[Illustration: BROOK FARM (Frontispiece)]

LEWIE;

OR, THE BENDED TWIG. 

BY COUSIN CICELY, AUTHOR OF THE "SILVER LAKE STORIES, " ETC. ETC. 

 "Train up this child for me, and I will give thee thy wages. "

 "Mother! thy gentle hand hath mighty power, For thou alone may'st train, and guide, and mould, Plants that shall blossom with an odor sweet, Or like the cursed fig-tree, wither and become Vile cumberers of the ground. "

AUBURN AND ROCHESTER: ALDEN & BEARDSLEY. 1856. 

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by ALDENBEARDSLEY & CO. In the Clerk's Office for the Northern District of NewYork. 

Preface. 

It seems to be thought that a preface or introduction of some sort isabsolutely necessary to a book; why, I do not know, unless it be that itlooks rather abrupt to begin one's story without a word as to the why orwherefore of its being written. This in the present case can be saidvery shortly. 

The principal events in the following story, the loved and petted childbeing, as it seemed, given back to life in answer to the mother'simportunate cry; the indulgence under which he grew up, and the fatalconsequences of that indulgence upon a temper such as his; are takenfrom real life, and may be used as sad warnings to those who shrink fromthe present trouble and pain, of rightly training the little ones Godhas given them. 

The story of the Governess is a true one in every particular; names onlybeing altered; I believe there are none remaining now whose feelingswill be pained by this sad history being made public, so far as thislittle book may make it so, but there are one or two I know, and perhapsmore, now living, who will smile if the chapter entitled "Ruth Glenn"meets their eyes, when they remember the disturbed nights years ago at acertain city boarding school. If she to whom I have given this nameshould ever see these pages, I hope she will forgive me for thus"telling tales out of school, " in consideration of the high station towhich by my single voice I have raised her, and the pleasant memory sheleaves behind. 

Many other little scenes and incidents interwoven in, the story, arefrom life. 

And now I can only close my preface as I have closed the book, in theearnest hope that it may have the effect of leading some mothers totrain rightly the little shoots springing up around the parent tree, restraining their wandering inclinations, and teaching them ever to lookand grow towards Heaven. 

THE AUTHOR. 

Contents. 

CHAPTER I. 

LITTLE AGNES. 

 PageThe cross baby brother--The patient sister--The novel-reading mamma--Thebroken work-box--Undeserved punishment--The lock of papa'shair--Old Mammy--The cold north room--"Never alone"--AuntWharton--Lewie sick--A pleasant change for the little prisoner 11

CHAPTER II. 

BROOK FARM. 

Bridget's rage--Mammy's story--The runaway match--The dead father--Thecheerful home at Brook Farm--Cousin Emily--The ice palace--Christmassecrets--The mother's agony--Life from the dead 28

CHAPTER III. 

CHRISTMAS TIME. 

Preparations for Christmas--The needle-book--Santa Claus himself expected-Old Cousin Betty--Loads of presents--Christmas Eve--Appearanceof Santa Claus--"Who can he be?"--Cousin Tom--Poor Emily'sgrief 58

CHAPTER IV. 

COUSIN BETTY. 

Cousin Betty--Absence of mind and body--A habit of dying--The shadow onthe wall--Cousin Betty's ride on Prancer--Training day--Cousin Betty acaptain of militia--Cousin Betty's stories 67

CHAPTER V. 

HOME AGAIN. 

Agnes and Mr. Wharton on their way to the Hemlocks--The novel-readingmamma again--Lewie better--Agnes must stay--A lay sermon to Mrs. Elwyn--The needle-case--The bitter disappointment 77

CHAPTER VI. 

THE TABLEAUX. 

Lewie roving the woods and fields again--Capricious and fretfulstill--The birth-day party at Mr. Wharton's--Preparations fortableaux--Another disappointment for Agnes--The sweetest tableaux of all 89

CHAPTER VII. 

THE GOVERNESS. 

The lady who came for wool--The home in New-England--Midnightstudies--Miss Edwards engaged as governess--A universal genius--A letterfrom the long-lost brother--The journey--The old Virginia church--Theghost no ghost at all--The old log-house--Horrible murder!--of _pigs_ 98

CHAPTER VIII. 

BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. 

No news from Miss Edwards--The letter from the strange physician--Themanuscript--The brother found, and where--The engagement--Desertion--Thecountry house--The "crazy room"--The Eastern Asylum--Rest at last in thequiet nook 127

CHAPTER IX. 

EMILY'S TRIALS. 

Lewie's education--Mr. Malcolm tutor at the Hemlocks--Frequent calls atBrook Farm--Emily's sufferings--The disclosure--Strength for time oftrial 140

CHAPTER X. 

THE TUTOR AND THE PUPIL. 

Lewie's insubordination--Passion and tears--The mother's anxiety--Mr. Malcolm's firmness--No dinner for Lewie--Sulking--Brought to terms atlast--The tutor dismissed 159

CHAPTER XI. 

RUTH GLENN. 

Leaving for boarding-school--Mrs. Arlington and her daughters--The thirdstory room--The new strange girl--Nocturnal disturbances--Ruth Glenn'sexpostulations--Imminent danger--The physician consulted--Morningwalks--Sad partings 173

CHAPTER XII. 

LEWIE AT SCHOOL. 

The dictator in the play-ground--Strife and contention--Thetormentor--Lewie's mortification--The sore spot--The attack uponColton--The removal from school--Mrs. Elwyn's failing health--Agnessummoned--A death bed--Changes proposed to Agnes--Her departure forWilston 196

CHAPTER XIII. 

NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. 

The two Miss Fairlands--The step-mother--Arrival at Wilston--Unpromisingpupils--Poor Tiney--Dreadful scene at the tea-table--Tiney'ssuffering--The effect of music 212

 CHAPTER XIV. 

THE SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. 

A hard task--The children's toilettes--Bible teachings--Practicalapplications--Sunday at Mr. Fairland's--The children's singing--Thefather's tears--A visit to Brook Farm--A visit from Lewie 223

CHAPTER XV. 

THE STRANGERS IN THE ROOKERY. 

An arrival--The Rookery--Mrs. Danby and Bella--A sudden accident--Therescue--The strangers--An old friend--A row on the lake--Music on thewater--Shrieking in the house--A new method of laying spirits--Mortifyingdisclosures by Frank 250

CHAPTER XVI. 

DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. 

Music on the lawn--The midnight interview--The horrid truthdisclosed--Lewie a fugitive from justice--Jealousy of Calista andEvelina--Poor Tiney's death bed--The search--The arrest 269

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE JAIL. 

Return to Brook Farm--The visit to the jail--The involuntary and thevoluntary prisoner--A talk about the future--Mr. Malcolm's visits--Thelawyer--The evening before the trial 284

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE TRIAL. 

The Court-room--Mr. W. --The testimony--Speeches--Mr. G. 'sagitation--Charge to the jury 298

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE SEALED PAPER. 

A night of fearful suspense--Theverdict--Insensibility--Delirium--Meeting between the brother andsister--Lewie's illness--Longings for freedom--A journey to thecapital--Ruth Glenn again--The governor--A sister's pleadings--Herreward 310

CHAPTER XX. 

TWICE FREE. 

Freedom for the captive--Removal to Brook Farm--Decline--Changes oftemper and heart--A final release--The quiet nook--Resignation--Cheerfulness--The unexpected visitor 328

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE WINDING UP. 

Repairs at the Rookery--Calista and Evelina on the _qui vive_--Mr. Harrington and his bride--Another Christmas gathering--Farewell, andkind wishes 331

I. 

Little Agnes. 

 "And she, not seven years old, A slighted child. "--WORDSWORTH. 

"What _is_ it Lewie wants? Does he want sister's pretty book?"

"No!" roared the cross baby boy, pointing with his finger to theside-board. 

"Well, see here, Lewie! here is a pretty ball; shall we roll it? There!now roll it back to sister. "

"No-o-o!" still screamed Master Lewie, the little finger still stretchedout towards something on the side-board which he seemed much to desire. 

"Here is my lovely dolly, Lewie. If you will be very careful, I will letyou take her. See her beautiful eyes! Will Lewie make her open and shuther eyes?"

"No-o-o-o!" again shouted the fretful child, and this time so loud aseffectually to arouse his youthful mamma, who was deep in an arm-chair, and deeper still in the last fashionable novel. 

"Agnes!" she exclaimed sharply, "cannot you let that child alone? I toldyou to amuse him; and instead of doing so, you seem to delight inteazing him and making him scream. "

Again the little girl tried in various ways to amuse the wayward child. He really was not well, and felt cross and irritable, and nothing thathis little sister could do to please him would succeed. With the utmostpatience and gentleness she labored to bring a smile to her littlebrother's cheek, or at least so to win his attention as to keep him fromdisturbing her mother. But the handkerchief rabbits, and the paper menand women she could cut so beautifully, and which at times gave littleLewie so much pleasure, were now all dashed impatiently aside. One byone her little playthings were brought out, and placed before him, butwith no better success. Lewie had once seen the contents of a beautifulwork-box of his sister's, which stood in the centre of the side-board:at this he pointed, and for this he screamed. Nothing else would pleasehim; at nothing else would he condescend to look. 

"Oh, Lewie! darling Lewie! play with something else! Don't you know AuntEllen gave sister that pretty work-box? and she said I must be socareful of it, and Lewie would break all sister's pretty things. "

Again Master Lewie had recourse to the strength of his lungs, which heknew, by past experience, to be all-powerful in gaining whatever hisfancy might desire, and sent forth a roar so loud as once more to arousethe attention of the novel-reading mamma; who, with a stamp of the foot, and a threatening shake of the finger, gave the little girl tounderstand that she must expect instant and severe punishment, if Lewiewas heard to scream again. 

Still Lewie demanded the work-box, and nothing that the patient littleAgnes could do would divert his attention from it for a moment. Thelittle angry brow was contracted, and the mouth wide open for anothershriek, when little Agnes, with a sigh of despair, went to theside-board, and, mounting on a chair, lifted down her much-valued andcarefully-preserved treasure, saying to herself:

"If Aunt Ellen only _knew_, I think she would not blame me!"

And now with a shout of delight the spoiled child seized on the prettywork-box; and in another moment, winders, spools, scissors, thimble, were scattered in sad confusion over the carpet. In vain did littleAgnes try, as she picked up one after the other of her pretty things, toconceal them from the baby's sight; if one was gone, he knew it in amoment, and worried till it was restored to him. 

Finally, laying open the cover of the box, he began to pound with alittle hammer, which was lying near him, upon the looking-glass insideof it; and, pleased with the noise it made, he struck harder and stillharder blows. 

"No, no, Lewie! please don't! You will break sister's prettylooking-glass. No! Lewie must not!" And Agnes held his little hand. Atthis the passionate child threw himself back violently on the floor, andscreamed and shrieked in a paroxysm of rage; in the midst of which, thethreatened punishment came upon poor little Agnes, in the shape of asharp blow upon her cheek, from the soft, white hand of her mother, whoexclaimed:

"There! didn't I tell you so? It seems to be your greatest pleasure toteaze and torment that poor baby; and you know he is sick, too. Now, miss, the next time he screams, I shall take you to the north room, andlock you up, and keep you there on bread and water all day!"

Agnes retreated to a corner, and wept silently, but very bitterly, notso much from the pain of the blow, as from a sense of injustice andharsh treatment at the hands of one who should have loved her; and themother returned to her novel, in which she was soon as deep as ever. Atthe same moment, the looking-glass in the cover of the work-box flewinto fifty pieces, under the renewed blows of the hammer in MasterLewie's hand. 

The little conqueror now had free range among his sister's hithertocarefully-guarded treasures; her bits of work, and little trinkets, tokens of affection from her kind aunt and her young cousins at BrookFarm, were ruthlessly torn in pieces, or broken and strewed over thefloor. Agnes sat in mute despair. She knew that as long as her motherwas absorbed in the novel, no sound would disturb her less powerful thanLewie's screams, and that all else that might be going on in the roomwould pass unnoticed by her. So, wiping her eyes, she sat still in thecorner, watching Lewie with silent anguish, as he revelled among herprecious things, as "happy as a king" in the work of destruction, andonly hoping that he might not discover one secret little spot in thecorner of the box where her dearest treasure was concealed. 

But at length she started, and, with an exclamation of horror, and acry like that of pain, she sprang towards her little brother, andviolently wrenched something from his hand. And now the piercing shrieksof the angry and astonished child filled the house, and brought even OldMammy to the room, to see what was the matter with the baby. Mammyopened the door just in time to witness the severe punishment inflictedupon little Agnes, and to receive an order to take that naughty girl tothe north room, and lock her in, and leave her there till fartherorders. 

Agnes had not spoken before, when rebuked by her mother; but now, raising her mild blue eyes, all dimmed by tears, to her mother's face, she said:

"Oh, mamma! it was papa's hair!--it was that soft curl I cut from hisforehead, as he lay in his coffin, Lewie was going to tear the paper!"But even this touching appeal, which should have found its way to theyoung widow's heart, was unheeded by her--perhaps, in the storm ofpassion, it was unheard; and Agnes was led away by Mammy to a cold, unfurnished room, where she had been doomed to spend many an hour, when_Lewie was cross_; while the fretful and half-sick child, now tired ofhis last play-thing, was taken in his mother's arms, and rocked till hefell into a slumber, undisturbed for perhaps an hour, except by a start, when the tears from his mother's cheek fell on his--tears caused by the_well-imagined_ sufferings of the heroine of her romance. 

All the time Mammy was leading little Agnes through the wide hall, andup the broad stairs and--along the upper hall to the door of the "NorthRoom, " the good old woman was wiping her eyes with her apron, and tryingto choke down something in her throat which prevented her speaking thewords of comfort she wished to say to the sobbing child. When theyreached the door of the room in which little Agnes was to be a prisoner, Mammy sat down, and taking the child in her lap she took off her ownwarm shawl and pinned it carefully around her, and as she stooped tokiss her, Agnes saw the tears upon her cheek. 

"Why do you cry, Mammy?" she asked, "mamma has not scolded you to-day, has she?"

"No, love. "

"Are you crying then because you are so sorry for me?"

"That's it, my darling, I cannot bear to lock you up here alone for theday and leave you so sorrowful, you that ought to be as blithe as thebirds in spring. "

"Mammy, do you think I deserve this punishment?"

"No, sweet, if I must say the truth, I do not think you ever deserve anypunishment at all. But I must not say anything that's wrong to you, about what your mamma chooses to do. "

"Then, Mammy, don't you think I ought to be happier than if I had reallybeen naughty and was punished for it. Don't you remember Mammy the verseyou taught me from the Bible the last time Lewie was so fretful andmamma sent you to lock me up here. I learned it afterwards from myBible: hear me say it:--"

'For what glory is it if when ye be buffeted for your faults ye takeit patiently; but if when ye do well and suffer for it, ye take itpatiently, this is acceptable with God. '

"Now, Mammy, I did try to be patient with Lewie, and I gave himeverything I had, but I could not let him destroy that lock of papa'shair. I am afraid I was rough then, I hope I did not hurt his littlehand. Mammy, do you think mamma loves me _any_. "

"How could anybody help loving you, my darling!"

"But, oh! Mammy, if I thought she would ever love me as she does Lewie!She never kisses me, she never speaks kind to me. No, Mammy, I do notthink she loves me; but how strange it is for a mother not to love herown little girl. "

"Well, darling, we will talk no more of that, or we shall be sayingsomething naughty; we will both try and do our duty, and then God willbless us, and whatever our troubles and trials may be, let us go to Himwith them all. Now, darling, I must leave you. "

"Mammy, will you please bring me my Bible; and my little hymn-book? Iwant to learn the"

 'I am never alone. '

"God is always by my side, isn't he Mammy?"

"Yes, love, and he says, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee. '"

When little Agnes was left alone in the great cold room, she walked upand down the floor repeating to herself verses from her Bible andhymn-book. Sometimes she stopped at the window and looked across thecountry, towards a wooded hill, where just above the tops of the treesshe could see the chimneys of her uncle's house; and she thought howhappy her young cousins were in the love of their father and mother, andshe remembered how her own dear papa had loved her, and she thought ofthe difference now; and the tears flowed afresh. Then she walked theroom again, repeating in a low voice to herself the words:

 "Never alone; though through deserts I roam Where footstep of man has ne'er printed the sand. Never alone; though the ocean's wild foam Rage between me and the loved ones on land. Though hearts that have cherished are laid 'neath the sod, Though hearts which should cherish are colder than stone, I still have thy love and thy friendship my God, Thou always art near me; I'm never alone. "

Soon she grew tired of walking, and seating herself at the table, shelaid her head upon her crossed arms and was soon in a sweet slumber, andfar away in her dreams from the cold desolate north room, at "theHemlocks. "

At the end of an hour the youthful widow was disturbed by the sound ofmerry sleigh-bells, and she had only time to throw her novel hastilyaside, when the door opened and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Wharton, entered, accompanied by two of her little girls, their bright facesglowing with health and happiness. 

"And how are the children?" Mrs. Wharton asked, after the firstsalutations were over. 

"Why, Lewie does not seem well, he has been complaining for a day ortwo. "

"And where is Agnes? We rode over to see if you let her go over andpass the holidays with us. "

"Why, to tell the truth, Agnes has been very naughty, and I have beenobliged to shut her up. "

"Again!" exclaimed Mrs. Wharton, while glances of indignation shot fromthe eyes of her two little girls. "Agnes naughty, and shut up again!Why, Harriet, do you know she appears to me so perfectly gentle andlovely, that I can hardly imagine her as doing anything wrong. Mr. Wharton and I often speak of her as the most faultless child we haveever met with. "

"She is not so bad in other ways, but she does delight to tease Lewie, and keep him screaming. Now, it has been one incessant scream from thechild all this morning, and Agnes _can_ amuse him very well when shechooses. "

"Judging from all her own pretty things scattered about the floor here, I should think she had been doing her best to amuse him, " said Mrs. Wharton; "she has even taken down her beautiful work-box, of which shehas always been so careful. You may be sure it was a case of extremity, which compelled her to do that. "

"Why, what a sad litter they have made to be sure; I did not observe itbefore. The fact is, Ellen, I have been exceedingly occupied thismorning, and did not know what the children were about, only that Agneskept Lewie screaming, and, at last, with the utmost rudeness, for that Isaw myself, she snatched something from his hand, and for that, Ipunished her. "

"Ah, yes, I see, Harriet, " said Mrs. Wharton, glancing at theyellow-covered publication on the table; "I see how it is, now; you havebeen wholly absorbed in one of those wretched novels, and left littleAgnes to take care of a sick, cross baby. That child is very sick, Harriet; do you see what a burning fever he has?"

"Ellen, do you think so?" said the mother hastily and in greatagitation. "Oh, Ellen, what shall I do; oh, what _shall_ I do! perhapsmy baby, my darling, is going to be very ill. "

"Do not agitate yourself so, Harriet, I will send Matthew directly overto the village for the doctor; but first, may I have Agnes?"

"Oh, do what you please with Agnes, only send the doctor to my baby;call Mammy, she will bring Agnes, and do go, quick!"

The bell was rung, and Mammy was despatched to bring the little prisonerdown; she found her as we left her, sleeping with her head upon herarms. 

"Precious lamb!" said Mammy, "she has cried herself to sleep. " Then, kissing her, and rousing her gently, she told her that her aunt andcousins had come to take her to Brook Farm. 

Agnes was at first very happy at the idea of once more enjoying thesunshine of her aunt's cheerful home, but, when she heard that Lewie wassick, a cloud came over her face. 

"Aunty, " she whispered, "I think I had better not go, perhaps I can dosomething for Lewie. I can _almost_ always amuse him. "

"Lewie is too sick to be amused now, my dear, and you can do no goodhere; besides, I want to get you away as quickly as possible, for Ithink it may be the scarlet fever that Lewie has. Come, darling, we willgo. "

Agnes drew her hand quietly from that of her aunt, and running back, shestooped over her little brother as he lay in his mother's arms, andkissed him; and then, standing a moment before her mother, she raisedher eyes to her face. But her mother's eyes, with a gaze of almostdespair, were fixed on her darling boy, and she did not seem to be awareeven of the presence of her little daughter. 

A look of disappointment passed over the face of Agnes, as, withoutintruding upon her mother by even a word of farewell, she turned, andput her hand once more in that of her aunt. And now, as, comfortablywrapped in buffalo skins, Mrs. Wharton and the little girls are flyingover the country roads, to the sound of the merry sleigh-bells, we willrelate a conversation which took place between Mammy and Bridget; andby so doing, will give a little insight into the history of the youngwidow, whom we have introduced to the reader. 

II. 

Brook Farm. 

 "By the gathering round the winter hearth, When twilight called unto household mirth; By the fairy tale, or the legend old, In that ring of happy faces told; By the quiet hours when hearts unite In the parting prayer and the kind "good night", By the smiling eye and the loving tone, Over thy life has the spell been thrown. "--SPELLS OF HOME. 

When Mammy left little Agnes in the north room, and descended to thekitchen, she found Bridget, who had already been made acquainted with, passing events by Anne, the chambermaid, in a state of great wrath andindignation. The china must have been strong that stood so bravely therough treatment it received that morning, and the tins kept up acontinued shriek of anguish as they were dashed against each other inthe sink; while every time Bridget set down her foot as she stampedabout the kitchen, it was done with an emphasis that made itself feltthroughout the whole house. 

"And so ye've been locking up that swate crathur again, have ye, Mrs. McCrae?" were the words with which, in no gentle tones, she assailedMammy as she entered the kitchen. 

"I did as I was bid, Bridget, " said Mammy, with a sigh. 

"And indade it wouldn't be me would do as I was bid, if I was bid to dothe like o' that. I'd rather coot off my right hand than use it to turnthe kay on the darlint. "

"I always mind my mistress, Bridget, " said Mammy, "though it's often I'mforced to pray for patience wi' her. "

"And indade I don't ask for patience wid her at all, anny how, " stormedBridget. "To think of sending the swate child, that never has anny but akind an' a pleasant word for _iverybody_, away to the cold room, justbecause the brat she doats on chooses to _yowl_ in the fashion he didthe morn. I don't know, indade, what's the matther with the woman! Ithink it's a quare thing, and an _on nattheral_ thing, _anny how_!"

"She's much to be blamed, no doubt, Bridget, and yet there's excuses tobe made for my mistress, " said Mammy, mildly. "She's young yet in years, no but twenty-two; and she's nothing but a child in her ways and herknowledge. She never knew the blessing of a mither's care, puir thing;and up to the very day she was married, her life was passed at one o'them fashionable boarding-schules, where they teach them to play oninstruments, and to sing, and to dance, and to paint, and to talk someunchristian tongue that's never going to do them no good for this lifenor the next. But they never give them so much as a hint that they'vegot a soul to be saved, and they take no pains to fit them to be wivesand mothers. My mistress was but fifteen years old when she ran awaywith Master Harry. Poor dear Master Harry! It was the only fulish thingI ever knew him to do, was running away wi' that chit of a schule-girl. He met her, I think, at a ball that was given at this schule, and MasterHarry was over head and ears in love in a minute; and after two or threemeetings and a few notes passing, they determined on this runnin' awayfolly. I think it was them novels she was always readin' put it in herhead. It wouldn't do, you know, to be like other folks, but they musthave a little kind of a romance about it. Puir, fulish, young things!"

"You see, I was living with old Mr. Elwyn then, " continued Mammy;"indeed, I've been in the family ever since I came over from Scotland, quite a lassie, thirty-one years ago come next April. I left them, besure, when I married; but as my gude-man lived but two years, I wassoon back in my old home again. Old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry's father, had lost his property before this time; but his brother, 'Uncle Ben, ' asthey called him, was very rich. They all lived together--'Uncle Ben, 'old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry and Miss Ellen, that's Mrs. Wharton. MissEllen was a few years older than Master Harry, and she was thehousekeeper. But Master Harry, bless you! was only twenty years old, when he walked in one morning, and told his father he was married. Inever shall forget the time there was then! The old gentleman wascomplaining, and had had a bad night, though Master Harry did not knowthat. Well, the sudden shock threw him into an apoplectic fit; and twodays after, he had another, and died. Master Harry was almost distractedthen: he called himself his father's murderer; and, indeed, I think hewas never what you might call well from that time. "

"But you never saw any one so angry as Mr. Benjamin Elwyn was. He hadalways intended to make master Harry his heir, but his conduct in thisfoolish affair enraged him so that he said he would leave him nothing. At first the young folks lived with her father, but he soon died, leaving his daughter a little property settled on herself. But it wasnot enough to support them, and so Master Harry had to apply to old Mr. Benjamin Elwyn again, and the old man gave him this place, and enough tolive on pretty comfortably here. He told Master Harry that perhapssomething might be made of his baby wife yet, if he brought her awayfrom the follies of the city, to a country place like this, and tried toimprove her mind; and so they have lived here ever since, till lastyear, when poor master Harry died. "

"And what do ye think is the raison that the misthress thrates littleMiss Agnes the way she does?"

"Well, I can hardly tell you, Bridget. In the first place, I have oftenheard her say that she couldn't abide _girls_, and bating other reasons, I think she would have been disappointed on her own account, you know, to have the first child a girl. But, besides this, I have heard that Mr. Benjamin Elwyn quite forgave Mr. Harry, and promised him that if hisoldest child was a boy, and he named it after him, he would leave himthe bulk of his property. I cannot tell you how bitterly disappointedmy young mistress was, when her first born proved to be a girl. She wasbut sixteen years old then, you know, Bridget, and she acted like across, spoiled baby. She cried herself into a fever, and she wouldn'tlet the poor, helpless baby, come into her sight. I think she neverloved her; and from the time of Master Lewie's birth, she has seemed todislike her more and more. "

"But how the father loved her, Mrs. McCrae!"

"Aye, indeed he did; he never could be easy a minute without her. It wasa sore day for my poor bairn, when it pleased God to take her father;poor man! But He knows best, Bridget, and He orders all things right. "

Here Mammy was summoned by the bell, and despatched to bring littleAgnes down; to accompany her aunt and cousins to their home. 

As Agnes was riding along, seated so comfortably by the side of her kindaunt, in the large covered sleigh, with the rosy, smiling faces of herlittle cousins, Grace and Effie, opposite her, she could scarcelybelieve that she was the same little girl, who, but an hour or twobefore, was walking so sadly up and down the desolate North Room, andtrying to persuade herself that she was "not alone. " Agnes was naturallyof a lively, cheerful disposition, and like any other little girl of sixyears of age, she soon forgot past sorrow in present pleasure, though, at times, the sudden remembrance of her dear little baby brother, lyingso ill at home, would cause a sigh to chase away the smile of pleasurebeaming on her lovely face. 

It was but little more than two miles from "The Hemlocks, " Mrs. Elwyn'sresidence, to "Brook Farm, " the home of the Wharton's, and, as Matthewhad received orders to drive very rapidly, it seemed to Agnes that herride was just begun, when they turned into the lane that led up to herUncle Wharton's house. And now the pillars of the piazza appear betweenthe trees, and now the breakfast room windows, and more bright youngfaces are looking out, and little chubby hands are clapped together, asthe sleigh is discovered coming rapidly up the lane, and the cryresounds through the house, "They've come! they've come! and Agnes iswith them!"

A bright, cheerful wood fire was burning in the pleasant, greatbreakfast room, and the party who had just arrived were soon surroundedby smiles of welcome, while busy little fingers were assisting them tountie their bonnets, and unfasten their cloaks. In a few moments thedoor opened, and a pale, but lovely looking girl, in deep mourning, entered the room. She was a niece of Mr. Wharton's, and, having latelybeen left an orphan, by the death of her mother, she had been brought byher kind uncle, to his hospitable home, where she was received by all asa member, henceforth, of their family. 

"Well, aunty, " said she, after stooping to kiss Agnes, "you are backsooner than I expected. "

"Yes, dear, I was obliged to hurry; little Lewie is very ill, I fear. Bythe way, Harry, run and tell Matthew that just as soon as he is warm, hemust drive as fast as possible to the village, and ask Dr. Rodney toget directly into the sleigh, to go to your Aunt Elwyn's; and tell himto call for me, as he comes back. "

"Why, mamma, are you going back there again?" asked Effie. 

"Yes, love, I must go back, and remain with your Aunt Harriet to-day. Ionly came home to make some arrangements for the family. I want yourpapa to drive over for me to-night, after the little ones are all inbed; and I desire the rest of you to keep out of my way till I havechanged my dress. I do not know yet what is the matter with Lewie. Howdo you feel, Emily?"

"Much better, thank you, aunty; I am quite prepared to play lady of thehouse in your absence. "

"Well, do put aside those books, dear: your health is the most importantthing now. I wish I could leave you so busy with household concerns asto give you not a moment's time for reading. "

"Dear aunty, I do not think the books hurt me; and you certainly wouldnot have me grow up a dunce, would you?"

"No fear of that, dear; and I by no means wish you to give up your booksaltogether, but only to lay them aside till you get a little color inthese pale cheeks. I shall lay my commands on your uncle not to give youany more assistance in your studies till I give him permission. "

"Well, I'll be very good, aunty, and I've promised the boys to take arun with them over to the pond, and see them skate; and besides, we areall invited to an entertainment in a certain snow palace, which isnearly finished, and which I have promised to grace with my presence. "

Just then two fine handsome boys, the pictures of health and goodnature, rushed in. These were Robert and Albert Wharton, home fromschool for the Christmas holidays. 

"Mother, what will you give us for our entertainment?" they cried. 

"Have you a table and seats?" she asked. 

"Yes, all made of snow, " said Albert. "But don't let us tell her allabout it, Bob; I want to surprise her. "

"I think your entertainment, to be in keeping with your furniture, oughtto be of snow and icicles, " said Mrs. Wharton; "but, whatever it is, Iam sorry that I cannot visit your snow palace to-day. "

"Oh! that's too bad, mother; it will spoil all our fun. But, say, willyou give us something to eat?"

"Yes; I leave Emily mistress of the keys for to-day, and you may callupon her for pies, cake, or anything the store-room contains; only be alittle moderate, and don't leave us entirely destitute. "

"It won't be half so pleasant without you, mother, " said Robert; "but weshall have quite as many as our palace can accommodate, if all these go. Hallo! here's Agnes! Why, Aggy, how do you do? I didn't see you before. "

At this moment the sleigh was seen coming up the lane, and Mrs. Whartonhastened to get ready to accompany the doctor to the Hemlocks. 

"I want to whisper to you, dear mother, one minute, " said little Grace. 

"What more Christmas secrets?" asked her mother. 

A whispered consultation here took place, some request being urged withgreat eagerness by Grace; and the pleasant "Yes, yes, " from her mother, made her bright eyes dance with joy. 

As Mrs. Wharton was driving from the door, Albert called out:

"Mother, may the baby go with us?"

"Yes, if Kitty will wrap him up well, " was the answer, and the sleighflew down the lane, and was soon out of sight. 

Agnes was now hurried off by her young cousins to inspect the variouspreparations for Christmas, and was made the repository of some mostimportant secrets, "of which she must not give a hint for the world. "She saw the purse Effie was knitting for Albert, and the guard-chainGrace was weaving for Robert, and the mittens for Harry, and the socksfor the baby, and the pen-wiper for papa, and the iron-holder for mamma;and then Effie took her aside alone, to show her something she wasmaking for Grace; and Grace took her aside alone, to show something shehad bought with "her own money" for Effie; and there was a beautifulbook for Cousin Emily. "And we cannot show you yet whether we haveanything for you, Agnes, because, you know, we always keep our secretstill Christmas comes, " they said. 

"There comes papa from the mill, " cried Effie, looking out of thewindow; "let's run down and see him. How surprised he will be to findmamma gone, and Agnes here!"

Mr. Wharton came in with his usual cheerful manner; and soon as he waswarming his feet by the fire, he had Agnes on one knee, and Harry on theother, and the rest of the noisy little tribe round him, eagerly tellingthe events of the day, and the pleasant anticipations for the afternoon. 

"Oh, papa, " said Effie, "I've got something I want to say to you, ifyou would only come in the other room a few minutes, or if the childrenwould only be kind enough to go out of this room a little while. "

"Won't it keep, Effie, till I warm my feet?" asked her father; "because, if it will not, I suppose I must go now. "

"Oh no, papa, I will wait patiently, " said Effie. 

In a few minutes her father said, "Now, Effie, for that importantsecret;" and they went together into another room. 

"This is what I wanted to say, papa, " said Effie: "you know poor Agnesnever has any money of her own; and I know, when she sees us all givingpresents to each other, she will feel badly, if she cannot givesomething too; and I want to know if you won't give her a little money, and let her go to the village with us the next time we go, and get somematerials to make something out of?"

Mr. Wharton answered by putting his hand in his pocket, and giving Effiesome silver for Agnes, with which she went off perfectly happy. 

And now little Grace put in her curly head, and said, "Effie, when youare through with papa, I've got something to say to him too. "

The sum and substance of Grace's communication was this: "she had seensomething at a store in the village, with which she was sure her mammawould be perfectly charmed, but she hadn't _quite_ enough money topurchase it; she only wanted _ten cents_ more. " And she too went offwith a smiling face. 

Emily now came in jingling her keys and called them all to dinner. 

As soon as possible after dinner, the boys laden with a basket of goodthings, which Emily had provided for them, started off for the snowpalace, one of them carrying the dinner-horn, which was used in thesummer, to call the men to the farm-house to their meals. When theentertainment was ready the horn was to sound. In the meantime, thechildren were sitting around the fire, waiting impatiently for thesignal, to call them to the palace of snow. 

"Cousin Emily, " said Agnes, for she too said "Cousin Emily, " thoughthere was no relationship, in fact, between them, "Cousin Emily, I wishI knew _what_ to read and study. I do want to know something, and Idon't know anything but my Bible, and my little book of hymns. Mammytaught me to read, or I should'nt have known anything at all, " she addedsadly. 

