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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Friends and Neighbors, or Two Ways of Living in the World
+by T. S. Arthur
+(#8 in our series by T. S. Arthur)
+
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+Title: Friends and Neighbors, or Two Ways of Living in the World
+
+Author: T. S. Arthur
+
+Release Date: October, 2003  [Etext #4593]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on February 12, 2002]
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+Edition: 10
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+Language: English
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+Character set encoding: ASCII
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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Friends and Neighbors, or Two Ways of Living in the World
+by T. S. Arthur
+******This file should be named fntwl10.txt or fntwl10.zip******
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+This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com)
+
+FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS;
+
+OR, Two Ways of Living in the World.
+
+EDITED BY T. S. ARTHUR.
+
+PHILADELPHIA:
+
+1856
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+
+
+
+WE were about preparing a few words of introduction to this volume,
+the materials for which have been culled from the highways and
+byways of literature, where our eyes fell upon these fitting
+sentiments, the authorship of which we are unable to give. They
+express clearly and beautifully what was in our own mind:--
+
+"If we would only bring ourselves to look at the subjects that
+surround as in their true flight, we should see beauty where now
+appears deformity, and listen to harmony where we hear nothing but
+discord. To be sure there is a great deal of vexation and anxiety in
+the world; we cannot sail upon a summer sea for ever; yet if we
+preserve a calm eye and a steady hand, we can so trim our sails and
+manage our helm, as to avoid the quicksands, and weather the storms
+that threaten shipwreck. We are members of one great family; we are
+travelling the same road, and shall arrive at the same goal. We
+breathe the same air, are subject to the same bounty, and we shall,
+each lie down upon the bosom of our common mother. It is not
+becoming, then, that brother should hate brother; it is not proper
+that friend should deceive friend; it is not right that neighbour
+should deceive neighbour. We pity that man who can harbour enmity
+against his fellow; he loses half the enjoyment of life; he
+embitters his own existence. Let us tear from our eyes the coloured
+medium that invests every object with the green hue of jealousy and
+suspicion; turn, a deal ear to scandal; breathe the spirit of
+charity from our hearts; let the rich gushings of human kindness
+swell up as a fountain, so that the golden age will become no
+fiction and islands of the blessed bloom in more than Hyperian
+beauty."
+
+It is thus that friends and neighbours should live. This is the
+right way. To aid in the creation of such true harmony among men,
+has the book now in your hand, reader, been compiled. May the truths
+that glisten on its pages be clearly reflected in your mind; and the
+errors it points out be shunned as the foes of yourself and
+humanity.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+
+
+
+GOOD IN ALL
+HUMAN PROGRESS
+MY WASHERWOMAN
+FORGIVE AND FORGET
+OWE NO MAN ANYTHING
+RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL
+PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET
+KIND WORDS
+NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS
+GOOD WE MIGHT DO
+THE TOWN LOT
+THE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROP
+A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS
+MR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATIONS
+ROOM IN THE WORLD
+WORDS
+THE THANKLESS OFFICE.
+LOVE
+"EVERY LITTLE HELPS"
+LITTLE THINGS
+CARELESS WORDS
+HOW TO BE HAPPY
+CHARITY--ITS OBJECTS
+THE VISION OF BOATS
+REGULATION OF THE TEMPER
+MANLY GENTLENESS
+SILENT INFLUENCE
+ANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLY
+THE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN
+"WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE"
+BLIND JAMES
+DEPENDENCE
+TWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTOR
+KEEP IN STEP
+JOHNNY COLE
+THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR
+JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON
+THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT
+TWO SIDES TO A STORY
+LITTLE KINDNESSES
+LEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED WITH
+"ALL THE DAY IDLE"
+THE BUSHEL OF CORN
+THE ACCOUNT
+CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTH
+RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE
+
+
+
+
+
+
+FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS.
+
+GOOD IN ALL.
+
+
+
+
+
+THERE IS GOOD IN ALL. Yes! we all believe it: not a man in the depth
+of his vanity but will yield assent. But do you not all, in
+practice, daily, hourly deny it? A beggar passes you in the street:
+dirty, ragged, importunate. "Ah! he has a _bad_ look," and your
+pocket is safe. He starves--and he steals. "I thought he was _bad_."
+You educate him in the State Prison. He does not improve even in
+this excellent school. "He is," says the gaoler, "thoroughly _bad_."
+He continues his course of crime. All that is bad in him having by
+this time been made apparent to himself, his friends, and the world,
+he has only to confirm the decision, and at length we hear when he
+has reached his last step. "Ah! no wonder--there was never any
+_Good_ in him. Hang him!"
+
+Now much, if not all this, may be checked by a word.
+
+If you believe in Good, _always appeal to it._ Be sure whatever
+there is of Good--is of God. There is never an utter want of
+resemblance to the common Father. "God made man in His own image."
+"What! yon reeling, blaspheming creature; yon heartless cynic; yon
+crafty trader; yon false statesman?" Yes! All. In every nature there
+is a germ of eternal happiness, of undying Good. In the drunkard's
+heart there is a memory of something better--slight, dim: but
+flickering still; why should you not by the warmth of your charity,
+give growth to the Good that is in him? The cynic, the miser, is not
+all self. There is a note in that sullen instrument to make all
+harmony yet; but it wants a patient and gentle master to touch the
+strings.
+
+You point to the words "There is _none_ good." The truths do not
+oppose each other. "There is none good--_save one._" And He breathes
+in all. In our earthliness, our fleshly will, our moral grasp, we
+are helpless, mean, vile. But there is a lamp ever burning in the
+heart: a guide to the source of Light, or an instrument of torture.
+We can make it either. If it burn in an atmosphere of purity, it
+will warm, guide, cheer us. If in the midst of selfishness, or under
+the pressure of pride, its flame will be unsteady, and we shall soon
+have good reason to trim our light, and find new oil for it.
+
+There is Good in All--the impress of the Deity. He who believes not
+in the image of God in man, is an infidel to himself and his race.
+There is no difficulty about discovering it. You have only to appeal
+to it. Seek in every one the _best_ features: mark, encourage,
+educate _them._ There is no man to whom some circumstance will not
+be an argument.
+
+And how glorious in practice, this faith! How easy, henceforth, all
+the labours of our law-makers, and how delightful, how practical the
+theories of our philanthropists! To educate the _Good_--the good in
+_All_: to raise every man in his own opinion, and yet to stifle all
+arrogance, by showing that all possess this Good. _In_ themselves,
+but not _of_ themselves. Had we but faith in this truth, how soon
+should we all be digging through the darkness, for this Gold of
+Love--this universal Good. A Howard, and a Fry, cleansed and
+humanized our prisons, to find this Good; and in the chambers of all
+our hearts it is to be found, by labouring eyes and loving hands.
+
+Why all our harsh enactments? Is it from experience of the strength
+of vice in ourselves that we cage, chain, torture, and hang men? Are
+none of us indebted to friendly hands, careful advisers; to the
+generous, trusting guidance, solace, of some gentler being, who has
+loved us, despite the evil that is in _us_--for our little Good, and
+has nurtured that Good with smiles and tears and prayers? O, we know
+not how like we are to those whom we despise! We know not how many
+memories of kith and kin the murderer carries to the gallows--how
+much honesty of heart the felon drags with him to the hulks.
+
+There is Good in All. Dodd, the forger, was a better man than most
+of us: Eugene Aram, the homicide, would turn his foot from a worm.
+Do not mistake us. Society demands, requires that these madmen
+should be rendered harmless. There is no nature dead to all Good.
+Lady Macbeth would have slain the old king, Had he not resembled her
+father as he slept.
+
+It is a frequent thought, but a careless and worthless one, because
+never acted on, that the same energies, the same will to great
+vices, had given force to great virtues. Do we provide the
+opportunity? Do we _believe_ in Good? If we are ourselves deceived
+in any one, is not all, thenceforth, deceit? if treated with
+contempt, is not the whole world clouded with scorn? if visited with
+meanness, are not all selfish? And if from one of our frailer
+fellow-creatures we receive the blow, we cease to believe in women.
+Not the breast at which we have drank life--not the sisterly hands
+that have guided ours--not the one voice that has so often soothed
+us in our darker hours, will save the sex: All are massed in one
+common sentence: all bad. There may be Delilahs: there are many
+Ruths. We should not lightly give them up. Napoleon lost France when
+he lost Josephine. The one light in Rembrandt's gloomy life was his
+sister.
+
+And all are to be approached at some point. The proudest bends to
+some feeling--Coriolanus conquered Rome: but the husband conquered
+the hero. The money-maker has influences beyond his gold--Reynolds
+made an exhibition of his carriage, but he was generous to
+Northcote, and had time to think of the poor Plympton
+schoolmistress. The cold are not all ice. Elizabeth slew Essex--the
+queen triumphed; the woman _died._
+
+There is Good in All. Let us show our faith in it. When the lazy
+whine of the mendicant jars on your ears, think of his unaided,
+unschooled childhood; think that his lean cheeks never knew the
+baby-roundness of content that ours have worn; that his eye knew no
+youth of fire--no manhood of expectancy. Pity, help, teach him. When
+you see the trader, without any pride of vocation, seeking how he
+can best cheat you, and degrade himself, glance into the room behind
+his shop and see there his pale wife and his thin children, and
+think how cheerfully he meets that circle in the only hour he has
+out of the twenty-four. Pity his narrowness of mind; his want of
+reliance upon the God of Good; but remember there have been
+Greshams, and Heriots, and Whittingtons; and remember, too, that in
+our happy land there are thousands of almshouses, built by the men
+of trade alone. And when you are discontented with the great, and
+murmur, repiningly, of Marvel in his garret, or Milton in his
+hiding-place, turn in justice to the Good among the great. Read how
+John of Lancaster loved Chaucer and sheltered Wicliff. There have
+been Burkes as well as Walpoles. Russell remembered Banim's widow,
+and Peel forgot not Haydn.
+
+Once more: believe that in every class there is Good; in every man,
+Good. That in the highest and most tempted, as well as in the
+lowest, there is often a higher nobility than of rank. Pericles and
+Alexander had great, but different virtues, and although the
+refinement of the one may have resulted in effeminacy, and the
+hardihood of the other in brutality, we ought to pause ere we
+condemn where we should all have fallen.
+
+Look only for the Good. It will make you welcome everywhere, and
+everywhere it will make you an instrument to good. The lantern of
+Diogenes is a poor guide when compared with the Light God hath set
+in the heavens; a Light which shines into the solitary cottage and
+the squalid alley, where the children of many vices are hourly
+exchanging deeds of kindness; a Light shining into the rooms of
+dingy warehousemen and thrifty clerks, whose hard labour and hoarded
+coins are for wife and child and friend; shining into prison and
+workhouse, where sin and sorrow glimmer with sad eyes through rusty
+bars into distant homes and mourning hearths; shining through heavy
+curtains, and round sumptuous tables, where the heart throbs audibly
+through velvet mantle and silken vest, and where eye meets eye with
+affection and sympathy; shining everywhere upon God's creatures, and
+with its broad beams lighting up a virtue wherever it falls, and
+telling the proud, the wronged, the merciless, or the despairing,
+that there is "Good in All."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+HUMAN PROGRESS.
+
+
+
+
+
+WE are told to look through nature
+  Upward unto Nature's God;
+We are told there is a scripture
+  Written on the meanest sod;
+That the simplest flower created
+  Is a key to hidden things;
+But, immortal over nature,
+  Mind, the lord of nature, springs!
+
+Through _Humanity_ look upward,--
+  Alter ye the olden plan,--
+Look through man to the Creator,
+  Maker, Father, God of Man!
+Shall imperishable spirit
+  Yield to perishable clay?
+No! sublime o'er Alpine mountains
+  Soars the Mind its heavenward way!
+
+Deeper than the vast Atlantic
+  Rolls the tide of human thought;
+Farther speeds that mental ocean
+  Than the world of waves o'er sought!
+Mind, sublime in its own essence
+  Its sublimity can lend
+To the rocks, and mounts, and torrents,
+  And, at will, their features bend!
+
+Some within the humblest _floweret_
+  "Thoughts too deep for tears" can see;
+Oh, the humblest man existing
+  Is a sadder theme to me!
+Thus I take the mightier labour
+  Of the great Almighty hand;
+And, through man to the Creator,
+  Upward look, and weeping stand.
+
+Thus I take the mightier labour,
+  --Crowning glory of _His_ will;
+And believe that in the meanest
+  Lives a spark of Godhead still:
+Something that, by Truth expanded,
+  Might be fostered into worth;
+Something struggling through the darkness,
+  Owning an immortal birth!
+
+From the Genesis of being
+  Unto this imperfect day,
+Hath Humanity held onward,
+  Praying God to aid its way!
+And Man's progress had been swifter,
+  Had he never turned aside,
+To the worship of a symbol,
+  Not the spirit signified!
+
+And Man's progress had been higher,
+  Had he owned his brother man,
+Left his narrow, selfish circle,
+  For a world-embracing plan!
+There are some for ever craving,
+  Ever discontent with place,
+In the eternal would find briefness,
+  In the infinite want space.
+
+If through man unto his Maker
+  We the source of truth would find,
+It must be through man enlightened,
+  Educated, raised, refined:
+That which the Divine hath fashioned
+  Ignorance hath oft effaced;
+Never may we see God's image
+  In man darkened--man debased!
+
+Something yield to Recreation,
+  Something to Improvement give;
+There's a Spiritual kingdom
+  Where the Spirit hopes to live!
+There's a mental world of grandeur,
+  Which the mind inspires to know;
+Founts of everlasting beauty
+  That, for those who seek them, flow!
+
+Shores where Genius breathes immortal--
+  Where the very winds convey
+Glorious thoughts of Education,
+  Holding universal sway!
+Glorious hopes of Human Freedom,
+  Freedom of the noblest kind;
+That which springs from Cultivation,
+  Cheers and elevates the mind!
+
+Let us hope for Better Prospects,
+  Strong to struggle for the night,
+We appeal to Truth, and ever
+  Truth's omnipotent in might;
+Hasten, then, the People's Progress,
+  Ere their last faint hope be gone;
+Teach the Nations that their interest
+  And the People's good, ARE ONE.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MY WASHERWOMAN.
+
+
+
+
+
+SOME people have a singular reluctance to part with money. If waited
+on for a bill, they say, almost involuntarily, "Call to-morrow,"
+even though their pockets are far from being empty.
+
+I once fell into this bad habit myself; but a little incident, which
+I will relate, cured me. Not many years after I had attained my
+majority, a poor widow, named Blake, did my washing and ironing. She
+was the mother of two or three little children, whose sole
+dependence for food and raiment was on the labour of her hands.
+
+Punctually, every Thursday morning, Mrs. Blake appeared with my
+clothes, "white as the driven snow;" but not always, as punctually,
+did I pay the pittance she had earned by hard labour.
+
+"Mrs. Blake is down stairs," said a servant, tapping at my room-door
+one morning, while I was in the act of dressing myself.
+
+"Oh, very well," I replied. "Tell her to leave my clothes. I will
+get them when I come down."
+
+The thought of paying the seventy-five cents, her due, crossed my
+mind. But I said to myself,--"It's but a small matter, and will do
+as well when she comes again."
+
+There was in this a certain reluctance to part with money. My funds
+were low, and I might need what change I had during the day. And so
+it proved. As I went to the office in which I was engaged, some
+small article of ornament caught my eye in a shop window.
+
+"Beautiful!" said I, as I stood looking at it. Admiration quickly
+changed into the desire for possession; and so I stepped in to ask
+the price. It was just two dollars.
+
+"Cheap enough," thought I. And this very cheapness was a further
+temptation.
+
+So I turned out the contents of my pockets, counted them over, and
+found the amount to be two dollars and a quarter.
+
+"I guess I'll take it," said I, laying the money on the shopkeeper's
+counter.
+
+"I'd better have paid Mrs. Blake." This thought crossed my mind, an
+hour afterwards, by which time the little ornament had lost its
+power of pleasing. "So much would at least have been saved."
+
+I was leaving the table, after tea, on the evening that followed,
+when the waiter said to me,
+
+"Mrs. Blake is at the door, and wishes to see you."
+
+I felt a little worried at hearing this; for I had no change in my
+pockets, and the poor washerwoman had, of course, come for her
+money.
+
+"She's in a great hurry," I muttered to myself, as I descended to
+the door.
+
+"You'll have to wait until you bring home my clothes next week, Mrs.
+Blake. I haven't any change, this evening."
+
+The expression of the poor woman's face, as she turned slowly away,
+without speaking, rather softened my feelings.
+
+"I'm sorry," said I, "but it can't be helped now. I wish you had
+said, this morning, that you wanted money. I could have paid you
+then."
+
+She paused, and turned partly towards me, as I said this. Then she
+moved off, with something so sad in her manner, that I was touched
+sensibly.
+
+"I ought to have paid her this morning, when I had the change about
+me. And I wish I had done so. Why didn't she ask for her money, if
+she wanted it so badly?"
+
+I felt, of course, rather ill at ease. A little while afterwards I
+met the lady with whom I was boarding.
+
+"Do you know anything about this Mrs. Blake, who washes for me?" I
+inquired.
+
+"Not much; except that she is very poor, and has three children to
+feed and clothe. And what is worst of all, she is in bad health. I
+think she told me, this morning, that one of her little ones was
+very sick."
+
+I was smitten with a feeling of self-condemnation, and soon after
+left the room. It was too late to remedy the evil, for I had only a
+sixpence in my pocket; and, moreover, did not know where to find
+Mrs. Blake.
+
+Having purposed to make a call upon some young ladies that evening,
+I now went up into my room to dress. Upon my bed lay the spotless
+linen brought home by Mrs. Blake in the morning. The sight of it
+rebuked me; and I had to conquer, with some force, an instinctive
+reluctance, before I could compel myself to put on a clean shirt,
+and snow-white vest, too recently from the hand of my unpaid
+washerwoman.
+
+One of the young ladies upon whom I called was more to me than a
+mere pleasant acquaintance. My heart had, in fact, been warming
+towards her for some time; and I was particularly anxious to find
+favour in her eyes. On this evening she was lovelier and more
+attractive than ever, and new bonds of affection entwined themselves
+around my heart.
+
+Judge, then, of the effect produced upon me by the entrance of her
+mother--at the very moment when my heart was all a-glow with love,
+who said, as she came in--
+
+"Oh, dear! This is a strange world!"
+
+"What new feature have you discovered now, mother?" asked one of her
+daughters, smiling.
+
+"No new one, child; but an old one that looks more repulsive than
+ever," was replied. "Poor Mrs. Blake came to see me just now, in
+great trouble."
+
+"What about, mother?" All the young ladies at once manifested
+unusual interest.
+
+Tell-tale blushes came instantly to my countenance, upon which the
+eyes of the mother turned themselves, as I felt, with a severe
+scrutiny.
+
+"The old story, in cases like hers," was answered. "Can't get her
+money when earned, although for daily bread she is dependent on her
+daily labour. With no food in the house, or money to buy medicine
+for her sick child, she was compelled to seek me to-night, and to
+humble her spirit, which is an independent one, so low as to ask
+bread for her little ones, and the loan of a pittance with which to
+get what the doctor has ordered her feeble sufferer at home."
+
+"Oh, what a shame!" fell from the lips of Ellen, the one in whom my
+heart felt more than a passing interest; and she looked at me
+earnestly as she spoke.
+
+"She fully expected," said the mother, "to get a trifle that was due
+her from a young man who boards with Mrs. Corwin; and she went to
+see him this evening. But he put her off with some excuse. How
+strange that any one should be so thoughtless as to withhold from
+the poor their hard-earned pittance! It is but a small sum at best,
+that the toiling seamstress or washerwoman can gain by her wearying
+labour. That, at least, should be promptly paid. To withhold it an
+hour is to do, in many cases, a great wrong."
+
+For some minutes after this was said, there ensued a dead silence. I
+felt that the thoughts of all were turned upon me as the one who had
+withheld from poor Mrs. Blake the trifling sum due her for washing.
+What my feelings were, it is impossible for me to describe; and
+difficult for any one, never himself placed in so unpleasant a
+position, to imagine.
+
+My relief was great when the conversation flowed on again, and in
+another channel; for I then perceived that suspicion did not rest
+upon me. You may be sure that Mrs. Blake had her money before ten
+o'clock on the next day, and that I never again fell into the error
+of neglecting, for a single week, my poor washerwoman.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+FORGIVE AND FORGET.
+
+
+
+
+
+THERE'S a secret in living, if folks only knew;
+An Alchymy precious, and golden, and true,
+More precious than "gold dust," though pure and refined,
+For its mint is the heart, and its storehouse the mind;
+Do you guess what I mean--for as true as I live
+That dear little secret's--forget and forgive!
+
+When hearts that have loved have grown cold and estranged,
+And looks that beamed fondness are clouded and changed,
+And words hotly spoken and grieved for with tears
+Have broken the trust and the friendship of years--
+Oh! think 'mid thy pride and thy secret regret,
+The balm for the wound is--forgive and forget!
+
+Yes! look in thy spirit, for love may return
+And kindle the embers that still feebly burn;
+And let this true whisper breathe high in thy heart,
+_'Tis better to love than thus suffer apart_--
+
+Let the Past teach the Future more wisely than yet,
+For the friendship that's true can forgive and forget.
+
+And now, an adieu! if you list to my lay
+May each in your thoughts bear my motto away,
+'Tis a crude, simple ryhme, but its truth may impart
+A joy to the gentle and loving of heart;
+And an end I would claim far more practical yet
+In behalf of the Rhymer--_forgive and forget!_
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OWE NO MAN ANYTHING.
+
+
+
+
+
+THUS says an Apostle; and if those who are able to "owe no man
+anything" would fully observe this divine obligation, many, very
+many, whom their want of punctuality now compels to live in
+violation of this precept, would then faithfully and promptly render
+to every one their just dues.
+
+"What is the matter with you, George?" said Mrs. Allison to her
+husband, as he paced the floor of their little sitting-room, with an
+anxious, troubled expression of countenance.
+
+"Oh! nothing of much consequence: only a little worry of business,"
+replied Mr. Allison.
+
+"But I know better than that, George. I know it is of consequence;
+you are not apt to have such a long face for nothing. Come, tell me
+what it is that troubles you. Have I not a right to share your
+griefs as well as your joys?"
+
+"Indeed, Ellen, it is nothing but business, I assure you; and as I
+am not blessed with the most even temper in the world, it does not
+take much you know to upset me: but you heard me speak of that job I
+was building for Hillman?"
+
+"Yes. I think you said it was to be five hundred dollars, did you
+not?"
+
+"I did; and it was to have been cash as soon as done. Well, he took
+it out two weeks ago; one week sooner than I promised it. I sent the
+bill with it, expecting, of course, he would send me a check for the
+amount; but I was disappointed. Having heard nothing from him since,
+I thought I would call on him this morning, when, to my surprise, I
+was told he had gone travelling with his wife and daughter, and
+would not be back for six weeks or two months. I can't tell you how
+I felt when I was told this."
+
+"He is safe enough for it I suppose, isn't he, George?"
+
+"Oh, yes; he is supposed to be worth about three hundred thousand.
+But what good is that to me? I was looking over my books this
+afternoon, and, including this five hundred, there is just fifteen
+hundred dollars due me now, that I ought to have, but can't get it.
+To a man doing a large business it would not be much; but to one
+with my limited means, it is a good deal. And this is all in the
+hands of five individuals, any one of whom could pay immediately,
+and feel not the least inconvenience from it."
+
+"Are you much pressed for money just now, George?"
+
+"I have a note in bank of three hundred, which falls due to-morrow,
+and one of two hundred and fifty on Saturday. Twenty-five dollars at
+least will be required to pay off my hands; and besides this, our
+quarter's rent is due on Monday, and my shop rent next Wednesday.
+Then there are other little bills I wanted to settle, our own wants
+to be supplied, &c."
+
+"Why don't you call on those persons you spoke of; perhaps they
+would pay you?"
+
+"I have sent their bills in, but if I call on them so soon I might
+perhaps affront them, and cause them to take their work away; and
+that I don't want to do. However, I think I shall have to do it, let
+the consequence be what it may."
+
+"Perhaps you could borrow what you need, George, for a few days."
+
+"I suppose I could; but see the inconvenience and trouble it puts me
+to. I was so certain of getting Hillman's money to meet these two
+notes, that I failed to make any other provision."
+
+"That would not have been enough of itself."
+
+"No, but I have a hundred on hand; the two together would have paid
+them, and left enough for my workmen too."
+
+As early as practicable the next morning Mr. Allison started forth
+to raise the amount necessary to carry him safely through the week.
+He thought it better to try to collect some of the amounts owing to
+him than to borrow. He first called on a wealthy merchant, whose
+annual income was something near five thousand.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Allison," said he, as that individual entered his
+counting-room. "I suppose you want some money."
+
+"I should like a little, Mr. Chapin, if you please."
+
+"Well, I intended coming down to see you, but I have been so busy
+that I have not been able. That carriage of mine which you did up a
+few weeks ago does not suit me altogether."
+
+"What is the matter with it?"
+
+"I don't like the style of trimming, for one thing; it has a common
+look to me."
+
+"It is precisely what Mrs. Chapin ordered. You told me to suit her."
+
+"Yes, but did she not tell you to trim it like General Spangler's?"
+
+"I am very much mistaken, Mr. Chapin, if it is not precisely like
+his."
+
+"Oh! no; his has a much richer look than mine."
+
+"The style of trimming is just the same, Mr. Chapin; but you
+certainly did not suppose that a carriage trimmed with worsted lace,
+would look as well as one trimmed with silk lace?"
+
+"No, of course not; but there are some other little things about it
+that don't suit me. I will send my man down with it to-day, and he
+will show you what they are. I would like to have it to-morrow
+afternoon, to take my family out in. Call up on Monday, and we will
+have a settlement."
+
+Mr. Allison next called at the office of a young lawyer, who had
+lately come into possession of an estate valued at one hundred
+thousand dollars. Mr. Allison's bill was three hundred dollars,
+which his young friend assured him he would settle immediately, only
+that there was a slight error in the way it was made out, and not
+having the bill with him, he could not now correct it.
+
+He would call on Mr. Allison with it, sometime during the next week,
+and settle it.
+
+A Custom-House gentleman was next sought, but his time had been so
+much taken up with his official duties, that he had not yet been
+able to examine the bill. He had no doubt but it was all correct;
+still, as he was not accustomed to doing business in a loose way, he
+must claim Mr. Allison's indulgence a few days longer.
+
+Almost disheartened, Mr. Allison entered the store of the last
+individual who was indebted to him for any considerable amount, not
+daring to hope that he would be any more successful with him than
+with the others he had called on. But he was successful; the bill,
+which amounted to near one hundred and fifty dollars, was promptly
+paid, Mr. Allison's pocket, in consequence, that much heavier, and
+his heart that much lighter. Fifty dollars was yet lacking of the
+sum requisite for that day. After calling on two or three
+individuals, this amount was obtained, with the promise of being
+returned by the middle of the next week.
+
+"I shall have hard work to get through to-day, I know," said he to
+himself, as he sat at his desk on the following morning.
+
+"Two hundred and fifty dollars to be raised by borrowing. I don't
+know where I can get it."
+
+To many this would be a small sum, but Mr. Allison was peculiarly
+situated. He was an honest, upright mechanic, but he was poor. It
+was with difficulty he had raised the fifty dollars on the day
+previous. Although he had never once failed in returning money at
+the time promised, still, for some reason or other, everybody
+appeared unwilling to lend him. It was nearly two O'clock and he was
+still a hundred dollars short.
+
+"Well," said he to himself, "I have done all I could, and if Hall
+won't renew the note for the balance, it will have to be protested.
+I'll go and ask him, though I have not much hope that he will do
+it."
+
+As he was about leaving his shop for that purpose, a gentleman
+entered who wished to buy a second-hand carriage. Mr. Allison had
+but one, and that almost new, for which he asked a hundred and forty
+dollars.
+
+"It is higher than I wished to go," remarked the gentleman. "I ought
+to get a new one for that price."
+
+"So you can, but not like this. I can sell you a new one for a
+hundred and twenty-five dollars. But what did you expect to pay for
+one?"
+
+"I was offered one at Holton's for seventy-five; but I did not like
+it. I will give you a hundred for yours."
+
+"It is too little, indeed, sir: that carriage cost three hundred
+dollars when it was new. It was in use a very short time. I allowed
+a hundred and forty dollars for it myself."
+
+"Well, sir, I would not wish you to sell at a disadvantage, but if
+you like to, accept of my offer I'll take it. I'm prepared to pay
+the cash down."
+
+Mr. Allison did not reply for some minutes. He was undecided as to
+what was best.
+
+"Forty dollars," said he to himself, "is a pretty heavy discount. I
+am almost tempted to refuse his offer and trust to Hall's renewing
+the note. But suppose he won't--then I'm done for. I think, upon the
+whole, I had better accept it. I'll put it at one hundred and
+twenty-five, my good friend," said he, addressing the customer.
+
+"No, sir; one hundred is all I shall give."
+
+"Well, I suppose you must have it, then; but indeed you have got a
+bargain."
+
+"It is too bad," muttered Allison to himself, as he left the bank
+after having paid his note. "There is just forty dollars thrown
+away. And why? Simply because those who are blessed with the means
+of discharging their debts promptly, neglect to do so."
+
+"How did you make out to-day, George?" asked his wife, as they sat
+at the tea-table that same evening.
+
+"I met my note, and that was all."
+
+"Did you give your men anything?"
+
+"Not a cent. I had but one dollar left after paying that. I was
+sorry for them, but I could not help them. I am afraid Robinson's
+family will suffer, for there has been sickness in his house almost
+constantly for the last twelvemonth. His wife, he told me the other
+day, had not been out; of her bed for six weeks. Poor fellow! He
+looked quite dejected when I told him I had nothing for him."
+
+At this moment; the door-bell rang and a minute or two afterwards, a
+young girl entered the room in which Mr. and Mrs. Allison were
+sitting. Before introducing her to our readers, we will conduct them
+to the interior of an obscure dwelling, situated near the outskirts
+of the city. The room is small, and scantily furnished, and answers
+at once for parlour, dining-room, and kitchen. Its occupants, Mrs.
+Perry and her daughter, have been, since the earliest dawn of day,
+intently occupied with their needles, barely allowing themselves
+time to partake of their frugal meal.
+
+"Half-past three o'clock!" ejaculated the daughter, her eyes
+glancing, as she spoke, at the clock on the mantelpiece. "I am
+afraid we shall not get this work done in time for me to take it
+home before dark, mother."
+
+"We must try hard, Laura, for you know we have not a cent in the
+house, and I told Mrs. Carr to come over to-night, and I would pay
+her what I owe her for washing. Poor thing! I would not like to
+disappoint her, for I know she needs it."
+
+Nothing more was said for near twenty minutes, when Laura again
+broke the silence.
+
+"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "what a pain I have in my side!" And for
+a moment she rested from her work, and straightened herself in her
+chair, to afford a slight relief from the uneasiness she
+experienced. "I wonder, mother, if I shall always be obliged to sit
+so steady?"
+
+"I hope not, my child; but bad as our situation is, there are
+hundreds worse off than we. Take Annie Carr, for instance--how would
+you like to exchange places with her?"
+
+"Poor Annie! I was thinking of her awhile go, mother. How hard it
+must be for one so young to be so afflicted as she is!"
+
+"And yet, Laura, she never complains; although for five years she
+has never left her bed, and has often suffered, I know, for want of
+proper nourishment."
+
+"I don't think she will suffer much longer, mother. I stopped in to
+see her the other day, and I was astonished at the change which had
+taken place in a short time. Her conversation, too, seems so
+heavenly, her faith in the Lord so strong, that I could not avoid
+coming to the conclusion that a few days more, at the most, would
+terminate her wearisome life."
+
+"It will be a happy release for her, indeed, my daughter. Still, it
+will be a sore trial for her mother."
+
+It was near six when Mrs. Perry and her daughter finished the work
+upon which they were engaged.
+
+"Now Laura, dear," said the mother, "get back as soon as you can,
+for I don't like you to be out after night, and more than that, if
+Mrs. Carr comes, she won't want to wait."
+
+About twenty minutes after the young girl had gone, Mrs. Carr
+called. "Pray, be seated, my dear friend," said Mrs. Perry, "my
+daughter has just gone to Mrs. Allison's with some work, and as soon
+as she returns I can pay you."
+
+"I think I had better call over again, Mrs. Perry," answered the
+poor woman; "Mary begged me not to stay long."
+
+"Is Annie any worse, then?"
+
+"Oh, yes, a great deal; the doctor thinks she will hardly last till
+morning."
+
+"Well, Mrs. Carr, death can be only gain to her."
+
+"Very true; still, the idea of losing her seems dreadful to me."
+
+"How does Mary get on at Mrs. Owring's?"
+
+"Not very well; she has been at work for her just one month to-day;
+and although she gave her to understand that her wages would be at
+least a dollar and a quarter a week, yet to-night, when she settled
+with her, she wouldn't give her but three dollars, and at the same
+time told her that if she didn't choose to work for that she could
+go."
+
+"What do you suppose was the reason for her acting so?"
+
+"I don't know, indeed, unless it is because she does not get there
+quite as early as the rest of her hands; for you see I am obliged to
+keep her a little while in the morning to help me to move Annie
+while I make her bed. Even that little sum, small it was, would have
+been some help to us, but it had all to go for rent. My landlord
+would take no denial. But I must go; you think I can depend on
+receiving your money to-night?"
+
+"I do. Mrs. Allison is always prompt in paying for her work as soon
+as it is done. I will not trouble you to come again for it, Mrs.
+Carr. Laura shall bring it over to you."
+
+Let us now turn to the young girl we left at Mr. Allison's, whom our
+readers, no doubt, recognise as Laura Perry.
+
+"Good evening, Laura," said Mrs. Allison, as she entered the room;
+"not brought my work home already! I did not look for it till next
+week. You and your mother, I am afraid, confine yourselves too
+closely to your needles for your own good. But you have not had your
+tea? sit up, and take some."
+
+"No, thank you, Mrs. Allison; mother will be uneasy if I stay long."
+
+"Well, Laura, I am sorry, but I cannot settle with you to-night.
+Tell your mother Mr. Allison was disappointed in collecting
+to-day, or she certainly should have had it. Did she say how much it
+was?"
+
+"Two dollars, ma'am."
+
+"Very well: I will try and let her have it next week."
+
+The expression of Laura's countenance told too plainly the
+disappointment she felt. "I am afraid Mrs. Perry is in want of that
+money," remarked the husband after she had gone.
+
+"Not the least doubt of it," replied his wife. "She would not have
+sent home work at this hour if she had not been. Poor things! who
+can tell the amount of suffering and wretchedness that is caused by
+the rich neglecting to pay promptly."
+
+"You come without money, Laura," said her mother, as she entered the
+house.
+
+"How do you know that, mother?" she replied, forcing a smile.
+
+"I read it in your countenance. Is it not so?"
+
+"It is: Mr. Allison was disappointed in collecting--what will we do,
+mother?"
+
+"The best we can, my child. We will have to do without our beef for
+dinner to-morrow; but then we have plenty of bread; so we shall not
+starve."
+
+"And I shall have to do without my new shoes. My old ones are too
+shabby to go to church in; so I shall have to stay at home."
+
+"I am sorry for your disappointment, my child, but I care more for
+Mrs. Carr than I do for ourselves. She has been here, and is in a
+great deal of trouble. The doctor don't think Annie will live till
+morning, and Mrs. Owrings hag refused to give Mary more than three
+dollars for her month's work, every cent of which old Grimes took
+for rent. I told her she might depend on getting what I owed her,
+and that I would send you over with it when you returned. You had
+better go at once and tell her, Laura; perhaps she may be able to
+get some elsewhere."
+
+"How much is it, mother?"
+
+"Half a dollar."
+
+"It seems hard that she can't get that small sum."
+
+With a heavy heart Laura entered Mrs. Carr's humble abode.
+
+"Oh how glad I am that you have come, my dear!" exclaimed the poor
+woman. "Annie has been craving some ice cream all day; it's the only
+thing she seems to fancy. I told her she should have it as soon as
+you came."
+
+Mrs. Carr's eyes filled with tears as Laura told of her ill success.
+"I care not for myself," she said "but for that poor suffering
+child."
+
+"Never mind me, mother," replied Annie. "It was selfish in me to
+want it, when I know how hard you and Mary are obliged to work for
+every cent you get. But I feel that I shall not bother you much
+longer; I have a strange feeling here now." And she placed her hand
+upon her left side.
+
+"Stop!" cried Laura; "I'll try and get some ice cream for you
+Annie." And off she ran to her mother's dwelling. "Mother," said
+she, as she entered the house, "do you recollect that half dollar
+father gave me the last time he went to sea?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"Well, I think I had better take it and pay Mrs. Carr. Annie is very
+bad, and her mother says she has been wanting some ice cream all
+day."
+
+"It is yours, Laura, do as you like about it."
+
+"It goes hard with me to part with it, mother, for I had determined
+to keep it in remembrance of my father. It is just twelve years
+to-day since he went away. But poor Annie--yes, mother, I will take
+it."
+
+So saying, Laura went to unlock the box which contained her
+treasure, but unfortunately her key was not where she had supposed
+it was. After a half hour's search she succeeded in finding it.
+Tears coursed down her cheeks like rain as she removed from the
+corner of the little box, where it had lain for so many years, this
+precious relic of a dear father, who in all probability, was buried
+beneath the ocean. Dashing them hastily away, she started again for
+Mrs. Carr's. The ice cream was procured on the way, and, just as the
+clock struck eight, she arrived at the door. One hour has elapsed
+since she left. But why does she linger on the threshold? Why but
+because the sounds of weeping and mourning have reached her ears,
+and she fears that all is over with her poor friend, Her fears are
+indeed true, for the pure spirit of the young sufferer has taken its
+flight to that blest land where hunger and thirst are known no more.
+Poor Annie! thy last earthly wish, a simple glass of ice-cream, was
+denied thee--and why? We need not pause to answer: ye who have an
+abundance of this world's goods, think, when ye are about to turn
+from your doors the poor seamstress or washerwoman, or even those
+less destitute than they, without a just recompense for their
+labour, whether the sufferings and privations of some poor creatures
+will not be increased thereby.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL.
+
+
+
+
+
+OBADIAH LAWSON and Watt Dood were neighbours; that is, they lived
+within a half mile of each other, and no person lived between their
+respective farms, which would have joined, had not a little strip of
+prairie land extended itself sufficiently to keep them separated.
+Dood was the oldest settler, and from his youth up had entertained a
+singular hatred against Quakers; therefore, when he was informed
+that Lawson, a regular disciple of that class of people had
+purchased the next farm to his, he declared he would make him glad
+to move away again. Accordingly, a system of petty annoyances was
+commenced by him, and every time one of Lawson's hogs chanced to
+stray upon Dood's place, he was beset by men and dogs, and most
+savagely abused. Things progressed thus for nearly a year, and the
+Quaker, a man of decidedly peace principles, appeared in no way to
+resent the injuries received at the hands of his spiteful neighbour.
+But matters were drawing to a crisis; for Dood, more enraged than
+ever at the quiet of Obadiah, made oath that he would do something
+before long to wake up the spunk of Lawson. Chance favoured his
+design. The Quaker had a high-blooded filly, which he had been very
+careful in raising, and which was just four years old. Lawson took
+great pride in this animal, and had refused a large sum of money for
+her.
+
+One evening, a little after sunset, as Watt Dood was passing around
+his cornfield, he discovered the filly feeding in the little strip
+of prairie land that separated the two farms, and he conceived the
+hellish design of throwing off two or three rails of his fence, that
+the horse might get into his corn during the night. He did so, and
+the next morning, bright and early, he shouldered his rifle and left
+the house. Not long after his absence, a hired man, whom he had
+recently employed, heard the echo of his gun, and in a few minutes
+Dood, considerably excited and out of breath, came hurrying to the
+house, where he stated that he had shot at and wounded a buck; that
+the deer attacked him, and he hardly escaped with his life.
+
+This story was credited by all but the newly employed hand, who had
+taken a dislike to Watt, and, from his manner, suspected that
+something was wrong. He therefore slipped quietly away from the
+house, and going through the field in the direction of the shot, he
+suddenly came upon Lawson's filly, stretched upon the earth, with a
+bullet hole through the head, from which the warm blood was still
+oozing.
+
+The animal was warm, and could not have been killed an hour. He
+hastened back to the dwelling of Dood, who met him in the yard, and
+demanded, somewhat roughly, where he had been.
+
+"I've been to see if your bullet made sure work of Mr. Lawson's
+filly," was the instant retort.
+
+Watt paled for a moment, but collecting himself, he fiercely
+shouted,
+
+"Do you dare to say I killed her?"
+
+"How do you know she is dead?" replied the man.
+
+Dood bit his lip, hesitated a moment, and then turning, walked into
+the house.
+
+A couple of days passed by, and the morning of the third one had
+broken, as the hired man met friend Lawson, riding in search of his
+filly.
+
+A few words of explanation ensued, when, with a heavy heart, the
+Quaker turned his horse and rode home, where he informed the people
+of the fate of his filly. No threat of recrimination escaped him; he
+did not even go to law to recover damages; but calmly awaited his
+plan and hour of revenge. It came at last.
+
+Watt Dood had a Durham heifer, for which he had paid a heavy price,
+and upon which he counted to make great gains.
+
+One morning, just as Obadiah was sitting down, his eldest son came
+in with the information that neighbour Dood's heifer had broken down
+the fence, entered the yard, and after eating most of the cabbages,
+had trampled the well-made beds and the vegetables they contained,
+out of all shape--a mischief impossible to repair.
+
+"And what did thee do with her, Jacob?" quietly asked Obadiah.
+
+"I put her in the farm-yard."
+
+"Did thee beat her?"
+
+"I never struck her a blow."
+
+"Right, Jacob, right; sit down to thy breakfast, and when done
+eating I will attend to the heifer."
+
+Shortly after he had finished his repast, Lawson mounted a horse,
+and rode over to Dood's, who was sitting under the porch in front of
+his house, and who, as he beheld the Quaker dismount, supposed he
+was coming to demand pay for his filly, and secretly swore he would
+have to law for it if he did.
+
+"Good morning, neighbour Dood; how is thy family?" exclaimed
+Obadiah, as he mounted the steps and seated himself in a chair.
+
+"All well, I believe," was the crusty reply.
+
+"I have a small affair to settle with you this morning, and I came
+rather early."
+
+"So I suppose," growled Watt.
+
+"This morning, my son found thy Durham heifer in my garden, where
+she has destroyed a good deal."
+
+"And what did he do with her?" demanded Dood, his brow darkening.
+
+"What would thee have done with her, had she been my heifer in thy
+garden?" asked Obadiah.
+
+"I'd a shot her!" retorted Watt, madly, "as I suppose you have done;
+but we are only even now. Heifer for filly is only 'tit for tat.'"
+
+"Neighbour Dood, thou knowest me not, if thou thinkest I would harm
+a hair of thy heifer's back. She is in my farm-yard, and not even a
+blow has been struck her, where thee can get her at any time. I know
+thee shot my filly; but the evil one prompted thee to do it, and I
+lay no evil in my heart against my neighbours. I came to tell thee
+where thy heifer is, and now I'll go home."
+
+Obadiah rose from his chair, and was about to descend the steps,
+when he was stopped by Watt, who hastily asked,
+
+"What was your filly worth?"
+
+"A hundred dollars is what I asked for her," replied Obediah.
+
+"Wait a moment!" and Dood rushed into the house, from whence he soon
+returned, holding some gold in his hand. "Here's the price of your
+filly; and hereafter let there be a pleasantness between us."
+
+"Willingly, heartily," answered Lawson, grasping the proffered hand
+of the other; "let there be peace between us."
+
+Obadiah mounted his horse, and rode home with a lighter heart, and
+from that day to this Dood has been as good a neighbour as one could
+wish to have; being completely reformed by the RETURNING GOOD FOR
+EVIL.
+
+PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET.
+
+"DO you recollect Thomas, who lived with us as waiter about two
+years ago, Mary?" asked Mr. Clarke, as he seated himself in his
+comfortable arm-chair, and slipped his feet into the nicely-warmed,
+embroidered slippers, which stood ready for his use.
+
+"Certainly," was the reply of Mrs. Clarke. "He was a bright, active
+fellow, but rather insolent."
+
+"He has proved to be a regular pickpocket," continued her husband,
+"and is now on his way to Blackwell's Island."
+
+"A very suitable place for him. I hope he will be benefited by a few
+months' residence there," returned the lady.
+
+"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Joshua Clarke, an uncle of the young
+couple, who was quietly reading a newspaper in another part of the
+room. "There are many of high standing in the world, who deserve to
+go to Blackwell's Island quite as much as he does."
+
+"You are always making such queer speeches, Uncle Joshua," said his
+niece. "I suppose you do not mean that there are pickpockets among
+respectable people?"
+
+"Indeed, there are, my dear niece. Your knowledge of the world must
+be very limited, if you are not aware of this. Putting your hand in
+your neighbour's pocket, is one of the most fashionable
+accomplishments of the day."
+
+Mrs. Clarke was too well acquainted with her uncle's peculiarities
+to think of arguing with him. She therefore merely smiled, and said
+to her husband:--
+
+"Well, Henry, I am glad that neither you nor myself are acquainted
+with this fashionable accomplishment."
+
+"Not acquainted with it!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "I thought
+you knew yourselves better. Why, you and Henry are both regular
+pickpockets!"
+
+"I wonder that you demean yourself by associating with us!" was the
+playful reply.
+
+"Oh, you are no worse than the rest of the world; and, besides, I
+hope to do you some good, when you grow older and wiser. At present,
+Henry's whole soul is absorbed in the desire to obtain wealth."
+
+"In a fair and honourable way, uncle," interrupted Mr. Clarke, "and
+for honourable purposes."
+
+"Certainly," replied Uncle Joshua, "in the common acceptation of the
+words _fair_ and _honourable_. But, do you never, in your mercantile
+speculations, endeavour to convey erroneous impressions to the minds
+of those with whom you are dealing? Do you not sometimes suppress
+information which would prevent your obtaining a good bargain? Do
+you never allow your customers to purchase goods under false ideas
+of their value and demand in the market? If you saw a man, less
+skilled in business than yourself, about to take a step injurious to
+him, but advantageous to you, would you warn him of his danger--thus
+obeying the command to love your neighbour as yourself?"
+
+"Why, uncle, these questions are absurd. Of course, when engaged in
+business, I endeavour to do what is for my own advantage--leaving
+others to look out for themselves."
+
+"Exactly so. You are perfectly willing to put your hand in your
+neighbour's pocket and take all you can get, provided he is not wise
+enough to know that your hand is there."
+
+"Oh, for shame, Uncle Joshua! I shall not allow you to talk to Henry
+in this manner," exclaimed Mrs. Clarke perceiving that her husband
+looked somewhat irritated. "Come, prove your charge against me. In
+what way do I pick my neighbour's pockets?"
+
+"You took six shillings from the washerwoman this morning," coolly
+replied Uncle Joshua.
+
+"_Took_ six shillings from the washerwoman! Paid her six shillings,
+you mean, uncle. She called for the money due for a day's work, and
+I gave it to her."
+
+"Yes, but not till you had kept her waiting nearly two hours. I
+heard her say, as she left the house, 'I have lost a day's work by
+this delay, for I cannot go to Mrs. Reed's at this hour; so I shall
+be six shillings poorer at the end of the week.'"
+
+"Why did she wait, then? She could have called again. I was not
+ready to attend to her at so early an hour."
+
+"Probably she needed the money to-day. You little know the value of
+six shillings to the mother of a poor family, Mary; but, you should
+remember that her time is valuable, and that it is as sinful to
+deprive her of the use of it, as if you took money from her purse."
+
+"Well, uncle, I will acknowledge that I did wrong to keep the poor
+woman waiting, and I will endeavour to be more considerate in
+future. So draw your chair to the table, and take a cup of tea and
+some of your favourite cakes."
