Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 The Disaster
 The Botanizing Party
 The Walk to Linton Lodge
 The Disappointment
 The Letter-Carrier
 Saturday Occupations
 The Rescue
 The Unwelcome News
 The Accident
 The Petition
 The Smugglers' Cave
 The Explanation
 Winter Amusements
 The Smuggler Reclaimed
 The Bad Marks
 Back Cover

Title: The Wilmot family, or, "They that deal truly are His delight."
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002151/00001
 Material Information
Title: The Wilmot family, or, "They that deal truly are His delight." Revised by the Committee of Publication
Alternate Title: They that deal truly are his delight
Physical Description: 262 p., 3 leaves of plates : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Hobart and Robbins ( Stereotyper )
New England Type and Stereotype Foundry ( Stereotyper )
New England Sabbath School Union ( Publisher )
Baker & Smith ( Engraver )
Publisher: New England Sabbath School Union
Place of Publication: Boston
Manufacturer: Stereotyped by Hobart & Robbins ; New England Type & Stereotype Foundry
Publication Date: c1852
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Truthfulness and falsehood -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Family stories -- 1852   ( local )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Family stories   ( local )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
General Note: Illustrations engraved by Baker & Smith.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002151
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002225544
oclc - 15616850
notis - ALG5819
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front page 1
        Front page 2
    Title Page
        Page i
        Page ii
        Page iii
        Page iv
    Table of Contents
        Page v
        Page vi
    The Disaster
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
    The Botanizing Party
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
    The Walk to Linton Lodge
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
    The Disappointment
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
    The Letter-Carrier
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
    Saturday Occupations
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
    The Rescue
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127a
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
    The Unwelcome News
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
    The Accident
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
    The Petition
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
    The Smugglers' Cave
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199a
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
    The Explanation
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
        Page 222
        Page 223
        Page 224
        Page 225
        Page 226
        Page 227
        Page 228
        Page 229
    Winter Amusements
        Page 230
        Page 231
        Page 232
        Page 233
        Page 234
        Page 235
        Page 236
        Page 237
        Page 238
        Page 239
        Page 240
        Page 241
        Page 242
    The Smuggler Reclaimed
        Page 243
        Page 244
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
        Page 248
        Page 249
        Page 250
        Page 251
        Page 252
        Page 253
        Page 254
        Page 255
    The Bad Marks
        Page 256
        Page 257
        Page 258
        Page 259
        Page 260
        Page 261
        Page 262
        Page 263
    Back Cover
        Page 264
        Page 265
Full Text

"Here is a beautifl small Fucshia," cried Charlie. Page 50.






W. HEATH, 79 CoaRnu L.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by

In the Clerk's Oflfe of the District Court of the District of Massachusett.

New Batedu Type Stereotype Fradry,


DECEPTION is one of the earliest and most
common sins of childhood. To illustrate it in
its nature, forms, temptations, and consequences,
is the chief object of this work. On all these
points the writer has succeeded in teaching
useful lessons, in a pleasant and impressive
manner. She has been especially clear and
discriminating, in exposing the various dis-
guises which this vice wears, both in early life,
and in the customs of what is called good so-
ciety." The book is also fruitful in incidental
but well-considered hints to those parents, who
anxiously desire to train up their children in
habits of strict integrity and undeviating truth.
To the serious perusal of all such, we afiec-


tionately commend it; at the same time, its
easy and agreeable narratives will be sure to
make the book a special favorite with the
young. Besides its intrinsic merit, the fact
that it has rapidly passed through two editions
in Great Britain, and received the commenda-
tions of the wise and good, warrants us in
bringing it before the American public, as an
important addition to our juvenile religious lit-
erature. May the great Spirit of Truth follow
.it with His blessing.


THE DIASTE, ......... 7




THE LETTER-CARRIER,. ..... .. .. 88


THE SCUE, ... ............117




THE PETITION, .. * o o 166

THE SMUGGLERS' CAVE, ........... 187

THE EXPLANATION, ......... 211

WINTER AMUSEMENTS, ... ... . 230


THE BAD MARKS, ................. 256




0 not tell mamma that I did it," said Emily
Wilmot, as she beheld, with trembling horror,
the fragments of a beautiful porcelain vase,
which she had accidentally thrown down and broken,
in the midst of a game of romps.
I shall not be the first to communicate the wo-
ful tidings, certainly," said Frank, her elder brother;
" but, if she asks me, you know I must tell her the
"0, you are so provokingly particular, Frank!



I am sure there is no use in getting me into a
Your best way is to go and tell mamma your-
self," said Frank; "you know that neither she nor
papa are ever angry with us for an accident, if we
speak the truth, and do not endeavor to conceal it."
0, but I know mamma will be vexed," replied
Emily; for it was only the other day that I heard
her tell some lady, who was admiring it, that she
valued that vase so much, because it was a present
from dear uncle Henry."
"Well, I have no doubt that she will be very
sorry," said Frank, "but will she not be far more
sorry if you tell her an untruth ? Besides, you know,
Emily, there is One who knows all about it, and, if
you tell a lie, you will offend Him much more than
you can dear mamma, by telling her the truth.
Then, again, she will know that somebody must have
done it, and she will, perhaps, blame the servants.
O, Emily, go and tell her yourself."
"Indeed, I shall do no such thing, for I know
what she will say."


What will she say ?" asked Frank.
"Why, she will say we had no business in the
drawing-room, for she has told us never to play
Well, if you like, as I drew you into the scrape,
by beginning to play in the drawing-room, I will go
and tell mamma myself," said Frank. "I will tell
her that it was my fault."
O, no, Frank; indeed, I do not want her to
know, and I think I can put in the pieces again, so
that it will never be seen; I know Betsy has some
cement she often mends china with. There, now,"
said she, (after replacing the broken pieces, which
fitted in so nicely that no one would have perceived
the fracture,) "I am sure, when that is fastened
with the cement, no one will find it out."
"0, but, Emily, I cannot consent that mamma
should be deceived; if you do not tell her, I must
do so. Now, I must run away to my lessons, but,
by and by, I will ask whether you have told her."
So saying, Frank ran away to his books, and, fnd*
ing that he was rather late, he made as mack
'V '



as possible, that he might have his exercise and his
sum ready by the time that Mr. Smith, the tutor,
arrived. He had scarcely finished the last line of
his exercise, when Mr. Smith was ushered into the
"Not ready, Frank," he exclaimed, "how comes
this? I never knew you too late with your tasks
I am afraid I have put off a little time, sir,"
replied Frank. I did not think it was so late, and
an accident that we met with at play this morning,
put me out, and took up a good deal of time."
Well, my boy," replied the tutor, "you always
give me a straightforward answer, therefore I can-
not be angry with you; but you must remember
that I expect you always to be quite ready, and you
all in your places by ten o'clock. Where are your
brothers ?"
"I have not seen them since breakfast," said
Frank, "but I will see if they are ready." Just as
""iHe, Henry and Charles came in, with their
6i as red as fire, and quite out of breath, as if


they had been running very fast, and they were some
minutes before they could give any account of them-
"Now, young gentlemen," said Mr. Smith, what
have you been about this morning ? I cannot allow
you to be so unpunctual; I really must establish a
forfeit, or a task, for any one who is not ready when
I come."
"I could not help it, indeed," said Charles, still
out of breath, and looking very confused, but answer-
ing po readily, that Mr. S. quite believed what he
said. "Papa sent us with a message to the Grove,
and Mr. Harford kept us a long time waiting for
the answer to the note; but I am sure we ran all
the way home."
"If that is the case, you are not to blame,"
replied Mr. S.; but perhaps your papa is not aware
how often I have to complain of your being behind-
hand with your tasks, and that I have told you I
expect to find you all seated round the table, waiting
for me."
Henry had hitherto said nothing. Charlie had made



an excuse which applied to both, and Mr. Smith
seemed to be satisfied with it; but Henry felt that
he was deceived, for Charlie had not told him the
whole truth, and he was just going to give his
account of the delay, when Mr. Smith said,
"You need not say any more about it, I am quite
satisfied, -come to your books."
Accordingly they sat down to their lessons; but
Henry was very unhappy, and he looked thoughtful
and abstracted, and did not seem to know what he
was doing, while there was an expression of embar-
rassment and uneasiness in his countenance, which
was generally so open and joyous.
What is the matter with you, Master Henry? "
asked his tutor at length. If you do not attend
better, I shall be obliged to give you a task."
Henry's eyes filled with tears, and he looked up
with an expression of hope that Charlie would speak
out, and deliver him from his present uncomfortable
state, by giving a more truthful account of their
morning's employment. Charlie, however, kept his
head down on his book, and took no notice of his
brother's distress.


