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Tous les autres exempiaires aiiginaux sont filmds en commenpant par la premidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Mn des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la dernidre image de chaque microfiche, selon Ie cas: Ie symbole — ♦- signifie "A SUIVRE", Ie symbole V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film6s d des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque Ie document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clich6, il est filmd A partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et da liaut en bati, en prenant Ie nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illu ftrent la m6thode. ;;, 1 .; r Z 1 2 3 4 5 6 T \ « BAII TRIED BUT TRUE: A TALE. ■4 BY Ail MARK MAPLETON. ST. JOHN, K, B.: "BAILT NEWS»^ 8TBAM PRIKTINO AN^ PtTBLlSHING HOUSE 1874. -lit. '1 . 2t f4> 2 s/ 1 1 . . V CONTENTS. ■ \h- CHAPTER. ., PAGE. I. CLOUDS AND STORM. - - - - - - - 5 II. alma's childhood ---__- 2§ III. TiOMKLESS AN^D FRIENDLESS - .- - * - 41 IV. CHANGES. --------- 5(J V. THE YOUNG GOVERNESS. ----- - 69 VI. GLEAMS OF SUNSHINE. - .^ ' - - . gH VII. LITTLE BERTIE. - - - - - - - - lOo VIII. THE GREAT CHANGE. ------. HfJ IX. DOING GOOD. - - - *■ ----- 129 X. MORE TROUBLE. - - ----- 1 45 XI. TEACHING SCHOOL, - - ----- 166 XII. WORKING FOR JESUS. - ' - - - - - 1 82 XIII. THE YOUNG MINISTER. ------ 204 XIV. A HAPPY MEETING. ------- 215 XV. THE soldiers' ]?RIEND. - - - - - - 229 XVI. THE CLOUD LIFTED. ------ 241 XVII. THE YOUNG WIFE. ------- 254 XVIII. A GREAT SURPRISE. - - - - - - 266 XIX. THn END. ---------- 279 ! i S ^C.^tW^" \^ ,i: :''!'*>'■.'; :. ''"'^^r, . >■-■ •■ ■ /••'•> (■■> ' '^ ' ! !,£ I-'I .{> TRIED BUT TRUE.|^ :■ ;■*■ . 9'i^o^ ,; V,,. ., ,,.r ',-'...^.. CHAPTER I. ;,^J .,J''1),.,:[, i CLOUDS AND STORM. I The morning was mild and cloudless, the hills ;|were yet dreamy with the haze of night, the multi- |tudes who go forth early to their daily toil were lot yet astir, and the streets of Liverpool had a jomewhat deserted appearance as the good ship, ^ Carthagena," glided gracefully from her moorings, Ind, with every sail set to catch the favoring breeze, loved upon the waters as a thing of life, and stood |ut to sea. The waving handkerchief and the ring- ig cheer assured the departing ones of the sincere 6 TRIED BUT TRUE. ■ ^ sympathy felt for them by those that had been left behind, and of the earnest desire that they might be preserved from the many dangers of the deep, and brought in siafety to their desired haven. And as the space widened between them, and forms grewj indistinct in the distance, many a silent prayer was; breathed to heaven that they all might meet again | where partings are unknown. The passengers gazed upon the fast -receding! shore with feelings of sincere sorrow ; and wheii| at length every familiar object had faded from thej view, the dim outline of the coast had disappeared] beneath the horizon, and nothing could be seen but the wide waste of waters, a sense of bereavement and of exile took possession of their hearts, tears; flowed freely at the thought of leaving the dear old^ home of their fathers, with all the fondly cherished| associations of their earlier days, and of goin^- fort! to commence life anew in a region to them uiiknownJ and among a people with whose manners, customsj and character they were necessarily uniiamiliarj And many an one, as he trod the deck with sloi and measured step, or leaned in pensive thoughj over the vessels side, and surveyed the wide, exj tended main, realized, as he never had before, hij TRIET) BUT TRUE, own helplessness and insignificance, and was led to exclaim : " Tis hero Thins unknown paths we tnioe, * Which dark to human eye» appear. While through the mightv waves we pass, laith only sees that God is here. Througnout the deep Thv footsteps shine. We own Thy way is in the sea, O'erawed by majesty divine, And lost in Thy immensity," '1'" The passengers, numbering in all between two md three hundred, represented all ages, classes^ md characters. Some were poor, whose poverty ^as directly traceable to their own vicious habits^ id who carried in their persons sad and unmistak- able evidence that ^* the way of the transgressor is lard." Drinking, gambling and their related vices ^ad left their impress upon the body and mind, jveral who had enjoyed rare religious advantages, id whose early morning had been rich with gold- promises, had been, by these means, dragged >wn to the deepest degradation, and the most ab- ;t want. Oh, it was enough to make an angel Jep, to see such with bleared eye and bloated face> id in rags and weltering in crime. And who, ithout a shudder, can contrast the actual condi- m of such persons, with what it might and ought have been, or think of the grief and agony, the I1f~" a; TRIED BUT TRUE, sore and bitter disappointment of those whose gray Hairs had been brought down in sorrow to the girave. 'flChe poverty of others was their misfortune and not their fault. Loss of health had reduced some to circumstances of real distress ; failure in business had suddenly brought others down from compe- j ^1;ence to want; an unproductive harvest had prompted others to go abroad to better their condi- tion, and various other causes had contributed to j iH, the same result ; but the general reason was a want! of remunerative employment. Some could havel struggled on a while longer, and, perhaps, have! risen above their present difficulties. But the fear of further failure, and the dread of the workhouse on the one hand, and the glowing accounts theji had heard from time to time of what they might b '^aird do 'in America, had determined them to try thi experiment, and seek homes in the Western World Jnan And each, from his own stand-point, was wont ti |culti beguile the tedious time in pleasing dreams o ibein restored health or improved circumstances, in tliain ea new and happier situations in which he hoped to placed, in the home he was seeking beyond the sei But a goodly number knew nothing of the pai 0>j^: ut Ij erie TRIED BUT TRUE. ^ ful privations to which their poorer fellow-voyagers had been subjected, and had only left their native land for the purpose of re-joining much-loved ones who had preceded them to this continent. Enter- prising young men — their sons and brothers — fired with the laudable ambition of winning for them- selves a name and a place among the world's worthies, or of working for the Master among the lost and the lowly; and believing that a more inviting field was open to them in America than in Europe,, iand the chances of success more certain, had left all and crossed over the sea. Several of these had been eminently successful, their most sanguine ex- pectations had been more than realized, and anxious [that their friends should be partakers of their good Fortune, and share in their joy, they had succeeded in persuading them to leave the land they loved so [early, take a final farewell of scenes hallowed by lany a touching memory, and encounter the diffi- julties and dangers of the ocean, in the hope of >eing re-united, and spendin^the rest of their days each other's society. *^«.v ^ ^. ., a . . r & Of the captain, officers and crew we need say )ut little. The former was an able, active, and ex- perienced commander, thoroughly acquainted with A : 10 TRIED BUT TRUE. iW-.^ Ws work, and ever ready to contribute to the com- fort of those who voyaged with him. Born upon slupboard, the son of a sailor, he was truly a child of the ocean, and upon it he had j^pent nearly all his life. He was a man of pure and lofty principles, of strictly temperate habits, of a frank and generous disposition, and an humble und devoted Christian. He was loved by all who knew him ; his firm, but kind demeanor commanded respect ; in his judg- ment all had the greatest confidence, and crew and passengers deemed themselves fortunate in having so competent a commander. The subordinate offi- cers were superior men, and were the worthy as- sociates of their chief, and every man belonging to the ship was intelligent, trustworthy and pious. The '* Carthagena '' was indeed a floating '' Bethel." Religious services were regularly held, immorality received no countenance whatever from any «p^ ; and if ever there was a ship that might have b^€?i expected to ride the sea in safety, and pass' un- harmed through every storm, because of the char- acter of these who manned her, this certainly was, the one. For some time after their departure the weather | was all that could be desired. The sun walke^ij TRIED BUT TRUE. U [through the heavens in cloudless splendour, and the moon lit up nocturnal skies with her silvery rays. The stars seemed to shine with unusual brilliancy, and glowed like diamonds in the coronet of night. [The appearance of the sea was exceedingly beauti- ful, and its ceaseless roll and vast expanse awaken- jd thought, and suggested new and interesting themes for study to the landsman. A pleasant )reeze bore the good ship gallantly along through the sparkling waters, and rapidly diminished the listance between them and their f iture home. The [rief of the first few days gradually passed a^ay, ind the majority seemed disposed to play the agreed |ible. Grouped together on the deck, little parties light have been seen in earnest conversation about rhat they had seen and heard at home, listening in ipt attention to the interesting experiences of some reatber-beaten tar, as he told in graphic and ap- [ripriate phrase, the story of his hear-breadth scapes^ or clustering around some one to whom tmerica was well known, eager to obtain all the iformation they could concerning it, that could mtribute to their advantage after their arrival. But how little, how very little do we know of le future. How often, how very often do we sit 12 TRIED BUT TRUE. J IPi: ihi under the shadow of some overhanging calamity, yet all unconscious of the same. How very igno- rant we are of the clouds that may darken our pathway, of the dangers and difficulties that may imperil our safety — or of the furnace of affliction into which we may be thrown ? How often do we stand on the verge of ruin, and yet flatter ourselves that all is well ? And while we are sometimes tempted to believe that many of the disasters that befall us, and much of the misery that we experi- ence could be avoided, were the mysterious veil that screens futurity from view, but occasionally drawn aside, we are nevertheless persuaded that here, at least, ignorance is bliss. Did we know whcvt lies before us, one grand incentive to humble trust in the Divine goodness would be removed,! sight would take the place of faith, and instead of that childlike simplicity, so truly characteristic of a| devoted discipleship, there would either be a reck- less disregard of consequences, or a cowardly non- employment of preventive agencies."^*^*-*^^*^ So unconsciously slept in treacherous security the! hundredi^ jn board the ill fated " Carthagena," odI the ilfceuiith night of the voyage, little dreamingj that the destroying angel hovered so near themj TBIED BUT TRUE, Id or that such overwhelming disasters awaited them in the immediate future. There ht*d been nothing in the appearance of the sea or sky at the time of retiring to rest, to excite the least uneasiness, and storm and danger were not thought of. But at midnight — that strange, mysterious hour which the superstition of man has clothed with cuch gloomy horrors, and invested with such dread importance — the wind suddenly changed, and began to blow at a furious rate. All hands were called on deck, land everything was done that was deemed necessary to secure the safety of the ship. The men worked with a will, every order was promptly responded to and no one betrayed the least uneasiness. The [storm had come up so suddenly, that it was sup- Iposed to be nothing more than a severe squall, .nd although it had become a perfect hurricane, it ^as expected to be of short continuance. But as < lour after hour dragged wearily along, and the tempest raged with redoubled fury, the situation >ecame grave in the extreme. The morning dawned, but there was no abate- lent of the storm. The sea was terribly agitated waves ran mountains high, the vessel p|(iched md rolled with tremendous violence, and a fdling •1' W N ii 14 TRIED BUT TRUE.' barometer indicated a continuance of the gale. About sunrise a heavy sea swept over her, carry- ing away part of the bulwarks, and causing her to creak and shiver as if she were going to pieces. Soon afterwards the foremast was snapped in two as if it had been a pipe-stem, and various other disasters continued to occur, at short intervals, dur- ing the whole ot that long and dreary day. Still nothing serious was apprehended, for the ship was new and strongly built, the hold was free from water and the pumps were in perfect working order. The captain was unwearied in his endeavours to be prepared for any emergency that might arise, and his calm and self-possessed demeanour was well calculated to inspire confidence. And every one under his command attended to his particular duty with a vigour and promptitude, as if the safety of| the whole depended on his individual exertions. Meanwhile, the greatest alarm prevailed among i the passengers, and many believed that matters were even worse than they really were. Some, conscious of their unpreparedness for death, were engaged in reading the long neglected Bible, iu tearfdi conversation with those who wee known to| be religious, or in earnest, though subdued, sup- TRIED BUT TRUE. 15 )lication to that God who has promised to be " a jovert from the tempest and a refuge from the itorm." Some gave way to their fears, and pas- sionately appealed for help, now to man and then God. Others sat in moody silence, as if inca- pable of comprehending the dread solemnity of the [ircumstances in which they were placed. Friends id families drew closely together ; and in low and rhispered conversation, endeavored to lighten the lad of sorrow that was settling down upon each ther's heart. All appeared to feel that they were mding in the near neighbourhood of eternity, and- le past with all its follies, and the future with all dread realities, seemed to meet and mingle in le awful present. And although the captain went jlow from time to time, and strove to encourage lera with the hope that they would oatride the )rm, the general impression was that some terri- le disaster was at hand. ' Nor were they mistaken. About midnight, when le storm had reached its height, and the roar of angry elements was truly terrible, a mighty ive broke over the ship, which carried away [erything that came in its way, and sent a thrill horror through every heart, for all thought she t-^ !: ! 