^Iv 
 

 
 OtJSB UBRARY


 
 THE 
 
 CHEERFUL HEART; 
 
 OR, 
 
 "A SILVER LINING TO EVERY 
 CLOUD." 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 , 
 
 
 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 
 
 NEW YORK : J. C. DERBY. 
 
 1854.
 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 
 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSOH, AND COMPAITT, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 STEBEOTTPIED AT THK 
 BOSTON STEREOTYPE FO0KDBT.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FAG* 
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS, ... 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DEATH IN THE VALLEY, 42 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE HERMIT, 61 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONCLUSION, 128 
 
 (5)
 
 ORNAMENTAL TITLE PAGE. 
 
 II. 
 THE SYLVAN LAKE. 
 
 III. 
 THE WATERFALL. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE HERMIT. 
 
 v. 
 THE ACADEMY. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE FARM YARD. 
 
 (6)
 
 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 
 
 AH, such a sweet place was Daisy Valley, 
 nestled among the hifts which seemed to shut it 
 in from the rest of the world, with its " cark 
 and care." From beyond the mountains there 
 stole out a stream which gently wound 'itself 
 among the grand old trees which skirted its 
 banks. Its waters were so clear that the peb- 
 bles far down in its bosom could be distinctly 
 seen. The whole surface of the valley, from the 
 river to the blue hills which encircled it, was 
 carpeted with soft, green grass, which looked 
 like velvet of the finest texture ; and all about 
 this the bright-eyed daisies peeped up from their 
 
 (7) 
 

 
 8 THE CHEEEFUL HEART. 
 
 hiding-places, and gave to the valley its name. 
 They were no common daisies, but were far more 
 beautiful than those which reared themselves 
 amid the far-off fields and thoroughfares of the 
 noisy world beyond. And, now and then, amid 
 these daisies a cottage could be seen, with a 
 neat garden in front, and as many trees as 
 could be made to grow around it ; for trees 
 were sacred things in that valley, and much 
 time was devoted to their culture. Even the 
 dead ones remained standing, and over them 
 vines were trained, which concealed their un- 
 sightliness. Many flowers, besides their favorite 
 daisy, were cultivated by the dwellers in the 
 valley ; for they looked upon these " stars of 
 earth" as ministers from heaven, speaking of 
 the love and goodness of their Maker. Sweet 
 human flowers bloomed here also, and, with 
 their loveliness, cheered the saddened heart, and 
 bade it look up to Him who never willingly 
 afflicts, but is always ready to pour upon the 
 sufferer the balm of consolation.
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 9 
 
 There were, perhaps, twenty cottages in the 
 valley, inhabited by a people who dwelt in love 
 one with another. They had learned to be 
 happy in doing as they would be done by, and 
 in this way their time passed profitably and 
 agreeably to themselves and to those around 
 them. They were not always, however, such a 
 contented community, for the time had been 
 when the cottages, now so smiling and lovely, 
 were neglected, and tall, rank weeds grew where 
 beauteous flowers now oped their petals to the 
 morning sun. But a mighty change fell upon 
 that valley, and where once wildernesses of 
 unsightly shrubs grew, groves of lovely trees 
 sprang up, whose slender stems bent gracefully 
 towards the sunlight which gave brightness and 
 health to the valley ; and gentle rivulets watered 
 the roots of those trees as they glided into the 
 river which flowed onward to its ocean home. 
 But how was all this brought about ? Through 
 the influence of one cheerful, loving heart. This 
 may seem impossible to the reader without faith ;
 
 10 THE CHEEEFUL HEAET. 
 
 but to those who possess this heavenly quality, 
 the change which took place in the Yalley of 
 Daisies will cause not a doubt to arise in' their 
 hearts, but will only strengthen them in their 
 belief that faith with works can achieve won- 
 ders. 
 
 But to my story. In one of the largest and 
 prettiest cottages nestled among those oaks, 
 whose towering heads seem to reach the sky, 
 dwelt the principal character which will figure 
 m these pages. His is no tall and commanding 
 person, with dignified air and bearing, or voice 
 whose trumpet tones could cause the hills which 
 surrounded the valley to reecho its notes, but a 
 gentle boy of twelve years, whose flaxen curls 
 and mild blue eyes, together with a light and 
 graceful, but feeble, frame, seemed to speak 
 painfully of the slight hold he had upon earth. 
 But within that delicate tenement dwelt a spirit 
 so beautiful and so strong, that all grew bet- 
 ter as they listened to the words which fell 
 from those guiltless lips. Arthur Burton was
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 11 
 
 the son of a widow, who, when her husband 
 died, felt that but for her children (Arthur, 
 and a little sister too young to realize her 
 loss) she should have sunk under her severe 
 trials. She was comparatively a stranger in a 
 strange land, for she was born beneath the 
 skies of Italy, and after the death of her hus- 
 band she sighed for her own beloved home, 
 and for her mother, who yet mourned for her 
 only child, who had left her to share a stranger's 
 home and heart in a distant land. 
 