There is something wrong this morning, I can
see," said Mr. Smith; out with it, my boy; that
heart was never meant for concealment; and I am
sure there is something troubling you." Henry burst
into tears, and then said,
I do not think that Charles told you exactly the
truth about our being so late this morning. I
begged him to tell you all about it, and I was sure
you would forgive us this once."
Well," interrupted Charlie, "I have only said
what is quite true. Did not papa send us to Mr.
Harford ? and were we not kept waiting a long time
there ? and I am sure we ran all the way home."
Wait a moment, if you please, Charlie," said
Mr. S., I wish to hear Henry's account."
Charlie's face became like crimson, and he looked
very angrily at his brother, while Henry continued,
It is quite true that we were kept waiting for
the note, dear Charlie, but you know that we might
have been back an hour sooner, if we had not gone
to sail our boat in the pond at the back of the


O, that is the secret of the delay, is it ? asked
Mr. Smith, "and how came you to have your boat
with you?"
Why, sir, we had just finished rigging her yes-
terday," replied Henry, "and we were longing to
see whether she would sail well. So, when papa
sent us with a message to the Grove this morning, we
both thought it would be very nice to take our boat
with us, and give it a sail on the pond, whilst we were
waiting for an answer from Mr. Harford. As soon,
therefore, as we had delivered the note, we ran round
to the back of the house, and we shoved the boat into
the water, and the wind carried it away quite into
the middle of the pond, and we had a deal of trouble
in getting it again; and it was that which made us
so long, though we ran all the way home."
Frank, who had been busily engaged over his les-
sons, now looked up, with an expression which at
once indicated his delight at hearing his brother give
this manly and truthful account of their morning's
work, whilst, as his eye fell upon his little brother
Charlie, his countenance assumed an expression of


sadness, for he was grieved to think that Charlie
could thus endeavor to deceive his tutor.
I shall think it my duty to acquaint Mr. Wil-
mot with what has passed," said Mr. Smith; "if
you had told me the whole truth, I should have said
no more about it, but it grieves me, Charlie, to be so
continually finding you guilty of an attempt to
deceive. I have no doubt that you silence the voice
of conscience by saying that you did not tell a
direct falsehood; but if you keep back part of the
truth, in order to leave a false impression upon my
mind, and lead me to exonerate you from blame,
you are equally guilty of telling a lie. In the sight
of God there is no difference. A lie is the intention
to deceive; and I fear your heart must lead you to
plead guilty in this respect, very, very often."
Mr. Smith continued to speak very solemnly to
Charlie upon this subject, and at last he seemed to
be really sensible how wrong he had been; and
though Mr. Smith felt it right to conceal nothing
from his parents, and therefore communicated the
whole affair to Mr. Wilmot, yet he expressed his



belief that Charlie was really penitent and convinced
of his sin, and that he had great hope that he would
try to be more careful in future.
The great fault that I have to find with him,"
he continued, is, that he never relates a fact ex-
actly as it happened; he always manages to keep
back some portion of the truth, if he has any end to
answer by doing so, or he will give a certain color-
ing to the events he is narrating, or the conver-
sations he is repeating, which would completely
deceive a person; and I find it very difficult to con-
vince him that this, in the sight of God, is falsehood
and deceit."
Mr. and Mrs. Wilmot were grieved to hear these
complaints of their dear child, and Mr. Wilmot de-
sired Charlie to come to him as soon as school was
over, that he might follow up the kind and Christian
admonitions of Mr. Smith.
In the mean time, the conversation which had
occurred recalled to Frank's mind what had passed
with Emily in the morning, and he began to be very
anxious to know whether she had summoned resolu-


tion to tell her mamma how the accident had hap.
opened. The fear that she might tell a lie, haunted
him all the morning, and he blamed himself for not
having removed the temptation from her, by him-
self communicating the whole truth to his mamma
before he went to the school-room.
As soon as the morning arrangements in the fam-
ily were completed, and little Julia, who was only a
year old, had been laid snugly in her little crib for
her morning sleep, Mrs. Wilmot always joined the
three girls in the school-room, where she superin-
tended their studies, and devoted herself to their
instruction and improvement. Whilst the children
were busy writing their copies, Mrs. Wilmot turned
to Mary, the eldest, and said--
"I have met with a little trial of my patience
this morning. It is not right to allow oneself to be
put out by anything of this kind, and I should not
be vexed about it if I could only get at the truth.
You know, Mary, my beautiful porcelain vase, which
I value so much: well, I happened to be dusting it
just now, for I always like to do it myself, for fear


of an accident, when the thing fell to pieces in my
"0, what a pity!" said Mary; and do you not
know how it was done ?"
"No," said Mrs. Wilmot; "I suppose it must
have been Betsy, when she was cleaning the room;
but she positively denies it, and it is this that vexes
me. I always tell them that I am quite aware that
accidents will happen sometimes, and that I am
never angry if they speak the truth; but still, when
anything of this kind occurs, it is always Mr. No-
body who does it."
If Mrs. Wilmot had happened to look at Emily
at that moment, she would not have been any longer
in doubt with regard to the one who had been the
occasion of the mischief, for Emily's face plainly told
the tale, though she had not courage to speak out
and tell her mamma the truth. 0, what a moment
this would have been for her to start up, throw her
arms round her dear mamma's neck, and say-- It
was I, dear mamma; do not blame Betsy, for it was
I that did it." But no-her mamma had not


questioned any of her children, because she never
imagined that they would conceal anything of the
kind from her, if they had done it, and because she
thought that no one had been in the drawing-room
that morning but the house-maid. Emily kept her
eyes down on her book, and in a few minutes she
had recovered her composure; and, though she did
not feel very comfortable, yet, as her mamma had
not asked her any questions, she thought there was
no occasion to tell her anything about it.
I wish Frank had not known," thought Emily,
"for he will be sure to let it all out; but perhaps he
will forget."
When the lessons were concluded, and the broth-
ers and sisters met in the garden, Frank at once ran
up to Emily, and, kindly patting her on the cheek,
Well, my Emmy; have you told mamma about
the vase ?"
Go away, Frank," said Emily impatiently, you
are so tiresome. Mamma has never asked me about
it, and what is the use of telling her "


Why, Emmy, you know she must blame some-
body, and it is very ungenerous to let her blame the
servants, when you know that you did it. Besides,
Emily, you know, if you keep back the truth, you
are, in the sight of God, telling a lie, just as much
as if you said you had not done it."
0, but I cannot tell her," said Emily, "unless
she asks."
Then I shall! cried Frank, determinedly; and
he started off to join his mamma, who was just then
putting a few geraniums into the beds in front of
the lawn, while Mary and Henry were assisting her
to tie them up.
Dear mamma," said Frank, "I am going to tell
'you of such a misfortune that Emily and I have had
"A misfortune, my dear boy! what can it be ?
Nothing very serious, I hope ?"
Something I am very sorry for," said Frank;
and I fear it was my fault; for I had to go into
the drawing-room this morning to fetch a book, and
Emily ran after me; so I forgot all your injunctions



about romping in the drawing-room, and while I was
chasing Emily round the table, she knocked over
your beautiful vase, and broke it."
Mrs. Wilmot's countenance became very sad, and
Frank, attributing it to her vexation about the vase,
continued -
I am really sorry, dear mamma. I know it
was very wrong to begin playing there; but I will
try to be more careful in future."
You mistake me, dear Frank," replied Mrs.
Wilmot; it is not the broken vase that distresses
me, though I am sorry to have it spoiled. But why
did Emily allow me to blame Betsy, and why did she
try to deceive me by concealing the truth, when she
heard me speaking about it ? It is this which grieves
me: had you both come and told me at the moment,
I should have said nothing, except that you must be
more attentive to my rules in future."
I did charge Emily to tell you, dear mamma;
and if Mr. Smith had not come just in the middle
of our distress, I should have come to you myself."
Well, my dear boy, I am thankful that you have



told me, and I pray God that he will ever lead you
in the ways of truth and uprightness, and enable you
to bear in mind that He is a God of truth, and that
' He desireth truth in the inward parts.' "
Mrs. Wilmot then sought for her little girl, and
in the quiet of her own room she endeavored to con-
vince her how wrong it was, and how sinful in the
might of God, thus to deceive her. Emily seemed to
think that she could not have been guilty of false-
hood, when she had never opened her lips on the
subject; but her mamma endeavored to convince her,
that, as her silence was meant to deceive, it was ab-
solutely falsehood in the sight of God; and, whilst
she had not accused another, she had, nevertheless,
allowed another to be falsely accused in her hearing.
Emily understood quite well what her mamma meant,
and she was conscious that she had intended, if pos-
sible, to deceive her, and let her think that some
one else had done it. She now confessed her fault;
she was really softened,'and humbled under a sense
of her wickedness, and was very thankful when her
mamma told her to kneel down with her, and pray



to God to pardon her sins, to wash them all away in
the blood of his own dear Son, to give her a new
heart, to remove from her the way of lying, and to
enable her to speak the truth from the heart.
When Emily found the kind way in which Frank
had told his mamma of the accident, and how he had
endeavored to take the blame upon himself, and to
dwell more upon his own fault, in enticing his sister
to play, than upon her misfortune, and her determi-
nation not to tell her mamma, she could not help
thinking what a kind, good brother she had, and
how much she would like to be able always to speak
the truth as boldly as he did.
By the time that my readers have got thus far in
this little narrative, they will no doubt have formed
their own opinion of some of the members of the
Wilmot family; but, before proceeding further, it
will be well, perhaps, to introduce them more par-
ticularly to each member of the family circle.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilmot were truly excellent Chris-
tian parents, and as they saw their little ones grow
ing up, as the olive branches, round about their



table, and as ripening years unfolded the character
of their dear children, they watched, with intense
anxiety, every indication of the natural corruption
within, and every cheering promise of fruit unto
holiness. They were, on the whole, greatly blessed
in their children, and the elder ones were beginning
to repay all their watchfulness and anxiety, and to
cheer their hearts by the evidence, continually mani-
fested in the occurrences of each day, that the fear
of God was ever before their eyes, restraining them
from evil, and that the love of God was beginning to
influence them in all their actions. Not that they
were, by any means, faultless; each had their
peculiar failings, and there was still, no doubt, much
that a parent's watchful eye would detect, as ex-
hibiting the corrupt tendencies which remain in the
heart, even when renewed by divine grace. Frank,
the eldest, was nearly sixteen at the time of which I
am writing. He was a fine, noble-hearted, Christian
boy, of a generous, affectionate disposition, a gentle,'
amiable temper, and a winning kindness of manner,
which made him a favorite with every one. But the


most beautiful feature in the character of Frank was
its perfect guilelessness and transparency. From a
child, he had been remarkable for his abhorrence of
everything like deceit and falsehood. He could not
bear to have a thought that was not laid open to the
inspection of all. He was so afraid of inadvertently
saying anything that was not strictly true, that he
seldom spoke positively about anything until he had
taken time to think. When he was quite a child,
his mamma sometimes said, Frank, can you not
answer when you are asked a question ?" But the
little fellow used to say, "Me thinking, mamma;--
me speak when me quite sure." So, as he advanced
in years, he still retained the same jealous fear of
saying anything that was not truth itself: instead
of the positive, hasty assertions which young people
are too apt to make, Frank generally guarded his
statements with the expression, I think it was so,"
"I will not be quite sure," or "if I remember
rightly," &c. Frank was a noble example of home
education. He had never left his father's roof;
a good tutor was carefully sought out for the instae