1 M'' ii I ■' 16 TRIED BUT TRUE. was going down. To add to their distress and danger, it was soon discovered that she had sprung a leak, and that water was rising rapidly in the hold. Carpenters were promptly sent below to ascertain the nature of the injury she had sustained, and, if possible, to repair it. Crew and passengers took turns at the pumps, but, notwithstanding all their efforts, the water gained steadily upon them.j All were now convinced that the sinking of the ship was only a question of time, but they were! resolved to keep her afloat as long as they could The boats were gotten ready, such stores as were! deemed necessary were prepared, crews were told! off for each, and the best arrangements were made! for saving the largest number possible. And with] an agonized heart, the captain went below and warned all to prepare for the worst, for unless de- liverance came soon, they would all find a water}] grave. ^- " :.*:.-•.'< p^-: :;■>-■-. Towards noon, the storm having somewhal abated, and as the ship was fast settling down, th| order was given to launch the boats. With muclj difficulty this was, at length, accomplished, and thj women and children placed therein. The marric| men were next directed to follow them, and afte TRIED BUT TRUE, 17 fthese the younger ones. Then came the crew, or rather those of them who were not manning the boats ; and not until it was supposed the last man had left the sinking ship, that the captain consented to provide for his own safety. But all had not left, [for just after the last boat had pushed off, five men [came up from below and shouted for help. Mis- guided men, they had fancied this an excellent time to enrich themselves with what others had left be- [hind, and had been seen a few minutes before in [the act of breaking open the captain's chest. But they paid dearly for their folly, for it was now im- )ossible to do anything for them. The ship gave great plunge and went down amid the great ''aters, while those in the fast retreating boats held their breath, in fear that they too would be drawn [own with her. The sight was terribly grand, md could never be forgotten by those who wit- lessed it. All eyes were riveted upon the spot '^here last had been seen the beautiful " Cartha- ^ena," and gratitude for their o^vn deliverance, was blended with sincere regret for the unhappy men ^ho had thus thrown their lives away. As Halifax was the nearest port, it was resolved, possible, to keep together and steer thither^ itauM I -i IB TR4ED BUT TRUE, They had been driven considerably out of their course, and, according to their calculations, they were still some hundreds of miles from land. With moderate weather the run would soon be made, and there was good reason to hope that they might | be picked up by some passing ship. Thus encour- aged, they anew committed themselves to the deep,! in hope that no new disaster would overtake them. As our story is more intimately connected with those in the long-boat, we may just say before passing from this part of our subject, that during the first night another storm arose which so widely separated them that on the following morning they ha J lost sight of each other. One was never after heard from, and what they suffered, and how they| perished, are among the secrets of the sea. An- other was picked up by a homeward bound vessel, and carried back to Liverpool, and restored to their friends. A third, by the same means, reached New York, from whence they went to their western home, and the rest found their way to Nova Scotia. | By all they were cared for, the story of their suffer- ings awakened wide-spread sympathy ; liberal con- tributions were made on their behalf, their friends I were corresponded with, and made acquainted with TRIED BUT TRUE, 19 Itlieir circumstances, and work was provided for those who were without fiiends, and were willing to be employed in the above named places. But to return. Among the passengers on board if the, long boat was a Mr. Gowrie and his daugh- ter, Alma. The former was, perhaps, forty years )1 age, of pleasing address, superior intelligence, md gentlemanly deportment. The latter was in ler fourteenth year, as sweet looking a creature as jould be met with in a million, with mild blue eyes, laxen hair, which fell in beautiful ringlets on her inely formed shoulders, and a voice as toft and sil- rery as a bird's. For her father she cherished the [bndest affection, and esteemed it a pleasure to con- dbute to his happiness. To please him was her lighest ambition, and his commendation her most Joveted reward. If perchance she displeased him, ler sorrow was deep and distressing, while the kiss it forgiveness would lift the load from her heart, pd again wreath her lovely face in smiles. Every lay brought out some new and interesting feature [f her character, she grew in loveliness as she grew years, and as she stood upon the verge of young romanhood, if ever the term " angelic " could, with ropriety, be applied to anything human, it could lave been applied to Alma Gowrie. ■*■ 'W^' TRIED BUT TRUE, !J!i For this, his only child, Mr. Gowrie cherishedl the warmest affection. Years ago site had beer left motherless, and deeply had he felt the double responsibility thus devolved upon him. AssiduouslJ -had he striven to train her up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and as he beheld the many virtues that adorned her youthful characterj he felt more than recompensed for all his labours] Not only did he love her for her own sake, and fo]| the numberless, nameless attentions bestowec^ upoi himself, but he also loved her for the sake of hei now sainted mother, to whom she bore a striking resemblance. Her tone of voice, her easy and graceful manner, her amiable disposition, her kind and sympathizing ways, and the deep solicitude shJ manifested in all that concerned his welfare, perl petually reminded him of the happy days of hij wedded life. And while he sighed over the irrej parable loss he that had sustained in her early rel moval, and painfully realized the loneliness of siicj ceeding years, he was gratified to see the mothej being reproduced in the daughter, and to fm some of the happiness of former years restored him. But of late a terrible fear had seized upon hii TRIED BUT TRUE. 21 and he shuddered at the bare possibility of its be- |coming a reality. Never very strong, his health lad been failing, but he would not allow himself to think there was any immediate danger. During le first part of the voyage he had decidedly im-, )roved; and he was very sanguine that a change of lir and associations would render that improvement permanent. But the turmoil and excitement con- jquent upon the foundering of the " Carthagena," md the dread that his child might be lost to hini^ ir vice versa, operated disastrously upon his en- jebled constitution, and brought on the very ca- imity that he had so much dreaded. Ten days . id nights in an open boat, driven hither and lither by contrary winds, on short rations and a jarcity of water, had been too much for him. He ink rapidly, and with the arms of his dear, dis- )nsolate daughter twined around him, and her ^ar-stained cheek pressed fondly against his own, te weary wheels of life at length stood still, while [e wild waves sung his requiem, and the shades evening hung around him like a pall. Poor Alma ! As long as life had lasted she had jen untiring in her efforts to aid her sorely dis- jssed father. Day and night she had watched 2 ,!i-! I TRIED BV2 TRUE, by his side anticipating his every wmt and wish, whispering words of loving comfort into his ear, and tenderly wiping the dews of death from his pallid brow. With an intelligence far in advance of her years, she had ministered to his necessities,] preparing with her own hands the various reme- dies that were within her reach, and tending hiral with the diligence and care of an experienced nurse. Though little more than a child, she did the work of a woman, and with true greatne^ ofl soul, was equal to every occasion. Knowing thatl much of her father's distress was the result of hi? deep solicitude for her welfare, and unwilling that that distress should be increased by any betrayall of her own agonized feelings, she had sought tol maintain an appearance of quiet and hopefulness that was the very reverse of her real feelings, and! with a strength of purpose that surprised even her-| self, she went through the fiery ordeal like a true heroine. '"*■' '-■^•"-•^''■*^ *?r .■,';f'i'''*-r ...fr-v, ;•!*/> vr.¥.f,;-.^. But when derwth had done its dreaded work, anc the lifeless form of her worthy sire lay before her; when she realized that all her anxiety and car«| had been unavailing, and that he had passed b( yond the reach of earthly influences ; when shd TRIED BUT TRUE. had kissed those lips for the last time that had never uttered a harsh or unkind word in her hear- ing, and had seen that once manly form sink in the seething waters ; and v lien she thought of the ter- rible consequences to herself — of being orphaned at such an early age, away among strangers, with la mere pittance for support, should she be spared, [and in imminent danger of death from storm or starvation — we need not wonder that her tender leart was ready to break, and the long pent up amotions of her soul burst forth with uncontrollable fury. Gladly would she have died, too ; but her [eavenly Father had work for her to do. And ifter the first paroxysm of agony was over, she Subsided into her ordinary habits of quiet and un- tssuming usefulness, and was treated with a kind- less and consideration which proved that worth is jure to be appreciated, and excellence admired. What she, and others, suifered during those ten [ays and nights of peril, that were passed upon le deep» no tongue can tell, nor pen describe. heir greatest distress arose from want of water, id to hear the frantic appeals for something to drink were enough to make the strongest trem- le. Some were washed overboard by the seas that J- 24 TRIED BUT TRUE. .it'f !!:i ! v'W WW illii swept over them from time to time. Several died from over-exertion, and exposure to the chilly devs, a number of children expired in indescrib-j able agony in their mothers' arms. Day after day j their number grew less, and as corpse after corpse was cast to the hungry sharks that followed in| their wake, a sense of their utter helplessness grew more and more oppressive, and strong men shud- dered at the fate that seemed to await them in the near future. * ^ v ^ : For one who had been so tenderly brought up, and who had never known what hardship meant,! this was rather rough usage. In her father's house she had possessed every comfort, every want an- ticipated, and every known danger provided] against. But now she was a sharer in the com-j mon misery, and fully participated in the terrible! privations, to which others were subjected. And yet to the surprise of every one, she passed through | all with comparative ease, and experienced not a tithe of the sufferings endured by many, to whom| hardship had been no stranger. Whether this was the result of her calm and even temper — and the dis- position has much to do with the health ; — or from| au intelligent understanding of what was necessary! TRIED BUT TJRUE, 25 be done to guard against disease in their then ring circumstances — for her physical education lad rot been neglected — we are not prepared to ly, but from some cause or causes, she was mar- rellously supported in this time of need. She leeply sympathized with the distressed ones around ler, and did all in her power to relieve them ; and lany an hour did she sit and nurse the sick and lying little oncs^ when their mothers were too far [one to do anything for them. And more than me grateful mother, with tears of joy coursing lown her cheeks, has blessed her for the interest ^he manifested in their welfare during that distress- ig time. ?'3?.i' r*i>*r:i; xsM* The case of one young man deserves particular lotice, as we shall meet with him again in a sub- sequent chapter. He, too, was motherless. She lad just lived long enough after his birth, to place dm in her husband's arms, with the request that le would bear his father's name, be brought up re- igiously, and educated for the Christian Ministry. IVell and faithfully was the work, thus solemnly jonfided to him performed, and the son, now in *is sixteenth year, was returning to America, in irder to enter upon a Collegiate course of study. 26 TRIED BUT TRUF, liil He had lately accompanied his father, to the home of his ancestors, on the banks of the Clyde, and had visited many of those interesting localities, that are mmortalized in Scottish song. But America was his home, ynth. its scenes he was most familiar, and much as he had enjoyed himself during his brief sojourn in the 1 v % ^ ;>i ,>,v . , , ., "Land of brown h oath and shaggy wood, '*, ^ Land of the mountain and the flood, ' -JiA-- '••■ii^ "■■'-■ Land of his sires," '..''■ y^i'M0f * ':■ 'i' f^-/! -■}M- i. lff#r^ %t^ n^MriTiM^ 'tr'\,%^':^ IV} : VI ub U M I* M > > >«»■< vbU%} rh'%^ Wu^\^u:^, Ut y*^-u *^»**' -*^ •* JVU •ij ■tfA' t?/ '% 'i\t ^ffi^-ij ^jtf* t ^r-^ J ppk ^ *-*?-*v*j \ ,'v^'rt*^'-'''A '^^:^? '^*'' »«'- t* 'U ■*-:^'!k ^^ti'ht.^4i 5^4 ^'t ^^'j nV^^^it',4i^'^i' JfJ -4- .«i ?'t {?! ♦** ,^* >* f* i 'H rrjv*^ t^ i. J ^ J, B i« . r -^ ■3V^ jK^ItI ^ .f^?f*l 'If' I - :*''im -l>Mi :■'«? MM^ H 9". , — ■■■• . ' - _/j: '■■ I 'tV'.