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THE PRESENTATION OF THE GOAT
AND OTHER STORIES.
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
HARRY BURNE, ...... .. ... 7
ROSABELLA; OR, THE QUEEN OF MAY, ... ... ... 89
THE ORPHAN, ... .. ... .. ...
i R. HAMPTON, a clergyman residing in the
north of Ireland, was born to an abundant
fortune; but circumstances, which it is need-
Sless here to enumerate, left him, at his
father's death, possessed only of excellent
talents, the kindest heart, an independent spirit,
and a curacy.
His loss of fortune he regretted chiefly be-
cause it deprived him of all power to continue that assist-
ance to the surrounding poor which they so much re-
quired, and which his family had hitherto liberally be-
But his was not a mind to remain inactive under the
loss of one means of usefulness, whilst so many others
were still open to him. He resolved, since he was him-
self prevented the happiness of relieving his fellow-
creatures, that he would devote his life to the instruction
of youth, and endeavour to give those who might have
more power the will which he possessed. He was con-
firmed in this determination by some friends, who, seeing
8 HARRY BURNE.
him so well fitted for such a task, wished to place their
sons under his care; a plan which they preferred to
sending them to public seminaries, where, from the
number of scholars to be taught, it is often impossible
that each child should receive the attention which is
Mr. Hampton was resolved his pupils should. excel, if
any pains of his could make them d9 so; and that lie
might have more time to bestow on each, he determined
to take no more than six scholars into his house at once.
He was but twenty-six when he commenced this ar-
duous undertaking, to which, even at that early age, he
cheerfully and zealously devoted his whole time and
attention; and' from that moment, until the period when
the following circumstances occurred, it was never ob-
served that the children committed to his charge looked
on him in any other light than that of an indulgent and
The house in which he resided (near to the well-known
port of Donaghadee) was situated within a pleasant walk
of the sea-side, which, during their play-hours, was the
favourite haunt with the set of young students who in-
habited the mansion at the time our history commences.
In passing a cottage which stood near the beach, the
little group had frequently observed a poor but decent-
looking young man sitting at the door, engaged with un-
usual eagerness in carving into a particular shape small
pieces of wood, which he cut from a block close by him.
On the same bench generally sat an interesting-looking
girl of about seventeen, who appeared in extreme ill-
health, but who was busily employed in polishing the
bits of wood which her companion from time to time
threw into her lap.
HARRY BURNE. 9
For upwards of a month the boys never passed the
cottage without seeing this pair occupied in the same
manner, save that, when the evenings were cold and
damp, the girl sat within doors, while her companion
worked without. He seemed anxious also, at these times,
to make her lay aside her industry, and often refused to
take her in the pieces of wood she asked for, saying they
had more work finished than would be called for till
The boys felt their curiosity excited by seeing two
grown persons pursuing with such eagerness an employ-
ment which appeared to them so childish; but having no
excuse for opening a wicket which enclosed a little court
before the cottage, or for going in to observe them more
closely, they remained long ignorant of the nature of
their employment. At length, however, they all agreed
to walk to the cottage in the forenoon of their next holi-
day, and if the young people still continued their occupa-
tion, to make some apology for the intrusion, and not to
come away without discovering what their work was.
The morning was fine on which they set out for
their rambles; but on reaching the little gate, they
found it locked, the cottage door shut, and the bench
"How provoking!" cried Henry Merle, one of the
elder boys, to his disappointed but more patient com-
panions. There can be no harm in vaulting over the
Shedge," continued he, "just to see what those pieces of
wood are like, which lie scattered about the bench;" and
before the words were well uttered, he had some of them
in his hand.
They were bits of black oak, evidently meant to repre-
sent a shamrock leaf, and though broken and cast away,
10 HARRY BURNE.
they seemed carved with the utmost neatness; but Henry
was as much at a loss to discover their use as ever.
He was himself very ingenious; and, like most other
people, felt his interest doubly excited towards a person
who seemed to possess a taste in unison with his own.
His dispositions were amiable, and his talents good;
but it is here necessary to add that these qualifications
were rendered useless by a habit of haste and thought-
lessness which was apparent in everything he did. No
boy in school could get his lesson so quickly as Henry
Merle; but knowing this, he would lounge over his book,
indulging some flight of fancy, until a few minutes before
the lesson should be said.
Lessons so learned, however fluently said, could never
teach habits of attention and reflection, which are amongst
the chief advantages derived from study. In these ac-
quirements, Merle was observed to improve less than
any of his school-fellows. He had unfortunately heard
his father once repeat a remark, which is not more false
than it is dangerous, that men of talent are apt to run
in debt to time, trusting to their wits to pay the arrears."
Merle therefore imagined that to adopt this plan would
be to prove himself a man of talent. Accordingly, what-
ever might be the occupation in which he engaged with
his companions, he allowed them all to get the start of
him at first, trusting to his adroitness for overtaking in
the end. And this vain confidence in his abilities, which
he took for courage, often tempted him to run into diffi-
culties, from which he seldom escaped without severe
These leaves are beautiful," said he to himself, as he
examined one of the shamrocks which he held in his
hand. I could help the young man in his work, I am
HARRY BURNE. 11
sure, if I but knew how it was finished. I will just put
my head through the window, it opens so easily, and look
at these others which hang over the fire-place."
The leaves, however, which hung there in little festoons,
"looked so tempting, that Henry was in the room before
his friend Edward Hilton could call to him that the poor
sick girl was probably in the house, and might be terri-
fied by his sudden entrance.
At the same moment the cottager came to the gate,
which he hastily unclosed, set down a small basket he
had been carrying, leaped in after Henry, whom he had
seen enter, and pushing him aside with indignation, ran
forward to a pallet, which Merle had not observed before,
saying in a soothing and affectionate voice-" Nancy,
achree! it is me that's here. Sure, woman, you wouldn't
be frightened for one of the school-boys! He didn't
know you were here, I'll warrant, and will not harm
The invalid raised herself from her straw pallet, with
the intention of assuring then both she was not alarmed;
but the trembling frame and inarticulate accents soon
brought Merle to a sense of the indiscretion he had com-
mitted. Shame getting the better of the surprise into
which he was at first thrown by the young man's en-
trance, he stammered out an assurance that he only
wanted to look at the festoons on the chimney-piece, and
leaped out to his friend Hilton, who had come forward to
bring him away.
Had you not better stay and ask," whispered Hilton,
"if we could be of any use to these poor people?"
I should rather you would do it," answered Merle,
who felt really shocked at the effect his rashness seemed
to have produced on the poor emaciated sufferer. But
12 HARRY BURNE.
before either could summon courage to ask the question,
the young man shut down the window, and, after speak-
ing again to Nancy, came out to the bench to recommence
Seeing the culprit still stand there, he said in a steady
but respectful tone of voice--" Young gentleman, you
look so sorry for frightening my poor sister, that I am
bold to hope you will not be angry if I ask you and your
companions just to walk softly past the end of our cottage
in the mornings when you go to bathe. It's little sleep
she gets, poor thing! by night or day, and sometimes
you rouse her out of the first she has had for many
"We will keep at a distance on the grass in future;
and I wish we knew anything else we could do that
would be of the least use to your sister," cried Merle.
Thank you, sir; thank you kindly," replied the cot-
tager. And after pausing a few seconds, his face brighten-
ing as if with the hope that they might be of service to
him, he continued, I am strong and able to work, and I
was brought up to a good trade, by which I might easily
earn bread enough for both myself and my sister; but I
cannot find in my heart to leave her and go to a distance
in search of employment, so I'll just make free to tell you
the only way of living we have at present, and how I
think you might be of use to us both, since you are so
kind as to wish it.
One day, as I sat beside Nancy, thinking how I
would manage to keep her from want when our last
shilling was spent, and idling over this piece of old oak
that I found in the bog hard by, cutting it into twenty
shapes for want of better to do-' Make me some more
of them pretty leaves, Harry,' says she, 'and I'll show
HARRY BURNE. 13
you what we'll do with them, that will, perhaps, bring us
a little money.'"
Here he took from his basket some of the festoons
which had tempted Merle to commit the rudeness for
which he was now so sorry, and showed them to the
boys. I had cut the bits'of stick into that form at first
without any design, then from single leaves I began to
cut them into shamrocks; and as fast as I could make
them, she tied them up in this manner, and brought them
to this nice polish with a little chalk and turpentine and
constant rubbing; and we both began to think that, with
more pains and practice, we could make some that would
be pretty enough to offer for sale as necklaces for the
quality, that like wearing such things.
We worked late and early until we had finished one
to please us; then I took it down to Mr. Bonner, at the
Soole (it's him that keeps the pleasure-boat upon the
water, and that's kind and good to everybody), and I
asked him to try and get it sold for Nancy to some of the
company he took out pleasuring with him in his boat.
So he was as kind as could be, and praised the necklace
out of measure, and desired me to bring him more when
we could get them made; and he mostly got one or two
sold for us every month this half-year past, which enables
me to get her a little nourishment. But poor Mr. Bonner
has been ill this fortnight, and when I went down to-day
with the last necklace we made, I found there had been
none sold since he grew bad, and that there were many
lying on our hands. God bless him! it was his good
word that made our work go off; and now poor Nancy
will have nothing to live on but the dry potato and salt
until he gets afoot again. Lord be praised for that
14 HARRY BURNE.
That shall not be the case," cried all the boys at once;
for they had all crept forward on seeing their two com-
panions on such amicable terms with the owner of the
cottage. I think," said Hilton eagerly, we could each
contrive to get one necklace sold for you; and we will, at
all events, try to do what we can."
The honest cottager thanked them all for their kind-
ness, and declared they could not do him a greater service.
It was immediately agreed amongst them that at the
midsummer holidays, which were to commence in a few
days, each boy should take home a necklace, and ask
some member of his family to become the purchaser; and
it would be hard to say whether the poor young peasant
or his youthful friends seemed most elated by the pro-
posal. The boys then left him with an assurance of re-
turning the following week, and led him to share in the
hope which they entertained, that they would not bring
back one of his necklaces unsold.
