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 y>A 
 
 

 THE 
 
 WIDOW'S JEWELS. 
 
 BY MRS. PICKARD. 
 
 REVISED BY DANIEL P. KIDDER. 
 
 PHBUSHED BY LANE «& TIPPETT, 
 
 FOR THE 81NDAV-SCII00L UNION OF THE METHODIST EPISCOFAl. 
 CHl'BCH, 200 MULBEBRV-STBEET. 
 
 ^ JOSEniLONOKIN a, PRINTER. 
 

 COPYRIGHT SECURED. 
 
 
 ^r^K^TN*^ ^ >v 
 
 % .'^ ". *^»<» 
 
 
 ;^r' 
 
 \-a\\ 
 
I * '■'* 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTEIt TkOX 
 I. RoilERT M'COY 9 
 
 II. Tin: Town of St. John 16 
 
 III. A XoijLK Boy 19 
 
 IV. Tblk Kindness 30 
 
 V. BROTHER'S Death 44 
 
 VI. Robert's Burial 47 
 
 VII. The Dead alive 63 
 
 
f 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 Little Readehs,— When a wealthy Roman lady 
 was visiting a noblo friend of hers, she opened 
 before her the rich casket of jewels which she 
 possessed. There lay soft, pure pearls, rosy 
 rubies, and glowing diamonds, blending ♦heir 
 light in brilliant harmony and profusion. Their 
 owner looked proudly up to her friend, and asked 
 what she could show to rival them. Without 
 wishing or attempting .similar display, she calmly 
 waived the subject until her children were re- 
 turned from school, and then drawing them to- 
 ward her, with eyes beaming with love and gra- 
 titude, said, "These are my jewels." 
 
 Jewels, you know, are beautiful and of great 
 worth — becoming gifts to kuigs and princes, and 
 chosen decorations of a crown. Even the King 
 of kings receives; them to ^ -nament his glorious 
 dwelling-place, and the 1 u ; of life will take 
 them, and wear them in \\\i. diadem — but not 
 those sparkling fonnations gathered from the 
 
8 
 
 INTRODfCTORy, 
 
 rock, or sand, or river's bed, wliicli wo admire 
 and prize so nuali. In tiu- sight of (iod tlieso 
 arc gems of greater price; and wlien ail else 
 sliaii be destroyed, be will reveal, numbered 
 among his jewels, those cliildren whose bumble 
 and atlectionate hearts have obeyed bim, and 
 dutifully attended the parents he has given 
 them. 
 
 To aid in strengthening upon your young 
 minds impressions of this important duty, the 
 writer has collected from memory, and placed 
 in contrast, the incidents of the following pages, 
 knowing that every lesson, liowever simple, 
 which you treasure uj) and profit by, will be 
 imparting another ray of beauty to "jewels" 
 which are to shine for ever and ever in the 
 paradise of God. 
 
 Prayerfully, your friend, 
 
 Saint John, N, B. H. M. P. 
 
Iiicli wo admire 
 it iif ()(jd tlieso 
 
 wlit'ii iill t'Ise 
 ■('ill, inmibf^ii'd 
 
 whose bumble 
 eyed liim, nnd 
 
 he 1ms given 
 
 m your young 
 -tant duty, the 
 ry, and phicod 
 allowing pages, 
 )wever simple, 
 fit by, will bo 
 y to "jewels" 
 id ever in the 
 
 id, 
 
 H. M. P. 
 
 THE 
 
 WIDOW'S JEWELS. 
 
 CIIAPTER I. 
 
 n o n i; u t m ' c o r. 
 
 " Good morning, my little lad," said 
 Mrs. Sclden, one day, to a rosy-clicekod 
 boy, with curly hair and full hazel eyes. 
 
 " Good morning, ma'am," aaid he, with a 
 smile, at the same time removing his well- 
 worn cap, and the thick dark curls settled 
 lightly about his temples, adorning them 
 with beauty of which the little possessor 
 was wholly unconscious. 
 
 *' What is your name ?" she asked. 
 
 « William M'tJoy," he replied. 
 
 " TIow old are you, William?" 
 
 " Eight years old," said he, still smiling. 
 
 " Where do you live ?" inquired Mrs. 
 Seidell, much interesled by his manly 
 voice and appearance. 
 
10 
 
 Tin; wiDiJw'.s .n:\vKi.s. 
 
 " Witli my iiioilicr, jiHt on llic liiH," aii- 
 Bwm'd he. « Surely y„ii Know tlic Irish 
 woman who lives hcru in St. John ? She 
 atlrnds iiicciini,'" aliiio.st every sabbath at 
 tlie Methodist chajjel, and belongs to Mr. 
 Welles' class. 1 and my l)roilier belong 
 to the sabbath-morning class.'* 
 
 " No, my dear ; I have never heard of 
 your mother. Is not your father liv- 
 ing?" 
 
 " No, ma'am," said he, touching liis 
 bright lips, while a shade of seriousness 
 passed across his noble brow; "no, ma'am, 
 ho died a long time ago in Ireland; one 
 glootny Saturday night it was." 
 
 " Do you remember him, William ?" 
 
 "Yes, a little; and I remember the 
 night he died— it rained so hard, and the 
 wind blew dreadfully. It was all dark. I 
 remember, too, that he kissed me, and his 
 breath felt cold upon my cheek. Aunt Di- 
 nah did not come ; all night wc were there 
 alone, and I cried, for mother did. I did 
 not know much about it then, but now I 
 often wish I had a father." 
 
 " Perhaps your father is happy in hea- 
 
 
 I 
 
 ,;— t-, 4 4 
 
 -•--s**>Tr'- 
 
1,8. 
 
 TIIK WIDOWS JEWELS. 
 
 11 
 
 tlif liill," ail- 
 ii)\v tlic Irish 
 
 John ? She 
 y Hiibbiith at 
 'longs to Mr. 
 iilhtT belong 
 
 ver heard of 
 fatlier liv- 
 
 touching Ilia 
 I seriousness 
 "no, ma'am, 
 Ireland ; one 
 
 Villiam ?" 
 member the 
 ard, and the 
 i all dark. I 
 me, and his 
 k. Aunt Di- 
 'c were there 
 did. I did 
 1, but now I 
 
 ppy in hea- 
 
 ' 
 
 vcn," said Mrs. Selden, consolingly, for 
 she pitied the little one. 
 
 '* Yes, he is, 1 know," added William. 
 " Mother ol'len says so ; and when I 
 wish I had a father, I think he is living 
 there. Hut 1 mean I should like to see 
 him sometimes, and hear him speak, and 
 know that he does not forget us. Sister 
 Jane and brother Robert can talk with 
 mother all about him — how he looked and 
 what he said ; but I only mind a little of 
 him now, and sister Nelly was not born till 
 many weeks after lu^ died." 
 
 Forgetting for a lew moments the errand 
 upon whieh William was sent to her, Mrs. 
 Selden sat down, and drawing to her side 
 a small rocking-chair for him, bade him be 
 seated ; and, while her arm rested along the 
 top of it, contiiuied their conversation : for 
 the little stranger was every moment be- 
 coming more and more interesting to her, 
 and she hupf<l she could do something for 
 the relief of the family to which he be- 
 longed. His mother was poor, a widow, 
 and they were fatherleso ; these were 
 claims strong enough to a heart which 
 
12 
 
 Tin: WIDOWS jewels. 
 
 also trusted in Him, who, she remembered, 
 in his holy habitation, has promised to be 
 a husband to the widow, and the father of 
 her lonely children. 
 
 " How long have you lived here ?" asked 
 Mrs. Selden. 
 
 " I do not Unow, ma'am," said he. " I 
 think it is a long time ; it may be as much 
 as four years : because when father was 
 dead, there was no one to bring us any 
 more meal or fish, and mother could not 
 get work enough to do, even to buy corn 
 or potatoes for all of us, and then she came 
 away here." 
 
 " And does she get work enough now, 
 William ?" 
 
 " No ma'am, not always," replied he ; 
 " this winter has been a hard one for us." 
 
 " How then does she support you now ?" 
 continued Mrs. Selden. 
 
 " Sometimes she does have some work 
 to do, and sister Jane lives out to service, 
 and brings her wages home each month ; 
 and that helps mother to pay the rent of 
 our room : and sometimes this winter," ad- 
 ded he, looking down, and turning round 
 
iLS. 
 
 I remembered, 
 romised to be 
 d tlic father of 
 
 here ?" asked 
 
 ' said he. " I 
 ly be as much 
 en father was 
 bring us any 
 her could not 
 ti to buy corn 
 then she came 
 
 enough now, 
 
 ' replied he; 
 [ one for us." 
 )rt you now ?" 
 
 VG some work 
 )ut to service, 
 each month ; 
 ly the rent of 
 is winter," ad- 
 urning round 
 
 THE WIDOW'S JEWELS. 
 
 13 
 
 and round the little cap which he held in 
 his hands, "sometimes — O, ma'am, what 
 should we have done if the kind man had 
 not given her something from the poor 
 house !" 
 
 " I fear you must have su fibred often 
 from want of food and fuel, William." 
 
 " We have not suffered as much as poor 
 old Mrs. Meloy has, who lives in the next 
 room to us, and I do not think we shall. 
 I cannot do much yet for mother, only 
 while the men work in the ship yards, 
 which will be a little while Icngor; they 
 let me go in and pick up chips for us: 
 but brother Robert is now thirteen years 
 old, and once in awhile has some errands 
 to do, for which he is paid money, and 
 then he always brings every penny to mo- 
 ther. And this week he has begun to 
 work on the roads : they will allow him 
 to come three days in the week, and give 
 him sixpence a day for breaking stones." 
 
 As he said this his countenance bright- 
 ened again, exhibiting the hope of comfort 
 which animated him even from this small 
 new source. But, when all these little 
 
14 
 
 TIIK ATIDOWS JEWELS. 
 
 gains were summed together, O how small 
 indeed were they, and how insufficient to 
 pay rent, and supply food, and fuel, and 
 clothes, for four, during a long winter. 
 As Mrs. Sc'lden looked upon him sadly, 
 and almost wept at the picture of the hard- 
 ships which her fancy drew as having been 
 the lot of that lonely alien family, she re- 
 membered iiow often she had seen discon- 
 tent and heard wicked murmurings among 
 some little children who never knew want; 
 but, while a kind father's care supplies all 
 their needs, and a mother's gentle hand 
 and voice is ready to soothe all their sor- 
 rows, even then they indulge in complaints 
 and rcpinings, and words of sinful ingra- 
 titude not only have stained their lips, but 
 have been heard by Him who notices 
 where his blessings fall to bring back no 
 return of praise, and in displeasure turns 
 away his love from the sullen brow and 
 thankless heart. 
 