+
+"Thank you, Mary; but I am engaged to take tea with your old friend,
+Mrs. Morrison. Poor thing! she has not made out very well lately.
+Her school has quite run down, owing to sickness among her scholars;
+and her own family have been ill all winter; so that her expenses
+have been great."
+
+"I am sorry to hear this," replied Mrs. Clarke. "I had hoped that
+her school was succeeding. Give my love to her, uncle, and tell her
+I will call upon her in a day or two."
+
+Uncle Joshua promised to remember the message, and bidding Mr. and
+Mrs. Clarke good evening, he was soon seated in Mrs. Morrison's neat
+little parlour, which, though it bore no comparison with the
+spacious and beautifully furnished apartments he had just left, had
+an air of comfort and convenience which could not fail to please.
+
+Delighted to see her old friend, whom she also, from early habit,
+addressed by the title of Uncle Joshua, although he was no relation,
+Mrs. Morrison's countenance, for awhile beamed with that cheerful,
+animated expression which it used to wear in her more youthful days;
+but an expression of care and anxiety soon over shadowed it, and, in
+the midst of her kind attentions to her visiter, and her
+affectionate endearment to two sweet children, who were playing
+around the room, she would often remain thoughtful and abstracted
+for several minutes.
+
+Uncle Joshua was an attentive observer, and he saw that something
+weighed heavily upon her mind. When tea was over, and the little
+ones had gone to rest, he said, kindly,
+
+"Come, Fanny, draw your chair close to my side, and tell me all your
+troubles, as freely as you used to do when a merry-hearted
+school-girl. How often have listened to the sad tale of the pet
+pigeon, that had flown away, or the favourite plant killed by the
+untimely frost. Come, I am ready, now as then, to assist you with my
+advice, and my purse, too, if necessary."
+
+Tears started to Mrs. Morrison's eyes, as she replied.
+
+"You were always a kind friend to me, Uncle Joshua, and I will
+gladly confide my troubles to you. You know that after my husband's
+death I took this house, which, though small, may seem far above my
+limited income, in the hope of obtaining a school sufficiently large
+to enable me to meet the rent, and also to support myself and
+children. The small sum left them by their father I determined to
+invest for their future use. I unwisely intrusted it to one who
+betrayed the trust, and appropriated the money to some wild
+speculation of his own. He says that he did this in the hope of
+increasing my little property. It may be so, but my consent should
+have been asked. He failed and there is little hope of our ever
+recovering more, than a small part of what he owes us. But, to
+return to my school. I found little difficulty in obtaining
+scholars, and, for a short time, believed myself to be doing well,
+but I soon found that a large number of scholars did not insure a
+large income from the school. My terms were moderate, but still I
+found great difficulty in obtaining what was due to me at the end of
+the term.
+
+"A few paid promptly, and without expecting me to make unreasonable
+deductions for unpleasant weather, slight illness, &c., &c. Others
+paid after long delay, which often put me to the greatest
+inconvenience; and some, after appointing day after day for me to
+call, and promising each time that the bill should be settled
+without fail, moved away, I knew not whither, or met me at length
+with a cool assurance that it was not possible for them to pay me at
+present--if it was ever in their power they would let me know."
+
+"Downright robbery!" exclaimed Uncle Joshua. "A set of pickpockets!
+I wish they were all shipped for Blackwell's Island."
+
+"There are many reasons assigned for not paying," continued Mrs.
+Morrison. "Sometimes the children had not learned as much as the
+parents expected. Some found it expedient to take their children
+away long before the expiration of the term, and then gazed at me in
+astonishment when I declared my right to demand pay for the whole
+time for which they engaged. One lady, in particular, to whose
+daughter I was giving music lessons, withdrew the pupil under
+pretext of slight indisposition, and sent me the amount due for a
+half term. I called upon her, and stated that I considered the
+engagement binding for twenty-four lessons, but would willingly wait
+until the young lady was quite recovered. The mother appeared to
+assent with willingness to this arrangement, and took the proffered
+money without comment. An hour or two after I received a laconic
+epistle stating that the lady had already engaged another teacher,
+whom she thought preferable--that she had offered me the amount due
+for half of the term, and I had declined receiving it--therefore she
+should not offer it again. I wrote a polite, but very plain, reply
+to this note, and enclosed my bill for the whole term, but have
+never heard from her since."
+
+"Do you mean to say that she actually received the money which you
+returned to her without reluctance, and gave you no notice of her
+intention to employ another teacher?" demanded the old gentleman.
+
+"Certainly; and, besides this, I afterwards ascertained that the
+young lady was actually receiving a lesson from another teacher,
+when I called at the house--therefore the plea of indisposition was
+entirely false. The most perfect satisfaction had always been
+expressed as to the progress of the pupil, and no cause was assigned
+for the change."
+
+"I hope you have met with few cases as bad as this," remarked Uncle
+Joshua. "The world must be in a worse state than even I had
+supposed, if such imposition is common."
+
+"This may be an extreme case," replied Mrs. Morrison, "but I could
+relate many others which are little better. However, you will soon
+weary of my experience in this way, Uncle Joshua, and I will
+therefore mention but one other instance. One bitter cold day in
+January, I called at the house of a lady who had owed me a small
+amount for nearly a year, and after repeated delay had reluctantly
+fixed this day as the time when she would pay me at least a part of
+what was due. I was told by the servant who opened the door that the
+lady was not at home.
+
+"What time will she be in?" I inquired.
+
+"Not for some hours," was the reply.
+
+Leaving word that I would call again towards evening, I retraced my
+steps, feeling much disappointed at my ill success, as I had felt
+quite sure of obtaining the money. About five o'clock I again
+presented myself at the door, and was again informed that the lady
+was not at home.
+
+"I will walk in, and wait for her return," I replied.
+
+The servant appeared somewhat startled at this, but after a little
+delay ushered me into the parlour. Two little boys, of four and six
+years of age, were playing about the room. I joined in their sports,
+and soon became quite familiar with them. Half an hour had passed
+away, when I inquired of the oldest boy what time he expected his
+mother?
+
+"Not till late," he answered, hesitatingly.
+
+"Did she take the baby with her this cold day?" I asked.
+
+"Yes, ma'am," promptly replied the girl, who, under pretence of
+attending to the children, frequently came into the room.
+
+The youngest child gazed earnestly in my face, and said, smilingly,
+
+"Mother has not gone away, she is up stairs. She ran away with baby
+when she saw you coming, and told us to say she had gone out. I am
+afraid brother will take cold, for there is no fire up stairs."
+
+"It is no such thing," exclaimed the girl and the eldest boy. "She
+is not up stairs, ma'am, or she would see you."
+
+But even as they spoke the loud cries of an infant were heard, and a
+voice at the head of the stairs calling Jenny.
+
+The girl obeyed, and presently returned with the child in her arms,
+its face, neck, and hands purple with cold.
+
+"Poor little thing, it has got its death in that cold room," she
+said. "Mistress cannot see you, ma'am, she is sick and gone to bed."
+
+"This last story was probably equally false with the other, but I
+felt that it was useless to remain, and with feelings of deep regret
+for the poor children who were so early taught an entire disregard
+for truth, and of sorrow for the exposure to cold to which I had
+innocently subjected the infant, I left the house. A few days after,
+I heard that the little one had died with croup. Jenny, whom I
+accidentally met in the street, assured me that he took the cold
+which caused his death from the exposure on the afternoon of my
+call, as he became ill the following day. I improved the opportunity
+to endeavour to impress upon the mind of the poor girl the sin of
+which she had been guilty, in telling a falsehood even in obedience
+to the commands of her mistress; and I hope that what I said may be
+useful to her.
+
+"The want of honesty and promptness in the parents of my pupils
+often caused me great inconvenience, and I frequently found it
+difficult to meet my rent when it became due. Still I have struggled
+through my difficulties without contracting any debts until this
+winter, but the sickness which has prevailed in my school has so
+materially lessened my income, and my family expenses have, for the
+same reason, been so much greater, that I fear it will be quite
+impossible for me to continue in my present situation."
+
+"Do not be discouraged," said Uncle Joshua; "I will advance whatever
+sum you are in immediate need of, and you may repay me when it is
+convenient to yourself. I will also take the bills which are due to
+you from various persons, and endeavour to collect them. Your
+present term is, I suppose, nearly ended. Commence another with this
+regulation:--That the price of tuition, or at least one-half of it,
+shall be paid before the entrance of the scholar. Some will complain
+of this rule, but many will not hesitate to comply with it, and you
+will find the result beneficial. And now I would leave you, Fanny,
+for I have another call to make this evening. My young friend,
+William Churchill, is, I hear, quite ill, and I feel desirous to see
+him. I will call upon you in a day or two, and then we will have
+another talk about your affairs, and see what can be done for you.
+So good night, Fanny; go to sleep and dream of your old friend."
+
+Closing the door after Uncle Joshua, Mrs. Morrison returned to her
+room with a heart filled with thankfulness that so kind a friend had
+been sent to her in the hour of need; while the old gentleman walked
+with rapid steps through several streets until he stood at the door
+of a small, but pleasantly situated house in the suburbs of the
+city. His ring at the bell was answered by a pretty,
+pleasant-looking young woman, whom he addressed as Mrs. Churchill,
+and kindly inquired for her husband.
+
+"William is very feeble to-day, but he will be rejoiced to see you,
+sir. His disease is partly owing to anxiety of mind, I think, and
+when his spirits are raised by a friendly visit, he feels better."
+
+Uncle Joshua followed Mrs. Churchill to the small room which now
+served the double purpose of parlour and bedroom. They were met at
+the door by the invalid, who had recognised the voice of his old
+friend, and had made an effort to rise and greet him. His sunken
+countenance, the hectic flush which glowed upon his cheek, and the
+distressing cough, gave fearful evidence that unless the disease was
+soon arrested in its progress, consumption would mark him for its
+victim.
+
+The friendly visiter was inwardly shocked at his appearance, but
+wisely made no allusion to it, and soon engaged him in cheerful
+conversation. Gradually he led him to speak openly of his own
+situation,--of his health, and of the pecuniary difficulties with
+which he was struggling. His story was a common one. A young family
+were growing up around him, and an aged mother and invalid sister
+also depended upon him for support. The small salary which he
+obtained as clerk in one of the most extensive mercantile
+establishments in the city, was quite insufficient to meet his
+necessary expenses. He had, therefore, after being constantly
+employed from early morning until a late hour in the evening,
+devoted two or three hours of the night to various occupations which
+added a trifle to his limited income. Sometimes he procured copying
+of various kinds; at others, accounts, which he could take to his
+own house, were intrusted to him. This incessant application had
+gradually ruined his health, and now for several weeks he had been
+unable to leave the house.
+
+"Have you had advice from an experienced physician, William?"
+inquired Uncle Joshua. The young man blushed, as he replied, that he
+was unwilling to send for a physician, knowing that he had no means
+to repay his services.
+
+"I will send my own doctor to see you," returned his friend. "He can
+help you if any one can, and as for his fee I will attend to it, and
+if you regain your health I shall be amply repaid.--No, do not thank
+me," he continued, as Mr. Churchill endeavoured to express his
+gratitude. "Your father has done me many a favour, and it would be
+strange if I could not extend a hand to help his son when in
+trouble. And now tell me, William, is not your salary very small,
+considering the responsible situation which you have so long held in
+the firm of Stevenson & Co.?"
+
+"It is," was the reply; "but I see no prospect of obtaining more. I
+believe I have always given perfect satisfaction to my employer,
+although it is difficult to ascertain the estimation in which he
+holds me, for he is a man who never praises. He has never found
+fault with me, and therefore I suppose him satisfied, and indeed I
+have some proof of this in his willingness to wait two or three
+months in the hope that I may recover from my present illness before
+making a permanent engagement with a new clerk. Notwithstanding
+this, he has never raised my salary, and when I ventured to say to
+him about a year ago, that as his business had nearly doubled since
+I had been with him, I felt that it would be but just that I should
+derive some benefit from the change, he coolly replied that my
+present salary was all that he had ever paid a clerk, and he
+considered it a sufficient equivalent for my services. He knows very
+well that it is difficult to obtain a good situation, there are so
+many who stand ready to fill any vacancy, and therefore he feels
+quite safe in refusing to give me, more."
+
+"And yet," replied Uncle Joshua, "he is fully aware that the
+advantage resulting from your long experience and thorough
+acquaintance with his business, increases his income several hundred
+dollars every year, and this money he quietly puts into his own
+pocket, without considering or caring that a fair proportion of it
+should in common honesty go into yours. What a queer world we live
+in! The poor thief who robs you of your watch or pocket-book, is
+punished without delay; but these wealthy defrauders maintain their
+respectability and pass for honest men, even while withholding what
+they know to be the just due of another.
+
+"But cheer up, William, I have a fine plan for you, if you can but
+regain your health. I am looking for a suitable person to take
+charge of a large sheep farm, which I propose establishing on the
+land which I own in Virginia. You acquired some knowledge of farming
+in your early days. How would you like to undertake this business?
+The climate is delightful, the employment easy and pleasant; and it
+shall be my care that your salary is amply sufficient for the
+support of your family."
+
+Mr. Churchill could hardly command his voice sufficiently to express
+his thanks, and his wife burst into tears, as she exclaimed,
+
+"If my poor husband had confided his troubles to you before, he
+would not have been reduced to this feeble state."
+
+"He will recover," said the old gentleman. "I feel sure, that in one
+month, he will look like a different man. Rest yourself, now,
+William, and to-morrow I will see you again."
+
+And, followed by the blessings and thanks of the young couple, Uncle
+Joshua departed.
+
+"Past ten o'clock," he said to himself, as he paused near a
+lamp-post and looked at his watch. "I must go to my own room."
+
+As he said this he was startled by a deep sigh from some one near,
+and on looking round, saw a lad, of fourteen or fifteen years of
+age, leaning against the post, and looking earnestly at him.
+
+Uncle Joshua recognised the son of a poor widow, whom he had
+occasionally befriended, and said, kindly,
+
+"Well, John, are you on your way home from the store? This is rather
+a late hour for a boy like you."
+
+"Yes, sir, it is late. I cannot bear to return home to my poor
+mother, for I have bad news for her to-night. Mr. Mackenzie does not
+wish to employ me any more. My year is up to-day."
+
+"Why, John, how is this? Not long ago your employer told me that he
+was perfectly satisfied with you; indeed, he said that he never
+before had so trusty and useful a boy."
+
+"He has always appeared satisfied with me, sir, and I have
+endeavoured to serve him faithfully. But he told me to-day that he
+had engaged another boy."
+
+Uncle Joshua mused for a moment, and then asked,
+
+"What was he to give you for the first year, John?"
+
+"Nothing, sir. He told my mother that my services would be worth
+nothing the first year, but the second he would pay me fifty
+dollars, and so increase my salary as I grew older. My poor mother
+has worked very hard to support me this year, and I had hoped that I
+would be able to help her soon. But it is all over now, and I
+suppose I must take a boy's place again, and work another year for
+nothing."
+
+"And then be turned off again. Another set of pickpockets," muttered
+his indignant auditor.
+
+"Pickpockets!" exclaimed the lad. "Did any one take your watch just
+now, sir? I saw a man look at it as you took it out. Perhaps we can
+overtake him. I think he turned into the next street."
+
+"No, no, my boy. My watch is safe enough. I am not thinking of
+street pickpockets, but of another class whom you will find out as
+you grow older. But never mind losing your place, John. My nephew is
+in want of a boy who has had some experience in your business, and
+will pay him a fair salary--more than Mr. Mackenzie agreed to give
+you for the second year. I will mention you to him, and you may call
+at his store to-morrow at eleven o'clock, and we will see if you
+will answer his purpose."
+
+"Thank you, Sir, I am sure I thank you; and mother will bless you
+for your kindness," replied the boy, his countenance glowing with
+animation; and with a grateful "good night," he darted off in the
+direction of his own home.
+
+"There goes a grateful heart," thought Uncle Joshua, as he gazed
+after the boy until he turned the corner of the street and
+disappeared. "He has lost his situation merely because another can
+be found who will do the work for nothing for a year, in the vain
+hope of future recompense. I wish Mary could have been with me this
+evening; I think she would have acknowledged that there are many
+respectable pickpockets who deserve to accompany poor Thomas to
+Blackwell's Island;" and thus soliloquizing, Uncle Joshua reached
+the door of his boarding-house, and sought repose in his own room.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+KIND WORDS.
+
+
+
+
+
+WE have more than once, in our rapidly written reflections, urged
+the policy and propriety of kindness, courtesy, and good-will
+between man and man. It is so easy for an individual to manifest
+amenity of spirit, to avoid harshness, and thus to cheer and gladden
+the paths of all over whom he may have influence or control, that it
+is really surprising to find any one pursuing the very opposite
+course. Strange as it may appear, there are among the children of
+men, hundreds who seem to take delight in making others unhappy.
+They rejoice at an opportunity of being the messengers of evil
+tidings. They are jealous or malignant; and in either case they
+exult in inflicting a wound. The ancients, in most nations, had a
+peculiar dislike to croakers, prophets of evil, and the bearers of
+evil tidings. It is recorded that the messenger from the banks of
+the Tigris, who first announced the defeat of the Roman army by the
+Persians, and the death of the Emperor Julian, in a Roman city of
+Asia Minor, was instantly buried under a heap of stones thrown upon
+him by an indignant populace. And yet this messenger was innocent,
+and reluctantly discharged a painful duty. But how different the
+spirit and the motive of volunteers in such cases--those who exult
+in an opportunity of communicating bad news, and in some degree
+revel over the very agony which it produces. The sensitive, the
+generous, the honourable, would ever be spared from such painful
+missions. A case of more recent occurrence may be referred to as in
+point. We allude to the murder of Mr. Roberts, a farmer of New
+Jersey, who was robbed and shot in his own wagon, near Camden. It
+became necessary that the sad intelligence should be broken to his
+wife and family with as much delicacy as possible. A neighbour was
+selected for the task, and at first consented. But, on
+consideration, his heart failed him. He could not, he said,
+communicate the details of a tragedy so appalling and he begged to
+be excused. Another, formed it was thought of sterner stuff, was
+then fixed upon: but he too, rough and bluff as he was in his
+ordinary manners, possessed the heart of a generous and sympathetic
+human being, and also respectfully declined. A third made a like
+objection, and at last a female friend of the family was with much
+difficulty persuaded, in company with another, to undertake the
+mournful task. And yet, we repeat, there are in society, individuals
+who delight in contributing to the misery of others--who are eager
+to circulate a slander, to chronicle a ruin, to revive a forgotten
+error, to wound, sting, and annoy, whenever they may do so with
+impunity. How much better the gentle, the generous, the magnanimous
+policy! Why not do everything that may be done for the happiness of
+our fellow creatures, without seeking out their weak points,
+irritating their half-healed wounds, jarring their sensibilities, or
+embittering their thoughts! The magic of kind words and a kind
+manner can scarcely be over-estimated. Our fellow creatures are more
+sensitive than is generally imagined. We have known cases in which a
+gentle courtesy has been remembered with pleasure for years. Who
+indeed cannot look back into "bygone time," and discover some smile,
+some look or other demonstration of regard or esteem, calculated to
+bless and brighten every hour of after existence! "Kind words," says
+an eminent writer, "do not cost much. It does not take long to utter
+them. They never blister the tongue or lips on their passage into
+the world, or occasion any other kind of bodily suffering; and we
+have never heard of any mental trouble arising from this quarter.
+Though they do not cost much, yet they accomplish much. 1. They help
+one's own good nature and good will. One cannot be in a habit of
+this kind, without thereby pecking away something of the granite
+roughness of his own nature. Soft words will soften his own soul.
+Philosophers tell us that the angry words a man uses in his passion
+are fuel to the flame of his wrath, and make it blaze the more
+fiercely. Why, then, should not words of the opposite character
+produce opposite results, and that most blessed of all passions of
+the soul, kindness, be augmented by kind words? People that are for
+ever speaking kindly, are for ever disinclining themselves to
+ill-temper. 2. Kind words make other people good-natured. Cold words
+freeze people, and hot words scorch them, and sarcastic words
+irritate them, and bitter words make them bitter, and wrathful words
+make them wrathful. And kind words also produce their own image on
+men's souls; and a beautiful image it is. They soothe, and quiet,
+and comfort the hearer. They shame him out of his sour, morose,
+unkind feelings; and he has to become kind himself. There is such a
+rush of all other kinds of words in our days, that it seems
+desirable to give kind words a chance among them. There are vain
+words, idle words, hasty words, spiteful words, silly words, and
+empty words. Now kind words are better than the whole of them; and
+it is a pity that, among the improvements of the present age, birds
+of this feather might not have more of a chance than they have had
+to spread their wings."
+
+It is indeed! Kind words should be brought into more general use.
+Those in authority should employ them more frequently, when
+addressing the less fortunate among mankind. Employers should use
+them in their intercourse with their workmen. Parents should utter
+them on every occasion to their children. The rich should never
+forget an opportunity of speaking kindly to the poor. Neighbours and
+friends should emulate each other in the employment of mild, gentle,
+frank, and kindly language. But this cannot be done unless each
+endeavours to control himself. Our passions and our prejudices must
+be kept in check. If we find that we have a neighbour on the other
+side of the way, who has been more fortunate in a worldly sense than
+we have been, and if we discover a little jealousy or envy creeping
+into our opinions and feelings concerning said neighbour--let us be
+careful, endeavour to put a rein upon our tongues, and to avoid the
+indulgence of malevolence or ill-will. If we, on the other hand,
+have been fortunate, have enough and to spare, and there happens to
+be in our circle some who are dependent upon us, some who look up to
+us with love and respect--let us be generous, courteous, and
+kind--and thus we shall not only discharge a duty, but prove a
+source of happiness to others.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS.
+
+
+
+
+
+MOST people think there are cares enough in the world, and yet many
+are very industrious to increase them:--One of the readiest ways of
+doing this is to quarrel with a neighbour. A bad bargain may vex a
+man for a week, and a bad debt may trouble him for a month; but a
+quarrel with his neighbours will keep him in hot water all the year
+round.
+
+Aaron Hands delights in fowls, and his cocks and hens are always
+scratching up the flowerbeds of his neighbour William Wilkes, whose
+mischievous tom-cat every now and then runs off with a chicken. The
+consequence is, that William Wilkins is one half the day occupied in
+driving away the fowls, and threatening to screw their long ugly
+necks off; while Aaron Hands, in his periodical outbreaks,
+invariably vows to skin his neighbour's cat, as sure as he can lay
+hold of him.
+
+Neighbours! Neighbours! Why can you not be at peace? Not all the
+fowls you can rear, and the flowers you can grow, will make amends
+for a life of anger, hatred, malice, and uncharitableness. Come to
+some kind-hearted understanding one with another, and dwell in
+peace.
+
+Upton, the refiner, has a smoky chimney, that sets him and all the
+neighbourhood by the ears. The people around abuse him without
+mercy, complaining that they are poisoned, and declaring that they
+will indict him at the sessions. Upton fiercely sets them at
+defiance, on the ground that his premises were built before theirs,
+that his chimney did not come to them, but that they came to his
+chimney.
+
+Neighbours! Neighbours! practise a little more forbearance. Had half
+a dozen of you waited on the refiner in a kindly spirit, he would
+years ago have so altered his chimney, that it would not have
+annoyed you.
+
+Mrs. Tibbets is thoughtless--if it were not so she would never have
+had her large dusty carpet beaten, when her neighbour, who had a
+wash, was having her wet clothes hung out to dry. Mrs. Williams is
+hasty and passionate, or she would never have taken it for granted
+that the carpet was beaten on purpose to spite her, and give her
+trouble. As it is, Mrs. Tibbets and Mrs. Williams hate one another
+with a perfect hatred.
+
+Neighbours! Neighbours! bear with one another. We are none of us
+angels, and should not, therefore, expect those about us to be free
+from faults.
+
+They who attempt to out-wrangle a quarrelsome neighbour, go the
+wrong way to work. A kind word, and still more a kind deed, will be
+more likely to be successful. Two children wanted to pass by a
+savage dog: the one took a stick in his hand and pointed it at him,
+but this only made the enraged creature more furious than before.
+The other child adopted a different plan; for by giving the dog a
+piece of his bread and butter, he was allowed to pass, the subdued
+animal wagging his tail in quietude. If you happen to have a
+quarrelsome neighbour, conquer him by civility and kindness; try the
+bread and butter system, and keep your stick out of sight. That is
+an excellent Christian admonition, "A soft answer turneth away
+wrath, but grievous words stir up anger."
+
+Neighbours' quarrels are a mutual reproach, and yet a stick or a
+straw is sufficient to promote them. One man is rich, and another
+poor; one is a churchman, another a dissenter; one is a
+conservative, another a liberal; one hates another because he is of
+the same trade, and another is bitter with his neighbour because he
+is a Jew or a Roman Catholic.
+
+Neighbours! Neighbours! live in love, and then while you make others
+happy, you will be happier yourselves.
+
+  "That happy man is surely blest,
+  Who of the worst things makes the best;
+  Whilst he must be of temper curst,
+  Who of the best things makes the worst."
+
+"Be ye all of one mind," says the Apostle, "having compassion one of
+another; love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous; not rendering
+evil for evil, or railing for railing, but contrariwise blessing.
+"To a rich man I would say, bear with and try to serve those who are
+below you; and to a poor one--
+
+  "Fear God, love peace, and mind your labour;
+  And never, never quarrel with your neighbour."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+GOOD WE MIGHT DO.
+
+
+
+
+
+WE all might do good
+  Where we often do ill;
+There is always the way,
+  If we have but the will;
+Though it be but a word
+  Kindly breathed or supprest,
+It may guard off some pain,
+  Or give peace to some breast.
+
+We all might do good
+  In a thousand small ways--
+In forbearing to flatter,
+  Yet yielding _due_ praise--
+In spurning ill humour,
+  Reproving wrong done,
+And treating but kindly
+  Each heart we have won.
+
+We all might do good,
+  Whether lowly or great,
+For the deed is not gauged
+  By the purse or estate;
+If it be but a cup
+  Of cold water that's given,
+Like "the widow's two mites,"
+  It is something for Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE TOWN LOT.
+
+
+
+
+
+ONCE upon a time it happened that the men who governed the municipal
+affairs of a certain growing town in the West, resolved, in grave
+deliberation assembled, to purchase a five-acre lot at the north end
+of the city--recently incorporated--and have it improved for a park
+or public square. Now, it also happened, that all the saleable
+ground lying north of the city was owned by a man named Smith--a
+shrewd, wide-awake individual, whose motto was "Every man for
+himself," with an occasional addition about a certain gentleman in
+black taking "the hindmost."
+
+Smith, it may be mentioned, was secretly at the bottom of this
+scheme for a public square, and had himself suggested the matter to
+an influential member of the council; not that he was moved by what
+is denominated public spirit--no; the spring of action in the case
+was merely "private spirit," or a regard for his own good. If the
+council decided upon a public square, he was the man from whom the
+ground would have to be bought; and he was the man who could get his
+own price therefor.
+
+As we have said, the park was decided upon, and a committee of two
+appointed whose business it was to see Smith, and arrange with him
+for the purchase of a suitable lot of ground. In due form the
+committee called upon the landholder, who was fully prepared for the
+interview.
+
+"You are the owner of those lots at the north end?" said the
+spokesman of the committee.
+
+"I am," replied Smith, with becoming gravity.
+
+"Will you sell a portion of ground, say five acres, to the city?"
+
+"For what purpose?" Smith knew very well for what purpose the land
+was wanted.
+
+"We have decided to set apart about five acres of ground, and
+improve it as a kind of park, or public promenade."
+
+"Have you, indeed? Well, I like that," said Smith, with animation.
+"It shows the right kind of public spirit."
+
+"We have, moreover, decided that the best location will be at the
+north end of the town."
+
+"Decidedly my own opinion," returned Smith.
+
+"Will you sell us the required acres?" asked one of the councilmen.
+
+"That will depend somewhat upon where you wish to locate the park."
+
+The particular location was named.
+
+"The very spot," replied Smith, promptly, "upon which I have decided
+to erect four rows of dwellings."
+
+"But it is too far out for that," was naturally objected.
+
+"O, no; not a rod. The city is rapidly growing in that direction. I
+have only to put up the dwellings referred to, and dozens will, be
+anxious to purchase lots, and build all around them. Won't the
+ground to the left of that you speak of answer as well?"
+
+But the committee replied in the negative. The lot they had
+mentioned was the one decided upon as most suited for the purpose,
+and they were not prepared to think of any other location.
+
+All this Smith understood very well. He was not only willing, but
+anxious for the city to purchase the lot they were negotiating for.
+All he wanted was to get a good round price for the same--say four
+or five times the real value. So he feigned indifference, and threw
+difficulties in the way.
+
+A few years previous to this time, Smith had purchased a
+considerable tract of land at the north of the then flourishing
+village, at fifty dollars an acre. Its present value was about three
+hundred dollars an acre. After a good deal of talk on both sides,
+Smith finally agreed to sell the particular lot pitched upon. The
+next thing was to arrange as to price.
+
+"At what do you hold this ground per acre?"
+
+It was some time before Smith answered this question. His eyes were
+cast upon the floor, and earnestly did he enter into debate with
+himself as to the value he should place upon the lot. At first he
+thought of five hundred dollars per acre. But his cupidity soon
+caused him to advance on that sum, although, a month before, he
+would have caught at such an offer. Then he advanced to six, to
+seven, and to eight hundred. And still he felt undecided.
+
+"I can get my own price," said he to himself. "The city has to pay,
+and I might just as well get a large sum as a small one."
+
+"For what price will you sell?" The question was repeated.
+
+"I must have a good price."
+
+"We are willing to pay what is fair and right."
+
+"Of course. No doubt you have fixed a limit to which you will go."
+
+"Not exactly that," said one of the gentlemen.
+
+"Are you prepared to make an offer?"
+
+"We are prepared to hear your price, and to make a report thereon,"
+was replied.
+
+"That's a very valuable lot of ground," said Smith.
+
+"Name your price," returned one of the committeemen, a little
+impatiently.
+
+Thus brought up to the point, Smith, after thinking hurriedly for a
+few moments, said--
+
+"One thousand dollars an acre."
+
+Both the men shook their heads in a very positive way. Smith said
+that it was the lowest he would take; and so the conference ended.
+
+At the next meeting of the city councils, a report on the town lot
+was made, and the extraordinary demand of Smith canvassed. It was
+unanimously decided not to make the proposed purchase.
+
+When this decision reached the landholder, he was considerably
+disappointed. He wanted money badly, and would have "jumped at" two
+thousand dollars for the five acre lot, if satisfied that it would
+bring no more. But when the city came forward as a purchaser, his
+cupidity was subjected to a very strong temptation. He believed that
+he could get five thousand dollars as easily as two; and quieted his
+conscience by the salvo--"An article is always worth what it will
+bring."
+
+A week or two went by, and Smith was about calling upon one of the
+members of the council, to say that, if the city really wanted the
+lot he would sell at their price, leaving it with the council to act
+justly and generously, when a friend said to him,
+
+"I hear that the council had the subject of a public square under
+consideration again this morning."
+
+"Indeed!" Smith was visibly excited, though he tried to appear calm.
+
+"Yes; and I also hear that they have decided to pay the extravagant
+price you asked for a lot of ground at the north end of the city."
+
+"A thousand dollars an acre?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Its real value, and not cent more," said Smith.
+
+"People differ about that. How ever, you are lucky," the friend
+replied. "The city is able to pay."
+
+"So I think. And I mean they shall pay."
+
+Before the committee, to whom the matter was given in charge, had
+time to call upon Smith, and close with him for the lot, that
+gentleman had concluded in his own mind that it would be just as
+easy to get twelve hundred dollars an acre as a thousand. It was
+plain that the council were bent upon having the ground, and would
+pay a round sum for it. It was just the spot for a public square;
+and the city must become the owner. So, when he was called upon, by
+the gentlemen, and they said to him,
+
+"We are authorized to pay you your price," he promptly answered,
+"The offer is no longer open. You declined it when it was made. My
+price for that property is now twelve hundred dollars an acre."
+
+The men offered remonstrance; but it was of no avail. Smith believed
+that he could get six thousand dollars for the ground as easily as
+five thousand. The city must have the lot, and would pay almost any
+price.
+
+"I hardly think it right, Mr. Smith," said one of his visiters, "for
+you to take such an advantage. This square is for the public good."
+
+"Let the public pay, then," was the unhesitating answer. "The public
+is able enough."
+
+"The location of this park, at the north end of the city, will
+greatly improve the value of your other property."
+
+This Smith understood very well. But he replied,
+
+"I am not so sure of that. I have some very strong doubts on the
+subject. It's my opinion, that the buildings I contemplated erecting
+will be far more to my advantage. Be that as it may, however, I am
+decided in selling for nothing less than six thousand dollars."
+
+"We are only authorized to pay five thousand," replied the
+committee. "If you agree to take that sum, will close the bargain on
+the spot."
+
+Five thousand dollars was a large sum of money, and Smith felt
+strongly tempted to close in with the liberal offer. But six
+thousand loomed up before his imagination still more temptingly.
+
+"I can get it," said he to himself; "and the property is worth what
+it will bring."
+
+So he positively declined to sell it at a thousand dollars per acre.
+
+"At twelve hundred you will sell?" remarked one of the committee, as
+they were about retiring.
+
+"Yes. I will take twelve hundred the acre. That is the lowest rate,
+and I am not anxious even at that price. I can do quite as well by
+keeping it in my own possession. But, as you seem so bent on having
+it, I will not stand in your way. When will the council meet again?"
+
+"Not until next week."
+
+"Very well. If they then accept my offer, all will be right. But,
+understand me; if they do not accept, the offer no longer remains
+open. It is a matter of no moment to me which way the thing goes."
+
+It was a matter of moment to Smith, for all this assertion--a matter
+of very great moment. He had several thousand dollars to pay in the
+course of the next few months on land purchases, and no way to meet
+the payments, except by mortgages, or sales of property; and, it may
+naturally be concluded, that he suffered considerable uneasiness
+during the time which passed until the next meeting of the council.
+
+Of course, the grasping disposition shown by Smith, became the town
+talk; and people said a good many hard things of him. Little,
+however, did he care, so that he secured six thousand dollars for a
+lot not worth more than two thousand.
+
+Among other residents and property holders in the town, was a
+simple-minded, true-hearted, honest man, named Jones. His father had
+left him a large farm, a goodly portion of which, in process of
+time, came to be included in the limits of the new city; and he
+found a much more profitable employment in selling building lots
+than in tilling the soil. The property of Mr. Jones lay at the west
+side of the town.
+
+Now, when Mr. Jones heard of the exorbitant demand made by Smith for
+a five acre lot, his honest heart throbbed with a feeling of
+indignation.
+
+"I couldn't have believed it of him," said he. "Six thousand
+dollars! Preposterous! Why, I would give the city a lot of twice the
+size, and do it with pleasure."
+
+"You would?" said a member of the council, who happened to hear this
+remark.
+
+"Certainly I would."
+
+"You are really in earnest?"
+
+"Undoubtedly. Go and select a public square from any of my
+unappropriated land on the west side of the city, and I will pass
+you the title as a free gift to-morrow, and feel pleasure in doing
+so."
+
+"That is public spirit," said the councilman.
+
+"Call it what you will. I am pleased in making the offer."
+
+Now, let it not be supposed that Mr. Jones was shrewdly calculating
+the advantage which would result to him from having a park at the
+west side of the city. No such thought had yet entered his mind. He
+spoke from the impulse of a generous feeling.
+
+Time passed on, and the session day of the council came round--a day
+to which Smith had looked forward with no ordinary feelings of
+interest, that were touched at times by the coldness of doubt, and
+the agitation of uncertainty. Several times he had more than half
+repented of his refusal to accept the liberal offer of five thousand
+dollars, and of having fixed so positively upon six thousand as the
+"lowest figure."
+
+The morning of the day passed, and Smith began to grow uneasy. He
+did not venture to seek for information as to the doings of the
+council, for that would be to expose the anxiety he felt in the
+result of their deliberations. Slowly the afternoon wore away, and
+it so happened that Smith did not meet any one of the councilmen;
+nor did he even know whether the council was still in session or
+not. As to making allusion to the subject of his anxious interest to
+any one, that was carefully avoided; for he knew that his exorbitant
+demand was the town talk--and he wished to affect the most perfect
+indifference on the subject.
+
+The day closed, and not a whisper about the town lot had come to the
+ears of Mr. Smith. What could it mean? Had his offer to sell at six
+thousand been rejected? The very thought caused his heart to grow
+heavy in his bosom. Six, seven, eight o'clock came, and still it was
+all dark with Mr. Smith. He could bear the suspense no longer, and
+so determined to call upon his neighbour Wilson, who was a member of
+the council, and learn from him what had been done.
+
+So he called on Mr. Wilson.
+
+"Ah, friend Smith," said the latter; "how are you this evening?"
+
+"Well, I thank you," returned Smith, feeling a certain oppression of
+the chest. "How are you?"
+
+"Oh, very well."
+
+Here there was a pause. After which Smith said, "About that ground
+of mine. What did you do?"
+
+"Nothing," replied Wilson, coldly.
+
+"Nothing, did you say?" Smith's voice was a little husky.
+
+"No. You declined our offer; or, rather, the high price fixed by
+yourself upon the land."
+
+"You refused to buy it at five thousand, when it was offered," said
+Smith.
+
+"I know we did, because your demand was exorbitant."
+
+"Oh, no, not at all," returned Smith quickly.
+
+"In that we only differ," said Wilson. "However, the council has
+decided not to pay you the price you ask."
+
+"Unanimously?"
+
+"There was not a dissenting voice."
+
+Smith began to feel more and more uncomfortable.
+
+"I might take something less," he ventured to say, in a low,
+hesitating voice.
+
+"It is too late now," was Mr. Wilson's prompt reply.
+
+"Too late! How so?"
+
+"We have procured a lot."
+
+"Mr. Wilson!" Poor Smith started to his feet in chagrin and
+astonishment.
+
+"Yes; we have taken one of Jones's lots on the west side of the
+city. A beautiful ten acre lot."
+
+"You have!" Smith was actually pale.
+
+"We have; and the title deeds are now being made out."
+
+It was some time before Smith had sufficiently recovered from the
+stunning effect of this unlooked-for intelligence, to make the
+inquiry,
+
+"And pray how much did Jones ask for his ten acre lot."
+
+"He presented it to the city as a gift," replied the councilman.
+
+"A gift! What folly!"
+
+"No, not folly--but true worldly wisdom; though I believe Jones did
+not think of advantage to himself when he generously made the offer.
+He is worth twenty thousand dollars more to-day than he was
+yesterday, in the simple advanced value of his land for building
+lots. And I know of no man in this town whose good fortune affects
+me with more pleasure."
+
+Smith stole back to his home with a mountain of disappointment on
+his heart. In his cupidity he had entirely overreached himself, and
+he saw that the consequences were to react upon all his future
+prosperity. The public square at the west end of the town would draw
+improvements in that direction, all the while increasing the wealth
+of Mr. Jones, while lots at the north end would remain at present
+prices, or, it might be, take a downward range.
+
+And so it proved. In ten years, Jones was the richest man in the
+town, while half of Smith's property had been sold for taxes. The
+five acre lot passed from his hands, under the hammer, in the
+foreclosure of a mortgage, for one thousand dollars!
+
+Thus it is that inordinate selfishness and cupidity overreach
+themselves; while the liberal man deviseth liberal things, and is
+sustained thereby.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROP.
+
+
+
+
+
+A SUNBEAM and a raindrop met together in the sky
+One afternoon in sunny June, when earth was parched and dry;
+Each quarrelled for the precedence ('twas so the story ran),
+And the golden sunbeam, warmly, the quarrel thus began:--
+
+"What were the earth without me? I come with beauty bright,
+She smiles to hail my presence, and rejoices in my light;
+I deck the hill and valley with many a lovely hue,
+I give the rose its blushes, and the violet its blue.
+
+"I steal within the window, and through the cottage door,
+And my presence like a blessing gilds with smiles the broad earth o'er;
+The brooks and streams flow dancing and sparkling in my ray,
+And the merry, happy children in the golden sunshine play."
+
+Then the tearful raindrop answered--"Give praise where praise is due,
+The earth indeed were lonely without a smile from you;
+But without my visits, also, its beauty would decay,
+The flowers droop and wither, and the streamlets dry away.
+
+"I give the flowers their freshness, and you their colours gay,
+My jewels would not sparkle, without your sunny ray.
+Since each upon the other so closely must depend,
+Let us seek the earth together, and our common blessings blend."
+
+The raindrops, and the sunbeams, came laughing down to earth,
+And it woke once more to beauty, and to myriad tones of mirth;
+The river and the streamlet went dancing on their way,
+And the raindrops brightly sparkled in the sunbeam's golden ray.
+
+The drooping flowers looked brighter, there was fragrance in the air,
+The earth seemed new created, there was gladness everywhere;
+And above the dark clouds, gleaming on the clear blue arch of Heaven,
+The Rainbow, in its beauty, like a smile of love was given.
+
+'Twas a sweet and simple lesson, which the story told, I thought,
+Not alone and single-handed our kindliest deeds are wrought;
+Like the sunbeam and the raindrop, work together, while we may,
+And the bow of Heaven's own promise shall smile upon our way.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS.
+
+
+
+
+
+STRANGE and subtle are the influences which affect the spirit and
+touch the heart. Are there bodiless creatures around us, moulding
+our thoughts into darkness or brightness, as they will? Whence,
+otherwise, come the shadow and the sunshine, for which we can
+discern no mortal agency?
+
+Oftener, As we grow older, come the shadows; less frequently the,
+sunshine. Ere I took up my pen, I was sitting with a pleasant
+company of friends, listening to music, and speaking, with the rest,
+light words.
+
+Suddenly, I knew not why, my heart was wrapt away in an atmosphere
+of sorrow. A sense of weakness and unworthiness weighed me down, and
+I felt the moisture gather to my eyes and my lips tremble, though
+they kept the smile.
+
+All my past life rose up before me, and all my short-comings--all,
+my mistakes, and all my wilful wickedness, seemed pleading
+trumpet-tongued against me.
+
+I saw her before me whose feet trod with mine the green holts and
+meadows, when the childish thought strayed not beyond the near or
+the possible. I saw her through the long blue distances, clothed in
+the white beauty of an angel; but, alas! she drew her golden hair
+across her face to veil from her vision the sin-darkened creature
+whose eyes dropped heavily to the hem of her robe!
+
+O pure and beautiful one, taken to peace ere the weak temptation had
+lifted itself up beyond thy stature, and compelled thee to listen,
+to oppose thy weakness to its strength, and to fall--sometimes, at
+least, let thy face shine on me from between the clouds. Fresh from
+the springs of Paradise, shake from thy wings the dew against my
+forehead. We two were coming up together through the sweet land of
+poesy and dreams, where the senses believe what the heart hopes; our
+hands were full of green boughs, and our laps of cowslips and
+violets, white and purple. We were talking of that more beautiful
+world into which childhood was opening out, when that spectre met
+us, feared and dreaded alike by the strong man and the little child,
+and one was taken, and the other left.
+
+One was caught away sinless to the bosom of the Good Shepherd, and
+one was left to weep pitiless tears, to eat the bread of toil, and
+to think the bitter thoughts of misery,--left "to clasp a phantom
+and to find it air." For often has the adversary pressed me sore,
+and out of my arms has slid ever that which my soul pronounced good:
+slid out of my arms and coiled about my feet like a serpent,
+dragging me back and holding me down from all that is high and
+great.
+
+Pity me, dear one, if thy sweet sympathies can come out of the
+glory, if the lovelight of thy beautiful life can press through the
+cloud and the evil, and fold me again as a garment; pity and plead
+for me with the maiden mother whose arms in human sorrow and human
+love cradled our blessed Redeemer.
+
+She hath known our mortal pain and passion--our more than mortal
+triumph--she hath heard the "blessed art thou among women." My
+unavailing prayers goldenly syllabled by her whose name sounds from
+the manger through all the world, may find acceptance with Him who,
+though our sins be as scarlet, can wash them white as wool.
+
+Our hearts grew together as one, and along the headlands and the
+valleys one shadow went before us, and one shadow followed us, till
+the grave gaped hungry and terrible, and I was alone. Faltering in
+fear, but lingering in love, I knelt by the deathbed--it was the
+middle night, and the first moans of the autumn came down from the
+hills, for the frost specks glinted on her golden robes, and the
+wind blew chill in her bosom. Heaven was full of stars, and the
+half-moon scattered abroad her beauty like a silver rain. Many have
+been the middle nights since then, for years lie between me and that
+fearfulest of all watches; but a shadow, a sound, or a thought,
+turns the key of the dim chamber, and the scene is reproduced.
+
+I see the long locks on the pillow, the smile on the ashen lips, the
+thin, cold fingers faintly pressing my own, and hear the broken
+voice saying, "I am going now. I am not afraid. Why weep ye? Though
+I were to live the full time allotted to man, I should not be more
+ready, nor more willing than now." But over this there comes a
+shudder and a groan that all the mirthfulness of the careless was
+impotent to drown.
+
+Three days previous to the death-night, three days previous to the
+transit of the soul from the clayey tabernacle to the house not;
+made with hands--from dishonour to glory--let me turn theme over as
+so many leaves.
+
+The first of the November mornings, but the summer had tarried late,
+and the wood to the south of our homestead lifted itself like a
+painted wall against the sky--the squirrel was leaping nimbly and
+chattering gayly among the fiery tops of the oaks or the dun foliage
+of the hickory, that shot up its shelving trunk and spread its
+forked branches far over the smooth, moss-spotted boles of the
+beeches, and the limber boughs of the elms. Lithe and blithe he was,
+for his harvest was come.
+
+From the cracked beech-burs was dropping the sweet, angular fruit,
+and down from the hickory boughs with every gust fell a shower of
+nuts--shelling clean and silvery from their thick black hulls.
+
+Now and then, across the stubble-field, with long cars erect, leaped
+the gray hare, but for the most part he kept close in his burrow,
+for rude huntsmen were on the hills with their dogs, and only when
+the sharp report of a rifle rung through the forest, or the hungry
+yelping of some trailing hound startled his harmless slumber, might
+you see at the mouth of his burrow the quivering lip and great timid
+eyes.
+
+Along the margin of the creek, shrunken now away from the blue and
+gray and yellowish stones that made its cool pavement, and projected
+in thick layers from the shelving banks, the white columns of
+gigantic sycamores leaped earthward, their bases driven, as it
+seemed, deep into the ground--all their convolutions of roots buried
+out, of view. Dropping into the stagnant waters below, came one by
+one the broad, rose-tinted leaves, breaking the shadows of the
+silver limbs.
+
+Ruffling and widening to the edges of the pools went the circles, as
+the pale, yellow walnuts plashed into their midst; for here, too,
+grew the parent trees, their black bark cut and jagged and broken
+into rough diamond work.
+
+That beautiful season was come when
+
+"Rustic girls in hoods
+Go gleaning through the woods."
+
+Two days after this, we said, my dear mate and I, we shall have a
+holiday, and from sunrise till sunset, with our laps full of ripe
+nuts and orchard fruits, we shall make pleasant pastime.
+
+Rosalie, for so I may call her, was older than I, with a face of
+beauty and a spirit that never flagged. But to-day there was
+heaviness in her eyes, and a flushing in her cheek that was deeper
+than had been there before.
+
+Still she spoke gayly, and smiled the old smile, for the gaunt form
+of sickness had never been among us children, and we knew not how
+his touch made the head sick and the heart faint.
+
+The day looked forward to so anxiously dawned at last; but in the
+dim chamber of Rosalie the light fell sad. I must go alone.
+
+We had always been together before, at work and in play, asleep and
+awake, and I lingered long ere I would be persuaded to leave her;
+but when she smiled and said the fresh-gathered nuts and shining
+apples would make her glad, I wiped her forehead, and turning
+quickly away that she might not see my tears, was speedily wading
+through winrows of dead leaves.
