Front Cover
 Title Page
 Chapter I
 Chapter II
 Chapter III
 Chapter IV
 Chapter V
 Chapter VI
 Chapter VII
 Chapter VIII
 Chapter IX
 Chapter X
 Chapter XI
 Chapter XII
 Back Cover

Title: Emily Herbert, or, The happy home
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00015582/00001
 Material Information
Title: Emily Herbert, or, The happy home
Alternate Title: Happy home
Physical Description: 156 p., <1> leaf of plates : col. ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: McIntosh, Maria J ( Maria Jane ), 1803-1878
George Routledge and Sons ( Publisher )
Woodfall and Kinder ( Printer )
Dalziel Brothers ( Engraver )
Publisher: George Routledge and Sons
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Woodfall and Kinder
Publication Date: [1870?]
Subject: Benevolence -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Pride and vanity -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Humility -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children and death -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Truthfulness and falsehood -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Prize books (Provenance) -- 1870   ( rbprov )
Bldn -- 1870
Genre: Prize books (Provenance)   ( rbprov )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
Statement of Responsibility: by M.J. M'Intosh.
General Note: Date from prize label on endpaper.
General Note: Illustrations engraved and signed by Dalziel.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00015582
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002233524
oclc - 50295449
notis - ALH3933

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Page i
    Title Page
        Page ii
        Page iii
        Page iv
    Chapter I
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
    Chapter II
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
    Chapter III
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
    Chapter IV
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
    Chapter V
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
    Chapter VI
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
    Chapter VII
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
    Chapter VIII
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
    Chapter IX
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
    Chapter X
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
    Chapter XI
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
    Chapter XII
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


The Baldwi Library
Imida 1'







"Be ye kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another,
even as God, for Christ's sake, has forgiven you."-EPn. iv. 32.



AiNT KITTY hopes that her young friends will
welcome her again to their circle, not without
pleasure, after her long absence. This hope is
founded, not only on the many affectionate invi-
tations she has received from them from time to
time, but also on the belief that they cannot fail
to be interested in some of the many histories,
which she has collected for their gratification.
They will remember, doubtless, that Aunt Kitty
always desired to blend with their amusement, a
deeper and holier purpose-even the recommend-
ing to them of those things which are pure and
lovely and of good report, and the winning them,
by God's blessing, to the number of those who
love Him and are loved by Him.

As in "Blind Alice" she endeavoured to show
them how each one of them might be happy in
herself, in Emily Herbert," the first volume of
the present series, she has sought to instruct them
in the best means of making HOME happy.
Should her reception accord with her hopes,
Aunt Kitty will delight often to gather them
around her in the evenings of the approaching
winter, and to enliven the tedious hours with a
tale. They will not, she trusts, be displeased, if,
on such occasions, among many new acquaintances,
they should sometimes recognize an old one, in a
new and more attractive dress.



EMILY HERBERT had a faint, dim memory of
a home very different from that in which she
now lived-a home in which a fond father had
danced her on his knee and carried her in his
arms. This home she remembered as having
been in a house whose rooms were large and
beautiful. One of these rooms had seemed pecu-
liarly her own. There she and the little baby
Carrie had slept with a kind, good-natured, fat,
old woman whom they had called Nursey, and
there were kept their dolls, their dinner-sets and
tea-sets of china, and there, in a corner, stood
the hobby-horse which had descended to them
from Charlie. Very different, indeed, from this
house was that in which, at six years old, Emily


found herself living with her mother, her brother,
and little Carrie, the two years' old darling and
pet. There are some things which even a child
remembers well, and Emily never found any dim-
ness or indistinctness about one very sad day in
her early and beautiful home-the day in which
Death had come to that home, and taken away the
dear papa who had so fondled and petted her.
She remembered well the solemn stillness of the
house, the sorrow in every face, the darkened
room in which her mamma lay, stricken down by
her great grief-then the assembled company, the
strange scarfs worn by the clergymen, and the
heavy pall of black velvet, under which she had
been told her father lay.
All this was very clear in Emily's mind, and
not less clear was the memory of another day, not
many months after, when she and her brother
and sister sat in a little room apart, with their
weeping mother, and heard strange steps tramp-
ling through their beautiful parlours, in the de-
serted chambers, and up and down the stairs, and
then a loud voice talking very fast, so fast that,
though they listened very carefully, the only
words they could catch were Going-going-


gone! "-words which they did not understand
at all, and of which they could not ask their
mamma, because she looked so troubled and wept
so bitterly. When the crowd of strange people
had left the house, however, and they were per-
mitted to escape from the confinement of their
little room, they began to understand these odd
words, or, at least, to feel that they had some-
thing to do with the furniture of their home, its
pretty chairs and sofas, and curtains, and pianos,
and carpets-for many of these things were gone,
and the rest were going in the carts now stand-
ing at the door. A few more days passed, during
which the wondering children wandered about
the unfurnished rooms, their steps sounding
strangely on the uncarpeted floors, ate in the
kitchen with the one servant maid left-Nursey
had gone before the chairs and tables-and slept
in the only room that was not quite bare of fur-
niture, and then they and their mother went to
their present home, the third floor of a small
house in Bank-street.
Bank-street looked very narrow to the chil-
dren after living in Waverley-place, and the
house seemed very small in comparison witb


their former home; and the neat, careful, un-
married sisters, who lived below them, had to
trouble poor Mrs. Herbert with many com-
plaints, ere they could be taught that they
must not enter the parlours on the first floor or
the chambers on the second. But they learned
at last, and then Miss Duncan and her sister
Miss Sally became very kind, and would often
ask them into their parlour to take a piece of
cake when they were at tea, or to see the pretty
flowers blooming there, and soon the memory of
their former home became, as we have already
said, very indistinct in Emily's mind, except as
it was associated with the two days we have
described-that of her father's funeral, and that
on which their furniture was carried off.
Mrs. Herbert remembered better of course,
and grieved more than her children could do,
over her past happiness, yet she was very thank.
ful to her Heavenly Father, that He had kept
to her the kind promise He has made in His
own word to those who love Him, that their
" bread shall not fail." She and her children
could no longer live in a fine house, or use
handsome furniture, or wear rich dresses; but


they had still a home which was clean and neat,
decent clothing and wholesome food, and still
Emily and Carrie recited to her the hymn which
they had been taught long ago:-

Whene'er I take my walks abroad,
How many poor I see !
What shall I render to my God,
For all his gifts to me?

Not more than others I deserve,
Yet God has given me more,
For I have food while others starve,
Or beg from door to door."



THOSE of my young readers who have heard
that it costs less to live in the country than in
the city, may be desirous to know why Mrs.
Herbert should not have made her home in a
pretty cottage in the country, amongst green
fields and flower-gardens, instead of making it
in the third story of a small house in a narrow
street of New York. It was not for her own
sake, you may be assured, for it was in truth
very painful to her to live in such altered cir-
cumstances, so near her former home. But Mrs.
Herbert, like a good mother, thought more
of what would be for her children's advan-
tage than of what would please herself. It
would have been very agreeable to her to go into
the quiet, pretty country, where the little income
of one hundred and sixty pounds which had been
saved for her out of her husband's large fortune,

might have supported her children and herself,
without any labour on her part. Her friends
proposed to her that she should do this; and
one gentleman urged it very strongly, pro-
mising, if she would follow his advice, to take
Charlie when he was two or three years older-
he was only ten then-into his counting-house.
Mrs. Herbert had her own plans for Charlie,
but before she would reply to this kind gentle-
man's offer she determined to ask Charlie him-
self, little boy as he was, what he thought of it.
She did this in the evening bf the day on which
all their furniture had been carried off from
their home in Waverley-place. Charlie, of course,
had understood something more of what he had
seen and heard in his home on that day than
Emily at five, or his baby sister; and he was
not very much surprised therefore, when, draw-
ing him to her side, his mother said, Do you
know that we are very poor now, Charlie, and
must leave our pleasant home here for one in
which the poor may live ?"
We have said that Charlie was not very much
surprised, but you will easily believe that he
was greatly grieved to find that all he feared


was true. He was not quite ignorant of the
kind of homes in which the poor usually lived,
for he had sometimes gone to them with his
good father to carry food, or medicine, or a
small sum of money, to their sick or suffering
inhabitants, and the thought that his own dar-
ling mother should live in one of these filthy
hovels, was so painful to him, that he burst
into tears and sobbed out, Oh, mother! please
sell my pony, and take all the money for your-
self, and let me hire myself out to work and pay
you my wages; but don't go to live in one of
those poor people's houses-please don't."
The mother drew her boy closer to her
bosom and kissed his quivering lips, with a joyful
feeling at her heart even amidst all her sorrow,
as she found him thus thinking, not of his own
comfort, but of hers, and willing to sacrifice even
his cherished pony to her.
Do not be so distressed, my darling boy,"
she said, while her own tears dropped upon his
head-" we must indeed sell your pretty pony,
and one day you will, I doubt not, work for me
and for your little sisters, but now, it is not
necessary; our good Heavenly Father has not


suffered all to be taken away from us-we have
still enough for food and clothing, and for a
home too, though not for such a home as we
have been accustomed to."
"But, dear mamma, poor people's homes
are so very dark and dirty, and disagreeable-I
cannot bear that you should live in one of
"I could live anywhere, I could be happy
almost anywhere, with such a dear, affectionate
son at my side," said Mrs. Herbert, smiling, for
the first time since her husband's death, even
while her eyes were full of tears; but I promise
you, Charlie, that, let our home be where it will,
it shall neither be dark, nor dirty, nor disagree-
able-it will be a happy home yet, if my children
are only good and patient."
And where will it be, mamma "
It is of that I want to speak to you, my
son-I think I shall let you choose for me, after
I have told you all we can do. Such a house as
this would let for four hundred a year, and we
can only give forty pounds. With this sum we
may rent a very nice cottage in the country, or
a part of a light, airy, but small house in the city."