 Captain Burton was one of those noble men 
 who seem to grow better and purer by mixing 
 with a world in which so much of evil dwells. 
 He possessed an excellent disposition and a 
 superior mind, which had been cultivated by his 
 parents, who had early sown there seeds which 
 in after life grew and brought forth much fruit. 
 The same disease had swept them both to the 
 grave in his early youth ; but he never forgot 
 their counsels, or made light of their reproofs. 
 They left him a small fortune, which he had in-
 
 12 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 creased by the business which he had chosen 
 that of a sailor. He was greatly beloved by his 
 companions for his frank, noble qualities, which 
 would always induce him to share his last crust 
 with any person in want. "When he became mas- 
 ter of a vessel, more were eager to sail with him 
 than he could employ ; and although he always 
 maintained proper discipline, yet his men knew 
 that he was right, and would have laid down 
 their lives for him at any time. In one of his 
 voyages up the Mediterranean, he left his ship 
 at a safe port, under the care of his mate, and 
 made an excursion to the lovely Bay of Naples, 
 and to Yesuvius, which he had a great desire to 
 see in a state of eruption. His wish was grati- 
 fied ; yet he lingered, for a sweet human plant 
 claimed his attention and won his love. 
 
 Marianna Ladoni was worthy the affection of 
 the young captain, and was every way his equal 
 in excellence. She loved the beautiful bay, by 
 whose side she had always dwelt ; very dear to 
 her were her mother and her old and faithful
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 
 
 nurse, who had petted her from her birth, and 
 who, as she had arrived at woman's estate, was 
 so proud of her beauty ; yet she loved the young 
 stranger better than "all, and she had cheerfully 
 promised to share his home beneath colder 
 skies, and to change her sweet sounding Italian 
 name for one less musical. Yes, Marianna left 
 her home, but she sighed not ; for he whom she 
 prized above all others was with her, and she 
 was happy. She knew that he was worthy, and 
 it is " such happiness to the pure to love." For a 
 few years " Time trod on flowers " with the wed- 
 ded pair. Two lovely children were given them, 
 and in rearing these tender plants their happi- 
 ness seemed perfect. Captain Burton had ac- 
 cumulated sufficient to afford them an ample 
 support ; he had given up his business, and the 
 united family bade fair to pass many years of 
 usefulness together. But alas ! how uncertain 
 are all earthly things! sickness came, and the 
 strong man bowed before it. All that science 
 could do was done ; but the command had gone 
 2
 
 14 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 forth, and that husband and father, touched by the 
 icy finger of Death, slept the sleep which knows 
 no waking. Ere he died he had selected the 
 spot in the beautiful Valley of Daisies (as he had 
 named it) where he had commenced the cottage 
 which his widow now occupied. One day when 
 visiting this place, himself and wife, upon observ- 
 ing the state of the inhabitants, had resolved to 
 remove there, and by their influence and exam- 
 ple to strive to improve a people who lived in 
 the midst of all that could render life desirable, 
 so far as beauty of situation and fertility of soil 
 was concerned. Before Captain Burton died, he 
 called Arthur to his side, and entreated him to 
 carry out his plans. The child looked upon his 
 dying parent, and with his whole soul in his 
 eyes made the promise which, although so young, 
 he perfectly understood. There had always been 
 something remarkable about the boy, who, with 
 his fragile frame and lovely expression of coun- 
 tenance, had seemed but half of earth. The 
 father died, and those children had been an in-
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 15 
 
 expressible comfort to the lone mother. Mrs. 
 Burton had removed to the cottage in the valley, 
 and the little family had dwelt there two years 
 when this story commences. At first the soli- 
 tude of her new home was almost insupportable ; 
 her heart was desolate ; and not until her con- 
 science upbraided her for resigning her children 
 to the care of strangers did she strive to arouse 
 herself from her deep sorrow. 
 
 One day Arthur came to her, and said, in his 
 sweet, childish way, " Come, dear mother ; Netty 
 and I have found some of those flowers with 
 bright blue blossoms, which father loved so well, 
 and this nice boy " alluding to a very ragged 
 little urchin by his side " has been* helping me 
 to set them out ; and after you have looked at 
 them, I am going with him to assist in making a 
 garden, where he can have some flowers too. I 
 thought you would give us some seeds, and by 
 and by his garden will look as well as ours." 
 
