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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f2ccd9d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #56222 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56222) diff --git a/old/56222-0.txt b/old/56222-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f413397..0000000 --- a/old/56222-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4887 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bertha's Christmas Vision: An Autumn Sheaf, by -Horatio Alger - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Bertha's Christmas Vision: An Autumn Sheaf - -Author: Horatio Alger - -Release Date: December 22, 2017 [EBook #56222] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BERTHA'S CHRISTMAS VISION: *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - -[Illustration: “The little girl looked up gratefully, and thanked him for -what she regarded as an act of kindness to herself.” - -P. 11.] - - - - -[Illustration: - - BERTHA’S - CHRISTMAS VISION - - AN - AUTUMN SHEAF - - BY HORATIO ALGER JR. - - BOSTON, BROWN, BAZIN, & CO. -] - - - - - BERTHA’S - CHRISTMAS VISION: - An Autumn Sheaf. - - BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. - - BOSTON: - BROWN, BAZIN, AND COMPANY, - 94, WASHINGTON STREET. - 1856. - - Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by - HORATIO ALGER, JR., - In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of - Massachusetts. - - BOSTON: - PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, - 22, SCHOOL STREET. - - - - -DEDICATION. - - -To my Mother. - -As I turn over the pages of this my first book, and mark here and there -a name which use has made familiar, I feel the more, that, but for your -sympathy and encouragement, much would still remain unwritten. With me -you have sorrowed over the untimely death of “Little Charlie.” “Bertha,” -with her precious gifts,—whereof so many stand in need,—has grown to you -and me not a child of fancy, but a living presence. “Little Floy,” and -the “Child of the Street,” will recall, to your mind as to mine, the -touching lines of Mrs. Browning:— - - “Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers! - Ere the sorrow comes with years? - They are leaning their young heads against their mothers; - And _that_ cannot stop their tears. - The young lambs are bleating in the meadows; - The young birds are chirping in the nest; - The young fawns are playing with the shadows; - The young flowers are blowing toward the West: - But the young, young children, O my brothers! - They are weeping bitterly,— - They are weeping in the play-time of the others, - In the country of the free. - They look up with their pale and sunken faces, - And their looks are sad to see; - For the man’s grief abhorrent draws and presses - Down the cheeks of infancy.” - -To you, then, I dedicate this book,—which is partly yours, in spirit, if -not in deed,—confident, that, whatever may be its shortcomings in the -eyes of others, it will find a kindly welcome at your hands. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - Page. - - LITTLE FLOY; OR, HOW A MISER WAS RECLAIMED 1 - - MY CASTLE 34 - - MISS HENDERSON’S THANKSGIVING DAY 38 - - LITTLE CHARLIE 53 - - BERTHA’S CHRISTMAS VISION 55 - - WIDE-AWAKE 64 - - THE FIRST TREE PLANTED BY AN ORNAMENTAL TREE SOCIETY 75 - - THE ROYAL CARPENTER OF AMSTERDAM 77 - - OUR GABRIELLE 94 - - THE VEILED MIRROR 96 - - SUMMER HOURS 115 - - THE PRIZE PAINTING 118 - - THE CHILD OF THE STREET 152 - - LOST AND FOUND 156 - - GERALDINE 203 - - THE CHRISTMAS GIFT 205 - - MY PICTURE 224 - - GOTTFRIED THE SCHOLAR 227 - - INNOCENCE 240 - - PETER PLUNKETT’S ADVENTURE 242 - - - - -LITTLE FLOY; OR, HOW A MISER WAS RECLAIMED. - - -Of all the houses which Martin Kendrick owned, he used the oldest and -meanest for his own habitation. It was an old tumble-down building, on -a narrow street, which had already lived out more than its appointed -term of service, and was no longer fit to “cumber the ground.” But the -owner still clung to it, the more, perhaps, because, as it stood there in -its desolation, unsightly and weather-beaten, it was no unfit emblem of -himself. - -Martin the miser! Years of voluntary privation, such as in most cases -follow only in the train of the extremest penury, had given him a claim -to the appellation. It might be somewhat inconsistent with his natural -character, that, with the exception of the one room which he occupied, -the remainder of the large house was left tenantless. After all, it was -not so difficult to account for. He could not bear the idea of having -immediate neighbors. Who knows but they might seize the opportunity -afforded by his absence, and rob him of the gains of many years, which, -distrusting banks and other places of deposit, he kept in a strong box -under his own immediate charge? - -Martin had not always been a miser. No one ever becomes so at once; -though doubtless the propensity to it is stronger in some than in others. -Years ago,—so many that at this time the recollection only came to him -dimly, like the faint sound of an almost-forgotten tune,—years ago, when -the blood of youth poured its impetuous current through his veins, -he married a fair girl, whose life he had shortened by his dissipated -habits; and the indifference, and even cruelty, to which they led. - -The day of his wife’s death, the last remnant of the property which he -inherited from his father escaped from his grasp. These two events, -either of which brought its own sorrow, completely sobered him. The -abject condition to which he had reduced himself was brought vividly to -his mind; and he formed a sudden resolution,—rushing, as will sometimes -happen, from one extreme to the other,—that, as prodigal as his past life -had been, that which succeeded should be sparing and penurious in the -same degree; until, at least, he had recovered his losses, and, so far as -fortune went, was restored to the same position which he had occupied at -the commencement of his career. - -But it is not for man to say, “Thus far shalt thou go, and no -farther,”—to give himself up, body and soul, to one engrossing pursuit, -and, at the end of a limited time, wean himself from it. - -Habit grows by what it feeds on. It was not long before the passion of -acquisition acquired a controlling influence over the mind of Martin -Kendrick. He reached the point which he had prescribed for himself; but -it stayed him not. Every day his privations, self-imposed though they -were, became more pinching, his craving for gold more insatiable. Long -ago, he had cut himself off from all friendship,—all the pleasures and -amenities of social intercourse. He made no visits, save to his tenants, -and those only on quarter-day. Nor were these of an agreeable character -to those favored with them; for Martin was not a merciful landlord. He -invariably demanded the uttermost farthing that was due; and neither -sickness nor lack of employment had the power for a moment to soften his -heart, or delay the execution of his purpose. His mind was drawn into -itself, and, like an uncultivated field, was left to all the barrenness -of desolation. Such is always the case, when a man, by his own act, shuts -himself out from his kind, foregoes their sympathy and kind offices, and -virtually says, “I am sufficient unto myself.” - -Martin had one child, a girl, named Florence. At the time of the death of -her mother, she was but six years old. He had loved her, perhaps, as much -as it was in his power to love any one; and, as long as she remained with -him, he did not withdraw himself so entirely from human companionship. -But, at the age of seventeen years, she became acquainted with a young -man, a mechanic, in whose favor her affections were enlisted. He proposed -for her hand; but her father, in whom love of gold was strong, on -account of his poverty drove him, with scorn, from his door. - -The young man was not to be baffled thus. He contrived to meet Florence -secretly, and, after a while, persuaded her to forsake her home, and -unite her fortunes with his,—with the less difficulty, since that home -offered but few attractions to one of her age. Her father’s indignation -was extreme. All advances towards reconciliation, on the part of the -newly-wedded pair, were received with a bitterness of scorn, which -effectually prevented their repetition. From that time, Martin Kendrick -settled down into the cold, apathetic, and solitary existence which has -been described above. Gradually the love of gain blotted out from his -memory the remembrance of his children, whom he never met. They had -removed from the city, though he knew it not; and the total amount of -interest displayed respecting them discouraged any idea they might have -entertained of informing him. - - * * * * * - -“It’s a cold night,” quoth Martin to himself, as he sat before the least -glimmering which could decently be called a fire in the apartment which -he occupied. He cast a wistful glance towards a pile of wood which lay -beside the grate. He lifted one, and poised it for a moment, glancing -meanwhile at the fire, as if he was debating in his mind whether he had -best place it on. He shook his head, however, as if it were too great -a piece of extravagance to be thought of, and softly laid it back. He -then moved his chair nearer to the fire as if satisfied that this would -produce the additional warmth without the drawback of expense. - -It was, indeed, a cold night. The chill blasts swept with relentless -rigor through the streets, sending travellers home with quickened pace, -and causing the guardians of the public peace, as they stood at their -appointed stations, to wrap their overcoats more closely about them. -On many a hearth the fire blazed brightly, in composed defiance of the -insidious visitor who shuns the abodes of opulence, but forces his -unwelcome entry into the habitations of the poor. - -A child, thinly clad, was roaming through the streets. Every gust, as it -swept along, chilled her through and through; and at length, unable to -go farther, she sank down at the portal of Martin Kendrick’s dwelling. -Extreme cold gave her courage; and, with trembling hand, she lifted the -huge knocker. It fell from her nerveless grasp, and the unwonted sound -penetrated into the room where Martin sat cowering over his feeble fire. -He was startled, terrified even, as that sound came to his ears, echoing -through the empty rooms in the old house. - -“Who can it be?—robbers?” thought he, as he walked to the door. “I will -wait and see if it be repeated.” - -It was repeated. - -“Who’s there?” he exclaimed, in a somewhat tremulous voice, as he stood -with his hand upon the latch. - -“It’s me,” said a low, shivering voice from without. - -“And who’s ‘me’?” - -“Floy,—little Floy,” was the answer. - -“And what do you want here at this time of night?” - -“I am freezing. Let me come in and sit by the fire, if only for a moment. -I shall die upon your steps.” - -The old man deliberated. - -“You’re sure you’re not trying to get in after my money, what little I -have? There isn’t any one with you, is there?” - -“No one. There is only me. Oh, sir, do let me in! I am so cold!” - -The bolt was cautiously withdrawn; and Martin, opening a crack, peered -forth suspiciously. But the only object that met his gaze was a little -girl, of ten years of age, crouching on the steps in a way to avail -herself of all the natural warmth she had. - -“Will you let me come in?” said she, imploringly. - -“You had better go somewhere else. I haven’t much of a fire. I don’t keep -much, it burns out fuel so fast. You had better go where they keep better -fires.” - -“Oh, sir, the least fire will relieve me so much! and I haven’t strength -to go any farther.” - -“Well, you may come in, if you’re sure you haven’t come to steal any -thing.” - -“I never steal: it’s wicked.” - -“Umph! Well, I hope you’ll remember it. This is the way.” - -He led her into a little room which he occupied. She sprang to the fire, -little inviting as it was, and eagerly spread out both hands before it. -She seemed actually to drink in the heat, scanty as it was, so welcome -did it prove to her chilled and benumbed limbs. - -A touch of humanity came to the miser, or perhaps his own experience -of the cold stimulated him to the act; for, after a few minutes’ -deliberation, he took two sticks from the pile of fuel, and threw them -upon the fire. They crackled and burnt; diffusing, for a time, a cheerful -warmth about the apartment. The little girl looked up gratefully, and -thanked him for what she regarded as an act of kindness to herself. - -“Fuel’s high, very high; and it takes a fearful quantity to keep the fire -agoing.” - -“But what a pleasant fire it makes!” said the little girl, as she looked -at the flames curling aloft. - -“Why, yes,” said Martin, in a soliloquising tone, “it is comfortable; but -it would not do to have it burn so bright. It would ruin me completely.” - -“Then you are poor?” said the little girl, looking about the room. -The furniture was scanty; consisting only of the most indispensable -articles, and those of the cheapest kind. They had all been picked up, at -second-hand stores, for little or nothing. - -It was no wonder that little Floy asked the question. Nevertheless, the -miser looked suspiciously at her, as if there was some covert meaning in -her words. But she looked so openly and frankly at him as quite to disarm -any suspicions he might entertain. - -“Poor?” he at length answered. “Yes, I am; or should be, if I plunged -into extravagant living and expenses of every kind.” And he looked half -regretfully at the sticks which had burned out, and were now smouldering -in the grate. - -“Well,” said Floy, “I am poor too, and so were father and mother. But I -think I am poorer than you; for I have no home at all, no house to live -in, and no fire to keep me warm.” - -“Then where do you live?” asked the miser. - -“I don’t live anywhere,” said the child, simply. - -“But where do you stay?” - -“Where I can. I generally walk about the streets in the daytime; and, -when I feel cold, I go into some store to warm myself. They don’t always -let me stay long. They call me ragged, and a beggar. I suppose,” she -continued, casting a glance at her thin dress, which in some places was -torn and dirty from long wearing,—“I suppose it’s all true; but I can’t -help it.” - -“Where do you think of going to-night?” asked Martin, abruptly. - -“I don’t know. I haven’t any place to go to; and it’s very cold. Won’t -you let me stay here?” asked the child, imploringly. - -The miser started. - -“How can you stay here? Here is only one room, and this I occupy.” - -“Let me lie down on the floor, anywhere. It will be better than to go out -into the cold streets.” - -The miser paused. Even he, callous as his heart had become, would -not willingly thrust out a young girl into the street, where in all -probability, unless succor came, she would perish from the severity of -the weather. - -After a little consideration, he took the fragment of a candle which was -burning on the table, and, bidding Floy follow him, led the way into -a room near by, which was quite destitute of furniture, save a small -cot-bed in the corner. It had been left there when Martin Kendrick first -took possession of the house, and had remained undisturbed ever since. A -quilt, which, though tattered, was still thick and warm, was spread over -it. - -“There,” said Martin, pointing it out to Floy, who followed him -closely,—“there is a bed. It hasn’t been slept on for a great many years; -but I suppose it will do as well as any other. You can sleep there, if -you want to.” - -“Then I shall have a bed to sleep in!” said Floy, joyfully. “It is some -time since I slept on any thing softer than a board, or perhaps a rug.” - -Martin was about to leave her alone, when he chanced to think the room -would be dark. - -“You can undress in the dark, can’t you?” he inquired. “I haven’t got but -one light. I can’t afford to keep more.” - -“Oh! I sha’n’t take off my clothes at all,” said the young girl. “I never -do.” - -She got into bed, spread the quilt over her, and was asleep in less than -five minutes. - -Martin Kendrick went back to his room. He did not immediately retire to -bed, but sat for a few minutes, pondering on the extraordinary chance—for -in his case it was certainly extraordinary—which had thrown a young girl, -as it were, under his protection, though but for a limited time. He was -somewhat bewildered, so unexpectedly had the event happened, and could -scarcely, even now, realize that it was so. - -But the warning sound of a neighboring church-clock, as it proclaimed -midnight, interrupted the train of his reflections, and he prepared for -bed; not neglecting, so strongly was the feeling of suspicion implanted -in him, to secure the door by means of a bolt. When he awoke, the sun was -shining through the window of his room. He had hardly dressed himself, -when a faint knock was heard at the door of his room. Opening it a -little ways, he saw Floy standing before him. - -“What! you here now?” he inquired. - -“Yes. Where should I go? Besides, I did not want to unlock the front door -without your permission.” - -“That is quite right,” said Martin. “Some one, who was ill-disposed, -might have entered and stolen,—that is, if he could have found any thing -worth taking.” - -“And now, sir, if you please, I’ll make your bed,” said the child, -entering the room. “I’ve made the one I slept in.” - -Martin looked on without a word; while Floy, taking his silence for -assent, proceeded to roll back the clothes, shake the bed vigorously, and -then spread them over again. Espying a broom at one corner of the room, -she took it, and swept up the hearth neatly. She then glanced towards the -miser, who had been watching her motions, as if to ascertain whether they -met with his approval. - -“So you can work?” said he, after a pause. - -“Oh, yes! mother used to teach me. I wish,” said she, after a while, -brightening up, as if struck with a new idea,—“I wish you would let me -stay here: I would make your bed, take care of your room, and keep every -thing nice. Besides, I could get your dinners.” - -“Stay with me! Impossible. I don’t have much to do: besides, I couldn’t -afford it.” - -“It won’t cost you any thing,” said Floy, earnestly. “I know how to sew; -and, when I am not doing something for you, I can sew for money, and give -it to you.” - -This idea seemed to produce some impression upon the old miser’s mind. - -“But how do I know,” said he, a portion of his old suspicions -returning,—“how do I know but you will steal off some day, and carry -something with you?” - -“I never steal,” said Floy, half indignantly. “Besides, I have no place -to go to, if I should leave here.” - -This was true; and Martin, considering that it would be against her -interest to injure him in any such way,—an argument which weighed more -heavily than any protestations on her part would have done,—at length -said,— - -“Well, you may stay,—at least, a while. I suppose you are hungry. There’s -a loaf of bread in the closet. You may eat some of it; but don’t eat too -much. It’s—it’s hurtful to the health to eat too much.” - -“When will you be home to get some dinner?” asked the child. - -“About noon. Perhaps I will bring some sewing for you to do.” - -“Oh, I hope you will! It will seem so nice not to be obliged to be -walking about the streets, but to be seated in a pleasant room, sewing!” - -When Martin came home at noon, instead of finding the room cheerless and -cold, as had been his wont, the fire was burning brightly, diffusing -a pleasant warmth about the apartment. Floy had set the table in the -centre of the room,—with some difficulty it must be confessed; for it was -rickety, and would not stand even, owing to one of the legs being shorter -than the rest. This, however, she had remedied by placing a chip under -the deficient member. There was no cloth on; for this was an article -which Martin did not number among his possessions. Floy had substituted -two towels, which, united, covered perhaps half the table. - -A portion of the loaf—for there was but one—she had toasted by the fire, -and this had been placed on a separate plate from the other. On the -whole, therefore, though it was far from being a sumptuous repast, every -thing looked clean and neat; and this alone adds increased zest to the -appetite. At least, Martin felt more of an appetite than usual; and, -between them, the two despatched all that had been provided. - -“Is there any more bread in the closet?” asked Martin. - -“No,” said Floy: “it is all gone.” - -“Then I must bring some home when I return to supper.” - -“I have been thinking,” said Floy, hesitatingly, “that, if you would -trust me to do it, and would bring home the materials, I would make some -bread; and that would be cheaper than buying it; and, besides, it would -give me something to do.” - -“What!” asked Martin, as he looked, with an air of surprise, at the -diminutive form of little Floy, “do you know how to make bread? How came -a child like you to learn?” - -“Mother used to be sick a good deal,” said Floy, “and was confined to her -bed, so that she could do nothing herself. She used to direct me what to -do; so that, after a while, I came to know how to cook as well as she.” - -“Well, what shall I have to bring home?” asked the miser, whom the hint -of its being cheaper had enlisted in favor of the plan. - -“Let me see,” said Floy, as she sat down and began to reflect: “there’s -flour and saleratus and salt. But we’ve got the salt; so you need only -get the first two.” - -“Very well; I will attend to it. Oh! I forgot to ask what sewing you knew -how to do. Can you make shirts?” - -“Yes; I have made a good many.” - -“Then I will bring you home some to-night, if I can get any.” - -When she had cleared away the dinner-dishes, washed them, and put them in -the closet,—an operation which the simplicity of the meal rendered but a -short one,—Floy began to look round her, to see what else she could do. -A desire seized her to explore the old house, of which so many rooms -had for years remained deserted. They were bare and desolate, inhabited -only by spiders and crickets, who occupied them rent free. It might have -been years, perhaps, since they had echoed to the steps of a human foot. -They looked dark and gloomy enough to have been witness to many a dark -deed of midnight assassination. But it was all fancy, doubtless; and in -little Floy they produced no other feeling than that of chilliness. She -rummaged all the closets with a feeling of curiosity, but found nothing -in any one of them to reward her search until she came to the last. -There was a large roll of something on the floor, which, on examination, -proved to be a small carpet, quite dirty, and somewhat moth-eaten. It had -probably been left there inadvertently, and remained undiscovered until -the present moment. Floy spread it out, and examined it critically. An -idea struck her, which she hastened to put into execution. Threading -her way back to the miser’s room, she procured a stout stick which stood -in the corner, and, going back, gave the carpet a sound drubbing, which -nearly stifled her with dust. Nevertheless, she persevered, and soon got -it into quite a respectable state of cleanness. She then managed, by -a considerable effort, to lug it to Martin’s room, and, in an hour or -so, had spread it out, and finally fastened it by means of some tacks -which she found in one corner of the closet. The effect was certainly -wonderful. The carpet actually gave the room a very cosy and comfortable -appearance; and little Floy took considerable credit to herself for the -metamorphosis. - -“What will he say?” thought she. “I wonder whether he will be pleased.” - -It was but a few minutes after this change had been effected that Martin -came in. It was about three o’clock,—sooner than Floy expected him; but -he had thought she might require the materials early, in order to make -preparations for the evening meal. - -As he opened the door, he started back in surprise at the changed -appearance of the room. It occurred to him, for a moment, that he had -strayed into the wrong place; but the sight of Floy, sitting at the -window, re-assured him, and he went in. - -“What is all this?” he inquired in a bewildered tone. - -Floy enjoyed his surprise. She told him in what manner she had effected -the change, and asked him if he did not like it. - -He could not do otherwise than answer in the affirmative; and, in truth, -an unusual sense of comfort came over him as he sat down and looked about -him. - -Floy had taken possession of the flour, and was already kneading it. - -“Now,” said she, after this was done, “I must put it down by the fire to -rise; that will not take long; and then it will be ready to bake.” - -“Have you got any shirts for me?” she inquired after a while. - -“Yes,” said Martin, recollecting himself, and unrolling a bundle which -he had placed on the table. “There are half a dozen for you to begin on; -and, if you do them well, you can have some more.” - -Floy looked pleased. - -“Now,” said she, “I shall have something to do when you are away.” - -“You like to be doing something?” said Martin, inquiringly. - -“Oh, yes! I can’t bear to be idle.” - -Martin did not go out again that afternoon. About six o’clock, Floy set -the table, and placed upon it a plate of warm cakes which might have -pleased the palate of an epicure. It was the best meal the miser had -tasted for years, and he could not help confessing it to himself. Floy -was gratified at the appetite with which he ate. - -Thus matters went on. The presence of the little girl seemed to restore -Martin to a part of his former self. He was no longer so grasping and -miserly as before. Through little Floy’s ministry, he began to have more -of a relish for the comforts of life, and less to grudge the expense -necessary to obtain them. - -It was not many weeks before he fell sick, in consequence of imprudent -exposure to the rain. At first he did not regard it; but a fever set in, -and he was confined to his bed. - -At the urgent solicitation of Floy, he consented to have a physician -called, though not without something of reluctance at the thought of the -fee. - -Then it was that he began to appreciate more fully the importance of -Floy’s services. Ever ready to minister to his wants, no one could -wish a more faithful or attentive nurse. As she sat by his bedside in -the long days through which his sickness was protracted, busily engaged -with her sewing, he would lie for hours, watching the motion of her busy -fingers with pleased interest. Occasionally—for he had nothing else to -do—his mind would wander back to the scenes of his early manhood, and he -would sigh over the recollection of the happiness which might have been -his. Then his thoughts would be borne along the dreamy years which had -intervened, unlighted by the rays of friendship, and uncheered by the -presence of affection. The image of his daughter, whom he had cast off, -and of whose after-fate he knew nothing, came up before him, and he could -not repel it. A change, a beneficial and salutary change, was rolling -over his mind,—the fruit of those long involuntary hours of sickness and -self-communing. - -On the first day succeeding his recovery, he invited Floy to go out with -him. It was an unusual request, and Floy hardly knew what to make of it. -She got her bonnet, however (for shawl she had none), and complied. It -was a chilly March day, and the thin dress which she had worn from the -time of her coming to Kendrick’s was but an ill protection against the -weather. She shivered involuntarily. - -“You are cold,” said Martin; “but you will not need to go far.” - -He led the way into a dry-goods store. - -“Have you any warm shawls suitable for a little girl?” he inquired. -He selected one, and paid for it. “Show me some dress-patterns,” he -continued. - -Two different ones were chosen. Martin paid for them. - -“Can you direct me,” he inquired, “to any good dressmaker’s?” - -The clerk had at first been inclined to laugh at the old man, whose -attire, though warmer, was no better looking than Floy’s; but the -promptness with which he paid for his purchases, and the glimpse which -had in this way been obtained of a well-filled pocket-book, inspired him -with a feeling of respect, and he readily complied with his request. - -“Now,” said Martin cheerfully to Floy, “we will have you a little better -dressed, so that you need not fear the cold.” - -“I am sure,” said Floy, gratefully, “that I am much obliged, and I don’t -know how I can repay you.” - -“You have already,” said the old man with feeling. “I don’t know how I -should have got along without you when I was sick.” - -“Floy,” said Martin, thoughtfully, as they came out from the -dressmaker’s, “although you have been with me for some time, I have -never thought to ask your name,—I mean your other name besides Floy.” - -“My name is not Floy,” said the child. “They only call me so. My real -name is Florence,—Florence Eastman.” - -“Florence Eastman!” said the old man, starting back in uncontrollable -agitation. “Who was your mother? Tell me quick!” - -“Her name,” said the child, somewhat surprised, “was Florence Kendrick.” - -“Who was her father?” - -“Martin Kendrick.” - -“And where is he? Did you ever see him?” - -“No,” said Floy, shaking her head. “He was angry with mother for marrying -as she did, and would never see any of us.” - -“And your mother?” said Martin, striving to be calm. “Is she dead?” - -“Yes,” said Floy, sorrowfully. “First, my father died, and we were left -very poor. Then mother was obliged to work very hard, sewing; and -finally she took a fever, and died, leaving me alone in the world. For -a week, I wandered about without a home; but at last you took me in. -I don’t know what would have become of me if you had not,” said she, -gratefully. - -“Floy,” said Martin, looking at her steadfastly, “do you know my name?” - -“No,” said Floy. “I have often wondered what it was, but never liked to -ask you.” - -“Then,” said he, in an agitated tone, “you shall know now. I am Martin -Kendrick, your GRANDFATHER!” - -Floy was filled with amazement, but, after a moment, threw herself into -his arms. “Will you forgive mother?” she asked. - -“I will! I have! But, alas! she has much more to forgive me. Would that -she were still alive!” - -Every day, Martin Kendrick became more alive to the claims of affection. -His miserly habits gave way, and he became more considerate in his -dealings with his tenants. The old house, in which he lived so many -years, was torn down; and he bought a neat cottage just out of the city, -where he and Floy live happily together. Floy, who has been sent to -school, exhibits uncommon talent, and is fitting for the station she will -soon assume as the heiress of her grandfather. - - - - -MY CASTLE. - - - “I have a beautiful castle, - With towers and battlements fair; - And many a banner, with gay device, - Floats in the outer air. - - “The walls are of solid silver; - The towers are of massive gold; - And the lights that stream from the windows - A royal scene unfold. - - “Ah! could you but enter my castle, - With its pomp of regal sheen, - You would say that it far surpasses - The Palace of Aladeen;— - - “Could you but enter as I do, - And pace through the vaulted hall, - And mark the stately columns, - And the pictures on the wall;— - - “With the costly gems about them, - That send their light afar, - With a chaste and softened splendor, - Like the light of a distant star!” - - “And where is this wonderful castle, - With its rich emblazonings, - Whose pomp so far surpasses - The homes of the greatest kings?” - - “Come out with me at morning, - And lie in the meadow-grass, - And lift your eyes to the ether blue, - And you will see it pass. - - “There! can you not see the battlements; - And the turrets stately and high, - Whose lofty summits are tipped with clouds, - And lost in the arching sky?” - - “Dear friend, you are only dreaming; - Your castle so stately and fair - Is only a fanciful structure,— - A castle in the air.” - - “Perchance you are right. I know not - If a phantom it may be; - But yet, in my inmost heart, I feel - That it lives, and lives for me;— - - “For, when clouds and darkness are round me, - And my heart is heavy with care, - I steal me away from the noisy crowd, - To dwell in my castle fair. - - “There are servants to do my bidding; - There are servants to heed my call; - And I, with a master’s air of pride, - May pace through the vaulted hall. - - “And I envy not the monarchs - With cities under their sway; - For am I not, in my own right, - A monarch as proud as they? - - “What matter, then, if to others - My castle a phantom may be, - Since I feel, in the depth of my own heart, - That it is not so to me?” - - - - -MISS HENDERSON’S THANKSGIVING DAY. - - -Thanksgiving Day dawned clearly and frostily upon the little village -of Castleton Hollow. The stage which connected daily with the nearest -railroad station (for as yet Castleton Hollow had not arrived at the -dignity of one of its own) came fully freighted, both inside and out. -There were children and children’s children, who, in the pursuit of -fortune, had strayed away from the homes where they first saw the light; -but who were now returning, to revive, around the old familiar hearth, -the associations and recollections of their early days. - -Great were the preparations among the housewives of Castleton Hollow. -That must indeed be a poor household which, on this occasion, could not -boast its turkey and plum-pudding,—those well-established dishes; not to -mention its long rows of pies,—apple, mince, and pumpkin,—wherewith the -Thanksgiving board is wont to be garnished. - -But it is not of the households generally that I propose to speak. Let -the reader accompany me, in imagination, to a rather prim-looking brick -mansion, situated on the principal street, but at some distance back, -being separated from it by a front yard. Between this yard and the fence -ran a prim-looking hedge, of very formal cut, being cropped in the most -careful manner, lest one twig should, by chance, have the presumption to -grow higher than its kindred. It was a two-story house, containing in -each story one room on either side of the front door; making, of course, -four in all. - -If we go in, we shall find the outward primness well supported by the -appearance of things within. In the front parlor—we may peep through the -door, but it would be high treason, in the present moistened state of -our boots, to step within its sacred precincts—there are six high-backed -chairs standing in state, two at each window. One can easily see, from -the general arrangement of the furniture, that from romping children, -unceremonious kittens, and unhallowed intruders generally, this room is -most sacredly guarded. - -Without speaking particularly of the other rooms,—which, though not -furnished in so stately a manner, bear a family resemblance to “the best -room,”—we will usher the reader into the opposite room, where he will -find the owner and occupant of this prim-looking residence. - -Courteous reader! Miss Hetty Henderson. Miss Hetty Henderson, let me make -you acquainted with this lady (or gentleman), who is desirous of knowing -you better. - -Miss Hetty Henderson, with whom the reader has just passed through the -ceremony of introduction, is a maiden of some thirty-five summers, -attired in a sober-looking dress of irreproachable neatness, but most -formal cut. She is the only occupant of the house, of which, likewise, -she is proprietor. Her father, who was the village physician, died some -ten years since; leaving to Hetty,—or perhaps I should give her full -name, Henrietta,—his only child, the house in which he lived, and some -four thousand dollars in bank-stock, on the income of which she lived -very comfortably. - -Somehow, Miss Hetty had never married; though, such is the mercenary -nature of man, the rumor of her inheritance brought to her feet several -suitors. But Miss Hetty had resolved never to marry,—at least, this was -her invariable answer to matrimonial offers; and so, after a time, it -came to be understood that she was fixed for life,—an old maid. What -reasons impelled her to this course were not known; but possibly the -reader will be furnished with a clew before he finishes this narrative. - -Meanwhile, the invariable effect of a single and solitary life combined -attended Hetty. She grew precise, prim, and methodical, to a painful -degree. It would have been quite a relief if one could have detected a -stray thread even upon her well-swept carpet; but such was never the case. - -On this particular day,—this Thanksgiving Day of which we are -speaking,—Miss Hetty had completed her culinary preparations; that is, -she had stuffed her turkey and put it in the oven, and kneaded her -pudding; for, though she knew that but one would be present at the -dinner, her conscience would scarcely have acquitted her if she had not -made all the preparations to which she had been accustomed on such -occasions. - -This done, she sat down to her knitting; casting a glance every now and -then at the oven, to make sure that all was going on well. It was a quiet -morning; and Miss Hetty’s thoughts kept time to the clicking of her -knitting-needles. - -“After all,” thought she, “it’s rather solitary taking dinner alone, and -that on Thanksgiving Day. I remember, a long time ago, when my father and -my brothers and sisters were living, what a merry time we used to have -round the table. But they are all dead; and I—I alone—am left.” - -Miss Hetty sighed; but, after a while, the recollections of those old -times returned. She tried to shake them off; but they had a fascination -about them, after all, and would not go at her bidding. - -“There used to be another there,” thought she,—“Nick Anderson. He too, I -fear, is dead.” - -Hetty heaved a thoughtful sigh, and a faint color came into her cheeks. -She had reason. This Nicholas Anderson had been a medical student, -apprenticed to her father; or rather placed with him, to be prepared -for his profession. He was perhaps a year older than Hetty, and had -regarded her with more than ordinary warmth of affection. He had, in -fact, proposed to her, and had been conditionally accepted on a year’s -probation. The trouble was, he was a little disposed to be wild, and, -being naturally of a lively and careless temperament, did not exercise -sufficient discrimination in the choice of his associates. Hetty had -loved him as warmly as one of her nature could love. She was not one -who would be drawn away beyond the dictates of reason and judgment by -the force of affection. Still, it was not without a feeling of deep -sorrow,—deeper than her calm manner led him to suspect,—that, at the end -of the year’s probation, she informed Anderson that the result of his -trial was not favorable to his suit, and that henceforth he must give up -all thoughts of her. - -To his vehement asseverations, promises, and protestations, she returned -the same steady and inflexible answer; and, at the close of the -interview, he left her, quite as full of indignation against her as of -grief for his rejection. - -That night, his clothing was packed up, and lowered from the window; and, -when the next morning dawned, it was found that he had left the house, -never, as was intimated in a slight note pencilled and left on the table -in his room, to return again. - - * * * * * - -While Miss Henderson’s mind was far back in the past, she had not -observed the approach of a man, shabbily attired, accompanied by a little -girl apparently some eight years of age. The man’s face bore the impress -of many cares and hardships. The little girl was of delicate appearance; -and an occasional shiver showed that her garments were too thin to -protect her sufficiently from the inclemency of the weather. - -“This is the place, Henrietta,” said the traveller at length, pausing -at the head of the gravelled walk which led up to the front door of the -prim-looking brick house. - -Together they entered; and a moment afterwards, just as Miss Hetty was -preparing to lay the cloth for dinner, a knock sounded through the house. - -“Goodness!” said Miss Hetty, fluttered. “Who can it be that wants to see -me at this hour?” - -Smoothing down her apron, and giving a look at the glass to make sure -that her hair was in order, she hastened to the door. - -“Will it be asking too much, madam, to request a seat by your fire for -myself and little girl for a few moments? It is very cold.” - -Miss Hetty could feel that it _was_ cold. Somehow, too, the appealing -expression of the little girl’s face touched her. So she threw the door -wide open, and bade them enter. - -Miss Hetty went on preparing the table for dinner. A most delightful odor -issued from the oven; one door of which was open, lest the turkey should -overdo. Miss Hetty could not help observing the wistful glance cast by -the little girl towards the tempting dish as she placed it on the table. - -“Poor little creature!” thought she. “I suppose it is a long time since -she has had a good dinner.” - -Then the thought struck her, “Here I am alone to eat all this. There is -quite enough for half a dozen. How much these poor people would relish -it!” - -By this time the table was arranged. - -“Sir,” said she, turning to the traveller, “you look as if you were -hungry as well as cold. If you and your little daughter would like to -sit up, I should be happy to have you.” - -“Thank you, madam!” was the grateful reply. “We are hungry, and shall be -much indebted to your kindness.” - -It was rather a novel situation for Miss Hetty,—sitting at the head of -the table, dispensing food to others beside herself. There was something -rather agreeable about it. - -“Will you have some of the dressing, little girl? I have to call you -that; for I don’t know your name,” she added, in an inquiring tone. - -“Her name is Henrietta; but I generally call her Hetty,” said the -traveller. - -“What!” said Miss Hetty, dropping the spoon in surprise. - -“She was named after a very dear friend of mine,” said he, sighing. - -“May I ask,” said Miss Hetty, with excusable curiosity, “the name of -this friend? I begin to feel quite an interest in your little girl,” she -added, half apologetically. - -“Her name is Henrietta Henderson,” said the stranger. - -“Why, that is my name!” ejaculated Miss Hetty. - -“And she was named after you,” said the stranger, composedly. - -“Why, who in the world are you?” she asked, her heart beginning to beat -unwontedly fast. - -“Then you don’t remember me?” said he, rising, and looking steadily at -Miss Hetty. “Yet you knew me well in bygone days,—none better. At one -time, it was thought you would join your destiny to mine——” - -“Nick Anderson!” said Miss Hetty, rising in confusion. - -“You are right. You rejected me because you did not feel secure of my -principles. The next day, in despair at your refusal, I left the house, -and, ere forty-eight hours had passed, was on my way to India. I had not -formed the design of going to India in particular; but, in my then state -of mind, I cared not whither I went. One resolution I formed,—that I -would prove by my conduct that your apprehensions were ill founded. I got -into a profitable business. In time, I married; not that I had forgotten -you, but that I was solitary, and needed companionship. I had ceased to -hope for yours. By and by, a daughter was born. True to my old love, I -named her Hetty, and pleased myself with the thought that she bore some -resemblance to you. Afterwards my wife died; misfortunes came upon me; -and I found myself deprived of all my property. Then came yearnings for -my native soil. I have returned (as you see), not as I departed, but poor -and care-worn.” - -While Nicholas was speaking, Miss Hetty’s mind was filled with -conflicting emotions. At length, extending her hand frankly, she said,— - -“I feel that I was too hasty, Nicholas. I should have tried you longer. -But, at least, I may repair my injustice. I have enough for us all. You -shall come and live with me.” - -“I can only accept your generous offer on one condition,” said Nicholas. - -“And what is that?” - -“That you will be my wife!” - -A vivid blush came over Miss Hetty’s countenance. She “couldn’t think of -such a thing,” she said. Nevertheless, an hour afterwards the two united -lovers had fixed upon the marriage-day. - - * * * * * - -The house does not look so prim as it used to do. The yard is redolent -with many fragrant flowers. The front door is half open, revealing a -little girl playing with a kitten. - -“Hetty,” says a matronly lady, “you have got the ball of yarn all over -the floor. What would your father say if he should see it?” - -“Never mind, mother; it was only kitty that did it.” - -Marriage has filled up a void in the heart of Miss Hetty. Though not so -prim, or perhaps careful, as she used to be, she is a good deal happier. -Three hearts are filled with thankfulness at every return of MISS -HENDERSON’S THANKSGIVING DAY. - - - - -LITTLE CHARLIE. - - - A violet grew by the river-side, - And gladdened all hearts with its bloom; - While over the fields, on the scented air, - It breathed a rich perfume. - But the clouds grew dark in the angry sky, - And its portals were opened wide; - And the heavy rain beat down the flower - That grew by the river-side. - - Not far away, in a pleasant home, - There lived a little boy, - Whose cheerful face and childish grace - Filled every heart with joy. - He wandered one day to the river’s verge, - With no one near to save; - And the heart that we loved with a boundless love - Was stilled in the restless wave. - - The sky grew dark to our tearful eyes, - And we bade farewell to joy; - For our hearts were bound by a sorrowful tie - To the grave of the little boy. - The birds still sing in the leafy tree - That shadows the open door: - We heed them not; for we think of the voice - That we shall hear no more. - - We think of him at eventide, - And gaze on his vacant chair - With a longing heart, that will scarce believe - That Charlie is not there. - We seem to hear his ringing laugh, - And his bounding step at the door; - But, alas! there comes the sorrowful thought,— - We shall never hear them more! - - We shall walk sometimes to his little grave, - In the pleasant summer hours; - We will speak his name in a softened voice, - And cover his grave with flowers; - We will think of him in his heavenly home,— - His heavenly home so fair; - And we will trust with a hopeful trust - That we shall meet him there. - - - - -BERTHA’S CHRISTMAS VISION. - - -It was the night before Christmas. Snow was falling without; and the -wind dashed the cold flakes, in eddying whirls, into the faces of those -wayfarers whom business or pleasure kept out thus late. They drew their -warm garments more closely about them, and hurried onward; little heeding -the pelting of the storm while the vision of a cheerful hearth and a -merry family circle danced before their eyes and warmed their hearts. -Merry St. Nicholas, too, the patron saint of children, was abroad. It -was a busy night with him. Thousands of parcels must be made up, and -showered down as many chimneys into expectant stockings, before the -morrow’s dawn. So he gives the reins to his coursers, and speeds swiftly -along,— - - “through forest and brake; - Through deep, drifting snow; over river and lake; - Over hill, over dale, where the keen northern blast, - With fierce, angry moaning, drives fearfully past.” - -In a large and pleasant room sat little Bertha, gazing thoughtfully -into the fire. The fire crackled and burnt; and shadows, cast by its -flickering light, danced on the wall. But little Bertha’s thoughts were -far away, and she heeded them not. For many weeks, she had been looking -forward to this very night; and now she was trying to conjecture what -gifts good St. Nicholas had in store for her. At length she grew weary -of conjecture, took a lamp from the table, and went up stairs to bed. It -was a neat little chamber; and the counterpane on Bertha’s bed rivalled -in whiteness the falling snow without. Bertha looked out of the window, -against the panes of which the snow was beating noisily. - -“It is a cold night,” thought she. “St. Nicholas will have a hard time of -it. What if he should not come at all?” - -Bertha’s apprehensions were soon dispelled; for, as she looked out, the -sound of silvery bells came nearer and nearer, till at length it paused -under her window, and, a moment afterwards, was heard in an opposite -direction. Bertha rubbed her eyes, and strove to distinguish the sleigh -from which these sounds proceeded; but she could distinguish nothing. - -“Can it be St. Nicholas?” thought she. - -Even as she spoke, mingling with the sound of the retreating bells, -she thought she could distinguish the words of a song. She listened -attentively; and these were the words which the wind bore to her:— - - “The path I have chosen - Is covered with snow; - The streams are all frozen; - Yet onward I go. - - “I glide o’er the mountain, - And skim o’er the lea; - I pass by the fountain; - Yet no eye can see— - - “My form or my shadow - On snow-drift or mound, - On hill-top or meadow, - Or frost-spangled ground. - - “While sleigh-bells are ringing - Upon the highway, - And glad parties singing - So thoughtless and gay,— - - “I pass through and over - Each hamlet and hall - Ere mortals discover - Who gave them a call. - - “I pause but to count o’er - The gifts for each one, - And then quickly mount o’er - The stile. I am gone!” - -“That must certainly be Santa Claus,” thought Bertha. So she carefully -hung up her stockings before the fire, and went to bed. She soon became -tired of waiting for St. Nicholas to come; and, in a few minutes, she was -asleep. But the thoughts of Christmas had taken fast hold of her mind, -and, as she slept, shaped themselves into the following dream:— - -She thought, that, as she was lying awake in her chamber, there appeared -suddenly before her three figures, clad in white. Slowly they advanced, -hand in hand, till they stood before her bedside. Then, with united -voices, they chanted the following lines:— - - “Maiden, from the fields of air - We have winged our rapid flight, - Bringing gifts both rich and rare, - On this frosty Christmas night. - Guard them ever: they will be - Of exceeding worth to thee.” - -They ceased; and Bertha, in great astonishment, inquired,— - -“What! are you St. Nicholas? Or,” she added, recollecting herself, -“perhaps you are his sisters?” - -The visitors resumed their chant:— - - “Maiden, no! Thy Christmas saint - Beareth gifts of mortal taint: - At the touch of sure decay - They shall vanish quite away. - Those we bear are not of earth: - Theirs has been a higher birth.” - -The visitors ceased; and one of their number, coming forward, commenced -anew:— - - “I am Faith. To thee I bear - Childlike trust and confidence - In the ever-watchful care - Of our Father’s providence. - Maiden, one of sisters three, - This the gift I bear to thee.” - -The second came forward, and repeated:— - - “I am Hope. When darksome clouds - Gather round thy earthly way, - And Misfortune’s shadowy veil - Intercepts the light of day, - I will come on wings of light: - Clouds and mist shall straightway fly, - And reveal the golden gates - Of a happier home on high. - Maiden, one of sisters three, - This the gift I bear to thee.” - -Smiling graciously on the wondering Bertha, Hope drew back, and gave -place to her sister, who commenced as follows:— - - “I am Charity. Let me - Ever on thy steps attend, - And, as long as life shall last, - Be thy counsellor and friend. - In thy bosom I would sow - Seeds of gentleness and love, - And, a resident of earth, - Fit thee for a home above. - Maiden, last of sisters three, - This the gift I bear to thee.” - -Again the sisters joined hands, and, with united voices, chanted, as at -first,— - - “Maiden, from the fields of air - We have winged our rapid flight, - Bringing gifts both rich and rare, - On this frosty Christmas night. - Faith and Hope and Charity! - Earthly maiden, sisters three, - These the gifts we bear to thee.” - -Their voices died away, and they were gone. Bertha opened her eyes, and, -lo! it was all a vision that had come to her on this Christmas night. The -morning sun was shining brightly through the window-panes. Noisily over -the frozen snow dashed the sleighs; and their bells rang a merry peal in -honor of Christmas Day. Bertha glanced at the well-filled stockings that -hung in front of the fire, and then she knew that St. Nicholas had been -there with his budget of gifts; and the words sung by the sisters came -into her mind:— - - “Maiden, no! Thy Christmas saint - Beareth gifts of mortal taint. - Those we bear are not of earth: - Theirs has been a higher birth.” - -“I will not forget the gifts of the good sisters,” she murmured softly. -“Doubtless it is my heavenly Father who has sent them to me.” - -So it was that little Bertha, attended by the three sisters, walked -peacefully and happily through life. - -The ways of God’s providence, so dark and mysterious to many, became -plain and clear to her; for she saw with the eye of Faith. Clouds -sometimes gathered about her path; but Hope waved her wand, and they were -at once dispelled. Jealousy and envy and angry thoughts disturbed her -not; for her heart was filled with the heavenly spirit of Charity. - -Would that we all might be blessed with Bertha’s Christmas vision! - - - - -WIDE-AWAKE. - - -Many years ago, in a city whose name I cannot now recall, there lived a -poor woman, whose husband had died, leaving nothing but a little son. For -some time, she continued to support herself, and her son, whom she dearly -loved, by working early and late at the spinning-wheel. But, after a -while, a heavy misfortune fell upon her: it was no less than the loss of -eyesight. So she was obliged to give up her spinning; for now she could -distinguish neither the web nor the woof. You can imagine her distress at -being deprived so suddenly of seeing the great and beautiful spectacle of -fields, flowers, and sky, which every day presents to our gaze. Still, -she would not have heeded all this; but she found herself cut off, at the -same time, from all means of subsistence. - -Meanwhile, her son had grown up into a stout, active boy of twelve. He -was full of life and animation; and that, I suppose, was the reason he -had received the name of “Wide-awake.” Now, little Wide-awake had a kind -heart as well as manly spirit; and when he saw that his mother, who had -worked so hard and so long for him, had become blind, he said