, to the great
delight of the whole family, who now hoped
that, by the time another month came around,
they would receive tidings of their father—
such tidings, they trusted, as would relieve
them from their immediate embarrassments.
84 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER IX.
MORE MISFORTUNES.

Near_y three weeks of the second dreary
month had passed over the family of Captain
Hart, and although each one strove to appear
cheerful, each inwardly felt that, unless some-
thing was heard ere long from the absent fa-
ther and husband, their situation would be de-
plorable, indeed. Maria and Emily had tasked
their powers to the utmost to make sufficient
to repay the loan so kindly advanced by Mr.
; but they found that, beyond paying
that, during the month they had gained very
little. The cold season was approaching, and
they looked forward to it with fearful appre-
hension. Mrs. Hart, by the most severe labor,
and by working half the nights, was barely able
to earn a pittance which her necessities com-
pelled her to accept, and which was so small
in proportion to the amount of work required,
for the honor and credit of manhood, I will not
name it. The only encouragement she had to
persevere she found in the hope, that it could
not be long before she heard from her husband.


MORE MISFORTUNES. 85

She had frequently called on and sent to Mr.
Egbert, who was as deeply interested as her-
self in the success of the voyage on which the
Trene had sailed; but he had received no ti-
dings of her. She did not make known to him
their real situation, or, it is probable that, cold
and calculating as he was, he would have af-
forded her some assistance. He presumed
that she was doing well enough, and did not
give himself any trouble about her concerns.
About a year after the Irene had sailed, Mr.
Egbert saw among the marine disasters an ac-
count of the shipwreck of the brig and the rec-
ord of the loss of all on board. As his share
was fully insured, this caused him no uneasi-
ness, and, being a man of little feeling, he did
not care to be a witness to the grief which the
news of this dreadful disaster must cause to
Mrs. Hart and the family of the worthy cap-
tain; so he merely marked the paper in which
he had read it, and sent it up to her with a
cold and formal note expressing his regrets.
He added, that Captain Hart was also insured,
but had assigned the policy to him, to cover
his advances to nearly the full amount insured,
and, if she was prepared to refund those ad
vances, he would transfer the policy to her.
This note and paper reached the family as
they were seated at their cheerless, hard-earn-
ed dinner, and Irene, to whom it was delivered
at the door, not doubting that it contained the
86 NEVER TOO LATE.

joyful news which they had all so long antici-
pated, ran into the room where they were all
seated, shouting in joyous tones, ‘‘ News from
father! news from father !”

Mrs. Hart took the paper from her daughter,
and, inwardly thanking God for this blessing,
vouchsafed at this hour of trial, hastily opened
it. A single glance showed how cruelly all
were deceived, and, with a heavy groan, she
fell senseless to the floor.

The active efforts of her affectionate chil-
dren soon restored her to consciousness, and
her grief found vent in copious tears, in which
she was now joined by all, for all had eagerly
read the sad record of their father’s death.

It were a vain task to attempt to describe
the feelings of this family at the dreadful be-
reavement. All felt that their only earthly
friend and protector had been taken from them,
and, though they bowed with meek resignation
to the blow, and were ready to kiss the hand
which had inflicted it, they could not but mourn,
and with the most affectionate sincerity, the loss
of their dearly-loved parent.

Mrs. Hart, seeing that everything had now
fallen upon her, called at once upon Mr. Eg-
bert, and, being satisfied by him of the justice
of his demands against her husband, could not
deny his right to retain the amount for which
Captain Hart was insured, although it was a
sum which would have rendered her independ-
MORE MISFORTUNES. 87

ent. She related to him their present situation,
and, although she did not directly ask his as-
sistance, he saw that she required it, and, to
prevent a direct refusal, he told her his affairs
were so embarrassed, he really feared ever he
could not maintain his standing as a merchant
without assistance, and added that, if any ad-
ditional tidings of Captain Hart should reach
him, he would communicate it to her at once.
With this assurance she left him, feeling that
nothing short of absolute starvation could in-
duce her ever to apply to him. And now, for
the first time, was exhibited the importance of
the grace imparted to them. When Mrs. Hart
reached her home, after the visit to Mr. Eg-
bert, she found the girls all industriously em-
ployed.

** Well, my children,” she exclaimed, as she
took off her hat and shawl, and placed them
carefully away, ‘‘we must now look only
to God and our own industry, or we must
starve.”’

‘Well, mother,” exclaimed Irene, looking
up a moment from her work, ‘‘ what of that.
God has always been our friend, and, as we
have ever trusted and hoped in him in pros-
perity, he will not surely desert us in adver-
sity.”

“ And you know, mother, it is good for us
to be afflicted, for whom the Lord loveth, he
chasteneth,’’ said Maria.
38 NEVER TOO LATE.

‘I don’t despair, mother, by any means,”
said Emily. ‘ Mr. T will give us con-
stant work, and so long as our health is spared
to us we can get on very well. Irene is learn-
ing to help us, and very soon we mean that
you shall not work at all. Besides, this dread-
ful news may not be true. The Irene may be
lost, but father may yet be alive; and if he is,
we shall surely see him shortly.”

‘* That is wrong to indulge in such hopes,”
replied Mrs. Hart, deeply affected. ‘ The
news comes to us too correctly to leave a doubt
of its truth.”

“But, mother, suppose George should be
saved. Do you think he would not hunt the
earth over after us?’’ exclaimed Irene; “ for
you saw how grateful he was to father.”

“Ah! my daughter, you do not know the
human heart. Even if George should have
been spared, he will scarcely cast a thought on
us, and, even if he should, what could he pos-
sibly do to assist us, situated as he was—a poor
beggar-boy, preserved from starvation only by
your father’s kindness.”

‘Yes, mother, and that is the very reason
why I say, if he is alive, he will never forget
us. Iam sure I shall never forget him, for,
if it had not been for his courage, I should not
be here now to assist you.”

‘* Come, come, my child, you must not talk
thus. You may feel as grateful as you please


MORE MISFORTUNES. 89

toward George, but you will never see him
again. He was a good boy, and, if he had
been spared, would have made, by the blessing
of God, a worthy man. But this is no time
to think of what might have been; we must
now look forward. Ido not see what we are
to do; we can not afford to stay here another
month, for we can not make up the rent. We
must look out for another place.”

The girls sighed, as they looked around the
room now so neat and comfortable ; but they
could not deny that their mother spoke truly
and wisely. They tasked themselves to the
utmost of their powers, and could make barely
sufficient to procure the merest necessaries of
life, without being able to lay by one cent to
provide against the rapidly approaching inclem-
ent season.

Leaving the girls at their work, Mrs. Hart
started out in search of other rooms ; and while
she was absent, they were agreeably surprised
by a visit from Mr. T , the kind tailor,
who came for the ostensible purpose of hurry-
ing on some work which he had given to them,
and which must be at the store by eleven
o’clock next morning. He admired the neat-
ness and order which pervaded the apartment,
and when Maria, with tearful eyes, informed
him of the sad blow which had fallen on them,
and which would compel them to leave this
comfortable place, he declared they should

8* ;


90 NEVER TOO LATE.

not; that he would give them a higher price
for their work than he had paid any other per-
son, as it was done so much more neatly and
thoroughly ; and he appeared amply repaid
for this apparent generosity by the grateful
thanks which were poured out to him. Before
he left, he again urged the necessity of having
the clothes at the store at eleven o’clock.

Soon after he had left, Mrs. Hart returned,
and, when her daughters communicated to her
the fact that Mr. T had called, and his
generous offer, they were surprised to notice
that she did not receive the intelligence with
any appearance of pleasure. In truth, some
thoughts flashed across her mind, to which she
did not then choose to give utterance, Jest she
might do injustice to a kind and generous
man ; but, before she determined to accept of
any further assistance from him, she made up
her mind to institute such inquiries as would
enable her to discover any sinister ends he
might have in view. ‘To this end, she deter-
mined to carry home the next work herself,
and she thought she could judge by his treat-
ment of her, whether he was sincere in his
profession of friendship.

Accordingly, on the following morning, she
proceeded to Mr. T ’s store, who was en-
gaged at the time in earnest conversation with
the same young men who have been noticed
there before. As he did not know Mrs. Hart,




MORE MISFORTUNES. 91

never having seen her before, he bade her,
gruffly, wait a few minutes, and, without pay-
ing any further attention to her, he proceeded in |
his conversation with his customers. This was
carried on in low, whispered tones ; but she
could not avoid hearing a word now and then,
and the few words she did hear were sufficient
to attract her most earnest attention. Her sur-
prise may be imagined when she heard the
names of Maria and Emily frequently men-
tioned in terms of coarse adulation, but coup-
led with epithets that shocked her ears. At
length, after they had kept her waiting nearly
half an hour, one of them, pulling out his gold
watch and marking the time, remarked he
thought she would not come at the hour, and,
turning an angry look at Mr. T , he added,
‘“‘I guess you have been speaking two words
for yourself and one for us,” and they both
left the store.

Mrs. Hart saw at once the snare spread for
her daughters’ ruin, and she inwardly blessed
God that she had thus timely discovered it.
She was so shocked and stunned at the discov-
ery, she was for a few minutes completely lost,
and was only aroused to consciousness by the
voice of Mr. T » roughly asking her if she
had brought home any work.

Approaching the counter, she merely said,
‘‘My name is Hart, sir, and I have brought
home the clothes which my girls have fin-




92 NEVER TOO LATE.

ished, as they were too busy to come them-
selves.”

The sudden change in his manner at the
bare mention of her name convinced her that
her suspicions were well founded, and she re-
ceived his affected attentions and politeness
with ill-concealed looks of scorn and contempt.
She refused firmly to take the money for the
work, alleging that, as they were already in his
debt, they had determined not to take up any
more until that was settled.

Mr. T professed himself grieved that
he could not be permitted the pleasure of as-
sisting her, and when, at length, she had parted
from him, she hurried home with a heart agi-
tated by contending emotions. As she walked
on, she revolved in her mind the best course
to pursue, and finally determined not to men-
tion her suspicions to her daughters until they
had completed sufficient work to pay the amount
advanced by him; and this work she determin-
ed to carry home each time herself, hoping by
this plan to defeat at least one of the nefarious
schemes which she could not doubt had been
planned deliberately for their ruin.


TEMPTATIONS. 93

CHAPTER X.
TEMPTATIONS.

Mrs. Harr was in hopes she would be able
to break off entirely with Mr. T- without
informing her daughters of the real truth of the
case, and at first they expressed no surprise
when their mother insisted on carrying home
their work. For two or three occasions she
was received by Mr. T with marked po-
liteness, and she was careful so to receive his
attention as not to excite his suspicions ; but
she observed that the young men who were there
on the occasion of her first visit were always
present when she came again. This confirmed
her in the suspicions which the previous con-
duct of Mr. T had excited, and she de-
termined, let the consequences be what they
might, she would never allow her daughters
to go again to his shop.

After having returned the work several times,
Mr. T ventured to inquire if her daugh-
ters were ill, and the suddenness of the ques-
tion, which was quite unexpected, threw Mrs.








94 NEVER TOO LATE:

Hart off her guard, and she replied, with equal
truth and innocence, that they were not.

This reply satisfied Mr. T that some-
thing was wrong, and, after paying Mrs. Hart
for the work she had brought, he informed her,
in reply to her request for more work, that he
had none at present, but would send her some
as soon as he had any. She did not wish he
should adopt this course, for she was desirous
to break off all connexion with him, and she
really dreaded a renewal of the intercourse be-
tween himself and her daughters, even though
it was only that of employer and employed ;
yet, as this work was their only dependance,
she dared not give vent to her real feelings, but
left his store with a heavy heart, scarce know-
ing which way to turn, or what to do.

On her return home, she communicated the
refusal of Mr. T to deliver any more work,
which was received by the girls with saddened
hearts, and, without once dreaming of the true
reason which had led to the refusal, they be-
thought themselves only how they might pro-
vide against the consequences of being thus
suddenly thrown out of employment. Maria
and Emily offered to put on their hats and go
to see Mr. T themselves; but their moth-
er opposed this so strenuously, and with such
earnestness, they at once abandoned the idea,
without inquiring her reasons for this oppo-
sition






TEMPTATIONS. 95

The cheerfulness which formerly reigned in
the bosoms of the happy family now seemed
to have given place to lowness of spirits and
melancholy, almost amounting to despair. All
knew how difficult it was to obtain work from
establishments where they were unknown, and
even should they succeed, very few gave such
liberal prices as Mr. T , though had they,
for an instant, suspected the motives which in-
duced him to pay them the unusually large
prices which he had been giving, while he was
allowing others for the same work barely suffi-
cient for an existence, they would have shun-
ned him as they would a pestilence.

Irene alone maintained something like cheer-
fulness, and, young as she was, she felt the
necessity of keeping up good spirits in such a
trying time. The only thing they could do,
viz., seek for other work, was proposed and
adopted, Emilv and Moria starting out at once,
but going in different directions.

Emily naturally, or rather from the force of
habit, bent her steps toward the street where
the most fashionable and expensive establish-
ments were kept, and made several unsuccess-
ful applications, in some places being treated
with bare civility, and at others with positive
rudeness ; for too many, alas! are to be found,
who deem that the garb of poverty is but an-
other guise for guilt, and as such they feel priv-
ileged to insult the hapless wearer. Having


96 NEVER TOO LATE.

been repulsed three or four times with rude-
ness, she found herself opposite Mr. T "3
store, and, without giving a thought upon the
opposition her mother had made in the morn-
ing to her going there, she entered. As she
did so, and caught sight of Mr. T in ear~
nest conversation with the two young men
whom she had often observed before, she re-
membered what her mother had said, and start-
ed back, but not in time to avoid the eye of
Mr. T , who had observed her. He reach-
ed the door before she could get away, and, as
he called her in, she saw no avenue of escape,
and entered, her face crimsoned with blushes,
as she thought of the wrong she was doing.

He inquired, in bland terms, why she had
retreated, and the first lie she had told for
years was uttered in her reply, which was, that,
seeing him engaged, she had turned back, in-
tending to return again. Little did she dream
of the cousequences entailed upon her by this
single sentence, or she would have sooner re-
mained dumb for ever.

Mr. T , seeing the daughter return to
his store so soon after work had been refused
the mother, formed opinions which, though
they had no real foundation, nevertheless bore
the appearance of plausibility. He fancied
that Emily had attributed the refusal to her
mother to the fact of her being an old woman,
and that she had determined to try the effect








TEMPTATIONS. 97

of youth and beauty upon him. This was ex-
actly what Mr. T wanted ; but nothing
could have been farther from the truth. How-
ever, one end had been gained—the reappear-
ance of the girls—and Mr. T determined
to make the most of it. He told her that when
her mother left he had no work in readiness,
but had since received several orders, and she
should have as much as she chose to take home
with her. While he was speaking with her,
one of the gentlemen with whom he had been
conversing when she entered the store came up
to them, and remarked, ‘1 believe this young
lady made the last vest for me. I hope you
will give her all my work, it is so well done.”

Emily looked up, and blushed as she drop-
ped a light courtesy to the handsomest man
she had ever seen. He bent his gaze upon
her for one instant, and his large, lustrous eyes
seemed to penetrate to her very soul. “| will
take it as a favor, Miss Hart (Emily never
thought how he could have found out her
name), if you will have the vest done by to-
morrow afternoon.” He said this merely for
the sake of addressing her, as he had not fail-
ed to notice the effect which his first words and
look had produced upon her.

Emily had not the moral courage to refuse
the work proffered by Mr. T , and thus
retrace the unfortunate step she had taken in
opposition to her mother’s wishes ; but she de-






98 NEVER TOO LATE.

termined to relate faithfully to her mother the
accident by which it had been obtained, and
she promised herself, if she was displeased, not
to take any more from that shop, or ever to go
near it again.

Mr. T read her hesitancy in her looks,
and, divining rightly the cause, he said, ‘“ Miss
Hart, I have another establishment farther up
Broadway, kept by my partner in his own
name. If it is more convenient to you, you
may return the work there, and we can send it
home from there, as well as from this place,
as 1 know it is a great distance from your resi-
dence to this store. It is No. ~, near L
street.”

Emily blushed to feel that he had so truly:
read her thoughts, but merely said she would
leave the clothes at the upper store, and de-
parted, after receiving one more glance from
the large, deep-black eyes.

Before she had fairly made up her mind
how to act, or what to think of the occurren-
ces of the past few minutes, Emily was at the
door of her own house, and she formed the
determination, as sudden as it was erroneous,
that she would say she had received the work
from the upper store, the name and number of
which Mr. T had given her. Two cir-
cumstances operated on her mind in the form-
ing of this opinion—one, lest she should of-
fend her mother by having gone again to Mr.






TEMPTATIONS. 99

T ’g store, notwithstanding her opposition,
for she had entirely forgotten her good resolu-
tion of telling the truth to her mother, and act
for the future according to her advice; the
other was the fear of being thrown entirely out
of employment, which was especially to be
dreaded at the present time, as winter was
approaching, and many things, necessaries
as well as comforts, would have to be pur-
chased.

I will not surmise whether the recollection
of the handsome man, with the eloquent
eyes, had any effect in influencing her deter-
mination, but will leave that to be determined
by time and its unerring consequences. For-
tunately for her resolution, but most unfortu-
nately for Emily, her mother was out when
she entered, not having yet returned from the
shop whither she had gone to carry home some
work, and she found less difficfilty in telling
Maria and Irene, who were at home awaiting
her return, the story she had invented. Her
conscience smote her with terrible force and
truth, as she narrated the occurrences of the
hour, changing, however, the name of Mr.
T to that of his partner at the upper
store. It was her first lie to her sisters, and
the first time she had ever attempted to deceive
them.

Maria, too, had been successful in obtaining
work, but at greatly reduced prices, and Emi-




100 NEVER TOO LATE.

ly felt a glow of shame thrill through her frame
as she saw her sister seat herself quietly and
composedly to her work. She longed to lay
open her heart to her, and tell the whole truth;
but, having gone so far, she had not the moral
courage to recede from the false position she
had taken, though she inwardly acknowledged
that she could cheerfully have sacrificed any-
thing within her power could she but recall the -
words she had spoken. But they were spoken,
and the guilty, disobedient child retired to her
own room to shed tears of bitter sorrow and
regret over her folly and falsehood. Once
alone, she endeavored to justify to her con-
science the step she had taken, but it was a
hopeless task; she could only feel that she
was guilty, without a shadow of excuse, and
her only dread now was, that her mother should
discover her duplicity. And thus we see how
far astray one single false step may lead us.
Had Emily refused to receive from Mr. T:
the work which he never had intended to refuse
to Aer, or her sister, all would have been well,
and she would have gained, not only the peace
of mind resulting from a consciousness of rec-
titude of principle, conduct, and motive, but
she would have avoided burthening her con-
science with the many silly and wicked lies
which she was forced to invent to cover her
first fault.

In a few minutes Mrs. Hart returned, and


TEMPTATIONS. 101

now was the grand turning point in Emily’s
whole life. She had been early instilled with
Christian principles, and her fond parents had,
as they thought, ‘reason to belicve that the seed
had been sowed in good ground, and would
bring forth fruit abundantly, even a hundred
fold. Hers, however, was the religion of ex-
ample. She had seen her parents and her sis-
ters kneeling, day after day, and year after
year, before the throne of Divine grace, in
humble, trusting supplication ; she had knelt
with them, too, and thought she was sincere ;
she had for years been a regular attendant at
the house of God, where she was an attentive
listener. But now the time of her trial had
come ; if she proved victorious, she was safe ;
if Satan triumphed now, her fall was sealed.

As she heard her mother’s step slowly and
wearily ascending the stairs, a thousand con-
tending emotions harassed her. In one thought,
she would tell her mother all; in the next, she
had already told one lie, and to cover that she
must tell more; and, before she had time to
settle in her mind which she would adopt, her
mother stood before her, and Emily’s fate was
sealed.

“Well, daughter,” said Mrs. Hart, ‘*T am
glad you have succeeded so soon in getting
work, and at such good prices as Maria tells
me you have.”

“Yes, mother,” said Emily, scarcely daring

9*
102 NEVER TOO LATE.

to look up, lest her mother should read the lie in
her face, “I have been very fortunate, indeed.”

‘* Let me see it,” said Mrs. Hart, and Em-
ily, with hands trembling with excitement, hand-
ed to her the vest pattern which Mr. T
had given her to make for the young man who
had addressed her. The sight of it recalled
him to her mind, and she could not tell why,
but that seemed to give her courage to go on
in her guilt.

‘«¢ Where did you say you obtained this ?”
asked Mrs. Hart, with something of a stern
ness in her voice which startled Emily, who
could not conceive to what she was to attrib-
ute it.

“From Mr. M ’s, No. — Broadway.”

Mrs. Hart examined, for a few moments, the
pattern in silence, while Emily was trembling
with an apprehension for which she could not
account, and went out of the room without say-
ing another word, leaving Emily in a state of
terrible excitement. Could it be that her moth-
er had discovered her falsehood? that she had
followed and observed her enter the forbidden
store? Oh, what would she not have given at
that moment to recall all she had said, or what
would she not have given for the grace and
strength to throw herself at her mother’s feet
and confess her unworthiness and guilt. The
very idea that she was detected in a falsehood
caused her to tremble, and cold drops of per-




TEMPTATIONS. 103

spiration stood upon her forehead, now paled
with terror.

Soon her mother was heard reascending the
stairs, and, as she entered the room, Emily
read detection in her eye. It was cold, grave,
and stern, and she was evidently struggling to
conceal the emotions which shook her frame.

“Emily Hart, for the first time in twelve
years you have told me a deliberate falsehood.
This work came from Mr. T ’s. See (and
she held out a piece of vesting precisely simi-
lar), here is a piece from a vest which Maria
made up a few weeks ago, and Mr. T told
her then there was no more in the country like
it. May God forgive you, and teach you better
for the future.”

Emily heard not the last words of kindness,
for she had sunk senseless at her mother’s feet,
overcome with shame, grief, remorse and mor-
tification.




104 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER XI.
THE TRIALS OF POVERTY.

Wuew Emily awoke to consciousness, she
was surrounded by her mother and sisters, who
vied with each other in their efforts to sooth
and calm her, but like Rachel she would not
be comforted. The load of guilt and sin at
her heart was too great for endurance. The
dread of detection was now passed, and she
looked only for forgiveness, and throwing her-
self upon her mother’s neck, while she sobbed
and wept there as if her heart would break, she
implored pardon for her wickedness, in deceiv-
ing so good, so kind a mother, and such affec-
tionate devoted sisters.

‘Oh, Emily, you know not how truly I for-
give; how cheerfully I pardon and overlook
this your first fault, but do not let your heart
forgive you too easily. Do not dread the -
chidings of your conscience, for they will keep
you from straying again. But, Emily, how
could you think of deceiving those who loved
you so dearly? Do you not think I hada
THE TRIALS OF POVERTY. 105

good motive in opposing so earnestly as I did,
your return to the shop of that infamous man,
Mr. T ”

The word infamous, opened a new train of
thought to Emily and Maria, and both in-
wardly thanked God, that they had, through
the watchful carefulness of their dear mother,
been warned and rescued from the impending
danger. Emily, as soon as she had regained her
composure, related the circumstances of the
visit to Mr. T ’s store and no one doubted
her now. When she had concluded, Mrs.
Hart folding the work neatly up, said she would
return it herself, but at the urgent request of
her daughters, they were allowed to finish it,
both urging that it would be wrong to take the
work out and return it untouched without as-
signing some reason. Accordingly they both
proceeded to work on it, and when it was fin-
ished, Mrs. Hart took it to the upper store, as
Mr. T had directed, and in confirmation
of her suspicions, the first person she saw as
she entered the store, was a young man, whom
she had observed so often in conversation with
Mr. T: , the same who had so attracted
Emily’s attention.

Having received pay for the work, she did
not stop to inquire for more, but hastily took
her leave, thankful that she had been so easily
rid of that which she feared might have proved
troublesome.








106 NEVER TOO LATE.

When she reached her home, she turned on
the steps, and was surprised beyond measure
to see the young man whom she had left stand-
ing in the store, pass the house, but without
taking any notice of her. She felt sure that
he had followed her, and she could not but
think, notwithstanding his apparent inattention,
with the basest of motives. She determined,
however, to warn her daughters, and trust in
Heaven for protection and guidance.

Calling Emily and Mariato her, she related to
them the occurrence she just noticed, and warn-
ed them against the arts which she now felt sure
would be practised, to lead them astray from
the path of virtue and rectitude, and she closed
her earnest affectionate appeals to them, by in-
voking the Divine protection and guidance for
them. Emily did not dare to inquire as to the
appearance of the person who had followed her,
but a something which she could not account for
seemed to tell her, that it was the same hand-
some gentleman who had accosted her, and fer
whose sake she had committed so heinous a
sin, as to deceive her affectionate trusting moth-
er, and fond sisters.

She essayed not to think of him, but the
tones of his voice had sunk too deeply to be
soon forgotten. ‘The glance of his eloquent
eyes had made an impression not easily ef-
faced, and for sometime she was lost in medi-
tation, half pleasing, half painful. For a short
THE TRIALS GF POVERTY. 107

time, all recollection of the occurrences in
which she had played so disgraceful and con-
spicuous a part was swallowed up by thoughts
which ought never to have found a place in
her bosom ; but it seemed as though there was
a fascination in the remembrance of the one
whom she had met at Mr. T 3, While
thus lost she chanced to raise her eyes, and
her face was crimson, as she observed him on
whom her thoughts were even then dwelling,
passing the house. He looked up to the win-
dow where she was seated, and again his speak-
ing eyes met her own. She hurried away from
her seat, her heart beating wildly, and excited
by the strangest emotions.

Her mother and sister had observed the ac-
tion, and, as Mrs. Hart came to the window
and caught a glimpse of his receding figure, a
presentiment of something dreadful crossed her
mind. She dared not give utterance to the
thoughts which agitated her, but inwardly com-
mending her daughter to the care of that Pow-
er to whom all prayers must be offered, and in
whom she had always trusted, she determined
to relax no efforts, nor cease her vigilance, if
by those means her daughter could be saved
from the ruin which she felt was impending
over her.

She communicated her suspicions to Maria,
who was not more astonished than shocked,
and she cheerfully and joyously consented to


108 NEVER TOO LATE.

do all in her power to aid her mother in rescue
ing her beloved sister from danger.

Irene was, perhaps, too young to enter into
the feelings of her parent and sister upon this
subject, and she was, therefore, kept in igno-
rance of their thoughts and plans. She pur-
sued the even tenor of her way, doing what
was assigned to her cheerfully and patiently,
looking for grace and strength to that Power
from whom alone they can be obtained. She
was growing up with a promise of lovely wo-
manhood, and the charms of her mind were in
no wise inferior to those of her person. ‘There
was a softness, a tender melancholy about her,
left by the remembrance of their sad and sud-
den bereavement, and their sudden change from
prosperity to such trying adversity, which threw
an interest about her not readily to be described.

She often thought of ‘little George,” as she
had been wont to call him, and many were the
tears she shed over his early fate; but she was
consoled by the reflection, that he was one at
all times ready to obey that call which must be
made to all.

I will not attempt to follow the career of this
amiable family through all the scenes of the
next six months. Suffice it to say, Emily Hart
fell a victim to wiles and snares the most infa-
mous and deliberate, and the misery of the
once happy family was consummated by find-
ing her absent one morning, and in her room
THE TRIALS OF POVERTY. 109

a brief note, stating that she had intrusted her
happiness to the care of one who had promised
to make it the study of his life.

Mrs. Hart never recovered from the shock
occasioned by this dreadful intelligence, but
soon after sank broken-hearted into her prema-
ture grave, leaving her orphan daughters to the
cold charity of the world, and her last sigh was
uttered in a prayer for her deluded, betrayed,
and ruined child.

The situation of the bereaved orphans was
now deplorable indeed. The friends who had
flocked around while prosperity smiled on
them had fled before the chilling blast of pov-
erty, and they were alone in the world. Their
kind father was suddenly snatched from
them by one of those calamities too frequently
occurring to those who make their home upon
the deep, and their affectionate mother sent
down to the grave with her gray hairs in sorrow
by the wickedness of her cherished daughter.

They determined that, whatever might be
the consequences, they would never be sepa-
rated, but would abide their fate in unity and
harmony. ‘They never ceased to think upon
and pray for their deluded sister, and they
trusted that the same Power which had support-
ed them under so many trials and temptations
would abide with them still, and would, if their
beloved sister was yet alive, renew in her heart
the mighty influence of his hallowing spirit.

10
110 NEVER TOO LATE.

V

By dint of slavish toil, extended day after
day into the weary watches of the night, they
managed to procure what might be termed a
subsistence ; but none knew how much they
often suffered for the want of actual necessaries
at seasons when their situation demanded the
deepest sympathy. Unfortunately, such suffer-
ings are too common to render it necessary for
me to dilate upon them, and, until something
is done by philanthropists to see justice ren-
dered to that unfortunate class of our popula-
tion who are compelled to waste their strength
and energies in toiling for those who grind them
to the very dust, they must remain so. It is to
be earnestly hoped, however, that the appeals
which are made to their humanity will not be
much longer disregarded, and that the force
of public opinion will at length compel those
who make their fortunes by the sweat of the
seamstress’ brow, to compensate them in a more
adequate manner for their toil.
4 NEW ERA. 111

CHAPTER XII.
A NEW ERA.

Time with its noiseless step has passed
over seven years, and the second era in our
tale commences. Seven years! what a length
of time to see in prospect! how short when
we look back upon them! Seven years have
wrought many changes in the families with
whom the reader has been made acquainted in
the former pages of this little book.

Let us go to a neat little farm in a neighbor-
ing state. Who is that white-haired, care-worn
man seated on the front stoop, apparently watch-
ing the gambols of two children, as they roll
and tumble over the smooth greensward, in
company with a superb Newfoundland dog,
which seems to enjoy the sport as well and ra-
tionally as themselves? It is Mr. Rawson,
whom seven years since we left a wealthy, pros-
perous merchant, moving in the highest and
most fashionable circles, spending thousands
with a profuse prodigality warranted only by the
possession of the fabled purse of Fortunatus.
112 NEVER TOO LATE.

The sudden revulsions of mercantile affairs
came upon him with resistless force, and he
fell beneath the blow, having succeeded only
in saving from his supposed immense fortune,
barely sufficient to support himself and wife in
decency in the humble, retired place he had
chosen for his future residence, and where we
now find him. When the misfortune which
befell so many in our land overtook him, he de-
rived his greatest consolation from the knowl-
edge that his darling son, Eugene, was well
provided for; that he was in a profession in
which, by proper conduct and attention, he
could not fail of rising, if not to eminence and
distinction, certainly to a rank and position in
society to which he had been, as it were, born.
The loss of his fortune was a blow which he
could not bear with fortitude, as he was so em-
inently a worldly man, he looked no farther and
no higher for his happiness than to the miscall-
ed pleasures of this life. ‘Those lost, all that
could render life acceptable to him had fled,
and he retired to the little farm purchased with
the remnant of his fortune, sullen and morose,
caring only to sit and brood over his misfor-
tunes, and dwelling with delight, mingled with
pain, upon the pleasures he had lost.

Mrs. Rawson was even less calculated to
bear up against this misfortune than her hus-
band. Bred from her earliest infancy in the
lap of luxury, she could not forego the enjoy-
A NEW ERA. 113

ments to which she had so long been accus-
tomed, and the loss of them so preyed upon
her mind that, after a few months passed in
useless repining, she fell a victim to a nervous
fever, and Mr. Rawson was left alone.

Eugene, whom we left on board the F .
around the southern cape of the Western Con-
tinent, had so often misbehaved, that patience
and forbearance could not longer be exercised
toward him, with any semblance of justice to
the other officers with whom he was associ-
ated, and the consequence was, that, before he
had been on the station two years, his com-
mander was under the necessity of advising
him to resign, to save himself from the disgrace
of a dismissal from the service. He was glad
to comply with this, and with a light heart took
passage in a merchant vessel bound homeward.
He reached this country soon after his moth-
er’s death, and, finding his father’s present
mode of life entirely unsuited to his taste, had
quitted him, without having even afforded him
the melancholy satisfaction of informing him
of his destination. He came to the city of
New York, and, as we shall meet him again,
we will let his history speak for itself at the
appropriate time.

After Mrs. Rawson’s death, Mr. Rawson en-
gaged a man to work his farm on shares, and
his were the children whose gambols on the
grass Mr. Rawson was apparently watching

10*


114 NEVER TOO LATE.

when he was again brought to the reader’s no-
tice.

He was, in truth, lost in melancholy musing,
but his thoughts were wandering and unde-
fined. Now he was in the midst of some of his
former gay and expensive parties, surrounded
by his fashionable, but heartless friends, who
envied him the possession of the wealth which
enabled him to outshine all his competitors in
the magnificence of his entertainments. He
sighed involuntarily and from his heart, as the
reflection crossed him, that, of all the friends
who had so often enjoyed his hospitality, not
even one was found to cheer him in his soli-
tude. The chilling blight of poverty and mis-
fortune had driven all away, and, indeed, he
was entirely forgotten by the most of them ;
but the thought which caused him more pain
and grief than all others was, that his only
son, for whom he would cheerfully have made
any personal sacrifice, had deserted him when
his presence was most needed, and when his
assistance might have been most essential.

The remembrance of his son’s ingratitude
and heartlessness brought tears to the worldly
father’s eyes, and he now felt, in all its force,

‘¢ How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is
To have a thankless child.”

The reader, I hope, will be pleased to know
that George Edgar yet lives. The Irene was
A NEW ERA. 115

indeed wrecked, on the rocks near one of the
ports in western South America, and he alone
of all on board survived to tell of the disaster.
He had clung to a spar when the vessel went
to pieces, and was washed on shore in a state
of insensibility, having saved nothing but the
little pocket-bible which Irene had presented
to him, and which was almost always his com-
panion. The American consul at the port
where he had been wrecked, procured him a
berth on board a vessel which was trading be-
tween China and the coast where the vessel
had been lost, and we will now briefly advert
to his history during a part of the seven years
which have passed.

On board the vessel in which he was placed,
he soon made friends with all, and the captain be-
came so much attached to him that he promised
to promote his interests as rapidly as he should
deserve. With this additional incentive, George
soon rendered himself worthy of promotion,
and before he was eighteen years of age he had
worked his way up from a cabin-boy to be chief
mate of a fine vessel.

Before he had sailed with his new captain,
he had written a long letter to Mrs. Hart, giv-
ing to her a circumstantial account of the dis-
aster which had befallen them, and assuring
them that, if ever it should be in his power, he:
would return to the widow and fatherless chil-.
dren the kindness bestowed by his first and
116 NEVER TOO LATE.

only benefactor, Captain Hart. This letter,
however, never came to hand, and, although
George was, perhaps, sometimes thought of,
especially by Irene, the remembrance of him
gradually wore away, and he was forgotten by
those whom he never for an hour ceased to
remember with gratitude. Irene alone cher-
ished his memory with fondness, for her gen-
erous heart would not allow her to forget one
who had preserved her life at the peril of his
own.

On one of the voyages of the ‘ Henry” (for
that was the name of the vessel on board which
George had risen to be chief mate), they had
taken on board at Whampoa an elderly gentle-
man, who was desirous of returning to the Uni-
ted States immediately, and, as there was no
vessel there bound directly homeward, he de-
termined to return by the way of South Amer-
ica, and take passage thence for the United
States.

The duties which devolved upon George
‘kept him away from the cabin most of the time,
‘except that allotted for his meals and for sleep,
-and consequently he saw but little of the pas-
senger, who was called Mr. Eccleson. Occa-
sionally, however, on fine nights, when the
heat of the weather rendered the cabin uncom-
fortable, the old gentleman would come on
deck, and pace it for a whole watch without ut-
‘tering a word to any person. One night, how-
a NEW ERA. 117

ever, when it was a dead calm, he came on
deck during George’s watch, and, after walk-
ing backward and forward a few times, he came
to the rail over which George was leaning,
and addressed some commonplace remark to
him.

George, startled by the suddenness of the
surprise, turned quickly to reply to him, and,
as he did so, the full, bright moon shone upon
his fine features, and the old gentleman, after
gazing at him a moment, as if struck with his
appearance, asked his name.

‘“‘ George Edgar, sir,” replied George, smi-
ling at the suddenness of the question.

‘“‘Have you any parents living?” asked
Mr. Eccleson, who seemed to feel that his
age gave him the privilege of being inquisi-
tive. :
“‘T have not, sir,” replied George, sadly.
‘“ My father died many years ago, and my poor
mother breathed her last in New York several
years since, just before I commenced going to
sea.”

“ How did it happen you chose to be a
sailor ?”? again queried Mr. Eccleson, evident-
ly interested in the young man, and, like most
of landsmen, thinking there must have been
some powerful motive to induce any one to se-
lect such a profession.

“Why, the truth is,” replied George, “I
nad no choice. I was glad enough to have
118 NEVER TOO LATE.

anything to do, and, thank God, I found a
friend who made a sailor of me.”

«And you made yourself a mate, I sup-
pose?” inquired Mr. Eccleson, half laugh-
ing.

“‘ Well, I don’t know about that. Captain
Ferris thinks me capable of being his mate,
and has promoted me, for which, I am sure, I
am grateful.”

«* What was your mother’s name?” asked
Mr. Eccleson, now either evidently much in-
terested in the young man, or desirous of
passing the time, and gratifying his curiosity,
though he strove to conceal it from his obser-
vation.

«« Maria, sir,” replied George, rather shortly,
for he did not much care to have his family af-
fairs pried into.

‘*‘ Have you no relatives living ?”” was the
next inquiry.

George looked at the old gentleman for an
instant, as if he intended not to reply, for he
began to be displeased at his pertinacity ; but,
changing his mind, as he reflected that he was
a passenger, and entitled to politeness and re-
spect, he answered : ‘* My mother had an un-
cle, but I really don’t know whether he is liv-
ing or dead. I never heard him called by any
name except that of Uncle James, and | do not
even know his name, for, if I have ever heard
it, I have forgotten it.’
A NEW ERA. 119

‘‘ And how long is it since you have seen
him ?”’ persisted Mr. Eccleson.

‘‘T do not remember ever having seen him.
My poor mother often spoke of him with deep
affection, and I have heard her say, if he knew
her situation, she would not have had to. toil
as she did, or suffered as she suffered, before
she died.”

“What a miserable fellow he must have
been, to suffer his niece to want, while he could
have relieved her,” said Mr. Eccleson, look-
ing at George, as if to observe the impression
this opinion made on him.

George suddenly turned upon the old gen-
tleman, with flashing eyes, and said, ‘ Mr. Ec~
cleson, you are a passenger, and entitled to all
respect. From me you shall ever receive it.
But you must not speak in that manner of one
whom you do not know. My mother loved
her uncle dearly, and her love shall teach me
to reverence his memory. I hope you will not
speak so of him again.”

‘«‘ Well spoken, young man; but what good
can an uncle whom you have never even seen,
do you. I say he was a heartless old villain,
to let his niece suffer, while he had it in his
power to relieve her, and I don’t care whether
you like it, or not.”

“ Here is a breeze springing up, and I must
attend to the vessel,” said George, determined
not to listen any more to what he deemed the:
120 NEVER TOO LATE.

impertinence of Mr. Eccleson, and he left the
side of the old gentleman, who remained lean-
ing over the side of the vessel, looking at the
smooth, unruffied sea, apparently not noticing
the abrupt manner in which George had termi-
nated the conversation.
MORE CHANGES. 121

CHAPTER XIII.
MORE CHANGES.

Wuen Eugene Rawson left his father’s
house, with a determination never again to
darken its doors, he came directly to the city
of New York; but he had not been there many
hours, before he discovered the difference be-
tween his position now, and that which he held
a few years back. Those with whom he had
formerly associated seemed to have forgotten
that he was still in existence, and, when he
forced them to recognise him, it was done in a
manner so cool, so unwelcome, he was made
to feel it with all the bitterness of mortified and
humiliated pride. He had expected to be re-
ceived, caressed, and flattered, as he had been
when he was the presumed heir to countless
thousands; but the coolness of his reception
in every place where he intruded himself, soon
destroyed these vain hopes, and he began to
feel his utter loneliness. The idea of seeking
some honorable employment, and by industry
and sobriety making some amends for the fol-
lies of his past years, never entered his brain,

ll
122 NEVER TOO LATE.

or, if it did, he banished it as one unworthy of
himself. Ina short time he became a very loafer
(for I can find no other term appropriate for
him); his apparel was seedy and threadbare,
and his whole appearance was indicative of one
who had yielded to the basest and most dis-
gusting habits.

Devoid of all moral principle, he had bor-
rowed from such friends of his father as felt
sufficient sympathy to give him money, for
they never expected to have it returned ; but,
finally, the patience of these few had become
exhausted, and he was thrown upon the world.
Once or twice some kind-hearted man, who re-
membered his father in his better days, com-
passionating the son, would talk with and ad-
vise him, and places were offered where, had
he chosen to abandon his habits of intemper-
ance, he might have earned a livelihood, and
perchance paved the way to the same rank end
station from which he had fallen. These gen-
erous offers he refused, more, however, now
from a feeling of indolence than for any other
reason, preferring to remain an idle, disgraced,
and dissipated vagrant, to earning his living by
honest labor.

His unhappy parent had sought him out,
having received anonymous letters giving har-
rowing accounts of his habits and associations ;
but each time they met, the youth was so much
under the influence of the habit which was now
MORE CHANGES. 123

8 second nature with him, and which was fast
destroying soul and body, he turned from him
in despair, feeling that his efforts to reclaim
him would be vain. He never thought of look-
ing to a higher and greater Power for aid ; but
was content to believe that fate had ordained
it, and his son must die a despised and miser-
able drunkard. He never once thought that
he himself had first sown the seeds of intem-
perance in his only son, by allowing and en-
couraging him at his dinner parties. He never
took to himself the blame that his son was de-
void of all honesty and principle, for, when
young, he had never taken the pains to instil
them in his mind.

On more than one occasion Eugene had
come under the cognizance of the police as a
night-brawler and habitual drunkard, and the
sense of shame at this degradation was, at first,
so powerful as to induce the hope that his rea-
son might resume her sway, and that he would
rise superior to the vile and debasing habit
which was hurrying him to a premature and
disgraceful end. But the frequency with which
he was brought up soon dispelled these hopes,
and the worthy magistrate, who had often dined
at the hospitable table of Mr. Rawson, felt it
his duty to take more energetic measures to
reclaim him, and Eugene Rawson, for his last
offence, was sent to prison as a vagrant, where
he was doomed to remain for several months.
124 NEVER TOO LATE.

His associates there were of the most pol-
luted and degraded character, and, from con-
stant contact with them, it is not to be won-
dered that the youth, who went in among them
devoid of principle, with no feeling to restrain
him but shame and the fear of detection, came
out a confirmed villain. Such was the lot of
Eugene Rawson, who entered life with all its
brightest hopes and prospects to cheer him on.
When his term of service had expired, he re-
turned to the city and renewed his acquaint-
ance with some desperate characters, who had
often deserved to serve years in the state-pris-
on, but whose punishment, thanks to the laxity
in the administration of the laws, and the in-
genuity of counsel almost as depraved as them-
selves, had been changed to a brief confine-
ment in the common jail. With such men he
soon became an intimate associate, and, as he
had the advantage of a superior education, he
was soon discovered to be useful, and was
looked up to by them. His guilty pride was
gratified by this, which should have caused
him to turn from them with loathing, and he
suffered himself to be led on until, at length,
in an affray in which he was engaged, he stab-
bed a man severely and dangerously. As it
was feared that the man would die, Eugene, to
escape arrest and a term of service in the state-
prison, was glad to ship as a landsman, on
board a vessel bound for a long and dangerous
MORE CHANGES. 125

voyage, and there, for the present, I will leave
him, and return to Mr. Rawson, who had re-
turned to his lonely dwelling, worried and dis-
tracted by the misconduct of his son. He felt
as a parent naturally would feel for the fall of
an only and beloved child; but he was not
sensible of the share he had in that son’s fall.
He had, it is true, ample time for reflection,
but his thoughts were always dull, cheerless,
and comfortless, and hence he avoided as much
as possible giving way to them ; but, as a ref-
uge from them, he mingled in the society of
the neighborhood as much as possible.

In the course of his visits, he became ac-
quainted with the family of a poor, but worthy
farmer named Hazleton, who, though forced
to labor and struggle hard for a subsistence,
was always gay and cheerful in his disposition,
and ever ready to welcome, with the best his
humble means would afford, those of his neigh-
bors who chanced to call upon him. He had,
too, a large family, who seemed, one and all,
to inherit their father’s cheerful temper, and
Mr. Rawson soon became so much attached to
them that he passed most of his time among
them. One evening he was pressed so hard to
stay, and join in the amusements of the chil-
dren, that he could not refuse, and for a while,
in the gayety of the happy circle by whom he
was surrounded, he forgot his own griefs and
troubles.

11*
126 NEVER TOO LATE.

The games and romps were at their height,
when the great clock in the hall sounded the
hour of nine, and, as if touched by a talis-
manic wand, all paused in the midst of their
gayety,and seated themselves on the nearest
chairs. Mr. Hazleton drew a small stand to
the centre of the room, and while one of the
girls placed a light upon it, another had taken
from its place of deposite the sacred volume,
which had been treasured in the family from
generation to generation.

Mr. Rawson was awe-struck by the scene.
To see so many young and happy faces sud-
denly pause, in the midst of their boisterous
gayety, awaiting to hear the word of God read
to them by their beloved parent, was some-
thing new to him. Nearly fifty summers had
passed over his head, and memory could not
bring to his mind any occasion when he had
heard the word of truth and life, except in the
luxuriously-furnished pew for which he paid
annually a rent sufficiently large to support a
small family. He felt like a guilty man among
so many pure and good by whom he was sur-
rounded, and, fearing that his thoughts might
be read in his face, he kept it buried in his
hands.

Mr. Hazleton opened the inspired volume,
and read from it, in tones that seemed to come
from his heart, the 189th psalm. Then falling
upon his knees, in which he was followed by
MORE CHANGES. 127

his children, and even Mr. Rawson, (for he felt
ashamed not to do as the others had done), he
poured out his soul in humble supplication to
the throne of Divine love and mercy. A sol-
emn amen was the response from all when he
had closed, and, having reseated themselves,
the stand and bible were replaced, the glad fa-
ther received an affectionate kiss from all his
children, and, in a few moments, Mr. Rawson
was alone with the worthy farmer.

“You have a fine family, Mr. Hazleton,”
said Mr. Rawson, when they had all retired ;
‘*T never saw better-behaved children in my
life.”’

‘“‘ Well, I suppose I may agree with you,
sir, without assuming more than they deserve.
They are good, affectionate, and obedient chil-
dren, and I thank God that I am so blessed.
If I do have to work hard, I work cheerfully ;
and you know a contented mind is wealth to
the poorest man. When my work out doors
is done, I come home, knowing that all are
awaiting my return, and that all will welcome
me. At night we always have some little fun
of our own, and, as you see, always at nine
o’clock we return thanks to God for his good-
ness during the day that is past. For my part,
T don’t see how any family can separate for
a night, when it is so uncertain if they may
ever meet again, without commending them-
selves to God. Do you, Mr. Rawson?”
128 NEVER TOO LATE.

Mr. Rawson was so abashed by the sudden-
ness of this question, upon a subject to which
he had never given even a thought, he blushed,
and stammered, and hesitated, and finally an-
swered, ‘1 don’t know.”’

“Don’t know! Why, surely, you had a
family, 1 have always heard?”

«Yes, I had, Mr. Hazleton; and if I had
done as you do, perhaps they might have been
spared to me now.”

“© Why, you don’t mean to say you didn’t
use to have family prayers?” exclaimed the
simple-hearted farmer.

“« Why, we did not have family prayers ; we
went to church regularly,” answered Mr. Raw-
son, who shrunk abashed beneath the glance
of the worthy farmer.

« But, how could you go to bed every night
without looking to God for protection during
its silent watches? You surely don’t mean
that 7”

“Mr. Hazleton,” replied Mr. Rawson, “I
feel that I may speak in all frankness to you.
I do not remember that I ever said a prayer in
my life.”

_ ‘Good heavens!” exclaimed Mr. Hazleton,
as one thunderstruck ; “‘ never said a prayer!”
and he looked at his guest, as if he could not
believe his senses. ‘Never said a prayer!
No wonder he seems so unhappy!” he added,
in a soliloquizing tone ; ‘‘how could he expect
MORE CHANGES. 129

anything else? Why, Mr. Rawson,” he said,
turning to that gentleman, ‘‘ I would not have
exchanged places with you for all your wealth
I have heard you once.had. Poor as I am, I
can say I have derived more happiness from
that book, from my prayers, and from good
and affectionate children, than you ever did
with all your money.”

“IT do not doubt it, my good friend,” re-
plied Mr. Rawson, with a sigh; ‘and if I had
it all again, I would willingly exchange places
with you, hard work and all.”

“« Come, come, Mr. Rawson, I can’t let you
go away yet awhile. Here, Amy,” he called,
going to the door, “ get the bed in the south
room ready for Mr. Rawson to-night, he is
going to stay with us. Oh, you need not make
any excuses, or say no, for I won't hear to it.
You know you are welcome, or IJ wouldn’t ask
you, so make yourself easy ; and I know you
had rather be here, among my boys and girls,
than to go home and stay alone. Besides, we
old folks are not obliged to go to bed yet, and
T want to talk a good deal with you, if you will
let me.”

‘* Let you! my good friend; ay, and thank
you from my heart, if you can teach me how I
can gain the peace of mind and cheerfulness
you enjoy. You have said just enough to make
me want to hear more, and, old as I am, I have
learned that 2 ws never too late to do good.”
130 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER XIV.
A DISCOVERY.

In the morning, after the conversation be-
tween George and himself (narrated in a pre-
vious chapter), Mr. Eccleson questioned Cap-
tain Ferris concerning his young mate, and the
account he received concerning his conduct,
since he had taken him under his charge, seem-
ed to afford great satisfaction to the old gentle-
man.

When he related to Captain Ferris the con-
versation which had taken place on deck the
preceding night, the captain said that was just
what he expected of George, as he had never
heard him speak ill of any person.

“‘T like him very much,” said Mr. Eccle-
son ; ‘indeed, I am already strongly attached
to him, and I will soon make up with him for
what I said about this uncle of his, of whom
he seems to think so much for his mother’s
sake.”

“ He is well worthy of your kindness, I as-
sure you,” said Captain. Ferris, ‘and I wish
it were in my power to serve him more than I
A DISCOVERY. ~. 131

have done. I can trust him as far as I would
myself.”

“Trust that to me, sir,’ was the reply ;
“but I want to try him a little further yet.”

Accordingly, the next night, while George
was on deck, Mr. Eccleson came up to him,
and holding out his hand, with a benevolent
smile, which George found it impossible to re-
sist, he said, ‘*1 beg your pardon, Mr. Edgar,
for what | said last night; but I can not help
thinking it was half true.”

“Well,” said George, laughingly, ‘I won’t
profess to stop you from thinking what you
choose; but I can stop you from saying what
I don’t choose to hear by leaving you. Per-
haps J was too quick to one of your years, but
it hurt me to hear a stranger speak of one who
was so dear to my own dear good mother.”

The old gentleman’s eyes filled with tears,
as George spoke, and, grasping his hand warm-
ly, he said, ‘* You are a generous-hearted fel-
low, and I won’t say another word against your
uncle. But, come, the wind is steady, and the
brig does not want watching now, sit down, and
spin me a yarn, as you sailors call it. Tell me
all about yourself, how you chanced to be a
sailor, and about your mother. I am sure she
must have been a good mother to have so good
a son.”

“You are very kind, sir,” said George, half
doubting whether Mr. Eccleson was joking, or
132 NEVER TOO LATE.

not; ‘but there is nothing in my history that
would interest you. It is only a tale of pov-
erty, sickness, destitution, and death.”

‘“* Well, well, I want to hear it. And you
say you have no friends. Perhaps you may
make one of me. I am rich enough for both
of us, and if I should happen to take a fancy
to you, I could make you rich, too.”

‘Thank you,” said George, laughing; “ all
my wealth has to come by hard work. I never
expect to be rich, but I do want enough to get
once more home—no, not home, I have no
home now; but I should like to land once
more in New York, and see the family of my
kind friend.’

‘¢ And who was this kind friend you speak
of 7”

‘‘Captain Hart, sir. He was a friend, in-
deed, sir; and if it should ever be necessary,
and I should one day have it in my power to
befriend his family, I should be the happiest
man alive.”

- “Come, George, you interest me much.
(You see I call you George, because I like
you already.) Now sit down here, and tell
me about Captain Hart; I am sure he must
have been a good man, or you would never
love him as you appear to do.”

George, in obedience to the request, after
seeing the vessel wag in her proper course, and
that all was snug, seated himself by the side
A DISCOVERY. 133

of Mr. Eccleson, and commenced a narration
of his first meeting with Captain Hart, and his
subsequent adventures during his lifetime, to
which he listened with great interest, and when
he had closed, the old gentleman remarked:
‘¢That is all very interesting, but I want to
hear you speak about your mother. | am sure
she must have been a good mother, to have so
good a son.”

This was a subject upon which George was
quite ready to converse, for the memory of his
departed mother’s virtues was ever dear and
fresh to him. He commenced, then, to nar-
rate a history of the sufferings and privations
she had undergone since his father’s death, at
which Mr. Eccleson often appeared deeply af-
fected, and, when he had concluded, he broke
out, saying, “ And was I not right to call that
uncle a heartless old villain, to let his niece die
of absolute starvation, when he was rolling in
wealth ?”’

‘“‘ Oh, sir,” said George, ‘ how could he
know of her situation? If he was alive at all,
he was many thousand miles off, and she did
not even know where he was, so that she could
not inform him of her situation. I am sure,
if he had known it, he would have. relieved
her.” La

‘Yes, you speak the. truth there, young
man ; he would have relieved her, for he loved
her dearly.”

12
134 NEVER TOO LATE.

“ Pray, how do you know that, sir? Did
you know her uncle ?”” exclaimed George, sur-
prised at this remark.

“Oh,” said the old gentleman, hastily cor-
recting himself, ‘I did not mean to say I knew
he would relieve her. 1 only thought so, as
that would be mere human nature.”

“Then, sir, you will allow that he was not
a heartless old villain, after all?’ asked
George.

“« Well, yes—he was not exactly that; but
it was not the part of an affectionate uncle to
run away for years, and never make a single
inquiry after the only relative he had on earth.
He might at least have done that.”

‘ Well, well, we won’t blame him for what
he could not help. Perhaps he may hear of
her some of these days, if he is alive, and it
will be some satisfaction to him to know that
she loved him truly and sincerely.”

“ Well, George, good night,” said Mr. Ec-
cleson,. suddenly rising and breaking off the
conversation ; ‘‘I have been pleased and in-
terested in what you have told me, and I must
say, I think your mother had a son every way
worthy of her. As for that uncle, I shall never
forgive him. Good night!’ and he descended
into the cabin.

From that time until they were near port,
Mr. Eccleson passed as much of his time in
the company of George as he could, and Cap-
A DISCOVERY. 135

tain Ferris, who was really a generous-hearted
‘man, in whose bosom no selfish feeling had
ever found place, was delighted that his young
mate had found a friend so able to serve him.

The night before they made the land, Mr.
Eccleson, as usual, was with George on deck,
and the conversation somehow had turned upon
Captain Hart. George had often mentioned
Irene particularly, but had never yet given the
true reason for remembering her more particu-
larly ; but upon this occasion Mr. Eccleson
drew from him the truth, and the history of the
family visit to the Irene, with its consequences.

“« Where is that bible?” asked the old gen-
tleman ; ‘I want to see it.”

‘It is below. I will run down and get it,”
said George, and he hurried below. In a min-
ute afterward he returned, and handed it to
Mr. Eceleson, who, turning to the light which
streamed from the binnacle, opened it. The
first things he saw were a lock of hair and a
plain gold ring.

*« Whose were these ?”’ he asked of George,
who was leaning over him.

‘* My dear mother’s, sir,”’ replied George, .
tears coming to his eyes as he gazed upon
these relics of his departed mother.

*¢ Poor dear Maria!’ exclaimed Mr. Eccle-
son, pressing them to his lips, and, turning to
George, with his own eyes now streaming tears,
he held out his hand, and said, in trembling
136 NEVER TOO LATE.

tones, ‘‘ Dear boy, she was my own niece, and
I am the miserable old uncle of whom we have
so often spoken.”

George was so completely astounded at this
discovery, he could not utter a word; but,
grasping the hand of the warm-hearted old gen-
tleman, he wrung it warmly, his feelings being
too strong for utterance.

‘* Yes, George,” exclaimed Mr. Eccleson,
who first found voice to speak, “ your mother
was my dearly-beloved niece ; as soon as you
said your name was George Edgar, I suspect-
ed as much, and now you will not wonder at
the interest I have taken in your history. 1 told
you you might make a friend in me. I tell you
now you have one; not alone because you are
the child of my dear Maria, but because I
know you to be worthy of the friendship of any
man. Henceforth be my son, and the kind-
ness which I would have lavished upon your
mother, shall be freely bestowed on her son.”

I will not attempt to narrate what farther oc-
curred between the newly-restored relatives ;
but, when George inquired why he had avoided
this discovery so long, Mr. Eccleson replied,
that he wanted to see, first, if he was worthy
of his affection, and, if he had proved unwor-
thy, he intended to part from him, leaving him
still ignorant that he had for days and weeks
conversed with his only relative on earth.

When the occurrence of the evening was
A DISCOVERY. 137

made known to Captain Ferris, his pleasure
at hearing of George’s good fortune was so
sincere and undisguised, it was evident that it
sprang fresh from the heart, and Mr. Eccleson
determined that he would not part with him
until he had given him some substantial mark
of his friendship and esteem.

With the wealth he had at his command,
this was a matter very easily to be consumma-
ted, and, as soon as the vessel arrived at Val-
paraiso, Mr. Eccleson proceeded at once to
the house of the consignees, where, having in-
troduced himself, he instituted inquiries re-
specting the kind-hearted captain, who, he was
pleased to learn, was in every way worthy of
all his kind feelings. He learned, too, that he
had a small family in the United States, who
were dependant on him, to whom he was a kind
father and an affectionate husband.

Mr. Eccleson, without consulting George,
for he did not intend that he should remain at
sea, made propositions for the purchase of a
share in the Henry, and, as he did not haggle
about a few dollars, more or less, he soon be-
came a part owner. When he next went on
board, he astonished Captain Ferris, and de-
lighted his new-found relative, by assigning to
the former all his interest in the brig, a gift
which was received by the worthy seaman with
an emotion which neither the natural roughness
of his nature, nor the rudeness of the profession

12*
138 NEVER TOO LATE.

he had followed from boyhood, could keep
down, and which only served to raise him more
in the estimation of his kind-hearted bene-
factor.

“Well, Captain Ferris,” said George, after
the first emotions of surprise and pleasure had
passed over, “I suppose you won’t ship me
now, will you?”

“Ship you, Mr. Edgar! and why should 1?
You have been a faithful sailor, and an active
mate, and, besides that, I owe to you the gen-
erous present just now made to me. No, in-
deed, I can’t part with you until you get a ship
of your own, and, if you go on as you have
done with me, I venture to say, that is not far
off.”’

* Ay, but I have a word to say about that,”
said Mr. Eccleson, his countenance struggling
between a frown and a laugh. ‘‘ George must
come home with me; I can’t spare him yet
awhile. I should feel, if I were to leave him
here now, that I should never see him again.
No, no, no more sea for you, my boy ; so make
up your mind to that. Thank Heaven! I have
plenty for both of us, and to spare, and, as I
am getting old, I must have some one to care
for me a little before I die.”

“I shall be sorry, indeed, to part from you,”
said George, ‘but I do not know what partic-
ular claim I have on you. It is true, you are
my dear mother’s uncle, but you certainly are
A DISCOVERY. 139

under no obligation to care for her son. Be-
sides, I have too much independence—”’

“Hold your tongue, sir!—you and your
independence! I tell you, you must return to
the United States with me, so consider that
ended. After I am dead, if you want to go to
sea again, I will see that you can go as you
choose ; but while I live you are my son, and
as such I expect to be obeyed.”

Tears started to the eyes of the young sailor,
as his uncle (for I shall so call him) spoke, and
he could not find it in his heart to offer further
opposition ; so he yielded with a good grace,
and consented to abandon his profession for
the present, leaving his future destiny to the
care of his kind-hearted relative.
140 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER XV.
POVERTY, SUFFERING, AND DEATH.

In a few days they had completed all their
arrangements, and, having bid adieu to the
worthy Captain Ferris, who parted with George
with real regret, they sailed for the United
States; and during the voyage George had
ample time to relate to his uncle the history of
his life, from the early period when he was first
introduced to the reader. He spoke, as may
be imagined, of Captain Hart and his amiable
family in strains of the mest exalted and grate-
ful praise, and the frequent recurrence to Irene,
and the care with which he had treasured up
her parting gift, proved how deeply her good-
ness and amiable qualities had impressed his
youthful mind. He anticipated a meeting with
them as one of the most unalloyed pleasure,
little dreaming of the sad reverses which had
overtaken them. While they are on the voy-
age home, let me revert to the two hapless girls
whom we left a few chapters back.
POVERTY, SUFFERING, AND DEATH. 141

They struggled on for a few months, pinch-
ed by poverty, and worn down by overworking,
with no prospect of any melioration of their sad
condition. Maria, who was naturally more del-
icate than either of her sisters, soon found her
health giving way under the tremendous tasks
imposed upon her; but when she saw the pale
cheeks, the sunken eyes, and wasted form,
of her loved Irene, thus wearing away her
youthful days in wretchedness and misery, she
could not complain, but suffered on in si-
lence. :

She felt that her strength was sadly overtask-
ed, and that she could not much longer survive
it; but the prospect of death had no terrors for
her. While she raised her heart to God in de-
vout gratitude, for all the unnumbered mercies
which had been so bountifully bestowed upon
her in her earlier days, she bowed meekly to the
adversities with which they were now visited,
and submitted in humble, trusting confidence to
her lot. She had no tie to bind her to earth
save Irene, and it was dreadful to watch her
young form fading away before her eyes. She
could not but feel that, unless some change
should take place in her condition, she must
soon follow her, and it was to her a pleasing,
though melancholy reflection, that they would
not long be severed.

Her heart clung, too, to the memory of the
hapless Emily, and her constant, unceasing, ear-
142 NEVER TOO LATE.

nest prayer was, that she might yet, if living,
be rescued from her living grave, and brought
to inherit eternal life.

At length her strength gave way entirely, and
she could work no more. Irene had long no-
ticed her sister’s declining health, and it was
a sad, but lovely sight, to see these two sisters,
each watching with affectionate regard the oth-
er, each perceiving that the other was fast fail-
ing beneath the tasks imposed upon them, and
each dreading to reveal to the other the thoughts
which possessed them. But the truth could no
longer be concealed, and Irene had, at Jength,
to see and know that Maria, her only remain-
ing friend on earth, was dying.

‘Dear Irene,” said Maria one day to her
sister, who sat by her humble bed, sewing
on some shirts which she had obtained from a
wealthy wholesale dealer, to make at three
shillings each, though it was impossible, even
by the most tremendous overtasking, to make
one in a day—* Dear Irene, I feel that my last
hour is approaching, and oh, how cheerfully
should I go, could my eyes once more behold
our lost and ruined Emily.”

“Oh, dear sister! do not let us murmur that
she is lost to us for ever. The ways of the
Lord are wonderful and mysterious, and we
have no right to question them. Though we
have not seen her, have we not prayed for her
POVERTY, SUFFERING, AND DEATH. 143

daily, and I can not think our prayers will re-
main for ever unanswered.”

‘Oh, dear sister, I do not complain, but the
wish and prayer of my heart is, that I might
see her once more before I go for ever. If she
could see us now, cheerful in the midst of our
poverty, contented even in our wretchedness,
and trusting amid all our trials and struggles,
surely she would also turn unto God, and be
happy, too. I dread to think of her future,
unless the God of heaven, in his mercy, should
open her heart to the influence of his Holy
Spirit. 1 know she feels the error of her
ways; but I fear she is so deeply steeped in
guilt, she dare not raise her heart and thoughts
to that Power from whom alone pardon can
proceed.”

‘‘ Dear Maria,” said Irene, ‘you must not
worry yourself more now. Your strength is
unequal to it, and you know, unless you gain
strength, instead of taxing it too much, you can
not expect to get well.”

“Oh, Irene,” said Maria, smiling sadly,
“you know, and I know, I never can get well.
I do not encourage any such vain hopes, but
feel that I shall very shortly be in the presence
of my Maker. How I do dread to part with
you, and leave you alone, unprotected and with-
out one friend on earth.”

“Do not distress yourself for me, dear sis-
ter. The same God who has preserved me
144 NEVER TOO LATE.

heretofore will not desert me now, and my
trust is in him alone. He only knows how
lone and desolate my lot will be when you are
gone, and he, too, only knows how readily
and cheerfully I shali obey the summons
which will unite me with all I love or care
for.”

During the brief time these affectionate sis-
ters remained united here, they had many such
conversations as the one just narrated. Emily
was uppermost in the thoughts of both, and
either would cheerfully have laid down her life,
to know that the lost one had returned again
to the paths of virtue and happiness.

But at length the hour of separation arrived.
Maria breathed out her last sigh on the bosom
of the heart-broken Irene, who was now alone
on the face of the earth, with none to look to
for guidance, counsel, or protection. But, for
one instant, she never faltered in her faith, and
when she had seen the remains of her last sur-
viving relative consigned to their cold resting-
place, though her heart was desolate, and she
felt as if all henceforward was a blank to her,
she looked still to God, and patiently prepared
to abide her time.

