AFTER A SHADOW, AND OTHER STORIES. 

BY

T. S. ARTHUR. 

NEW YORK:

1868

CONTENTS. 

 I. AFTER A SHADOW. II. IN THE WAY OF TEMPTATION. III. ANDY LOVELL. IV. A MYSTERY EXPLAINED. V. WHAT CAN I DO? VI. ON GUARD. VII. A VISIT WITH THE DOCTOR. VIII. HADN'T TIME FOR TROUBLE. IX. A GOOD NAME. X. LITTLE LIZZIE. XI. ALICE AND THE PIGEON. XII. DRESSED FOR A PARTY. XIII. COFFEE VS. BRANDY. XIV. AMY'S QUESTION. XV. AN ANGEL IN DISGUISE. XVI. WHICH WAS MOST THE LADY? XVII. OTHER PEOPLE'S EYES. 

AFTER A SHADOW, AND OTHER STORIES. 

I. 

AFTER A SHADOW. 

"ARTY! Arty!" called Mrs. Mayflower, from the window, one brightJune morning. "Arty, darling! What is the child after? Just look athim, Mr. Mayflower!"

I leaned from the window, in pleasant excitement, to see what newand wonderful performance had been attempted by my little prodigy--myfirst born--my year old bud of beauty, the folded leaves in whosebosom were just beginning to loosen themselves, and send out uponthe air sweet intimations of an abounding fragrance. He had escapedfrom his nurse, and was running off in the clear sunshine, the slantrays of which threw a long shadow before him. 

"Arty, darling!" His mother's voice flew along and past his ear, kissing it in gentle remonstrance as it went by. But baby was ineager pursuit of something, and the call, if heard, was unheeded. His eyes were opening world-ward, and every newphenomenon--commonplace and unheeded by us--that addressed itself tohis senses, became a wonder and a delight. Some new object wasdrawing him away from the loving heart and protecting arm. 

"Run after him, Mr. Mayflower!" said my wife, with a touch ofanxiety in her voice. "He might fall and hurt himself. "

I did not require a second intimation as to my duty in the case. Only a moment or two elapsed before I was on the pavement, andmaking rapid approaches towards my truant boy. 

"What is it, darling? What is Arty running after?" I said, as I laidmy hand on his arm, and checked his eager speed. He struggled amoment, and then stood still, stooping forward for something on theground. 

"O, papa see!" There was a disappointed and puzzled look in his faceas he lifted his eyes to mine. He failed to secure the object of hispursuit. 

"What is it, sweet?" My eyes followed his as they turned upon theground. 

He stooped again, and caught at something; and again looked up in aperplexed, half-wondering way. 

"Why, Arty!" I exclaimed, catching him up in my arms. "It's onlyyour shadow! Foolish child!" And I ran back to Mrs. Mayflower, withmy baby-boy held close against my heart. 

"After a shadow!" said I, shaking my head, a little soberly, as Iresigned Arty to his mother. "So life begins--and so it ends! PoorArty!"

Mrs. Mayflower laughed out right merrily. 

"After a shadow! Why, darling!" And she kissed and hugged him inoverflowing tenderness. 

"So life begins--so it ends, " I repeated to myself, as I left thehouse, and walked towards my store. "Always in pursuit of shadows!We lose to-day's substantial good for shadowy phantoms that keep oureyes ever in advance, and our feet ever hurrying forward. Nopause--no ease--no full enjoyment of _now_. O, deluded heart!--everbartering away substance for shadow!"

I grow philosophic sometimes. Thought will, now and then, take up apassing incident, and extract the moral. But how little the wiserare we for moralizing! we look into the mirror of truth, and seeourselves--then turn away, and forget what manner of men we are. Better for us if it were not so; if we remembered the image thatheld our vision. 

The shadow lesson was forgotten by the time I reached my store, andthought entered into business with its usual ardor. I buried myself, amid letters, invoices, accounts, samples, schemes for gain, andcalculations of profit. The regular, orderly progression of a fairand well-established business was too slow for my outreachingdesires. I must drive onward at a higher speed, and reach the goalof wealth by a quicker way. So my daily routine was disturbed byimpatient aspirations. Instead of entering, in a calmself-possession of every faculty, into the day's appropriate work, and finding, in its right performance, the tranquil state that evercomes as the reward of right-doing in the right place, I spent thelarger part of this day in the perpetration of a plan for increasingmy gains beyond, anything heretofore achieved. 

"Mr. Mayflower, " said one of the clerks, coming back to where I satat my private desk, busy over my plan, "we have a new man in fromthe West; a Mr. B----, from Alton. He wants to make a bill of athousand dollars. Do you know anything about him?"

Now, even this interruption annoyed me. What was a new customer anda bill of a thousand dollars to me just at that moment of time? Isaw tens of thousands in prospective. 

"Mr. B----, of Alton?" said I, affecting an effort of memory. "Does helook like a fair man?"

"I don't recall him. Mr. B----? Hum-m-m. He impresses you favorably, Edward?"

"Yes, sir; but it may be prudent to send and get a report. "

"I'll see to that, Edward, " said I. "Sell him what he wants. Ifeverything is not on the square, I'll give you the word in time. It's all right, I've no doubt. "

"He's made a bill at Kline & Co. 's, and wants his goods sent thereto be packed, " said my clerk. 

"Ah, indeed! Let him have what he wants, Edward. If Kline & Co. Sellhim, we needn't hesitate. "

And turning to my desk, my plans, and my calculations, I forgot allabout Mr. B----, and the trifling bill of a thousand dollars that heproposed buying. How clear the way looked ahead! As thought createdthe means of successful adventure, and I saw myself moving forwardand grasping results, the whole circle of life took a quickermotion, and my mind rose into a pleasant enthusiasm. Then I grewimpatient for the initiatory steps that were to come, and felt as ifthe to-morrow, in which they must be taken, would never appear. Aday seemed like a week or a month. 

Six o'clock found me in not a very satisfactory state of mind. Theardor of my calculations had commenced abating. Certain elements, not seen and considered in the outset, were beginning to assumeshape and consequence, and to modify, in many essential particulars, the grand result towards which I had been looking with so muchpleasure. Shadowy and indistinct became the landscape, which seemeda little while before so fair and inviting. A cloud settled downupon it here, and a cloud there, breaking up its unity, anddestroying much of its fair proportion. I was no longer mounting up, and moving forwards on the light wing of a castle-buildingimagination, but down upon the hard, rough ground, coming back intothe consciousness that all progression, to be sure, must be slow andtoilsome. 

I had the afternoon paper in my hands, and was running my eyes upand down the columns, not reading, but, in a half-absent way, tryingto find something of sufficient interest to claim attention, when, among the money and business items, I came upon a paragraph thatsent the declining thermometer of my feelings away down towards thechill of zero. It touched, in the most vital part, my scheme ofgain; and the shrinking bubble burst. 

"Have the goods sold to that new customer from Alton beendelivered?" I asked, as the real interest of my wasted day loomed upinto sudden importance. 

"Yes, sir, " was answered by one of my clerks; "they were sent toKline & Co. 's immediately. Mr. B----said they were packing up hisgoods, which were to be shipped to-day. "

"He's a safe man, I should think. Kline & Co. Sell him. " My voicebetrayed the doubt that came stealing over me like a chilly air. 

"They sell him only for cash, " said my clerk. "I saw one of theiryoung men this afternoon, and asked after Mr. B----'s standing. Hedidn't know anything about him; said B----was a new man, who bought amoderate cash bill, but was sending in large quantities of goods tobe packed--five or six times beyond the amount of his purchases withthem. "

"Is that so!" I exclaimed, rising to my feet, all awake now to thereal things which I had permitted a shadow to obscure. 

"Just what he told me, " answered my clerk. 

"It has a bad look, " said I. "How large a bill did he make with us?"

The sales book was referred to. "Seventeen hundred dollars, " repliedthe clerk. 

"What! I thought he was to buy only to the amount of a thousanddollars?" I returned, in surprise and dismay. 

"You seemed so easy about him, sir, " replied the clerk, "that Iencouraged him to buy; and the bill ran up more heavily than I wasaware until the footing gave exact figures. "

I drew out my watch. It was close on to half past six. 

"I think, Edward, " said I, "that you'd better step round to Kline &Co. 's, and ask if they've shipped B----'s goods yet. If not, we'llrequest them to delay long enough in the morning to give us time tosift the matter. If B----'s after a swindling game, we'll take a shortcourse, and save our goods. "

"It's too late, " answered my clerk. "B----called a little after oneo'clock, and gave notes for the amount of his bill. He was to leavein the five o'clock line for Boston. "

I turned my face a little aside, so that Edward might not see allthe anxiety that was pictured there. 

"You look very sober, Mr. Mayflower, " said my good wife, gazing atme with eyes a little shaded by concern, as I sat with Arty's headleaning against my bosom that evening; "as sober as baby looked thismorning, after his fruitless shadow chase. "

"And for the same reason, " said I, endeavoring to speak calmly andfirmly. 

"Why, Mr. Mayflower!" Her face betrayed a rising anxiety. My assumedcalmness and firmness did not wholly disguise the troubled feelingsthat lay, oppressively, about my heart. 

"For the same reason, " I repeated, steadying my voice, and trying tospeak bravely. "I have been chasing a shadow all day; a mere phantomscheme of profit; and at night-fall I not only lose my shadow, butfind my feet far off from the right path, and bemired. I called Artya foolish child this morning. I laughed at his mistake. But, insteadof accepting the lesson it should have conveyed, I went forth andwearied myself with shadow-hunting all day. "

Mrs. Mayflower sighed gently. Her soft eyes drooped away from myface, and rested for some moments on the floor. 

"I am afraid we are all, more or less, in pursuit of shadows, " shesaid, --"of the unreal things, projected by thought on the canvas of atoo creative imagination. It is so with me; and I sigh, daily, oversome disappointment. Alas! if this were all. Too often both theshadow-good and the real-good of to-day are lost. When night fallsour phantom good is dispersed, and we sigh for the real good wemight have enjoyed. "

"Shall we never grow wiser?" I asked. 

"We shall never grow happier unless we do, " answered Mrs. Mayflower. 

"Happiness!" I returned, as thought began to rise into clearerperception; "is it not the shadow after which we are all chasing, with such a blind and headlong speed?"

"Happiness is no shadow. It is a real thing, " said Mrs. Mayflower. "It does not project itself in advance of us; but exists in theactual and the now, if it exists at all. We cannot catch it bypursuit; that is only a cheating counterfeit, in guilt and tinsel, which dazzles our eyes in the ever receding future. No; happiness isa state of life; and it comes only to those who do each day's workpeaceful self-forgetfulness, and a calm trust in the Giver of allgood for the blessing that lies stored for each one prepared toreceive it in every hour of the coming time. "

"Who so does each day's work in a peaceful self-forgetfulness andpatient trust in God?" I said, turning my eyes away from the nowtranquil face of Mrs. Mayflower. 

"Few, if any, I fear, " she answered; "and few, if any, are happy. The common duties and common things of our to-days look so plain andhomely in their ungilded actualities, that we turn our thought andinterest away from them, and create ideal forms of use and beauty, into which we can never enter with conscious life. We are alwayslosing the happiness of our to-days; and our to-morrows never come. "

I sighed my response, and sat for a long time silent. When the teabell interrupted me from my reverie, Arty lay fast asleep on mybosom. As I kissed him on his way to his mother's arms, I said, --

"Dear baby! may it be your first and last pursuit of a shadow. "

"No--no! Not yet, my sweet one!" answered Mrs. Mayflower, hugging himto her heart. "Not yet. We cannot spare you from our world ofshadows. "

II. 

IN THE WAY OF TEMPTATION. 

MARTIN GREEN was a young man of good habits and a good conceit ofhimself. He had listened, often and again, with as much patience ashe could assume, to warning and suggestion touching the dangers thatbeset the feet of those who go out into this wicked world, andbecome subject to its legion of temptations. All these warnings andsuggestions he considered as so many words wasted when offered tohimself. 

"I'm in no danger, " he would sometimes answer to relative or friend, who ventured a remonstrance against certain associations, orcautioned him about visiting certain places. 

"If I wish to play a game of billiards, I will go to a billiardsaloon, " was the firm position he assumed. "Is there any harm inbilliards? I can't help it if bad men play at billiards, andcongregate in billiard saloons. Bad men may be found anywhere andeverywhere; on the street, in stores, at all public places, even inchurch. Shall I stay away from church because bad men are there?"

This last argument Martin Green considered unanswerable. Then hewould say, --

"If I want a plate of oysters, I'll go to a refectory, and I'll takea glass of ale with my oysters, if it so pleases me. What harm, Iwould like to know? Danger of getting into bad company, you say?Hum-m! Complimentary to your humble servant! But I'm not the kind towhich dirt sticks. "

So, confident of his own power to stand safely in the midst oftemptation, and ignorant of its thousand insidious approaches, Martin Green, at the age of twenty-one, came and went as he pleased, mingling with the evil and the good, and seeing life undercircumstances of great danger to the pure and innocent. But he feltstrong and safe, confident of neither stumbling nor falling. Allaround him he saw young men yielding to the pressure of temptationand stepping aside into evil ways; but they were weak and vicious, while he stood firm-footed on the rock of virtue!

It happened, very naturally, as Green was a bright, social youngman, that he made acquaintances with other young men, who werefrequently met in billiard saloons, theatre lobbies, and eatinghouses. Some of these he did not understand quite as well as heimagined. The vicious, who have ends to gain, know how to cloakthemselves, and easily deceive persons of Green's character. Amongthese acquaintances was a handsome, gentlemanly, affable young man, named Bland, who gradually intruded himself into his confidence. Bland never drank to excess, and never seemed inclined to sensualindulgences. He had, moreover, a way of moralizing that completelyveiled his true quality from the not very penetrating Martin Green, whose shrewdness and knowledge of character were far less acute thanhe, in his self-conceit, imagined. 

One evening, instead of going with his sister to the house of afriend, where a select company of highly-intelligent ladies andgentleman were to meet, and pass an evening together, Martin excusedhimself under the pretence of an engagement, and lounged away to aneating and drinking saloon, there to spend an hour in smoking, reading the newspapers, and enjoying a glass of ale, the desire forwhich was fast growing into a habit. Strong and safe as he imaginedhimself, the very fact of preferring the atmosphere of a drinking orbilliard saloon to that in which refined and intellectual peoplebreathe, showed that he was weak and in danger. 

He was sitting with a cigar in his mouth, and a glass of ale besidehim, reading with the air of a man who felt entirely satisfied withhimself, and rather proud than ashamed of his position andsurroundings, when his pleasant friend, Mr. Bland, crossed the room, and, reaching out his hand, said, with his smiling, hearty manner, --

"How are you, my friend? What's the news to-day?" And he drew achair to the table, calling at the same time to a waiter for a glassof ale. 

"I never drink anything stronger than ale, " he added, in aconfidential way, not waiting for Green to answer his first remark. "Liquors are so drugged nowadays, that you never know what poisonyou are taking; besides, tippling is a bad habit, and sets aquestionable example. We must, you know, have some regard to theeffect of our conduct on weaker people. Man is an imitative animal. By the way, did you see Booth's Cardinal Wolsey?"

"Yes. "

"A splendid piece of acting, --was it not? You remember, after thecardinal's fall, that noble passage to which he gives utterance. Ithas been running through my mind ever since:--"'Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me. 

 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by't? Love thyself last: Cherish those hearts that hate thee: Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues; be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. '

"'Love thyself last. --Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thycountry's, thy God's, and truth's. ' Could a man's whole duty in lifebe expressed in fewer words, or said more grandly? I think not. "

And so he went on, charming the ears of Green, and inspiring himwith the belief that he was a person of the purest instincts andnoblest ends. While they talked, two young men, strangers to Greencame up, and were introduced by Bland as "My very particularfriends. " Something about them did not at first impress Martinfavorably. But this impression soon wore off, they were sointelligent and agreeable, Bland, after a little while, referredagain to the Cardinal Wolsey of Booth, and, drawing a copy ofShakspeare's Henry VIII. From his pocket, remarked, --

"If it wasn't so public here, I'd like to read a few of the bestpassages in Wolsey's part. "

"Can't we get a private room?" said one of the two young men who hadjoined Bland and Green. "There are plenty in the house. I'll see. "

And away he went to the bar. 

"Come, " he said, returning in a few minutes; and the party followeda waiter up stairs, and were shown into a small room, neatlyfurnished, though smelling villanously of stale cigar smoke. 

"This is cosy, " was the approving remark of Bland, as they entered. Hats and overcoats were laid aside, and they drew around a tablethat stood in the centre of the room under the gaslight. A fewpassages were read from Shakspeare, then drink was ordered by one ofthe the party. The reading interspersed with critical comments, wasagain resumed; but the reading soon gave way entire to the comments, which, in a little while, passed from the text of Shakspeare toactors, actresses, prima donnas, and ballet-dancers, the relativemerits of which were knowingly discussed for some time. In the midstof this discussion, oysters, in two or three styles, and a smokingdish of terrapin, ordered by a member of the company--which our youngfriend Green did not know--were brought in, followed by a liberalsupply of wine and brandy. Bland expressed surprise, but acceptedthe entertainment as quite agreeable to himself. 

After the supper, cigars were introduced, and after the cigars, cards. A few games were played for shilling stakes. Green, under theinfluence of more liquor than his head could bear, and in the midstof companions whose sphere he could not, in consequence, resist, yielded in a new direction for him. Of gambling he had alwaysentertained a virtuous disapproval; yet, ere aware of the directionin which he was drifting, he was staking money at cards, the sumsgradually increasing, until from shillings the ventures increased todollars. Sometimes he won, and sometimes he lost; the winningsstimulating to new trials in the hope of further success, and thelosses stimulating to new trials in order to recover, if possible;but, steadily, the tide, for all these little eddies of success, bore him downwards, and losses increased from single dollars tofives, and from fives to tens, his pleasant friend, Bland, supplyingwhatever he wanted in the most disinterested way, until an aggregateloss of nearly a hundred and fifty dollars sobered and appalled him. 

The salary of Martin Green was only four hundred dollars, every centof which was expended as fast as earned. A loss of a hundred andfifty dollars was, therefore, a serious and embarrassing matter. 

"I'll call and see you to-morrow, when we can arrange this littlematter, " said Mr. Bland, "on parting with Green at his own door. Hespoke pleasantly, but with something in his voice that chilled thenerves of his victim. On the next day while Green stood at his desk, trying to fix his mind upon his work, and do it correctly, hisemployer said, --

"Martin, there's a young man in the store who has asked for you. "

Green turned and saw the last man on the earth he desired to meet. His pleasant friend of the evening before had called to "arrangethat little matter. "

"Not too soon for you, I hope, " remarked Bland, with his courteous, yet now serious, smile, as he took the victim's hand. 

"Yes, you _are_, too soon, " was soberly answered. 

The smile faded off of Bland's face. 

"When will you arrange it?"

"In a few days. "

"But I want the money to-day. It was a simple loan, you know. "

"I am aware of that, but the amount is larger than I can manage atonce, " said Green. 

"Can I have a part to-day?"

"Not to-day. "

"To-morrow, then?"

"I'll do the best in my power. "

"Very well. To-morrow, at this time, I will call. Make up the wholesum if possible, for I want it badly. "

"Do you know that young man?" asked Mr. Phillips, the employer ofGreen, as the latter came back to his desk. The face of Mr. Phillipswas unusually serious. 

"His name is Bland. "

"Why has he called to see you?" The eyes of Mr. Phillips were fixedintently on his clerk. 

"He merely dropped in. I have met him a few times in company. "

"Don't you know his character?"

"I never heard a word against him, " said Green. 

"Why, Martin!" replied Mr. Phillips, "he has the reputation of beingone of the worst young men in our city; a base gambler'sstool-pigeon, some say. "

"I am glad to know it, sir, " Martin had the presence of mind, in thepainful confusion that overwhelmed him, to say, "and shall treat himaccordingly. " He went back to his desk, and resumed his work. 

It is the easiest thing in the world to go to astray, but alwaysdifficult to return, Martin Green was astray, but how was he to getinto the right path again? A barrier that seemed impassable was nowlying across the way over which he had passed, a little whilebefore, with lightest footsteps. Alone and unaided, he could notsafely get back. The evil spirits that lure a man from virtue nevercounsel aright when to seek to return. They magnify the perils thatbeset the road by which alone is safety, and suggest other ways thatlead into labyrinths of evil from which escape is sometimesimpossible. These spirits were now at the ear of our unhappy youngfriend, suggesting methods of relief in his embarrassing position. 

If Bland were indeed such a character as Mr. Phillips hadrepresented him, it would be ruin, in his employer's estimation, tohave him call again and again for his debt. But how was he toliquidate that debt? There was nothing due him on account of salary, and there was not a friend or acquaintance to whom he could applywith any hope of borrowing. 

"Man's extremity is the devil's opportunity. " It was so in thepresent case, Green had a number of collections to make on that day, and his evil counsellors suggested his holding back the return oftwo of these, amounting to his indebtedness, and say that theparties were not yet ready to settle their bills. This would enablehim to get rid of Bland, and gain time. So, acting upon the badsuggestion, he made up his return of collections, omitting the twoaccounts to which we have referred. 

Now it so happened that one of the persons against whom theseaccounts stood, met Mr. Phillips as he was returning from dinner inthe afternoon, and said to him, --

"I settled that bill of yours to-day. "

"That's right. I wish all my customers were as punctual, " answeredMr. Phillips. 

"I gave your young man a check for a hundred and five dollars. "

"Thank you. "

And the two men passed their respective ways. 

On Mr. Phillips's return to his store, Martin rendered his accountof collections, and, to the surprise of his employer, omitted theone in regard to which he had just been notified. 

"Is this all?" he asked, in a tone that sent a thrill of alarm tothe guilty heart of his clerk. 

"Yes, sir, " was the not clearly outspoken answer. 

"Didn't Garland pay?"

"N-n-o, sir!" The suddenness of this question so confounded Martin, that he could not answer without a betraying hesitation. 

"Martin!" Astonishment, rebuke, and accusation were in the voice ofMr. Phillips as he pronounced his clerk's name. Martin's faceflushed deeply, and then grew very pale. He stood the image of guiltand fear for some moments, then, drawing out his pocket book, hebrought therefrom a small roll of bank bills, and a memorandum slipof paper. 

"I made these collections also. " And he gave the money andmemorandum to Mr. Phillips. 

"A hundred and fifty dollars withheld! Martin! Martin! what _does_this mean?"

"Heaven is my witness, sir, " answered the young man, with quiveringlips, "that I have never wronged you out of a dollar, and had nointention of wronging you now. But I am in a fearful strait. My feethave become suddenly mired, and this was a desperate struggle forextrication--a temporary expedient only, not a premeditated wrongagainst you. "

"Sit down, Martin, " said Mr. Phillips, in a grave, but not severe, tone of voice. "Let me understand the case from first to last. Conceal nothing, if you wish to have me for a friend. "

Thus enjoined, Martin told his humiliating story. 

"If you had not gone into the way of temptation, the betrayer hadnot found you, " was the remark of Mr. Phillips, when the young manended his confession. "Do you frequent these eating and drinkingsaloons?"

"I go occasionally, sir. "

"They are neither safe nor reputable, Martin. A young man whofrequents them must have the fine tone of his manhood dimmed. Thereis an atmosphere of impurity about these places. Have you a youngerbrother?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Would you think it good for him, as he emerged from youth tomanhood, to visit refectories and billiard saloons?"

"No, sir, I would do all in my power to prevent it. "

"Why?"

"There's danger in them, sir. "

"And, knowing this, you went into the way of danger, and havefallen!"

Martin dropped his eyes to the floor in confusion. 

"Bland is a stool-pigeon and you were betrayed. "

"What am I to do?" asked the troubled young man. "I am in debt tohim. "

"He will be here to-morrow. "

"Yes, sir. "

"I will have a policeman ready to receive him. "

"O, no, no, Sir. Pray don't do that!" answered Martin, with adistressed look. 

"Why not?" demanded Mr. Phillips. 