 But William was not so. With cheer- 
 fulness ho had counted up to Mrs. Selden 
 their cherished dependences for future 
 comfort. But was it these poor hopes alone 
 
 
LS. 
 
 how small 
 nsufficient to 
 iiid fuel, and 
 
 long winter, 
 on him sadly, 
 •e of the hard- 
 s having been 
 .niily, she re- 
 :l seen discon- 
 urings among 
 ;r knew want ; 
 re supplies all 
 
 1 gentle hand 
 ; all their sor- 
 
 in complaints 
 f sinful ingra- 
 
 their lips, but 
 
 who notices 
 
 bring back no 
 
 pleasure turns 
 
 Hen brow and 
 
 With checr- 
 :o Mrs. Selden 
 ;es for future 
 )or hopes alone 
 
 r 
 
 THE -WIDOWS JEWELS. 
 
 15 
 
 which sealed liiat calm smile upon the 
 face of little William, and gave to his 
 voice that constant nok; of happiness ? O 
 no ! not these. Beyond the scanty plea- 
 sures which he gathered here and there in 
 his rough path of poverty, there was al- 
 ready in his young breast a deep and 
 never-failing source of joy. It is true, the 
 eye could not see its sparkling, and the 
 ear of the bystander etmld not listen to its 
 gentle flow, but all silently and sweetly it 
 ever poured into his mind that calm con- 
 tent and holy hope which distinguished it 
 as flowing only from that " Well of water" 
 of which the Christian tastes, purifying 
 the heart, and "springing up to everlast- 
 ing life." 
 
 In his own home was its influence most 
 deeply felt, and blessed to his mother's joy. 
 His brother Roberi, too, shared in like pre- 
 cious faith ; and cheerful was the little room 
 in which they dwelt, with the eye of God 
 looking down, and already numbering 
 among his own those whom the desolate 
 widow, in distress and aflliction, thankfully 
 reckoned as her "jewels." 
 
 1 
 
T 
 
 16 Tin; wiuow's jewels. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE TOAVN OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 The eye of the reader of lliis little sketch 
 may never have rested upon the scenery of 
 one of the most eastern cities of the con- 
 tinent, Si. John, and its vicinity. Lacking, 
 as it does, the long and tasteful culture 
 bestowed upon the soil with which we are 
 more familiar, it might be to us, perhaps, 
 in aspect, less lovely and beloved than the 
 fair metropolis and smiling towns of New- 
 England; but the wildness and grandeur 
 so strikingly marked upon the noble fc> 
 tures of the landscape at once command 
 the notice of the beholder, and make him 
 feel, as he approaches it, that, in natural 
 .scenery at least, it is not ground unworthy 
 the favor of subjects of the British throne. 
 Here, where but sixty years ago the Indian 
 and the deer ranged in the forests, and, in 
 vuidisturbed solitude, overlooked the broad 
 bay, now, like a prosperous queen of its 
 waters, sits this rapidly increasing city, a 
 
 
 
LS. 
 
 OIIN. 
 
 Tin; \VI|)0\V'.S JKWKI.S. 
 
 17 
 
 lis little sketch 
 the scenery of 
 es of the con- 
 ty. Lacking, 
 steful culture 
 which we are 
 o us, perhaps, 
 loved than the 
 owns of New- 
 and grandeur 
 the noble fc\- 
 nce command 
 and make him 
 lal, in natural 
 lund unworthy 
 British throne, 
 ago the Indian 
 forests, and, in 
 oked the broad 
 s queen of its 
 ;rcasing city, a 
 
 long line of rocky and majestic hiJla ex- 
 teiuling on either hand. 
 ^ Hero has been the sc-ene of many an 
 
 iiitfn-.stinq; ,„h1 aflecling incident for the 
 jH'n of hifslory or romance to record ; but, 
 leaving lli,..,o, uc .sjiall turn to dully life, 
 and from this place select a suhjecf which, 
 tliough it never allracted public notice, and 
 is now humble in relation, may neverthe- 
 less not be unproiifable to the little public 
 for whom it is penned. 
 
 St. John has been, for a lime, iho home 
 of the writer; and near the spot where she 
 lived is the lonely dwelling-place of 
 poor INIrs. M'Coy. We call it lonely, 
 though it stood in the midst of that busy 
 city, and though, in the house which they 
 occu])ied, there were other families, like 
 themselves, emigrants from the coast of 
 Ireland ; but it was lonely because it was 
 the abode of the widow and fatherless, 
 who, oppressed by affliction and jJovcrly, 
 felt indeed that they were "strangers to 
 the VN^orld, unknown," and from their small 
 upper room saw not, as the gay, the rich, 
 2 
 
18 
 
 Tin: WIDOW'S jkwki.s. 
 
 may sor and Ifcl, llic exciting iiiiiniation 
 wliich fills llic. birast, wlii-ri.' bupiiu-ss rat- 
 lies ill its noisy course, and beauty, wealth 
 and fashion, walk abroad in briiflit display. 
 And yet in that upper room, where were 
 very few of the articles wliieh comfort 
 iTiigiit require, there was an innuence shed 
 down from al)ove, which car. sweetly sup- 
 ply the place of other comf(>rts; aiul even 
 where most scantily is furnished " the bread 
 which pcrishetli," can break in richest pro- 
 fusion to the hungry poor " the Ijread of 
 
 There was the table which " He who 
 rules on high" so liberally spreads; and 
 morning and evening did this little family 
 encircle that spiritual board, seeking spirit- 
 ual food : sometimes the tongue of the mo- 
 ther guided theirunited pctitions,and some- 
 times, in the childish tones and thoughts 
 of little William or Robert, prayer arose to 
 Him who " out of the mouths of babes 
 and sucklings has perfected praise." 
 
 Thus week after week went by, and cold 
 mid-winter, with its storms, was on the 
 land. From time to time, as Mrs. Selden 
 
i:i,3. 
 
 iiig iuiiniatioii 
 c busi'iiK'ss rat- 
 beauty, wealth 
 briglit display. 
 II, where wer(^ 
 vliieli eoinlort 
 iiilhieiiee shed 
 1. .sweetly snp- 
 >rts; and even 
 lied " the bread 
 : ill richest pro- 
 " the l)read of 
 
 lich " He who 
 spreads ; and 
 liis little family 
 , seeking spirit- 
 igaeof the mo- 
 ions, and some- 
 s and thoughts 
 prayer arose to 
 Duths of babes 
 1 praise." 
 L'nt by, and cold 
 s, was on the 
 as Mrs. Selden 
 
 TMi: WIDOWS JICWKLS. 
 
 19 
 
 saw tlieni, and learned their circumstances, 
 she found lliein happy wilh each other, 
 and wilh the; many blessings which they 
 numbered up; uncomplaining mid wants, 
 and rejoicing diat, while they were also 
 pres(rved from the extremes of hunger 
 and cold, they could look upward in love 
 to meet a heavenly Father's love, being 
 saved in their poverty from suffering "as 
 those who liuve no hope." 
 
 C'lIAPTER III, 
 
 A NOBLIC DOY. 
 
 How kind how, merciful, is that arrange- 
 ment of Providence which makes not hap- 
 piness and usefulness dependent upon the 
 possession of wealth, nor even withholds 
 from the very young the capacity to con- 
 tribute a share of iniluence to the stock of 
 human enjoyment. Robert had com- 
 menced his day labors upon the highway ; 
 and, during the few weeks in which he had 
 been so privileged, he had felt himself to 
 
20 
 
 Tin; WIDOWS jkwi:is. 
 
 be a happier boy than ever boforo. Hia 
 time was more ron.staiitly occupied, and 
 iie was conscious of newly awaUeiied en- 
 <T^y and dignity, IVoiu the important aid 
 he was tims rendering to iiis mother. 
 
 A wcelv was closing. Robert had been 
 all day al the employment which gave him 
 so much pleasure: for uninteresting in 
 itself, as may be Kupi)osed, was tiic occu- 
 pation of breaking large stones into small 
 ones; and fatiguing as it became when, 
 sitting hour after hour upon the rough pile 
 where he labored, he saw it only slowly 
 accumulating, as stroke by stroke with his 
 hammer he gradually diminished the; large 
 mass before him ; yet no thought of dis- 
 couragement at the very small compensa- 
 tion to be received, nor any feeling of 
 weariness, could induce him to give up 
 his post. As if he were constantly learn- 
 ing the value of perseverance from the 
 hard, unyielding nature, of the stones them- 
 selves, he labored away, and made the long 
 hours appear like short ones, by often re- 
 membering the aflectionalc smile of liis 
 mother when he had placed in her hand 
 
 
 
i:i H. 
 
 r before. His 
 occupied, and 
 awakened en- 
 important aid 
 s niotlier. 
 i)i)ert had l)een 
 liieh gave iiim 
 lintercsting in 
 was tiie occu- 
 jnes into small 
 became when, 
 I the rough pile 
 it only slowly 
 stroke with his 
 lished tlie large 
 thought of dis- 
 lall compcnj^a- 
 uiy feeling of 
 im to give up 
 [)nstantly learn- 
 ance from the 
 he stones them- 
 1 made the long 
 les, by often re- 
 c smile of liis 
 :cd in her hand 
 
 Tin; WIDOWS jewels. 
 
 21 
 
 the throe silver sixpences of a uook's wa- 
 ges, and in imagining what would bo her 
 delight and his own, when he should pre- 
 sent to her, in n form which his filial 
 alloction suggested, an unexpected luxury, 
 as the avails of his next payment; how it 
 would cure licr headache, cheer her spir- 
 its,^ and gain for him the oft-repeated, 
 "God bless you, my good Robert!" 
 
 Could the little boys, whose cheeks 
 would probably have been bedewed with 
 tears, if they had been compelled to en- 
 dure what they might call the hardship of 
 sitting thus at labor, in cold and poverty, 
 have seen young Robert*— his cheeks and 
 ears tinted with ruddiest crimson from ex- 
 posure to the wintery blasts— his eyes, with- 
 out a trace of tears, brightened by the 
 emotions of gratitude and affection, vvhile 
 his steady-going hammer kept time with 
 the tune he whistled— they could, over- 
 looking his well-patched jacket, almost 
 have been induced for awhile to exchange 
 their warm firesides for his warm heart ; 
 and, leaving the little pleasures which 
 
 * See frontispiece. 
 
 
 _A 
 
22 
 
 TiiK uiiiow s .ir.w ir.H. 
 
 iTiom-y can purdiaHc, ilicy would cortainly 
 havo felt and ac'kiio\vl('(lt,'('fl that tlicy are 
 all HHiall iiidrcd coriiiiarcd with llic pun; 
 plciisiin! ol iloiiii^ i(()()(l, 
 
 II WHS Saturday fvcniug. The hour 
 for hiui, wltli Ills fclh)\v-laborrrs, to leave 
 their tasks came with the shades of iiit!;ht, 
 and Robert, carefully putting up his ham- 
 mer, whieli constituted all his little stock 
 in trade, turned from the scene of his toil 
 with hajjpiness. A sabhsith-day of rest 
 was before hiui on the morrow: and ere 
 he should sleep, preparatory to entering 
 upon it, he could bring to his l)eloved mo- 
 ther a new comfort. Fjightly he turned 
 his steps toward the paymaster, and, re- 
 ceiving the money due to him, grasped the 
 rich treasure in his hand. The queen 
 herself had never such a pleasure as he 
 foretasted now — perhaps none to be pre- 
 ferred to it. 
 
