Citation
Great riches

Material Information

Title:
Great riches Nelly Rivers' story
Creator:
Fanny, 1822-1894
Nimmo, William Philip, 1831-1883 ( Publisher )
Morrison and Gibb ( Printer )
Place of Publication:
Edinburgh
Publisher:
William P. Nimmo
Manufacturer:
Morrison & Gibb
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
127, [16] p., [1] leaf of plate : ill. (some col.) ; 18 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Contentment -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Parent and child -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Friendship -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Temptation -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1890 ( rbgenr )
Family stories -- 1890 ( local )
Bldn -- 1890
Genre:
Publishers' catalogues ( rbgenr )
Family stories ( local )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
Scotland -- Edinburgh
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors.
General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Statement of Responsibility:
by Aunt Fanny.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026585521 ( ALEPH )
ALG2174 ( NOTIS )
177183297 ( OCLC )

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Full Text




The Baldwin Library

University |,
Kin Bk
Florida |









GREAT RICHES,



MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGR







GREAT RICHES.

Pellp Wibers’ Story,

BY

AUNT FANNY.

* Tlove God, and little children.”

EDINBURGH:
W. P. NIMMO, HAY, & MITCHELL.
1890.







CONTENTS.

CHAP. S PAGER
INTRODUCTION, .« +6 © © « 9

I, DISCONTENT, . See eee ane 3 20

II, TRYING TO BE GOOD, ; ‘: é - : 28
HII. MRS RIVERS’S STORY, ee es eae 32

IV, A LETTER FROM “AUNT FANNY,” TELLING T10W

ALICE SPOKE IN CHURCH, . : ; ; 49

V. THE ROBBER RABBITS, . ‘ SeG S 56
“VI, REVENGE, . : oy ee 61
VII. DISCOVERY, aes esi) oh oe : 71
VII TRY, TRY AGAIN, ee . ° « . . 719

IX. NELLY IN TOWN, 2 > a ’ » ° for
X. TEMPTATION, . & 5 s s z a FO3 -

XL CONCLUSION, 6 5 & 5 & + «5 OG









GREAT RICHES.



INTRODUCTION.

singing hymns, as usual, with their parents.
They were now sitting quite silent and
still, when suddenly, Fred, looking very
earnestly up in his mother’s face, said,—“ Mamma,
I wish Aunt Fanny would write a Sunday story ; I do
declare, I mean to ask her!”

“Oh, do, do, do!” cried all the rest, with such a
racket that you could hardly believe they were the
silent children of a moment before. “Tell her a
Sunday story is very much wanted to keep us in
order.” :

“We shall do something dreadful some Sunday or
other,” said Peter, “if she don’t take us in hand 3 and
we'll promise not to go perfectly wild with joy, but .





ro GREAT RICHES.

put on our most serious good-boy and good-girl looks
when it comes. We'll even behave better than when
we are fast asleep.”

The rest laughed at this, and their papa said,
“That is a very rash promise, Peter; for old Mrs
Snarling says you are a tolerably good boy when you
are asleep, but a great torment at all other times.”

Peter was just on the point of exclaiming, “ Bother
-old Mrs Snarling!” but he recollected himself in
time, and made a loud “hem” instead; upon which
Sophie quietly remarked,—

“You seem to have a remarkably large frog in your
_ throat, Peter.”
ie en was swallowing Mrs Snarling,” he answered; at
“which they all tried not to laugh, out of politeness to
the old lady.

But some chuckles would come, and their mother
gravely advised them to sing one more hymn, and ~
then be off for Bedfordshire. :

This is the hymn they sung. It is like a prayer.
I want you all to learn at least to say it, my darling
good little hearts :—



‘¢ Hear my prayer, O Heavenly Father,
Ere I lay me down to sleep ;
Bid Thy angels pure and holy
Round my bed Thy vigils keep.

“®€ Great my sins, but oh! Thy mercy
Far outweighs them every one;







INTRODUCTION. r1

Down before Thy cross I cast them, ’
Trusting in Thy help alone,

“* Keep me through this night of peril,
Underneath its boundless shade;
Take me to Thy rest, I pray Thee,
When my pilgrimage is made.

‘* None shall measure out Thy patience
By the span of human thought ;

None shall bound the tender mercies

Which Thy Holy Son has brought.

“ Pardon all my past transgressions,
Give me strength for days to. come;
Guide and guard me with Thy blessing,
Till Thy angels bid me home,”

The next morning Fred spread a very large sheet =



of letter-paper before him, and wrote this import ae
epistle :—. oS

FRED'S LETTER.

“Dear Aunt Fanny,—A very learned old gentle-
man came to see father last week. In the evening he
amused us very much with what he called ‘tricks
in language’ He wrote the letters of the word
‘time,’ and made what he called an ‘anagrammatic
palindrome.’ I’m sure I haven’t the least idea what
these awful hard terms mean, but he twisted and
turned ‘time’ into four words, which can be read up and
down, backwards and forwards, in all kinds of fashions,
and still make the same words, which is very curious.
‘Here they are :—





12 GREAT RICHES.

TIME
ITEM
METI
Emit -

They are all Latin words except che English one,
‘time’ ‘Item’ means ‘likewise ;’ ‘meti,’ ‘to be
measured ;” and ‘emit,’ ‘he buys.’ There, Aunt
Fanny! I think I’m getting quite learned; don’t
you?

“ He asked us to spell the fate of all earthly things
in two letters. Can you? I could,—after I was told,
+ 7D, K, _He said a young lady once asked what
phonography was. He took out his pencil and wrote
this—‘U. R. A.B. U. T. LL NE? (You are a beauty, -
Ellen.) That was phonography ; 3; ‘at which she was —
highly. delighted.’

“Then this funny, learned old gentleman told us of a
a curious conversation of a backwoodsman who did ~
not like to waste words :—~

“¢ Whose house?’

“<< Mog’s.” os

“Of what built?’ - ae

“¢ Logs.’

“* Any neighbours?’

“<¢ Frogs.’ :

“«What is the soil?’ —

SuBogs

**« Flow is the climate §’





INTRODUCTION. oe

ite 3 Fogs.’

“tWhat do you eat?

“< Hogs,’

“Flow do you catch them?

“* Dogs.’

“And here is one more—I think the best of all:—~

“¢T came for the saw, sir,’ said a little fellow.

“What saucer?’

“¢Why, the saw, sir, that you borrowed.’

“¢T borrowed no saucer.’

“
“Be off! I never saw your saucer !’ :

“But you did, sir; there’s the saw, sir; now, sir,

“¢Oh, you want the saw /’

“I must tell you the compliment the old Quakes
paid :—

“¢T wish thee and thy folks loved me and my folks
as well as me and my folks love thee and thy folks,
For sure there never was folks, since folks was folks,
that ever loved folks half so well as me and my folks
love thee and thy folks.’

“Now, Aunt Fanny, haven’t I amused you? and
don’t you want to do something very particularly kind _
for us? Of course you do, and you are perfectly
crazy to know what it is,—so I will hurry and tell
you.

“We do so want a story written expressly for Sun-
day,—a Sunday story. We think we are getting to be



14 GREAT RICHES.

remarkably good children, owing to the excellent ex-
amples set us in all your books; but then, you see,
if you were to write one which fitted Sunday exactly,
we should become little wonders immediately ; and
this would delight all the cats in the house, for I am
_ afraid we chase them more on Sundays than on other
days.

“You see, it is so hard to live without making a
noise. There is a poor little boy they call Dan, who
lives in a lane not far from us, with just the very
crossest old grandmother you ever heard of. She
makes him keep so quiet that it’s perfectly awful. So
we gave him a nice tin trumpet one day, and told
him to go into the woods and have a good blow.
out.

“But, oh dear! one day as we were. peaceably
walking down the lane, the cross old grandmother
rushed out of her cottage in a perfect fury, to beat us
with her cane for giving Dan the trumpet.

“¢Oh, you little rascals!’ she cried, ‘you want Dan
to crack my ears! You gave him a tin trumpet on
purpose! I’d rather hear twenty-seven cannons going
off at once.’

- “Didn't we have to run! I first, then Peter, then
little Bob, and the old woman after us shaking her
stick, scolding us roundly. Poor old thing! I feel

sorry for her too. I daresay she has many troubles,
~ and no wonder she’s cross.



INTRODUCTION. 1s

“T think this is enough for one letter,—don’t you?
And you wd? write a Sunday story, darling Aunt
Fanny,—won’t you? and we promise to be more
‘lovinger’ than ever. Bob told me to write it so.
Next week, I shall go to old Mrs Marble, the post-
mistress, and ask her for a letter for your affectionate
nieces and nephews,
“SOPHIE, FRED, and Lou ;
“Peter, Kitty, and Bor.”

The letter was read over to the “subscribers,” as
Fred called the children, and heartily approved of.
It was carefully sealed up and directed ; and, a grand
formal procession being formed, it was conveyed in
great state to the post-office, to the mistress of which
it was given, along with strict injunctions as to its
safe and speedy delivery. Every Monday for several
weeks, Fred called at the post-office to inquire if any.
answer had come from Aunt Fanny. At length one
morning all the children were down at the post-office
when the mail-coach drove up with the letter-bag.
Mrs Marble, the post-mistress, took the bag into the
office, and emptied its contents on a table. She had
no sooner done so than Fred, who had followed her
in, seized a big letter and ran off with it, leaving Mrs
“Marble standing nearly paralysed with excitement and
' indignation at his conduct.
“Here it is—hurrah!” he shouted; and off they



16 _ GREAT RICHES.

all scampered home as fast as their legs could carry
them. With eager haste they all rushed into the
little parlour, where Fred broke open the envelope ;
and clearing his voice with a great “hem!” he pro-
ceeded to read

AUNT FANNY’S ANSWER.

“My DEAR CHILDREN,—I should call you a set of
little crazy cormorants, never to be satisfied, were I
not rather pleased than otherwise by your asking me
for a ‘Sunday story.’ You are not the first one by a
good many, and some of these gayat, I mean to write
a whole series of them.

“Oh, my darlings, I do so hope and pray that every
year it pleases my Heavenly Father to permit me ta
live I shall write better than the last. » ‘There is a
Chinese proverb which says— With time and patience
the mulberry-leaf becomes silk ;? and an English one
which. declares that ‘We may be as good as we please,
if we please to be good.’ I do please to de good, and
to do good.. Won't you pray that God will help me?

“T send you with this your ‘Sunday story.’ It does
not differ in style from many others I have written, ©
because I have made the children in it natural 3 and
so of course they are by no means any better than—
than—you are.”

Here Fred set up a loud laugh, and said,—





INTRODUCTION. 17

“Hurrah! Aunt Fanny! Now we’ll sce what we are
like.” ‘

“But if it will strengthen you” (Fred read on) “in
a determination to resist every temptation to do
wrong, and renew your desire to love and obey the
commands of your Maker, I shall be so glad,—so
glad. :
“T- send you a beautiful little hymn, which I beg
you to learn, and feel in your inmost heart when you
say it. Here it is:—
“Mary’s love may I possess,
Lydia’s tender-heartedness,
Peter’s ardent spirit feel,
James's faith by works reveal ;

Like young Timothy, may I
: Every sinful passion fly.

“Most of all, may I pursue
That example Jesus drew ;
By my life and conduct show
How He lived and walked below ;
Day by day, through grace restored,
Imitate my Blessed Lord.

“Give my kindest regards to your dear papa and
mamnia, and believe me ever your loving
“AunrT FANNY.”
Sunday came,—a soft, shining day,—and the little
birds sang their hymns of praise all through the leafy
‘trees.
B







18 GREAT RICHES, |

The children went to church with their parents
morning and afternoon, and then gathered round the
tea-table, talking pleasantly. The sweet breath of
honeysuckles came in through the open windows;
bird after bird flew by in the golden sunset air, chirp-
ing “Good-night ;” the bees were hurrying home
laden with honey ; and all the sweet little whispering,
drowsy insect-sounds, which are only heard in the
country as God made it, came gently breaking through
the stillness.

Many a time did the little feet of the younger chil-
dren go pattering down the stone path of the garden,
so that they might peep out in the lane to see if Mrs
‘Marble, who had been invited by their mamma, was
in sight. She had been invited to hear the story read,
as a return for the rude manner in which Fred had
behaved in running off with the letter; for she was
a good old soul, and very fond of the children when
they did not tease her, which, however, they very
often did. When she did appear, a wild burst of
joy broke from the children, and they all ran out to,
meet her ; and the good old lady arrived in the midst
of a sort of triumphal procession, quite breathless and
rather flustered. ‘

But the kind greeting of the children’s parents soon
put her at her ease; and when she sat down with
them in her nice black silk dress, which her good son
Gam, the blacksmith, had given her seven years ago,

\





INTRODUCTION. 19

she looked, as Fred said, “like a perfect old dar-
ling.”

It was intensely interesting to the children to ob-
serve the careful manner in which Mrs Marble took
out of her pocket an immense red silk pocket-hand-
_kerchief, unfolded it, and spread it over her lap, and
the anxiety with which she made sure that it was
awitched square, and straight, and then to see her give
her wig a little pull on the right side, and a little pull
on the left, and settle her iron-bound spectacles firmly
on the bridge of her nose.

At length everything was arranged. So Fred got
the manuscript ready, and with the warm sunset glow- -
ing on the page he began to read

Aunt Fanny’s SunpDay Srory,









CHAPTER I.
DISCONTENT.

ELLY RIVERS was so tired of that room! |
She had counted every spot in the dark-
blue ingrain carpet. She had gazed
wearily upon the bare blue-painted walls,

and blue chintz-covered furniture, the plainest of its

kind, until her great dark eyes fairly ached for the
sight of something pretty. 5 :
The room was the parlour of her father’s parsonage,
Jor Mr Rivers was a clergyman. The ministers of
some rich city churches find it hard to live upon
fifteen hundred pounds a year, and expect to have
their houses refurnished and themselves sent abroad
every two or three years besides ; and it is not to he
wondered at if Mr Rivers was unable to buy beautiful

furniture with only a hundred and twenty pounds a

year for his salary.

If the things of this world were all that Christians
had to hope for or desire, little Nelly would not have







DISCONTENT. a

been to blame in wishing for some pretty picture or
tasteful ornament to brighten up the plain parlour
of the rectory. She was an imaginative little body,
with a great admiration for beauty in every shape ; so
it came to pass that in her eyes the scantily-furnished
room and dusty village street so close to the door,
which formed the only view from the window, were
rather forlorn.

There she sat, her hands folded listlessly, until at
last out came a loud “Oh dear! I am so tired of this
old house! I almost wish it would burn up!”

The door leading from the parlour to the study wag
ajar. As Nelly said these words, it suddenly opened,
and Mr Rivers’s kind, smiling face looked down upon
her.

“Why, what a dreadful wish!” he said, coming to-
wards her, and taking a handful of her shining curls
in his grasp. ‘“ What can be the matter with my
little Nelly ?” ;

“Oh, I’m tired of everything, papa.”

“Everything?” repeated her father, “That isa
terrible feeling in a grand, beautiful world like this,
which God has made and called ‘very good.’ I did
hope you were not tired of me, for one thing.”

“Oh no, papa!” cried Nelly, earnestly. “I love
you dearly ;” and she gave his hand a loving little
squeeze against her cheek.

“Well, is it either of your brothers or baby-sister?”



“22 GREAT RICHES.

“Oh no, no; papa! that is not what I meant. J
never could get tired of you, or dear mamma, or my
sister or brothers; but this room—it’s so stupid!’
If we only had some pretty pictures to hang up, or
some vases, or great looking-glasses and beautiful cur-
tains, all lace and gold, like Mrs Gray’s. I do wish I
was rich.”

“Come here, my little girl,” said Mr Rivers, and he
led Nelly gently into the study, which was at the back
of the house, and seating himself in his arm-chair,
took her on his knee. Then looking. gravely in her
face, he said,— So, if God had seen fit to give you
wealth, you would selfishly and foolishly spend it on
worthless ornaments which could be of no possible
service? Do you believe this is the right use of
money, Nelly?”

“Well, perhaps not, papa.”

“J think I am a very happy man, yet there are
certainly no pictures in my room,” continued her
father, smiling. “If I want a painting, only see what
a beautiful one I have there!”

He pointed, as he spoke, from the study-window,
to where a glimpse of the river could be seen shining
through the yellow-green leaves of the willows, and —
the white spire of the village church, with its golden
arrow on the top, made a bright spot in 1 the pleasant
summer sunlight.

Nearer by, Nelly’s two little brothers were watch-





DISCONTENT. 23

ing with delight some young ducks who were waddling
‘ about and tumbling sideways into a small pond. Be-
hind them two little dogs were frolicking, pretending
to bite each other’s ears off, and barking such funny,
quick barks that it must have been laughing, dog-
fashion ; while in the distance could be seen the large
handsome mansion in which Flora Gray lived.

Nelly looked through the blinds at all this in silence.
The study-window was at the back of the house, and
the view was really a peaceful, charming scene; so,
when Mr Rivers asked, “Don’t you call that pretty,
Nelly?” she was forced in truth to answer, “Yes,
papa.”

“Then, if you have such a lovely picture painted
by the hand of God, you surely need not be unhappy
because you cannot buy the inferior work of men’s
hands.” _

“T suppose not,” said Nelly, in a hesitating tone.

“Then, what is it you want so much, little
daughter?”

“Well now, let me tell.you, papa. Of course .
would give to the poor, if I were rich! but there are

». so many things that rich people can do and have be-
sides! Yesterday, mamma sent me with a note to

. ‘Mrs Gray’s, at Woodlawn, and while I waited for her



to answer it, Flora Gray showed me all her pretty
things. You don’t know what a beautiful baby-doll
she has !—almost as large as sister Bessie,—and such





b

24 GREAYL RICHES.

a sweet little cradle for it! and a whole book-case to
herself, full of story-books; and that morning her
papa had given her a box of sugar-plums, as big as
your sermon-paper box! such ‘good ones! Then the
room was so beautifully furnished, and Flora had on
such a pretty dress! But just as we were beginning a
nice play, Mrs Gray finished her note, and I had to
go; for though Flora begged me to stay, I knew I
must get home at once to take care of the children.
Now, if we were like the Grays, mamma could have a
nurse, and I could have pretty dresses and dolls too ;
—and, O dear papa! then you need not write so
hard and long, and if anybody gave you the least nice
little thing, you need not send it right away to some
sick person ;” here Nelly paused rather suddenly in
her torrent of talk, for she saw that her father was
looking both surprised and somewhat grieved.

“Ah, now we come at the root of the matter,” he
said. “My Nelly is fretting and making herself un-
happy because she has the care of her little brothers
and sister a part of the day, and because Flora Gray
has more playthings and books than herself! Would
she be willing to let poor old Aunt Betsy, or the la
shoemaker, want the comforts that I can give the
so that I might take the money and buy toys and fine
clothes for her? Does she feel as if her mother was
imposing cruelly upon her, by asking her little girl's
assistance in a few of very many cares?”








cf

DISCONTENT. 25

Nelly blushed deeply, and hung down her head.
“T am sorry I was so ungrateful and naughty, papa,”
she murmured at last; “please forgive me! Indeed,
I will never be so bad again! JI did feel when I was
coming from Flora’s as if I was an ill-used little girl,
—and—I’m afraid I was cross to Willie afterwards.
Oh, papa, I am sorry!” and she burst into tears.

Mr Rivers drew her gently to his breast and kissed
her cheek. Then he said, in a sorrowful tone,—“ My
darling, you are envious of those better off than your-
self; did you ever think that poor old bedridden Aunt
Betsy and the lame shoemaker could with the same
feeling wonder why you or I should be more prosper-
ous and happy than they? Would you care to be
like Aunt Betsy?”

“Oh dear, no! papa.”

“Then you think God has been kinder to you than
to her?” ‘

“Oh, papa, I see I have been very wicked,”

“Yes, Nelly, guilty of envy and discontent: two
terrible sins. Pray to be delivered from them; let
your entreaty be,—‘ Create in me a new heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me.’ God will help
you to conquer these sinful feelings. Now, would
you like me to show you God’s way to become rich?”

“Why, yes, papa,” answered the little girl, looking
up in his face with wondering eyes. “I did not know
the Bible told us anything about that,”



6 GREAT RICHES.

Mr Rivers took a Testament from his desk, and
opening it at the First Epistle of Paul to Timothy,
pointed out these words,— Godliness is great riches.”

“Does that mean that if we are good, it is just the
same as being rich?” asked Nelly.

“Read the rest of the verse,” answered her father ,
and she repeated, “ Godliness is great riches, 7f a man
be content with that he hath.”

“Oh,” said Nelly, pondering, with her finger on her
lip; “we must be content then ; that is the reason old
Aunt Betsy is so thankful and happy the whole time,
She is content,—is she not?”

“Yes; whatever God pleases to give her is just
right. ‘Thy will be done,’ is her heart’s prayer.
Make it yours, little Nelly, and you will care less and
less for the perishing riches of this world, and more
and more. for that everlasting treasure which ‘neither
moth nor rust doth corrupt. Will you try to do
this?” “

“Yes, papa,” said Nelly, softly.

“Well, then, suppose we make a plan for you, little
daughter. When you find yourself feeling discon-
tented, remember the text and try to gain that ‘godli-
ness’ which is better than all the gold and: silver in
the world. Promise me to try this for a whole year,
and at the end we will see how it has succeeded, and
whether poor little Nelly Rivers has not become a
very rich little girl.”





DISCONTENT. 27

The child’s eyes filled with tears. She did not
speak, but curled her arms round her father’s neck
and gave him a “good hug;” then slipping down
from his knees, she ran out of the room and up-stairs
to the nursery,









CHAPTER I,
TRYING TO BE GOOD.

RS RIVERS was ‘seated near the window
sewing, — that never-ending sewing of
mothers, with young children. Rover, a
great dog, lay at her side, one paw folded -

over the other, lazily winking at the flies, and baby

Bessie, who was just a year old, was in her cradle,—

her blue eyes wide open, watching the bright spots of

sunlight on the wall, and pretending to be trying to
go to sleep as soon as possible ; but though she was
quite good and quiet as long as her mother rocked the
cradle with her foot, the moment she chanced to stop,

a pitiful wail was set up, two chubby legs were raised,

and off went the pretty white blanket, kicked on the

floor.
Here was a chance for Nelly. “ Mamma,” said
she, “you go into the next room with your work, and

I will rock Bessie and sing her to sleep.”










“TRYING TO BE Goon. As the baby made. no objection to this arrange-
ment, Mrs Rivers went softly out, first ‘Kissing. Nelly
_ and giving her a glance so full of love that the child’s ©
2 heart thrilled with happiness, | pain of the « riches iW
had come already. ee
‘She ran to a closet and ioe out he own dear doll,
cand laid it in the cradle beside little Bessie, who
: hugged it to her little breast with delight ; then softly
rocking, she sang in her sweet voice this little song :—

God Gace toall.
~~ Talents few or many ;
None so young and small
That, they have not any.

¢ Though the great and wise’
Haye a greater number, oe
Yet my one I prize,
; And it-must not slumber
“God will surely ask,
" Ere T-enter heaven,
Ilave I done the task
Which to me was given?





eye eee se Little dreps of rain.
: Bring the springing Howera,
And I may attain
Much by little powers. .



-& Every little mite,”
Every little measure,
Helps to spread the light,

1 slp te to swell: the Areal 2



Long Ge ae pretty gong was finished, the baby’s






30 - “GREAT RICHES.

eyelids began to creep down over her blue eyes, and
soon she was in a sound, quiet sleep.

Then Nelly stepped on the very tips of her little
toes into the next room and whispered to her mother,
—“Can I help you, dear mamma? Bessie is fast
asleep.” :

“You may mend these stockings of your brothers,
dear,” she answered, lifting a bundle from the heaped-
ap work-basket beside her.

A great frown gathered on Nelly’s face, and her
-mouth opened to ask in a fretful tone,—“ What! @d/
those?” when she checked herself, and saying in her
heart this little prayer,—“ Dear Jesus, help me to be
good,” she spoke out cheerfully,—“ Yes, mamma, I
will do them immediately ;.” and bringing her little
chair'and basket, she sat down with the big bundle
of stockings, determined to mend every one of them.

Her two little brothers, tired of watching the young
ducks, had come into this room. One was crawling —
about the floor, looking for pins. His mamma had
promised to give him a penny for fifty pins, and he
found a number every day. The other little fellow
was very busy cutting paper with a pair of old scissors,
saying he -was making a paper elephant ‘for the
baby. ;

Presently he got tired of making elephants, and
throwing down his scissors, he ran to the back of
Nelly’s chair, and climbing 1p with great difficrlty,





TRYING TO BE GOOD. 31

put his chubby arms around her neck, reached down
and snatched the stocking out of her hand.

“Come, play with me,” he said.

“Nelly must do-her work,” said his mother.

“But I am so tired,” pleaded little Willie.

’ “And I can’t find any more-pins,” said Maitland,
who was called “ Maity,” for shortness.

“Well, then,” said his mamma, “shall I tell you all
a story ?”

This delightful offer was received with such a shout
of joy, that Nelly had to run into the next room, to
tock the cradle, for fear the baby might wake up ina
fight ; but the dear little thing only opened one eye,
and the next moment was just as sound asleep as
before.

The good child came softly back, and Mrs Rivers
said,—* What shall the story be about?”

Nelly thought a moment, with her finger on her .
lip; then she said,—‘ About when you were a little -
girl, mamma.”

“Oh, yes, yes!” chimed in the boys, their eyes
sparkling ; and she began as you will read in the next
chapter.







CHAPTER III.
MRS RIVERS’S STORY.

HEN I was a little girl, my father said te
me, one pleasant summer morning,—
‘1’m going to Newburgh, on business,
and you may go with me if you choose,’
“You may be sure I was perfectly delighted, and

skipped off to tell my mother and get ready.”

“Where was I then?” asked Willie, in a grieved
tone. ‘Why didn’t you take me?”

Nelly laughed merrily at this question, and hei
mother smiled, as she replied,—“ You were not in
the world at all, or I should certainly have taken
such a dear little tot with me on my excursion.”

“Qh, would you?” said Willie, much comforted ;
and Mrs Rivers continued,—“So my father had the
little carriage brought to the door, mother kissed me,
and bid me be a good gu] and brother Robert, who





MRS RIVERS S STOR Y. 33

‘was a great tease, pretended to be crying his eyes
almost out with grief at my departure. Meanwhile,
father put a basket in the carriage that had in it two
white chickens, and stood waiting for me to come.”

“ Grandpa Woodward wasn’t a farmer,—was he?”
asked Nelly.

“No; but he was very proud of his chickens, and
he meant to give these to a minister in town, whom
we were going to visit.”

Mrs Rivers had lost both her father and mother
when she was a young girl, and her children were
always very much interested to know about the dear
grandma and grandpa, whom they could never see on
earth.

Nelly’s question answered, her mother went on with
the story, thus:— We rode along for some time in
silence, and then I began to ask some questions.

“<¢ How far is it to Newburgh, father?’ I said

*¢ About fourteen miles,’ he replied.

“Fourteen miles! oh, what along way! Will it
take us all day to get there?’

“*Why, no,’ said my father, laughing; ‘we shall
get there in about two hours and a half,’

“*Do people who go to see ministers always have
to take them chickens?’ was my next question.

“*T’m sure I don’t know,’ said father, laughing
again. ‘I am going to give these chickens to Mr

Russell, because I know he can’t get such another
c



34 GREAT RICHES.

pair to-_purchase anywhere.’ Here the two chickens
gave such a ‘ Cluck, cluck !’ together, as much as to
say, ‘That’s a fact.’

“Presently we came to a toll-house, and had to
stop and pay toll. There was an old gray cat sunning
herself on the window-seat, with three little kittens
nestled up against her. One had a blue ribbon tied
round its neck, the second a pink, and the third a red
tibbon.

“Oh, what dear little things!’ I cried.

“*Would you like to have one, Miss?’ et ae
toll-keeper’s wife. :

“Oh! may I, papa?’ I exclaimed.

«Vou can take one if you choose, Nelly,’ he re
plied ; ‘but don’t you think it will be rather in the
way?’

“«Why, papa, a dear little kitten couddw’t be in
the way. May I have the one with ‘the white
nose 1”

“Why! was your name Nelly, too?” interrupted
Nelly opening her eyes wide.

“My name is Nelly now,” answered her mother,
smiling.

“Oh, no, it isn’t. Papa calls you ‘ Pussy.’”

“Well, that isa pet name, just as I call you my
little robin.”

“Oh,” said Nelly ; and she jumped up to give her
mother a little affectionate squeeze round her neck,



MRS RIVERS'S STORY. 35

and whisper,—“I’m so dreadful glad your name is
Nelly. I love you, mamma.”

Mrs Rivers kissed the dear little girl, and then
went on with her story.

“The good-natured woman gave me the kitten
with the white. nose, and I kissed and thanked her,
and off we rode. ‘The poor little thing didn’t seem
very happy at being carried off from its mother, and
mewed piteously at first,.but after a while it cuddled
itself down in my lap and went sound asleep.

“We had a pleasant ride to town, and when we
rattled at last over the stones of the streets, I was
very much interested in looking at the numbers of
people, and the shops, which seemed quite grand to
a little country girl like me. Presently we drew up at
a confectioner’s, and my father stopped the waggon,
and went in to buy me a luncheon.”

“What did he bring you?” asked Nelly.

“He proupe me some rice- cakes, and some rusks,
and a pie.”

“Oh, how good! I wish you had taken me!” Sed
both Willie and Maity.

“Next time I go, I will,” said Mrs Rivers, laugh-
ing.

“Very well,” answered Willie. “Then what did
grandpa do?”

“He got into the carriage again, and we drove toa
saddler’s, where he stopped once more.



36 GREAT RICHES,

“ «Now, Nelly, he said, ‘I am going to be here
some time; do you think you will be afraid to stay
in the waggon alone?’

“Qh, no, father! I shonld like to stay here very
much,’

“Very well, he said. ‘I will fasten Lennox,
(that was the horse,) so he.cannot get away, and be
back as soon as possible.’

“So saying, he entered the saddler’s store. There
were blue blinds to the lower part of the window, and -
the door was made of thick, rough glass, so that it
was not very easy to look out, I suppose, and impos
sible to see in.

“There I sat, munching my cake and nursing my
kitten, quite contented and happy.

“Presently a very odd-looking old man came
along. He was dressed in dirty, ragged clothes,
and had a long peacock’s feather, and some flying
paper-streamers fasteried to his broken straw hat, for
the poor old fellow was crazy.

“TY was looking at him, and wondering what could
be the matter with him, when all at once he came up
close to the carriage and stared in.

“* Ho! little gal!’ he said in a hoarse voice, grin-
ning at me,—‘ what’s that? cake ?’

“T was terribly eels) but managed to stam-
mer out,—‘ Yes, sir.’

“é What do you mean by eine me sir?’ he ex



MRS RIVERS’S STORY, 37

claimed, in a sudden, angry tone. ‘How dare yout
Give me that cake! it’s mine!’ And before I could
help it, he snatched my pie, and ate it up at two
mouthfuls.”

“Oh! what dd you do?” exclaimed Nelly breath
lessly. ‘* What a dreadful old man!”

“Poor mamma! Maity so, sorry!” said little
Maity.

“T was so frightened,” continued Mrs Rivers,
“that I stared at him without saying a word,—then
I exclaimed,—‘ Oh, please don’t,— please go away !’
and began to cry.

“¢ Then give me some more cake!’ said the silly
creature, fiercely, ‘ or I’ll get into the waggon and ride
you off to the moon! The man-in-the-moon knows
me, and he’s very fond o’ fat little gals! Ow!’ and
he made a sort of snap at me with his mouth wide
open.

“Qh, take it all,—only go-away!' I cried; and I
held out all the rusks and cake I had had, except the
one I had eaten,—and, ee any face in my hands,
_ cried harder than ever.’

“Why didn’t Cane see him and stop him?”
asked Nelly, half crying herself.

“Partly, my dear child, because in a large town,
people seem to think of no one but themselves. No
matter what happens in the street, if a little child is
being abused, or a lady injured, nine people out of



38 GREAT RICHES.

ten wil think, ‘Oh, it’s none of my business,—{
sha’n’t interfere ;’ and they walk on, like the priest
and Levite of old, without caring what becomes of
the poor traveller. Besides, the old man was well
known in Newburgh, and no one thought him likely
to do any harm, I suppose.”

“ Well,—go on,—please,” said all the children at
once.

“As I told you, I hid my face in my hands, and
wished for my father. Suddenly I heard a loud shout
of ‘Hoo! Hurrah!’ the waggon was jerked suddenly.
forwards,—I raised my head, and found the old man
had unharnessed Lennox, and was shouting at the top
of his voice to set him running !