The desolate, broken-spirited girl struggled
on for a few weary months, suffering at times
from actual hunger, when her strength had
failed to enable her to finish the heavy tasks
assigned to her. She was, at length, reduced
POVERTY. SOFFERING, AND DEATH. 145

to the most pitiable destitution, when her situ-
ation was made known to one of those charita-
ble, benevolent ladies, who seem to live only
upon the good they can do for others, and
through her interposition a situation was pro-
cured for her in a private family, where she
was, for a time, in the enjoyment of compara-
tive comfort. And here I leave her for the
present.
13
146 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER XVI.
BRIGHTER HOURS.

Grorce Epecar and his uncle, who was
now most warmly attached to him, reached the
United States in safety, and having made their
way at once to the city of New York, the first
thing George did, on arriving here, was to pro-
ceed to the house formerly occupied by Cap-
tain Hart and his family. He was, however,
very much surprised to learn that no one of
the then inmates had ever heard of such a
family, and he was left to conjecture what could
have become of them. He was ignorant of
any person with whom Captain Hart had been
acquainted, and knew not in what quarter to
institute inquiries respecting the family with
any probability of success, and, after many
fruitless endeavors to discover them, he finally
abandoned the search as hopeless, deeply re-
gretting that he had not been able to show that
he had not forgotten them, and was not un-
mindful of the kindness of the benefactor of his
early years, to whom, under Providence, he
BRIGHTER HOURS. 147

owed all the happiness and prosperity with
which he was now so bountifully surrounded.

When he communicated the unsuccessful
result of his search to his uncle, that worthy
man sympathized deeply with him, for he knew
how truly George was attached to Captain
Hart, and how deeply the impression of his
kindness had sunk upon his mind.

Mr. Eccleson rented a comfortable house in
the upper part of the city, and, having furnish-
ed it, he engaged a housekeeper, and prepared
to settle down in quiet comfort for the remain-
der of his days. George, however, soon grew
tired of idleness, and his discontent was too
manifest to escape the observation of the affec-
tionate old gentleman, who, although he felt it
would be a great sacrifice to part again with
the young man, whose virtues had won his
warmest regard, determined to let him have
his own choice, either of resuming the profes-
sion of the sea, or of entering into some mer-
cantile business, for which he would provide
ample capital.

George gratefully thanked his uncle for his
unexpected kindness, and decided upon going
to sea ; and as he felt competent to take charge
of a vessel, Mr. Eccleson placed the purchase
of one within his power. He soon found one
to his taste, in the shape of a small clipper brig,
and in a few days was owner and master of her.
As he had not brought with him from South
148 NEVER TOO LATS.

America his sea-clothing, but had distributed
it among the crew of the ‘“‘ Henry,” who were
much attached to him, it became necessary that
he should replenish his stock, and, for that pur-
pose, he proceeded into Water-street, where
so many shops for furnishing seamen’s clothing
are located. At one of these he had made
many purchases from the attendant, a pale,
sickly young woman, who seemed ready to sink
to the ground with debility, but who had at-
tracted his attention by the sweetness of her
melancholy smile, telling a tale of better days,
and happier hours, than she could enjoy amid
the drudgery of her present situation. In truth,
he had purchased from her more than he had
intended, out of pure sympathy for her, and
was about paying for the goods he had select-
ed, when a shrill female voice, from a small
room in the rear of the shop, startled him by
exclaiming, ‘* Now mind, you Irene, and see
what kind of money you take. I lost three
dollars by your stupidity last week.”

The young girl blushed crimson, as this rude
speech met her ears, and she dared scarcely
raise her eyes to the customer who was thus
insulted. She did, however, raise her eyes,
intending to see what effect thase words had
produced on him, when she perceived George
gazing at her with a look of the most eager
and intense inquiry, for which she could not
account.
BRIGHTER HOURS. 149

“ Excuse me, miss,” he said, “ but did I
not hear you called Irene?”

“Yes, sir, that is my name,” she replied,
wondering at the question ‘from a stranger.

“Tt is a name not often met with,” he re-
plied, ‘and, as I once knew and loved a little
girl of that name, whom I have not seen for
years, hearing you called by that name, it start-
led me. [ beg you will excuse my apparent
rudeness, but may I ask what is your other
name ?”

“ Trene Hart, sir,” was the reply; and if the
girl had been astonished before at the inquisi-
tiveness of a stranger, she was more than sur-
prised now, at his conduct on learning her
name.

“Not Irene Hart, a daughter of Captain
Hart, who once commanded a brig of that
name 7” he asked, as if he doubted his
senses.

‘ Yes, sir, unfortunately the same,” replied
Irene (for she it was), and tears started to her
eyes at the mention of her dear father’s name.
**Did you know my poor father, sir ”

* Did I know Captain Hart? Did I know
the kindest, best of men? But this is no place
for explanation. Do you remember—”

‘You Irene, do you hear me, you huzzy ?
What are you doing there, talking with that
feller so long for? If he don’t want to buy
anything, come in here, and tend to your work,”

13*
150 NEVER TOO LATE.

interrupted the same shrill voice which had so
startled him at first.

Irene looked at George, as if she wished to
ask some further questions, but dared not, and
he, interpreting the look, paid for the articles
he had purchased, and, saying he would call
again for them, left the store and hurried home,
where he found his uncle awaiting his return.

‘“¢ Well, my boy, you appear to be in a great
hurry to be off,” said he, misinterpreting the
excited appearance of his nephew.

“‘Oh, sir, such a discovery. I have seen
her—”

“What! Seen who, George? Why I did
not know you had any her here you were very
anxious to see.”

‘No, no, sir, you don’t understand me. I
have seen Irene Hart, poor, sickly, and misera-
ble, but still Irene Hart. Oh, something dread-
ful must have happened, and I dared not ask
her what.”

*« Why, George, that can’t be true, surely. It
must be a mistake. You said Captain Hart
lived in very good style, and was well off. It
must be some other Hart.’’

“No, sir. She told me he was her father,
my kind dear benefactor. I should never have
known her, I am sure, but for the accident of
hearing her called by her name of Irene.” -

** Well, my boy, if it-is she, indeed,.and she
is poor and friendless, lam sure we have enough
BRIGHTER HOURS. 151

to make her comfortable and happy. Did you
make yourself known to her?”

‘No, sir, I did not wish to do so there. I
had not the heart to do it,” replied George.

‘«‘ Here, Mrs. Gamble,’’ exclaimed Mr. Ec-
cleson, going to the door and shouting at the
top of his voice, which was none of the weak-
est even at his years, “ come here quickly ;””
and in a moment Mrs. Gamble his house-
keeper stood before him. ‘ Geta room ready
right away, there is a young lady coming here
to live with us. There, go about your business
and do as J tell you,’”’ he added angrily, seeing
that Mrs. Gamble was disposed to question
him as to the propriety of an elderly gentleman
bringing a young lady into the house where
she was. As soon as she had retired, which
she did very sulkily, he snatched up his hat,
and had proceeded as far as the door, when he
recollected that he had not inquired where
George had seen Irene, for he had at once
made up his mind to go for her himself and
bring her to his home—and he was already
prepared to love her, if only for the sake of
the feelings entertained for the family by George.

‘¢Come, George, you had better go with
me,” he said; ‘we will take a carriage and
bring Irene here, for I am sure, from what you
have said, she can not be very comfortably sit--
uated where you saw her, and will make nao
objections to taking up her home with me.”
152 NEVER TOO LATE.

George needed no second invitation, and,
in a few moments, they were seated in a car-
riage, and driving rapidly on their errand of
love and charity. “Now, George,” said his
uncle, ‘ you must let me manage this affair.
I don’t mean to let her know who we are, until
we get home, and then if she don’t choose to
stay, ] am sure it won’t be our fault, for I mean
to make her happy.”

In a few minutes they were at the shop
‘where George had first met Irene, and, alight-
ang from the coach, they both entered the filthy
den. Irene was at her post behind the coun-
‘ter, and a smile flitted across her pale wan face,
‘as she recognised George again, for he had
‘brought back the remembrance of happier
hours, in the mention of her father.

Mr. Eccleson looked at his nephew, as if to
:ask if that was Irene, and receiving an affirm-
‘ative nod, he addressed her: ‘‘ This gentle-
man has just told me that you are a daughter
-of Captain Hart, who was lost on the western
‘coast of South America, many years ago. Is
that so?”

“(It is, sir,” said Irene, astonished at this
‘address from a stranger, and gazing at him in
‘surprise.

“Well, miss, there is some person at my
ihouse now, who is under infinite obligations to
‘your father, and who will, I am sure, never feel
BRIGHTER HOURB. 153

happy until he has, as far as lies in his power,
repaid them.”

Irene looked at the speaker, and at George,
in amazement. She could not recall a feature
of either, nor could she, in the brief moment’s
reflection allowed to her, imagine to whom Mr.
Eccleson could refer. She knew not, indeed,
what to say.

Mr. Eccleson noticing her indecision, said
quickly: ‘Oh, miss, you may trust us, we
mean you no harm, I pledge you my honor
as a man and a Christian; and promise to bring

ou back here as soon as you wish to return.”
And the old gentleman placed a peculiar em-
phasis on the last word, as if he was fully con-
fident, that wish would never enter her head.
©] must ask Mrs. Bailey, sir,” said Irene,
“as I can not go without her leave.”

“Never mind about that, I’ll do that for
you,” replied Mr. Eccleson. ‘Here she is
herself. Mrs. Bailey,” said the old gentle-
man, bowing and smiling in his blandest man-
ner, to the red-haired, wrinkled virago, who had
entered the shop from the back room, “ I have
some business to transact with this young wo-
man, at my house, and wish to take her away
for a short time. Have you any objections?”

** No, indeed, not I. I don’t care if she
never comes back,” she replied; ‘she ain’t
worth her salt here.”

Tears started to the eyes of Irene, as the
154 NEVER TOO LATE.

unfeeling woman uttered these words, for she
had toiled for her, with all her feeble powers.
As for George, he could not trust himself to
look at her, but awaited, in anxious, trembling
silence, the result of the interview.

‘© Come then, miss, that is settled; so just
put on your hat, and jump into the coach.”

irene went into the back-room, and soon re
turned with an old faded blue hat, and a rag
ged, tattered shawl. She blushed with shame
as she saw the looks of pity bestowed on her
by George and his uncle, but said nothing, and
suffered herself to be handed into the carriage,
which soon reached the hospitable mansion of
the worthy, kind-hearted Mr. Eccleson. She
was shown into the parlor, and, as soon as
Mrs. Gamble, whose inquisitiveness had led
her into the room, had been forced from it, for
she would not leave until peremptorily ordered
to do so, George, who, until now, had main-
tained a profound silence, turned to her, and
asked: ‘¢ Do you not remember me, Irene ?”

She looked at him, but no feature in his face
was familiar to her, and she was compelled to
acknowledge that she did not.

‘7 have something here,” said he, going to
a bookcase, and taking from it a small volume,
which he handed to her, ‘* which may aid your
memory.”

Trene knew it at once, for it was the little
pocket-bible, which she had given to George,
BRIGHTER HOURS. 155

little George, as she loved to think of him,
the poor friendless boy, who had, at the risk
of his own life, rescued her from a watery
grave.

‘‘ Oh, yes,” said she, her eyes filling with
tears, “ well do I remember this, but surely
you are not ”

“Yes, I am little George Edgar, who has
never for one moment, forgotten your dear,
kind, generous father, my friend and benefac-
tor; and I thank God from my heart, that I
have been spared to prove how truly I loved
and esteemed him.”

‘My dear, kind, generous preserver,”’ ex-
claimed Irene, forgetting, in the joy of finding
one friend, ali her griefs and sorrows ; ‘I am
so very, very happy to see you. You see Il
have not forgotten you either,” and she ex-
tended her hand to him, while her eyes were
suffused with tears.

“Look here, young lady,” said Mr. Eccle-
son, going up to her, and blowing his nose
with formidable emphasis. ‘ This is my house.
This,” slapping George on the back, “is my
nephew, and please God, this shall be your
home as long as you live.”

‘Oh, sir,” exclaimed the unhappy orphan,.
‘ you are too kind, too generous.”

“Stop, stop that,” interrupted Mr. Eocle--
son, ‘1 can’t suffer you to talk so. I know
how much this fellow owed to your father, and it:


156 NEVER TOO LATE.

is very plain you have suffered sad reverses.
I know that he has never ceased to think of
him with gratitude, or to speak of you with
pleasure. Now he is up in the world, and by
God’s providence, you are down. But you will
render both of us very unhappy, if you do not
permit us to make you, in your happiness here,
forget all your troubles and trials. 1 want some
one to love besides George, for he is going to
sea again, to leave me in my old age. Bea
daughter to me, and make me happy.”

“Dear Irene,” added George, “do not
deny my good uncle. He will be lonesome,
I know, when I am gone, and I am sure you
can not be unwilling to exchange a home with
him, for the cheerless one you have left.”

‘¢ Oh, no, not that, not that,” replied Irene,
sobbing ; ‘I am too happy—too grateful to
tefuse his kindness. JI have suffered, God
knows how much, and to die in peace now, is
all T ask.”

‘© Well, then, that is settled,’”? said Mr. Ec-
‘cleson, going up to her, and kissing her pale
forehead ; ‘‘ and I suppose I may send word to
Mrs. Bailey, that, as you were not worth your
salt to her, we will keep you with us.”

‘* Do with me as you please,” was the reply
-of the poor girl, whose heart was now too full
for words. And very shortly afterward, Mrs.
Bailey received the message, which had been
sent to her.
BRIGHTER HOURS. 157

Mrs. Gamble here made her appearance,
and Mr. Eccleson addressing her, said: ‘‘ You
will consider and treat this young lady as my
daughter, Mrs. Gamble.”

The housekeeper stared at the ragged crea-
ture, thus suddenly elevated to her respect,
and could scarcely conceal a smile of contempt,
as she gazed upon her. But a glance at the
flashing eyes of uncle and nephew, warned her
not to indulge in those feelings, or in the ex-
pression of them.

George forgot all about his vessel, his sea-
clothes, and, indeed, everything but Irene
seemed to have passed from his mind, as,
seated between them, she narrated at their re-
quest, the eventful history of her life, since the
loss of the Irene. The recital was heard with
the deepest interest by both, and many a tear
of sympathy was dropped, as she told of her
own, and the sufferings of her family. Before
they parted for the night, the happy family, for
such I must, I suppose, call them, united in
returning humble and fervent thanks, for the
wonderful mercy which had led to the discov-
eries of the day. And that night, Irene enjoyed
asleep, more sweet and refreshing, than had
fallen to her lot for many weary months.

In the morning, thanks to the considerate
kindness of Mr. Eccleson, everything neces-
sary to replenish her wardrobe, was placed at
Irene’s disposal. And for a few days, as the

14
158 NEVER TOO LATE.

happy old gentleman remarked, bis house did
not look much like a bachelor’s hall, as the
rooms were strewed about with articles of wear-
ing apparel for Irene, and he tumbled over
dress-makers and milliners, at every other step.
THE SPIRIT WORKING 159

CHAPTER XVII.
THE SPIRIT WORKING.

Wirnovt narrating the conversation be-
tween Mr. Rawson and the worthy farmer,
who had made him a compulsory, though
pleased inmate of his house for the night
where I left them, I will briefly state some of
the consequences resulting from it.

Mr. Rawson left the hospitable mansion of
Mr. Hazleton with regret, but a wiser, sadder,
and a better man. ‘The few hours of privacy
he had passed with him, had sufficed to open
his eyes to the wickedness of his own life, and
to the awful responsibility he had incurred in
the manner in which he had brought up his
son. He felt now how different might have
been his lot, had he but learned in earlier days
to place his hopes above, and not, in his ea-
gerness to grasp at the shadow here, forget the
great substance which was beyond the grave.

He had derived from the bitterest experience
the truth of the saying, that riches have wings,
and he now longed to have his treasure above,
which never could be taken from him. His
160 NEVER TOO LATE.

heart yearned toward his wretched son, and he
felt that he knew no dearer wish than to see him
once more, and tell him of the feelings which
now animated his bosom, as well toward him as
toward the God of grace, who had even at this
late day seen fit to inspire him with penitence
and faith in his mercy, so long abused.

Mr. Hazleton kept up his friendly intercousse
with the retired merchant, and the effect of his
constant company, and the conversation of so
godly a man, was soon made perceptible in his
conduct and habits. From being morose and
sullen, he grew cheerful and contented ; his
little farm grew and thrived under his care and
industry, and, in a few short months, he had
but one wish ungratified, and that was, that his
eyes might once more behold his son; but he
was willing and content to abide the will of
Providence, and was now able to place all his
trust and confidence in God alone.

While Mr. Rawson is thus contentedly going
on, let us turn for a while to Eugene, whose
crimes had compelled him to leave the country.

He had shipped, as I have said, as a lands-
man before the mast, on board a vessel bound
around Cape Horn. ‘The passage was a rough
and boisterous one, and he suffered much, not
only from the excessive hard work, but from
cold, against which he was poorly provided.
Often, in the silent watches of the night, he
would pace the deck for the whole four hours,
THE SPIRIT WORKING. 161

lost in sad reflections. He thought of the po-
sition he had once held in society, the comforts
and luxuries by which he had been surround-
ed. He thought, too, upon his kind, though
too indulgent mother, for, with all his faults and
vices, he could not forget, or cease to love, her
who had nursed and tended him from infancy
to boyhood, and who had parted from him,
when he set out in the world with such bright
prospects, with a heart burthened with grief.
He thought of the affectionate father, whose
wealth had been so freely lavished to procure
comforts and luxuries for him, and whose pride
had always been to see him happy and content.
He thought upon the station he had once held
—an officer in the service of his country—and
the contrast between his situation then and now
——an outcast, driven from his home and coun-
try by crime. He had forfeited the good will
and esteem of his friends ; he had lost the con-
fidence of all who would have served him had
he deserved their kindness.

Such thoughts, though they racked his bo-
som, were yet of service to him, for they brought
repentance to his heart. He felt not only asham-
ed, but truly repentant, for the wickedness of
his youth, and he inwardly resolved that, if he
ever lived to see his native land again, he would,
as far as in his power lay, make some amends
for the vices of his earlier years.

On board of the vessel there was what was

14* .
162 NEVER TOO LATE.

then a rare sight—a pious sailor. I say then,
for it is only within a few years that any effort
has been made to impart a knowledge of the
truth, as it is in God, to this benighted and
abused class of men. They have been, until
recently, considered as almost out of the pale
of humanity, and except, perchance now and
then, where there was one pious sailor, who
had been rescued by the philanthropic efforts
of some worthy follower of the Cross, all were
lost and debased.

On board the vessel in which Eugene was a
hand was one of these, and he had long since
suspected that a young man, with such talents,
manners, and education, as Eugene had, could
not have chosen voluntarily the situation of
landsman on board a merchant vessel. He
made every effort to win his confidence, and,
at length, succeeded so far as to draw from him
a history of his life, as well as a recital of the
feelings which now agitated his bosom.

From this poor sailor Eugene first learned
how vain and useless were his own resolutions,
unless they could be strengthened by power
from on high, and daily he sought comfort and
consolation from the Book of Love.

He could not feel that sins so glaring, so
atrocious as his, could be forgiven; but he
learned that a ransom and atonement had been
provided even for him, and, with all humility
and faith, he threw himself at the feet of the
THE SPIRIT WORKING. 163

blessed Cross, clinging only to that as his hope
and refuge.

The rest of the crew laughed and sneered at
the two methodists, as they were called; but
they heeded not the scoffs and jeers of those
who could not know or appreciate their feel-
ings, and they continued, as the apostle says,
‘ steadfast in the faith.”

When they reached Valparaiso, Eugene and
his old companion were, with others, allowed
to go on shore, and they landed at the very
spot where, a few years before, he had, by the
providence of God, been saved from a watery
grave. On this spot, invoking aid and grace
from Heaven, he resolved to abandon for ever
the pernicious and debasing habit which had
reduced him to his present state of poverty and
disgrace, but which he would not have exchang-
ed for all the miscalled pleasures in which he
had wasted his early years.

Having an opportunity to write to the United
States, he wrote a long letter to his father, such
a letter as that parent never expected to receive
from his erring son ; but it was one which filled
his heart with a joy and rapture to which it had
long been a stranger.

Eugene from that time forward prospered.
He was steady and attentive to his humble and
arduous duties, and improved so rapidly in sea-
manship, that he was treated with more kind-
164 NEVER TOO LATE.

ness than when he was considered only as &
worthless, useless landsman.

The state of the country to which the vessel
was bound, and which was torn and distracted
by civil wars, broke up the voyage, and, instead
of being absent from home three years, Eugene,
after a lapse of eighteen months, found himself
once more on the coast of the United States,
with a pilot on board from New York. At
night of the same day the vessel reached the
wharf, and Eugene jumped ashore, but not
without misgivings, for he dreaded lest the man
whom he had so seriously injured had died,
and, in that case, he would have been amena-
ble to the law for manslaughter. As he was
necessarily detained several days before the
crew were paid off, he remained on board the
vessel, fully determined not to fly, but to await
the action of the authorities; for he felt sure
that, if the man he had struck had died, he
would have been tracked, and his return would
be known.

One morning, while standing on the forecas-
tle, he purchased from a boy one of the small
papers, and, sitting on the windlass, he com-
menced its perusal. The police reports natu-
rally attracted his attention, and his surprise
may be imagined, when he saw among the ar-
rests that of the man (or, at least, one of the
same name) whom he thought he had killed,
as being taken up for a highway robbery. He
THE SPIRIT WORKING. 165

could scarcely believe the evidence of his eyes,
but, determined to ascertain to a certainty, and
feeling sure that even the argus eyes of the po-
lice officers would fail to recognise him under
his present disguise, he proceeded to the po-
lice office, and there awaited the hour when
the prisoners, who had been arrested on the
previous night, should be brought before the
sitting magistrate for examination.

He was not long kept in suspense, for among
the first brought out was this man for highway
robbery, and a single glance satisfied Kugene
that his hands were clear of his blood, for there
he stood, scowling and vindictive, defying the
law, and boasting that, even if they proved it
on him, they could not lock him up for more
than three years.

Kugene turned away from the sight with a
heart filled with gratitude to God that the sin
of murder was off his soul; and he now de-
termined, as soon as he should be paid off, to
visit his father, and, throwing himself at his
feet, ask his forgiveness. On the same day the
crew were paid off, and the next morning Eu-
gene was on the road to his father’s farm. He
alighted from the stage at the tavern, which was
about a mile distant, and walked onward, doubt-
ing and fearing what would be the manner of
his reception. He had been there but once,
and the place was now so changed he did not
recognise it; and fearing lest his father might
166 NEVER TOO LATE.

have removed, or died, he asked a man, who
was working in a garden adjoining the road,
if Mr. Rawson lived there yet.

The person whom he addressed looked up
from his work, and, after a lapse of four years,
father and son stood face to face once more.

‘“‘ Father!” “ My son!” burst simultaneous-
ly from the lips of each, and in a moment they
were clasped in each other’s arms. Eugene
felt that he was forgiven, and Mr. Rawson was
now happy. They entered the house, and
there I will leave them, for such a meeting is
too sacred for intrusion on my part.

The same evening Mr. Rawson, accompa-
nied by his son, visited Mr. Hazleton, and he
was received there with a frankness, a warmth,
and a welcome, that brought tears to his eyes,
and he inwardly blessed God for the grace
which had been vouchsafed to him, and which
had enabled him to enjoy such unmerited hap-
piness again. The letter which he had written
from Valparaiso had been read and re-read by
every member of this worthy family, and their
rejoicings at his return proved how sincerely
they sympathized with him, in that he had
found that peace of mind which the world can
not give. That was a happy evening, and Eu-
gene, as he walked home by his father’s side,
wondered how he could have acted so wickedly
and sinfully as he had done in bygone years,
when it was so easy to do right, and when he
THE SPIRIT WORKING. 107

was made so happy by it. Before parting for
the night, father and son knelt before the throne
of Divine grace, and poured out the prayers
and praises of their grateful hearts for the hap-
piness thus vouchsafed in the union of two
hearts which never ought to have been sev-
ered.
168 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE MAGDALEN.

Groree Epear continued to make prepara-
tions for his voyage, but evidently not with the
alacrity which had characterized his early pro-
ceedings. To tell the truth, if he had dared
to do so, he would have changed his mind ;
but he had taxed his uncle’s kindness greatly
in the purchase of his vessel, and he thought
that to abandon it now would be ungenerous.

He was now so happy, so contented at home
with his uncle and Irene, he actually dreaded
parting from them. As for Irene, health had
returned to her, and restored the bloom, in a
measure, to her cheeks, and she was now com-
paratively happy. Mr. Eccleson would have
her feel at home. She must call him Uncle
James, and everything was done that could
make her comfortable and happy. She was
grateful for the kindness which arose from the
promptings of his generous heart, and strove to
prove the sincerity of her gratitude.

And George, he was almost constantly at
THE MAGDALEN. -169

home by her side, and she began, too, to dread
the idea of parting from him. She knew she
had no right to expect that he would think of
her as his wife, for she was poor, and depend-
ant now on his uncle’s charity; but she did
feel that, if he should ask her, it would be very
unkind in her to refuse him, especially as he
had once saved her life.

One evening, while all were seated in the
parlor, after tea, George suddenly made up his
mind to avow to his uncle the distaste he had
imbibed for the sea.

“Uncle James,” he exclaimed, during a
pause in the conversation, ‘1 suppose you will
laugh at me, but I hope you will not be dis-
pleased at what I have to say.”

‘Qh, sir, you need not trouble yourself at
all; 1 know all about it already,” he replied,
laughing.

George was somewhat abashed by this reply ;
but, confident that his kind uncle was mistaken,
and that he could not have read his thoughts,
to which he certainly had never given expres-
sion, he said, ‘‘ But 1 am sure you can not
know what 1 am going to say, so pray let me
out with it, and get over it, for I am haif asham-
ed of myself.”

* Well, George,” said his uncle, affection-
ately, ‘to prove that I am not mistaken, I will
tell you that, for a month past, you have been
worrying yourself to find out some way how

15
170 NEVER TOO LATE.

you could avoid going to sea. You want to
stay home, marry Irene, and settle down. Here,
Trene, come back here,” he added, seizing the
blushing Irene, who, at the mention of the word
marriage, had started up to leave the room—
‘‘ Come back, miss. Remember, [ am your
uncle, and will be obeyed; so sit down again,
right opposite to George, and I will tell your
thoughts, too, for the past month.”

* Pray, dear Mr. Eccleson, don’t!’ exclaim-
ed Irene, blushing, and trembling, and half cry- |
ing, as she met the gaze of George fixed on
her, beaming with love and hope.

** Well, I won't, my dear, to oblige you,
but I will settle all your troubles at once. Give
me your hand, my child,” he added, going up
to her and taking her extended hand; “ there,
George, take her, for I know you love each
other, and may you be as happy as you de-
serve.”

Unmindful of Irene’s blushes, or his uncle’s
presence, George clasped her in his arms, and
imprinted a kiss upon her lips, sealing the com-
pact, thus suddenly, but, he felt sure, not un-
willingly entered into; and Mr. Eccleson, with
prudent forethought, silently left the room, un-
perceived by Irene or George.

How long they remained alone neither could
tell, but, when Mr. Eccleson returned, he found
them still deeply engaged in earnest conversa-
tion, though the night was far advanced.
THE MAGDALEN. 171

‘“ Well, sir, have you arranged it all?” he
exclaimed, his smiling, cheerful countenance
beaming joy and happiness.

‘Yes, sir, thanks to your generous kind-
ness, and, I may say, to your wonderful power
of reading other persons’ thoughts. Irene has
consented that I shall not long remain a bach-
elor, and next week, on Wednesday, if you
have no objections, I shall call her mine.”

In a few days George transferred his vessel
to some gentlemen whom his uncle had hunted
up, who were desirous of purchasing her, and,
instead now of making preparations for a voy-
age at sea, he commenced preparing for a voy-
age on the sea of matrimony. There was no
delay in this, and on the day appointed Irene
became his bride, receiving the hearty salute of
the kind old gentleman, as, half crying and half
laughing, he exclaimed, ‘* Now, Irene, you are
my niece, and you must mind me.”

The only person not pleased at this arrange-
ment was Mrs. Gamble, the housekeeper, who
saw that the power was departing from her
hands. She had been kept for a long time
more on sufferance than for any service she
rendered, and Mr. Eccleson now determined
to part with her, as soon as he could find some
person to assist Irene.

Several of the neighbors had called in on
them since the marriage of George and Irene,
and among them was a pious, charitable lady,
172 NEVER TOO LATE.

who could never be contented unless engaged
in some good work. Irene made known to
her the determination of her uncle to part with
Mrs. Gamble, and asked her advice and assist-
ance to procure some one to assist her in her
domestic affairs.

“T am really glad, Mrs. Edgar,” said the
kind Mrs. Merwin, “that you have applied to
me. You know I am one of the directresses
of the Magdalen Asylum, and I have a young
woman for whom I am very desirous of pro-
curing a situation. You must not be startled
at the name of a magdalen, for, I assure you,
this girl is a truly penitent and pious one, wil-
ling, I know, to serve any one who may try
her, faithfully and devotedly. Will you let me
bring her here in the morning ?”

‘¢ To be sure she will,” said Mr. Eccleson,
answering for Irene—‘ to be sure she will, on
your recommendation, I know—”

‘Yes, my dear madam, certainly,” replied
Trene, who, for an instant, associated with a
magdalen an idea of one most near and dear to
her; ‘and I will make her situation comfort-
able.”

‘“*T am well assured of that, my dear,”’ re-
plied Mrs. Merwin. ‘ Prosperity has not steel-
ed your heart against your fellow-creatures, who
may be suffering or in distress.”

In the morning, Mrs. Merwin made her ap-
pearance with the girl of whom she had spoken

?
THE MAGDALEN. 173

—a delicate, pale girl, who appeared bowed
to the ground with grief and sorrow; and, as
Irene was engaged for the moment, she pro-
ceeded with her to the parlor.

In a few moments Irene was heard ascend-
ing the stairs, and, as she entered the room,
the hapless girl, who was seated on a sofa,
sprang forward with a scream, in which grief,
hope, and joy, were strangely mingled, and,
throwing herself on her knees at the feet of the
wondering and affrighted wife, clasped them
with trembling vehemence.

“« Why, this is very strange!” said Mrs. Mer-
win. ‘ Julia, you must not act so; Mrs. Ed-
gar, I am sure, can not be pleased with such
conduct. Get up, and be seated.”

But Julia heeded her not, but, clinging to
the knees of the now terrified Irene, she ex~
claimed, in touching tones, “ Irene, my sister,
forgive me !”’

Trene glanced one moment at the upturned
features of the magdalen, and, sinking on her
knees, she threw her arms around her neck,
and wept and sobbed upon the bosom of her
erring, but repentant sester, exclaiming, as welt
as she could articulate, ‘* Dear, dear Emily, the
dearest wish of my heart is accomplished.”

But Emily heard not the tones of her loved
sister’s voice; slowly she sank forward from
Trene’s arms on the floor, and, when Mrs. Mer=
win and Irene attempted to raise her up, they

15*
174 NEVER TOO LATE.

bore only the fast-stiffening body. The spirit
had for ever left its frail tenement of clay, and
had gone to render its account at the dread
judgment seat of God.

They laid her body on the sofa, and, kneel-
ing beside it, Irene poured out her thanks to
God, that he had, in his own good time, brought
her erring sister to know Azs truth, and that her
eyes had once more been gladdened by seeing
her beloved face. Requesting Mrs. Merwin
not to leave her now, to which she assented,
Irene inquired of the kind lady as much as she
knew of Ewily’s story. It was a tale of con-
fiding love, of heartless treachery, and of cruel
abandonment. Poverty and destitution had
been the lot of the unfortunate girl; but she
had, at length, been rescued from both, and, it
may be added, from eternal ruin, by the praise-
worthy efforts of the noble-hearted Christian
who now narrated the history of her wrongs
and sufferings.

When Mr. Edgar and his uncle came home
to dinner, they were shocked and surprised
beyond measure at the occurrences of the day ;
but they, too, joined in ascribing praises to that
Power which had opened the eyes of the guilty,
but unfortunate, girl to her lost and ruined
situation, and in rendering grateful thanks, that
the knowledge of this change had been made
known to those who loved her so dearly.

The remains of the hapless girl were con-
THE MAGDALEN. 175

signed to the cold earth with privacy, and a
simple stone in the graveyard in Hudson street
marks the spot where lie all that remains of
her, who, but for the deliberate arts of a de-
signing villain, might have lived to become an
ornament to society.

The grief which had overwhelmed Irene at
the sudden blow thus visited upon her wore
away in time, under the assiduous care and
kind attention of her devoted husband and his
kind uncle, and again the smile of cheerfulness
visited her face. Mrs. Merwin, with commend-
able prudence, kept the secret of the magda-
len’s family to herself, and no one of the friends .
or acquaintance of Irene was ever informed of
the connexion between them. Her sudden
death was attributed to over-excitement in her
feeble state of health, and thus the melancholy
occurrence soon ceased to be talked of, and in
a short time it was forgotten by all but those
most immediately interested and connected
therewith.

And now, reader, let us turn, for a short
time, and in conclusion, to others, who, in the
course of this little story, have claimed a part
of your interest and attention.
176 NEVER TOO LATE.

CHAPTER XIX.
CONCLUSION.

Mr. Rawson, the once wealthy, worldly-
minded merchant, is now the happy, cheerful,
contented farmer, and more than all, the pious,
trusting man. He is happy in being able to
feel that he has, even at that late day, cast
aside all worldly cares, thoughts, and troubles,
and that his treasure now is placed beyond the
reach of loss or corruption. He is happy in the
obedience; love, and duty of a kind son, who,
truly repentant for the sins of by-gone years,
is now a steady, pious, sober man—affection-
ate and dutiful as a son; cheerful and happy,
in being able to lighten the burthen from the
shoulders of his aged and beloved parent.

George Edgar and his beloved wife are as
happy as the reader could wish them to be.
They are now blessed with a sweet little boy,
which Uncle James has determined to name
after his own fashion, and the fond parents are
left utterly in the dark, as to his intentions on that
important point. If it were a girl, Irene fancies
CONCLUSION. 177

there would be no difficulty in divining his
ideas, but with a boy, she can not conceive his
reasons for keeping them so long in the dark

He, however, knows best, and as they love
him truly and sincerely, they are quite willing
he should be gratified.

And thus, reader, I have shown, or rather,
I have endeavored to show, that 7 2s never too
late. The Lord of the vineyard, rewarded alike
those who had served him during the whole
day, and those who came only at the eleventh
hour; but I would not be understood as desir-
ing or intending to encourage the idea, that it
is safe, or prudent, or proper, to await the
coming of the eleventh hour, before we begin
to serve the Lord.

I have proved, in the case of George Edgar,
how much more easy it is to do good than evil,
and how much happiness accompanies the
peaceful conscience. I have shown the vanity
of earthly riches, and the fallacy of earthly
hopes, in the career of Mr. Rawson, and he toa
has afforded a glowing illustration of the truth
of what I have said, that it 7s never too late.

Eugene Rawson has afforded me an exam-
ple of the effects of neglecting our Creator in
our youth, and he too, has found that it is
never ta lute, for he has obtained that peace of
mind, which the world can not give, and though
the remembrance of his wickedness and sin
still clings to him, it teaches him also, that he
178 NEVER TOO LATE.

has one on whom he may cast even that griev~
ous burthen—one who will give to his weary
soul that rest, which can only be known and
enjoyed by those who, like him, have gone to
the same source, whence all our blessings flow.

Emily Hart has taught us a sad and solemn
lesson. But has she, too, not inculcated in her
life and in her death, the truth of the assertion,
that it is never too late?

Trene Hart, the happy wife of the happy
George, once the poor, friendless, starving or-
phan, tells us how good a thing it is to serve
the Lord, and proves that those who “ put their
trust in him shall never be confounded.” She
has been tried, sorely tried, and tempted, but
her faith has burned never the less brightly,
and she has come from the fiery furnace of the
world’s sorrows, cares, struggles, and woes,
more pure for the ordeal through which she
has passed, and more fitted to render the as-
pirations of a heart overflowing with love and
gratitude to the gracious Giver of grace and
strength, who has supported and upheld her in
her hours of trouble and distress.

And now my tale is closed. If it shall
teach one single soul, now forgetful of the
great Source of all our blessings, that i 1
never too late, the end for which it is written is
accomplished. I have aimed at no ornate lan-
guage, no flowers of speech, or glowing de-
scription. I have narrated a simple tale of
CONCLUSION. 179

truth, and every character introduced through-
out, is now a resident of our great metropolis,
and one, whom I have called George Edgar,
has rendered himself dear to the hearts of
Christian philanthropists, by the munificence
of his donations to the advancement of the
glorious cause in which his soul is enlisted,
and more especially by his efforts to place with-
in the reach of those whose

** March is on the mountain wave,
Whose home is on the deep,”?

the precious truths of the Gospel, of which,
for ages, through the carelessness and negli-
gence, to their shame be it aaid, of Christians,
throughout the world, tiey have so long been
deprived. In this good work, he is most
heartily and zealously seconded by his amiable
and loving wife, and they are made proud and
happy in the knowledge that the right spirit is
now awakened here, for this glorious work,
and they have the happy consciousness, that,
under God’s providence, the time will soon
come, when a profane or inebriated sailor, will
be as rare on board our vessels, as was a few
years since, the sight of one who had learned
to trust in God.

Reader, farewell. I have not asked your
attention to gratify my ambition as an author.
T have not desired you to follow the career of
those brought to your notice in these pages, for
180 NEVER TOO LATE.

the sole purpose of writing a story for you to
read. I have desired only to show that t¢ never
48 too late, and, as I said, if but one soul shall,
through my humble instrumentality, be con-
vinced of the truth of that assertion, and shall,
in his own person, prove it, 1 am content.

THE EN
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER I.
OSWALD RETURNS FROM THE WARS, AND WHAT I8 SAID OF HIM.

Onz Sunday afternoon the young men and maid-
ens of the village of Goldenthal were seated
under an old lime-tree, where they amused them-
selves with laughing at those who, having drunk
too deeply, came staggering out of the three ale-
houses in which the older peasants with their
wives were carousing, and where they drank, and
talked, and fought, as is often the case when wine
and beer are cheap.

A stout, tall man about thirty years of age en-
tered the village: he was dressed in an old gray mil-
itary coat—with a sword by his side ard a knapsack
on his shoulders; he had a wild look, for across his
forehead was a deep scar, and his large black mus-
tachios frightened away all the children who came
near him; but two old women whom he addressed,
immediately recognised him, and exclaimed, “Sure-
ly this is Oswald, the schoolmaster’s son, who went
to the wars seventeen years ago; look how tall and
strong he is grown!’? and at this exclamation, both
old and young hurried from the ale-houses, and the
10 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

lime-tree, and soon all the inhabitants of the village
were assembled round Oswald. He shook hands
with his former acquaintances, spoke kindly to all,
and said he was come back to live in Goldenthal,
that he was tired of a soldier’s life, and was very
glad to have done with it. Every one now tried to
get him into an ale-house, some to drink his welcome
home, others to hear his adventures in the wars ;
but Oswald resisted all their persuasions, and said,
“] am tired with travelling, and wish to rest—who
lives in the house of my late father, and who culti-
vates his land ?”’ Upon this, the miller advanced
and said, “ The parish officers have given me the
care of your little property ; and I have let both
house and land to Steffen the weaver; but now that
you are returned, he must restore them. You had
better come home with me for a few days, until the
weaver can find another house; and I will give you
an account of what Ihave done.” So the miller took
his guest to the mill, and gave him a good supper
and a comfortable bed. But Oswald had many
questions to ask about his native village, which the
miller and his wife were very ready to answer; so
they talked on till midnight. Moreover, on the other
side of the table, and opposite to Oswald, sat the mil-
ler’s pretty daughter, whose name was Elizabeth ;
and he found it difficult to take his eyes from her,
for she was, indeed, lovely. Oswald also was a
handsome man, in spite of his enormous mustachios,
and his language and manners were courteous and
agreeable, as if he were a gentleman; so that
TRE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 11

Elizabeth never raised her large black eyes when
he looked at her, and was afraid of speaking to
him. Nevertheless, she did.say something about
his terrible mustachios. .

When he came to breakfast the following morn-
ing, the mustachios had disappeared. Oswald
would willingly have remained his whole life in
the mill. The miller and his wife were excellent
people, and goodness shone bright and clear in
Elizabeth’s eyes; but at the end of a week, Os-
wald was obliged to go into his own house and
look after his land. He had five acres of garden
and meadow, and five acres of arable land; and
he bought a fine cow with the rents which the
miller had kept for him.

As the cottage was old and in ruins, he obtained
some timber and stone from the parish, and had it
thoroughly repaired, cleaned, and whitewashed.
He worked hard himself from morning till night,
building, carpentering, and painting ; for he wished
it to be complete, but not expensive. By the au-
tumn his little cottage, in the midst of a garden
and by the side of a stream, was the neatest in the
village, and the garden was one of the prettiest in the
neighborhood. The paths between the beds were
well gravelled ; and he was very happy when the
miller’s daughter, who had‘already given him some
flowers, looked over the green, well-trimmed hedge,
and promised him more in the spring.

For a great while the inhabitants of Goldenthal
did not know what to make of Oswald. When he
12 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

arrived, they saw well enough how poor he had
returned from the wars. He had received a box
from the town with clothes and linen—it also
contained a few books; and these were all his
riches. ‘Let him alone,” said one, “he is a poor
devil, and a stupid one too, not to have made his
fortune in the wars. He has not been once in the
ale-house on a Sunday—he is forced to work like
a horse from sunrise to sunset. It is lucky for
him that his father left him some land, or he would
have come upon the parish.” “It is certain,”
said another, “he has done no great deeds, for he
has nothing to tell; and who knows where the
fool got that scar upon his forehead? He is glad
enough to be no longer food for powder.” “ Have
nothing to say to him,” said a third, “he has
learned no good in the wars. He has books nobody
ean read, not even the clergyman himself. They
are full of signs and characters that are dreadful
to behold. Who knows but what he has dealings
with the devil, and can conjure him up?’ “ God
preserve us!” said others. “Jt is clear enough
there is something wrong about him—he has never
allowed any one to go into his back room, not even
the miller, who has a great deal to do with him ;
the watchman sees a light burning there all night,
shining between the shutters. The room is always
closed, and the blinds not even opened in broad
daylight.”

Such was the discourse of the villagers upon the
arrival of Oswald.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 13

CHAPTER II.
WHAT OSWALD SEES IN THE VILLAGE,

AxrsoucH the villagers could not make much
out of Oswald, he was, nevertheless, well-disposed
and friendly towards them. At first he went to all
their houses, visited them one after another, inquired
for their children, about their land, talked of the
best methods of cultivation, and showed a great in-
terest in all their concerns.

Goldenthal had been formerly a very flourishing
village ; it is true there were no great riches, but
content and comfort were in every house. At this
time, however, with the exception of the miller, the
inn-keepers, and a few rich peasants, every one was
in distress—poverty looked out of every window ;
and meager was the fare on every board. The vil-
lage was composed of about a hundred houses, of
which, at least, twenty sent their children out to
beg; sixty got on as they! could, burdened with
debt and misery, while the remaining twenty were
alone capable of paying rates and taxes, and sup-
porting themselves comfortably.

The exterior of the houses showed visibly the
misery within; the roofs had fallen, the plaster had
dropped from the wells, the doors were incrusted

2
14 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

with mud, and the windows broken and stopped up
with paper. In the interior all was dirt and unti-
diness: rickety tables, greasy benches; and if
there was such @ thing as a looking-glass, it had
been covered for years with flymarks—the floors
were full of holes, the kitchen furniture scanty and
bad, and not even clean. In the little gardens there
was no order, no neatness, nothing but a few herbs
hastily planted—the wretched inhabitants were sat-
isfied if they had enough potatoes for themselves
and their pigs; before the door lay tools, wood,
every thing that could not be brought into the house,
and always a dung-hill. Men and women went
about in torn and dirty clothes, matted and un-
combed hair, hands or faces often unwashed for
days together—the young children were left half the
day untouched in their cradles, and the elder ones
played nearly naked in the dirt before the doors.

No wonder that such odious habits caused much
sickness—they preferred, however, consulting an
old woman, a quack, or a mountebank, if it would
save money, rather than a clever and experienced
physician. If the husband or wife kept their bed,
and could not work, every thing went to rack and
ruin. Furniture, cattle, or even land, were dis.
posed of at a loss, or money borrowed at a high in.
terest: this lasted till they had more debts than
property, and then followed beggary and wretched-
ness.

When Oswald blamed their improvidence and
want of order, and gave them good advice, his oply
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 15

thanks were sulky looks; some said, “ How can
poor folks have every thing soneat ? We must take
things as they come 3” others said, “ What is it to
you, mind your own business.” The houses of the
rich peasants, of course, were different, and their
furniture and dress were superior, but even among
them there was much disorder and neglect, for sur-
rounded as they were with beggary and dirt, they
became accustomed to it, and scarcely attempted to-
be better themselves. On week-days they were al-.
ways in rags, and on Sundays they were covered:
with finery. Besides all this, the inhabitants of
Goldenthal had constant feuds and disputes. No one-
trusted his neighbor. They cursed, they swore,
each spoke ill of the other; the poor envied the:
rich, who, in their turn, tormented and oppressed:
the poor, and when they lent money, required an.
exorbitant interest, taking from miserable wretches
in distress twelve, twenty, and even more per cent.,
without having the conscience to be ashamed of
such extortion. The poor revenged themselves as
bad men do ; they injured the rich man’s trees, stole.
his fruit and vegetables, his poultry, his wood, and’
every thing that it was possible to lay their hands.
upon. No promise, no oath could be trusted; even:
between man and wife there was discord and hatred,.
and what the children saw continually, they soon:
learned to imitate. Notwithstanding the visible in-
crease of poverty in the parish, and that no one had:
ever money to pay what he owed, yet they led indo-.
leat lives. Nobody troubled himself much about
16 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

work ; the farmers when they came late tothe field,
or left it early, said, “Thank God, we can do as we
please !? and the laborers, when they threw up their
work, and lounged about, said, “ One cannot labor
like a beast of burden ; a man must have-a little rest
sometimes.’’ But when Saturday night and Sunday
came, every one had money enough to indulge him-
self in the public houses with beer, wine, and bran-
dy; nothing was heard but, “ Here, landlord, one
pint more; Hallo! bring the cards.” All the earn-
ings of the week, and often more, were spent in
drink ; they gambled too—one lost his money, and
another soon drank his winnings. Even during the
week, the ale-house was not forgotten, for they
were a thirsty set. In the mean time, their wives
and children had scarcely enough food to keep
them from starving. There was no want of holi-
days; and every one was ready to make the most
of them. On market days in the neighboring
towns, they all went to hear the news, and see what
was going on in the public houses. There were
various excuses for coming and going. There were
law-suits and trials, and appeals, in which they
spent much time and money, and obtained little
profit or advantage. The consequence was, that
every one’s property rather diminished than in-
creased, and all complained equally of bad times,
bad government, and bad neighbors.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 17

CHAPTER Il.
THE WISE DISCOURSE OF THE MILLER.

OswaLp was much grieved to find his native
village so sunk in vice and misery ; he went to
the mill, as was his custom whenever he felt un-
happy, and his grief fled before Elizabeth’s sweet
smiles, like the mist on the mountain side before
the bright rays of the sun.

“ How is it,” said Oswald to the miller, ‘ that
the people here are so wicked, and every one in
such distress ? It was not so formerly ; then they
worked diligently in the fields, the village was
neat, and each cottage was the abode of peace and
comfort. The peasantry were highly esteemed
by the townspeople, who called them the Lords of
Goldenthal. Now every thing is changed, and
under each roof sit poverty and wickedness !
How can the war have done so much mischief ?”

The miller answered, “It is true our village
has suffered much from the war, but so have
many other villages and towns. Troops were
quartered upon us, and consumed our provisions ;
we were forced to obey the soldiers, and give them
whatever they wanted ; we had taxes and contri-
butions to pay, all commerce was at an end, trade

g*
‘18 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

was destroyed, and after that came bad years and
severe seasons, so that the hay and corn failed,
and even the fruit-trees and the vines were de-
stroyed. But our distress proceeds from neither
war nor famine. Other places have suffered like
us, and are now: beginning to recover and to hold
up their heads again; but our village becomes
every day more wretched, and we only go from
bad to worse.”

‘‘ May God preserve us !”’ said Oswald ; “ what
can be the cause of it all ?”’

“The cause is,” replied the miller, “that oth-
ers make every effort to resist misfortune, and
save themselves by their own exertions, while we
allow ourselves to be the sport of accident, and
leave our safety to chance. Even those who
might help us, bring us into still greater diffi-
culties.”

*¢ And who are they ?”” said Oswald.

“TI will tell you in confidence,” said the miller.
“ When a parish goes to ruin in this way, you may
be assured that it is ill-managed ; and that is the
case with us—our parish-officers are either selfish
men, or weak, silly, ignorant people. Two of them
keep public houses, and the son-in-law of the third
has also a beer-house. They are, therefore, better
pleased to see their neighbors drinking in their
houses, than hard at work. When persons have
any affairs to arrange, they meet in one or other
of these ale-houses, and of course they end in drink-
ing.’ If these thirsty souls have no money, they
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 19

get drink upon credit ; if they cannot pay their
debts, one bit of land after another is given in
pledge, or the whole sold by auction. Then comes
beggary ; by degrees, every field and farm falls
into the hands of a few men, and whoever wants
to borrow money goes to them, and pays double
and treble interest ; and by this unchristian usury,
the needy are irrevocably ruined.”

“‘ But why do not those who must borrow money,
get it from other places, or from honest lenders in
the capital ?” said Oswald.

« Because no one will trust our people with a
kreutzer,”* answered the miller ; “for nearly all
those who have lent us money, have been totally
ruined by it. So we have no longer any credit,
or hope of assistance from others. Now that no
one in the town will lend us money, our villagers
abuse and rail at the townspeople ; and should any
misfortune happen to them, it would cause the
greatest joy to our wretched population, although
we still receive much advantage as well as charity
from them.”

“That is a sad state of things,” said Oswald.
** But have we not still a large portion of common
land ?”

“Yes ; but it is much encumbered with debt,
and profits no one,” replied the miller. When
the parish-officers have business to transact, such
as making a tour of the boundaries, a survey of

- * There are sixty kreutzers in 8 florin, the value of which ia:
about twenty pence in English money.
20 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

timber, or any thing of that kind, then they eat
and drink at the expense of the community.
Thus the property of the parish disappears down
the throats of those who should be its guardians.”

“ That is all very bad,” cried Oswald. “ Even
if men have no sense or judgment, they should at
least be guided by conscience and the fear of
God.”’

“To be sure they should,” said the miller ;
“but how are they to learn it? Our clergyman
is an old man, who cares much for his own ease,
and performs his duties mechanically, as another
man would his day’s work ; and when he has got
through it, gives himself no further trouble about
any thing. What sin really is, how it may be
avoided, in what the Christian virtues consist, how
they are to acquired and exercised, that he never
teaches. For years together he never goes into a
poor man’s house, unless actually sent for; he
can give no good advice, no true consolation, for
hé is not sufficiently acquainted with the real state
of families to be able to labor effectually for their
improvement in piety and virtue. The clergyman
preaches from habit—the people go to church from
habit ; and when they return home, they resume
their usual vice and profligacy from habit. And
while their hearts remain unimproved, so do their
outward circumstances ; and this applies to all,
beth young and old.”

But does the schoolmaster do no good ?” in-
‘quired Oswald.
teste GOLDMARERS’ “VILLAGE. “#y

‘ Since the death of your father, who was a vir-
tuous and sensible man,”’ answered the miller,
“the school has gone on badly. It is true that
both boys and girls learn reading, writing, and
arithmetic, and now and then a prayer or two.
But from their parents they learn what they see,—
lying and cheating, swearing and cursing; fighting
and quarrelling, begging and stealing, gaming and
drinking, idleness and insolence, vice and de.-
‘bauchery.”

When Oswald heard these things, he shook his
head, and went home full of sad thoughts.
22 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER IV.

‘WHAT STRANGE THINGS OSWALD DOES, AND ALL TO NO PURPOSE.

One Sunday after church, all the villagers were
assembled. The overseers* knew not which way
to turn for money. Besides an additional tax
which had been laid on land, a debt was claimed
from the parish, increased by long arrears of in-
terest which had never been regularly paid, and
all the inhabitants, according to an old custom,
were collected under the great lime-tree, to con-
sider what could be done. The overseers were in
the circle with the other men, and beyond them
stood the women and children to hear what passed.

Oswald was there, too; and had determined to
endeavor to open the eyes of his neighbors to their
melancholy situation. Therefore, as soon as the
parish-officers had made their proposition, and ended
their discourse, Oswald stood upon a large stone
which lay in the middle of the road, so that every
one could see him, and spoke in the following
words :—‘ Dear fellow-countrymen!. I left you,
young in years and in feelings, to go to the wars,

* There is no office in an English village precisely correspond-
ing to the German “ vorsteher,”? who appears to combine the du-
ties of overseer of the poor, churchwarden, and justice of the
peace.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 238

and J have returned to you a grave and careworn
man. But wheal reached our village, I hardly
knew it again, and my heart was sad and sorrow-
ful to see how strangely every thing was changed.
Formerly our village was rightly called Golden.
thal,* for it was in truth a vale of riches, where
God’s blessing dwelt even more than elsewhere.
Most of us were in good circumstances, few were
poor, and none were beggars. At that time, from
our flourishing condition, we were called in the
country the Lords of Goldenthal. For we were not
covered with rags like paupers, but went about in
neat, though simple clothing, and had not only the
means of procuring all the necessaries of life, but
a florin or two to spare for accidents. Then the
parish had no heavy debt; on the contrary, we
lent money to others. The land was well culti-
vated ; every one had a horse in his stable, a cow,
a few sheep and goats, or perhaps a couple of pigs.
The cottages were neat and clean, within and
without, so that even a gentleman might have been
glad to live in them. All the furniture and the
kitchen utensils were in the highest order; and
the windows shone like looking-glass. Few peo-
ple owed any thing, and those who did were at no
loss how to pay it. At that time an inhabitant of
Goldentha! could have borrowed a hundred florins or
more upon his own word, without bond or pledge.
That was indeed a golden time for Goldenthal !””
Whilst Oswald spoke, many persons gave signs

* Thal, 0 valley.
24 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

of approbation, and some said, “ Oswald is quite
right.””

But he went on to say, “ Now, however, every
thing is changed. Our village should no longer
be called Goldenthal, but the vale of thorns and
thistles, vice and misery. The blessing of God
has left our fields,—some of us have too much land,
others too little; and few know how to cultivate
and improve it. Many no longer consider beggary
as a disgrace, but as a regular profession and
means of living. Most families are in debt, and
see the day approaching when every thing they
possess must be sold, and themselves turned out of
their home. We have quarrels and law-suits with
our neighbors, and among ourselves enmities and
disputes. We have our former pride without our
former riches; our streets are full of mud and
mire, our houses of dirt and filth; but the blackest
of all are our own hearts: every one finds it easier
to drink than to work ; to borrow than to pay; to
steal than to give; to deceive than to speak the
truth. If this continues we must soon be utterly
lost in misery and in shame. Already no one will
give us credit ; and when men wish to describe a
pauper, they say he is a ‘ Goldenthaler.’ ”

At these words, there arose a great murmuring
among the people, and many gave Oswald such
fierce and menacing looks, that the miller’s daugh-
’ ter was quite terrified; for she was standing be-
fore her door and never moved her eyes from him
whom in her heart she loved so well. Oswald,
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 53]

however, was not alarmed by their loud and
threatening voices, but continued, “Dear fellow-
countrymen, if one drop of honest and true blood
still flows in your veins, join hand-in-hand and de-
clare, This shall and must be changed. What is
the cause of our distress? I will tell you whence
it comes. From those public houses! Your fields
have melted away into beer and wine, and your
cattle have vanished before cards and dice. It is
there you have forgotten to work and to save.
Poverty teaches roguery, and idleness is the devil’s
resting-place. The money your fathers saved, is
all gone; but if you have a few kreutzers in your
pockets, you drink gayly and let your wives and
children starve at home. What is to be done? I
ask the parish-officers, Why do you not give a
' true account of the property which has been in-
trusted to you? and why do you not seek a reme.
dy for these growing evils? why do you not shut
up the ale-houses and set the people to drain the
marshes, or mend the break-neck roads which sur-
round the village?’ At these words, the over-
seers exclaimed, “Hold your tongue! you are &
vagabond and a mischief-maker; be silent, or we
will send you to prison ahd keep you eight-and-
forty hours on bread and water’—and every one
called out, “ Silence ! Silence!” But Oswald con-
tinued, “ You have the power to send me to prison;
but I have also the power to call you to account
before the Government. If I were to make known
how you have abused your trust, you would fare
26 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

worse than [ should upon bread and water. But,
my friends, you can tell me, if I speak falsely or
calumniously. Ask your consciences if you are
become richer or poorer? If truth and justice any
longer exist among us? If we are guided by the
fear of God and the love of our neighbor, or by
hard-hearted selfishness, cunning, envy, avarice,
profligacy, and falsehood? And if your con-
sciences do not tell you, look at your ruined cot-
tages, your fields and gardens overrun with weeds,
your empty money-chests and purses, your tattered
clothes! these are my witnesses against you!
Look at your poor neglected children! these are
my witnesses against you! You care more for
your cows, pigs, and goats, than for your children ;
but you care less for your cows, pigs, and goats,
than you do for drunkenness and gambling, vice
and debauchery.”

Oswald would have said still more, but with
dreadful cries they began to pelt him with stones,
and would not listen to him. Some tried to lay
hold of him, but Oswald laid his cudgel heartily
about him; and forcing his way through the
crowd, regained his own house. He washed the
blood from his forehead, which had been struck by
a stone, bound it up,and tried to compose himself.
And soon Elizabeth appeared, bathed in tears, and
pale as death. She asked him if he was hurt—
she could say no more from grief and fear; but he
soon succeeded in quieting her alarm, and consoled
her with kind and tender words.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 27

CHAPTER V.
HOW OSWALD IS PERSECUTED BY HIS ENEMIES, AND WHAT HE DOES.

From the day that Oswald harangued the people,
he experienced much grief and annoyance. One
night stones were thrown, and his windows broken
by mischievous boys; on another night six of the
young fruit-trees he had planted in his garden were
cut down, and the next evening all his vegetables
were stolen. When he complained to the overseers,
they laughed at him and said, “ You would have a
much worse punishment if you were only treated
as you deserve. Go along; you are a slanderer,
and a backbiter.”” But Oswald said, “If you will
give me no protection from these villains, at least
make known to the whole parish that I am able to
defend myself, and every one had better be on his
guard.” His enemies, however, continued to tor-
ment him, but not without risk and danger to them-
selves; for, one evening, when knowing he was at
the mill, they went into his garden to destroy what
they could—they were very much astonished at two
shots going off suddenly from the windows of his
house. They ran away as fast as possible, and
thought he must have set the devil to watch his
house in his absence; for, as they were running
28 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

with all speed, they met Oswald returning from
the mill, who, seizing one of them, said in a voice
of thunder, “Thieves and villains! what have you
been about in my garden?” However, he let them
go without doing them any harm. Another time
when, at midnight, some drunken vagabonds got
over the hedge which surrounded his garden, intend.
ing to play him some trick, their feet had scarcely
touched the ground, when they were caught and
wounded by a sharp instrument, so that they could
with difficulty get back again. These and other
circumstances spread a great alarm all through the
village, and no one dared approach Oswald’s house
at night.

He continued, however, to be as kind and neigh-
borly to them as at first, giving them good advice,
and even assisting them with money when in dis-
tress ; but the miserable state of the village grieved
him much, and one day he went to the clergyman
and complained to him on the subject. But he an-
swered, “I am only the clergyman, and have no
power here ; besides, [ am not going to meddle with
the affairs of others. The cause of all the misery
of this village is, that the people are sunk in the
darkness and mire of sin; but the anger of the
Lord will overtake them, and the long-suffering of
Heaven will not always spare them.”

“ But, sir,” said Oswald, “allow me to say, you
could yourself, if you would, do a great deal to.
wards reforming these people, for their hearts are
corrupt, because their minds are in darkness. If
THE GOLDMAKEES’ VILLAGE. 29

you would interest yourself in the school, and see
that the children are brought up in moral and
Christian principles, a speedy improvement would
not be long in showing itself.”

But the clergyman replied, “ That is the school-
master’s business, not mine. I have too much to
do, to have any time to spare for it. It is the fault
of the parish-officers, who can get no proper school-
master because they pay him so ill.”

‘“« Honored sir,” said Oswald, ‘a good shepherd,
who truly cares for his flock, troubles himself about
every member of it. The poor are ignorant, and
are often ruined by ignorance alone, for they know
not how to manage their own affairs. If you were
to spend some of your leisure time among them, and
to see the excessive folly of these poor creatures,
whose distress often arises from want of knowledge
of the way to help themselves ;—iff you saw how
by degrees they become accustomed to misery and
wretchedness, till at last they are driven from house
and home ; if you saw how impossible it is for the
shamefully neglected children to grow up otherwise
than depraved when they have none but the vilest
examples before their eyes ;~O sir, if you were
to see—”’

But here the clergyman interrupted Oswald, ex-
claiming, “‘ What is that to you? Will you give
your clergyman advice, and teach him how to do
his duty ? Let me hear no more of your foolish
experiments.”

When Oswald heard these angry words, he went

3
30 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

away grieved at heart; but he could not give the
matter up, and said to himself, “There must be
some remedy to be found, and by the help of God
it sHatx be found!”

And he dressed himself in his best clothes, took
his stick, and travelled to the capital. There he
went from one office to another; from one great
personage to another, to endeavor to gain some at-
tention to his melancholy story. But, one gentle-
man gave a great dinner that day, and could not
attend to him; another was playing at cards, and
would not listen to him; a third was just then re-
ceiving his rents, and could not see him; anda
fourth was going out with his daughters, and would
have nothing to say to him. Last of all, he came
to one who did see him; he was a very old man,
with an old-fashioned white wig. To this man
Oswald poured out his whole heart; he described
the misery of the village; the villany of the over.
seers, the indifference of the clergyman, the igno.
rance of the schoolmaster. But the old gentleman
in the white wig answered him:

“What a fool you are to speak ill of your supe-
tiors, both temporal and spiritual, in this manner!
get along with you, and hold your tongue. As for
your clergyman, he is an excellent man. Why,
he is my own cousin !”

This was enough for Oswald: and he left the
city, but when he passed through the gates and
came again into the country, he felt as if his heart
would break, and he burst into a flood of tears.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 31

\

CHAPTER VI.

THE NEW SCHOOLMASTER.

In the evening, when Oswald reached the vil-
lage, he did not tell any one why he had gone to
the city, nor what had taken place there; on the
contrary, he tried to appear pleased and satisfied,
and spoke civilly to every one, even to his greatest
enemy, Brenzel, the landlord of the Lion, who was
the richest man in the parish, and the principal
overseer; he was standing at his own door, his
arms folded, his hat on one side, and looking to
the right and left in an overbearing manner.
“Good evening, Brenzel,” said Oswald; “is your
day’s work already done ?”

Brenzel nodded condescendingly, and answered
without looking at him. “I should have work
enough to deserve my daily bread, if I only stayed
at home to drive the beggars from my door with a
horsewhip.”

When Oswald heard these harsh and unchristian
words from an overseer of the parish—one who
should be a father to the poor, the widow, and the
orphan, his blood boiled with indignation; he hur-
ried away, and it was a great relief to him when,
as he passed the mill, he perceived Elizabeth, the
miller’s pretty daughter, seated on a bench before
82 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

the house, under the shade of a large cherry-tree,
busily employed in needlework. She colored very
much when she saw Oswald, smiled, and gave him
her trembling hand; but her eyes shone through
tears. ‘ Elizabeth,” said Oswald, in a tone of
great anxiety and alarm, “you have been crying!
What can have occasioned these tears ?”

Elizabeth wiped her eyes quickly, smiled still
more kindly on him, and said, “I cannot tell you
now, Oswald ; some time or other you shall know.”

She appeared to him lovelier and more engaging
than ever; but, say what he would, he could not
find out the cause of her tears.

“ You have been to the city,” said Elizabeth to
him; ‘“‘I suppose you have passed two very gay
days there. Did you dance with many pretty
girls? What! you sigh about it, Oswald. Ido
not like that sigh; you want to go back to the
town—-there is nothing good enough to please you
in our poor little village.”

At these words he looked very unhappy, but did
not answer. She came nearer to him, and said in
a faltering voice, which was scarcely audible, “ Os-
wald, Oswald, tell me truly what is it that grieves
you?”

“ Dear Elizabeth,”’ said Oswald, raising his eyes
to heaven, “God knows how happy I might be
here, and I am happier with you than with any
one else in the world, for you are good and kind.
But. I grieve for the wickedness of the people, for
most of them are bad and heartless. Look at the
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 38

wretchedness of the inhabitants of our poor Golden-
thal, and yet it would not cost so much to save
them. Our parish-officers care for nothing but the
power, and dignity, and advantages which their
situations give them; and no one considers it his
business and his duty to seek some radical cure
for the misery of the poor. They think only of
enriching their families, and getting their sons and
daughters forward in the world. They never see
the faults or errors of each other, so the distress
of the country continues to increase; but these
gentlemen do not disturb themselves about it—and
praise one another for their wisdom and goodness
without shame or compunction.”

“But, dear Oswald,” said Elizabeth, “why
should that trouble you so much? There isa just
God in heaven who will punish those who neglect
their duties. Why torment yourself about it?”

Oswald answered: “ Were I in hell, witnessing
the abominations of the devil, and the agonies of
the condemned, could I be myself at rest? So, I
cannot be at peace on earth when I am surrounded
by those who, from excess of poverty, are almost
like brutes, rude, coarse, disgusting, dirty, insensi-
ble; and are they not become worse than brutes
from the crimes which poverty brings with it—en-
vy, strife, idleness, theft, and drunkenness ?”

