Front Cover
 Title Page
 The foundlings
 The little milk-maid
 The guardian dog
 The lamb
 Look forward!
 The youthful shepherd and...
 Look up!
 The blasted oak
 Bertha and the bird
 The deserted mansion
 The pet lamb
 The mystic ring
 "Do as you would be done by"
 Acquisition of knowledge
 "I won't be a minute"
 Back Cover

Title: Gem, or, Book of pleasant pages : designed for home instruction and amusement; with six colored engravings.
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00003204/00001
 Material Information
Title: Gem, or, Book of pleasant pages : designed for home instruction and amusement; with six colored engravings.
Series Title: Gem, or, Book of pleasant pages : designed for home instruction and amusement; with six colored engravings.
Alternate Title: Fisher and Brother's home juvenile tales
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Publisher: Fisher and Brothers
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
New York
Publication Date: 1853
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00003204
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA4353
ltuf - ALH0586
oclc - 46322724
alephbibnum - 002230238

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    The foundlings
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
    The little milk-maid
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
    The guardian dog
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
    The lamb
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
    Look forward!
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    The youthful shepherd and shepherdess
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
    Look up!
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
    The blasted oak
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
    Bertha and the bird
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
    The deserted mansion
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
    The pet lamb
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
    The mystic ring
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
    "Do as you would be done by"
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
    Acquisition of knowledge
        Page 103
    "I won't be a minute"
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
    Back Cover
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
Full Text


Seep 5.


ret b 3hs hrett.rf u hw se suele Eales **




aomtl 4N n anb a mauitment.



entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.

[in Isomnsola.]

Mn. RAsoN and his family, consisting of his wife, his
mother, and his-sister, were one evening sitting around
the fire, busily engaged in conversing upon various topics,
when a loud rap was heard at the front door. It was sup-
posed by the family that it must be the summons of sose
traveller who sought a shelter from the cold, as it wa a
chilly, piercing cold night in the latter part df Novem
Mrs. Rawson arose and took the lawle.r the
of answering the demand. It was an unusual occ F
to be thus alarmed so late as nine o'clock in the ev
in that still country village. -
On opening the door, Mrs. Rawson could discover -
one, and it was in vain that she attempted tgenetrate
the darkness without: her eye could behold no one, and sb
was about to close the door, when thefaint murmur ofan
infant's voice attracted her attention. On looking around
upon that portion of the step that was concealed from view
as she stood within the door way, she discovered a basket
which she immediately took up and bore into the apa 'V
ment she had just left.
It would be impossible to describe ta*bqW! r a4*
^*' *,;


tonishment that were displayed at exposing the contents
of that mysterious basket. Its contents were no less than
that of a beautiful little baby boy, nicely stowed away in
a fine warm blanket. Of course, it was of no use to ask
where it came from, or who left it on the step, for all these
facts were involved in a deep and impenetrable mystery,
a mystery which, perhaps, a life-time would never unfold.
Suffice it to say, however, the little stranger was pro-
perly taken care of, and shared the bed and attentions of
its new-found parents.
The little new-comer appeared to be about three months
old, plump as a pigeon, and as pretty as a picture.
Mr. Raw pn determined to attempt to ascertain who its
S turt as, if possible-if not, he resolved to
Wbit a child.
post now turn our attention to another event which
same evening, was transpiring in another part of
I e same town.
"In this village resided one Mrs. Wilson, a widow lady,
who with her son, and her sister, constituted the whole of
her family. On fhV evening referred to, they were in like
manner seated around a table in the centre of the room,
before a warm fire, and the son was busily engaged in
reading for their amusement, whilst they were as busily
engaged in sewing. *
A loud rapat the front door startled them all, at that
hour df the evening, which was late for the country. The
son arose, and taking the lamp, proceeded to answer the


summons. On opening the door, a gust of wind extin-
guished it: he heard distant footsteps, and quickly re-
turned to re-light his lamp, but on coming back to the doeo
all was still: he saw nothing but a bundle on the step,
which he took into the house, and placed upon the table
around which the family was seated. On opening the bun-
dle, which was found to be a basket tied up in a piece of
sheet, it was found to contain a sweet pretty little pluru
girl baby, apparently about three months old.
Here was food for conjecture, wonderment and surprise:
and this in fact was all they could do, for all else was wrap.
ped in impenetrable mystery, The family of Mr. Rawson
and of Mrs. Wilson were quite intimate together, notwith-
standing they lived a good half mile apart. Early the
next morning good Mrs. Wilson visited her fiend 'Mrs.
Rai son for the purpose of relating the wonderful occur-
rence of the previous evening: but judge of Mrs. Wil-
son's surprise on entering Mrs. Rawson's house, to find a
little baby asleep, on a little temporary bed pade for it,
on the sofa in her parlor.
SMrs. Rawson soon related the story ofJhe last nightld
it was so like the event, in all its particulars, that occur*
red at Mrs. Wilson's, she could hardly conr4in herself till
Mrs. Rawson got through her recital, she was sljnious
to tell her story.
Mrs. Rawsoa having, however, related the i .-Mrs.
Wilson now told a story which matched her's-in almost
every particular. ,


Each party had fully concluded to adopt the little ones
yhich fortune had thus singularly cast upon their care
When the secret of the ," foundlings" was out, you may
well suppose that it afforded a subject for gossip among
the neighbors for any number of weeks and months.
When all attempts at finding any clue to the parents of
these children had utterly failed, they were formally
adopted into the families upon whose door-stones they had
been left. The little boy received the name of Frank Raw-
son, and the little girl received the name of Fanny Wilon.
You may be sure that these little children were very
precious to their newfound parents, and received every
kind of care and attention, that love and sympathy ooold
dictate. They were handsomely clothed, appropriately
fed and properly protected, and their paet were well
rewarded for their care, in seeing them growing up in a
state of health. We must now pass over a period in their
infancy, to the time yhen they are old enough to attend
school. Here their acquaintance with each other begins.
These children-were very much beloved by their school.
mates, for the amiableeess of their dispositions, and the
frankieM of their natures.
As iareqntly the cae among school children, who
often Itheir pet associates, these little esme Frank and
Fanny, re frequently together. Thier was not that
striking resemblance between them which so often char-
saterie twins-still, the people said tipre was a strong

ral IOUNr sl t

reemblance; whether this was the effect of that peeliar
power in human nature of persons asimilating who
constantly together, or whether this was but an ima
nary likeness conceived by the neighbors, from
them so often in each other's company, we are unable to
decide. They grew up tether, and a strong attach.
meant consequently sprung'up between them. On both
sides the parents saw this: they knew that their histories
were similar-perhaps their origin was the same; at all
events their tqpfs and feelings were similar, and hey en-
couraged the attachment.
We wn now called upon to make another leap in our
story. We arrive now as that point where Frank Raw
son and Fanny Wilson have reached the age of twenty.
Their attaclhnent for %eh other continues amebtedkiad
Fanny Wilson is now lhe recipient of the coastant ath .
tionsf Fra'nk Rawso.
Both feel that they have arrived at that point in their
history when a mutual understanding becomes necessary
They made a formal pledge of manual love, and Frank
Rawson made to Fanny Wilson a prof of his heart and
hand which she accepted, 1
The parents on both sides watched the prograwf thUir
growing love, and gave their action to the union
two fond devoted hearts.
Preparations for he marriage were being m sad
the wedding day was appointed.
The singular history of these two pernar wee a


as familiar to the inhabitants as household words, and the
parents felt desirous that this happy conclusion to their
children's minority should be as public, as wal now their
once private history.
The village pastor was consulted on the matter, and
readily acquiesced in performing the ceremony of marriage
in the village church on the afternoon appointed for that
ceremony. A wedding in church, though not a new event,
was nevertheless a rather uncommon one, consequently the
circumstance called together all the neighbors, far and
near. The people had assembled, and all were upon the
tip-toe of anxious expectation. Soon the village pastor
was seen coming down the lane, leading to the church,
cladin his black robe, who entered the house, walked slow-
ly akthe aisle, and took a seat within the chancel. In a
fewitiutev after a carryall drove up, containing the bride
and bridegroom, and two friends, and immediately after,
another, containing Mr. and Mrs. Rawson, Mrs. Wilson,
and her son and sister.
The bride, bridegroom and their two friends proceeded
up the aisle, and stood in front of the chancel, whilst the
K village pastor stood up to greet them. Mr. and Mrs. Raw-
son, and Mrs. Wilson, who were to give the parties away,
took a seat in the froot pew, near the chancel.
The pastor now arose, and put the usual question to as-
certain if the union about to be formed was wigh the con-
sent of parents, whereupon Mr. Rawson and Mrs. Wilsam
who were to give the parties away, took a seat in the front
pew, near the chancel.

TaB QpuNDuLoG. *

The minister now stated "that if there was any one pr
sent who knew of any cause why the parties now amat
to be married, should not be joined together, they muet
now assert it, or ever after hold their peace."
At this point of the ceremony, a female in a remote eor-
ner of the church, with her face covered with a deep black
veil, arose, and in a firm and distinct voice, exclaied-
"I forbid this marriage."
On hearing this the pastor desired the woman to advance
to the altar. She did so. The pastor now inquired,"Wo-
man, on what authority do you forbid these rites?"
They are brother and sister," replied the woman. The
audience were completely electrified at this unepected
intelligence. The bride and bridegroom looked into each
other's pale faces, as much as to ask, What does all this
mean ?" t
Do you know this to be true, woman 7" inquired th
SI do l" replied the woman, in the same firm voice.
"And you are," here the pastor was interrupted by the
woman, who exclaimed with emphasis, I am their mo--
What proof have we of this?" inquired the pastor.
The woman then gave a clear and distinct recital if her
leaving her children upon their door-steps, in themsth of
Ndember, so many years ago. As a reason for the act,
isa ted the story of the death of her husband, who lh
Swith these twin children, when but about three mothi


old. They lived in a village some ive miles distant. Her
husband was well known to the kind persons with whom
she had left these infants. She must take this step, or her
children must starve. Since she left them on the steps she i
had not lost sight of them-ahe had been with them, and
about them, and watched their course. At this point of
her history, she raied the thick veil that hid her face.
She was about forty-five years of age: the resemblance
between her and her children was so strong, that all were *
conminced of the truth of her story. The result of this de-
noMimet was, that the children provided a home for their
mother, and they lived together the rest of their days, a
happy family.

The afiection with which the mere fact of helplessne
ad dependence fills th heart of a woman is the divinest
attribute of her nature. Is there a more lovely sight on
earth than the devo of a daughter to an aged, perhaps
peish parent, inki into a second childhood T
Thi true affection is the more eminently displayed in
the reatioship of wife, mother and sister-those ouse
bid jewels thai ador the fimil altar and fireside.


There was once a little milkmaid who lived at a farm-
house. Her name was Sally. On the summer mornings
she used to be up and dressed at five o'clock. Then she
took her bright milk-pail on her head, and her three-legged
stool in her hand, and called her little dog Trusty, and
tripped over the dewy grass to the stile that led to the
field where the cows fed. The wild thyme gave otra
sweet scent as she walked along; and the green leaves
glistened in the sun, for the dew was still on them; and
the lark flew upligh, and his song came pouring down over
her head. When she got to the stile, she saw all the four
cows quite at the other side of the field. One was called
Dapple, one Brindle, one Frisky, and one Maggie. They
saw her get over the stile, but never stirred a step towards
her. Dapple looked up for a moment, and then began eat-
ing again; Brindle did not seem to mind her; Maggie
was lying down, and did not move; and Frisky lashed
her tail and shook her head, and went on eating.
Oh, this will never do!" said Sally. Trusty, Trusty
-go and bring me Dapple."
Dapple was brown all over, except a white face and
tail. Trusty ran behind Dapple, and barked two or three
times, ust to tell her to move on. And she began to walk
slowly and gravely towards Sally. Then Sally put dowt.


her little three-legged stool, and sat down by Dapple and
milked her. When she had done, she gave her a pat, and
said, Now, you may go." Then Dapple began to eat
Now, Trusty," said Sally, go and bring me Brindle."
Brindle was all white. Trusty ran up to her, and she be-
gan to walk on; but when she had got to the middle of the
feld, she stopped to eat, and Trusty was obliged to bark
pretty sharply, and tell her it was shameful of her. Then
she went on, and was milked.
Sally next sent Trusty to bring Frisky. She was brown
andwhite, prettily spotted; but she was sometimes quite
naughty when she was milked, and this time she seemed to
mean to be so: for, as soon as Trusty got up to her, she
set off and gallopped up to Sally. Then, just as Sally
began to milk her, she walked on, and left her and her stool
behind, and very nearly knocked the pail over besides.
So Sally had to get up, and move stool and pail onwards,
and then she said, Stand still, Frisky," and stroked and
patted her. So she stood still, and was very good.
Now, Trusty, bring pretty Maggie," said Sally. Mag-
gie was black and white, and very pretty and gentle. She
came directly, and stood quite still and was milked. Then
they were all done.
Sally now lifted the pail, which was quite full, on her
head, and carried it so firmly and steadily, that she Rad
eot to put her hand up to it, not even when she got over
the stile, and in this way she walked along' ba~k to the