- CHAPTER II. m_ ^i'f:f) '■A- v;\ (! ALMA S CHILDHOOD. ^^ ^'^■ '*:,■ As the reader may wish to know something more [f the history of our heroine and her family, we lust go back some twenty-five years, and see Mr. rowrie beginning life. His father was a well-to-do rmer, residing a few miles from the town of Dumfries, in Scotland, and by that thrift and in- lustry so characteristic of the Caledonian, had ^cumulated sufficient wealth to start his son re- )ectably in life. As he had no other surving child [nd his wife had long since gone to the better world, ^e was anxious that William should settle down upon le old homestead, and take the whole responsi'- ^ility of the farm upon himself. William was fcrongly disinclined to devote his life to agricultural iccupations, but knowing his father's love for the 30 I! ill! I (■Mlil !1 : iiiilllliii i TRIED BUT TRUE. dear old home, and his unwillingness to have the family divided, duty triumphed over inclination,] and he decided to do as the old man had desired. . Maggie Marvin, the daughter of their nearest! neighbor, was then in her twentieth year, and had long been regarded as the most beautiful young woman in the parish. Tall and well-proportioned, with expressive blue eyes, hair that hung in rich wavy tresses almost to her waist, and a face that was faultless in all its features, she was sure to at-| tract attention wherever she appeared. Such per- sonal charms are not always to be coveted, andl beauty is not always a blessing. But it harmed not its possessor in this case, for the many virtues] that adorned her character, were in beautiful har- mony with the graces cif her person. From thel earliest dawn of reason she had been carefully in- structed ihi holy things, and as the follies and] fashions of the city were there unknown, the tempta- tions to display few and feeble, a ad the associations! in which she mingled of a decidedly religiousj character, it was a source of unspeakable gratifica- tion to her parents, that as she grew in years andl physical beauty, tihere was a corresponding growth] in all that was^ good. TRIED BUT TRUE, 31 To the great delight of both families, William fowrie wooed and won this lovely girl. Brought ^p side by side, learning in the same school, and rorshiping in the same sanctuary, they had had iple opportunities for studying each other's char* [cter, and they had learned to love each other's rorth. Her father-in-law was especially well pleased, and when he received the beautiful girl as lis daughter, gave her the old country kiss of wel- )me, and installed her as mistress of the house- hold, he was forcibly reminded of the happy day, rhen he had brought home his own blushing bride, fhe long wished for dream of his life had been jalized, his son was settled just as he had fondly )ped, and rich in the love of his children, his irthly happiness seemed complete. But he was >t long to enjoy it, for returning home from Dum- mies one night, his horse took fright, and threw [im from the saddle, by which he sustained such jrious injuries, that, notwithstanding all that could done to relieve him, he only survived the ac-^ [dent a few days. 5***- William now removed to town, and comipienced isiness in the dry goods line. For this work he ras well adapted, and in it he took the greatest ■■Mi TBIED BUT TRUE. lili;; I!' delight. Of frugal and industrious habits, kind and courteous to all, and honest and upright in all his dealings, he soon became one of the most popular] to u'^rs in the town. Fortune favored him, andl everything he touched turned to gold. In the| course of a few years, he had outdistanced all com- petitors, had won the confidence and esteem of alll who knew him, and had been called to fill high offices of trust and responsibility. But, better still, he had sought and found the "pearl of great price,"] and, with his lovely wife, was a humble and de- voted follower of Christ. True piety and gracel were found beneath their roof, everything connected with either public or domestic duties was regulated! by the purifying and elevating influence of Chrisj tianity, their delight was to do good in every pos- sible way, their confidence in, and love for eachl other was unbounded, and, having consecrated all| to God, they enjoyed more of pure and real hap- piness than often falls to the lot of mortals duringj their earthly pilgrimage. But Christians can claim no exemption froral trial. The multitude, whom no man can numberl standing near the throne, passed through greai tribulation on their way thither. There is no softj TRIED BUT TRUE, 33 ^nd flowery by-way, along which the pious journey the sinless land above. The fever-fires lose not leir intensity when the child of God is cast into le flames. The yielding waves have no power to fefuse a resting place to the body of the ship- Tecked saint, when over the blue depths the tem- pest sweeps in its terrible strength. With swift and Noiseless tread, the angel of adversity may come^ id arrest the man of holiest life in the midst of iis half-done duty, or half-formed plan, and leave fim like some storm-rocked tree in the late autumn, jafless and bare. Piety never benumbs the finer jnsibilities of human nature, or renders the dis- [ple of the Savior less susceptible to pain. And when le sad hour comes that rives the blended affection husband and wife, of parent and child, of brother id sister, no hearts bleed more freely, or feel jverance from dear ones more keenly, than those lat have the love of God shed abroad therein. The family of Mr. Gowrie was no exception to le rule, and of late it had experienced many rokes of the chastening rod. One after another their children had been taken from them, and ^d away in the quiet old churchyard, and only le of seven now remained to cheer them in their 34 TRIED BUT TRUE, "n I i inJil II 11 I! It loneliness and grief. To that one tLey turned witl the most anxious love, and clung to her with fondness that may be felt, but cannot be described] Nevertheless, no undue indulgences were granted merely because she was the only and the last They knew their duty as Christian parents too well for that, and spared no pains, either by precept and! example, to instruct her in those things, whid could alone fit her for the trials of earth, or the joyiJ of heaven. And well was it for the dear child thaJ she had been thus taught, for the time was nolj far distant, when she would require all the Christian's armour to fit her for the great battle ir which 'every one who lives is called to contend! To some the strife is more severe than to others,! but to all who would win the glorious prize, Divine! grace is indespensable, and to teach their child to! rely on the all-sustaining arm of God, was the con-| stant endeavour of these devoted parents. When Alma had attained her eleventh year she was called to experience her first great sorrow. Heij dear mother was suddenly prostrated by disease, anC the best medical skill that could be attained confessed! itself unable to render her any eflfectuai aid. TheiJ principal, if not only, ground of trust lay in heJ TRIED BUT TRUE. 35 laturally strong constitution, and, for a time, there lid appear good reason for believing that she would recover. Only those who have sat by the side of le suffering, and watched with trembling anxiety le progress of the struggle, upon the issue of, rhich life or death was depending, can form any jreciable idea of the distress and agony of Alma id her father during those dreary days and nights of Lspense. For days the sufferer lingered in that my s- jrious border land that separates the seen from the iseen, as if undecided whether to cross over and join the ranks of the shining ones on the other ide, or return to the weeping ones she loved so jarly. She was truly in " a strait between two iving a desire to depart, and to be with Christ,'' to remain below a while longer. But she left le decision in the hand of One who cannot err or jt unkindly, and when she found that decision to death, she bowed her head in silence, and un- mrmuringly awaited the hour of her departure. As her end drew near she called her husband id child to her side, and, with a tenderness that dy a dying wife and a mother can feel, yet with mderful composure commended them to the therly care of that God who gives grace accord- \g to our need. 11 jl ll ill r • m\{ illi ili! Miitiaii! ii'Hi^ 36 TRIED BUT TRUE. '* William," said she, as he hung over her witl a breaking heart, '^ we must part, but you must no^ grieve "So. I would like to stay longer with yoi but the Lord knows best, and Hi s will be done, am sorry to leave you, for you have been to me dear go rd husband. An unkind word from you I| have never heard, and an unkind feeling towards me, I am sure, you have never had. In this solemi hour of separation, I can recall much in myself thati should have been otherwise, but you knew my heartJ and that you could and did trust. We have hadl our troubles, our six dear children have been takenl from us, and wave after wave of sorrow has rolledj over us. My trials are almost over, and Oh, myj "William, whatever yours may yet be, my dying! counsel is, keep close to Jesus, put your whole trust] and confidence in Him, and all will be well. " And you, my precious daughter, it is a comfortl to me now to knc^ that you have never caused rael much uneasiness. You have been a dutiful child,! and have often been the means of cheering myj heart in my moments of sorrow. I had hoped not] to leave you for long years yet, when you would not need me as you do now. But our Heavenly Father] does nothing wrong. Be kind to your father. He TRIED BUT TRUE. 87 every way worthy of your love. He will feel lely after I am gone. Try and cheer him. Help all you can. And whatever else you do, or jlect to do, neglect not your duty to y(5ur father, to your God. Kiss me, my darling. There!',* [d placing the child's hand in that of the father, added : " William, take her, train her for \ iven, and if ever she does ought to displease you ^ cause you grief, T ask you, for the sake of the uner that loved her and you so dearly, to forgive »> '(■vf [The effort was too much for her, she sank ex- isted, the angels were waiting to accompany her le, and with a heavenly smile playing upon her mtenance, and the single word " Jesus " upon lips, she peacefully passed away to the home ler Father and her God. 'or a time, father and daughter were almost in- isolable, from a sense of the great loss they had itained. Her innumerable acts of tender provi- it love ; the gentle pressure of her soft warm id ; the sweet caress ; the recollection of her [htly prayers ; and the fervent and faithful man- in which she had performed her every duty^ dd never be recalled without awakening the ^ 96 TRIED BUT TRUE. IP' ^i nil,: II ' ! I % 11 deepest ifeeling. And as that hallowed death scene,! when the dear departing one had joyfully yielded | herself to the cherubic guards, that, with wide- waving pinions were waiting to waft the freed spirit I to the home of the blest, could never be forgotten, neither could that dying charge lose its power. And when that great sorrow-wave that broke upon that domf:8tic scene had somewhat spent its force, the anguished father, gathering to his heart the sweet treasure that was yet spared to him, bore her to the footstool of Mercy's throne, and solemnly placed her beneath the Divine protection, with thei earnest prayer that the estimable qualities of the mother, might be reproduced in the daughter. Ncr| did he pray in vain. ; ^ But their cup of sorrow was not yet full. The I second year after Mrs. Gowrie's decease was a time| of great commercial disaster, and many an one was reduced to beggary in an hour. Firm after firm in I the great cities failed, and these dragged down with | them multitudes of smaller traders in the towns and j villages. A general feeling of insecurity prevailed, men supposed to be wealthy became insolvent, ?nd many of the banks suspended payment. The busi- ness of the country was seriously deranged, a vast TRIED BUT TRUE. 30 imount* of property changed hands, and many an lonest man, from no fault of his own, saw the )ox of a lifetime swept suddenly away. Mr. rowrie was one these unfortunates. By a train of circumstances over which he had no control, and rhich no human foresight could have imagined possible, he found himself stripped of everything — poor man in his old age. His creditors were ex- jcdiugly severe, and would listen to no proposals ly which he might have had an opportunity of re- )vering from the stunning effects of this unlooked- >r disaster, and rather than his fair fame should Far by availing himself of the expedients so Ire- lentiy resorted to by those in such circumstances, gave up everything he possessed. i' Recognizing the hand by which Ld had been litten, and believing that all things would, in )me way, work for his good, either here or here- ter, he prepared to enter upon a course of life, [ore in keeping with his altered circumstances. it it was hard to leave the dear old home^ that IS closely associated with the happiest period of life, and the thought that the rooms in which she ^d presided with such grace and dignity, the vines It her hands had trained, and the little garden I • : H'l!: 40 TMIED BUT TRUE. which they had both delighted to keep, must pass into the hands of strangers, gave an additional pang to the grief already so great. For Alma's sake, his only remaining treasure, he bore up as bravely as possible, and resolved to exert every energy on her behalf; but finding it next to impossible to rise above his difficulties, he availed himself of the offer of a free passage on board the ill-fated " Cartha- gena," to seek those comforts in America that were] denied him at home. ..^ 1 v',.> ; ;,w I, -f ■■'■- ' '- '^'^ ■'■f'"^' '^•■•'^H 'r'-^^^^'^' |.'.y^Dt>, --r^^ ■iwtir'fv>;^r- j'' :■ ■■■ . 1. . i ■■(■ ;■ i-.a '■ '' ' ■ f'V? . «i .-?%*!^:U H . . ■•.^VtJS!.^'':'^* Sj;,^^: , ^\,_ '';5,-'''J^ CHAPTER III. HOMELESS AND FRILNDLESS. Homeless ! What a depth of melancholy meaning is there in the word ? What a wave of sorrow sweeps over the soul when it becomes an experi- ence ? How gloomy are its associations ? How [dreary the prospect that looms up before those who ave no home to turn to in the day of discourage- ment and "disaster ? How natural it is for the young nd inexperienced, to tremble at the idea of going brth to grapple with the stem realities of life, and l■:^^ be exposed to its temptations and trials ? How idely different is the home of the stranger to the ome of our youth? And just in proportion as hat home has been happy, will its loss be regretted nd exile from it considered a calamity. ! '^ ii! liiiii ! '..-»■. •I M' •mi iiii luu II liiiiniii 42 2!S/EZ> JJC7 27?C;3^ '^ Friendless! A saddei? word there is not id tl language, or one that is more suggestive of all tha is distressing. How lone and desolate does thj world appear to those who know by experience it terrible import ? What a feeling of utter abandon] ment takes possession of the soul, when the lasj stay has been removed, the last prop taken awayj and the last friend laid in the grave ? And when the rugged pathway of life has to be travelled alonej with no friendly hand to grasp, and no kindly hearl] to love, the present is a burden and the future terror. . .. " Homeless and Friendless, \^ Such were the words that welled up from the bursting heart o^ the lone orphan, as she tearfully gazed upon the disappearing form of William Garvie. The full sense of her great loss had not been felt until! now, bat with this departure the last link that! bound her to the past had been broken, and she] painfully realized that she was indeed homeless an^ friendless, a stranger in a strange land. And wher the carriage that bore him away had passed out of| sight, shejihl^w herself upon the ground, and wept and sobbed as if her heart would break. Memory! went ba^jk to the happy days of her childhood wheal TRIED BUT TRUE. 43 le had a good home, parents that most tenderly ►ved her, and when she knew not what sorrow was, id in the bitterness of her grief, she exclaimed ; Can God be good and kind to deal thus with me? 'ere not my parents pious, and did they not try do all the good that they could ? Can the Bible true ? Has he not promised to be a 'a father the fatherless,' and a friend to the friendless, id here I am without a friend in the world. Oh rhat will become of me ? " , *^,.u^ , , The words had scarcely died away upon her lips rhen the voice of song roused her from her reverie id a soft, clear, childish voice warbled forth the )autifiil words : - h^ .? i3.rr " Jesns, Lover of ray sotti, l^t me to Thy bosom fly. While the nearer waters roll. While the tempest still is high. Hide me, O my Saviour hid«« Till the storm of life be past. Safe into the haven ffuide, j^. O receive my soul at last. •\^' other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on theej Leave, ah ; leave me not alone. Still support and comfort me : All my trust on Thee is stJiyed ; All my help from Thee I bring : Cover my defence .ess head With the shadow of thy wing.