"Well, Agnes, " that is the best knowledge you could possibly have, saidEmily, "though I am far from thinking other studies unimportant; but, ifI can help you in any way, I will gladly lend you books, and tell youhow to study. "

"Oh! will you, cousin Emily?" said Agnes, her face brightening; "howhappy I shall be! aunty has taught Effie and Grace, and they havestudied Geography and History, and they can cipher, and I don't knowanything at all about those things; why, even little Harry knows morethan I do. "

"But you can beat us all in Bible knowledge, I know, Agnes, " said Emily, "and, in a very little time, you will catch up to the other children, for aunty has little leisure time to devote to them. But there! I hearthe horn! call Kitty, to bring the baby, and we'll all start. "

And now all warmly wrapped in cloaks and hoods, the little party leftthe side piazza, and walked down towards the pond. The path was wellbroken, as the boys travelled it so often, on their way to the pond andthe snow palace, and the little party went briskly on. Emily and Agnesheaded the procession, then came Effie and Grace, dragging a box-sled inwhich the baby was comfortably stowed, and Kitty, the nurse, brought upthe rear, leading little Harry. The two boys met them at some distancefrom the snow palace, and told them they must go through the labyrinthbefore they could reach the place of entertainment. 

The labyrinth was composed of paths, cut in the deep snow, winding inand out, and circling about in all directions, till, at length, theforemost of the party halted before the entrance to the snow palace. Theboys had, indeed, been industrious, and the new comers stared inamazement, at the results of their labor. They found themselves, onentering the palace, in a room high enough for the tallest of the partyto stand upright in, and of dimensions large enough to seat them allcomfortably around the square block of snow which formed the centretable. The seats were of the same material, and were substantial enough, while the extreme cold weather lasted. On the table was placed theentertainment provided by Emily, to which the party did all possiblejustice, considering that they had just risen from a plentiful dinner athome. After the feast, Robert and Alfred entertained them with feats ofagility on the ice, dragging one or the other of the children after themupon the sled, and when they returned home, even Emily's usually palecheeks were in a glow. 

Towards evening Agnes began to be uneasy, and to watch at the window forher aunt's return. "I will not see aunty, cousin Emily, " she said, "butI cannot go to bed till I hear how Lewie is to-night. "

At length her uncle and aunt returned, and Agnes heard that her littlebrother was very ill; but the doctor was of opinion that his disease wasa brain fever, and therefore there was no danger of contagion. Agneswent to bed with a heavy heart, and cried herself to sleep. 

The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Mrs. Wharton againordered the sleigh and drove to "the Hemlocks. " She found Mrs. Elwyn ina state bordering on distraction. 

"Oh, Ellen, " she said, "how I have wanted you! Lewie has had a night ofdreadful suffering, and now he is unconscious. He does not know me, Ellen! He does not hear me when I call. I think he does not see. Oh, Ellen, what would life be to me if I lose my darling. And now I want youto _pray!_ You can pray, Ellen, and God answers your prayers. Pray forthe life of my child! Mammy prays, but she will only say, 'The will ofthe Lord be done!'"

"And I can say no more, Ellen. I _do_ pray; I _have_ prayed, that yourdarling boy's life may be spared, if it be the will of God, but morethan that I cannot say. "

"And what if it be His will to take my darling from me, Ellen?"

"Then, Harriet, I hope you might learn to acquiesce without a murmur, and to say from your heart, 'It is the Lord, let Him do what seemeth toHim good. '"

"No, Ellen, never! I cannot contemplate the bare possibility of losingmy boy. If you will not pray as I wish, I will try to pray myself;" andfalling on her knees, she prayed for the life of her child. "Takewhatever else thou wilt, oh God, " she cried, "but oh, spare me mychild. "

"Harriet, this seems to me most horrible impiety, " said Mrs. Wharton, "to ask God to grant your desires, whether agreeable to His will, ornot; I should much fear if your request were granted, that it would onlybe to show you, that you know not what is best for yourself, and forthose you love; and that you might some day wish you had left thismatter in the hands of God, even if it had been His will to take yourdarling to Himself. "

When Dr. Rodney came that morning, he found the child in a profoundslumber. "This, " said he, "is, I think, the crisis of the disease; on noaccount let him be disturbed; if he awakes conscious, he will in allhuman probability recover. "

And they watched him in breathless stillness, Mrs. Wharton on one sideof the cradle, and his mother on a low stool beside him, with her sadgaze riveted on his little face, to catch his first waking glance, andto see whether the eye then beamed with intelligence, or not. 

Oh, who can imagine the agony, the terrible suspense of such watching, but those who have sat as that poor mother did, over a loved onehovering between life and death. And as Mrs. Wharton sat so silentlyopposite her, her thoughts were sometimes raised in prayer for her poormisguided sister; and sometimes she sat looking at her as a perfectenigma; with a heart so capable of loving devotedly, and yet so steeledagainst her own child, and so lovely and winning a little creature asAgnes. It was a puzzle which she had often tried to solve, in vain. 

After an hour more of deep slumber, Lewie started and awoke. For amoment his glance rested with a bewildered expression upon his mother'sface; and then, stretching out his little hands, he said, "Mamma!" Mrs. Wharton's attention was fixed upon the child; but when she turned to themother, she saw her, white as the snow, falling back upon the floor. Therevulsion of feeling was too much for her; she had fainted. 

When Mrs. Wharton came home that night, she said, "Agnes, my love, yourlittle brother is better, and, with great care, he may now recover. "

"Oh, aunty!" exclaimed Agnes, joyfully, "and when may I see him?"

"You must be content to remain with us without going home for some daysyet, dear; for the doctor says the most perfect quiet is necessary, andyou could not see Lewie if you were at home. "

And now that the mind of little Agnes was comparatively free fromanxiety, she entered with great delight into the preparations going onat Brook Farm for Christmas. 

III. 

Christmas Time. 

 "In the sounding hall they wake The rural gambol. "--THOMSON. 

And now but a week was wanting to Christmas, and all was excitement andbustle among the little folks at Brook Farm. Lewie was quite out ofdanger, and Agnes was as happy and as busy as any of her little cousins. The cutter was in constant demand; for when one was particularlydesirous to go over to the village on some secret expedition, that onemust go alone, or only with those who were in her secret. Many were themysterious brown-paper parcels which were smuggled into the house, andhidden away under lock and key in various closets and drawers; and therewere sudden scramblings and hidings of half-finished articles, whensome member of the family who "was not to see" entered the room. 

"Aunty, " said Agnes one day, in a confidential tone, "I should like tomake a needle-book for mamma, like the one cousin Emily is making forEffie. She says she will show me, and fix it for me, and I think I cando it. Do you think mamma would like it?"

"Certainly, darling, I should think she would like it; I do not see howany mamma could help being pleased with anything her little girl madefor her. "

"But, aunty, " said Agnes, as if speaking of a well-known andacknowledged fact, "you know mamma doesn't love me much, and perhaps itwould trouble her. "

The sad tone in which these words were said brought tears to the eyes ofMrs. Wharton, but still she encouraged Agnes to go on with theneedle-book. It was not a very complicated affair, and Emily arrangedall the most difficult parts; but still it was a work of time, and onerequiring much patience and perseverance on the part of so young achild as Agnes. However, it was at length completed on the day beforeChristmas, and, when handed about for inspection, was much admired byall her friends. Agnes was very happy, for on Christmas day her unclewas to take her over home to see Lewie, who called for her constantly, her aunt said. Mammy had walked over too, to see her little girl, andshe told her that "Lewie was greetin' for 'sister' from morn tillnight. "

The day before Christmas came, and with it the party at Brook Farm wasaugmented by the arrival of Mrs. Ellison, a younger sister of Mr. Wharton's, her husband and baby, a beautiful child of about a year old. There was great joy at the arrival of "Aunt Fanny, " who was very lively, and always ready to enter with glee into the frolics and sports of thechildren. 

As they were sitting at the dinner table that day, Mr. Wharton said:

"I have received certain information that Santa Claus himself is tovisit us to-night, and bring his gifts in person. He desires me toinform the children, that all packages to be entrusted to his care mustbe handed into my study, labelled and directed, before six o'clock thisevening. "

Many were the wonders and speculations as to the nature and appearanceof the expected Santa Claus; but they were suddenly interrupted byRobert, who exclaimed:

"Why, who comes here up the lane? It's old cousin Betty, I do declare, in her old green gig set on runners. "

"I thought cousin Betty would hardly let Christmas go by without makingher appearance, " said Mrs. Wharton; "I have thought two or three timesto-day that she might come along before night. "

"Cousin Betty" was a distant relation of Mrs. Wharton's, a lonely oldbody, who lodged with a relative in a village about ten miles distantfrom Brook Farm. She was very eccentric--so much so, that she was bysome thought crazy; but Mrs. Wharton was of opinion that cousin Bettyhad never possessed sufficient _mind_ to subject her to such acalamity. She was more silly than crazy, very good-natured, veryinquisitive as to the affairs of others, and very communicative as toher own. 

In a few minutes cousin Betty had received a hearty welcome, and wasseated by the bright fire, asking and answering questions with theutmost rapidity. 

"I've been looking for you, cousin Betty, " said Mrs. Wharton. 

"Have! What made you?"

"Oh, I thought you could hardly let Christmas go by without coming tosee the fun. "

"Did! Well, I never thought nothing about comin' till yesterday, when Isat in my little room, and I got feelin' pretty dull; and thinks I tomyself, I'll just borrow Mr. White's old horse, and take my old gig, anddrive up to the farm, and see the folks. "

"Cousin Betty, who do you think is coming to see us to-night?" askedlittle Grace. 

"I'm sure I can't tell, child. Who is it?"

"Why, Santa Claus himself, with all his presents around him. "

"Is, hey?" said cousin Betty; "well, I shall be mighty glad to see him, I can tell you; for, old as I am, I've never seen him yet. "

"I'm so glad you've come, cousin Betty!" said Effie; "we want you to gowith us some day over to the farm-house, and tell us about ourgreat-grandfather, whose house stood where the farm-house stands now;and how his house was burnt down by the Indians, and he was carried off. Agnes wants to hear it so much. "

"Does! Well, I will go over there, and tell you the story, some day. ButI can't walk over there while the weather is so cold; I should get therheumatiz. "

"I'll drag you over on my sled, if that will do, cousin Betty, " saidRobert. 

The children laughed so heartily at the picture presented to theirimagination of little old cousin Betty riding on Robert's sled, thatGrace actually rolled out of her chair. 

"Why wouldn't it do to tell the story here, Effie?" asked Agnes. 

"Oh, because it is a great deal more interesting, told on the spot youknow. Cousin Betty has heard it all over and over again from grandmamma, and she can point out, from one window of the farm-house, all the placeswhere all those dreadful things happened. "

Some warm dinner was now brought in for cousin Betty, and the childrenwent off to tie up and label the gifts for Santa Claus. 

"What shall we do with the presents we have for papa and mamma?" askedGrace. 

"Oh, we cannot hand those in to the study, " said Effie; "we mustcontrive some way to give them afterwards. "

And now the children, one after the other, with their arms laden withpackages, were making their way to their father's study; Emily andAgnes, too, had several contributions to make to the heap of bundleswhich was piled up on the study table; and before six o'clock, Mr. Wharton said he had taken in enough articles to stock a veryrespectable country store. At six o'clock the study door was locked, andthere was no more admittance. 

An hour or two after this, the whole family were assembled in the twolarge parlors, which were brilliantly lighted for the occasion, and allwere on the tiptoe of expectation. 

"I should like to know how he is coming, " said Albert; "he'll be likelyto get well scorched, if he comes down either chimney. "

At this moment there was a slight tap at one of the windows opening onto the piazza, which Mr. Wharton immediately proceeded to open, and inwalked St. Nicholas. 

He was a jolly, merry-looking, little old gentleman, with beard andwhiskers as white as snow, and enveloped in furs from head to foot. Around his neck, around his waist, over his shoulders, down his back, and even on the top of his head, were presents and toys of everydescription. Behind him he dragged a beautiful sled, which was loadedwith some articles too bulky to be carried around his person. Everypocket was full; and as he passed through the rooms, he threw sugarplums and mottoes, nuts and raisins, on all sides, causing a greatscrambling and screaming and laughing among the children. 

Then he began to disengage the presents, which were pinned about him, and tied to the buttons of his coat; and as he did so, he looked at thelabel, and threw it at the one for whom it was intended. It would behard for one who was not there to imagine the lively scene which was nowpresented in the great parlors at Brook Farm; the presents flying roundin all directions; the children dodging, and diving, and catching, whileshouts and screams of laughter made the house ring. 

"But who is he?--who can he be?" was the question which each asked ofthe other a great many times during this merry scene. Mr. Wharton andMr. Ellison, "Aunt Fanny's" husband, were both in the room, and theywere sure there was no other gentleman in the house. 

Just then Robert screamed, "Oh, I know now! It's cousin Tom! He throwsleft-handed!" And now the effort was made to pull off the mask, butSanta Claus avoided them with great dexterity, still continuing hisbusiness of distributing the presents. 

At the feet of Agnes he placed a work-box, much handsomer than thatwhich Lewie had destroyed; at Emily's, a writing-desk, and some valuablebooks; and when his sled was emptied, he drew the sled, and left it withlittle Harry, for whom it was intended. 

"My goodness gracious!" said cousin Betty, as a beautiful muff "took herin the head, " as Albert said, and sadly disarranged the set of her oddlittle turban. 

"And now I believe old Santa Claus has finished his labors, " said Mr. Wharton. 

"Oh no, not yet, " cried Effie; "he must come with us for a new supply. But I feel a little afraid of him yet. If I only could be sure it wascousin Tom!"

"You need not doubt that, Effie, " said Robert; "nobody else ever threwlike cousin Tom. I've seen him play snow-ball often enough. "

And now Santa Claus was taken captive by the children, and in a fewminutes he re-appeared, laden with gifts, but this time for the oldermembers of the family; and the products of the children's industry madequite a display, and much astonished those for whom they were intended, the children having kept their secrets well. 

And now, as the rooms were warm, old Santa Claus was quite willing toget rid of his mask and his furs; and this done, he straightened up, andcousin Tom stood revealed. 

"And how did you come, and where have you been?" asked the children. 

"Oh, I came this afternoon, and stopped at the farm house, " answeredcousin Tom, or Mr. Thomas Wharton, for it is time he should beintroduced by his true name to the reader. "And after it was dusk Islipped over here, and went round to uncle's study door while you wereat tea. I sent word by Aunt Fanny that you might expect Santa Clausto-night. "

And now began a game of romps, which lasted for an hour or more, andthen little bodies began to be stumbled over, and were found undertables, and on sofas fast asleep, and were taken off to bed. Mrs. Ellison's baby being roused by the noise, had awaked, and persisted inkeeping awake, and his mother came back to the parlor bringing him inher arms, with his night-gown on, and his cheeks as red as roses. 

"Isn't he a splendid fellow?" said she, holding him up before cousinTom. 

"A very comfortable looking piece of flesh certainly, " he answered; "butthen they are all alike. I think you might divide all babies into twoclass, the fat and the lean; otherwise, there is no difference in themthat I can see. "

"Pshaw, how ridiculously you talk; there is a great deal more differencebetween two babies, than between you and all the other young dandies whowalk Broadway. They are all alike, the same cut of the coat and collar, and whiskers; the same tie of the neck-cloth, and shape of the boot:when you have seen one, you have seen all. But now just take a good lookat this magnificent baby, and confess; wouldn't you like to kiss him?"

"Excuse me, my dear aunty, but that is a thing I haven't been left to dovery often. I've no fancy for having my cheeks and whiskers convertedinto spitoons. It is really astonishing now, " continued cousin Tom, "what fools such a brat as that will make of very sensible people. "

"Are your allusions personal, sir?" asked Mrs. Ellison, laughing. 

"No, not just now; but I was thinking of a man in our place, who used tobe really a _very_ sensible fellow; and though quite an old bachelor, hewas the life of every party he attended, and more of a favorite thanmost of the young men. Well, when he was about fifty years old he gotmarried, and he's got a young one now about two years old. And what kindof an exhibition do you suppose that man made of himself the other day. Why, this refractory young individual couldn't be persuaded to walktowards home in any other way, when they had him out for an airing, andwhat does this old friend of mine do, but allow a handkerchief to bepinned to his coat-tail, and go prancing along the street like a horsefor the spoiled brat to drive. The calf! I declare, before I'd make sucha fool of myself as that, I'd eat my head! What are you writing there, uncle?"

"Only taking notes of these remarks, Tom, " answered Mr. Wharton, "foryour benefit on some future occasion. "

There was only one in that Christmas party who could not heartily joinin the glee; it was poor Emily, to whom this scene brought back sovividly other holiday seasons passed with those who had "gone from earthto return no more, " that only by a strong effort could she prevent herown sadness from casting a shade over the happiness of others; for theyall loved cousin Emily so dearly, that they could not be merry when shewas sad. Emily was usually so quiet, that in their noisy play they didnot miss her as she retired to the sofa and shaded her eyes with herhand; but her kind uncle noticed her, and readily understood the reasonof her sadness. Taking a seat by her he put his arm around her, and tookher hand in his. This act of tenderness was too much for poor Emily'salready full heart, and laying her head on her uncle's shoulder, shesobbed out her grief unchecked. 

IV. 

Cousin Betty. 

 "Come, wilt thou see me ride!"--HENRY VIII. 

Cousin Betty was a little bit of a woman, with a face as full ofwrinkles as a frozen apple, and a pair of the busiest and most twinklinglittle black eyes you ever saw, a prominent and parrot like nose, with achin formed on the very same pattern, only that it turned up instead ofdown, the two so very nearly meeting that the children said they had "toturn their faces sideways to kiss her. " She had some very unaccountableways too, which no one understood, and which she never made any attemptto explain, perhaps because she did not understand them herself. 

For instance, whenever meals were ready, and the family prepared to sitdown, though cousin Betty might have been hovering round for an hour ortwo before, she was often missing at that very moment, and when a searchwas instituted she was sometimes found taking a stroll in the garretwhere she could have no possible business, and sometimes poking about inthe darkest corner of the dark cellar, without the slightest conceivableobject. If her thimble or spectacles were lost, she has often been knownto go to the pantry and lift up every tumbler and wine-glass on theshelf, one after the other, and look under it as if she really expectedto find the missing article there; and to take off the cover ofvegetable dishes to look for her snuff-box, or open the door of thestove, if her work-bag, or knitting were missing, apparently with theconfident expectation of finding them unharmed amidst the blazing fire. 

Cousin Betty had a very uncomfortable fashion of _dying_ too, everylittle while, which at first alarmed her friends so much thatrestoratives were speedily procured; but as she never failed to come tolife again, they became, after a time, accustomed to the parting scene, so that there was great danger that when she really did take herdeparture, nobody would believe it. 

"My dear, " said she one night to Effie, "I feel very unwell; veryunwell, indeed; I think it's more'n likely I shan't last the nightthrough. I wish you wouldn't leave me alone this evening, and then ifI'm suddenly taken worse, you know you can call the family. I shouldlike to see them all before I go. "

Effie promised she would not leave her, and bringing her book, sheseated herself by the stove in cousin Betty's room. In about a hour sheappeared in the parlor, her face purple with the effort to suppress theinclination to laugh, and said, "Oh, do all of you please to come tocousin Betty's room a few moments. "

"What, is she dying?" they asked. 

"Oh, no! but just come; very quietly; there's a sight for you to see. "

Cousin Betty always tied a large handkerchief about her head when shewent to bed, and on the night in question, the two ends of thehandkerchief being tied in a knot stood up from her head like twoenormous ears. She was bolstered up by pillows, as she declared shecould not breathe in any other position, and at every breath she drewshe opened and shut her mouth with a sudden jerk. Effie had looked upfrom her reading suddenly, and caught the reflection of cousin Betty'sprofile, thrown by the light, greatly magnified upon the wall, andstuffing her handkerchief in her mouth to prevent a sudden explosion oflaughter, by which cousin Betty might be awakened, she ran to call thefamily. No pen-sketch but an actual profile would give the slightestidea of the extraordinary and most ludicrous appearance of the imagethus thrown upon the wall; with the enormous ears standing up, and themouth and chin snapping together like the claws of a lobster. One by onethey rushed from the room, till at length a smothered cacchination fromone of the little ones awoke cousin Betty, who exclaimed:

"Who is sobbing there? My dear friends do not distress yourselves, Ifind myself considerably more comfortable. "

This "clapped the climax, " and the room was unavoidably deserted for afew minutes; but at length Effie found courage to return, and, byplacing the light in another position, was enabled to keep watch for theremainder of the evening. 

There were some very amusing stories told in the family of cousinBetty's adventures, one of which I will relate here. She was at one timemaking one of her long visits at Mr. Wharton's, when, getting out ofyarn, and not being willing to remain long idle, she began to worryabout some way to get over to the village. The horses were all out atwork upon the farm, except Old Prancer, a superannuated old horse, whowas never used except for Mrs. Wharton or the girls to drive; for, whatever claims "Prancer" may once have had to his name, it had been amisnomer for some years past, and no one suspected him of having a sparkof spirit. 

When Mr. Wharton came in to dinner, and cousin Betty consulted him asto the best means of getting over to the village, he told her that thebest thing he could do for her would be to put the side-saddle on to OldPrancer, and let her ride over. To this cousin Betty consented, notwithout a slight trepidation, for she had never been much of ahorse-woman, but still, as she had known Prancer for many years, and hehad always borne the character of a staid, steady-going animal, shethought there could surely be no risk in trusting herself to him. 

Soon after dinner, cousin Betty, with a very short and very scantyskirt, was mounted on the back of Old Prancer. She felt quite timid atfirst at finding herself upon so lofty an elevation, (for Prancer was animmense animal;) but when she found how steadily and sedately he wenton, and that neither encouragement nor blows could induce him to breakinto a trot, she lost all her fears, and began to enjoy her ride savingthat the pace was rather a slow one. 

But just as cousin Betty began to ascend the hill leading into thevillage, the sound of martial music burst upon her ear, and sheremembered hearing the children say that this was "general trainingday. " Cousin Betty did not know that Prancer had once belonged to amilitia officer; and if she had, it would have made no difference, asall the fire of youth seemed to have died out with Prancer years ago. But early associations are strong; and as the "horse scenteth the battleafar off, " so did Prancer prick up his ears and quicken his pace at thespirit-stirring sounds of the fife and drum; and now he began to make anawkward attempt to dance sideways upon the points of his hoofs; and ashe neared the brow of the hill, his excitement became more intense, andhis curveting and prancing more animated. Cousin Betty was almostterrified to death. Throwing away her whip, and grasping the reins, sheendeavored to stop him; but he only held in his head, and dancedsideways up the street with more animation and spirit than ever. Shethought of throwing herself off, but the immense height rendered such afeat utterly unsafe; she endeavored to rein the horse up to theside-walk; but now he had caught sight of the motley array of trainers, and of the gay horses and gayer uniforms of the officers, and, regardless alike of bit and rein, he started off at full speed, to jointhe long-forgotten but once familiar spectacle. 

Cousin Betty had by this time dropped the reins, and was clinging withboth arms to Old Prancer's neck; and as he turned his face to thecompany, and backed gallantly down the street, the sight was tooirresistibly ludicrous. Shouts and laughter, and expressions ofencouragement to poor cousin Betty, were heard on all sides; till atlength a militia officer, taking pity upon her helpless condition, ledthe unwilling Prancer to the tavern, and assisted her to alight. Herecousin Betty remained till sun-down, and all was quiet; and then, requesting the tavern-keeper to lead the horse out of town while shewalked, she again, with much fear and trembling, mounted when beyondthe precincts of the village. 

Prancer, however, walked slowly home, with his head drooping, as ifthoroughly mortified at the excesses into which he had been betrayed;and cousin Betty, when she once got safely home, declared that she'd gowithout yarn another time, if it was a whole year, before she wouldmount such a "treacherous animal as that 'ere. "

But, with all her oddities, cousin Betty was sometimes a very amusingcompanion. She had many stories of her youth stowed away in her memory, which, when wanted, could be found and brought to light much morereadily than the articles she was so constantly missing now; and thoughthese stories were not told in the purest English, they were none theless interesting to the children for that. 

There came, early in February, some pleasant, mild days, which soon madea ruin of the boys' palace of snow; and though cousin Betty had been ina dying state for an hour or two the night before, she was so farrevived that morning, that she was easily persuaded by the children togo over with them to the farm-house, and tell them the story of theirgreat-grandfather, and his capture by the Indians; which same, though avery interesting story to the children, might not be so to my readers;and after changing my mind about it several times, I have concluded toleave it out, as having nothing to do with the rest of my story. 

V

Home Again. 

 "Deal very, very gently with a young child's tender heart. "

With a face beaming with joy, little Agnes took her place in the cutterby her uncle on Christmas morning, and nodded good-bye to her cousins, who were crowded at the window to see her off. 

"Mind you come back to dinner!" screamed little Grace, knocking with herknuckles on the window pane. 

Agnes nodded again, and they were gone. Many a time during the shortride did Agnes take out of her little muff the paper in which herneedle-case for her mother was rolled up, to see if it was all safe; andshe never let go for a moment of the basket in which were some toys forLewie, which she and her cousins had purchased at the village. As shedrove up the road from the gate to her mother's house, it seemed to herso long since she had been away, that she expected to see great changes. She had never been from home so long before, and a great deal hadhappened in that fort night. 

Mrs. Elwyn was reading again; indeed, she had resumed that veryyellow-covered book, the reading of which Lewie's sickness hadinterrupted; so she had not much time for a greeting for Agnes, thoughshe did allow her to kiss her cheek, and of course laid aside her book, out of compliment to Mr. Wharton. But little Lewie, who was sitting inhis cradle, surrounded by toys, was in perfect ecstasies at the returnof Agnes. 

He stretched his little arms towards her; and as she sprang towards him, and stooped to kiss him, he threw them around her neck, and clasped hislittle hands together, as if determined never to let her go again. 

"Sister come! sister come!" he exclaimed over and over again, with thegreatest glee; "sister stay with Lewie now. "

"Sister will stay a little while, " said Agnes, kissing over and overagain her beautiful little brother. 

"No, sister _stay_!--sister shall not go!" said Lewie, in the bestmanner in which he could express it; but exactly _how_, we must beexcused from making known to the reader, having a great horror of_baby-talk_ in books. 

"But I _must_ go, darling; all my things are at uncle's, and I want toget some books cousin Emily is going to give me; but I will come backvery soon to stay with Lewie. "

"No! sister _shall_ not go!" was still the cry; and Mrs. Elwyn settledthe matter by saying:

"Agnes, if Lewie wants you here so much, you may as well take off yourthings; you cannot return to Brook Farm; besides, I want you to amuseLewie. " Agnes thought of some of the consequences of her endeavors toamuse Lewie, and sighed. 

"If your mother insists upon your remaining, Agnes, " said her uncle, "Iwill bring over your things, and Emily shall come with me, to bring thebooks, and tell you how to study. "

"Oh, thank you, dear uncle!" said Agnes, her face brightening at once. 

In the first scene in which our little hero is introduced to the reader, he certainly does not appear to advantage, as few persons would in thefirst stages of a fever. He was not always so hard to please, or sorecklessly destructive, as he was that day; and had an intimation everbeen conveyed to his mind, that it was a possible thing for any desireof his to remain ungratified, he might have grown up less supremelyselfish than he did. 

But the natural selfishness of his nature being constantly fed andministered to by his doating mother, led the little fellow to understandvery early that no wish of his was to be denied; and before he was twoyears old, he fully understood the power he held in his hands. 

He was a beautiful boy; "as handsome as a picture, " as Mammy said; but, for my part, I have seldom seen a picture of a child that could at allcompare with Lewie Elwyn, with his golden curls, and deep blue eyes, andbrilliant color. He was warm-hearted and affectionate, too, and mighthave been moulded by the hand of love into a glorious character. Butselfishness is a deformity which early attention and care may remedy, and the grace of God alone may completely subdue; but, if allowed totake its own course, or worse, if encouraged and nurtured, it grows withwonderful rapidity, and makes a horrid shape of what might be thefairest. 

Upon this text, or something very like it, Mr. Wharton spake to Mrs. Elwyn, when Agnes had carried Lewie into the next room to spin his topfor him. 

"Lewie is a most beautiful little fellow, certainly, " said he; "but, Harriet, take care; he is getting the upper hand of you already. It istime already--indeed, it has long been time--to make him understandthat his will is to be _subservient_ to those who are older. "

To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, "How absurd, Mr. Wharton, to talk ofgoverning a child like that!"

"There are other ways of governing, Harriet, besides the whip and thelock and key, neither of which do I approve of, except in extreme cases. Lewie could very easily be guided by the hand of love, and it rests withyou now to make of him almost what you choose. A mother's gentle handhath mighty power. "

"Well, Mr. Wharton, to tell you the truth, nothing seems to me so absurdas all these ideas of nursery education; and the people who write bookson the subject seem to think there is but one rule by which all childrenare to be governed. "

"I perfectly agree with you, Harriet, that it is very ridiculous tosuppose that one set of rules will answer for the education of all, except, of course, so far as the Bible rule is the foundation for allgovernment. I think the methods adopted with children should be asnumerous and different as the children themselves, each one, by theirconstitution and disposition, requiring different treatment; but stillthere are some general rules, you must admit, which will serve for all. One of these is a rule of very long standing; it is this--'Honor thyfather and thy mother;' and another--'Children, obey your parents in theLord. ' Now, how can you expect your son, as he grows up, to honor, respect, or obey you, if you take the trouble to teach him, every dayand hour, that _he_ is the master, and you only the slave of his will. There is another saying in that same old book from which these rules aredrawn, which tells you that 'A child left to himself bringeth his motherto shame. '"

Mrs. Elwyn, during this conversation, kept up a series of polite littlebows, but could not altogether conceal an expression of weariness, anddistaste at the turn the conversation had taken. She had a sincererespect, however, for Mr. Wharton, who always exercised over her thepower which a strong mind exercises over a weak one, and she felt inher heart that he was a real friend to her, and one who had theinterests of herself and her children at heart. 

As Mr. Wharton rose to go she said, laughingly:

"I thank you for your kind advice with regard to Lewie, Mr. Wharton, butin spite of it, I do not think I shall put him in a straight-jacketbefore he is out of his frocks. "

"No straight-jacket is needed, Harriet; you have often written in yourcopy-book at school, I suppose, 'Just as the twig is bent the tree'sinclined. ' You remember that strange apple-tree in my orchard, which thechildren use for a seat, it rises about a foot from the ground, and thenturns and runs along for several feet horizontally, and then shoots upagain to the sky. When that was a twig, your thumb and finger could havebent it straight; but now, what force could do it. If sufficientstrength could be applied it might be _broken_, but never bent again. Excuse my plain speaking, Harriet, but I see before you so muchtrouble, unless that little boy's strong will is controlled, that myconscience would not let me rest, unless I spoke honestly to you what isin my mind. "

"I must say you are not a prophesier of '_smooth things_'" said Mrs. Elwyn, "but still, I hope the dismal things you have hinted at may notcome to pass. "

"I hope not too, Harriet, " said Mr. Wharton, "but God has now mercifullyspared your little boy's life, and it rests with you whether he shall betrained for His service or not. "

Then calling for Agnes and Lewie, Mr. Wharton kissed them for good-bye, telling Agnes that he would bring Emily over the next day. 

Mrs. Elwyn looked infinitely relieved when Mr. Wharton drove off, andreturned to her novel with as much interest as ever, and in the veryexciting scene into which her heroine was now introduced, she soonforgot the unpleasant nature of Mr. Wharton's "lecture, " as she calledit. 

Agnes was contriving in her mind all the morning, how she shouldpresent the needle-case to her mother, and wondering how it would bereceived. It was such a great affair to her, and had cost her so muchtime and labor, that she was quite sure it must be an acceptable gift, and yet natural timidity in approaching her mother, made her shrink frompresenting it, and every time she thought of it her heart beat in hervery throat. 

At length the novel was finished and thrown aside, and Mrs. Elwyn satwith her feet on the low fender gazing abstractedly into the fire. Nowwas the time Agnes thought, and approaching her gently, she said:

"Mamma, here is a needle-case I made for you, all myself, for aChristmas present. "

The _words_ could not have been heard by Mrs. Elwyn, she only knew thata voice _not_ Lewie's interrupted her in her reverie. 

"Hush! hush! child, " she said, waving her hand impatiently towardsAgnes, "be quiet! don't disturb me!"

Oh, what a grieved and disappointed little heart that, as Agnes turnedaway with the tears in her eyes, and a lump in her throat. 

The next voice that disturbed the young widow was one to which shealways gave attention:

"Mamma! mamma!" cried Lewie, pulling imperiously at her gown; "mamma!sister feels sorry, speak to sister. "

"What is it, dear?" his mother asked. 

"Speak to sister! sister crying, " said Lewie, pulling her with all thestrength of his little hands towards Agnes. 

"What is the matter, Agnes? Why are you crying? What did you say to me afew moments ago?" asked her mother. 

Agnes tried to say "It is no matter, mamma, " bet she sobbed so bitterlythat she could not form the words. But Lewie, who had seen andunderstood the whole thing, pulled the needle-case from his sister'shand, and gave his mother to understand that Agnes had made it for her, and then he struck his little hand towards her and called her "naughtymamma, to make sister cry!"

More to please Lewie than for any other reason, Mrs. Elwyn took theneedle-case, and said:

"Why Agnes, did you make this yourself, and for me? how pretty it is;isn't it, Lewie? Now Agnes, you may fill it with needles for me. "

Agnes wiped her eyes and began her task, but that painful lump would notgo away from her throat. Ah! if those kind words had only come at first!

How much suffering is caused to the hearts of little children by merethoughtlessness, sometimes in those even who love them; by a want ofsympathy in their little griefs and troubles, as great and all-importantto them, as are the troubles of "children of a larger growth, " in theirown estimation. 

VI. 

The Tableaux. 

 "A mournful thing is love which grows to one so mild as thou, With that bright restlessness of eye--that tameless fire of brow Mournful! but dearer far I call its mingled fear and pride, And the trouble of its happiness than aught on earth beside. "

 --MRS. HEMANS. 