+
+The sensations of that day I shall never forget; a vague and
+trembling fear of some coming evil, I knew not what, made me often
+start as the shadows drifted past me, or a bough crackled beneath my
+feet.
+
+From the low, shrubby hawthorns, I gathered the small red apples,
+and from beneath the maples, picked by their slim golden stems the
+notched and gorgeous leaves. The wind fingered playfully my hair,
+and clouds of birds went whirring through the tree-tops; but no
+sight nor sound could divide my thoughts from her whose voice had so
+often filled with music these solitary places.
+
+I remember when first the fear distinctly defined itself. I was
+seated on a mossy log, counting the treasures which I had been
+gathering, when the clatter of hoof-strokes on the clayey and
+hard-beaten road arrested my attention, and, looking up--for the
+wood thinned off in the direction of the highway, and left it
+distinctly in view--I saw Doctor H----, the physician, in attendance
+upon my sick companion. The visit was an unseasonable one. She, whom
+I loved so, might never come with me to the woods any more.
+
+Where the hill sloped to the roadside, and the trees, as I said,
+were but few, was the village graveyard. No friend of mine, no one
+whom I had ever known or loved, was buried there--yet with a child's
+instinctive dread of death, I had ever passed its shaggy solitude
+(for shrubs and trees grew there wild and unattended) with a hurried
+step and averted face.
+
+Now, for the first time in my life, I walked voluntarily
+thitherward, and climbing on a log by the fence-side, gazed long and
+earnestly within. I stood beneath a tall locust-tree, and the small,
+round leaves; yellow now as the long cloud-bar across the sunset,
+kept dropping, and dropping at my feet, till all the faded grass was
+covered up. There the mattock had never been struck; but in fancy I
+saw the small Heaves falling and drifting about a new and
+smooth-shaped mound--and, choking with the turbulent outcry in my
+heart, I glided stealthily homeward--alas! to find the boding shape
+I had seen through mists and, shadows awfully palpable. I did not
+ask about Rosalie. I was afraid; but with my rural gleanings in my
+lap, opened the door of her chamber. The physician had preceded me
+but a moment, and, standing by the bedside, was turning toward the
+lessening light the little wasted hand, the one on which I had
+noticed in the morning a small purple spot. "Mortification!" he
+said, abruptly, and moved away, as though his work were done.
+
+There was a groan expressive of the sudden and terrible
+consciousness which had in it the agony of agonies--the giving up of
+all. The gift I had brought fell from my relaxed grasp, and, hiding
+my face in the pillow, I gave way to the passionate sorrow of an
+undisciplined nature.
+
+When at last I looked up, there was a smile on her lips that no
+faintest moan ever displaced again.
+
+A good man and a skilful physician was Dr. H----, but his infirmity
+was a love of strong drink; and, therefore, was it that he softened
+not the terrible blow which must soon have fallen. I link with his
+memory no reproaches now, for all this is away down in the past; and
+that foe that sooner or later biteth like a serpent, soon did his
+work; but then my breaking heart judged him, hardly. Often yet, for
+in all that is saddest memory is faithfulest, I wake suddenly out of
+sleep, and live over that first and bitterest sorrow of my life; and
+there is no house of gladness in the world that with a whisper will
+not echo the moan of lips pale with the kisses of death.
+
+Sometimes, when life is gayest about me, an unseen hand leads me
+apart, and opening the door of that still chambers I go in--the
+yellow leaves are at my feet again, and that white band between me
+and the light.
+
+I see the blue flames quivering and curling close and the
+smouldering embers on the hearth. I hear soft footsteps and sobbing
+voices and see the clasped hands and placid smile of her who, alone
+among us all, was untroubled; and over the darkness and the pain I
+hear voice, saying, "She is not dead, but sleepeth." Would, dear
+reader, that you might remember, and I too all ways, the importance
+of soft and careful words. One harsh or even thoughtlessly chosen
+epithet, may bear with it a weight which shall weigh down some heart
+through all life. There are for us all nights of sorrow, in which we
+feel their value. Help us, our Father, to remember it!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATION.
+
+
+
+
+
+"HE is a good man, suppose, and an excellent doctor," said Mrs.
+Salina Simmons, with a dubious shake of her head but----"
+
+"But what, Mrs. Simmons?"
+
+"They say he _drinks!_"
+
+"No, impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Josiah Query, with emphasis.
+
+"Impossible? I hope so," said Mrs. Simmons. "And--mind you, I don't
+say he _drinks_, but that such is the report. And I have it upon
+tolerably good authority, too, Mr. Query."
+
+"What authority?"
+
+"Oh, I couldn't tell that: for you know I never like to make
+mischief. I can only say that the _report_ is--he drinks."
+
+Mr. Josiah Query scratched his head.
+
+"Can it be that Dr. Harvey drinks?" he murmured. "I thought him pure
+Son of Temperance. And his my family physician, too! I must look
+into this matter forthwith. Mrs. Simmons, you still decline slating
+who is your authority for this report?"
+
+Mrs. Simmons was firm; her companion could gain no satisfaction. She
+soon compelled him to promise that he would not mention her name, if
+he spoke of the affair elsewhere, repeating her remark that she
+never liked to make mischief.
+
+Dr. Harvey was a physician residing in a small village, where he
+shared the profits of practice with another doctor, named Jones. Dr.
+Harvey was generally liked and among his friends was Mr. Josiah
+Query, whom Mrs. Simmons shocked with the bit of gossip respecting
+the doctor's habits of intemperance. Mr. Query was a good-hearted
+man, and he deemed it his duty to inquire into the nature of the
+report, and learn if it had any foundation in truth. Accordingly, be
+went to Mr. Green, who also employed the doctor in his family.
+
+"Mr. Green," said he, "have you heard anything about this report of
+Dr. Harvey's intemperance?"
+
+"Dr. Harvey's intemperance?" cried Mr. Green, astonished.
+
+"Yes--a flying report."
+
+"No, I'm sure I haven't."
+
+"Of course, then, you don't know whether it is true or not?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"That he drinks."
+
+"I never heard of it before. Dr. Harvey is my family physician, and
+I certainly would not employ a man addicted to the use of ardent
+spirits."
+
+"Nor I," said Mr. Query "and for this reason, and for the doctor's
+sake, too, I want to know the truth of the matter. I don't really
+credit it myself; but I thought it would do no harm to inquire."
+
+Mr. Query next applied to Squire Worthy for information.
+
+"Dear me!" exclaimed the squire, who was a nervous man; "does Dr.
+Harvey drink?"
+
+"Such is the rumour; how true it is, I can't say."
+
+"And what if he should give one of my family a dose of arsenic
+instead of the tincture of rhubarb, some time, when he is
+intoxicated? My mind is made up now. I shall send for Dr. Jones in
+future."
+
+"But, dear sir," remonstrated Mr. Query. "I don't say the report is
+true."
+
+"Oh, no; you wouldn't wish to commit yourself. You like to know the
+safe side, and so do I. I shall employ Dr. Jones."
+
+Mr. Query turned sorrowfully away.
+
+"Squire Worthy must have bad suspicions of the doctor's intemperance
+before I came to him," thought he; "I really begin to fear that
+there is some foundation for the report. I'll go to Mrs. Mason; she
+will know."
+
+Mr. Query found Mrs. Mason ready to listen to and believe any
+scandal. She gave her head a significant toss, as if she knew more
+about the report than she chose to confess.
+
+Mr. Query begged of her to explain herself.
+
+"Oh, _I_ sha'n't say anything," exclaimed Mrs. Mason; "I've no ill
+will against Dr. Harvey, and I'd rather cut off my right hand than
+injure him."
+
+"But is the report true?"
+
+"True, Mr. Query? Do you suppose _I_ ever saw Dr. Harvey drunk? Then
+how can you expect me to know? Oh, I don't wish to say anything
+against the man, and I won't."
+
+After visiting Mrs. Mason, Mr. Query went to half a dozen others to
+learn the truth respecting Dr. Harvey's habits. Nobody would confess
+that they knew anything, about his drinking; but Mr. Smith "was not
+as much surprised as others might be;" Mr. Brown "was sorry if the
+report was true," adding, that the best of men had their faults.
+Miss Single had frequently remarked the doctor's florid complexion,
+and wondered if his colour was natural; Mr. Clark remembered that
+the doctor appeared unusually gay, on the occasion of his last visit
+to his family; Mrs. Rogers declared that, when she came to reflect,
+she believed she had once or twice smelt the man's breath; and Mr.
+Impulse had often seen him riding at an extraordinary rate for a
+sober Gentleman. Still Mr. Query was unable to ascertain any
+definite facts respecting the unfavourable report.
+
+Meanwhile, with his usual industry, Dr. Harvey went about his
+business, little suspecting the scandalous gossip that was
+circulating to his discredit. But he soon perceived he was very
+coldly received by some of his old friends, and that others employed
+Dr. Jones. Nobody sent for him, and he might have begun to think
+that the health of the town was entirely re-established, had he not
+observed that his rival appeared driven with business, and that he
+rode night and day.
+
+One evening Dr. Harvey sat in his office, wondering what could have
+occasioned the sudden and surprising change in his affairs, when,
+contrary to his expectations, he received a call to visit a sick
+child of one of his old friends, who had lately employed his rival.
+After some hesitation, and a struggle between pride and a sense of
+duty, he resolved to respond to the call, and at the same time
+learn, if possible, why he had been preferred to Dr. Jones, and why
+Dr. Jones had on other occasions been preferred to him.
+
+"The truth is, Dr. Harvey," said Mr. Miles, "we thought the child
+dangerously ill, and as Dr. Jones could not come immediately, we
+concluded to send for you."
+
+"I admire your frankness," responded Dr. Harvey, smiling; "and shall
+admire it still more, if you will inform me why you have lately
+preferred Dr. Jones to me. Formerly I had the honour of enjoying
+your friendship and esteem, and you have frequently told me
+yourself, that you would trust no other physician."
+
+"Well," replied Mr. Miles, "I am a plain man, and never hesitate to
+tell people what they wish to know. I sent for Dr. Jones instead of
+you, I confess not that I doubted your skill--"
+
+"What then?"
+
+"It is a delicate subject, but I will, nevertheless, speak out.
+Although I had the utmost confidence in your skill and
+faithfulness--I--you know, I--in short, I don't like to trust a
+physician who drinks."
+
+"Sir!" cried the astonished doctor.
+
+"Yes--drinks," pursued Mr. Miles. "It is plain language, but I am a
+plain man. I heard of your intemperance, and thought it unsafe--that
+is, dangerous--to employ you."
+
+"My intemperance!" ejaculated Dr. Harvey.
+
+"Yes, sir! and I am sorry to know it. But the fact that you
+sometimes drink a trifle too much is now a well known fact, and is
+generally talked of in the village."
+
+"Mr. Miles," cried the indignant doctor, "this is scandalous--it is
+false! Who is your authority for this report?"
+
+"Oh, I have heard it from several mouths but I can't say exactly who
+is responsible for the rumour."
+
+And Mr. Miles went on to mention several names, as connected with
+the rumour, and among which was that of Mr. Query.
+
+The indignant doctor immediately set out on a pilgrimage of
+investigation, going from one house to another, in search of the
+author of the scandal.
+
+Nobody, however, could state where it originated, but it was
+universally admitted that the man from whose lips it was first
+heard, was Mr. Query.
+
+Accordingly Dr. Harvey hastened to Mr. Query's house, and demanded
+of that gentleman what he meant by circulating such scandal.
+
+"My dear doctor," cried Mr. Query, his face beaming with conscious
+innocence, "_I_ haven't been guilty of any mis-statement about you,
+I can take my oath. I heard that there was a report of your
+drinking, and all I did was to tell people I didn't believe it, nor
+know anything about it, and to inquire were it originated. Oh, I
+assure you, doctor, I haven't slandered you in any manner."
+
+"You are a poor fool!" exclaimed Dr. Harvey, perplexed and angry.
+"If you had gone about town telling everybody that you saw me drunk,
+daily, you couldn't have slandered me more effectually than you
+have."
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon," cried Mr. Query, very sad; "but I thought I
+was doing you a service!"
+
+"Save me from my friends!" exclaimed the doctor, bitterly. "An
+_enemy_ could not have done me as much injury as you have done. But
+I now insist on knowing who first mentioned the report to you."
+
+"Oh, I am not at liberty to say that."
+
+"Then I shall hold you responsible for the scandal--for the base
+lies you have circulated. But if you are really an honest man, and
+my friend, you will not hesitate to tell me where this report
+originated."
+
+After some reflection, Mr. Query, who stood in mortal fear of the
+indignant doctor, resolved to reveal the secret, and mentioned the
+name of his informant, Mrs. Simmons. As Dr. Harvey had not heard her
+spoken of before, as connected with the report of his intemperance,
+he knew very well that Mr. Query's "friendly investigations" had
+been the sole cause of his loss of practice. However, to go to the
+roots of this Upas tree of scandal, he resolved to pay an immediate
+visit to Mrs. Simmons.
+
+This lady could deny nothing; but she declared that she had not
+given the rumour as a fact, and that she had never spoken of it
+except to Mr. Query. Anxious to throw the responsibility of the
+slander upon others, she eagerly confessed that, on a certain
+occasion upon entering a room in which were Mrs. Guild and Mrs.
+Harmless, she overheard one of these ladies remark that "Dr. Harvey
+drank more than ever," and the other reply, that "she had heard him
+say he could not break himself, although he knew his health suffered
+in consequence."
+
+Thus set upon the right track, Dr. Harvey visited Mrs. Guild and
+Mrs. Harmless without delay.
+
+"Mercy on us!" exclaimed those ladies, when questioned respecting
+the matter, "we perfectly remember talking about your _drinking
+coffee_, and making such remarks as you have heard through Mrs.
+Simmons. But with regard to your _drinking liquor_, we never heard
+the report until a week ago, and never believed it at all."
+
+As what these ladies had said of his _coffee-drinking_ propensities
+was perfectly true, Dr. Harvey readily acquitted them of any designs
+against his character for sobriety, and well satisfied with having
+at last discovered the origin of the rumour, returned to the
+friendly Mr. Query.
+
+The humiliation of this gentleman was so deep, that Dr. Harvey
+avoided reproaches, and confined himself to a simple narrative of
+his discoveries.
+
+"I see, it is all my fault," said Mr. Query. "And I will do anything
+to remedy it. I never could believe you drank--and now I'll go and
+tell everybody that the report _was_ false."
+
+"Oh! bless you," cried the doctor, "I wouldn't have you do so for
+the world. All I ask of you, is to say nothing whatever on the
+subject, and if you ever again hear a report of the kind, don't make
+it a subject of friendly investigation."
+
+Mr. Query promised; and, after the truth was known, and, Dr. Harvey
+had regained the good-will of the community, together with his share
+of medical practice, he never had reason again to exclaim--"Save me
+from my friends!" And Mr. Query was in future exceedingly careful
+how he attempted to make friendly investigations.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ROOM IN THE WORLD.
+
+
+
+
+
+THERE is room in the world for the wealthy and great,
+For princes to reign in magnificent state;
+For the courtier to bend, for the noble to sue,
+If the hearts of all these are but honest and true.
+
+And there's room in the world for the lowly and meek,
+For the hard horny hand, and the toil-furrow'd cheek;
+For the scholar to think, for the merchant to trade,
+So these are found upright and just in their grade.
+
+But room there is none for the wicked; and nought
+For the souls that with teeming corruption are fraught.
+The world would be small, were its oceans all land,
+To harbour and feed such a pestilent band.
+
+Root out from among ye, by teaching the mind,
+By training the heart, this chief curse of mankind!
+'Tis a duty you owe to the forthcoming race--
+Confess it in time, and discharge it with grace!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WORDS.
+
+
+
+
+
+"THE foolish thing!" said my Aunt Rachel, speaking warmly, "to get
+hurt at a mere word. It's a little hard that people can't open their
+lips but somebody is offended."
+
+"Words are things!" said I, smiling.
+
+"Very light things! A person must be tender indeed, that is hurt by
+a word."
+
+"The very lightest thing may hurt, if it falls on a tender place."
+
+"I don't like people who have these tender places," said Aunt
+Rachel. "I never get hurt at what is said to me. No--never! To be
+ever picking and mincing, and chopping off your words--to be afraid
+to say this or that--for fear somebody will be offended! I can't
+abide it."
+
+"People who have these tender places can't help it, I suppose. This
+being so, ought we not to regard their weakness?" said I. "Pain,
+either of body or mind, is hard to bear, and we should not inflict
+it causelessly."
+
+"People who are so wonderfully sensitive," replied Aunt Rachel,
+growing warmer, "ought to shut themselves up at home, and not come
+among sensible, good-tempered persons. As far as I am concerned, I
+can tell them, one and all, that I am not going to pick out every
+hard word from a sentence as carefully as I would seeds from a
+raisin. Let them crack them with their teeth, if they are afraid to
+swallow them whole."
+
+Now, for all that Aunt Rachel went on after this strain, she was a
+kind, good soul, in the main, and, I could see, was sorry for having
+hurt the feelings of Mary Lane. But she didn't like to acknowledge
+that she was in the wrong; that would detract too much from the
+self-complacency with which she regarded herself. Knowing her
+character very well, I thought it best not to continue the little
+argument about the importance of words, and so changed the subject.
+But, every now and then, Aunt Rachel would return to it, each time
+softening a little towards Mary. At last she said,
+
+"I'm sure it was a little thing. A very little thing. She might have
+known that nothing unkind was intended on my part."
+
+"There are some subjects, aunt," I replied, "to which we cannot bear
+the slightest allusion. And a sudden reference to them is very apt
+to throw us off of our guard. What you said to Mary has, in all
+probability touched some weakness of character, or probed some wound
+that time has not been able to heal. I have always thought her a
+sensible, good-natured girl."
+
+"And so have I. But I really cannot think that she has showed her
+good sense or good nature in the present case. It is a very bad
+failing this, of being over sensitive; and exceedingly annoying to
+one's friends."
+
+"It is, I know; but still, all of, us have a weak point, and to her
+that is assailed, we are very apt to betray our feelings."
+
+"Well, I say now, as I have always said--I don't like to have
+anything to do with people who have these weak points. This being
+hurt by a word, as if words were blows, is something that does not
+come within the range of my sympathies."
+
+"And yet, aunt," said I, "all have weak points. Even you are not
+entirely free from them."
+
+"Me!" Aunt Rachel bridled.
+
+"Yes; and if even as light a thing as a word were to fall upon them,
+you would suffer pain."
+
+"Pray, sir," said Aunt Rachel, with much dignity of manner; she was
+chafed by my words, light as they were, "inform me where these
+weaknesses, of which you are pleased to speak, lie."
+
+"Oh, no; you must excuse me. That would be very much out of place.
+But I only stated a general fact that appertains to all of us."
+
+Aunt Rachel looked very grave. I had laid the weight of words upon a
+weakness of her character, and it had given her pain. That weakness
+was a peculiarly good opinion of herself. I had made no allegation
+against her; and there was none in my mind. My words simply
+expressed the general truth that we all have weaknesses, and
+included her in their application. But she imagined that I referred
+to some particular defect or fault, and mail-proof as she was
+against words, they had wounded her.
+
+For a day or two Aunt Rachel remained more sober than was her wont.
+I knew the cause, but did not attempt to remove from her mind any
+impression my words had made. One day, about a week after, I said to
+her,
+
+"Aunt Rachel, I saw Mary Lane's mother this morning."
+
+"Ah?" The old lady looked up at me inquiringly.
+
+"I don't wonder your words hurt the poor girl," I added.
+
+"Why? What did I say?" quickly asked Aunt Rachel.
+
+"You said that she was a jilt."
+
+"But I was only jest, and she knew it. I did not really mean
+anything. I'm surprised that Mary should be so foolish."
+
+"You will not be surprised when you know all," was my answer.
+
+"All? What all? I'm sure I wasn't in earnest. I didn't mean to hurt
+the poor girl's feelings." My aunt looked very much troubled.
+
+"No one blames you, Aunt Rachel," said I. "Mary knows you didn't
+intend wounding her."
+
+"But why should she take a little word go much to heart? It must
+have had more truth in it than I supposed."
+
+"Did you know that Mary refused an offer of marriage from Walter
+Green last week?"
+
+"Why no! It can't be possible! Refused Walter Green?"
+
+"They've been intimate for a long time."
+
+"I know."
+
+"She certainly encouraged him."
+
+"I think it more than probable."
+
+"Is it possible, then, that she did really jilt the young man?"
+exclaimed Aunt Rachel.
+
+"This has been said of her," I replied. "But so far as I can learn,
+she was really attached to him, and sufferred great pain in
+rejecting his offer. Wisely she regarded marriage as the most
+important event of her life, and refused to make so solemn a
+contract with one in whose principles she had not the fullest
+confidence."
+
+"But she ought not to have encouraged Walter, if she did not intend
+marrying him," said Aunt Rachel, with some warmth.
+
+"She encouraged him so long as she thought well of him. A closer
+view revealed points of character hidden by distance. When she saw
+these her feelings were already deeply involved. But, like a true
+woman, she turned from the proffered hand, even though while in
+doing so her heart palpitated with pain. There is nothing false
+about Mary Lane. She could no more trifle with a lover than she
+could commit a crime. Think, then, how almost impossible it would be
+for her to hear herself called, under existing circumstances, even
+in sport, a jilt, without being hurt. Words sometimes have power to
+hurt more than blows. Do you not see this, now, Aunt Rachel?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes. I see it; and I saw it before," said the old lady.
+"And in future I will be more careful of my words. It is pretty late
+in life to learn this lesson--but we are never too late to learn.
+Poor Mary! It grieves me to think that I should have hurt her so
+much."
+
+Yes, words often have in them a smarting force, and we cannot be too
+guarded how we use them. "Think twice before you speak once," is a
+trite but wise saying. We teach it to our children very carefully,
+but are too apt to forget that it has not lost its application to
+ourselves.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE THANKLESS OFFICE.
+
+
+
+
+
+"AN object of real charity," said Andrew Lyon to his wife, as a poor
+woman withdrew from the room in which they were seated.
+
+"If ever there was a worthy object she is one, returned Mrs. Lyon.
+"A widow, with health so feeble that even ordinary exertion is too
+much for her; yet obliged to support, with the labour of her own
+hands, not only herself, but three young children. I do not wonder
+that she is behind with her rent."
+
+"Nor I," said Mr. Lyon, in a voice of sympathy. "How much, did she
+say, was due to her landlord?"
+
+"Ten dollars."
+
+"She will not be able to pay it."
+
+"I fear not. How can she? I give her all my extra sewing, and have
+obtained work for her from several ladies; but with her best efforts
+she can barely obtain food and decent clothing for herself and
+babes."
+
+"Does it not seem hard," remarked Mr. Lyon, "that one like Mrs.
+Arnold, who is so earnest in her efforts to take care of herself and
+family, should not receive a helping hand from some one of the many
+who could help her without feeling the effort? If I didn't find it
+so hard to make both ends meet, I would pay off her arrears of rent
+for her, and feel happy in so doing."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed the kind-hearted wife, "how much I wish that we were
+able to do this! But we are not."
+
+"I'll tell you what we can do," said Mr. Lyon, in a cheerful voice;
+"or rather what _I_ can do. It will be a very light matter for say
+ten persons to give a dollar apiece, in order to relieve Mrs. Arnold
+from her present trouble. There are plenty who would cheerfully
+contribute, for this good purpose; all that is wanted is some one to
+take upon himself the business of making the collections. That task
+shall be mine."
+
+"How glad I am, James, to hear you say so!" smilingly replied Mrs.
+Lyon. "Oh, what a relief it will be to poor Mrs. Arnold. It will
+make her heart as light as a feather. That rent has troubled her
+sadly. Old Links, her landlord, has been worrying her about it a
+good deal, and, only a week ago, threatened to put her things in the
+street, if she didn't pay up."
+
+"I should have thought of this before," remarked Andrew Lyon. "There
+are hundreds of people who are willing enough to give if they were
+only certain in regard to the object. Here is one worthy enough in
+every way. Be it my business to present her claims to benevolent
+consideration. Let me see. To whom shall I go? There are Jones, and
+Green, and Tompkins. I can get a dollar from each of them. That will
+be three dollars,--and one from myself, will make four. Who else is
+there? Oh, Malcolm! I'm sure of a dollar from him; and also from
+Smith, Todd, and Perry."
+
+Confident in the success of his benevolent scheme, Mr. Lyon started
+forth, early on the very next day, for the purpose of obtaining, by
+subscription, the poor widow's rent. The first person he called on
+was Malcolm.
+
+"Ah, friend Lyon!" said Malcolm, smiling blandly, "Good morning!
+What can I do for you, to-day?"
+
+"Nothing for me, but something for a poor widow, who is behind with
+her rent," replied Andrew Lyon. "I want just one dollar from you,
+and as much more from some eight or nine as benevolent as yourself."
+
+At the word poor widow the countenance of Malcolm fell, and when his
+visiter ceased, he replied, in a changed and husky voice, clearing
+his throat two or three times as he spoke.
+
+"Are you sure she is deserving, Mr. Lyon?" The man's manner had
+become exceedingly grave.
+
+"None more so," was the prompt answer. "She is in poor health, and
+has three children to support with the product of her needle. If any
+one needs assistance, it is Mrs. Arnold."
+
+"Oh! Ah! The widow of Jacob Arnold?"
+
+"The same," replied Andrew Lyon.
+
+Malcolm's face did not brighten with a feeling of heart-warm
+benevolence. But he turned slowly away, and opening his
+money-drawer, _very slowly_ toyed with his fingers amid its
+contents. At length he took therefrom a dollar bill, and said, as he
+presented it to Lyon,--signing involuntarily as he did so,--
+
+"I suppose I must do my part. But we are called upon so often."
+
+The ardour of Andrew Lyon's benevolent feelings suddenly cooled at
+this unexpected reception. He had entered upon his work under the
+glow of a pure enthusiasm; anticipating a hearty response the moment
+his errand was made known.
+
+"I thank you in the widow's name," said he, as he took the dollar.
+When he turned from Mr. Malcolm's store, it was with a pressure on
+his feelings, as if he had asked the coldly-given favour for
+himself.
+
+It was not without an effort that Lyon compelled himself to call
+upon Mr. Green, considered the "next best man" on his list. But he
+entered his place of business with far less confidence than he had
+felt when calling upon Malcolm. His story told, Green, without a
+word or smile, drew two half dollars from his pocket and presented
+them.
+
+"Thank you," said Lyon.
+
+"Welcome," returned Green.
+
+Oppressed with a feeling of embarrassment, Lyon stood for a few
+moments. Then bowing, he said,
+
+"Good morning."
+
+"Good morning," was coldly and formally responded.
+
+And thus the alms-seeker and alms-giver parted.
+
+"Better be at his shop, attending to his work," muttered Green to
+himself, as his visiter retired. "Men ain't very apt to get along
+too well in the world who spend their time in begging for every
+object of charity that happens to turn up. And there are plenty of
+such, dear knows. He's got a dollar out of me; may it do him, or the
+poor widow he talked so glibly about, much good."
+
+Cold water had been poured upon the feelings of Andrew Lyon. He had
+raised two dollars for the poor widow, but, at what a sacrifice for
+one so sensitive as himself! Instead of keeping on in his work of
+benevolence, he went to his shop, and entered upon the day's
+employment. How disappointed he felt;--and this disappointment was
+mingled with a certain sense of humiliation, as if he had been
+asking alms for himself.
+
+"Catch me at this work again!" he said half aloud, as his thoughts
+dwelt upon what had so recently occurred. "But this is not right,"
+he added, quickly. "It is a weakness in me to feel so. Poor Mrs.
+Arnold must be relieved; and it is my duty to see that she gets
+relief. I had no thought of a reception like this. People can talk
+of benevolence; but putting the hand in the pocket is another affair
+altogether. I never dreamed that such men as Malcolm and Green could
+be insensible to an appeal like the one I made."
+
+"I've got two dollars towards paying Mrs. Arnold's rent," he said to
+himself, in a more cheerful tone, some time afterwards; "and it will
+go hard if I don't raise the whole amount for her. All are not like
+Green and Malcolm. Jones is a kind-hearted man, and will instantly
+respond to the call of humanity. I'll go and see him."
+
+So, off Andrew Lyon started to see this individual.
+
+"I've come begging, Mr. Jones," said he, on meeting him. And he
+spoke in a frank, pleasant manner,
+
+"Then you've come to the wrong shop; that's all I have to say," was
+the blunt answer.
+
+"Don't say that, Mr. Jones. Hear my story first."
+
+"I do say it, and I'm in earnest," returned Jones. "I feel as poor
+as Job's turkey to-day."
+
+"I only want a dollar to help a poor widow pay her rent," said Lyon.
+
+"Oh, hang all the poor widows! If that's your game, you'll get
+nothing here. I've got my hands full to pay my own rent. A nice time
+I'd have in handing out a dollar to every poor widow in town to help
+pay her rent! No, no, my friend, you can't get anything here."
+
+"Just as you feel about it," said Andrew Lyon. "There's no
+compulsion in the matter."
+
+"No, I presume not," was rather coldly replied.
+
+Lyon returned to his shop, still more disheartened than before. He
+had undertaken a thankless office.
+
+Nearly two hours elapsed before his resolution to persevere in the
+good work he had begun came back with sufficient force to prompt to
+another effort. Then he dropped in upon his neighbour Tompkins, to
+whom he made known his errand.
+
+"Why, yes, I suppose I must do something in a case like this," said
+Tompkins, with the tone and air of a man who was cornered. "But
+there are so many calls for charity, that we are naturally enough
+led to hold on pretty tightly to our purse strings. Poor woman! I
+feel sorry for her. How much do you want?"
+
+"I am trying to get ten persons, including myself, to give a dollar
+each."
+
+"Well, here's my dollar." And Tompkins forced a smile to his face as
+he handed over his contribution,--but the smile did not conceal an
+expression which said very plainly--
+
+"I hope you will not trouble me again in this way."
+
+"You may be sure I will not," muttered Lyon, as he went away. He
+fully understood the meaning of the expression.
+
+Only one more application did the kind-hearted man make. It was
+successful; but there was something in the manner of the individual
+who gave his dollar, that Lyon felt as a rebuke.
+
+"And so poor Mrs. Arnold did not get the whole of her arrears of
+rent paid off," says some one who has felt an interest in her
+favour.
+
+Oh, yes she did. Mr. Lyon begged five dollars, and added five more
+from his own slender purse. But, he cannot be induced again to
+undertake the thankless office of seeking relief from the benevolent
+for a fellow creature in need. He has learned that a great many who
+refuse alms on the plea that the object presented is not worthy, are
+but little more inclined to charitable deeds, when on this point
+there is no question.
+
+How many who read this can sympathize with Andrew Lyon! Few men who
+have hearts to feel for others but have been impelled, at some time
+in their lives, to seek aid for a fellow creature in need. That
+their office was a thankless one, they have too soon become aware.
+Even those who responded to their call most liberally, in too many
+instances gave in a way that left an unpleasant impression behind.
+How quickly has the first glow of generous feeling, that sought to
+extend itself to others, that they might share the pleasure of
+humanity, been chilled; and, instead of finding the task an easy
+one, it has proved to be hard, and, too often, humiliating! Alas
+that this should be! That men should shut their hearts so
+instinctively at the voice of charity!
+
+We have not written this to discourage active efforts in the
+benevolent; but to hold up a mirror in which another class may see
+themselves. At best, the office of him who seeks of his fellow men
+aid for the suffering and indigent, is an unpleasant one. It is all
+sacrifice on his part, and the least that can be done is to honour
+his disinterested regard for others in distress, and treat him with
+delicacy and consideration.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LOVE.
+
+
+
+
+
+OH! if there is one law above the rest,
+Written in Wisdom--if there is a word
+That I would trace as with a pen of fire
+Upon the unsullied temper of a child--
+If there is anything that keeps the mind
+Open to angel visits, and repels
+The ministry of ill--_'tis Human Love!_
+God has made nothing worthy of contempt;
+The smallest pebble in the well of Truth
+Has its peculiar meanings, and will stand
+When man's best monuments wear fast away.
+The law of Heaven is _Love_--and though its name
+Has been usurped by passion, and profaned
+To its unholy uses through all time,
+Still, the external principle is pure;
+And in these deep affections that we feel
+Omnipotent within us, can we see
+The lavish measure in which love is given.
+And in the yearning tenderness of a child
+For every bird that sings above its head,
+And every creature feeding on the hills,
+And every tree and flower, and running brook,
+We see how everything was made to love,
+And how they err, who, in a world like this,
+Find anything to hate but human pride.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+"EVERY LITTLE HELPS."
+
+
+
+
+
+WHAT if a drop of rain should plead--
+  "So small a drop as I
+Can ne'er refresh the thirsty mead;
+  I'll tarry in the sky?"
+
+What, if the shining beam of noon
+  Should in its fountain stay;
+Because its feeble light alone
+  Cannot create a day?
+
+Does not each rain-drop help to form
+  The cool refreshing shower?
+And every ray of light, to warm
+  And beautify the flower?
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE THINGS.
+
+
+
+
+
+SCORN not the slightest word or deed,
+  Nor deem it void of power;
+There's fruit in each wind-wafted seed,
+  Waiting its natal hour.
+A whispered word may touch the heart,
+  And call it back to life;
+A look of love bid sin depart,
+  And still unholy strife.
+
+No act falls fruitless; none can tell
+  How vast its power may be,
+Nor what results enfolded dwell
+  Within it silently.
+Work and despair not; give thy mite,
+  Nor care how small it be;
+God is with all that serve the right,
+  The holy, true, and free!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CARELESS WORDS.
+
+
+
+
+
+FIVE years ago, this fair November day,--five years? it seems but
+yesterday, so fresh is that scene in my memory; and, I doubt not,
+were the period ten times multiplied, it would be as vivid still to
+us--the surviving actors in that drama! The touch of time, which
+blunts the piercing thorn, as well as steals from the rose its
+lovely tints, is powerless here, unless to give darker shades to
+that picture engraven on our souls; and tears--ah, they only make it
+more imperishable!
+
+We do not speak of her now; her name has not passed our lips in each
+other's presence, since we followed her--grief-stricken mourners-to
+the grave, to which--alas, alas! but why should not the truth be
+spoken? the grave to which our careless words consigned her. But on
+every anniversary of that day we can never forget, uninvited by me,
+and without any previous arrangement between themselves, those two
+friends have come to my house, and together we have sat, almost
+silently, save when Ada's sweet voice has poured forth a low,
+plaintive strain to the mournful chords Mary has made the harp to
+breathe. Four years ago, that cousin came too; and since then,
+though he has been thousands of miles distant from us, when, that
+anniversary has returned, he has written to me: he cannot look into
+my face when that letter is penned; he but looks into his own heart,
+and he cannot withhold the words of remorse and agony.
+
+Ada and Mary have sat with me to-day, and we knew that Rowland, in
+thought, was here too; ah, if we could have known another had been
+among us,--if we could have felt that an eye was upon us, which will
+never more dim with tears, a heart was near us which carelessness
+can never wound again;--could we have known she had been here--that
+pure, bright angel, with the smile of forgiveness and love on that
+beautiful face--the dark veil of sorrow might have been lifted from
+our souls! but we saw only with mortal vision; our faith was feeble,
+and we have only drawn that sombre mantle more and more closely
+about us. The forgiveness we have so many tim es prayed for, we have
+not yet dared to receive, though we know it is our own.
+
+That November day was just what this has been fair, mild, and sweet;
+and how much did that dear one enjoy it! The earth was dry, and as
+we looked from the window we saw no verdure but a small line of
+green on the south side of the garden enclosure, and around the
+trunk of the old pear-tree, and here and there a little oasis from
+which the strong wind of the previous day, had lifted the thick
+covering of dry leaves, and one or two shrubs, whose foliage feared
+not the cold breath of winter. The gaudy hues, too, which nature had
+lately worn, were all faded; there was a pale, yellow-leafed vine
+clambering over the verdureless lilac, and far down in the garden
+might be seen a shrub covered with bright scarlet berries. But the
+warm south wind was sweet and fragrant, as if it had strayed through
+bowers of roses and eglantines. Deep-leaden and snow-white clouds
+blended together, floated lazily through the sky, and the sun
+coquetted all day with the earth, though his glance was not, for
+once, more than half averted, while his smile was bright and loving,
+as it bad been months before, when her face was fair and blooming.
+
+But how sadly has this day passed, and how unlike is this calm,
+sweet evening to the one which closed that November day! Nature is
+the same. The moonbeams look as bright and silvery through the
+brown, naked arms of the tall oaks, and the dark evergreen forest
+lifts up its head to the sky, striving, but in vain, to shut out
+the, soft light from the little stream, whose murmurings, seem more
+sad and complaining than at another season of the year, perhaps
+because it feels how soon the icy bands of winter will stay its free
+course, and hush its low whisperings. The soft breeze sighs as sadly
+through the vines which still wreath themselves around the window;
+though seemingly conscious they have ceased to adorn it, they are
+striving to loosen their bold, and bow themselves to the earth; and
+the, chirping of a cricket in the chimney is as sad and mournful as
+it was then. But the low moan of the sufferer, the but
+half-smothered, agonized sobs of those fair girls, the deep groan
+which all my proud cousin's firmness could not hush, and the words
+of reproach, which, though I was so guilty myself, and though I saw
+them so repentant, I could not withhold, are all stilled now.
+
+Ada and Mary have just left me, and I am sitting alone in my
+apartment. Not a sound reaches me but the whisperings of the wind,
+the murmuring of the stream, and the chirping of that solitary
+cricket. The family know my heart is heavy to-night, and the voices
+are hushed, and the footsteps fall lightly. Lily, dear Lily, art
+thou near me?
+
+Five years and some months ago--it was in early June--there came to
+our home from far away in the sunny South, a fair young creature, a
+relative of ours, though we had never seen her before. She had been
+motherless rather less than a year, but her father had already found
+another partner, and feeling that she would not so soon see the
+place of the dearly-loved parent filled by a stranger, she had
+obtained his permission to spend a few months with those who could
+sympathize with her in her griefs.
+
+Lily White! She was rightly named; I have never seen such a fair,
+delicate face and figure, nor watched the revealings of a nature so
+pure and gentle as was hers. She would have been too fair and
+delicate to be beautiful, but for the brilliancy of those deep blue
+eyes, the dark shade of that glossy hair, and the litheness of that
+fragile form; but when months had passed away, and, though the brow
+was still marble white, and the lip colourless, the cheek wore that
+deep rose tint, how surpassingly beautiful she was! We did not dream
+what had planted that rose-tint there--we thought her to be throwing
+off the grief which alone, we believed, had paled her cheek; and we
+did not observe that her form was becoming more delicate, and that
+her step was losing its lightness and elasticity. We loved the sweet
+Lily dearly at first sight, and she had been with us but a short
+time before we began to wonder how our home had ever seemed perfect
+to us previous to her coming. And our affection was returned by the
+dear girl. We knew how much she loved us, when, as the warm season
+had passed, and her father sent for her to return home, we saw the
+expression of deep sorrow in every feature, and the silent entreaty
+that we would persuade him to allow her to remain with us still.
+
+She did not thank me when a letter reached me from her father, in
+reply to one which, unknown to her, I had sent him, saying, if I
+thought Lily's health would not be injured by a winter's residence
+in our cold climate, he would comply with my urgent request, and
+allow her to remain with us until the following spring--the dear
+girl could not speak. She came to me almost totteringly, and wound
+her arms about my neck, resting her head on mine, and tears from
+those sweet eyes fell fast over my face; and all the remainder of
+that afternoon she lay on her couch. Oh, why did I not think
+wherefore she was so much overcome?
+
+Ada L----and Mary R----, two friends whom I had loved from
+childhood, I had selected as companions for our dear Lily on her
+arrival among us, and the young ladies, from their first
+introduction to her, had vied with me in my endeavours to dispel the
+gloom from that fair face, and to make her happy; and they shared,
+almost equally with her relatives, dear Lily's affections.
+
+Ada--she is changed now--was a gay, brilliant, daring girl; Mary,
+witty and playful, though frank and warm-hearted; but it made me
+love them more than ever. The gaiety and audacity of the one was
+forgotten in the presence of the thoughtful, timid Lily: and the
+other checked the merry jest which trembled on her lips, and sobered
+that roguish eye beside the earnest, sensitive girl; so that, though
+we were together almost daily, dear Lily did not understand the
+character of the young ladies.
+
+The warm season had passed away, and October brought an addition to
+our household--Cousin Rowland--as handsome, kind-hearted, and
+good-natured a fellow as ever lived, but a little cowardly, if the
+dread of the raillery of a beautiful woman may be called cowardice.
+
+Cousin Rowland and dear Lily were mutually pleased with each other,
+it was very evident to me, though Ada and Mary failed to see it;
+for, in the presence of the young ladies, Rowland did not show her
+those little delicate attentions which, alone with me, who was very
+unobservant, he took no pains to conceal; and Lily did not hide from
+me her blushing face--her eyes only thanked me for the expression
+which met her gaze.
+
+That November day--I dread to approach it! Lily and I were sitting
+beside each other, looking down the street, and watching the return
+of the carriage which Rowland had gone out with to bring Ada and
+Mary to our house; or, rather, Lily was looking for its coming--my
+eyes were resting on her face. It had never looked so beautiful to
+me before. Her brow was so purely white, her cheek was so deeply
+red, and that dark eye was so lustrous; but her face was very thin,
+and her breathing, I observed, was faint and difficult. A pang shot
+through my heart.
+
+"Lily, are you well?" I exclaimed, suddenly.
+
+She fixed her eyes on mine. I was too much excited by my sudden fear
+to read their expression, but when our friends came in, the dear
+girl seemed so cheerful and happy--I remembered, afterwards, I had
+never seen her so gay as on that afternoon--that my suspicions
+gradually left me.
+
+The hours were passing pleasantly away, when a letter was brought in
+for Lily. It was from her father, and the young lady retired to
+peruse it. The eye of Rowland followed her as she passed out of the
+room, and I observed a shadow flit across his brow. I afterwards
+learned that at the moment a thought was passing through his mind
+similar to that which had so terrified me an hour before. Our
+visiters remarked it, too, but little suspected its cause; and
+Mary's eye met, with a most roguish look, Ada's rather inquiring
+gaze.
+
+"When does Lily intend to return home, S----?" she inquired, as she
+bent, very demurely, over her embroidery. "I thought she was making
+preparations to go before Rowland came here!" and she raised her
+eyes so cunningly to my face, that I could not forbear answering,
+
+"I hear nothing of her return, now. Perhaps she will remain with us
+during the winter."
+
+"Indeed!" exclaimed Ada, and her voice expressed much surprise. "I
+wonder if I could make such a prolonged visit interesting to a
+friend!"
+
+"Why, Lily considers herself conferring a great favour by remaining
+here," replied Mary.
+
+"On whom?" asked Rowland, quickly.
+
+"On all of use of course;" and to Mary's great delight she perceived
+that her meaning words had the effect she desired on the young man.
+
+"I hope she will not neglect the duty she owes her family, for the
+sake of showing us this great kindness," said Rowland, with affected
+carelessness, though he walked across the apartment with a very
+impatient step.
+
+"Lily has not again been guilty of the error she so frequently
+commits, has she, S----?" asked Ada, in a lower but still far too
+distinct tone; "that of supposing herself loved and admired where
+she is only pitied and endured?" and the merry creature fairly
+exulted in the annoyance which his deepened colour told her she was
+causing the young man.
+
+A slight sound from the apartment adjoining the parlour attracted my
+attention. Had Lily stopped there to read her letter instead of
+going to her chamber? and had she, consequently, overheard our
+foolish remarks? The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open.
+There was a slight rustling, but I thought it only the waving of the
+window curtain.
+
+A half-hour passed away, and Lily had not returned to us. I began to
+be alarmed, and my companions partook of my fears. Had she overheard
+us? and, if so, what must that sensitive heart be suffering?
+
+I went out to call her; but half way up the flight of stairs I saw
+the letter from her father lying on the carpet, unopened, though it
+had been torn from its envelope. I know not how I found my way up
+stairs, but I stood by Lily's bed.
+
+Merciful Heaven! what a sight was presented to my gaze. The white
+covering was stained with blood, and from those cold, pale lips the
+red drops were fast falling. Her eyes turned slowly till they rested
+on mine. What a look was that! I see it now; so full of grief; so
+full of reproach; and then they closed. I thought her dead, and my
+frantic shrieks called my companions to her bedside. They aroused
+her, too, from that swoon, but they did not awaken her to
+consciousness. She never more turned a look of recognition on us, or
+seemed to be aware that we were near her. Through all that night, so
+long and so full of agony to us, she was murmuring, incoherently, to
+herself,
+
+"They did not know I was dying," she would say; "that I have been
+dying ever since I have been here! They have not dreamed of my
+sufferings through these long months; I could not tell them, for I
+believed they loved me, and I would not grieve them. But no one
+loves me--not one in the wide world cares for me! My mother, you
+will not have forgotten your child when you meet me in the
+spirit-land! Their loved tones made me deaf to the voice which was
+calling to me from the grave, and the sunshine of _his_ smile broke
+through the dark cloud which death was drawing around me. Oh, I
+would have lived, but death, I thought, would lose half its
+bitterness, could I breathe my last in their arms! But, now, I must
+die alone! Oh, how shall I reach my home--how shall I ever reach
+my home?"
+
+Dear Lily! The passage was short; when morning dawned, she was
+_there._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+HOW TO BE HAPPY.
+
+
+
+
+
+A BOON of inestimable worth is a calm, thankful heart--a treasure
+that few, very few, possess. We once met an old man, whose face was
+a mixture of smiles and sunshine. Wherever he went, he succeeded in
+making everybody about him as pleasant as himself.
+
+Said we, one day,--for he was one of that delightful class whom
+everybody feels privileged to be related to,--"Uncle, uncle, how
+_is_ it that you contrive to be so happy? Why is your face so
+cheerful, when so many thousands are craped over with a most
+uncomfortable gloominess?"
+
+"My dear young friend," he answered, with his placid smile, "I am
+even as others, afflicted with infirmities; I have had my share of
+sorrow--some would say more--but I have found out the secret of
+being happy, and it is this:
+
+"_Forget self_."
+
+"Until you do that, you can lay but little claim to a cheerful
+spirit. 'Forget what manner of man you are,' and think more with,
+rejoice more for, your neighbours. If I am poor, let me look upon my
+richer friend, and in estimating his blessings, forget my
+privations.
+
+"If my neighbour is building a house, let me watch with him its
+progress, and think, 'Well, what a comfortable place it will be, to
+be sure; how much he may enjoy it with his family.' Thus I have a
+double pleasure--that of delight in noting the structure as it
+expands into beauty, and making my neighbour's weal mine. If he has
+planted a fine garden, I feast my eyes on the flowers, smell their
+fragrance: could I do more if it was my own?
+
+"Another has a family of fine children; they bless him and are
+blessed by him; mine are all gone before me; I have none that bear
+my name; shall I, therefore, envy my neighbour his lovely children?
+No; let me enjoy their innocent smiles with him; let me _forget
+myself_--my tears when they were put away in darkness; or if I weep,
+may it be for joy that God took them untainted to dwell with His
+holy angels for ever.
+
+"Believe an old man when he says there is great pleasure in living
+for others. The heart of the selfish man is like a city full of
+crooked lanes. If a generous thought from some glorious temple
+strays in there, wo to it--it is lost. It wanders about, and wanders
+about, until enveloped in darkness; as the mist of selfishness
+gathers around, it lies down upon some cold thought to die, and is
+shrouded in oblivion.