“ The poor terrified horse started off at full speed,
I holding to the sides of the carriage, and screaming
forhelp. J fortunately remembered what father once
told me, never to try to get out of a waggon when a
horse was running away, or I might have been killed.
The boys shouted, people on the footpath stopped to
stare at the show, and several men ran after the
carriage, trying to catch the dragging reins, and shout-
ing ‘Whoa! at the tops of their voices. This only
frightened the horse more than ever, and in his terror
he turned the corner of another street, and rushed
down that, till we were far away from the place where
I had left father, and yet seemed no more likely to
stop than at first,—particularly as the crowd followed



SIRS RIVERS’S STORY. 39

us and increased by the way. At last, not seeming
to see where he was going, Lennox ran right up
against a large country waggon, struck one of the
shafts against it, and broke it directly in two! The
shock stopped him, and one of the men catching the
reins at the same moment, guided him to the side of
the road. Of course everybody else stopped to see
the fun, on the spot ;—a crowd of little boys stared
and grinned at me,—and one, more kind-hearted than
the rest, climbed up on the carriage-step, and offered
me a very sticky bit of candy to comfort. me, saying,
-—'Don’t cry, Missy ; here, take that.’

“But I could not take the candy. I was toa
frightened. I only hugged my kitten, who all this
time had been clinging to my dress with its little
claws, and mewing piteously, and sobbed out,—“ Oh,
please take me back to father! oh, please take me
back to father !’

_ *Where is your father?’ asked the man who had
stopped the horse, in a kind voice. )

““« Fle went into.a saddler’s shop, sir,—a shop with
blue blinds, and a kind of thick glass door; and then
the old crazy man came and untied the horse, and
set him off with me! Oh, dear, dear !’”

Here'little Willie, who was very sensitive, and had
been listening to the story with quivering lips and
tearful eyes, exclaimed, “ Oh, dear!” too, and, hiding
his face against Nelly’s shoulder, began to cry very hard.



‘40 GREAT RICHES.

“Why, don’t cry, little boy!” said his mother,
cheerily. “Tt is all over now, and you see I got off
quite safely, or I should not be here to tell you the
story,—should I?”

“Oh, but Willie so sorry!” said the child, looking
up in his mother’s face.

“Shall I stop the story, then?”

“Oh no! please go on, mamma. I won’t cry any
more.” ,

“Well, when I gave this description of the saddler’s
shop, the man said,—‘ Oh, I think it’s Hartley's; I
can take you there.’ So he sent one of the staring
boys into a shop for a piece of stout cord, and having
tied the broken shaft together as well as he could, he
got into the carriage beside me and drove Lennox
slowly back the way we had come.

“My father met us on the road; he had heard the
noise in the street, and rushed out of the saddler’s
just in time to see Lennox disappear round the corner.
I can’t tell you how glad he was to find me unhurt,
nor how, as he hugged me up to his breast and kissed
me twenty times, he declared over and over that he
would never leave his little Nelly alone again, He
thanked the kind man for bringing me back, and
wanted to give him some money, as he looked poor,
but he would not take it, and so we bid him good-bye
and left him.”

“Then did you go to the minister’s?” asked Nelly,



MRS RIVERS'S STORY. 4

“Yes; we drove there directly, and found them
just sitting down to dinner, thinking we were not
coming. Kitty and I had as much roast lamb and
mashed potatoes as we could eat—and hungry enough
we were, I can tell you.”

“Oh, Iso glad you had lamb!” said Willie.

“Then, after that, what do you think we had for
dessert?” said Mrs Rivers, smiling.

“What?” asked the children in a breath.

“Why, nice apple pies! So I had one, after all.”

“How nice! Well, what happened after that?”
they all asked.

“T think the next thing was that my father went otf
to the blacksmith’s to get the shaft of the carriage
patched somehow or other, and I went up-stairs with
the minister’s wife. I felt so tired and sleepy after
my long ride and the fright, that, when Mrs Russell
asked me if I would like to lie down a short time, I
said ‘Yes, ma’am,’ directly; and my head had hardly
touched the pillow when I went fast asleep.

“ About half-past five Mrs Russell woke me gently,
and told me father was ready to start. The carriage
was at the door, and in a few minutes we were in it
once more,—with the empty basket riding in state on
the back seat, and kitty in my lap. It was a very
close, sultzy afternoon; and as we got out of New-
burgh, and were toiling slowly along the up-hill road,
my father said —' I rather wish I had waited an hour



42 GREAT RICHES.

longer, Nelly; it seems to me we are going to have a
thunder-shower.’

“Qh, father,’ I cried, ‘a thunder-storm! how
dreadful! Do, please, drive back,—I am so afraid of
thunder.’ ;

“Just as I spoke we heard the first distant peal,
and saw the bright flash of lightning far away. .

“¢ Oh, papa! what shall we do?’ I cried.

“ Is it possible, Nelly, that you are afraid of thunder?’ °

“¢ Indeed I am, father?’ I said.

“* But, my dear child, if there were any danger,
have you not faith to believe that God would protect
you? A thunder-storm is a great benefit and bless-
ing to the earth ; and if God can keep the little birds
and all other living creatures from harm, will He not
care for you 3:50 1?

“¢But perhaps the lightning will strike us?’

“No; it cannot harm us while there are no trees
near us to attract it; and as for the thunder, that is
only a noise ; and you are not afraid of a noise,—are
you?’ :
“Why, no,’ I said, beginning to laugh at my
foolish terror. Just then, however, a much louder
crash than before set me trembling again, and I hid
my face against kitty’s soft fur, while father got out
of the carriage, and, bidding me hold the reins, un-
fastened the leather curtains on each side and behind,





‘MRS RIVERS’S STORY. 43

and fastened them down securely. Then he took the
reins again, while I scrambled over to the back seat,
and seating himself beside me, just as the first heavy
drops pattered down, we drove along through the
storm.

“T can never forget how kindly he soothed and
talked away my silly terror at the thunder and light-
ning, instead of scolding me, as some fathers would
have done, and told me some beautiful verses about
a thunder-storm, which made me quite forget to be
afraid.”

“Won't you tell me the verses?” said Nelly.

“Y¥ will if I can remember them. It is so long ago
now, that I have nearly forgotten what they were.
Let me think.” Mrs Rivers paused for a moment,
and then -said—‘* Oh, now I believe I can repeat
them. ‘They are called

“THE LITTLE BOY AND THE THUNDER-STORM,
“«The thunder-storm is coming!
I hear its distant roar !
Oh, hide me, sistér, hide me quick,
Until its rage is o'er.

“ «The brilliant lightning blinds me!
T see the pouring rain;
The thunder deafens me to hear,—
Ilark! there it comes again.

©«Oh, take me, sister, on your lap,
And let me hide my eyes
Against your breast, who love me wed,
Till shine the gloomy skies,



44 GREAT RICHES.

“¢¥or Gop is in the thunder,
Theard.my nurse-maid say;
Tt is His wrathful voice we hear ;-«
Oh, sister, let us pray !’

“*Nay, then, my darling brother,’
The loving sister said,
‘If Gop is in the raging storm,
We need not be afraid.

“<¥tis anger, like the thunder,
Comes pealing from above;
The lightning seems His awful eya,-=
But ah! the razz’s His love,

“Tt moistens and refreshes
The hot and thirsty plain,
Until the drooping corn and flowers
Are fresh and bright again,

“* The lightning purifieth,
Like sorrow’s fearful shock ;
It smites the noxious weeds of sin,
But cannot touch ‘‘our Rock.””?

“ Then, looking up to heaven,—
‘Behold! His grace divine
Has made upon the brilliant blue
A bow of promise shine,

** And His kind voice doth whisper—-
“Weep, little one, no mo e;
My love has cleared the gloomy skies:
The thunder-storm is o’er!””?

“As my father finished these verses, the clouds
broke away, the sun came out in all its splendour, and
right before us we saw a magnificent rainbow!

“Oh, how it seemed to cheer and lighten my heart!





MRS RIVERSS STORY. 45

I gave father a good hug and kiss for his kindness,
and promised I would never again feel any foolish
dread of.a thunder-storm.”

“ And didn’t you?” asked Nelly,

‘No, never ; if ever I began to have some of my
terrors, I always repeated to myself,—t But ah! the
rain’s His love !’—and then I grew cheerful again.”

“ Well, what happened after that?”

““ Why, after that, I and papa, and kitty and Len-
nox, and the basket, and the carriage, all got home
safe together, and had a famous tea of bread and
milk,—that is, kitty and I did. So there’s the end
of my history-book, rorum, corum, torum!” said Mrs
Rivers, smiling. 35

“And my stockings too!” cried Nelly. “ Why,
there weren't so many, after all! Thank you, mamma |
for your story. I mean to learn that piece of poetry
by heart, if you will copy it for me.”.

“Will you copy it for me, too?” said Willie. -

“Oh, you little goose! you can’t read yet!” cried
Nelly.

“Am I a goose?” asked Willie, putting up his
lip.

“JT think your sister forgot when she: said that,”
said Mrs Rivers, gently.

Nelly blushed. “Iam sorry, mamma. No, Willie,
you are not a goose, and I will teach you the verses,
if you like.”



46 GREAT RICHES.

The little boy curled his chubby arms round his
sister's neck. “I love you, Nelly,” he said, softly ;.
and the mother smiled sweetly on her good children.

It was now nearly dinner-time, and Mrs Rivers

_ went down-stairs to direct the servant; while Nelly,
looking into the next room, and seeing that the baby
was still asleep, gave each of her little brothers a
pencil and a piece of paper, and sat down herself to
read a nice new book which had been sent to her.
It was called “The Standard-Bearer,” and contained
a letter from “ Aunt Fanny.”
_ This letter was written when Dr Anthon, one of
Yhe best and purest of God’s ministers, was alive,
not long after he went to sit for ever at the feet of the
Beloved Master, whom he had served so faithfully
while here upon earth.

Nelly knew and loved “Aunt Fanny” ay, so
she read her letter the very first thing. Here it is,

No, here it isn’t; because I think my good little
hearts reading this will like to know, what I omitted .
to mention in the letter,—namely, that the children
there spoken of had learned some verses in the Bible,
besides their Catechism ; and as these verses were
about a most touching incident in the life of our
Saviour, which happened shortly before His death, I
will repeat them here. They are from the twelfth
chapter of the Gospel according to John, beginning
at the twelfth verse ;-—





MRS. RIVERS’S STORY. 47

“On the next day much people that were come to
the féast, when they heard that Jesus was coming to

erusalem,

“Took branches of palm trees, and went forth to
meet him, aud cried, Hosanna: Blessed is the King
of Israel that cometh in the name of the Lord.

“And Jesus, when he had found a young ass, sat
thereon ; as it is written,

fe Rear not, daughter of Sion: behold, thy King
cometh, sitting on an ass’s colt.”

_ See, my darlings, how the prophecy was fulfilled
which was written in the book of the Old Testament,
called Zechariah, ninth chapter, ninth verse,—written
years and years before our Saviour was born.
Here it is:-—“ Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Sion;
shout, O daughtér of Jerusalem: behold, thy King
cometh unto thee: He is just, and having salvation ;
lowly, and nding upon an ass, and upon a colt, the
foal of an ass.”

This was on the first day of the week in which our
Saviour was crucified. He entered Jerusalem, the
Holy City, riding in this lowly fashion, while the
multitude waved palm branches before. Him, and
sang hosannas, strewing their garments in His path.

And yet, before the week was out, the same multi-
tude cried, “ Away with Him! crucify Him!” He
knew this was to be, so He rode on in silence and
full of grief.



as. | GREAT RICHES.

On this day, also, Jesus scourged the money.
changers, and the buyers and sellers in the Temple.
He. healed numbers of the sick, lame, and blind;
and many of the chief priests did in fact believe
on Him, though they were afraid to confess Him
openly.

Jn the evening our Saviour returned to Bethany
with the twelve apostles, and was probably the guest
of Lazarus and his good and pious sisters,

Now I will give you the little story from thé
“ Standard-Bearer.” Every word is true; and it was
wy Alice who made the sveech in church, |







CHAPTER IV.

A LETTER FROM “AUNT FANNY,” TELLING HOW ALICE
"SPOKE IN CHURCH.

ss EAR LittLe Frrenps,—I ami almost cer

tain you would like to hear what hap-
pened in our church one pleasant Sunday
afternoon ; and so I mean to tell you.
“Dr Anthon’s class of dear little children had
gathered round his chair in the afternoon, to say
their Catechism for the last time that season. The
beloved rector, after the services were over and the



rest of the people had left the church, had seated |

himself, as usual, within the chancel, with a pleasant
smile upon his face, and the little ones hastened up
the aisles, and knelt around the railings.

“They had a pretty long task to recite, for they had
agreed to learn a hymn,—each to select his or her

favourite one, and as many as five verses long,—in
D



50 GREAT RICHES.

addition to two pages of Catechism No wonder one
little girl said it was ‘quite a heap of lessons ;’ but,
notwithstanding, she meant to ‘learn them all per.
fect.’ And so she did.

e The hymns of the children were all beautiful, anil
all well spoken ; and tender and loving tears glistened
‘nthe eyes of the good mothers who sat near and
listened.

“When all the lessons were through, ime kind rector
made this little speech :—

“Children, you will remember I promised that you
should decide what I was to do with your chance*
offerings. Ihave a littke memorandum here, which
says you have given me twenty-one shillings and
eightpence. Now what shall I do with this money}
You know that there are foreign missions and home
missions. One good minister told you, some time
ago, what was doing in China, and it was very inter-
esting ; and another one, a little while since, told you
what had been done in Africa. He said to me after-
wards that there were two young coloured men in
Africa, who were very anxious to be educated so as to
become God’s holy. ministers in their own country.
It would require about fifty pounds to ‘do it, and he
was afraid he would not be able to get the money.
Then I told him to take hope and comfort to his
heart, for I thought I could promise him the money ;
—and what do you think has happened? Why, this



LETTER FROM AUNT FANNY. 51

very morning the congregation have given very nearly
enough for this excellent purpose, which makes me
feel very happy. Now, what do you say? Shall your
money go with the other to educate the young men?
Will you give it to Africa? Who says yes?’

“Then a thoughtful-looking, dark-eyed little girl,
whom Aunt Fanny calls Evangeline in her heart, but
- whose real name is Mary, ran to her father to know
‘what she should do; and Alice, another little one,

whom you all know, asked her mother, and when

. they turned back they said, ‘Yes, sir, give it to
Africa ;’ and little ‘Emma, the tiniest of the flock,
said, ‘Yes!’ and Laura, after glancing her bright
eyes towards her mother, said, ‘Yes!’ and the good
rector was looking very much pleased, when quite un-
expectedly, Clara said, ‘o7/’ and William, one of
" the brightest boys I ever saw, said ‘iVo/’ too, very
decidedly indeed.

“What was to be done? The kind tector looked
puzzled, and the good mothers smiled and whispered
to-each othef that the children knew perfectly well
what they were about, and meant to have this mo-
mentous business of giving their money to the mis
sionaries settled to their own minds; the only trouble
was, they were not all of ome mind. This sometimes
happens with grown-up people,—but perhaps I ought
to have kept that a secret.

“«Well, said Dr Anthon, pleasantly, ‘this is quite



52 GREAT RICHES.

a difficulty ; four against two. Still, I have great
hopes for Africa.’ ;

“Then Alice, in a sweet little piping, lisping, voice
was heard to say,—‘Dr Anthon, suppose we divide
the money every, and give half to Africa, and half
to home missions,—wouldn’t that be better?’

“* Ah!’ said the good rector, while a smile broke
all over his face, ‘that’s an excellent idea! very
good indeed ; we will put it to vote.’ So he asked
all the children one by ene, and a joyful ‘Yes!’ was
the answer from all. They seemed so glad thus te
settle the difficulty, and to help both; it was really
delightful to think, that, if they were only little chil-
dren, they could help along God’s work! and thus
their tiny offerings were doubly blest.

“And now, children, said the rector, ‘I do not
intend you shall learn the Catechism when we meet -
again, as some of you have been through it more than
once. I mean to form you into a little Bible-class;
—how would you like that?’

“T only wish you could have seen the row of dimples
that came out on their bright little faces when he said
this!

“Why, just think of it! A Bible-class, like great
grown-up people! It was perfectly delightful. They
really began to think they were not such little bodies
after all; and when the good minister had made a
beautiful prayer, asking a blessing upon the lessons



LETTER FROM AUNT FANNY. 53

they had received, the little ones left the chancel, a
joyful happy group.

“As they were walking down the aisle, Laura turned
her bright face up to her mother and whispered,—
‘Mamma, I did wish to speak owt, and say I wanted
the money to go to building the new Sunday school,
or else to be given to the church-building fund.’

“Well, my dear, answered her mother, kindly,
‘I think it will do just as much good where it és
going ;’ which opinion completely dispelled the little
girl's regret, and she was quite satisfied.

“And Alice whispered to fer mother, —‘ Oh,
mamma! wasn’t it good that we divided the money
rventy, because you know Africa might be jealous,—
mightn’t she?’

“Her mother smiled at the word ‘jealous,’ and told
her it was quite right to avoid any risk of that kind,
as jealousy among Christians was a very sad thing

“T wish I could tell you all that Mary, and dear
little Emma, and Clara, and that bright little fellow,
William, said—but my letter is already too long. Of
this, you may be sure, they were all pleased, and
loved their kind rector more than ever, and looked
forward with delightful anticipations to the time when
they would be his dear little Bible-class.

“When that time comes, perhaps you may hear
more about them from your loving, :
“ Aunt Fanny ”



54 REAL RICHES.

Ah! that good time never came ! for the next year,
just at the season when the dear little Bible-class
would have been formed, Dr Anthon went home to
his Father in heaven,

“Coo, coo!” said a soft voice, just as Nelly was
about to read the next story; and two little fat feet
were raised up in the air, and the baby-blanket was
kicked out of the cradle and over on the floor.

49Oh, you darling !” cried Nelly ; “how you kick!
I must pat your little toes.”

She took hold of a chubby foot, and giving each
little toe a shake in turn said :-—~

“This little pig went to market,
This little pig stayed at home ;
This little pig had apple-dumpling,
This little pig had none ;
This little pig said, ‘ Squeak,
Squeak, squeak !’ my apple-dumpling
Is as hard asa stone.”f}

This tickled the baby very much, and she put out
her other foot to be served the same way, when the
dinner-bell rang.

Then Nelly took her up, brushed her few soft hairs.
which made one darling little round curl at the back
of her neck, and calling Willie and Maity, they went
down to dinner.

All the afternoon the little girl tried to win some of
those riches of which her father had told her. You



LETTER FROM AUNT FANNY. 55

see her resolution was fresh and strong, and this made -
' it easy for her to be perfectly good ail this first day,
We shall see, as we go on with her story, whether
this resolve remained steadfast through every trial and
temptation.







CHAPTER V.

THE ROBBER RABBITS.

2%) )LORA GRAY was very fond of Nelly. She
was constantly sending for her to come to
iS2e, Woodlawn, which was the name of their
PN} beautiful place; and Nelly, I am sorry to
relate, would be all smiles, skips, and happiness
while there, but very often came home with an ex-
pression as if somebody had just thrown a glass of
cold water in her face.
There were so many delightful things at Woodlawn.
Besides Flora’s playthings, of which there seemed no
end, there were swans swimming gracefully on the
beautiful little lake ; peacocks strutting up and down,
displaying their gorgeous tails; a pet lamb, that
would eat out of your hand ; little white bantams,
and three pretty lop-eared rabbits, which Nelly never
grew tired of feeding. It was not strange, therefore,
that the little girl should like to go to see Flora,—





THE ROBBER-RABBITS. 57

and perhaps we ought not to blame her for sometimes
wishing she could live as Flora did.

In the very next house to Woodlawn dwelt a
sharp-featured, cross-grained, old fellow whose name
was Squire Dusenberry. He seemed to think that
his eyes were made for nothing but to look as cross
as possible at everybody, and his mouth for no other
purpose but to eat and scold. There were man-traps .
and spring-guns all over his placé, to catch tres-
passers; and you could not enter the gate without a
big dog making a rush at you, and trying to snap at
your legs. If you screamed with fright, Squire Dus-
enberry would come out smacking his lips, and say,
“Think you a'n’t fond of dogs;” and that was all the
comfort you got.

One unlucky Friday, one of the pet rabbits belong- .
ing to Flora found a small round hole in the fence
between Squire Dusenberry’s grounds and Woodlawn.
He immediately called a meeting of the rest of the
rabbits, and proposed that they should burrow under
this hole, and find out what was on the other side.

“My friends,” he said, standing up on his hind-legs
and eagerly erecting his ears,—“ my friends, I think
I smell something remarkably nice on the other side
of this fence. I’m quite tired of staying here for ever,
and having my meals regularly served up four times a
day like two-legged animals. Come, let’s hunt up a
dinner for ourselves,”



58 GREAT RICHES.

. On this, a fat old white rabbit, as round as a dump-
ling, turned her back, observing, “ That little cat of
a rabbit wants to get us all into mischief. I had my
paw well pinched once when I poked my nose where
I had no business to go. J shall stop at home.”

But the others were overjoyed at the chance for an
adventure. They did not pay the slightest attention
to the sensible remarks of the old rabbit, but began
with might and main to throw up the dirt under the
hole in the fence.

Merrily they worked,—their long ears twisting and
turning every way, ready to scamper off and hide,
if the gardener or Flora or her brother Charley
should come that way. But nothing happened, and
at last the hole was large enough for them to squeeze
through.

How perfectly enchanting! They were in the very
middle of Squire Dusenberry’s cabbage-bed. Nothing
could be more splendid or complete to the eyes and
appetite of a rabbit. Just imagine, my good little
hearts, your having a present of a whole barrelful of
candy, and you will know how perfect this was.

In the greatest glee the robber-rabbits commenced
eating, and made such a prodigious snip, snip, snip-
ping! that the fat old rabbit heard them distinctly,
and what is more, she smelt such a delightful odour,
that her very whiskers curled up, and her ears seemed
Starting out of her head.



THE ROBBER-RABBITS. 56

“T can’t afford to lose all the fun,” she said to her-
sclf; so she quietly riggled through the hole in the
fence. She gave a start of delight when she saw the
lovely green cabbages sitting up so round and crisp
in every direction ; after which, you may be sure, the
old soul never waited for the dinner-bell to ring, but
fell to eating as bold as a lion, just as if all the cabbages
belonged to her, and she had nothing to do but to
help herself.

And now all the rabbits were so absorbed in this
delightful employment, that they did not hear old
Squire Dusenberry shuffling along in his carpet
slippers, coming to see and admire his fine vege:
table garden.

All at once. he observed two large white ears waving
back and forth.

“Fullo!” he exclaimed, softly, “if it a’n’t them
plaguy rabbits from Woodlawn eating up my very best
cabbages! I'll punish ’em !”

Breathing hard with rage, he shuffled back to the
house, marched up into his bedroom, and took down
his double-barrelled gun. It was already loaded with
shot enough to kill a dozen rabbits. Then he came
out again so softly that the poor things did not hear
him, or else they might have given the alarm to each:
other by thumping on the ground with one of their
hind-feet. 7

Banc!! Bane !!



60 - GREAT RICHES.

With a cry like a human being, two of the rabbits
leaped up in the air and fell dead! while the poor
old white-rabbit lay panting and bleeding on the
ground, both of her forelegs broken by some of the
cruel shot.

Then this terrible old Squire, what does he do but
tie all three up by the hind-legs, with a piece of twine
he took out of his pocket, and hang them over the
fence,—a warning, he said, to evil-doers. _

The old white rabbit soon died, drawing long gasp-
_ing breaths; and there the three hung so still,—their
long ears stiffened back, their large prominent eyes
without lustre, only fit now to be made into a pie
It was really dreadful |





CHAPTER VL
REVENGE.

S lg @AVHE next day being Saturday, Nelly was in-
vited to spend it at Woodlawn; and as
she had sincerely tried to be a good child
all the week, her kind mother gave her
permission to go.

With joyful skips and bounds the happy little girl
soon arrived at the great house; and of course the
first thing to be done was to go and visit all the pets.
The beautiful swans were coaxed to come up and be
fed with cake; the peacocks were begged to display
their splendid tails; the pet lamb was hugged and
kissed ; and then Flora, Charley, and Nelly went to
look for the pretty white rabbits.

They looked and looked. “Why, where can they
be?” they asked of each other.

“Perhaps they have got into the stable,” said
Charley, “and are feeding with the horses. What



a8



62 GREAT RICHES.

fun! to see them trying to chew up long straws,
which will only tickle their whiskers. Come, let’s
go.”

Off they ran to the stable, and looked into all the
mangers; then they climbed and scrambled up a
_ ladder into the hay-loft, and forgot the rabbits for a
little while, racing around in the greatest glee, and
tumbling the hay about in a way that made the loft
look as ifa regiment of disorderly rats had all built
their nests in it;—and-no doubt its condition set the
head-groom half crazy the next time he went there.

“Isn't this jolly!” cried Charley, turning head- -
over-heels into a great pile of sweet-smelling hay.

“ Perfectly lovely,” said Nelly, tumbling down in
a heap beside him,—her curls tossed all over her
face, and bits of straw sticking up in them in every
direction ; while Flora was trying to walk up what
she called “Straw Hill,” and fell on her nose at every
step, screaming and laughing with delight, and creat.
ing such a dust that all three were seized with a
tremendous fit of sneezing, which, with the laughing
and screaming, seemed enough to take the roof off,
and quite frightened all the horses below. |

At last, breathless with fun, they sat down close to-
gether in the hay, and began to wonder again what
had become of the rabbits,

Presently Flora jumped up and looked through a
tound window at the back of the loft.



REVENGE. 63

The sun was shining brightly upon some white
object which seemed hanging over the fenée at the
very end of the lawn.

“What can it be?” she thought to herself ‘Come
here, Nell !—come, Charley!” she called. “That
can’t be Bunny, down there—can it?”

“Shouldn’t wonder,” answered her brother. “ Let’s
yo and see.”

Up they jumped, and down the ladder they hurried,
nearly breaking their necks, and scampered as fast as
possible to the very end of the green lawn, and rushed
pell-mell up to the poor white rabbits.

For one instant they stood quite still, astonishment
and grief depicted in their faces; then Charley,
springing up on the fence and looking over, saw the
halfeaten cabbages. He understood it at once, and
jumping down, his face crimson with rage, stamping
his foot, he cried out,—‘ That abominable old Squire
Dusenberry has shot them! I know he has! I
could beat him to powder! Ugh! I could scrunch
him ¢”

“The hateful thing!” exclaimed Flora, bursting
into tears.

“The bad, cruel man!” said Nelly, also crying
with all her might.

“T’ll do something to him! I'll kill something
fe loves; I7N—I’ll. Oh, 1’ll punish him!” cried.
Charley, growing more and more angry, as he tenderly



64 GREAT RICHES.

lifted the poor rabbits down. “Just as if he couldn't
spare two or three of his old cabbage-heads !”

“I wish somebody would eat Ais head,” said
Flora.

“Oh, dear me!” sighed Nelly, “what can we do
to him?”

Charley untied the string with which the hind-legs
of his favourites were fastened ; and each taking one,
the children walked slowly back to the stable.

At the door they met Sam the stable-boy, and, all
talking together, informed him of Squire Dusenberry’s
shameful conduct.

Sam rubbed the cuff of his coat over his dirty face
two or three times, to hide a grin, while the dismal
fate of the poor rabbits was related to him; then, as
he was a regular glutton, and was always for getting
the most out of everything, he said, “Well, Master
Charley, I don’t see no occasion to feel so bad about
this here ; rabbit-pie is first-rate feedin’, and they had
got to come to that sooner or later.”

“Oh, you awful boy!” exclaimed Flora, ‘Do
you suppose we can eat our poor rabbits?”

“No, indeed !” cried Charley; “we are going to
bury them. peome, Sam, get the oe and dig a
grave for us.’

“Oh, Miss Flora! they are so very plump! just
feel their backs,”—and Sam lifted poor Bunny and
began pinching her.



REVENGE. 65.

“Yet her alone, you wicked boy !” screamed Flora.
“We are going to bury her,—the others too. Finda
nice box for us, and then hurry and dig a grave.”

Sam grinned again ; and then going into the barn,
he brought out an old empty box. Some hay was put
in the bottom, and the three rabbits were laid in the
box, side by side,—the children looking on with
quivering lips; then the top was nailed on by Sam,
who always kept his tools in the barn; a hole was
dug under a tree, and the box was put in and care-
fully covered up.

The three children, with anger still burning in their
hearts, then went and sat down on a green bank,
talking over their wrongs till the dinner-bell rang.

Of course, the violent death of the rabbits was the
only topic of conversation at the table, and Charley’s
papa promised to have a very solemn talk with Squire
Dusenberry about his conduct.

“Tell him I Aafe him!” cried Charley, his eyes
flashing. “Tell him I’ll get our swans to hiss at
him, he’s so mean!”

“Qh, Charley!” said his mother, “don’t talk so.
You must learn to forgive those who despitefully use
you. Remember your rabbits were stealing the
Squire’s cabbages, and no doubt he was very angry,
and perhaps he is sorry enough now.”

“Yes, but that won’t bring them back ; he ought to

have been sorry first.”
E



66 GREAT RICHES.

His father laughed at this comical way of stating
the case, and the children ran off to play.

But somehow, though they tried to enjoy them-
selves, and Flora had every one of their dolls out in
the arbour, and gave them a party, the sad fate of the
rabbits would come into their minds every moment,
and steal all the dimples out of their faces.

All of a sudden Charley sprang up, with an ex:
clamation of, “T’ll do it !-see if I don’t !”

“Do what?” cried both the girls, staring at him in
astonishment.

“Tknow! Z’Z@ do it!” said Charley, again shaking
his head fiercely. “I’ll punish him! He won't
shoot rabbits again in a hurry!”

“Oh, the Squire you mean !” cried the girls. “Tell
us what you are going to do, Charley. Is it something
dreadful ?”

“You won't tell, will you ?”

“Oh, no!” they both declared.

“Well, you know how very particular he is about
his front-door. I do believe he has it painted every
six weeks,—at any rate, it is just as white as snow,—
and I mean to go down to the store,—” here Charley
shook his head eagerly, and laughed with a joyful
giggle. “I mean to go to the store and buy some
bright red paint, and paint his door for him to-night,
after dark.”

Flora and Nelly fairly screamed with ecstasy at this



REVENGE. 67

delightful bit of mischief, and in an instant all three
heads were close together, settling the very best way
to carry it out. Flora proposed to run in and beg the
cook for a small tin kettle to put the paint in. Nelly
offered to go with her to help her to beg, if the cook
should happen to be cross ; while Charley remembered
that there were some old paint-brushes in the garret,
and he would hunt them up ; then they would all go
to the store to choose the paint, and after dark they
would steal softly out and take turns in painting the
door.

Nelly had permission to stay at Woodlawn until
nine o’clock ; and as Squire Dusenberry made all his
family go to bed as soon as it was dark, and was
snoring himself by halfpast eight, they had not the
slightest fear of being discovered.

“We'll make the most dreadful bogy on the door
that ever was seen,—won’t we?” said Charley, jump-
ing on and off his seat with glee at the thought;
“we'll give him seven rows of teeth and ten horns.”

“And all the people going to church to-morrow
will be so frightened they will jump half over the
moon,” cried Nelly, laughing and clapping her hands.

“Just fancy Squire Dusenberry,” said Flora ; “this
is the way he will look at it;” and she opened her
eyes till they seemed ready to pop out, and stretched
her mouth very nearly from ear to ear; and then all
three laughed and jumped and wished it was dark,



68 GREAT RICHES.

so that they might begin painting the bogy right
away.

Oh, oh! what naughty children! Squire Dusen-
berry had done wrong, certainly, but two wrongs
never did make a right, and never will.

Nelly by this time had quite forgotten her good
resolutions, and waited impatiently with the other
two. They could hardly eat enough tea, they were
in such a hurry, and ran all the way to the little store
in the village, where for some coppers Charley got
the old tin mug the cook had given them half full of
such bright red paint, that one look at it would have
made a bull as mad as forty March hares.

Soon after the sun set behind the hills, the gor-
geous red and purple faded out of the clouds, and
Madam Twilight softly laid her gray mantle upon the |
earth. Mr Rivers sat with his wife in the cosy little
porch at the back of the parsonage, admiring the
peaceful scene, and talking lovingly about Nelly,—
.how good she had been lately, and how she had made
herself so dear, so dear t& their hearts.

Where was Nelly at this moment? One of three
litue crouching figures before what had been Squire
Dusenberry’s clean white door, trembling, half-re-
pentant, watching, while Charley, brush in hand,
was daubing the sides with streaks of red paint, criss-
cross, up and down, here and there, in every direo
tion; while in the middle a dreadful bogy, with star-





REVENGE. 69

ing eyes and many horns, seen in the dim light of the
stars, had already been painted, and looked perfectiy
tearful.