to himself, -“Now it is my turn to work.” - -So he told his mother that he was going to seek for work, and that, -after three months, he would faithfully return. But first he sold the -spinning-wheel, which was no longer of any use, and one or two other -articles, and gave the money to a neighbor, who promised to spend it for -his mother as she had need. Then he took a cheerful leave of his mother, -and went off with a light heart, though his pockets were empty. - -He had not walked far when he overtook an old woman, who was bending -beneath the weight of a heavy burden. She was homely, and appeared very -tired. Wide-awake was passing by, when she called out to him, “Come here, -little boy: help me to carry this bundle. I am old, weak, and tired; you -are young and strong.” - -Wide-awake was very obliging; and, though the old woman’s tone was not -the pleasantest in the world, he very willingly took one side of the -bundle, and helped her to carry it. The day was hot, and the bundle -heavy; but he bore up stoutly, so that the old woman began to get over -her ill humor, and to ask him some questions. So he told her his whole -story,—how his mother was blind and unable to work, and he was seeking -his fortune. - -“Well,” said the old woman, “if that is the case, I think you had better -come and live with me. I live in a little cottage not far off, and am -in want of a boy to go on errands and do other little things for me. If -you will come and stay with me three months, I will reward you as you -deserve. But I will warn you that I am very particular, and shall require -you to obey me in every thing.” - -Of course, Wide-awake was only too glad to accept the old woman’s offer. -He was quite sure that he should be able to suit her; and he could not -help picturing to himself how glad his mother would be to have him return -with perhaps a piece of gold; for this seemed a great sum to Wide-awake, -and a very generous compensation for three months’ labor. - -After a while, they came to the old woman’s cottage. It was a small -house, containing three rooms. One of these was a kitchen, in which the -old woman did all her cooking; another was her chamber; and the third she -told Wide-awake he should have to sleep in. - -Early the next morning, the old woman came to his bedside, and shook him -roughly. - -“Up! up!” said she. “Is not the sun up? and you are lying here asleep! -What is your name?” - -“Wide-awake,” said he, rubbing his eyes. - -“Then,” said the old woman, “hereafter, be sure to be wide awake before -the sun. Dress yourself as quickly as possible, and I will give you your -breakfast; and then to work.” - -Wide-awake was up and dressed in a moment. The old woman set before him -a bowl of bread and milk for his breakfast. After he had eaten this, she -took him to a fold near by, where he saw ten beautiful sheep. - -“These,” said she, “will be your care. You will drive them to the great -meadow a mile hence, and watch them, taking care that none stray away. -Three times a day—at morning, noon, and night—you will drive them to the -spring, and let them drink; and, at seven o’clock, you may bring them -back.” - -Wide-awake promised faithfully to obey her in every respect. He found the -great meadow without difficulty. He watched the sheep, and watered them, -as he had been directed, and, at nightfall, drove them home. The old -woman counted the sheep, and, finding them all there, was well content, -and gave Wide-awake his supper. - -So time passed on. Every day the old woman became better satisfied with -Wide-awake, who, on his part, was looking forward to the time when he -might go home. - -One morning about this time, as Wide-awake was about to drive out his -sheep as usual, the old woman stopped him. - -“They have grown quite fat,” said she; “so I shall carry them to the city -and sell them. I shall be gone a week, and shall leave you here to take -care of the house while I am gone. You will not have much to do. But -there is one thing I must warn you against: you must not, on any account, -open the door of the closet which is in your chamber. If you do, you will -repent it.” - -Wide-awake was not troubled with curiosity; and so he found no difficulty -in making this promise. - -The old woman departed, and Wide-awake was left alone. Having nothing -else to do, he began to think of home and his mother. Then he began to -wonder how much his mistress meant to give him for his services. He -determined that he would buy a nice arm-chair for his mother, and a great -many other things, if his money only held out. But they were all for his -mother’s comfort, and not for his own, as I have already explained that -Wide-awake was far from being selfish. - -On the fourth day after the old woman’s departure, a stout man came to -the door, and asked leave to rest a little while. Wide-awake knew that -his mistress would have no objection; so he gave him permission, and, -moreover, placed before him some bread and milk. The man ate heartily, -and, in the mean time, contrived to draw out of Wide-awake all the -particulars of his situation, and the old woman’s prohibiting him to open -the door of the closet. - -“I have no doubt,” said he, “that it is there where she keeps her money. -If I were in your place, I would look and see. It wouldn’t do any harm.” - -“But,” said Wide-awake, in astonishment, “she told me not to do it on any -account.” - -“Never mind that,” said the man, winking: “it’ll do no harm; and she’ll -never know it.” - -“But,” said Wide-awake, firmly, “I have promised; and I never break my -promise.” - -“Well, then, if you won’t, I will,” said the stranger, rising; “for I’m -determined to know what there is in that closet.” - -But Wide-awake sprang to the door, set his back resolutely against it, -and said,— - -“Never! while I live.” - -“Poh!” was the contemptuous reply. “What is your strength against mine? -Don’t you know that I can kill you?” - -“That may be,” said Wide-awake, firmly,—though the thoughts of his mother -came over his mind; and he could not help sighing for her, if he should -die,—“but I will not yield.” - -“Are you quite determined you will not let me in?” said the stranger. - -The voice seemed altered; and, looking up, Wide-awake beheld, to his -great surprise, that it was the old woman who addressed him. - -“Where is the man who was here a minute since?” asked he in surprise. - -The old woman smiled, and explained to him that she was a fairy, and -had taken a man’s figure to test his sincerity. She said she was quite -satisfied with the result, and, as she had no further need of his -services, would let him return home. - -“But I owe you something for your past fidelity. What shall it be? I -leave it to your choice. Wealth, happiness, and long life: I will confer -either of these upon you. Choose.” - -“And may I choose any thing I like?” said Wide-awake, with eyes sparkling. - -“Yes,” said the fairy (for so we must now call her). - -“Then I will choose that my mother be restored to sight.” - -“You have chosen well, my child,” said the fairy, kindly: “it shall be -as you say; and, to reward you for your affection to your mother, I will -freely bestow upon you the three gifts which you did not choose. You -shall be rich; and your life shall be both long and happy.” - -Wide-awake found his mother fully restored to sight. With the wealth -which the fairy bestowed upon him, he built a neat cottage for his -mother, who was long spared to him. The fairy’s promise was verified in -every particular. - - - - -THE FIRST TREE PLANTED BY AN ORNAMENTAL TREE SOCIETY. - - - We have planted it deep in the yielding soil, - Hard by the house of prayer; - And the cool air plays through its leafy top, - As it stands in silence there. - - It is young like ourselves; but, day by day, - The dews of heaven will fall,— - And the gladsome rays of the summer sun, - That shines for each and all; - And, under their gentle ministry, - It will grow both stout and tall. - - Then will the roots of the stately tree - Have spread both far and wide; - And perchance its branches will overtop - The church that stands beside; - And safe amid its clustering leaves - Will summer birds abide. - - And those who, full of youthful life, - About the sapling played, - With sober mien and whitened locks - Will stand beneath its shade, - And ponder with a thoughtful brow - On the changes Time has made. - - The years will roll, with a steady course, - To meet Time’s infinite sea; - And the silent waves, in their fearful sweep, - Will ingulf both you and me; - But still, like a beacon that tells of the past, - Will stand our first elm-tree. - - - - -THE ROYAL CARPENTER OF AMSTERDAM. - - -The superintendent of the Dock Yard in Amsterdam was seated in his office -one afternoon, indulging himself in smoking a rude pipe; a luxury then -recently imported from the colony of Virginia, in the New World. - -His reflections, whatever they were, were broken in upon by a knock -at the door,—not a timid, hesitating knock; but a bold, authoritative -summons. The superintendent, judging it must proceed from some person -of consequence, hastily laid aside his pipe, and quickly threw open the -door, to admit his unknown visitor. - -Instead of the high personage he anticipated, he beheld standing before -him a stout man, of commanding person, and dressed in the attire of a -workman. - -He was a little vexed to think he had been so much deceived; and perhaps -it was natural that he should accost the intruder in a somewhat peevish -manner. - -“Well, my good man, what do you want, that you come thumping at the door -as if you were really a man of mark? What would you have?” - -“I seek employment,” said the stranger in a deep voice, not at all -intimidated at his reception. - -At the same time, he presented a letter to the superintendent. - -“Ha!” said the latter, glancing at it with considerable surprise; “from -the Russian ambassador!” - -He read aloud as follows:— - - “SIR,—The bearer, a countryman of mine, is desirous - of obtaining employment in the Dock Yard under your - superintendence. He is not altogether unacquainted with this - description of labor, but wishes to perfect himself in it. I - feel assured that nowhere can he do so to greater advantage - than under your instruction.” - -The compliment implied in the concluding sentence served to moderate the -vexation occasioned by his recent misapprehension; and he turned with a -milder mien to his visitor. - -He was a little surprised to find, that, quite unconscious of the great -distance between the superintendent of the Dock Yard and a common -workman, he had, without ceremony, seated himself. “Humph!” thought he; -“I suppose that’s the way they do in Russia.” - -“So you are from Russia, my good man?” said he, in a half-patronizing -tone. - -The visitor inclined his head in the affirmative. - -“It’s a barbarous place, I’ve heard: the people are not half civilized; -you did wisely in coming here. You must see a great difference between it -and Holland?” - -“Yes,” said the Russian, “we have much to learn. Other nations are -greatly in advance of us in many respects; but that will pass away, and -Russia will take her place at the head of them all.” - -The superintendent shrugged his shoulders. He evidently did not believe -it. - -“So you wish employment?” he continued, after a pause. “What is your -name?” - -“Peter Timmerman,” was the reply. - -“Very well; you may set to work to-morrow. Your wages will be a florin a -day. You may report yourself at six o’clock.” - -Thus terminated the interview. The Russian made a bow of acknowledgment, -and left the office, leaving the superintendent more puzzled than -enlightened at the insight into Russian character with which he had been -favored. - -The next morning, at the appointed time, Peter Timmerman presented -himself at the Dock Yard. He set to work with an intelligence and -earnestness which evinced that he was far from being a novice, and by -no means inclined to be a drone. A week had not passed before he was -acknowledged to be the ablest workman in the yard. - -His fellow-workmen looked upon him with a little natural curiosity, and -would have been very glad of his confidence. It was soon found, however, -that, although asking many questions in regard to the details of his -occupation, he preserved a uniform silence respecting his own family -and past life, carefully evading any inquiries which the curiosity of -his companions prompted. On one occasion, when some one of them pushed -it to an indiscreet extent, the eyes of the Russian blazed with anger, -and he lifted the tool he had in his hand in a threatening manner; but -apparently reflection came to his aid, and, lowering it, he proceeded -with his work. This little incident convinced his comrades, that, -whatever mystery there might be connected with his past history, it would -be both useless and dangerous in them to endeavor to extort it from him. -Henceforth, then, he was not troubled with inquiries, but was treated -with an involuntary and perhaps unconscious deference by those with whom -he was brought in daily contact. - -If occasionally it might be thought that he was greater than he seemed, -there was nothing to confirm this idea in his mode of life. - -The florin which he daily earned was the utmost limit of his expenses. -No workman lived more frugally. He had secured board and lodgings at the -house of a poor widow woman, the mother of one of his companions in the -yard, where he paid a small price, and lived accordingly. The whole -family consisted of the mother and son. This son, who was a lively and -well-looking young man of one and twenty, was, next to Peter, the most -skilful workman in the yard. He worked intelligently, and did not suffer -his eyes to remain idle. It was his ambition to rise from the position of -a mere workman, and become a master-builder. - -Perhaps one thing which contributed to heighten his ambition was the fact -that the superintendent of the Dock Yard possessed, among the items of -his wealth, a fair, cherry-cheeked damsel, whose beauty had set half the -hearts of the young men in Amsterdam on fire. Trust me, friendly reader! -young men are pretty much alike all the world over; and the current -of youthful feeling is just as likely to effervesce in the Hollander, -phlegmatic as he is generally supposed, as in the residents of more -southern climes. - -But, after all, was it not foolish in the young ship-carpenter to aspire -to an object so generally admired and sought after as the Fraulein -superintendent? for such she was designated, out of respect for her -father’s office. Perhaps it was; and yet Heinrich Dort did not think so. -After all, he was the best judge in what concerned himself. - -He had observed the young Fraulein’s eyes wandering toward the side of -the church on which he sat, and he could not mistake the object that -attracted them. Whenever the maiden saw that he was returning her gaze, -she always cast down her eyes; and then, of course, she looked ten-fold -as beautiful in the eyes of Heinrich Dort. - -After all, the eye is more eloquent than the tongue. Heinrich thought he -could not mistake it in this instance. It was certainly rather singular -that the two should meet in the walk one pleasant Sabbath afternoon; and -no less so, perhaps, that, precisely at the moment, the Fraulein should -drop a brooch which she held in her hand. Of course, she searched for it -diligently in every place but the right one; and, of course, Heinrich was -required, by the claims of politeness, to volunteer his assistance. The -lost ornament was soon found; but Heinrich, probably fearing it might be -lost again, did not leave the Fraulein, but accompanied her, by a very -round-about way, to her home. Perhaps it might have been absence of mind -that made them miss the direct way,—at least, so we will conjecture, -since we can do nothing more. - -At all events, such was the commencement of Heinrich’s acquaintance with -the Fraulein. They used to meet every Sabbath afternoon; and Heinrich, -acknowledging his presumption all the time, ventured to confess that his -whole hope of happiness rested upon her answer to a little question which -he had to propose. - -What that question was, I may as well leave to be surmised. The answer -was conditionally favorable. The maiden intimated that no opposition -need be anticipated from her, provided he should obtain her father’s -consent. Heinrich felt very happy until he began to consider that this -qualification might prove a very formidable one; and he feared that the -superintendent might think the young workman altogether an inadequate -match for his daughter, whose dowry would be twenty thousand florins at -the very least. But there is an old saying,—“Faint heart never won fair -lady.” Whether Heinrich had ever heard of this, or whether, indeed, it -had ever been translated into Dutch at all, I am quite unable to say; -but, at all events, he was resolved that such a prize should not pass -from his hands without a struggle. - - * * * * * - -Although the young workman was far from being constitutionally timid, -preserving an undaunted front in the face of danger, it must be -confessed that his heart beat audibly and his hand trembled perceptibly -as he knocked at the door of the superintendent’s office; not that there -was any thing particularly suited to inspire fear in the rotund figure of -that personage. - -The latter perceived that the young man was disturbed. He was rather -flattered to find it so, as he attributed it solely to the effect of his -presence, which he privately considered not a little imposing. It was, -therefore, with an approach to affability that he motioned him to be -seated, and inquired,— - -“Well, my good fellow, how goes business? Have you come for any -instructions?” - -“No, your excellency,” replied Heinrich. “Business goes well enough; but -it is on another subject that I wish to trouble you.” - -“Well, out with it, man. No parleying,—that’s my way.” - -“You have a daughter.” - -“Donder and blitzen! So I always have supposed. And is it to impart this -precious piece of information that you have come here?” - -“No, your excellency,” hesitated Heinrich; “but the fact is, that—that—in -short, an attachment has sprung up between your daughter and myself; and -I am here to crave your permission to marry her.” - -“Well, that is coming to the point with a vengeance!” exclaimed the -testy little superintendent. “And may I beg to know whether my daughter -sanctioned this visit on your part?” - -“She did.” - -“Then she has less wit than I thought for. She—the daughter of the -superintendent of the royal Dock Yard of Amsterdam—to stoop to be the -wife of a common workman! The girl must be out of her senses. But if she -chooses it to be so, I shall not. Young man, you have been presumptuous. -For once, I will pass over it; but beware of offending a second time.” - -The little great man made an imperious gesture of withdrawal, which -Heinrich could not do otherwise than obey. He returned home in great -depression, as might be anticipated of one whose dearest hopes had been -crushed out. Sitting at the door, he perceived his mother’s lodger and -his own fellow-workman, Peter Timmerman. - -The latter, contrary to his custom, opened a conversation with Heinrich, -whose manner he could not avoid noticing. - -“What has befallen you, comrade,” he said, “that you should look so -woe-begone?” - -“And if I tell you,” returned Heinrich, whose disappointment had made him -somewhat testy,—“if I should tell you, how could you help me?” - -“Perhaps not at all,—perhaps very much. At all events, it will relieve -your mind to unburden it of sorrow, if any weighs upon it.” - -“You may be right,” said Heinrich, after a pause. “At all events, it -will do no harm. You must know, then, that I have been foolish enough -to fall in love with the superintendent’s daughter, who favors my suit. -But because I am not wealthy, and am _only a workman_” (the young man -emphasized the last words in a bitter tone), “her father rejects my suit.” - -“But how if you occupied as high a position as himself?” - -“Oh! then there would be nothing to fear.” - -“Listen, then, in your turn. I may help you to what you seek. Did you -ever hear of Russia?” - -“I have,” said Heinrich. “It is a great country, but a barbarous one.” - -“That is true; at least, it is not so far advanced as its neighbors. But, -if I live to accomplish all my plans, it shall yet equal any of them.” - -“_You!_ Who, then, are you?” exclaimed the young man, in astonishment at -such language from such a source. - -“_I am Peter, the reigning czar_,” said the Russian, composedly. “I could -trust no one but myself to carry out a plan I had formed for supplying -the chief defect of Russia,—an efficient navy. Accordingly, I have -entered myself here as a common workman. I have gained what I sought; I -have made myself familiar with the construction of vessels; and I shall, -after a brief visit to England, return to my kingdom, and take measures -to build a fleet. I have thought of you as one competent to superintend -their building. You shall have a handsome salary, and I will confer upon -you an order of nobility.” - -“Then I can marry the Fraulein superintendent after all!” And Heinrich -leaped to his feet in exultation. “But how shall I thank your ex⸺ I mean -your majesty, for such a load of favors?” - -“By fidelity to my interests,” said Peter. “But I am tired, and must go -in. Whatever arrangements you make must be completed within three days. -Good night.” - -The next morning, Heinrich paid another visit to the superintendent. When -he left, at the end of half an hour, the superintendent accompanied him -to the door in the excess of his affability. No more opposition was made -to his suit. Heinrich Dort, the workman, was quite a different person -from Heinrich Dort, general superintendent of the Russian navy. - -The events which followed are known to history. Peter, with the -assistance of his superintendent, laid the foundation of a flourishing -marine; and the latter, through all the mutations of the Russian -dynasty, succeeded in retaining the confidence of the government until -Death gathered him to his fathers at a ripe old age. - - - - -OUR GABRIELLE. - - - When the harsh days of the winter - Softened into early spring, - And the birds—gay, feathered songsters— - First commenced their carolling, - Kindling in our hearts o’erflowing - More of love than tongue can tell, - Sweeter than the breath of morning - Came our star-eyed Gabrielle. - - And our earth-worn hearts were gladdened - As we gazed into her eyes,— - Liquid mirrors, freshly tinted - With the hues of paradise. - Through the long days of the summer, - Bound as with a magic spell, - Warm and warmer in our bosoms - Grew the love of Gabrielle. - - But, alas! the summer faded, - And the autumn leaves grew sear, - And our cherished household blossom - Faded with the fading year. - In the quiet grave we laid her; - There, we trust, she sleepeth well; - And we hope, when life is over, - We shall meet our Gabrielle. - - - - -THE VEILED MIRROR. - - -The old year was fast drawing to a close. But a few hours, and the advent -of its successor would be hailed by merry shouts and joyful gratulations, -mingling with the merry chime of bells ringing out a noisy welcome from -church-towers and steeples. - -Adam Hathaway, a wealthy merchant, sat in his counting-room, striking -a balance between his gains and losses for the year which had nearly -passed. From the smile that lighted up his countenance, as he drew near -the end of his task, it might safely be inferred that the result proved -satisfactory. - -He at length threw down his pen, after footing up the last column, and -exclaimed joyfully,— - -“Five thousand dollars net gain in one year! That will do very well,—very -well indeed. If I am as well prospered in the year to come, it will -indeed be a ‘happy New Year.’” - -His meditations were interrupted by a knock at the door. He opened it, -and saw standing before him a man of ordinary appearance, bearing under -his arm something, the nature of which he could not conjecture, wrapped -up in brown paper. - -“Mr. Hathaway, I believe?” was the stranger’s salutation. - -“You are correct.” - -“Perhaps, if not particularly engaged, you will allow me a few minutes’ -conversation with you?” - -“Yes, certainly,” was the surprised reply; “though I am at a loss to -conjecture what can have brought you here.” - -“You are a wealthy man, Mr. Hathaway, and every year increases your -possessions. May I ask what is your object in accumulating so much -property?” - -“This is a very singular question, sir,” said the merchant, who began to -entertain doubts as to his visitor’s sanity,—“very singular. I suppose I -am influenced by the same motives that actuate other men,—the necessity -of providing for my physical wants, and so contributing to my happiness.” - -“And this contents you? But your gains are not all devoted to this -purpose. This last year, for example, the overplus has amounted to five -thousand dollars.” - -“I know not where you have gained your information,” said Mr. Hathaway, -in surprise. “However, you are right.” - -“And what do you intend to do with this?” - -“You are somewhat free with your questions, sir. However, I have no -objection to answering you. I shall lay it up.” - -“For what purpose? I need not tell you that money, in itself, is of no -value. It is only the representative of value. Why, then, do you allow it -to remain idle?” - -“How else should I employ it? I have a comfortable house well furnished: -should I purchase one more expensive? My table is well provided: should I -live more luxuriously? My wardrobe is well supplied: should I dress more -expensively?” - -“To these questions I answer, No. But it does not follow, because you -have a good house, comfortable clothing, and a well-supplied table, -that others are equally well provided. Have you thought to give of your -abundance to those who are needy,—to promote your own happiness by -advancing that of others?” - -“I must confess that this is a duty which I have neglected. But there are -alms-houses and benevolent societies. There cannot be much misery that -escapes their notice,” said Mr. Hathaway. - -“You shall judge for yourself.” - -The stranger commenced unwrapping the package which he carried under his -arm. It was a small mirror, with a veil hanging before it. He slowly -withdrew the veil, and said, “Look!” - -A change passed over the surface of the mirror. Mr. Hathaway, as he -looked at it intently, found that it reflected a small room, scantily -furnished; while a fire flickered in the grate. A bed stood in one corner -of the room, on which reposed a sick man. By the side of it sat a woman, -with a thin shawl over her shoulders, busily plying her needle. An infant -boy lay in a cradle not far off, which a little girl called Alice, whose -wasted form and features spoke of want and privation, was rocking to -sleep. - -“Would you hear what they are saying?” asked the stranger. - -The merchant nodded acquiescence. Immediately there came to his ear the -confused noise of voices, from which he soon distinguished that of the -sick man, who asked for some food. - -“We have none in the house,” said his wife. “But I shall soon get this -work finished; and then I shall be able to get some.” - -The husband groaned: “Oh that I should be obliged to remain idle on a -sick bed, when I might be earning money for you and the children! The -doctor says, that, now the fever has gone, I need nothing but nourishing -food to raise me up again. But, alas! I see no means of procuring it. -Would that some rich man, out of his abundance, would supply me with but -a trifle from his board! To him it would be nothing; to me, every thing.” - -The scene vanished; and gradually another formed itself upon the surface -of the mirror. - -It was a small room, neatly but not expensively furnished. There were two -occupants,—a man of middle age, and a youth of a bright, intellectual -countenance, which at present seemed overspread with an air of dejection. - -Mr. Hathaway, to his surprise, recognized in the gentleman Mark Audley, -a fellow-merchant and formerly intimate friend, who, but a few months -before, had failed in business, and, too honorable to defraud his -creditors, had given up all his property. Since his failure, he had been -reduced to accept a clerkship. - -“I am sorry, Arthur,” said he to his son, “very sorry, that I could not -carry out my intention of entering you at college. I know your tastes -have always led you to think of a professional career; but my sudden -change of circumstances has placed it out of my power to gratify you. It -is best for you to accept the situation which has been offered you, and -enter Mr. Bellamy’s store. It is a very fair situation, and will suit you -as well as any.” - -“I believe you are right, sir,” said Arthur, respectfully; “though it -will be hard to resign the hopes that I have so long cherished. I met -Henry Fulham to-day. He was in my class at school, and is to enter -college next fall. I couldn’t help envying him. How soon will Mr. Bellamy -wish me to enter his store?” - -“Day after to-morrow, I believe,—that is, with the beginning of the year; -New Year’s Day being considered a holiday.” - -“Very well; you may tell him that I will come at that time.” - -The scene vanished as before. A change passed over the surface of the -mirror. Again the merchant looked, and, to his surprise, beheld the -interior of his own store. A faint light was burning, by the light of -which a young man, whom he recognized as Frank Durell, one of his own -clerks, was reading a letter, the contents of which seemed to agitate him -powerfully. - -The scene was brought so near, that he could, without difficulty, trace -the lines, written in a delicate, female hand, as follows:— - - “MY DEAR SON,—You are not, probably, expecting to hear from - me at this time. Alas that I should have such an occasion to - write! At the time of your father’s death, it was supposed, - that, by the sacrifice of every thing, we had succeeded in - liquidating all his debts. Even this consolation is now - denied us. I received a call from Mr. Perry this morning, who - presented for _immediate payment_ a note given by your father - for fifty dollars. Immediate payment! How, with a salary barely - sufficient to support us, can you meet such a charge? Can - any way be devised? Mr. Perry threatens, if the money is not - forthcoming, to seize our furniture. He is a hard man, and I - have no hopes of appeasing him. I do not know that you can do - any thing to retard it; but I have thought it right to acquaint - you with this new calamity. - - “Your affectionate mother, - - “MARY DURELL.” - -The young man laid down the letter with an air of depression. - -“I scarcely know how to provide for this new contingency,” said he, -meditatively. “My salary is small; and it requires the strictest economy -to meet my expenses. I might ask for an advance; but Mr. Hathaway is -particular on that point, and I should but court a refusal. But to have -my mother’s furniture taken from the house! The whole amount would hardly -cover the debt. There is one resource; but alas that I should ever think -of resorting to it! I could take the money from the till, and return it -when I am able. But shall I ever be able? It would be no more nor less -than robbery. At all events, I will not do it to-night. Who knows but -something may turn up to help us?” - -The young man blew out the lamp, and left the store. The picture faded. - -“I will show you another picture, somewhat different from the others: it -will be the last,” said the stranger. - -The next scene represented the interior of a baker’s shop. The baker—a -coarse-featured man, with a hard, unprepossessing aspect—was waiting on a -woman thinly clad in garments more suitable for June than December. She -was purchasing two loaves of bread and a few crackers. There was another -customer waiting his turn. It was a gentleman, with a pleasant smile on -his face. - -“Make haste!” said the baker, rudely, to the woman, who was searching for -her money to pay for her purchases. “I can’t stop all day; and here’s a -gentleman that you keep waiting.” - -“Oh! never mind me: I am in no hurry,” the gentleman said. - -“I am afraid,” said the woman, in an alarmed tone, “that I have lost my -money. I had it here in my pocket; but it is gone.” - -“Then you may return the bread. I don’t sell for nothing.” - -“Trust me for once, sir; I will pay you in a day or two; otherwise my -children must go without food to-morrow.” - -“Can’t help that. You shouldn’t have been so careless.” - -The woman was about turning away, when the voice of the other customer -arrested her steps. - -“How much money have you lost?” he inquired. - -“It was but half a dollar,” was the reply; “but it was of consequence to -me, as I can get no more for a day or two; and how we are to live till -then, Heaven knows.” - -“Perhaps that will help you to decide the question.” And he took from his -pocket a five-dollar bill, and handed it to her. - -“Oh, sir!” said she, her face lighting up with gratitude, “this is indeed -generous and noble. The blessings of those you have befriended attend -you!” - -She remained to make a few purchases, and then, with a light heart, -departed. - -The last picture faded from the mirror; and the stranger, wrapping it up, -simply said,— - -“You have seen how much happiness a trifling sum can produce. Will you -not, out of your abundance, make a similar experiment?” - -The stranger disappeared; and Mr. Hathaway awoke to find his dream -terminated by the chime of the New Year’s bells. - -“This is something more than a dream,” said he, thoughtfully. “I will, -at all events, take counsel of the mystic vision; and it shall not be my -fault if some hearts are not made happier through my means before another -sun sets.” - -When the merchant arose on the following morning, it was with the light -heart which always accompanies the determination to do right. He was -determined that the salutation of “A happy New Year” should not be with -him a mere matter of lip-service. - -“I believe,” said he to himself, “I will go and see my old friend, Mark -Audley. If his son Arthur is really desirous of going to college, what is -there to prevent my bearing the expenses? I am abundantly able, and can -dispose of my money in no better way.” - -As he walked along with this praiseworthy determination in his heart, -his attention was drawn towards a little girl, who was gazing, with -eager, wistful eyes, into the window of a neighboring shop, where were -displayed, in tempting array, some fine oranges. He thought—nay, he was -quite sure—that in her he recognized the little girl who figured in the -first scene unfolded the evening before by the mysterious mirror. By way -of ascertaining, he addressed her in pleasant tone:— - -“Your name is Alice,—is it not?” - -“Yes, sir,” said she, looking up, surprised, and somewhat awed. - -“And your father is sick,—is he not?” - -“Yes, sir; but he is almost well now.” - -“I saw you were looking at the oranges in that window. Now, I will buy -you a dozen, if you will let me help you carry them home.” - -The purchase was made; and the merchant walked along, conversing with his -little conductor, who soon lost her timidity. - -Arrived at the little girl’s home, he found that he had not been deceived -in his presentiments. It was the same room that he had seen pictured in -the mirror. The sick man was tossing uneasily in bed when Alice entered. - -“See, papa,” said she, joyfully,—“see what nice oranges I have for you! -And here is the kind gentleman who gave them to me.” - -The merchant, before he left the humble apartment, gave its occupants a -timely donation, and made New Year’s Day a day of thanksgiving. - -Mr. Hathaway soon found himself at the residence of his friend Audley, -who gave him a warm welcome. “This is indeed kind,” said he. “The -friendship that adversity cannot interrupt is really valuable.” - -Mr. Hathaway now introduced the object of his visit, asking, “What do you -mean to do with Arthur? He was nearly ready to go to college,—was he not?” - -“He was; and this is one of the severest trials attending my reversed -circumstances, that I am compelled to disappoint his long-cherished wish -of obtaining a college education.” - -“That must not be,” said Mr. Hathaway. “If you and Arthur will consent, I -will myself pay his charges through college.” - -“Mr. Hathaway,” said Mr. Audley, in a glow of surprise and pleasure, -“this offer evinces a noble generosity on your part that I shall never -forget. You must let me tell Arthur the good news.” - -Mr. Audley summoned his son, and, pointing to Mr. Hathaway, said, “This -gentleman has offered to send you to college at his own expense.” - -The eyes of the youth lighted up; and he grasped the hand of his -benefactor, saying, simply, “Oh! if you but knew how happy you have made -me!” - -“I do not deserve your thanks,” was the smiling reply. “I have learned -that to make others happy is the most direct way to secure my own -happiness.” - -Mr. Hathaway took his way to the store. Arrived there, he sought out -Frank Durell, and requested him to step into his office, as he wished to -speak to him in private. - -“Your salary is five hundred dollars a year, I believe?” said he. - -“Yes, sir,” said Frank Durell, somewhat surprised. - -“I have come to the conclusion that this is insufficient, and I shall -therefore advance it two hundred dollars; and, as a part of it may not be -unacceptable to you now, here are a hundred dollars that you may consider -an advance.” - -“Sir,” said Frank Durell, hardly believing his senses, “you cannot -estimate the benefit I shall derive from this generosity. My mother, who -depends upon me for support, was about to be deprived of her furniture -by an extortionate creditor; but this timely gift—for I must consider it -so—will remove this terrible necessity. I thank you, sir, from my heart.” - -“You are quite welcome,” said the merchant, kindly. “In future, consider -me your friend; and, if you should at any time be in want of advice or -assistance, do not scruple to confide in me.” - -“At least,” said the merchant, thoughtfully, “I have done something to -make this a ‘happy New Year’ for others. The lesson conveyed in the dream -of last night shall not be thrown away upon me. I will take care that -many hearts shall have cause to bless the vision of THE VEILED MIRROR.” - - - - -SUMMER HOURS. - - - It is the year’s high noon! - The air sweet incense yields; - And, o’er the fresh, green fields, - Bends the clear sky of June. - - I leave the crowded streets, - The hum of busy life, - Its clamor and its strife, - To breathe thy pérfumed sweets. - - Oh rare and golden hours! - The birds’ melodious song - Wave-like is borne along - Upon a strand of flowers. - - I wander far away, - Where, through the forest trees, - Sports the cool summer breeze - In wild and wanton play. - - A patriarchal elm - Its stately front uprears, - Which, twice a hundred years, - Has ruled this woodland realm. - - I sit beneath its shade, - And watch, with careless eye, - The brook that babbles by - And cools the leafy glade. - - In truth, I wonder not, - That, in the ancient days, - The temples of God’s praise - Were grove and leafy grot. - - The noblest ever planned, - With quaint device and rare, - By man, can ill compare - With this from God’s own hand. - - Pilgrim with wayworn feet, - Who, treading life’s dull round, - No true repose hast found, - Come to this green retreat;— - - For bird and flower and tree, - Green field and woodland wild, - Shall bear, with voices mild, - Sweet messages to thee. - - - - -THE PRIZE PAINTING. - - -I. - -It was a small attic chamber in an obscure part of London. The light that -entered at the open window revealed two figures,—Arthur Elliott and his -young wife. - -“Dear Arthur,” said the latter, as she brushed back the heavy chestnut -locks from his pale brow, “you must not—indeed you must not—labor so -incessantly. You will injure your health,—perhaps ruin it entirely,—and -then what will be left to me?” - -“Mary,” said the young painter, caressingly, “you are alarming yourself -to no purpose. I am not weary. Besides, what were a little weariness -in comparison with the great purpose I have in view? You know the -exhibition will open in a fortnight; and my picture is still unfinished. -Oh!” continued he, with enthusiasm, while a faint flush overspread -his pale cheek, “if it could be my fortune to gain the great prize of -five hundred pounds which has been offered for the best painting on -exhibition, I believe I could die content!” - -“Arthur!” said his wife, reproachfully. - -“But better still,” said the young painter, caressingly, “to live and -enjoy it with you, my sweet wife! With such a start, what might I not -hope for? Fame, fortune, friends, all would be mine. But it is growing -late; and I have still much to do before I retire. But do not wait for -me, dear Mary: I shall work the faster, if I know that you are reposing.” - -Arthur Elliott was the son of a clergyman in one of the midland counties -of England. At the age of seventeen, he had entered the office of his -uncle, an attorney in London,—a hard, worldly man, wholly engrossed -in business. Young Arthur, who was a boy of a sensitive and highly -imaginative temperament, found little sympathy with his peculiar tastes -in the musty folios over which he was expected to pore day after day, or -in the deeds and legal instruments which he was called upon to engross. -He devoted his leisure time to obtaining some knowledge of painting from -a teacher of that art. He made so great proficiency in this department as -to surprise his teacher, who exclaimed, with enthusiasm, that he was born -to be an artist. - -“And why should I not be?” thought Arthur to himself. “With law I am -completely disgusted: I shall never make a figure at it. Why, then, -should I not abandon what I so utterly detest, and pursue that which -offers so much stronger attraction?” - -Full of this resolution, he went to his uncle, and requested his -permission to adopt it. But the scheme appeared absurd and chimerical to -the man of business; and he utterly forbade Arthur’s cherishing any such -plans in future. This, to one of his nephew’s high spirit, was more than -he could bear. His place in his uncle’s office was vacant the next day, -and remained so. Arthur had collected his little articles of personal -property, and fled to the house of his instructor, where, undetected, he -pursued his studies with the utmost assiduity. His master had a daughter, -a beautiful girl, whose disposition and manners were as amiable as her -features were faultless. What wonder that Arthur fell in love, and that -the two, with her father’s consent, exchanged vows of fidelity, though -both were as yet too young to think of marriage? - -This, however, was hastened by an event which plunged them both in -affliction. Mary’s father died. She was left alone in the world, with no -one but Arthur to depend upon. Arthur was just on the verge of twenty; -Mary, but sixteen. Under the circumstances, however, it was thought best -that they should marry. Mary’s fortune was but small, her father having -left nothing behind him but the materials of his art. - -At first, Arthur resolved to follow in the steps of his father-in-law, -but, as is too often the case, found that genius unknown is -unappreciated. His income became very scanty,—hardly sufficient to supply -himself and Mary with the bare necessaries of life. - -It was at this stage in their fortunes that it was announced, that, -at the annual exhibition of paintings, the prize already alluded to -would be awarded to the most meritorious production of art. This offer -fired Arthur’s ambition. Why should not he, filled as he was with the -inspiration of genius,—why should not he gain it? It was not impossible. -He would at least try. - -He selected as his subject “The Transfiguration of the Saviour.” Without -entering into the details of the painting, which could only be done -properly by an artist, it is sufficient to say that the conception was a -grand one, and the execution of a high character. - -But, in the mean time, how were they to live? The painting on which -Arthur was now engaged was a work of time; and it was a considerable -period before he could hope to derive any pecuniary profit from it. Thus -far, Mary had assisted her husband, as far as she was able, by obtaining -work from the slop-shops, which amounted to a mere pittance. But they had -learned to live frugally under that sternest of teachers,—Necessity. - - -II. - -It was early in the morning of the day after that on which our story -commences. Arthur, worn out by his midnight vigils, had not yet risen. -Mary was astir: she had already prepared and eaten a frugal meal; and the -small table—the only one in the apartment—was covered with a white cloth, -on which was spread, with as tempting an array as the nature of the food -would admit, the breakfast intended for her husband. - -Suddenly, there was a violent knock at the door. Mary glanced towards her -husband,—who was still buried in deep sleep,—apprehensive that he might -be awakened, and then went to the door and opened it. - -A coarse-featured man entered. - -“Good morning, Mrs. Elliott,” was his salutation. “You see I have come -for my week’s rent. I am not likely to forget that.” - -“The rent!” said Mary, apprehensively. “I am sorry, Mr. Mudge; but I -haven’t quite got it ready. I didn’t succeed in finishing the work I had -on hand as soon as I anticipated; and I must ask your indulgence for a -day or two.” - -“Oh, yes! the old story!” said the man, with a sneer. “And if I should -come again in a day or two, you wouldn’t have finished the work you have -on hand, and would ask for a day or two more. Oh, yes! I am used to such -games.” - -“But, Mr. Mudge, have I failed you before? and should I be likely to -begin now? If you will come on Tuesday, you shall have the money, if I -have to pawn some of my furniture to raise it.” - -Mr. Mudge was half persuaded, but still sullen. “There’s your -husband,—why doesn’t he work? He is able to. You wouldn’t find any -difficulty in raising the rent, if he would do something.” - -“Arthur works already beyond his strength,” was the wife’s slightly -indignant rejoinder (for she could not bear to have any imputation cast -upon _him_); “and some day we shall see what will come of it.” - -Just then, her husband stirred in his sleep; and Mary, hastily repeating, -“Call again on Tuesday, and you shall have it,” closed the door, and went -to his bedside. - -“They are a proud set,” said Mudge to himself, as he descended the -rickety staircase, which nearly caused him to stumble,—“they are a proud -set; and they say pride and poverty always go together. But, if the rent -isn’t ready on Tuesday, their pride will be likely to meet with a fall, -or my name isn’t Mudge.” - -Perceiving that her husband still slept, the artist’s wife took up her -work, and began to ply her needle busily. The work she had received from -the slop-shop consisted of shirts, for which she received ninepence -apiece. She had taken a bundle of six, which, when completed, would -amount to a little less than a crown. By great diligence, she could make -three of these in two days; which would give them an income of not quite -seven shillings per week. Of this sum, one half was obliged to go for the -rent of the miserable room in which they lodged. - -By and by, Arthur awoke from the deep sleep in which he had been plunged, -and looked around him. - -“It is late,” said he: “the sun is already high; and I must to work.” - -He dressed himself hastily, and partook of the food which his wife had -prepared for him. - -The next day passed; and Monday afternoon brought to Mrs. Elliott the -sad conviction that she had miscalculated as to the rapidity with which -she could perform her work, and that she would not, after all, be -prepared to meet Mr. Mudge with the rent on the day following. Knowing -his unfeeling nature, she could not doubt that he would insist on their -instantly vacating the apartment. This was to be avoided at all hazards. -She knew her husband’s high spirit; and she feared for the consequences, -if Mr. Mudge should be insolent. - -Full of this thought, she took a light gold chain, which in happier days -her husband had presented to her, and proceeded, with reluctant step, to -the pawnbroker’s. It was drawing towards evening; and she hurried through -the streets, scarcely daring to look to the right hand or to the left, -lest she might meet with some interruption. - -Solomon Fagin, a Jew, who fully sustained the reputation of his race, -as an avaricious man wholly devoted to the love of gain, stood, with a -cringing expression on his drawn-up features, behind the counter of his -shop in David’s Alley. He was trafficking, or rather seemed to have just -closed a sale, with a young gentleman well dressed and of prepossessing -appearance. The latter made way politely for Mary, who was too much -pre-occupied to acknowledge his courtesy. - -“How much will you advance me on this?” asked she, hurriedly, extending -the chain, which had originally been purchased for two guineas. - -Solomon looked in her face cunningly, as if to estimate, by the degree of -anxiety she displayed, how little he might venture to offer. - -Mary was very nervous, and exceedingly anxious to get home before it grew -much darker. This probably gave her an appearance of solicitude, which -the Jew attributed to destitution. - -“These things ish very sheap,” he at length said,—“dog-sheap: people -don’t want ’em. I can’t offer you more than ten shillings, and shall -lose on that.” - -The young gentleman had been an attentive spectator of this scene. He -fathomed the cunning of the Jew, and, advancing to the counter, took the -chain in his hands. - -“Come, Solomon, this is too bad! You should offer three times as much, -and you would make a good bargain then. You know, as well as I do, that -that chain never cost less than two guineas. Come, come! be honest for -once.” - -“It ish all very well,” said Solomon, who did not relish the -interruption, “vor young shentleman to talk; but if young shentleman -should keep a pawnbroker’s shop, he would change his mind.” - -“Perhaps so; but I will wait till I am a pawnbroker first. But, Solomon, -if you don’t offer more, I’ll take it myself.” - -The Jew, who was afraid of losing a good bargain, and internally cursing -the interference of the young gentleman, began to mumble that it was -very hard to press a poor man so,—that he should certainly lose on it. -However, he closed by offering fifteen shillings. - -Mrs. Elliott was about to close with this offer; but the other stepped -forward, and said,— - -“No, no! this will never do. That chain cost two guineas at least. I am -sure of it; for I bought one precisely similar the other day. Give it to -me, madam,” said he, respectfully, to Mrs. Elliott, “and I will advance -you that sum.” - -The artist’s wife accepted his proffer with grateful astonishment, and -hastened to leave the shop. She had gone but a few steps, when she was -overtaken by the chance companion whom she had met at the pawnbroker’s. - -“Do not think me bold,” said he, “if I suggest that it is hardly safe to -carry money open in your hand; and, indeed, it is so dark, that it is -hardly safe at all for a lady to pass through the streets unattended. If -you will accept my escort, I shall be most happy to conduct you to your -lodgings.” - -Mrs. Elliott hesitated. She knew it was scarcely safe to trust to an -entire stranger; but the young man’s conduct thus far had so prepossessed -her in his favor, that she did not refuse. - -“Sir,” she replied, after a moment’s hesitation, “I know not whether I am -in the right; but I cannot help trusting you. I do not think you intend -to impose upon me. I _will_ trust to you.” - -“You shall not regret your confidence,” said her companion. “May I ask -where you reside?” - -“At 16, S⸺ Street,” was the reply of Mrs. Elliott. “I am much indebted -to you, sir, no less for the trouble you are now taking than for the -generosity with which you saved me from being imposed upon by the Jew.” - -“Oh!” said the other, laughing, “Solomon is a cunning old fellow, who -will cheat where he gets a chance. No worse Jew for that, or pawnbroker -either. It is their business to cheat; and I fancy Fagin is as much of an -adept at it as any one. - -“I hope,” he continued, after a pause, “that you were not driven by -distress to the sale of an article which you must value highly?” - -“It was presented to me by my husband,” was the reply. “I would not have -parted with it, but that this was probably the only means of saving -ourselves from being turned out of doors.” - -“I am sorry for that,” was the sympathizing reply. “Does your husband -know that you have come out on such an errand?” - -“No, or he would have offered to pawn some of his own clothing first. Of -this I was afraid; and it was for this reason that I stole secretly out.” - -They had now reached the outer door of the dwelling in the upper part of -which Mr. Elliott lodged. It was necessary for them to part. - -In parting, the stranger pressed Mrs. Elliott’s hand, and then walked -rapidly away. She found, to her astonishment, that he had placed the -chain in her hand. But he was now so far distant that she could not call -him back. Thanking him in her heart for this unlooked-for generosity, -Mrs. Elliott went up stairs with a light heart; for she foresaw, that, -with the sum of money of which she had so providentially come into -possession, they would be able to live comfortably for some weeks; -in addition to which, she would have it in her power to procure some -delicacies for her husband’s palate. - -After a little consideration, she decided not to mention this adventure -to her husband; as the idea of her selling his gift would be painful to -him, and would do him no good. There was no danger of his inquiring, so -much was he absorbed in his painting. Besides, if he thought at all upon -the subject, he would think she had been out on business connected with -her work. - -She hastily passed up stairs, and set about preparing supper for herself -and husband. - - -III. - -The sun was not more punctual to his hour of rising than was the visit of -Mr. Mudge, the landlord, to the lodging of the artist. - -“Well,” said he, abruptly, “have you got the rent ready? I can’t wait a -day longer.” - -“Nor will it be necessary,” said Mrs. Elliott, calmly. “Here is the -money.” - -Mr. Mudge, notwithstanding his love of money, looked a little -disappointed at this ready payment. His mind was