Lewie recovered rapidly; and by the time that "the singing of birds hadcome, " the roses bloomed as brightly as ever in his cheeks; and, withhis hand in that of Agnes, he roamed about the woods and groves whichsurrounded their home, gathering wild flowers, and watching with delightthe nimble squirrel and the brilliant wild birds, as they hopped fromlimb to limb. The children were always happy together; Lewie was moreyielding and less passionate when with his gentle sister than at othertimes; and it was only when again in the presence of his mother thathis wilful, fretful manner returned, and he was again capricious andhard to please. 

Thus, while he was still almost in his infancy, his mother began to reapthe fruit of her sowing; for, while to others he could be gentle andpleasant, with her he was always fretful and capricious. Already herwishes had no weight with him, if they ran counter to his own, andcommands she never ventured to lay upon him; already the little twig wastaking its own bent. 

The birth-days were all rigidly kept in Mr. Wharton's family, and somelittle pleasant entertainment provided on every such occasion. Thus, while Mr. And Mrs. Wharton failed not to make every proper and serioususe of these way-marks on the journey of life, they loved to show theirchildren how pleasant to themselves was the remembrance of the day whenone more little bright face had come to cheer and brighten their earthlypilgrimage. Miss Effie was the important character in commemoration ofwhose "first appearance on any stage" a pleasant party had collected inMr. Wharton's parlor, one evening in May. Mrs. Elwyn and her childrenwere spending a few days at Brook Farm; and the family of Dr. Rodney, and a few other little folks from the village, were invited, on Effie'sbirth-day, to pass the afternoon and evening. 

Great had been the preparations, for they were, for the first time, tohave an exhibition of the "tableaux vivants" in the evening. Mr. Whartonhad constructed a large frame, which, covered with gilt paper, andhaving a black lace spread over it, made the illusion more perfect. Manypretty scenes had been selected by cousin Emily, who was mistress ofceremonies; and that no child's feelings might be hurt, a character wasassigned for each one, in one or other of the pictures. A temporarycurtain was hung across the room, which was to be drawn whenever thepictures were ready for exhibition. 

Agnes had been as busy as anybody in bringing down from a certain closetdevoted to that purpose old finery, and other things which belonged todays long gone by, and her anticipations of pleasure for the eveningwere raised to the highest pitch. But just when all were assembled inthe darkened parlor, the lights all being arranged behind the curtain soas to fall upon the pictures, Master Lewie, who was up beyond his usualbed time, and who was hardly old enough to take much interest in whatwas going on, declared that he was sleepy, and would go to bed. NeitherMammy nor Anne were with them at Brook Farm; and as Mrs. Elwyn seemed asmuch interested as any one in seeing the tableaux, Agnes knew what theresult would be, if Lewie insisted upon going to bed; so she endeavoredto amuse him and keep him awake till she had seen at least one tableau. 

"Oh, Lewie, wait _one_ moment!" said she; "Lewie will see a beautifulpicture. "

"Lewie don't want to see pictures; Lewie wants to go to bed. Sister, come! sing to Lewie. "

"In one moment, then, little brother. Let Agnes see one picture. Won'tyou let sister see _one_ picture?"

"No; Lewie must go to bed. Mamma, tell sister to come with Lewie. "

The result was, of course, in accordance with Master Lewie's wishes, andAgnes was directed to take him up to bed. "He will very soon be asleep, "her mother added, "and then you can come down. "

This Master Lewie heard, and it put quite a new idea into his head, itnever having occurred to him before that the person who sang him tosleep left him alone, after her task was accomplished. That was a thinghe was not going to submit to, and he was so determined to watch Agnes, lest she should slip away from him, that all sleep seemed to havedeserted his eyes, which were wider open, and more bright and wideawake, than ever. 

Agnes laid down beside him, and, patting him gently on the cheek, shesang in a sleepy sort of way, hoping the tone of her voice would have asomniferous effect. 

"Sing louder!" shouted Master Lewie. 

Agnes obeyed, and sang many nursery songs suggested by Master Lewie, hoping, at the end of each one, that there would be some signs ofdrowsiness manifested on the part of the little tyrant; but the momentit was finished, brightly and quickly he would speak up:

"Sing that over again!--sing another!--sing 'Old Woman!'--sing 'JackHorner, '" &c. , &c. 

And Agnes' heart died within her as question upon question would followeach other in quick succession, suggested by the lively imagination ofMaster Lewie, as to the name and parentage of "the little boy who livedby himself;" and the childless condition of the man whose "old wifewasn't at home;" and where the dogs actually _did_ take the"wheel-barrow, wife and all;" he feeling perfectly satisfied of theaccurate information of Agnes on all these important topics. 

Several times the little bright eyes slowly closed, and Agnes thought hewas fairly conquered. Slowly drawing her arm from under his head, shebegan cautiously to rise; but before she had stolen a foot from the bed, he would start up and stare at her in amazement, exclaiming, "Wheregoing, sister?" and then he seemed to learn by experience, and todetermine that he wouldn't be "caught napping" again that evening. 

In the meantime, the fun was going on below, and several beautifulpictures had been exhibited and admired before Agnes was missed from thedarkened parlor. But now came the cry, "Agnes! Come, Agnes! Where'sAgnes? She is to be in this picture. " To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, that"Agnes was putting Lewie to sleep. "

"And hasn't she been here at all, Aunt Harriet?"

"No, " answered Mrs. Elwyn, "Lewie takes a long time to get to sleepto-night. "

"That is _too bad_, I declare!" said little Grace, her cheeks reddeningwith vexation, "Agnes did want to see these pictures so; can't I go upand see if Lewie is asleep, Aunt Harriet. "

"Better not, " said Mrs. Elwyn; "you may disturb him just as he isdropping asleep, and then Agnes will have to stay much longer. "

The exclamations of indignation were loud and furious from the wholeparty of little folks, when it was found that Agnes had been all theevening banished from the room, and they were ready to go up to Lewie'sroom in a body and take possession of Agnes, and bring her down intriumph. But Emily said, "stop children, and I will go. "

Very quietly Emily stole into the room and up to the bedside. Thechildren were lying with their arms about each other, Agnes' little handwas on her brother's cheek, and both were soundly sleeping. Emilytouched Agnes gently and whispered in her ear, but her slumber was sovery sound that she could not arouse her. "Better to let her sleep onnow, " said Emily, "and if Agnes only knew it, she has helped to make theprettiest tableaux we have had this evening. "

Thus early was little Agnes learning to give up her own gratificationfor the sake of others, while the strong will of her little brother wasstrengthened by constant exercise and indulgence, for this was but oneof many instances daily occurring, in which Agnes was obliged torelinquish her own pleasure in order to gratify the whims and capricesof her little brother. Lewie had so often heard such expressions fromhis mother, that almost as soon as he could speak a connected sentence, he would say, "Lewie must have his own way; Lewie must not be crossed, "and in this way did his mother prepare him for the jostling andconflicts of life. 

VII. 

The Governess. 

 "An ower true tale. "

Mr. Wharton was one day writing in his study, for though a practicalfarmer he devoted much of his time to literary pursuits, --when there wasa knock at his door, and on opening it he saw there a young woman ofdelicate appearance, and of so much apparent refinement and cultivation, that he was quite taken by surprise when she asked him the question, "ifhe had any wool to be given out on shares?"

Mr. Wharton replied, that he had had so much trouble with those to whomhe had given out wool in that way, and had been so often cheated bythem, that he had said he would give out no more, but he believed hemust break through his rule for once, in her favor. She seemed verygrateful, and said she hoped he would have no reason to regret hiskindness in giving her employment. And so it proved; Miss Edwards, (forthat was her name, ) gave such entire satisfaction as to her work, andthe share of it she returned, that Mr. Wharton kept her for some time inconstant employment. Every time she came, he was more and more pleasedwith her gentle and unaffected manners, and with the style of herconversation, which showed without the slightest appearance of effort, aperson of great intelligence and good breeding, while an air of subduedmelancholy excited an interest in her, which increased with everyinterview. 

"She is an unmistakable lady, " said Mr. Wharton to his wife, "but howshe came to be living in the village, without friends, and as I believein circumstances of great necessity, I cannot imagine. There is a slightreserve about her, " he added, "which may be difficult to penetrate, butif I mistake not, she is much in need of a friend, and I think she willnot long resist the voice of kindness. "

Accordingly, the next time she called, Mr. Wharton, in his kind andsympathising manner, led her to speak of her own peculiar circumstances;and at length drew from her this much of her history: She was thedaughter of a plain New England farmer; had had a good common schooleducation; and was expected to devote the rest of her life to the makingof butter and cheese, and to the other occupations carried on in afarmer's family. Everything that she could do to aid her father andmother she was willing and ready to perform, but she sighed forknowledge; she had learned enough to wish to know more, and she feltthat there was that in her, which properly cultivated, might fit her forsomething higher than the making of butter and cheese. Thus, when theday's labor was ended, and the old people, as was their custom, hadretired early to rest, their dutiful daughter, her work for the day welldone, sought with delight her little chamber, and her beloved books, inwhose companionship she passed the hours always till midnight, andsometimes till she was startled by the

 "Cock's shrill clarion, "

and reminded that body and mind alike needed repose. 

In her studies, and in the choice of her reading, she was guided by herpastor; and a better guide, or one more willing to extend a helping handto the seeker for knowledge she could not have found. With such ateacher, and with such an eager desire for improvement, she could notfail to progress rapidly. On the death of her parents, both of whom shefollowed to the grave in the course of one year, the kind pastor tookher to his own home; but not being willing to be even for a time aburden to him, she immediately opened a small school in a village nearthem. Now her kind pastor too was dead; and having heard that a teacherwas wanted in the village of Hillsdale, she had come there in hopes ofgetting the situation. Here she was doomed to disappointment, the vacantplace having been supplied but a day or two before she reached thevillage; and now, among entire strangers, heart-sick withdisappointment, and with no friend to turn to in her distress, she wastaken down with a fever. It was a kind-hearted woman, in whose house shehad rented a small room, and she nursed her as if she had been adaughter, without hope of remuneration. As soon as she was sufficientlyrecovered to think again of work, she began to inquire eagerly foremployment; and her landlady having directed her to Mr. Wharton, she hadtaken that long walk from the village, while yet very feeble, whichresulted in the accomplishment of her wishes. 

There had been a brother, she told Mr. Wharton, an only child besidesherself; but, as Mr. Wharton inferred from what she said, he was a wild, unsteady youth, and he had wandered from his home some years before, andgone far west towards the Mississippi. For some time they continued tohear from him, but he had long since ceased to write. She feared that hewas dead; but sometimes she had a strong hope, which seemed like apresentiment to her, that she should yet look upon his face on earth;and in this hope, she continued still occasionally to direct letters tothe spot from which he had last written. 

When Mr. Wharton had repeated to his wife the story of Miss Edwards, shesaid immediately:

"Why, is she not just the person for a governess for our youngerchildren? No doubt, too, she might aid Emily in her studies, for thechild is too delicate to send away from home. "

"Well thought of, my dear wife, " said Mr. Wharton; "and if we couldpersuade Harriet to let poor little Agnes join us, what a nice littleschool we might have. It is strange the idea has not occurred to mebefore, for I have thought, a great many times, what a pity it was thatsuch a woman as Miss Edwards should spend her life in spinning wool. "

"When do you expect her again?" asked Mrs. Wharton. 

"She will probably be here this afternoon. "

"Let us save her the long walk, by driving over to see her this morning:perhaps she can return with us. " And in less than an hour, Mr. And Mrs. Wharton were seated in the widow Crane's neat little parlor, in earnestconversation with Miss Edwards. 

I need not say that the offer made by Mr. And Mrs. Wharton wasunhesitatingly and gratefully accepted by Miss Edwards. Those only whohave felt as utterly forlorn and desolate as she had done for the lastfew weeks, can understand with what joy she hailed the prospect of ahome among such kind and sympathizing hearts. 

And a _home_ indeed she found. From the time she entered Mr. Wharton'shospitable door, she was treated as companion, friend, and sister. Nomore sad, lonely hours for her, so long as she remained under that roof. There were plenty of happy, bright little faces around her; there werekind words always sounding in her ear; there were opportunities enoughto be useful; there were rare and valuable books for her leisure hours. With all these sources of enjoyment, could she fail to be happy?

And if Miss Edwards esteemed herself most fortunate in having found sodelightful a home, Mrs. Wharton was no less so in having secured herinvaluable services. 

"How have I ever lived so long without Rhoda!" she often exclaimed; forthe new governess, by her own earnest request, soon lost the formaltitle of Miss Edwards in the family, and was simply "Rhoda" with Mr. AndMrs. Wharton, and "Miss Rhoda" with the children. 

"I think there is nothing that she cannot do, and do well, " she added. "She is a most charming companion in the parlor, with a never-failingfund of good humor and cheerfulness; a kind and patient, and in allrespects most admirable teacher, for the children; an unwearied nurse insickness; a complete cook, if for any reason her services are requiredin the kitchen; and perfectly ready to turn her hand to anything that isto be done. "

"And now you have not mentioned the crowning excellence of hercharacter, my dear, " said Mr. Wharton; "she is, I believe, a sincere andearnest Christian; and, as you say, I think we are most fortunate inhaving secured her as an inmate in our family, and a teacher for ourchildren. "

Mr. Wharton, who had unbounded influence with Mrs. Elwyn, had no greatdifficulty in persuading her to allow Agnes to become a member of hisfamily, that she might with his children enjoy the benefit of MissEdwards' instructions. Indeed, so long as Mrs. Elwyn had her darlingLewie with her, it seemed almost a matter of indifference to her whatbecame of Agnes; and thus the neglect and unkindness of her mother wereoverruled for good, and Agnes was placed in the hands of those who wouldsow good seed in her young heart, while improving and cultivating hermind. Happy would it have been for poor little Lewie, could he have beentaken from the indulgent arms of his weak and doating mother, andplaced under like healthy training, where his really fine qualities ofheart and mind might have been cultured, and he might early have beentaught to curb that hot and hasty temper, and to restrain those habitsof self-indulgence, which finally proved his ruin. 

Miss Edwards remained six years in her happy home at Mr. Wharton's, andhad become as they all thought essential to their comfort and happiness, when she one day received a letter, which agitated her exceedingly. Shewas sitting at the dinner table, when the letters were brought from thevillage. One was handed to her; she looked at the superscription, at thepost-mark, which was that of a town far to the south-west; her cheekflushed, and with trembling fingers she broke the seal. She glanced atthe signature, and turned so pale they thought she would faint, but in amoment she was relieved by a burst of tears. 

Her long lost brother was alive! he wrote that he was married, andsettled in that far distant State. One of his sister's letters (for shestill continued from time to time to write to him) had lately reachedhim, he said, and he wished her to come to him. Her mind was immediatelymade up to go; she dearly loved her sweet pupils, and the kind friendswho had given her a home, and a place in their hearts, but the ties ofkindred were stronger than all other ties, and they drew her withresistless force towards the home of her own and only brother. 

There was something about the tone of this letter which Mrs. Wharton didnot like, and she had a foreboding that this journey would not be forthe happiness of her friend, and tried to dissuade her from undertakingit. And in this she was entirely disinterested; for great as would bethe loss of this gifted young lady to her, Mrs. Wharton was not the oneto put a straw in her way, if she felt assured the journey would endhappily for her. 

All that she said, however, was of no avail; it had been the hope ofMiss Edwards' life, once more to see this darling brother, and nothingcould deter her from making the attempt. Her preparations were made inhaste, and with many tears on her part, and on that of the kind friendsshe was leaving, and amid loud sobs and lamentations from her dearlittle scholars, they parted, never again to meet on earth. A tediousand perilous journey she had, by river and land, but she seemed to bearall the discomforts of the way with her own cheerful, happy spirit, andthe letters she wrote to her friends from different points on thejourney were exceedingly amusing and entertaining. One of them, and thelast she wrote before reaching her point of destination, I willtranscribe here in her own words:--

 "Springdale, Oct. --"

"My beloved pupils, --I am going, in this letter, to tell you a ghoststory, and a murder story, of both of which your humble servant was theheroine. But before your little cheeks begin to grow white, and youreyes to open in horror, let me tell you that the ghost was no ghost atall, and in the murder scene, nobody's life was in danger, though bothmatters at the time were very serious ones to me. "

"I wrote you last from a little tavern in the northern part of Virginia, while I was waiting for a conveyance to continue on my journey, thestage passing over these unfrequented roads only twice a week. It hasalways been my lot to have friends raised up for me when friends weremost needed; and while sitting in the little parlor of the tavern, feeling very desolate, and very impatient, a gig drove up to the door, from which an old clergyman alighted. He soon entered the parlor, and ina few minutes we were engaged in a pleasant conversation, in the courseof which I mentioned the circumstances of my detention in that place, and my extreme anxiety to progress in my journey. "

"The old gentleman, it seems, had been on a three days' journey to aministers' meeting, and was now returning home, and as he was travellingin the same direction in which I wished to go, he said it would givehim great pleasure if I would take a seat in his gig, in case myheaviest trunks could be sent on by stage. This the good-naturedlandlord very willingly consented to attend to. The trunks were to besent to the care of the old clergyman, who was to ship me for mydestined port, and send my trunks on after me. "

"You may be sure I did not hesitate about accepting the old clergyman'soffer, for after jolting along with rough men, over rough roads, as Ihad done for many days, I anticipated with much pleasure a ride of twoor three days in a gig, with the kind, pleasant old gentleman. And nowcomes the ghost story. "

"As we were riding along through this thinly settled part of WesternVirginia, I noticed occasionally large, dark, barn-like lookingbuildings, with the wooden shutters tightly closed. After passing two orthree of these buildings, I at length asked my companion for whatpurpose they were used. "

"'Why, those, ' said he, 'are our churches. I had forgotten how entirelyunacquainted you were with this part of the country, or I should havepointed them out to you. '"

"'Is it possible, ' I exclaimed, 'that you worship in those dreary, dark-looking places! I must go inside of one of them on the firstopportunity. '"

"Soon after I spoke, as we were ascending a hill, some part of theharness gave way, and we were obliged to alight from the gig, while theold gentleman endeavored to repair the injury. "

"'How long will it take you, sir, ' said I, 'to set this matter right?'"

"'Oh, some time--perhaps a quarter of an hour, ' he answered. "

"'And cannot I help you?' I asked. 'I believe I can do almost anything Iundertake to do. '"

"'Oh, no, no, ' he answered; 'you had better not undertake to mend aharness, or you will be obliged, after this, to say that you have failedin one thing; besides, I can do this very well alone. '"

"'I have a great mind to take hold and mend it, just to show you that myboast was not an idle one, ' said I; 'but if you are determined to scornmy offered assistance, I will run back, and take a survey of theinterior of the old church we passed a few moments since. '"

"'You will not see much, ' the old clergyman called out after me; 'for, as you see, the wooden shutters are kept closed during the week, and itis almost total darkness inside. '"

"However, on I ran down the hill, and was soon at the door of the oldbarn-like building. The door was not fastened, and I opened it, andentered the church. At first, the darkness seemed intense, broken onlyby little streaks of sunlight which streamed in through the small, crescent-shaped holes in the shutters; but at length my eye becameaccustomed to the darkness, and I could begin to distinguish the rudeseats and aisles, and even to see, at the end of the church, anelevation which I knew must be the pulpit. Determined to see all thatwas to be seen, I made my way along the aisle, ascended the pulpitstairs, and had just laid my hand on the door, when a tall, white figuresuddenly rose up in the pulpit, and laid a cold hand on mine. I believeI shrieked; but I was filled with such an indescribable horror, that Iknow not what I did, when a hollow voice said:"

"'Don't be afraid; I will not harm you. '"

"I snatched my hand from the cold grasp which held it, and fled from thechurch. I remember nothing more, till I opened my eyes, and found theold clergyman bathing my face with water. He had become alarmed at mylong absence, and, on coming back to seek me, had found me lying on myface, on the grass, in front of the old church. We had been riding againfor some time, before I summoned resolution to tell the old gentlemanwhat I had seen in the church. He complimented me by saying, that thoughhis acquaintance with me had been short, he was much mistaken in me, ifI was a person to be deceived by the imagination; and he said he muchregretted that I had not mentioned the cause of my fright before we leftthe old church, as it was always best to ascertain at once the truenature of any such apparently frightful object. "

"'We have no time to turn back now, ' said he, 'as we have already lostmore than half an hour; but the next best thing we can do is to stop atthe first house we come to, and see if we can find out anythingconcerning the apparition which appeared to you in the church. '"

"We soon stopped before the door of a small log house, and at oursummons a pleasant-looking woman appeared. To the inquiries of the oldclergyman as to the appearance by which I had been so much alarmed, shereplied:"

"'Oh, it's the crazy minister, sir. He used to preach in that oldchurch; but he's been crazy for a long time, and often he dresseshimself in a long white robe, and goes and sits in the pulpit of thatold church all day. He's very gentle, she added, turning to me, 'andwouldn't hurt anybody for the world; but I don't wonder you got a goodfright. ' So ends my ghost story; and now, if you are ready for morehorrors, I will tell you my other adventure. "

"Our detention near the old church, and the state of the roads, renderedheavy by late rains, made it impossible for us to reach the town atwhich we had hoped to spend the night; and we had made up our minds thatwe would stop at the first _promising_-looking establishment we shouldsee, when the coming up of a sudden storm left us no option, but made ushail gladly the first human dwelling we came to, though that was but arough, rambling old hut, built of unhewn logs. "

"There was only an old woman at home when we stopped at the door, and Ifancied she looked rather _too well pleased_ when we asked if she couldaccommodate us for the night. I must confess to you, my dear children, Ifelt rather nervous after the fright of that afternoon; I, who used toboast that I was ignorant of the fact of possessing such a thing asnerves; but I do think I must have been nervous, for very little thingstroubled me that evening, and my imagination had never been so busybefore. In a very few moments, an old man, and three strapping, rough-looking youths, entered, with their axes over their shoulders, anddripping with rain; and now I began to imagine that I saw suspiciousglances passing between these young men, and I certainly heard a longwhispered conversation pass between two of them and the old woman in thenext room. I looked towards my old friend the clergyman; but he, good, unsuspicious old soul, was nodding in his chair by the log fire. I grewmore and more uncomfortable, and heartily wished we had jogged on in thepelting rain, rather than trust ourselves to such very questionablehospitality. One thing I made up my mind to, which was this--that Iwould not close my eyes to sleep that night, but would keep on the watchfor whatever might happen. "

"The old woman gave us a very comfortable supper, and soon afterwardsshe asked me if I would like to go to bed. Not liking to show anydistrust of my hosts, I assented with apparent readiness, and followedthe old woman into a hall, and up a rude ladder, which I should havefound it very difficult to mount had it not been for my early exercisein this kind of gymnastics, when searching for hen's eggs in the barn, at my New England home. "

"At the head of the ladder was a small passageway, from which we enteredthe room which was to be my sleeping apartment. Whether there had everbeen any door to this room or not I do not know; certain it is there wasno door now; the only other room I could perceive in the upper part ofthe house, was a sort of a granary filled with bins to hold differentkinds of grain. "

"'Is the old gentleman with whom I came, to sleep in this part of thehouse?' I asked in as careless a tone as I could assume. "

"'No, he sleeps in the loft of the other part where the boys sleep;'answered the old woman, and then looking at me with a grin which Ithought gave her the appearance of an ugly old hag, she said, 'Why yeain't afeard on us, be ye?'"

"'I told her I had had quite a fright that day, and felt a littlenervous. '"

"'Well, ' said she, 'ye can just go to sleep without any frights here. Weshan't do ye no harm, I reckon, ' and she left me and descended theladder. "

"Before going to bed I took my light, and stepping out softly I went toreconnoitre the other room, the door of which we had passed on the wayto the room in which I was to spend the night: I was obliged to descendtwo steps to enter this room, where I found nothing frightful to besure, there being only some old clothes hanging up, and the bins ofgrain of which I have spoken before. I returned to my room, and withgreat difficulty moved a rude chest of drawers, across the place where adoor should be, on this I placed my little trunk, and the only chair inthe room, an old shovel, and a broken pitcher, determined that if anyone did enter the room, it should not be without noise enough to give mewarning. Before this barricade I set my candle, hoping it mightcontinue to burn all night. "

"I laid down without undressing, determined that I would only rest; Iwould not even close my eyes to sleep. I had laid thus as I supposed anhour, listening to the voices of the old people and their sons, as insubdued tones they talked together below. At the end of that time thedoor opened, and I heard stealthy steps ascending the ladder. My heart, as the saying is, was in my throat, and I could hear its every throb. The steps came nearer and nearer, and as the first foot-fall sounded onthe floor of the little passage, which led to my room, I shrieked, 'Whois there? what do you want?'"

"'Bless your soul it's only me; you need not scream so, ' said the oldwoman. 'I'm only going to the bin for some corn-meal to make mush foryour breakfast. '"

"'I do believe the gal thinks we are going to murder her in her bed, ' Iheard her say with a loud laugh as she descended the ladder; 'you oughtto see the _chist_, and the things she's got piled on top of it, allstanding in the door-way. '"

"At this the men's voices joined in the laugh, and they sounded horriblyto me. 'Yes, ' I thought to myself, 'how easy it would be for them tomurder us in our beds, and there would be no one to tell the tale. ' Soonafter this, in spite of my resolution to keep awake, sleep must haveoverpowered me, for I was awakened by a tremendous crash, as if thehouse was falling, and I opened my eyes to find myself in totaldarkness, and to hear soft footsteps in my room. "

"Oh, how I shrieked this time! I believe I cried 'help! help! murder!'and I soon heard footsteps approaching, and saw a light gleaming up theladder way, and soon the old woman's night-cap appeared over the chest. 'What _is_ the matter now?' she cried with some impatience, 'youcertainly are the most _narvous_ lodger I've ever had yet. '"

"'Matter enough, ' said I, 'there is some one in my room. Didn't you hearthat awful crash?'"

"'Pshaw! it's only our old black cat!' said the old woman; 'he alwayscomes up to this room to sleep, but we thought we had shut him out. '"

"'Can he climb the ladder?' I asked. "

"'Just like a _human_, ' said the old woman; and, pushing aside thechest, she seized the cat, and raising the only window in the room, threw him out. "

"Again weariness overpowered me, and I slept; only to awake to newhorrors; for now I heard cautious footsteps and whispered voices, andoutside the grindstone was at work making something very sharp. Then thedoor opened, and a smothered voice said, 'Mother, is the water hot?'"

"'Yes, bilin', ' answered the old woman; 'are the knives sharp?'"

"'All ready, ' answered the young man; 'where's father?'"

"'He's gone to the loft, ' said the old woman; and then came somewhispered words, which I could not catch. You will most probably laughat me, but my mind was now so worked up by all the agitation I hadexperienced, that I had not the smallest doubt that we were now to bemurdered, and that the dreadful work was already going on in the loft, my kind old friend being the first victim. Still I thought I might be intime to save him yet, and there might be a bare possibility of ourescape. Springing from my bed in great haste and agitation, I hurried onmy shawl, and cautiously descended the ladder; but my blood froze withhorror, as just then I heard a piercing shriek. In the passage below Iencountered the old woman; she had just come into the house, and had anold shawl over her head, and a lantern in her hand, I thought she gave aguilty start when she saw me, as she exclaimed:"

"'Why, bless me, gal! what are you down at this time in the morningfor?'"

"'What are _you_ all up so early in the morning for?' I asked, in avoice which I meant should strike terror to her heart. "

"'Why, my old man and the boys had determined to kill hogs thismorning, ' she answered; 'but we tried to keep so quiet as not todisturb ye. I was afeared, though, that the squealing of the hogs wouldwake ye. '"

"The relief was so sudden, that I could hardly refrain from putting myarms round the old woman's neck, and confessing all my unjustsuspicions, but the fear of hurting her feelings prevented. With atranquil mind I again climbed the ladder, and sought my humble bed, andwas soon in such a sound slumber, that even the squealing of the hogs, in their dying agonies, failed to rouse me. "

"Seen by the morning light, as we were seated around the breakfasttable, these midnight robbers and murderers of my fancy appeared afamily of honest, hardy New Englanders, who had bought a tract of landin Western Virginia. They showed us, at a little distance, a clearingwhere they were just erecting a larger and more comfortable logdwelling; and the old woman assured us that if we would stop and visitthem, if we ever passed that way again, we should not have to climb aladder, for they were going to have a 'reg'lar stairway in t'otherhouse. '"

"When the time came for parting with our kind hosts, and we offered toremunerate them for their trouble, they rejected the proffered moneyalmost with scorn. "

"'No, no, ' said the old man, 'we haven't got quite so low as that yet;and I hope that I nor none of mine will ever come to taking pay for anight's lodging from a traveller. We don't keep _tavern_ here. '"

"The old woman's parting advice to me was to try and 'git over my_narvousness_; and she thought I hadn't better drink no more stronggreen tea. '"

"'I think your tea _was_ strong last night, my friend, ' said I; 'andthat, together with the sight of the ghost, of which I have been tellingyou, made me very uneasy and restless. '"

"'Well, ' said the old woman, 'I hope ye won't be so suspicious of usnext time ye come; for it's a _cartain_ fact, that we never murdered any_human_ yet. We do kill _hogs_; that I won't deny. ' And she laughed soheartily, that I felt quite sure she had seen through all my fears andsuspicions of the night before. So ends the murder story. "

"I wish you could have heard my old clergyman laugh, as I related to himall the horrors of the night; and when I came to mistaking the lastsqueal of a dying pig for his own death groan, I thought he would haverolled out of the gig. That night, which was _last_ night, found us inthe old gentleman's hospitable home, where his kind lady gave me ascordial a welcome as I could desire. Here I am still with these goodfriends, only waiting for my trunks; and then, with God's blessing, twodays more will find me in the home of my own dear brother. --And here, with many kind remembrances to the dear ones at Brook Farm, MissEdwards' letter closed. "

VIII. 

Bitter Disappointments. 

 "Oh! art thou found? But yet to find thee thus!"

 VESPERS OF PALERMO. 

It may be as well for us to continue the history of Miss Edwards here, though its sad sequel was not known to the family of Mr. Wharton till along time after she had left them. The letter with which the precedingchapter closes, was the last heard from her for many weeks. Various werethe surmises in the family as to the reasons for her unaccountablesilence, but at length they settled down in the belief that she musthave fallen a victim to some of the diseases of a new country; thoughwhy they should not have received some tidings of her fate from herbrother, still remained a mystery. 

At last, after many weeks, there came a letter from her, but it wasshort, and sad, and unsatisfactory in all respects. She had had aterrible disappointment she said, but her friends must have forbearancewith her, and excuse her from detailing the events of the past fewweeks. She was now at Springdale with her kind old friend, theclergyman, and was just recovering from a long and tedious illness; shehoped soon to be able to be at work again, and a little school was readyfor her, as soon as she should be sufficiently restored to take chargeof it. Not one word was said of her brother, or of her reasons forreturning to the home of the old clergyman. 

"She is evidently very unhappy, " said Mr. Wharton, "and perhaps herfunds are exhausted. She must return to us, and for this purpose I willsend her the means without delay. "

But still Miss Edwards did not come, and her letters were few and farbetween. At length there came one written in much better spirits, and inher old cheerful style, in which she informed them that she was engagedto be married to a young physician of that place. She seemed now veryhappy, and full of bright anticipations, not the least cheering ofwhich, was the prospect of visiting her kind friends once more, when sheshould travel to the east on her bridal tour. And this was the lastletter they ever received from Miss Edwards. 

That same summer a package came to Mr. Wharton, directed in an unknownhand, from a place, the name of which he had never heard before. It wasfrom a physician, and ran thus:

SIR, --I was called a few weeks since to attend a young lady, who waslying dangerously ill, at the only tavern in our little village. I foundher raving in delirium, and your name, and the names of many whom Isuppose to be members of your family, were constantly mingled with herravings. She had stopped at the tavern the night before in the stage;and when the other passengers went on was too ill to proceed with them. I attended her constantly for a week or ten days, and at the end of thattime, I had the happiness to find that her fever had entirely left her, and her mind was quite restored. She was, however, extremely weak, andfeeling assured, she said, that she should never be able to reach thehome of her kind friends, (mentioning the name of your family, ) shebegged earnestly for writing materials, and though I remonstrated andentreated, I found it impossible to prevent her writing. She said shehad a communication which it was due to you that she should make, andshe charged me over and over again, to remember your direction, and sendthe package to you in case she did not leave that place alive. She wasbusily engaged in writing one day, when the noise of wheels attractedher to the window, which she reached in time to see a gentleman alightfrom a chaise, who proceeded to hand out a lady. A person in the roomwith her, saw her put her hands to her head, and then she rushed fromthe back door of the house, and did not stop till she reached the woods. When found she was a raving maniac, and is so still. We have beenobliged to place her in the county house, where she is confined in theapartment devoted to Lunatics, and is as comfortable as she can be madeunder the circumstances. The accompanying package I found just as sheleft it, when she dropped her pen and hastened to the window, and I nowcomply with her earnest request and enclose it to you. 

 With respect, &c. 

 JAMES MASTEN. 

The manuscript, when opened, was found to be in Miss Edwards' well knownhand-writing, though the fingers that held the pen, had evidentlytrembled from weakness and agitation. It was with the saddest emotions, that those who had loved her so tenderly, read the followingcommunication:

"Painful and harrowing to my feelings as the task must be which I haveundertaken, I feel that it is due to my kind and ever sympathisingfriends, to make them acquainted with the sad trials through which Ihave passed, and the bitter disappointments I have met with. I havetried to bear up with the spirit of a Christian, and to feel that thesetrials are sent by One who orders all things in justice andrighteousness; I do submit; I am not inclined to murmur; I hope I amresigned; but heart, and flesh, and mind, are weak, and these alas! areall failing. "

"With the fondest anticipations I reached the village, where I expectedto be received in the arms of my long lost brother. Oh, how my heartbounded, as the prolonged sound of the stage-horn told me we wereapproaching the end of my journey! and how my imagination pictured thejoyful meeting, the cordial welcome, the fond embrace once more of myown loved kindred! I was much surprised that my brother was not at thetavern to meet me, and more so when, on asking for his residence, thelandlord hesitated, as if perplexed. "

"'Edwards! Edwards!' said he; 'there is but one person of that name thatI know of in all the village; but he can't be brother to such a lady asyou. '"

"'Perhaps you have not been here long, ' I said. "

"'O yes, ma'am, nearly fifteen years, ' he answered. "

"'And what is the name of this man of whom you speak?'"

