B3OUK FUR GIRLS.
P r Tinne
4Truthfunlrts anb anturnaitx.
A BOOK FOR GIRLS.
MRS L 0. TUTHILL,
AT oE E 0r "mni.DcOG Bl A QuxrLunaKl t*Z Sa
CHARLES SCRIBNER, 14 NASSAU STREET.
Entmadm. .aordl to A&aof O *T yea by
In3L, the CNl omoe tb. i Cr a tbe, 11m1t1 Solta iv, t&,
fith,n Thstkd a How York
0. W. BIENS CT,
to wllm seot.
The Old Strw Bonnet,
The Gold Rig -
Sweet Scri Be,
The Purple Velvet Bnnet -
The District Schbol, -
The French Baler, -
The Blue Gin ghB Bonnet, -
The Piu Silk Eemmet -
As expected Virtr, -.
fl I.*o Poy
A Rid, that we ao riensat -
A Rejetfed Prora -
Chnge for the Better, -
n Newton's Sto, -
An Unpl ant Reeontre, -
fls owers O.lAma Asyln,
A New Arriva -
-Th DddeA Mdis t~ntntl, -
A fppyi ovo, "-
tewUectiob of Childhood, -
"Ia a good-for-nothing old bonnet, any
how," said Sallie Saor.
The bonnet was a dingy yellow straw one,
rimamed wjth a faded pink ibbo. Itwas not
oh Sllie's head, though she wantjt rightful
owner, but hung dangling on the waving branch
of a large elm-tee Sallie had thrown it at a
erios bird's nest, built the year before by a
The children huted to see nste and bonnet
swinging together, high in air, on a tesleae
branch of the great elm.
"Let's fetch her down. Here goel" ex-
"limed Harry Thomson, sealing a stone at the
Te Baltimoe iole
unlucky bonnet. Sweet Jenny Brice seized
his arm, crying, "No, no; pray don't tear poor
Sallie' bonnet." The entreaty came too late.
The stone had gone right through the crown of
the old bonnet.
I don't care," shouted Salme, the old thing
is just it for a scarerow; it will frighten the
birds from your grandmother cherries, Jenny."
The elm stood on one side of Mrs. -Brice's
cottage, and on the other-side a large cherry-
tree spread itself over the low roof and suggest-
ed-the name of the cottage ;- hecrriot
"But you have no bonnet, Salie. What
will you do r" enquired Jenny, earnestly.
l Go bareheaded, and get a fine scolding,"
said foor Sale, as she was called, and off she
tarted, her long, dark hair streaming after her
like a cloud driven by the wind.
Sy this time other boys from school came
along, and seeing Harry Thomson throwing
stones at the bonnet, joined in the sport, until
it fel- to the ground, torn to tatters, but still
hanging together. -
Hurra for the scarecrow P' shouted Iarry
Thomeon, taking it up on the end of a small
rattan, which he sported for a cane, and scam-
pering of followed by a troofof noisy school
Poor Sallie I she is always getting into
trouble," thought Jenny Brice, as she opened
the little white gate and went through the
yard in front of Cherrcot.
SA neat cottage is no uncommon thing;
indeed cottages are oftentimes neater through-
out, than splendid mansions; but Mrs. Btiees
cottage was a model of neatness for the whole
village of Snowto. --Not a speck-or --eiled-
spot was ever seen on the flors or windows
not an atom of dust seemed to And its way
within the walls; yet there was nobody to keep
it in order but Mr. Brice and Jenny, with the
occasional help of Poll Dobson-and nobody
in the world to put it out of order.
(herricot boasted only two rooms and a
garret. One of these rooms was a large
kitchen, the other served for parlor d bed-
room; besides, a pleasant hall or entry a
staircase, led through throu -he cottage to a
little garden behind it.. The kitchen floor was
covered-with a nice green and red home-made
carpet; the dark mahogany tables and the
huge chest of drawers with its braes handles,
shone with the polish given by a century of
As Jenny stepped into the kitchen, Mrs.
Brice was hanging the tea-kettle over a bright
fire in a wide chimney place which spread half
across the side of the room. Those immense
chimney.-orners in which a whole family could
cuddle about the fire are now seldom seen.
Mrs. Brice, after many changes of abode, was
pleased at length to be sheltered in the same
nook where she'had climbed her father's knee,
before the American Revolution.
Oh grandma', grandma', yhy didn't you
wait till I came home exclaimed Jenny, I
can't bear to see you putting on the kettle,"
Mrs. Brice was lame, and as she held the
kettle in one hand, she leaned with the other
on an ivory-headed cane.
4" You are later -than usual, my child," aid
the grandmother, turning towards a tall,
mahogany clock in one corner of the room.
The dignified cloek,' a if politely answering
the enquiry, struck ai clear strokes.
Jenny then busied herself about setting tbh
tea-table, and as she did so told the pitifulstory
pf the old straw bonnet; as she ended, she
said," Poor Sallie 1 Mrs. Macer will give her
a dreadful scolding."
That will do little good to Sallie, though
she deserves correction. The girl is very care
less, and I suppose provokes Mrs. Macer to
anger," was the cool remark of the grand-
"But grandma', poor Sallie is -o generous
and good-hearted that I do love her dearly, and
I think Mrs. Macor is very cruel tp her."
Jenny had now spread the table and placed
upon it nice brown bread, yellow butter, cheese
and honey. She then poured tea into blue
china cups and sat down to the cheerful meal
with her venerable grandmother.
Mrs. Brice, seated in her large arm-chair by
the table, folded her hands and asked a bless-
Coarse as was her black dress, and plain as
was her muelin cap, any one accustomed to
observe manners, would have said that Mrs.
Brico had acquired habits of good breeding in
16 QufaES noNmmrs.
early life, which no change of outward cire n-
stances could destroy. Jenny's manners were
equally lady-like, though they had a peculiar
primness and old-fashioned ceremonionsnes,
caught from her grandmother.
While Mrs. Brice and Jenny were enjoying
their evening meal, a different scene might
have been witnessed at the other end of the
long street of the village.
THE tOL0D QTn.
Mas. Mxan rented a large parlor in an old
tnamble-down houee, which bad once upon a
time been the pride of Snowton. That time
was, however, long, long ago. Now, the main-
staircase had fallen down and all the tooms,
excepting Mrs. Macers, were in so dilapidated
a condition as to be uninhabitable. One old
lumber room under the eaves of the decayed
mansion was Sallies sleeping-room, to which
she ascended by a ladder.
The large parlor, according to the custom of
former times, had been shut up, excepting on
high days and holidays, and had,, therefore,
not fallen into the ruinous condition of the rest
of the house. The three windows in front
were broken and mended with putty and paper,
but still the heavy cqrnice showed here and
there that it had once beenrichly gilded, and
the carved mantel-piece had been the proud
work of some city artist. The dark, soiled
paper on the walls illustrated Cook's oyages,
and represented grops af savages, dancing,
fishing, or fighting-ships, bsats and canoes-
tall, tropical trees, and gorgeous fruits, flowers,
and birds. This paper gave a wild, strange
air to the apartment, which was not lessened by
its furniture. In one corner was a bed, and
before it a tall screen covered with Chinese
paper, representing a Chinese garden. The
only cupboard or close the room could boast
was a set of wooden shelves covered with an
old, tattered, damask curtain. Then there was
a dressing-table with a cracked looking-glass;
half a dozen chairs of different patterns and
sizes, and a ragged hair-cloth sofa. Dresses of
various colors and fabrics hung against the
wall, in friendly nearness to brooms, gridiron
Over the mantel-piece were two grim por-
traits, blackened with smoke, with their eyes
fiercely fixed upon the occupants of the room;
and over,them was suspended a strip of yellow
satin, upon which was embroidered in red
letters, Honor thy father and thy mother ;"
which motto was to inform the beholder that
these respectable personages were the parents
of Mrs. Macer.
That lady was reclining upon the aforesaid
ragged sofa, reading a greasy, yellow-covered
novel from the Circulating Library, when
Sallie rushed into the room and hastily closed
the door. She was heated with running, and
her face and clothing were covered with dust.
Mrs. Macer, without raising her eyes from
the book, exclaimed, Don't slam that door so
unmercifully I oh my poor, poor nerves I Hark I
what is all that hurrah about!"
Shouts of riotous merriment were heard, and
soon the school children, with Harry Thomson
at their head, were in front of the house, which
stood directly on the street. There was a
rattling at one window, and Mrs. Macer looked
up and saw the ragged remnants of Salle's
Sbonnet coming through a broken pane.
"I have mended your window," shouted
Harry Thomson, as he ran off, followed by the
whole noisy troop.
What is that, Salie 9" demanded Mrs.
Macer, pointing to the strange mending to the
My old bonnmt, ma'am"-and Sallie told
the whole story exactly as it happened; for
Sallie was truthful as the sen.
.Mr..-Macer started from the sofa in a fit of
anomebtary rage and boxed the girl's ears.
Sallie colored deeply, partly with anger and
partly from the effects of theoblow, but she did
not shed a single tear. She drew the torn
bonnet from the window and threw it on some
coals which lay upon the hearth, the fire
having nearly- gone out. Mrs. Macer had
resumed her place on the sofa, book in hand;
she tossed the book across the room and
snatched the bonnet from the hearth; as she
did sQ, the dry straw caught, blazed, and set
fire to Ahe sleeve of her gown. She dropped
the blazing makes and was running towards the
door. Sale, with wonderful presence of mind,
kicked the straw into the ire-place caught a
cloak -fipte wall and throwing it over Mre.