“There!” whispered Charley, as he put the last
streak on, and turned up his tin cup quite empty,—
“there! that’s elegant! Walk up, ladies and gentle-
men, and you will see Squire Dusenberry with six
horns on his head, and all the rest eyes and ears.
Nothing to pay. Walk up!”

But the girls did not walk up,—they ran away ; for
now that the mischief was done, they began to be
both frightened and sorry ; and when they got back
to Woodlawn, Nelly was glad that it was nine o’clock,
and hastened home, with Sam the stable boy to escort
‘her, ashamed to meet the eye of Flora’s mother.

Once at home, she did not run as usual to sit upon
her kind father’s knee, and tell him and her mother
all she had seen and done. No. Guilty conscience,
looking exactly like the bogy on the Squire’s door,
seemed staring her in the face from all the doors in
the parsonage, and she hurried up to her own little
room,

Undressing herself as quickly as she could, and
gabbling over her prayers in a nervous, frightened
way, she jumped into bed.

Ah! I fear she had lost some of her “ great
riches.”

“I wonder what can be the matter with Nelly?”



70 GREAT RICHES.

said Mrs Rivers down-stairs to her husband. “She
must have tired herself out with play.”

“T hope she has done nothing wrong. at Wood-
lawn,” said Mr Rivers.

“Oh, dear, no! She is so happy there that she
behaves beautifully. Poor little darling! she is only
tired,” answered the loving mother,







CHAPTER VII.

DISCOVERY.

@> @BA\TIE sun rose the next morning bright and
hot, and long before the church bells
2) began to ring it had dried up the dew,

—! and shone with a quivering melting glare
all over the land, and away out to the wide shining
sea, where the ships lay like little white specks on its
bosom,

It shone just as bright and hot on Squire Dusen-
berry’s front-door, and baked the dreadful bogy there
hard and fast. As it was Sunday, no one passed the
house before church time. Squire Dusenberry and
his family always went out of the house, Sundays and
every other day, by the back-door, so as to leave no
footmarks on the steps. If any one chanced to visit
them, the very instant they left, one of the Squire’s
daughters came out to sweep and dust the steps





72 GREAT RICHES.

alter them, and rub the finger-marks from the brass
knocker.

The Squire went stumping about in his kitchen
garden before breakfast, with his hands under his
coat-tails, and saying to himself, “Oh, dear me! just
look at my cabbages! just look at my cabbages!”
and he wasn’t a bit sorry for killing the poor rabbits.

Then the breakfast-bell rang, and he stumped
back into the house, sat down at the table, took
his hands from beneath his coat-tails, mumbled out
a gtace in a very disrespectful manner, ate two
pork-chops, three baked potatoes, four slices of
bread, and drank a great cup of coffee,—enougl
breakfast for ove man, I should think, and a little
over.

But all these good things did not make him an
atom better tempered, for he kicked the dog the
moment he got up from the table, scolded his wife,
boxed his daughter’s ears for not finding his pipe in
a quarter of a minute, and sat down in a corner to
smoke and twiddle his thumbs one over tie other,
until it was time to go to church. As to reading the
Bible or some good book, he never thought of such a
thing.

Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

The people began to move along the wide pleasant
village street on their way to church. Stout old far-
mers, with white hair, but still hale and strong, theis



DISCOVERY. "3

good old wives hanging on their arms, and half a
dozen children following on behind, passed up the
quiet street; waggons and carriages, bringing their
owners from a distance, rattled past ; and one and all
stared in astonishment at Squire Dusenberry’s door,
and thought he must certainly have gone raving mad.
But the old Squire and his family saw nothing. As I
have told you, they came out of the house by the
back-door, and never looked behind them when they
walked round to the front gate.

Everybody watched him in church, They saw
him take his old iron spectacles out of his pocket,
find the hymn, and tune up through his nose, just
the same as ever. Charley, Flora, and Nelly were
perhaps more astonished than the rest, for they could
not understand why he took the mischief so quietly.

As to the good minister and Mrs Rivers, they had
not seen the door, for they always looked straight
before them when they went to church, with their
thoughts on things not of this world.

But when the service was over, and the people, as
usual in country places, greeted each other standing
outside around the church porch, an old deacon said
to the Squire,—

“Glad to see you taking it so easy.”

“ Taking what so easy?” growled the other.

“Why, the scandalous red picter on your front-
door, for I don’t ’spose you did it.”



"4 - GREAT RICHES.

“What?! !red picture! Are you performing on a
long bow for my benefit?”

The Squire meant by ‘that, that he thought the
deacon was telling a lie,

“I don’t shoot long bows,” said the deacon,
“specially on Sunday. I saw a great red goblin
painted on your door, and I thought you knew all
about it.”

“T saw it too,—an awful figure !” said a weazen-
faced old farmer, who was leaning on a stick.

“So did I,” cried a fat old lady, busy eating a large
slice of gingerbread.

I wish you could have «seen Squire Dusenberry
then! He started out of the churchyard at a pace as
if he meant to beat a railway train. His wife and
daughters tried to keep up with him, but without suc-
cess, for the old Squire had got into his gate, and was
already dancing up and down with rage, m a way to
crack the very flagstones, before the dreadful bogy
which was staring at him from his door. He had
been thus dancing five minutes before his family got
there, and that was very lucky for them.

“Who did it? who did it?” he screamed. “I'll
have them put in prison! I'll beat them to pow-
der?”

He was still dancing and screaming in this way,—
bad enough, goodness knows, for week days, but oh!
how dreadful on the Sabbath,—when the good minis-



DISCOVERY. - 15

ter came along, with Mrs Rivers, and Nelly holding
fast to her father’s hand,

Surprised at such unusual sounds, Mr Rivers and
his wife looked up,—and then they saw the frightful
door,—at the same moment Nelly gave a violent
start.

“T’ll have them tarred and feathered! I'll duck
them in the horse-pond !” cried Squire Dusenberry ;
at which awful threats Nelly turned ghastly white,
and so giddy, that it seemed as if the trees and houses
and church-steeple were all bobbing around; but it
was she who was staggering and reeling, as if she had
suddenly become tipsy.

“Why, Nelly, my child, are you ill? What is
the matter?” said her father, taking her up in his arms,

“Oh, papal” she gasped, with white and trem.
bling lips, “don’t let him do it,—take me home with
you; oh! don’t let him touch me!”

A miserable unhappy suspicion darted into both
parents’ minds, as they listened to Nelly’s entreaty.
They quickened their steps, and were soon safe within
the parsonage.

“Oh!” cried Nelly, bursting into tears, “how
pleasant this room looks! I don't want ever to leave
it.”

It was thé very same room of which she had been
so tired, and her parents were still more surprised to
hear her say this.



76 GREAT RICHES.

“Nelly, my little daughter, tell me,—have you
_ been doing anything wrong? Do you know whe
painted the Squire’s door?” asked her father in a sad,
_ kind tone.

The blood rushed in great tides over the child’s
‘face and neck. She had never told a lie since she
knew how very wicked it was. She could not tell one
now. Oh, no! Nelly would have scorNnep to utter a
He.

And so, after a great struggle, her quivering lips
opened, and the words “ I helped” came like a great
sob from them.

And then, with many tears, the whole story came
out, about the rabbits and the children’s anger, and
the revenge they took; and the kind loving reproof
and.teachings of her father made the little girl feel
more and more sorry that she had returned evil for
evil, and was farther away than ever from that “ god-
liness” which is “great riches.” Grieving and re-
pentant, she was quite ready to promise that she
would go with her father and beg Squire Dusenberry
to forgive her share in the mischief which had enraged
nim so.

But more than this;—when she went to bed
that night, Nelly prayed from her inmost hean
to become a better child, and said with a new
“and solemn reverence this beautiful prayer in
verse b—



DISCOVERY. oe

%¢ Make me, O Lord! a sinless child,
As Christ was pure and undefiled.
Help me to come to Thee each day,
As Christ has bidden us, to pray.
May I forbear to seek my own,
For Christ has said,—‘ ZZy will be done,’
And to myself prefer my brother,
For Christ has said, —‘ Love one another.’
Give my dear mother honour fit,
As Christ to Mary did submit.
Be ever candid in my youth,
For Christ commandeth,— Love the truth.’ _
May I to others e’er be mild,
As Christ was silent when reviled.
And still with meekness bear my part,
_ For Christ has blessed ‘the poor in heart.’
And when upon my dying bed,
May Christ’s dear arms be round my head.
‘There, folded on the gentle breast
Of Christ, Ill find my perfect rest.”

The next morning, immediately after breakfast,
Nelly went with her father to Woodlawn, where he
had a very serious conversation with the kind parents
of Flora and Charley. All three felt that the Squire
had been very cruel in killing the poor rabbits, and
really deserved some punishment, though not the one
he got.

Flora and Charley were very willing to say they
were sorry. So they all marched over, the three little
penitents, begging Mr Rivers and Mr Gray to go first
and break the dreadful news.

It did not make them feel any more comfortable
when they saw a man scraping away for dear life,



78 GREAT RICHES.

trying to get the red goblin off the door, and I am
sorry to tell that Squire Dusenberry did not receive
their apologies in the very best spirit. “Fiddlesticks
and nonsense!” he jerked out; “keep your rabbits
to yourself next time. You've got to pay for daubing
up my door! So you see you have advanced three
steps backwards in your fun, for it will take the whole -
of your pocket-money for the next three months ; and
all the zarts you buy will be very sour ones.” -







CHAPTER VIIL.

TRY, TRY AGAIN,

S<*|OR several weeks after the dreadful affair
is e of the bogy on Squire Dusenberry’s door,
hu, Nelly was just as good as it is possible
2 for a human being to be in this world,—
and that is by no means perfect. We shall all be
able to travel down through the world to China, in-
stead of going all the way round it, before we find
absolute perfection in any one, big or little. And as
it is not at all probable that this will take place in
our day, we’ll give up looking for perfection, like
sensible people, and go on with the story. __

So Nelly took care of the baby, and helped her
mother to work, and learned her lessons and said her
prayers all these weeks, with not above a dozen cross






80 GREAT RICHES.

faces coming down over her own, which I consider
remarkable. Her father thought it remarkable too,
and one evening, to reward her, he wrote something
on his best sermon-paper and handed it to her, say-
_ing,—“Here, Nelly ; this is to be read to you to-
morrow.”

“Did you write it on purpose for me, papa?” she
asked, in a joyful tone.

“Yes,” he said,

“Tt is a little sermon?”

“Yes, a week-day one,—such a sermon as ought
to be preached to children, for it is a story with
a moral; and I want you to make the application,
my darling.”

“ How ‘application,’ papa?”

“Why, after you have read the story, I want you
to tell me what lesson it teaches to you, and that is
making an application.”

“Oh, yes, I will, papa,” the little girl replied, with
an affectionate kiss; and off she ran to bed, for it
was time to go.

The next morning after breakfast, Nelly called
Willie and Maity, who sat down with their thumbs
in their mouths, so as to be sure not to interrupt or
lose a single word; and taking up a pillow-case which
she was overhanding, cried, “Now, mamma, we'll be
the congregation and you shall be the minister, for
papa said this was a sermon for children; and it’s a



TRY, TRY AGAIN. 81

story too, Come. baby Bessie is fast asleep; please
begin, dear mamma.”
So Mrs Rivers took the paper and read as follows :—

°

OVER A BRIDGE.

4 Fairy Tale of Home.

In the snuggest of little toll-houses, in the centre of
a long bridge, its cosy doorway nestling beneath the
shadow of the sloping roof, there once lived an old
toll-gatherer named Job Hapgood.

The toll-house was the merest baby-house of a
place, with only three tiny rooms within, but then
they fairly shone all over with the constant scrub-
bings and rubbings of Trot Hapgood, Job’s only
daughter, who was the neatest and nicest little body
you can imagine.

The walls of the sitting-room ‘were half covered
with staring red and blue bills setting forth the glories
of various travelling-shows, mingled with advertising
pictures, in which people were represented in the act
of dyeing their clothes the colour of indigo with
“ Tiuzzard’s Blueing,” or looking with amazement at
their faces reflected in their own shoes, polished with
“Buzzard’s Blacking ;” but, after all, this was rather
ornamental than otherwise, and if Job Hapgood had
been a good-natured man, they might have amused

him ver y much,
Pr



82 GREAT RICHES.

But he was not good-natured.’ He did nothing but
grumble because he was obliged to put them up, and
would have liked to make Huzzard swallow all Buz
zard’s blacking, and painted up Buzzard like an
ancient Briton with all Huzzard’s blueing, and se
got rid of both out of hand.

Well one bright summer’s day, just as the clock
struck twelve, old Job Hapgood popped his grizzled
head out of the little sentry-box on one side of the
door, where he stood to take tolls, and sniffing some-
thing like cooking in the air, concluded it must be
about his dinner-time. So he shuffled into the house,
with his nose all wrinkled up in a discontented sort of
way, plainly taking it for granted that there was no-
thing particular for dinner, and it was just his luck.

“Ah, there you are, father!” cried Trot’s cheery
voice ; “and here’s your dinner, all piping hot.”

“Yes, yes, my dear,” replied Job, shuffling off to
one side, to pretend he didn’t see what Trot was
dishing up,—“ yes, yes, I’m coming in a minute.”

“Oh, no,—you must come now!” said Trot, merri-
ly. “Just take your seat,—that’s a dear old daddy,
—and see what I’ve got for you! First, here’s a
nice dish of boiled beef and potatoes; and there you |
-are,”—setting down the first dish; “and your tea
drawn just the way you like it; and tere you are
again,’—setting down a small brown tea-pot: “and
for a treat, a delicious Ettle bit of—what do you



TRY, TRY AGAIN. 83

think ?” asked Trot, mysteriously clasping her
liands,

“T’m sure I don’t know,” said Job, disconsolately,

-“ Anything’s good enough for me.”

“Tripe!” cried Trot, fairly clapping her hands in .
joyous triumph. ‘I bought it for you myself, and
stewed it with onions; and “here you are!”—and
Trot set the tripe on the table, in a brown earthen
bowl, and tripped round to give her father a little
squeeze, and a little kiss on the very tip of his nose,
—laughing all the time with a trill like a happy bird.

“Yes, yes, Trot, my dear,” replied the toll-gatherer,
—“you re a good little girl to your poor old daddy.
I don’t know what would become of me without

* and his eye rested on the staring placards of
Huzzard’s Blueing and Buzzard’s Blacking with an
inward discontent which even tripe couldn’t make
him forget.

“Oh, never mind the bills now, father,” said Trot,
cheerily ; “your dinner will be stone-cold. Come ;”
and drawing her chair up to the table, she bowed her
pretty golden head to ask a blessing, and the toll-
gatherer was fairly settled to his dinner,

Then to see Trot hover about him, so anxious that
he should be comfortable! To see her now putting
a savory bit of meat on his plate,—now pouring out
his tea and taking a saucy sip from the cup herself,
anon running to the doar te receive a toll, then

all
you;



64 GREAT RICHES.

back again, singing like some blithe little bird; and
presently cutting bread for her father, in a profound’
fiction that he was quite unable to help himself!
Darling little Trot!

Then, when dinner was over, how she took his
pipe from the mantel-shelf, and with a thousand
graceful little gestures—still very like a bird—began
filling it! pressing the tobacco down with her chubby
forefinger in proper style, and then putting it between
his lips to be lighted, with an approving pat on his
brown cheek, and setting the cricket under his feet
for him to take his afternoon nap, before she tripped
away to clear the table. Busy little Trot!

Now, surely, if never before, Job Hapgood ought
to have felt contented with his lot, as he sat in his
arm-chair smoking and looking absently about the
room. And yet he. was thinking, not of the blessings
he enjoyed, but how many years he had been toll-
gatherer on that bridge, and after all, what a poor,
mean, scraping, toiling kind of life it was for an old
man. Gradually these thoughts became mixed up
with his dislike for the show-bills, and he was just
beginning to feel rather drowsy, and a little confused
as to whether Huzzard’s Blueing was the Grand
Calithumpian Moral Egyptian Caravan, or Buzzard’s
Blacking was the Real, Living Jackass with Four
Tails, or both together, when suddenly he was
aroused by some one’s calling bim from without,



TRY, TRY AGAIN. 8s

The voice was rather an odd one too,—high and
shrill, like the whistling of the wind through a key-
hole, and, moreover, whoever was calling seemed to
be in the greatest possible hurry to pay their toll and
be off again.

“Coming!” shouted Job, sleepily; and rousing
himself as well as he could, he hurried to the door,
and there he saw a very curious-looking vehicle in-
jeed.

There certainly was something out of the way
wbout this conveyance! It wasn’t a travelling-
coach; it bore not the slightest resemblance to a
tilbury, a dog-cart, a phaeton, a trotting-waggon, or
a hearse 3 it didn’t look like a caravan, and nobody
would have suspected it of being a perambulator ;
yet it seemed to be made up with little bits out of
each and all these vehicles. Harnessed to it were
four spirited horses, which plunged and reared, and
all but stood on their tails with impatience; but
neither driver nor passenger could be seen anywhere.

Job stood staring with all his eyes at this queer

affair, when once more the voice from within ex
claimed, “Come here, and take your toll, Job Hap-
good.”
" Halfscared out of -his wits, yet compelled, as it
seemed, by some spell, the toll-gatherer went up to
the strange conveyance and laid his hand on the knob
of the door,



&6 GREAT RICHES.

The instant he did so, the door flew open of itself,
he was whisked into the carriage, he could not tell
how, and, like a flash, off they went down the road,
pell-mell, helter-skelter !

“Qh, good gracious!” yelled Job Hapgood at the
top of his lungs. ‘Oh, my goodness! For pity’s
sake! Help! Murder! Fire! Oh, Trot, Trot,
Trot!” 4

But of what use was it to snout and bawl in an
enchanted coach? for such this must certainly have
been. Moreover, the toll-gather’s voice seemed to
sink into a whisper, like a person’s in a nightmare,
and his tongue to become glued to his palate with
fear, when on looking round him he found himself—~
ALONE, :

Yes, there he sat,—alone with the Voice. which
had summoned him from his home,--no shadowy
form, no gauzy garment hovering at his side, yet he
felt that invisible eyes were piercing to his very soul.
A cold chill crept over his limbs, his hair rose on
end, and in the extremity of terror his teeth chat-
tered in his head. S

Suddenly the silence was broken by a mocking
laugh close at his ear.

“Oh, my heart alive, what’s that?” gasped Job.

“Why, Job, my fine fellow!” said the Voice, “you
don’t seem grateful for your good luck! Ten minutes
ago you were a miserable man, disgusted with your



TRY, TRY AGAIN. 87

lot in life; yet now you find yourself in a splendid
carriage, rolling straight towards happiness, and all
you say is, ‘Help!’ and ‘Murder!’ Ha, ha, ha!”

“ B—but who—but what—” stammered the toll-
gatherer.

‘Who is with you? A friend of yours, Job,—one
who is going to put you in a new situation,” returned
the Voice, with mock gravity.

“But please your—your—dreadful majesty,” fal-
tered Job, who really began to think he had fallen
into the hands of somebody he called Old Goose-
berry,—“ I want my daughter Trot with me, wherever
Tam.”

“Well, it’s you for making conditions!” retorted
his unseen companion. “Suppose you sit still and
enly speak when you’re spoken to!” and with thar
down came a sounding whack on Job Hapgood’s
head, which made darkness, besprinkled with a curi-
ous pattern of stars, swim before his eyes, and ad-

_vised him pretty strongly to say nothing more but
wait and see what would happen next.

All at once, plump! they pulled up, and stood
stock-still. The door flew open, Job was impelled,
as before, to get out, and in an instant strange carri-
age, fast horses, and all disappeared in a flash of
Ughtning, and left him alone once more with the
Voice.

The place where he now found himself was a long







83 GREAT RICHES,

bridge, spanning a rapid river, whose dark waters
flowed with a murmuring sound among the massive
beams and abutments below, until they fell, with a
subdued, yet ceaseless roar, over vast masses of jagged
rocks, cutting the waters into myriad wreath of foara
and spray. The sun shed a dreary and awful light
through the thick dun-coloured mist which com-
pletely shrouded either shore, and the whole scene
oppressed and weighed upon the soul like the heavy
shadow of some dreadful dream.

In the centre of the bridge one familiar object
appeared,—a toll-house, whose weather-beaten walls
and sloping roof reminded Job very much of his
own home,—once so despised, though now he would
have given anything on earth to get back again.

“Well, there’s a toll-house, at any rate,” he
thought ; “it must be a common bridge, after all.”

“Oh no, it is not, Job,” said the Voice,—which
seemed to know his inmost idea,—“it is the site of
all your happiness.”

“What! am I to be a toll-gatherer again?” cried
Job,—that is, he thought he cried, for in reality his
voice was the lowest whisper. ‘No, thank -you. If
that’s the best luck you’ve got for me, why let’s go
back to the old place.”

“Not just yet, Job,’ returned the Voice. “You
have a lesson of happiness to learn first.”

“Oh, of course. I’m bound to be contented and



TRY, TRY AGAIN. 8g

happy with toiling and moiling from morning till
night, and night till morning,—and one’s very sitting-
room invaded with show bills!—which, if I could
have the fixin’ of things, I’d Huzzard and Buzzard
’em,—a pack of four-tailed jackasses! At my age,
too,—rising sixty! If you could make me young
again, that would be something like happiness. There
were good times then,—ah, dear, dear!” Here his
tirade was interrupted by the Voice.

“Look, Job,” it said,—and its tones were deep
and solemn now as the murmur of many waters,—
“something is passing over the bridge.”

The slow rumbling of a heavy waggon sounded in
the distance, and in a moment more it emerged from
the mist on the left bank of the river, and the timbers
of the bridge resounded under the tread of two strong
farm-horses,

A sturdy fellow walked beside the waggon, which
was half filled with hay, making a soft nest for two.
merry children who rode within.

As it approached the toll-house, one of the chil-
dren, a pretty fair-haired boy, sprang up, exclaiming,
—“Oh,- uncle! let me pay the toll,—won’t you?
Look, Grace ; now I’m a General waving his sword
in battle! Hurray!” and the child flourished a
long comstatk as he spoke, his eyes sparkling with
glee. :

“Do you recognise that boy, Job?” said the Voice.



90 GREAT RICHES.

The toll-gatherer tumed ghastly pale, and his voice
had a strange, hollow sound as he answered,—

“« Myself!”

“You were happy ¢hen, Job?” said the Voice.

“Very, very happy!” groaned the toll-gatherer.
The waggon stopped at the toll-house, and the boy
held out an ancient Continental coin. Moved bya .
power he could not resist, Job came forward to re-
ceive it, when the boy, fixing his eyes upon him,
uttered a terrified cry. In an instant the waggon
had passed swiftly on, and was lost in the shadows
beyond, e ae

“My poor uncle!” sighed Job. “ He was shot in
the field of battle fifty years ago.”

As he spoke, he looked once more towards the
left bank of the river, and saw a singular change in-
the dark mist that overhung the shore like a funeral
pall. Slowly it rolled backwards on either side; and
just where it was parted, the toll-gatherer saw the
distinct picture of a room in an antiquated farm-
house. A dim light, burning within the wide chim-
ney, gleamed over the time-worn furniture ; a high-
backed chair beside the hearth ; a bedstead covered
by a patch-work quilt; and on the wall above, a
faded sampler wrought with texts from Scripture.
In the centre of the room, on rough trestles, reposed
a child’s coffin, covered with a sheet.

“My mother’s room!” exclaimed Job, the cold









TRY, TRY AGAIN. 91

dew starting to his brow. “But whose coffin is -
that 1”

As he spoke, the clouds rolled heavily back and
hid the vision from his sight. At the same moment
the awful toll of a funeral bell filled the air, and
issuing from the dim mist, with the sound of many
horses’ feet, a burial train passed on over the bridge.
Solemnly it moved along and stopped opposite the
toll-house. Suddenly the side of the hearse became
transparent, and the child’s coffin was revealed within
—the lid partly drawn aside. The toll-gatherer
moved closer, and fixed his terrified eyes upon ie
marble face of the corpse.

“Whose funeral is this, Job?” asked the Voice.

“ My little sister's!” sobbed the toll-gatherer.

Like the swift passage of a dream the burial train
passed onwards, amid the doleful clangour of the
bells, and vanished in the gloom. °

“Then there were sorrows clouding your early
youth?” asked the Voice.

“She was the darling of the house !” cried the poor
toll-gatherer. “Oh, Ruth, dear little Ruth!”

“The clouds are parting again,’ continued the
Voice. “See what they bear on their dark bosoms !”

Within the framework of the first shadowy picture
appeared another vision. It showed the outside of
the same farm-house, surrounded ‘by an old-fashioned
garden, Fruit-trees drooped their loaded branches



Q2 GREAT RICHES,

over the wide beds where flowers and sweet-herbs
grew together. ‘The porch in front of the door was
faintly lighted by the new moon, and there’ sat a
handsome young man and woman.

You could see in their happy faces a strong like-
ness to the children who rode so merrily in the hay-
cart long ago, and from the way her dark glossy curls
rested against his breast, it seemed as though they
were newly married.

“Who are these happy ones, Job?” paesdoned the
Voice,

“Me and Grace Trueman,” murmured Job. “ We_
were just married then, and living as happy as a pair ©
of little birds. We had our bit of money laid up
against a rainy day, and everything nice around us.
Oh dear! oh dear! A hard thing for a man to come
to poverty at last when-all began so well.” .

The vision passed away as he spoke. It seemed
to carry with it some of the uncertain light that before
shone over bridge and river, or else the day was
really drawing to a close, when, plodding wearily from
the hidden shore, two wayfarers appeared on the
hither end of the bridge. The principal figure was
aman in the prime of life, but sadly worn and hag-
gard as though with many troubles. He supported
on his arm a woman, whose dark hood, pushed back
from her face, revealed her pale beautiful features
and raven hair. Each of them carried a bundle,



TRY, TRY AGAIN. ——_ 93

which seemed to contain all their worldly posses-
sions, and the dust of the weary road hung heavily
upon their garments.

As they passed the toll-house they turned their
heads, and looked Job Hapgood full in the face.

A deadly chill seemed to strike into his very
heart; he shuddered from head to foot; for in
these way-worn figures he recognised himself and
his wife.

“You suffered like this in your manhood?” said
the Voice, with strange gentleness in its tones.

“There was one hard season after another,” cried
Job, clasping his thin hands in bitter grief. “My
‘ erops failed more than any of the neighbours’; and
though I strove and struggled against poverty and.
sickness, there came debt upon debt, and at last the
“very homestead went from us. Ah, Grace! poor
birdie! That I should have brought thee to this!
Cruel! cruel!”

“Look, Job!” broke in the Voice,—“ see what fig-
ure this is that passes over the bridge!”

The daylight had faded away, a gloomy nightfall
settled blackly down on the river. As the thick
clouds drifted sullenly apart, the dim, watery light
of the moon streamed between them, and fell on the
form of a man hastening over the bridge. His clothes
hung in tatters round his wasted form, and his long,
tangled hair and beard mingled in wild confusion



94 GREAT RICHES.

about a wan face which still bore some shadowy like.
ness to the fair boy of years ago.

He paused as he reached the centre of the bridge,
where a wooden seat was placed for poor wayfarers,
and placing gently upon it a sort of bundle that he
carried in his arms, wrapped in an old shawl, he stood
gazing downwards at the rushing water.

“This is the place,” he said at last, in hoarse and
broken tones. “ Here, where we toiled along, heart-
broken, from our happy home,—where I saw the light
fade out of my darling’s eyes, and did not die! I,
who had brought her to such a pass! Here I have
come at last, to join her! Trot, little birdie, oh fare-
well for ever!” and his voice choked with sobs, his des-
perate hands clenched above his head,—the wretched
man hovered one instant over eternity

“Stop!” rang out a voice, loud and commanding,
as the tall form of a man darted towards the suicide,
and clasped him firmly in his arms. “For Heayen’s
sake !—what would you do?” ;

“Ah, let me die!” cried the figure, cowering and
grovelling under the strong grasp. “ What have I to
live for but starvation and despair ?”

The other pushed him down on the bench, and
taking the seeming bundle in his arms, drew aside
the old shawl. The fair face of a sleeping infant
appeared, the moonbeams failing like a glory on
its little golden head.





TRY, TRY AGAIN. 95

“My child!” cried Job Hapgood, falling on his
knees. “ My little darling, innocent child !”

The shadows fell deeper and darker on the bridge
as the toll-gatherer, lifting his head from his clasped
hands, raised his eyes towards the Voice.

“You do not condemn me utterly ?” he humbly en-
treated. “I was mad—lost—I know not what, under
my heavy load of troubles. He pitied me even in
my wickedness, although he was a man of God” ——

“And took you and the child to his home, feeding
and sheltering you there, until, through his unwearied
kindness”

“I got the place as toll-gatherer!” cried Job;
“and, please Gop, I’ll pray for and bless him many
a long year to come.”

“Look at the shadows once more, Job,” said the
Voice. “See what they show you now.”

Job looked toward the shore, and there, limned
forth on the dark background of the mist, he beheld
his little sitting-room at home. The blazing fire shed
a rosy light upon the whitewashed walls, gay with the
familiar signs of Huzzard and Buzzard, which the -
cheerful gleam transformed into charming pictures ;
while the bright tins on the mantel-shelf glittered like
homely diamonds. In the centre of the room stood
: the tea-table,.spread with its clean brown cloth and
well-known china; no sound could be heard but the
busy tick of the Dutch clock and the singing of the





96 GREAT RICHES,

kettle on the fire; and close beside the hearth, her
sweet face illumined with a tender blush, as the fire-
light played on it, sat Trot at her sewing.

“Oh, Trot, dear, darling little Trot!” cried Job
Hapgood, springing to his feet. “If I only can get
back to you again, I’ll be the most contented man in
the whole country.”

“What! with Huzzard, Buzzard, and all?” in-
quired the Voice, which had recovered somewhat of °
its former sarcastic tone.

“With every one of em!” shouted Job at the top
of his voice, giving a frantic flourish with his feet,
halfjoy, halfimpatience, which kicked over

The Voice?

No, the cricket. . . . . “Why, bless me
father !” cried Trot, running up to him, “what's come
over you? Haven’t you had a good nap?”

“Nap! my birdie,” exclaimed Job, staring at her
in amazement; “nave I been asleep ?”

“Yes! the best part ofan hour, and snoring away with
your dear old mouth as wide open as the drawbridge,”
: Job paused fcr a moment to give Trot a delighted
hug and kiss, to make sure he had really got her all
safe ; then raising her face by the round, dimpled
chin, so as to look in her eyes, he said,—

“Tell me, birdie, do you love the old house?”

“Why, surely, father,” said Trot, looking in hig
face with a wondering smile,





TER RVC AUIN | ee 97

“And you’d rather have it, bills and all, than any
other in the world?”

“To be sure I would!” said Trot, earnestly.
“Why, haven’t we lived here winter and summer
for fifteen years? Don’t we know and love the
breeze, and the river, and the old bridge, as well as
if they were our own? And could we be as happy
anywhere else as we are here,—where the dear
memories of the years that are past hang round the
walls to make them beautiful and holy, father?” .

“Why then, I'll tell you what, Trot!" cried Job,
gathering her little figure closely in his arms, and
laying his brown cheek tenderly on her pretty heal,
—“TI’d not change it for a king’s palace anywheres !
Tl love it henceforth for your sake, my birdie ; and
as to Huzzard and Buzzard—why, bless their hearts!”
cried Job, lifting his glowing face and looking round
the room,-——“ if any one were to tell me I didn’t look
upon those men as brothers, I’d wish they might
never see a four-tailed jackass as long as they lived!
So give me a kiss, Trot!”

And so she did.

“Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful story!” said Nelly,
with a sigh of pleasure, as her mother finished.

“And have you made the application?” asked Mrs
Rivers, gently.

“Ts it that I, also, must be grateful and contented 3”

asked the little girl, in a iow voice.
G



98 GREAT RICHES.

“Yes; and if you are truly contented and grate.
ful, if you bear without murmuring all the trials of this
life, you will surely win a portion of that godliness
which will entitle you to a home in heaven. And
you will also be far happier here, my little Nelly.
God will bless you here ; never doubt it.”

For several weeks after this, Nelly was grateful and
contented, though not without many a rebellious and
envious twinge in her heart; but she fought every
one of them down; and her kind parents encouraged
her and loved her, oh, so dearly! so dearly! that her
search after godliness was made far more simple and
easy for her than for many another little pilgrim on
this earth, whose path was filled with the sharp stum-
bling-blocks of temptation, poverty, and neglect.

It was now late in October. The dry leaves
rustled in the paths; the little birds were flying every
day to the warm southern lands; and fires looked
_cheery and pleasant.