tion of himself and his brothers, and they had none
of them ever been exposed to the dangerous influ-
ences of a public school. Many a fond mother
pointed to the young Wilmots, more especially to
the two eldest boys, Frank and Henry, as examples
of the possibility of combining, in a system of home
education, all that can tend to produce a hardy,
active manliness of character, with the lovelier and
softer traits of filial love and brotherly affection.
But I must proceed with my family portrait. I
need not enter into a long description of personal
appearance, for I do not wish my young readers to
attach much importance to the color of the eyes, the
shape of a nose, or the beauty of figure. I will
only add to my description of Frank, that his coun-
tenance was the index of his mind. There was an
openness of expression, a politeness of manner, a
gentleness of demeanor, which won the confidence
and affection of all who knew him.
Next in age to Frank, was Mary, a lovely, gentle,
timid girl, about a year younger, but of very similar
disposition. The great and striking feature of



resemblance in their character was their steadfast
love of truth. Mary was truthful in all her words
and actions. She hated dissimulation. She was
just and upright in all her dealings. There was a
singleness of eye, a simplicity of heart, which
showed itself in everything; and it was this golden
link of truthfulness which bound the hearts of the
brother and sister so closely together. It was
beautiful to witness their affection for each other,
and the protecting care with which Frank followed
his sister's movements. He was always at hand to
assist her in every little difficulty, to shield her
from any appearance of danger, and to enter into
all her pursuits; and then there was so much
respect as well as affection in his manners towards
her, contrasting strongly with the manners of too
many schoolboys, who are afraid of encountering the
ridicule and bantering of their companions if they
venture to mention the name even of a sister.
Mary was equally attached to her brother; they
agreed in their pursuits; they were both fond of
study; their tastes were congenial, and, above all,



their youthful hearts were alike interested in the
solemn truths of religion. Mary looked up to her
brother as a protector and a friend; and, though timid
and reserved by nature, there was not a thought of
her heart which she could not freely express to
Frank. Mrs. Wilmot rejoiced in observing how
the youthful hearts of these two were knit together
in the bonds of Christian love, and she felt that
their united influence was very great over the
younger children, and that their example was likely
to be greatly blessed to their brothers and sisters.
I desire to repeat, here, that it is far from my
wish that my young readers should form the mistaken
idea that either Frank or his sister was altogether
without faults. They, doubtless, had their failings,
and perhaps a little more acquaintance with the
family group may serve to convince us that perfec-
tion is not to be looked for in any human character;
and that, even where the lovely effects of divine
grace are peculiarly prominent, even there we may
expect continual proofs of the existence of a law in
the members, which, if left for a moment to our-


selves, will bring us into captivity to the law of sin
and death; but "thanks be to God who giveth us
the victory, through Jesus Christ our Lord." The
life of God in the soul involves a perpetual struggle,
but it is one in which we may feel the blessed assur-
ance that greater is He that is for us than he that
is against us, and that He is able to supply all our
need according to his riches in glory by Christ
But I must proceed to introduce the rest of the
family to my young readers. Jane, the next in age,
was of a very different character from her sister;
she was lively, energetic, and enthusiastic in every-
thing; of an affectionate, kind disposition, though a
little quick and impatient in temper naturally; but
she had been taught so to curb and restrain her
natural impetuosity, that it was very seldom that
any exhibition of it occurred, and, when it did, she
was always ready to acknowledge her fault, and was
really sorry for it, and desirous of overcoming it in
future. Henry, the second son, who was now about
twelve years of age, was a fine, ingenuous boy, full


of life and spirit. Very bold and daring, fond of all
kinds of boyish sports, and sometimes a little inclined
to be mischievous; but he was so sorry when his fun
was the cause of injury to others, and so anxious to
make full reparation for any little mischief which he
might have occasioned, that every one was ready to
forgive and forget his petty injuries. He was also
always the first to come and tell of his own delin-
quencies, and thus he effectually disarmed those who
had any cause of complaint against him. He was
always ready to do a kind action for any one, and he
would sometimes leave a favorite sport, to go and
carry some poor woman's pail of water, that he
thought was too heavy for her, or to help a little
one over a stile, or to drive home some poor neigh-
bor's cow or donkey that had strayed; so that he
was a universal favorite in the village, and many a
hearty greeting he met with from the cottagers,
when strolling about, or when sent on errands of
kindness with his elder brother.
Charles was a year younger than his brother
Henry, but he was by no means of so promising a


disposition; he was inclined to be rather passionate,
and, as we have already seen, his word was not to
be depended upon. It was not enough for him, that
he had a kind papa and mamma, who were never
unreasonable, or angry about things of no moment.
Charles could not bear to be blamed, and, rather
than be told that he had done wrong, or that he had
been very careless or idle, he would often keep back
some portion of the truth, or represent what had
passed in such a way as to justify himself at the
expense of strict uprightness and honesty. If any
one had called Charles a liar, he would have been
sorely offended; and yet how often was he guilty of
a lie in the sight of God, by whom actions are
weighed," and who looketh to the "thoughts and
intents of the heart!" His purpose was too often to
deceive; and what is this, my dear young friends,
but to follow him who was a deceiver and a liar
from the beginning.
His sister, Emily, who was only seven, was a very
sweet, engaging child; but she had followed the bad
example of her brother Charles, and she was sadly



addicted to falsehood. She was of a very timid dis-
position, and easily frightened; and there is no doubt
that fear was in her the originating cause of that
tendency which was so deeply deplored by her
watchful Christian parents. When Emily was
about four years old, Mrs. Wilmot was so unfortu-
nate as to have a nurse who, though very strongly
recommended, and, in many respects, a valuable
servant, was very injudicious, and rather harsh.
The younger children were much afraid of her, for
she would be as angry with them for accidentally
destroying or tearing a frock, as for doing anything
decidedly wrong; and the consequence was, that,
rather than encounter the stern rebuke, or the
impatient slap, or the more severe punishment
which sometimes followed any childish misdemeanor,
the timid, frightened child would try to frame ex-
cuses, or endeavor to hide an accident by some
deceitful manoeuvre, and sometimes by a direct
falsehood. It was not long before Mrs. Wilmot
discovered this serious defect in the discipline and
management of the nursery; and, finding that


Martha had too good an idea of her own skin in
training the young, to be influenced by her advice
and example, she soon filled her place with another,
who proved a most valuable and conscientious assist-
ant to her in her efforts to bring up her children
in the nurture and admonition of the Lord; but not
before Martha had unhappily sowed the seeds of
deceit and falsehood in the minds of the younger
children by her injudicious strictness.
And now, before proceeding further, I must give
one word of solemn caution to any of my young
readers who have the misfortune to be similarly
circumstanced with this little family, under their
cross nurse, Martha.
Remember, that though such injudicious strictness,
on the part of those who have the charge of young
people, may often lead to the evils of which we are
speaking, viz., deceit and falsehood; yet it can
never justify, nor even palliate, them in the sight
of God, whom you ought to fear above all else. Our
Saviour says, "Fear not them which kill the body,
and after that have no more that they can do, but


fear Him who, after he hath killed, hath power to
east both body and soul into hell, -yea I say unto
you, fear Him." How much better is it, my dear
young friends, to meet patiently the anger of an
offended parent, or a severe governess, or a cross
nurse, than it is to incur the anger of Almighty God,
and to grieve that blessed Spirit, who can alone
cleanse and purify your heart!
0 that you would only strive to remember, when-
ever the temptation to falsehood arises, Now I am
in the sight of God! a heart-searching God, who
knows every thought, who sees every action, who
hears every word; how then can "I do this great
wickedness, and sin against God!" Call to mind
the little hymn with which many of you, I have no
doubt, are familiar, -
," God is in heaven! can he hear,
If I should tell a lie 1
Yes, though thou saidst it very low,
He'd hear it in the sky."

Then lift up your hearts to Him: ask Him to enable
you to speak the truth -to take away from you


TaB DmISgTE. 85

lying lips- to enable you to saf, "I hate and abhor
lies, but thy law do I love." Think before you
speak; and when you are just about to tell a lie, let
your heart be instantly lifted up to God, with the
simple prayer, "Lord, help me to speak the truth!"
If little Emily had done this, she would never have
fallen into such a bad habit of untruthfulness, and
caused thereby so much grief and pain to her dear
parents, and to all those who watched over her with
anxious solicitude for her spiritual good.



OW I wish, said Henry to his mamma, when
he and his brothers were assisting her one day
in weeding the flower-beds opposite the draw-
ing-room windows, How I wish that the Harfords
had asked us to go with them to the woods on Satur-
day! Do you know they are going to have such a
nice pic-nic party to the Cromer woods, and they are
going to have a whole day's botanizing; and I should
so like to go with them ?"
"I dare say you would, Henry; but I should be
inclined to suspect that Mr. and Mrs. Harford will
think they have quite enough to do in taking charge
of their own boys, without the addition of three noisy
fellows like you."
"0, but mamma," cried Charlie, "do you not
think it very strange that they have never asked us
to go, for they must know that we should like it? "


I wish they had, Charlie," replied their mamma;
" but you may depend upon it, if they had wished
for your company, they would have invited you to
join them."
I know, if I see any of the young Harfords,"
said Charlie, I shall try and get an invitation. I
am going to take my boat to them, to see if they
can mend it, and perhaps I shall be able to give
them a hint that we should like to be of the party."
O, no hints, Charles!" cried Frank; "I cannot
bear hints; I would rather ask them at once to allow
us to accompany them."
"I did not mean to do anything more than just
speak of their long day's expedition," said Charlie,
"and ask them a few particulars about it; and that
might lead them to say,' Won't you come with us?'"
Well, Charlie, I beg you will not do any such
thing," said Frank.
No, no, pray do not," cried Henry; "' no hints,
Charlie; you are always for giving Aints. Now I
had much rather ask them at once to let us go; and
if I were not afraid they might think it intruding, I


tould ask, for they are always very kind; but then
I am afraid they might think us in the way."
Just then Mr. Wilmot called to the boys, and
told them that he was going to the farm, and that,
if they would get their ponies, and ride round there,
he would be ready, in about half-an-hour, to take a
nice ride with them. Accordingly, Charlie and
Henry ran away to order their ponies, and they were
not long in setting out to follow their papa, while
Frank offered to accompany his mamma and Mary
in a visit to some poor person who was ill, and whom
she was anxious to see.
As the two boys were riding to the farm, which
was about a mile and a half from the house, they
overtook the young Harfords, who were taking a
long walk with their papa and mamma; and Mr.
Harford was just then busily engaged in dissecting
a flower, which they had picked, and endeavoring to
explain its specific character to his young people.
The boys instantly,jumped off their ponies, and
ran to speak to their young friends, and Charlie
immediately thought of the party to the woods, and


what a nice opportunity it would be to seek for an
invitation. They accordingly walked on, leading
their ponies for some time, talking about the flowers
that they were examining, and Charlie about his
boat, which had lost its rudder.
"Bring it up to us," said James Harford, "and
we will soon make it all right; but you must not
bring it to-morrow," he added, for we shall not be
at home; we are going out for the whole day."
Here Charlie slipped on a little in advance of his
brother, for he did not want him to hear. And then
he began asking sundry questions about where they
were going, how far the Cromer woods were, whether
they were to walk or ride, or go in the carriage; and
then he began speaking with great enthusiasm about
the wild flowers, and how fond he was of botanizing.
"I wish you were going too," said James; "but
papa and mamma thought that Mr. and Mrs. Wilmot
would not like you to go so far without them."
0, indeed, mamma was wondering that we were
not asked! said Charlie, "and she is very anxious
that we should go."