Oh, mamma! please let us have the cottage
in the country; we can have such splendid
rides on pony-oh! I forgot, we must sell pony;
but we can have such pretty walks and flowers,
and bees and honey-oh, mamma! let us go in
the country."
And Mrs. Herbert looked in his bright, ani-
mated face, and thought of the health and the
happiness of such a life for her children, and
wished that she too could say Let us go in the
country;" but she remembered that Charlie would
not always be a boy, and that in the country
he must grow up a comparatively ignorant man,
as she had not the money necessary to pay
for his education, while he might receive the
very best tuition, without expense, at the free
schools of New York and at its noble Free
Academy, and so she answered instead, Wait
until you hear all I have to say, my dear boy,
before you decide. Even if we had continued
as rich as we once were I should not have wished
you-you would not have wished yourself, I
hope-to grow up an ignorant, idle man. You
remember what your dear father often said to
you of the importance of education, that you


might fit yourself to do some good and noble
work in the world. Now, if we live in the coun-
try we shall have no good schools near us, and I
cannot afford to send you away to school, so you
would grow up with no education but what I
could give you myself at home-in the city you
can be taught without expense."
How, mamma? "
At the free schools "
"With those poor, dirty, vulgar boys '" in-
terrupted Charlie, with something of scorn in his
You are a poor boy, Charlie," said his mother,
looking mournfully upon him; but you need
never be a dirty or a vulgar one."
Charlie looked down, ashamed of having given
his mother pain, but still unreconciled to the free
schools, and quite determined to choose the country
as his home. Mrs. Herbert continued:-
You would not, I think, my son, be willing
always to live with us, even if we should live in
the country. You just now offered to work for
me; this you might do as you grow older-you
might gain such a fortune as would enable you to
help your sisters-- "


And you, mamma ?-could I buy back our
our dear old home and all our pretty things that
went off to-day, and could we all live here again ?"
Mrs. Herbert would not discourage the boy's
sanguine spirit; she knew some strong hope
would be needed to enable him to endure the
many mortifications in store for him. That which
Charlie proposed was not impossible, and she an-
swered, Even that you may do, my son, if you
have the advantages which a good education will
give you."
Then we will stay in the city, mamma."
And you will go to the free schools ? "
Yes, mamma! "-but the boyish voice fal-
tered in spite of all Charlie's efforts, and after
a moment's struggle, his bosom heaved, and drop-
ping his head into his mother's lap, he burst into
Mrs. Herbert was a tender mother, but she
was also a sensible woman; she kissed the
curly head that rested on her lap, and called
him her darling boy, her noble Charlie, who
would one day be her support, as he was now
her pride and her hope, but she did not release
him from his promise.


And so, Mrs. Herbert and her children
moved to the third story of Miss Duncan's
house in Bank street, and Charlie went to the
free school. This was a great trial to him at
first, for Charlie was a little spoiled, and hav-
ing always lived in a handsome house, and worn
fine clothing, and been called a little gentleman,
he was too much inclined to look with contempt
upon those in different circumstances, and to
feel that they were not fit associates for him,
forgetting that they were children of the same
Heavenly Father.
I would like to tell you of Charlie's first
weeks at school; to relate how at first he drew
on him the ill-will of his companions by his airs
of superiority, and almost broke his mother's
heart by his own passionate sorrow, and by his
details of the rudeness and unkindness which
he had himself provoked. I would like to show
you how his good mother and his sensible and
gentlemanly teacher succeeded at length in
making him feel that much of the evil that
afflicted him was in himself; and how, as he
became more forbearing and kind to others,
they grew more considerate of him, until he


ceased to complain of his school-mates, or to
dislike his school. This history I may one day
give you, but at present our business is less with
Charlie than with Emily, to whom we return.



MRS. HERBERT had not sat idly in her little sky
parlour in Bank-street. She had often been
complimented on the taste with which she
could make up caps and head-dresses, and she
determined to turn this talent to account, if
possible. After several applications, she found
a milliner willing to employ her, and to allow
her to do the work at home and send it to her.
She did not make a great deal of money in this
way, but it enabled her to pay the wages of a
good, stout girl, who was able to do the harder
work of her family, work for which Mrs. Herbert
was herself wholly unfit. Thus four years passed
away. Charlie, now a manly youth of fourteen,
was in the Free Academy, exerting himself, as
his mother sometimes feared, almost too much
in his studies. He had ceased to think much of
their altered circumstances, and never mourned


over them except when his mother looked
pale and wearied, or when he found her sitting
up late at night to finish caps ordered in a
hurry. Then he would kiss her tenderly, and
saying, "When I am rich you shall not do so,
mamma," hurry with new determination to his
lessons. Though a little weary sometimes,
Mrs. Herbert would have been very happy in
her humble home, but for the anxiety about her
little Emily. At nine years old she was quite
tall, and forced her mother to think about
her education. She seemed to have very good
talents, and Mrs. Herbert said to herself, If I
could only give her a good education, I should
have no fears for her, she could support herself
by teaching, and then she could educate Carrie,
and so both could be provided for-but- and
there the lonely widow would pause, for her
thoughts would become too painful to be put
into language. To send Emily to a good school
for young ladies would cost at least twenty
pounds, and save as she would, and work as she
would, she could never lay by even the half of
this. And the free school-could she bear to
send her delicate, gentle Emily there, to meet


all the rudeness and the roughness which had
made Charles so very unhappy ? Once she
spoke of her anxieties to Charles, and he said,
"Oh, mother! do not think of the free school
for Emily; it is a capital thing for a boy; but
think how bad it would be if she should grow
rude and coarse."
"But what shall I do, Charles ? Emily
will have to support herself. She could do
this, if she were well educated, by teaching
others. I was too imperfectly taught myself to
fit her for this. What shall I do ?"
Let me teach Em, mother."
"My dear boy! where is your time for doing
it ?"
In the evening-I can teach her for an hour
after tea, before I go to my own lessons."
Mrs. Herbert feared it would be too much
for Charlie, yet something must be done, and.
she consented that he should try his plan. Sc
Emily was called, and came bounding to her
mother from the next room, in which she was
helping Carrie to dress her doll, and, the books
'being produced, the lessons were marked out for
the evening.


At six o'clock, which was an hour earlier
than usual, Mrs. Herbert and her children
gathered around their tea-table, and instead of
lingering there to chat, as she was accustomed
to do with Charlie, as soon as the last cup of
tea had been poured out, she called Bridget,
ihe servant, to remove the tray, placed lights
and books upon the table, and led little
Carrie off to bed, leaving the young instructor
and his pupil to their labours. Emily had a
quick, active mind, and was really desirous to
learn, so that for an hour she read, and ciphered,
and listened to her brother's explanations of
the few questions she had learned for him in
Peter Parley's Geography, without feeling very
sleepy; but then the little eyes grew heavy, and
her short lesson in grammar had to be left for
another time. Emily received a kiss, and an
assurance that she had been a good child, and
scampered off to bed as happy as she could be;
but Charlie's labours were but begun, and some-
how he found that his own tasks for the morrow
were not quite so easily mastered as when he
went to them fresh from his long afternoon
walk, and his pleasant tea-table chat with his


mother. He had to go over and over his pro-
positions in Euclid before he understood them,
and it seemed to him that he had hit on a
particularly hard passage in Homer. The
church clock near them was striking twelve
when Mrs. Herbert, waking from her first sound
sleep, found by the bright light beneath the
door that separated her room from his, that
Charlie was still up. Slipping softly out of
bed, she stole to his door, and opening it
cautiously, found him still bending over his
My dear Charlie, this will never do!" she
cried, "such constant application will make you
"I am going to bed now, mother," he re-
plied, pushing his books from him as he spoke,
and rising from the table. "I had no idea it
was so late, till I heard the clock strike. I
ought to have been in bed long ago, but I have
been intolerably stupid this evening; I believe
it was because my head ached a little. Kiss
me on my forehead, mother, that may make me
Mrs. Herbert kissed it, and bathed it with


cold water, and Charlie declared the pain was
all gone, and went to bed with no other burden
on his mind than the fear that his lessons were
not quite so well learned as usual. This was
in October, and when the Christmas holidays
came, Mrs. Herbert was glad of the little rest
which it gave her boy, who had begun to look
pale and thin. We have said that Emily had
a quick mind-she learned so rapidly, that soon
it required two hours to hear her recite her lessons,
and Charlie found himself obliged to give up
his afternoon walk. Before spring had fully
come, he was suffering from incessant head-
aches, and one of the professors of the Free
Academy, a judicious, kind-hearted man, had
advised Mrs. Herbert to take him for a while
from his studies.
He applies himself too constantly, and
does not take exercise enough," said this good
man, and the mother's heart smote her, as she
remembered that in her anxiety for Emily, she
had permitted Charlie to give up his afternoon
to her lessons. She determined that this should
not be again, and after dinner on this very day,
when Charlie called Emily to bring her books,


she said, "Not to-day, Charlie-you shall both
have holiday to-day; and, after this, Emily
must be contented with me as a teacher. Your
afternoons must be given to exercise, as they for-
merly were."
Charlie's pale cheek flushed, for it was a
very pleasant thought that he might once more
run out into the fresh air, and rest for a little
while from his books. Not that Charlie did
not love his books-in truth, he loved them
dearly, far better than his play; but he had
felt the truth of the old couplet,

All work and no play
Makes Jack a dull boy."

Notwithstanding his pleasure, however, he
stopped to say, But, mother, how can you
teach Emily, and sew for us all, and make caps
for Miss Dyce too? "
You know, my dear Charlie, the homely old
proverb, 'God takes care of those who take
care of themselves.' We will do the best we
can, and then, perhaps, our Heavenly Father
will show us some better way."


But is not my teaching Emily the best we
can do ?" asked Charlie.
No, my son; important as are Emily's les-
sons, your studies and your health are both more
important-you are to make our fortune, you
know," she added playfully, "and these cheeks,"
kissing them as she spoke, "are paler and thinner
than they ought to be at fourteen."
But your face, too, dear mother, is paler than
it used to be."
Not with work, my son; and, indeed, it will
add little to my cares to hear Emily recite her
lessons; the only thing I regret is, that there
are some things I wish her to learn, which I
cannot teach her. But we will not grieve about
that, if it is best that she should learn them,
a way will be opened."
Emily's lessons with her mother had continued
but a few weeks, when Miss Sally Duncan came
up one morning with the daily paper, which she
and her sister took.
Look here, Mrs. Herbert," she cried, "isn't
this your name ? She pointed to Mrs. Charles
Herbert," in a long list of the names of per-
sons having letters remaining in the post-office.