Macerextinguished the flame.
Oh you have spoiled my best cloak," ex-
claimed Mrs. Macer, as soon as she had thrown
off the garment, my beautiful blue cloak 1"
I have saved your life, marm," said Sallie,
as she saw a large hole in the gown, which had
caught from the sleeve.
But you have rained my cloak, my beloved
cloak," continued Mrs. Macer, examining the
lining of her blue silk cloak, which was of red
flannel. It was only slightly scorched. Whet
-that was ascertained, Mrs. Macer discovered
that her arn was burned. No sooner did
Sallie see that Mrs. Macer was suffering pain,
than the-anger she had felt was gone from her
generous heart, and she flew for cotton and oil
for the burn, and soon had it as nicely ban-
daged as the surgeon of the village could have
Sallie! Sallie your carelessness will be
the death of me yet," aid Mrs. Macer, still
smarting from the burn.
"You need supper; you are tired and
hnngr," replied Sallie kindly, "eat yourself o
the sofa, and I will get tea for you in a
Easier said than done, Sallie. The poor girl
had first to split wood with a dull axe from a
tough log, before she could make a fire. Then
there was only a sprinkling of tea-dust in the
tea-canister; there was no butter and only a
cruat of stale bread. So' Sallie was sent for
tea, sugar and butter, to the grocer's-and for
bread and teacakes to the baker's-without
money to pay for them-they must all be
charged on account.
Sallie soon came home with the tea, sugar
and butter-but the baker would not let her
have the bread and teaseakes, saying he could
not let Mrs. Macer have any more without she
paid up her account.
Mrs. Macer called the baker hard names and
said she would'patronize him no longer, Sallie
might go across the street to the new French
We.--I will, marm, if you will give me
Mrs. M--I haven't a penny in the house,
and shall not have one until next week; tell
him to charge Mrs. Macer with a loaf of bread
and a dozen teaocakes.
Sali.-He is a stranger-perhaps he will
not know who you are.
frs,. -aeer.-Tell him the lady could not
make the change this evening, but will send it
over to-morrow or next day.
This was a trying errand for a girl who
always told the plain truth; but Sallie ran
across the street
The new French'baker understood but little
English, but the bow-window in front of his
little shop filled with white rolls, twisted bread,
brown as a nut, and tempting tea-cake, proved
that he understood baking.
A little man in a red shirt and green baize
jacket, with a paper cap on his head, stood
behind the counter of the well-lighted shop.
So comical did he appear to Sallie, that for a
moment she forgot her errand and stood gazing
Come you for look at me I" said the French
baker--" I sharge you von cent for every wink
of your eye."
SNo, sir," said Sallie very humbly, I want
to buy a dozen teacakes and a loaf of bread."
Oh, dat is it Vish cake vill you have I'
Sallie pointed out the tea-cakes and the baker
counted out thirteen.
Only twelve," said Sallie
But I gib treize for de dozen, leetle miss."
And that loaf of bread," said Sallie, point-
ing to a twisted loaf.
Oui, oui ; yes, yes"
While the baker was putting up the bread
and cake in iice wrapping paper, Sallie was
troubled and frightened, and when be handed
them to her she stood silent, trembling from
head to foot.
De monies," said he, holding out his band.
SThe lady hasn't the money this evening,
but if you will trust her she will send it to you
in a few days.
No monies I Den na breads, nio cakes.
Gib dem to me."
"Bnt rCs. Maeer will certainly pay for
them," continued Sallie, the big tears rolling
over her cheeks.
- "Were lives do lady I"
Sallie pointed to the old tumble-down house
across the street. The baker looked at it and
shook his head; then he speered at Sallie with
his small twinkling grey eyes, and seemingly
quite disgusted with her dirty face and hands,
and still dirtier dress, hastily snatched the
parcel frofn her and replaced the bread and
cakes in the window.
The poor child sorely troubled, happened to
think of a plain gold ring she wore on her
"I wilfleave this ring with you," said she,
" till the lady can pay you the money."
Vell, veil, you vants de breads and de
cakes ver' bad, me tink-me keeps de ring;
ven you payez de monies, you hab him den."
Glad to succeed at any rate, Sallie hastened
home, and Mrs. Macer enjoyed her tea, bread
and cakes, without questioningpoor-Sallie how
she had obtained them.
W n Mrs. Macer was sipping her tea,
enjoying her supper, and at the same time
reading her novel, poor Sallie was sitting out
doors on a large stone. This stone stood by
the back door of the old house and served as a
" repentance stool" to the girl, when she had
- It was a cold evening in March, and there
sat Sallie in the midst of alhe midst of all the tub, pail,
brooms and tnops of the house, looking up at
the moon, ow her left shoulder. Great tear
went sparkling in its light over her cheeks, and
frequent sobs came from her troubled bosom.
Sallie when seated upon the repentance stone
frequently pitied herself, and gave vent to her
pity in words; she now exclaimed :
SAIALL BS tBPElSITRONS. 27
Poor me-poor me The moon over my left
shoulder-bad luck-bad luck! Friday, too I
no wonder I hav been so dreadfully unlucky
to-day. Oh dear, dear, dear I I ought not to
have let that ring go from my-inger---it-was
my own dear mother's wedding ring. How
well I remember whtn she gave it to me. It
was just as she was going to die. She put out
her leeae white hand and dropping it into mine
said, Don't ever part with that ring,'-and
then she said something Idon't quite remember,
about her name and my father's inside. Poor
me I she left me all alone in the world when I
'nlyfive or six years old. I remember the
great bed and the white curtains, and how cold
her hand felt when the ring slid off her thin
fnger into my fat hand." Here Sallie shud-
dered and sobbed violently. "I have always
kept the ring safe before, (you know I have,
mother,) and never put it on till last Friday.
Oh r, dear, dear, dear
Mrs. Macer now called Sallie to clear away
the table and tae and e her own supper, but Sallie
was too sorrowful to eat. Mrs. Macer was too
much absorbed in the last pages of her novel
to observe what the poor girl was doing, or that
she went to bed supperless.
Sallie did not consider that her present
troubles had come about of her own careless-
ness and thoughtlessness. If she bad not
thrown her bonnet at the bird's nest it would
not have been torn to pieces and threat in at
the window. If she had not thrown it in the
fire, Mrs. Macer would not ave been burnt
If Mrs. Macer had-not been burnt she might
have eaten the dry bread and drank weak te
for supper; or if she had not, Sallie under
other circumstances would not have parted with
the ring for Mrs. Macer's comfort. But Sallie
aid not reason thus; she always excused her
own carelessness, by calling it bad luck." It
is as silly a way, and perhaps as wicked, a; t
lay all the sins one commits to the devil, when
they originate in the heart,'and are deliberately
acted out in the life.
The roof of the old-fashioned house eloped
down behind to one low story, although it was
two stories in front. This story was now called
the back shed," and only ueed tor a wash
room; above was a gartre room, lighted by
one dormer window-a window which ran
out of the sloping roof so far, that it would
have given very little light even if the pines
of glass had all been whole, but as they were
more than half covered with paper, the blessed
light of day seldom penetrated into Sallie's
forlorn bedroom. 'rom one generation to
another; this garret had been the place where
decayed, useless furniture whichmight better
have been burnt,had been stored. -There were
tall, dark, looing-glass frames with broken bits
of mirror still in the comers-broken-backed
and broken-legged chair-dilapidated tables
with monstrous claw feet-high chests of
drawers with their brass handles still gleaming
from dark corners
The rats had long held undisputed possession
of this apartment when Sallie was placed there
with them as tenant in common;-there was
very little hope of their giving up their old
rights to the ,new comer. Poor Sallie, though
weary with work, and sleepy as all children
are, could not, for many weeks after she bad
occupied that dismal apartment, lose herself in
sleep for many miserable hours after she had
lain down in her wretched cot-bed. There she
would lie with her head under the bed-clothes,
breathing hard, and listening to the rate who
raced about the garret. Besides this, poor
Sallie was afraid of ghosts, and when the dim
light of the moon occasionally struggled
through the broken panes and fell upon those
tall lookingglass frames, Sallie shuddered with
terror and was ready to shriek with agony.
After awhile she became accustomed to
every object in the room, till at last she consid-
ered them good quiet friends who rendered her
room less lonely. The rats, too, as they never
harmed her, became a subject for frequent
speculation. She wondered what kind of a
life they led-how they found food wjen there
was such a scarcity of provisions in the house
-how they could climb up the old broken
ladder which led to her apartmnt-whether
their squealnugs were understood by each other
-and a multitude of other speculations.
When the wind blew violently, the bricks
from the tall old chimney would come rattling
down upon the roof-atnight, and Sallie would
then lie trembling #or hours, and her fear of
SAXaL'e BvFr'fXo1n'S. 31
ghosts would return. The tall looking-glasses
would again seem to her the spirits of the
departed, who still lingered where they had so
frequently looked in their life tine. Even in
broad daylight, Sallie was sometimes afraid to
arrange her hair before one of those same tall
dark frames, with its piece of broken glass at
the top, although it was her onlymirror. Poor
allie, in short, was painfully superstitious.
swnr JnEKn BnICE.
TeE cheerful contentment of Mrs. Brice's
fireside was truly beautiful. There sat the
dear old lady in her comfortable arm-chair,
knitting a pair of white cotton stockings for
By her stood a small round table on which
were two candles in bright brass candlesticks.
On a low seat the other side of the table, sat
Jenny Brice, braiding straw.