 " Halloo, Bob M'C'oy !" called a young 
 rough voice to him from the opposite side 
 of the street. So occupied was Robert's 
 mind with the one thought which had 
 possessed it, that this sudden interruption 
 
I'ouUl rorlainly 
 l that ihcy are 
 wilh tlic |)un; 
 
 ig. The hour 
 borers, to Iciivo 
 hiidi'H of iiiu;lit, 
 ig up hirt huin- 
 
 his little stock 
 [•one of his toil 
 ith-iiay of rest 
 )rro\v : and ore 
 iry to filtering 
 Ills beloved nio- 
 ;hlly he turned 
 Master, and, re- 
 lim, grasped the 
 Tlie (piecii 
 
 pleasure as he 
 lonc to be j)re- 
 
 called a young 
 le opposite side 
 •d was Robert's 
 gilt which had 
 Jen ijitcrruption 
 
 r 
 
 rni: widow s jkwkls. 
 
 98 
 
 of it made him start, and, looking eonfu. 
 .sedly around, he distinguished, in ih,, faint 
 Iwiliglil, the stout litll.. form and tattered 
 eoat of Junu's Dolicrty. 
 
 "Where are you g„i„g so fast?" said 
 .lames; " I lliought the street itself was not 
 long enough for you then!" 
 
 " llonu-, as cpiiik as I ean, to mo- 
 ther," answered Robert, eontinuing on his 
 way. 
 
 "Not so fast, Hoi)," shouted James 
 again, eagerly ; " 1 am older than you, 
 and may be can tell you a word worth 
 Knowing." 
 
 " No, no," said Robert ; " I have a great 
 deal to do to-night." 
 
 "() yes, and don't [ know it? your 
 ealeeliism to b.; sure. Ah ha! That's 
 for being sueh a foolish lory that you 
 were to learn to read indeed! Ihn you 
 must wait a bit," said he, looking at Ro- 
 bert, who heeded him not. Then using 
 all speed, he soon overtook the eomposed 
 boy, and holding out his hand, contaiiii ig 
 a few eoi)|)ers, said softly, slyly nodding 
 his head, ".Just down by the yard yonder 
 
 
u 
 
 nil. wiDuw.H .ir.w i.i.H. 
 
 is 11 nice liiuuly ooriu-r, wlirnr I'atiick Mii* 
 IxUH'y aiiil 1 have been liiiniii^ coppers so 
 neatly to-day : Irt youi iiiotlicr t^o, ami 
 come you willi tlie cliam^c llic man ijavo 
 you; Hi'i* wlio'll v.iii, iiikI good liuU to 
 you." 
 
 "James Uoheriy!" exclaimed Robert; 
 f»nd bv' was about to add, "you are a 
 wickfd iiuy;" but cheeking liims^eif, re- 
 niembiriiig that ibis would only uiakc 
 James augry, and prevent liis doing liiin 
 any good, lie ^<aid solemnly, " Who are you 
 talking to! / let my good mother go, in- 
 deed ! and I am her oldest son, and she is 
 my best earthly iVieiid I Let her go, James, 
 and go with you to spend so wieketlly the 
 money I have received ; not 1 1" 
 
 " Your mother's oldi-st son, to be sure 
 you are," said James, " and wiser tlian 
 many an older one, as myself, you think. 
 But you yet can learn a little ; and it is I 
 can tell you it is far easier to throw a 
 copper with a good lad than to sit beat- 
 ing at stones all day." 
 
 " Not easier for me," said Robert, digiii- 
 fiedly. " And, James, do you know ivho 
 
 r 
 
 4 
 
 f 
 
If I'atiick Mil- 
 ling ciippt-rs so 
 lotlier f,'t), and 
 • lln' limn a;iiv(! 
 good liu'k to 
 
 aimed Robert ; 
 il, "you nro a 
 liif hiinsi'lf, rn- 
 Id only make 
 
 his doing liini 
 " Wlio are you 
 
 motlior go, in- 
 snn, and she is 
 I her go, .laiiii'S, 
 «) wickinlly the 
 jt I !" 
 
 son, to l)c sure 
 uid wiser tlian 
 soil", you think. 
 Itle ; and it is I 
 ier to throw a 
 lan to sit beat- 
 
 J Robert, digni- 
 you know who 
 
 riu: WIDOWS .ii;WKI,a. 
 
 M 
 
 i 
 
 { 
 
 KPes yon all tlir- time, and knows your win 1 
 \n\\ lorifcl Hiiil when you eall il en:iy : 
 no I il is Imnl work to sin I" 
 
 " And who nays it is sin, you sinner, 
 just to pilch a copper at a stick, and sec il 
 turn tlie very way you said it would, and 
 piU il in your pocket then so sweclly? as 
 it' that were not your own, and stealing 
 you were all the time. No, no I it is the 
 sauK! thing that's done by gentlemen : and 
 when I am old enough 1 will learn how 
 llu-y turn the cards ! t'ome, we are just by 
 the place." 
 
 "James, I told you I sliould lot go! I 
 am in a hurry to go home; and if I had 
 the whole day and sunshine before me I 
 would not go with you. I tell you it is 
 sin: were those coppers each a golden 
 'sovereign,' and wer<! a thousand more 
 there shining by them, 1 would not take 
 one of them sol It is sin, and no gentle- 
 man can make the mattt r any better." 
 
 The wretched urchin turned around 
 facing Robert, and, dancing along back- 
 ward directly in his path, raised aloft his 
 hand containing the coppers, and shaking 
 
 
26 
 
 THE WIDOW'S JKWELS. 
 
 it until each rent in his dirty sleeve became 
 visible, cxdainied, " Ha, ha ! let every 
 man laugh that wins." 
 
 " zVh, ah ! let every hoy mourn that sins," 
 responded Robert. 
 
 And so their interview ended ; for poor 
 Doherty was one of those who " refuse in- 
 struction," and always hasten to escape 
 from it, where escape is possible. His 
 parents were both unhappily of the same 
 description, who, having lived long in dis- 
 regard of sin, seldom feared or thought 
 upon its punishment, and were rapidly 
 preparing to leave to their numerous family 
 of sons and danghtcrs the miserable in- 
 heritance of their own poverty, idleness, 
 and sin ; with the sure prospect of its 
 final, just recompense — even endless death. 
 Much as these circumstances of their com- 
 fortless and discordant heme recommended 
 the children to the sympathy of those who 
 condemn sin — although untaught, as they 
 were, beneath that profane roof — yet from 
 time to time a voice reached their hearts 
 as they turned to commit evil ; for God 
 has not left himself without witness, even 
 
 
 •--.#., ■IB«>^»••> 
 
WELS. 
 
 y sleeve became 
 ha ! let every 
 
 nourii that sins," 
 
 Muled ; for poor 
 who " refuse in- 
 aslen to escape 
 possible. His 
 )ily of the same 
 ived long in dis- 
 ired or thought 
 d were rapidly 
 lumcrous family 
 le miserable in- 
 overfy, idleness, 
 prospect of its 
 en endless death. 
 ws of their com- 
 ic rcconunendcd 
 hy of those who 
 ntaught, as they 
 3 roof — yet from 
 hed their hearts 
 t evil ; for God 
 ut witness, even 
 
 Tin-: WIDOWS J i; WELS. 
 
 27 
 
 in such abodes, and in such hearts. Con- 
 science, tli;it sure evidence of his own 
 existence, everywhere remains the faithful 
 friend and teacher of the young, and al- 
 thongli to these persons, blinded by ig- 
 norance and superstition, the holy word 
 of God was as a sealed book, yet this 
 moving principle within, ever gathered for 
 them choice instructions from the light and 
 truth, which, in our favored lands, are so 
 widely scattered from its pages. 
 
 Conscience taught, then, of the sin of 
 this species of gambling ; and, silently re- 
 proved within his own bosom, as well as by 
 the words of Robert, James hastily sought 
 to flee both the words and thoughts of re- 
 monstrance so annoying to him, and, mur- 
 muring the angry curse he dared not 
 pronounce, darted down the lane leading 
 to the "nice handy corner" to which he 
 had been inviting Robert, hoping to meet 
 there with some more reatiy victim of his 
 temptations and skill: for James had so 
 thoroughly learned the art of cheating, and 
 had so little regard for truth, that seldom 
 did a copper make its appearance upon 
 
 
28 
 
 rrir. widow's ,ir.\vi:r.s. 
 
 " pitrliing ground," wliore lie was piTSOiil, 
 wliitli ho (lid not maiinge in somi; way to 
 pans into his pocket ; while few indeed of 
 them ever escaped thence to appease the 
 anger of those, who, vexed at the " luck " 
 which "wicked Jim" kept in his own con- 
 trol, not only sacrificed their money and 
 disobeyed the right, but received from him 
 their first lessons in swearing. 
 
 But Robert had given to conscience, 
 that friendly voice from God, a strong place 
 in his heart, and therefore could not be 
 easily betrayed into evil ; for those wdio 
 fear the Lord, arc kept from falling into 
 sin by his power. Again, as he pro- 
 ceeded homeward, his thoughts returned 
 to the pleasing subject from which they 
 had for a time been diverted by pity for 
 the vicious boy. And when he came to 
 a grocer's store, brightly lighted, he bound- 
 ed in, and, laying upon the counter two of 
 his sixpences, dem;inded their equivalent 
 in ij^nod tea. As he received the small 
 parcel from the tradesman's hands, a smile 
 of delight overspread his features, and the 
 involuntary words, " My dear good mo- 
 
^ 
 
 VIU.S. 
 
 he was present, 
 11 soint! way to 
 ! few indeed of 
 to appease the 
 1 at the " luek " 
 in his own eon- 
 eir money and 
 eived from him 
 
 to conseieiice, 
 :1, a strong plae.c 
 e eonld not be 
 
 for those who 
 rom falHng into 
 in, as he pro- 
 ingiits returned 
 im whieh they 
 rted by pity for 
 hen he eanie to 
 hted, he bound- 
 ! counter two of 
 iheir ecpiivalent 
 •ived the small 
 s hands, a smile 
 I'atures, and the 
 dear sood mo- 
 
 ^ 
 
 THK WIDOWS JEWELS. 
 
 29 
 
 iherl'' dropped touehingly from his lips. 
 It was worth a wecU of toil indeed I Chi'er- 
 fnlly tlii'M laying down th(! remaining six- 
 piMicc, 111' pnreliased with it a fi'W potatoes 
 and three or lour candles. 
 