Then she went into the cool, fresh dairy, and Trusty
lay down at the door. The dairy had a stone shelf all
round it, with shallow round pans ranged all along it, all
filled with sweet rich milk, covered with thick yellow
cream. Here she took down her pail; and first she filled
a large jug with the new milk for breakfast.
She then poured all the rest into two or three pans, like
the others on the shelf. Next, she took a flat wooden spoon,
and skimmed the cream off of several of the others, and
poured it all into a square wooden machine called a churn.
It had a handle which turned round. She threw in some
salt, and then began to turn the handle round and round,
and it turned a wheel inside, and the wheel beat and splash-
ed the cream round and round in the churn. Presently '
she looked in, and said, ",It's not come yet." Then
she turned the handle round again for some time. At
last when she looked in, there was a large lump of fine
fresh butter, and all about it a thin white liquid, called
buttermilk, and all the cream was gone. She took out
the butter, and put it into a bowl of cold spring .wi-
ter, and made it up into three large rolls with two fal
wooden knives. Next she cut off three or four slices,
made them up into nice little rounds, and pressed them
with a wooden stamp, with a rose bud and laves cut
out upon it, and when she took it off, tlf -r the
rose bad and leaves marked on the butter. '
Then Sally poured all the buttermilk, and all tl
from which she had skimmed the cream, into a tie


--- ----~- -~- -~~


wooden pail, and stirred in some barley-meal, and carried
it off to the pig sty. She stood still outside the paling of
the pig's little yard, and called Pig-pig-pig and out
came the pigs from their sty, little an big, grunting and
squeaking and scrambling, and tumbling over one another.
Then she poured all her pailful into the pig's trough, and
then they began squeaking and grunting and scrambling
more than ever, and put their long noe in, some of them
up to their eyes, and some got their feet in, and all of
them gobbled it up as fast as they possibly could. i *, -i
After Sally had fed the pigs, she took out some corn, and
went to the poultry yard, and called, Chuck-chuck-
chuck!" and then the cocks and hens, and ducks and
geese, came running round her, crowing and clucking,
and quacking, and cackling, and the pigeons flew down
and helped to eat, and all of them pecked up the corn as
fast as they could. In the afternoon they had boiled po-
tatoes and sopped bread and vegetables, and curd, too,
if Sally had been making whey.
When Sally had done all this, she went back into her
room, and opened the bed curtains; and there was lying
a little rosy-cheeked girl with light curly hair. And when
Sally looked at her, she opened two large blue eyes, and
held out her arms, and Sally kissed her, and said, Are
ou ready to get up, little Annie ?" And she said "Yes."
his was Sally's little sister, that her kind mistress lether
have with her to love and take care of.
Then Sally took up little Annie, and got a large brown


pan for her bath, and stood her in it, ad brought a jug
of fresh cold water to pour over her.
LittlAnnie stood very still, but when the water was
comingYihe held up her hands and said, Will it be cold?"
"Oh no I" said Sally, it's a beautiful warm morniBg."
Then she washed and dressed little Annie, and afterwards
they had their breaklst together in a nice comfortable
kitchen. Sally ad a good appetite after having been ms
busy, and little Annie had large basin of boiled bread
and milk, and she always gave some to Trusty. This
was the end of the little Milk-maid's morning work.


In 1586, Philip the Second of Spain sent the young
constable of Castile to Rome, to congratulate Sixtu the
Fifth upon his exaltation. The pontifi dissatisfied at the
youth of the ambassador, pettishly said, Is your mas-
ter deficient in men, that he has sent me an ambassador
without a beard ?"-, If my sovereign bad thought," re-
plied the proud Spaniard, "that the merit consisted in the
belj, be would no doubt have sent yo a goat, and not
1ap sm like me."



[SII1l I ,OlATIlO.l

Little Harry Hudson was an only child, consequently
the pet of his father and mother, and the delight of his
old grandfather.
The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Hudson, the old
grandfather already spoken of, little Harry, and a young
cousin, Mary Wright, who was a resident also in Mr.
Hudson's family.
When Master Harry was about four years old, one of
his uncles who lived not many miles distant, sent him a
beautiful little spaniel pup, the care of which devolved en-
tirely upon his young master Harry. The new-comer
into the family received all his food from the hand of Har-
ry; he slept in the same bed with him at night, and was
hu constant companion by day.,
Harry would go no where, would neither eat his meals
or go to bed, without his dog was at his side. The dog,
being one of the tractable breed, was soon taught a num-
berMf innocent tricks which, under the direction of mas-
ter Harry, he would frequently play off to the amusement
of the family and the neighbours.
The attachment between Harry and his dog was aw ry
.4y becoming stronger,.until at last the doe


See p. 18.


ceive no food from any other hands than those of his a
The dog u yet ad received no ame, and it was ag-
gested, on one occasion, by the village scboolmes that
the dog ought to be named ", do," ecase of hie faith.
ftl attachment to little master Harry. In accodamee
with that suggestion, the dog received the name of" Fido,"
and knew no other as long a he lived.
Although the dog would stand beside the father, or mo-
ther, or even the old grandfather of Harry, and roeive
their careses, yet the moment he heard the volee of
his young master, he would dart like an arrow toward
him, lie down, and roll at his feet, or cover his fae and
hands with his kisses.
Onemorning Harry wanted to take a little walk, ud
his cousin endeavored to coax him to leave "P* M
home. Harry scratched his head, and tho
finally consented to go without him, but be ~
gone more than ten minutes before thedog was mI ,
having gone, as they very truly suspected, im scarh
young master.
Having arrived at ix .years of age, Harry was oa
trusted to take short walks with no other .apMMi
than his dog, having never met with any addlt, or
mised returning in season; heaoe the pest felt little
or,o anxiety. But this day was an to a l
o 't that had preceded it. Twelve o'ok,-dt
f! all sated around the dinner tablebMti l


dg nor Harry was present. The father went to the door
an looked, the cousin ran down the lane and called, but
all to no purpose; neither Harry or Fidowere anywhere
to be seen.
The parents now became alarmed; mesenges from
among Mr. Hudson's workmen, were dispatched to the
neighboring farm-houses, to endeavour to obtain intelli-
gence, but in vain. They had seen young Harry and his
dog pars their houses, but beyond that they knew nothing.
The neighbors were around, and went in different direc-
tions in pursuit of the lost child, but they only returnedto
say, that they had called for Harry in every direction, but
could obtain no tidings of him.
The old godfather now suggested, that as they had
ought in ram, and that wherever Harry was, there the
dowould be, that they should try once more, and not
wu Harry, but call for the dog, as it would be poible
that the dog might answer, if Harry was in a condition to
neither hear or answer.
This piece of advice was acted upon. Away went the
neighbors again in pursuit, and'the fields and woods re-
sounded wh the shrill whistles, and load calls, of the
sturdy farmine
Soon a faint bark of a dog was heard at a great dis-
tance they followed the sound, still whistling and calling,
when lo! and behold I there they found inaster Harry nr.
bis eyes, havng just been aroused fom a ap by the
bar of hi faithfl dog, who sat beside him, starig e
young master in the face.


The facts in the cae were, that master Harry had so
long trudged about in the woods and fields, that he ha be-
come weary, and be laid down upon theFras to ret him-
self, and, before be was aware it, he fell into a sound
sleep, whilst his faithful companion watebed and guarded
The joy of the family may easily be imgined, when
they saw the little fellow trdging log home with his
dog by his ide, and it may aso be readily imagined how
much stronger was their attachment to the faithful com-
padion of their beloved little boy.
The family careued the dog with more than ordinary
foundess, but he stock close to hs young matter, who fed
his fint, before he would eat anything himself.
Day by day master Harry became more and more at.
tihed to hi dog, and having now beg to attend the
village school, is faithful do would follow him to the
door, and, either lie down in e adjoining wood ed, or,
on a pleasant day, under.a tree near by,and patiently
wait for his young master's return.
On occasions whe Harry would not return from school
at noon, but stay until its close in the afternoon. FId
would always carry the little basket containing hi ar-
ter's dinner, and when Harry partook of it at noon, his
dog always set beside him, and receive a liberal share
of It. .
On day Harry was miei d by the doge he l dbee
the beem, taking no notice of any one; ouemluly be


would go out in front of the house, look in different direct.
tions, howl mournfily, and, returning into the house,
would lie down under a table for hour together, u if
awaiting the return of his young master.
We have said that the dog mised his young mater;
he did so, for poor Harry was laying upon his bed up stairr
-sick-very sick.
Although he occasionally inquired for his dog, yet his
physician advised the family that he should not see him,
for fear the excitement it might induce, and the violence of
the dog's caresses, might combine to produce an unfavor-
ie result, for Harry being sick of a brain fever, it was
important that he should be kept as still and as quiet as pos-
One morning, Fido followed Mrs. Hudson up stairs, and
saw her enter the rom where he and his young masr
had slept so long together, and would have entered, had he
not bee gently rpulsed by Mrs. Hudson,who did so much
against her inclination. As if by an instinct amounting
almost to reason, the dog seemed to realize that his young
master was in that room, and he laid himself down at
the door, and occasionally breathed out a most piteous
green, but having been frequently driven down stairs by
the nurse, he took up his old quarters under the kitch-
en table, where he would lay and groan from morning
till night. He refused all food, notwithstanding it was
freqWUetly offered him, and all the nouribmeat that he
was known to take was simply water. Three or fer

I" v *AM r DOG. x

times a day he would visit the brook, take a few laps
of water, and, turning back, would utter a most piteous
howl, and return to hi old resting-place beneath the
kitchen table.
The affection and care of father and mother, and the
skill of the physician, were of no avail: poor Harry died.
Badness and gloom now rested upon that hitherto happy
The preparations for the funeral having been made, and
the day of burial having arrived, Harry's body was brought
into the spacious kitchen, and the coin placed upon a ta.
ble in the middle of it. The fWieods and neighbors of the
family were assembled, the prayer was said, and the usual
consolations of such occasion administered,and the neigh.
bors passed up to look through the ogn coffin lid, to gn
dce more, and for the last time, upon young Harry's 1
Among the number assembled was the schoolmastestfr
the village: he was Harry's teacher, and had become very
much attached to him. He stood for several minutes ga-
zing upon his cold and pallid features, and as he turned
away, he exclaimed) "Alas, poor Harry 1"
The faithful dog heard his mater's name: he jumetd
into a chair that stood beside the table, thence from
table he jumped upon the coffin. He saw the face ofiM
young master: he lapped it with his tongue, thepja ped
to the floor, laid himself out beneath the table, ei a
dismal groan, and died. All this, which was donewNi
time than it has required to tell it, so astonished 41i ,1
: -, i ; '..


sent, that no one approached the dog, or attempted to
drive him from his position.
The body of young Harry was now borne to the
churchyard, while the family, oppressed with grief and
sorrow, followed on, accompanied by their sympathizing
The family took their last farewell of Harry, and re-
turned sorrowful to their gloomy home. Judge of their
surprise, to find, on their return, the faithful dog still lying
under the table. They spoke to him: they touched him:
yet, he moved not--he was dead. They observed his
act while upon the coffin: they saw him jump to the floor
-they heard his groan: but did not imagine that he died.
JSuch was the fact. What devotion, what friendship, on
the part of a dumb animal I Well might his conduct put
to the blush many of the human race, who of course Il
claim to intelligence: what an example have we here of
unshaken devotion, of unchangeable friendship?
A memento was raised over the remains of poor Harry,
and many a youth of the town would repair to the spot,
and tell his companion the story of the Guardian dog."
Mr. Hudson sent to a neighboring city, and obtained the
services of a man whose business was to preserve birds
sad animals, and Fido was prepared in the usual manner,
and fixed in a sitting position, so as to look as natural as if
alive. He was then placed upon the mantel-piece of the
parlor, as a memento of his fidelity to Harry, as well as
a remembrance of their son, and of the strong attachment
that existed between him and his dog.


Oftentimes would the father relate the story to some
stranger or traveller, who might ak why he kept that
dog sitting upon his martel-pieoe and tear would run
profusely down the listener's cheeks a he heard the plain.
tive story.
We are sometimes blamed for the attachment we mani-
fast for a dog; but, who, that is onversant with the nu-
merous instances on record, of their fidelity, and watch-
flness, their action, and devotion, can help loving a dog
for tb nobleness of his natureT Unlike most other ani-
mals, they seem to appreciate human kindness, and reci-
procate it with a show of affectionate devotion and love,
which approaches so near to reason, and seems so far
above instinct, that one is puzzled to know to which to ak
tribute it.