S"0 then I am sure you may," cried James; I
will go and ask mamma." So saying, he ran off to
his mamma, and begged that the young Wilmots
might be allowed to accompany them.
"Certainly, if their papa and mamma approve,"
said Mrs. Harford; "but I do not think they will
let them go."
0 yes, mamma, I am sure they will," replied
James; for Charlie says that his mamma wished
him to go, and wondered we had not asked
Well, my love, we shall be very glad if they
will join you; and I will write a note to Mrs.
Wilmot in the evening, and ask permission for them
to accompany us."
As soon as they had shaken hands with their
young friends, and remounted their ponies, Charlie
exclaimed, with a triumphant air, "There, now, I
told you I would get an invitation'.
"Yes, Charlie, but I do not much like going,"
said Henry; for I think they do not really want



Never mind that," he replied; I am sure you
ought to be much obliged to me, for you would
never have been asked if I had not given some of
my hints, as you call them."
By this time they had reached the farm, when
they saw their papa on horseback waiting for them,
and engaged in chatting with old Jones, the farmer.
As soon as their papa met them, they told him of
the invitation to join the pic-nic party the next day.
He made no objection, but desired them to ask
As soon as they returned home, Charlie, full of
glee, ran to tell Frank that they were all three
asked to go with the Harfords, on Saturday. Is
not that delightful ?" said he.
"Yes; I am very glad," replied Frank; "but
how came they to ask us ? I am afraid that you
have been giving some of your broad hints."
No, indeed," replied Charlie, "they are most
anxious for us to go with them, and they asked us
as soon as ever they saw us," -thus evading a
direct answer, for he well knew that Frank would



be very vexed, if he knew how he had obtained
the invitation.
In the course of the evening, whilst Mr. and Mrs.
Wilmot were engaged with friends who had been
dining with them, Mrs. Wilmot received a note
from Mrs. Harford, requesting permission for the
children to accompany them, the next day, on their
botanizing expedition, and expressing her regret
that they had not known sooner that they would
like them to go. From the manner in which the
invitation was given, Mrs. Wilmot saw, at once,
that Charlie had been manoeuvring to gain his end;
and then, according to his usual habit, that he com-
pletely misrepresented what had passed. She could
not say anything to him that evening, as she was
engaged with company; but she had drawn forth the
simple truth from Henry, which confirmed her in
her opinion of Charlie's deceitful manner of gaining
his point. She desired Henry to say nothing to his
brother on the subject, as she wished to take an
opportunity of speaking very solemnly to him.
Charlie, however, observed that his mamma seemed



sad, and that there was something so grave and
serious in his papa's manner, when he bade him
good-night, that he felt very uncomfortable; not
from the consciousness that he had not been speak-
ing the truth from his heart, not because he felt
that God's eye had been upon him, and that He
knew every winding path of deceit and falsehood,
by which he had obtained his desire, but, because
he had a kind of undefined feeling of fear that his
papa and mamma had found it out. I wonder
what it is," said he to himself, as he was undress-
ing. Perhaps Henry has told them. What a
simpleton I was, to let him know that I had asked !"
Charlie, however, went to bed and fell asleep before
Henry followed him, and as Henry did not wish to
be questioned by him, he stole out of the room
before Charlie was awake in the morning. The
sound of the door closing, however, awoke Charlie,
who was surprised to find his brother gone; but, in-
stantly recollecting that this was the happy day upon
which he had been reckoning so much, he jumped
out and ran to the window to see what sort of a day



it was. The sun was shining very brightly, there
was scarcely a cloud in the sky, the birds were
warbling forth their morning carol, and everything
seemed to promise a very happy day to the young
people. Charlie was very quick in dressing, and
was whistling away, full of glee, and equipping him-
self for the occasion, when the door of his room
opened, and his mamma walked in, and, shutting the
door after her, sat down. The sight of her grave
face instantly recalled to Charlie's mind what he
had observed the night before, and, instead of rush-
ing as usual to welcome her and to bid her good-
morning, the color rose to his cheeks, while he
endeavored to put on an air of unconcern and
innocence, which could but ill conceal the tumult
Charlie," said his mamma, I think you know
what I have come for, do you not ? "
"No, indeed, mamma," said Charlie, how can
I know ? "
"Your own conscience will best answer that
questnh, my dear boy," said Mrs. Wilmot; "you



have grieved me more than I can express, Charlie,
by this fresh instance of dissimulation and false-
hood. I will not lead you to add sin to sin, by
asking you any questions; but I wish to make you
sensible how far you have departed from the truth,
in all your efforts to gain this day's pleasure. In
the first place, you gave Mrs. Harford reason to
think that I wished you particularly to go, and that I
had thought it very strange that they had not asked
you. Was this true, Charlie ? "
Charlie hung down his head, but said nothing.
"You then boast of your having procured an
invitation, by your own skilful manoeuvring, and
then you give me to understand that the invitation
was freely given, unsolicited on your part. How
much better would it have been to pursue the manly,
truthful course, which Frank and Henry pointed
out to you, and openly to say to your young friends
that you would like to go with them if they had no
objection! I should then have been delighted that
you had the pleasure, of which now I feel it my
painful duty to deprive you. I cannot allow you to



go with your brothers to-day. I must endeavor to
make you see, my dear boy, that it is an evil thing,
and bitter, to pursue the by-paths of deceit and
falsehood. It grieves me to deprive you of a
pleasure; but, Charlie, how much more will it
grieve me to see you growing up with this besetting
sin unconquered! "
Here Charlie burst into tears; he entreated his
mamma to forgive him this once, and he would
always speak the truth in future.
No, my dear boy," said Mrs. Wilmot, I can-
not alter my present determination; your papa and
I both feel that it is impossible to grant you the
indulgence, which you have sought to obtain through
such unworthy means. It gives us more pain than
it does you, Charlie; you think only of the dis-
appointment; we think of the interests of your
immortal soul, and it grieves us to the very heart,
to see you thus following the devices of Satan, the
father of lies, and thus shutting yourself out from
the love and favor of God. We must use every
means in our power to convince you that the paths


of uprightness and holiness are the only paths of
peace and happiness, even here. You never can be
loved and respected of men, whilst you act as you
do now; and you certainly can never be truly
happy. You may try to forget, for a time, every-
thing but the engagement of the moment, but I am
sure you cannot be happy. Are you, Charlie ? "
No, mamma," sobbed Charlie; "but if you will
only forgive me this time, I never will do the same
I am afraid, my dear child," said Mrs. Wilmot,
"that you are making very rash promises, forget-
ting altogether your own weakness, and forming
resolutions in your own strength; and this will end
as it has often done before, in your forgetting them
in the moment of temptation, and falling an easy
prey to the wicked one. Besides, my dear boy, if
you will examine your own heart, you will find that
all this passionate burst of grief arises, not from a
sense of sin, -not from the conviction that you
have offended God, but from the fear of losing the
pleasure, for the obtaining of which you have risked



so much. I must leave you, Charlie, to ponder over
what has passed, and all that I have said to you;
and may you have a godly sorrow for sin, not on
account of its punishment, but on account of its hate-
fulness in the sight of a holy, heart-searching God.
Now, my dear boy, let us unite in prayer, that God
will pardon your sins, and wash them away in the
blood of his own dear Son."
Mrs. Wilmot then earnestly prayed with and for
her child, that the Lord would set a watch before
his mouth, and keep the door of his lips; that he
would remove from him the way of lying, and enable
him to speak the truth from his heart.
When Charlie arose from his knees, Mrs. Wilmot
was thankful to find that his heart was much soft-
ened, that he was more sensible of his sin, and ready
to acknowledge the justice of his punishment.
"The best proof, my dear child," continued she,
"that you can give me that you are convinced of
your sin, and truly sorry, is to acquiesce quietly and
patiently in the punishment which we feel it neces-
sary to inflict. We do it in sorrow, not in anger;



but our purpose is fixed, and you must not say a
word more about it, but endeavor patiently to bear
the disappointment which you have brought upon
Mrs. Wilmot then left Charlie alone, whilst she
went to prepare for breakfast. Sundry preparations
were making by the two elder boys for their day's
expedition; but when they found that Charlie was
not to accompany them, their pleasure was consider-
ably damped ; for they were too amiable, and too
fond of each other, to enjoy any pleasure apart.
After breakfast, as Mr. and Mrs. Wilmot were tak-
ing a turn in the garden, and speaking, with deep
pain, of the necessity of thus robbing Charlie of his
dearly-longed-for pleasure, they were interrupted by
Frank, who stole quietly to his mamma's side, and
whispered in her ear -
"Mamma, will you grant me a favor ?"
"I will, if it is right to grant it, my dear boy;
speak out, and tell me what it is."
"Will you, dear mamma, forgive Charlie, and let
him go with us ?"