Was Jenny Brice pretty 9 asks the youthful
She was so constantly kind, affectionate and
obedient, and so industrious and cheerful that
there was no opportunity for an ugly expression
to ix itself upon her countenance. Ite winnlin
sweetness could not fail to please the beholder.
It is true that her light hair did not curl in
graceful ringlets, but it was kept combed and
brushed neatly, and the forehead over which it
was parted was smooth and fair. Her healthy
red lips, too, when moved by a smile, disclosed
a set of regular teeth, as pure and clean as the
inside of a cocoanut.
Grandma'," said Jenny, now please give
me a Bible picture to guess."
Let me think a moment," replied the
grandmother, allowing her knitting to rest for
a while-then resuming it, she said:-
Well : I see a fair and beautiful youth sitting
beneath a widespreading tree which shelters
him from the slanting rays of the rising sun.
A shepherd's crook and scrip (a small bag of
provisions for the day,) lie beside hin In front
of him the ground slopes gently toa wi
green meadow, where a lock of sheep are
feeding. Through this beautiful meadow winds
a clear rivet, with water-loving flowers and
drooping willows mirrored upon its smooth
surface. In the distance, are high dark moun-
tains with rough, broken passes between them.
Ah l the shepherd boy is playing on a simple
instrument of music something like a flageolet.
He lays it down upon the grass and looks
earnestly upon the fresh green meadow dotted
over with the white sheep. Now he lifts his
glistening eyes to Heaven and laying his hand
upon his heart, ays :
- 3"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not
want; he maketh me to lie down in green
pastures; he leadeth me by the still waters."
Oh grandma', grandma', I know-it was
David 1" exclaimed Jenny, What a beautiful
picture! Only think how that shepherd boy
became a mighty king I Do you think, grand-
ma', he was as happy when he lived in his
splendid palace as he was when he made that
sweet psalm ?"
I do not think he was ; but God called him
from following the sheep to be a king, and
although his taste and genius rendered a mag-
nificent palace a fit habitation for him, I do not
think he ever slept as sweetly there, aW he did
in the homely dwelling of his father, for"
SUneasy lies tohe hbe that wears a crown. '
I would not like to be a queen," said Jenny,
If the good Providence of your Heavenly
Father bad called you to that estate, you would
have been obliged to do your duty in it, as you
now do in the humble condition which He has
mercifully allowed to you. The trials of pro-
perity are often more difficult to endure with a
Christian spirit than those of adversity."
"Oh how thankful I ought to be I have
everything I want-excepting"-here Jenny
S"What is the exception, my dear child V"
"I should like to buy poor Sallie a new
bonnet', replied Jenny, with some hesitation,
" and you know, grandma', I have not the
money to spare. The braid that I am to sell
will only buy a spring bonnet for myself, and
pay for our next quarter's sugar and tea."
Sallie is a careless, idle girl," said Mrs.
Brice, with some severity.
But then hee has no good grandmother
I have, to teach her to do right. I am sure I
can't help pitying her," and the two bright
tears that fell upon Jenny's straw, were more
precious in the sight of angels than diamonds
She deserves pity, poor thing, replied
Mrs. Brice, in a softened tone of voice. What
would you wish to -do, my own Jenny "
I have been thinking that I could go with-
out tea and sugar for the next three months,
and then I could buy Sallie a bonnet."
The old lady took off her spectacles and
wiped them-they had suddenly grown dim-
she wiped her eyes, too, for they were troubled
for the moment with moisture.
Mrs. Brice did not praise Jenny for this act
of self-denial, but simply said, the money you
earn is your own, do with it as you like; only
I advise you to buy Sallie a plain un-bonnet."
Thank you, thank you, grandma,'" said
Jenny, as her fingers flew more nimbly over
the straw she was braiding.
When the tall clock ruck nine, the work
was laid aside, and TJenyspiead the large
Family Bible upon the table.
You may read one of David's Psalms to-
night, Jenny; one which he probably wrotb
when he was a king-the forty-first psalm.
W. BwT Jnfr r Mnom. 8T
And Jenny read, Blessed is he that consid-
ereth the poor; the Lord will deliver hi in
time of trouble," &c.
Then they knelt together, and the grand-
mother devoutly offered up the Evening Prayer.
Sweet and refreshing was the sleep, that fol-
lowed their peaceful, loving good night."
mTo onm-A. anaK JG.
SATun never went to school on Saturday;
that was the day for putting things to rights,"
according to Sallie's phraseology-the day for
" redding up," as Mrs. Macer termed it.
Mrs. Macer's arm did not prove badly burnt,
but it was a sufficient apology for lying all day
on the sofa, and for reading another novel.
When Sallie was ordered to go for it to the
Oirculating Library, a mile off, she said,
What am I to do for a bonnet, marnre"
Put your apron over your head and run as
fast as you can," replied Mrs. Macer, butfirst
climb up to the top of those shelves and hand
me the large band-box there. Ill find you a
bonnet for o to-rrow though you don't deserve
Sallie, with the aid of two chairs, climbed to
thetop of tho high shelves covered with the
tattered crimson curtain, and on-the-tOpmost,
seized hold of a dusty band-box. Down it
tumbled to the floor, and out rolled china and
glass-ware, artificial flowers, bonnet, &c., &c.
Crash went cologne bottles and wine-glasaes.
t ever was there so careless a hussey, on
earth," exclaimed the angry 1adg out of my
Sallie gladly obeyed; threw a dirty apron
over hher ead and ran off to the Circulating
Library, with Harry Thomson and half a dozen
other school-boys in fall chase, crying,
Poor Sallie I Poor Sallie Where did you
get your nice veil P'
Mrs. Macer found, on 'examnation, that
nothing had been broken but two cologne
bottles, and three or four wine glasses.
Not so bad after all p" she said to herself;
but Sallie shall wear this fright of a bonnet
-to pay for it' And,Mrs. Macer shook the dust
from an immense purple velot Bnztet,,vita
a forepiece like a huge coal-scuttle. Mrs.
Macer laughed outright at the contrast between
this once fashionable bonnet and the one she
was now wearing, with scarcely any forepiece
at all. To add to the ugliness of the purple
velvet bonnet, there were several yellow stains
upon it, and abifneb of forlorn artificial flowers
on one side of the crown.
Mrs. Macer straitened out the crooked wire,
and chuckled over the idea of how poor Sallie
would look under that immense scoop. She
then gathered up the contents of the band-box,
and in spite of her burnt arm, replaced it on
the topmost shelf.
When Sallie returned with the novel she-was
surprised to fnd Mrs. Macer in good humor
She made no allusion to the fall of the band-
box, but seizing the book, was soon so entirely
lost in it contents, as not to notice the stir tlt
was going on in her best parlor.
Sallie, in order to "put things to rights,"
whirled everything out of place, in most mar-
vellous confusion. The old Brussels carpet was
ragged and dirty, and the broom being worn
down to a stump, raised clouds of dust which
settled over the confused heaps of clothing,
cooking utensils and furniture promiscuously
heaped together. Mrs. Macer now and then
coughed, as the dust found its way to her
throat, but did not seem aware of the cause.
Sallie was very much given to speculation.
" Where on earth does all this dirt come
from 1" thought she. It does seem as if some
spiteful being scattered it about this house, just
to plague m. I do believe the house is
haunted by a dirt-spirit."
After several hours of hard work, the various
articles which had been turned out of their
resting-places were restored in nearly the same
condition that they were before, exceptig that
the dust from the carpet was now copiously
sprinkled over them.
"TNow I will dab up the hearth and scour
the handirons with sand, and then we shall be
all ready for Sunday," muttered Sallie to her-
Oh, yes; to-morrow is Sunday," aid Mrs.
Macer, catching the last word; Salie you
may black my shoes; and darn my silk stock-
ings, and wash out a collar and pair of cufs,
and see hat you starch and iron them
Saie.-Yes, marm; after dinner I can do
those chores. It is dinner-time now.
Mrs. Mfacer.-I shall have dinner and tea
allie.-It is very well that you do, marm,
for we haven't a mite of anything in the house
but what is left from our breakfast.
fre. Afaaxr.-I wish you would not inter-
rapt me in the most interesting part of my
book. Go on about your business, and when
I have finished this horrible story, I will have
The poor girl was tired and hungry, she
sighed heavily and went on with her work.
In about two hlaus after, Mrs. Macer, having
finished the book, said she had a ravenous
appetite and Sallie must run to the grocer's
for two pounds of ham.
Salliehad not gone far when she came up with
Jenny-~rice, going the same way, and walking
very slowly, with a china bowl in her hands.
&alid--How d'ye ddenny I What makes
you creep along so
Jeony.-I am afraid of spilling this hot
, Sale .-Hot gruel I Where are you going
with your gruel, darling & -And what have you
got in that sweet little basket 9
J t y-I am going to see poor Mrs. Malony.
She is very ill.
SaZie.-And the little basket has in it some-
thing nice for Mrs. Malony.
Jamnn.-Only two oranges and a few apples.
Will you have one, Sallie. Help yourself, if
you will, for I cannot let go the bowl.
SaUie.-Me! take an orange or an apple
from a poor, sick woman 1 Why, Jenny Brice,
do you take me for a glutton I
Jeny.-Oh, no, Salie; indeed I do not;
yon are quite welcome to take one, if you will;
grandma' has more laid byfor the sick.
&Zlie.-M. Macer says your grandmother
is a stingy woman; I don't-believe a word of
Jtny.-Thank you for that, Sallie. My
grandma' is industrious and economical; but
she is generous, too. Every Saturday she lew
44 QUEEIZ INES- ----I
something to give away, though she is not
SaZe.-Oh dear, dear, I wish I had a good
grandmother. I haven't anybody in the world
to love me, Jenny.