essentially a vulgar -one; and he felt an instinctive aversion to Mrs. Elliott, whose -superiority to himself he could not help admitting. He had hoped to have -the pleasure of turning them out. - -“Well, they won’t always have ready money,” was his internal reflection; -“and, the first good excuse I have, they shall go, bag and baggage.” - -Meanwhile, Mr. Elliott was making progress on his painting. - -“You deserve the prize, Arthur,” said his wife, after gazing admiringly -upon her husband’s work,—“you deserve it; and I hope that you will be -successful in obtaining it.” - -“It has cost me many hours of hard labor,” said the artist, wearily, as -he laid aside his pallet for a moment, and passed his hand across his -brow. “I never felt so great an interest in a picture before; and now two -days’ labor, I think, will complete it. It needs but a few touches.” - -As he spoke, Mary saw an unnatural flush upon his cheek, and that his eye -glowed with an unusual brilliancy. She was alarmed. - -“Do, Arthur, for my sake, lie down and rest a while. You do not look -well, and sleep will refresh you. You say two days will finish it, and -you have a week before you.” - -“I believe I will lie down for a few minutes,” said Arthur; “for my head -aches strangely, and I feel weary.” - -He laid down; but it did not refresh him. In a little while, he became -feverish, so that he could not leave his bed. His wife went out to summon -a physician. All her hopes centred in Arthur; and the thought that he -was sick, that he was in danger, quickened her step. She saw nothing -that was going on around her, so intent was she on her object, till -suddenly some one touched her familiarly on the shoulder. She looked -around, and saw by her side the companion whom she had encountered at the -pawnbroker’s. - -“I am happy to meet you once more,” said he; “but you seem in haste.” - -“Yes,” said she, hurriedly; “my husband has been suddenly taken sick, and -I am in pursuit of a physician.” - -“Let me relieve you of that duty. If you will return to your husband, who -doubtless needs your presence, I will summon a physician. I know your -lodgings, and will return with medical assistance immediately.” - -Mrs. Elliott gratefully accepted this proffer of service, for she had -felt much solicitude. When she returned, she found her husband seized -with a fit of delirium, in which he uttered incoherent sentences, all of -which had some connection with his picture and the approaching exhibition. - -In a few minutes, the stranger returned with a physician. To the anxious -inquiries of Mrs. Elliott, the doctor replied,— - -“Your husband is suffering from the excitement and fatigue consequent -upon too severe mental exertion. This has thrown him into a fever, from -which it will take time to recover.” - -After leaving directions, he withdrew, promising to repeat his visit the -next day. - -“How much my poor husband will be disappointed!” Mrs. Elliott could not -help exclaiming. “He must now abandon the hope of presenting his picture -at the exhibition.” - -“What!” said her visitor, with interest, “is your husband an artist?” - -In reply, Mrs. Elliott led him to a corner of the room, and withdrew the -screen that concealed the painting. - -He gazed upon it with deep admiration for some minutes, and then said, -with enthusiasm,— - -“Ah! this is indeed beautiful!” - -“It is nearly completed,” said the artist’s wife; “but that will be of no -service to us now.” And she let fall the screen, and sighed heavily. - -A sudden idea struck the visitor. - -“Will you trust the painting to me for a few days?” he asked. “You shall -not regret it.” - -Mrs. Elliott, convinced that her husband would not recover in time to -finish it, assented without difficulty. She never thought of distrusting -one who had been of such essential service. - -“Thank you,” said the visitor. “As you have reposed this confidence in -me, I must acquaint you with my name and address, that you may know whom -you have trusted.” - -He handed her a card containing the following direction: “F. Sedley, 7, -Covent Place.” - -“I will send for it this afternoon,” said he, as he withdrew, “and will -call in upon you again to-day or to-morrow. I shall be anxious to learn -how your husband gets on.” - -The delirium which attended the early stages of Mr. Elliott’s -indisposition continued for some days. At length, consciousness returned. - -“How long have I been sick?” he inquired. - -He was told. - -“And what day is it now?” - -“Wednesday, the fourteenth.” - -“And to-morrow the exhibition will take place. Oh that I could have held -out but two days longer! I would have asked for no more. In that time I -should have completed my painting, and it would have been entered in -competition. Fate seems to be against me.” - -He groaned, and covered his face with his hands. - -“But,” said his wife, soothingly, “remember, dear Arthur, that, if -Fate seems against us, God is always with us. He orders every thing in -infinite wisdom.” - -“But,” was the hardly reconciled answer, “his ways are very difficult of -comprehension. The wisdom is hidden. I cannot see it.” - -“Yet,” said his wife, full of hopeful confidence, “if we trust in him, we -shall not be deceived.” - -“But,” said Arthur, after a pause, “how shall we live in the mean time? I -can do nothing now for our support; and much of your time is taken up in -attendance upon me.” - -“I am richer than you think,” said Mary, opening her purse, and -displaying the sum she had received from her visitor, much of which was -still untouched. - -To his inquiries how she obtained it, she replied by unfolding the -whole story, and indulged in the warmest encomiums on the generosity -and kindness of Mr. Sedley, whose providential interposition had saved -her from being imposed upon by the avaricious pawnbroker. Arthur was -interested in the recital, and expressed a wish to become acquainted -with him. After a pause, he inquired for the painting. “Let me look upon -it once more,” said he. “Perhaps I shall be better able to judge of its -merits after a lapse of time.” - -Mary looked embarrassed. “Excuse me,” said she to her husband; “but Mr. -Sedley expressed a wish to carry it home with him for a few days, and -I could not refuse. Doubtless he wished to exhibit it to some of his -friends; and in that way it may find a purchaser.” - -Arthur acquiesced in this conclusion, and approved of the course which -Mary had adopted. - - -IV. - -It was the morning of the exhibition,—a clear, bright morning in -September, which seemed to combine all the balmy softness of summer with -a freedom from its excessive heat. The sun shone down upon the numberless -roofs of the great city, and found its way into the lanes and alleys, -lighting them up, for the hour, with a brightness not their own. Through -the little window—the only one—by which light was admitted into the room -where the Elliotts lodged, the golden rays streamed in, and lent their -glory to the face of the sleeping artist, who had not yet awakened from -the night’s slumber. - -There was a knock at the door. Mary opened it; and Mr. Sedley made his -appearance. - -“To-day,” said he, “is the day of the exhibition. Will you accompany me? -I have a free pass.” - -“But my husband?” said she, doubtfully. “I cannot leave him.” - -“I have provided for that. I have brought a nurse with me, who will -take your place, and remain here with your husband. She is skilful and -experienced, and you can safely trust him in her hands.” - -Here the sleeper awoke, and Mary introduced Mr. Sedley to her husband. -The latter thanked him warmly for the interest he had manifested in their -welfare, and insisted on Mary’s accompanying him to the exhibition. - -“Though I shall have no part in it,” he said, “I still wish to hear all -about it.” - -Mary could no longer refuse, but, dressing herself as neatly as her -limited wardrobe would admit, prepared to accompany Mr. Sedley. To -her surprise, she found a private carriage waiting, with the usual -accompaniments of a coachman and a footman; the latter of whom very -deferentially opened the door of the carriage, and waited for her to -enter. - -She began to entertain new ideas of her companion’s consequence. The -carriage dashed boldly through the narrow streets, until it emerged from -them into the more fashionable and crowded thoroughfares. - -Mary found sufficient to amuse her in the splendid carriages, many of -them surmounted with a coronet, all hastening in the same direction with -themselves. There was an unusual number in the streets,—a circumstance -which was easily explained by the interest and curiosity which had been -awakened by the exhibition. - -At length, they reached the magnificent hall in which it was to be held. -The porter bowed deferentially to Mr. Sedley as he made way for him to -pass. - -And now they are in the room. What a magnificent collection! It -represented the combined genius of the British artists, nearly all of -whom had contributed to it. Mary, who, though no artist, had caught -something of the spirit from her husband, looked about her in speechless -admiration. - -“This is indeed grand!” said she, at last. “It surpasses my highest -expectations.” - -“It is indeed,” said Mr. Sedley. “England has good cause to be proud of -her artists. But see! do you not recognize an old acquaintance?” - -Mary looked, and, to her unbounded surprise, beheld “The Transfiguration -of Christ”—her husband’s painting—suspended against the wall. Mr. Sedley -hastened to explain. - -“I thought it a pity,” he said, “that so fine a picture should be lost -to the exhibition. I accordingly hired an artist to give it the last -touches, and had it brought here.” - -Mary thanked him with a glance full of gratitude. She looked again, and -beheld her husband’s picture surrounded by eager admirers. Among them -were the titled and noble; and it was with an emotion of pride that she -heard the expressions of admiration which it elicited, and the eager -questionings as to the author’s name. - -“I do not know,” she heard one say: “I believe it is some _protégé_ of -Sir Francis Sedley. At all events, he presented it.” - -“Sir Francis Sedley?” she inquired, pausing, and looking in her -companion’s face. - -“I cannot deny it,” said he, smiling. “But come: let us draw nearer to -the head of the hall: the prizes are to be announced.” - -They pressed forward; and the chairman of the committee arose, and after -a few preliminary remarks, in which he commented on the difficulty they -had experienced in making the award, and congratulated himself on the -splendid collection which had that day been brought together, announced -that the first prize, of five hundred pounds, was awarded to Arthur -Elliott for his painting entitled “The Transfiguration.” - -Loud shouts rang through the hall. - -Mary was oppressed by the fulness of her joy. - -“Let me go out into the air,—I shall feel relieved,” she said. - -Sir Francis kindly accompanied her. - -“Oh, sir!” said she, “it is to you that we are indebted for this great -joy. Poor Arthur! how he will be delighted!” - -“Will you not return to him and communicate it?” asked Sir Francis. - -A hackney coach was called, and Mrs. Elliott soon arrived at her lodgings. - -“Oh, Arthur!” said she. “The prize! the prize!” It was all that she could -utter. - -“Who has got it?” asked the sick man, eagerly, as he rose in his bed. - -“It is yours! They have awarded it to you!” - -A proud flush passed over the faint cheek of the artist. “I am -satisfied,—I am happy,” said he. - -The joy occasioned by his success operated most beneficially on the -sunken energies of the artist. Before many weeks, he recovered fully, so -as to resume his art. His prize painting was sold for a great sum to an -English nobleman, who was bent on adding it to his collection. - - * * * * * - -At present, there is a beautiful cottage situated a few miles out of -London, in the suburbs. There is a pleasant garden connected with it, -and it seems the abode of peace and happiness. This is the residence of -the eminent artist, Arthur Elliott, and his happy wife. There are few -households to whom it has fallen to enjoy such unalloyed happiness as -theirs. They have not forgotten the author of their prosperity. In the -library of Sir Francis Sedley there hangs a beautiful picture,—a perfect -gem of art,—on the back of which is traced, in delicate characters,— - -“Arthur Elliott to his Benefactor.” - - - - -THE CHILD OF THE STREET. - - - Through the silent thoroughfares - Of a city rich and great, - Shivering in the pitiless blast, - Walked a poor child, desolate. - - Bright and cold the stars looked down, - Glittering in a field of blue; - But they brought no warmth to her - Whom the winds pierced through and through. - - Hugging tight her ragged shawl, - On she hies with hurried feet, - Gliding like a phantom form - Through the darkness-shrouded street. - - Cheerful homes are very near; - Happy firesides hem her in; - And she hears from many a window - Careless childhood’s merry din. - - No warm fireside her awaiteth; - On no couch her limbs shall lie: - For the cold street is _her_ dwelling; - And _her_ chamber’s roof, the sky. - - Fiercely blows the northern blast, - Penetrating every fold - Of her thin shawl; and she whispers, - Shivering, “I am very cold!” - - Hark! the bells with brazen clangor, - Rising every moment higher, - Peal upon the startled city - The terrific cry of “Fire!” - - O’er the child’s face, wan and weary, - Comes a quick flush of delight, - As she marks a lofty steeple - Wreathed in spires of lurid light. - - Onward with the hurrying crowd - Pressed the child through wind and storm, - With one thought to cheer her bosom,— - She would once again be warm. - - _Once again!_ Through every fibre - Creeps a warm, reviving glow, - As with outstretched hands the maiden - Standeth in the street below. - - Little reck the gallant firemen, - As their saving task they ply, - Of the poor child who is standing - Where the burning cinders lie. - - “Stand from under! stand from under!” - Rises high the voice of all, - As the swaying steeple totters, - Slowly totters, to its fall. - - One there was that did not heed it, - One there was that did not stir, - Till too late! The blazing rafters - In their fall enveloped _her_. - - Child of want and heir of sorrow, - Chill and famished, weak and faint, - Thou hast passed from out the shadow; - Thou _no more_ art desolate. - - - - -LOST AND FOUND. - - -I. - -We are apt to look to the Old World exclusively for startling contrasts -between fashion and splendor on the one hand, and squalid wretchedness -and crime on the other. With an air of complacency, we speak of our great -and happy republic, as affording a retreat for the homeless, and a refuge -for the oppressed. Yet, in the face of all this, it would be difficult to -find in any European city a more thoroughly vicious district than that of -the Five Points in New York. Few, doubtless, of the fashionable crowds -who daily promenade Broadway, have ever penetrated its recesses,—few -but would shrink in dismay from horrors of which they had not even -dreamed, if they should do so. But it is not our purpose to moralize upon -that which has already begun to attract the attention, and inspire the -exertions, of philanthropic hearts and hands. That task we leave to abler -pens. Enough that we have hinted at the character of the locality in -which our story takes its rise. - -One of the worst recesses of this notorious district enjoys the -singularly euphonious name of “Cow Bay.” The entrance to it is a filthy -arched passage-way, round which are crowded miserable tenements; so -miserable, that the scanty sunlight, which finds its way through the -dirt-begrimed windows, seems to shrink away, as if it were more than -half ashamed of the company it is in. In front of these houses, you -may see men whose faces betray no evidence of intelligence or virtue; -women whose miserable and woe-begone expression, perchance loud voice -and angry vituperation, attest that from them all that renders the sex -attractive has for ever departed; children—and this is the saddest sight -of all—dirty and sickly, and who are children only in size and in years; -for upon their hearts the happy influences of genuine childhood have -never fallen. For them, alas! life is a rough pathway, paved with flinty -stones, which pierce their feet at every step. - -A tall man, with a shambling gait, and hat drawn over his eyes, walked -swiftly through the arched passage-way above alluded to, and, muttering -an imprecation upon a child who got in his way, entered one of the -houses, whose front door stood invitingly open, and, groping his way up -the staircase, which was quite obscure, although it was mid-day, opened a -door at the head of the staircase, and entered. - -It was such a room as the appearance of the house might lead one to -expect. It was, however, furnished more ambitiously; as at least -one-half the floor was covered with a rag carpet, and the scanty -furniture was arranged with rather more taste than might have been -anticipated. By the window sat a girl of twelve, sewing. Between her and -the children who were playing outside there was a wide contrast. She was -perfectly clean and neat in her attire; and her face, though pale,—as it -might well be, shut up as she was in a noisome quarter of a great city, -with no chance to breathe the fresh country air, or roam at will through -green fields,—was unusually winning and attractive. - -The man we have referred to threw himself with an air of weariness on a -chair near the door, and muttered ungraciously,— - -“Why haven’t you got dinner ready? I’m hungry.” - -“Is it time?” asked the child, springing from her seat quickly, as if -afraid of having neglected her duty. - -“Time enough,” returned the man; “for I’ve been at work this morning, and -have got an appetite like a wolf. Besides, I want you to be through soon; -for I shall send you out shopping this afternoon. Has any one been in to -see me this forenoon, Helen?” - -“No,” said Helen (for that was her name). - -“Good. I don’t care to have visitors.” - -Helen quickly brought out, from a closet hard by, a plate of cold meat, -some cold vegetables, and a plate of bread and butter. The man drew his -chair to the table, and during the next quarter of an hour, in which he -was so busily occupied with satisfying his appetite that he had no time -for any thing else, said not a word to the child, who, on her part, was -too much accustomed to his manner to utter a word. - -At length, having accomplished his task in a manner so satisfactory that -very little remained on the table, he drew his chair away, and motioned -the child to take her place at it. - -“Take your place and eat, Helen,” said he, a little less gruffly than -before; “and, while you are eating, I will tell you of a little plan I -have formed for you.” - -“How do you like living here?” he resumed when she had seated herself. - -She looked into his face, as if to know whether it would do to express -her real opinion. His face was not so forbidding as it appeared at times, -and she ventured to say,— - -“I—I think there are some places which I should like better.” - -“No doubt, no doubt, Helen. I think I have known pleasanter places -myself. But where do you think you should like to live best; that is, -supposing you could live wherever you chose?” - -“Oh!” said the child, her eyes brightening, and her whole face glowing -with excitement, “I should like, above all things, to live in the -country, where I could run about the fields, and hear the birds sing, -and—and⸺ Oh! the country is so beautiful! I think I lived there once,—did -I not, uncle?” - -“Yes, Helen; but it is a good while ago. How would you like to live there -once more?” - -“May I? Can I? Will you let me?” asked the child, eagerly. - -“Perhaps so. But it will depend on whether you will be good, and try to -please me.” - -“Oh! I will do whatever you say.” - -“Well, that sounds well. Then I’ll tell you what my plans are, and where -it is that you are to go.” - -So saying, he drew from his pocket a copy of the “New York Tribune,” and -read aloud the following advertisement:— - - “WANTED, by a family a few miles distant from the city, a young - girl, of from twelve to fourteen, to serve as nursery-maid and - companion for two young children. Address - - “P. H. GREGORY.” - -“There,” said the reader, laying down his paper, “is a situation which -will just suit you. You like children; and pretty much all you will have -to do will be to attend to them. Then Mr. Gregory lives in a beautiful -place. He is a rich man, and can afford it. Would you like to go?” - -“Above all things,” said Helen, eagerly (for to her the prospect of a -release from the dismal place in which she lived was most pleasing). - -“And you wouldn’t miss me, your affectionate uncle?” said the man, with a -peculiar expression. - -The child’s eyes fell. She blamed herself frequently for not holding -in higher regard the only relative of whom she knew any thing: yet -so ungenial was his nature, and so harsh and forbidding was he nearly -always, that it would have been singular if he had inspired affection in -any one. So it happened, that, in the joy of the anticipated change, she -had not for a moment thought of the separation which it must occasion -between herself and her uncle. - -“Of course,” she said, timidly, “I shall be sorry to leave you”—— - -“You needn’t say any thing more, child,” was the reply. “I don’t profess -any particular affection for you, and I don’t believe you feel any for -me; and you may be sure I shouldn’t have proposed this removal to you if -I had not some object of my own in it. Would you like to know what that -is?” - -“Yes,” she said, hesitatingly. - -“Well, I will tell you; because it is necessary that you should fully -understand, before you go, on what conditions I allow you to do so. But, -if you dare to impart to a breathing soul a hint of what I tell you, I -will seek you out, and—well, no matter,” he continued, seeing that his -threat made her turn pale. “You must know that this Mr. Gregory, with -whom I am going to place you, once cheated me out of a large sum of -money, which I cannot hope to regain, except by stratagem. Now, I want -you to get in there, and I will then give you instructions how to manage. -They keep a large amount of valuable plate in the lower part of the -house. It will be comparatively easy for you, when you are once there, to -render me essential service by opening the front door to me, so that I -may be able to secure it without detection; and then”—— - -“But,” said the girl, shrinking in dismay from this proposition, “would -not that be robbery?” - -“Robbery? Pooh, child! Didn’t I tell you that he had cheated me out of -twice the value of the plate? And, as I can’t get my pay in any other -way, it’s perfectly proper to get it in that.” - -Helen was no casuist. She had never had any one to teach her right -principles; but she had an instinctive feeling that this was wrong. She -wished to remonstrate, but dared not. Her uncle saw her embarrassment, -and guessed its cause. He rose from his seat, and stood sternly -confronting her. - -“Helen Armstrong,” said he, in a compressed voice, “unless you promise me -faithfully to perform the part I have assigned you, I will bind you out -to Brady Tim, the grocer.” - -This Brady Tim was a repulsive character, and kept a grocery of the -lowest kind nearly opposite the rooms occupied by the girl and her -uncle. He was a complete tyrant, and would often beat his children in -the most unmerciful manner. Their shrieks, which she was often doomed -to hear, would always make her blood run cold, and inspired her with an -inconceivable dread of the man who occasioned them. This her uncle well -understood; and he was well aware that no threat which he could utter -would make so deep an impression upon the child’s mind. - -“You have your choice,” said he. “Shall I tell Brady Tim that you will -come to-morrow morning? or will you go to Mr. Gregory’s?” - -“I will go,” said the child, overawed. - -“And you will follow my directions?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then preparations must instantly be made. I shall have to buy you a few -things to have you go looking decently. Have you got a good bonnet?” - -“Only my old one, and that is bent every way.” - -“Well, I will get you a new one. You will also want a shawl and some -gloves. As you are to be a companion to the children, it will be a -recommendation if you go looking neat and comfortable. It won’t take long -to purchase them; and whatever else you need I can send you afterwards. -Wait a moment, and I will be ready to accompany you.” - -He went into the inner room, and quickly emerged, completely -metamorphosed in his personal appearance by a white wig and whiskers, -and a staff, on which he leaned heavily. The girl looked at him in -astonishment. - -“What sort of a grandfather do you think I shall make?” said he, -laughing. “I shall go out with you to Mr. Gregory’s; and I have no doubt, -that, in consideration of my gray hairs, they will be induced to take my -grand-daughter into their service.” - -So saying, he left the room, accompanied by the child, who had improved -the interval in smoothing her hair, over which she placed an ugly straw -bonnet, which, however, was shortly to be displaced by one of a prettier -pattern. Their purchases completed, they stepped into an omnibus, which -would convey them within half a mile of Mr. Gregory’s. - - -II. - -A few miles distant from the city was a tasteful brown cottage, having a -piazza on all sides, and surrounded by a carefully trained hedge. This -was the summer retreat of P. H. Gregory, a New York merchant. - -It was a warm day in June. Two children, a boy and girl, respectively of -six and eight years, were playing in the yard, when they espied through -the hedge an old man, with hair and whiskers white as the driven snow, -accompanied by a young girl, toiling, apparently with great difficulty, -towards the house, notwithstanding the assistance he derived from a -stout cane, on which he leaned heavily. - -Attracted by the sight, they ran into the house, calling on their mother -to look out and see. She had scarcely done so, when, to her surprise, she -found that the pair had entered the gate, and were coming towards the -house. - -“Is Mrs. Gregory within?” asked the old man of the servant who answered -the bell. - -Mrs. Gregory anticipated the reply by coming forward. - -“Poor old man!” said she, compassionately (for the attire which Armstrong -had donned for the occasion was singularly threadbare, and evinced the -lowest depth of destitution),—“poor old man! what can I do for you?” - -“I have brought my grand-daughter with me, good lady,” said the old man, -feebly, “in answer to your advertisement. She’s a good girl, and I wish -I could keep her with me; but the times are hard, and it costs a sight to -live; and so I’ve been thinking the best thing I could do is to get her a -good place, and a good mistress, as I am sure you would be to her, madam.” - -Mrs. Gregory’s sympathies were enlisted in the child’s favor by this -artful address, as well as by her own modest and downcast look. She was -not aware, however, that not a little of her confusion arose from the -dissimulation in which she was compelled to take a part. - -“What is your grand-daughter’s name?” asked Mrs. Gregory. “She seems -young.” - -“She is only twelve; but she’s capable,—very capable. When her poor -grandmother was sick for nearly a year before she died,”—and Armstrong -wiped his eyes with his ragged sleeve at the sorrowful thought,—“Helen -took the whole care of her and of me; and no one could find a better -nurse.” - -“It must have been a great care to you, Helen,” said Mrs. Gregory, kindly. - -Helen had been so much taken aback by the last fabrication respecting a -grandmother of whom she had never heard, that she was barely able to say, -in a low voice,— - -“Yes, ma’am.” - -“But you will never regret it, my child,” said the lady. “God will not -fail to reward good children. So your name is Helen?” - -“Yes, ma’am.” - -“I like the name. I had a child of that name once. Were she living, she -would be about your age. But”—and the lady sighed deeply—“she disappeared -one day, and we never could find any trace of her.” - -Had Mrs. Gregory been an attentive observer, she would have seen a gleam -of intelligence pass over the old man’s face at this moment; but she was -too much absorbed by her sad thoughts. - -“I think,” said she, after a pause, “that I will engage you, Helen, -although you are rather young for my purpose. When can you come?” - -“She is ready now,” said her grandfather. “I can send her the rest of her -clothes.” - -“Very well. Then you may come in, and take off your things.” - -“Come, Helen, and give a parting kiss to your poor old grandfather. He -will be very lonely without you, my dear child; but he knows that he has -left you with a kind lady, who will care for you.” - -Helen advanced to her grandfather’s embrace with very little alacrity. As -he pressed his lips lightly to her cheek, he whispered, so that she only -could hear,— - -“Keep your eyes open;” and then added aloud, “Be a good girl, Helen, and -mind the kind lady who has engaged you, in all respects. Remember all -the lessons I have taught you; and do not forget,” he continued, with a -meaning look, “what I told you before I came away.” - -Helen replied faintly in the affirmative. Mrs. Gregory attributed her -evident embarrassment to the fact that she was about to leave her only -relative to go among strangers; and she resolved in her heart to lighten, -as well as she might, the sorrow of the child. - -“I will bring your clothes to-morrow, my dear grand-daughter,” said -Armstrong, as he rose slowly from his chair, and, resuming his cane, -walked feebly from the house. - -As soon, however, as he was fully out of sight, he straightened his bowed -form, and walked rapidly onward till overtaken by a passing omnibus, -which he entered, and was soon carried back to the city. - - -III. - -Helen was not long in making the acquaintance of Ellen and Frank Gregory, -the children of her employer, over whom she was expected thenceforth to -have oversight. - -Those who have always lived in the country, or to whom frequent visits -have made it familiar, can hardly appreciate the depth of enjoyment which -it brought to a child, who, like Helen, had been confined for years in -the most noisome portion of a great city. To her, the most common objects -seemed invested with an interest altogether new; and she plucked with as -much eagerness the dandelions and buttercups which covered the greensward -in profusion as if they had been the rarest exotics. There is a -freemasonry in children which does away with formal introductions and the -barriers of etiquette. When, two hours after her companion’s departure, -Helen and the children came bounding in, flushed with exercise, Mrs. -Gregory had an opportunity to observe—what before had escaped her -notice—that Helen was more than ordinarily pretty. Something there was -in her expression that seemed to strike the chords of memory; but Mrs. -Gregory dismissed it as only a chance resemblance. - -“Helen,” said she, calling the child to her side, “have you always lived -in the city?” - -“For a long time, madam. I cannot remember ever to have lived anywhere -else.” - -“And do you like it as well as the country?” - -“I do not like it at all,—it is so dark and dirty and close. The sun does -not shine there as it does here; and I could not run out into the fields, -but all day long I had to sit alone.” - -“Alone? Wasn’t your grandfather with you?” - -“Yes,” said Helen, casting down her eyes. “He would come home to meals; -but he had to attend to his business.” - -“He seems too old and infirm to be able to do much,” said Mrs. Gregory, -compassionately. - -Helen was about to disclaim the age and infirmity, when the thought of -the near relation in which Armstrong stood to her came over her mind in -time, and she only answered, “Yes, ma’am.” - -“How long since your grandmother died?” - -This, too, was an embarrassing question for Helen; but the necessity of -saying something prompted her to reply, “A good while.” - -Perceiving, though she could not conjecture why, that her questions -confused Helen, Mrs. Gregory desisted. - -It was about four o’clock on the succeeding afternoon that Mrs. Gregory, -who was sitting at the window, detected the bent form of the assumed old -man slowly making his way up the hill. - -“Your grandfather is coming,” said she to Helen, who sat beside her. - -Helen tried to look as joyful as the approach of her only relative might -be expected to make her; but the thought of the deception which she -was even then practising towards a family who were showing her great -kindness, and the still greater wrong which she was required to do them, -made it a difficult task for one no better versed in dissimulation. - -Mrs. Gregory noticed it no further than to form the opinion that she was -a little odd in her manners. - -As Helen expected, Armstrong requested her to walk a little apart -with him; and then, dropping at once the whining tone he had assumed, -inquired, quickly and peremptorily,— - -“Well, what have you discovered?” - -“Nothing,” said Helen, timidly, and as if deprecating his anger. - -“Nothing?” he echoed, his eyes lighting with indignation. “What am I to -understand by that? - -“Come, child,” said he, softening his tone, as he saw that she was -terrified by his roughness, “I don’t mean you any harm; but the fact is, -I have placed you here to help me, and help me you must, otherwise I -shall be compelled to carry you back to live with me in New York. Perhaps -you would like to go?” - -“Oh, no, no!” said Helen. “Don’t carry me back! Let me stay here!” - -“Well, so I will, if you behave well. Now, tell me truly, have you no -idea where they keep the silver? I know they have a large quantity of it.” - -Helen reluctantly admitted, that, although she did not know, she could -form an idea. - -“Where?” asked Armstrong, eagerly. - -“In the pantry, at the west corner of the house.” - -“Humph! And do they lock the door at night?” - -“Yes; but the key remains in the lock.” - -“So far, so good. Does any one sleep in the lower part of the house?” - -“No one.” - -“Better still.” - -A moment afterwards, Armstrong added, a new thought striking him,— - -“I have not seen any dog near the house. Do they keep any?” - -“No.” - -“That is lucky. A determined dog is sometimes a troublesome customer. I -recollect, one night, Dick Hargrave and I had planned a little expedition -of this kind, when it was all broken up by a cursed bull-dog, who rushed -out upon us as if he would tear us to pieces; and, to tell the truth, he -did tear Dick’s coat off his back.” - -Helen listened in dismay; for it revealed to her what she had not -known,—that her uncle had been implicated in affairs of a similar kind -before. It will be remembered that Armstrong, in proposing to her to -co-operate with him, had used the pretext that Mr. Gregory had cheated -him, and that he was resolved to repay himself. This, Helen had believed -at the time; but his present unguarded remarks led her to entertain -strong doubts of its truth. Her strong natural dislike for the duplicity -and treachery required at her hands determined her, in spite of her -habitual timidity and fear of her companion, to venture a remonstrance. -This, however, she delayed till he should make a specific demand upon her. - -He resumed: “I don’t know but there’s a pretty good chance of success. -To-night is Tuesday night. I can’t very well get ready before Friday. -On that night, you must contrive, in some manner,—taking care to incur -no suspicion,—to come down stairs and unlock the front door. I shall be -on hand at one o’clock. Be very particular about the time; for what I do -must be done quickly.” - -“But, uncle, wouldn’t that be robbery?” - -“Robbery! Didn’t I tell you that old Gregory had cheated me out of more -than the sum I shall take?” - -“But they have treated me kindly; and it makes me feel ashamed to know -that I am trying to injure them, uncle”—— - -“Don’t call me uncle again! I’m no uncle of yours,” said Armstrong, -roughly. Noticing the child’s look of surprise, he added, “There, the -murder is out! I had intended to treat you as a niece; but you don’t -deserve it. It is time to talk to you in a different strain. I declare -to you, Helen, that, unless you comply with my command, I will make you -repent it most bitterly. Do you hear?” - -“Yes,” said Helen, terrified no less by his looks than his words. - -“Then take care that you remember: Friday night, at one. And now, as we -understand each other, that is all that is necessary.” - -They returned to the house in silence. Armstrong, with a hypocritical -whine, thanked Mrs. Gregory for her kindness to his dear grand-daughter, -who, he was glad to find, seemed so contented and happy in her new -position. - -“You will pardon an old man’s tears,” said he, drawing his hand across -his eyes; “but she is all that is left to me now.” - -“What a good old man!” thought Mrs. Gregory, as she hastened to -assure him that whatever she could do to add to the comfort of his -grand-daughter would cheerfully be done. - -As for Helen, she was astonished and confused at what she had discovered. -She had always been led to believe that Armstrong was her uncle, and had -more than once reproached herself for the dislike she could not help -entertaining for him. Now he had himself disclaimed the relationship; and -Helen was left to conjecture fruitlessly who and what she was. - - -IV. - -We must carry the reader back some nine or ten years. In front of a -pleasant country residence, a child of three years sat on the grass, -plucking the flowers that grew at her feet, and then tossing them -from her. Ever and anon she would utter a cry of childish delight, as -a gaudily-painted butterfly flew past her, and would stretch out her -little hands to arrest its flight; but the wanderer of the air found no -difficulty in eluding the tiny hands of the child. - -At length, as if weary of her pastime, she rose from her grassy seat, and -tottled towards the open gate, out of which she passed, and strayed along -the path by the roadside, pausing where fancy prompted. Her disappearance -had not been noted by those in the house, partly because their attention -was occupied by a tall, swarthy woman, with fierce black eyes, who was -at that moment asking, or rather demanding, alms of the mistress of the -house. - -“We are not in the habit,” said the latter, “of giving money; but -whatever food you may require will be cheerfully given.” - -“I don’t want any food,” said the woman, abruptly. “You talk as if -victuals was the only thing one could need. I have had something to eat -already. I want money, I tell you.” - -“Then why don’t you work for it?” asked the lady, somewhat offended at -the boldness of her speech. - -“Because I don’t see why I should work my life out while others are -living in plenty. There are plenty of fine ladies who wouldn’t lift their -fingers if it was to save a life. Am I not as good as they? Why, then, -should they fare any better than I?” - -“That I do not pretend to say. I only know that he is most happy who -strives to content himself with that station in which the Almighty has -placed him.” - -“Oh! it is all very well for those to talk of being contented who have -every thing to make them so. Very praiseworthy it is, to be sure!” said -the woman, laughing scornfully. - -The violence of her language increased to such an extent, that Mrs. -Gregory—for it was she—found it necessary to order her to leave the -house. She did so, but not without many imprecations. As she strode along -with hasty steps, she espied by the roadside a little girl, holding in -her hand a flower that she had just plucked. - -“Isn’t it _pitty_?” said the child, holding it up. - -A thought struck the woman, and she arrested her steps. - -“Where do you live, little girl?” she asked, softening her voice as much -as practicable, so as not to alarm the child. - -“I live there,” said the little girl, pointing to the house the woman had -just quitted. - -“Yes, yes,” muttered the latter to herself; “you’re the child of that -proud lady that refused me what I asked. Perhaps she may repent it.” - -“Would you like to go with me?” she asked, turning once more to the -child. “I will show you where there are flowers a great deal prettier.” - -“Yes,” said the unsuspecting child, gaining her feet, and placing her -hand in the woman’s. - -Was there no magic in the soft touch of that little hand that could turn -away that bad woman from her wicked purpose? - -Alas! when the heart becomes familiar with crime, all the gentler parts -of the nature become hard and callous. - -“Would you like to have me take you in my arms, and then we should get -there quicker?” said the woman, who knew it would not do to accommodate -herself to the child’s slow pace. - -The latter made no resistance; and, with the little girl in her arms, -the woman walked swiftly along. She soon turned aside from the street, -for fear of attracting a degree of observation,—which, under present -circumstances, would be embarrassing to her,—and took her way, by a less -frequented road, to the city. - -The child soon became restless, and wished to go home. The woman assured -her that she was carrying her there. Before long, the regular motion -of walking acted as a sedative upon the child, and she fell asleep. Her -bearer made the most of this opportunity, and walked with quickened steps -towards her haunt—for home she had none—in the great city, which she had -already entered. Some whom she met gazed with curious eyes at the woman -and her burden, and could not help noting the contrast between the two in -dress: but no one felt called upon to interfere; and so she reached her -destination. - -The next day saw Helen—for this the woman discovered to be the child’s -name—stripped of her tasteful attire, and clothed in a ragged and dirty -dress, suited to the company into which she had fallen. At the same time, -her abundant curls were cut off close to her head, principally to render -more difficult the chance of recognition. - -The woman found Helen of essential service in her line. Though disfigured -by her uncouth dress and the loss of her curls, her beauty was -sufficiently striking to draw many a coin from compassionate strangers, -which would not otherwise have been obtained. This little episode -completed, we resume the main thread of our narrative. - - -V. - -Notwithstanding the kind treatment which Helen received in her new home, -she did not seem happy. Although the companions among which she had been -thrown had not been of a nature to give her very elevated ideas of moral -rectitude, something within told her that the act required of her would -be one of the basest ingratitude. The more she thought of it, the more -her heart recoiled from it. Yet so accustomed was she to obey the man -Armstrong without question,—not so much from affection as from fear and a -sense of duty,—that she had hardly admitted to herself the possibility -of refusing to comply with his demands. Now, however, that he had himself -confessed that no relationship existed between them, the force of the -latter consideration was not a little weakened; and, as fear decreases in -the absence of those who inspire it, she began now to consider in what -way she could contrive to avoid it. - -Circumstances occurred before the dreaded Friday night which served to -hasten her decision. On the day previous, while roaming through the -fields with Ellen and Frank Gregory, in jumping hastily from a stone -wall, her foot turned, and her ankle was severely sprained. The pain was -so violent that she nearly fainted, and was quite unable to make her way -to the house, which was some quarter of a mile distant. The children -were exceedingly frightened, and, returning in breathless haste, gave an -immediate alarm. - -Two men were speedily obtained, who, constructing a soft litter, conveyed -Helen to the house, without occasioning her much additional pain. A -physician was at once summoned. Meanwhile, Helen was put to bed, where -she received every attention. Mrs. Gregory had a warm heart, which -suffering in any form was sure to reach; and, had Helen been her own -child, she could not have been more tenderly cared for. - -The physician decided that it was nothing very serious; though he -recommended, as a necessary precaution, that the injured member should -not be used for a fortnight or more, lest inflammation might ensue. - -Helen did not hear him pronounce this sentence. When, however, she was -informed of it by Mrs. Gregory, after his departure, her mind at once -reverted to the fact that it would be an insuperable obstacle to her -performing the part assigned her. Actuated by the relief which the -thought brought to her, and without thinking of the manner in which it -would be construed, she involuntarily exclaimed,— - -“Oh! I am so glad!” - -“Glad!” exclaimed Mrs. Gregory, in astonishment. “What can you mean? You -surely cannot mean that you are glad you will be confined to the house by -sickness?” - -Helen was embarrassed. She knew she could not explain herself without -telling all; and that she had not yet determined upon. At length she -said,— - -“Because it will prevent me from doing something that I did not want to -do.” - -“But why did you not want to do it?” asked Mrs. Gregory. - -“Because I do not think it would have been right.” - -“Then why would you have done it at all, even if you had been well -enough, if it was wrong?” asked Mrs. Gregory, more puzzled than ever. - -“Because I was afraid to refuse,” said Helen, in a low tone. - -“It was nothing that I required of you, I am sure,” said her mistress. - -“No.” - -“It surely could not be that your grandfather would require of you any -thing improper?” - -Helen was silent. - -“Then it is so. My dear child,” pursued the lady, kindly, “I have lived -longer than you, and naturally have more knowledge of the world. I need -not say that I have every disposition to befriend you, not only for your -own sake, but for the sake of my own little Helen, who, had she remained -to me, would have been about your age. Will you not, then, confide in -me so far as to inform me what it was that your grandfather required of -you?” - -Helen considered a moment, and then, with a rapidity of decision which -sometimes comes after long and anxious thought, decided to communicate -every thing. - -“I will tell you every thing,” she said, “if you will promise that no -harm shall come to the man who brought me here.” - -“Your grandfather?” - -“Will you promise?” asked Helen, anxiously. - -“Yes, Helen,” said Mrs. Gregory: “though I cannot conceive what is to be -the nature of your revelation, I will promise that no harm shall befall -your grandfather.” - -“You are so good and kind,” said the child, “that I can trust to what you -say. Then I will tell you, first of all, that the one who came with me is -not my grandfather.” - -“Not your grandfather?” echoed Mrs. Gregory, in surprise. - -“No. He is not even an old man. He only dressed himself up so when he -came here.” - -“And what made him do that?” - -“Because he thought you would pity him, and be more ready to take me.” - -“Is he any relation to you?” - -“I thought he was my uncle,” returned Helen, “until he came here last -time. Then he told me that he was no relation.” - -“Where are your relations?” - -“I don’t know,” said Helen, thoughtfully. “I suppose I must have had some -once; but I can’t remember any thing about them. I have lived with my—I -mean Mr. Armstrong, ever since I can recollect.” - -“And what was it he wanted you to do? Why was he so anxious to have you -come here?” - -“Because⸺ You mustn’t blame me,” said Helen, earnestly, lifting her eyes -to Mrs. Gregory’s face; “for it made me very unhappy to think of doing -it. But he wanted me to leave the door open to-morrow night, so that he -could get in and carry off the silver.” - -“Is it possible?” exclaimed Mrs. Gregory. “And he wished to implicate you -in such a crime?” - -“Yes, ma’am,” said Helen. “He told me that was what he wanted me to come -here for; and then I didn’t want to come at all. But he threatened me if -I did not. Then, when he was here last time, I tried to persuade him to -give up his design; but he wouldn’t listen to me, and I didn’t dare to -say any thing more.” - -“You said, Helen,” remarked Mrs. Gregory, “that you never knew about your -relations. Can’t you remember any thing that happened when you was a -little child?” - -“No,” said Helen, “not much; but I think I must have lived in the -country once, though I can’t remember when. There was an old woman, very -cross, that I used to be with before Mr. Armstrong took me. She used to -beat me sometimes.” - -“How did she look?” said the lady, feeling a strange interest—for which -she found it difficult to account—in the child’s story. - -“She was very tall; and she used to look at me—oh! so fiercely!” - -“And is there nothing, no little keepsake, that you have, to remind you -of those childish days?” - -“Yes,” said Helen, “there was one. It was an ivory ring that I have -always carried around with me. The tall woman tried to take it away from -me one day; but I cried so that she let me keep it.” - -“Have you got it with you?” asked Mrs. Gregory, in great agitation. - -“Yes,” said Helen, surprised at the strange effect this communication -appeared to have upon her mistress. “I always carry it in the pocket of -my dress.” - -Mrs. Gregory, with trembling hands, sought the receptacle indicated, -and drew out an ivory ring, on which were inscribed the letters “H. G.” -Without a word, she sprang to the bed, clasped the bewildered Helen to -her bosom, and exclaimed, tearfully,— - -“It is as I thought! You are my child!