+
+"So, if you would be happy, shun selfishness; do a kindly deed for
+this one, speak a kindly word for another. He who is constantly
+giving pleasure, is constantly receiving it. The little river gives
+to the great ocean, and the more it gives the faster it runs. Stop
+its flowing, and the hot sun would dry it up, till it would be but
+filthy mud, sending forth bad odours, and corrupting the fresh air
+of Heaven. Keep your heart constantly travelling on errands of
+mercy--it has feet that never tire, hands that cannot be
+overburdened, eyes that never sleep; freight its hands with
+blessings, direct its eyes--no matter how narrow your sphere--to the
+nearest object of suffering, and relieve it.
+
+"I say, my dear young friend, take the word of an old man for it,
+who has tried every known panacea, and found all to fail, except
+this golden rule,
+
+"_Forget self, and keep the heart busy for others._"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHARITY.--ITS OBJECTS.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE great Teacher, on being asked "Who is my neighbour?" replied "A
+man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho," and the parable which
+followed is the most beautiful which language has ever recorded.
+Story-telling, though often abused, is the medium by which truth can
+be most irresistibly conveyed to the majority of minds, and in the
+present instance we have a desire to portray in some slight degree
+the importance of Charity in every-day life.
+
+A great deal has been said and written on the subject of
+indiscriminate giving, and many who have little sympathy with the
+needy or distressed, make the supposed unworthiness of the object an
+excuse for withholding their alms; while others, who really possess
+a large proportion of the milk of human kindness, in awaiting
+_great_ opportunities to do good, overlook all in their immediate
+pathway, as beneath their notice. And yet it was the "widow's mite"
+which, amid the many rich gifts cast into the treasury, won the
+approval of the Searcher of Hearts; and we have His assurance that a
+cup of cold water given in a proper spirit shall not lose its
+reward.
+
+Our design in the present sketch is to call the attention of the
+softer sex to a subject which has in too many instances escaped
+their attention; for our ideas of Charity embrace a wide field, and
+we hold that it should at all times be united with justice, when
+those less favoured than themselves are concerned.
+
+"I do not intend hereafter to have washing done more than once in
+two weeks," said the rich Mrs. Percy, in reply to an observation of
+her husband, who was standing at the window, looking at a woman who
+was up to her knees in the snow, hanging clothes on a line in the
+yard. "I declare it is too bad, to be paying that poking old thing a
+half-a-dollar a week for our wash, and only six in the family. There
+she has been at it since seven o'clock this morning, and now it is
+almost four. It will require but two or three hours longer if I get
+her once a fortnight, and I shall save twenty-five cents a week by
+it."
+
+"When your own sex are concerned, you women are the _closest_
+beings," said Mr. P., laughing. "Do just as you please, however," he
+continued, as he observed a brown gather on the brow of his wife;
+"for my part I should be glad if washing-days were blotted entirely
+from the calendar."
+
+At this moment the washerwoman passed the window with her stiffened
+skirts and almost frozen hands and arms. Some emotions of pity
+stirring in his breast at the sight, he again asked, "Do you think
+it will be exactly right, my dear, to make old Phoebe do the same
+amount of labour for half the wages?"
+
+"Of course it will," replied Mrs. Percy, decidedly; "we are bound to
+do the best we can for ourselves. If she objects, she can say so.
+There are plenty of poor I can get who will be glad to come, and by
+this arrangement I shall save thirteen dollars a year."
+
+"So much," returned Mr. P., carelessly; "how these things do run
+up!" Here the matter ended as far as they were concerned. Not so
+with "old Phoebe," as she was called. In reality, however, Phoebe
+was not yet forty; it was care and hardship which had seamed her
+once blooming face, and brought on prematurely the appearance of
+age. On going to Mrs. Percy in the evening after she had finished
+her wash, for the meagre sum she had earned, that lady had spoken
+somewhat harshly about her being so slow, and mentioned the new
+arrangement she intended to carry into effect, leaving it optional
+with the poor woman to accept or decline. After a moment's
+hesitation, Phoebe, whose necessities allowed her no choice, agreed
+to her proposal, and the lady, who had been fumbling in her purse,
+remarked:--
+
+"I have no change, nothing less than this three-dollar bill. Suppose
+I pay you by the month hereafter; it will save me a great deal of
+trouble, and I will try to give you your dollar a month regularly."
+
+Phoebe's pale cheek waxed still more ghastly as Mrs. Percy spoke,
+but it was not within that lady's province to notice the colour of a
+washerwoman's face. She did, however, observe her lingering, weary
+steps as she proceeded through the yard, and conscience whispered
+some reproaches, which were so unpleasant and unwelcome, that she
+endeavoured to dispel them by turning to the luxurious supper which
+was spread before her. And here I would pause to observe, that
+whatever method may be adopted to reconcile the conscience to
+withholding money so justly due, so hardly earned, she disobeyed the
+positive injunction of that God who has not left the time of payment
+optional with ourselves, but who has said--"The wages of him that is
+hired, shall not abide with thee all night until the morning."--Lev.
+19 chap. 13th verse.
+
+The husband of Phoebe was a day labourer; when not intoxicated he
+was kind; but this was of rare occurrence, for most of his earnings
+went for ardent spirits, and the labour of the poor wife and mother
+was the main support of herself and four children--the eldest nine
+years, the youngest only eighteen months old. As she neared the
+wretched hovel she had left early in the morning, she saw the faces
+of her four little ones pressed close against the window.
+
+"Mother's coming, mother's coming!" they shouted, as they watched
+her approaching through the gloom, and as she unlocked the door,
+which she had been obliged to fasten to keep them from straying
+away, they all sprang to her arms at once.
+
+"God bless you, my babes!" she exclaimed, gathering them to her
+heart, "you have not been a minute absent from my mind this day. And
+what have _you_ suffered," she added, clasping the youngest, a
+sickly, attenuated-looking object, to her breast. "Oh! it is hard,
+my little Mary, to leave you to the tender mercies of children
+hardly able to take care of themselves." And as the baby nestled its
+head closer to her side, and lifted its pale, imploring face, the
+anguished mother's fortitude gave way, and she burst into an agony
+of tears and sobbings. By-the-by, do some mothers, as they sit by
+the softly-lined cradles of their own beloved babes, ever think upon
+the sufferings of those hapless little ones, many times left with a
+scanty supply of food, and no fire, on a cold winter day, while the
+parent is earning the pittance which is to preserve them from
+starvation? And lest some may suppose that we are drawing largely
+upon our imagination, we will mention, in this place, that we knew
+of a child left under such circumstances, and half-perishing with
+cold, who was nearly burned to death by some hops (for there was no
+fuel to be found), which it scraped together in its ragged apron,
+and set on fire with a coal found in the ashes.
+
+Phoebe did not indulge long in grief, however she forgot her weary
+limbs, and bustling about, soon made up a fire, and boiled some
+potatoes, which constituted their supper--after which she nursed the
+children, two at a time, for a while, and then put them tenderly to
+bed. Her husband had not come home, and as he was nearly always
+intoxicated, and sometimes ill-treated her sadly, she felt his
+absence a relief. Sitting over a handful of coals, she attempted to
+dry her wet feet; every bone in her body ached, for she was not
+naturally strong, and leaning her head on her hand, she allowed the
+big tears to course slowly down her cheeks, without making any
+attempt to wipe them away, while she murmured:
+
+"Thirteen dollars a year gone! What is to become of us? I cannot get
+help from those authorized by law to assist the poor, unless I agree
+to put out my children, and I cannot live and see them abused and
+over-worked at their tender age. And people think their father might
+support us; but how can I help it that he spends all his earnings in
+drink? And rich as Mrs. Percy is, she did not pay me my wages
+to-night, and now I cannot get the yarn for my baby's stockings, and
+her little limbs must remain cold awhile longer; and I must do
+without the flour, too, that I was going to make into bread, and the
+potatoes are almost gone."
+
+Here Phoebe's emotions overcame her, and she ceased speaking. After
+a while, she continued--
+
+"Mrs. Percy also blamed me for being so slow; she did not know that
+I was up half the night, and that my head has ached ready to split
+all day. Oh! dear, oh! dear, oh! dear, if it were not for my babes,
+I should yearn for the quiet of the grave!"
+
+And with a long, quivering sigh, such as one might heave at the
+rending of soul and body, Phoebe was silent.
+
+Daughters of luxury! did it ever occur to you that we are all the
+children of one common Parent? Oh, look hereafter with pity on those
+faces where the records of suffering are deeply graven, and remember
+"_Be ye warmed and filled_," will not suffice, unless the hand
+executes the promptings of the heart. After awhile, as the fire died
+out, Phoebe crept to her miserable pallet, crushed with the prospect
+of the days of toil which were still before her, and haunted by the
+idea of sickness and death, brought on by over-taxation of her
+bodily powers, while in case of such an event, she was tortured by
+the reflection--"what is to become of my children?"
+
+Ah, this anxiety is the true bitterness of death, to the friendless
+and poverty-stricken parent. In this way she passed the night, to
+renew, with the dawn, the toils and cares which were fast closing
+their work on her. We will not say what Phoebe, under other
+circumstances, might have been. She possessed every noble attribute
+common to woman, without education, or training, but she was not
+prepossessing in her appearance; and Mrs. Percy, who never studied
+character, or sympathized with menials, or strangers, would have
+laughed at the idea of dwelling with compassion on the lot of her
+washerwoman with a drunken husband. Yet her feelings sometimes
+became interested for the poor she heard of abroad, the poor she
+read of, and she would now and then descant largely on the few cases
+of actual distress which had chanced to come under her notice, and
+the little opportunity she enjoyed of bestowing alms. Superficial in
+her mode of thinking and observation, her ideas of charity were
+limited, forgetful that to be true it must be a pervading principle
+of life, and can be exercised even in the bestowal of a gracious
+word or smile, which, under peculiar circumstances, may raise a
+brother from the dust--and thus win the approval of Him, who,
+although the Lord of angels, was pleased to say of her who brought
+but the "box of spikenard"--with tears of love--"_She hath done what
+she could._"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE VISION OF BOATS.
+
+
+
+
+
+ONE morn, when the Day-god, yet hidden
+  By the mist that the mountain enshrouds,
+Was hoarding up hyacinth blossoms,
+  And roses, to fling at the clouds;
+I saw from the casement, that northward
+  Looks out on the Valley of Pines,
+(The casement, where all day in summer,
+  You hear the drew drop from the vines),
+
+White shapes 'mid the purple wreaths glancing,
+  Like the banners of hosts at strife;
+But I knew they were silvery pennons
+  Of boats on the River of Life.
+And I watched, as the, mist cleared upward,
+  Half hoping, yet fearing to see
+On that rapid and rock-sown River,
+  What the fate of the boats might be.
+
+There were some that sped cheerily onward,
+  With white sails gallantly spread
+Yet ever there sat at the look-out,
+  One, watching for danger ahead.
+No fragrant and song-haunted island,
+  No golden and gem-studded coast
+Could win, with its ravishing beauty,
+  The watcher away from his post.
+
+When the tempest crouched low on the waters,
+  And fiercely the hurricane swept,
+With furled sails, cautiously wearing,
+  Still onward in safety they kept.
+And many sailed well for a season,
+  When river and sky were serene,
+And leisurely swung the light rudder,
+  'Twixt borders of blossoming green.
+
+But the Storm-King came out from his caverns,
+  With whirlwind, and lightning, and rain;
+And my eyes, that grew dim for a moment,
+  Saw but the rent canvas again.
+Then sorely I wept the ill-fated!
+  Yea, bitterly wept, for I knew
+They had learned but the fair-weather wisdom,
+  That a moment of trial o'erthrew.
+
+And one in its swift sinking, parted
+  A placid and sun-bright wave;
+Oh, deftly the rock was hidden,
+  That keepeth that voyager's grave!
+And I sorrowed to think how little
+  Of aid from, a kindly hand,
+Might have guided the beautiful vessel
+  Away from the treacherous strand.
+
+And I watched with a murmur of, blessing,
+  The few that on either shore
+Were setting up signals of warning,
+  Where many had perished before.
+But now, as the sunlight came creeping
+  Through the half-opened lids of the morn,
+Fast faded that wonderful pageant,
+  Of shadows and drowsiness born.
+
+And no sound could I hear but the sighing
+  Of winds, in the Valley of Pines;
+And the heavy, monotonous dropping
+  Of dew from the shivering vines.
+But all day, 'mid the clashing of Labour,
+  And the city's unmusical notes,
+With thoughts that went seeking the hidden,
+  I pondered that Vision of Boats.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+REGULATION OF THE TEMPER.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THERE is considerable ground for thinking that the opinion very
+generally prevails that the temper is something beyond the power of
+regulation, control, or government. A good temper, too, if we may
+judge from the usual excuses for the want of it, is hardly regarded
+in the light of an attainable quality. To be slow in taking offence,
+and moderate in the expression of resentment, in which things good
+temper consists, seems to be generally reckoned rather among the
+gifts of nature, the privileges of a happy constitution, than among
+the possible results of careful self-discipline. When we have been
+fretted by some petty grievance, or, hurried by some reasonable
+cause of offence into a degree of anger far beyond what the occasion
+required, our subsequent regret is seldom of a kind for which we are
+likely to be much better. We bewail ourselves for a misfortune,
+rather than condemn ourselves for a fault. We speak of our unhappy
+temper as if it were something that entirely removed the blame from
+us, and threw it all upon the peculiar and unavoidable sensitiveness
+of our frame. A peevish and irritable temper is, indeed, an
+_unhappy_ one; a source of misery to ourselves and to others; but it
+is not, in _all_ cases, so valid an excuse for being easily
+provoked, as it is usually supposed to be.
+
+A good temper is too important a source of happiness, and an ill
+temper too important a source of misery, to be treated with
+indifference or hopelessness. The false excuses or modes of
+regarding this matter, to which we have referred, should be exposed;
+for until their invalidity and incorrectness are exposed, no
+efforts, or but feeble ones, will be put forth to regulate an ill
+temper, or to cultivate a good one.
+
+We allow that there are great differences of natural constitution.
+One who is endowed with a poetical temperament, or a keen sense of
+beauty, or a great love of order, or very large ideality, will be
+pained by the want or the opposites of these qualities, where one
+less amply endowed would suffer no provocation whatever. What would
+grate most harshly on the ear of an eminent musician, might not be
+noticed at all by one whose musical faculties were unusually small.
+The same holds true in regard to some other, besides musical
+deficiencies or discords. A delicate and sickly frame will feel
+annoyed by what would not at all disturb the same frame in a state
+of vigorous health. Particular circumstances, also, may expose some
+to greater trials and vexations than others. But, after all this is
+granted, the only reasonable conclusion seems to be, that the
+attempt to govern the temper is more difficult in some cases than in
+others; not that it is, in any case, impossible. It is, at least,
+certain that an opinion of its impossibility is an effectual bar
+against entering upon it. On the other hand, "believe that you will
+succeed, and you will succeed," is a maxim which has nowhere been
+more frequently verified than in the moral world. It should be among
+the first maxims admitted, and the last abandoned, by every earnest
+seeker of his own moral improvement.
+
+Then, too, facts demonstrate that much has been done and can be done
+in regulating the worst of tempers. The most irritable or peevish
+temper has been restrained by company; has been subdued by interest;
+has been awed by fear; has been softened by grief; has been soothed
+by kindness. A bad temper has shown itself, in the same individuals,
+capable of increase, liable to change, accessible to motives. Such
+facts are enough to encourage, in every case, an attempt to govern
+the temper. All the miseries of a bad temper, and all the blessings
+of a good one, may be attained by an habitual tolerance, concern,
+and kindness for others--by an habitual restraint of considerations
+and feelings entirely selfish.
+
+To those of our readers who feel moved or resolved by the
+considerations we have named to attempt to regulate their temper, or
+to cultivate one of a higher order of excellence, we would submit a
+few suggestions which may assist them in their somewhat difficult
+undertaking.
+
+See, first of all, that you set as high a value on the comfort of
+those with whom you have to do as you. do on your own. If you regard
+your own comfort _exclusively_, you will not make the allowances
+which a _proper_ regard to the happiness of others would lead you to
+do.
+
+Avoid, particularly in your intercourse with those to whom it is of
+most consequence that your temper should be gentle and
+forbearing--avoid raising into undue importance the little failings
+which you may perceive in them, or the trifling disappointments
+which they may occasion you. If we make it a subject of vexation,
+that the beings among whom we tire destined to live, are not
+perfect, we must give up all hope of attaining a temper not easily
+provoked. A habit of trying everything by the standard of perfection
+vitiates the temper more than it improves the understanding, and
+disposes the mind to discern faults with an unhappy penetration. I
+would not have you shut your eyes to the errors or follies, or
+thoughtlessnesses of your friends, but only not to magnify them or
+view them microscopically. Regard them in others as you would have
+them regard the same things in you, in an exchange of circumstances.
+
+Do not forget to make due allowances for the original constitution
+and the manner of education or bringing up, which has been the lot
+of those with whom you have to do. Make such excuses for Others as
+the circumstances of their constitution, rearing, and youthful
+associations, do fairly demand.
+
+Always put the best construction on the motives of others, when
+their conduct admits of more than one way of understanding it. In
+many cases, where neglect or ill intention seems evident at first
+sight, it may prove true that "second thoughts are best." Indeed,
+this common slaying is never more likely to prove true than in cases
+in which the _first_ thoughts were the dictates of anger And even
+when the first thoughts are confirmed by further evidence, yet the
+habit of always waiting for complete evidence before we condemn,
+must have a calming; and moderating effect upon the temper, while it
+will take nothing from the authority of our just censures.
+
+It will further, be a great help to our efforts, as well as our
+desires, for the government of the temper, if we consider frequently
+and seriously the natural consequences of hasty resentments, angry
+replies, rebukes impatiently given or impatiently received, muttered
+discontents, sullen looks, and harsh words. It may safely be
+asserted that the consequences of these and other ways in which
+ill-temper may show itself, are _entirely_ evil. The feelings, which
+accompany them in ourselves, and those which they excite in others,
+are unprofitable as well as painful. They lessen our own comfort,
+and tend often rather to prevent than to promote the improvement of
+those with whom we find fault. If we give even friendly and
+judicious counsels in a harsh and pettish tone, we excite against
+_them_ the repugnance naturally felt to _our manner_. The
+consequence is, that the advice is slighted, and the peevish adviser
+pitied, despised, or hated.
+
+When we cannot succeed in putting a restraint on our _feelings_ of
+anger or dissatisfaction, we can at least check the _expression_ of
+those feelings. If our thoughts are not always in our power, our
+words and actions and looks may be brought under our command; and a
+command over these expressions of our thoughts and feelings will be
+found no mean help towards obtaining an increase of power over our
+thoughts and feelings themselves. At least, one great good will be
+effected: time will be gained; time for reflection; time for
+charitable allowances and excuses.
+
+Lastly, seek the help of religion. Consider how you may most
+certainly secure the approbation of God. For a good temper, or a
+well-regulated temper, _may be_ the constant homage of a truly
+religious man to that God, whose love and long-suffering forbearance
+surpass all human love and forbearance.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MANLY GENTLENESS.
+
+
+
+
+
+WHO is the most wretched man living? This question might constitute
+a very fair puzzle to those of our readers whose kind hearts have
+given them, in their own experience, no clue to the true answer. It
+is a species of happiness to be rich; to have at one's command an
+abundance of the elegancies and luxuries of life. Then he, perhaps,
+is the most miserable of men who is the poorest. It is a species of
+happiness to be the possessor of learning, fame, or power; and
+therefore, perhaps, he is the most miserable man who is the most
+ignorant, despised, and helpless. No; there is a man more wretched
+than these. We know not where he may be found; but find him where
+you will, in a prison or on a throne, steeped in poverty or
+surrounded with princely affluence; execrated, as he deserves to be,
+or crowned with world-wide applause; that man is the most miserable
+whose heart contains the least love for others.
+
+It is a pleasure to be beloved. Who has not felt this? Human
+affection is priceless. A fond heart is more valuable than the
+Indies. But it is a still greater pleasure to love than to be loved;
+the emotion itself is of a higher kind; it calls forth our own
+powers into more agreeable exercise, and is independent of the
+caprice of others. Generally speaking, if we deserve to be loved,
+others will love us, but this is not always the case. The love of
+others towards us, is not always in proportion to our real merits;
+and it would be unjust to make our highest happiness dependent on
+it. But our love for others will always be in proportion to our real
+goodness; the more amiable, the more excellent we become, the more
+shall we love others; it is right, therefore, that this love should
+be made capable of bestowing upon us the largest amount of
+happiness. This is the arrangement which the Creator has fixed upon.
+By virtue of our moral constitution, to love is to be happy; to hate
+is to be wretched.
+
+Hatred is a strong word, and the idea it conveys is very repulsive.
+We would hope that few of our readers know by experience what it is
+in its full extent. To be a very demon, to combine in ourselves the
+highest possible degree of wickedness and misery, nothing more is
+needful than to hate with sufficient intensity. But though, happily,
+comparatively few persons are fully under the influence of this
+baneful passion, how many are under it more frequently and
+powerfully than they ought to be? How often do we indulge in
+resentful, revengeful feelings, with all of which hatred more or
+less mixes itself? Have we not sometimes entertained sentiments
+positively malignant towards those who have wounded our vanity or
+injured our interests, secretly wishing them ill, or not heartily
+wishing them happiness? If so, we need only consult our own
+experience to ascertain that such feelings are both sinful and
+foolish; they offend our Maker, and render us wretched.
+
+We know a happy man; one who in the midst of the vexations and
+crosses of this changing world, is always happy. Meet him anywhere,
+and at any time, his features beam with pleasure. Children run to
+meet him, and contend for the honour of touching his hand, or laying
+hold of the skirt of his coat, as he passes by, so cheerful and
+benevolent does he always look. In his own house he seems to reign
+absolute, and yet he never uses any weapon more powerful than a kind
+word. Everybody who knows him is aware, that, in point of
+intelligence, ay, and in physical prowess, too--for we know few men
+who can boast a more athletic frame--he is strong as a lion, yet in
+his demeanour he is gentle as a lamb. His wife is not of the most
+amiable temper, his children are not the most docile, his business
+brings him into contact with men of various dispositions; but he
+conquers all with the same weapons. What a contrast have we often
+thought he presents to some whose physiognomy looks like a piece of
+harsh handwriting, in which we can decipher nothing but _self, self,
+self_; who seem, both at home and abroad, to be always on the watch
+against any infringement of their dignity. Poor men! their dignity
+can be of little value if it requires so much care in order to be
+maintained. True manliness need take but little pains to procure
+respectful recognition. If it is genuine, others will see it, and
+respect it. The lion will always be acknowledged as the king of the
+beasts; but the ass, though clothed in the lion's skin, may bray
+loudly and perseveringly indeed, but he will never keep the forest
+in awe.
+
+From some experience in the homes of working-men, and other homes
+too, we are led to think that much of the harsh and discordant
+feeling which too often prevails there may be ascribed to a false
+conception of what is truly great. It is a very erroneous impression
+that despotism is manly. For our part we believe that despotism is
+inhuman, satanic, and that wherever it is found--as much in the
+bosom of a family, as on the throne of a kingdom. We cannot bring
+ourselves to tolerate the inconsistency with which some men will
+inveigh against some absolute sovereign, and straight-way enact the
+pettiest airs of absolutism in their little empire at home. We have
+no private intimacy with "the autocrat of all the Russias," and may,
+with all humility, avow that we do not desire to have any; but this
+we believe, that out of the thousands who call him a tyrant, it
+would be no difficult matter to pick scores who are as bad, if not
+worse. Let us remember that it is not a great empire which
+constitutes a great tyrant. Tyranny must be measured by the strength
+of those imperious and malignant passions from which it flows, and
+carrying this rule along with us, it would not surprise us, if we
+found the greatest tyrant in the world in some small cottage, with
+none to oppress but a few unoffending children, and a helpless
+woman. O! when shall we, be just!--when shall we cease to prate
+about wrongs inflicted by others, and magnified by being beheld
+through the haze of distance, and seek to redress those which lie at
+our own doors, and to redress which we shall only have to prevail
+upon ourselves to be just and gentle! Arbitrary power is always
+associated either with cruelty, or conscious weakness. True
+greatness is above the petty arts of tyranny. Sometimes much
+domestic suffering may arise from a cause which is easily confounded
+with a tyrannical disposition--we refer to an exaggerated sense of
+justice. This is the abuse of a right feeling, and requires to be
+kept in vigilant check. Nothing is easier than to be one-sided in
+judging of the actions of others. How agreeable the task of applying
+the line and plummet! How quiet and complete the assumption of our
+own superior excellence which we make in doing it! But if the task
+is in some respects easy, it is most difficult if we take into
+account the necessity of being just in our decisions. In domestic
+life especially, in which so much depends on circumstances, and the
+highest questions often relate to mere matters of expediency, how
+easy it is to be "always finding fault," if we neglect to take
+notice of explanatory and extenuating circumstances! Anybody with a
+tongue and a most moderate complement of brains can call a thing
+stupid, foolish, ill-advised, and so forth; though it might require
+a larger amount of wisdom than the judges possessed to have done the
+thing better. But what do we want with captious judges in the bosom
+of a family? The scales of household polity are the scales of love,
+and he who holds them should be a sympathizing friend; ever ready to
+make allowance for failures, ingenious in contriving apologies, more
+lavish of counsels than rebukes, and less anxious to overwhelm a
+person with a sense of deficiency than to awaken in the bosom, a
+conscious power of doing better. One thing is certain: if any member
+of a family conceives it his duty to sit continually in the censor's
+chair, and weigh in the scales of justice all that happens in the
+domestic commonwealth, domestic happiness is out of the question. It
+is manly to extenuate and forgive, but a crabbed and censorious
+spirit is contemptible.
+
+There is much more misery thrown into the cup of life by domestic
+unkindness than we might at first suppose. In thinking of the evils
+endured by society from malevolent passions of individuals, we are
+apt to enumerate only the more dreadful instances of crime: but what
+are the few murders which unhappily pollute the soil of this
+Christian land--what, we ask, is the suffering they occasion, what
+their demoralizing tendency--when compared with the daily effusions
+of ill-humour which sadden, may we not fear, many thousand homes? We
+believe that an incalculably greater number are hurried to the grave
+by habitual unkindness than by sudden violence; the slow poison of
+churlishness and neglect, is of all poisons the most destructive. If
+this is true, we want a new definition for the most flagrant of all
+crimes: a definition which shall leave out the element of time, and
+call these actions the same--equally hateful, equally diabolical,
+equally censured by the righteous government of Heaven--which
+proceed from the same motives, and lead to the same result, whether
+they be done in a moment, or spread out through a series of years.
+Habitual unkindness is demoralizing as well as cruel. Whenever it
+fails to break the heart, it hardens it. To take a familiar
+illustration: a wife who is never addressed by her husband in tones
+of kindness, must cease to love him if she wishes to be happy. It is
+her only alternative. Thanks to the nobility of our nature, she does
+not always take it. No; for years she battles with cruelty, and
+still presses with affection the hand which smites her, but it is
+fearfully at her own expense. Such endurance preys upon her health,
+and hastens her exit to the asylum of the grave. If this is to be
+avoided, she must learn to forget, what woman should never be
+tempted to forget, the vows, the self-renunciating devotedness of
+impassioned youth; she must learn to oppose indifference, to neglect
+and repel him with a heart as cold as his own. But what a tragedy
+lies involved in a career like this! We gaze on something infinitely
+more terrible than murder; we see our nature abandoned to the mercy
+of malignant passions, and the sacred susceptibilities which were
+intended to fertilize with the waters of charity the pathway of
+life, sending forth streams of bitterest gall. A catalogue of such
+cases, faithfully compiled, would eclipse, in turpitude and horror,
+all the calendars of crime that have ever sickened the attention of
+the world.
+
+The obligations of gentleness and kindness are extensive as the
+claims to manliness; these three qualities must go together. There
+are some cases, however, in which such obligations are of special
+force. Perhaps a precept here will be presented most appropriately
+under the guise of an example. We have now before our mind's eye a
+couple, whose marriage tie was, a few months since, severed by
+death. The husband was a strong, hale, robust sort of a man, who
+probably never knew a day's illness in the course of his life, and
+whose sympathy on behalf of weakness or suffering in others it was
+exceedingly difficult to evoke; while his partner was the very
+reverse, by constitution weak and ailing, but withal a woman of whom
+any man might and ought to have been proud. Her elegant form, her
+fair transparent skin, the classical contour of her refined and
+expressive face, might have led a Canova to have selected her as a
+model of feminine beauty. But alas! she was weak; she could not work
+like other women; her husband could not _boast_ among his shopmates
+how much she contributed to the maintenance of the family, and how
+largely she could afford to dispense with the fruit of his labours.
+Indeed, with a noble infant in her bosom, and the cares of a
+household resting entirely upon her, she required help herself, and
+at least she needed, what no wife can dispense with, but she least
+of all--_sympathy_, forbearance, and all those tranquilizing virtues
+which flow from a heart of kindness. She least of all could bear a
+harsh look; to be treated daily with cold, disapproving reserve, a
+petulant dissatisfaction could not but be death to her. We will not
+say it _was_--enough that she is dead. The lily bent before the
+storm, and at last was crushed by it. We ask but one question, in
+order to point the moral:--In the circumstances we have delineated,
+what course of treatment was most consonant with a manly spirit;
+that which was actually pursued, or some other which the reader can
+suggest?
+
+Yes, to love is to be happy and to make happy, and to love is the
+very spirit of true manliness. We speak not of exaggerated passion
+and false sentiment; we speak not of those bewildering,
+indescribable feelings, which under that name, often monopolize for
+a time the guidance of the youthful heart; but we speak of that pure
+emotion which is benevolence intensified, and which, when blended
+with intelligence, can throw the light of joyousness around the
+manifold relations of life. Coarseness, rudeness, tyranny, are so
+many forms of brute power; so many manifestations of what it is
+man's peculiar glory not to be; but kindness and gentleness can
+never cease to be MANLY.
+
+Count not the days that have lightly flown,
+  The years that were vainly spent;
+Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own,
+When thy spirit stands before the Throne,
+  To account for the talents lent.
+
+But number the hours redeemed from sin,
+  The moments employed for Heaven;--
+Oh few and evil thy days have been,
+Thy life, a toilsome but worthless scene,
+  For a nobler purpose given.
+
+Will the shade go back on the dial plate?
+  Will thy sun stand still on his way?
+Both hasten on; and thy spirit's fate
+Rests on the point of life's little date:--
+  Then live while 'tis called to-day.
+
+Life's waning hours, like the Sibyl's page,
+  As they lessen, in value rise;
+Oh rouse thee and live! nor deem that man's age
+Stands on the length of his pilgrimage,
+  But in days that are truly wise.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SILENT INFLUENCE.
+
+
+
+
+
+"HOW finely she looks!" said Margaret Winne, as a lady swept by them
+in the crowd; "I do not see that time wears upon her beauty at all."
+
+"What, Bell Walters!" exclaimed her companion. "Are you one of those
+who think her such a beauty?"
+
+"I think her a very fine-looking woman, certainly," returned Mrs.
+Winne; "and, what is more, I think her a very fine woman."
+
+"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Hall; "I thought you were no friends?"
+
+"No," replied the first speaker; "but that does not make us
+enemies."
+
+"But I tell you she positively dislikes you, Margaret," said Mrs.
+Hall. "It is only a few days since I knew of her saying that you
+were a bold, impudent woman, and she did not like you at all."
+
+"That is bad," said Margaret, with a smile; "for I must confess that
+I like her."
+
+"Well," said her companion, "I am sure I could never like any one
+who made such unkind speeches about me."
+
+"I presume she said no more than she thought," said Margaret,
+quietly.
+
+"Well, so much the worse!" exclaimed Mrs. Hall, in surprise. "I hope
+you do not think that excuses the matter at all?"
+
+"Certainly, I do. I presume she has some reason for thinking as she
+does; and, if so, it was very natural she should express her
+opinion."
+
+"Well, you are very cool and candid about it, I must say. What
+reason have you given her, pray, for thinking you were bold and
+impudent?"
+
+"None, that I am aware of," replied Mrs. Winne, "but I presume she
+thinks I have. I always claim her acquaintance, when we meet, and I
+have no doubt she would much rather I would let it drop."
+
+"Why don't you, then? I never knew her, and never had any desire for
+her acquaintance. She was no better than you when you were girls,
+and I don't think her present good fortune need make her so very
+scornful."
+
+"I do not think she exhibits any more haughtiness than most people
+would under the same circumstances. Some would have dropped the
+acquaintance at once, without waiting for me to do it. Her social
+position is higher than mine, and it annoys her to have me meet her
+as an equal, just I used to do."
+
+"You do it to annoy her, then?"
+
+"Not by any means. I would much rather she would feel, as I do, that
+the difference between us is merely conventional, and might bear to
+be forgotten on the few occasions when accident throws us together.
+But she does not, and I presume it is natural. I do not know how my
+head might be turned, if I had climbed up in the world as rapidly as
+she has done. As it is, however, I admire her too much to drop her
+acquaintance just yet, as long as she leaves it to me."
+
+"Really, Margaret, I should have supposed you had too much spirit to
+intrude yourself upon a person that you knew wished to shake you
+off; and I do not see how you can admire one that you know to be so
+proud."
+
+"I do not admire her on account of her pride, certainly, though it
+is a quality that sits very gracefully upon her," said Margaret
+Winne; and she introduced another topic of conversation, for she did
+not hope to make her companion understand the motives that
+influenced her.
+
+"Bold and impudent!" said Margaret, to herself, as she sat alone, in
+her own apartment. "I knew she thought it, for I have seen it in her
+looks; but she always treats me well externally, and I hardly
+thought she would say it. I know she was vexed with herself for
+speaking to me, one day, when she was in the midst of a circle of
+her fashionable acquaintances. I was particularly ill-dressed, and I
+noticed that they stared at me; but I had no intention, then, of
+throwing myself in her way. Well," she continued, musingly, "I am
+not to be foiled with one rebuff. I know her better than she knows
+me, for the busy world has canvassed her life, while they have never
+meddled with my own: and I think there are points of contact enough
+between us for us to understand each other, if we once found an
+opportunity. She stands in a position which I shall never occupy,
+and she has more power and strength than I; else she had never stood
+where she does, for she has shaped her fortunes by her own unaided
+will. Her face was not her fortune, as most people suppose, but her
+mind. She has accomplished whatever she has undertaken, and she can
+accomplish much more, for her resources are far from being
+developed. Those around her may remember yet that she was not always
+on a footing with them; but they will not do so long. She will be
+their leader, for she was born to rule. Yes; and she queens it most
+proudly among them. It were a pity to lose sight of her stately,
+graceful dignity. I regard her very much as I would some beautiful
+exotic, and her opinion of me affects me about as much as if she
+were the flower, and not the mortal. And yet I can never see her
+without wishing that the influence she exerts might be turned into a
+better channel. She has much of good about her, and I think that it
+needs but a few hints to make life and its responsibilities appear
+to her as they do to me. I have a message for her ear, but she must
+not know that it was intended for her. She has too much pride of
+place to receive it from me, and too much self-confidence to listen
+knowingly to the suggestions of any other mind than her own.
+Therefore, I will seek the society of Isabel Walters whenever I can,
+without appearing intrusive, until she thinks me worthy her notice,
+or drops me altogether. My talent lies in thinking, but she has all
+the life and energy I lack, and would make an excellent actor to my
+thought, and would need no mentor when her attention was once
+aroused. My usefulness must lie in an humble sphere, but hers--she
+can carry it wherever she will. It will be enough for my single life
+to accomplish, if, beyond the careful training of my own family, I
+can incite her to a development of her powers of usefulness. People
+will listen to her who will pay no attention to me; and, besides,
+she has the time and means to spare, which I have not."
+
+"Everywhere, in Europe, they were talking of you, Mrs. Walters,"
+said a lady, who had spent many years abroad, "and adopting your
+plans for vagrant and industrial schools, and for the management of
+hospitals and asylums. I have seen your name in the memorials laid
+before government in various foreign countries. You have certainly
+achieved a world-wide reputation. Do tell me how your attention came
+first to be turned to that sort of thing? I supposed you were one of
+our fashionable women, who sought simply to know how much care and
+responsibility they could lawfully avoid, and how high a social
+station it was possible to attain. I am sure something must have
+happened to turn your life into so different a channel."
+
+"Nothing in particular, I assure you," returned Mrs. Walters. "I
+came gradually to perceive the necessity there was that some one
+should take personal and decisive action in those things that it was
+so customary to neglect. Fond as men are of money, it was far easier
+to reach their purses than their minds. Our public charities were
+quite well endowed, but no one gave them that attention that they
+needed, and thus evils had crept in that were of the highest
+importance. My attention was attracted to it in my own vicinity at
+first; and others saw it as well as I, but it was so much of
+everybody's business that everybody let it alone. I followed the
+example for awhile, but it seemed as much my duty to act as that of
+any other person; and though it is little I have done, I think that,
+in that little, I have filled the place designed for me by
+Providence."
+
+"Well, really, Mrs. Walters, you were one of the last persons I
+should have imagined to be nicely balancing a point of duty, or
+searching out the place designed for them by Providence. I must
+confess myself at fault in my judgment of character for once."
+
+"Indeed, madam," replied Mrs. Walters, "I have no doubt you judged
+me very correctly at the time you knew me. My first ideas of the
+duties and responsibilities of life were aroused by Margaret Winne;
+and I recollect that my intimacy with her commenced after you left
+the country."
+
+"Margaret Winne? Who was she? Not the wife of that little Dr. Winne
+we used to hear of occasionally? They attended the same church with
+us, I believe?"
+
+"Yes; she was the one. We grew up together, and were familiar with
+each other's faces from childhood; but this was about all. She was
+always in humble circumstances, as I had myself been in early life;
+and, after my marriage, I used positively to dislike her, and to
+dread meeting her, for she was the only one of my former
+acquaintances who met me on the same terms as she had always done. I
+thought she wished to remind me that we were once equals in station;
+but I learned, when I came to know her well, how far she was above
+so mean a thought. I hardly know how I came first to appreciate her,
+but we were occasionally thrown in contact, and her sentiments were
+so beautiful--so much above the common stamp--that I could not fail
+to be attracted by her. She was a noble woman. The world knows few
+like her. So modest and retiring--with an earnest desire to do all
+the good in the world of which she was capable, but with no ambition
+to shine. Well fitted as she was, to be an ornament in any station
+of society, she seemed perfectly content to be the idol of her own
+family, and known to few besides. There were few subjects on which
+she had not thought, and her clear perceptions went at once to the
+bottom of a subject, so that she solved simply many a question on
+which astute philosophers had found themselves at fault. I came at
+last to regard her opinion almost as an oracle. I have often
+thought, since her death, that it was her object to turn my life
+into that channel to which it has since been devoted, but I do not
+know. I had never thought of the work that has since occupied me at
+the time of her death, but I can see now how cautiously and
+gradually she led me among the poor, and taught me to sympathize
+with their sufferings, and gave me, little by little, a clue to the
+evils that had sprung up in the management of our public charities.
+She was called from her family in the prime of life, but they who
+come after her do assuredly rise up and call her blessed. She has
+left a fine family, who will not soon forget, the instructions of
+their mother."
+
+"Ah! yes, there it is, Mrs. Walters. A woman's sphere, after all, is
+at home. One may do a great deal of good in public, no doubt, as you
+have done; but don't you think that, while you have devoted yourself
+so untiringly to other affairs, you have been obliged to neglect
+your own family in order to gain time for this? One cannot live two
+lives at once, you know."
+
+"No, madam, certainly we cannot live two lives at once, but we can
+glean a much larger harvest from the one which is, bestowed upon us
+than we are accustomed to think. I do not, by any means, think that
+I have ever neglected my own family in the performance of other
+duties, and I trust my children are proving, by their hearty
+co-operation with me, that I am not mistaken. Our first duty,
+certainly is at home, and I determined, at the outset, that nothing
+should call me from the performance of this first charge. I do not
+think anything can excuse a mother from devoting a large portion of
+her life in personal attention to the children God has given her.
+But I can assure you that, to those things which I have done of
+which the world could take cognisance, I have given far less time
+than I used once to devote to dress and amusement, I found, by
+systematizing everything, that my time was more than doubled; and,
+certainly, I was far better fitted to attend properly to my own
+family, when my eyes, were opened to the responsibilities of life,
+than when my thoughts were wholly occupied by fashion and display."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLY.
+
+
+
+
+
+"AH, friend K----, good-morning to you; I'm really happy to see you
+looking so cheerful. Pray, to what unusual circumstance may we be
+indebted for this happy, smiling face of yours, this morning?" (Our
+friend K----had been, unfortunately, of a, very desponding and
+somewhat of a choleric turn of mind, previously.)
+
+"Really, is the change so perceptible, then? Well, my dear sir, you
+shall have the secret; for, happy as I appear--and be assured, my
+appearances are by no means deceptive, for I never felt more happy
+in my life--it will still give me pleasure to inform you, and won't
+take long, either. It is simply this; I have made a whole family
+happy!"
+
+"Indeed! Why, you have discovered a truly valuable: recipe for
+blues, then, which may be used _ad libitum_, eh, K----?"
+
+"You may well say that. But, really, my friend, I feel no little
+mortification at not making so simple and valuable a discovery at an
+earlier period of my life, Heaven knows," continued K----, "I have
+looked for contentment everywhere else. First, I sought for wealthy
+in the gold mines of California, thinking that was the true source
+of all earthly joys; but after obtaining it, I found myself with
+such a multiplicity of cares and anxieties, that I was really more
+unhappy than ever. I then sought for pleasure in travelling. This
+answered somewhat the purpose of dissipating cares, &c., so long as
+it lasted; but, dear me, it gave no permanent satisfaction. After
+seeing the whole world, I was as badly off as Alexander the Great.
+He cried for another world to _conquer_, and I cried for another
+world to _see_."
+
+The case of our friend, I imagine, differs not materially from that
+of a host of other seekers of contentment in this productive world.
+Like "blind leaders of the blind," our invariable fate is to go
+astray in the universal race for happiness. How common is it, after
+seeking for it in every place but the right one, for the selfish man
+to lay the whole blame upon this fine world--as if anybody was to
+blame but himself. Even some professors of religion are too apt to
+libel the world. "Well, this is a troublesome world, to make the
+best of it," is not an uncommon expression; neither is it a truthful
+one. "Troubles, disappointments, losses, crosses, sickness, and
+death, make up the sum and substance of our existence here," add
+they, with tremendous emphasis, as if they had no hand in producing
+the sad catalogue. The trouble is, we set too high a value on our
+own merits; we imagine ourselves deserving of great favours and
+privileges, while we are doing nothing to merit them. In this
+respect, we are not altogether unlike the young man in the parable,
+who, by-the-by, was also a professor--he professed very loudly of
+having done all those good things "from his youth up." But when the
+command came, "go sell all thou hast, and give to the poor," &c., it
+soon took the conceit out of him.
+
+In this connexion, there are two or three seemingly important
+considerations, which I feel some delicacy in touching upon here.
+However, in the kindest possible spirit, I would merely remark, that
+there is a very large amount of wealth in the Church--by this I
+include its wealthy members, of course; and refer to no particular
+denomination; by Church, I mean all Christian denominations. Now, in
+connexion with this fact, such a question as this arises in my
+mind--and I put it, not, for the purpose of fault-finding, for I
+don't know that I have a right view of the matter, but merely for
+the consideration of those who are fond of hoarding up their earthly
+gains, viz.: Suppose the modern Church was composed of such
+professors as the self-denying disciples of our Saviour,--with their
+piety, simplicity, and this wealth; what, think you, would be the
+consequence? Now I do not intend to throw out any such flings as,
+"comparisons are odious"--"this is the modern Christian age"--"the
+age of Christian privileges," and all that sort of nonsense. Still,
+I am rather inclined to the opinion, that if we were all--in and out
+of the Church--disposed to live up to, or carry out what we
+professedly know to be right, it would be almost as difficult to
+find real trouble, as it is now to find real happiness.
+
+The sources of contentment and discontentment are discoverable,
+therefore, without going into a metaphysical examination of the
+subject. Just in proportion as we happen to discharge, or neglect
+known duties, are we, according to my view, happy or miserable on
+earth. Philosophy tells us that our happiness and well-being depends
+upon a conformity to certain unalterable laws--moral, physical, and
+organic--which act upon the intellectual, moral, and material
+universe, of which man is a part, and which determine, or regulate
+the growth, happiness, and well-being of all organic beings. These
+views, when reduced to their simple meaning, amount to the same
+thing, call it by what name we will. Duties, of course, imply legal
+or moral obligations, which we are certainly legally or morally
+bound to pay, perform, or discharge. And certain it is, there is no
+getting over them--they are as irresistible as Divine power, as
+universal as Divine presence, as permanent as Divine existence, and
+no art nor cunning of man can disconnect unhappiness from
+transgressing them. How necessary to our happiness, then, is it, not
+only to know, but to perform our whole duty?
+
+One of the great duties of man in this life, and, perhaps, the most
+neglected, is that of doing good, or benefiting one another. That
+doing good is clearly a duty devolving upon man, there can be no
+question. The benevolent Creator, in placing man in the world,
+endowed him with mental and physical energies, which clearly denote
+that he is to be active in his day and generation.
+
+Active in what? Certainly not in mischief, for that would not be
+consistent with Divine goodness. Neither should we suppose that we
+are here for our own sakes simply. Such an idea would be
+presumptuous. For what purpose, then, was man endowed with all these
+facilities of mind and body, but to do good and glorify his Maker?
+True philosophy teaches that benevolence was not only the design of
+the Creator in all His works, but the fruits to be expected from
+them. The whole infinite contrivances of everything above, around,
+and within us, are directed to certain benevolent issues, and all
+the laws of nature are in perfect harmony with this idea.
+
+That such is the design of man may also be inferred from the
+happiness which attends every good action, and the misery of
+discontentment which attends those who not only do wrong, but are
+useless to themselves and to society. Friend K----'s case, above
+quoted, is a fair illustration of this truth.
+
+Now, then, if it is our duty to do all the good we can, and I think
+this will be admitted, particularly by the Christian, and this be
+measured by our means and opportunity, then there are many whom
+Providence has blessed with the means and opportunity of doing a
+very great amount of good. And if it be true, as it manifestly is,
+that "it is more blessed to give than receive," then has Providence
+also blessed them with very great privileges. The privilege of
+giving liberally, and thus obtaining for themselves the greater
+blessing, which is the result of every benevolent action, the simple
+satisfaction with ourselves which follows a good act, or
+consciousness of having done our duty in relieving a
+fellow-creature, are blessings indeed, which none but the good or
+benevolent can realize. Such kind spirits are never cast down. Their
+hearts always light and cheerful--rendered so by their many kind
+offices,--they can always enjoy their neighbours, rich or poor, high
+or low, and love them too; and with a flow of spirits which bespeak
+a heart all right within, they make all glad and happy around them.
+
+Doing good is an infallible antidote for melancholy. When the heart
+seems heavy, and our minds can light upon nothing but little naughty
+perplexities, everything going wrong, no bright spot or relief
+anywhere for our crazy thoughts, and we are finally wound up in a
+web of melancholy, depend upon it there is nothing, nothing which
+can dispel this angry, ponderous, and unnatural cloud from our
+_rheumatic minds_ and _consciences_ like a charity visit--to give
+liberally to those in need of succour, the poor widow, the
+suffering, sick, and poor, the aged invalid, the lame, the blind,
+&c., &c.; all have a claim upon your bounty, and how they will bless
+you and love you for it--anyhow, they will thank kind Providence for
+your mission of love. He that makes one such visit will make another
+and another; he can't very well get weary in such well-doing, for
+his is the greater blessing. It is a blessing indeed: how the heart
+is lightened, the soul enlarged, the mind improved, and even health;
+for the mind being liberated from perplexities, the body is at rest,
+the nerves in repose, and the blood, equalized, courses freely
+through the system, giving strength, vigour, and equilibrium to the
+whole complicated machinery. Thus we can think clearer, love better,
+enjoy life, and be thankful for it.
