Half Title
 Title Page

Group Title: Alice and Bessie, or, Growth in grace.
Title: Alice and Bessie, or, growth in grace
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00064760/00001
 Material Information
Title: Alice and Bessie, or, growth in grace
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Publisher: American Sunday-School Union
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
New York
Publication Date: c.1853
Copyright Date: 1853
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Bibliographic ID: UF00064760
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: alg1307 - LTUF
002221090 - AlephBibNum

Table of Contents
    Half Title
        Page i
        Page ii
        Page iii
        Page iv
    Title Page
        Page v
        Page vi
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Full Text


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ICE AND BA9i i...
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"' Woso offendeth one of these lttle wb 1
-What does that mean, Min Luyt I r( .
mean make angry ?" asked one of t a
bright-looking, attentive little ir f.t- *
d i-shool teacher. i
"It means that sometiLme," sraered
Lucy; but here it Maia a great deal moNe.
It means to cause to silt f" you oase apM -
son to sin, in any way, yo are said to ofa4
that person." 8 .
"I don't see how we can make ty oneD,
remarked Alice Ripley. ;
"No? Think a moment. I amai a^e.-
tinued Mis Lucy, "thatthis is a ooaumon sia
among children as well as pon le.
see it every day, evr in onhroh and p
schooL 8pse alitMir emses ab *ate


r 1- 1-r.

at her ide very attentive to her lessons, and she
tries to distract her attention by whispering to
her, or showing her a picture-book, or perhaps
Writing on a slate, and by this means the time
of the industrious child is taken up, and her
attetion disturbed, and she is finally induced
Sto join in the play. Or suppose you are sent
with your sister on an errand, and told to make
haste, and your sister is inclined to be obe-
.di*ent, but you prefer to take the longest way,
S y.lka O, or to stop altogether for five or
ten nTpa t to cha with an acquaintaace-if
yo j Si ade your sister to join in your di-
'siIoe, ui not that offending ?"
"I suppose it i," aid Alice thoughtfully
||dowly. ,.
t thbe is another way in which chil-
-'. offend one another very often,"-Mies
T`u went on to say,-" and, I am afraid, very
tho% tessly and cruelly sometimes. I mean
by i sea other, saying provoking and
'"g things, laughing at the behaviour
Sr ' mranoe of one's companions, taking
away their play-things or books, being tyran-
.nical to younger and smaller children,--nd
all these things are onces"
"Then I am sure harley Turney is ofend-
U .

V .-1


QeowTB n eSAOL. 4
Ing,"remrked MarisHyde. "See w helb b
tormentig that little Irish boy next to him.'
Miss liy looked, and saw a lad about ;tl
years old practising all sorts of anaoP uS a
upon a little boy near him, n.h a pa : 1
hair and ears, putting his heais O iBm hi4
and slyly stealing away his p ml Testainetl
--all, of course, in the absence of his teacher
who was at the moment attending to ms the
class. The little fellow bore alf with
patience for some time, only
move away as far as yoible bs i eb
tor. But at last his teper berqgE mt
returned kicks and ph with
there seemed some d elat
ter, when the return of tWbiJ" w put a
to the performance. *.
"Yes," aid Miss Lucy, Charley is off&
ing not only little Patrick by putting him ias
posion, but also the whole class byt-A'g -
them to neglect their lessons aqd jp Abth
cruel sport. Yet, Maru, I wouoM
should buy your mind in making
own than in applying it to otheran.
Mr. Carter is ready to ask the question-
the general lesson, a6o I *i only add that you
mut carry your leso homee with ymo if y

i"h them to be of any service to you. I .
I"hd seme of you leave all you hear beiul
th yow hymn-books and cards, tilt the
Sn; ad above all, yeo must earnetly
pray Wc the grace of God to bring
and desires to good effect, or
t teaching will be in vain."
"I wonder," said AlS to herself, as she
slowlhoroeward,-" I wonder if I of-
one. r
pleasant, lively child, always
Swhn it was not too much
6t those about her,
obedient; but she had,
ly, been i very heedless girl, and
sl to very apt to let all sort of admonition
t oof go, (as people say,) "in at one ear
eat at the other." She never answered
sad was never sullen when found fault wi~
but she commonly forgot the word a sboon *
atterd. She was a very pretty dft and wa
a ge pet and favourite with all ht relatives
Sand friends, and she was usually llt, very
S good, amiable giL Anger was not her bet
w g sin, though she was amr times out of te.
per, then she was apt to say very sharp
e had no stediness, however,

'P *^'AL

Mt. stopped to think whether what Ishq
#ba to do was right or wroog. But *tbr
wes past, Alice's mother 1 mn tbhat A
wa growing more thoei f at
The words she had so eug -bear
her outward earsm had began toW
hardly in her heart, and
they might indeed bring forth th Jut O
"I don't think I o~d people
pose, at any rate," shA *
"To besure Ido laugk a~
makes asuh fnay
A bmon was inhabited t
female women and Alice
the r embramce of one of Qaddy's bli ,
"I don't see why she need mind being "
at. I am sure I don't care whether th p
laugh at me or not."
Mhis wa quite true; Alice did not ami i
being lam s at; perhaps because she
so quick- d that the laughers generally ha
the worst f it.
"Bat Caddy does mind i4t, I don't think
we ought to tea b,r. I aeanto try not
laugh at her any more. Tbhesaere
I do think I ofsad her by leaving l
^ y ^
,a ^ "'

about and gettiq them dirty-** is so *st,
and Imake her great deal rfywork. JI&
wish I was more.eareful, bt I ain so foqt I
I wonder how I oan contrive tennmembeft I
gill- as mother or Mises Loop At this moment
iss Lucy's last words retained to Alice's
mind. "You must earnestly seek nd pray for
the grce of God to bring your resolutions to
good effect, or all your efforts will be vain."
Alice went directly to her own rpmn, on ar-
Sdyinhg at homei and kneeling1 f'^ bed-
r she asked her heaven make
her more earfl, and to keep ofand-
ng others by word or deed. khe waent
wn-stairn she put her bonnet,#Y wa 1ap
mantle away in their places, and took are of
th & ok and shoe she had taken of, ed
w IUh she had left as usual just where they had
happened to fall.
When Alice jumped up early oa MoaM&y J
mining, her first thoughts were of M Mlady's
explanations and her own resolution buohome-
how it did not seem quite so easy to keep them '
this morning a'it had been yesterday. When
A de wa dressed and had sid her prayerf d
felt inclined torun down with? troubling heo
L l stem her room or her clohe.

'f ..* "-
"Mother ps Peggy toa t the roois in
i ,=4 ,ca I -don't se why I
1 totabla mysef M about it."
yt ~~y ao w," said onsoience, "that
pi ought to d -~'Ale, because your mother
wihes it."
"But I must really go down this morning
and see if my Poland hen 'y laid any eggs.
Father anted me to keep alhr eggs."
.Alir hand on the ioftb of tU
d r 4 ti W had almost triqphW
'he g 1prayer-book had W alen on
the flo6'^ijh new and very prebo, and
Al* ~ t fond of it. She took it up and
opOa4 til her eye fell on the words-" that
as ,y Thy special grase preventing A thou
d*t put into our mind good desires, so by thy
continual help we may bring the same to good .
elect, through Jeass Christ our Lord."
"'osee are alol t the very words Mie Lucy
ausd,"t' Alice. "No," she continued,
"I won't k my resolution. I mean to pat
my room all in order before breakfast; and I
think I ill learn the prayer too, to put me ia
iad it."
I _

14 GROWTH In GAtos.
ALICE," said her mother after breakfast,
"it is so damp that I think you had better take
your luncheon to school with you to-day. Take
the keys and get some cookies, and there is a
piece of plum-cake on the plate you may take
to help out."
"That's famous !" exclae the lively little
girl. "I shall have a regular feast. Shall I
take the whole?"
"'Yee, there is not much; and I dare say
you can give away what you do not want: but
do not give Lizsie any, Alioe,-ehe must not
eat caketo-day."
"No, mother," said Alice; "but is Lidzie
She is not very well, and must be careful
in her eating for a few days. Now go and put
your room in order, my dear, and then make
ready for school."
"My room is in order, mother, but I theirr
think I will go to school now, beemn I want
to study my reading lesson," =ad Alice set off
accordingly to collect her books and other. iab
ten. When she went to the store-room f
luncheon, little Lisie followed her.
about four years old, and very fond (f

iOWM Inr G&AX. I
ter; and she always thought that .whatever
Alice did she might do of course.
"What ae. you going to get out of the
closet, Alice?"
"I am going to get my luncheon to take to
school," said Alice as she opened the door.
The piece of plum-cake lay upon the plate, and
looked very nice. As she helped herself to
some cookies and packed them in her basket,
Liusie asked, Are you going to take some of
that cake too ?" Alice did not answer. She
was thinking, "Mother said I might have the
cake, but she did not wish Liszie to Wave any.
If I take any, she will think she may too,
because she always wants what I have, and she
will cry about it, and perhaps make herself
worse. I believe I won't take any."
"Alicel" repeated Liuzie impatiently, "are
you going to take some cake .
"Not to-day," answered Alice: "Come, I
am going to Peggy to get some biscuits."
"Now, Miss Alice," exclaimed Peggy, as
Alice appeared with her bonnet and basket
"if you go off to school and'leave your things
.,jA ag about your room, see I don't tell


Alice was a little vexed at Peggy's way of
speaking, and made no reply.
"You are making great cry for little wool,
Peggy," said the cook laughing. "When I
went up-stairs just now, I saw Miss Alice's room
all in order."
"It's a wonder if it was," retorted Peggy.
"I wonder how long you have been so smart I"
"Ever since I got up," answered Alice
smiling. "But, Peggy, please to get me some
biscuits for my luncheon."
"I didn't mean to be cross to you, child,"
said Peggy, as she returned with the biscuits;
but you mustn't mind me. Every one knows
my bark's worse than my bite."
"I d't know any thing about that," an-
swered Alioe, laughing, "because I never felt
your bie. I don't much like to be barked at,
either. But my room is really in order this
time, Peggy. You may go and see."
"I' take your word for it. And now rup
away, both of you, out of the kitchen. I can't
have you here when I am ." .
The reading lesson on Mi Jih w
a favourite one with Alice. TSU W sally
some connected work in course, and thA'M
Hat, the teacher, questioned them abl


allusions, ko., in the course of the lemon. As
Alice had read more, and (thanks to her
mother's attention) had much more general
information than is usually possesed by girls of
her age, she found this exercise very easy, and
usually gained great credit. On this occasion
she was applied to for the meaning of several
words as soon as she made her appearance.
"Alice," said Caddy Ray, whose though*
were almost always in a fog,-" Alice, do ploa
tell me what a phoenix is."
"A phoenix ?" said Alice. Why, it is the
name of a bird that lived in Upper Egypt, I
believe, and once in a hundred years it made
itself a nest of gums and spices in the temple
of the sun, and burned itself up,.pad then
after a while a new phoenix roes *bo the
"There was never really such a bird, was
there, Alice ?" asked Jane Stone, who always
took every thing literally.
SI wonder if there are any there now," said

Abt as ma y as there ever wre, I pro.
sam, iwered Alice. "But now, Cddy,
domft~ lget about the phoenix, if it shoul
eeoams ye." -