"It will ruin me. "

"How?"

"Bland will denounce me. "

"Let him. "

"I shall be exposed to the policeman. "

"An evil, but a mild one, compared with that to which you wererushing in order to disentangle yourself. I must have my way, sir. This matter has assumed a serious aspect. You are in my power, andmust submit. "

On the next day, punctual to the hour, Bland called. 

"This is your man, " said Mr. Phillips to his clerk. "Ask him intothe counting-room. " Bland, thus invited, walked back. As he entered, Mr. Phillips said, --

"My clerk owes you a hundred and fifty dollars, I understand. "

"Yes, sir;" and the villain bowed. 

"Make him out a receipt, " said Mr. Phillips. 

"When I receive the money, " was coldly and resolutely answered. Martin glanced sideways at the face of Bland, and the sudden changein its expression chilled him. The mild, pleasant, virtuous aspecthe could so well assume was gone, and he looked more like a fiendthan a man. In pictures he had seen eyes such as now gleamed on Mr. Phillips, but never in a living face before. 

The officer, who had been sitting with a newspaper in his hand, nowgave his paper a quick rattle as he threw it aside, and, comingforward, stood beside Mr. Phillips, and looked steadily at the faceof Bland, over which passed another change: it was less assured, butnot less malignant. 

Mr. Phillips took out his pocket-book, and, laying a twenty-dollarbill on the desk by which they were standing, said, --

"Take this and sign a receipt. "

"No, sir!" was given with determined emphasis. "I am not to berobbed in this way!"

"Ned, " the officer now spoke, "take my advice, and sign a receipt. "

"It's a cursed swindle!" exclaimed the baffled villain. 

"We will dispense with hard names, sir!" The officer addressed himsternly. "Either take the money, or go. This is not a meeting forparley. I understand you and your operations. "

A few moments Bland stood, with an irresolute air; then, clutchingdesperately at a pen, he dashed off a receipt, and was reaching forthe money, when Mr. Phillips drew it back, saying, --

"Wait a moment, until I examine the receipt. " He read it over, andthen, pushing it towards Bland, said, --

"Write 'In full of all demands. '" A growl was the oral response. Bland took the pen again, and wrote as directed. 

"Take my advice, young man, and adopt a safer and more honorablebusiness, " said Mr. Phillips, as he gave him the twenty-dollar bill. 

"Keep your advice for them that ask it!" was flung back in his face. A look of hate and revenge burned in the fellow's eyes. Afterglaring at Mr. Phillips and Martin in a threatening way for severalmoments, he left more hurriedly than he had entered. 

"And take my advice, " said the officer, laying his hand on Martin'sarm, --he spoke in a warning tone, --"and keep out of that man's way. He'll never forgive you. I know him and his prowling gang, and theyare a set of as hardened and dangerous villains as can be found inthe city. You are 'spotted' by them from this day, and they number adozen at least. So, if you would be safe, avoid their haunts. Givedrinking saloons and billiard rooms a wide berth. One experiencelike this should last you a life-time. "

Thus Martin escaped from his dangerous entanglement, but never againto hold the unwavering confidence of his employer. Mr. Phillipspitied, but could not trust him fully. A year afterwards cametroublesome times, losses in business, and depression in trade. Every man had to retrench. Thousands of clerks lost their places, and anxiety and distress were on every hand. Mr. Phillips, likeothers, had to reduce expenses, and, in reducing, the lot to go fellupon Martin Green. He had been very circumspect, had kept away fromthe old places where danger lurked, had devoted himself with renewedassiduity to his employer's interests; but, for all this, doubtswere forever arising in the mind of Mr. Phillips, and when thequestion, "Who shall go?" came up, the decision was against Martin. We pity him, but cannot blame his employer. 

III. 

ANDY LOVELL. 

ALL the village was getting out with Andy Lovell, the shoemaker; andyet Andy Lovell's shoes fitted so neatly, and wore so long, that thevillage people could ill afford to break with him. The work made byTompkins was strong enough, but Tompkins was no artist in leather. Lyon's fit was good, and his shoes neat in appearance, but they hadno wear in them. So Andy Lovell had the run of work, and in a fewyears laid by enough to make him feel independent. Now this feelingof independence is differently based with different men. Some musthave hundreds of thousands of dollars for it to rest upon, whileothers find tens of thousands sufficient. A few drop below the tens, and count by units. Of this last number was Andy Lovell, theshoemaker. 

When Andy opened his shop and set up business for himself, he wastwenty-four years of age. Previous to that time he had worked asjourneyman, earning good wages, and spending as fast as he earned, for he had no particular love of money, nor was he ambitious to riseand make an appearance in the world. But it happened with Andy aswith most young men he fell in love; and as the village beauty wascompliant, betrothal followed. From this time he was changed in manythings, but most of all in his regard for money. From a free-handedyoung man, he became prudent and saving, and in a single year laidby enough to warrant setting up business for himself. The weddingfollowed soon after. 

The possession of a wife and children gives to most men broaderviews of life. They look with more earnestness into the future, andcalculate more narrowly the chances of success. In the ten yearsthat followed Andy Lovell's marriage no one could have given moreattention to business, or devoted more thought and care to thepleasure of customers. He was ambitious to lay up money for hiswife's and children's sake, as well as to secure for himself themeans of rest from labor in his more advancing years. Theconsequence was, that Andy served his neighbors, in his vocation, totheir highest satisfaction. He was useful, contented, and thrifty. 

A sad thing happened to Andy and his wife after this. Scarlet feverraged in the village one winter, sweeping many little ones into thegrave. Of their three children, two were taken; and the third wasspared, only to droop, like a frost-touched plant, and die ere thesummer came. From that time, all of Andy Lovell's customers noted achange in the man; and no wonder. Andy had loved these childrendeeply. His thought had all the while been running into the future, and building castles for them to dwell in. Now the future was asnothing to him; and so his heart beat feebly in the present. He hadalready accumulated enough for himself and his wife to live on forthe rest of their days; and, if no more children came, what motivewas there for a man of his views and temperament to devote himself, with the old ardor, to business?

So the change noticed by his customers continued. He was lessanxious to accommodate; disappointed them oftener; and grewimpatient under complaint or remonstrance. Customers, gettingdiscouraged or offended, dropped away, but it gave Andy no concern. He had, no longer, any heart in his business; and worked in it morelike an automaton than a live human being. 

At last, Andy suddenly made up his mind to shut up his shop, andretire from business. He had saved enough to live on--why should hego on any longer in this halting, miserable way--a public servant, yet pleasing nobody?

Mrs. Lovell hardly knew what to say in answer to her husband'ssuddenly formed resolution. It was as he alleged; they had laid upsufficient; to make them comfortable for the rest of their lives;and, sure enough, why should Andy worry himself any longer with theshop? As far as her poor reason went, Mrs. Lovell had nothing tooppose; but all her instincts were on the other side--she could notfeel that it would be right. 

But Andy, when he made up his mind to a thing, was what people callhard-headed. His "I won't stand it any longer, " meant more than thiscommon form of speech on the lips of ordinary men. So he gave it outthat he should quit business; and it was soon all over the village. Of course Tompkins and Lyon were well enough pleased, but there werea great many who heard of the shoemaker's determination with regret. In the face of all difficulties and annoyances, they had continuedto depend on him for foot garniture, and were now haunted byunpleasant images of cramped toes, corns, bunyons, and all thevaried ill attendant on badly made and badly fitting shoes, boots, and gaiters. The retirement of Andy, cross and unaccommodating as hehad become, was felt, in many homes, to be a public calamity. 

"Don't think of such a thing, Mr. Lovell, " said one. 

"We can't do without you, " asserted another. 

"You'll not give up altogether, " pleaded a third, almost coaxingly. 

But Andy Lovell was tired of working without any heart in his work;and more tired of the constant fret and worry attendant upon abusiness in which his mind had ceased to feel interest. So he keptto his resolution, and went on with his arrangements for closing theshop. 

"What are you going to do?" asked a neighbor. 

"Do?" Andy looked, in some surprise, at his interrogator. 

"Yes. What are you going to do? A man in good health, at your timeof life, can't be idle. Rust will eat him up. "

"Rust?" Andy looked slightly bewildered. 

"What's this?" asked the neighbor, taking something from Andy'scounter. 

"An old knife, " was the reply. "It dropped out of the window two orthree months ago and was lost. I picked it up this morning. "

"It's in a sorry condition, " said the neighbor. "Half eaten up withrust, and good for nothing. "

"And yet, " replied the shoemaker, "there was better stuff in thatknife, before it was lost, than in any other knife in the shop. "

"Better than in this?" And the neighbor lifted a clean, sharp-edgedknife from Andy's cutting-board. 

"Worth two of it. "

"Which knife is oldest?" asked the neighbor. 

"I bought them at the same time. "

"And this has been in constant use?"

"Yes. "

"While the other lay idle, and exposed to the rains and dews?"

"And so has become rusted and good for nothing. Andy, my friend, just so rusted, and good for nothing as a man, are you in danger ofbecoming. Don't quit business; don't fall out of your place; don'tpass from useful work into self-corroding idleness, You'll bemiserable--miserable. "

The pertinence of this illustration struck the mind of Andy Lovell, and set him to thinking; and the more he thought, the more disturbedbecame his mental state. He had, as we have see, no longer any heartin his business. All that he desired was obtained--enough to live oncomfortably; why, then, should he trouble himself with hard-to-pleaseand ill-natured customers? This was one side of the question. 

The rusty knife suggested the other side. So there was conflict inhis mind; but only a disturbing conflict. Reason acted too feebly onthe side of these new-coming convictions. A desire to be at once, and to escape daily work and daily troubles, was stronger than anycold judgement of the case. 

"I'll find something to do, " he said, within himself, and so pushedaside unpleasantly intruding thoughts. But Mrs. Lovell did not failto observe, that since, her husband's determination to go out ofbusiness, he had become more irritable than before, and less at easein every way. 

The closing day came at last. Andy Lovell shut the blinds before thewindows of his shop, at night-fall, saying, as he did so, but in ahalf-hearted, depressed kind of a way, "For the last time;" and thengoing inside, sat down in front of the counter, feeling strangelyand ill at ease. The future looked very blank. There was nothing init to strive for, to hope for, to live for. Andy was no philosopher. He could not reason from any deep knowledge of human nature. Hislife had been merely sensational, touching scarcely the confines ofinterior thought. Now he felt that he was getting adrift, but couldnot understand the why and the wherefore. 

As the twilight deepened, his mental obscurity deepened also. He wasstill sitting in front of his counter, when a form darkened his opendoor. It was the postman, with a letter for Andy's wife. Then heclosed the door, saying in his thought, as he had said when closingthe shutters, "For the last time, " and went back into the house withthe letter in his hand. It was sealed with black. Mrs. Lovell lookedfrightened as she noticed this sign of death. The contents were soonknown. An only sister, a widow, had died suddenly, and this letterannounced the fact. She left three young children, two girls and aboy. These, the letter stated, had been dispensed among the latehusband's relatives; and there was a sentence or two expressing aregret that they should be separated from each other. 

Mrs. Lovell was deeply afflicted by this news, and abandonedherself, for a while, to excessive grief. Her husband had noconsolation to offer, and so remained, for the evening, silent andthoughtful. Andy Lovell did not sleep well that night. Certainthings were suggested to his mind, and dwelt upon, in spite of manyefforts to thrust them aside. Mrs. Lovell was wakeful also, as wasevident to her husband from her occasional sighs, sobs, and restlessmovements; but no words passed between them. Both rose earlier thanusual. 

Had Andy Lovell forgotten that he opened his shop door, and put backthe shutters, as usual? Was this mere habit-work, to be correctedwhen he bethought himself of what he had done? Judging from hissober face and deliberate manner--no. His air was not that of a manacting unconsciously. 

Absorbed in her grief, and troubled with thoughts of her sister'sorphaned children, Mrs. Lovell did not, at first, regard the openingof her husband's shop as anything unusual. But, the truth flashingacross her mind, she went in where Lovell stood at his old place bythe cutting-board, on which was laid a side of morocco, and said, --

"Why, Andy! I thought you had shut up the shop for good and all. "

"I thought so last night, but I've changed my mind, " was thelow-spoken but decided answer. 

"Changed your mind! Why?"

"I don't know what you may think about it, Sally; but my mind's madeup. " And Andy squared round, and looked steadily into his wife'sface. "There's just one thing we've got to do; and it's no usetrying to run away from it. That letter didn't come for nothing. Thefact is, Sally, them children mustn't be separated. I've beenthinking about it all night, and it hurts me dreadfully. "

"How can we help it? Mary's dead, and her husband's relations havedivided the children round. I've no doubt they will be well caredfor, " said Mrs. Lovell. 

She had been thinking as well as her husband, but not to so clear aresult. To bring three little children into her quiet home, andaccept years of care, of work, of anxiety, and responsibility, wasnot a thing to be done on light consideration. She had turned fromthe thought as soon as presented, and pushed it away from everyavenue through which it sought to find entrance. So she had passedthe wakeful night, trying to convince herself that her dead sister'schildren would be happy and well cared for. 

"If they are here, Sally, we can be certain that they are well caredfor, " replied Andy. 

"O, dear! I can never undertake the management of three children!"said Mrs. Lovell, her countenance expressing the painful reluctanceshe felt. 

Andy turned partly away from his wife, and bent over thecutting-board. She saw, as he did so, an expression of countenancethat rebuked her. 

"A matter like this should be well considered, " remarked Mrs. Lovell. 

"That's true, " answered her husband. "So take your time. They'reyour flesh and blood, you know, and if they come here, you'll havethe largest share of trouble with them. "

Mrs. Lovell went back into the house to think alone, while Andycommenced cutting out work, his hands moving with the springs of areadier will than had acted through them for a long time. 

It took Mrs. Lovell three or four days to make up her mind to sendfor the children, but the right decision came at last. All thiswhile Andy was busy in his shop--cheerfully at work, and treating thecustomers, who, hearing that he had changed his mind, were pressingin upon him with their orders, much after the pleasant fashion inwhich he had treated them in years gone by. He knew that his wifewould send for the children; and after their arrival, he knew thathe would have increased expenses. So, there had come a spur toaction, quickening the blood in his veins; and he was at work oncemore, with heart and purpose, a happier man, really, than he hadbeen for years. 

Two or three weeks passed, and then the long silent dwelling of AndyLovell was filled with the voices of children. Two or three yearshave passed since then. How is it with Andy? There is not a morecheerful man in all the village, though he is in his shop early andlate. No more complaints from customers. Every one is promptly andcheerfully served. He has the largest run of work, as of old; andhis income is sufficient not only to meet increased expenses, but toleave a surplus at the end of every year. He is the bright, sharpknife, always in use; not the idle blade, which had so narrowlyescaped, falling from the window, rusting to utter worthlessness inthe dew and rain. 

IV. 

A MYSTERY EXPLAINED. 

"GOING to the Falls and to the White Mountains!"

"Yes, I'm off next week. "

"How long will you be absent?"

"From ten days to two weeks. "

"What will it cost?"

"I shall take a hundred dollars in my pocket-book! That will carryme through. "

"A hundred dollars! Where did you raise that sum? Who's the lender?Tell him he can have another customer. "

"I never borrow. "

"Indeed! Then you've had a legacy. "

"No, and never expect to have one. All my relations are poor. "

"Then unravel the mystery. Say where the hundred dollars came from. "

"The answer is easy. I saved it from my salary. "

"What?"

"I saved it during the last six months for just this purpose, andnow I am to have two weeks of pleasure and profit combined. "

"Impossible!"

"I have given you the fact. "

"What is your salary, pray?"

"Six hundred a year. "

"So I thought. But you don't mean to say that in six months you havesaved one hundred dollars out of three hundred?"

"Yes; that is just what I mean to say. "

"Preposterous. I get six hundred, and am in debt. "

"No wonder. "

"Why no wonder?"

"If a man spends more than he receives, he will fall in debt. "

"Of course he will. But on a salary of six hundred, how is itpossible for a man to keep out of debt?"

"By spending less than he receives. "

"That is easily said. "

"And as easily done. All that is wanted is prudent forethought, integrity of purpose, and self-denial. He must take care of thepennies, and the pounds will take care of themselves. "

"Trite and obsolete. "

"True if trite; and never obsolete. It is as good doctrine to-day asit was in poor Richard's time. Of that I can bear witness. "

"I could never be a miser or a skinflint. "

"Nor I. But I can refuse to waste my money in unconsidered trifles, and so keep it for more important things; for a trip to Niagara andthe White Mountains, for instance. "

The two young men who thus talked were clerks, each receiving thesalary already mentioned--six hundred dollars. One of them, namedHamilton, understood the use of money; the other, named Hoffman, practised the abuse of this important article. The consequence was, that while Hamilton had a hundred dollars saved for a trip duringhis summer vacation, Hoffman was in debt for more than two or threetimes that amount. 

The incredulous surprise expressed by Hoffman was sincere. He couldnot understand the strange fact which had been announced. For aninstant it crossed his mind that Hamilton might only have advancedhis seeming impossible economy as a cover to dishonest practices. But he pushed the thought away as wrong. 

"Not much room for waste of money on a salary of six hundred ayear, " answered Hoffman. 

"There is always room for waste, " said Hamilton. "A leak is a leak, be it ever so small. The quart flagon will as surely waste itsprecious contents through a fracture that loses only a drop at atime, as the butt from which a constant stream is pouring. The factis, as things are in our day, whether flagon or butt, leakage is therule not the exception. "

"I should like to know where the leak in my flagon is to be found, "said Hoffman. "I think it would puzzle a finance committee todiscover it. "

"Shall I unravel for you the mystery?"

"You unravel it! What do you know of my affairs?"

"I have eyes. "

"Do I waste my money?"

"Yes, if you have not saved as much as I have during the last sixmonths; and yes, if my eyes have given a true report. "

"What have your eyes reported?"

"A system of waste, in trifles, that does not add anythingsubstantial to your happiness and certainly lays the foundation fora vast amount of disquietude, and almost certain embarrassment inmoney affairs, and consequent humiliations. "

Hoffman shook his head gravely answering, "I can't see it. "

"Would you like to see it?"

"O, certainly, if it exists. "

"Well, suppose we go down into the matter of expenditures, item byitem, and make some use of the common rules of arithmetic as we goalong. Your salary, to start with, is six hundred dollars, and youplay the same as I do for boarding and washing, that is, four and ahalf dollars per week, which gives the sum of two hundred andthirty-four dollars a year. What do your clothes cost?"

"A hundred and fifty dollars will cover everything!"

"Then you have two hundred and sixteen dollars left. What becomes ofthat large sum?"

Hoffman dropped his eyes and went to thinking. Yes, what had becomeof these two hundred and sixteen dollars? Here was the whole thingin a nutshell. 

"Cigars, " said Hamilton. "How many do you use in a day?"

"Not over three. But these are a part of considered expenses. I amnot going to do without cigars. "

"I am only getting down to the items, " answered the friend. "We mustfind out where the money goes. Three cigars a day, and, on anaverage, one to a friend, which makes four. "

"Very well, say four. "

"At six cents apiece. "

Hamilton took a slip of paper and made a few figures. 

"Four cigars a day at six cents each, cost twenty-four cents. Threehundred and sixty-five by twenty-four gives eighty-seven dollars andsixty cents, as the cost of your cigars for a year. "

"O, no! That is impossible, " returned Hoffman, quickly. 

"There is the calculation. Look at it for yourself, " repliedHamilton, offering the slip of paper. 

"True as I live!" ejaculated the other, in unfeigned surprise. "Inever dreamed of such a thing. Eighty-seven dollars. That will neverdo in the world. I must cut this down. "

"A simple matter of figures. I wonder you had not thought ofcounting the cost. Now I do not smoke at all. It is a bad habit, that injures the health, and makes us disagreeable to our friends, to say nothing of the expense. So you see how natural the result, that at the end of the year I should have eighty-seven dollars inband, while you had puffed away an equal sum in smoke. So much forthe cigar account. I think you take a game of billiards now andthen. "

"Certainly I do. Billiards are innocent. I am very fond of the game, and must have some recreation. "

"Exactly so. The question now is, What do they cost?"

"Nothing to speak of. You can't make out a case here. "

"We shall see. How often do you play?"

"Two or three times a week. "

"Say twice a week. "

"Yes. "

"Very well. Let it be twice. A shilling a game must be paid for useof the table?"

"Which comes from the loser's pocket. I, generally, make it a pointto win. "

"But lose sometimes. "

"Of course. The winning is rarely all on one side. "

"One or two games a night?"

"Sometimes. "

"Suppose we put down an average loss of three games in a week. Willthat be too high?"

"No. Call it three games a week. "

"Or, as to expense, three shillings. Then, after the play, therecomes a glass of ale--or, it may be oysters. "

"Usually. "

"Will two shillings at week, taking one week with another, pay foryour ale and oysters?"

Hoffman did not answer until he had reflected for a few moments, Then he said, --

"I'm afraid neither two nor four shillings will cover this item. Wemust set it down at six. "

"Which gives for billiards, ale and oysters, the sum of one dollarand a shilling per week. Fifty-two by a dollar twelve-and-a-half, and we have the sum of fifty-eight dollars and fifty cents. Rather aserious item this, in the year's expense, where the income is onlysix hundred dollars!"

Hoffman looked at his friend in a bewildered kind of way. This wasastounding. 

"How often do you go to the theatre and opera?" Hamilton went onwith his questions. 

"Sometimes once a week. Sometimes twice or thrice, according to theattraction. "

"And you take a lady now and then?"

"Yes. "

"Particularly during the opera season?"

"Yes. I'm not so selfish as always to indulge in these pleasuresalone. "

"Very well. Now for the cost. Sometimes the opera is one dollar. Soit costs two dollars when you take a lady. "

"Which is not very often. "

"Will fifty cents a week, averaging the year, meet this expense?"

After thinking for some time, Hoffman said yes, he thought thatfifty cents a week would be a fair appropriations. 

"Which adds another item of twenty-six dollars a year to yourexpenses. "

"But would you cut off everything?" objected Hoffman. "Is a man tohave no recreations, no amusements?"

"That is another question, " coolly answered Hamilton. "Our presentbusiness is to ascertain what has become of the two hundred andsixteen dollars which remained of your salary after boarding andclothing bills were paid. That is a handsome gold chain. What did itcost?"

"Eighteen dollars. "

"Bought lately?"

"Within six months. "

"So much more accounted for. Is that a diamond pin?"

Hoffman colored a little as he answered, --

"Not a very costly one. Merely a scarf-pin, as you see. Small, though brilliant. Always worth what I paid for it. "

"Cost twenty-five or thirty dollars?"

"Twenty-five. "

"Shall I put that down as one of the year expenses?"

"Yes, you may do so. "

"What about stage and car hire? Do you ride or walk to and frombusiness?"

"I ride, of course. You wouldn't expect me to walk nearly a milefour times a day. "

"I never ride, except in bad weather. The walk gives me just theexercise I need. Every man, who is confined in a store orcounting-room during business hours, should walk at least four milesa day. Taken in installments of one mile at a time, at goodintervals, there is surely no hardship in this exercise. Four rides, at six-pence a ride and we have another item of twenty-five cents atday. You go down town nearly every evening?"

"Yes. "

"And ride both ways?

"Yes. "

"A shilling more, or thirty seven and a half cents daily for car andstage hire. Now for another little calculation. Three hundred days, at three shillings a day. There it is. "

And Hamilton reached a slip of paper to his friend. 

"Impossible!" The latter actually started to his feet. "A hundredand twelve dollars and fifty cents!"

"If you spend three shillings a day, you will spend that sum in ayear. Figures are inexorable. "

Hoffman sat down again in troubled surprise, saying, "Have you got to the end?"

"Not yet, " replied his companion. 

"Very well. Go on. "

"I often notice you with candies, or other confections; and you are, sometimes, quite free in sharing them with your friends. Burntalmonds, sugar almonds, Jim Crow's candied fruits, macaroons, etc. These are not to be had for nothing; and besides their cost they area positive injury to the stomach. You, of course, know to whatextent you indulge this weakness of appetite. Shall we say that itcosts an average of ten cents a day?"