"Don't be afraid, Harry; I will take care to make the
boys steal past the cottage, so that Nancy shall never be
disturbed again," said Merle, as he followed his com-
panions through the gate, forgetting at the moment a
wise injunction of his master, that he should not venture
to make any promise, until he had subdued that thought-
lessness of character which made all persons doubtful
whether he would fulfil his engagements or not.
God bless you, sir, for that promise, more than all the
rest," said the cottager; and as the boys departed, he
hastened in to communicate to his sister their good
fortune. He found her in a quiet sleep, and returned to
resume his work, saying to himself, "Now if I could
manage to get her a drop of milk every day, till the young
HARRY BURNE. 15
"Oh the Lord lighten their hearts in the time of
need, and keep that time far off!" exclaimed he in ecstasy,
as he perceived, lying on the bench, six small deposits of
money, and saw his generous young friends again hasten-
ing past a great thorn-tree, which grew in the corner of
the little enclosure before his door.
He quickly collected the treasure, and found it fully
sufficient to supply his sister's wants for more than the
time the boys were to be absent; then fastening the
wicket after him, with a light and thankful heart he ran
to a neighboring farm to procure her some food by the
time she should awaken.
No less joyous were the boys, when, fairly past the
cottage, they began to indulge in that feeling of happi-
ness which is ever produced by a consciousness of being
useful They bounded along the path, forgetful at the
moment that there were any other creatures in existence
besides the cottager, his sister, and themselves.
You never laid your money better down than on that
stone bench," said an old man, who overtook them on
their way. There's not an honester working lad in the
parish than Harry Burne; and it's no wonder for him,
for he's come of honest parents, as may be seen by him-
self and his sister, poor thing. It's her that's sick in the
house,--I warrant ye did not see her?"
The last part of the sentence, which was intended for a
question, received no other reply than by Merle's quickly
asking who her parents were.
Do you see yon pretty white house, with the two
square chimneys, over there at the Braefoot? Well, her
father and mother lived there in times past; and well
they lived, with their sixteen acres of land, their three
cows, and a horse for the plough. An' it's them that
16 HARRY BURNE.
bred their children in the fear of God, and gave them the
best education to boot which the parish afforded. But
where's the house or home that didn't grieve after health
or wealth last year? And as for them-God's name be
blessed !-they grieved for both. The father was out
night and day, striving to save the crops from the rain;
and, when they were all destroyed, to kiln-dry some straw
for the poor dumb beasts, that couldn't find a dry rood
of ground on the whole farm to lay their side upon.
But what with wet clothes, and want of firing, he took
bad with a cold, and went to his bed; and, at last, with
fretting for one thing or another-to himself be it told-
he turned it to the typhus fever, and the good wife took
it off him. And when he came to himself (for he was like
one out of his right mind, and still raved about the crops
and the children), he found the wife clean dead; and
Harry, whose last journey had been to the graveyard
with his mother, was down in the fever too.
So Dennis (as there was nobody to cast an eye after
anything) just thought he must run out and take a look
about the farm, and the cattle, and all his other affairs.
But not a praty-rig* had he that wasn't up to the shoe-
mouth under water, and not a horn or hoof alive, at all,
at all, upon the land; so he gives a groan (it was myself
that met him at the house door, just as he was coming in),
' And fien be in them cares, now the wife's dead,' says he,
'if the poor children had but a mouthful of bread to eat;'
and with that he staggers back to his bed, and somehow
or another he sickened over again, as bad as ever, and
never got up more.
"That very night week, when my wife was helping
this poor heart-broken Nancy to lay him out, '0 Molly,'
HARRY BURNE. 17
says she,-and she was a young thing too to take sorrow
so much to heart,-' 0 Molly, why does not this fever
take me, that was always frail and useless? But I hope it's
me that you will be laying out next, if my sins are for-
given. Harry, thank God, is coming finely through all,'
she added; and, as if she was sorry that he was coming
through, that was the first tear she shed since her mother
died. My wife thinks the poor thing had the fever her-
self all the time, but because she was doney* by nature,
it did not seize on her as it did on the strong ones of the
family; and she would never give up tending the father,
and mother, and Harry, while she had a foot to stand on.
Troth, I'm feared it will take all her brother's care to
keep her out of a decay. He, poor fellow, was forced to
throw up the farm, and sell all the plenishing, to pay the
arrear rent, and what money was due for all the medicine
and victuals they had got in their sickness. It was a
neighbour and friend of his own that lent him this waste
cottage, for the season, to see if Nancy would recover her
health in it, before they went to travel."t
"She shall recover her health," cried Merle, switching
the grass as he walked along, to drive away the melancholy*
with which he felt the old man's tale was likely to impress
him. "My father is a physician, and he shall tell me
what will cure her."
"You're surely not so old as you look, young man,
that speak so thoughtless," said the mendicant with a stern
air (for such he really was, notwithstanding the freedom
of his manner). "If it be not God's will, she'll not
recover for your father, nor for all the doctors in Ireland,
and there's a many of them."
Merle acknowledged the justice of the reproof, and
"* Weak. t A term for going to beg.
18 HARRY BURNE.
they all hastened forward to recount to their kind master
the adventures of the morning.
As they approached Mr. Hampton's enclosure, the
whole group were attracted by a beautiful goat, the joint
property and equal favourite of them all, which ran for-
ward to meet them, repeating her wonted call, to welcome
The younger boys forgot everything, to run in search
of a car and harness, in which they were fond of driving
her about the avenue. After caressing her for some time,
with a countenance on which it is difficult to say whether
pain or pleasure was most marked, Edward hinted to his
companions, that when one of his sisters was supposed to
be in danger of consumption, she had received much
benefit from drinking goat's whey.
The idea was no sooner suggested, than they all pro-
posed to resign their right in Nanny to her poor name-
sake; not without apprehension that the two boys, who
just then advanced with the car, would hardly listen to
The moment it was made, however, one of them said
he had heard Mr. Hampton complain that she destroyed
all his trees. The other, flinging away the reins which
were already in the animal's mouth, and drawing him-
self up a little, protested he had long been thinking they
were all too large for this sort of play, and that the goat
had better be resigned to Nancy. Nanny, however, got
many a wistful look and kind word from each of her old
friends, ere they proceeded to announce to Mr. Hampton
They found him at the gate, talking to their friend
Canty Maguire, the beggar-man, who had been a par-
ishioner of his own, and was amongst the many sufferers
IIHARRY BURNE. 19
who had been driven from a comfortable home by the
late calamitous season. From him he had already learned
the circumstances of their visit to the cottage; where,
unseen or unheeded by the boys, he occupied a seat,
which he had appropriated to himself under the thorn-
tree in Harry's court-yard, and where he had been a
quiet observer of all that passed.
"Troth," added he, when his story was finished,
"Harry would fain keep me sitting with him the whole
day long under the thorn-tree, while he is at work, to
chat about his father and mother, and times long syne,
which the poor lad says makes him work the harder for
Mr. Hampton, who wished to teach his pupils both to
think and act for themselves on every occasion, resolved
to leave the care of this family in their own hands, so
long as he saw them proceed judiciously in the manage-
ment of it. He therefore made no other comment on
the story, but to commend Harry Burne's good-temper
in not driving them from his house, on seeing it so un-
justifiably entered, and to express his approbation of their
plan for disposing of Nanny and the necklaces. He also
offered to assist them, if they wished, in trying to get the
latter sold, or in any other way in which they chose to
make him useful to them.
The boys eagerly caught at his offer, and begged leave
to return that evening to take Nanny to her mistress,
and to get some more necklaces to.dispose of.
What! said Mr. Hampton, "before you have parted
with those you have already in your possession? I advise
you to think twice before you do either of these things;
and recollect, it is not how you can most speedily serve
these young people that you are to consider, but how
"A0 HARRY BURNE.
you can most lastingly and effectually be of use to them.
However, you have my ready consent to the walk; and
I am only sorry I cannot offer to lend you my purse,
which is to-day quite empty, as I fear these poor people
must suffer want."
The boys smiled and blushed, but remained silent.
"Hoot, lads!" cried the beggar, "you should not let
the gentleman fret for want of money on their account,
that never fretted for it on his own.' Troth, sir," said he,
turning to Mr. Hampton, "I saw enough laid beside
Harry's door this morning to keep want or hunger off
these ten days."
"Why," said Mr. Hampton, in an affectionate manner,
which was usual with him when he wished to correct an
error-" why are you, my dear boys, unwilling to acknow-
ledge, if any good reason calls for the discovery, that
you gave your money to relieve a fellow-creature from
He paused for a reply; and Merle, who in this instance
spoke the sentiments of the whole party, said that, "for
his part, he thought it would appear like boasting, to tell
he had given Harry money."
"You must then consider it something to boast of,"
said Mr. Hampton. I saw you, Henry, the other day,
observe with surprise Mr. G- 's strange gesticulation,
when a certain flattering person asked him how much
money he had laid out that year on alms. Did you think
his manner bespoke much humility ?"
"No," said Merle laughingly, "not at all; he winked
and nodded, and signed for silence, and tried, for his
very life, to look modest and humble. But I thought
he would have succeeded much better if he had
answered, as you did, when the same person attempted
HARRY BURNE. 21
to flatter you by asking the same question, -that you
gave no more than your fortune afforded, or your duty
"I never wish you to remark on the manners of those
around you, Henry, except for example and warning, with
the design that you should avoid whatever is wrong, and
try to imitate what is right. For me, I consider the desire
to relieve distress, wherever we meet it, as so common a
propensity,-I had almost said so selfish a gratification,-
that I am generally inclined to doubt the humility of those
who seem to apprehend that it should call forth any par-
Having, shortly after this conversation, reached the
house, the boys took some time to consider why Mr.
Hampton disapproved of their taking Nanny home that
night; and, after a short deliberation, it struck Hilton
that she would only be a burden to Harry until her kid
was born, and that if they should be unable to sell all the
necklaces, or get a smaller price for any of them than they
expected, she would then be some compensation for the
They were all again around Mr. Hampton in a few
minutes, to say they had given up thoughts of their walk,
and to beg that he would allow them to send Alice, the
gardener's daughter, with some milk and medicine to their
patient. This request was readily granted; after which
they spent the evening and the next day in preparations
for their several journeys, and in anticipating the plea-
sures which awaited them amongst their relatives and
friends at home.