"'Richard, I think; they always call him Dick Edwards about here, 'answered the landlord. "

"I did not tell him that was my brother's name, but with a tremblingheart I asked him to point me to the house of this Richard Edwards ofwhom he spoke. "

"There was something of pity in the tone of the landlord's voice, as hetold me to turn down the second lane I should come to, and go on to thelast hut on the right hand. 'But I advise you not to go, ' he continued, 'for I'm sure there must be some mistake. '"

I was too heart-sick to answer, but, taking my travelling-bag on my arm, I followed the directions of the landlord, and picked my way as well asI could through the mud of the miserable, filthy lane he had mentionedto me, all the time saying to myself, 'It cannot be--there surely mustbe some mistake, ' and yet impelled irresistibly to go on. 

"As I approached the door of the hut at which I knew I was to stop, Iheard the sound of singing and shouting; and as I came nearer, the wordsof a low drinking chorus sounded on my ear. I paused before the door, and a feeling of faintness came over me. I thought, 'I will turn back, and give up the attempt. Better never to find my brother, than to findhim here, and thus. ' But again something impelled me to tap at the door. It would be such an inexpressible relief, I thought, to find myselfmistaken. "

"It was some time before I could make myself heard above the noise ofdrunken revelry which sounded within the hovel; but at length the doorwas opened by a wretched, frightened-looking woman, and a scene ofindescribable misery was presented to my eyes. Around a table wereseated three or four brutish-looking men, with a jug and some glassesbefore them. On the table was a pack of greasy-looking cards; but thosewho surrounded the table were too far gone to play now; they could onlydrink, and sing, and shout, and drink again; and one of them, inattempting to rise from the table, fell, and lay in a state of utterhelplessness on the floor. "

"The man of the house was not so far gone as the rest; and when he camestaggering forward, a few words sufficed to explain the reason of myappearance. "

"His answer seemed to seal my fate. "

"'Ho! you're Rhoda, then! I wrote to you. I thought likely enough you'dgot some money. We're pretty hard up here. ' This was said with a sillylaugh and hiccough, which filled me with an indescribable loathing. "

"And was this miserable, bloated wretch my brother--that brother whom Ihad so longed and prayed once more to see, of whom I had thought by day, and dreamed by night, for so many long years! I turned to go withoutanother word, but fell at the door, and lay, I know not how long, without sense or motion. When I revived, I found the woman (who, Isuppose, was my sister-in-law) bathing my face. I have a dimrecollection, too, of seeing some dirty, miserable-looking children, andof being asked for _money_. I laid all that I had about me on the table, and, while they were eagerly catching for it, I left the wretched place;and grasping by the fence to steady my feeble footsteps, I made my wayback to the inn. I took the next stage, and then the boat, for the homeof my kind old friend at Springdale, and arrived there ill in body andmind. From there I wrote you, when partially recovered. As soon as I wasable, I began my school, and before long became much interested in mylittle scholars; and in the hospitable home of my kind old friends, regained tranquillity of mind, and after a time even cheerfulness. Butother trials awaited me. My head is weary, and I must rest before Irelate to you the remainder of my melancholy story. "

"There was a young physician in that place, who had recently come fromthe East, and settled there. He was a man of agreeable person andmanners, of much general information, and of very winning address; atleast, so he seemed to me. He was entirely different from all whom I hadmet in that new country, and was the only person, besides my old friendthe clergyman and his wife, with whom it was really pleasant toconverse; and I felt perfectly at ease in his society, having beenassured that he was engaged to a certain Miss G----, the daughter of amerchant in the village. Though much surprised at this, she havingappeared to me but a mere flippant gossip, and he a man of refined andcultivated intellect, still I had no reason to doubt it, and wascompletely taken by surprise when, after an acquaintance of a few weeks, he one day made an offer of his hand and heart to _me_. I told him whatI had heard of his engagement to another, but he assured me it was theidlest village gossip. 'There was nowhere else to go, ' he said, 'till Icame there, and so he had occasionally visited at Mr. G----'s, butwithout the slightest intention of paying any serious attention toeither of his daughters, who were girls not at all to his taste. '"

"The idea of this gentleman appearing in the character of a lover of_mine_ was so new to me that I was obliged to take time to accustommyself to it, and to ascertain the nature of my own feelings, which Isoon found were such as to satisfy me that I should commit no perjury ingiving him my hand. I will not tell you how I loved him! I cannot writeabout it now! But for a short time I was very, very happy, and even mybitter disappointments were forgotten. But suddenly he ceased to visitme. Day after day passed and he did not come; and yet I knew that he wasin the village. At length I could no longer conceal my distress from myold friend; who, being very indignant at this treatment, called mytruant lover to account. "

"My cheeks glow with indignation as I write it! A story had beencirculated, which was afterwards traced to the G---- 's, that I had lefta _husband_ in an Eastern State; and this man, without coming to me fora word of explanation, believed the story and deserted me. I had nofriend of long enough standing there to contradict the report; I wroteto you, Mr. Wharton, but the letter could never have reached you, for noanswer came; and this only confirmed the suspicions of those who hadheard this slanderous story. All but my kind hosts looked upon me withsuspicion; the object of the slander was accomplished; my former loverresumed his visits at the house of Mr. G----, and his attentions to hisdaughter. He was not worthy of a love like mine! Stranger as he had beento me, could I have believed a tale like that of him, without making aneffort to investigate its truth, or giving him full opportunity to clearhimself from the imputation? That place could no longer be a home forme. I left it, dear friends, and turned my face once more towards thosewho had been for so many years tried and true to me. But strengthfailed! I have been here I know not how many weeks, enduring torment ofmind and body. My hope of reaching you is dying out. I _have_ no hopebut in God; my friend and refuge in time of trouble! I have--'"

Here the writing ceased; and the next moment she had seen her faithlesslover hand his bride from the carriage, and reason fled from her poorbrain forever. 

The day after this letter was received found Mr. Wharton on his way tothe West, to ascertain for himself the condition of Miss Edwards, and toendeavor to devise some means for her comfort and restoration, ifpossible. Has my reader ever visited a _county house_, and especiallythe apartment devoted exclusively to Lunatics? If not, I will endeavorto describe a few of the sights which met the eyes of Mr. Wharton, onhis sad visit to the county house, which then stood a few milesfrom----. He proceeded thither in company with the physician who hadwritten to him, and sent him the package from Miss Edwards, and it waswith a heavy heart that he first saw the desolate brick building inwhich she had been placed, and thought, "Is this the only asylum for oneso lovely and so gifted, and must she wear out her days in hopelessmadness here?" Making their way through the crowd of miserable, hobbling, bandaged, blind and helpless creatures who were standing aboutthe yard and halls, Mr. Wharton and Dr. Masten, guided by thesuperintendent of the county house, paused before the door of the "crazyroom. " Sounds of many voices were already heard, in various tones, singing and shouting, and preaching, and when the door was opened thedin was such that it was impossible for the gentlemen to hear each otherspeak. 

What a place, thought Mr. Wharton, for those who should be kept quietand tranquil, and who should have nothing about them but pleasant, cheerful sights. What possible hope is there of the restoration of anyhere!

About the large and not over clean room, were a number of _cages_, muchlike those you now see placed around a menagerie tent, though not solarge or so comfortable as these cages of wild beasts. In each of thesecages was confined a human being, and these poor creatures stricken bythe hand of God, were in various stages of insanity, some wildly raving, others more quiet, and others still in a state of helpless idiocy. Onepoor creature had preached till her voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, and so she continued to preach, the keeper told them, day and night, till utterly exhausted, when she would fall into a state ofinsensibility, which could hardly be called _sleep_, but from which shewould arouse to preach again, day and night, till again exhausted. 

A boy about sixteen years of age sat in one of the cages, with scarcelya rag to cover him, idly pulling through his fingers a bit of cord. Thishad been his employment for months, the keeper said. He was perfectlyquiet, except the cord was taken from him; but then he would be quitefrantic. The ends of his fingers were quite worn with drawing this cordbetween them, and it was necessary to supply him constantly with a newbit of cord. When asked why the boy remained nearly naked, the keepersaid, they had never been able to devise any means to keep clothingupon him, or to find anything strong enough to resist the strength ofhis hands; but if allowed to remain in a state almost of nudity, and tohave his bit of cord, he was perfectly quiet and contented. 

These, and many more sad and horrible things, were seen and heard duringtheir visit; but Mr. Wharton's first object was to find her for whosesake he had undertaken this long journey. He knew her immediately, though her face was worn with trouble and sickness, and there was anintense and unnatural brightness about her eye. Her beautiful hair wasunbound, and falling about her shoulders, as she sat in the farthestcorner of her cage, perfectly quiet, and entirely unoccupied. 

"Rhoda!" said Mr. Wharton, gently. She started, and put back her thickhair from her ear, at the sound of his familiar voice. 

"Rhoda!" said he, "don't you remember me?"

She looked at him intently, and the expression of her eye began tochange. 

"The children want to see you so much, Rhoda! Emily and Effie, andAgnes and little Grace. " He mentioned each name slowly and distinctly, and then spoke of his wife and the other children, and mentioned scenesand incidents connected with his home. Her eye still looked with anearnest gaze into his; her brow contracted, as if she was trying torecall some long forgotten thing; until at length, with the helplessnessof an infant, she stretched her arms towards Mr. Wharton, and exclaimed, piteously:

"Oh, take me away!--take me to my home!"

"You shall go with me, Rhoda; I will not leave you here, " said Mr. Wharton; and beckoning to Dr. Masten, he left the room. As he reachedthe door, he heard a cry of agony, and turning, he saw Miss Edwards atthe front of her cage, with both arms extended towards him through thebars, and the most agonized, imploring expression upon her face. Stepping back to her, he said:

"Rhoda, I _will not_ leave you. Be quiet, and I will come back verysoon to take you with me. Did I ever deceive you, Rhoda?"

"Oh!" said she, putting her hand to her head, "they have all deceivedme. Richard deceived me! _He_ deceived me!--oh, so cruelly! Who can Itrust? They all desert me. I am _all, all_ alone!" And she sat down; anddropping her head upon her knees, she wept very bitterly. 

When Mr. Wharton had again called the doctor from the room, he said tohim:

"Doctor, this does not seem to me such a hopeless case. How any saneperson could retain his senses in that awful scene, I cannot imagine; Iam sure I should soon go crazy myself. But could I once remove MissEdwards from these terrible associations, and place her in one of ourEastern asylums, where she might have cheerful companionships, andpleasant occupation for her mind and fingers, I doubt not she might becompletely restored. "

The doctor thought it possible, but was not so sanguine on the subjectas Mr. Wharton, who, he said, had only seen the young lady in one ofher calmer moods. Still he by all means advised the trial. "We have nohope of _cure_" said he, "in placing these lunatics in the County House;the only object is to keep them from injuring themselves or others. Theyare all of them from the families of the poor, who cannot afford to sendthem to an Eastern asylum. This young lady was a stranger, and withoutmeans, and so violent, at times, that restraint was absolutelynecessary; so that the only thing we could do with her was to place herhere till I could write to you. "

"You did the very best that could be done under the circumstances, mydear sir, " answered Mr. Wharton; "but I sincerely hope the day is notfar distant when your State will possess a more comfortable home thanthis for those afflicted as these poor creatures are. But I feel as if Icould not lose a moment in removing my young friend from this place; andif you, doctor, will be so kind as to take the journey with me, and aidme in the care of her, you shall be well rewarded for your loss oftime. "

It was with no great difficulty that this undertaking was accomplished;and in less than a fortnight from the time when Mr. Wharton found MissEdwards, caged like a wild beast in the County House at----, she wasplaced at an asylum where every comfort surrounded her. It was not longbefore she seemed quite at home amid these new scenes, and began tointerest herself in books and work; and though her mind never fullyregained its tone, she yet seemed tranquil and happy. But the scenes oftrial through which she had passed had done their work upon herconstitution, and she sank rapidly, until, in a little less than a yearfrom the time of her entering the asylum, Mr. Wharton was summoned toher death-bed. He arrived but a short time before she breathed her last, and had the satisfaction to find that she knew him, to hear from her ownlips the assurance that her faith in her Redeemer was firm and unshaken, and to bear her last kind messages to all the dear ones at Brook Farm. And then the poor sad heart was still--the mind was bright and clearagain--for the shattered strings were tuned anew in heaven. 

In a quiet nook at Brook Farm, where the willow bends, and the brookmurmurs, is a spot marked out for a burying-place, and the first stoneplanted there bears on it the name of "Rhoda Edwards. "

IX. 

Emily's Trials. 

 "And dost thou ask what secret woe I bear, corroding joy and youth? And wilt thou vainly seek to know A pang, even thou must fail to soothe?"--BYRON. 

In the meantime the education of Master Lewie was going on as best itmight, and in a manner most agreeable to that young gentleman'sinclinations. When he chose to do so, he studied, and then no childcould make more rapid advancement than he, but as he was brought upwithout any habits of regular application, study soon became distastefulto him, and at the first puzzling sentence he threw aside his books indisgust, and started off for play. The only thing he really loved, wasmusic, and in his devotion to this delightful accomplishment he wasindefatigable, and his proficiency at that tender age was remarkable. 

But being now nine or ten years old, his mother, urged to this courseby some pretty strong hints from Mr. Wharton, began to determine uponsome systematic plan of education for him. And, acting upon Mr. Wharton's advice, she was so happy as to secure the services of Mr. Malcolm, the young clergyman at the village, as a tutor for Lewie, uponthe condition on his part, that unlimited authority, in no case to beinterfered with, should be given to him in his government of thehitherto untrained and petted child. 

And so it was settled, that Mr. Malcolm should ride over from thevillage every morning at a certain hour, and attend to the education oflittle Lewie Elwyn. It was soon observed, that as the young clergymanrode from the Hemlocks back to the village, it seemed a difficult matterfor him to pass Mr. Wharton's lane, but he often, and then oftener, andat length every day, turned his horse's head up the lane, and stopped tomake a call. And the children (than whom there are no quicker observersin matters of this kind) soon made up their minds that the object ofMr. Malcolm's frequent and prolonged visits was sweet cousin Emily. Andthey thought too, judging by the bright blush that came up in cousinEmily's usually pale cheek when he was announced, and by the look ofinterest with which she listened to his conversations with her uncle, orreplied to him when he addressed a remark to herself, that cousin Emilywas by no means indifferent to the young minister. 

Having drawn their own conclusions from these premises, and watchingwith much interest, as children always do the progress of a love affair, they were surprised and disappointed when they found that as Mr. Malcolm's attentions increased and became more pointed, cousin Emilygradually withdrew from his society, and often declined altogether tocome into the sitting room when he was there. Yet they were certain sheliked him, for they often found her watching from her window hisretreating figure; and sometimes before she knew that she was observed, she would be seen to wipe away the tears which were stealing unbiddendown her cheek. 

At length, one day, the minister came, and as he walked up the steps ofthe front piazza, those who caught sight of his face, saw that it waspale and agitated, and that he looked as if important matters for himwere at stake. And he asked for Emily. There was no bright blush in hercheek now as she descended the stairs; it was pale and cold as marble. The interview was a long one, and when at length Mr. Malcolm mounted hishorse and rode slowly away, his face was as white as when he came, butthe look of suspense and expectation had passed away, and in its placewas that of settled and fixed despair. Emily went to her room, and toher bed, which she did not leave for some days; when she again appearedin the family she was calm and sweet as ever, but a shade more pensive. 

And the young minister came no more. That was all. 

He was sometimes seen in the distant road riding rapidly by, to or fromthe Hemlocks, but though the horse from long custom, invariably turnedhis head towards Mr. Wharton's lane, he was not permitted to follow hisinclinations, but was speedily hurried by. 

And Emily grew paler and thinner day by day, and there was sometimes acontraction about the brow which told of intense suffering; andsometimes, early in the evening she would leave the parlor, and notappear again for the remainder of the evening. On one of these occasionsAgnes followed her, as she had observed the deadly paleness of hercountenance, and feared she would faint before she reached her room. AsEmily ascended the stairs, Agnes thought she heard groans, as of one inextreme pain. Emily closed her door and Agnes stood upon the outside;and now the groans were plainly to be distinguished. 

"Cousin Emily, " Agnes called, "dear cousin Emily, may I come in?"

There was no answer, but those same deep groans and now and then aplaintive moaning. Agnes opened the door gently, and saw Emily upon herknees, and yet writhing as if in intense agony. She seemed to be tryingto pray, and Agnes caught the words, "Oh, for strength, for strength toendure this agony, and not to murmur. "

Putting her arm around her, Agnes said: "What is it, cousin Emily? Canyou not tell _me_?"

Emily started at finding that she was not alone, and then said:

"Help me to rise, Agnes, and hand me those drops. I am glad that it isyou: better you than any of the others. Fasten the door, Agnes. "

Emily reclined upon the sofa, weak and exhausted, the cold beads ofperspiration standing on her brow. Agnes sat in silence beside her, holding her thin white hands in hers. At length Emily said:

"Agnes, I try to be patient; I make an endeavor even to be cheerful; butI am indeed a great sufferer, and the anguish I endure seems, at times, more than mortal frame can bear. It is only by escaping to the solitudeof my own room, to endure the agony in secret, that I am enabled tokeep it to myself. I am obliged to practice evasion to escape aunty'sanxious interrogatories; for, in her present state of health, I wouldnot for the world cause her the anxiety and trouble which the knowledgeof my sufferings would bring upon her. "

Then, with frequent pauses for rest, Emily told the weeping Agnes _all_. 

"And now, " said she, "dear Agnes, you are very young for scenes likethis; but I know that you possess uncommon nerve and courage. Can you, do you think, sit by my side, and hold my hand through a painfuloperation? I _can_ endure it alone, dear, and I intended to; but asaccident has revealed my sufferings to you, I feel that it would be acomfort to me to have my hand in that of one I love at that time. "

"I _think_ I can, cousin Emily. I believe I could do _anything_ for you, dear cousin Emily. "

"I do not want aunty and uncle to know of this till it is all over, Agnes. They go to the Springs to-morrow, to remain some days, as youknow: and I have arranged with Dr. Rodney to come while they are gone, and bring a surgeon from the city, and it will all be over before theyreturn. "

"And is there no _danger_, cousin Emily?"

"Danger of what, dear?--of death? Oh yes; the chances are many againstme; and even if the operation is safely performed, it may not arrest thedisease. But to one who suffers the torture which it is the will ofHeaven that I should bear, speedy death would only be a happy release. And yet, Agnes, do not misunderstand me; I would not for the world doanything to shorten my life of suffering. Oh no! 'All the years of myappointed time will I wait till my change come. ' The course I am goingto pursue is advised by the physicians, and it may be the means ofrestoration to health, at least for some years. Agnes, pray for me. "

When Mrs. Wharton kissed Emily for good-bye, and told her to be a goodgirl, and take care of her health, she little imagined the sufferingthrough which her gentle niece was to pass before they met again. Noone dreamed of it but Agnes. 

The next day, in answer to a message from Emily, the physicians came. They found her courageous and cheerful; for she was sustained by an armall-powerful. Strength was given to her for the day and the occasion; awonderful fortitude sustained her; and the precious promise was verifiedto her--"When thou goest through the waters, I will be with thee. "

And Agnes, who sat with one hand over her eyes, and the other claspingthat of Emily, knew only by a sudden and long-continued pressure of thehand that the knife was doing its work. There was not a groan--only onelong-drawn sigh--and it was over; and the result was better than theirmost sanguine hopes. 

Mrs. Wharton returned, after an absence necessarily prolonged to someweeks. She found Emily sitting on the sofa, looking much as she had donewhen they parted; and it was not till long afterward that she discoveredwhat had been the cause of Emily's illness, and learned how much shehad endured. She understood many things now which had been mysteries toher before, realizing, in some degree, the torment of mind and bodythrough which this gentle one had passed, and the reason of the biddingdown of the tenderest feelings of her heart. 

Poor Emily! None but He who seeth in secret had known the agony whichwrung thy loving heart to its very depths, causing even the keen tortureof physical suffering to be at times forgotten. But He can, and He_does_, give strength for the occasion, whatever it may be, and howeversore the trial; and leaning on His arm, His people pass securely throughfires of tribulation, which, in the prospect, would seem utterlyunendurable, and come out purified, even as gold from the furnace. 

X. 

The Tutor and the Pupil. 

 "Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. "--HENRY VI. 

Mr. Wharton had endeavored to give Mr. Malcolm a correct understandingof the nature of the case he was about to undertake, in becoming theinstructor of the spoiled and wayward Lewie. He told him of his naturalgood qualities, never suffered to develop themselves, and of the manyevil ones, fostered and encouraged by the unwise indulgence of his fondand foolish mother. And yet, when the young clergyman had fairly enteredupon his duties as tutor at the Hemlocks, he found, that "the half hadnot been told him. "

Lewie chafed and fretted under the slightest restraint, and had not theremotest idea of doing anything that was not in all respects agreeableto his own inclinations. The idea of compulsion was so new to him, thathe was overwhelmed with amazement one day, when his tutor (after tryingvarious means to induce him to learn a particular lesson) finally toldhim that that lesson must be learned, and recited, before he could leavethe library. Master Lewie, fully determined in his own mind to ascertainwhose will was the strongest, and whose resolution would soonest giveout, now openly rebelled, and informed his master that "he would _not_learn that lesson. "

With his handsome face flushed with passion, he struggled from histutor, rushed to the door, and endeavored to open it; but Mr. Malcolmwas before-hand with him, and quietly turning the key in the lock, andputting it in his pocket, he walked back to the table. The frantic boynow endeavored to open the windows and spring out, but being foiled inthis attempt likewise, as they were securely fastened, he threw himselfupon the floor as he had been in the habit of doing when crossed, eversince his baby-hood, and screamed with all the strength of baffled rage. 

His anxious mother was at the door in an instant, demanding admittance. Mr. Malcolm unfastened the door, stepped out to her in the hall, andgave her a faithful account of her son's conduct during the morning. "And now, Mrs. Elwyn, " said he, "the promise was, that I was not to beinterfered with in my government of your son. As long as he hears yourvoice at the door, and knows that he has your sympathy on his side, hewill continue obstinate and rebellious. "

"But, Mr. Malcolm, excuse me, but you do not know how to manage him, youshould soothe and coax him; he will not be driven. Oh, I cannot bear tohear him scream so, " she exclaimed, as a louder roar from Lewie reachedher ears; "Oh, Mr. Malcolm, I must go to him. "

"Not unless you desire, madam, that I should resign at once, andforever, the charge of your son, " said Mr. Malcolm, laying his hand uponthe lock to prevent her carrying her purpose into execution. "I havespent this whole morning, " he continued, "in expostulation andpersuasion, and in endeavoring, as I always do, to make the lessonsplain and interesting to my pupil; but Lewie is in one of his perversehumors, and nothing but decision as unyielding as his own obstinacy, will conquer him. If you will return to your own room and allow me thesole management of him, I will remain here to-day till I have subduedhim, if the thing is possible. "

"You will not use _severity_, Mr. Malcolm, " said the weeping mother. 

"Never in the way of corporeal punishment, madam. When I cannot govern apupil without having recourse to such means, I will abandon him. But Imust stipulate that untill Lewie submits, and learns that lesson, whichhe could easily learn in a few minutes, if he chose, he goes withoutfood, and remains in the library with me. I am deeply interested in yourson, Mrs. Elwyn; he is a boy of fine talents, and of too many goodqualities of heart, to be allowed to go to destruction. I would savehim if I can, but he must be left to me. I have the hope of yet seeinghim a noble and useful character, but I must do it in my own way. "

Mrs. Elwyn silently acquiesced, and withdrew to her own room verywretched. If she had been willing to inflict upon herself one tithe ofthe pain she suffered now, in controlling her son in his infancy, howdifferent he might have been, as he grew up towards manhood. 

Mr. Malcolm returned to the library, and told Lewie that his mother haddecided to leave them settle this matter between themselves. He shouldremain there, he said; he could employ himself very agreeably with thebooks. Lewie might lie on the floor and scream, or get up and study; butuntil that lesson was learned, he would not leave the library, or tastea morsel of food. 

The shrieks were now renewed in a louder and more agonized tone thanever, and were plainly heard in Mrs. Elwyn's sitting-room, where, in astate bordering on distraction, she was hurriedly pacing the floor, attimes almost determined to insist upon being admitted to the library, that she might take her unhappy son to her arms, and dismiss hisinexorable tutor; and then deterred from this course by the promise shehad made, and the deep respect which she could not but feel for theyoung minister. She could not but confess, too, in her inmost heart, that this discipline was really for the good of her passionate boy, though the means resorted to seemed to her severe. Of the two, she wasmore wretched than Lewie, who really had no small sense of enjoyment, inthe consciousness of the pain and annoyance he was causing to others. 

The screams now ceased, and the anxious mother really hoped that Lewiewas about to comply with his tutor's wishes, and that she should soonclasp him to her breast, wipe away his tears, and soothe his troubledheart. She was already, in her mind, planning some reward for him forcondescending at length to yield his stubborn will. But the quiet wasonly in consequence of the utter exhaustion of Master Lewie's lungs, andhe took refuge in a dogged silence, still rolling on the floor. Mr. Malcolm sat reading, as much at his ease, and apparently with as muchinterest, as if he were the only occupant of the library. 

At last the young rebel was made aware, by certain ringing sounds, anddivers savory odors, that the hour of dinner had arrived; and hisappetite being considerably sharpened by the excitement through which hehad passed, he began to entertain the suspicion that he had been ratherfoolish in holding out so long in his obstinacy. He really wished thathe had learned the lesson, and was free for the afternoon; but how tocome down was the puzzle now. He determined to be as ugly about it aspossible, thinking that his tutor might be pretty weary by that time aswell as he, and might hail joyfully any tokens of submission. 

So Master Lewie began to call out:

"I want my dinner!"

"What is that, Lewie?" said Mr. Malcolm, looking up quietly from hisbook. 

"I want my _dinner_, I tell you!" roared Lewie. 

Pushing his book towards him, Mr. Malcolm said, in a quiet, determinedmanner:

"You know the conditions, Lewie, on which you leave this room: they willnot change, if we remain here together till to-morrow morning. Thislesson must be learned and recited perfectly, before you taste anyfood. "

Lewie murmured that "there was one good thing--his teacher would have tofast too. "

"As for me, I never take but two meals a day, " said Mr. Malcolm; "I canwait till five o'clock very well for my dinner; and should I be veryhungry, your mother will doubtless give me something to eat. "

Through most of the afternoon, Lewie sat scrawling figures with hispencil on some paper which was lying near, and really beginning tosuffer from the "keen demands of appetite. " After sitting thus an houror two, he suddenly said:

"Give me the book, then, if there is no other way! I can learn thatlesson in five minutes, if I have a mind. "

"I know that, Lewie, " said his tutor; "no one can learn quicker orbetter than you, when you choose; but you cannot have this book till youask me for it in a different way. "

It took another hour of sulking before Master Lewie's pride could besufficiently humbled to admit of his asking in a civil tone for thebook; but hunger, which has reduced the defenders of many a strongfortress, at last brought even this obstinate young gentleman to terms. The book was handed him, on being properly asked for, and in a very fewminutes the lesson was learned, and recited without a mistake. Lewieevidently expected a vast amount of commendation from his teacher, buthe received nothing of the kind. Mr. Malcolm only endeavored to make himunderstand how much trouble he might have saved himself by attention tohis studies in the morning, and then talked to him very seriously forsome moments upon the folly and wickedness of giving way to such afurious temper, endeavoring to point out some of the results to which itwould be likely to lead him. 

One would think that two or three such contests with his tutor, in eachof which he was finally obliged to yield, would have taught our littlehero _who_ was the master, and would have led him, by timely compliance, to avoid the recurrence of such scenes. But no! he was so unaccustomedto having his will thwarted in any particular, that it seemed almost animpossibility for him to submit to have it crossed. The moment anythingoccurred in opposition to his wishes, his strong will rose rebellious;and having been accustomed to carry all before it, could only with theutmost difficulty, and after a terrible struggle, be controlled. 

His kind and judicious tutor, to whom the task of instructing so waywarda youth was by no means a pleasant one, was urged to a continuance ofhis labors only by a stern sense of duty; having at heart the best goodof his pupil, and humbly trusting that, with the blessing of God uponhis efforts, he might be able at length to teach him to exercise somecontrol over himself. This might possibly have been effected, perhaps, but for the unwise indulgence and sympathy of his foolishly-fondmother, who was ever at hand, when Mr. Malcolm left, to listen to herson's tale of grievances, by which he sometimes succeeded in convincingher that he was most unjustly and cruelly treated. 

Lewie had become tired of the loneliness and quiet of his country home, and wished to be among other boys, and particularly to go to the schoolat which his cousins, the young Whartons, had been placed. They hadlately been home for a vacation, and he had heard much of the _fun_ theyenjoyed at school; in comparison with which, his quiet life with hismother, and under the care of his tutor, seemed very tame and dull. Henow became more restive and impatient under control, and seemeddetermined to weary out his kind tutor, in the hope that he wouldvoluntarily relinquish his charge. In the meantime, he continued to givehis mother no rest on the subject of Dr. Hamilton's school; and she, poor woman, knew not what course to take, between her desire to pleaseher importunate son, and her dislike to offend Mr. Malcolm. 

At last, however, as usual, Lewie conquered; and rushing out of onedoor, as he saw Mr. Malcolm enter at the other, he left his mother toinform the young minister that he was no longer to be tutor there. Asfar as his own comfort was concerned, this dismissal was a great reliefto Mr. Malcolm; but, as he told Mrs. Elwyn, he feared that her troubleswould not be lessened, but rather increased, by sending Lewie to apublic school. He had never been much among other boys; and he wouldfind his own inclinations crossed many times a day, not only byteachers, but by schoolmates, who would have no more idea of alwaysgiving up their own will than Lewie himself had, and constant troublemight be the result. 

All this Mrs. Elwyn admitted; but what could she do? She was like a reedin the wind before the might of Lewie's determination, and he knew it. Ah! she was learning already that "A child left to himself bringeth hismother to shame" and sorrow; and it was with the deepest mortificationthat she was obliged to confess that she had suffered the golden hoursof infancy to slip by, without acquiring over her son's mind thatinfluence which every mother should and may possess. The opportunity, alas! was now lost forever. Her son had neither respect for herauthority, or regard for her wishes. 

XI. 

Ruth Glen. 

 "The more I looked, I wondered more-- And while I scanned it o'er and o'er A moment gave me to espy A trouble in her strong black eye; A remnant of uneasy light, A flash of something over bright; Not long this mystery did detain My thoughts--she told in pensive strain That she had borne a heavy yoke, Been stricken by a two-fold stroke; Ill health of body; and had pined Beneath worse ailments of the mind. "

 WORDSWORTH. 

It had been determined ever since poor Miss Edwards left the Wharton's, that the girls should be sent to the city, to boarding school, and itwas without much difficulty that Mr. Wharton succeeded in obtaining Mrs. Elwyn's consent to his sending Agnes with them, that the cousins mightcontinue their education together. Indeed, as I have before intimated, Mrs. Elwyn always listened, and answered with the utmost indifference, when any plan respecting her daughter was proposed to her. She supposed, rightly enough, that her own means might be required for the support ofherself and Lewie, (for she intended to close her house and accompanyLewie to Stanwick, ) and as Mr. Wharton seemed anxious to take the careof Agnes from her hands, and she knew he could well afford to do so, shemade no objection whatever to the proposed plan. In short, Mr. And Mrs. Wharton regarded this lovely girl, thus cast off and neglected by heronly natural protector, as their own, and cherished her accordingly. 

Mrs. Wharton's health, which had delayed, for some months, the departureof the girls for the city, now seemed fully re-established; Emily, also, seemed better than she had done for years, and it was with light hearts, and many pleasant anticipations, that the three cousins, under the careof Mr. Wharton, started, for the first time, for school. At about thesame time, Lewie, accompanied by his mother, went to Stanwick, andbegan his school life under the care of Dr. Hamilton. 

The boarding-school at which Agnes and her cousins were placed, wasunder the superintendence of Mrs. Arlington and her daughters, ladieswho had received a most thorough education in England, and who had longkept an extensive and popular boarding-school there. The hope of passingher declining days in the society of an only son, who had some yearsbefore emigrated to America, induced Mrs. Arlington, accompanied by herdaughters, to follow him, and though it pleased Providence to removethis idolized son and brother, by death, in a little more than a yearafter their reunion in this country, the mother and daughters determinedto remain, and continue their vocation here, where they had veryflattering hopes of success. 

Mr. And Mrs. Wharton had long known and esteemed these estimable ladies, and though, in many respects, opposed to boarding-schools in general, yet, as there seemed, at present, no other means for the girls toacquire an education, but by sending them from home, they thought that amore unexceptionable place could not be provided for them than Mrs. Arlington's school. 

Mrs. Arlington, though a woman of more than sixty years of age, stillpossessed an erect and queen-like figure, a most dignified and statelyappearance, and a face of remarkable beauty. She commanded respect atfirst sight, and there was no punishment greater for her pupils, than tobe reported to Mrs. Arlington, and to be obliged to meet her face toface, to receive a reprimand. Her three daughters, Miss Susan, MissSophie, and Miss Emma, taught in different departments of the school, and were in every respect most admirably fitted for their differentstations. Miss Emma taught music; Miss Sophie, French and drawing; whileMrs. Arlington and her eldest daughter attended solely to the more solidbranches of education. 

It took some little time, of course, before our young friends felt athome in so strange a place, and among so many new faces. But many ofthe older scholars, who had been long in the school, were very kind incoming forward to make their acquaintance, and endeavor to do away thefeeling of awkwardness, ever an attendant upon the introduction toscenes so untried and new. Grace and Effie were very shy and silent atfirst, but the peculiarly sweet and unaffected friendliness of Agnes'manner, won every heart immediately. The younger scholars, especially, seemed to love her the moment she spoke to them, and to feel as if inher they should ever find a friend. 