"Add fruit, in and out of season, and call it fifteen cents, "replied Hoffman. 

"Very well. For three hundred days this will give another largesum--forty-five dollars?"

"Anything more?" said Hoffman in a subdued, helpless kind of way, like one lying prostrate from a sudden blow. 

"I've seen you driving out occasionally; sometimes on Sunday. And, by the way, I think you generally take an excursion on Sunday, overto Staten Island, or to Hoboken, or up the river, or--but no matterwhere; you go about and spend money on the Sabbath day. How muchdoes all this cost? A dollar a week? Seventy-five cents? Fiftycents? We are after the exact figures as near as maybe. What does itcost for drives and excursions, and their spice of refreshment?"

"Say thirty dollars a year. "

"Thirty dollars, then, we will call it. And here let us close, inorder to review the ground over which we have been travelling. Allthose various expenses, not one of which is for things essential tohealth, comfort, or happiness, but rather for their destruction, amount to the annual sum of four hundred and two dollars sixtycents, --you can go over the figures for yourself. Add to this threehundred and eighty-four dollars, the cost of boarding and clothing, and you swell the aggregate to nearly eight hundred dollars; andyour salary is but six hundred!"

A long silence followed. 

"I am amazed, confounded!" said Hoffman, resting his head betweenhis hands, as he leaned on the table at which they were sitting. "And not only amazed and confounded, " he went on, "but humiliated, ashamed! Was I a blind fool that I did not see it myself? Had Iforgotten my multiplication table?"

"You are like hundreds--nay, thousands, " replied the friend, "to whoma sixpence, a shilling, or even a dollar spent daily has a veryinsignificant look; and who never stop to think that sixpence a dayamounts to over twenty dollars in a year; a shilling a day to overforty; and a dollar a day to three hundred and sixty-five. We cannotwaste our money in trifles, and yet have it to spend for substantialbenefits. The cigars you smoked in the past year; the games ofbilliards you played; the ale and oysters, cakes, confections, andfruit consumed; the rides in cars and stages; the drives and Sundayexcursions, crave only the briefest of pleasures, and left new andless easily satisfied desires behind. It will not do, my friend, togrant an easy indulgence to natural appetite and desire, for theyever seek to be our masters. If we would be men--self-poised, self-controlling, self-possessing men--we must let reason govern inall our actions. We must be wise, prudent, just, and self-denying;and from this rule of conduct will spring order, tranquillity ofmind, success, and true enjoyment. I think, Hoffman, that I am quiteas happy a man as you are; far happier, I am sure, at this moment;and yet I have denied myself nearly all theses indulgences throughwhich you have exhausted your means and embarrassed yourself withdebt. Moreover, I have a hundred dollars clear of everything, withwhich I shall take a long-desired excursion, while you will becompelled, for lack of the very money which has been worse thanwasted, to remain a prisoner in the city. Pray, be counselled to adifferent course in future. "

"I would be knave or fool to need further incentive, " said Hoffman, with much bitterness. "At the rate I am going on, debt, humiliation, and disgrace are before me. I may live up to my income withoutactually wronging others--but not beyond it. As things are now going, I am two hundred dollars worse off at the end of each year when thanI began, and, worse still, weaker as to moral purpose, while theanimal and sensual natures, from constant indulgence, have grownstronger. I must break this thraldom now; for, a year hence, it maybe too late! Thank, you, my friend, for your plain talk. Thank youfor teaching me anew the multiplication table, I shall, assuredly, not forget it again. "

V. 

WHAT CAN I DO?

HE was a poor cripple--with fingers twisted out of all useful shape, and lower limbs paralyzed so that he had to drag them after himwearily when he moved through the short distances that limited hissphere of locomotion--a poor, unhappy, murmuring, and, at times, ill-natured cripple, eating the bread which a mother's hard laborprocured for him. For hours every fair day, during spring, summer, and autumn, he might be seen in front of the little house where helived leaning upon the gate, or sitting on an old bench looking witha sober face at the romping village children, or dreamily regardingthe passengers who moved with such strong limbs up and down thestreet. How often, bitter envy stung the poor cripple's heart! Howoften, as the thoughtless village children taunted him cruelly withhis misfortune, would he fling harsh maledictions after them. Manypitied the poor cripple; many looked upon him with feelings ofdisgust and repulsion; but few, if any, sought to do him good. 

Not far from where the cripple lived was a man who had beenbedridden for years, and who was likely to remain so to the end ofhis days. He was supported by the patient industry of a wife. 

"If good works are the only passport to heaven, " he said to aneighbor one day, "I fear my chances will be small. "

"'Well done, good and faithful servant, ' is the language ofwelcome, " was replied; and the neighbor looked at the sick man in away that made him feel a little uncomfortable. 

"I am sick and bedridden--what can I do?" he spoke, fretfully. 

"When little is given, little is required. But if there be only asingle talent it must be improved. "

"I have no talent, " said the invalid. 

"Are you sure of that?"

"What can I do? Look at me! No health, no strength, no power to risefrom this bed. A poor, helpless creature, burdening my wife. Betterfor me, and for all, if I were in my grave. "

"If that were so you would be in your grave. But God knows best. There is something for you to do, or you would be no longerpermitted to live, " said the neighbor. 

The sick man shook his head. 

"As I came along just now, " continued the neighbor, "I stopped tosay a word to poor Tom Hicks, the cripple, as he stood swinging onthe gate before his mother's house, looking so unhappy that I pitiedhim in my heart. 'What do you do with yourself all through theselong days, Tom?' I asked. 'Nothing, ' he replied, moodily. 'Don't youread sometimes?' I queried. 'Can't read, ' was his sullen answer. 'Were you never at school?' I went on. 'No: how can I get toschool?' 'Why don't your mother teach you?' 'Because she can't readherself, ' replied Tom. 'It isn't too late to begin now, ' said I, encouragingly; 'suppose I were to find some one willing to teachyou, what would you say?' The poor lad's face brightened as if thesunshine had fallen upon it; and he answered, 'I would say thatnothing could please me better. ' I promised to find him a teacher;and, as I promised, the thought of you, friend Croft, came into mymind. Now, here is something that you can do; a good work in whichyou can employ your one talent. "

The sick man did not respond warmly to this proposition. He had beenso long a mere recipient of good offices, --had so long felt himselfthe object towards which pity and service must tend, --that he hadnearly lost the relish for good deeds. Idle dependence had made himselfish. 

"Give this poor cripple a lesson every day, " went on the neighbor, pressing home the subject, "and talk and read to him. Take him incharge as one of God's children, who needs to be instructed and ledup to a higher life than the one he is now living. Is not this agood and a great work? It is, my friend, one that God has brought toyour hand, and in the doing of which there will be great reward. What can you do? Much! Think of that poor boy's weary life, and ofthe sadder years that lie still before him. What will become of himwhen his mother dies? The almshouse alone will open its doors forthe helpless one. But who can tell what resources may open beforehim if stimulated by thought. Take him, then, and unlock the doorsof a mind that now sits in darkness, that sunlight may come in. Toyou it will give a few hours of pleasant work each day; to him itwill be a life-long benefit. Will you do it?"

"Yes. "

The sick man could not say "No, " though in uttering thathalf-extorted assent he manifested no warm interest in the case ofpoor Tom Hicks. 

On the next day the cripple came to the sick man, and received hisfirst lesson; and every day, at an appointed hour, he was in Mr. Croft's room, eager for the instruction he received. Quickly hemastered the alphabet, and as quickly learned to construct smallwords, preparatory to combining them in a reading lesson. 

After the first three or four days the sick man, who, had undertakenthis work with reluctance, began to find his heart going down intoit. Tom was so ready a scholar, so interested, and so grateful, thatMr. Croft found the task of instructing him a real pleasure. Theneighbor, who had suggested this useful employment of the invalid'stime, looked in now and then to see how matters were progressing, and to speak words of encouragement. 

Poor Tom was seen less frequently than before hanging on the gate, or sitting idly on the bench before his mother's dwelling; and whenyou did find him there, as of old, you saw a different expression onhis face. Soon the children, who had only looked at him, half infear, from a distance, or come closer to the gate where he stoodgazing with his strange eyes out into the street, in order to worryhim, began to have a different feelings for the cripple, and one andanother stopped occasionally to speak with him; for Tom no longermade queer faces, or looked at them wickedly, as if he would harmthem if in his power, nor retorted angrily if they said things toworry him. And now it often happened that a little boy or girl, whohad pitied the poor cripple, and feared him at the same time, wouldoffer him a flower, or an apple, or at handful of nuts in passing toschool; and he would take these gifts thankfully, and feel betterall day in remembrance of the kindness with which they had beenbestowed. Sometimes he would risk to see their books, and his eyeswould run eagerly over the pages so far in advance of hiscomprehension, yet with the hope in his heart of one day masteringthem; for he had grown all athirst for knowledge. 

As soon as Tom could read, the children in the neighborhood, who hadgrown to like him, and always gathered around him at the gate, whenthey happened to find him there, supplied him with books; so that hehad an abundance of mental food, and now began to repay hisbenefactor, the bedridden man, by reading to him for hours everyday. 

The mind of Tom had some of this qualities of a sponge: it absorbeda great deal, and, like a sponge, gave out freely at every pressure. 

Whenever his mind came in contact with another mind, it must eitherabsorb or impart. So he was always talking or always listening whenhe had anybody who would talk or listen. 

There was something about him that strongly attracted the boys inthe neighborhood, and he usually had three or four of them aroundhim and often a dozen, late in the afternoon, when the schools wereout. As Tom had entered a new world, --the world of books, --and wasinterested in all he found there, the subjects on which he talkedwith the boys who sought his company were always instructive. There, was no nonsense about the cripple: suffering of body and mind hadlong ago made him serious; and all nonsense, or low, sensual talk, to which boys are sometimes addicted, found no encouragement in hispresence. His influence over these boys was therefore of the bestkind. The parents of some of the children, when they found theirsons going so often to the house of Tom Hicks, felt doubts as to thesafety of such intimate intercourse with the cripple, towards whomfew were prepossessed, as he bore in the village the reputation ofbeing ill-tempered and depraved, and questioned them very closely inregard to the nature of their intercourse. The report of these boystook their parents by surprise; but, on investigation, it proved tobe true, and Tom's character soon rose in the public estimation. 

Then came, as a natural consequence, inquiry as to the cause of sucha change in the unfortunate lad; and the neighbor of the sick manwho had instructed Tom told the story of Mr. Croft's agency in thematter. This interested the whole town in both the cripple and hisbedridden instructor. The people were taken by surprise at such anotable interest of the great good which may sometimes be done wherethe means look discouragingly small. Mr. Croft was praised for hisgenerous conduct, and not only praised, but helped by many who had, until now, felt indifferent, towards his case--for his good workrebuked them for neglected opportunities. 

The cripple's eagerness to learn, and rapid progress under the mostlimited advantages, becoming generally known, a gentleman, whose sonhad been one of Tom's visitors, and who had grown to be a better boyunder his influence, offered to send him in his wagon every day tothe school-house, which stood half a mile distant, and have himbrought back in the afternoon. 

It was the happiest day in Tom's life when he was helped down fromthe wagon, and went hobbling into the school-room. 

Before leaving home on that morning he had made his way up to thesick room of Mr. Croft. 

"I owe it all to you, " he said, as he brought the white, thin handof his benefactor to his lips. It was damp with more than a kisswhen he laid it back gently on the bed. "And our Father in heavenwill reward you. "

"You have done a good work, " said the neighbor, who had urged Mr. Croft to improve his one talent, as he sat talking with him on thatevening about the poor cripple and his opening prospects; "and itwill serve you in that day when the record of life is opened. Notbecause of the work itself, but for the true charity which promptedthe work. It was begun, I know, in some self-denial, but thatself-denial was for another's good; and because you put away love ofease, and indifference, and forced yourself to do kind offices, seeing that it was right to help others, God will send a heavenlylove of doing good into your soul, which always includes a greatreward, and is the passport to eternal felicities. 

"You said, " continued the neighbor, "only a few months ago, 'Whatcan I do?' and spoke as a man who felt that he was deprived of allthe means of accomplishing good; and yet you have, with but littleeffort, lifted a human soul out of the dark valley of ignorance, where it was groping ill self-torture, and placed it on an ascendingmountain path. The light of hope has fallen, through your aid, withsunny warmth upon a heart that was cold and barren a little whileago, but is now green with verdure, and blossoming in the sweetpromise of fruit. The infinite years to come alone can reveal theblessings that will flow from this one act of a bedridden man, whofelt that in him was no capacity for good deeds. "

The advantages of a school being placed within the reach of TomHicks, he gave up every thought to the acquirement of knowledge. Andnow came a serious difficulty. His bent, stiff fingers could not bemade to hold either pen or pencil in the right position, or to usethem in such a way as to make intelligible signs. But Tom was toomuch in earnest to give up on the first, or second, or third effort. He found, after a great many trials, that he could hold a pencilmore firmly than at first, and guide his hand in some obedience tohis will. This was sufficient to encourage him to dailylong-continued efforts, the result of which was a gradual yieldingof the rigid muscles, which became in time so flexible that he couldmake quite passable figures, and write a fair hand. This did notsatisfy him, however. He was ambitious to do better; and so kept ontrying and trying, until few boys in the school could give a fairercopy. 

"Have you heard the news?" said a neighbor to Mr. Croft, the poorbedridden man. It was five years from the day he gave the poorcripple, Tom Hicks, his first lesson. 

"What news?" the sick man asked, in a feeble voice, not even turninghis head towards the speaker. Life's pulses were running very low. The long struggle with disease was nearly over. 

"Tom Hicks has received the appointment of teacher to our publicschool. "

"Are you in earnest?" There was a mingling of surprise and doubt inthe low tones that crept out upon the air. 

"Yes. It is true what I say. You know that after Mr. Wilson died thedirectors got Tom, who was a favorite with all the scholars, to keepthe school together for a few weeks until a successor could beappointed. He managed so well, kept such good order, and showedhimself so capable as an instructor, that, when the election tookplace to-day, he received a large majority of votes over a number ofhighly-recommended teachers, and this without his having madeapplication for the situation, or even dreaming of such a thing. "

At this moment the cripple's well-known shuffling tread and therattle of crutches was heard on the stairs. He came up with morethan his usual hurry. Croft turned with an effort, so as to get asight of him as he entered the room. 

"I have heard the good news, " he said, as he reached a hand feeblytowards Tom, "and it has made my heart glad. "

"I owe it all to you, " replied the cripple, in a voice that trembledwith feeling. "God will reward you. "

And he caught the shadowy hand, touched it with his lips, and wet itwith grateful tears, as once before. Even as he held that thin, white hand the low-moving pulse took an lower beat--lower andlower--until the long-suffering heart grew still, and the freedspirit went up to its reward. 

"My benefactor!" sobbed the cripple, as he stood by the wasted formshrouded in grave-clothes, and looked upon it for the last time erethe coffin-lid closed over it. "What would I have been except foryou?"

Are your opportunities for doing good few, and limited in range, toall appearances, reader? Have you often said, like the bedriddenman, "What can I do?" Are you poor, weak, ignorant, obscure, or evensick as he was, and shut out from contact with the busy outsideworld? No matter. If you have a willing heart, good work will cometo your hands. Is there no poor, unhappy neglected one to whom youcan speak words of encouragement, or lift out of the vale ofignorance? Think! Cast around you. You may, by a single sentence, spoken in the right time and in the right spirit, awaken thoughts insome dull mind that may grow into giant powers in after times, wielded for the world's good. While you may never be able to actdirectly on society to any great purpose, in consequence of mentalor physical disabilities, you may, by instruction and guidance, prepare some other mind for useful work, which, but for your agency, might have wasted its powers in ignorance or crime. All around usare human souls that may be influenced. The nurse, who ministers toyou in sickness, may be hurt or helped by you; the children, wholook into your face and read it daily, who listen to your speech, and remember what you say, will grow better or worse, according tothe spirit of your life, as it flows into them; the neglected son ofa neighbor may find in you the wise counsellor who holds him backfrom vice. Indeed, you cannot pass a single day, whether your spherebe large or small, your place exalted or lowly, without abundantopportunities for doing good. Only the willing heart is required. Asfor the harvest, that is nodding, ripe for the sickle, in everyman's field. What of that time when the Lord of the Harvest comes, and you bind up your sheaves and lay them at his feet?

VI. 

ON GUARD. 

"O, MAMMA! See that wicked-looking cat on the fence! She'll have oneof those dear little rabbits in a minute!"

Mattie's sweet face grew pale with fear, and she trembled all over. 

"It's only a picture, my dear, " said Mattie's mother. "The cat can'tget down, and so the rabbits are safe. "

"But it looks as if she could--as if she'd jump right upon the dearlittle things. I wish there was a big dog, like Old Lion, there. Wouldn't he make her fly?"

"But it's only a picture. If there was a dog there, he couldn't barknor spring at the cat. "

"Why didn't the man who made the picture put in a dog somewhere, sothat we could see him, and know the rabbits were safe?"

"Maybe he didn't think of it, " said Mattie's mother. 

"I wish he had. "

"Perhaps, " said the mother, "he wished to teach us this lesson, that, as there are evil and hurtful things in the world, we shouldnever be so entirely off of our guard as the children playing, withthe rabbits seem to be. Dear little things! How innocent and happythey are! There is not a thought of danger in their minds. And yet, close by them is a great cat, with cruel eyes, ready to spring upontheir harmless pets. Yes; I think the artist meant to teach a lessonwhen he drew this picture. "

"What lesson, mother?" asked Mattie. "O, I remember, " she addedquickly. "You said that it might be to teach us never to be off ofour guard, because there are evil and hurtful things in the world. "

"Yes; and that is a lesson which cannot be learned too early. Babybegins to learn it when he touches the fire and is burnt; when hepulls the cat too hard and she scratches him; when he runs too fastfor his little strength, and gets a fall. And children learn it whenthey venture too near vicious animal and are kicked or bitten; whenthey tear their clothes, or get their hands and faces scratched withthorns and briers; when they fall from trees, or into the water, andin many other ways that I need not mention. And men and women learn, it very, very, often in pains and sorrows too deep for you tocomprehend. "

Mattie drew a long sigh, as she stood before her mother, looking, soberly into her face. 

"I wish there wasn't anything bad in the world, " she said. "Nothingthat could hurt us. "

"Ah, dear child!" answered the mother, her voice echoing Mattie'ssigh, "from millions and millions of hearts that wish comes updaily. But we have this to cheer us: if we stand on guard--if we arewatchful as well as innocent--we shall rarely get hurt. It is thecareless and the thoughtless that harm reaches. "

"And so we must always be on guard, " said Mattie, still looking verysober. 

"There is no other way, my child. 'On guard' is the watchword ofsafety for us all, young and old. But the harm that comes from theoutside is of small account compared with the harm that comes fromwithin. "

"From within, mother! How can harm could from within?"

"You read about the 'hawk among the birds'?"

"Yes, yes--O, now I understand what you mean! Bad thoughts andfeelings can do us harm. "

"Yes; and the hurt is deeper and more deadly than any bodily harm, for it is done to the soul. These rabbits are like good and innocentthings of the mind, and the cat like evil and cruel things. If youdo not keep watch, in some unguarded moment angry passions evilarise and hurt or destroy your good affections; just as this cat, ifshe were real, would tear or kill the tender rabbits. "

"O, mother! Is it as bad as that?" said Mattie. 

"Yes, my dear; just as bad as that. And when any of these good andinnocent feelings are destroyed by anger, hatred, jealousy, envy, revenge and the like, then just so much of heavenly good dies in usand just so far do we come under the power of what is evil andhurtful. Then we turn aside from safe and pleasant ways and walkamong briers and thorns. Dear Mattie! consider well the lesson ofthis picture, and set a watch over your heart daily. But watching isnot all. We are told in the Bible to pray as well as watch. All ofus, young and old, must do this if we would be in safety; for humanwill and human effort would all be in vain to overcome evil ifdivine strength did not flow into them. And unless we desire andpray for this divine strength we cannot receive it. "

VII. 

A VISIT WITH THE DOCTOR. 

"HOW are you to-day, Mrs. Carleton?" asked Dr. Farleigh, as he satdown by his patient, who reclined languidly in a large cushionedchair. 

"Miserable, " was the faintly spoken reply. And the word wasrepeated, --"Miserable. "

The doctor took one of the lady's small, white hands, on which thenetwork of veins, most delicately traced, spread its blue lineseverywhere beneath the transparent skin. It was a beautiful hand--astudy for a painter or sculptor. It was a soft, flexible hand--soft, flexible, and velvety to the touch as the hand of a baby, for it wasas much a stranger to useful work. The doctor laid his fingers onthe wrist. Under the pressure he felt the pulse beat slowly andevenly. He took out his watch and counted the beats, seventy in aminute. There was a no fever, nor any unusual disturbance of thesystem. Calmly the heart was doing its appointed work. 

"How is your head, Mrs. Carleton?"

The lady moved her head from side to side two or three times. 

"Anything out of the way there?"

"My head is well enough, but I feel so miserable--so weak. I haven'tthe strength of a child. The least exertion exhausts me. "

And the lady shut her eyes, looking the picture of feebleness. 

"Have you taken the tonic, for which I left a prescriptionyesterday?"

"Yes; but I'm no stronger. "

"How is your appetite?"

"Bad. "

"Have you taken the morning walk in the garden that I suggested?"

"O, dear, no! Walk out in the garden? I'm faint by the time I get tothe breakfast-room! I can't live at this rate, doctor. What am I todo? Can't you build me up in some way? I'm burden to myself andevery one else. "

And Mrs. Carleton really looked distressed. 

"You ride out every day?"

"I did until the carriage was broken, and that was nearly a weekago. It has been at the carriage-maker's ever since. "

"You must have the fresh air, Mrs. Carleton, " said the doctor, emphatically. "Fresh air, change of scene, and exercise, areindispensable in your case. You will die if you remain shut up afterthis fashion. Come, take a ride with me. "

"Doctor! How absurd!" exclaimed Mrs. Carleton, almost shocked by thesuggestion. "Ride with you! What would people think?"

"A fig for people's thoughts! Get your shawl and bonnet, and take adrive with me. What do you care for meddlesome people's thoughts?Come!"

The doctor knew his patient. 

"But you're not in earnest, surely?" There was a half-amused twinklein the lady's eyes. 

"Never more in earnest. I'm going to see a patient just out of thecity, and the drive will be a charming one. Nothing would please mebetter than to have your company. "

There was a vein of humor, and a spirit of "don't care" in Mrs. Carleton, which had once made her independent, and almost hoydenish. But fashionable associations, since her woman-life began, had tonedher down into exceeding propriety. Fashion and conventionality, however, were losing their influence, since enfeebled health kepther feet back from the world's gay places; and the doctor'sinvitation to a ride found her sufficiently disenthralled to see init a pleasing novelty. 

"I've half a mind to go, " she said, smiling. She had not smiledbefore since the doctor came in. 

"I'll ring for your maid, " and Dr. Farleigh's hand was on thebell-rope before Mrs. Carleton had space to think twice, andendanger a change of thought. 

"I'm not sure that I am strong enough for the effort, " said Mrs. Carleton, and she laid her head back upon the cushions in a feebleway. 

"Trust me for that, " replied the doctor. 

The maid came in. 

"Bring me a shawl and my bonnet, Alice; I am going to ride out withthe doctor. " Very languidly was the sentence spoken. 

"I'm afraid, doctor, it will be too much for me. You don't know howweak I am. The very thought of such an effort exhausts me. "

"Not a thought of the effort, " replied Dr. Farleigh. "It isn'tthat. "

"What is it?"

"A thought of appearances--of what people will say. "

"Now, doctor! You don't think me so weak in that direction?"

"Just so weak, " was the free-spoken answer. "You fashionable peopleare all afraid of each other. You haven't a spark of individualityor true independence. No, not a spark. You are quite strong enoughto ride out in your own elegant carriage but with the doctor!--O, dear, no! If you were certain of not meeting Mrs. McFlimsey, perhapsthe experiment might be adventured. But she is always out on finedays. "

"Doctor, for shame! How can you say that?"