After the reading clam had finished their le-
son, Miss Hart began to question them as usual.
"Caroline Ray, what is a phoenix ?"
"Ma'am ?" said Caddy starting-her thoughts
as usual everywhere but upon the lesson.
"A phoenix, child. Do you know what it is?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Caddy hastily,
hardly aroused from her reverie, and yet anx-
ious to do credit to Alice's instructions. "Yes,
ma'am: it was the ghost out of an ash-heap,
that set fire to a temple in Egypt."
A general laugh ran through the class, and
even Mis6 Hart herself was compelled to bite
her lips. Alice, however, recollecting her
remlution not to tease Caddy, composed her
face as soon as possible, while poor Caddy,
who perceived that she had made some blunder,
but did not understand what it was, looked s
if she was ready to cry.
"Well, Caddy," said Miss Hart, "as soon
as she could command her countenance, "your
description is certainly original, and tawr
poetical, though not quite correct. I l
think you know, if you only had
about you."
"She does know, Miss Hart," inteposed
Alice eagerly. "We were talking about it be-

eaOWTErra Ir AO. 19
fore school. Do tell, Caddy," she continued
in a whisper.
Thus stimulated, Caddy bethought herself
and gave a tolerably lucid ascount of the mar
vellous bird in question, and the lesson pro-
ceeded without further hindrance.
When the bell rang for recess, Alice remained
a few minutes in the school-room, putting her
desk to rights, and then joined her playmate
in the yard. The first thing she saw was
Caddy Ray crying.
"Why, Caddy, what is the matter?"
"The girls plague me so," sobbed Caddy.
Iwish I had never come here at all. I wish
Sarah Turner was in Egypt."
"I wish I was," rejoined Sarah, who was
the greatest teaser in the world; "perhaps I
might see a phoenix too."
"Oh! don't girls," implored Alice. "It
isn't eight to tease and laugh at her-it makes
her .agry."
is the very reason she gets teased,"
Maria Hyde. "If she did not fy
one would care about teasing her."
I don't think it is right, Maria.
Don't you remember what Miss Lucy said ye-
terday about ofences ?"


"What did she say?" asked Jane Stone.
"I was not there."
She said that the text, 'Take heed lest ye
offend one of these little ones,' means that we
were not to do any thing to make any one
commit sin, and that plaguing and tormenting
people, and so making them angry, offend-
ing. If any one gets angry easily, I think it
is so much the more wrong to offend them."
Maria looked a little ashamed of the part
she had taken in Caddy's persecution. She,
too, had made a resolution that she would never
tease any one again, but as it had not been
accompanied, (as Alice's was) by a prayer
for grace and strength to bring the same to
good effect, it had given way at the first temp-
"I wonder how long since you were so good,
Alice," retorted Sarah Turner. I have seen
you plague and tease Caddy, and other people
too, as much as any one. At any rate I never
coaxed any one to run away from school to
take a walk with me, and I should ca that
offending. I think you had better not st up
for a pattern till people have had time to forget
that performance."
Alice blushed deeply. The fault Seak

>* .

8eowTr I AOte. t 1
alluded to had been committed about a year
before, ad any allusion to it was very trying
to her. She was strongly tempted to make an
angry reply, but checked herself with a great
fort. Sarah's remark was overheard by Mary
Lawion, one of the elder girls, who happened
to be near.
"So yuthink, Sarah," she said, "that be.
cause Alies has done wrong once, she ought
never to try to do right again, do you? Nowit
appears to me that the best way in the world to
make people forget such a thing as you allude
to, is to be very good indeed afterward. I
rather think Alice does not intend to set up foi
a pattern-she only means to apply what aoi '
learns on Sunday to her conduct through the
week; and I am very glad to see it. I only
wish we all did so."
"I wish, Miss Mary Lawson," exclaimed
Sarah angrily, "that you would just keep
your own side of the play-ground, and not be
listening to every word the girls say. I don't
see what right you have to interfere at all I
should thik"-
The ringing of the bell prevented the .es
presion of Sarah's thought, and the girls wv
into school.


As Alice was walking home from school at
night she was joined by Maria Hyde.
"Do tell me, Alice," she said, a they
walked along together, "how you came to re
member about what Miss Lucy said. I am
sure I made resolutions enough about it, but
somehow Caddy's ghost of an ash-heap put it
out of my head. I never can remember any
resolutions until I have broken them. How
Sdo you manage ?"
"I used to be just so," said Alice, "but
something Miss Lucy said made me try a dif-
ferent way."
"Do you mean what she said about pray-
ing i" aaked Maria.
Alice nodded.
"I don't see how that could do any good,"
she continued, for Maria was always very
frank and open, especially to Alice, whom she
loved dearly. "I always say my prayers, but
it does not seem to help me any. It always
seem to me just a part of dressing, like brush-
ing one's hair or one's teeth."

J *

eGOWnTH IN A n l
"I am sure you do not pray as you ought, or it
would not seem so," answered Alice. When
I say my prayers, especially lately, it seems as
if God was close by me, and listening to every
word I say. He really is, you know, Maria."
The tone of reverential awe in which Alice
said these words seemed to make a great im-
pression upon Maria. She had always been
taught that God sees and hears us, but it had
never struck her as a reality before.
He really does," she repeated, as seriously
as Alice had done. "He sees and hears as all
the time, does he not? I never thought of it
so before. It really frightens me, Alice I I
am so wicked.",
"So we are all of us," answered Alies
sadly. "I am sure am. But I think ithelps
us to be good, if we only think about it."
Maria walked on a few moments without
speaking a word, and then said thoughtllly,
"It seems strange, Alice, that he can cae
for what is done by such little girls as we are."
"I don't know," answered Alice musingly.
"It does not seem so very strange to me. At
any rate, Maria, we know he does ae for
even less children than we are, and even for
birds and insects, and all uch tiag."

, f

"But about praying," pursued Maria. "Do
you really and truly think, Alice, that saying
our prayers will help us to be any better ?"
"Not jut saying them," answered Alice.
"I don't think that does any good. But if we
really pray, we know it must do good, because
the Bible says so."
"Perhaps, then, if I had prayed for help to
keep my resolution before I came to school
this morning, I should have remembered it. I
did ray my prayers, but I did not think any
thing about not offending, nor about school at
all. I never thought, before, that praying had
any thing to do with schooL"
"I should think it had more to do with that
than with any thing else, because we are all
the time in school, and we are more tempted
there than anywhere else."
I don't see how you came to think so much
about such things, Alice," said Maria. "You
never used to trouble your head about them;
but since we have had Miss Lucy for a teacher
you are very dif rent. I like her better than
Mrs. Grieg, don't you ?"
"Yes," said Alie,"a great deal better. She
makes me understand things more, and some-
how she makes the leson of more interest It

L. i

always used to seem as if the lessons wre only
about things that happened a great while ago,
jut like any other history. Now it seems a
if they had been written on purpose for me,
and I almost always find something. in them
that I have just been thinking about. And
after all, if the Bible was written for every one,
there must be something in it for every one,
school-girls as well as everybody else."
The girls now separated for the night, but
Maria did not soon forget this conversation.
She thought about it all the evening; and
when she was ready to go to bed she said her
prayers, not as usual, as if it was brushing her
hair, or her teeth, but with sober reverence and
a real, hearty desire that God should hear and
answer her. The seed had been sown in her
hea~ t which, if properly nourished, might bring
forth fruit unto perfection.
When Alice went up to her room on her
return she found it in sad disorder. Her
books, of which she had quite a collection, were
lying, some on the table and some on the floor.
Her writing-drawer was pulled out and left
open, and her pe left fall of ink; and a oo
lotion of eagraving which Alice had been fo
some time makig, having ben left ne1 the

open window, were lying about the room; and
one beautiful head, which she especially valued,
had fallen into the pitcher on the wash-stand,
and of course was quite spoiled.
Alice was at no lois to know who was the
trespasser. She had a cousin about her own
age who was spending the winter in the family.
Bessie's mother (who had never been well since
she was born) had become entirely deranged,
and had been placed in a lunatic asylum; and
Beasie, who was to go away to a boarding-
school in the spring, was placed under her
aunt's care-and a very troublesome charge she
was. She had never been properly managed
at home. Her mother had for a long time
been unable to take any care of her. Her
father, who was a captain in the navy, was very
seldom at home for any length of time, and
when he was, he petted and indulged her, right
or wrong. So Bessie was left to the govern-
ment and care of an aunt of her father's.
Aunt Jane was a very injudicious and not
very good-tempered woman, who thought all
children were sent into the world to be tor-
ments, and whose only idea of government was
reproof and punishment. Aeordingly she
molded and found faut from morning t

GnOW nr GetA. G IT
night. Between her father's., IhdWml
her aunt's unkindness Bessie was g tph "
roughly spoiled. She was careless, ndolent
deceitful, and far from goodtempered; and
Mrs. Ripley's patience had never been so tried in
her life as in the four months in which she had
been endeavouring to do something for Besie.
Reproofs made no impredion upon her, sad
she took all kindnesses as a matter of ri,
never dreaming of the propriety of making ay I
return. Beasie and Alice had frequent quan.
rels, and would have had many more if Alie
had not been very sweet-tempered. They had
begun by rooming together, but Mrs. Ripley
had found it necessary to separate them, as
Alice was (in Peggy's phrase) "no match for
Bessie." Bessie encroached upon Alice's rights
without scruple, and always endeavoured to
throw upon her all the blame of their differ-
ences and quarrels. She was especially apt to
leave things out of their proper place and in
all sorts of wrong places; and to all queries as
to what she had done with any thing, she was
eare she did not know what had become of i,"
or, she had put it away when she had it." If
te missing article happened to belong to Alie,
s woald my, "Alice was so oarel, no do9t

4 sowti IN G&Ao.
|id herself;" and as Alice was

41 Wlise waw wholly innocent. As we have
aid, Alice was at no loss to fix upon the cul-
"I declare it is toe bad," she exclaimed.
"How shehas turned every thing upside down.
All the books tumbled about, and the ink
spilled; and if here isn't my picture of Mrs.
Washington, in the water, and all spoiled!"
Now if that is not really shameful I I declare
I wil tell mother this time.
"And yet," mid she,-stopping short with
her hand upon the knob of the door-lock,-
"what good will it do ? She will only sy she
put every thing away where she found it; and
if mother does not believe her, she will be vexed
and angry at me. I think I will put every
thing in order myself, and say nothing about '
it, and see how she will take that. I mean to',
try and keep the peace with her, if I fea ." .
So saying, she set herself to work to replace
the scattered articles and re-arrage her books,
and the room was soon restored to more til.
its former neatness.
"I wonder if I offend Bessie in ay way,"
thought she, as she pursued her task.i

are I did last Satrday, w
how she ran over my .bds in
first said she dil not do it, a&4 wh l
said he saw her, she was so poked she wul
not speak to me all day. There was no need
of my telling mother at all, and I only did it
because I was angry. I wish I hi not told
her. Besie would not go to Sunday-school
with me, just for that reason. I wish I could
get along more quietly with her. After all, it
is no wonder she is so troublesome, living allUer
life as she has. Her aunt Jane used to sold her
just as much for forgetting to shut the door as
for telling a lie; and she never would praise
her if she did ever so welL I suppose I should
have acted just so if I had been treated in the
same way. I do believe I am worse inppor
tion than she is. At any rate, I won't say a
Sword about this, either to her or mother, and
see how that will work."
. Alie adhered to her resolution, and made
no complaint, either to her mother or Bessie.