It was so late in the evening of their arrival when the
boys were all returned to school, after their vacation, that
22 HARRY BURNE.
it was six o'clock the following morning before they found
themselves on the way to Harry Burne's cottage.
They had not proceeded far when Merle recollected
that he wished to add something, by way of peace-offering,
from his own pocket to a sum of money which his father
had given him for one of the necklaces. He now, how-
ever, found that he had left his purse behind at the
parsonage, safely packed up at the bottom of his trunk.
He paused for a moment to consider what he should do;
then crying out, Oh, I may trust to my speed for over-
taking them all," he ran back for the intended gift.
"I shall want something for nurse," he said, as he
reckoned the contents of his purse, "and something for
old Tom the gardener, and a new ribbon for his pretty
daughter, who made us the nice harness for Nanny;" and,
by the time he had settled how much he could spare for
Harry Burne, he found it would require all his agility to
overtake his friends before their arrival at the cottage.
He did not, in fact, reach them until they had gained the
favourite thorn, from whence they saw Harry, already
at his work, sitting with a cordial smile, watching them
as they crept cautiously over the ground past Nancy's
"Stop !" shouted Merle, as loudly as the swiftness of
his pace and want of breath would allow. Stop, boys;
wait for me. I say, why do you not wait for me ?" He
was brought, however, to his recollection by seeing them
all place their fingers on their lips, as, vexed and disap-
pointed, they perceived, by Harry's turning suddenly into
the cottage, that poor Nancy had been disturbed; and he
flung himself upon a stone which lay at the foot of a
thorn-tree outside the hedge, resolving not to appear.
Edward instantly came back, and declared they had
HARRY BURNE. 23
never missed him on the way, or they would certainly
have waited for him. But with something of the irritation
which persons who feel themselves in fault are frequently
disposed to vent on others, he declared his determination
of not going any further; and throwing down the money
to be delivered to Harry Burne, he rudely turned his
back upon his friend. Edward, seeing his companions
already at the door, took the parcel in some surprise, and
The anxious cottager rose, with a flush of expectation
and pleasure, to receive them all. "Thank you kindly,
gentlemen, thank you kindly for minding* poor Nancy.
You will be proud to see her now looking so purely in
the mornings when you pass," said he, with a more re-
spectful bow than the boys had ever received in their
They expressed their joy at his sister's amendment, and
each presented his offering of money, which, when col-
lected together, seemed to the overjoyed and speechless
Harry, a sum sufficient to supply all his wants.
Large tears rolled down his cheeks before he could ex-
claim, Och, father, your children will not want bread
now; and, Nancy dear, ye'll get a bedstead to keep you
off the cold ground, and warm clothing to cover you, and
plenty to eat, and a whole roof over your head. God be
good to them that sent it !"
Did she require so many necessaries ?" cried the boys,
who knew not why they were half inclined to shed tears
"Try if you have money enough to do so much," said
"I'll warrant you, sir. There's twenty shillings will pu1t
4 HARRY BURNE.
clothes upon herself; and three half-crowns will buy
timber for the bedstead; then the roof, plague on it! it
will take two collar-braces, which will be six thirteens;*
and a pair of blades will be half-a-guinea; and the ribbery
for the weather-side of the house, that will be five hogs; t
and the wattling and the thatch, that will be a full pound
more. That's three pounds eleven and fivepence," cried
Harry, having calculated as he went along so rapidly that the
boys could scarcely depend upon his accuracy. Oh, thank
you all! there's nine-and-twenty shillings over; that will
keep us, not rich, but well to live, till more comes in."
Would that be enough to buy yourself a coat, Harry I"
Thank your honour," replied he, bowing as low as if
he had received a present of a new one, and glancing a
half-ashamed look at the tattered garment on his back.
"This coat will do just well enough; and I'll be after
going to the fair in the morning to buy a goat. There
was one here yesterday said her milk would be pure good
for Nancy, and he offered me her grazing on the whinny
brae below; but I little thought I would so soon come at
the price of her."
You must not mind the goat, Harry," replied Edward;
we have provided one for you, and our companion, who
was so sorry for frightening your sister the other day,
means to bring it to you this evening. Here is the
money for his necklace, which I forgot to give before."
"God bless him and you both! I hope the young
gentleman is well," said Harry. "Myself missed him
all along, but was loath to ask, lest you should think I
was looking for more, after all you did for me."
A thirteen is an English shilling; that is, thirteen pence Trish.
t A hog is likewise an English shilling.
HARRY BURNE. 25
Merle, who, during this dialogue, sat with his head
bent, so as not to be visible over the little hedge, morti-
fied at his own thoughtlessness, disappointed at not pre-
senting his own offering, and thrown off his guard by his
firi en Hilton's generosity, could neither restrain his tears
nuor conceal his vexation.
(Oi !" he cried, "when will Mr. Hampton teach me to
thlik twice before I act? I was the first to promise
cauti.:n in passing Nancy's window, and the only one to
Forget that promise. I shall never equal Edward, or the
you ugcst boy at school, in reflection or steadiness."
Troth will you," said a voice from under the tree at
the inside of the fence. "I never saw the body yet
condIu't mend himself of a fault when once it vexed
Merle started up at the sudden rejoinder, not at first
understanding from whence the voice proceeded, and on
rising was immediately perceived by Burne.
"* You're surely not thinking of the day I pushed you so
ruilely by me, Master Merle, when you'll not come inside
the .:te," said Harry, cordially advancing towards him.
N... Harry; but I'm thinking how I forgot your sister
to-da,, when all the other boys remembered her, and that
has made me ashamed to go in," returned the self-con-
N-rer vex your kind heart for that," said the honest
cottager.; "it would do her more harm to see you fretting
S Don't stop the lad to fret a bit," cried the voice from
beneatL the tree. "Troth, it will just take the spur from
"his beel the next time he rides on a fool's errand."
"Oh, whist, Canty, whist!" said Harry indignantly;
S" e d i. not hold the reins so tight yourself when ye kept
26 HARRY BURNE.
the school at the Burn Foot, or I would have been a brave
scholar now, and a better lad too."
Poor Merle was the only boy who was not much
amused by the old schoolmaster's bluntness; and he was
by no means sorry when they all took leave, promising to
return in the evening with Nanny, whose kid was now a
few days old.
Arrived at home, he employed the remainder of his
play hours in finishing a very curious little edifice, which
his father had taught him to construct, in imitation of
one he had seen used by a goat-herd on the Pyrenees. It
was made of coarse wicker-work, formed into five flat
leaves, which were interlaced at intervals with strong
cords, in such a manner that, by pulling the cords in the
proper direction, each leaf moved into its right place, and
from lying one on the top of the other in a flat and port-
able shape, they could be in a moment erected into a com-
fortable shelter against the inclemency of the weather.
Mr. Merle had frequently seen the goat-herd above men-
tioned raise a shed of this kind over some sick or injured
animal that he wished to defend from the cold; and
Henry was never satisfied with hearing a description of it,
until he became so perfectly master of its mechanism as
to be able to undertake the manufacture of one for his
own favourite goat.
The performance had been kept a profound secret from
all the boys except Edward Hilton, who assisted him in
preparing the edifice; and Mr. Hampton had kindly per-
mitted them to carry on the manufacture in his own work-
shop. It had now been several months in progress, and
Henry was that evening not the least happy of the party,
whilst, balancing the great wicker platform on his head,
and maintaining a profound silence, he followed his
HARRY BURNE. 27
laughing and inquisitive companions to the cottage. Here
they found Harry seated.
The enjoyment anticipated on the completion of their
task had long formed the subject of delightful contempla-
tion fo both of the ingenious mechanics; and while the
secrecy they had felt it incumbent on them to maintain
had served still further to whet their anticipations for
the future, they had indulged in many congratulations
between themselves, as they showed to each other the
different merits of their work as it approached towards
completion. They pulled the cords again and again to
see that it worked according to their design, and delighted
in gazing on the comfortable-looking shelter that it made
when erected for use. On reaching the cottage, they
found Harry seated on the bench, with Canty Maguire
by his side, and were delighted at the pleasure they saw
sparkle in his eye when they presented him with the
animal, which both they and he hoped might restore his
astrr to her former health.
I'Ul just run in for Nancy to thank you herself," said
ihe as if he thought his own gratitude an inadequate return.
AM she came forward to do so, the boys could not help
thinking he must be mistaken in supposing her better;
ior, na they compared her wasted frame and pallid cheeks
w it t h e stout and healthy forms of the sisters from whom
tlrey had lately parted, they began to fear their present
cauwe too late to be of use. The poor girl, however,
seemed delighted with the gift, and at their departure
sat .l...wn on the bench to watch them, as, followed by
Harry and the good old beggar-man, they led Nanny to
her pasture on the whinny brae.
L..ng may they enjoy their health!" she cried. "Long,
kinag may it be before they see their parents laid in the
28 HARRY BURNE.
cold ground! Mine would bless them now, could they
see what trouble they are taking for their poor Nancy."
The party had by this time gained the hill; and one of
the boys, suddenly recollecting himself, declared they had
forgotten a tether for Nanny, without which she would
certainly follow them home again; whilst another, with
a sorrowful countenance, begged Harry Burne to build
her a little shed, as she had always been accustomed to
shelter at night.
"Never mind," said Merle, who was now busily en-
gaged fastening to her horn a cord which was attached
by a swivel to his platform; "never mind, she will not
desire to stir from this by-and-by. Come here, Edward,"
added he; "knock these iron spikes, which you see at the
two far corners of this wicker table of mine, firmly into
the ground." Hilton obeyed. Henry then, having all
prepared, pulled the cords, and up rose the fabric like the
castles of old in Fairy Land. Two other spikes being
then knocked down at the two front corners to keep the
edifice fast, Nanny, who had been frequently introduced
to it as an inmate before, marched into the door with
stately crest, followed by her little offspring, and stretched
herself out to rest. Henry explained the construction of
it to all the party, and showed Harry how it could easily
be moved to any fresh or sheltered side of the hill.