 VV'iiii n prond heart and light stej) he 
 sprang up the stairs leading to tiie low 
 room in whieh they lived ; then, setting by 
 the potatoes and candles, he went softly 
 up to his mother, and, placing in her hand 
 the new luxury, turned quickly to the win- 
 dow to conceal tiui tears which were 
 starting to his eye. 
 
 "Robert! my good Robert I God spare 
 you to us !" ejaculated the poor woman ; 
 and laying her hand upon his head, with 
 fervent kiss, and fervent faith, she silently 
 asked for iiim the richest blessings which 
 heaven might condescend to give. 
 
30 
 
 TIIK WiUOW'S JKWKLS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 T U V K KIND N IC S S. 
 
 HiMBi.K and courti'ous in liis nianiuT 
 loward all, Robert was rapidly gaining 
 friends. Among tlin lew who began to 
 appreciate his unassuming worth, were 
 some who were able to assi.^t him in his 
 eilbrts for a livelihood, by furnishing him 
 occasional employment. But not from 
 such individuals alone did he seem desir- 
 ous of securing favor; the poor, and fee- 
 ble, and aged, shared in i1h; attentions 
 ^vhi(•h he could bestow, and among them, 
 where least observed by others, were some 
 of the brightest manifestations of his kind- 
 ness. One, who was almost blind, he 
 was in the habit of guarding to and from 
 meeting, when other infirmities did not 
 prevent her from attending. With another, 
 who was old, and much alfected by a can- 
 cer in the head, he was accustomed fre- 
 quently to sit in his leisure moments, 
 sometimes reading to her from the word 
 of God ; and when one day a little boy, 
 
 TTtl" 
 
VKLS. 
 
 V. 
 
 K S S. 
 
 ill liis nianiUT 
 aj)idly gainins; 
 wilt) bocfiin to 
 g worth, were. 
 jsi.-t liim ill liis 
 funiisliing him 
 But not from 
 lio seem dcsir- 
 ; poor, and foe- 
 
 th(; attentions 
 id among tliem, 
 hers, were some 
 ons of hi.s kind- 
 most blind, he 
 ng to and from 
 •mitics did not 
 
 With another, 
 icctcd by a can- 
 iccnstomed fre- 
 sure moments, 
 ' from the word 
 lav a little bov, 
 
 niK wiDDW.-i ,n-\vi;LS. 
 
 81 
 
 i 
 
 who had been sent to her with some iioney 
 for iier eougli, exclaimed disdaiiifiiily to 
 Robert, becan.-e ol' tlie long visit he had 
 been making in her room, " I'oh ! /was 
 glad enongh to get away as soon as I 
 eould, her head smells so bad, and looks 
 so disagreeably with those thick bandages," 
 Robert only answered by saying that fic 
 could bear il very well, thongii it did seem 
 bad, because he thonght to himself, 
 " What if she were «)// mother., and living 
 alone so ? T should want some one to be 
 willing to sit by her then 1" 
 
 For many, indeed, Robert was never 
 unwilling to perform any service, and was 
 freciLienlly oflering his aid; so that in the 
 small circle with which he was eonneeled, 
 his very name was beloved, and his com- 
 ing everywhere welcomed. 
 
 Some, who are not thoughtfully desirous 
 of improving every opportunity to add to 
 the happiness of mankind, may think these 
 were biU small matters, and regarding them 
 as of little consequence, will be very likely 
 to lose the jjleasure of contributing their 
 aid toward increasing the general .stock of 
 
32 
 
 THK WIDOW'S .JK\VKI.8. 
 
 good, forgoltiiii^ how luucli tlicy really 
 viii^/il do, and Iciiviiiii; to tliosc only who 
 ciui ])C'rl'orni {^ront deeds, whieh may a1- 
 tract the iiotiee of hundreds, llie delight of 
 relieviiiir, in some degree, tlie sorrows ol 
 the world. Siieh persons, would they re- 
 flect a inomenl, will be surprised to lind 
 how mueh llie eond'ort of tlieir lives has 
 depended upt)n little kindnesses and mo- 
 mentary attentions, and how small a share 
 ol' it has been caused by any sii'i'dl efl'orts 
 of others in their behalf. 
 
 The eartli in its lovely drapery of green, 
 the trees which compose our vast forests — 
 even that one which may stand loltiesl, 
 and highest wave its luxuriant branches — 
 owe not their beauty and their grandeur 
 more to the copious shower and favoring 
 noontide sun, than to thi> softened morning 
 beams and gently nursing dt'ws of eve. 
 Then let the youngest heart which may 
 have learned to estimate a comfort, begin 
 to cherish there that true benevolence 
 which will lead it to seek, in small events, 
 lO bless the world. Afterward, " because 
 they have been faithful in little," the com- 
 
 
VEL9. 
 
 icli they really 
 liosc only who 
 which iiiiiy a1- 
 S llii' (li'li^hl of 
 tiic sdirows ol 
 
 would llicy rc- 
 irpiiscd lo lliul 
 
 lljc'ir lives h;is 
 iicsscH and iiio- 
 w small a share 
 iiy lii'Cdt eflbrts 
 
 rapery of green, 
 u' vast loresls — 
 ^ stand loltiest, 
 iant branches — 
 
 their grandeur 
 ■r and favoring 
 iftened morning 
 T dewo of eve. 
 art which may 
 
 comfort, l)cgin 
 te benevoleneo 
 in small events, 
 ward, " because 
 Utile," the corn- 
 
 rni. WIDOWS .Ji;\vi;i.s. 
 
 S3 
 
 mission lo do ihose great things which they 
 desire may be given tliem. 
 
 (Jood lililc Andrew did not huigli at 
 lloberl, wlien one nigin, meeting him in 
 liie shvet with his arms full of shavings, he 
 a.^ked, •■ Wliei-u are yon going, Robert?" 
 " 'i'o maki' a clean bed for old Mrs. Mo- 
 rey's pig," said Robert. 
 
 " Von ace always kind to every one, 
 Roberl; and so 1 suppose every one thinks 
 you have nolhing else to do." 
 
 " No," said Robert, " she did not ask me 
 lo do this for him ; but you know she has 
 no little boys to wait upon her, and I 
 ihoughi poor piggy must be cold there 
 alone, in his wet, dirty nest: so as I was 
 coming by Mr. Williams' work-shop, I 
 begged these shavings for him. I believe 
 I shall sleep the belter to-night myself, to 
 know that I have made even a poor little 
 j)ig more romlortable than he would have 
 been but for me." 
 
 Meantime William was emulating his 
 elder brother in goodi:ess, and, so far as his 
 younger age and lender frame would per- 
 mit, was very ambitious lo follow his ex- 
 3 
 
7' 
 
 yi 
 
 iiii; widdw s ,;i.\vi;i.;*. 
 
 ample, unci iicrrnriii lal)()rs of u.sfriiliifss. 
 Soiiu'tii'U's ln> was iiitnistcil with the 
 cliargc of an I'rrand, wlicn Robert was 
 ollirrwisc I'Mgai^cd ; anil llif speed ;ind ae- 
 (iiraey willi wliiili lie sui'ceeded in per- 
 lormint; il, olU'u gained liiin llie surprise 
 and reward of the indiviilual w!u> had 
 employed him. 
 
 Then, too, he hiid been able l)y manly 
 olVorl to keep tlieir hearth-stono warm 
 during the eokl winter days, tints i'ar, l)y 
 his diligence in bringing home the cliips 
 which the laborers in the ship yards al- 
 lowed him to gather nj) from around 
 ihem ; and when these failed ho would 
 go to llie distant forests, often in storms 
 and snows, and bind up the knots and dry 
 branches which the fierce winds had bro- 
 ken frcin the trees and strewed upon the 
 ground ; and (^lily did he divide these 
 necessary but humble supplies with the 
 poor widow, Mrs. Meloy, living in the 
 next room, who, aged and almost blind, 
 had neither son nor daughter to cheer her 
 loneliness, nor penny of her own in store 
 to relieve her wants; l>ul,di >endent upon 
 
 ' i' 
 
,\vi;i.s. 
 
 •S ol' USfl'lllllCSS. 
 
 istcil with till- 
 u>ii Robert was 
 lie sjircd ;iiiil lu- 
 ii'ii'cdctl ill |)cr- 
 liiiii till' siirpriM! 
 iiluiil wlio liuil 
 
 1 iililu by manly 
 irtli-stoiio warm 
 lays, tlnis I'ar, l)y 
 ; home tlio cliips 
 o ship yards al- 
 ij) from arouiul 
 laili'd ho woul<l 
 orton ill storms 
 ihe knots and dry 
 -' winds had bro- 
 trewed upon the 
 ho dividu these 
 ipplieS with the 
 ly, living in iho 
 lid almost blind, 
 filter to cheer her 
 her own in store 
 d( oendont upon 
 
 Tin: winows ,n:wi:r,8. 
 
 35 
 
 llie very scanty |)rovisions jillorded as her 
 share (rom the parish, was almost unknown 
 to charity, and was waiting only lor tlie 
 (liaiige which would remove iier from her 
 inlirmilies and poverty to the weary pil- 
 grim's home — the grave. 
 
 The little boys were both liapjiy in do- 
 ing all in their power for her coin fort ; nor 
 were their sincere endeavors unavailing. 
 Robert was always ready, when at home, 
 to serve her in some way ; and William, 
 in addition to the chips, shavings, and 
 branches, with which he contributed with 
 some success to warm her tr-mbliug limbs, 
 was not less useful to her. 
 
 At the foot of a high, rugged hill, a short 
 distance from them, a small spring of wa- 
 ter issued from the bank, and, falUng over 
 the projecting point of a ledge of rocks, 
 supplied many poor emigrants with almost 
 the only article of use to be obtained with- 
 out money or price. From this little foun- 
 tain William brought water for their daily 
 use, until now, in the severity of the cold, 
 the small stream was so choked by the ice 
 that it was long ere a bucket could be 
 
/' 
 
 36 
 
 nil: WIDOWS .iF.WKi.s. 
 
 lilli'il Ironi it. '.iinl tlio stoiic!^ mid surrouiicl- 
 lUfT I'lulKnikiiicnl wm- so c-ovcred by itH 
 Ihi.k imrustiilions, lli;il, as his sliocs wt-r.- 
 \vt)iii out, he could no loiii,'fr slmid and 
 wait as lonncily lor tin- slowly <lrrl)|)inK 
 liquid; lliis aticiilioii 1o liis iiiollirr and 
 INIis. Mi-loy liad tiuTi'lon' passed into tli<! 
 care of llio more iiaidy Rohcrt. 
 