“Ah!” said Elizabeth, “the old schoolmaster
has been well punished for his love of drinking;
he was returning home drunk from the Eagle the
‘night before last, and going too near the pond he
84 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

fell into it and was drowned. He was found yes-
terday morning, and to-day he is to be buried.
Luckily he had neither wife nor child.”

Oswald listened to this intelligence with the great-
est appearance of interest ; he asked several ques-
tions, and seemed to have something important in his
mind; and soon after he went thoughtfully home.
Elizabeth could not imagine what had struck him so
suddenly, but the following Sunday she learned it all.

After church the whole parish assembled to elect
a new schoolmaster. Oswald was present, and
Elizabeth stood at a distance with the women and
children. She was greatly alarmed lest Oswald
should speak and say something that would dis-
please the people, and had entreated her father if
Oswald became angry to try and appease him—so
the miller Siegfried never left his side.

Brenzel, the principal overseer, explained to the
people the object of the meeting, saying “that as
the office of schoolmaster was vacant, and was one
of much trouble, and very ill-paid, the salary being
only forty florins a year, it was very fortunate for
the parish that he bad it in his power to propose to
them a most excellent man who was willing to un-
dertake the office.” This was Specht, the tailor,
whose trade was not flourishing, and who was in
some degree related to himself.

Upon this the landlord of the Eagle, the second
overseer, proposed his cousin Schluck, the lame
fiddler, who, he said, deserved the preference, as,
in consideration of the poverty of the parish, he
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 35

was willing to undertake the office for thirty-five
instead of forty florins.

But when Specht the tailor saw that matters were
going against him, and that most of the people were
in favor of the fiddler, he began to abuse him in
every possible way, and declared that he would be
satisfied with thirty florins. This enraged the fid-
dler to such a degree, that he called Specht a thief,
a@ rogue, and a lying villain, and offered himself as
schoolmaster for twenty-five florins. The tailor de-
clared that he would bring the fiddler before a ma-
gistrate for slandering him, but he would not be
schoolmaster with so paltry a salary.

As no one else proposed himself for theoffice, (for
no respectable man would undertake an employ-
ment that was held in such contempt, and only
sought for by those who had no other means of ob-
taining a livelihood,) it was determined to give it to
Schluck, for he actually could both read and write,
and even cast accounts upon an emergency.

But at this moment Oswald started forward,
changing color as he spoke, and exclaimed, “ Why,
you pay the very cowkeepers and swineherds who
drive your cattle to the pastures better than you do
the schoolmaster, who should bring up your sons
and daughters in the love of God, and all good and
useful knowledge. Your children are human be-
ings, created in the image of God; but so are not
your cattle. Shame, shame upon you! But I know
well enough that the parish coffersare always empty
when money is wanted for this most important pur-
36 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

pose ; and how can poor wretches pay for the educa-
tion of their children who have not even wherewithal
to buy bread, potatoes, and salt ? However, there is
one thing left to be tried, and I offer myself as youn
schoolmaster without any salary. I repeat it: ] will
be your schoolmaster, and it shall not cost either
the parish or any individual one kreutzer.”’

The villagers looked at one another and at Os-
wald with the utmost astonishment. Some were not
inclined to accept his offer, lest he should sell the
souls of the poor little children to the devil ; but the
greater number were aware that no one else would
fulfil the office without any salary, and loudly de-
clared that Oswald should be schoolmaster. So Os-
wald was chosen by a great majority of voices.
When Elizabeth heard this she was overwhelmed
with shame and mortification. For, in that village,
except the watchman and the swineherd,there wasno
one so despised and locked down upon as the school.
master. She ran home and hid herself, as if the
heaviest misfortune and the greatest disgrace had
befallen her. Even her excellent father Siegfried,
the miller, shook his head gravely, and said, “I do
believe that Oswald must be out of his senses.”
But nothing could alter Oswald’s determination.
The customary forms were soon gone through by
the parish-officers. He passed his examination in
the neighboring town ; and as he wrote a beautiful
hand, and knew much more of arithmetic than was
thought necessary for peasants to learn, he was
speedily installed in his office.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 37

CHAPTER VII.
HOW OSWALD KEPT HI8 SCHOOL,

« BrizapeTa, Elizabeth, why these eternal re-
grets and lamentations?” said Oswald to Siegfried’s
sorrowful daughter. ‘Do you not see that the old
people are thoroughly corrupt, and it is hardly pos-
sible to improve them; but I may be able, perhaps,
by careful attention to the education of the children,
to restore our wretched village to honor and good
tepute. A village schoolmaster is, perhaps, a poor
and despised man; but how low did our Lord and
Saviour descend to improve and teach mankind,
and to fit them for future happiness. A rational
and conscientious government that cared for the
prosperity of the people, would show far more care
and anxiety in providing proper country-schoolmas-
ters, than in the choice of professors for Colleges
and Universities. But that is not the way of the
world—all strive to flatter the great and the proud,
and neglect the poor and humble; and so it hap.
pens that the life of some is too hard, and of others
too easy.”

“But Oswald, Oswald,” said Elizabeth, “ you
do not know how wrong you are.” But she never
could explain why he was wrong.

At the approach o% winter, Oswald commenced

4
88 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

his school. The first day he placed himself at the
door of his house and received the children there.
If their shoes were not clean, he desired them to
scrape them upon the iron at the entrance, and to
wipe them with straw that they might not dirty the
neat floor of the schoolroom. He then shook hands
kindly with each child. If their hands were not
clean, he sent them to the stream to wash them;
and if their hair was not properly combed, he told
them to go home and put it in order. But those
who arrived clean and well-combed, he received
more kindly than the others, and kissed them on
the forehead. The children were greatly aston-
ished: some were ashamed, some laughed, and
some even cried, for this reception was quite new
to them.

The second and third days Oswald again stood
at the door of the house, and continued to do so for
many days, until all the children came to school
as clean as he could possibly desire. After that
he received them in the schoolroom ; but whoever
came with dirty face and hands, or uncombed hair,
or unwiped shoes, was placed upon a high stool
and exposed for an hour to the derision of his com-
panions, and then sent home to make himself clean.

Many of the parents were angry at this, but they
could not prevent it, and were obliged to let Oswald
have his own way; so that in a few weeks the
school-children all became wonderfully clean—at
feast while they were in the presence of the school.
yoaster.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 89

But Oswald was not yet satisfied ; after the chil.
dren had been accustomed to this attention to per-
sonal cleanliness for about three months, he began
to take notice of their clothes. No dirt or dust was
allowed to be upon them, even if the clothes them-
selves were old and torn; that he forgave, for it
was not the children’s fault. Whoever was the
neatest and most cleanly in his appearance during
the whole week, both in school and out of school,
in church, in the street or in the fields, became Os-
wald’s favorite, and received some little mark of
his approbation, such as a print, a sheet of writing
paper, or a little book: and the second week he
obtained the envied privilege of accompanying Os-
wald in his Sunday walk, or if it snowed or rained,
of staying with him, and looking at his great book
of prints, and hearing the pretty stories he told
about them. Oswald was a man who knew how
to maintain his authority, even with men ; he never
cursed or swore, but he feared no man. It was
not then wonderful that the children soon felt the
greatest veneration for him, and at last loved him,
even more than their parents.

It was a pleasant sight to see with what respect
they obeyed him, how eagerly they ran to meet
him, how they strove to read every wish in his
eyes, how his slightest sign was followed by cheer-
ful obedience. All this was perfectly incompre.
hensible to the inhabitants of Goldenthal, and the
more so, as the schoolmaster made use of neither
rod nor cane. Some people became anxious; and
a0 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

related stories of a certain rat-catcher, who also
possessed the art of insnaring children, and carried
them off to a cavern in the side of a mountain,
where they all disappeared together. Several old
women said openly, that such influence as Oswald
possessed was not acquired by fair means, and re-
commended taking the children away from the
school ; but this sage advice was not followed. It
was thus Oswald expressed his ideas on the subject:

The heart’s purity is the health of the soul.
Cleanliness of the person is the health of the body.
Beasts may roll in filth, but Man, the image of
God, should strive to be pure as the Heaven to
which he aspires. The commencement of all
education should be, to teach a child that he is a
human being, and far better than an animal.
Every thing may be done with a child, but little
with a brute. A schoolmaster who cannot lead
the tender hearts of children by kindness and de-
termination, so that they shall follow him willingly,
understands his business ill.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 41

CHAPTER VIIt.
WHAT ELSE HAFPENS IN THE SCHOOL.

NevERTHELESS, there was a great outcry in the
village, many persons declaring that Oswald was
perverting the children, and teaching them a new
religion, and that they would learn no good from
him. For it was quite wonderful how anxious all
the children were to get to school—which, as in
general they hate learning, certainly appeared
most extraordinary and unnatural. And then the
whole day they were as still in the school, as if it
had been a church ; when formerly, as long as any
one could remember, the noise and clamor of the
scholars might have been heard all through the
village. Now, even during the singing lesson, the
sound was only like the humming of bees. It was
also whispered, that strange alterations were intro-
duced into the manner of saying their prayers,—
in short, that the children were instructed in witch.
craft, and had already learned to draw some most
suspicious signs. These and other reports at last
reached the ears of the clergyman, and the board
of education in the capital, and, as in fact no one
knew or understood what Oswald was doing, in
order to assist their judgments, and relieve their

4*
2 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

troubled minds, a commission of inquiry was in-
stituted, consisting of two gentlemen from the
neighboring town, and the clergyman himself.
They arrived one morning unexpectedly, before
the school had commenced, and told Oswald what
their object was, and that he must go through the
whole business of the school, in his usual manner,
in their presence.

As the children arrived one by one, although
coarsely and shabbily dressed, their cleanliness and
neatness were remarkable, as well as the order
with which they first went and kissed the hand of
the schoolmaster, and then seated themselves in
their places, where they conversed gayly together,
casting inquiring glances at the strangers. There
were fifty-five children in all: the boys sat on one
side of the room, the girls on the other.

When they were all assembled, Oswald said in
an audible voice, “ Dear children, let us begin by
humbling ourselves before Almighty God, our
Father, and offering up to Him our prayers and
thanksgivings.”” And as he spoke, all the children
joined their little hands and fell upon their knees
with their eyes fixed upon the ground. Oswald
knelt also ; and when the clergyman and the two
commissioners saw every one humble himself thus
before the Eternal God, they followed the exam.
ple. Then the schoolmaster read an admirable;
touching prayer from a book which lay upon a
desk before him. The words were so simple, that
a little child could understand it, but so eloquent
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 43

that the strangers were deeply affected by it.
Then the children stood up, and four of the elder
ones sang from a black-board covered with notes
and words, with sweet and gentle voices, a beauti-
ful morning hymn. The little ones hummed the
air to themselves after them. Then the best read-
ers read alternately a verse from the Bible, each
line being repeated in an under tone by the whole
school. The book was then closed, and the verses
repeated first by all the children, and then by those
whom Oswald selected, until the verses were tho.
roughly learned by heart.

The children were now formed into four divis-
ions and turned towards the four sides of the room,
upon each of which was suspended a black-board
covered with large letters—on one they were sin-
gle, on another in syllables, on a third in words,
and on the fourth in whole phrases. All the chil-
dren endeavored to copy these in the best manner
they could on slates, or with pen and ink on paper.
Oswald moved about from one child to another,
praised one, instructed another, showed a third
how to hold his pen, &c. After an hour, the chil-
dren were formed anew into four classes, and this
time there were four teachers instead of one. For
those who could read best placed upon the black-
boards printed letters, either singly or in words or
phrases, according as Oswald gave them out. The
letters were cut in pasteboard, single and moveable.
Oswald then examined whether all was right, and
each little schoolmaster made his scholars repeat
a THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

the letters, syllables, words, and phrases in an un-
der tone, so that no one disturbed the others. Os-
wald had eyes and ears for every one, and in &
low voice he assisted and encouraged them all in
turn.

At the end of another hour, the letters were fol.
lowed by figures and sums upon the black-boards
under other teachers, both boys and girls. Some
learned the multiplication table, others did sums in
addition and subtraction. To the most advanced
Oswald gave written questions, to which each child
returned his own answer; and Oswald referring to
a book containing the solutions, told them whether
they were right or wrong. The stillness, the order,
the anxiety of the children to learn, were truly ad-
mirable ; neither the clergyman nor the commission-
ers had ever seen any thing to equal it. After the
whole morning had been employed in this manner,
the children were dismissed, and taking a respect-
ful leave of their master and the strangers, went
quietly away; soon, however, the air resounded
with the gay laughter and cheerful voices of these
little ones.

In the afternoon the children were again collected
before the black-boards, some endeavoring to copy
straight or waving lines, others outlines of trees,
flowers, and buildings. Then the best readers read
aloud entertaining and instructive tales and max-
ims; and it was a pleasure to see the delight and
amusement of the children at all they heard. Os.
wald then desired those who could write sufficiently
‘THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. ‘5

well, to write down these stories and bring them to
him the next day to see if the spelling was correct.
In conclusion, Oswald announced with praise and
approbation the names of those who had studied
best ; and as this day there happened to be six, he
gave the whole school the indulgence of hearing
him relate an interesting tale. He told them a
story of a man, who, on a bitter cold winter’s night,
wearied with travelling, had lain down in the snow
and fallen asleep, and was found apparently frozen
to death. He was carried to a village, where the
ignorant peasants would have put him into a warm
room to endeavor to thaw him. However, an ex-
perienced doctor arrived, undressed the frozen man
and buried him in snow from head to foot; then
laid him in cold water, which froze around his
limbs: he was afterwards placed in a cold bed in
@ room without a fire, and then rubbed incessantly
with woollen cloths, unti! perfectly restored to life
and consciousness, and Oswald explained to the
children the cause of this happy result. So ended
a day’s schooling.
46 THR GOLDMAKBRS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER IX.
‘THE SUNDAY SCHOOL, AND WHAT HAFPENED AT THE MILL,

Every day Oswald taught the children some-
thing new, and both the commissioners and the
clergyman agreed in giving him the highest praise,
and allowed him to be the best schoolmaster in the
country. But the inhabitants of Goldenthal could
not understand this, and said one to another, ‘‘ How
is it possible that Oswald should teach better than
the old schoolmaster, whom we had when we were
young? But, without doubt, he deals in magic,
and has bewitched the clergyman himself and the
commissioners, All is not right about him, that’s
certain.”

It had never been the custom in Goldenthal to
keep the school open in summer, for the parents re-
quired the elder children to help them in the fields;
but Oswald took the little ones, taught them for an
hour or two, and then gave them something to
amuse themselves with, or some trifling occupation
in his garden or field, where they followed him—
such as weeding, or picking up stones. When the
other children saw this, they earnestly entreated
him not to forget them, and he allowed them to
come to him in the evenings, and continue their
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 47

studies. On Sundays and holidays, they walked
with him in the fields and woods ; there he taught
them to distinguish all poisonous plants, and related
stories to them of the dreadful accidents caused by
ignorance of their dangerous properties. Some-
times he entertained them with curious anecdotes
of the lives and habits of animals, both wild and
domestic, and told them strange tales of distant
countries and people, of mountains and caverns, of
rivers and seas, and of the stars, how far they are
from us, and how great they are. All this he had
either seen, or learned from books.

Now when the young men of the village heard
of these things, some of them wished also to go
to Oswald on Sundays, which he readily permit-
ted, for he was grieved at their excessive ignorance.
He taught them all, and gave them something
to read and write in case they had any leisure
hours during the week, and then examined them in
it on Sundays, so that it became a regular Sunday-
school, and many other young people joined it;
but he rejected all those who were not perfectly
clean in their persons and dress, or who frequented
beer-houses, or gambled, or who cursed or swore,
or were quarrelsome. He was their umpire in all
disputes, and treated them as if he had been one of
themselves, and they were delighted to work in his
fields at their spare moments, even without his
asking it.

Nevertheless, the young people who frequented
‘Oswald’s school were much laughed at by the
48 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

other villagers ; they called them learned men and
scholars, and played them all manner of tricks.
The parish-officers were, in fact, glad to see Os-
wald and his friends persecuted, for they were
afraid that he was making a party for himself,
with the intention of being chosen some time or
other instead of them, and they annoyed him in
every possible way; and on every occasion en-
deavored to excite the peasants against him. Os-
wald, therefore, ceased to associate with any of
them, but he went regularly to the mill, where he
knew he was always welcome.

One evening when Oswald arrived at the mill,
he found all his kind friends with disturbed and
agitated courntenances. Old Siegfried was silent and
thoughtful, his wife cold and out of humor, fidgeting
about the house, and banging the doors, while poor
Elizabeth’s eyes were red and tearful.

As soon as Oswald found himself alone with her,
he exclaimed, “ What can have happened ? what
evil spirit has entered this house of peace ?—you
all seemchanged. ‘Tell me, Elizabeth, what is the
matter ?”?

Elizabeth answered with a faltering voice, “ God
forgive me, Oswald ; but I must tell you. Yes, it
must come out; Tam very miserable!’ But she
could say no more for tears and sobs, and she wept
as if her heart would break. Oswald tried to con-
sole her, and in a little while she continued, “ It is
‘now above a year, Oswald, since you one day found
me in tears; you asked me the reason, and I would
THY GOLDMAEKERS’ VILLAGE. 49

not tell you. That day, Brenzel, the landlord of
the Lion, had been to our house, to ask me in mar-
riage of my parents, for his son, who has a mill of,
his own, in the village of Altenstein. My father
and mother made no difficulty, for the landlord of
the Lion is the richest man in the village, and the
first overseer; he can do us much good or harm,
and besides, my father will not hearof any one but
a miller for a son-inlaw. But I said that I was
very young, and wished to wait a year, and they
could not make me say any more. Now the year
is over, and on the very day, the landlord of the
Lion came again with his son. To-day they have
dined with us, and my father and mother have set-
tled every thing with Brenzel, and they wanted us
to be betrothed immediately. But I have declared
that I will never marry, and this is my firm deter-
mination ; for young Brenzel is a wild and bad man,
just like his father: this is the reason that our house
is full of misery and grief.”

Oswald heard all this in the greatest agitation ;
he walked up and down the room for some time
without speaking ; he had himself secretly indulged
the hope that Elizabeth might one day become his
wife. Hastily going up to her, he said, “ Dearest
Elizabeth—is that true—you will never marry ? If
#0, I too must pass my life alone, for no other wife
can I ever choose but you. You have long been
dearer to me than words can express, and I had
hoped the time might come when you too would love
me.” As he spoke, tears burst from Elizabeth’s

5
50 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

bright eyes, and she said in broken accents, “ Ah,
Oswald, God knows I have loved you too, much
more than is right, for my father is rich, and will
have a rich son-in-law, and he never changes his
mind when he has once determined. But you know
you are only a poor schoolmaster, and it will be
long before you can support a wife.” But Oswald
pressed the weeping, trembling girl to his heart,
kissed her lips, and said, “ Now you are my be-
trothed and my bride, and no power on earth can
take you from me. Fear nothing, my beloved, now
you belong to me alone.” In a few moments, he
went to look for old Siegfried and his wife, and Eli-
zabeth heard them all talking loudly and earnestly
together, but could make out nothing more; she
trembled with fear, and knew not where to look for
consolation in her agony; but she fell on her knees,
and with uplifted hands, in the midst of the loud
voices of the disputants, prayed earnestly to Heav-
en—the tears streaming down her cheeks—for com-
fort and for help, and soon her heart felt lighter.
As she rose from her knees, she saw Oswald, ac-
companied by her father and mother, leave the mill,
and go towards the village. This increased her
fears and doubts above measure. No one in the
mill could tell her where her parents and Oswald
had gone. She knew well enough that Oswald was
hasty and passionate ; he might have offended or
insulted her parents; and they might have taken
him before the justice, and the justice was the land.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. $1

lord of the Lion. With redoubled grief she prayed
again for Oswald and for herself.

It was ten o’clock at night when she heard a noise
below, and they all three returned together. Sieg-
fried came up to his daughter, and taking her in
his arms, said, “ Elizabeth my child, is it true that
you love Oswald?” To which she replied, “ Dearest
father, how can I help it? you love him too, do
you not?” Her parents then solemnly placed her
hand in Oswald’s, and gave their benediction to
their children ; Elizabeth thought she was dream-
ing, and could not for a length of time believe in
the reality of her happiness.
"62 ‘THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER X.
OSWALD BECOMES VERY UNPOFULAR.

Wuen, on the following Sunday, the banns of
marriage were published between Oswald the
schoolmaster, and Elizabeth, the miller’s daughter,
all the inhabitants of Goldenthal opened their eyes,
and stared with astonishment. The women whis-
pered to each other ; and the landlord of the Lion
walked out of church in a rage, and swore he would
not rest till he had ruined the perjured miller with
his whole family, including Oswald the school-
master ; they should all be driven from the village,
and sent to the House of Correction, or even to the
gallows. Nevertheless, in spite of the angry Lion,
the wedding of Elizabeth and Oswald was celebra.-
ted at the mill three weeks after, with great festi-
vity and rejoicings.

As the new-married pair were returning in the
evening to Oswald’s house, Elizabeth turned to her
husband and said, “ How very happy I am! I can
hardly yet believe that it is fll true! And people
say that there are so many miserable, ill-assorted
marriages! Is it possible that you or I could ever
cease to love one another, and could we ever wish
to be free, rather than bound together for life ?””

Oswald answered, “ We shall be happy during
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 53

our whole lives, if we make three resolutions, and
truly keep them, which will bring the blessing of
God upon our union. From this day, I will live for
you alone, and you for me; we will never have
the slightest secret from one another; and if we
have done wrong we will honestly confess it. Thus
we shall avoid many errors and misunderstandings
which often lead to grievous consequences. Second-
ly, we will never communicate our domestic affairs
to any one. It will then be impossible for others
to talk of our concerns or interfere between us.
And thirdly, we will never be angry with one an-
other, or even in joke annoy and tease each other,
for out of jest often comes earnest, and what is at
first said playfully, soon becomes a habit, which
leads to serious quarrels. Both agreed to this, and
sealed their good resolutions with a kiss: when, as
they approached the house, there arose upon the
stillness of the evening a sound of many sweet
young voices singing in chorus. This was a lit-
tle surprise which Oswald’s scholars had prepared
to greet his bride.—And the following morning they
perceived that the house was surrounded by men,
women, and children, who stood at a distance look-
ing up and pointing to it. Oswald hastily opened
the window and saw the whole front of the house
beautifully ornamented with festoons and garlands
of flowers, which had been done secretly by the
school-children, and even the youngest had assisted
in collecting flowers and green branches. Such a

thing had never been heard of before in the village
5*
54 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

of Goldenthal ; and the first day that Oswald open-
ed his school after his marriage, all the children
came each with a nosegay, as ifit had been a gala
day. Oswald and his wife were much pleased at
this; it showed good hearts, full of love and grati-
tude ; they kissed the children and distributed cakes
among them.

In the village, however, there was a great deal
of idle gossip about the marriage, and each had his
own opinion on the subject. No one would believe
that all was right, for it was perfectly unheard of
that the richest miller in the country should give
his pretty daughter and only heiress to a poor
schoolmaster! Why, Elizabeth was so rich and
so beautiful, that she might even have married a
nobleman. Every person tried to find out why
the miller had acted so foolishly. But the miller
only laughed, and they could get nothing out of
him. The miller’s wife, too, was terribly plagued
and tormented by her neighbors about her son-in.
law, and why such a daughter should have been
thrown away upon a mere adventurer.

Now, the miller’s wife, with all her virtues, had
still a little false pride, and could not bear this
contemptuous manner of speaking; and one day
that she was ready to cry with vexation, she said
to the landlady of the Eagle, “ Hold your foolish
tongue, you know nothing at all about it. He
might buy both the Lion and the Eagle himself if
he chose; he has more than people know of; I
have seen that with my own eyes. If I might
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 55

speak, I could tell you things which would make
you open your eyes and ears.” But then she was
suddenly silent, repenting that, in her anger, she
had said more than she intended. So the landlady
of the Eagle could learn nothing further ; and was
even obliged to promise that she would not repeat
what she had heard. The good woman told it to
no one but her husband and her sister, who also
promised beforehand to keep the secret faithfully ;
but she repeated the words of the miller’s wife so
as to make it appear as if the latter had seen great
heaps of silver and gold in Oswald’s house, and as
if he were able to buy the whole village whenever
he pleased ; and, moreover, that things were done
in his house, that if related would make the hair
upon all the heads in the village stand on end.
When the landlord of the Eagle and his sister-in-
law heard this, they were indeed terrified, and it was
impossible they could do otherwise than confide
the secret to a few of their most intimate friends.
In a very few days all Goldenthal knew much
more than the miller’s wife had said. It was clear
that Oswald had dealings with the Prince of Dark.
ness, to whom he had perhaps sold himself, and
signed the bond with his blood. It was said that
for thirty years the evil spirit was to obey the
schoolmaster, but at the end of the last year the
devil would come and fetch away Oswald’s soul
after twelve o’clock on Christmas eve; in per-.
forming which operation, he would twist the.
wretched man’s head round till the face looked.
86 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

from between his shoulders! It was also reported
that the schoolmaster had as much gold as he de-
sired ; and that he had given the pretty Elizabeth
a love potion, so that she must have either died,
gone mad, or married him; and, moreover, that
Oswald could raise spirits, discover hidden trea-
sures, cure fevers, bewitch the cows, so tha he
milk should be half water, or even blood ; that he
could command fire and water, make himself in-
vulnerable to iron and steel ; ride through the air
on a broomstick, and many more things of the
same nature, that he had learned from forbidden
books, of which he had many in his possession.

From this time every one dreaded the sight of
the schoolmaster; but they took care not to offend
him, as they feared some terrible vengeance of his
infernal allies; even the angry landlord of the Lion
did not dare molest either him or the miller; and
many people crossed themselves secretly if they
encountered Oswald unexpectedly.
HE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 87

CHAPTER XI.
ELIZABETH MAKES MANY FRIENDS.

Bur when the young men of the village met
Elizabeth blooming like a rose, they did not cross
themselves or avoid her, but readily wished her
good-morning ; for Elizabeth was a handsome wo-
man, and seemed to become more so every day,
and indeed the other women in Goldenthal were
obliged to own it. Nevertheless, she was not
dressed more finely or expensively than they were.
But meet her when you would, Sundays or work-
days, morning or evening, she was always as neat
as if she were going toa dance. She worked in
the fields, or in the garden in the heat of the sun ;
she took care of the cow and the pigs, carried eggs
and vegetables to the town to sell, and yet was always
clean and tidy, without a spot upon her clothes.

“T declare I almost believe that she is a witch
herself!’? said the landlady of the Lion, taking a
pinch of' snuff, and wiping her nose with her sleeve.

‘Yes, yes,”’ said all the young men, “no doubt
she is. If Elizabeth were not already married, she
would bewitch us all, she is so lovely !”’

The married men often found fault with their
wives for not remaining as pretty as they had
been; and reproached them with not looking as
68 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

well as the schoolmaster’s wife; while the women
abused and slandered her who was the cause of
these complaints. But one day two girls who had
formerly been the friends of Elizabeth, and who
were very willing to be married themselves, came
to her and said, “ How is it that you have now
been married above a year, and are prettier than
ever? Dear Elizabeth, do tell us how you con-
trive it; for in general, you know, when a girl
marries, she soon becomes ugly and slovenly, and
her husband loves her no longer. But that is not
the case with you.”

The young wife answered, ‘I will tell you the
reason ; it is chiefly the women’s fault. As long
as they are unmarried, and wish to please, they
dress themselves well, and all their earnings are
spent in clothes ; they are neat and clean; their
hair well combed, and their gowns well made and
put on. But when they have once got a husband,
they care no more about it, and no longer seek to
please him; they go about with uncombed hair
and curl-papers, and, however dirty and slovenly
they may appear, persuade themselves that it
looks as if they were good housewives, and had
not time to attend to dress. They say they must
save money, and can no longer spend it, as before,
in finery. When a gown is old and dirty, it costs
too much to replace it; and then, they cannot
make it themselves ; they have never learncd ; se
they get accustomed to rags and dirt, and the wo-
man herself becomes changed from neglect and
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 58

carelessness. No wonder if she is soon an object
of indifference, or even of disgust to her husband ;
and then come misery and distress into the house.”
The young girls said, “ Elizabeth, you are very
right.” “ When I married Oswald,” she went on
to say, “ [reflected much how it would be possible
for me to continue to please him, for I loved him
dearly, and I determined to be still more careful
of my person than formerly, and never to appear
defore him in an untidy dress. I took the great-
est care of my clothes; I kept my kitchen, my
cellar, my stable as clean as my parlor. The
smallest speck on my furniture must be instantly
removed. So did every thing about me remain
new and fresh, and I myself have continued so in
his eyes.” “But,” said the girls, “the neatest
gown will wear out at last, and how is a new gown
to be got, if the husband gives no money ?”
Elizabeth answered, “1 require less money for
clothes than others do, for I take care to mend the
very smallest hole, before it becomes larger, which
costs nothing but needles and thread ; but when a
small hole is neglected, it soon becomes a large
one, the whole gown goes to pieces, and a new one
must be bought, while I can still wear my old one,
and save my husband’s money. Those women
who do not know how to sew and mend, spend
much more, and are never fit to be seen.”? At
these words, the two girls colored, and with tears
in their eyes, said, “ We have never been taught
to sew and mend as you have ; we shall regret it
60 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

much when we marry, it will cause us much sor.
row, but what can we do?” and they went sadly
away.

Elizabeth repeated to her husband the conversa-
tion she had had with her friends, and said she
would teach them both to knit and sew, for she
pitied the poor girls, and would gladly be of use
to them.

Oswald pressed his excellent wife to his heart,
and said, “ You will be a blessing to me, and bring
the blessing of God upon this house! Teach not
only these two girls, but all who are willing to learn
of you; many families in this village are poor and
miserable, though the men work very hard, be-
cause the women are bad managers and ignorant.
Their gardens are neglected, while if they planted
a few wholesome vegetables, it would make a va-
riety in their food. If they wish to make a good
dish, they add fat, grease, and lard, all things
which cost much, and are unwholesome. Bad food
makes bad blood, then comes illness and all its ex-
penses, and sick men cannot work. It is the same
thing with clothing. To be sure there are seam-
stresses in the village, but as they gain their bread
by needlework, of course they will not teach oth.
ers. It is a great pity that there is not in every
village some respectable woman who understands
cooking and gardening, sewing and washing, and
would teach it to all the peasant girls ; it would
add greatly to their comfort and usefulness, and
make them good and happy wives; go then, dear
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 61

Elizabeth, begin your labor of love, and merit the
thanks and blessings of your neighbors.” And
joyfully did Elizabeth commence her undertaking.
Every day, whenever she had a moment’s leisure,
she taught her two friends to sew, to mend, and
darn so neatly, that the place could hardly be dis-
covered. She showed them how to cut out clothes
to the greatest advantage, with the least waste of
material, and to knit stockings. She took them ali
round the house, into the cellar and the out-houses ;
every thing was in its right place, and whoever used
it, took care to restore it, and as all was in perfect
order, and kept constantly so, there was never @
great deal to do. In the garden, she showed them
how to sow and plant vegetables, when they were
fit to gather, how to keep them, and make them
useful in cooking. In the kitchen she taught them
to dress plain and wholesome dishes, and to make
the most of every thing without waste and extrava.-
gance ; they learned to roast meat, and to make
soup, besides preparing vegetables and fruit for
winter use, all of which Elizabeth had learned from
her mother.

The two girls were astonished, for they had
never seen their mothers do any thing of the kind,
and they rejoiced much, that if they should mar.
ry, they would be able to feed their husbands well,
without spending more than others did ; when they
told other girls all that they had learned from the
schoolmaster’s wife, and how much they wished to
be like her, they came one after another to Eliza-

6
62 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

beth, and begged her to teach them also, till at last
it became a regular school. For as all the young
men praised Elizabeth, so all the young women
wished to imitate her.

Oswald’s wife had trouble enough at first; but she
soon found that she derived much benefit from her
new undertaking. Every one was ready to help
her in her garden and farmyard ; some cooked for
her, and others mended the linen. The following
year the good effects of her instructions were visi-
ble in many little gardens in the village, which
were neat, and in a high state of cultivation; and
one neighbor would watch another and see what she
planted and sowed, and beg for seeds and cuttings.
As the summer and autumn advanced, many of the
peasants’ wives had an abundance of fine vegetables
which they sold in the town, and brought back hard
money, to their great joy and satisfaction. While
those who had none went also to Elizabeth and ask-
ed her what todo. And she gave them good ad-
vice and taught them all that she knew. She did
this willingly, for she was truly kind-hearted; and
besides, good words cost nothing, particularly to
young women. Thus the schoolmaster’s wife was
universally beloved, and every one was anxious to
oblige her; besides, they pitied the poor pretty
creature with such a husband as Oswald, who, it
was clear, could never hope to be saved, for it was
well known that he was a magician who dealt in
the black art, and was eternally lost, both body
and soul.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 63

CHAPTER XII.

THE LANDLORD OF THE LION SETS OUT UPON A JOURNEY, AND WHAT
HAPPENED TO HIM.

Oswatp might do what he would, he was always
sure to be blamed. When he taught the children
that there were no such things as ghosts, and that
only timid or superstitious people believed in them,
then it was said that he believed neither in God nor
the devil. If he showed them the poisonous plants
in the forests, or on the mountain side, to prevent
their eating berries and roots which might injure
them, the villagers said he was teaching them to
make poisonous draughts. Brenzel, the landlord
of the Lion, in particular, watched all his actions,
and carefully treasured up every word that was
said against him. When at last he thought he had
collected enough to be the ruin of Oswald, he said
to himself, «‘ Now I shall be revenged! Oswald
shall go before a magistrate, and his own mother-
in-law, the miller’s wife, shall be forced to confess
what she knows about him. As overseer of the
parish, it is my duty to speak—I cannot suffer this
to goon any longer without being myself to blame.”
So one fine day he put on his Sunday clothes,
placed his three-cornered hat majestically upon his
head, took his Spanish cane with the silver knob,
left the village, and with solemn steps took the road
64 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

to the capital. But he told no one what he meant
to do, and that he hoped to get Oswald into disgrace
with the Government, for he feared that should it
reach the ears of this dreaded magician, he might
play him some terrible trick, even before he reach.
ed the town.

And as he was walking alone in the high road,
he spoke aloud as he intended to doin the presence
of the magistrates; and the more he talked, the
faster he walked, gesticulating first with one hand,
then with another, as if he were a stage-player.
But in the midst of his zeal and eagerness, he
stumbled over his long stick, which got between his
legs, and threw him at full length upon the ground.
Away flew his hat, down went his head, and up
went his legs, as if he were trying to stand upon
his head. With many groans and lamentations he
contrived to get upon his feet again, and pick up
his hat out of the dust; but alas! his nose was
bieeding, and he had a lump on his forehead as big
as an egg: “There!’’ he cried. “ This is that vil-
lain Oswald’s doing!’ and he hardly dared proceed
for fear of worse misfortunes. Whilst he was wip-
ing the blood from his face, a man on horseback,
his hat and coat covered with gold lace, came gal-
loping down the road. He stopped before the land-
lord of the Lion, and hastily asked him, “ Pray,
does a person of the name of Oswald live in that
village, and is he likely to be at home ?”

Brenzel answered, “ Yes ; but why do you want
to know ?”
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 65

“ The Prince wishes to pay him a visit,” said
the stranger, and hastened on towards Goldenthal.
The landlord of the Lion remained immoveable, his
mouth wide open and speechless with astonishment.
At last he stammered out, “ What! what! the
Prince—a Prince visit Oswald!” as he said these
words, a splendid carriage with six horses, and ser-
vants before and behind, passed him at full gallop.
Inside sat a young man with a shining star upon
his breast. The carriage went on towards Gold-
enthal.

“The devil’s in it,”? exclaimed Brenzel, “the
Prince will certainly stop at my house; and if I
am not at home he will go to the Eagle.”’ Brenzel
ran back to the village as fast as he could—he for-
got the long stick, which once more got between
his legs, and threw him again on the ground; he
thought every bone in his body was broken, and
his holiday suit was in a woful plight. He limped
back, cursing and swearing: but when he saw no
carriage standing before his door, he was ready to
expire with envy and jealousy, for he thought that
the Prince must have stopped at Kindeman’s, the
landlord of the Eagle. He went into his own
house and found not a soul there ; he changed his
clothes, and was shocked when he saw his scratch-
ed and swollen face in the looking-glass, though
the glass was so dirty that there was not much to
be seen in it. Then he began to call in no very
gentle tones for his people, all of whom had run
out to see the sight. At last, the maid came pant.

6
66 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

ing and screaming, “ Sir, sir, there is.a live empe-
ror, or at least.a king, at the schoolmaster’s house.
The whole village is collected before his door.”

Brenzel did not know what to do, but he at last
joined the people assembled before the schoolmas-
ter’s house. In about half an hour the Prince came
to the door, having Oswald and Elizabeth on each
side of him, and speaking to them kindly and fa-
miliarly. Before he got into the carriage he shook
hands with both, and then set off at full gallop—
out-riders before and behind. All the peasants
standing with their hats in their hands, and their
mouths wide open with astonishment.

It was now whispered all through the village that
the schoolmaster knew more secrets than one. No
Prince comes to a village schoolmaster merely to
pay him a visit; and it was said that it was not
without reason that he appeared so kind and friend-
ly to him. Great people want much money, and
must sometimes have dealings with those who pos-
sess the art of making gold, and who can find hidden
treasures. This and other such wise observations
went round the village and filled the heads of many
of its ignorant and ragged inhabitants. Some were
more explicit, and said one to another, “If I only
knew how to set to work, I would make no difficul-
ties about it. I would sell myself to the devil if I
could be sure of having my debts paid, and plenty
of money to spend as I please. I would act very
differently from the schoolmaster. What a fool he
must be to live among us, as he does—I would drive
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.” 67

six horses like the Prince, and have stars and ser-
vants without numbers, and would have my kitchen
full of meat, and my cellar full of wine. I am
ready enough to sell my soul for all this.” Such
language was held by these foolish men without
shame or compunction. Riches corrupt the heart,
but poverty does so still more ; and when poverty,
ignorance, and evil passions combine, the results
are fearful. This is the case in many villages;
and so, alas! was it in Goldenthal.
68 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XII.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ LEAGUE.

Oswatp could not at all understand why, shortly
after the Prince’s visit, there came to him first one
person, then another, desiring to speak with him
privately, and all of them expressing themselves in
the following silly and wicked manner: “ Oswald,
every one in the village knows that you can make
gold—teach me your secret, you understand the
magic art. If the devil should appear, I would not
be frightened. If he should even require the com-
pact to be signed with my blood, I am ready to give
myself to him, body and soul. I would not do it,
but I am in great distress.” For a long time Os-
wald did not know how to treat such absurd folly ;
but as the numbers increased that came to see him,
and he could not get rid of them by any means, he
at last thought of an expedient, and desired each
person separately to come to him at twelve o’clock
the same night.

They began to arrive stealthily, one by one, as
he had desired them, soon after the village clock
had struck eleven. Oswald conducted every person
silently into a dark room. There were two-and-
thirty heads of families, and each man was almost
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 69

frightened out of his wits, when in the dark he touch-
ed one of the others, and discovered that there was
something alive near him ; for no one knew the others
were coming. Some shuddered and wiped the perspi-
ration from their brows, while many were so alarmed
that they would have given the world to run away ;
but they feared the evil spirit might do them some
mischief if they attempted it, and they trembled for
their lives should they offend him. They remained
for nearly an hour in perfect silence, and overcome
with terror, scarcely daring to breathe. Suddenly
the clock struck twelve; with the last stroke the
doors were thrown open, and an officer walked into
the room dressed in full uniform, a feather in his hat,
a sword by his side, and a star upon his breast ; he
had two lighted tapers in his hands, which he placed
upon the table before him. And now, when each
person recognised his neighbor, they were thorough.
ly ashamed of themselves, for they saw plainly that
every one had come with the same object. And,
when they looked again at the splendid officer, whom
they had taken for the evil one in propria persond,
they were astonished to see it was Oswald himself.

But Oswald was very serious, and said, “ Look
at me, unhappy men, and learn to know me better.
I deal in no forbidden arts. 1 endeavor to serve my
God, but it is you who have fallen off from Him.
You have drunk and rioted ; you have cursed and
sworn; you have robbed and cheated ; you have
wasted your property, and neglected your wives and
children ; these are the works of the devil, and it is
70 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

you who have had dealings with him. It is this
which makes you poor and wretched. Honesty is
ever the best policy; and the fear of God brings
prosperity. I do not wish to be rich, but I am not
poor. If you would be like me, you must act as I do.”
Oswald then drew a large purse from his pocket,
and poured out its contents; there came numbers
of bright gold coins, ringing upon the table, rolling
about, and dazzling their eyes. These peasants
had never in their lives seen so much gold at once ;
their hearts beat, and their mouths watered. But
Oswald continued: “I solemnly assure you that
it is not this gold that gives me happiness, but it is
the knowledge which enables me to earn it, and
make a good use of it. You came to me to learn
the art of making gold. The art I will teach you
is the best kind of knowledge, and worth much more
than gold itself. If you once possess it you will
have riches also, and without esteeming them too
highly. But you cannot obtain this blessing with-
out undergoing a severe trial, and that trial shall
last seven years and seven weeks! Whoever sus-
tains it to the end will have secured his happiness
for the rest of his life. And I assure you that at
the expiration of the time, every one of you will
be able to lay more gold upon his table than you
see now upon mine. The ordeal will be severe
for the weak or wicked man, for he must change
his whole heart and begin an entirely new life.”
‘The men looked at Oswald with increasing aston-
ishment, and listened in perfect silence to his words.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 71

s¢ Whoever among you,” he continued, “ is will-
ing to undergo the seven years and seven weeks
of trial, may remain. Whoever is afraid, or does
not believe me, must depart.”

No one stirred. ‘“ Well, then,” cried Oswald,
“you must swear before Almighty God to keep
these seven vows unbroken during seven whole
years :—

“1st. For seven years and seven weeks, you
must go regularly to church, and listen to the word
of God, and obey it. Morning and evening, with
your wives and children, you must pray to God to
pardon your sins.

“2d. For seven years and seven weeks, you
must never enter an ale-house: you must never
touch either cards or dice, or play at any game
for money.

“3d. For seven years and seven weeks, no oath
or swearing may pass your lips, neither may you
indulge in evil speaking or lying.

“4th. For seven years and seven weeks, you
must work hard all day, actively and diligently ;
and above all, you must incur no fresh debts.

“Sth. Whoever gets drunk once during the
seven years and seven weeks, is rejected from our
community.

“6th. There must be no weeds on your land,
no dirt in your houses. Your out-houses, your
cattle-sheds, and your implements must be re-
markable for cleanliness; by this I shall know.
that you are one of us.
72 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

“7th. Your behavior must ever be modest and
becoming ; your persons cleanly, your skin, hair,
and clothes free from all impurities. These shall
be our distinguishing signs; whoever will swear
to keep these seven vows, let him come forwara
and give me his hand. The strong shall help the
weak.”

When Oswald had ceased speaking, the two and
thirty men came forward, one after another, and
each gave him his hand across the table, and said,
“] swear!’ “Now go home in peace, and before
you lie down, pray to God to give you strength to
keep your vows; and I say it again, that if they
are truly kept, each of you will see more gold in
his house than now dazzles his eyes here.”” He
then desired them not to mention to any one what
they had seen and heard that night; and not even
to speak of it or allude to it among themselves.

They left him in solemn silence, not a word was
spoken on their way home; they were full of the
wonderful things which they had seen and heard:
they had expected something very different: in-
deed the very opposite of what had occurred ; and
many, when they reflected on the vows they had
taken, felt sad and oppressed, for they were very
strict. But the secrecy—the seven years and seven
weeks — Oswald’s solemn language — the table
heaped with gold—the splendid officer with the
order on his breast, and the dark midnight hour—
all this could not be forgotten, and remained like
the memory of a strange dream.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 13

CHAPTER XIV.

THE ASTONISHMENT OF THE GOLDENTHALERS.

‘ Wuart is the matter, Walter? Caspar, what
are you about ?” said the lame old watchman, as
he passed through the village the next day: “ what
can have happened? Is another prince or king
coming, or some great man from the capital, that
you are cleaning every thing in this manner ?”

But he asked in vain, they only laughed at him.
Nevertheless, many men were hard at work; and
there were strange doings in some houses. The
windows were cleaned, the floors scoured, doors
and tables washed, cupboard and benches dusted.
Every thing was put in order; all rubbish dis-
carded; dirt removed, and each article placed
where it ought to be kept. The two and thirty
heads of families understood it well .enough, but
said nothing. They thought to themselves, “In
seven years we shall have chests full of gold!”
When Oswald saw all these poor people so busy,
he said to Elizabeth, “ Really, I know not whether
to laugh or cry when I look at them. For that
which they would not do from their own sense of
right and wrong, from the love of God, or from af.
fection for their wives and children, they are now

1
U4 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

doing from superstitious fear and love of riches.
How foolish are the children of men! But their
superstition itself shall lead them to a knowledge
of the truth, and even through their corruption they
shall be led to virtue.” However, the amazement
of the other villagers increased daily ; the public
houses were almost deserted, especially on Sun-
days; no loud oaths were heard, or fighting, or
quarrelling. Scarcely a man touched either cards
or dice. The landlords of the public houses com-
plained that the beer turned sour, for hardly any-
body drank it; and there was still less brandy or
spirits consumed. Most of the men passed their
evenings at home with their families, or walked
about their fields, examining what could be done
to improve them. Those who formerly passed
their whole time in dissipation and rioting, had
now become serious and thoughtful; those who
seldom spoke without an oath were now well-be-
haved and quiet, while those who before had been
loitering about doing nothing from morning till
night, were now diligent at their work, and re.
markable for their activity.

But when the landlord of the Eagle saw all his
tables and his benches unoccupied on a Sunday, he
fell into a tremendous rage, and one day he burst
forth, “ Are all the people gone out of their senses ?
What the devil is come to them! things can never
go on in this way ; it is quite shameful.”

His friend Brenzel answered: “If this fashion
continues I shall be obliged to shut up my house.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. q5

But I understand it; it is a scandalous plot against
me; they want to ruin me ; but there shall be an
end of the village first! If I could but make out
who is the cause of all this mischief!’ The land-
lord of the Eagle, in order to get rid of his sour
beer, sold it at half price, and mixed drugs with
his wine to make it taste better; and every Sunday
he hired musicians to play before his door. But
none of the two and thirty goldmakers, or their
sons and daughters, ever entered his house.

The landlord of the Lion tried also to attract his
former customers; he was extremely civil, offered
them beer and spirits, and if when he asked, “ Why
do you not come and drink at my house ?”’ they
answered, “ Because we have no money,”’ he would
say, “ Nonsense! you know well enough I am not
hard upon you, and give credit willingly ; we are
old friends!’ But still they did not come.

Then the landlord of the Lion went into a rage
and said, “If you treat me thus, you shall feel the
Lion’s teeth ; you shall know what it is to injure
Brenzel the Lion !”
16 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XV.

OSWALD INQUIRES ABOUT THEIR DEBTS.—THE SAVINGS-BANE AND THE
SOUP KITCHEN.

Ir often happened that some of the poor men
who belonged to the Goldmakers’ league came
secretly to Oswald to complain of their great dis-
tress, saying, “ You see, Oswald, I keep my vows,
however difficult it may be. I have worked hard
for the last half year; during that time I have
neither drunk, sworn, nor fought. My wife and
children, as well as my house, are clean. No one
has any reason to complain of me. § Yet the parish-
officers annoy me terribly. I am in debt to all of
them; and they threaten to turn me out of my
house unless [ pay them, or go on increasing my
debt by drinking at their houses. If you do not
help me I shall not be able to keep my vows. In
six years and a half I shall have plenty of money.
Lend me a small] sum, and then I will repay you.
But Oswald answered, ‘“ The first and fourth vows
say, Pray, work, make no debts. J must not lend
you money ; but tell me how much you owe, and
to whom, and then we will see what can be done.”
And he took pen, ink, and paper, and wrote the
answers which every man made to the following
questions :-—“‘To whom are you in debt? How
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 77

much, and at what interest? For what purpose
was the money borrowed, and did you give any se-
curity ?”? As soon as he knew the whole amount
of each man’s debt, he asked, “ How do you expect
to pay? How much do you and your wife and
children earn in the week ? How much land and
stock have you, and what do they produce on an
average ? How do you and your family live?
What does your food cost you a-week or a-day ?
Are you well provided with clothes, furniture, é&c. ?
And what chance have you of being able to save
money ?” All this was carefully written down,
and now, for the first time, their disorderly and im-
provident manner of living was brought clearly to
light: Many persons did not even know how much
they owed, and had no papers or means of ascer-
taining it. For these it was necessary to have re-
course to the creditors. Some had not paid the
interest of their debts for three or four years; this
was the first thing to be attended to. Others had
to pay eight, ten, or even twelve per cent. for money
which, in moments of great distress, they had bor-
rowed from the parish-officers. Oswald lost no
time, but obtained money in the capital at three or
four per cent. upon good security, and paid off the
usurers, so that they should no lenger have the
power of ruining these poor men by the excessive
interest they required. Some had more debts than
property ; and it was difficult to know how to assist
them. But Oswald encouraged them all, and said,
“With the help of God, hard work, and strict
7
78 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

economy, you will at last be free from debt. Only
follow my advice carefully in every respect.”
Now, indeed, these poor people became fully
aware of the extent of their own folly and impru-
dence ; and when many of them discovered that
the whole of their little property would not suffice
for the payment of the debts they had so improvi-
dently incurred, great, in truth, was their dismay
and sorrow. All were ready. to work, all wished
to save, but they knew not how to begin. Oswald
encountered difficulties of every description in his
efforts to assist them, but he was a true philanthro-
pist, and did not suffer himself to be discouraged.
He gave each man a book containing a list of his
debts and household expenses, showing him the
exact state of his own affairs. He went to the town
and endeavored to find work for every one—men,
women, and children; in this he succeeded by
degrees. Whatever they received as wages was
written down in the book, and if any thing could be
spared from their weekly expenses, it was given into
Oswald’s hands, to form by degrees a small capital
of which they could dispose. Oswald had very
soon above a hundred florins belonging to them,
and this he determined also to turn to some account ;
“ For,”’ said he, “ why should this money lie idle ?
if we could obtain interest even for this small sum
it would help to diminish their debts.’? So he wrote
down the amount of whatever had been intrusted
to him, and placed in his savings-bank. He then
went to the town and found an honest man, who
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 719

agreed to take every month whatever money was
saved by these hard-working people, even if it
amounted only to ten or twenty florins, and to pay
@ moderate interest for it. It was a rich merchant
who received the money, and as he was ready to
assist in any good work, at the end of the year the
interest was added to the capital; Oswald keeping
a written account of how much interest was due to
each individual. As fortunately these poor people
had now obtained employment, they were able to
labor hard, and there was scarcely any sickness
among them. Formerly that was not the case ; for
when they were drunk on Sunday, they were un-
able to go to work on Monday, and were ill and
useless : besides, their health was much improved
by greater attention to cleanliness, for many dis-
orders are but the natural consequences of dirt and
neglect.

When Oswald explained to the Goldmakers that
he had established a species of savings-bank, and
that the money which they brought him to take
care of produced interest, they were struck with
astonishment and delight; and each examined the
book to see how much money he had already de-
posited, and how much more he might expect at
the end of the year. At first, but few had brought
their money to Oswald; but, when one man found
that another had already placed fifteen, twenty, or
thirty florins, they were angry with themselves,
and anxious to do the same, and each brought his
savings to Oswald, saying, “ Why did you not tell
80 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

me of the savings-bank ?—take the little money ]
can save; for, if I keep it at home, far from in-
creasing, it will diminish. If I have money at hand,
I shall spend it ;—out of sight, out of mind. If you
do not take it, I shall be long enough before J can
think of paying my debts.”” So they brought him
every week whatever they could spare from their
wages, some working harder than others, to have
something to put into the savings-bank ; and many
became so stingy, that they almost starved their
families in order to have more money to lay by.
This displeased the schoolmaster, who said, “ How-
ever right it is to be economical, you must not let
your children starve: whoever is well fed has
more strength and courage to work. It is true,
many women, who are quite strong enough to work
in the fields, and earn money, are now obliged to
lose their time at home, in order to attend to the
cooking. Ifthere were a public kitchen, where the
food for each household could be prepared, there
would be a great saving of fuel, and so much time
would not be lost in collecting it in the forest. In
times of scarcity, we have been contented with very
scanty food; why were we so ready to save then,
when we had nothing, and will not save now, when
we have something to spare? Potatoes, fruit, corn,
bread, and meat are now cheap; and, with the
same money, we can live better than during the
famine, and yet save something. If one woman
were to cook for all, much time would be gained,
and you would be able to earn money in other
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 81

ways. It would require twenty times as much fuel
daily for thirty saucepans or kettles, as it would to
dress the food of thirty families in one large cal-
dron; and where a great quantity of food is dressed
at once, there is great economy in salt, butter, and
many other ingredients, besides the wear and tear
of cooking utensils. You can understand this, and
see that much could be saved by these means. Let
us make a trial.”” Many were willing, while others
objected to making the attempt. Oswald went to
the miller, and persuaded him to establish a soup-
kitchen, where meat should also be dressed three
times a-week. Those who agreed to join in the
experiment, told him about what quantity of soup
and meat they required daily, and they began with
seventeen families. It was arranged that each
household should in turn provide the fuel for cook-
ing, and a woman to assist: the miller’s wife had
the superintendence of every thing. Each day
there was some variety in the soup or vegetables,
Those who had no money paid for their portions of
soup with honey, fruit, or potatoes; but whoever
had meat must pay for it in money. The miller’s
wife understood cooking well; and the peasants’
wives and daughters, when their turn came to assist,
learned a great deal from her.

By this means, all these families, as well as the
schoolmaster and the miller, who had joined them,
lived cheaper and better than any others in the vil-
lage: every day they had soup and vegetables, and,
three times a week, meat dressed in various ways.
82 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

When the others saw this, and that the soup was
not poor meager stuff, but fit for hard-working peo-
ple, who required good nourishment, as well as for
the sick and ailing, they were eager to partake of
it: and many did so, even without belonging to the
Goldmakers’ league; for they saw clearly that
much fuel, time, and trouble in cooking were saved,
and good food obtained much more cheaply. At
last, there were more customers than the miller’s
wife could provide for, though she had fresh assist-
ants every day. So the landlord of the Eagle
established a public kitchen in his own house ; but
all who belonged to the Goldmakers’ league con-
tinued to frequent the miller’s. They had chosen
the most respectable people among them to purchase
the provisions, and superintend their distribution ;
for the advantages of doing so were not to be con-
fined to one individual, but shared among all.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 88

CHAPTER XVI.

THE NUMBER OF PUBLIC HOUSES DIMINISHES, AND WHAT THE OLD
PEASANTS SAY ABOUT IT.

AFFairs went on very differently in the kitchen
at the Eagle ; there the soup was so bad that no
one could eat it; so the customers were few, as
they would not pay their money for such stuff.
They joined together, and endeavored to manage
as well as the miller’s wife ; but they did not suc.
ceed, for there was no order, and each tried to
cheat the other. The landlord of the Eagle laugh.
ed at them, and rejoiced to see that others succeed-
ed no better than himself. He was, however,
worse off than others, for he was a hard-hearted,
bad man; he had accumulated much money by
dishonest means, but ill-gotten wealth never thrives.
When, during the scarcity, a subscription had been
raised in the capital for the poor Goldenthalers,
instead of establishing a kitchen, and dividing the
food among them, he persuaded the other overseers
to give each man his share of money. He and the
landlord of the Lion then joined together, and sold
them corn and flour at an exorbitant price, and
thus all the money returned into their own pock-
ets; and when the poor peasants were driven by
84 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

want to sell their hay, cattle, and farming tmple-
ments by auction, these men united to exclude
competition, and obtain every thing far beneath its
value. ‘They first offered very small sums; and
then, adding a little, one after another withdrew,
and would bid no more, saying, it was too much,
and the goods were not worth it. When they had
said this, as they were considered the best judges,
nobody ventured to offer more, so that they got the
things almost for nothing. But if any one hap-
pened to know better, and offered a larger sum,
they soon frightened him away, particularly if he
owed them any thing, saving, “ If you have money
enough to buy these worthless goods, and can out-
bid me and my friend, you had better set about
paying your own debts.”

Thus spoke the landlord of the Eagle, a proud,
harsh man, who was always quarrelling, and at
law with some one or other. He had even a law-
suit with his own brothers and sisters, whom he
had endeavored to cheat in the division of his
father’s property ; and he had completely ruined
many of his neighbors, by going to law with them
upon the slightest offence: in fact, the litigious
spirit of the Goldenthalers was the chief cause of
their poverty. As long as they possessed any
thing, they were proud of being engaged in a law-
suit, believing it was something grand and honor-
able, which made them of importance in the eyes
of others. Then came cunning advocates and
attorneys, who worked upon the folly of these
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 85

peasants, and were very willing to profit by it.
By their means, these lovers of law were induced
to risk every thing belonging to them upon the
chances of a suit, swearing they would rather a
thousand times lose all than give in. This just
suited the lawyers, who employed every means,
year after year, to prolong the causes. There
were appeals, and writs of error, and adjourn-
ments, and every trick and quibble to get the
money of these peor simple people, till the business
had cost them ten times as much as it was origi-
nally worth. He who lost his cause then accused
the judge of partiality, and had nothing left for it
but to suck his paws, while the lawyers ate and
drank merrily upon his spoils.

Since Oswald’s arrival, he had prevailed on
many of his neighbors to refrain from this passion
for litigation. If any of them came to consult him,
he contrived that the affair should be amicably
settled ; and one day, he told them the following
fable: “Two dogs met once upon a bridge over a
brook, and found there a piece of meat. They
began to fight for it: a third dog, who would have
been glad enough to get it, came up and whisper-
ed, first to one, then to the other, ‘ Never give in;
it is you who have a right to it ;’ so they went on
quarrelling and tearing one another to pieces in the
scuffle, till they both fell into the water; then the
third quietly ate up the meat, admiring, all the time,
how well the others swam. This is the way with
those who delight in law-suits.

8
86 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

“It is very expensive to be always stickling for
our rights, and it sometimes brings both ridicule
and disgrace ; villanous lawyers are like the two
sides of a pair of scissors, they unite merely to de-
stroy whatever is put between them. Even those
who gain a law-suit often lose far more than they
can ever recover in time and labor, besides the in-
jury to their health, for they are sure to suffer from
grief, anxiety, fear, and sleepless nights.”

The landlord of the Eagle never consulted Os-
wald, or attended to his words, but had almost eve-
ry year a fresh law-suit. He was nearly ruined by
law expenses, continual journeys, and incessant
presents to lawyers and lawyers’ clerks. He was
now in the greatest distress, for he had just lost a
suit against a neighboring parish, about an old oak
tree, which he maintained stood upon his land, and
did not belong to the parish. This oak had cost
him above a thousand florins, and he knew not
where to find the money, for he was more in debt
than any one suspected. As he was always trying
to borrow from anybody who would trust him,
those to whom he was already indebted became
alarmed, and demanded immediate payment, and
having no means of satisfying them, he was forced
to sell his house and land, and make over the whole
property to his creditors. This was the consequence
of his passion for law-suits! As his fields had been
ill cultivated, they brought a low price, and as peo-
ple no longer frequented the ale-houses, (either be-
cause they had no money, or would not spend it in
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. a7

that way,) even the sale of his house and license
produced but little; and when the purchaser saw
that his house was deserted, and that he was losing
money, he gave up the whole concern. So now the
only public house that remained was the Lion, for
all the others had been shut up by degrees, when
they were found to be no longer profitable. Some
of the old peasants shook their heads, saying,
“These are bad times: it is very clear our poor
village is going to rack andruin. Formerly, three
inns, besides beer-houses, were not enough for us,
and now there is scarcely employment for one!
What a disgrace to Goldenthal! What will become
of us!” But Oswald said, “Be not afraid, my
friends ; I, on the contrary, begin now to hope that
better times are approaching. I have travelled
much, and in all the towns and villages I have vis-
ited, 1 have remarked, that wherever there were
many public houses, there was much poverty, and
where there was only an inn for travellers, there
was far greater comfort to be found in the cot-
tages.

“Tt is not without reason that landlords general.
ly paint some bird or beast of prey upon their signs,
a lion or an eagle, a bear or a falcon, for truly
they prey upon the whole community. They hang
out a golden cross, because they will have gold, and
leave you crosses and grief; they exhibit a golden
angel, but in fact it is an angel of darkness, that
only serves to fill the prison and the work-house..
Although there is but one ale-house, we have still
68 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGR.

too many ; without it, how much more comfortable
would your homes become !

‘He who does not spend his money at cards and
dice, can afford to buy himself a Bible and prayer.
book ; he who does not get a headache by drink-
ing and carousing, will make his own fireside
cheerful and happy: he will always have money
in his purse ; and it is better to drink one jug of
home-brewed ale, than a whole hogshead at a pub-
lic house !””

When Oswald spoke thus, the old peasants nod.
ded their heads in token of approbation ; they saw
well enough that he was in the right ; but the land.
lord of the Lion was very indignant, especially
when he heard that the Golden Lion had been
called a beast of prey, and he was much tempted
to bring an action for defamation against Oswald,
if he could find an opportunity. But the school-
master was cautious, and kept out of the way of
the raging lion, leaving him to scold and grumble
as he pleased.


THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 66

CHAPTER XVIJ

THE PARSONAGE IS STRUCK BY LIGHTNING.—A NEW OLERGYMAN

One night, about this time, there was a very
dreadful storm. The whole heavens were a sheet
of fire. The thunder rolled, the houses shook, and
the windows rattled; even those villagers who
lived the year round without thought or prayer,
now threw themselves on their knees, and prayed
loudly, and lamented their sins from their hearts,
as long as the storm lasted. That over, they no
doubt returned to their former practices ; suddenly,
with a fearful crash and roar, the lightning struck
the village, and fell like a sea of flame upon the
parsonage house. Fortunately, it did not catch
fire, and no one appeared to be hurt; but the fol-
lowing morning the roof was discovered to be en-
tirely torn away, and the poor old clergyman was
so dreadfully terrified that he never recovered it,
and died in a few days.

As usual, the Goldenthalers laid all the fault
upon the Government, saying, “The magistrates
are the cause of this misfortune. If they had not
forbidden the bells to be rung during a.storm, this
would never have happened. Formerly, when
there was a tempest, we could ring till it was over;

gt
‘30 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

now, that is forbidden. There is no longer any
religion, and this is the consequence !”’ So rea.
soned the Goldenthalers ; but Oswald said, “Why
are your hearts so full of folly, and why do your
mouths speak such wickedness? It is not the
Government which has brought down the lightning
upon the roof of the parsonage, but the metal knob
upon the iron weathercock. For it is the property
of lightning to be attracted by a metal point. God
has made it thus, that man may learn from thence,
how to preserve himself from its power. As soon
as the lightning has found any metal which it can
follow to the earth, it is no longer dangerous.” He
then took some of the villagers out upon the roof
of the parsonage house, and showed them small
holes melted in the metal knob, and how the light-
ning had run along the iron nails which fastened
the tiles on the roof, until it reached a wire that
communicated with the bell at the house-door ; as
soon as the electric fluid had found this iron path
to the ground, the rest of the house was safe, as
the peasants now perceived, and they un:lerst>x0d
that, without it, the mischief done might have been
much greater. Oswald also told them, that church
towers were often struck by lightning, because they
had high spires, and contained much iron-work ;
and as it had often happened, that men had been
struck dead while ringing the bells during a storm,
the. Government had put a stop to that useless and
superstitious practice. Oswald was sorry, how.
ever, to. perceive that, after this conversation, more
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 91

people were afraid of lightning than before; and
he again explained to them that although it was
difficult to prevent some feeling of alarm during a
violent storm, yet that storms themselves should be
regarded as proofs of the mercy of the Almighty,
who sends them to purify the air, and make the
earth fruitful. “Cease then to fear,” said he ;
“place an iron rod a few feet high upon the roofs
of your houses ; fasten an iron wire about as thick
as a quill to it, and carry the wire down to the
ground, which it should touch in a damp place ;
you will then have made a path for the lightning,
which it will follow without injuring any thing, till
it reaches the earth, provided the wire is uninter-
rupted from one end to the other, and is kept free
from rust and dirt. Such a conductor is a certain
preservative from all danger of lightning.” And
as Elizabeth was terribly afraid of storms, Oswald
immediately placed an iron rod, with a wire reach-
ing to the ground, on the top of his own house ;
and the miller, who had often seen it in towns, did so
likewise. Many of the villagers followed their
example, for it cost but little, and made them feel
secure.

But others were very angry with them, saying,
“Ts not this interfering with, and giving laws to
the Almighty? Cannot he strike whom he pleases
with his lightning ? May not the number of points.
drive away the fruitful showers, and bring us nox-.
fous vapors ?”

Oswald, however, answered indignantly, “ Ye.
92 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

fools ! do not the rains of heaven fall equally upon
the thousand tops of the trees of the forest, and
upon the smooth surface of the plain? and does
not the will of the Almighty guide the lightning,
whether it falls on an iron point, the summit of the
oak, or in the water? But God gave us foresight
that we might provide against the evils which even
the most precious of his gifts may sometimes bring
with them. Fire, light, and warmth, are excellent
things ; but not when a house is burning. There-
fore God gave us water to extinguish fire. If you
employ water for this purpose, why should you hesi-
tate to use iron to avert the dangers of lightning ?
There is no evil in the world against which God
has not given us some means of defence. Man
ought thankfully to acknowledge this; and he who
blindly and obstinately neglects these means, de-
spises God’s best gifts, and has but his deserts if
his house is burnt down, or himself struck dead by
lightning.”’