Forgive him! Certainly, we both do, Frank;
but we cannot let him accompany you: it would be
very wrong in us to do so."
Then, dear mamma, do you think we may decline
going with the Harfords ? It will take off half the
pleasure if we leave him at home; and then what
can we say to the Harfords ? I had rather not go
than be obliged to tell them the reason of Charlie
staying behind; for I fear they will not like him so
well in future."
"I quite approve, and value the feelings which
prompt you to make this request, my dear Frank;
they are just what a kind, generous brother should
feel; but I am afraid I cannot grant it, for many
reasons, which your papa and I will explain to you
more fully afterwards. You must go, for it would
appear very strange now to disappoint the Harfords,
when they are to call for you in a few minutes. But
there is no need for you to say a single word about
your brother's conduct: I will explain to them that
we have felt it necessary to keep him at home; and


I am sure they are too well-bred, and too kind, to
question you about it."
Frank went away, rather cast down at the issue
of his appeal to his papa and mamma, but feeling
satisfied that they knew best, and that they were
only consulting Charlie's good.
In the mean time, Charlie had retired to his own.
room again, as soon as breakfast was over; and he
sat looking out at the window, and listening to the
sounds of preparation in the yard.
Now, I must tell you that the boys had each a
nice pony. There was Jeannie, Dandy, and Jet.
Jeannie was very old, and quiet; and, as she was
more easily managed, she was generally appropriated
to Charlie's use. Dandy was Frank's pony, and a
nice, strong, active pony he was, but he was rather
misnamed in being called Dandy, for he was as
rough as rough could be, -a thorough Shetland
pony, with long mane and tail; his only fault was
his height, for Frank was outgrowing his steed, and
his papa promised to look out for a more suitable
pony for him as a new-year's present. Jet was a


remarkably pretty, sleek little fellow; he was given
to Henry by a young friend, who had died since,
and, therefore, he prized him very much. He was
called Jet, because he was perfectly black, with the
exception of a little white star on the forehead, and
his pretty silken coat shone in the sun like a piece
of fine satin. It was always a great treat to the
other boys, when Henry kindly allowed them to
ride Jet.
When Charlie had been talking over the arrange-
ments for the expedition with his brothers, Henry
had kindly promised that he would let him ride Jet
as a great treat, and he would take old Jeannie
instead. Charlie was sitting by the window, look-
ing very thoughtful and sad. When he saw the
boy bringing up his favorite Jet from the field, and
when he thought of the nice ride he would have had,
and the day of pleasure he had anticipated, he burst
into a fresh flood of tears, and continued crying very
bitterly for some time.
Just as the clock struck ten, Mr. and Mrs. Har-
ford, with their two eldest girls, drove up in the


phaeton, and the boys followed on their ponies, with
their botanical boxes swinging at their side, and they
looked very gayly equipped in their light summer
trowsers, and nice shady straw hats, just suited to a
hot summer's day. Mrs. Harford begged that Mary
might be allowed to fill a vacant place in the car-
riage, which she was very happy to do, and the
whole party soon moved off, with very happy faces,
and very light hearts, excepting Frank and Henry,
who, as they caught a sight of poor Charlie looking
at them from a small passage window which over-
looked the court, felt their pleasure much damped
by knowing that he was left at home to brood over
his disappointment.
As soon as they were all gone, Jane stole into her
brother's room, and tried to comfort and cheer him;
but at first Charlie was very sulky, and could not
overcome his feelings of vexation. Jane, however,
reminded him of what his mamma had said, that
it depended very much upon his behavior under this
punishment, whether she believed in his being sorry,
and restored him to her favor; and at length Charlie



was persuaded to wash his face, and dry up his tearS,
and go down to the garden, that he might try and
recover his equanimity before he saw his mamma.
Mrs. Wilmot, seeing that he was making a great
exertion to overcome his feelings, and to be humble
and patient under the trial which he had brought
upon himself, called him to her, and telling him
that she hoped this would be a lasting lesson to him,
and lead him to make the most earnest endeavors,
in dependence upon the grace of God, to overcome
his besetting sin, she kissed him, and told him she
wished to say no more on the subject, and that he
and his sisters might go and employ themselves as
they wished during the absence of their companions.
Jane, Emily, and Charlie, all agreed that it would
be very nice to surprise dear Frank and Henry, when
they returned, by letting them find their gardens
nicely weeded and put in order, and one or two
pretty new plants put into them. Accordingly they
ran to their mamma, and asked permission to go to
Mr. Dawson's nursery garden, to select one or two
things for their brothers' gardens. Mrs. Wilmot


very willingly allowed this, but as she did not like
the girls going without her, she said she would put
on her bonnet, and go with them.
The young people were now quite full of the sur-
prise that they would give Frank and Henry. "I
am sure," said Jane, they do deserve it; they are
such kind, good brothers."
Mrs. Wilmot rejoiced that Charlie had been led,
by dear Jane's suggestion, to hit upon the most suc-
cessful plan for getting the better of his own chagrin
and disappointment, by trying to do something which
would afford pleasure to others; thus effectually
checking all the bad passions of the heart, which
might have led him to grudge his brothers the pleas.
ure of which he was deprived, and to harbor an
unkind and jealous feeling towards them, and caus-
ing all the kindlier and more Christian dispositions
of love and kindness to flow out towards them. The
pleasant exercise of brotherly love effectually soothed
and comforted poor Charlie, and he was soon com-
pletely engrossed in the thoughts of the pleasure


they were preparing for the rest of the party when
they returned home.
"But what are we to do for Mary?" asked
Emily; "we cannot surprise her in the same way,
for her garden is so neat already; there is not a weed
in it."
"0! but we may put some very pretty things
into it," replied Charlie; "and that will delight
her, for she is so fond of flowers."
While they were thus conversing together, their
mamma appeared, all ready to accompany them, and
little Julia, with her nurse, was summoned to join
their party. It was always a great treat to the chil-
dren to go to Mr. Dawson's, for they were neter
tired of looking at the beautiful flowers in the hot-
houses, and asking the names of the many pretty
garden-flowers, which they really thought mamma
should have in her own garden.
O, mamma cried Charlie, here is a beauti-
ful small fuchsia, and it is only a sixpence; do you
not think we might get that for Mary ?"
SYes, if you like, my love," said Mrs. Wilmot;


"but you must bear in mind how much you can
afford to spend amongst you, and try to choose your
plants economically; but as your papa and I like to
encourage you to take pleasure in making others
happy, we have agreed to add half-a-crown each to
your little store."
thank you, thank you, dear mamma," cried
all three; "that will help us to get some very
pretty things."
"I know Frank said he was very anxious to get
some good roses," said Jane.
Well, I can give you some beautiful varieties,
very cheap," said Mr. Dawson, three for a shil-
0, that is delightful!" said she, picking out
those she thought he would like best.
"Here, here, Jane," cried Charlie; "look at
these beautiful scarlet geraniums; but I suppose
they are very dear."
No, sir," replied Dawson; "I have a great
quantity of young cuttings just coming into flower,
which you shall have at sixpence each."



Accordingly a pretty scarlet geranium for each
garden was set aside, and then they proceeded to
choose a number of small but pretty annuals, which
they knew would be quite new to their brothers and
Mary. At last their money was expended, and they
were all impatience to get back to their own garden,
that they might lose no time in getting everything
prepared before the botanizing party could possibly
return. The gardener was speedily summoned to
their assistance, and in a very short time the pretty
plants were transferred to the gardens of the young
people, and they looked so gay and pretty, that
Charlie and his sisters could do nothing but stand
and look at them, exclaiming, every now and then,
"I wonder what they will say?"
We will not let them see them to-night, because
it will be nearly dark, perhaps, before they come
home," said Jane; "but we will wait till after
breakfast to-morrow, and then we will come and
walk in the garden, just as if nothing had happened,
and when we bring them round this way how sur-
prised they will be!"


The hours passed quickly away whilst the young
people were thus happily employed, and Mrs. Wil-
mot was much gratified to see the hearty pleasure
which the brothers and sisters took in gratifying
each other. She was also truly glad, that whilst she
had felt it necessary to deprive Charlie of so great
a pleasure as the one his brothers were enjoying, he
had been able thus to divert his mind, instead of
brooding sullenly over his punishment.
As they were sitting at tea, Emily suddenly
started up: Here they come! I see them coming
up the avenue and in a minute they were all at
the front door to welcome the happy party home.
Charlie kept a little behind, as he could not help
fearing that they must have been told why he was
kept at home, and that they might not meet him so
kindly as usual. But the Harfords were fine, gen-
tlemanly boys, and very kind-hearted, and they
were very sorry for Charlie, whilst they abstained
from asking any questions about him which they
thought would vex his brothers, and they shook
hands with him just as usual on their return.