 Oiii- I'vcnini:, liastcnin^' lioinc froni his 
 cinployuicnt, -and ijuickly [jorforming the 
 customary iillli' services Cor each, lie stood 
 leanlni^ ai^'ainsl the low window, looking 
 down upon thi; many houses about thorn. 
 He was planning for future; years; his 
 thoughts roved wildly. aii<i hope promised 
 fairly, as he summed up a long list of time, 
 and "labor, and knowledge, and pleasures 
 which ho was fan(!ying would be his por- 
 tion. He would l)e willing, he thought, 
 to )"'>or hard to deny liimself; and he 
 wou.d do so: then, having at-ipiired the 
 knowledge and resources which he imagin- 
 ed wonlii satisfy his wishes, he went on to 
 paint in his mind the snug lioim- li<' would 
 like to have for his mother's comfort ; he 
 seemed to see her occupying the principal 
 
 
 Tm'. 
 
WKI.S. 
 
 L*» aiul fturround- 
 ) covered by ilH 
 s Ills slicM'H wen' 
 iiii^rr stand :ui<l 
 sli)\vly tliippiiij,' 
 his iiiDllicr iiiid 
 • passed into the 
 ol)ert. 
 
 •y home Irom his 
 / performing ihe 
 or eaeh, lie stood 
 \vin(h)\v, h)oking 
 uses about tliein. 
 nture years; his 
 id hope promised 
 1 long list ol' time, 
 (c, and ph-asures 
 ft'ould be his por- 
 llin<r, he tliought, 
 hiiTisell'; and lie 
 ing a^-ipiired the 
 whieh lie iinagin- 
 les, he went on to 
 g liome he would 
 lier's comfort ; he 
 ying the principal 
 
 \ 
 
 riJi: wiuow.-. iiwr.LS. 
 
 37 
 
 scat within it— a little older it is true than 
 now, but softly touched by the hand of 
 ag»!, so that she could still retain her health 
 and capacity to enjoy the pleasures he 
 would deliglit to i)our at her feet after her 
 long series of hardshijis and toils. (), this 
 was the brightest part of the picture, and 
 long did he dwell upon it, changing and 
 improving his fancied arrangements, as he 
 thought would best please her, with all the 
 Ultcrest of reality. Then his little sister 
 
 
iiM 
 
 nil. wiixiw .-, .ii,wi.i,s. 
 
 Nilly .*lioulil l\iu)W no want dI' aui^lit lin 
 could procure io ^raiily her; William 
 sliouitl i)c siMit to school, and Im- sui)|>li('d 
 with means to support liiiiiscli'; and all 
 their now poor and anxious circle! should 
 l)c happy — when he should be a man ! (), 
 how should lie then gladden the hearts of 
 the poor whom he Unew, and how gene- 
 rously would he remeiul)er to reward any 
 little destitute boy whom he might send on 
 errands for him, when he himself wouKl 
 be the geiUleman. 
 
 So busy was he with his boyish schemes 
 as to forget his fatigue and the darkness of 
 the hour — all in the bright days of coming 
 years. Suddenly a town clock reminded 
 him that the time was approaching in 
 which old Mrs. Meloy was to go out to 
 her evening meeting; he left the fair dreams 
 of future prosperity and usefulness which 
 he was picturing, and presented himself as 
 usual as her door to accompany her, still 
 exhilarated by the cflect of his imagination. 
 
 The old lady, sitting on a low stool by 
 the fire, was just putting on a clean cap. 
 As Robert opened the door, his Utile sister 
 
il III aiii^'lil lie 
 her; VV'illiiiiri 
 11(1 1m' sii|)|ili(Ml 
 iiiscit'; aiul all 
 rt ci«l(! sliould 
 
 I 1)0 a man ! O, 
 
 II llic iioarts of 
 iiiul liow gciic- 
 
 to reward any 
 might spiul on 
 himsolf would 
 
 joyish schomcs 
 llie darkness of 
 days of coming 
 ;lock reminded 
 ipproaeliiiig in 
 s to go out to 
 t the fair dreams 
 iefulnesH which 
 nted himself as 
 inpany her, still 
 lis imagination, 
 a low stool by 
 3U a clean cap. 
 ', his little sister 
 
 nil, WIDOW-, .IKWKI.S. 
 
 30 
 
 Nelly npiang lioin licr iiostiire by the 
 HJiouldcr (•( the poor woman, upon which 
 file had been leaning during the story sho 
 had been listening to from her lips, and 
 <l'i|)ping her hands with joy, as a pleasant 
 thought seemed atoiic(! to suggest itself to 
 her mind, she said, « () Ilcibert, Robert, 
 come in; 1 want to iell ycm something. 
 (), I wish it were not so dark now, then 
 you could see ; i)iit only think, grandma 
 Meloy's hair is turning black ! I wish you 
 could see it; there's one black hair, and 
 then another, and another, and close by it 
 two or three together, all turned as black! 
 Sha'nt you be glad when they arc all 
 alike ? Then I guess she will be young 
 again, and stand straighter ami walk 
 faster than she does now ; and I suppose 
 she will se(! again: she will not wish, 
 Roi)ert, to have you come to go to rroct- 
 ing with her then." 
 
 " No, no," said the poor woman, shaking 
 her head, " I shall never be young again. 
 Once, many, many long years ago, my 
 hair was dark and smooth, like your own 
 bright locks ; my eyes were as blue and 
 
 
1: 
 
 40 
 
 THE AVIDOAV'S JKWKLS. 
 
 quick lo see ; my check as soft and round ; 
 aii-i I could sland as straight and run as 
 fast as your little self, Nelly. But O those 
 years have jQ;one : lliey came and went so 
 swiftly that I scarce could tell how ihey 
 passed. But by and by, here and tluu-e a 
 white hair came, and wriiddc followed 
 wrinkle on my cheek, and from my eye 
 the clear blue faded, my sight grew dim, 
 my ear grew dull of hearing, my steps 
 were slow and slower still, till my feet 
 trembled as I put them to the ground, and 
 my shoulders bowed down beneath the 
 weight of almost eighty years. 
 
 " Now lay your hand just here, Nelly, 
 upon your heart: you feel it beating full 
 and fast — that is your life. You eatuiot 
 make it still, nor could you wake it into 
 motion if it once should cease to throb. 
 It was God who gave it first that motion, 
 and it is he who keejjs it active still. Per- 
 haps for eighty years to come he will watch 
 around it every little moment, that it may 
 not cease ; or he may bid it noon to beat no 
 more. But should he condescend to guard 
 you thus so many years, then you will be 
 
 Trrii: 
 
 I 
 
VELS. 
 
 soft and round ; 
 i;ht and nin as 
 {. Bui O lliopo 
 no and wont so 
 
 tell how llicy 
 ere and tlxsre a 
 rinklc followed 
 1 from my eye 
 iglit grew dim, 
 iring, my steps 
 II, till my feet 
 he ground, and 
 vn beneath the 
 ars. 
 ust here, Nelly, 
 
 it beating full 
 You eaimot 
 lU wake it into 
 cease to throb. 
 •St that motion, 
 'tivc still. Per- 
 le he will watch 
 [•nt, that it may 
 soon to beat no 
 escend to guard 
 len you will be 
 
 VnV, WIDOWS JKWELS. 
 
 41 
 
 as I am now, and need some happy little 
 child for your lonely hours, or some kind 
 hand like Robert's to lead you to the place 
 of prayer." 
 
 " O grandma !'' she exclaimed ; " and 
 then shall we live on, and be always so 
 old, and lonesome, and sick ?" 
 
 " Not always, Nelly. Feel here, my heart 
 beats slower and more feebly than yours 
 and Robert's. ft will not beat much 
 longer, for its strength is almost gone, and, 
 before many monlhs are passed, probably 
 it can move no more ; then, when it has 
 moved for the last time, this breath will 
 cease, these dull eyes will close, this face, 
 these limbs, will still'on, and be laid away 
 in the grave, to molder, and blacken, and 
 crnmblc into dust. ]?ut still, Nelly, 1 shall 
 live; God will then have called my spirit 
 to himself: there, in that other world, I 
 shall not need this heart to beat, or these 
 limbs to move — like the angels I shall 
 live. 
 
 " But there will be a day of glory and 
 of t(Tror, such as has never been — for CJod 
 will come. Man shall look upward to the 
 
42 
 
 nil, wii)i>\v.s .iiiwi'.Lrt. 
 
 openinc; skies, and buliold liiiii there in 
 juvl'ul brightness, surrouiuled by a thou- 
 sand limes ton tliousand of his angels. 
 The sun and stars shall fadt' away before 
 him ; the mountains and the seas shall 
 tremble at his pr( sence ; and when he shall 
 utter his voiee, it shall shake terribly the 
 earth, and all ihc; dead shall hear it. 'J'hen, 
 rising from their long slumbers, these bo- 
 dies, once decayed and mingling undis- 
 tinguished with the dust, shall put on life 
 immortal at his eominand. None can dis- 
 obey him then, or Ihre the glances of his 
 eye, or tarry in the grave. Yon will be 
 there, / shall be there, to occupy again 
 these bodies ; not blackened and inolder- 
 ing, as when the worms fed upon them in 
 their dark abode; not old, and weary, and 
 sick, as when the spirit left them; but, sown 
 in corruption, they shall be raised in incor- 
 ruption, never t«) grow sick, and weary, 
 and old, again : but if buried in fjiith, new- 
 rising, theyrhall meet the; Saviour's smile, 
 and in the twinkling of an eye be changed; 
 beautiful and happy for ever shall they be, 
 like his own most glorious body. 
 
^ 
 
 Iiiiii iIktc ill 
 L'd by a thou- 
 of his angds. 
 ]v away bofciro 
 tlit> seas shall 
 1 when ho shall 
 ike terribly the 
 hear it. 'J'hen, 
 bcrs, these bo- 
 lingling uiulis- 
 lall put oil life 
 
 None can <lis- 
 
 gliuices of hid 
 
 Yoii will be 
 
 oecupy again 
 d and inolder- 
 
 upon them in 
 ind weary, and 
 KMTi; bill, sown 
 •ai-sed in incor- 
 k, and weary, 
 d in faith, new 
 laviinir's smile, 
 ye be ehanged; 
 r shall they be, 
 bodv. 
 
 Ii: WIlMiU » .IKWKLS. 
 
 43 
 
 
 " Heeaiise of sin once, fJod coiulemned 
 all nuuikiiid to di(! in punislnueiil ; but 
 because Christ redeemed us by his death, 
 the bodies of those who forsake sin, be- 
 lieving in him, shall be restored to life 
 cv-e.-lastinry. That as sin hath reigned 
 unto death, even so might grace reign, 
 through rigliteousness, nnto eternal life." 
 
 Robert turned away with a sigh and 
 a smile. With a sigh— -for the solemn 
 thoughts upon that certain and awful fu- 
 ture, had dissipated the frail vision of the 
 brief and uneerlain future which he had 
 been so busy in portraying to himself; but' 
 a smile may well follow such a sigh, when 
 the heart can feel itself secure in pardoned 
 sin from the fear and destruction which is 
 to overtake those who have not " (led for 
 refuge" to the blood of Christ. 
 