And a ghost of color crept into the face of Mrs. Carleton, while hereyes grew brighter--almost flashed. 

The maid came in with shawl and bonnet. Dr. Farleigh, as we haveintimated, understood his patient, and said just two or three wordsmore, in a tone half contemptuous. 

"Afraid of Mrs. McFlimsey!"

"Not I; nor of forty Mrs. McFlimseys!"

It was not the ghost of color that warmed Mrs. Carleton's face now, but the crimson of a quicker and stronger heart-beat. She actuallyarose from her chair without reaching for her maid's hand and stoodfirmly while the shawl was adjusted and the bonnet-strings tied. 

"We shall have a charming ride, " said the doctor, as he crowded inbeside his fashionable lady companion, and took up the loose reins. He noticed that she sat up erectly, and with scarcely a sign of thelanguor that but a few minutes before had so oppressed her. "Leanback when you see Mrs. McFlimsey's carriage, and draw your veilclosely. She'll never dream that it's you. "

"I'll get angry if you play on that string much longer!" exclaimedMrs. Carleton; "what do I care for Mrs. McFlimsey?"

How charmingly the rose tints flushed her cheeks! How the lightrippled in her dark sweet eyes, that were leaden a little whilebefore!

Away from the noisy streets, out upon the smoothly-beaten road, andamid green field and woodlands, gardens and flower-decked orchards, the doctor bore his patient, holding her all the while in pleasanttalk. How different this from the listless, companionless drivestaken by the lady in her own carriage--a kind of easy, vibratingmachine, that quickened the sluggish blood no more than a cushionedrocking chair!

Closely the doctor observed his patient. He saw how erectly shecontinued to sit; how the color deepened in her face, which actuallyseemed rounder and fuller; how the sense of enjoyment fairly dancedin her eyes. 

Returning to the city by a different road, the doctor, after drivingthrough streets entirely unfamiliar to his companion, drew up hishorse before a row of mean-looking dwellings, and dropping thereins, threw open the carriage door, and stepped upon thepavement--at the same time reaching out his hand to Mrs. Carleton. But she drew back, saying, --

"What is the meaning of this, doctor?"

"I have a patient here, and I want you to see her. "

"O, no; excuse me, doctor. I've no taste for such things, " answeredthe lady. 

"Come--I can't leave you alone in the carriage. Ned might take afancy to walk off with you. "

Mrs. Carleton glanced at the patient old horse, whom the doctor wasslandering, with a slightly alarmed manner. 

"Don't you think he'll stand, doctor?" she asked, uneasily. 

"He likes to get home, like others of his tribe. Come;" and thedoctor held out his hand in a persistent way. 

Mrs. Carleton looked at the poor tenements before which the doctor'scarriage had stopped with something of disgust and something ofapprehension. 

"I can never go in there, doctor. "

"Why not?"

"I might take some disease. "

"Never fear. More likely to find a panacea there. "

The last sentence was in an undertone. 

Mrs. Carleton left the carriage, and crossing the pavement, enteredone of the houses, and passed up with the doctor to the secondstory. To his light tap at a chamber door a woman's voice said, --

"Come in. "

The door was pushed open, and the doctor and Mrs. Carleton went in. The room was small, and furnished in the humblest manner, but theair was pure, and everything looked clean and tidy. In a chair, witha pillow pressed in at her back for a support, sat a pale, emaciatedwoman, whose large, bright eyes looked up eagerly, and in a kind ofhopeful surprise, at so unexpected a visitor as the lady who came inwith the doctor. On her lap a baby was sleeping, as sweet, and pure, and beautiful a baby as ever Mrs. Carleton had looked upon. Thefirst impulse of her true woman's heart, had she yielded to it, would have prompted her to take it in her arms and cover it withkisses. 

The woman was too weak to rise from her chair, but she asked Mrs. Carleton to be seated in a tone of lady-like self-possession thatdid not escape the visitor's observation. 

"How did you pass the night, Mrs. Leslie?" asked the doctor. 

"About as usual, " was answered, in a calm, patient way; and she evensmiled as she spoke. 

"How about the pain through your side and shoulder?"

"It may have been a little easier. "

"You slept?"

"Yes, sir. "

"What of the night sweats?"

"I don't think they have diminished any. "

The doctor beat his eyes to the floor, and sat in silence for sometime. The heart of Mrs. Carleton was opening towards--the baby and itwas a baby to make its way into any heart. She had forgotten her ownweakness--forgotten, in the presence of this wan and wasted mother, with a sleeping cherub on her lap, all about her own invalid state. 

"I will send you a new medicine, " said the doctor, looking up; thenspeaking to Mrs. Carleton, he added, --

"Will you sit here until I visit two or three patients in theblock?"

"O, certainly, " and she reached out her arms for the baby, andremoved it so gently from its mother's lap that its soft slumber wasnot broken. When the doctor returned he noticed that there had beentears in Mrs. Carleton's eyes. She was still holding the baby, butnow resigned the quiet sleeper to its mother, kissing it as she didso. He saw her look with a tender, meaning interest at the white, patient face of the sick woman, and heard her say, as she spoke aword or two in parting, --

"I shall not forget you. "

"That's a sad case, doctor, " remarked the lady, as she took herplace in the carriage. 

"It is. But she is sweet and patient. "

"I saw that, and it filled me with surprise. She tells me that herhusband died a year ago. "

"Yes. "

"And that she has supported herself by shirt-making. "

"Yes. "

"But that she had become too feeble for work, and is dependent on ayounger sister, who earns a few dollars, weekly, at book-folding. "

"The simple story, I believe, " said the doctor. 

Mrs. Carleton was silent for most of the way home; but thought wasbusy. She had seen a phase of life that touched her deeply. 

"You are better for this ride, " remarked the doctor, as he handedher from the carriage. 

"I think so, " replied Mrs. Carleton. 

"There has not been so fine a color on your face for months. "

They had entered Mrs. Carleton's elegant residence, and were sittingin one of her luxurious parlors. 

"Shall I tell you why?" added the doctor. 

Mrs. Carleton bowed. 

"You have had some healthy heart-beats. "

She did not answer. 

"And I pray you, dear madam, let the strokes go on, " continued Dr. Farleigh. "Let your mind become interested in some good work, andyour hands obey your thoughts, and you will be a healthy woman, inbody and soul. Your disease is mental inaction. "

Mrs. Carleton looked steadily at the doctor. 

"You are in earnest, " she said, in a calm, firm way. 

"Wholly in earnest, ma'am. I found you, an hour ago, in so weak astate that to lift your hand was an exhausting effort. You aresitting erect now, with every muscle tautly strung. When will yourcarriage be home?"

He asked the closing question abruptly. 

"To-morrow, " was replied. 

"Then I will not call for you, but--"

He hesitated. 

"Say on, doctor. "

"Will you take my prescription?"

"Yes. " There was no hesitation. 

"You must give that sick woman a ride into the country. The fresh, pure, blossom-sweet air will do her good--may, indeed, turn thebalance of health in her favor. Don't be afraid of Mrs. McFlimsey. "

"For shame, doctor! But you are too late in your suggestion. I'mquite ahead of you. "

"Ah! in what respect?"

"That drive into the country is already a settled thing. Do youknow, I'm in love with that baby?"

"Othello's occupation's gone, I see!" returned the doctor, rising. "But I may visit you occasionally as a friend, I presume, if not asa medical adviser?"

"As my best friend, always, " said Mrs. Carleton, with feeling. "Youhave led me out of myself, and showed me the way to health andhappiness; and I have settled the question as to my future. It shallnot be as the past. "

And it was not. 

VIII. 

HADN'T TIME FOR TROUBLE. 

MRS. CALDWELL was so unfortunate as to have a rich husband. Not thatthe possession of a rich husband is to be declared a misfortune, _per se_, but, considering the temperament of Mrs. Caldwell, thefact was against her happiness, and therefore is to be regarded, taking the ordinary significance, of the term, as unfortunate. 

Wealth gave Mrs. Caldwell leisure for ease and luxuriousself-indulgence, and she accepted the privileges of her condition. Some minds, when not under the spur, sink naturally into, a state ofinertia, from which, when any touch of the spur reaches them, theyspring up with signs of fretfulness. The wife and mother, no matterwhat her condition, who yields to this inertia, cannot escape thespur. Children and servant, excepting all other causes, will notspare the pricking heel. 

Mrs. Caldwell was, by nature, a kind-hearted woman, and not lackingin good sense. But for the misfortune of having a rich husband, shemight have spent an active, useful, happy life. It was theopportunity which abundance gave for idleness and ease that marredeverything. Order in a household, and discipline among children, donot come spontaneously. They are the result of wise forecast, andpatient, untiring, never-relaxing effort. A mere conviction of dutyis rarely found to be sufficient incentive; there must be theimpelling force of some strong-handed necessity. In the case of Mrs. Caldwell, this did not exist; and so she failed in the creation ofthat order in her family without which permanent tranquillity isimpossible. In all lives are instructive episodes, and interestingas instructive. Let us take one of them from the life of this lady, whose chief misfortune was in being rich. 

Mrs. Caldwell's brow was clouded. It was never, for a very longtime, free from, clouds, for it seemed as if all sources of worryand vexation were on the increase; and, to make matters worse, patience was assuredly on the decline. Little things, once scarcelyobserved, now give sharp annoyance, there being rarely anydiscrimination and whether they were of accident, neglect, orwilfulness. 

"Phoebe!" she called, fretfully. 

The voice of her daughter answered, half-indifferently, from thenext room. 

"Why don't you come when I call you?" Anger now mingled withfretfulness. 

The face of a girl in her seventeenth year, on which sat no veryamiable expression, was presented at the door. 

"Is that your opera cloak lying across the chair, and partly on thefloor?"

Phoebe, without answering, crossed the room, and catching up thegarment with as little carefulness as if it had been an old shawlthrew it across her arm, and was retiring, when her mother said, sharply, --

"Just see how you are rumpling that cloak! What do you mean?"

"I'm not hurting the cloak, mother, " answered Phoebe, coolly. Then, with a shade of reproof, she added, "You fret yourself for nothing. "

"Do you call it nothing to abuse an elegant garment like that?"demanded Mrs. Caldwell. "To throw it upon the floor, and tumble itabout as if it were an old rag?"

"All of which, mother mine, I have not done. " And the girl tossedher head with an air of light indifference. 

"Don't talk to me in that way, Phoebe! I'll not suffer it. You areforgetting yourself. " The mother spoke with a sternness of mannerthat caused her daughter to remain silent. As they stood looking ateach other, Mrs. Caldwell said, in a changed voice, --

"What is that on your front tooth?"

"A speck of something, I don't know what; I noticed it onlyyesterday. "

Mrs. Caldwell crossed the room hastily, with a disturbed manner, and catching hold of Phoebe's arm, drew her to a window. 

"Let me see!" and she looked narrowly at the tooth, "Decay, as Ilive!" The last sentence was uttered in a tone of alarm. "You mustgo to the dentist immediately. This is dreadful! If your teeth arebeginning to fail now, you'll not have one left in your head by thetime you're twenty-five. "

"It's only a speck, " said Phoebe, evincing little concern. 

"A speck! I And do you know what a speck means?" demanded Mrs. Caldwell, with no chance in the troubled expression of her face. 

"What does it mean?" asked Phoebe. 

"Why, it means that the quality of your teeth is not good. One speckis only the herald of another. Next week a second tooth may showsigns of decay, and a third in the week afterwards. Dear--dear! Thisis too bad! The fact is, you are destroying your health. I've talkedand talked about the way you devour candies and sweetmeats; aboutthe way you sit up at night, and about a hundred other irregularities. There must be a change in all. This, Phoebe, as I've told you dozensand dozens of times. "

Mrs. Caldwell was growing more and more excited. 

"Mother! mother!" replied Phoebe, "don't fret yourself for nothing. The speck can be removed in an instant. "

"But the enamel is destroyed! Don't you see that? Decay will go on. "

"I don't believe that follows at all, " answered Phoebe, tossing herhead, indifferently, "And even if I believed in the worst, I'd findmore comfort in laughing than crying. " And she ran off to her ownroom. 

Poor Mrs. Caldwell sat down to brood over this new trouble; and asshe brooded, fancy wrought for her the most unpleasing images. 

She saw the beauty of Phoebe, a few years later in life, most sadlymarred by broken or discolored teeth. Looking at that, and thatalone, it magnified itself into a calamity, grew to an evil whichovershadowed everything. 

She was still tormenting herself about the prospect of Phoebe's lossof teeth, when, in passing through her elegantly-furnished parlors, her eyes fell on a pale acid stain, about the size of a shillingpiece, one of the rich figures in the carpet. The color of thisfigure was maroon, and the stain, in consequence, distinct; atleast, it became very distinct to her eye as they dwelt upon it asif held there by a kind of fascination. 

Indeed, for a while, Mrs. Caldwell could see nothing else but thisspot on the carpet; no, not even though she turned her eyes invarious directions, the retina keeping that image to the exclusionof all others. 

While yet in the gall of this new bitterness, Mrs. Caldwell heard acarriage stop in front of the house, and, glancing through thewindow, saw that it was on the opposite side of the street. She knewit to be the carriage of a lady whose rank made her favor adesirable thing to all who were emulous of social distinction. To beof her set was a coveted honor. For her friend and neighboropposite, Mrs. Caldwell did not feel the highest regard; and itrather hurt her to see the first call made in that quarter, insteadof upon herself. It was no very agreeable thought, that thislady-queen of fashion, so much courted and regarded, might reallythink most highly of her neighbor opposite. To be second to her, touched the quick of pride, and hurt. 

Only a card was left. Then the lady reentered her carriage. What?Driving away? Even so. Mrs. Caldwell was not even honored by a call!This was penetrating the quick. What could it mean? Was she to beruled out of this lady's set? The thought was like a wounding arrowto her soul. 

Unhappy Mrs. Caldwell! Her daughter's careless habits; the warningsign of decay among her pearly teeth; the stain on a beautifulcarpet, and, worse than all as a pain-giver, this slight from amagnate of fashion;--were not these enough to cast a gloom over thestate of a woman who had everything towards happiness that wealthand social station could give, but did not know how to extract fromthem the blessing they had power to bestow? Slowly, and withoppressed feelings, she left the parlors, and went up stairs. Halfan hour later, as she sat alone, engaged in the miserable work ofweaving out of the lightest material a very pall of shadows for hersoul, a servant came to the door, and announced a visitor. It was anintimate friend, whom she could not refuse to see--a lady named Mrs. Bland. 

"How are you, Mrs. Caldwell?" said the visitor, as the two ladiesmet. 

"Miserable, " was answered. And not even the ghost of a smile playedover the unhappy face. 

"Are you sick?" asked Mrs. Bland, showing some concern. 

"No, not exactly sick. But, somehow or other, I'm in a worry aboutthings all the while. I can't move a step in any direction withoutcoming against the pricks. It seems as though all things wereconspiring against me. "

And then Mrs. Caldwell went, with her friend, through the wholeseries of her morning troubles, ending with the sentence, --

"Now, don't you think I am beset? Why, Mrs. Bland, I'm in apurgatory. "

"A purgatory of your own creating, my friend, " answered Mrs. Blandwith the plainness of speech warranted by the intimacy of theirfriendship; "and my advice is to come out of it as quickly aspossible. "

"Come out of it! That is easily said. Will you show me the way?"

"At some other time perhaps. But this morning I have something elseon hand. I've called for you to go with me on an errand of mercy. "

There was no Christian response in the face of Mrs. Caldwell. Shewas too deep amid the gloom of her own, wretched state to havesympathy for others. 

"Mary Brady is in trouble, " said Mrs. Bland. 

"What has happened?" Mrs. Caldwell was alive with interest in amoment. 

"Her husband fell through a hatchway yesterday, and came near beingkilled. "

"Mrs. Bland!"

"The escape was miraculous. "

"Is he badly injured?"

"A leg and two ribs broken. Nothing more, I believe. But that is avery serious thing, especially where the man's labor is his family'ssole dependence. "

"Poor Mary!" said Mrs. Caldwell, in real sympathy. "In what adreadful state she must be! I pity her from the bottom of my heart. "

"Put on your things, and let us go and see her at once. "

Now, it is never a pleasant thing for persons like Mrs. Caldwell tolook other people's troubles directly in the face. It is bad enoughto dwell among their own pains and annoyances, and they shrink frommeddling with another's griefs. But, in the present case, Mrs. Caldwell, moved by a sense of duty and a feeling of interest in Mrs. Brady, who had, years before, been a faithful domestic in hermother's house, was, constrained to overcome all reluctance, andjoin her friend in the proposed visit of mercy. 

"Poor Mary! What a state she must be in!"

Three or four times did Mrs. Caldwell repeat this sentence, as theywalked towards that part of the town in which Mrs. Brady resided. "It makes me sick, at heart to think of it, " she added. 

At last they stood at the door of a small brick house, in a narrowstreet, and knocked. Mrs. Caldwell dreaded to enter, and even shranka little behind her friend when she heard a hand on the lock. It wasMary who opened the door--Mary Brady, with scarcely a sign of changein her countenance, except that it was a trifle paler. 

"O! Come in!" she said, a smile of pleasure brightening over herface. But Mrs. Caldwell could not smile in return. It seemed to heras if it would be a mockery of the trouble which had come down uponthat humble dwelling. 

"How is your husband, Mary?" she asked with a solemn face, as soonas they had entered. "I only heard a little while ago of thisdreadful occurrence. "

"Thank you, ma'am, " replied Mrs. Brady, her countenance hardlyfalling to a serious tone in its expression. "He's quite comfortableto-day; and it's such a relief to see him out of pain. He sufferedconsiderably through the night, but fell asleep just at day dawn, and slept for several hours. He awoke almost entirely free frompain. "

"There are no internal injuries, I believe, " said Mrs. Bland. 

"None, the doctor says. And I'm so thankful. Broken bones are badenough, and it is hard to see as kind and good a husband as I havesuffer, "--Mary's eyes grew wet, "but they will knit and become strongagain. When I think how much worse it might have been, I amcondemned for the slightest murmur that escapes my lips. "

"What are you going to do, Mary?" asked Mrs. Caldwell. "Your husbandwon't be fit for work in a month, and you have a good many mouths tofill. "

"A woman's wit and a woman's will can do a great deal, " answeredMrs. Brady, cheerfully. "You see"--pointing to a table, on which laya bundle--"that I have already been to the tailor's for work. I'm aquick sewer, and not afraid but what I can earn sufficient to keepthe pot boiling until John is strong enough to go to work again. 'Where there's a will, there's a way, ' Mrs. Caldwell. I've foundthat true so far, and I reckon it will be true to the end. John willhave a good resting spell, poor man! And, dear knows, he's a rightto have it, for he's worked hard, and with scarcely a holiday, sincewe were married. "

"Well, well, Mary, " said Mrs. Caldwell, in manifest surprise, "youbeat me out! I can't understand it. Here you are, undercircumstances that I should call of a most distressing anddisheartening nature, almost as cheerful as if nothing had happened. I expected to find you overwhelmed with trouble, but, instead, youare almost as tranquil as a June day. "

"The truth is, " replied Mrs. Brady, drawing, almost for shame, aveil of sobriety over her face, "I've had no time to be troubled. IfI'd given up, and set myself down with folded hands, no doubt Ishould have been miserable enough. But that isn't my way, you see. Thinking about what I shall do, and their doing it, keep me so wellemployed, that I don't get opportunity to look on the dark side ofthings. And what would be the use? There's always a bright side aswell as a dark side, and I'm sure it's pleasant to be on the brightside, if we can get there; and always try to manage it, somehow. "

"Your secret is worth knowing, Mary, " said Mrs. Bland. 

"There's no secret about it, " answered the poor woman, "unless it bein always keeping busy. As I said just now, I've no time to betroubled, and so trouble, after knocking a few times at my door, andnot gaining admittance, passes on to some other that stands ajar--andthere are a great many such. The fact is, trouble don't like tocrowd in among busy people, for they jostle her about, and nevergive her a quiet resting place, and so she soon departs, and creepsin among the idle ones. I can't give any better explanation, Mrs. Bland. "

"Nor, may be, could the wisest philosopher that lives, " returnedthat lady. 

The two friends, after promising to furnish Mrs. Brady with anabundance of lighter and more profitable sewing than she hadobtained at a clothier's, and saying and doing whatever else theyfelt to be best under the circumstances, departed. For the distanceof a block they walked in silence. Mrs. Caldwell spoke first. 

"I am rebuked, " she said; "rebuked, as well as instructed. Above allplaces in the world, I least expected to receive a lesson there. "

"Is it not worth remembering?" asked the friend. 

"I wish it were engraved in ineffaceable characters on my heart. Ah, what a miserable self-tormentor I have been! The door of my heartstand always ajar, as Mary said, and trouble comes gliding in thatall times, without so much as a knock to herald his coming. I mustshut and bar the door!"

"Shut it, and bar it, my friend!" answered Mrs. Bland. "And whentrouble knocks, say to her, that you are too busy with orderly anduseful things--too earnestly at work in discharging dutifulobligations, in the larger sphere, which, by virtue of larger means, is yours to work in--to have any leisure for her poor companionship, and she will not tarry on your threshold. Throw to the winds suchlight causes of unhappiness as were suffered to depress you thismorning, and they will be swept away like thistle down. "

"Don't speak of them. My cheek burns at the remembrance, " said Mrs. Caldwell. 

They now stood at Mrs. Caldwell's door. 

"You will come in?"

"No. The morning has passed, and I must return home. "

"When shall I see you?" Mrs. Caldwell grasped tightly her friends'hand. 

"In a day or two. "

"Come to-morrow, and help me to learn in this new book that has beenopened. I shall need a wise and a patient teacher. Come, good, true, kind friend!"

"Give yourself no time for trouble, " said Mrs. Bland, with a tender, encouraging smile. "Let true thoughts and useful deeds fill all yourhours. This is the first lesson. Well in the heart, and all the restis easy. "

And so, Mrs. Caldwell found it. The new life she strove to lead, waseasy just in the degree she lived in the spirit of this lesson, andhard just in the degree of her departure. 

IX. 

A GOOD NAME. 

TWO boys, named Jacob Peters and Ralph Gilpin were passing alongChestnut Street one evening about ten years ago, when one of them, stopped, and said, --

"Come, Ralph, let us have some oysters. I've got a quarter. " Theywere in front of an oyster-cellar. 

"No, " replied Ralph, firmly. "I'm not going down there. "

"I didn't mean that we should get anything to drink, " replied theother. 

"No matter: they sell liquor, and I don't wish to be seen in such aplace. "

"That's silly, " said Jacob Peters, speaking with some warmth. "Itcan't hurt you to be seen there. They sell oysters, and all weshould go there for would be to buy oysters. Come along. Don't befoolish!" And Jacob grasped the arm of Ralph, and tried to draw himtowards the refectory. But Ralph stood immovable. 

"What harm can it do?" asked Jacob. 

"It might do at great deal of harm. "

"In what way?"

"By hurting my good name. "

"I don't understand you. "

"I might be seen going in or coming out by some one who know me, andwho might take it for granted that my visit, was for liquor. "

"Well, suppose he did? He would be wrong in his inference; and whatneed you care? A clear conscience, I have heard my uncle say, isbetter than any man's opinion, good or bad. "

"I prefer the clear conscience and the good opinion together, if Ican secure both at the same time, " said Ralph. 

"O, you're too afraid of other people's opinions, " replied Jacob, ina sneering manner. "As for me, I'll try to do right and be right, and not bother myself about what people may think. Come, are yougoing to join me in a plate of oysters?"

"No. "

"Very well. Good by. I'm sorry you're afraid to do right for fearsomebody may think you're going to do wrong, " and Jacob Petersdescended to the oyster-cellar, while Ralph Gilpin passed on his wayhomeward. As Jacob entered the saloon he met a man who looked at himnarrowly, and as Jacob thought, with surprise. He had seen this manbefore, but did not know his name. 