Now, then," said Mrs. Wilmot, "you must all
come in and take a cup of tea, and then you shall go
home." The ponies were accordingly led round to
the stable, while the whole party drew round the
tea-table, and talked over the day's adventures.
After tea the botanical boxes were opened, and a
great variety of wild flowers produced, many of
which were quite new to the young people, and they
were all eagerness to sit down and examine them,
that they might find out their names. We will
leave you a bit of each, Frank," said John Harford.
And I will divide mine with you," said Frank;
and before they parted there was a fair exchange and
division of property, and they agreed that each party
should try and discover the name of the plants, and
then compare their observations, and see if they
agreed. Charlie observed that neither Frank nor
Henry said a great deal about their day's pleasure,
but he knew quite well the reason, namely, that
they would not remind him how much he had lost
by staying at home; and this fresh instance of the
kindness and amiability of his brothers only made


him more happy in thinking of the pleasure he had
been preparing for them during their absence.
The next morning the younger children were all
impatience to hurry over the breakfast, that they
might get into the garden. But as Mr. and Mrs.
Wilmot begged to be allowed to participate in the
pleasure of witnessing the first look of surprise, they
waited patiently till the breakfast things were
removed, and Mr. Wilmot proposed a turn in the
garden before they sat down to their books. The
whole party then sallied forth, and whilst walking
through the shrubbery, which the gardener was em-
ployed in weeding, Frank asked Henry and Charlie
if they would come and help him in weeding his
garden, "for," said he, "I have had no time lately
to attend to it, and it is all full of weeds."
So is mine," said Henry, and I will help you
if you will do the same kind office for me."
Let me go and look at them," said Mrs. Wilmot,
not wishing the boys to arrive first at the garden;
"let us all go together, and put to shame these lazy
fellows who cannot even keep a small piece of gar-


den fit to be seen. I hope yours, young ladies, are
neat; indeed, yours, Mary, is always nicely kept; we
may look in vain for a weed there."
Just as she said this, they arrived at the plot
of ground which had been railed off and appro-
priated to the use of the young people. Now, my
dear young reader, would you not have liked to be
among the little party at that moment, and to have
seen the astonished faces, and heard the exclamations
of delight ? They ran from one garden to the other,
exclaiming, Who has been doing this ? "I won-
der if James has been doing this to surprise us ? "
"Well, this is a mystery!" At last Mary ex-
claimed, O, I know who it is I see by the smile
on mamma's face, and Charlie's sly look; I guess all
about it; it is dear mamma's doing."
Mamma may have had a little share in it," said
Mrs. Wilmot; but I assure you the proposal came
from your brother and sisters, and the whole work
was done by them. It was their occupation all
day yesterday whilst you were absent."
How kind and thoughtful of you!" said Frank;


and again and again the thanks were repeated, and
mutual delight expressed by both parties, and so
taken up were they with their garden, that the sum-
mons to lessons had to be repeated three times be-
fore it was attended to; and I fear, if the truth were
told, that the morning studies were a little inter-
rupted, and the school-hours appeared longer than
usual, owing to the impatience of the young people
to return to their pretty garden.




HO would like a nice long walk, this fine
day ?" asked Mrs. Wilmot, one morning,
when the lessons were completed, and the
children were preparing for their walk, as usual.
I!" I! exclaimed three or four voices at
once; whilst Henry, to cut the matter short, ex-
claimed All of us, mamma!"
"All! Well, that will be a troop, indeed,"
replied their mamma; "but I daresay you can
manage the walk, though it is rather a long one for
the little ones. As I am going to pay a visit, how
ever, I fear I must not take you all in with me, or
Mrs. Linton will be frightened."
Mrs. Linton! 0, are you going to Mrs. Lin-
ton's ?" exclaimed Jane and Emily; "how delight-
ful such a nice walk! and then the gardens are so


beautiful, and there is much to see when there! You
have never been there, Mary. 0, you have no idea
how beautiful the roses and the geraniums are !"
I fear it is rather too late in the season for them
to be in beauty, my love," replied Mrs. Wilmot;
"but there is always such a succession of flowers,
that the garden is at any time worth going to see."
"At all events, it is a charming walk," said
Mary, "and we shall have dear mamma with us, so
that we shall be sure to enjoy it."
The walk to Linton Lodge led through a very
beautiful part of the country, sometimes winding
along the side of the cliff, and commanding a beauti-
ful view of the sea, then descending into a pretty
wooded dell, where some little mountain stream
rushed over its rocky bed, as if impatient to reach
the ocean, in which it was at length lost. The
younger children were quite delighted with the
variety of beautiful scenery, and they ran skipping
about up and down the hills, and picking the wild-
flowers, while Mary and Frank each gave an arm to
their dear mamma, to assist her up the hills, and



over the streams. Nor was this the whole of the
party; I have forgotten to mention that among the
numerous pets which enjoyed a life of ease and
indulgence at Seafield House, the residence of the
Wilmots, were two nice dogs,- one, a little terrier,
which was given to Henry by one of the villagers,
in return for some kind attentions from him to his
sick wife. This little dog was named Sandy, for he
was of a light sandy color, with a little black muzzle,
and black tips to his ears. Then there was Neptune
also, a fine Newfoundland dog; but he was young,
and very mischievous, and was obliged to be kept
chained up, excepting when the children could take
him out for a walk. These were joyous seasons to
poor Neptune, who knew well, when he saw the chil-
dren putting on their bonnets, and the boys waiting
for them in the yard, that his time would come next.
He became half frantic with impatience, and would
jump so high, that they thought he must some day
break his chain, in his efforts to get loose. On the
occasion of the walk to Linton Lodge, the dogs
were let loose as usual, and they enjoyed their ram-


ble as much as their young friends could do; but
whilst they are pursuing their way, I think my
readers may like to know a little more about Nep-
tune and Sandy, at least if they are as fond of
animals as I am.
I must tell you, then, that Sandy was a very
wise, sharp, little dog; and Henry often declared
that Sandy had more sense than many human
beings, and that he was sure that he thought a
great deal. On the Sunday morning, Sandy knew
quite well that whilst the church-bells summoned
every one else out of the house, they sounded forth
no invitation to him; and no one had any occasion to
say, No, Sandy, you cannot come." He knew it
already, and he generally took his place upon the
mat at the front door, keeping his chin pressed close
down upon the mat, as if asleep, whilst he was slyly
watching the movements of the party, as they flitted
in and out, and were preparing for their departure.
"Good-by, Sandy!" cried Charlie, as he went
out, but Sandy never looked up until they were
fairly gone. He would then rise and stretch him.


self, looking wistfully after them as he saw them
receding from his view. A slight wag of the tail,
which became fainter and fainter, indicated the sub-
ject of his thoughts, and at length he would return
to his mat, and sleep very soundly for a long time.
But the first chime of the village-bell, announcing
that service was over, was enough for Sandy;
he started up, and taking his seat upon a little
green terrace, from which he had a good view of the
path which led to the church, he would sit perched
up, with his ears erect, and moving them backwards
and forwards with intense anxiety. The stifled
whine of impatience the wagging of the tail, as he
recognized any one coming across whom he knew,
showed of what he was thinking, as Charlie would
say. At last Sandy's quick eye discerned some
forms well known and dearly loved among the
group, emerging from the little wicket gate which
led into the church-yard; and he would instantly
set off as hard as he could scamper, and never stop
until he had reached his young friends, and greeted
them with many a mark pf delight, such as barking


and jumping up upon them, which last proof of his
affection, however, they would sometimes have dis-
pensed with, as the mark of his dirty paws did not
improve the nice white frocks, or the boys' clean
white trousers.
I am afraid I cannot give quite so good a report
of master Neptune's conduct: he was, as I have
mentioned, but a puppy; and you know all young
creatures, whether dogs, cats, or children, are more
or less mischievous.
He was kept constantly chained up, but woe be to
anything, and everything, which was found within
length of his chain Sundry were the complaints
brought against Neptune, and, like all dogs that get
a bad name, he was accused of a great deal that he
did not deserve. Whatever was missing, it was
certain that Neptune had run off with it, and many
a scolding did poor Nep get, that would have been
more deservedly bestowed upon careless servants, or
thoughtless children, who left things within his
reach, and then wondered that they were destroyed.
It was only, however, when he was tied up, and had



nothing to do, that he was intent upon mischief; for
when he went out with the young people, he be-
haved very properly, and, indeed, he seemed to
think that it became him, at these times, to act the
part of a protector to them; and it was very singu-
lar, but really the case, that when Mr. Wilmot was
with them or the whole party were together, Neptune
took very little notice of them, but seemed intent
upon diverting himself, and gambolling about with
his companion, Sandy; but if Mrs. Wilmot or the
girls went out alone with him, Neptune never left
their side, but walked along close to them, looking
up every now and then in their face, and acting the
part of a beau. Whilst they were walking to Lin-
ton Lodge, on the day in question, Neptune saw no
need of his services, as there was a large party of
them, and he thought, I suppose, that they could
take very good care of themselves. Jane was par-
ticularly fond of animals, and her affection for Nep
was so great, that the boys used often to quiz her
about it, and tell her she should have him to sleep
with her.


I do believe, Jane, that you would like Nep as
a bed-fellow," said Henry, as they were resting
upon a stile, and Jane had her arms round the dog's
Not exactly for a bed-fellow," said she, but I
should like very much to have him in my room at
"In your room, Jane!" exclaimed Emily,
"would you really like it ? But I hope you won't
have him, for I should not like it at all."
0, yes! do let her try him if she likes," said
Charlie; it would be good fun to see what Neptune
would do. May he sleep in Jane's room, mamma ?"
"No, my dear, I think that would be very fool-
ish. I like dogs in their proper place, but I should
not like master Nep brought into the house; and,
indeed, I had enough of taking a foolish freak of
that sort into my head when I was young."
O, tell us about it! pray do, mamma!" cried
the children.
Well, I will tell you; but we must walk on, or
we shall not get to Linton Lodge to-day."



"Now then, mamma; tell us about something
that you did when you were young," said Emily;
"how old were you, mamma ? were you my age?"
much older than you; old enough to have
been wiser," replied Mrs. Wilmot; but I was, like
Jane, very fond of animals, and sometimes carried
my love for them a little too far. When I was stay-
ing with some friends I got very fond of a Newfound-
land puppy, who was called Muff, because his coat
was so thick, and he so fat, that he looked like a
nice, round, warm muff. Well, you must know that
I often begged the friends with whom I was staying
to let me have Muff to sleep in my room. I pleaded
so hard for permission to try him only one night, that
they at length consented, but only on the condition
that, if he were ever so troublesome in the night, no
one was to be disturbed to put him out. I agreed
to this, for I thought I could quite easily manage
him, and that Muff would be well pleased to find
himself in such good quarters, and would go to sleep
very quietly. Accordingly, when I went up to bed,
I took Muff up with me, and, putting the mat down
at the door, I tried to make him lie down there."