Here the roads they were going parted, and
Sallie having lingered with Jenny, ran as fast
as she could, to make up for lost time-r
Jenny soon came to- a miserablelooking
shanty, with oiuly one window in front, with old
hate and rage in place of the broken window-
panes, leaving but little space for the blessb d
light of heaven to penetrate into the abode of
sickness and sorrow.
Jenny put down the china-bowl and gently
tapped at the door.
A feeble voice said, Oome in."
As Jgnny entered the shanty, the ame feeble
voice said, And is it my blessed angel F in a
rich Irish brogue, which itwould be impossible
Jenny walked up to the low bed in one
corer of the wretched apartment, and asked
kindly, How are you to-day, Mrs. Malony I"
.rsA. lalony.-Full of pains from the top-
most hair of my head, down to the very ends
of my ten toes. Tossing to and fro all night,
just as I did in the surf, Miss, when I came
hero from my own darling country.
JenW.-Can you take some of grandma's
.- Are. Malony.--Oh yes, honey ; it does me
more good noifinl the 'potecary stuffing the uni-
Jenny now arranged the pillows for the sick
woman, and fed her with the grel. When
she had taken it, Jenny sat down by the bed-
side, took a little Bible from her pocket, and
read a part of the fifteenth chapter of St. Luke
-the Parable of the Prodigal Son.
Ah, my darling," said Mrs. Malony, you
don't know what it is to be like that naughty
boy who had to chew corn husks, with the pigs.
What have you got in the little basket ?"
Jenny took out the oranges and apples, and
laid them on the bed within reach of Mrs.
You are an gel, very bit an angerel said
she, eagerly selsing one of the oranges.
JvTny.-Don't say that, Mrs. Malony, wear
all like the prodigal son; all have wandered
from our Father in Heaven, and need forgive-
ness-' -"Jenny sighed heavily. It was mourn-
ful to see the woman passing away from earth
without hopes of a better world.
Oh, you are so kind to me, and I have been
a wicked body, a dreadful wicked body," said
the woman, 'with some emotion. Perhaps
you would not be so Hind to me, you sweet
child, if you could know what a sinner I am."
Jenny.-That would not make me less kind
to you, now. Grandma' says we must hate the
sin and not the sinner. If you are truly sorry
for your sins, God will forgive you for Christ's
sake. You can pray to God for-pardon, be-
cause Christ died to save sinners, even the chief
Mrs. Mfalony.-P-ray II never pray.
Jenny.-Why not, 3r3 Mfalony
Mrs, Maony-BoccauseI don't know how.
I haven't seen the inside of a church since I
was a little girl, and I have forgotten all the
Jniny.-EB you can say, C God be merciful
to me a sinfler.
ArTe. 3azo.-Yes, Miss, I can say so with
my tongue, but somehow it won't come from
the deep of my heart.
Jenny looked very sad, and rose to go.
Stay a bit," said the woman, "-can't you
just kneel down, and say your prayers, and I
will try to keep along with you."
I can offer the prayer which our blessed
Saviour taught his disciples," said Jenny.
And she knelt down and slowly and solemnly
said the Lord's Prayer; the woman repeat-
ing it after her.
When Jenny rose from her knees, Mrs.
Malony said, Ah, that is the same beautiful
prayer that I knew when I was a little child-
it has come back to me now, and I shall say it
over and over again, in the long, dark nights,
when sleep never comes to my eyes. And that
other bit of a prayer, what is it ?"
Jeny.-God be merciful to me a sinner, for
Jesus Christ's sake. "
As Jenny was about to leave, Mrs. Malony
groaned aloud-" Oh, do, do come often and
talk to me about these things, for it mnay be-
it may be-that Death"-she couldesay no more
48 Q4UEE BONvBs.
-she had never before spoken of the probabil-
ity that this sickness would be her last.
Jenny trembled and turned pale, but she
said kindly, will come, and I will ask our
clergyman to come and pray with you."
Jenny left, followed by an earnest God bless
you, darling," from the miserable woman.
THe PURrLE VnVBr BONNET.
M~I. -MAo always made great preparations
for going to church. Not by reading, prayer
and meditation at home, that she might profit
by public worship; oh, no; her preparations
were of an entirely different chaacter; they
were outside preparations.
Though full forty years of age, she dressed
like a silly girl of sixteen, whose only care is to
load on as many gay things as possible. She
stood before the broken looking-glass for a full
hour, curling her fals hair, and dressing it in
a way which she alone of all the world, consid-
ered becoming. Then she puton her china-
pink bonnet with its three black feathers out-
side, and its yellow artificial Ifowere inside, and
then she tossed her head this way, and the
feathers waved, and that way, and the feathers
waved again, to her entire satisfaction. XIad
any one asked Mrs. Macer, at that moment,
what she thought the most important thing in
the world, she mighthave answered with truth,
-" a bonnet."
S-Being fully equipped in her red changeable
silk, with her blue cloak thrown over it, she
took her lilac sunshade in her hand, and, bear-
ing a striking resemblance to a walking rain-
bow, tipped along to the door. Just then she
remembered that Sallie must go to church, too.
She stepped back ad said, Get ready quick,
or you will be late."
Saiie.-What am I to do for a bonnet
Mrs. t.-There's your bonnet, I laid it out
last night, after you were in bed.
Sallie looked where Mrs. Macer pointed, and
saw only an old shawl-but under it was the
iMrs-. Macar.-Put it on quick.
a1aie.-lut I have no clean frock.
Ats. Maoer. -Never mind, take off your
dirty apron, and put on that shawl, it will
cover you up. Besides, you Ait in the gallery,
and nobody will see you. There goes the bell.
Mrs. Maeer did not listen to Sallie's entreaty.
"Please, marm, don't make me wear that corn-
fan on my head; the boys will all laugh at
me I"-she only hurried her the more, got her
out of the house, and locked the door.
Poor Sallie lagged behind, holding down
her head, while hot tears ran over her cheeks.
She had learned of her mistress to consider a
bonnet a very important concern.
When she came to the church steps, shefound
them filled, as is usnal in country churches, by
a crowd of young men and boys, who wait
there to gaie at the people as they go in, and
make remarks on them.
Harry Thomson whispered to one of his
companions, "there' comes poor Sallie with a
canoe on her head."
There was a general laugh at Sallie'i ex-
pense, a she flew up the steps; her appearance
was ridiculous, bnt not so much so in reality as
that of Mrs. Macer, who had just preceded her,
with tossing head and affected, mincing gait,
yet even the place and the day could scarcely
keep the boys from hooting at Sallie, though
they made their best bows to her mistress.
It is doubtful which heard the most of the
services of that holy day, the mistress in the
middle-aisle pew, or poor Sallie in a remote
corer of the gallery.
-The lady sat among the rich and respectable,
noticing their dress and manner; especially did
she scrutinize a family in the next pew, who
had lately come to Snowton to reside, and now
appeared in church for the first time.
Sallie crept into a corner of the gallery,
bearing her pent-house of a bonnet on her
head, as a snail does his house, but not with
the same satisfaction. Ter tormentors, the
boys, had taken a seat near her, and their
whispering and gigglingreached her ars. But
Sallie did not sit long alone. A harmless,
half-crazed woman, known to all the villagers
as silly Poll," came and sat beside her. Fix-
ing her gr kre laclustre eyes upon Sallie, she
whispered, "What a nation pretty bonnet
you've got on to-day-it must have taken a
power of cloth to make it."
"Be still, 1oll, don't you know yon are in
church," said Sallie, beseechingly.
I have been ther s and atill would go;
'Ti lik a ite heave below,"
repeated Poll, whose bewildered brain was fall
of odds and ends of poetry.
Sallie sat trembling with fear, expecting
every moment Poll.woud speak out and startle
the congregation. For awhile she sat quiet;
then she stood up on the bench and stretched
her long neck so as to look over the gallery
into the body of the church; catching sight of
Mrs. Macer she settled herself down again, and
in a loud whisper, which sounded along the
gallery, said :
"Many men of many amnds,
Many bird of many kinds.
"The parrot below is iner than the poor
gosling above" \
Harry Thomson and his companions giggled,
so loudly that the sexton came to them and
shaking his fist, threateningly, sat down in the
pew behind them. This did not prevent their
laughter; they shook as though they were
seized with ague fit.
What ails you, Harry Thomson," he said,
laying his hand on the boy's shoulders. Harry
pointed toward Poll Dobson.
There sat the half-witted woman, pining a
piece of red flannel to the crown of Sallie's
bonnet, which she had already ornamented
with a long streamer of yellow quality-binding.
The sexton immediately went to Poll, and
gently led her out of church.
Ballie, who had been sitting with her face
covered with both hands, was greatly relieved,
and totally unconscious that she had been ren-
dered more ridiculous through PolPs mischief.
When church was over, Sallie waited till she
thought the people had all gone, but when she
got down the gallery-stairs, there, on the front
steps, were her persecutors, the boy, waiting
to see her go out. Sallie drew back, and stood
upon the stairs, keeping vehemently.
At this moment Jenny Brice, who had
-waited to speak to the clergyman about Mrs.
AMalony, saw Sallie, and was at firt ready to
smile at the strange apparition, but overcoming
this temptation, she said, very kindly, What
ails you, Sallie ?
I am afraid to go out of church, because
the boys laugh so, at this awful bonnet."