 Mrs. Burton could not deny the request of her 
 son, and she was agreeably surprised at the pains
 
 16 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 he had taken and the improvement he had made 
 in order to gratify her, and to take off her atten- 
 tion from the grief which had wholly absorbed 
 her thoughts. " Dear mother," said Arthur, " do 
 not look so sad ; you must remember the story 
 which you read to Annette and me one day, 
 which said that there was ' a silver lining to 
 every cloud.' Father is an angel in heaven now ; 
 and if he knows what is passing here, it must 
 make him miserable to see you unhappy. Do 
 try to be cheerful. I try ; and when tempted to 
 weep for pa, I think I shall one day go to him, 
 and be with him forever ; and that ' silver lining ' 
 comforts me." 
 
 These artless words induced Mrs. Burton to 
 feel that she had been very selfish in her grief ; 
 and giving him such a Iftok as only a fond moth- 
 er can give to the child of her love, she replied, 
 " I will be more cheerful, my boy. I know it is 
 wrong to thus mourn as one without hope." 
 
 From this time she began to improve in health 
 and spirits. The influence of the sweet " summer
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 17 
 
 time " had a soothing effect upon her stricken 
 heart. She could not be insensible to the love- 
 liness of the spot which her husband had chosen 
 for her residence, and in instructing her chil- 
 dren and assisting them in their out-door pur- 
 suits she gained strength and peace. With her 
 own hands she planted flowers, trained honey- 
 suckles and woodbine over the doors and win- 
 dows, and by thus keeping her mind constantly 
 occupied, she found but little time to dwell upon 
 her sorrows. In her rambles in the fine woods 
 which covered the gently-sloping hills, her chil- 
 dren always accompanied her, and it was a de- 
 light to her to lead their youthful minds up the 
 hill of science. Mrs. Burton had read much 
 with her husband ; and now she found the great 
 value and advantage of such a course. Arthur's 
 constantly inquiring mind obliged her to keep 
 up her reading, and even the little Annette fre- 
 quently asked questions which required thought 
 and research to answer. 
 
 "Are you happy now, mamma ? " said Arthur to 
 2*
 
 18 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 his mother, as, with a smile upon her lips, she 
 watched the gambols of a pet Maltese cat, which 
 was greatly prized by Annette. 
 
 " Yes, my son," replied the mother, " thanks to 
 your favorite saying, that there is ' a silver lining 
 to every cloud : ' in looking for it, and in striv- 
 ing to perform my duties, I have found cheerful- 
 ness and content, though the 'loved and lost' 
 can never be forgotten. My life was once a very 
 selfish one." 
 
 "Dear mother, you wrong yourself; for you 
 always made father happy, as he said before he 
 died." 
 
 " If I added to his enjoyment, Arthur, I do 
 not deserve praise for it. I have naturally a 
 cheerful disposition ; fortune had always smiled 
 upon me ; and it was no effort for me to make 
 myself agreeable. The heart can only be proved 
 by privations and sorrows, which are often ne- 
 cessary, and wisely sent to show to us and those 
 around us what we are, and of what we are ca- 
 pable. The loss of your father was an over-
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 19 
 
 whelming blow to me; but I can now see the 
 mercy even of that bitter trial." 
 
 "I am so glad you have found the 'silver 
 lining/ mamma," said Arthur ; " and Charley 
 Afton's mother is finding it too, for she told me 
 this afternoon that although she had the rheu- 
 matism so badly in her feet that she could not 
 walk, yet she had ' come to think ' that, if she had 
 lost the use of her hands too, Charley would have to 
 go without stockings, and there would be nobody 
 to mend his clothes either. ' And/ said she, ' Mr. 
 Afton, who has had to work so hard all his days 
 that he could not find time even to patch up the 
 house, since I have told him what you said about 
 the cloud, begins to get a peep at its silver edge, 
 and says that by hurrying a little more, instead 
 of stopping to talk with the men at the shop about 
 his troubles, he can get time to do many things 
 which I had to go without until lately. O, that 
 " silver lining " and a cheerful heart are blessed 
 things, Arthur.' " 
 
 " Now, mother, I want you to go and see Mrs.
 
 20 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 Afton with me, after I have said my lessons to- 
 morrow. "Will you ? " 
 
 "I should be glad to know more about Char- 
 ley's mother, and I will cheerfully comply with 
 your request." 
 