"It is certainly my name," said Mrs. Her
bert, "and I will send my son to see about it
this afternoon, though there may be other Mrs.
Charles Herberts in this great city."
Now, you see," exclaimed Miss Sally, that's
the good of reading every word of a newspaper.
Now, sister often says to me, 'What are you
a reading all them names for? I am sure you
don't expect no letter,'-but I say, when you
pay for a newspaper, get all you can out of it,
and as to expecting a letter, there's no telling
what may turn up."
The letter proved a very important one to
Mrs. Herbert. It was from her mother's only
brother, Mr. Richardson, who had gone out to
Canton when he was but a wild, wayward boy,
and had been heard from only twice in the thirty-
five years that had passed since. The letter was
as follows:-

Hong Kong, May 12th, 1847.
My DEA- NIECE.-I do not know whether
you will recollect that you have an uncle Tom;
but I have not forgotten the little three-year-
old child, that put her arms round my neck,

and kissed me the morning I left my poor sis-
ter, the only thing I had left to love me, and
came off to Canton-a sailor before the mast
-in search of money and adventure. Adven-
ture enough I have had, but money I found
harder to get-though I am now doing very
well, and think in a few years I may come back
with enough for comfort. I was going to send
you a shawl, and some other things, as tokens
of my affection for you, when I heard from
O- & Co.'s agent here, through whom I
have been accustomed to hear occasionally about
your husband, that he was dead, and that you
had sold out your furniture, and moved away
from your former home. So I think that per-
haps you would rather have money than hand-
some shawls and playthings, and I have paid
into the aforesaid agent's hands five hundred
pounds, to be remitted to the firm in New York,
from whom you will receive it on presenting this
letter from
Your affectionate uncle,

Mrs. Herbert's first thought was one of



gratitude to her Heavenly Father-the next
was how she could dispose of this sum to the
most advantage for her children. On this sub-
ject, she consulted the benevolent merchant
through whom the money had been sent to her,
and he offered to give her seven per cent. in-
terest on it, as long as she chose to leave it in
his hands, adding, that she would probably one
day need the principal to establish her son in
business. If you will take a slate and pencil,
you will soon find that the yearly interest on
the sum of five hundred pounds at seven per
cent., will just amount to thirty-five pounds,
and this sum Mrs. Herbert determined to
expend on the education of her daughter.
She knew that for twenty pounds a year, she
might become a day pupil in the admirable
school of Mrs. Wilmot, and the remaining fif-
teen pounds she would expend in giving her
lessons in music, for which Emily had a de-
cided talent. There was, indeed, a bar to
this in the difficulty of procuring an instru-
ment for her to practise upon, but Miss Dun-
can obviated this, by saying that "Miss Emily
might play on her piano and welcome-it would

make the house more cheerful-like-if she
would promise not to make a litter with her
music." And so began the education of Emily
Herbert, of which we will tell you more in the
next chapter.



MRs. WILIuT'S school had been long estab-
lished in New York. Conscientiously had this
admirable lady devoted herself to the business
of training the hearts and minds of those com-
mitted to her charge. With the most thorough
cultivation of intellect which it was possible for
her to obtain for her pupils, from the best
masters, she endeavoured to combine those
lighter accomplishments which lend a grace to
wisdom. But her most ardent desire was to
lead the young heart to consecrate all its na-
tive ardour, and its acquired graces, to Him who
justly claims its homage. The excellence of her
course of instruction, caused her school to be
sought by many parents who were incapable of
appreciating her high motives, or sympathiz-
ing with her most earnest desires, in relation
to their children. In short, her school became


the fashion, and was chosen, therefore, by those
who were, or who would be thought, fashion-
able. It will readily be believed that Mrs. Her-
bert did not seek it for this reason. She knew
Mrs. Wilmot as an earnest Christian woman,
and coveted her influence as such upon her
child-believing, we think truly, that no teach-
ing could be thorough which did not "lead from
Nature up to Nature's God."
Emily had accompanied her mother when she
went to engage a place for her at the school,
through which they passed, at Mrs. Wilmot's
invitation. It was Emily's first visit to a young
ladies' school, and while her mother was ob-
serving with interest the intelligent and atten-
tive faces around her, she was attracted by
what seemed to her the rich and costly dresses.
"I wonder what they can wear at parties!" said
Emily to herself, as her eyes glanced admir-
ingly from rings and bracelets to the jewelled
drops depending from the ears.
Mother, what shall I wear at school to-mor-
row?" asked Emily, as she sat at the tea-table
with her mother, and brother, and little Carrie,
the evening before this great epoch in her life.


"Wear ?" exclaimed Mrs. Herbert, with some
surprise, "you have a clean gingham dress-you
will wear that of course."
Emily's countenance fell a little, a very little-
she had one white dress, and a pretty pink
muslin-worn hitherto only on Sundays-she
had hoped to make her first appearance at school
in one of these.
"But mother, my gingham dresses are all
made with a gingham frill around the neck, and
all the girls at Mrs. Wilmot's have white collars
and cuffs."
"And suppose they have, Emily-you have
not-but you can study without them, I hope.
Many of the young ladies at Mrs. Wilmot's have
very wealthy parents, who can afford to dress
them handsomely-your mother, my child, can
only give you a gingham dress, but she pro-
mises you it shall always be clean and whole;"
and Mrs. Herbert put her hand softly on Emily's
curly head, as if by that affectionate caress she
would make amends to her for the want of
fine clothes. And Emily drew her mother's
hand down and kissed it, and thought to her-
self, "Whatever else I may want, I certainly


have the dearest mother in the world," and the
subject of her dress was not mentioned again
-indeed, Emily did not think of it again-but
Charlie did.
For the first time in his life, Charlie was the
possessor of more than five shillings in money.
He might well call this his own, for it had been
made by his own labour. Faithful as Charlie
was to his studies, he had always, except during
the few months he taught Emily, found time
to perform for Miss Duncan, all those house-
hold offices for which "a boy" is found in-
dispensable. He offered these services as a free
gift, but Miss Duncan was a very just woman,
and she said, "No, no, Master Charlie-it
will be a great saving of time and trouble to
me, if you will shovel the snow and bring up
the wood, and go on an errand now and then
for me, instead of my having to go to the grocer's
or the butcher's to hunt up a boy, and then
wait two or three days before I can get my
orders executed; but if you do the work, you
must have the pay-that's only fair, and I
always do what's fair." And so Charlie took the
money, carrying, with a pride and pleasure he


had never known before, all his little gains to
his mother. Since Mrs. Herbert had restored
his freedom, by teaching Emily herself, he had
returned to his old engagement with Miss Dun-
can, but, at his mother's own suggestion, the
money he received was retained by him to pur-
chase such books as he wished. And now the
sum thus acquired amounted, as we have said,
to a little more than five shillings. They had been
the earnings of weeks-soon, very soon, he would
add the few shillings that were wanting, to make
him the happy possessor of a "Robinson Crusoe,"
a few loose leaves of which he had once picked up.
in the street, and read with delight, and which he
had ever since coveted more than any other
earthly possession.
And now Charlie thought of his treasure, and
wondered if it would buy Emily the collar and
cuffs she wanted, and whether that would not
be better than even a Robinson Crusoe." Be-
sides, I shall make more money one of these
days, and then the 'Robinson Crusoe' will come-
unless I should be wanting school-books," he
added, with a little sigh.
The result of Charlie's little debate with

himself was, that soon after tea, just as the
lamps in the street were being lit, he walked
into a fancy store in the upper part of Broad-
way, at whose windows he remembered to have
seen collars exhibited, and inquired for a collar
and cuffs suitable for a little girl of ten years
"Do you want very handsome ones, sir, or
will plain ones do ? asked the very civil young
girl who waited on him.
"I want what will be neat and pretty for her
to wear at school," answered Charlie.
Oh! then I have the very things for you,
these nice linen collars and cuffs, and they are
cheap ; only two shillings a set."
Charlie's cheek flushed with pleasure; for his
money he could have two sets, and so the great
difficulty which had perplexed him, of what
would Emily do when his present should be
soiled, would be solved. Charlie, leaving his
money behind him, soon bore away instead the
little white paper parcel that contained his
purchase, and when he saw Emily's delight, as
he displayed it to her, and received his mother's
kiss, and heard her exclamation of My generous


Charlie!" he said to himself, "This is better
than Robinson Crusoe."
Nor was Charlie's satisfaction less, when he
saw his little sister, the next morning, looking
with such evident pleasure in the little looking-
glass over her mother's bureau, at the reflection
of herself in her clean gingham dress, from the
neck of which the frill had been ripped, and her
dazzlingly white and perfectly smooth little collar
and cuffs. He certainly thought Emily prettier
than she had ever been before, and in his anxiety
that she should be seen to the utmost advan-
tage by her schoolmates, he almost scolded
Carrie for putting her arms around her neck,
as she gave her her parting kiss. He was to
leave Emily at Mrs. Wilmot's door, on his way
to the Free Academy, and he felt no little
pride, as, taking her satchel on his arm, he
walked beside her to the street in which Mrs.
Wilmot lived. They had reached the steps,
and Charles had delivered the satchel to his
sister, and was turning away with a cheerful
" Good-by," when a very handsome carriage,
drawn by a pair of sleek-looking bay horses,
with a coachman and footman in livery, dashed


up to the door. Charles glanced at it for a
moment, and went on his way; Emily gazed
with astonishment on tokens of grandeur she
had never seen before, till the footman, descend-
ing from his lofty position, received his mistress's
commands at the window, and, passing her,
sprang up the steps before her, and rang
the bell. Then he ran down the steps and
flung open the carriage-door, before Mrs. Wil-
mot's door was opened, and Emily saw a young
girl, apparently about her own age, step out,
and a stately looking lady follow her. Emily
asked timidly where she should find Mrs.
Wilmot. Timidly as she spoke, her voice
reached that kind lady herself, as she was pass-
ing through the entrance-hall, and she came for-
ward to receive her, and leading her to the
farther end of the hall, she showed her where
her bonnet and shawl must be hung, and then
accompanied her to the school-room, and giving
her a seat, told her she would be with her again
in a few minutes, and left her.
While Emily was still in the hall, the
stately lady entered, and sweeping by the ser-
vant towards the parlour, announced in a haughty


voice, "Mrs. and Miss Day;" she was followed
by the little girl, dressed in the most exquisite
of French muslins, trimmed around the sleeves
and neck with a Valenciennes edging, which also
surrounded the pretty white muslin sack,
which covered her otherwise bare shoulders.
This Emily might have seen in the hall, but it
was only when Mrs. Wilmot, conducting the
young girl to the school-room, gave her a seat
beside her, and introduced her to her as Miss-
Julia Day, that she observed the diamond ring
that sparkled on her finger, or the gold bracelets
that clasped her wrists.
We are afraid Emily was scarcely wise enough
not to feel a little humbled by the contrast
which this young lady's dress presented to her
own,-and yet in truth hers was the more becom-
ing to her age, and impressed every person of
sense more agreeably.
The hours before noon passed away not un-
pleasantly to Emily, during which she and Miss
Day had been examined, and their studies as-
signed them. A little to the surprise of Emily,
although Miss Day was a year older, and con-
siderably taller than herself, their studies and


their classes were the same. They were to re-
tain the seats given them at first; "And I
hope, my dears, as you sit together, you will
each take an interest in the other, and each try
to exercise a good influence on the other," said
the good Mrs. Wilmot; for you know," she
added, as she saw something of haughty indif-
ference in Miss Day's countenance, "no human
being can come so near another without influ-
encing them for good or for evil. You will cer-
tainly each make the other more or less amiable,
more or less faithful to your duties here, and
more or less happy according as you shall act
At twelve o'clock a recess, as it was called,
cr cessation of study for fifteen minutes, was
allowed, during which a multitude of little bas-
kets appeared, from which each young lady pro-
duced the cake, or fruit, or plain bread and but-
ter, prepared at home for her luncheon. Emily's
basket held a nice roll and a single peach-it
was now the first of September, a season at
which peaches are abundant and therefore cheap
in New York; in Miss Day's was a bunch of
rare hot-house grapes and a slice of rich cake