He that would pas the latte part of his life with honor
and decency, must, when he is young, consider that he
shall one day be old, and lay up knowledge for his sup-
port, when his powers of acting shall forsake him; and re-
member when he is old, that he has once been young,and
forbear to animadvert with unnecessary rigor, on Taults
which experience only can corect.


There was a lamb that lived in a green field with its
mother, a careful, gentle sheep. This lamb spent a very
happy life, and as it was now the month of June, she wa
well grown, and could eat gras and play bout by hersel.
She used to jump and frisk very often. omet he
would run round and round her mother; then she would
spring quite off the ground: then she would take long race
up and down the field, shaking her tail up and down from
"de to side; at last, quite tired, she would stretch herself
out on the soft, cool gras, and fall asleep; but she was
soon awake, and ready to begin her fun and play again.
One day, while she was frisking about the field, she ran
up the bank, and peeped through a hole in the hedge, at
the field on the other side. Then she ran back to her mo-
ther, crying, "Oh, mother I I have seen such a beautiful
field. It is much green and pleasanter than this. I
should like to get into it, and eat the gras there."
But her mother said, No, child, you must not go there,
This is our field: we have no business in the other."
Still the lamb said, "But 1 should like to go. Let me
No," repeated her mother, "you must not go there.
You do not know what dangers you might fall into I"

mF1- m -
Again the lamb said, But I should like to go."
Next morning this wilful lamb did nothing but think of
the other field. She could neither eat gras, nor play, ner
enjoy herselfat all. At last she ran again to the bank,
and peeped through the hole. Then she looked back at
her mother, who was quietly cropping the grass. Then
she put her head through the hole. Then her two fore
legs. At last tail and all got through. Now what joy was
shein I Se ran, and gambolled, and jumped. he tast
ed theiu, and it seemed sweeter by ar than the gran in
theodfeld. I am wiser than my mother," she thought
to herself Ae never tasted such gram as this."
Preently sh began to wander all round the field, and
came to another hole in the hedge. She peeped through
again, and there she saw another field that looked finer
still. So through this hole she went; and then she gan
boiled and jumped, and ran till she was tired, and ate
grass till she could eat no more.
Then she began to run round the field again, and came
to another hob in the hedge, and saw a feld beyond that
which seemed finer till than aUlte other. Into it she
went, and again f4ed, ran, play-d, and ate gras till ah
could eat no more.
But now the sun got low in the sky, and the long she-
dows of the trees lay across the grass, and it looked very
lonely. The lamb began to wonder whether her mother
was uneasy about her, and thought she would, go homes
She therefore ran along the hedge looking for the hole.


The sun went quite down, and it grew darker and
darker. The wind blew cold, and whistled through the
hedges. The poor lamb grew quite frightened, and could
not find the hole.. She cried for her mother, and ran up
and down so fast that she got quite confused, and lot her
seses, and would not have seoa the hole even if there
had been light enough. V
Atlut this poor little thing ran up a high bank, and
jmpd up to get over the hed but she only knocked
her ad against the stumpof a tree. Thea she lost her
footing, and slipped down into a deep ditch of dry mud.
Then she cried and ran along the bottom of it, quite una-
ble to get out, and at last fell asleep, tired out and fall of
fear and gief.
When le awoke it was light, and bse cried for her
mother, and looked round, but intead of her pleasant greo
fild, she saw nothing except the steep muddy banks of
the ditch. Then she cried more than ever, and ran along
Sfast as she could.
At last she thought to herself that it was of no ue to
cry, and that she had better go slower, and me if she could
not get out of the ditch amewhere. oshe walked along,
looking at the side, and at last she found a place where it
was not so very steep, and climbed upand got into the
field again.
Thelamb now tried again to find the hole. She ran
across the gras, and looked everywhere, but could not
find it. At last she stopped and listened. Sue thought


she heard a sound that she knew. It came through the
air from a distance, a mournful cry of baa- baa-, so far
off that she could hardly hear it; but she knew it, for it
was her mother's voice.
Now the lamb knew which way to go. Sheran straight
across the field, found the hole, and got through into the
next-then into the next-then shelard thesound ofher
mother's mournful cry quite plain. She ran fuat and
straight acnrss to the. hole that led to her own happy field,
and pehed her way through it in a minute. Them be
looked round, and saw her poor mother wandering up sd
own, crying for her little lamb.
L Baa Icried the mother.
"Ma ". answered the lamb, in a voice that mid
plainly, o Here I am, here I am P" Her mother saw her,
and ran to her, and fondled her, and rejoiced over her;
and the happy lamb jumped about her mother, and rubbed
against her, and danced round her, and it would have taken
a great deal to make her ever again think herself wiser
than her mother.

Love is a noble and a generous passion-it can be fad-
ed only on a pure and ardent friendship-on an exalted
respect-on an implicit confidence in its object.


On a lovely afternoon in the month of July, little Edward
Rashley went into the country, to spend a half-holiday with
his aunt Catherine. The sun shone brightly, over the
green fields, the birds were singing in full chorus in the
woods, and butterflies of all hues were fluttering in the
air. Soon after he arrived at his aunt's, he went oat to
have a ramble in the fields by himself, but soon got tired f
the solitude; and not being much accustomed to thinking
or examining the nature of the objects around hi, his
mind was as idle as his body, so that very little tempta-
tion was needed to lead him into mischief.
While Edward was sauntering alo, snipping the heads
of dandelions, or plucking handfuls ofon grass and scat.
tearing them about, a large and brilliant ragon-fly came
hovering around, and was about to settle down near to
where he was walking. Off went his cap in an instant,
and the pursuit begn. It led him a long and fruitless
chase, however. Now, just within his grasp, his cap was
about to enclose it; now darting off, it shot away through
the fields many hundred yards ahead of its pursuer. But
Ned persevered, and again came up with the gaudy in-
sect, now slowly sailing onwards a few yards before hun,
a few feet above the level of his head. Thus eagerly ga-
zing upwards, and running heedlessly onwards, his whole


attention engrosed with the object of pursuit, he saw not,
lying immediately before him, a deep drain that had been
cut across the field to carry off the water; and, jst as he
was about to strike down the dragonfly, down he himself
tumbled into the drain. m .. /
He oon got up again howev a rst f thinking he had
received little harm, but no sooner were his feet placed
upon the ground, than a pang shot through one of his
legs, and be felt himself unable to sand upright. He
had sprained one of his ankle very severely, and therehe
lay, quite unable to move a single step homewards. He
shouted loudly to a man walking at a distance across the
fields, who came to his relief ad carried him home tothe
house ofhis aunt. They had him placed on a so, with
a doctor to se him, and all the care and attention thatbis
kind aunt could bestow; but there he was, and there he
would be, a prisoner and a patient, for perhaps several
weeks to come.
One day, seating herself on the sofa beside Edward, she
kindly drew his attention to the cases that led to the a -
cident from which be was sun*rg, sad showed him that
it was an evil from which might come mskc good, if be
would but reflet upon it when future temptation came
in his way. She convinced him he ought to think abogt
his pleasures aswell u merely wuit toenoth. Ican-
not indeed tell you all be said to him, bt hr words
made him think, and then he rmme thatmitse bado ft
Mered from not lookinbefre hir.


Once, for example, when going to school on a finemorn-
ing, a regatta -was about to take place not far from where
he lived. He had nearly arrived at the school, when he
met a band of music, with colours flying, and a number
of people, all crowding towards the. place. "Ah !"
thought he, how nice it would be to go and ee the re-
gatta. Such crowds would be there, and such music, the
cannot firing and the b ag flying, with the boatmen all
dressed in fine liveries, and the boats dashing along through
the water." Scarcely was the wish formed, when it was
confirmed by two of his companions coming up and urging
him along with them. It was indeed a beautiful race,
and he much enjoyed the sight: but when it was all over,
the thought of what he had done arose and forced itself
upon him. Then the looking backward was very unplea-
sant; and much more so was the looking forward to his
reception at school, for the mter was a stern man, and
wuld certainly punish him for being absent without leave.
He felt, therefore, that had he looked forward to the coase-
guesres u much a to the pleases of attending the regat-
ta, it would have prevented him from getting into this un-
plassat position. But to school he wus compelled to go,
and ao to ter a very severe punishment for playing
truant. -
Ned, taerefore, began to think about these thing in ge-
neral, and resolved to look forward a little more feq t-
ly to the eeomumm of hiseun p lao. Why, I
too, it wil W-A me to get ogr may diouties And


to begin at once, I shall just now look forward to the time
when my foot ball have got well again ad bear ap
aaint the, pain I now fed by thiai on that future
"And then again-how often have I wished to poses a
copy of Robinso Crusoe,' but instead of looking forward
to the time when my pocket money might amount to the
necessary sum, I always spent it on the day it was receiv-
ed, and very often on things that did me more harm than
good. Let me see, then; I get six cents a week, that
is twenty-four cents a month; at the end of two months
and a half I shall therefore have sixty oeats, which
will buy a beautifully bund copy of the .book This
is now the 15th of August, o that by the Ist of November
Sshall be able to get t. Ishall therefore look forward
steadily to that time, and keep that pleasure ever in view,
and this will be a good practical lemon, as aunt Cather-
ine would say."
Nor was his only a good intention that he made, but a
purpose that he kept until the time came, and the book
was bought, which afforded him ten times morn please
thanif he had bought one half of the weetmea is the
confectioner's sbop I might alo tell you about ked
fower-garden,-how w drflly he worked and plted
up the weeds, because belooked forward to the fie noae
gay which he afterwards gathered;-and h h looked
ford to gain a prim at school, word har for it, and
get it. Htae thewere the leasadvantuhe derived


from this habitI. It was the gaining of the habit itself that
was the great thing. It made him feel from experience
that things obtained by his own exertion had a far higher
value to him than if they had merely been given to him.
l[now took better care of his things than he had for-
nerly done, and thus laid the foundation of good habits.
Edward grew up to be a man, and the seeds of virtue
thus planted in his young mind, grew up along with him,
and bore excellent fruit. He obtained a situation in a
counting house, at first wiih a small salary, but small as it
was, even at the beginning, he contrived to lay by a part
of it for future purposes. When young and healthy, and
his salary increased, he looked forward to a time when he
might be old and infirm, and continued saving up one
small sum after another, until he had obtained what he
thought would be a reasonable provision for his old age.
But he was charitable, too. He gave liberally to the poor
and to many useful institutions, and thus lent oat his money
at a far higher rate of interest than any bank could afford
to pay. This is what the wise man called "lending to the
Lord," and he had to look keenly forward with the eye
of faith into a state of being beyond the present life, to see
the reward of this conduct. Ah, it was a bright prospect
he saw there What earthly pleasure could seduce him
from that sight I What were all the dim vanities of time
compared with the glories he there saw revealed I What
was too hard to bear, too great a sacrifice to be made, to
sin n entrans late that place where there are pleasure
for evermore I





[-- a.,urse.]

William and Mary Fro.tpe the names of the ltte
boy and girl, who, from ofumtances that will be eralW
ed in the course otour story, bad received the mnee of
'the young s he erd mad shepherde' Billy, a his dir
Mary always called him, wau eight years old, ad
ten, and no two perons were our devoted to ea etbr
than were thee little children. They were -m-e ea
pa ons by day, d4. i ht, beiag occupa t ofdthe
room, hey would y ly coei po. tlh "--
of e e by sleep, they woldar
parents of these children had early inealca sb he.
biof industry, and those who mot frequently aw s
would bear witness to the fact, that there were xkW
mats in the day in which they wee not bsily e-- p.
Mr. Frost was a somewhat wealthy farmer, audo,
a large estate, employed several men to asist ina .s
on ha farm. Among his cattle there wes a hM
Iamb, which he gave to hislittle son M E rtr
own, and appropriated to their ume a
da sbort ditaace fro the host
SiTo the MpuemisW bee no


the sheep and lamb, wending their way every pleasant
morning, a soo ua breakfast was over. In the centre
of the pasture was a large rock, curiously fractured, in
the breakages of which, the children constructed rude
seats, which they daily occupied.
Mary always carried their luncheon in a tin kettle, of
which they partook in the middle of the forenoon and af-
ternoon, in which repst the pet sheep always came up
for their share. When Mary took off the cover of the ket-
tle, and rapped upon it with a stone, it bold have amused
you to have seen these sheep run with all speed to get
their share of the luneheo,.
Frequently, after having eaten, they would lie down by
the ide of Billy and Mary, and by vasios little manifes-
tation give evidence of their attachment to the children.
In the morning, u the children were travelling to the
pasture, the neigboure would frequently greet them with
Good morning, little shepherd," and "good morning,little
hepherde.-;" and it was from this custom that they ob-
taned thee distinct names. And, in fact, whenever they
were spoken of among the neighbors, or the workmen em.
poyedby farmer Freot, they were invariably called Bil-
ly, the pherd," and "Mary, the shepherded."
We have already remarked that the pasture where the
children watched their sheep, bordered upon the sea-shore.
They would frequetly resort there for the pMrpo4 of
pie ; up-mew wohicu they W carefuly dem in
fthe wmanrna arymeM with them, to preserve. They


had already ooected quite a ge amountof them, which
they frequenym ed themseve with arsomMg.
The little hepherd and shepherdei were not idl whilst
they were in the fild, for they always carried with them
ome book from which they took turn in reading and in
thi way each contributed omthig for the impurnost
of their miod.
Often, while Billy wa reading, Mary would be braid.
ing straws while she was lirteaig. Thebines of straw
braiding wu carried on in ttowe to a cosiderabje e.
tent. Once week a mandedto oc around to the
house, and collect the braided mtraw of the aeighbon,
paying them so muh per yard, acdi to its imen...
Mary and Billy too hd bee taught brid rtrw by
their mother, who was formerly in the habit of doing it,
before Mr. Frot a as well off in pro aet he wes
then. The children were food ofdoing thu work, mad (bhe
sed to MN their straw braid every week, when the uam
come round, and, as their father always allowed them to
keep the money, they put it into one box together, and had
acquired a very pretty amoaut, to whihb they were add.
ig from week to week.
Whenever the weather was tormy,so that Billy ,d
Mary oold not go with the beep to the psture,t
mould speod their time arranging theirelh, rod o r
criositie, about a upper room which thei father and
mother apri br their . & By p
pictm anres ao room, aI .tafuerallf M eesip