The boys were all in astonishment; Harry, who ex-
amined the work minutely, was full of admiration; and
the wonder of old Canty Maguire was only equalled by
his volubility. "Well, well," cried he, "sure enough, the
ingeniousness of man flags* the world for invention!
Barring the bees," he added, after a pause; "but, to
be sure, they beat: the universe."
Surpasses. t Excepting. : Surpass.
HARRY BURNE. 29
Heile .li tlie boys; having already lingered too long,
L:jtened off to give vent to the laughter which their own
glee :u.l ('an ryt's Irish phraseology excited.
ThL I:..:.\ .:.utinued, from time to time, to get some of
the ncckla.:-es disposed of for Harry, through Mr. Hamp-
tou's as.Ist.>Lcic; and the cottage, with its new thatch and
letter f urt uire, especially when its youthful owners sat
..t the iJ.n.r in their new clothes, assumed a look of com-
f'.:rt, which nirever failed to inspire the young people with
fresh spirit, ra they passed on their daily visit to Nanny
on the hill.
S In a little time they became disappointed at perceiving
no char Le in Nancy's health. They observed also that
Harl:, u.:.twithstanding his improved condition, had lost
all hle t, A he termed it himself, about his sister. By
SLL ..wn irne.nuity, and the profits of his work, he had,
bho wv- r. L,,en able to purchase implements, and make
hirum-Lf a turuing-lathe, with which he soon became an
"expei t and successful mechanic; and was well pleased to
reu.:..iu.-c Lis former occupation, which, from its trifling
n atue, L.id 1..een extremely irksome to his active and in-
SJ'uitrit.u t turu of mind.
Hs \.:',ul friends were one evening taking him the
'pr:'.ij. t .:.t the last necklace he had made, hoping, at the
soic tuW-, (.:- get a lesson in turning, with which he often
:g,.:1':,.l-L.]tiredly indulged them, when, going as usual
boftly i....iud the cottage, for fear of disturbing Nancy,
the;. ,-,w Lt r sitting on the bench, resting her head on her
In a \',iie of more than usual energy, she conversed
with her bi. other, who stood leaning against the cottage,
Sliitcningr toi her with an air of such deep attention and dis-
30 HARRY BURNE.
tress, that the boys felt unwilling to disturb them by ad-
Whilst they stood silently gazing on the scene, and
watching Nanny, who, dragging her tether along, cropped
the young shrubs unheeded by her master, they caught
the sound of Nancy's voice, as she thus expostulated:-
Sure, Harry, it's not now you are to be told her milk
can do me no good; and, dear, it's long I have been wishing
to tell you, there is but one thing can do'me any good."
"What's that, Nancy?" asked her brother, in a voice
almost stifled with emotion.
"Just to see you blithe and happy as you used to be,
and able to part from me without a thought of grieving."
Harry sat down on the bench beside her, and trying to
suppress his sobs-" Oh!" cried he, "my father, on his
death-bed, bid me take care of you, Nancy. Is there no
way I can do his bidding ?"
What have you been doing ever since he left me to
your care, but doing his bidding?" answered she; "and
now when you find that all your care will not do, it would
vex me, dear, to see you fret against the will of God.
Sure, Harry, you should not grieve to see your sister go
where she would rather be herself; for yon kid that's
bleating on the brae does not long more after its mother
than I do after mine; and, dear, I think with more joy
this night of going to my grave than any bride thinks of
going to her bridal. You're strong and healthy, and may
have many a rough blast to blow over you yet, my brother.
But you must rouse up your strength, dear, and ask God
to enable you to bear them all,-to bear them," she added,
" as a Christian ought; and, I hope, when you are on your
death-bed, Harry, you will know the joy that's in my
heart to-night, though I cannot tell it to you now."
HARRY BURNE. 31
"Poor Nanny!" she continued, patting the animal's
head, which at this moment laid itself down at her feet,
"your milk could not cure me, as your young masters
intended; but I wish they knew how much pleasure their
care and kindness gave me in my sickness.
"But come," she continued in a still more cheerful
tone, as she saw her brother sunk in affliction-" come,
Harry, let us go in and have our supper; you see how
well I am to-night, since I am talking so much. It may
be we are further from the parting than either of us
think." Her brother was not deceived, but he arose and
followed her; and the boys, struggling with the tears
which trickled down many of their faces, stole from their
hiding-place, and returned home.
Mr. Hampton, who had learned from old nurse that
Nancy could not recover, proposed to accompany his
pupils the next morning to pay her an early visit, and to
assure her that her brother should never want a friend
whilst he was near. Glad of anything which might bring
comfort to the sufferer, the boys scarcely waited for the
dawning of a fine September morning before they knocked
at their master's door, and claimed his promise. He did
not blame their impatience, was soon ready to join them,
and the party speedily arrived at their destination. On
turning round the cottage, they perceived Harry standing
in the doorway, gazing on the sun now rising before him.
"They'll never wake her more!" sighed he, as lie
observed them stealing past her window with their accus-
tomed caution; but he stood with a look of such serene
composure that the boys flocked around him, supposing
his sister must be better. Their friend, however, read li
his countenance not the expression of hope, but of patient
and manly resignation to the will of God.
32 HARRY BURNE.
He seemed afraid to trust his voice with speech, but
moved respectfully aside to invite their entrance.
Mr. Hampton guessed at the scene which awaited them,
and thinking it would probably impress the too thought-
less minds of some of his pupils with serious reflection, he
pressed the young man's hand in silence, and passed into
the chamber, followed by his little flock.
"How beautiful she looks in that quiet sleep," whis-
pered one of the younger boys, who, struck with a mingled
sensation of surprise and awe, seized Mr. Hampton's
hand, and endeavoured to stop him as he approached the
bed. "Shall we not disturb her, sir, by going nearer?" he
No, my dear child, we have not even that to appre-
hend," said Mr. Hampton; and then, drawing the boy
gently forward, he continued:-
"Do not fear to approach with me, and observe how
calmly they repose whom God has taken to himself Can
any of you, my young friends, fear death when you see
it in this lovely form, and have it in your power to die as
"Death!" cried the boys with one voice; "can she be
really dead?" and with all their faculties riveted on one
object, they drew eagerly but gently round her bed.
The curtains, which they had seen with such delight
when first put up, were looped back to admit the air.
The floor and every article of furniture were strewed
with flowers. A fresh morning breeze, entering from an
open casement, breathed through the room, and a vener-
able-looking woman who had attended to all these offices
sat watching by the bedside. A hectic hue, which seemed
to them like health, yet glowed upon her cheek; and the
smile with which they had often seen her welcome her
HARRY BURNE. 33
kind brother home after some temporary absence still
lingered round her lip.
The shroud which encompassed her lost its ideal horrors
as they gazed, and death no longer seemed to any of them
"It is but a calm and happy sleep," said Hilton, follow-
ing the train of his thoughts aloud.
"She cannot be dead," exclaimed Merle impetuously;
yet the tears which chased each other down his face denied
the rash assertion.
You spake the truth," said Molly Maguire, the vener-
able woman who sat by the bedside, "you spake the
truth, young'gentleman; she never lived till now! That
smile upon her lips, if I had not believed before, would
tell me so. It's there since ten minutes before her death,
when she raised herself up a little on her bed and called
in peace and joy upon her Saviour's name; then looking
with a keen glance that seemed to pierce the very skies,
'Harry! Harry!' said she in a hurried voice, and point-
ing with her hand to where she looked, 'is it, Harry-is
it my father and mother that I see?' and after a minute's
pause the smile spread, as you see it now, over her whole
face, and I could just hear her whisper, 'My God and
Saviour will be there too!' Sure I am she's with them
nuw in bliss," said the good old woman, while tears, but
not of sorrow, rolled down her aged face.
"That's my joy and comfort," sobbed Harry from the
doorway, as he stood with eyes fixed on the pale form of
his sister; sorry would I be to fret against the will of
God. He has done better for her than ever I could do."
The boys, one and all, sobbed almost as fast as Harry;
and, pressing anxiously round him, some seized his hands,
whilst others offered such words of consolation as they
34 HARRY BURNE.
could command. Mr. Hampton, not less affected than
themselves, induced the young man to accompany them
part of the way home, and all felt happy to see him
somewhat revived by the walk. But the warm eulogium
bestowed by them all on his departed sister was what
seemed to have most power in attracting his attention.
At length the pious simplicity of all that Mr. Hampton
uttered led back his mind to perfect resignation; and he
resumed his wonted confidence in that protecting care,
that providential wisdom, which had, as he himself ex-
pressed it, removed a shorn lamb from the storm, and left
one surviving who was better able to contend against the
blast. "She has taught me to stand every storm that
may blow," said he calmly. "It was hard indeed, very
hard, to see her feeble frame suffering, when I had no
power to help her; but her mind was strong! She
trusted in her Saviour, and knew that he would never
leave her nor forsake her; and through his heavenly aid
she remained patient and contented to the end. Now she
is with him in peace and glory; so come what will to me,
I'll try to bear it manfully."
Harry then thanked Mr. Hampton and his young
friends for all their kindness, and returned home. But
before he reached that now melancholy abode he was
joined by the honest and considerate old beggar-nian, who,
in his own blunt way, offered such shrewd and affectionate
consolation as was not lost upon the mourner, since his
heart was ever as much alive to the comforts as to the
sorrows of his situation.
Mr. Hampton continued his walk in silence, until ob-
serving that Merle seemed oppressed with sadness, le
said to him, My dear Henry, you will endeavour, I hope,
to drive from your mind every painful impression you
HARRY BURNE. 35
may have received from the scene we have just witnessed.
You should not give way to any feeling which could make
you desire to forget the sight; but ought rather to cherish
the recollection as a powerful means of exciting the most
useful reflections. If properly considered, you will find
it well calculated to afford that confidence in the merciful
providence of God which we should all make it our chief
study to attain, since it is this alone which can support us
under the various trials and distresses of life. I look upon
Harry Burne," Mr Hampton added, as a fit example for
the imitation of all my pupils. His pious resignation,
manly fortitude, and brotherly affection will, I am certain,
procure for him the continuance of your kindness; and I
hope you will make me henceforward a sharer in whatever
plans you may form for his benefit."