Before these delicacies could be withdrawn from
their hiding-place in a snowy damask napkin,
Mrs. Wilmot was beside the new comers to in-
quire, Have you any acquaintances here ?"
No, ma'am," said Emily, timidly.
Oh yes, ma'am," exclaimed Miss Day, with
animation, "I know the Van Ruysdaels and the
Livermores, and--" she was going on with a
list of all the names of any fashion in the school,
but Mrs. Wilmot interrupted her.
That will do, my dear," said Mrs. Wilmot,
quietly. Here are Miss Livermore and Miss
Van Ruysdael waiting for you; I will find an
acquaintance for you, my child," she added,
turning with a pleasant smile to Emily, as Miss
Julia was led off by her young friends, followed
by many of their associates. Looking for a mo-
ment inquiringly around her, Mrs. Wilmot
called Clara Layton," and a young girl, two
or three years older than Emily, dressed almost
as plainly as she was herself, though in richer
materials, approached. There was something
in the thoughtful, dark eyes of Clara Layton
which pleased Emily at the first glance; and
when, in answer to Mrs. Wilmot's introduction,


she said, in a pleasant, cheerful voice, Shall
we take our luncheon together here, or will you
come with me to my cosy corner?" Emily's
loving, child heart was won, and she followed
her to the corner with a sparkle in her blue
eyes, and a thought in her heart of gratitude
to Mrs. Wilmot for such a friend. For a little
while Clara and Emily talked of their lessons;
then, after a little pause, Emily asked, Do you
know Miss Julia Day ? "
No, she has only come to-day."
How beautifully she dresses "
Does she ? asked Clara, looking around
for the person of whom they were speaking; I
have not observed her."
Emily's cheeks grew red; she remembered
that her mother had told her it was not polite
to observe too closely the dresses of others, and
fearful that she would lose the good opinion of
her new friend, she said softly, Perhaps I ought
not to have talked of her dress, but she sat
next to me, you know, and she had such a spark-
ling ring and such beautiful bracelets, that I could
not help seeing them."
"This is one reason why my mother will

not let me wear such things at school; she says
the girls would be looking at, and thinking of
them instead of their lessons. Besides, she
does not think them suitable or becoming to
little girls. You don't wear them, I see, so I
suppose your mother agrees with her," said
I have not any to wear," answered Emily,
almost in a whisper, feeling, we are afraid, a
little ashamed of the acknowledgment.
Perhaps Clara understood the feeling, and
wanted to relieve it, when she bent over her
friend's little hand and said, "You have a pretty
pair of cuffs on, that double row of knots looks
so neat; they are the prettiest linen cuffs I have
ever seen."
"Do you think so?" asked the delighted
Emily. "Charlie gave them to me."
Charlie ? who is he ? asked Clara.
Oh! I forgot you did not know him; he is
my brother."
Here the bell rang to recall the young ladies
to their seats, and Emily reluctantly left the
friendly Clara to place herself again beside Miss
Day. As soon as order was restored, Mrs.


Wilmot drew near with paper and pens, to ask
that Emily Herbert and Julia Day should each
write her a note, that she might see how they
could write and spell.
One inkstand will serve you both," said Mrs.
Wilmot, as she placed one full of ink on that
end of Emily's desk which was nearest to Julia.
For a few minutes both girls were very still.
They were thinking how they should begin their
formidable task. Then Emily began to write,
while Miss Julia still continued to gnaw the
end of her cedar pen-holder; suddenly, just as
Emily paused to glance over the two lines she
had written, and see that no word was mis-spelt,
Julia dashed her pen into the inkstand, then,
with an impatient flirt, threw out of it the super-
fluity of ink she had taken up, and turned to her
paper unheeding the mischief she had done.
Oh, Miss Day! see what you have done!"
cried our poor Emily, in a voice that showed she
was scarcely able to refrain from weeping.
"Well, what?" asked Julia, as she glanced
carelessly up at Emily's extended hand, with its
pretty cuff, bearing a great ink spot on its pure


Had Julia only looked sorry, Emily would
have hushed all her own grief, lest it should
have distressed her, but with an indifferent
smile, she said, "Well, that is no such ter-
rible thing-it is only a linen cuff," and turned
again to her note. Emily burst into tears.
"Why, I never heard of anything so mean;
I declare I couldn't have believed it; crying
for a linen cuff! Do hush! if you will not tell
Mrs. Wilmot, and make her scold me, I will
ask my mamma to give me a dozen pairs for
you. I will bring them to you to-morrow."
"I don't want them," sobbed Emily; "if
you had a thousand linen cuffs, I wouldn't take
Silence !" cried Mrs. Wilmot, from the
next room, and in a moment more she stood
beside the girls. Miss Julia Day hung her
head over the note, of which only "New York"
was written, and Emily tried in vain to hush
the sobs, which sounded all the louder for the
effort to restrain them.
What is the matter, my dear ?-why do you
weep ?" asked Mrs. Wilmot, bending her head
down to Emily. Ah you have inked your


cuf, I see; it was carelessly done, but crying will
not mend it."
Poor Emily! she was to be blamed for care-
lessness too, unless she should tell upon Miss
Day, a thing which was too near tale-bearing
to be pleasant to her. Fortunately, the whole
transaction had been witnessed by a little girl
who was waiting to show her copy to Mrs. Wilmot,
and with generous indignation at the silence of
Miss Day when she heard Emily blamed, she
exclaimed, She did not ink it herself, ma'am:
Miss Day inked it."
"And did not tell me of it!" cried Mrs.
Wilmot, turning with graver displeasure in her
glance to Julia Day.
"I 'm sure I am very sorry, ma'am," said this
young lady; "but I did all I could; I offered to
bring Miss Herbert a dozen pairs to-morrow, if
she would not cry for that one."
Mrs. Wilmot saw the pride there was in
this offer, and she said, "A dozen will not be
needed, my dear, but you will oblige me by
bringing one pair as much as possible like these;
as it is only just that you should replace what
your carelessness has destroyed."


"Please, ma'am, not to make her bring it,"
said Emily, still sobbingly; "I did not care so
much, so very much, I mean, as to cry for the
cuff; it was because Charlie gave it to me, my
brother Charlie, with his own money that he
worked for himself."
Mrs. Wilmot parted the hair from the hot
brow, and kissed the quivering lips of the child,
and said, You are right, my child, to value
such a gift, and it would be indeed impossible
for Miss Day to restore it ; so we will not
trouble you to bring any, Miss Day. But come,
I think I must find you a more careful com-
panion; Miss Day had better sit alone till she
learns not to scatter ink about her."
Mrs. Wilmot led Emily, already comforted
by her kindness, to the next room, and to the
very corner where Clara Layton sat, and placed
her beside the friend she already loved. Nor
was this all the comfort Emily received from
her kind instructress; for when the school was
dismissed, and she was about to make her parting
courtesy, Mrs. Wilmot stopped her, and leading
her to her library, drew her affectionately
to her side, and asked her to tell her all about


that good brother Charlie ; and when she had
heard all that Emily had to tell, even to the
sacrifice of the coveted "Robinson Crusoe," she
praised him till Emily's cheeks glowed with
pleasure, and added, You were quite right-
no cuff could be like this one; but I want you
to take this book home with you: it is a little
present from me, but you 'may give it to Charlie,
if you like."
Emily looked at it-it was Robinson Crusoe,"
and in a burst of delight, forgetting her awe of
Mrs. Wilmot, she cried, I am so glad, I am
so glad; oh, ma'am, you are too good."
Miss Julia Day had been greatly astonished
to find that Mrs. Wilmot had been in no degree
more kind or attentive to her, the daughter of
the rich banker, and of the fashionable Mrs.
Day, who rode in the most expensive carriage,
and gave the most magnificent parties in New
York, than she was to a little girl whose brother
had been obliged to work for the money to buy
her a pair of linen cuffs. It was astonishing-
it was positively stupefying; and she longed
for the hjur of dismission, that she might con-
sult some of her friends, who, having been longer


at the school, could probably throw a little
light upon the darkness of her mind. Accord-
ingly, when Emily was returning home she found
a coterie of school girls assembled just out
of sight of Mrs. Wilmot's door, debating the
propriety of her acts on this day. At a single
glance she saw Miss Day with her friends,
Miss Livermore and Miss Van Ruysdael. They
were surrounded by others whose names she did
not know, forming in all a company of ten or
twelve. Their voices were quite raised in the
eagerness with which they spoke, and she could
not help hearing, I am sure if she had broken
my bracelet, I should not have cried about it;
and then to tell Mrs. Wilmot, I do think it was
mean; and all I wonder at is, that Mrs. Wilmot
did not tell her so."
"But she did not tell Mrs. Wilmot," said a
childish voice; little children are generally just,
and this was said by a very little girl. She was
waiting for her elder sister, who was one of Miss
Day's counsellors, and who now checked her
with, Hush, Lucy! what do you know about
it ? Miss Day must know best, and she says she
did tell her."