—my long-lost Helen!” - -When her emotion had in some measure subsided, she made Helen acquainted -with the circumstances mentioned in the previous chapter, and also -informed her that the ring, which had served as the happy means of -restoring a long-lost child to her parent, was the gift of a brother of -hers, who had inscribed upon it “H. G.,” as the initials of Helen’s name, -and that the child had it with her on the day of her disappearance. - -The happiness of Helen in being restored to her mother, and the joy of -the children on ascertaining that the one whom they had learned to love -so well, already, was their own sister, may better be imagined than -described. - -One leaf remains to be added to this chronicle. It relates to Armstrong, -hitherto the guardian of Helen. Although the latter had received at his -hands so little for which she had occasion to be thankful, she could -not reconcile herself to the idea of his being imprisoned. We cannot -look with indifference upon the punishment of one with whom we have been -intimately associated, however well deserved it may be. - -As Armstrong had no intimation of the check which his projects had -received, and as he was convinced that Helen’s fear of him would lead -her to carry out his commands, he stealthily approached the house the -following evening, as he had intended. The door had been purposely left -unlocked; but, in the room adjoining, four stout men had been stationed, -who at once seized upon the unsuspecting burglar, and, in spite of his -violent struggles, bound him. Thus secured, Mr. Gregory, who was one of -the four, explained to him in what manner his crime had been defeated, -and added,— - -“Although you have been detected in crime, and richly deserve the penalty -which the offended law affixes to it, I have been induced by Helen to -afford you a chance of escaping. I will furnish you a ticket entitling -you to a passage in the next California steamer, and will not reveal your -guilty attempt, if you will engage to leave the country immediately. -Should you fail to go, I shall feel released from the promise I have made -to Helen, and at once cause you to be arrested.” - -It is needless to say that Armstrong at once accepted these terms; and -the next steamer bound to the Pacific bore him a passenger. - -As for Helen, the cloud which shadowed her earlier years has quite -disappeared; and in the affection of the home circle, to which her many -good qualities endear her, she finds all that can make life pleasant and -agreeable. - - - - -GERALDINE. - - - When the summer, crowned with blossoms, - Robes with beauty all the trees, - And, with pérfumed breath and fragrant, - Loads the idly-floating breeze, - Then, with cheerful steps and airy, - O’er the fields with flowers upspringing, - Comes our pleasant household fairy, - Fragrant blossoms round her flinging, - While the birds that haunt the tree-tops - Pause to listen to her singing. - Ever cheerful, ever smiling, - Is the gay, warm-hearted maiden; - And her sunny presence gladdens - Hearts with deepest sorrow laden. - Very few there are, I ween, - Quite as fair as Geraldine. - - When the autumn,—nut-brown autumn,— - With its wealth of golden sheaves, - Lends a new flush to the apples - Peeping from the orchard leaves, - Forth unto the sunny harvest - Rides she in the farmer’s wain, - Who, with busy hand and tireless, - Gathers in the golden grain; - And she cheers his pleasant labor - With a gay, unstudied strain. - Ever cheerful, ever smiling, - Is the gay, warm-hearted maiden; - And her sunny presence gladdens - Hearts with deepest sorrow laden. - Ah! there can be none, I ween, - Quite so fair as Geraldine. - - - - -THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. - - -Heavily, heavily fell the snow, covering the dark-brown earth, already -hardened by the frost, with a pure white covering. As the rain falls -alike upon the just and upon the unjust; so, too, the snow, God’s -kindred messenger, knows no distinction of persons,—visiting all alike, -forgetting none, and passing by none. - -In one of the principal streets of New York stood a boy of some twelve -years. His clothing was poor, and too scanty to afford a sufficient -protection against the inclemency of the season. Through the visor of his -cap, which had become detached in the middle, having a connection only at -the two extremities, might be seen his rich brown hair. Notwithstanding -the drawback of his coarse and ill-fitting attire, it was evident that -he possessed a more than ordinary share of boyish beauty. But just at -present his brow is overcast with a shade of anxiety; and his frame -trembles with the cold, from which he is so insufficiently shielded. - -It is a handsome street, that in which he is standing. On either side he -beholds the residences of those on whom Fortune has showered her favors. -Bright lights gleam from the parlor windows, and shouts of mirth and -laughter ring out upon the night. - -All is joy and brightness and festivity within those palace-homes. -The snow-flakes fall idly against the window-panes. They cannot chill -the hearts within, nor place a bar upon their enjoyment; for this is -Christmas Eve, long awaited, at length arrived. Christmas Eve, around -which so many youthful anticipations cluster, has enjoyments peculiarly -its own, over which the elements, however boisterous, have no control. -Yet, to some, Christmas Eve brings more sorrow than enjoyment,—serving -only to heighten the contrast between present poverty and discomfort and -past affluence. - -But all this time we have left our little hero shivering in the street. - -Cold and uncomfortable as he was, as well as anxious in mind,—for he -had lost his way, and knew not how to find it again,—he could not help -forgetting his situation, for the time, in witnessing the scene which -met his eye, as, for a moment, he stood in front of a handsome residence -on the south side of the street. The curtains were drawn aside; so that, -by supporting himself on the railing, he had an unobstructed view of the -scene within. - -It was a spacious parlor, furnished in a style elegant, but not -ostentatious. In the centre of the apartment was a Christmas-tree, -brilliant with tapers, which were gleaming from every branch and twig. -Gifts of various kinds were hung upon the tree, around which were -gathered a group of three children, respectively of eight, six, and -four years. The eldest was a winsome fairy, with sparkling eyes and -dancing feet. The others were boys, who were making the most of this -rare opportunity of sitting up after nine o’clock. At a little distance -stood Mr. Dinsmoor and his wife, gazing with unalloyed enjoyment at the -happiness of their children. - -While Lizzie was indulging in expressions of delight at the superb wax -doll which St. Nicholas had so generously provided, her attention was for -a moment drawn to the window, through which she distinctly saw the figure -of our hero, who, as we have said, had in his eagerness raised himself -upon the railing outside, in order to obtain a better view. She uttered -an exclamation of surprise. - -“Why, mother! there’s a boy looking in at the window! Just look at him!” - -Mrs. Dinsmoor looked in the direction indicated, and saw the little boy, -without his perceiving that attention had been drawn towards him. - -“Some poor boy,” she remarked to her husband, in a compassionate tone, -“who loses for a moment the sensation of his own discomfort in witnessing -our happiness. See how eagerly he looks at the tree! which no doubt -appears like something marvellous to him.” - -“Why can’t you let him come in?” asked Lizzie, eagerly. “He must be very -cold out there, with the snow-flakes falling upon him. Perhaps he would -like to have a nearer view of our tree.” - -“Very well and kindly thought of, my little girl,” said Mr. Dinsmoor, -placing his hand for a moment upon her clustering locks. “I will follow -your suggestion; but I must do it carefully, or he may be frightened, and -run away before he knows what are our intentions.” - -So speaking, Mr. Dinsmoor moved cautiously to the front door, and opened -it suddenly. The boy, startled by the sound, turned towards Mr. Dinsmoor -with a frightened air, as if fearing that he would be suspected of some -improper motive. - -“Indeed, sir,” said he, earnestly, “I didn’t mean any harm; but it looked -so bright and cheerful inside that I couldn’t help looking in.” - -“You have done nothing wrong, my boy,” said Mr. Dinsmoor, kindly. “But -you must be cold here. Come in, and you will have a chance to see more -comfortably than you now do.” - -The boy looked a little doubtful; for to him, neglected as he had been -by the rich and prosperous all his life, it was very difficult to imagine -that he was actually invited to enter the imposing mansion before him as -a guest. Perhaps Mr. Dinsmoor divined his doubts; for he continued,— - -“Come: you must not refuse the invitation. There are some little people -inside who would be very much disappointed if you should, since it was -they who commissioned me to invite you.” - -“I am sure, sir, I am very much obliged both to them and to you,” said -the boy, gratefully, advancing towards Mr. Dinsmoor, of whom he had lost -whatever little distrust he had at first felt. - -A moment afterwards, and the boy stepped within the spacious parlor. -To him, whose home offered no attractions, and few comforts, the scene -spread before him might well seem a scene of enchantment. - -“Lizzie,” said Mr. Dinsmoor, “come forward and welcome your guest. I -would introduce him to you; but, unluckily, I do not know his name.” - -“My name is Willie,—Willie Grant,” was the boy’s reply. - -“Then, Willie Grant, this is Miss Lizzie Dinsmoor, who is, I am sure, -glad to see you, since it was at her request that I invited you to enter.” - -Willie raised his eyes timidly, and bent them for a moment on the -singularly beautiful child, who had come forward and frankly placed her -hand in his. - -There is something irresistible in the witchery of beauty; and Willie -felt a warm glow crimsoning his cheeks, as for a moment, forgetful of -every thing else, he bent his eyes earnestly upon Lizzie. Then another -feeling came over him; and, with a look of shame at his scanty and -ill-fitting garments, he dropped her hand, and involuntarily shrank -back, as if seeking to screen them from sight. - -Perceiving the movement, and guessing its cause, Mr. Dinsmoor, with a -view to dissipate these feelings, led forward Harry and Charlie, the -younger boys, and told them to make acquaintance with Willie. With loud -shouts of delight, they displayed the various gifts which St. Nicholas -had brought them, and challenged his admiration. - -Every thing was new to Willie. His childhood had not been smiled upon by -Fortune; and the costly toys which the boys exhibited elicited quite as -much admiration as they could desire. - -Occupied in this way, his constraint gradually wore off to such a degree -that he assisted Charlie and Harry in trying their new toys. Soon, -however, the recollection that it was growing late, and that he had yet -to find his way home, came to him; and, taking his old hat, he said to -Mr. Dinsmoor, in an embarrassed manner,— - -“My mother will be expecting me home; and I should already have been -there, but that I lost my way, and happened to look in at your window, -and you were so kind as to let me come in.” - -“Where does your mother live, my little fellow?” asked Mr. Dinsmoor. - -“On ⸺ Street.” - -“Oh! that is not far off. I will myself show you the way, if you will -remain a few minutes longer.” - -Mr. Dinsmoor rang the bell, and ordered a plate of cake and apples, as he -conjectured they would not be unacceptable to his little visitor. - -Meanwhile, Lizzie crept to her mother’s side, and whispered,— - -“Willie is poor,—isn’t he?” - -“Yes. What makes you ask?” - -“I thought he must be, because his clothes look so thin, and patched. -Don’t you think he would like a Christmas present, mother?” - -“Yes, my darling. Have you any thing to give him?” - -“I thought, mother, perhaps you would let me give him my five-dollar -gold-piece. I think that would be better than any playthings. May I give -it?” - -“Yes, my child, if you are really willing. But are you quite sure that -you would not regret it afterwards?” - -“Yes, mother.” And Lizzie ran lightly to the little box where she kept -her treasure, quickly brought it forth, and placed it in Willie’s hand. - -“That is your Christmas present,” said she, gayly. - -Willie looked surprised. - -“Do you mean it for me?” he asked, in a half-bewildered tone. - -“Yes, if you like it.” - -“I thank you very much for your kindness,” said Willie, earnestly, “and I -will always remember it.” - -There was something in the boy’s earnest tone which Lizzie felt was an -ample recompense for the little sacrifice she had made. Mr. Dinsmoor -fulfilled his promise, and walked with Willie as far as the street in -which he lived, when, feeling sure that he could no longer mistake his -way, he left him. - -Mr. Dinsmoor, whom we have introduced to our readers, was a prosperous -merchant, and counted his wealth by hundreds of thousands. Fortunately, -his disposition was liberal; and he made the poor sharers with him in the -gifts which Fortune had so liberally showered upon him. - -Notwithstanding the good use which he made of his wealth, he was fated -to experience reverses,—resulting, not from his own mismanagement, but -from a general commercial panic, which all at once involved in ruin many -whose fortunes were large, and whose credit was long established. In a -word, Mr. Dinsmoor failed. - - * * * * * - -Eleven years had rolled by since the Christmas night on which our story -opens. Lizzie had not belied the promise of her girlhood, but had -developed into a radiantly beautiful girl. Already her hand had been -sought in marriage; but, as yet, she had seen no one on whom she could -look with that affection without which marriage would be a mockery. - -Charlie and Harry, too,—eleven years had changed them not a little. -The boys of four and six had become fine, manly youths of fifteen and -seventeen. The eldest had entered college. Harry, however, who was by no -means studious, had entered his father’s counting-room. - -That was a sorrowful night on which Mr. Dinsmoor made known to his -afflicted wife the bankruptcy which was inevitable. Still sadder, if -possible, was the sale which it enforced of the house which they had so -long occupied, the furniture which had become endeared to them by memory -and association, and the harsh interruption which loss of fortune put to -all their treasured schemes. - -“My poor boy,” said Mrs. Dinsmoor, sorrowfully, as she placed her hand -caressingly on the brown locks of Charlie, the eldest of the two boys, -“it will be a hard sacrifice for you to leave the studies to which you -are so much attached, and enter a store, as you will be obliged to do.” - -“Ah! I had not thought of that,” murmured Charlie. “It will, indeed, be a -sacrifice; but, mother, I would not care for that, if you could only be -spared the trials to which you will be exposed from poverty.” - -“Thank you for your consideration, my child; but do not fear that I -shall not accommodate myself to it. It is a heavy trial; but we must try -to think that it will ultimately eventuate in our good.” - -At the auction of Mr. Dinsmoor’s house and furniture, the whole property, -without exception, was knocked off to a young man, who seemed apparently -of twenty-two or three years of age. He was able to secure it at a price -much beneath its real value; for times were hard, and money scarce, so -that he had but few competitors. Mr. Dinsmoor did not hear his name, and -the pressure of sad thoughts prevented his making the inquiry. - -Possession was to be given in one week. Meanwhile, Mr. Dinsmoor sought -out a small house in an obscure part of the town, which, in point of -elegance and convenience, formed a complete contrast to the one he had -formerly occupied. He felt, however, that it would be all his scanty -salary as clerk—for he had secured a situation in that capacity—would -enable him to afford. - -Lizzie looked, with a rueful face, at the piano, as a dear friend from -whom she must henceforth be separated, it being quite too costly a -piece of furniture to be retained in their reduced circumstances. Her -proficiency in music, for which she had great taste, made her regret it -doubly, since she might with it have added to the resources of the family -by giving music lessons. - -On the last evening in which they were to remain in the old house, their -sad thoughts were broken in upon by a ring at the bell. - -“Can they not even leave us to enjoy the last evening in quiet?” said -Charles, half petulantly. - -Immediately afterwards, there entered a young man, in whom Mr. Dinsmoor -recognized the purchaser of the house. - -“I need not bid you welcome,” said he, smiling faintly, “since you have a -better right here now than myself. Had I been told, three months since, -that this would be, I would not have believed it; but we cannot always -foresee. I shall be prepared to leave to-morrow.” - -“I shall be better satisfied if you will remain,” said the young man, -bowing. - -“What do you mean?” - -“Simply, that as this house and furniture are now mine, to do with as I -like, I choose to restore you the latter, and offer you the use of the -former, rent free, as long as you choose to occupy it.” - -“Who, then, are you,” asked Mr. Dinsmoor, in increasing surprise, “who -can be so kind to utter strangers, with no claim upon you?” - -“You are mistaken. You have a claim upon me. Shall I tell you what it -is? Eleven years ago to-morrow,—for to-morrow is Christmas Day,—a poor -boy, who had known none of the luxuries, and but few of the comforts, -of life, stood in this street. His mind was ill at ease; for he had -lost his way: but, as he walked on, he beheld a blaze of light issuing -from a window,—from _your_ window,—and, aroused by curiosity, he looked -in. Around a Christmas-tree, brilliant with light, a happy group were -assembled. As he stood gazing in, he heard the front door open; and a -gentleman came out, and kindly invited him to enter. He did so; and the -words of kindness and the Christmas gift with which he departed have -not yet left his remembrance. Seven years passed, and the boy’s fortune -changed. An uncle, long supposed to be dead, found him out, and, when he -actually died, left him the heir of a large amount of wealth. Need I say -that I am that boy, and that my name is Willie Grant?” - -The reader’s imagination can easily supply the rest. Provided with -capital by his young friend, Mr. Dinsmoor again embarked in business; -and, this time, nothing occurred to check his prosperity. Charlie did -_not_ leave college, nor did Lizzie lose her piano. She gained a husband, -however, and had no reason to regret the train of events which issued -from her CHRISTMAS GIFT. - - - - -MY PICTURE. - - - I have a beautiful picture; - And gorgeous are its dyes, - Wherein the green of the meadows - Blends with the blue of the skies. - - A forest stands in the background; - And hills are at the sides; - And a valley lies between them, - Through which a streamlet glides. - - There are fields that teem with a harvest - Of rich and ripening grain, - That has caught the glow of the sunlight, - And will not return it again;— - - There are broad and spacious pastures, - Where the quiet cattle stray, - And the schoolboys meet to play at ball - On their weekly holiday;— - - While here and there a cottage - Peeps out from the leafy lane; - And through the trees you can catch a glimpse - Of the farmer with his wain. - - And out in the dark old forest - There is many a stately tree, - That has seen the green leaves come and go - For more than a century. - - I have heard of the ancient masters, - I have heard of their marvellous skill, - And how the dull, dead canvas - Would glow with life at their will;— - - But, when the sunshine falleth - The rifts of the cloudlets through, - It lends to my picture a glory - That Raphael never knew. - - And, when the solemn moonlight - Looks down with its mellow shine, - My picture is bathed in beauty - That seemeth almost divine. - - And whenever I gaze at my picture, - Whether sun or stars light the sky, - I feel that my spirit is strengthened, - And my heart is made richer thereby. - - - - -GOTTFRIED THE SCHOLAR. - - -Alone in his study sat Gottfried the scholar. The shelves which lined the -apartment on every side groaned beneath the weight of bulky quartoes and -ponderous folios. The accumulated learning of many ages and countries, -flowing in diverse channels, had mingled into one stream, and, with its -fertilizing current, contributed to enrich the mind of Gottfried. And -these many volumes, couched in languages which to all but their owner -were a sealed book, which many years’ assiduous labor and midnight vigils -alone could unclose,—these were but the index of Gottfried’s attainments. - -Never in the palmiest days of chivalry had knight been more constant -to his mistress than Gottfried to his books. Without these, life would -have been to him a blank, and the world a desert. What to him were the -companionship of friends, the charms of social intercourse? He recognized -no friends but his books; and with them alone he held intercourse. He -had cultivated his intellect to the neglect of his heart: beneath his -fostering care, the former had swelled into the proportions of a giant; -the latter, like an untilled garden, had been abandoned to the rank -growth of weeds, which had already overshadowed it, and checked the -growth of kind feelings and human affections. - -But of this defect Gottfried was not conscious; or, at least, he would -not have acknowledged it to be such. With all his wisdom, he knew not the -meaning of virtue; for he was perpetually confounding it with learning; -so that with him the philosophy of life might be said to consist in -these few words: “To be learned is to be virtuous.” Thus it was, that, -in the pride of his attainments, he looked down upon other men as -immeasurably his inferiors, and was even half convinced that they were of -a different nature from himself. - -He aspired to become in the world of intellect what Alexander was in the -physical world, and, like that monarch, sighed to think that there were -no more worlds to conquer,—no more victories to be gained. - -Gottfried had just written the concluding paragraph of a treatise upon -some abstruse subject, which possessed an interest only for scholars like -himself. His pen dropped wearily from his fingers, and he passed his hand -across his eyes. - -“Yes,” said he, musingly, and a smile lighted up his face, “at length -it is finished, the labor of many years. But the reward is to come. My -fame as a scholar, already great among men, will become greater still. -Fame, bright goddess of my youthful dreams! how through weary years have -I toiled for thee! How willingly have I resigned those objects on which -other men set their affections! Wealth, pleasure, love,—I have sacrificed -them all to this one engrossing pursuit. Who shall say that I have lived -in vain?” - -Gottfried had labored for many hours without rest. He took down his -scholar’s cap and cloak from the wall against which they were suspended, -and attired himself for a walk. - -It was a beautiful day. The sun had passed the meridian, and was shining -with softened splendor on fields decorated with the green carpet -which Nature so bounteously provides. Here a group of cattle reposed -in tranquil enjoyment beneath the spreading branches of trees, which -afforded a grateful shelter from the sun’s heat. A little farther on, a -tiny stream was seen rippling on its way. Beside it were childish figures -playfully plucking the flowers that grew upon the banks, and tossing -them into the water, where they were soon borne down the quick current. -Children, however small, have an eye to the beautiful; and the little -group sang and shouted in all the exuberance of their spirits. The smile -of outward nature was reflected upon the faces of these little ones. - -As Gottfried passed by, one of them, supposing that all must share in her -feelings, plucked a flower, and, holding it up, exclaimed, “Is it not -pretty?” - -“What is pretty?” asked Gottfried, looking up. - -The flower was held up in answer. “Poh! child: it is only a buttercup.” - -The child drew back abashed, and Gottfried pursued his way. He regarded -not the fair landscape which like a dream of beauty opened upon his -steps. His mind was still at home among his books. Indeed, it rarely -passed beyond those four dark walls wherein all that he cared for in -life was enclosed. With the laws of Nature, so far as they had been -ascertained by human wisdom, he was thoroughly conversant; but for Nature -itself he cared little. He could tell you all that science has discovered -of the mysterious courses of the heavenly bodies; but the finest evening -that ever looked down with its thousand glittering eyes from the blue -vault above vainly tempted him forth from his study. He would have -regarded it as a mere weakness to yield to such an impulse. He at least -was in no danger of yielding; for he never felt the impulse. - -Gottfried passed on, plunged as before in deep thought, of which the -treatise which he had just completed was the absorbing subject. - -A woman with a babe in her arms, whose melancholy face and tattered garb -spoke sadly of unhappiness and destitution, stood in the path. He would -not have noticed her, had she not timidly touched the hem of his garment. - -“Why do you disturb me?” he asked impatiently, as he looked up. “You have -interrupted the current of my thoughts. What would you have?” - -“I hope, sir,” said the woman, in a low tone, “you will pardon the -interruption. I would not willingly intrude; but you see my situation. I -am left destitute, and without friends. For myself, I care not. Perhaps -it is well that I should die; but my child,—I would live for him.” - -Gottfried listened with an unmoved countenance, and as one who but half -comprehended what he heard. - -“If you are poor and in distress,” he said at length, “you can apply to -the proper authorities. I have matters of more importance to attend to.” - -“Of more importance than the life of a fellow-creature?” interrupted a -rough-looking man, in a farmer’s dress, who had just stepped up. “Nay, -then, I have not. Come with me, my poor woman. I live in the cottage -yonder. It is but a poor place; but it will afford you food and shelter.” - -“Such men,” mused Gottfried, “do not estimate the superiority of science -over the trivial objects upon which most waste their lives to little -purpose. But how should they? They pass their lives in a round of petty -duties and petty employments, above and beyond which they care not to -look.” - -Such were the meditations of Gottfried. Ah! thou that canst see the mote -in thy brother’s eye, and dost not discern the beam that is in thine own! - -Gottfried was approaching his study on his return from the walk, when -his meditations were disturbed by a cry which always makes the blood -course more quickly through the veins,—the fearful cry of “Fire!” -Voice after voice took up the cry till it swelled into a terrible and -confused clamor. Fire! Gottfried looked up, and, to his inexpressible -consternation, beheld the flames rapidly consuming his own dwelling. The -conviction flashed upon him, with the speed of lightning, that he had -left a candle burning which he had lighted for the purpose of sealing a -letter. Undoubtedly it had come in contact with the loose papers which -lay about it, and _this_ was the result. - -“My books! my treatise!” exclaimed Gottfried with anguish, as he -contemplated the probability of their destruction. “They will all be -consumed!” - -He hurried to the scene of disaster. The firemen were plying their utmost -efforts to bring the flames under. But the fire had already made such -headway that they struggled against hope. - -Gottfried lent his aid with the energy of despair. Finally, unable to -conceal from himself that the building must be consumed, he rushed into -the crackling flames, in the hope of at least rescuing the manuscript of -which he had written that day the concluding paragraphs. - -It was a mad effort, such as nothing but despair could prompt. The smoke -stifled him; the flames scorched and burned him. He was dragged out -by main force, having succeeded in passing but a few feet beyond the -threshold. Luckily he was in a state of insensibility, so that the last -scenes in the conflagration passed without his knowledge. - -The weeks that succeeded were a blank to Gottfried, for he was plunged -in the delirium of a brain fever. When, at length, he awoke to -consciousness, it was in a small and poorly-furnished chamber. At the -bedside was seated a woman, coarsely but neatly attired. - -“Where am I?” he inquired, bewildered. “What has happened to me?” - -“You are at length better, thank Heaven,” said the woman, earnestly, -“since the delirium has left you.” - -“Delirium!” said Gottfried, raising himself on his elbow in surprise. -“Oh, yes! I now recall the fearful calamity which has befallen me. My -books,—are they all gone? Is there not one left?” - -“Yes, one was saved.” - -“What is it? Bring it to me.” - -From a shelf near by, the attendant took down a small volume which had -been scorched, but not otherwise injured, by the flames. - -He opened it. It proved to be the New Testament in the original tongue. -Perhaps out of his whole library this was the book which he had least -studied. Now, however, that it was all that was left him, he passed -hours in its perusal. Gradually, as he read, a light broke in upon him; -and he began to perceive, at first by glimpses, but after a while with -all the clearness of light, that his life had been a mistake, and that -learning was not, as he had fancied, the great end of existence. He -perceived that in its attainment he had neglected what were of infinitely -more importance,—his duties to God and his fellow-men. With a feeling of -humiliation, he could not but confess that his life had been in vain. - -One day, as he was rapidly approaching recovery, he turned to his nurse, -and said, abruptly,— - -“Where have I met you before? Your face looks familiar.” - -“On the day of the fire,” was the reply, “you met me and my little one. -We were destitute, and implored charity.” - -“Which I denied. Yet you nurse me with all the devotedness of one who is -serving a benefactor. How is this?” - -“I am only doing my duty. But it is not to me you are indebted: it is to -the good farmer whose hospitality we both alike share.” - -“Is it possible?” said Gottfried, with humiliation. “It is, then, he over -whom I triumphed in fancied superiority. With all the learning which I -have gathered from books, I feel, that, in the true wisdom of life, I am -vastly inferior to you both.” - -On his recovery, Gottfried again applied himself to his studies; but -henceforth he never sought to elevate mere worldly knowledge above “that -wisdom which passeth all understanding.” - - - - -INNOCENCE. - -Contributed by a friend. - - - The blue sky was her canopy; - The flower-gemmed turf, her shrine; - Her incense, deep and fervent love, - Pure from the heart’s rich mine. - - Her brow was fair, her eyes were mild, - Her sunny smile was bright: - No discontent its shadow threw - Across her spirit’s light. - - Angels their constant vigil kept, - And guarded her from harm; - Breathing around her, while she slept, - A spirit-soothing charm. - - But she hath left this guilt-stained earth: - No more her smiles may cheer; - No more her gentle voice of mirth - May breathe its music here. - - Her haunts are desecrated now, - Or desolate and lone; - And Psyche’s palace, where she dwelt, - Has ceased to be her home. - - - - -PETER PLUNKETT’S ADVENTURE. - - -Some years since, there lived in Portland a worthy shoemaker named Peter -Plunkett. Unpoetical as his name may appear, Peter possessed a vivid -imagination, which, had it been properly cultivated, might have made -him, perchance, a poet or a novelist. As it was, he chiefly employed it -in building air-castles of more than royal magnificence, wherein dwelt -fairies and genii. If there was any book that approached the Bible, in -Peter’s estimation, it was the “Arabian Nights’ Entertainments.” He had a -devout belief in all the marvellous stories which it contains, and often -sighed in secret that it had not been his fortune to live in the days of -that potent monarch,—the Caliph Haroun Al Raschid. - -Peter Plunkett’s peculiarity was well known. Indeed, his mind was most -of the time far back in the golden age of fairies, so that he would -sometimes be guilty of amusing mistakes. On one occasion, he addressed -his housekeeper as “Most charming princess!” whereupon the good woman was -led to entertain serious doubts as to his sanity, which, indeed, were not -wholly unreasonable, since, though an excellent cook, she certainly did -not look much like a princess. - -Not far from Peter’s shop lived Squire Eveleth, who, being mirthfully -inclined, resolved to take advantage of the worthy shoemaker’s fancies, -and play upon him a practical joke. - -Happening into Peter’s shop, he led the conversation to the subject of -genii. “I have sometimes thought,” said he, gravely, “that the fairies -and genii have not yet abandoned the earth, but still continue, invisibly -to us, to exercise an influence over our destinies.” - -“So have I,” said Peter, eagerly. “Many a time I have fancied, as I -sat here at work, that I could hear the rushing of their wings as they -circled about me; and I have sometimes invoked them to appear in visible -form; but they never have.” - -“Perhaps they will some time,” said the squire, encouragingly. “I wish -you would come and take tea with me to-morrow,” he continued, after a -pause. “I should like to confer with you about these things.” - -Consent was readily accorded; and the next afternoon found Peter Plunkett -a guest of the squire. The latter, unperceived, mingled a potion with -Peter’s tea; and the result was that in half an hour he was in a sound -sleep. In this condition, the squire had him conveyed in a carriage to -the depot; and, in a few minutes, they were travelling towards Boston. -They reached the city in the evening; and Peter, still sleeping, was -conveyed to the Revere House, carried to a bed-chamber, and deposited in -bed. Squire Eveleth then retired, and, after leaving a note on the table, -left the house; and, after passing the night at another hotel, returned, -in the morning train, to Portland. - -The sun was already high in the heavens when Peter Plunkett awoke. He -gazed, bewildered, at the unwonted appearance of the room, and, jumping -out of bed, walked mechanically to the window. - -“Surely this can’t be Portland,” he said to himself, as the towers and -steeples of Boston met his view. “Where am I? What can have happened to -me?” - -Turning from the window, his eye rested upon a letter lying upon the -table, addressed to himself. - -He opened it hastily, and read as follows:— - - “MORTAL! be thankful; for to you, in return for your - unquestioning faith, has been vouchsafed a favor which - distinguishes you above your fellow-men. I who write to you am - Aldabaran, the potent genie of the air. Last night, I snatched - you from your couch, in the dead of night, and bore you hither. - You are now at the Revere House, in Boston. In your pocket - you will find gold, which I have placed there. It will defray - all your expenses, and bear you back to Portland. But beware - lest you divulge to any one the chance that has befallen you; - for, should you be so indiscreet, I swear to you by Solomon’s - seal, which glows with unapproachable splendor, that you will - instantly be transformed into a gigantic jackass, and be doomed - in that shape to walk the earth for ever as the penalty of your - folly. - - “Farewell, and beware! - - “ALDABARAN.” - -As Peter Plunkett read this terrible missive, his hair stood on end with -affright; yet, in the midst of his terror, he was filled with joy at the -nature of the favor which had been granted him. - -That night, he returned to Portland. Many curious inquiries were made -of him as to the object of his journey; for this was the first time he -had left Portland for many years. To all these inquiries he preserved -an impenetrable silence; merely shaking his head mysteriously, lest he -should incur the dreadful doom denounced against him. Henceforth he -deemed himself as one singled out from the great mass of mankind. Upon -his fellow-mortals he looked with a pitying eye, as beings with whom the -invisible spirits of the air had never deigned to hold communication. -Happy in his innocent delusion, he would not exchange places with the -most powerful monarch. Locked up in his trunk are the gold coins which he -found in his pocket in accordance with the mysterious letter. He will -never spend them; for he regards them as a fairy gift; and he fancies, -that, while he holds them in his possession, Fortune will ever smile upon -him. - - -THE END. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bertha's Christmas Vision: An Autumn -Sheaf, by Horatio Alger - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BERTHA'S CHRISTMAS VISION: *** - -***** This file should be named 56222-0.txt or 56222-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/2/2/56222/ - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Bertha's Christmas Vision: An Autumn Sheaf - -Author: Horatio Alger - -Release Date: December 22, 2017 [EBook #56222] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BERTHA'S CHRISTMAS VISION: *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> - -<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="475" height="600" alt="" /> - -<p class="caption">“The little girl looked up gratefully, and thanked him for what -she regarded as an act of kindness to herself.”</p> - -<p class="caption right">P. 11.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> - -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" height="650" alt="" /> - -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Bertha’s Christmas Vision</span></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">an Autumn Sheaf</span></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">by Horatio Alger Jr.</span></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Boston, Brown, Bazin, & co.</span></p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - -<h1>BERTHA’S<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -CHRISTMAS VISION:<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="gothic">An Autumn Sheaf.</span></h1> - -<p class="titlepage">BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">BOSTON:<br /> -<span class="smaller">BROWN, BAZIN, AND COMPANY,<br /> -94, <span class="smcap">Washington Street</span>.<br /> -1856.</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by<br /> -HORATIO ALGER, JR.,<br /> -In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">BOSTON:<br /> -PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON,<br /> -22, <span class="smcap">School Street</span>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - -<h2>DEDICATION.</h2> - -<p class="center gothic">To my Mother.</p> - -<p>As I turn over the pages of this my first book, -and mark here and there a name which use has -made familiar, I feel the more, that, but for your -sympathy and encouragement, much would still -remain unwritten. With me you have sorrowed -over the untimely death of “Little Charlie.” -“Bertha,” with her precious gifts,—whereof so -many stand in need,—has grown to you and -me not a child of fancy, but a living presence. -“Little Floy,” and the “Child of the Street,” -will recall, to your mind as to mine, the touching -lines of Mrs. Browning:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers!</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Ere the sorrow comes with years?</div> -<div class="verse">They are leaning their young heads against their mothers;</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And <em>that</em> cannot stop their tears.</div> -<div class="verse">The young lambs are bleating in the meadows;</div> -<div class="verse indent2">The young birds are chirping in the nest;</div> -<div class="verse">The young fawns are playing with the shadows;</div> -<div class="verse indent2">The young flowers are blowing toward the West:</div> -<div class="verse">But the young, young children, O my brothers!</div> -<div class="verse indent2">They are weeping bitterly,—</div> -<div class="verse">They are weeping in the play-time of the others,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">In the country of the free.</div> -<div class="verse">They look up with their pale and sunken faces,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And their looks are sad to see;</div> -<div class="verse">For the man’s grief abhorrent draws and presses</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Down the cheeks of infancy.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>To you, then, I dedicate this book,—which is -partly yours, in spirit, if not in deed,—confident, -that, whatever may be its shortcomings in the -eyes of others, it will find a kindly welcome at -your hands.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td class="tdr smaller">Page.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Little Floy; or, How a Miser was reclaimed</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#LITTLE_FLOY">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">My Castle</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#MY_CASTLE">34</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Miss Henderson’s Thanksgiving Day</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#MISS_HENDERSONS">38</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Little Charlie</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#LITTLE_CHARLIE">53</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Bertha’s Christmas Vision</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#BERTHAS_CHRISTMAS_VISION">55</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Wide-Awake</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#WIDE-AWAKE">64</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The First Tree planted by an Ornamental Tree Society</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_FIRST_TREE">75</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Royal Carpenter of Amsterdam</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_ROYAL_CARPENTER_OF">77</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Our Gabrielle</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#OUR_GABRIELLE">94</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Veiled Mirror</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_VEILED_MIRROR">96</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Summer Hours</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#SUMMER_HOURS">115</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Prize Painting</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_PRIZE_PAINTING">118</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Child of the Street</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_CHILD_OF_THE_STREET">152</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span><span class="smcap">Lost and Found</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#LOST_AND_FOUND">156</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Geraldine</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#GERALDINE">203</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Christmas Gift</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_CHRISTMAS_GIFT">205</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">My Picture</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#MY_PICTURE">224</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Gottfried the Scholar</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#GOTTFRIED_THE_SCHOLAR">227</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Innocence</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#INNOCENCE">240</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Peter Plunkett’s Adventure</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#PETER_PLUNKETTS_ADVENTURE">242</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="LITTLE_FLOY">LITTLE FLOY;<br /> -<span class="smaller">OR,<br /> -HOW A MISER WAS RECLAIMED.</span></h2> - -<p>Of all the houses which Martin Kendrick -owned, he used the oldest and meanest for -his own habitation. It was an old tumble-down -building, on a narrow street, which -had already lived out more than its appointed -term of service, and was no longer fit to -“cumber the ground.” But the owner still -clung to it, the more, perhaps, because, as it -stood there in its desolation, unsightly and -weather-beaten, it was no unfit emblem of -himself.</p> - -<p>Martin the miser! Years of voluntary -privation, such as in most cases follow only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -in the train of the extremest penury, had -given him a claim to the appellation. It -might be somewhat inconsistent with his -natural character, that, with the exception -of the one room which he occupied, the -remainder of the large house was left tenantless. -After all, it was not so difficult to -account for. He could not bear the idea of -having immediate neighbors. Who knows -but they might seize the opportunity afforded -by his absence, and rob him of the gains of -many years, which, distrusting banks and -other places of deposit, he kept in a strong -box under his own immediate charge?</p> - -<p>Martin had not always been a miser. No -one ever becomes so at once; though doubtless -the propensity to it is stronger in some -than in others. Years ago,—so many that -at this time the recollection only came to -him dimly, like the faint sound of an almost-forgotten -tune,—years ago, when the blood -of youth poured its impetuous current<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -through his veins, he married a fair girl, -whose life he had shortened by his dissipated -habits; and the indifference, and even -cruelty, to which they led.</p> - -<p>The day of his wife’s death, the last remnant -of the property which he inherited -from his father escaped from his grasp. -These two events, either of which brought -its own sorrow, completely sobered him. -The abject condition to which he had reduced -himself was brought vividly to his -mind; and he formed a sudden resolution,—rushing, -as will sometimes happen, from -one extreme to the other,—that, as prodigal -as his past life had been, that which -succeeded should be sparing and penurious -in the same degree; until, at least, he had -recovered his losses, and, so far as fortune -went, was restored to the same position -which he had occupied at the commencement -of his career.</p> - -<p>But it is not for man to say, “Thus far<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -shalt thou go, and no farther,”—to give -himself up, body and soul, to one engrossing -pursuit, and, at the end of a limited -time, wean himself from it.</p> - -<p>Habit grows by what it feeds on. It was -not long before the passion of acquisition -acquired a controlling influence over the -mind of Martin Kendrick. He reached -the point which he had prescribed for himself; -but it stayed him not. Every day his -privations, self-imposed though they were, -became more pinching, his craving for gold -more insatiable. Long ago, he had cut -himself off from all friendship,—all the -pleasures and amenities of social intercourse. -He made no visits, save to his tenants, and -those only on quarter-day. Nor were these -of an agreeable character to those favored -with them; for Martin was not a merciful -landlord. He invariably demanded the uttermost -farthing that was due; and neither -sickness nor lack of employment had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -power for a moment to soften his heart, or -delay the execution of his purpose. His -mind was drawn into itself, and, like an -uncultivated field, was left to all the barrenness -of desolation. Such is always the case, -when a man, by his own act, shuts himself -out from his kind, foregoes their sympathy -and kind offices, and virtually says, “I am -sufficient unto myself.”</p> - -<p>Martin had one child, a girl, named Florence. -At the time of the death of her -mother, she was but six years old. He had -loved her, perhaps, as much as it was in his -power to love any one; and, as long as she -remained with him, he did not withdraw -himself so entirely from human companionship. -But, at the age of seventeen years, -she became acquainted with a young man, a -mechanic, in whose favor her affections were -enlisted. He proposed for her hand; but -her father, in whom love of gold was strong,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -on account of his poverty drove him, with -scorn, from his door.</p> - -<p>The young man was not to be baffled -thus. He contrived to meet Florence secretly, -and, after a while, persuaded her to -forsake her home, and unite her fortunes -with his,—with the less difficulty, since -that home offered but few attractions to one -of her age. Her father’s indignation was -extreme. All advances towards reconciliation, -on the part of the newly-wedded pair, -were received with a bitterness of scorn, -which effectually prevented their repetition. -From that time, Martin Kendrick settled -down into the cold, apathetic, and solitary -existence which has been described above. -Gradually the love of gain blotted out from -his memory the remembrance of his children, -whom he never met. They had removed -from the city, though he knew it -not; and the total amount of interest displayed -respecting them discouraged any idea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -they might have entertained of informing -him.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“It’s a cold night,” quoth Martin to himself, -as he sat before the least glimmering -which could decently be called a fire in the -apartment which he occupied. He cast a -wistful glance towards a pile of wood which -lay beside the grate. He lifted one, and -poised it for a moment, glancing meanwhile -at the fire, as if he was debating in his mind -whether he had best place it on. He shook -his head, however, as if it were too great a -piece of extravagance to be thought of, and -softly laid it back. He then moved his -chair nearer to the fire as if satisfied that -this would produce the additional warmth -without the drawback of expense.</p> - -<p>It was, indeed, a cold night. The chill -blasts swept with relentless rigor through -the streets, sending travellers home with -quickened pace, and causing the guardians<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -of the public peace, as they stood at their -appointed stations, to wrap their overcoats -more closely about them. On many a hearth -the fire blazed brightly, in composed defiance -of the insidious visitor who shuns the abodes -of opulence, but forces his unwelcome entry -into the habitations of the poor.</p> - -<p>A child, thinly clad, was roaming through -the streets. Every gust, as it swept along, -chilled her through and through; and at -length, unable to go farther, she sank down -at the portal of Martin Kendrick’s dwelling. -Extreme cold gave her courage; and, with -trembling hand, she lifted the huge knocker. -It fell from her nerveless grasp, and the -unwonted sound penetrated into the room -where Martin sat cowering over his feeble -fire. He was startled, terrified even, as that -sound came to his ears, echoing through the -empty rooms in the old house.</p> - -<p>“Who can it be?—robbers?” thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -he, as he walked to the door. “I will wait -and see if it be repeated.”</p> - -<p>It was repeated.</p> - -<p>“Who’s there?” he exclaimed, in a -somewhat tremulous voice, as he stood -with his hand upon the latch.</p> - -<p>“It’s me,” said a low, shivering voice -from without.</p> - -<p>“And who’s ‘me’?”</p> - -<p>“Floy,—little Floy,” was the answer.</p> - -<p>“And what do you want here at this time -of night?”</p> - -<p>“I am freezing. Let me come in and sit -by the fire, if only for a moment. I shall -die upon your steps.”</p> - -<p>The old man deliberated.</p> - -<p>“You’re sure you’re not trying to get in -after my money, what little I have? There -isn’t any one with you, is there?”</p> - -<p>“No one. There is only me. Oh, sir, -do let me in! I am so cold!”</p> - -<p>The bolt was cautiously withdrawn; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -Martin, opening a crack, peered forth suspiciously. -But the only object that met his -gaze was a little girl, of ten years of age, -crouching on the steps in a way to avail herself -of all the natural warmth she had.</p> - -<p>“Will you let me come in?” said she, -imploringly.</p> - -<p>“You had better go somewhere else. I -haven’t much of a fire. I don’t keep much, -it burns out fuel so fast. You had better go -where they keep better fires.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir, the least fire will relieve me so -much! and I haven’t strength to go any -farther.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you may come in, if you’re sure -you haven’t come to steal any thing.”</p> - -<p>“I never steal: it’s wicked.”</p> - -<p>“Umph! Well, I hope you’ll remember -it. This is the way.”</p> - -<p>He led her into a little room which he -occupied. She sprang to the fire, little inviting -as it was, and eagerly spread out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -both hands before it. She seemed actually -to drink in the heat, scanty as it was, so -welcome did it prove to her chilled and -benumbed limbs.</p> - -<p>A touch of humanity came to the miser, -or perhaps his own experience of the cold -stimulated him to the act; for, after a few -minutes’ deliberation, he took two sticks -from the pile of fuel, and threw them upon -the fire. They crackled and burnt; diffusing, -for a time, a cheerful warmth about -the apartment. The little girl looked up -gratefully, and thanked him for what she -regarded as an act of kindness to herself.</p> - -<p>“Fuel’s high, very high; and it takes a -fearful quantity to keep the fire agoing.”</p> - -<p>“But what a pleasant fire it makes!” said -the little girl, as she looked at the flames -curling aloft.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes,” said Martin, in a soliloquising -tone, “it is comfortable; but it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -would not do to have it burn so bright. -It would ruin me completely.”</p> - -<p>“Then you are poor?” said the little -girl, looking about the room. The furniture -was scanty; consisting only of the -most indispensable articles, and those of -the cheapest kind. They had all been -picked up, at second-hand stores, for little -or nothing.</p> - -<p>It was no wonder that little Floy asked the -question. Nevertheless, the miser looked -suspiciously at her, as if there was some -covert meaning in her words. But she -looked so openly and frankly at him as -quite to disarm any suspicions he might -entertain.</p> - -<p>“Poor?” he at length answered. “Yes, -I am; or should be, if I plunged into extravagant -living and expenses of every kind.” -And he looked half regretfully at the sticks -which had burned out, and were now smouldering -in the grate.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well,” said Floy, “I am poor too, and -so were father and mother. But I think I -am poorer than you; for I have no home at -all, no house to live in, and no fire to keep -me warm.”</p> - -<p>“Then where do you live?” asked the -miser.</p> - -<p>“I don’t live anywhere,” said the child, -simply.</p> - -<p>“But where do you stay?”</p> - -<p>“Where I can. I generally walk about -the streets in the daytime; and, when I feel -cold, I go into some store to warm myself. -They don’t always let me stay long. They -call me ragged, and a beggar. I suppose,” -she continued, casting a glance at her thin -dress, which in some places was torn and -dirty from long wearing,—“I suppose it’s -all true; but I can’t help it.”</p> - -<p>“Where do you think of going to-night?” -asked Martin, abruptly.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. I haven’t any place to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -go to; and it’s very cold. Won’t you let -me stay here?” asked the child, imploringly.</p> - -<p>The miser started.</p> - -<p>“How can you stay here? Here is only -one room, and this I occupy.”</p> - -<p>“Let me lie down on the floor, anywhere. -It will be better than to go out into the cold -streets.”</p> - -<p>The miser paused. Even he, callous as -his heart had become, would not willingly -thrust out a young girl into the street, -where in all probability, unless succor -came, she would perish from the severity of -the weather.</p> - -<p>After a little consideration, he took the -fragment of a candle which was burning on -the table, and, bidding Floy follow him, led -the way into a room near by, which was -quite destitute of furniture, save a small -cot-bed in the corner. It had been left -there when Martin Kendrick first took<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -possession of the house, and had remained -undisturbed ever since. A quilt, which, -though tattered, was still thick and warm, -was spread over it.</p> - -<p>“There,” said Martin, pointing it out to -Floy, who followed him closely,—“there is -a bed. It hasn’t been slept on for a great -many years; but I suppose it will do as -well as any other. You can sleep there, -if you want to.”</p> - -<p>“Then I shall have a bed to sleep in!” -said Floy, joyfully. “It is some time since -I slept on any thing softer than a board, or -perhaps a rug.”</p> - -<p>Martin was about to leave her alone, -when he chanced to think the room would -be dark.</p> - -<p>“You can undress in the dark, can’t -you?” he inquired. “I haven’t got but -one light. I can’t afford to keep more.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! I sha’n’t take off my clothes at all,” -said the young girl. “I never do.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> - -<p>She got into bed, spread the quilt over her, -and was asleep in less than five minutes.</p> - -<p>Martin Kendrick went back to his room. -He did not immediately retire to bed, but -sat for a few minutes, pondering on the -extraordinary chance—for in his case it -was certainly extraordinary—which had -thrown a young girl, as it were, under his -protection, though but for a limited time. -He was somewhat bewildered, so unexpectedly -had the event happened, and could -scarcely, even now, realize that it was so.</p> - -<p>But the warning sound of a neighboring -church-clock, as it proclaimed midnight, interrupted -the train of his reflections, and -he prepared for bed; not neglecting, so -strongly was the feeling of suspicion implanted -in him, to secure the door by means -of a bolt. When he awoke, the sun was -shining through the window of his room. -He had hardly dressed himself, when a faint -knock was heard at the door of his room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -Opening it a little ways, he saw Floy standing -before him.</p> - -<p>“What! you here now?