* The minstrel ceased, but the song had wrought wondrous change in the feelings of the listener.^ 1 i ! 1 i ji 1 1 '■■J ^']iV mil! '!!!!i' ilii :<: 1!" ' !ii:iJ: ii I ilii!! !, Ill 'in IHIlll I I M TRIED BUT TRUE. The tone was so tender and subdued, tlie languagJ 80 beautiful and appropriate, and the spirit, of thj piece so suited to her circumstances, that her hear was thrilled with new and strange emotions. Thij tumult in her bosom was hushed, her wounded spirit was soothed, she felt calmed and comfortec and deeply regretted that she had so far yielded d doubt and despondency as to question the goodnesi of God. Who the messenger was she then knei not, but she felt that the message was froi Heaven. Wiping away her fast -flowing tears, she opened the little Bible — her mother's last gift — andl the first words that met her eye, were those of the! Master to his sorrowing disciples, or the eve of hisl departure from them, *^ Peace I leave with you, myl peace T give untp you, not as the world giveth, givel I unto you, ! X not yoiir heart be troubled, neitherl let it be afraid." And with an earnest desire that! God would watch over and open up her way, she| reverently repeated the lines: -iiMii, ** other refuge have I nnne*. . Hangs my helpless soul on thee ; 3.«eave, ah ; Irave me not alone, btili 8upj;K}rt and comfort me. •''if Anxious to know who it was that had thus been! the means of so greatly comforting her, she pro- ,Jili TRIED BUT TRUE. 45 [ceeded in the direction from whence the sound had come, and soon discovered the object of her search. I Sitting on a gi:assy mound, watching the curling [eddies of a little stream, that went dancing onward to the sea, was a lovely dark-eyed little girl of some seven summers. She was poorly, but neatly 'attired ; a plain calico dress, a straw hat, and coarse (shoes. There were tears in her eyes and an ex- Ipression of sadness in her countenance, that spoke of recent and severe affliction. No sound was to be heardj and no other living creature was to be [seen. As she sat there with clasped hands and tearful face. Alma thouo'ht she had never beheld so interest' ill (5 a sight. She had approached quite close to her^ but the little one was so wrapt up in her own thoughts, that she was quite unconscious of the presence of another. Unwilling to disturb [her, Alma sat down beside a fallen tree, and quietly (watched the movements of the child. In a few minutes she knelt down and oilered the following i simple, but beautiful prayer, every word appearing ^as applicable to Alma as to herself. *' O Lord I am very lonely now since my dear pa and ma have gone to Heaven. People are not very kind to poor little [Ge ty. O Lord, help me to be patient and to trust illii iiiiii " lil!!'!;i! ,jj,ydlill lliii! ijii I '{ ! ill I 46 TRIED BUT TRUE, in thee. Make me a srood crirl for Jesas Christ's .A'*i- ■#. .Jt, ■/"A. sake^ Amen." Alma was deeply moved, her sympathies were I aroused, and, unable longer to restrain herself she' ran over to where the child was Tmeeling and,! throwing her arms around her neck, she kissed her with the greatest tenderness. The other was very| much surprized, and somewhat frightened, but re- assured by the looks and manner of the stranger,! she re-seated herself on the grass, with the simple remark : :^^*^^ ■■---■•■■■, ■: -" ■■ ,- -^. '■• "You is one of the castaways, is you?" " Yes, my dear," replied Alma, with a quivering voice, for the word, " castaway," recalled again most vividly, the horrors of the past» and the lone- liness of the present, " I am one of them." " I'se very sorry for yon, so I am," said the little one, "where is your pa and ma? " ,, " My pa and ma, are both in Heaven. Ma died three years ago, and pa waa drowned in that big ; "So you is just like me. No pa nor no ma, nobody to love poor little Gerty. Eut Jesus does, ma told me so, and ma never told me a lie. Does you love Him?" TRIED BUT TRUE. ^ "I try to, Gerty, but I sometimes find it very [hard to do so. I often feel as if God should not leave poor little things like us without a friend in [the world. I know that it is wrong to feel like [that, r do not want to, but I cannot help it. Can " I is sorry," said Gerty, " that i'se got no home, land when they whip me hard, I does feel bad, but |l always '' member what ma told me when she was lying. She said, ' Gerty, be a good girl, l^ve Tesas^ and He will take care of you,' and I does )elieve He will, for ma said so." ^ - ^ " " Who do you live with now ? " said Alma." " I stays," she repled, *' with o.d Nellie Newtou in that little house on the hill. She is vt y old land very cross. She whips awful, but i'se gettin* ksed to it." - . :v " Does'nt no. Can't member pa at all, was so small then. Ma went away last winter." •* Do you think the Lord will watch over you, and raise you up kind friends to take care of you," said [Alma, as much for het own sake as for Gerty *s. " I'se sure of it," said the child, with a beaming Jountenarice, "for ma told me so." There was somethiuo: so sublimelv touching in 48 TRIED BUT TRUE, iTm M' this repeated reference to her mother's words, some thing so hopeful in her utterances, and so confidenj in her expectation that God would be her friend) that Alma could not help regarding her witl mingled emotions of delight and awe. With toj many she had supposed that experimental piety can only be enjoyed by those of maturer years, and that] children are not capable of comprehending the dee| things of God. But this is certainly a great mis] take. If youthful conversions are the exception] and not the rule, the reason must be found, not ini the nature of Christianity, nor yet in the necessad disqualifications of children, but rather in the wantl of the proper means being made use of. !Maltitudes| of children have been early biought to God, and the! words of the Master — *^0f such is the Kingrloni of Heaven " — ought to encourage all to labor with that end in view. The more she thought about these things, the more was she convinced that this dear child had true faith in Jesus, and she retired to rest that night with the hope, that the day was| not far distant, when she, too, would be enabled to cherish the same unwaverinj;: confidence in the I divine goodness. ufi i & Alma continued to reside with the fisherman and! TRIED BUT TRUE. 49 ^s family, by whom she was treated in the most indly manner. They smypathized very deeply ith her in her severe affection, and did all that jrsons in their circumstances could do, to contri- bute to her comfort. They were poor, their home ras humble, and their provisions of the plainest ind, but with true Irish hospitality, she was wel- jome to the very best they had. They were earn- est, simple-minded Catholics, devotedly attached to le religion of their fathers, and were firmly per- suaded that Romanism alone was right. But they lad, nevertheless, a high sense of honor, and were jareful not to wound the feelings of their guest. Vidy and his wife often talked about these things, md while they thought it a pity that such "a shwpfce little craythur should be a Protestant," they wisely concluded to say nothing to her on the subject, ^*for " 5aid Paddy, ^* me sowl couldn't slape in quietness, if any one was coaxin' Nora to change her religion." But however kind they were to her. Alma was mch too observing a child not to see that they [were really unable to support her, and that it w?8 lard enough for them to live. She felt that she [ought to do something to support herself, but what jto do was the perplexing question. At length so WIED BUT THUS. I n I: il!! after much thought, she determined to go to Hali- fax, and to try to get a situation as house-servant in some pvivate family. For this she wns not alto- gether unfitted, for her mother, Avith provident forethought, had instiucted her in all tiic mysteries of housekeeping, and young, as she was, she had largely superintended her father's household since her mother's death. It was indeed a formidable undertaking for one so young, but she knew not what else to do, and having talked the matter over with her kmd host and hostess, and being assured of their aid in procuring her a suitable place, she set about making the necessary arrangements for \er de- parture, r Having completed her preparations. Alma bade farewell to her kind friends, and set out for Halflix in company with a neighbor who was going thither. By this person Paddy sent a letter to a gentleman there with whom he was slightly acquainted, and as the epistle was something of a curiosity we give it in fiill: v • ^ rir^ Kawky Hill, Siptimbir 10, 185 — . Deer Sub : --rr^r^'ri'-^'Tr^:::.:.. j ^.. ■ Please exkuse my fradom in ritin' to you, but i'm a stranger in Hallifacks, and don't no no wun else. The Barer is an orfan. God bless her, and is wun of the TRIED BUT TRUE, 61 ashtawuys from the Carlhajana. She is a sliwate j'oung bayllniv, an' so sho is, an' both mc and me ouM woman ^rc ^;oTry to part wid her. She is rale lady like, and she is, and its mesclt* that 'ud kape her if I kud. She ^'auts to go io sarvice, sir, an' I want you to thry an' ^it her a place. She is not very shtrong, but she's illin', an' as onnest as the day is long, an' I'm sure that biy dacent famraily wud be sure to like her. J)o awl )o\\ can for her, plase. an' may awl the sayuts bless you, the prare of your humble sarvint PADDY O'MAKA. :f r Upon her arrival in the city, she waited upon [r. Carter, the gentleman to whom the letter was Iddrcsscd, who was fortunately at home, and was pleased to find him a kind, .atherly old gentleman, dth a countenance indicating great tenderness of icart. Having read the epistle, and made some [eneral enquiries about her early life, the loss of le " Carthargena," and her subseqent stay at ^ocky Hill, he assured her of his sincere sympathy, Ind promised to do all that he could to find her a suit- Ible home. He was greatly pleased with her Ippearance, with her artless simplicity he was de- ighted, and the guilelessness of her disposition [harmed him much. The story of her griefs deeply loved him, and as he noticed the shade of sorrow lat clouded her sweet young face, he inwardly re- 52 TRIED BUT TRUE, 1 " 1;. solved to befriend her. Leaving her alone for a few minutes, he sought his wife, and nadc her ac- quainted with the mt^its of the case, and finding the good woman quite prepared to second all his gener- ous proposals, they finally concluded tc keep her in their own family. This, of course, was highly gratifying to Alma, who entered upon this new era in her life, with the firm resolve to do the /ery best she could. "' But to one who had been brought up as Alma had, with kind friends to wait upon her, w ilh every wish anticipated, and every want provided for; who had been wont to be served instead of serving, it was no easy matter to readily adapt herself to the new and altered circumstances in which she was placed. The change had been so great and unex- pected, the descent from affluence to poverty had been made so suddenly that, until now, she had hardly realized it. But when she found herself a common maid-of- all- work in a family that three years before would have deemed itself highly hon- oured to have been classed among her father's j&iends, it need surprise no one, that the poor girl felt it keenly. Bitterly did she bewail the adverse fortune that had befallen her, and her young and mil : TRm BUT TRUE. ^ msitive heart was agonized with the thought that le happiness of other days could never he brought >ack. But knowing that however hard her situation ras, there was really no help for it, she bravely de- jrmined to repress every murmuring feeling and lake the best of everything. She consoled her jlf with the thought that her present poverty was, far as she could see, purely providential^ and lat after all, honest labor, however lowly, was not lishonorable. In one of the few books she had icceeded in saving, she found the following good [vice, which we here give for the benefit of those rho are similarly situated: " Do not be afraid of work. Activity is favor Ihle to health and cheerfulness. Indolence occasions >oth disease and discontent. * ♦ * ♦ Perhaps jon may think that yours is a very hard place, and rou wish you could change it for one that is lighter ind easier, and that would leave you more at liberty amuse yourself in your own way. , "[These are ^ery common feelings with young persons, when ley first experience the confinement and fatigue of )n8tant employment. But take courage and per- Jvere. Most things are possible to diligence ^^d -^. , I 6i TRIED BUT TRUE. patience, and among them this is one, — that yj may easily become reconciled to your duties. order to do this you must take nothing amiss. \\ must give your mind to what you are told to dj move about briskly ; clear up everything as youi and instead of brooding over your difficulties you become discontented and discouraged by t\m ing how much you have to do, cheer yourself thinking how much you have done. Eat not bread of idleness, work away with a will, and evJ day you will get stronger and better able to woi| "Whatever your business is, endeavor to think something that will reconcile you to it. If you think of nothing else, think of it as a duty, aud| thankful that you have employment of any kill Since it is a settled point that you must be employj for others for the present, the more you can and the better you can do it, the more valuable will become to your present employer, and, at same time, you are enlarging your own treasure i knowledge and aptitude for future usefulne And instead of despondingly saying, or even thin ing, ^ I can't,* be stimulated to try, and try aga and again, and you will soon begin to taste pleasure of conquering difficulties and making; pij gress." TBIED BUT TRUE. 55 .cting upon this salutary advice, Alma tried to [k at the bright side of everything, and hoped to happier days. By diligence and punctuality in performance of duty, and by truthfulness and light-forward honesty in all things ;, she com- Inded the respect of her employers, and more ^1 sustained the good opinion they had at first led about her. She believed in the importance :rifles, and was assiduous in attending to those lor matters which enter so largely into the ex- Kencc of every day life, and upon which its hap- [ess is so much dependent. She wanted to please, to accomplish this, she was willing to do many [ngs, that were not, properly speaking, her work. while she made many mortifying mistakes, frequently found herself at her wits' end, this more than compensated for by her invariable id temper and disposition to oblige. She did work well and thoroughly, carfuUy avoided all ravagance and waste, and was really desirous of ;rving the character of a good servant. iF ■.