A few weeks afterwards, the two boys, who were neighbor, sattogether planning a row-boat excursion on the Schuylkill. 

"We'll have Harry Elder, and Dick Jones, and Tom Forsyth, " saidJacob. 

"No, not Tom Forsyth, " objected Ralph. 

"Why not? He's a splendid rower. "

"I don't wish to be seen in his company, " said Ralph. "He doesn'tbear a good character. "

"O, well; that's nothing to us. "

"I think it is a great deal to us. We are judged by the company wekeep. "

"Let people judge; who cares?" replied Jacob; "not I. "

"Well, I do, then, " answered Ralph. 

"I hate to see a boy so 'fraid of a shadow as you are. "

"A tainted name is no shadow; but a real evil to be afraid of. "

"I don't see how our taking Tom Forsyth along is going to taint yourname, or mine either. "

"He's a bad boy, " Ralph firmly objected. "He uses profane language. You and I have both seen him foolish from drink. And we know that hewas sent home from a good place, under circumstances that threwsuspicion on his honesty. This being so, I am not going to be seenin his company. I think too much of my good name. "

"But, Ralph, " urged Jacob, in a persuasive manner, "he's such asplendid rower. Don't be foolish about it; nobody'll see us. And weshall have such a grand time. I'll make him promise not to use awicked word all day. "

"It's no use to talk, Jacob. I'm not going in company with TomForsyth if I never go boating. "

"You're a fool!" exclaimed Jacob, losing his temper. 

Ralph's face burned with anger, but he kept back the sharp wordsthat sprung to his lips, and after a few moments said, with forcedcomposure, --

"There's no use in you're getting mad about it, Jacob. If you preferTom to me, very well. I haven't set my heart on going. "

"I've spoken to Tom already, " said Jacob, cooling off a little. "Andhe's promised to go; so there's no getting away from it. I'm sorryyou're so over nice. "

The rowing party came off, but Ralph was not of the number. As theboys were getting into the boat at Fairmount, Jacob noticed two orthree men standing on the wharf; and on lifting his eyes to the faceof one of them, he recognized the same individual who had looked athim so intently as he entered the oyster saloon. The man's eyesrested upon him for a few moments, and then turned to the boy, TomForsyth. Young Peters might have been mistaken, but he thought hesaw on the man's face a look of surprise and disapprobation. Somehowor other he did not feel very comfortable in mind as the boat pushedoff from shore. Who was this man? and why had he looked at him twiceso intently, and with something of disapproval in his face?

Jacob Peters was fifteen years old. He had left school a few weeksbefore, and his father was desirous of getting him into a largewhole-sale house, on Market Street. A friend was acquainted with amember of the firm, and through his kind offices he hoped to makethe arrangement. Some conversation had already taken place betweenthe friend and merchant, who said they wished another lad in thestore, but were very particular as to the character of their boys. The friend assured him that Jacob was a lad of excellent character;and depending on this assurance, a preliminary engagement had beenmade, Jacob was to go into the store just one week from the day onwhich he went on the boating excursion. Both his own surprise andthat of his father may be imagined when a note came, saying that thefirm in Market Street had changed its views in regard to a lad, andwould not require the services of Jacob Peters. 

The father sent back a polite note, expressing regret at the changeof view, and asking that his son should still be borne in mind, ashe would prefer that situation for him to any other in the city. Jacob was the bearer of this note. When he entered the store, thefirst person he met was the man who looked at him so closely in theoyster saloon and on the wharf at Fairmount. Jacob handed him thenote, which he opened and read, and then gave him cold bow. 

A glimpse of the truth passed through Jacob's mind. He had beenmisjudged, and here was the unhappy result. His good name hadsuffered, and yet he had done nothing actually wrong. But boys, likemen, are judged by the company they keep and the places in whichthey are seen. 

"I'm going into a store next week, " said Ralph Gilpin, to his friendJacob, about a week afterwards. 

"Where?" asked Jacob. 

"On Market Street. "

"In what store?"

"In A. & L. 's, " replied Ralph. 

"O, no!" ejaculated Jacob, his face flushing, "not there!"

"Yes, " replied Ralph. "I'm going to A. & L. 's. Father got me theplace. Don't you think I'm lucky? They're very particular about theboys they taking that store. Father says he considers their choiceof me quite a compliment. I'm sure I feel proud enough about it. "

"Well, I think they acted very meanly, " said Jacob, showing sonicanger. "They promised father that I should have the place. "

"Are you sure about that?" asked the young friend. 

"Certainly I am. I was to go there this week. But they sent father anote, saying they had changed their minds about a boy. "

"Perhaps, " suggested Ralph, "it you were seen going into a drinkingsaloons or in company with Tom Forsyth. You remember what I said toyou about preserving a good name. "

Jacob's face colored, and his eyes fell to the ground. 

"O, that's only your guess, " he replied, tossing his head, andputting on an incredulous look; but he felt in his heart that thesuggestion of Ralph was true. 

It was over six months before Jacob Peters was successful in gettinga place, and then he had to go into a third-rate establishment, where the opportunity for advancement was small, and where hisassociates were not of the best character. 

The years passed on; and Ralph continued as careful as in thebeginning to preserve a good name. He was not content simply withdoing right; but felt that it was a duty to himself, and to all whomight, in any way be dependent on him, to appear right also. He was, therefore, particular in regard to the company he kept and theplaces he visited. Jacob, on the contrary, continued to letinclination rather than prudence govern him in these matters. Hishabits were probably as good as those of Ralph, and his businesscapacity fully equal. But he was not regarded with the same favor, for he was often seen in company with young men known to be of loosemorals, and would occasionally, visit billiard-saloons, tenpin-alleys, and other places where men of disreputable characterare found. His father, who observed Jacob closely, remonstrated withhim occasionally as the boy advanced towards manhood; but Jacob puton an independent air, and replied that he went on the principle ofbeing right with himself. "You can't, " he would say, "keep free frommisjudgment, do what you will. Men are always more inclined to thinkevil of each other than good. I do nothing that I'm ashamed of. "

So he continued to go where he pleased, and to associate with whomhe pleased, not caring what people might say. 

It is no very easy thing for as young man to make his way in theworld. All the avenues to success are thickly crowded with men oftalent, industry, and energy, and many favorable circumstances mustconspire to help him who gets very far in advance. Talent andindustry are wanted in business, but the passport of a goodcharacter must accompany them, or they cannot be made rightlyavailable to their possessor. It is, therefore, of the firstimportance to preserved a good name, for this, if united withability and industry, with double your chances of success in life;for men will put confidence in you beyond what they can in others, who do not stand so fairly in common estimation. 

In due time Ralph Gilpin and Jacob Peters entered the world as men, but not at equal advantage. They had learned the same business, andwere both well acquainted with its details; but Ralph stood fairerin the eyes of business men, with whom he had come in contact, because he had been more careful about his reputation. 

While Jacob was twenty-three years of age, he was getting a salaryof one thousand dollars a year; but this was too small a sum to meetthe demands that had come upon him. His father, to whom he wastenderly attached, had lost his health and failed in business. Inconsequence of this, the burden of maintaining the family fellalmost entirely on Jacob. It would not have been felt as a burden ifhis income had been sufficient for their support. But it was not, unless their comfortable style of living was changed, and all shrunktogether in a smaller house. He had sisters just advancing towardswomanhood, and for their sakes, particularly, did he regret thestern necessity that required a change. 

About this time, the death of a responsible clerk in the house of A. & L. Left a vacancy to be filled, and as Jacob was in every waycompetent to take the position, which commanded a salary of eighteenhundred dollars he made application; Ralph Gilpin, who was asalesman in the house, said all that he could in Jacob's favor; butthe latter had not been careful to preserve a good name, and thiswas against him. The place was one of trust, and the members of thefirm, after considering the matter, decided adversely. Nothing as tofact was alleged or known. Not a word as to his conduct in life wassaid against him. But he had often been seen in company with youngmen who did not bear a solid reputation, and where doubt existed, itwas not considered safe to employ him. So that good opportunity waslost--lost through his own fault. 

Poor Jacob felt gloomy and disappointed for a time; talked of"fate, " "bad luck, " and all that kind of nonsense, when the cause ofhis ill-success was to be attributed solely to an unwise disregardof appearances. 

"We shall have to remove, " he said to his mother in a troubled way, after this disappointment. "If I had secured the situation at A. &L. 's all would have been well with us. But now nothing remains butto seek a humbler place to remain here will only involve us in debt;and that, above all things, we must avoid. I am sorry for Jane andAlice; but it can't be helped. "

His mother tried to answer cheerfully and hopefully: but her wordsdid not dispel a single shadow from his mind. A few days after this, a gentleman said to Jacob Peters, --

"I'll give you a hint of something that is coming in the way of goodfortune. A gentleman, whose name I do not feel at liberty tomention, contemplates going into your business. He has plenty ofcapital, and wishes to unite himself with a young, active, andexperienced man. Two or three have been thought of--you among therest; find I believe it has been finally settled that Jacob Petersis to be the man. So let me congratulate you, my young friend, onthis good fortune. "

And he grasped the hand of Jacob, and shook it warmly. From the valeof despondency, the young man was at once elevated to themountain-top of hope, and felt, for a time, bewildered in prospectof the good fortune awaited him. 

Almost in that very hour the capitalist, to whom his friendreferred, was in conversation with Mr. A. , of the firm of A. & L. 

"I have about concluded to associate with myself in business youngJacob Peters, " said the former; "but before coming to a finalconclusion, I thought it best to ask your opinion in the matter. Youknow the young man?"

"Yes, " replied Mr. A. , "I have known him in a business way forseveral years. We have considerable dealing with the house in whichhe is employed. "

"What do you think of him?"

"He is a young man of decided business qualities. "

"So it appear's to me. And you think favorably of him?"

"As to the business qualification I do, " replied Mr. A. , placing anemphasis on the word business. 

"Then you do not think favorably of him in some other respect?"

Mr. A. Was silent. 

"I hope, " said the other, "that you will speak out plainly. This isa matter, to me, of the first importance. If you know of any reasonwhy I should not associate this young man with me in business Itrust you will speak without reserve. "

Mr. A. Remained silent for some moments, and then said, --

"I feel considerably embarrassed in regard to this matter. I wouldon no account give a wrong impression in regard to the young man. Hemay be all right; is all right, perhaps; but--"

"But what, sir?"

"I have seen him in company with young men whose characters are notfair. And I have seen him entering into and coming out of placeswhere it is not always safe to go. "

"Enough, sir, enough!" said the gentleman, emphatically, "The matteris settled. It may be all right with him, as you say. I hope it is. But he can never be a partner of mine. And now, passing from him, Iwish to ask about another young man, who has been in my mind secondto Peters. He is in your employment. "

"Ralph Gilpin, you mean. "

"Yes. "

"In every way unexceptionable. I can speak of him with the utmostconfidence. He is right in all respects--right as to the businessquality, right as to character, and right as to associations. Youcould not have a better man. "

"The matter is settled, then, " replied the gentleman. "I will takeRalph Gilpin if neither you nor he objects. "

"There will be no objection on either side, I can answer for that, "said Mr. A. , and the interview closed. 

From the mountain-top of hope, away down into the dark vale ofdespondency, passed Jacob Peters, when it was told him that RalphGilpin was to be a partner in the new firm which he had expected toenter. 

"And so nothing is left to us, " he said to himself, in bitterness ofspirit, "but go down, while others, no better than we are, movesteadily upwards. Why should Ralph Gilpin be preferred before me? Hehas no higher ability nor stricter integrity. He cannot be morefaithful, more earnest, or more active than I would have been in thenew position. But I am set aside and he is taken. It is a bitter, bitter disappointment!"

Three years have passed, and Ralph Gilpin is on the road to fortune, while Jacob Peters remains a clerk. And why? The one was careful ofhis good name; the other was not. 

My young reader, take the lesson to heart. Guard well your goodname; and as name signifies quality, by all means guard your spirit, so that no evil thing enter there; and your good name shall be onlythe expression of your good quality. 

X. 

LITTLE LIZZIE. 

"IF they wouldn't let him have it!" said Mrs. Leslie, weeping. "O, if they wouldn't sell him liquor, there'd be no trouble! He's one ofthe best of men when he doesn't drink. He never brings liquor intothe house; and he tries hard enough, I know, to keep sober, but hecannot pass Jenks's tavern. "

Mrs. Leslie was talking with a sympathizing neighbor, who responded, by saying, that she wished the tavern would burn down, and that, forher part, she didn't feel any too good to apply fire to the placeherself. Mrs. Leslie sighed, and wiped away the tears with herchecked apron. 

"It's hard, indeed, it is, " she murmured, "to see a man like Jenksgrowing richer and richer every day out of the earnings of poorworking-men, whose families are in want of bread. For every sixpencethat goes over his counter some one is made poorer--to some heart isgiven a throb of pain. "

"It's a downright shame!" exclaimed the neighbor, immediately. "If Ihad my way with the lazy, good-for-nothing fellow, I'd see that hedid something useful, if it was to break stone on the road. Were itmy husband, instead of yours, that he enticed into his bar, dependon't he'd get himself into trouble. "

While this conversation was going on, a little girl, not over tenyears of age, sat listening attentively. After a while she wentquietly from the room, and throwing her apron over head, took herway, unobserved by her mother, down the road. 

Where was little Lizzie going? There was a purpose in her mind: Shehad started on a mission. "O, if they wouldn't sell him liquor!"These earnest, tearful words of her, mother had filled her thoughts. If Mr. Jenks wouldn't sell her father anything to drink, "therewould be no more trouble. " How simple, how direct the remedy! Shewould go to Mr. Jenks, and ask him not to let her father have anymore liquor, and then all would be well again. Artless, innocentchild! And this was her mission. 

The tavern kept by Jenks, the laziest man in Milanville, --he was toolazy to work, and therefore went to tavern-keeping, --stood nearly aquarter of a mile from the poor tenement occupied by the Leslies. Towards this point, under a hot, sultry sun, little Lizzie made herway, her mind so filled with its purpose that she was unconscious ofheat of fatigue. 

Not long before a traveller alighted at the tavern. After givingdirections to have his horses fed, he entered the bar-room, and wentto where Jenks stood, behind the counter. 

"Have something to drink?" inquired the landlord. 

"I'll take a glass of water, if you please. "

Jenks could not hide the indifference at once felt towards thestranger. Very deliberately he set a pitcher and a glass upon thecounter, and then turned partly away. The stranger poured out atumbler of water, and drank it off with an air of satisfaction. 

"Good water, that of yours, landlord, " said he. 

"Is it?" was returned, somewhat uncourteously. 

"I call it good water--don't you?"

"Never drink water by itself. " As Jenks said this, he winked to oneof his good customers, who was lounging, in the bar. "In fact, it'sso long since I drank any water, that I forgot how it tastes. Don'tyou, Leslie?"

The man, to whom this was addressed, was not so far lost to shame asJenks. He blushed and looked confused, as he replied, --

"It might be better for some of us if we had not lost our relish forpure water. "

"A true word spoken, my friend!" said the stranger, turning to theman, whose swollen visage, and patched, threadbare garments, tooplainly told the story of his sad life. "'Water, pure water, brightwater;' that is my motto. It never swells the face, nor inflames theeyes, nor mars the countenance. Its attendants are health, thrift, and happiness. It takes not away the children's bread, nor thetoiling wife's garments. Water!--it is one of God's chiefestblessings! Our friend, the landlord here, says he has forgotten howit tastes; and you have lost all relish for the refreshing draught!Ah, this is a sad confession!--one which the angels might weep tohear!"

There were two or three customers in the bar besides Leslie, to whomthis was addressed; and all of them, in spite of the landlord'sangry and sneering countenance, treated the stranger with attentionand respect. Seeing this, Jenks could not restrain himself; so, coming from behind his bar, he advanced to his side, and, laying hishand quite rudely on his shoulder, said, in a peremptory manner, --

"See here, my friend! If you are about making a temperance lecture, you can adjourn to the Town Hall or the Methodist Chapel. "

The stranger moved aside a pace or two, so that the hand of Jenksmight fall from his person, and then said, mildly, --

"There must be something wrong here if a man may not speak in praiseof water without giving offense. "

"I said you could adjourn your lecture!" The landlord's face was nowfiery red, and he spoke with insolence and passion. 

"O, well, as you are president of the meeting, I suppose we must letyou exercise an arbitrary power of adjournment, " said the stranger, good-humoredly. "I didn't think any one had so strong a dislike forwater as to consider its praise an insult. "

At this moment a child stepped into the bar-room. Her little facewas flushed, and great beads of perspiration were slowly moving downher crimson cheeks. Her step was elastic, her manner earnest, andher large, dark eyes bright with an eager purpose. She glancedneither to the right nor the left, but walking up to the landlord, lifted to him her sweet young face, and said, in tones that thrilledevery heart but his, --

"Please, Mr. Jenks, don't sell papa any more liquor!"

"Off home with you, this instant!" exclaimed Jenks, the crimson ofhis face deepening to a dark purple. As he spoke, he advancedtowards the child, with his hand uplifted in a threatening attitude. 

"Please don't, Mr. Jenks, " persisted the child, not moving fromwhere she stood, nor taking her eyes front the landlord'scountenance. "Mother says, if you wouldn't sell him liquor, there'dbe no trouble. He's kind and good to us all when he doesn't drink. "

"Off, I say!" shouted Jenks, now maddened beyond self-control; andhis hand was about descending upon the little one, when the strangercaught her in his arms, exclaiming, as he did so, with deepemotion, --

"God bless the child! No, no, precious one!" he added; "don't fearhim. Plead for your father--plead for your home. Your petition mustprevail! He cannot say nay to one of the little ones, whose angelsdo always behold the face of their Father in heaven. God bless thechild!" added the stranger, in a choking voice. "O, that the father, for whom she has come on this touching errand, were present now! Ifthere were anything of manhood yet left in his nature, this wouldawaken it from its palsied sleep. "

"Papa! O, papa!" now cried the child, stretching forth her hands. Inthe next moment she was clinging to the breast of her father, who, with his arms clasped tightly around her, stood weeping and minglinghis tears with those now raining from the little one's eyes. 

What an oppressive stillness pervaded that room! Jenks stood subduedand bewildered, his state of mental confusion scarcely enabling himto comprehend the full import of the scene. The stranger looked onwonderingly, yet deeply affected. Quietly, and with moist eyes, thetwo or three drinking customers who had been lounging in the bar, went stealthily out; and the landlord, the stranger and the fatherand his child, were left the only inmates of the room. 

"Come, Lizzie, dear! This is no place for us, " said Leslie, breakingthe deep silence. "We'll go home. "

And the unhappy inebriate took his child by the hand, and led hertowards the door. But the little one held back. 

"Wait, papa; wait!" she said. "He hasn't promised yet. O, I wish hewould promise!"

"Promise her, in Heaven's name!" said the stranger. 

"Promise!" said Leslie, in a stern yet solemn voice, as he turnedand fixed his eyes upon the landlord. 

"If I do promise, I'll keep it!" returned Jenks, in a threateningtone, as he returned the gaze of Leslie. 

"Then, for God's sake, _promise!_" exclaimed Leslie, in ahalf-despairing voice. "_Promise, and I'm safe!_"

"Be it so! May I be cursed, if ever I sell you a drop of drinking atthis bar, while I am landlord of the 'Stag and Hounds'!" Jenks spokewith with an angry emphasis. 

"God be thanked!" murmured the poor drunkard, as he led his childaway. "God be thanked! There is hope for me yet. "

Hardly had the mother of Lizzie missed her child, ere she entered, leading her father by the hand. 

"O, mother!" she exclaimed, with a joy-lit countenance, and in avoice of exultation, "Mr. Jenks has promised. "

"Promised what?" Hope sprung up in her heart, on wild and flutteringwings, her face flushed, and then grew deadly pale. She sat pantingfor a reply. 

"That he would never sell me another glass of liquor, " said herhusband. 

A pair of thin, white hands were clasped quickly together, an ashenface was turned upwards, tearless eyes looked their thankfulness toheaven. 

"There is hope yet, Ellen, " said Leslie. 

"Hope, hope! And O, Edward, you have said the word!"

"Hope, through our child. Innocence has prevailed over vice andcruelty. She came to the strong, evil, passionate man, and, in herweakness and innocence, prevailed over him. God made her fearlessand eloquent. "

A year afterwards a stranger came again that way, and stopped at the"Stag and Hounds. " As before, Jenks was behind his well-filled bar, and drinking customers came and went in numbers. Jenks did notrecognize him until he called for water, and drank a full tumbler ofthe pure liquor with a hearty zest. Then he knew him, but feigned tobe ignorant of his identity. The stranger made no reference to thescene he had witnessed there a twelvemonth before, but lingered inthe bar for most of the day, closely observing every one that cameto drink. Leslie was not among the number. 

"What has become of the man and the little girl I saw here, at mylast visit to Milanville?" said the stranger, speaking at last toJenks. 

"Gone to the devil, for all I care, " was the landlord's rude answer, as he turned off from his questioner. 

"For all you care, no doubt, " said the stranger to himself. "Menoften speak their real thoughts in a passion. "

"Do you see that little white cottage away off there, just at theedge of the wood? Two tall poplars stand in front. "

Thus spoke to the stranger one who had heard him address thelandlord. 

"I do. What of it?" he answered. 

"The man you asked for lives there. "

"Indeed!"

"And what is more, if he keeps on as he has begun, the cottage willbe all his own in another year. Jenks, here, doesn't feel any goodblood for him, as you may well believe. A poor man's prosperity isregarded as so much loss to him. Leslie is a good mechanic--one ofthe best in Milanville. He can earn twelve dollars a week, year inand year out. Two hundred dollars he has already paid on hiscottage; and as he is that much richer, Jenks thinks himself just somuch poorer; for all this surplus, and more too, would have goneinto his till, if Leslie had not quit drinking. "

"Aha! I see! Well, did Leslie, as you call him, ever try to get adrink here, since the landlord promised never to let him haveanother drop?"

"Twice to my knowledge. "

"And he refused him?"

"Yes. If you remember, he said, in his anger, '_May I be cursed_, ifI sell him another drop. '"

"I remember it very well. "

"That saved poor Leslie. Jenks is superstitious in some things. Hewanted to get his custom again, --for it was well worth having, --and hewas actually handing him the bottle one day, when I saw it, andreminded him of his self-imprecation. He hesitated, lookedfrightened, withdrew the bottle from the counter, and then, withcurses, drove Leslie from his bar-room, threatening, at the sametime, to horsewhip him if ever he set a foot over his thresholdagain. "

"Poor drunkards!" mused the stranger, as he rode past the neatcottage of the reformed man a couple of hours afterwards. "As thecase now stands, you are only saved as by fire. All law, allprotection, is on the side of those who are engaged in enticing youinto sin, and destroying you, body and soul. In their evil work, they have free course. But for you, unhappy wretches, after theyhave robbed you of worldly goods, and even manhood itself, areprovided prisons and pauper homes! And for your children, "--a darkshadow swept over the stranger's face, and a shudder went throughhis frame. "Can it be, a Christian country in which I live, and suchthings darken the very sun at noonday!" he added as he sprung hishorse into a gallop and rode swiftly onward. 

XI. 

ALICE AND THE PIGEON. 

ONE evening in winter as Alice, a dear little girl whom everybodyloved, pushed aside the curtains of her bedroom window, she saw themoon half hidden by great banks of clouds, and only a few starspeeping out here and there. Below, the earth lay dark, and cold. Thetrees looked like great shadows. 

There was at change in her sweet face as she let fall the curtainand turned from the window. 

"Poor birds!" she said. 

"They are all safe, " answered her mother, smiling. "God has providedfor every bird a place of rest and shelter, and each one knows whereit is and how to find it. Not many stay here in the winter time, butfly away to the sunny south, where the air is warm and the treesgreen and fruitful. "

"God is very good, " said the innocent child. Then she knelt withfolded hands, and prayed that her heavenly further would blesseverybody, and let his angels take care of her while she slept. Hermother's kiss was still warm upon her lips as she passed into theworld of pleasant dreams. 