Some thought all this very rational, but others—
and these were the timid and self-sufficient—would
not allow that the schoolmaster knew more of the
matter than they did; in fact, they were ashamed
of their ignorance, but were determined not to
confess it.

Tt was not long before the place of the old cler-
gyman was filled up. His successor was a young
man about seven and twenty years of age, named
Roderick.

‘¢ Well,” cried some of the peasants when he
THE. .GOLDMAKERS'' VILLAGE. 8

first arrived in the village, “‘ what good can this
boy do us? If the Government has no religion, it
might at least leave us ours, and send us a respect-
able and experienced man.” Others said, “ Our
clergyman is one of the new sort. God preserve
us ! when he preaches he speaks just as we do, and
any body can understand and remember all he says.
But what is the use of that? He is not learned
enough—he does not perplex and frighten us. Our
old clergyman was something like a preacher!
There was piety and wisdom! he spoke so finely
and so learnedly, that when he had preached an
hour and a half it was quite impossible to under-
stand what he had been saying. And then in win-
ter when we were all perishing with cold, did he
not go on so much the longer?” Others again
said, “ What a fine old man our late clergyman
was! How well he looked in the pulpit, and at
the altar! The new one is quite a little man, and
much too thin; and when the old clergyman grew
eager, his voice was heard all through the village,
roaring like the cattle in the fields, so that when we
came out of church our ears ached for two hours
afterwards. That was a fine voice! But this
clergyman speaks just as if he were sitting with
us in a room.”? Such was the opinion of the Gold.
enthalers: some, however, judged better.
04 THE GOLDMAKEES’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XVIII.
MORE OF THE NEW CLERGYMAN.

THERE were many persons in the village of Gold
enthal who immediately perceived that, in spite
of his youth, Roderick the clergyman was a pious,
worthy, and learned man, a man after God’s own
heart. Indeed, those who examined him attentively
soon discovered his great superiority. He was
affable and courteous, but serious ; he was humble,
but his humility inspired the greatest respect. He
was never angry, never violent, but full of patience
and gentleness; and when he blamed, it was the
voice of love recalling an erring brother to the right
path. When he arrived at Goldenthal he visited
each family, and made himself acquainted with
them all; and afterwards no day passed without
his presence in some one or other of the cottages ;
he knew the true art of inspiring confidence; he
could always find some cause for hope; he con-
soled the afflicted, he softened the hard-hearted,
and reconciled those who were at variance. Fol-
lowing in the steps of Christ his master, he was
always to be found near the poor and wretched ;
and from him the most hardened sinner, when re-
pentant, learned to hope for pardon and forgiveness.

On Sundays the effect he produced from the pul-
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 95

pit was something wonderful. Each felt as if he
were addressing him alone. Each heard the his.
tory of his own heart, the secret of his own crimes,
the true causes of his sins; how he had fallen off
from God, and the means by which he might be
restored to the favor of his Heavenly Father;
while the preacher ever pointed to Jesus Christ as
the type of a life which was pleasing to the Al-
mighty. This roused the attention of his hearers
to the greatest degree; and they forgot the youth
of the teacher, and his slight figure, and the weak-
ness of his voice, for his words were words from
heaven, which penetrated the heart with joy and
hope.

When the clergyman paid his first visit to the
village-school he. was quite delighted with the
cleanliness, the attention, and the obedience of the
children. And when Oswald knelt with them to
offer up their morning prayer, the heart of Roderick
was powerfully moved at the sight. He fell upon
his knees, while the tears poured down his cheeks,
during Oswald’s prayer; and when it was ended,
he raised his hands to heaven, and said, “ God of
Heaven, hear my prayer and my supplication !
Let thy grace ever be present with these innocent
children, that they may never forget Thee; be
always with them to the evening of their days: and
when it shall please Thee to call them from this
world of trial, then, Q Most Merciful Father, for-
give, for Jesus Christ’s sake, my sins also, that I,
too, may kneel with these blessed spirits before thy
96 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

throne, and that not one of us may be missing.
And bless the teacher of these little ones, prosper
his pious work, and give him power through thy
grace to extend thy kingdom here and hereafter !””
He then rose, and said to the children: ‘Pray
continually to God to preserve your master; for
he is truly a father to you, and without him you
would be poor deserted orphans.” He said much
more to them, to show them how deeply they were
indebted to Oswald; and many of the children
wept at the idea that it was possible they might
ever be deprived of him; and they now, for the
first time, felt how much he had done for them.
When the morning school was over, the clergyman
went up to the schoolmaster, and shaking him af-
fectionately by the hand, said, in the presence of
the children, “ Excellent and pious man, you have
sown seeds which will bloom in eternity. Teach
me to follow your example; for you have done
much, and I as yet so little. But should I ever feel
my courage fail, I will come as one of these chil-
dren, and learn strength and perseverance from
your example.” This was a day of rejoicing for
all the children of the village. It is true that be-
fore they had dearly loved both Oswald and Eliza-
beth ; but now that they saw the great respect that
was paid to them by the clergyman, they began to
look up to them much more, and their love was
mixed with the highest esteem and veneration.
Roderick had not been six months in the village,
before the greater part of its inhabitants considered
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 97

him as their friend and counsellor. From him
came the best advice, the surest consolation: the
oppressed and the sufferer found help from him.
In their cottages, he spoke to them as an earthly
friend ; but on Sundays, when he addressed them
from the pulpit, they could not help feeling as if, in
the place of their kind familiar friend, a blessed
spirit had descended from above, and strove to win
them to the abodes of everlasting peace. He did
much good to the poor, but secretly and in silence:
he was ever to be found by the bed of sickness.
He had in his house a small collection of the most
simple remedies, which he gave readily to all who
required them; and, as he knew something of med-
icine, he succeeded in curing several persons.
Thus he was not only physician to the soul but to
the body, and this procured him both confidence
and obedience. Thereby, he followed the example
of his Master, who healed the sick and preached
the kingdom of heaven. By degrees, he prevailed
on the people to give up all the injurious and su-
perstitious remedies to which they formerly had
recourse. They no longer applied to friars for
blessed beads, or to quacks and mountebanks for
charms and amulets; he gave both medicine and
advice, and did more good than half the doctors.
When an illness, however, was severe or danger-
ous, he insisted upon their sending to the town for
an experienced physician. At first they opposed
this violently, and had more confidence in an old
woman or a quack than in a respectable man who
9
98 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

had devoted his life to the study and practice of
medicine ; or, if they were not cured instantane-
ously, they changed from one doctor to another,
using all their different remedies at once, so that
they generally went from bad to worse. At last,
however, the clergyman succeeded in convincing
them that he understood the matter better than they
did, which they allowed the more readily, as his
own success in curing disorders had inspired them
with confidence.

He had also another qualification, which they
little expected. He was very expert in the man-
agement of bees; he understood how to make
them profitable, how to preserve them from acci-
dents, and to provide food for them when there was
any danger of its failing. Nevertheless, he did
not keep his hives long ; but gave them all away
to the poorest families, and taught them how to
manage these useful little creatures. Il he re-
quired was, that when the bees swarmed, they
should be given to those who as yet had none;
and, in a short time, almost every family was pro-
vided with them. As his method was admirable,
they succeeded to perfection, and soon produced a
large profit by the sale of honey and wax. In
course of time, Goldenthal became celebrated
throughout the country for the excellence of its
wax and honey, so that purchasers came from all
the neighboring places, and the prices of both these
brticles rose, owing to the high estimation in which
they were held. Thus they had multitudesof tiny
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 99

laborers at their command, who required neither
land nor food, but who ranged upon their tender
wings over hill and dale, forest and meadow, and
returned to their owners laden with golden treasure.

At the same time that the clergyman was making
these and other praiseworthy improvements in the
domestic arrangements of the villagers, he was
also attempting some alterations in the church.
But he found it very difficult, especially among
the old people, who are apt to cling obstinately to
their customs and habits. When they sang in
church, it was a general shouting and hallooing,
without tune or meaning. Every one screamed
as if it was for a wager; it was really enough to
shatter the windows, and bring down the roof, and
the people were actually purple in the face from
their efforts to produce harmony.

Oswald had often tried to put a stop to this irrev-
erent clamor ; but he talked to the winds, and had
not sufficient authority to prevent it. So he left
the old people to themselves, and determined to try
what he could do with the young men and women’
and the children. He taught them simple and me.
lodious hymns, arranged for four voices, which
they sang so correctly and devoutly, that the old
peasants and their wives listened to them with
pleasure. Still they thought this was well enough
at school, but not fit for church, and they always
returned to the original discord.

The clergyman then tried another method. Al.
though he had a great respect for the old psalms,
100 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

he distributed a little book to the villagers contain.
ing some additional psalms, or prayers, in verse,
for those occasions which were omitted among the
old ones. In fact it was the same book that the
children had long used in school.

After some time Roderick preached a sermon
upon the propriety of due solemnity in the celebra-
tion of public worship ; and he spoke of the songs

of the angels, and of their hallelujahs before the
' throne of God ; and every one present felt that he
had not raised his voice to heaven with due piety
and humility as he ought to havedone. Then the
clergyman continued, “Our Saviour has said,
‘ Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid
them not.’ Let us not, therefore, prevent our sons
and daughters from raising their voices in his
praise. Every Sunday they sing a psalm, and we
will follow them ; and next Sunday shall be the
first time.”

On the following Sunday the church was im-
mensely crowded. Upon the black-board on which
the psalm to be sung was usually inscribed, there
appeared first a verse from the new hymn-book,
and then one of the old psalms. Then the soft
and gentle tones of childhood arose like angels’
voices upon the ear, and every spirit was warmed
to true devotion, while many joined humbly and
modestly in the pious chant. Afterwards the
whole congregation sang the old psalm; but the
clergyman first addressed them, saying, “ Forget
not, my brethren, that God is present everywhere,
THE GOLDMARERS’ VILLAGE. 108

and he hears you even when you address him in
sounds low as the harp of David.’ They all
sang, but so gently that the soft and clear voices
of the children singing in four parts, were plainly
distinguished. It was beautiful! And if it did
so happen that some old woman broke forth again
into the former manner of screaming, her neighbors
all silenced her, and bid her not disturb the devo.
tions of the congregation. Thus by degrees the
old people learned to join the young ones in their
hymns, and all the villagers sang in a pious and
subdued tone, following the clergyman and those
who were acquainted with the chant. If a stran-
ger came accidentally to the church at Goldenthal,
he was struck with the extreme propriety and devo-
tion with which the service was performed, and the
whole country observed with surprise the improve-
ment in the Goldenthalers.
102 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XIX.

WHAT WAS SAID OF THE GOLDENTHALERS.

Mucx observation was excited in the neighbor.
ing towns and villages by the alteration which had
taken place at Goldenthal. Hitherto the inhabi-
tants had the worst name in the country. They
were looked upon as rogues, vagabonds, and
drunkards, and so dishonest that no one would
trust them with a kreutzer. Now, strange to tell,
the village no longer showed an appearance of ex-
treme poverty ; the houses were clean and neat:
the street, the little gardens and out-houses, were
all kept in good order, and looked better than in
many of the richest villages. In summer, men,
women, and children were early at work in the
fields; there was always something to be done,
and it was a pleasure to see how actively they
worked, and how successfully. If day-laborers
were wanted in the town, the Goldenthalers were
now always preferred; and when the citizens’
wives went to market, they always made their pur.
chases of the peasants from Goldenthal, for they
were so remarkable for their white linen, neat
clothes, and clean hands, that every one was de-
sirous of buying the vegetables, yarn, and other
things which they brought for sale.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 103

It was well known that the Goldenthalers were
poor, but they now paid the interest of their debts
regularly on the day it became due; and what
was still more extraordinary, they had themselves
lent small sums at good interest in the town ; this
brought them both credit and confidence. If Rode-
rick the clergyman, or Oswald the schoolmaster,
would answer for a Goldenthaler, he could now
borrow money as easily as any one else, and at
very moderate interest, too, as the lenders were
sure it would be punctually paid. Thus, having
re-established their credit, they were enabled to
borrow large sums at low interest, to pay off those
for which they were already giving a very heavy
per centage.

The change was so remarkable that the inhabi-
tants in the neighborhood never ceased discussing
it, and specvlating on the cause. All were ready
to admit that there was a good clergyman and a
clever schoolmaster ; but that was not sufficient to
solve the riddle, for a clergyman and a schoolmas-
ter cannot do every thing, and each clergyman and
schoolmaster in the country thought himself just
as clever as the two at Goldenthal put together.
In vain they tried to understand the matter, until
a report was spread that the peasants had talked
of strange things which went on in their village.
It was whispered that Oswald knew the art of
making gold, and was instructing all his neigh-
bors in it. And people shook their heads, and
looked upon the Goldenthalers as sorcerers and
104 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

magicians. In fact, it was impossible to deny that
the Goldenthalers now brought many things to
market which it was difficult to tell how they were
produced. Their vegetables, their fruit, their flax,
their hemp—every thing was excellent; and their
children brought the finest flowers for sale that had
ever been seen; and they sold more honey and wax
than all the other villages put together. It was
well known that they did not possess much cattle,
though several families had a couple of cows, and
one or two goats. Nevertheless, even poor cotta-
gers who possessed but one cow, sometimes brought
cheeses of a hundred weight, and large rolls of
the richest butter for sale. It was quite incon.
ceivable how one cow could give so much butter
and cheese! Besides all this, the Goldenthalers
had in autumn the finest apples and pears that the
country could produce. How could all this have
been brought about in a few years ?

The Goldenthalers themselves laughed when they
heard their village called the Goldmakers’ Village.
It was all in the natural course of events. Oswald
understood the cultivation of fruit-trees perfectly ;
and when he knew that any gentleman’s garden
contained fine trees, he would procure cuttings
from them. Then he was always surrounded by
his scholars, who had learned from him how to
prune, graft, and plant; they were as expert as
regular gardeners; to be sure they had strange
tools sometimes. Soon all the neighbors set about
improving the fruit in their gardens and orchards ;
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 105

there was no end to the pruning and -grafting.
Some brought wild fruit-trees from the forest, oth-
ers raised them from seeds and cuttings; each
strove to surpass the other, but in the excess of
their zeal they sometimes failed entirely.

The inhabitants of the town could easily com-
prehend how the Goldenthalers, year after year,
improved their fruit, and in good seasons cleared
a considerable sum of money; there was no magic
in that. But to have no cattle and yet make so
much butter and cheese, was really a most extra-
ordinary feat.

Nevertheless, Oswald had learned to perform this
exploit during the war; he had seen it done in a
village, and had brought the secret with him to
Goldenthal. It was not difficult, and though at first
the villagers would have nothing to say to it, they
were soon most grateful to him for the knowledge.
This is the way he setto work. He went round to
all the Goldenthalers who had a cow, and said,
“You do not make sufficient profit by your cows,
One good cow ought to bring you in from fifty to
a hundred florins yearly. If you join with me I
will promise that it shall do so. But we must find
many others to unite with us, as we must collect at
least forty or fifty cows before my plan can suc-
ceed.” °

When at last they had got together the requisite
number of cows he said, “ Now all will go right.”
He found a clever dairyman, who understood tho-
roughly the making butter and cheese upon alarge
106 THE GOLDMAKERS VILLAGE.

scale. He engaged to give him two hundred fle.
rins a year, but the dairyman was to provide linen
and every thing necessary; to keep the presses,
pans, dishes, é&c., perfectly clean. All the proper
implements and the salt were furnished by Oswald,
on account of the proprietors of the cows; three
of whom he fixed upon to superintend this new un-
dertaking during the first year.

The most desirable place that could be found for
carrying on the business, was the house that had
formerly been the Eagle. There was a spacious
cool dairy and a wash-house, with a large copper
adjoining. The proprietor gave the rooms rent-free,
for he had five cows, and wished to join in the ex-
periment and see what he could make of it. It was
also necessary to provide fuel at the general ex-
pense. Oswald then fixed the day on which all
those who belonged to the establishment should
bring their contributions of milk in clean vessels.
If the vessel containing the milk was not thorough-
ly clean, the director had orders not to receive it,
and this rule was never on any account to be in-
fringed.

The dairyman measured the milk, and wrote
under each man’s name the quantity which he had
brought ; he might sign it himself if he chose. So
each family Wrought the milk from their own cows
morning and evening ; but they were subject to a
heavy penalty if they brought the milk of other
cows.

The whole produce of one day was then put to-
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 107

gether, and each day the milk of fifty cows was
made into excellent cheese and butter, which any
one in the town would have been eager to purchase ;
fine large rolls of fresh golden butter, besides de-
licious whey, a most refreshing drink in summer.
Now, then, came the question, to whom did this rich
produce belong? It was arranged in this manner:
all the cheese and butter made from the milk of
one day, was given to the person to whom the dairy
was indebted for the largest quantity of milk, (the
amount of each contribution being carefully writ-
ten down.) For the first few days, these persons
received much more than they had any right to,—
everything, in short, made from the milk furnished
by the whole of the contributors. But whatever
they had over and above the value of their own
milk, was noted down asa debt due to the establish.
ment ; and until liquidated by their daily contribu.
tions of milk, they had no further claim upon the
produce. Having once paid for the surplus they
had received, by the accumulation of many days’
milk, they had again a right to the butter and
cheese the first day they became the largest unin-
cumbered contributor. In the mean time, even
those who possessed but one cow, and only brought
daily a quart or two of milk, were at last shown
by the book (where all receipts were inscribed) to
be the largest creditors, and in their turns received
a whole day’s produce,—a hundred, or a hundred
and fifty pounds of butter and cheese. The butter,
buttermilk, and whey, might be taken away the
108 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

day it was made ; but the cheese was left in the
cellar until it was in a fit state for sale. Each
person was expected to assist the dairyman on the
day that he was to receive the profits.

At first, the Goldenthalers were very distrustful
of the whole concern, and each fancied he should
lose by it; but when he received this large quan-
tity of butter and cheese, and reckoned up how
much milk he had furnished, then indeed he was
delighted and astonished.

At the end of a year, it was ascertained that by
this system the average profit of one cow amounted
to above a hundred and sixty-six florins yearly, de-
ducting the expenses. That was, indeed, a splen-
did profit. By degrees they understood the cause
of it: the larger the quantity of milk, and the
fresher it was, the better was the produce. No
family could make equally good butter ; for, in or-
der to have enough milk, it must have been kept
till it was stale and sour. Besides, much milk was
consumed or wasted in a household, which now was
producing interest in the great dairy. A great
deal of time, too, was lost in making clumsily
small quantities of butter and cheese: there was
also a great saving in fuel. At first, some at-
tempts were made at deception in the quantity and
quality of the milk delivered. But such strict
regulations were enforced, that in the end no one
would, by cheating, run the risk of being heavily
fined, and turned out of the society. This estab.
lishment produced another good effect, which had
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGR. 100

not been at first anticipated. As every one was
desirous of increasing the quantity of milk, they
took much more care of their cattle than formerly.
They endeavored to improve their pastures, to ob.
tain a cow of a better breed, and sometimes bought
éwo, when before they had but one cow. As it was
necessary to prevent the possibility of milk being
brought from a sick cow, or one near calving, the
three directors had the power of visiting them at
all times, besides being bound to examine them al]
every half-year. This was sufficient security for
the healthiness of the cattle.
10
110 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XX.
‘THE NEW OVERSEERS AND THE LANDLORD OF THE LION.

* Wext, Oswald really must be a conjurer,”
said the Goldenthalers, laughing, when they saw
him go from one undertaking to another, and suc-
ceed in all; and he was certain of being success-
ful, for he never attempted any thing without much
forethought. Nothing was done in a hurry or su-
perficially ; but he advanced step by step, nor ever
undertook more than he was capable of executing.
Some may be inclined to think that both the school-
master and his beloved Elizabeth must, by this
time, have been overpowered with work. By no
means; every thing was so well regulated, that a
large portion of the labor could now be performed
by others. Even in the school Oswald had much
less to do ; for he had instructed a clever youth of
the name of Johann Heiter, so as to be in a great
measure capable of supplying his place. He was
the son of very poor parents, and Oswald had given
him food and lodging, and bestowed much pains on
his education; and he had succeeded so well, that
his young favorite was now of the greatest service
to him; and he was so kind and gentle to the
children, that they all loved him, and he made
learning almost as pleasant to them as Oswald had
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. ill

done. The latter had now whole days at liberty
todo as he pleased ; and it was with strong feel-
ings of joy and satisfaction, that he watched the
gradual improvement which had taken place in
the village. It really was wonderful to see people
who before were poor and wretched, beginning by
degrees to get rid of their debts, and to make their
houses snug and comfortable ; while, on the other
hand, those who formerly were well off had ruined
themselves by idleness, drinking, gambling, and
law-suits.

Oswald’s two-and-thirty confederates held man-
fully together, and were always ready to join in
any improvement which he suggested. Their ex-
ample encouraged others to do the same. The
children who attended Oswald’s school, and the
girls whom Elizabeth instructed in needle-work,
were of great service to their parents. Some,
however, continued incurably idle and dissipated.
At the head of the bad ones was Brenzel, the land-
lord of the Lion. He was a sworn enemy to in-
novations, and was always abusing those who in-
troduced these changes, saying, “It would be the
ruin of all religion, if things were allowed to go
on inthis manner.”” Nevertheless the clergyman,
who visited him frequently, had sufficient power
over him to prevent his doing much mischief.
About this time he lost his chief ally, the third
overseer, who was obliged to leave the village.
This man had long perceived that his beer-house
was a@ losing concern; and, in despair, he had
112 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

taken to drinking, so that he was scarcely ever to
be found sober; and, in the hope of getting rich
again rapidly, he had put into several lotteries,
until all his money was gone: then came his cre-
ditors, and turned him out of his house.

It had now become necessary to elect new over-
seers, who were afterwards to be approved by the
Government. The village was divided into two
parties. The rogues and vagabonds wished for
one or two like themselves, to whom they owed
money, but the honest men would not hear of them.
This occasioned great disputes; many consulted
the clergyman on the subject, and this is the an-
swer he made them. “I am very much surprised
that none of you should have thought of that excel-
lent man, who has already done so much good
here, and who is so clever, so active, and so hu-
mane—I mean the schoolmaster. If you choose
him, you will have the right man over you. It is
true, he is not one of those who seeks a post of
honor, but so much the more reason for not over-
looking his merits. Those who solicit places, and
endeavor to supplant others, have generally some
private object of their own. They are proud and
ambitious, and labor more for the gratification of
their own vanity, than the good of the parish. It
is certainly as well that the overseer of a parish
should be a man of some property; but disinter-
estedness, not wealth, is the highest merit. Above
all things, he should not be one to whom half the
inhabitants are in debt, for then it is making him
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGB. 118

judge and umpire in his own affairs; and they,
through their own folly, become the slaves of a
village tyrant. It would be far better to choose
one who could keep both hard-hearted creditors
and bad men in order.

“ A good head is very desirable, but an honest
heart will be still better for you. Ascertain first
whether the man you choose is well-principled
and kind-hearted, then whether he is intelligent, and
not in debt to any one ; for the overseer of a parish
should be perfectly independent, otherwise not he,
but his creditor, in whose power he is, will be over-
seer. It will never be difficult to discover who
really is the fittest person. Think only what man
would you be most desirous on your death-bed to
leave guardian to your widow and orphans,—in
whose hands would you consider their interests
most secure? Make that man overseer. Or if
you are a workman, whom should you prefer as
your master? He will make the best overseer.
When the majority of parish-officers are well dis-
posed and anxious to be charitable and humane, it
will always be possible to get through every diffi-
culty. One good head is enough. Three good
heads without a kind heart would never go on to-
gether. Each thinks he knows better than the
others; then comes discord among them and
throughout the village. Show me the best father,
kind and affectionate, but not weak; firm, but not
severe ;—or tell me who is the best master ; whose
workmen serve and obey him willingly, but re.

10*
114 THE GOLDMAKEES’ VILLAGE.

spect him at the same time; who regulates his
household in an orderly manner, and without noise
or disturbance, without disputes or anger, so that
every thing appears to go on of itself. Let such
a man conduct the whole community !”

This sensible discourse of the clergyman pro-
duced a great effect upon the villagers; and when
they met to proceed to the election of two over-
seers, many proposed that they should not be cho.
sen publicly, but that each man should write the
name of the person he voted for upon a paper,
which should afterwards be sealed, so that his vote
being secret, he would be perfectly free to choose
whoever he thought the fittest. Brenzel the Lion
was very much against this plan, for he had al-
ready determined who should be his colleagues,
and he was astonished that any one should think
of opposing him, or rebelling against his authority.
However, he could not carry it through. The
votes were taken secretly, and the first chosen was
Oswald the schoolmaster; the second Siegfried
the miller. The latter would not accept the office,
because he was Oswald’s father-in-law, and it was
not right that the affairs of the village should be
managed by a board of three, of which two were
members of the same family. So, instead of the
miller, a steady, active, sensible man, called Ulrich
Stark was chosen.

When Brenzel saw on whom the choice had
fallen, he became pale with rage. He was still in
hopes that Oswald would refuse to undertake the
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 118

office, but he deceived himself. Oswald thanked
the parishioners for their confidence in him, and
recommended that Johann Heiter, the youth whom
he had instructed with so much care, should suc-
ceed him as schoolmaster, to which they immedi-
ately consented.

Brenzel the Lion was as much stunned and as-
tonished as ifthe church tower had fallen upon his
head. When he got home he vented his rage first
upon the poor cat, then upon his dog, who came
up to him wagging his tail; then upon the maid,
who did not understand him when he ordered a
glass of brandy ; and then upon his wife, who un-
luckily remarked that Ulrich Stark was a good
soul,
116 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE AUGEAN STABLE MUST BE CLEANSED,

% Te devil’s in it!” cried the landlord of the
Lion, as he sat beating his breast, and tearing his
hair, whenever he thought that Oswald had be-
come overseer. But after reflecting a little, he
ran with all speed to Oswald, shook hands with
him as his colleague, congratulated him upon his
appointment, and said, “that now they should be
friends and brothers from their hearts.”

Elizabeth was much astonished at this sudden
change of behavior in the landlord of the Lion,
and as soon as he had left them, she said to her
husband, “ Oswald, Oswald, I wish you had not
undertaken this office. Brenzel is a false man; he
will lay some trap for you, which will bring you
into danger and difficulties. Dear Oswald, be on
your guard against the landlord of the Lion.” Os-
wald kissed Elizabeth’s anxious brow, and said,
‘“‘Brenzel is no raging lion; I see he is only a
sneaking, flattering, malicious animal—lI will soon
cut his claws for him.”

When the overseers met for the first time, Os.
wald and Ulrich Stark began by insisting on a
general examination of the parish accounts. They
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 117

‘found every thing in the greatest confusion ; the
parish owed above seven thousand florins, and
nearly half of it was due to the landlord of the
Lion, who had lent the money at five per cent.,
which he had borrowed at three and four per cent.
The poor-rates and taxes for several years had
been almost entirely absorbed in charges for in-
spections, examinations, surveys, indemnities, and
travelling expenses of one or other of the former
overseers. No particular items were ever given
in, but all charged in round sums. It was the
same with the revenues of the poorhouse and the
hospital ; and they had not been more scrupulous
with the property of the widow and the orphan.
They had come to an understanding with the
forest-keepers, to be allowed to cut down and sell
wood, when and how they chose, nominally for the
sood of the parish, but without giving any account
wr reckoning of their proceedings. The landlord
sf the Lion had often boasted that his axe alone
sad cut down more wood than the best farm in the
sountry was worth. In short, the property of the
parish had been wasted and neglected in the most
scandalous manner ; the overseers all the time not
forgetting their own interests. It was proved that
@ large piece of common land had been sold for the
snormous price of a thousand florins, and had been
cought by the overseers themselves, who now, five
years after, had neither paid the purchase money,
nor even the interest upon it. “ Besides which, it
was discovered that eleven years before, the land.
Pages
118-119
Missing

From

Original
120 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XXIl.
THE DEBTS MUST BK PAID.

Oswatp had nowa great deal of business in hand,
No one knew exactly what he was about. Some-
times he passed the whole day in the forest, some-
times in the fields, and he was constantly going
backward and forward to the town. ‘“ Poor Os-
wald !” said Elizabeth, sighing, when she went to
meet him one evening as he came home tired and
worried ; “why do you give yourself so much
trouble, dear Oswald, and let these people torment
you so much? You will meet with nothing but
annoyance and ingratitude, whatever you may do
for them.”

But Oswald answered: “ Ingratitude is the coin
in which people most often‘pay their debts. He who
has the direction of a community, must think of his
God and of his duty, but not of thanks or reward.
Be assured, dearest wife, that God will, in the end,
reward all good, as he punishes all evil.” So
thought Oswald ; and went on with what he knew
to be his duty.

He ascertained that the parish was still in debt
above six thousand florins, partly owing to the long
war and the famine which followed it, and partly to
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 121

the misconduct of the former overseers. Oswald
sought night and day some means of removing this
burden from the poor Goldenthalers, or at least of
diminishing it; and when at last he had matured
his plan, he proposed it to his colleagues, who, after
much deliberation, approved of it, saying, ““ Would
to God these debts were once got rid of! then each
man would know what he has, we should breathe
freely, and not be always thinking how to pay this
heavy interest.”

Shortly afterwards a survey was ordered of all
the land belonging to the parish, and a new valua-
tion made, that the real amount of each man’s prop-
erty might be known, and that in future the taxes
and rates might be more equally laid on. Each
person was obliged to lay before the overseers the
amount of his debts secured upon his house and
land, which was written down correctly in a book,
and every one rated accordingly.

On the following Sunday after church, when the
inhabitants were all assembled under the old lime-
tree, Oswald addressed them in the following words :
«Listen to me, my friends ; our village owes six
thousand four hundred florins ; part of this sum is
due to neighboring towns for hay, oats, carriage,
and contributions furnished in time of war. Our
debt to others shall be discussed hereafter. At pre-
sent we will examine what the parish owes itself.

“‘ Many of us have still considerable claims upon
the parish for straw, grain, and other supplies fur-
nished during the late war. It is true the interest

11
122 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

is paid yearly, but you must all of you first give
your consent to the money being raised ; so that, in
fact, many of you merely pay yourselves, which is
both troublesome and foolish. We have now divi-
ded this debt among all the householders in propor-
tion to their property. The rich, therefore, have
more to pay than the poor. The parish debt is
thus changed into a private one, and he who re-
ceives as much as he has a right to claim, strikes
a balance between his debt and his claims, and is
free, neither paying nor receiving any more inter-
est. He who has more due to him than the amount
of his portion of debt first deducts his share of the
parish debt, and then says, ‘Who pays me the re-
mainder?’ The answer is, ‘Those will pay you
from whom nothing was taken by the parish during
the war.’ The surplus of debt will be divided
among them, and they must either pay at once the
small sum which falls to their share, or interest
upon it at four per cent.”

At first this plan was not clearly understood ;
but when the people saw that no one would suffer
by it, they were very well satisfied. For the rich,
who had the largest claims, had also most to pay
towards the liquidation of the parish debt ; little,
therefore, remained for the poorer inhabitants, and
that little did not fall hard upon them, as the valua-
tions of the houses and lands had been made with
the greatest impartiality.

The ensuing Sunday the villagers were again
assembled, and Oswald once more addressed them
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 128

thus: “My good friends: I have succeeded in rais-
ing the money which the parish owes, at a very
low interest, in the neighboring towns, so that Gold-
enthal wil] now have only two hundred and twenty
florins of interest to provide for yearly. Neverthe-
less, it would fall hard upon many fathers of fam-
ilies to pay their share of this sum from their own
incomes. Therefore it will be best that no one
should do so.” At this they all began to laugh,
saying, “ Let us hear how that is to be done; that
pleases us more than all.” He continued: “ You
know that we possess a large piece of common land.
It is bad land enough, nothing grows on it but a few
stunted oaks. If: this land belonged to any one of
you, he would make a greater profit from it. But
whom does it benefit now ? Noone. For it cer-.
tainly does no good to the rich, whose cattle feed
there in summer ; for not only do their cows come:
home in the evening thinner and more hungry than.
they went forth in the morning, but all the manure
is lost which might be of so much benefit to their:
fields. And the poor who have no cows cannot
profit by the commen land, but must leave it all to.
the proprietors of cattle. Is that just? Why
should these derive more advantage from the prop-
erty of the parish? Are we not all Goldenthalers ?
Has not one as much right as another? If the
poor had each a little bit of this land on which they
might raise grass or clover, they would get twice:
as much wholesome nourishing food for their sheep-
and goats as they do now. It is therefore our ad-
124 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

vice that the common land should be divided in
equal parts among the inhabitants, so that each
may make what use he pleases of his share. The
land, however, must continue to be the property of
the parish. Each man will receive a lease of his
land for his life, but he may neither sell it, let it
bequeath it, nor suffer it to deteriorate. At the
death of the proprietor it returns to the parish, whe
will give it to some young peasant, who has a fam.
ily, but is as yet unprovided with common land.
Each will pay a small rent, which will be appro-
priated to the payment of the interest of the parish
debt. Thus you see no man will pay this interest
from his own property, but from the land which he
rents from the parish.”

When Oswald had ceased speaking, there arose
a great noise and confusion among his hearers ;
there were murmurings and loud words, angry
tones, and threatening gestures, as if it had been
an affair of life and death. For the rich villagers,
who had hitherto entirely monopolized the common
land for their cattle, would not hear of the division :
they exclaimed against what they called the injus-
tice of the plan; and talked of making a complaint
to the Government. Others said, ‘‘We see well
enough what it all means. They want to make
the beggars rich, and turn all the respectable men
in the village into beggars. Whoever has cattle
has a right to turn them out on the common. It is
an old right which we have inherited from our fa-
thers, and no one shall take it from us!”
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 125

But the majority of the peasants, who were not
rich, and who had no eattle, or if they had, kept
them in stables in order not to lose the manure,
succeeded in carrying the point, and the right of
pasture was given up. A surveyor was sent for,
who divided the common into as many parts as
there were families in the parish, who then drew
lots for them. The rich inhabitants went and com-
plained to the Government of this unjust infringe-
ment of their privileges ; the answer they received
was tothis purport: “ The right of pasture belongs
to the inhabitants, and not to the cattle of Golden-
thal. Therefore, each individual can make what
use he pleases of his portion. You are not defend-
‘ng your old rights, but your old selfishness ; besides
which, you understand i}! your real interests. From
this time forward the right of pasture is abolished,
so go in peace and learn wisdom.”’ The rich pea-
sants took their leave, and went home disappointed
and crest-fallen ; and for the first time they regret-
ted the absence of Brenzel, the landlord of the Lion,
who was now shut up in the House of Correction,
saying, “ With all his faults he was an excellent
man ; he never gave up old rights and customs:
this never would have happened in his time.”

11*
126 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XXIII.

ONCE MORE, THE DEBTS MUST BE PAID.

In the following spring, the common land, so late-
ly a bleak desert, had already become an image of
smiling plenty; where hitherto the coarse and
scanty herbage scarce maintained a few starveling
cows, there now bloomed a perfect garden. There
were peas, beans, cabbages, potatoes, hemp, flax,
clover, and all kinds of grain in endless variety.
Every one saw immediately that his harvest would
not only pay the small rent, but leave him a large
surplus. Even the rich peasants, when at last
they came to understand the matter rightly, (al-
ways a very difficult thing with them,) saw how
great would be the advantage. For not only did
they obtain fodder for the cattle that remained in
the stables, but a great increase of milk as well as
money: and had each, as they suggested, paid his
portion of the interest of the parish debt from his
own property, it would have fallen heaviest upon
the rich; instead of which, they now obtained a
surplus from the land allotted to them. Oswald,
however, was not yet satisfied, and it was not with-
out a reason that he passed so much of his time in
the forest. He had held several consultations with
the head ranger, who was an extremely clever man
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 127

in his own department, and had conducted him all
over the Goldenthal forests. Oswald was evidently
preparing some other change, but nobody could
make out exactly what. The rich peasants said,
«¢ We know well enough we shall be the sufferers !”
This time, however, they were mistaken. Great
was the public curiosity when the inhabitants of
Goldenthal were once more assembled to receive an
important proposition from the overseers. Oswald
stood forth and addressed them in the following
words :-—“‘ My good friends, it is well known that
a man without debts is respected by all. But we
are not yet free from debt. We pay our interest
from our allotments of parish land. But it would
be still better if each could keep the produce in his
own possession for ten years or more. Then every
thing would be set right.’”’ The people laughed,
and said to one another, “The proposal is not dis-
agreeable.”

Oswald continued: “I, and my colleagues, will
take upon us to answer for the payment of the
whole or the greater part of the parish debt, with-
out its costing you any thing, if you will agree to
three resolutions.”’

“ Aha!” cried the rich peasants; “here comes.
the rub.”

Oswald said, “ Listen to me, and then judge
whether I am right or wrong. We have about a.
hundred families in Goldenthal.”

“ True,” answered the peasants.

“Each family,” said Oswald, “receives three-
128 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

fathoms of wood, besides fagots, yearly, from the
forests belonging to the parish.”

* That is also true,” said the peasants.

* And some families,’’ said Oswald, “require
much more, but some considerably less, if their food
is prepared at the public kitchen. But all could
manage with much less wood, if so large a portion
was not consumed in baking, washing, drying fruit,
&c. Think only if, in one week, ten or twenty
families have a washing, or a baking, how much
wood is consumed in each house !”

The peasants murmured, and said, ‘“ True
enough ; but how are we to live without bread, or
go about in dirty clothes.”

‘There are many villages much richer than
ours,” said Oswald, “which yet save and econo-
mize far better, and that alone would make them
richer. There are villages which have not as
much forest land as we have, but which have wood
enough and even some to sell. How do they con-
trive this? I will tell you. Several families join
together to have one general bakehouse and wash-
house. Each person brings his dough and his fruit
when his turn arrives. And, as the oven is never
allowed to cool, it requires but a small contribution
-of wood from each person to keep up the necessary
‘degree of heat. This is real economy. Why should
‘we not do the same? Why have we not done it
‘long ago? Because we are either too stupid, or too
idle. And consider, also, how great is the danger
of fire to the whole village when baking and wash-
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 199

ing are carried on in so many small houses. Think
how much wood might be saved if we had small
stoves, merely to warm the rooms, instead of the
immense furnaces, which consume so much wood,
and which are necessary when they are to serve
for baking and washing : burning wood is almost
like burning gold.”

The whole honorable assembly scratched their
heads in extreme perplexity.

Oswald continued: “ Look around you; other
parishes have already established general wash-
houses, which each household makes use of in
turn, and contributes to support. There is the
same economy of wood—the same security against
fire in the village. We know this, and we ap-
prove of it; and, nevertheless, each family still
persists in washing and ironing at home. Our
ovens are quickly worn out, our coppers and cal-
drons destroyed by constant use—they often re-
quire repairing, which is expensive. Were there
a general washhouse for the parish, had each row
of houses a bakehouse in common, it would cer-
tainly cost much less. Now, then, my good friends
and neighbors, we propose to you to erect a parish
bakehouse, and a general washhouse, such as exist
in other places. The first cost shall be furnished
by the parish ; we will all assist in building and
preparing them to the best of our abilities. What
say you ?”

And a great deal they had to say about it.
Some preferred leaving things as they had always
130 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

been ; others saw at once that a parish washhouse
was a good idea, but they would not have a bake-
house, merely because they had never heard of it
before. Others again were in favor of both. After
a long dispute, however, the majority were de-
cidedly for the erection of both washhouse and
bakehouse, which was accordingly agreed upon.

« Bravo!” cried Oswald, joyfully. “My friends
and neighbors, your decision does you honor, and
will amply repay you. Now comes the best part:
you will, in future, save a great deal of your por-
tion of wood, convert it into money, and pay the
parish debt with it. Listen to me, and help me to
calculate. If each household which has hitherto
received three fathoms of wood a year, besides
fagots, can get through the year with only two
fathoms, there will be a hundred fathoms saved in
the year. As the fathom of wood is worth five
florins, that makes five hundred florins. In ten
years, we shall have saved five thousand florins,
and our debt will be paid; but this is not all.
There are about six hundred acres of forest be-
longing to the parish. Since the right of pasture
has been taken away by the Government, there is,
as you know, nothing to impede the growth of
underwood. I have examined the forest with the
-head ranger; he says, ‘that every acre produces
at least half a fathom of wood yearly. That such
trees as birch, alder, hornbeam, aspen, and maple,
should be left till they are thirty years old; while
the large timber, such as oak, beech, fir, and pine,
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 131

must be left for seventy or a hundred years, or
more. Therefore, in order to manage our forests
properly, we must divide our underwood into thirty
portions, and our timber into one hundred, or more.
If we only cut down one portion of each yearly,
we shall always have the same quantity of wood,
and shall cut neither too much nor too little, and
we and our descendants will always have a suf-
ficient supply of old well-grown timber. The
ranger also says that we have an immense number
of old fir-trees, which, according to all the rules
of woodcraft, ought immediately to be cut down
and replaced by young trees. If we do this, our
descendants a hundred years hence will again
have trees a century old, standing in their places.
Therefore, my advice and that of my colleagues is
this: if we save a hundred fathoms of wood yearly,
in ten years we shall have saved a thousand fath-
oms. Instead of waiting ten years, let us cut down
the requisite quantity at once, pay our debt, put
the interest into our pockets; and for ten years
consume only two fathoms of wood yearly in each
family.”

When the assembly heard this proposal, the
noise and murmuring recommenced. The majori-
ty were glad enough to have the money for the in-
terest; but they would have been glad to keep the
wood too. They disputed about it till dusk, and
then separated without coming to any decision.
132 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XXIV.

STILL GREATER IMPROVEMENTS TAKE PLACE.

Tue rational and sensible men in the village
shook their heads, saying, ‘‘We shall never suc.
ceed in this business of the woods and forests with
these obstinate people.”? Oswald, however, smiled,
and told them to have patience ; good things must
take time. The people must talk it over, sleep
upon it, and get accustomed to the idea. Rome
was not built in a day; our peasants, when any
thing new is proposed to them, are just like chil-
dren when they see a stranger; they run away
screaming and crying; then they stop and look at
him from a distance ; then, when they have found
out that he does not bite, they approach step by
step, and at last play with him, and become the
best friends in the world.

Yn the mean time, preparations were made for
building the washhouse, and the furnaces for ba-
king bread and drying fruit. Trees were felled,
stones were broken; lime, chalk, and bricks pre-
pared: all worked without pay. Those families
who wished to have an oven between them, joined
together, arranged in what order they should have
the use of it, and chose the best and fittest place.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 133

Oswald had provided an excellent bricklayer, who
understood thoroughly the art of building ovens
and stoves. He visited himself various villages
where this plan had been adopted, in order to fol-
low at Goldenthal the method which had succeeded
best. By the autumn, every thing was finished,
and in full activity, to the great delight of the
Goldenthalers. They now found that, in fact, a
great deal of fuel was saved, with much less danger
of fire than formerly. One thing follows another;
many people were now convinced how unneces-
sary it was to have such great clumsy stoves;
smaller ones would consume much less fuel. Os-
wald and the clergyman had small stoves in their
rooms, which could also be used for cooking. The
former landlord of the Lion, Brenzel, had also had
them in his house, that it might look more town-
like ; there was something to be gained by it.
They could sell the wood that was saved, and so
make money. Many persons thought of Oswald’s
words, “burning wood is almost like burning
gold ;” but they feared the expense of changing
the stoves.

However, several members of the Goldmakers’
league, over whom Oswald had still great influ-
ence, by his advice had their stoves altered early
in the autumn—the more readily, as he supplied
some of the poorest with money for the purpose,
and sent for a clever workman from the town to do
it. It was a curious sight to see how all the neigh-
bors, from every corner of the village, came to

12
184 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

examine these new fireplaces, just as if they had
been extraordinary machines. They laughed at
them and criticised them; but when the winter
came, and all was ice, snow, and storms out of
doors, they were quite astonished to find how warm
these little fireplaces made the rooms; and when,
in the spring, many of the proprietors of the new
stoves had wood to sell, the great advantages of the
change became evident. The large clumsy stoves
lost their defenders, and every one must needs have
one of these strange little machines in his house.
Some who had seen them in other houses, were able
to put them up themselves, and even with slight
improvements, which met with universal approba-
tion.

In the spring, the tax-gatherer went round from
house to house, saying, “ The interest of the parish
debt must now be paid—give me the rent of the
land you have from the parish!’ But it was a
sad affair to have to pay two florins or more, and
to get nothing for it. Some said, “ The devil take
the parish debt!’ Others hastened to Oswald,
and said, “ Oh, sir, why have you said no more of
your plan for paying off the debt by the sale of
timber? Pray bring it forward again.” This
was just what Oswald expected ; and when the
people were assembled, he said, “I hear from all
sides, that the whole village are agreed it is desi-
rable to pay off our debt. But nobody will be
satisfied to receive a fathom less wood yearly.
Well, then, let us see if you will give up half a
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 185

fathom. It will not be as much missed as a whole
one, particularly with the new arrangements. If
we take, then, two fathoms and a half, instead of
three, until we have wood enough in the forest
again, we can cut down sufficient timber to liqui-
date our debt.” Some murmurings were still to
be heard, but at last the plan was agreed to; and
as it was not only permitted, but highly approved
by the Government, a general sale of timber was
very soon announced, and many purchasers at-
tended from far and near.

Under the direction of the ranger, the oldest
trees were cut down, and in some places the thin-
nings of the young trees were also disposed of, to
be cut down in two years, that they might not go
at too low a price; and at the end of two years,
they had realized six thousand florins, so that the
parish debt was not only paid, but there remained
a large surplus, which was put out to interest for
future emergencies. The head ranger and the
Government agreed fully with Oswald as to what
was to be done. In order that the forest, which
was the most valuable part of the parish property,
should be properly managed, they sent a surveyor,
who measured and made a map of it. The head
ranger then went through the plantations and di-
vided them into portions, and wrote down in what
year each portion would be fit to cut down; and
80 provision was made for a hundred years to come.
He also wrote some advice and instructions for the
overseers, with regard to cutting down and plant.
136 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

ing each year, and gave them a set of regulations,
which were adopted as a law in the village, and
which contained every thing to be done in future,
with regard to felling trees, the distribution of wood
to the people, announcing the necessary sales of
timber, punishments for injuries done to the trees,
appointing rangers and keepers, &c., so that every
thing might be managed to the greatest advantage.

These excellent regulations enabled them, if the
portion of wood appointed to be felled proved to be
deficient in quantity, to supply it from one in which
there was a superabundance. The keepers were
better paid, and watched zealously day and night
to prevent the trees being injured by thieves and
vagabonds. Every two years the boundaries and
landmarks of the forests, as well as of all the par-
ish lands, were verified and examined by the over-
seers, keepers, and proprietors, accompanied by all
the old men and young boys of the village, there-
by providing against the many disputes and law.
suits which had been occasioned by the uncertainty
of the boundaries.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. -167

CHAPTER XXvV.

THERE IS STILL GREAT DISTRESS IN THE VILLAGE.

Nortine could equal the astonishment of the
whole neighborhood at the proceedings of the Gold-
enthalers. Not only was the parish no longer im
debt, but those persons who were known to have
been greatly involved, were beginning to save a
little. Everybody in the town, who had money to.
dispose of, was most willing to lend it to the Gold.
enthalers; for they knew that the overseers were
extremely conscientious with regard to what secu-
rity was given, and knew, to a kreutzer, how much
any acre of land was encumbered. So that the
Goldenthalers had the advantage over other places
where this was not the case. And if ever a beg-
gar said he was from Goldenthal, he was. answer-
ed, “Are you not ashamed to come from Golden.
thal and beg?’ For it was believed there could
be no beggars in the Goldmakers’ village.

Every one was mistaken, however; for, in this
newly-flourishing village, there was still a consid-
erable remnant of the old set. ‘There were still
families who were quite irreclaimable, let the cler-
gyman preach, or the overseers menace, as they
would. These people would rather live in idleness

12*
138 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

and beggary, in all the misery of cold and hunger,

than earn a scanty subsistence by the sweat of

their brow. There were still persons who brought
up their children to beg and steal ; and would cru-

elly chastise them when they returned at night
without having collected enough by these disgrace.
ful means. There were still those who would
spend in drink whatever they gained by work or
from charity. It was in vain to suppose that these
people would at last die off; on the contrary, they
increased with the prosperity of the Goldenthalers,
for they married among themselves, and brought
children into the world, without troubling them
selves as to the means of supporting them. These
beggars said, “The parish pays poor-rates, which

belong to us: they must support us, whether they

will or not ; they can neither drive us away, nor
let us die of hunger.”’ The good clergyman, Rod-
erick, was much grieved at such insolent language,
and he often said to the overseers, “ You may la-
bor as you will; as long as you have these exam-

ples of idleness, dissipation, and debauchery in the

village, so long will you be unable to make much

progress in reform. For what is gained by re-

spectable and hard-working families is soon con-

sumed by the paupers. These are constant impe-

diments to the improvement of the others, and the

sight of so much vice and idleness serves to corrupt :
their neighbors.”

The parish officers were as much convinced of
this as the clergyman. But how was it possible to
wy
‘
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 199

put a stop to such obstinate laziness, and its attend-
ant, pauperism? Here was the difficulty. It is
true, there was a species of poorhouse in the vil-
lage, but as it was too small to contain all the pau-
pers, there were almost as many out asin. And,
indeed, one would have scrupled to oblige any-
body to go into it. The clergyman visited the
poorhouse frequently, in the hope of improving
the inmates ; but quite in vain. Here dwelt, in
one common misery, old and young, men and wo-
men,— in short, all who had no home of their own.
That house was, as the clergyman expressed it, a
perfect grave of souls. The children saw and
learned many shameful things from the old; and
the constant intercourse of persons of both sexes,
and of the worst morals, was a terrible encourage-
ment to vice. The land belonging to the poor-
house was shamefully neglected, and Oswald had
the greatest difficulty in introducing into the house
itself even a little more outward attention to clean.
liness. However much he considered the matter,
he could hit upon no plan for the amelioration of
this idle, ill-disposed multitude; and he began,
however reluctantly, almost to believe that it was
a necessary evil.

Not so the clergyman; he would not rest, and
was determined not to be a witness of so much
vice and corruption in his parish, without making
an effort to put a stop to it. But as he was a pru-
dent man, and knew that, in order to obtain a sal.
utary influence, he must be on good terms with all
140 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

his parishioners, he avoided, as much as possible,
interfering with the temporal affairs of the parish.
He sometimes gave good advice, or suggested an
appropriate idea, and rejoiced if he saw it adopted
by one or other of the overseers. But he never
showed that it had originated with him, leaving to
the overseers all the honor of having discovered
the right thing themselves. Flattered by this, they
were the more ready to follow what they saw to be
desirable. The clergyman believed it necessary
that the overseers should possess the highest au-
thority in the parish, and he thought it would be
diminished by its being known that they were led
or influenced by the clergyman. Thus this excel-
lent man labored in silence, without credit to him-
self, and without those for whom he acted being
aware of his exertions. And even when things did
not go as he hoped and meant, he was not discour-
aged, and never withdrew his hand from the good
work. He was modest enough to believe that oth-
ers might have equally good intentions, and more
practical experience than himself: he praised and
encouraged every attempt at usefulness, and ex-
cused every failure and error in consideration of
the goodness of the motive.

« We must not suffer this crowd of idle paupers
to encumber our village,”’ said Oswald to the cler-
gyman ; “but how to get rid of them I know not.
These hereditary beggars are a disgrace and a tor-
ment to a community ; and, like the vampire, they
draw their support from the life’s blood of the hon-
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 141

est and laborious. The sight of that poorhouse
makes me shudder. It costs so much, is of so lit-
tle benefit, and, in fact, is but an encouragement to
vice and debauchery.”

Roderick answered: “ At last, Oswald, you have
spoken openly. Had we no poorhouse, we should
have no inhabitants for it. The greatest number
of beggars and idlers are ever to be found in those
places where the poorhouse is best provided, and
the largest sums are given in charity.”

“T have sometimes thought,” said Oswald, “of
doing away entirely with the poorhouse. But we
should not be better off. In the best-conducted par-
ishes there will ever be some poor and some vaga-
bonds. What is to be done with them? I have
seen places where the poor were supported by going
round from one rich peasant, or small farmer’s
house, to another; or a certain number lived for a
given number of days at the expense of some ap-
pointed householder, and were lodged in his stable
or outhouses. But this wandering life was often
hard and cruel upon the sick and old, and for those
who were capable of working, it was an encourage-
ment to idleness, equally pernicions to soul and
body. In villages where begging is forbidden, I
have known the paupers boarded by the parish at
the houses of those who would take them in at the
lowest possible rate. These were generally very
poor people, almost as ill off as themselves, anxious
to gain a little money by any means, and who were
thoroughly corrupted by such profligate associates.
142, THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

This was no profit to the parish, but rather injury,
for the paupers and vagabonds were not better off,
and contaminated all those with whom they resided.
It makes my heart bleed to think of the unhappy
orphans who in this way were put out to nurse to
the lowest bidder, a prey to every species of misery.
In bad times these people would take the money,
and let the poor little wretches perish with hunger ;
and if they cried and complained would beat them
to make them silent. Once that the body of one of
these miserable victims was opened, it was found
to contain nothing but grass and water, and showed
marks of the most barbarous treatment. Truly,
there is often more pity and humanity to be found
among Turks and heathens, than among our own
peasantry. I know,” continued Oswald, “that in
many parishes the overseers have built expensive
poorhouses and almshouses, not from pure humanity,
but in order to diminish the trouble of providing for
the poor. For many overseers, though they like
the importance of their situations, will do any thing
to get rid of the labor which their duties entail upon
them.”

Oswald ceased speaking ; and the clergyman re-
joiced to see that he possessed such a thorough
knowledge of the subject. Roderick then said:
‘“‘T have myself put down in writing my ideas upon
this most important matter; read this paper ;. it
contains many crude, undigested thoughts, but you
can adopt, improve, or reject any that you please.”’
Oswald took the clergyman’s manuscript home. with

e
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 148

him and read it through several times; then he
consulted his colleagues, and returned to Roderick
with a variety of objections, listened to his answers,
and again referred to his colleagues. At last they
all agreed upon a plan for the improvement of the
poor of the village. The principal inhabitants
were then assembled, gave their opinions, and sug-
gested further changes ; these met with due consid-
eration, and at last they were all unanimous in
favor of the plan which shall be developed ii in the
following chapter.
144 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XXVI.
WHAT THE GOLDENTHALERS DID WITH THEIR PAUPERS.

Arter much deliberation, the reform of the poor-
house was commenced. But noone could imagine
how it would be possible to feed so many beggars,
idlers, sick and old people, and children, without
an immense expense.

In the first place, with the approbation of the
Government, a sum of money was taken from the
funds of the poorhouse, and expended in the pur-
chase of spades, axes, saws, and every species of
tool. Many improvements were made in the in-
terior of the poorhouse ; the kitchen was considera-
bly enlarged, so that it was now possible to cook
for many families: a workroom was built for the
men, another for the women, and two infirmaries
were appropriated to the invalids of both sexes.

Each person in health had a separate sleeping-
place. It was but a narrow cell, ten feet long, and
a few feet wide; there was only room upon the
floor for a straw mattress, a pillow with coarse
sheets, and a warm woollen coverlet. In the door
of each cell was an opening to admit air and light.
‘We must not make beggars too comfortable,” said
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 148

Oswald, “or they will not strive to obtain better
lodgings, and improve their condition by their own
exertions.” The greatest part of the house was
taken up with these little sleeping-places. Under
the large projecting roof of the building were im-
mense stores of wool, hemp, wood, é&c.

As soon as every thing was prepared, the over-
seers made a list of all those persons who could
not live without the assistance of the parish. That
was easily done ; they were only too well known:
several of them had homes of some description in
the village, while others, without a roof to shelter
them, lived by begging from door to door. All
those who had no homes, were taken into the poor.
house. They went willingly, for winter was ap-
proaching ; those who had but one room, or lived
crowded together with others, so that old and
young, men and women, all slept in the same
room, were brought into the poorhouse ; those only
were allowed to remain in their houses, who could
prove that they had the means of lodging them-
selves and their children decently and properly.
All the paupers in the village were divided into
two classes, those who remained in their own
dwellings, and those who were received into the
poorhouse ; both were considered as equally de-
pendent upon it. Whenever it was possible, the
children were left with their parents; but if the
cottages were too small, or the parents were in the
poorhouse, or known to be of corrupt or vicious
characters, then the children were placed with

13
146 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

good, respectable families, either in the village or
the neighborhood,—not with the very needy, who
only took them for the money they received with
them, nor with the rich, who would neglect them.
The children were clothed by the parish, and a
small indemnity paid to their foster parents if de-
sired: but few of those who took the children re-
quired any ; they did it at the request of the cler-
gyman, and out of true Christian charity. The
clergyman himself was looked up to as the father
of the widow and the orphan ; he had taken two
ill-conducted, bad boys, whom no one would have
any thing todo with, into his own house, and be-
fore six months were over, to the astonishment of
every one, they had become well-behaved and obe-
dient. In this way were the children disposed of;
and removed from the pernicious influence of their
parents’ bad example, and from the scenes of vice
and misery to which they had hitherto been ac-
customed, they soon adopted the industrious and
religious habits of those by whom they were now
surrounded.

The principle on which the overseers thus as-
sumed the right of disposing of the poor, and separa-
ting them from their children, was this :-~ Who-
ever is not in a situation to support himself, and
has no one to depend upon, must be supported by
the parish ; and whoever is supported by the par-
ish is under its control and superintendence, until
they are enabled to provide for their own subsist-
ence. This is but just and right.”
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 147

With this object, a respectable man was appoint-
ed guardian, or protector, of each pauper family :
his duties were to superintend the feeding, clothing,
earnings, and expenses of the family confided to his
care ; to insist upon the maintenance of cleanliness
and order in the dwellings of these out-pensioners,
and to watch strictly over the work which was in-
trusted to them. For, as they received their food
from the kitchen of the poorhouse, where it was
prepared in large quantities, and were also provided
with clothes and tools, it was deemed advisable
that they should pay for it by their work. What-
ever by industry and diligence they accomplished
beyond their appointed task, they were paid for.
Nevertheless, this money, and that which they
earned from the farmers as day-laborers, was not
paid into their own hands, but placed for them in
the savings-bank ; for those who have every thing
given them for their subsistence, want no money,
but must be taught to save and economize. The
guardian, or protector, was expected to make a re-
port from time to time to the clergyman, upon the
conduct and state of the family under his care:
for the clergyman himself, the protector of the poor,
was the real overseer of these guardians ; he noted
down all they did, and if he found any one fail in
his execution of this truly Christian office, upon
his complaint they were immediately removed by
the parish-officers. It is incredible how much good
was done by this constant and direct superintend.
ence of every poor family or person in the village.
148 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

For, as the duties of the guardian only extended to
a single family, it was easy to execute them well
and thoroughly. Each performed his part readily
and without payment, out of Christian charity.
There soon arose a praiseworthy emulation among
them; they strove by good advice, example, and
such slight assistance as they could themselves
afford, to improve the condition of the families un-
der their protection. Thus many wretched, for-
lorn beings, had suddenly become possessed of a
protector and a friend, for whose kindness they
would have reason to be grateful during the rest
of their lives.

Now came the important question, How to pay
for the food and clothing of so many paupers?
The funds of the poorhouse were not sufficient;
but Oswald said—

“Tt would, indeed, be a shame if strong, young
people could not earn their own bread. All must
be considered as one family, old and young, men
and women, those in and out of doors; all must
work for each, and each for all. The out-pension-
ers must work during the week for what is given
them ; and those in-doors must work eight hours
every day, except Sundays and holidays.” And
so it was: whoever refused to work was shut up
in the strong-room, with no food but water and cold
potatoes without salt; this soon brought them to
their senses. Those who worked willingly were
well fed, and had soup and vegetables every day,
and meat twice a week. Those who worked
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 149

more than eight hours were paid for the extra
time, or the product of their industry bought from
them and the money placed in the savings-bank,
so that on leaving the house they would not be
penniless. Whoever misbehaved, cursed, or swore,
or was guilty of any disorderly conduct, was shut
up in the strong-room without hesitation or mercy ;
but those who worked steadily and distinguished
themselves by their decency and propriety of con-
duct, had always the hope of bettering their con-
dition ; they might become one of the directors or
even master of the poorhouse: for the inspectors
who directed the works and superintended the con-
duct of the inmates, and watched over the clean-
liness of the rooms, beds, clothes, &c., were at-
ways chosen from among the best-behaved of the
paupers, and made their reports to the master, who
was himself a pauper. They, as well as the cooks,
had this advantage, that they were not forced to
labor with the rest; what they could earn after
having fulfilled all the duties of their offices, was
their own, and placed for them in the savings-bank,
or employed in purchasing the raw materials, with
which they worked for themselves. There were
some sub-inspectors, who were obliged to work
four hours, but who had the benefit of all they
could earn at other times.

Elizabeth had the superintendence of the kitch.
en, and instructed two women in the art of cooking.
Others had the care of all the linen and clothes, as
well as the washing. Thus between the fear of

13*
150 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

punishment, and the hope of reward, the inmates of
the poorhouse were brought to a very orderly and
profitable state.

There was no chance of any scarcity of work
for the poorhouse the whole year round. Not on-
ly the land belonging to it was to be cultivated, the
garden planted with vegetables, hedges, ditches,
and out-houses kept in repair, but each man was
obliged to keep in order the piece of land allotted
to him by the parish ; and every out-pensioner had
the profit of his little bit of land; so that, after
paying what he was indebted to the poorhouse for
food, clothing, and lodging, he might sell the resi-
due to his guardian, and what it brought was put
into the savings-bank.

The men were also employed in mending the
road, draining bogs and marshy parts of the forest,
making plantations, and in all kinds of carpenters’
and brick-layers’ work for the improvement of the
poorhouse and the cottages of the out-pensioners.
In bad weather, and in winter, they had still more
to do. Those who understood the use of the lathe,
plane, and saw, were employed in making all kinds
of house and kitchen furniture. Others learned to
weave flax and hemp into a coarse woollen cloth,
which was very durable, and adapted to their own
consumption. Winter and summer the looms were
always going. The women, and even the children,
worked in the fields when there was any want of
hands. The women had also the washing, mend.
ing, and making, of all the clothes and linen,
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 151

they spun wool, hemp, and flax, and prepared it for
the weavers ; they knit stockings, shirts, and coun-
terpanes: all worked for the general good, and
they found themselves so well off, that in a short
time several families, who, from fear, had at first
declared that they could support themselves without
begging or assistance from the parish, came volun-
tarily into the poorhouse. This arrangement was
extremely advantageous, as the administration cost
nothing ; for the master, the inspectors, the cooks,
the servants, the wood-cutters, were not paid ; they
were the paupers themselves. The clergyman,
the guardians, Oswald, and Elizabeth, took no re-
ward for their labor of love; and the schoolmas-
ter, Johann Heiter, kept all the books and accounts
of the receipts, expenses, and earnings of the in
and out-pensioners with admirable exactitude. In
fact, the whole establishment supported itself; the
people cultivated, prepared, and dressed their own
food : they spun, they wove, they cut out and made
their own clothes from the hemp and flax which
their own hands had planted ; they made their own
tables, chairs, beds, presses, wooden plates, and
spoons, and kept every thing in a perfect state of
repair. They soon raised more grain and vegeta-
bles than was sufficient for their own nourishment,
and they had soon more yarn and linen, tools and
furniture, than they required. This was sold for
the benefit of the establishment, and the money
employed in the purchase of wool, cotton, iron, éc.

This system worked so well, that before the ex-
152 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

piration of two years, they were enabled to repay
the sum of money which had been originally ad.
vanced by the parish. As the people were kept
constantly at work, were deprived of the means of
drinking, and the men and women were almost al-
ways separated, a great improvement was soon
visible in their morals.

One rule was strictly adhered to,—no one was
allowed to marry who could not support his wife
out of the poorhouse, and without assistance from
the parish. But what was most remarkable among
these formerly vicious and corrupt people, was
their increased respect for religion, and the obliga-
tions which it imposes; and this was due to the
exertions of the clergyman. Several times in the
week he read evening-prayers to the inmates of the
house ; the out-pensioners were also allowed to at-
tend,——a permission of which they readily availed
themselves. He then explained to them various
passages from the Bible, particularly those which
applied to their own situation, and showed them
that their best hope of happiness here and hereaf-
ter was in living in the fear of God and love of
their neighbor; these exhortations produced far
more beneficial effects than all the menaces and
punishments of former parish-officers.

Both the in and out-pensioners had entire liberty
to leave the institution whenever they chose, provi-
ded they could show vy what means they could sup-
port themselves and their families ; and when any
one had lived during a whole year without assist-
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 153

ance, supporting himself by the work of his own
hands, diligently and honestly, whatever he pos-
sessed in the savings-bank might be placed at his
own disposal ; of course he was no longer under
the superintendence of a guardian, and was con-
sidered as any other inhabitant of the village.

That which caused the immense superiority of
the Goldenthal poorhouse over others was, that
the paupers were obliged to prepare every thing
they required for food, clothing, and lodging, them-
selves. Nothing was provided so as to enable
them to live in idleness ; they depended upon their
own exertions. Instead of a life of indolence and
listlessness, or some trifling employment which soon
incapacitated them for hard work, or those light
easy occupations by which children are enabled to
gain as much as grown-up people, which leads to
early debauchery, imprudent marriages, and a con-
stant increase of pauperism ; here every one was
obliged to labor to the best of his ability, for that
which would be a benefit to him for the rest of his
life ; all were forced to dig, plough, sow, plant,
chop wood, spin, weave,—in short, spend eight
hours of the day in the rudest toil.
154 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XXVII.