s80 .*UOWTN RI n G*A
uAlbsts," siddher mothe tm, you did
qtak r the piece of e I Old you of. Did
you not see it on the plate r"
"Yes, mother, but Lihie was with me, and
I thought she wuld want some if she saw me
take it."
"I think you might let her have some," in-
terrupted Bessie. "You profess to be so
wonderfully fond of Lisie, I thought you would
let her have any thing."
Alice made ne reply.
S It was my desire that she should not have
any, Bessie," said Mrs. Ripley quietly. "You
were very considerate, Alice, and I am much
obliged to you; but as Lizzie is not here, you
may get it and eat it now, my dear."
"Will you have pwrt jSt, Bessie?" said
Alice, offering her the plat. Bessie broke of
the whole of the frosting for her share, and
Alice slightly raised her eyebrows as she saw
it. Beesie angrily threw bk, upon the plate,
the piece she had taken. "Do keep it all
to yourself, then," she said, impatiently. "Iam
sure I do not want it, if you are so selfish as
"Oh, Bessie, I did not mea any thing. Do
pray take it," entreated. Ai tantly made

-lm ata oeso. 81
aware tl lI do* Mg m in noticing this
little dilpli rB 4s Ceharacter. But Beaie
turned away, and wit out of the room.
"Now tht is oo bad! How sorry I
that I noticed it I" thod Alioce, I se I
must guard my looks a well my words. Oh
dear me! I think it will be very hard to be
good all my life, at ttks tate. I am afraid I
shall get tired and give up trying, as I have
so many times before; bad somehow it seems
as if it would be worse than ever to give it up
now." .
This fear troubled Alice'. mind a great deal
all the rest of the week. She kept her resoln-
tion pretty well, was very watchful over her
conduct at school, and, as she said, "kept the
peace" with Rs[ &$ home; but she was
always thinking, *Wht if I should get tired,
and give up trying to be a Christian?" and the
thought made her really very unhappy.
Mrs. Ripley had noticed, as we have before
said, the change which had taken place in
Alice; and though she said nothing, she under-
stood it perfectly, and felt most thankful for it.
She observed that Alice's room was kept in
order,-that shdwas careful of her clothes and
boeks, and axiom .to save trouble to those

'- 1

about her,-that she wa more thoughtful and
industrious, and that she gave up almost every
thing to Bessie rather than have any dispute
with her. Mrs. Ripley knew very well that
all these important changes in Alice could only
proceed from one source, and she was most
thankful that the words she had so long heard
with her outward ears seemed to be grafted
inwardly in her heart. She had noticed Alice's
trouble too, and waited only a fit opportunity
to discover its source.
Alice and her mother were sitting alone
together the next Saturday evening. Lizzie
had gone to bed, and Besie was up-stairs.
Mrs. Ripley was reading by one window, and
Alice netting at the other. As &h twilight
deepened she laid aside her work, and came
and sat down at her mother's feet. Mrs. Rip-
ley continued absorbed in her book. Alice
4hed deeply.
"You are in a sighing mood, to-night, my
child,-what i4 the matter ?"
"I was thinking, mother, what if I should '
get tired of tying to ts .hristian ?" an-
swered Alice slowly. .
Well, love, I hope " get tired."'
"I hope not, too; bIt wh Iq

GIA euno. "8
think about it, I am aMid I' sha It seem,
sometimes, when I think about watching, aad
trying, and being careful, every single day and
hour all my life, a if I should soe time get
tired and stop. I am afraid I hall not always
persevere, mother-it is so hard."
And I think, my child; that you are bor.
rowing trouble," answered her mother, smooth-
ing her hair; "in other w6rd, taking thought
for the morrow, when the morrow will take
thought for the things of itself. Why need
you disturb yourself about what may possibly
happen some time, when you have to do only
with the present? -You know, my,love," Mrs.
Ripley oaptinued 4 titt in the Lord's prayer
we sy oly 'give us tAi day our daily bread;'
not for all our ias, nor even for tomorrow,
but only 'this day.' Do you think it would be
either right or wi to distress ourselves and be
miserable for fear we might some time starve
"No, mother," answered Aliee. "Mr. Ell-
wood did so, and hweat arasy."
"I have no Vams deanged when le
)san to hwA Y talng Derangemest
n'-h begaPift.r But if we can trout
Bo tod. ate poral and bodily wanted
;- ;>.r, 4W "
I .

84 eROWTK r IN reAC
for the future, and do net distress ourselves
about them, why not do so with our spiritual
wants ? Why not confine our attention to the
present, and trust God to take care of the
future, believing that we shall receive supplies
of grace as we need them ? Take no thought
for the morrow,' said our blessed Saviour, 'for
the morrow shall take thought for the things
of itself.' And again, when the apostle Paul
besought God thrice that his temptation,.* the
thorn in his flesh,'-might be taken away, the
answer was, 'My grace is sufficient for thee.'
We will not distrust Him, my dear Alice. Ask
God every day for his grace, and the influence
of the Holy Spirit, and do not allow yourself
to be distressed about what may happen. I
have seen with great pleasure your efforts and
success for the last few week, and I am sure
God will bless and help you."
"But, mother," said Alice, "it seems to me
that I do more wrong things now than I used
to before I began trying to be a Christian."
"I do not think so, Alice. You are more
anxious to do right. Your conscience is more
...Miai e, and that makes yo care for things
you did not use to regard. Yon would not
have minde six or seven weeks ago, sneering

c NH INr QRAOU. 86
st Bessie for taking the best of the cake. You r
were right to be sorry, and I hope you will be
careful how you do it again, for few things ae
harder to bear than a sneer. We must all try
to help poor Besaie; and when we are tempted
to be angry, we must remember how unfortu-
nately she has always been situated. Now go
to bed, my love, and don't be. troubled any
more for the things of to-morrow; and remem-
bwr amie in your prayers. It is a great de
eukr to bear with people's faults whn we
pray for them."



THU next day was Sunday; and Alice, who
was beginning to gain something of a character
t,. for punctuality, rose early, and made all her
preparations for Sunday-chool and church in
good season. She hesitated whether to invite
Bessie to go with her or not, but finally con-
cluded to ask her.
"Why yes," said Bessie, "I don't know
but I will go for once; though I do not know
that it does much good. I can't see that peo-
ple are any better for going to church and
Sunday-school so much. However, I believe I
will go."
Well, please hurry, Besie; for it is almost
time to go. Sunday-school begins at nine, you
know, and it is now full half-past eight."
It was one of Bernie's peculiarities, (and I
am afraid it is nt altogether confined to her,)
that the more she was desired to hurry, the
more time she arays took. She paepived
that Alice was very anxious to be in school
in good senas, and for that very reason sh


spent an extra length of time upon every curl
~uajiibbon. She found it very difficult to
deoide which dress shewould ear, and dis-
covered that it would be quite impossible to set
out without a certain pocket handkerchief which
was not to be found in a hurry. In vain Alie
appeared with her bonnet on, and told Besie
that it wanted a quarter of nine,-ten min u J
-five minutes,-it *as just striking niae,-
the bell was ringing I Bessie only became the
more deliberate in her motions. At last Alice
"I will just walk on, Bessie, and you can
come when you are ready."
"I shall not come alone, I can tell you,"
answered Bessie;-" but you need not wat, if
you do not choose to."
"Well," said Alice sighing, "I will wait;
but do please to hurry a little."
All earthly things must have an end, and
Bessie's preparations were filly completed;
but, as Alice had foreseen, the school had been
opened and the lessons coeieoed before they
Wy, Alies, you are wrylte I Wha
detained you so long ?" mid Mis Lwy, a.
they took their plad.

t -


Alice made no reply, and Miss Lucy conti-
The mornings are so long now that I really
think any one situated as you are might manage
to be here when the school opens. Thought
you were going to try to be more punctual."
I', ,~-ete had made up her mind that Alice
u of course tell Miss Lucy what had de-
",'-ij ed her, and prepared herself to be angry
accordingly; but, to her surprise, Alice made
no answer at all, and Miss Lucy went on with
the lesson.
Alice was tempted to excuse herself by tell-
ing her teacher the cause of her delay, but she
saw Bessie was watching her; and before Miss
hoy had sfnihed speaking she had made up
her mind what to do. "I will not tell her how
it was," she thought. "To be sure, I shall be
marked late, ar perhaps lose the prise for
punctuality; and I did not mean to be late
once this quarter: butalmost any thing is bet-
ter than putting Bessie out of humour again."
Bessie did not know exactly what to make
of her cousin's silence. It made her rather
moomfortable, in spite of herself, that Alice
ibould lose a mark by her means, and be re-
proved by her teacher; and yet she was not

generous enough to take the blame upon her-
self. She could not help seeing that Alice had
acted very differently from what she herself
wodld have done in the same cir mstanoes, aad
she alamst felt offended that sheMad no occasion
to be angry. She was so much absorbed .i,
thinking about it that it was some tidt "t
she paid any attention to what was go:i 4tV j
the class. At last Miss Lucy asked her to
one verse of the lesson.
"But whoso shall offend one of these little
ones which believe in me, it were better for
him that a millstone were hanged about his
neck, and that he were drowned in the depth
of the sea."
"What did we say, last Sund .as
meaning of offend asked Miss Ln ^
"Causing any one to sin," was the answer.
"And what are some of &f ways of offend-
ing ?"
"Teasing people,-tempting people,-set-
ting a bad example,--trying to make one
another angry,-were some of the answers
"Yes, all these things, and many mor.
Sometimes we may find ourselves called open
to refrain from things which are innocent is

themselves, for fear of offending. You will
ind something about that in the eighth chapter
of the first epistle to the Corinthians. The
apostle is writing to the Christians in Corinth
about eating things offered to idols. You
know the Greeks and Romans offered many
sorts of animals and birds in sacrifice to their
fale gods. The flesh of the creatures sacri-
ieed was not always all consumed upon "the
altar, but only certain parts of it, and the rest
was sold or given away. Sometimes feasts
were made in the temple, to which all were in-
vited; and these feasts were a part of the wor-
ship of the idol, or were so considered by some
of the Christians in Corinth, who even objected
to eating what was sold in the market, if it came
from the idol's altar. The apostle begins by
saying that an idol is nothing in the world, for
there is only one God; but that some have not
knowledge, but, with conscience of the idol, eat
of it, (that is, of the sacrifice,) as a thing
offered unto an idol; and their conscience,
being weak, is defiled; that is, they consider
eating of the sacrifice as a sort of worship of
the idol, which they have no right to worship,
and therefore they sin in eating. 'But' he
goes on to say, 'meat commendeth us not to

God; for neither if w eat are we the better,
neither if we eat not are we the worse;' that
is, the eating of one thing or another is, in
itself, of no consequence. 'But take heed Jert
by any means this liberty of yours become a
stumbling-block to them that are weak.' And
again, But when ye sin so against the brethren,
and wound their weak consciences, ye sin :
against Christ. 'Wherefore,' he concludes, 'if
meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no
meat while the world stands, lest I make my
brother to offend.'
"So you see," continued Miss Lacy, "that
we may sometimes offend by things which are
as harmless in themselves as eating or not eat-
ing one piece of meat or another; and you may
see also, that it is much better to deny our-
selves even innocent gratifications than to trou-
ble or tempt those around us. It may some-
times even be better for us to suffer blame
wrongfully than to clear ourselves at another's
expense, if the person in question is likely to
be offended."
Bessie could not help thinking (though she
was rather unwilling to acknowledge it even to
herm ) that Alice's conduct to her might have
been Influenced by some such motive.