Such was their kind master's manner towards them on
every occasion where he could possibly make them feel
their own powers of usefulness; and he never failed to
follow in the path they chose to point out, provided he
saw it would in any manner lead them to the end in
The following day he was pleased to see that Henry,
without falling back into thoughtlessness, was able to
resume his usual cheerfulness. It seemed indeed that the
awful scene of which he had been a spectator had, for the
first time, roused religious reflections in his mind, and
made him feel what Mr. Hampton had often endeavoured
to inculcate, "that no thoughtless character can meet
death with fortitude, much less with hope and joy, as
poor Nancy Burne had done."
Mr. Hampton observed him all that morning watching
for a moment to speak to him alone, and took care to
afford him the opportunity he sought. In the course of
36 HARRY BURNE.
their conversation Merle told him that old Canty Maguire
had said, "Any one could conquer his faults who was
really sorry for them." But I do not find it so," said
Henry; "being vexed at them does not tell me how to
It is, however, very apt to make us look about for
some plan which may enable us to conquer them. Have
you any such plan in your mind, Henry?"
"No, sir, I cannot say I have. I was wishing, indeed,
last night that you would take me out of the class in
which I am at present placed and allow me a seat near
yourself, apart from my school-fellows, where the certainty
of being under your eye would keep my attention alive,
and perhaps enable me to get my lessons without resort-
ing to that mechanical system of which you so much dis-
approve. You have often told me that a habit of fixing my
attention every day for the time necessary to get through
my business in the common way would help to make me
steady; and I am resolved not to ask a seat among my
companions again until I am able to get my lessons as
Do you call this having no plan for conquering your
faults?" asked Mr. Hampton, smiling. "I believe you
could not have fallen upon a better. I will therefore
readily accede to your wish, and I trust you may have
full faith in Canty's adage. You must not, however, my
dear Henry, expect to cure yourself of this, or of any
other fault, except by a habit of shunning, when you can,
or of successfully resisting when you cannot shun, those
temptations which have hitherto seduced you into it."
They were now interrupted by the other boys, who
came to propose a scheme for drawing Harry Burne from
his lonely habitation.
HARRY BURNE. 37
This was, to engage him by the day to teach them,
during play hours, the use of his turning-lathe, for which
they would each ask their parents' leave to remunerate
him. Mr. Hampton readily acquiesced in the scheme;
and as Harry was now become an excellent house-car-
penter, he placed under his superintendence an addition
he was obliged to make at the parsonage; by which
means Harry obtained ample occupation for upwards of
By the profits arising from his several employment,
he was shortly after enabled to rent the cottage, and a
small farm from his landlord. Here Canty Maguire and
his venerable partner took up their abode along with
him. Nor were they dispossessed, even after Thomas, the
old gardener (having declared that he would never let
any one but a good son, and a good brother, be the hus-
band of his pretty Alice), bestowed his wealthy daughter
on our hero.
Very shortly after this declaration, the youthful and
happy pair were united by Mr. Hampton. Hilton's
birth-day was chosen for the wedding, and Harry led
home his blooming bride, escorted by the boys, who, in
great delight, joined in all the rural sports of the evening,
and danced on the green until the setting sun warned
their kind master to lead them home.
"I'm proud to see you, sir," said Harry Burne to
Captain Merle, as Henry some years afterwards rode past
the cottage on his way to visit Mr. Hampton.
"And I am happy to see you, honest Harry, looking
so well, and with so many indications of prosperity around
you," said Merle, as he glanced his eye over the snug
farm-yard and four rosy children at the wicket. How
38 HARRY BURNE.
is my good friend Alice? and is my worthy old monitor,
Canty Maguire, still alive ?"
"Thank your honour kindly," replied Harry, "Alice
is just purely; and Canty and the old wife's sitting in the
chimney corner yet; and there's Nanny browsing on the
brae, almost as good as the day your honour brought her
to the cottage. There's a wean,* that's called after
poor Nancy, and her very marrow,t and she never had a
brash of sickness since she was born yet." t
We sometimes see merit rewarded even in this life,
Harry," said Merle, holding out his hand to bid adieu.
But Harry still detained him, to inquire after all his
young companions, especially Master Edward Hilton.
"They have all been fortunate in life, and all turned
out as well as their excellent preceptor's care taught the
world to expect," replied Merle; "but Hilton," he added,
"is already the pride of his family, an honour to his
friends, and likely to become his country's greatest orna-
ment,-a prudent and accomplished statesman."
Harry then suffered him to depart, having obtained a
promise that he would call again at the cottage before he
left the country. Merle then spurring his horse forward,
was soon out of sight, and in a few minutes after was
pressed in the arms of his kind and affectionate master.
Child. t Counterpart.
ROSABELLA; OR, THE QUEEN OF MAY.
N the little village of V- lived a widow lady,
a Mrs. Mead, with one daughter, her only
child, whose name was Rosabella. Mrs. Mead
was a very pious lady, and determined to try
and make a Christian of her child; she there-
fore set herself strictly to watch the little
creature, that she might find out what evil she would be
most prone to commit. For she knew that every child
was born with sin in its heart, and she felt that it was
her duty to try to root out this deadly evil, ere it grew
too strong; just as you, my dear children, should do if
you had a nice little garden of pretty flowers. You
should pluck up all the weeds, or they will ruin the
flowers; and if you do it while the weeds are young, you
will find it much easier than if you wait until they have
strong roots. So Mrs. Mead knew that if she, reproved
and taught her child while she was young, and before
sin had taken deep root in her heart, she would find it
much easier to make her a good child than if she waited
until she grew older and headstrong. She remembered
that God had told us by his servant, King Solomon, that
we must "train up a child in the way he should go, and
when he is old he will not depart from it ;"-and that St.
40 ROSABELLA ; OR,
Paul (who, you know, was a disciple of Jesus Christ, our
blessed Saviour) says, "ye parents, bring up your chil-
dren in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." There-
fore Mrs. Mead early taught little Rosabella to say her
prayers, and to obey her parent's commands; and for
several years she had not much fault to find with the
sweet little girl. But one morning, when Rosabella was
about six years old, Mrs. Mead went down to breakfast,
feeling very unwell; and as soon as she was seated at the
table, she said to a servant, "Edmund, bring me the
saucer of raspberries I left on the side-board last night:
I feel quite sick to-day; perhaps the fruit will be better
for me than anything else."
The servant looked about on the side-board and then
replied, Madam, there are not any raspberries here, but
this saucer is stained as if they had been in it."
Mrs. Mead looked at her little daughter and said,
"Rosabella, my dear, did you eat my raspberries?" The
child faintly answered, No, ma'am," and hung down her
head. Her mother remained silent a moment, and then
said, "Your countenance, Rosabella, tells me you did eat
them, and you have told me a story. Come here."
The child came forward, and her mother then added,
"Your mouth, too, proves you guilty, for it is stained with
the fruit. Oh, my child, you have offended against God!
You committed a fault in taking the raspberries without
my leave, which was stealing; and now you have com-
mitted another fault, in telling a lie to hide what you
had done. It is my duty to punish you. Go upstairs;
you shall not have any breakfast, and when I have done
mine, I must whip you."
Little Rosabella cried bitterly, and promised she would
never do the like again.
THE QUEEN OF MAY. 41
"I hope, indeed, you will not," said her mother; "but
I must punish you, so go into your chamber."
After Mrs. Mead had breakfasted, she punished her
daughter, and told her she must pray to God to forgive
her; they then knelt Aown, and the mother and child
wept much while they were praying. When their prayer
was ended, Mrs. Mead said, "Rosabella, remember God
sees and hears you at all times; and if you do anything
naughty even in secret, God sees you; and if you tell a
lie which no person can ever find out, God knows it.
And he says, 'All liars must have their portion in the lake
that burns with fire and brimstone;' therefore, my child,
let me beg you to fear a lie, and speak the truth always."
Rosabella cried, and said, Oh, dear mamma, forgive
me; I will never do so again. Oh, mamma, do you
think God will forgive me ?" Yes, my child; if you are
truly sorry, and will try always to speak the truth, God
will forgive you for the sake of the dear Redeemer, who
died for sinners. You are a young sinner, my daughter,
only six years old; but if you are not sorry for your sins,
God will punish you: and if you do not try to be good
now, you will find it very hard to become so when you
Now you see, my dear little readers, that even good
children are prone to sin; for Rosabella Mead had always
been what everybody called a good child. But, as I told
you, we are all born with sin in our hearts; therefore you
must pray to God to give you a new heart, as Mrs. Mead
taught Rosabella to do. And as you all love true stories,
I know-for I have often heard children ask, when they
were reading a story, "Is this true, ma'am? I prefer
true tories"--I tell you that this relation is founded,
throughout, on fact.
42 ROSABELLA ; OR,
Mrs. Mead taught Rosabella to say in her prayers, "0
Lord, give me a new heart. Set a watch before my lips,
that I may never say anything naughty. And make me
thy child, through Jesus Christ my Saviour." And thus
you, dear children, should learn to pray also.
Mrs. Mead observed her daughter carefully, but she
never knew her to tell a lie again; and so remarkable
was she for telling the truth ever afterwards, that the
servants, and everybody who knew her, used to call her
Rosabella went to a Sunday school, and one morning,
when she was about nine years old, the superintendent
of the school heard some talking while she was calling
the roll; and as it seemed to be in the direction of Rosa-
bella, she called her and another little girl up, and said,
"Children, were you not talking while I was calling the
roll?" The other little girl remained silent, but Rosabella
said, "Yes, madam."
Well, don't you know, my dear, I have said you must
all be silent when I call the roll? for if many of the chil-
dren were talking, I should not be able to hear the an-
swers to the names. Now you both have broken my
rule, and been disrespectful, therefore you each forfeit
two blue tickets."