PRACTICE 18 BETTER THAN THEORY.

fr happened in Goldenthal, as in many otner
places, that no sooner did a clever and intelligent
man propose any thing new in order te remedy long-
existing abuses, than every one thought it his busi-
ness to oppose and counteract his schemes. Some
were full of doubts and irresolution ; others shook
their heads, and shrugged their shoulders, or re-
peated that trite and unsatisfactory phrase used by
all moral cowards, ‘‘ What is the use of attempting
impossibilities ?”’

Oswald was well aware of all the difficulties at-
tending his projects, and had grown wise by expe-
rience and suffering. If he had developed the
whole of his plan for the poorhouse to the Golden-
thalers at first, as he had it in his mind, they would
all have taken the alarm, have cried out that it was
wild and hopeless, and repeated, ‘“‘ What is the use
of attempting impossibilities?” But Oswald thought
practice was better than theory, and he did not even
communicate his entire plan to his colleagues ; for
although honest, well-meaning men, they were
timid, and could not have comprehended it; and
he only suggested each change when the moment
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 155

‘came to put it into execution. Every thing being
done by degrees, nothing was too difficult; and
when the whole scheme was at last carried out, it
was approved by the Government in terms of the
most encouraging praise. It was afterwards dis-
covered that, even in the capital, many people had
ridiculed the plan, and treated it as impracticable,
long after it had been, without their knowledge,
actually carried into execution.

The first opposition came from the in-pensioners,
who refused to sleep in the little cells. They were
told that if they worked diligently, they would soon
be able to hire a room, or even build themselves a
cottage. However, they would not work, and spent
the whole day in the strong-room, with nothing to
eat but potatoes and water; this they liked still
less. Some endeavored by obedience to improve
their condition, and submitted to their fate, partic-
alarly during the winter, when it was by no means
agreeable to wander on the high roads, or sleep on
the bare ground. When they had once learned to
work, and enjoyed better food and better treatment,
and possessed a few florins in the savings-bank, the
fruit of their own industry, then they were ready
enough to remain where they were; for they would
not risk this little property by misconduct, but, on
the contrary, were anxious to increase it, so that
it afforded a powerful hold over them. Others,
however, ran away, preferring to lead an idle life,
wandering through the world, and begging. They
were themselves the only sufferers; the parish
156 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

profited, inasmuch as it had no longer to maintain
them. Some were never heard of more; some
were taken up by the police in other districts, and
sent back again. These first paid a visit to the
strong-room, and then returned to work as before.
In a short time no Goldenthal beggars were to bw
found, except a very few in distant places.

The out-pensioners began also by opposing the
regulations, and attempting to retain the disorderly
and filthy habits to which they were accustomed ;
and they complained bitterly of the hard-hearted-
ness of their neighbors, who would no longer feed
them in idleness, or give them money. But hun-
ger and the strong-room succeeded in taming the
most troublesome ; and the overseers persisted in
their resolution, that those who would eat must
work, and those who expected to be well treated
must behave well. The administration of the poor-
house was formerly very expensive ; now it cost
nothing: neither the clergyman nor Oswald would
enrich himself at the expense of the poor ; all
the household duties, as it has been already said,
were performed by the paupers themselves. To
the best-behaved, some domestic office was confided
as a recompense, and in case of ill-conduct was
taken from them as a punishment: every one took
care that his neighbor did his duty. The garden
and fields belonging to the poorhouse produced a
great deal of food ; and those portions of the parish-
land which each poor family had received, became
extremely fertile, from being cultivated in common.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 157

and well looked after ; thus the ‘ood and clothing
received by the out-pensioners from the poorhouse,
was paid for by the produce of this land, and any
little surplus was deposited in the savings-bank.
The paupers in the house set to work very awk-
wardly at first, but the clergyman sent for an ex-
cellent workman from the town, who was well
known to him; and at a small expense, the people
learned to saw and chop wood, to card wool, and te
spin and weave. The clothing of the paupers cost
the parish but little, and the furniture and improve-
ments in the house scarcely any thing. The in-
door pensioners made furniture for the others, so
that by degrees each family was comfortably
lodged and provided for.

If the parish profited by the facility with which
so many persons were clothed and fed, owing to the
employment of so great a number of hands, the
people at the same time found their own little pro.
perty increase. It was no small advantage to be
allowed the benefit of whatever work they did be-
yond eight hours, besides the surplus produce of
their little allotments. By degrees they learned to
work with pleasure, and took much pains to improve
their land, and save in every possible way, as they
foresaw the time might come when they wo. !d be
able to live independently, and in the enjoyment of
a moderate degree of comfort and prosperity. The
master of the poorhouse and his assistants were the
best off, for they were paid for all their work, be-
yond the duties of their offices; so that all were

4
158 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

ambitious to obtain one or other of these situations .
and those who were so fortunate as to succeed, were
particularly careful not to neglect duties which
were so easy and brought so many advantages; and
the slightest fault was sufficient to make them lose
their employments, to which so many aspired. By
degrees, the inmates of the poorhouse at Goldenthal
became very excellent workmen; and not only the
peasants in the neighborhood, but many of the citi-
zens, were desirous to buy the produce of their in-
dustry, or to furnish them with work. When a
clever workman discovered that he earned more by
working on his own account, he left the poorhouse,
and established himself in the village or the town,
where, by diligence and activity, he found it easy
to support himself; and this encouraged the others
to become equally skilful.

All the inhabitants of the village rejoiced much
at finding themselves freed from the crowd of beg-
gars who had so long annoyed them, and it was
now a rare event to hear of a robbery, either in the
houses or the gardens and orchards. Instead of
giving alms as heretofore, every one willingly sent
a small contribution to the poorhouse, if at any time
there was a deficiency in the funds. But there
was another advantage to the village which had not
been anticipated: when there was not sufficient
field-work in summer to employ everybody, other
out-of-door work was attended to; all the streets
of the village, which formerly, in bad weather,
were a foot deep in mud, were now paved with
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 159

stones, and a proper channel was made for the riv-
ulet, which traversed the village, and which, before,
overflowed whenever it rained, filling the streets
with pools of stagnant water ; the by-roads and paths
‘were kept in order, and every vacant spot in the
forest was covered with young trees, carefully
planted and tended ; no forest throughout the coun-
try was in better condition, and there was no more
flourishing village to be seen than Goldenthal.

Commissioners were sent by the Government to
visit the poorhouse and examine into all the arrange-
ments, and they strongly recommended their adop-
tion all over the country ; but in other villages they:
sought in vain for the exemplary clergyman Rode-
rick, the philanthropic Oswald, and his zealous and
gentle helpmate Elizabeth. However, the attempt
was made in several places, and with partial effect ;
and they were right to try, for practice is better
than theory ; and when there is a firm determina-
tion to benefit mankind, it seldom totally fails of
success.
160 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
ANOTHER NOVELTY.

“ Wnar is Oswald at now ?” said the peasants
to one another. For when others were resting after
their day’s work, he and the schoolmaster and two
or three boys were running about the fields; they
dragged long chains with them, and stuck tall poles
into the earth, which Oswald was continually look-
ing at over a small long-legged table ; the school-
master Heiter, too, seemed very well pleased with
hie work, but no one else could make out what they
were at.

This went on for nearly a year; and when the
peasants discovered that Oswald had been measur-
ing every field and piece of land, and was making
a plan of them with all the roads and paths, many
were much disturbed, for there was again a talk of
war, and they feared he might betray the country
to the enemy. The fact was, that Oswald under-
stood surveying and measuring land, and had many
books upon the subject ; he had instructed his fa-
vorite, Johann Heiter, in this art, and several other
youths who had shown a capacity for it; and at the
‘time the forest was surveyed, he determined by de-
grees, and at his leisure moments, to measure the
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 61

whole district, with all the roads and paths, and to
make a complete map.

In this map, every division of land, every hedge,
every stile, every cottage was clearly shown, in
the proportion of a quarter of an inch to an acre ;
and when this large map was finished, it was hung
up in the town-house. The peasants came in
crowds to examine the plan, which amazed them
greatly, for they soon understood it, and each re-
cognised his own field, his garden, his orchard.
But what most delighted them was, to find there
the exact size of every field, meadow, or garden,
even to half a foot ; they never before had known
exactly the extent of their property, and they care-
fully copied the figures, as in future it would be a
great advantage to them, both in buying and sell-
ing: for hitherto the land had only been measured
by stepping it, which gave much opportunity for
deception ; and this would now be effectually pre-
vented. But when Oswald saw the people exam-
ining the map, he said to them, “ That is not the
greatest advantage which you may obtain from it ;
there is a still greater benefit.’”” When they in-
quired what it was, he answered, “ If you have not
found it out by Michaelmas, I must tell you ;”” but
no one discovered it.

When the parish assembled at Michaelmas to
transact the usual business, as soon as it was ter-
minated Oswald addressed them in these words
“You are all well acquainted with the map of
our district, so admirably executed by the school

14*
162 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

master, Johann Heiter, and his scholars. My
good friends and neighbors, you have all admired
it, but you have not understood the principal object
for which it was made, and which I will now ex-
plain to you. When I surveyed that land which
we cultivate by the sweat of our brow, I was often
grieved to see that it cost us so much labor, and,
after all, was not well cultivated, nor produced
half as much as it might have done ; and once, on
casting my eyes over that map, an idea struck me,
by means of which I thought we might remove
one of the great defects in our farming. My dear
neighbors—it is now as clear as day, that if you
will but come to a good understanding among
yourselves, the greater part of your land may be
better cultivated, and at less cost of time and trou-
ble than heretofore.”

At this the peasants exclaimed, “ There will be
no difficulty in making us agree to any plan for
diminishing the expense of farming.”

“ Then I wish you joy,” said Oswaid. “ f will
now teach you how to save that which is the most
precious of all things, Timez. Each of you has
acquired what land he possesses by degrees, some
by inheritance, others by purchase. Many of you
have small pieces of land, scattered in different
parts of the country, at such distances that it takes
a quarter of an hour to go from one field to anoth-
er, which causes an immense waste of time, not
only to the owners, but to the laborers and the
cattle ; a great part of the day is spent in running
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 168

backward and forward, and laborers are paid for
hours which are utterly lost and bring no return.
These continual interruptions prevent their work-
ivg diligently, and interfere greatly with the care-
ful cultivation of the land. Some persons are
even deterred from buying more land, when they
see how difficult and expensive it is to cultivate
the little they have already, and how much time
is consumed in going from one field to another.
Now, if each man’s land lay together, the same
number of laborers would be sufficient for a much
larger quantity, and you would have a better har-
vest.”

‘“‘ That is quite trye,” answered the peasants 5
“ but how is it to be helped? A man cannot take
his fields upon his shoulders, and place them all
together.”

“You might,’ said Oswald, “do something
which would have much the same effect, though I
admit there are very great difficulties in the way
of it. You have all studied the map, and under.
stand perfectly the dimensions and situation of your
own land. Why not exchange the scattered pieces
with one another, until you have each collected
your whole property into one single piece. Let
every one consult with his neighbors, and those
whose land touches his own. Some compensation
can be given where there is a difference in the.
extent and quality of the land exchanged. And.
even should any one be the loser of a few feet of
land, he is very sure to gain considerably by the.
164 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

advantages arising from having all his property
lying close together. If you cannot agree, choose
some unprejudiced person as arbitrator, or draw
lots. I entreat you not to let any slight difficulties
prevent your adopting so desirable an arrange-
ment ; do not object to it, because you have been
accustomed for so many years to the present state
of things. You will find the result of the change
to be, that you will have more money without more
trouble.”

When Oswald ceased speaking, his audience
gave strong symptoms of disapprobation ; they
began to discuss the proposal with many shakes of
the head, and though they allowed the idea was a
good one, all appeared to think it was impossible
to put it into execution.

Nevertheless, in their idle moments they amused
themselves with talking over the suggestion, and
examining which of their fields they would be
willing to part with, and which piece of land ad.
joining their own they wished to have in ex-
change. At first they merely talked of it in jest
with their neighbors. One person did not like the
first piece of land offered to him, but wished for
another belonging to a third party, who was then
applied to ; and by degrees every one had formed
his plan for improving his little farm by concen-
trating it in one spot. In a short time they began
‘to negotiate with one another ; many persons suc-
‘ceeded, others failed ; but still there was a great
improvement. One should have thought that the
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 165

whole country was going to be sold by auction—
especially in the winter, when people had more
leisure, and sat and talked together during the long
evenings in each other’s houses ; for the good folks
of Goldenthal would now have been ashamed to
spend their time in the ale-house, wasting their
hard-earned money in drinking and disgracing
themselves by intoxication; they now preferred
having their glass of ale on Sundays and holidays
at home with their wives and children.

Oswald had said truly, that there were great
difficulties in this exchange of land. Neverthe-
less, in the first half year, five of the small farm-
ers had nearly succeeded in uniting the whole of
their property ; this annoyed the others, who saw
well enough the advantages of the change, and
each man determined to make any sacrifice in or-
der to concentrate his own possessions. Every eve-
ning they assembled in the town-house, and sur-
rounded the great map, talking and disputing so
loudly on the merits of each acre of land that they
might be heard in the street ; then some would
come away in anger at the failure of their propo-
sitions, and return again speedily with fresh offers.

The result was, that year by year each farm
was gradually rounded off, and the excellent ef-
fects were visible all over the country.
166 THE GOLDMAKEERS’ VILLAGE>

CHAPTER XXIX.

WHAT THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE HAD BECOME.

GoLDENTHAL might now well be called a golden
valley. The village lay in the centre of the most
fruitful gardens ; buried, as it were, amid smiling
and productive orchards, surrounded by rich mea-
‘dows and yellow cornfields: it was truly a little
paradise. The paths between the fields were clean
and even, like the walks in a garden; and the
roads throughout the whole district were planted
on each side with fruit-trees.

The village itself looked more like a flourishing
market-town, than the cluster of dirty hovels to
which we first introduced our readers. The houses,
though not large, were all clean and neat; the
windows bright and clear; the doors and other
wood-work frequently painted, and the walls
whitewashed ; nearly all the roofs were covered
with tiles, thatch being forbidden by the parish
from fear of fire. Every new roof was either tiled
or slated, many of them had lightning conductors,
and almost all the windows were filled with flow-
ers; every cottage had its little garden carefully
planted, and a line of beehives surrounded with
aromatic herbs. If a stranger traversed the vil-
lage, he was saluted with the greatest civility ;
{THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 167

and the peasants joked and laughed together when
they met, in a way that showed they were on good
terms with each other, and happy and contented
with their lot. Even when working in the fields
and gardens, their clothes, though coarse and sim.
ple, were clean and neat; neither dirt nor rags
were to be seen. It is true that their faces were
brown and sunburnt, but there was no dishevelled
or matted hair, and health and strength were visi-
ble in their smiling countenances.

The young men of other villages preferred the
Goldenthal maidens, for they were not only at-
tractive and pretty, butexcellent housewives, steady
and economical. Even the sons of rich farmers
from other places married girls from the Gold-
makers’ village, for they were rich in virtue, if
not in gold. And if a young man from Golden-
thal wished to marry, he might choose throughout
the country, for people took good care how they
refused their daughter to a Goldenthaler, even if
they were richer than he; for they knew that
their money would be turned to good account, and
this contributed not a little to increase the prosper.
ity of Goldenthal.

It was clear that no beggars or vagabonds could
now be seen in the village; but what was more
astonishing, there was no longer any appearance
of poverty. Even the inmates of the poorhouse
had plenty of food, and decent clothing ; and in
the smallest ana meanest cottage, there was a de-
gree of order and comfort which impressed one
168 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

with the idea that it was the abode of honest peo. -
ple. The floors were clean and well swept;
benches, chairs, and tables without speck or spot ;
windows, crockery, and kitchen furniture bright
and shining—in short, totally different from the
pigsties which they formerly inhabited. It would
have been a pleasure to live amongst so many
good and prosperous people.

On holidays, during the whole summer, the vil-
lage of Goldenthal was really a gay and beautiful
sight. Numbers of people came from the town to
spend a few hours in this pleasant place. The
large new inn, which had been built (who would
have thought of it!) by one of the two and thirty
poor members of the Goldmakers’ league, was fill-
ed with families from the town who came to enjoy
a little country air, and the sight of so much pros.
perity. Others went to the houses of their ac-
quaintance, and every cottage garden was filled
with parties feasting upon the fruit, milk, honey,
and other rural dainties for which the village was
famous, or amusing themselves at various games
upon the smooth green turf, or sitting upon the
clean benches at the cottage doors, shaded by
spreading trees, watching the gay and happy
groups of passers by, or they assembled round the
old lime-tree, where the young people of the vil-
lage danced to their own gay singing till dark.
Of course the townspeople were not ungrateful for
the amusement and recreation which they expe-
rienced at Goldenthal, and the comfort and beauty
THE GOLDMAXERS’ VILLAGE. 100

of its houses and gardens was another source of
profit to its inhabitants. Even in winter the visits
did not entirely cease. Parties were made in sledges
to Goldenthal. It was worth seeing at all times.

The inhabitants of other villages heard of all this
prosperity, and tried in vain to discover why no one
ever came nearthem. They seriously believed that
the Goldenthalers were magicians, and bewitched
people ; but, instead of endeavoring to practise those
arts by means of which they were so successful, the
other villagers remained in their original state of
sloth and idleness, and made no effort to improve.
They never spoke of the Goldenthalers without be-
traying their envy and malice, laughing at them
and calling them the Goldmakers : and, in fact,
this name was a very just one.

The Goldenthalers cared little for this jealousy $
they persisted in their good conduct ; and their life,
though one of toil and labor, had also much enjoy-
ment. After a week of hard work, Sunday was
truly a day of rest to them; but no Goldenthaler
spent it in a public-house; they drank their beer
at home: while the children, who were taught at
school, often sang in parts as well as if they had
been instructed in the capital. The old men and
women sat comfortably together in the evening, and
regaled themselves with homely country fare, and
chatted merrily with each other. Drunkenness, rob-
bery, law-suits, or excesses of any kind, were now
quite unheard of; for, with their increasing pros-
perity and their improvement in education, a cer.

15
170 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

tain feeling of honor and a love of religion and mo.
rality had arisen among the peasantry themselves,
which was totally unknown in other parts of the
country. Even in the town, they could be distin-
guished at first sight from the inhabitants of other
villages. Their dress was simple, and strikingly
clean. If their clothes were coarse, their conduct
was refined; their language was correct and civil,
and their manners frank and kind. It must not be
supposed, however, that this courteous, honest, and
gentle demeanor was simply the result of the gen-
eral prosperity, or the fruit of the improved educa-
tion which the peasants now received ; it was also
to be attributed td the excellent laws and regula-
tions of the overseers. For as the peasants began
to grow richer, there were not wanting those who
were anxious to get rid of the restraint they had
imposed upon themselves, and were much inclined
to return to their evil ways. Some became ex-
travagant, and dressed their daughters ridiculously
in all kinds of finery, and gave themselves great
airs. Others took to gambling again, or returned
to their old habits of drinking. All this excited
great indignation among the well-conducted, who
said, “If these people begin again in this way, we
shall be worse off than ever.”” The other villagers
were much displeased with those who forsook the
simple and moral life, the benefits of which they
were now beginning to experience, and they en-
treated the overseers to make better regulations for
the preservation of order and morality.
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 171

So far from being angry at this reproach ad-
dressed to the overseers, Oswald received it with
the greatest delight. Strict regulations were im-
mediately made, which forbade all variety of ap-
parel, and fixed the exact dress of every class; and
imposed very severe punishments upon all gam-
bling of whatever description, upon drunkenness,
slander, evil speaking, fighting, swearing, and
every species of immorality. This had the desired
effect : every one submitted; and those who felt
inclined to do wrong were nevertheless deterred by
the fear of shame, disgrace, and punishment.

This sumptuary law was read every year to the
whole population, old and young. Men, women,
and children were all obliged to hear it, and listen
to any observations the parish-officers deemed it
advisable to make. After it had been read, the
first overseer put this question to them, “ Will you
engage to obey this law, which is the foundation
of our prosperity and honor, and of the peace and
harmony in which we live??? And old and young
answered, unanimously and distinctly, in the affir-
mative.
173 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

CHAPTER XXX.
THE CHRISTENING.

It was about this time, that his beloved Eliza.
beth presented Oswald with a son. This blessing
had long been the object of his most fervent pray-
ers, and great indeed was his delight at an event
which appeared to him the summit of all human
happiness. Soon afterwards, Oswald went to his
friend the landlord of the Lion, one of the members
of the Goldmakers’ league so often mentioned ;
“ My friend,” said he, “I come for the first time
to ask you a favor; I am sure you will not refuse
me. I want five hundred florins, and I cannot
leave my wife, who is still in her bed, to fetch
them from the town: could you lend me that sum
for eight days? I should prefer it in gold, if pos-
sible.”

The landlord of the Lion answered, “I owe
avery thing that I possess to you, and will lend you
the money with pleasure. I have just received
eight hundred florins, and have them still in the
house; but they are partly in silver: take them
and keep them as long as you like.”

Oswald thanked him, but said, “I had rather
have gold; I have a particular reason for it.”
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. avs

« Well,” said the landlord, “1 will try and pto»
cure it for you. When do you want it?”

“Bring it to my house,” answered Oswald,
to-morrow evening at eight o’clock; but say
nothing about it to any one.” When he had ar-
ranged this, he went on to the other one-and-thirty
members of the league, and said exactly the same
thing to them all, asking each man for the loan of
five hundred florins in gold; every one rejoiced at
having at last an opportunity of showing their
gratitude to this excellent man, and promised to
bring him the money at the appointed time. The
following evening at eight o’clock, they all: ar-
rived. Though it was already dark, Oswald con-
ducted them into a room where there was no light;
each man was considerably astonished at the neh.
bers that arrived. At last, Oswald left them -to
fetch a light, and when he returned with two wax
tapers in his hands, they beheld him, as they had
once before seen him, in a splendid uniform, a
feather in his hat, a star upon his breast, and a
long sword by his side; they looked at one an.
other with the greatest astonishment, and saw the
very same persons who had met in that room,
round that very table on which the officer now
placed the lights, seven years before!

“My good friends,” said Oswald, “if you have
brought me that which I asked you for, now place
it upon this table.” They approached the table one
after another, and several persons apologized for
not having brought the sum in gold; but Oswald

15*
174 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

told them kindly that it did not signify, and bid
them put.it down as they had brought it; some
poured out heaps of gold, others silver, on the ta-
ble, while many gave him the sum in bank-notes.

Oswald then addressed them as follows: “ The
time of trial is now over, and the seven years and
seven weeks of which J spoke to you are ended ;
you have each of you spread more money upon this
table, than I displayed to you seven years and seven
weeks ago; at that time, you were scarcely worth
five hundred kreutzers, and no one would have
ventured to lend you money. Now, within four-
and-twenty hours, each has produced five hundred
florins, so that sixteen thousand florins have suddenly
been collected upon this table. As I said before,
the time of trial is now over, and I have taught
you the art of making gold!

“ Now you understand the meaning of what I
said the first time you were here—I told you then
that knowledge is better than gold, for this know-
ledge is true wisdom ; continue to obey God, and
keep your seven vows, and your happiness and
prosperity will increase daily. He who is tired of
his vows, must be tired of his happiness. Teach
them to your children, and oblige them to keep
them if they would be happy and wealthy. I have
now fulfilled the promise I gave you; you are rich,
because you earn much, and your wants are few.
Now, then, you have learned to make gold as good
and honorable men do. Did you expect any thing
Wise ?”
THE, GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE, MNS

They all smiled and said, “ No, no; we have
long ago discovered what you meant by making
gold. But when we had once found out the truth,
we were ashamed of the superstitious folly which
had at first misled us, and were truly grateful to
you in our hearts for having taught us a better
way, which, without your assistance, we should
never have discovered.”

Oswald was much gratified at these words, and
the warmth and cordiality with which they -all
shook hands with him and thanked him. He re-
turned their money, which he did not want, for he.
had only wished to make a trial of their good-will
towards him. But they said, “ Remember that we
are always at your orders, day and night. We
owe all our happiness to you ; we would go through
fire and water to serve you ; we would die for you!
Speak, what is there we can do for you ?” ,

And as they all pressed round him to examine his
fine coat, and the star on his breast, they began to
question him as to the meaning of it all; to which
he answered, “ I owe every thing to my late father,
your former schoolmaster, who instructed me in
many useful things, particularly in surveying and
engineering. ‘This, when I became a soldier, with
an honest heart and sound principles, enabled me
to distinguish myself above my comrades. I did
my duty, and I was made an officer. During an
engagement, in which the Prince, having advanced
too far, was suddenly surrounded by the enemy’s
cavalry, I dashed forward with my squadron of
176 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

dragoons, and had the good fortune to save the
Prince’s life. It was then I received the wound’
across my forehead, and was rewarded by this
order as a mark of the Prince’s gratitude ; and on
my quitting the army when peace was made, &
considerable pension was bestowed on me for life.
The Prince has never forgotten me; and, as you
know, paid me a visit when he was in this neigh-
borhood. But when I returned to Goldenthal, the
dear home of my early days, and found how wretch-
ed and miserable it had become, I concealed my
real situation that I might not be surrounded with
beggars. I had lost all wish to remain here, and
should have left the place immediately, had I not
met with Elizabeth. My beloved Elizabeth kept
me here; and I determined to try what could be
done for the reformation of my native village. I
told no one of my honors, or of the pension which I
enjoyed. To Elizabeth’s parents alone, when I
asked for their daughter’s hand, did I explain my.
true position, otherwise they would not have given
her to me, a poor wanderer. But when I brought
them to my house and showed them my uniform
and the order, and read to them the king’s gracious
letter, conferring an income upon me larger than
their mill would produce in three years, then they
were of a different opinion, ‘They promised, how-
ever, to keep my secret, ag it was necessary to the
success of my plan. Now, every one may know it.
Ihave succeeded beyond my highest expectations !””

When he had finished speaking, all the Gold-
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 177

makers congratulated him, rejoicing at his good
fortune ; but they could not conceal the awe with
which he now inspired them, and no longer dared
to approach him familiarly as heretofore. But he
said, “ What is the meaning of this? Am I not
your brother and countryman as before, and ready
to advise and assist you in every way? It is not
an embroidered coat, but the fear of God in an
honest heart, which should inspire respect.”

He then took leave of them kindly and affec-
tionately, and invited them all to the christening
of his child; while they renewed their thanks,
saying they owed every thing to him, and calling
him their father and benefactor.

Three days after, on the following Sunday, Os-
wald’s child was to be christened; the whole vil-
lage was early in motion. Oswald approached
his Elizabeth, and, tenderly embracing the mother
and child, said, “Dearest Elizabeth, my heart is
overflowing with joy and gratitude to God; great
as is the happiness which the birth of our son has
given me, it is surpassed by the delight I feel at the
prosperity of our village. Truly, mankind are not
so bad or so heartless as they are represented.
One should never allow one’s self to doubt the pos-
sibility of doing them good. And now see, during
the night, they have ornamented our house with
wreaths of flowers, as they did on our wedding-
dey ; but that is not all. Every house in the vil-
lage is covered with flowers and green branches,
as if it were a day of rejoicing for them all, as
178 THE GOLDMAEERS’ VILLAGE:

well as for us. -And the whole road from: ‘our
house tothe church is bordered with young trees
and long garlands of flowers thrown across from
one side to the other, and the ground is strewed
with green leaves and flowers !”’

When Elizabeth heard these words, she was so
touched with this simple testimony of gratitude,
that she could not restrain her tears; she merely
answered, “‘I heard a strange noise in the night,
and could not imagine what it meant.” But she
could not remain in bed, and insisted on going to
the window to see it all. There she wept sweet
tears of joy and emotion ; nothing is more touch-
ing to a tender heart, than to see the efforts that
have been made for the good of others, successful
and gratefully appreciated. It is a foretaste of
heaven, and a sufficient reward for every sacrifice.

The miller and his wife, who were to be godfather
and godmother, soon arrived. The good lady was
in eestasies, and repeated a dozen times how beauti-
fully the house was decorated! how gay the village
looked! exclaiming, “ Well ! there never was such a
christening seen in Goldenthal before! what could
they do more for the birth of a prince?” While
she was speaking, a number of boys and girls ap-
proached Oswald’s house, walking in pairs, and
dressed in their holiday clothes. Each placed some
slight offering..from their parents onthe cradle
of the new-born infant ; one a piece of snow-white
inen of their own weaving ; another brought gloves,
another stockings, others dried fruit, honey, flowers ;
THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE. 179

each family sent some trifle. There were as many
presents as there were houses in the village ; and
all the children kissed Oswald’s and Elizabeth’s
hands, calling them their father and their mother.
What words could have sounded sweeter to their
ears !—what studied speech could have expressed
as much as these simple words! The bells were
ringing loudly and merrily ; the new-born babe was
carried to church, followed by the father, who could
scarcely conceal his emotion. He found all the
inhabitants of the village assembled before the
church to meet him; they received him with warm
and heartfelt congratulations, and accompanied him
into the church. After the ceremony, Roderick the
clergyman made an excellent discourse upon the
duty of the people to show their gratitude for a good
government. Never before had his preaching seem-
ed so touching and inspired; every word went
straight to the hearts of his hearers: they listened
with the utmost attention, and some could not re-
frain from tears, for they all applied his words to
Oswald ; and their hearts overflowed with gratitude
for the benefits which he, by the merey of God, had
been the instrument of bestowing on them. All con.
sidered him as the cause of the general prosperity ;
and when the clergyman, with a faltering voice,
mentioned him by name at the conclusion, and in-
voked a blessing from the Almighty upon him, there
was not a dry eye in the church; and never had
the voices of a grateful multitude been raised to
Heaven with more earnestness and devotion, than in
180 THE GOLDMAKERS’ VILLAGE.

the hymn of thanksgiving which concluded thé dete.
mony. Oswald, though inexpressibly happy, was
so confused and agitated, that he scarcely knew
where he was; and, forcing his way through’ the
friendly crowd at the church door, he hurried home
to his Elizabeth, almost speechless with emotion.
His wife’s father and mother, the clergyman, the
schoolmaster, and the other overseers dined with
him ; they related that, in almost every house in
the village, there were dinners given, the rich feast-
ing their poorer neighbors. Oswald shook his head,
and said, “ Too much, too much! I have not: de-
served these honors.” But the universal joy waa
contagious ; he soon recovered himself; and, ao-
companied by his guests, he visited every cottage
in the village, remaining a few moments with each
family, and thanking them for these testimonies of
their affection.

Nothing could equal the gayety of Goldenthal.
Many had come from a distance to witness the té-
joicings; and the dance, and the song, and the
merry laugh were prolonged in the gardens and
under the lime-tree till late in the evening.

This happy day was long remembered in Golden-
thal ; and none of the villagers ever addressed Os-
wald and Elizabeth otherwise than by the endearing
names of father and mothet,.**

Truly may we say that the good seed which ‘is
sown in faith and hope will, sooner or later, ‘yield'a
rich harvest ; ; for a merciful God watches over us,
—a Father full of love and pity.
LITTLE HARRY

AND

HIS UNCLE BENJAMIN.

CHAPTER I.
HARRY'S PARENTAGE.

Lirtis Harry was a child of sorrow. His father
died before he was born, and his mother was
. weakly in health, impoverished in circumstances,
and broken in spirits. Uncle Benjamin was the
kind friend to her and her orphan boy, who kept
them from sinking into absolute poverty and dis
tress, and who roused the mother, and taught the
boy to look ypward, and, by intelligence and in«
dustry, to aim at bettering their condition; and
the, blessing of God crowned hia efforts and theirs
8 HARRY'S PARENTAGE.

Uncle Benjamin was not a rich man. Itisa
very mistaken, though very common idea, that
only rich people can be charitable and do good to
others. God has put it in the power of every one
of us in. some way or other to help our fellow
creatures; and He has made it our duty to do
so; and by this wise and good arrangement He
has provided for us one of the greatest and purest
pleasures we are capable of enjoying. When you
have read the story of Uncle Benjamin and little
Harry, it is to be hoped that you will learn from
it no longer to spend your feelings in idle wishes
and speculations about the good you would do, if
you had but as much money as some noble lord,
or rich squire, or old maiden lady in your neigh-
bourhood; but that you will set about, with the
little that is in your power, endeavouring to make
somebody happy, or in some degree to alleviate
their distress; and, if you sincerely make the effort,
you will be astonished to find how your strength
and resources will increase as you advance, and
how evidently the blessing of Heaven shines on
your attempt, aud crowns it with success far
beyond your expectations.

Little Harry’s father was a surgeon—his uncle
Benjamin was a gardener. Each had chosen his
own profession. When they were quite little boys,
Benjamin would bring home bits of holly, fir, and
HARRY’S PARENTAGE, 9

other evergreens, and stick them about the floor,
to look as if they were growing in a garden; and
he would turn his little chair on its back, fill it
with leaves of lettuce or cabbage, tie a string to it
and to himself, and draw it about, like a gardener
taking vegetables to market. Meanwhile Henry
would amuse himself with a phial and a pill-box,
making up mixtures and pills with flour, chalk,
dirt, or anything else he could get hold of, and
pretending to draw the teeth of his sister’s doll.
The parents of Benjamin and Henry were indus-
trious, careful people. They lived respectably
in a plain way, and gave their children a good
education; that is, they taught them at home to
be industrious and notionable, and sent them to
school to learn to read and write and cast accounts.
The boysalso picked up a little knowledge of Latin,
which was afterwards very useful to them. Their
sister Hannah was brought up to help her mother
in household business, and in making and mending
all the clothes of the family. She was a handy,
active girl, and could make a bonnet, a gown, or
a waistcoat, almost as well as if she had been
apprenticed to a dress-maker, or a tailor. What
little learning she had was obtained at an evening
schoul, or by the help of her brothers at home,
who often set her a sum, or read and conversed
with her, for the improvement of her mind, while
10 HABRRY'S PARENTAGE:

her hands were employed in sewing or knitting:
They were an affectionate and united family, who
took pleasure in each other’s society, and delighted
to serve and please one another. The parents
were made happy in witnessing the harmony ot
their children, and the neighbours would observe
of the family, “‘ Behold how good and how pleas
sant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.”
The young people often spoke together of their
respective preferences of a calling in life. It
seemed much more likely that Benjamin’s wish
would be fulfilled than that of Henry, for a clever
industrious lad can generally get employment and
knowledge in the line Ae had chosen, without any
great outlay of money; but it is a very expensive
matter to acquire the requisite knowledge for the
medical profession, and Henry’s parents had not
much money to spare. They had indeed saved a
few pounds, but it was what they depended on to
keep them from want, if they should live to be
past labour; and, all together, it would not have
been enough to apprentice Henry with a respect-
able surgeon or druggist. His good parents there
fore endeavoured to persuade him to think of some
other employment more within his reach. He
yielded to their wishes, as a dutiful child should
do, and went on trial to a carpenter. The car~
penter found him a clever, ingenious lad, and pre
HARRY’S PARENTAGE. H

dicted that he would make an excellent workman.
Henry did not dislike either his master or his
employment, yet still his mind hankered after
his old predilection. He often amused an idle
moment by making pills of sawdust, or descanted
on the virtues of plantain and colewort leaves,
and sundry other herbs which his mother culti-
vated or collected; and, if one of his companions
happened to cut himself, was dexterous in binding
up the wound. Before the time came for Henry
to be bound apprentice to the carpenter, his old
ardour for the medical profession was revived by
his being cast in the way of a gentleman who
followed it. The carpenter's wife had a serious
illness, and Henry was several times sent to the
town to fetch the doctor to her, or to bring home
the medicines which he ordered. He sometimes
had to wait in the surgery while they were pre-
pared; and if,as was sometimes the case, the per-
son whose business it was to compound them, had
several things to attend to, Henry was permitted
to work the pestle and mortar. These implements
seerned much more congenial to his taste than the
saw and chisel, and he sighed to make the ex-
change, though he ventured not to breathe his
wish to any one, conscious that filial duty required
him to be satisfied with such things as his parents
could afford, and not to distress their minds, or
13 HARRY'S PARENTAGE.

prey upon their resources, by aspiring after higher
pursuits. The assistant of the surgeon, however,
was so pleased with the aptitude and intelligent
questions of Henry, that he mentioned him to his
master as a lad that ought to belong to the pro-
fession. The surgeon was a man of property and
liberality, and one who delighted to encourage
rising talent. He had more than once been mor-
tified at receiving lads with premiums, who, either
for want of ability, or application, or character,
were not likely to bring credit to him; and he was
quite disposed to take, without a premium, one
who was likely in future to shine in his profession,
and during his pupilage to be steady, diligent, and
orderly. A little conversation with the youth con-
firmed him in his generous purpose; the matter
was proposed to Henry’s parents, and thankfully
accepted; and Henry was forthwith admitted into
the surgery of Mr. Bell, and initiated in the mys-
teries of the pharmacopeeia. His brother Benjamin
had been for some time employed in a gardener’s
grounds; so both brothers had the accomplish-
ment of their wishes in the selection of a calling,
and each gave full satisfaction to his employers,
made honourable progress in his pursuits, and
continued to cherish and exercise the same affec-
tionate disposition towards the family, by which
they had ever been distinguished. Every moment
HARKY'S PARENTAGE 3

of leisure was happity spent in each other’s society,
and each with delight contributed to the comfort
of the family, by means of the knowledge which
they were respectively acquiring. Benjamin in his
leisure hours kept his father’s cottage garden like
a little paradise, and Henry had at hand some
simple remedy for all the little ailments of the
family. Benjamin’s occupation in the open air
conduced much to his robust health and manly
vigour. Henry’s extended intercourse with so-
ciety gave a gentility and polish to his manners.
Each was an object of peculiar delight to the
affectionate parents and sister; the latter of whom
would playfully compare the quantity of work
imposed on her by each brother, according to
their several occupations—the many light-coloured
waistcoats, trowsers and stockings of the one,
scarcely soiled or worn; the plain, homely, well
worn garments of the other, few in number, but
always making large demands on the labour of the
Iaundress and needle-woman.

Years rolled on, and the time of Henry’s en-
gagement was drawing to a close. Hitherto his
expenses had been comparatively trifling— merely
that of clothing, in which, by his own neat and
careful habits, and the skill and industry of his
good sister, he had been enabled to keep up a
genteel appearance, with much less expenditure

B
14 HARRY’S PARENTAGE.

than most young men in his situation. Meanwhile
his brother Benjamin had been bringing home a
weekly contribution to the family finances, that had
for a considerable time served his own expenses
both in food and clothing, and had latterly left a
surplus with which he had gradually furnished him-
self with a select and useful library, especially in
his own department of knowledge. Henry, too,
needed books, and books of a very expensive
order. Well knowing the generous kindness of
his family, and their readiness to make exertions
and sacrifices for his benefit, Henry forbore as
much as possible to let them know his wants, and
borrowed of his master or his fellow pupils. But
now he was about to leave them, and enter upon
a far more expensive course of life. Before he
could enter on the exercise of his profession, a
preparatory course must be gone through. He
must reside in London, to attend the hospitals, and
he must obtain books and instruments. Poor
Henry trembled when he saw the heavy expenses
that were coming upon him, and which he knew
his parents were ill able to meet. He engaged
himself for two years as assistant to a friend
of his first kind master, and by still pursuing
rigid personal economy, he saved the principal
part of his salary towards meeting the dreaded
expenses. Still it was a heavy burden, and drew
MARRY'S PARENTAGE. 13

oppressively on the little resources of the family.
Each one was willing, by labour and self-denial,
to contribute to the full extent of ability. Not
one grudging thought accompanied the supplies re-
quired for Henry’s advancement, though there
were misgivings lest the resources should fail before
the end was accomplished. The little hoards of
Hannah towards furnishing a house, and of Ben-
jamin towards purchasing a piece of ground and
commencing business, were considerably en-
trenched upon, and the provision for the old
age of the parents almost insensibly melted away;
and, what was worst of all, Henry had con-
tracted several debts. All, however, were en-
couraged by the high testimonials which were
universally given to the talents, acquirements, and
conduct of the young surgeon, and the flattering
hopes which presented themselves, that, the intro-
ductory difficulties once surmounted, he would
rapidly rise in his profession to competence and
fame. It was the dearest wish of his heart, that
he might have it in his power liberally to requite
to his family the sacrifices they had so generously
made for his advancement.

Having finished his term in Londen, and ho-
nourably passed his several examinations, Henry
was engaged by an elderly gentleman in feeble
health, to take the almost entire charge of his
16 HARRY’S PARENTAGE.

practice. His salary was liberal, and a prospect
was afforded him of entering, on easy terms, upon
a partnership with the old gentleman, with the
probability of succeeding to an extensive and lu-
crative practice. The first year of this engage-
ment more than cleared off the little debts of
Henry, excepting those due to his own family,
and these they all concurred in desiring him to
postpone until he had fully established himself.
Henry had long been attached to a very amiable
young woman, who had been several years go-
verness in the family of his first master, Mr. Bell;
and although, on some accounts, he would will-
ingly have deferred entering upon the expenses of
house-keeping, until he had returned the money
advanced by his family, on others it appeared de-
sirable that he should settle immediately on his
joining old Mr. Lucas. The situation was far
distant from his family, and it was not convenient
for him to reside in the house of his partner. He
had, therefore, al] his domestic comfort and eco-
nomy to provide for elsewhere. His sister could
not be spared to manage for him, as the father was
in a declining state of health, and required more
attendance than his aged partner was able to give,
in addition to the business of her house. Besides,
it is well known that in the medical profession a
decided preference is given to a married man, other
MARRY'S PARENTAGE, 17

things being equal; and it was apprehended that
if Mr. Lucas’s partner came as an unmarried man,
many of the patients might be inclined to seek
another practitioner. So, partly from prudence,
partly from inclination, Henry entered upon his
engagement with Mr. Lucas as a married man.
Maria had no property beyond a few pounds which
she had saved from her salary, which would not
suffice to furnish their dwelling; but the liberal
salary which Henry was to receive for the first
year or two, and the prospect of ultimately suc-
eeeding to the practice, encouraged them to think
that they might venture to carry out their plans,
although it again entailed a burden of debt. But
alas! Henry calculated the expenses of house-
keeping on the frugal scale to which he had been
accustomed under the management of his mother
and sister; and Maria expected and eonsidered re-
quisite the indulgences which she had known in
Mr. Bell’s family, while, at the same time, she
had little skill or experience to dictate the method
of securing the largest portion of comfort and
genteel appearance, at the smallest possible ex-
pense. Maria, like too many young persons who
have spent their youth as governesses in private
families, (and, indeed, young females in the
humbler lines of maintenance—dress-making, mil-
linery, straw-working, &c.) had little idea of the
B2
18 HARRY’S PARENTAGR,

duties and expenses of house-keeping, or of the
vigilance and care required in the superintendence
of servants. She was not ill intentioned, but she
was ill qualified for the duties of a mistress and
the care of a family, especially as the wife of a
young professional man already burdened with the
expenses of his education, and not established in
considerable professional returns. Maria was
amiable, kind, and affectionate, and delighted to
have everything around her that would gratify
her husband’s taste, and come up to the standard
of appearance, which she had fixed far above their
present means. The first year’s income was totally
inadequate to meet the numerous claims pressing
upon the young couple, and increased by prepa-
rations—somewhat too stylish for their circum-
stances—for the expected arrival of a little pledge
of their affection. Their joy on the birth of a
little girl was somewhat damped by present per-
plexity and rising apprehensions as to their worldly
affairs, Still, however, they cheered themselves
with the thought of a probable increase of income
for the ensuing year, and a certain diminution of
expenditure, as many expenses incurred in this
outfit would not take place again.

During that year Mr. Lucas died. This cir-
cumstance did not materially affect the present in-
terests of his successor either way, as a certain
SARRY'S PARENTAGE. 10

portion of the proceeds of the practice, which would
have gone to the old gentleman, was still to be
paid to his representatives. There was also the
trial whether any of his patients might desert his
successor. It proved that the young surgeon had
gained a high degree of confidence aad approba-
ticn with the friends of his predecessor, and that
his opening prospects were highly favourable and
encouraging. It only required the exercise of
strict and steady economy, especially in domesti¢e
affairs, to place him in a state of comfortable in-
dependence; that is, not in the possession of an
income without labour, bat such a remuneration
for his talents and labours, as should soon clear
off all his incambrances, and leave a sufficient in-
come for the comfortable maintenance of his family.
This was much, to be realized by a young man
who had begun life without property, yet Henry
had every reason to hope that it would be realized;
and so it might, but for the supineness and inex-
perience of her on whem devolved the management
of domestic affairs, The expenses of the family—
greatly aggravated by the extravagance and un-
faithfulness of servants—exceeded his income,
entirely disappointed the desires of the young
surgeon to begin discharging his debts with his
family, and even entailed on him fresh embarrase-
ments. About this time the father of Benjamin
20 HARRY'S PARENTAGE,

and Henry died. This was the occasion of an
affectionate though mournful family meeting. But
a cloud evidently brooded over the spirits of pdor
Henry. He was unhappy, because he was em-
barrassed in circumstances. He knew that he
ought to be able to support his widowed mother,
or at least to restore to her the provision that had
been actually made for her, but which had been
so kindly alienated with a view to his advance-
ment. His brother was now married, and had a
rising family of his own, and, perhaps, he needed
the money he had lent to help forward him; and
the sister was contemplating domestic engagements,
and, perhaps, was kept back from entering upon
them from the same cause. These things preyed
upon the spirits of the young man, and impaired
his health. His wife, with affectionate anxiety,
observed his depression, and was sincerely soli-
citous to remove the cause. She endeavoured to
curtail expenses, and to qualify herself for do-
mestic usefulness; and the effort was not in vain.
She soon detected the practices of an unfaithful
servant, and dismissed her, and endeavoured by
personal vigilance and activity to prevent a recur-
rence of the evil. She often had occasion to
‘lament her own mistakes and failures, and the
ignorance of which they were the result; but she
was daily gathering knowledge and experience for
HARRY'S PARENTAGE, a1

the guidance of her future conduct; and though
years probably would be spent in acquiring that
practical and judicious aptitude for domestic eco-
nomy which ought to be possessed by every young
woman before she attempts to fill the responsible
office of mistress of a family, it was a satisfaction to
herself and her husband to perceive that she was
making daily advances towards it. The close of
the second year witnessed a manifest improvement
in the affairs of the young couple. Several debts
incurred in the former year were paid off, and a
hope was entertained that, before another year had
elapsed, something would be returned to the family.

Henry and Maria often spoke with delight of
the happy period which, by economy and care,
under the blessing of God, they huped to reach,
when they should have paid every one their due,
and begin to requite the kindness of those who
had laboured and sacrificed so much to promote
their interests. But that happy period was never
to arrive. An all-wise Providence saw fit to blast
the cherished prospects of honest independence
and domestic comfort, by cutting off the life of
him who was the centre of both. Henry took a
severe cold, which issued in rapid consumption,
and he died about two months before the birth of
little Harry.

The mother of Harry and his sister had always
a2 HARRY's ‘PARENTAGE,

cherished a great respect for the family of tier huis-
band, but she had scarcely been introduced to
their personal acquaintance. Although, when
living in Mr. Bell’s family, she was within a few
miles of them, the style of living in the two families
‘was so very different, that it was not likely for
them to become acquainted. Besides, at that
time the attachment between Henry and Matia
was scarcely acknowledged between the parties
themselves, and, of course, not communicated to
others. On the occasion of their marriage, Henry
and Maria had paid a short visit ‘to the family, bul
so short that it merely served the purpose of am
affectionate introduction. All subsequent inter-
course had been carried on by letter. It was not
till the wife of Henry was brought into deep afflic-
tion, that she had any just idea of the worth of the
family with which she was connected.

When first the illness of Henry assumed a serious
character, change of air, and a visit to his native
spot, were proposed by his affectionate family; but
while he was able to crawl out and visit his pa-
tients, or even to converse with them at home, he
could not be induced to quit his post. He flattered
himself with the hope of recovery, and was chiefly
anxious that his practice should not suffer by his
absence. At this time his sister Hannah, though
she was on the point of matriage, and though she
HARRY'S PARENTAGE. 28

had heretofore never travelled half a dozen miles
from home, freely offered to defer her prospects
and surmount her timidity, and take a journey of
a hundred miles, to visit and take a share in nurses
ing her afflicted brother. This offer was thank-
fully accepted: her presence proved most sooth-
ing, and her services most valuable, in the house of
affliction.

Hannah had had some experience in attending
the sick; and, notwithstanding the cheerful hopes
of recovery still entertained by the sufferer him-
self, and joyfully encouraged by his affectionate
but inexperienced partner, to Hannah it was but
too evident that her beloved brother was hastening
to the tomb. She took an opportunity of come
municating her apprehensions to the medical gentle-
men who visited him, and requesting their candid
opinion of the case, which too fully confirmed: her
own gloomy forebodings. On her communicating
to her brother Benjamin the sad prospect, she ex-
pressed to him her earnest wish that poor Henry
could once more visit the home of his childhood,
and breathe his native air, even though it should
be there to breathe his last. She felt sure that the
society of his family would be most soothing to his
feelings, and might conduce, if anything could con-
duce, to his recovery. Besides, it was evident to
her that, in the present habitation and style of: liv
24 HARRY’S 1: ARENTAGE.

ing of the family, expenses were incurred without
resources to meet them: these, she thought, might
be greatly reduced without at all infringing on the
real comforts of the sufferer or his family; and yet,
still clinging to the bare possibility of his recovery,
she was unwilling to think of his taking such a
step as would amount to the relinquishment of his
practice. On receiving this painful communica-
tion, Benjamin resolved to consult the old master
of his brother, Mr. Bell, who had ever manifested
@ lively interest in his welfare. That gentleman
expressed a strong opinion that the journey should
be undertaken, as affording a last hope of benefit
to his health, and as bringing him to the embraces
of his family, and under the medical superintend-
ence of his early friend. In order to facilitate the
measure, Mr. Bell kindly offered his son, who tvas
now his competent assistant, to take charge of
Henry’s practice during his absence. This point
gained, all other matters were soon settled, and
Henry, accompanied by his sister, his wife, and his
child, returned by easy stages to the roof of his
widowed mother. For a short time the change
appeared to be beneficial, and hope revived; but
a relapse soon took place, and Henry sunk to an
early grave, leaving a destitute and disconsolate
widow, a helpless child, and the melancholy pros-
pect of a posthumous infant. Every member of
HARRY’S PARENTAGE. id

the family keenly felt the blow; the widowed par
rent seemed bowed down with stroke upon stroke,
and almost incapable of receiving or suggesting
consolation. Hannah, the tender and indefatigable
nurse of her beloved brother, who had sustained
labour and watching to a degree truly astonishing
to all around her, and even to herself, when the
excitement of hope and the call to exertion were
taken off, sunk into a state of alarming exhaustion,
and for many days kept alive the apprehensions of
those who loved her, as to the result. The young
widow bitterly bewailed her bereaved affections and
blighted prospects, and wept over her little one,
and shrunk from the superadded trial which yet
awaited her in her state of desolation, but seemed
as destitute of any notion of helping herself, ar
providing for her offspring, as the unconsciqus
babes themselves. At this juncture Benjamin—
the hardy and laborious, the enterprising and en-
during and persevering Benjamin—was the only
one who seemed capable of deliberating and acting.
He saw that all depended on him, and with judg-
ment and energy he set about the arrangement of
affairs. The widow sometimes feebly spoke of
going home; but her brother-in-law had sagacity
enough to perceive that the residence of her late
husband was na suitable home for her, Eyer with
his professional income, its expenses had been ber
¢
26 HARRY’S PARENTAGE.

yond their resources, and how could she carry it
on without any such income? The sooner the
house and the practice could be disposed of the
better—that was the first consideration. Ben-
jamin consulted Mr. Bell, and adopted the measures
he suggested for inviting the attention of profes-
sional gentlemen to the opening occasioned by the
death of Henry; and then, leaving the four help-
less females in the charge of his own active wife,
he took a journey, travelling in the least expensive
manner, to make the best arrangement he could of
the affairs of his brother. When this was done in
the most equitable and prudent manner possible,
there existed a deficiency of two hundred pounds,
due to the various creditors of his Jate brother.
The honest heart of Benjamin almost sunk within
him when he ascertained the distressing state of
affairs, and thought of the improbability that these
just claims should ever be liquidated. Hopeless,
however, as the prospect seemed, considering the
claims of his own family upon his exertions, and
the helpless character of his brother’s widow, he
yet resolved to try; “for,” said he to himself, “I
could not go to my grave in peace, if I thought
that dishonour rested on that of my brother. I
bless God that I am healthy and able for work;
and I am thankful too, that neither myself nor my
wife have any notion of its being necessary to live
HARRY’S PARENTAGE. 27

in a style that would consume all the produce of
our labours: no, we can save a trifle, and we can
spare a trifle too, to support the afflicted family of
my poor dear brother: while I have a loaf, they
shall not want half a one; and, though I cannot
bind myself as to time, I will not rest, nor allow
myself one unnecessary indulgence, till no man can
say that he has been a loser by my brother.” This
noble and generous resolution inspired him with
ardour, and bore him above the sorrowful feelings
that paralyzed the rest of the family. Benjamin
felt, and felt deeply, the loss of his beloved brother,
but he conquered his feelings, and suffered them
not to evaporate in useless tears, but cherished them
as the stimulus to active exertion. Having dis-
posed of the furniture and other property, to the
best advantage, he paid away the produce as far as
it would go, and received from each of the credi-
tors a legal discharge—still reserving in his own
mind the resolution, that every claim of equity, as
well as law, should be ultimately satisfied and ho-
noured. His business despatched, he hastened to
return to his labour and his family, and the accom-
plishment of his design,

Together with considerable strength of mind,
Benjamin possessed much tenderness of heart ; and
no effort was spared on his part to soothe the feele
ings of his bereaved relatives, while he steadily

~
98 HARRY'S PARENTAGE.

laboured for their present support, and devised
means for the future. Tranquillity was already in
some degree restored to the aged mother and to
Hannah, and both were already exerting them-
selves for the comfort of the family and the care
of the child. Nothing was to be expected from
the young widow, in her present situation; but
all concurred in endeavouring to rouse and en-
courage her to hope that, after her confinement,
some plan might be adopted to. render her talents
available for the support of her children. One
and another of her relatives would cheerfully say,
“When Maria gets about again, and opens her
school ;” and some kind-hearted neighbours gave
a word of encouragement to the design, by promis-
ing to intrust her with the instruction of their chil-
dren. Whether or not Maria seriously thought of
adopting such a measure, whenever it was alluded
to she burst into tears, and said she should never
survive her confinement, but should leave behind
her two destitute orphans. This was distressing
to the friends who were sa kindly exerting them-
selves on her behalf; however, they exercised the
utmost forbearance to her, and endeavoured to
encourage her hopes and direet her reliance to Him
who is the father of the fatherless, and the God of
the widow.
CHAPTER I.

UNCLE BENJAMIN'S PROJECTS—THE BIRTH OF
HARRY—FAMILY ARRANGEMENTS.

Uncte Benjamin was often casting in his mind
what means he could devise, in order to provide
for the maintenance of his brother’s family, and
the payment of his remaining debts. He had
undertaken the charge because he conscientiously
believed that Providence had called him to the
duty; and he humbly relied on that gracious
Being who never fails those who put their trust
in Him and endeavour to do his will, hoping that
some way would be opened for him to the accom-
plishment of his worthy design. Benjamin was
no visionary or enthusiast; he did not expect a
miracle to be wrought in his behalf; nor did he
indulge in any vain speculations—the possibility of
some rich person taking a fancy to the children
and providing for them—or of a fortune coming
to them by some strange and unaccountable
means. No; he acknowledged God in all his
c 2
30 UNCLE BENJAMIQ.5 PROJECTS, &c,

ways, and he humbly trusted that his path in the
way of well doing would he directed and prosper.
He expected to labour bard, and he was willing
to labour for the accomplishment of his object.
He felt conscious of being stimulated by integrity
and brotherly love; and, in the exercise of those
dispositions, he relied on the blessing of God to
crown his endeavours with success.

{t was not long after Benjamin had adopted the
eare of his brother’s family, that he was applied
to, to undertake the laying out of a rather exten-
sive pleasure garden, belonging to a gentleman
just come to settle in the neighbourhood. This
was a considerable, and likely to be a profitable
eoncern, and perhaps to lead to a permanent en-
gagement. As it came quite unexpectedly, and
just at the time that he was anxious about pro-
viding for the expenses then pressing upon
him, he immediately resolved to devote one half
of the entire profits to meet those expenses, and
to render the amount as high as possible, by his
own extra labour. Benjamin had never been.
@ loiterer; but he found that it was possible to
eke in a few minutes’ more work, by strictly
_economizing the hours of repose and the intervals
of labour; and the advantage resulting, exceeded
his expectations: it was not confined to his own
actual performances, but extended its influence to
UNCLE BENJAMIN'S ‘PROJECTS, &e. |

those of all whom he employed. When ‘it was
known that the master had already been ‘at ‘work
an hour before the men were required to assemble,
and that he redeemed time'from the allotted inter-
vals of labour, not a workmian could trespass a
minute on his appointed time. ‘The master’s
eye,” says the old proverb, ‘“‘is better than both
his hands;” and even Benjamin Dawson found
that his own extra industry and vigilance did
much to promote the industry and care of all hfs
people. Thus we often find, that while endeavour-
ing to do good to others, we in reality promote
our own interest. The work proceeded rapidly;
the grounds were laid out much to the taste of
the owner, and the account liberally and promptly
settled, much to the satisfaction of Mr. Dawson,
who found himself prepared, beyond his expecta-
tions, to meet the additional claims which his
benevolence and brotherly kindness had brought
upon him.

Some years before the estate which Benjamin
Dawson had been employed in laying out, came
into the possession of its present proprietor, the
turnpike road having been altered in its course,
in order to wind more gradually down a steep
hill, had been carried just through the edge of the
grounds, and had cut off a small piece of about
an acre, or rather more, of an irregularly’ triatt
32 UNCLE BENJAMIN'S PROJECTS, &C.

gular form. This piece of land, though it still
belonged to the estate, had been entirely neglected,
and was regarded as almost worthless. No bound-
ary hedge separated it from the public road. Its
scanty produce was common to the pedlar’s ill-fed
ass or horse. There the itinerant tinker pitched
his caravan; and there a group of gipsies set up
their tent and hung their caldron, without molest-
ation. The new proprietor was, perhaps, uncon-
scious that it belonged to him, until it was pointed
out to him by Benjamin, whose father had been
engaged in altering the road, and had often ex-
pressed regret, that that bit of land should be
suffered to run to waste. It was now so over-
grown with thistles and covered with rubbish, that
the owner regarded it as not worth the cost of
cultivation. He was the more indifferent to it,
from having enclosed the rest of the estate witha
modern and substantial fence, and one which would
have been unsuitable to so small a piece of ground
as that in question; and, as his plan was completed
within that fence, he considered the strip on the
other side of the road as really not worth his
notice. Such, however, was Benjamin’s habit of
making the best of everything, that he could not
rest from attempts to suggest to the owner some
plan of turning the neglected bit to good account.
At length the gentleman said to him, that if he
UNCLE BENJAMIN’s PROJECTS, &c. 33

thought it worth cultivating, he was very welcome
to it, and actually made it over to him as freehold
property. Benjamin was not a little pleased with
his newly acquired possession; but such was his
generous nature, that whatever he possessed de-
rived its chief value, in his esteem, from its afford-
ing him the means of benefiting or gratifying
others. When casting in his mind what to do
with his little estate, he resolved to contrive some
way of rendering it ornamental to the adjoining
property of his benefactor. With this he wished
to combine some mode of employing it, so as to
render it valuable to the dependent objects of his
charge at some future day. “I am now able to
work,” thought he, “and, happily, my wife is the
same, and we both love work; and, while health
and strength are afforded to us, we have little fear
as to providing comfortably for our family. And
my poor brother's widow—we do not expect to
see her, who was brought up a lady, work as we
do; but she is capable of gaining a livelihood tor
her children in her own genteeler way; and when
she gets about again, as we trust in the goodness
of God she will, we must endeavour to rouse her
to exert herself; and, if the children live to grow
up, we must teach them also to be industrious,
and provide for themselves; but if we should be
taken from them, it would be a greatcomfort to
x UNCLE BENJAMIN’s PRosrcts, &o,

leave something for them to look to, to set them
going in life.”

At the time that these cogitations occupied the
mind of Benjamin Dawson, he had no capital to
spare. All the savings of his youth had been be«
stowed either on the advancement of his departed
brother, or on the purchase and stocking of his own
garden. He could not afford any outlay beyond
that of labour on his little new allotment; besides,
its awkward shape, and exposed situation, ren-
dered it unsuitable for enclosure and high cultiva-
tion. He resolved merely to hedge in the bit
with quicksets, and prepare it for the insertion of
some poplar twigs, as being easily procured at first,
requiring little subsequent attention, and, from their

rapid growth, becoming at no very distant period
valuable and available.

The long neglected bit of land had been dug
up, and cleared of stones, and the hedge was
already planted, when the gipsy band in their
eircuit reached the old spot of their encampment,
and found, to their utter astonishment, that it was
appropriated as private property. Next morning
the hedge was found completely rooted up. This,
it may be supposed, was a matter of no small
vexation to the industrious Benjamin. However,
nothing discouraged, he again planted his hedge,
and, by dealing with the transgressors in a spirit of
UNCLE BENJAMIN'S PROJECTS, &c. &

mingled firmness and forbearance, he established
himself in the quiet possession of his right; and,
on the very day that little Harry was born, the
bit was planted by his uncle Benjamin with one
thousand poplar slips, placed at such a distance
from each other as to allow for the future growth
of the trees; and the well-dug ground was sown
with clover and grass seeds. When Uncle came
home from a hard day’s work, his wife met him at
the door, and informed him of the arrival of the
little stranger; and Uncle directly said, that the
ground he had planted should be called Little
Henry’s Poplar Grove.

The little boy’s mother, instead of sinking, as
she had anticipated, was quite as well as her si-
tuation would admit; and although she could not
but feel keenly when she looked on the face of her
fatherless boy, gratitude and hope prevailed over
grief and despondency, and she admitted that she
had still something worth living for, and might
even hope to enjoy some portion of happiness in
the caresses of her children, and the kindness of
her friends. To avoid all unnecessary expense on
this occasion, the young widow and her little one
were attended to by the kind-hearted females of
the family; and, under their simple but careful
management, the mother recovered her strength
more rapidly, and the babe was more thriving and
36 UNCLE BENJAMIN’S PROJECTS, &c,

robust, than had been the case on a former occas
sion, under the more artificial system of a professed
town nurse.

Uncle Benjamin was much pleased with his
litle nephew; for, though he had three children
of his own, of whom he was very fond, they were
all girls. This, perhaps, made him take more
notice of the babe, than men in general take even
of their own children when quite little. Every
time he came in to his meals he inquired after the
baby, and sometimes would take him in his arms
for half-an-hour together, and teach his own little
girls to notice him also. Indeed, everybody in
the house was fond of little Henry. His own
mother and his grandmother delighted to look at
him, and fancy a resemblance to his dear departed
father. His two aunts were pleased to see him
so thriving and healthy under their care; and all
the four little girls were taught to cherish tender-
ness and fondness for the little baby. Nothing
more tends to endear any person to us, or to give
us pleasure in them, than the consciousness that
we are endeavouring to do them good. Every
one in that kind household indulged this overflow-
ing of benevolent pleasure in little Henry.

It was the latter end of October when little
Henry was born. As his mother recovered her
strength, she endeavoured to make herself useful
UNCLE BENJAMIN'S PROJECTS, &Xe. 34

ia the family, by teaching her eldest niece to read
and sew; and in the long winter evenings, when
her baby was asleep, she employed herself in
needle-work for all the 1amily. She wished that
it had been in her power to do more in return for
all their kindness. Her good-will was kindly ac~
cepted, and her ingenuity highly praised; and she
found that her griefs were soothed, and her happi-+
ness greatly promoted, by every effort that could
testify the gratitude, and contribute to the comfort
of her friends. A person who is active and useful
cannot, in any circumstances, be absolutely un.
happy. Still the young widow felt that hersel
and her babes were living in dependence on others
and she wished, but she saw no way in which she
could herself earn their maintenance.

Sometimes she thought of again going out aa
governess in a private family, or assistant in a
school; but, in order to this, she must part with
her children, which she was very loth to do, and
she knew not whether either of her sisters would
be inclined to take the charge of them. She saw
the domestic activity and adaptation for useful
pursuits possessed by those around her; she thought
in how many ways they were capable of support+
ing themselves; and she sincerely lamented that, in
the days of her youth, her attention had been con-
Gned to one object—useful, indeed and honourable,

D
$8 UNCLE BENJAMIN'S PROJECTS, &c.

but, when standing alone, leaving a sad chasm in
the circie of female accomplishments. The trutn—
painfully realized by Maria, and by many others
brought like her into family relations and shat-
tered circumstances, is too frequently overlooked
by young females, when acquiring or exercising
the qualifications of a governess—that, however lu-
crative and respectable that pursuit, itcan form no
substitute for, it cught never to be set in rivalry
vith, domestic knowledge and experience. The
bousehold circle is ~woman’s proper sphere; honse-
hold duties are he. proper business. If intel-
ligently apt in there, though in other respects
comparatively uneducated, she possesses the capa-
bility of adapting herself to circumstances, what-
ever they may be. If, as in Maria’s married life,
#se is required to keep up genteel appearances
upon a narrow income, she knows how to combine
taste with economy. Ii, like the widowed Maria,
she finds herself*thrown upon her own resources,
perhaps with several little helpless beings de-
pendent upon her, she can turn to one kind of
employment and another, and render herself so
aseful as almost infallibly to secure her being con-
stantly and profitably employed. It seldom falls
to the lot of a thoroughly industrious and notion-
*ble woman, to be long destitute of employment.
This valuable aptitude Maria Dawson was just
UNCLE BENJAMIN’s PROJECTS, &c. 39

beginning to acquire, when thrown into circum-
stances that painfully taught her its indispensable
necessity. Many a bitter tear did Maria shed
over her own ignorance and helplessness, when
she saw how handily those valuable women by
whom she was surrounded, turned from one useful
toil to another, as occasion required ; and, often with
seeming unconsciousness of skill or effort, did
those things for her or her children, which she
had been accustomed to consider as the sole pro-
vince of expensive hirelings. The example of her
mother and sisters taught her the value and com
fort of knowing how to help one’s self, and render
ing our services desirable to others.