0, what fun!" exclaimed Charlie; "go on,
mamma how did Muff behave ? "
"( Wait a little, and you will hear," replied Mrs.
Wilmot. "As soon as I began to undress, Muff
thought that everything I took off was a plaything
for him, and he ran off with one thing after the other.
First he stole my hair-brush, and ran away with it
in his mouth; then he got hold of my slippers and
began tearing them; in short, he was so troublesome
that I began already to repent of my folly in bring*
ing him into my room."
And did you turn him out, mamma ?" asked
No; I thought that when I once got to bed, and
all was quiet, Muff would be quiet too; so I jumped
into bed, and, covering myself over with the clothes,
I lay quite still for some time. Muff, however,
seemed sadly perplexed to know what had become of
me, and I heard him come to one side of the bed and
give a pat with his paw upon the bed-clothes, then
he walked round to the other side and gave another
pat, and, finding there was no notice taken of him, he


began to whine, and then to bark, and at last I saw
it was quite useless to attempt to sleep with him in
the room."
"And what did you do then, mamma ?" asked
Charlie, eagerly.
I was obliged to do what was not very agree-
able, Charlie," she replied; "I had to dress myself
and go down stairs to let him out."
0, how very disagreeable !" said Emily; "and
did you open the back door and go out alone?"
Yes, I was obliged to do so, and even to cross
the little yard, and open the stable door for him."
0, mamma, were you not frightened ? asked
I did not much like it, on any account, for it
was so cold and frosty, that I returned shivering to
my room, and it was long, very long, before I could
get to sleep; but that was a lesson to me, Jane. I
advise you to profit by my experience, and not to let
your love for animals lead you to do such foolish




HE children had been so amused with the his-
tory of mamma's adventure, as they called it,
that they were quite surprised when they
found themselves at the gate of Linton Lodge. They
eagerly inquired if Mrs. Linton were at home.
SI think so," replied the woman at the Lodge,
"for the carriage has not passed through to-day."
"Yes, mamma, she says they are at home," they
exclaimed. O, then we shall see the garden and all
the beautiful flowers, I hope !" They pressed on,
full of impatience, to see who would get first to the
At length Mrs. Wilmot rang the bell, and the
children were preparing to walk in. But when the
servant appeared, he said the ladies were NOT AT



what a pity!" said Harry.
"I am so sorry, mamma," said the little ones.
The servant pretended to look out, as if he were
looking to see if he could discover any of the family.
"Do you think they have gone far ?" asked Mrs.
Wilmot; perhaps we shall meet them."
I think they are gone over the hill," replied the
O, then it is no use waiting, children; we must
return home."
The children turned away, very much disappointed,
and, as they were all rather tired, Mrs. Wilmot asked
the woman at the Lodge if she would let them rest
for a few minutes in her neat little parlor.
By all means, madam," replied the woman,
whilst she dusted the chairs and got as many together
as her little dwelling afforded, in order that they
might all rest themselves; "but sure, ma'am," she
continued, "the family must be at home; if you like,
I'll send my girl up to say who it is."
O, no," replied Mrs. Wilmot, "I do not wish to
intrude upon them, and, indeed, the servant said they


had gone up the hill, behind the house, so I think
they must be out."
After resting for a short time, the young people
were just preparing for their walk home, when they
heard the sound of a carriage approaching, and, just
as they were going out at the gate, the whole party
of the Lintons drove up, and stopped to have the gate
opened. As soon as they saw the Wilmots, Mrs.
Linton exclaimed, "0, here is Mrs. Wilmot, the
whole family group, I declare! I am so sorry," con-
tinued she, that you were not admitted; but, you
see, if I do not say not at home, I am constantly
interrupted with visitors; but if I had known it was
you, I should certainly have let you in. Now do, the
next time you come, send in your name; or rather,
walk in without sending your card before you."
"I cannot promise to do that," replied Mrs. Wil-
mot, gently, "for when a servant says that his mis-
tress is not at home, I always take it fbr granted
that it is true."
O that is meant as a gentle hint to me, I sus-
pect," replied Mrs. Linton; "but you know it is



quite an understood thing -everybody does the
Mrs. Wilmot did not like to say more, as the
coachman and footman were within hearing, but there
was a gentle, dignified look of reproof in her coun-
tenance as she replied, "I am often obliged to say
that I am engaged." They then ordered the coach-
man to drive on, whilst the pedestrian party set out
on their return home.
The young people were unusually silent for some
time, and then Charlie said to his mamma, I did
not know, mamma, that grown-up people ever told
Mrs. Wilmot could not help smiling at the sim-
plicity of the remark. I am afraid, Charlie," she
replied, "that, when you have lived a little longer,
you will find you have been mistaken; but what are
you alluding to ?"
Why, mamma, I was wondering how Mrs. Lin-
ton could make the servant tell such a story, as to
say she was not at home, when she was in the house
all the time."


"It is certainly very wrong, Charlie; truth is
truth, and whatever is not true must savor of false-
hood, however we may deceive our own hearts, and
stifle the voice of conscience, by pleading the excuse
of worldly custom and fashion. There are many
persons, however, Charlie, who have not the slightest
idea that they are uttering a falsehood by saying they
are not at home, when they are, because they suppose
it to be understood that they only mean they do not
wish to see anybody."
"0, but then the servant said positively, mamma,"
replied Charlie, "that they were gone up the hill,
and pretended to look after them."
Yes, my dear boy, that is the natural consequence
of departing from the strict word of truth in the first
instance. A lady tells her servant to say she is not
at home, and he knows she will be very much dis-
pleased if any one is let in. Well, some one, per-
haps, is particularly anxious to see her, and they ask
when she will be at home, or if he can tell where she
is gone. The servant is afraid, and ashamed to con-
fess that he has been saying what is not true, so he


is led to add a direct falsehood, as the servant did
just now. It is on this account that I think it is
quite unjustifiable to plead any worldly custom, or to
say, because visitors understand it is merely express-
ive of a wish not to be disturbed, that therefore there
is no harm in it. It is impossible to make servants
understand this, and I do not see how we can find
fault with them for not speaking the truth, if they
are obliged, perhaps many times in the day, to tell a
lie to please us. It is altogether a very mistaken
feeling which leads people to think it more polite to
say what really is not true, than to say at once that
they are engaged."
That is what you say, mamma, when you do not
wish to see any one," said Jane.
Certainly, my love; I sometimes am very much
engaged, and visitors would, perhaps, hinder me from
doing something of importance, and then I always
tell the servant to say that I am particularly en-
Well, when I have a house of my own," said
Mary, I will never say, 'Not at home,'"


I hope not," replied Mrs. Wilmot; "but you
may be very thankful if God has led you by his
grace to love the truth, and to fear the smallest de-
parture from it; and, while we blame others, we must
be very careful that we watch over all our own
thoughts and actions, and weigh them strictly in the
balance of truth. But I am so tired, children, I
must sit down upon this old stump and rest; this
long walk is rather beyond my powers."
You are looking very thoughtful, Mary," said
Mrs. Wilmot, as they sat upon the old tree, which
had lately been felled, and which was lying most
opportunely for them by the roadside; "are you tired
like myself?"
"Not very, mamma; but I was thinking of what
you said just now about weighing our thoughts and
actions; and there is one thing which often puzzles
"What is it ? asked Mrs. Wilmot.
"Why, mamma, people often, I think, very
thoughtlessly praise me, and say a great many flat-
tering things, which I cannot bear, because I know



they are not true, and that I do not deserve them;
and I would rather even be blamed for what I have
not done, than be praised when I know that I do
not deserve it."
I quite feel with you, dear Mary. Nothing is
so painful, to an upright mind, as to be praised for
what we do not deserve; and even if, as far as the
praise of man goes, we may feel that it is in any
degree our due, yet, to a Christian mind, praise will
ever have the effect of humbling us, and making us
more sensible of the hidden evil within. But who
has been praising you just now, dear Mary ?" she
I don't mean very lately, mamma; but
whenever I see Mrs. Barton, she has such a flatter-
ing manner, and she tells me how amiable and charm-
ing I am, and how much she wishes her girls were
like me, and all sorts of nonsense, and I really do
not know what to say."
Say! I would tell her she was an old humbug,"
said Henry, indignantly.



Hush, Henry, that is not the way to speak of
any one," interrupted Mrs. Wilmot.
Well, but really she must be an old simpleton,
to think that we can believe her," he replied; "that
is just the way she goes on to me."
"Humbug! and simpleton! exclaimed his mam-
ma; is that my Harry that is so far forgetting him-
self, as to apply these epithets to a lady? "
"O, well, I will not do it again, dear mamma;
but it does put me out of patience when people tell
such stories."
You do not know that she is telling a story, my
dear," she replied. I have no doubt that she really
thinks Mary very amiable and clever; but it shows
great want of judgment, at least, to tell her so."
"Well, but she could not mean what she said
when she told me I was an angel the other day," re-
plied Henry. I laughed outright, for I thought
she was joking; but when she added, that she wished
Frederick had as good a heart as I had, I then really
could have cried. Fancy, mamma, a good heart! I



am sure, if she saw my heart, she would not call it
I do not know any heart, dear Henry, that can
be called good. We know that by nature our hearts
are 'deceitful above all things, and desperately
wicked;' and even when God has, by his divine
grace, given us a new heart and a right spirit, yet
there must ever be enough of sin left there to hum-
ble us, and to keep us low in the dust before Him
who searcheth the heart and trieth the reins."
But you say you do not like to be praised ?"
said Charlie, with an air of astonishment. "I am
sure I am never so happy as when papa and mam-
ma praise me."
0, that is very different," replied Henry. I
like papa's and mamma's praise, at least if I think I
deserve it, because I know they mean what they say,
and that they do not mean to flatter, only to approve
of my effort to please them."
That is just the distinction, Harry," replied Mrs.
Wilmot. You ought to be anxious to secure the
commendation of those who are anxiously watching



over your best interests, and a little praise, occasion-
ally bestowed, is, I think, an encouragement to
young people."
But then, dear mamma," continued Mary, I
often think that even when an action appears praise-
worthy to others, I may be conscious that I have had
a different motive in doing it from that which they
give me credit for, and that makes me very unhappy,
for I feel I ought not to take the praise."
I hope you will always have a conscience thus
tender, dear Mary, and I can only advise you, when
you are aware that you do not fully deserve the
praise that is given you, to unburden your heart by
telling me so; but above all, by taking this and
every other difficulty to Him who alone knoweth the
heart, and who can alone cleanse and purify the
motive. If praise takes you to your knees, its effect
will be salutary, instead of prejudicial. May you
ever seek the praise of God, more than the praise of
man, and may you ever, in sincerity of purpose, lift
up your heart to Him and cry, Search me, 0 God,
and know my heart, try me and know my thoughts,