The Grays had gone to their winter home; and
Nelly’s rosy face had oftentimes a melancholy ex-
pression, for she sadly missed her dear playmates,
Flora and Charley,

One day a letter came to the parsonage, which
caused deep anxiety. It was from Mrs Gray, and
contained an invitation for Nelly to spend the winter
with her friends. Mrs Gray promised to care for and
watch over both the little girls alike ; and she wished |



Full Text



The Baldwin Library

University |,
Kin Bk
Florida |



GREAT RICHES,
MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGR

GREAT RICHES.

Pellp Wibers’ Story,

BY

AUNT FANNY.

* Tlove God, and little children.”

EDINBURGH:
W. P. NIMMO, HAY, & MITCHELL.
1890.

CONTENTS.

CHAP. S PAGER
INTRODUCTION, .« +6 © © « 9

I, DISCONTENT, . See eee ane 3 20

II, TRYING TO BE GOOD, ; ‘: é - : 28
HII. MRS RIVERS’S STORY, ee es eae 32

IV, A LETTER FROM “AUNT FANNY,” TELLING T10W

ALICE SPOKE IN CHURCH, . : ; ; 49

V. THE ROBBER RABBITS, . ‘ SeG S 56
“VI, REVENGE, . : oy ee 61
VII. DISCOVERY, aes esi) oh oe : 71
VII TRY, TRY AGAIN, ee . ° « . . 719

IX. NELLY IN TOWN, 2 > a ’ » ° for
X. TEMPTATION, . & 5 s s z a FO3 -

XL CONCLUSION, 6 5 & 5 & + «5 OG



GREAT RICHES.



INTRODUCTION.

singing hymns, as usual, with their parents.
They were now sitting quite silent and
still, when suddenly, Fred, looking very
earnestly up in his mother’s face, said,—“ Mamma,
I wish Aunt Fanny would write a Sunday story ; I do
declare, I mean to ask her!”

“Oh, do, do, do!” cried all the rest, with such a
racket that you could hardly believe they were the
silent children of a moment before. “Tell her a
Sunday story is very much wanted to keep us in
order.” :

“We shall do something dreadful some Sunday or
other,” said Peter, “if she don’t take us in hand 3 and
we'll promise not to go perfectly wild with joy, but .


ro GREAT RICHES.

put on our most serious good-boy and good-girl looks
when it comes. We'll even behave better than when
we are fast asleep.”

The rest laughed at this, and their papa said,
“That is a very rash promise, Peter; for old Mrs
Snarling says you are a tolerably good boy when you
are asleep, but a great torment at all other times.”

Peter was just on the point of exclaiming, “ Bother
-old Mrs Snarling!” but he recollected himself in
time, and made a loud “hem” instead; upon which
Sophie quietly remarked,—

“You seem to have a remarkably large frog in your
_ throat, Peter.”
ie en was swallowing Mrs Snarling,” he answered; at
“which they all tried not to laugh, out of politeness to
the old lady.

But some chuckles would come, and their mother
gravely advised them to sing one more hymn, and ~
then be off for Bedfordshire. :

This is the hymn they sung. It is like a prayer.
I want you all to learn at least to say it, my darling
good little hearts :—



‘¢ Hear my prayer, O Heavenly Father,
Ere I lay me down to sleep ;
Bid Thy angels pure and holy
Round my bed Thy vigils keep.

“®€ Great my sins, but oh! Thy mercy
Far outweighs them every one;




INTRODUCTION. r1

Down before Thy cross I cast them, ’
Trusting in Thy help alone,

“* Keep me through this night of peril,
Underneath its boundless shade;
Take me to Thy rest, I pray Thee,
When my pilgrimage is made.

‘* None shall measure out Thy patience
By the span of human thought ;

None shall bound the tender mercies

Which Thy Holy Son has brought.

“ Pardon all my past transgressions,
Give me strength for days to. come;
Guide and guard me with Thy blessing,
Till Thy angels bid me home,”

The next morning Fred spread a very large sheet =



of letter-paper before him, and wrote this import ae
epistle :—. oS

FRED'S LETTER.

“Dear Aunt Fanny,—A very learned old gentle-
man came to see father last week. In the evening he
amused us very much with what he called ‘tricks
in language’ He wrote the letters of the word
‘time,’ and made what he called an ‘anagrammatic
palindrome.’ I’m sure I haven’t the least idea what
these awful hard terms mean, but he twisted and
turned ‘time’ into four words, which can be read up and
down, backwards and forwards, in all kinds of fashions,
and still make the same words, which is very curious.
‘Here they are :—


12 GREAT RICHES.

TIME
ITEM
METI
Emit -

They are all Latin words except che English one,
‘time’ ‘Item’ means ‘likewise ;’ ‘meti,’ ‘to be
measured ;” and ‘emit,’ ‘he buys.’ There, Aunt
Fanny! I think I’m getting quite learned; don’t
you?

“ He asked us to spell the fate of all earthly things
in two letters. Can you? I could,—after I was told,
+ 7D, K, _He said a young lady once asked what
phonography was. He took out his pencil and wrote
this—‘U. R. A.B. U. T. LL NE? (You are a beauty, -
Ellen.) That was phonography ; 3; ‘at which she was —
highly. delighted.’

“Then this funny, learned old gentleman told us of a
a curious conversation of a backwoodsman who did ~
not like to waste words :—~

“¢ Whose house?’

“<< Mog’s.” os

“Of what built?’ - ae

“¢ Logs.’

“* Any neighbours?’

“<¢ Frogs.’ :

“«What is the soil?’ —

SuBogs

**« Flow is the climate §’


INTRODUCTION. oe

ite 3 Fogs.’

“tWhat do you eat?

“< Hogs,’

“Flow do you catch them?

“* Dogs.’

“And here is one more—I think the best of all:—~

“¢T came for the saw, sir,’ said a little fellow.

“What saucer?’

“¢Why, the saw, sir, that you borrowed.’

“¢T borrowed no saucer.’

“
“Be off! I never saw your saucer !’ :

“But you did, sir; there’s the saw, sir; now, sir,

“¢Oh, you want the saw /’

“I must tell you the compliment the old Quakes
paid :—

“¢T wish thee and thy folks loved me and my folks
as well as me and my folks love thee and thy folks,
For sure there never was folks, since folks was folks,
that ever loved folks half so well as me and my folks
love thee and thy folks.’

“Now, Aunt Fanny, haven’t I amused you? and
don’t you want to do something very particularly kind _
for us? Of course you do, and you are perfectly
crazy to know what it is,—so I will hurry and tell
you.

“We do so want a story written expressly for Sun-
day,—a Sunday story. We think we are getting to be
14 GREAT RICHES.

remarkably good children, owing to the excellent ex-
amples set us in all your books; but then, you see,
if you were to write one which fitted Sunday exactly,
we should become little wonders immediately ; and
this would delight all the cats in the house, for I am
_ afraid we chase them more on Sundays than on other
days.

“You see, it is so hard to live without making a
noise. There is a poor little boy they call Dan, who
lives in a lane not far from us, with just the very
crossest old grandmother you ever heard of. She
makes him keep so quiet that it’s perfectly awful. So
we gave him a nice tin trumpet one day, and told
him to go into the woods and have a good blow.
out.

“But, oh dear! one day as we were. peaceably
walking down the lane, the cross old grandmother
rushed out of her cottage in a perfect fury, to beat us
with her cane for giving Dan the trumpet.

“¢Oh, you little rascals!’ she cried, ‘you want Dan
to crack my ears! You gave him a tin trumpet on
purpose! I’d rather hear twenty-seven cannons going
off at once.’

- “Didn't we have to run! I first, then Peter, then
little Bob, and the old woman after us shaking her
stick, scolding us roundly. Poor old thing! I feel

sorry for her too. I daresay she has many troubles,
~ and no wonder she’s cross.
INTRODUCTION. 1s

“T think this is enough for one letter,—don’t you?
And you wd? write a Sunday story, darling Aunt
Fanny,—won’t you? and we promise to be more
‘lovinger’ than ever. Bob told me to write it so.
Next week, I shall go to old Mrs Marble, the post-
mistress, and ask her for a letter for your affectionate
nieces and nephews,
“SOPHIE, FRED, and Lou ;
“Peter, Kitty, and Bor.”

The letter was read over to the “subscribers,” as
Fred called the children, and heartily approved of.
It was carefully sealed up and directed ; and, a grand
formal procession being formed, it was conveyed in
great state to the post-office, to the mistress of which
it was given, along with strict injunctions as to its
safe and speedy delivery. Every Monday for several
weeks, Fred called at the post-office to inquire if any.
answer had come from Aunt Fanny. At length one
morning all the children were down at the post-office
when the mail-coach drove up with the letter-bag.
Mrs Marble, the post-mistress, took the bag into the
office, and emptied its contents on a table. She had
no sooner done so than Fred, who had followed her
in, seized a big letter and ran off with it, leaving Mrs
“Marble standing nearly paralysed with excitement and
' indignation at his conduct.
“Here it is—hurrah!” he shouted; and off they
16 _ GREAT RICHES.

all scampered home as fast as their legs could carry
them. With eager haste they all rushed into the
little parlour, where Fred broke open the envelope ;
and clearing his voice with a great “hem!” he pro-
ceeded to read

AUNT FANNY’S ANSWER.

“My DEAR CHILDREN,—I should call you a set of
little crazy cormorants, never to be satisfied, were I
not rather pleased than otherwise by your asking me
for a ‘Sunday story.’ You are not the first one by a
good many, and some of these gayat, I mean to write
a whole series of them.

“Oh, my darlings, I do so hope and pray that every
year it pleases my Heavenly Father to permit me ta
live I shall write better than the last. » ‘There is a
Chinese proverb which says— With time and patience
the mulberry-leaf becomes silk ;? and an English one
which. declares that ‘We may be as good as we please,
if we please to be good.’ I do please to de good, and
to do good.. Won't you pray that God will help me?

“T send you with this your ‘Sunday story.’ It does
not differ in style from many others I have written, ©
because I have made the children in it natural 3 and
so of course they are by no means any better than—
than—you are.”

Here Fred set up a loud laugh, and said,—


INTRODUCTION. 17

“Hurrah! Aunt Fanny! Now we’ll sce what we are
like.” ‘

“But if it will strengthen you” (Fred read on) “in
a determination to resist every temptation to do
wrong, and renew your desire to love and obey the
commands of your Maker, I shall be so glad,—so
glad. :
“T- send you a beautiful little hymn, which I beg
you to learn, and feel in your inmost heart when you
say it. Here it is:—
“Mary’s love may I possess,
Lydia’s tender-heartedness,
Peter’s ardent spirit feel,
James's faith by works reveal ;

Like young Timothy, may I
: Every sinful passion fly.

“Most of all, may I pursue
That example Jesus drew ;
By my life and conduct show
How He lived and walked below ;
Day by day, through grace restored,
Imitate my Blessed Lord.

“Give my kindest regards to your dear papa and
mamnia, and believe me ever your loving
“AunrT FANNY.”
Sunday came,—a soft, shining day,—and the little
birds sang their hymns of praise all through the leafy
‘trees.
B




18 GREAT RICHES, |

The children went to church with their parents
morning and afternoon, and then gathered round the
tea-table, talking pleasantly. The sweet breath of
honeysuckles came in through the open windows;
bird after bird flew by in the golden sunset air, chirp-
ing “Good-night ;” the bees were hurrying home
laden with honey ; and all the sweet little whispering,
drowsy insect-sounds, which are only heard in the
country as God made it, came gently breaking through
the stillness.

Many a time did the little feet of the younger chil-
dren go pattering down the stone path of the garden,
so that they might peep out in the lane to see if Mrs
‘Marble, who had been invited by their mamma, was
in sight. She had been invited to hear the story read,
as a return for the rude manner in which Fred had
behaved in running off with the letter; for she was
a good old soul, and very fond of the children when
they did not tease her, which, however, they very
often did. When she did appear, a wild burst of
joy broke from the children, and they all ran out to,
meet her ; and the good old lady arrived in the midst
of a sort of triumphal procession, quite breathless and
rather flustered. ‘

But the kind greeting of the children’s parents soon
put her at her ease; and when she sat down with
them in her nice black silk dress, which her good son
Gam, the blacksmith, had given her seven years ago,

\


INTRODUCTION. 19

she looked, as Fred said, “like a perfect old dar-
ling.”

It was intensely interesting to the children to ob-
serve the careful manner in which Mrs Marble took
out of her pocket an immense red silk pocket-hand-
_kerchief, unfolded it, and spread it over her lap, and
the anxiety with which she made sure that it was
awitched square, and straight, and then to see her give
her wig a little pull on the right side, and a little pull
on the left, and settle her iron-bound spectacles firmly
on the bridge of her nose.

At length everything was arranged. So Fred got
the manuscript ready, and with the warm sunset glow- -
ing on the page he began to read

Aunt Fanny’s SunpDay Srory,






CHAPTER I.
DISCONTENT.

ELLY RIVERS was so tired of that room! |
She had counted every spot in the dark-
blue ingrain carpet. She had gazed
wearily upon the bare blue-painted walls,

and blue chintz-covered furniture, the plainest of its

kind, until her great dark eyes fairly ached for the
sight of something pretty. 5 :
The room was the parlour of her father’s parsonage,
Jor Mr Rivers was a clergyman. The ministers of
some rich city churches find it hard to live upon
fifteen hundred pounds a year, and expect to have
their houses refurnished and themselves sent abroad
every two or three years besides ; and it is not to he
wondered at if Mr Rivers was unable to buy beautiful

furniture with only a hundred and twenty pounds a

year for his salary.

If the things of this world were all that Christians
had to hope for or desire, little Nelly would not have




DISCONTENT. a

been to blame in wishing for some pretty picture or
tasteful ornament to brighten up the plain parlour
of the rectory. She was an imaginative little body,
with a great admiration for beauty in every shape ; so
it came to pass that in her eyes the scantily-furnished
room and dusty village street so close to the door,
which formed the only view from the window, were
rather forlorn.

There she sat, her hands folded listlessly, until at
last out came a loud “Oh dear! I am so tired of this
old house! I almost wish it would burn up!”

The door leading from the parlour to the study wag
ajar. As Nelly said these words, it suddenly opened,
and Mr Rivers’s kind, smiling face looked down upon
her.

“Why, what a dreadful wish!” he said, coming to-
wards her, and taking a handful of her shining curls
in his grasp. ‘“ What can be the matter with my
little Nelly ?” ;

“Oh, I’m tired of everything, papa.”

“Everything?” repeated her father, “That isa
terrible feeling in a grand, beautiful world like this,
which God has made and called ‘very good.’ I did
hope you were not tired of me, for one thing.”

“Oh no, papa!” cried Nelly, earnestly. “I love
you dearly ;” and she gave his hand a loving little
squeeze against her cheek.

“Well, is it either of your brothers or baby-sister?”
“22 GREAT RICHES.

“Oh no, no; papa! that is not what I meant. J
never could get tired of you, or dear mamma, or my
sister or brothers; but this room—it’s so stupid!’
If we only had some pretty pictures to hang up, or
some vases, or great looking-glasses and beautiful cur-
tains, all lace and gold, like Mrs Gray’s. I do wish I
was rich.”

“Come here, my little girl,” said Mr Rivers, and he
led Nelly gently into the study, which was at the back
of the house, and seating himself in his arm-chair,
took her on his knee. Then looking. gravely in her
face, he said,— So, if God had seen fit to give you
wealth, you would selfishly and foolishly spend it on
worthless ornaments which could be of no possible
service? Do you believe this is the right use of
money, Nelly?”

“Well, perhaps not, papa.”

“J think I am a very happy man, yet there are
certainly no pictures in my room,” continued her
father, smiling. “If I want a painting, only see what
a beautiful one I have there!”

He pointed, as he spoke, from the study-window,
to where a glimpse of the river could be seen shining
through the yellow-green leaves of the willows, and —
the white spire of the village church, with its golden
arrow on the top, made a bright spot in 1 the pleasant
summer sunlight.

Nearer by, Nelly’s two little brothers were watch-


DISCONTENT. 23

ing with delight some young ducks who were waddling
‘ about and tumbling sideways into a small pond. Be-
hind them two little dogs were frolicking, pretending
to bite each other’s ears off, and barking such funny,
quick barks that it must have been laughing, dog-
fashion ; while in the distance could be seen the large
handsome mansion in which Flora Gray lived.

Nelly looked through the blinds at all this in silence.
The study-window was at the back of the house, and
the view was really a peaceful, charming scene; so,
when Mr Rivers asked, “Don’t you call that pretty,
Nelly?” she was forced in truth to answer, “Yes,
papa.”

“Then, if you have such a lovely picture painted
by the hand of God, you surely need not be unhappy
because you cannot buy the inferior work of men’s
hands.” _

“T suppose not,” said Nelly, in a hesitating tone.

“Then, what is it you want so much, little
daughter?”

“Well now, let me tell.you, papa. Of course .
would give to the poor, if I were rich! but there are

». so many things that rich people can do and have be-
sides! Yesterday, mamma sent me with a note to

. ‘Mrs Gray’s, at Woodlawn, and while I waited for her



to answer it, Flora Gray showed me all her pretty
things. You don’t know what a beautiful baby-doll
she has !—almost as large as sister Bessie,—and such


b

24 GREAYL RICHES.

a sweet little cradle for it! and a whole book-case to
herself, full of story-books; and that morning her
papa had given her a box of sugar-plums, as big as
your sermon-paper box! such ‘good ones! Then the
room was so beautifully furnished, and Flora had on
such a pretty dress! But just as we were beginning a
nice play, Mrs Gray finished her note, and I had to
go; for though Flora begged me to stay, I knew I
must get home at once to take care of the children.
Now, if we were like the Grays, mamma could have a
nurse, and I could have pretty dresses and dolls too ;
—and, O dear papa! then you need not write so
hard and long, and if anybody gave you the least nice
little thing, you need not send it right away to some
sick person ;” here Nelly paused rather suddenly in
her torrent of talk, for she saw that her father was
looking both surprised and somewhat grieved.

“Ah, now we come at the root of the matter,” he
said. “My Nelly is fretting and making herself un-
happy because she has the care of her little brothers
and sister a part of the day, and because Flora Gray
has more playthings and books than herself! Would
she be willing to let poor old Aunt Betsy, or the la
shoemaker, want the comforts that I can give the
so that I might take the money and buy toys and fine
clothes for her? Does she feel as if her mother was
imposing cruelly upon her, by asking her little girl's
assistance in a few of very many cares?”





cf

DISCONTENT. 25

Nelly blushed deeply, and hung down her head.
“T am sorry I was so ungrateful and naughty, papa,”
she murmured at last; “please forgive me! Indeed,
I will never be so bad again! JI did feel when I was
coming from Flora’s as if I was an ill-used little girl,
—and—I’m afraid I was cross to Willie afterwards.
Oh, papa, I am sorry!” and she burst into tears.

Mr Rivers drew her gently to his breast and kissed
her cheek. Then he said, in a sorrowful tone,—“ My
darling, you are envious of those better off than your-
self; did you ever think that poor old bedridden Aunt
Betsy and the lame shoemaker could with the same
feeling wonder why you or I should be more prosper-
ous and happy than they? Would you care to be
like Aunt Betsy?”

“Oh dear, no! papa.”

“Then you think God has been kinder to you than
to her?” ‘

“Oh, papa, I see I have been very wicked,”

“Yes, Nelly, guilty of envy and discontent: two
terrible sins. Pray to be delivered from them; let
your entreaty be,—‘ Create in me a new heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me.’ God will help
you to conquer these sinful feelings. Now, would
you like me to show you God’s way to become rich?”

“Why, yes, papa,” answered the little girl, looking
up in his face with wondering eyes. “I did not know
the Bible told us anything about that,”
6 GREAT RICHES.

Mr Rivers took a Testament from his desk, and
opening it at the First Epistle of Paul to Timothy,
pointed out these words,— Godliness is great riches.”

“Does that mean that if we are good, it is just the
same as being rich?” asked Nelly.

“Read the rest of the verse,” answered her father ,
and she repeated, “ Godliness is great riches, 7f a man
be content with that he hath.”

“Oh,” said Nelly, pondering, with her finger on her
lip; “we must be content then ; that is the reason old
Aunt Betsy is so thankful and happy the whole time,
She is content,—is she not?”

“Yes; whatever God pleases to give her is just
right. ‘Thy will be done,’ is her heart’s prayer.
Make it yours, little Nelly, and you will care less and
less for the perishing riches of this world, and more
and more. for that everlasting treasure which ‘neither
moth nor rust doth corrupt. Will you try to do
this?” “

“Yes, papa,” said Nelly, softly.

“Well, then, suppose we make a plan for you, little
daughter. When you find yourself feeling discon-
tented, remember the text and try to gain that ‘godli-
ness’ which is better than all the gold and: silver in
the world. Promise me to try this for a whole year,
and at the end we will see how it has succeeded, and
whether poor little Nelly Rivers has not become a
very rich little girl.”


DISCONTENT. 27

The child’s eyes filled with tears. She did not
speak, but curled her arms round her father’s neck
and gave him a “good hug;” then slipping down
from his knees, she ran out of the room and up-stairs
to the nursery,






CHAPTER I,
TRYING TO BE GOOD.

RS RIVERS was ‘seated near the window
sewing, — that never-ending sewing of
mothers, with young children. Rover, a
great dog, lay at her side, one paw folded -

over the other, lazily winking at the flies, and baby

Bessie, who was just a year old, was in her cradle,—

her blue eyes wide open, watching the bright spots of

sunlight on the wall, and pretending to be trying to
go to sleep as soon as possible ; but though she was
quite good and quiet as long as her mother rocked the
cradle with her foot, the moment she chanced to stop,

a pitiful wail was set up, two chubby legs were raised,

and off went the pretty white blanket, kicked on the

floor.
Here was a chance for Nelly. “ Mamma,” said
she, “you go into the next room with your work, and

I will rock Bessie and sing her to sleep.”







“TRYING TO BE Goon. As the baby made. no objection to this arrange-
ment, Mrs Rivers went softly out, first ‘Kissing. Nelly
_ and giving her a glance so full of love that the child’s ©
2 heart thrilled with happiness, | pain of the « riches iW
had come already. ee
‘She ran to a closet and ioe out he own dear doll,
cand laid it in the cradle beside little Bessie, who
: hugged it to her little breast with delight ; then softly
rocking, she sang in her sweet voice this little song :—

God Gace toall.
~~ Talents few or many ;
None so young and small
That, they have not any.

¢ Though the great and wise’
Haye a greater number, oe
Yet my one I prize,
; And it-must not slumber
“God will surely ask,
" Ere T-enter heaven,
Ilave I done the task
Which to me was given?





eye eee se Little dreps of rain.
: Bring the springing Howera,
And I may attain
Much by little powers. .



-& Every little mite,”
Every little measure,
Helps to spread the light,

1 slp te to swell: the Areal 2



Long Ge ae pretty gong was finished, the baby’s



30 - “GREAT RICHES.

eyelids began to creep down over her blue eyes, and
soon she was in a sound, quiet sleep.

Then Nelly stepped on the very tips of her little
toes into the next room and whispered to her mother,
—“Can I help you, dear mamma? Bessie is fast
asleep.” :

“You may mend these stockings of your brothers,
dear,” she answered, lifting a bundle from the heaped-
ap work-basket beside her.

A great frown gathered on Nelly’s face, and her
-mouth opened to ask in a fretful tone,—“ What! @d/
those?” when she checked herself, and saying in her
heart this little prayer,—“ Dear Jesus, help me to be
good,” she spoke out cheerfully,—“ Yes, mamma, I
will do them immediately ;.” and bringing her little
chair'and basket, she sat down with the big bundle
of stockings, determined to mend every one of them.

Her two little brothers, tired of watching the young
ducks, had come into this room. One was crawling —
about the floor, looking for pins. His mamma had
promised to give him a penny for fifty pins, and he
found a number every day. The other little fellow
was very busy cutting paper with a pair of old scissors,
saying he -was making a paper elephant ‘for the
baby. ;

Presently he got tired of making elephants, and
throwing down his scissors, he ran to the back of
Nelly’s chair, and climbing 1p with great difficrlty,


TRYING TO BE GOOD. 31

put his chubby arms around her neck, reached down
and snatched the stocking out of her hand.

“Come, play with me,” he said.

“Nelly must do-her work,” said his mother.

“But I am so tired,” pleaded little Willie.

’ “And I can’t find any more-pins,” said Maitland,
who was called “ Maity,” for shortness.

“Well, then,” said his mamma, “shall I tell you all
a story ?”

This delightful offer was received with such a shout
of joy, that Nelly had to run into the next room, to
tock the cradle, for fear the baby might wake up ina
fight ; but the dear little thing only opened one eye,
and the next moment was just as sound asleep as
before.

The good child came softly back, and Mrs Rivers
said,—* What shall the story be about?”

Nelly thought a moment, with her finger on her .
lip; then she said,—‘ About when you were a little -
girl, mamma.”

“Oh, yes, yes!” chimed in the boys, their eyes
sparkling ; and she began as you will read in the next
chapter.




CHAPTER III.
MRS RIVERS’S STORY.

HEN I was a little girl, my father said te
me, one pleasant summer morning,—
‘1’m going to Newburgh, on business,
and you may go with me if you choose,’
“You may be sure I was perfectly delighted, and

skipped off to tell my mother and get ready.”

“Where was I then?” asked Willie, in a grieved
tone. ‘Why didn’t you take me?”

Nelly laughed merrily at this question, and hei
mother smiled, as she replied,—“ You were not in
the world at all, or I should certainly have taken
such a dear little tot with me on my excursion.”

“Qh, would you?” said Willie, much comforted ;
and Mrs Rivers continued,—“So my father had the
little carriage brought to the door, mother kissed me,
and bid me be a good gu] and brother Robert, who


MRS RIVERS S STOR Y. 33

‘was a great tease, pretended to be crying his eyes
almost out with grief at my departure. Meanwhile,
father put a basket in the carriage that had in it two
white chickens, and stood waiting for me to come.”

“ Grandpa Woodward wasn’t a farmer,—was he?”
asked Nelly.

“No; but he was very proud of his chickens, and
he meant to give these to a minister in town, whom
we were going to visit.”

Mrs Rivers had lost both her father and mother
when she was a young girl, and her children were
always very much interested to know about the dear
grandma and grandpa, whom they could never see on
earth.

Nelly’s question answered, her mother went on with
the story, thus:— We rode along for some time in
silence, and then I began to ask some questions.

“<¢ How far is it to Newburgh, father?’ I said

*¢ About fourteen miles,’ he replied.

“Fourteen miles! oh, what along way! Will it
take us all day to get there?’

“*Why, no,’ said my father, laughing; ‘we shall
get there in about two hours and a half,’

“*Do people who go to see ministers always have
to take them chickens?’ was my next question.

“*T’m sure I don’t know,’ said father, laughing
again. ‘I am going to give these chickens to Mr

Russell, because I know he can’t get such another
c
34 GREAT RICHES.

pair to-_purchase anywhere.’ Here the two chickens
gave such a ‘ Cluck, cluck !’ together, as much as to
say, ‘That’s a fact.’

“Presently we came to a toll-house, and had to
stop and pay toll. There was an old gray cat sunning
herself on the window-seat, with three little kittens
nestled up against her. One had a blue ribbon tied
round its neck, the second a pink, and the third a red
tibbon.

“Oh, what dear little things!’ I cried.

“*Would you like to have one, Miss?’ et ae
toll-keeper’s wife. :

“Oh! may I, papa?’ I exclaimed.

«Vou can take one if you choose, Nelly,’ he re
plied ; ‘but don’t you think it will be rather in the
way?’

“«Why, papa, a dear little kitten couddw’t be in
the way. May I have the one with ‘the white
nose 1”

“Why! was your name Nelly, too?” interrupted
Nelly opening her eyes wide.

“My name is Nelly now,” answered her mother,
smiling.

“Oh, no, it isn’t. Papa calls you ‘ Pussy.’”

“Well, that isa pet name, just as I call you my
little robin.”

“Oh,” said Nelly ; and she jumped up to give her
mother a little affectionate squeeze round her neck,
MRS RIVERS'S STORY. 35

and whisper,—“I’m so dreadful glad your name is
Nelly. I love you, mamma.”

Mrs Rivers kissed the dear little girl, and then
went on with her story.

“The good-natured woman gave me the kitten
with the white. nose, and I kissed and thanked her,
and off we rode. ‘The poor little thing didn’t seem
very happy at being carried off from its mother, and
mewed piteously at first,.but after a while it cuddled
itself down in my lap and went sound asleep.

“We had a pleasant ride to town, and when we
rattled at last over the stones of the streets, I was
very much interested in looking at the numbers of
people, and the shops, which seemed quite grand to
a little country girl like me. Presently we drew up at
a confectioner’s, and my father stopped the waggon,
and went in to buy me a luncheon.”

“What did he bring you?” asked Nelly.

“He proupe me some rice- cakes, and some rusks,
and a pie.”

“Oh, how good! I wish you had taken me!” Sed
both Willie and Maity.

“Next time I go, I will,” said Mrs Rivers, laugh-
ing.

“Very well,” answered Willie. “Then what did
grandpa do?”

“He got into the carriage again, and we drove toa
saddler’s, where he stopped once more.
36 GREAT RICHES,

“ «Now, Nelly, he said, ‘I am going to be here
some time; do you think you will be afraid to stay
in the waggon alone?’

“Qh, no, father! I shonld like to stay here very
much,’

“Very well, he said. ‘I will fasten Lennox,
(that was the horse,) so he.cannot get away, and be
back as soon as possible.’

“So saying, he entered the saddler’s store. There
were blue blinds to the lower part of the window, and -
the door was made of thick, rough glass, so that it
was not very easy to look out, I suppose, and impos
sible to see in.

“There I sat, munching my cake and nursing my
kitten, quite contented and happy.

“Presently a very odd-looking old man came
along. He was dressed in dirty, ragged clothes,
and had a long peacock’s feather, and some flying
paper-streamers fasteried to his broken straw hat, for
the poor old fellow was crazy.

“TY was looking at him, and wondering what could
be the matter with him, when all at once he came up
close to the carriage and stared in.

“* Ho! little gal!’ he said in a hoarse voice, grin-
ning at me,—‘ what’s that? cake ?’

“T was terribly eels) but managed to stam-
mer out,—‘ Yes, sir.’

“é What do you mean by eine me sir?’ he ex
MRS RIVERS’S STORY, 37

claimed, in a sudden, angry tone. ‘How dare yout
Give me that cake! it’s mine!’ And before I could
help it, he snatched my pie, and ate it up at two
mouthfuls.”

“Oh! what dd you do?” exclaimed Nelly breath
lessly. ‘* What a dreadful old man!”

“Poor mamma! Maity so, sorry!” said little
Maity.

“T was so frightened,” continued Mrs Rivers,
“that I stared at him without saying a word,—then
I exclaimed,—‘ Oh, please don’t,— please go away !’
and began to cry.

“¢ Then give me some more cake!’ said the silly
creature, fiercely, ‘ or I’ll get into the waggon and ride
you off to the moon! The man-in-the-moon knows
me, and he’s very fond o’ fat little gals! Ow!’ and
he made a sort of snap at me with his mouth wide
open.

“Qh, take it all,—only go-away!' I cried; and I
held out all the rusks and cake I had had, except the
one I had eaten,—and, ee any face in my hands,
_ cried harder than ever.’

“Why didn’t Cane see him and stop him?”
asked Nelly, half crying herself.

“Partly, my dear child, because in a large town,
people seem to think of no one but themselves. No
matter what happens in the street, if a little child is
being abused, or a lady injured, nine people out of
38 GREAT RICHES.

ten wil think, ‘Oh, it’s none of my business,—{
sha’n’t interfere ;’ and they walk on, like the priest
and Levite of old, without caring what becomes of
the poor traveller. Besides, the old man was well
known in Newburgh, and no one thought him likely
to do any harm, I suppose.”

“ Well,—go on,—please,” said all the children at
once.

“As I told you, I hid my face in my hands, and
wished for my father. Suddenly I heard a loud shout
of ‘Hoo! Hurrah!’ the waggon was jerked suddenly.
forwards,—I raised my head, and found the old man
had unharnessed Lennox, and was shouting at the top
of his voice to set him running !