It is a very common fault for persons to over-
value themselves, and to despise others—to think
that the things which they can do well, are the
only things of importance and value, and to look
with contempt on those who cannot do just the
same, as if they were altogether ignorant and use-
less. This is much the case with some notable
housewives. But it was not so with the females
of the Dawson family. They quietly pursued
their own employments without ostentation, and,
cheerfully acknowledging the superiority of their
young relative in other particulars, treated her
with candour, respect, and delicacy, honouring
her for what she possessed, and bearing with her
“0 UNCLE BENJAMIN'S PROJECTS, &e.

in what she was deficient. Thus mutual harmony
Was preserved, mutual affection was strengthened,
and mutual improvement promoted; for, without
any haughty dictatorial lessons on either side, the
young widow was almost insensibly diffusing
through the family circle a degree of intellectual
improvement and cultivation of manners unknown
before, while, at the same time, she was daily in-
creasing her own scanty stock of useful practical
knowledge. It was a source of pleasure to Maria
to find herself becoming less and less burdensome
to others, in point of personal attentions; for she
had learned to make her own bed, and prepare the
food for the little one, and to assist in getting the
family meals, and in the business of the laundry.
Still, however, the anxious thought returned,
“But Iam doing nothing towards my own sup-
port, and that of my children. Must I always
live in disgraceful dependence on the bounty of
my friends? Surely the humblest employment
would be honourable, by which I could, in any
degree, relieve them of the burden.” She resolved
to make an effort, and inquired for employment in
fine needlework, in which she was a proficient,
She obtained a little encouragement in this way,
and felt a lively pleasure in contributing even 3
few shillings towards the general etock. The
principle which dictated this effort was duly ap-
UNCLE BENJAMIN'S PROJECTS, &ce 41

preciated. It was, however, the general opinion
of the family, that the talents of young Mrs
Dawson might be more suitably and properly de-
voted to the work of education—that there was
really an opening in the neighbourhood for a
school, and that the effort might be made on a
humble scale, without involving any serious risk.
Christmas was now approaching—the time fixed
for Hannah’s marriage. She had wished her
mother to reside with her, but the old lady waa
unwilling to leave the long-loved home, endeared
to her by the tender recollections of more than
forty years. When first it had been proposed to
her by her son Benjamin, that she should receive
the young widow and her little ones, to occupy a
part of her house, she had felt an almost equal re-
luctance, from an idea that the fine lady habits of
her daughter-in-law would interfere with the re-
gularity and quietness to which she had been ac-
customed. But Maria’s amiable disposition, con-
formable manners, and desire to improve and to
render herself agreeable and useful, had so won
upon her affections and esteem, that she declared
herself quite willing to admit the afflicted family
to share her habitation, and to promote, as far as
she was able, the mother’s attempt to gain a live-
lihood. This matter could not have been pressed
upon the venerable parent; but, being her own
D2
42 UNCLE BENJAMINS PROJECTS, &e,

proposal, it was embraced with equal satisfaction
by her own children and by the widow, who not
only gratefully availed herself of the opportunity
to make her effort, but also hoped to be able to
testify her gratitude by attention to the comfort of
her venerated relative, when deprived of the solace
of her own daughter's society.

A short deliberation matured the plan suffi-
ciently to warrant the announcement, that after the
Christmas holidays, it was the intention of Mrs. H.
Dawson to undertake the education of a few young
ladies, on moderate terms. While this announce-
ment was operating in the neighbourhood, and
eliciting applications and promises of support, and
while Maria was assiduously improving every mo-
ment of freedom from the charge of her little one,
in assisting to prepare articles of apparel and house-
hold linen for the approaching wedding, Benjamin
—the indefatigable Benjamin—found time to effect
the little arrangements in the cottage, preparatory
to its being occupied as a school, The large
family living-room he whitewashed and coloured,
and furnished with forms for a school-room; an
inferior sort of kitchen, fitted up with a modern
grate and a few other conveniences, was made suit-
able for carrying on the little culinary preparations
of the family; and the small back parlour, neatly
and tastefully arranged with the best of the furni-
UNCLE BENJAMIN's PROJECTS, &c. 23

ture, and a few drawings and other ornaments of
Maria’s work in by-gone days, was reserved for
the reception of visitors, and for the occupation of
the family. When the engagements of the day
were over, a very large bed-room, with a fire-place,
and arranged with every possible attention to com»
fort, formed a retreat for the old lady, whenever she
might wish to be free from the prattle of her grand-
children. A similar apartment formed the bed-
chamber and nursery of the young widow and her
babes. An attic, not required by the present in-
mates of the cottage, afforded a useful addition to
the adjoining dwelling of Uncle Benjamin, who,
with his increasing family, required an additional
bed-room, and opened a way of access to it.

All arrangements completed, the marriage of
Hannah Dawson took place as proposed, and in
the month of January, when little Henry was three
months old, his mother opened her school with
two little nieces, and four other pupils rather more
advanced in age. Though the number was so
small, the widow found her time fully occupied,
and that it required the exercise of much fore-
thought and good management, to render the ine
tervals of school-keeping sufficient for the dis-
charge of her other duties. But she found that,
with full employment, her spirits and strength
were renewed in an unwonted degree. She expes
44 UNCLE BENJAMIN'S PROJECTS, &c.

rienced that elasticity of mind and habit which can
adapt itself to almost any extent of labour re-
quired. She rose early, prepared breakfast, dressed
her children, cleared the chambers, supplied what
was requisite for dinner, and was ready at nine
o'clock to receive her pupils. During school hours
the little ones were committed to the care of the
grandmother, whose attention was often relieved
by the assistance of her daughter-in-law at the next
door. With that kind-hearted woman, a few
minutes’ leisure from attending domestic duties,
was always a signal for running in to see if she
could render any help with the children, or in the
kitchen at the next door, and so spare unnecessary
anziety to the young mother, and unnecessary
fatigue to the aged one. Frequently, when the
widow expected some laborious affair to occupy
the interval of school, she was surprised to find it
already performed by her kind sister-in-law, and
leisure secured for her to devote herself to the
comfort of her babes. In the evenings both fami-
lies usually met, and were frequently joined by
Hannah and her husband, who lived at no great
distance. A game of play with father and uncle
was looked to as the regular evening treat of the
four little girls; and, when they were gone to bed,
the kind-hearted man generally nursed little
Harry, while the younger females pursued their
UNCLE BENJAMIN'S PROJECTS, &c. 45

needlework, and the venerable mother her knitting.
Before the close of the first quarter, Mrs. Dawson,
through the influence of her old friends, Mr. and
Mrs. Bell, and that of the satisfied parents of her
first pupils, received applications which increased
her number to more than a dozen, and afforded
encouraging hope that she would experience thw
fulfilment of that most delightful temporal bless
ing, “Her hands being sufficient for her
(Deut. xxxiii. 7~
CHAPTER III.
THE POPLAR GROVE:

Bur, all this time, what has become of the popfar
grove? The reader may rest assured it was not
forgotten or neglected by Uncle Benjamin; but
when once things are planted, winter is not the
season in which much can be done for them in the
way of culture. The season was mild and moder-
ately wet, which was favourable to the striking of
the twigs, and caused the grass to spring freely be~
fore the frosts came on. When Uncle had the litéle
boy on his knee, whether his words were adapted
to a cheerful ditty or a soothing lullaby, they almost
always turned upon a promise, “ When spring
comes, Harry shall go and see his poplar grove ;”
or, “ Harry shall toss the hay in his poplar grove.”
So early were his infant ears made familiar with
the burdan of his uncle’s song, that if even he was
fretful, his mother or his grandmother quieted him
by saying, “‘ When is Uncle Benjamin to come home
FER POPLAR GROVE. “a

and tell the baby about his poplar grove?” But
Henry was not a fretful baby. He was natutally
of a healthy constitution, and he was judicioust,
managed ; all his real wants were kindly and atten-
tively supplied, and his innocent wishes gratifie? ,
but he was not spoiled by false indulgence, o: saf-
fered to gain a point by self-will and ill-humour.
This is the way to make children really happy, and
happy children do not torment those around them
with their fretfulness. With a very few exceptions,
just when he was cutting his teeth, or suffering
from the ordinary diseases of childhood, Henry
was always seen with a smile on his countenance;
and, at any time, his uncle could make him laugh
heartily, by talking about the poplar grove.
Through the winter, Mrs. Dawson kept the
little boy pretty much in-doors, for she remem-
bered that his poor dear father used to say, that
while babies were young and tender, they ought
not to be exposed to keen air or damp; so she
contented herself with carrying him a few minutes
before the house on mild days, and when the sua
was out; but as the spring advanced, and the days
lengthened, she began to think of giving him air
more freely; and as Uncle often expressed a wish
for the child to be taken as far as the poplar grove,
one fine day at the latter end of March, when the
little scholars had a half-holiday, the two mothers,
48 THE POPLAR GROVER

with their five children, walked there. They found
nothing particular to see. The poplars as yet
looked nothing more than mere sticks, and the
young grass had not yet recovered its verdure.
The acre was but an irregular piece of ground,
neatly hedged in, with a rustic gate by which to
enter, and regularly planted with twigs, which as
yet, to an unpractised eye, presented no appear-
ance of vegetation. It was rather in friendly
sympathy than with real interest, that the mothers
listened to Uncle Benjamin’s remarks on the pro-
mising appearances of most of the twigs, and his
apprehensions that a few had failed to strike; and,
as to the older children, they were most gratified
with a slice of plain cake, which the provident
mother had brought, and for which their walk had
given them a good appetite.

The violets and primroses also, which they found
.in the hedges on their way home, were much more
delightful to them than anything the poplar grove
at present afforded; and, for several weeks, when
the little girls begged for a walk with their mothers
or aunt, it was to go to the violet or primrose
hedge, but no mention was made of the poplar
grove. It seemed to be only with Uncle Benjamin
that that was an object of attraction; and, from his
evening talk with little Harry, it was pretty plain
that he rarely passed a day without visiting it.
THE POPLAR GROVE. 20

Weeks rolled on, and the pleasant month of
May arrived. Uncle Benjamin spoke with plea-
sure of the progress of his plantation, and said he
must now begin to keep an account of its produce.
Little Harry’s mother and aunt smiled when they
actually saw a small account-book produced, and
headed “ Benjamin Dawson in account with Henry
Dawson, for Poplar Grove.” They could not
imagine in what way it could become a source of
profit, at least for many years to come, and thought
the entries in the book would be very few and far
between; but the good old grandmother better un-
derstood her son. She knew he was not a man to
make a parade about nothing, and she doubted not
that he had some well laid plan in view, by which
he hoped to fulfil all the expectations excited by
his lively interest in the poplar grove.

The Midsummer holidays commenced. The
school had now increased to fifteen scholars, of
different ages, and appointed by their parents to
a very different style of education. Some desired
that the attention of their children should be
confined to plain English and needlework; some
wished theirs to learn whatever Mrs. Dawson could
undertake to teach; and some were wise enough
to consider, and consult the governess as to the
capabilities of their children; the acquirements
most suitable to the sphere in which they were

3
50 THE POPLAR GROVE.

likely to move, and the several pursuits that
were practicable in the time allotted for educa-
tion. Hitherto, in her educational labours, the
governess had been accustomed to confine her
attention to two or three young ladies of equal
station in life, and of similar pursuits, except as
they were more or less advanced, according: to
their ages; and she now felt some difficulty in
conforming herself to the various wishes of parents,
and the various capabilities of a larger number of
children. Had she commenced the undertaking
when unconnected and independent, she would,
probably, soon have given it up in disgust; but
now, integrity, gratitude, maternal affection, and
conjugal recollections, concurred in inducing her
to persevere, and patiently conform herself to cher
circumstances, and surmount the difficulties that
lay in her path. In the commencement of the
half-year, she had suffered much from the irksome-
ness of her new duties, and depressing appprehen-
sions of failure. But she felt an honest deter-
mination to strive to the utmost; and, in so doing,
sne realized the fulfilment of the gracious promise,
“ As thy days, so shall thy strength be.” (Deut.
xxxiii, 25.) As she advanced, she found herself
gradually assimilated to her duties, and her diffi-
culties cleared off, like mists before the sun, when
he goes forth in his strength; and, by the close of
THE POPLAR GROVE. 81

the first half-year, she found real enjoyment in
adapting her instructions to the various capacities
of her pupils, and witnessing their improvement;
then with a new zest she returned, during the
intervals of school engagements, to the caresses
of ber babes and the society of her relatives, en-
joying both with a double sweetness, arising from
the consciousness that she had been exerting here
self for the support of the former, and proving
herself not unworthily encroaching upon the
generosity of the latter. It was with a light and
gladsome heart that she received the payment of
her bills, accompanied with expressions of appro~
bation on the part of the parents. Time was,
when, if a few pounds had come in thus, she
would have considered it a reason for making
some expensive purchase of clothing or furniture;
but in the school of affliction she had learnt many
a lesson of prudence and humility; and now she
thought only of applying it, in part of payment,
for the liberal, but not superfluous provision,
which she and her children had been enjoying.
With bounding gratitude and lively pleasure the
widow produced her purse and laid its contents
before Uncle Benjamin, whom she considered justly
entitled to the whole. ‘“‘ Stay, stay,” said Uncle,
“let us have a proper reckoning, and clear as we
go; there is something to settle with sister Han»
62 THE POPLAR GROVE,

nah, and something with little Harry; I should
like for us all to meet at the poplar grove, and
have it out there. I think you will see some im-
‘provement since your last visit.”

By the desire of her husband, Mrs, Dawson pre-
pared a plain cake, and put up a basket of cher-
ries and strawberries. The cart was nicely cleaned
out, and lined with fresh straw; and, by the per-
suasion of her son, old Mrs. Dawson was induced
to join the party. The daughter-in-law, who had
often driven the cart to market, undertook to drive
on this occasion, as old Ball knew her pace, and
would be sure to go steadily, and take his time,
which would be most agreeable to the old lady.
Accordingly the three Mrs. Dawsons, with little
Harry, proceeded in the vehicle. Aunt Hannah
walked with the four little girls, who, though they
stopped to gather wild nosegays and wood straw-
berries, reached the grove almost as soon as the
rest of the party. Benjamin was there to receive
them. He conducted them to a rustic seat which
he had placed in that corner of the acre farthest
from the public road. Over the seat was trained
a pleasant arbour of woodbines, hedge roses, and
wild clematis. Being placed on an eminence, it
commanded a delightful view of the surrounding
country;—near at hand, the tastefully arranged

gardens and grounds, on which neither mother,
53 THE POPLAR GROVE,

nor wife, nor sister, could look with indifferenes,
while recollecting that they were laid out by “ our
Benjamin.” The more remote view presented an
agreeable variety of wood and valley, pasture and
eorn field, with the winding river here and there
pearing, and again concealed by some interven-
wg object. The village spire peeping above the
trees, and a few scattered dwellings around, jus’
served to enliven the scene, without at all de
priving it of its rural character. The matrons
being in general pretty closely confined by do-
mestic cares, and little accustomed to range so fat
from home, were enraptured with the scene. The
children expressed no less lively delight in the
spot immediately under their eye. The fragrant
arbour, the lively green carpet bestudded with
buttercups and daisies, a fine peacock butterfly
settling on the hedge, and some beautifully striped
snails, severally attracted the admiration of the
little girls; while Henry crowed aloud with de-
tight, and almost sprang out of his mother’s arms,
at sight of some sheep and lambs who were quietly
browsing the herbage, or frisking about in happy
sportiveness. No one noticed the plantation, til!
Uncle Benjamin, to whom it was an object a
lively interest, having a while indulged the little
boy in playing with the sheep, said to him, “ Now,
Harry, let us see how the poplars grow.” ‘Th
22
THE POPLAR GROVE. re

hint was quickly taken, probably not without
feelings of regret in the kind-hearted women, that
they had not earlier discovered sympathy in ‘“ dear
Benjamin's hobby.” All, however, including the
venerable parent, proceeded up and down the
rows, while Uncle Benjamin, with little Harry in
his arms, pointed out the “fine strong shoots,”
and “ beautiful heads,” and “fine stems” of the
trees; and, as the result of his examination, ex-
ultingly declared there was not one of the thousand
bot had evidently struck. He had set in a few
extra twigs in case of failure, but he found he
might transplant them all, and leave the thousand
complete. ,

“Father,” asked Benjamin’s eldest girl, ‘‘do
poplars bear fruit ?”

Her father replied, that they did not bear any
fruit that was eatable.

“Then are they of no use, father? and only
planted to look pretty ?”

* Yes, Jane,” replied her father, ‘‘ the branches
will make good fagots for burning, and the stem
of the tree is useful as timber, for many purposes
in which height and straightness are more required
than strength and durability.”

“How long will it be, father,” asked Jane,
“before they come to be of use for timber ?”

“They may be cut when they have had between
THE POPLAR GROVE. ss

twenty and thirty years’ growth. Indeed, I sup-~
pose the wood is better then, than at a later
period.”

“Twenty or thirty years!” exclaimed Jane,
“how very long to wait before they come to be of
use. The apple, and pear, and cherry trees, are
of use every year. I think little Harry, when he
is old enough to know, would have Nked fruit
trees better than poplars.”

“But I do not think they would have answered
so well here, Jane. It would be almost like plant-
ing them on the public road. There would not
be much fruit left for the owners to gather.”

“Then Harry will be quite a man grown befors
he gets anything from his poplar grove?”

“ Not quite, Jane. The lower branches will be
trimmed fer fagots when the trees are seven years
old; besides, there is something coming in from it
even now.”

Uncle Benjamin took out his little account~
book, and read—

* Received for one score sheep and lambs, four
weeks, at 5s. per week, 1/.”

“ There,” said he, “laying down a one pound
note, this is little Harry's first possession—the
first produce of his poplar acre. There is another
week already due, and the sheep will remain two,
56 THE POPLAR GROVE.

or, perhaps, three weeks longer; after that the
grass will be left to grow for a latter crop of hay.
So there is some produce even for the first year.”
_ Qh yes, father!” replied Jane, “I am so glad
for this to belong to poor little Harry. I knew
you would manage very nicely for him; only I
thought he would like fruit best. But what will
be done with Harry’s money?”

Uncle Benjamin inquired whether Harry was in
want of clothes. His mother replied he was not;
for, having had plenty of new good clothes for her
little girl, they would do for Harry after her, until
he was as old, or older, than his sister then was.
She did not think he would need to have clothes
bought for him, until he was old enough to wear
trowsers; and even then (the poor widow's voice
faltered as she said it, and a tear started in her
eye) she had by her some that would do to cut up.

“ Then,” said Uncle Benjamin, “ if Harry has
no wants at present, his money shall be put to
nurse in the Savings Bank, in order that it may
be kept safely, and that it may grow to a larger
sum, against the expenses of his education. My
wish is so to manage Harry’s poplar grove, as to
auswer three good purposes. First, to assist in
furnishing the means of giving him a good educa-
tion; second, to teach him how to acquire and
THE POPLAR GROVE. "7

how to use property; and third, to form a fund
for setting him up in whatever line of business he
may incline to, and be qualified for. If it answers
these ends, I am sure Squire Hammond's gift will
not have been wasted.”

“No, brother,” replied Harry’s mother, “nor
yet all your labour and kindness. I hope if
Harry’s life is spared, he will prove a grateful boy-
Dear babe! he little thinks what would have be-
come of him, and his poor mother and sister, but
for your kindness, and that of all their friends. Oh
brother, I wish it may ever be in my power in any
way to requite you; but it never, never will.”
The poor woman sobbed as she spoke.

“Yes, sister,” said Mrs. Dawson, kindly taking
her hand, “ you have made us amefids already in
the pains you have taken with our children. See
how these little girls are improved since you came
among us.”

“Yes,” added Aunt Hannah (now Mrs. Price,)
“and you requite all we have ever done for you,
by your kind attention to our dear mother. As I
often say to my husband, if it had not been for
your coming, to be a comfort to mother, I never
could have had the heart to leave her; and she
was not willing to leave the old place, and come:
and live with me.”
&8 THE POPLAR GROVE,

“ Yes,” said Uncle Benjamin, “and you amply
reward all that has been done, or can be done foi
you by the family, in so honourably conforming
yourself to circumstances, exerting yourself so
determinately in endeavours to support the children
of our beloved brother, and in making yourself
happy and contented in a way of living so different
from what you have been accustomed to. You
teach us all how very much our happiness is in
our own power.”

“Yes, my dear children,” interposed the good
old lady, ‘“‘and the happiness of all around us.
Domestic happiness, more than anything, consists
in a mutual desire to serve and please; and, for
the happiness of a parent, I am sure I can answer
that nothing promotes it so much, as to see a whole
family living in harmony and affection, striving
together in love, and having but one interest
among them; and that happy parent am I. How
Yichly are the blessings of Heaven scattered on
my closing days, that I should be blessed with
such a family of dutiful and affectionate children,
and surrounded with every comfort that I could
desire! But why should I speak only of my
closing days? ‘Surely goodness and mercy have
followed me all my days; and I will dwell in the
house of the Lord for ever.’” (Psalm xxiii. 6.)

%
THE POPLAR GROVE. 89

“Dear mother,” said the young widow, “how-
ever kindly you may all endeavour to lighten my
obligations, and magnify my little services, there
is one privilege which I am daily receiving at your
hands, which I can never, never repay. It is that of
witnessing your pious example, and learning from
you to trust the promises of God, and to take
them for the heritage of my heart forever. Oh what
new beauties have I daily discovered in the sacred
page! what rich consolations and supports have I
daily derived from it, since the day I lost my be-
loved husband!—the day on which you said to me,
when we mingled our tears over his precious clay,
*My dear child, God has this day made you
heiress to promises more numerous and rich, than
are addressed to any other particular condition
whatever. He said to your dying husband,
Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve
them alive; and let thy widow trust in me.
(Jer. xlix. 11.) And now he says to you, A father
of the fatherless, and judge of the widows, is God
in his holy habitation.’ (Psal. xviii. 5.) It was
not in the time of prosperity that I learned the
value and sweetness of the book of God, but when
I was brought into deep affliction, and witnessed
the supports which it afforded to those who shared
my afflictions, and assisted me in bearing them;
THE POPLAR GROVE.

and now I have, indeed, learned by experience,
‘that the word of the Lord is true and faithful. In
all the kindness which you all have manifested to
me, and to my fatherless children, and in the un-
looked-for success which has attended my own
humble endeavours, I see the promises of God
fulfilled ; and I willsay to my children, as they be-
come capable of learning, ‘ O taste and see that God
is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in Him.
Come, ye children, hearken unto me: I will teach
you the fear of the Lord.’ ” (Psal. xxxiv. 8—11.)
“Yes, and you must help us to teach our
children the same; for if they all grow up in the
fear of the Lord, we shall continue to be a happy
family, as ours has been in past generations.”
The little party joined in singing the 146th
Psalm; and, having partaken of their simple re-
freshments, returned home, hoping that they might
be permitted to spend many happy evenings in the
poplar grove. The proceeds of Mrs. Dawson’s
school was then applied agreeably to her honest
wish. Uncle Benjamin knew that his sister, Mrs.
Price, had been at some expenses on the first ar-
rival of the widow and her children. The school
forms also had been made by Price; and, although
the whole sum was not equivalent to his own ex-
penses, he insisted upon its being shared. Accord-
THE POPLAR GROVE. 6h

ingly, one-third was given to Mra, Price, on. her
awn account; one-third towards payment for the
forms; and the remaining third towards rent and
household expenses. The widow proposed that
Henry's money should be added to the sum thus
appropriated; but the friendly creditors protested
against such a measure, and concurred in declaring,
that every penny should be sacredly reserved for
and accounted of to him, when he should become
capable of understanding it—expressing a confi-
dent hope that he would then be disposed to act on
the principles of equity, gratitude, and generosity.

Next morning Henry’s name was entered as a
depositor in the Savings Bank. A fortnight after-
wards, fifteen shillings were added to the original
pound; and then the sheep were turned off and the
grass left to grow.

At the close of the summer vacation, several
new pupils were added to Mrs. Dawson’s school:
indeed, her number was increased to as many as
her school-room could conveniently receive, or as
she could attend to without assistance. From that
time she had no farther occasion to advertise her
school, or solicit support. The children, once
placed under her care, were almost invariably left
to continue with her; and in most of the families
there were younger children to keep up the succes
62 THE POPLAR GROVE.

sion. She had now the encouraging consciousness
of being fully employed in a way most congenial
to her own preferences and capabilities, and which
was at once highly beneficial to others, and a
comfortable source of provision for herself and her
children. She was able to take an equal share in
the expenses of the household, and had the satis-
faction of feeling that she was no longer living as
a burden on the family.
CHAPTER IV.
SMALL BEGINNINGS.

A ute before Michaelmas, Uncle Benjamin said
it was time to mow the grass, and proposed that,
on the half-holiday, the family party should go and
assist in the hay-making, as it was not likely they
would be able again to visit the poplar grove before
winter.

The old lady on this occasion begged to be ex-
cused; and Mrs. Price, not being very well able to
bear so fatiguing a walk, proposed to spend a quiet
afternoon with her beloved mother. On account
of the shortening days, and the necessity of being
at home considerably earlier than on the former
occasion, instead of Uncle Benjamin coming home
to dinner, the mothers and children started imme-
diately that morning school was over, and took
with them some cold meat for his dinner and their
own. The repast was much enjoyed in the rustic
arbour; and then they all went busily to work to
tossing about the hay, in which little Harry dis-
covered energy and delight, not exceeded by any
64 SMALL BEGINNINGS,

of the party. Harry could not quite run alone,
but he crawled and rolled about almost as quickly
as his cousins could run, and threw about the hay
with eager and lively pleasure. The hay was ready
for carrying home that evening; and, when the
waggon was loaded, Uncle Benjamin offered to treat
the children with a ride on the top. It required
a strong exercise of confidence for the mothers to
intrust their little ones to mount the giddy eleva-
tion; but it was Benjamin who took charge of
them, and Benjamin was always to be trusted. In
this both mothers agreed. ‘‘ Especially,” added the
subject of the compliment, ** when he is trusted to
take care of his own.” So saying he seated the
little girls close round him on the soft and fragrant
cushion, and, taking little Harry in his arms, away
they rode in high glee, and reached home in safety.

That evening Harry’s account-book was brought
out, and an entry made of—

“Paid Robert Stokes for mowing £ 3. d.
the acre. . + . + + 0 6

“Hire of waggon for carrying
home hay . . . . +. 0 5 O

i)



And on the other side—

“ Three and a quarter tons of hay,
at 81.58. perton. . . . 1011 8’
SMALL BEGINNINGS, 65

The balance of 102. 3s. 9d. Uncle Benjamin laid
on the table, and asked Harry’s mother if he had
any wants. ‘*No,” she replied, “he was well
provided for at present.” The little boy put out
his hands for the money. His mother, to please
him, set a half-crown spinning. ‘It seems a
trifle, sister,” said Uncle Benjamin, “but I never
like to let children play with money. I wish you
would either put it away yourself, or give it to me,
if it is to be put in the Savings Bank.” “ Certainly
I will,” returned Mrs. Dawson, at the same time
slipping away the coin, and substituting a stick of
sealing-wax; ‘ but do tell me why you object to
his playing with money : do you suppose he knows
that it is money?”

“TI really cannot exactly tell you either the ex-
tent of his knowledge, or the grounds of my objec-
tion, It may be one of the whims of my old
bachelor days, but it is what 1 have always made a
point of with my own children. I am unwilling
that they should have money to throw about as a
plaything, while they do not know its value or its
use, lest they should get a habit of making light
of it, and squandering it when they grow older;
and I do not like them to take pleasure in hoarding
up pieces of money, or receiving them as presenta,
lest they should become mercenary, and value
money for its own sake, As money is one of the

r2
66 SMALL BEGINNINGS.

things with which we must necessarily have to do
through life, and one that will have a great and
lasting influence on moral character, according as
it is abused or improved, I cannot help thinking
it a matter of great importance, that children
should form their first acquaintance with it in a
proper manner, and on just principles. I believe
this particularity of mine originated long before I
had children of my own, in the disgust I felt in
witnessing the child of a family, where I sometimes
called with a friend of mine, who having once re-
ceived a small gift of money from that friend, on
seeing him invariably attacked him with all the
clamour of an Irish beggar, and never rested with-
out extorting money from him. That child, in
maturer years, has given many distressing proofs
of a mean, selfish, dishonourable disposition—to
the formation of which I cannot help thinking the
ill-judged practice of his parents materially contri-
buted: at all events I resolved, that if ever I be-
came a parent, money should never be the play-
thing of my children; and I should wish the re-
striction to extend also to my dear little nephew,
whom I hold almost as one of my own.”

*T will take care, brother, that your wish shall
be complied with. The reason is sufficient, if
there were no other, that it is your wish; but I
maust confess, though I never thought of it before,
SMALL BEGINNINGS. a

that there appears a great deal of truth and good
sense in it, But how do you reconcile it with
your kind endeavour to raise a purse for Harry
from the poplar grove?”

“ My wish in that respect is, not merely to ac-
quire money for Henry, but to teach him its value
and its use. Whatever may be the result of my
speculation in a pecuniary point of view, the ex-
periment will have a valuable result, if it should
only teach the child that money is to be acquired
by industry, preserved with care, and employed
with discretion and generosity. The earlier children
can be taught to set a just value on property, the
more effectually will they be secured against either
improperly coveting it, idolatrously hoarding it, or
profligately squandering it.”

These remarks of Uncle Benjamin were duly
weighed by her to whom they were addressed. She
thought she saw the happy results of the system in
the generous kindness and entire freedom from
jealousy manifested by his children towards her
own; and she resolved to adopt and carry out the
principle in the management of her little ones, both
her own offspring and the children of others com-
mitted to her care.

This was one of many hints of practical value,
suggested by the sound good sense and right prin-
ciples of Uncle Benjamin, which his sister-in-law
68 SMALL BEGINNINGS,

wisely adopted, and, incorporating with her system
of instruction, rendered it far more really benefi-
cial to her charge than it could have been if con-
fined to intellectual and polite accomplishments,
to the neglect of moral culture.

Harry’s new property was added to his former
stock in the Savings Bank; and his good uncle,
always careful to turn everything to account, and
leave nothing dead and useless, let the poplar
grove for a donkey to graze through the winter,
and put up a slight shed for his shelter. The rent
was only one shilling a week, and a great part of
it was spent on the shed. When spring came, and
the grass was to be left to grow for hay, there were
only a few shillings to add to Henry’s stock, as
the winter's produce; but then, as Uncle Benjamin
observed, there was the shed erected and paid for,
and the ground was enriched by the manure, and
would yield a good crop of hay. On the whole, it
was hoped that the acre would be more productive
than in the previous year. The small addition
now made, together with interest on the old stock,
brought Henry’s little capital to upwards of thir-
teen pounds.

Before spring, Harry could run about stoutly,
and, although he could not say many words, he
readily took the note in which any one said to
tim “Poplar Grove.” Both his mother and uncle
8MALL. BEGINNINGS. 68

fancied that he retained a recollection of the spot,
and that, when taken thither, he would know it
again. The grandmother and Aunt Dawson smiled
at this idea. There are families who would suffer
such a difference of opinion to run into angry
dispute; but the Dawsons had sufficient good
sense and good feeling, to allow each other to form
and express their own judgment, without giving
offence or exciting rude contradiction; and all
agreed, that as the days were lengthening, and
the weather becoming mild and settled, an early
opportunity should be taken of visiting the spot,
Accordingly a day was fixed. The old lady and
her daughter, Mrs. Price, who had now a little
boy of two months old, declined going so early in
the season, but promised, if all was well, to visit
the poplar grove in hay-making time; they there-
fore kept each other company, while the two
younger Mrs. Dawsons and their five children
took their walk. Where the path was smooth and
dry, little Harry was delighted to run between
his two elder cousins, each holding a hand; and
with much glee he joined them in gathering
violets, primroses, and wood anemonies, and in
watching the movements and listening to the
hoarse cawing of the rooks. By the time the
party arrived at the poplar grove, Harry was
completely tired, and fell fast asleep. He awoke
70 SMALL BEGINNINGS,

very hungry, and Uncle Benjamin was a. little
disappointed to perceive that he was much more
intent on satisfying his appetite, than on recog-
nizing and admiring the poplar plantation. Jane
and Mary, the two elder girls, examined the
swelling buds of the poplar twigs, and asked
their father how long and how thick they were
likely to grow that year. Even little Hannah
and Lucy (Henry’s sister) ran between, and
counted the rows. But Harry himself did not
discover anything that particularly attracted his
attention. His uncle admitted, that it was evident
enough he had entirely forgotten the poplar grove,
but his mother and aunt engaged that he would
express as much pleasure as his uncle could
desire, when, a few weeks later in the season, he
should visit the plantation and see the green
boughs, or tumble on the new made hay. Soon
after the party had left the grove, they passed a
flock of sheep and lambs; and then little Harry’s
expressions of delight proved that he was neither
stupid nor inattentive, but that the spot they had
visited, at present afforded nothing that was par+
ticularly interesting to him.

Again Mrs. Dawson’s Midsummer holidays
came round. She had now conducted her school
a year and a half, and was really supporting her-
self in honest independence, and even reserving
SMALL BEGINNINGS. Ti

atrifle towards paying off old debts. Those who
have not experienced, cannot conceive the pleasure,
the happiness, connected with such a state of
affairs. Itistrue, the discouraging, half-discon-
tented thought, suggested itself, “But what is
five shillings, or ten shillings, to two hundred
pounds and upwards?” “ Why,” replied Uncle
Benjamin, “if I reckon rightly, five shillings is
one part in eight hundred, and ten shillings is
one part in four hundred; and, let me remind you,
that is no despicable reduction. If you have a
heap of stones or bricks, from which you often
take one, with which you begin to form another
heap, at first the difference is scarcely perceptible,
but, almost before you have begun to admit that
the first heap is reduced, you find that the second
nearly equals it. Rest assured, dear sister, that,
since you have proved yourself possessed of suffi-
cient energy and prudence, under the blessing of
Providence, to provide for your children, and lay
by the first few shillings towards paying off your
debts, it is a pledge that, if your life and health be
spared, you will have the happiness, in time, of
seeing your receipt file full, and your bill file
empty. Do you not encourage sister to hope as
much?”

“ Yes,” replied the old lady, to whom this appeal
was addressed, “ indeed I do, and, old as 1 sey J
93 SMALL BEGINNINGS,

should not be surprised to see the day myself, ¥
remember when a child, I used to be much inter-
ested in a story my mother told me, and which I have
since often thought of with practical advantage, as
an encouragement to perseverance in small efforjs.
4 journeyman baker came to London to seek em-
ployment. He applied to several master bakers
to be taken into their service, but without success,
He was reduced to his last shilling, and want
stared him in the face. He was half inclined to
quit London in despair, but resolved on making
one bold effort. He laid out his solitary shilling
on flour and other ingredients for buns, and ob-
tained of a baker an hour or two’s employment,
for which he was to be remunerated by the use of
a bowl in which to mix his preparation, and a tin,
and a place in the oven, for baking them. He was
an adept in his business, and produced a cargo of
fine light well-flavoured buns, which he offered
for sale from house to house. It was with diffi-
culty he disposed of them, as persons, in general,
are unwilling to purchase of an entire stranger.
He, however, more than got back his shilling the
first day, besides having several buns left. He
confined himself to a very small portion of food—
considerably less than the clear profits of his buns.
Next day he repeated his experiment, calling again
at the same houses. Wherever his buns had bees
SMALL BEGINNINGS, 73;

tried, he found ready sale for his new produce, the
whole of which was quickly disposed of, and also
the stale buns, at a reduced price. He found
himself, at the close of that day’s speculation,
master of more than two shillings. Next day he
extended his beat, and found many new customers.
Still he went on daily increasing his stock and his
profits, yet restricting his expenses within the
lowest possible limits. In a few days he launched
out in the purchase of a bowl, then of a tin. Soon
he rented an out-house or cellar, in which he
dwelt, and carried on his operations—merely car-
rying his tin of buns to a baker’s oven. At length
he had saved enough money to purchase a bit of
ground at Chelsea, on which he erected a very
humble dwelling, with an oven in the back part of
the premises, and a small shop window in front,
where buns were exposed for sale. His shop was
soon fréquented, yet he continued to take his daily
rounds, and, generally, on his return, found his
door thronged with customers. He now, in his
turn, had many journeymen offering their services
to him, but he uniformly declined any assistance
in the preparation of his commodity. At length
his business increased to such a degree, that he
was compelled to relinquish going out; and em-
ployed first one, and, in time, several persons, to
carry round his goods—always requiring of them
¢
4 SMALL BEGINNINGS.

payment for one shilling’s worth, before he ine
trusted them with another, but allowing them a
liberal profit on their sales. Thus several families
were comfortably supported, and the original bun-
maker was rapidly growing rich. In course of
years he purchased some premises adjoining his
own, and built a spacious bake-house and hand-
some shop, over which he inscribed—

‘ The sea is made of drops, though so immense:

A million buns is just a million pence.’
There he carried on an extensive trade, and
amassed a large fortune. This was the origin of
the Chelsea buns, which, to the present day, re-
tain their celebrity.”

This simple story encouraged the widow to per-
severe in her efforts: and she was not unfrequently
gratified by a receipt, even for a small sum, ac-
companied either by acknowledgments of its
having arrived very seasonably, or by expressions
of approbation of her honest principle, and hearty
congratulations on her success and prosperity.
She constantly felt, and sometimes expressed gra-
titude, that circumstances had so thrown her upon
her own resources, as to call forth energies which
she was not previously conscious of possessing,
but the exercise of which resulted in a rich reward.

Harry’s second visit to the hay field fully sa-
tisfied his uncle that he was not an indifferent or
SMALL BEGINNINGS. ss

am inactive spectator of rural scenes. He diseo+
vered the liveliest delight in the various objects,
animate and inanimate, by which he was sur-
rounded, and with all his intelligence, and all his
energy, engaged in whatever he saw done by others.
“By another year,” said Uncle Benjamin, “ Harry
will be really useful. He is a noble little fellow,
and has not a grain of indolence in his composi-
tion.’ It was one of Uncle’s favourite efforts,
early to inspire children with a desire after useful-
ness; and, indeed, he thought it too long to wait
another year, before Harry was trained to do
something towards getting his living. He took
some pains, and not unsuccessfully, to teach him
to gather up the sticks or bits of dead wood from
the hedges, and place them in a heap, to carry
home for burning. Harry got so used to this,
that whenever he walked out he wished to pick up
every bit of wood that lay in his way; and espe-
cially whenever he visited the poplar grove, and
was about to return home, he could not be satisfied
to leave without taking a bundle of wood with
him. Harry was taught to notice the use that was
made of his little contributions; and thus he early
learnt to associate the exercise of industry and care,
with the. possession of comfort and egnvenience,
The hay crop that year produced about eight
pounds, and the feed of animals afterwards, thirty
7 SMALL BEGINNINGS,

shillings more. Harry's stock now amounted to
upwards of 25/.

During the following winter Uncle Benjamin.
resolved entirely to dig up the land of the poplar
acre, partly for the sake of promoting the growth
of the trees, by loosening the earth round the
roots, and partly with an intention of varying the
crop. This he effected himself, by dint of working
through his meal hour, and instead of going home
to dinner when employed in the gardens nearly
adjoining to the poplar grove. ‘ Dear brother,”
said Harry’s mother, “I fear you are carrying
your kindness to this boy too far. You are over-
working yourself, and denying yourself needful
repose; and oh how bitterly should we reflect, if
your goodness to us should prove an injury to
yourself, and to your dear family. Do be per-
suaded to hire labour for digging the land. I have
the money by me with which I was intending to
purchase a new bonnet for Lucy, and a hat for
Harry, but I would much rather make this old
one serve longer, than that you should injure
yourself in working for them.”

Little Lucy understood and entered into her
mother’s argument, and joined in assuring Uncle
Benjamin that the old bonnet would last longer,
and in préssing him to use the money in employing
aman to dig, instead of doing it himself, His
SMALL BEGINNINGS, 17

own wife pleaded that he should somewhat mo-
derate his exertions, and compromise the matter by
coming home to dinner every other day. She added,
however, that for one person who injured himself
by over-work, there were a hundred injured by
idleness; and if work was the thing to kill people,
her Benjamin must have been dead long ago; but
she never in her life saw him looking better.

Yes,” returned her husband, “and I am sure
I never washappier. I can truly say I do nothing
but what it is my pleasure to do. I work for
those I love, and we all pull one way. By and
by Harry will be grown up, and then he may
work for me.”

“Ah! Benjamin,” observed the old lady, ‘good
will is the secret of getting through work, and the
more you do, the more you may do, and feel it
light and easy. We all love to see you so willing
and active; but don’t overstrain yourself: think
how dear you are to all of us, and how much more
valuable than all the money in the world.”

Several such amicable discussions took place in
the family. Perhaps they so far regulated Uncle
Benjamin's ardour, as to induce him to allow a
few more days to the completion of his work; but
it was completed, and completed by himself, much
to his satisfaction, and, at the proper season,
planted with potatoes,

@2
78 SMALL BEGINNINGS.

Before the potato crop was ready for gathering,
Harry had completed his third year. He was a
sturdy, active, and intelligent little fellow, and was
the almost constant companion of his uncle, when
engaged in his own garden, or wherever else he
could with propriety take him. Already the child
was well acquainted with the names and uscs of
the several tools, and of the common vegetables
and flowers, and was fond of imitating whatever
he saw his uncle do, and endeavoured to render
himself useful by waiting upon him. He was ob-
servant and obedient; and, therefore, young as he
was, he was often trusted to gather French beans
or nasturtians, or to weed a bed, his uncle giving
him a specimen of groundsel, chickweed, dande-
lion, sow-thistle, and directing him to pull up all
he found like them. His attention and diligence
were generally rewarded by permission to carry in
fruit or vegetables for his aunt, or some of the
family. Henry was a happy little boy, and the
secret of his happiness consisted in his having been
early accustomed to constant and useful employ-
ment, and to endeavour to promote the gratifica-
tion of all around him Hence he was con-
tinually reaping the satisfaction of successful
enterprise, and the benevolent pleasure of making
others happy, and finding himself beloved by them
in return. When was such happiness the portion
SMALL BEGINNINGS, 70

of a fretful, indolent, self-willed, and falsely in«
dulged child?

A friend who visited Harry’s mother, and staid
with her several days, inquired of her, ‘“ Does
your little boy never cry? Ihave always had a
dread of being in the house with squalling children,
but I have never heard your child cyen fret.”
Perhaps if parents in general, would try the plan
of making their children happy, not by humour-=
ing their naughty tempers, but by keeping them
always employed, and teaching them to love and
please others, childish happiness would be much
more common than it is.

When the potatoes were ripe, Harry’s uncle said
he had been arranging his work so as to spare a
whole day for getting them up, and that he would
have Harry all day to help him. He therefore de
sired his wife to get ready a little basket of provi-
sions, enough to serve the day. Harry was de-
lighted with the idea of going out to work with his
uncle; and, although he was awakened an hour
before his usual time, got up in perfect good
humour. Early as it was, his kind aunt had pre-
pared a basin of bread and milk for him; and, long
before six o'clock, he was trotting along beside his
uncle to the poplar grove, often wishing to carry,
the basket or tools, but yielding to his uncle’s opis
hion, that he had better reserve his strength for
80 SMALL BEGINNINGS

work in the grove. The poplars had by this time
become fine stout trees of fifteen feet high, with
strong luxuriant heads, and really began to cast
something like the shade of a grove; and the
arbour was overgrown with climbers, and formed
a delightfully pleasant retreat. Intent as was
Uncle Benjamin on his work, he willingly spared
a few minutes to join in little Harry’s admiration
of the scene; and he said to himself, that in the
intelligent pleasure which Harry now expressed,
he was reaping the first fruits of his favourite pro-
jects. But he recollected the twenty-five pounds
already in the Savings Bank, and the good and
happy feelings that had already been excited either
in visiting the poplar grove, or in planning about its
culture, and appropriating its profits; and he
checked himself and said, ‘* No, this is not the first
fruits; the harvest began in the first enjoyment of
pleasure by Harry and his friends, and I trust it will
continue to yield pleasant fruits as long as any of
us can remember it. Come, Harry, my boy, take
your fork and let us begin harvesting our pota-
toes.” Uncle Benjamin loosened the stiff earth,
and, raising the roots, handed them over to Harry
to separate, according to the size of the potatoes,
having three several heaps for small, middling, and
large. Harry worked with spirit, sometimes utter-
ing a loud exclamation of joy, on finding an un-
SMALL BEGINNINGS. 8}

usually productive root; and sometimes congratu
lating himself on the advancing size of his heaps.
He was, however, nothing loth to partake his
uncle’s first repose and refreshment, but as willing
to join him in returning tolabour. The little fel-
low persevered with all his might till dinner time,
and then, while eating his meal, fell fast asleep.
Uncle Benjamin made up a nice soft bed in the
arbour, with potato haulms, covered over with his
own coat. There he carefully placed the weary
little labourer, and left him to enjoy his repose,
while he patiently returned to his toil. The ground
was nearly cleared, and Harry was not yet awake,
when Uncle Benjamin heard the wheels of his large
cart, which he had ordered to fetch away the po-
tatoes. The vehicle was not empty. It brought
@ merry group to join the labour and share the
pleasures of Harry’s harvest-home. When Harry
awoke, it was to behold, with surprise, his aunt set-
ting a tea-kettle over a fire of sticks and potato
haulms—his mother cutting bread and butter—his
aunt Price, with her little boy—and his sister and
cousins, except Jane, who was left at home as
housekeeper and companion to her grandmother—
all engaged either in separating the potatoes, or in
preparing the repast. With fresh energy Harry
joined the labourers in finishing the assorting of
the potatoes, while Uncle Benjamin and his man
82 SMALL BEGINNINGS,

proceeded to fill the sacks and load the cart. The
produce of the acre amounted to ninety sacks—~at
least ten beyond Uncle Benjamin’s calculation.
Besides this, there were several little heaps of prime
potatoes, which Harry had begged permission to lay
aside for his friends, not one of whom was forgotten
by the grateful and affectionate littleboy. Therustie
tea-table was enlivened by admiring remarks on the
grove and the scene around, and by calculations
on the value of the present crop, and plans and
projects for the future, and conjectures about Harry
and his prospects. Harry was the darling of the
family, and all augured well of him. His mother
hoped he would be grateful to the friends of his
infancy. His aunts were sure that he would prove
dutiful and affectionate, and that he would take
readily to learning—each relating instances of his
quickness of observation, and his thoughtful dis-
position. His cousins had no doubt that he would
be kind and beloved; and his uncle needed only
the experience of that day to convince him that
Harry would be diligent and persevering in what-
ever he undertook. Happily for the subject of
these remarks, he was not present to hear them:
he was gathering nuts from the hedge, to carry
home to his cousin Jane. This trifling act of
thoughtful kindness served to corroborate the fa-
vourable opinions already expressed; but his
SMALL BEGINNINGS. 83

friends had the good sense not to speak of him m
his presence, else the expression of their favour-
able opinions might have been the very means
of nullifying them. Harry was unusually beloved
in the little circle in which he moved, but he was
not flattered.
CHAPTER V.
ADVANCEMENT,

From that time Uncle Benjamin resolved that
Harry should accompany him, and take part, ac-
cording to his ability, in the labours of the poplar
grove; and, as if to set him a constant example of
persevering industry, that same fine moonlight
evening, as Harry trotted home between his uncle
and Cousin Mary, Uncle told him that the next
day they must set about clearing the ground for
another crop. ‘ Nature is never idle: no more
must we. The glorious sun, which we have just
seen set below yonder hill in the west, is gone to
light another part of the world, and now the bright
nioon is risen to light ours. When the sap of the
trees goes back, and the leaves turn yellow and
fall, it is not idle, but is gone to nourish the roots
and prepare the buds for another spring. To-
morrow we must begin to dig in the falling leaves,
that they may enrich the earth, and help it tc
nourish another crop. Harry. my man, will yor
go with Uncle to-morrow ?”
ADVANCEMENT. 85

Farry engaged that he would. Perhaps he
dreamt about his engagement, for before six o’clock
in the morning he was awake, and wanting to be

; dressed, to accompany his uncle. He found, how-
ever, that it was not his uncle’s intention to work
at the grove till afternoon. Unele said he would
take some provisions in his basket for his dinner,
and desired that Henry might have his dinner
at home, and be sent to meet him at the grove a
little before two. But who could be spared to go
with Harry ? was the inquiry of the matrons.

“Let him go alone,” replied Uncle Benjamin;
** he knows his way well enough, and he has been
taught to mind the crossings. You need not fear
his coming safely. I will answer for him. You
know your way, my boy, to the poplar grove ?”

“ Yes, uncle, we go through the pay-gate, and
do not go the way that leads to the church, but
we go the way that leads to Squire Hammond’s;
and when we get to the top of the hill, Squire
Hammond’s garden is on one side of the road, and
the poplar grove on the other.”

“Well done, my boy! you know the way as
well as Ido; and when you cross the road that
leads to the church, what are you to mind ?”

“I must look both ways, and if any horses
are coming, I must mind to wait till they have
gone by.”

a
sé ADVANCEMENT.

“Very well, Harry; then I shall expect to see
you rather before two.” So saying, Uncle Ben-
jamin took up his tools and his basket, and walked
away. Harry's mother and aunt were almost
afraid to trust him alone; but after what his uncle
had said, they knew he would not be pleased
unless they complied with his wish.

Accordingly Harry was sent off at the appomted
time; but his aunt saw that his mother was sadly
agitated by her fears, though she said but little;
and, indeed, she herself did not feel quite easy in
trusting so young a child, though she did consider
him a very peculiar child of his age. So she thought
Benjamin could not be displeased, if, for the satis-
faction of those who remained at home, she sent
her two elder girls to follow Harry, and watch him
past the turning and across the road. The little
girls followed, unperceived by Harry, who trudged
manfully on, without looking back or loitering.
They soon returned, and reported that Harry had
past the apprehended danger, and was proceeding
steadily on his way. By the time they reached
home, Harry reached his uncle, and was hailed as
a fellow-labourer; and from that day forward it was
never considered necessary for any one to accom-
pany him on a way with which he was acquainted.
As his uncle dug over the ground, Harry followed
and gathered out the stones, Even these were
ADVANCEMENT. 87

not to be wasted: they were destined to pave
the bottem of the arbour, as the grass was found
damp to the feet. Uncle left ridges or trenches
between each row of poplars, and told Harry that
they were intended for the dead leaves to fall into,
and explained to him that the ground would be
thereby enriched, and enabled the better to nourish
another year’s crop. Harry was pleased to work
that afternoon, without dropping asleep, or even
feeling sleepy. The land was left fallow that
winter, and, early in spring, sowed with clover,
which yielded several rich crops in succession, not
less lucrative than the potatoes of the preceding
year.

Being among other children, Harry had inci-
dentally picked up many scraps of knowledge.
He learnt to read, almost imperceptibly ; and, from
hearing his mother’s instructions to others, as well
as directly receiving them in her leisure hours—
though no effort had been made to teach him
anything systematically, nor any compulsory tasks
assigned him—he certainly was not behind the
general run of children of his age, in knowledge
of the nature and uses of things, or the history of
mankind, and of the records and precepts of the -
sacred volume. But, when he was four years old,
his mother thought he ought to be accustomed to
devote a daily portion of time to regular study.
88 ADVANCEMENT.

It was therefore arranged that he should spend his
mornings in the school-room, to improve himself
in reading, and to gain some knowledge of gram-
\mar and geography, as well as to pursue farther
those branches of knowledge in which he already
had made a beginning. The afternoons and early
mornings, he was to employ under his uncle's
direction.

And did Harry never play? Oh yes—no little
boy more heartily. To be sure he often turned
his play to some useful account; but that
did not render it the less amusing. Harry
was fond of a garden, and fond of keeping
animals. His uncle gave him a little piece of
ground, and taught him to cultivate it, so as to
raise flowers and small vegetables; this was a
great delight to him. He loved to watch the
growth of his plants, and he loved to bring ina
nosegay for his grandmother, a salad for his aunt,
or a plate of strawberries to divide among his
cousins. His Aunt Price made him a present of
two hens and a cock; and old Mr. Bell, who often
noticed him, gave him a pretty pair of spotted
rabbits, of which he was very fond. He fed them
with lettuce, parsley, and carrots from the garden,
and sow-thistle, and some other wild plants, which
he gathered as he came from work with his uncle.
In harvest time he went out to glean in the fieldy
ADVANCEMENT. a8

and brought home a considerable quantity of dif?
ferent sorts of corn, which supplied his fowls and
rabbits for several weeks. His uncle assisted him
in making a hutch for his rabbits, and another
when they had little ones old enough to move.
He soon had a great number of rabbits, some of
which he sold, and some were used in the family.
He had also plenty of fresh eggs in spring, with
which he supplied his sister, who was in delicate
health, and was advised to eat new laid eggs tc
strengthen her; besides this, he had enough, in
the course of the season, to let each of his hens
sit for a brood of chickens. Harry had not learnt
to write, but his uncle taught him to make marks
on the door with a bit of chalk, by which he could
understand what money he had received for eggs,
chickens, or rabbits, and what he had paid for
their food. When Harry found that he had thus
gained a little money for himself, he wished to buy
books, for he had now begun to take great delight
in learning. The first book he bought for himself
was the Bible. He dearly loved to talk with his
mother about the sweet stories that it contains,
and, before he could read, was familiar with all the
leading characters; but when he could read, he
wished to have a Bible of his own, which he pre-
served with great care, and perused with much
attention and delight. When he had saved money
H 2
90 ADVANCEMENT.

to buy another book, he wished to obtain one
which his mother had often mentioned, called
“Evenings at Home.” It was some time before
he could afford to purchase this book; but when
he did, it proved to him a fund of entertainment
and instruction. Many a happy hour did he
spend with it, seated alone in the great chestiat
tree, or, on a winter's evening, in company with
his sister and cousins. Harry learnt much from
these volumes, and had his inquiries awakened, and
his studies directed, on many interesting and use-
ful subjects. In course of time, from the produce
of his poultry yard he furnished himself with
“ Joyce's Scientific Dialogues,” and some elementary
works on Natural History, Botany, and Chemistry.
Harry’s mother was sometimes asked, what she
intended to make of him. It was more than once
said to her, “ Of course you intend to make your
little boy a doctor; he will be too learned for any-
thing but a doctor or a minister.” Mrs. Dawson
wisely replied, that she did not at all know what
Harry might be fit for, or what opportunities might
present for fixing him in a calling; but she wished
him to acquire useful knowledge in general, which
would always be valuable to turn to account in
any particular line that circumstances might dic-
tate; and she certainly had no fear whatever of his
becoming too learned, or being spoiled by learn-
ADVANCEMENT, oF

ing, for the faithful discharge of his duty in what-
ever station of life it might please Providence to
place him. Many persons, she observed, were
ruined through ignorance, and many were injured
by ill-directed or ill-proportioned attention to
some one unnecessary branch of knowledge; but
she could not conceive of any one being injured
by the possession of sound general knowledge, as
a store in hand for practical and particular appli-
cation, when and as required.

There was one old woman, who was very fond
of hearing Henry read a chapter in the Bible, but,
at the close of it, generally said, with a sigh, ‘‘ But,
dear child! he is too clever, and too good for this
world!” His mother had sense enough not to heed
such nonsense, and Harry was suffered, without
interruption, to acquire knowledge and render
himself useful, to the extent of his ability and
opportunity.

Harry’s uncle wished to see him brought up
hardy, manly, and courageous. At first, his
mother was rather inclined to be timid; but grow-
ing experience of Uncle Benjamin’s care and ten-
derness, as well as his resolution and spirit of enter-
prise, encouraged her willingly to trust her little boy
to go wherever and do whatever his uncle thought
proper. Harry had been used, almost from his
birth, to dabble freely in cold water; and, when he
92 ADVANCEMENT.

was about three years old, Uncle thought it was
high time for him to be taught to swim: he there-
fore took him to a safe part of the river, and,
having undressed, said to the child, “Now Harry,
I shall throw you in, but I will bring you out
safely.” Perhaps a moment's fear was experienced,
but that was all. In almost less time than it can
be related, the boy was on his uncle’s back,
swimming about with delight. In suitable weather
the lesson was repeated as often as opportunity
permitted, and Harry became an expert and fear-
less swimmer. Many other lessons of courage
were early impressed on the little boy’s mind by
his uncle. He was taught how to mount and
descend a ladder with safety, and how to defend
himself against a furious bull, or a nest of hornets
Harry delighted to observe the habits of animals,
and to collect interesting facts concerning them,
and his knowledge in these respects rendered him
an interesting companion to his sisters and cousins,
as well as because really subservient to their
safety. Once, when the children were walking
together, a bull and cow ran towards them with
angry gesticulations: before there was time for the
little girls to express their terror, or even to per-
ceive their danger, Harry, without saying a word,
ran backwards towards the animals, at the same
time stooping forwards, so that his head appeared
ADYANCEMERS. 8

between his legs: the creatures, terrified at the
strange appearance, turned round and fled in the
utmost consternation, and left the children fall
opportunity to escape. Harry was not more than
eight years old, when, as he was reading to his
grandmother one Sunday evening, a spark flew
out of the fire, and, unperceived by her, settled on
her white apron. It smothered a few moments,
and then blazed. The little boy instantly snatched
up the hearth-rug and threw it on the burning
garment; then, springing himself on the knee of
his grandmother, pressed down the rug and
speedily extinguished the flames, though at the
hazard of his own life, Providentially, no serious
injury was sustained by either, and the old lady
justly regarded her little grandson as the instru-
ment of her preservation, Indeed, without his.
prompt assistance, she must almost inevitably
have perished, as no other person was on the pre-
mises, and she was herself altogether unconscious:
of her danger. The intrepid child was abundantly
rewarded in the life of one so very dear to him.
He had not shuddered when he extinguished the
fire, but he often shuddered when he heard re-
marks on his grandmother’s narrow escape. “ Dear
grandmother!” he thought, “how very dreadful
it would have been to lose her by such an acci-
dent!” But then the quiet gladness succeeded—
\

94 ADVAOEMENT

* Thank God, she is safe!” anda kiss of unwonted
fondness was interchanged between the venerable
parent and her promising grandchild; while a
mingled feeling of tender sadness and sober ex-
ultation passed through the mind of his own
mother, as she thought of the loved one she had
lost, and traced, in her orphan boy, the bright
resemblance of his generous affection and manly

courage.
CHAPTER VI.
FILIAL AFFECTION—HARRY A SCHOOLBOY.

Harry continued his mother's pupil until he was
more than seven years old. It was then thought
desirable to place him with a master; and the little
steady accumulation of property accruing from the
poplar grove, afforded the means of placing him at
the most respectable school in the neighbourhood.
For several years the land had yielded good crops
of hay, clover, or potatoes, and also afforded more
or less for grazing; but, at the growth the trees
had now attained, the ground was overshadowed,
and would scarcely pay for culture. It was, how-
ever, becoming a source of income in another way.
The lower branches of the trees were lopped, and
made several loads of fagots. This was to be re-
peated triennially; and the sod afforded herbage
for a horse, or a few sheep. Whatever work was
to be done, Harry was taught to consider as his
96 FILIAG. & FECTION.

responsibility; and, though he consulted with his
uncle about the performance of it, it was his to
find leisure for the work. He was also taught to
keep a regular account of his outlay and profits,
and of his Savings Bank deposits and interest; and
he was taught to consider it his duty and honour
to begin to do something towards his own support.
When Harry repeated that sweet little poem, en-
titled, “ My Mother ” and came to the verse—

** When thou art feeble, old and grey,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
My mother,”

he resolved not to defer his exertions for his mo-
ther to so distant a period, but immediately to be-
gin doing something for her comfort. One day
when he was at work in the poplar grove, assisting
his uncle in tying up fagots, the little boy opened
his mind to his generous relative.

“ Uncle, all my food is given tome; I have
never earned any for myself. Will you please to
tell me who pays for it—my mother or you?”

“Your mother, my boy,” replied Uncle Ben-
jamin; “aad I hope you will honour your mother
as long as you both live—that she who was brought
up 4 lady should humble herself and become 80
industrious and careful, in order to provide come
FILIAL AFFECTION. 97

fortably for you and your sister. Ifshe had given
up when your poor father died, and done nothing
but what she had been used to do, you children
might have grown up in poverty and ignorance.
If you should live to be a man, Harry, I hope you
will try to do as much for your mother when she
is old, as she has done for you while you were
little.”

“Yes, Uncle; but I want to do something now.
Lucy helps Mamma a little, for she teaches the
little girls to spell and sew; and Cousin Jane helps
her more; for, when Mamma was not well last
week, she minded the school alone for two whole
days; and, is there nothing that I can do for her?”

“Yes, Harry, you can do many things for your
mother’s comfort, and it makes me glad to see that |
you are always willing to do them. When you
went so quickly and steadily to fetch the medicine
from Mr Bell, and Lucy waited upon her so ten-
derly, it made her happy to think that she was
blest with dutiful and affectionate children. Be-
sides, you do many little things which are really
useful, and save expense. When you bring ina
fowl or a rabbit for dinner, it saves the money that
would be spent on buying meat; and when the:
money you get by selling them goes to buy your
own shoes or jacket, it leaves your mother the bet~
ter able to buy clothes for herself and Lucy. I

I
08 PILIAL AFFECTION.

do not wish to make you proud, Harry. It is
quite right for you to do all you can to help your
mother, and, as you grow older and more able,
that you should do still more; but a great many
little boys of your age do nothing at all but occa-
sion trouble and expense. 1 am glad that you
have been taught differently and that you are in-
clined to act differently.”

* Unele, I have eight chickens just ready to
sell—Aunt said she would take them to market
for me on Saturday—and three shillings worth of
eggs; and I do not want to buy food for my fowls
at present. I shall have some rabbits to sell be-
fore all the food is gone. I should like the money
that Aunt takes for the fowls and eggs, to buy some
clothes for my mother.”

* You had better consult your aunt about that.
She will be able to tell you what your money will
buy, and what will be most useful; and 1 am sure
your mother will be pleased to wear anything of
her little boy’s own earning. You may now enjoy
this pleasure yourself, and impart it to your mo-
ther. And I must not discourage you by leading
you to attempt too much; but, as you grow older,
and able to do more, I will tell you something that
would make your mother much happier than even
“wearing clothes of your earning.”

“Ot! do tell me now, Uncle; I wish to do every-
PILIAL AFFECTION. 9

thing that could make my mother happy. Do let
me know, that I may do it directly.”

“You cannot do it directly, Harry: it would
take along time to do, even with more ability than
you at present possess. I would advise you by
all means to do as you have proposed now—make
your mother a present of something useful. Your
aunt will tell you what she needs. It will not
hinder but help the great matter which I have pro-
mised to tell you about at some future time; for,
if you buy what your mother really needs, either
she would have denied herself to save the money
for her favourite object, or, if she could not do
without the thing, by your purchasing it instead
of her, she will save so much money to put to the
other purpose.”

Harry wished that he knew what this was that
would contribute so much to his mother’s hap-
piness, but he knew it was of no use to press his
uncle to tell him then, as he thought proper to
defer it. So he dropt off speaking about the
matter then, and asked his aunt’s advice as to what
would be the most useful as a present to his
mother. Mrs. Dawson told him that she knew
his mother was in want of a warm shawl for
winter, but that she intended to go without, that
year, because she wanted to buy some fine flannel
and lambs’ wool stockings for Lucy, which Mr.
100 FILIAL AFFCTION.

Bell had advised that she should wear, on account
of her delicate health.

“And will the fowls and eggs bring money
enough to buy a shawl?” inquired Harry? “ How
much does a shawl cost ?”

“Ah!” replied his aunt, “ you may have a shawl
as high as three or four guineas, and none too good
for your mother; but you may have a good warm
shawl for ten or twelve shillings; and your mother
is a wise and good woman, and makes herself con-
tented with such things as she can afford; and she
is a real lady, and-looks like one, let her wea
what she will, You may depend upon it I shall
get the best price I can for your marketing, and
I have no doubt it will enable me to bring you
home such a shawl as will be very useful and pleas-
ing to your mother, especially as your gift.”

On the Saturday afternoon Harry, having got
ready his lessons for Monday, was busily em-
ployed in sweeping the garden paths, when he
heard the sound of old Ball’s footsteps bringing
his aunt home from market. Harry longed to
know the success of her marketing, but Unele
Benjamin had taken great pains to teach him never,
if he could possibly avoid it, to leave anything un-
finished. So he completed his job, cleaned the
tools, and put them away, and then hastened in-
doors to see his aunt.
WILTAL AFFECTION, Tol

“Well, Aunt,” he exclaimed with more than
his usual energy, ‘have you sold the fowls ?”

“Yes, Harry.”

** And the eggs?’

“Yes.”

* And have you got a shawl, Aunt ?”

“Yes, Harry, I have got a very nice shawl,
which will just suit your mother. They were
sold for a guinea last winter, but I got it for four-
teen shillings, not being the last new fashion.
Iknew your mother would not mind that.”

“ Oh no, Aunt, I am sure she will not; and did
you get money enough to pay for it? My last
fowls were sold at three shillings a pair.”

‘¢ These were much larger, and, as J was one of
the first in market, I stood the best chance of
getting a good price. The landlord of the George
Inn bought them all up at three and sixpence a
couple, without a word. There were many sold
afterwards at three shillings and three and three-
pence, but I don’t think they were quite so fine
as your's. Then, you did not tell me to buy any-
thing else; but, as I knew you expected me to
spend all your money, I thought you would like
very well to buy a couple of pair of stockings for
your sister, So here is the shawl in exchange for
your fowls, and here are the stockings for the
eggs.”