4s 11 YTOtrarUL

sell, they had formed what they styled a museum,and,
whenever they did not go to the field, they spent much of
their time here.
Very frequently when the father and mother were seal.
ed armnd the parlor table, in the evening, Billy and Mary
would amuae and instruct themselves by reading to their
parents, and asking such questions as would enable them
to fully comprehend the subject on which they were read-
ing, and in this way they generally thoroughly learned
whatever they undertook. It i not surpriing that under
sueh instructions, these children should make great pro-
ciency in their youthful studies.
About this time Mr. and Mrs. Frost received a letter
from his brother, that he was intending to come in a very
few days, as soon a he could afange his busing, and
make a short visit at the faim-house. This was very gra-
tifying intelligence t the children; for their uncle Amoe
had frequently visited them before, and they always en-
joyed hs company very much.
Uncle Amos was on of those kind of men who was
very fond of children, notwithstanding he was a bachelor;
nevertheless, one thing was certain, if his love did not es.
teud to children in general, he was warmly attached to his
little niee and nephew in particular. How anxiously,
from day to da, did Billy and Mary watch the stage-
coacbl~ j ee if lt not gong to stop in front of their
fa. It seemed aa ift Gold not wait, sod&
ir we they for the rival of their ule.

smmPHUD AI mNmass. a

The long wished, and anxiously looked for time, at
length arrived. The coach drove up to tmh door fll of
passengers, and the children bounded to the door to receive
their uncle. It was a tormy day, and they did not go to
the field, but it'was pleasant enough to them, now that
their uncle had come. No sooner had tieir uncle step-
ped his feet-upon the ground, than both the children were
hanging about his neck. Mutbal ksses evidenced their
gratification at meeting, and the approach of Mr. and Mrs.
Frost, with their hands extended, signiied to the brother
how welcome he was to the farm-house. The driver soon
deposited two ponderous trunks in the front entry, mount.
ed his box, and with a crack of his whip, the stage was
again on its way. It war afternoon, and nearly tea-
time, whenUncle Amod arrived, and much of the time
was spent in congratulation, and conversation abo t e
latives. Uncle Amos having obtained permision fior1
children to sit up awhile in the evening, he told t
that he had brougt them some presents, which he would
show them after tei, as woa as the lamps were lighted. As
soon as it was dark enough to light the lamps, Uncle Amos
brought in from the entry one of his huge great trunks,
and proceeded to unlock it. The firt present that be
produced wa a box containing a large ised Magic
Lauern." This was something entirely new to the coil-
dren, for they had never een or heard of ayt~m of
the kind before. Uncle Amos explabed to thed.1
that, by having a light inside, while the roorawn dWM

a 5Tn TOlUTarmL

and by drawing these pained p lu of glass through the
slide, the figures would be related upon the white wall.
This be promised to show them the nest evening. The
next thing that their uncle took from his truk was a
box containing a curious little instrument, which their
uncle informed them was a Microeoope," by the aid of
which they could see little make sqrming about in a
drop of vinegar, and that it would make a ingle-hair of
the head look as big and s coarse a a piece of twine.
This he promised to show them tomorrow, s they could
only use it in the day-light.
Their uncle then presented them with several sheets
of nice pasteboard, and told them that on the morrow
he would show them how to make a mimic theatre.
Having showed tbhip all the presents that he had
brought, he kissed them and they west to bed, but it
was a long time before they west to ler, for they
could not help th ing of the eajoyment they should
experience the next day in company ith Uncle Amos,
learning bow to use the instruments tat he had so ge-
erously given them: finally, however, 4hey dropped to
sleep, to dream of their approaching happine.
The lark was not an ealier river that moving than
was Billy and Mary. They were In high glee, fresh for
the enjoyment of the day.
The microscope was now brought forward, and moek
to their astoaihment and admiration, they actually saw
the little ljling makes in a drop of vinegar. Various


minute object were placid in the instrument, and iti won-
derful magnifing powers developed to these children new
mysteries which they oould study at their leisre at a fu-
ture time.
Unkele Ahuoo preeosded to make the miniature the-
atre a44dtohe the obildre k w to eraei it.
Next eoma the Maic Lath" hedpkly of the
beastifelly oloedigem ad painting somthe.wall wa
highly gratifying to the family, who cemed to emjey the
amusement qto e s mek a theL hldre
The time of Uadle Am w' vlit was -ow drawing to a
lose, which of come thechidres ery m regretted;
but theyb halear ed tows the Mihnscope," and to wirk
the u LIMtem," and the mimic Tleastrae," so that they
oould ammse thmselve, and also te children of the
nedhboe, wbh their mose had left th&m
ie ftAily ead tM pseat parated, but not without the
children etrtianfar their edle a prnistbhat he would
viit them agai soa s he could.
The ittl i "al j hd and hep herder' remed their
daily viits to fhe fild, accoempmied by their sheep, and
once more engaged in their reading and traw4-bidng
as -unt They coaid to add to the number of hee
and curiosities I theirmem, as well as to the /mmber
of actor* in their mimie theatre, and they found the Ian-
there and the tbatre solfcient occupy the leisure time
in the evening, when eot'egaged in their stdie .


We did not get out of school uatil a quarter pt fie,"
saidClaude tohb cousin Tom. "Let us make hate,or
want to get home soon, and I'll tell you why. You know
Mr. Green, that keeps the bell-hanger's shop at the corner
of the common ?"
Ye, I see him sometimes," was the reply.
Then, Mr. Green is at our house making some altera-
tions in he kitchen, and I want tsee him. I want to ask
hilh a few qpestions; for the last time that he came to our
house, he told me a great many things that I had never
heard before. He told me several curious facts about the
putty he was using-about vegetable oils, and animal oils.
I think that one day Mr. Green will bea getleman, for he
knows more than my papa does. Papa says so."
Well, you will not see him at your house, replied eon.
sin Tom, for there he is sitting down by the green-gate!
See, he is positively having his tea in the open air; hilit-
tie girl has brought it to him."
The two boys crossed the common to their friend at the
green gate, and were soon busy talking to him.
I wonder, Mr. Green," said Claude: "I wonder that
ou like keeping a shop--uch a learned man as you.are
I onder you do not try to be' a gentleman I"
SWhat is that ?" said Mr. Green.
4 06


To live n a larger bouse, and ot keep a shop, and not
have to work. I have beard ny that you have a little
money; and I am au that, as everybody round about
these parts.likesyou, if you were to get twenty men, and
pay them wages every week, you would get plenty of
work for them to do Then you would get richer, you ee
-and you might become a gentleman. Why don't you
look up "
Ah, Master Claude, that a very good question. Now,
if you think that you'll not be keeping the tea waiting, '1
tell you something about looking up.'
If you could only have een me when I Bnt came to
this village-but it is of do use my saying that, for it was
before you were born-forty years ago. Ah, then I thought
that no one would welcome me I As I entered Hightreet,
even the wind blew in my face, saying, Go back again;
you are not wanted here I' It was a cold east wind that
did so: but 1 have forgiven him for it log ago.
But help was soo sent me. Here s a poor strange
boy !' cried a little girl who was carrying a basket; and
she ran to her mother to tell her. Her mother and some
of the neighbors soon surrounded me, and-kind people
they were I-they took me in, gave me warm food,
and warm straw to lie upon. In the morning 1 told them
how my father and mother had lived in the country, but
were dead, and that I had wandered about for three day,
looking for a resting-place, and for some friend ad


"After few days a clergyman came to se me: be
was a very wise, pious and kind an, who fulfilled the du-
ties of a Christian pastor in thus going about, doing good.
He looked over the books which had belonged to my fath-
er, and the Bible, and the prayer-book, whhich had been
much ued. He asked me several question, and at last
he took me to live in his house, to clean the boots and shoes,
and knives and forks.
In the pastor's hoe I learned how good a thing it is
tolook up to God,--for it was his habit every morning to
look up to God, who had taken care of us during the
night; while in the evening we looked up again to Him,
and thanked Him for taking care of us during the day.
After I had been with our good pastor r a year, I told
him that I was very happy, 6nd liked living min house,
bat that I should like very mich to learn some business,
that I might one day be a ," workman," and not alwaysbe
a household servant. This wish the pastor highly approved
of, and I was bound apprentice to old Mr. Solder, the
One evening, some time after my departure, the pastor
happened to meet me, and I thought that his face looked
rather serious. When he asked me how I was getting on,
I gave an account which showed that I was quite satisfied
with myself, but the pastor soon showed me that he was
not. Well, Green," he said," I am not quite so pleased:
I should like to see you looking up.
Yo a know," he said to me, "you know how varied

/ oot I ti *

are the works of God. Some an more beautify thab
others. Here is a store: hen is pieee f stick which bu
had life, ad is a superior substance to a saone here i a
worm, which i superior to the stick: hre is a bee, which
is superior to the worm: there, m the gree, is a sheep,
superior to the be, and you are a ma," he said, rpe-
rior to the sheep."
And you are a ma," I added, for I was always read
to make a joke,-mand you mae a man, sirrpior to me.
Neither you nor I know that," he replied; I may
ave higher duties to perform. But I want you to lear
from my remarks to oikd p. Thee objects in nature of
which I have been speakung-all have their places ap-
pointed by their Maker, ands they are placed, so they
must ever remain. The stone cannot raise itself to be a
vegetable, neither can that vegetable ever raise itself to be
an animal."
Neither," I replied, c a sheep raise itself to be a
man. It never wishes to."
True," replied the pastor," that is what I wish to show
you. The sheep never looks up,just because he cannot
improve himself; but a man is hade to look up, just be-
cause a man cam improve himself. E
"From the minerals up to the lower animal, we find that 1
objects cannot change; but when we reach msal, the caM
is very different. There are many kinds of men. The
lowest kinds are often like the brutes; but the highest
kind-they wish to improve themsel ; and they try, by

-~ .


the help of God, to do so, that they may become more
like the race above them-the angels in heaven. It is a
.great privilege for man,-e is able to know, and look u.
You know most of the men in my parish, Green," said
the pastor. I have men of all kinds living here: some,
who care nothing for their souls, and live as though they
had no soul: others, who have been careless, but now are
looking up,-every year they have been rising higher and
higher. Look now, at the two cottages on the other side
of the road I In that slovenly cottage where John Grub
lives, there he has lived for three years, and the garden is
as weedy, and his home is as untidy, as it was at first."
And James Reach, rir, who lives in the next house,
he," I said, "was an untidy man once."
"True," replied the pastor, ', but he is happier now, just
from having learned to look up."
Well, I left the pastor, and walked home slowly, think.
ing of a great many more things he had told me. I lifted
up the latch, crossed the red-brick floor to the stair-case,
went up into my bedroom, and sat down: and there I sat
thinking until it was so dark that I could not hardly see
my hand. Then, I jumped off my chair, stamped on the
floor, clenched my fist, and cried out I'll do it I" But
when I wa silent again, after hearing the sound of my own
voice, there came a strong and gentle thought across my
mind, which made me kneel down in the room before God,
and ask Him to help me.
Claude. And what was it you were going to do ?