"Did any of you,'; inquired Miss Lucy,
"remember the lesson last Sunday, so as to
make it of use to you through the week ?"
"Alice did, Miss Lucy,"-said Maria, eager
to have Alice praised.
I am glad to hear it. And how was it with
you, Maria ? Did you remember too ?"
I am afraid not," answered Maria frankly.
"I made a resolution that I would, but I for-
got it."
"Perhaps you did not take just the right
way to remember it," said Miss Lucy.
That was what Alice said," replied Maria;
"and she told me how she did."
"I can guess how that was. And did you
try Alice's method ?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Maria blushing; "but I
am afraid it did not do me much good. It
seemed to me as if I did more wrong things
than ever."
"I thought so, too," said Alice in a low
voice; "but I did not give up trying."
"Perhaps your conscience was quickened,
so that you were more ready to see what really
was wrong."
"That was what mother said.".
"I have no doubt it.was so," answered MiE


Lucy. "But to return to the verse we were
reading:-You see, my dear girls, that offend-
ing is no trifling fault. Our Saviour say that
it were better for a man that a millstone were
hanged about his neck, and he cast into the
depth of the sea. That would be a dreadful
doom for any one, but it would be far worse to
incur the anger of God by leading our friends
and companions into sin, Remember this awful
warning, then, when you are tempted to assist
in drawing or driving your companions into
evil. Remember that you are acting the part
of Satan when he tried to tempt our Lord in
the desert, and on the mountain,-and pray
God to keep you from this great sin."
There is something else in this lesson about
offending-what is it ?"
Maria Hyde repeated, If thy hand or thy
foot offend thee, cut them off and east them
from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life
halt or maimed, rather than, having two hands
or two feet, to be cast into everlasting fire. And
if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out and cast it
from thee: it is better for thee to enter into
life with one eye, rather than, having two eyes,
to be ast into hell-fire." ,
Dha't it mean that we must be ready to"

give up every thing that leads us into sin ?"
asked Jane Stone with timidity.
Yes," said Miss Lucy, "every thing-no
matter how dear; every indulgence-no mat-
ter how innocent in itself-which makes us do
wrong. Whosoever will not deny himself, and
take up his cross and follow me,' says our
blessed Saviour, 'he cannot be my disciple.'"
"I do not see," said Bessie, (who began to
be not a little interested as the lesson went on,)
"how one's hand, or foot, or eye should offend
"Perhaps," replied Miss Lucy, "these par-
ticular words may have been used for the sake
of illustration. There are few things a man
would not rather part yith than a hand, or
foot, or eye; yet even these must be given up,
if we find them to be irresistible temptations to
us. How much more then such things as you
would probably be called upon to relinquish?
I will tell you a story that may perhaps illus-
trate this part of the lesson.
Once upon a time, a good many years ago,
I had a great fancy for worsted work, and I
began a very handsome piece, or at least what
I thought very handsome then. It represented

a oat and her kittens playing together, and,
when finished, it was to cover an ottoman."
I do not think I should like to sit down
upon cats and kittens," whispered Besie to her
next neighbour, and excited a smile, which the
teacher noticed but did not think it best to
"They were hardly enough like cats and
kittens to disturb any one upon that score,"
replied Mise Lucy, overhearing the remark.
"Nevertheless, I was much pleased with the
design, and worked industriously at it. But I
soon found that it tried my eyes very much, as
worsted work always does, sooner or later. I
tried to fancy that it was my evening lemrs
which injured my eyes, and not my beloved
worsted work, but in my heart I knew better.
My conscience was not by any means easy,
however. I knew perfectly well that I was
doing very wrong in wearing out my eyes in
such a useless way, and I finally hit upon a
compromise. I thought I would only work
just an hour every day, and then put my bas-
ket away."
"And did that hurt your eyes?" asked
Jenny Stone.
"Perhaps it would not, if I had limited my-


self to that, but I never did. It was always
some little time before I was fairly at work,
and then I had my worsteds to wind and my
needles to thread. Then at the end of the
hour I was perfectly sure to have arrived at
some very interesting point. Perhaps my cat
had one whisker unfinished, or one of the kit-
tens wanted only one paw, or another was com-
plete except the tip of its tail, and I was
tempted to do just a few stitches more. In
short, I invariably exceeded my lime, and
pach oftener worked three hours an one."
"What did you do ?" asked Bessie.
I~ thought about the matter a little, and I
* clearly that the only way was to give it up
together, as I had not resolution enough to
confine myself within proper limits. So I
netted my worsteds into bags for my little
nieces, and made the two finished kittens into
tea-kettle holders,-and that was the end of my
"And I dare say," continued Miss Lucy,
"that you think that a very small thing to call
a sacrifice; and yet it is a case in point. We
are not very often called upon to make great
sacrifices to religion and duty,-perhaps not
more than three or four times in a whole life;

GBOWTH nr e~Aco. 47

but there is not a day-ecarcely an hour-
that we are not called upon to endure little
denials or sacrifoes. We are not expected,
just now, as the early Christians were, to lay
down our lives for the truth, but we are ex-
pected to give up our pleasures, our conve-
niences, our comforts, for its sake. We are
very seldom called upon to give up our houses
and friends, and all our worldly prospects, to
follow Christ but we may be called upon to
give up ma~ pleasant things, and perhaps in-
nocent things too, if they draw us or
away from our duty to our Lord and
And depend upon it, if you make all thet|^
fices in your power for his sake, he will
and bless your efforts, though the thing
iced be no more than an amusing book, or a
favourite piece of work, or a pleasant ride or
walk. But remember that you cannot do even
this without his help, and the Holy Spirit to
sanctify you; and that you must ask in order
to receive, and seek in order to find."

48 GRowrH IN OGRAl.
"ALICB," said Beerie suddenly, as they were
sitting together the same afternoon, why didn't
you tell Miss Lucy that you waited for me this
morning. I would have told her in a minute,
if I had been in your place."
Alice and Bessie were sitting together in a
long grape-covered arbour, which commanded a
view of the pond at the foot of the garden, and
some green hills and woods beyond. It was a
very favourite seat of Alice's, especially on
Sunday afternoons, and some of her most
agreeable as well as useful hours were passed
Say, Alice," repeated Bessie impatiently,
"why didn't you tell her it was my fault ? I
suppose you meant to do as you would be done
by," she continued, forcing a sort of laugh;
"you are growing so very particular lately."
"No," said Alice rather slily, "I did as I
thought ot~ would like to be done by. And
besides,"-she continued, and then stopped
"Besides what ? Come, do speak out."
"I wanted you to go to Sunday-school with
me all the time; and I was afraid you would
be angry and not go again, if I told Miss Lucy
what detained me."


"But you lost your mark, and perhaps you
will lose the premium."
"Yes," said Alice with a sigh; "but I did
not care about that. That is," she added, "I
did not care so much about it as I did about
your going to Sunday-school."
"Alice," said Bessie, after another pause,
"I suppose you think I am the worst girl in
the world."
"No, I don't. But I do not think you ar
as good as you might be,-sometimes,-Bes-
sie," said Alice frankly.
"Well, I know I am as bad as I can be, and
everybody thinks so, and I plague Aunt Rip.
ley almost to death; but I don't see how I mn
be any better. If I had always lived here, or
if mother had been well, I might have been
somebody; but Aunt Jane was enough to spoil
an angel. It's all her fault."
"Oh, Bessie !"
"It is all her fault, Alice. You don't know
how she used to go on. I never could please
her, do what I would. Mother used to talk to
me sometimes, before she went deranged, about
being so naughty, and then I used really to try
as hard as I coud to do better, and that wu
all the good it did. Aunt Jane would eoer

take a bit of notice of my trying to do right;
but if I did the least thing wrong, such as your
mother would never think of noticing"-
"Such as what ?" interrupted Alice.
"Such as slamming the door, or leaving it
open, or getting a spot on my apron,-she would
talk as if I had broken all the ten command-
ments at once, and tell z I was not fit to live
in the house with civilised people. You know
she did, Alice, because yoi have been at our
Alice could not gainsay the truth of Bessie's
account of her aunt's family government.
"So she used to talk to me till I did not
care what she said, and then she would tell
mother how bad I was, and make her cry.
And oh! Alice, I never told you the worst
thing she did. She told Dr. Wilson, right
before me, that it was my bad conduct and
mother's anxiety about me, more than any
thing else, that made her go deranged." And
Bessie burst into tears and wept as if her heart
would break.
"Dr. Wilson must have known better," said
Aice indignantly; "for I have heard father
ay that aunt Augusta was subject to fits of
dermagement before you were born, and that

nBowTHn R11~as. 61
they used to think she was unlike other people
even before she was married."
"Yes, Dr. Wilson told me so; and more
than that, he told father what she said, and that
she was not kind to me, and that was the way
I came to be sent here. But for all that, I can-
not help thinking aboi it; and it makes me
feel almost as if I eoqUd kill aunt Jane."
"Oh, Bessie! Berit' said Alice, greatly
shocked, "you must ot feel so,-it is very
wicked. You ought to try and forgive her."
"I can't forgive her," said Bessie sobbing.
"It's impossible! Miss Lucy talks about
offences-I guess, if she knew how aunt Jane
treated me, she migit talk. But there is no
use in trying-I never can forgive her-it is
"It cannot be impossible, because the Bible
says we must love our enemies, and pray for
those that despitefully use us and perseeute us;
and the Bible woqld never tell us to do what
was impossible. And Beesie,"-she added
hesitatingly,-" you know God will help us if
we really ask him."
"Well, I don't know," said Bessie doubt-
fully,-" it uem impossible. But now do you
wonder, Alice, that I am a naughty girl?"


62 GBOIWTH 3l l ACo .
"No," answered Alice, "I am sure I don't.
But no one has done so here. I am sure
mother never torments me."
"No, indeed, she is never any thing but
good to any one, and your -father is just so.
But you used to tease me, Alice, and do things
just to make me angry. And then you used
to laugh at me; and sometimes, when you
don't laugh, y" raise up your eyebrows and
twist your mouth, and that is just as bad-and
"I know I did," said Alice, blushing crim-
son and her eyes filling with tears, "and you
don't know how sorry I am, Bessie. It makes
me feel so bad I don't know what to do some-
times, when I think about it. I felt as if I
could cry last Monday about that cake."
That wasn't any thing," said Bessie. "But
I do really wish I could be good, Alice. I did
not think I should ever care any thing about it
again, after mother was sent away; but I do
care, and I would give any thing if I could be
good. I don't suppose I ever can, though."
"Oh yes, you can, Bessie, if you try in the
right way, I know."
"But I have always been so wicked, that


God would not hear me now, even if I should
ask him to help me."
"'He forgave the thief on the cross, you
know, and the publican, who was a wicked
man, and who stood afar off in the temple
-afraid to go where other people worshipped-
and said, God be merciful b me a sinner.'
And he says, 'He that cometh to me I will in
no wise cast out.' And yov*Iew how wicked
Paul was, before he was converted, in consenting
to the murder of Stephen, and in persecuting
the disciples of Christ. I don't think any one
could be too wicked to be forgiven, if he re-
pented. Do try, Bessie."
"If I thought I ever could-but I know I
should be just as bad again in a little while-
and worse."
"Mother says we must not trouble ourselves
about that, but keep on trying; and if we fail,
begin again. You know Peter denied the Lord
Jesus, and yet he received him again."
"How much you know about the Bible,
Alice! I never can bear to read it, because
aunt Jane used to make me learn lessons in it
for a punishment. But I won't say any thing
more about her-it only makes me angry."
"There is mother calling me," said Alice.