12
102 FILIAL AFFECTION.

Harry felt delighted and grateful for his aunts
kind consideration and zeal. He thanked her with
a kiss, and then hastened to obtain one from his
mother and sister, for the presents with which he
surprised them. That was a moment of family
luxury seldom or never enjoyed in those circles
where every want is supplied, every wish gratified,
however costly, without the exertion of industry,
or the exercise of consideration. Many a long
week had Harry tended the growth of his chickens;
many an hour of leisure had he de toted to labour,
in order to obtain the means of feec‘ug them; and
every well-earned penny had been p-eserved, with
self-denying prudence, even when he had seen his
school-fellows regaling themselves with the costly
delicacies of the pastry-cook’s basket. But their
momentary gratifications were past and forgotten,
while Harry reaped, from his own industry and
prudence, the lasting means of gratifying the best
feelings of his heart—honest independence, bene-
volence, and filial affection.

The young reader will, perhaps, wish to be in-
formed about Harry’s progress at school. Some,
who in his infancy had seen him laid on the floor
to roll and crawl, and not taught to walk, had
predicted that he never would learn to walk pro-
perly; but at two years old his straight well-
formed limbs and firm steps were the admiration
FILIAL AFFECTION. 103

of all who saw him. So, when it was observed by
some parents who were anxious to have their
children “ brought forward with their learning,”
as they called it, that Harry was generally em-
ployed in the garden or the poplar grove, and
not kept in to books and lessons, they concluded
that he would grow up a dunce. But this was by
no means the case. His mother, by reading or
relating to him entertaining stories, or other inter-
esting information which she obtained from books,
taught him to know the value of reading, before
he learned to read. His curiosity and attention
were awakened. He esteemed it a privilege to be
taught. His mind was set upon attaining the
knowledge which he professed to seek, and, there-
fore, it was easy to command the application ne-
cessary to insure success. In all his pursuits his
mother endeavoured to make him sensible of the
value of knowledge before he was set about to
acquire it. Instead, therefore, of regarding his
lessons in the light of tasks imposed by the re-
quirement of others, he considered them as pri-
vileges, granted in compliance with his own re-
quests, and he improved them accordingly. The
advantage would, naturally, in some pursuits be
more obvious than in others; but the pleasant
experience in the former instance, encouraged him
in other cases to persevere with full confidence in
204 FOLIAL AFFECTION.

the judgment of his mother or other instructor,
that from them too he should reap a reward in
due season.

When Harry, at seven years old, entered Mr.
Temple’s academy, he read with correctness and
propriety. He evidently entered into the spirit of
what he read, and read with an expectation of
gaining instruction. He knew the rudiments of
English grammar; but, what was of more conse-
quence than the mere recitation of rules, he had
acquired a habit of speaking correctly. Some
young people who have learned by rote to repeat
agrammar from beginning to end—and a weari-
some task they must have found it—have no idea
of applying the rules to their conversation; and,
both in speaking and writing, are perpetually trans-
gressing those rules. With the outline history of
the Bible, of England, and of the world, Harry
was familiar, and knew enough of geography and
maps to be prepared to enter on the study of the
globes with interest and advantage. In acquaint-
ance with the nature, properties, and uses of com-
mon things, he was as much in advance of most of
his school-fellows of his own age, as is commonly
the case with children who have acquired their
knowledge from practical observation, rather than
from books, and who are thereby qualified to de-
rive real information from books. Everything he
WILIAL AFFECTION. 105

saw was an object of inquiry with Harry; and his
delight, was unbounded when, in the course of his
reading, he met with anything to throw light on
the subjects of his previous inquiries. He was
fond of arithmetic, and discovered such regularity
and method in whatever he did, as led his mastez
to predict that he would excel in the exact
sciences. Of languages he knew nothing what-
ever, excepting his own, and discovered little o1
no inclination for them. It is probable that he
would never, of his own accord, have opened a
Latin or Greek grammar. Still he applied himself
with diligence, both as an act of obedience to
the wishes of those under whom he was placed,
and in confidence that he should in future derive
advantages from the acquirement, which he could
not now fully appreciate. He did what was re-
quired of him, and incurred no charge of negli-
gence, no badge of disgrace; but he discovered no
enthusiasm, and attained no distinction. As he
proceeded, he realized something of the value of
the classical languages, as advancing him in the
knowledge of his own, and also as assisting him in
the pursuit of other sciences—such as botany and
chemistry—to which he was much attached; but
he never valued the acquisition of languages,
except in subserviency to something else. Harry's
diligence, punctuality, and desire for improvement,
106 FILIAL AFFECTION,

justly recommended him to the favour of his pree
ceptors, and encouraged their efforts to impart to
him the instruction he so highly valued.

“One man may lead a horse to the water, but
twenty men cannot make him drink.” This adage
has frequently been quoted in reference to the in-
struction of youth. It was once adopted by Mr.
Temple, when speaking to his confidential assistant,
of a perverse and careless boy on whom they
seemed to bestow labour in vain. ‘ But we must
persevere, and lead him again and again; perhaps
he may be induced to drink at last. It is a real
pleasure to see the grateful enjoyment with which
a thirsty horse draws in the refreshing stream; and
there is a similar, though higher pleasure, in im-
parting instruction to a youth who knows its value—
Harry Dawson, for instance. I could teach twenty
such boys, with less fatigue and wearing of spirits,
than one such unimprovable and discouraging sub-
ject as we have now onhand. That boy has been
well trained in the nursery: he is really a credit
to his mother, and will be a credit to all who carry
on his education. It is the impracticability of
undoing the mischievous doings of the first seven
years, that so often frustrates our efforts.”

“Yes,” replied the assistant, “ Harry Dawson
is a promising boy, and, so far, well taught. What-
ever has been attempted for him, has been well
VILIAL. APFECTION, 107 .

grounded, .and impressed on the. understanding.
as well as the memory. What he knows he does
know. It isa pity he is not more devoted to
classical pursuits. I should like to prepare him
for college. I am sure he is eligible to the county
foundation, and his industry and application, if
that way directed, would infallibly carry him
through with honour.”

“T confess,” returned Mr. Temple, “I have
had similar thoughts and wishes in reference to the
boy, but I am convinced it is better to cultivate
and train, than to thwart the preferences of youth,
There is a vast deal of time wasted, and energy
misemployed, and disgust excited, and disappoint-
ment incurred, from a determination to pursue a
prescribed course of education, without regard to the
bias of the pupil’s mind. Dawson acquits himself
ereditably in classics, and, with his tractable dis-
position, and persevering habits, he might be sti-
mulated to do more in that way; but cut bono?
would it not be abstracting him from other pursuits
in which he is much more likely to excel? For
my part, I confidently anticipate that Henry
Dawson, though he will not be, in the common
acceptation of the word, a learned man, will, in
some way or other, distinguish himself as a very .
useful member of society ; and, between ourselves,
Lhave no doubt it will reflect credit on our.ese
108 FILIAL AFFECTION.

tablishmont, to have had a share in his educa
tion.”

This conversation somewhat reconciled Mr.
Porter to Harry’s unaccountable indifference to
classical pursuits, and, thenceforward, he was in-
duced to concur with Mr. Temple in promoting
his improvement in those humbler branches of
learning to which the bent of his mind was di-
rected. No dispensation was granted to Harry, or
desired by him, for negligence or non-performance
of his classical tasks; but his thirst for general
knowledge was more decidedly encouraged. His
progress, also, was very satisfactory in mathe-
matics; and, as a lighter pursuit, he made very
respectable attainments in drawing. The charac-
terestic feature of his mind, was a disposition
promptly and patiently to apply every literary or
scientific acquirement to purposes of practical
utility. Uncle Benjamin was a thorough utili-
tarian; and, though he was not so narrow-minded
as to suppose that every acquirement was useless
that outstepped his own circle, yet, when Harry
commenced any new pursuit at school, he was
sure to be met either with the question, “And
what use does your master think that will be to
you, Harry?” or the encouraging observation,
* And then, Harry, it will be useful to you for
such a purpose,”
FILIAL AFFECTION. 109.

Jn his leisure hours Harry still pursued his old.
employments, by way of recreation, and by way-
also of affording him the gratification of contribut-..
ing to his own maintenance, and making little
presents to his friends—his grandmother, his
Uncle and Aunt Benjamin, His aunt Hannah
also received some useful tokens of love and gra-
titude from the affectionate boy, who, as he grew. .
older, was more fully informed by his mother of
the extent of his obligations to his relatives. He had
always known, from his earliest recollections, that
they were dear kind friends, who, with his beloved
mother, took pleasure in promoting his happiness
and improvement; but he had not been aware of
the trying circumstances that brought his mother
under their roof, nor of the generous sacrifices they,
had made to enable them to offer a home and com-.,
forts to herself and her destitute babes.

The occasion on which Mrs. Dawson more fully,
communicated these particulars to Harry, was the,
birth of a son to Uncle Benjamin. This wag an
unexpected and joyful event—a joy in which the
widow and her children most cordially participated,
without any mixture of selfish apprehension. It
seemed, however, that the event had given rise to
some speculations among the neighbours; for,
where is the neighbourhood that does not contain,

¢
110 PILIAL AFFECTION,

some busy bodies in other men’s matters? The
first intimation of the surmiseg and conjectures
about Harry’s future lot, in consequence of the
birth of his little cousin, was communicated to
him by a school-fellow, who asked him if he
should return to school after the holidays?

Harry was startled at the inquiry, as he knew
his uncle Benjamin was well satisfied with the in-
structions he received, and that it was his intention
to continue him under Mr. Temple’s care, until
he should be placed out in life. “Return to
school!” exclaimed Harry, “yes, I hope so. I
have but just begun to learn. You know I am
only ten years old.”

“Yes,” replied his companion, “ but I suppose
it makes all the difference, now your uncle has a
son and heir. My mamma says that it will put
your nose out of joint, and you will have to work
for your living, instead of being brought up 2
gentleman.” -~

I intend to work for my living,” replied
Harry; “it would make me very urhappy to
think of doing otherwise—and to work for my
mother and sister too—but I may be a gentleman
for all that. My mother says that good conduct, a
good education, and good manners, make a gentle-
man—not being rich, and living a life of idleness.”
FILIAL AFFECTION, 111

‘ Ah! that’s very fine talk for people who are
likely to have nothing else but their manners to
trust to: for my part, I shall never be obliged to
work for my living. I have got plenty of money
to live as well as Squire Hammond, with all his
pride; and, as soon as ever I get rid of my guardian,
I will do so. I will have dogs, and hunters, and
a curricle, and live in such style; and nobody can
hinder me. My mamma says so. The very day
I come of age, all the money will be my own, to
do just what I please with. My mamma does not
like my guardian, nor Mr. Temple either: no more
do I, for they make me fag at school just as if I had
to get my living by learning; and my guardian
says, when I leave school, he is determined to put
me to learn some profession, and employ the time
till I come of age, whether or not I choose to fol-
low it afterwards. He may catch me following
it, if he can! No, no, the day I come of age, I
have done with him, and done with books, and
doné with trade, and live like a gentleman!
Huzza!”

“Good by, Master Huggins,” said Harry, “I
can’t stay with you any longer, for I am engaged
to meet my uncle at the poplar grove;” and away
he bounded, to fulfil his appointment, and so lost
hearing his companion contemptuously retort,
132 FILIAL .AFFECTION..

**The poplargrove, indeed! as if that would maka a
gentleman of him !”’

But what had Harry done, to excite this con-
tempt in Master Frederick Adolphus Huggins? It
originated, not in any offensive conduct on the part
of Harry, but in the false views and principles in
which Master Huggins had been trained.
113

CHAPTER VII.
“A DIGRESSION.

Tue father of Master Huggins had been an active
and successful tradesman—an illiterate man, and
one who thought learning was good for nothing,
but as it helped a man to get money; and, as he
had gained money without learning, he fancied
himself somewhat better and more clever than
those who possessed learning and money too, and
incomparably above those who had learning with-
outriches. The sole object kept in view by Mr.
Richard Huggins, was the accumulation of money:
for that he had toiled year after year, and he had
succeeded very far beyond his early expectations
and wishes; but the desire increased with the
acquisition, and, at fifty years of age, he was more
intent than ever on grasping at new schemes “ to
turn a penny,” as was his favourite phrase ; at the
same time contriving to live upon as little as pos-
sible, and hoard as much as possible. He had never
suffered himself to think of marrying, because he
x2
114 A DIGRESSION.

considered it a great and needless expense tu sap-
port a wife and family. And, for what or for whom,
then, did ke labour to amass all this property?
He was one of those of whom the Scripture speaks,
(Ps. xxxix. 6,) “ Surely every man walketh in a
vain show. Surely they are disquieted in vain,
He heapeth up rivhes, and knoweth not who shall
gather them.” He did intend, when he had la-
bou:ed a few more years, and accumulated a few
more thousands, to retire from business, and pure.
chase an estate, and build a house, and begin to
enjoy life; but year after year, when the subject
was mentioned. to him, he continued to. say. that
he could not afford it yet—he must labour a few
years longer. And it is probable that he would.
have continued to labour to the end of his days,
but that, when somewhat above fifty years of age,.
he was induced to marry his housekeeper; and,
in consequence of her importunities, to wind up
his commercial affairs and retire into the country,.
to live as a gentleman. An estate was likely. to
be sold in the neighbourhood of the town where
the Dawsons resided. This estate Mr. Huggins
resolved to purchase; and, as he was desirous,
in some way or. other, of attaching. his name
to the place of his residence, his wife (or, as
she chose to be called, . his lady) advised, that, as
money. was no object to him, he should pal
A DIGRESSION. iis

' down the old substantial dwelling, or at least so
alter and modernize it, that it should not look
like the same, and then it could be called Huggins’
Hall, or Huggins’ Place. So anxious was Mrs,
Huggins to get away from the bustle and vulgarity
of trade, that although some months were to elapse
before the estate was to be sold, and many more be-
fore the intended alterations could be completed,
she prevailed upon her husband to take a house
which was vacant in the town, as a ‘“ temporal
make-shift,” until Huggins’ Place (the name she
preferred) should be ready for them. Accordingly
they removed thither with their only child, Master
Frederick Adolphus. The furniture of the house
presented a ludicrous mixture of the superb and
the mean—Mr. Huggins defending the latter with
the plea, It did very well for him when he was in
business, and why should it not do now? Mrs,
Huggins pleading for the former, on the ground
that they had as much right to such and such
things as the greatest lord in the land; and why
Should not they have it, seeing they could afford
it? but, whether in her efforts to display the costly
or conceal the mean, she always wound up with
the declaration, “ But it is nothing to what we ine
tend to have when we get to Huggins’ Place.”
Mr. Huggins’ time hung very heavily on his.
hands—he had no taste for books, or a garden,
116 A DIGRESSION.

or literary society; and his health, instead of being
improved by the air of the country, seemed visibly
to decay: he sometimes wished himself behind his
old counter again. When these fits came over
him, his wife endeavoured to divert and cheer him,
by talking of the prospective grandeur of Huggins’
Place, and assured him he would be quite well
and happy when once the bargain was completed
and the building commenced.

By way of passing the intermediate time, Mrs,
Huggins proposed going for afew weeks to Brighton.
There, occupying the most fashionable lodgings
that could be procured, and with abundant oppor-
tunities of showing that “ money was no object to
her,” Mrs. Huggins succeeded in obtaining rather
more notice than she had been accustomed to re-
ceive. On her marriage she had discarded and
resolved to keep aloof from the acquaintance of all
persons who had known her as “ Mr. Huggins’
housekeeper ;” and those who were not in posses-
sion of this odious secret, actually did not know
that there were such persons in existence as Mr.
or Mrs. Huggins—at least knew only that there
was one Huggins a tallow-chandler and oilman,
whose name sometimes headed their bills. They
were not likely to dream of associating with Mrs.
Huggins. This was in London, where, according
to one of Mrs, Huggins’ phrases, “ nobody knows
A DIGRESSION. 117

anybody.” But they were going to settle in
the country, and then she flattered herself she
should easily mingle in the first ranks of society,
and indeed take her lead among them, by show-
ing that she was “able to dash away with the
best.” On Mr. Huggins taking one of the best
houses in the town, most of the first class residents,
according to the friendly custom of small places,
called to pay their respects to the new comers.
But Mrs. Huggins’ display of ignorance and
vulgarity, mingled with insufferable arrogance,
eompletely disgusted all sensible and well-bred
people, and most of her country acquaintances
backed out from a second visit. Mrs. Huggins
consoled herself under the mortification, by anti-
cipating that things would be very different when
Huggins’ Place should be built and entered upon;
“and then,” thought she, “I can have my re-
venge on those who slight me now. We shall be
sure to have all the real quality to visit us then,
and I will have nothing to do with such people as
bankers, and brewers, and lawyers, and doctors,
and their wives.”

At Brighton Mrs. Huggins picked up several
gay acquaintance, whom the recommendation of
“money being no object,” rendered very charitable
to the defects in point of education and gentility.
To her unspeakable delight, Mrs. Huggins num-
118 A DIGRESSION.

bered among her visitants the three Miss Blen«
kinsops, Captain and Mrs. O'Leary, and, dearest
of all, Sir John and Lady Brown. These illustrious
personages condescended to partake of Mrs. Hug-
gins’ dinners, and to ride out in her carriage, and
to humour her little boy, and to pronounce him a
beautiful and sensible child, and to favour her
with their advice as to the steps she must take to
secure for him a polite education, and fit him to
enjoy the noble property to which he was des-
tined. It is true there were people who threw
out hints that these acquaintance ‘ were no great.
things.” Indeed, the several parties scrupled not
to throw out these insinuations against each other.
“Tam informed,” said Lady Brown, “that the
Miss Blenkinsops are persons of no property—
who keep up a stylish appearance by becoming
the satcllites of any wealthy visitors—accepting
all invitations to entertainments, and taking care
never to invite in return; and, my dear Mrs.
Huggins, to quote a vulgar proverb, “ Gentility
without ability is like a pudding without suet.”
“True, my dear Lady Brown,” replied Mrs. Hug-
gins, “but they are very agreeable; and if they
have the gentility, and we the ability, we may
make a good pudding between us.”

The Miss Blenkinsops, in their turn, whispered
to Mrs. Huggins, in strict confidence, that they
A DIGRESSION. 119

ad heard from very good authority, that Sir John
nd Lady Brown were mere upstarts—that Sir
ohn began life a poor lad—that her ladyship
ctually had been chambermaid at an inn—that
aeir money, which, by the bye, was not very plen-
iful, had been made in trade—the vulgar trade
f a tailor—and that the title was obtained in con-
equence of Mr. Brown happening to be mayor
f an insignificant borough, at a time when an
ddress was to be sent up, on occasion of the
ing’s accession ; “ and so,” continued Miss Blen-
sinsop, with a conscious smile at her own witti-
ism, “ poor John Brown for once lost his way,
vandered to court, and was be-knighted; so you
now, my dear Mrs. Huggins, when Sir John
lies, there’s an end of the title—her ladyship
recoming plain Dame Brown.”

“ Ah, well!” thought Mrs. Huggins, ‘‘ no matter
or that; while it does last it sounds well to send
he footman with Mr. and Mrs. Huggins’ compli-
nents to Sir John and Lady Brown.”

As to the Captain and his lady, although Mrs,
Huggins thought them vastly genteel, and was
nightily taken with them, her husband always
‘egarded them with dislike and suspicion; and at
ength, on finding out that Mr. O'Leary had won
i considerable sum from his wife at play, forbade
ali farther intercourse. Mrs. Huggins, however,
120 A DIGRESSION.

in her remaining friends (as they called each other)
found so much to render Brighton agreeable, that
when the time approached for the sale of the estate,
destined for the future Huggins’ Place, she was
easily induced to consent to Mr. Huggins going
home alone, to attend the auction, and leave her
and the little boy to enjoy the sea breezes a few
weeks longer.

Mr. Huggins accordingly reached home a few
days before that fixed for the auction. The next
morning, on taking up the local newspaper, the
first advertisement that met his eye announced, to
his no smal! mortification, that the estate was al-
ready disposed of by private contract. It was
purchased by Mr. Hammond, a London banker,
who settled there as his country residence. It was
by him that Uncle Benjamin was employed in
laying out the grounds, and from him that he re-
ceived the gift of the poplar acre.

Poor Mr. Huggins had little anticipated such a
disappointment. Te had set his mind upon the
place, not merely as a suitable and desirable pro-
perty, but as having no particular name which
could not well be set aside. It was generally
called by the country people the “Great House on
the Hill,” and when altered, and in part re-built,
it would be easy-to transfer to it the name of the
proprietor. “ His inward thought was, that his house
& DIGRESSION. 121

should coutinue for ever, and his dwelling-place to
all generations. He resolved to call his lands by his
name (Psal. xlix. 11,) and to outbid all competitors
, for an estate which could be so distinguished and
so immortalize his name. Poor Mr. Huggins was
no great reader of the Bible, but there was one
textin which he most firmly believed, viz. Eccles.
x. 19, ‘Money answereth all things.” When,
therefore, he found that with all his thousands
ready to be laid out upon his favourite project,
his purpose was bafiled—a project and pur-
pose too, of which he had made no secret, but by
continually talking of Huggins’ Place, as if it
were already in existence, had laid himself open
to ridicule—his disappointment and rage were
boundless, and produced such an effect upon him,
that he was seized with a paralytic stroke. After
a few hours he recovered in a degree, but his state
was so precarious, that his medical attendants con-
sidered it right immediately to send intelligence
of his illness to Mrs. Huggins, and also to press
upon him the desirableness of adjusting his affairs.
The former well-intended communication failed of
effecting its object. Mrs. Huggins having been per-
suaded by her friends to make up a party for visit-
ing Hastings, Worthing, and other neighbouring
points of attraction, the letter announcing her
husband’s indisposition, remained unopened at her
L
193 A DIGRESSION,

fodgings ten days. With the latter suggestion he
readily complied. For, though he hoped to rev.
eover from his attack, and live many years to ac-
eomplish the purpose of his heart, yet he was too
much a man of business, and his money was too
dear to him, for him to be willing to leave any un-
certainty upon its disposal. He therefore sum-
moned to his bedside a gentleman of the legal
profession, in universal esteem as a man of strict
integrity and honour, to whom he gave the fol-
lowing concise instructions for making his will:

‘‘ Richard Huggins, in sound mind, has a just
right to dispose of his own.

“T leave my wife, Jane Huggins, two hundred
pounds a-year for life.

“1 leave my successor in business, Mr. William
Martin, a wise and honest man, five hundred
pounds.

“T leave my son, Frederick Adolphus Huggins,
twenty-five thousand pounds in the Navy Five per
Cents., to be paid him on coming of age; and my
residuary legatee.

“] leave Mr. William Martin, already mentioned,
sole executor of my will, trustee for my wife, and
guardian to my son.”

The lawyer ventured to suggest, that provision
should be made from the proceeds of the pro-
perty, for the maintenance and education of Master
A DIGRESSION. 196

Huggins; also that directions should be given as
to the application of the surplus income during
his minority.

“ There is no occasion,” replied the sick man;
“ William Martin is sole executor: he will do what
is wise and right, if he should outlive me. But
perhaps I may recover. I hope I shall.”

The lawyer bowed an echo to the wish, and
begged permission to observe, that the annuity for
Mrs. Huggins was small, considering the amount
of the property, and the style of living to which
she had been accustomed.

“It will do very well, sir—quite enough for
anything she needs. She may lay by half of it,
and live well too. It’s more than Y spent before
I knew her—more than she was brought up to—
more than she ever earned—and more than she
will make a good use of. If I left her more, she
would only go spending it on piannies and gim-
eracks, that she don’t know how to use, just for
the sake of being as grand as other people; or else
fooling it away at the card-table. Women don’t
know how to take care of money, sir: it is of ne
use leaving it to them. I hope my son will take
eare of it. But, after all, I hope I shall live to
take care of it myself. One does not die the
sooner for making a will. Please to do it, sir, ac-
cording to my instructions,”
124 A DIGRESSION,

The instrument was prepared, and duly executed
and, by desire of the testator, transmitted to the
care of the executor, the solicitor being requested
to retain a copy in his own possession.

This done, the sick man seemed well satisfied,
and, in a considerable degree, rallied for a few
days; so much so, as to anticipate returning to
Brighton to fetch home his wife and child. The
letter announcing this intention also failed of reach-
ing Mrs. Huggins; for, on her return to Brighton,
finding the former alarming communication, she lost
no time in setting out on her journey home, and had
left Brighton before the arrival of the second letter;
but not before her husband had experienced a
second seizure, which entirely deprived him of
speech, and of the use of one side. He recognised
his wife and child, but was never able to make
any further communication. Mrs. Huggins was
extremely anxious to induce her husband to make
a will of her devising; but, finding that he was
utterly incapable of such an effort, she contented
herself with the idea, that if there were no will, the
law would afford her an ample provision, and that
there was no near relative to dispute with her the
right of administration, or the guardianship of the
child. These considerations formed a great alle-
viation to her distress, in the prospect of losing
her husband. No sooner, however, was that event
& DIGRESSION, 125

realized, then she received the superadded blow—
perhaps to one of so mean and selfish a mind, by far
the heaviest—of ascertaining that a will was in force
—a will which, both in its provisions and the ap-
pointment of its administration, ran directly coun-
ter to her wishes and expectations.

William Martin had been justly characterized
by the late Mr. Huggins as a wise and an honest
man. He had been many years in his employ as
a foreman, and had proved himself truly upright,
conscientious, and devoted to his master’s interests,
yet maintaining a prudent and honourable regard
to his own. He justly appreciated his own value,
and required a liberal salary—as his employer
sometimes thought, too liberal—but yet he knew
his own interest too well to demur about giving it.
Many persons would have undertaken the post for
a much lower nominal remuneration, but they
could not have been depended upon like William
Martin, for undeviating punctuality and diligenee
in the discharge of business, and conscientious
fidelity—amounting, indeed, to scrupulosity in the
eare of property. William Martin was one to
whom an employer would find it his interest to
say, as Laban of old said to Jacob, “ EF pray thee,
if I have found favour in thine eyes, tarry: for I
have learned by experience that the Lord hath
blessed me for thy sake. Appoint me thy wages,

L2
126 A DIGRESSION.

and I will give it.” (Gen. xxx. 27, 28.) William
Martin was frugal of his property—his master was
saving. From the time of his entering Mr.
Huggins’ employ, and, perhaps, before he entered
it, William denied himself every superfluity, and
resolutely determined to save at least ten pounds,
As his salary advanced, he saved more. His
master, at the same time, denied himself not
merely the superfluities of life, but even its decen-
cies and comforts; and he laid by hundreds. As
his income advanced, he did not allow himself to
launch out further, but laid by thousands. William
Martin, in his prudent care, had an object in vjew
—a worthy object; he looked forward to do-
mestic life, and saved that he might be able to
furnish a house, and support a family in comfort.
Mr. Huggins had no such object. He accumu-
lated money for its own sake.

After being several years in the employ of Mr.
Huggins, William made the unprecedented request
for two or three days’ holiday.

‘*'Y-e-s, William,” returned the master, “I will
certainly contrive it, for J must say you richly
deserve it; but Iam sure ] don’t know what to do
without you. I must not leave the shop a minute
while you are gone for, I am sure there is no-
body else I can trust.”

“T think, sir, it is quite unnecessary for you to
A DIGRESSION. 197

confine yourself so closely. 1 have not been un-
mindful of the habits both of the journeyman and
the apprentice, and I believe they will both act
faithfully and well. Still, [ should not have wished
to leave my own post, but upon a special occasion.
I am going to be married.”

“Married!” exclaimed Mr. Huggins, lifting his
brows with astonishment; “you don’t say so!
Why, William, it is the first foolish thing you
ever did in your life. You will surely repent it.
How can you support a wife and family? Only
think of the expense of it.”

“T have thought, sir. I have thought of it a
long time, and saved on purpose to enable me to
provide for it, The person I have chosen is an
industrious, frugal, young woman. She will be
content with such things as I can afford her; and
I believe she will manage so as to make us com-
fortable, at a moderate expense. I hope, sir, you
will please to come and see us in our little cottage;
though in an humble way, we have got everything
about us that we need have, to make us comfortable.”

“That is more than many can say, who have
ten times your property.” The words were ac-
companied by a sigh. ‘‘I certainly will come
and see you, William. Let us see—which will
come first, Christmas-day, or Good Friday? It
must be one of those days, for you know it will
128 A DIGRESSION.

never do for us both to be out of the shop at once.
Well, if you will be married—though I think you
had better not—I must make you a present to-
wards house-keeping.” So saying, Mr. Huggins
opened his desk, and absolutely took out a ten
pound note—perhaps a larger sum than he had
ever before parted with as an act of liberality.
William, notwithstanding his master’s dissua-
sions, was married, and, on the appointed public
holiday, received a visit from Mr. Huggins, when
ahandsome and useful piece of furniture was ex-
hibited to him as the purchase of his gift. The
neatness and comfort of the domestic scene were
truly surprising to the rich but niggardly bachelor.
How William Martin could afford it, he could not
imagine—he was sure he could not. However,
he was so well pleased with his visit, as to repeat
it on every public holiday for years in succession 5
until on one Good Friday, he rather hastily,
if not inadvertently, obtained a licence, and con-
verted his housekeeper into Mrs. Huggins; and,
two or three years afterwards, retired from business,
having disposed of the concern to his faithful ser-
vant, on equitable terms. It had taken scarcely
a year of inactivity and luxurious living, to im-
pair the health of Huggins, and predispose him
to a sudden attack, which was readily excited by
frritation of spirits, and speedily brought him to
_A DIGRESSION. 129

the grave. ‘They that trust in their wealth,
and boast themselves in the multitude of their
riches; none of them can by any means redeem
his own soul, or give to God a ransom that they
should still live for ever, and not see corruption.
Wise men die, likewise the fool and the brutish
person perish, and leave their wealth to others.
Man, being in honour, abideth not: he is like
the beasts that perish.”

William Martin had never been high in Mrs.
Huggins’ favour. She suspected him, though un-
justly, of having dissuaded his master from mar-
rying her; and she thought that he retained an
influence with Mr. Huggins, that prevented her
gaining the entire ascendancy over him and his.
purse, at which she aimed; and now, to find her-
self placed in a sort of dependent connexion with
him, was a mortification not easily to be brooked.
She made several vain efforts to set aside the will
of her late husband; and when these failed, she set
herself, in every possible way, to thwart and em-.
barrass the executor in the discharge of his trust..

Mr. Martin had but one course to pursue,
namely, to fulfil the intentions of his departed
friend, and to secure the interests of his child.
In the prosecution of these duties, his conduct was
marked by fidelity, discretion, and firmness. He
uniformly treated Mrs. Huggins in a liberal and:
180 A DIGRESSION,

respectful manner, and consulted her wishes as
far as he could do consistently with the welfare of
his ward; but he steadily resisted all attempts at
encroachment on the property, and all plans of
education, or rather non-education, and false in-
dulgence. His aim was to take care of the pro-
perty for the child, and qualify the child to enter
on the possession of the property. His early
childhood was, of course, under the care of his
mother, for which purpose a liberal share of the
income was assigned to her. At a suitable age
the little heir was placed under the tuition of Mr,
‘Temple—a measure strongly opposed by his fond,
but ill-judging mother—who avenged herself by
doing all in her power to counteract the efforts of
the preceptor, and to poison the mind of the child
against his guardian, and the measures adopted by
him. In these particulars a mother’s influence
was but too successful. The young gentleman
-was as averse from learning and application, and
‘gave as much unavailing trouble to his teachers,
‘as the most perverse and ignorant mother could
possibly desire. He imbibed, too, the most bitter
prejudices against his guardian—regarded him
as a selfish and tyrannical usurper—considered it
‘a proof of cleverness to outwit him, and a mark ot
spirit to treat him with incivility; and triumphed
in anticipation of the period when he should be-
A DIGRESSION. 181

come master of his property, and set at defiance
the opinions of one he so much disliked.

As a widow, Mrs. Huggins made a new effort
to surround herself with genteel society. Possessed
of a liberal income-—for the allowance made to her
for the care of her child, raised it to at least four
hundred a-year—inhabiting one of the best houses
in the town, and adopting, in her style of living,
whatever she imagined to be genteel and fashion-
able, she did expect admission to the first circles
in the neignbourhood; but she was wofully dis-
appointed. Her parties were deserted, her visits
unreturned, and her invitations politely declined.
She pronounced it the most unsociable town in
England, and often threatened to leave it. It is
probable her threat would have been fulfilled, if
she could have obtained Mr. Martin’s consent to
the removal of her son from Mr. Temple’s school;
but for this she laboured in vain. It greatly ag-
gravated her vexation to observe, that the most
respectable inhabitants of the town, while they
neglected her, treated, with marked respect, another
widow in much humbler circumstances. This
was Mrs. Henry Dawson, whose cultivated mind,
and polished manners, rendered her society agree-
able to persons of taste and discernment, and
whose honourable efforts for the support of her
dependent children, claimed for her the respect
182 A DIGRESSION.

and sympathy of the wise and good in all ranks
of society. The Dawson family became, in con-
sequence, objects of Mrs. Huggins’ extreme dis-
like and jealousy.

The selfish and malevolent are continually pre-
paring bitterness for themselves. Every mark of
prosperity in the Dawsons, was regarded by Mrs.
Huggins as so much abstracted from her happi-
ness—every expression of respect and approbation
of them, asa designed and marked insult to herself.
When Harry Dawson became a pupil of Mr.
Temple’s, it was unbearable to think of his being
placed on a level with her son; and occasioned a
fresh and urgent, but unsuccessful application to
Mr. Martin, to remove the latter to another esta-
blishment. Harry’s diligence and good conduct
formed a new source of vexation; for, though
three years younger than Master Huggins, Harry
Dawson far outstripped him in every branch of
learning, and was, occasionally, held up to him as
a pattern for his imitation. It is probable that
Master Frederick Adolphus was one of the youths
referred toin the conversation between Mr. Temple
and his assistant,
188

CHAPTER VIII.
PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND SUCCESS,

Tue birth of Uncle Benjamin’s little boy was not
more a matter of lively joy and hearty congratu-
lation in the family circle, than it was of malignant
triumph to Mrs. Huggins, who concluded that
Harry would lose the place he had held in his
uncle’s affections, and the prospect of support and
advancement in future life.

‘No doubt,” said she to her son, when she com«
municated the intelligence, ‘Henry will be taken
away from school, at least at the end of the quarter,
and you won’t have him to be twitted about; if
you don’t drudge with your learning like a poor
boy that has got to get his living by it.”-

These surmises were quickly communicated by
the young gentleman to the subject of them.
The hints thrown out by Master Huggins, though.
they failed to inflict the jealousy and mortifi-
cation they were calculated, and perhaps designed

M
134 puRPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND SUCCESS.

to do, yet awakened a train of thought in the
mind of Harry, and led him to consider, yet more
closely than he had hitherto done, the position in
which himself, his mother, and sister, stood in
relation to Uncle Benjamin and his family. Harry
was not afraid of being cast off, or treated with
unkindness, but the possibility of their becoming
in some way burdensome, pressed upon his mind,
and gave him an uneasy feeling. In the character
of Harry, thoughtfulness and candour were com-
bined in no ordinary degree. He often thought
things out by himself, especially matters in which
he could search out information from books; but,
if a question arose in his mind about any practi-
cal matter, or anything that concerned the interests
of the family, he immediately carried his difficulty
to his mother or uncle, and explicitly asked the
information he wanted. It is very desirable for
children to feel that they can converse freely with
their nearest friends. There were at present two
things on Harry’s mind :—one was that to which his
uncle had alluded, as what would greatly promote
the happiness of his mother; the other was his own
dependence for education, and how far his uncle’s
liberality to him could be continued without
injury to his new-born cousin. He resolved that
very afternoon, while at work with his und 2, to
ask him about both. He was somewhat dis-
PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND success. 135

appointed to find that two of his uncle’s men
were at work with him. They were trimming
and repairing the hedges round the poplar grove.

“Well Harry, my boy, I’m glad you are come.
Many hands make light work; and I want to get
the hedging finished to-day, for Farmer Stone has
lent me his waggon and horses to carry home the
fagots; besides, I shall be busy for the next
fortnight, and should not be able either to come
myself, or spare my men. So Smith will prune
and dig, Brown will stake and bind, you shall pick
up the wood and bring it to me, and I will make
up the fagots and load the waggon. Look sharp,
my boy. I guess we shall have three good loads
of fagots—as much as ever we shall do to clear
away before dark. To be sure the moon rises
early, and that will help us a little.”

Harry perceived that there would be no oppor-
tunity of conversation; sohe gave it up at once, and
set to work heartily, as his uncle directed him. Mr.
Dawson was liberal and considerate to his people,
and he set them such an example of despatch and
perseverance, that whenever he wanted to finish
any particular work in a given time, they were
always willing to work an hour or two extra; and
they did work while they were at it; and, at eight
o'clock, the fourth load of fagots was safely
housed, Harry was thoroughly tired and hungry.
186 PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND SUCCESS,

Uncle Benjamin was much the same}; but a cheerful
fire, a comfortable meal, and the company of those
they loved, soon recruited them; and all seemed
agreed to prolong the evening for a little social chat.
Uncle Benjamin sat in the great arm chair, with
his little baby on his knee.
‘‘Come Harry,” said he, “get out your book,
and take account of our day’s work.”
Harry obeyed, and wrote down as his unele
dictated :—
Stakes and binders 15s. 6d.
2men#dayeach 4 6
Farmer Stone’s carter 1 6
“You see, Harry,” observed Uncle Benjamin,
“I charge three quarters of a day, for the poor
fellows did three quarters of a day’s work, though
they did not begin till after dinner; and I gave
the farmer’s carter eighteen pence; for, though
his master ordered him to draw the wood home,
I did not think it right to take his own time, and
not pay him for it. ‘Do as you would be done
by,’ you know, is the rule. Then, as I make it,
the outgoings of the day come to one pound one
shilling and sixpence. Is that right, Harry?”
“ Yes, uncle.” .
“Then, now forthe incomings. Three hundred
and three quarters of fagots, at sixteen shillings
a hundred.”
PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND SUCCESS. 187

Harry promptly made the entry, and cast it up.
Three pounds—deduct expenses one pound one
and sixpence—leaves balance, one pound eighteen
and sixpence.

“Very well, Harry, and very neatly entered.
When you were a little wee thing, like thison my
knee, | used to keep your accounts for you. I
am glad you are able to do it for yourself now.
Â¥f all is well on Monday, you shall take it to the
Savings Bank, and have it added to your account,
with the half year’s interest.”

“Uncle, don’t you want it for the little baby?
You know you had no little boy when you gave
me the poplar grove; but now I think he ought to
have it; and if you please to let it be his, I will
work in it just the same as if it were my own.”

“Thank you kindly, Harry, for making such
an offer; but I do not intend to take back my
gift. Poplar Grove is yours, and all that comes
from it; and, if my life is spared, I'll take care
that it is made the best of for you till you come of
age; and then I hope—indeed I make no doubt,
if you go on as you have done hitherto—you will
have discretion to make the best of it for yourself.
I do not fear but God will enable us to provide
for this little neweome. Indeed, it was partly the
thought that my expenses might be increased by
a large family, or by illness, or my means dimi«

m 2
188 PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND SUCCESS.

nished by sickness or misfortune, that made me
resolve to improve Squire Hammond’s gift for
you. I thought with good management it might
be made to yield you schooling; and so it has,
and will, and something over. What is your sum
in the Savings Bank book now?”

“ Forty-three pounds eleven shillings and ten-
pence; and when this fagot money and the interest
are added, it will make it as much as it was before
my last school-bill was paid. Thank you, uncle,
for contriving so to let me go to school; and Mr.
Temple and Mr. Porter are so kind, and take so
much pains with me, that I hope I shall soon
learn what will fit me to get my own living, and
help my friends. Uncle, would you think proper
to tell me now, or would mother tell me herself,
what it is that would make her so happy? I
should like to try if I could not do it all at once.”

“My dear little Harry,” said his mother, “I
can tell you now, for I am sure you can under-
stand and feel with me, what it is that lies nearest
my heart, and would indeed make me happy, if
ever I should live to see it accomplished. Your
poor dear father—” Here her recollections over-
powered her, and she could proceed no farther.
Uncle Benjamin, to spare the widow's feelings,
rather hurriedly took up the tale.

“Your poor dear father was ill a long time,
PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND success. 189

Harry, and not able to pursue his calling and gain
money to support his family; and so, when be
died, there was money owing—a great deal of
money—and nothing to pay it with; and that
made your mother very unhappy.”

* Then, Uncle, do 1 owe it now? and how much
is it?”

‘No, Harry, you do not owe it—you were not
born at the time. Indeed, nobody owes it, so as
to he obliged to pay it. It is the law of England,
that if all a person has is given to pay his debts,
no more can be required.”

“But, Uncle, it would not be right for the
people to whom it is owing to lose it—somebody
must pay it.”

“That is just what your mother has thought,
and has ever since laboured that she might be
enabled to do it. When she takes money for
teaching her scholars, she does not buy fine gowns
and bonnets, but makes what she has serve her as
long as possible, and spares every shilling she pos«
sibly can, to help pay the debts.”

“Dear mother!” exclaimed Harry, tenderly
embracing her; “ but it is I who must work and
pay it. If my father had left a great deal of money,
I should have had it, or part of it. Master Hug-
gins says he has got twenty-five thousand pounds,
and more, that his father left him. My father
140 PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND SUCCESS,

would have left me money if he could; but, as he
had not enough, it is my duty to work, and work,
till I earn money enough to pay it. Uncle, may I
give this money, instead of putting it in the Savings
Bank? and may I have out what is there? Would
that be enough?”

“No, Harry,” replied his uncle, “the poplar
grove money is set apart for the purpose of giving
you a good education, that you may be qualified
in some respectable employment by which you
can support yourself, and help your mother, It
would not be right to meddle with that. Whatever
else you earn you may do as you please with; and,
now you know all about it, I dare say when you
get money for your eggs and poultry, and rabbits,
you will consult with your mother about what
clothes are wanted, and what can be spared to help
pay off the debt. Iam glad you feel as you de
about it.”

“ And cannot J help at all, Uncle?” asked Lucy.
* Jane and I sent some drawings and netting-cases
to the sale for the Infirmary. If I could do some
more, and sell, a little money might be gained to-
wards paying the debt; but I am afraid it would
be but little. Icannot work so fast, nor earn so
much money, as Harry does.”

‘“‘ Ever so little helps, my dear child,” said the
mother, “and would be a real comfort to me
PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND suconss. 141

When first I began paying off the debt, I felt dis-
couragement, because I could only raise a few
shillings; but I feel differently now. When once
T had made a beginning, my spirit rose, and I was
encouraged to persevere; and every little that I
am enabled to pay, affords me greater pleasure than
I can express: it makes me sleep sweetly, and
does as much good to my health as a journey for
change of air. If ever I am restless and uneasy,
it is when a long time has past without my being
able to send anything. But Lucy, dear, grand-
mother's gruel is ready, and it is quite time we
should bid Uncle and Aunt good night.”

There was a peculiar tenderness in the parting
embrace that closed that evening of confiding
family intercourse. In many families it would be
considered highly imprudent to make such disclo-
sures of family circumstances to children of ten
and thirteen years of age; but if the experiment
were judiciously tried, it would be found that
children at avery early age are susceptible of a
lively and intelligent interest in family affairs—
that, if thus admitted to participate in the trials
and anxieties of their parents, they will not in ge-
neral make an indiscreet use of the confidence
placed in them; but that it will operate upon them
as a salutary check to imprudent expenditure, and
a stimulus to industry and care.
142 PpuURYOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND SUCCESS.

Early on the Monday morning, Lucy had
sketched two groups of flowers for a pair of hand-
screens; and Harry was busy constructing a bee-
hive on a new and ingenious principle of his
own. He had kept two stocks of bees through
the summer. It was now time for taking the
honey; and by this new contrivance Harry fondly
hoped to reap the sweet produce of the hive,
without destroying the industrious little la-
bourers. The honey was already consecrated to
the cherished object; and Lucy and Harry no
longer wondered at having heard their mother,
when the purchase of any new garment for herself
was proposed, say the old one would serve a little
longer. They thoroughly sympathized in her
feelings, and resolved, by the strictest care, to avoid
putting her to any unnecessary expense in their
clothing. It greatly added to their happiness to
lay together their little plans for assisting their
mother, and report to each other their progress.

Harry was in some little perplexity about one
particular part of his hive; ana, when at school,
he requested Mr. Porter's permission to look at an
article in an Encyclopzedia with which the p::pils
were occasionally indulged as a book of referenc?.
The request was granted; and, after schoo! ws
over, Harry was sitting on the school-room ste.
deeply intent on comparing a plate with the letter-
PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND success. 143

press of an article on mechanics. While thus en-
gaged, Mr. Temple happened to pass by with
another gentleman, and asked him what he was
studying, Harry modestly stated his difficulty,
in such a manner as proved him well acquainted
with the principles of mechanics. Mr. Temple’s
friend joined in the conversation with much in-
terest, being evidently pleased with the intelli-
gence, ingenuity, and modesty of the boy; and
interested also in the success of his invention,
being himself a bee-keeper. He expressed a wish
to see the hive that Harry was constructing, and
engaged to call at his uncle’s for that purpose.
Accordingly he did so, and so fully approved the
principle, as to believe that, if known, it would be
extensively adopted, and might be a source of
some profit to the young mechanist. Mr. Martin—
for that was the name of the gentleman—suggested
a little improvement on the plan, and then pro-
posed to Harry to make a model of the hive, which
he undertook to exhibit at a repository in London,
for useful inventions. Lest, however, his kind
intention should not succeed, to secure Harry
against loss of time and materials, he proposed to
him to construct two model hives, for which he
engaged to pay him a guinea; ‘‘and then,” said
he, “you had better not expect to make any
farther advantage of your ingenuity. If anything
144 purrosEs, ENDEAVOURS, AND succRSs,

comes it will be welcome; but if it comes not, it
must be no disappointment.” As the gentlemen
turned away, Mr. Martin observed to his friend,
that Harry was a fine intelligent little fellow.

“ Yes,” replied Mr. Temple, “ and his industry,
perseverance, and general good conduct, more than
equal his ingenuity. I do hope and expect that
that boy will rise in life by his own merits.”

“T wish,” said Mr. Martin, “that my ward
gave any promise of sustaining as honourable and
useful a character. I wonder whether any inti-
macy subsists between the lads. I should be glad
to secure so good a companion for poor Frederick;
but I can scarcely expect it. Frederick’s idleness
and empty-headed pride would render him un-
worthy of such a friend as Master Dawson.”

““T rather think,” returned Mr. Temple, “ that
Mrs. Huggins would consider Harry Dawson a
very unworthy associate for her son; for the fa-
mily, though highly respectable, is not rich; and
their humble though honourable pursuits are such
as would expose them to the contempt of Mrs.
Huggins and her son. I assure you I am conti-
nually labouring to counteract the false principles
instilled into the mind of that young gentleman,
but I fear without success. A preceptor can do
little, wnen a mother’s influence runs against him.
Mrs. Dawson is a sensible and excellent woman,
PURPOSES——ENDEAVOURS AND svwoxrss. 145

and wil! share largely in the merit of her son’s
progress and success.”

‘Oh that poor Frederick had been blessed with
such a mother! there would have been an incom-
parably greater prospect of his large property prov-
ing a blessing to himself and to society. But I
fearhe is taught by his foolish mother to consider it
merely as an instrument of self-gratification—not
as a sacred talent intrusted for extensive good,
and involving awful responsibility. Whatever
may be the views of the mother and son in this
respect, I can truly say that the responsibility
presses heavily on my mind; and I hope to ne-
glect no means likely to convey a just sense of
it to his.”

While this conversation passed between the gen-
tlemen on their way home, Harry could not for-
bear running in to inform his sister of his opening
prospect. She cordially shared his joy at the antici-
pation of contributing a whole guinea at once to
mother’s happiness; but lamented the slow degrees
by which she was likely to promote the design.
Harry kissed her, and encouraged her to proceed
with her sereens, saying, “ You little know how
things may turn out: when we try in good
earnest, we generally succeed better than we exe
pect;” and away he bounded to complete his hive,
to which the bees were safely transferred, and

N
146 PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AXD SUCCESS,

good stock of honey taken, to Harry’s complete.
satisfaction. Next day he began the models for.
Mr. Martin, which on the half-holiday he hoped
to complete, as Mr. Martin was to return to town
early in the following week. In one part of his
work he had occasion to make a wire red hot to
pierce some holes. He took this opportunity of
a little conversation with his sister.

‘Lucy, dear, I hope you do not sit too close;
but you seem very chilly; you want a brisk run
in the garden. I should soon be ill if I were to
sit as closely as you do—nursing, drawing, needle-
work, reading, all day long.”

“No, Harry, I do not sit all daylong. Mother
is very particular about my taking exercise in the
open air; besides, she is anxious that I should
understand household business and nursing, which
she says are often neglected by persons engaged
in learning or teaching accomplishments which,
however pleasing, are comparatively useless. So
mother has made an arrangement with aunt, for
Jane and me to take turns with Mary in assisting
her in the house;) or rather, being taught by her;
for I fear I am still too awkward to help her
much;) and, in nursing the baby. Dear little fel-
low! 1 begin to love him very muck.”

- Tam glad you are learning to do all these
things. You will want to understand them when
PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND succnss. 147

you come to be a woman. But how do you come.
6n with the screens? -When will they be done?”

“1 have just finished the drawings, and the
mountings will not take me very long. I dare
say I can do them on Saturday afternoon. How
do you like them?”

‘‘They are really beautiful, Lucy. I wish ]
were as clever as you; but I have little notion of
drawing, except in lines and circles.”

: Perhaps that may be more useful to you than
flowcr-drawing would be. Harry, what do you
think my screens are worth? and do you think it
likely that I shall sell them? The materials have
cost me four shillings and sixpence. My other
pair were sold for twelve shillings; but that was at
a fancy fair, where people always pay dear for
what they buy. I wish I may get my money back,
and as much more, for the drawings and work.
Do you think nine shillings too much?”

** No, indeed, I don’t think it too much for you
to have for those beautiful drawings; but the thing
‘fs, whether we can find any person who. wants
‘such things, and can afford to pay for them. If
you finish them on Saturday, and I finish my
model hives, will you trust me to take them to
show to Mr. Martin? Perhaps he may know some
one who would buy them; or he might take them
to that repository where he intends taking one of
148 PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND SUCCESS.

my hives. I don’t know,.though, whether it would.
be called a useful invention—that is the worst of
it. Good bye, dear; I have pierced my holes. We
shall soon have something that will help to make
mother happy.”

The young people completed their handiworks
in due time. Mr. Martin desired Harry to bring
the models with him to school, as he should have
to call there the last day. Mr. Temple also wished
to inspect them. Harry obtained, in addition to
his promised substantial reward, quite as much
praise for the ingenuity of his invention, the exact-
ness of his measurements and fitting, and the neat-
ness of his workmanship, as he could possibly
desire; and yet it was not injudicious praise likely
to make him vain, but such as would tend to sti-
mulate and encourage his future efforts. With at
least equal satisfaction, Harry begged permission
to exhibit his sister's performance. These were
equally admired in their way; and Mr. Martin,
understanding that they were to be disposed of,
requested permission to take them as a present to
Mrs. Martin, desiring Mrs. Temple, who was pre-
sent, to set a liberal price upon them. Mrs.
Temple named fourteen shillings. Harry’s heart
leaped in exultation at his sister’s success.

‘“T want one thing more,” said Mr. Martin, “ to
make my present complete. Do you think the
PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND success. 149

young lady would oblige me by furnishing it? It
is a small case for a time-piece, of which I will
leave the dimensions; and beg her to execute the
little commission at her leisure, and to accept a
guinea in return for it.”

‘Oh sir!’ said Harry, ‘I am so thankful for it;
you do not know how glad we are to get money.”

“ And yet, my little man, though I can readily
suppose that you know the value of money, and
prize it for its real use, I cannot suppose you to
be a lover of money.”

“T love it, sir,” said Harry, “because it will
help to make mother happy.”

“Your mother is happy in having such good
children. I hope they will be spared to her, and
continue through life to yield her as much satis-
faction as at present. Farewell, my little friend—
I shall not forget you; and, may the best of
Heaven’s blessings rest upon you!”

With a light heart Harry communicated his
success to his sister; and thus, in about a
a fortnight from their being informed of the call
for their exertions, each dutiful child had the
happiness of presenting to a delighted mother a
guinea as the reward of their efforts! It need
scarcely be said, that Lucy honourably fulfilled
the additional commission, the price for which had
been so liberally included. The price of Harry's

w@
150 PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND SUCCESS,

honey amounted to nearly another pound, and
Mrs. Dawson was enabled herself to add some-
what more than two; and, with unspeakable satis-
faction to the whole family, a five pound note was
enclosed in a letter to the gentleman with whom
Uncle Benjamin had all along corresponded in
the management of his brother's affairs. This
pleasure was often repeated. The combined ener-
gies of the mother and both the children were
steadily applied to the accomplishment of their
wishes; and ‘a threefold cord is not easily broken.”

When Henry was fourteen years of age, the last
shilling due to his father’s creditors was remitted,
The full receipts were accompanied by a letter
expressive of the high sense entertained by all
the parties, of the integrity and honour which had
characterized the proceeding, and a request that
Mrs. Dawson would accept, as a small token of
their esteem, a silver cream-pot, and a dozen
spoons, and sugar-tongs, to the purchase of which
every one of the creditors had contributed. The
articles had been decided on, in preference to one
larger and perhaps handsomer concern, in order
that each of the children might possess, in future
years, a permanent testimony, however small its
intrinsic value, to the honourable conduct of their
parent, whose example they had so early and so
nobly emulated.
PURPOSES, ENDEAVOURS, AND success. 151

***A good name,’ said Uncle Benjamin, as he
saw the contents of the parcel displayed, ‘‘ ‘a good
name is rather to be chosen than great riches.’
(Prov. xxii.) ‘A good man leaveth an inherit-
ance to his children’s children.’ (Prov. xiii. 22.)
And here, my children, is an inheritance laid up
for you by father and mother too: long, long,
may it be before you come into possession of it, and
may you leave it as an honourable memorial to
children’s children, and not one who ever bears
the name of Dawson, or claims affinity to it, ever
live to disgrace this pledge for upright and honour-
able conduct.”

The honest wishes of the widow and her children
thus fulfilled—then, and not till then, a modes¢
tablet was erected “To the Memory of Henry
Dawson, Surgeon.”
CHAPTER IX.
THE WIND UP.

Tue order of events has been somewhat untici-
pated, to bring the reader at once to this consum-
mation, so long and so devoutly wished by the
persevering family. There are a few circumstances
that must be gathered up. During the four years
which intervened between the young people being
admitted to a participation in their mother’s
anxieties, and the happy and honourable ter-
mination of those anxieties above related, their
education had satisfactorily progressed. Jane
and Lucy both manifested a predilection for,
and an aptitude in, the work of tifition, and the
number of Mrs. Dawson’s pupils gave ample scope
for the occupation of their time and talents. Mrs.
Dawson had often been pressed to receive boarders;
but the house afforded no accommodation for such
an extension of her original plan: nor, perhaps,
did she feel quite inclined, while gaining a com-
THE WIND UP. 158

fortable livelihood in her present undertaking, te
embark in one involving so much greater respon-
sibility and anxiety. She, however, sometimes
thought that, perhaps at some future time Jane
and Lucy, who were affectionately attached to
each other, might be united in conducting a
more extensive establishment; and she sometimes
wished that an opportunity might occur for one or
both of them to take lessons in music from some
eminent master, which, in their present situation,
was not easily attainable. Mrs. Dawson knew that
they were both well-grounded in the science; and
Lucy, in particular, discovered great taste and spirit
in her performances. But she knew also the general
prejudice that exists against musical preceptresses
who cannot boast of having acquired their skill
under the auspices of some master of fashionable
name; and she feared it might prove an obstacle to
the future success of the young people. The ex-
pedience and practicability of placing Lucy, for a
year or two, at a first-rate boarding school, for
improvement, had more than once been discussed
in the family. These discussions awakened the
mother’s apprehensions lest health, or simplicity
of manners, should be sacrificed to the acquire-
ment of a higher polish, and more fashionable pre-
tensions; and the result was a decision that Lucy
must make the best of her present advantages.
154 THE WIND UP,

.. Mary was of a thoroughly domestic turn——e giel
of strong native good sense, and much solid infor-
mation. She prized knowledge, and was glad te
learn, but she had no disposition professedly to
teach. She was thoroughly diligent and perse-
vering in her pursuits, but discovered a uniform
preference of the solid and useful, above the or-
namental. She excelled much more in plain
needlework than in embroidery—in getting up
fine linen, preserving fruit, or making pastry, than
in painting velvet, or striking the keys of the
piano. She read, but it must be something of a
solid, practical kind. Well-drawn sketches of life
and character she could enjoy; but, for works of
mere fiction and sentimentality, she had no relish.
She wrote good sense, correctly expressed, and
neatly written; but it was what and when she
really had occasion to write. She penned no
sonnets, despatched no thrice-crossed sheets of
sentimentality and profession, but communicated
to an absent friend information which was neces-
sary or desirable to be possessed; or she enriched
the pages of her common-place book with judicious
remarks, valuable sentiments, or striking facts, as
she picked them up either in reading or in conver-
sation. .

Mary’s parents had the good sense to under-
stand the cast of her mind and disposition, and to
THE WIND UP. 188

train her for usefulness in that which was so. evi-
dently her proper department—not either from a
foolish pride in the possession of modern accom-
iplishments, or merely because the means of ac-
quiring them were accessible, to compel her to
spend hours and years in pursuits for which she
had no taste, and in which she would never excel.
Mary’s father sometimes said that she was made
after the model of her mother and Aunt Hannah.
He had never yet been able to decide to which of
them the palm belonged; but, unless another of
her own standing should appear as her competitor,
she bid fair, at some future day, to be acknow-
ledged as the most sensible, prudent, active, and
kind-hearted wife, mother, and family manager in
her neighbourhood. Meanwhile, she would be her
mother’s right hand. The father’s prediction, in
this instance, did not fall to the ground, as do most
of the dreams of parents about the future elevation
of their children, founded, as they generally are,
not on any intelligible indications of character, or
on well-adapted means and measures, or on any
rational probability as to the course of events, but
on the romantic vagaries of indolence, pride, and
selfishness. ‘‘ The soul of the sluggard desireth
and hath nothing, because his hands sefuse to la-
bour; but the soul of the diligent shall be made
fat.” (Prov. xiii: 4; xxi. 25.) Happy are the
156 THE WIND UP,

families, of which Mary Dawson has become the.
‘Scorner stone, polished after the similitude of a
palace.” (Psal. cxliv. 12.)

Hannah, in her taste and disposition, resembled
Mary rather than Jane, but was peculiarly dis-
tinguished by an extreme fondness for little
children—a department in which, the younger
branches of her own family, and those of her Aunt
Price, afforded her an opportunity of gaining
some experience. At her own earnest desire,
a situation was sought for her in the nursery of
a family of distinction. There she soon acquired
the superintendence of the nursery, in which she
has continued many years, with much credit and
advantage to herself, and with entire satisfaction
to the noble parents, for whom she has brought up
a fine family of children. Hannah has realized an
honourable competence for herself; and, as she has
thought that her services are no longer required in the
family with whom she has so long resided—though
no intimation of the kind has been received from
them—her mind is now fluctuating between ac-
cepting the offer of a highly respectable widower, to
become the second mother of his children, or un-
dertaking the charge of an infant school, for the
sake of useful and congenial employment.

Little Ben, as is generally the case with a little
one coming after a long interval, was quite we
THE WIND UP. 157

darling of the family; and it required all the
wisdom and firmness of both parents, to preserve
him from being spoiled by over-indulgence. As
.goon as the little one began to look around him
and smile, one of the first objects that attracted
his attention was his cousin Harry, of whom he
soon became exceedingly fond. It need scarcely
be said, that Harry was equally fond of him; for
the attachments of children do not last, unless
they are kindly reciprocated. Indeed, very young
infants have a surprising tact at understanding
the physiognomy of those who are, and those who
are not kindly disposed towards them. Certain it
is, that it was commonly said among the grand-
mother and aunts, that the attachment between
Cousin Harry and little Ben, was exactly like
that which they: so well remembered between
Uncle Benjamin and little Harry. It was Harry
who presented the soft ball, rolled it along the
ground, and encouraged little Ben to crawl after
it. It was Harry who carried him out to see the
cows, and sheep, and fowls, and rabbits. It was
Harry who made him laugh aloud, by hopping
like a rabbit, or jerking his head like the ducks
when drinking. At a subsequent period it was
Harry who imparted to him the rudiments of
learning, and initiated him into the innocent sports
of childhood. Harry was, in: the truest sense ef
°
158 THE WiND UP.

the word, his private tutor; and it was anticipated,
that between Harry and Benjamin, if the lives of
both were spared to that period of life when a dif-
ference of ten years in age makes no disparity in
eapacity for friendship, that a cordial friendship
would still and ever subsist. Harry remained under
Mr. Temple’s instruction till he was fifteen years of
age, and little Ben was five. He had already done
much for his improvement, and left him under the
care of his mother, with an earnest desire that he
might become a pupil of Mr. Temple as soon as
ever he had attained the age at which they were
admitted by that gentleman. Mrs. Price’s son
was already there, and reaping the full benefit of
the preparatory instructions bestowed upon him
by Harry and his govd mother.

Just before Harry left school, he was provi-
dentially employed as the instrument of saving
the life of his little cousin. Hannah, with Ben-
jamin by her side, and a little girl in her arms,
were walking beside the river, when a barge-rope,
which they had not perceived, encircled and threw
them down. The infant was thrown out of
Hannah’s arms, but escaped injury. It was the
work of an instant for Hannah to recover her feet
and pick up the babe; but where was Benjaminf
She could not doubt that he had been carried into
the stream. Happily the accident occurred within
THE WIND UP. 159-

a very short distance of home, and the agonized
cries of Hannah, on missing the child, reached the
ears of Harry, and brought him in an instant to
the spot. The child’s hat at that moment ap-
peared, and Harry plunged into the river. and
brought him te shore apparently lifeless. With
the firmness and promptitude of native character
and judicious training which Harry had long since
manifested, he flew with the child to the house of
a neighkour, who he knew was brewing, and, al-
most before his mother was aware of the accident,
got him stripped and immersed in a tub of warm
grains—keepiug the head in an erect position,
and clearing the avenues to breathing. Farther
assistance was quickly obtained, and the little boy
happily recovered. It was not till all apprehen-
sions for little Ben had subsided, that Harry vould
be made sensible that his clothes were wet. A
sense of chilliness, succeeding a state of excite-
ment, convinced him that he had taken cold; and,
now that Benjamin was comfortably placed in bed
by his mother, and was receiving proper cordials
under the direction of a medical man, Harry was
easily persuaded to take proper precautions for
himself. He did not affect to despise a life which
he knew was as dear to all the family as that
which he had rescued. He stripped, rubbed him-
self thoroughly dry, got into bed, and took a basin
160 THE WIND UP,

of gruel; and, before the terrified but delighted
father reached home, both his rescued child, and
his generous preserver, had sunk into a tranquil
sleep, from which they did not awake until their
usual time in the morning.

“Harry, my boy,” said his uncle, as he sat
with his family around him, and the great Bible
opened on his knee, “God has given us a great
blessing in you. Two lives in our family have you
been the means of saving. I don’t say anything
about gratitude to you, though every one of us
feels it—more, far more, than we can express-
but we are grateful to God, who has made you
what you are to us, and has thus crowned your
noble endeavour with success. ‘ Blessed be the
Lord, who daily loadeth us with benefits, even the
God of our salvation. He that is our God, is the
God of salvation; and unto God the Lord belong
the issues from death.’ (Psal. Ixviii. 19, 20.)
Come, let us read the 103rd Psalm.”

- The family devotions of that morning were more
than once interrupted by chastened but irrepres-
sible bursts of feeling, as the head of the family
poured forth his heartfelt expressions of gratitude
for the signal mercy received, and fervently im-
plored that the lives, both of the preserver and
the preserved, might be precious in the sight of
the Lord, and entirely consecrated to ais giory;
THE WIND UP. 161

arid that all the affectionate circle, now kneeling
round the family altar, might at last meet, a family
unbroken, in the skies.”

Whenever an attempt was made by his uncle
to express anything like thanks or praise to him,
Harry modestly silenced him by saying, “ Dear
uncle, is it not to you I am indebted for anything
like courage and self-possession? When I was a
babe you would not let me learn to be a coward,
and when I was but a little child, you taught me
to act for myself. My mother has often reminded
me of my first walk alone, to meet you at the
poplar grove, and of your first taking me to bathe.
But for you, I should not have been able to save
dear little Benjamin; and then, dear unele, and
aunts, and grandmother, do we not owe you all
more gratitude than we can ever repay? Did
you not save our mother from despondency, when
ber children were not able to help her?”