Gree. To ore fifty half-eagle I
Claude. Well II don't think that tht wa very good, if
that wa all you were going to do. I think it was rather
wicked to ask God's help fr that purpose.
Grees. There is where you make a mistake master
Claude. It is not a wicked thing to want fifty halfagles.
True, 1 did not ask the Almighty for His best blessigs-
I did not ask Him for pardon for all that I had done wrong:
J did not ask Him for His Holy Spirit, that I might learn
to do right. No! I only asked for strength to earn fifty
half-eagles I
Claude. And did you call that a god wish ?
Green. Yes, I did: and the pastor did too. I'll tell you
why, soon. The resolution, however, whether it was good
or bad, that alone made a great chang in me. I Moo
lost all interest in my former sport. gan to look down
on these things, for I had always a bright light before me
to look up to. There was a vision of bright eagles for me
to delight in; and, as I reached up to it every day, I made
good use of every moment of my time. Evey week 1
saved money, and became richer. ery week I looked
up to the twenty-five golden eagles, and felt myelf nearer
to it. When I had saved ten half-eagles, I aid to myself
-- I am only forty from it t" when I had saved twenty, I
said, Ah, I am only thirty off~ very *eek I eit my-
self changing. I felt myself more important m for, a
I looked up a n and again to the ifty bhaf.eagle I hW
a much ieuPre in as though it were aendy in my
own hanc

Claude. Well, Ithink that you are teaching o all wrong!
You are teaching us to be fondof money,d to be covetu-
Gree. No I indeed, I am not. Money is not, in itself,
a bad thing-it is one of God's bleains. I wanted this
money not for the sake of saying that I wa rich, but that
1 might have a'oottage with a clean garden, and get mar-
ried, just as John Reach had done-for this is what the
pastor had told me to do. There was no harm in want,
ing to live in a respectable way.
Claude. And did you get a cottage ?
Gree. Yes, I bad the very cottage which John Grub
lived in. And, when I had lived thre some time, my wife
and I began to look up to something ele. Mr. Solder,
my old master, was gong to sell his busine,and my wife
and I looked up to be able to take his aop. Every day
we looked up, and worked on as I had done before, and in
time e bought the business, which you see I have now.
Cade. Wll, it was worth while to look up to try to
gain that.
Green. Yes. But there are two reasons why it is
worth while. It is not only for what you gain at last that
you should look up: but for thegood you gain while doing
I had not been in my shop many days, when John Reach
came in for ome srews. Ah, friend" he raid,hak
hand, am glad to ee you hre. The hard
which yo have do to gain this shop and bainea he.


done you good I dare ay, now, that when you were
looking up for this buine, you felt jut u I did, when I
determined to have a good arden. I pictdot tomy-
self a beautiful garden, with bed raked perfectly smooth,
and every part in good order. This picture I kept in my
mind, saying to myself, as I dug, *I'll make my garden
like it-it "hall be a beautiful place.'"
"Yes," I said, it wua looking up to that picture which
kept you active."
STrue," replied friend Reach, "I wu'nt aware that I
could be so active, or even that I had so much strength in
me, until I looked up to the thought of a plemant mnd
beautiful garden."
Claude. Ah, I see now the advantage of looking up-it
keeps you employed, and makes you feel that you have
something to aim at.
Green. Yes, Claude, and you remember it. You are now
great boy: nine years old: and you never looked up to be
anything (except being' Kingof the Castle,'-so now find
something so look up to I Look up to be the best boy i
the chol I
And afterwards look up to be good meu-try and be
mery good, and look up to the time when you may help
others to make the world better.

[sas azVING.)

The mother of Mark and Mary Dayton died when they
were four and six years of age. Mary was the oldest, but
a little girl of six yeas could not be expected to do much
'a werk, and Mark being two years younger, their whole
care devolved upon their father.
Mr. Dayton was an industrious man, and had acquired
a little money, though this was known only to himself.
Bei a mechanic, a daily laborer for the comforts he en.
yed, he wa of course no owner of bank stocks, or rail
i. d sre: and in fast,so far as the latter are concerned,
M reseeds. had not then begau to be dreamed of.
SWhe Mark and Mary had reached the year of ten and
th were most severely afflictedby the decease
their father, by meansof which they were deprived of
J. .lst and only 1est9r.
Oytoo.had onejpter living in the town where he
Srelided, a maiden ladyand anotherwho left home several
yersa before, and died, as was supposed, in another part of
Sthe country. To the surviving aunt thee children were
posmiged, for whom she pevided to the best of her ab-
t,. flShe treated them with great kiidnes, ad the y '


See p 54,


return dd everything in their power to ais their Ihd
On one occasion, Mark and Mary wem. aW the
woods, when they were suddenly alarme bl the p!-r-
ance of a rough looking man, whose face adihtd ay.
thin but the bet intentions.
He seized upon Mary, and attempted to drag her sill
farther into the woods: she shrieked with alarm, and plad
to be set at liberty, but her eri sad tear wre aH in
vain. The renetl emonster ed er slore m flly he V
arms, amid her cries for help, and the erinma the ti-bOL
he urged her onward.
At thi moment, a coarse look&Ugoly dd womus
appered, and at the top of her v oe shriekd at, "id
villail what would you with that child" Aehb dlid
this, she presented a pistol within f feet f his heed.
Let go your hold upon that child, er by tbes have i e
me I fire," said the woman. The man letgo tLee d, et
the same tim attempting tosein the wuo -ef4
but his position was such that she did aot bit hM With :
a laugh of exultation, he jumped towards her for *Ae r
pose of siing her, when he received .a Sble w Ied
a dagger that she draw from bmmeath her aeoe eseie
SVillian, you are Woiled," shouted the women eamsra
to the children, and directed them whioehay toa le f
the wood. She directed them to keep dieictly 6
her, and clue to her. With the i af r sa- i


pointed towards him, she warned him not to follow her,.r
attempt to injure the children-if he did, he should pay for
it dearly, Aye, with thy life, villain '" I'll leave you
now, woman," replied the man, but remember, we- hall
meet again."
The woman conducted the children onward, until they
came in sight of their aunt's house where she bade them
Oh, good woman," exclaimed Mary, go with us to
my aunt's How dhe will thank you for saving us 1"
S* No," replied the woman, I leave you here: beyond
is- b point I may not now go-s farewell."'
Who may I thank," inquired Mary, "for my preserva-
ti from thi cruel man ."
SThe Gipey of, the Blasted Oak," replied the woman,
ad then hastily ged
The children sped to their aunt, recited the affair of the
rescue in the woods, and told her "that the woman who
avWd them, called herself the gieyof the blasted oak."
The fair became noised about in the village, and every
defrt was made to ascertain who the villain was that had
th boldly attempted to kidnap Mary: but her fright was
so great that she cold give but an imperfect description
of him; hence all their efforts were fruitle--ad as for
the geey, he was nowhere to be found.
'116 matter having been pretty much gottene, and the
esitement of the occasion having entirely ceased, aMoth.
er attempt was made by this villain, when Mary wasao

.': Y Y
* *-^ \

xI WnLA OA.L -

day her way to sboL To tae the road to the a ol
house, it was a distance of some two miles, bt aerm ois,
through the woods, it was bt about three-forths of a
mile, and this path was generally taken by ll the child
dren in company, who lived in that part of the towswhere
Mary's aunt reided. They always met in the iid thi
side, or at the entrance of the wood, ad the boys and gir
thus met, frequently formed quite a part.
On this occasion, however, Mary had ben necearily
delayed: her brother had already go, and she was a lit-
tle late. However, she went on, riM trong throw te
woods, but had not proceeded far, bere he was stopped *
by the ame villain who had before met her.
"I have yeo now, my youag Mir," enaimed the man,
and he eimd hold f her, and your eecape is thi time
et that lie choke yoe, villain," exclaimed an unerth-
ly voice, from a hideouly dressed being who appeared, as
if by magie, at the ame time dealing a toing Mbow
from a cudgel which she had, tht prostrated thJe ili to
the earth. No, no: her escape is Ipo- Come,girl;
quick, with me." So sayig, bse took.ir by the hbad,
and rapidly oondeted her through tweod, to witi ma
few feet of the school lome.
SFarewell, child," said the woman, "*you ase af."
"Oh, kind women said Mary, bholF I mt love
you for again having me: Oh, tell me yYou anmef
The Giy of the Blasted Oak," replied thpImsI,
andddeM d appeared.


Mary entered the sebool room muh alarmed d asd
a'iad, ad related the circumstace to the teacher. Whae
they returned frm ahool, all who west i that direct
acoMpanied Mark and Mary, among whom were several
lawrg bo7
Wha the aunt listed to the recital of this sooed at-
tack, she became intensely anxious to se this gipey, ad
was resolved to do so, if possible Accordily she went
to thewoods, and oitered about a considerable tie, with-
out seeing her, until at length she made a call for the
SGipsey of the Bluted Oak."
OW hearing her ame called, the gipsey appeared, aad
emeg a woman appn ahig her, she drew from beneath
her sat nar pgarm t a pistol, which she preseted, al-
lowing the woman to approach only within the distaoe of
some twenty feet.
Hok, wemas" exclaimed the ipsey, "approach no
arer, or thy safety will net be aured."
SBut, good woman i" replied the eaut, "you hae twise
aved my children, ad I desire to thank yoe."
"I need no thLMs, woman," replied the gipsey, "let it
ade thee that the children are safe,and he thakful that
they are so. If y have thaLks to betow, they belong
thee as she uttered this last sentence she pointed sta-
SI do thank even" replied the aest, "that my chil-
dren are safI."
They are not ty children," replied the gipsey, woaly


o far as you are their proteetr They are the chlm ot
How knew youthatf" moa iaquire the aunt.
"No matter: it i so, and I know it," replied tb gipeey,
"and that is suflcient."
Come, good woman," aid the aunt, tell me who you
I am the Gipey of the Blsted Oak; more than this
1 shall not tell you. The time may come when you will
know me better, but that time is not yet; question me no
farther-farewell." So saying the Gipsy fed from the
presence of the aunt, and was oo lost to view among
the rocks and trees. About a fortnight after this inter-
view, the aunt's household was aroused at night by the
cry of fire. In a few moments the village was alarmed.
SThe front door of the house of the protector of Mark and
Mary was broken in (for that was the broe which wa
on fire,) and in an instant the family wer0 aroused, and
fed half claim from the burning building into the road
The house being of wood, was very soon enveloped in
flames. All efforts wer used to save it, and the mave.a
bles contained in it, but all were useless and s the hose
stood alone by itself, the villagers could only look on aad
see it burn.
The attention of the assembled villagers was now di-
rected to the opposite side of the road, where a straglse
seemed to be going on between a man and woes.
The man was endeavoring to release himself friB the


apparently iron grasp of an imfriated woman, who called
on the bystanders to secure the man. I know him well,"
said the Gipsey, for such she was. I tracked him to this
spot, and saw him apply the torch to this building. He
has twice attempted to carry off the young girl that lives
here, but I have prevented him. I care you-."' Here
the woman's words were lost, for at this instant the incen-
diary struck the Gipsey a blow with his fit, that felled her
to the ground. The people gathered round, and a mgis-
trate who was present, ordered the people to arrest and
bind the incendiary.
Mark and Mary, together with their aunt, were wit-
neses of these transactions. The aunt drew near to the
Gipsey, and endeavored to restore her. She had received
her death-blow, but she rallied a little so as to be able to
peak. The aunt seeing this,addressed the Gipsey. The
Gipsey knew her voice, and instantly recognized her. "It
is well that we have again met: the hour of my disclosure
has come, for I must soon die. Hast thou a sister
Grace ?"
I had," replied the aunt, but she is dead."
SNo, not dead," replied the Gipsey," behold her I"
My sister," frantically exclaimed Miss Dayton, the
name of the aunt.
Listen," said the Gipsey, "my moments are brief: go
to the blasted oak, and there, in a hollow, you will find mo-
ney enclosed in parchment; it was placed there by your
brother, who is dead. In my wanderings I have been the


witness to his placing it there, and I have watched it with
a constant care, lest it be stolen. I have been near these
chil- children, since their fa- father died, and have
pro- pro- protected-" here her voice failed to a whis-
p: I thirst-give w-drink farewell-fare-" here
hr voice eeased entirely, and dhe breathed no more.
"And who are you, man inquired the magistrate of
the bound prisoner, who are you, that you have thus
persecuted these children "
Their father oace wronge me-dpeply wronged mel"
replied the incendiary. "Thir mother was the betrothe
of my heart, and she coldly gave me upfor him. I swore
vengeance, and when their father and mother died, and it
wa no more possible for me to rvenge myself on them,
I determined that I weld have it on their children."
Alas I" replied the magistrate, "what a fiedish heart
mut you possess, who would wrong the innocent children
of the man from whom you had received perhaps but am
imaginary injury. But your race is run, and veamocs
were you now disposed to pursue it,i beyond your
The prionerwas borne to his confinement: the ases
bled villager returned to their homes; and should you
ever travel a stranger in that part of the country, where.
ever you might put up, you would be sure to bhar the
story of the "Gipsey of the Blasted Oak."