“ The poor terrified horse started off at full speed,
I holding to the sides of the carriage, and screaming
forhelp. J fortunately remembered what father once
told me, never to try to get out of a waggon when a
horse was running away, or I might have been killed.
The boys shouted, people on the footpath stopped to
stare at the show, and several men ran after the
carriage, trying to catch the dragging reins, and shout-
ing ‘Whoa! at the tops of their voices. This only
frightened the horse more than ever, and in his terror
he turned the corner of another street, and rushed
down that, till we were far away from the place where
I had left father, and yet seemed no more likely to
stop than at first,—particularly as the crowd followed
SIRS RIVERS’S STORY. 39

us and increased by the way. At last, not seeming
to see where he was going, Lennox ran right up
against a large country waggon, struck one of the
shafts against it, and broke it directly in two! The
shock stopped him, and one of the men catching the
reins at the same moment, guided him to the side of
the road. Of course everybody else stopped to see
the fun, on the spot ;—a crowd of little boys stared
and grinned at me,—and one, more kind-hearted than
the rest, climbed up on the carriage-step, and offered
me a very sticky bit of candy to comfort. me, saying,
-—'Don’t cry, Missy ; here, take that.’

“But I could not take the candy. I was toa
frightened. I only hugged my kitten, who all this
time had been clinging to my dress with its little
claws, and mewing piteously, and sobbed out,—“ Oh,
please take me back to father! oh, please take me
back to father !’

_ *Where is your father?’ asked the man who had
stopped the horse, in a kind voice. )

““« Fle went into.a saddler’s shop, sir,—a shop with
blue blinds, and a kind of thick glass door; and then
the old crazy man came and untied the horse, and
set him off with me! Oh, dear, dear !’”

Here'little Willie, who was very sensitive, and had
been listening to the story with quivering lips and
tearful eyes, exclaimed, “ Oh, dear!” too, and, hiding
his face against Nelly’s shoulder, began to cry very hard.
‘40 GREAT RICHES.

“Why, don’t cry, little boy!” said his mother,
cheerily. “Tt is all over now, and you see I got off
quite safely, or I should not be here to tell you the
story,—should I?”

“Oh, but Willie so sorry!” said the child, looking
up in his mother’s face.

“Shall I stop the story, then?”

“Oh no! please go on, mamma. I won’t cry any
more.” ,

“Well, when I gave this description of the saddler’s
shop, the man said,—‘ Oh, I think it’s Hartley's; I
can take you there.’ So he sent one of the staring
boys into a shop for a piece of stout cord, and having
tied the broken shaft together as well as he could, he
got into the carriage beside me and drove Lennox
slowly back the way we had come.

“My father met us on the road; he had heard the
noise in the street, and rushed out of the saddler’s
just in time to see Lennox disappear round the corner.
I can’t tell you how glad he was to find me unhurt,
nor how, as he hugged me up to his breast and kissed
me twenty times, he declared over and over that he
would never leave his little Nelly alone again, He
thanked the kind man for bringing me back, and
wanted to give him some money, as he looked poor,
but he would not take it, and so we bid him good-bye
and left him.”

“Then did you go to the minister’s?” asked Nelly,
MRS RIVERS'S STORY. 4

“Yes; we drove there directly, and found them
just sitting down to dinner, thinking we were not
coming. Kitty and I had as much roast lamb and
mashed potatoes as we could eat—and hungry enough
we were, I can tell you.”

“Oh, Iso glad you had lamb!” said Willie.

“Then, after that, what do you think we had for
dessert?” said Mrs Rivers, smiling.

“What?” asked the children in a breath.

“Why, nice apple pies! So I had one, after all.”

“How nice! Well, what happened after that?”
they all asked.

“T think the next thing was that my father went otf
to the blacksmith’s to get the shaft of the carriage
patched somehow or other, and I went up-stairs with
the minister’s wife. I felt so tired and sleepy after
my long ride and the fright, that, when Mrs Russell
asked me if I would like to lie down a short time, I
said ‘Yes, ma’am,’ directly; and my head had hardly
touched the pillow when I went fast asleep.

“ About half-past five Mrs Russell woke me gently,
and told me father was ready to start. The carriage
was at the door, and in a few minutes we were in it
once more,—with the empty basket riding in state on
the back seat, and kitty in my lap. It was a very
close, sultzy afternoon; and as we got out of New-
burgh, and were toiling slowly along the up-hill road,
my father said —' I rather wish I had waited an hour
42 GREAT RICHES.

longer, Nelly; it seems to me we are going to have a
thunder-shower.’

“Qh, father,’ I cried, ‘a thunder-storm! how
dreadful! Do, please, drive back,—I am so afraid of
thunder.’ ;

“Just as I spoke we heard the first distant peal,
and saw the bright flash of lightning far away. .

“¢ Oh, papa! what shall we do?’ I cried.

“ Is it possible, Nelly, that you are afraid of thunder?’ °

“¢ Indeed I am, father?’ I said.

“* But, my dear child, if there were any danger,
have you not faith to believe that God would protect
you? A thunder-storm is a great benefit and bless-
ing to the earth ; and if God can keep the little birds
and all other living creatures from harm, will He not
care for you 3:50 1?

“¢But perhaps the lightning will strike us?’

“No; it cannot harm us while there are no trees
near us to attract it; and as for the thunder, that is
only a noise ; and you are not afraid of a noise,—are
you?’ :
“Why, no,’ I said, beginning to laugh at my
foolish terror. Just then, however, a much louder
crash than before set me trembling again, and I hid
my face against kitty’s soft fur, while father got out
of the carriage, and, bidding me hold the reins, un-
fastened the leather curtains on each side and behind,


‘MRS RIVERS’S STORY. 43

and fastened them down securely. Then he took the
reins again, while I scrambled over to the back seat,
and seating himself beside me, just as the first heavy
drops pattered down, we drove along through the
storm.

“T can never forget how kindly he soothed and
talked away my silly terror at the thunder and light-
ning, instead of scolding me, as some fathers would
have done, and told me some beautiful verses about
a thunder-storm, which made me quite forget to be
afraid.”

“Won't you tell me the verses?” said Nelly.

“Y¥ will if I can remember them. It is so long ago
now, that I have nearly forgotten what they were.
Let me think.” Mrs Rivers paused for a moment,
and then -said—‘* Oh, now I believe I can repeat
them. ‘They are called

“THE LITTLE BOY AND THE THUNDER-STORM,
“«The thunder-storm is coming!
I hear its distant roar !
Oh, hide me, sistér, hide me quick,
Until its rage is o'er.

“ «The brilliant lightning blinds me!
T see the pouring rain;
The thunder deafens me to hear,—
Ilark! there it comes again.

©«Oh, take me, sister, on your lap,
And let me hide my eyes
Against your breast, who love me wed,
Till shine the gloomy skies,
44 GREAT RICHES.

“¢¥or Gop is in the thunder,
Theard.my nurse-maid say;
Tt is His wrathful voice we hear ;-«
Oh, sister, let us pray !’

“*Nay, then, my darling brother,’
The loving sister said,
‘If Gop is in the raging storm,
We need not be afraid.

“<¥tis anger, like the thunder,
Comes pealing from above;
The lightning seems His awful eya,-=
But ah! the razz’s His love,

“Tt moistens and refreshes
The hot and thirsty plain,
Until the drooping corn and flowers
Are fresh and bright again,

“* The lightning purifieth,
Like sorrow’s fearful shock ;
It smites the noxious weeds of sin,
But cannot touch ‘‘our Rock.””?

“ Then, looking up to heaven,—
‘Behold! His grace divine
Has made upon the brilliant blue
A bow of promise shine,

** And His kind voice doth whisper—-
“Weep, little one, no mo e;
My love has cleared the gloomy skies:
The thunder-storm is o’er!””?

“As my father finished these verses, the clouds
broke away, the sun came out in all its splendour, and
right before us we saw a magnificent rainbow!

“Oh, how it seemed to cheer and lighten my heart!


MRS RIVERSS STORY. 45

I gave father a good hug and kiss for his kindness,
and promised I would never again feel any foolish
dread of.a thunder-storm.”

“ And didn’t you?” asked Nelly,

‘No, never ; if ever I began to have some of my
terrors, I always repeated to myself,—t But ah! the
rain’s His love !’—and then I grew cheerful again.”

“ Well, what happened after that?”

““ Why, after that, I and papa, and kitty and Len-
nox, and the basket, and the carriage, all got home
safe together, and had a famous tea of bread and
milk,—that is, kitty and I did. So there’s the end
of my history-book, rorum, corum, torum!” said Mrs
Rivers, smiling. 35

“And my stockings too!” cried Nelly. “ Why,
there weren't so many, after all! Thank you, mamma |
for your story. I mean to learn that piece of poetry
by heart, if you will copy it for me.”.

“Will you copy it for me, too?” said Willie. -

“Oh, you little goose! you can’t read yet!” cried
Nelly.

“Am I a goose?” asked Willie, putting up his
lip.

“JT think your sister forgot when she: said that,”
said Mrs Rivers, gently.

Nelly blushed. “Iam sorry, mamma. No, Willie,
you are not a goose, and I will teach you the verses,
if you like.”
46 GREAT RICHES.

The little boy curled his chubby arms round his
sister's neck. “I love you, Nelly,” he said, softly ;.
and the mother smiled sweetly on her good children.

It was now nearly dinner-time, and Mrs Rivers

_ went down-stairs to direct the servant; while Nelly,
looking into the next room, and seeing that the baby
was still asleep, gave each of her little brothers a
pencil and a piece of paper, and sat down herself to
read a nice new book which had been sent to her.
It was called “The Standard-Bearer,” and contained
a letter from “ Aunt Fanny.”
_ This letter was written when Dr Anthon, one of
Yhe best and purest of God’s ministers, was alive,
not long after he went to sit for ever at the feet of the
Beloved Master, whom he had served so faithfully
while here upon earth.

Nelly knew and loved “Aunt Fanny” ay, so
she read her letter the very first thing. Here it is,

No, here it isn’t; because I think my good little
hearts reading this will like to know, what I omitted .
to mention in the letter,—namely, that the children
there spoken of had learned some verses in the Bible,
besides their Catechism ; and as these verses were
about a most touching incident in the life of our
Saviour, which happened shortly before His death, I
will repeat them here. They are from the twelfth
chapter of the Gospel according to John, beginning
at the twelfth verse ;-—


MRS. RIVERS’S STORY. 47

“On the next day much people that were come to
the féast, when they heard that Jesus was coming to

erusalem,

“Took branches of palm trees, and went forth to
meet him, aud cried, Hosanna: Blessed is the King
of Israel that cometh in the name of the Lord.

“And Jesus, when he had found a young ass, sat
thereon ; as it is written,

fe Rear not, daughter of Sion: behold, thy King
cometh, sitting on an ass’s colt.”

_ See, my darlings, how the prophecy was fulfilled
which was written in the book of the Old Testament,
called Zechariah, ninth chapter, ninth verse,—written
years and years before our Saviour was born.
Here it is:-—“ Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Sion;
shout, O daughtér of Jerusalem: behold, thy King
cometh unto thee: He is just, and having salvation ;
lowly, and nding upon an ass, and upon a colt, the
foal of an ass.”

This was on the first day of the week in which our
Saviour was crucified. He entered Jerusalem, the
Holy City, riding in this lowly fashion, while the
multitude waved palm branches before. Him, and
sang hosannas, strewing their garments in His path.

And yet, before the week was out, the same multi-
tude cried, “ Away with Him! crucify Him!” He
knew this was to be, so He rode on in silence and
full of grief.
as. | GREAT RICHES.

On this day, also, Jesus scourged the money.
changers, and the buyers and sellers in the Temple.
He. healed numbers of the sick, lame, and blind;
and many of the chief priests did in fact believe
on Him, though they were afraid to confess Him
openly.

Jn the evening our Saviour returned to Bethany
with the twelve apostles, and was probably the guest
of Lazarus and his good and pious sisters,

Now I will give you the little story from thé
“ Standard-Bearer.” Every word is true; and it was
wy Alice who made the sveech in church, |




CHAPTER IV.

A LETTER FROM “AUNT FANNY,” TELLING HOW ALICE
"SPOKE IN CHURCH.

ss EAR LittLe Frrenps,—I ami almost cer

tain you would like to hear what hap-
pened in our church one pleasant Sunday
afternoon ; and so I mean to tell you.
“Dr Anthon’s class of dear little children had
gathered round his chair in the afternoon, to say
their Catechism for the last time that season. The
beloved rector, after the services were over and the



rest of the people had left the church, had seated |

himself, as usual, within the chancel, with a pleasant
smile upon his face, and the little ones hastened up
the aisles, and knelt around the railings.

“They had a pretty long task to recite, for they had
agreed to learn a hymn,—each to select his or her

favourite one, and as many as five verses long,—in
D
50 GREAT RICHES.

addition to two pages of Catechism No wonder one
little girl said it was ‘quite a heap of lessons ;’ but,
notwithstanding, she meant to ‘learn them all per.
fect.’ And so she did.

e The hymns of the children were all beautiful, anil
all well spoken ; and tender and loving tears glistened
‘nthe eyes of the good mothers who sat near and
listened.

“When all the lessons were through, ime kind rector
made this little speech :—

“Children, you will remember I promised that you
should decide what I was to do with your chance*
offerings. Ihave a littke memorandum here, which
says you have given me twenty-one shillings and
eightpence. Now what shall I do with this money}
You know that there are foreign missions and home
missions. One good minister told you, some time
ago, what was doing in China, and it was very inter-
esting ; and another one, a little while since, told you
what had been done in Africa. He said to me after-
wards that there were two young coloured men in
Africa, who were very anxious to be educated so as to
become God’s holy. ministers in their own country.
It would require about fifty pounds to ‘do it, and he
was afraid he would not be able to get the money.
Then I told him to take hope and comfort to his
heart, for I thought I could promise him the money ;
—and what do you think has happened? Why, this
LETTER FROM AUNT FANNY. 51

very morning the congregation have given very nearly
enough for this excellent purpose, which makes me
feel very happy. Now, what do you say? Shall your
money go with the other to educate the young men?
Will you give it to Africa? Who says yes?’

“Then a thoughtful-looking, dark-eyed little girl,
whom Aunt Fanny calls Evangeline in her heart, but
- whose real name is Mary, ran to her father to know
‘what she should do; and Alice, another little one,

whom you all know, asked her mother, and when

. they turned back they said, ‘Yes, sir, give it to
Africa ;’ and little ‘Emma, the tiniest of the flock,
said, ‘Yes!’ and Laura, after glancing her bright
eyes towards her mother, said, ‘Yes!’ and the good
rector was looking very much pleased, when quite un-
expectedly, Clara said, ‘o7/’ and William, one of
" the brightest boys I ever saw, said ‘iVo/’ too, very
decidedly indeed.

“What was to be done? The kind tector looked
puzzled, and the good mothers smiled and whispered
to-each othef that the children knew perfectly well
what they were about, and meant to have this mo-
mentous business of giving their money to the mis
sionaries settled to their own minds; the only trouble
was, they were not all of ome mind. This sometimes
happens with grown-up people,—but perhaps I ought
to have kept that a secret.

“«Well, said Dr Anthon, pleasantly, ‘this is quite
52 GREAT RICHES.

a difficulty ; four against two. Still, I have great
hopes for Africa.’ ;

“Then Alice, in a sweet little piping, lisping, voice
was heard to say,—‘Dr Anthon, suppose we divide
the money every, and give half to Africa, and half
to home missions,—wouldn’t that be better?’

“* Ah!’ said the good rector, while a smile broke
all over his face, ‘that’s an excellent idea! very
good indeed ; we will put it to vote.’ So he asked
all the children one by ene, and a joyful ‘Yes!’ was
the answer from all. They seemed so glad thus te
settle the difficulty, and to help both; it was really
delightful to think, that, if they were only little chil-
dren, they could help along God’s work! and thus
their tiny offerings were doubly blest.

“And now, children, said the rector, ‘I do not
intend you shall learn the Catechism when we meet -
again, as some of you have been through it more than
once. I mean to form you into a little Bible-class;
—how would you like that?’

“T only wish you could have seen the row of dimples
that came out on their bright little faces when he said
this!

“Why, just think of it! A Bible-class, like great
grown-up people! It was perfectly delightful. They
really began to think they were not such little bodies
after all; and when the good minister had made a
beautiful prayer, asking a blessing upon the lessons
LETTER FROM AUNT FANNY. 53

they had received, the little ones left the chancel, a
joyful happy group.

“As they were walking down the aisle, Laura turned
her bright face up to her mother and whispered,—
‘Mamma, I did wish to speak owt, and say I wanted
the money to go to building the new Sunday school,
or else to be given to the church-building fund.’

“Well, my dear, answered her mother, kindly,
‘I think it will do just as much good where it és
going ;’ which opinion completely dispelled the little
girl's regret, and she was quite satisfied.

“And Alice whispered to fer mother, —‘ Oh,
mamma! wasn’t it good that we divided the money
rventy, because you know Africa might be jealous,—
mightn’t she?’

“Her mother smiled at the word ‘jealous,’ and told
her it was quite right to avoid any risk of that kind,
as jealousy among Christians was a very sad thing

“T wish I could tell you all that Mary, and dear
little Emma, and Clara, and that bright little fellow,
William, said—but my letter is already too long. Of
this, you may be sure, they were all pleased, and
loved their kind rector more than ever, and looked
forward with delightful anticipations to the time when
they would be his dear little Bible-class.

“When that time comes, perhaps you may hear
more about them from your loving, :
“ Aunt Fanny ”
54 REAL RICHES.

Ah! that good time never came ! for the next year,
just at the season when the dear little Bible-class
would have been formed, Dr Anthon went home to
his Father in heaven,

“Coo, coo!” said a soft voice, just as Nelly was
about to read the next story; and two little fat feet
were raised up in the air, and the baby-blanket was
kicked out of the cradle and over on the floor.

49Oh, you darling !” cried Nelly ; “how you kick!
I must pat your little toes.”

She took hold of a chubby foot, and giving each
little toe a shake in turn said :-—~

“This little pig went to market,
This little pig stayed at home ;
This little pig had apple-dumpling,
This little pig had none ;
This little pig said, ‘ Squeak,
Squeak, squeak !’ my apple-dumpling
Is as hard asa stone.”f}

This tickled the baby very much, and she put out
her other foot to be served the same way, when the
dinner-bell rang.

Then Nelly took her up, brushed her few soft hairs.
which made one darling little round curl at the back
of her neck, and calling Willie and Maity, they went
down to dinner.

All the afternoon the little girl tried to win some of
those riches of which her father had told her. You
LETTER FROM AUNT FANNY. 55

see her resolution was fresh and strong, and this made -
' it easy for her to be perfectly good ail this first day,
We shall see, as we go on with her story, whether
this resolve remained steadfast through every trial and
temptation.




CHAPTER V.

THE ROBBER RABBITS.

2%) )LORA GRAY was very fond of Nelly. She
was constantly sending for her to come to
iS2e, Woodlawn, which was the name of their
PN} beautiful place; and Nelly, I am sorry to
relate, would be all smiles, skips, and happiness
while there, but very often came home with an ex-
pression as if somebody had just thrown a glass of
cold water in her face.
There were so many delightful things at Woodlawn.
Besides Flora’s playthings, of which there seemed no
end, there were swans swimming gracefully on the
beautiful little lake ; peacocks strutting up and down,
displaying their gorgeous tails; a pet lamb, that
would eat out of your hand ; little white bantams,
and three pretty lop-eared rabbits, which Nelly never
grew tired of feeding. It was not strange, therefore,
that the little girl should like to go to see Flora,—


THE ROBBER-RABBITS. 57

and perhaps we ought not to blame her for sometimes
wishing she could live as Flora did.

In the very next house to Woodlawn dwelt a
sharp-featured, cross-grained, old fellow whose name
was Squire Dusenberry. He seemed to think that
his eyes were made for nothing but to look as cross
as possible at everybody, and his mouth for no other
purpose but to eat and scold. There were man-traps .
and spring-guns all over his placé, to catch tres-
passers; and you could not enter the gate without a
big dog making a rush at you, and trying to snap at
your legs. If you screamed with fright, Squire Dus-
enberry would come out smacking his lips, and say,
“Think you a'n’t fond of dogs;” and that was all the
comfort you got.

One unlucky Friday, one of the pet rabbits belong- .
ing to Flora found a small round hole in the fence
between Squire Dusenberry’s grounds and Woodlawn.
He immediately called a meeting of the rest of the
rabbits, and proposed that they should burrow under
this hole, and find out what was on the other side.

“My friends,” he said, standing up on his hind-legs
and eagerly erecting his ears,—“ my friends, I think
I smell something remarkably nice on the other side
of this fence. I’m quite tired of staying here for ever,
and having my meals regularly served up four times a
day like two-legged animals. Come, let’s hunt up a
dinner for ourselves,”
58 GREAT RICHES.

. On this, a fat old white rabbit, as round as a dump-
ling, turned her back, observing, “ That little cat of
a rabbit wants to get us all into mischief. I had my
paw well pinched once when I poked my nose where
I had no business to go. J shall stop at home.”

But the others were overjoyed at the chance for an
adventure. They did not pay the slightest attention
to the sensible remarks of the old rabbit, but began
with might and main to throw up the dirt under the
hole in the fence.

Merrily they worked,—their long ears twisting and
turning every way, ready to scamper off and hide,
if the gardener or Flora or her brother Charley
should come that way. But nothing happened, and
at last the hole was large enough for them to squeeze
through.

How perfectly enchanting! They were in the very
middle of Squire Dusenberry’s cabbage-bed. Nothing
could be more splendid or complete to the eyes and
appetite of a rabbit. Just imagine, my good little
hearts, your having a present of a whole barrelful of
candy, and you will know how perfect this was.

In the greatest glee the robber-rabbits commenced
eating, and made such a prodigious snip, snip, snip-
ping! that the fat old rabbit heard them distinctly,
and what is more, she smelt such a delightful odour,
that her very whiskers curled up, and her ears seemed
Starting out of her head.
THE ROBBER-RABBITS. 56

“T can’t afford to lose all the fun,” she said to her-
sclf; so she quietly riggled through the hole in the
fence. She gave a start of delight when she saw the
lovely green cabbages sitting up so round and crisp
in every direction ; after which, you may be sure, the
old soul never waited for the dinner-bell to ring, but
fell to eating as bold as a lion, just as if all the cabbages
belonged to her, and she had nothing to do but to
help herself.

And now all the rabbits were so absorbed in this
delightful employment, that they did not hear old
Squire Dusenberry shuffling along in his carpet
slippers, coming to see and admire his fine vege:
table garden.

All at once. he observed two large white ears waving
back and forth.

“Fullo!” he exclaimed, softly, “if it a’n’t them
plaguy rabbits from Woodlawn eating up my very best
cabbages! I'll punish ’em !”

Breathing hard with rage, he shuffled back to the
house, marched up into his bedroom, and took down
his double-barrelled gun. It was already loaded with
shot enough to kill a dozen rabbits. Then he came
out again so softly that the poor things did not hear
him, or else they might have given the alarm to each:
other by thumping on the ground with one of their
hind-feet. 7

Banc!! Bane !!
60 - GREAT RICHES.

With a cry like a human being, two of the rabbits
leaped up in the air and fell dead! while the poor
old white-rabbit lay panting and bleeding on the
ground, both of her forelegs broken by some of the
cruel shot.

Then this terrible old Squire, what does he do but
tie all three up by the hind-legs, with a piece of twine
he took out of his pocket, and hang them over the
fence,—a warning, he said, to evil-doers. _

The old white rabbit soon died, drawing long gasp-
_ing breaths; and there the three hung so still,—their
long ears stiffened back, their large prominent eyes
without lustre, only fit now to be made into a pie
It was really dreadful |


CHAPTER VL
REVENGE.

S lg @AVHE next day being Saturday, Nelly was in-
vited to spend it at Woodlawn; and as
she had sincerely tried to be a good child
all the week, her kind mother gave her
permission to go.

With joyful skips and bounds the happy little girl
soon arrived at the great house; and of course the
first thing to be done was to go and visit all the pets.
The beautiful swans were coaxed to come up and be
fed with cake; the peacocks were begged to display
their splendid tails; the pet lamb was hugged and
kissed ; and then Flora, Charley, and Nelly went to
look for the pretty white rabbits.

They looked and looked. “Why, where can they
be?” they asked of each other.

“Perhaps they have got into the stable,” said
Charley, “and are feeding with the horses. What



a8
62 GREAT RICHES.

fun! to see them trying to chew up long straws,
which will only tickle their whiskers. Come, let’s
go.”

Off they ran to the stable, and looked into all the
mangers; then they climbed and scrambled up a
_ ladder into the hay-loft, and forgot the rabbits for a
little while, racing around in the greatest glee, and
tumbling the hay about in a way that made the loft
look as ifa regiment of disorderly rats had all built
their nests in it;—and-no doubt its condition set the
head-groom half crazy the next time he went there.

“Isn't this jolly!” cried Charley, turning head- -
over-heels into a great pile of sweet-smelling hay.

“ Perfectly lovely,” said Nelly, tumbling down in
a heap beside him,—her curls tossed all over her
face, and bits of straw sticking up in them in every
direction ; while Flora was trying to walk up what
she called “Straw Hill,” and fell on her nose at every
step, screaming and laughing with delight, and creat.
ing such a dust that all three were seized with a
tremendous fit of sneezing, which, with the laughing
and screaming, seemed enough to take the roof off,
and quite frightened all the horses below. |

At last, breathless with fun, they sat down close to-
gether in the hay, and began to wonder again what
had become of the rabbits,

Presently Flora jumped up and looked through a
tound window at the back of the loft.
REVENGE. 63

The sun was shining brightly upon some white
object which seemed hanging over the fenée at the
very end of the lawn.

“What can it be?” she thought to herself ‘Come
here, Nell !—come, Charley!” she called. “That
can’t be Bunny, down there—can it?”

“Shouldn’t wonder,” answered her brother. “ Let’s
yo and see.”

Up they jumped, and down the ladder they hurried,
nearly breaking their necks, and scampered as fast as
possible to the very end of the green lawn, and rushed
pell-mell up to the poor white rabbits.

For one instant they stood quite still, astonishment
and grief depicted in their faces; then Charley,
springing up on the fence and looking over, saw the
halfeaten cabbages. He understood it at once, and
jumping down, his face crimson with rage, stamping
his foot, he cried out,—‘ That abominable old Squire
Dusenberry has shot them! I know he has! I
could beat him to powder! Ugh! I could scrunch
him ¢”

“The hateful thing!” exclaimed Flora, bursting
into tears.

“The bad, cruel man!” said Nelly, also crying
with all her might.

“T’ll do something to him! I'll kill something
fe loves; I7N—I’ll. Oh, 1’ll punish him!” cried.
Charley, growing more and more angry, as he tenderly
64 GREAT RICHES.

lifted the poor rabbits down. “Just as if he couldn't
spare two or three of his old cabbage-heads !”

“I wish somebody would eat Ais head,” said
Flora.

“Oh, dear me!” sighed Nelly, “what can we do
to him?”

Charley untied the string with which the hind-legs
of his favourites were fastened ; and each taking one,
the children walked slowly back to the stable.

At the door they met Sam the stable-boy, and, all
talking together, informed him of Squire Dusenberry’s
shameful conduct.

Sam rubbed the cuff of his coat over his dirty face
two or three times, to hide a grin, while the dismal
fate of the poor rabbits was related to him; then, as
he was a regular glutton, and was always for getting
the most out of everything, he said, “Well, Master
Charley, I don’t see no occasion to feel so bad about
this here ; rabbit-pie is first-rate feedin’, and they had
got to come to that sooner or later.”

“Oh, you awful boy!” exclaimed Flora, ‘Do
you suppose we can eat our poor rabbits?”

“No, indeed !” cried Charley; “we are going to
bury them. peome, Sam, get the oe and dig a
grave for us.’

“Oh, Miss Flora! they are so very plump! just
feel their backs,”—and Sam lifted poor Bunny and
began pinching her.
REVENGE. 65.

“Yet her alone, you wicked boy !” screamed Flora.
“We are going to bury her,—the others too. Finda
nice box for us, and then hurry and dig a grave.”

Sam grinned again ; and then going into the barn,
he brought out an old empty box. Some hay was put
in the bottom, and the three rabbits were laid in the
box, side by side,—the children looking on with
quivering lips; then the top was nailed on by Sam,
who always kept his tools in the barn; a hole was
dug under a tree, and the box was put in and care-
fully covered up.

The three children, with anger still burning in their
hearts, then went and sat down on a green bank,
talking over their wrongs till the dinner-bell rang.

Of course, the violent death of the rabbits was the
only topic of conversation at the table, and Charley’s
papa promised to have a very solemn talk with Squire
Dusenberry about his conduct.

“Tell him I Aafe him!” cried Charley, his eyes
flashing. “Tell him I’ll get our swans to hiss at
him, he’s so mean!”

“Qh, Charley!” said his mother, “don’t talk so.
You must learn to forgive those who despitefully use
you. Remember your rabbits were stealing the
Squire’s cabbages, and no doubt he was very angry,
and perhaps he is sorry enough now.”

“Yes, but that won’t bring them back ; he ought to

have been sorry first.”
E
66 GREAT RICHES.

His father laughed at this comical way of stating
the case, and the children ran off to play.

But somehow, though they tried to enjoy them-
selves, and Flora had every one of their dolls out in
the arbour, and gave them a party, the sad fate of the
rabbits would come into their minds every moment,
and steal all the dimples out of their faces.

All of a sudden Charley sprang up, with an ex:
clamation of, “T’ll do it !-see if I don’t !”

“Do what?” cried both the girls, staring at him in
astonishment.

“Tknow! Z’Z@ do it!” said Charley, again shaking
his head fiercely. “I’ll punish him! He won't
shoot rabbits again in a hurry!”

“Oh, the Squire you mean !” cried the girls. “Tell
us what you are going to do, Charley. Is it something
dreadful ?”

“You won't tell, will you ?”

“Oh, no!” they both declared.

“Well, you know how very particular he is about
his front-door. I do believe he has it painted every
six weeks,—at any rate, it is just as white as snow,—
and I mean to go down to the store,—” here Charley
shook his head eagerly, and laughed with a joyful
giggle. “I mean to go to the store and buy some
bright red paint, and paint his door for him to-night,
after dark.”

Flora and Nelly fairly screamed with ecstasy at this
REVENGE. 67

delightful bit of mischief, and in an instant all three
heads were close together, settling the very best way
to carry it out. Flora proposed to run in and beg the
cook for a small tin kettle to put the paint in. Nelly
offered to go with her to help her to beg, if the cook
should happen to be cross ; while Charley remembered
that there were some old paint-brushes in the garret,
and he would hunt them up ; then they would all go
to the store to choose the paint, and after dark they
would steal softly out and take turns in painting the
door.

Nelly had permission to stay at Woodlawn until
nine o’clock ; and as Squire Dusenberry made all his
family go to bed as soon as it was dark, and was
snoring himself by halfpast eight, they had not the
slightest fear of being discovered.

“We'll make the most dreadful bogy on the door
that ever was seen,—won’t we?” said Charley, jump-
ing on and off his seat with glee at the thought;
“we'll give him seven rows of teeth and ten horns.”

“And all the people going to church to-morrow
will be so frightened they will jump half over the
moon,” cried Nelly, laughing and clapping her hands.

“Just fancy Squire Dusenberry,” said Flora ; “this
is the way he will look at it;” and she opened her
eyes till they seemed ready to pop out, and stretched
her mouth very nearly from ear to ear; and then all
three laughed and jumped and wished it was dark,
68 GREAT RICHES.

so that they might begin painting the bogy right
away.

Oh, oh! what naughty children! Squire Dusen-
berry had done wrong, certainly, but two wrongs
never did make a right, and never will.

Nelly by this time had quite forgotten her good
resolutions, and waited impatiently with the other
two. They could hardly eat enough tea, they were
in such a hurry, and ran all the way to the little store
in the village, where for some coppers Charley got
the old tin mug the cook had given them half full of
such bright red paint, that one look at it would have
made a bull as mad as forty March hares.

Soon after the sun set behind the hills, the gor-
geous red and purple faded out of the clouds, and
Madam Twilight softly laid her gray mantle upon the |
earth. Mr Rivers sat with his wife in the cosy little
porch at the back of the parsonage, admiring the
peaceful scene, and talking lovingly about Nelly,—
.how good she had been lately, and how she had made
herself so dear, so dear t& their hearts.

Where was Nelly at this moment? One of three
litue crouching figures before what had been Squire
Dusenberry’s clean white door, trembling, half-re-
pentant, watching, while Charley, brush in hand,
was daubing the sides with streaks of red paint, criss-
cross, up and down, here and there, in every direo
tion; while in the middle a dreadful bogy, with star-


REVENGE. 69

ing eyes and many horns, seen in the dim light of the
stars, had already been painted, and looked perfectiy
tearful.

“There!” whispered Charley, as he put the last
streak on, and turned up his tin cup quite empty,—
“there! that’s elegant! Walk up, ladies and gentle-
men, and you will see Squire Dusenberry with six
horns on his head, and all the rest eyes and ears.
Nothing to pay. Walk up!”