Don't be frightened, Sallie, the bonnet
wouldn't be so ayful without the red and
"'Rcd and yellow trimming 1 pray tale it
off." Jenny un d t pinned the trappingswith ic
Poll had adorned Sallie, and then taking her
arm, said, Come, don't be afraid ; I will wafk
home with you."
Jenny Brice, you are the best girl that ever
lived on earth-I don't see how yon can have
so little pride, when you are so nice and
Jnny.-Don't say that, didn't you hear
what our good pastor said to-day, about humil-
Sal4e.-NTo; I did not hear one word of the
sermon. I hopo Mrs. Macer did, though, for
she ought to take it soundly.
"We should all hear for ourselves" said
Jenny, as she was passing the boys on the
steps, who were amazed and silenced, by seeing
56 QuEnc xoaNearas /
" sweet Jenny Brice" walking arm and arm
with poor Sallie."
SI understand this," said Harry Thonmon;
" Jenny Brice is practising-on the preaching."
TnB DISTRIcT saOHOOL
NoT go to school, Sallie I the very day of
all others when I can best spare you."
It was Monday morning; Poll Dobson's
washing-day for Mrs. Macer; that silly person
was standing by the back door, with her head
poked in, to see what was going on.
I don't wish to go to school any more,"
said Sallie, dreading to encounter the ridicule
of the boys.
You can't say you have no bonnet to wear,
for I gave you one yesterday," said Mrs.
There wa a little mum,
And he wooed a little maid,
And he maid, little maid &c.
The least said, is the soonest amended-ded-
ded," repeated Poll, with a low chuckling
sound, meant for a laugh.
"H ush your nonsense, and mind your own
business, Poll. Go to school this instant,
Salle; you never refused to obey me before,
you impudent thing."
Sallie threw her apron over her head, ran out
of the house, and stopped not, even to take
breath, til she reached the school-house.
Ho I Here's Madam Blazeaway 1" said
Harry Thomson-" Whore's your gunboat?"
Just then a handsome carriage, drawn by
two iron-grey horses, stopped before the school-
bouse door. A gentleman in a blue coat and
buff vest alighted, and handed out a fat, cinmsy
girl, about thirteen years old.
The master, Mr. Hollister, came to the door
to receive te he rangers. The gentleman, who
introduced himself as Mr. Newton, had come
into possession of Fairbank, a beautiful resi-
dence near the village of Snowton. This is
my niece, Evelina Anderion,"said Mr.Newton,
t I uderndtand the district school is an excel-
lent one, and, indeed, the only one in this part
of the country; and I have brought my nieco
to place her under your instruction. I am sorry
to say you will find her rather backward; her
early education has been much neglected."
Mr. Hollister cast his eye upon the very
elegantly-dressed young miss, and then upon
Sallie, who stood, bareheaded and nearly bare-
footed by the door, and he said; "You are
aware, sir, that this is a commn school, and
within the precincts over which I rule, there is
no superiority, excepting what is fairly earned
by goodbehavior and good scholarship. shall
endeavor to do my duty by your niece. It is
time for my school to open. Good morning,
An independent fellow, this," thought Mr.
Newton, as he stopped into his carriage, but
I like him."
Mr. Hollister showed the new scholar to a
seat, placing her beside Jenny Brice. As he
did so, he said:
Jenny,this is Evelina Anderson ;-I know
you will do everything in your power to mal
our school pleasant and'profitable to her."
Jenny reddened at this compliment from her
teacher, and smiled kindly on the new scholar.
It was the custom at the Snowton school, for
theechildren to bring their dinners, and have a
short intermission. The master dined at a
house in the neighborhood.
Evelina opened her well-filled dinner-basket,
and devoured its contents with great relish. As
she did so she made various enquiries about the
Jvetina.-Who is that distressed looking
girl sitting alone in the corner
Jensy.-She goes by the name of "poor
Eeina,.-Where does she live ?
Jedn.-With Mrs. Macer, a. lady who
resides in the main street of our village.
-vetac..-Don't the lady give her any
dinner she looks half-starved.
Sallie was slenderly formed, with uncom-
monly small hands and feet, and was now more
than usually pale.
Je~ry-I am afraid poor Sallie is often
hungry. As she said this, she slid a piece of
bread and butter and an apple under her apron,
from her own dinner-basket, and went across
te room to Sallie. She sat down by her, and
entreated her to take what she had brought.
Meantime, Evelina Anderson, not liking to
be left alone, followed Jenny, and found her
whispering to Sallie.
Come back to your seat, Miss Jenny Brice,
it is' not polite to leave me alone," said the
rll come in a minute," replied Jenny, but
I have a few more words to say to Sallie."
You need not mind that dirty girl," whis-
pered Evelina, so loud that Sallie could Aot
help hearing; I shouldn't think you would
speak to her P"
Sallie hid her face and cried bitterly.
Can't you give me an apple, too" contin-
Jenny.-I am sorry I haven't another for
Sali-e.-Take this, miss; I don't want it.
And Evelina took it-took the apple from
poor Sallie, who had had no dinner.
Jeny.-Don't cry, Sallie; I will walk home
with you after school; and then I will tell you
what I was going to, just now.
Then turning to Evelina, and walking with
her to her seat, she said, by way of apology
for Sallie's untidy appearance, Sallie did not
purpose to come to school this morning; she
left- home in a great hurry, and looks worse
than usual. You will be surprised to find what
a good scholar she is. Mr. Hollister says she
is-one-of the smartest girls to learn, that he
ever had in school."
But I should think it an awful disgrace to
walk in the street with her, as you promised
to," said Evelina Anderson, as she munched
the apple the poor girl had given her.
"T No disgrace for me," replied Jenny, for I
am not rich; besides, Sallie is so generous and
kind, that I really love her."
Love her, indeed I I don't see how anybody
can love such a poor, dirty girl."
Evelina Anderson looed apples.
By this time the master had returned, and
conversation was at an end.
It was true that Sallie was a bright scholar,
and, although her advantages for education
had been few, yet she was able to keep up in
the classes with the girls of her own age, and
the master, who encouraged merit wherever he
found i, was pleased to cultivate her bright
When school was over, Mr. Newton's car-
riage was waiting at the door, for Evelina An-
derson. The schooLchildren stood looking at
it, with eye and ns, and moths, oo, wide open.
Come, Jenny Brice, get in and ride home
with me; I want to see where you live," said
6 I thank you," said J'nny, you remember,
I promised to walk home with Sallie."
"Nlever mind that, you can walk home with
her, any time, and you can't always ride with
mo, by a great deal."
Jenny.-I have promised, you know, I can't
break my word."
Jump in, jump in; Jenny," said Harry
Thomson, I dare sayyou never was in a close
carriage in your life, and, perhaps, you'll never
have another chance."
Jenny shook.her head and-ran back into the
school-room to Sallie, while the carriage rolled
The poor girl was waiting till the other
children should be out of the way,
"Sallie, I observed this morning that you
came to school withoutrany bonnet," said the
master, you must not do it again; I am sorry
you are so careless"
She couldn't help it, sir," said Jenny, she
has a great many troubles that she can't men-
tion. Here Sallie, take my bonnet, and I will
wear my green veil over my head."
"No; no; I will not do that, Jenny; I do
not care how I look. If you go with me, the
boys will not throw mud at me. -
Throw mud at you I Let me catch them,
and I will punish them severely ;" said the
master, as he turned the key of the school-
Jenny threw the green veil over Sallie'
head, and they walked off together, arm in
arm, while 'Mr. Hollister' eye followed them
with pride, as he thought, "There go two of
my best scholars, my very best; what a pity it
is that poor Sallie is an orphan; yet so it has
been ordered by Providence, for wise and be-
nevolent purposes, which we know not now,
but may kno'whereafter."
When the girls arrived at the old elm, where
the deserted bird's nest was still hanging,
Jenny said Come in, Sallie, grandma'wants
to see you."
Jenny opened the gate, but Sallie hung back,
saying, I am afraid of your grandmother."
Jenny.--How strange, Sallie! why should
you be aframdtf her ? You wouldn't be if yon
had ever seen her, she is so good and kind.
allie.-But then she is so neat and particu-
lar, I am afraid she will scold at-me.
Jeny.-No, she will not; I -have told her
all about your misfortunes, and she pities you."
SaiUie.-Well, then, I will come in; and if
she gives me a scolding, I will not be mad, one
bit, for your sakeomy own pretty Jenny.
Sallie threw the green veil over a rose-bush
in the yard, and went in after Jenny.
The poor girPs wiry hair had not that day
felt the touch of brush or comb; it was frizzled
and tangled, for it was its nature to curl, and
required much care to keep it in order. The
salt tears that had streamed over her cheeks
were the only water that had touched them
that day, and they had left streaks which were
still visible, Her small hands were red and
soiled, and ornamented with ten black nails.
And thus stood, Sallie, ragged and dirty,
before the dreaded rs. Brice ; there shestood,
slender and erect, with downcast eyes, blush-
ing face, and lips slightly pointing, displaying
to the keen eye of Mrs. Brice, extreme mortifi-
-cation, mingled with fear.
C" Make a ncrtesy to grandma'," whispered
Jenny, who stood beside her humble friend.
Sallie made a sudden little jerk downward,
of about two inches, and rose bolt upright in a
twinkling; Jenny could scarcely keep from
laughing at this courtesy, but her habitual good
manners overcame the temptation.
"Sallie, I have so frequently heard Jenny
speak of you, that I wished to see you. I am
-sorry -y owere so careless with your bonnet.
Jenny has bought you the materials for an-
other, and I have made it, to-day. I hope you
will take better care of this, than you did of
Mts. Brice then handed Sallie a neat sun-
bonnet, made ofblue gingham.