Agnes and her cousins were placed in a large room in the third story;this room contained three beds, one of which was taken possession of byGrace and Effie, another was occupied by two little girls, of the namesof Carrie and Ella Holt and Agnes was, for the present, alone. Mrs. Wilkins, the housekeeper, informed her, however, that Mrs. Arlingtonexpected a new scholar soon, who was to be her bed-fellow. For somereason or other, the new scholar did not arrive at the time expected, and it was not till Agnes and her cousins had been some weeks at theschool, and had began to feel quite at home there, that they were madeaware, by the advent of an old hair trunk and a band-box, that the sixthoccupant of their room had arrived. 

The new scholar's name was Ruth Glenn. She was a strange-looking girl;very tall and thin, with a pale, greenish cast of complexion; coal-blackeyes, very much sunken in her head; hair as black as her eyes, andcolorless lips. When she smiled, which was very seldom, she displayed afine set of teeth, her only redeeming feature. Her manners were asstrange as her appearance. When she spoke, which was only whenabsolutely necessary, or in reciting her lesson, there was a constantnervous twitching about her bloodless lips; and she had a peculiar wayof pulling at her long, thin fingers, as if it was her full intention topull them off. 

We cannot help being influenced by first impressions; and though Agnesfelt the sincerest pity for this strange, awkward, shy girl, and didher best to make her feel at her ease, she could not but feel sorry thatshe was to be her bed-fellow. Ruth Glenn sat by herself in theschool-room, always intently occupied with her book, having nocommunication with her school-mates, and always seizing on the moment ofdismissal from the school-room to retire to her own apartment. And yet, as far as the girls could judge, she was full of kindness and generosityof feeling, evinced by many little quiet acts which one school-mate mayalways find it in her power to do for another. 

One night, the third or fourth after the arrival of Ruth Glenn at theschool, the girls sleeping in the room with her were suddenly arousedfrom sleep by loud and piercing screams from little Carrie Holt. Agnessprang up, and was by her side in a moment. As she left her bed sheperceived that Miss Glenn was not there. 

"What is the matter, Carrie? Why do you scream so, dear?" asked Agnes. 

"Oh, Miss Elwyn!--that tall, white figure!--that tall, white figure! Itcame and stood by me, and laid its cold white hand right on my face. Itwas a ghost--I know it was--I saw it so plain in the moonlight. Oh, don't leave me!--don't leave me, Miss Elwyn! It will come again!" Andthe trembling child clung with both arms tightly around Agnes. 

"I will not leave the room, Carrie, " said Agnes; "but I must find outwhat has frightened you so. There are no such things as ghosts, Carrie:you have been dreaming. "

"Oh no, Miss Elwyn, I did not dream that!" sobbed little Carrie; "I washaving a beautiful dream about ho-o-o-me and mother, when that cold handcame on my cheek, and I opened my eyes, and saw that tall, white figure. Oh, it had such great hollow eyes! I saw them so plain in themoonlight!"

"Now lie down, dear little Carrie, till I find out what all this means, "said Agnes. The weeping child obeyed, hugging up close to her littlesister for protection. 

The light had been taken away at ten o'clock, as was the invariablecustom at Mrs. Arlington's; but Agnes opened both shutters, and admittedthe bright moonlight into the room, making every object to be discernedalmost as plainly as in the day-time. She then stepped to her own bed. Miss Glenn certainly was not there. She went to the door of her room, and found it locked on the inside, as she had left it when she went tobed. Miss Glenn, then, must still be in the room. Agnes walked aroundit, carefully examining every object: she then went into the closet, andfelt carefully all around the walls. She began to think there wassomething very strange in all this; and the other girls, all of whom hadbeen wide awake ever since they were aroused by the screams of littleCarrie, were sitting up in their beds in a great state of agitation andalarm. 

"I will not stay in this room another night!" said little Carrie; "Iwish we dared to go down to Mrs. Arlington. Let's all go down togetherto Miss Emma, and ask her to come up here. "

"No, no; hush, children!" said Agnes. Then she called, as loudly as shedared, without awaking those in the neighboring rooms:

"Miss Glenn! Miss Glenn! where are you?"

"Here I am! What do you want of me?" answered a smothered voice. 

"Mercy on us!" shrieked Carrie and Ella in a breath, and springing withone bound on to the floor--"mercy on us! she is under our bed!"

Agnes looked under the bed, and could just distinguish something white, huddled up in one corner under the head of the bed. 

"Miss Glenn! what do you mean?" exclaimed Agnes, in a tone of amazement. "Are you trying to frighten these poor children? Come out heredirectly. "

With all Agnes' gentleness, she had sufficient spirit when roused, andshe was now really indignant at what she supposed was a cruel attempt tofrighten little Carrie and Ella. Ruth Glenn was three or four yearsolder than Agnes, but yet she submitted at once to the tone of authorityin which she was addressed, and came crawling out from under the bed. 

"I think it's a little too bad, " said the trembling little sisters, crying and talking together; "it's real mean, to wake us up, andfrighten us so. I mean to tell Mrs. Arlington of you to-morrow, MissGlenn. I know our mother won't let us stay here to be frightened so!"

Ruth Glenn sat down on the edge of her own bed and said nothing, butAgnes noticed that she shivered, as if with cold. 

"Come, Miss Glenn, lie down, " said Agnes, "and let us see if we can havequiet for the rest of the night; we shall none of us be fit for studyto-morrow, I fear. "

Ruth Glenn obeyed quietly, and was soon asleep, but the others had beenso agitated that it was a long time before their minds were sufficientlycalmed for repose. When startled by the rising bell, they got up tiredand unrefreshed, and with no very amiable feelings towards the author ofthe disturbance in the night. Miss Glenn went about dressing as quietlyas usual, saying nothing to any one; till little Ella, who was aspirited little thing, just as she was leaving the room, turned aboutand said:

"Now, Miss Glenn! I am going right down to tell Mrs. Arlington aboutyou. "

To the surprise of all, this cold silent girl sat down on the bed, andwringing her hands, and rocking back and forth, and crying mostpiteously, she begged little Ella not to tell of her. 

"I will do anything I can for you, Ella, " said she, "I will help you inyour lessons, whenever you want any help; only don't tell Mrs. Arlington; she will send me away perhaps, and then what shall I do!" Shethen implored Agnes to use her influence with the little girls, and hercousins, to ensure their silence on the subject, promising not todisturb them again, if she could help it. 

"I don't know what I went to your bed for, Carrie, " she said, "I did notwant to frighten you. "

"Why did you act so strangely then, Miss Glenn?" asked Agnes, "were youasleep?"

"I don't know; I cannot tell; don't ask me;" was all they could get fromMiss Glenn, who continued to weep and wring her hands. 

Though apparently very poor, Miss Glenn possessed some few rare andcurious things, which she said her father, who had been a sea-captain, had brought her from other countries, and by means of some of these, shesucceeded in securing the silence of the little girls. Grace and Effiewere easily induced by the remonstrances of Agnes, and partly by pityfor Miss Glenn's evident distress, to promise not to betray her. None ofthe occupants of that room felt fit for study that day, except MissGlenn. She sat alone, as usual, and studied as perseveringly as ever. This was only the beginning of a series of nocturnal performances, continued almost every night, with every morning a repetition of thesame scene of begging and remonstrance with her room-mates, to persuadethem not to betray her to Mrs. Arlington. Sometimes, as Miss Glenn wasquietly leaving her bed, Agnes would wake and follow her, determined tosee what she would do, and to prevent, if possible, her waking the othergirls. At times she would seat herself upon a chest in one corner of theroom, and commence a conversation with some imaginary individual nearher; then she would move silently round the room, and sitting down insome other part of it, would talk again, as if in conversation with somelady next her. Then she would open the window very quietly, and look up, and down, and around, talking all the time in a low tone, but in a muchmore lively and animated manner than was usual with her in the day-time. She would sometimes cross over to the bed where Grace and Effie Whartonwere sleeping, but just as she was about laying her hand on one of them, Agnes would touch her, and ask her what she meant by wandering about sonight after night, and tell her to come directly back to bed. 

"Oh, " Miss Glenn would answer quietly, "I have only been talking to theladies, and holding a little conversation with the moon and stars--don'tmind me--go to bed--I will come. "

But Agnes would answer resolutely, "No, Miss Glenn, I will not leave you to frighten the girls again; youmust come back to bed with me, and let me hold your hand tightly inmine. " And Miss Glenn would obey immediately. 

When the moon was shining brightly into the room, these performances ofMiss Glenn's were only annoying, but when the nights were very dark, andnothing could be seen in the room, it was really horrible to hear thisstrange girl chattering and mumbling, now in one corner, now in another, sometimes in the closet, sometimes under the beds; and one night, in afearful thunder-storm, she seemed to be terribly excited, and when thelightning flashed upon the walls, the shadow of her figure could be seenstrangely exaggerated, performing all manner of wild antics. 

This conduct of Miss Glenn's puzzled Agnes exceedingly: she could notdecide in her own mind whether the girl was trying to frighten them, whether she was asleep, or whether she had turns of derangement atnight. Neither of these suppositions seemed exactly to account for hersingular actions. Her evident, and, Agnes doubted not, real distress, atthe possibility of Mrs. Arlington being informed of her nocturnalperformances, and the sacrifices of every kind that she was willing tomake to ensure silence, convinced Agnes that it was not done merely toalarm them; her vivid remembrance of all that she had said or done inthe night, and her answering questions, and coming to bed so readilywhen addressed by Agnes, without any appearance of waking up, led her tosuppose it was not somnambulism; and as Miss Glenn never showed any signof wandering of mind in the day time, Agnes could not suppose it to bederangement. Miss Glenn was a perfect enigma; night after nightdisturbing her room-mates with her strange performances, and everymorning going over the same scene of earnest expostulation and entreaty, accompanied by violent weeping, to induce them not to betray her toMrs. Arlington. Poor little Carrie and Ella kept the secret bravely, though, on the night of the thunder-storm, they were so terrified byMiss Glenn's conduct, that, wrapping themselves in the bed-blankets, andpersuading Agnes to lock the door after them, they went out, and satupon the stairs till morning. The very next day, two sisters who sleptin another room received tidings of the death of their mother, whichhurried them home; and as they were not to return that quarter, littleCarrie and Ella, with Agnes to intercede for them, requested to beallowed to take their vacated place. Mrs. Arlington readily acquiesced, as, she said, it would be much better to have four in each room. 

Thus things went on, till, one night, Agnes was horror-stricken to findthat Miss Glenn was endeavoring to climb out of the window. As I havesaid, they were in the third story of the building; and the distance tothe ground being very great, the unfortunate girl would inevitably havebeen dashed to pieces upon the flag stones below, had not Agnessuddenly caught her, and, with a strength that astonished herself, succeeded in drawing her back into the room. 

The terror and agitation into which Agnes was thrown by thiscircumstance determined her to do something decisive the very next day;she was now convinced that it was her duty, and resolved to do it, inspite of Miss Glenn's tears and persuasions. She thought it right, however, in the first place, to acquaint Miss Glenn with herdetermination, and began by informing her, when they were alone the nextmorning, of the imminent danger from which she had been so fortunate asto save her in the night. Ruth Glenn seemed to remember it all, andshuddered as she thought of it. 

"Now, Ruth, " said Agnes, "I really think we have all kept silence aslong as could be expected, or as it is _right_ that we should. You willbear witness that we have endured very patiently all this nightlydisturbance. I have long been convinced, whatever may be the reason ofyour conduct, that you have not the control of your own actions atnight; and I think we shall be very culpable if we conceal this matterlonger from Mrs. Arlington; for, as you must now be convinced, theconsequences may be fatal to yourself, or perhaps to others. You neednot fear that Mrs. Arlington will dismiss you, but I think she willconsult medical advice in your case, which most probably should havebeen done long before this. "

Ruth acknowledged the justice of all that Agnes said, and at lengthconsented that she should make Mrs. Arlington acquainted with all thathad transpired in their room. "But, oh, Agnes!" she said, "do persuadeher to let me remain, and finish my education. It has been my hope foryears, that I might be enabled to prepare myself to be a governess. Myfather was lost at sea, and my poor mother died of a broken heart, and Iwas left all alone to take care of myself at the age of fourteen. Sincethen, I have sewed night and day, night and day, denying myself sleep, and almost all the necessaries of life, in the hope of getting aneducation. That hope, with all my unwearied industry, would never havebeen fulfilled, had not a kind lady for whom I sewed offered to make upthe requisite sum; and now, if Mrs. Arlington sends me away, what willbecome of me? The hope of my life will be disappointed. "

"Well, I do not wish to discourage you, my dear Ruth, but you must see Ithink that you are totally unfitted to have children under your care atpresent. "

"I suppose I am, Agnes, but I have been hoping that I should get overthis; it seems to grow worse and worse, however, and you may now do asyou choose. You have exercised great forbearance with me, dear Agnes. You have been a true friend, and whatever may be the result, you may goto Mrs. Arlington. "

Mrs. Arlington was very kind, and only regretted that she had not beforebeen made acquainted with Ruth Glenn's singular conduct. She said shedid not doubt that it was entirely owing to her state of health, and hersedentary manner of life for years past, and sent immediately for herfamily physician, and made him acquainted with the case. 

Agnes was sent for, and questioned as to Miss Glenn's actions andappearance, when thus restless at night, and she as well as thedifferent teachers, were interrogated as to her habits in the day time. The doctor thus learned that it was with the greatest difficulty thatMiss Glenn could be persuaded to take any exercise, and Agnes told himwhat Ruth had related to her of her mode of life for the last few years. The doctor thought it one of the most singular cases he ever met with, and prescribed a strict course of medicine, diet and exercise, insistingparticularly upon the latter. 

It was a hard thing to persuade Ruth to take her early morning walk, andother exercise advised by the physician, and Mrs. Arlington was atlength obliged to tell her, that only upon condition of her obeying hisdirections, could she consent to allow her to remain in the school. This, together with the indefatigable endeavors of Agnes, prevailedupon Ruth Glenn to take the accustomed walks, which Agnes with greatcunning contrived to lengthen every morning, until at length Ruth Glennwould return with a slight tinge of color in her cheek, and an unusualbrightness about her eye. The result was very soon seen, in more quietnights in the third-story-room, and, before long, Ruth confessed thatshe felt like another creature, and began to realize an enjoyment inlife, of which she had known nothing since her childhood. 

Often, however, the old feeling of indolence returned, and it was veryamusing to Grace and Effie to hear poor Ruth beg and plead with Agnes tobe allowed to remain quiet "just one morning, " and to see how vigorouslyand perseveringly Agnes resisted her appeals, rousing her up and leadingher off, poor Ruth looking much like a martyr about to be dragged to thestake. 

Before Agnes and her cousins left Mrs. Arlington's school, Ruth Glennwas so changed for the better, that she would not have been recognizedas the same pale, strange girl, who came there three years before. Herspirits and appetite were good, and there was no longer any complaint ofdisturbance at night by her room-mates. 

It was a sad day in the school when Agnes and her cousins took theirfinal leave, but no one seemed so broken-hearted as poor Ruth Glenn. 

"Oh, Agnes, " said she, "who will be the friend to me that you have been?Who will drag me out with such relentless cruelty?" and here she smiledsadly through her tears, "through rain and sunshine, heat and cold; I amafraid I shall be as bad as ever, for my walks will be so dull withoutyou. "

But Agnes told her she hoped she had now received sufficient benefitfrom her regular exercise, to be willing to make a little sacrifice, andobtained from her a solemn promise that she would continue the coursethey had so long pursued together. 

Agnes had employed herself most perseveringly while at Mrs. Arlington'sschool, in becoming thoroughly acquainted with various branches ofeducation and accomplishments, being fully determined in her own mind nolonger to be a burden to her uncle, but to use the means he was sokindly putting into her hands, in enabling her to gain her own supporthereafter. But she had no sooner left the school than other dutiesclaimed her attention, as will presently be seen. 

XII. 

LEWIE AT SCHOOL. 

"The child is father of the man. "--WORDSWORTH. 

Had our friend Lewie heard Mr. Malcolm's prediction relative to hisschool experiences, he would have had reason to think him a trueprophet. He came into the school and the play-ground with the same ideaswhich had been predominant with him ever since his baby-hood; and thoughhe did not, as then, continually say the _words, _ his actions proclaimedas loudly, "Lewie must have his own way!--Lewie must not be crossed!" Hefound his school companions not quite so complying as his indulgentmother, and those over whom she had control; and before he had been longin the school, he was known by the various names of "Dictator-General, ""First Consul, " "Great Mogul, " &c. , and with these epithets he wasgreeted whenever he put on any of his dictatorial airs. 

These constant insults and impertinences, as he called them, irritatedhis ungoverned spirit, and in consequence many a school-mate measuredhis length upon the ground in the most sudden manner, and innumerablewere the fights and "rows" which were the result. The presence of Lewieseemed everywhere the signal of contention and strife, where all hadbeen heretofore, with very few exceptions, harmony and peace; and yet, but for his hasty and impatient temper, Lewie might have been anunparalleled favorite among his schoolmates. In the still summerevenings, when he took his guitar, and sat upon the steps of theportico, the boys would crowd around him, and listen in breathlesssilence to his sweet music. As long as his own inclinations were notcrossed or interfered with, a more agreeable companion could not befound. He had the frank, open manners, which are not seldom joined witha quick temper, and in many things he showed a noble, generousdisposition; but as soon as the wishes of others in their sports andrecreations came in conflict with his own, his terrible passion wasroused at once, and carried all before it. Many were the complaintswhich he carried to his mother of insult and ill-treatment; and beforehe had been six months at Dr. Hamilton's school, he was urging her toallow him to remove to another of which he had heard, and where hefancied he should be more happy. Mrs. Elwyn's health was not as firm asit once was; she was becoming weak and nervous, and dreaded change, andendeavored to pacify her son, and to persuade him to remain at Dr. Hamilton's school. No doubt he would have effected his object byteazing, but it was accomplished in another way. 

There are boys to be found in every large school who delight in playingpractical jokes, and in teazing and tormenting those who are susceptibleof annoyance in this way. There was a large, stout boy in Dr. Hamilton'sschool, of the name of Colton, a great bully and teaze, whose delightit seemed to be to torment and put into a passion one so fiery as ourlittle hero, feeling safe from the only kind of retaliation which couldinjure him, as he was so much the stoutest and strongest of the two. This boy soon found that there was one point upon which Lewie waspeculiarly sensitive, and the slightest allusion to which would call thered blood to his face. This was the fact of his being accompanied by hismother when he came to the school, and her having taken board in thevillage, that she might be near him as long as he was there. Lewie hadremonstrated with his mother, when she proposed accompanying him, andhad urged her to accept his Uncle Wharton's invitation to make his househer home. He was just at that age when boys love to appear independentand manly, and able to take care of themselves; and he had hoped that heshould be allowed to go alone to school, as many of the other boys did, or perhaps to accompany his uncle and cousins. But to be taken thereunder the care of a _woman_, and to have her remain near him, as ifhe could not take care of himself! Lewie thought this a most humiliatingstate of things. But for once his mother was firm. It would be likesevering her heart-strings, to separate her from her darling son; andwherever he went, she must go as long as she lived. This ingratitude onthe part of Lewie and evident desire to rid himself of her company, after so many years spent in devotion to his slightest wishes, wore uponher spirits, and was one cause, perhaps the principal one, of hernervous depression, and consequent ill health. 

As soon as Colton understood the state of Lewie's feelings on thistender point, and noticed How his cheeks would flush with passionwhenever the subject was mentioned, he took advantage of it to harassand enrage him, renewing the subject most unmercifully at everyconvenient opportunity. Thus, whenever, in their sports, Lewie took uponhimself to dictate, in his authoritative way, Colton would ask the boysif they were going to be governed by a baby who had not yet brokenloose from his mother's apron-strings; and when Lewie could no longerrestrain his passion, and began to show signs of becoming pugnacious, Colton would advise him to "run to mother, " to be petted and soothed. 

For sometime prudence restrained Lewie from making an attack upon thisboy, so much larger and stronger than himself, for he was almost certainthat he would get the worst of it in an encounter with him. But one daywhen Colton was more aggravating than ever, Lewie suddenly lost allcommand of himself, and flew at him in a most fearful storm of rage, andwith all the might of his passion concentrated in one blow, he dashedthe great boy against a tree; and after he was down, and lyinginsensible, with his head cut and bleeding, Lewie could scarcely berestrained, by the united strength of those about him, from rushing uponhis senseless body, and by renewed blows continuing to injure him. 

His rage was fearful to witness, and his companions stood aghast, forthey saw clearly that murder was in his heart, and that nothing but therestraint they exercised upon him, prevented him from carrying hishorrible purpose into execution. Colton was borne to the house, and itwas long feared that he would never entirely recover from the effects ofthe severe blow upon his head as he fell. Lewie seemed to feel nothinglike remorse; he had always hated Colton, and everything this boy haddone had tended to increase and aggravate his feelings of dislike; hethought nothing in his frantic rage of the consequences to himself, butwould have rejoiced to see his tormentor dead at his feet. 

This last affair decided Dr. Hamilton that it would not do to keep a boyof such fierce, unrestrained temper, longer in the school. Lewie had allthis time been progressing rapidly in his studies; a fierce ambitionseemed to have seized upon, him, and he applied himself to his books asif he had come to the determination that he would at least rise superiorto his school-mates, in his standing in the class, if they would notacknowledge his superiority in anything else. 

Dr. Hamilton called soon after Lewie's attack upon Colton, to see Mrs. Elwyn, and while he spoke of Lewie as one on whom he could justly beproud, as the best and most forward scholar in his classes, he said itwas impossible for him to allow him to remain; that the lives of hisother pupils were hardly to be considered safe with so passionate acompanion, and for the sake of the reputation of his school, he must askher to save him the necessity of a public dismissal of her son. Sad bythis time were the forebodings of Mrs. Elwyn, but they were useless; herremonstrances with her self-willed son were vain. If Lewie was obligedto submit to being accompanied by his mother wherever he went, he seemeddetermined to show her, that her wishes had not the slightest power overhim. The sowing time had passed;--the reaping time had begun. 

Lewie no longer urged and entreated, but merely expressed hisdetermination to go to the school to which he had so long been desirousto remove, and his poor mother knowing that henceforth his will must behers, made her preparations for accompanying him. 

Boys are the same everywhere; and unless all are willing in some degreeto relinquish their own gratification for the sake of others, there willsurely be trouble. So Lewie found at Stanwick; so at the next school, and the next; for as he became dissatisfied with one and unpopularthere, he removed to another, his poor mother following his fortuneseverywhere. Many were the kind and remonstrating letters which Lewiereceived during these three years of change, from his lovely sister, butthe affectionate advice contained in them as to an endeavor to gaincommand over his temper, and in regard to his treatment of his mother, seemed to have no permanent effect. 

All this time, wherever he went, he ranked' among the highest as to hisscholarship, and at the age of sixteen he entered college at C----, about ten or fifteen miles from Hillsdale. By the time they were fairlyestablished at C----, Mrs. Elwyn's health completely failed. Lewie'stime much taken up with his college duties, and even if it had not been, he was not one to wait with patience upon the humors of a nervous andfretful invalid; and the greater part of the time was spent by Mrs. Elwyn in loneliness and repining. 

And now her thoughts turned often, and rested almost fondly upon thememory of her long neglected daughter. Oh! for such a kind and gentlenurse and companion to be ever near her, to minister to her wants andsoothe her lonely hours. The more she thought of her, the more shelonged for her presence, and it was soon after Agnes left Mrs. Arlington's and returned to Brook Farm, that she received with delight asummons to come to her mother at C----. The idea that her mother really_wished_ for her, and that she could be in any degree useful to her, made her heart bound with joy; and then, too, the idea of being so nearher brother, to endeavor to exercise a restraining influence upon him, was happiness in itself for Agnes. 

She found her mother greatly changed: anxiety of mind and bodilysuffering had worn upon her, till her face, which might still have beenyoung and blooming, was faded and wrinkled. She was glad to see Agnes, only because now she could be _useful_ to her; and Agnes often found herwhole stock of patience brought into requisition, in endeavoring togratify the changing whims and fancies of a nervous invalid. Lewie wasin ecstasies at his sister's arrival; for he did dearly love Agnes, andhe now passed all his leisure time at his mother's room. Agnes thoughthim more gentle and tractable, and hoped that he really exercised somecontrol over his passionate temper; but it was only, for the time, thewant of provocation, and the restraining influence of his sister'spresence, which kept him from any serious out-break. The grace of Godalone could materially change Lewie Elwyn now. 

Agnes remained many months in attendance upon her mother, who failedvery gradually. As she grew weaker, she became more exacting; andthough never betrayed into any expression of affection for Agnes, yetshe was not willing to have her out of her sight for a moment. Theconsciousness of being useful to her mother, was sufficient reward forsleepless nights and days of close confinement; and Agnes resisted allLewie's entreaties that she would leave the sick room for a while eachday, and take a stroll with him. 

Had Lewie been inclined to dissipation, this would have been a dangeroustime for him; for his wonderful musical powers made him such a favorite, that no gathering was thought complete without him. As long as Agnes wasat C----, he preferred spending his evenings with her to any party ofpleasure; and after he could no longer enjoy her society, and when hebegan again to mingle in scenes of festivity, though sometimes betrayedinto excesses, he never was habitually dissipated. 

Mrs. Elwyn lingered on, becoming weaker and weaker, until, after Agneshad been with her about six months, she perceived that she was failingmore rapidly, and at length was informed by the physician, that hermother could live but very few days longer. Agnes hastily summoned Mr. And Mrs. Wharton, who arrived only in time to witness the death-bedscene. Just before her death, Mrs. Elwyn seemed to awake to a suddenrealization of the great mistakes of her life with regard to her son anddaughter. She seemed to see now, as clearly as others had seen allalong, the evils of her own management, and to trace the unhappy resultsto their proper source. It was sad to hear her, when all too late toremedy these evils, lament over "a wasted life--a worse than wastedlife;" and so, with words of remorse upon her lips, she, who had hadsuch power for good in her hands, passed away from earth. 

And Agnes returned to her uncle's house, leaving her brother at college. As soon as she had taken a little time to recruit, and to consider, shebegan to look about for a situation as governess, much against thewishes of every member of her uncle's family, who would have consideredit a privilege to keep her always with them. About this time, a distantrelative of Mrs. Wharton's, a Mr. Fairland, in passing from his Westernhome to the city, stopped to make them a visit. He was a plain, kind-hearted man, and seemed to take a particular interest in Agnes, with whose father and grandfather he had been intimately acquainted. Mr. Fairland had made quite a fortune by successful speculation, in a largeEastern city; but the extravagance of his wife and daughters, who werenot willing to be outdone in dress or establishment by any of theirneighbors, made such rapid inroads upon his newly-acquired wealth, thatMr. Fairland soon became convinced that it was leaving him as rapidly asit came. So he thought it the part of prudence to beat a retreat atonce; and, in spite of the tears and remonstrances of his wife andeldest daughters, he removed the whole family to the beautiful villageof Wilston, near which place he owned some fine and flourishing mills. 

It was while speaking of his new home, and its many beauties, at Mr. Wharton's breakfast table, that Mr. Fairland mentioned the onlydrawback to his happiness there, which, he said, was the want of theadvantages of education for his younger children, who were running wildwithout any instruction, as their mother was unwilling to allow them toattend the village school. He had long been looking, he said, for agoverness for them--one who would bring them up with right habits andprinciples, at the same time that she was instructing their minds. 

Agnes seized the first opportunity in which she could find Mr. Fairlandalone, to propose herself as governess to his children. This was morethan Mr. Fairland had dared to hope for, and her proposal was hailed byhim with gratitude and joy. He wished her to return immediately withhim; but Agnes had some preparations to make, and her uncle was notwilling to part with her quite yet: he promised, however, to bring herhimself in the course of a month. A serious illness, however, derangedall Mr. Wharton's plans and as soon as he was able to travel, businessof the utmost importance called him to the city; so that Agnes, whodisliked to keep Mr. Fairland waiting for her any longer, wrote to himwhen he might expect her, and, much against Mrs. Wharton's wishes, setout alone in the stage for Wilston. 

XIII. 

NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. 

 "The stranger's heart! oh, wound it not! A yearning anguish is its lot; In the green shadow of the tree, The stranger finds no rest with thee. "

"And when may we expect to be favored with the presence of this paragonof perfection, and embodiment of all wisdom, papa?" asked Miss EvelinaFairland, with what was intended for the utmost girlish sprightliness ofmanner; for, although it was only at breakfast, Miss Evelina never laidaside her manner of extreme youth, as she thought it best to becontinually in practice. 

Her father answered quietly, that he expected Miss Elwyn by theafternoon stage. 

"Is she one of these prim, _old-maidish_ governesses, like our poor oldMiss Pratt?" asked Miss Calista, a lady of something over thirty, andrather the worse for twelve years' wear, in the way of balls andparties, the theatre and the opera. Indeed, at the breakfast table, MissCalista looked considerably older than she really was, with her pale, faded cheeks, and her hair "en papillottes;" but, in the afternoon, bythe use of a little artificial bloom, some cork-screw ringlets, and amanner as gay and girlish as that of her sister, she appeared quiteanother creature. 

To Miss Calista's question Mr. Fairland, with an amused pucker about themouth, answered:

"Oh, I shall tell you nothing about her looks; you must wait and judgefor yourselves. There's one thing I will say, however. I suppose youcan't alter your looks, girls; but, as far as manners are concerned, Iwish very much that I could place my two eldest daughters under MissElwyn's tuition. "

"Perhaps she will condescend to take a class, twice or three times aweek, in 'manners for six-pence, '" said the sprightly Miss Evelina. "Ishould like to see Calista and myself curtseying, and walking, andleaving and entering a room, as we used to be obliged to do for old MissPratt. Wouldn't you, Calista?"

"Let's see, " said Mr. Fairland, whose reminiscences were not always ofthe most agreeable nature to the young ladies--"let's see. How long isit since you and C'listy _were_ under the care of Miss Pratt? I think itmust be nigh twenty years. "

"Twenty years, papa!--absurd!" shrieked Miss Calista; "why, you must belosing your memory!"

Now, if Mr. Fairland's daughters were touchy on the subject of their_ages, _ their father was no less so on that of his _memory, _ as MissCalista well knew when she made the foregoing remark. 

"Losing my memory indeed, Miss C'listy! My memory is as sound as ever;and, to prove it to you, I will inform you, that I shall be sixty-fouryears old this coming August; and by the same token, you are justexactly half my age; and if you don't believe it, you may just take alook at the family record, in the big Bible. "

"C'listy's _scratched out her date, "_ said little Rosa, "and so hasEvelina. "

"Hold your tongue, you impertinent little minx!" said Miss Calista; "Ireally hope the prinky old governess who is coming will be able to whipa little manners into you. I really wonder you can allow the children tobe so pert, mamma!"

The lady addressed as _"mamma"_ was the second wife of Mr. Fairland, arather handsome, but very languid lady of forty, who was sleepilysipping her coffee during the foregoing conversation. Now, as Mrs. Fairland did not look much older (perhaps not at all older, at thebreakfast table, ) than the oldest of her step-daughters, the youngladies quite prided themselves on so youthful a "mamma;" and when incompany, or at the various watering-places to which, in former tunes, they had succeeded in dragging their parents, they hung round her, andasked her permission to do this and that, with the most child-likeconfidence in her judgment. 

This was by no means relished by the step-mother, who had no fancy formatronizing daughters so nearly her own age, and who wished no lessfervently than the young ladies themselves, that something in the shapeof a husband would appear to carry each of them off. She never failedafter such a display of filial affection on their part to explain tothose near her; that the young ladies were her _step-daughters;_ and tomention how odd it sounded to her when she was first married, to hearthose great girls as tall as herself, call her "mamma. "

It was a beautiful evening in the pleasant month of July, when Agnesentered the lovely village of Wilston, and drove through its one longstreet, to the spacious and rather showy dwelling of Mr. Fairland. Agneshad heard much of the beauty of Wilston, but her heart was now sooppressed with many agitating emotions, at the near prospect of the newand strange scenes upon which she was about to enter in so new acharacter, that not even the loveliness of the landscape, with itsvariety of hill, and dale, and wood-land, on the one hand, and on theother the peaceful lake tinged with crimson by the setting sun, hadpower to win her attention. 

Yet we need not fear for Agnes, that in thus appearing in the characterof a governess, she will lose aught of her gentle dignity, or quietself-possession. Agnes was a _lady_ in every sense of the term, andplace her where you would, or under whatever circumstances, she wouldinvest her occupation with a dignity all her own, and make it honorable;winning from all around her an involuntary respect and homage. Thoughever kind and amiable, and ready to oblige, she will never _cringe_ tothose who, by the favors of fortune, are placed for the time incircumstances more prosperous than her own. Tried, she may be by theirarrogance, and airs of assumed superiority; but with the inwardconviction which in spite of her modesty she must possess, that in allthat is of real and true worth she is far above them, she will toil onundisturbed in her vocation, anxious only to fulfil her duty towardsGod, and toward those whom He has placed under her influence; and toacquit herself well of the high responsibility resting upon her. 

Mr. Fairland met Agnes at the door, with his kind pleasant face, andwith both hands extended to give her a cordial welcome to his roof. Mrs. Fairland rose languidly from her chair to receive the governess, andgave her a ceremonious, and to Agnes a most chilling greeting. The youngladies were out walking; but presently a troop of noisy children, whofrom some part of the grounds where they were at play, had seen thearrival of the stranger, came bursting rudely into the room. These, asAgnes supposed, were her future pupils, and a most unpromising set theyat first sight appeared. 

The eldest, "Tiney, " was a heavy, dull looking girl of about ten yearsof age. Her eyes had no more brightness or expression in them than twoballs of lead, and her flabby colorless cheeks hung down each side ofher mouth, giving that feature much the expression of a bull-dog, whilea sullen fierceness about her face, increased the resemblance to thatanimal. Her teeth, utterly unacquainted with the action of a brush, wereprominent, so that her lip seldom covered them, and her uncombed hairhung rough and shaggy around her unattractive face. Agnes at onceguessed that this poor child was deficient in intellect, and unamiablein temper. 