But the girls did not walk up,—they ran away ; for
now that the mischief was done, they began to be
both frightened and sorry ; and when they got back
to Woodlawn, Nelly was glad that it was nine o’clock,
and hastened home, with Sam the stable boy to escort
‘her, ashamed to meet the eye of Flora’s mother.

Once at home, she did not run as usual to sit upon
her kind father’s knee, and tell him and her mother
all she had seen and done. No. Guilty conscience,
looking exactly like the bogy on the Squire’s door,
seemed staring her in the face from all the doors in
the parsonage, and she hurried up to her own little
room,

Undressing herself as quickly as she could, and
gabbling over her prayers in a nervous, frightened
way, she jumped into bed.

Ah! I fear she had lost some of her “ great
riches.”

“I wonder what can be the matter with Nelly?”
70 GREAT RICHES.

said Mrs Rivers down-stairs to her husband. “She
must have tired herself out with play.”

“T hope she has done nothing wrong. at Wood-
lawn,” said Mr Rivers.

“Oh, dear, no! She is so happy there that she
behaves beautifully. Poor little darling! she is only
tired,” answered the loving mother,




CHAPTER VII.

DISCOVERY.

@> @BA\TIE sun rose the next morning bright and
hot, and long before the church bells
2) began to ring it had dried up the dew,

—! and shone with a quivering melting glare
all over the land, and away out to the wide shining
sea, where the ships lay like little white specks on its
bosom,

It shone just as bright and hot on Squire Dusen-
berry’s front-door, and baked the dreadful bogy there
hard and fast. As it was Sunday, no one passed the
house before church time. Squire Dusenberry and
his family always went out of the house, Sundays and
every other day, by the back-door, so as to leave no
footmarks on the steps. If any one chanced to visit
them, the very instant they left, one of the Squire’s
daughters came out to sweep and dust the steps


72 GREAT RICHES.

alter them, and rub the finger-marks from the brass
knocker.

The Squire went stumping about in his kitchen
garden before breakfast, with his hands under his
coat-tails, and saying to himself, “Oh, dear me! just
look at my cabbages! just look at my cabbages!”
and he wasn’t a bit sorry for killing the poor rabbits.

Then the breakfast-bell rang, and he stumped
back into the house, sat down at the table, took
his hands from beneath his coat-tails, mumbled out
a gtace in a very disrespectful manner, ate two
pork-chops, three baked potatoes, four slices of
bread, and drank a great cup of coffee,—enougl
breakfast for ove man, I should think, and a little
over.

But all these good things did not make him an
atom better tempered, for he kicked the dog the
moment he got up from the table, scolded his wife,
boxed his daughter’s ears for not finding his pipe in
a quarter of a minute, and sat down in a corner to
smoke and twiddle his thumbs one over tie other,
until it was time to go to church. As to reading the
Bible or some good book, he never thought of such a
thing.

Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

The people began to move along the wide pleasant
village street on their way to church. Stout old far-
mers, with white hair, but still hale and strong, theis
DISCOVERY. "3

good old wives hanging on their arms, and half a
dozen children following on behind, passed up the
quiet street; waggons and carriages, bringing their
owners from a distance, rattled past ; and one and all
stared in astonishment at Squire Dusenberry’s door,
and thought he must certainly have gone raving mad.
But the old Squire and his family saw nothing. As I
have told you, they came out of the house by the
back-door, and never looked behind them when they
walked round to the front gate.

Everybody watched him in church, They saw
him take his old iron spectacles out of his pocket,
find the hymn, and tune up through his nose, just
the same as ever. Charley, Flora, and Nelly were
perhaps more astonished than the rest, for they could
not understand why he took the mischief so quietly.

As to the good minister and Mrs Rivers, they had
not seen the door, for they always looked straight
before them when they went to church, with their
thoughts on things not of this world.

But when the service was over, and the people, as
usual in country places, greeted each other standing
outside around the church porch, an old deacon said
to the Squire,—

“Glad to see you taking it so easy.”

“ Taking what so easy?” growled the other.

“Why, the scandalous red picter on your front-
door, for I don’t ’spose you did it.”
"4 - GREAT RICHES.

“What?! !red picture! Are you performing on a
long bow for my benefit?”

The Squire meant by ‘that, that he thought the
deacon was telling a lie,

“I don’t shoot long bows,” said the deacon,
“specially on Sunday. I saw a great red goblin
painted on your door, and I thought you knew all
about it.”

“T saw it too,—an awful figure !” said a weazen-
faced old farmer, who was leaning on a stick.

“So did I,” cried a fat old lady, busy eating a large
slice of gingerbread.

I wish you could have «seen Squire Dusenberry
then! He started out of the churchyard at a pace as
if he meant to beat a railway train. His wife and
daughters tried to keep up with him, but without suc-
cess, for the old Squire had got into his gate, and was
already dancing up and down with rage, m a way to
crack the very flagstones, before the dreadful bogy
which was staring at him from his door. He had
been thus dancing five minutes before his family got
there, and that was very lucky for them.

“Who did it? who did it?” he screamed. “I'll
have them put in prison! I'll beat them to pow-
der?”

He was still dancing and screaming in this way,—
bad enough, goodness knows, for week days, but oh!
how dreadful on the Sabbath,—when the good minis-
DISCOVERY. - 15

ter came along, with Mrs Rivers, and Nelly holding
fast to her father’s hand,

Surprised at such unusual sounds, Mr Rivers and
his wife looked up,—and then they saw the frightful
door,—at the same moment Nelly gave a violent
start.

“T’ll have them tarred and feathered! I'll duck
them in the horse-pond !” cried Squire Dusenberry ;
at which awful threats Nelly turned ghastly white,
and so giddy, that it seemed as if the trees and houses
and church-steeple were all bobbing around; but it
was she who was staggering and reeling, as if she had
suddenly become tipsy.

“Why, Nelly, my child, are you ill? What is
the matter?” said her father, taking her up in his arms,

“Oh, papal” she gasped, with white and trem.
bling lips, “don’t let him do it,—take me home with
you; oh! don’t let him touch me!”

A miserable unhappy suspicion darted into both
parents’ minds, as they listened to Nelly’s entreaty.
They quickened their steps, and were soon safe within
the parsonage.

“Oh!” cried Nelly, bursting into tears, “how
pleasant this room looks! I don't want ever to leave
it.”

It was thé very same room of which she had been
so tired, and her parents were still more surprised to
hear her say this.
76 GREAT RICHES.

“Nelly, my little daughter, tell me,—have you
_ been doing anything wrong? Do you know whe
painted the Squire’s door?” asked her father in a sad,
_ kind tone.

The blood rushed in great tides over the child’s
‘face and neck. She had never told a lie since she
knew how very wicked it was. She could not tell one
now. Oh, no! Nelly would have scorNnep to utter a
He.

And so, after a great struggle, her quivering lips
opened, and the words “ I helped” came like a great
sob from them.

And then, with many tears, the whole story came
out, about the rabbits and the children’s anger, and
the revenge they took; and the kind loving reproof
and.teachings of her father made the little girl feel
more and more sorry that she had returned evil for
evil, and was farther away than ever from that “ god-
liness” which is “great riches.” Grieving and re-
pentant, she was quite ready to promise that she
would go with her father and beg Squire Dusenberry
to forgive her share in the mischief which had enraged
nim so.

But more than this;—when she went to bed
that night, Nelly prayed from her inmost hean
to become a better child, and said with a new
“and solemn reverence this beautiful prayer in
verse b—
DISCOVERY. oe

%¢ Make me, O Lord! a sinless child,
As Christ was pure and undefiled.
Help me to come to Thee each day,
As Christ has bidden us, to pray.
May I forbear to seek my own,
For Christ has said,—‘ ZZy will be done,’
And to myself prefer my brother,
For Christ has said, —‘ Love one another.’
Give my dear mother honour fit,
As Christ to Mary did submit.
Be ever candid in my youth,
For Christ commandeth,— Love the truth.’ _
May I to others e’er be mild,
As Christ was silent when reviled.
And still with meekness bear my part,
_ For Christ has blessed ‘the poor in heart.’
And when upon my dying bed,
May Christ’s dear arms be round my head.
‘There, folded on the gentle breast
Of Christ, Ill find my perfect rest.”

The next morning, immediately after breakfast,
Nelly went with her father to Woodlawn, where he
had a very serious conversation with the kind parents
of Flora and Charley. All three felt that the Squire
had been very cruel in killing the poor rabbits, and
really deserved some punishment, though not the one
he got.

Flora and Charley were very willing to say they
were sorry. So they all marched over, the three little
penitents, begging Mr Rivers and Mr Gray to go first
and break the dreadful news.

It did not make them feel any more comfortable
when they saw a man scraping away for dear life,
78 GREAT RICHES.

trying to get the red goblin off the door, and I am
sorry to tell that Squire Dusenberry did not receive
their apologies in the very best spirit. “Fiddlesticks
and nonsense!” he jerked out; “keep your rabbits
to yourself next time. You've got to pay for daubing
up my door! So you see you have advanced three
steps backwards in your fun, for it will take the whole -
of your pocket-money for the next three months ; and
all the zarts you buy will be very sour ones.” -




CHAPTER VIIL.

TRY, TRY AGAIN,

S<*|OR several weeks after the dreadful affair
is e of the bogy on Squire Dusenberry’s door,
hu, Nelly was just as good as it is possible
2 for a human being to be in this world,—
and that is by no means perfect. We shall all be
able to travel down through the world to China, in-
stead of going all the way round it, before we find
absolute perfection in any one, big or little. And as
it is not at all probable that this will take place in
our day, we’ll give up looking for perfection, like
sensible people, and go on with the story. __

So Nelly took care of the baby, and helped her
mother to work, and learned her lessons and said her
prayers all these weeks, with not above a dozen cross



80 GREAT RICHES.

faces coming down over her own, which I consider
remarkable. Her father thought it remarkable too,
and one evening, to reward her, he wrote something
on his best sermon-paper and handed it to her, say-
_ing,—“Here, Nelly ; this is to be read to you to-
morrow.”

“Did you write it on purpose for me, papa?” she
asked, in a joyful tone.

“Yes,” he said,

“Tt is a little sermon?”

“Yes, a week-day one,—such a sermon as ought
to be preached to children, for it is a story with
a moral; and I want you to make the application,
my darling.”

“ How ‘application,’ papa?”

“Why, after you have read the story, I want you
to tell me what lesson it teaches to you, and that is
making an application.”

“Oh, yes, I will, papa,” the little girl replied, with
an affectionate kiss; and off she ran to bed, for it
was time to go.

The next morning after breakfast, Nelly called
Willie and Maity, who sat down with their thumbs
in their mouths, so as to be sure not to interrupt or
lose a single word; and taking up a pillow-case which
she was overhanding, cried, “Now, mamma, we'll be
the congregation and you shall be the minister, for
papa said this was a sermon for children; and it’s a
TRY, TRY AGAIN. 81

story too, Come. baby Bessie is fast asleep; please
begin, dear mamma.”
So Mrs Rivers took the paper and read as follows :—

°

OVER A BRIDGE.

4 Fairy Tale of Home.

In the snuggest of little toll-houses, in the centre of
a long bridge, its cosy doorway nestling beneath the
shadow of the sloping roof, there once lived an old
toll-gatherer named Job Hapgood.

The toll-house was the merest baby-house of a
place, with only three tiny rooms within, but then
they fairly shone all over with the constant scrub-
bings and rubbings of Trot Hapgood, Job’s only
daughter, who was the neatest and nicest little body
you can imagine.

The walls of the sitting-room ‘were half covered
with staring red and blue bills setting forth the glories
of various travelling-shows, mingled with advertising
pictures, in which people were represented in the act
of dyeing their clothes the colour of indigo with
“ Tiuzzard’s Blueing,” or looking with amazement at
their faces reflected in their own shoes, polished with
“Buzzard’s Blacking ;” but, after all, this was rather
ornamental than otherwise, and if Job Hapgood had
been a good-natured man, they might have amused

him ver y much,
Pr
82 GREAT RICHES.

But he was not good-natured.’ He did nothing but
grumble because he was obliged to put them up, and
would have liked to make Huzzard swallow all Buz
zard’s blacking, and painted up Buzzard like an
ancient Briton with all Huzzard’s blueing, and se
got rid of both out of hand.

Well one bright summer’s day, just as the clock
struck twelve, old Job Hapgood popped his grizzled
head out of the little sentry-box on one side of the
door, where he stood to take tolls, and sniffing some-
thing like cooking in the air, concluded it must be
about his dinner-time. So he shuffled into the house,
with his nose all wrinkled up in a discontented sort of
way, plainly taking it for granted that there was no-
thing particular for dinner, and it was just his luck.

“Ah, there you are, father!” cried Trot’s cheery
voice ; “and here’s your dinner, all piping hot.”

“Yes, yes, my dear,” replied Job, shuffling off to
one side, to pretend he didn’t see what Trot was
dishing up,—“ yes, yes, I’m coming in a minute.”

“Oh, no,—you must come now!” said Trot, merri-
ly. “Just take your seat,—that’s a dear old daddy,
—and see what I’ve got for you! First, here’s a
nice dish of boiled beef and potatoes; and there you |
-are,”—setting down the first dish; “and your tea
drawn just the way you like it; and tere you are
again,’—setting down a small brown tea-pot: “and
for a treat, a delicious Ettle bit of—what do you
TRY, TRY AGAIN. 83

think ?” asked Trot, mysteriously clasping her
liands,

“T’m sure I don’t know,” said Job, disconsolately,

-“ Anything’s good enough for me.”

“Tripe!” cried Trot, fairly clapping her hands in .
joyous triumph. ‘I bought it for you myself, and
stewed it with onions; and “here you are!”—and
Trot set the tripe on the table, in a brown earthen
bowl, and tripped round to give her father a little
squeeze, and a little kiss on the very tip of his nose,
—laughing all the time with a trill like a happy bird.

“Yes, yes, Trot, my dear,” replied the toll-gatherer,
—“you re a good little girl to your poor old daddy.
I don’t know what would become of me without

* and his eye rested on the staring placards of
Huzzard’s Blueing and Buzzard’s Blacking with an
inward discontent which even tripe couldn’t make
him forget.

“Oh, never mind the bills now, father,” said Trot,
cheerily ; “your dinner will be stone-cold. Come ;”
and drawing her chair up to the table, she bowed her
pretty golden head to ask a blessing, and the toll-
gatherer was fairly settled to his dinner,

Then to see Trot hover about him, so anxious that
he should be comfortable! To see her now putting
a savory bit of meat on his plate,—now pouring out
his tea and taking a saucy sip from the cup herself,
anon running to the doar te receive a toll, then

all
you;
64 GREAT RICHES.

back again, singing like some blithe little bird; and
presently cutting bread for her father, in a profound’
fiction that he was quite unable to help himself!
Darling little Trot!

Then, when dinner was over, how she took his
pipe from the mantel-shelf, and with a thousand
graceful little gestures—still very like a bird—began
filling it! pressing the tobacco down with her chubby
forefinger in proper style, and then putting it between
his lips to be lighted, with an approving pat on his
brown cheek, and setting the cricket under his feet
for him to take his afternoon nap, before she tripped
away to clear the table. Busy little Trot!

Now, surely, if never before, Job Hapgood ought
to have felt contented with his lot, as he sat in his
arm-chair smoking and looking absently about the
room. And yet he. was thinking, not of the blessings
he enjoyed, but how many years he had been toll-
gatherer on that bridge, and after all, what a poor,
mean, scraping, toiling kind of life it was for an old
man. Gradually these thoughts became mixed up
with his dislike for the show-bills, and he was just
beginning to feel rather drowsy, and a little confused
as to whether Huzzard’s Blueing was the Grand
Calithumpian Moral Egyptian Caravan, or Buzzard’s
Blacking was the Real, Living Jackass with Four
Tails, or both together, when suddenly he was
aroused by some one’s calling bim from without,
TRY, TRY AGAIN. 8s

The voice was rather an odd one too,—high and
shrill, like the whistling of the wind through a key-
hole, and, moreover, whoever was calling seemed to
be in the greatest possible hurry to pay their toll and
be off again.

“Coming!” shouted Job, sleepily; and rousing
himself as well as he could, he hurried to the door,
and there he saw a very curious-looking vehicle in-
jeed.

There certainly was something out of the way
wbout this conveyance! It wasn’t a travelling-
coach; it bore not the slightest resemblance to a
tilbury, a dog-cart, a phaeton, a trotting-waggon, or
a hearse 3 it didn’t look like a caravan, and nobody
would have suspected it of being a perambulator ;
yet it seemed to be made up with little bits out of
each and all these vehicles. Harnessed to it were
four spirited horses, which plunged and reared, and
all but stood on their tails with impatience; but
neither driver nor passenger could be seen anywhere.

Job stood staring with all his eyes at this queer

affair, when once more the voice from within ex
claimed, “Come here, and take your toll, Job Hap-
good.”
" Halfscared out of -his wits, yet compelled, as it
seemed, by some spell, the toll-gatherer went up to
the strange conveyance and laid his hand on the knob
of the door,
&6 GREAT RICHES.

The instant he did so, the door flew open of itself,
he was whisked into the carriage, he could not tell
how, and, like a flash, off they went down the road,
pell-mell, helter-skelter !

“Qh, good gracious!” yelled Job Hapgood at the
top of his lungs. ‘Oh, my goodness! For pity’s
sake! Help! Murder! Fire! Oh, Trot, Trot,
Trot!” 4

But of what use was it to snout and bawl in an
enchanted coach? for such this must certainly have
been. Moreover, the toll-gather’s voice seemed to
sink into a whisper, like a person’s in a nightmare,
and his tongue to become glued to his palate with
fear, when on looking round him he found himself—~
ALONE, :

Yes, there he sat,—alone with the Voice. which
had summoned him from his home,--no shadowy
form, no gauzy garment hovering at his side, yet he
felt that invisible eyes were piercing to his very soul.
A cold chill crept over his limbs, his hair rose on
end, and in the extremity of terror his teeth chat-
tered in his head. S

Suddenly the silence was broken by a mocking
laugh close at his ear.

“Oh, my heart alive, what’s that?” gasped Job.

“Why, Job, my fine fellow!” said the Voice, “you
don’t seem grateful for your good luck! Ten minutes
ago you were a miserable man, disgusted with your
TRY, TRY AGAIN. 87

lot in life; yet now you find yourself in a splendid
carriage, rolling straight towards happiness, and all
you say is, ‘Help!’ and ‘Murder!’ Ha, ha, ha!”

“ B—but who—but what—” stammered the toll-
gatherer.

‘Who is with you? A friend of yours, Job,—one
who is going to put you in a new situation,” returned
the Voice, with mock gravity.

“But please your—your—dreadful majesty,” fal-
tered Job, who really began to think he had fallen
into the hands of somebody he called Old Goose-
berry,—“ I want my daughter Trot with me, wherever
Tam.”

“Well, it’s you for making conditions!” retorted
his unseen companion. “Suppose you sit still and
enly speak when you’re spoken to!” and with thar
down came a sounding whack on Job Hapgood’s
head, which made darkness, besprinkled with a curi-
ous pattern of stars, swim before his eyes, and ad-

_vised him pretty strongly to say nothing more but
wait and see what would happen next.

All at once, plump! they pulled up, and stood
stock-still. The door flew open, Job was impelled,
as before, to get out, and in an instant strange carri-
age, fast horses, and all disappeared in a flash of
Ughtning, and left him alone once more with the
Voice.

The place where he now found himself was a long




83 GREAT RICHES,

bridge, spanning a rapid river, whose dark waters
flowed with a murmuring sound among the massive
beams and abutments below, until they fell, with a
subdued, yet ceaseless roar, over vast masses of jagged
rocks, cutting the waters into myriad wreath of foara
and spray. The sun shed a dreary and awful light
through the thick dun-coloured mist which com-
pletely shrouded either shore, and the whole scene
oppressed and weighed upon the soul like the heavy
shadow of some dreadful dream.

In the centre of the bridge one familiar object
appeared,—a toll-house, whose weather-beaten walls
and sloping roof reminded Job very much of his
own home,—once so despised, though now he would
have given anything on earth to get back again.

“Well, there’s a toll-house, at any rate,” he
thought ; “it must be a common bridge, after all.”

“Oh no, it is not, Job,” said the Voice,—which
seemed to know his inmost idea,—“it is the site of
all your happiness.”

“What! am I to be a toll-gatherer again?” cried
Job,—that is, he thought he cried, for in reality his
voice was the lowest whisper. ‘No, thank -you. If
that’s the best luck you’ve got for me, why let’s go
back to the old place.”

“Not just yet, Job,’ returned the Voice. “You
have a lesson of happiness to learn first.”

“Oh, of course. I’m bound to be contented and
TRY, TRY AGAIN. 8g

happy with toiling and moiling from morning till
night, and night till morning,—and one’s very sitting-
room invaded with show bills!—which, if I could
have the fixin’ of things, I’d Huzzard and Buzzard
’em,—a pack of four-tailed jackasses! At my age,
too,—rising sixty! If you could make me young
again, that would be something like happiness. There
were good times then,—ah, dear, dear!” Here his
tirade was interrupted by the Voice.

“Look, Job,” it said,—and its tones were deep
and solemn now as the murmur of many waters,—
“something is passing over the bridge.”

The slow rumbling of a heavy waggon sounded in
the distance, and in a moment more it emerged from
the mist on the left bank of the river, and the timbers
of the bridge resounded under the tread of two strong
farm-horses,

A sturdy fellow walked beside the waggon, which
was half filled with hay, making a soft nest for two.
merry children who rode within.

As it approached the toll-house, one of the chil-
dren, a pretty fair-haired boy, sprang up, exclaiming,
—“Oh,- uncle! let me pay the toll,—won’t you?
Look, Grace ; now I’m a General waving his sword
in battle! Hurray!” and the child flourished a
long comstatk as he spoke, his eyes sparkling with
glee. :

“Do you recognise that boy, Job?” said the Voice.
90 GREAT RICHES.

The toll-gatherer tumed ghastly pale, and his voice
had a strange, hollow sound as he answered,—

“« Myself!”

“You were happy ¢hen, Job?” said the Voice.

“Very, very happy!” groaned the toll-gatherer.
The waggon stopped at the toll-house, and the boy
held out an ancient Continental coin. Moved bya .
power he could not resist, Job came forward to re-
ceive it, when the boy, fixing his eyes upon him,
uttered a terrified cry. In an instant the waggon
had passed swiftly on, and was lost in the shadows
beyond, e ae

“My poor uncle!” sighed Job. “ He was shot in
the field of battle fifty years ago.”

As he spoke, he looked once more towards the
left bank of the river, and saw a singular change in-
the dark mist that overhung the shore like a funeral
pall. Slowly it rolled backwards on either side; and
just where it was parted, the toll-gatherer saw the
distinct picture of a room in an antiquated farm-
house. A dim light, burning within the wide chim-
ney, gleamed over the time-worn furniture ; a high-
backed chair beside the hearth ; a bedstead covered
by a patch-work quilt; and on the wall above, a
faded sampler wrought with texts from Scripture.
In the centre of the room, on rough trestles, reposed
a child’s coffin, covered with a sheet.

“My mother’s room!” exclaimed Job, the cold






TRY, TRY AGAIN. 91

dew starting to his brow. “But whose coffin is -
that 1”

As he spoke, the clouds rolled heavily back and
hid the vision from his sight. At the same moment
the awful toll of a funeral bell filled the air, and
issuing from the dim mist, with the sound of many
horses’ feet, a burial train passed on over the bridge.
Solemnly it moved along and stopped opposite the
toll-house. Suddenly the side of the hearse became
transparent, and the child’s coffin was revealed within
—the lid partly drawn aside. The toll-gatherer
moved closer, and fixed his terrified eyes upon ie
marble face of the corpse.

“Whose funeral is this, Job?” asked the Voice.

“ My little sister's!” sobbed the toll-gatherer.

Like the swift passage of a dream the burial train
passed onwards, amid the doleful clangour of the
bells, and vanished in the gloom. °

“Then there were sorrows clouding your early
youth?” asked the Voice.

“She was the darling of the house !” cried the poor
toll-gatherer. “Oh, Ruth, dear little Ruth!”

“The clouds are parting again,’ continued the
Voice. “See what they bear on their dark bosoms !”

Within the framework of the first shadowy picture
appeared another vision. It showed the outside of
the same farm-house, surrounded ‘by an old-fashioned
garden, Fruit-trees drooped their loaded branches
Q2 GREAT RICHES,

over the wide beds where flowers and sweet-herbs
grew together. ‘The porch in front of the door was
faintly lighted by the new moon, and there’ sat a
handsome young man and woman.

You could see in their happy faces a strong like-
ness to the children who rode so merrily in the hay-
cart long ago, and from the way her dark glossy curls
rested against his breast, it seemed as though they
were newly married.

“Who are these happy ones, Job?” paesdoned the
Voice,

“Me and Grace Trueman,” murmured Job. “ We_
were just married then, and living as happy as a pair ©
of little birds. We had our bit of money laid up
against a rainy day, and everything nice around us.
Oh dear! oh dear! A hard thing for a man to come
to poverty at last when-all began so well.” .

The vision passed away as he spoke. It seemed
to carry with it some of the uncertain light that before
shone over bridge and river, or else the day was
really drawing to a close, when, plodding wearily from
the hidden shore, two wayfarers appeared on the
hither end of the bridge. The principal figure was
aman in the prime of life, but sadly worn and hag-
gard as though with many troubles. He supported
on his arm a woman, whose dark hood, pushed back
from her face, revealed her pale beautiful features
and raven hair. Each of them carried a bundle,
TRY, TRY AGAIN. ——_ 93

which seemed to contain all their worldly posses-
sions, and the dust of the weary road hung heavily
upon their garments.

As they passed the toll-house they turned their
heads, and looked Job Hapgood full in the face.

A deadly chill seemed to strike into his very
heart; he shuddered from head to foot; for in
these way-worn figures he recognised himself and
his wife.

“You suffered like this in your manhood?” said
the Voice, with strange gentleness in its tones.

“There was one hard season after another,” cried
Job, clasping his thin hands in bitter grief. “My
‘ erops failed more than any of the neighbours’; and
though I strove and struggled against poverty and.
sickness, there came debt upon debt, and at last the
“very homestead went from us. Ah, Grace! poor
birdie! That I should have brought thee to this!
Cruel! cruel!”

“Look, Job!” broke in the Voice,—“ see what fig-
ure this is that passes over the bridge!”

The daylight had faded away, a gloomy nightfall
settled blackly down on the river. As the thick
clouds drifted sullenly apart, the dim, watery light
of the moon streamed between them, and fell on the
form of a man hastening over the bridge. His clothes
hung in tatters round his wasted form, and his long,
tangled hair and beard mingled in wild confusion
94 GREAT RICHES.

about a wan face which still bore some shadowy like.
ness to the fair boy of years ago.

He paused as he reached the centre of the bridge,
where a wooden seat was placed for poor wayfarers,
and placing gently upon it a sort of bundle that he
carried in his arms, wrapped in an old shawl, he stood
gazing downwards at the rushing water.

“This is the place,” he said at last, in hoarse and
broken tones. “ Here, where we toiled along, heart-
broken, from our happy home,—where I saw the light
fade out of my darling’s eyes, and did not die! I,
who had brought her to such a pass! Here I have
come at last, to join her! Trot, little birdie, oh fare-
well for ever!” and his voice choked with sobs, his des-
perate hands clenched above his head,—the wretched
man hovered one instant over eternity

“Stop!” rang out a voice, loud and commanding,
as the tall form of a man darted towards the suicide,
and clasped him firmly in his arms. “For Heayen’s
sake !—what would you do?” ;

“Ah, let me die!” cried the figure, cowering and
grovelling under the strong grasp. “ What have I to
live for but starvation and despair ?”

The other pushed him down on the bench, and
taking the seeming bundle in his arms, drew aside
the old shawl. The fair face of a sleeping infant
appeared, the moonbeams failing like a glory on
its little golden head.


TRY, TRY AGAIN. 95

“My child!” cried Job Hapgood, falling on his
knees. “ My little darling, innocent child !”

The shadows fell deeper and darker on the bridge
as the toll-gatherer, lifting his head from his clasped
hands, raised his eyes towards the Voice.

“You do not condemn me utterly ?” he humbly en-
treated. “I was mad—lost—I know not what, under
my heavy load of troubles. He pitied me even in
my wickedness, although he was a man of God” ——

“And took you and the child to his home, feeding
and sheltering you there, until, through his unwearied
kindness”

“I got the place as toll-gatherer!” cried Job;
“and, please Gop, I’ll pray for and bless him many
a long year to come.”

“Look at the shadows once more, Job,” said the
Voice. “See what they show you now.”

Job looked toward the shore, and there, limned
forth on the dark background of the mist, he beheld
his little sitting-room at home. The blazing fire shed
a rosy light upon the whitewashed walls, gay with the
familiar signs of Huzzard and Buzzard, which the -
cheerful gleam transformed into charming pictures ;
while the bright tins on the mantel-shelf glittered like
homely diamonds. In the centre of the room stood
: the tea-table,.spread with its clean brown cloth and
well-known china; no sound could be heard but the
busy tick of the Dutch clock and the singing of the


96 GREAT RICHES,

kettle on the fire; and close beside the hearth, her
sweet face illumined with a tender blush, as the fire-
light played on it, sat Trot at her sewing.

“Oh, Trot, dear, darling little Trot!” cried Job
Hapgood, springing to his feet. “If I only can get
back to you again, I’ll be the most contented man in
the whole country.”

“What! with Huzzard, Buzzard, and all?” in-
quired the Voice, which had recovered somewhat of °
its former sarcastic tone.

“With every one of em!” shouted Job at the top
of his voice, giving a frantic flourish with his feet,
halfjoy, halfimpatience, which kicked over

The Voice?

No, the cricket. . . . . “Why, bless me
father !” cried Trot, running up to him, “what's come
over you? Haven’t you had a good nap?”

“Nap! my birdie,” exclaimed Job, staring at her
in amazement; “nave I been asleep ?”

“Yes! the best part ofan hour, and snoring away with
your dear old mouth as wide open as the drawbridge,”
: Job paused fcr a moment to give Trot a delighted
hug and kiss, to make sure he had really got her all
safe ; then raising her face by the round, dimpled
chin, so as to look in her eyes, he said,—

“Tell me, birdie, do you love the old house?”

“Why, surely, father,” said Trot, looking in hig
face with a wondering smile,


TER RVC AUIN | ee 97

“And you’d rather have it, bills and all, than any
other in the world?”

“To be sure I would!” said Trot, earnestly.
“Why, haven’t we lived here winter and summer
for fifteen years? Don’t we know and love the
breeze, and the river, and the old bridge, as well as
if they were our own? And could we be as happy
anywhere else as we are here,—where the dear
memories of the years that are past hang round the
walls to make them beautiful and holy, father?” .

“Why then, I'll tell you what, Trot!" cried Job,
gathering her little figure closely in his arms, and
laying his brown cheek tenderly on her pretty heal,
—“TI’d not change it for a king’s palace anywheres !
Tl love it henceforth for your sake, my birdie ; and
as to Huzzard and Buzzard—why, bless their hearts!”
cried Job, lifting his glowing face and looking round
the room,-——“ if any one were to tell me I didn’t look
upon those men as brothers, I’d wish they might
never see a four-tailed jackass as long as they lived!
So give me a kiss, Trot!”

And so she did.

“Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful story!” said Nelly,
with a sigh of pleasure, as her mother finished.

“And have you made the application?” asked Mrs
Rivers, gently.

“Ts it that I, also, must be grateful and contented 3”

asked the little girl, in a iow voice.
G
98 GREAT RICHES.

“Yes; and if you are truly contented and grate.
ful, if you bear without murmuring all the trials of this
life, you will surely win a portion of that godliness
which will entitle you to a home in heaven. And
you will also be far happier here, my little Nelly.
God will bless you here ; never doubt it.”

For several weeks after this, Nelly was grateful and
contented, though not without many a rebellious and
envious twinge in her heart; but she fought every
one of them down; and her kind parents encouraged
her and loved her, oh, so dearly! so dearly! that her
search after godliness was made far more simple and
easy for her than for many another little pilgrim on
this earth, whose path was filled with the sharp stum-
bling-blocks of temptation, poverty, and neglect.

It was now late in October. The dry leaves
rustled in the paths; the little birds were flying every
day to the warm southern lands; and fires looked
_cheery and pleasant.

The Grays had gone to their winter home; and
Nelly’s rosy face had oftentimes a melancholy ex-
pression, for she sadly missed her dear playmates,
Flora and Charley,

One day a letter came to the parsonage, which
caused deep anxiety. It was from Mrs Gray, and
contained an invitation for Nelly to spend the winter
with her friends. Mrs Gray promised to care for and
watch over both the little girls alike ; and she wished |
TRY, TRY AGAIN. 99

that Nelly should take lessons with Flora in music, :
French, and drawing. She begged to have her until
spring, and as much longer as her parents could
spare her.