"I must go and stay with the bs* A little
while. But do try and forgive aopt Jane,
Bessie, because Christ says, 'If you forgive
not men their trespasses, neither will your
heavenly Father forgive your trespasses.'"

ON reaching the house, Alice went into the
nursery, and Bessie to her own room. She
felt very unhappy, and yet she felt-better than
she had done in the morning when she had
amused herself by making Alice wait for her.
Talking about her mother had softened her
heart, and she felt relieved by opening her
troubles to Alice. She sat down by the win-
dow and took her Bible. It had been her
mother's, and the sight of it renewed her grief,
She covered her face and wept long and bit-
terly. "If I could only make it up to mother,"
she thought, "I would not care; but I never
can-never in the world. And father is so far
away, and he will not be home for these five
years; and perhaps he will never live to come
home. There is no one to care whether I am
good or not."
She listlessly opened her Bible, and her eyes
fell on the words, God so loved the world that
he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever


*IX GUB. 66

believe&h i him should not perish but have
everlasting life." T h words came to her like
a strain of sweet music. "God loves me,
then," she thought, "and he ares for me."
Turning over the leaves slowly, she saw, (marked
by her mother's hand,) "There is joy in the
presence of the angels of God over one sinner
that repenteth;" and passing on, she read the
whole of that most wonderful story of the pro-
digal son. She had often read it before, but
never felt it till now. The Holy Spirit of God
had touched her heart, and those blessed words
of the Soviour came to her in all their force:
"He that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast
out."-" Come unto me, all ye that labour and
are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
And she did go. She fell on her knees and
prayed most earnestly for forgiveness and
acceptance through Jesus Christ. She be-
sought the aid of the Holy Spirit that she
might begin and continue in the right way.
She remembered what Alice had said about
forgiving aunt Jane, and prayed that she
might be able to do so. She knew and felt in
her inmost soul that her heavenly Father heard
her and loved her; that he was able and willing
to help and sustain and comfort her; and

something of the peace of God, which paseth
understanding, descended upon her troubled
Is it to be supposed that Bessie would have
opened her heart to Alice, and thus have been
led to call upon the Father of mercies and God
of all comfort-our only help in time of need
-if Alice had been as ready as some girls
would have been to excuse herself at Bessie's
expense? And do we ever think,-when we are
so ready to "tell mother," or father, or our
teacher, perhaps, of something wrong which
has been done by a sister, or brother, or
playmate-do we ever think what manner of
spirit we are of?

uowT xW etou 67T


Faox this hour Bessie was an altered child.
I do not mean to nay that she became good all
at once. No, the habits of even a short life-
time are not so easily corrected. Bessie was
still sometimes captious, encroaching and tyran-
nical. She still sometimes preferred her own
comfort to that of other people, and was rather
apt to take offence when none was meant. But
here was the great difference:-formerly she
had done these things without thought and
without self-reproach-now they were lamented
and striven against, and such open faults grew
less frequent every day. She had found a new
principle of action. Formerly she had lived
only to please herself-now she strove to live so
as to please God.
One of the hardest things for Bessie to over-
come was her tendency to encroach upoam l*F
rights of others. She had so long beean ees
tomed to consider herself firt, that it a Set
easy for her to give up the habit; aamd e ws
still rather apt to take the best place in the

68 GzOWTH Inr e B.
room, the first look at a new book, the best
peach or apple on the dish, &c.; and she still
sometimes borrowed Alice's pens and pencils
without leave, and forgot to return them. But
as soon as she became aware of these faults she
made great efforts to reform, and the result of
these efforts added not a little to the comfort
of those about her. Alice felt and noticed the
change more than any one else, and it was to
her too that Bessie opened her heart most
naturally and freely.
"Alice," (she said one day inaher abrupt way,)
"I think I ought to have a great deal more
credit for trying to be good than you, even if
I do not succeed half so well, because it is so
much harder for me."
"I don't know," said Alice laughing. "I
am sure you are welcome to all the credit, so
fr as that goes. But I do not think it is so
very much harder, Besie. You have so muhb
more perseverance than I have."
iB only think, Alice, how much better
S hMl been taught A great many things
j T~totry very hard to d% you do as a
*-u < rsne. Yes, I do really think I
<1idt moat credit, after all."
"As'.Lr tbt," iasosed Alice, "I den't
j '



think we ought to oare whether we get credit
for what we do, or not. We ought to do right
juat the same, even if no one knew it at all."
"I suppose we ought," mid Beesie with a
sigh; "but I am afraid I shall never be as
good as that. I would give any thing in the
world if mother only knew that I am trying to
be a Christian."
That is very different, I think, from just
wanting to be praised for what one does. I am
sure there can be no harm in that. But per-
hape she will know some time, Bessie."
"I am afraid ot," said Bessie sadly, her
eyes filling with tears. "I heard Dr. Wilson
tell aunt Jane that there was very little hope
that she would ever be any better."
"But in another world-in heaven, you,
kno Bessie," said Alice hesitatingly, aux-
iou to console Beesie, and fearful of giving
Bessie's looks expressed doubt. ,V
"There is no sickness there, you
suppose she will be uasw. as any
and then shedll know. ,When
there you can tell her."
"Oh, Alice I Do you r y thiak

._ ,- O W


"Why, yes. If we are Christ's, you know,
we shall all be with him."
Bessie looked as if she had received a per-
fectly new idea. She stood silent for some
time, apparently musing deeply. At last she
"When I think about heaven, Alice, it
never seems real to me. I cannot make it
seem as if there actually was such a place. Of
course I know there is, because the Bible says
so; but somehow I cannot feel it to be a
reality-can you ?"
"Sometimes I can,'" answered Alice, "and
sometimes not. It used to seem to me like a
dream; but lately, especially since Margaret
Carrol died, I feel a great deal more as if it
is real, because I always think she is there."
Margaret Carrol was one of Alice's school-
:'mstet who died about six months before. She
was sick a long time, and Alice was a great
deal with her. Margaret was a very pious
f a id during her whole sickness the idea
f lie better world seemed to be constantly
before her. Alice had loved Margaret dearly,
amd ir death had affected her very much.
Stdoes not seem as if I could believe that
I should ee mother well again," aid Bemie


softly, after a pause, and never leave her any
And never do wrong or sin any more --
that is the best of all," said Alice.
"I was not thinking so much about that,
Alice. I was thinking about seeing mother
well again. But perhaps I shall not go there
after all. I am afraid I shall not-I am so
I do not think we shall any of us go there,
my dear girls, if it depends on our .goodness,"
said Mrs. Ripley, who had entered the room
just in time to hear Bessie's last words. "You
surely know, Bessie, that all we can do would
serve us very little, if that were all we had to
depend upon." Bessie was silent, and Mrs.
Ripley continued. How are we saved ? Does
not the Bible tell us?"
"By grace are ye saved, through faith, aad
that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God;
not of works, lest any man should boast," an-
swered Alice.
"Right," said her mother. "And who *Mt
Jesus Christ come into the world to save ?"
Sinners," answered Bensie.
"Yes," again replied Mrs. Ripley, "sinners
ohas were. We should be redly of indeed,

if we depended upon our merits for admission
to heaven. The best of us has reason enough
to cry, 'Enter not into judgment with me, O
"Then what is the difference between Chris-
tians and other people, aunt, if all are sinners ?"
inquired Bessie.
The difference is very great," replied Mrs.
Ripley. Christians strive to do the will of
God. They may and do come short of their de-
sires; but sin, in all its forms and degrees, they
hate. If they fall into it, they repent and turn to
God, and seek and find forgiveness. They glory
in the cross of Christ, and desire to be like him;
and willingly suffer shame for his name. It is
the chief end of their life to glorify God and to
enjoy him for ever. Those, on the other hand,
who are not Christians, have none of these feel-
ings or desires. They love the world and the
things of the world, and the love of God the
Father is not in them. Instead of seeking first
the kingdom of God and his righteousness, as the
Bible requires, they seek almost every thing but
that! How could there be a wider difference?"
Bessie thought much of this conversation,
and wished to try herself by her ant's rule, to
see if she were really in the right way. She

*IOWTH In GwuaU. 6' 98
made great efforts to subdue tha wia h
she was most inclined; and there was a very
perceptible improvement in every respect.
Still she now and then fell into her old faults,
and she now and then grew tired of watching
and was careless, and this always brought her
into trouble. One of her worst times came
from a quarrel with Alice, which arose, like
some other sad quarrels, about a question of
Alice and Bessie possessed in common a
certain old-fashioned book-case and secretary
which stood in the study. It had belonged to
Alice ever since she had been tall enough to
reach the shelves by climbing upon a chair,
and she took great delight in its manifold lit-
tle drawers and cupboards and pigeon-holes.
When Bessie came, Alice had generously di-
vided her territory with her, and made her mis-
tress of one of the book-oupboards, half the
drawers, and half the writing accommodations;
-a generosity which had since caused her some
trouble, as Bessie was apt to forget that she
had not a right to the whole.
There was a certain cupboard, however, which
Alice had mzerved in her partition. It opened
with a spring, and was divided by shelves, with

64 eRowTH n eILAO&.
a drawer at the bottom, ingeniously concealed
by a falling lea. Here Alice kept her choicest
treasures, and among them her journal, (for
she had begun to keep a journal,) and certain
attempts at writing verses, which she was very
Sshy of showing. This important cupboard was
in reality upon Bessie's side, and as Alice hdd
never made any formal reservation of it, Bessie
one day took a fancy to claim it.
"I think this ought to be my cupboard,
Alice. It is on my side, and you have more
than I have. I think I ought to have it."
Oh no, Besie I I think more of that than
of all the rest; but you may have some of my
shelves to make up."
I do not want any more shelves; mine are
not full now. But I think I ought to have the
cupboard, because it is on my side. You said
I might have all this side."
I did not mean the cupboard, though," said
Alice. "I always meant to keep that. I would
rather have that than any thing else about it."
"I ilnk you ought to have said so, then,"
said Bessie pettishly, and not pretend to give
up half and then keep the best yourself. You
may have it all, if that is the way you mean to
do about it."

OlOWTK IU t101(.