+
+What a beautiful arrangement it is that we can, by doing good to
+others, do so much good to ourselves! The wealthy classes, who "rise
+above society like clouds above the earth, to diffuse an abundant
+dew," should not forget this fact. The season has now about arrived,
+when the good people of all classes will be most busily engaged in
+these delightful duties. The experiment is certainly worth trying by
+all. If all those desponding individuals, whose chief comfort is to
+growl at this "troublesome world," will but take the hint, look
+trouble full in the face. and relieve it, they will, like friend
+K----, feel much better.
+
+It may be set down as a generally correct axiom, (with some few
+exceptions, perhaps, such as accidents, and the deceptions and
+cruelties of those whom we injudiciously select for friends and
+confidants, from our want of discernment), that life is much what we
+make it, and so is the world.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN.
+
+
+
+
+
+AH me! Am I really a rich man, or am I not? That is the question. I
+am sure I don't feel rich; and yet, here I am written down among the
+"wealthy citizens" as being worth seventy thousand dollars! How the
+estimate was made, or who furnished the data, is all a mystery to
+me. I am sure I wasn't aware of the fact before. "Seventy thousand
+dollars!" That sounds comfortable, doesn't it? Seventy thousand
+dollars!--But where is it? Ah! There is the rub! How true it is that
+people always know more about you than you do yourself.
+
+Before this unfortunate book came out ("The Wealthy Citizens of
+Philadelphia"), I was jogging on very quietly. Nobody seemed to be
+aware of the fact that I was a rich man, and I had no suspicion of
+the thing myself. But, strange to tell, I awoke one morning and
+found myself worth seventy thousand dollars! I shall never forget
+that day. Men who had passed me in the street with a quiet, familiar
+nod, now bowed with a low salaam, or lifted their hats
+deferentially, as I encountered them on the _pave_.
+
+"What's the meaning of all this?" thought I. "I haven't stood up to
+be shot at, nor sinned against innocence and virtue. I haven't been
+to Paris. I don't wear moustaches. What has given me this
+importance?"
+
+And, musing thus, I pursued my way in quest of money to help me out
+with some pretty heavy payments. After succeeding, though with some
+difficulty in obtaining what I wanted, I returned to my store about
+twelve o'clock. I found a mercantile acquaintance awaiting me, who,
+without many preliminaries, thus stated his business:
+
+"I want," said he, with great coolness, "to get a loan of six or
+seven thousand dollars; and I don't know of any one to whom I can
+apply with more freedom and hope of success than yourself. I think I
+can satisfy you, fully, in regard to security.
+
+"My dear sir," replied I, "if you only wanted six or seven hundred
+dollars, instead of six or seven thousand dollars, I could not
+accommodate you. I have just come in from a borrowing expedition
+myself."
+
+I was struck with the sudden change in the man's countenance. He was
+not only disappointed, but offended. He did not believe my
+statement. In his eyes, I had merely resorted to a subterfuge, or,
+rather, told a lie, because I did not wish to let him have my money.
+Bowing with cold formality, he turned away and left my place of
+business. His manner to me has been reserved ever since.
+
+On the afternoon of that day, I was sitting in the back part of my
+store musing on some, matter of business, when I saw a couple of
+ladies enter. They spoke to one of my clerks, and he directed them
+back to where I was taking things comfortably in an old arm-chair.
+
+"Mr. G----, I believe?" said the elder of the two ladies, with a
+bland smile.
+
+I had already arisen, and to this question, or rather affirmation, I
+bowed assent.
+
+"Mr. G----," resumed the lady, producing a small book as she spoke,
+"we are a committee, appointed to make collections in this district
+for the purpose of setting up a fair in aid of the funds of the
+Esquimaux Missionary Society. It is the design of the ladies who
+have taken this matter in hand to have a very large collection of
+articles, as the funds of the society are entirely exhausted. To the
+gentlemen of our district, and especially to those who leave been
+liberally _blessed with this world's goods_"--this was particularly
+emphasized--"we look for important aid. Upon you, sir, we have
+called first, in order that you may head the subscription, and thus
+set an example of liberality to others."
+
+And the lady handed me the book in the most "of course" manner in
+the world, and with the evident expectation that I would put down at
+least fifty-dollars.
+
+Of course I was cornered, and must do something, I tried to be bland
+and polite; but am inclined to think that I failed in the effort. As
+for fairs, I never did approve of them. But that was nothing. The
+enemy had boarded me so suddenly and so completely, that nothing,
+was left for me but to surrender at discretion, and I did so with as
+good grace as possible. Opening my desk, I took out a five dollar
+bill and presented it; to the elder of the two ladies, thinking that
+I was doing very well indeed. She took the money, but was evidently
+disappointed; and did not even ask me to head the list with my name.
+
+"How money does harden the heart!" I overheard one of my fair
+visiters say to the other, in a low voices but plainly intended for
+my edification, as they walked off with their five dollar bill.
+
+"Confound your impudence!" I said to myself, thus taking my revenge
+out of them. "Do you think I've got nothing else to do with my money
+but scatter it to the four winds?"
+
+And I stuck my thumbs firmly in the armholes of my waistcoat, and
+took a dozen turns up and down my store, in order to cool off.
+
+"Confound your impudence!" I then repeated, and quietly sat down
+again in the old arm-chair.
+
+On the next day I had any number of calls from money-hunters.
+Business men, who had never thought of asking me for loans, finding
+that I was worth seventy thousand dollars, crowded in upon me for
+temporary favours, and, when disappointed in their expectations,
+couldn't seem to understand it. When I spoke of being "hard up"
+myself, they looked as if they didn't clearly comprehend what I
+meant.
+
+A few days after the story of my wealth had gone abroad, I was
+sitting, one evening, with my family, when I was informed that a
+lady was in the parlour, and wished to see me.
+
+"A lady!" said I.
+
+"Yes, sir," replied the servant.
+
+"Is she alone?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"What does she want?"
+
+"She did not say, sir."
+
+"Very well. Tell her I'll be down in a few moments."
+
+When I entered the parlour, I found a woman, dressed in mourning,
+with her veil closely drawn.
+
+"Mr. G----?" she said, in a low, sad voice.
+
+I bowed, and took a place upon the sofa where she was sitting, and
+from which she had not risen upon my entrance.
+
+"Pardon the great liberty I have taken," she began, after a pause of
+embarrassment, and in an unsteady voice. "But, I believe I have not
+mistaken your character for sympathy and benevolence, nor erred in
+believing that your hand is ever ready to respond to the generous
+impulses of our heart."
+
+I bowed again, and my visiter went on.
+
+"My object in calling upon you I will briefly state. A year ago my
+husband died. Up to that time I had never known the want of anything
+that money could buy. He was a merchant of this city, and supposed
+to be in good circumstances. But he left an insolvent estate; and
+now, with five little ones to care for, educate, and support, I have
+parted with nearly my last dollar, and have not a single friend to
+whom I can look for aid."
+
+There was a deep earnestness and moving pathos in the tones of the
+woman's voice, that went to my heart. She paused for a few moments,
+overcome with her feelings, and then resumed:--
+
+"One in an extremity like mine, sir, will do many things from which,
+under other circumstances she should shrink. This is my only excuse
+for troubling you at the present time. But I cannot see my little
+family in want without an effort to sustain them; and, with a little
+aid, I see my way clear to do so. I was well educated, and feel not
+only competent, but willing to undertake a school. There is one, the
+teacher of which being in bad health, wishes to give it up, and if I
+can get the means to buy out her establishment, will secure an ample
+and permanent income for my family. To aid me, sir, in doing this, I
+now make an appeal to you. I know you are able, and I believe you
+are willing to put forth your hand and save my children from want,
+and, it may be, separation."
+
+The woman still remained closely veiled; I could not, therefore, see
+her face. But I could perceive that she was waiting with trembling
+suspense for my answer. Heaven knows my heart responded freely to
+her appeal.
+
+"How much will it take to purchase this establishment?" I inquired.
+
+"Only a thousand dollars," she replied.
+
+I was silent. A thousand dollars!
+
+"I do not wish it, sir, as a gift," she said "only as a loan. In a
+year or two I will be able to repay it."
+
+"My dear madam," was my reply, "had I the ability most gladly would
+I meet your wishes. But, I assure you I have not. A thousand dollars
+taken from my business would destroy it."
+
+A deep sigh, that was almost a groan, came up from the breast of the
+stranger, and her head dropped low upon her bosom. She seemed to
+have fully expected the relief for which she applied; and to be
+stricken to the earth by my words! We were both unhappy.
+
+"May I presume to ask your name, madam?" said I, after a pause.
+
+"It would do no good to mention it," she replied, mournfully. "It
+has cost me a painful effort to come to you; and now that my hope
+has proved, alas! in vain, I must beg the privilege of still
+remaining a stranger."
+
+She arose, as she said this. Her figure was tall and dignified.
+Dropping me a slight courtesy, she was turning to go away, when I
+said,
+
+"But, madam, even if I have not the ability to grant your request, I
+may still have it in my power to aid you in this matter. I am ready
+to do all I can; and, without doubt, among the friends of your
+husband will be found numbers to step forward and join in affording
+you the assistance so much desired, when they are made aware of your
+present extremity."
+
+The lady made an impatient gesture, as if my words were felt as a
+mockery or an insult, and turning from me, again walked from the
+room with a firm step. Before I could recover myself, she had passed
+into the street, and I was left standing alone. To this day I have
+remained in ignorance of her identity. Cheerfully would I have aided
+her to the extent of my ability to do so. Her story touched my
+feelings and awakened my liveliest sympathies, and if, on learning
+her name and making proper inquiries into her circumstances, I had
+found all to be as she had stated, I would have felt it a duty to
+interest myself in her behalf, and have contributed in aid of the
+desired end to the extent of my ability. But she came to me under
+the false idea that I had but to put my hand in my pocket, or write
+a check upon the bank, and lo! a thousand dollars were forthcoming.
+And because I did not do this, she believed me unfeeling, selfish,
+and turned from me mortified, disappointed, and despairing.
+
+I felt sad for weeks after this painful interview. On the very next
+morning I received a letter from an artist, in which he spoke of the
+extremity of his circumstances, and begged me to purchase a couple
+of pictures. I called at his rooms, for I could not resist his
+appeal. The pictures did not strike me as possessing much artistic
+value.
+
+"What do you ask for them?" I inquired.
+
+"I refused a hundred dollars for the pair. But I am compelled to
+part with them now, and you shall have them for eighty."
+
+I had many other uses for eighty dollars, and therefore shook my
+head. But, as he looked disappointed, I offered to take one of the
+pictures at forty dollars. To this he agreed. I paid the money, and
+the picture was sent home. Some days afterward, I was showing it to
+a friend.
+
+"What did you pay for it?" he asked.
+
+"Forty dollars," I replied.
+
+The friend smiled strangely.
+
+"What's the matter?" said I.
+
+"He offered it to me for twenty-five."
+
+"That picture?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"He asked me eighty for this and another, and said he had refused a
+hundred for the pair."
+
+"He lied though. He thought, as you were well off, that he must ask
+you a good stiff price, or you wouldn't buy."
+
+"The scoundrel!"
+
+"He got ahead of you, certainly."
+
+"But it's the last time," said I, angrily.
+
+And so things went on. Scarcely a day passed in which my fame as a
+wealthy citizen did not subject me to some kind of experiment from
+people in want of money. If I employed a porter for any service and
+asked what was to pay, after the work was done, ten chances to one
+that he didn't touch his hat and reply,
+
+"Anything that you please, sir," in the hope that I, being a rich
+man, would be ashamed to offer him less than about four times his
+regular price. Poor people in abundance called upon me for aid; and
+all sorts of applications to give or lend money met me at every
+turn. And when I, in self-defence, begged off as politely as
+possible, hints gentle or broad, according to the characters or
+feelings of those who came, touching the hardening and perverting
+influence of wealth, were thrown out for my especial edification.
+
+And still the annoyance continues. Nobody but myself doubts the fact
+that I am worth from seventy to a hundred thousand dollars, and I
+am, therefore, considered allowable game for all who are too idle or
+prodigal to succeed in the world; or as Nature's almoner to all who
+are suffering from misfortunes.
+
+Soon after the publication to which I have alluded was foisted upon
+our community as a veritable document, I found myself a secular
+dignitary in the church militant. Previously I had been only a
+pew-holder, and an unambitious attendant upon the Sabbath
+ministrations of the Rev. Mr----. But a new field suddenly opened
+before me; I was a man of weight and influence, and must be used for
+what I was worth. It is no joke, I can assure the reader, when I
+tell them that the way my pocket suffered was truly alarming. I
+don't know, but I have seriously thought, sometimes, that if I
+hadn't kicked loose from my dignity, I would have been gazetted as a
+bankrupt long before this time.
+
+Soon after sending in my resignation as vestryman or deacon, I will
+not say which, I met the Rev. Mr----, and the way he talked to me
+about the earth being the "Lord's and the fullness thereof;" about
+our having the poor always with us; about the duties of charity, and
+the laying up of treasure in heaven, made me ashamed to go to church
+for a month to come. I really began to fear that I was a doomed man
+and that the reputation of being a "wealthy citizen" was going to
+sink me into everlasting perdition. But I am getting over that
+feeling now. My cash-book, ledger, and bill-book set me right again;
+and I can button up my coat and draw my purse-strings, when guided
+by the dictates of my own judgment, without a fear of the threatened
+final consequences before my eyes. Still, I am the subject of
+perpetual annoyance from all sorts of people, who will persist in
+believing that I am made of money; and many of these approach me in,
+such a way as to put it almost entirely out of my power to say "no."
+They come with appeals for small amounts, as loans, donations to
+particular charities, or as the price of articles that I do not
+want, but which I cannot well refuse to take. I am sure that, since
+I have obtained my present unenviable reputation, it hasn't cost me
+a cent less than two thousand, in money given away, loaned never to
+be returned, and in the purchase of things that I never would have
+thought of buying.
+
+And, with all this, I have made more enemies than I ever before had
+in my life, and estranged half of my friends and acquaintances.
+
+Seriously, I have it in contemplation to "break" one of these days,
+in order to satisfy the world that I am not a rich man. I see no
+other effectual remedy for present grievances.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+"WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE."
+
+
+
+
+
+DESPAIR not of the better part
+  That lies in human kind--
+A gleam of light still flickereth
+  In e'en the darkest mind;
+The savage with his club of war,
+  The sage so mild and good,
+Are linked in firm, eternal bonds
+  Of common brotherhood.
+Despair not! Oh despair not, then,
+  For through this world so wide,
+No nature is so demon-like,
+  But there's an angel side.
+
+The huge rough stones from out the mine,
+  Unsightly and unfair,
+Have veins of purest metal hid
+  Beneath the surface there;
+Few rocks so bare but to their heights
+  Some tiny moss-plant clings,
+And round the peaks, so desolate,
+  The sea-bird sits and sings.
+Believe me, too, that rugged souls,
+  Beneath their rudeness hide
+Much that is beautiful and good--
+  We've all our angel side.
+
+In all there is an inner depth--
+  A far off, secret way,
+Where, through dim windows of the soul,
+  God sends His smiling ray;
+In every human heart there is
+  A faithful sounding chord,
+That may be struck, unknown to us,
+  By some sweet loving word;
+The wayward heart in vain may try
+  Its softer thoughts to hide,
+Some unexpected tone reveals
+  It has its angel side.
+
+Despised, and low, and trodden down,
+  Dark with the shade of sin:
+Deciphering not those halo lights
+  Which God hath lit within;
+Groping about in utmost night,
+  Poor prisoned souls there are,
+Who guess not what life's meaning is,
+  Nor dream of heaven afar;
+Oh! that some gentle hand of love
+  Their stumbling steps would guide,
+And show them that, amidst it all,
+  Life has its angel side.
+
+Brutal, and mean, and dark enough,
+  God knows, some natures are,
+But He, compassionate, comes near--
+  And shall we stand afar?
+Our cruse of oil will not grow less,
+  If shared with hearty hand,
+And words of peace and looks of love
+  Few natures can withstand.
+Love is the mighty conqueror--
+  Love is the beauteous guide--
+Love, with her beaming eye, can see
+  We've all our angel side.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BLIND JAMES.
+
+
+
+
+
+IN the month of December, in the neighbourhood of Paris, two men,
+one young, the other rather advanced in years, were descending the
+village street, which was made uneven and almost impassable by
+stones and puddles.
+
+Opposite to them, and ascending this same street, a labourer,
+fastened to a sort of dray laden with a cask, was slowly advancing,
+and beside him a little girl, of about eight years old, who was
+holding the end of the barrow. Suddenly the wheel went over an
+enormous stone, which lay in the middle of the street, and the car
+leaned towards the side of the child.
+
+"The man must be intoxicated," cried the young man, stepping forward
+to prevent the overturn of the dray. When he reached the spot, he
+perceived that the man was blind.
+
+"Blind!" said he, turning towards his old friend. But the latter,
+making him a sign to be silent, placed his hand, without speaking,
+on that of the labourer, while the little girl smiled. The blind man
+immediately raised his head, his sightless eyes were turned towards
+the two gentlemen, his face shone with an intelligent and natural
+pleasure, and, pressing closely the hand which held his own, he
+said, with an accent of tenderness,
+
+"Mr. Desgranges!"
+
+"How!" said the young man, moved and surprised; "he knew you by the
+touch of your hand."
+
+"I do not need even that," said the blind man; "when he passes me in
+the street, I say to myself, 'That is his step.'" And, seizing the
+hand of Mr. Desgranges, he kissed it with ardour. "It was indeed
+you, Mr. Desgranges, who prevented my falling--always you."
+
+"Why," said the young man, "do you expose yourself to such
+accidents, by dragging this cask?"
+
+"One must attend to his business, sir," replied he, gayly.
+
+"Your business?"
+
+"Undoubtedly," added Mr. Desgranges. "James is our water-carrier.
+But I shall scold him for going out without his wife to guide him."
+
+"My wife was gone away. I took the little girl. One must be a little
+energetic, must he not? And, you see, I have done very well since I
+last saw you, my dear Mr. Desgranges; and you have assisted me."
+
+"Come, James, now finish serving your customers, and then you can
+call and see me. I am going home."
+
+"Thank you, sir. Good-by, sir; good-by, sir."
+
+And he started again, dragging his cask, while the child turned
+towards the gentlemen her rosy and smiling face.
+
+"Blind, and a water-carrier!" repeated the young man, as they walked
+along.
+
+"Ah! our James astonishes you, my young friend. Yes, it is one of
+those miracles like that of a paralytic who walks. Should you like
+to know his story?"
+
+"Tell it to me."
+
+"I will do so. It does not abound in facts or dramatic incidents,
+but it will interest you, I think, for it is the history of a soul,
+and of a good soul it is--a man struggling against the night. You
+will see the unfortunate man going step by step out of a bottomless
+abyss to begin his life again--to create his soul anew. You will see
+how a blind man, with a noble heart for a stay, makes his way even
+in this world."
+
+While they were conversing, they reached the house of Mr.
+Desgranges, who began in this manner:--
+
+"One morning, three years since, I was walking on a large dry plain,
+which separates our village from that of Noiesemont, and which is
+all covered with mill-stones just taken from the quarry. The process
+of blowing the rocks was still going on. Suddenly a violent
+explosion was heard. I looked. At a distance of four or five hundred
+paces, a gray smoke, which seemed to come from a hole, rose from the
+ground. Stones were then thrown up in the air, horrible cries were
+heard, and springing from this hole appeared a man, who began to run
+across the plain as if mad. He shook his arms, screamed, fell down,
+got up again, disappeared in the great crevices of the plain, and
+appeared again. The distance and the irregularity of his path
+prevented me from distinguishing anything clearly; but, at the
+height of his head, in the place of his face, I saw a great, red
+mark. In alarm, I approached him, while from the other side of the
+plain, from Noiesemont, a troop of men and women were advancing,
+crying aloud. I was the first to reach the poor creature. His face
+was all one wound, and torrents of blood were streaming over his
+garments, which were all in rags.
+
+"Scarcely had I taken hold of him, when a woman, followed by twenty
+peasants, approached, and threw herself before him.
+
+"'James, James, is it you? I did not know you, James.'
+
+"The poor man, without answering, struggled furiously in our hands.
+
+"'Ah!' cried the woman, suddenly, and with a heart-rending voice,
+'it is he!'
+
+"She had recognised a large silver pin, which fastened his shirt,
+which was covered with blood.
+
+"It was indeed he, her husband, the father of three children, a poor
+labourer, who, in blasting a rock with powder, had received the
+explosion in his face, and was blind, mutilated, perhaps mortally
+wounded.
+
+"He was carried home. I was obliged to go away the same day, on a
+journey, and was absent a month. Before my departure, I sent him our
+doctor, a man devoted to his profession as a country physician, and
+as learned as a city physician. On my return--
+
+"'Ah! well, doctor,' said I, 'the blind man?'
+
+"'It is all over with him. His wounds are healed, his head is doing
+well, he is only blind; but he will die; despair has seized him, and
+he will kill himself. I can do nothing more for him, This is all,'
+he said; 'an internal inflammation is taking place. He must die.'
+
+"I hastened to the poor man. I arrived. I shall never forget the
+sight. He was seated on a wooden stool, beside a hearth on. which
+there was no fire, his eyes covered with a white bandage. On the
+floor an infant of three months was sleeping; a little girl of four
+years old was playing in the ashes; one, still older, was shivering
+opposite to her; and, in front of the fireplace, seated on the
+disordered bed, her arms hanging down, was the wife. What was left
+to be imagined in this spectacle was more than met the eye. One felt
+that for several hours, perhaps, no word had been spoken in this
+room. The wife was doing nothing, and seemed to have no care to do
+anything. They were not merely unfortunate, they seemed like
+condemned persons. At the sound of my footsteps they arose, but
+without speaking.
+
+"'You are the blind man of the quarry?"
+
+"'Yes, sir.'
+
+"'I have come to see you.'
+
+"'Thank you, sir.'
+
+"'You met with a sad misfortune there.'
+
+"'Yes, sir.'
+
+"His voice was cold, short, without any emotion. He expected nothing
+from any one. I pronounced the words 'assistance,' 'public
+compassion.'
+
+"'Assistance!' cried his wife, suddenly, with a tone of despair;
+'they ought to give it to us; they must help us; we have done
+nothing to bring upon us this misfortune; they will not let my
+children die with hunger.'
+
+"She asked for nothing--begged for nothing. She claimed help. This
+imperative beggary touched me more than the common lamentations of
+poverty, for it was the voice of despair; and I felt in my purse for
+some pieces of silver.
+
+"The man then, who had till now been silent, said, with a hollow
+tone,
+
+"'Your children must die, since I can no longer see.'
+
+"There is a strange power in the human voice. My money fell back
+into my purse. I was ashamed of the precarious assistance. I felt
+that here was a call for something more than mere almsgiving--the
+charity of a day. I soon formed my resolution."
+
+"But what could you do?" said the young man, to Mr. Desgranges.
+
+"What could I do?" replied he, with animation. "Fifteen days after,
+James was saved. A year after, he gained his own living, and might
+be heard singing at his work."
+
+"Saved! working! singing! but how?"
+
+"How! by very natural means. But wait, I think I hear him. I will
+make him tell you his simple story. It will touch you more from his
+lips. It will embarrass me less, and his cordial and ardent face
+will complete the work."
+
+In fact, the noise of some one taking off his wooden shoes was heard
+at the door, and then a little tap.
+
+"Come in, James;" and he entered with his wife,
+
+"I have brought Juliana, my dear Mr. Desgranges, the poor woman--she
+must see you sometimes, must she not?"
+
+"You did right, James. Sit down."
+
+He came forward, pushing his stick before him, that he might not
+knock against a chair. He found one, and seated himself. He was
+young, small, vigorous, with black hair, a high and open forehead, a
+singularly expansive face for a blind man, and, as Rabelais says, a
+magnificent smile of thirty-two teeth. His wife remained standing
+behind him.
+
+"James," said Mr. Desgranges to him, "here is one of my good
+friends, who is very desirous to see you."
+
+"He is a good man, then, since he is your friend."
+
+"Yes. Talk with him; I am going to see my geraniums. But do not be
+sad, you know I forbid you that."
+
+"No, no, my dear friend, no!"
+
+This tender and simple appellation seemed to charm the young man;
+and after the departure of his friend, approaching the blind man, he
+said,
+
+"You are very fond of Mr. Desgranges?"
+
+"Fond of him!" cried the blind man, with impetuosity; "he saved me
+from ruin, sir. It was all over with me; the thought of my children
+consumed me; I was dying because I could not see. He saved me."
+
+"With assistance--with money?"
+
+"Money! what is money? Everybody can give that. Yes, he clothed us,
+he fed us, he obtained a subscription of five hundred francs (about
+one hundred dollars) for me; but all this was as nothing; he did
+more--he cured my heart!"
+
+"But how?"
+
+"By his kind words, sir. Yes, he, a person of so much consequence in
+the world, he came every day into my poor house, he sat on my poor
+stool, he talked with me an hour, two hours, till I became quiet and
+easy."
+
+"What did he say to you?"
+
+"I do not know; I am but a foolish fellow, and he must tell you all
+he said to me; but they were things I had never heard before. He
+spoke to me of the good God better than a minister; and he brought
+sleep back to me."
+
+"How was that?"
+
+"It was two months since I had slept soundly. I would just doze, and
+then start up, saying,
+
+"'James, you are blind,' and then my head would go round--round,
+like a madman; and this was killing me. One morning he came in, this
+dear friend, and said to me,
+
+"'James, do you believe in God?'
+
+"'Why do you ask that, Mr. Desgranges?'
+
+"'Well, this night, when you wake, and the thought of your
+misfortune comes upon you, say aloud a prayer--then two--then
+three--and you will go to sleep.'"
+
+"Yes," said the wife, with her calm voice, "the good God, He gives
+sleep."
+
+"This is not all, sir. In my despair I would have killed myself. I
+said to myself, 'You are useless to your family, you are the woman
+of the house, and others support you.' But he was displeased--'Is it
+not you who support your family? If you had not been blind, would
+any one have given you the five hundred francs?'
+
+"'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.'
+
+"'If you were not blind, would any one provide for your children?'
+
+"'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.'
+
+"'If you were not blind, would every one love you, as we love you?'
+
+"'It is true, Mr. Desgranges, it is true.'
+
+"'You see, James, there are misfortunes in all families. Misfortune
+is like rain; it must fall a little on everybody. If you were not
+blind, your wife would, perhaps, be sick; one of your children might
+have died. Instead of that, you have all the misfortune, my poor
+man; but they--they have none.'
+
+"'True, true.' And I began to feel less sad. I was even happy to
+suffer for them. And then he added,
+
+"'Dear James, misfortune is either the greatest enemy or the
+greatest friend of men. There are people whom it makes wicked; there
+are others made better by it. For you, it must make you beloved by
+everybody; you must become so grateful, so affectionate, that when
+they wish to speak of any one who is good, they will say, good as
+the blind man of the Noiesemont. That will serve for a dowry to your
+daughter.' This is the way he talked to me, sir: and it gave me
+heart to be unfortunate."
+
+"Yes; but when he was not here?"
+
+"Ah, when he was not here, I had, to be sure, some heavy moments. I
+thought of my eyes--the light is so beautiful! Oh, God! cried I, in
+anguish, if ever I should see clearly again, I would get up at three
+o'clock. in the morning, and I would, not go to bed till ten at
+night, that I might gather up more light."
+
+"James, James!" said his wife.
+
+"You are right, Juliana; he has forbidden me to be sad. He would
+perceive it, sir. Do you think that when my head had gone wrong in
+the night, and he came in the morning, and merely looked at me, he
+would say--'James, you have been thinking that;' and then he would
+scold me, this dear friend. Yes," added he, with an expression of
+joy--"he would scold me, and that would give me pleasure, because he
+tried to make his words cross, but he could not do it."
+
+"And what gave you the idea of becoming a water-carrier?"
+
+"He gave me that, also. Do you suppose I have ideas? I began to lose
+my grief, but my time hung heavy on my hands. At thirty-two years
+old, to be sitting all day in a chair! He then began to instruct me,
+as he said, and he told me beautiful stories. The Bible--the history
+of an old man, blind like me, named Tobias; the history of Joseph;
+the history of David; the history of Jesus Christ. And then he made
+me repeat them after him. But my head, it was hard--it was hard; it
+was not used to learning, and I was always getting tired in my arms
+and my legs."
+
+"And he tormented us to death," said his wife, laughing.
+
+"True, true," replied he, laughing also; "I became cross. He came
+again, and said,
+
+"'James, you must go to work.'
+
+"I showed him my poor, burned hands.
+
+"'It is no matter; I have bought you a capital in trade.'
+
+"'Me, Mr. Desgranges?'
+
+"'Yes, James, a capital into which they never put goods, and where
+they always find them.'
+
+"'It must have cost you a great deal, sir.'
+
+"'Nothing at all, my lad.'
+
+"'What is then this fund?'
+
+"'The river.'
+
+"'The river? Do you wish me to become a fisherman?'
+
+"'Not all; a water-carrier.'
+
+"'Water-carrier! but eyes?'
+
+"'Eyes; of what use are they? do the dray-horses have eyes? If they
+do, they make use of them; if they do not, they do without them.
+Come, you must be a water-carrier.'
+
+"'But a cask?'
+
+"'I will give you one.'
+
+"'A cart?'
+
+"'I have ordered one at the cart-maker's.'
+
+"'But customers?'
+
+"I will give you my custom, to begin with, eighteen francs a month;
+(my dear friend pays for water as dearly as for wine.) Moreover, you
+have nothing to say, either yes or no. I have dismissed my
+water-carrier, and you would not let my wife and me die with thirst.
+This dear Madame Desgranges, just think of it. And so, my boy, in
+three days--work. And you, Madam James, come here;' and he carried
+off Juliana."
+
+"Yes, sir," continued the wife, "he carried me off, ordered leather
+straps, made me buy the wheels, harnessed me; we were all
+astonishment, James and I; but stop, if you can, when Mr. Desgranges
+drives you. At the end of three days, here we are with the cask, he
+harnessed and drawing it, I behind, pushing; we were ashamed at
+crossing the village, as if we were doing something wrong; it seemed
+as if everybody would laugh at us. But Mr. Desgranges was there in
+the street.
+
+"'Come on, James,' said he, 'courage.'
+
+"We came along, and in the evening he put into our hands a piece of
+money, saying," continued the blind man, with emotion--
+
+"'James, here are twenty sous you have earned to-day.'
+
+"Earned, sir, think of that! earned, it was fifteen months that I
+had only eaten what had been given to me. It is good to receive from
+good people, it is true; but the bread that one earns, it is as we
+say, half corn, half barley; it nourishes better, and then it was
+done, I was no longer the woman, I was a labourer--a labourer--James
+earned his living."
+
+A sort of pride shone from his face.
+
+"How!" said the young man, "was your cask sufficient to support
+you?"
+
+"Not alone, sir; but I have still another profession."
+
+"Another profession!"
+
+"Ha, ha, yes, sir; the river always runs, except when it is frozen,
+and, as Mr. Desgranges says, 'water-carriers do not make their
+fortune with ice,' so he gave me a Winter trade and Summer trade."
+
+"Winter trade!"
+
+Mr. Desgranges returned at this moment--James heard him--"Is it not
+true, Mr. Desgranges, that I have another trade besides that of
+water-carrier?"
+
+"Undoubtedly."
+
+"What is it then?"
+
+"Wood-sawyer."
+
+"Wood-sawyer? impossible; how could you measure the length of the
+sticks? how could you cut wood without cutting yourself?"
+
+"Cut myself, sir," replied the blind man, with a pleasant shade of
+confidence; "I formerly was a woodsawyer, and the saw knows me well;
+and then one learns everything--I go to school, indeed. They put a
+pile of wood at my left side, my saw and saw horse before me, a
+stick that is to be sawed in three; I take a thread, I cut it the
+size of the third of the stick--this is the measure. Every place I
+saw, I try it, and so it goes on till now there is nothing burned or
+drunk in the village without calling upon me."
+
+"Without mentioning," added Mr. Desgranges, "that he is a
+commissioner."
+
+"A commissioner!" said the young man, still more surprised.
+
+"Yes, sir, when there is an errand to be done at Melun, I put my
+little girl on my back, and then off I go. She sees for me, I walk
+for her; those who meet me, say, 'Here is a gentleman who carries
+his eyes very high;' to which I answer, 'that is so I may see the
+farther.' And then at night I have twenty sous more to bring home."
+
+"But are you not afraid of stumbling against the stones?"
+
+"I lift my feet pretty high; and then I am used to it; I come from
+Noiesemont here all alone."
+
+"All alone! how do you find your way?"
+
+"I find the course of the wind as I leave home, and this takes the
+place of the sun with me."
+
+"But the holes?"
+
+"I know them all."
+
+"And the walls?"
+
+"I feel them. When I approach anything thick, sir, the air comes
+with less force upon my face; it is but now and then that I get a
+hard knock, as by example, if sometimes a little handcart is left on
+the road, I do not suspect it--whack! bad for you, poor
+five-and-thirty, but this is soon over. It is only when I get
+bewildered, as I did day before yesterday. O then---"
+
+"You have not told me of that, James," said Mr. Desgranges.
+
+"I was, however, somewhat embarrassed, my dear friend. While I was
+here the wind changed, I did not perceive it; but at the end of a
+quarter of an hour, when I had reached the plain of Noiesemont, I
+had lost my way, and I felt so bewildered that I did not dare to
+stir a step. You know the plain, not a house, no passersby. I sat
+down on the ground, I listened; after a moment I heard at, as I
+supposed, about two hundred paces distant, a noise of running water.
+I said, 'If this should be the stream which is at the bottom of the
+plain?' I went feeling along on the side from which the noise
+came--I reached the stream; then I reasoned in this way: the water
+comes down from the side of Noiesemont and crosses it. I put in my
+hand to feel the current."
+
+"Bravo, James."
+
+"Yes, but the water was so low and the current so small, that my
+hand felt nothing. I put in the end of my stick, it was not moved. I
+rubbed my head finally, I said, 'I am a fool, here is my
+handkerchief;' I took it, I fastened it to the end of my cane. Soon
+I felt that it moved gently to the right, very gently. Noiesemont is
+on the right. I started again and I get home to Juliana, who began
+to be uneasy."
+
+"O," cried the young man, "this is admir----"
+
+But Mr. Desgranges stopped him, and leading him to the other end of
+the room,
+
+"Silence!" said he to him in a low voice. "Not admirable--do not
+corrupt by pride the simplicity of this man. Look at him, see how
+tranquil his face is, how calm after this recital which has moved
+you so much. He is ignorant of himself, do not spoil him."
+
+"It is so touching," said the young man, in a low tone.
+
+"Undoubtedly, and still his superiority does not lie there. A
+thousand blind men have found out these ingenious resources, a
+thousand will find them again; but this moral perfection--this
+heart, which opens itself so readily to elevated consolations--this
+heart which so willingly takes upon it the part of a victim--this
+heart which has restored him to life. For do not be deceived, it is
+not I who have saved him, it is his affection for me; his ardent
+gratitude has filled his whole soul, and has sustained--he has lived
+because he has loved!"
+
+At that moment, James, who had remained at the other end of the
+room, and who perceived that we were speaking low, got up softly,
+and with a delicate discretion, said to his wife,
+
+"We will go away without making any noise."
+
+"Are you going, James?"
+
+"I am in the way, my dear Mr. Desgranges."
+
+"No, pray stay longer."
+
+His benefactor retained him, reaching out to him cordially his hand.
+The blind man seized the hand in his turn, and pressed it warmly
+against his heart.
+
+"My dear friend, my dear good friend, you permit me to stay a little
+longer. How glad I am to find myself near you. When I am sad I
+say--'James, the good God will, perhaps, of His mercy, put you in
+the same paradise with Mr. Desgranges,' and that does me good."
+
+The young man smiled at this simple tenderness, which believed in a
+hierarchy in Heaven. James heard him.
+
+"You smile, sir. But this good man has re-created James. I dream of
+it every night--I have never seen him, but I shall know him then. Oh
+my God, if I recover my sight I will look at him for ever--for ever,
+like the light, till he shall say to me, James, go away. But he will
+not say so, he is too good. If I had known him four years ago, I
+would have served him, and never have left him."
+
+"James, James!" said Mr. Desgranges; but the poor man could not be
+silenced.
+
+"It is enough to know he is in the village; this makes my heart
+easy. I do not always wish to come in, but I pass before his house,
+it is always there; and when he is gone a journey I make Juliana
+lead me into the plain of Noiesemont, and I say--'turn me towards
+the place where he is gone, that I may breathe the same air with
+him.'"
+
+Mr. Desgranges put his hand before his mouth. James stopped.
+
+"You are right, Mr. Desgranges, my mouth is rude, it is only my
+heart which is right. Come, wife," said he, gayly, and drying his
+great tears which rolled from his eyes, "Come, we must give our
+children their supper. Good-by, my dear friend, good-by, sir."
+
+He went away, moving his staff before him. Just as he laid his hand
+upon the door, Mr. Desgranges called him back.
+
+"I want to tell you a piece of news which will give you pleasure. I
+was going to leave the village this year; but I have just taken a
+new lease of five years of my landlady."
+
+"Do you see, Juliana," said James to his wife, turning round, "I was
+right when I said he was going away."
+
+"How," replied Mr. Desgranges, "I had told them not to tell you
+of it."
+
+"Yes; but here," putting his hand on his heart, "everything is plain
+here. I heard about a month since, some little words, which had
+begun to make my head turn round; when, last Sunday, your landlady
+called me to her, and showed me more kindness than usual, promising
+me that she would take care of me, and that she would never abandon
+me. When I came home, I said to Juliana, 'Wife, Mr. Desgranges is
+going to quit the village; but that lady has consoled me.'"
+
+In a few moments the blind man had returned to his home.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DEPENDENCE.
+
+
+
+
+
+"WELL, Mary," said Aunt Frances, "how do you propose to spend the
+summer? It is so long since the failure and death of your guardian,
+that I suppose you are now familiar with your position, and prepared
+to mark out some course for the future."
+
+"True, aunt; I have had many painful thoughts with regard to the
+loss of my fortune, and I was for a time in great uncertainty about
+my future course, but a kind offer, which I received, yesterday, has
+removed that burden. I now know where to find a respectable and
+pleasant home."
+
+"Is the offer you speak of one of marriage?" asked Aunt Frances,
+smiling.
+
+"Oh! dear, no; I am too young for that yet. But Cousin Kate is
+happily married, and lives a few miles out of the city, in just the
+cosiest little spot, only a little too retired; and she has
+persuaded me that I shall do her a great kindness to accept a home
+with her."
+
+"Let me see. Kate's husband is not wealthy, I believe?"
+
+"No: Charles Howard is not wealthy, but his business is very good,
+and improving every year; and both he and Kate are too whole-souled
+and generous to regret giving an asylum to an unfortunate girl like
+me. They feel that 'it is more blessed to give than to receive.'"
+
+"A very noble feeling, Mary; but one in which I am sorry to perceive
+that you are a little wanting."
+
+"Oh! no, Aunt Frances, I do feel it deeply; but it is the curse of
+poverty that one must give up, in some measure, the power of
+benefiting others. And, then, I mean to beguile Kate of so many
+lonely hours, and perform so many friendly offices for her husband,
+that they will think me not a burden but a treasure."
+
+"And you really think you can give them as much comfort as the
+expense of your maintenance could procure them in any other way?"
+
+"Yes, aunt; it may sound conceited, perhaps, but I do really think I
+can. I am sure, if I thought otherwise, I would never consent to
+become a burden to them."
+
+"Well, my dear, then your own interest is all that remains to be
+considered. There are few blessings in life that can compensate for
+the loss of self-reliance. She who derives her support from persons
+upon whom she has no natural claim, finds the effect upon herself to
+be decidedly narrowing. Perpetually in debt, without the means of
+reimbursement, barred from any generous action which does not seem
+like 'robbing Peter to pay Paul,' she sinks too often into the
+character of a sponge, whose only business is absorption. But I see
+you do not like what I am saying, and I will tell you something
+which I am sure you _will_ like--my own veritable history.
+
+"I was left an orphan in childhood, like yourself, and when my
+father's affairs were settled, not a dollar remained for my support.
+I was only six years of age, but I had attracted the notice of a
+distant relative, who was a man of considerable wealth. Without any
+effort of my own, I became an inmate of his family, and his only
+son, a few years my elder, was taught to consider me as a sister.
+
+"George Somers was a generous, kind-hearted boy, and I believe he
+was none the less fond of me, because I was likely to rob him of
+half his fortune. Mr. Somers often spoke of making a will, in which
+I was to share equally with his son in the division of his property,
+but a natural reluctance to so grave a task led him to defer it from
+one year to another. Meantime, I was sent to expensive schools, and
+was as idle and superficial as any heiress in the land.
+
+"I was just sixteen when my kind benefactor suddenly perished on
+board the ill-fated Lexington, and, as he died without a will, I had
+no legal claim to any farther favours. But George Somers was known
+as a very open-handed youth, upright and honourable, and, as he was
+perfectly well acquainted with the wishes of his father, I felt no
+fears with regard to my pecuniary condition. While yet overwhelmed
+with grief at the loss of one whom my heart called father, I
+received a very kind and sympathizing letter from George, in which
+he said he thought I had better remain at school for another year,
+as had been originally intended.
+
+"'Of course,' he added, 'the death of my father does not alter our
+relation in the least; you are still my dear and only sister.'
+
+"And, in compliance with his wishes, I passed another year at a very
+fashionable school--a year of girlish frivolity, in which my last
+chance of acquiring knowledge as a means of future independence was
+wholly thrown away. Before the close of this year I received another
+letter from George, which somewhat surprised, but did not at all
+dishearten me. It was, in substance, as follows:--
+
+"'_MY own dear Sister_:--I wrote you, some months ago, from
+Savannah, in Georgia told you how much I was delighted with the
+place and people; how charmed with Southern frankness and
+hospitality. But I did not tell you that I had there met with
+positively the most bewitching creature in the world--for I was but
+a timid lover, and feared that, as the song says, the course of true
+love never would run smooth. My charming Laura was a considerable
+heiress, and, although no sordid considerations ever had a feather's
+weight upon her own preferences, of course, yet her father was
+naturally and very properly anxious that the guardian of so fair a
+flower should be able to shield it from the biting winds of poverty.
+Indeed, I had some difficulty in satisfying his wishes on this
+point, and in order to do so, I will frankly own that I assumed to
+myself the unencumbered possession of my father's estate, of which
+so large a share belongs of right to you. I am confident that when
+you know my Laura you will forgive me this merely nominal injustice.
+Of course, this connexion can make no sort of difference in your
+rights and expectations. You will always have a home at my house.
+Laura is delighted, with the idea of such a companion, and says she
+would on no account dispense with that arrangement. And whenever,
+you marry as girls do and will, I shall hold myself bound to satisfy
+any reasonable wishes on the part of the happy youth that wins you.
+Circumstances hastened my marriage somewhat unexpectedly, or I
+should certainly have informed you previously, and requested your
+presence at the nuptial ceremony. We have secured a beautiful house
+in Brooklyn, and shall expect you to join us as soon as your present
+year expires, Laura sends her kindest regards, and I remain, as
+always, your sincere and affectionate brother,
+GEORGE SOMERS.'
+
+"Not long after the receipt of this letter, one of the
+instructresses, in the institution where I resided requested the
+favour of a private interview. She then said she knew something
+generally of my position and prospects, and, as she had always felt
+an instinctive interest in my fortunes, she could not see me leave
+the place without seeking my confidence, and rendering me aid, if
+aid was in her power. Though surprised and, to say the truth,
+indignant, I simply inquired what views, had occurred to her with
+regard to my future life.
+
+"She said, then, very kindly, that although I was not very thorough
+in, any branch of study, yet she thought I had a decided taste for
+the lighter and more ornamental parts of female education. That a
+few months earnest attention to these would fit me for a position
+independent of my connexions, and one of which none of my friends
+would have cause to be ashamed.
+
+"I am deeply pained to own to you how I answered her. Drawing myself
+up, I said, coldly,
+
+"'I am obliged to you, madam, for your quite unsolicited interest in
+my affairs. When I leave this place, it will be to join my brother
+and sister in Brooklyn, and, as we are all reasonably wealthy, I
+must try to make gold varnish over any defects in my neglected
+education.'
+
+"I looked to see my kind adviser entirely annihilated by these
+imposing words, but she answered with perfect calmness,
+
+"'I know Laura Wentworth, now Mrs. Somers. She was educated at the
+North, and was a pupil of my own for a year. She is wealthy and
+beautiful, and I hope you will never have cause to regret assuming a
+position with regard to her that might be mistaken for dependence.'
+
+"With these words, my well-meaning, but perhaps injudicious friend,
+took leave, and I burst into a mocking laugh, that I hoped she might
+linger long enough to hear. 'This is too good!' I repeated to
+myself--but I could not feel perfectly at ease. However, I soon
+forgot all thoughts of the future, in the present duties of
+scribbling in fifty albums, and exchanging keepsakes, tears, and
+kisses, with a like number of _very_ intimate friends.
+
+"It was not until I had finally left school, and was fairly on the
+way to the home of my brother, that I found a moment's leisure to
+think seriously of the life that was before me. I confess that I
+felt some secret misgivings, as I stood at last upon the steps of
+the very elegant house that was to be my future home. The servant
+who obeyed my summons, inquired if I was Miss Rankin, a name I had
+never borne since childhood.
+
+"I was about to reply in the negative, when she added, 'If you are
+the young lady that Mr. Somers is expecting from the seminary, I
+will show you to your room.'
+
+"I followed mechanically, and was left in a very pretty chamber,
+with the information that Mrs. Somers was a little indisposed, but
+would meet me at dinner. The maid added that Mr. Somers was out of
+town, and would not return till evening. After a very uncomfortable
+hour, during which I resolutely suspended my opinion with regard to
+my position, the dinner-bell rang, and the domestic again appeared
+to show me to the dining-room.
+
+"Mrs. Somers met me with extended hand. 'My dear Miss Rankin!' she
+exclaimed, 'I am most happy to see you. I have heard George speak of
+you so often and so warmly that I consider you quite as a relative.
+Come directly to the table. I am sure you must be famished after
+your long ride. I hope you will make yourself one of us, at once,
+and let me call you Fanny. May I call you Cousin Fanny?' she
+pursued, with an air of sweet condescension that was meant to be
+irresistible.
+
+"'As you please,' I replied coldly.
+
+"To which she quickly responded, 'Oh, that will be delightful.'
+
+"She then turned to superintend the carving of a fowl, and I had
+time to look at her undisturbed. She was tall and finely formed,
+with small delicate features, and an exquisite grace in every
+movement; a haughty sweetness that was perfectly indescribable. She
+had very beautiful teeth, which she showed liberally when she
+smiled, and in her graver moments her slight features wore an
+imperturbable serenity, as if the round world contained nothing that
+was really worth her attention. An animated statue, cold, polished,
+and pitiless! was my inward thought, as I bent over my dinner.
+
+"When the meal was over, Mrs. Somers said to me, in a tone of
+playful authority,
+
+"'Now, Cousin Fanny, I want you to go to your room and rest, and not
+do an earthly thing until teatime. After that I have a thousand
+things to show you.'
+
+"At night I was accordingly shown a great part of the house; a
+costly residence, and exquisitely furnished, but, alas! I already
+wearied of this icy splendour. Every smile of my beautiful hostess
+(I could not now call her sister), every tone of her soft voice,
+every movement of her superb form, half queen-like dignity, half
+fawn-like grace--seemed to place an insurmountable barrier between
+herself and me. It was not that I thought more humbly of myself--not
+that I did not even consider myself her equal--but her dainty
+blandishments were a delicate frost-work, that almost made me shiver
+and when, she touched her cool lips to mine, and said 'Good-night,
+dear,' I felt as if even then separated from her real, living self,
+by a wall of freezing marble.