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“Yes. Where should I go? Besides, I -did not want to unlock the front door without -your permission.”</p> - -<p>“That is quite right,” said Martin. -“Some one, who was ill-disposed, might -have entered and stolen,—that is, if he -could have found any thing worth taking.”</p> - -<p>“And now, sir, if you please, I’ll make -your bed,” said the child, entering the room. -“I’ve made the one I slept in.”</p> - -<p>Martin looked on without a word; while -Floy, taking his silence for assent, proceeded -to roll back the clothes, shake the bed vigorously, -and then spread them over again. -Espying a broom at one corner of the room, -she took it, and swept up the hearth neatly. -She then glanced towards the miser, who had -been watching her motions, as if to ascertain -whether they met with his approval.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - -<p>“So you can work?” said he, after a -pause.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes! mother used to teach me. I -wish,” said she, after a while, brightening -up, as if struck with a new idea,—“I wish -you would let me stay here: I would make -your bed, take care of your room, and keep -every thing nice. Besides, I could get your -dinners.”</p> - -<p>“Stay with me! Impossible. I don’t -have much to do: besides, I couldn’t afford -it.”</p> - -<p>“It won’t cost you any thing,” said Floy, -earnestly. “I know how to sew; and, -when I am not doing something for you, I -can sew for money, and give it to you.”</p> - -<p>This idea seemed to produce some impression -upon the old miser’s mind.</p> - -<p>“But how do I know,” said he, a portion -of his old suspicions returning,—“how do -I know but you will steal off some day, and -carry something with you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I never steal,” said Floy, half indignantly. -“Besides, I have no place to go -to, if I should leave here.”</p> - -<p>This was true; and Martin, considering -that it would be against her interest to injure -him in any such way,—an argument which -weighed more heavily than any protestations -on her part would have done,—at length -said,—</p> - -<p>“Well, you may stay,—at least, a while. -I suppose you are hungry. There’s a loaf -of bread in the closet. You may eat some -of it; but don’t eat too much. It’s—it’s -hurtful to the health to eat too much.”</p> - -<p>“When will you be home to get some -dinner?” asked the child.</p> - -<p>“About noon. Perhaps I will bring some -sewing for you to do.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I hope you will! It will seem so -nice not to be obliged to be walking about -the streets, but to be seated in a pleasant -room, sewing!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> - -<p>When Martin came home at noon, instead -of finding the room cheerless and cold, as had -been his wont, the fire was burning brightly, -diffusing a pleasant warmth about the apartment. -Floy had set the table in the centre -of the room,—with some difficulty it must -be confessed; for it was rickety, and would -not stand even, owing to one of the legs -being shorter than the rest. This, however, -she had remedied by placing a chip under -the deficient member. There was no cloth -on; for this was an article which Martin did -not number among his possessions. Floy -had substituted two towels, which, united, -covered perhaps half the table.</p> - -<p>A portion of the loaf—for there was but -one—she had toasted by the fire, and this -had been placed on a separate plate from the -other. On the whole, therefore, though it -was far from being a sumptuous repast, -every thing looked clean and neat; and this -alone adds increased zest to the appetite. At<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -least, Martin felt more of an appetite than -usual; and, between them, the two despatched -all that had been provided.</p> - -<p>“Is there any more bread in the closet?” -asked Martin.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Floy: “it is all gone.”</p> - -<p>“Then I must bring some home when I -return to supper.”</p> - -<p>“I have been thinking,” said Floy, hesitatingly, -“that, if you would trust me to do -it, and would bring home the materials, I -would make some bread; and that would -be cheaper than buying it; and, besides, it -would give me something to do.”</p> - -<p>“What!” asked Martin, as he looked, -with an air of surprise, at the diminutive -form of little Floy, “do you know how to -make bread? How came a child like you -to learn?”</p> - -<p>“Mother used to be sick a good deal,” -said Floy, “and was confined to her bed, -so that she could do nothing herself. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -used to direct me what to do; so that, after -a while, I came to know how to cook as well -as she.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what shall I have to bring home?” -asked the miser, whom the hint of its being -cheaper had enlisted in favor of the plan.</p> - -<p>“Let me see,” said Floy, as she sat down -and began to reflect: “there’s flour and saleratus -and salt. But we’ve got the salt; so -you need only get the first two.”</p> - -<p>“Very well; I will attend to it. Oh! I -forgot to ask what sewing you knew how to -do. Can you make shirts?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I have made a good many.”</p> - -<p>“Then I will bring you home some to-night, -if I can get any.”</p> - -<p>When she had cleared away the dinner-dishes, -washed them, and put them in the -closet,—an operation which the simplicity -of the meal rendered but a short one,—Floy -began to look round her, to see what -else she could do. A desire seized her to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -explore the old house, of which so many -rooms had for years remained deserted. -They were bare and desolate, inhabited only -by spiders and crickets, who occupied them -rent free. It might have been years, perhaps, -since they had echoed to the steps of a -human foot. They looked dark and gloomy -enough to have been witness to many a dark -deed of midnight assassination. But it was -all fancy, doubtless; and in little Floy they -produced no other feeling than that of chilliness. -She rummaged all the closets with -a feeling of curiosity, but found nothing in -any one of them to reward her search until -she came to the last. There was a large -roll of something on the floor, which, on -examination, proved to be a small carpet, -quite dirty, and somewhat moth-eaten. It -had probably been left there inadvertently, -and remained undiscovered until the present -moment. Floy spread it out, and -examined it critically. An idea struck her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -which she hastened to put into execution. -Threading her way back to the miser’s -room, she procured a stout stick which stood -in the corner, and, going back, gave the carpet -a sound drubbing, which nearly stifled -her with dust. Nevertheless, she persevered, -and soon got it into quite a respectable -state of cleanness. She then managed, -by a considerable effort, to lug it to Martin’s -room, and, in an hour or so, had spread it -out, and finally fastened it by means of some -tacks which she found in one corner of the -closet. The effect was certainly wonderful. -The carpet actually gave the room a very -cosy and comfortable appearance; and little -Floy took considerable credit to herself for -the metamorphosis.</p> - -<p>“What will he say?” thought she. “I -wonder whether he will be pleased.”</p> - -<p>It was but a few minutes after this change -had been effected that Martin came in. It -was about three o’clock,—sooner than Floy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -expected him; but he had thought she might -require the materials early, in order to make -preparations for the evening meal.</p> - -<p>As he opened the door, he started back in -surprise at the changed appearance of the -room. It occurred to him, for a moment, -that he had strayed into the wrong place; -but the sight of Floy, sitting at the window, -re-assured him, and he went in.</p> - -<p>“What is all this?” he inquired in a -bewildered tone.</p> - -<p>Floy enjoyed his surprise. She told him -in what manner she had effected the change, -and asked him if he did not like it.</p> - -<p>He could not do otherwise than answer -in the affirmative; and, in truth, an unusual -sense of comfort came over him as he sat -down and looked about him.</p> - -<p>Floy had taken possession of the flour, -and was already kneading it.</p> - -<p>“Now,” said she, after this was done, “I -must put it down by the fire to rise; that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -will not take long; and then it will be ready -to bake.”</p> - -<p>“Have you got any shirts for me?” she -inquired after a while.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Martin, recollecting himself, -and unrolling a bundle which he had placed -on the table. “There are half a dozen for -you to begin on; and, if you do them well, -you can have some more.”</p> - -<p>Floy looked pleased.</p> - -<p>“Now,” said she, “I shall have something -to do when you are away.”</p> - -<p>“You like to be doing something?” said -Martin, inquiringly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes! I can’t bear to be idle.”</p> - -<p>Martin did not go out again that afternoon. -About six o’clock, Floy set the table, -and placed upon it a plate of warm cakes -which might have pleased the palate of an -epicure. It was the best meal the miser had -tasted for years, and he could not help confessing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -it to himself. Floy was gratified at -the appetite with which he ate.</p> - -<p>Thus matters went on. The presence of -the little girl seemed to restore Martin to a -part of his former self. He was no longer -so grasping and miserly as before. Through -little Floy’s ministry, he began to have -more of a relish for the comforts of life, -and less to grudge the expense necessary -to obtain them.</p> - -<p>It was not many weeks before he fell sick, -in consequence of imprudent exposure to -the rain. At first he did not regard it; but -a fever set in, and he was confined to his -bed.</p> - -<p>At the urgent solicitation of Floy, he consented -to have a physician called, though -not without something of reluctance at the -thought of the fee.</p> - -<p>Then it was that he began to appreciate -more fully the importance of Floy’s services. -Ever ready to minister to his wants, no one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -could wish a more faithful or attentive nurse. -As she sat by his bedside in the long days -through which his sickness was protracted, -busily engaged with her sewing, he would -lie for hours, watching the motion of her -busy fingers with pleased interest. Occasionally—for -he had nothing else to do—his -mind would wander back to the scenes -of his early manhood, and he would sigh -over the recollection of the happiness which -might have been his. Then his thoughts -would be borne along the dreamy years -which had intervened, unlighted by the rays -of friendship, and uncheered by the presence -of affection. The image of his daughter, -whom he had cast off, and of whose after-fate -he knew nothing, came up before him, -and he could not repel it. A change, a -beneficial and salutary change, was rolling -over his mind,—the fruit of those long -involuntary hours of sickness and self-communing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> - -<p>On the first day succeeding his recovery, -he invited Floy to go out with him. It was -an unusual request, and Floy hardly knew -what to make of it. She got her bonnet, -however (for shawl she had none), and complied. -It was a chilly March day, and the -thin dress which she had worn from the time -of her coming to Kendrick’s was but an ill -protection against the weather. She shivered -involuntarily.</p> - -<p>“You are cold,” said Martin; “but you -will not need to go far.”</p> - -<p>He led the way into a dry-goods store.</p> - -<p>“Have you any warm shawls suitable for -a little girl?” he inquired. He selected -one, and paid for it. “Show me some dress-patterns,” -he continued.</p> - -<p>Two different ones were chosen. Martin -paid for them.</p> - -<p>“Can you direct me,” he inquired, “to -any good dressmaker’s?”</p> - -<p>The clerk had at first been inclined to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -laugh at the old man, whose attire, though -warmer, was no better looking than Floy’s; -but the promptness with which he paid for -his purchases, and the glimpse which had -in this way been obtained of a well-filled -pocket-book, inspired him with a feeling of -respect, and he readily complied with his -request.</p> - -<p>“Now,” said Martin cheerfully to Floy, -“we will have you a little better dressed, so -that you need not fear the cold.”</p> - -<p>“I am sure,” said Floy, gratefully, “that -I am much obliged, and I don’t know how I -can repay you.”</p> - -<p>“You have already,” said the old man -with feeling. “I don’t know how I should -have got along without you when I was -sick.”</p> - -<p>“Floy,” said Martin, thoughtfully, as they -came out from the dressmaker’s, “although -you have been with me for some time, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -have never thought to ask your name,—I -mean your other name besides Floy.”</p> - -<p>“My name is not Floy,” said the child. -“They only call me so. My real name is -Florence,—Florence Eastman.”</p> - -<p>“Florence Eastman!” said the old man, -starting back in uncontrollable agitation. -“Who was your mother? Tell me quick!”</p> - -<p>“Her name,” said the child, somewhat -surprised, “was Florence Kendrick.”</p> - -<p>“Who was her father?”</p> - -<p>“Martin Kendrick.”</p> - -<p>“And where is he? Did you ever see -him?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Floy, shaking her head. “He -was angry with mother for marrying as she -did, and would never see any of us.”</p> - -<p>“And your mother?” said Martin, striving -to be calm. “Is she dead?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Floy, sorrowfully. “First, -my father died, and we were left very poor. -Then mother was obliged to work very hard,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -sewing; and finally she took a fever, and -died, leaving me alone in the world. For a -week, I wandered about without a home; -but at last you took me in. I don’t know -what would have become of me if you had -not,” said she, gratefully.</p> - -<p>“Floy,” said Martin, looking at her steadfastly, -“do you know my name?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Floy. “I have often wondered -what it was, but never liked to ask -you.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said he, in an agitated tone, -“you shall know now. I am Martin Kendrick, -your <span class="smcapuc">GRANDFATHER</span>!”</p> - -<p>Floy was filled with amazement, but, after -a moment, threw herself into his arms. -“Will you forgive mother?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“I will! I have! But, alas! she has -much more to forgive me. Would that she -were still alive!”</p> - -<p>Every day, Martin Kendrick became more -alive to the claims of affection. His miserly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -habits gave way, and he became more considerate -in his dealings with his tenants. -The old house, in which he lived so many -years, was torn down; and he bought a neat -cottage just out of the city, where he and -Floy live happily together. Floy, who has -been sent to school, exhibits uncommon -talent, and is fitting for the station she -will soon assume as the heiress of her -grandfather.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="MY_CASTLE">MY CASTLE.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I have a beautiful castle,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With towers and battlements fair;</div> -<div class="verse">And many a banner, with gay device,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Floats in the outer air.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The walls are of solid silver;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The towers are of massive gold;</div> -<div class="verse">And the lights that stream from the windows</div> -<div class="verse indent1">A royal scene unfold.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Ah! could you but enter my castle,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With its pomp of regal sheen,</div> -<div class="verse">You would say that it far surpasses</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The Palace of Aladeen;—</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Could you but enter as I do,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And pace through the vaulted hall,</div> -<div class="verse">And mark the stately columns,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And the pictures on the wall;—</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“With the costly gems about them,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That send their light afar,</div> -<div class="verse">With a chaste and softened splendor,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Like the light of a distant star!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“And where is this wonderful castle,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With its rich emblazonings,</div> -<div class="verse">Whose pomp so far surpasses</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The homes of the greatest kings?”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Come out with me at morning,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And lie in the meadow-grass,</div> -<div class="verse">And lift your eyes to the ether blue,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And you will see it pass.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“There! can you not see the battlements;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And the turrets stately and high,</div> -<div class="verse">Whose lofty summits are tipped with clouds,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And lost in the arching sky?”</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Dear friend, you are only dreaming;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Your castle so stately and fair</div> -<div class="verse">Is only a fanciful structure,—</div> -<div class="verse indent1">A castle in the air.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Perchance you are right. I know not</div> -<div class="verse indent1">If a phantom it may be;</div> -<div class="verse">But yet, in my inmost heart, I feel</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That it lives, and lives for me;—</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“For, when clouds and darkness are round me,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And my heart is heavy with care,</div> -<div class="verse">I steal me away from the noisy crowd,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To dwell in my castle fair.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“There are servants to do my bidding;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">There are servants to heed my call;</div> -<div class="verse">And I, with a master’s air of pride,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">May pace through the vaulted hall.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“And I envy not the monarchs</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With cities under their sway;</div> -<div class="verse">For am I not, in my own right,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">A monarch as proud as they?</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“What matter, then, if to others</div> -<div class="verse indent1">My castle a phantom may be,</div> -<div class="verse">Since I feel, in the depth of my own heart,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That it is not so to me?”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="MISS_HENDERSONS"><span class="smaller">MISS HENDERSON’S</span><br /> -THANKSGIVING DAY.</h2> - -<p>Thanksgiving Day dawned clearly and -frostily upon the little village of Castleton -Hollow. The stage which connected daily -with the nearest railroad station (for as yet -Castleton Hollow had not arrived at the dignity -of one of its own) came fully freighted, -both inside and out. There were children -and children’s children, who, in the pursuit -of fortune, had strayed away from the homes -where they first saw the light; but who were -now returning, to revive, around the old -familiar hearth, the associations and recollections -of their early days.</p> - -<p>Great were the preparations among the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -housewives of Castleton Hollow. That -must indeed be a poor household which, -on this occasion, could not boast its turkey -and plum-pudding,—those well-established -dishes; not to mention its long rows of pies,—apple, -mince, and pumpkin,—wherewith -the Thanksgiving board is wont to be -garnished.</p> - -<p>But it is not of the households generally -that I propose to speak. Let the reader -accompany me, in imagination, to a rather -prim-looking brick mansion, situated on the -principal street, but at some distance back, -being separated from it by a front yard. -Between this yard and the fence ran a prim-looking -hedge, of very formal cut, being -cropped in the most careful manner, lest -one twig should, by chance, have the presumption -to grow higher than its kindred. -It was a two-story house, containing in each -story one room on either side of the front -door; making, of course, four in all.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> - -<p>If we go in, we shall find the outward -primness well supported by the appearance -of things within. In the front parlor—we -may peep through the door, but it would be -high treason, in the present moistened state -of our boots, to step within its sacred precincts—there -are six high-backed chairs -standing in state, two at each window. One -can easily see, from the general arrangement -of the furniture, that from romping children, -unceremonious kittens, and unhallowed intruders -generally, this room is most sacredly -guarded.</p> - -<p>Without speaking particularly of the other -rooms,—which, though not furnished in so -stately a manner, bear a family resemblance -to “the best room,”—we will usher the -reader into the opposite room, where he -will find the owner and occupant of this -prim-looking residence.</p> - -<p>Courteous reader! Miss Hetty Henderson. -Miss Hetty Henderson, let me make you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -acquainted with this lady (or gentleman), -who is desirous of knowing you better.</p> - -<p>Miss Hetty Henderson, with whom the -reader has just passed through the ceremony -of introduction, is a maiden of some -thirty-five summers, attired in a sober-looking -dress of irreproachable neatness, but -most formal cut. She is the only occupant -of the house, of which, likewise, she is -proprietor. Her father, who was the village -physician, died some ten years since; leaving -to Hetty,—or perhaps I should give -her full name, Henrietta,—his only child, -the house in which he lived, and some four -thousand dollars in bank-stock, on the income -of which she lived very comfortably.</p> - -<p>Somehow, Miss Hetty had never married; -though, such is the mercenary nature of man, -the rumor of her inheritance brought to her -feet several suitors. But Miss Hetty had -resolved never to marry,—at least, this was -her invariable answer to matrimonial offers;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -and so, after a time, it came to be understood -that she was fixed for life,—an old -maid. What reasons impelled her to this -course were not known; but possibly the -reader will be furnished with a clew before -he finishes this narrative.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, the invariable effect of a -single and solitary life combined attended -Hetty. She grew precise, prim, and methodical, -to a painful degree. It would have -been quite a relief if one could have detected -a stray thread even upon her well-swept -carpet; but such was never the case.</p> - -<p>On this particular day,—this Thanksgiving -Day of which we are speaking,—Miss -Hetty had completed her culinary preparations; -that is, she had stuffed her turkey -and put it in the oven, and kneaded her -pudding; for, though she knew that but -one would be present at the dinner, her -conscience would scarcely have acquitted -her if she had not made all the preparations<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -to which she had been accustomed on such -occasions.</p> - -<p>This done, she sat down to her knitting; -casting a glance every now and then at the -oven, to make sure that all was going on -well. It was a quiet morning; and Miss -Hetty’s thoughts kept time to the clicking -of her knitting-needles.</p> - -<p>“After all,” thought she, “it’s rather -solitary taking dinner alone, and that on -Thanksgiving Day. I remember, a long -time ago, when my father and my brothers -and sisters were living, what a merry time -we used to have round the table. But they -are all dead; and I—I alone—am left.”</p> - -<p>Miss Hetty sighed; but, after a while, -the recollections of those old times returned. -She tried to shake them off; but they had a -fascination about them, after all, and would -not go at her bidding.</p> - -<p>“There used to be another there,” thought -she,—“Nick Anderson. He too, I fear, is -dead.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hetty heaved a thoughtful sigh, and a -faint color came into her cheeks. She had -reason. This Nicholas Anderson had been -a medical student, apprenticed to her father; -or rather placed with him, to be prepared for -his profession. He was perhaps a year older -than Hetty, and had regarded her with more -than ordinary warmth of affection. He had, -in fact, proposed to her, and had been conditionally -accepted on a year’s probation. -The trouble was, he was a little disposed to -be wild, and, being naturally of a lively and -careless temperament, did not exercise sufficient -discrimination in the choice of his -associates. Hetty had loved him as warmly -as one of her nature could love. She was -not one who would be drawn away beyond -the dictates of reason and judgment by the -force of affection. Still, it was not without -a feeling of deep sorrow,—deeper than her -calm manner led him to suspect,—that, at -the end of the year’s probation, she informed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -Anderson that the result of his trial was not -favorable to his suit, and that henceforth he -must give up all thoughts of her.</p> - -<p>To his vehement asseverations, promises, -and protestations, she returned the same -steady and inflexible answer; and, at the -close of the interview, he left her, quite as -full of indignation against her as of grief -for his rejection.</p> - -<p>That night, his clothing was packed up, -and lowered from the window; and, when -the next morning dawned, it was found that -he had left the house, never, as was intimated -in a slight note pencilled and left on the -table in his room, to return again.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>While Miss Henderson’s mind was far -back in the past, she had not observed the -approach of a man, shabbily attired, accompanied -by a little girl apparently some eight -years of age. The man’s face bore the impress -of many cares and hardships. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -little girl was of delicate appearance; and -an occasional shiver showed that her garments -were too thin to protect her sufficiently -from the inclemency of the weather.</p> - -<p>“This is the place, Henrietta,” said the -traveller at length, pausing at the head of -the gravelled walk which led up to the front -door of the prim-looking brick house.</p> - -<p>Together they entered; and a moment -afterwards, just as Miss Hetty was preparing -to lay the cloth for dinner, a knock sounded -through the house.</p> - -<p>“Goodness!” said Miss Hetty, fluttered. -“Who can it be that wants to see me at this -hour?”</p> - -<p>Smoothing down her apron, and giving a -look at the glass to make sure that her hair -was in order, she hastened to the door.</p> - -<p>“Will it be asking too much, madam, to -request a seat by your fire for myself and -little girl for a few moments? It is very -cold.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> - -<p>Miss Hetty could feel that it <em>was</em> cold. -Somehow, too, the appealing expression of -the little girl’s face touched her. So she -threw the door wide open, and bade them -enter.</p> - -<p>Miss Hetty went on preparing the table -for dinner. A most delightful odor issued -from the oven; one door of which was open, -lest the turkey should overdo. Miss Hetty -could not help observing the wistful glance -cast by the little girl towards the tempting -dish as she placed it on the table.</p> - -<p>“Poor little creature!” thought she. “I -suppose it is a long time since she has had -a good dinner.”</p> - -<p>Then the thought struck her, “Here I -am alone to eat all this. There is quite -enough for half a dozen. How much these -poor people would relish it!”</p> - -<p>By this time the table was arranged.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said she, turning to the traveller, -“you look as if you were hungry as well as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -cold. If you and your little daughter would -like to sit up, I should be happy to have -you.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, madam!” was the grateful -reply. “We are hungry, and shall be -much indebted to your kindness.”</p> - -<p>It was rather a novel situation for Miss -Hetty,—sitting at the head of the table, -dispensing food to others beside herself. -There was something rather agreeable about -it.</p> - -<p>“Will you have some of the dressing, -little girl? I have to call you that; for I -don’t know your name,” she added, in an -inquiring tone.</p> - -<p>“Her name is Henrietta; but I generally -call her Hetty,” said the traveller.</p> - -<p>“What!” said Miss Hetty, dropping the -spoon in surprise.</p> - -<p>“She was named after a very dear friend -of mine,” said he, sighing.</p> - -<p>“May I ask,” said Miss Hetty, with excusable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -curiosity, “the name of this friend? -I begin to feel quite an interest in your little -girl,” she added, half apologetically.</p> - -<p>“Her name is Henrietta Henderson,” -said the stranger.</p> - -<p>“Why, that is my name!” ejaculated -Miss Hetty.</p> - -<p>“And she was named after you,” said the -stranger, composedly.</p> - -<p>“Why, who in the world are you?” she -asked, her heart beginning to beat unwontedly -fast.</p> - -<p>“Then you don’t remember me?” said -he, rising, and looking steadily at Miss -Hetty. “Yet you knew me well in bygone -days,—none better. At one time, it -was thought you would join your destiny -to mine——”</p> - -<p>“Nick Anderson!” said Miss Hetty, rising -in confusion.</p> - -<p>“You are right. You rejected me because -you did not feel secure of my principles.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -The next day, in despair at your -refusal, I left the house, and, ere forty-eight -hours had passed, was on my way to India. -I had not formed the design of going to -India in particular; but, in my then state -of mind, I cared not whither I went. One -resolution I formed,—that I would prove -by my conduct that your apprehensions were -ill founded. I got into a profitable business. -In time, I married; not that I had forgotten -you, but that I was solitary, and needed -companionship. I had ceased to hope for -yours. By and by, a daughter was born. -True to my old love, I named her Hetty, -and pleased myself with the thought that -she bore some resemblance to you. Afterwards -my wife died; misfortunes came upon -me; and I found myself deprived of all -my property. Then came yearnings for -my native soil. I have returned (as you -see), not as I departed, but poor and care-worn.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> - -<p>While Nicholas was speaking, Miss Hetty’s -mind was filled with conflicting emotions. -At length, extending her hand frankly, she -said,—</p> - -<p>“I feel that I was too hasty, Nicholas. I -should have tried you longer. But, at least, -I may repair my injustice. I have enough -for us all. You shall come and live with -me.”</p> - -<p>“I can only accept your generous offer -on one condition,” said Nicholas.</p> - -<p>“And what is that?”</p> - -<p>“That you will be my wife!”</p> - -<p>A vivid blush came over Miss Hetty’s -countenance. She “couldn’t think of such -a thing,” she said. Nevertheless, an hour -afterwards the two united lovers had fixed -upon the marriage-day.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The house does not look so prim as it -used to do. The yard is redolent with -many fragrant flowers. The front door is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -half open, revealing a little girl playing -with a kitten.</p> - -<p>“Hetty,” says a matronly lady, “you -have got the ball of yarn all over the floor. -What would your father say if he should -see it?”</p> - -<p>“Never mind, mother; it was only kitty -that did it.”</p> - -<p>Marriage has filled up a void in the heart -of Miss Hetty. Though not so prim, or -perhaps careful, as she used to be, she is a -good deal happier. Three hearts are filled -with thankfulness at every return of <span class="smcap">Miss -Henderson’s Thanksgiving Day</span>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="LITTLE_CHARLIE">LITTLE CHARLIE.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">A violet grew by the river-side,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And gladdened all hearts with its bloom;</div> -<div class="verse">While over the fields, on the scented air,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">It breathed a rich perfume.</div> -<div class="verse">But the clouds grew dark in the angry sky,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And its portals were opened wide;</div> -<div class="verse">And the heavy rain beat down the flower</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That grew by the river-side.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Not far away, in a pleasant home,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">There lived a little boy,</div> -<div class="verse">Whose cheerful face and childish grace</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Filled every heart with joy.</div> -<div class="verse">He wandered one day to the river’s verge,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With no one near to save;</div> -<div class="verse">And the heart that we loved with a boundless love</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Was stilled in the restless wave.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The sky grew dark to our tearful eyes,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And we bade farewell to joy;</div> -<div class="verse">For our hearts were bound by a sorrowful tie</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To the grave of the little boy.</div> -<div class="verse">The birds still sing in the leafy tree</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That shadows the open door:</div> -<div class="verse">We heed them not; for we think of the voice</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That we shall hear no more.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">We think of him at eventide,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And gaze on his vacant chair</div> -<div class="verse">With a longing heart, that will scarce believe</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That Charlie is not there.</div> -<div class="verse">We seem to hear his ringing laugh,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And his bounding step at the door;</div> -<div class="verse">But, alas! there comes the sorrowful thought,—</div> -<div class="verse indent1">We shall never hear them more!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">We shall walk sometimes to his little grave,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">In the pleasant summer hours;</div> -<div class="verse">We will speak his name in a softened voice,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And cover his grave with flowers;</div> -<div class="verse">We will think of him in his heavenly home,—</div> -<div class="verse indent1">His heavenly home so fair;</div> -<div class="verse">And we will trust with a hopeful trust</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That we shall meet him there.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="BERTHAS_CHRISTMAS_VISION">BERTHA’S CHRISTMAS VISION.</h2> - -<p>It was the night before Christmas. Snow -was falling without; and the wind dashed -the cold flakes, in eddying whirls, into the -faces of those wayfarers whom business or -pleasure kept out thus late. They drew -their warm garments more closely about -them, and hurried onward; little heeding -the pelting of the storm while the vision of -a cheerful hearth and a merry family circle -danced before their eyes and warmed their -hearts. Merry St. Nicholas, too, the patron -saint of children, was abroad. It was a -busy night with him. Thousands of parcels<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -must be made up, and showered down as -many chimneys into expectant stockings, -before the morrow’s dawn. So he gives -the reins to his coursers, and speeds swiftly -along,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent12">“through forest and brake;</div> -<div class="verse">Through deep, drifting snow; over river and lake;</div> -<div class="verse">Over hill, over dale, where the keen northern blast,</div> -<div class="verse">With fierce, angry moaning, drives fearfully past.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>In a large and pleasant room sat little -Bertha, gazing thoughtfully into the fire. -The fire crackled and burnt; and shadows, -cast by its flickering light, danced on the -wall. But little Bertha’s thoughts were far -away, and she heeded them not. For many -weeks, she had been looking forward to this -very night; and now she was trying to conjecture -what gifts good St. Nicholas had in -store for her. At length she grew weary -of conjecture, took a lamp from the table, -and went up stairs to bed. It was a neat -little chamber; and the counterpane on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -Bertha’s bed rivalled in whiteness the falling -snow without. Bertha looked out of -the window, against the panes of which the -snow was beating noisily.</p> - -<p>“It is a cold night,” thought she. “St. -Nicholas will have a hard time of it. What -if he should not come at all?”</p> - -<p>Bertha’s apprehensions were soon dispelled; -for, as she looked out, the sound -of silvery bells came nearer and nearer, till -at length it paused under her window, and, -a moment afterwards, was heard in an opposite -direction. Bertha rubbed her eyes, -and strove to distinguish the sleigh from -which these sounds proceeded; but she -could distinguish nothing.</p> - -<p>“Can it be St. Nicholas?” thought she.</p> - -<p>Even as she spoke, mingling with the -sound of the retreating bells, she thought -she could distinguish the words of a song. -She listened attentively; and these were the -words which the wind bore to her:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The path I have chosen</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Is covered with snow;</div> -<div class="verse">The streams are all frozen;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Yet onward I go.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I glide o’er the mountain,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And skim o’er the lea;</div> -<div class="verse">I pass by the fountain;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Yet no eye can see—</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“My form or my shadow</div> -<div class="verse indent1">On snow-drift or mound,</div> -<div class="verse">On hill-top or meadow,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Or frost-spangled ground.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“While sleigh-bells are ringing</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Upon the highway,</div> -<div class="verse">And glad parties singing</div> -<div class="verse indent1">So thoughtless and gay,—</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I pass through and over</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Each hamlet and hall</div> -<div class="verse">Ere mortals discover</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Who gave them a call.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I pause but to count o’er</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The gifts for each one,</div> -<div class="verse">And then quickly mount o’er</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The stile. I am gone!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> -<p>“That must certainly be Santa Claus,” -thought Bertha. So she carefully hung up -her stockings before the fire, and went to -bed. She soon became tired of waiting for -St. Nicholas to come; and, in a few minutes, -she was asleep. But the thoughts of Christmas -had taken fast hold of her mind, and, -as she slept, shaped themselves into the following -dream:—</p> - -<p>She thought, that, as she was lying awake -in her chamber, there appeared suddenly -before her three figures, clad in white. -Slowly they advanced, hand in hand, till -they stood before her bedside. Then, with -united voices, they chanted the following -lines:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Maiden, from the fields of air</div> -<div class="verse indent1">We have winged our rapid flight,</div> -<div class="verse">Bringing gifts both rich and rare,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">On this frosty Christmas night.</div> -<div class="verse">Guard them ever: they will be</div> -<div class="verse">Of exceeding worth to thee.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> -<p>They ceased; and Bertha, in great astonishment, -inquired,—</p> - -<p>“What! are you St. Nicholas? Or,” she -added, recollecting herself, “perhaps you -are his sisters?”</p> - -<p>The visitors resumed their chant:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Maiden, no! Thy Christmas saint</div> -<div class="verse">Beareth gifts of mortal taint:</div> -<div class="verse">At the touch of sure decay</div> -<div class="verse">They shall vanish quite away.</div> -<div class="verse">Those we bear are not of earth:</div> -<div class="verse">Theirs has been a higher birth.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The visitors ceased; and one of their -number, coming forward, commenced -anew:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I am Faith. To thee I bear</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Childlike trust and confidence</div> -<div class="verse">In the ever-watchful care</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Of our Father’s providence.</div> -<div class="verse">Maiden, one of sisters three,</div> -<div class="verse">This the gift I bear to thee.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> -<p>The second came forward, and repeated:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I am Hope. When darksome clouds</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Gather round thy earthly way,</div> -<div class="verse">And Misfortune’s shadowy veil</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Intercepts the light of day,</div> -<div class="verse">I will come on wings of light:</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Clouds and mist shall straightway fly,</div> -<div class="verse">And reveal the golden gates</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Of a happier home on high.</div> -<div class="verse">Maiden, one of sisters three,</div> -<div class="verse">This the gift I bear to thee.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Smiling graciously on the wondering Bertha, -Hope drew back, and gave place to her -sister, who commenced as follows:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I am Charity. Let me</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Ever on thy steps attend,</div> -<div class="verse">And, as long as life shall last,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Be thy counsellor and friend.</div> -<div class="verse">In thy bosom I would sow</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Seeds of gentleness and love,</div> -<div class="verse">And, a resident of earth,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Fit thee for a home above.</div> -<div class="verse">Maiden, last of sisters three,</div> -<div class="verse">This the gift I bear to thee.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> -<p>Again the sisters joined hands, and, with -united voices, chanted, as at first,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Maiden, from the fields of air</div> -<div class="verse indent1">We have winged our rapid flight,</div> -<div class="verse">Bringing gifts both rich and rare,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">On this frosty Christmas night.</div> -<div class="verse">Faith and Hope and Charity!</div> -<div class="verse">Earthly maiden, sisters three,</div> -<div class="verse">These the gifts we bear to thee.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Their voices died away, and they were -gone. Bertha opened her eyes, and, lo! it -was all a vision that had come to her on this -Christmas night. The morning sun was -shining brightly through the window-panes. -Noisily over the frozen snow dashed the -sleighs; and their bells rang a merry peal -in honor of Christmas Day. Bertha glanced -at the well-filled stockings that hung in -front of the fire, and then she knew that -St. Nicholas had been there with his budget -of gifts; and the words sung by the sisters -came into her mind:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Maiden, no! Thy Christmas saint</div> -<div class="verse">Beareth gifts of mortal taint.</div> -<div class="verse">Those we bear are not of earth:</div> -<div class="verse">Theirs has been a higher birth.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“I will not forget the gifts of the good -sisters,” she murmured softly. “Doubtless -it is my heavenly Father who has sent them -to me.”</p> - -<p>So it was that little Bertha, attended by -the three sisters, walked peacefully and happily -through life.</p> - -<p>The ways of God’s providence, so dark -and mysterious to many, became plain and -clear to her; for she saw with the eye of -Faith. Clouds sometimes gathered about -her path; but Hope waved her wand, and -they were at once dispelled. Jealousy and -envy and angry thoughts disturbed her not; -for her heart was filled with the heavenly -spirit of Charity.</p> - -<p>Would that we all might be blessed with -Bertha’s Christmas vision!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="WIDE-AWAKE">WIDE-AWAKE.</h2> - -<p>Many years ago, in a city whose name I -cannot now recall, there lived a poor woman, -whose husband had died, leaving nothing -but a little son. For some time, she continued -to support herself, and her son, whom -she dearly loved, by working early and late -at the spinning-wheel. But, after a while, -a heavy misfortune fell upon her: it was no -less than the loss of eyesight. So she was -obliged to give up her spinning; for now -she could distinguish neither the web nor -the woof. You can imagine her distress at -being deprived so suddenly of seeing the -great and beautiful spectacle of fields, flowers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -and sky, which every day presents to -our gaze. Still, she would not have heeded -all this; but she found herself cut off, at -the same time, from all means of subsistence.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, her son had grown up into a -stout, active boy of twelve. He was full of -life and animation; and that, I suppose, was -the reason he had received the name of -“Wide-awake.” Now, little Wide-awake -had a kind heart as well as manly spirit; -and when he saw that his mother, who had -worked so hard and so long for him, had -become blind, he said to himself, “Now it -is my turn to work.”</p> - -<p>So he told his mother that he was going -to seek for work, and that, after three -months, he would faithfully return. But -first he sold the spinning-wheel, which was -no longer of any use, and one or two other -articles, and gave the money to a neighbor, -who promised to spend it for his mother as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -she had need. Then he took a cheerful -leave of his mother, and went off with a -light heart, though his pockets were empty.</p> - -<p>He had not walked far when he overtook -an old woman, who was bending beneath the -weight of a heavy burden. She was homely, -and appeared very tired. Wide-awake was -passing by, when she called out to him, -“Come here, little boy: help me to carry -this bundle. I am old, weak, and tired; -you are young and strong.”</p> - -<p>Wide-awake was very obliging; and, -though the old woman’s tone was not the -pleasantest in the world, he very willingly -took one side of the bundle, and helped her -to carry it. The day was hot, and the bundle -heavy; but he bore up stoutly, so that the -old woman began to get over her ill humor, -and to ask him some questions. So he told -her his whole story,—how his mother was -blind and unable to work, and he was seeking -his fortune.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well,” said the old woman, “if that is -the case, I think you had better come and -live with me. I live in a little cottage not -far off, and am in want of a boy to go on -errands and do other little things for me. -If you will come and stay with me three -months, I will reward you as you deserve. -But I will warn you that I am very particular, -and shall require you to obey me in -every thing.”</p> - -<p>Of course, Wide-awake was only too glad -to accept the old woman’s offer. He was -quite sure that he should be able to suit -her; and he could not help picturing to -himself how glad his mother would be to -have him return with perhaps a piece of -gold; for this seemed a great sum to Wide-awake, -and a very generous compensation -for three months’ labor.</p> - -<p>After a while, they came to the old -woman’s cottage. It was a small house, -containing three rooms. One of these was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -a kitchen, in which the old woman did all -her cooking; another was her chamber; and -the third she told Wide-awake he should -have to sleep in.</p> - -<p>Early the next morning, the old woman -came to his bedside, and shook him roughly.</p> - -<p>“Up! up!” said she. “Is not the sun -up? and you are lying here asleep! What -is your name?”</p> - -<p>“Wide-awake,” said he, rubbing his -eyes.</p> - -<p>“Then,” said the old woman, “hereafter, -be sure to be wide awake before the sun. -Dress yourself as quickly as possible, and I -will give you your breakfast; and then to -work.”</p> - -<p>Wide-awake was up and dressed in a -moment. The old woman set before him -a bowl of bread and milk for his breakfast. -After he had eaten this, she took him to a -fold near by, where he saw ten beautiful -sheep.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> - -<p>“These,” said she, “will be your care. -You will drive them to the great meadow a -mile hence, and watch them, taking care that -none stray away. Three times a day—at -morning, noon, and night—you will drive -them to the spring, and let them drink; -and, at seven o’clock, you may bring them -back.”</p> - -<p>Wide-awake promised faithfully to obey -her in every respect. He found the great -meadow without difficulty. He watched -the sheep, and watered them, as he had -been directed, and, at nightfall, drove them -home. The old woman counted the sheep, -and, finding them all there, was well content, -and gave Wide-awake his supper.</p> - -<p>So time passed on. Every day the old -woman became better satisfied with Wide-awake, -who, on his part, was looking -forward to the time when he might go -home.</p> - -<p>One morning about this time, as Wide-awake<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -was about to drive out his sheep as -usual, the old woman stopped him.</p> - -<p>“They have grown quite fat,” said she; -“so I shall carry them to the city and sell -them. I shall be gone a week, and shall -leave you here to take care of the house -while I am gone. You will not have much -to do. But there is one thing I must warn -you against: you must not, on any account, -open the door of the closet which is in your -chamber. If you do, you will repent it.”</p> - -<p>Wide-awake was not troubled with curiosity; -and so he found no difficulty in -making this promise.</p> - -<p>The old woman departed, and Wide-awake -was left alone. Having nothing else to do, -he began to think of home and his mother. -Then he began to wonder how much his -mistress meant to give him for his services. -He determined that he would buy a nice -arm-chair for his mother, and a great many -other things, if his money only held out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -But they were all for his mother’s comfort, -and not for his own, as I have already explained -that Wide-awake was far from being -selfish.</p> - -<p>On the fourth day after the old woman’s -departure, a stout man came to the door, -and asked leave to rest a little while. Wide-awake -knew that his mistress would have no -objection; so he gave him permission, and, -moreover, placed before him some bread -and milk. The man ate heartily, and, in -the mean time, contrived to draw out of -Wide-awake all the particulars of his situation, -and the old woman’s prohibiting him -to open the door of the closet.</p> - -<p>“I have no doubt,” said he, “that it is -there where she keeps her money. If I -were in your place, I would look and see. -It wouldn’t do any harm.”</p> - -<p>“But,” said Wide-awake, in astonishment, -“she told me not to do it on any account.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind that,” said the man, winking:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -“it’ll do no harm; and she’ll never -know it.”