 
M 
 
 rnii wiuuw'o je\v:;ls. 
 
 CIIArTER V. 
 
 U O IJ K R T ' S D K A T II . 
 
 Anothkr Friday night came around, 
 and scarce a week had passed away, since, 
 exhilarated with joy and health, Robert had 
 almost flown upthe stairs to meet the bless- 
 ing and prayer of his pious mother. That 
 prayer was soon to be answered by Him 
 who icnows " what best for each will prove," 
 and who will surely recompense the bless- 
 ing of the parent upon the head of the 
 child. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon as he turned 
 his steps homeward from his labor. The 
 dark purple clouds lay threateningly and 
 low along the horizon, and thewintery-night 
 winds swept coldly through the streets and 
 lanes of the city. As the darkness in- 
 creased, tiie chill blasts became more and 
 more penetrating ; and, as they hurried one 
 after the other, bore along upon their course 
 clouds of the light snow which had fallen 
 during the day. 
 
 The traveler, who here and there was 
 
 r-.. 
 
 TtS' 
 
\v:;ls. 
 
 V. 
 
 ATII. 
 
 Tin-; WIDOWS jewels. 
 
 45 
 
 it came around, 
 set! away, since, 
 ralth, Robert had 
 o meet the bless- 
 s mother. That 
 iswcrcd by Him 
 each will prove," 
 ipensc the bless- 
 thc head of the 
 
 oon as he turned 
 his labor. The 
 ireatcningly and 
 the wintcry -night 
 ;li llie streets and 
 he darkness in- 
 ccamc more and 
 they hurried one 
 apon their course 
 which had fallen 
 
 i and there was 
 
 facing the rough wind, felt its force, and 
 shivcringly galJKired his thick clothes more 
 clo.-cly about hiin. 
 
 Trembling more than he was wont to 
 do before the cold, and with no exira gar- 
 ment to protect iiiin, Robert ctmid only 
 grasp his little jacket lightly to him with 
 one hand, while, quickening his |)ace, he 
 pressed the other to his aching head. 
 Flushed and fatigued, it was with dilli- 
 cully he could ascend the long llights of 
 stairs leading to their abode; and when he 
 had performed the tasks which devolved 
 upon him at night, for his motiier and 
 IMrs. Meloy, he sunk down upon his little 
 couch, feverish and restless, begging his 
 mother to pray that the pain in his head 
 might aliate. All night scarcely could he 
 refrain from disturbing the family with his 
 groans ; and when the morning light ap- 
 peared, his waking eye hailed its coming, 
 but it brought no relief to that deep-seated 
 pain. Unable to rise during all the day, 
 the long hours, as they passed, seemed but 
 to add to it in their wearisome /light. To- 
 ward evening, his anxious mother, alarmed 
 
 I 
 
f^ 
 
 46 
 
 TIIK WIDOWri ,ir.\VEL8. 
 
 much by his inorcascd sntlfriiii^Siaiid IVar- 
 iiigtlic rt'sult, lliou^h not expecting iniinc- 
 diiitc danger to iiis life, sent away Utile 
 William i'or a physieian. |}ut it was too 
 late. A fatal disease was uj)on the brain, 
 so speedy in it.^ distressing en'eets, that 
 medicine could not clieck its power, (uul 
 was calling him home ; and, with a heart 
 almost breaking, his mother bowed above 
 him, and watched the symptoms of a|)- 
 proaching death. 
 
 He only who formed that heart- -who 
 had once before visited it in " disguised 
 love," leaving it wiilowcd and bereft — could 
 now measure its deep sorrow, as the dread- 
 ful blow was about to fall upon it, again 
 to remove the earthly hope on which she 
 leaned. liut He who layeth waste can 
 best restore. While he marks the degree 
 of allliction needed, and measures the sor- 
 row of his snfl'ering ones, his own unerrin<T 
 skill knows how to mete out consoling 
 grace for the bitter moment of trial here, 
 and also, how rich treasures to reserve for 
 tile mourning, in the !)right world where 
 the cause of every gri(>f shall be known, 
 
 
EWELS. 
 
 lVt'riii^s,aiul IVar- 
 ('X|)cctiiig iniiiic- 
 .seiit away Utile 
 Hut it was too 
 i upon the brain, 
 ■'iiii,' cn't'cts, thai 
 its power. (uhI 
 11(1, witli a heart 
 ler bowed above 
 yniptoms of a|)- 
 
 tlial heart -who 
 it in " disguised 
 nd bereft — rouid 
 ow, as tiie dread- 
 11 upon it, again 
 pc on which she 
 lyeth waste can 
 narks the degree 
 tieasures the sor- 
 ^lis own unerring 
 e out consoling 
 -■nl of trial here, 
 res to reserve for 
 ^ht world where 
 shall be known. 
 
 TUK WIDOW'S JKWKI.8. 
 
 47 
 
 and every sigh and tear receive its just 
 reooinpeMS(! of reward. 
 
 " So comforted, and so sustained," Mrs. 
 M'Coy WMlehed hiin as the short br«'alh 
 grt>w shorter still; and catching the last 
 smile froin his lips, as his spirit was de- 
 parting, closed his eyes just as the light of 
 th(> holy sabbath niorn was beaming upon 
 the earth. 
 
 CIIAl'TEll VI. 
 
 U O IJ E U T • S U U U I A L . 
 
 One of the mildest days which winter 
 had brought during all its reign, was the 
 Monday which followed this sabbath. Tlu; 
 very winds Fccmcd hushed and soft as 
 spring time, as if unwilling to add to the 
 widow's gloom by one mournful note. 
 The sun looked into the low window of 
 Iheir little room, with warm and cheerful 
 light. It was shining for the last time upon 
 the still form there which was so recently 
 rejt)icing in its brightness. 
 
 It was the bnrial day of little Robert 
 
 ■ 
 
4X 
 
 Tin; winows ji;\vi:r.s. 
 
 I . ** '* 
 
 Hill, calm as was the air, and briglit the 
 stuiiliji;ht, they coulcl not rheer into ono 
 monicMit's rorgclt'iihicss, tlic hcaitri of ihoso 
 sincere mourners lor the dead. 
 
 Desolate, indeed, is the dwelling of the 
 weallhy, where sorrow and death are visit- 
 ing ; and a loneliness is there, which not 
 the presence and sympathy of many friinds, 
 nor all the pom of richi's, can relieve. 
 l?nt when in the )ode of deep poverty tli(! 
 shadow of derail falls, llicrc is gloom which . 
 naught but the light of (iod's smile can 
 penetrate; when from thence the promising 
 hope and future siipjiort are removed, Utcrc 
 is a weight of sorrow which jjitsscs the 
 spirits down. 
 
 When the hour appointed for the cere- 
 iTiony arrived, a few individuals, some of 
 them strangers to the alllicted mother, but 
 who had known young Robert, and appre- 
 ciated his worth, assembled in the small attic 
 room once his home, the ceiling of which was 
 so low that ihey could scarcely stand erect. 
 The decent black colVm in which he was 
 now laid, attired for the grave, stood all 
 uncovered upon two chairs in the centre 
 
 TTtS'-' 
 
\vi:i.s. 
 
 and bright the 
 ;'li(!er into oiio 
 '. ln-arlri of llii>so 
 
 (Iwi'lling of tlio 
 I dcitli !in; vi;>it- 
 licrc, wiiicli not 
 of maiiyfrii'iids, 
 les, can roliovf. 
 Iccp poverty the 
 • is gloom wliicli , 
 Jod's smile can 
 CO tlio promising 
 (• removed, llterc 
 licli i)resses ihu 
 
 ted for the cere- 
 iduals, some of 
 [•ted mother, but 
 ibert, and appre- 
 in the small attic 
 lingof which was 
 fcely stand erect, 
 n whieli he was 
 grave, stood all 
 rs ill the centre 
 
 THE Al'IDOWS JKWELS. 
 
 49 
 
 of the floor. Che inolher in silent grief 
 sat by the head of the departed boy, with 
 one arm encircling ihe pillow on which it 
 rested, as if in sleep; and ga/ing steadily 
 upon the dear remains with fondness which 
 could scarce relincjuish them in these last 
 short moments of possession. Litth? Wil- 
 liam, with (;alm brow, stood by her side, 
 looking wilhin the coflin. The elder sister, 
 Jane, had come in from her place of ser- 
 vice, and sat near them, weeping aloud. 
 Lilllt! Xclly, iloi)ert's pet, though very 
 young, appeared as true a mourner; and 
 scaled upon a blocU close (o the head of 
 the collin, wit'i eyes reil and swollen by 
 tears, often sobbed and murnuired some- 
 thing about her Robert. 
 
 Old IMrs. Alcloy was there; and a few 
 other tenants of the house had come in to 
 share the sorrowful exercises. As the kind- 
 hearted minister glanced upon the group 
 before him, his heart melted with sym- 
 pathy ; the deep feclinrs of his breast were 
 traceable by the flnsi npon his temples, 
 and the moisture in his eyes ; and, looking 
 upon the young boy whom he had once 
 
r 
 
 80 
 
 THE ■WinOW'R JEWELS. 
 
 SO highly rslrcincd, In; iiitorrnptpd the 
 siloiicc ol ilic iipartnu'iil l)y toucliinjjtly 
 iiUi'riiig iIk' words, 
 
 " He rest'* hi .lo-iis mul is l'l'"^^"il, 
 How swctt liis >liiii\lji.'r8 arc !" 
 
 The tears oi" iiu lollowcd ; and the room 
 WUH again silent, iiiHii, staiidini,' l)y the foot 
 of the optMi eollin, lie eoiiiiueiieed the 
 serviced of the occasion with readini? an 
 appropriate hymn, l-'aintly the sonj,' as- 
 cenih'd IVom ihatsiul compiiiiy, and ri'adily 
 did they bow in prayer, even those most 
 unaccustomed to kneel as the minister in 
 solemn, heartfelt expressions, presented 
 their ])etitions to the throne of divine 
 mercy. 
 
 When the prayer was concluded, the 
 gloomy moment came to seal up in its 
 long s<leep the lifeless body. () tiie unut- 
 terable bitterness of that moment to the 
 stricken heart! As two men approached 
 with the coflin lid and screws to perform 
 that duty, they again stood back while the 
 mother, throwing her arm over the cold 
 bosom of her son, wrapped him once more 
 in the last embrace of yearning love ; and 
 
 T-J' 
 
F.L8. 
 
 itorruptod the 
 l)y toucliingly 
 
 lilos.sM, 
 lire I" 
 
 ; ;ui(l llm room 
 liiii; l)y itii' loot 
 umiu'iicctl i1k* 
 itii ri'iuliiig ail 
 y the song aa- 
 iiy, uiul ri'ii<lily 
 •en lliosi- most 
 tlic minister in 
 ons, prosciitod 
 ■one of divine 
 
 concluded, the 
 seal np in its 
 !, O the luint- 
 moment to the 
 u'!i approached 
 •ews to perform 
 1 bnck while the 
 <\ over the cold 
 1 him once more 
 rning love ; and 
 
 Trin WIDOW'S .ir.wia.s. 
 