and see if there be any way of wickedness in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting. "
"Well, what a solemn, sober walk we have had
home! exclaimed little Emily, as they opened the
gate leading to their own house. "Such a contrast
to the walk out, when we had such nice stories about
the dog Muff!"
I dare say you liked the first part of the walk
best, if the truth were known, Emily," said Frank.
Indeed I did," replied Emily; I could have
gone on all day listening to such amusing stories."
0, mamma, you look so tired said Jane. I
am sure papa will scold you for taking such a long
"I am rather tired, my love, but I will go and
rest myself for a little while, and then I hope I shall
be quite fresh again by the time papa comes in from
his ride." So saying, Mrs. Wilmot went to lie down
on the couch, whilst the children took off their
things and prepared for their evening's employment.
They were soon seated at the table with their
work and their books, all very busy. The boys used


to read aloud, and the girls worked very diligently,
and made a number of pretty things for sale. Whilst
the little ones amused themselves with drawing, or
with a puzzle, and little Julia was seated on the floor
with a box of bricks, which afforded her constant
amusement, and kept her quite contented, Mr. and
Mrs. Wilmot looked on, participating in the enjoy-
ment of the little group, and ever ready to promote
any little plan for their instruction or gratification.
The evenings were thus very happily and pleas-
antly passed, and the young Wilmots never knew
what it was to find a long evening or a wet day
tiresome, because they had been taught to employ
their time fully, and to find out for themselves a
variety of interesting amusements.




NE day, when the three brothers were amus-
ing themselves in the garden, they heard
their dear papa's kind and pleasant voice call-
ing out, Boys! boys where are you ?"
Here, papa," shouted all three at once, while
each started off, at full speed, to see what he
"Who will be my trusty messenger to the post
to-day?" asked Mr. Wilmot. All three shouted
simultaneously, "I, papa but then Henry recol-
lected that it was Charlie's turn; so, before Charlie
could assert his claims, Henry and Frank had settled
it that it must be Charlie, for that they had both
had their turn.
But I want a trusty hand," said Mr. Wilmot,



looking a little doubtfully at Charlie. I have some
letters of consequence, and I am almost afraid to
trust them with such a little wild fellow."
0, but you may trust me, dear papa! I will
take great care of them," said Charlie.
Well, you may take them, my dear; but you
must be very careful, and mind not to take them
out until you get to the post-office, and then count
them to see that they are all right; for you know I
have sometimes found a letter reposing quietly at
the bottom of the bag, when it ought to have been
a hundred miles on its journey."
O, I will take great care," said Charlie, and
away he ran to get his pony. It was the work
of a few minutes only to put the saddle and bridle
upon old Jeannie. Charlie sprang upon Jeannie's
back, and taking the letter-bag from his papa, who
called to him to remember that there were five let-
ters, and to be sure to take care of them, he gal-
loped off to the post-office, which was two miles off,
in the little village of D- Charlie galloped
on until he came to a shady lane where the road was



very stony, and he was obliged to walk his pony;
and as he was sauntering along he began to think
what letters his papa could be sending to the post
that were of such consequence, as he said. "I
should not wonder if he has been writing to invite
my cousins, as he said he would; I will soon
know;" and at the same moment the bag was
unslung from his arm, and Charlie took out the let-
ters, reading one by one the address. "No, there
is no letter to my uncle," said he, and he put the
letters back again, and trotted on, whistling as he
went, till he arrived at the post-office. Here he
took out the letters, and began counting tlem, as his
papa had told him. He dropped them in one by one
at a time, but he counted four only. There surely
were five," said he. He looked into the bag, it
was quite empty then; he began fumbling in his
pockets, but there was no letter there. He began
to think that he must have dropped it when he
took out the letters. O, I '11 he sure to find it! "
said he, and away he rode until he had retraced his
steps to the spot where he remembered taking the


letters out of the bag; he then jumped off his
pony, and began looking very carefully about the
road, but nothing could be seen of the letter. It
never occurred to him that the wind might have car-
ried it to a little distance, and he therefore thought it
quite useless to search in the long grass at the sides
of the road. He looked all along the road and into
all the deep ruts, and when he could see nothing of
it he was ready to cry with vexation. He mounted
his pony, but sat with down-cast eyes, looking wist-
fully along the lane, always hoping that the lost let.
ter would start up; then he began to turn in his
mind what he should do. At first he thought he
would go and tell his papa at once, but then he
said to himself, 0, I know what papa will say; he
will say that it is all my fault for taking the letters
out of the bag, and he won't trust me again. He
will call me careless and disobedient, and this I can-
not bear."
Conscience, the faithful monitor within, sug-
gested what he ought to do; but, alas the voice of
conscience was stifled, and then the tempter found



ready access to Charlie's heart. "Papa cannot
know anything about it," said he to himself; there
is no use in my telling him. I am glad Harry was
not with me, for he would have been sure to let it
out." Having determined to say nothing about it,
and having thus silenced the struggles of conscience
within, he dismissed all further anxiety on the sub-
ject from his mind, and when he reached home, he
went whistling to the stable as if nothing had hap-
pened. Mr. Wilmot was at that moment giving
orders to the groom, and when he saw Charlie he
called out to him, Well, squire, have you put in
my letters ?"
"Yes, papa," replied Charlie.
"Did you count them ?"
"Yes, papa."
Any letters for me ?"
"No, papa, only a paper." He then put up
his pony and returned to his brothers, troubling
himself no further about the lost letter, nor giving
himself the least concern to thInk that he was
deceiving his kind papa, and sinning against God.



The next day, when his papa came home from his
ride, the boys, who ran to meet him, thought he
looked very grave, and not quite pleased. Frank
and Henry, conscious that they never did anything
that they wished to conceal from him, never felt the
least uneasy when they saw him look grave; they
were sorry if they thought that anything had vexed
him, but they never suspected that it was anything
with them that had grieved him, because they were
open as the day, and unconscious of a thought which
they wished to keep from either their papa or mam-
ma. Charlie, however, conscious that he was seldom
acting in an open, straight-forward manner, and
that he had many concealments, always felt alarmed,
and suspected that it was something that had been
discovered in his conduct which was causing these
grave looks. As Mr. Wilmot gave his horse to the
servant, he turned round to Charlie, and desired
him to come with him to the garden.
"I sent you with the letters, Charlie, yesterday,"
said he.



Charlie colored up, and said, with a stammering
voice, Yes, papa."
And you assured me that you put them
"So I did, papa."
"You did put in some, but did you put in
al? "
"Yes, papa, all that were in the bag."
"Did you not tell me that you counted them,
Charlie? how many then were there ? "
Four, papa."
"Now, my dear boy," continued Mr. Wilmot,
you see the truth is sooner or later brought to
light. You thought that I should never know that
you had lost one of these letters by the way; now
it has been brought to me by the little herd-boy,
who found it amongst the long grass by the side of
the road." Charlie colored and burst into tears.
Now," continued his papa, I see exactly the his-
tory of this; you must have opened the bag, I sup-
pose out of curiosity, though I told you not to do so,
and you dropped this one without knowing it; but


you must have found it out when you put the rest
into the post-office; why did you not then at once
tell me, and I could have either searched for it, or
have written another ? Instead of that, you en-
deavored to conceal it by a lie."
No, papa," replied Charlie," I did not tell a
lie; I did put in the other letters."
True, but when I asked you if you had put the
letters in the post, did you not know that I meant
aU the letters ? Besides, I asked you if you
counted them, and you said yes. What was I to
suppose, but that you found them all right ? "
But, indeed, papa, I did not mean to tell a lie,
and I thought I would find the letter and put it in
another day."
That is not making things better, but worse,
Charlie," replied Mr. Wilmot; and I beg you
will not say any more. You grieve me more than
I can express, Charlie, for you seem to choose false-
hood rather than truth, and to be ready always to
justify yourself at the expense of truth, rather than



bear a little blame, and be told that you have been
But I was afraid you would be angry, papa,"
replied Charlie.
"No, Charlie, that is not true. I should not
have been angry, if you had come at once and told
me; but even if I had been, which is best, do
you think, an angry word from your father, or
the just anger of an offended God, and everlasting
punishment? Charlie began to cry, and Mr. Wil-
mot continued to speak to him for a long time, to
endeavor to convince him that sinful pride, and an
unwillingness to acknowledge that he was wrong,
was the secret cause of his so often being led to pre-
varicate, and to tell an untruth. "Now, you see
the consequence of these deceitful ways, Charlie; I
cannot trust you again, and you will deprive your-
self of many a pleasure that you would enjoy, if I
could trust you as I can your brothers."
But I will not do so again," replied Charlie,
sobbing, if you will trust me."
"I cannot trust you, my child; wish I could,"


replied Mr. Wilmot. I shall be rejoiced when I
can do so; but in the mean time, you must take the
consequence of endeavoring so often to deceive us,
and you will find, by sad experience, that no one
trusts a liar."
Charles' proud heart rose, and his color mounted
to his cheek. He did not like to be called a liar;
but, my dear young friends, whatever is not true
must be a lie, and if you would scorn to tell an ab-
solute falsehood, fear equally the turnings and shift-
ings of prevarication, which are equally sinful in the
sight of God, and even more dangerous to yourself,
because more deceitful.
Charlie went to his room, much mortified to think
that his papa would not trust him again; but he
felt conscious that he deserved this punishment, and
he secretly resolved to speak the truth in future;
but, alas! Charlie resolved in his own strength, and
I fear he was more anxious to be restored to his
papa's favor and confidence than to secure the favor
and approbation of God. He often wished, when he
saw his brothers set out on their ponies with the let-



ter-bag, that he could be allowed to take his turn,
but he knew that when once his papa said a thing
he kept to it, and that it was no use to beg to be
trusted, until he had time to show his papa that he
was worthy of his confidence.

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