</p> - -<p>“But,” said Wide-awake, firmly, “I have -promised; and I never break my promise.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, if you won’t, I will,” said -the stranger, rising; “for I’m determined -to know what there is in that closet.”</p> - -<p>But Wide-awake sprang to the door, set -his back resolutely against it, and said,—</p> - -<p>“Never! while I live.”</p> - -<p>“Poh!” was the contemptuous reply. -“What is your strength against mine? -Don’t you know that I can kill you?”</p> - -<p>“That may be,” said Wide-awake, firmly,—though -the thoughts of his mother came -over his mind; and he could not help sighing -for her, if he should die,—“but I will -not yield.”</p> - -<p>“Are you quite determined you will not -let me in?” said the stranger.</p> - -<p>The voice seemed altered; and, looking -up, Wide-awake beheld, to his great surprise,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -that it was the old woman who addressed -him.</p> - -<p>“Where is the man who was here a -minute since?” asked he in surprise.</p> - -<p>The old woman smiled, and explained to -him that she was a fairy, and had taken a -man’s figure to test his sincerity. She said -she was quite satisfied with the result, and, -as she had no further need of his services, -would let him return home.</p> - -<p>“But I owe you something for your past -fidelity. What shall it be? I leave it to -your choice. Wealth, happiness, and long -life: I will confer either of these upon you. -Choose.”</p> - -<p>“And may I choose any thing I like?” -said Wide-awake, with eyes sparkling.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the fairy (for so we must now -call her).</p> - -<p>“Then I will choose that my mother be -restored to sight.”</p> - -<p>“You have chosen well, my child,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -the fairy, kindly: “it shall be as you say; -and, to reward you for your affection to your -mother, I will freely bestow upon you the -three gifts which you did not choose. You -shall be rich; and your life shall be both -long and happy.”</p> - -<p>Wide-awake found his mother fully restored -to sight. With the wealth which the -fairy bestowed upon him, he built a neat -cottage for his mother, who was long spared -to him. The fairy’s promise was verified in -every particular.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="THE_FIRST_TREE">THE FIRST TREE<br /> -<span class="smaller">PLANTED BY AN ORNAMENTAL TREE SOCIETY.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">We have planted it deep in the yielding soil,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Hard by the house of prayer;</div> -<div class="verse">And the cool air plays through its leafy top,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As it stands in silence there.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">It is young like ourselves; but, day by day,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The dews of heaven will fall,—</div> -<div class="verse">And the gladsome rays of the summer sun,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That shines for each and all;</div> -<div class="verse">And, under their gentle ministry,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">It will grow both stout and tall.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Then will the roots of the stately tree</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Have spread both far and wide;</div> -<div class="verse">And perchance its branches will overtop</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The church that stands beside;</div> -<div class="verse">And safe amid its clustering leaves</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Will summer birds abide.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And those who, full of youthful life,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">About the sapling played,</div> -<div class="verse">With sober mien and whitened locks</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Will stand beneath its shade,</div> -<div class="verse">And ponder with a thoughtful brow</div> -<div class="verse indent1">On the changes Time has made.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The years will roll, with a steady course,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To meet Time’s infinite sea;</div> -<div class="verse">And the silent waves, in their fearful sweep,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Will ingulf both you and me;</div> -<div class="verse">But still, like a beacon that tells of the past,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Will stand our first elm-tree.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="THE_ROYAL_CARPENTER_OF">THE ROYAL CARPENTER OF AMSTERDAM.</h2> - -<p>The superintendent of the Dock Yard in -Amsterdam was seated in his office one -afternoon, indulging himself in smoking a -rude pipe; a luxury then recently imported -from the colony of Virginia, in the New -World.</p> - -<p>His reflections, whatever they were, were -broken in upon by a knock at the door,—not -a timid, hesitating knock; but a bold, -authoritative summons. The superintendent, -judging it must proceed from some -person of consequence, hastily laid aside his -pipe, and quickly threw open the door, to -admit his unknown visitor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> - -<p>Instead of the high personage he anticipated, -he beheld standing before him a stout -man, of commanding person, and dressed in -the attire of a workman.</p> - -<p>He was a little vexed to think he had -been so much deceived; and perhaps it was -natural that he should accost the intruder -in a somewhat peevish manner.</p> - -<p>“Well, my good man, what do you want, -that you come thumping at the door as if -you were really a man of mark? What -would you have?”</p> - -<p>“I seek employment,” said the stranger -in a deep voice, not at all intimidated at his -reception.</p> - -<p>At the same time, he presented a letter to -the superintendent.</p> - -<p>“Ha!” said the latter, glancing at it with -considerable surprise; “from the Russian -ambassador!”</p> - -<p>He read aloud as follows:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—The bearer, a countryman of mine, is desirous -of obtaining employment in the Dock Yard under -your superintendence. He is not altogether unacquainted -with this description of labor, but wishes to perfect -himself in it. I feel assured that nowhere can he do so -to greater advantage than under your instruction.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>The compliment implied in the concluding -sentence served to moderate the vexation -occasioned by his recent misapprehension; -and he turned with a milder mien to his -visitor.</p> - -<p>He was a little surprised to find, that, -quite unconscious of the great distance between -the superintendent of the Dock Yard -and a common workman, he had, without -ceremony, seated himself. “Humph!” -thought he; “I suppose that’s the way -they do in Russia.”</p> - -<p>“So you are from Russia, my good man?” -said he, in a half-patronizing tone.</p> - -<p>The visitor inclined his head in the affirmative.</p> - -<p>“It’s a barbarous place, I’ve heard: the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -people are not half civilized; you did wisely -in coming here. You must see a great difference -between it and Holland?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the Russian, “we have -much to learn. Other nations are greatly -in advance of us in many respects; but -that will pass away, and Russia will take -her place at the head of them all.”</p> - -<p>The superintendent shrugged his shoulders. -He evidently did not believe it.</p> - -<p>“So you wish employment?” he continued, -after a pause. “What is your name?”</p> - -<p>“Peter Timmerman,” was the reply.</p> - -<p>“Very well; you may set to work to-morrow. -Your wages will be a florin a day. -You may report yourself at six o’clock.”</p> - -<p>Thus terminated the interview. The -Russian made a bow of acknowledgment, -and left the office, leaving the superintendent -more puzzled than enlightened at the -insight into Russian character with which -he had been favored.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> - -<p>The next morning, at the appointed time, -Peter Timmerman presented himself at the -Dock Yard. He set to work with an intelligence -and earnestness which evinced that -he was far from being a novice, and by no -means inclined to be a drone. A week had -not passed before he was acknowledged to -be the ablest workman in the yard.</p> - -<p>His fellow-workmen looked upon him -with a little natural curiosity, and would -have been very glad of his confidence. It -was soon found, however, that, although -asking many questions in regard to the -details of his occupation, he preserved a -uniform silence respecting his own family -and past life, carefully evading any inquiries -which the curiosity of his companions -prompted. On one occasion, when some -one of them pushed it to an indiscreet extent, -the eyes of the Russian blazed with -anger, and he lifted the tool he had in his -hand in a threatening manner; but apparently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -reflection came to his aid, and, lowering -it, he proceeded with his work. This -little incident convinced his comrades, that, -whatever mystery there might be connected -with his past history, it would be both useless -and dangerous in them to endeavor to -extort it from him. Henceforth, then, he -was not troubled with inquiries, but was -treated with an involuntary and perhaps -unconscious deference by those with whom -he was brought in daily contact.</p> - -<p>If occasionally it might be thought that -he was greater than he seemed, there was -nothing to confirm this idea in his mode of -life.</p> - -<p>The florin which he daily earned was the -utmost limit of his expenses. No workman -lived more frugally. He had secured board -and lodgings at the house of a poor widow -woman, the mother of one of his companions -in the yard, where he paid a small -price, and lived accordingly. The whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -family consisted of the mother and son. -This son, who was a lively and well-looking -young man of one and twenty, was, next to -Peter, the most skilful workman in the yard. -He worked intelligently, and did not suffer -his eyes to remain idle. It was his ambition -to rise from the position of a mere workman, -and become a master-builder.</p> - -<p>Perhaps one thing which contributed to -heighten his ambition was the fact that the -superintendent of the Dock Yard possessed, -among the items of his wealth, a fair, -cherry-cheeked damsel, whose beauty had -set half the hearts of the young men in -Amsterdam on fire. Trust me, friendly -reader! young men are pretty much alike -all the world over; and the current of -youthful feeling is just as likely to effervesce -in the Hollander, phlegmatic as he -is generally supposed, as in the residents of -more southern climes.</p> - -<p>But, after all, was it not foolish in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -young ship-carpenter to aspire to an object -so generally admired and sought after as the -Fraulein superintendent? for such she was -designated, out of respect for her father’s -office. Perhaps it was; and yet Heinrich -Dort did not think so. After all, he was -the best judge in what concerned himself.</p> - -<p>He had observed the young Fraulein’s -eyes wandering toward the side of the -church on which he sat, and he could not -mistake the object that attracted them. -Whenever the maiden saw that he was returning -her gaze, she always cast down her -eyes; and then, of course, she looked ten-fold -as beautiful in the eyes of Heinrich -Dort.</p> - -<p>After all, the eye is more eloquent than -the tongue. Heinrich thought he could not -mistake it in this instance. It was certainly -rather singular that the two should meet in -the walk one pleasant Sabbath afternoon; -and no less so, perhaps, that, precisely at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -the moment, the Fraulein should drop a -brooch which she held in her hand. Of -course, she searched for it diligently in -every place but the right one; and, of -course, Heinrich was required, by the claims -of politeness, to volunteer his assistance. -The lost ornament was soon found; but -Heinrich, probably fearing it might be lost -again, did not leave the Fraulein, but accompanied -her, by a very round-about way, -to her home. Perhaps it might have been -absence of mind that made them miss the -direct way,—at least, so we will conjecture, -since we can do nothing more.</p> - -<p>At all events, such was the commencement -of Heinrich’s acquaintance with the -Fraulein. They used to meet every Sabbath -afternoon; and Heinrich, acknowledging his -presumption all the time, ventured to confess -that his whole hope of happiness rested -upon her answer to a little question which -he had to propose.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> - -<p>What that question was, I may as well -leave to be surmised. The answer was conditionally -favorable. The maiden intimated -that no opposition need be anticipated from -her, provided he should obtain her father’s -consent. Heinrich felt very happy until he -began to consider that this qualification -might prove a very formidable one; and he -feared that the superintendent might think -the young workman altogether an inadequate -match for his daughter, whose dowry -would be twenty thousand florins at the very -least. But there is an old saying,—“Faint -heart never won fair lady.” Whether Heinrich -had ever heard of this, or whether, indeed, -it had ever been translated into Dutch -at all, I am quite unable to say; but, at all -events, he was resolved that such a prize -should not pass from his hands without a -struggle.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Although the young workman was far -from being constitutionally timid, preserving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -an undaunted front in the face of danger, -it must be confessed that his heart beat -audibly and his hand trembled perceptibly -as he knocked at the door of the superintendent’s -office; not that there was any -thing particularly suited to inspire fear in -the rotund figure of that personage.</p> - -<p>The latter perceived that the young man -was disturbed. He was rather flattered to -find it so, as he attributed it solely to the -effect of his presence, which he privately -considered not a little imposing. It was, -therefore, with an approach to affability that -he motioned him to be seated, and inquired,—</p> - -<p>“Well, my good fellow, how goes business? -Have you come for any instructions?”</p> - -<p>“No, your excellency,” replied Heinrich. -“Business goes well enough; but it -is on another subject that I wish to trouble -you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, out with it, man. No parleying,—that’s -my way.”</p> - -<p>“You have a daughter.”</p> - -<p>“Donder and blitzen! So I always have -supposed. And is it to impart this precious -piece of information that you have come -here?”</p> - -<p>“No, your excellency,” hesitated Heinrich; -“but the fact is, that—that—in -short, an attachment has sprung up between -your daughter and myself; and I am here to -crave your permission to marry her.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that is coming to the point with a -vengeance!” exclaimed the testy little superintendent. -“And may I beg to know -whether my daughter sanctioned this visit -on your part?”</p> - -<p>“She did.”</p> - -<p>“Then she has less wit than I thought -for. She—the daughter of the superintendent -of the royal Dock Yard of Amsterdam—to -stoop to be the wife of a common<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -workman! The girl must be out of her -senses. But if she chooses it to be so, I -shall not. Young man, you have been presumptuous. -For once, I will pass over it; -but beware of offending a second time.”</p> - -<p>The little great man made an imperious -gesture of withdrawal, which Heinrich could -not do otherwise than obey. He returned -home in great depression, as might be anticipated -of one whose dearest hopes had been -crushed out. Sitting at the door, he perceived -his mother’s lodger and his own -fellow-workman, Peter Timmerman.</p> - -<p>The latter, contrary to his custom, opened -a conversation with Heinrich, whose manner -he could not avoid noticing.</p> - -<p>“What has befallen you, comrade,” he -said, “that you should look so woe-begone?”</p> - -<p>“And if I tell you,” returned Heinrich, -whose disappointment had made him somewhat -testy,—“if I should tell you, how -could you help me?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Perhaps not at all,—perhaps very -much. At all events, it will relieve your -mind to unburden it of sorrow, if any -weighs upon it.”</p> - -<p>“You may be right,” said Heinrich, after -a pause. “At all events, it will do no -harm. You must know, then, that I have -been foolish enough to fall in love with the -superintendent’s daughter, who favors my -suit. But because I am not wealthy, and -am <em>only a workman</em>” (the young man emphasized -the last words in a bitter tone), -“her father rejects my suit.”</p> - -<p>“But how if you occupied as high a -position as himself?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! then there would be nothing to -fear.”</p> - -<p>“Listen, then, in your turn. I may help -you to what you seek. Did you ever hear -of Russia?”</p> - -<p>“I have,” said Heinrich. “It is a great -country, but a barbarous one.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That is true; at least, it is not so far -advanced as its neighbors. But, if I live to -accomplish all my plans, it shall yet equal -any of them.”</p> - -<p>“<em>You!</em> Who, then, are you?” exclaimed -the young man, in astonishment at such language -from such a source.</p> - -<p>“<em>I am Peter, the reigning czar</em>,” said the -Russian, composedly. “I could trust no -one but myself to carry out a plan I had -formed for supplying the chief defect of -Russia,—an efficient navy. Accordingly, -I have entered myself here as a common -workman. I have gained what I sought; -I have made myself familiar with the construction -of vessels; and I shall, after a -brief visit to England, return to my kingdom, -and take measures to build a fleet. I -have thought of you as one competent to -superintend their building. You shall have -a handsome salary, and I will confer upon -you an order of nobility.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then I can marry the Fraulein superintendent -after all!” And Heinrich leaped -to his feet in exultation. “But how shall I -thank your ex⸺ I mean your majesty, -for such a load of favors?”</p> - -<p>“By fidelity to my interests,” said Peter. -“But I am tired, and must go in. Whatever -arrangements you make must be completed -within three days. Good night.”</p> - -<p>The next morning, Heinrich paid another -visit to the superintendent. When he left, -at the end of half an hour, the superintendent -accompanied him to the door in the -excess of his affability. No more opposition -was made to his suit. Heinrich Dort, -the workman, was quite a different person -from Heinrich Dort, general superintendent -of the Russian navy.</p> - -<p>The events which followed are known to -history. Peter, with the assistance of his -superintendent, laid the foundation of a -flourishing marine; and the latter, through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -all the mutations of the Russian dynasty, -succeeded in retaining the confidence of the -government until Death gathered him to his -fathers at a ripe old age.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="OUR_GABRIELLE">OUR GABRIELLE.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">When the harsh days of the winter</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Softened into early spring,</div> -<div class="verse">And the birds—gay, feathered songsters—</div> -<div class="verse indent1">First commenced their carolling,</div> -<div class="verse">Kindling in our hearts o’erflowing</div> -<div class="verse indent1">More of love than tongue can tell,</div> -<div class="verse">Sweeter than the breath of morning</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Came our star-eyed Gabrielle.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And our earth-worn hearts were gladdened</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As we gazed into her eyes,—</div> -<div class="verse">Liquid mirrors, freshly tinted</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With the hues of paradise.</div> -<div class="verse">Through the long days of the summer,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Bound as with a magic spell,</div> -<div class="verse">Warm and warmer in our bosoms</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Grew the love of Gabrielle.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But, alas! the summer faded,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And the autumn leaves grew sear,</div> -<div class="verse">And our cherished household blossom</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Faded with the fading year.</div> -<div class="verse">In the quiet grave we laid her;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">There, we trust, she sleepeth well;</div> -<div class="verse">And we hope, when life is over,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">We shall meet our Gabrielle.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="THE_VEILED_MIRROR">THE VEILED MIRROR.</h2> - -<p>The old year was fast drawing to a close. -But a few hours, and the advent of its successor -would be hailed by merry shouts and -joyful gratulations, mingling with the merry -chime of bells ringing out a noisy welcome -from church-towers and steeples.</p> - -<p>Adam Hathaway, a wealthy merchant, sat -in his counting-room, striking a balance between -his gains and losses for the year -which had nearly passed. From the smile -that lighted up his countenance, as he drew -near the end of his task, it might safely be -inferred that the result proved satisfactory.</p> - -<p>He at length threw down his pen, after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -footing up the last column, and exclaimed -joyfully,—</p> - -<p>“Five thousand dollars net gain in one -year! That will do very well,—very well -indeed. If I am as well prospered in the -year to come, it will indeed be a ‘happy -New Year.’”</p> - -<p>His meditations were interrupted by a -knock at the door. He opened it, and saw -standing before him a man of ordinary appearance, -bearing under his arm something, -the nature of which he could not conjecture, -wrapped up in brown paper.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Hathaway, I believe?” was the -stranger’s salutation.</p> - -<p>“You are correct.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps, if not particularly engaged, -you will allow me a few minutes’ conversation -with you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, certainly,” was the surprised reply; -“though I am at a loss to conjecture -what can have brought you here.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You are a wealthy man, Mr. Hathaway, -and every year increases your possessions. -May I ask what is your object in accumulating -so much property?”</p> - -<p>“This is a very singular question, sir,” -said the merchant, who began to entertain -doubts as to his visitor’s sanity,—“very -singular. I suppose I am influenced by the -same motives that actuate other men,—the -necessity of providing for my physical -wants, and so contributing to my happiness.”</p> - -<p>“And this contents you? But your gains -are not all devoted to this purpose. This -last year, for example, the overplus has -amounted to five thousand dollars.”</p> - -<p>“I know not where you have gained -your information,” said Mr. Hathaway, in -surprise. “However, you are right.”</p> - -<p>“And what do you intend to do with -this?”</p> - -<p>“You are somewhat free with your questions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -sir. However, I have no objection to -answering you. I shall lay it up.”</p> - -<p>“For what purpose? I need not tell -you that money, in itself, is of no value. It -is only the representative of value. Why, -then, do you allow it to remain idle?”</p> - -<p>“How else should I employ it? I have -a comfortable house well furnished: should -I purchase one more expensive? My table -is well provided: should I live more luxuriously? -My wardrobe is well supplied: -should I dress more expensively?”</p> - -<p>“To these questions I answer, No. But -it does not follow, because you have a good -house, comfortable clothing, and a well-supplied -table, that others are equally well -provided. Have you thought to give of -your abundance to those who are needy,—to -promote your own happiness by advancing -that of others?”</p> - -<p>“I must confess that this is a duty which -I have neglected. But there are alms-houses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -and benevolent societies. There cannot be -much misery that escapes their notice,” said -Mr. Hathaway.</p> - -<p>“You shall judge for yourself.”</p> - -<p>The stranger commenced unwrapping the -package which he carried under his arm. It -was a small mirror, with a veil hanging before -it. He slowly withdrew the veil, and -said, “Look!”</p> - -<p>A change passed over the surface of the -mirror. Mr. Hathaway, as he looked at it -intently, found that it reflected a small room, -scantily furnished; while a fire flickered in -the grate. A bed stood in one corner of the -room, on which reposed a sick man. By -the side of it sat a woman, with a thin shawl -over her shoulders, busily plying her needle. -An infant boy lay in a cradle not far off, -which a little girl called Alice, whose wasted -form and features spoke of want and privation, -was rocking to sleep.</p> - -<p>“Would you hear what they are saying?” -asked the stranger.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> - -<p>The merchant nodded acquiescence. Immediately -there came to his ear the confused -noise of voices, from which he soon distinguished -that of the sick man, who asked for -some food.</p> - -<p>“We have none in the house,” said his -wife. “But I shall soon get this work -finished; and then I shall be able to get -some.”</p> - -<p>The husband groaned: “Oh that I should -be obliged to remain idle on a sick bed, -when I might be earning money for you -and the children! The doctor says, that, -now the fever has gone, I need nothing but -nourishing food to raise me up again. But, -alas! I see no means of procuring it. Would -that some rich man, out of his abundance, -would supply me with but a trifle from his -board! To him it would be nothing; to -me, every thing.”</p> - -<p>The scene vanished; and gradually another -formed itself upon the surface of the -mirror.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was a small room, neatly but not expensively -furnished. There were two occupants,—a -man of middle age, and a youth -of a bright, intellectual countenance, which -at present seemed overspread with an air of -dejection.</p> - -<p>Mr. Hathaway, to his surprise, recognized -in the gentleman Mark Audley, a fellow-merchant -and formerly intimate friend, who, -but a few months before, had failed in business, -and, too honorable to defraud his -creditors, had given up all his property. -Since his failure, he had been reduced to -accept a clerkship.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry, Arthur,” said he to his son, -“very sorry, that I could not carry out -my intention of entering you at college. I -know your tastes have always led you to -think of a professional career; but my sudden -change of circumstances has placed it -out of my power to gratify you. It is best -for you to accept the situation which has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -been offered you, and enter Mr. Bellamy’s -store. It is a very fair situation, and will -suit you as well as any.”</p> - -<p>“I believe you are right, sir,” said Arthur, -respectfully; “though it will be hard to -resign the hopes that I have so long cherished. -I met Henry Fulham to-day. He -was in my class at school, and is to enter -college next fall. I couldn’t help envying -him. How soon will Mr. Bellamy wish me -to enter his store?”</p> - -<p>“Day after to-morrow, I believe,—that -is, with the beginning of the year; New -Year’s Day being considered a holiday.”</p> - -<p>“Very well; you may tell him that I will -come at that time.”</p> - -<p>The scene vanished as before. A change -passed over the surface of the mirror. Again -the merchant looked, and, to his surprise, -beheld the interior of his own store. A -faint light was burning, by the light of -which a young man, whom he recognized<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -as Frank Durell, one of his own clerks, -was reading a letter, the contents of which -seemed to agitate him powerfully.</p> - -<p>The scene was brought so near, that he -could, without difficulty, trace the lines, -written in a delicate, female hand, as follows:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Son</span>,—You are not, probably, expecting -to hear from me at this time. Alas that I should have -such an occasion to write! At the time of your father’s -death, it was supposed, that, by the sacrifice of every -thing, we had succeeded in liquidating all his debts. -Even this consolation is now denied us. I received a -call from Mr. Perry this morning, who presented for -<em>immediate payment</em> a note given by your father for fifty -dollars. Immediate payment! How, with a salary barely -sufficient to support us, can you meet such a charge? Can -any way be devised? Mr. Perry threatens, if the money -is not forthcoming, to seize our furniture. He is a hard -man, and I have no hopes of appeasing him. I do not -know that you can do any thing to retard it; but I have -thought it right to acquaint you with this new calamity.</p> - -<p class="center">“Your affectionate mother,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Mary Durell.</span>”</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> - -<p>The young man laid down the letter with -an air of depression.</p> - -<p>“I scarcely know how to provide for this -new contingency,” said he, meditatively. -“My salary is small; and it requires the -strictest economy to meet my expenses. I -might ask for an advance; but Mr. Hathaway -is particular on that point, and I should -but court a refusal. But to have my mother’s -furniture taken from the house! The -whole amount would hardly cover the debt. -There is one resource; but alas that I should -ever think of resorting to it! I could take -the money from the till, and return it when -I am able. But shall I ever be able? It -would be no more nor less than robbery. -At all events, I will not do it to-night. Who -knows but something may turn up to help -us?”</p> - -<p>The young man blew out the lamp, and -left the store. The picture faded.</p> - -<p>“I will show you another picture, somewhat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -different from the others: it will be -the last,” said the stranger.</p> - -<p>The next scene represented the interior -of a baker’s shop. The baker—a coarse-featured -man, with a hard, unprepossessing -aspect—was waiting on a woman thinly -clad in garments more suitable for June than -December. She was purchasing two loaves -of bread and a few crackers. There was -another customer waiting his turn. It was -a gentleman, with a pleasant smile on his -face.</p> - -<p>“Make haste!” said the baker, rudely, -to the woman, who was searching for her -money to pay for her purchases. “I can’t -stop all day; and here’s a gentleman that -you keep waiting.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! never mind me: I am in no hurry,” -the gentleman said.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid,” said the woman, in an -alarmed tone, “that I have lost my money. -I had it here in my pocket; but it is gone.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then you may return the bread. I -don’t sell for nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Trust me for once, sir; I will pay you -in a day or two; otherwise my children -must go without food to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t help that. You shouldn’t have -been so careless.”</p> - -<p>The woman was about turning away, when -the voice of the other customer arrested her -steps.</p> - -<p>“How much money have you lost?” he -inquired.</p> - -<p>“It was but half a dollar,” was the reply; -“but it was of consequence to me, as I can -get no more for a day or two; and how we -are to live till then, Heaven knows.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps that will help you to decide -the question.” And he took from his pocket -a five-dollar bill, and handed it to her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir!” said she, her face lighting up -with gratitude, “this is indeed generous -and noble. The blessings of those you have -befriended attend you!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> - -<p>She remained to make a few purchases, -and then, with a light heart, departed.</p> - -<p>The last picture faded from the mirror; -and the stranger, wrapping it up, simply -said,—</p> - -<p>“You have seen how much happiness a -trifling sum can produce. Will you not, -out of your abundance, make a similar experiment?”</p> - -<p>The stranger disappeared; and Mr. Hathaway -awoke to find his dream terminated by -the chime of the New Year’s bells.</p> - -<p>“This is something more than a dream,” -said he, thoughtfully. “I will, at all events, -take counsel of the mystic vision; and it -shall not be my fault if some hearts are not -made happier through my means before another -sun sets.”</p> - -<p>When the merchant arose on the following -morning, it was with the light heart -which always accompanies the determination -to do right. He was determined that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -the salutation of “A happy New Year” -should not be with him a mere matter of -lip-service.</p> - -<p>“I believe,” said he to himself, “I will -go and see my old friend, Mark Audley. If -his son Arthur is really desirous of going to -college, what is there to prevent my bearing -the expenses? I am abundantly able, and -can dispose of my money in no better way.”</p> - -<p>As he walked along with this praiseworthy -determination in his heart, his attention -was drawn towards a little girl, who was -gazing, with eager, wistful eyes, into the -window of a neighboring shop, where were -displayed, in tempting array, some fine -oranges. He thought—nay, he was quite -sure—that in her he recognized the little -girl who figured in the first scene unfolded -the evening before by the mysterious mirror. -By way of ascertaining, he addressed her in -pleasant tone:—</p> - -<p>“Your name is Alice,—is it not?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said she, looking up, surprised, -and somewhat awed.</p> - -<p>“And your father is sick,—is he not?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; but he is almost well now.”</p> - -<p>“I saw you were looking at the oranges -in that window. Now, I will buy you a -dozen, if you will let me help you carry -them home.”</p> - -<p>The purchase was made; and the merchant -walked along, conversing with his -little conductor, who soon lost her timidity.</p> - -<p>Arrived at the little girl’s home, he found -that he had not been deceived in his presentiments. -It was the same room that he -had seen pictured in the mirror. The sick -man was tossing uneasily in bed when Alice -entered.</p> - -<p>“See, papa,” said she, joyfully,—“see -what nice oranges I have for you! And -here is the kind gentleman who gave them -to me.”</p> - -<p>The merchant, before he left the humble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -apartment, gave its occupants a timely donation, -and made New Year’s Day a day of -thanksgiving.</p> - -<p>Mr. Hathaway soon found himself at the -residence of his friend Audley, who gave -him a warm welcome. “This is indeed -kind,” said he. “The friendship that adversity -cannot interrupt is really valuable.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Hathaway now introduced the object -of his visit, asking, “What do you mean to -do with Arthur? He was nearly ready to -go to college,—was he not?”</p> - -<p>“He was; and this is one of the severest -trials attending my reversed circumstances, -that I am compelled to disappoint his long-cherished -wish of obtaining a college education.”</p> - -<p>“That must not be,” said Mr. Hathaway. -“If you and Arthur will consent, I will -myself pay his charges through college.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Hathaway,” said Mr. Audley, in a -glow of surprise and pleasure, “this offer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -evinces a noble generosity on your part that -I shall never forget. You must let me tell -Arthur the good news.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Audley summoned his son, and, -pointing to Mr. Hathaway, said, “This -gentleman has offered to send you to college -at his own expense.”</p> - -<p>The eyes of the youth lighted up; and -he grasped the hand of his benefactor, saying, -simply, “Oh! if you but knew how -happy you have made me!”</p> - -<p>“I do not deserve your thanks,” was the -smiling reply. “I have learned that to -make others happy is the most direct way -to secure my own happiness.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Hathaway took his way to the store. -Arrived there, he sought out Frank Durell, -and requested him to step into his office, as -he wished to speak to him in private.</p> - -<p>“Your salary is five hundred dollars a -year, I believe?” said he.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Frank Durell, somewhat -surprised.</p> - -<p>“I have come to the conclusion that this -is insufficient, and I shall therefore advance -it two hundred dollars; and, as a part of it -may not be unacceptable to you now, here -are a hundred dollars that you may consider -an advance.”</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said Frank Durell, hardly believing -his senses, “you cannot estimate the benefit -I shall derive from this generosity. My -mother, who depends upon me for support, -was about to be deprived of her furniture -by an extortionate creditor; but this timely -gift—for I must consider it so—will remove -this terrible necessity. I thank you, -sir, from my heart.”</p> - -<p>“You are quite welcome,” said the merchant, -kindly. “In future, consider me -your friend; and, if you should at any -time be in want of advice or assistance, do -not scruple to confide in me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> - -<p>“At least,” said the merchant, thoughtfully, -“I have done something to make this -a ‘happy New Year’ for others. The lesson -conveyed in the dream of last night shall -not be thrown away upon me. I will take -care that many hearts shall have cause to -bless the vision of <span class="smcap">The Veiled Mirror</span>.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="SUMMER_HOURS">SUMMER HOURS.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">It is the year’s high noon!</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The air sweet incense yields;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And, o’er the fresh, green fields,</div> -<div class="verse">Bends the clear sky of June.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I leave the crowded streets,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The hum of busy life,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Its clamor and its strife,</div> -<div class="verse">To breathe thy pérfumed sweets.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Oh rare and golden hours!</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The birds’ melodious song</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Wave-like is borne along</div> -<div class="verse">Upon a strand of flowers.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I wander far away,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Where, through the forest trees,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Sports the cool summer breeze</div> -<div class="verse">In wild and wanton play.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">A patriarchal elm</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Its stately front uprears,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Which, twice a hundred years,</div> -<div class="verse">Has ruled this woodland realm.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I sit beneath its shade,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And watch, with careless eye,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The brook that babbles by</div> -<div class="verse">And cools the leafy glade.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">In truth, I wonder not,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That, in the ancient days,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The temples of God’s praise</div> -<div class="verse">Were grove and leafy grot.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The noblest ever planned,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With quaint device and rare,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">By man, can ill compare</div> -<div class="verse">With this from God’s own hand.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Pilgrim with wayworn feet,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Who, treading life’s dull round,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">No true repose hast found,</div> -<div class="verse">Come to this green retreat;—</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">For bird and flower and tree,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Green field and woodland wild,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Shall bear, with voices mild,</div> -<div class="verse">Sweet messages to thee.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="THE_PRIZE_PAINTING">THE PRIZE PAINTING.</h2> - -<h3>I.</h3> - -<p>It was a small attic chamber in an obscure -part of London. The light that entered at -the open window revealed two figures,—Arthur -Elliott and his young wife.</p> - -<p>“Dear Arthur,” said the latter, as she -brushed back the heavy chestnut locks from -his pale brow, “you must not—indeed -you must not—labor so incessantly. You -will injure your health,—perhaps ruin it -entirely,—and then what will be left to -me?”</p> - -<p>“Mary,” said the young painter, caressingly, -“you are alarming yourself to no -purpose. I am not weary. Besides, what -were a little weariness in comparison with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -the great purpose I have in view? You -know the exhibition will open in a fortnight; -and my picture is still unfinished. Oh!” -continued he, with enthusiasm, while a faint -flush overspread his pale cheek, “if it could -be my fortune to gain the great prize of five -hundred pounds which has been offered for -the best painting on exhibition, I believe I -could die content!”</p> - -<p>“Arthur!” said his wife, reproachfully.</p> - -<p>“But better still,” said the young painter, -caressingly, “to live and enjoy it with you, -my sweet wife! With such a start, what -might I not hope for? Fame, fortune, -friends, all would be mine. But it is growing -late; and I have still much to do before -I retire. But do not wait for me, dear -Mary: I shall work the faster, if I know -that you are reposing.”</p> - -<p>Arthur Elliott was the son of a clergyman -in one of the midland counties of -England. At the age of seventeen, he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -entered the office of his uncle, an attorney -in London,—a hard, worldly man, wholly -engrossed in business. Young Arthur, who -was a boy of a sensitive and highly imaginative -temperament, found little sympathy -with his peculiar tastes in the musty folios -over which he was expected to pore day -after day, or in the deeds and legal instruments -which he was called upon to engross. -He devoted his leisure time to obtaining -some knowledge of painting from a teacher -of that art. He made so great proficiency -in this department as to surprise his teacher, -who exclaimed, with enthusiasm, that he -was born to be an artist.</p> - -<p>“And why should I not be?” thought -Arthur to himself. “With law I am completely -disgusted: I shall never make a -figure at it. Why, then, should I not abandon -what I so utterly detest, and pursue -that which offers so much stronger attraction?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - -<p>Full of this resolution, he went to his -uncle, and requested his permission to adopt -it. But the scheme appeared absurd and -chimerical to the man of business; and he -utterly forbade Arthur’s cherishing any -such plans in future. This, to one of his -nephew’s high spirit, was more than he -could bear. His place in his uncle’s office -was vacant the next day, and remained so. -Arthur had collected his little articles of -personal property, and fled to the house -of his instructor, where, undetected, he pursued -his studies with the utmost assiduity. -His master had a daughter, a beautiful girl, -whose disposition and manners were as -amiable as her features were faultless. -What wonder that Arthur fell in love, and -that the two, with her father’s consent, -exchanged vows of fidelity, though both -were as yet too young to think of marriage?</p> - -<p>This, however, was hastened by an event<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -which plunged them both in affliction. -Mary’s father died. She was left alone in -the world, with no one but Arthur to depend -upon. Arthur was just on the verge -of twenty; Mary, but sixteen. Under the -circumstances, however, it was thought best -that they should marry. Mary’s fortune was -but small, her father having left nothing -behind him but the materials of his art.</p> - -<p>At first, Arthur resolved to follow in the -steps of his father-in-law, but, as is too -often the case, found that genius unknown -is unappreciated. His income became very -scanty,—hardly sufficient to supply himself -and Mary with the bare necessaries of life.</p> - -<p>It was at this stage in their fortunes that -it was announced, that, at the annual exhibition -of paintings, the prize already alluded -to would be awarded to the most meritorious -production of art. This offer fired Arthur’s -ambition. Why should not he, filled as he -was with the inspiration of genius,—why<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -should not he gain it? It was not impossible. -He would at least try.</p> - -<p>He selected as his subject “The Transfiguration -of the Saviour.” Without entering -into the details of the painting, which -could only be done properly by an artist, it -is sufficient to say that the conception was a -grand one, and the execution of a high -character.</p> - -<p>But, in the mean time, how were they to -live? The painting on which Arthur was -now engaged was a work of time; and it -was a considerable period before he could -hope to derive any pecuniary profit from it. -Thus far, Mary had assisted her husband, as -far as she was able, by obtaining work from -the slop-shops, which amounted to a mere -pittance. But they had learned to live frugally -under that sternest of teachers,—Necessity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - -<h3>II.</h3> - -<p>It was early in the morning of the day -after that on which our story commences. -Arthur, worn out by his midnight vigils, -had not yet risen. Mary was astir: she had -already prepared and eaten a frugal meal; -and the small table—the only one in the -apartment—was covered with a white cloth, -on which was spread, with as tempting an -array as the nature of the food would admit, -the breakfast intended for her husband.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, there was a violent knock at -the door. Mary glanced towards her husband,—who -was still buried in deep sleep,—apprehensive -that he might be awakened, -and then went to the door and opened it.</p> - -<p>A coarse-featured man entered.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Mrs. Elliott,” was his -salutation. “You see I have come for my -week’s rent. I am not likely to forget -that.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The rent!” said Mary, apprehensively. -“I am sorry, Mr. Mudge; but I haven’t -quite got it ready. I didn’t succeed in -finishing the work I had on hand as soon -as I anticipated; and I must ask your indulgence -for a day or two.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes! the old story!” said the man, -with a sneer. “And if I should come again -in a day or two, you wouldn’t have finished -the work you have on hand, and would ask -for a day or two more. Oh, yes! I am used -to such games.”</p> - -<p>“But, Mr. Mudge, have I failed you before? -and should I be likely to begin now? -If you will come on Tuesday, you shall have -the money, if I have to pawn some of my -furniture to raise it.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Mudge was half persuaded, but still -sullen. “There’s your husband,—why -doesn’t he work? He is able to. You -wouldn’t find any difficulty in raising the -rent, if he would do something.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Arthur works already beyond his -strength,” was the wife’s slightly indignant -rejoinder (for she could not bear to -have any imputation cast upon <em>him</em>); “and -some day we shall see what will come of -it.”</p> - -<p>Just then, her husband stirred in his -sleep; and Mary, hastily repeating, “Call -again on Tuesday, and you shall have it,” -closed the door, and went to his bedside.</p> - -<p>“They are a proud set,” said Mudge to -himself, as he descended the rickety staircase, -which nearly caused him to stumble,—“they -are a proud set; and they say -pride and poverty always go together. But, -if the rent isn’t ready on Tuesday, their -pride will be likely to meet with a fall, or -my name isn’t Mudge.”</p> - -<p>Perceiving that her husband still slept, -the artist’s wife took up her work, and -began to ply her needle busily. The work -she had received from the slop-shop consisted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -of shirts, for which she received -ninepence apiece. She had taken a bundle -of six, which, when completed, would -amount to a little less than a crown. By -great diligence, she could make three of -these in two days; which would give them -an income of not quite seven shillings per -week. Of this sum, one half was obliged -to go for the rent of the miserable room in -which they lodged.</p> - -<p>By and by, Arthur awoke from the deep -sleep in which he had been plunged, and -looked around him.</p> - -<p>“It is late,” said he: “the sun is already -high; and I must to work.”</p> - -<p>He dressed himself hastily, and partook -of the food which his wife had prepared for -him.</p> - -<p>The next day passed; and Monday afternoon -brought to Mrs. Elliott the sad conviction -that she had miscalculated as to the -rapidity with which she could perform her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -work, and that she would not, after all, be -prepared to meet Mr. Mudge with the rent -on the day following. Knowing his unfeeling -nature, she could not doubt that he -would insist on their instantly vacating the -apartment. This was to be avoided at all -hazards. She knew her husband’s high -spirit; and she feared for the consequences, -if Mr. Mudge should be insolent.</p> - -<p>Full of this thought, she took a light gold -chain, which in happier days her husband -had presented to her, and proceeded, with -reluctant step, to the pawnbroker’s. It was -drawing towards evening; and she hurried -through the streets, scarcely daring to look -to the right hand or to the left, lest she -might meet with some interruption.</p> - -<p>Solomon Fagin, a Jew, who fully sustained -the reputation of his race, as an -avaricious man wholly devoted to the love -of gain, stood, with a cringing expression -on his drawn-up features, behind the counter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -of his shop in David’s Alley. He was -trafficking, or rather seemed to have just -closed a sale, with a young gentleman well -dressed and of prepossessing appearance. -The latter made way politely for Mary, who -was too much pre-occupied to acknowledge -his courtesy.</p> - -<p>“How much will you advance me on -this?” asked she, hurriedly, extending the -chain, which had originally been purchased -for two guineas.</p> - -<p>Solomon looked in her face cunningly, as -if to estimate, by the degree of anxiety she -displayed, how little he might venture to -offer.</p> - -<p>Mary was very nervous, and exceedingly -anxious to get home before it grew much -darker. This probably gave her an appearance -of solicitude, which the Jew attributed -to destitution.</p> - -<p>“These things ish very sheap,” he at -length said,—“dog-sheap: people don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -want ’em. I can’t offer you more than ten -shillings, and shall lose on that.”</p> - -<p>The young gentleman had been an attentive -spectator of this scene. He fathomed -the cunning of the Jew, and, advancing to -the counter, took the chain in his hands.</p> - -<p>“Come, Solomon, this is too bad! You -should offer three times as much, and you -would make a good bargain then. You -know, as well as I do, that that chain never -cost less than two guineas. Come, come! be -honest for once.”</p> - -<p>“It ish all very well,” said Solomon, who -did not relish the interruption, “vor young -shentleman to talk; but if young shentleman -should keep a pawnbroker’s shop, he -would change his mind.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps so; but I will wait till I am a -pawnbroker first. But, Solomon, if you -don’t offer more, I’ll take it myself.”</p> - -<p>The Jew, who was afraid of losing a good -bargain, and internally cursing the interference<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -of the young gentleman, began to -mumble that it was very hard to press a -poor man so,—that he should certainly -lose on it. However, he closed by offering -fifteen shillings.