At this moment our little Emily was seen
by the group, as she stood irresolutely, her
cheeks burning, her knees trembling with min-
gled emotions of shame and anger at hearing
herself and her actions thus misrepresented.
A general Hush-sh-sh!" sounded like the
hissing of serpents in Emily's ears, accompa-
nied by a ruder, Yes, hush, or we'll be told
upon," from one girl, coarser than her ~cm-
panions. Emily's cheeks grew brighter, an indigo
nant remonstrance was on her lips, and she had
already advanced one step towards the group,
when a soft hand was laid upon her arm, and
looking up, she met the gentle eyes of Clara
Come with me," said Clara, I have been
waiting for you on the other side of the street."
Just let me tell those ladies that-"
Better not tell them anything. Mrs. Wilmot
does not like us to stand in the street in that way,
and I am sure you will not do what irs. Wilmot
does not like."
While Clara spoke, she was moving on, and
Emily, removed from the cause of provocation,
soon forgot it in the sweet society of her friend,


and in her delight at the beautiful book that was
to make Charlie so happy."
And happy indeed he was, and happy was
Mrs. Herbert too, as she saw the affection of her
While they love each other, poverty cannot
make them miserable," she said to herself.
Mother, are all rich girls as disagreeable as
-ia Day ?" asked Emily that evening, as she was
preparing for bed.
I think you can answer your own question, my
dear, when I tell you that Clara Layton's father
is probably a richer man than Mr. Day," said
Mrs. Herbert.
Is he ? why Clara was almost as plainly dressed
as I was; she had not a bit of jewellery about
She told you, you remember, that her
mamma did not think it proper that she should
wear it."
"' Well, I never shall think much of anybody
that dresses up so very finely. I shall always
remember Miss Julia Day."
"Then you will be very unjust, my dear
Emily. I certainly agree with Mrs. Layton, that


it is not in good taste for little girls to dress
very showily; I even think they look better
when their dress is simple;" and she bent over
Emily and kissed her forehead, smiling as she
added, and one little girl I know would, I fear,
become a little vain if she were dressed very
richly, but a wiser person would wear the fine
clothes without thinking of them. If we only
do rightly, love mercy, and walk humbly with
God, my darling, it is of little consequence what
we may wear. Ask your Heavenly Father to give
you these gracious dispositions, my child, and
pray, above all, that He would enable you to
Forgive those who have offended you. Remember,
Emily," she added, as she saw the cheek of Emily
flush, only those who forgive can hope to be
Mrs. Herbert spoke with such solemnity that
Emily was awed, and when after her evening
prayer, she gave her mother her good-night kiss,
she whispered, I asked God to make me forgive
Julia Day."
God's blessing rested that night on the home
of the widow and the fatherless.



THE companions of Julia Day, some influenced
by her misrepresentations, some by her position
or her finery-for such things are not without
their influence even on children-had done all
in their power to reconcile her to herself, yet
there was a still, small voice within her, which
even their flatteries could not altogether over-
power, whispering that she was not entirely
blameless. Had she listened to this voice and
acknowledged she had done wrong, and asked
the forgiveness of those she had offended, what
sweet peace there would have been in her heart-
how pleasantly she would have tripped homeward,
and with how bright a smile she would have met
her mamma! This peaceful, cheerful spirit is
God's blessing on those who do rightly. Julia
did not enjoy it.


Those who had looked at Julia Day's home,
might have thought that she had great reason
for happiness. Mr. Day's house was one of the
handsomest in the large city of New York. It
was built of brown stone; the rooms were all
large; the windows of the parlours opened down
to the floor; the mantel-pieces were of the purest
white marble, supported on each side by beau-
tifully sculptured figures; the chandeliers were
of ormolu; there were pictures in richly gilded
frames on the walls, and velvet carpets on the
floors, and inlaid tables and brocade covered
couches and lounges, chairs and ottomans, scat-
tered through the rooms. It seemed as if every
thing you could ask for in parlours was to be
found there. Let us follow Julia and see what
her life was in this beautiful home.
"Is mamma at home?" she asked of the
waiter at the door.
No, Miss, but I believe Nancy has a message
for you from your mamma."
"Miss Julie! Miss Julie!" cried Nancy from
above, your mamma says you must study your
lessons for to-morrow."
Study lessons! Does mamma think I am


never to be tired of studying lessons ?" exclaimed
the pert girl.
Because," continued Nancy, your mamma
is going to Niblo's this evening, and she wants
you to be all dressed and ready to go with
her when she comes home to dinner at five
Oh! going to Niblo's; well, here, Nancy,
just carry my books up-stairs with you." Nancy
had come down while speaking. I have to run
over to Laura Van Ruysdael's and tell her why
I can't walk with her this afternoon."
"Well, remember, Miss Julia, your mamma said
you must study your lessons, or your papa would
not let you go."
Oh! I'll remember."
It was nearly three o'clock, and Julia did not
return till after four.
"Has mamma come yet?" was her hurried
question at the door on her second entrance.
It was not the question of an affectionate child
impatient to see her mother, as was proved by
her exclamation of That's good," when she was
answered in the negative.
John, tell mamma I am in my room, studying


my lessons," she added, as she ran quickly up..
A hasty glance at the various lessons given
her by Mrs. Wilmot to prepare for the next
day, taken while N1ancy arranged her hair and
prepared her evening dress, was all that Julia
could do to redeem herself from the mortifying
consciousness that she had been guilty of a posi-
tive falsehood in leaving this message. She was
dressed just in time for dinner. Her father and
mother were seated at the table when she de-
scended to the parlour. There were no visitors.
"Well, my daughter, how did you like your
school ? asked Mr. Day.
"I like the school very well," answered Julia,
with a little sullenness in her tone.
"You like the school very well," repeated
Mr. Day, with a very successful imitation of
Julia's emphasis and manner. "And what was
it you did not like? for there was evidently
"I don't like to be scolded for nothing at
"And do you mean to say," asked Mr. Day,
That Mrs. Wilmot scolds for nothing? '*


Mr. Day smiled as he spoke, for he was a man
of some sense, and was not disposed to foster his
daughter's petty resentments.
"I don't call it any great thing to spill a single
drop of ink out of a pen."
That depends on where the ink falls, and how
it was done," said Mr. Day.
I am sure I could not help it; I suppose my
pen was too fall, and I did so,"-shaking her
fork-" and it fell, and the least bit went on a
girl's cuff: the cuff was plain linen, not a bit
better than Nancy wears; and she cried and
made such a noise and fuss that it disturbed the
whole school, and Mrs. Wilmot never scolded her
a word, but she scolded me and made me sit by
"A pretty teacher she must be, to show
such partiality!" said Mrs. Day, somewhat
sneeringly. It may be that she was not very
sorry to find some fault in Mrs. Wilmot, for it
had been Mr. Day's plan and not hers to send
Julia to school, and she had been a little vexed
in the morning to perceive that she commanded
less reverence from Mrs. Wilmot than she
thought was due to her wealth and fashion.


Whatever was her reason for thus receiving the
complaints of her child against her teacher, she
was doing great injustice to both, and render-
ing it nearly impossible that Mrs. Wilmot
should ever benefit her young and wayward
"I do not believe in the partiality," said
the more clear-sighted or less prejudiced Mr.
"I think it is very Lard my own father
should not believe me," muttered the perverse
Julia; while her silly mother added, "I think so,
Provoked almost equally with both, and
dreading a domestic storm, Mr. Day exclaimed
hastily, "Hush! you foolish child, eat your
dinner;" but instead of obeying this last com-
mand, Julia burst into tears-tears which were
the result of anger and mortification-and
springing from the table, rushed to her own
"Do not let me see you again to-night,"
cried Mr. Day to her as she passed him. His
dinner had been rendered thoroughly uncom-
fortable, and was eaten in a silence broken only


by Mrs. Day's messages to Julia, entreating
her to come to dinner; or, when these failed
of success, by her orders to the waiter to take
the dinner to her, and afterwards to carry her
ice-cream, Charlotte Russe, and fruits. At
half-past six the stately meal was over, and
leaving Mr. Day to his wine, Mrs. Day ordered
coffee and the carriage at seven, and spent the
intervening half-hour in soothing her petted
daughter, washing away all traces of the tears
from her cheeks, and smoothing her disordered
locks. Without seeing her father again, Julia
sprang with renewed gaiety into the carriage for
Niblo's, and returned at eleven o'clock, jaded and
half asleep. Her father was already in bed. She
did not see him.
Nancy, remember to wake Miss Julia early;
she must have her breakfast at half-past seven, to
be ready for school," said Mrs. Day, as Nancy was
attending Julia to her room.
Oh, mamma! I think that's too hard, to
make me get up so soon; you know you won't
get up early yourself."
Go to bed, Julia, and let me hear no more of
your unreasonable complaints," said the mother,


almost as fretful and sleepy as her child. And
Julia went sulkily to her room, hurried off her
clothes, and lay down, a prayerless child, upon her
unblessed bed.



EMILY HERBERT was a sweet-tempered child.
She had heard very little quarrelling in her life,
and though she and Carrie might sometimes have
a little dissension in their play, when one would
have the doll wear a blue, and the other a pink
dress, they could harldy be said to quarrel, so
quickly did Emily yield to her little sister, and
so ready was Carrie to kiss and be friends.
In truth, the dissension with Miss Julia Day
might be regarded as Emily's first serious quarrel.
She did not like it; it was so very disagree-
able to think that anybody was angry with
her. So felt Emily, and when her mamma
read a chapter from the Bible with her children
in the morning, and she heard those words,
" Be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted,
forgiving one another, even as God, for Christ's
sake, has forgiven you," her heart was melted


by their sweetness, and she felt that her prayer
was answered, and she could forgive Julia Day.
We are glad to say that this feeling was
attained before she was informed by her mother,
that she thought the ink could be extracted
from her cuff by an acid so as to leave no stain
upon it.
"Don't you think Julia Day would like to
know that, after all, she had not done me any
great harm ?" asked Emily.
Perhaps so," said Mrs. Herbert; at least,
it would be kind in you to tell her."
"And that pretty text said we must be kind,
and so I will tell her."
Perhaps, if you learn that pretty text, and
repeat it to yourself whenever you are very much
tempted to be angry to-day, it may help you to do
right. There is another, too, that I would like
you to remember."
What is it, mother ? Is it long ?"
No; it is very short and very easy. It is,
SBe not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with
good.' "
"Oh! that is easy; I know it already;" and
Emily repeated slowly the words just used by her