"Thank you, amarm," said Sallie, without
reaching out her hand, I don't like to take it,
when I have never done anything for you."
It is Jenny's, gift" said Mrs. Brice, 'quite
surprised, and although you have not yet
found an opportunity to do anything for me,
the time may coe ; they who wish to do good
to others, seld m fail to find opportunities.
You are perfectly welcome to th bonnet; you
may go now."
Sallie put on the bonnet, made another quick
little courtesy, and was out of the house in a
minute. Jenny followed-
She is a dear old lady," said Sallie, "'bow
kind to make this bonnet for met I never
remember to have had an entirely new bonnet
before. And you, Jenny, to buy the pretty
blue gingham I What a comfort it is, that
there are some good folks left in this hard
Remember what grandma' told ~t about
being careful," said Jenny, as Sallie Went out
68 E l a o aoETms.
Certainly, I will; how cau I help it V"
Jenny now spied e een the green veil on the roe-
bush. She tried to pull it off; but the thorns
held it tightly, and it was some time before she
could get it free; with ull the care she could
take there were several rents in it. "I do wish
my dear grandma' had brought up poor Sallie,"
rnO ESOCH DAKEB.
WaN Sa"lle reached home, Mrs. Macer was
in fine spirit. She had received her half
yearly allowance, and one hundred dollars be-
sides, which had been unexpectedly paid by an
old debtor of her deceased husband. Mrs.
Macer was the widow of an army officer, living
on a small pension. She had left the town
where she belonged, becanee she was deeplyin
debt, andd had come to Snowton, for the sake oi
Mrs. Macer.was so much exhilirated by her
unexpected good luck," as she termed it, as
to'have quite forgotten her anger with Sallie.
She had been around and paid her debts in
Snowton, and had fifty dollars to spare, for the
next half year-an uncommon thing for her;
for, notwithstanding the necessity for economy,
she was still extravagant.
L Go over to theFraench baker's, Sallie," said
Mrs. Macer, and pay for the trifle you bought
there. Tell him I will patronie him, aid open
Sallie ran across the street, delighted with
the opportunity to get back her beloved ring.
Batie.- ere's the money for the broad and
cakes; I want my ring.
The baker took the money, looked in a drawer
under the counter, and shook his head till the
BaUie.-Please give me my ring.
renoem~n.-Yonr ring; oui, mais, I forgets
vere I puts him. I got hurries now; I finds
him noder time.
Oh, I must have it now; I must, I must,"
said Sallie, entreatingly.
No such ting-I got hurries-go, go."
But still ll Sallie entined, beseechingly,
" Please, let me have it."
'" Yell, I vill; noder time-I neber steals
nor sheate-go, now."
"But Mrs. Macer whnts to open an account
"Vell; I-try her one month, and den she
must payez me. Run now, vast, vast.
Sallie went home sorrowful. As she crossed
the street she met Poll Dobson, going from her
The crashed creature pointed at the new'ging-
ham bonnet, and said,
a Wh en I as a littlee girl, I had bt httle wit,
It's a long time ageo and I have no more yit,
Nor ever, ever shall, until thatI di,
For the longer I liwn the more fool a I ;
Take care, Sallie, you don't have to say that
from your own experience."
Sallie did not answer, but she thought," Poll
ismoretahalf a witch ; she always hit mein
a tender spot, and I do believe knows whazI am
thinking about. It is awful to feel that an evil
spirit helps her" And Sallie looked over her
shoulder as though some unearthly thing were
following her, while Poll walked off nodding
her silly head, saying :
l Hoity, toity I oity toity I Not so smart
after all, poor Sallie, as you was yesterday."
TME BLUE GINGHAM )bZONE.
Tun next morning, Sallie made herself as
neat as she could, before going to school, and
put on with great pleasure, the blue gingham
6" Why, where in the name of wonder did
yon get that new bonnet exclaimed Mrs.
aise,-M.r. Brice made it for me.
- 3&r. r-Have yon been complaining to
that stingy old woman
Sallie.-No, marm; I never saw her till last
Fre. A t-I have a great mind to send it
lak. What right has she to be giving things
to my servant I I will show her that I don't
need her charity. She thinks herself mighty
generous, no doubt. Go to school. I wish I
hadn't agreed to send you to school, though, for
its a constant botheration. Anyhow, you've
only a few quarters more to go, and you may
as well make the best of them."
Sallie stept out the door with her left foot
first; she was going back to try and put her
right foot over the threshold first, hut just then
she saw Jenny Brice with a large parcel under
Where are you going, Jenny P' said Sallie,
"let me carry that big bundle for you."
Jenny,-Bridget Malony is dead, and I am
goipg to carry the grave-clothes to lay her out
&alle.-Grave clothes I Oh Jenny, Twouldn't
touch them for the world. T knew some bad
lack was coming when I stepped my left foot
out the door this morning.
Jenny.-But it is no misfortune,.to you,
Sallie, that Bridget Malony is released from
pain and suffering.
&Saie.-Coming so near grave-clothes is lAB
luck. 1 should expect, if I touched them, to
see Mrs. Malony's ghost every night of my
JeMnny--Oh Sallie, you who are so generous,
would not refuse to carry the clothes for a poor
dead woman to be laid out in I Good morn-
ing. I shall not beat school, to-day ; for I am
to sit by the corpse till the women come to put
on these grave-clothes.
Jenny hastened onward, while Sallie stood
for- some time, stock still, looking after her;
then she slowly turned and walked towards
school, saying to herself:
Sit by a corpse I shan't feel like coming
near Jenny Brice for a month to come. What
a strange girl she is I She isn't afraid of any
thing-under the sun. -Can it be because she is
so good V I wish I was like her?'
When Jenny reached the miserable shanty
where Bridget Malony had lived, she knocked
at the door, but no one bade her enter. She
softly opened it. All was silent within. Jenny
walked lightly up to the bed; there lay the
remains of the woman, stretched on a board,
and covered with a sheet. Over the face
was a thin muslin handkerchief. Jenny had
never before seen the mortal remains of a
human being, after the departure' of the spirit.
With solemn awe she lifted the light covering,
and looked on the countenance, so fixed apd.
rigid, and yet so calm and peaceful, No traces
of anguish were there. Jenny laid her hand
on the forehead. It ws icy cold ; she shrank
back with an involuntary shudder, and replaced
the handkerchief over the face. Then she laid
the grave-clothes on the bed, and seated herself
on the other side of the room to wait Tor the
women, who had promised to perform the last
kind offices for their poor neighbor.
Soon after, the clergyman came in with
them, and having given some directions about
the funeral, he took Jenny by the hand, and
He told Jenny of his visit to Mrs. Malony
on Sunday. She had learned to pray," said
he, not only to use the words you taught her,
Jenny, but to plead for pardon in the most ear-
nest and heart-thrilling manner. She died, at
last, after severe struggles, both of body and
soul, with the prayer on her lips, God be
merciful to me a sinner.' My dear child," con-
16 QUEER BOifETB.
tinned the good man, you will meet with
many discouragements in your efforts to do
good, but remember poor Bridget Malony with
gratitude, and take heart; for God will bestow
his blessing on your pious endeavors?'
AoAnr it was Saturday, and Sallie was hard
at work, while the usual preparations for Sun-
day were going on at Mrs. Macer's. Thatlady
had determined to show off her generosity, to
mortify Mrs. Brice for daring to bestow a gift
on poor Sallie.
A new bonnet had come from the milliner's
-a bright pink silk, with coarse artificial
flowers on the outside-a flaunting head-dress,
unsuitable for Sallie, or for any one else.
Mrs. "Maeer was herself trying on a new
spring bonaet before the lookingnglass. What
sort of a young lady is Miss Evelina Andersn,
aWde.-She is about as old as I am, I sap-
.Mrs. dX-How does she dress f How does
she look t How does she act
s&zlie.-She dresses in fine clothes; she looks
very proud, and she aefs like a hungry school-
~TMs. Macf.-Yon are saucy, Sallie; answer
me as you ought. Is she handsome
Samlie.-She don't look as pretty as sweet
a3T. Atf-JennyBricc! nothing but Jenny
Brice 1 You think that girl is an angel wih-
alie.-I am s am r e m v glad she hasn't
any wings, for I couldn't bear to have her fly
to heaven, where she more naturally belongs,
than to this naughty world. -
Mrs. MacD.-Do you know her grandmother
is poor, proud, and singy ?
Sallie started up from the hearth she had
been scouring, flourished the old scrubbing
brush in her hand, and said, very emphatically:
Mrs. Brice pays for everything she buys,
and is not sopoor but what she always Lha
something to give to folks who are poorer than
herself; and she oes give; therefore she isn't
stingy. If the good lady is proud herself, she
doesn't teach Jenny to be so; she let her walk
home with me from school, though, the other
children will not go a step with me because
everybody calls me "poor Sallie."
Mrs. Macer was silenced.
Afterawhile she resumed: Was the elderly
lady at church, the wife of Mr. Newton T"
allie.-I never asked the question.
I.rs. .--I thought you might have heard
Miss Evelina speak of her. I am going to pay
a visit at Fairbank, this morning. Where's my
gold pencil Sallie, find my pencil and a
card, and my card-ease
Mrs. Macer wrote her name on a soiled em-
bossed card-." Mrs. Lieutenant Macer." Then
she sailed out of the house with a grand air, to
call on the Newtons.
Sallie went on with her work, and amused
herself, meantime, with talking aloud. I
wish I was a fly, for flies don't wear bonnets.