The next, _Rosa, _ was a wild, handsome little gipsey, with eyes as blackas jet, and as bright as diamonds, a brilliant color shining through hersunburnt cheek, and with straight black hair, no better cared for thanher sister Tiney's. 

The third little girl, _Jessie, _ was very fair, with beautiful deep blueeyes, and golden curling hair; but the curls were all in tangles, for noone took the trouble to keep them in order, except on great occasions, when the poor child was put to the torture of having it brushed andcombed, and laid in ringlets, which for the time were the special prideof her mother. 

"You'll have enough to do, Miss Agnes, to tame all these roughspirits, " said Mr. Fairland, "they have been running wild ever since weleft the city, and a more rude and ungoverned set of little desperadoes, it has never been your lot to meet with, I'll venture to say. " And thenaddressing them, he said, "come here, children, what do you stand theregaping for, with your thumbs in your mouths, as if you had never seenanybody before? Tiney! Rosa, you witch! Jess, my chicken! come up herethis minute, and speak to Miss Elwyn. "

But Tiney only pouted her ugly mouth and scowled; and Rosa, making asudden dart for her mother's chair, retreated behind it, peering out herblack eyes occasionally, to take a look at the stranger; while Jessieran and sprang into her father's lap, hiding her little tangled head onhis shoulder. And now a whooping and shouting made known the approach ofMaster Frank, the son and heir, a young individual of about four yearsof age, who, nothing daunted by the stranger's appearance, made for hisfather's chair, and proceeded to dislodge his sister Jessie from herseat, and to establish himself in her place. Jessie screamed, andscratched, and pulled in vain. Frank, though younger, was much thestrongest, and the fight ended by the sudden descent of Miss Jessie tothe floor, and the ascension of Master Frank into the vacated place. 

"Be quiet now, will you, Frank, and speak to Miss Elwyn, " said hisfather. 

"Hallo! is that Miss Elwyn?" exclaimed Master Frank, aloud; "why, C'lista said she was old and ugly. "

"Well, C'listy didn't know, did she?" said his father. 

"And Ev'lina said she'd train us well, and whip us, and shut us up, andbe awful cross all the time. She doesn't look like that, does she, papa?"

"No, she does not, " said his father; "and I guess Evelina must have beenmistaken too. "

Agnes was all this time looking at Frank, very much amused, and laughingquietly at the description which had been given of her to the children. 

"You think I do not look so very terrible, then, Master Frank, " saidshe; "do you think you will ever like me?"

"I don't know, " said Master Frank, boldly; "if you don't make me _mind, _I'll like you. "

"But she _is_ going to make you mind, Master Frank, " said his father;"and, do you know, I have promised Miss Elwyn that she shall do justwhat she pleases with you all, and nobody shall interfere. "

"In _school hours, "_ said Agnes. 

"Yes, in school hours, and out of school hours, except when their motheror I are present: they are always to obey you, Miss Elwyn. I wish thatto be understood in the family. But, my dear, " said he to his wife, "perhaps Miss Elwyn would like to change her dress before tea. "

Mrs. Fairland languidly directed Tiney to show Miss Elwyn to her room;but the only notice taken of this command by Miss Tiney was a stupid, sullen stare. Agnes had risen to leave the room; but perceiving thatTiney did not stir, she turned, and putting out one hand toward Rosa, said, in her own bright, winning way:

_"This_ little black-eyed girl will show me the way, I'm sure. "

There was no resisting the gentle kindness of Agnes, and the confidenceof little Rosa was won immediately. Coming out from behind her mother'schair, she put her hand in that of Agnes, and led her up stairs into alarge room, on the second floor, overlooking the beautiful lake. 

"What a very pleasant room!" said Agnes. "Is this to be mine?"

"Yes, " answered Rosa, who, having once found her tongue, showed that shecould make very rapid use of it when she chose--"and that bed is yours, and that one is for me and Jessie. "

'"Jessie and _me_, ' you mean, Rosa, do you not?"

"I'm the _oldest_, " answered Rosa. 

"I know that, Rosa; but recollect, whenever you speak of any _one_, nomatter who, in connection with yourself always to mention the otherperson first. Will you remember that?"

"Yes, I'll try, " answered Rosa. She then proceeded to inform Agnes, thather mamma had wished to give her a little room on the other side of thehall, but papa said she should have this room, because it was sopleasant, and he had heard her say that she was so fond of the water. 

"That was very kind of your papa, " said Agnes; "and where does Tineysleep?"

"Oh, Tiney sleeps with Susan, because she has fits, you know. "

_"Who_ has?--Susan?" asked Agnes. 

"No, Tiney has fits, and nobody likes to take care of her but papa andSusan. "

Agnes was disappointed to find that she was not to have a room toherself. "I came here to instruct these children, " said she to herself, "not to act in the capacity of nursery-maid. However, I will bear itpatiently for the present; perhaps I shall gain an influence over them, by having them so constantly with me, that I could not acquire in anyother way. There is so much to be corrected in their habits andlanguage, besides their being so woefully ignorant!"

Agnes continued talking pleasantly to little Rosa, while she wasdressing; and when they went down stairs, hand in hand, the verypleasantest relations appeared to be established between them. 

"What shall we call you?" asked Rosa. 

"You may call me 'cousin Agnes, ' if you choose, " she answered, "and ifyour papa and mamma are willing. "

"Oh, I shall like that!" said Rosa. 

Soon after Agnes and little Rosa re-entered the sitting-room, the MissesFairland returned from their walk. They were gayly and showily attiredin the very height of the fashion, and entered the door talking andlaughing very loudly; but when introduced to Miss Elwyn, they stoppedand opened their eyes in unaffected amazement. As Agnes rose withgraceful ease to meet them, looking so lovely in her deep mourningdress, and with her rich waving chesnut hair, simply parted on herforehead, and gathered in a knot behind, there was a most strikingcontrast between her and the gaudily dressed, beflounced, and befloweredladies, who were fashionably and formally curtseying, and presenting herthe tips of their fingers. 

Though younger by some years than the youngest of the Miss Fairlands, there was a dignified self-possession about Agnes, which was quiteastonishing to them. Though rather of the _hoyden-ish_ class themselves, they could not fail at once to recognize the air of refinement whichmarks the true lady, and while intending by their own appearance toover-awe the new governess, they were so completely taken by surprise byher perfect ease and composure of manner, that they alone appeared stiffand awkward, and she unembarrassed and easy. 

And this was the prim old-maidish governess they had been expecting!this fresh, blooming, lovely looking girl! It was by no means a pleasantsurprise to the Misses Fairland. However, she was nothing but a_governess_ after all; and could easily be kept in the back ground; itwas to Be hoped she would know her place and keep it. 

The Misses Fairland made the mistake very common with persons of weakmind, and little cultivation at that, and instead of judging of othersby their intrinsic worth, character, or intellect, formed their estimateonly by the outward circumstances in which they found them. Had thissame Agnes Elwyn come to make a visit to her far away cousins, in herown carriage, and surrounded by external marks of wealth, they wouldhave been ready to fall down and worship her; but coming as a_governess, _ and by the _stage, _ what notice could she expect from theMisses Fairland! These young ladies had so often been made wretched, byintentional slights from those in whose sphere they had aspired to move, that they did not doubt Agnes would be rendered equally uncomfortable bytheir own neglect. 

The tea-bell rang, and the Misses Fairland hastened to take off theirbonnets and soon re-appeared at the tea-table, where they took up theentire conversation, telling of all they had heard and seen, in theircalls through the village. For like the ancient Athenians, these youngladies literally "spent their time in nothing else, but to hear or totell of some new thing. "

In the midst of the conversation there was a sudden bustle, and Tineyrose hastily from the table. Her father immediately left his chair, andwent round to her place, and took her by the arm. There was a ghastlyand disturbed look about poor Tiney's face, and an expression ofterrible malignity about her eye, and as she passed the chairs of herlittle sisters, one screamed loudly and then the other, and when shecame near Agnes, it was with great difficulty that she too could resistthe inclination to scream with the pain, caused by a terrible pinch fromthe fingers of Tiney, which left its mark upon her arm for many days. 

Mr. Fairland led the child from the room, and as the door closed afterthem, Agnes heard a succession of the most piercing shrieks, as if allthe strength of the sufferer's lungs were expended upon each one. 

"Oh, dear! Susan is out, and your father will need assistance, " saidMrs. Fairland; "but really, these scenes have such an effect upon mynerves, that I find it necessary to avoid them altogether. "

"And so do I, " said Miss Calista, "indeed I always suffer with a severeheadache after them. "

"And they are so utterly disagreeable to me, to to be more candid thaneither of you, " said Miss Evelina, "that I always keep as far out of theway as possible. "

"Can I be of any use?" asked Agnes, partly rising and looking towardsMrs. Fairland. She would have followed poor Tiney and her fatherimmediately, but did not wish to appear to pry into that of whichnothing had been mentioned to her, and of which they might not like tospeak out of their own family. 

"Oh, do go, Miss Elwyn, if you have the _nerve, "_ said Mrs. Fairland. 

The reader knows enough of Agnes to feel assured that her _nerves_ werenever in the way, if opportunity offered to make herself useful to thesuffering; and the moment Mrs. Fairland answered her, she left the room, and, guided by those still piercing shrieks, she passed through a longhall, and entered a small bath-room, where she found Mr. Fairlandholding the struggling Tiney, who presented a shocking appearance. Herface was now quite purple, and the white froth stood about her mouth;and her father was holding both of her hands in one of his, to quiet herfrantic struggles. 

"Oh, bless you, Miss Agnes!" said Mr. Fairland, as soon as she openedthe door; "set that water running immediately till it is quite hot, andtake off this poor child's stockings and shoes. You see I can donothing. "

As quickly and as quietly as possible Agnes did as she was directed; andthen also, by Mr. Fairland's direction, took down a bottle of medicine, always kept ready for this purpose in the bath-room, and dropped some ofit for him. In a few moments, the shrieks subsided to moans, as Tineylay with her head back on her father's shoulder. 

"Poor child!" said Mr. Fairland, wiping her lips and forehead, "she is adreadful sufferer. "

"Has she been so long?" asked Agnes. 

"Ever since her third year, " answered Mr. Fairland, "though, at first, the attacks were comparatively slight; but of late years they have grownmore and more severe. Her intellect, as you perhaps have alreadynoticed, is much weakened by them, and her temper, naturally very sweet, is at times almost fiendish. It seems to be her great desire, whilesuffering so intensely, to injure all within her reach. "

Agnes now understood the reason of the screams of the children, and alsoof the pinch she had received as Tiney passed her chair. When poorTiney's moans had become more faint, Mr. Fairland said:

"Agnes, will you sing? Music seems to soothe her more than anythingelse, after the extreme suffering is over. "

Agnes sang, with her marvellously sweet voice, a simple air: presentlypoor Tiney turned her head, and fixed her half-closed eyes on Agnes'face. Then she said, from time to time, in a dreamy way, "Pretty!--sweet! Sing more;" and then she lay perfectly quiet, and soonfell into a gentle slumber. Often and often, after that, when poor Tineywas seized with these excruciating attacks, as soon as the first intensesuffering was over, she would say, "Cousin Agnes, sing!" and, from thetime she heard the gentle tones of Agnes' voice, she would be quiet andgentle as a lamb. The effect could be likened to nothing but the calmingof the evil spirit which possessed the monarch of Israel, by the tonesof the sweet harp of David. 

XIV. 

THE SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. 

 "Scatter diligently, in susceptible minds, The germs of the good and beautiful, They will develop there to trees, bud, bloom, And bear the golden fruit of paradise. "

Agnes found it no easy task to bring into training minds so ignorant andso utterly undisciplined as those of her little pupils. Left entirely tothemselves, as they had been for many months, with a mother too indolentto trouble herself about any systematic plan of government, and a fathertoo easy and good-natured to carry out the many plans he was everforming for their "breaking in;" scolded and fretted at by their oldersisters, to whom they were perfect torments; by turns playingharmoniously, and then quarrelling most vigorously, --they roamed thehouse and grounds, doing mischief everywhere, and bringing wrath upontheir heads at every turn. 

With a perfect horror of anything like _study_, they had expected withgreat dread the arrival of a governess, as putting a final stop to alltheir fun and freedom. This dread had been in nowise diminished by theconstant remarks of their older sisters upon governesses in theabstract, and their own expected governess in particular. One eveningwith Agnes served to dispel the horror, so far as she was concerned, though the dread of books was still as great as ever. Before the eveningwas over, Agnes had them all round her, as she sat on the sofa, tellingthem beautiful stories, and asking them questions. 

"Have you any pretty flowers in the woods about here?" she asked. 

"Oh, lots!" answered Rosa; "yellow flowers, and blue flowers, and whiteflowers. "

"Then if you would like to learn something of Botany, so as to know thenames of all these beautiful flowers, we will take many pleasantrambles in the woods, and gather the lovely wild flowers, and I willteach you how to press them. "

"But we haven't got any _Botany books_, " said little Jessie. 

"Oh, I think we shall not need any _books_, for all the Botany I shallteach you, Jessie; and if we do, we will take the leaves of the flowersfor the leaves of the books, and the flowers themselves for thepictures. Do you not think we can make beautiful books that way? Jessie, can you read?"

"_I_ can!" said Rosa, while Jessie hung her curly head. 

"And can you _write_, Rosa?"

"No. I can make straight marks, " answered Rosa. 

"And what can you do, Master Frank?"

"Oh, Frank doesn't know anything?" said Jessie. "He did know his ABC'sonce, but he's forgot them all. "

"Take care, Miss Jessie, that he does not read before you, " said Agnes. "Your papa says we are to take the west wing for our school-room; youmust show me where it is, and after a day or to get in order, and tomake each other's acquaintance, we will begin school in earnest. "

The next morning Agnes took the toilettes of her two little room-matesunder her care, and when they appeared at the breakfast-table, the restof the family hardly knew them, they looked so tidy and sweet. And poorTiney, who gazed with astonishment at her two little sisters, made herappearance at Agnes' door soon after breakfast, to ask "if she wouldn'tmake _her_ look nice too. "

Agnes found so little to sympathise with, and took so little pleasure inthe society of the ladies of the Fairland family, that she longed forher school to begin, that she might have useful occupation for herthoughts and time. On the appointed morning therefore, she was wellpleased to meet her little pupils in the pleasant little room in the"west wing, " and to begin in earnest her labors as a teacher. Such apile of soiled, well-thumbed, and dogs-eared books, as the childrenproduced, Agnes had never seen together, and on opening them she foundthat the young Fairland's had been exercising their taste for the finearts, by daubing all the pictures from a six-penny paint-box. 

"Now, my dear children, " said she, "the first thing we shall do everymorning, will be to read in the Bible; but I do not see any Bible orTestament among your books; I suppose you each own one, do you not?"

If Agnes had been a little longer in the family of Mr. Fairland, perhapsshe would not have asked this question; for she soon found that she hadcome into a family of as complete heathens, as she would have found ifshe had gone to be governess among the Hindoos. There was a "familyBible" in the house to be sure, but the only use to which it had everbeen applied, was that of registering the births of the family, and thetestimony it bore proved so exceedingly disagreeable to the MissesFairland, that as Rosa has informed us, they took the liberty one day oferasing it. 

Agnes told the children to ask their papa if they might each have aBible of their own, to which he consented, and when the Bibles werebrought home, the exclamations of derision from the Misses Fairland, were loud and long. 

"A missionary in disguise!" they exclaimed; "a saint in the form of agoverness; come to convert us all, and the first thing is an importationof Bibles!" and many were the sneering and sarcastic remarks andallusions which came to the ears of Agnes, but she kept on her way quietand undisturbed. Agnes was perfectly astonished to find how utterlyunacquainted these children were with the contents of the Bible. It wasall new to them; and after she had read to them every morning, she wouldgather them around her, and tell them in simple language the sweetstories from the Bible, while they listened, the younger ones with theirbright, wide-open eyes fixed upon her face, as if they could not lose aword; and even poor Tiney loved to lay her head in Agnes' lap, and hearof Him who ever sympathised with the sick and suffering. 

It was very strange, and very interesting to Agnes, to hear the remarksthese children made, and the many questions they would ask on subjectsso new to them; and as they had not yet learned to look at the characterof God, as revealed in his Son, with the reverence which betterinstructed children feel, they often spoke of Him as they would of anygood man of whom they might hear, and in a way which would seem tooirreverential, were I to tell you all they said. 

Once when Agnes had been telling them of some of the miracles of ourSaviour, in curing the sick, and giving sight to the blind, and hearingto the deaf, Rosa with her bright black eyes fixed intently on her face, said with the utmost earnestness:

"Why, He was real _good_, wasn't He?"

"Yes, " said Agnes, "always good and kind, and always ready to help thesick and suffering. "

"He could cure _anybody_, couldn't He?" continued Rosa. 

"Yes; He was _all-powerful_, " answered Agnes. 

"Could He cure Tiney?" asked Jessie. 

"Yes; if Tiney had lived when Christ was on earth, or if He was herenow, He could say the word, and make her well. "

And then they asked, "Where is He now?" and "How can we talk to Himnow?" and "Why will He not cure Tiney now?" And Agnes tried, in the mostsimple manner, to teach them the nature of the prayer of faith. 

Once, when she was talking to them of our Saviour's meekness underinjuries, and telling them of His bitter sufferings, and the kindness ofHis feelings towards His persecutors, the large tears rolled down theircheeks, and Rosa made a practical application of the lesson at once, bysaying:

"The next time Tiney pinches me, cousin Agnes, I don't mean to slap herback again. "

"Nor I either, " said Jessie. 

And Tiney whispered, "I will _try_ and not hurt them next time. "

Frank, who had been choking down something in his throat, as he sat inhis chair, said, in an unsteady voice:

"_Is it all _true_?"

"Every word of it, Franky, " said Agnes. 

"I've got something in my eye, " said Frank, rubbing both eyes very hardwith the back of his hands; and then throwing himself on the settee, hecried bitterly for a long time. 

Agnes taught them many pretty hymns; and as they all had good voices, and loved music dearly, they were never so happy as in singing, morningand evening, these sweet hymns with Agnes. Even poor Tiney, who waspassionately fond of music, readily caught the tunes, though it wasalmost impossible to teach her the words. 

The very first Sunday that Agnes passed under the roof of Mr. Fairland, was enough to convince her that the Sabbath day with them was passedmuch like all other days. She was shocked to see novels, and other lightand trashy works, in the Lands of the Misses Fairland on this holy day, and to hear them _howling_ snatches of opera tunes, as they ran up anddown the stairs. These young ladies sometimes went to church in themorning, to be sure, especially if they had lately received new bonnetsfrom the city, which they wished to display for the envy or admirationof their neighbors. Mrs. Fairland was too indolent to take the trouble, even if she possessed the inclination, to appear at church; and Mr. Fairland looked upon this seventh day of the week literally as a day ofrest, in which to recruit the exhausted energies of the body, inpreparation for the labors of another week. The day was passed by him inlooking over the newspapers, or sleeping in his large chair, with hisred silk handkerchief over his head; and towards evening, he usuallytook a stroll over to his mills, or around his grounds, to mark out whatwas necessary to be done on the coming week. 

Agnes felt the importance of exerting in this ungodly family a strictlyreligious influence; but, except with her own little pupils, she did notattempt, at first, to do so in any other way than by her own quiet, consistent example. Mr. Fairland was much surprised when Agnes requestedpermission to take the children to church with her he readily grantedit, however, as he invariably did the wishes of Agnes; and from thattime, Mr. Fairland's pew had at least four or five occupants, on themorning and evening of the Sabbath day. Though not required by herengagement to do so, Agnes kept the children with her on Sunday, readingto them, singing with them, or telling them beautiful Bible stories; andthose pleasant Sabbaths spent with her they never forgot, nor did theyever lay aside the habits they acquired under her care. 

"What a pleasant day Sunday is!" exclaimed little Rosa; "I never knew itwas such a pleasant day before. "

"It's cousin Agnes makes it so pleasant, " said blue-eyed Jessie. 

"It is because you spend it as God directs, that it is a pleasant day toyou, dear children, " said Agnes; "and I wish you to remember that itwill always be a happy day, if you spend it in His service, 'from thebeginning unto the end thereof. '"

Even if I were sufficiently acquainted with them to detail all theplans of Agnes for the education and improvement in manners and habitsof her rude and ignorant little pupils, I should not do so here. Theyrequired peculiar training and an unfailing stock of patience, and itwas long before any very perceptible change was wrought in their almostconfirmed habits of carelessness, or any improvement in their rude andunformed manners; but at length a material change was apparent, and eventhe Misses Fairland could not keep their eyes closed to the visibleimprovement of the children. They were all much more gentle and quiet;and even poor Tiney softened much, under Agnes' gentle influence, andthe light of intelligence began to beam in her heretofore dull eye. Forthe first time in her life, she was gaining useful ideas; and theconsciousness that she was learning something as well as her sisters, seemed to make her happier and more kindly in her feelings. 

It was not long before the door would open gently, as the sound of theirevening hymn was heard, and Mr. Fairland, who was extravagantly fond ofsweet and simple music, would steal into the room, and seat himself inthe corner. And when he heard the voices of his children singing thepraises of God, and saw his poor Tiney, hitherto so neglected, joiningwith eager interest in the singing, the tears would glisten in his eye, and roll unbidden down his cheek. Then he began to find his way to theschool-room on Sunday evenings, and Agnes always took the opportunity onsuch occasions, to question the children on the elements of religioustruth, that their young voices might be the means of instructing theirfather, who was more ignorant even than they, on these all-importantsubjects. At these times he never said one word, but when he left theroom, it was often wiping the tears first, from one cheek and then fromthe other, and the heavy tread of his feet could be heard far into thenight, as he walked the whole length of the two large parlors, with hishands behind him, and his head bent down. Before Agnes had been sixmonths in the family, the good people sitting in the church at Wilston, one Sunday, opened their eyes with astonishment, to see Mr. Fairlandwalk into church and take his seat in a pew; and still more were theyamazed, to see him do the same thing in the afternoon. It was a surpriseto Agnes too; for though she had not failed to notice an unusualsolemnity about Mr. Fairland, yet no word on the subject of his duty inthis matter had ever passed between them. 

Thus in the strict and conscientious performance of her daily duties, passed the summer with Agnes, with one delightful break, of afortnight's vacation, spent with the dear loving friends at Brook Farm, where she saw much of her dear brother Lewie, who rode over everyevening and passed the night, returning to his college duties early inthe morning. The quick eye of a sister's love soon detected that all wasnot right with Lewie. He was as affectionate as ever, and if possiblehandsomer; but the faults of his childhood had grown with his growth andstrengthened with his strength; his temper seemed more hasty andimpetuous than ever, and there was a dashing recklessness about himwhich gave his sister many a heart-ache; and she had painful, thoughundefined fears for the future, for her rash and hot-headed brother. 

Her kind friends at Brook Farm, who fancied from some things they drewfrom Agnes, that her home at the Fairlands' was not in all respects ahappy one, urged her most earnestly not to return there, but withoutsuccess. Agnes was convinced that there the path of duty lay, at leastfor the present, and nothing could make her swerve from it. 

"Remember then, my sweet niece, " said her uncle, as he kissed her atparting, "this is your home, whenever, for any reason, you will make usso happy as to return to it. "

The winter passed by very quietly to Agnes, in her accustomed round ofduties; indeed she was happier than she had yet found herself under Mr. Fairland's roof, in consequence of the absence of the two young ladies, who having by some means or other succeeded in securing an invitationout of some acquaintances in the city, to make them a short visit, inflicted themselves upon them for the whole winter, and did not returnto Wilston till the spring was far advanced. Their hosts, in order torid themselves of such persevering and long-abiding guests, began tomake their preparations long before the usual time for closing theirhouse and going to the country, and the Misses Fairland, invulnerable asthey proved all winter to anything like a _hint_, were obliged to takethis intended removal of their friends as a "notice to quit, " which theyaccordingly did. 

One bright spot to Agnes this winter, was a visit of a week from Lewie, who took his vacation at the time of the holidays to run up and see hissister. 

He had his guitar with him, and his voice, which had gained much indepth and richness, was indescribably sweet. It seemed as if Mr. Fairland never would tire of hearing the brother and sister singtogether. His mills and everything else were forgotten, while he satsilently in his great chair with his eyes closed, listening hour afterhour to the blended harmony of their charming voices. 

That happy week was soon over, and the brother and sister parted. Thenext time Agnes heard the sound of her brother's guitar, under whatdifferent circumstances did its tones strike upon her ear!

XV. 

The Strangers in the Rookery. 

 "If thou sleep alone in Urrard, Perchance in midnight gloom Thou'lt hear behind the wainscot Sounds in that haunted room, It is a thought of horror, I would not sleep alone In the haunted room of Urrard, Where evil deeds are done. "

 --UNKNOWN. 

"What do you think, Calista? What _do_ you think?" exclaimed MissEvelina Fairland, one day soon after their return from the city, bursting in, in a great state of excitement. "Two of the _handsomest_men have come to the village, one of them is a Mr. Harrington; isn't ita lovely name? and he has purchased "_the Rookery_" do you believe! somesay that he is a young man, others that he is a widower. They have comedown to hunt and fish, and he was mightily taken with "the Rookery, "and in spite of ghosts and goblins he has actually bought it;" and hereMiss Evelina paused to take breath. 

"The Rookery" was a large old mansion which had once been a veryhandsome dwelling. It stood quite alone on a rising ground a little outof the village, and was surrounded with an extensive lawn, which on oneside sloped down the lake, over which were scattered magnificent elms;and there was only one thing that prevented "the Rookery" from being themost delightful residence in the country. This was the well-attestedfact that the house was haunted; and though at different times, thosewho were above being influenced by these idle fears, had fitted up theplace and endeavored to live there, yet there could be no comfort in solarge a house without servants, and not one could be found to remain init more than one night. Servants were brought from a distance, but theysoon heard in the village the story of the lady who died so mysteriouslyin that house twenty years before, and how she _walked_ every night, and then of course they heard sounds, and saw sights; and they too, forthwith took their departure. 

So the old house was quite falling into decay when these two brave mencame down and took possession of it; and fitting up comfortably two orthree of the most tenantable rooms, they there kept bachelors' hall, unterrified and undisturbed, at least by _spirits_. A few days after theannouncement of the arrival of the strangers in the village, a widowlady of the name of Danby came to make a visit to the Fairland's. Shehad with her a little girl, her only child, a wilful, spoiled littlething, who took her own course in everything, utterly regardless of thewishes or commands of others. In the afternoon, as Agnes was preparingto start with her little pupils for their accustomed walk, Mrs. Danbysaid:

"Bella wishes to accompany you, Miss Elwyn, but you must take good careof her. "

"I will do my best, Mrs. Danby, " said Agnes, "but one thing I shallinsist upon, and that is, that Bella shall obey me as my own littlescholars do. "

Miss Bella was not at all pleased with the idea of obeying any one, andso she was continually showing off her independent airs as they walked, hiding behind trees, describing eccentric circles around the rest of theparty, or darting off in tangents. At length she became so troublesome, that Agnes determined to shorten their walk, and turned to retrace theirsteps; at this Miss Bella was highly indignant, and declared "that shewould not go back, she would go on, down there by the water. "

They were at this time near an open space, which reached to the water, at the end of which was a dock, for the convenience of those who wishedto go out upon the lake in boats. Agnes endeavored to detain the wilfulchild, but she suddenly pulled away from her, and started like the windfor the dock. Agnes called, and the children screamed, in vain; fasterand faster ran the little witch, still looking behind every moment tosee if she was pursued, till at length she tripped over a log, and fellfar out into the water. Agnes clasped her hands in speechless terror, while the cries of the children were loud and agonizing. Just then aboat in which were two gentlemen rounded a point of land near them, andmade rapidly for the struggling child, who in another moment was liftedinto the boat, and handed up to the arms of Agnes. 

Agnes was too much agitated to take particular notice of thesestrangers, but taking off her shawl she wrapped the dripping child init, while one of her preservers carried her into a cottage near by, Agnes and the still weeping children following. When the child wasplaced in the kind woman's bed, and little Rosa was sent home to askSusan for some clothes to put on her, with special directions not toalarm Mrs. Danby, Agnes returned to the sitting-room of the cottage, tothank the strangers who had so opportunely come to their assistance, when what was her astonishment to find that one of them was her oldfriend, Tom Wharton. 

"And you knew I was in town, Mr. Wharton, and have been here three orfour days without coming to see me, " said she. 

"Oh! you know I don't do things just like other people, " answered Tom;"and to tell the truth, though I have no fear of ghosts and hobgoblins, I have not yet had the courage to face two famous man-hunters, who Ihear reside under the same roof with you, Agnes. But it is time I shouldintroduce you to my friend Mr. Harrington, the present proprietor of"the Rookery, " together with all the spirits, black and white, red andgrey, who are the inhabitants thereof. "

Agnes was glad to meet Mr. Harrington, of whom she had often heard heruncle speak in terms of great admiration, as an accomplished gentlemanand a Christian; and one who used the large property he had inherited indeeds of benevolence and usefulness. They had been for some time inconversation about the friends at Brook Farm, from whom the twogentlemen had lately parted, when little Rosa returned. 

Rosa found that her older sisters and Mrs. Danby had gone out for awalk; so it was a very easy matter to get some dry clothes for Bella, and bring her safe home before her mother heard of the accident. Whatwas the surprise of the Misses Fairland, as, in coming down the street, they saw Agnes returning, accompanied by one of the handsome strangerswhose acquaintance they had been "dying" to make; while the otherfollowed, carrying little Bella Danby in his arms. A few words sufficedto tell the story of the accident, and to introduce the strangers, who, with the utmost cordiality, were urged to come in; an invitation whichwas unhesitatingly accepted by Mr. Harrington, and rather reluctantly byMr. Tom Wharton. Mrs. Danby, pale and agitated, took her little darlingin her arms, and hurried to her own room, there to administer certainrestoratives, and, much against the young lady's will, to place heragain in bed. 

Mr. Harrington, having now gained the _entrée_ to Mr. Fairland's house, seemed inclined to be a frequent visitor, much to the gratification ofthe ladies Calista and Evelina, who laid siege to him right and left. Ifmy reader possessed the key to Mr. Harrington's real object in coming toWilston, perhaps he would be as much amused as the gentleman himself atthe efforts, so exceedingly apparent, to gain for one of them possessionof his hand and fortune; for that Mr. Harrington was wealthy, they werewell assured. They each kept out a _hook_, too, for Mr. Tom Wharton, incase the other was successful in taking the more valuable prey; but thebait was by no means tempting to Mr. Tom, who darted off, leaving hisfriend, unsupported and alone, to resist the attacks of these practised, but hitherto unsuccessful anglers. 

"Well, Harrington, " said Mr. Tom Wharton to his friend one day, "sinceyour object in bringing me down here with you is accomplished, I mustnow leave you to your fate. What that may be, in the midst of attacksfrom spirits by night, and from more substantial persecutors by day, Icannot divine; but if there is anything left of you, I shall hope tosee you in the city before long, and to hear the account you have togive of yourself. "

"I thank you for your services thus far, my dear friend, " said Mr. Harrington; "still, I think it would be the part of disinterestedfriendship to stay and help me a little longer. "

"I can't--I can't stand it, Harrington. _You_ may be able to bear itbetter; but I'm not used to this sort of thing, and I don't know how toget along with it at all. Your case is a hard one, I acknowledge, myfriend; but having some business of my own to attend to, I must leaveyou to fight out your own battles. " And Mr. Tom Wharton, resolutelyclosed his ears to his friend's appeals, and took his departure. 

A beautiful little boat which Mr. Harrington had ordered from the cityhaving arrived, he called, one afternoon, at Mr. Fairland's, to ask theladies if they would take a sail with him upon the lake. Most eagerlythe Misses Fairland consented, and were leaving the room to prepare togo, when Mr. Harrington turned to Agnes, who happened to be in theroom, and said:

"May I not hope for the pleasure of Miss Elwyn's company too?" Uponwhich Miss Evelina, with a childishly-confidential air, raised herselfon tiptoe, and whispered in his ear:

"It is not _at all_ necessary to ask her: we never feel obliged to, Iassure you. She is only _governess to the children_. "

But Mr. Harrington renewed his invitation, which Agnes had respectfullydeclined, when Mr. Fairland entered the room, and Mr. Harringtonappealed to him. 

"Go? Certainly Agnes must go; she has never been on the lake in asail-boat, and I have often heard her say she would delight to go. Come, Agnes! put on your things without a word, and go along. "

Thus urged, Agnes consented to go, though she felt a littleuncomfortable at the silent displeasure of the Misses Fairland. Therewas a pleasant breeze, and the little boat flew like a bird over thedancing waves. Agnes, a devoted admirer of nature, was in an ecstasywhich she could not conceal, as one beautiful view succeeded anotherduring their sail up the lake; but the other ladies were so muchoccupied in trying the effect of _art_, that they had no eye for thebeauties of _nature_. The breeze soon died away, leaving them far fromhome, and Mr. Harrington was obliged to take to his oars; and longbefore the village was in sight, the gentle moon had begun her walkthrough "golden gates, " throwing across the water a brilliant column oflight, sparkling and dancing in glorious beauty on the gentle ripples ofthe lake. 

"Now is the time for music, " said Mr. Harrington; "for truly

 'Music sounds the sweetest Over the rippling waves. '"

But for once the Misses Fairland were obliged to relinquish theopportunity of charming by their united voices; the only music in whichthey were practised, and which they thought worth listening to, being ofthe flourishing, trilling, running, quavering, shrieking kind; and thisthey could not attempt without their "notes" and the "instrument. " Mr. Harrington then proposed to Agnes to sing some sweet old-fashioned airs;and laying down his oars, he took a seat beside her, and joined his richtenor to the strangely-melodious tones of her voice; and as the harmonyfloated over the water, it seemed almost like the music of heaven. Thiswas a state of things by no means agreeable to the two neglected ladiesin the other end of the boat, and Miss Calista began to be afraid of thenight air, and Miss Evelina was taken with a hacking cough; so that Mr. Harrington was obliged to resume his oars, and row them rapidly to thevillage. 