I beg pardon, madam," said Rosabella. Here are my
tickets; but I hope you will excuse Eliza Dunn-it was
my fault; I was trying to prove to her that she was
mistaken as to the chapter we read last Sunday."
"I do forgive you," said the superintendent, because
you have told the truth, and return you one of the
tickets as a reward for truth. You have only done your
duty to God in speaking the truth; but he rewards us for
doing our duty, and thus I reward you."
THE QUEEN OF MAY. 43
When Rosabella was ten years of age, her mother sent
her to a female academy, taught by Mr. Bernard, in the
village of V- She improved so fast in learning, that,
when she was twelve years old, she was considered one of
the first scholars, and one of the best behaved of the
In the village in which Rosabella lived there was a
Mrs. Thornton, who kept a boarding-house for little
girls. She was a woman of warm feelings, and much at-
tached to the children who lived with her, and wished
them to excel Mr. Bernard's other scholars in everything
they learned. And being, as I said, a woman of warm
feelings, she felt displeased if any other child appeared
superior to them; and having no religion in her heart,
she gave vent to her anger in speaking against those
children who surpassed hers in good behaviour or intelli-
gence. She particularly disliked Rosabella Mead, who
was sweet and engaging in her manners, and so polite,
that everybody else loved her. She always courtesied
gracefully when she entered her mother's parlour, or went
to visit any of her friends; for, although she was a
modest, blushing child, she did not bury her head awk-
wardly in her bosom when she entered a room, or when
she was spoken to; neither did she run into a room, or
twist her head about as if she were frightened.
Rosabella was studious, too, and learned her lessons
well before she went to the school; so that, when she got
there, she always was prepared to say them, and by that
means was at the head of her class, and kept the hand-
somest medal the whole time she attended Mr. Bernard.
The school-girls loved her dearly, and she was never
known to quarrel with any of them; for her mother had
taught her the Saviour's golden rule, Do unto others as
44 ROSABELLA OR,
you would they should do unto you;" and she tried to
do at all times as her mother advised her, and to please
her heavenly Father.
Now, because she was such a good child, and better
than most of the other children, Mrs. Thornton was
jealous of her, and disliked her. But our Saviour has
said, "Blessed are ye who are persecuted for righteous-
ness' sake"-that is, God will bless those who are dis-
liked, and ill treated, because they try to serve him, and
to be good.
Rosabella had now attained her twelfth year, and was
still a pupil of Mr. Bernard, and beloved by her teacher
and by his scholars. One evening, after the school was
dismissed, the children were all playing together, and
debating who should be the Queen of May, as that day
week would be the first of May. Some said they wished
little Miss Todd to be the queen, but most of them
wanted Rosabella Mead to be elected. And it was de-
cided that in three days the election for a queen should
Before the children separated, Jane Todd went to
Rosabella, and whispering to her, said, Rosabella, Mrs.
Thornton says she hopes you will not be chosen queen,
for she thinks that you, and Mary Fanning, and Miss
Fitzwilliams, will ruin Mr. Bernard's school, you are so
wild and ill-behaved."
Poor Rosabella was greatly distressed, and, child-like,
she told Miss Fitzwilliams. Now this was wrong, but
she did not know it; for we should never tell a person
what idle things people say against them, unless we are
sure some good will arise from it.
Miss Fitzwilliams, being almost a young lady, called to
see Mrs. Thornton, and mentioned what Rosabella had
THE QUEEN OF MAY. 45
told her, adding, The two children, madam, may not be
injured by it, they are so young; but my character might
be ruined by it, as I am nearly grown, and the world
would credit your opinion."
"I assure you, Miss Fitzwilliams," replied Mrs. Thorn-
ton, while her eyes flashed with anger, "I never said any
such thing, although I never admired that little story-
teller, Rosabella Mead, in my life; but I will make her
repent for it."
"Do not condemn her without a hearing, madam,"
answered Miss Fitzwilliams. "I never knew Rosabella
Mead to tell a story; indeed, she is so truthful in what
she says, that she is called Little Truth.' Send for her,
madam, and ask her who told her."
Accordingly, that evening Mrs. Thornton sent to invite
Rosabella to take tea with her; but the child was engaged
to go with her mother to spend the evening at her
uncle's, and sent an apology. "Oh ho!" said Mrs.
Thornton, "she will not come ; that is a proof of her
guilt. She knows she has been telling stories, and she is
afraid to come."
The next afternoon, when the school broke up, some of
the children called to the others, Come, girls, let us go
into Mrs. Thornton's yard, and see Miss Hampden; she is
walking about in such a curious dress !" The children all
went, and Miss Hampden was dressed in an old-fashioned
brocade with hoops, and a long-waisted bodice; her hair
was frizzed, and dressed with long ostrich feathers.
The girls were much pleased with her appearance, and
were standing looking at her, when Mrs. Thornton called
out in a very angry tone of voice, What are you doing
in my yard, Rosabella Mead? Have you come here to
tell more stories about me, you little liar ?"
46 ROSABELLA; OR,
Here, my dear little readers, you see how sinful it is to
get into a passion, and call any one bad names; it is dis-
pleasing to God, and beneath the dignity of a lady.
Remember our Saviour says, "Blessed are the poor in
spirit." The poor in spirit, you know, means those who
do not easily get into a passion. Anger causes unhappi-
ness in the person's own bosom, and makes others
unhappy by the bad words and harsh expressions it pro-
Mrs. Thornton continued to rail at poor Rosabella,
and the child was so terrified, she could not move for
some minutes. At last the enraged woman called out,
"Come here, you little vixen; come here this moment !"
And Rosabella, so pale with fright that she looked as if
she should faint, staggered into the porch, and sank upon
the first seat.
"Oh," said the angry Mrs. Thornton, "you may well
tremble, and look pale, for you know I am going to
prove you a liar before all your companions. Come here,
children, all of you; look at this wicked girl, she has
been telling lies about me."
Rosabella sobbed aloud, and meekly replied, "Indeed,
madam, I have not; you have been misinformed; I do
not know what you can mean."
Oh, miss, you may affect ignorance, but when I call
Miss Fitzwilliams, you will not dare to do so any longer."
Miss Fitzwilliams then came into the porch, and said,
"Rosabella, you remember, my dear, what you told me
the day before yesterday ?"
"Oh yes, ma'am, perfectly; but I did not think you
would tell Mrs. Thornton; I wish you had not; but
Jane Todd told me."
"Jane Todd !" cried Mrs. Thornton; "ah, you say so
THE QUEEN OF MAY. 47
because she is not here to answer for herself But I
will send for her; she is a good girl, and as far superior
to you as light is to darkness, and she never told you so.
Come here, Betty. Go over to Mrs. Todd's, and ask
Miss Jane to come here immediately." Then Mrs.
Thornton continued to abuse Rosabella, and the child to
cry, until Jane came.
"Walk into this room, young ladies," said Mrs.
Thornton as soon as Jane arrived; "and you, Mary
Fanning, and you, Louisa Day, and Caroline Hope, while
I examine these two girls, and prove yours and Mr. Ber-
nard's favourite undeserving of your love."
"Oh, sister!" exclaimed a gentleman who now stepped
forward, "pardon the child at once; you have made
her suffer enough, and too much already, by your scold-
"Hush, brother, hush; I will make her an example.
She is called 'Little Truth,' but I will prove she is a little
liar." So saying, she went into the chamber, pulling
Rosabella after her; and when the girls had entered, she
locked the door.
As soon as the door was locked, Rosabella dried her
tears, and looking up in conscious innocence, said, "Jane
Todd, did you not tell me that Mrs. Thornton had
said Miss Fitzwilliams, Mary Fanning, and myself
would ruin Mr. Bernard's school, we were so wild and
ill-behaved? Remember God hears you, Jane !"
"Yes, I did," answered Jane; "and Sarah Bell told
Mary Fanning, Louisa Day, and Caroline Hope flew
to Rosabella, and hugged and kissed her, saying, Oh,
dearest Rosabella, we were sure you told the truth;"
while Mrs. Thornton, confused and angry, exclaimed,
48 ROSABELLA; OR,
"Call in Sarah Bell." She came in, and denied that she
had ever said.so, and Jane declared she did.
"The lie rests between you two, then," said Mrs.
Thornton, "and I will expose you to everybody, and
have you publicly expelled from Mr. Bernard's school"
Oh, pardon us exclaimed both the girls at once,
" pardon us, we are both to blame; we thought we heard
you say something like it."
Upon my word," replied Mrs. Thornton, "I shall be
afraid to open my lips in future before my boarders add
their visitors, since what I say is so misrepresented.
Rosabella, my dear child, I hope you will forget and for-
give what has passed this evening; appearances were so
much against you, that I thought you certainly were in
fault; and though you are a child, I ask your pardon for
condemning you so, as I did."
Rosabella blushed, and replied, Yes, madam; and I hope
you will forgive Jane and Sarah, for you know, madam,
God commands us to forgive those who trespass against us."
You are a dear, good little Christian," answered Mrs.
Thornton, "and make me ashamed of myself. The only
return I can make you is, to request the girls to choose
you Queen of May, and not to allow one vote to Jane
Todd; indeed, she and Sarah Bell must not be of the
party, and I will give you the party myself."
The children who had been shut out all now ran into
the room, and kissing Rosabella, said, This is our queen,
and no one else shall have a vote."
Rosabella thanked them, and said, "I will not consent
to be queen unless you forgive Jane and Sarah, and let
them come to my party; and I thank you, Mrs. Thorn-
ton, but I had rather see the girls at my mamma's, who,
I know, will give me a party."
THE QUEEN OF MAY. 49
"Well," replied Mrs. Thornton, "be it as you desire;
but, as a punishment to Jane Todd and Sarah Bell,
I forbid my boarders either speaking to or associating with
either of them until the first of May, when they shall be
received into favour again, because Rosabella Mead re-
When the children were about to return home, Rosa-
bella asked to see Mr. Cuthbert, Mrs. Thornton's brother,
and modestly said to him, "I thank you, sir, for inter-
"ceding for me. My heart was so full I could not thank
you when you spoke in my behalf to Mrs. Thornton. But
I am glad she examined Jane and myself. I never told
but one lie in my life. The punishment my dear mamma
then gave me, and the fear of offending God, has guarded
me from that sin again; and I hope this day will serve
as a lesson to warn Jane and Sarah from ever speaking
what is not true again."