A herdsman and his wife, with one little girl, named
Bertha, lived in a small village. They were very poor.
Sometimes they scarcely knew how to live, and Bertha
could do little to help them. She was slow at any kind of
work. She liked better to sit alone and dream, though
awake, of how she would supply them with all eomforts,
if she could suddenly grow ric. Then she would fancy
that kind Spiritscame and showed her some treasure,or
gave her stones that changed into gold and jewels. In this
way she forgot what had ben given her to do: then she
was much blamed, and often punished.
One night she lay awake crying, and while she lay 0s
th6 herdsman said to his wife, I wish we bad never had
this little girl let with us. She is only a burthen. If they
had but left their little son instead, he might have worked
for us." These words drove deep quite away from Bertha.
She lay thinking of them all night. She was astonished
to find that she was not the daughter of the herdsman and
his wife, and a longing desire to fad her rel parents
grew stronger and stronger in her. Before rmaing, Ahe
rose softly, and opened the door of the little hut. ,The
early dawn was just begionmg to light the eastern *ky~
She stepped upon the open field, and the next minute wae
in a thick forest, where no ray could yet penetrate. She


ran fearfully through the trees, and when she reached the
other side of the forest the sun had rim and it wa bright
She soon saw a range of mountains before her, and
having lived in the plain country, she was afraid of moon-
tains: bat her fearof being followed and carried back
made. her bhrry on. She wandered through the valleys,
and up the sides of steep hills often begging at the vil
lages for food and shelter. After four days she came on
a little footpath which led to high barren rocks piled one
on the other. She clambered over the nearest, and now
lost all sight of green gras, or village, or trees, or single
habitation. She still wandered on, and at night lay on the
hard rocks, and could not sleep for weeping. At day-
break she climbed up a steep crag, and looked round.
Everywhere she saw the same frightful, bare rocks. She
went on and on, often sitting down to weep and lament;
but at lst, towards evening, she came to the limits of the
rocks, and saw trees, meadows, and soft green hills in the
distance, and the sound of rushing water gladdened her
She came soon to a waterfall, and stooped down to raise
some drink to her parching mouth in the hollow of bet
hand. As she stooped she heard a slight cough, and was
joyfully surprised to seean old woman resting on the ground
at the border of a wood. She was dressed in black; a
black hood nearly covered her face; in her hand she held
a crutch.


From this old woman Bertha begged for help, and im-
mediately received from her some food and wme. While
she ate, the old woman sung a strange song, and when i
she had finished, asal her if she would follow her home.
Bertha gladly agreed.
The old woman limped on before, twisting her face so
oddly every moment that it was always changing, and
Bertha could not make out what kind of countenance she
had. As she went on, the wild rocks were left far behind.
The tops of the trees were standing in the glow of the son-
set; all things seemed melted into soft gold: on the fields
lay a mild brightness: the pure, azure sky bent kindly
over them: the gushing of the brooks and gentle rustling
of the trees alone broke the silence. Bertha forot herself
and her guide: her spirit and eyes were wandering among
* the shining clouds.
They came to a hill planted with birch trees. Below
lay a valley full of soft-waving trees, in the midstof which
las a little cottage. A glad bar i was heard, and a
anble little dog came running toward them wagging its
tail, and fawning on the old woman. As they came near-
er to the cottage, a strange, but very clear, sweet song
sounded from it, like forest horns and flutes in the far dis-
tance. The words were these:-
Alone in wood so py
'Tis good to stay,
SMorrow like to-dy,
For evm and aye:
Oh, I do love to stay
Alone in wood so ay."

srTIA AND Ta UmD a

Bertha coul4mot wait to be told is enter. She topped
into the cottage. It wa now dusk. All was neatly swept
and rimmed. Some bowls stood in a cupboard, and mso
strange-shaped potsona table. Abird hang in a glitter.
ing cage at the window, and she perceived tht it was the
singer. The old woman at down, caressed her dog and
stroked her bird, which answered her with its ong. Then
she brought out supper, and made Bertha sit by her and
eat: then she showed her to a little bed in a long narrow
closet. Bertha was so tired that she fell asleep, but every
now and then awoke, and heard the old woman coughing,
and talking with her dog and bird, which seemed dreaming,
and only answered with one or two words of its rhyme.
This, with the rustling of the trees by the window, and
the song of a distant nightingale, made so strange a mix-
ture of sounds, that Bertha never thought she was awake,
but falling from one dream into another.
In the morning the old woman set her to spin, which be
now leaned very easily; she also had charge of the bir
and the dog, whose name wa Sprite. She did her work
cleverly. She felt as if she had been accustomed to it,
and a if it all must be so. She felt contented; her wheel
went round: Sprite barked merrily: the bird sang clearly
and sweetly, and as it sang its feathers shone like gold,
and glittered with deep blue and red. The old woman
ta ght her to read, and she found old books in the cottage,
with strange old stories in them. She also had the charge
of the bird's eggs, for every day it laid an egg containing a


prous pearl, and these the old woman made her store
up one of the strange-shaped pots. She was often
one, for the old woman sometimes went out for weeks
and month, leaving her food, and the charge of every-
thing. She never felt sad: still her wheel went round.
There was no storm nor foul weather: no wild beast nor
a creature came near: only Sprite played and gambol-
and the bird ang still,
Aloe in wood eo py
"Ts ood to aty,
MoYrw like to-dy,
Pr ever and aye:
Oh I do lofe to tay
Alon la woodM o y."
Four year paed away in this peaceful manner. Then
Berth bean, au Ae st at her wheel, to wonder what the
world was like, that she read of in the old books, and to
long again to find her parents and erher brother. Perhaps
they are great and rich," she thought, "and would make
me a great lady."
After thee thoughts of being rich and great, the cot-
tage looked dull to her, and the bird's song sounded sad.
The old woman did not notice the change, as Bertha al-
ways did her work well, but one day praised her for her
dili'ence. Thou art a good girl," she said, it will be
weU with thee if thou continues so; but none ever pros-
pers if they leave the straight path."
Bertha often pondered over these words. What does


- 40

the straight path mean she thought. S mly, Id l.
! to make a plan of leaving the Oet taking away the
ird, aad going into the world that belo d so Mo a.to
see: but he only thought of it-ebe did not mea todo it.
The next time that the old women wet oat, Berta
looked after her, and felt very ad, as if sbe feared to ee
her go. Then be returned to her work, but was restless.
Atlat she roe from her work, tied little Sprite to te ta
ble, for she felt afraid to let him go with her, took op the
bird, and went out. The bird turned its head strangely
backwards, and the dog struggled ad whied, but she
went on.
The path weat winding among pleaat fowery way,
and all was easy to her, only that she faed coolly
that she should meet her ol mistress. The bird oflte
tried to sing, but the shaking of her hand, as she walked
quickly along, put him out. At last she at down to rest
in a shady place. Then dte bird began a ong in a clear
but ad tone, and his rhyme was altered. HE nwan-.
AlM in woo4 P,.
Ah tr syl
Bet thee wft Zmy
Some otkw ay,
'Twen be tasty,
Alom Ira ood i pyr.
Bertha felt ery miserable. She thought of the wld
man, to whom dh had behaved o ungrateully thea of
the poor little dg, whom Ahe had left alone die of


hunger. She wept bitterly. She longed still to see that
world and all the new things she had dreamed of: butl
then the bird again, in a more sorrowful tone than ever,
sung his Mi She rose from the ground, took up the
cage, and quickly turned back towards the cottage.
But as she went back, the path which had seemed so
short and easy, now proved steep, long, and difficult.
The sharp stones cut her feet: thorn tore her dress:
the little streams had swelled into mountain torrents,
and she had to wade through them with fear and dan-
ger: the wind rose, and heavy rain began to fall.
But Bertha had one comfort which supported her through
all, and made her walk straight on: it was the clear voice
ofthebird. It sang more sweetly than ever. She could
not catch the words, but tMere was something in the tone
that support her strength.
At last she reached the cottage. All looked just as she
had left it. The poor little dog still lay tied to the table,
and looked a if he was dying. He raised his head feebly,
ad looked at her reprochfully. She ran to him, untied
the cord, brought him food and drink, stroked him, and
wept over him. Oh look up dear little Sprite," she cried,
Sor I can never be happy again."
Bertha looked round ir help. If my mistress would
but come," she thought I would tell her of all I have
done wrong: no matter what becomes of me, so that he
would get better." As this thought passed through her
mind, she rn to the door to look out for the old woman,


and to her joy Sprite ros up, ran to her, and jumped up
on her.
When Bertha went outside the door of the cottage, ad
looked round, everything seemed cha~ed. The woods
had widened out ad left a ft reen lawn. Fowers had
sprung up. Trees were range in group and avenues.
At the farther end of a long walk, arched over by preading
beeches, she saw a beautiful lady, leading on the arm of a
noble-looking gentleman, and leading by the hand a pret-
ty boy, with long fair hair. They were coming towards
her. They smiled on her as they drew near; and held out
their arms to her. We have bfoud our Bertha at last,"
said the lady, kissing her fondly. Bertha laid her head on
her breast, and felt that she was in her mother's arms.
They all caresed her and welcomed her.
Bertha turned to look for the cottage, but it had vanish-
ed. In its place was a pleasant, cheerful dwelling, that
looked like a safe home; warm and bright and roomy;
vines covered the walls: roses looked in at the windows.
They walked towards it. Sprite bounded on before. As
they entered the door, Bertha heard the clear-toned bird
sing more joyously than ever, and now its song wa-

"WithM t I lo vepo eR
Ok,itis wwt to dwll
My hrt is ike bll
Tath xi la ato p y dal,
And in eah eo' swells
It joy doth tell."


With her parents' approval, Bertha mougt out the poor
berdaman and his wife, and took care of them in their old
age, and made them comfortable.
The clear-toned bird continued to ring its joyous sog.
But now Bertha no longer hid the pearl in strange-shaped
he often thought of the old womnu, and what had be-
come of her, but never could hear of her.
Once only, on a summer evening, when suret was
throwing a golden mist over all things, she thought she saw
her in the far distance, in her black hood, limping towards
a waterfall: but it graw dusk before she could get near her,
and she never saw her again.

"I wish you would wake me up tomorrow morning at
five o'clock," sid Charles. I did so efSectuuy, and eft
him-in an hour 1 returned to his room, t her e was,
fast asleep, and the sun shining full on his face. The next'
day and the next day he made the same request, but I was
tired of waking him. Every peon who wishes to form a
habit of rising early, should second the exertions of others,
and not lie a moment after he is awakened.

See p. 75.


_ -- I-


[Im rumam.]
Rosina Randolph Ws oe of thom somewhat rwnml
young girls who eMv deliht in deed o -iA.l atl w -W
took morreral satihaetio in readl goE. d drl .
ing feats of som enthmlatic adveatrr,; .a b U te
love-tales that were ever written. On this thm ie d-
ways conversedih thusiasm, and as he wau sed
the bioryof some daing officer or soldier' military
reer, wol oft exlaim, "Noble fell what a Ie
pecimen of a sin !"
8uch *ere the peculir predilections of gesteg dslg
and o indellibly was her mind stamped with It lmpem
of these w a of nebility, that she had doolmaod w da
over aga R, t she we ld never arr a ma who weo
acknowledge such a pasion in his soul asfr.
No, no, not I," she would eathbsiuatically po -
"My hrAband mst be a bold, resolute, drag c
None of your little, panr, trembling mea fomr m;I -
a husband that I can look p to fr petimo-mm ia
could and aiM defend me, bowevi hbawrw VitM-
isor pe"mus the e ip e



Having given a fair description of Roaina's mind, ano-
ther may be epected-more particularly relating to her
person. In brief, then, Romina was tall, finely proportion-
ed, of a strong and nervous temperament, with a brilliant
black eye, a handsome face, and with hair as dark a the
raven's wing; added to these she had a rather lofty and
commanding appearance, and was just twenty years old.
It might be thought that a person so constituted was inca-
pable of love: but not so: Rosina could love, and when-
ever she did, it would be with an ardent devotion.
Several of the young men of the village had signified
their regards & her, but they were not reciprocated by
her. Perhaps she did look upon one young man with
rather more favor than any of the restpand be doubtless
thought so. That young man was Herbert Wilton.
Herbert wasa handsome, noble looking fellow, and had
formed a ver favorable opinion of Rosma, and having
been many times in her company, had become quite faci-
nated with her.
Herbert was twenty-two year old, and a several of the
young fellows in the village had tried to gain h particu-
lar regard, and had failed, he came to the conclusion that
be would make a trial. Onefine afternoon in the early
part of October, Herbert strolled along in the neighbor-
hood of Roeina's residence, intending to make a call on
her, but fortunately found her in the garden with the man
/ who wa employed gardener, who was dging up some
artichokes for her. Son the gardener retired, ad they
entered into coameatio.