*\;v..-,* ■: t^Jl'-.i-l. CHAPTER IV. CHANGES. '!4 i ,t ^^!l!l ! jjii This is a world of change. Mutability is ten upon everything earthly. The indigent independence, and the merchant prince pauper. The dreams of youth are rarely rei the brightest prospects soon become clouded,] hopes, apparently well founded, end in appointment. All is shadowy and unsubsta nothing real and enduring. The tenderest| are only temporary, the most endearing tion is subject to sudden termination. Our de friends may be taken from us, at any moi our most valued associations abrubtly brokenl Failure of health, loss of property, falsity of frij the death of dear ones, and the general imceit hat attaches to all things here below^ remii TRIED BUT TRUS. 57 forcibly that we are passing away, and show ^e necessity of setting our affections on things [e, and not on things of the earth. len Alma had resided with Mr. Carter about ir, circumstances led to his removal to New His only son had been settled there for fal years, and was very anxious that his father Id go thither also. But up to this time he had lily refused to do so. He was strongly attached land of his birth, was doing a good business, lad many dear friends with whom he was un- ig to part. But the earnest solicitations of his [his own increasing years and infirmities, and [roaring unfitness for the efficient discharge of f, had, at length, decided him to go. Alma the announcement with dismay, for she had led to love them, and was fearful that she it not be permitted to accompany them. They used her with uniform kindness, had taken an interest in her welfare, had treated her more consideration than is usually accorded to ostics, and had grantsd her many privileges fo^ ^h one in her position could lay no claim. In- I, it seemed to have baen a settled undcrstand- )etween master, mistress, and servant to render 58 TRIED BUT TRUE. ha '"ill ''*' m each other as comfortable as possible, and tl thought of being again thrown among strange awakened within Alma's bosom tlie gloomiest a| prehensions. But her fears were groundless, for Mr. CartJ had no such intention. He felt, it incumbent upti him to still care for her. He delighted to do goc and the claims of the poor and friendless he deemJ sacred. He was one of those large hearted ij dividuals who can do nothing by halves, and yh consider no kindness too great, provided the part] to whom it is shown is a worthy one. And tl Alma was worthy, he was well convinced. Tlj more he had seen of her, the more he had been 1^ to respect her. The uncomplaining manner il which she had taken to a work, to her both nej and difficult ; the willingness with which she h submitted to be taught, and the praisewortlij manner in which she had ever conducted m self, had been highly creditable to her. Mi Carter, being more with her, and having bettij opportunities for estimating her worth had al equally high, opinion of her, and, with a rei motherly feeling, had greatly contributed to H comfort. And so necessary did she seem to TRIED BUT TRUE. 59 [their happiness, and so much like a member of family had she became, that the thought of king her behind had never once occurred to [After a short and pleasant passage, they reached jwYork in safety, and were most cordially received the younger Mr. Carter. He had purchased a ifortable residence for them adjoining his own, had fitted it up in a neat and tasteful manner, had spared no pains to render it as attractive possible, and had striven to make it as much ^e the old homestead as was in his power. He is fearful that the old folks would feel lonely fay from the home and friends of their youth, had made it a study to meet their wishes in ;ry way. In this he had succeeded most ad rably, and they were perfectly delighted with arrangements that had been made to ensure ?ir comfort. Robert had ever been a kind and mghtful boy, whose absence from them so long Sd been their greatest grief, and they were thus iured that his love for them was as stroni< jis ever. IS wife was an excellent woman, and, though jrsonally unknown to them, had heartly co-oper- ;d with him "'n his efforts to please ; and their eo TRIED BUT TRUE. four children, who now for the first time saw their grandparents, contributed in no small degree to| their comfort and satisfaction. - • ' -^-i ; , But no one was more delighted with the change I than was Alma. She no longer occupied the humble position of a servant, but was treated as a child, and having proved lier worth, Mr. Carter| was determined to deal with her as she deserved. And believing that in no way could he render hcri greater service than in affording her the means of acquiring a good education, he sent her to the| schools in the neisjhborhood. Nothinijf could have given her greater pleasure than this, for her educa- tion was very defective. At the time of hei| mother's death, she was well advanced for oae of her tender yeais, but the circumstance in which slic had been subsequently placed, had not only pre- vented any further improvement of her mind, bat she had really forgotten much that she had once known. This she had deeply regretted, for she loved study and had good natural abilities ; and she had ever hoped to be so situated that she might again resume her studios. That hope was now abc/Ui; to be realized ; her thirst for knowledge was about to be jr ratified, and with a glad and arratcful m. TBIED BUT TRUEL 01 leart she entered upon the new and honorable )athway opened up to her. , . Appreciating the privileges with which she was low favored, she applied herself to her studies with zeal and earnestness that was highly commend- ible. She believed that whatever was worth doing it all, was worth doing well, and that patient and )ersevering effort were indespensable to success. )hc had but one object in view, and to that she [consecrated her every energy. Everything else [was made to give way before ic, and her greatest imbition was to do her work well and wisely, liscouragcd she often was, but she never despaired, mcl with strong will and unwavering purpose, she )ersevered in the path of duty. She was a hard student, diligent and painstaking, and determined [to do the very best she could. Indeed she could slight nothing, and whatever she did was done thoroughly. The more she learned the more she [wished to learn, and every addition to her present 3tock of knowledge, only prompted her to still [reatcr endeavours. And afraid that adverse cir- iumstances might deprive hor of the present privi- leges, she resolved to make a wise improvement icr time, and to turn everytliing to her advan- ta<2:e. » ^m I in 62 TRIED BUT TRUE. II; IjlllMIUilif And well was it for her that she did so, for dark days were before her in the near future. Young as she was, she had already passed through trials of no ordinary kind. Blow after blow had fallen upon her, and wave after wave of sorrow had rolled over her. The storms of adversity had beaten piti- lessly around her, and her young life had been full of grief. Stripped of everything — of parents, property, and position — and cast out upon the world, a poor friendless orphan, her experience had been a sorrowful one. What she had suffered no tongue can tell, and no pen describe, and the great- ness of her grief God alone could gauge. On her countenance she carried the evidence of care ; in her merriest laugh there was an undertone of sad- ness, and shades of unusual e ;riousncss mingled with the lights of her girlish days. But her cup was not yet full. Her Heavenly Father, who is too wise to err, and too good to be unkind, saw fit to subject her to additional suffering, and to require her again to pass through the furnace of affliction ; for just when the dark clouds that had so long overhung her pathway were being lifted, and the prospect began to brighten, the sudden death of her bene- factor, again plunged her into grief and distress. TRIED BUT TUUE. 65 Mr. Carter's death was quite unexpected. For a inan. of sixty he was remarkably active, and his health of late was unusually good. He had gone out to take his daily walk, accompanied by two of his grandchildren, when the messenger came and summoned him away. He was chatting away quite- pleasantly with the little ones, and describing to them, for the hundreth time, his old homo in Hali- fax, when he was smitten by apoplexy, and fell dead upon the pavement. Great was the grief and consternation of his family when his lifeless form was brought home, for he had been a kind husband and an affectionate father, but, perhaps, no one felt his loss more keenly, or grieved for him more sincerely than did Alma. She felt that she had lost her best earthly friend ; we might almost say her only one, for since the death of her dear father^ she had meet with no one like him. His treat- ment of her, and especially so of late, had been so kind and considerate, and characterized by so much of a father's feeling, that her heart had gone out ta him, with all the fond affection of a daughter. And from certain remarks he one day happened ta make in her presence, she had learned that it waa his intention to do yet more for her. Such being ,;.-«t:^.s:,. 64 TBTED BUT TRUE, iiiii iliili tlie case, we need not wonder that the old feeling of desolation took possession of her heart, and that 8he felt herself anew orphaned. The gleams ol sunshine with which she had been favored, during the last two years, only rendered her present dark- ness the more distressing, and she trembled at the thought of being once more alone in the world. With a bursting heart she turned away from the »rave, wherein had been deposited the mortal re- mains of the one she valued so highly, and, seeking the seclusion of her own chamber, gave way to her ^rlof in sobs and tears. For a time she was incon- j^olablc, and hor sorrow knew no bounds, but this did not last long. Tears have been termed the ?afety-Yalvcs of the heart when too much pressure IS laid on ; and the grief that would often prove destructive to health and eason, exhausts itself in 1^ healing shower. Such was Alma's experience at the time of which we speak, for when she retired to rest that night, she felt more calm and com- posed than she could have imagined possible under the circumstances. As Mr. Carter had died intestate, the whole knanagement of his affairs devolved upon his son, and he, deeming it unwise to keep up two establish- TRIED BUT TRUE. 65 ments, persuaded his mother to giTe up houselceep- ing and take up her abode with him. With all his good qualities^ — and he was in many respects a worthy man — ^he had never felt very kindly towards the friendless orphan^ and had thought his father rather foolish in manifesting so much interest in her! welfare. He had been jealous of her popularit with his father, and was fearful that she migh stand in the way of his own or his children's ad vantage, and although he had prudently kept quie during his father ^s life, he was more than please to find that his unexpected decease had left every thing in his own hands. He considered himself under no obligation to care for her, and his mothe was too much under his influence, to plead ver strongly on her behalf. Still he did not wish t appear unkind, for although avarice had somewhai blunted his finer feelings, he was fearful that hii good name might suflfer by any ungenerous treat ment of one who had been known to stand sc highly in the estimation of the deceased, and whc had generally been accepted as his adoptee daughter. Alma soon perceived that her presence In t family was no longer desired, and it grieved her •66 TRIED BUT TRUE, see that the old lady whom she had learned to love as a mother, was being prejudiced against her. While there was nothing as yet said or done of which she could complain, yet in many nameless "'ays she was made to feel that her position was entirely changed ; and the constrained manner, the unnatural reserve, and the cold and formal manner in which she was addressed, were harder to be borne than positive unkindness. To her sensitive j|| nature this was exceedingly trying, and she pon- dered the question long and deeply, wha: she ought to do. Necessity is the mother of inrention, and trial a great sharpener of the wits, and unwil- i ling that anything should lead her to feel unkindly \ tov/ards a family with which she had been so hap- I pily associated, and from which she had received so \ much real kindness, she determined with commend- \ able forethought to anticipate difficulty, by seeking \ a home and employment elsewhere. She soon i succeeded in securing a situation as governess in a I neighboring family, and much to the relief of Mr. Carter, severed a connection that had become dis- llllipl ! agreeable to both parties.