"Yes, my dear, I hope it will," replied Mr. Cuthbert.
"And it is true, as the Bible says, The lip of truth shall
be established,' for I perceived the children all believed
what you said, although appearances were certainly
against you; and it was because they knew you always
spoke the truth."
Heavily passed the time with the two poor offenders,
Jane and Sarah, until the first of May, when they went
to Mrs. Thornton, and humbly asking her pardon, she
On the afternoon of the first of May, Mr. Bernard and
his pupils all went to Mrs. Mead's to attend the corona-
tion. A beautiful mound was raised on a grass-plat in the
garden, with steps of turf leading to the top of it, where a
chair was placed, ornamented with wreaths of flowers, and
an arch of flowers thrown over it. Mr. Bernard stood on
50 ROSABELLA; OR,
the grass-plat, holding a crown of pink roses and white
amaranthus in his hand. Presently Louisa Day and
Mary Fanning appeared, leading Rosabella out of the
house. Caroline Hope walked before them, and sprinkled
flowers in their path; Mrs. Mead and several ladies and
gentlemen followed with the school-girls, who were all
dressed in pink and white, walking two and two, and
"Happy, happy, happy day!
Rosabella's Queen of May!
Hope strews her path with flowers fair,
That lend rich perfume to the air.
"Happy, happy, happy we,
Rosabella queen to see !
The sceptre she will gently sway,
And justice give us every day ;
Her smiles assure us we shall prove
Her reign, a reign of peace and love.
"Happy, happy, happy day I
Rosabella's Queen of May !
Behold, her diadem is truth,
Whose rays'most brightly gild her youth.
Religion rules her gentle breast,
And guides her to the throne of rest."
By the time they had finished singing, the children
were all standing around Mr. Bernard, who placed the
crown on Rosabella's head, saying, My dear child, your
attention to your studies, your amiable conduct, and your
love of truth, entitle you to this token of affection, which
your youthful companions award you. Oh, may your
obedience to the commands of God, your faith i. the
blessed Saviour, and your charity to your fellow-beings,
entitle you, through the Redeemer's merits, to a heavenly
crown, a crown of pure gold, which God will give to all
who love and serve him." Rosabella kissed his hand,
THE QUEEN OF MAY. 61
and he led her to the verdant throne. The children
seated themselves around her, on the turf steps; and then
Mary Fanning, being the first lady of the court, addressed
STo crown our favorite as our queen,
We're here assembled on this green,
Where Nature, as in friendship's aid,
Around her beauties hath displayed.
And all our youthful hearts now beat
With joyous pleasure, pure and sweet,
To hail thee as our May-day Queen,
The Flora of the verdant scene !
The crown decreed thy youthful brow
By those who sit around thee now ;
By those who love thee and admire,
And for thy fav'ring smile aspire ;
May it a beauteous emblem prove
Of smiling joy, and peace, and love !
Still, Hope thy pathway strew with flowers,
And crown with bliss thy future hours!"
Mary Fanning spoke with modesty and ease, and pro-
nounced her words so distinctly that every person present
had the pleasure, of hearing and understanding what she
said. When she, had concluded, Rosabella gracefully
arose from her seat, and with modest dignity replied,-
"When spring's first beauties are displayed,
And Nature has with charms arrayed
The fields with flowers of varied dyes,
To please the smell and charm the eyes,
Our hearts expand with rapturous glow
To God, from whom all blessings flow.
And after having thanked that Power,
At whose command our roses flower,
Dear friends, my gratitude is due,
My heartfelt thanks and love, to you,
Whose fairy footsteps press the green,
To crown me as your May-day Queen.
Sweet cheering Hope, thy aid still lend,
And be to me and mine a friend!
0O strew with fragrant flowers still
Our path up Zion's towering hilL"
52 ROSABELLA; OR,
As Rosabella concluded, she bowed her head to Miss
Caroline Hope, who arose, and, courtesying, said,-
"Lady, Hope's delight shall be
To deck the path of life for thee."
Mrs. Mead, knowing what frail creatures the very best
of mortals are, and fearing her child might feel a little
vanity on this day of compliments, had determined to try
and prevent those injurious feelings of self-importance, by
reminding Rosabella of her mortality, and pointing her
to an immortal crown. She therefore advanced towards
the rural throne, and waving her hand to Rosabella, said,-
"My daughter, round thy tender brow
Is twined the wreath of May;
And though so bright the flowers now,
Ere long they'll fade away.
"Thus youth and beauty for a while
The cheek and eye will show,
But scarce they claim the tribute smile
Ere death will lay them low.
0 then be truly wise, my love,
Now in the May of youth;
Thy heart devote to God above
In spirit and in truth.
"Then, when he calls thy soul away,
Angels will guard it home
To regions of celestial day,
Where death can never come.
"The Saviour on thy head will place
A crown that ne'er can fade;
And in his robe of purest grace
Thy form will be arrayed.
"And though with joy I hail thee, now
The crown of May is given;
What raptures through my heart will flow,
To hail thee, crowned in heaven !"
Rosabella, not knowing her mother intended to address
her, was most agreeably surprised; and when the piece
THE QUEEN OF MAY. 53
was concluded, she descended from her throne, and fling-
ing her arms around her parent's neck, she kissed her
affectionately. She then led her little friends to an arbour
covered with yellow jessamine, where they amused them-
selves with innocent plays until tea was ready.
When they went to tea, a servant handed Rosabella a
little work-basket of silver network. The top of the
basket was in the form of a crown, and on the rim of the
crown was engraved, A reward for truth ;" The crown
of life be thine." The servant said, Mrs. Thornton bid
me give this basket to you, Miss Rosabella, and say, she
hopes you will accept it. She says she is ashamed of
having been so passionate, and calling you such harsh
names as she did the other day; but she prays to God to
forgive her, and she hopes you will also."
Rosabella admired the basket very much, and passed it
to her friends to look at; then turning to the servant,
said, Give my thanks to Mrs. Thornton for the beauti-
ful basket, and tell her I am sorry she did not come to
my coronation; but I hope we may all meet, and assist in
crowning our Saviour Lord of all!"
You see, my dear little readers, what a blessed thing it
is to fear God, and keep his commandments, and one of
them is, Speak ye the truth every man with his neigh-
bour." We are to consider every human being as our
neighbour, as our Saviour tells us in the parable of the
good Samaritan. And one of the ten commandments
which God delivered to Moses on Mount Sinai is, "Thou
shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour;" that
is, thou shalt not tell a lie to the injury of any one. Nei-
ther must you tell a lie to any one, for God knows all
things-there is nothing secret to him.
And you see we are rewarded even in this life if we
love and serve God. Rosabella was a favourite with
everybody, because she was a pious, good girl; and her
simple answer of No" or Yes" was as much believed
as the oath of those who have to declare upon oath at
court. Yes, even more; because everybody knew she
had the fear of God before her eyes," and would never
tell a lie. She loved her Saviour better than she did any-
thing on earth. She went to a Sunday school, and she
loved to go there; and she tried to do always as her
teachers told her would please God. Oh! may you imi-
tate her good example, my dear little readers, by giving
your hearts to God. Remember she top was born with
sin in her heart, and she too had done wrong; but her
mother corrected and reproved her, and she herself was
sorry for her sins, and prayed to God to forgive her, and
tried to obey his commandments; and by doing so she
became a religious, good girl. This story, founded on
fact, I have written for you, dear children; and may God
cause his blessing to rest upon it, that you may be pro-
fited by it as well as amused. And let me entreat you to
serve God, through faith in the Saviour, and finally you
will receive a crown, an immortal crown, in the kingdom
their, said Angelica Stone, as she came
home from school one day, "there is one girl
in the school whom I dislike so much that it
really makes me unhappy."
"I can readily believe the latter part of
your remark," replied Mrs. Stone. "No per-
son can indulge wrong feelings and not be un-
happy; no person can carry a viper in the
bosom and not be stung. You know it is wrong to dis-
like any human being."
I'm sure," said Angelica, I don't wish to dislike her;
but I can't help it. It would be a great deal more plea-
sant to like her. I do not think it is very wrong to
dislike a person when we don't do it on purpose."
Where do you find the law which forbids you to do
what is very wrong, while it allows you to do what is not
very wrong, but still wrong? I thought God's law for-
bade everything wrong."
Angelica saw that there was no ground for the distinc-
tion which she had made. A great many young persons
make it, and involve themselves in guilt by so doing. A
great many, in view of some temptation, say, It is not
56 THE ORPHAN.
very wrong," and so yield to it. They thus go on harden-
ing their hearts, and preparing themselves for heinous
"Angelica," continued her mother, why do you dis-
like your schoolmate so much? Has she injured you in
any way? "
Is she a rival of yours? "
Oh no, mamma; she is very backward in her studies."
"What is the reason, then? Is it mere caprice?"
"No, mother; but she is such a strange girl. She
never speaks to anybody unless she is spoken to-"
"Not a very bad habit," said Mrs. Stone, by way of
And if you speak to her, she seems frightened out of
her wits, and yet gives a very bold answer; and she uses
such vulgar language, and she is so awkward, and dresses
so strangely, that altogether I can't help disliking her."
"You said she used vulgar language. Do you mean
"No, mamma; but such language as very ignorant
She does not seem to thrust herself in anybody's way,
nor to intend to give offence in any way, does she "
"How do the girls treat her?"
Some of them laugh at her, and try to plague her."
"How do you treat her?"
"I avoid her as much as possible."
"And you find your dislike rather increasing?"
"Let me ask you seriously, my dear, is it right for you
to allow yourself to dislike a person who has never in-
THE ORPHAN. 57
jured you? Is it right for you to allow yourself to dis-
like any one?"
After a pause, Angelica was constrained to answer,
" No, it is not right."
Then you are sensible you have done wrong?"
The next thing for you to do is to overcome this pre-
judice which you have felt towards the poor girl."
I should be glad if you will tell me how."