TWI wm arm weo. I T

A walk was proposed by Herbert, to which Ro1l A-w
sented, and intimated that she should like to walk to the
field where stood the deserted mansion." This desert.
ed mansion" so called had stood even longer than the me-
mory of the oldest inhabitant could trace back. All that
wu known of it was, that it once belonged to somebody,
nobody knew who: that it wa once a resort of a famou
band of robbers, but nobody knew when: that it was
haunted, but nobody knew with what: but there were con.
nected with it mysterious tales of aiglar sounds, blue
lights, rattling chains, &c., all which we calculated
to invest this deserted mansion" with a remarkable de.
agree of interest, and any amount of vain and foolish s.
To this field the pair bent their steps. It was an old
brick mansion, which many had entered and explored in
the day4iuM-but darkness and night invested it with all
kinds of superstitious horror. The windows were all sht-
tered to piece, and every square of gla broken, from the
repeated petis of stones indicted by the boy A part
of the roof adtumbled in, one of the chimies had bees
a mark for years for the boys to hurl rocks at, consequent
ly it had been reduced quite one half from its original
height. It had now become the residence of the owland
the bat, and in some parts of it, the birds had. poas-l
surficient courage to build their fragile nets.
It wu during thi walk that bert took ocaiom to
prem his suit for Resina's hand. Sho had a great deal to

ay about courage, fortitude, during, and danger, and inti.
mated to Herbert that the man of er choice would be he
to whose heartfear was a stroager.
Herbert signed his disposition to undergo almost any
danger to secure so great a prise as herse, and declared
that he would hold himself in readiness to perform any
feat of daring that reason and judgment would prescribe.
Rosina desired him to enter with her the "deserted man.
sion." In the corner of the building, upon a rafter, was a
bird's nest, some twenty feet from the ground. She asked
Herbert if he was willing to secure that bird's net, and
odbr to her u a pledge of his truth.
Willingly, most willingly," replied Herbert: instantt.
ly if you require it."
That shall be the pledge," sid Resina, but it is to be
taken at such time as shall appoint."
Name the time," replied the enthusiastic Herbert, "and
I will pluck it from its resting-place, and put it in your pos
W Let that time, then," said Roina, be to-night, after
the village clock shall have struck the hour of mid.
night. If at that hour you will repair to this spot-
alone-and with your own hands pluck the net from
its resting-place, and put i n my poemion, to you,
and yo alone, will I pledge myand."
Enouh," repodd Herbert, it shall be done."
The two came out of the building, and returned to the
reidM ee of Roi, where rbert took his loave giig


her the assurance "that by day-light the Mat morning sb
should be in poession of the nes."
Rosina promised "to be up and waiting for bi a early
a five o'clock," and they uarated.
Herbert thought several tunof the dimal duty that he
had pledged himself to perform, nd at times almost re-
pented his rashnes; but his word had been given, and
that must not be violated.
It began to cloud up towards night, and when evening
sat in, there was a heavy mist, or rather drizzly rain, which
continued all night. Herbert armed himself with a load-
ed pistol, and procuring a twenty-foot ladder, and a glass
lantern, he awaited in some little anxiety the striki of
the hour of twelve. At length the solemn hour was gves
out by the village clock, which fell on the ear lie a
death-knell, on that dark and rainy night.
Herbert then started out of the house, with his piatel
in his breast, and his lantern in his hand, and raing
the ladder to his shoulder, which lay beside the wall, he
staggered on under his load to the spot, where centered
all the acts of ghosts, hobgoblins, gipie and witches,
for the last fifty years.
It was a moment of intense excitement whei he push-
ed his ladder into the interior of the deserted mansion,
and then entered himself. In spite of his stro deter-
minations to be calm and unmoved, he felt his beir aotual-
ly rise upon his head, and saw, or thought he saw, imai t
balls of fre darting every now and then aross his path.


He sat down his lantern, which, in so large a place,
gave but a feeble light, and proceeded to ix his ladder in
an appropriate situation.
In raising his ladder to the proper position, he accident-
ally struck an owl who was roosting on a rafter, who set
up a most hideous screeching, which broke upon his ear
like the roar of a cataract. The disturbed inhabitant,
however, found another resting-place, and finally calmed
down into quiet.
Having fixed his ladder in what he supposed to be a fa-
vorable position, he commenced ascending, but unfortu-
nately, as it stood only upon rubbish, the foundation gave
way, and the ladder slid one side: he partly jumped and
partly fell from his position, and in doing so upset the lan-
tern and extinguished the light.
Here was no enviable situation for a young man to be
placed in: what was to be done ? He must not return
without accomplishing the object of his visit, and he en-
deavoured once more to accomplish the task he had under.
taken. In his second attempt he was more successful:
he ascended the ladder in safety, procured the nest, and
descended. He resolved to leave the ladder behind him
as a proof that he had been there, and proceeded to grope
his way out of that terrible place.
Rosina arose at the hour she had promised, and inquired
of the two men who worked upon her father's farm, if they
went to the field of the deserted mansion to watch, as she
Shad desired them. She was informed that they did go,


and they related all the particular comewing the visit of
the young man. Soon after fie o'clock Herbert made
his appearance, and played in her pommion the bird's
nest a he had promised. Here," said he, here, Rosina,
is pledge of truth."
rbert then went on and stated the particulars of his
visit to the deserted mansion, which Pd perfectly with
the statement of the men.
Rosina told him that she had sent two men to weas
him, and that they had related to her all the prticdula
as he had recounted them.
"Enough, Herbert," added Rosina, "you have beeamrue
to your word, I will be true to mine: there is my hand,
and with it my heart: your noble daring has met my ap.
proval, and 1 am ever your's."
Herbert's adventure was the town talk, and there w
many a courage youth who was now ready to visit the
deserted mansion, nce Herbert had gone there and vr
turned alive.
But the glory laid in his expedition; and sine the visit
of Herbert, the mysterious noises, and wonderful stories,
lost all their charm, and the deserted mansion ceased to
be either an object of fear or mystery.
About this time our troubles with Mexico commenced,
and the government were making enlistments for the army.
Herbert Wilton felt a desire to see a little more of the world
-and so enlisted as a private soldier togo to Mexico.
On the field he distinguished himself and it wa not ia


months before e he w promoted to the rank of amnoloer.
In the communications to government, young Wilton
was once or twice mentioned a being a remarkable young
soldier, and surpamed by none in h feats of daring.
In the stormingof one of their castles, and in the taking
of one of the Mexican batteries, Herbert Wilton particu-
larly distinguished himself, especially in the latter action,
for which he was again promoted. The regiment to which
he was attached remained in the field some two years, dr
ing which time young Wilton was continually datinguish-
ing himself, and in return he was promoted, and received
at the close of the campaign the highest encomium of bi
Herbert returned to meet his beloved Rosina she saw
in him the man she so much desired for a husband. This
meeting was a most afctionate one. Their hearts were
united, and the day was appointed for the marriage cere-
monies, and in just four weeks after his return, Miss Rosi-
an Randolph was married to Major Herbert Wilton, of
the United States army.

The purest motive of human action is the love of God.
He who is influenced by that, feels its influence in all parts
of duty, upon every occasion of action: throughout the'
whole course of conduct.



Doe bleak, boisterous afternoon in March, a little oy
called Alfred Herbert was seated by his papa in the gig,
driving homewards. Mr. Herbert war a country rurgeon,
and had been making a long round among his patient.
There was nothing that Alfred and hist ier ecy liked
better, than to go out in this way with their papa: and he
often took one of them: but this time he had been obliged
to go farther than he expected, and toit was getting dark
and very cold, and they had still a long way to go Al-
fred was only five years old. The wind blew in hi face,
and his cape wod open and fly back. Then his toes be-
gan to ache and smart; his fingers were quite stif, and
to his nose, it was red a a poppy and as cold as ice.
How long shall we be now, papa T" he had asked about
ten times. At last it began to snow, and then, when he
felt the soft, cold flakes of snow come patting against his
cheeks and resting on his poor, frozen noe, he could bear
it no longer, and began to cry.
Just then they were pawing a hedge, and a cow put its
head over, and gave a lod moo-o. It was so near
that it made Bobby the pony start, and made Alfred top
trying. "Why the cow seems to have something to say
to us," said his ppa. What does it My" asked Alred


in a lamentable voice: Don't you think it sounded like
*moo, moo, how do you do said h papa. At this Al-
fred laughed so heartily that he quite forgot the cold, and
wqnt on merrily for a quarter of an hour.
But next he began to feel hungry, and to think of the
warm parlour at home, with tea all ready, and the bright
Ore, and Lucy, and his mamma: and then he remembered
his aching toes again, and very nearly began to cry a M.
cond time: but hs papa said, "Make haste, Bobby I trot
along, and take us home quickly: we shall soon be there
now." So Alfred commanded hinmelf, and did not cry.
At this minute a little boy stopped them at the corner
of a lane, and said he had been waiting for a long time to
speak to Mr. Herbert as he pased: for he said his poor
father was very ill, and wanted help sadly. Bis head was
very bad, and be had had no rest for two nights. "Poor
man I" cried Alfred: let us go and make him well, papa."
Mr. Herbert turned off the road, and went to the poor
man' cottage; and before he went in he told Alfred to
ran up and down the lane twenty times, and then get into
the gig again. So Alfred ran up and down twenty times
with all his might,and just as he was climbing up the step
again, his papa came out. Will the podr man soon be
better T" he asked directly. Yes, I think he will," said
Mr.Herbert. So Alfred was very glad, and then his papa
wrapped him up so warm and snug in a cloak, that
he called it his nest, and felt quite comfortable, and did
not care for the cold at all.


On they went agin, and now they came to the common
that was just outside the town where they lived. The
wind blew acrom the wide common, and whistled among
the thick furze bushes. The clouds scudded away over
the sky, and the moon went sailing along, sometimes hi.
ding her face behind them, then Sining out 'round and
clear. Alfred kept watching the bright moon. Hre
comes a great black cloud to hide it," he cried. See
how the black cloud's edges turn all light and silvery a
they come near the moon," said his papa. Now the
moon has gone to bed behind a cloud," cried Alfred. "Ah,
there it comes again i" And look," said his papa, how
the white snow sparkles all over when it comes again."
Then they made a little story about the farse bushes: that
they were all getting ready for a dance on the heath, and
were dressed out in white, sprinkled with diamonds.
I can see other lights now," said Mr. Herbert. I
can see the lights from the windows in the town. We
shall be home in a quarter of an hour now." So Alfred
began to clap his hands and say, ( Ah, mamma I you don't
know how near we are to you."
Just as be spoke they heard a low baa-baa-quite
close to them: so close that it made Mr. Herbert stop the
gig. They listened, and it came again-baa-baa-in a
soft, pitiful tone. It must be a lamb," said Mr. Herbert,
" but I can see no sheep nor any creature near us." "Per
haps it is a poor little Famb that has lost its mother," said
A lfred.


Mr. Herbert got out and wa going to look by the road-
side, but Bobby, who war impatient to get to his stable,
would not stand still, so that he was afraid to leave him.
Let me go, papa," cried Alfred, jumping up out of his
snug nest, and butling down by the itep. U go and
look for the little lamb." "Climb up the bank by the
road-side," said his papa, and look down into the ditch."
Alfred was soon at the top of the bank, but he could
se nothing. Still the sound went on, fainter and more
pitiful than ever. Shall I get down into the ditch, papa?"
aid he. Yes, if you think you can manage it," answer.
ed his papa. So then Alfred began to get down, slipping,
and sliding, and jumping, and wa soon out of sight.
SI've found the poor little lamb, papa," he son called
out from the bottom of the ditch. Mr. Herbert had now
led Bobby and the gig to the edge of the bank, and asked
Alfred whether he thought he could lift up the lamb. 1I'll
try," answered he.
Some time passed, in which the lamb bleated more than
ever, and the frosty sticks and snow dry leaves in the
ditch crackled and rustled, bat nothing was heard of Al.
fred. What are you doing, Alfred PT Mr. Herbert call-
ed. Pm coming," he was answered out of the ditch in a
panting voice, as if quite out of breath. It's very dif
ficult to get up the side."
Mr. Herbert took the reins over his arm, and leaned as
Sfar u possible over the bank; and then, with great efforts,
Alfred contrived to raise the lamb up within hi reach, and


to give it up to him. Then he soon clambered up bimelf.
"Will the poor lamb die?" said he, looking at it as it
lay quiet over his papa's arm.
"It is stiff with the cold, and most likely nearly starved,"
said Mr. Herbert. "It is very young, not more than a
week old, I should think."
"Let us make haste home," cried Alfred. Man
will make it get well."
Mr. Herbert lifted Alfred in, put the lambon his knee
covered them both with the cloak, jumped in himself and
off went Bobby as fast as he could trot. They were
at their own door in no time.
Out ran little Lucy before they had even rung the belL
Out came James the groom to take the pony to the stable
Then, out came mamma to the door to welcome them, aad
help off the coats and hat, and it all looked bright and
warm inside. Mr. Herbert lifted out Alfred, and he wet
tottering along with his poor little lamb in his arms, to
full of anxiety about it to speak a word.
What hi you got, Alfred'" cried Lucy. But be wa
too eager to get tboe lamb into the warm room, to answer
her, and never stopped till he had placed it safe down on
the rug.
SWhere did you get this poor, pretty little lambt" askr
ed Lucy,, and what is the matter with it T"
We founrit in a ditch," answered he, and it is cold
aJl hungry. lome, mamma, and tell us what to do to
make the lamb well I"