mother; then, after a moment's pause, she added,
" But I am not sure that I understand what that
text means."
"I will explain it to you," said Mrs. Herbert.
" Suppose Miss Julia Day, instead of being very
glad to hear that she had done you no harm,
should tell you that she did not care about it, and
should even laugh at you for imagining she did,
how would you feel F"
"I should think her very rude," and Emily's
cheeks grew a little red, at the thought of such an
"And perhaps you would be angry with her
again, and so you would let your good be over-
come of her evil; while, if you remained kind
and pleasant to her, there is no doubt, that in
time your good would overcome her evil, and she
would become kind and pleasant in turn."
Forewarned is forearmed," says an old pro-
verb, and it was well that Mrs. Herbert had
prepared Emily for the ungracious reception
which her well-meant information met from
Miss Day and her favoured associates. She
met them in the hall, in which the young ladies
uncloaked themselves and left their bonnets,


and, though her voice trembled a little, she
tried to speak cheerfully and in a friendly ac-
cent, as she gave what she felt ought to be a
pleasant assurance to Julia Day. The answer
was: "I am sure I could not have been more
bothered about it, if I had done you ever so
much harm."
Julia spoke in a haughty tone, and a titter,
only half suppressed, ran around the circle of
young ladies in which she stood. In spite of
all her resolution, we doubt not that some angry
feeling swelled the heart of Emily, and it may
be, even flashed from her eyes; but she had
sufficient self-control to turn away without
speaking. It was a hard effort, and cost her
a tear or two; but she wiped them away before
she entered the school-room, and was able to
return Clara Layton's pleasant smile of wel-
come; and when Mrs. Wilmot closed the short
prayer, which she always made at the opening
of school, with that beautiful form of words
given us by our beloved Lord, Emily was able
to say, Forgive us our trespasses, as we for-
give those who trespass against us," without
any feeling of self-condemnation at her heart.


It may be supposed that Julia Day did not
know a great deal of the lessons, at which she
had only glanced while she was being dressed
the day before. Emily, on the contrary, had
studied hers very faithfully, and knew them per-
fectly. Mrs. Wilmot, on this first day, only
said to Julia, "You must study more, my dear,"
and so she said every day for the first week; but
when two or three weeks had passed over with
the same result, she said, "If you do not know
your lesson better to-morrow, Miss Day, you
must stay after school is dismissed, and study it."
Tears rushed to Julia's eyes, and, with a falter-
ing voice, she said, It is so long, and so hard."
"How is it that Miss Emily Herbert, who
is younger than you are, learns it so well?"
asked Mrs. Wilmot.
Emily sat next to Julia in the class; she
saw the tears, she heard a little sob, her kindly
feelings were stirred, and she summoned courage
to say to Mrs. Wilmot, "My brother helps. me,
ma'am-if it were not for that, I could not al-
ways learn it."
I have nobody to help me," said Julia,
with a desolate feeling at her heart, and some-


thing like a suspicion stealing over her, that
she was not, after all, so very much happier
than Emily Herbert.
"May I help you?" whispered Emily, very
softly; "I can tell you what my brother tells
me, you know."
Julia did not answer; she tried to whisper,
"You are very good," but another little quick
sob came instead, and she burst into tears.
She could not, we think, have told herself why
she wept; but it was probably partly from mor-
tification about her lesson, and partly from sorrow
at the remembrance of her unkindness to Emily,
who was trying now to soothe and comfort
her. Mrs. Wilmot took no notice of her tears;
she was not sorry to see them, for she said
to herself, "She is not without feeling, I hope,
though the indulgence of a foolish mother has
made her vain and selfish."
Emily almost cried herself, as she saw Julia's
ungoverned emotion, and laying her hand
softly on hers, she kept it there till the class
was dismissed, and then, after they had left
Mrs. Wilmot's presence, she said, "Don't cry;
let me help you just as Charlie helps me,


and you will see how easy it is. Mrs. Wilmot
will let us study together, I dare say, if I ask
her. May I ? May I tell her you would like it ?"
Yes, if you please," faltered Julia.
Emily waited till recess to present her request
to Mrs. Wilmot, who, having listened quietly,
answered, "I have no objection, if you are wil-
ling to give up your seat by Clara Layton, and
return to one by Miss Day."
Emily hesitated. "Must I give up Clara,
ma'am ? She is so good, and I love her so
You may do as you please; you cannot
sit in both seats, neither can I allow you to
leave your place even for so kind a purpose as
to assist Miss Day; such a habit in a school
would be subversive of all order; but I have
no doubt you will do Miss Day an essential ser-
vice, if you are willing to sacrifice your own
pleasure to her profit, and leaving your friend
Clara to sit beside her, and show her how to
Emily's lips parted to say she would accept
Mrs. Wilmot's terms, and take her first seat
by Julia Day; but just then Clara's pleasant


smile seemed to beam before her, and she saw,
as if compressed into an instant of time, all the
little aids she had given her in these few days,
all the times in which, without saying a word,
or infringing a rule, she had placed before her the
very book, sometimes the very sentence, she
needed to help her out of a difficulty in her
studies, or, by placing her finger on her smiling
lips, had checked the words she was about to
utter, and so saved her from violating the rules
of the school; and, overpowered by the thought
of all she was relinquishing, again Emily hung
her head, and was silent.
Talk with Clara Layton about it, my dear,
and if you decide to make the change, just take
your seat, after recess, by Miss Day; only re-
member you go there to be of service to her, and
be careful that your good is not overcome of her
Emily understood what that meant, and the
bright, intelligent smile with which she glanced
at Mrs. Wilmot, told her that she did. When
Emily returned to her place, she found Clara
with her luncheon spread before her, but waiting
her arrival to eat it. She had a remarkably fine


bunch of the common Isabel grape, and, as
Emily approached, she exclaimed, I am so
glad you have come ; I was so afraid you would
not be in time to eat the grapes I brought
for you. They grew on my own grape vine;
I planted it in the yard when I was a little
thing, and now it covers half the piazza of
our house."
Clara divided the bunch of grapes as she
spoke, and placed the one half on Emily's
"Oh, Clara!" cried Emily, "I shall be so
sorry to leave you; and yet I think-I am
afraid, I ought to go and sit by poor Julia
Poor Julia Day !" ejaculated Clara. "I
have an idea she would hardly thank you for
calling her poor."
"I know she is very rich, and has a great
many fine things; more I suppose than I shall
ever see in all my life."
Miss Herbert, I have brought you some
grapes." Emily looked up in surprise. The
speaker was Julia Day. She held in her hand
a bunch of the rare and delicious grape called


the black Hamburgh. They made Clara's grapes
look small.
Thank you, Miss Day; but Clara has
brought me some grapes," said Emily, as
quietly as if she had seen and eaten black
Hamburgh grapes all her life, though, in truth,
these were the first of the kind she ever looked
"But these are hot-house grapes; taste them;
see how much better they are."
Thank you-I like Clara's very much, and
I cannot eat both," said Emily, and Julia Day
turned away more puzzled than ever to account
for Emily's kindness to her in the class, the only
possible reason that had suggested itself to her,
being, that she probably wished to win her favour
that she might share in the advantages her
wealth conferred, among which Julia reckoned
the gratification of appetite as by no means the
smallest. As she now turned away with her
grapes, a little mortified at their rejection,
Clara looked with a meaning smile to Emily,
-those costly grapes seemed such a comment
on the poor Miss Day.
I call her pocr, in spite of such things,"


said Emily, answering the smile. "Do you
think I would give my brother Charlie for all
she has ?-and she has no brother, and she cried
in the class to-day, and said she had no one to
help her with her lessons-is not that sad ? and
so I asked Mrs. Wilmot to let me help her,
and she said I might if I would sit by her, and
then you know I must leave you, and I am
afraid I ought to do it. What do you think,
Clara ?"
Unconsciously, Emily was putting Clara's
sincerity and worth, as a friend, to the greatest
possible test. Remember this, my young
friends, and if you would try a friend's truth
and excellence, submit to their decision some
question of conduct in which your feelings and
your convictions of right are at variance ; and
if they decide, as Clara did, in favour of con-
science and duty, against your inclinations and
their own, hold them as a treasure too valuable
to be bought or sold for all the gems and gold
of India.
Clara took but a little while to think before
she answered, "Yes, Emily I think you will
have to go; I am very sorry to lose you; but


then, we can always lunch together, and we can
walk together from school."
The bell rang for the young ladies to take
their seats, and Emily, without another word,
gathered up her books and went to the seat
beside Julia Day.
"Are you going to sit here ?" asked Julia
in surprise.
Yes; Mrs. Wilmot said we might study
together if I would leave Clara and sit with
Why, I thought you would not leave Clara
Layton for anybody."
I was very sorry to leave her, but I wanted
to study with you, and Clara says we can still
lunch together, and walk together."
"I am sure I am very sorry to take you
from her," said Julia with a little displeasure
in her tone; but the second bell had rung,
after which the studies were to be resumed,
and Emily, imitating her friend Clara, looked
smilingly in Julia's face and put her finger to
her lip, while she opened the book from which
they were next to recite. It was geography,
and taking her Atlas, she pointed out to Julia


the towns, rivers, &c., which Charles had pre-
viously shown to her. Unaccustomed to apply
herself, Julia soon grew weary, yet Emily had
the pleasure of hearing her answer one or two
questions correctly, when they were called to
recite. It was more than she had been able to
do before.