+
+"'Poor George!' I said, as I retired to rest--'You have wedded this
+soulless woman, and she will wind you round her finger.'
+
+"I did not sit up for him, for he was detained till a late hour, but
+I obeyed the breakfast-bell with unfashionable eagerness, as I was
+becoming nervous about our meeting, and really anxious to have it
+over. After a delay of some minutes, I heard the wedded pair coming
+leisurely down the stairs, in, very amicable chatter.
+
+"'I am glad you like her, Laura,' said a voice which I knew in a
+moment as that of George. How I shivered as I caught the smooth
+reply, 'A nice little thing. I am very glad of the connexion. It
+will be such a relief not to rely entirely upon servants. There
+should be a middle class in every family.'
+
+"With these words she glided through the door, looked with perfect
+calmness in my flashing eyes, and said,
+
+"'Ah, Fanny! I, was just telling George here how much I shall like
+you.'
+
+"The husband came forward with an embarrassed air; I strove to meet
+him with dignity, but my heart failed me, and I burst into tears.
+
+"'Forgive me, madam,' I said, on regaining my composure--'This is
+our first meeting since the death of _our father_.'
+
+"'I understand your feelings perfectly,' she quietly replied. 'My
+father knew the late Mr. Somers well, and thought very highly of
+him, He was charitable to a fault, and yet remarkable for
+discernment. His bounty was seldom unworthily bestowed.'
+
+"His bounty! I had never been thought easy to intimidate, but I
+quailed before this unapproachable ice-berg. It made no attempt
+from that moment to vindicate what I was pleased to call my rights,
+but awaited passively the progress of events. 
+
+"After breakfast, Mrs. Somers said to the maid in attendance,
+
+"'Dorothy, bring some hot water and towels for Miss Rankin.'
+
+"She then turned to me and continued, 'I shall feel the china
+perfectly safe in your hands, cousin. These servants are so very
+unreliable.'
+
+"And she followed George to the parlour above, where their lively
+tones and light laughter made agreeable music.
+
+"In the same easy way, I was invested with a variety of domestic
+cares, most of them such as I would willingly have accepted, had she
+waited for me to manifest such a willingness. But a few days after
+my arrival, we received a visit from little Ella Grey, a cousin of
+Laura's, who was taken seriously ill on the first evening of her
+stay. A physician was promptly summoned, and, after a conference
+with him, Mrs. Somers came to me, inquiring earnestly,
+
+"'Cousin Fanny, have you ever had the measles?'
+
+"I replied in the affirmative.
+
+"'Oh, I am very glad!' was her response; 'for little Ella is
+attacked with them, and very severely; but, if you will take charge
+of her, I shall feel no anxiety. It is dreadful in sickness to be
+obliged to depend upon hirelings.'
+
+"So I was duly installed as little Ella's nurse, and, as she was a
+spoiled child, my task was neither easy nor agreeable.
+
+"No sooner was the whining little creature sufficiently improved to
+be taken to her own home, than the house was thrown into confusion
+by preparations for a brilliant party. Laura took me with her on a
+shopping excursion, and bade me select whatever I wished, and send
+the bill with hers to Mr. Somers. I purchased a few indispensable
+articles, but I felt embarrassed by her calm, scrutinizing gaze, and
+by the consciousness that every item of my expenditures would be
+scanned by, perhaps, censorious eyes.
+
+"What with my previous fatigue while acting as Ella's nurse, and the
+laborious preparations for the approaching festival, I felt, as the
+time drew near, completely exhausted. Yet I was determined not to so
+far give way to the depressing influences that surrounded me, as to
+absent myself from the party. So, after snatching an interval of
+rest, to relieve my aching head, I dressed myself with unusual care,
+and repaired to the brilliantly lighted rooms. They were already
+filled, and murmuring like a swarm of bees, although, as one of the
+guests remarked, there were more drones than workers in the hive. I
+was now no drone, certainly, and that was some consolation. When I
+entered, Laura was conversing with a group of dashing young men, who
+were blundering over a book of charades. Seeing me enter, she came
+towards me immediately.
+
+"'Cousin Fanny, you who help everybody, I want you to come to the
+aid of these stupid young men. Gentlemen, this is our Cousin Fanny,
+the very best creature in the world.' And with this introduction she
+left me, and turned to greet some new arrivals. After discussing the
+charades till my ears were weary of empty and aimless chatter, I was
+very glad to find my group of young men gradually dispersing, and
+myself at liberty to look about me, undisturbed. George soon came to
+me, gave me his arm, and took me to a room where were several
+ladies, friends of his father, and who had known me very well as a
+child.
+
+"'You remember Fanny,' he said to them; and then left me, and
+devoted himself to the courteous duties of the hour. While I was
+indulging in a quiet chat with a very kind old friend, she proposed
+to go with me to look at the dancers, as the music was remarkably
+fine, and it was thought the collected beauty and fashion of the
+evening would make a very brilliant show. We left our seats,
+accordingly, but were soon engaged in the crowd, and while waiting
+for an opportunity to move on, I heard one of my young men ask
+another,
+
+"'How do you like _la cousine_?'
+
+"I lost a part of the answer, but heard the closing words
+distinctly--'_et un peu passee._' '_Oui, decidement!_' was the
+prompt response, and a light laugh followed, while, shrinking close
+to my kind friend, I rejoiced that my short stature concealed me
+from observation. I was not very well taught, but, like most
+school-girls, I had a smattering of French, and I knew the meaning
+of the very ordinary phrases that had been used with regard to me.
+Before the supper-hour, my headache became so severe that I was glad
+to take refuge in my own room. There I consulted my mirror, and felt
+disposed to forgive, the young critics for their disparaging
+remarks. _Passee!_ I looked twenty-five at least, and yet I was not
+eighteen, and six months before I had fancied myself a beauty and an
+heiress!
+
+"But I will not weary you with details. Suffice it to say; that I
+spent only three months of this kind of life, and then relinquished
+the protection of Mr. and Mrs. Somers, and removed to a second-rate
+boarding-house, where I attempted to maintain myself by giving
+lessons in music. Every day, however, convinced me of my unfitness
+for this task, and, as I soon felt an interest in the sweet little
+girls who looked up to me for instruction, my position with regard
+to them became truly embarrassing. One day I had been wearying
+myself by attempting the impossible task of making clear to another
+mind, ideas that lay confusedly in my own, and at last I said to my
+pupil,
+
+"'You may go home now, Clara, dear, and practise the lesson of
+yesterday. I am really ill to-day, but to-morrow I shall feel
+better, and I hope I shall then be able to make you understand me.'
+
+"The child glided out, but a shadow still fell across the carpet. I
+looked up, and saw in the doorway a young man, whose eccentricities
+sometimes excited a smile among his fellow-boarders, but who was
+much respected for his sense and independence.
+
+"'To make yourself understood by others, you must first learn to
+understand yourself,' said he, as he came forward. Then, taking my
+hand, he continued,--'What if you should give up all this abortive
+labour, take a new pupil, and, instead of imparting to others what
+you have not very firmly grasped yourself, try if you can make a
+human being of me?'
+
+"I looked into his large gray eyes, and saw the truth and
+earnestness shining in their depths, like pebbles at the bottom of a
+pellucid spring. I never once thought of giving him a conventional
+reply. On the contrary, I stammered out,
+
+"'I am full, of faults and errors; I could never do you any good.'
+
+"'I have studied your character attentively,' returned he, 'and I
+know you have faults, but they are unlike mine; and I think that you
+might be of great service to me; or, if the expression suits you
+better, that we might be of great aid to each other. Become my wife,
+and I will promise to improve more rapidly than any pupil in your
+class.'
+
+"And I did become his wife, but not until a much longer acquaintance
+had convinced me, that in so doing, I should not exchange one form
+of dependence for another, more galling and more hopeless."
+
+"Then this eccentric young man was Uncle Robert?"
+
+"Precisely. But you see he has made great improvement, since."
+
+"Well, Aunt Frances, I thank you for your story; and now for the
+moral. What do you think I had better do?"
+
+"I will tell you what you can do, if you choose. Your uncle has just
+returned from a visit to his mother. He finds her a mere child,
+gentle and amiable, but wholly unfit to take charge of herself. Her
+clothes have taken fire repeatedly, from her want of judgment with
+regard to fuel and lights, and she needs a companion for every
+moment of the day. This, with their present family, is impossible,
+and they are desirous to secure some one who will devote herself to
+your grandmother during the hours when your aunt and the domestics
+are necessarily engaged. You were always a favourite there, and I
+know they would be very much relieved if you would take this office
+for a time, but they feel a delicacy in making any such proposal.
+You can have all your favourites about you--books, flowers, and
+piano; for the dear old lady delights to hear reading or music, and
+will sit for hours with a vacant smile upon her pale, faded face.
+Then your afternoons will be entirely your own, and Robert is
+empowered to pay any reliable person a salary of a fixed and ample
+amount, which will make you independent for the time."
+
+"But, aunt, you will laugh at me, I know, yet I do really fear that
+Kate will feel this arrangement as a disappointment."
+
+"Suppose I send her a note, stating that you have given me some
+encouragement of assuming this important duty, but that you could
+not think of deciding without showing a grateful deference to her
+wishes?"
+
+"That will be just the thing. We shall get a reply to-morrow." With
+to-morrow came the following note:--
+
+"_My Dear Aunt Frances_:--Your favour of yesterday took us a little
+by surprise, I must own I had promised myself a great deal of
+pleasure in the society of our Mary; but since she is inclined (and
+I think it is very noble in her) to foster with the dew of her youth
+the graceful but fallen stem that lent beauty to us all, I cannot
+say a word to prevent it. Indeed, it has occurred to me, since the
+receipt of your note, that we shall need the room we had reserved
+for Mary, to accommodate little Willie, Mr. Howard's pet nephew, who
+has the misfortune to be lame. His physicians insist upon country
+air, and a room upon the first floor. So tell Mary I love her a
+thousand times better for her self-sacrifice, and will try to
+imitate it by doing all in my power for the poor little invalid that
+is coming.
+
+"With the kindest regards, I remain "Your affectionate niece,
+
+"KATE HOWARD."
+
+"Are you now decided, Mary?" asked Aunt Frances, after their joint
+perusal of the letter.
+
+"Not only decided, but grateful. I have lost my fortune, it is true;
+but while youth and health remain, I shall hardly feel tempted to
+taste the luxuries of dependence."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTOR.
+
+
+
+
+
+JUMP in, if you would ride with the doctor. You have no time to
+lose, for the patient horse, thankful for the unusual blessing which
+he has enjoyed in obtaining a good night's rest, stands early at the
+door this rainy morning, and the worthy doctor himself is already in
+his seat, and is hastily gathering up the reins, for there have been
+no less than six rings at his bell within as many minutes, and
+immediate attendance is requested in several different places.
+
+It is not exactly the day one might select for a ride, for the storm
+is a regular north-easter, and your hands and feet are benumbed with
+the piercing cold wind, while you are drenched with the driving
+rain.
+
+But the doctor is used to all this, and, unmindful of wind and rain,
+he urges his faithful horse to his utmost speed, eager to reach the
+spot where the most pressing duty calls. He has at least the
+satisfaction of being welcome. Anxious eyes are watching for his
+well-known vehicle from the window; the door is opened ere he puts
+his hand upon the lock, and the heartfelt exclamation,
+
+"Oh, doctor, I am so thankful you have come!" greets him as he
+enters.
+
+Hastily the anxious father leads the way to the room where his
+half-distracted wife is bending in agony over their first-born, a
+lovely infant of some ten months, who is now in strong convulsions.
+The mother clasps her hands, and raises her eyes in gratitude to
+heaven, as the doctor enters,-he is her only earthly hope. Prompt
+and efficient remedies are resorted to, and in an hour the restored
+little one is sleeping tranquilly in his mother's arms.
+
+The doctor departs amid a shower of blessings, and again urging his
+horse to speed, reaches his second place of destination. It is a
+stately mansion. A spruce waiter hastens to answer his ring, but the
+lady herself meets him as he enters the hall.
+
+"We have been expecting you anxiously, doctor. Mr. Palmer is quite
+ill, this morning. Walk up, if you please."
+
+The doctor obeys, and is eagerly welcomed by his patient.
+
+"Do exert your utmost skill to save me from a fever, doctor. The
+symptoms are much the same which I experienced last year, previous
+to that long siege with the typhoid. It distracts me to think of it.
+At this particular juncture I should lose thousands by absence from
+my business."
+
+The doctor's feelings are enlisted,--his feelings of humanity and
+his feelings of self-interest, for doctors must live as well as
+other people; and the thought of the round sum which would find its
+way to his own purse, if he could but succeed in preventing the loss
+of thousands to his patient, was by no means unpleasing.
+
+The most careful examination of the symptoms is made, and
+well-chosen prescriptions given. He is requested to call as often as
+possible through the day, which he readily promises to do, although
+press of business and a pouring rain render it somewhat difficult.
+
+The result, however, will be favourable to his wishes. His second
+and third call give him great encouragement, and on the second day
+after the attack, the merchant returns to his counting-room exulting
+in the skill of his physician.
+
+But we must resume our ride. On, on goes the doctor; rain pouring,
+wind blowing, mud splashing. Ever and anon he checks his horse's
+speed, at his various posts of duty. High and low, rich and poor
+anxiously await his coming. He may not shrink from the ghastly
+spectacle of human suffering and death. Humanity, in its most
+loathsome forms, is presented to him.
+
+The nearest and dearest may turn away in grief and horror, but the
+doctor blenches not.
+
+Again we are digressing. The doctor's well-known tap is heard at the
+door of a sick-room, where for many days he has been in constant
+attendance. Noiselessly he is admitted. The young husband kneels at
+the side of the bed where lies his dearest earthly treasure. The
+calm but deeply-afflicted mother advances to the doctor, and
+whispers fearfully low,
+
+"There is a change. She sleeps. Is it--oh! can it be the sleep of
+death?"
+
+Quickly the physician is at the bedside, and anxiously bending over
+his patient.
+
+Another moment and he grasps the husband's hand, while the glad
+words "She will live," burst from his lips.
+
+We may not picture forth their joy. On, on, we are riding with the
+doctor. Once more we are at his own door. Hastily he enters, and
+takes up the slate containing the list of calls during his absence.
+At half a dozen places his presence is requested without delay.
+
+A quick step is heard on the stairs, and his gentle wife hastens to
+welcome him.
+
+"I am so glad you have come; how wet you must be!"
+
+The parlour door is thrown open. What a cheerful fire, and how
+inviting look the dressing-gown and the nicely warmed slippers!
+
+"Take off your wet clothes, dear; dinner will soon be ready," urges
+the wife.
+
+"It is impossible, Mary. There are several places to visit yet. Nay,
+never look so sad. Have not six years taught you what a doctor's
+wife must expect?"
+
+"I shall never feel easy when you are working so hard, Henry; but
+surely you will take a cup of hot coffee; I have it all ready. It
+will delay you but a moment."
+
+The doctor consents; and while the coffee is preparing, childish
+voices are heard, and little feet come quickly through the hall.
+
+"Papa has come home!" shouts a manly little fellow of four years, as
+he almost drags his younger sister to the spot where he has heard
+his father's voice.
+
+The father's heart is gladdened by their innocent joy, as they cling
+around him; but there is no time for delay. A kiss to each, one good
+jump for the baby, the cup of coffee is hastily swallowed, the wife
+receives her embrace with tearful eyes, and as the doctor springs
+quickly into his chaise, and wheels around the corner, she sighs
+deeply as she looks at the dressing-gown and slippers, and thinks of
+the favourite dish which she had prepared for dinner; and now it may
+be night before he comes again. But she becomes more cheerful as she
+remembers that a less busy season will come, and then they will
+enjoy the recompense of this hard labour.
+
+The day wears away, and at length comes the happy hour when gown and
+slippers may be brought into requisition. The storm still rages
+without, but there is quiet happiness within. The babies are
+sleeping, and father and mother are in that snug little parlour,
+with its bright light and cheerful fire. The husband is not too
+weary to read aloud, and the wife listens, while her hands are
+busied with woman's never-ending work.
+
+But their happiness is of short duration. A loud ring at the bell.
+
+"Patient in the office, sir," announces the attendant.
+
+The doctor utters a half-impatient exclamation; but the wife
+expresses only thankfulness that it is an office patient.
+
+"Fine night for a sick person to come out!" muttered the doctor, as
+he unwillingly lays down his book, and rises from the comfortable
+lounge.
+
+But he is himself again by the time his hand is on the door of the
+office, and it is with real interest that he greets his patient.
+
+"Tooth to be extracted? Sit down, sir. Here, Biddy, bring water and
+a brighter lamp. Have courage, sir; one moment will end it."
+
+The hall door closes on the relieved sufferer, and the doctor throws
+himself again on the lounge, and smilingly puts the bright half
+dollar in his pocket.
+
+"That was not so bad, after all, Mary. I like to make fifty cents in
+that way."
+
+"Cruel creature! Do not mention it."
+
+"Cruel! The poor man blessed me in his heart. Did I not relieve him
+from the most intense suffering?"
+
+"Well, never mind. I hope there will be no more calls to-night."
+
+"So do I. Where is the book? I will read again." No more
+interruptions. Another hour, and all, are sleeping quietly.
+
+Midnight has passed, when the sound of the bell falls on the
+doctor's wakeful ear. As quickly as possible he answers it in
+person, but another peal is heard ere he reaches the door.
+
+A gentleman to whose family he has frequently been called, appears.
+
+"Oh! doctor, lose not a moment; my little Willie is dying with the
+croup!"
+
+There is no resisting this appeal. The still wet overcoat and boots
+are drawn on; medicine case hastily seized, and the doctor rushes
+forth again into the storm.
+
+Pity for his faithful horse induces him to traverse the distance on
+foot, and a rapid walk of half a mile brings him to the house.
+
+It was no needless alarm. The attack was a severe one, and all his
+skill was required to save the life of the little one. It was
+daylight ere he could leave him with safety. Then, as he was about
+departing for his own home, an express messenger arrived to entreat
+him to go immediately to another place nearly a mile in an opposite
+direction.
+
+Breakfast was over ere he reached his own house. His thoughtful wife
+suggested a nap; but a glance at the already well-filled slate
+showed this to be out of the question. A hasty toilet, and still
+hastier breakfast, and the doctor is again seated in his chaise,
+going on his accustomed rounds; but we will not now accompany him.
+
+Let us pass over two or three months, and invite ourselves to
+another ride. One pleasant morning, when less pressed with business,
+he walks leisurely from the house to the chaise, and gathering up
+the reins with a remarkably thoughtful air, rides slowly down the
+street.
+
+But few patients are on his list, and these are first attended to.
+
+The doctor then pauses for consideration. He has set apart this day
+for _collecting_. Past experience has taught him that the task is by
+no means an agreeable one. It is necessary, however--absolutely
+so--for, as we have said before, doctors must live as well as other
+people; their house-rent must be paid, food and clothing must be
+supplied.
+
+A moment only pauses the doctor, and then we are again moving
+onward. A short ride brings us to the door of a pleasantly-situated
+house. We remember it well. It is where the little one lay in fits
+when we last rode out with the doctor. We recall the scene: the
+convulsed countenance of the child; the despair of the parents, and
+the happiness which succeeded when their beloved one was restored to
+them.
+
+Surely they will now welcome the doctor. Thankfully will they pay
+the paltry sum he claims as a recompense for his services. We are
+more confident than the doctor. Experience is a sure teacher. The
+door does not now fly open at his approach. He gives his name to the
+girl who answers the bell, and in due time the lady of the house
+appears.
+
+"Ah! doctor, how do you do? You are quite a stranger! Delightful
+weather," &c.
+
+The doctor replies politely, and inquires if her husband is in.
+
+"Yes, he is in; but I regret to say he is exceedingly engaged this
+morning. His business is frequently of a nature which cannot suffer
+interruption. He would have been pleased to have seen you."
+
+The doctor's pocket-book is produced, and the neatly drawn bill is
+presented.
+
+"If convenient to Mr. Lawton, the amount would be acceptable."
+
+"I will hand it to him when he is at leisure. He will attend to it,
+no doubt."
+
+The doctor sighs involuntarily as he recalls similar indefinite
+promises; but it is impossible to insist upon interrupting important
+business. He ventures another remark, implying that prompt payment
+would oblige him; bows, and retires.
+
+On, on goes the faithful horse. Where is to be our next
+stopping-place? At the wealthy merchant's, who owed so much to the
+doctor's skill some two months since. Even the doctor feels
+confidence here. Thousands saved by the prevention of that fever.
+Thirty dollars is not to be thought of in comparison.
+
+All is favourable. Mr. Palmer is at home, and receives his visiter
+in a cordial manner. Compliments are passed. Now for the bill.
+
+"Our little account, Mr. Palmer."
+
+"Ah! I recollect; I am a trifle in your debt. Let us see: thirty
+dollars! So much? I had forgotten that we had needed medical advice,
+excepting in my slight indisposition a few weeks since."
+
+Slight indisposition! What a memory some people are blessed with!
+
+The doctor smothers his rising indignation.
+
+"Eight visits, Mr. Palmer, and at such a distance. You will find the
+charge a moderate one."
+
+"Oh! very well; I dare say it is all right. I am sorry I have not
+the money for you to-day, doctor. Very tight just at present; you
+know how it is with men of business."
+
+"It would be a great accommodation if I could have it at once."
+
+"Impossible, doctor! I wish I could oblige you. In a week, or
+fortnight, at the farthest, I will call at your office."
+
+A week or fortnight! The disappointed doctor once more seats himself
+in his chaise, and urges his horse to speed. He is growing desperate
+now, and is eager to reach his next place of destination. Suddenly
+he checks the horse. A gentleman is passing whom he recognises as
+the young husband whose idolized wife has so lately been snatched
+from the borders of the grave.
+
+"Glad to see you, Mr. Wilton; I was about calling at your house."
+
+"Pray, do so, doctor; Mrs. Wilton will be pleased to see you."
+
+"Thank you; but my call was on business, to-day. I believe I must
+trouble you with my bill for attendance during your wife's illness."
+
+"Ah! yes; I recollect. Have you it with you? Fifty dollars!
+Impossible! Why, she was not ill above three weeks."
+
+"Very true; but think of the urgency of the case. Three or four
+calls during twenty-four hours were necessary, and two whole nights
+I passed at her bedside."
+
+"And yet the charge appears to me enormous. Call it forty, and I
+will hand you the amount at once."
+
+The doctor hesitates. "I cannot afford to lose ten dollars, which is
+justly my due, Mr. Wilton."
+
+"Suit yourself, doctor. Take forty, and receipt the bill, or stick
+to your first charge, and wait till I am ready to pay it. Fifty
+dollars is no trifle, I can tell you."
+
+And this is the man whose life might have been a blank but for the
+doctor's skill!
+
+Again we are travelling onward. The unpaid bill is left in Mr.
+Wilton's hand, and yet the doctor half regrets that he had not
+submitted to the imposition. Money is greatly needed just now, and
+there seems little prospect of getting any.
+
+Again and again the horse is stopped at some well-known post. A poor
+welcome has the doctor to-day. Some bills are collected, but their
+amount is discouragingly small. Everybody appears to feel
+astonishingly healthy, and have almost forgotten that they ever had
+occasion for a physician. There is one consolation, however:
+sickness will come again, and then, perhaps, the unpaid bill may be
+recollected. Homeward goes the doctor. He is naturally of a cheerful
+disposition; but now he is seriously threatened with a fit of the
+blues. A list of calls upon his slate has little effect to raise his
+spirits. "All work and no pay," he mutters to himself, as he puts on
+his dressing-gown and slippers; and, throwing himself upon the
+lounge, turns a deaf ear to the little ones, while he indulges in a
+revery as to the best mode of paying the doctor.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+KEEP IN STEP.
+
+Those who would walk together must keep in step.
+
+--OLD PROVERB.
+
+
+
+
+
+AY, the world keeps moving forward,
+  Like an army marching by;
+Hear you not its heavy footfall,
+  That resoundeth to the sky?
+Some bold spirits bear the banner--
+  Souls of sweetness chant the song,--
+Lips of energy and fervour
+  Make the timid-hearted strong!
+Like brave soldiers we march forward;
+  If you linger or turn back,
+You must look to get a jostling
+  While you stand upon our track.
+    Keep in step.
+
+My good neighbour, Master Standstill,
+  Gazes on it as it goes;
+Not quite sure but he is dreaming,
+  In his afternoon's repose!
+"Nothing good," he says, "can issue
+  From this endless moving on;
+Ancient laws and institutions
+  Are decaying, or are gone.
+We are rushing on to ruin,
+  With our mad, new-fangled ways."
+While he speaks a thousand voices,
+  As the heart of one man, says--
+    "Keep in step!"
+
+Gentle neighbour, will you join us,
+  Or return to "_good old ways?_"
+Take again the fig-leaf apron
+  Of Old Adam's ancient days;--
+Or become a hardy Briton--
+  Beard the lion in his lair,
+And lie down in dainty slumber
+  Wrapped in skins of shaggy bear,--
+Rear the hut amid the forest,
+  Skim the wave in light canoe?
+Ah, I see! you do not like it.
+  Then if these "old ways" won't do,
+    Keep in step.
+
+Be assured, good Master Standstill,
+  All-wise Providence designed
+Aspiration and progression
+  For the yearning human mind.
+Generations left their blessings,
+  In the relies of their skill,
+Generations yet are longing
+  For a greater glory still;
+And the shades of our forefathers
+  Are not jealous of our deed--
+We but follow where they beckon,
+  We but go where they do lead!
+    Keep in step.
+
+One detachment of our army
+  May encamp upon the hill,
+While another in the valley
+  May enjoy its own sweet will;
+This, may answer to one watchword,
+  That, may echo to another;
+But in unity and concord,
+  They discern that each is brother!
+Breast to breast they're marching onward,
+  In a good now peaceful way;
+You'll be jostled if you hinder,
+  So don't offer let or stay--
+    Keep in step.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+JOHNNY COLE.
+
+
+
+
+
+"I GUESS we will have to put out our Johnny," said Mrs. Cole, with a
+sigh, as she drew closer to the fire, one cold day in autumn. This
+remark was addressed to her husband, a sleepy, lazy-looking man, who
+was stretched on a bench, with his eyes half closed. The wife, with
+two little girls of eight and ten, were knitting as fast as their
+fingers could fly; the baby was sound asleep in the cradle; while
+Johnny, a boy of thirteen, and a brother of four, were seated on the
+wide hearth making a snare for rabbits. The room they occupied was
+cold and cheerless; the warmth of the scanty fire being scarcely
+felt; yet the floor, and every article of furniture, mean as they
+were, were scrupulously neat and clean.
+
+The appearance of this family indicated that they were very poor.
+They were all thin and pale, really for want of proper food, and
+their clothes had been patched until it was difficult to decide what
+the original fabric had been; yet this very circumstance spoke
+volume in favour of the mother. She was, a woman of great energy of
+character, unfortunately united to a man whose habits were such,
+that, for the greater part of the time, he was a dead weight upon
+her hands; although not habitually intemperate, he was indolent and
+good-for-nothing to a degree, lying in the sun half his time, when
+the weather was warm, and never doing a stroke of work until driven
+to it by the pangs of hunger.
+
+As for the wife, by taking in sewing, knitting, and spinning for the
+farmers' families in the neighbourhood, she managed to pay a rent of
+twenty dollars for the cabin in which they lived; while she and
+Johnny, with what assistance they could occasionally get from Jerry,
+her husband, tilled the half acre of ground attached; and the
+vegetables thus obtained, were their main dependance during the long
+winter just at hand. Having thus introduced the Coles to our reader,
+we will continue the conversation.
+
+"I guess we will have to put out Johnny, and you will try and help
+us a little more, Jerry, dear."
+
+"Why, what's got into the woman now?" muttered Jerry, stretching his
+arms, and yawning to the utmost capacity of his mouth. The children
+laughed at their father's uncouth gestures, and even Mrs. Cole's
+serious face relaxed into a smile, as she answered,
+
+"Don't swallow us all, and I will tell you. The winter is beginning
+early, and promises to be cold. Our potatoes didn't turn out as well
+as I expected, and the truth is, we cannot get along so. We won't
+have victuals to last us half the time; and, manage as I will, I
+can't much more than pay the rent, I get so little for the kind of
+work I do. Now, if Johnny gets a place, it will make one less to
+provide for; and he will be learning to do something for himself."
+
+"Yes, but mother," said the boy, moving close to her side, and
+laying his head on her knee, "yes, but who'll help you when I am
+gone? Who'll dig the lot, and hoe, and cut the wood, and carry the
+water? You can't go away down to the spring in the deep snow. And
+who'll make the fire in the cold mornings?"
+
+The mother looked sorry enough, as her darling boy--for he was the
+object around which the fondest affections of her heart had entwined
+themselves--she looked sorry enough, as he enumerated the turns he
+was in the habit of doing for her; but, woman-like, she could suffer
+and be still; so she answered cheerfully,
+
+"May be father will, dear; and when you grow bigger, and learn how
+to do everything, you'll be such a help to us all."
+
+"Don't depend on me," said Jerry, now arousing himself and
+sauntering to the fire; "I hardly ever feel well,"--complaining was
+Jerry's especial forte, an excuse for all his laziness; yet his
+appetite never failed; and when, as was sometimes the case, one of
+the neighbours sent a small piece of meat, or any little article of
+food to his wife, under the plea of ill health he managed to
+appropriate nearly the whole of it. He was selfishness embodied, and
+a serious injury to his family, as few cared to keep him up in his
+laziness.
+
+One evening, a few days later, Mrs. Cole, who had been absent
+several hours, came in looking very tired, and after laying aside
+her old bonnet and shawl, informed them that she had obtained a
+place for Johnny. It was four miles distant, and the farmer's man
+would stop for him on his way from town, the next afternoon. What a
+beautiful object was farmer Watkins's homestead, lying as it did on
+the sunny slope of a hill; its gray stone walls, peeping out from
+between the giant trees that overshadowed it, while everything
+around and about gave evidence of abundance and comfort. The thrifty
+orchard; the huge barn with its overflowing granaries; the sleek,
+well-fed cattle; even the low-roofed spring-house, with its
+superabundance of shining pails and pans, formed an item which could
+hardly be dispensed with, in the _tout ensemble_ of this pleasant
+home.
+
+Farmer Watkins was an honest, hard-working man, somewhat past middle
+age, with a heart not naturally devoid of kindness, but, where his
+hirelings were concerned, so strongly encrusted with a layer of
+habits, that they acted as an effectual check upon his better
+feelings. His family consisted of a wife, said to be a notable
+manager, and five or six children, the eldest, a son, at college. In
+this household, work, work, was the order of the day; the farmer
+himself, with his great brown fists, set the example, and the
+others, willing or unwilling, were obliged to follow his lead. He
+had agreed to take John Cole, as he said, more to get rid of his
+mother's importunities, than for any benefit he expected to derive
+from him; and when remonstrated with by his wife for his folly in
+giving her the trouble of another brat, he answered shortly: "Never
+fear, I'll get the worth of his victuals and clothes out of him."
+Johnny was to have his boarding, clothes, and a dollar a month, for
+two years. This dollar a month was the great item in Mrs. Cole's
+calculations; twelve dollars a year, she argued, would almost pay
+her rent, and when the tears stood in Johnny's great brown eyes (for
+he was a pretty, gentle-hearted boy), as he was bidding them all
+good-bye, and kissing the baby over and over again, she told him
+about the money he would earn, and nerved his little heart with her
+glowing representations, until he was able to choke back the tears,
+and leave home almost cheerfully.
+
+_Home_--yes, it was home; for they had much to redeem the miseries
+of want within those bare cabin walls, for gentle hearts and kindly
+smiles were there. There
+
+"The mother sang at the twilight fall,
+To the babe half slumbering on her knee."
+
+There his brother and sisters played; there his associations, his
+hopes, his wishes, were all centered. When he arrived at farmer
+Watkins's, and was sent into the large carpeted kitchen, everything
+was so unlike this home, that his fortitude almost gave way, and it
+was as much as he could do, as he told his mother afterwards, "to
+keep from bursting right out." Mrs. Watkins looked very cross, nor
+did she notice him, except to order him to stand out of the way of
+the red-armed girl who was preparing supper and placing it on a
+table in the ample apartment. Johnny looked with amazement at the
+great dishes of meat, and plates of hot biscuit, but the odour of
+the steaming coffee, and the heat, were almost too much for him, as
+he had eaten nothing since morning, for he was too sorry to leave
+home to care about dinner. The girl, noticing that his pale face
+grew paler, laughingly drew her mistress's attention to "master's
+new boy."
+
+"Go out and bring in some wood for the stove," said Mrs. Watkins,
+sharply; "the air will do you good."
+
+Johnny went out, and, in a few minutes, felt revived. Looking about,
+he soon found the wood-shed; there was plenty of wood, but none cut
+of a suitable length; it was all in cord sticks. Taking an axe, he
+chopped an armful, and on taking it into the house, found the
+family, had finished their suppers; the biscuits and meat were all
+eaten.
+
+"Come on here to your supper," said the maid-servant, angrily. "What
+have you been doing?" and, without waiting for an answer, she filled
+a tin basin with mush and skimmed milk, and set it before him. The
+little boy did not attempt to speak, but sat down and ate what was
+given him. Immediately after, he was sent into a loft to bed, where
+he cried himself to sleep. Ah! when we count the thousand pulsations
+that yield pain or pleasure to the human mind, what a power to do
+good or evil is possessed by every one; and how often would a kind
+word, or one sympathizing glance, gladden the hearts of those thus
+prematurely forced upon the anxieties of the world! But how few
+there are who care to bestow them! The next morning, long before
+dawn, the farmer's family, with the exception of the younger
+children were astir. The cattle were to be fed and attended to, the
+horses harnessed, the oxen yoked, and great was the bustle until all
+hands were fairly at work. As for Johnny, he was taken into the
+field to assist in husking corn. The wind was keen, and the stalks,
+from recent rain, were wet, and filled with ice. His scanty clothing
+scarcely afforded any protection from the cold, and his hands soon
+became so numb that he could scarcely use them; but, if he stopped
+one moment to rap them, or breathe upon them, in the hope of
+imparting some warmth, the farmer who was close at hand, in warm
+woollen clothes and thick husking gloves, would call out,
+
+"Hurry up, hurry up, my boy! no idle bread must be eaten here!"
+
+And bravely did Johnny struggle not to mind the cold and pain, but
+it would not do; he began to cry, when the master, who never thought
+of exercising anything but severity towards those who laboured for
+him, told him sternly that if he did not stop his bawling in a
+moment, he would send him home. This was enough for Johnny; anything
+was better than to go back and be a burden on his mother; he worked
+to the best of his ability until noon. At noon, he managed to get
+thoroughly warm, behind the stove, while eating his dinner. Still,
+the sufferings of the child, with his insufficient clothing, were
+very great; but nobody seemed to think of the _hired boy_ being an
+object of sympathy, and thus it continued. The rule seemed to be to
+get all that was possible out of him, and his little frame was so
+weary at night, that he had hardly time to feel rested, until called
+with the dawn to renew his labour. A monthly Sunday however, was the
+golden period looked forward to in his day-dreams, for it had been
+stipulated by his parent, that on Saturday evening every four weeks,
+he was to come home, and stay all the next day. And when the time
+arrived, how nimbly did he get over the ground that stretched
+between him and the goal of his wishes! How much he had to tell! But
+as soon as he began to complain, his mother would say cheerfully,
+although her heart bled for the hardships of her child,
+
+"Never mind, you will get used to work, and after awhile, when you
+grow up, you can rent a farm, and take me to keep house for you."
+
+This was the impulse that prompted to action. No one can be utterly
+miserable who has a hope, even a remote one, of bettering his
+condition; and with a motive such as this to cheer him, Johnny
+persevered; young as he was, he understood the necessity. But how
+often, during the four weary weeks that succeeded, did the memory of
+the Saturday night he had spent at home come up before his mental
+vision! The fresh loaf of rye bread, baked in honour of his arrival,
+and eaten for supper, with maple molasses--the very molasses he had
+helped to boil on shares with Farmer Thrifty's boys in the spring.
+What a feast they had! Then the long evening afterwards, when the
+blaze of the hickory fires righted up the timbers of the old cabin
+with a mellow glow, and mother looked so cheerful and smiled so
+kindly as she sat spinning in its warmth and light. And how even
+father had helped to pop corn in the iron pot.
+
+Ah! that was a time long to be remembered; and he had ample
+opportunity to draw comparisons, for he often thought his master
+cared more for his cattle than he did for him, and it is quite
+probable he did; for while they were warmly housed he was needlessly
+exposed, and his comfort utterly disregarded. If there was brush to
+cut, or fence to make, or any out-door labour to perform, a wet,
+cold, or windy day was sure to be selected, while in _fine weather_
+the wood was required to be chopped, and, generally speaking, all
+the work that could be done under shelter. Yet we dare say Farmer
+Watkins never thought of the inhumanity of this, or the advantage he
+would himself derive by arranging it otherwise.
+
+John Cole had been living out perhaps a year. He had not grown much
+in this period; his frame had always been slight, and his sunken
+cheeks and wasted limbs spoke of the hard usage and suffering of his
+present situation. The family had many delicacies for themselves,
+but the _work boy_ they knew never was used to such things, and they
+were indifferent, as to what his fare chanced to be. He generally
+managed to satisfy the cravings of hunger on the coarse food given
+him, but that was all. About this time it happened that the farmer
+was digging a ditch, and as he was afraid winter would set in before
+it was completed, Johnny and himself were at work upon it early and
+late, notwithstanding the wind whistled, and it was so cold they
+could hardly handle the tools. While thus employed, it chanced that
+they got wet to the skin with a drizzling rain, and on returning to
+the house the farmer changed his clothes, drank some hot mulled
+cider, and spent the remainder of the evening in his high-backed
+chair before a comfortable fire; while the boy was sent to grease a
+wagon in an open shed, and at night crept to his straw pallet,
+shaking as though in an ague fit. The next morning he was in a high
+fever, and with many a "wonder of what had got into him," but
+without one word of sympathy, or any other manifestation of
+good-will, he was sent home to his mother. Late in the evening of
+the same day a compassionate physician was surprised to see a woman
+enter his office; her garments wet and travel-stained, and, with
+streaming eyes, she besought him to come and see her son.
+
+"My Johnny, my Johnny, sir!" she cried, "he has been raving wild all
+day, and we are afraid he will die."
+
+Mistaking the cause of the good man's hesitation, she added, with a
+fresh burst of grief, "Oh! I will work my fingers to the bone to pay
+you, sir, if you will only come. We live in the Gap."
+
+A few inquiries were all that was necessary to learn the state of
+the case. The benevolent doctor took the woman in his vehicle, and
+proceeded, over a mountainous road of six miles, to see his patient.
+But vain was the help of man! Johnny continued delirious; it was
+work, work, always at work; and pitiful was it to hear his
+complaints of being cold and tired, while his heart-broken parent
+hung over him, and denied herself the necessaries of life to
+minister to his wants. After being ill about a fortnight, he awoke
+one evening apparently free from fever. His expression was natural,
+but he seemed so weak he could not speak. His mother, with a heart
+overflowing with joy at the change she imagined favourable, bent
+over him. With a great effort he placed his arms about her neck; she
+kissed his pale lips; a smile of strange meaning passed over his
+face, and ere she could unwind that loving clasp her little Johnny
+was no more. He had gone where the wicked cease from troubling, and
+the weary are at rest; but her hopes were blasted; her house was
+left unto her desolate; and as she watched, through the long hours
+of night, beside the dead body, it was to our Father who art in
+Heaven her anguished heart poured itself out in prayer. Think of
+this, ye rich! who morning and evening breathe the same petition by
+your own hearthstones. Think of it, ye who have authority to
+oppress! Do not deprive the poor man or woman of the "ewe lamb" that
+is their sole possession; and remember that He whose ear is ever
+open to the cry of the distressed, has power to avenge their cause.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR.
+
+
+
+
+
+"CIRCUMSTANCES made me what I am," said a condemned criminal to a
+benevolent man who visited him in prison. "I was driven by necessity
+to steal."
+
+"Not so," replied the keeper, who was standing by. "Rather say, that
+your own character made the circumstances by which you were
+surrounded. God never places upon any creature the necessity of
+breaking his commandments. You stole, because, in heart, you were a
+thief."
+
+The benevolent man reproved the keeper for what he called harsh
+words. He believed that, alone, by the force of external
+circumstances, men were made criminals. That, if society were
+differently arranged, there would be little or no crime in the
+world. And so he made interest for the criminal, and, in the end,
+secured his release from prison. Nor did his benevolence stop here.
+He took the man into his service, and intrusted to him his money and
+his goods.
+
+"I will remove from him all temptation to steal," said he, "by a
+liberal supply of his wants."
+
+"Have you a wife?" he asked of the man, when he took him from
+prison.
+
+"No," was replied.
+
+"Nor any one but yourself to support?"
+
+"I am alone in the world."
+
+"You have received a good education; and can serve me as a clerk. I
+therefore take you into my employment, at a fair salary. Will five
+hundred dollars be enough?"
+
+"It will be an abundance," said the man, with evident surprise at an
+offer so unexpectedly liberal.
+
+"Very well. That will place you above temptation."
+
+"And I will be innocent and happy. You are my benefactor. You have
+saved me."
+
+"I believe it," said the man of benevolence.
+
+And so he intrusted his goods and his money to the man he had
+reformed by placing him in different circumstances.
+
+But it is in the heart of man that evil lies; and from the heart's
+impulses spring all our actions. That must cease to be a bitter
+fountain before it can send forth sweet water. The thief was a thief
+still. Not a month elapsed ere he was devising the means to enable
+him to get from his kind, but mistaken friend, more than the liberal
+sum for which he had agreed to serve him. He coveted his neighbour's
+goods whenever his eyes fell upon them; and restlessly sought to
+acquire their possession. In order to make more sure the attainment
+of his ends, he affected sentiments of morality, and even went so
+far as to cover his purposes by a show of religion. And thus he was
+able to deceive and rob his kind friend.
+
+Time went on; and the thief, apparently reformed by a change of
+relation to society, continued in his post of responsibility. How it
+was, the benefactor could not make out; but his affairs gradually
+became less prosperous. He made investigations into his business,
+but was unable to find anything wrong.
+
+"Are you aware that your clerk is a purchaser of property to a
+considerable extent?" said a mercantile friend to him one day.
+
+"My clerk! It cannot be. His income is only five hundred dollars a
+year."
+
+"He bought a piece of property for five thousand last week."
+
+"Impossible!"
+
+"I know it to be true. Are you aware that he was once a convict in
+the State's Prison?"
+
+"Oh yes. I took him from prison myself, and gave him a chance for
+his life. I do not believe in hunting men down for a single crime,
+the result of circumstances rather than a bad heart."
+
+"A truly honest man, let me tell you," replied the merchant, "will
+be honest in any and all circumstances. And a rogue will be a rogue,
+place him where you will. The evil is radical, and must be cured
+radically. Your reformed thief has robbed you, without doubt."
+
+"I have reason to fear that he has been most ungrateful," replied
+the kind-hearted man, who, with the harmlessness of the dove, did
+not unite the wisdom of the serpent.
+
+And so it proved. His clerk had robbed him of over twenty thousand
+dollars in less than five years, and so sapped the foundations of
+his prosperity, that he recovered with great difficulty.
+
+"You told me, when in prison," said the wronged merchant to his
+clerk, "that circumstances made you what you were. This you cannot
+say now."
+
+"I can," was the reply. "Circumstances made me poor, and I desired
+to be rich. The means of attaining wealth were placed in my hands,
+and I used them. Is it strange that I should have done so? It is
+this social inequality that makes crime. Your own doctrine, and I
+subscribe to it fully."
+
+"Ungrateful wretch!" said the merchant, indignantly, "it is the evil
+of your own heart that prompts to crime. You would be a thief and a
+robber if you possessed millions."
+
+And he again handed him over to the law, and let the prison walls
+protect society from his depredations.
+
+No, it is not true that in external circumstances lie the origins of
+evil. God tempts no man by these. In the very extremes of poverty we
+see examples of honesty; and among the wealthiest, find those who
+covet their neighbour's goods, and gain dishonest possession
+thereof. Reformers must seek to elevate the personal character, if
+they would regenerate society. To accomplish the desired good by a
+different external arrangement, is hopeless; for in the heart of man
+lies the evil,--there is the fountain from which flow forth the
+bitter and blighting waters of crime.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON.
+
+
+
+
+
+"AND you will really send Reuben to cut down that clump of pines?"
+
+"Yes, Margaret. Well, now, it is necessary, for more reasons
+than"----
+
+"Don't tell me so, John," impetuously interrupted Margaret
+Greylston. "I am sure there is no necessity in the case, and I am
+sorry to the very heart that you have no more feeling than to order
+_those_ trees to be cut down."
+
+"Feeling! well, maybe I have more than you think; yet I don't choose
+to let it make a fool of me, for all that. But I wish you would say
+no more about those trees, Margaret; they really must come down; I
+have reasoned with you on this matter till I am sick of it."
+
+Miss Greylston got up from her chair, and walked out on the shaded
+porch; then she turned and called her brother.
+
+"Will you come here, John?"
+
+"And what have you to say?"
+
+"Nothing, just now; I only want you to stand here and look at the
+old pines."
+
+And so John Greylston did; and he saw the distant woods grave and
+fading beneath the autumn wind--while the old pines upreared their
+stately heads against the blue sky, unchanged in beauty, fresh and
+green as ever.
+
+"You see those trees, John, and so do I; and standing here, with
+them full in view, let me plead for them; they are very old, those
+pines, older than either of us; we played beneath them when we were
+children; but there is still a stronger tie: our mother loved
+them--our dear, sainted mother. Thirty years it has been since she
+died, but I can never forget or cease to love anything she loved.
+Oh! John, you remember just as well as I do, how often she would sit
+beneath those trees and read or talk sweetly to us; and of the dear
+band who gathered there with her, only we are left, and the old
+pines. Let them stand, John; time enough to cut them down when I
+have gone to sit with those dear ones beneath the trees of heaven;"
+and somewhat breathless from long talking, Miss Margaret paused.
+
+John Greylston was really touched, and he laid his hand kindly on
+his sister's shoulder.
+
+"Come, come, Madge, don't talk so sadly. I remember and love those
+things as well as you do, but then you see I cannot afford to
+neglect my interests for weak sentiment. Now the road must be made,
+and that clump of trees stand directly in its course, and they must
+come down, or the road will have to take a curve nearly half a mile
+round, striking into one of my best meadows, and a good deal more
+expense this will be, too. No, no," he continued, eagerly, "I can't
+oblige you in this thing. This place is mine, and I will improve it
+as I please. I have kept back from making many a change for your
+sake, but just here I am determined to go on." And all this was said
+with a raised voice and a flushed face.
+
+"You never spoke so harshly to me in your life before, John, and,
+after all, what have I done? Call my feelings on this matter weak
+sentiment, if you choose, but it is hard to hear such words from
+your lips;" and, with a reproachful sigh, Miss Margaret walked into
+the house.
+
+They had been a large family, those Greylstons, in their day, but
+now all were gone; all but John and Margaret, the two eldest--the
+twin brother and sister. They lived alone in their beautiful country
+home; neither had ever been married. John had once loved a fair
+young creature, with eyes like heaven's stars, and rose-tinged
+cheeks and lips, but she fell asleep just one month before her
+wedding-day, and John Greylston was left to mourn over her early
+grave, and his shivered happiness. Dearly Margaret loved her twin
+brother, and tenderly she nursed him through the long and fearful
+illness which came upon him after Ellen Day's death. Margaret
+Greylston was radiant in the bloom of young womanhood when this
+great grief first smote her brother, but from that very hour she put
+away from her the gayeties of life, and sat down by his side, to be
+to him a sweet, unselfish controller for evermore, and no lover
+could ever tempt her from her post.