Little as Harry desired anything like reward
or commendation for what he considered no more
than an act of common humanity, or the indulgence
of an impulse of personal attachment, it was not
with indifference that he received the gift of a silver
watch, obtained from the Royal Humane Society,
as an honorary reward for his intrepid conduct,
which had been represented to the Society by the
leading gentlemen of the neighbourhood, among

0 2 :
162 THE WIND UP.

whom were Mr. Hammond, Mr. Temple, his achoole
master, and the old friend of his parents, Mr,
Bell; besides others to whom he had been a pre-
vious stranger, until introduced to their favourable
notice by this heroic action. Some of these con-
tinued their friendship for Harry in aft@jife.
While Master Frederick Adolphus Huggins
continued under the tuition of Mr. Temple, Mr.
Martin paid an annual visit to the place, partly to
inquire into the progress of his ward, and partly
to settle accounts with his mother. These visits
were far from satisfactory to the intelligent and
right-minded executor. Notwithstanding the zeal-
ous and persevering efforts of his able tutors, the
young gentleman, in almost every department of
education, was below mediocrity; not from any
real deficiency of natural abilities, but from the
prevalence of that pride and self-conceit—the
conceit of riches—which most effectually shut up
the avenues of knowledge and improvement. The
developments of moral character were not more
promising. The youth had been taught by his
hopeful mother, that he might have everything that
money could command; and he had been taught,
too, to despise everything that money cannot buy;
and to place his happiness and consequence in a
lavish expenditure of money on the mere indul-
gence of the palate, in costly dress and baubles, and
THE WIND UP. 308

all the empty.pleasures of little minds. With such
an instructress as his mother, and his own native
aptitude, Master Huggins proved himself no dull
scholar in the polite accomplishment of squander-
ing money. On each of his visits, Mr. Martin
had the tification to find that the young gentle-
man had far exceeded his liberal allowance; and to
meet the entreaties of the mother that it might be
extended, and her bitter reproaches when these en-
treaties failed. She continued to alienate the
confidence of the young man from his guardian,
to speak of the period of his coming of age as one
of emancipation from cruel restrictions, and his
entrance on the right in everything to do as he
pleased. It was evident that in all her anticipa-
tions of the great things that were to be done
when her son was free from his guardian, Mrs.
Huggins intended to take a full personal share.—
** When once we get hold of your poor dear
father’s property”—‘“1 shall not renew the lease
of this house, for Frederick has only five years to
coming of age, and then we shall purchase an
estate, and build’—-"‘ Frederick says he won't
have it called Huggins’ Place, but I am determined
it shall, because that is the name we fixed upon
in his poor dear father’s time,” &c. &c.

Whether or not the young gentleman intended
to admit his mother to this equal sort of co-ship
164 THE WIND UP.

on which she seemed to calculate, remained to be
proved.

On one of Mr, Martin’s visits, the next after his
purchase of the bee-hive models, he called on
Harry and presented him with five guineas, which
had been voted to him as a reward for his ingeni-
ous and useful invention. This sum, the reader
need scarcely be informed, was applied to ac-
celerating the happy day when the family were
enabled to say that they “owed no man any-
thing but to love one another.” (Rom. xiii. 8.)
Mr. Martin told Henry that several gentlemen
who had seen his early performance, recom-
mended him to cultivate his talents, and keep his
attention devoted to the higher mechanical pur-
suits. He also intimated to Henry the probability
that some favourable opening for his improvement
and employment might present itself by the time
he should leave school, either in the establishment
of a brother of his, or with some of his friends,
extensively engaged in one of the manufacturing
districts, At this time Mr. Martin was introduced
to Harry’s mother and sister, and afterwards never
failed to pay them a visit whenever he came down.
This acquaintance was a source of no small annoy~
ance to the purse-proud widow and her son. When
Master Huggins had nearly attained his sixteenth
year, and was almost a man in growth, though
THE WIND UP. 165

still a babe in useful knowledge—indeed, in every
thing except mischief—in spite of all the remon-
strances of the youth and his mother, Mr. Martin
persisted in his determination of placing him in
some situation where his time would be properly
employed, and where he would at least have an
opportunity of acquiring something like habits of
business, which would be important to him if ap-
plied only to the management of his own property.
The youth was in vain pressed to declare a pre-
ference. No; he preferred nothing but to be a
gentleman—a gentleman, without resources of
mind, and without a disposition to improve him-
self, or do good to others—it was easy to perceive
to what such gentlemanship tended. At last the
circle was narrowed; and, after being solicited in
vain to choose a calling for himself, the choice of
three situations, in each of which an opening pre-
sented, was submitted to the young gentleman;
and, from among a chemist, a bookseller, and a
brewer, he chose the latter, and was accordingly
transferred, with 2 handsome premium, to an ex-
tensive brewery in the neighbourhood of London.
In the counting-house, where he made his first
trial, he could not be induced to apply, and ren-
‘dered himself an intolerable nuisance to the more
active and intelligent clerks. With the practical
part of the business he was rather better pleased,
166 THE WIND UP.

and indeed distovered so much interest in it, that,
but for his frequent outbreaks or pride and indig-
nation on receiving instruction, or checks from
others, especially from some in the establishment,
who did not even pretend to be gentlemen, but
were contented as intelligent and respectable opera-
tives, there was even a prospect of his becoming a
useful member of society. These five years were
unquestionably the best parenthesis in the life of
Frederick Adolphus Huggins—those in which he
did least harm and most good. Three reasons may
be assigned for this temporary improvement. He
was employed; he was removed from under the
constant influence of his foolish mother, and he was
brought more frequently under the influence of his
sensible guardian. He was so far reconciled to
business, that he even talked of embarking his
property in a partnership, and devoting at least a
few years to active employment.

On one of Mr. Martin’s annual visits, he was
accompanied by his wife and eldest daughter, a
girl of ten years old. Lucy Dawson was at this
time sixteen. She was the unconscious cause of
‘Mrs. Martin’s visit. That lady had hitherto con-
ducted the education of her children alone. She
was an intelligent and well-informed, but not ac-
cording to the usual acceptation, an accomplished
woman. Mr, Martin had been blessed with
THE WIND UP. 167

considerable share of worldly prosperity, and had
already realized a handsome provision for his fa-
mily. The parents justly thought, that with such
, prospects before them, their children ought to re-
ceive a somewhat more polished education than
their own. The sons were placed with Mr. Temple;
and, for her daughters, Mrs. Martin wished to en-
gage the assistance of a young lady capable of im-
parting to them the advantages of a polite educa-
tion, without destroying that unsophisticated purity
and simplicity of manners, which both parents
justly deemed the highest female accomplishment.
The residence of Mr. and Mrs. Martin was at so
short a distance from the metropolis, as to admit
of their availing themselves of the assistance of the
first masters; but they wanted also an accom-
plished young female to reside in the house, and
constantly to#superintend their exercises. The
hand-screens had introduced Lucy Dawson to
their knowledge; her performances in that branch
had been highly admired by competent judges;
and, from inquiry among his friends who had
children at Mrs. Dawson’s school, Mr. Martin
formed an equally high opinion of the young
lady’s talents and acquirements in other respects,
Her amiable and unassiming manners confirmed
the prepossessions in her favour; and a proposal
was made to Mrs. Dawson and her daughter, for
168 THE WIND UP.

the latter to become governess to the little Mar.
tins, on very liberal and advantageous terms—
including a participation, as far as might be agree-
able to herself, in the instructions of all the mas-
ters. Thus was Lucy most unexpectedly placed
in circumstances to enjoy the advantages so much
desired both by her mother and herself, and in a
way the most satisfactory and unexceptionable,
Mrs. Dawson was quite able to manage, witlrthe
assistance of Jane; especially as Mrs. Price’s eldest
girl was becoming capable of instructing the little
ones, and seemed desirous of being so engaged.
Accordingly, Lucy accompanied Mr. and Mrs.
Martin on their return to London. Of Lucy’s
first salary, the principal part contributed to the
achievement of the honest wishes of the family.
Her second remittance, together with the savings
of her mother and brother, complefed it; and it
was during her first happy visit, after a year’s
separation from her beloved family, that the final
discharge, and its honourable accompaniments,
were received. .

Time rolled on. Harry left school, with
many expressions of approbation and kind in-
terest in his future welfare, on the part of those
who had conducted his education. He was kindly
invited by Mr. Martin to spend a fortnight at his
house, in order to enjoy the society of his sister,
THE WIND UP. 169

and to gratify and improve himself by an inspec-
tion of the many works of art which the metropolis
affords, to excite and to gratify the curiosity of
jintelligent youth. At the expiration of that time,
"Harry went to the brother of Mr. Martin, an ex-
tensive engine-builder in the north of England,
This gentleman soon perceived that the recom-
mendations of his brother had not overrated the
abilities and application of the youth. By his
diligence and good conduct, which, alas! are not
always the attendants of shining abilities, Harry
rendered himself truly valuable to his employer,
with whom he remained five years, on very liberal
terms; and, as the expiration of his indentures
approached, received an offer to take a share in the
concern, without being required to produce any
capital. Harry requested time to deliberate on
so important a proposal, and to seek the advice of
his mother and uncle, to whom accordingly he
made a visit.

Lucy came down from London, and the family
once more had the happiness of meeting in an une
broken circle, widened indeed by the addition of
another little boy of Mrs. Price’s, and two—a
boy and a girl—of Uncle Benjamin’s. The vener-
able grandmother was becoming extremely feeble,
and unable to move from her chair without assist
ance, yet possessing an understanding as vigorous,

P
170 THE WIND UP.

and a heart as affectionate and pious, as ever.
The exalted sentiments of piety that dropped from
her lips, shed a mellow and hallowing influence
over the scene. In her the beautiful declarations
and promises were verified —“ The righteous shall
flourish like a palm tree; they shall grow like a
cedar in Lebanon; they shall still bring forth
fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing,
to show that the Lord is upright: He is my rock,
and there is no unrighteousness in him,” (Ps.
xceii, 12—15.) ‘“ Her children rose up and called
her blessed ;” (Prov. xxxi. 28;) and, from her ex-
perience, were led to say, “ Let me live the life of
the righteous, and let my last end be like hers.”
(Numb. xxiii. 10). Very shortly afterwards the
good old woman died in peace.

Mrs. Dawson’s establishment was still flourish-
ing. Indeed, the old school-room was inconveniently
crowded ; and, as she was still pressed to receive
boarders, she had some thoughts of taking a larger
house, and forming a partnership with Jane, and,
perhaps, also with Lucy, who, for some reason
that she could not perfectly comprehend, seemed
desirous of changing her situation. Mrs. Dawson
was the more inclined to take these steps, as her
brother’s increasing family would render it an ac-
commodation to him to occupy the whole house.
She had also saved a little money since the clearing
THE WIND UP. i71

off of her husband's debts, which would enable
her to purchase a small stock of furniture.- ‘This
matter was freely discussed between Mrs. Dawson,
her son, and daughter; and Lucy was then induced
to c nfess, that her only reason for wishing to leave
Mr. Martin’s family, was a desire to rid herself of
the importunate and most disgusting attentions of
Mr. Frederick Adolphus Huggins, who, having
now about three years been master of his own
property, had, it seems, fully acted up to his
mother’s instruction, in “ doing as he pleased, and
bidding defiance to his guardian.” Those who
put weapons into the hands of others,.to be directed
against the objects of their dislike, do not consider
the possibility—the probability—of those weapons
being turned against themselves. Mr. Huggins
took leave, on more occasions than one, to tell his
mother, as well as his guardian, that “his pro-
perty was his own, and he would do as he pleased
with it;” and he pleased to squander it in the
most ruthless and degrading manner; and he
pleased to exclude his mother from any share
whatever in the disposal of it. Mrs. Huggins was
almost heart-broken with chagrin, and had taken
to a course of excessive drinking, which it was
thought would speedily bring her to the grave.
Among other things that Mr. Huggins would do,
without his mother’s leave, he would fall despe-
172 THE WIND UP.

rately in love with a member of the family against
whom she entertained so particular a spite. For
some months he had prosecuted his self-conceited
suit, much to Lucy’s annoyance. He could not
conceive it possible that a girl without fortune
should seriously decline the honour of an alliance
with F, A. Huggins, Esq., the possessor of forty
thousand pounds and upwards (for to that it had
increased during his minority;) and, in spite of
Lucy’s decided refusals, he continued to importune
her. Lucy had not mentioned the circumstance
to Mr. and Mrs. Martin, lest it should lead to his
being forbidden the house; and she considered
his intercourse with that family the only plank
between him and total ruin.* She wished rather
to seek some other home for herself; and she

® The apprehensions of Miss Dawson were too fully
realized in this unhappy young man. He soon entirely
absented himself from the house of his tormer guardian:
indeed, his conduct became so had, that he could be no
longer tolerated there. By speculations, dissipation, and
gambling, he ran through his property with a rapidity
greater than that with which his father had accumulated
it, and brought himself to an early grave. He died at
little more than thirty years of age, having frequently
received charitable assistance both from the guardian and
the schoolfellow whom he had despised. He was buried at
their joint expense, and they were the only friends to follow
him to the grave, and to lament the misimprovement of his
possessions, his unprofitable life, and his cheerless end.
THE WIND UP. 1738

thonght it not improbable that, should she, in con-
nexion with her mother and cousin, engage in a
boarding-school, she would be intrusted with the
two of Mr. Martin’s daughters still under her
care. Lucy also had saved a little money to bring
into the concern. It was agreed to propose the
matter to Uncle Benjamin.

As soon, however, as the younger children were
gone to bed, and the elder members of the family
gathered round the fire, Uncle Benjamin himself
took the first word.

“Harry, my boy, I think you came of age the
25th of last month. It says so on the first leaf of
the great Bible.”

* Yes, uncle; and, on looking back over that
large portion of my existence, many grateful re-
collections press themselves on my mind. U think
of the goodness 1 have experienced from my friends,
and from God, and I pray that my future life may
not be unworthy of my past experience.”

‘‘] hope and trust not, Harry. You have done
well hitherto, and you do not expect to do well in
future, without the help and strength of God, which
you seek in humble prayer. ‘The Lord is with
you while you are with him.' (2 Chron, xv. 2.)
Now, Harry, I have got a long account with you.
You know I have had the charge of the poplar
grove for five years and a half. It has not yielded

P2
174 THE WIND UP. -

so much as formerly—indeed, nothing from the
ground; the trees have become too thick for any-
thing else to grow; but there have been two good
loppings of fagots, and not much labour to set
against it. There is your book, Harry. See,
there is my first entry, when you were a baby, and
there is your first, when you began to write. The
money I have placed, as usual, in the Savings
Bank. You desired me to apply it to your mother
and sister, but they are both quite independent,
and do not want it—bless their hearts! and
they never shall want while you and I live to
work for them. Shall they, Harry?”

“No, uncle, I hope and trust not.”

“Well, so much for the past; now for the pre-
sent and future. To-morrow, if all be well, we
will walk together to the grove, and see what is
to be done with it. The trees are just in prime
order for felling, and will fetch a good price
in the market—I should rather say a high price,
for I can hardly call it a good price that is raised
by war. Well, that we can’t help. I have a tender
for the whole thousand, at how much do you sup-
pose, Harry ?”

“T can hardly say, uncle, because I have not
seen the trees for three years. In our part, full-
grown poplars will fetch eighteen shillings a-piece.”

“T have the offer of a guinea each, and I should
THE WIND UP. 175

have struck the bargain, and had them cut down,
but that I was determined you should see the old
spot once more. It is too late in the season to
take tea abroad, but we might take a bit of cold
meat, and eat in the old arbour. I can assure you
the girls have kept the honeysuckles and roses
nicely trained, and little Ben has nailed up the
lattice work. It seems just as if I saw you there
yourself. Iam sure I thought so when he was
helping me to bind fagots the other day.”

“A thousand guineas, uncle! You astonish
me,” said Harry.

* True enough, my boy; and I know you will
make a good use of it.”

Next day a strong party assembled in the grove,
Mary undertaking all the needful preparations for
a cold dinner. Henry was delighted with the
stately growth of his trees, though now almost in
a leafless state. He half regretted that the axe
should be levelled against them, yet coincided in
his uncle’s opinion that there never would be a
better opportunity, and that the very time was
come originally contemplated for their being con-
verted into money for setting Harry up in business,
Harry was not a little pleased to see that a suc-
cession was provided for, and that several young
plants only wanted the sun and air, which their
seniors now engrossed, to become, like them,
flourishing trees. The bargain was concluded,
176 THE WIND UP.

and next day the woodman was at work. Harry
could not bear to visit the spot while the work ot
destruction was proceeding, but, when it was com-
pleted, he accompanied his uncle there, and then
first mentioned a project which he had entertained
ever since he had been informed of his property,
It was to build a house suitable for a school, on
the erection of which he was willing to bestow
half the purchase-money of the trees, reserving the
other half as a capital for himself, which. however
small in comparigon of that possessed by ‘is part-
ner, would certainly bring him into th: concern
on more advantageous terms, and give him a
greater share in its future increase.

The proposal of Harry met his uncle’s appro-
bation, and, the following spring, was put into
execution. A convenient and substantial house
was erected, capable of accommodating an esta-
blishment of twenty-five or thirty pupils; also a
detached apartment, consisting of four rooms,
intended for the residence of his mother, whenever
she might be inclined to retire from active engage-
ments. The whole was secured to Mrs. Dawson for
her life, as a little provision presented by a dutiful
and affectionate son. Uncle Benjamin was awilling
party to this transaction, declaring that the poplar
grove had fully answered his wishes, and exceeded
his expectations. ‘‘I hoped,” said he, “ that it
might teach Harry the use of property, and be a
THE WIND UB. 137,
little something toi set him a-going in life, if I waa.
taken from him; and now IJ live to see him a man,
able, under God’s blessing, to provide for himself,
and able and willing to help his mother; and, may
he never want that blessing which rests upon dutiful
children !”

Amen!” said the mother; “ and may you, dear
brother, never want—you never will want—the
blessing of Him who is the God of the fatherless
and the widow.”

Years have rolled on. The neat commodious
dwelling still stands in good repair on the poplar
acre, surrounded by a cheerful garden; and the
rustic arbour is still there, in which Harry and his
friends teok their cheerful meal; and a row of bee-
hives constructed on Harry’s improved principle;
and a pretty group of little girls may be seen work~
ing, reading, or dressing their dolls. Poplar Grove
Establi ‘iment for Young Ladies, is still a flourtsh-
ing seminary; and still the side house is Mrs.
Dawson’s cottage; but the firm is not as originally,
“ Mrs. and the Miss Dawsons,” but.‘* Misses Price
and Dawson;” for Jane and. Lucy Vawson have
been transmuted into Mrs. Martin ana Mrs,
Smithson—the husband of the former being a
younger brother, and now a .vartner of the succes-
sor of Mr. Huggins m London. Mr. Smithson is
of the extensive and flourishing firm of Martin,
Dawson and Smithson. Mary, too, is transplanted
178 THE WIND UP.

into the north, as the happy wife of her cousin
Harry; and, through his interest, his two younger
cousins, Price and Benjamin, are placed in highly
respectable and promising situations. Mrs. Daw-
son, although she still retains her cottage at Poplar
Grove, seldom occupies it, but leaves it as an occa-
sional country retreat to Mrs. Price and her family,
Mrs. Dawson's time being chiefly divided between
her son in the north, and her daughter in London.
Uncle and Aunt Benjamin, although little used to
roaming, have now so many distant attractions,
that they have made more than one journey, both
to London and into the north; and it is stilla
sort of family understanding, that as many as pos-
sible of the several families should meet once a
year at Poplar Grove, there to enjoy the sweet
interchange of family affection and grateful recol-
lections—* looking back and remembering all the
way that the Lord their God has led them”—
acknowledging that “goodness and mercy have
followed them all the days of their life ”—and
cherishing the humble hope, that they ‘‘ shall dwell
iu the house of the Lord for ever.”
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'2011-11-25T19:48:51-05:00'
describe
'130' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVRY' 'sip-files00002.txt'
a5dfa2311d01b05e1ce0f51e90ee91eb
8b6d15223b6ad775147185674993d7bc022d2172
'2011-11-25T19:47:32-05:00'
describe
WARNING CODE 'Daitss::Anomaly' Invalid character
'41659' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVRZ' 'sip-files00002thm.jpg'
45745e6308c1c3b5d1a58a5e13991a01
110b3c9a6b5a85e2742d66689f1cd895a5741cf0
'2011-11-25T19:55:04-05:00'
describe
'653884' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSA' 'sip-files00004.jp2'
fbe51c07414a6728fb750c589a395a70
e8305d0f5d0bb34a6b92651505f1bcd004c0b3b9
'2011-11-25T19:41:22-05:00'
describe
'345131' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSB' 'sip-files00004.jpg'
320cd50c91a49d727dc6ec81be3db105
9c7487b47b518fde6833febc8652b80d96179a9c
'2011-11-25T19:50:20-05:00'
describe
'1165' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSC' 'sip-files00004.pro'
308c619f271c12b235d7483df1a0acbb
e3aa54adf85208559970bd2a2573dd7ed2baa242
'2011-11-25T19:44:41-05:00'
describe
'108935' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSD' 'sip-files00004.QC.jpg'
cfea8b29f0010d69e339a70a7c1a3628
131894ae0a2fbe4158633c3874f5f7f0e518e962
describe
'5242600' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSE' 'sip-files00004.tif'
c89053a0a8de606178e749d2b4b12c63
760498a92aead20943a842c6a1369b170177e4d3
'2011-11-25T19:54:49-05:00'
describe
'144' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSF' 'sip-files00004.txt'
c082f008c3adccdd99682a4634521248
28410ea8fcadf4722173c1530958fcd7a8441843
'2011-11-25T19:54:07-05:00'
describe
'45050' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSG' 'sip-files00004thm.jpg'
a241b9c88a729186aebd2694e0030b8a
81c6299cc55e96c57f9ac7b2ee40b8d9987c5073
'2011-11-25T19:55:10-05:00'
describe
'14649' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSH' 'sip-files00005.jp2'
d96ee6e00880a400e9290c9363d7afae
39082ed88047769717ab6253b76ceeeff5498fac
'2011-11-25T19:42:07-05:00'
describe
'80619' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSI' 'sip-files00005.jpg'
6f4881ccc3ffbaea9bd15bdf3a09e370
69b5b29b32e424a74cd31679d513f07ebd5cd839
'2011-11-25T19:46:09-05:00'
describe
'4754' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSJ' 'sip-files00005.pro'
107b9ca6ab6663b4e56965e235373006
b225da1e76a2c0e5cbe86ab800c72050b311063b
'2011-11-25T19:52:08-05:00'
describe
'37389' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSK' 'sip-files00005.QC.jpg'
35494b80565a2bdf902978e083d25284
2cc1f9362a941453fe1e6c67fc50fe7ad410e927
'2011-11-25T19:46:29-05:00'
describe
'285968' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSL' 'sip-files00005.tif'
fd8fe0f0d951e0aebdcf50f581fe1668
e193e680060004cb2698bc24e74b19809cadf4c1
'2011-11-25T19:57:26-05:00'
describe
'287' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSM' 'sip-files00005.txt'
9a805b673ab93213c0fafbc8aa4a9af6
c26992b3ad732f4e70bb5ce09e53c9e5019e33be
'2011-11-25T19:44:09-05:00'
describe
'21383' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSN' 'sip-files00005thm.jpg'
cb68f40ffc1adc8020e4d529eaf5c084
3432bc09bdeb94ce3814589169736c2f85ab8b8f
'2011-11-25T19:51:05-05:00'
describe
'1964' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSO' 'sip-files00006.jp2'
70471aad8702939ad4b67127577f7ff9
ae4254c8c11950367a05ddfb15ecebcc16c827ee
'2011-11-25T19:38:48-05:00'
describe
'19928' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSP' 'sip-files00006.jpg'
3d894e8d58db3bcb748a1e1c1a1e383d
c3c6f18f5feaa1ea1a76bb58f27ee0f046ae0532
'2011-11-25T19:52:23-05:00'
describe
'12343' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSQ' 'sip-files00006.QC.jpg'
6a4083066999bf938586ae9e50d0df59
cf46c1148bd7650fc8cbc9c93f5c992be5efcb54
'2011-11-25T19:47:37-05:00'
describe
'235108' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSR' 'sip-files00006.tif'
ec6e9bbbe2d5ab1a9d4ead55c0265225
b8f8b4e2126bc11298edd9cc9ae7897c7de9c3c9
'2011-11-25T19:45:44-05:00'
describe
'10192' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSS' 'sip-files00006thm.jpg'
a7538c6d197d7e911e76e18060149346
90351ab021fc5df822ac33baea62fa9af2492eca
'2011-11-25T19:46:57-05:00'
describe
'44022' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVST' 'sip-files00007.jp2'
91c3e7a314363acdb94d48878d14387d
423b9df888709937455eb84ce45c4ec6010ee64d
'2011-11-25T19:55:52-05:00'
describe
'286956' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSU' 'sip-files00007.jpg'
77d59d47eb910163224cdc47617f5378
dde5d97e5e43c5227265e4249912726f66bc5458
'2011-11-25T19:38:55-05:00'
describe
'24038' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSV' 'sip-files00007.pro'
b76289f62802ff3808cc1cfca95d41a4
b6dafb5b2c07fc7537695968c35fb2bb19af900c
'2011-11-25T19:56:24-05:00'
describe
'114806' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSW' 'sip-files00007.QC.jpg'
ef5dfdaaad64960c079a0458a50b9d9e
1a88b55b5fa45bd01643972570adc2c3d4290027
'2011-11-25T19:45:45-05:00'
describe
'247896' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSX' 'sip-files00007.tif'
33c5955b764b070adfaa993cb60bc1d0
c08360475ee571b45e6427e5ab4c56f6f35ea5be
'2011-11-25T19:50:36-05:00'
describe
'995' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSY' 'sip-files00007.txt'
23a7d89cced5ec3f7afdf8d78000e8ae
b708482c3b8b46ff70a71954736a3ea2a59b421a
'2011-11-25T19:55:05-05:00'
describe
'42383' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVSZ' 'sip-files00007thm.jpg'
8bd7a846653d48c90d3887eeb2b53493
08c3d57dd48058719e37e5ee7fe2ab134e743875
'2011-11-25T19:39:21-05:00'
describe
'61160' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTA' 'sip-files00008.jp2'
5b3ac408fc1765b8d87f813048106165
a83e688b7975625259f3b2f4a1b5fee2729e44d2
'2011-11-25T19:39:54-05:00'
describe
'392594' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTB' 'sip-files00008.jpg'
69935d6ffbadcac28951d32a84ccc785
882b8d1e4d037b1b696dfebbdf73249eb7d5819b
'2011-11-25T19:48:16-05:00'
describe
'35659' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTC' 'sip-files00008.pro'
8e60176e25b64f2d88eab03cdec3f447
14df0d8d488ed8f091de22ab6f4f762cc974422f
'2011-11-25T19:53:19-05:00'
describe
'151261' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTD' 'sip-files00008.QC.jpg'
8b51b46afa1ce6ed098c07ba3943a241
4e09c8c68fc65b5824af45a6eb962d4900c23ff0
'2011-11-25T19:48:56-05:00'
describe
'254996' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTE' 'sip-files00008.tif'
aaa3be363244b050f78ffd69a16418b6
a4d542158733f5877cdb9429a2317583c7de231b
'2011-11-25T19:40:15-05:00'
describe
'1420' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTF' 'sip-files00008.txt'
f76c52801db1795d759b6c9505516c5f
b38eebca378fe21008997d052e7302a350ef0533
'2011-11-25T19:42:21-05:00'
describe
'51846' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTG' 'sip-files00008thm.jpg'
94f2acfb3110aa8c907c244d7fc5b91e
8347ef7f14eacf24cc9e885936c4243f24c8acfb
'2011-11-25T19:43:14-05:00'
describe
'58964' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTH' 'sip-files00009.jp2'
eabb3c0d8f9e6d3e47cb082d2bac1dd2
cb4011488c64b2ea7fb6a88c343be3c0dc889406
'2011-11-25T19:55:48-05:00'
describe
'382962' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTI' 'sip-files00009.jpg'
4de88a7d9b0311bfaa82248fcd51259c
098bfc60527c86cc3126b70b1c499e4f99cab6bf
'2011-11-25T19:54:36-05:00'
describe
'33795' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTJ' 'sip-files00009.pro'
1f590008aad4ec50f54fc8c44e8121a5
a6b49935d6f04dc5ad7b4b0aa5014e94cfa4fcbf
'2011-11-25T19:48:32-05:00'
describe
'149780' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTK' 'sip-files00009.QC.jpg'
6b6242648b573a6f3b698432750793b3
1715eb082533ad87dab43eb45186252ba2e54726
'2011-11-25T19:56:21-05:00'
describe
'249792' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTL' 'sip-files00009.tif'
4265fc8f6c15d9f49b09d79ec5ae268f
8a0a457618aa3379d6830bbd1c13742a1cb5e110
'2011-11-25T19:40:46-05:00'
describe
'1356' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTM' 'sip-files00009.txt'
4de25fcd6ba16abf400c994a4648718d
3fbac987399b16ae1689c39c4b4bf79591c5e3c3
'2011-11-25T19:47:09-05:00'
describe
'55896' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTN' 'sip-files00009thm.jpg'
83bcfa27d93bb8b69d7a8c3201eeb3ab
c069d37feb53669fa9279c29673615b1d4562d91
'2011-11-25T19:42:38-05:00'
describe
'60528' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTO' 'sip-files00010.jp2'
1ceb2f2989c6815d3fa9024c8425cb68
5b93c23c5f5addadc0ab21439326d8dc65eceadc
'2011-11-25T19:41:32-05:00'
describe
'374576' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTP' 'sip-files00010.jpg'
942fa678c600b965c10462f6e4bd878a
80dd86fa0bcd3cdeeb5b9d7e51b9219f7dade917
'2011-11-25T19:55:28-05:00'
describe
'35174' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTQ' 'sip-files00010.pro'
4bfd257d8c626e8e1b0644897779cc8a
d564831b0956ba70f6c5320d71a03b1186b4e5f5
'2011-11-25T19:45:40-05:00'
describe
'144923' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTR' 'sip-files00010.QC.jpg'
a8e7cbb50d8e2abed648d4687fd56152
3803649124d383f9557f6f0762d50766b3e0843c
'2011-11-25T19:42:24-05:00'
describe
'262468' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTS' 'sip-files00010.tif'
55548d7db7f70aaaff6d790ef5234ae5
23b6e5abb76874dd770068ae0d7d68a16fec1275
'2011-11-25T19:53:39-05:00'
describe
'1398' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTT' 'sip-files00010.txt'
c7a1eac51de0f34f4a063d4da947b2f3
cf2b11166187e6ef8a73e66d4f611f17f2e10b41
'2011-11-25T19:53:55-05:00'
describe
'50582' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTU' 'sip-files00010thm.jpg'
ad14909df6c203b47af6e2f399f30541
2b4f28e61c06826f304c14ea0decc76316d41759
'2011-11-25T19:56:14-05:00'
describe
'55056' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTV' 'sip-files00011.jp2'
89a72b00af8c4786b3cf9e49a4fa0cbc
14500d0ac79061a7fa109021c3209e4105e52502
'2011-11-25T19:54:33-05:00'
describe
'353687' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTW' 'sip-files00011.jpg'
27196e9462f63072733b4690f39e44ff
d3347ae58adb914498e654ac51c89f4040ef3e58
'2011-11-25T19:40:06-05:00'
describe
'32090' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTX' 'sip-files00011.pro'
97d81e281c1676090715d2fcb0b8268f
400ffa51e2ef8e35cfbae322d6737bfcbc61eb85
'2011-11-25T19:48:53-05:00'
describe
'141930' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTY' 'sip-files00011.QC.jpg'
6afaa64dbd497bdcfcc48d6700dc2c15
a4f0ca25ee79caa607f246b6d79dacaae7fa4e8b
'2011-11-25T19:54:11-05:00'
describe
'252176' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVTZ' 'sip-files00011.tif'
1d0b81b89c8130f05d8ce2a1495bab54
6e4e65df57d10060ba89e6f34edf90a5f261a57a
'2011-11-25T19:37:51-05:00'
describe
'1328' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUA' 'sip-files00011.txt'
e419e0086109b6f44eaddcbef10e5bb5
fb189d7be91e681d9c1fc1a6c83c2382f59d3299
'2011-11-25T19:56:30-05:00'
describe
'53504' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUB' 'sip-files00011thm.jpg'
097f3afa4fdfaae19e2eb2feaf16988c
0aeb8e15f9032c7c02d811b2f9d93af2149d5551
'2011-11-25T19:39:24-05:00'
describe
'54558' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUC' 'sip-files00012.jp2'
65b85747cc21a26db111dd2835229ea8
f55408e5dd153f805bfcc1545e3ea584e8ebac1c
'2011-11-25T19:37:53-05:00'
describe
'352442' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUD' 'sip-files00012.jpg'
0b137e0de801f2da6431ba6e71661f4b
9107f522fef38bef54bfc386c302d6e240ac3bed
'2011-11-25T19:49:52-05:00'
describe
'31695' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUE' 'sip-files00012.pro'
d66db879e3b5b6b5fb0df23217af86a8
c9f8646f1736b008cefeb3a8edd493a86dc471d8
'2011-11-25T19:42:25-05:00'
describe
'139256' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUF' 'sip-files00012.QC.jpg'
95a40d45f4c81fe26cf7c6fc048ecd0b
48c514db51dc34a0e151e3fdd6b887249905afb3
'2011-11-25T19:53:40-05:00'
describe
'252244' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUG' 'sip-files00012.tif'
2e32099adf2f496c281dab114fc17c20
e4b6983ea463364d4ba50ba4af314d78c2a21346
'2011-11-25T19:44:08-05:00'
describe
'1277' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUH' 'sip-files00012.txt'
f761494f02620ea6cc01a279d8d19e66
229c40163a2a959a02b875ac4b02b963b13de5ec
'2011-11-25T19:47:22-05:00'
describe
'51148' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUI' 'sip-files00012thm.jpg'
fb8f7507ea20ab29d0813a8fe98c1548
1907d7df58b13e2683eab97b8ebae041bad987fb
'2011-11-25T19:42:53-05:00'
describe
'59808' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUJ' 'sip-files00013.jp2'
81048aef5a4ec0dfbccbcdd3d331a87f
f5ac47f1f5bf1102aa783d4ab3419c19969f3c7a
'2011-11-25T19:41:38-05:00'
describe
'387498' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUK' 'sip-files00013.jpg'
b0abd079311b974e557e9b00d532db86
c065508922a61d860efe516aca1eabc11f2d26d1
'2011-11-25T19:39:06-05:00'
describe
'35235' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUL' 'sip-files00013.pro'
3f33d36b919bafbaed29d52916c4ffd4
3db07fe4c90ce335a2f2f5f5327e3905714779ac
'2011-11-25T19:51:32-05:00'
describe
'154252' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUM' 'sip-files00013.QC.jpg'
773850f2c39256f28b5b8a544dc64caa
edb8492eb3b2ba290f873a6ae37a34a5930feb49
'2011-11-25T19:46:01-05:00'
describe
'247416' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUN' 'sip-files00013.tif'
3499c7393f793cecda2fea6d215d2aea
91f8463908a43f711f03fe7782202b1719065570
'2011-11-25T19:45:26-05:00'
describe
'1404' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUO' 'sip-files00013.txt'
34fccadcfe18e8e2514264e92e436cd2
97bed7fdc11923194e8518ab6daca58efd5511b8
'2011-11-25T19:56:06-05:00'
describe
'55846' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUP' 'sip-files00013thm.jpg'
a91bb49b77d85401fe89b8851cb7c2df
9e459eb1c86f06791d9d3dcc686715302c4c5c56
'2011-11-25T19:40:43-05:00'
describe
'58411' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUQ' 'sip-files00014.jp2'
e194bcac46ca7f81c9af471dd9e4858b
5600a7a50a1e41ae4f44fe1ba579f07b5018572d
'2011-11-25T19:37:42-05:00'
describe
'382699' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUR' 'sip-files00014.jpg'
51da3801259a844ea5c1822b939a3e79
63ff00a4f8215dc10da450082aca81e470bc91f4
'2011-11-25T19:53:34-05:00'
describe
'34742' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUS' 'sip-files00014.pro'
a40048f74e29b203185e3822dcfdd81d
784f608e1fe0fc980bd17b3576b319e4dd269fad
'2011-11-25T19:49:36-05:00'
describe
'150903' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUT' 'sip-files00014.QC.jpg'
630681f5a27c1ccc916197acea346aa3
7066bc6cb3fe4b9b63e15013164c515831e2a972
'2011-11-25T19:52:31-05:00'
describe
'252016' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUU' 'sip-files00014.tif'
4a5f5ede105de202e88144f16999ba78
155ac4d5aff22c09eed3d8cfbabf8a8bef22bf2f
'2011-11-25T19:49:34-05:00'
describe
'1378' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUV' 'sip-files00014.txt'
c70542d3a5c72a4dd0095ba56f0173ca
4e2c88708d6a9f33454264e80d4843873a8feaad
'2011-11-25T19:57:23-05:00'
describe
'53115' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUW' 'sip-files00014thm.jpg'
93e974c904e9a918f6b7d09ca7bda884
4aa2789bea2cde44526270af09b105dcc462af26
'2011-11-25T19:55:38-05:00'
describe
'46925' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUX' 'sip-files00015.jp2'
545238c0c844671b45aa1bf180604832
c4487ab1f2c58b5bb600f418ebd882f7705d5bf6
'2011-11-25T19:57:16-05:00'
describe
'302582' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUY' 'sip-files00015.jpg'
755ab4d213edbe964a302ffd3d0fae50
2ea44a5306718778a53c86e86f5832c8a8c09600
'2011-11-25T19:56:38-05:00'
describe
'25881' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVUZ' 'sip-files00015.pro'
a70d5fa0b9e94ec2de89012edebe87f1
572c805407e0f2f2884f0d5d92d2b76d942bae6c
'2011-11-25T19:43:18-05:00'
describe
'119969' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVA' 'sip-files00015.QC.jpg'
0389e6b7b5cb3e3efaeb6ed95ac2479b
91370a2cdb612c10f9feb8f17b3779c81233365a
'2011-11-25T19:42:57-05:00'
describe
'250728' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVB' 'sip-files00015.tif'
85cb29da527ae14092ed6ae508cc1ed3
d25493f663da66d05a40579fdfbe9b995d9b76b1
'2011-11-25T19:48:03-05:00'
describe
'1082' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVC' 'sip-files00015.txt'
314054205da615ea3948bc012a9f5813
faf93554ea27ba986565c6f232f600bee140974c
'2011-11-25T19:41:19-05:00'
describe
'44659' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVD' 'sip-files00015thm.jpg'
1b33bebc976746f072fec14a94b0bbee
6f39d056be9b9bcecd5f777cbe4995e8a2fe010c
'2011-11-25T19:55:09-05:00'
describe
'57550' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVE' 'sip-files00016.jp2'
01f49b2f6f77f5c7a5e758e2bbe94e0f
bac5e33e3ea3ca9ab5890d41939c29b74d4a3464
'2011-11-25T19:44:29-05:00'
describe
'376251' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVF' 'sip-files00016.jpg'
579bc1a779a1969beb5248c28229aeae
ed424943aed1b9246a56809405f07933a37d453b
'2011-11-25T19:38:47-05:00'
describe
'33977' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVG' 'sip-files00016.pro'
80e45861a918cf9e7fe02066d765a403
aabed67d71cef5469c05449913aef973b365a5fc
'2011-11-25T19:43:45-05:00'
describe
'150842' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVH' 'sip-files00016.QC.jpg'
6f2a66903a40a23162b474aa4d13a94a
02cf728efa259f017de2ea50863e0fdb1aecd105
'2011-11-25T19:50:18-05:00'
describe
'252648' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVI' 'sip-files00016.tif'
6cfbcf0ff670037c11c91340f907a8c3
98603fd08930fa12c35bc57a596a9107c2aaaea6
'2011-11-25T19:50:33-05:00'
describe
'1357' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVJ' 'sip-files00016.txt'
b7ab52f22f944b6e679f6ca61551f91d
a8db4cddf91645d6e09d4957ebddea2877f4759e
describe
Invalid character
'52922' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVK' 'sip-files00016thm.jpg'
045fa97849b163c31c4890ef6ac749bb
ac709a9db906db73d1fd00bdd0f8e4b841242643
describe
'59230' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVL' 'sip-files00017.jp2'
c34a2101d4214e02beaae5417d7bddec
afddf448fc185b34cf661ec535094d2575549e8c
'2011-11-25T19:43:41-05:00'
describe
'390485' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVM' 'sip-files00017.jpg'
872edbd0253da99a7b687c6a65bde4cf
20b87efd79bac80a1cc1f2c43740a47f5ad61d0a
describe
'33622' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVN' 'sip-files00017.pro'
0a98be56aa7bc6def4a6bd7fe3287da1
7c912f877f3f8f9b970cede12429449de46ec4ac
'2011-11-25T19:53:22-05:00'
describe
'155617' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVO' 'sip-files00017.QC.jpg'
dde6340bffc2b1750dd42d05ef9938fd
bb6412b2f7d0593f70f0bc51579d9fabdda9a3e4
'2011-11-25T19:44:43-05:00'
describe
'242532' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVP' 'sip-files00017.tif'
d74e868479b8a4b823897df2020b6bbb
6e0fd2fd18fed7bc2b8943fdd7542acafce3817d
'2011-11-25T19:42:50-05:00'
describe
'1363' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVQ' 'sip-files00017.txt'
3584cbbe8d8191483ec0e19312baae84
7b81678c25580f062458d8c07092733334c9cc0c
'2011-11-25T19:39:03-05:00'
describe
'55961' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVR' 'sip-files00017thm.jpg'
e360419552b5541ae6bd0b7e2ccfca06
a08d99efdbe543db06301f597ca5a869145c9f74
'2011-11-25T19:54:29-05:00'
describe
'60547' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVS' 'sip-files00018.jp2'
656464a1934ae754a5977fa4d8673c9d
fcb69947862be1515620dca517c907a561b665fd
'2011-11-25T19:38:45-05:00'
describe
'393731' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVT' 'sip-files00018.jpg'
ce5738817784ffc801dd6a01e532f1c7
b86032e920da8e8c4017f30d5671d4b3d9c03959
'2011-11-25T19:39:46-05:00'
describe
'34747' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVU' 'sip-files00018.pro'
7b3f989e8e0175034dd120047220c2b7
7b0044e770f16037a5675a2056134cad380e419a
'2011-11-25T19:47:38-05:00'
describe
'156245' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVV' 'sip-files00018.QC.jpg'
50ef53c71eca0bb1ea06632d64266648
d4bfd9d9eefdcb7d477986c204f45a090d33661b
'2011-11-25T19:55:33-05:00'
describe
'252944' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVW' 'sip-files00018.tif'
0f7656a80a5e1ad4149aafc9f1530338
c56eec140151492aea81ff11c3bfea59a841829b
'2011-11-25T19:39:17-05:00'
describe
'1380' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVX' 'sip-files00018.txt'
467e0a6363fd56c442443ae0c51a6682
7bc6e3d2afa9160205f95f81995671f9faac4b2e
describe
'54299' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVY' 'sip-files00018thm.jpg'
39539ef2235ed1323c28ea2201656a13
10c76082ea89a6869ec4ac0d171b8d157dec13ff
describe
'63875' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVVZ' 'sip-files00019.jp2'
4cd064247e47233de8041e8f0f38d1c9
b3d9207bde9506a9f607712575bec60312a88c0b
'2011-11-25T19:45:23-05:00'
describe
'416282' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWA' 'sip-files00019.jpg'
684de01ca0b83d072ef3985ee67e7355
7fd5518ae9ff2927d6b1e5ddfc49d499ed74f77a
'2011-11-25T19:51:27-05:00'
describe
'37333' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWB' 'sip-files00019.pro'
c61224d62fd645bde8a155ca419b5d25
43639505f82f7fb302012859af5b78ccc0fbd090
'2011-11-25T19:41:13-05:00'
describe
'161810' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWC' 'sip-files00019.QC.jpg'
9cba5001a51a01ff3f33de78b410de47
c99685daec6819ae2c223bdd13b416d764d53816
'2011-11-25T19:44:46-05:00'
describe
'249836' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWD' 'sip-files00019.tif'
ab37de6aa14c2363a49ecb648a39f1a6
ee79fc68b72de1c0bc938d5f64eb5c2fb7f41dd2
'2011-11-25T19:53:46-05:00'
describe
'1475' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWE' 'sip-files00019.txt'
b7ad1dd77a31c5a7592047982ea79c19
955a87a6db6aafc694bfb4b80f9bce30edec81ce
'2011-11-25T19:41:03-05:00'
describe
'55740' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWF' 'sip-files00019thm.jpg'
34f5ea699a213fa49064e39ad20c97f6
f31294516b653c819bced077b1266b2d9bf64e36
'2011-11-25T19:57:00-05:00'
describe
'61916' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWG' 'sip-files00020.jp2'
0ab214bbc0c5be4e4db4ec953fb34066
a59ef88156771c707ae904ae413242990cddec08
'2011-11-25T19:55:13-05:00'
describe
'356234' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWH' 'sip-files00020.jpg'
76cfd8ac0916ad845498f5ec3f56219f
369281700613c0102f7ede0e795d447b9f09f371
'2011-11-25T19:55:01-05:00'
describe
'35614' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWI' 'sip-files00020.pro'
b25fff21e8e5a1a96ee0d9f689e47c02
4a290162083494fbc369a65e9740b1a7fb7241da
'2011-11-25T19:49:50-05:00'
describe
'138564' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWJ' 'sip-files00020.QC.jpg'
7f8b61389e3fc32172481e7a68dc69aa
4219f4ba3b1d7c26cb25620d5e420dd91efe4171
'2011-11-25T19:42:42-05:00'
describe
'276848' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWK' 'sip-files00020.tif'
588ba68e18c6daf3ba49ed8d75c7652f
7694b57abe97eeaaa5152ccabb24c4e3900d1071
'2011-11-25T19:40:07-05:00'
describe
'1408' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWL' 'sip-files00020.txt'
a58aeab0c730aedd67e151a0a6285a4a
758fa395a57462bf162ec48eb894b5a4f09d61f5
'2011-11-25T19:44:15-05:00'
describe
'48742' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWM' 'sip-files00020thm.jpg'
eaf8ad9412d7593381ee753e60f61d50
25b3f2ad5f71ee5e1725eef806a44f1d2ff48fde
'2011-11-25T19:44:40-05:00'
describe
'62839' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWN' 'sip-files00021.jp2'
e08cb60dfa5b3bb53a9b813fec5db13d
8e3711ba3e34074e2a3d4997a1ee86c5e4305986
'2011-11-25T19:48:43-05:00'
describe
'409165' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWO' 'sip-files00021.jpg'
2f8d252bf381cd26783f8f95b227a6c1
bfc93e2c89e4daa93ec1fa7717d673af62736abc
'2011-11-25T19:48:35-05:00'
describe
'36756' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWP' 'sip-files00021.pro'
59a4b29ce6707e3511e6a46192eab5a7
1da70597b2d2c902b1f764d43e519cf7835498dc
'2011-11-25T19:47:49-05:00'
describe
'160226' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWQ' 'sip-files00021.QC.jpg'
1e0ef5a510e4e854615ee61f774b5ab2
ead99304ae0a5ff65062f380bf92dd567b69bd5f
'2011-11-25T19:52:27-05:00'
describe
'241192' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWR' 'sip-files00021.tif'
ae78d6e63e451d0f775e7d8b96b7f881
fec51f6c4fa8a1bee10349d1e15ada32ae10c0dc
'2011-11-25T19:55:32-05:00'
describe
'1473' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWS' 'sip-files00021.txt'
a4f574b4c0217b4ea02c0a6dc36e0f3b
f9de41a4b10e0f466efcd403660ab7a12903babb
describe
'57406' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWT' 'sip-files00021thm.jpg'
9a90ed71ed87000998ab958aae83ad22
75fb458ff34d886d5b1fdd273bd0419017028152
'2011-11-25T19:40:12-05:00'
describe
'61660' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWU' 'sip-files00022.jp2'
bba4b24c80bd4aeae1b8f7251baaf1a5
63f15b9a845ded98e604e615b66eae4e12cde18a
describe
'409848' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWV' 'sip-files00022.jpg'
b3366eab758be9f89a66fa576c5a94a0
75e76c74c56822fb8f25581058169db20c8066e5
'2011-11-25T19:38:59-05:00'
describe
'35979' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWW' 'sip-files00022.pro'
02d976d3f3ad8b93c1bb67a3723df4aa
3e90ba0e45c552a36272d396880a7f1631bed827
describe
'164137' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWX' 'sip-files00022.QC.jpg'
53b4e423092fc5a31c373ee3ba629cca
131e3b9b58406a4dd453119259aa1b84de61e15b
'2011-11-25T19:47:45-05:00'
describe
'242820' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWY' 'sip-files00022.tif'
aa43540fcb7b966e1ced9196482d0ed3
4b31d42a211686564d08c3f1d5979267c11125de
'2011-11-25T19:39:36-05:00'
describe
'1426' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVWZ' 'sip-files00022.txt'
b94624cd11095fd621c875ff06eefca6
b051b3cc3b276b2d46642290ef3da3c6b0d62b4a
'2011-11-25T19:44:42-05:00'
describe
'56115' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXA' 'sip-files00022thm.jpg'
d0e3de02c18bf3805f0e27609b1a32e1
ab0514fd8911f7627751f03b614b658c6753ca82
'2011-11-25T19:39:48-05:00'
describe
'47858' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXB' 'sip-files00023.jp2'
6a8692830abb29fbe36a28d00253ac1a
e284efb0d555e86f3d22698c0c6abdbbf11c8d05
'2011-11-25T19:41:18-05:00'
describe
'319412' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXC' 'sip-files00023.jpg'
ed396690860347779934dcf3092782de
aff5b7b0a92019a843818476c9f47d1543e87053
'2011-11-25T19:39:26-05:00'
describe
'27389' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXD' 'sip-files00023.pro'
0ac6a9c8ea262d643fe45ce816e1127f
465bb89591a2e9eb95d26dd7ce71b4cd2741ca62
'2011-11-25T19:57:27-05:00'
describe
'127657' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXE' 'sip-files00023.QC.jpg'
81d388e53a761667e46aaa875eb444d0
c842b56330281dca8020a10011439dbc4474cd83
'2011-11-25T19:43:10-05:00'
describe
'229720' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXF' 'sip-files00023.tif'
de76b8c65a4933fbaf87913f13bcc554
3c704f3e1d7f20594abe430205338cfc11d302fd
'2011-11-25T19:51:10-05:00'
describe
'1139' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXG' 'sip-files00023.txt'
ba05274d72c625852094c3020c02928d
adaca512444c13bcd9c329dc998c7876b5fad165
describe
'48631' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXH' 'sip-files00023thm.jpg'
dc0fa1fc40cf7a44b6d2730674059936
a034a76afd789bd71ff27494f541a3fd0f90a7d9
'2011-11-25T19:51:13-05:00'
describe
'60522' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXI' 'sip-files00024.jp2'
36bb108bd8a7b784603691cffb78613c
9f69eb3a4328d3cc8f21ee9468e3d26b8cc7aa6f
'2011-11-25T19:41:37-05:00'
describe
'392417' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXJ' 'sip-files00024.jpg'
637200a9c9c27f43df36606c5f52a3f8
513112807bafe4bb1dae9f4f5be1f54f96111068
describe
'34053' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXK' 'sip-files00024.pro'
d586ef9a3fffa75754590853568636e3
8610d380e99a8f9d7bbb349148fbf687c40e6d3b
'2011-11-25T19:48:58-05:00'
describe
'154929' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXL' 'sip-files00024.QC.jpg'
a0104f2a3e19a51acf67aeb6f1a152af
255ee8dcc3c8c7101f21105c4900a9ae63c8d381
'2011-11-25T19:45:29-05:00'
describe
'250108' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXM' 'sip-files00024.tif'
7f9185e8447394b561542c4b454046d5
07689c3e80ae1502308bd29f57640055b206bf69
'2011-11-25T19:48:57-05:00'
describe
'1406' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXN' 'sip-files00024.txt'
d2da293763418b08bad18dc302b803ae
4c88ccc25d7bb94302353fb0b98e7b70be100084
describe
'55028' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXO' 'sip-files00024thm.jpg'
8f381718c35e73b476ca3b50dab0259a
3964f5d18e3982c9bf75766ce49389637c384ed3
'2011-11-25T19:43:51-05:00'
describe
'62156' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXP' 'sip-files00025.jp2'
a3fda2a4c30b16727588d5572360efb8
9e67b04c76bf2a0ba48086d018ab692054e64587
'2011-11-25T19:49:53-05:00'
describe
'405870' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXQ' 'sip-files00025.jpg'
1be9f7987d2f4bdbbfb223bcb1c16cde
9858bca199731ab42e3fb46b063222a1fdca573d
'2011-11-25T19:51:16-05:00'
describe
'36118' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXR' 'sip-files00025.pro'
db8dd6132911ba697bf3d6287d12478d
03627a1722dcda58d3fab90b9ed9474252140f3d
'2011-11-25T19:42:23-05:00'
describe
'161764' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXS' 'sip-files00025.QC.jpg'
1ba61264352d572e41f7412950952c29
16f93132e022bcb0fa88e3caf29dd22b4430b1af
'2011-11-25T19:39:10-05:00'
describe
'238900' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXT' 'sip-files00025.tif'
2fee96a0cfa5aa465684f9b1411237ae
16e852fb9392f505459bffda0d5649337b1e6fa4
'2011-11-25T19:54:15-05:00'
describe
'1430' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXU' 'sip-files00025.txt'
9b0983ff4f34cfdf1b37b283ee30d3f0
6108817ffd1788e7cdb2f1d959f39555f6cc0293
describe
'58724' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXV' 'sip-files00025thm.jpg'
9a41c2422019648aff679510ac375aef
3be5d931872257d76eef05a76e012d41d0d36e8a
'2011-11-25T19:53:23-05:00'
describe
'61788' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXW' 'sip-files00026.jp2'
2b4d8ce7416aa116e921a86899d39523
876b2145371da6a84576545a06218c4ef445de3c
'2011-11-25T19:47:21-05:00'
describe
'403808' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXX' 'sip-files00026.jpg'
61cf134a5dc2ada16c0747b9d5a10026
50713d7cb41d0d436cbd355b54de1b0289ec0aaf
'2011-11-25T19:43:50-05:00'
describe
'36693' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXY' 'sip-files00026.pro'
9aa3869e4cf305e6d33c4ef12c71912c
1b1218bc0a7c399e99221be3c172878d1c2ff11d
'2011-11-25T19:52:21-05:00'
describe
'155562' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVXZ' 'sip-files00026.QC.jpg'
f5157d54a59aa46d1af498bd9764ddb3
aca0b8bdef38c998b10005f9f2cecd9b394f9cc1
'2011-11-25T19:39:15-05:00'
describe
'250124' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYA' 'sip-files00026.tif'
e6f999b903f7e0c850b5866fd5060617
9b9227ab8b50f44ebfe9d0d304b63692e8ce9dca
'2011-11-25T19:41:51-05:00'
describe
'1449' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYB' 'sip-files00026.txt'
59cf73b8a602163f5d37ea11ca4680c7
398ccb3276c956be2c1fe2fe16ed910d5090f33c
'2011-11-25T19:39:37-05:00'
describe
'53556' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYC' 'sip-files00026thm.jpg'
4afa86ddd0214da078d6211bedc018ef
4aae06336e4152485064c04ff947bb421e358053
'2011-11-25T19:44:53-05:00'
describe
'61235' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYD' 'sip-files00027.jp2'
f082c3fb432555fcd5d3470a26f4b867
68cf7766acad05885b9705b0cea8e3a1af631073
'2011-11-25T19:55:11-05:00'
describe
'407189' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYE' 'sip-files00027.jpg'
a7e9eb84e30c4d671472d651bb0c7ee6
58a0306a518fd7860eba4e7a896534d46501112d
'2011-11-25T19:50:58-05:00'
describe
'34771' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYF' 'sip-files00027.pro'
22fefd3eab731952e46973122f84ddde
19b1e515d52eea5e39149d1177a34853faa94417
'2011-11-25T19:48:13-05:00'
describe
'157386' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYG' 'sip-files00027.QC.jpg'
c818be93b54705a5994a2f8ead3514f3
2565ba3df689defdb946a0ae9ee8d9c307c102b8
describe
'234464' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYH' 'sip-files00027.tif'
00a549c1cf9fe1eced47695f2760d86a
b3730a6e9e1cb22137580ab64bcf17ee95f6c325
'2011-11-25T19:42:49-05:00'
describe
'1410' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYI' 'sip-files00027.txt'
8e11b20f09e0b6fde191c1cf04eb1738
f7a71a528319094089a81020e2b2b6d9e5ccb4ae
'2011-11-25T19:53:51-05:00'
describe
'57964' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYJ' 'sip-files00027thm.jpg'
00ac1db04f764850ae1d9bd9cf921ac1
71e091c84be9a05c0d9e6e67f950db7db685fca9
'2011-11-25T19:39:14-05:00'
describe
'50334' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYK' 'sip-files00028.jp2'
824679e48f990e985c77558828264f00
09db17deea0a2b7473387d0a1a01ca0ea3085d0b
'2011-11-25T19:41:02-05:00'
describe
'330625' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYL' 'sip-files00028.jpg'
597840d027628f8096a933800bfba8ab
52b978340fb965c0d228ab0d2e6b0b9923fd7133
'2011-11-25T19:40:27-05:00'
describe
'28085' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYM' 'sip-files00028.pro'
ad581d5d24117b230f8e788e03ecb90b
8dd17bbb297e49171baacba4bfdcc38c9e2798d0
'2011-11-25T19:38:02-05:00'
describe
'132745' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYN' 'sip-files00028.QC.jpg'
fa6d29c6915b5fb945c1f13604b15e1e
e26963f3613dcc53cd8e9d8d03bb589f486ac88e
'2011-11-25T19:57:04-05:00'
describe
'240096' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYO' 'sip-files00028.tif'
07a88ed2705408f7c1136a9177252c6e
8e4cf5dc49b077f56d46269afdf4baefd230b142
'2011-11-25T19:53:30-05:00'
describe
'1148' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYP' 'sip-files00028.txt'
2c1b12f3ec71fd252df0bbb0df980712
541944165412a485cf1d729fd5ba32386dd6243a
describe
'53353' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYQ' 'sip-files00028thm.jpg'
2992c7b25731c918609cba2ba81f74b1
f3fe4450527634a7affe2f517ac5c03ed10d9bae
'2011-11-25T19:42:20-05:00'
describe
'57891' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYR' 'sip-files00029.jp2'
80dc0923a502167c7150a190ea621abd
bb8a28af4683631db128cb61ba59e17d33172d0f
'2011-11-25T19:44:35-05:00'
describe
'381707' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYS' 'sip-files00029.jpg'
ec97e83083cbe7bbbba3894ac4010c43
baca3fad098031ab2836efc277b6757a09f6d91f
describe
'33645' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYT' 'sip-files00029.pro'
3eb1ddca9b9ed365f9efd4a21946786b
851d52a9a508fb23889b863b7da9293e56cf8b30
'2011-11-25T19:55:14-05:00'
describe
'154591' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYU' 'sip-files00029.QC.jpg'
fa9aecb41c753662d932c6b6405cb567
1eb5fd74a6da9f1ef6546ef6fd9c9d179ba79ad9
'2011-11-25T19:44:25-05:00'
describe
'234120' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYV' 'sip-files00029.tif'
14f2aab6627a4df35994e4a089c4ff54
c4d96d8fd90d1521c87facedf4b73e615327ee5e
'2011-11-25T19:51:18-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYW' 'sip-files00029.txt'
cc259ee3f46b16876f0665f96e2f3b91
419a15ab662246b7671850dabcde03e11ad1d9ac
'2011-11-25T19:42:29-05:00'
describe
'57569' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYX' 'sip-files00029thm.jpg'
308baf243d219c3011cd6dcf50c0aeaa
f629952d119275f45e24b447441cd43c349d9f19
describe
'55847' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYY' 'sip-files00030.jp2'
23b98537029102ab58f9bd68c28e570e
b49cdfd2ef1de655f9029499c46d72329de188bd
'2011-11-25T19:48:12-05:00'
describe
'368204' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVYZ' 'sip-files00030.jpg'
e48049de8a857c0c42918e18c8a5c409
5d866d7e671d2ca157cea85ef75ae9e18425b5ad
'2011-11-25T19:42:34-05:00'
describe
'32078' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZA' 'sip-files00030.pro'
12e9f0367cff93b9a66ad90364b6994f
fe4c16ace6d45b1b89d1150423b5100c1af33704
'2011-11-25T19:41:34-05:00'
describe
'149647' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZB' 'sip-files00030.QC.jpg'
8ac7a4e955fd72880c592e8b7b7a9bb1
672547fc836a4e78a030085be4128d15299aa007
'2011-11-25T19:56:37-05:00'
describe
'240740' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZC' 'sip-files00030.tif'
292be94385d318dfdd7ab60c16d42a95
8961488d1a81c9012ca3a9be1c0cc0df13a61ef3
'2011-11-25T19:50:49-05:00'
describe
'1284' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZD' 'sip-files00030.txt'
54714985a04f1be4d6cdd2d42ea2f2e7
f448e56944c9e0624a8bd9804bcd4b1669bb265b
'2011-11-25T19:48:25-05:00'
describe
'54955' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZE' 'sip-files00030thm.jpg'
07171252d1cc45ba5b8f4371fe699d7b
fc67377a563116adb72a3c24ba17ae4ff2ec0d89
describe
'58952' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZF' 'sip-files00031.jp2'
b43412ef45bcc740c5db3cb313f73da4
1b55d45ae5e96540b80ce043997a7b2edf4a6c1d
'2011-11-25T19:55:17-05:00'
describe
'393117' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZG' 'sip-files00031.jpg'
d640ad550779e4d18de9cd4f7b375f77
826a9551d33f0d13cffb93333525b38a5b2e38d0
'2011-11-25T19:51:41-05:00'
describe
'34359' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZH' 'sip-files00031.pro'
3a99ad6f433f8c1fe5ddccb5ab2de338
1d8f0ad75a55d96e7aed67a6f0490d3edb907476
'2011-11-25T19:43:37-05:00'
describe
'157780' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZI' 'sip-files00031.QC.jpg'
3411ad6bddae9398136401b66e4b13b2
5c9d216e89d3739d5bc34f585ab49ab61b570d6a
'2011-11-25T19:48:05-05:00'
describe
'234364' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZJ' 'sip-files00031.tif'
b45d05be893c01a22968cd8aeb1b9550
10700cb44fad1cef9f01f8a3a965490deb7cbef6
'2011-11-25T19:51:26-05:00'
describe
'1377' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZK' 'sip-files00031.txt'
74ca3c2960c4ae707dd24537cfee12b6
456058e2fe8c6471126f34c442d65f20096b28c6
'2011-11-25T19:54:58-05:00'
describe
'58150' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZL' 'sip-files00031thm.jpg'
84c444134e0f62ba565252a80befa2a3
c991b65f20255937ef0e4b3c3e94c4910e672879
'2011-11-25T19:57:08-05:00'
describe
'56851' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZM' 'sip-files00032.jp2'
6841b92da918a9f4ee480f1f2b4d41d8
80a43d5f7a317a31f022263e829e051a4f9dcbc3
'2011-11-25T19:52:12-05:00'
describe
'380600' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZN' 'sip-files00032.jpg'
901bcd5ec383e6fea12a6b3dba4b6f1c
777075ff3d0465b5100521d0ffc902603adaca43
'2011-11-25T19:42:01-05:00'
describe
'33934' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZO' 'sip-files00032.pro'
67a66b6be8b706d9aff98be07ec80e73
bc098b9e1ef0cdf73ebaa969717fb61a7b275110
'2011-11-25T19:43:12-05:00'
describe
'149630' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZP' 'sip-files00032.QC.jpg'
f602400ed5704bc8a3846f281ae06a01
9ce7de10bde49e4460310ceca9637f41165e1c3b
'2011-11-25T19:40:20-05:00'
describe
'242996' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZQ' 'sip-files00032.tif'
28ba90ab63497e1d3f596468a82f1228
aec8a817caab45896e6787a902e552e9d1838802
'2011-11-25T19:44:00-05:00'
describe
'1369' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZR' 'sip-files00032.txt'
2ffa2ad54e809e796f95e3c798b85cd8
cd0893d401a29ef75232e136cc563f7d988c777c
'2011-11-25T19:42:30-05:00'
describe
'56273' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZS' 'sip-files00032thm.jpg'
a6f0790643e7198b1ab6025fae4acdd9
7496c78af6daae92d98394784fe4eda2e400e816
'2011-11-25T19:49:09-05:00'
describe
'39912' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZT' 'sip-files00033.jp2'
ea4a0921ca7d7b5c9052dbddcfd7544d
ba0e741a614f42ffbf67bbe892fc3ab4b5962fcf
'2011-11-25T19:44:33-05:00'
describe
'261233' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZU' 'sip-files00033.jpg'
842b22306bf4fb3e93fee49208640500
6a54a2daf987112b8540437a01a7316f6180b3d8
'2011-11-25T19:49:12-05:00'
describe
'22918' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZV' 'sip-files00033.pro'
9beec28d56a93d506ba705f1385de77a
6aeb82a84d3dac684ac37020ec4d1836e980b2aa
'2011-11-25T19:55:15-05:00'
describe
'102894' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZW' 'sip-files00033.QC.jpg'
58680c82aeb78a54e3d8e24de9867cb1
be44e1eb4714100d36d507e63a3172768b6c25f3
'2011-11-25T19:57:25-05:00'
describe
'241028' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZX' 'sip-files00033.tif'
e517006d4347128ff5d5cc199ccdfe64
7abb4a4364ad3cdfe84a42203199b010cd52b2c7
'2011-11-25T19:38:08-05:00'
describe
'924' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZY' 'sip-files00033.txt'
2afbd2247b4e1b16d60c9f5d31663b77
035a21d3168015595cea8d1e16a4b5172cb819c4
describe
'39452' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAVZZ' 'sip-files00033thm.jpg'
4bb9b66d09334a85ef827b5b413c6118
3525b0e2d605ef9011a1ef501dba68d23ad1c61e
'2011-11-25T19:42:02-05:00'
describe
'46163' 'info:fdaE20080826_AAAACRfileF20080828_AAAWAA' 'sip-files00034.jp2'