Bessie felt that she Vas wrong a moon as
she had spoken these words, for her conscience
had become much quickened of late; but she
did not like to give up: soshe left the study
and went up-stairs. Alice was very sorry that
Bessie had taken offence, but she thought her
claim was unreasonable, and she hoped she
would get over the fancy in a little while. She
concluded to say no more about it for the pro.
sent, and try to divert Bee ie's mind from the
idea. This little incident happened in *e
morning, before school. Alice went to school
as usual, and, a little while after, Besmie
came into the study and opened the writing
I declare it is too bad,"-she said half aloud,
-"for Alice to take the best of every thing,
whether she has any right to it or not," forget-
ting that Alice had a right to the whole, and
that it was only through her kindness that she
had any share whatever. "The cupboard is
mine, at any rate," she continued, "and I
mean to have it."
So saying, she began to remove Aide's po
sessions from the shelves of the cupboard. She
did not feel very comfortable while she was
doing it, and once or twice she almost eon-

66' eowTHn IN GLAOI.
eluded to put the things back again; but it
was very hard for her to make up her mind to
gie up, as she called it, or to own herself in
the wrong. So she tried to stifle the voice of
conscience, and to convince herself that she
was only taking possession of her right.
In the course of her researches she came
across Alice's journal, which had always been
carefully kept out of sight. As she took it up
to remove it, it opened in her hand, and she
saw her own name. Almost without thinking,.
she read a sentence or two. Then she paused
a moment. She knew perfectly well that she
was doing a very dishonourable thing in look-
ing at the book at all, but having acted in op-
position to her sense of right in one instance,
it was easier to do so in another. She yielded
to her curiosity and read on, but with an un-
easy feeling of guilt which made her start at
every sound. The first part of the journal had
been written several months before, and con-
tained some account of occurrences which had
taken place soon after Bessie's arrival. It was
in a strain not very complimentary to herself,
and one page closed with a cordially expressed
wish that she had never come at all.
Bessiewas not all wellpleased with heunsi

Geowz III e&aL. 67
and her indignation easily turned again
Alice. '
"No wonder she was so anxious to keep it
out of my way,". she thought, as she read on.
In a few minutes 'her employment received an
unlooked-for interruption. Alice, who had been .
excused from school at recess, entered the
room, and at once perceived the nature of
Bessie's employment.
Oh, Bessie How mean to read my jour-
nal," she exclaimed; and under a sudden
impulse of passion she tried, to snatch it out
of her hand, saying, "You ought to be
ashamed to be so sly. It is just a bad as
Bessie resisted, and held the book fast. In
a moment Alice recollected herself, and, aban-
doning her hold, she burst into tears and
sobbed with grief and vexation. Beesie laU
down the book on one of Alice's shelves, and
remarking, There is your precious journal, I
don't wonder you are ashamed of it," sha:
walked out of the room.
Alice was more angry than she had ever-
been before in her life. She wept a long time.
without stopping, and then found it difficult to
ompoee herself. At first her anger was aU

against Besie. As usual in such cases, all the
* aggravating circumstances of the occurrence
presented themselves first to her mind. She
had no right to move my things outpf the cup-
board, at any rate-the whole of the book-Ae
was mine at first, and long before oi came
here. But that is just the way-you en never
give her part of any thing without her wanting
the whole. I should not so much mind about
the cupboard-but to read my journal! I am
glad she did, though; it was not very compli-
mentary to herself!"
But better thoughts soon came to her.
"After all, I am as much to blame as she is.
I ought not to have tried to snatch it away
from her. I ought to have asked her for it
gently, but I was so angry I could not think
of any thing. It was so mean for her to read
it I I hope she is satisfied, though. But I
ought not to feel so. I wish I had not written
any such thing. It is no wonder she is angry,
and I am afraid she will not get over it very
soon either. How I wish I had not said what
I did I If I had not said any thing at all she
would have been very sorry, and now she will
be so vexed. To be sure it was very pro-
yoking, but what are one's resolutions worth,

. I

anowu IN asIoI. 69
if they give way at the firt temptation ? I ,
sure I don't know what to do now.. I ha rl4
think I ought to ask her to forgive me, when
she wamLouch in the wrong. How I wish I
hat been qaiet-as she says, she has been so
badly bright up. And she has been trying
so hard to do better, and to be a Christian, that
I ought not to have been angry with her for
the first fault, even if it was ever so bad. Per-
haps she will give up trying, and all because I
have offended her."
Alice wept more bitterly than ever, but with
a very different feeling. Now her anger was
all against herself. She no longer doubted
what her duty was, however; and after asking
her heavenly Father's forgiveness for the sin
into which she bad fallen, she went to seek for
Bessie. She found her in her own room, look-
ing out of the window. Her cheek ws flushed,
and she seemed both angry and uncomfortable.
She did not turn her head as the door opened,
nor even when Alice called her by name. This
was discouraging, but Alice had made up her
mind as to what was right.
"I am sorry I offended you, Bessie," she
said in a low voice. 't was wrong for me to
speak so. I as very rry."

SNow Bessie would rather Alice had done any
'' thing else than ask her ardon. She knew
that she was far more in the wrong than her
cousin. She already felt quite as angry with
herself as with Alice, and she would have
almost been pleased to have Alice persist in
the wrong, for that would, in some degree,
have justified her in her own eyes. She might,
without doubt, have overcome her, evil temper
if she had made sufficient exertion, for she pos-
sessed a great deal of self-command, and there
is a Divine Power ever ready to assist all who
are striving to do right. But she did not try.
She exclaimed angrily, "I do wish, Alice, you
would be honest. You know you are n otsorry,
nor any such thing. You only say so to make
me feel bad. I cannot bear such pretension.
I would rather be honestly provoked and
own it."
Poor Alice! This was rather a hard recep-
tion for her penitence. She retreated without
another word, and left Bessie to her own reflec-
tions. She felt very sad, and very much dis-
pleased with herself for having provoked her
cousin and hardened Ir heart against herself
by her inconsiderate Iding to temper, and,
as usual, she carriedlr trouble to her motfr.

"I do not see, my love," said Mrs. ff,
after Alice hd told her the whole story, "S .
you must leave the matter just where it is.
You have done all you could by asking Bessie's
pardon; and I am glad, for your own sake,
that you have done so. You see by this, Alice,
how much harm may be done by one incon-
siderate and hasty speech. If you had quietly
asked Bessie for your journal, and even remon-
strated with her gently, though she might have
been vexed, she' would not have been as angry
as she is now. Another lesson you may learn
is to be very careful what you say, and
especially what you write about people. You
can never be perfectly sure that a letter or
journal will not fall into the hands of strangers.
As for Bessie, I think you had better let her
alone for the present: only use every effort to
conciliate and please her, and do not allow
yourself to be vexed with her, whatever she
may say."
Bessie made her appearance at dinner-time,
but did not seem to have made up her mind to
be friendly again with Alice. On the contrary,
she seemed to seek for,opportunities to vex her
and give her pain.
4Muar Hyde is go~g away to spend the

A I i-

rest of the summer, mother," said Alice. 01
Wall mins her very much. She is such Pf
pleasant, witty girl, phe keeps us all laughing
,ia ehool."
S"I am sure," said Bessie, "I do not see
when her wit lies. She tries hard enough to
SA say smart things, if that is all; but I don't
-think she succeeds very often."
Now Bessie was as fond as any one of laugh-
ing at Maria's queer speeches, and only spoke
so for the purpose of contradicting Alice, who
was very fond of Maria.
So it was throughout the day. Every remark
that Alice made was answered by a similar
comment from Bessie, till the poor child was
almost afraid to open her mouth. Al her
efforts at conciliation were unsuccessful, and
when Alice retired to rest she felt that it was
the most unhappy day she had spent for a long
It may be imagined that at the end of such
a day Bessie did not find herself in a very
favourable mood for devotion. She would
have been glad to omit her prayers altogether,
but a feeling of something like fear restrained
her. She sat down at the table and found her
place in the Bible, but the passage, thegh it

* one of the most beMatifl passages of the
Gospel by John, failed to interest her. H,
thoughts were running 1or the occurrences of
Sthe day, and, though her eye followed the woreh.
her mind received no impression from thel.
She closed the book almost angrily, d nd
kneeling down in her accustomed place, tried .
to pray, but found the same difficulty. Her
mind wandered, and she repeated words with-
out any idea of the sense. She had no feel-
ing of devotion. A barrier seemed to be raised
between herself and God, which she could
not pass; and a dark cloud overshadowed her.
She hastily and formally repeated a prayer,
and then lay down to rest, in that most mise-
rable and dangerous condition-a state of con-
scious and acknowledged, but unrepented sin
The words seemed to sound in her ears, and
to be repeated again and again, "If If I regard
iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear
me." Then she tried to persuade herself that
she had not done wrong, ad at any rate that
Alice was much the m*ee4 blame; and then,
in spite of herself, she remembered the passage,
"If we say that we have no sin, we deesre
ourelh, and the truth is not in u;" Lad
then, f we confess our sin, d ih I fLhM

and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleans
s from all unrighteousness." But she would
not confess her sin. She felt as if it were im-
possible to humble herself by acknowledging
the wrong and giving up her claim. Thus
resisting the Holy Spirit, and grieving her
Saviour, she fell asleep.
The next day was Saturday. Bessie rose
early, and after dressing and hastily saying her
prayers, sat down to study her Sunday-school
lesson. She had lately become very much
attached to the Sunday school, and took great
interest in the exercises and lessons; and Miss
Lucy's instructions and advice had been of
great use to her. Now, however, the sight
of her books seemed to increase her trouble.
She remembered her broken resolutions and
her former desire to please God. She recol-
lected the incidents attending her first morning
in the school, and Alice's forbearance and pa-
tience. She recalled her sympathy in her dis-
trees, and her klkess ever since. Her heart
was touched sad lpft d, and she felt as if she
would give the woi if the affair of the writing-
dek could only be done. Still she was un-
willing to up er claim upon the dsputed
b(oardh e she thought that wil be

w: .? .* ,

OeowrTH r GaACI.
acknowledging to Alice that she had been in
the wrong. So she tried to persuade herself
that she was not bound to give up her claim or
to make amends to Alice, but tried to believe
that she repented of her ill-temper about it.
She kneeled down again and asked God's for-
giveness for her anger and unkindness, but she
could not feel as if she was forgiven. She
knew that she was under his anger, and must
be so until she was ready to renounce all her
sin, and she felt wretched and miserable.
When she came down-stairs, Alice bade ier
good morning as pleasantly as usual, for, aside
from any principle on the subject, it was not in
her nature to let the sun go down upon her wrath;
but Bessie could hardly answer her. She felt
that it was much easier not to speak at all than
to speak as she knew she ought; and accord-
ingly she scarcely opened her lips during break-
fast. Her aunt saw that every thing was
wrong with her still, but she thought it best
not to interfere. Alice tried every means to
win her cousin into cordifity, but without suc-
cess. Bessie would not be won.
Some time after breakfast, Bernie had o '
sion t go to the writing-desk. ae opeaslkt
ratlamwillingly, and at onee perceived wat