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Elliott was about to close with this -offer; but the other stepped forward, and -said,—</p> - -<p>“No, no! this will never do. That chain -cost two guineas at least. I am sure of it; -for I bought one precisely similar the other -day. Give it to me, madam,” said he, respectfully, -to Mrs. Elliott, “and I will -advance you that sum.”</p> - -<p>The artist’s wife accepted his proffer with -grateful astonishment, and hastened to leave -the shop. She had gone but a few steps, -when she was overtaken by the chance -companion whom she had met at the pawnbroker’s.</p> - -<p>“Do not think me bold,” said he, “if I -suggest that it is hardly safe to carry money<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -open in your hand; and, indeed, it is so -dark, that it is hardly safe at all for a lady -to pass through the streets unattended. If -you will accept my escort, I shall be most -happy to conduct you to your lodgings.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Elliott hesitated. She knew it was -scarcely safe to trust to an entire stranger; -but the young man’s conduct thus far had -so prepossessed her in his favor, that she -did not refuse.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” she replied, after a moment’s hesitation, -“I know not whether I am in the -right; but I cannot help trusting you. I -do not think you intend to impose upon me. -I <em>will</em> trust to you.”</p> - -<p>“You shall not regret your confidence,” -said her companion. “May I ask where -you reside?”</p> - -<p>“At 16, S⸺ Street,” was the reply of -Mrs. Elliott. “I am much indebted to you, -sir, no less for the trouble you are now -taking than for the generosity with which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -you saved me from being imposed upon by -the Jew.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said the other, laughing, “Solomon -is a cunning old fellow, who will cheat -where he gets a chance. No worse Jew for -that, or pawnbroker either. It is their business -to cheat; and I fancy Fagin is as much -of an adept at it as any one.</p> - -<p>“I hope,” he continued, after a pause, -“that you were not driven by distress to -the sale of an article which you must value -highly?”</p> - -<p>“It was presented to me by my husband,” -was the reply. “I would not have parted -with it, but that this was probably the -only means of saving ourselves from being -turned out of doors.”</p> - -<p>“I am sorry for that,” was the sympathizing -reply. “Does your husband know -that you have come out on such an errand?”</p> - -<p>“No, or he would have offered to pawn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -some of his own clothing first. Of this I -was afraid; and it was for this reason that -I stole secretly out.”</p> - -<p>They had now reached the outer door of -the dwelling in the upper part of which -Mr. Elliott lodged. It was necessary for -them to part.</p> - -<p>In parting, the stranger pressed Mrs. Elliott’s -hand, and then walked rapidly away. -She found, to her astonishment, that he had -placed the chain in her hand. But he was -now so far distant that she could not call -him back. Thanking him in her heart for -this unlooked-for generosity, Mrs. Elliott -went up stairs with a light heart; for she -foresaw, that, with the sum of money of -which she had so providentially come into -possession, they would be able to live comfortably -for some weeks; in addition to which, -she would have it in her power to procure -some delicacies for her husband’s palate.</p> - -<p>After a little consideration, she decided<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -not to mention this adventure to her husband; -as the idea of her selling his gift -would be painful to him, and would do him -no good. There was no danger of his inquiring, -so much was he absorbed in his -painting. Besides, if he thought at all upon -the subject, he would think she had been out -on business connected with her work.</p> - -<p>She hastily passed up stairs, and set about -preparing supper for herself and husband.</p> - -<h3>III.</h3> - -<p>The sun was not more punctual to his -hour of rising than was the visit of Mr. -Mudge, the landlord, to the lodging of the -artist.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said he, abruptly, “have you -got the rent ready? I can’t wait a day -longer.”</p> - -<p>“Nor will it be necessary,” said Mrs. -Elliott, calmly. “Here is the money.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Mudge, notwithstanding his love of -money, looked a little disappointed at this -ready payment. His mind was essentially -a vulgar one; and he felt an instinctive aversion -to Mrs. Elliott, whose superiority to -himself he could not help admitting. He -had hoped to have the pleasure of turning -them out.</p> - -<p>“Well, they won’t always have ready -money,” was his internal reflection; “and, -the first good excuse I have, they shall go, -bag and baggage.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Mr. Elliott was making progress -on his painting.</p> - -<p>“You deserve the prize, Arthur,” said -his wife, after gazing admiringly upon her -husband’s work,—“you deserve it; and I -hope that you will be successful in obtaining -it.”</p> - -<p>“It has cost me many hours of hard -labor,” said the artist, wearily, as he laid -aside his pallet for a moment, and passed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -his hand across his brow. “I never felt so -great an interest in a picture before; and -now two days’ labor, I think, will complete -it. It needs but a few touches.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, Mary saw an unnatural -flush upon his cheek, and that his eye -glowed with an unusual brilliancy. She -was alarmed.</p> - -<p>“Do, Arthur, for my sake, lie down and -rest a while. You do not look well, and -sleep will refresh you. You say two days -will finish it, and you have a week before -you.”</p> - -<p>“I believe I will lie down for a few -minutes,” said Arthur; “for my head aches -strangely, and I feel weary.”</p> - -<p>He laid down; but it did not refresh him. -In a little while, he became feverish, so that -he could not leave his bed. His wife went -out to summon a physician. All her hopes -centred in Arthur; and the thought that -he was sick, that he was in danger, quickened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -her step. She saw nothing that was -going on around her, so intent was she on -her object, till suddenly some one touched -her familiarly on the shoulder. She looked -around, and saw by her side the companion -whom she had encountered at the pawnbroker’s.</p> - -<p>“I am happy to meet you once more,” -said he; “but you seem in haste.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said she, hurriedly; “my husband -has been suddenly taken sick, and I am -in pursuit of a physician.”</p> - -<p>“Let me relieve you of that duty. If -you will return to your husband, who doubtless -needs your presence, I will summon a -physician. I know your lodgings, and will -return with medical assistance immediately.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Elliott gratefully accepted this proffer -of service, for she had felt much solicitude. -When she returned, she found her -husband seized with a fit of delirium, in -which he uttered incoherent sentences, all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -of which had some connection with his picture -and the approaching exhibition.</p> - -<p>In a few minutes, the stranger returned -with a physician. To the anxious inquiries -of Mrs. Elliott, the doctor replied,—</p> - -<p>“Your husband is suffering from the excitement -and fatigue consequent upon too -severe mental exertion. This has thrown -him into a fever, from which it will take -time to recover.”</p> - -<p>After leaving directions, he withdrew, -promising to repeat his visit the next day.</p> - -<p>“How much my poor husband will be -disappointed!” Mrs. Elliott could not help -exclaiming. “He must now abandon the -hope of presenting his picture at the exhibition.”</p> - -<p>“What!” said her visitor, with interest, -“is your husband an artist?”</p> - -<p>In reply, Mrs. Elliott led him to a corner -of the room, and withdrew the screen that -concealed the painting.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> - -<p>He gazed upon it with deep admiration -for some minutes, and then said, with enthusiasm,—</p> - -<p>“Ah! this is indeed beautiful!”</p> - -<p>“It is nearly completed,” said the artist’s -wife; “but that will be of no service to us -now.” And she let fall the screen, and -sighed heavily.</p> - -<p>A sudden idea struck the visitor.</p> - -<p>“Will you trust the painting to me for a -few days?” he asked. “You shall not -regret it.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Elliott, convinced that her husband -would not recover in time to finish it, -assented without difficulty. She never -thought of distrusting one who had been -of such essential service.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said the visitor. “As -you have reposed this confidence in me, I -must acquaint you with my name and address, -that you may know whom you have -trusted.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> - -<p>He handed her a card containing the -following direction: “F. Sedley, 7, Covent -Place.”</p> - -<p>“I will send for it this afternoon,” said -he, as he withdrew, “and will call in upon -you again to-day or to-morrow. I shall be -anxious to learn how your husband gets -on.”</p> - -<p>The delirium which attended the early -stages of Mr. Elliott’s indisposition continued -for some days. At length, consciousness -returned.</p> - -<p>“How long have I been sick?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>He was told.</p> - -<p>“And what day is it now?”</p> - -<p>“Wednesday, the fourteenth.”</p> - -<p>“And to-morrow the exhibition will take -place. Oh that I could have held out but -two days longer! I would have asked for -no more. In that time I should have completed -my painting, and it would have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -entered in competition. Fate seems to be -against me.”</p> - -<p>He groaned, and covered his face with his -hands.</p> - -<p>“But,” said his wife, soothingly, “remember, -dear Arthur, that, if Fate seems -against us, God is always with us. He -orders every thing in infinite wisdom.”</p> - -<p>“But,” was the hardly reconciled answer, -“his ways are very difficult of comprehension. -The wisdom is hidden. I cannot -see it.”</p> - -<p>“Yet,” said his wife, full of hopeful confidence, -“if we trust in him, we shall not be -deceived.”</p> - -<p>“But,” said Arthur, after a pause, “how -shall we live in the mean time? I can do -nothing now for our support; and much of -your time is taken up in attendance upon -me.”</p> - -<p>“I am richer than you think,” said Mary, -opening her purse, and displaying the sum<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -she had received from her visitor, much of -which was still untouched.</p> - -<p>To his inquiries how she obtained it, she -replied by unfolding the whole story, and -indulged in the warmest encomiums on the -generosity and kindness of Mr. Sedley, whose -providential interposition had saved her -from being imposed upon by the avaricious -pawnbroker. Arthur was interested in the -recital, and expressed a wish to become -acquainted with him. After a pause, he -inquired for the painting. “Let me look -upon it once more,” said he. “Perhaps I -shall be better able to judge of its merits -after a lapse of time.”</p> - -<p>Mary looked embarrassed. “Excuse me,” -said she to her husband; “but Mr. Sedley -expressed a wish to carry it home with him -for a few days, and I could not refuse. -Doubtless he wished to exhibit it to some -of his friends; and in that way it may find a -purchaser.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> - -<p>Arthur acquiesced in this conclusion, -and approved of the course which Mary -had adopted.</p> - -<h3>IV.</h3> - -<p>It was the morning of the exhibition,—a -clear, bright morning in September, which -seemed to combine all the balmy softness of -summer with a freedom from its excessive -heat. The sun shone down upon the numberless -roofs of the great city, and found its -way into the lanes and alleys, lighting them -up, for the hour, with a brightness not their -own. Through the little window—the -only one—by which light was admitted -into the room where the Elliotts lodged, the -golden rays streamed in, and lent their glory -to the face of the sleeping artist, who had -not yet awakened from the night’s slumber.</p> - -<p>There was a knock at the door. Mary -opened it; and Mr. Sedley made his appearance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> - -<p>“To-day,” said he, “is the day of the -exhibition. Will you accompany me? I -have a free pass.”</p> - -<p>“But my husband?” said she, doubtfully. -“I cannot leave him.”</p> - -<p>“I have provided for that. I have -brought a nurse with me, who will take -your place, and remain here with your husband. -She is skilful and experienced, and -you can safely trust him in her hands.”</p> - -<p>Here the sleeper awoke, and Mary introduced -Mr. Sedley to her husband. The -latter thanked him warmly for the interest -he had manifested in their welfare, and insisted -on Mary’s accompanying him to the -exhibition.</p> - -<p>“Though I shall have no part in it,” he -said, “I still wish to hear all about it.”</p> - -<p>Mary could no longer refuse, but, dressing -herself as neatly as her limited wardrobe -would admit, prepared to accompany -Mr. Sedley. To her surprise, she found a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -private carriage waiting, with the usual accompaniments -of a coachman and a footman; -the latter of whom very deferentially opened -the door of the carriage, and waited for her -to enter.</p> - -<p>She began to entertain new ideas of her -companion’s consequence. The carriage -dashed boldly through the narrow streets, -until it emerged from them into the more -fashionable and crowded thoroughfares.</p> - -<p>Mary found sufficient to amuse her in the -splendid carriages, many of them surmounted -with a coronet, all hastening in the same -direction with themselves. There was an -unusual number in the streets,—a circumstance -which was easily explained by the -interest and curiosity which had been awakened -by the exhibition.</p> - -<p>At length, they reached the magnificent -hall in which it was to be held. The porter -bowed deferentially to Mr. Sedley as he -made way for him to pass.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> - -<p>And now they are in the room. What a -magnificent collection! It represented the -combined genius of the British artists, nearly -all of whom had contributed to it. Mary, -who, though no artist, had caught something -of the spirit from her husband, looked about -her in speechless admiration.</p> - -<p>“This is indeed grand!” said she, at last. -“It surpasses my highest expectations.”</p> - -<p>“It is indeed,” said Mr. Sedley. “England -has good cause to be proud of her -artists. But see! do you not recognize an -old acquaintance?”</p> - -<p>Mary looked, and, to her unbounded -surprise, beheld “The Transfiguration of -Christ”—her husband’s painting—suspended -against the wall. Mr. Sedley hastened -to explain.</p> - -<p>“I thought it a pity,” he said, “that so -fine a picture should be lost to the exhibition. -I accordingly hired an artist to give it -the last touches, and had it brought here.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mary thanked him with a glance full of -gratitude. She looked again, and beheld -her husband’s picture surrounded by eager -admirers. Among them were the titled and -noble; and it was with an emotion of pride -that she heard the expressions of admiration -which it elicited, and the eager questionings -as to the author’s name.</p> - -<p>“I do not know,” she heard one say: “I -believe it is some <i lang="fr">protégé</i> of Sir Francis -Sedley. At all events, he presented it.”</p> - -<p>“Sir Francis Sedley?” she inquired, -pausing, and looking in her companion’s -face.</p> - -<p>“I cannot deny it,” said he, smiling. -“But come: let us draw nearer to the -head of the hall: the prizes are to be announced.”</p> - -<p>They pressed forward; and the chairman -of the committee arose, and after a few preliminary -remarks, in which he commented -on the difficulty they had experienced in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -making the award, and congratulated himself -on the splendid collection which had -that day been brought together, announced -that the first prize, of five hundred pounds, -was awarded to Arthur Elliott for his painting -entitled “The Transfiguration.”</p> - -<p>Loud shouts rang through the hall.</p> - -<p>Mary was oppressed by the fulness of her -joy.</p> - -<p>“Let me go out into the air,—I shall -feel relieved,” she said.</p> - -<p>Sir Francis kindly accompanied her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir!” said she, “it is to you that -we are indebted for this great joy. Poor -Arthur! how he will be delighted!”</p> - -<p>“Will you not return to him and communicate -it?” asked Sir Francis.</p> - -<p>A hackney coach was called, and Mrs. -Elliott soon arrived at her lodgings.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Arthur!” said she. “The prize! -the prize!” It was all that she could -utter.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Who has got it?” asked the sick man, -eagerly, as he rose in his bed.</p> - -<p>“It is yours! They have awarded it to -you!”</p> - -<p>A proud flush passed over the faint cheek -of the artist. “I am satisfied,—I am -happy,” said he.</p> - -<p>The joy occasioned by his success operated -most beneficially on the sunken energies -of the artist. Before many weeks, he -recovered fully, so as to resume his art. -His prize painting was sold for a great sum -to an English nobleman, who was bent on -adding it to his collection.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At present, there is a beautiful cottage -situated a few miles out of London, in the -suburbs. There is a pleasant garden connected -with it, and it seems the abode of -peace and happiness. This is the residence -of the eminent artist, Arthur Elliott, and -his happy wife. There are few households<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -to whom it has fallen to enjoy such unalloyed -happiness as theirs. They have not -forgotten the author of their prosperity. -In the library of Sir Francis Sedley there -hangs a beautiful picture,—a perfect gem -of art,—on the back of which is traced, in -delicate characters,—</p> - -<p class="center gothic">“Arthur Elliott to his Benefactor.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="THE_CHILD_OF_THE_STREET">THE CHILD OF THE STREET.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Through the silent thoroughfares</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Of a city rich and great,</div> -<div class="verse">Shivering in the pitiless blast,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Walked a poor child, desolate.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Bright and cold the stars looked down,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Glittering in a field of blue;</div> -<div class="verse">But they brought no warmth to her</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Whom the winds pierced through and through.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Hugging tight her ragged shawl,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">On she hies with hurried feet,</div> -<div class="verse">Gliding like a phantom form</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Through the darkness-shrouded street.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Cheerful homes are very near;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Happy firesides hem her in;</div> -<div class="verse">And she hears from many a window</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Careless childhood’s merry din.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">No warm fireside her awaiteth;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">On no couch her limbs shall lie:</div> -<div class="verse">For the cold street is <em>her</em> dwelling;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And <em>her</em> chamber’s roof, the sky.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Fiercely blows the northern blast,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Penetrating every fold</div> -<div class="verse">Of her thin shawl; and she whispers,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Shivering, “I am very cold!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Hark! the bells with brazen clangor,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Rising every moment higher,</div> -<div class="verse">Peal upon the startled city</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The terrific cry of “Fire!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">O’er the child’s face, wan and weary,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Comes a quick flush of delight,</div> -<div class="verse">As she marks a lofty steeple</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Wreathed in spires of lurid light.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Onward with the hurrying crowd</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Pressed the child through wind and storm,</div> -<div class="verse">With one thought to cheer her bosom,—</div> -<div class="verse indent1">She would once again be warm.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><em>Once again!</em> Through every fibre</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Creeps a warm, reviving glow,</div> -<div class="verse">As with outstretched hands the maiden</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Standeth in the street below.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Little reck the gallant firemen,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As their saving task they ply,</div> -<div class="verse">Of the poor child who is standing</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Where the burning cinders lie.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Stand from under! stand from under!”</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Rises high the voice of all,</div> -<div class="verse">As the swaying steeple totters,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Slowly totters, to its fall.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">One there was that did not heed it,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">One there was that did not stir,</div> -<div class="verse">Till too late! The blazing rafters</div> -<div class="verse indent1">In their fall enveloped <em>her</em>.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Child of want and heir of sorrow,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Chill and famished, weak and faint,</div> -<div class="verse">Thou hast passed from out the shadow;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Thou <em>no more</em> art desolate.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="LOST_AND_FOUND">LOST AND FOUND.</h2> - -<h3>I.</h3> - -<p>We are apt to look to the Old World exclusively -for startling contrasts between fashion -and splendor on the one hand, and squalid -wretchedness and crime on the other. With -an air of complacency, we speak of our -great and happy republic, as affording a retreat -for the homeless, and a refuge for the -oppressed. Yet, in the face of all this, it -would be difficult to find in any European -city a more thoroughly vicious district than -that of the Five Points in New York. -Few, doubtless, of the fashionable crowds -who daily promenade Broadway, have ever -penetrated its recesses,—few but would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -shrink in dismay from horrors of which they -had not even dreamed, if they should do so. -But it is not our purpose to moralize upon -that which has already begun to attract the -attention, and inspire the exertions, of philanthropic -hearts and hands. That task we -leave to abler pens. Enough that we have -hinted at the character of the locality in -which our story takes its rise.</p> - -<p>One of the worst recesses of this notorious -district enjoys the singularly euphonious -name of “Cow Bay.” The entrance to it -is a filthy arched passage-way, round which -are crowded miserable tenements; so miserable, -that the scanty sunlight, which finds -its way through the dirt-begrimed windows, -seems to shrink away, as if it were -more than half ashamed of the company it -is in. In front of these houses, you may -see men whose faces betray no evidence of -intelligence or virtue; women whose miserable -and woe-begone expression, perchance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -loud voice and angry vituperation, attest that -from them all that renders the sex attractive -has for ever departed; children—and this -is the saddest sight of all—dirty and -sickly, and who are children only in size -and in years; for upon their hearts the -happy influences of genuine childhood have -never fallen. For them, alas! life is a rough -pathway, paved with flinty stones, which -pierce their feet at every step.</p> - -<p>A tall man, with a shambling gait, and -hat drawn over his eyes, walked swiftly -through the arched passage-way above alluded -to, and, muttering an imprecation -upon a child who got in his way, entered -one of the houses, whose front door stood -invitingly open, and, groping his way up the -staircase, which was quite obscure, although -it was mid-day, opened a door at the head -of the staircase, and entered.</p> - -<p>It was such a room as the appearance of -the house might lead one to expect. It was,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -however, furnished more ambitiously; as at -least one-half the floor was covered with a -rag carpet, and the scanty furniture was -arranged with rather more taste than might -have been anticipated. By the window sat -a girl of twelve, sewing. Between her and -the children who were playing outside there -was a wide contrast. She was perfectly -clean and neat in her attire; and her face, -though pale,—as it might well be, shut up -as she was in a noisome quarter of a great -city, with no chance to breathe the fresh country -air, or roam at will through green fields,—was -unusually winning and attractive.</p> - -<p>The man we have referred to threw himself -with an air of weariness on a chair -near the door, and muttered ungraciously,—</p> - -<p>“Why haven’t you got dinner ready? -I’m hungry.”</p> - -<p>“Is it time?” asked the child, springing -from her seat quickly, as if afraid of having -neglected her duty.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Time enough,” returned the man; “for -I’ve been at work this morning, and have -got an appetite like a wolf. Besides, I want -you to be through soon; for I shall send you -out shopping this afternoon. Has any one -been in to see me this forenoon, Helen?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Helen (for that was her -name).</p> - -<p>“Good. I don’t care to have visitors.”</p> - -<p>Helen quickly brought out, from a closet -hard by, a plate of cold meat, some cold -vegetables, and a plate of bread and butter. -The man drew his chair to the table, and -during the next quarter of an hour, in -which he was so busily occupied with satisfying -his appetite that he had no time for -any thing else, said not a word to the child, -who, on her part, was too much accustomed -to his manner to utter a word.</p> - -<p>At length, having accomplished his task -in a manner so satisfactory that very little -remained on the table, he drew his chair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -away, and motioned the child to take her -place at it.</p> - -<p>“Take your place and eat, Helen,” said -he, a little less gruffly than before; “and, -while you are eating, I will tell you of a -little plan I have formed for you.”</p> - -<p>“How do you like living here?” he resumed -when she had seated herself.</p> - -<p>She looked into his face, as if to know -whether it would do to express her real -opinion. His face was not so forbidding -as it appeared at times, and she ventured to -say,—</p> - -<p>“I—I think there are some places which -I should like better.”</p> - -<p>“No doubt, no doubt, Helen. I think I -have known pleasanter places myself. But -where do you think you should like to live -best; that is, supposing you could live -wherever you chose?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said the child, her eyes brightening, -and her whole face glowing with excitement,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -“I should like, above all things, to -live in the country, where I could run about -the fields, and hear the birds sing, and—and⸺ Oh! -the country is so beautiful! -I think I lived there once,—did I not, -uncle?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Helen; but it is a good while ago. -How would you like to live there once -more?”</p> - -<p>“May I? Can I? Will you let me?” -asked the child, eagerly.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps so. But it will depend on -whether you will be good, and try to please -me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! I will do whatever you say.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that sounds well. Then I’ll tell -you what my plans are, and where it is that -you are to go.”</p> - -<p>So saying, he drew from his pocket a -copy of the “New York Tribune,” and -read aloud the following advertisement:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Wanted</span>, by a family a few miles distant from the -city, a young girl, of from twelve to fourteen, to serve -as nursery-maid and companion for two young children. -Address</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">P. H. Gregory</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>“There,” said the reader, laying down -his paper, “is a situation which will just -suit you. You like children; and pretty -much all you will have to do will be to -attend to them. Then Mr. Gregory lives in -a beautiful place. He is a rich man, and -can afford it. Would you like to go?”</p> - -<p>“Above all things,” said Helen, eagerly -(for to her the prospect of a release from the -dismal place in which she lived was most -pleasing).</p> - -<p>“And you wouldn’t miss me, your affectionate -uncle?” said the man, with a peculiar -expression.</p> - -<p>The child’s eyes fell. She blamed herself -frequently for not holding in higher regard -the only relative of whom she knew any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -thing: yet so ungenial was his nature, and -so harsh and forbidding was he nearly -always, that it would have been singular -if he had inspired affection in any one. -So it happened, that, in the joy of the anticipated -change, she had not for a moment -thought of the separation which it must -occasion between herself and her uncle.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” she said, timidly, “I shall -be sorry to leave you”——</p> - -<p>“You needn’t say any thing more, child,” -was the reply. “I don’t profess any particular -affection for you, and I don’t believe -you feel any for me; and you may be sure -I shouldn’t have proposed this removal to -you if I had not some object of my own -in it. Would you like to know what that -is?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, hesitatingly.</p> - -<p>“Well, I will tell you; because it is necessary -that you should fully understand, -before you go, on what conditions I allow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -you to do so. But, if you dare to impart to -a breathing soul a hint of what I tell you, I -will seek you out, and—well, no matter,” -he continued, seeing that his threat made -her turn pale. “You must know that this -Mr. Gregory, with whom I am going to -place you, once cheated me out of a large -sum of money, which I cannot hope to regain, -except by stratagem. Now, I want you -to get in there, and I will then give you -instructions how to manage. They keep a -large amount of valuable plate in the lower -part of the house. It will be comparatively -easy for you, when you are once there, to -render me essential service by opening the -front door to me, so that I may be able to -secure it without detection; and then”——</p> - -<p>“But,” said the girl, shrinking in dismay -from this proposition, “would not that be -robbery?”</p> - -<p>“Robbery? Pooh, child! Didn’t I tell -you that he had cheated me out of twice the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -value of the plate? And, as I can’t get my -pay in any other way, it’s perfectly proper -to get it in that.”</p> - -<p>Helen was no casuist. She had never -had any one to teach her right principles; -but she had an instinctive feeling that this -was wrong. She wished to remonstrate, but -dared not. Her uncle saw her embarrassment, -and guessed its cause. He rose from -his seat, and stood sternly confronting her.</p> - -<p>“Helen Armstrong,” said he, in a compressed -voice, “unless you promise me -faithfully to perform the part I have assigned -you, I will bind you out to Brady -Tim, the grocer.”</p> - -<p>This Brady Tim was a repulsive character, -and kept a grocery of the lowest kind -nearly opposite the rooms occupied by the -girl and her uncle. He was a complete -tyrant, and would often beat his children -in the most unmerciful manner. Their -shrieks, which she was often doomed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -hear, would always make her blood run -cold, and inspired her with an inconceivable -dread of the man who occasioned them. -This her uncle well understood; and he -was well aware that no threat which he -could utter would make so deep an impression -upon the child’s mind.</p> - -<p>“You have your choice,” said he. “Shall -I tell Brady Tim that you will come to-morrow -morning? or will you go to Mr. -Gregory’s?”</p> - -<p>“I will go,” said the child, overawed.</p> - -<p>“And you will follow my directions?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Then preparations must instantly be -made. I shall have to buy you a few -things to have you go looking decently. -Have you got a good bonnet?”</p> - -<p>“Only my old one, and that is bent every -way.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I will get you a new one. You -will also want a shawl and some gloves. As<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -you are to be a companion to the children, -it will be a recommendation if you go -looking neat and comfortable. It won’t -take long to purchase them; and whatever -else you need I can send you afterwards. -Wait a moment, and I will be ready to -accompany you.”</p> - -<p>He went into the inner room, and quickly -emerged, completely metamorphosed in his -personal appearance by a white wig and -whiskers, and a staff, on which he leaned -heavily. The girl looked at him in astonishment.</p> - -<p>“What sort of a grandfather do you -think I shall make?” said he, laughing. -“I shall go out with you to Mr. Gregory’s; -and I have no doubt, that, in consideration -of my gray hairs, they will be induced to -take my grand-daughter into their service.”</p> - -<p>So saying, he left the room, accompanied -by the child, who had improved the interval -in smoothing her hair, over which she placed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -an ugly straw bonnet, which, however, was -shortly to be displaced by one of a prettier -pattern. Their purchases completed, they -stepped into an omnibus, which would convey -them within half a mile of Mr. Gregory’s.</p> - -<h3>II.</h3> - -<p>A few miles distant from the city was a -tasteful brown cottage, having a piazza on -all sides, and surrounded by a carefully -trained hedge. This was the summer retreat -of P. H. Gregory, a New York -merchant.</p> - -<p>It was a warm day in June. Two children, -a boy and girl, respectively of six and -eight years, were playing in the yard, when -they espied through the hedge an old man, -with hair and whiskers white as the driven -snow, accompanied by a young girl, toiling, -apparently with great difficulty, towards the -house, notwithstanding the assistance he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -derived from a stout cane, on which he -leaned heavily.</p> - -<p>Attracted by the sight, they ran into the -house, calling on their mother to look out -and see. She had scarcely done so, when, -to her surprise, she found that the pair had -entered the gate, and were coming towards -the house.</p> - -<p>“Is Mrs. Gregory within?” asked the -old man of the servant who answered the -bell.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Gregory anticipated the reply by -coming forward.</p> - -<p>“Poor old man!” said she, compassionately -(for the attire which Armstrong had -donned for the occasion was singularly -threadbare, and evinced the lowest depth -of destitution),—“poor old man! what can -I do for you?”</p> - -<p>“I have brought my grand-daughter with -me, good lady,” said the old man, feebly, -“in answer to your advertisement. She’s a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -good girl, and I wish I could keep her with -me; but the times are hard, and it costs a -sight to live; and so I’ve been thinking the -best thing I could do is to get her a good -place, and a good mistress, as I am sure you -would be to her, madam.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Gregory’s sympathies were enlisted -in the child’s favor by this artful address, as -well as by her own modest and downcast -look. She was not aware, however, that -not a little of her confusion arose from the -dissimulation in which she was compelled -to take a part.</p> - -<p>“What is your grand-daughter’s name?” -asked Mrs. Gregory. “She seems young.”</p> - -<p>“She is only twelve; but she’s capable,—very -capable. When her poor grandmother -was sick for nearly a year before -she died,”—and Armstrong wiped his -eyes with his ragged sleeve at the sorrowful -thought,—“Helen took the whole care of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -her and of me; and no one could find a better -nurse.”</p> - -<p>“It must have been a great care to you, -Helen,” said Mrs. Gregory, kindly.</p> - -<p>Helen had been so much taken aback by -the last fabrication respecting a grandmother -of whom she had never heard, that she was -barely able to say, in a low voice,—</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“But you will never regret it, my child,” -said the lady. “God will not fail to reward -good children. So your name is Helen?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“I like the name. I had a child of that -name once. Were she living, she would be -about your age. But”—and the lady -sighed deeply—“she disappeared one day, -and we never could find any trace of her.”</p> - -<p>Had Mrs. Gregory been an attentive observer, -she would have seen a gleam of -intelligence pass over the old man’s face<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -at this moment; but she was too much -absorbed by her sad thoughts.</p> - -<p>“I think,” said she, after a pause, “that -I will engage you, Helen, although you are -rather young for my purpose. When can -you come?”</p> - -<p>“She is ready now,” said her grandfather. -“I can send her the rest of her clothes.”</p> - -<p>“Very well. Then you may come in, -and take off your things.”</p> - -<p>“Come, Helen, and give a parting kiss to -your poor old grandfather. He will be very -lonely without you, my dear child; but he -knows that he has left you with a kind lady, -who will care for you.”</p> - -<p>Helen advanced to her grandfather’s embrace -with very little alacrity. As he pressed -his lips lightly to her cheek, he whispered, -so that she only could hear,—</p> - -<p>“Keep your eyes open;” and then added -aloud, “Be a good girl, Helen, and mind -the kind lady who has engaged you, in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -respects. Remember all the lessons I have -taught you; and do not forget,” he continued, -with a meaning look, “what I told -you before I came away.”</p> - -<p>Helen replied faintly in the affirmative. -Mrs. Gregory attributed her evident embarrassment -to the fact that she was about -to leave her only relative to go among -strangers; and she resolved in her heart to -lighten, as well as she might, the sorrow of -the child.</p> - -<p>“I will bring your clothes to-morrow, -my dear grand-daughter,” said Armstrong, -as he rose slowly from his chair, and, resuming -his cane, walked feebly from the -house.</p> - -<p>As soon, however, as he was fully out of -sight, he straightened his bowed form, and -walked rapidly onward till overtaken by a -passing omnibus, which he entered, and was -soon carried back to the city.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> - -<h3>III.</h3> - -<p>Helen was not long in making the acquaintance -of Ellen and Frank Gregory, the -children of her employer, over whom she -was expected thenceforth to have oversight.</p> - -<p>Those who have always lived in the country, -or to whom frequent visits have made -it familiar, can hardly appreciate the depth -of enjoyment which it brought to a child, -who, like Helen, had been confined for -years in the most noisome portion of a great -city. To her, the most common objects -seemed invested with an interest altogether -new; and she plucked with as much eagerness -the dandelions and buttercups which -covered the greensward in profusion as if -they had been the rarest exotics. There -is a freemasonry in children which does -away with formal introductions and the barriers -of etiquette. When, two hours after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -her companion’s departure, Helen and the -children came bounding in, flushed with -exercise, Mrs. Gregory had an opportunity -to observe—what before had escaped her -notice—that Helen was more than ordinarily -pretty. Something there was in her -expression that seemed to strike the chords -of memory; but Mrs. Gregory dismissed it -as only a chance resemblance.</p> - -<p>“Helen,” said she, calling the child to -her side, “have you always lived in the -city?”</p> - -<p>“For a long time, madam. I cannot remember -ever to have lived anywhere else.”</p> - -<p>“And do you like it as well as the country?”</p> - -<p>“I do not like it at all,—it is so dark -and dirty and close. The sun does not -shine there as it does here; and I could -not run out into the fields, but all day long -I had to sit alone.”</p> - -<p>“Alone? Wasn’t your grandfather with -you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Helen, casting down her -eyes. “He would come home to meals; -but he had to attend to his business.”</p> - -<p>“He seems too old and infirm to be able -to do much,” said Mrs. Gregory, compassionately.</p> - -<p>Helen was about to disclaim the age and -infirmity, when the thought of the near relation -in which Armstrong stood to her -came over her mind in time, and she only -answered, “Yes, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“How long since your grandmother -died?”</p> - -<p>This, too, was an embarrassing question -for Helen; but the necessity of saying -something prompted her to reply, “A good -while.”</p> - -<p>Perceiving, though she could not conjecture -why, that her questions confused Helen, -Mrs. Gregory desisted.</p> - -<p>It was about four o’clock on the succeeding -afternoon that Mrs. Gregory, who was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -sitting at the window, detected the bent -form of the assumed old man slowly making -his way up the hill.</p> - -<p>“Your grandfather is coming,” said she -to Helen, who sat beside her.</p> - -<p>Helen tried to look as joyful as the -approach of her only relative might be -expected to make her; but the thought of -the deception which she was even then -practising towards a family who were showing -her great kindness, and the still greater -wrong which she was required to do them, -made it a difficult task for one no better -versed in dissimulation.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Gregory noticed it no further than -to form the opinion that she was a little odd -in her manners.</p> - -<p>As Helen expected, Armstrong requested -her to walk a little apart with him; and -then, dropping at once the whining tone he -had assumed, inquired, quickly and peremptorily,—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, what have you discovered?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” said Helen, timidly, and as -if deprecating his anger.</p> - -<p>“Nothing?” he echoed, his eyes lighting -with indignation. “What am I to -understand by that?</p> - -<p>“Come, child,” said he, softening his -tone, as he saw that she was terrified by -his roughness, “I don’t mean you any -harm; but the fact is, I have placed you -here to help me, and help me you must, -otherwise I shall be compelled to carry -you back to live with me in New York. -Perhaps you would like to go?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, no!” said Helen. “Don’t -carry me back! Let me stay here!”</p> - -<p>“Well, so I will, if you behave well. -Now, tell me truly, have you no idea where -they keep the silver? I know they have a -large quantity of it.”</p> - -<p>Helen reluctantly admitted, that, although -she did not know, she could form an idea.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Where?” asked Armstrong, eagerly.</p> - -<p>“In the pantry, at the west corner of the -house.”</p> - -<p>“Humph! And do they lock the door -at night?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; but the key remains in the lock.”</p> - -<p>“So far, so good. Does any one sleep in -the lower part of the house?”</p> - -<p>“No one.”</p> - -<p>“Better still.”</p> - -<p>A moment afterwards, Armstrong added, -a new thought striking him,—</p> - -<p>“I have not seen any dog near the house. -Do they keep any?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“That is lucky. A determined dog is -sometimes a troublesome customer. I recollect, -one night, Dick Hargrave and I had -planned a little expedition of this kind, when -it was all broken up by a cursed bull-dog, -who rushed out upon us as if he would tear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -us to pieces; and, to tell the truth, he did -tear Dick’s coat off his back.”</p> - -<p>Helen listened in dismay; for it revealed -to her what she had not known,—that her -uncle had been implicated in affairs of a -similar kind before. It will be remembered -that Armstrong, in proposing to her -to co-operate with him, had used the pretext -that Mr. Gregory had cheated him, and that -he was resolved to repay himself. This, -Helen had believed at the time; but his -present unguarded remarks led her to entertain -strong doubts of its truth. Her strong -natural dislike for the duplicity and treachery -required at her hands determined her, -in spite of her habitual timidity and fear of -her companion, to venture a remonstrance. -This, however, she delayed till he should -make a specific demand upon her.</p> - -<p>He resumed: “I don’t know but there’s -a pretty good chance of success. To-night -is Tuesday night. I can’t very well get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -ready before Friday. On that night, you -must contrive, in some manner,—taking -care to incur no suspicion,—to come -down stairs and unlock the front door. I -shall be on hand at one o’clock. Be very -particular about the time; for what I do -must be done quickly.”</p> - -<p>“But, uncle, wouldn’t that be robbery?”</p> - -<p>“Robbery! Didn’t I tell you that old -Gregory had cheated me out of more than -the sum I shall take?”</p> - -<p>“But they have treated me kindly; and -it makes me feel ashamed to know that I -am trying to injure them, uncle”——</p> - -<p>“Don’t call me uncle again! I’m no -uncle of yours,” said Armstrong, roughly. -Noticing the child’s look of surprise, he -added, “There, the murder is out! I had -intended to treat you as a niece; but you -don’t deserve it. It is time to talk to you in -a different strain. I declare to you, Helen, -that, unless you comply with my command,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -I will make you repent it most bitterly. Do -you hear?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Helen, terrified no less by -his looks than his words.</p> - -<p>“Then take care that you remember: -Friday night, at one. And now, as we -understand each other, that is all that is -necessary.”</p> - -<p>They returned to the house in silence. -Armstrong, with a hypocritical whine, -thanked Mrs. Gregory for her kindness to -his dear grand-daughter, who, he was glad -to find, seemed so contented and happy in -her new position.</p> - -<p>“You will pardon an old man’s tears,” -said he, drawing his hand across his eyes; -“but she is all that is left to me now.”</p> - -<p>“What a good old man!” thought Mrs. -Gregory, as she hastened to assure him that -whatever she could do to add to the comfort -of his grand-daughter would cheerfully be -done.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> - -<p>As for Helen, she was astonished and confused -at what she had discovered. She had -always been led to believe that Armstrong -was her uncle, and had more than once -reproached herself for the dislike she could -not help entertaining for him. Now he had -himself disclaimed the relationship; and -Helen was left to conjecture fruitlessly who -and what she was.</p> - -<h3>IV.</h3> - -<p>We must carry the reader back some nine -or ten years. In front of a pleasant country -residence, a child of three years sat on -the grass, plucking the flowers that grew -at her feet, and then tossing them from her. -Ever and anon she would utter a cry of -childish delight, as a gaudily-painted butterfly -flew past her, and would stretch out -her little hands to arrest its flight; but the -wanderer of the air found no difficulty in -eluding the tiny hands of the child.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> - -<p>At length, as if weary of her pastime, -she rose from her grassy seat, and tottled -towards the open gate, out of which she -passed, and strayed along the path by the -roadside, pausing where fancy prompted. -Her disappearance had not been noted by -those in the house, partly because their attention -was occupied by a tall, swarthy -woman, with fierce black eyes, who was at -that moment asking, or rather demanding, -alms of the mistress of the house.</p> - -<p>“We are not in the habit,” said the latter, -“of giving money; but whatever food you -may require will be cheerfully given.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want any food,” said the woman, -abruptly. “You talk as if victuals was the -only thing one could need. I have had -something to eat already. I want money, -I tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Then why don’t you work for it?” -asked the lady, somewhat offended at the -boldness of her speech.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Because I don’t see why I should work -my life out while others are living in plenty. -There are plenty of fine ladies who wouldn’t -lift their fingers if it was to save a life. Am -I not as good as they? Why, then, should -they fare any better than I?”</p> - -<p>“That I do not pretend to say. I only -know that he is most happy who strives to -content himself with that station in which -the Almighty has placed him.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! it is all very well for those to talk -of being contented who have every thing to -make them so. Very praiseworthy it is, -to be sure!” said the woman, laughing -scornfully.</p> - -<p>The violence of her language increased to -such an extent, that Mrs. Gregory—for it -was she—found it necessary to order her -to leave the house. She did so, but not -without many imprecations. As she strode -along with hasty steps, she espied by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -roadside a little girl, holding in her hand a -flower that she had just plucked.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it <em>pitty</em>?” said the child, holding -it up.</p> - -<p>A thought struck the woman, and she -arrested her steps.</p> - -<p>“Where do you live, little girl?” she -asked, softening her voice as much as practicable, -so as not to alarm the child.</p> - -<p>“I live there,” said the little girl, pointing -to the house the woman had just quitted.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” muttered the latter to herself; -“you’re the child of that proud lady -that refused me what I asked. Perhaps she -may repent it.”</p> - -<p>“Would you like to go with me?” she -asked, turning once more to the child. “I -will show you where there are flowers a -great deal prettier.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the unsuspecting child, gaining -her feet, and placing her hand in the -woman’s.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> - -<p>Was there no magic in the soft touch of -that little hand that could turn away that -bad woman from her wicked purpose?</p> - -<p>Alas! when the heart becomes familiar -with crime, all the gentler parts of the -nature become hard and callous.</p> - -<p>“Would you like to have me take you in -my arms, and then we should get there -quicker?” said the woman, who knew it -would not do to accommodate herself to the -child’s slow pace.</p> - -<p>The latter made no resistance; and, with -the little girl in her arms, the woman walked -swiftly along. She soon turned aside from -the street, for fear of attracting a degree of -observation,—which, under present circumstances, -would be embarrassing to her,—and -took her way, by a less frequented -road, to the city.</p> - -<p>The child soon became restless, and -wished to go home. The woman assured -her that she was carrying her there. Before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -long, the regular motion of walking acted -as a sedative upon the child, and she fell -asleep. Her bearer made the most of this -opportunity, and walked with quickened -steps towards her haunt—for home she had -none—in the great city, which she had already -entered. Some whom she met gazed -with curious eyes at the woman and her -burden, and could not help noting the contrast -between the two in dress: but no one -felt called upon to interfere; and so she -reached her destination.