 " Thank you, mamma. Mrs. Afton will praise 
 me to you for the trifles I have been able to do 
 for her and Charley ; but you will know that the 
 poor woman has not been accustomed to kind- 
 ness, and she thinks a great deal of a small 
 favor." 
 
 "I shall appreciate what she says*, my child," 
 replied Mrs. Burton, as with a tear in her eye 
 she looked at her noble boy, whose modest face 
 was suffused with blushes by this allusion to his 
 own good deeds. At the same time that moth- 
 er breathed a prayer that she might not love 
 her child too well, and forget the hand which 
 had bestowed him upon her. 
 
 Well might a parent be proud of such a child. 
 Lovely from his birth, thoughtful beyond his 
 years, seeming to comprehend at once each per-
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 21 
 
 son's troubles, and to know intuitively just how 
 to soothe, and exactly what was best adapted 
 for them ; forbearing and long suffering for 
 himself, but sensitive as the eye of love for oth- 
 ers ; ever ready to mourn with those who 
 mourned, yet urging them to hope on, and re- 
 peating his beloved saying, which, with his 
 cheerful tones, seldom failed to comfort the sor- 
 rowing and calm the wounded, The poor wor- 
 shipped him, and the rich hailed his corning. 
 His own happy feelings and bright smiles seemed 
 to be reflected from the countenances of those 
 with whom he associated, and difficulties which 
 they had considered insurmountable vanished at 
 his coming. His pleasant " Let us try " generally 
 removed the mountain, "I cannot," and placed 
 the lever at the right spot, so that the obstacle 
 was soon surmounted. But notwithstanding this, 
 he was so modest, so unpretending, and thought 
 so little of his own good acts, that the favor be- 
 came doubly precious from the way in which it 
 was conferred.
 
 22 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 The next day, as she had promised, Mrs. Bur- 
 ton called upon Mrs. Afton, who very gratefully 
 expressed her thanks for the favors she had re- 
 ceived from Arthur. Said she, "I was the most 
 miserable person in the world before he came to 
 see me. Unable to walk a single step, I thought 
 of nothing but my trials, and by constantly 
 dwelling upon them I made them much greater 
 than they really were. By my repinings and 
 complaints, I drove my husband from my pres- 
 ence ; and after he returned home from a hard 
 day's work, instead of striving to make him 
 comfortable, I only scolded him for not sympa- 
 thizing more with me. To escape this he fled to 
 the alehouse, and although once a very temper- 
 ate man, he soon could drink as much as the 
 worst drunkard of the set. Of course, this add- 
 ed to my misery ; and what was more bitter than 
 all the rest, my boy, my Charley, was influenced 
 to treat me with disrespect. My cup of sorrow 
 was now full, for he had always been a good, 
 affectionate child ; but instead of striving to
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 23 
 
 win him back to me, I only by reproaching him, 
 drove him still farther from me. This cottage 
 which you see, madam, is so delightfully situ- 
 ated, and begins now to look like old times, was 
 going to ruin for the want of a little care. In 
 place of glass in the casements, they were filled 
 with old hats and rags. The garden, once in 
 perfect order, had run to waste, and instead of 
 flowers nothing but weeds and rank grass grew 
 there, and the sweet little place which my father 
 left me could never have been recognized in the 
 miserable hovel of a few months since. But 
 thanks to your blessed boy, madam, we are 
 saved, and, I trust, we shall never return to the 
 state in which he found us. It was a beautiful 
 pure morning that I first saw him talking with 
 Charley. 0, 1 shall never forget it." And the 
 invalid wiped away the tears which were stream- 
 ing down her cheeks. "The birds were singing 
 so sweetly that I ought to have listened to them 
 with pleasure ; for once, nothing gave me more 
 satisfaction ; I did hear, but only to feel that
 
 24 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 every thing was happier than myself. Your son 
 stood talking with Charley for a long time, and 
 then I heard him say, 'I am very sorry that 
 your mother is ill. Will she see me ? Perhaps 
 we can do something for her comfort. Shall I 
 go in, Charley?' My boy knew not what to 
 answer, as he was ashamed to have any one look 
 upon the sight which had caused his young heart 
 to ache so much. I nodded my head to him, 
 however, to bring the stranger in. I was proud, 
 ma'am, and at any other time, under such cir- 
 cumstances, would hav" e repulsed even a friend 
 from the door ; but some power, which I could 
 not understand, induced me to admit him ; and 
 before I was aware of what I had done, Arthur 
 entered. I saw him shudder at the scene before 
 him, but the tear in his eye told me that he sym- 
 pathized with my sorrows. Very soon that 
 youth began to exert an influence over my stub- 
 born will which he still retains, and I often ask 
 myself, What has changed me thus ? for, before 
 he came, I was almost turned to stone ; or, at
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 25 
 