- ---^-^----^--------^-----i^— :^^-r III But, still, she could not leave without regret, and it required considerable effort to repress her feel- TRIED BUT TEUE. m. r ings and appear calm. Old Mrs. Caiter was touched by her meek and uncomplrinimg manner^ and regretted that she had not taken more interest in the motherless girl and tried to save her from this fresh hardship. But she knew it was to late now, and she said nothing. Mr. and Mrs. Carter had purposely gone away from home^ that they might not witness her departure. But the children who loved her dearly, were loud in their lamenta- tions, and declared it was a shame to send her away. Little Bobbie, in particular, who had always per- sisted in calling her his ^' own dear little aunty," would have it that it was ^*too bad," and wondered why it was that she could not stay and tend, on ^^^'randma " and teach **us little folks." And with that instinctive knowledge of the true state of affairs which children perceive much more readily than is generally supposed, Bobbie was sure if ** grandpa hadn't died, his own dear little aunty woald'nt have been turned out of doors." But lie added earnestly, " I'll be a man soon, and^ then you'll come and live with me," ; Thanking Mrs. Cpxter for the kindness she had received from herself and her deceased husband, and expressing the hope that the Lord woald re» -, ,| ,...1 -68 TEIED BUI IRUE. If ■!, ward her for it all ; and kissing the little ones who clustered around her^ and promising to come and «ee them sometimes; she took her departure. What her feelings were can be better imagined than described^ and can only be understood by those who have been similarly situated. But her habitual hopefulness came to her aid, and by the time she had reached the residence of Dr. Davison, she had completely recovered her self-possession, and iio| stranger would have supposed, that the scene, through which she had just passed had occasionesl her much uneasiness. But it had been far other- 1 wise. She had a genial, loving heart, full o^| feeling, and keenly sensitive ; but a high sense of duty, and respect for the memory of her deceased I parents, gave her the needed strength, and she went forth to do, and, if need be, to suffer. What lay before her she neither knew nor wanted to know but she hoped to be able to bear whatever might be| laid upon her. i, i t -'i \ ,;i ■ ■%.K. 0Q'^^a>U;':- CHAPTER y. ''tP Til?: YOUNG G0VKKNI.S3. Dr. Davison was one of the most liighly accom- >lishef education the country could afford, fhcir wish 1. d been that he might dt-vote himself* the ministr^ , but as he shewed a decided pre- jrcnce for the medical profession, they ofil-red no- )position, and were only anxious that he would. ^cel in whatever he undertook. His ni'ural tiiitijs were good, and his devotion to liis work_ 5 'li ■ 'HI il ■1 1 1 Ilii; J iiii ! I I ^■■''llil :"i-i;ffl5m !i i^iillP 70 TRIED BU2 TRUE. highly commendable, and at the end of the usuil College course he graduated with high honors. I Gratified with his success, and wisliing him to win fresh laurels, they then sent him to Scotland, where lie carried for some of the best prizes, and Avon for himself an honorable name. Returning to America he had taken up his abode with his parents, and asj his practice was large and his prospects were good, he had concluded to permanen'^ly settle there. Butl having married a New York lady who, like himself! was an only child, and her mother was a widow! and as the old lady could not be persuaded to pait with her daughter, he removed thither shortly afterl his marriage. Ten years had since rolled away, andl great changes had taken place. His mother-in-lawj had gone the way of all the earth, and had left himl in possession of a splendid fortune. He was univtrj «ally respected as a large-hearted, noble-miiule man, and his professional utterances had greai weight. The poor and the friendless ever foundj him willing to assist them, and in him the churcli had one of its most liberal supporters. His aged parents were frequent visitors at his house, iinil never were parents made more welcome. Hii merry-hearted, good-natured wife had done all thai \TR1ED BUT TRUE. 71 a true woman could to make his life happy. His home had been gladdened by the presence of three lovely children whose i inging laughter thrilled his heart with real pleasure. And if external circum- stances could have made him happy, his cup of bliss must have been full. - * But — and what a world of meaning is in that little word, and how suddenly is the whole current of our thoughts and feelings changed by its pre- ^scncc — men are not always what they appear to be. Many a heart and countenance wear the semblance [of gladness only to conceal its great grief. With inany who live in luxurious ease, and roll by in khcir cushioned coaches, the poorest beggar upon the street would not exchange places, did he know all. Beneath many ct-biight and sunny face, there are sorrows too deep for utterance, with which a stranger dares not intermeddle. Across every pathway flits some dark shadow ; into every home [enters some cause of sadness. There is a crook in [every lot, a poison in every cup. Paul had hi» |thorn, Naaman his leprosy, and Haman his Mor- lecai. The fairest character has usually some de- Ifect — some easily besetting sin — some weak point Lsome unprotected avenue of the soul, by means of « fci 7i TRIICD BUT TiiUE. IBil i. J ffl which the enemy gains the ascendency, and mar* M'hat is otherwise good and beautiful. And how- ever sad it is to say so, it is as true as it is sad, that after we have said all we can in favor of an iiuli- vidua), wc have generally to conclude with a — But. And Dr. Davison was no exception to the rule. With all that was good nnd noble about him — and he was certainly no ordinary man — he had one sad defect, — he was a lover of strong drink. He wa^| not a drunkard in the ordinary sense of the term, and would have shuddered at the idea of ever be- coming one. He was seldom so far under its in- fluence as to be aflcctcd in voice or manner, and the| possibility of his becominr' too fond of the deadly draught had never once occurred to him. IndcedJ in his way he was a great temperance man. The champions of the cau«e were frequent visitors at his | house, believed it to be a good thing, and had pre- suaded many a poor incbria'e to take the pledgeJ And yet, when plied with his own arguments, ^itli I an inconsistency by no means uncommon, \^ould re- fuse to do so himself, with the usu d remark that in| his case there was really no danger. But there was| danger. The habit grew stronger day by day, and while, as yet, the world knew nothing of it, his wifej TIUh:i) HIT TliVE. 75 ^aw with deep concern that their domestic peace was endangered. How to grapple with the diffi- <;ulty she knew not, and to talk with him about it «ccmcd to he too great an undertaking, and while ^lie hesitated and waited in the vain hope of seeing him improve, the darkness continued to deepen ground her. ■. v-^ Such was the stat3 of thini^s in Dr. Davison's family when Alma entered upon her duties as a ;govcrncss. Of the Dr. himself she saw but little, and while, with every one, she was favourably im- piesscd with his appearance and manners, she was not long in discovering that there was a shadow resting on the household. With .\[rs. Davison she was soon on verv intimate terms, and was much ^pleased with her easy and unassnming ways. She readily perceived that Alma was a very superior person, and, without appearing to be inquibitive, ^soon learned her sad historv. She would often pend a half an hour with her, and as she found her to be intelligent and conversational, he seemed to iijoy her company very much. Buc the depressed ook, the melancholy tone of voice, and the sigh hnt could not be kept back, more than ever con- rinced Alma that happiness was not dependent upon 74 TRIED BUT TRUE, itiii :i' " external circumstances, and with that generosity Avhich seemed to be a part of hor nature, she longed for an opportunity to minister to the necessities of the sorrowing one. And while she knew her place too well, and had too much true delicacy of feeling, to attempt to find out the cause of hev distress, she was assidious in her endeavors to aid her in every possible way, and to dissipate the gloom that had settled down upon her. >^ The morning after her arrival she was introduced! to the children, and, at once, entered upon the dis- charge of the duties devolving upon her. In many respects she was well qualified for the work. She had a pleasing manner, a kind temper, practical good sense, and a fair education, combined with the ability to enter into the thoughts and dispositions of her pupils She had a pretty good acquaintance with music, and was not only a skilful performer, but an excellent singer ulso. Thoroughness, as vol have already stated, was a prominent trait in her character, and whatever she knew, was known well] And while her attainments in the hiq-her branches! were not very gi*eat, that, in no sense, disqualified! her for her present position, for her pupils wenj yet young, and their education had been very miicli| TUIFD BIT THUE. u neglected. Their previous instructors had been more intent upon pleasing than profiting them, and their parents too much occupied about other mat- ters, had paid no personal attention to them what- ever. The consequence was that nothing practically useful had been accomplished, and Alma found that she had really to begin at the beginning. Hcltie, the eldest, w as nine years of age, and was a high-spirited, hot-tempered, wilful girl. She had never been very strong, and about five years be- iore had lain for j^ome time at the point of death. After her recovery she had been so petted thnt she h:id been spoiled, and she had since expected to have her own >vay in eveiyiluiig. ^iildness or severity seemed to make no difference in her con- duct, for the one only ap peart d to encourage her in her self- will, and the other would throw her into a state of temper that was terrible to behold in one so }or.r.g. Aln.a's predecessor had therefore let her please herself, and the consequence was, that a [not naturally bad disposition, had been rendered ?xreedingly disagreeable and difficult of manage- iment. She w. s not devoid of good feeling, and \^\wn she chose could be as kind and obliging as |any one. She had good natural abilities, could m i" iitiy!* { Mm mM\ 71) mjf':jj nur uiUE, learn anything, if slie was so iniuded, and had, ^or one so }oung, great musical talent. She was certainly a remarkable child, and Alma felt that such powers as si.e possessed, unless properly cultivated and controlled, would lead to conse- quences of the most serious kind, and that she judged rightly the sequel will bhow. ]>ertie was a briurht, hlue-cved little fellow of some seven summer.<, and the opposite of his sistci in almost every particular. Anger he never showed, an improper expression he was never known to ut- ter, and was a most sen Ive and conscientious child, From the earliest dawn of reason he had manifested a strange interest in Iioly things. His mother had taught him some simple prayers, which he de- lighted to repeat, and about M'hich he asked n)any a question of deep and solemn import. His dis- position was the most amiable, and as he looked at you in his own sweet way, he seemed like some cherub fiom another sphere, ^ent to woo you to the better land by genth^ words and winning: smiles. His influence in the house was unbounded, and it | was wonderful to see how every one yielded to the. mysterious power of th) dear child, lie, aloiiCj could manage Hettie, and often in her fits of rage, Tin ED BUT THVE, 77 lie wouM talk to her so tenderly, nnd try goto calm ihcr, that she would sit down by his side, and al- most smother him with her caresses, and declaim! that it' everybody was as good as Bertie, she would never get angry ftgain. Lillie was a lively little four year old, and was «till known as ** the babv." She was all life and animation, full of fun and frolic, and as playful as a kitten. She was ever on the move, but divided her time chiefly between the nursery and the school-room. IJer innocent prattle made music in [the household, and her '* playin' tool *' was a never failing source of amusement to the whole family. [She lovtd Beitie dearly, but thought Uettie not very I*** dood." She had great imitative powers, and thq [•comical manner in which she would represent Hettic, in one of her fits, was really laughable, jSometimes she would perch herself on a chair, or throw herself on the floor, and go through the Kvhole performance with such perfect pr^cit)ion, that Hcttie would be so ashamed of herself that she jthought she would never be gwilty of the like agair. pShe had much of her sister's vigor and strength of uind, combined with Bei tie's svrcetness of temper mfl disposition, and was just such a child as no one io'ild hc^p loving. 73 TlilEI) nVT TliUE, ;:iiii "Well, llrttie," said Mrs. Davison to her, a few (lays after Alma's entrance upon her work. **] hope you like your new governess ?" ** Indeed \ do not, nor never shall " was the quick reply. ** Why, my dear, what is the matter, what fault do you find Asith her ?'* enquired the mother. ** O nothing in paiticular, hut I hate her already — I do,'* w;(.> the sharp rejoindsr. **Hetlie ! flettle 1 " sa*d the mother in agiievcd tone, ** you ought not to talk and feel thus. You know that it is veiy wicked, and 1 hardly think that ^liss Go wire has done anything that ought to displease you. Has she, Hettie?" " Has she ? Why isn't she doing something all the time ? Isn't she finding fault with everything I do, and trying to make me do as she wishes. l>iit I won't ! sec if I do ! " said the excited girl, for by this time she had worked herself up into quite a passion. **But, Hettie, my eh Id," said her mother, * what has she done, for you see you have not preferred a single charge against her. And before we allow ourselves to feel unkindly towards anvtme, we must be sure that vre have good reasons for it." TiUED BUT TIWK. 79 <' Ma/* said Lillie, who was playing with her (loll, and who had appeared to have taken no notice of what was being said ; ** Til tell 'oo why Hettie don't Hke Miss Dowrie," — she always made D do service for G. — ** Hettie wouldn't 'tuddy, and tolded ycal bad, 'cause Miss Do wile made her to. That's it, ma, that's it, sure.*' ** Out," said the mother, " suppose it is, Lillie, do you think it kind to tell talcs on your sister. You know ma docs not like to have her little girl do that, and hopes she will not do it again." "Ma, I'se y( al sorry," said the little and, ** for I docs love Hettie, but," — and she gave her sister one of her comiciil looks — **she's venl toss, j.nd Miss Dow lie is yeal doon," and with that bhc sprung upon Hettie's knee, twined her arms around her neck, and ki>sed her, with the question, *' Poesn't 'oo love lillie?" The mother was very much grieved at Hettic*s manner, and though unwilling to have one child ^appear to speak against another, she felt that she ought to find out what had so soon oocurrcd to create such unpleasantness between Alma and her pupil. J^garded as m\ evidence of defet..^ at the ver^ outset. But she was sjjeedly undeceived, for she was assured that what was said was meant and that such langu- age must never be used again. UpoM this Hettie Hew into a great rage, threw an inlx bottle at her which fortunately missed her head, and seizing a [ruler, struck her violently on the arm. x\l though I much hurt, Alma tried to calm the cvrlted child, hut finding this was useless, she confined \x^x i^ ^ tsmall room adjoining the school room, for the rest >f the day. As the Dr. and his wifn were away from home, and would not be back for s-vcral days; ^ f -*-- 84 TUIKD BUT TinJE, Alma was not intoiTcred with and the unruly one- was finally conquered. But though conquered, she was not subdued, ard she was fully resolved to have her seiH away, as soon as possible. But she Mas. ashamed to siy anything about it, and the matter hiight nevm* have been reported to her parents hiul not her own Svrathful m pvds t^xeited her motherV curiosity, and led to a U\\\ disc losuru. Mrs. Davisoil was exceedingly distiesstd will what Bertie had told her, and only that she had implicit confidence in all that he said, she could not have believed \\, lipssible that a child of hers would have been guilty of such conduct. She hud known her to be wilful, and hard to manage, hut never dreamea she was half as bad as she really Avns Like too many parents in her position, she had been accustomed to take the instructors of her children upon trust. Their characters and capabili ties had never been enquired iuto,beyond the posses- sion of a respectably signed certificate, and the influ- ence they had wielded over their pupils had never been considered. She now saw how unwisely slit; had acted in trusting so naicli to others, and hoping that it was not yet too late, she resolve ^ '^* r?nce, to| turn over a new leaf. And having m i«c h.