IF it had not been for the influence of her
mother and Charlie at home, and of TMrs. Wil-
mot and Clara Layton at school, we fear Emily
would soon have repented the sacrifice she
had made in a moment of generous compassion.
It was so difficult to induce Julia Day to pay
the necessary attention to her studies, that
Emily might be excused for being sometimes
weary of what seemed a hopeless effort. But
this was not her worst trial; in the company
of her first friends at school, Julia still assumed
some of her vain and haughty airs, and Emily
would go home to tell her mother of her provo-
cation, and to ask if Mrs. Herbert thought
that she ought to help Julia, or to show her
anything, when she behaved so badly to her;
and still she received from her mother the same
gentle lessons, Forgive as you would be for-

given-let not your good be overcome by evil."
Then Mrs. Wilmot once thanked her for the
help she was giving her with Julia Day, and in
the strength of those pleasant words, Emily
bore much from Julia without complaint. Clara,
too, helped her to bear, for she said, "I do miss
you very much, yet I am glad you went to Julia
Day, for I should never have loved you so much,
or have known how very patient you could be,
if I had not seen you so kind to her."
When she repeated these pleasant speeches
to Mrs. Herbert, her gentle wisdom was as
ready to warn her against vanity as against dis-
couragement. "I am glad that Mrs. Wilmot
thinks you have done some good in her school,"
she would say, "but as to your patience, I
hope my dear little girl did not forget, when
Clara talked of that, to tell her how very im-
patient she has often been with Julia Day, and
how many times she would have given up every
attempt to be kind to her, if she had not been
soothed and encouraged by others."
What a blessing is such a mother to a child,
leading her into the ways of wisdom, which are
ever paths of pleasantness! Emily Herbert felt


this in after life, when she could see with clearer
eyes the dangers and temptations through which
she had passed, and the anxious love which, draw-
ing its strength from the Divine promises to
Faithful parents, had watched and guarded her
with unsleeping care.
But perhaps not the least influential motive
that Emily found to perseverance, was given
by 3 ulia herself, who began to show an affec-
tion teness of nature, for which no one, when
she first entered on her school life, had given
Ldr credit. She no longer seemed pleased at
any rudeness or inattention from her former
associates to Emily; she even showed that she
preferred Emily to them, by occasionally asking
her to let her take her luncheon with Clara
and her, in their corner. It was impossible
that Emily should not feel flattered when
Miss Van Ruysdael and Miss Livermore, who
had never deigned to notice her at all, found
their invitations rejected by Julia, that she
might spend her recess with Clara and Emily.
Doubtless Emily thought this a sign of very
good sense in Julia. So between the flattery
to herself and the higher opinion of Julia,


she began to love her very truly, and to feel
it no longer hard to sit with her and to help
her to study.
If Julia Day had had a judicious and sensible
mother, like Mrs. Herbert, the good impres-
sions made on her at school would have been
deepened at home, but this was not so. All
Mrs. Day's influence on the mind of her
child tended to foster her vanity and selfishness.
She seldom asked her any questions respecting
her school, but when she did, she was not alto-
gether pleased with her answers. It did not
seem to her that Julia's associates were of the
right order, or that she was taking the position
due to her father's wealth, and her mother's
"I must exert myself to rectify this," she
said to herself: "Julia shall have a party on
her birthday; not a common party, but some-
thing to be talked of; she shall invite all the
school-girls who are proper associates for her-
they will talk to the others of the affair, and
so she will obtain her proper stand."
Accordingly, on the approach of Julia's birth-
day, which happened on the twentieth of


January, Mrs. Day announced her intention to
give, in her daughter's name, a child's fancy
ball. It was to be a very extraordinary affair,
and so much amusement was anticipated from
seeing the children dressed up as kings and
queens, knights and warriors, fairies and wiz-
ards, flower-girls and gypsies, and trying to
support the characters which belonged to the
dresses, that everybody wanted to be there;
and had Mrs. Day listened to the petitions of
all her friends who solicited invitations, there
would have been as many grown persons as chil-
dren. But she rigidly limited her invitations to
twenty grown persons. She wished to have about
eighty children; but, she said, there might be a
few more or a few less, when her list was made
out. First on this list she placed those at
Mrs. Wilmot's school, who were to be honoured
with an invitation.
Give me the names of all the school-girls
you want to invite, Julia," said she, one morn-
ing, "and I will write them down and see about
Julia gave a pretty long list, which was headed
by the names of Clara Layton and Emily Herbert.


"Herbert! Herbert!" said Mrs. Day to her-
self, as she ran over the list, after writing it.
"What Herbert is this, Julia? I do not know
them at all. Find out where they live."
Oh! I know, mamma," answered Julia,
quickly, "they live in Bank-street."
"Bank-street! A very out-of-the-way place-
but go along-I will see about it."
It is not worth while for us to trouble our-
selves with the source from which Mrs. Day de-
rived her information respecting the doubtful
names on the list of Julia's friends. It must
have been invaluable to her, for before Julia
had returned to dinner, her decisions on this
important subject had been made, and the
names of those who were inadmissible had been
erased from the scroll. First of these was our
little friend Emily Herbert.
Oh! but, mamma, I must ask Emily," cried
Indeed, you must not," replied Mrs. Day, de-
cidedly. I should like to know what a girl
whose mother lives in the third story of a house
in Bank-street, and works for a milliner, would do
at a fancy ball."


But I promised her I would invite her,
mamma; and I had rather not have any
birth-day party, if I cannot ask those I like
to it."
Very well-you need not have any; ring
the bell, and I will order John to bring back
the invitations I gave him to take out. I can
write a note to Madame Lefevre to let the
Titania dress alone, that I gave orders for this
This was putting Julia's sincerity to a test
it could not stand. Instead of moving to the
bell, she remained perfectly still, near her
mother, and, after a moment's hesitation, said,
with something like a smile upon her be-
fore clouded face, What is a Titania dress,
mamma ? "
A dress for the queen of the fairies, who was
named Titania."
But how can you tell what she wore, since
you never saw any fairies ? "
Oh we can fancy what she would have worn,
if there had been any such person."
And what did you fancy, mamma ?"
"A dress of silver-sprigged lace over full


pantalets of the same, looped up at the side and
sleeves, and surrounded at the neck with wild
flowers; a coronal of wild flowers on the head,
and satin slippers embroidered with silver.
Now, must I tell Lefevre that she need not mako
Mrs. Day smiled, for she knew by Julia's
face, that vanity had conquered her regard for
Emily Herbert's feelings and her own promise,
and that she would interpose no obstacle to the
entertainment, which was to give her the oppor-
tunity of exhibiting herself in a Titania dress.
The only reference Julia made to her friend
after this, was in the question, Mamma, what
shall I say to Emily Herbert about not asking
her? "
Nothing," replied Mrs. Day, unless she
should be so ill-bred as to ask why you do not
invite her. If she should, tell her I gave the
invitations, and that I did not choose to invite
any out of our own set."
That day, and for several succeeding days,
Emily found Julia less pleasant. She seemed
to care less for her studies, avoided her at re-
cess, drew closer to her earliest intimates in


the school, and even sometimes went so far as
to write notes to them and slip into their hands
in passing, a thing which she knew to be quite
contrary to Mrs. Wilmot's rules. Emily was
very much hurt by this change-much more
than she had been by Julia's unkindness when
they first met ; for now she really loved Julia,
and those we love can wound us far more than
any indifferent persons can do. Clara, too, was
vexed at this change, for Emily's sake, and be-
cause, being one of those invited to the fancy
ball, she suspected the cause. With a degree
of consideration not always exercised by older
people, Clara never spoke to Emily of this ball,
lest her friend should feel mortified at not having
received an invitation to it. But others were not
so thoughtful or so kind. The ball was the great
topic of conversation at school, during the recess,
and it was scarcely possible that Emily should
avoid hearing it discussed.
Oh dear! cried Julia, one day when twelve
o'clock found her with some sums undone, which
Mrs. Wilmot had directed her to have ready
for her examination immediately after recess.
" What shall I do? I don't understand these


sums at all. Do, Emily, show me how you did
It was Julia's first application for help for
many days, and with a little triumphant feel-
ing at her heart, yet with a kindly manner,
Emily laid aside the luncheon she had already
taken from her desk, and began to explain the
points that puzzled her companion. They were
thus engaged with Clara Layton, who had come
for Emily, standing beside them, when Miss
Van Ruysdael came up, exclaiming, Oh! do
Julia come here-I want to talk to you about
your ball-I have got my dress; I am going to
be a Greek girl- "
Pray, don't talk to me now; I must finish this
sum," said Julia. "I will come to you presently;"
and she bit her lip with vexation, as she glanced
at Emily, who could not help colouring a little,
when the ball, to which she had been promised an
invitation that had never come, was thus named
before her.
Clara was vexed too, and said, "Come, Emily,
or we shall lose all our recess."
Just this one minute, Clara," pleaded Julia.
"Oh! thank you, Emily-that's done--ard I am


so obliged to you. I am sure I wish I could have
asked you to my ball."
"And why could you not ?" asked Clara, some-
what bluntly. "I am sure you have been more
intimate with Emily than with anybody else, and
she has done more for you than anybody else in
school has."
I know it; and I begged mamma to let me ask
her, but she said she could not ask anybody that
was so completely out of our set."
I should like to know what made Emily out
of your set," said Clara, still more indignant at
this assumption of social superiority on Julia's
"Because mamma says Emily's mother lives
in the third story of a house, and sews for a
Clara in her earnestness, and Julia in her
vexation, had spoken more loudly than usual, and
their words reached other ears than those for
which they were intended. Emily had not stirred
from her place beside Clara, kept there first by
curiosity to hear Julia's answer, and then by
mortification and distress. Her head was bowed
very low-large tears gathered in her eyes, and


fell on her burning cheeks. Suddenly an arm
was passed around her, and a hand was laid caress-
ingly upon her head. She looked up to meet Mrs.
Wilmot's kind eyes.
"Do not be distressed, my child," said that
aind lady: "few have so much to be proud of in
a mother as you have. Stop, Miss Julia,Day!"
she continued, as that young lady was stealing
off, somewhat abashed: "as you seem to be but
half acquainted with the history of Miss Herbert's
mother, allow me to tell you the rest. A few
years ago she. was surrounded by all the luxuries
and elegancies of wealth. I do not know that
you would then, have been admitted to her set,
for the wealthiest could not gain access there,
if they were not also good. She has become less
rich by some of those circumstances over which
we have no control, and which may make the
wealthiest man in New York poor to-morrow
but Mrs. Herbert is not one whit less loved or
less esteemed, by those who know her now than
she was formerly. Indeed, she is, if possible, more
esteemed; for she has shown what she was
able to do, and now educates her children-as
you may see by her daughter here-as well as the


children of the wealthiest, without asking aid from
any one."
The flush of pleasure had dried the tears on
Emily's cheeks, and though her eyes drooped
with the fulness of delight, her head was erect.
Clara, who still stood beside her, and kept her
hand clasped in hers, looked around her with a
triumphant glance. Julia Day, pale, abashed,
and tearful, could only murmur, "I am very
sorry, ma'am. I am sure I did not mean any
Emily closed her relation of this scene to
her mother, when she went home, with "I will
not sit by Julia Day any more. I mean to ask
Mrs. Wilmot to-morrow, to let me sit by Clara,
and then I'll see who will help Miss Julia, or show
her her sums."
And so, because poor Julia Day has been vain
and silly, my little Emily will indulge a spirit of
anger and revenge; that will be, indeed, to let her
good be overcome of evil."
"And must I bear everything from Julia
Day ? asked Emily, too much provoked by what
seemed like disrespect to her mother from Julia,
to be easily mollified.