No; I don't wish I was a fly, either, because
Nobody loves flies ; but I do really wish I was
a bird, and then I should always be dressed
up, clean and nice, and my clothes would be
QUEr sONeTS. ,
just like other birds, and then other birds
would not-lagh at me. And then I could sit
on the trees all day long, by the pretty books,
and sing or' fy about in the beautiful sky, and
sweep along over th ground. Wouldn't it be
charming I Bat then bad boys would throw
stones at me I yes, maybe they would kill me.
Oh, dear I I don't want to be a bird; I would
rather be obliged to wear a bonnet. I cannot
see why a bonnet is a thing of such mighty
importance. What difference does it really
make whether I put one covering on my head,
or another ?-whether it was this tin-pan, for
instance, or that new pink bonnet; they both
would only keep the sun and rain off. This is
a queer world; people think more of what is
outside the head, than of all the knowledge
-there is inside of it. Dear me II wish I was
an angel; for then the boys, those everlasting
plagues, wouldn't throw stones at me, and I
shouldn't have to wear a boniet."
A BEXATIBeL avenue-of horse-chestnut and
elms led up to the spacious white house -at
Fairbank. The chestnut trees had already sent
out their glossy mesenger-bnds, which a few
more genial smiles of the sun would expand
into tender leaves; the elms were covered with
dark, reddish flowers. Mr. Macer, however,
did not look up to observe the beautiful blue
sky through the brown network of the over-
kagini^g--innaires;btrnut waitTfhoni -her
thoughts of the earth earthy, and her eyes
fixed npon the large house.
There was something in the appearance of
the lady at church that led Mrs. Macer-to
a -n. -
doubt if she were the wife of Mr. ewton ; and,
therefore, she asked for "the ladies," and
handed her card.
The black waiter showed her into a splendid-
ly-furnished parlor, and left her to survey it at
In about half an hour the lady she had seen
at church, a tall, perpendicular figure, moved
into the room, as if afraid of pressing down
the rich carpet, and coming in front of Mrs.
Macer wheeled round and looked sharply at
her, through a pair of large round spectacles.
Mrs. Macer rose and ourtesied.
What do you please to want, Mrs. What
ye-call-yer? I can't read the name on this 'ore
icket," said the stranger, holding the card out
to Mrs. Macer.
Mrs. Lieutenant Macer," said that lady,
with offended dignity.
-'Mayr oA_ I I never hear tell of a
woman' i being a lieutenant before. I shall
expect to hear of their being stage-drivers
before long. Well; what do you please to
want, Mrs. Lieutenant I"
I reside in the village, and came to call on
the ladies at Fairbank," replied Mrs. Macer,
coloring with vexation.
Our Eveliny has gone to school, and I don't
go into the vanities and follies of worldly
Mrs. Macer was pulled to know who this
singular person could be, but from her saying
or Evelina, she judged it imust be Mrs. New-
ton, and replied, "I am'sorry, Mrs.; NeWton,
that you do not visit; I will bid you good
Mrs. Newton t Massy on us Timothy
Newton is my first cousin by the mother's side.
I never gpt into such a scrape as marrying, and
never expect to. You have brought some mud
in, on this nice carpet, marm; wasn't there a
mat at the door ?"
Mrs. Macer sailed out of the room with a
magnificent air, designed to astonish the singu-
lar person. Before she was fairly out of the
'house she he hear d the voice calling to
the waiter Tom, bring a brush and dust-pan,
"here's a peck of dirt on the carpet."
As Mrs. Maner hastened down the lawn, the
tall womaa looked out the window, and said,
" MasayfuLfpatIence I wonder if we've got to
be pestered were, with them Vanity Fair
madams, tramping in at all times. It does
seem to me, that highflyer, though she calls
herself a Lieutenant, must be az widow; and
who knows but she may be setting her cap for
Mr. Newton had been for many years a sea-
captain, and had passed much of his life in
foreign countries. By the death of a distant
relation, he was left heir to a large fortune, of
which Fairbank was a portion. He returned
to his own country with reluctance, having
never visited it since the death of his wife and
only child. The news of this sad event reach-
Ad him in a distant land, eight or ten years
before the time of his coming to live at Fair-
It was some consolation to the lonely man
that his present residence was at a distance
from the home associated with his departed
wife and child. He sought out his cousin,
Miss Almira Coffman, for his housekeeper, and
anxious to do good to the few relations he had
in the world, adopted another cousin, fifther
removed, for his daughter. Miss Mirs, as she
was called, was highly delighted to be placed
at the head of Mr. Newton's house, but she did
not bear the honor meekly, when 1M. Newton
adopted Evelina Anderson, and called her his
Niece! Fourteenth cousin," she said; "to
be the lady of the-ouse, I suppose. Well, I'
try and hold my own in spite of her,"
Evelina was proud of her sadden elevation
from comparative poverty, and inclined to
domineer over everybody who came within her
Mr. Newton allowed Miss Mira to manage
everything pertaining to her department in her
own way, but would not allow her to interfere
with Evelinar. She must do as she- pleased un-
controlled by any one, but himself; and he
resolved to exercise authority over her in the
mildest possible manner, hoping to win her
gratitude and affection.-
oin PItr SICK of olm.
TDE next day after the call at Fairbank, was
On coming out of church, Mrs. Macer
resolved to renew her acquaintance with the
queer lady, who had received her so ungra-
ciously. But Miss Mira raised a largo feather
fan as a shield, before her face, to keep off the
raltation of Mrs. Lieutenant, and marched by
her with a stately step, as she stood waiting at
the church-door, ready to make her most flour-
ishing courtesy. Mr. Newton, however, made a
-polite bow to Mrs. Macer, and that atoned for
the cut" she had received from the strange
lady. -- -
Mr. Newton's carriage was waiting at the
door. Sallie, who had come down from her
seat in the gallery, stood upon the steps, with
several other children, gazing at" the Fairbank
family." Poor Sallie wore the gay, pink bon-
net, bedizened with artificial flowers, which
was in striking contrast with her faded red
merino dress and dirty white shawl. The old
slip-shod shoes of Mrs. Macer, she had much
trouble to keep on, and the open-work stockings
had many larger holes than were woven in
them. In short, poor Sallie's appearance was
comical, and yet sad, to any one of kind feel-
ing a Mx- Newton saw the forlorn girl, and
pitied her. Even after he had taken his seat
in the carriage, and it was slowly rolling away
from the church-door, he leaned out of the
window and looked after her,
"Eve~ a, do you know who that girl is, in
the pink bonnet "' he enquired.
.~eia.-Yes, I do; she is, I believe, a ser-
vant-girl; at anyjrate, she lives with that Mrs.
Macer, the ridicutos Mrs. Macer, who came to
pay us a visit, yesrday. Isn't porSallie a
fright to behold
Mr. ffewton.-The\girl has a fine face. Mrs
Macer, if that is the gay lady's name, dresses
her poor young handmaiden in a shabby, un-
suitable manner. -
.velina.-That pink bonnet was enough to
kill a body ; I liked to have tittered out, when
I saw those artificial flowers. Why, under,
you ought to see poor Sallie as she comes to
school-so dirty and ragged, that yop would
take her for a beggar-girl. I wish M. Hollis-
ter would turn her out of school. Isn't it dis-
graceful for a young lady to be in the same
class with such a girl I
,'. iewton.-What is the poor girl's name
vFWina--She is always called poor allie.
I don't think she has any other name. Jenny
Brice is the onuy girl in school who will walk
in the street with the halfstarved, filthy thing.
Mr. Wet2ton.-Evelina, my dear niece do
not use such a word asjlthy !
-Aies Almir.-Eveliny often uses very f-
proper words. If you would know my opinion,
Cousin Timothy, that Mrs. Lieutenant Some-
body, is just the riserablest hand to bripg up a
girl, that ever was seen on 'arth. Even your
.jomposteros airs, Evelia, can't come up to
hers. She puts _rantasial notions into the
girl's head, and will inake her a complete pop-
Here Evelina hbrst into a fit of laughter,
which highly offended Miss Mira.
Mi8e Ahnara.-Yoa needn't laugh at me,
Miss, nor atthat poor girl, neither; where
would you have been, now, if our Timothy
hadn't picked you up, out of sheer charity I
*Mr. F'o ton.-Mira, this is not suitable con-
'versation for Sunday. I must repeat my re-
quest, that you will never allnde to anything
concerning Evelina's former condition. Re-
member, she is my adopted child.
Miss Mira was highly incensed, and though
she did not speak, she looked daggers atEve-
lina, who returned them with scornful glances,
and audible sneers.
The next morning, at the breakfast table,
Mr. Newton said to Evelina It is a fine,
pleasant day, I will walk with you to school.
I see the crocuses are showing their heads
above the ground, and the grass looks soft and
Eiaeina.-I don't care for crocuses and grass,
uncle. I prefer the carriage.
Mr. Newton.-Would you prefer going in
the carriage alone, to having my company V I
am sorry for that.
vfinena-It is a long walk.
Mr. Newton.-Exercise in the fresh morning
air, will benefit your health. We will start
early and take the walk leisurely. I see you
have finished your breakfast; you may get
ready for school, immediately; and I will have
the pleasure of carrying my young lady's books
Evelina left the room, pouting and jerking
hli fatrshoulders up nd-down ; a way she had
of expressing dislike, when afraid to speak out.