+
+"John Greylston will soon get over his sorrow; in a year or two
+Ellen will be forgotten for a new face."
+
+So said the world; Margaret knew better. Her brother's heart lay
+before her like an open book, and she saw indelible lines of grief
+and anguish there. The old homestead, with its wide lands, belonged
+to John Greylston. He had bought it years before from the other
+heirs; and Margaret, the only remaining one, possessed neither claim
+nor right in it. She had a handsome annuity, however, and nearly all
+the rich plate and linen with which the house was stocked, together
+with some valuable pieces of furniture, belonged to her. And John
+and Margaret Greylston lived on in their quiet and beautiful home,
+in peace and happiness; their solitude being but now and then
+invaded by a flock of nieces and nephews, from the neighbouring
+city--their only and well-beloved relatives.
+
+It was long after sunset. For two full hours the moon and stars had
+watched John Greylston, sitting so moodily alone upon the porch. Now
+he got up from his chair, and tossing his cigar away in the long
+grass, walked slowly into the house. Miss Margaret did not raise her
+head; her eyes, as well as her fingers, seemed intent upon the
+knitting she held. So her brother, after a hurried "Good-night,"
+took a candle and went up to his own room, never speaking one gentle
+word; for he said to himself, "I am not going to worry and coax with
+Margaret any longer about the old pines. She is really troublesome
+with her sentimental notions." Yet, after all, John Greylston's
+heart reproached him, and he felt restless and ill at ease.
+
+Miss Margaret sat very quietly by the low table, knitting steadily
+on, but she was not thinking of her work, neither did she delight in
+the beauty of that still autumn evening; the tears came into her
+eyes, but she hastily brushed them away; just as though she feared
+John might unawares come back and find her crying.
+
+Ah! these _way-side_ thorns are little, but sometimes they pierce as
+sharply as the gleaming sword.
+
+"Good-morning, John!"
+
+At the sound of that voice, Mr. Greylston turned suddenly from the
+book-case, and his sister was standing near him, her face lit up
+with a sweet, yet somewhat anxious smile. He threw down in a hurry
+the papers he had been tying together, and the bit of red tape, and
+holding out his hand, said fervently,
+
+"I was very harsh last night. I am really sorry for it; will you not
+forgive me, Margaret?"
+
+"To be sure I will; for indeed, John, I was quite as much to blame
+as you."
+
+"No, Madge, you were not," he quickly answered; "but let it pass,
+now. We will think and say no more about it;" and, as though he were
+perfectly satisfied, and really wished the matter dropped, John
+Greylston turned to his papers again.
+
+So Miss Margaret was silent. She was delighted to have peace again,
+even though she felt anxious about the pines, and when her brother
+took his seat at the breakfast table, looking and speaking so
+kindly, she felt comforted to think the cloud had passed away; and
+John Greylston himself was very glad. So the two went on eating
+their breakfast quite happily. But alas! the storm is not always
+over when the sky grows light. Reuben crossed the lawn, followed by
+the gardener, and Miss Margaret's quick eye caught the gleaming of
+the axes swung over their shoulders. She hurriedly set down the
+coffee-pot.
+
+"Where are those men going? Reuben and Tom I mean."
+
+"Only to the woods," was the careless answer.
+
+"But what woods, John? Oh! I can tell by your face; you are
+determined to have the pines cut down."
+
+"I am." And John Greylston folded his arms, and looked fixedly at
+his sister, but she did not heed him. She talked on eagerly--
+
+"I love the old trees; I will do anything to save them. John, you
+spoke last night of additional expense, should the road take that
+curve. I will make it up to you; I can afford to do this very well.
+Now listen to reason, and let the trees stand."
+
+"Listen to reason, yourself," he answered more gently. "I will not
+take a cent from you. Margaret, you are a perfect enthusiast about
+some things. Now, I love my parents and old times, I am sure, as
+well as you do, and that love is not one bit the colder, because I
+do not let it stand in the way of interest. Don't say anything more.
+My mind is made up in this matter. The place is mine, and I cannot
+see that you have any right to interfere in the improvements I
+choose to make on it."
+
+A deep flush stole over Miss Greylston's face.
+
+"I have indeed no legal right to counsel or plead with you about
+these things," she answered sadly, "but I have a sister's right,
+that of affection--you cannot deny this, John. Once again, I beg of
+you to let the old pines alone."
+
+"And once again, I tell you I will do as I please in this matter,"
+and this was said sharply and decidedly.
+
+Margaret Greylston said not another word, but pushing back her
+chair, she arose from the breakfast-table and went quickly from the
+room, even before her brother could call to her. Reuben and his
+companion had just got in the last meadow when Miss Greylston
+overtook them.
+
+"You, will let the pines alone to-day," she calmly said, "go to any
+other work you choose, but remember those trees are not to be
+touched."
+
+"Very well, Miss Margaret," and Reuben touched his hat respectfully,
+
+"Mr. John is very changeable in his notions," burst in Tom; "not an
+hour ago he was in such a hurry to get us at the pine."
+
+"Never mind," authoritatively said Miss Greylston; "do just as you
+are bid, without any remarks;" and she turned away, and went down
+the meadow path, even as she came, within quick step, without a
+bonnet, shading her eyes from the morning sun with her handkerchief.
+
+John Greylston still sat at the breakfast-table, half dreamily
+balancing the spoon across the saucer's edge. When his sister came
+in again, he raised his head, and mutely-inquiringly looked at her,
+and she spoke,--
+
+"I left this room just to go after Reuben and Tom; I overtook them
+before they had crossed the last meadow, and I told them not to
+touch the pine trees, but to go, instead, to any other work they
+choose. I am sure you will be angry with me for all this; but, John,
+I cannot help it if you are."
+
+"Don't say so, Margaret," Mr. Greylston sharply answered, getting up
+at the same time from his chair, "don't tell me you could not help
+it. I have talked and reasoned with you about those trees, until my
+patience is completely worn out; there is no necessity for you to be
+such an obstinate fool."
+
+"Oh! John, hush, hush!"
+
+"I will not," he thundered. "I am master here, and I will speak and
+act in this house as I see fit. Now, who gave you liberty to
+countermand my orders; to send my servants back from the Work I had
+set for them to do? Margaret, I warn you; for, any more such freaks,
+you and I, brother and sister though we be, will live no longer
+under the same roof."
+
+"Be still, John Greylston! Remember _her_ patient, self-sacrificing
+love. Remember the past--be still."
+
+But he would not; relentlessly, stubbornly, the waves of passion
+raged on in his soul.
+
+"Now, you hear all this; do not forget it; and have done with your
+silly obstinacy as soon as possible, for I will be worried no longer
+with it;" and roughly pushing away the slight hand which was laid
+upon his arm, Mr. Greylston stalked out of the house.
+
+For a moment, Margaret stood where her brother had left her, just in
+the centre of the floor. Her cheeks were very white, but quickly a
+crimson flush came over them, and her eyes filled with tears; then
+she sat down upon the white chintz-covered settle, and hiding her
+face in the pillows, wept violently for a long time.
+
+"I have consulted Margaret's will always; in many things I have
+given up to it, but here, where reason is so fully on my side, I
+will go on. I have no patience with her weak stubbornness, no
+patience with her presumption in forbidding my servants to do as I
+have told them; such measures I will never allow in my house;" and
+John Greylston, in his angry musings, struck his cane smartly
+against a tall crimson dahlia, which grew in the grass-plat. It fell
+quivering across his path, but he walked on, never heeding what he
+had done. There was a faint sense of shame rising in his heart, a
+feeble conviction of having been himself to blame; but just then
+they seemed only to fan and increase his keen indignation. Yet in
+the midst of his anger, John Greylston had the delicate
+consideration for his sister and himself to repeat to the men the
+command she had given them.
+
+"Do as Miss Greylston bade you; let the trees stand until further
+orders." But pride prompted this, for he said to himself, "If
+Margaret and I keep at this childish work of unsaying each other's
+commands, that sharp old fellow, Reuben, will suspect that we have
+quarrelled."
+
+Mr. Greylston's wrath did not abate; and when he came home at
+dinner-time, and found the table so nicely set, and no one but the
+little servant to wait upon him, Margaret away, shut up with a bad
+headache, in her own room, he somehow felt relieved,--just then he
+did not want to see her. But when eventide came, and he sat down to
+supper, and missed again his sister's calm and pleasant face, a
+half-regretful feeling stole over him, and he grew lonely, for John
+Greylston's heart was the home of every kindly affection. He loved
+Margaret dearly. Still, pride and anger kept him aloof from her;
+still his soul was full of harsh, unforgiving thoughts. And Margaret
+Greylston, as she lay with a throbbing head and an aching heart upon
+her snowy pillow, thought the hours of that bright afternoon and
+evening very long and very weary. And yet those hours were full of
+light, and melody, and fragrance, for the sun shone, and the sky was
+blue, the birds sang, and the waters rippled; even the autumn
+flowers were giving their sweet, last kisses to the air. Earth was
+fair,--why, then, should not human hearts rejoice? Ah! _Nature's_
+loveliness _alone_ cannot cheer the soul. There was once a day when
+the beauty even of _Eden_ ceased to gladden two guilty tremblers who
+hid in its bowers.
+
+"A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up
+anger." When Margaret Greylston came across that verse, she closed
+her Bible, and sat down beside the window to muse. "Ah," she
+thought, "how true is that saying of the wise man! If I had only
+from the first given John soft answers, instead of grievous words,
+we might now have been at peace. I knew his quick temper so well; I
+should have been more gentle with him." Then she recalled all John's
+constant and tender attention to her wishes; the many instances in
+which he had gone back from his own pleasure to gratify her; but
+whilst she remembered these things, never once did her noble,
+unselfish heart dwell upon the sacrifices, great and numerous, which
+she had made for his sake. Miss Margaret began to think she had
+indeed acted very weakly and unjustly towards her brother. She had
+half a mind just then to go to him, and make this confession. But
+she looked out and saw the dear old trees, so stately and beautiful,
+and then the memory of all John's harsh and cruel words rushed back
+upon her. She struggled vainly to banish them from her mind, she
+strove to quell the angry feelings which arose with those memories.
+At last she knelt and prayed. When she got up from her knees traces
+of tears were on her face, but her heart was calm. Margaret
+Greylston had been enabled, in the strength of "that grace which
+cometh from above," to forgive her brother freely, yet she scarcely
+hoped that he would give her the opportunity to tell him this.
+
+"Good-morning," John Greylston said, curtly and chillingly enough to
+his sister. Somehow she was disappointed, even though she knew his
+proud temper so well, yet she had prayed that there would have been
+some kindly relentings towards her; but there seemed none. So she
+answered him sadly, and the two sat down to their gloomy, silent
+breakfast. And thus it was all that day. Mr. Greylston still mute
+and ungracious; his sister shrank away from him. In that mood she
+scarcely knew him; and her face was grave, and her voice so sad,
+even the servants wondered what was the matter. Margaret Greylston
+had fully overcome all angry, reproachful feelings against her
+brother. So far her soul had peace, yet she mourned for his love,
+his kind words, and pleasant smiles; and she longed to tell him
+this, but his coldness held her back. Mr. Greylston found his
+comfort in every way consulted; favourite dishes were silently
+placed before him; sweet flowers, as of old, laid upon his table. He
+knew the hand which wrought these loving acts. But did this
+knowledge melt his heart? In a little while we shall see.
+
+And the third morning dawned. Yet the cloud seemed in no wise
+lifted. John Greylston's portrait hung in the parlour; it was
+painted in his young days, when he was very handsome. His sister
+could not weary of looking at it; to her this picture seemed the
+very embodiment of beauty. Dear, unconscious soul, she never thought
+how much it was like herself, or even the portrait of her which hung
+in the opposite recess--for brother and sister strikingly resembled
+each other. Both had the same high brows, the same deep blue eyes
+and finely chiselled features, the same sweet and pleasant smiles;
+there was but one difference: Miss Margaret's hair was of a pale
+golden colour, and yet unchanged; she wore it now put back very
+smoothly and plainly from her face. When John was young, his curls
+were of so dark a brown as to look almost black in the shade. They
+were bleached a good deal by time, but yet they clustered round his
+brow in the same careless, boyish fashion as of old.
+
+Just now Miss Margaret could only look at her brother's picture with
+tears. On that very morning she stood before it, her spirit so full
+of tender memories, so crowded with sad yearnings, she felt as
+though they would crush her to the earth. Oh, weary heart! endure
+yet "a little while" longer. Even now the angel of reconciliation is
+on the wing.
+
+Whilst John Greylston sat alone upon the foot of the porch at the
+front of the house, and his sister stood so sadly in the parlour,
+the city stage came whirling along the dusty turnpike. It stopped
+for a few minutes opposite the lane which led to John Greylston's
+place. The door was opened, and a grave-looking young man sprang
+out. He was followed by a fairy little creature, who clapped her
+hands, and danced for joy when she saw the white chimneys and
+vine-covered porches of "Greylston Cottage."
+
+"Annie! Annie!" but she only laughed, and gathering up the folds of
+her travelling dress, managed to get so quickly and skilfully over
+the fence, that her brother, who was unfastening the gate, looked at
+her in perfect amazement.
+
+"What in the world," he asked, with a smile on his grave face,
+"possessed you to get over the fence in that monkey fashion? All
+those people looking at you, too. For shame, Annie! Will you never
+be done with those childish capers?"
+
+"Yes, maybe when I am a gray-haired old woman; not before. Don't
+scold now, Richard; you know very well you, and the passengers
+beside, would give your ears to climb a fence as gracefully as I did
+just now. There, won't you hand me my basket, please?"
+
+He did so, and then, with a gentle smile, took the white, ungloved
+fingers in his.
+
+"My darling Annie, remember"--
+
+"Stage waits," cried the driver.
+
+So Richard Bermon's lecture was cut short; he had only time to bid
+his merry young sister good-bye. Soon he was lost to sight.
+
+Annie Bermon hurried down the lane, swinging her light willow basket
+carelessly on her arm, and humming a joyous air all the way. Just as
+she opened the outer lawn gate, the great Newfoundland dog came
+towards her with a low growl; it changed directly though into a glad
+bark.
+
+"I was sure you would know me, you dear old fellow; but I can't stop
+to talk to you just now." And Annie patted his silken ears, and then
+went on to the house, the dog bounding on before her, as though he
+had found an old playmate.
+
+John Greylston rubbed his eyes. No, it was not a dream. His darling
+niece was really by his side, her soft curls touching his cheek; he
+flung his arms tightly around her.
+
+"Dear child, I was just dreaming about you; how glad I am to see
+your sweet face again."
+
+"I was sure you would be, Uncle John," she answered gayly, "and so I
+started off from home this morning just, in a hurry. I took a sudden
+fancy that I would come, and they could not keep me. But where is
+dear Aunt Margaret? Oh, I know what I will do. I'll just run in and
+take her by surprise. How well you look, uncle--so noble and grand
+too; by the way, I always think King Robert Bruce must just have
+been such a man like you."
+
+"No laughing at your old uncle, you little rogue," said John
+Greylston pleasantly, "but run and find your aunt. She is somewhere
+in the house." And he looked after her with a loving smile as she
+flitted by him. Annie Bermon passed quickly through the shaded
+sitting-room into the cool and matted hall, catching glimpses as she
+went of the pretty parlour and wide library; but her aunt was in
+neither of these rooms; so she hurried up stairs, and stealing on
+tiptoe, with gentle fingers she pushed open the door. Margaret
+Greylston was sitting by the table, sewing; her face was flushed,
+and her eyes red and swollen as with weeping. Annie stood still in
+wonder. But Miss Margaret suddenly looked up, and her niece sprang,
+with a glad cry, into her arms.
+
+"You are not well, Aunt Margaret? Oh! how sorry I am to hear that,
+but it seems to me I could never get sick in this sweet place;
+everything looks so bright and lovely here. And I _would_ come this
+morning, Aunt Margaret, in spite of everything Sophy and all of them
+could say. They told me I had been here once before this summer, and
+stayed a long time, and if I would, come again, my welcome would be
+worn out, just as if I was going to believe _such_ nonsense;" and
+Annie tossed her head. "But I persevered, and you see, aunty dear, I
+am here, we will trust for some good purpose, as Richard would say."
+
+A silent Amen to this rose up in Miss Margaret's heart, and with it
+came a hope dim and shadowy, yet beautiful withal; she hardly dared
+to cherish it. Annie went on talking,--
+
+"I can only stay two weeks with you--school commences then, and I
+must hurry back to it; but I am always so glad to get here, away
+from the noise and dust of the city; this is the best place in the
+world. Do you know when we were travelling this summer, I was pining
+all the time to get here. I was so tired of Newport and Saratoga,
+and all the crowds we met."
+
+"You are singular in your tastes, some would think, Annie," said
+Miss Greylston, smiling fondly on her darling.
+
+"So Madge and Sophy were always saying; even Clare laughed at me,
+and my brothers, too,--only Richard,--Oh! by the way, I did torment
+him this morning, he is so grave and good, and he was just beginning
+a nice lecture at the gate, when the driver called, and poor Richard
+had only time to send his love to you. Wasn't it droll, though, that
+lecture being cut so short?" and Annie threw herself down in the
+great cushioned chair, and laughed heartily.
+
+Annie Bermond was the youngest of John and Margaret Greylston's
+nieces and nephews. Her beauty, her sweet and sunny temper made her
+a favourite at home and abroad. John Greylston loved her dearly; he
+always thought she looked like his chosen bride, Ellen Day. Perhaps
+there was some likeness, for Annie had the same bright eyes, and the
+same pouting, rose-bud lips--but Margaret thought she was more like
+their own family. She loved to trace a resemblance in the smiling
+face, rich golden curls, and slight figure of Annie to her young
+sister Edith, who died when Annie was a little baby. Just sixteen
+years old was Annie, and wild and active as any deer, as her
+city-bred sisters sometimes declared half mournfully.
+
+Somehow, Annie Bermond thought it uncommonly grave and dull at the
+dinner-table, yet why should it be so? Her uncle and aunt, as kind
+and dear as ever, were there; she, herself, a blithe fairy, sat in
+her accustomed seat; the day was bright, birds were singing, flowers
+were gleaming, but there was a change. What could it be? Annie knew
+not, yet her quick perception warned her of the presence of some
+trouble--some cloud. In her haste to talk and cheer her uncle and
+aunt, the poor child said what would have been best left unsaid.
+
+"How beautiful those trees are; I mean those pines on the hill;
+don't you admire them very much, Uncle John?"
+
+"Tolerably," was the rather short answer. "I am too well used to
+trees to go into the raptures of my little city niece about them;"
+and all this time Margaret looked fixedly down upon the floor.
+
+"Don't you frown so, uncle, or I will run right home to-morrow,"
+said Annie, with the assurance of a privileged pet; "but I was going
+to ask you about the rock just back of those pines. Do you and Aunt
+Margaret still go there to see the sunset? I was thinking about you
+these two past evenings, when the sunsets were so grand, and wishing
+I was with you on the rock; and you were both there, weren't you?"
+
+This time John Greylston gave no answer, but his sister said
+briefly,
+
+"No, Annie, we have not been at the rock for several evenings;" and
+then a rather painful silence followed.
+
+Annie at last spoke:
+
+"You both, somehow, seem so changed and dull; I would just like to
+know the reason. May be aunty is going to be married. Is that it,
+Uncle John?"
+
+Miss Margaret smiled, but the colour came brightly to her face.
+
+"If this is really so, I don't wonder you are sad and grave; you,
+especially, Uncle John; how lonely and wretched you would be! Oh!
+would you not be very sorry if Aunt Madge should leave you, never to
+come back again? Would not your heart almost break?"
+
+John Greylston threw down his knife and fork violently upon the
+table, and pushing back his chair, went from the room.
+
+Annie Bermond looked in perfect bewilderment at her aunt, but Miss
+Margaret was silent and tearful.
+
+"Aunt! darling aunt! don't look so distressed;" and Annie put her
+arms around her neck; "but tell me what have I done; what is the
+matter?"
+
+Miss Greylston shook her head.
+
+"You will not speak now, Aunt Margaret; you might tell me; I am sure
+something has happened to distress you. Just as soon as I came here,
+I saw a change, but I could not understand it. I cannot yet. Tell
+me, dear aunt!" and she knelt beside her.
+
+So Miss Greylston told her niece the whole story, softening, as far
+as truth would permit, many of John's harsh speeches; but she was,
+not slow to blame herself. Annie listened attentively. Young as she
+was, her heart took in with the deepest sympathy the sorrow which
+shaded her beloved friends.
+
+"Oh! I am so very sorry for all this," she said half crying; "but
+aunty, dear, I do not think uncle will have those nice old trees cut
+down. He loves you too much to do it; I am sure he is sorry now for
+all those sharp things he said; but his pride keeps him back from
+telling you this, and maybe he thinks you are angry with him still.
+Aunt Margaret, let me go and say to him that your love is as warm as
+ever, and that you forgive him freely. Oh! it may do so much good.
+May I not go?"
+
+But Miss Greylston tightened her grasp on the young girl's hand.
+
+"Annie, you do not know your uncle as well as I do. Such a step can
+do no good,--love, you cannot help us."
+
+"Only let me try," she returned, earnestly; "Uncle John loves me so
+much, and on the first day of my visit, he will not refuse to hear
+me. I will tell him all the sweet things you said about him. I will
+tell him there is not one bit of anger in your heart, and that you
+forgive and love him dearly. I am sure when he hears this he will be
+glad. Any way, it will not make matters worse. Now, do have some
+confidence in me. Indeed I am not so childish as I seem. I am turned
+of sixteen now, and Richard and Sophy often say I have the heart of
+a woman, even if I have the ways of a child. Let me go now, dear
+Aunt Margaret; I will soon come back to you with such good news."
+
+Miss Greylston stooped down and kissed Annie's brow solemnly,
+tenderly. "Go, my darling, and may God be with you." Then she turned
+away.
+
+And with willing feet Annie Bermond went forth upon her blessed
+errand. She soon found her uncle. He was sitting beneath the shade
+of the old pines, and he seemed to be in very deep thought. Annie
+got down on the grass beside him, and laid her soft cheek upon his
+sunburnt hand. How gently he spoke--
+
+"What did you come here for, sweet bird?"
+
+"Because I love you so much, Uncle John; that is the reason; but
+won't you tell me why you look so very sad and grave? I wish I knew
+your thoughts just now."
+
+"And if you did, fairy, they would not make you any prettier or
+better than you are."
+
+"I wonder if they do you any good, uncle?" she quickly replied; but
+her companion made no answer; he only smiled.
+
+Let me write here what John Greylston's tongue refused to say. Those
+thoughts, indeed, had done him good; they were tender,
+self-upbraiding, loving thoughts, mingled, all the while, with
+touching memories, mournful glimpses of the past--the days of his
+sore bereavement, when the coffin-lid was first shut down over Ellen
+Day's sweet face, and he was smitten to the earth with anguish. Then
+Margaret's sympathy and love, so beautiful in its strength, and
+unselfishness, so unwearying and sublime in its sacrifices, became
+to him a stay and comfort. And had she not, for his sake,
+uncomplainingly given up the best years of her life, as it seemed?
+Had her love ever faltered? Had it ever wavered in its sweet
+endeavours to make him happy? These memories, these thoughts, closed
+round John Greylston like a circle of rebuking angels. Not for the
+first time were they with him when Annie found him beneath the old
+pines. Ever since that morning of violent and unjust anger they had
+been struggling in his heart, growing stronger, it seemed, every
+hour in their reproachful tenderness. Those loving, silent
+attentions to his wishes John Greylston had noted, and they rankled
+like sharp thorns in his soul. He was not worthy of them; this he
+knew. How he loathed himself for his sharp and angry words! He had
+it in his heart to tell his sister this, but an overpowering shame
+held him back.
+
+"If I only knew how Madge felt towards me," he said many times to
+himself, "then I could speak; but I have been such a brute. She can
+do nothing else but repulse me;" and this threw around him that
+chill reserve which kept Margaret's generous and forgiving heart at
+a distance.
+
+Even every-day life has its wonders, and perhaps not one of the
+least was that this brother and sister, so long fellow-pilgrims, so
+long readers of each other's hearts, should for a little while be
+kept asunder by mutual blindness. Yet the hand which is to chase the
+mists from their darkened eyes, even now is raised, what though it
+be but small? God in his wisdom and mercy will cause its strength to
+be sufficient.
+
+When John Greylston gave his niece no answer, she looked intently in
+his face and said,
+
+"You will not tell me what you have been thinking about; but I can
+guess, Uncle John. I know the reason you did not take Aunt Margaret
+to the rock to see the sunset."
+
+"Do you?" he asked, startled from his composure, his face flushing
+deeply.
+
+"Yes; for I would not rest until aunty told me the whole story, and
+I just came out to talk to you about it. Now, Uncle John, don't
+frown, and draw away your hand; just listen to me a little while; I
+am sure you will be glad." Then she repeated, in her pretty, girlish
+way, touching in its earnestness, all Miss Greylston had told her.
+"Oh, if you had only heard her say those sweet things, I know you
+would not keep vexed one minute longer! Aunt Margaret told me that
+she did not blame you at all, only herself; that she loved you
+dearly, and she is so sorry because you seem cold and angry yet, for
+she wants so very, very much to beg your forgiveness, and tell you
+all this, dear Uncle John, if you would only--"
+
+"Annie," he suddenly interrupted, drawing her closely to his bosom;
+"Annie, you precious child, in telling me all this you have taken a
+great weight off of my heart. You have done your old uncle a world
+of good. God bless you a thousand times! If I had known this at
+once; if I had been sure, from the first, of Margaret's forgiveness
+for my cruel words, how quickly I would have sought it. My dear,
+noble sister!" The tears filled John Greylston's dark blue eyes, but
+his smile was so exceedingly tender and beautiful, that Annie drew
+closer to his side.
+
+"Oh, that lovely smile!" she cried, "how it lights your face; and
+now you look so good and forgiving, dearer and better even than a
+king. Uncle John, kiss me again; my heart is so glad! shall I run
+now and tell Aunt Margaret all this sweet news?"
+
+"No, no, darling little peace-maker, stay here; I will go to her
+myself;" and he hurried away.
+
+Annie Bermond sat alone upon the hill, musingly platting the long
+grass together, but she heeded not the work of her fingers. Her face
+was bright with joy, her heart full of happiness. Dear child! in one
+brief hour she had learned the blessedness of that birthright which
+is for all God's sons and daughters, if they will but claim it. I
+mean _the privilege of doing good, of being useful_.
+
+Miss Greylston sat by the parlour window, just where she could see
+who crossed the lawn. She was waiting with a kind of nervous
+impatience for Annie. She heard a footstep, but it was only Liddy
+going down to the dairy. Then Reuben went by on his way to the
+meadow, and all was silent again. Where was Annie?--but now quick
+feet sounded upon the crisp and faded leaves. Miss Margaret looked
+out, and saw her brother coming,--then she was sure Annie had in
+some way missed him, and she drew back from the window keenly
+disappointed, not even a faint suspicion of the blessed truth
+crossing her mind. As John Greylston entered the hall, a sudden and
+irresistible desire prompted Margaret to go and tell him all the
+loving and forgiving thoughts of her heart, no matter what his mood
+should be. So she threw down her work, and went quickly towards the
+parlour door. And the brother and sister met, just on the threshold.
+
+"John--John," she said, falteringly, "I must speak to you; I cannot
+bear this any longer."
+
+"Nor can I, Margaret."
+
+Miss Greylston looked up in her brother's face; it was beaming with
+love and tenderness. Then she knew the hour of reconciliation had
+come, and with a quick, glad cry, she sprang into his arms and laid
+her head down upon his shoulder.
+
+"Can you ever forgive me, Madge?"
+
+She made no reply--words had melted into tears, but they were
+eloquent, and for a little while it was quite still in the parlour.
+
+"You shall blame yourself no longer, Margaret. All along you have
+behaved like a sweet Christian woman as you are, but I have been an
+old fool, unreasonable and cross from the very beginning. Can you
+really forgive me all those harsh words, for which I hated myself
+not ten hours after they were said? Can you, indeed, forgive and
+forget these? Tell me so again."
+
+"John," she said, raising her tearful face from his shoulder, "I do
+forgive you most completely, with my whole heart, and, O! I wanted
+so to tell you this two days ago, but your coldness kept me back. I
+was afraid your anger was not over, and that you would repel me."
+
+"Ah, that coldness was but shame--deep and painful shame. I was
+needlessly harsh with you, and moments of reflection only served to
+fasten on me the belief that I had lost all claim to your love, that
+you could not forgive me. Yes! I did misjudge you, Madge, I know,
+but when I looked back upon the past, and all your faithful love for
+me, I saw you as I had ever seen you, the best of sisters, and then
+my shameful and ungrateful conduct rose up clearly before me. I felt
+so utterly unworthy."
+
+Miss Greylston laid her finger upon her brother's lips. "Nor will I
+listen to you blaming yourself so heavily any longer. John, you had
+cause to be angry with me; I was unreasonably urgent about the
+trees," and she sighed; "I forgot to be gentle and patient; so you
+see I am to blame as well as yourself."
+
+"But I forgot even common kindness and courtesy;" he said gravely.
+"What demon was in my heart, Margaret, I do not know. Avarice, I am
+afraid, was at the bottom of all this, for rich as I am, I somehow
+felt very obstinate about running into any more expense or trouble
+about the road; and then, you remember, I never could love inanimate
+things as you do. But from this time forth I will try--and the
+pines"--
+
+"Let the pines go down, my dear brother, I see now how unreasonable
+I have been," suddenly interrupted Miss Greylston; "and indeed these
+few days past I could not look at them with any pleasure; they only
+reminded me of our separation. Cut them down: I will not say one
+word."
+
+"Now, what a very woman you are, Madge! Just when you have gained
+your will, you want to turn about; but, love, the trees shall not
+come down. I will give them to you; and you cannot refuse my
+peace-offering; and never, whilst John Greylston lives, shall an axe
+touch those pines, unless you say so, Margaret."
+
+He laughed when he said this, but her tears were falling fast.
+
+"Next month will be November; then comes our birth-day; we will be
+fifty years old, Margaret. Time is hurrying on with us; he has given
+me gray locks, and laid some wrinkles on your dear face; but that is
+nothing if our hearts are untouched. O, for so many long years, ever
+since my Ellen was snatched from me,"--and here John Greylston
+paused a moment--"you have been to me a sweet, faithful comforter.
+Madge, dear twin sister, your love has always been a treasure to me;
+but you well know for many years past it has been my _only_ earthly
+treasure. Henceforth, God helping me, I will seek to restrain my
+evil temper. I will be more watchful; if sometimes I fail, Margaret,
+will you not love me, and bear with me?"
+
+Was there any need for that question? Miss Margaret only answered by
+clasping her brother's hand more closely in her own. As they stood
+there in the autumn sunlight, united so lovingly, hand in hand, each
+silently prayed that thus it might be with them always; not only
+through life's autumn, but in that winter so surely for them
+approaching, and which would give place to the fair and beautiful
+spring of the better land.
+
+Annie Bermond's bright face looked in timidly at the open door.
+
+"Come here, darling, come and stand right beside your old uncle and
+aunt, and let us thank you with all our hearts for the good you have
+done us. Don't cry any more, Margaret. Why, fairy, what is the
+matter with you?" for Annie's tears were falling fast upon his hand.
+
+"I hardly know, Uncle John; I never felt so glad in my life before,
+but I cannot help crying. Oh, it is so sweet to think the cloud has
+gone."
+
+"And whose dear hand, under God's blessing, drove the cloud away,
+but yours, my child?"
+
+Annie was silent; she only clung the tighter to her uncle's arm, and
+Miss Greylston said, with a beaming smile,
+
+"Now, Annie, we see the good purpose God had in sending you here
+to-day. You have done for us the blessed work of a peace-maker."
+
+Annie had always been dear to her uncle and aunt, but from that
+golden autumn day, she became, if such a thing could be, dearer than
+ever--bound to them by an exceedingly sweet tie.
+
+Years went by. One snowy evening, a merry Christmas party was
+gathered together in the wide parlour at Greylston Cottage,--nearly
+all the nephews and nieces were there. Mrs. Lennox, the "Sophy" of
+earlier days, with her husband; Richard Bermond and his pretty
+little wife were amongst the number; and Annie, dear, bright
+Annie--her fair face only the fairer and sweeter for time--sat,
+talking in a corner with young Walter Selwyn. John Greylston went
+slowly to the window, and pushed aside the curtains, and as he stood
+there looking out somewhat gravely in the bleak and wintry night, he
+felt a soft hand touch him, and he turned and found Annie Bermond by
+his side.
+
+"You looked so lonely, my dear uncle."
+
+"And that is the reason you deserted Walter?" he said, laughing.
+"Well, I will soon send you back to him. But, look out here first,
+Annie, and tell me what you see;" and she laid her face close to the
+window-pane, and, after a minute's silence, said,
+
+"I see the ground white with snow, the sky gleaming with stars, and
+the dear old pines, tall and stately as ever."
+
+"Yes, the pines; that is what I meant, my child. Ah, they have been
+my silent monitors ever since that day; you remember it, Annie!
+Bless you, child! how much good you did us then."
+
+But Annie was silently crying beside him. John Greylton wiped his
+eyes, and then he called his sister Margaret to the window.
+
+"Annie and I have been looking at the old pines, and you can guess
+what we were thinking about. As for myself," he added, "I never see
+those trees without feeling saddened and rebuked. I never recall
+that season of error, without the deepest shame and grief. And still
+the old pines stand. Well, Madge, one day they will shade our
+graves; and of late I have thought that day would dawn very soon."
+
+Annie Bermond let the curtain fall very slowly forward, and buried
+her face in her hands; but the two old pilgrims by her side, John
+and Margaret Greylston, looked at each other with a smile of hope
+and joy. They had long been "good and faithful servants," and now
+they awaited the coming of "the Master," with a calm, sweet
+patience, knowing it would be well with them, when He would call
+them hence.
+
+The pines creaked mournfully in the winter wind, and the stars
+looked down upon bleak wastes, and snow-shrouded meadows; yet the
+red blaze heaped blithely on the hearth, taking in, in its fair
+light, the merry circle sitting side by side, and the thoughtful
+little group standing so quietly by the window. And even now the
+picture fades, and is gone. The curtain falls--the story of John and
+Margaret Greylston is ended.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT.
+
+
+
+
+
+IF men cared less for wealth and fame,
+  And less for battle-fields and glory;
+If, writ in human hearts, a name
+  Seemed better than in song and story;
+If men, instead of nursing pride,
+  Would learn to hate and to abhor it--
+    If more relied
+    On Love to guide,
+The world would be the better for it.
+
+If men dealt less in stocks and lands,
+  And more in bonds and deeds fraternal;
+If Love's work had more willing hands
+  To link this world to the supernal;
+If men stored up Love's oil and wine,
+  And on bruised human hearts would pour it;
+    If "yours" and "mine"
+    Would once combine,
+The world would be the better for it.
+
+If more would act the play of Life,
+  And fewer spoil it in rehearsal;
+If Bigotry would sheathe its knife
+  Till Good became more universal;
+If Custom, gray with ages grown,
+  Had fewer blind men to adore it--
+    If talent shone
+    In truth alone,
+The world would be the better for it.
+
+If men were wise in little things--
+  Affecting less in all their dealings--
+If hearts had fewer rusted strings
+  To isolate their kindly feelings;
+If men, when Wrong beats down the Right,
+  Would strike together and restore it--
+    If Right made Might
+    In every fight,
+The world would be the better for it.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TWO SIDES TO A STORY.
+
+
+
+
+
+"HAVE you seen much of your new neighbours, yet?" asked Mrs. Morris,
+as she stepped in to have an hour's social chat with her old friend,
+Mrs. Freeman.
+
+"Very little," was the reply. "Occasionally I have seen the lady
+walking in her garden, and have sometimes watched the sports of the
+children on the side-walk, but this is all. It is not like the
+country, you know. One may live here for years, and not become
+acquainted with the next-door neighbours."
+
+"Some may do so," replied Mrs. Morris, "but, for my part, I always
+like to know something of those around me. It is not always
+desirable to make the acquaintance of near neighbours, but by a
+little observation it is very easy to gain an insight into their
+characters and position in society. The family which has moved into
+the house next to yours, for instance, lived near to me for nearly
+two years, and although I never spoke to one of them, I can tell you
+of some strange transactions which took place in their house."
+
+"Indeed!" replied Mrs. Freeman, with little manifestation of
+interest or curiosity; but Mrs. Morris was too eager to communicate
+her information to notice her friend's manner, and lowering her
+voice to a confidential tone, continued:--
+
+"There is an old lady in their family whom they abuse in the most
+shocking manner. She is very rich, and they by threats and
+ill-treatment extort large sums of money from her."
+
+"A singular way of inducing any one to bestow favours," replied Mrs.
+Freeman, dryly. "Why does not the old lady leave there?"
+
+"Bless your heart, my dear friend, she cannot get an opportunity!
+They never suffer her to leave the house unattended. Once or twice,
+indeed, she succeeded in getting into the street, but they
+discovered her in a moment, and actually forced her into the house.
+You smile incredulously, but if you had been an eye-witness of their
+proceedings, as I have, or had heard the screams of the poor
+creature, and the heavy blows which they inflict, you would be
+convinced of the truth of what I tell you."
+
+"I do not doubt the truth of your story in the least, my dear Mrs.
+Morris. I only think that in this case, as in most others, there
+must be two sides to the story. It is almost incredible that such
+barbarous treatment could continue for any great length of time
+without discovery and exposure."
+
+"Oh, as to that, people are not fond of getting themselves into
+trouble by meddling with their neighbours' affairs. I am very
+cautious about it myself. I would not have mentioned this matter to
+any one but an old friend like yourself. It seemed best to put you
+on your guard."
+
+"Thank you," was the smiling reply. "It is hardly probable that I
+shall be called upon to make any acquaintance with my new neighbours
+but if I am, I certainly shall not forget your caution."
+
+Satisfied that she had succeeded, at least partially, in awakening
+the suspicions of her friend, Mrs. Morris took her departure, while
+Mrs. Freeman, quite undisturbed by her communications, continued her
+usual quiet round of domestic duties, thinking less of the affairs
+of her neighbours than of those of her own household.
+
+Occasionally she saw the old lady whom Mrs. Morris had mentioned
+walking in the adjoining garden, sometimes alone, and sometimes
+accompanied by the lady of the house, or one of the children. There
+was nothing striking in her appearance. She looked cheerful and
+contented, and showed no signs of confinement or abuse. Once, when
+Mrs. Freeman was in her garden, she had looked over the fence, and
+praised the beauty of her flowers, and when a bunch was presented to
+her, had received them with that almost childish delight which aged
+people often manifest.
+
+Weeks passed on, and the remarks of Mrs. Morris were almost
+forgotten, when Mrs. Freeman was aroused one night by loud cries,
+apparently proceeding from the adjoining house; and on listening
+intently could plainly distinguish the sound of heavy blows, and
+also the voice of the old lady in question, as if in earnest
+expostulation and entreaty.
+
+Mrs. Freeman aroused her husband, and together they listened in
+anxiety and alarm. For nearly an hour the sounds continued, but at
+length all was again quiet. It was long, however, before they could
+compose themselves to rest. It was certainly strange and
+unaccountable, and there was something so inhuman in the thought of
+abusing an aged woman that their hearts revolted at the idea.
+
+Still Mrs. Freeman maintained, as was her wont, that there must be
+two sides to the story; and after vainly endeavouring to imagine
+what the other side could be, she fell asleep, and was undisturbed
+until morning.
+
+All seemed quiet the next day, and Mrs. Freeman had somewhat
+recovered from the alarm of the previous night, when she was again
+visited by her friend, Mrs. Morris. As usual, she had confidential
+communications to make, and particularly wished the advice of Mrs.
+Freeman in a matter which she declared weighed heavily upon her
+mind; and being assured that they should be undisturbed, began at
+once to impart the weighty secret.
+
+"You remember Mrs. Dawson, who went with her husband to Europe, a
+year or two ago?"
+
+"Certainly I do," was the reply. "I was well acquainted with her."
+
+"Do you recollect a girl who had lived with her for several years? I
+think her name was Mary Berkly."
+
+"Quite well. Mrs. Dawson placed great confidence in her, and wished
+to take her abroad, but Mary was engaged to an honest carpenter, in
+good business, and wisely preferred a comfortable house in her own
+country."
+
+"She had other reasons, I suspect," replied Mrs. Morris,
+mysteriously, "but you will hear. This Mary Berkly, or as she is now
+called, Mary White, lives not far from my present residence. Her
+husband is comfortably off, and his wife is not obliged to work,
+excepting in her own family, but still she will occasionally, as a
+favour, do up a few muslins for particular persons. You know she was
+famous for her skill in those things. The other day, having a few
+pieces which I was particularly anxious to have look nice, I called
+upon her to see if she would wash them for me. She was not at home,
+but her little niece, who lives with her, a child of four years old,
+said that Aunt Mary would be in directly, and asked me to walk into
+the parlour. I did so, and the little thing stood by my side
+chattering away like a magpie. In reply to my questions as to
+whether she liked to live with her aunt, what she amused herself
+with, &c., &c., she entered into a long account of her various
+playthings, and ended by saying that she would show me a beautiful
+new doll which her good uncle had given her, if I would please to
+unlock the door of a closet near where I was sitting, as she could
+not turn the key.
+
+"To please the child I unlocked the door. She threw it wide open,
+and to my astonishment I saw that it was filled with valuable silver
+plate, china, and other articles of similar kind, some of which I
+particularly remembered having seen at Mrs. Dawson's."
+
+"Perhaps she gave them to Mary," suggested Mrs. Freeman. "She was
+quite attached to her."
+
+"Impossible!" exclaimed Mrs. Morris. "Valuable silver plate is not
+often given to servants. But I have not yet finished. Just as the
+child had found the doll Mrs. White entered, and on seeing the
+closet-door open, said sternly to the child,
+
+"'Rosy, you did very wrong to open that door without my leave. I
+shall not let you take your doll again for a week;' and looking very
+red and confused, she hastily closed it, and turned the key. Now, to
+my mind, these are suspicious circumstances, particularly as I
+recollect that Mr. and Mrs. Dawson were robbed of silver plate
+shortly before they went to Europe, and no trace could be found of
+the thieves."
+
+"True," replied Mrs. Freeman, thoughtfully; "I recollect the robbery
+very well. Still I cannot believe that Mary had anything to do with
+it. I was always pleased with her modest manner, and thought her an
+honest, capable girl."
+
+"She is very smooth-faced, I know," answered Mrs. Morris, "but
+appearances are certainly against her. I am confident that the
+articles I saw belonged to Mrs. Dawson."
+
+"There may be another side to the story, however," remarked her
+friend; "but why not mention your suspicions to Mrs. Dawson? You
+know she has returned, and is boarding in the upper part of the
+city. I have her address, somewhere."
+
+"I know where she lives; but would you really advise me to meddle
+with the affair? I shall make enemies of Mr. and Mrs. White, if they
+hear of it, and I like to have the good-will of all, both, rich and
+poor."
+
+"I do not believe that Mary would take anything wrongfully," replied
+Mrs. Freeman; "but if my suspicions were as fully aroused as yours
+seem to be, I presume I should mention what I saw to Mrs. Dawson, if
+it were only for the sake of hearing the other side of the story,
+and thus removing such unpleasant doubts from my mind. And, indeed,
+if you really think that the articles which you saw were stolen, it
+becomes your duty to inform the owners thereof, or you become, in a
+measure, a partaker of the theft."
+
+"That is true," said Mrs. Morris, rising, "and in that way I might
+ultimately gain the ill-will of Mrs. Dawson; therefore I think I
+will go at once and tell her my suspicions."
+
+"Which, I am convinced, you will find erroneous," replied Mrs.
+Freeman.
+
+"We shall see," was the answer of her friend, accompanied by an
+ominous shake of the head; and promising to call upon Mrs. Freeman
+on her return, she took leave.
+
+During her absence, the alarming cries from the next house were
+again heard; and presently the old lady appeared on the side-walk,
+apparently in great agitation and alarm, and gazing wildly about
+her, as if seeking a place of refuge; but she was instantly seized
+in the forcible manner Mrs. Morris had described, and carried into
+the house.
+
+"This is dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs. Freeman. "What excuse can there
+be for such treatment?" and for a moment her heart was filled with
+indignation toward her supposed barbarous neighbours; but a little
+reflection caused her still to suspend her judgment, and endeavour
+to learn both sides of the story.
+
+As she sat ruminating on this singular occurrence, and considering
+what was her duty in regard to it, she was aroused by the entrance
+of Mrs. Morris, who, with an air of vexation and disappointment,
+threw herself upon the nearest chair, exclaiming,
+
+"A pretty piece of work I have been about! It is all owing to your
+advice, Mrs. Freeman. If it had not been for you I should not have
+made such a fool of myself."
+
+"Why, what has happened to you?" asked Mrs. Freeman, anxiously.
+"What advice have I given you which has caused trouble?"
+
+"You recommended my calling upon Mrs. Dawson, did you not?"
+
+"Certainly: I thought it the easiest way to relieve your mind from
+painful suspicions. What did she say?"
+
+"Say! I wish you could have seen the look she gave me when I told
+her what I saw at Mrs. White's. You know her haughty manner? She
+thanked me for the trouble I had taken on her account, and begged
+leave to assure me that she had perfect confidence in the honesty of
+Mrs. White. The articles which had caused me so much unnecessary
+anxiety were intrusted to her care when they went to Europe, and it
+had not yet been convenient to reclaim them. I cannot tell you how
+contemptuously she spoke. I never felt so mortified in my life."
+
+"There is no occasion for feeling so, if your intentions were good,"
+answered Mrs. Freeman; "and certainly it must be a relief to you to
+hear the other side of the story. Nothing less would have convinced
+you of Mrs. White's honesty."
+
+Mrs. Morris was prevented from replying by the sudden and violent
+ringing of the bell, and an instant after the door was thrown open,
+and the old lady, whose supposed unhappy condition had called forth
+their sympathies, rushed into the room.
+
+"Oh, save me! save me!" she exclaimed, frantically. "I am
+pursued,--protect me, for the love of Heaven!"
+
+"Poor creature!" said Mrs. Morris. "You see that I was not mistaken
+in this story, at least. There can be no two sides to this."
+
+"Depend upon it there is," replied Mrs. Freeman; but she courteously
+invited her visiter to be seated, and begged to know what had
+occasioned her so much alarm.
+
+The poor lady told a plausible and piteous tale of ill-treatment,
+and, indeed, actual abuse. Mrs. Morris listened with a ready ear,
+and loudly expressed her horror and indignation. Mrs. Freeman was
+more guarded. There was something in the old lady's appearance and
+manners that excited an undefinable feeling of fear and aversion.
+Mrs. Freeman felt much perplexed as to the course she ought to
+pursue, and looked anxiously at the clock to see if the time for her
+husband's return was near.
+
+It still wanted nearly two hours, and after a little more
+consideration she decided to go herself into the next door, ask for
+an interview with the lady of the house, frankly state what had
+taken place, and demand an explanation. This resolution she
+communicated in a low voice to Mrs. Morris, who opposed it as
+imprudent and ill-judged.
+
+"Of course they will deny the charge," she argued, "and by letting
+them know where the poor creature has taken shelter, you will again
+expose her to their cruelty. Besides, you will get yourself into
+trouble. My advice to you is to keep quiet until your husband
+returns, and then to assist the poor lady secretly to go to her
+friends in the country, who she says will gladly receive her."
+
+"But I am anxious to hear both sides of the story before I decide to
+assist her," replied Mrs. Freeman.
+
+"Nonsense!" exclaimed her friend. "Even you must see that there
+cannot be two sides to this story. There is no possible excuse for
+cruelty, and to an inoffensive, aged woman."