</p> - -<p>The next day saw Helen—for this the -woman discovered to be the child’s name—stripped -of her tasteful attire, and clothed -in a ragged and dirty dress, suited to the -company into which she had fallen. At the -same time, her abundant curls were cut off -close to her head, principally to render more -difficult the chance of recognition.</p> - -<p>The woman found Helen of essential service -in her line. Though disfigured by her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -uncouth dress and the loss of her curls, -her beauty was sufficiently striking to draw -many a coin from compassionate strangers, -which would not otherwise have been obtained. -This little episode completed, we -resume the main thread of our narrative.</p> - -<h3>V.</h3> - -<p>Notwithstanding the kind treatment which -Helen received in her new home, she did not -seem happy. Although the companions -among which she had been thrown had -not been of a nature to give her very elevated -ideas of moral rectitude, something -within told her that the act required of -her would be one of the basest ingratitude. -The more she thought of it, the more her -heart recoiled from it. Yet so accustomed -was she to obey the man Armstrong without -question,—not so much from affection as -from fear and a sense of duty,—that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -had hardly admitted to herself the possibility -of refusing to comply with his demands. -Now, however, that he had himself confessed -that no relationship existed between -them, the force of the latter consideration -was not a little weakened; and, as fear decreases -in the absence of those who inspire -it, she began now to consider in what way -she could contrive to avoid it.</p> - -<p>Circumstances occurred before the dreaded -Friday night which served to hasten her -decision. On the day previous, while roaming -through the fields with Ellen and Frank -Gregory, in jumping hastily from a stone -wall, her foot turned, and her ankle was -severely sprained. The pain was so violent -that she nearly fainted, and was quite unable -to make her way to the house, which -was some quarter of a mile distant. The -children were exceedingly frightened, and, -returning in breathless haste, gave an immediate -alarm.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> - -<p>Two men were speedily obtained, who, -constructing a soft litter, conveyed Helen to -the house, without occasioning her much -additional pain. A physician was at once -summoned. Meanwhile, Helen was put -to bed, where she received every attention. -Mrs. Gregory had a warm heart, which suffering -in any form was sure to reach; and, -had Helen been her own child, she could -not have been more tenderly cared for.</p> - -<p>The physician decided that it was nothing -very serious; though he recommended, as a -necessary precaution, that the injured member -should not be used for a fortnight or -more, lest inflammation might ensue.</p> - -<p>Helen did not hear him pronounce this -sentence. When, however, she was informed -of it by Mrs. Gregory, after his -departure, her mind at once reverted to -the fact that it would be an insuperable -obstacle to her performing the part assigned -her. Actuated by the relief which the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -thought brought to her, and without thinking -of the manner in which it would be -construed, she involuntarily exclaimed,—</p> - -<p>“Oh! I am so glad!”</p> - -<p>“Glad!” exclaimed Mrs. Gregory, in astonishment. -“What can you mean? You -surely cannot mean that you are glad you -will be confined to the house by sickness?”</p> - -<p>Helen was embarrassed. She knew she -could not explain herself without telling -all; and that she had not yet determined -upon. At length she said,—</p> - -<p>“Because it will prevent me from doing -something that I did not want to do.”</p> - -<p>“But why did you not want to do it?” -asked Mrs. Gregory.</p> - -<p>“Because I do not think it would have -been right.”</p> - -<p>“Then why would you have done it at -all, even if you had been well enough, if it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -was wrong?” asked Mrs. Gregory, more -puzzled than ever.</p> - -<p>“Because I was afraid to refuse,” said -Helen, in a low tone.</p> - -<p>“It was nothing that I required of you, I -am sure,” said her mistress.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“It surely could not be that your grandfather -would require of you any thing improper?”</p> - -<p>Helen was silent.</p> - -<p>“Then it is so. My dear child,” pursued -the lady, kindly, “I have lived longer than -you, and naturally have more knowledge of -the world. I need not say that I have every -disposition to befriend you, not only for your -own sake, but for the sake of my own little -Helen, who, had she remained to me, would -have been about your age. Will you not, -then, confide in me so far as to inform me -what it was that your grandfather required -of you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> - -<p>Helen considered a moment, and then, -with a rapidity of decision which sometimes -comes after long and anxious thought, decided -to communicate every thing.</p> - -<p>“I will tell you every thing,” she said, -“if you will promise that no harm shall -come to the man who brought me here.”</p> - -<p>“Your grandfather?”</p> - -<p>“Will you promise?” asked Helen, anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Helen,” said Mrs. Gregory: -“though I cannot conceive what is to be -the nature of your revelation, I will promise -that no harm shall befall your grandfather.”</p> - -<p>“You are so good and kind,” said the -child, “that I can trust to what you say. -Then I will tell you, first of all, that the -one who came with me is not my grandfather.”</p> - -<p>“Not your grandfather?” echoed Mrs. -Gregory, in surprise.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No. He is not even an old man. He -only dressed himself up so when he came -here.”</p> - -<p>“And what made him do that?”</p> - -<p>“Because he thought you would pity -him, and be more ready to take me.”</p> - -<p>“Is he any relation to you?”</p> - -<p>“I thought he was my uncle,” returned -Helen, “until he came here last time. Then -he told me that he was no relation.”</p> - -<p>“Where are your relations?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” said Helen, thoughtfully. -“I suppose I must have had some -once; but I can’t remember any thing about -them. I have lived with my—I mean -Mr. Armstrong, ever since I can recollect.”</p> - -<p>“And what was it he wanted you to -do? Why was he so anxious to have you -come here?”</p> - -<p>“Because⸺ You mustn’t blame me,” -said Helen, earnestly, lifting her eyes to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -Mrs. Gregory’s face; “for it made me very -unhappy to think of doing it. But he -wanted me to leave the door open to-morrow -night, so that he could get in and -carry off the silver.”</p> - -<p>“Is it possible?” exclaimed Mrs. Gregory. -“And he wished to implicate you in -such a crime?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am,” said Helen. “He told -me that was what he wanted me to come -here for; and then I didn’t want to come at -all. But he threatened me if I did not. -Then, when he was here last time, I tried -to persuade him to give up his design; but -he wouldn’t listen to me, and I didn’t dare -to say any thing more.”</p> - -<p>“You said, Helen,” remarked Mrs. Gregory, -“that you never knew about your -relations. Can’t you remember any thing -that happened when you was a little -child?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Helen, “not much; but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -think I must have lived in the country -once, though I can’t remember when. -There was an old woman, very cross, that -I used to be with before Mr. Armstrong -took me. She used to beat me sometimes.”</p> - -<p>“How did she look?” said the lady, -feeling a strange interest—for which she -found it difficult to account—in the child’s -story.</p> - -<p>“She was very tall; and she used to look -at me—oh! so fiercely!”</p> - -<p>“And is there nothing, no little keepsake, -that you have, to remind you of those -childish days?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Helen, “there was one. It -was an ivory ring that I have always carried -around with me. The tall woman tried to -take it away from me one day; but I cried -so that she let me keep it.”</p> - -<p>“Have you got it with you?” asked Mrs. -Gregory, in great agitation.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Helen, surprised at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -strange effect this communication appeared -to have upon her mistress. “I always carry -it in the pocket of my dress.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Gregory, with trembling hands, -sought the receptacle indicated, and drew -out an ivory ring, on which were inscribed -the letters “H. G.” Without a word, she -sprang to the bed, clasped the bewildered -Helen to her bosom, and exclaimed, tearfully,—</p> - -<p>“It is as I thought! You are my child!—my -long-lost Helen!”</p> - -<p>When her emotion had in some measure -subsided, she made Helen acquainted with -the circumstances mentioned in the previous -chapter, and also informed her that the ring, -which had served as the happy means of -restoring a long-lost child to her parent, -was the gift of a brother of hers, who had -inscribed upon it “H. G.,” as the initials -of Helen’s name, and that the child had it -with her on the day of her disappearance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> - -<p>The happiness of Helen in being restored -to her mother, and the joy of the children -on ascertaining that the one whom they had -learned to love so well, already, was their -own sister, may better be imagined than -described.</p> - -<p>One leaf remains to be added to this chronicle. -It relates to Armstrong, hitherto the -guardian of Helen. Although the latter had -received at his hands so little for which she -had occasion to be thankful, she could not -reconcile herself to the idea of his being -imprisoned. We cannot look with indifference -upon the punishment of one with -whom we have been intimately associated, -however well deserved it may be.</p> - -<p>As Armstrong had no intimation of the -check which his projects had received, and -as he was convinced that Helen’s fear of -him would lead her to carry out his commands, -he stealthily approached the house -the following evening, as he had intended.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -The door had been purposely left unlocked; -but, in the room adjoining, four stout men -had been stationed, who at once seized upon -the unsuspecting burglar, and, in spite of -his violent struggles, bound him. Thus -secured, Mr. Gregory, who was one of the -four, explained to him in what manner his -crime had been defeated, and added,—</p> - -<p>“Although you have been detected in -crime, and richly deserve the penalty which -the offended law affixes to it, I have been -induced by Helen to afford you a chance of -escaping. I will furnish you a ticket entitling -you to a passage in the next California -steamer, and will not reveal your guilty -attempt, if you will engage to leave the -country immediately. Should you fail to -go, I shall feel released from the promise I -have made to Helen, and at once cause you -to be arrested.”</p> - -<p>It is needless to say that Armstrong at -once accepted these terms; and the next<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -steamer bound to the Pacific bore him a -passenger.</p> - -<p>As for Helen, the cloud which shadowed -her earlier years has quite disappeared; and -in the affection of the home circle, to which -her many good qualities endear her, she -finds all that can make life pleasant and -agreeable.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="GERALDINE">GERALDINE.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">When the summer, crowned with blossoms,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Robes with beauty all the trees,</div> -<div class="verse">And, with pérfumed breath and fragrant,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Loads the idly-floating breeze,</div> -<div class="verse">Then, with cheerful steps and airy,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">O’er the fields with flowers upspringing,</div> -<div class="verse">Comes our pleasant household fairy,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Fragrant blossoms round her flinging,</div> -<div class="verse">While the birds that haunt the tree-tops</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Pause to listen to her singing.</div> -<div class="verse">Ever cheerful, ever smiling,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Is the gay, warm-hearted maiden;</div> -<div class="verse">And her sunny presence gladdens</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Hearts with deepest sorrow laden.</div> -<div class="verse">Very few there are, I ween,</div> -<div class="verse">Quite as fair as Geraldine.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">When the autumn,—nut-brown autumn,—</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With its wealth of golden sheaves,</div> -<div class="verse">Lends a new flush to the apples</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Peeping from the orchard leaves,</div> -<div class="verse">Forth unto the sunny harvest</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Rides she in the farmer’s wain,</div> -<div class="verse">Who, with busy hand and tireless,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Gathers in the golden grain;</div> -<div class="verse">And she cheers his pleasant labor</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With a gay, unstudied strain.</div> -<div class="verse">Ever cheerful, ever smiling,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Is the gay, warm-hearted maiden;</div> -<div class="verse">And her sunny presence gladdens</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Hearts with deepest sorrow laden.</div> -<div class="verse">Ah! there can be none, I ween,</div> -<div class="verse">Quite so fair as Geraldine.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="THE_CHRISTMAS_GIFT">THE CHRISTMAS GIFT.</h2> - -<p>Heavily, heavily fell the snow, covering -the dark-brown earth, already hardened -by the frost, with a pure white covering. -As the rain falls alike upon the just and -upon the unjust; so, too, the snow, God’s -kindred messenger, knows no distinction of -persons,—visiting all alike, forgetting none, -and passing by none.</p> - -<p>In one of the principal streets of New -York stood a boy of some twelve years. -His clothing was poor, and too scanty to -afford a sufficient protection against the inclemency -of the season. Through the visor -of his cap, which had become detached in -the middle, having a connection only at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -two extremities, might be seen his rich -brown hair. Notwithstanding the drawback -of his coarse and ill-fitting attire, it -was evident that he possessed a more than -ordinary share of boyish beauty. But just -at present his brow is overcast with a shade -of anxiety; and his frame trembles with the -cold, from which he is so insufficiently -shielded.</p> - -<p>It is a handsome street, that in which he -is standing. On either side he beholds the -residences of those on whom Fortune has -showered her favors. Bright lights gleam -from the parlor windows, and shouts of -mirth and laughter ring out upon the -night.</p> - -<p>All is joy and brightness and festivity -within those palace-homes. The snow-flakes -fall idly against the window-panes. They -cannot chill the hearts within, nor place a -bar upon their enjoyment; for this is Christmas -Eve, long awaited, at length arrived.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -Christmas Eve, around which so many -youthful anticipations cluster, has enjoyments -peculiarly its own, over which the -elements, however boisterous, have no control. -Yet, to some, Christmas Eve brings -more sorrow than enjoyment,—serving only -to heighten the contrast between present -poverty and discomfort and past affluence.</p> - -<p>But all this time we have left our little -hero shivering in the street.</p> - -<p>Cold and uncomfortable as he was, as -well as anxious in mind,—for he had lost -his way, and knew not how to find it again,—he -could not help forgetting his situation, -for the time, in witnessing the scene which -met his eye, as, for a moment, he stood in -front of a handsome residence on the south -side of the street. The curtains were drawn -aside; so that, by supporting himself on the -railing, he had an unobstructed view of the -scene within.</p> - -<p>It was a spacious parlor, furnished in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -style elegant, but not ostentatious. In the -centre of the apartment was a Christmas-tree, -brilliant with tapers, which were gleaming -from every branch and twig. Gifts of -various kinds were hung upon the tree, -around which were gathered a group of -three children, respectively of eight, six, -and four years. The eldest was a winsome -fairy, with sparkling eyes and dancing feet. -The others were boys, who were making the -most of this rare opportunity of sitting up -after nine o’clock. At a little distance -stood Mr. Dinsmoor and his wife, gazing -with unalloyed enjoyment at the happiness -of their children.</p> - -<p>While Lizzie was indulging in expressions -of delight at the superb wax doll -which St. Nicholas had so generously provided, -her attention was for a moment -drawn to the window, through which she -distinctly saw the figure of our hero, who, -as we have said, had in his eagerness raised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -himself upon the railing outside, in order to -obtain a better view. She uttered an exclamation -of surprise.</p> - -<p>“Why, mother! there’s a boy looking in -at the window! Just look at him!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dinsmoor looked in the direction -indicated, and saw the little boy, without -his perceiving that attention had been drawn -towards him.</p> - -<p>“Some poor boy,” she remarked to her -husband, in a compassionate tone, “who -loses for a moment the sensation of his own -discomfort in witnessing our happiness. See -how eagerly he looks at the tree! which no -doubt appears like something marvellous to -him.”</p> - -<p>“Why can’t you let him come in?” -asked Lizzie, eagerly. “He must be very -cold out there, with the snow-flakes falling -upon him. Perhaps he would like to have -a nearer view of our tree.”</p> - -<p>“Very well and kindly thought of, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -little girl,” said Mr. Dinsmoor, placing his -hand for a moment upon her clustering -locks. “I will follow your suggestion; -but I must do it carefully, or he may be -frightened, and run away before he knows -what are our intentions.”</p> - -<p>So speaking, Mr. Dinsmoor moved cautiously -to the front door, and opened it -suddenly. The boy, startled by the sound, -turned towards Mr. Dinsmoor with a frightened -air, as if fearing that he would be -suspected of some improper motive.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, sir,” said he, earnestly, “I -didn’t mean any harm; but it looked so -bright and cheerful inside that I couldn’t -help looking in.”</p> - -<p>“You have done nothing wrong, my -boy,” said Mr. Dinsmoor, kindly. “But -you must be cold here. Come in, and you -will have a chance to see more comfortably -than you now do.”</p> - -<p>The boy looked a little doubtful; for to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -him, neglected as he had been by the rich -and prosperous all his life, it was very difficult -to imagine that he was actually invited -to enter the imposing mansion before him as -a guest. Perhaps Mr. Dinsmoor divined -his doubts; for he continued,—</p> - -<p>“Come: you must not refuse the invitation. -There are some little people inside -who would be very much disappointed if -you should, since it was they who commissioned -me to invite you.”</p> - -<p>“I am sure, sir, I am very much obliged -both to them and to you,” said the boy, -gratefully, advancing towards Mr. Dinsmoor, -of whom he had lost whatever little distrust -he had at first felt.</p> - -<p>A moment afterwards, and the boy -stepped within the spacious parlor. To -him, whose home offered no attractions, -and few comforts, the scene spread before -him might well seem a scene of enchantment.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Lizzie,” said Mr. Dinsmoor, “come forward -and welcome your guest. I would -introduce him to you; but, unluckily, I do -not know his name.”</p> - -<p>“My name is Willie,—Willie Grant,” -was the boy’s reply.</p> - -<p>“Then, Willie Grant, this is Miss Lizzie -Dinsmoor, who is, I am sure, glad to see -you, since it was at her request that I invited -you to enter.”</p> - -<p>Willie raised his eyes timidly, and bent -them for a moment on the singularly beautiful -child, who had come forward and frankly -placed her hand in his.</p> - -<p>There is something irresistible in the -witchery of beauty; and Willie felt a warm -glow crimsoning his cheeks, as for a moment, -forgetful of every thing else, he bent -his eyes earnestly upon Lizzie. Then another -feeling came over him; and, with a -look of shame at his scanty and ill-fitting -garments, he dropped her hand, and involuntarily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -shrank back, as if seeking to screen -them from sight.</p> - -<p>Perceiving the movement, and guessing -its cause, Mr. Dinsmoor, with a view to dissipate -these feelings, led forward Harry and -Charlie, the younger boys, and told them to -make acquaintance with Willie. With loud -shouts of delight, they displayed the various -gifts which St. Nicholas had brought them, -and challenged his admiration.</p> - -<p>Every thing was new to Willie. His -childhood had not been smiled upon by -Fortune; and the costly toys which the boys -exhibited elicited quite as much admiration -as they could desire.</p> - -<p>Occupied in this way, his constraint gradually -wore off to such a degree that he -assisted Charlie and Harry in trying their -new toys. Soon, however, the recollection -that it was growing late, and that he had -yet to find his way home, came to him; and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -taking his old hat, he said to Mr. Dinsmoor, -in an embarrassed manner,—</p> - -<p>“My mother will be expecting me home; -and I should already have been there, but -that I lost my way, and happened to look in -at your window, and you were so kind as to -let me come in.”</p> - -<p>“Where does your mother live, my little -fellow?” asked Mr. Dinsmoor.</p> - -<p>“On ⸺ Street.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! that is not far off. I will myself -show you the way, if you will remain a few -minutes longer.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Dinsmoor rang the bell, and ordered -a plate of cake and apples, as he conjectured -they would not be unacceptable to his little -visitor.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Lizzie crept to her mother’s -side, and whispered,—</p> - -<p>“Willie is poor,—isn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. What makes you ask?”</p> - -<p>“I thought he must be, because his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -clothes look so thin, and patched. Don’t -you think he would like a Christmas present, -mother?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my darling. Have you any thing -to give him?”</p> - -<p>“I thought, mother, perhaps you would -let me give him my five-dollar gold-piece. -I think that would be better than any playthings. -May I give it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my child, if you are really willing. -But are you quite sure that you would not -regret it afterwards?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, mother.” And Lizzie ran lightly -to the little box where she kept her treasure, -quickly brought it forth, and placed it in -Willie’s hand.</p> - -<p>“That is your Christmas present,” said -she, gayly.</p> - -<p>Willie looked surprised.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean it for me?” he asked, in -a half-bewildered tone.</p> - -<p>“Yes, if you like it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I thank you very much for your kindness,” -said Willie, earnestly, “and I will -always remember it.”</p> - -<p>There was something in the boy’s earnest -tone which Lizzie felt was an ample recompense -for the little sacrifice she had made. -Mr. Dinsmoor fulfilled his promise, and -walked with Willie as far as the street in -which he lived, when, feeling sure that he -could no longer mistake his way, he left -him.</p> - -<p>Mr. Dinsmoor, whom we have introduced -to our readers, was a prosperous merchant, -and counted his wealth by hundreds of -thousands. Fortunately, his disposition was -liberal; and he made the poor sharers with -him in the gifts which Fortune had so liberally -showered upon him.</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding the good use which he -made of his wealth, he was fated to experience -reverses,—resulting, not from his -own mismanagement, but from a general<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -commercial panic, which all at once involved -in ruin many whose fortunes were -large, and whose credit was long established. -In a word, Mr. Dinsmoor failed.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Eleven years had rolled by since the -Christmas night on which our story opens. -Lizzie had not belied the promise of her -girlhood, but had developed into a radiantly -beautiful girl. Already her hand had been -sought in marriage; but, as yet, she had -seen no one on whom she could look with -that affection without which marriage would -be a mockery.</p> - -<p>Charlie and Harry, too,—eleven years -had changed them not a little. The boys -of four and six had become fine, manly -youths of fifteen and seventeen. The eldest -had entered college. Harry, however, who -was by no means studious, had entered his -father’s counting-room.</p> - -<p>That was a sorrowful night on which Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -Dinsmoor made known to his afflicted wife -the bankruptcy which was inevitable. Still -sadder, if possible, was the sale which it -enforced of the house which they had so -long occupied, the furniture which had -become endeared to them by memory and -association, and the harsh interruption which -loss of fortune put to all their treasured -schemes.</p> - -<p>“My poor boy,” said Mrs. Dinsmoor, -sorrowfully, as she placed her hand caressingly -on the brown locks of Charlie, the -eldest of the two boys, “it will be a hard -sacrifice for you to leave the studies to which -you are so much attached, and enter a store, -as you will be obliged to do.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! I had not thought of that,” murmured -Charlie. “It will, indeed, be a sacrifice; -but, mother, I would not care for that, -if you could only be spared the trials to -which you will be exposed from poverty.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you for your consideration, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -child; but do not fear that I shall not -accommodate myself to it. It is a heavy -trial; but we must try to think that it will -ultimately eventuate in our good.”</p> - -<p>At the auction of Mr. Dinsmoor’s house -and furniture, the whole property, without -exception, was knocked off to a young man, -who seemed apparently of twenty-two or -three years of age. He was able to secure -it at a price much beneath its real value; -for times were hard, and money scarce, so -that he had but few competitors. Mr. -Dinsmoor did not hear his name, and the -pressure of sad thoughts prevented his -making the inquiry.</p> - -<p>Possession was to be given in one week. -Meanwhile, Mr. Dinsmoor sought out a -small house in an obscure part of the town, -which, in point of elegance and convenience, -formed a complete contrast to the one he had -formerly occupied. He felt, however, that -it would be all his scanty salary as clerk—for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -he had secured a situation in that capacity—would -enable him to afford.</p> - -<p>Lizzie looked, with a rueful face, at the -piano, as a dear friend from whom she must -henceforth be separated, it being quite too -costly a piece of furniture to be retained in -their reduced circumstances. Her proficiency -in music, for which she had great -taste, made her regret it doubly, since she -might with it have added to the resources of -the family by giving music lessons.</p> - -<p>On the last evening in which they were to -remain in the old house, their sad thoughts -were broken in upon by a ring at the bell.</p> - -<p>“Can they not even leave us to enjoy the -last evening in quiet?” said Charles, half -petulantly.</p> - -<p>Immediately afterwards, there entered a -young man, in whom Mr. Dinsmoor recognized -the purchaser of the house.</p> - -<p>“I need not bid you welcome,” said he, -smiling faintly, “since you have a better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -right here now than myself. Had I been -told, three months since, that this would be, -I would not have believed it; but we cannot -always foresee. I shall be prepared to leave -to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“I shall be better satisfied if you will -remain,” said the young man, bowing.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Simply, that as this house and furniture -are now mine, to do with as I like, I choose -to restore you the latter, and offer you the -use of the former, rent free, as long as you -choose to occupy it.”</p> - -<p>“Who, then, are you,” asked Mr. Dinsmoor, -in increasing surprise, “who can be -so kind to utter strangers, with no claim -upon you?”</p> - -<p>“You are mistaken. You have a claim -upon me. Shall I tell you what it is? -Eleven years ago to-morrow,—for to-morrow -is Christmas Day,—a poor boy, who had -known none of the luxuries, and but few of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -the comforts, of life, stood in this street. -His mind was ill at ease; for he had lost -his way: but, as he walked on, he beheld -a blaze of light issuing from a window,—from -<em>your</em> window,—and, aroused by curiosity, -he looked in. Around a Christmas-tree, -brilliant with light, a happy group were -assembled. As he stood gazing in, he heard -the front door open; and a gentleman came -out, and kindly invited him to enter. He -did so; and the words of kindness and the -Christmas gift with which he departed have -not yet left his remembrance. Seven years -passed, and the boy’s fortune changed. An -uncle, long supposed to be dead, found him -out, and, when he actually died, left him the -heir of a large amount of wealth. Need I -say that I am that boy, and that my name -is Willie Grant?”</p> - -<p>The reader’s imagination can easily supply -the rest. Provided with capital by his young -friend, Mr. Dinsmoor again embarked in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -business; and, this time, nothing occurred to -check his prosperity. Charlie did <em>not</em> leave -college, nor did Lizzie lose her piano. She -gained a husband, however, and had no reason -to regret the train of events which -issued from her <span class="smcap">Christmas Gift</span>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="MY_PICTURE">MY PICTURE.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I have a beautiful picture;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And gorgeous are its dyes,</div> -<div class="verse">Wherein the green of the meadows</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Blends with the blue of the skies.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">A forest stands in the background;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And hills are at the sides;</div> -<div class="verse">And a valley lies between them,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Through which a streamlet glides.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">There are fields that teem with a harvest</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Of rich and ripening grain,</div> -<div class="verse">That has caught the glow of the sunlight,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And will not return it again;—</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">There are broad and spacious pastures,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Where the quiet cattle stray,</div> -<div class="verse">And the schoolboys meet to play at ball</div> -<div class="verse indent1">On their weekly holiday;—</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">While here and there a cottage</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Peeps out from the leafy lane;</div> -<div class="verse">And through the trees you can catch a glimpse</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Of the farmer with his wain.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And out in the dark old forest</div> -<div class="verse indent1">There is many a stately tree,</div> -<div class="verse">That has seen the green leaves come and go</div> -<div class="verse indent1">For more than a century.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I have heard of the ancient masters,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">I have heard of their marvellous skill,</div> -<div class="verse">And how the dull, dead canvas</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Would glow with life at their will;—</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But, when the sunshine falleth</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The rifts of the cloudlets through,</div> -<div class="verse">It lends to my picture a glory</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That Raphael never knew.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And, when the solemn moonlight</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Looks down with its mellow shine,</div> -<div class="verse">My picture is bathed in beauty</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That seemeth almost divine.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And whenever I gaze at my picture,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Whether sun or stars light the sky,</div> -<div class="verse">I feel that my spirit is strengthened,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And my heart is made richer thereby.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="GOTTFRIED_THE_SCHOLAR">GOTTFRIED THE SCHOLAR.</h2> - -<p>Alone in his study sat Gottfried the scholar. -The shelves which lined the apartment on -every side groaned beneath the weight of -bulky quartoes and ponderous folios. The -accumulated learning of many ages and -countries, flowing in diverse channels, had -mingled into one stream, and, with its fertilizing -current, contributed to enrich the -mind of Gottfried. And these many volumes, -couched in languages which to all -but their owner were a sealed book, which -many years’ assiduous labor and midnight -vigils alone could unclose,—these were but -the index of Gottfried’s attainments.</p> - -<p>Never in the palmiest days of chivalry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -had knight been more constant to his mistress -than Gottfried to his books. Without -these, life would have been to him a blank, -and the world a desert. What to him were -the companionship of friends, the charms -of social intercourse? He recognized no -friends but his books; and with them alone -he held intercourse. He had cultivated his -intellect to the neglect of his heart: beneath -his fostering care, the former had swelled -into the proportions of a giant; the latter, -like an untilled garden, had been abandoned -to the rank growth of weeds, which had -already overshadowed it, and checked the -growth of kind feelings and human affections.</p> - -<p>But of this defect Gottfried was not conscious; -or, at least, he would not have acknowledged -it to be such. With all his -wisdom, he knew not the meaning of virtue; -for he was perpetually confounding it with -learning; so that with him the philosophy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -of life might be said to consist in these few -words: “To be learned is to be virtuous.” -Thus it was, that, in the pride of his attainments, -he looked down upon other men as -immeasurably his inferiors, and was even -half convinced that they were of a different -nature from himself.</p> - -<p>He aspired to become in the world of intellect -what Alexander was in the physical -world, and, like that monarch, sighed to -think that there were no more worlds to conquer,—no -more victories to be gained.</p> - -<p>Gottfried had just written the concluding -paragraph of a treatise upon some abstruse -subject, which possessed an interest only for -scholars like himself. His pen dropped -wearily from his fingers, and he passed his -hand across his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said he, musingly, and a smile -lighted up his face, “at length it is finished, -the labor of many years. But the reward is to -come. My fame as a scholar, already great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -among men, will become greater still. -Fame, bright goddess of my youthful -dreams! how through weary years have -I toiled for thee! How willingly have I -resigned those objects on which other men -set their affections! Wealth, pleasure, love,—I -have sacrificed them all to this one -engrossing pursuit. Who shall say that I -have lived in vain?”</p> - -<p>Gottfried had labored for many hours -without rest. He took down his scholar’s -cap and cloak from the wall against which -they were suspended, and attired himself -for a walk.</p> - -<p>It was a beautiful day. The sun had -passed the meridian, and was shining with -softened splendor on fields decorated with -the green carpet which Nature so bounteously -provides. Here a group of cattle -reposed in tranquil enjoyment beneath the -spreading branches of trees, which afforded -a grateful shelter from the sun’s heat. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -little farther on, a tiny stream was seen rippling -on its way. Beside it were childish -figures playfully plucking the flowers that -grew upon the banks, and tossing them into -the water, where they were soon borne down -the quick current. Children, however -small, have an eye to the beautiful; and -the little group sang and shouted in all -the exuberance of their spirits. The smile -of outward nature was reflected upon the -faces of these little ones.</p> - -<p>As Gottfried passed by, one of them, supposing -that all must share in her feelings, -plucked a flower, and, holding it up, exclaimed, -“Is it not pretty?”</p> - -<p>“What is pretty?” asked Gottfried, looking -up.</p> - -<p>The flower was held up in answer. -“Poh! child: it is only a buttercup.”</p> - -<p>The child drew back abashed, and Gottfried -pursued his way. He regarded not -the fair landscape which like a dream of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -beauty opened upon his steps. His mind -was still at home among his books. Indeed, -it rarely passed beyond those four dark -walls wherein all that he cared for in life -was enclosed. With the laws of Nature, so -far as they had been ascertained by human -wisdom, he was thoroughly conversant; but -for Nature itself he cared little. He could -tell you all that science has discovered of -the mysterious courses of the heavenly -bodies; but the finest evening that ever -looked down with its thousand glittering -eyes from the blue vault above vainly -tempted him forth from his study. He -would have regarded it as a mere weakness -to yield to such an impulse. He at least -was in no danger of yielding; for he never -felt the impulse.</p> - -<p>Gottfried passed on, plunged as before in -deep thought, of which the treatise which -he had just completed was the absorbing -subject.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> - -<p>A woman with a babe in her arms, -whose melancholy face and tattered garb -spoke sadly of unhappiness and destitution, -stood in the path. He would not have -noticed her, had she not timidly touched -the hem of his garment.</p> - -<p>“Why do you disturb me?” he asked -impatiently, as he looked up. “You have -interrupted the current of my thoughts. -What would you have?”</p> - -<p>“I hope, sir,” said the woman, in a low -tone, “you will pardon the interruption. -I would not willingly intrude; but you see -my situation. I am left destitute, and without -friends. For myself, I care not. Perhaps -it is well that I should die; but my -child,—I would live for him.”</p> - -<p>Gottfried listened with an unmoved countenance, -and as one who but half comprehended -what he heard.</p> - -<p>“If you are poor and in distress,” he -said at length, “you can apply to the proper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -authorities. I have matters of more importance -to attend to.”</p> - -<p>“Of more importance than the life of -a fellow-creature?” interrupted a rough-looking -man, in a farmer’s dress, who had -just stepped up. “Nay, then, I have not. -Come with me, my poor woman. I live in -the cottage yonder. It is but a poor place; -but it will afford you food and shelter.”</p> - -<p>“Such men,” mused Gottfried, “do not -estimate the superiority of science over the -trivial objects upon which most waste their -lives to little purpose. But how should -they? They pass their lives in a round of -petty duties and petty employments, above -and beyond which they care not to look.”</p> - -<p>Such were the meditations of Gottfried. -Ah! thou that canst see the mote in thy -brother’s eye, and dost not discern the beam -that is in thine own!</p> - -<p>Gottfried was approaching his study on -his return from the walk, when his meditations<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -were disturbed by a cry which always -makes the blood course more quickly -through the veins,—the fearful cry of -“Fire!” Voice after voice took up the cry -till it swelled into a terrible and confused -clamor. Fire! Gottfried looked up, and, -to his inexpressible consternation, beheld -the flames rapidly consuming his own dwelling. -The conviction flashed upon him, with -the speed of lightning, that he had left a -candle burning which he had lighted for the -purpose of sealing a letter. Undoubtedly -it had come in contact with the loose papers -which lay about it, and <em>this</em> was the result.</p> - -<p>“My books! my treatise!” exclaimed -Gottfried with anguish, as he contemplated -the probability of their destruction. “They -will all be consumed!”</p> - -<p>He hurried to the scene of disaster. The -firemen were plying their utmost efforts to -bring the flames under. But the fire had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -already made such headway that they struggled -against hope.</p> - -<p>Gottfried lent his aid with the energy of -despair. Finally, unable to conceal from -himself that the building must be consumed, -he rushed into the crackling flames, -in the hope of at least rescuing the manuscript -of which he had written that day the -concluding paragraphs.</p> - -<p>It was a mad effort, such as nothing but -despair could prompt. The smoke stifled -him; the flames scorched and burned him. -He was dragged out by main force, having -succeeded in passing but a few feet beyond -the threshold. Luckily he was in a state of -insensibility, so that the last scenes in the -conflagration passed without his knowledge.</p> - -<p>The weeks that succeeded were a blank -to Gottfried, for he was plunged in the -delirium of a brain fever. When, at length, -he awoke to consciousness, it was in a small -and poorly-furnished chamber. At the bedside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -was seated a woman, coarsely but neatly -attired.</p> - -<p>“Where am I?” he inquired, bewildered. -“What has happened to me?”</p> - -<p>“You are at length better, thank Heaven,” -said the woman, earnestly, “since the delirium -has left you.”</p> - -<p>“Delirium!” said Gottfried, raising himself -on his elbow in surprise. “Oh, yes! -I now recall the fearful calamity which has -befallen me. My books,—are they all -gone? Is there not one left?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, one was saved.”</p> - -<p>“What is it? Bring it to me.”</p> - -<p>From a shelf near by, the attendant took -down a small volume which had been -scorched, but not otherwise injured, by the -flames.</p> - -<p>He opened it. It proved to be the New -Testament in the original tongue. Perhaps -out of his whole library this was the book -which he had least studied. Now, however,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -that it was all that was left him, he -passed hours in its perusal. Gradually, as -he read, a light broke in upon him; and he -began to perceive, at first by glimpses, but -after a while with all the clearness of light, -that his life had been a mistake, and that -learning was not, as he had fancied, the -great end of existence. He perceived that -in its attainment he had neglected what were -of infinitely more importance,—his duties -to God and his fellow-men. With a feeling -of humiliation, he could not but confess that -his life had been in vain.</p> - -<p>One day, as he was rapidly approaching -recovery, he turned to his nurse, and said, -abruptly,—</p> - -<p>“Where have I met you before? Your -face looks familiar.”</p> - -<p>“On the day of the fire,” was the reply, -“you met me and my little one. We were -destitute, and implored charity.”</p> - -<p>“Which I denied. Yet you nurse me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -with all the devotedness of one who is serving -a benefactor. How is this?”</p> - -<p>“I am only doing my duty. But it is -not to me you are indebted: it is to the -good farmer whose hospitality we both alike -share.”</p> - -<p>“Is it possible?” said Gottfried, with -humiliation. “It is, then, he over whom I -triumphed in fancied superiority. With all -the learning which I have gathered from -books, I feel, that, in the true wisdom of -life, I am vastly inferior to you both.”</p> - -<p>On his recovery, Gottfried again applied -himself to his studies; but henceforth he -never sought to elevate mere worldly knowledge -above “that wisdom which passeth all -understanding.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="INNOCENCE">INNOCENCE.</h2> - -<p class="center smaller">Contributed by a friend.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The blue sky was her canopy;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The flower-gemmed turf, her shrine;</div> -<div class="verse">Her incense, deep and fervent love,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Pure from the heart’s rich mine.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Her brow was fair, her eyes were mild,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Her sunny smile was bright:</div> -<div class="verse">No discontent its shadow threw</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Across her spirit’s light.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Angels their constant vigil kept,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And guarded her from harm;</div> -<div class="verse">Breathing around her, while she slept,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">A spirit-soothing charm.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But she hath left this guilt-stained earth:</div> -<div class="verse indent1">No more her smiles may cheer;</div> -<div class="verse">No more her gentle voice of mirth</div> -<div class="verse indent1">May breathe its music here.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Her haunts are desecrated now,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Or desolate and lone;</div> -<div class="verse">And Psyche’s palace, where she dwelt,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Has ceased to be her home.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="PETER_PLUNKETTS_ADVENTURE">PETER PLUNKETT’S ADVENTURE.</h2> - -<p>Some years since, there lived in Portland a -worthy shoemaker named Peter Plunkett. -Unpoetical as his name may appear, Peter -possessed a vivid imagination, which, had it -been properly cultivated, might have made -him, perchance, a poet or a novelist. As it -was, he chiefly employed it in building air-castles -of more than royal magnificence, -wherein dwelt fairies and genii. If there -was any book that approached the Bible, in -Peter’s estimation, it was the “Arabian -Nights’ Entertainments.” He had a devout -belief in all the marvellous stories<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -which it contains, and often sighed in secret -that it had not been his fortune to live in -the days of that potent monarch,—the Caliph -Haroun Al Raschid.</p> - -<p>Peter Plunkett’s peculiarity was well -known. Indeed, his mind was most of the -time far back in the golden age of fairies, -so that he would sometimes be guilty of -amusing mistakes. On one occasion, he -addressed his housekeeper as “Most charming -princess!” whereupon the good woman -was led to entertain serious doubts as to his -sanity, which, indeed, were not wholly unreasonable, -since, though an excellent cook, -she certainly did not look much like a princess.</p> - -<p>Not far from Peter’s shop lived Squire -Eveleth, who, being mirthfully inclined, -resolved to take advantage of the worthy -shoemaker’s fancies, and play upon him a -practical joke.</p> - -<p>Happening into Peter’s shop, he led the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -conversation to the subject of genii. “I -have sometimes thought,” said he, gravely, -“that the fairies and genii have not yet -abandoned the earth, but still continue, invisibly -to us, to exercise an influence over -our destinies.”</p> - -<p>“So have I,” said Peter, eagerly. “Many -a time I have fancied, as I sat here at work, -that I could hear the rushing of their wings -as they circled about me; and I have sometimes -invoked them to appear in visible -form; but they never have.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps they will some time,” said the -squire, encouragingly. “I wish you would -come and take tea with me to-morrow,” he -continued, after a pause. “I should like -to confer with you about these things.”</p> - -<p>Consent was readily accorded; and the -next afternoon found Peter Plunkett a guest -of the squire. The latter, unperceived, -mingled a potion with Peter’s tea; and -the result was that in half an hour he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -in a sound sleep. In this condition, the -squire had him conveyed in a carriage to -the depot; and, in a few minutes, they were -travelling towards Boston. They reached -the city in the evening; and Peter, still -sleeping, was conveyed to the Revere House, -carried to a bed-chamber, and deposited in -bed. Squire Eveleth then retired, and, -after leaving a note on the table, left the -house; and, after passing the night at another -hotel, returned, in the morning train, -to Portland.</p> - -<p>The sun was already high in the heavens -when Peter Plunkett awoke. He gazed, -bewildered, at the unwonted appearance of -the room, and, jumping out of bed, walked -mechanically to the window.</p> - -<p>“Surely this can’t be Portland,” he said -to himself, as the towers and steeples of -Boston met his view. “Where am I? -What can have happened to me?”</p> - -<p>Turning from the window, his eye rested<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -upon a letter lying upon the table, addressed -to himself.</p> - -<p>He opened it hastily, and read as follows:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Mortal!</span> be thankful; for to you, in return for -your unquestioning faith, has been vouchsafed a favor -which distinguishes you above your fellow-men. I who -write to you am Aldabaran, the potent genie of the air. -Last night, I snatched you from your couch, in the dead -of night, and bore you hither. You are now at the -Revere House, in Boston. In your pocket you will find -gold, which I have placed there. It will defray all your -expenses, and bear you back to Portland. But beware -lest you divulge to any one the chance that has befallen -you; for, should you be so indiscreet, I swear to you by -Solomon’s seal, which glows with unapproachable splendor, -that you will instantly be transformed into a gigantic -jackass, and be doomed in that shape to walk the earth -for ever as the penalty of your folly.</p> - -<p class="center">“Farewell, and beware!</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Aldabaran</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>As Peter Plunkett read this terrible missive, -his hair stood on end with affright;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -yet, in the midst of his terror, he was filled -with joy at the nature of the favor which -had been granted him.</p> - -<p>That night, he returned to Portland. -Many curious inquiries were made of him -as to the object of his journey; for this -was the first time he had left Portland for -many years. To all these inquiries he preserved -an impenetrable silence; merely -shaking his head mysteriously, lest he -should incur the dreadful doom denounced -against him. Henceforth he deemed himself -as one singled out from the great mass -of mankind. Upon his fellow-mortals he -looked with a pitying eye, as beings with -whom the invisible spirits of the air had -never deigned to hold communication. -Happy in his innocent delusion, he would -not exchange places with the most powerful -monarch. Locked up in his trunk are the -gold coins which he found in his pocket in -accordance with the mysterious letter. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -will never spend them; for he regards them -as a fairy gift; and he fancies, that, while -he holds them in his possession, Fortune -will ever smile upon him.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">THE END.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bertha's Christmas Vision: An Autumn -Sheaf, by Horatio Alger - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BERTHA'S CHRISTMAS VISION: *** - -***** This file should be named 56222-h.htm or 56222-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/2/2/56222/ - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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