had been done. All Alice's affairs had been
removed from the disputed cupboard; even the
private drawer was cleared out and stood open.
It was plain that Alice intended to abandon all
claim to it, as the former contents were neatly
disposed of in other ways; while some of
Bessie's papers which had lain loose upon the
bottom of the desk were placed upon the
coveted shelves.
Beai, hardly knew what to do. A feeling,
which was partly pride and partly shame, for-
bea her to accept the accommodation she had
so Mis desired; while, at the same time, she
was willing to relinquish her claim. She
f~ally concluded to let it go, and uy nothing
about it. "Alice is so light-hearted," she
thought, "she will forget all about it present-
ly;" as though Alice's forgiving temper ex-
cued her from her duty. Poor Bessie I What
state is more unhappy, or more full of peril,
than that of the sinner who is conscious of his
sin and yet will not renounce it?
This uncomfortable state of things listed all
the rest of the day, in spite of all the attempts
of Alice to bring about a better. Be'sie on-
tinued fallen, or at lest reserved, though she
found it more and more difficult to rest the

nowm oen. 'a t i
gentle advances of- her cousin; and was more
and more inclined to acknowledge herself in
the wrong. A happy occurrence at last helped
to break the barriers of pride and ill-temper
which she had contrived to erect in her own
Alice was sitting in the nursery with the
baby and Lissie, rocking the former and amus-
ing the latter with all sorts of little stories,
which she had a great talent at invent when
her mother entered with her hands t'el4l -
ters and papers. 1
"Where is Bessie ?" she inquired, '.~B
are two letters for her, one from'( Wsee
and one from her father at Malta. I hope th
doctor's will contain good news, from what he
said to me in his last."
She is in the garden," said Alice, jumping
up in a hurry, and leaving the hero'of her
story in a most critical situation. "Please,
mother, let me take the letters to her," she con-
tinued, anxiously holding out her hand. Her
mother smiled, and gave them to her.
"You must come back and finish the ,
Alioe" exclaimed little Liuzie. "And owes
pretty soon, or you will forget. Now wont
you, Alice." P

"Alice wants to find Beie, love," said Ms.
Ripley. "Cannot I finish the story just
well ?"
"I don't think you can, mother," answered
Liszie rather slowly, "because, you see, you
don't know how George got out of the wood."
Well, then, I will tell you another story-
a true story about uncle George, and how he
wanted to ride on the toad." The idea of a
true story about uncle George quite reconciled
Limb to her sister's departure, and she settled
herself comfortably at her mother's feet to

A broad covered verandah ran across the
rear of Mr. Ripley's house, from which a long
fight of steps led into the garden. The ends
of these steps were covered with ivy and elad
matis, and at the bottom was a gras-plat,
which was mown very often, so that it was as
smooth and soft as velvet; and a large eln -
grew on the right and left of it. Being upon the
east side of the house, it was nicely shaded all
the safrnoon, and it was a favourite spot with
all the mily. Bessie was sitting upon the low-
est step, apparently looking out into the garden
and over the fields beyond. Her chin rested
on her hand, and she looked tired and unhappy.

* '

80 GIowTH Ix G1AOl.
every thing to hope. Dr. B. informs me that
she is quite herself for days together, and her
fits of gloom and depression are becoming
much less frequent, and are more easily dissi-
pated. She was perfectly herself yesterday,
and inquired most affectionately for you. I
thought myself justified in saying that, judging
from your aunt's letters, and from what I had
myself seen in your short visit to me, you were
much improved in all respects. She was much
delighted, and said, quite in her old tone, 'My.
dear little Bessie I how happy I shall be to ee-
her again.' Your mother is not yet allowed to
write letters, but she reads your father's jour-
al, which he sends her regularly; and Dr. a
thinks that in a few weeks the exersme of wiing
will be beneficial to her. She nw.vads more
or less every day, and is allowed to play on
the organ, in which she takes great delight.. I
think there is now every reason to hope that
she will soon be much better than she has been
for years, if she is not quite restored. With
kindest regards to your uncle and aunt, I remain,
"Your afetionate friend,

Beie sat very quie i directly be-

fore her a few moment, and then, gathering
up her papers, she went to her own room,
whither we will not follow her at present.
Alice was sitting in her favourite arbour in
the garden, reading her favourite book, and
was so much engaged that she did not see her
cousin enter. Bessie went up to her, and, put-
ting her arm round her neck, she tried to speak,
but a flood of tears prevented.
"Why, Bessie What is the matter ? Did
you have any bad news ?"
S"No, indeed!" sobbed Bessie. "It is as
good as can be,-a great deal better than I d-
serve after being so wicked. Oh, Alice, I am
a ashamed and so sorry !"
Mever mind," said Alice in tearful symps-
"It is just as I told you, Alice! I an
never be good, if I try ever so hard. I thought
I had got the better of my temper, and you see
how it is!"
I would not be discouraged by one failure,"
remarked Alice encouragingly. "Everybody
fails sometimes; and you k1w mother says we
must begin again. Besides I wm as much to
blame as yo."
"I dan't tism were," uW iM6 .

"You would never have read another person's
journal. But at any rate it does not make me
any better if you were."
"I wish I had let you have the cupboard at
first," said Alice.
"No, I don't think you ought to give up
always. And besides, it was not altogether
that,-at least that was not the beginning."
Bessie hesitated, and then continued:
You know I was reading that 'Travels in
Tartary' the night before"-
Yes, I know," said Alice, anxious to spare
Bessie the mortification of alluding to their
"Well, I took it up-stairs with me, and sat
reading it till it was very late; and I was so
tired and sleepy I did not know what to do.
And then my candle burned out, and I could not
see to read my Bible; and my mind wandered
so that I did not feel like saying my prayers.
It was just the same in the morning. I began
to read before I was dressed, though I knew
it was wrong; and the bell rang before I was
half ready. Then I had to hurry through my
prayers again, and was very late bWeakfist
after all, and that made me feid go temper
and read to yield to theflut *0 I "

iBOwi In VaoeA. 88
"I think that is almost always the way one
begins to do wrong," said Alice. "That was
the way with the man in the iron cage, in Pil-
grim's Progress,' you know."
"I never read Pilgrim's Progress."
"Oh, do read it, it is such a beautiful book.
I have two copies-an old leather-covered one
that used to be grandfather's, and a new one
bound in morocco, and with beautiful plates,
that Mrs. Carrol gave me. I like to read
grandfather's old book the best, though; it has
such curious pictures in it."
"But, Alice, will you take back the cup-
board ?" said Bessie anxiously.
Alice hesitated.
"I had a great deal rather you would,"
she continued. "You have the best right
to it."
"Well,-just a you like," said Alice; "but
don't let us say any thing about it now.
Tell me what Dr. Wilson says about aunt
"Ohl he is aO much better," sid Beaie,
"Dr. WPiM thinks she will get well. And do
you wm A) e, he says that she will soon be
able to wdnl itsrM, and she*can play on the
organ. I L ever known her do so much

84 Geo, cs&OU.
since I was a little Rfs Oh, if I can only
see her well again!"'
"How glad you will be when they let you
see her !"
Yes, indeed,-if they ever do. But I am
afraid it will be a long time first. Come, let
us go in; I hear Peggy calling us."
As the girls passed in with their arms around
each other's waists, Mrs. Bipley saw that all
was right between them once more. Bessie
was very quiet, and hardly spoke during the
meal, but her face had a gentle, subdued epres-
sion, which showed that the stork was over.
Alice was full of spirits, and as usual made
herself very agreeable. She attended to Lis-
sie's wants, and took upon herself the rather
more difficult task of taking care of *aster
Willie, who was about two years old, and who
was sometimes allowed, as an especial favour,
to come to the table. After tea she produced
her two copies of "Pilgrim's Progress" for
Bessie's inspection, and showed Lizzie the pic-
tures, much to that young lady's delight. Alice
often made herself of great use to her mother
by amusing and taking care of the liMSl Oms.
She was so gentbl, kind and insel thi
seldom had much trouble with thb ; am4)y,

'0a1 m maCU. 86
on their part, we arwai glad to be left to
her care. If Lisie or Willie showed any
disposition to rebellion, "I cannot tell you
any stories unless you are good," was usually
quite enough to secure good behaviour.
Bessie retired earlier than usual, for she felt
Sa desire to be alone. With what a different
feeling did she now take up her mother's Bible
and kneel down to prayer. That her mother
was really better-that she might soon receive
a letter from her-that she might even see
he-these thoughts filled her heart with thank-
fulnel, mile the sense of being utterly unde- .
Sservig of such being, and the feeling that
God had bestowed them upon her even while
ahe was wandering from him, humbled her in
the dpst. She felt that she could not so much
as lih up her eyes toward heaven while she
prayed like the publican, God be merciful to
me a sinner."



THE affair of the book-case was in some re-
spects useful to Bessie, as it convinced her of the *
great importance of keeping a watch over her
actions, not only in what seemed to be import-
ant, but also in indifferent matters. She was
very careful henceforth to do nothing which
should interfere with her devotional duties, and
found, as every one must, the great advantage
of this care. Her attachment to Alice in-
creased every day, and with it was strength-
ened Alice's influence over her. They were
almost inseparable when Alice was at home.
They read the same books, took care of the
same lowers, walked together, worked together
and played together. Beesie made a great
effort to overcome her natural and habitual in-
dolence, and succeeded so far as to keep pace
with Alice in her school-studies, to her own
great advantage.
With all her attachment to her cousin, Bessie
was often rather jealous of her, and very un-
willing to have any one suppose that Alice


influenced her in any way. She sometimes
carried this feeling so far that she would
refuse to do what would really have given her
pleasure, if it were proposed in the first place
by Alice; and she was far from being pleased
if Alice noticed any mistake in her lessons, or
suggested any improvement in her work. When
Alice perceived this disposition in her cousin,
she ceased almost entirely to criticise her, and
was very careful to give no occasion for jea-
lousy or unkind feeling. With all her care,
however, she could not entirely escape unplea-
sant scenes.
One day Bessie had just finished a drawing,
and she showed it to Alice. It was a very
pretty picture and tolerably well executed;
but there were two or three prominent errors.
"I think it is very pretty," said Alice.
"But is it all right, Alice ?"
I do not think the end of that house is quite
right. It seems too broad for the rest, and the
back line is not quite straight."
I made the end broader on purpose," said
Bessie, being, as usual, displeased at the very
criticism she had asked, "for I thought I
should like it better."
This was not quite true. Bessie had made

the mistake, and then had been too indolent to
correct it.
"I would alter that line, at any rate," said
Bessie pettishly took the drawing from her
hand and tossed it upon the table, saying, I
never can do any thing that you do not find
fault with, Alice."
Here were two evils growing directly out of
the spirit of jealousy,--an unkind answer, and
almost a falsehood. Bessie was conscious of
both sins as soon as they were committed, and
a few moment' thought revealed to her the
origin of them. She took up the drawing
again, and finding that it was impossible to reo-
tify the mistake, she sat herself down resolutely
to make another copy. It was rather up-hill
work, for she had, of course, lost some of her
interest in the picture; and she was, moreover,
rather tired; but she persevered, and had just
finished the outline when Alice re-entered the
room and looked over her shoulder.
"Why, Bessie, why do you copy the same
one over ?" she exclaimed, rather surprised.
"Partly to make it exactly right, and partly
to punish myself for being so croes about it,"
Bessie replied, smiling and blushing at the

same time. "And I want you to tell me if
there is any thing else wrong about it,-that is,
if you are not afraid."
"Oh, no! I know it is vexatious to have
one's work found fault with; but then it is
hardly fair to ask an opinion and then be vexed
with one for giving it. Still I really don't see
any thing else wrong about it. I think it is
very pretty indeed."
Thus did these two young girls help one
another on in the upward path. We say "help
each other," because Bessie was of great use to
Alice. She was a sort of outward conscience,
for Alice was very apt to consider what Bessie
would think of any action, and she cured her.
self of many faults, and watched her words and
actions very carefully, that she might lay no
hindrance in the way of Bessie's advancement in
the right direction. Bessie's progress was more
visible outwardly than her cousin's, because she
had (as it were) begun farther back. Her faults
had been of a nature to be obvious to the eye,
and to affect the comfort of those about her,
while Alice's had been those of the mind and