+
+While they were thus consulting together, their visiter regarded
+them with a troubled look, and a fierce gleaming eye, which did not,
+escape Mrs. Freeman's observation; and just as Mrs. Morris finished
+speaking, the maniac sprang upon her, like a tiger on his prey, and,
+seizing her by the throat, demanded what new mischief was plotting
+against her.
+
+The screams of the terrified women drew the attention of the son of
+the old lady, who had just discovered her absence, and was hastening
+in search of her. At once suspecting the truth, he rushed without
+ceremony into his neighbour's house, and speedily rescued Mrs,
+Morris from her unpleasant and somewhat dangerous situation. After
+conveying his mother to her own room, and consigning her to strict
+custody, he returned, and respectfully apologized to Mrs. Freeman
+for what had taken place.
+
+"His poor mother," he said, "had for several years been subject to
+occasional fits of insanity. Generally she had appeared harmless,
+excepting as regarded herself. Unless prevented by force, she would
+sometimes beat her own flesh in a shocking manner, uttering at the
+same time loud cries and complaints of the abuse of those whom she
+supposed to be tormenting her.
+
+"In her lucid intervals she had so earnestly besought them not to
+place her in the asylum for the insane, but to continue to bear with
+her under their own roof, that they had found it impossible to
+refuse their solemn promise to comply with her wishes.
+
+"For themselves, their love for her rendered them willing to bear
+with her infirmities, but it should be their earnest care that their
+neighbours should not again be disturbed."
+
+Mrs. Freeman kindly expressed her sympathy and forgiveness for the
+alarm which she had experienced, and the gentleman took leave.
+
+Poor Mrs. Morris had remained perfectly silent since her release;
+but as the door closed on their visiter, and her friend kindly
+turned to inquire how she found herself, she recovered her speech,
+and exclaimed, energetically,
+
+"I will never, never say again that there are not two sides to a
+story. If I am ever tempted to believe one side without waiting to
+hear the other, I shall surely feel again the hands of that old
+witch upon my throat."
+
+"Old witch!" repeated Mrs. Freeman. "Surely she demands our sympathy
+as much as when we thought her suffering under ill-treatment. It is
+indeed a sad thing to be bereft of reason. But this will be a useful
+lesson to both of us: for I will readily acknowledge that in this
+instance I was sometimes tempted to forget that there are always
+'two sides to a story.'"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE KINDNESSES.
+
+
+
+
+
+NOT long since, it was announced that a large fortune had been left
+to a citizen of the United States by a foreigner, who, some years
+before, had "become ill" while travelling in this country, and whose
+sick-bed was watched with the utmost care and kindness by the
+citizen referred to. The stranger recovered, continued his journey,
+and finally returned to his own country. The conduct of the American
+at a moment so critical, and when, without relatives or friends, the
+invalid was languishing in a strange land, was not forgotten. He
+remembered it in his thoughtful and meditative moments, and when
+about to prepare for another world, his gratitude was manifested in
+a truly signal manner. A year or two ago, an individual in this city
+was labouring under great pecuniary difficulty. He was unexpectedly
+called upon for a considerable sum of money; and, although his means
+were abundant, they were not at that time immediately available.
+Puzzled and perplexed, he hesitated as to his best course, when, by
+the merest chance, he met an old acquaintance, and incidentally
+mentioned the facts of the case. The other referred to an act of
+kindness that he had experienced years before, said that he bad
+never forgotten it, and that nothing would afford him more pleasure
+than to extend the relief that was required, and thus show, his
+grateful appreciation of the courtesy of former years! The kindness
+alluded to was a mere trifle, comparatively speaking, and its
+recollection had passed entirely from the memory of the individual
+who had performed it. Not so, however, with the obliged. He had
+never forgotten it, and the result proved, in the most conclusive
+manner, that he was deeply grateful.
+
+We have mentioned the two incidents with the object of inculcating
+the general policy of courtesy and kindness, of sympathy and
+assistance, in our daily intercourse with our fellow-creatures. It
+is the true course under all circumstances. "Little kindnesses"
+sometimes make an impression that "lingers and lasts" for years.
+This is especially the case with the sensitive, the generous, and
+the high-minded. And how much may be accomplished by this duty of
+courtesy and humanity! How the paths of life may be smoothed and
+softened! How the present may be cheered, and the future rendered
+bright and beautiful!
+
+There are, it is true, some selfish spirits, who can neither
+appreciate nor reciprocate a courteous or a generous act. They are
+for themselves--"now and for ever"--if we may employ such a
+phrase--and appear never to be satisfied. You can never do enough
+for them. Nay, the deeper the obligation, the colder the heart. They
+grow jealous, distrustful, and finally begin to hate their
+benefactors. But these, we trust, are "the exceptions," not "the
+rule." Many a heart has been won, many a friendship has been
+secured, many a position has been acquired, through the exercise of
+such little kindnesses and courtesies as are natural to the generous
+in spirit and the noble of soul--to all, indeed, who delight, not
+only in promoting their own prosperity, but in contributing to the
+welfare of every member of the human family. Who cannot remember
+some incident of his own life, in which an individual, then and
+perhaps now a stranger--one who has not been seen for years, and
+never may be seen again on this side the grave, manifested the true,
+the genuine, the gentle spirit of a gentleman and a Christian, in
+some mere trifle--some little but impulsive and spontaneous act,
+which nevertheless developed the whole heart, and displayed the real
+character! Distance and time may separate, and our pursuits and
+vocations may be in paths distinct, dissimilar, and far apart. Yet,
+there are moments--quiet, calm, and contemplative, when memory will
+wander back to the incidents referred to, and we will feel a secret
+bond of affinity, friendship, and brotherhood. The name will be
+mentioned with respect if not affection, and a desire will be
+experienced to repay, in some way or on some occasion, the generous
+courtesy of the by-gone time. It is so easy to be civil and
+obliging, to be kindly and humane! We not only thus assist the
+comfort of others, but we promote our own mental enjoyment. Life,
+moreover, is full of chance's and changes. A few years, sometimes,
+produce extraordinary revolutions in the fortunes of men. The
+haughty of to-day may be the humble of to-morrow; the feeble may be
+the powerful; the rich may be the poor, But, if elevated by
+affluence or by position, the greater the necessity, the stronger
+the duty to be kindly, courteous, and conciliatory to those less
+fortunate. We can afford to be so; and a proper appreciation of our
+position, a due sympathy for the misfortunes of others, and a
+grateful acknowledge to Divine Providence, require that we should be
+so. Life is short at best. We are here a few years--we sink into the
+grave--and even our memory is phantom-like and evanescent. How
+plain, then, is our duty! It is to be true to our position, to our
+conscience, and to the obligations imposed upon us by society, by
+circumstances, and by our responsibility to the Author of all that
+is beneficent and good.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED WITH.
+
+
+
+
+
+WE are advised to leave off contention before it be meddled with, by
+one usually accounted a very wise man. Had he never given the world
+any other evidence of superior wisdom, this admonition alone would
+have been sufficient to have established his claims thereto. It
+shows that he had power to penetrate to the very root of a large
+share of human misery. For what is the great evil in our condition
+here? Is it not misunderstanding, disagreement, alienation,
+contention, and the passions and results flowing from these? Are not
+contempt, and hatred, and strife, and alteration, and slander, and
+evil-speaking, the things hardest to bear, and most prolific of
+suffering, in the lot of human life? The worst woes of life are such
+as spring from, these sources.
+
+Is there any cure for these maladies? Is there anything to prevent
+or abate these exquisite sufferings? The wise man directs our
+attention to a remedial preventive in the advice above referred to.
+His counsel to those whose lot unites them in the same local
+habitations and name to those who are leagued in friendship or
+business, in the changes of sympathy and the chances of collision,
+is, to suppress anger or dissatisfaction, to be candid and
+charitable in judging, and, by all means, to leave off contention
+before it be meddled with. His counsel to all is to endure injury
+meekly, not to give expression to the sense of wrong, even when we
+might seem justified in resistance or complaint. His counsel is to
+yield something we might fairly claim, to pardon when we might
+punish, to sacrifice somewhat of our rights for the sake of peace
+and friendly affection. His counsel is not to fire at every
+provocation, not to return evil for evil, not to cherish any fires
+of revenge, burning to be even with the injurious person. His
+counsel is to curb our imperiousness, to repress our impatience, to
+pause in the burst of another's feeling, to pour water upon the
+kindling flames, or, at the very least, to abstain from adding any
+fresh fuel thereto.
+
+One proof of the superior wisdom of this counsel is, that few seem
+to appreciate or perceive it. To many it seems no great virtue or
+wisdom, no great and splendid thing, in some small issue of feeling
+or opinion, in the family or among friends, to withhold a little, to
+tighten the rein upon some headlong propensity, and await a calm for
+fair adjustment. Such a course is not usually held to be a proof of
+wisdom or virtue; and men are much more ready to praise and think
+well of smartness, and spirit, and readiness for an encounter. To
+leave off contention before it is meddled with does not command any
+very general admiration; it is too quiet a virtue, with no striking
+attitudes, and with lips which answer nothing. This is too often
+mistaken for dullness, and want of proper spirit. It requires
+discernment and superior wisdom to see a beauty in such repose and
+self-control, beyond the explosions of anger and retaliation. With
+the multitude, self-restraining meekness under provocation is a
+virtue which stands quite low in the catalogue. It is very
+frequently set down as pusillanimity and cravenness of spirit. But
+it is not so; for there is a self-restraint under provocation which
+is far from being cowardice, or want of feeling, or shrinking from
+consequences; there is a victory over passionate impulses which is
+more difficult and more meritorious than a victory on the bloody
+battle-field. It requires more power, more self-command, often, to
+leave off contention, when provocation and passion are causing the
+blood to boil, than to rush into it.
+
+Were this virtue more duly appreciated, and the admonition of the
+Wise Man more extensively heeded, what a change would be effected in
+human life! How many of its keenest sufferings would be annihilated!
+The spark which kindles many great fires would be withheld; and,
+great as are the evils and sufferings caused by war, they are not as
+great, probably, as those originating in impatience and want of
+temper. The fretfulness of human life, it seems not hard to believe,
+is a greater evil, and destroys more happiness, than all the bloody
+scenes of the, battle-field. The evils of war have generally
+something to lighten the burden of them in a sense of necessity, or
+of rights or honour invaded; but there is nothing of like importance
+to alleviate the sufferings caused by fretfulness, impatience, want
+of temper. The excitable peevishness which kindles at trifles, that
+roughens the daily experience of a million families, that scatters
+its little stings at the table and by the hearth-stone, what does
+this but unmixed harm? What ingredient does it furnish but of gall?
+Its fine wounding may be of petty consequence in any given case, and
+its tiny darts easily extracted; but, when habitually carried into
+the whole texture of life, it destroys more peace than plague and
+famine and the sword. It is a deeper anguish than grief; it is a
+sharper pang than the afflicted moan with; it is a heavier pressure
+from human hands than when affliction lays her hand upon you. All
+this deduction from human comfort, all this addition to human
+suffering, may be saved, by heeding the admonition of wisdom given
+by one of her sons. When provoked by the follies or the passions,
+the offences or neglects, the angry words or evil-speaking of
+others, restrain your propensity to complain or contend; leave off
+contention before you take the first step towards it. You will then
+be greater than he that taketh a city. You will be a genial
+companion in your family and among your neighbours. You will be
+loved at home and blessed abroad. You will be a source of comfort to
+others, and carry a consciousness of praiseworthiness in your own
+bosom. On the contrary, an acrid disposition, a readiness to enter
+into contention, is like vinegar to the teeth, like caustic to an
+open sore. It eats out all the beauty, tenderness, and affection of
+domestic and social life. For all this the remedy is simple. Put a
+restraint upon your feelings; give up a little; take less than
+belongs to you; endure more than should be put upon you; make
+allowance for another's judgment or educational defects; consider
+circumstances and constitution; leave off contention before it be
+meddled with. If you do otherwise, quick resentment and stiff
+maintenance of your position will breed endless disputes and
+bitterness. But happy will be the results of the opposite course,
+accomplished every day and every hour in the family, with friends,
+with companions, with all with whom you have any dealings or any
+commerce in life.
+
+Let any one set himself to the cultivation of this virtue of
+meekness and self-restraint, and he will find that it cannot be
+secured by one or a few efforts, however resolute; by a few
+struggles, however severe. It requires industrious culture; it
+requires that he improve every little occasion to quench strife and
+fan concord, till a constant sweetness smooths the face of domestic
+life, and kindness and tenderness become the very expression of the
+countenance. This virtue of self-control must grow by degrees. It
+must grow by a succession of abstinences from returning evil for
+evil, by a succession of leaving off contention before the first
+angry word escapes.
+
+It may help to cultivate this virtue, to practise some forethought.
+When tempted to irritable, censorious speech, one might with
+advantage call to recollection the times, perhaps frequent, when
+words uttered in haste have caused sorrow or repentance. Then,
+again, the fact might be called to mind, that when we lose a friend,
+every harsh word we may have spoken rises to condemn us. There is a
+resurrection, not for the dead only, but for the injuries we have
+fixed in their hearts--in hearts, it may be, bound to our own, and
+to which we owed gentleness instead of harshness. The shafts of
+reproach, which come from the graves of those who have been wounded
+by our fretfulness and irritability, are often hard to bear. Let
+meek forbearance and self-control prevent such suffering, and guard
+us against the condemnations of the tribunal within.
+
+There is another tribunal, also, which it were wise to think of. The
+rule of that tribunal is, that if we forgive not those who trespass
+against us, we ourselves shall not be forgiven. "He shall have
+judgment without mercy that hath showed no mercy." Only, then, if we
+do not need, and expect never to beg the mercy of the Lord to
+ourselves, may we withhold our mercy from our fellow-men.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+"ALL THE DAY IDLE."
+
+
+
+
+
+WHEREFORE idle?--when the harvest beckoning,
+  Nods its ripe tassels to the brightening sky?
+Arise and labour ere the time of reckoning,
+  Ere the long shadows and the night draw night.
+
+Wherefore idle?--Swing the sickle stoutly!
+  Bind thy rich sheaves exultingly and fast!
+Nothing dismayed, do thy great task devoutly--
+  Patient and strong, and hopeful to the last!
+
+Wherefore idle?--Labour, not inaction,
+  Is the soul's birthright, and its truest rest;
+Up to thy work!--It is Nature's fit exaction--
+  He who toils humblest, bravest, toils the best.
+
+Wherefore idle?--God himself is working;
+  His great thought wearieth not, nor standeth still,
+In every throb of his vast heart is lurking
+  Some mighty purpose of his mightier will.
+
+Wherefore idle?--Not a leaf's slight rustle
+  But chides thee in thy vain, inglorious rest;
+Be a strong actor in the great world,--bustle,--
+  Not a, weak minion or a pampered guest!
+
+Wherefore idle?--Oh I _my_ faint soul, wherefore?
+  Shake first from thine own powers dull sloth's control;
+Then lift thy voice with an exulting "Therefore
+  Thou, too, shalt conquer, oh, thou striving soul!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE BUSHEL OF CORN.
+
+
+
+
+
+FARMER GRAY had a neighbour who was not the best-tempered man in the
+world though mainly kind and obliging. He was shoemaker. His name
+was Barton. One day, in harvest-time, when every man on the farm was
+as busy as a bee, this man came over to Farmer Gray's, and said, in
+rather a petulant tone of voice,
+
+"Mr. Gray, I wish you would send over, and drive your geese home."
+
+"Why so, Mr. Barton; what have my geese been doing?" said the
+farmer, in a mild, quiet-tone.
+
+"They pick my pigs' ears when they are eating, and go into my
+garden, and I will not have it!" the neighbour replied, in a still
+more petulant voice.
+
+"I am really sorry it, Neighbour Barton, but what can I do?"
+
+"Why, yoke them, and thus keep them on your own premises. It's no
+kind of a way to let your geese run all over every farm and garden
+in the neighborhood."
+
+"But I cannot see to it, now. It is harvest-time, Friend Barton, and
+every man, woman, and child on the farm has as much as he or she can
+do. Try and bear it for a week or so, and then I will see if I can
+possibly remedy the evil."
+
+"I can't bear it, and I won't bear it any longer!" said the
+shoemaker. "So if you do not take care of them, Friend Gray, I shall
+have to take care of them for you."
+
+"Well, Neighbour Barton, you can do as you please," Farmer Gray
+replied, in his usual quiet tone. "I am sorry that they trouble you,
+but I cannot attend to them now."
+
+"I'll attend to them for you, see if I don't," said the shoemaker,
+still more angrily than when he first called upon Farmer Gray; and
+then turned upon his heel, and strode off hastily towards his own
+house, which was quite near to the old farmer's.
+
+"What upon earth can be the matter with them geese?" said Mrs. Gray,
+about fifteen minutes afterwards.
+
+"I really cannot tell, unless Neighbour Barton is taking care of
+them. He threatened to do so, if I didn't yoke them right off."
+
+"Taking care of them! How taking care of them?"
+
+"As to that, I am quite in the dark. Killing them, perhaps. He said
+they picked at his pigs' ears, and drove them away when they were
+eating, and that he wouldn't have it. He wanted me to yoke them
+right off, but that I could not do, now, as all the hands are busy.
+So, I suppose, he is engaged in the neighbourly business of taking
+care of our geese."
+
+"John! William! run over and see what Mr. Barton is doing with my
+geese," said Mrs. Gray, in a quick and anxious tone, to two little
+boys who were playing near.
+
+The urchins scampered off, well pleased to perform any errand.
+
+"Oh, if he has dared to do anything to my geese, I will never
+forgive him!" the good wife said, angrily.
+
+"H-u-s-h, Sally! make no rash speeches. It is more than probable
+that he has killed some two or three of them. But never mind, if he
+has. He will get over this pet, and be sorry for it."
+
+"Yes; but what good will his being sorry do me? Will it bring my
+geese to life?"
+
+"Ah, well, Sally, never mind. Let us wait until we learn what all
+this disturbance is about."
+
+In about ten minutes the children came home, bearing the bodies of
+three geese, each without a head.
+
+"Oh, is not that too much for human endurance?" cried Mrs. Gray.
+"Where did you find them?"
+
+"We found them lying out in the road," said the oldest of the two
+children, "and when we picked them up, Mr. Barton said, 'Tell your
+father that I have yoked his geese for him, to save him the trouble,
+as his hands are all too busy to do it.'"
+
+"I'd sue him for it!" said Mrs. Gray, in an indignant tone.
+
+"And what good would that do, Sally?"
+
+"Why, it would do a great deal of good. It would teach him better
+manners. It would punish him; and he deserves punishment."
+
+"And punish us into the bargain. We have lost three geese, now, but
+we still have their good fat bodies to eat. A lawsuit would cost us
+many geese, and not leave us even so much as the feathers, besides
+giving us a world of trouble and vexation. No, no, Sally; just let
+it rest, and he will be sorry for it, I know."
+
+"Sorry for it, indeed! And what good will his being sorry for it do
+us, I should like to know? Next he will kill a cow, and then we must
+be satisfied with his being sorry for it! Now, I can tell you, that
+I don't believe in that doctrine. Nor do I believe anything about
+his being sorry--the crabbed, ill-natured wretch!"
+
+"Don't call hard names, Sally," said Farmer Gray, in a mild,
+soothing tone. "Neighbour Barton was not himself when he killed the
+geese. Like every other angry person, he was a little insane, and
+did what he would not have done had he been perfectly in his right
+mind. When you are a little excited, you know, Sally, that even you
+do and say unreasonable things."
+
+"Me do and say unreasonable things!" exclaimed Mrs. Gray, with a
+look and tone of indignant astonishment; "me do and say unreasonable
+things, when I am angry! I don't understand you, Mr. Gray."
+
+"May-be I can help you a little. Don't you remember how angry you
+were when Mr. Mellon's old brindle got into our garden, and trampled
+over your lettuce-bed, and how you struck her with the oven-pole,
+and knocked off one of her horns?"
+
+"But I didn't mean to do that, though."
+
+"No; but then you were angry, and struck old Brindle with a right
+good will. And if Mr. Mellon had felt disposed, he might have
+prosecuted for damages."
+
+"But she had no business there."
+
+"Of course not. Neither had our geese any business in Neighbour
+Barton's yard. But, perhaps, I can help you to another instance,
+that will be more conclusive, in regard to your doing and saying
+unreasonable things, when you are angry. You remember the patent
+churn?"
+
+"Yes; but never mind about that."
+
+"So you have not forgotten how unreasonable you was about the churn.
+It wasn't good for anything--you knew it wasn't; and you'd never put
+a jar of cream into it as long as you lived--that you wouldn't. And
+yet, on trial, you found that churn the best you had ever used, and
+you wouldn't part with it on any consideration. So you see, Sally,
+thai even you can say and do unreasonable things, when you are
+angry, just as well as Mr. Barton can. Let us then consider him a
+little, and give him time to get over his angry fit. It will be much
+better to do so."
+
+Mrs. Gray saw that her husband was right, but still she felt
+indignant at the outrage committed on her geese. She did not,
+however, say anything about suing the shoemaker--for old Brindle's
+head, from which the horn had been knocked off, was not yet entirely
+well, and one prosecution very naturally suggested the idea of
+another. So she took her three fat geese, and after stripping off
+their feathers, had them prepared for the table.
+
+On the next morning, as Farmer Gray was going along the road, he met
+the shoemaker, and as they had to pass very near to each other, the
+farmer smiled, and bowed, and spoke kindly. Mr. Barton looked and
+felt very uneasy, but Farmer Gray did not seem to remember the
+unpleasant incident of the day before.
+
+It was about eleven o'clock of the same day that one of Farmer
+Gray's little boys came running to him, and crying,
+
+"Oh, father! father! Mr. Barton's hogs are in our cornfield."
+
+"Then I must go and drive them out," said Mr. Gray, in a quiet tone.
+
+"Drive them out!" ejaculated Mrs. Gray; "drive 'em out, indeed! I'd
+shoot them, that's what I'd do! I'd serve them as he served my geese
+yesterday."
+
+"But that wouldn't bring the geese to life again, Sally."
+
+"I don't care if it wouldn't. It would be paying him in his own
+coin, and that's all he deserves."
+
+"You know what the Bible says, Sally, about grievous words, and they
+apply with stronger force to grievous actions. No, no, I will return
+Neighbour Barton good for evil. That is the best way. He has done
+wrong, and I am sure is sorry for it. And as I wish him still to
+remain sorry for so unkind and unneighbourly an action, I intend
+making use of the best means for keeping him sorry."
+
+"Then you will be revenged on him, anyhow."
+
+"No, Sally--not revenged. I hope I have no such feeling. For I am
+not angry with Neighbour Barton, who has done himself a much greater
+wrong than he has done me. But I wish him to see clearly how wrong
+he acted, that he may do so no more. And then we shall not have any
+cause to complain of him, nor he any to be grieved, as I am sure he
+is, at his own hasty conduct. But while I am talking here, his hogs
+are destroying my corn."
+
+And so saying, Farmer Gray hurried off, towards his cornfield. When
+he arrived there, he found four large hogs tearing down the stalks,
+and pulling off and eating the ripe ears of corn. They had already
+destroyed a good deal. But he drove them out very calmly, and put up
+the bars through which they had entered, and then commenced
+gathering up the half-eaten ears of corn, and throwing them out into
+the lane for the hogs, that had been so suddenly disturbed in the
+process of obtaining a liberal meal. As he was thus engaged, Mr.
+Barton, who had from his own house seen the farmer turn the hogs out
+of his cornfield, came hurriedly up, and said,
+
+"I am very sorry, Mr. Gray, indeed I am, that my hogs have done
+this! I will most cheerfully pay you for what they have destroyed."
+
+"Oh, never mind, Friend Barton--never mind. Such things will happen,
+occasionally. My geese, you know, annoy you very much, sometimes."
+
+"Don't speak of it, Mr. Gray. They didn't annoy me half as much as I
+imagined they did. But how much corn do you think my hogs have
+destroyed? One bushel, or two bushels? or how much? Let it be
+estimated, and I will pay for it most cheerfully."
+
+"Oh, no. Not for the world, Friend Barton. Such things will happen
+sometimes. And, besides, some of my men must have left the bars
+down, or your hogs could never have got in. So don't think any more
+about it. It would be dreadful if one neighbour could not bear a
+little with another."
+
+All this cut poor Mr. Barton to the heart. His own ill-natured
+language and conduct, at a much smaller trespass on his rights,
+presented itself to his mind, and deeply mortified him. After a few
+moments' silence, he said,
+
+"The fact is, Mr. Gray, I shall feel better if you will let me pay
+for this corn. My hogs should not be fattened at your expense, and I
+will not consent to its being done. So I shall insist on paying you
+for at least one bushel of corn, for I am sure they have destroyed
+that much, if not more."
+
+But Mr. Gray shook his head and smiled pleasantly, as he replied,
+
+"Don't think anything more about it, Neighbour Barton. It is a
+matter deserving no consideration. No doubt my cattle have often
+trespassed on you and will trespass on you again. Let us then bear
+and forbear."
+
+All this cut the shoemaker still deeper, and he felt still less at
+ease in mind after he parted from the farmer than he did before. But
+on one thing he resolved, and that was, to pay Mr. Gray for the corn
+which his hogs had eaten.
+
+"You told him your mind pretty plainly, I hope," said Mrs. Gray, as
+her husband came in.
+
+"I certainly did," was the quiet reply.
+
+"And I am glad you had spirit enough to do it! I reckon he will
+think twice before he kills any more of my geese!"
+
+"I expect you are right, Sally. I don't think we shall be troubled
+again."
+
+"And what did you say to him? And what did he say for himself?"
+
+"Why he wanted very much to pay me for the corn his pigs had eaten,
+but I wouldn't hear to it. I told him that it made no difference in
+the world; that such accidents would happen sometimes."
+
+"You did?"
+
+"Certainly, I did."
+
+"And that's the way you spoke your mind to him?"
+
+"Precisely. And it had the desired effect. It made him feel ten
+times worse than if I had spoken angrily to him. He is exceedingly
+pained at what he has done, and says he will never rest until he has
+paid for that corn. But I am resolved never to take a cent for it.
+It will be the best possible guarantee I can have for his kind and
+neighbourly conduct hereafter."
+
+"Well, perhaps you are right," said Mrs. Gray, after a few moments
+of thoughtful silence. "I like Mrs. Barton very much--and now I come
+to think of it, I should not wish to have any difference between our
+families."
+
+"And so do I like Mr. Barton. He has read a good deal, and I find it
+very pleasant to sit with him, occasionally, during the long winter
+evenings. His only fault is his quick temper--but I am sure it is
+much better for us to bear with and soothe that, than to oppose rand
+excite it and thus keep both his family and our own in hot water."
+
+"You are certainly right," replied Mrs. Gray; "and I only wish that
+I could always think and feel as you do. But I am little quick, as
+they say."
+
+"And so is Mr. Barton. Now just the same consideration that you
+would desire others to have for you, should you exercise towards Mr.
+Barton, or any one else whose hasty temper leads him into words or
+actions that, in calmer and more thoughtful moments, are subjects of
+regret."
+
+On the next day, while Mr. Gray stood in his own door, from which he
+could see over the two or three acres of ground that the shoemaker
+cultivated, he observed two of his cows in his neighbour's
+cornfield, browsing away in quite a contented manner. As he was
+going to call one of the farm hands to go over and drive them out,
+he perceived that Mr. Barton had become aware of the mischief that
+was going on, and had already started for the field of corn.
+
+"Now we will see the effect of yesterday's lesson," said the farmer
+to himself; and then paused to observe the manner of the shoemaker
+towards his cattle in driving them out of the field. In a few
+minutes Mr. Barton came up to the cows, but, instead of throwing
+stones at them, or striking them with a stick, he merely drove them
+out in a quiet way, and put up the bars through which they had
+entered.
+
+"Admirable!" ejaculated Farmer Gray.
+
+"What is admirable?" asked his wife, who came within hearing
+distance at the moment.
+
+"Why the lesson I gave our friend Barton yesterday. It works
+admirably."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Two of our cows were in his cornfield a few minutes ago, destroying
+the corn at a rapid rate."
+
+"Well! what did he do to them?" in a quick, anxious tone.
+
+"He drove them out."
+
+"Did he stone them, or beat them?"
+
+"Oh no. He was gentle as a child towards them."
+
+"You are certainly jesting."
+
+"Not I. Friend Barton has not forgotten that his pigs were in my
+cornfield yesterday, and that I turned them out without hurting a
+hair of one of them. Now, suppose I had got angry and beaten his
+pigs, what do you think the result would have been? Why, it is much
+more than probable that one or both of our fine cows would have been
+at this moment in the condition of Mr. Mellon's old Brindle."
+
+"I wish you wouldn't say anything more about old Brindle," said Mrs.
+Gray, trying to laugh, while her face grew red in spite of her
+efforts to keep down her feelings.
+
+"Well, I won't, Sally, if it worries you. But it is such a good
+illustration that I can't help using it sometimes."
+
+"I am glad he didn't hurt the cows," said Mrs. Gray, after a pause.
+
+"And so am I, Sally. Glad on more than one account. It shows that he
+has made an effort to keep down his hasty, irritable temper--and if
+he can do that, it will be a favour conferred on the whole
+neighbourhood, for almost every one complains, at times, of this
+fault in his character."
+
+"It is certainly the best policy, to keep fair weather with him,"
+Mrs. Gray remarked, "for a man of his temper could annoy us a good
+deal."
+
+"That word policy, Sally, is not a good word," replied her husband.
+"It conveys a thoroughly selfish idea. Now, we ought to look for
+some higher motives of action than mere policy--motives grounded in
+correct and unselfish principles."
+
+"But what other motive but policy could we possibly have for putting
+up with Mr. Barton's outrageous conduct?"
+
+"Other, and far higher motives, it seems to me. We should reflect
+that Mr. Barton has naturally a hasty temper, and that when excited
+he does things for which he is sorry afterwards--and that, in nine
+cases out of ten, he is a greater sufferer from those outbreaks than
+any one else. In our actions towards him, then, it is a much higher
+and better motive for us to be governed by a desire to aid him in
+the correction of this evil, than to look merely to the protection
+of ourselves from its effects. Do you not think so?"
+
+"Yes. It does seem so."
+
+"When thus moved to action, we are, in a degree, regarding the whole
+neighbourhood, for the evil of which we speak affects all. And in
+thus suffering ourselves to be governed by such elevated and
+unselfish motives, we gain all that we possibly could have gained
+under the mere instigation of policy--and a great deal more. But to
+bring the matter into a still narrower compass. In all our actions
+towards him and every one else, we should be governed by the simple
+consideration--is it right? If a spirit of retaliation be not right,
+then it cannot be indulged without a mutual injury. Of course, then,
+it should never prompt us to action. If cows or hogs get into my
+field or garden, and destroy my property, who is to blame most? Of
+course, myself. I should have kept my fences in better repair, or my
+gate closed. The animals, certainly, are not to blame, for they
+follow only the promptings of nature; and their owners should not be
+censured, for they know nothing about it. It would then be very
+wrong for me to injure both the animals and their owners for my own
+neglect, would it not?"
+
+"Yes,--I suppose it would."
+
+"So, at least, it seems to me. Then, of course, I ought not to
+injure Neighbour Barton's cows or hogs, even if they do break into
+my cornfield or garden, simply because it would be wrong to do so.
+This is the principle upon which we should act, and not from any
+selfish policy."
+
+After this there was no trouble about Farmer Gray's geese or cattle.
+Sometimes the geese would get among Mr. Barton's hogs, and annoy
+them while eating, but it did not worry him as it did formerly. If
+they became too troublesome he would drive them away, but not by
+throwing sticks and stones at them as he once did.
+
+Late in the fall the shoemaker brought in his bill for work. It was
+a pretty large bill, with sundry credits.
+
+"Pay-day has come at last," said Farmer Gray, good-humouredly, as
+the shoemaker presented his account.
+
+"Well, let us see!" and he took the bill to examine it item after
+item.
+
+"What is this?" he asked, reading aloud.
+
+"'Cr. By one bushel of corn, fifty cents.'"
+
+"It's some corn I had from you."
+
+"I reckon you must be mistaken. You never got any corn from me."
+
+"Oh, yes I did. I remember it perfectly. It is all right."
+
+"But when did you get it, Friend Barton? I am sure that I haven't
+the most distant recollection of it."
+
+"My hogs got it," the shoemaker said, in rather a low and hesitating
+tone.
+
+"Your hogs!"
+
+"Yes. Don't you remember when my hogs broke into your field, and
+destroyed your corn?"
+
+"Oh, dear! is that it? Oh, no, no, Friend Barton! Ii cannot allow
+that item in the bill."
+
+"Yes, but you must. It is perfectly just, and I shall never rest
+until it is paid."
+
+"I can't, indeed. You couldn't help the hogs getting into my field;
+and then you know, Friend Barton (lowering his tone), my geese were
+very troublesome!"
+
+The shoemaker blushed and looked confused; but Farmer Gray slapped
+him familiarly on the shoulder, and said, in a lively, cheerful way,
+
+"Don't think any more about it, Friend Barton! And hereafter let us
+endeavour to 'do as we would be done by,' and then everything will
+go on as smooth as clock-work."
+
+"But you will allow that item in the bill?" the shoemaker urged
+perseveringly.
+
+"Oh, no, I couldn't do that. I should think it wrong to make you pay
+for my own or some of my men's negligence in leaving the bars down."
+
+"But then (hesitatingly), those geese--I killed three. Let it go for
+them."
+
+"If you did kill them, we ate them. So that is even. No, no, let the
+past be forgotten, and if it makes better neighbours and friends of
+us, we never need regret what has happened."
+
+Farmer Gray remained firm, and the bill was settled, omitting the
+item of "corn." From that time forth he never had a better neighbour
+than the shoemaker. The cows, hogs, and geese of both would
+occasionally trespass, but the trespassers were always kindly
+removed. The lesson was not lost on either of them--for even Farmer
+Gray used to feel, sometimes, a little annoyed when his neighbour's
+cattle broke into his field. But in teaching the shoemaker a lesson,
+he had taken a little of it himself.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ACCOUNT.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE clock from the city hall struck one;
+The merchant's task was not yet done;
+He knew the old year was passing away,
+And his accounts must all be settled that day;
+He must know for a truth how much he should win,
+So fast the money was rolling in.
+
+He took the last cash-book, from the pile,
+And he summed it up with a happy smile;
+For a just and upright man was he,
+Dealing with all most righteously,
+And now he was sure how much he should win,
+How fast the money was rolling in.
+
+He heard not the soft touch on the door--
+He heard not the tread on the carpeted floor--
+So still was her coming, he thought him alone,
+Till she spake in a sweet and silvery tone:
+"Thou knowest not yet how much thou shalt win--
+How fast the money is rolling in."
+
+Then from 'neath her white, fair arm, she took
+A golden-clasped, and, beautiful book--
+"'Tis my account thou hast to pay,
+In the coming of the New Year's day--
+Read--ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win,
+How fast the money is rolling in."
+
+He open'd the clasps with a trembling hand--
+Therein was Charity's firm demand:
+"To the widow, the orphan, the needy, the poor,
+Much owest thou of thy yearly store;
+Give, ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win--
+While fast the money is rolling in."
+
+The merchant took from his box of gold
+A goodly sum for the lady bold;
+His heart was richer than e'er before,
+As she bore the prize from the chamber door.
+Ye who would know how much ye can win,
+Give, when the money is rolling in.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTH.
+
+
+
+
+
+"IT is vain, to urge, Brother Robert. Out into the world I must go.
+The impulse is on me. I should die of inaction here."
+
+"You need not be inactive. There is work to do. I shall never be
+idle."
+
+"And such work! Delving in, and grovelling close to the ground. And
+for what? Oh no Robert. My ambition soars beyond your 'quiet cottage
+in a sheltered vale.' My appetite craves something more than simple
+herbs, and water from the brook. I have set my heart on attaining
+wealth; and where there is a will there is always a way."
+
+"Contentment is better than wealth."
+
+"A proverb for drones."
+
+"No, William, it is a proverb for the wise."
+
+"Be it for the wise or simple, as commonly, understood, it is no
+proverb for me. As poor plodder along the way of life, it were
+impossible for me to know content. So urge no farther, Robert. I am
+going out into the world a wealth-seeker, and not until wealth is
+gained do I purpose to return."
+
+"What of Ellen, Robert?"
+
+The young man turned quickly towards his brother, visibly disturbed,
+and fixed his eyes upon him with an earnest expression.
+
+"I love her as my life," he said, with a strong emphasis on his
+words.
+
+"Do you love wealth more than life, William?"
+
+"Robert!"
+
+"If you love Ellen as your life, and leave her for the sake of
+getting riches, then you must love money more than life."
+
+"Don't talk to me after this fashion. I love her tenderly and truly.
+I am going forth as well for her sake as my own. In all the good
+fortune that comes as a meed of effort, she will be the sharer."
+
+"You will see her before you leave us?"
+
+"No; I will neither pain her nor myself by a parting interview. Send
+her this letter and this ring."
+
+A few hours later, and there brothers stood with tightly-grasped
+hands, gazing into each other's faces.
+
+"Farewell, Robert."
+
+"Farewell, William. Think of the old homestead as still your home.
+Though it is mine, in the division of our patrimony, let your heart
+come back to it as yours. Think of it as home; and, should Fortune
+cheat you with the apples of Sodom, return to it again. Its doors
+will ever be open, and its hearth-fire bright for you as of old.
+Farewell!"
+
+And they turned from each other, one going out into the restless
+world, an eager seeker for its wealth and honours; the other to
+linger among the pleasant places dear to him by every association of
+childhood, there to fill up the measure of his days--not idly, for
+he was no drone in the social hive.
+
+On the evening of that day two maidens sat alone, each in the
+sanctuary of her own chamber. There was a warm glow on the cheeks of
+one, and a glad light in her eyes. Pale was the other's face, and
+wet her drooping lashes. And she that sorrowed held an open letter
+in her hand. It was full of tender words; but the writer loved
+wealth more than the maiden, and had gone forth to seek the mistress
+of his soul. He would "come back," but when? Ah, what a veil of
+uncertainty was upon the future! Poor, stricken heart! The other
+maiden--she of the glowing cheeks and dancing eyes--held also a
+letter in her hand. It was from the brother of the wealth-seeker;
+and it was also full of loving words; and it said that, on the
+morrow, he would come to bear her as his bride to his pleasant home.
+Happy maiden!
+
+Ten years have passed. And what of the wealth-seeker? Has he won the
+glittering prize? What of the pale-faced maiden he left in tears?
+Has he returned to her? Does she share now his wealth and honour?
+Not since the day he went forth from the home of his childhood has a
+word of intelligence from the wanderer been received; and to those
+he left behind him he is as one who has passed the final bourne. Yet
+he still dwells among the living.
+
+In a far-away, sunny clime stands a stately mansion. We will not
+linger to describe the elegant interior, to hold up before the
+reader's imagination a picture of rural beauty, exquisitely
+heightened by art, but enter its spacious hall, and pass up to one
+of its most luxurious chambers. How hushed and solemn the pervading
+atmosphere! The inmates, few in number, are grouped around one on
+whose white forehead Time's trembling finger has written the word
+"Death!" Over her bends a manly form. There--his face is towards
+you. Ah! you recognise the wanderer--the wealth-seeker. What does he
+here? What to him is the dying one? His wife! And has he, then,
+forgotten the maiden whose dark lashes lay wet on her pale cheeks
+for many hours after she read his parting words? He has not
+forgotten, but been false to her. Eagerly sought he the prize, to
+contend for which he went forth. Years came and departed; yet still
+hope mocked him with ever-attractive and ever-fading illusions.
+To-day he stood with his hand just ready to seize the object of his
+wishes, to-morrow a shadow mocked him. At last, in an evil hour, he
+bowed down his manhood prostrate even to the dust in woman worship,
+and took to himself a bride, rich in golden, attractions, but poorer
+as a woman than ever the beggar at her father's gate. What a thorn
+in his side she proved! A thorn ever sharp and ever piercing. The
+closer he attempted to draw her to his bosom, the deeper went the
+points into his own, until, in the anguish of his soul, again and
+again he flung her passionately from him.
+
+Five years of such a life! Oh, what is there of earthly good to
+compensate therefor? But in this last desperate throw did the
+worldling gain the wealth, station, and honour he coveted? He had
+wedded the only child of a man whose treasure might be counted by
+hundreds of thousands; but, in doing so, he had failed to secure the
+father's approval or confidence. The stern old man regarded him as a
+mercenary interloper, and ever treated him as such. For five years,
+therefore, he fretted and chafed in the narrow prison whose gilded
+bars his own hands had forged. How often, during that time, had his
+heart wandered back to the dear old home, and the beloved ones with
+whom he had passed his early years! And, ah! how many, many times
+came between him and the almost hated countenance of his wife the
+gentle, the loving face of that one to whom he had been false! How
+often her soft blue eyes rested on his own How often he started and
+looked up suddenly, as if her sweet voice came floating on the air!
+
+And so the years moved on, the chain galling more deeply, and a
+bitter sense of humiliation as well as bondage robbing him of all
+pleasure in his life.
+
+Thus it is with him when, after ten years, we find him waiting, in
+the chamber of death, for the stroke that is to break the fetters
+that so long have bound him. It has fallen. He is free again. In
+dying, the sufferer made no sign. Suddenly she plunged into the dark
+profound, so impenetrable to mortal eyes, and as the turbid waves
+closed, sighing over her, he who had called her wife turned from the
+couch on which her frail body remained, with an inward "Thank God! I
+am a man again!"
+
+One more bitter dreg yet remained for his cup. Not a week had gone
+by ere the father of his dead wife spoke to him these cutting
+words:--
+
+"You were nothing to me while my daughter lived--you are less than
+nothing to me now. It was my wealth, not my child you loved. She has
+passed away. What affection would have given to her, dislike will
+never bestow on you. Henceforth we are strangers."
+
+When the next sun went down on that stately mansion, which the
+wealth-seeker had coveted, he was a wanderer again--poor,
+humiliated, broken in spirit.
+
+How bitter had been the mockery of all his early hopes! How terrible
+the punishment he had suffered!
+
+One more eager, almost fierce struggle with alluring fortune, with
+which the worldling came near steeping his soul in crime, and then
+fruitless ambition died in his bosom.
+
+"My brother said well," he murmured, as a ray of light fell suddenly
+on the darkness of his spirit; "'contentment is better than wealth.'
+Dear brother! Dear old home! Sweet Ellen! Ah, why did I leave you?
+Too late! too late! A cup, full of the wine of life, was at my lips;
+but, I turned my head away, asking for a more fiery and exciting
+draught. How vividly comes before me now that parting scene! I am
+looking into my brother's face. I feel the tight grasp of his hand.
+His voice is in my ears. Dear brother! And his parting words, I hear
+them now, even more earnestly than when they were first spoken.
+'Should fortune cheat you with the apples of Sodom, return to your
+home again. Its doors will ever be open, and its hearth-fires bright
+for you as of old.' Ah, do the fires still burn? How many years have
+passed since I went forth! And Ellen? Even if she be living and
+unchanged in her affections, I can never lay this false heart at her
+feet. Her look of love would smite me as with a whip of scorpions."
+
+The step of time has fallen so lightly on the flowery path of those
+to whom contentment was a higher boon than wealth, but few footmarks
+were visible. Yet there had been changes in the old homestead. As
+the smiling years went by, each, as it looked in at the cottage
+window, saw the home circle widening, or new beauty crowning the
+angel brows of happy children. No thorn to his side had Robert's
+gentle wife proved. As time passed on, closer and closer was she
+drawn to his bosom; yet never a point had pierced him. Their home
+was a type of Paradise.
+
+It is near the close of a summer day. The evening meal is spread,
+and they are about gathering round the table, when a stranger
+enters. His words are vague and brief, his manner singular, his air
+slightly mysterious. Furtive, yet eager glances go from face to
+face.
+
+"Are these all your children?" he asks, surprise and admiration
+mingling in his tones.
+
+"All ours, and, thank God, the little flock is yet unbroken."
+
+The stranger averts his face. He is disturbed by emotions that it is
+impossible to conceal.
+
+"Contentment is better than wealth," he murmurs. "Oh that I had
+comprehended the truth."
+
+The words were not meant for others; but the utterance had been too
+distinct. They have reached the ears of Robert, who instantly
+recognises in the stranger his long-wandering, long-mourned brother.
+
+"William!"
+
+The stranger is on his feet. A moment or two the brothers stand
+gazing at each other, then tenderly embrace.
+
+"William!"
+
+How the stranger starts and trembles! He had not seen, in the quiet
+maiden, moving among and ministering to the children so
+unobtrusively, the one he had parted from years before--the one to
+whom he had been so false. But her voice has startled his ears with
+the familiar tones of yesterday.
+
+"Ellen!" Here is an instant oblivion of all the intervening years.
+He has leaped back over the gulf, and stands now as he stood ere
+ambition and lust for gold lured him away from the side of his first
+and only love. It is well both for him and the faithful maiden that
+he cannot so forget the past as to take her in his arms and clasp
+her almost wildly to his heart. But for this, conscious shame would
+have betrayed his deeply-repented perfidy.
+
+And here we leave them, reader. "Contentment is better than wealth."
+So the worldling proved, after a bitter experience, which may you be
+spared! It is far better to realize a truth perceptibly, and thence
+make it a rule of action, than to prove its verity in a life of
+sharp agony. But how few are able to rise into such a realization!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE.
+
+
+
+
+
+BENDING over a steamer's side, a face looked down into the clear,
+green depths of Lake Erie, where the early moonbeams were showering
+rainbows through the dancing spray, and chasing the white-crusted
+waves with serpents of gold. The face was clouded with thought, a
+shade too sombre, yet there glowed over it something like a
+reflection from the iris-hues beneath. A voice of using was borne
+away into the purple and vermilion haze that twilight began to fold
+over the bosom of the lake.
+
+"Rainbows! Ye follow me everywhere! Gloriously your arches arose
+from the horizon of the prairies, when the storm-king and the god of
+day met within them to proclaim a treaty and an alliance. You
+spanned the Father of Waters with a bridge that put to the laugh
+man's clumsy structures of chain, and timber, and wire. You floated
+in a softening veil before the awful grandeur of Niagara; and here
+you gleam out from the light foam in the steamboat's wake.
+
+"Grateful am I for you, oh rainbows! for the clouds, the drops, and
+the sunshine of which you are wrought, and for the gift of vision
+through which my spirit quaffs the wine of your beauty.
+
+"Grateful also for faith, which hangs an ethereal halo over the
+fountains of earthly joy, and wraps grief in robes so resplendent
+that, like Iris of the olden time, she is at once recognised as a
+messenger from Heaven.
+
+"Blessings on sorrow, whether past or to come! for in the clear
+shining of heavenly love, every tear-drop becomes a pearl. The storm
+of affliction crushes weak human nature to the dust; the glory of
+the eternal light overpowers it; but, in the softened union of both,
+the stricken spirit beholds the bow of promise, and knows that it
+shall not utterly be destroyed. When we say that for us there is
+nothing but darkness and tears, it is because we are weakly brooding
+over the shadows within us. If we dared look up, and face our
+sorrow, we should see upon it the seal of God's love, and be calm.
+
+"Grant me, Father of Light, whenever my eyes droop heavily with the
+rain of grief, at least to see the reflection of thy signet-bow upon
+the waves over which I am sailing unto thee. And through the steady
+toiling of the voyage, through the smiles and tears of every day's
+progress, let the iris-flash appear, even as now it brightens the
+spray that rebounds from the labouring wheels."
+
+The voice died away into darkness which returned no answer to its
+murmurings. The face vanished from the boat's side, but a flood of
+light was pouring into the serene depths of a trusting soul.
+
+THE END.
+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Friends and Neighbors, or Two Ways of Living in the World
+by T. S. Arthur
+******This file should be named fntwl10.txt or fntwl10.zip******
+
+Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, fntwl11.txt
+VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, fntwl10a.txt
+
+This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com)
+
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+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Friends and Neighbors, or Two Ways of Living in the World
+by T. S. Arthur
+
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