-ntldi-i^-^ein. TEIED BUT TRUE, 85 Alma's tact and judgment — and that confidence was daily increasing — she expected to find in her a valuable assistant. 6 jjmfm I! * y. <^ CHAPTER VI. ill ' GLEAMS OF SUNSHINE. Time, that never wearies nor waits for any, had sped on with rapid pace. Another year, with all its joys and sorrows, had rolled away, and Alma I was still residing with the Davison's. Patient and persevering in the performance of her duties, and prudent and painstaking in her efforts to please, shej had won the respect and confidence of her em- ployers, and the love of, at least, two of her pupils,! Bertie and Lillie were devotedly attached to her, and tried to please her in every possible way. With them she never had the slightest unpleasant- ness, her wishes were readily complied with, andl |ier approving smile was their most coveted re-j ward. For one of her years, Lillie had madfi wonderful progress, and could read really well, alj TRIED BU2 TRUE. m though the G's were still a great trouble to her. Bertie, considering his delicate health, had as- tonished every one. And as Alma listened to the praise bestowed upon her youthful charge, by those whose opinions had weight and influence, she felt glad and thankful that she had succeeded so well. But — and here again we are confronted with that formidable little word which abruptly breaks in upon our musings, and suggests all manner of gloomy things, and so suddenly darkens om path- way, and excites our fears — there was another antl a darker side to the picture. Like Mordecai sitting in the King's gate, Hettie continued to be a great source of annoyance to Alma. She had made her disposition a study, and had taxed her powers of ingenuity in her endeavors to ascertain how to deal [with her, but thus far all her efforts had proved in- [efFectual, and good old Job himself would some- times have had his patience pretty sorely tested, if le had been her teacher. At times, she was as ;ood, and kind, and diligent, as any one could do- rire, hut such occasions were few and far between ; md though, perhaps, not quite so boisterous as she tad been a year previous to this, she was as sell^ rilled and stubborn M erei*, and equally hard ffi 88 TRIED BUT TRUE. li^ manage. Rarely does it happen that one so young, exhibits so much determination in wrong-doing, for the anger of the child is generally of short continu- ance, but the spirit of settled and unrelenting ani- mosity that she displayed was as unusual in Its intensity, as it was painful in its manifestations. Her dislike of Alma was deep and strong, and daily seemed to become more and more so. Had Mrs, Davison known how matters really were, it is more than likely that she would have felt it to be her duty to have sought a new gover- ness, in the hope that she would succeed better in the management of her wayward child. This she would have done with regret, for she had become mucli gttftphe4 to heri and litilltivud liui to be every way irorthy of nnnflfllehftfe | m(\ rflQ hlgll r- Ihrtm In whMi she wan held by Bertie and Lliile, wuiiM liiivo inmlf; it very painful for tjiem to Pttit with hui IliU, iw We have already seen, she #fte sd d|jpdsod to evnry apecieft of talebearing, that, mAm^ ipHf^iftJly \\\m |ione4, the little Que« tiwilid m niotim fwm i\\\ Kohooltoom I atid Atttia was far im gejuuiuiis, a had far too forgiving a dlsnoslttoii, to say or fl mph\r\n ttiil fii wlnwMtwd in mhhn tbf \nm^^ 4Miiweeri th«fn^ wM ^id bopB I IikI kUa^mm, gtiDH TlilED BUT TRUE. 80 ally so powerful, would ultimately prevail, and that all unpleasantness would pass away. For this she lived and labored, and to its accomplishment she devoted much thought and effort. But as time sped away and she saw no signs of improvement, she would certainly have thrown up her situation in despair, had it not been for the love of the little I ones, the sympathy of Mrs. Davison, and her strong desire to do her good. Apart, however, from this one great trouble, I Alma felt that she had much to be thankful for, and that she had much to cheer her as she passed along the rough and difficult pathway of life. She happily proved that the darkest cloud has ever a [silver lining ; that there are many sunny spots in (his weary wilderness world of ours ; and that how- ever situated, and wherever found, there is much to onsole and comfort. No situation is so hard but [hrtt it might be much worse, and it is always well, III mm lonfs nf discouragement and dismay, to con- [tHHi tlif! lint mil \s\\\\ tlin puNNlhle. Thein U always iiMiBlliliiy to ll^litnii lliM Idihl iliiit, at (IihI Might, mmm\ im\ lnMivy \% U ImVHMi \\^mp »«jn|tlilWM |m llluourage hojm jIHiI iMiiiflloiine lil iIih jjjiy iif m(|» 8*^""B and dttiipi* III her exnorimu30, tUeio had ^iim 90 TRIED BUT TRUE, \ 4, I: |i been mucli commingling of light and shade, of joy and sorrow, and many sad and sudden changes ; she had been permitted to view life from various standpoints, and through different media ; with the rich and the poor, the cultured and the untaught, she had been associated, and was no stranger to tke temptations of che one, or the trials of the other ; but she was slowly learnincj the lesson that every one must learn, sooner or later, that happiness is largely dependent upon ourselves, and is within the reach, and may be enjoyed by t /ery one. Her situation was, all considered, a very desir- able one. She had a good home, and was well and abundantly provided for. Her duties were light and easily discharged, and, but for the trouble al- ready alluded to, would have been a source of real pleasure. Her remuneration was very liberal, and enabled her not only to dress respectably, but also to lay by something for the future. Her privileges were very great, for she had much spare time, and this, with commendable industry, was devoted to self-improvement. She was permitted to attend public worship twice every Sabbath, and once dur- ing the week evenings, besides accompanying the Dr. and his wife to a number of literary and musical I TRIED BUT TRUE, 91 entertainments during the winter season. As they generally took their children with them when they went to Philadelphia, or paid their annual visit to Niagara, she had gone with them to each of those places, the past summer. She was so intelligent and trustworthy — so untiring in her attentions — and so ready to render all the assistant j she could to make the time pass away pleasantly, that Mrs. Davison valued her very highly as a travt !ling com- panion, and the Dr. who had never seen so much of her before was equally well pleased. Under such circumstances, she felt no disposition to com- plain, but, on the contrary, to be thankful and happy. With Philadelphiit she was greatly delighted, but as it has been so often and so well described, we shall not attempt anything of the kind here. But with the home of the elder Mr. Davison she was really charmed. Pleasantly situated in one of the loveliest spots in the city, surrounded by an. open, ornamental ironwork fence, and shaded by * number of stately elms, it presented a very prepos- sessing appearance. It was covered by trellis- work', and beautiful creepers, vines, and parasite flowers, ^then in the full magnificence of summer, grew up IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 y£ 1^ IIIII2.2 1.4 1.8 1.6 v> >m/// ^:^^^ V PhotDgraphic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. I4S80 (716) 872-4503 ^ \ iV ^v^ fv * V 92 TRIED BUT TRUE. and clustered around the windows. A number of flowers of the rarest kind, adorned the neatly-kept garden, and everything about the premises indicated a faultless taste, and love of the beautiful. The in- terior of the building was admirable in all its ar- rangements, and though, by no means, a princely palace or mansion, was nevertheless fit for a prince to live in. Bixt there was nothing about it after all, half so attractive as the venerabh pair who called it home. With heads blossoming for the grave, without any of the peevishness of old age, and cherishing for each other a love that had been growing stronger and deeper for more than fifty years, they were beautiful specimens of a green and happy old age. But the sight of Niagara had strangely excited her. With the water she had been familiar from her earliest childhood. She had pleasant recollec- tions of a lovely little lake near her old Scottish home, which dotted over with grassy islets, lay sleeping among the hills, and over whose quiet waters she had often sailed with the father she had loved so dearly, and whose memory she so sacredly cherished. With that same dear parent, she had . voyaged upon several of those streams which have TRIED BUT TIWE, 93 been rendered immortal by the bards of old Scotia, the rugged beauty and grandeur of which, had pro- duced imperishable impressions upon her young mind. She had been far out upon the wide, wide sea, and gazed with delight upon its glassy bosom, as it lay before her like one vast extended plain, in the calm moonlight ; or listened, with blanched cheek and sinking heart, to its wild roar in the deep darkness. But Niagara exceeded everything. The resistless sweep of the fast flowing river, the fearful leap of the waters, the ceaseless rush and roar of the cataract, and the seething, boiling tide below, thrilled her soul with new and indescribable amotions. Well and truly has it been described as, " at once defying description and analysis, and exciting, by turns, ideas of grandeur, beauty, terror, power and sublimity. Changeless in its everlasting change ; stable in its perpetual instability ; a thing to be * pondered in the heart, like the Revelation to the meek Virgin of old ;' with no pride in the brilliant hues that are woven in it its eternal loom ; with no haste in the majestic roll of its waters ; with no weariness in its endless psalm ; it remains through the eventful years an embodiment of un- conscious power, a lively inspiration of tiioughfci ' I' I' I n TRIED BUT TRUE, V ' ;'■ ii i II l| :i'^m hii and poetry, and worship— a magnificent apocalypse of God ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ Kindling in the most in- sensate heart an awe and a rapture of which they had hardly thought themselves capable before." That awe, that rapture. Alma experienced as she gazed upon this splendid panorama of nature's won- ders. She never wearied of the sight, for there was something about it, ever new, and fresh, and beautiful. But however grandly it appeared by day, it was, if possible, still more so when seen in the silvery moonlight. Then it possessed a strange fascination, and wielded over her a mysterious power. And as she looked up at the overarching sky, upon the unsleeping stream, she realized, as she never had before, the near presence of the God of Nature. Walking with the children one day in the neigh- borhood of the " Falls," she met a little girl wha appeared to be in great distress. The sight of suf- fering always excited her sympathy, and she promptly inquired the cause of her sorrow. The little one at first was rather shy, but reassured by the kindly tone and manner of her questioner, she «,Ai * -w' j^r* t>i"*''< «. ■' sobbingly replied: 'm»^<--:mm^'':imt: til*' Och, sure, an' its me poor daddy's that's most TRIED BUT TRUE, 95 kilt, and Docther Miccallisther is not at home. Oh, dear what will I do ? " <^ What has happened to him? " kindly enquired the other. *^ Sure, an' he was blastin' a rock," said the girl," an' a sthone sthruck him on the thigh, an' they say that he is awfully smashed." "What is your father's name ? " said Alma, for there was something familiar in the child's looks, and she was anxious to find out whether or not, there was any foundation for a suspicion that had just flitted through her mind. "Paddy O'Mara," she replied, " an' so it it>, an' a fine man me ould daddy is too. ** I have no donbt of it, my dear, and you are Nora. I am so glad to see you. I thought T knew your face, but was not quite sure, you have changed so much. I am real sorry for your poor father, and hope that he may not be as badly hurt as you suppose ; " and tenderly kissing the weeping one, she bade her run home as quickly as possible, and tell her father that a Doctor would be there im- mediately. -v,;i,. .,;«.-. •■U.t' :U . ^-■..^ t. - ■ S>:..^--- .:y^:,- Bertie and Lillie were very much interested in what they had heard and seen, and manifested t 96 TBTED BUT TRUE, ill much sympathy for the sufferer ; bnt Hettie was highly displeased that they had been seen in such company, and hoped that Miss Gowrie would never do the like again when she was with her. Anxious to allay Hettie's irritation, and to vindi- cate herself f^'om a seeming impropriety. Alma explained who and what the child was, and how much she felt indebted to her family. She told how, when shipwrecked and friendless, Paddy O'Mara had taken her in, and kindly cared for her ; how he had exerted himself on her behalf ; and how he had finally succeeded in getting her a good home. She had often wondered what had become of them, and had always wished for an opportunity to show how thankful she felt ; and she was really glad that Providence had at last thrown them in her way. Of that eventful period in her history, the chil- dren had never heard, and they listened to the story of her sufferings with much interest. The sympathy of the Uttle ones for Nora and her father was greatly increased by the knowledge that she had been good to Alma in other days ; and even Hettie while hoping that none of her fashionable friends had seen them^ frankly admitted that she had done TEIED BUT TRUE. 97 perfectly right. But Bertie's sympathy went further than mere feeling — he wanted something to be done for the poor man immediately — and at once suggested that his papa should be sent to see him as soon as possible. This course Alma had already decided upon, and having fortunately found the Doctor at his lodgings, and explained to him the nature of the case, was gratified to find him quite ready to carry out her benevolent suggestions. After a careful examination, it was found that Paddy's injuries, though severe, were not danger- ous, and that, with proper treatment, he would be all right again before a great while. He had several bad bruises about his body, and one of his hands was somewhat torn, but his chief trouble was a broken leg. This was soon set and bandaged, and his other wounds dressed, and promising to see him again, the Doctor took his leave. Alma availed herself of an early opportunity of visiting Paddy, and evincing her sympathy with him in his present suffering. From what Nora had told him, and from certain remarks dropped by the doctor, he had ascertained to whom he was in- debted for the medical assistance that had been so ptomptly rendered him. He seemed to forget his I J!h.!