Mr. Harrington consented to moor his boat, and accompany the ladies upto the house to tea. Anxious to try the effect of their ownaccomplishments, the Misses Fairland, soon after tea, led theconversation to the subject of music, and were easily persuaded toattempt, with the "notes" and "instrument, " some of their favoritesongs. And now began a flourishing and screaming unparalleled in theannals of music. Miss Calista screamed, "I love only thee!" and thenMiss Evelina shrieked, "I love only thee!" and then Miss Calista trilledit--and Miss Evelina howled it--and Miss Calista quavered it--and MissEvelina ran it--and then one of them started on it, and the other ranand caught up with her--and then one burred for some time onthee-e-e-e-e, while the other ran up and down, still asserting asrapidly as possible, and insisting boldly, and stoutly asseverating, "Ilove only thee!"--and then, with a combined shriek, they made known thefact once more and finally, and then the ears of their hearers wereallowed to rest. 

"Now, girls, if you have done with that clatter, " said Mr. Fairland, "Iwant Agnes to sing for _me_ one of those sweet old Scotch songs; it willbe quite refreshing after all this screeching. "

"Oh!" said Miss Calista, rising from the instrument, and casting up hereyes at Mr. Harrington, "my dear old papa has the _oddest, old-fashioned_ taste!"

But as soon as Agnes began to sing, it seemed as if Mr. Harrington'staste was quite as "odd" and "old-fashioned" as that of the "dear oldpapa" himself; for he was guilty of the impropriety of not hearing whatMiss Evelina was saying to him, and soon rose and took his stand by thepiano, where he showed very plainly that he had no ear for any othersound than that of Agnes' voice. 

Agnes went to bed with some very pleasant thoughts that night; for, though tongues may be silent, _eyes_ can tell their story very soon; andit _is_ a pleasant thing to find one's self an object of interest tosome noble heart; and particularly grateful was it to Agnes, in herpresent lonely, toiling life. And she needed all the inward peace andcomfort she possessed, to enable her to bear the increased ill-nature ofMrs. Fairland and her daughters; for the "mamma" was no less displeasedthan the young ladies themselves at the prospect of the failure of oneof their cherished plans. 

And now, when Mr. Harrington called, there was generally some excusecontrived for sending Agnes from the room, and for keeping her busy insome other part of the house; and though Agnes was indignant at thisevident desire to get her out of the way, by putting upon her laborwhich they had no right to require of her, yet, at the time, and in Mr. Harrington's presence, she would not contest the point, but quietly leftthe room. This never happened, however, when Mr. Fairland was present, as the good man, if he had fully seen through all the plans of his wifeand daughters, could not have discomfited them more surely than healways contrived to do. 

In the meantime, the ladies Calista and Evelina never for a momentrelaxed their efforts, or ceased to practise their arts, upon thewealthy and agreeable stranger. 

"How _charming_ your place must her Mr. Harrington!" said Miss Evelinaone evening; "I do delight in these old haunted mansions; there issomething so delightfully romantic about them. "

"And have you really heard any of these strange noises at night?" askedMiss Calista. 

"Noises?--enough of them, " he answered; "I have sometimes been sodisturbed, that I could not sleep at all. "

"And what _did_ you do?" asked the young ladies in a breath, their eyesdilating with horror. 

"Why, in the first place, " said Mr. Harrington, "I bought a _terrier_, and in the next a large _rat-trap_; and by means of both, I succeed inlaying several of the spirits every night, and have strong hopes that, before long, perfect quiet will be restored to the haunted mansion. "

Then calling Jessie, who was in the room, to his side, Mr. Harringtontook her in his lap, and said:

"You remind me very much of a little blue-eyed, flaxen-haired girl Ihave in the city. "

"Why, have you a little girl?" Mr. Harrington, asked the young ladies. 

"Yes, two of them, " he answered. 

"Oh, how I _doat_ on children!" exclaimed Miss Calista. 

"Cousin Agnes, what is the meaning of _doat_?" screamed Master Frank, running up to Agnes, who just then entered the room. 

"What is it to _doat_ on any one?"

"It is to love them very dearly;" answered Agnes quietly. 

"Ho! C'listy says she _doats_ on children--she doats on us, don't sheRosa?" and Master Frank laughed such a laugh of derision, that Mr. Harrington was obliged to say something very funny to little Jessie, whowas still sitting on his knee, in order to have an excuse for laughingtoo. 

Miss Calista fairly trembled with concealed rage, and soon succeeded inhaving Master Frank sent off to bed. Indeed, Frank was the cause of somuch mortification to Miss Calista, that she would gladly have banishedhim too from the parlor, but he was lawless, and no one in the housecould do anything with him but Agnes. 

Mr. Harrington was very fond of children, and often had longconversations with little Frank, whose bold, independent manners seemedto please him much. One evening when he was talking to him, Frank said:

"Mr. Harrington I'm saving up my money to buy a boat just like yours. "

"You are, hey, Frank? and how much have you got towards it?" asked Mr. Harrington. 

"Oh! I've got two sixpences, and a shilling, and three pennies;" saidFrank. "I keep all my money in a china-box, one of C'listy's boxes sheused to keep her red paint in; _this_, you know!" touching each cheekwith his finger. 

This was too much for Miss Calista; she rushed from the room, and ventedher indignation in a burst of angry tears, and the next time she metMaster Frank, she gave him a slap upon his cheek, which made it a deepercrimson than the application of her own paint would have done. All theseslights and mortifications were revenged upon poor Agnes, who wouldgladly have left a place where she was so thoroughly uncomfortable; butthe thought of the children, to whom she had become attached, and whoseemed now to be rewarding her pains and trouble by their rapidimprovement, deterred her from taking a step which should separate herfrom them forever. Poor Tiney too, who seemed rapidly failing under thepower of disease, and who clung to her so fondly, how could she leaveher?

XVI. 

Death and the Fugitive. 

 "She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer, Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear, Then, as if breaking from a cloud she gave Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave. "

 --CRABBE. 

One summer night, Agnes, who had been up till very late, soothing andquieting poor Tiney, and had at last succeeded in singing her to sleep, left her in Susan's care, and returned to her own room. It was a lovely, warm, moonlight evening, and Agnes stood by her raised window, watchingthe shadows of the tall trees which were thrown with such vividdistinctness across the gravel walks and the closely trimmed lawn, andthinking of a pleasant walk she had taken that day, and of some one whojoined her, (as was by no means unusual, ) on her return from the woodswith the younger children. 

Suddenly her reverie was broken by the sound of a few chords struck verylightly and softly upon a guitar. The sound came from the clump oftrees, the shadows of which Agnes had just been admiring; and shesupposed they were the prelude to a serenade. Her heart whispered to herwho the musician might be, for though she had never heard him, with whomher thoughts had been busy, touch the guitar, yet with his ardent lovefor music, she did not doubt that he might if he chose, accompany hisrich voice upon so simple an instrument. 

But now the blood which had crimsoned her cheek flowed back tumultuouslyto her heart, as she heard a voice she could not mistake, humming verysoftly the notes of a sad and touching air, which she and Lewie hadoften sung together. This plaintive singer could be no other than herbrother. But why here, at night, and in this clandestine manner, evidently trying to win her attention, without arousing that of others?The house seemed quiet: and Agnes, throwing a shawl about her, quicklydescended the stairs, and, quietly opening a side door, crossed thelawn, and in another moment stood beside her brother, under the shade ofthe tall old elms. 

"Lewie! is it indeed you?"

He made no answer, he said not one word, but, drawing Agnes to a seatunder one of the trees, he seated himself beside her, and laying hishead upon her shoulder, he was quiet for a few moments; and then Agnesfelt his frame tremble with sudden emotion, and heard a deep sob. 

"Lewie! my brother! do speak to me! What is it? Do not keep me insuspense! What dreadful thing has happened?"

"Agnes, " said he, with a sudden and forced calmness, the words comingslowly from between his white, stiffened lips--"Agnes, it is--_murder_!"

Agnes did not scream--she did not faint--forgetfulness for a momentwould have been a relief. In a flash she had comprehended it all. 

"Lewie, " said she, "is there blood upon this hand?"

"Agnes, it is true; your brother is a murderer! No less a murderer, because the blow was struck in the heat of sudden passion, and when thebrain was inflamed with wine; and no less a murderer, because it wasrepented of the moment given, and before the fatal consequences weresuspected. My sister, I am a fugitive and a wanderer, hunted by theofficers of justice, and doomed to the prison or the gallows. "

It seemed to Agnes like a fearful dream! It was too dreadful to be true!The thought crossed her mind, perhaps it _is_ a dream; she had haddreams as vivid, and had awakened with such a blessed feeling of relief. But no! she clasped Lewie's cold hand in hers, and felt assured it wasall reality. For a few moments she could only bury her face in herhands, and rock to and fro and groan. She was aroused from this state ofagonized feeling by Lewie, who said:

"And now, what shall I do, Agnes? I have come all this way on foot, andat night, to see you once more, and to ask you what I should do? Oh thatI had been more willing to follow your gentle guidance before, sweetsister!--but I have followed nothing but the dictates of my ownungoverned passions. Shall I try to escape, or shall I give myself upfor trial? On my word, Agnes, I am not a murderer by intention. I wasexcited; something was said which tried my quick temper; I answered witha burst of sudden passion; more taunting words followed; and, quickerthan the lightning's flash, I had dealt the blow which laid myclass-mate dead at my feet I was sobered in one moment; and oh, Agnes!what, _what_ would I not have given to restore my murdered friend tolife!--not for my own sake; for I never thought of myself till urged bymy terror-stricken companions to fly. Then I thought of my own safety;and, my darling sister, I thought of you, and determined that you shouldhear of your brother's disgrace and crime from no lips but his own. Ihave been hanging about here all day, but could not see you; andfinding no other way to call your attention, I borrowed this guitar atthe tavern, and have been watching from these trees, till I saw a whiteform at a window, which I knew was yours. Now, Agnes, what shall I do?"

"Oh, Lewie, what can I say but _fly_, and save yourself from anignominious fate! It may not be right counsel; but how can a sisteradvise otherwise? My poor, poor brother!" And Agnes was relieved by apassionate burst of tears. And now came the time for parting. He mustgo, for they would be likely to seek him in the home of his onlysister, --he must go quickly and quietly;--and, with a few hurried words, in which his sister commended him to God, and entreated him to go to_Him_ for pardon and peace, and with one last fond embrace, they parted. Agnes returned to the house with feeble, staggering steps, stricken tothe very heart. 

No sleep visited the eyes of Agnes that night; and when she appeared inthe breakfast room the following morning, her pale and haggardcountenance showed marks of extreme suffering, which should have beenrespected even by the Misses Fairland. But no! their quick ears had alsocaught the tones of the guitar, and rushing to a window on that side ofthe house, in the expectation of a serenade, they had seen Agnes as shecrossed the lawn, and returned again to the house. Here was food forconjecture, and jealousy for the suspicious ladies, and they had longbeen awaiting the arrival of Agnes in the breakfast room, hoping to havethe mystery cleared up. 

"May we be informed, Miss Elwyn, " began Miss Calista, "how long you havebeen in the habit of receiving signals from lovers, and stealing out atnight to give them clandestine meetings in the grove?"

A bright blush suffused the cheek of Agnes, which died away immediately, leaving it of an ashy paleness, as she said:

"I have met no lover in the grove, Calista, at least not what _you_ meanby a lover, " she added, thinking this might be an evasion, for did nother brother love her dearly?

"Not what _I_ call a lover, " said Miss Calista; "a very nicedistinction! then you do not deny that you met what _you_ call a loverin the grove. Indeed you need trouble yourself to make no denial, forEvelina and I both watched you. "

Agnes rose from the table, and all who were gathered around it wereamazed at the unusual vehemence of her manner, as with an expression ofintense wretchedness upon her face, she exclaimed:

"Oh! _do, do_ let me alone! do leave me in quiet; for I am very, veryunhappy!"

And hastily, and with great agitation, Agnes left the room. 

Mr. Fairland, who was so much interested in a paragraph in the paper, which appeared to shock him exceedingly, that he had not heard theill-natured remarks of his daughters, looked up just as Agnes rose fromthe table, and heard her agonized address. 

With more sternness than usual, he asked his daughters what they hadbeen saying to Agnes, and on hearing their account of the conversation, he exclaimed:

"Poor Agnes! you will see in this paper girls something that will shockyou, and will perhaps inspire you with a little sympathy for one whom itseems to be your delight to torment. You may perhaps now guess who itwas that Agnes met in the grove last night. "

The Misses Fairland were really shocked to read the account of themurder, and to read the name of Lewis Elwyn as the murderer; andsomething like remorse for a moment visited their minds, that they hadadded to the sufferings of the already burdened heart of Agnes. 

"Poor fellow! poor young man!" exclaimed Mr. Fairland; "such a handsomefellow as he was, and such a sweet singer too! this seems to have beendone in a sudden passion; and not without provocation too. But it is anawful thing! Poor Agnes! she must not attempt to teach the childrenwhile she is so distressed; and I do desire girls, that you will havethe _decency_, if you have not the _feeling_, to leave her entirelyundisturbed. "

Days passed on and nothing was heard of the fugitive. Oh, what days ofrestless and painful suspense to Agnes! Had she not had constant andunusual occupation for her time, it seemed to her that she could notkeep her reason. But poor Tiney had grown suddenly and alarmingly worse, and the physician said a very days at most would terminate hersufferings. With all the distressing thoughts which crowded upon her, Agnes remained by the bed-side of the little sufferer, endeavoring tosoothe and cheer her descent to the dark valley. 

Mrs. Fairland, who though indolent and indifferent in many things withregard to her children, was not altogether without natural affection, passed much of her time, during the last two or three days of Tiney'slife, in her room, sitting quietly near the head of the bed. Mr. Fairland, who seemed more overcome even than Agnes expected, hardly everleft the bed-side. The older sisters looked in occasionally for a fewmoments, but their "nerves" (always ready as an excuse with peopledestitute of feeling) would not allow their staying for more than fiveminutes at a time, in the room of the sick child. The younger childrenwandered restlessly about the house, their little hearts oppressed bythe first approach of death among their number; sometimes coming inquietly to look at the dying sister, and then wandering off again. 

"Cousin Agnes, _must_ I _die_?" asked Tiney, the day before her death, as Agnes and her father and mother were sitting near her. 

"You are not afraid to die, dear Tiney, are you?" asked Agnes in reply. 

"No, I shall love to die, because you told me I would never be sick anymore; but I feel a _little_ afraid to go to Heaven. "

"Afraid to go to Heaven, dear Tiney! And why should you be afraid to gothere?" asked Agnes, in astonishment; for she had, oftener than ever, oflate, talked to the failing child of the glories of heaven, and did notdoubt that, even with her poor weak mind, she had so trusted by faithin the merits of an all-sufficient Redeemer, that through those meritsher spirit would be welcomed to that blissful abode. 

"I was thinking, " answered Tiney, "that I don't _know anybody_, there;not a single soul; and I feel so shy with strangers. Will they love methere, cousin Agnes, as you and papa do?"

Agnes could not repress the tears at this question, so natural, perhaps, to a simple child, and yet one which she had never thought of as likelyto occur to one before. But she talked to Tiney so soothingly andsweetly of Him who loved little children when on earth, and who waswatching for her now, and would send some lovely angel to bear her toHis breast, that poor Tiney lost her fears, and longed for the hour ofher release. And it came the next morning. Just as the glorious sun wasrising over the lake, the spirit of poor little suffering Tiney left itsearthly dwelling, and began its long and never-ending day of happiness. 

Oh! what a brilliant light shone for once in those dark gray eyes, asTiney raised them, with a look of wonder and astonishment and joy, as ifshe saw far, far beyond the limits which bounded her mortal sight!--andas, with an enraptured expression, she murmured something about "thatlovely music, " the light faded from the still wide open and glassy eye;and Agnes, passing her hand gently over the lids, said, "Mr. Fairland, she is gone!" and the first thought of her sad heart was, "Oh that I toowere at rest!" But she checked it in one moment, when she rememberedthat there were duties and conflicts and trials before her yet; and shedetermined she would go forward, in the Divine strength, into thefurnace which she must needs go through, in order to be refined andpurified. 

Once, during Tiney's last sickness, a messenger called for Agnes, andput a note and a little bouquet of green-house flowers into her hand. Atfirst, Agnes hoped that the note might contain tidings of her brother;but though disappointed in this respect, the contents of the note weresoothing and grateful to her troubled heart. The words were simplythese:

"Is there _anything_ I can do for you? And if you need a friend, willyou call upon me?" The note was signed "C. H. "

At first Agnes merely said, in a despairing tone, "Oh no! nothing can bedone;" and then, feeling that a different answer should be sent to amessage so kind, she tore off a bit of the paper, and wrote upon it:

"Nothing can be done for me now. Believe me, I will not hesitate to callupon you, when you can do me any good. "

The day after Tiney's death, officers came to search Mr. Fairland'shouse for the fugitive, having traced him to Wilston. Every corner ofthe house was searched, and even the chamber of death was not spared. The search, of course, was unsuccessful; but, the day after poor Tiney'sfuneral, came tidings to Agnes of the arrest of her brother. He wastaken at last, and safely lodged in the jail at Hillsdale, where he wasto await his trial. 

And now Agnes, whose office ever seemed of necessity to be that ofconsoler and comforter, must leave her little charge, and go to be nearher brother. It was a bitter parting; it seemed as if the children couldnot let her go; and the scene recalled so vividly to Agnes the partingwith Miss Edwards at Brook Farm, that the recollection made her, ifpossible, still more sad, as she thought the resemblance might becarried out even to the end, and the close of this earthly scene to hermight be as melancholy as was that of her beloved teacher. 

She promised Mr. Fairland that, as soon as she could attend to it, shewould ascertain if there were vacancies in Mrs. Arlington's school forRosa and Jessie, and also if Mr. Malcolm would consent to take charge ofFrank's education; and, accompanied by Mr. Fairland, she left Wilston, as she supposed, forever. 

XVII. 

The Jail. 

 "I may not go, I may not go, Where the sweet-breathing spring-winds blow; Nor where the silver clouds go by, Across the holy, deep blue sky; Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright Comes down, like a still shower of light; I must stay here In prison drear; Oh! heavy life, wear on, wear on, Would God that thou wert gone. "

 --FANNY KEMBLE. 

They reached Brook Farm late in the evening, and here the greeting, though not as noisy and joyous, was warmer, and if possible moreaffectionate than ever. They all loved Lewie in spite of his manyfaults, and their sympathy was most sincere and hearfelt for Agnes, whowas very dear to them all. As soon as Agnes could speak to Mr. Whartonalone, she said:

"Uncle, have you seen him?"

"Every day, dear Agnes, and have been with him some hours each day. "

"And how does he feel, dear Uncle?"

"Relieved, I think, on the whole; that the suspense is over thus far. Hesays he would not live over again the last three weeks for worlds. Manyand many a time he had almost resolved to return and give himself up fortrial; but the thought of you, Agnes, prevented. He said that you mustbe a sharer in all his trouble and disgrace, and if he could spare yourdistress and suffering, by escaping from the country, he meant to tryand do it, and then he would soon be forgotten, except by the few whocared for him. "

"And how does he feel about the--the result, uncle?"

"Hopeful, I think; he seems to think it cannot be brought in murder, when murder was so far from his intention. "

"And what do _you_ think, uncle?"

"I am inclined to think with Lewie, dear; there is always a leaningtowards mercy, and your brother has counsel, the very best in theState. "

"Oh, uncle, how very kind! how can we ever repay you for your kindness?"

"No thanks to me in this matter, Agnes; Mr. W---- has been retained byone who does not wish his name known; one who would be glad, I fancy, tohave a nearer right to stand by you through these coming scenes, but whowill not trouble you with these matters at present. "

A bright blush came up in Agnes' cheek, and as suddenly died away as shesaid:

"One question more, uncle; when will it take place--the trial, I mean?"

"It will probably come on in November, " her uncle answered. 

"Two long months of imprisonment for my poor brother!" said Agnes. 

"But remember, Agnes, those two months will be diligently employed byhis counsel in preparing his defence. "

"And by those on the other side, in making strong their cause againsthim, uncle. My poor dear Lewie! how I long to see him; and yet how Idread the first meeting, oh! if that were only over!"

The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Mr. Wharton and Agnesdrove over to Hillsdale. Agnes shuddered, and turned pale, as they drewnear the gloomy jail with its iron-barred windows, and closing her eyesshe silently prayed for strength and calmness for the meeting with herbrother. Mr. Wharton conducted her to the door of the room in which herbrother was confined, and left her there, as he knew they would bothprefer that their first meeting should be without witnesses. In onerespect Agnes was agreeably disappointed; she had expected to find herbrother in a close, dark dungeon; and was much surprised to find herselfin a pleasant, light room, with table, books, writing materials, andeverything very comfortable about him; the only things there to remindher that she was in a prison, being the locked door, and the gratedwindow. 

Agnes had been preparing herself ever since she first received thetidings of her brother's arrest, for this meeting; and she went throughit with a calmness and composure which astonished herself. But poorLewie was completely overcome. He knew his sister would come to him; buthe had not expected her so soon, and the first intimation he had of herarrival, was the sight of her upon the threshold of his door. 

"Poor Agnes! poor dear sister!" said he, as soon as he could speak;"what have I ever been from my childhood up, but a source of trouble anddistress to you. You were punished for my ungoverned temper all throughyour childhood; you are suffering for it now; you will have to sufferfor it more, till your bloom is all gone, and you are worn to askeleton. If I had dared, Agnes--if I had dared, I should have put anend to this mortal existence; and thus I should have saved you all thiscoming disgrace and misery. But I had not the courage to lay violenthands upon myself, and go, a deliberate suicide, into the presence ofmy Maker. I have tried all other means; I have gone through exposure andfatigue, which at any other time I know would have killed me; I havelaid out all night in the rain; _I_, who used to be so susceptible tocold, but nothing seemed to hurt me. I have been reserved for other andmore terrible things. And you, Agnes, who are always kind, andforbearing, and self-sacrificing, it seems to be your fate ever tosuffer and endure for others. Oh, my sister, you deserve a happier lot!"

"Don't talk so, dear Lewie!" said Agnes; "you have given me very manyhappy hours, and all the little troubles of 'long, long ago' areforgotten. And now, what greater pleasure can I have than that ofsitting with you here, working and reading, and trying to wile away thetedious hours of your captivity?"

"Agnes! this must not be! I cannot allow it. It will brighten the wholeday for me, if you will come and spend an hour or two with me everymorning; but I cannot consent that you shall be immured for the wholeday in the walls of this gloomy prison-house. "

"But what can you do, Lewie? I am going to be obstinate for once, andtake my own course. Uncle will drive me over every morning, and come forme at night; and I am going to enjoy a pleasure long denied me, ofspending every day with my darling brother. "

"Oh, Agnes! this is too, too much!"

"Not too much at all, Lewie. Do you think I could be happy anywhere elsethan with you? What should I do at uncle's but roam the house, restlessand impatient, every moment I am absent from you? And the nights willseem so long, because they separate me from you!"

"Oh! how utterly undeserving!--how _utterly undeserving_ such love anddevotion!" said Lewie, pacing up and down the room. "Sweetsister!--dearest Agnes!--now has my prison lost all its gloom; and wereit not for the future, I might be happier here than when out in theworld; for temptation here is far from me, and only good influencessurround me. "

"And what of the future, dear?"

"Of my trial, Agnes? Well, I hardly know what to say. My friends andlawyers try to keep up my spirits, and mention to me many hopefulthings; and, for the time, I too feel encouraged. But I can think ofmany things that a skilful lawyer can bring up against me, and whichwould weigh very heavily. I am trying to think of the _worst_ as a_probability_; so that if it comes, I shall not be overwhelmed. "

"Oh!" said Agnes, shuddering, and covering her eyes, as if to shut outsome horrid spectacle, "it cannot be! I cannot bring myself tocontemplate it for a moment!"

"And yet it _may be_, Agnes! or they may spare my life, and doom me towear out long years of imprisonment, and then send me out into the worlda blighted and ruined man! That is the best I can hope for; and but forthe disgrace which would come upon me, I should say the sudden end isbetter. "

"And what of the future _after that_, Lewie? for that, after all, is thegreat concern. "

"The _eternal future_ you mean, Agnes. Ah! my sister, the prospect thereis darker and more dreary still. I know enough of religion to feelassured that my short life has not been spent in the way to prepare mefor a future of happiness; and I am not yet so hardened as to pretendnot to dread a future of misery. "

"God grant such may not be your fate, dear brother. Whether life be longor short, happy or sorrowful, our future depends upon heart-feltrepentance here, and faith in the 'sinner's Friend. ' You have now timefor quiet and reflection. Oh! improve it dear Lewie, in so humblingyourself before Him whom you have offended, and in so seeking forpardon, that He will bless you and grant you peace. "

"I see, Agnes, " said her brother, with a sad smile, "you want me tofollow in the footsteps of all other offenders and criminals, who, after doing all the mischief possible, and living for their own selfishgratification while abroad in the world, spend the time of theirimprisonment in acts of penitence and devotion, and go out of the world, as they all invariably do, in the full odor of sanctity, in peace withGod, and in charity with men. "

"Is my advice to you in any way different, my dear brother, from what itwas when you were free and unrestrained? Indeed, so much did I dread theeffect of your undisciplined temper, and so assured did I feel that foryou the grace of God was peculiarly necessary, that I have feared Isometimes made my presence unwelcome by my constant warnings andadmonitions. "

"Never, Agnes--never, dearest sister! I always thanked you from myinmost heart for your kind, loving, tender counsel; and thoughapparently I turned it off lightly and carelessly, yet it often sankdeep in my heart; and when parted from you, I often thought what amiserable wretch I was not to give better heed to it. "

"Yet, Lewie dear, I will not deny that I think the need more urgentthan ever for repentance and pardon now. I do not wish to harrow up yourfeelings, dear brother; but, oh! it is an awful thing to send afellow-creature into eternity!"

"And do you think that thought ever for a moment leaves me, Agnes?Indeed, I think that while I have been skulking and hiding, hunted andpursued from one place to another, and since I have been shut up inthese walls, every harrowing thought that could possibly be broughtbefore my mind, has been dwelt upon till it seemed sometimes as if Ishould go mad. I have mourned for Cranston as if I had no hand in hisdeath; I have thought of him in all his hope and promise; I have thoughtof his poor mother and sisters, till the tears have rained from mycheeks; and I believe I have been sincere in my feeling, that if bysuffering an ignominious death, I could restore my murdered friend tolife, I should be _glad_ to be the sacrifice. And then when I thought of_myself_ as the cause of all this suffering, it seemed as if it oughtnot to be a matter of wonder or complaint if the verdict should be, that such a wretch should cumber the earth no longer. And yet, Agnes, inthe eye of Him who looketh only on the heart, I believe I was as much amurderer when I struck down my school-mate in the play-ground as now. For in the height of my passion then, I think I should have been glad tohave killed him. But the thought of _murder_ did not enter my heart whenI struck poor Cranston; it was a sort of instinctive movement; the workof a moment; and had not the murderous weapon been in my hand, theeffects of the blow would have been but slight. "

Many such conversations as these passed between the young prisoner andhis sister, during those two months preceding the trial--every day ofwhich, except during church hours on Sunday, Agnes passed with him frommorning till night, almost as much a prisoner as he, except that herswas not compulsory. This time was faithfully improved by Agnes, inendeavoring to lead her brother to right views upon the subject of hisown condition in the sight of a Holy God. He was very gentle andteachable now, and before the day of trial came, Agnes hoped that herbrother was a true penitent, though his own hopes of pardon were faintand flickering. 

Mr. Malcolm too, often visited young Elwyn, in whom he was most deeplyinterested; and his gentle teachings and fervent prayers were eagerlylistened to by the youthful prisoner. Mr. W----, his counsel, cameoften, also, but in his endeavors to keep up the spirits of Lewie andhis sister, his manner was so trifling and flippant that it grated ontheir feelings painfully. He was working as laboriously it seemed, asthe enormous fee promised him would warrant, leaving no stone unturnedwhich would throw some favorable light on young Elwyn's case. Thus daysand weeks passed on, and in the midst of increasing agitation andexcitement, the day of trial came. 

When the brother and sister parted the evening before the trial, Agnesonce more renewed the entreaties she had so often made that Lewie wouldallow her to remain by his side during the painful events of the comingday. But his refusal was firm and unyielding. 

"No, no, dear sister, pray do not urge it, " said he. "I know I shall betoo much agitated as it is; I do not believe I can go through it witheven an appearance of calmness alone; and how much more difficult itwould be for me with you by my side. I know I could not bear it. No!Agnes, remain in the village if you prefer it, but do not let me seeyour dear face again till my fate is decided. Let us pray once moretogether, sweet sister--let us pray for mercy from God and man. " Andwhen they arose from their knees they took their sad farewell, and Agnesaccompanied her uncle to the house of her kind friend, Dr. Rodney, whereshe was to remain till the trial was over. 

XVIII. 

The Trial. 

 "The morn lowered darkly; but the sun hath now, With fierce and angry splendor, through the clouds Burst forth, as if impatient to behold This our high triumph. Lead the prisoner in. "

 --VESPERS OF PALERMO. 

To say that, long before the hour fixed for the trial, the court roomwas crowded to its utmost capacity with eager and expectant faces, wouldbe to repeat what has been written and said of every trial, the eventsof which have been chronicled; but it would be no less true for that. And when the young prisoner was brought into the room, his handsome facepale from agitation and recent confinement, and with an expression ofintense anxiety in his eye, all not before deeply interested for thefriends of the unfortunate Cranston were moved to pity, and stronglyprepossessed in his favor. 

Mr. W----, the counsel for the prisoner, was an able and eloquentlawyer. He was a small, slight man, with a high, bald forehead; and apair of very bright, black, restless eyes. His manner was naturallyquick and lively; but he well knew how to touch the tender strings, andmake them give forth a tone in unison with his own, or with that whichhe had adopted for his own to suit the occasion. He had an appearance, too, of being assured of the justice of his cause, and perfectlyconfident of success, which was encouraging to the prisoner and hisfriends. 

After the necessary preliminaries and statements had been gone throughwith, the witnesses against the prisoner and in his favor were called, who testified to the fact of the murder, and to the prisoner's naturalquickness of temper, inducing fits of sudden passion, which, even inchildhood, seemed at times hardly to leave him the mastery of himself. Friends, school-mates, college-mates, in turn gave their testimony tothe prisoner's kindness of heart, which would not suffer him to harborresentment; and yet many instances were mentioned of fierce and terriblepassion, utterly heedless of results for the moment, and yet passingaway quick as the lightning's flash. 

It was shown that he had no ill-will to young Cranston; on the contrary, they were generally friendly and affectionate; that they had been sothroughout the evening on which the fatal deed was done. It was at asupper table, when all were excited by wine; and Cranston, who was fondof a joke, and rather given to teazing, and being less guarded thanusual, introduced some subject exceedingly unpleasant to young Elwyn. The quick temper of the latter was aroused at once, and he gave a hastyand angry reply. The raillery was pushed still farther; and before thoseabout him had time to interfere, the fatal blow was struck in franticpassion. 

"And is this no palliating circumstance, " said Mr. W----, "that God hasgiven to this young man a naturally fierce and hasty temper, whichcould not brook that which might be borne more patiently by those whoseblood flows more coldly and sluggishly? Is there no difference to bemade in our judgment of men, because of the different tempers anddispositions with which they were born? Of course there is!--_of course_there is! It has been clearly shown that there was no maliceaforethought in this case; the injury was not brooded over in silence, and the plan matured in cold blood to murder a class-mate and friend. No! on the moment of provocation the blow was struck, with but thesingle idea of giving vent to the passion which was bursting his breast. And those who witnessed his deep remorse and agony of mind, when hediscovered the fatal effects of his passion, as, all regardless of hisown safety, he endeavored to restore his expiring friend to life, haveassured me, that though they were witnesses of the whole scene, theyfelt for _him_ only the deepest commiseration. "

And here Mr. W---- paused and wiped his eyes repeatedly, and the sobsof the young prisoner were heard all over the court room. 

"There was one, " Mr. W---- continued, "of whom he wished to speak, andwhom, on some accounts, he would have been glad to bring before the juryto-day. But he would not outrage the feelings of his young friend byurging him to consent to the entreaties of his lovely sister, that shemight be permitted to sit by his side in that prisoner's seat to-day. She is his only sister; he her only brother; and they are orphans. "(Here there was a faltering of the voice, a pause, which was veryeffective; and after apparently a great effort, Mr. W---- went on. )

"She has sat beside him hour after hour, and day after day, in yonderdreary jail, endeavoring to make the weary hours of solitude andcaptivity less irksome, and lead the prisoner's heart away from earthlytrouble to heavenly comfort. Her hope in the jury of to-day is strong. She believes they will not doom her young and only brother to anignominious death, and a dishonored grave; she even hopes that theywill not consign him to long years of weary imprisonment; she feels thathe is changed; that he no longer trusts to his own strength to overcomehis naturally strong and violent passions; but that his trust is in thearm of the Lord his God, who 'turneth the hearts of men as the rivers ofwater are turned. '"

"May He dispose the hearts of these twelve men, on whom the fate of thisyouth now hangs, so that they shall show, that like Himself they are_lovers of mercy_. "

And Mr. W---- sat down and covered his face with his handkerchief. Thehope and expectation of acquittal now were very strong. 

And now slowly rose the counsel for the prosecution. Mr. G---- was atall thin man, of a grave and stern expression of countenance; his hairwas of an iron-gray, and his piercing gray eye shone from under hisshaggy eye-brows like a spark of fire. It was the only thing that lookedlike _life_ about him; and when he first rose he began to speak in aslow, distinct, unimpassioned manner, and without the least attempt ateloquence. 