 .11 
 
 laying her face by the side of that head 
 sht! Iiad so often cherisheil npon her own 
 breast, sobbingly bathed tlie still hair with 
 tears. William we|)t fdond ; mid ejich of 
 that little family, taking their last kiss, 
 yielded themselves up to tears afresh. 
 
 Violent had b(«en the mother'a struggle 
 with grief; but il l)assed— calmly she saw 
 them securing the lid which for i-ver hid 
 him from her sight ; and as they bore him 
 through tlu! narrow passage to the stairs 
 her eyes followed them, and pressing her 
 hands togedier upon her knee, wjiilc her 
 li))s grew very pale, she slightly moved 
 her person backward and forward, and, 
 still gazing through the now vacant door- 
 way, her heart uttered its agony in low, 
 simple ejaculations—" Gone I— Robert— 
 mij Robert ! my good son Robert I" 
 * • * « » 
 
 A few months only haxc gone by since 
 that worthily beloved boy has slept the sleep 
 of death. Grief and poverty are still press- 
 ing upon the little family who remain ; but, 
 in daily intercourse with God, they find 
 that his love and care, for which they cove- 
 
 I 
 
it''. 
 
 52 
 
 TIIK WIDOW'S JF.WKLS. 
 
 iiaiilcil ill fiiviiiji! ilicir lirarls lo liini, nro 
 now thi'ir f«lr()ng hope : 
 
 " Kiirtli lius i,n sorrow tliat heaven rnnnot licnl." 
 Ill prayer and failli tlify liiinw, as all 
 shall know wlio spck, lliat (lod, rvcii tlio 
 Mii<^lity God, spirads IiIm talKrnaclc of 
 mercy above their heads ; and, asking re- 
 fuge there, they are al)Ie to rejoice, though 
 sorrowful ; to trust luifearingly that his 
 providence will supjily theiu, when uiiahio 
 to lell wheni they f<hall get their daily 
 bread. Doubts will not livt> wilhiii their 
 hearts, lor they know Uiat (!od does not 
 forget nor forsake those who put their 
 trust in him ; and they lean upon that 
 gracious One who has assured his trem- 
 bling children, that when every earthly 
 comfort is apparently failing, he will not 
 fail them. It is his word ; and though 
 " the grass witherelh — the (lower fadeth — 
 the word of our tlod shall stand for ever." 
 
 
r 
 
 rv.ta. 
 
 uts to him, aro 
 
 n rimimt lioal.'' 
 y know, as nil 
 (ii)(l, rvi'ii the 
 
 tabcriiticlo of 
 and, askinj^ re- 
 rejoice, llioufj;!! 
 ringly that his 
 n, when uiiahlo 
 got their (hiily 
 ve wilhin their 
 
 (iotl does not 
 who pnt their 
 ean u|)oii that 
 ■*iired Iiis trem- 
 I every earthly 
 ing, he will not 
 1 ; and though 
 Mower fadeth— 
 stand lor ever." 
 
 CHAITKU Vl[. 
 
 Til i; II i:.\ I, A 1. 1 VK. 
 
 At the eiose of one of ihe coldest days in 
 the winter or iHUr,, „„ „|,i |.„|y ,,.,||^,,, ,;, ^^^^^ 
 house to pass Ihe iiiglit. She ha.l ,.oine 
 
 that day from H , j„ ih,. southern part 
 
 ol this stale ; was eold, Catij-ued, and liun- 
 gry, having tasted no food sinet; she leli 
 her own desolate homo. 
 
 V\nm entering ilie room, I was ntlrartod 
 by her appearane... Sixty-liv,. v,,,rs could 
 scareely have told the lengili of l„.r jili-'s 
 pilgrimage, yet she seemed a/llieted with 
 lew oi the inlirmilie.s usually attendant 
 upon such age. II,,r dress, sonu-wliat 
 laneiful, was of Scoleh plaid, and ihe large 
 bright cheelcs of searlef, green, and black, 
 made rather an unbecoming contrast witli 
 the deep traces that time had graven on 
 her face ; her little starched cap, in full 
 trim, set up daintily ; and the high-heeled 
 shoes which she had slipped from her feel, 
 were lying, toe to toe, at prudent dis-' 
 tance from tjie fire : all seemed the care- 
 
64 
 
 THE WIDOWS JKW'KLS. 
 
 fully preserved i .licrf of former laste and 
 years. 
 
 As slie drew np lii^r small figure more 
 creclly in llie chair, and glaiieed her black 
 eyes familiarly around the apartment, I 
 thouglit I had never seen the face of years 
 so bright with animation ; as if she had 
 either never known llie many disappoint- 
 ments allotted for the threescore years and 
 ten, or that such trials had been happily 
 forgotten : her \.'hole countenance, indeed, 
 indicated that slie liad just set out in life 
 with new hopes — new joys. 
 
 After she had taken supjjcr, I drew my 
 seat toward her, and she soon revealed to 
 me the following simple story. I will 
 endeavor to " tell the talc as 'twas told 
 
 to me." 
 
 « * « * * 
 
 " In the northern part of the state of 
 
 Maine, in the small town of , T lived 
 
 many years with my husband. We had 
 no family, and hard work enough it was 
 upon a poor farm which scarcely paid for 
 tilling, to get an honest livelihood. 
 
 *' My husband was always poor, and 
 
 "^••i*^._i 
 
 i 
 
■nier taste and 
 
 ill figure more 
 ucod her black 
 i apartment, I 
 le face of years 
 
 as if she had 
 my disappoint- 
 icore years and 
 [ been happily 
 cnanco, indeed, 
 
 set out in life 
 
 )er, I drew my 
 
 )un revealed to 
 
 story. I will 
 
 as 'twas told 
 
 * m 
 
 )f the state of 
 
 jf , T lived 
 
 md. We had 
 enough it was 
 ;arcely paid for 
 ilihood. 
 ays poor, and 
 
 TUK WIDOWS JKWELS. 
 
 55 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 
 almost always unfortunate. I would not 
 be ungrateful; but Providence did not smile 
 upon him, so we almost tiiought, as upon 
 those who needed his sniiles much less. 
 Yet I can now look back and sec it was 
 all for the best. I was not a Christian 
 then, though my liusband was. His health 
 was very poor ; and with an aching ht^art 
 I have often watched him from the window 
 of our home, raking the scanty hay, or 
 hoeing the sandy loam. I have seen him 
 lean upon some tree, to wipe the sweat 
 from his pale forehead, and his wearied 
 arms would fall heavily beside his trem- 
 bling body. And sometimes as he came 
 in he would say, ' If it were not for you, 
 Nelly, and the baby which Heaven has 
 given us, how glad I should be to go to 
 my rest; or, if it might please him, to 
 call us all tor Mier !' 
 
 " But such was not his will. Ere our 
 baby had ])assed its first year, my liusband 
 did go to his rest. He left me peaceful in 
 Cjod, yet 'sorrowing,' as he said, ' for the 
 lonely walk which might be mine' (aiul 
 O, how lonely it has been!) 'before we 
 
 ± 
 
■f 
 
 :.JSS!Bi/SiSSS~ 
 
 j' i 
 
 56 
 
 TIIK WIDOW'S JEWELS. 
 
 should sit clown to2;ellier in our Father's 
 kingdom.' 
 
 " Six years I struggled on with my little 
 boy, desiring nothing lor myself, but mueh 
 for him ; and a brighter lad than .Tohn you 
 never saw. But my health failed at last ; 
 and, unable longer to maintain us botii, I 
 concluded to put him out to work as well 
 as he could, (and he was quite handy,) to 
 some farmer. 
 
 " For some time I lieard of no one who 
 would take so young a boy. At length 
 Mr. 'Lijah Baker, a milh'r, iiai)pened to be 
 in the place on businc;:-^, iv "ve<l about 
 fifteen miles from there ; < • of me, he 
 
 called where I was, ana agreed to take 
 Johnny home with him. As he had never 
 been to school, Mr. Balcer promised to 
 send him three months of tlie year, till he 
 was ten years old, on condition that till 
 then I would furnish hi u with a new hat 
 and a pair of shoes once a year. 
 
 " I could hav(! but little information of 
 the man's character, yet, as it was the only 
 way before me, I consented to let him go. 
 
 " Bitter was the hour of our parting. 
 
 
VELS. 
 
 ,11 our Father's 
 
 11 with my little 
 yself, but much 
 1 than John you 
 1 failed at last ; 
 itain us both, I 
 
 work as well 
 uite handi/,) to 
 
 of no one \Yho 
 oy. At length 
 nai)pcned to be 
 "((• "ved about 
 • ;■;;' of me, he 
 agreed to take 
 Is he had never 
 ■r promised to 
 he year, till he 
 idition that till 
 ivith a new hat 
 year. 
 
 inlbrmution of 
 it was the only 
 
 1 to let him go. 
 if our parting. 
 
 I 
 
 
 TUK M'lUOW'S JEWKI.S. 
 
 57 
 
 He had always been a good boy, and was 
 all the world to me — my daily companion, 
 my only, aflectionate little son. Now in 
 hi.s clean clothes, his light glossy hair j)arted 
 and brushed one side — though his round 
 blue eyes liiled with tears, yet he never 
 looked so well, or seemed so dear to :ne 
 before. He clasped his little arms tight 
 around my neck; really, 1 was more a 
 child than him, for I sobbed and went. 
 I could hear his little heart beat quickly, 
 as he tried to cor-ifort me. ' Mother, don't 
 cry so,' said he ; ' I will be good. I shall 
 soon be old enough to earn some money, 
 and you shall have it a/f. 1 will buy you 
 some ^'/((A'.vi-s, and then you can sew in the 
 evening. And I will get you a poiotd 
 of lea. Eben Wood loved me ; he will 
 hold the thread for you to wind, and 
 pick up chips for you now, sometimes, I 
 guess.' 
 
 " But the moment came for him to leave. 
 
 I looked upon theui as the wagon rolled 
 
 out of the yard and jolted slowly up the 
 
 hill, and watched them till the top of his 
 
 ^little blue cap disappeared, as they de- 
 
f 
 
 I < , 
 
 i^sfitsisasssaaSEr .: . 
 
 58 
 
 Tin; wmow s ji;\vi:i,s. 
 
 i^.cnik'd tlio otlior sidu ul' tlie hill; and 
 tlit-'u I filtered the iiouse aiul wepl anew. 
 