|.i TRIED BUT TRUE, 1 II' I . Hill! own distress, in his anxiety to see the ^^shwate young craythur " again, and had kept Nora on the lookout all day. Again and again had he a iked the question, '^ Nora, darlint, is she coming ? " and every repeated negative only increased his anxiety. But, by and by, as the shadow began to lengthen, and Paddy was almost beginning to fear that she would not come that night, Nora ran in exclaiming, " Here she is, daddy, here she is ! " The poor old man was almost wild with joy, and laughed and cried by turns, while Nora danced about like a little fairy. Had she been his own child he could scarcely have manifested more pleasure at meeting her. He gazed at her for some time without speaking a word, as if in doubt whether the tall, womanly looking person then before him, was really the lonely little orphan that was once dependent upon his charity ; and when, at last, he was fully satisfied that she was the same, he grasped her hand, ex- claiming, " sure, an' its yerself, an' no mistake.'* During that, and succeeding interviews. Alma learned the particulars of Paddy's history from the time she had parted with him in Nova Scotia, until the present. About a year after that Mrs. O'Mai had died, and he, feeling very lonely and sad, had I TRIED BUT TRUE. 09 left the old place. He had jobbed around in Hali- fax for some time, but as work was hard to be got- ten, and wages were low, he thought he would try and make his way to the Province of Ontario, where he hoped to do better. A vessel bound to Montreal being short of hands, and having some knowledge of the sea, he shipped as a deck hand, with the understanding that Nora was to go •with him. From thence he had worked his way up to Niagara, and had now been residing there for nearly two years. With plenty of work and good wages, their circumstances had been greatly im- proved, and their home, though humble, had many little comforts and conveniences which had been denied them before. Nora, for one of her years, was a remarkably good housekeeper, and managed matters with neatness and frugality. She knew how to make the most of everything, and it was something surprising to see what a savory meal she could make out of a few scraps. The little house, and all within it, was kept as clean as a new pin, and neat and tidy in her person, amiable in her disposi- tion, and smart as a cricket, her father was accus- tomed to call her, "the pride of me heart." ^ Dr. Davison was unremitting in his attentions. 100 THIED BUT TRUE, I .a.ii|j| III Plii; and, under his judicious treatment, Paddy speedily recovered. Many a little delicacy, which the sick are supposed to need, but which were beyond his means, were sent to him by Mrs. Davison, partly for Alma's sake, and partly from her natural sympathy with those in trouble. The doctor's services were entirely gratuitous, and whatever medicines or other things in his line had been re- quired, he had himself provided. Nor did he stop with mere professional service. He was much in- terested in his welfare, and suggested to Mrs. Davison that a little outlay would add greatly to the poor fellow's comfort. The good woman fell in with the idea at once, and with the aid of Alma, purchased a number of articles of household furni- ture, and sundry things for Nora. When these were taken home, Paddy thought some mistake had been made, but when assured that they were really for him, his delight and gratitude knew no bounds. And when, at length, the time came for Alma and the Davisons' to return to New York, and the former had slipped into Paddy's hands a twenty dollar bill, he looked and felt unutterable things ; and the passage of Holy Writ that Alma had re- peated at their former parting: "Cast thy bread! ^ ■ . ■; ' ^g> ,f r^ -~-^ ^mm TRIED BUT TRUE, 101 upon the waters, and thou shalt find it after many days," he found was more than realized. The trip, with its relaxation from study ; its change of air and occupation ; its grand and soul- inspiring scenery ; and its interesting and pleasing incidents and associations, had been decidedly beneficial to her, and she felt greatly invigorated both in body and mind. There was a cheeriness in her tone, a joyousness in her look, and a vivacity in her manners, that was new and pleasing ; and the -sad, pensive expression that had always seemed to sit upon her countenance, had all but passed away. The dreary, lonely feeling of strangers that had ever hung round her was becoming weaker and weaker, and the place had now a familiar, homelike [aspect. The time, too, passed away more pleasantly Ithan before, and her duties appeared lighter and [more easily performed. She was better acquainted [with the tastes and dispositions of the different lembers of the family, and was learning to adapt lerself to their ways. Everything was looking )righter and more hopeful ; the sun was shining mce more upon her pathway ; the Providence that Ud so long watched over and protected her, was till guiding and eairing for her ; and from a review 7 I^Rin \W; 102 TRIED BUT TRUE, of the past with all its joys and sorrows, she turned to the unknown future with hope and confidence. As an index to her state of feeling at this time, we give the following little incident: A few friends had been invited to spend the evening at the Doc- tor's, and, as usual, she was present. The conver- sation had turned upon a sermon that had been preached the previous Sabbath, by a leading min- ister of the city. It was during a period of great commercial distress, when men, reputed wealthy, sank into hopeless bankruptcy, and when all were wondering what the issue would be. The discourse from the words, '^ All things shall work together for good to them that love God," had been an eloquent indication of the ways of Providence, and well calculated to excite trust and confidence in God. All who had heard it were of the opinion that a more , masterly sermon, even he had never preached, but some while delighted with its eloquence had doubted its doctrines. The idea of the Divine Being having] aught to do with the ordinary affairs of men, was, in the estimation of several, too ridiculous to be entertained for a moment, and declared it to be beyond belief that the Creator and upholder of allj things, should feel any interest whatever in tm TlUhW BUI TRUE. 103 failure of a firm, or m the breaking of a bank. Some were more orthodox in their views, and had no faith in, or sympathy with, the opinions pre- viously expressed. But the almost unanimous feel- ing wa«^ one of doubt and distrust, and no one seemed able to understand how it could be possible that the present widespread distress, could be made to advance the interests of the individual, or the community. Alma, of course, said nothing, but she drank in every word, and was surprised and grieved to hear persons of culture and refinement, * give utterance to such infidel-like opinions. TVeavy- ing of the discussion, and anxious to change the subject, some suggested music, and as Alma was known to be a good player, and to have a superior voice, she was requested to play. Knowing her own ability to do so, and desirious of rebuking the heterodoxy of those who would make the Almighty an indifferent spectator of his children's suflferings, she arose, took her place at the piano, and after running her fingers over the keys for a moment, sang in a soft sweet voice, the following from |Cowper's well known hymn : " God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform, -^^-^^\^ t"' He plant s his fot/tsteps In the sea " * ' S* ' And rides upon the storm. -^^j-'^^sIj-l.---' \ 104 TRIED BUT TRUE. Deep in unfathomable mines. Of never-failing skill He treasuiVB up his bright designs. And works his sovereign will. ^ A'e fearful saints, frevh courage taku The clouds ye to much dread. Are big with mercy, and shall break. In blessings on your head. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense. But trust hi;n for his grace. Behind a frowning Providence He hides a smiling faee. Blind unbelief is sure to v.rr. And scan His voi^Tc in vain, God is his own interpreter. And hf) will mitke it plain." For a short time all was hushed ^nd still, for no one seemed inclined to speak. Alma was deeply moved, she had caught the inspiration of the poet, her heart was filll to overflowing and leaning forward upon the instrument, she burst into a flood of tears. But they were not the tears of sorrow. Hastily regaining her composure, she apologized for her seeming weakness, and begging to be excused, re- tired to her room. ,. lit- in r Hi -l^'V r^^^r^r-'^ !illil!|i d' ■■■y*,^ ^.V'- 'V-^ 'A^" CHAPTER VII. LFTTLE BERTIE. Of all the philanthropic enterprises for which this age is pre-eminently distinguished, no one, per- haps, has accomplished more real and lasting good, or has stronger claims upon public sympathy, than the Temperance Cause. Many of the finest minds have discussed its claims, and many of the purest hearts have given to it their best energies. They have spared no pains, shrank from no toil, and have left no [means untried to ensure success. By means of their tireless benevolence, many, very many, have been |reclaimed ; many miserable homes made glad with the sunshine of re-awakened love ; many withered learts freshened and vivified by recovered hope ; iiany of the young and inexperienced sa/ed from he enchantments of the empoisoned cup — and lany a wilderness and solitary place made to 106 TBIED BUT TUVE. I I m rejoice and blossom as the rose. And beneath their soul-thrilling appeals, long slumbering echoes have been awakened, and long-sealed fountains have been stirred ; and a father's counsels and a mother's prayers have been recalled with wondrous power and the tide of memories thus sent vibrating though the heart, has melted and won the wild and the wayward. But notwithstanding all their energies, their ef- forts, and their successes — the triumphs of the past, and the trophies of the present — the deadly leaven is still at work. Despite the warnings and entreaties addressed to them from the pulpit, the platform, the press, and the fireside, multitudes seem prepared to peril everything, rather than give up the sparkling wine. Fancying themselves stronger than those who have fallen, they are being lured on to meet a similar fate. O could they but see the serpents that coil in the cup of enchantment ; could they but realize the measure- less misery that awaits them ; could they but see the bitter, scalding tears that a heartbroken mother | or a worse than widowed wife may one day weepj over their mtimely end ; could they but £iurvey the I wreck of il domestic happiness, watch the progress TRIED BUT TRUE, 107 of the sad tragedy, which closes in despair and death ; and could they but unveil the mysterious future, and see the terrible consequences of wrong- doing in another sphere, they would place an im- passable barrier between them and the cup without a moment's hesitation. To this great evil, Dr. Davison was becoming more and more addicted. Stronger and stronger grew his appetite for the deadly draught, and daily did he find himself less able to resist the tempta- tion. Like the fierce anaconda, which twines itself around the body of its victim, that it may the more readily accomplish its destroying work, the demon of Intemperance was firmly binding him with chains not easily to be broken. It has often been remarked, that while persons of a penurious and unsocial dis- position are comparatively safe, and seldom become addicted to this vice ; the large-hearted, and the genial, are its ready victims. Nor need this excite any surprise. Such persons cannot live to, and for, themselves alone — they must have friends. Tlieir heart's sigh for companionship — it is a necessity of their nature — and in solitude and seclusion they would die. They are always, therefore, in great danger, and unless, in the formation of their friend- 108 TRIED BUT TRUE, -y ships, and the choice of their companions, they are guided by wisdom, and governed by right principles, they will surely be led astray. And dispositions which might have been perpetual foundations of affection, growing deeper and purer with age, have been perverted, corrupted, and made the occasion of much misery, and grief, and shame. As Dr. Davison was one of these open-hearted, society-loving persons, his position, at this time, was one of great peril. Moving in what is termed good society, associating with many who deemed wine-drinking indispensable to respectability, and having no fear for himself he continued to indulge yet more and more. The effects of this course could not be long concealed, and unpracticed eyes wondered what was the matter with him. There was a perceptible change in his manner, his habitual cheerfulness forsook him, and he w^as fast becoming irritable and unsociable, except when under the influence of liquor. He took less in- terest than formerly in public matters, and his love for his own home was steadily diminishing. And though he would have denounced it as a base slander, had anyone dared to have said so, it was nevertheless too true that he was no longer the affectionate husband and father he used to be. TRIED BUT TRUE. 109 Mrs. Davison saw, with a sanking heart, the sad change was taking place in the character and dis- position of the man she had been proud to call her husband. That he could have so far degenerated — so far wandered from the ways of sobriety — so sinned against light and knowledge, she hai»>ivi^* ■--- ir- 8 SiWBwmai im t M CHAPTER VIII. THE GREAT CHANGE. We now approach the most important period in the history of our voung friend. As the reader is aware she had ever been thoughtful and serious, reverencing holy things, having great respect for religious persons, and regularly attending the means of grace. The lessons taught her in her early youth, by her now sainted parents had not been forgotten, and the impressions then produced upon her mind had never passed away. She read her Bible regularly night and morning, and neg- lected not to kneel before God, at the commence- ment and close of the day, to return thanks for past favors, and seek, for the future, the divine presence and protection. She was the subject of much good feeling^, and was blessed with a tender conscience. TRIED BUT TRUE, She had all a Calerinn I* Ml.' , v^aiedonian s respect for the S^hK .u and was sciimuloi^^ ;„ • ,. •Sabbath, Scriptural sense of the em ^ '" ? '" '^^ '''^'^ "ever yet knelt in Wllp „ I'""'"' '" '^^^ ^-^ Jesus, and sough, and ou'd fo"" "'' '''^ ''^^^ ^^ 'he atoning blood. She "d ot'^'T" ''""^''^ i'. often felt the neeeslty i" e f " "/'f '' '''''"^^^ lieved expenmental piL ^ tZ '""'' ''^■ suaded to seek the peirl ^f T'""'' P^r- ^'»d never yet yielded ,. ^'''"' P"'^^' ^"^ «he Kothers^'h:tt'hrd:;?;\"^^-- hund despi. the appe::i: S; ,: ;^-f i' on-fons of conscience, and the . „ le'^ '• '^' -■n above, she continued to say wFth 1, m""^' eK " Go thy wav for fi • J