“Q mamma! papa! do,—do let me go!” cried
Nelly, her eyes sparkling, her face glowing with eager-
ness, “Oh, I want to go so much!”

“Will my little Nelly come home as happy and
contented as she seems to be now?” asked her
father, in a gentle tone.

““Oh, yes, yes!” she answered. “I don’t care a
bit about fine things now,—that is, not near so much
as I did,” added the truthful child; “and I wit!
strive and fight harder than ever to be contented and ©
grateful,—but O papa! I want to learn music and

drawing. Only think! I shall know how to draw: -

the parsonage, and the grand old elm-tree oppo-
site, if I practise ever so much; and perhaps I can
take your likeness,”—and she ran up to her father,
and, curling her arms round his neck, said —“ De
let me go!” with her lips tight pressed against his
cheek,

With many prayers and some misgivings, permis-
sion was at last given, and a few days after, the little
trunk was packed, and Nelly went to bed an hour
earlier the previous evening, to make the next morn-
ing nearer.

The first sunbeam that darted into the room woke
rao GREAT RICHES.

her up, and, all in a tremble for joy that the happy
day was come, Nelly dressed herself, said her prayers
in a hurry, and ran down-stairs to breakfast.

“Good morning, papa! good morning, mamma!”
she said. “TI never felt so happy in my whole life.
It will be so good for my health to go travelling.”

“Is your health very delicate?” asked Mr Rivers
laughing.

“Oh dear, no, papa! I haven’t an ache or a pain
in so nich as the ends of my hair, but then you
know it is so perfectly delightful to travel. Oh, I
could jump over the house for joy !”

Nelly could scarcely eat, she was so excited. She
had given her box of ninepins to Willie and Maity,
and her cry-baby doll to little Bessie ;—so her little
brothers kissed her for good-bye, all smiles and de
light in their new present; and little Bessie was too
busy holding the cry-baby upside down and shaking
it, to notice her at all ;—but a few great tears came
into Nelly’s eyes as her kind mother folded her close
to her heart, and prayed the good God to bless and
keep her Carling, and shield her from all harm to soul
and body.




CHAPTER IX,
NELLY IN TOWN,

HE Grays had moved this autumn into an
elegant mansion in a fashionable street.
As the carriage containing Mr Rivers and
Nelly drove up to the door, and they

alighted and went up the high flight of steps, the

little girl's heart beat wildly, and for the first time
she felt as if she did not want‘her father to leave
her. ses

“Does Mrs Gray live here?” inquired Mr Rivers
of the dandified-looking black waiter.

“Mrs Gray resedes here,” answered the man in a
reproving tone, and with a contemptuous glance at
the plainly-dressed little girl.

They entered the wide hall paved with marble, and
then the waitér said,—

“Will you give me your card, sir?”

“{ have no card,” answered the good clergyman,


102 GREAT RICHES.

simply. “Tell her that Mr Rivers and his daughter
have come.”

Then they went into the splendid parlour, and Nelly
stood like one entranced. I do not care to waste
ink and paper on a description of furniture,—half of
the wicked, silly novels which are written are made
up of such descriptions. I will only say that, to the
child’s wondering eyes and thoughts, all that was not
blazing with gold seemed to be velvet’and satin; the
little plain parsonage parlour faded almost out of her
memory ; and when Flora flew down the long stairs
and into the room, and caught Nelly in her arms,
kissing her over and over, not the faintest longing fox
her home was left. _

Mr Rivers stayed, an honoured and welcome guest,
until the next day, and then bade his little daughter
good-bye. His last words were whispered in her ear ;
they were,— Remember, Nelly, that ‘Godliness is
great riches.’”




CHAPTER X.

TEMPTATION.



SEAR me! I wish I could wear corsets,”
said Nelly, the second morning of her
visit. She was looking on with admir-

_ ing eyes as Flora, with her hands on her

sides, holding in her breath, was being laced up by

her maid. :

“T’ve only just begun to wear them myself,” said
Flora. “They don’t feel so very comfortable, but
mamma says I am getting so crooked.”

“And what a splendid hoop-skirt you have got ;
and, I declare! you are going to put on a flounced
dress !”

ce Well, what of that?” inquired Flora. “I Ike
your brown merino without flounces just as well. If
you like, I will beg mamma to give you some corsets
and Hounced dresses too.”



104 GREAT RICHES.

“Oh, thank you!” cried Nelly. “I should like
them of all things; I would be laced up so tight,
and have the dearest little waist! and I do dove
flounces.”

The petition was made and willingly granted. Mrs
Gray never imagined that she could harm her little
guest by dressing her in fine clothes; and before the
week was out, Nelly and Flora went to take a walk
in the park, dressed like sisters, with round hats trim-
med with black velvet, and silk dresses of a beautiful
golden-brown shade, the skirt of each adorned with
three little fluted flounces, headed with black velvet.

_~ How Nelly did strut! She was laced so tight that
she could scarcely breathe, and her new gaiter-boots
pinched her toes dreadfully ; but what of that? she
was as fine and fashionable-looking as the best; and
she walked along with a mincing step, glancing with
disdain at some plainly-dressed children who were sit-
ting on the grass playing with the dried leaves, which
had fallen from the trees.

Presently a poor, barefooted, bareheaded, little girl
approached Nelly and Flora. Clasping her hands
together, she whined out, “ Please give me a penny,
—I've had nothing to eat to-day.”

‘It was very likely the child was telling an untruth,

for many of these city beggars are taught by their
wicked, drunken parents to lie in this way ; but Nelly

did not know it, and if she did, she should at least
TEMPTATION. 10g

have answered her kindly. But, alas! godliness had
fied from her heart, She swept past, saying, in a
cross tone,—“ Take care! do not come so near my
dress. Go away!”

“You're a stuck-up Miss Proudy,” returned the
beggar, her eyes flashing with anger and hatred.
Then calling a dirty little dog that was loitering by,
—“ Here, Snap,—here !” she cried, pointing to Nelly.
“Sic em ! sic ’em !”

In an instant the dog had bounded up to the
shrieking girl, and had caught her flounced dress in
his sharp teeth, while the beggar, with a mocking
laugh, darted away to escape a policeman who was
hurrying towards the spot.

“Oh, oh, oh !” screamed Nelly, in an agony, “take
him away ! take him away!” While Flora, afraid to
go near, was screaming just as loudly at a little dis-
tance, wringing her hands and begging that some-
body would kill the dog.

The policeman beat him off with his staff, and
Nelly, bursting into hysterical tears, would have fallen
if he had not caught her in his arms. Through all
her tears came a dim impression that she had half
deserved her terrible fright, —that she had not ob-
served the “golden rule.” -When the poor little
beggar had asked for a penny, she had harshly.
wounded the child’s feelings, who in setting the dog
upon her was only revenging herself, iust as Nelly,
106 GREAT RICHES.

Flora, and Charley had done when they painted the
red bogy on Squire Dusenberry’s white door.

But I am afraid even this lesson did not reach the
right spot in Nelly’s heart, for every succeeding day
she seemed fonder of dress and display, and the sweet,
modest expression of her face gave way to vain and
proud looks.

It was now quite winter-time. One clear frosty
morning, as the family sat at their nice breakfast,
Flera broke out with—

“Oh, mamma, I want to have a party; won’t you
let me?”

“Yes, mamma, do!” put in Charley. “I know
lots of boys, and Flo can invite the girls—crowds of
them.”

“A party! how enchanting !” chimed in Nelly.

“Well, as you all seem to be of one mind about
it,” answered Mrs Gray, laughing, “you may have a
party; only I hope Charley’s friends won’t practise
gymnastics over my fine sofas and chairs.”

The children bounced up from the table at this kind
permission, and rushed up stairs with such loud shouts
of joy that the old cook ran out of the kitchen, think-
ing the house was on fire. They hunted up pens, ink,
and paper, and soon had a number of invitations
written and sealed up very tight, as they were of the
greatest importance. Then the dandified waiter was
instructed to carry them round, and implored by
TEMPTATION. ° 107

Flora and Charley not to make any mistakes,—and
all three watched him, standing on the front steps,
till he was out of sight.

The evening of the party came. Flora and Nelly
were again dressed alike,—this time in white tarlatan
and broad blue sashes. Their hair had been ele-
gantly curled all over their heads by Mr Isabeau, the
fashionable barber. They each held a large bouquet
of fragrant flowers, a fan, and a pocket-handkerchief
trimmed with lace. . Their eyes grew wildly bright as
guest after guest skipped into the room, the little
girls joyously kissing Flora and Nelly, and the boys
shaking hands and bowing with the greatest polite-
ness.

Flora had had parties before, and had been used
to this elegance and show all her life, so, although it
was very delightful, it was somewhat a matter of
course to her; but Nelly was almost delirious with
the enchanting excitement, and every time she caught
sight of her pretty figure and curling head in one of
the long glasses, a new sparkle would flash from her
eyes, and she would straighten herself up until she
looked like a little statue of Vanity and Pride.

Ah! if her kind, loving parents could have seen
her now! They had permitted ler to make this
visit, hoping that nothing but good would result, and
grateful to Mrs Gray for procuring their little Nelly
instruction in accomplishments for which they could
108 GREAT RICHES.

not afford to pay. Little did they dream that their
dear child was taking other and far different lessons.

As Nelly was thus standing and gazing at herself
in the glass, she saw Charley eagerly running up
behind her. “Come,” said he, “we are going to have
a grand game of ‘ Puss-in-the-Corner.’ Come along,
quick!” 5

“Qh dear, no!” answered Nelly, turning round;
“T can’t, possibly ; it will tumble my dress, and shake
my curls too much.”

“Qh, never mind your curls! it’s such a jolly
game. Come!”

But Nelly still refused, and walked away with her
hose up in the air, fanning herself, and thinking, “ It
old Aunt Betsy and the lame shoemaker could only
see me now, how astonished they would be! Old
Aunt Betsy would lift up her hands and eyes, and say,
‘For pity’s sake, who is that grand young lady? It
can’t be Miss Nelly !’ and the lame shoemaker would
exclaim, ‘Heart alive! Here comes the Queen of
the Fairies !’”—

And she would have looked as lovely as the sweetest
and prettiest of fairy queens, ¢/ she had been unconscious
of it herself; but the self-satisfied, vain expression of
her face would have spoiled and ruined the loveliest
beauty on earth.

The evening wore on amidst music, games, and,
at the last, a splendid supper. There seemed to be
TEMPTATION. 109

no end of mottoes, especially those delightful pulling
ones which pop off like a gun; and every girl and
boy, when the time came to go home, had a present
of a dozen or two each to take with them, which was
the very best of it, they declared, as it would make
plenty of fun for the next day.

And now Nelly and Flora have said good-night, and
are up in their own pleasant bedroom, “ talking over”
the delightful party, and repeating over and over
again what a nice time they had had.

All at once Nelly exclaimed, “Dear me! why,
where is my beautiful fan? I must have left it in the
parlour.”

Down she ran to find it. Not a soul was in the
room, though the gaslights were still burning. Mr
and Mrs Gray had gone into the dining-room, and
were directing the servants to wash and put away the
silver. With a quick, questioning: look on sofa and
chairs, Nelly gazed round and round ; not seeing the
fan, she was turning to leave the parlour, when she
spied its long tassel hanging from the mantelpiece.
A chair was close before the fire which was still
brightly burning, and pushing this nearer, she got up
on it, though there was no need; she could easily
have reached her fan standing on the carpet.

“T’ll take a* good look in the glass,” she said to
herself, “and see if my curls are in as tight as
ever.”
r10 GREAT RICHES.

Up she mounted, leaned forward, placed her elbows
on the mantelpiece, and gazed admiringly at herself.

“How nicely they do look!” she murmured, and
she curled her finger in and out of the smooth rings
of hair. “Really, I can’t bear to go to bed. I had
no idea a barber could make my curls look so much
nicer than I could. They are lovely.”

She whirled half round on the chair, admiring one
side, then the other; she smiled and nodded at her-
self, when suddenly scream upon scream resounded
through the room, and Mr and Mrs Gray and the
servants rushing in, saw Nelly flying towards them,
her tarlatan dress blazing, and tongues of flame leap-
ing up round her head and face.

For an instant all recoiled, shrinking with fright:
then Mr Gray seizing the hearth-rug, wound it round
and round the burning child, pressing out the awful
flames with frenzied haste, while the rest prayed aloud
amid the groans and cries of pity and terror; and
Flora and Charley, who had hurried down at the first
awful scream, shrank clinging to each other outside
the door, not daring to go in, livid with fear, and
sobbing bitterly.

It was all out; but for a moment Mr Gray dreaded
to remove the rug,—those convulsive struggles and
agonized sounds told such a dreadful tale.

When he did take it away, the servants screamed
and hid their faces, while Mrs Gray, ghastly white,
TEMPTATION. uiy

received the blackened, blistering little form in her
trembling arms. Great tears rained down her pitying
face, and she groaned out, “Oh, what will her parents
say! oh, my poor, poor child! God have mercy upon
her |”

Tenderly was she carried up-stairs and laid upon
her bed, while the servants were told to run for their
lives and bring back doctors with them, as many and
as quickly as possible.

Oh, what days and nights of anguish now ensued !
What sad, almost despairing faces flitted around poor
Nelly’s bed! A telegram had summoned her kind
parents, and for many, many days after, all thought
that the child must die. Flora would come and look
at her for a moment, and run sobbing out of the
room; and Charley would gaze at her sunken eyes,
and bandaged, blistered face, until his lips quivered
and his chest heaved with painful sighs,

“Will she live?” asked Nelly’s mother, in a trem-
bling whisper, of the grave-looking doctor as he stood
one day feeling her pulse. The child was asleep,—
the first sound quiet sleep since her dreadful mis-
fortune.

The doctor was silent for a moment. He passed
his hand lightly over Nelly’s forehead ; a gentle per-
spiration was tipon it; then he felt her pulse again,
and said, “I believe she is out of danger, madam,
but she will be dreadfully disfigured.”
gi2 GREAT RICHES.

“Thank God !”-murmured the poor. mother, sink.
ing slowly to her knees. The grateful tears trickled
over her pale cheeks, and she lovingly pressed her
Eps on the poor little hand—oh, so thin and scarred !
dying on the outside of the bed.

And now came peaceful, hopeful days. Nelly, with
‘penitent tears, had confessed to her mother all her
pride and vanity. She had received a loving for-
: giveness, and had joined in fervent prayers. of grati-
tude that her life had been spared. After the first
burst of bitter sorrow at sight of her scarred face and
neck, she had thanked God_again for His mercy and
goodness, and with hearty sorrow for the miserable
faults which had brought her all this pain, and her
friends and parents so. much grief and trouble, she
had formed a solemn resolve to lead indeed a new and
better life, with the blessing and help of her Saviour.

Once more Nelly is in her humble, but comfort- .
ablehome. A bitter trial awaits her at first, for Willie
and Maity don't want to kiss her; they dislike her
seamed rough face; and baby Bessa screams and
won't come near her.

The poor little girl’s heart swelled with grief, but
she struggled to hide her tears, and held out her.
hands coaxingly, as her dear, loving mother was
telling her little brothers that they must love poor
sister Nelly more than ever now.
TEMPTATION. 113

“But she looks so ugly!” persisted Willie, with an
obstinate little kick of his foot,

“She looks so ugly too/” repeated Maity after
-him.

“See now, Willie,” said his mother,—“see how -
your bad example is followed by your brother. If
you say a naughty, unkind thing, Maity will say it
too, Shall we send poor sister Nelly away, because
the dreadful fire burned her tender face and hurt her,
oh! so terribly ?”

“N—o,” stammered Willie! and he crept slowly
towards her, and held up his round, rosy cheek.

Nelly kissed it softly; thea Maity came up, and
‘ the. dear little fellow fairly put his arms round her
poor neck, and whispered, “I’m sorry for you,” at
which poor Nelly burst out crying, and hid her face
in his neck, quite unable to speak.

But it was not long before the children, baby Bessie
and «ill, quite forgot about the dreadful scars, and
loved Nelly as well as ever. Old Aunt Betsy, when
Nelly went to see her, did indeed say, “For pity’s
sake!” with hands and eyes uplifted ; but the rest of
her speech was, “Poor lamb! poor little lamb, how
she must have suffered! Well, well, it will wean her
from this world, and make her home in heaven more
' beautiful and “glorious.” And Nelly, in her inmost
heart, echoed, “ Pray God that it may.”

And the lame shoemaker,—did he cry out, “ Heart

HB
Iz4 GREAT RICHES.

alive! here comes the Queen of the Fairies?” Ah,
no. He said, “Alack-a-day! what a sore trouble God
has brought upon my pretty bird! but He has put
an angel look in her eyes. Don’t grieve, dear Miss
Nelly ; beauty is only skin-deep ; you will be dearer
now than ever to the hearts that love you.”

Ah, yes! so she was, and nearer and dearer to
Jesus, her Friend and Brother, whom she loved and
tried to obey and serve with all her might. And
when summer came again, and the Grays were back
in beautiful Woodlawn, Nelly was.a lovelier and
merrier companion for them than ever,—full of play’
and innocent fun,—for, darling children, never be
lieve that a long face and gloomy ways are what God —
enjoins or likes. Oh, no; he sent us into this world
to be Aappy ; and it is ondy and always our Own sins
and the sins of others which make us otherwise.

Sometimes even now Nelly will give way to ill-
femper and other sinful feelings, for it-is quite im-
possible to be perfect; but her parents hope and
trust, and Nelly humbly believes, that Jesus is show-
ing her day by day how te win that “Godliness”
which is “ great riches.”




CHAPTER XL

CONCLUSION.

Gs AF | HE story was finished. Tears were glisten-.
DK ing in the children’s eyes; and good old
Mrs Marble had pulled off her spectacies,
and was polishing them up on the elbow
of her black dress; something had dimmed them.

“Poor little Nelly!” said Sophie, in a low voice;
“JT think she was cruelly punished.”

An assenting murmur broke from all the rest,-—
when their kind mother, opening the Bible, read
these words in a solemn tone :—

“Woe unto the world because of offences! for it
must needs be that offences come; but woe to that
man by whom the offence cometh !

“ Wherefore, if thy hand or thy foot offend thee,
cut them off and cast them from thee: it is better for
thee to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than



neon GREAT RICHES.

having two hands or two feet, to be cast into ever.
lasting fire. ,

“And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and
cast it from thee; it is better for thee to enter inta
life with one eye, rather than having two eyes to be
cast into hell-fire.”

The loving mother softly closed the Holy Book
and said,—‘ Was it not far better for Nelly to suffer .
pain and lose her beauty in this life, rather than be-
come more and more vain and foolish, to risk eternal
misery hereafter? God knows best, ‘He doeth all
things well ;’ and as long as Nelly lives she will thank
Him for her punishment.”

The children had been sitting round the table dur
ing the latter part of the reading, because it had
grown dark and a lamp had been lit; but the light
was put down low now that the story was ended,
and all went and sat out upon the porch where the
moonlight came, making soft shadows. The fire-flies
glimmered in the grass and out among the trees, and
a gentle whispering wind, passing over the dew-laden
flowers, wafted their fragrance to the happy group.

*‘ Look here,” ‘said Mrs Marble, whom we all know
had a tender loving heart, if she dd wear a wig and
iron spectacles,—“look here: it’s a beautiful story.
T like your ‘ Aunt Fanny ;’ and I’m very much obleeged
to her; and I mean to try to be a better woman from
this day out, and talk to my son Gam, so that we too
CONCLUSION. 117

may win some ‘godliness ;’ and I hope you'll all
pray for the poor old woman who ”——

Here she quite broke down, and, putting on her
hat, hastily bade them all good-bye; and when she
parted with her favourite Fred, two great tears dropped
upon his hand. :

Ah! dear little hearts out in the world, won’t you
also try? My eyes are blinded with wishful tears as
I write. If I thought my stories did you no good
whatever, it would give me sharp and bitter pain.
If you form habits of goodness now, you will hardly
fail, with God’s help, to grow up good men and
women; and that you may do so, is the constant
prayer of your loving

AUNT Fanny.





ie TREE OF Ihe.

Fone See

‘And the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.
—REV, xxii. 2.

a HIS verse carries us up to heaven. That
blessed place is described in this chapter
as a city, called the New Jerusalem.
This city is spoken of as being very
beautiful, Nothing like it was ever seen in this
world. It had walls of jasper, and foundations of
precious stones. Its streets were paved with gold;
but the gold there was different from any we have
ever seen. It was so clear that you might see
through ‘it, just as you see through glass. It had
twelve gates, and every gate was made of one great



pearl,

This is the home which Jesus is preparing for His
people. If we love and serve Him, He will take
us to this glorious home at last. What a blessed
120 THE TREE OF LIFE.

thing it will be to have such a home as this!- And
what a joy and.delight it will be to meet with many
we have known and loved, and all the good people
who will be found there!

But the apostle tells us more about this heavenly
city which he saw. He says there was a river of
water, clear as crystal, running through the midst of
the city; and on either side of the river there was
the tree of life. This tree bore twelve different kinds
of fruit. It yielded its fruit every month; ‘and the
leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.

What a wonderful tree this must be! There was
something like this in the garden of Eden, where
God put Adam and Eve when they were created.
Some people think that, even if Adam and Eve had
not sinned, their bodies would have been liable to
grow old, and decay; and that the tree of life had
power to prevent this. They suppose that God put
that tree of life in the garden on purpose that our
first parents might eat of its fruit, and in that way
be able to live for ever.

I think this was very likely; for when God sent
Adam and Eve out of the garden, after they had
sinned, He did it for this very reason, ‘ Lest they
should eat of the tree of life and live for ever? 1 sup-
pose that the tree of life, which was in the garden
of Eden, was a tree which had the power to keep
the bodies of those who ate of it from decaying and
THE TREE OF LIFE, - 121

dying. And in that heavenly city, where those ~
who love Jesus will live with Him, we are told there
will be a tree of life, like that which was: in the
garden of Eden. And this is the tree spoken of
in our text, where it says: ‘And the leaves of the
tree were for the healing of the nations,’

I think the leaves of this tree are not intended
for the use of those who are in heaven, but for
those who are not in heaven.

There are two reasons for this; one is, that when
we get to heaven, we shall be so happy and perfect
that we shall need no healing. There will be no
thing left in us to heal. And, of course, if we have
nothing to heal, we shall not need leaves from the
tree of life to heal us. This is plain enough. We
can all understand this,

And the other reason why I think these leaves
cannot be intended for the use of those who are
in heaven is, that it says they are ‘for the healing

of the zations,—but there will be no zations in
heaven. There will be some people there, no doubt,
out of all nations, but the nations themselves will
not be there. The English nation will not be in
heaven, but a great many good English people will
be there. The American nation will not be there,
but a great-many good American people will be
there. And if those who live in heaven need no
healing, and if there will be no nations in heaven,
£22 Tit TREE OF LIFE,

then it is certain that these ‘leaves from the tree
of life’ are intended for the use of persons outside
of heaven.

And if the nations healed by the leaves of the
tree of life are not people in heaven, then who
are meant by them? Listen, while I give you the
best answer I can to this question.

The Bible teaches us, you know, that when Jesus
comes back again to our earth the resurrection will
take place. He will raise from their graves the
bodies of all His people who have died from the
beginning of the world. Those of His people who
shall be living when He comes, He will change.
In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, they will
be made: as beautiful and as glorious as Jesus
looked when He was on the Mount of Transfigura-
tion. Then Jesus will take all His people away
with Him to live in that beautiful city, which the
apostle tells us about in the last two chapters of
the New Testament.

. After this, many good people think that Jesus
will change our earth, and purify it by fire, and
make it beautiful as the garden of Eden was. And
they think that those left in the world then will be
made up of different nations, just as it is now, only,
as Isaiah says, ‘The people will be all righteous.’
They will all love and serve Jesus, and the whole
world will be full of peace, and joy, and happiness,
THE TREE OF LIFE. 123

And the people who will then be living in the world,
it is supposed, are ‘the nations’ who will need the
leaves from the tree of life to keep their bodies from
getting sick and dying.

And it is thought that the people of Jesus, living
with Him in that heavenly city, will often go back-
wards and forwards, from heaven to earth, just as
the angels do now. They will gather the leaves
from the tree of life, in the heavenly city, and bring
them down to this world, and distribute them for
the healing of the nations who will then be living
here.

We know that there ave mations living here now;
and we know that these nations do need healing.
Both their bodies and their souls need healing. But
where is the tree of life, whose leaves are for the
healing of these nations? Oh, if there only were a
‘real tree of this kind—a tree whose leaves could
heal the souls of men of all the diseases which sin
has brought upon them, what a blessed thing it
would be to be occupied all the time in gathering
the leaves from this tree, and in carrying them round
to heal the souls that were sick, and make them
well! Why, if I had a hundred lives, I should want
to spend them all in just this kind of work. But
we have no such tree. Yet we have something like
i,--we have something that may be compared to a
tree of life ;-—-this is the Bible. Solomon says
124 THE TREE OF LIFE,

(Prov, iti. 18) that wisdom, or the religion which the
Bible teaches, is ‘a tree of life to them who lay hold
on her.’ We may well compare the Bible, therefore,
to a tree of life. And when we think of it as such
a tree, then the verses from the Bible, which we
take as our texts to preach from, are just like leaves
from the tree of life. This is the way in which
God wants us to use the Bible. And this is what
David means, in speaking of God’s dealings with the
Israelites, when he says, ‘He sent His word and
tealed them’ (Psalm cvii. 20). ‘ The leaves of the tree
were for the healing of the nations?

Ihave taken these words because I wish to show
how God makes use of the Bible to change our wicked
hearts and tempers, and make us like Jesus. .When
. doing this, God is healing our souls. And when we
take one text of Scripture after another, and try to —
show how each is intended to help us in overcoming
some sin, or correcting something that is wrong in
our hearts and lives, it will be like taking leaves from
the tree of life and using them to heal the diseases of
our souls.

The Bible is like a tree of life because—it gives
life to dead souls. A dead soul! What is a dead
soul? It is a soul that does not love God, or
think about Him, or try to serve Him. Suppose
you find the body of a man lying in a field. You
look at it. You wish to know whether it is alive
THE TREE OF LIFE. 125

or dead. You put your hand on it, and find that
it is warm. You watch it, and see that it breathes,
You strike it, and it finches, thus showing that it
feels. You raise it up, and find that it can move.
Is that body dead or alive? It is alive. But sup-
pose when you lift it up, it falls down again like a
log. Suppose you strike it, and it has no more
feeling than a stone. You lay your hand upon it,
and find it cold as marble. You watch it, but it
does not breathe. What then? Is it alive or dead?
It is dead. This is the way to tell whether a dody
is alive or dead. And it is just the same with the
soul. The Bible tells us that before we become
Christians we are all ‘dead in trespasses and sins,’
This means that our souls are dead. And you can
*ell whether a soul is dead or not, just as you tell
whether a body is dead.

Dead souls do not breathe. Prayer is the breath
of the soul; but dead souls do not pray. Dead souls
are cold. Love to God is what warms the soul;
but unconverted people do not love God. . Their
souls are cold because they are dead. Dead souls
have no feeling. A live soul shows its feeling by
hating sin, and trying to get rid of it. But uncon-
verted people do not hate sin, or try to get rid of
it. Their souls have no feeling. Dead souls do
not move. Serving God, trying to please Him and
reach heaven, are the ways in which live souls move,
126 THE TREE OF LIFE,

But unconverted people do not serve God. They
do not try to please Him and get to heaven. Their
souls are dead. They have no motion. A soul that
does not breathe or feel, that is cold and has no
motion, is a dead soul.

And the most important thing in the world to.
be done for a dead soul is to give it life. This is
what the Bible calls conversion, or ‘being born
again.” And the Bible may well be called ‘a tree
of life,’ because this is just what it does. It gives
life to dead souls. It converts them. And when
we teach or preach what the Bible tells about Jesus,
then we are taking leaves from the tree of life and
using them to heal dead souls, or give them life.

Where there is no Bible, there is no tree of life,
and so people are not converted there. But where
the Bible is taught or preached, there the tree of life
is growing, and dead souls are healed, or made alive.

When the Apostle Peter began to preach the
gospel on the day of Pentecost, he preached a
very plain, simple sermon. But it was all about
Jesus, and what He has done for us; yet three
thousand dead souls were made alive by that one
sermon. Oh, it just seems to me as if Peter had
gone and filled his arms with branches from the
tree of life, and then, standing among the crowd
of people around him, had plucked the leaves from
the branches, and scattered them about, and wher-
THE TREE OF LIFE. 127

ever one of these leaves fell, it gave life to some
dead soul.

And there is no book but the Bible that will con-
vert people, or make dead souls alive. Suppose we
go into a village, in some destitute part of the country.
There is no church or Sunday school there. The
souls of the people are dead. There are no con-
versions.

- You may open a week-day school, and teach the
children to read and to write. You may teach them
arithmetic, and geography, and history, and philo-
sophy. This may make those children bright and
intelligent, but it will not convert them. It will not
give life to their dead souls, But suppose a Sunday-
school missionary goes there. He opens a school.
He gathers the children. He reads the Bible, and
teaches them about Jesus. He ‘tells them the old,
old story, of Jesus and His love.’,

And as he does this, some of them are led to feel
that they are sinners. They begin to pray, Their
hearts are changed, They are converted. They
learn to love Jesus, and serve Him. Their souls
that were dead are made alive. The Sunday-
_ school missionary brought leaves from the tree of
life, and their souls are healed. This is what the
Bible does all the time. It may well be called the
‘ree of life, because it gives life to dead souls.




~ SELECTION }

FROM THE

“Catalogue of Books

PUBLISHED BY

W. P. NIMMO, HAY, & MITCHELL,

SUITABLE FOR

SCHOOL PRIZES

"AND

GENERAL PRESENTATION.

EDINBURGH.
1891.









rn SESS






bo

Selections from



NIMMO’S NATIONAL LIBRARY.

(New Bindings, in Colours.)

In crown 8vo, with Steel Frontispiece and Vignette, handsomely bound, cloth
extra, price 5s. each ; also in fall gilt side, back, and edges, price 6s. each.

enn

a

. The English Circumnavigators: The most remarkable Voyages
round the World by English Sailors. (Drake, Dampier, Anson, and
Cook's Voyages.) With a Preliminary Sketch of their Lives and Dis-
coveries, Edited, with Notes, Maps, etc., by Davin Latina PURVES
and R. CocHRANE,

. The Book of Adventure and Peril: A Record of Heroism and
Endurance ou Sea and Land. Compiled and Edited by Cuaries
Bruce, Editor of ‘Sea Songs and Ballads.’ Dlustrated.

. The Great Triumphs of Great Men. Edited by James Mason.
Tlnstrated,

. Great Historical Mutinies, comprising the Story of the Mutiny
of the ‘Bounty,’ the Mutiny at Spithead, the Mutiny at the Nore, ~

Matinies in Highland Regiments, and the Indian Mutiny. By Davip
HeRBerT, MA. 5

5. Famous Historical Scenes from Three Centuries. Pictures of
Celebrated Events from the Reformation to the end of the French

Revolution. Selected from the works of Standard Authors by A. R.
Hore Moncrierr.

Nn

=~

6. The English Explorers ; comprising details of the more famous
Travels by Mandeville, Bruce, Park, and Livingstone. With Map, and
Chapter on Arctic Exploration.

7, The Book for Every Day; containing an Inexhaustible Store
of Amusing and Instructive Articles. Edited by Jamzs Mason.

8. The Book of Noble Englishwomen: Lives made Illustrious by
Heroism, Goodness, and Great Attainments. Edited by CHarizs
Bruce.

9. A Hundred Wonders of the World in Nature and Art, described
according to the latest Authorities, and profusely Illustrated. Bdited
by Joun SMALL, M.A,

10. A Book about Travelling, Past and Present. Profusely Ilus-
trated, Edited by THomas A. Croat.

11. Sir Edward Seaward’s Narrative of his Shipwreck and Dis-
covery of certain Islands in the Caribbean Sea. With a detail of many
extraordinary and highly interesting events in his life, from the year
1788 to 1749. By Jane Porrer, Author of the ‘ Scottish Chiefs,’ etc.

12. The Pursuit of Knowledge under Difficulties. By George Lillie
Craig, M.A. .

18. The Mothers of Great Men. By Mrs. Ellis, Author of ‘The
Women of England,’ etc. Iustrated by VaLentiInE W. BRomLEY.








W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell's Catalogue, 3



NIMMO'S 8s. 6d. UNIVERSAL GIFT BOOKS.