 " 1 could not all'ord to ride ; so when the 
 year came round, 1 walked to Mr. Baker's 
 to seo my boy, taking the shoes and hat. 
 My spirits were never liijfliler, or my steps 
 more nimble, than while on my way ; they 
 were less so coming home, perhaps, but I 
 could have gone any distance to mecth'ni 
 — my heart was very tender for hiin. I 
 found him well, and a good boy still. 
 
 " The second year I went, and he was 
 much improved. His kind feelings made 
 him a little geiillemaii to everybody and 
 everything. He would not give a mo- 
 ment's pain to bird or chicken, bug or fly. 
 And everybody loved John. 
 
 " Tlie iliird year I went. He was ten 
 years old that day ; it was the ninteenth 
 of June. It was dark when I came to the 
 house. No person or creature was in the 
 yard ; no light gleamed from the windows. 
 I knocked, then opeiicd the door : all was 
 dark and cnii)ty ; there was no sound, but 
 the crickets chirping in the hearth, and the 
 wind rustling in an ajjple-lrec behind the 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 f->* 
 
 T!3iL, 
 
 tfS.» ^E.*- rfB»:«— 
 
;\VKi,s. 
 
 ol' tlio hill; and 
 iiul wept anew. 
 ide ; so when the 
 ;d to Mr. Baker's 
 ! shoes and hat. 
 liter, or my steps 
 111 niy way ; they 
 V, periiaps, bnt I 
 iiiee to meet li'm. 
 ider for him. I 
 od boy still. 
 :ent, and he was 
 id feelings made 
 .) everybody and 
 not give a mo- 
 ekeiij bug or fly. 
 111. 
 
 lit. He was ten 
 as the ninteenth 
 en I came to the 
 "aturo was in the 
 0111 the windows, 
 he door : all was 
 as no sound, but 
 e hearth, and the 
 ;-lrec behind the 
 
 I 
 
 rni; WIDOW'S jkwels. 
 
 59 
 
 house, 'ruriiing away, I came and stood 
 by Ihe stream; the water si ill poured over 
 the dam, l)ul the wheels of the mill were mo- 
 tioniesc-. Sitting down upon a log, I wept. 
 " ft was a mile to any neighbor"? house. 
 Overcome with fatigue, I could sca.-cel_y 
 rise; yet the thought that he might be there 
 encouraged me, and I walked on. 
 
 " The jieople seemed kind, j)itied my 
 sorrow, but knew nothing of my son. They 
 said Mr. Baker had lailed, and left the 
 town suddenly— no one knew where he 
 was gone. I went from place to place, 
 and wore out three i)air of new shoes in 
 search of him. Once I traced him to New- 
 port, and learned that a man had there put 
 such a boy on board a vessel to go to 
 France ; but could ascertain nothing more, 
 and returned iioine broken-hearted. 
 
 " Two years p .ssed away. Unable to 
 support myself— without money and with- 
 out friends — but one thing remained for 
 
 me. I went to B , and cast myself 
 
 upon the iirovision of the state, and be- 
 came an honest, industrious inmate, of the 
 alms-house. 
 
 ?* 
 

 ■iiassemt 
 
 GO 
 
 Tin: WIDOW 8 ji;wi;r.,s. 
 
 " Year alu-r year came and went, willi- 
 oiU bringing nie any lidings of my son. I 
 learned to live witlioiit liiin, and only 
 thought ol' hiin as? a spirit in heaven. 
 
 " J heeaiTie tired of my companions in 
 the iK)or-/iousc, and hired ol' Mr. Ford, our 
 overseer, a little room over his corn-house. 
 As it was of no use to him, he let me have 
 it for sixpence a week. 'I'he state allowed 
 me but little more than this for my sup- 
 port ; however, 1 managed to get i'lo'ig. 
 1 et)uld knit stockings for my neighbors, 
 and used to gather herbs for the sick. Be- 
 sides, I did not need much : tea, sugar, 
 collee, butler, and such liki-, 1 gave u)) long 
 ago. Two meals a day v.ere all I allowed 
 myself. 
 
 " Cold weatiier was rather hard upon 
 me, sometimes, it is true ; when the sleet 
 covered my window, and the loud winds 
 shook the building around me. At such 
 times, when I was most lonely, the image 
 of my little .Tohn was ever present with me, 
 till it almost seemed as if he were riallij 
 there, sitting upon his low stool close by 
 my side, rubbing his thin hands (softly, 
 
 
 ■■-'".Aisu-.. 
 
:\VKr,.s. 
 
 and Wfiit, willi- 
 gs of iTiy son. I 
 
 liiiri, and only 
 
 in heaven. 
 r eonipanions in 
 of Mr. Ford, our 
 r liis corn-house, 
 n, he h't mo have 
 'lie state allowed 
 this for my sup- 
 cd to get !<lo!ig, 
 )r my neighbors, 
 for the sick. IJe- 
 acli : tea, sugar, 
 :e, I gave u}) long 
 iore all I allowed 
 
 ilhcr hard upon 
 ; when the sleet 
 1 the load winds 
 id me. At such 
 onely, the image 
 present with me, 
 if lie were nallij 
 •w stool close by 
 in hands (softly, 
 
 Tin; WIDOW'S .IKWKI.S. 
 
 fil 
 
 that I miyht not hear him) to keep them 
 warm, and inslructing mv into the plans 
 he iiad formed for taking care of me when 
 I should be ,.|d. Hut these thoughts would 
 soon vanish and give place to happi.u'ss 
 more abiding. 'J'he widow's Friend lor- 
 got me not. His smik- kindled gladness 
 in my room, till even the n.ui^h, knotted 
 boards,of my apartment seemed lo join in 
 ])iaise with my heart. 
 
 "Hut though 1 could talk without ceasing 
 of his merci.^s to me, (for such words are 
 'honey to my taste,') yet I will not detain 
 you. I will tell of them in ' the general 
 assembly and church of the lirst-boru in 
 heaven.' 
 
 " Seventeen years had passed away. It 
 was just a week to-night, two gentlemen 
 came to .Mr. Ford's about eleven o'clock 
 at night— they were well dressed, fine look- 
 ing men, as yoji will see— with a handsome 
 liorsi> and chaise. They asked if Mr.s. 
 Ticonard was there. ISfr. Ford pointed 
 them to where I was, said I was probably 
 asleep, and invited them to stay till morn- 
 ing with him ; but one of them replied 
 
.«ac: 
 
 ■*' ■«. 
 
 G2 
 
 TIIF, WIDOW'S .TEWF.LS. 
 
 lio must sec mc llien — thai he was my 
 son ! 
 
 " Mr. Ford camo over with ihoni. They 
 kiioi'kcd a1 my door; I awoke, woiideriiijj, 
 and let them in. Wisiiing to see if I would 
 recognize a son in a stranger, they merely 
 howeil as they passed me, recjuesting per- 
 mission to look at the room, talked as 
 if they proposed hnying it, occasionally 
 glancing toward me, as J was sitting wrap- 
 jjcd in my old cloak, shivering, upon the 
 side of the bed. 1 thought they had taken 
 a strange time to purchase a building — 
 almost midnight! I had heard of sjhck- 
 lulors, and of their being (tbniit rrazi) with 
 business, and concluded these were some 
 of them. 
 
 " One came toward me, and asked me 
 if 1 lived there all alone ; and if I were not 
 very lonesome. I replied, 1 had been so 
 at first, but was now accustomed to it. He 
 then asked me if 1 had no •family. I re- 
 plied, ' Noni-: ' Have you uevcr had any ?' 
 he asked. Tiiis was always a hard f/iws- 
 liun for me. I paused a moment to coiurol 
 myself, and could only say, ' The Lord 
 
 (■.-.■. 
 
B 
 
 ^ 
 
 •( 
 
 WF.LS. 
 
 liat ho was mi/ 
 
 illillioni. Tlipy 
 okc, woiidfriiur, 
 lo see if I woukl 
 gcr, they merely 
 I reiiueslincf per- 
 ooin, (allied as 
 it, occasionally 
 ms silting wrap- 
 'crini^s upon tlit^ 
 t tliey liiid taken 
 ic a building — 
 lieard of .spcru- 
 1 1)1 lilt rruzi/ with 
 lic.se wore some 
 
 , and a?ked me 
 md if I were not 
 , J had been so 
 lomed to it. Hu 
 o'laniily. I rc- 
 uevcr had any?' 
 lys a hard qucs- 
 ornent to control 
 ?ay, ' The Lord 
 
 rni; winon"s jkwki.s. 
 
 C3 
 
 gave, and the [.„rd h;iili liiken //innnwixy; 
 No one sp,.ke. I looked up— suddenly the 
 bargain had been h.rgotien — tears were in 
 the eyes of i'mcIi. (),„. „C t|„.ui turned 
 away and leaned over the lire-place, while 
 the other, (who hiul not beh.re sp„ken to 
 me.) throw ing his nnns juoruid my neck, 
 •Slid, • Mother ! niolher! / am yoiir fitl/e 
 JnlniHi/ ." " 
 
 'I'lie old lady wept. an<l said to me, •• 1 
 lell you what, I h'lt ///v//// siti/.i/r 
 
 'I'he son, since he was (,■„ years ohi, had 
 been almost constantly .i ... "a ; what lilile 
 time was allowed him in any \cw-Kng- 
 hnid port, he had employed searching (or 
 his mollK r, but knew not where to line? her 
 her till now. Jlc had ihen given up the 
 chanres of a liCenpon the deep, and esiai)- 
 lished himseir in business in y**** *«»» 
 
 " And )iow,'" .«aiil the old huly, " J r„,i' 
 going, and expect to spend my days with 
 John. I think I am not muhanklul Cor 
 this great blessing, nor have i'orgotleii CJod, 
 whose love and providence protecK-d my 
 hoy in a world lull of danger, and has 
 made my ' heart sing for joy ' because ' my 
 
 i 
 jj 
 
1^ 
 
 ',T 
 
 f 
 
 f '*> 
 
 61 
 
 Tin: M'lDow'rf .ir.wici.M, 
 
 son wart di'ud, iiiid is ulivo iigfiiii ; was losi, 
 and is found.' 
 
 " Ifovor you sliould -ro 1o S*'*** •»**, 
 you may hi-c wlicn^ In- lives. His naiiK! 
 is John Nrwton Lfonard : on liis sign it 
 is .lolin .V. liconard, but his name is .lolni 
 Ncu'liiti lii'onard." 
 
 Tui; r.ND. 
 
iVKLS. 
 
 igiiin ; was lost, 
 
 lo S*-*** •*•*, 
 
 cs. His iiiutu'. 
 
 oil liis nii,Mi it 
 
 s iKiiiu; i:j John 
 
 > 
 
tii 
 
 
 H~] 
 
 .;atf>aJiM ' a-M!ft '' i» ' kiwafeja ' ^