"He _had_ intended, " he said, "to call a few more witnesses, but hefound it was utterly unnecessary; those already called had said all hecared to hear; indeed, he had been much surprised to hear testimony onthe side of the prisoner which he should have thought by right his own. No one attempts to deny the fact of the killing, and that the deed wasdone by the hand of the prisoner. The question for us to decide is, wasit murder? was it man-slaughter? or was it _nothing at all_? for to thatpoint my learned adversary evidently wishes to conduct us. "

"The young man it appears, by the testimony of friends and school-mates, has always been of a peculiarly quick and fiery temper; so much so itseems, that a playful allusion, or what is commonly called a _teazing_expression, could not be indulged in at his expense but his companionwas instantly felled to the ground. And was _he_ the one to arm himselfwith bowie-knife or revolver? Should one who was perfectly consciousthat he had not the slightest control over his temper, keep about him amurderous weapon ready to do its deed of death upon any friend who mightunwittingly, in an hour of revelry, touch upon some sore spot?"

"As soon would I approach a keg of gun-powder with a lighted candle inmy hand, as have aught to do with one so fiery and so armed fordestruction. It has been said that it is the custom for young men insome of our colleges to go thus armed; the more need of signal vengeanceupon the work of death they do. Gentlemen of the jury, if this practiceis not loudly rebuked we shall have work of this kind accumulatingrapidly on our hands. "

"'It was done in the heat of frenzied passion, and so the prisoner mustgo unpunished. ' My learned friend argued not so, when he appeared inthis place against the murder Wiley; poor, ignorant, and half-witted;who with his eyes starting from his head with starvation, entered afarmer's house, and in the extremity of his suffering demanded bread. And on being told by the woman of the house to take himself off to thenearest tavern and get bread, caught up a carving knife and stabbed herto the heart, seized a piece of bread, and fled from the house. He had afiendish temper too; it was rendered fiercer by starvation; and whenasked why he did the dreadful deed, he said he never could have draggedhimself on three miles to the nearest tavern, and he had no money to buybread when he got there. He must die anyway, and it might as well be onthe gallows as by the road-side. "

"He, poor fellow, had no friends; he had been brought up in vice andmisery; he had no gentle sister to lead him in the paths of virtue, akind word was never spoken to him; a crust of bread was denied him whenhe was starving; and above all, he had no wealthy friend to pay anenormous counsel fee, and my learned opponent standing where he did justnow, called loudly on the jury and said, 'away with such a fellow fromthe earth!'"

"Do not think me blood-thirsty or unfeeling. The innocent sufferer inthis case, the sister of this unfortunate young man, has my deepestsympathy and commiseration, as she has that of this audience and thejury. But could those here present have gone with me"--(here the speakerpaused, too agitated to proceed)--"to yonder desolated home; had theyseen a mother, lately widowed, and four young sisters, around the bierwhere lay the remains of the murdered son and brother--their only hopenext to God--he for whom they were all toiling early and late, that, when his education was completed, he in turn might work for them, --hadthey heard that mother's cry for strength, now that her last earthlyprop was thus rudely snatched away, they would have found food for pitythere. I tell you, my friends, I pray that I may never be called upon towitness such a scene again!"

Wiping his cheeks repeatedly, Mr. G----resumed:

"These tears surprise me; for I am not used to the 'melting mood, ' and Icannot afford to weep as readily as my learned opponent, who will counthis pile of bank notes for every tear he sheds, and think those tearswell expended. I speak for an outraged community; my sympathies are withthe poor--with the widow and the fatherless--with those whose only sonand brother has been cut off in his hope and promise, and consigned toan early grave. "

"Shall these things take place unnoticed and unpunished?--and for alight and hasty word, shall our young men of promise be cut down in themidst of their days, and the act go unrebuked of justice? I look not somuch at this individual case as to the general good. Were I to look onlyon the prisoner, I too might yield to feeling, and forget justice. Butfeeling must not rule here: in the court room, justice alone should havesway; and I call upon the jury to decide as impartially in this case asif the poorest and most neglected wretch, brought up in vice andwretchedness, sat there, instead of the handsome and interestingprisoner; and I call upon the jury to show that, though in private lifethey may be 'lovers of mercy, ' yet, where the general good is so deeplyinvolved, they are determined to 'deal justly' with the prisoner. "

The judge then gave his charge to the jury, which was thought to leanrather to the side of the prisoner, though he agreed with Mr. G----, that some sharp rebuke should be given to the practice, so common amongthe young men in some of our colleges, of carrying about with themoffensive weapons. 

The prisoner was led back to the jail; the jury retired; and it beingnow evening, the court room was deserted. 

XIX. 

The Sealed Paper. 

 "Sister, thy brother is won by thee. "--MRS. HEMANS. 

The verdict would not be made known till the next morning. Oh! what anight of mental torture was that to the devoted sister of the prisoner!The terrible suspense left it out of her power to remain quiet for amoment, but she restlessly paced the room, watching for the dawn of day, and yet dreading the signs of its approach. Her aunt, who remained withher during that anxious night, endeavored as well as she could to sootheand calm her excited feelings; but how little there was to be said; shecould only point her to the Christian's never-failing trust andconfidence; and it was only by constant supplications for strength fromon high, as she walked the room, that Agnes was enabled to retain theslightest appearance of composure, or, as it seemed to her, to keep herbrain from bursting. 

The longest night will have an end, and morning at length dawned on theweary eyes of the watchers. The family rose and breakfasted early, foran intense excitement reigned throughout the house. Agnes begged to beallowed to remain in her own room; and though, in compliance with theentreaties of her friends, she endeavored to eat, she could not swallowa morsel. Mr. Wharton came early; and soon after breakfast, he and Dr. Rodney went out. At nine o'clock the court were to assemble, to hear theverdict; and from that moment, Agnes seated herself at the window, withher hands pressed on her aching forehead, and her eyes straining tocatch the first glimpse of them as they returned. 

She sat thus for an hour or more at the window, and at the end of thattime the crowds began to pass the house, and she soon caught sight ofDr. Rodney and her uncle. They did not hasten as if they had joyfulnews to tell, and as Agnes in her agitation rose as they approached thegate, and watched their faces as they came up the gravel walk, she sawthere enough to tell her the whole story; and pressing both hands uponher heart she sat down again, for she had no longer strength to stand. In a few moments she heard her uncle's step coming slowly towards herroom. As the door opened very gently she did not raise her head; it hadfallen upon her breast, and she was asking for strength to bear what sheknew was coming. When at length she looked towards her uncle she saw himstanding with his hand still on the lock, and gazing at her intently. His face was of an ashy paleness, and he seemed irresolute whether toapproach her or to leave the room. 

"Uncle, " gasped Agnes, "do not speak now; there is no need; I see itall, " and slowly she fell to the floor and forgot her bitter sorrow inlong insensibility. When she recovered it was nearly mid-day, and onlyher aunt was sitting by her bedside. 

"Aunty, " said she, as if bewildered, "what time is it?" Her aunt toldher the time. 

"And is it possible, " said Agnes, "that I have slept so late?" and thenpressing her hands to her head, she said:

"Who said '_condemned_' and '_sentenced_?'"

"No one has said those words to you, dear Agnes, " said Mrs. Wharton. 

"But oh, aunty!" she exclaimed, seizing Mrs. Wharton's hand, "it is_true_, is it not? Yes, I know it is. My poor young brother! And here Ihave been wasting the time when he wants me so much. I must get up thismoment and go to him. "

Her aunt endeavored to persuade her to remain quiet, telling her thatMr. Malcolm was with Lewie, and that he was not left alone for a moment. Agnes insisted, however, upon rising, but on making the attempt her headbecame dizzy and she sank back again upon her pillow; and this was thebeginning of a brain fever, which kept her confined to her bed inunconscious delirium for more than three weeks. In her delirium sheseemed to go back to the days of her childhood, and live them overagain with all the trouble they caused her young heart. Sometimes shefancied herself a lonely prisoner again in the cold north room, andsometimes pleading with her little brother, and begging him to "be agood boy, and to try and not be so cross. " At one time Dr. Rodney hadlittle hope of her life, and after that he feared permanent loss ofreason, but in both fears he was disappointed. Agnes recovered atlength, and with her mind as clear as ever. 

During the days when she was convalescing, but still too weak to leaveher bed, her impatience to get to her brother was so great, that thedoctor feared it would retard her recovery. It could not be concealedfrom her that Lewie was ill, and the consciousness that she was sonecessary to him, made it the more difficult for Agnes to exercise thatpatience and calmness which were requisite to ensure a return of herstrength. Lewie had taken to his bed, immediately after his return tothe jail, on the morning of the sentence, and had not left it since. Heseemed fast sinking into a decline, and much of the good doctor's timewas taken up in ministering at the bed-side of the brother and sister. 

At length Agnes was so much better that the doctor consented to herpaying her brother a visit. She found him in the condemned cell, but nomanacles were necessary to fetter his limbs, for a chain stronger thaniron bolts confined him to his bed, and that strong chain was perfectweakness. Though his cell was darker and more dungeon-like, yet throughthe kindness of friends the sick young prisoner was made as comfortableas possible. By a very strong effort Agnes so far commanded herself asto retain an appearance of outward composure, during that first meetingafter so long and so eventful a separation; and now began again thedaily ministrations of Agnes at the bed-side of her brother, for inconsideration of his feeble condition his sister was permitted to remainwith him constantly. 

Lewie knew that he was failing; "I think, " said he to Agnes, "that Godwill call for my spirit before the time comes for man to set it free. But oh! Agnes, if I could once more look upon the green earth, and theblue sky, and breathe the pure fresh air; and die _free_. "

It was after longings for freedom like these, that when Agnes returnedto Dr. Rodney's one evening, (for ever since the trial, at the earnestrequest of the kind doctor and his wife, she had made their house herhome except when with her brother, ) she found her cousin Grace, whooften came over to pass the night with her, waiting her arrival withtidings in her face. 

"Agnes, " said she, "I have heard something to-day which may possiblycast a ray of hope on Lewie's case yet. "

"What can it be, dear Grace?" asked Agnes. 

"Who do you think the new Governor's wife is, Agnes?"

"I am sure I cannot imagine. "

"Do you remember that strange girl, Ruth Glenn?"

"Certainly. "

"Well, it is she. Only think how strange! I have no idea how muchinfluence she has with the Governor; but unless she has changedwonderfully in her feelings, she would do anything in the world to serveyou, Agnes, as she ought. "

"Oh, blessings on you, Grace! I will go; there _may_ be hope in it; andif poor Lewie could only die free; for die he must, the doctor assuresme--perhaps before the flowers bloom. "

"Father will go with you, Agnes. I have been talking with him about it. "

"Oh, how very, very kind you all are to us!" said Agnes. "Then, no timemust be lost, Grace; and if uncle will go with me, we will start asearly as possible in the morning. "

Agnes rose early the next morning, with something like a faint tinge ofcolor in her cheek, lent to it by the excitement of hope; and aftervisiting her brother, to give some explanation of the cause of herabsence, she took her seat in the carriage by her uncle, for they mustride some miles in order to reach the cars. 

They reached the Capitol that afternoon; and Agnes, who felt that shehad very little time to spare, left the hotel a few moments after theirarrival in the city, and, leaning on her uncle's arm, sought theGovernor's house. Agnes felt her heart die within her as she ascendedthe broad flight of marble steps. Years had passed, and many changes hadtaken place since she had met Ruth Glenn. Would she find her again inthe Governor's lady?

Mrs. F---- was at home, and Mr. Wharton left Agnes at the door, thinkingthat, on all accounts, the interview had better be private. "He shouldreturn for her in an hour or two, " he said, "when he intended to callupon the Governor, who had once been a class-mate and intimate friend. "

Having merely sent word by the servant that an old friend wished to seeMrs. F----, Agnes was shown into a large and elegantly-furnished parlor, to await her coming. In a few moments, she heard a light stepdescending the stairs, and the rustling of a silk dress, and theGovernor's lady entered the room. 

Could it be possible that this blooming, elegant, graceful woman was thepale, nervous Ruth Glenn, whom Agnes had befriended at Mrs. Arlington'sschool? To account for this extraordinary change, we must go back a fewyears, which we can fortunately do in a few moments, and give a glanceat Ruth Glenn's history. 

She had left school almost immediately after Agnes and her cousins, having been recommended by Mrs. Arlington to a lady who was looking fora governess to her children. Here she became acquainted with a lawyerwho visited frequently at the house; a middle-aged man, and a widower, who was just then looking out for some one to take care of himself andhis establishment. By one of those unaccountable whims which mensometimes take, this man (who, from his position and wealth, might havewon the hand of almost any accomplished and dashing young lady of hisacquaintance, ) was attracted towards the plain, silent governess, andhe very soon, to the astonishment of all, made proposals to her, whichwere accepted. 

Soon after their marriage, business made it necessary for Mr. F---- togo to Europe, and Ruth accompanied him. A sea voyage and two years'travel abroad entirely restored her health, and with it came, what herhusband had never looked for--_beauty_; while the many opportunities forimprovement and cultivation which she enjoyed, and the good society intowhich she was thrown, worked a like marvellous change in her manners. All her nervous diffidence banished, and in its place she had acquired adignified self-possession and grace of manner, which fitted her well forthe station of influence she was to occupy. Soon after her return, herhusband was elected Governor; and the city was already ringing withpraises of the loveliness and affability of the new Governor's wife. 

No wonder, then, that as Agnes rose to meet her they stood looking ateach other in silence for a moment; Agnes vainly endeavoring to discovera trace of Ruth Glenn in the easy and elegant woman before her, and Mrs. F---- trying to divine who this guest who had called herself an oldfriend might be. 

For sickness and sorrow had changed Agnes too. Her bright bloom was allgone; her charming animation of manner had given place to a settledsadness; and though still most lovely, as she stood in her deep mourningdress, she was but a wreck of the Agnes Elwyn of former years. 

But when after a moment Agnes said, "Ruth, do you not know me?"

The scream of delight with which Ruth opened her arms, and clasped herto her breast, crying out, "_Agnes Elwyn!_--my dear, dear Agnes!"convinced her that in heart at least her old school-mate was unchanged. Ruth immediately took Agnes to her own room, that they might beundisturbed, for she guessed at once her purpose in coming; and thenAgnes opened to her her burdened heart; relating all her brother'shistory; telling her of his naturally strong passions, and saying allthat was necessary to say, in justice to her brother, of the injudicioustraining he had received; at the same time treating her mother's memorywith all possible delicacy and respect. 

"And now, dear Ruth, " she said, "I do not come to ask that my youngbrother shall be permitted to walk forth to do like evil again;--therewould be no danger of that, even if he were not greatly changed, as Isolemnly believe he is, in heart and temper; for his doom is sealed;consumption is wasting his frame;--we only ask that we may carry himforth to die and be buried among his kindred. Oh! how he pines for thefree air and the blue sky, and longs to die elsewhere than in acondemned cell! If I might be permitted to remove him to my uncle's kindhome, where he could have comforts and friends about him, I could closehis eyes, it seems to me, with thankfulness, for I do believe that theChristian's hope is his. "

Ruth's sympathizing tears had been flowing down her cheeks, as, withher hand clasping that of Agnes, she had listened to her sad story. Shenow rose, and said she would go to her husband, who was slightlyindisposed, and confined to his room, and prepare him to see Agnes. "Anddo, Agnes, talk to him just as you have done to me, " she said. "He iscalled a stern man; but he has tender feelings, I can assure you, if theright chord is only touched. "

Ruth was gone a long time, and Agnes walked the floor of her room in astate of suspense and agitation only equalled by that of the night afterthe trial. At length Ruth returned: she looked sad and troubled. 

"Agnes, " said she, "you must see my husband yourself, and say to him allyou have said to me. He is deeply grateful for all you have done for me, and would do anything in the world for you except what he thinks, orwhat he seems to think, would be yielding to the call of feeling at theexpense of justice. He says his predecessor has been much censured forso often granting pardons to criminals, especially to any who hadinfluential friends; and I fear that, in avoiding his errors, he will goto the opposite extreme. He remembers your brother's case well, andsays, that though it could not be called _deliberate_ murder, still itwas murder; and he agrees with the lawyer, Mr. G----, that some signalreproof should be given to this practice among the young men of carryingabout them offensive weapons. This is all he said; but he has consentedto see you, and is expecting you. I shall leave you alone with him; andoh! Agnes, do speak as eloquently as you did to me. I know he cannotresist it. "

The Governor, a tall, fine-looking man, was wrapped in hisdressing-gown, and seated in his easy chair. He rose to receive Agnes, gave her a cordial welcome as a friend to his wife, and bade her take aseat beside him; but there was something in his look which said, that hedid not mean to be convinced against his better judgment by two women. 

Agnes was at first too much agitated to speak; but the Governor kindlyre-assured her, by asking her some questions about her brother's case, and soon she thought of nothing but him; her courage all revived; andwith an eloquence the more effective from being all unstudied, she toldher brother's story to the Governor. "He is so young, " said she, "onlyeighteen years old; and yet he must die. But, oh! sir, if you would butsave him from being dragged in his weakness to a death of shame, or fromlingering out his few remaining days in that close, dark cell; oh! if hemight only die free!"

"Ruth tells me, " said the Governor, quietly, "that your uncle, Mr. Wharton, is with you. Is it William Wharton, of C---- County?"

Agnes answered in the affirmative. 

"Once a very good friend of mine, " said he; "but it is many years sincewe have met. Where is he?"

"He came to the door with me, " answered Agnes, "and will return for mesoon. He hoped to have the pleasure of seeing you, sir. "

"I will see him when he comes, " said the Governor. "Go you back to Ruth, my dear young lady. I will think of all you have said. "

When Mr. Wharton called, he was admitted to the Governor; and the twoformer friends, after a cordial greeting, were closeted together for along time. He confirmed all that Agnes said of her brother, and assuredthe Governor that it was the opinion of physicians that he could notrecover, and might not last a month. He spoke long and feelingly of thedevotion of Agnes to her brother, in attendance upon whom, in hisloneliness and imprisonment, she had worn out health and strength. 

The eyes of the Governor now glistened with emotion as he said, "Well, well, I hope I shall not be doing wrong. At what time do you leave inthe morning, Mr. Wharton?"

"In the very first train. Agnes cannot be longer from her brother'sbedside. "

"Can you bring her here for one moment before you leave?"

"Certainly. "

"Well, then, tell her to lie down to-night, and sleep in peace; and mayHeaven bless a sister so devoted, and a friend so true. "

The Governor was not so well when Mr. Wharton and Agnes called the nextmorning; but Ruth. Appeared, her face radiant with joy, and, throwingher arms around Agnes' neck, she put into her hand a _sealed paper_. 

XX. 

Twice Free. 

 "Oh liberty!

 Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which Life is as nothing. "--KNOWLES. 

Oh! the sunshine, and the glad earth, and the singing of the birds ofearly spring, to the prisoner, sick, and worn, and weary! How the feeblepulse already begins to throb with pleasure, and life which had seemedso valueless before, looks lovely and much to be desired now. 

The official announcement of the pardon reached Hillsdale almost as soonas Agnes herself, and the friends of the young prisoner lost no time inremoving him as gently and as comfortably as possible, to his uncle'skind home at Brook Farm. Here nothing was left undone by his devotedfriends to soothe his declining days; and with a heart overflowing withgratitude and love, Lewie sank quietly towards the grave. 

He was very gentle now, and the change in him was so great, that hissister doubted not that repentance and faith had done their work. Hisown doubts and fears were many, though sometimes a glimmering of hopewould beam through the clouds which seemed to have gathered about him. One day, after a long conversation with Agnes upon the love and mercy ofGod, he said:

"Well Agnes, it may be, there is hope for me too; I know He isall-powerful and all-merciful; why, as you say, should not his mercyextend even to me?"

"He is _able_ and _willing_ to save unto the uttermost, " said Agnes. 

"Unto--the--uttermost! Unto--the--uttermost!" repeated the sick youthslowly; then looking up with his beautiful eye beaming withexpression;--

"Yes, Agnes, " said he, "I will trust him!"

Day by day he grew weaker, and at times his sufferings were intense;but such a wonderful patience and calmness possessed him, and he seemedso to forget self in his thought for others, that Mrs. Wharton said, inspeaking of him:

"I never so fully realized the import of the words '_a new creature_. 'Who would think that this could be our impetuous, thoughtless Lewie, offormer times. "

"You must make some allowance for the languor of sickness, my dear, "said Mr. Wharton, who of course did not see so much of the invalid asthose who had the immediate charge of him. 

"Weakness, I grant, would make him less impetuous and violent, " answeredhis wife, "but would it make him patient, and docile, and considerate, if there were not some radical change in his feelings and temper?"

During the last few days of his life, and when the flickering flame washourly expected to die out, his uncle saw more of him, and he, too, became convinced of the change in Lewie, and was certain that for himto die would be gam. And at last, with words of prayer upon his lips anda whisper of his sister's name, he sank away as gently as an infantdrops asleep. 

"How like he looks, " said old Mammy, with the tears streaming down herwithered cheeks, "how like he looks, with the bonny curls lying roundhis forehead, to what he did the day he lay like death at the Hemlock's, when he was only two years old. "

Mrs. Wharton's mind immediately reverted to the scene, and to that youngmother's prayer of agony, "Oh, for his life! his life!" and as shethought over the events of that short life of sin and sorrow, she saidwithin herself, "Oh! who can tell what to choose for his portion! ThouLord, who knowest the end from the beginning, choose Thou our changesfor us, and help us in the darkest hour to say, 'Thy will be done. '"

And in the quiet spot where the willow bends, and the brook murmurs, bythe side of his mother, and near the grave of Rhoda Edwards, rest theremains of _Lewie_. 

It is strange how much a human heart may suffer and yet beat on andregain tranquillity, and even cheerfulness at last. It is a mostmerciful provision of Providence, that our griefs do not always pressupon us as heavily as they do at first, else how could the burden ofthis life of change and sorrow be borne. But the loved ones are notforgotten when the tear is dried and the smile returns to the cheek;they are remembered, but with less of sadness and gloom in theremembrance; and at length, if we can think of them as happy, it is onlya pleasure to recall them to mind. 

So Agnes found it, as after a few months of rest and quiet in heruncle's happy home, the gloom of her sorrow began to fade away, thecolor returned to her cheek, and she began to be like the Agnes offormer times. And now that health and energy had returned, she began tolong for employment again, and though she knew it would cost a greatstruggle to leave her dear friends at Brook Farm, she began to urge themall to be on the watch for a situation for her as governess or teacher. 

At length, one day, some months after her brother's death, Mr. Whartonentered the room where she was sitting, and said:

"Agnes, there is a gentleman down stairs, who would like to engage youto superintend the education of his children. "

If Agnes had looked closely at her uncle's face, she would have observeda very peculiar expression there; but only laying aside her work, shesaid:

"Please say to him, uncle, that I will come down in one moment. "

With a quiet step and an unpalpitating heart, Agnes opened the parlordoor, and found herself alone with--Mr. Harrington!

And here we will end our short chapter, though enough was said thatmorning to make it a very long one, as it certainly was an eventful onein the history of Agnes. 

XXI

The Winding Up or the Turning Point, whichever the Reader likes Best. 

 "Still at thy father's board There is kept a place for thee And by thy smile restored, Joy round the hearth shall be. "--MRS. HEMANS. 

 "He will not blush that has a father's heart, To take in childish plays a childish part, But bends his sturdy back to any toy That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy. "--Cowper

"What do you think, Calista?--what _do_ you think?" asked Miss EvelinaFairland of her sister, about two years after she had asked these samequestions before. "There are masons, and carpenters, and painters, andpaperers, and gardeners, at work at the old Rookery; a perfect army oflaborers have been sent down from the city. What can it mean?"

"I cannot imagine, I am sure, " answered Miss Calista, "unless Mr. Harrington is really going to settle down, and look out for a wife atlast. " And Miss Calista looked in the glass over her sister's shoulder, and both faces looked more faded and considerably older than when we sawthem last. 

"Do you know, " said Miss Evelina, "that I really believe Agnes Elwynthought the man was in love with _her_?"

"Absurd!" exclaimed Miss Calista. "Besides, if he ever had entertainedsuch a thought, he would not, of course, think of anything of the kindsince that affair of her brother's. Such a disgrace, you know!"

The appearance of the old Rookery changed so rapidly, that it seemedalmost as if the fairies had been at work; and in a few weeks, glimpsesof a fair and elegant mansion, with its pretty piazzas and porticos, could be seen between the noble oaks which surrounded the mansion. Andnow Miss Calista and Evelina, who kept themselves informed of all thatwas going on at the Rookery, reported that "the _most magnificent_furniture" had come, and the curtains and pictures were being hung, andit was certain that the owner of the place would be there soon. 

At length a travelling carriage, in which was seated Mr. Harrington, with a lady by his side, and two little girls in front, was seen bythese indefatigable ladies to drive rapidly through the street, and outtowards the Rookery. The lady was in mourning, and her veil was down. Who could she be?

And now it was rumored in the village that Mr. Harrington was actuallymarried; and whenever he met any of his old acquaintances, he invitedthem with great cordiality to call to see his wife. The Misses Fairlanddetermined not to be outdone by any, and, the more effectually toconceal their own disappointment, were among the first to call. 

Who can conceive of their astonishment and mortification, when theyfound that the mistress of the Rookery was no other than the formergoverness, Agnes Elwyn! Agnes received them with the utmost kindness;begged them to ask their father, whom she remembered with muchaffection, to come very soon to see her; was much pleased to hear howhappy Rosa and Jessie were at Mrs. Arlington's; and brought them tidingsof Frank, who was under Mr. Malcolm's care. 

"And where is that delightful gentleman who was with Mr. Harrington, when he was here two summers since--Mr. Wharton I think his name was?"asked Miss Evelina. 

"Mr. Tom Wharton? Oh, he will be here in a few days. He has purchasedthe place next to us, and is about to build there. I suppose, as it isno longer a secret, I may tell you that he is soon to be married to mycousin, Effie Wharton. They will remain with us most of the time tilltheir house is finished. "

The countenances of the visitors fell on hearing this, and they soonrose and took leave. 

And now we know not better how to wind up or _run down_ our story, thanto pass over two or three years and introduce our reader to anotherChristmas party at Mr. Wharton's, for it still is the custom, for allthe scattered members of the family to gather in the paternal mansion tospend the Christmas holidays. 

Mr. And Mrs. Wharton appear as a fine-looking middle-aged couple, onwhom the years sit lightly, for their lives have been happy and usefulones, and there is no such preservative of fresh and youthful looks, asa contented mind and an untroubled conscience. The two older sons aremarried. Robert is settled as a clergyman in a western village, andAlbert as a merchant in the city; these with their wives, most charmingwomen both, are there. 

Mr. Malcolm, who wondered more and more that he ever had the presumptionto suppose that such a woman as Emily Wharton could fancy him, at lastso recovered from his disappointment as again to entertain thoughts ofmatrimony; and he and our friend Grace have been married about sixmonths, and are nicely settled in their own pretty house at Hillsdale, where Mr. Malcolm is still the loved and honored pastor. Cousin Emily, calm and tranquil as ever to all outward appearance, aided in thepreparations and appeared at the wedding, and it was no cause ofwonderment to any, that she was confined to her bed the next day withone of her nervous headaches, for great excitement and fatigue werealways too much for cousin Emily. 

Mr. Tom Wharton and Effie are at home too, the former no whit moresedate, in consequence of the added dignities of husband and fatherwhich attach to him. 

And our own dear Agnes is there too, with her husband, her two littlestep-daughters, and her own little boy, a noble, handsome little fellow, but with some traits of character which occasionally cause a pang tocross the heart of his mother; they remind her so of the childhood ofone whose sun went down so early and so sadly. But we hope much thatproper training, with the divine blessing, will so mould and guide thistender plant, that it will grow up to be an ornament and a blessing toall around, Agnes makes just such a step-mother as we should expect, and her dear little girls feel that in her they have indeed found amother. 

But long after all the rest of the large party have been seated at thedinner-table, there remains a vacant seat, and here at last slowly comesthe expected occupant. 

What, cousin Betty! alive yet? Yes, and "alive like to be, " till she hasfinished her century. She retains many of her old, strange habits, buthas long since given up _dying_, as others begin to expect such an eventto happen in the ordinary course of nature; indeed, it rather hurtscousin Betty's feelings to be spoken of as a very aged person, or as onewhose time on earth is probably short. She is laying her plans for thefuture as busily as any one, and it may be that her old wrinkled facewill be seen in its accustomed haunts long after some of the bloomingones around that board are mouldering in the grave. 

Old Mammy too, whose home has been with Agnes ever since her marriage, has come back to her old home for the Christmas holidays. But Mammy isa good deal broken, and nothing is required of her by her kind mistress, except such little offices as it is a pleasure to her to perform. 

Cousin Emily, the "old maid cousin, " as she calls herself, is in greatdemand; indeed, as she says, she is a perfect "bone of contention, " andin order to keep peace with all, she has had to divide the year intofour parts, and give three months to each of those who have thestrongest claim upon her time. It is always a season of rejoicing whencousin Emily arrives, with her ever cheerful face, her entertainingconversation for the older ones, and her fund of stories and anecdotesfor the children. 

After dinner came an old-fashioned Christmas frolic, and the older oneswere children again, and the children as wild and noisy as they chose tobe. Mr. Wharton on entering the room suddenly, saw his nephew, Mr. Tom, going around the room on all fours, as a horse, driven by his only sonand heir, Master Tom, junior. 

"Tom, " said Mr. Wharton suddenly, "how do you prefer calf's head?"

"What do you mean by that, uncle?" said Mr. Tom, pausing a moment andlooking up. 

"I took some notes of a certain conversation which took place some yearsago, " said his uncle, "in which a certain young gentleman called acertain old gentleman _a calf_, because he made such a fool of himselfas to be a horse for his little son to drive; and this young gentlemansaid he would sooner eat his head, than make such an exhibition ofhimself. "

"Well, circumstances do alter cases, don't they, uncle?" said Mr. Tom, beginning to prance about again under the renewed blows of the whip inMaster Tom junior's hand. 

Mrs. Arlington and her daughters still keep their school, which is aspopular and flourishing as ever. Rosa and Jessie Fairland are stillunder their care, and it is a great pleasure to Agnes to see what fine, agreeable girls they are growing up to be. They retain a warm affectionfor Agnes and pass many a pleasant day at the Rookery, when they are athome for a vacation. Frank is still under Mr. Malcolm's care, and amember of his family, Mr. Malcolm finds him a much more tractable pupilthan one we know of, to whom he tried to do his duty many years ago. Andwe must not close without saying a word of the kind, true-hearted, RuthGlenn. Governor F----, at the close of his term of office wasre-elected, and when at last he left the city and returned to hiscountry home, it was with the deep regrets of all the many friends whichhis residence in the capitol had not failed to create for himself, andhis amiable wife. As she passed within a few miles of Wilston, Mrs. F---- turned out of her way to stop and pay Agnes a short visit, and shefound again the bright and cheerful Agnes of former times; and many apleasant hour the friends enjoyed together, in talking over the days and_nights_ at Mrs. Arlington's school, for even out of the latter theycould now draw some amusing recollections. 

Miss Calista and Miss Evelina are still on the "look out. " The wife ofthe clergyman at Wilston, having died about a year since, Miss Calista, ever ready to take advantage of any _opening_, began immediately toattend church very regularly, and with a vary sanctimonious andattentive air. It remains to be seen whether anything comes of it. 

And now our task is done. If the sad story of the short life of poorLewie, will be the means of leading any mother to use more carefully andmore conscientiously, the power which she _alone_ possesses now, oftraining aright the little plants in her nursery, so that they may growup fair and flourishing, and bear good fruit; and in time repay her careby the fragrance and beauty and comfort which they shower about herdeclining days, it will be enough. And may each little plant, sotrained, bloom evermore in the paradise of God. 

THE END. 

Every one is Enraptured with the Book--Every one will Read it!

SIX THOUSAND PUBLISHED IN THIRTY DAYS!

UPS AND DOWNS, Or Silver Lake Sketches. 

BY COUSIN CICELY, Author of Lewie or the Bended Twig

_One Elegant 12mo. Vol. , with Ten Illustrations by Coffin, and engraved

by the best artists. Cloth, gilt_, $1. 25. 

ALDEN & BEARDSLEY, Auburn and Rochester, N. Y. , Publishers

_The Critics give it Unqualified Commendation_. 

Cousin Cicely's "Lewie, or the Bended Twig, " published and widely readnot long ago, was a volume to sharpen the reader's appetite for "more ofthe same sort. " ***** 'Ups and Downs' is a cluster of sketches andincidents in real life, narrated with a grace of thought and flow ofexpression rarely to be met. The sketches well entitle the volume to itsname, for they are pictures of many sides of life--some grave, some gay, some cheering and some sad, pervaded by a genial spirit and developinggood morals. 

Either of the fifteen sketches will amply repay the purchaser of thevolume, and unless our judgment is false, _after a careful reading_, "Ups and Downs" will make an impression beyond "the pleasant effect towhile away a few unoccupied moments. " The Publishers have given CousinCicely's gems a setting worthy of their brilliancy. The tenillustrations are capital in design and execution, and it strikes us asremarkable how such a volume can be profitably got up at the price forwhich it is sold. The secret must lie in large circulation--which "Upsand Downs" is certain to secure. --N. Y. _Evening Mirror_. 

_Who is Cousin Cicely_?--We begin to think Cousin Cicely is _somebody_, and feel disposed to ask, who is she? We several months ago noticed her"Lewie" in this journal. It is a story with a fine moral, beautiful andtouching in its development. It has already quietly made its way to acirculation of _twelve thousand_, "without beating a drum or cryingoysters. " Pretty good evidence that there is something in it. Ourreaders have already had a taste of "_Ups and Downs_, " for we find amongits contents a story entitled "_Miss Todd, M. D. , or a Disease of theHeart_, " which was published in this journal a few months ago We ventureto say that _no one_ who read has forgotten it, and those who rememberit will be glad to know where they can find plenty more of the "samesort. "--_U. S. Journal_. 

* * * Sketches of life as it is, and of some things as they should be;all drawn with a light pencil, and abounding with touches of realgenius, Cousin Cicely has improved her former good reputation in ouropinion, by this effort. --_The Wesleyan_.