In the morning, when Alice again pushed back the curtains from herwindow, what a sight of wonder and beauty met her eyes! Snow hadfallen, and everything wore a garment of dazzling whiteness. In theclear blue sky, away in the cast, the sun was rising; and as hisbeams fell upon the fields, and trees, and houses, every objectglittered as if covered all over with diamonds. 

But only for a moment or two did Alice look upon this beautifulpicture, for a slight movement drew her eyes to a corner of thewindow-sill, on the outside, and there sat a pigeon close againstthe window-pane, with its head drawn down and almost hidden amongthe feathers, and its body shivering with cold. The pigeon did notseem to be afraid of her, though she saw its little pink eyeslooking right into her own. 

"O, poor, dear bird!" she said in soft, pitying tones, raising thewindow gently, so that it might not be frightened away. Then shestepped back and waited to see if the bird would not come in. Pigeonraised its brown head in a half scared away; turned it to this sideand to that; and after looking first at the comfortable chamber andthen away at the snow-covered earth, quietly hopped upon the sillinside. Next he flew upon the back of a chair, and then down uponthe floor. 

"Little darling, " said Alice, softly. Then she dressed herselfquickly, and went down stairs for some crumbs of bread, which shescattered on the floor. The pigeon picked them up, with scarcely asign of fear. 

As soon as he had eaten up all the crumbs, he flew back towards thewindow and resting on the sill, swelled his glossy throat and cooedhis thanks to his little friend. After which darted away, themorning sunshine glancing from wings. 

A feeling of disappointment crept into the heart of Alice as thebird swept out of sight. "Poor little darling!" she sighed. "If hehad only known how kind I would have been, and how safe he was here, what nice food and pure water would have been given, he wouldn'thave flown away. "

When Alice told about the visit of pigeon, at breakfast time, apleasant surprise was felt by all at the table. And they talked of, doves and wood-pigeons, her father telling her once or two nicestories, with which she was delighted. After breakfast, her mothertook a volume from the library containing Willis's exquisite poem, "The little Pigeon, " and gave it to Alice to read. She soon knew itall by heart. 

A great many times during the day Alice stood at the open door, orlooked from the windows, in hope of seeing the pigeon again. On adistant house-top, from which the snow had been melted or blownaway, or flying through the air, she would get sight of a bird nowand then; but she couldn't tell whether or not it was the white andbrown pigeon she had sheltered and fed in the morning. But justbefore sundown, as she stood by the parlor window, a cry of joy fellfrom her lips. There was the pigeon sitting on a fence close by, andlooking, it seemed to her, quite forlorn. 

Alice threw open the window, and then ran into the kitchen for somecrumbs of bread. When she came back, pigeon was still on the fence. Then she called to him, holding out her her hand scattering a fewcrumbs on the window-sill. The bird was hungry and had sharp eyes, and when he saw Alice he no doubt remembered the nice meal she hadgiven him in the morning, in a few moments he flew to the window, but seemed half afraid. So Alice stood a little back in the room, when he began to pick up the crumbs. Then she came nearer andnearer, holding out her hand that was full of crumbs, and as soon aspigeon had picked up all that was on the sill, he took the rest ofhis evening meal from the dear little girl's hand. Every now andthen he would stop and look up at his kind friend, as much as tosay, "Thank you for my nice supper. You are so good!" When he hadeaten enough, he cooed a little, bobbed his pretty head, and thenlifted his wings and flew away. 

He did not come back again. At first Alice, was disappointed, butthis soon wore off, and only a feeling of pleasure remained. 

"I would like so much to see him and feed him, " she said. "But Iknow he's better off and happier at his own home, with a nice placeto sleep in and plenty to eat, than sitting on a window-sill allnight in a snow storm. " And then she would say over that sweet poem, "The City Pigeon, " which her mother had given her to get by heart. Here it is, and I hope every one of my little readers will get it byheart also:--

 "Stoop to my window, thou beautiful dove! Thy daily visits have touched my love. I watch thy coming, and list the note That stirs so low in thy mellow throat, And my joy is high To catch the glance of thy gentle eye. 

 "Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves, And forsake the wood with its freshened leaves? Why dost thou haunt the sultry street, When the paths of the forest are cool and sweet? How canst thou bear This noise of people--this sultry air?

 "Thou alone of the feathered race Dost look unscared on the human face; Thou alone, with a wing to flee, Dost love with man in his haunts to be; And the 'gentle dove' Has become a name for trust and love. 

 "A holy gift is thine, sweet bird! Thou'rt named with childhood's earliest word! Thou'rt linked with all that is fresh and wild In the prisoned thoughts of the city child; And thy glossy wings Are its brightest image of moving things. 

 "It is no light chance. Thou art set apart, Wisely by Him who has tamed thy heart, To stir the love for the bright and fair That else were sealed in this crowded air I sometimes dream Angelic rays front thy pinions stream. 

 "Come then, ever, when daylight leaves The page I read, to my humble eaves, And wash thy breast in the hollow spout, And murmur thy low sweet music out! I hear and see Lessons of heaven, sweet bird, in thee!"

XII. 

DRESSED FOR A PARTY. 

A LADY sat reading. She was so absorbed in her book as to be nearlymotionless. Her face, in repose, was serious, almost sad; for twicea score of years had not passed without leaving the shadow of acloud or the mark of a tempest. The door opened, and, as she lookedup, pleasant smile lay softly on her lips. A beautiful girl, elegantly attired for an evening party, came in. 

"All ready?" said the lady, closing her volume, and looking at themaiden with a lively interest, that blended thoughtfulness withaffection. 

"All ready, " aunt Helen. "And now what do you think of me? What isthe effect?" Tone, expression, and manner, all gave plainly enoughspeaker's own answer to her questions. She thought the make upsplendid--the effect striking. 

"Shall I say just what I think, Alice?"

A thin veil of shadows fell over the bright young countenance. 

"Love will speak tenderly. But even tenderly-spoken things, notmoving with the current of our feelings, are not pleasant to hear. "

"Say on, aunt Helen. I can listen to anything from you. You think meoverdressed. I see it in your eyes. "

"You have read my thought correctly, dear. "

"In what particular am I overdressed? Nothing could be simpler thana white illusion. "

"Without an abundance of pink trimming, it would be simple andbecoming enough. Your dressmaker has overloaded it with ribbon; atleast, so it appears to me. But, passing that let me suggest athought touching those two heavy bracelets. One, on the exposed arm, is sufficiently attractive. Two will create the impression that youare weakly fond of ornament; and in the eyes of every one who feelsthis, the effect of your dress will be marred. Men and women seedown into our states of feeling with wonderful quick intuitions, andread us while we are yet ignorant in regard to ourselves. "

Alice unclasped, with a faint sigh, one of the bracelets, and laidit on her aunt's bureau. 

"Is that better?" she asked. 

"I think so. "

"But the arm is so naked, aunt. It wants something, just forrelief. "

"To me the effect would be improved if arms and neck were covered. But, as it is, if you think something required to draw attentionfrom the bare skin, let one ornament be the most simple in yourjewel box. You have a bracelet of hair, with neat mountings. Takethat. "

Alice stood for a while pondering her aunt's suggestion. Then, withhalf-forced cheerfulness of tone, she answered, --

"May be you're right, I'll take the hair bracelets instead. And now, what else?"

"The critic's task is never for me a pleasant one, Alice. Leastpleasant when it touches one I love. If you had not asked what Ithought of your appearance, I would have intruded no exceptions. Ihave been much in society since I was very young, and have alwaysbeen an observer. Two classes of women, I notice, usually make upthe staple of our social assemblages: those who consult taste indress, and those who study effect; those who think and appreciate, and those who court admiration. By sensible people, --and we need notpay much regard to the opinion of others, --these two classes are wellunderstood, and estimated at their real value. "

"It is quite plain, aunt Helen, " said Alice, her color muchheightened, "that you have set me over to the side of those whostudy effect and court admiration. "

"I think you are in danger of going over to that side, my dear, " wasgently answered, "and I love you too well not to desire somethingbetter for my niece. Turn your thought inward and get down, ifpossible, to your actual state of mind. Why have you chosen thisvery effective style of dress? It is not in good taste--even you, Ithink, will agree with me so far. "

"Not in good taste, aunt Helen!"

"A prima donna, or a ballet--"

"How, aunt!" Alice made a quick interruption. 

"You see, my child, how I am affected. Let me say it out in plainwords--your appearance, when, you came in a few minutes ago actuallyshocked me. "

"Indeed, indeed, aunt Helen, you are too severe in your tastes! Weare not Friends. "

"You are not going in the character of a May queen, Alice, that youshould almost hide your beautiful hair in ribbons and flowers. Astiff bouquet in a silver holder is simply an impediment, and doesnot give a particle of true womanly grace. That necklace of pearls, if half hidden among soft laces, would be charming; but banding theuncovered neck and half-exposed chest, it looks bald, inharmonious, and out of place. White, with a superfluity of pink trimming, jewelry and flowers, I call on the outside of good taste; and if yougo as you are, you will certainly attract all eyes, but I am sureyou will not win admiration for these things from a single heartwhose regard is worth having. Don't be hurt with me, Alice. I amspeaking with all love and sincerity, and from a wider experienceand observation than it is possible for you to have reached. Don'tgo as you are, if you can possibly make important changes. What timeis left?"

Alice stood silent, with a clouded face. Her aunt looked at herwatch. 

"There is a full half hour. You may do much in that time. But youhad best refer to your mother. Her taste and mine may not entirelyaccord. "

"O, as to that, mother is on your side. But she is always so plainin her notions, " said Alice, with a slight betrayal of impatience. 

"A young lady will always be safest in society, Alice--always morecertain to make a good impression, if she subordinate her love ofdress and ornament as much as possible to her mother's taste. Inbreaking away from this, my dear, you have gone over to an extremethat, if persisted in, will class you with vain lovers ofadmiration; with mere show girls, who, conscious of no superiormoral and mental attractions, seek to win by outward charms. Be notof them, dear Alice, but of the higher class, whose minds areclothed in beautiful garments whose loveliest and most preciousthings are, like jewels, shut within a casket. "

Alice withdrew, silent, almost hurt, though not offended, and morethan half resolved to give up the party. But certainly recollectionschecked this forming resolve before it reached a state of fulldecision. 

"How will this do?" She pushed open the door of her aunt's room halfan hour afterwards with this sentence on her lips. Her cheeks wereglowing, and her eyes full of sparkles. So complete was the change, that for a brief space the aunt gazed at her wonderingly. She wore ahandsome fawn-colored silk, made high in the neck, around which wasa narrow lace collar of exceeding fineness, pinned with a singlediamond. A linked band of gold, partly hidden by the laceundersleeve, clasped one of her wrists. A small spray of pearls andsilver formed the only ornament for her hair, and nestled, beautifully contrasted among its dark and glossy braids. 

"Charming!" replied aunt Helen, in no feigned admiration. "In myeyes you are a hundred times more attractive than you were, a littlewhile ago, and will prove more attractive to all whose favor isworth the winning. " And she arose and kissed her nice lovingly. 

"I am not overdressed. " Alice smiled. 

"Better underdressed than overdressed, always, my dear, If there isany fault, it is on the right side. "

"I am glad you are pleased, aunt Helen. "

"Are you not better pleased with yourself?" was asked. 

"I can't just say that, aunt. I've worn this dress in companyseveral times, and it's very plain. "

"It is very becoming, dear; and we always appear to best advantagein that which most accords with our style of person and complexion. To my eyes, in this more simple yet really elegant apparel, you lookcharming. Before, you impressed me with a sense of vulgarity; now, the impression, is one of refinement. "

"Thank you for such flattering words, aunt Helen. I will accept thepictures in your eyes as justly contrasted. Of one thing I am sure, I shall feel more at ease, and less conscious of observation, thanwould have been the case had I gone in my gayer attire. Goodevening. It is growing late, and I must be away. "

The maiden stooped, and kissed her aunt affectionately. 

"Good evening, dear, and may the hours be pleasant ones. "

When Alice entered the drawing-room, where the company wereassembling her eyes were almost dazzled with the glitter of jewelryand the splendor of colors. Most of the ladies present seemedambitious of display, emulous of ornament. She felt out of place, inher grave and simple costume, and moved to a part of the room whereshe would be away from observation. But her eyes were soon wanderingabout, scanning forms and faces, not from simple curiosity, but withan interest that was visible in her countenance. She looked for thepresence of one who had been, of late, much in her thoughts: of onefor whose eyes, more than for the eyes of any other, she apparelledherself with that studied effect which received so little approvalfrom her aunt Helen. Alice felt sober. If she entertained doubtstouching her change of dress they were gone now. Plainly, to herconvictions, aunt Helen was wrong and she had been wrong in yieldingher own best judgement of the case. 

Alice had been seated only for a little while, when she saw theyoung man to whom we have just referred. He was standing at theextreme end of the room, talking in a lively manner with agayly-dressed girl, who seemed particularly pleased with hisattentions. Beside her Alice would have seemed almost Quaker-like inplainness. And Alice felt this with something like a pang. Soon theypassed across the room, approaching very near, and stood within afew feet of her for several minutes. Then they moved away, and sitdown together not far off, still chatting in the lively manner atfirst observed. Once or twice the young man appeared to lookdirectly at Alice, but no sign of recognition was visible on hisface. 

After the first emotions of disappointment in not being recognizedhad subsided, the thoughts of Alice began to lift her out of thestate in much she had been resting. 

"If fine feathers make the fine bird, " she said to herself, "let himhave the gay plumage. As for me, I ask a higher estimate. So I willbe content. "

With the help of pride she rose above the weakness that wasdepressing her. A lady friend joined her at the moment, and she wassoon interested in conversation. 

"Excuse me for a personal reference, Alice, " said this friend in afamiliar way, "and particularly for speaking of dress. But the factis, you shame at least one half of us girls by your perfectsubordination of everything to good taste. I never saw you sofaultlessly attired in my life. "

"The merit, if there is any, " replied Alice, "is not mine. I wascoming like a butterfly, but my aunt Helen, who is making us avisit, objected so strongly that I took off my party dress andhead-dress, made for the occasion, and, in a fit of half-don't-caredesperation, got myself up after this modest fashion that you arepleased to call in such good taste. "

"Make your aunt Helen my compliments, and say to her that I wish shewere multiplied a thousands times. You will be the belle to-night, if there are many sensible man present. Ah, there comes Mr. Benton!"At this name the heart of Alice leaped. "He has spied you outalready. You are the attraction, of course, not me. "

Mr. Benton, who had been, of late, so much in her thought, now stoodbowing before the two young ladies, thus arresting theirconversation. The last speaker was right. Alice had drawn him acrossthe room, as was quickly apparent, for to her alone he was soonaddressing himself. To quite the extent allowable in good breeding, was Alice monopolized by Mr. Benton during the evening and when heleft her, with scarcely-concealed reluctance, another would take hisplace, and enjoy the charm of her fine intelligence. 

"Have you been introduced to Alice T----?" she heard one gentleman askof another, as she stood near a window opening into theconservatory, and partly hidden by curtains. 

"Yes, " was the answer. 

"She is a pleasant girl. "

"By odds the most charming I have met to-night. And then she has hadthe good taste to dress in a modest, womanly manner. How beautifullyshe contrasts with a dozen I could name, all radiant with colors asa bed of tulips. "

She heard no more. But this was enough. 

"You had a pleasant evening judging from your face, " said auntHelen, when she meet her niece on the next morning. 

"Yes; it was a very pleasant one--very pleasant. " Her color deepenedand her eyes grew brighter. 

"You were not neglected on account of you attractive style ofdress?"

"Judging from the attentions I received, it must have been veryattractive. A novelty, perhaps. You understand human nature betterthan I do, aunt Helen. "

"Was it the plainest in the room?"

"It was plainer than that of half a dozen ladies old enough to havegrandchildren. "

The aunt smiled. 

"Then it has not hurt your prospects?"

The question was in jest; but aunt Helen saw instantly into theheart of her niece. For a moment their eyes lingered in each other;then Alice looked down upon the floor. 

"No it has not hurt my prospects. " The answer was in a softer voice, and then followed a long-drawn inspiration, succeeded by thefaintest of sighs. 

A visit from Mr. Benton, on the next evening, removed all doubt fromthe dress question, if any remained. 

XIII. 

COFFEE vs. BRANDY. 

"WE shall have to give them a wedding party, " said Mrs. Eldridge toher husband. 

Mr. Eldridge assented. 

"They will be home to-morrow, and I think of sending out ofinvitations for Thursday. "

"As you like about that, " replied Mr. Eldridge. "The trouble will beyours. "

"You have no objections?"

"O, none in the world. Fanny is a good little girl, and the least wecan do is to pay her this compliment on her marriage. I am notaltogether satisfied about her husband, however; he was rather awild sort of a boy a year or two ago. "

"I guess he's all right now, " remarked Mrs. Eldridge; "and hestrikes me as a very kind-hearted, well-meaning young man. I haveflattered myself that Fanny has done quite well as the average runof girls. "

"Perhaps so, " said Mr. Eldridge, a little thoughtfully. 

"Will you be in the neighborhood of Snyder's?" inquired the lady. 

"I think not. We are very busy just now, and I shall hardly havetime to leave the store to-day. But I can step around thereto-morrow. "

"To-morrow, or even the next day, will answer, " replied Mrs. Eldridge. "You must order the liquors. I will attend to everythingelse. "

"How many are you going to invite?" inquired Mr. Eldridge. 

"I have not made out a list yet, but it will not fall much short ofseventy or eighty. "

"Seventy or eighty!" repeated Mr. Eldridge. 

"Let me see. Three dozen of champagne; a dozen of sherry; a dozen ofport; a dozen of hock, and a gallon of brandy, --that will be enoughto put life into them I imagine. "

"Or death!" Mrs. Eldridge spoke to herself, in an undertone. 

Her husband, if he noticed the remark, did not reply to it, butsaid, "Good morning, " and left the house. A lad about sixteen yearsof age sat in the room during this conversation, with a book in hishand and his eyes on the page before him. He did not once look up ormove; and an observer would have supposed him so much interested inhis book as not to have heard the passing conversation. But he hadlistened to every word. As soon as Mr. Eldridge left the room hisbook fell upon his lap, and looking towards Mrs. Eldridge, he said, in an earnest but respectful manner, --

"Don't have any liquor, mother. "

Mrs s Eldridge looked neither offended nor irritated by thisremonstrance, as she replied, --

"I wish it were possible to avoid having liquor, my son; but it isthe custom of society and if we give a party it must be in the wayit is done by other people. "

This did not satisfy the boy, who had been for some time associatedwith the Cadets of Temperance, and he answered, but with modesty andgreat respect of, manner, --"If other people do wrong, mother--whatthen?"

"I am not so sure of its being wrong, Henry. "

"O, but mother, " spoke out the boy, quickly, "if it hurts people todrink, it must be wrong to give them liquor. Now I've been thinkinghow much better it would be to have a nice cup of coffee. I am surethat four out of five would like it a great deal better than wine orbrandy. And nobody could possibly receive any harm. Didn't you hearwhat father said about Mr. Lewis? That he had been rather wild? I amsure I shall never forget seeing him stagger in the street once. Isuppose he has reformed. But just think, if the taste should berevived again and at our house, and he should become intoxicated atthis wedding party! O, mother! It makes me feel dreadfully to thinkabout it. And dear Cousin Fanny! What sorrow it would bring to her!"

"O, dear, Henry! Don't talk in that kind of a way! You make meshudder all over. You're getting too much carried away by thissubject of temperance. "

And Mrs. Eldridge left the room to look after her domestic duties. But she could not push from her mind certain uneasy thoughts whichher son's suggestions had awakened. During the morning an intimatelady friend came in to whom Mrs. Eldridge spoke of the intendedparty. 

"And would you believe it, " she said, "that old-fashioned boy ofmine actually proposed that we should have coffee instead of wineand brandy. "

"And you're going to adopt the suggestion, " replied the lady, herface lighten up with a pleasant smile. 

"It would suit my own views exactly; but then such an innovationupon a common usage as that; is not to be thought of for a moment. "

"And why not?" asked the lady. "Coffee is safe, while wine andbrandy are always dangerous in promiscuous companies. You can nevertell in what morbid appetite you may excite an unhealthy craving. You may receive into your house a young man with intellect clear, and moral purposes well-balanced, and send him home at midnight, tohis mother, stupid from intoxication! Take your son's advice, myfriend. Exclude the wine and brandy, and give a pleasant cup ofcoffee to your guests instead. "

"O, dear, no, I can't do that!" said Mrs. Eldridge. "It would lookas if we were too mean to furnish wines and brandy. Besides, myhusband would never consent to it. "

"Let me give you a little experience of my own. It may help you to aright decision in this case. "

The lady spoke with some earnestness, and a sober cast of thought inher countenance. "It is now about three years since I gave a largeparty, at which a number of young men were present, --boys I shouldrather say. Among these was the son of an old and very dear friend. He was in his nineteenth year, --a handsome, intelligent, and mostagreeable person--full of life and pleasant humor. At supper time Inoticed him with a glass of champagne in his hand, gayly talkingwith some ladies. In a little while after, my eyes happening to reston him, I saw him holding, a glass of port wine to his lips, whichwas emptied at a single draught. Again passing near him, in order tospeak to a lady, I observed a tumbler in his hand, and knew thecontents to be brandy and water. This caused me to feel someconcern, and I kept him, in closer observation. In a little while hewas at the table again, pouring out another glass of wine. I thoughtit might be for a lady upon whom he was in attendance; but no, thesparkling liquor touched his own lips. When the company returned tothe parlors, the flushed face, swimming eyes, and over-hilariousmanner of my young friend, showed too plainly that he had beendrinking to excess. He was so much excited as to attract theattention of every one, and his condition became the subject ofremark. He was mortified and distressed at the occurrence, anddrawing him from the room, made free to tell him the truth. Heshowed some indignation at first, and intimated that I had insultedhim but I rebuked him sternly, and told him he had better go home. Iwas too much excited to act very wisely. He took me at my word, andleft the house. There was no sleep for my eyes on that night, Mrs. Eldridge. The image of that boy going home to his mother atmidnight, in such a condition, and made so by my hand haunted melike a rebuking spectre; and I resolved never again to set out atable with liquors to a promiscuous company of young and old, and Ihave kept that word of promise. My husband is not willing to have aparty unless there is wine with the refreshments, and I would ratherforego all entertainments than put temptation in the way of any one. Your son's suggestion is admirable. Have the independence to actupon it, and set an example which many will be glad to follow. Don'tfear criticism or remark; don't stop to ask what this one will sayor that one think. The approval of our own consciences is worth farmore than the opinions of men. Is it right? That is the question toask; not How will it appear? or What will people say? There will bea number of parties given to your niece, without doubt; and if you, lead off with coffee instead of wine, all the rest of Fanny'sfriends may follow the good example. "

When Mr. Eldridge came home at dinner-time, his wife said to him, --

"You needn't order any liquors from Snyder. "

"Why not?" Mr. Eldridge looked at his wife with some surprise. 

"I'm going to have coffee, instead of wine, and brandy, " said Mrs. Eldridge, speaking firmly. 

"Nonsense! You're jesting. "

"No, I'm in earnest. These liquors are not only expensive, butdangerous things to offer freely in mixed companies. Many boys gettheir first taste for drink at fashionable parties, and manyreformed men have the old fiery thirst revived by a glass of winepoured out for them in social hospitality. I am afraid to have myconscience burdened with the responsibility which this involves. "

"There is no question as to the injury that is done by this freepouring out of liquors at our fashionable entertainments. I've longenough seen that, " said Mr. Eldridge; "but she will be a bold ladywho ventures to offer a cup of coffee in place of a glass of wine. You had better think twice on this subject before you act once. "

"I've done little else I but think about it for the last two hours, and the more I think about it the more settled my purpose becomes. "

"But what put this thing into your head?" inquired Mr. Eldridge. "You were in full sail for party this morning, liquor and all; thissudden tacking for a new course is a little surprising. I'mpuzzled. "

"Your son put it into my head, " replied Mrs. Eldridge. 