WE must now pass over two or three months 4,
in the history of our young friends, and mriet
them again in a time of peculiar trouble and
sorrow. There had never yet been a death in
Mrs. Ripley's family circle. Her father and
mother were yet living, ted A her children
had been spared to her. 4*itS& ones were
for the most part remarkAty 1iihty though
the baby showed signs of a dshieah constitu-
tion. But the angel came, (as he comes, sooner
or later, to every hearth-stone,) and, as so
often happens, his stroke seemed to have been
delayed only to fall with the greater force.
Scarlet fever of a very malignant character
made its appearance in the town.
Two of the first victims were among Alice's
school-mates, and one of them was Caddy Ray-
poor Caddy! whose absence of mind and blun-
ders had so often furnished cause of mirth to her
school-mates. She was taken sick in school, and
died after an illness of only three days. Oh, how
glad would some of her companions have been
if they could have recalled all their unkind
speeches, and even ridicule! How keenly thqm,
remembered her gentle feelings and gen 1 '
deeds! How freely she had always forgiven her
tormentors! How deeply she ever repented the

- ~~~~

GeOWTH nl eaoCR. 91

Siritabfiity into which she was betrayed--and
Which was in a great measure owing to her
delicate health and excited brain! But it was
now too late to repent, so far as poor Caddy
was concerned; and we can only hope that the
feeling of rsmorM tas lasting enough to pre-
vent the aame orf ly from being shown to
others. Aiek. hde been withdrawn from the
school as aoa'd e disease appeared, and her
mother watched her anxiously, though silently,
for some days, dreading to see the symptoms
make their appearance. But it was on another
head that the blow was to alight.
Mrs. Ripley had gone out for a few moments
to inquire after a family of poor coloured peo-
ple in the neighbourhood, whose children had
been attacked with the disorder. She found
them in the greatest affliction. One of the
children had been dead for an hour, and
another was just expiring. She remained
some time performing neighbourly duties, and
trying to speak some words of comfort to the
poor mother, who seemed perfectly overwhelmed
with grief and terror. On her return, late in
the evening, she found Alice and Peggy both in
the nursery. Peggy was holding the baby, aad
both were very anxiously watching her.


"Mother," said Alice anxiously, as she en
tered, "I don't think Kitty can be well. See
how red her cheeks are! and she cries out every
minute. Neither Peggy nor I can do any
thing with her."
Mrs. Ripley laid aside her bonnet and took
the little one on her lap. The sight of her
mother seemed to give her some pleasure, but
she soon began crying again. Her skin was
hot and flushed, and she seemed in pain.
Send Nathan for Dr. Reynolds, my love,"
said Mrs. Ripley,-" quickly."
Alice went out, but Nathan was not to be
found. He had been sent away on some
errand by Mr. Ripley, and had not returned.
"I'll take Eliza with me and go, Alice,"
said Bessie. "I am not at all afraid. Perhaps
I had better stop at the office and tell uncle."
"He will not be there, Bessie. He is in
court. But do please make haste."
Bessie hurried away on her errand, and
Alice returned to the sick-room. The doctor
was not at home. He had gone a few miles into
the country, and would not be back till late.
"Is Dr. Whitbeck at home, then ?"
"No, he has gone to the Orphan Asylum."
Anxiously and sorrowfully passed the night

in the sick-room. The baby seemed to grow
worse every moment, and moaned continually.
Dr. Reynolds did not arrive till morning, and
when he came he seemed very anxious. He
would not give any decided opinion upon the
case, except that it was a very severe attack of
the fever, and he seemed to fear that the little
creature's constitution was hardly strong enough
to throw it off. But it did not take long to
decide the question. In four days from the
first attack little Kitty was taken to heaven I
This was a heavy stroke to Alice. She
hardly knew how to bear it at all. The
thought that the baby was gone-that she
should never see her again in this world-was
overwhelming. She could hardly endure to
enter the nursery and see the empty crib, and
the little chair and the playthings, now useless!
It was on this occasion that Bessie showed
of how much exertion and self-denial she was
capable. She took upon herself the whole
care of Lsie and Willie, as Peggy was nece-
sarily engaged much of the time. Giving up
all her own employment, she devoted herself
entirely to the care of the little ones, taking
them out to walk, playing with them in the
gardn, and, when in the house, contriving L

I*' <

' v

means to keep them quiet and good, in order
that the sick child might not be disturbed. She
rose very early, that she might have time to
read and pray before it was time to dress her
little charges and attend to their breakfast;
and she found in these morning hours of devo-
tion a never-failing spring of strength and
patience. The latter was now and then se-
verely tried, for Willie was rather a trouble-
some little fellow, and Lizzie was sometimes
very unwilling to be influenced by Bessie,
whom she considered as of about her owa
standing in the family, and consequently enti-
tled to no sort of authority. The Bessie of six
months before would hardly have made matters
low so smoothly; and even now the temper
oftentimes rose to her cheeks and eyes, but it
was never allowed to find an escape in words.
The day after the funeral, Mrs. Ripley was
very unwell, and lay upon the bed nearly all
day. Alice was with her mother, aid Peggy
was engaged in putting the nurserin order
and taking care of the clothes and playthings-
all that remained to show that little Kitty had
been there. Bessie found it more difficult to
get along quietly and comfortably with the
children than on any previous day. Linie

Geownr nr esGU. 96

especially was very refractory ad peevish, Mnd
would not be pleased with any thing. She was
81 Oto play with Willie, and yet she would
n% left alone without crying. Bes hardly
knew what to do. She tried to paoi; Lisie
and not to be irritated herself; but the last was
the hardest of all. She felt so languid and
depressed that it was a great exertion for her
to move, and she could hardly keep from cry-
ing. She finally prevailed upon Lissie to sit
down by the window with her and hear a story,
but Willie preferred careering about the room
and playing with a whistle that he had found
in one of the table-drawers.
Besie felt as if she could hardly bear the
noise he made, but she did not like to risk a di-
pate by taking it away from hi, e she let him
go on in his own way, and dreted herself to
making Lisie comfortable, and interesting her
in a quiet way; and she was succeeding pretty
wll, when an unusually loud blast from the
whistle caused her to look round.
There stood Master Willie, mounted upon the
top of the uncovered piano-forte, nourishing his
whip in one hand and a valuaMe agate paper-
fod (a present to Bmnie from her father) in
Sether. She leftLissie at the window, au4
4^ f-

q 1

hastened to take him down. Willie resisted,
and in the struggle the paper-folder was broken
in two. To add to her distress, Lizzie, fading
herself left alone at the window, began to bry,
and Whlie of course joined in. Bessie, with
trembling limbs and voice and a throbbing head,
was trying hard to settle matters, when Peggy,
attracted by the noise, entered the room.
"What a racket!" she exclaimed. "It's
enough to tear the house down. Hush this
instant, Willie! What is the matter, Miss
"I am sure I cannot help it, Peggy," Bessie
began. I have tried my very best, but,"-
her self-command here gave way entirely, and
she burst into tears.
You're tired to death, child, and as nervous
as you can be," said Peggy, looking compass
sionately at her, and your cheeks are as red
as fire, and no wonder, after taking care of
these young ones all the week. Now you)u.t
go up-stairs and lie down, and try to go to
sleep, and I'll bring you a cup of tea by-and-
by. I will say I never saw any grown-up
young lady behave more remi ly or do more
than you have, since that dear baby was ~t
down,-if that's any comfort to you."

S*.b *A *. *


It was a comfort to Bessie, and she smiled
through her tea, which, however, flowed all
the faster.
"Now go and lie down like a good girl,"
continued Peggy, "and leave me to see to
things here; and as to the paper-knife, it can
be mended, I know. It's only pulled out of
the handle. Go, there's a dear."
Bessie went and lay down, as Peggy recom-
mended, but it was some time before she could
compose herself at all. Her head throbbed
violently, her limbs ached, and she felt hot and
chilly by turns. When she closed her eyes she
was troubled with all sorts of fantastic and hor-
rible visions, and confused singing noises seemed
sounding in her ears. Even when she fell
asleep she started frequently, and her breathing
was hurried and feverish. By degrees she be-
came more quiet, and sank into a heavy slum-
ber,. which must have lasted some time, for
.kt she started in a fright from a terrific
dream of ghosts and being buried alive, she
found that it was night, that her aunt was at
her side holding one of her hands, and Pegg
stood with a emdle at the foot of the bed.
"What is i, darling t" inquired Mrs. Rip
ley. "What made you scream and mosa so"


"Did I?" said Bessie, trying to rouse her-
self. "I was dreaming such a frightful dream!"
"I am afraid you are ill, my love."
"Oh no!" answered Bessie, trying to sit up.
But the moment she raised herself she was
seized with deadly faintness, and fell back
upon her pillow.
"You must send Nathan for Dr. Reynolds
again, Peggy," said Mrs. Ripley. "And look
in at Lizzie as you pass the nursery. I thought
she seemed feverish at tea-time."-
Peggy came back in a few minutes to say
that Nathan had met the doctor near the gate
and brought him in, and that he was waiting
down-stairs; and moreover, that Lizzie was rest-
less and complained of her throat, and that the
wanted her mother.
"Do go to her, aunty," said Bessie feebly.
"I shall not want any thing else."
"I must bring the doctor to see you first,"
replied her aunt, and left the room for that
purpose. While she was gone, Bessie lay per-
fectly still, trying to think, but more and more
confused by the throbbing in her head and the
pain in her limbs and back. She could not
control her mind at all. All sorts of idea and
images passed before her in rapid succession.

GeowTH eaR Ad. 99
She tried to remember what she had been
doing all day, and whether she had discharged
her duty to her aunt and the children; for a
confused sense of having omitted something-
of having done something very wrong-trou-
bled her. Then she remembered hearing Peggy
say that Lizzie was complaining, and she wea-
ried herself to think how she could have taken
cold, and whether she had been in any way
neglected. Thus her mind wandered from one
subject to another till her aunt returned with
the doctor.
Dr. Reynolds felt her pulse and examined
her tongue and her eyes with great attention.
He questioned her closely about the pain in
het head, and asked her to describe her feel-
ings, but she could not answer him very well,
for her mind grew more disturbed every mo-
ment. Then the doctor went out of the room
with her aunt, leaving Peggy by her side, and
she heard them talking in the hall, but could
not distinguish the words. Finally she fell
into a troubled sleep.
"What do you think of Bessie, doctor?"
"I can hardly say-just at present,"-sid
the doctor slowly. "There is great excitement,
no doubt, and high fever, but"---

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