"That I can, easily. Confess your sin to God, and
pray for forgiveness and grace; and then treat her with
special kindness-treat her as though you loved her."
Why, mother, you are advising me to practise hypo-
crisy. It will be just the same as if I told her I loved
her when I do not."
No, it will not. If you were to treat her as I advise
with the design of making her think you love her when
you do not, that would be hypocrisy. But that will not
be your design. You treat her thus because it is right
that you should do so, and that your prejudice against
her may be removed from your mind."
But the girls will think I am deceiving her."
They will not think so long; and, besides, when we
are sure our motives are right, we are not to be troubled
about the temporary misconstruction which others may
put upon them."
Well, mother, I will begin to-morrow; but it will be
Before recording how well she kept her resolution, I
will give some account of the girl alluded to in the above
Her name was Susan Barbour. Her father was a
native of an obscure country village,-the youngest of
58 THE ORPHAN.
five sons, who cultivated the rough and unproductive
farm of their father. At an early age he determined to
obtain an education, and enter one of the learned pro-
fessions. In the struggle necessary for the attainment of
his object his health failed. He graduated with honour,
but was constrained to abandon his pursuit of a profes-
sion. He took charge of a few pupils, and, after a time,
his health somewhat improving, he married the daughter
of a clergyman. The husband and wife were fitted for
each other,-both were gentle, refined, affectionate to
enthusiasm. They lived for a few years happily but for
his declining health. He sank into the grave when their
only child was four years of age. Though learned and
polished and amiable, he had not yielded to the teaching
of the Spirit. Bitter was the anguish of the husband
and father, as he felt that he had no God to whom he
could commit his unportioned widow and daughter;
bitter the anguish of the wife as she saw her husband
die, and "give no sign."
After his death, Mrs. Barbour supported herself and
daughter by instructing a class of young ladies, a task
for which her finished education fully qualified her. All
her affections were concentrated on her daughter, whose
graceful form, quick intelligence and sympathy, awakened
the admiration and love of all who knew her.
In four years from the death of her husband she was
laid beside him in the graveyard. Susan was now an
orphan. No relative was near, yet many a tear of sym-
pathy was shed and many a door thrown open for her
In a short time an uncle from a distant part of the
country wrote to inform her that he should soon come to
take her home. Though she had never seen him, and
THE ORPHAN. 59
though she fully appreciated the kindness of her friends
in S- and though she dreaded the idea of leaving the
place of her parents' sepulchre, yet the word home held
out hopes to which her young heart could not but cling.
She wanted to see one who was bone of her father's bone
and flesh of his flesh, that she might have an object on
which she might properly pour out the fulness of her
She was one day returning from the grave of her
parents, with her eyes red with weeping-for young as
she was, she went to the grave to weep there-when the
news met her that her uncle had come. She hastened to
her temporary home; she met her long-desired uncle.
He was a rough-made, bashful, but not unkind man.
She was a little chilled by his aspect, so different from
that of her well-remembered father. She pressed forward
to embrace him, and he awkwardly extended his hand.
"Are you well ?" were his first words.
"Yes, sir," was her reply, and she wept profusely.
"Dear, creature," said the kind friend whose hospi-
tality she was enjoying, "she takes it hard; I hope she
will find a father in you."
There was no kind and soothing assurance of affection
and support. Had her uncle no feeling? Yes, and he
felt deeply for the orphan as she wept before him; but,
like many of the working-men of the land, he seemed
ashamed to give any expression to his feelings of tender-
She will get over it when she gets with her cousins,"
said Mr. Barbour. This, which was meant to be soothing,
but added to her grief.
The next morning Susan bade adieu to many kind
friends, and set out with her uncle on his journey home.
60 THE ORPHAN.
The new things which she saw by the way diverted
her young mind, and led her to look forward with hope
to her new home. On the third day they arrived there.
It was not the neat farm-house which her fancy had
pictured. It was situated in a retired part of the
country, in a place called the Hollow. It was small and
inconvenient, and no shrubbery or flowers were about it.
A large number of children, coarse, uncombed, and sun-
burned, rushed out to meet the waggon, and gazed
intently on the stranger.
"All well?" said the father, with something that
would have passed in the Hollow for a smile.
Yes, sir," was the reply.
This was the sum of the greetings which took place
after a week of separation. Her uncle led Susan into the
house. So you have got back," said his wife.-" This is
your niece," said Mr. Barbour.
How do you do?" said Mrs. Barbour, eying her with
a look of curiosity rather than pity.
"Very well, ma'am," said Susan timidly.
"Pull off your things. Here, Polly, take her things
into the other room. Are you tired?"
This was said in a tone approaching to sympathy, and
it touched a chord. in Susan's heart, and led her to hope
that her aunt might let her love her. But the remark
which followed extinguished that hope.
"Jane," said Mrs. Barbour, "don't stare your eyes
out; you will have time enough to see her before she
goes, I fancy."
Young as she was, and unaccustomed to the language
of selfishness, she saw from those words that she was not
a welcome guest, and a heavier weight was laid on her
THE ORPHAN. 61
Are you glad you got home?" said Mrs. Barbour to
Susan with a smile.
"Yes, ma'am," said Susan with hesitancy, and a tear
filled her eye as she contrasted her present with her
former home. Mrs. Barbour noticed it, and guessed too
truly what was passing in Susan's mind. It checked the
rising of sympathy which she began to feel.
The children now gathered round her, and began to
question her. She, answered their questions with pro-
priety and elegance of language which was habitual to
her, but which provoked her aunt to remark-" Don't
speak so womanish. It looks as though you thought
yourself better than other folks."
The next morning Susan's clothing was examined, to
see if she had anything fit to wear every day." The
result was that she had not; and so a coarse and not
over clean frock of one of her cousins was given to her.
She hardly knew herself in the hideous dress, and could
not wholly conceal her repugnance to it; this was not
unmarked by the mother and her hopeful progeny.
You must help us some about the work, you know,"
said Mrs. Barbour.
"Yes, ma'am, I shall be glad to do so," said Susan.
Domestic services were required of her which she
attempted to perform, but not always successfully. Her
aunt attributed her ignorance in this department to wil-
fulness, her sadness to discontent and ingratitude. The
children, finding her complying, imposed their tasks upon
her; at first by way of request, then by falsely using
their mother's authority, and then by assumed authority
in their own right. For her there was no encouraging
voice, no smile of love. Her uncle's was the only eye
before which she did not quail. He knew nothing of her
62 THE ORPHAN.
servitude. He was always at work in the field during
the day, and slept in his chair as soon as evening came.
For aught he knew, Susan was as kindly treated as the
The consciousness that her uncle felt kindly towards
her led her to pay him those delicate attentions which
even the rustic does not fail to appreciate. By this, her
motives were misinterpreted, and her burden in conse-
We pass over an interval of five years. Those five
long, wearisome years Susan spent in that family, and
the effects were apparent. All grace and elegance of form
and manner had disappeared. She was timid, uncouth,
and ignorant. No one would have taken her for the
gentle and lady-like girl that five years before entered
Her uncle at length perceived the treatment she re-
ceived; but remonstrance was in vain, and his own attempts
at especial kindness rendered her situation still more un-
comfortable. He then declared that she should stay there
no longer, "like a cow to be hooked by every creature in
the yard,"-a comparison characteristic and truthful. He
placed her with a distant relative in the village of L- ,
and sent her to school. Thus she became a member of
the same school with Angelica Stone, and thus were
formed those peculiarities which produced so strong a pre-
judice against her in Angelica's mind. If she had known
her history would she have felt those prejudices ? Would
she have felt unkindly towards the heart-oppressed orphan?
Let us be careful how we suffer feelings of aversion to
rise against any one. The history of that person may be
as sad as the history of Susan. How wise the rule to love
THE ORPHAN. 63
About a week after the formation of the resolution of
Angelica to overcome her dislike to Susan, her mother
said to her, "How do you and Susan get on together
Pretty well," said Angelica.
"What have you done with respect to her ?"
The next morning after our conversation I went up to
her and bade her good-morning, and tried to smile."
How did she receive you ?"
"I thought she would have run away."
"Was she not pleased? "
"Oh yes, very much pleased."
"If you can make a person happy for a time by means
of two words and a smile, is it not a cheap way of pro-
"Yes, mamma; and she has got so that she can say
good-morning without stammering and blushing, and can
bend her head quite gracefully."
"You feel better towards her ?"
Yes, a great deaL"
"You are succeeding so well, suppose you proceed
further. Don't you think she would be pleased to have
you ask her to take a walk, or to come home with you ?"
"Yes, mamma; but I can't say I think it would be
very pleasant for me to walk with her."
"No matter. The question is not what will be most
pleasant to you, but what will overcome your prejudice
and make her happy."
Angelica followed her mother's advice. After school
she asked Susan to walk with her in the grove. The in-
vitation gave her so much joy, brought so much colour to
her wan cheek, and gave such a lustre to her eye, that
Angelica could not but sympathize in the happiness she
64 THE ORPHAN.
had occasioned. In consequence she herself had a very
She continued the course of attention and kindness to
Susan, and began to feel that esteem was fast taking the
place of her former dislike. Then Mrs. Stone told her
Susan's history, and then she wept that she had felt in-
different and unkind towards one who had borne so heavy
a burden in her childhood. She resolved to make all the
amends in her power. She increased her attention and
kindness towards the lone orphan, and the gratitude thus
awakened caused her to feel towards her a sister's tender-
ness. She became her constant companion. She caused
her to spend many days at her own happy home.
It was astonishing to see the change that kindness and
courtesy wrought in the orphan. The rustic incrustation
that had settled over her was soon thrown off. Her
natural gracefulness of person and manner was recovered.
In elegance of language she soon surpassed Angelica. In
fulness of feeling her heart had no superior.
At length Mr. Stone received her as a member of his
family, intending to fit her for a teacher. In due time
she became a teacher, and happy were the children that
were intrusted to her care.
Reader, do you feel unkindly towards any human
being? Enter on the work of eradicating that feeling
without delay. Each heart has a burden that needs not
to be increased by your injustice and cruelty.