"Henry? Well, that boy does beat all!" Mr. Eldridge did not speakwith disapprobation, but with a tone of pleasure in his voice. "Andso he proposed that we should have coffee instead of wine andbrandy?"

"Yes. "

"Bravo for Henry! I like that. But what will people say, my dear? Idon't want to become a laughing stock. "

"I'd rather have other people laugh at me for doing right, " saidMrs. Eldridge, "than to have my conscience blame me for doingwrong. "

"Must we give the party?" asked Mr. Eldridge, who did not feel muchinclined to brave public opinion. 

"I don't see that we can well avoid doing so. Parties will be given, and as Fanny is our niece, it will look like a slight towards her ifwe hold back. No, she must have a party; and as I am resolved toexclude liquor, we must come in first. Who knows but all the restmay follow our example. "

"Don't flatter yourself on any such result. We shall stand alone, you may depend upon it. "

The evening of the party came and a large company assembled at thehouse of Mr. And Mrs. Eldridge. At eleven o'clock they passed to thesupper-room. On this time the thoughts of the host and hostess hadpassed, ever and anon, during the whole evening, and not withoutmany misgivings as to the effect their entertainment would produceon the minds of the company. Mr. Eldridge was particularly nervouson the subject. There were several gentlemen present whom he knew tobe lovers of good wine; gentlemen at whose houses he had often beenentertained, and never without the exhilarating glass. How wouldthey feel? What would they think? What would they say? Thesequestions fairly haunted him; and he regretted, over and over again, that he had yielded to his wife and excluded the liquors. 

But there was no holding back now; the die was cast, and they muststand to the issue. Mr. Eldridge tried to speak pleasantly to thelady on his arm, as he ascended to the supper-room; but the wordscame heavily from his tongue, for his heart was dying in him. Soonthe company were around the table, and eyes, critical in suchmatters, taking hurried inventories of what it contained. Settingaside the wine and brandy, the entertainment was of the most liberalcharacter, and the whole arrangement extremely elegant. At each endof the table stood a large coffee-urn, surrounded with cups, themeaning of which was not long a mystery to the company. After theterrapin, oysters, salad, and their accompaniments, Mr. Eldridgesaid to a lady, in a half-hesitating voice, as if he were almostashamed to ask the question, --

"Will you have a cup of coffee?"

"If you please, " was the smiling answer. "Nothing would suit mebetter. "

"Delicious!" Mr. Eldridge heard one of the gentlemen, of whom hestood most in dread, say. "This is indeed a treat. I wouldn't givesuch a cup of coffee for the best glass of wine you could bring me. "

"I am glad you are pleased, " Mr. Eldridge could not help remarking, as he turned to the gentleman. 

"You couldn't have pleased me better, " was replied. 

Soon the cups were circling through the room, and every one seemedto enjoy the rich beverage. It was not the ghost of coffee, norcoffee robbed of its delicate aroma; but clear, strong, fragrant, and mellowed by the most delicious cream. Having elected to servecoffee, Mrs. Eldridge was careful that her entertainment should notprove a failure through any lack of excellence in this article. Andit was very far from proving a failure. The first surprise beingover, one and another began to express an opinion on the subject tothe host and hostess. 

"Let me thank you, " said a lady, taking the hand of Mrs. Eldridge, and speaking very warmly, "for your courage in making thisinnovation upon a custom of doubtful prudence. I thank you, as amother, who has two sons here to-night. "

She said no more, but Mrs. Eldridge understood well her wholemeaning. 

"You are a brave man, and I honor you, " was the remark of agentleman to Mr. Eldridge. "There will be many, I think, to followyour good example. I should never have had the courage to lead, butI think I shall be brave enough to follow, when it comes my turn toentertain my friends. "

Henry was standing by his father when this was said listening withrespectful, but deeply gratified attention. 

"My son, sir, " said Mr. Eldridge. 

The gentleman took the boy by the hand, and while he held it, thefather added, --

"I must let the honor go to where it really is due. The suggestioncame from him. He is a Cadet of Temperance, and when the party wastalked of, he pleaded so earnestly for the substitution of coffeefor wine and brandy, and used such good reason for the change, thatwe saw only one right course before us, and that we have adopted. "

The gentleman, on hearing this, shook the lad's hand warmly, andsaid, --

"Your father has reason to be proud of you, my brave boy! There isno telling what good may grew out of this thing. Others will followyour father's example, and hundreds of young men be saved from theenticements of the wine cup. "

With what strong throbs of pleasure did the boy's heart beat whenthese words came to his ears! He had scarcely hoped for success whenhe pleaded briefly, but earnestly, with his mother. Yet he felt thathe must speak, for to his mind, what she proposed doing was a greatevil. Since it had been resolved to banish liquor from theentertainment, he had heard his father and mother speak severaltimes doubtfully as to the result; and more than once his fatherexpressed result that any such "foolish" attempt to run in the faceof people's prejudices had been thought of. Naturally, he had feltanxious about the result; but now that the affair had gone off sotriumphantly, his heart was outgushing with pleasure. 

The result was as had been predicted. Four parties were given to thebride, and in each case the good example of Mrs. Eldridge wasfollowed. Coffee took the place of wine and brandy, and it was theremark of nearly all, that there had been no pleasant parties duringthe season. 

So much for what a boy may do, by only a few right words spoken atthe right time, and in the right manner. Henry Eldridge wasthoughtful, modest, and earnest-minded. His attachment to the causeof temperance was not a mere boyish enthusiasm, but the result of aconviction that intemperance was a vice destructive, to both souland body, and one that lay like a curse and a plague-spot onsociety, He could understand how, if the boys rejected, entirely, the cup of confusion, the next, generation of men would be sober;and this had led him to join the Cadets, and do all in his power toget other lads to join also. In drawing other lads into the order, he had been very successful; and now, in a few respectfully uttered, but earnest words, he had checked the progress of intemperance in acircle far beyond the ordinary reach of his influence. 

Henry Eldridge was a happy boy that night. 

XIV. 

AMY'S QUESTION. 

"AMY!"

Mrs. Grove called from the door that opened towards the garden. Butno answer came. The sun had set half an hour before, and hisparting, rays, were faintly tinging with gold and purple few cloudsthat lay just alone the edge of the western sky. In the east, thefull moon was rising in all her beauty, making pale the stars thatwere sparking in the firmament. 

"Where is Amy?" she asked. "Has any one seen her come in?"

"I saw her go up stairs with her knitting in her hand half an hourago, " said Amy's brother, who was busily at work with his knife on ablock of pine wood, trying to make a boat. 

Mrs. Grove went to the foot of the stairs, and called again. Butthere was no reply. 

"I wonder where the child can be, " she said to herself, a slightfeeling of anxiety crossing her mind. So she went up stairs to looksfor her. The door of Amy's bedroom was shut, but on pushing it openMrs. Grove saw her little girl sitting at the open window, so lostin the beauty of the moonlit sky and her own thoughts that she didnot hear the noise of her mother's entrance. 

"Amy, " said Mrs. Grove. 

The child started, and then said quickly, --

"O, mother! Come and see! Isn't it lovely?"

"What are you looking at, dear?" asked Mrs. Grove, as she sat downby her side, and drew an arm around her. 

"At the moon, and stars, and the lake away off by the hill. See whata great road of light lies across the water! Isn't it beautiful, mother? And it makes me feel so quiet and happy. I wonder why itis?"

"Shall I tell you the reason?"

"O, yes, mother, dear! What is the reason?"

"God made everything that is good and beautiful. "

"O, yes, I know that!"

"Good and beautiful for the sake of man; because man is the highestthing of creation and nearest to God. All things below him werecreated for his good; that is, God made them for him to use insustaining the life of his body or the life of his soul. "

"I don't see what use I can make of the moon and stars, " said Amy. 

"And yet, " answered her mother, "you said only a minute ago that thebeauty of this moon-light evening made you feel so quiet and happy. "

"O, yes! That is so; and you were going to tell me why it was. "

"First, " said the mother, "let me, remind you that the moon andstars give us light by night, and that, if you happened to be awayat a neighbor's after the sun went down, they would be of great usein showing you the path home-ward. "

"I didn't think of that when I spoke of not seeing what use I couldmake, of the moon and stars, " Amy replied. 

Her mother went on, --

"God made everything that is good and beautiful for the stake ofman, as I have just told you; and each of these good and beautifulthings of creation comes to us with a double blessing, --one for ourbodies and the other for our souls. The moon and stars not only givelight this evening to make dark ways plain, but their calm presencefills our souls with peace. And they do so, because all things ofnature being the work of God, have in them a likeness of somethingin himself not seen by our eyes, but felt in our souls. Do youunderstand anything of what I mean, Amy?"

"Just a little, only, " answered the child. "Do you mean, motherdear, that God is inside of the moon and stars, and everything elsethat he has made?"

"Not exactly what I mean; but that he has so made them, that eachcreated thin is as a mirror in which our souls may see something ofhis love and his wisdom reflected. In the water we see an image ofhis truth, that, if learned, will satisfy our thirsty minds andcleanse us from impurity. In the sun we see an image of his love, that gives light, and warmth, and all beauty and health to oursouls. "

"And what in the moon?" asked Amy. 

"The moon is cold and calm, not warm and brilliant like the sun, which tells us of God's love. Like truths learned, but not made warmand bright by love, it shows us the way in times of darkness. Butyou are too young to understand much about this. Only keep in yourmemory that every good and beautiful thing you see, being made byGod, reflects something of his nature and quality to your soul andthat this is why the lovely, the grand, the beautiful, the pure, andsweet things of nature fill your heart with peace or delight whenyou gaze at them. "

For a little while after this they sat looking out of the window, both feeling very peaceful in the presence of God and his works. Then voice was heard below, and Amy, starting up, exclaimed, --

"O, there is father!" and taking her mother's hand, went down tomeet him. 

XV. 

AN ANGEL IN DISGUISE. 

IDLENESS, vice, and intemperance had done their miserable work, andthe dead mother lay cold and still amid her wretched children. Shehad fallen upon the threshold of her own door in a drunken fit, anddied in the presence of her frightened little ones. 

Death touches the spring of our common humanity. This woman had beendespised, scoffed at, and angrily denounced by nearly every man, woman, and child in the village; but now, as the fact of, her deathwas passed from lip to lip, in subdued tones, pity took the place ofanger, and sorrow of denunciation. Neighbors went hastily to the oldtumble-down hut, in which she had secured little more than a placeof shelter from summer heats and winter cold: some withgrave-clothes for a decent interment of the body; and some with foodfor the half-starving children, three in number. Of these, John, theoldest, a boy of twelve, was a stout lad, able to earn his livingwith any farmer. Kate, between ten and eleven, was bright, activegirl, out of whom something clever might be made, if in good hands;but poor little Maggie, the youngest, was hopelessly diseased. Twoyears before a fall from a window had injured her spine, and she hadnot been able to leave her bed since, except when lifted in the armsof her mother. 

"What is to be done with the children?" That was the chief questionnow. The dead mother would go underground, and be forever beyond allcare or concern of the villagers. But the children must not be leftto starve. After considering the matter, and talking it over withhis wife, farmer Jones said that he would take John, and do well byhim, now that his mother was out of the way; and Mrs. Ellis, who hadbeen looking out for a bound girl, concluded that it would becharitable in her to make choice of Katy, even though she was tooyoung to be of much use for several years. 

"I could do much better, I know, " said Mrs. Ellis; "but as no oneseems inclined to take her, I must act from a sense of duty expectto have trouble with the child; for she's an undisciplinedthing--used to having her own way. "

But no one said "I'll take Maggie. " Pitying glances were cast on herwan and wasted form and thoughts were troubled on her account. Mothers brought cast-off garments and, removing her soiled andragged clothes, dressed her in clean attire. The sad eyes andpatient face of the little one touched many hearts, and even knockedat them for entrance. But none opened to take her in. Who wanted abed-ridden child?

"Take her to the poorhouse, " said a rough man, of whom the question"What's to be done with Maggie?" was asked. "Nobody's going to bebothered with her. "

"The poorhouse is a sad place for a sick and helpless child, "answered one. 

"For your child or mine, " said the other, lightly speaking; "but fortis brat it will prove a blessed change, she will be kept clean, have healthy food, and be doctored, which is more than can be saidof her past condition. "

There was reason in that, but still it didn't satisfy. The dayfollowing the day of death was made the day of burial. A fewneighbors were at the miserable hovel, but none followed dead cartas it bore the unhonored remains to its pauper grave. Farmer Jones, after the coffin was taken out, placed John in his wagon and droveaway, satisfied that he had done his part. Mrs. Ellis spoke to Katewith a hurried air, "Bid your sister good by, " and drew the tearfulchildren apart ere scarcely their lips had touched in a sobbingfarewell. Hastily others went out, some glancing at Maggie, and someresolutely refraining from a look, until all had gone. She wasalone! Just beyond the threshold Joe Thompson, the wheelwright, paused, and said to the blacksmith's wife, who was hastening offwith the rest, --

"It's a cruel thing to leave her so. "

"Then take her to the poorhouse: she'll have to go there, " answeredthe blacksmith's wife, springing away, and leaving Joe behind. 

For a little while the man stood with a puzzled air; then he turnedback, and went into the hovel again. Maggie with painful effort, hadraised herself to an upright position and was sitting on the bed, straining her eyes upon the door out of which all had just departed, A vague terror had come into her thin white face. 

"O, Mr. Thompson!" she cried out, catching her suspended breath, "don't leave me here all alone!"

Though rough in exterior, Joe Thompson, the wheelwright, had aheart, and it was very tender in some places. He liked children, andwas pleased to have them come to his shop, where sleds and wagonswere made or mended for the village lads without a draft on theirhoarded sixpences. 

"No, dear, " he answered, in a kind voice, going to the bed, andstooping down over the child, "You sha'n't be left here alone. " Thenhe wrapped her with the gentleness almost of a woman, in the cleanbedclothes which some neighbor had brought; and, lifting her in hisstrong arms, bore her out into the air and across the field that laybetween the hovel and his home. 

Now, Joe Thompson's wife, who happened to be childless, was not awoman of saintly temper, nor much given to self-denial for others'good, and Joe had well-grounded doubts touching the manner ofgreeting he should receive on his arrival. Mrs. Thompson saw himapproaching from the window, and with ruffling feathers met him afew paces from the door, as he opened the garden gate, and came in. He bore a precious burden, and he felt it to be so. As his arms heldthe sick child to his breast, a sphere of tenderness went out fromher, and penetrated his feelings. A bond had already corded itselfaround them both, and love was springing into life. 

"What have you there?" sharply questioned Mrs. Thompson. 

Joe, felt the child start and shrink against him. He did not reply, except by a look that was pleading and cautionary, that said, "Waita moment for explanations, and be gentle;" and, passing in, carriedMaggie to the small chamber on the first floor, and laid her on abed. Then, stepping back, he shut the door, and stood face to facewith his vinegar-tempered wife in the passage-way outside. 

"You haven't brought home that sick brat!" Anger and astonishmentwere in the tones of Mrs. Joe Thompson; her face was in a flame. 

"I think women's hearts are sometimes very hard, " said Joe. UsuallyJoe Thompson got out of his wife's way, or kept rigidly silent andnon-combative when she fired up on any subject; it was with somesurprise, therefore, that she now encountered a firmly-setcountenance and a resolute pair of eyes. 

"Women's hearts are not half so hard as men's!"

Joe saw, by a quick intuition, that his resolute bearing hadimpressed his wife and he answered quickly, and with realindignation, "Be that as it may, every woman at the funeral turnedher eyes steadily from the sick child's face, and when the cart wentoff with her dead mother, hurried away, and left her alone in thatold hut, with the sun not an hour in the sky. "

"Where were John and Kate?" asked Mrs. Thompson. 

"Farmer Jones tossed John into his wagon, and drove off. Katie wenthome with Mrs. Ellis; but nobody wanted the poor sick one. 'Send herto the poorhouse, ' was the cry. "

"Why didn't you let her go, then. What did you bring her here for?"

"She can't walk to the poorhouse, " said Joe; "somebody's arms mustcarry her, and mine are strong enough for that task. "

"Then why didn't you keep on? Why did you stop here?" demanded thewife. 

"Because I'm not apt to go on fools' errands. The Guardians mustfirst be seen, and a permit obtained. "

There was no gainsaying this. 

"When will you see the Guardians?" was asked, with irrepressibleimpatience. 

"To-morrow. "

"Why put it off till to-morrow? Go at once for the permit, and getthe whole thing off of your hands to-night. "

"Jane, " said the wheelwright, with an impressiveness of tone thatgreatly subdued his wife, "I read in the Bible sometimes, and findmuch said about little children. How the Savior rebuked thedisciples who would not receive them; how he took them up in hisarms, and blessed them; and how he said that 'whosoever gave themeven a cup of cold water should not go unrewarded. ' Now, it is asmall thing for us to keep this poor motherless little one for asingle night; to be kind to her for a single night; to make her lifecomfortable for a single night. "

The voice of the strong, rough man shook, and he turned his headaway, so that the moisture in his eyes might not be seen. Mrs. Thompson did not answer, but a soft feeling crept into her heart. 

"Look at her kindly, Jane; speak to her kindly, " said Joe. "Think ofher dead mother, and the loneliness, the pain, the sorrow that mustbe on all her coming life. " The softness of his heart gave unwontedeloquence to his lips. 

Mrs. Thompson did not reply, but presently turned towards the littlechamber where her husband had deposited Maggie; and, pushing openthe door, went quietly in. Joe did not follow; he saw that, herstate had changed, and felt that it would be best to leave her alonewith the child. So he went to his shop, which stood near the house, and worked until dusky evening released him from labor. A lightshining through the little chamber windows was the first object thatattracted Joe's attention on turning towards the house: it was agood omen. The path led him by this windows and, when opposite, hecould not help pausing to look in. It was now dark enough outside toscreen him from observation. Maggie lay, a little raised on thepillow with the lamp shining full upon her face. Mrs. Thompson wassitting by the bed, talking to the child; but her back was towardsthe window, so that her countenance was not seen. From Maggie'sface, therefore, Joe must read the character of their intercourse. He saw that her eyes were intently fixed upon his wife; that now andthen a few words came, as if in answers from her lips; that herexpression was sad and tender; but he saw nothing of bitterness orpain. A deep-drawn breath was followed by one of relief, as a weightlifted itself from his heart. 

On entering, Joe did not go immediately to the little chamber. Hisheavy tread about the kitchen brought his wife somewhat hurriedlyfrom the room where she had been with Maggie. Joe thought it bestnot to refer to the child, nor to manifest any concern in regard toher. 

"How soon will supper be ready?" he asked. 

"Right soon, " answered Mrs. Thompson, beginning to bustle about. There was no asperity in her voice. 

After washing from his hands and face the dust and soil of work, Joeleft the kitchen, and went to the little bedroom. A pair of largebright eyes looked up at him from the snowy bed; looked at himtenderly, gratefully, pleadingly. How his heart swelled in hisbosom! With what a quicker motion came the heart-beats! Joe satdown, and now, for the first time, examining the thin free carefullyunder the lamp light, saw that it was an attractive face, and fullof a childish sweetness which suffering had not been able toobliterate. 

"Your name is Maggie?" he said, as he sat down and took her softlittle hand in his. 

"Yes, sir. " Her voice struck a chord that quivered in a low strainof music. 

"Have you been sick long?"

"Yes, sir. " What a sweet patience was in her tone!

"Has the doctor been to see you?"

"He used to come. "

"But not lately?"

"No, sir. "

"Have you any pain?"

"Sometimes, but not now. "

"When had you pain?"

"This morning my side ached, and my back hurt when you carried me. "

"It hurts you to be lifted or moved about?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Your side doesn't ache now?"

"No, sir. "

"Does it ache a great deal?"

"Yes, sir; but it hasn't ached any since I've been on this softbed. "

"The soft bed feels good. "

"O, yes, sir--so good!" What a satisfaction, mingled with gratitude, was in her voice!

"Supper is ready, " said Mrs. Thompson, looking into the room alittle while afterwards. 

Joe glanced from his wife's face to that of Maggie; she understoodhim, and answered, --

"She can wait until we are done; then I will bring her somethings toeat. " There was an effort at indifference on the part of Mrs. Thompson, but her husband had seen her through the window, andunderstood that the coldness was assumed. Joe waited, after sittingdown to the table, for his wife to introduce the subject uppermostin both of their thoughts; but she kept silent on that theme, formany minutes, and he maintained a like reserve. At last she said, abruptly, --

"What are you going to do with that child?"

"I thought you understood me that she was to go to the poorhouse, "replied Joe, as if surprised at her question. 

Mrs. Thompson looked rather strangely at her husband for sonicmoments, and then dropped her eyes. The subject was not againreferred to during the meal. At its close, Mrs. Thompson toasted aslice of bread, and softened, it with milk and butter; adding tothis a cup of tea, she took them into Maggie, and held the smallwaiter, on which she had placed them, while the hungry child atewith every sign of pleasure. 

"Is it good?" asked Mrs. Thompson, seeing with what a keen relishthe food was taken. 

The child paused with the cup in her hand, and answered with a lookof gratitude that awoke to new life old human feelings which hadbeen slumbering in her heart for half a score of years. 

"We'll keep her a day or two longer; she is so weak and helpless, "said Mrs. Joe Thompson, in answer to her husband's remark, atbreakfast-time on the next morning, that he must step down and seethe Guardians of the Poor about Maggie. 

"She'll be so much in your way, " said Joe. 

"I sha'n't mind that for a day or two. Poor thing!"

Joe did not see the Guardians of the Poor on that day, on the next, nor on the day following. In fact, he never saw them at all onMaggie's account, for in less than a week Mrs. Joe Thompson would assoon leave thought of taking up her own abode in the almshouse assending Maggie there. 

What light and blessing did that sick and helpless child bring tothe home of Joe Thompson, the poor wheelwright! It had been dark, and cold, and miserable there for a long time just because his wifehad nothing to love and care for out of herself, and so became soar, irritable, ill-tempered, and self-afflicting in the desolation ofher woman's nature. Now the sweetness of that sick child, lookingever to her in love, patience, and gratitude, was as honey to hersoul, and she carried her in her heart as well as in her arms, aprecious burden. As for Joe Thompson, there was not a man in all theneighborhood who drank daily of a more precious wine of life thanhe. An angel had come into his house, disguised as a sick, helpless, and miserable child, and filled all its dreary chambers with thesunshine of love. 

XVI. 

WHICH WAS MOST THE LADY?

"DID you ever see such a queer looking figure?" exclaimed a younglady, speaking loud enough to be heard by the object of her remark. She was riding slowly along in an open carriage, a short distancefrom the city, accompanied by a relative. The young man, hercompanion, looked across the road at a woman, whose attire wascertainly not in any way very near approach to the fashion of theday. She had on a faded calico dress, short in the waist; stoutleather shoes; the remains of what had once been a red merino longshawl, and a dingy old Leghorn bonnet of the style of eighteenhundred and twenty. 

As the young man turned to look at the woman, the latter raised hereyes and fixed them steadily upon the young lady who had so rudelydirected towards her the attention of her companion. Her face, wasnot old nor faded, as the dress she wore. It was youthful, but plainalmost to homeliness; and the smallness of her eyes, which wereclose together and placed at the Mongolian angle, gave to hercountenance a singular aspect. 

"How do you do, aunty?" said the young man gently drawing on therein of his horse so as still further to diminish his speed. 

The face of the young girl--for she was quite young--reddened, and sheslackened her steps so as to fall behind the rude, unfeeling couple, who sought to make themselves merry at her expense. 

"She is gypsy!" said the young lady, laughing. 

"Gran'mother! How are catnip and hoarhound, snakeroot and tansy, selling to-day? What's the state of the herb market?" joined theyoung man with increasing rudeness. 

"That bonnet's from the ark--ha! ha!"

"And was worn by the wife of Shem, Ham or Japheth. Ha! now I've gotit! This is the great, great, great granddaughter of Noah. What adiscovery! Where's Barnum? Here's a chance for another fortune!"