Mr. Newton brought in Evelina's pretty
willow-basket, and, standing by the table,
began arranging it from the remains of the
Miss Mira, who was washing np the break-
fast things, exclaimed:
What a enormous dinner I Why, Timothy,
you are putting up enough for a dozen school-
children. Eveliny is a monstrous feeder, but
she can't stuff down all the provisions you've
put up. I declare, you'll make her as gluter-
ots as your fat dog, who can do nothing on
earthh but waddle from his kennel to his feeding-
J-r. awton,-Poor Frisk is old; when
young, he was one of the liveliest dogs you
ever saw. He would amuse our dear little
baby by the hour together; thdy were insepa-
Mr. Newton sighed heavily, as he looked up
at the full-length portrait of a lady, with a
child sitting on a cushion at her feet, playing
with a dog. The picture hung over the mantel-
piece, and had been painted by an artist in
Italy, from a miniature of Mr. Newton's wife
and child, which that gentleman valued as his
greatest earthly treasure.
The dog had been painted from life; and, in-
deed, nothing on canvas could be more life-
like-tan the whole picture.
When Evelina came back, prepared for
school, she was still in a pouting humor-
Mr. Newton appeared not to notice it, but
taking the dinner-basket in his hand, and the
books under one arm, he offered the other to
Evelina, and bidding Miss Mira good morn-
ing," walked out of the house.
The fresh grass of the lawn sparkled with the
clear diamond drops, _which a gentle shower
had bestowed-during the night, and a few
bright clouds were still sweeping over the deep
azure of a March sky. Thie purple and yellow
crocuses had started from their wintry sleep,
into new and beautiful life; the sweet, white
violets perfumed the air; blue-birds were
chanting their cheerful songs from every tree,
and a solitary robin was trilling out the joyful
news, that charming Spring had really come,
in spite of the snow which still lingered on the
tops of the distant mountains.
This is a glorious morning for a walk," aid
Mr. Newton, in a more cheerful voice than
usual. Mr. Newton was habitually sad, but
not gloomy. One of the poets writes some-
thing about the larch, or some other tree, that
had 'hung out its tassels,' in early spring.
Look up, Evelina; just see those light tassels,
hanging all over that tree-a botanist would
call them catkins; but, I presume, a young lady
would prefer the poet's term-' tassels.' "
"I don't care what you call them, they are
ugly, worm-looking things, any way, and the
wind blows awfully."
Not awfully, Evelin It is a brisk wind ;
a fine nor'-wester. It is in our favor,-a fair
wind, all the way to school."
The conversation was interrupted by Frisk,
who had waddled down the lawn.
Poor fellow," said Mr. Newton, patting the
brown and white dog. "c Go back home; we
can't have your company, to day."
Friskh licked his master's hand, 'and then
turned and walked slowly back to his kennel.
e -n..-W-hy. don't you buy a new, hand-
some dog, nucde I wouldn't have that ugly
animal about the place, if I were you."
rr. 2Yewton.-" Love me, love my dog," is
a good proverb, Evlna. Pray, do not despise
my poor Frisk; he is more to me than all the
other dogs in the 'world.
Evelina made no reply; she cordially hated
They had notd no w ed far, before Evelia ex
claimed, I declare There is Jenny Brice
running after a cow; I did not think Als was
each a romp." She then called, o Jenny,
Jenny; stop a minute."
Without turning her head, Jenny said, Is
that.yon, Sallie? I can't stop, for I am driving
Mr. Doole's cow home; the foolish thing ran
away from her poor blind master, who, yon
know, cannot tell one cow from another, till be
is near enough to put his hand on the horns."
Mr.Newton and Evelina quickened their steps,
and joined Jenny.
"Driving, Mr. Doole' cow!" exclaimed
Evelina, contemptcnsly; 1 What *n e*mploy-
,ment for a young lady I"
Jenny perceiving her mistake, bowed grace-
fully, because naturally, and with entire self-
possession, to Mr. Newton, and replied to Eve-
lina: I am not a young lady, Miss Evelina;
I am a plain, country girl. I am driving Mr.
Doole's cow home, because he is a poor eigh-
bor of ours, who depends much upon this cow
for support, and as he is nearly blind, he can-
not fnd her himself."
wlina.-But don't you find it very disa-
Jenny-Not at all. I have had fine sport
running over the fields, this morning. Seeo
what beautiful mosses and bright berries I
have found in the woods.
And Jenny spread out her apron, the covers
of which she had held together with one hand,
while, with the other, she held a long branch
of green willow.
Evelina Andercon tossed her head with
nproeme contempt at her mosses and berries;
but Mr. Newton said, ow very beautiful
they are; the berries are brighter than comal,
and the mosses are more fresh and green than
usual;-and there is a curious brown moss,
with little caps, like extinguishers."
"I am afraid we shall be late," said Evelina?
But Mr. Newton continued to walk beside
Tenhyaying he would help her drive the
cow. "You have chosen a whip," said he,
" that will not hurt the creature. That willow
is more graceful than usefid
Isn't it pretty I" replied Jenny'- already
so green. I dearly love the willow. The cow
needs no stick; I only shake this at her for fun :
I think she knows me, as well as I know her.""
Excuse me for asking if your name is
Jenny Brice-Evelina forgot to introduce me."
Jenny nodded assent, and Mr. Nliewton contin-
ned: So you are the schoolmate who walks
home with Sallie, the girl whom everybody
calls poor Sallie."
Jeznny.-I am not rich myself, air. Grand-
ma says I ought not to te proud. She says
the Bible tells her Pride was not made for
.Wr. ffezao t.-Very true; but you know
Providence has made ditinctions in society for
wise and good reasons-distinctios which we
ought to keep up. You, for instance are not
poor, like Sallie.
Jrewy.-But I am not rich like Evelina An-
derson. Grandma' has taught me that these
distinctions are ordered by Divine Providence,
and that my lot has been cast according to the
prayer of Agur, Give me neither poverty
nor riches ; therefore I must not despise the
poor, nor envy the rich-but be contented; and
I find it a very easy matter.
Mr. JVrwton.-Your grandmother mustbe a
very wise woman.
Jennyt.--randma' is a good woman, and I
think she is the wisest woman in the world;
there she is, looking ot of our door after me. I
have been gone too long.
During this conversation, Evelinc had walk-
ed some distance in advance of them, quite
displeased at the notice Mr. Newton bestowed
The venerable grandmother was leaning on
her crutches, at the door of her cottage, look-
ing ont axiously for Jenny's return. Mr.
Newton bowed politely, and passed on, while
Jenny said, P71 come, in one minute, grand-
mai-there comes Mr. Doole."
Mr. Doole tenanted a small habitation, next
door to Mrs. M3rice. He came poking along
with a ane, unable to distinguish objects
Jnny.-Ah, Mr. Doole, your truant cow
had a fancy for a long walk, tlis morning, and
so had I. We have had a nice time. I found
her away down in the Pratt Meadow.
"A thousand, thousand'thanks to ye, my
brave young lady," said the man, as he drove
the cow into the field.
Evelina had waited at the cottage for Mr.
Newton. After parting with Jenny, he said:
" What a nice little girl that is! I like her un-
"You like every body; even that ridiculous
allie, yonder," said Evelina, pointing to Sallie,
who was swinging on Mr. Doole's gate, wth a
china milk-jng in her hand. As soon as she
saw Mr. Newton and Evelina, she jumped off
the Ote, and in so doing, dashed the milk-jug
Sallie picked -up the handlkand two of the
pieces, and held them together with a doleful
expression, at which Evelina laughed immo-
Mrs. Macer's best china milk-jug I Ohb
dear, dear; such bad luck, and it isn't Friday,
either. What shall I do V1 exclaimed Sallie.
Go and buy another," said Mr. Newton,
handing a bright silver dollar over the fence.
SNo, sir; I wouldn't e the dollar, any-
how. I thank you, but y can't bring back
this beloved milk-jug. I don't know why; but
rs. Macer thinks there's something wonderful
abUot that china jug. She says it belonged to
a General, or a Corporl, or some other officer."
Mr. Newton picked up a bit of the broken
jng, and said, It is Dresden china, and a
handsome pattern, too, but I think if you buy
her another, she will be satiasfed"
"No, indeed, she will not. I don'mind the
scolding she will give me,-so very much-but
the loss, sir, the los, is the thing. She used to
look at that little milk-jug, just as a heathen
might, at his idol. I dreaded to touch the
Mr. Newton dropped the dollar in his pocket,
and said, Give Mr. Newton's compliments to
Mrs. Macer, and say, that as he was partly the
cause of the milk-jug's being broken, be will
send her one of his own, exactly like it."
Much comforted, Sallie wiped her streaming
eyes on her ragged apron; then her whole
countenance beaming with gratitude, she looked
into Mr. Newton's face, and exclaimed, How
strange, that you, sir, should be so kind to a
poor girl like me!"
They had hardly got out of hearing, before
Evelinasaid," I think it is strange, too. Why,
uncle, you would not have me take- any notice
of that girl, surely. And, as for Jenny Brice,
I will not speak to her again, because she
-fr; .fewton--I admire Jenny Brice for her
genuine kindness to the blind man, and I pity
poor Sallie. I fear she is badly treated by the
person with whom she lives. I have put some
dinner in your basket for her, to-day; you
must give it to her deiately, Evelina, and, if
possible, without being noticed by the other
Some of my dinner for Sallie, for poor
Sallie I" exclaimed Evelina, with the utmost
- Some of my dinner," coolly replied Mr.
Newton, "since you force me to say it; your
own is-at the'bottom of the basket. I do not
wish to blame you,.Evelina, but indeed, I can-
not but think it very remarkable that you do
not yet know the pleasure of giving to those