Their papa and mamma soon came in together, and
found the two children sitting by the lamb, stroking and
patting it. Their mamma sent directly for a blanket to
lay it on, and moved it farther from the fire. Then she
brought a saucer of warm milk and held it close to its
mouth, but it would not drink: so she dipped her finger
in, and then put them into its mouth, and it began to suck
them. Then in a minute, to the great joy of the two
children, it began to lap up the milk, and never stopped
till it had finished it all. Now do not fear," she said.
" The lamb will get well, I think."
Lucy patted and kissed it, and then Alfred pulled off his
worsted glove, and stroked it: but when his cold little hand
lay on the white, soft wool, they all laughed: for it was u
red a his worted comforter, which he still had on.
*"My dear little fellow," said his mamma, now we
must take care of you: why how cold and wet you are I"
so first he made the tea, and rang for the toast and fresh
eggs, and then put on the bread and milk to boil, and then
she took Alfred on her lap, and took off his cap, and cape,
and comforter: and kissed his bright, rosy cheeks; and
then she palled off his boots, and socks, all wet with
clambering about in the ditch: and then Lucy ran fordry
eesfor s and she put them on. So little Alfred was
soon wag and comfortable, and as happy as he could
be. P
And then the white milk frothed up, and she poured it
oat, and they all at down to tea, and told all their adveo-


tores, and laughed and talked away. Every now and
then Lucy and Alfred stole on tiptoe to look at the lamb,
which had fallen fast asleep. Before they went to bed it
had another saucer full of warm milk, and then they got
a deep basket with some hay in the bottom, and placed the
little creature in it, blanket and all, and there it was left
for the night.
The very first thing in the morning, the two children
went; hand in hand, to look at the lamb. It started up,
and stood on its feet, when they went near it: then bleat-
ed, and seemed frightened: bat when it felt their soft
hands patting and stroking its bead and sides, it seemed to
get quiet, and when they brought some more war milk,
it drank out of their hands, and finished all up. Afta
breakfast, as it was a sunny morning, Mr. Herbert told the
children they might take it into the garden, where it jamp-
ed and frisked about much to their delight.
Mr, Herbert found out the farmer to whom it belonged:
but he said he should like the little boy to keep it, as he
had saved its life, and to make it a pet lamb. 8o Alfrd
said it should be Lucy's pet lamb, too: and it grew pret
tier, and stronger, and more playful, and cropped the gro
and ran about the field : and they called it Daisy. It sma
became so tame that it would come into the o, an
follow them in their walks, and they were vQI of
SIways took care of it.

[-- -.a---am.]

SIt is uselem, my dear, to search any longer," id Col.
Renton to his wife, as they entered the dining room togeth-
er if that ring wu dropped out of the Loou% depend
pe it, noon will have the honesty to return it."
SI had rather have lost anything else, than that ring,"
reponded Mrs. Renton, and I can never fetive ilyse
far ach a piece of carelessne."
It i proper to remark, that the ring in question was a
beentifal one, set with four precious gems: it was boht
y ol. Bentdb at price of fifty dollars, and preMsntdby
his to hb wife on the nghLof their marriage Mn.Re
ta looked upe. this pledge ofher huband' love, as being
of more valie to her than for its mere intrinic worth;
the aseoition connected with its presentation to her,
inveied it with a degree of scredne, which did not at-
ta to any common ring.
had been out to walk the aQernoon before,
and in her glove from her hand, by ome Snae.
notable mibrtne, the ring came of her hand at the
-amI time, and dropping from her gl6ve, was lost, and h



HE PETS .. p. 90.


_ ---------------~


occasioned the conversation which occurred on their en-
-ance into the dining-room: the lou of the ring in the
,nner here described, although true, was a matter of
supposition with Mrs. Renton, which was based on the
'act, that she had hunted high and low throughout the
house, but could not find it. Charles and Caroline, their
Jon and daughter, were amusing themselves in the front
garden, playing with their pet rabbits. They were call-
ed in, and their services were put in requisition to hunt
in and about the house, to endeavour to find the lost trinket.
Having given themselves faithfully to the search for a
considerable time, and being unsuccessful, Charley pro-
posed to his sister that they should go to the fortune-tel.
ler's hut ij the woods, not far off, and invoke her divina-
tion in endeavoring to gain the lost rin. She stood at the
door of the old cottage, and seeing the boy and girl coming
across the lot in the path which led to the house, shecalled
her grandson to come into the house.
This grandson was the cohid of her daughter, who had
died some seven years since, and she, being the only sur-
viving relative in the family, took the little boy into her
keeping, and supported herself and him very comforta-
bly by the business of fortune-telling. Some had great
faith in her predictions, whilst most people, if they ever
consulted her, did it more for sport, than for any belief
that they entertained in the truth of her statements.
4 it was, very many persons consulted her, and seem
ed killing to contribute trifle to her support even in


that way, for the old lady was very kind-hearted and amia-
In order to add more weight to her predictions, she in-
vested her fortune-telling with some show of mystery, and
for that purpose she had fitted up a small room in her hut,
which she darkened, and used only a single candle when-
ever she exercised what she called her spirit of divina-
tion." She made the little boy quite serviceable, for she
used to secrete him in the room, and require his assistance
in some of her mysterious actions. We have already ob-
served that she saw Charley and Caroline coming on in the
path that led to her hut, and she called the boy into the
house, and told him to go into the mysterious chamber,"
as she called it, for there were customers coming.
The boy accordingly repaired to the chamber, and the
children now entered the house.
"Good afternoon, aunt Peggy," said Charley, as they
entered the hut.
Ah, good day, child, good day," replied the old lady,
Sand what can aunt Peggy do for the young master and
miss inquired she.
"To tell you the truth, aunt Peggy," said Caroline,
There has been something lost at our house, and we have
come to you to see if you can't help us to find it."
Well, well, child," replied Peggy. it is'nt a ring, is
"La, me, aunt Peggy I" replied Caroline, I do believe.
you are a witch; howdid you' happen to gum that "


Ab, well: I might u well have guesed that as any
thing," replied Peggy, for there's a good many folks
that don't believe I know anything."
I should think that you must know something," re-
plied Charley, or you would never have known that we
had lost a ring."
The old lady was well satisfied that a ring was the ar-
ticle lost, and determined that she would give the children
evidence of her knowledge.
Stay here, children," said the old lady: "1'll go into
the mysterious chamber, and put things to rights, and then
we'll see what we can do about the ring."
To explain this matter it should here be remarked, that
the old lady had found this identical ring that was lost, and
supposing that it was possible that some person might
come to consult her in regard to it, she retained it until
she should have an opportunity of ascertaining the real
owner. The old lady went into the mysterious chamber,
for the purpose of afftiing the ring to a piece of black cloth,
and hanging this cloth inside of a frame work which she
had made, before which was suspended a curtain. This
curtain, by order of the old lady, at a given signal, was
mysteriously drawn aside by the little boy who was se-
creted in behind the large quilt that was hung up for the
very purpose of secreting him from the observation of any
Having made all her arrangements, and given the little
boy instructions how to proceed, she returned to the kitch-
en for Charley and Carolin&


"Come, children!" said the old lady, "give me your
hands, and let me lead you to the mysterious chamber."
They arose to follow the old lady, and she conducted
them through a dark entry into a dark room: on arriving
there she groped around for a couple of chairs, and derir*
ed them to be seated.
The room was dark as midnight: the old lady soon pro.
duced her flint and steel, and finally struck a light, and
placed the candle near the curtain.
Now, children," said the old lady," I will endeavor to
ascertain what kind of a ring it was that has been lost."
She made several mysterious gyrations in front of the
curtain, and then exclaimed, appear I" At this instant
the curtain was drawn aside, and lo! there was a ring at.
tached to a piece of hanging black cloth.
"That's it I that's it simultaneously exclaimed Caro.
line and Charley: Oh I let us have it I-do, aunt Peggy!"
Be quiet, children!" said the old ladv: this ring- is
ike the one you lost, is it not ?"
u It is I it is I" replied Charley.
Be patient, then'' said the old lady: "I know now
the kind of ring you've lost: to-morrow you will receive
the original in a mysterious manner."
The old lady now extinguished the candle, and led the
children out of the room into that from whenoashe came.
After spending a few minutes in conversation, the children
left for their home.
The children, on their return, related the affair of ths


raiNs Mrpn a r.

visit to the fortune-teller, but notwithstanding their ea*
thusiasm, the father and mother were disposed to treat tl
whole matter with indifference. Even the children's as-
sertion that they had seen an exact representation of the
lost ring, did not have the effect to produce any additional
confidence in the minds of the parents in the promises or
sayings of the fortune-teller.
Nothing more was said that day conceding the lit
ring. The search, however, was continued during the re-
mainder of that day, and through a part of the next.
About three o'clock in the afternoon of the next day, the
old lady's grand-child was dispatched with a small pack.
age, and was instructed to leave it with the maid of the
house. The boy accordingly repaired to the kitchen o e.
Col. Renton's house, and left a little package directed to-"
his care. The package was delivered by the maid to Col.
Renton while at the supper table. He opened the pack.
age, and behold it contained a small biscuit. He threw it
over to his wife, saying that it was some joke of the cook's,
and took no further notice of the matter. The biscuit
lay beside the plate of Mrs. Renton, and Caroline asked
her if she could have it. Having assented, Caroline cut
it open with the intention of eating it, when there, in the
middle of it, appeared the ring.
"Oh mother-father-see, see I the ring-the ring I
cut it out of this cake I" exclaimed Chroline, laughing,
and dancing out of her chair.
rng I" exclaimed the father-" let me se it." The
St .


Colonel and his wife examined the ring, and were satisfied
of its identity. The next question was, how came it there?
The cook was sent for, and questioned about the matter.
All she knew about it was, that a boy came there that af-
ternoon, and left a package, requesting that it might be
delivered to Col. Renton. What the package was she
not know-for of course it was not her duty to open
The coo did not inquire the boy's name, and she nev-
tr had seen him before.
'This matter," said the Colonel, most be hunted out:
for whoever found the ring and returned it should be liber.
ally rewarded.
The Colonel, unbeknown to his family, repaired imme.
diately to the fortune-teller's hovel. She saw him com.
Sjng, and secreted the boy.
Well, aunt Peggy," said the Colonel, 1 am indebt.
ed to you then for the recovery of my lost ring. Name
your reward, and I shall most.willingly pay it."
Have you found it, then?" inquired aunt- Peggy, as-
suming an air of mystery.
[ have I" replied the Colonel, and if you will not tell
me how much I shall give you, take this twenty dollar
note, and with it my thanks."
"Nay, Colonel," replied Peggy, "I will take thy mon.
ey only on one condition."
"Name it I" said the Colonel: "it shall be complied
"It i this: that thou shalt not require of me to know


how I was able to trace out the ring, ano send the person
to thee with it: this is the condition:" replied Peggy.
** Well, well, Peggy I" replied the Colonel: I am satis-
fled to get the ring, and as I ham got it, I hardly need trou-
ble my head about thy sorcery."
The Colonel now returned to his family, and they were
very anxious in their inquiries to ascertain by him, Aoe
aunt Peggy knew where it was: but as the Colonel pos-
sessed no information on that point, he could of course
communicate but little to his family.
The noise, of aunt Peggy's exploit was gosipped all
through the neighborhood, and the surrounding town,
in fact, and it was the means of adding many a ddir to
her pocket. This act had a tendency to increase the faith
of many in her divinations, and many and many is the
love-sick swain that might have been seen following the
path to Peggy's cottage, to learn something of the secrets
concerning them: locked up in the myiteious chamber.

It was a wise saying among the ancients, thatlhe way
to vice lies down hill. If you take but a few steps, the mo-
tion soon becomes so impetuous and violent, that it is im-
possibl for you to resist it.

I never will play with Charley Mason again,.mother.
He's a naughty boy, and I don't love him."
What is the matter now, my son ? I thought you and
Charley were very good friends."
Why, mother, he's got my new India rubber ball, which
sister Anne gave me, and he says he'll keep it all the time.
But I say be shan't--hall be?"
And saying this, little George Hammond burst into a sad
fit of. tears. His mother spoke gently to him, and said-
" How came Charley to run away with your ball T"
"Why, mother, he wanted to play with it, and so did I.
I let him look at it, and then took it again, because it was
my ball, you know: and by and by, when I was playing
bounce, it rolled away. 1 ran after it, and so did he: and
he got it before I could, and carried it home."
"Well, George, it was wrong for him to carry it away
in such a manner: but let me ask you, my son, if Charley
had a nice ball, and you had none, don't you think ou
should like to have played with it ?"
"O, yes, indeed I"
"And do you think Charley would have let you I
"0 1 guess he would: for he's a real nice boy, some-
Well, Georgy, do you remember what papa told Fan.

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