The poor girl made no answer to this cruel and cowardly assault, butturned her face away, and stood still, in order to let the carriagepass on. 

"You look like a gentleman and a lady, " said a man whom was ridingby, and happened to overhear some of their last remarks; "and nodoubt regard yourselves as such. But your conduct is anything butgentlemanly and lady-like; and if I had the pleasure of knowing yourfriends, I would advise them to keep you in until you had sense anddecency enough not to disgrace yourselves and them!"

A fiery spot burned instantly on the young man's face, and fierceanger shot from his eyes. But the one who had spoken so sharplyfixed upon him a look of withering contempt, and riding close up tothe carriage, handed him his card, remarking coldly, as he did so, --

"I shall be pleased to meet you again, sir. May I ask your card inreturn?"

The young man thrust his hand indignantly into his pocket, andfumbled there for some moments, but without finding a card. 

"No matter, " said he, trying to speak fiercely; "you will hear fromme in good time. "

"And you from me on the spot, if I should happen to catch you atsuch mean and cowardly work as you were just now engaged in, " saidthe stranger, no seeking to veil his contempt. 

"The vulgar brute! O, he's horrid!" ejaculated the young lady as herrather crestfallen companion laid the whip upon his horse and dashedahead. "How he frightened me!"

"Some greasy butcher or two-fisted blacksmith, " said the elegantyoung man with contempt. "But, " he added boastfully, "I'll teach hima lesson!"

Out into the beautiful country, with feeling a little less buoyantthan when they started, rode our gay young couple. As the excitementof passion died away both feel a little uncomfortable in mind, forcertain unpleasant convictions intruded themselves, and certainprecepts in the code of polite usage grew rather distinct in theirmemories. They had been thoughtless, to say the least of it. 

"But the girl looked so queer!" said the young lady. "I couldn'thelp laughing to save my life. Where on earth did she come from?"

Not very keen was their enjoyment of the afternoon's ride, althoughthe day was particularly fine, and their way was amid some bits ofcharming scenery. After going out into the country some five or sixmiles, the horse's head was turned, and they took their wayhomeward. Wishing to avoid the Monotony of a drive along the sameroad the young man struck across the country in order to reachanother avenue leading into the city, but missed his way andbewildered in a maze of winding country roads. While descending asteep hill, in a very secluded place, a wheel came off, and bothwere thrown from the carriage. The young man received only a slightbruise, but the girl was more seriously injured. Her head had struckagainst a stone with so strong a concussion as to render herinsensible. 

Eagerly glancing around for aid, the young man saw, at no greatdistance from the road, a poor looking log tenement, from the mudchimney of which curled a thin column of smoke, giving signs ofinhabitants. To call aloud was his first impulse, and he raised hisvoice with the cry of "Help!"

Scarcely had the sound died away, ere he saw the door of the cabinflung open, and a woman and boy looked eagerly around. 

"Help!" he cried again, and the sound of his voice directed theireyes towards him. Even in his distress, alarm, and bewilderment, theyoung man recognized instantly in the woman the person they had sowantonly insulted only an hour or two before. As soon as she sawthem, she ran forward hastily, and seeing the white face of theinsensible girl, exclaimed, with pity and concern, --

"O, sir! is she badly hurt?"

There was heart in that voice of peculiar sweetness. 

"Poor lady!" she said, tenderly, as she untied the bonnet stringswith gentle care, and placed her hand upon the clammy temples. 

"Shall I help you to take her over to the house?" she added, drawingan arm beneath the form of the insensible girl. 

"Thank you!" There was a tone of respect in the young man's voice. "But I can carry her myself;" and he raised the insensible form inhis arms, and, following the young stranger, bore it into her humbledwelling. As he laid her upon a bed, he asked, eagerly, --

"Is there a doctor near?"

"Yes, sir, " replied the girl. "If you will come to the door, I willshow you the doctor's house; and I think he must be at home, for Isaw him go by only a quarter of an hour since. John will take careof your horse while you are away, and I will do my best for the poorlady. "

The doctor's house, about a quarter of a mile distant, was pointedout, and the young man hurried off at a rapid speed. He was goneonly a few minutes when his insensible companion revived, and, starting up, looked wildly around her. 

"Where am I? Where is George?" she asked, eagerly. 

"He has gone for the doctor; but will be back very soon, " said theyoung woman, in a kind, soothing voice. 

"For the doctor! Who's injured?" She had clasped her hands acrossher forehead, and now, on removing them, saw on one a wet stain ofblood. With a frightened cry she fell backs upon the pillow fromwhich she had risen. 

"I don't think you are much hurt, " was said, in a tone ofencouragement, as with a damp cloth the gentle stranger wiped verytenderly her forehead. "The cut is not deep. Have you painanywhere?"

"No, " was faintly answered. 

"You can move your arms; so _they_ are uninjured. And now, won't youjust step on to the floor, and see if you can bear your weight? Letme raise you up, There, put your foot down--now the other--now take astep--now another. There are no bones broken! How glad I am!"

How earnest, how gentle, how pleased she was. There was no acting inher manner. Every tone, expression, and gesture showed that heartwas in everything. 

"O, I am glad!" she repeated. "It might have been so much worse. "

The first glance into the young girl's face was one ofidentification; and even amid the terror that oppressed her heart, the unwilling visitor felt a sense of painful mortification. Therewas no mistaking that peculiar countenance. But how different sheseemed! Her voice was singularly sweet, her manner gentle and fullof kindness, and in her movements and attitude a certain ease thatmarked her as one not to be classed, even by the over-refined younglady who was so suddenly brought within her power, among the commonherd. 

All that assiduous care and kind attention could do for the unhappygirl, until the doctor's arrival, was done. After getting back tothe bed from which she had been induced to rise, in order to see ifall her limbs were sound, she grew sick and faint, and remained sountil the physician came. He gave it as his opinion that she hadreceived some internal injuries, and that it would not be safe toattempt her removal. 

The young couple looked at each other with dismay pictured in theircountenances. 

"I wish it were in my power to make you more comfortable, " said thekind-hearted girl, in whose humble abode they were. "What we have isat your service in welcome, and all that it is in my power to doshall be done for you cheerfully. If father was only at home--butthat can't be helped. "

The young man dazed upon her in wonder and shame--wonder at the charmthat now appeared in her singularly marked countenance, and shamefor the disgraceful and cowardly cruelty with which he had a littlewhile before so wantonly assailed her. 

The doctor was positive about the matter, and so there was noalternative. After seeing his unhappy relative in as comfortable acondition as possible, the young man, with the doctor's aid, repaired his crippled vehicle by the restoration of a linchpin, andstarted for the city to bear intelligence of the sad accident, andbring out the mother of the injured girl. 

Alone with the person towards whom she had only a short time beforeacted in such shameless violation of womanly kindness and lady-likepropriety, our "nice young lady" did not feel more comfortable inmind than body. Every look--every word--every tone--every act of thekind-hearted girl--was a rebuke. The delicacy of her attentions, andthe absence of everything like a desire to refund her of the recentunpleasant incident, marked her as possessing, even if her face andattire were plain, and her position humble, all the elements of atrue lady. 

Although the doctor, when he left, did not speak very encouragingly, the vigorous system of the young girl began to react and she grewbetter quite rapidly so that when her parents arrived with thefamily physician, she was so much improved that it was at oncedecided to take her to the city. 

For an hour before her parents came she lay feigning to be in sleep, yet observing every movement and word of her gentle attendant. Itwas an hour of shame, self-reproaches, and repentance. She was notreally bad at heart; but false estimates of things, triflingassociations, and a thoughtless disregard of others, had made herfar less a lady in act than she imagined herself to be in quality. Her parents, when they arrived, overwhelmed the young girl withthankfulness; and the father, at parting, tried to induce her toaccept a sum of money. But the offers seemed to disturb her. 

"O, no, sir!" she said, drawing back, while a glow came into herpale face, and made it almost beautiful; "I have only done a simpleduty. "

"But you are poor, " he urged, glancing around. "Take this, and letit make you more comfortable. "

"We are contented with what God has given to us, " she replied, cheerfully. "For what he gives is always the best portion. No, sir;I cannot receive money for doing only a common duty. "

"Your reward is great, " said the father, touched with the nobleanswer, "may God bless you, my good girl! And if you will notreceive my money, accept my grateful thanks. "

As the daughter parted from the strange young girl, she bent downand kissed her hand; then looking up into her face, with tearfuleyes, she whispered for her ears alone, --

"I am punished, and you are vindicated. O, let your heart forgiveme!"

"It was God whom you offended, " was whispered back. "Get hisforgiveness, and all will be right. You have mine, and also theprayer of my heart that you may be good and wise, for only such arehappy. "

The humbled girl grasped her hand tightly, and murmured, "I shallnever forget you--never!"

Nor did she. If the direct offer of her father was declined, indirect benefits reached, through her means, the lonely logcottage, where everything in time put on a new and pleasant aspect, wind the surroundings of the gentle spirit that presides there weremore in agreement with her true internal quality. To the thoughtlessyoung couple the incidents of that day were a life-lesson that neverpassed entirely from their remembrance. They obtained a glance belowthe surface of things that surprised them, learning that, even inthe humblest, there may be hearts in the right places--warm with purefeelings, and inspired by the noblest sentiments of humanity; andthat highly as they esteem themselves on account of their position, there was one, at least, standing below them so far as externaladvantages were concerned, who was their superior in all the higherqualities that go to make up the real lady and gentleman. 

XVII. 

OTHER PEOPLE'S EYES. 

"OUR parlor carpet is beginning to look real shabby, " said Mrs. Cartwright. "I declare! if I don't feel right down ashamed of it, every time a visitor, who is anybody, calls in to see me. "

"A new one will cost--"

The husband of Mrs. Cartwright, a good-natured, compliant man, whowas never better pleased than when he could please his wife, pausedto let her finish the sentence, which she did promptly, by saying, --

"Only forty dollars. I've counted it all up. It will take thirty-sixyards. I saw a beautiful piece at Martin's--just the thing--at onedollar a yard. Binding, and other little matters, won't go beyondthree or four dollars, and I can make it myself, you know. "

"Only forty dollars! Mr. Cartwright glanced down at the carpet whichhad decorated the floor of their little parlor for nearly fiveyears. It had a pleasant look in his eyes, for it was associatedwith many pleasant memories. Only forty dollars for a new one! Ifthe cost were only five, instead of forty, the inclination to banishthis old friend to an out-of-the-way chamber would have been nostronger in the mind of Mr. Cartwright. But forty dollars was anitem in the calculation, and to Mr. Cartwright a serious one. Everyyear he was finding it harder to meet the gradually increasingdemand upon his purse; for there was a steadily progressiveenlargement of his family, and year after year the cost of livingadvanced. He was thinking of this when his wife said, --

"You know, Henry, that cousin Sally Gray is coming here on a visitweek after next. Now I do want to put the very best face on tothings while she is here. We were married at the same time, and Ihear that her husband is getting rich. I feel a little pride aboutthe matter, and don't want her to think that we're growing worse offthan when we began life, and can't afford to replace this shabby oldcarpet by a new one. " No further argument was needed. Mr. Cartwrighthad sixty dollars in one of the bureau drawers, --a fact well known tohis wife. And it was also well known to her that it was theaccumulation of very careful savings, designed, when the sum reachedone hundred dollars, to cancel a loan made by a friend, at a timewhen sickness and a death in the family had run up their yearlyexpenses beyond the year's income. Very desirous was Mr. Cartwrightto pay off this loan, and he had felt lighter in heart as thoseaggregate of his savings came nearer and nearer to the sum requiredfor that purpose. 

But he had no firmness to oppose his wife in anything. Her wishes inthis instance, as in many others, he unwisely made a law. Theargument about cousin Sally Gray was irresistible. No more than hiswife did he wish to look poor in her eyes; and so, for the sake ofher eyes, a new carpet was bought, and the old one--not by any meansas worn and faded as the language of his wife indicated--sent upstairs to do second-hand duty in the spare bedroom. 

Not within the limit of forty dollars was the expense confined. Amore costly pattern than could be obtained for one dollar a yardtempted the eyes of Mrs. Cartwright, and abstracted from herhusband's savings the sum of over fifty dollars. Mats and rugs to gowith the carpet were indispensable, to give the parlor the righteffect in the eyes of cousin Sally Gray, and the purchase of theseabsorbed the remainder of Mr. Cartwright's carefully hoarded sixtydollars. 

Unfortunately, for the comfortable condition of Mrs. Cartwright'smind, the new carpet, with its flaunting colors, put wholly out ofcountenance the cane-seat chairs and modest pier table, and gave tothe dull paper on the wall a duller aspect. Before, she had scarcelynoticed the hangings on the Venetian blinds, now, it seemed as ifthey had lost their freshness in a day; and the places where theywere broken, and had been sewed again, were singularly apparentevery time her eye rested upon them. 

"These blinds do look dreadfully!" she said to her husband, on theday after the carpet went down. "Can you remember what they cost?"

"Eight dollars, " replied Mr. Cartwright. 

"So much?" The wife sighed as she spoke. 

"Yes, that was the price. I remember it very well. "

"I wonder what new hangings would cost?" Mrs. Cartwright's mannergrew suddenly more cheerful, as the suggestion of a cheaper way toimprove the windows came into her thought. 

"Not much, I presume, " answered her husband. 

"Don't you think we'd better have it done?"

"Yes, " was the compliant answer. 

"Will you stop at the blind-maker's, as you go to the store, andtell him to send up for them to-day? It must be attended to at once, you know, for cousin Sally will be here on next Wednesday. "

Mr. Cartwright called at the blind-maker's, as requested, and theblind-maker promised to send for the blinds. From there he continuedonto the store in which he was employed. There he found a note onhis desk from the friend to whom he was indebted for the one hundreddollars. 

"Dear Cartwright" (so the note ran), "if it is possible for you tolet me have the one hundred dollars I loaned you, its returnto-morrow will be a particular favor, as I have a large payment tomake, and have been disappointed in the receipt of a sum of moneyconfidently expected. "

A very sudden change of feeling did Mr. Cartwright experience. Hehad, in a degree, partaken of his wife's pleasure in observing theimproved appearances of their little parlor but this pleasure wasnow succeeded by a sense of painful regret and mortification. It wasnearly two hours before Mr. Cartwright returned an answer to hisfriend's note. Most of that time had been spent in the vain effortto discover some way out of the difficulty in which he found himselfplaced. He would have asked an advance of one hundred dollars on hissalary, but he did not deem that a prudent step, and for tworeasons. One was, the known character of his employers; and theother was involved in the question of how he was to support hisfamily for the time he was working out this advance? At last, insadness and humiliation, he wrote a brief reply, regretting hisinability to replace the loan now, but promising to do it in a veryshort time. Not very long after this answer was sent, there cameanother note from his friend, written in evident haste, and underthe influence of angry feelings. It was in these words:--

"I enclose your due bill, which I, yesterday, thought good for itsface. But, as it is worthless, I send it back. The man who buys newcarpets and new furniture, instead of paying his honest debts, canbe no friend of mine. I am sorry to have been mistaken in HenryCartwright. "

Twice did the unhappy man read this cutting letter; then, folding itup slowly, he concealed it in one of his pockets. Nothing was saidabout it to his wife, whose wordy admiration of the new carpet, andmorning, noon, and night, for the next two or three days, was acontinual reproof of his weakness for having yielded to her wishesin a matter where calm judgement and a principle of right shouldhave prevailed. But she could not help noticing that he was lesscheerful; and once or twice he spoke to her in a way that shethought positively ill-natured. Something was wrong with him; butwhat that something was, she did not for an instant imagine. 

At last the day arrived for cousin Sally Gray's visit. Unfortunatelythe Venetian blinds were still at the blind-maker's, where they werelikely to remain for a week longer, as it was discovered, on theprevious afternoon, that he had never touched them since they cameinto his shop. Without them the little parlor had a terribly barelook; the strong light coming in, and contrasting harshly the new, gaudy carpet with the old, worn, and faded furniture. Mrs. Cartwright fairly cried with vexation. 

"We must have something for the windows, Henry, " she said, as shestood, disconsolate, in the parlor, after tea. "It will never do inthe world to let cousin Sally find us in this trim. "

"Cousin Sally will find a welcome in our hearts, " replied herhusband, in a sober voice, "and that, I am sure, will be moregrateful to her than new carpets and window blinds. "

The way in which this was spoken rather surprised Mrs. Cartwright, and she felt just a little rebuked. 

"Don't you think, " she said, after a few moments of silence on bothsides, "that we might afford to buy a few yards of lace to put up tothe windows, just for decency's sake?"

"No, " answered the husband, firmly. "We have afforded too muchalready. "

His manner seemed to Mrs. Cartwright almost ill-natured. It hurt hervery much. Both sat down in the parlor, and both remained silent. Mrs. Cartwright thought of the mean appearance everything in that"best room" would have in the eyes of cousin Sally, and Mr. Cartwright thought of his debt to his friend, and of that friend'sanger and alienation. Both felt more uncomfortable than they hadbeen for a long time. 

On the next day cousin Sally arrived. She had not come to spy outthe nakedness of the land, --not for the purpose of making contrastsbetween her own condition in life and that of Mr. Cartwright, --butfrom pure love. She had always been warmly attached to her cousin;and the years during which new life-associations had separated themhad increased rather than diminished this attachment. But thegladness of their meeting was soon overshadowed; at least for cousinSally. She saw by the end of the first day's visit that her cousinwas more concerned to make a good appearance in her eyes, --to haveher understand that she and her husband were getting along bravelyin the world, --than to open her heart to her as of old, and exchangewith her a few pages in the history of their inner lives. Whatinterest had she in the new carpet, or the curtainless window, thatseemed to be the most prominent of all things in the mind of herrelative? None whatever! If the visit had been from Mary Cartwrightto herself, she would never have thought for an instant of makingpreparations for her coming in the purchase of new furniture, or byany change in the externals of her home. All arrangements for thereception would have been in her heart. 

Cousin Sally was disappointed. She did not find the relative, withwhom so many years of her life had been spent in sweet intercourse, as she had hoped to find her. The girlish warmth of feelings hadgiven place to a cold worldliness that repelled instead ofattracting her. She had loved, and suffered much; had passed throughmany trials, and entered through many opening doors into newexperiences, during the years since their ways parted. And she hadcome to this old, dear friend, yearning for that heartintercourse, --that reading together of some of the pages of theirbooks of life, --which she felt almost as a necessity. What interesthad she for the mere externals of Mary's life? None! None! And theconstant reference thereto, by her cousin, seemed like adesecration. Careful and troubled about the little things of life, she found the dear old friend of her girlish days, to whom she hadcome hopefully, as to one who could comprehend, as in earlier years, the feelings, thoughts, and aspirations which had grown stronger, deeper, and of wider range. 

Alas! Alas! How was the fine gold dimmed in her eyes!

"Dear Mary!" she said to her cousin, on the morning of the day thatwas, to end her visit, --they were sitting, together in the littleparlor, and Mrs. Cartwright had referred, for the fortieth time, tothe unshaded windows, and declared herself mortified to death at theappearance of things, --"Dear Mary! It was to see you, not yourfurniture, that I came. To look into your heart and feel it beatingagainst mine as of old; not to pry, curiously, into your ways ofliving, nor to compare your house-furnishing with my own. But foryour constant reference to these things, I should not have noticed, particularly, how your house was attired; and if asked about them, could only have answered, 'She's living very nicely. ' Forgive me forthis plain speech, dear cousin. I did not mean to give utterance tosuch language; but the words are spoken now, and cannot berecalled. "

Mrs. Cartwright, if not really offended, was mortified and rebukedand these states of feeling united with pride, served to givecoldness to her exterior. She tried to be cordial in manner towardsher cousin; to seem as if she had not felt her words; but this wasimpossible, for she had felt them too deeply. She saw that thecherished friend and companion of her girlhood was disappointed inher; that she had come to look into her heart, and not into theattiring of her home; and was going away with diminished affection. After years of divergence, their paths had touched; and, separatingonce more, she felt that they would never run parallel again. 

A few hours later, cousin Sally gave her a parting kiss. Howdifferent in warmth to the kiss of meeting! Very sad, verydissatisfied with herself, --very unhappy did Mrs. Cartwright feel, asshe sat musing alone after her relative had departed. She wasconscious of having lost a friend forever, because she had not risento the higher level to which that friend had attained--not inexternal, but in the true internal life. 

But a sharper mortification was in store for her. The letter of herhusband's friend, in which he had returned the due bill for onehundred dollars, fell accidentally into her hands, and overwhelmedher with consternation. For that new carpet, which had failed to winmore than a few extorted sentences of praise from cousin Sally Gray, her husband had lost the esteem of one of his oldest and bestfriends, and was now suffering, in silence, the most painful trialof his life. 

Poor, weak woman! Instead of the pleasure she had hoped to gain inthe possession of this carpet, it had made her completely wretched. While sitting almost stupefied with the pressure that was on herfeelings, a neighbor called in, and she went down to the parlor tomeet her. 

"What a lovely carpet!" said the neighbor, in real admiration. "Where did you buy it?"

"At Martin's, " was answered. 

"Had they any more of the same pattern?" inquired the neighbor. 

"This was the last piece. "

The neighbor was sorry. It was the most beautiful pattern she hadever seen; and she would hunt the city over but what she would findanother just like it. 

"You may have this one, " said Mrs Cartwright, on the impulse of themoment. "My husband doesn't particularly fancy it. Your parlor isexactly the size of mine. It is all made and bound nicely as you cansee; and this work on it shall cost you nothing. We paid a littleover fifty dollars for the carpet before a stitch was taken in it;and fifty dollars will make you the possessor. "

"Are you really in earnest?" said the neighbor. 

"Never more so in my life. "

"It is a bargain, then. "

"Very well. "

"When can I have it?"

"Just as soon as I can rip it from the floor, " said Mrs. Cartwright, in real earnest. 

"Go to work, " replied the neighbor, laughing out at the novelty ofthe affair. "Before your task is half done, I will be back with thefifty dollars, and a man to carry home the carpet. "

And so she was. In less than half an hour after the sale was made, in this off-hand fashion, Mrs. Cartwright sat alone in her parlor, looking down upon the naked floor. But she had five ten-dollar goldpieces in her hand, and they were of more value in her eyes thantwenty carpets. Not long did she sit musing here. There was otherwork to do. The old carpet must be replaced upon the parlor floorere her husband's return. And it was replaced. In the midst of herhurried operations the old blinds with the new hangings came in, andwere put up to the windows. When Mr. Cartwright returned home, andstepped inside of the little parlor, where he found his wifeawaiting him, he gave an exclamation of surprise. 

"Why, Mary! What is the meaning of this? Where is the new carpet?"

She laid the five gold pieces in his hand, and then lookedearnestly, and with tears in her eyes, upon his wondering face. 

"What are these, Mary? Where did they come from?"

"Cousin Sally is gone. The carpet didn't seem attractive in hereyes, and it has lost all beauty in mine. So I sold the unlovelything, and here is the money. Take it, dear Henry, and let it servethe purpose for which it was designed. "

"All right again!" exclaimed Mr. Cartwright, as soon as the wholematter was clear to him. "All right, Mary, dear! That carpet, had itremained, would have wrecked, I fear, the happiness of our home. Ah, let us consult only our own eyes hereafter, Mary--not the eyes ofother people! None think the better of us for what we seem--only forwhat we are. It is not from fine furniture that our true pleasure inlife is to come, but from a consciousness of right-doing. Let theinner life be right, and the outer life will surely be in justharmony. In the humble abode of virtue there is more real happinessthan in the palace-homes of the unjust, the selfish, andwrong-doers. The sentiment is old as the world, but it must come toevery heart, at some time in life, with all the force of an originalutterance. And let it so come to us now, dear wife!"

And thus it did come. This little experience showed them an aspectof things that quickened their better reasons, and its smartremained long enough to give it the power of a monitor in all theirafter lives. They never erred again in this wise. For two or threeyears more the old carpet did duty in their neat little parlor, andwhen it was at last replaced by a new one, the change was made fortheir own eyes, and not for the eyes of another.