New and Enlarged Editions in Coloured Inks.
Full crown 8vo, gilt edges, Illustrated.

nnn

. Wallace, the Hero of Scotland: A Biography. By James

Paterson,

. Life of the Duke of Wellington. By W.H. Maxwell, Author

of ‘Stories of Waterloo,’ etc. Revised and abridged from the
larger work.

. Life of Napoleon Buonaparte. By John Gibson Lockhart,

Author of ‘Life of Sir Walter Scott,’ etc. Revised and abridged
from the larger work,

4, The Life of Nelson. By Robert Southey, LL.D. With
5.
6
7.

Biography of the Author.
The Life of Peter the Great. By Sir John Barrow, E.B.S.,
etc.; Author of ‘The Mutiny of the Bounty,’ ete.

. Mungo Park’s Life and Travels. With a Supplementary

Chapter, detailing the results of recent Discovery in Africa.

- Men of History. By Eminent Writers.

*,* Views of the world’s great men, in the best words of the best

8.

9.

10.
11.

12,
13.

14.
15.

16.
17.

18.

authors.

Benjamin Franklin: A Biography. From the celebrated
‘Life’ by JarEp Sparks, and the more recent and extensive
‘Life and Times’ by James Parton.

Stories about Boys. By Ascott B. Hope, Author of ‘Stories
of School Life,” ‘My Schoolboy Friends,’ etc.

Stories of Whitminster. By Ascott,RB. Hope.

Wild Animals and Birds: Curious and Instructive Stories
about their Habits and Sagacity.



SUITABLE FOR YOUNG LADIES,



Almost Faultless: A Story of the Present Day. By the
Author of ‘A Book for Governesses.’

Violet Rivers; or, Loyal to Duty. A Tale for Girls, By
Wisirrep Tayior, Author of ‘Story of Two Lives,’ etc.

Women of History. By Eminent Writers. .

Christian Osborne’s Friends. By Mrs. Harriet Miller
Davivson, Author of ‘Isobel Jardine’s History.’

Silverton Court. A Tale. By Winifred Taylor.

Naomi; or, The Last Day of Jerusalem. By Mrs. J. B.
Wess, Author of ‘The Child’s Commentary on St. Luke,’ etc,

Severn-side. The Story of a Friendship. By Edith E.
HorsMAn,








4 Selections from



NIMMO’S
New Half-Crown Series of Stories

BY POPULAR AUTHORS.



In full crown 8v0, Illustrated, bound in cloth extra, gold and colowrs, gilt edges.



ry

. Schoolboy Stories. By Ascott RB. Hope, Author of ‘Stories
_ out of Schooltime,’ ‘ Stories of Whitminster,’ etc.

. Stirring Adventure in African Travel. By Charles Bruce.
8. Graphie Scenes in African Story. By Charles Bruce.

4, John Lawrence: ‘Saviour of India.’ The Story of his Life.
By Cuarues Bruce.

5. The Princess Ottilia. A Tale for Girls. By Mrs. Herbert
Manrzin, Author of ‘Bonnie Leslie,’ etc.

6. Aubert; or, One Tiny Link, By Jennie Chappell, Author of
‘For Honour’s Sake,’ etc. /

7. Inspiring Lives. Biographies of the Great. among Women.
(From ‘The Book of Noble Englishwomen.’) By CHAr.Es
Bruce, Author of ‘How Frank began to Climb,’ ete.

8. The Highways of Literature ; or, What to Read and How to
Read. By Davin Prypg, M.A., LL.D., F.B.S.E., F.S.A. Scot.

9. Norrie Seton; or, Driven to Sea. By Mrs. George Cupples,
Author of ‘ Unexpected Pleasures,’ etc.

1}



In full crown 8vo, cloth eatra, Illustrated, 2s, 6d.



1. Naomi; or, The Last Days of Jerusalem. By Mrs. J. B, Webb,
Author of ‘ The Child’s Commentary on St. Luke,’ eto.

2. Ulric Zwingle ; or, Zurich and its Reformer. The Story of a
Noble Life. By the Author of ‘The Spanish Inquisition,’

8. The Spanish Inquisition: Its Heroes and Martyrs. By Janet
Gorpon, Author of ‘ Champions of the Reformation.’ :

4, Heroes of Ancient Greece: A Story of the days of Socrates
: the Athenian. By Exien Paumer.

5. Gold-Foil. Hammered from Popular Proverbs by J. G.
HOLLAND.








W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell’s Catalogue, 5

NIMMO’S LIBRARY OF HISTORY,
TRAVEL, AND ADVENTURE,

In crown 8v0, cloth extra, price 2s. each; gilt edges, 2s. 6d.

1. Travels and Discoveries in Abyssinia by James Bruce,

2. The Life and Travels of Mungo Park. With Supplementary
Details of the Results of Recent Discovery in Africa.

8. A Voyage Round the World by Sir Francis Drake and
Wivuiam Dampier, according to the Text of the Original
Narratives. Edited, with Notes, by D. Lamive Purves. _

4, A Voyage Round the World in the Years 1740-44 by George
Anson. Edited, from the Original Narrative, with Notes, by
D. Larne Purves.

5. Voyages Round the World by Captain James Cook, Edited,
with Notes, etc., by D. Larva Purves.

6. The Story of the Good Ship ‘Bounty’ and her Mutineers.
Mutinies in Highland Regiments.

7. The Story of the Indian Mutiny (1857-58).

8. Feats on the Fiord. A Tale of Norway. By Harriet
MARTINEAD.

NIMMO’S LIBRARY OF BIOGRAPHY.

Uniform in size and price with above. Each Volume having a suitable
Portrait as Frontispiece.

Risen by Perseverance: Lives of Self-Made Men.

Heroes of Invention and Discovery.

. Lives and Discoveries of Famous Travellers.

Great Achievements of Military Men, Statesmen, and others,

Eminent Philanthropists, Patriots, and Reformers,

Gallery of Notable Men and Women.

Earnest Lives: Biographies of Remarkable Men and Women.

Teachers and Preachers of Recent. Times.

Great Orators, Statesmen, and Divines.

Kings without Crowns; or, Lives of American Presidents,
With a Sketch of the American Constitution. By CHaruzs H,
EVans.

11. Lessons from“Women’s Lives. By Saran J. Hae.







. : .

-

SHOEANAOTE MNP

roy

RRR nee

The above Series of Books have been specially prepared in order to
meet the rapidly increasing demand for instructive and wholesome
literature of permanent value. They are admirably adapted for
School Prizes, Gift Books, etc. ete.






Selections from



NIMMO’S

‘BLADE AND THE EAR’ SERIES.

ENLARGED.

Nn,

Crown 8v0, IRustrated, elegantly bound in cloth extra, bevelled boards,

12,
13.
14.
15.

price 2s. cach.

AN nnn

The Blade and the Ear. A Book for Young Men.
The Young Men of the Bible. A Series of Papers,

Biographical and Suggestive. By Rev. Josepa A. CoLLiER.
The King’s Highway; or, Ulustrations of the

Commandments, By the Rev. Ricuarp Newron, D.D., Author
of ‘The Best Things,’ etc.

Nature’s Wonders. By the Rev. Richard Newton,
D.D., Author of ‘The King’s Highway, etc.

Guiding Lights: Lives of the Great and Good..
By F. E. Cooke, Author of ‘ Footprints.’

Heroes of Charity: Records from the Lives of

Merciful Men whose Righteousness has not been Forgotten. By
James F, Coss, F.B.G.8., Author of ‘Stories of Success,’ ete.

Mountain Patriots. A Tale of the Reformation
in Savoy. By Mrs. A. S. Orr. ;

Village Tales and Sketches. By Mary Russell
Mirrorp, Author of ‘ Our Village,’ etc. etc.

The Standard-Bearer. A Tale of the Times of
Constantine the Great. By ELuen PALMER. ;

Stories told in a Fisherman’s Cottage. By Ellen
PALMER, Author of ‘The Standard-Bearer,’ etc. etc.
Diversions of Hollycot; or, The Mother’s Art of

Thinking, By Mrs. Jounsrong, Author of ‘Nights of the
‘Round Table,’ ‘Clan Albin,’ etc.

Philip Walton; or, Light at Last. By the
Author of ‘Meta Franz,’ ete.

Picture Lessons by the Divine Teacher; or, Illus-
trations of the Parables of our Lord. By Prerer Grant, D.D.
Taken Up. A Tale for Boys and Girls. By Alfred

WHYMPER. , }
Champions of the Reformation. Stories of their
Lives. By Janet Gordon. :








W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell’s Catalogue, 7



NIMMO’S BOYS’ OWN LIBRARY.

ENLARGED SERIES,



IARI

Crown 8vo, Illustrated, elegantly bound in cloth extra, gold and colours,

> © PP F FS wmMm NA ® & RO DHE

=
Or

me
wr OD

m
00

bevelled boards, price 23. each.

RN nn

. The Hermit’s Apprentice, By Ascott R. Hope.

The Far North: Explorations in the Arctic
Regions. By Exissa Kenr Kang, M.D.

Monarchs of Ocean: Columbus and Cook.

. Noble Mottoes of Great Families. By Charles

Brucg, Author of ‘Lame Felix,’ etc.

The Castaway’s Home; or, The Story of the Sail-
ing and Sinking of the Good Ship ‘Rose.’ By Mrs. Harpy.

. Great Men of European History, from the Chris-

tian Hra till the Present Time, By Daviw Prypg, LL.D.

. Afloat and Ashore with Sir Walter Raleigh. By

Mrs. Harpy, Author of ‘Champions of the Reformation,’ etc.

. Lame Felix. A Book for Boys, By Charles Bruce.

Life at Hartwell; or, Frank and his Friends. By
Karwarine E, May, Author of ‘ Alfred and his Mother,’ etc. eto,

. Max Wild, the Merchant’s Son; and other Stories

for the Young.

. Up North; or, Lost and Found in Russia and the

Arctic Wastes. By Mrs. Harpy.

Angelo and Stella. A Story of Italian Fisher
Life. By the Rev. Geratp 8. Davizs. :

. Seeing the World. A Young Sailor’s own Story.

By Cuartes Norpuorr.

. The Miner’s Son and Margaret Vernon. By M.

M. Potuarp, Author of ‘The Minister’s Daughter.’

. How Frank began to Climb the Ladder. By

Cuartes Bruce, Author of ‘Lame Felix,’ etc.

. The History of Two Wanderers; or, Cast Adrift.
- Memorable Wars of Scotland. By Patrick Fraser

Tyrier, F.R.S.E.

. Job Carson’s Portrait Gallery. ‘By Lucretia

Maysury, Author of ‘Sandy,’ ‘ Ethelwyn’s Light,’ etc.








8 Selections from



NIMMO’S

Two Shilling Library for Girls

Crown 8v0, Illustrated, elegantly bound in new style,
cloth extra, price 2s. each.

RR ene

1. Life’s Crosses, and How to Meet Them. Tales for Girls. By T.
8S. ARTHUR.

2, A Pather’s Legacy to his Daughters, etc. A Book for Young
Women. By Dr. Grecory.

3. Labours of Love: A Tale for the Young. By Winifred Taylor.
4. Mossdale: A Tale for the Young. By Anna M. De Iongh.

6. Jacqueline; A Story of the Reformation in Holland. By Mrs,
Harpy (Janzer Gorpon).

6. The Minister’s Daughter, and Old Anthony's Will. Tales for
the Young. By M. M. Poutarp.

%. The Two Sisters. By M. M. Pollard.

8 A Needle and Thread: A Taie for Girls, By Emma J. Barnes,
Author of ‘Faithful and True; or, The Mother’s Legacy.’

9. Nonna: A Story of the Days of Julian the Apostate. By Ellen
PALMER.

10. An Earl’s Daughter. AStoryforthe Young. By M.M. Pollard,
Author of ‘The Two Sisters,’ etc. etc.

11. Doing and Dreaming. A Tale for the Young. By Edward
GaRRETT.

12, Vain Ambition; or, Only a Girl. By Emma Davenport, Author
of ‘Our Birthdays,’ etc.

13. The Cottagers of Glenburnie. A Scottish Tale. By Elizabeth
Hamilton.

14. My New Home: A Woman’s Diary.

15. Home Heroines, Tales for Girls. By T. S. Arthur.
16. The Roseville Family. By Mrs. A, §, Orr,

17. Leah. A Tale of Ancient Palestine. By Mrs. A. S. Orr,




!





W. P, Nimmo, Hay, &

Mitchell's Catalogue, 9



NIMMO’S

Sunday-School Reward Books.

AP ILRAARAANRRA

Small crown 8vo, cloth ea extra, in an entirely new and elegant binding,
price 1s. 6d. each volwme, Illustrated.



1. One Hour a Week: Fifty-two
Bible Lessons for the
Young.

2, The Story of John Heywood:
An Historical Tale of the
Time of Harry vim. By
Cuartes Bruor, iathion

of ‘How Frank began to
Climb,’ etc.

3, Lessons From Rose Hill; and
Lirtte NaNnette.

4, Great and Good Women:
Biographies for Girls. By
Lypia H. S1courney.

5. At_Home and Abroad; or,
Uncle William’s Adven-~
tures.

6. Alfred and his Mother; or,
Seeking the Kingdom. By
Kartsarine E. May.

7. Asriel; or, The Crystal Cup.
A Tale for the Young. By
Mrs. HenpERson.

8. The Kind Governess; or,
How to make Home Happy.



9. Percy and Ida, By Karua-
RINE E. May.

10. Three Wet Sundays with the
Book or Josaua. By
Ex.ten Parmer, Author of
‘Christmas at the Beacon,’
etc. ete.

11. The Fishermen of Galilee;
or, Sunday Talks with
Papa. By Even Paumer.

12, From Cottage to Castile;
or, Faithful in Little A
Tale founded on Fact, By
M. H., Author of ‘ The Red
Velvet Bible,’ ete.

13. The Story of a Moss Rose;
or, Ruth and the Orphan
Family. By Cuas. Brvor.

14, The Children’s Hour: Talks
to Young People. By
Cuarirs Bruce, Author
of ‘Noble Mottoes,’ ‘The
Book of Noble English-

women,’ etc. With a Pre-
' face by Rev. E. Paxton
Hoop.



WORES OF THE

REV. RICHARD

een



NEWTON, D.D.

ANN

In smali crown 8v0, cloth extra, in an entirely new and elegant
binding, price 1s. 6d. each volume, Illustrated.

. Bible Blessings.

. The Best Things,

. Bible Wonders,

. Bible Jewels,

. Rills from the Fountain of
Life.

ARON

By the same ‘Author,

6. Leaves from the Tree of Life,

7. Pebbles from the Brook,

8. The Giants, and How to Fight
Them; and Wonderful Things.

9. The Safe Compass, and How
it Points.

Price 2s. each,

The King’s Highway; or, Illustrations of the Commandments.

Nature’s Wonders,






10

ts)

is]

-

N

8.

se

10.

Blind Mercy;

Selections from

NIMMO’S

SUNDAY AND WEEK-DAY REWARD BOOKS.

Small crown 8vo, cloth extra, new bindings, Illustrated, price 1s. 6d. each.

The Sculptor of Bruges, By

Mrs. W. G. Haut.

» Christmas at the Beacon: A

Tale for tho Young. By
ELLen Patmer.

. The Sea and the Savages:

A Story of Adventure.
By Harorp Lincoun.

. The Swedish Singer; or,

The Story of Vanda Rosen-
dahl. By Mrs. W. G. |
Hau.

. My Beautiful Home: or,

Lily’s Search. By Cuas,
Bruce,

Summer Holidays at Silver-

sea, By HE.
Satmon.

RosaLie

Fred Graham’s Resolve. By

the Author of ‘Mat and
Sofie,’ etc. etc.

Wilton School; or, Harry

Campbell’s Revenge. Tale, ByF.E. WEATHERLY.

Grace Harvey and her |

Cousins.

and other
Tales for the Young. By
GrrrrupE CRocKFORD.



il. Evan Lindsay. By Margaret

16.

. Bob’s’ Heroine:

Fraser Tytirr, Author
of ‘Tales of Good and Great
Kings,’ etc.

. Harvey Sinclair; or, ALesson

for Life. By the Author of
‘Fred Graham’s Resolve,’
ete.

. The Boys of Willoughby

School: A Tale. By
Rosert Riowarpson, B.A.

. Ruth Seyton; or, The Cross

and the Crown. By Epira
AWSBY.

. The Choristers of Ravens-

wood. By ALtcEJAcKson,
Author of ‘ Mattie’s Mis-
take.’ "
Goat-boy Baronet; or,
Cyril the Landless Laird.
By Jznnrze CHAPPELL,
Author of ‘Crossed with
Silver,’ ete.

A Story
containing a Small Hero
as well as a Heroine. By
Mauve M. Burier, Author
of ‘The Story of Little
Hal and the Golden Gate,’
etc. -



NIMMO’S EIGHTEENPENNY BOYS’ FAYOURITES,

noe

New Editions, in small crown 8vo, cloth eatra, elegant and

characteristic binding,

GoLpsMITH.

. THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE,
. THE HISTORY OF SANDFORD AND MERTON.
3, THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. Poems and Essays.

By Oliver

4. THE FABLES OF ZSOP AND OTHERS. Translated into English;

5. BUNYAN’S PILGRIM’S PROGRESS,

with Instructive Applications, by SamurL Croxauz, D.D.








W. P, Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell's Catalogue, ll



NIMMO’S
ONE SHILLING ILLUSTRATED JUVENILE BOOKS.

Small crown 8vo, Coloured Frontispieces, handsomely bound in cloth,
Illuminated, price 1s. each.

Ann

1. Four Little People and their Friends.
% Elizabeth; or, The Exiles of Siberia. A Tale from the French of
Madame Cortin.
8. Paul and Virginia, From the French of Bernardin Saint-Piorroe,
4. Little Threads: Tangle Thread, Golden Thread, and Silver Thread.
5. Benjamin Franklin, the Printer Boy.
6. Barton Todd, and the Young Lawyer.
7. The Perils of Greatness: The Story of Alexander Menzikoff.
8 Little Crowus, and How to Win Them. By Rev. J oseph A. Collier.
. Great Riches: Nelly Rivers’ Story. By Aunt Fanny.
10, The Right Way, and the Contrast.
11, Tho Daisy’s First Winter. And other Stories. By H. Beecher Stowe.
12, The Old Farmhouse; or, Alice Morton’s Home. And other Stories.
By M. M, Potnarp.
13, Twyford Hall; or, Rosa’s Christmas Dinner, and what she did with it.
By Cuartzus BRucE.
14, ane piconcented Weathercock. And other Stories for Children, By
. JONES.
15, Out at Sea. And other Stories. By Two Authors,
16. The Story of Waterloo; or, The Fall of Napoleon.
17. Sister Jane’s Little Stories, Edited by Louisa Loughborough.
18 Uncle John’s First Shipwreck; or, The Loss of the Brig ‘Nollie.’ By
Cuagixs Broce, Author of ‘Noble Mottoes,’ etc.
19, The History of a Lifeboat. By Richard Rowe, Author of ‘The Tower
: on the Tor,’ ete.



TAN



©



NEW SHILLING BOOKS BY POPULAR AUTHORS.

In attractive Bindings, each with Frontispiece.

NA nn

1. The Vulture’s Nest. And other Stories. By Ascott R. Hope.
2, ‘Dumps.’ And other Stories. By the same Author.
3. A Night in a Snowstorm. And other Stories. By Charles Bruce.
Dick’s Dog. And other Stories of Country Boys. By Ascott R. Hope.
Crossed with Silver. By Jennie Chappell,
Three School Friends. A Tale for Girls. By Edith Awsby.
The Maltese Cross. And other Tales for Girls. By Jennie Chappell.
Fred Leicester; or, The Southern Cross, and Charles’s Wain. And
other Stories. By Ricnarp Rows, Author of ‘Jack Afloat and Ashore,’
ete.
9, Our Sailmakér’s Yarn. By Mrs. George Cupples. And other Stories
of the Sea, by Popular Authors.
* 10, Hero’s Story. The Autobiography of a Newfoundland Dog. By
Harrtert Boutrwoop, Author of ‘Acting on the Square,’ etc.
ll, Fairy Tales and True. By Alice F. Jackson.
12, Bara bles from Flowers. By Gertrude P. Dyer, Author of ‘Armour.
Clad,’ ete.

DOI oe








Selections from



NIMMO’S

NINEPENNY SERIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS,

Square foolscap 8vo, with Illustrations, elegantly bound in cloth,
price 9d. each.

RAR nen

Tus Series of Books will be found unequalled for genuine interest and
value, and it is believed they will be eagerly welcomed by thoughtful
children of both sexes. Parents may rest assured that each Volume
teaches some noble lesson, or enforces some valuable truth.

1.

2

3.
4.
5.
6

7.

2

oo

9

10
11.
12

13.
14.
15.
16.

17
18.

19.

In the Brave Days of Old; or, The Story of the Spanish
Armada. For Boys and Girls.

The Lost Ruby. By the Author of ‘ The Basket of Flowers,’
etc.

Leslie Ross; or, Fond of a Lark. By Charles Bruce.

My First and Last Voyage. By Benjamin Clarke.

Little Katie: A Fairy Story. By Charles Bruce.

Being Afraid. And other Stories forthe Young. By Charles
Sruarr.

The Toll-Keepers. And other Stories for the Young. By
BENJAMIN CLARKE.

Dick Barford: A Boy who would go down Hill. By Charles
Brucg. 3

Joan of Arc; or, The Story of a Noble Life. Written for
Girls,

Helen Siddal: A Story for Children. By Ellen Palmer.

Mat and Sofie: A Story for Boys and Girls. :

Peace and War. By the Author of ‘The Basket of Flowers,’
etc.

Perilous Adventures of a French Soldier in Algeria.

The Magic Glass; or, The Secret of Happiness.

Hawks’ Dene: A Tale for Children. By Katharine E. May.

Little Maggie, And other Stories. By the Author of ‘The
Joy of Well-Doing,’ etc. etc. ,

The Brother’s Legacy; or, Better than Gold. By M. M.
POLLARD.

The Little Sisters; or, Jealousy. And other Stories for the
Young. By the Author of ‘ Little Tales for Tiny Tots,’ ete.

Kate’s New Home. By Cecil Scott, Author of ‘Chrygsie
Lyle,’ ete.








W. P, Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell's Catalogue,

13



ANP w NE

s

10,
11,
138,
14,
15.
16,
17.

b
bo

18,
19,

20.
21
22,

Simmo’s Sixpenny Juvenile Books.

Small foolscap 8v0, Illustrated, handsomely bound in cloth,
price 6d, each,

Pearls for Litile People.

Great Lessons for Little
People.

Reason in Rhyme: A Poetry
Book for the Young.

Atsop’s Little Fable Book,

. Grapes from the Great Vine.

The Pot of Gold.
Story Pictures from the Bible.
The Tables of Stone: Illustra-
tions of the Commandments,
Ways of Doing Good.
Stories about our Dogs.
Harriet Bescuer STOWE.
The Red-Winged Goose.
The Hermit of the Hills,
Efie’s Christmas, and other
Stories. By ADELAIDE AUSTEN.
A Visit to Grandmother, and
other Stories for the Young.
Bible Stories for Young
People. By ADELAIDE AUSTEN.
The Little Woodman and his
Dog Cesar. By Mrs. SHERWOOD.
Among the Mountains: Tales
for the Young. By ADELAIDE
AUSTEN.
Inttle Gems for Little Readers,
Do your Duty, come what will;
and other Stories for the Young.
Noble Joe: A Tale for Chil-
dren. By ADELAIDE AUSTEN.
Lucy Vernon, and other Stories
for the Young.
Anecdotes of Favourite Ani-
mals told for Children. By
ADELAIDE AUSTEN.

By



23.
24,

25.
26,
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.

33.

34,
35.
36.
37.
38.

Litile Henry and his Bearer.
By Mrs. SHERWOOD.

The Holidays at Wilton, and
other Stories. By ADELAIDE
AUSTEN.

Chryssie Lyle: A Lale for the
Young. By Cxror Scott.

Inttle Elsie among the Quarry-
men. By ELLEN PALMER.

The Lesson of Obedience. By
the Rev. Rionarp Newron, D.D.

The Lesson of Diligence. By
the Rey,RicHarp Newton, D.D.

Fergus: A Tale, By Jacob

‘ ABBOTT,

Gilbert and his Mother. By
JAQOB ABBOTT.

The Shepherd of Salisbury
Plain. By Hanwag Mors.

and other

By Cuarizs and Mary

Emily Barton,
Stories,
Lams.

Etizabeth Villiers, and other

Stories. By CHarLEes and Mary
Lams,

The Grateful Negro. By
Maxia EDGEWORTH,

Forgive and Forget. By
Mania EDGEWORTH.

Waste not, Want not. By
Maria EDGEWORTH.

The Faise Key. By Maria
EDGEWORTH.
The Bracelets,
EDGEWORTH.

By Maria

Himmo's Fourpenny Jubenile Books.

The above Series of Books is also kept in embossed and illuminated
paper cover, beautifully printed in gold from entirely new designs,
price 4d. each,








14 Selections from



NIMMO’S FOURPENNY JUVENILE BOOKS.

SHORT STORIES FOR CHILDREN, by Mrs. Suerwoon,
JANE TAYLOR, RICHARD Rowe, ete.

DRONE nen

Demy 18mo, cloth, Illustrated.
George and his Penny, by Mrs. SHzrwoop; and other Tales.
Lucy and Her Mother, by Janz Tayior; and other Tales.
Getting on in Life, and other Tales.

Bessie Blake the Farmer’s Daughter, by Ricuarp Row; and
other Tales. ;

The Busy Bee, by Mrs. Suzrwoop; and other Tales.

Try to be Happy, and other Tales.

The Story of the Rose, by Mrs. Saunwoon; and other Tales,
Brave and True, and other Tales.

The Young Apprentice, by Janz Taytor; and other Tales,
10. Regie’s Pony, and other Tales. .

11. Emily’s Temptation, by Mrs. Sozrwoop; and other Tales.
12. Philip’s Day Dream, and other Tales.

13, The Orphan Boy, by Mrs. SHerwoop; and other Tales.

14, The One Thing Needful, and other Tales.

15. Little Sins, by Mrs. Saexwoop; and other Tales,

16. The Indian Chief, and other Tales..

17. The Little Dog Trusty, and other Tales.

18. The Kind Bear, and other Tales.

NEW SERIES OF PENNY REWARD BOOKS.

In beautiful Coloured Covers, done in Chromo-Lithography. Six
different Designs, very pretty and attractive. Demy 18mo, -
16 pp. Hach with a Frontispiece.



PONbH

PHAM gE









1. Try to be Happy. 10. Faithful unto Death,

2. Eyes and Ears. ‘ 11. Abraham’s Sacrifice.

3. My Little Teachers. 12. Getting on in Life.

4. The Fourth Commandment, | 13. I can do without it.

5, A Talk about Fighting, 14. The Little Busy Bee.

6. Moffat’s Lion Adventures. 15. TheStoryofaDay'sPleasure,
7. The Little Factory Girl. 16. The Lonely Lighthouse,

8. George and His Penny, 17. Little Sins,

9. The Little Dog Trusty. 18. It doesn’t Matter,

RRR enn

These may be had either separately, or in three Packets at 6d. each.






‘W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell's Catalogue, 15
NIMMO’S BIRTH-OAY BOOKS.

: In Foolseap:-16mo.

Cloth extra, red edges, 1s.; gilt edges, 1s. 6d.; padded cloth, in boxes,
1s. 6d.; paste grain, round corners, 2s.} paste grain, padded,
2s. 6d.; armadillo grain, 3a.; and German qalf, padded, 4s.

. Bible Words for Birth-Days; Consisting of a Text of Scripture
and Verse of Hymn for Every Day in the Year.

. Birth-Day Greetings; Consisting of Poetical Extracts and
Mottoes for Every Day in the Year.



and Humorous Extracts for Every Day in the Year.
The Birth-Day Oracle; cr, Whom shall I Marry? Gwuesses at
the Character and Appearance of your future Husband or Wife.

5,. The Little Folk's Birth-Day Book; or, Something Good about
Children, Child-life, Flowers, etc., for Every Day in the Year.
Selected and Arranged by C. B., Compiler of the: ‘ Birth-Day
Book of Proverbs.’

6, A Cup of Blessing \for Every Day in the Year. Being a Birth-
Day Book of Cheering and Consolatory Texts selected from
Scripture and other Sources. By C. B.

7. The Lyric Birth-Day Book. Snatches of Song gathered from the

: Lyric Poets, and arranged for Every Day inthe Year, By D. H.

8. Mrs. Hemans’ Birth-Day Book. Passages from the Poems of Felicia Homans, arranged as a
Daily Text Book. By R. G. B.

9, Birth-Day Chimes from Longfellow. Six Hundred Quotations
from his Poems, arranged as a Daily Text Book. By 8. P. L.

10. Birth-Day Chimes from Shakespeare, A Text Book of Choice

: Extracts from his Works.

1
2
3. The Birth-Day Book of Wit and Humour; Consisting of Witty .
4,

11. Birth-Day Chimes from Burns. Selections from the Poems,

Songs, and Ballads of Robert Burns.

12, What saith the Master? A Daily Text Book in the very Words
of our Lord. Selected by May Cocuranz.

13. Birth-Day Texts from Wordsworth, Passages for Every Day in
the Year, from the Poems of William Wordsworth,

14, Birth-Day Chimes’ from Scott, Selected from the Poems and
Tales of Sir Walter Scott.

In Crown 16mo.

Limp cloth, 1s.-6d.; cloth, gilt edges, 2s.; paste grain, round corners,
3s.; paste grain, padded, 8s. 6d.; German calf, padded, 6s.;
and imitation ivory, 3s. 6d.

1, The Birth-Day Book of Proverbs; Consisting of a Serious,
Satirical, or Humorous Sentence, Proverb, and Verse of Poetry
for Every Day in the Year. By C. B. ’

2, Auld Acquaintance: A Birth-Day Book of the Wise and Tender

: Words of Robert Burns. Compiled by Jamus B. Buea, a Grand-
nephew of the Poet.

3. The Household Birth-Day Book and Marriage and Obituary
Register. ‘With the Dates of Births, Marriages, and Deaths of
over One Thousand Eminent Men and Women.






16 W, P, Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell's Catalogue.
NIMMO’S SIXPENNY BIRTH-DAY BOOKS.

In crown, 16mo, cloth extra; red edges, price 6d.; and in ‘Per StU |
calf, gilt edges, 1s.

1, HEAVENLY ‘LIGHT, Cheering Texts from Soripbure: A Birth-
Day Book for Every Day in the Year.

2. BIRTH-DAY ECHOES FROM THE POETS, A Selection of Choice
Quotations, arranged for Every Day in the Year. .

3, DAILY MAXIMS, A Birth-Day Text Book of Proverbs and Wise
Sayings. Selected from Various Sources.

4, THORN BLOSSOM. Quotatious Grave and Gay, arranged asa
Birth-Day Text Book.

5. BOE EES SUNBEAMS.. Helpful Texts for Every Day in the

ear.

6, THE BIRTH-DAY GARLAND AND LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS,

Snatches from the Poets in Praise of Flowers.





New Edition, Forty-first Thousand, in small 8vo, cloth ous ie gilt
edges,.new and elegant binding in colours, price Is, 6

ACROSS THE RIVER. Twelve Views of Heaven. o ‘Nomhan
Macteop, D.D.; RB. W. Hamirron, D.D.; Koper 8. CANDLISH,”
D. D.; JannEs HAMILTON, D.D.; etc,

MIMMO'S THREEPENNY JUVENILE BOOKS.

ILLUSTRATED.



iy ae
SHORT Ss FOR CHILDREN, BY WELL- KNOWN AUTHORS.

e



AAR AN



In neat cloth binding.



1. The Pet Polyanthus, ; 19. Annie's Fall.

2, Amy and Her Doves, : 20. The Fisherman’s Son.

3. The Negro Servant. 21. The Cherry Orchard.

4, Wat's Christmas at Home, 22. Ernest; or, The Great Stone
5. Blind Barty. 23, Story of a Coward. [Face.
6. The Basket Woman. 24, Value of Little Things.

97. Good for Evil. 25. Story of the Apples. :
8. The Orange Girl. i 26. The Benevolent Schoolmaster.
9. A Sunday in Jerusalem. 27. Learning by Experience.

10, Daddy Goodluck. 28, Lady Grizell Baillie.

11. Parley the Porter. 29, Talks with Mr. Fairchild.

12. The Fortunate Young Lady. 30. The Troublesome Friend.

18. The Orange Grove. 31, Mrs. Fairchild’s Story.

14, The Wreck of the Prospero. 32, Sarah Martin.

15, The Fortune Teller. 33. Honour thy Parents.

16. The French Philanthropist. 34. The Poor Children’s Friend,
17, Jim Brown, 35, Story about Envy.

18. Little Nat. 36. The Orphan's Friend.