"If these trials of temper shall indeed teach
you to bear everything, Julia Day will truly
have been a useful companion to you. But,
letting the everything alone for the present,
perhaps it will help you to bear this one thing,
if you remember that she has told nothing but
the truth. We are certainly not in Mrs. Day's
set; and as to the fancy ball, I hope, my child,
you have too much good sense to have any
desire for it. I certainly could not have consented
to your attending anything at once so silly
and so expensive, if you had had a dozen in-
The effects of these conciliatory suggestions
was perhaps increased by the arrival of a very
respectful note from Mrs. Layton, the mother
of Clara, to Mrs. Herbert, requesting her to per-
mit Emily to spend the next evening-which was
that of Julia Day's birth-night ball-with Clara.
" If Master Charles Herbert will accompany his
sister, we shall be very happy to see him," Mrs.
Layton added.
Emily was more than satisfied with the ex-
change of a fancy-ball, dazzling as its splendours
might be to her imagination, without Charlie,


for an evening at Clara Layton's, with him.
Clara 'Layton had been invited by Mrs. Day,
but Mrs. Layton did not approve of fancy balls
for her daughter, and the invitation was de-
clined. The indulgent mother, anxious to make
some amends to her daughter for the disap-
pointment she might feel in relinquishing so
gay and ,exciting an entertainment, proposed
that she should invite some of her young com-
panions to spend the evening with her. Clara
had named Emily as one of those whom she
would like to invite. Mrs. Layton, like Mrs.
Day, thought it necessary to make some in-
quiries respecting Clara's favourite, before she
could sanction their friendship by inviting Emily
to her house. Her inquiries were made of Mrs.
Wilmot, who, she believed, must be well ac-
quainted" with the character of her pupils, and
the influence they were likely to exert on each
other. The account which sha. received from
Mrs. Wilmot interested her not 6nly in Emily,
but also in Charlie, who was accordingly in-
cluded in the invitation, to the great joy of
George and Henry Wilmot, who had been some-
what annoyed at the thought of being the only


young gentlemen in a company of twelve or
fourteen young ladies.
On the appointed evening, Emily, in a sim-
ple but neat crimson mousseline-de-laine, which
was particularly becoming to her fair skin, with
her hair carefully brushed and curled in its own
natural ringlets, and Charlie in his one fine
suit of blue broadcloth, never worn before on
any other day than Sunday, proceeded to Mr.
Layton's house in the Fifth Avenue. They
felt a little trepidation, we doubt not, as they
ascended the broad marble steps, and were
ushered through the wide hall into the brightly-
lighted parlour. But, though shy from not
having been accustomed to visit much, Charles
and Emily were natural and unaffected, and the
cordial greetings of Mrs. Wilmot and Clara
soon placed them at their ease. Though Mrs.
Herbert had lost her fortune, she had not lost
the habits and manners of a well-bred lady,
and her children were trained by her to exer-
cise that gentle consideration and respect for
the feelings of others, which is the source o'
true politeness. They had also been taught
such habits of neatness and order at their sim-


'le and frugal table, as would render them per.
fectly agreeable guests to the most refined and
fastidious. Their evening passed away delight-
fully. The children acted conundrums, pro-
posed puzzles, and played at various games, in
which Mrs. Wilmot herself, a very entertain-
ing person, instructed them. At half past
nine o'clock, they were regaled with ice-cream,
and at ten the little company dispersed, each
thinking the three hours of that evening had
passed more rapidly than ever hours did be-
fore, and the happiness of Emily was perfect,
when Mrs. Layton, at parting, put a paper of
bon-bons into her hand for her little sister
It was impossible for Julia Day's guests to
be happier than Clara Layton's had been; in-
deed, there was, now and then, a cloud over
their brightness, as once when Titania lost her
crown, and accused one of the young ladies of
having knocked it off her head purposely, and
once, when the Greek girl tore her embroidered
scarf, and, crying, declared that she could never
go home and tell her mamma, as it was an India
scarf, and cost she did not know how many hun-


dred dollars. Notwithstanding these cross ac-
cidents, however, the evening was very gay, and
the ladies and gentlemen who were present as
spectators only, enjoyed seeing the children
dancing in their pretty dresses, though some of
them were heard to say, after they had gone
away, I would not have a child of mine in such
a scene for the world. The children were per-
fectly ridiculous with their vanity and their
fantastic dresses." But the children did not
hear this, and they believed themselves very
much admired, and separated at twelve o'clock
very much pleased with themselves and with
fancy balls, though many, if not most of them,
had some complaint to make of Julia Day, who
had been too much occupied with herself to be
a very attentive hostess. Julia herself retired
to bed very weary and cross, quite satisfied that
she had been the prettiest girl in the room, and
that nothing but envy had made the others
choose Mary Ford, as the Queen of Beauty, in
one of their plays. She was sure they only did
it to spite her; and as she spoke thus she threw
her crown of flowers on one side, and her spark-
ling dress on the ether, in a manner that quit


vexed the careful Nancy, and made her exclaim,
" Well, Miss Julie, you do go on. I'm sure a
fancy ball don't male you seem no happier nor



Ir the ball at Mrs. Day's was an affair of doubt-
ful happiness, the discomfort of the next morning's
breakfast could not be disputed. Mr. Day had
risen at his usual hour, and at eight o'clock
he rang for his breakfast; but the footman, who
had been up nearly all night, considered this a
most unreasonable demand, and did not hurry
himself to comply with it. The cook, too,
thought fancy balls and early-rising wholly in-
compatible, and was not ready till nine o'clock.
At half past nine, Mrs. Day and Julia made
their appearance. Mr. Day was just leaving
the house, but he turned back for a moment,
as he saw them descending the stairs, to speak
to them. His temper was evidently not
sweetened by the delay in his breakfast, for Mr.
Day was a business man, and business men like


"Julia, why are you not at school?" was his
first salutation to his daughter.
"Why, papa, you could not expect me to go
to school to-day."
"And so the interruption of your studies
is to be added to the other evils attendant
upon last night's folly-let me tell you, Mrs.
Tom, bring in some hot toast-you need
not tell the footman, Mr. Day," said the lady,
as soon as the man had left the room, in obedience
to her order.
"I do not care whom I tell, for all will know
it soon, if this extravagance on your part con-
tinue; and your last appearance at a fancy ball
will be as a beggar, while your daughter, whom
you are training up for a fine lady, may be glad to
find employment as a lady's maid."
As Mr. Day concluded, he flung out of the
room, and out of the house. The sound of the
front door, as he slammed it after his exit, might
well have jarred on the nerves of his wife and
daughter, for it told of a mind ill at ease.
We are sure there is no one who would not.
have felt it a relief from this scene to have taken


a peep at the little third story room, in which
Mrs. Herbert's neat and simple breakfast was
spread. It had been delayed for half an hour,
that Charles and Emily might have a little
more time to sleep, as they had not retired
to bed till eleven, an hour of which Emily
at least had never before been conscious. At
half past seven, Mrs. Herbert, cheerful and
grateful, took her place at the head of her
table; her children ranged themselves around it,
and after a short and simple acknowledgment
of God's bounty, and petition for His blessing,
the business of the meal began-not in silence,
but with cheerful talk, in which Mr. Layton's
beautiful house, and Mrs. Layton's and Clara's
kindness, were not forgotten; indeed, had
Charles and Emily been unmindful of them,
they would have been recalled by Carrie's bon-
bons, which she kept beside her, and to which
she perpetually recurred with new thankfulness
and delight.
There was a little awkwardness, for a few
days after her fancy ball, in Julia Day's manner
to Emily, but as her enjoyment at Clara's had
quite obliterated from Emily's mind all me-


mory of the vexation which Julia had occa.
sioned her, this awkwardness soon passed away,
and the girls became sociable and friendly, if
not intimate; yet it was observed by others,
if not by Emily herself, that Julia never walked
with her, nor was she heard to say to her as
she often did to others of her associates, "I
shall be in Washington Park, or in Union Park,
at five or six this afternoon-meet me there."
Hitherto our little Emily has been very
happy, the tranquil current of her life being
broken only by such slight annoyances as no
life is entirely free from; but a trial, a real
trial, came with the summer, which it was in-
deed hard to bear. Mrs. Herbert, the tender
mother, grew feebler and feebler; a low ner-
vous fever set in; and the physician, whom she
had been at last forced to consult, declared that
her best hope was in sea air, and advised that
she should go either to Newport or Long Branch
for the summer. How easy to advise, how dif-
ficult to accomplish! The poor invalid looked
eastward from her third story window, and
thought longingly of the dashing waves and
the fresh breezes, but to all persuasion she only


answered, "To go would be to take the bread
from my children's mouths."
So she sat one evening, pale and with tears in
her eyes, when Charles and Emily came in from an
errand, on which she had sent them.
To steal softly to her mother's side, to put
her arm around her and whisper, "Dear
mother! do you feel worse? was Emily's only
way of showing her sympathy; but Charles
seized the occasion to urge his mother on the
subject of the change of air that had been pro-
posed to her.
"Dear mother," he said, standing before her,
and speaking with great earnestness, do be
persuaded to go to Newport. Think how impor-
tant your health is to us, if you are even careless
of yourself."
Ala's she had often thought it, but still the
question recurred-" What can I do ? My
children must, be clothed and fed, and Emily
must be educated; and from these necessities I
have nothing to spare;" and to this effect she
now answered Charles.
Mother, how much would it cost for you
to go, and to take Emily and Carrie with you P


I know you will not be happy if you leave them
It is useless to talk of it, Charles. I did
inquire of Dr. S- who I knew was in the
habit of spending his summers at Newport, and
he told me he would write and inquire for me
at a farm house, at which they sometimes take
boarders. He has done so, and tells me the
lowest at which I can get a room and board, for
myself and the two little girls, would be forty-
eight shillings a week."
"And ten weeks, which I heard the doctor
say would be as long as you ought to stay,
would only cost you the sum of twenty-four
"Only cost! My dear boy, do you know
that what we should save in our housekeeping
in that time, by my absence and that of the
little girls, would scarcely pay for our washing,
and that we have scarcely five shillings over at
the year's end ?"
Charlie was silent, and Mrs. Herbert thought
he was convinced. The next morning, when
the breakfast was ready, Charlie was absent,
and Bridget said he had told her to say to his

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