 least, all that was womanly within me seemed 
 to be gone, and to have left nothing but a hard, 
 stern being, who was trying to forget that she 
 had once possessed feelings in common with her 
 kind. I wept as I listened to the sweet words 
 which proceeded from the lips of your child, and 
 when he said to me, ' Dear Mrs. Afton, " there 
 is a silver lining to every cloud ; " therefore do 
 not despair/ I knew that the Almighty had 
 sent me a comforter, and I resolved to receive 
 him, and from that time, whenever tempted to 
 despond, that saying came to my mind, and the 
 load was removed, and I could see blessings in 
 my lot of which many are deprived. 
 
 " But I did not tell you the sight which was 
 before your son as he entered. On the floor, 
 stretched in the deathlike sleep which follows 
 intoxication, lay my husband. By his side stood 
 a jug, which contained the cause of all this 
 agony. About the room were flung remnants 
 of articles which he had broken in his frenzy. 
 The hearthstone was cold, and the wife and 
 3
 
 26 THE CHEEKFUL HEART. 
 
 mother, as I told you before, sat helplessly and 
 hopelessly looking upon what was rapidly 
 changing her from a woman into a fiend. 
 
 "To think, madam, 0, that was what I dread- 
 ed ! Master Arthur saved me from despair ; and 
 not satisfied with bestowing his heartfelt sympa- 
 thy upon me, he led my child from the evil of 
 his ways ; for being unjustly punished by his 
 father, (when he had been drinking, for he was 
 always kind when sober,) and repulsed and scold- 
 ed at by his mother, he had fled from his home 
 for companions, and was fast learning the arts and 
 evil ways of a vagrant. But Arthur encouraged 
 him, gave him clothes, (and with decent clothing 
 his self-respect returned.) induced him to go to 
 school, assisted him in his lessons, commended 
 his love of flowers, gave him seeds, and told him 
 how to plant them. But this is not all, my dear 
 Mrs. Burton. Not content with saving the moth- 
 er and child, he sought out the place where Mr. 
 Afton worked, in his own kind way entered into 
 conversation with him, asked him with regard to
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 27 
 
 the machinery which he was assisting to con- 
 struct, listened with attention and interest to my 
 husband's explanations, and thus won his heart ; 
 for Mr. Afton is an excellent workman, loves his 
 business, and is fully competent to explain every 
 part of it, when not under the influence of his 
 worst enemy. Your son would appoint a time 
 when he would again visit him, and this induced 
 my husband to remain sober, so as to be pre- 
 pared to answer his questions ; and his being so 
 much noticed by an intelligent youth caused his 
 self-respect to return, and he gradually left going 
 to the tavern, and forsook the acquaintances 
 which he had formed there. His health and 
 strength, which had been failing, have returned 
 to him ; and with them his natural energy of 
 character. He now accomplishes in much less 
 time what is expected of him, so that he has 
 considerable leisure, and this he devotes to re- 
 pairing the house, and cultivating the garden ; 
 and you see, madam, how well he and Charley 
 have made it look. He is always kind to me
 
 28 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 now, and I strive to meet him with a cheerful 
 look when he returns from work. This is not 
 hard for me, for I am happy, and cannot bless 
 God enough for sending your son to this valley." 
 
 " Do you suffer much pain from your limbs ? " 
 said Mrs. Burton. 
 
 " Sometimes, ma'am, but I know it is all right ; 
 and I always see the ' silver lining ' now, let my 
 poor feet ache ever so badly. A few weeks ago, 
 Master Arthur was asking my husband if a chair 
 could not be constructed by which I could be 
 placed in different positions, and thus be relieved. 
 He said that he had heard his father speak of 
 something of the kind, and that I ought to have 
 one. Mr. Afton replied, that he wished ' his 
 poor Mary,' could be made easier. Nothing fur- 
 ther was said upon the matter, and I should 
 have thought no more about it, only to remember 
 with pleasure the affectionate wish uttered in his 
 old tones by my husband. A fortnight ago, how- 
 ever, Arthur's bright face, which always brings 
 happiness with it, peeped into the door, and he 
 said,
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 29 
 
 " ' Don't you wish to take a short ride on your 
 birthday, Mrs. Afton ? J 
 
 " I could not imagine what he meant, but 
 something good I was quite sure ; so I replied, 
 as he seemed to expect an answer, 
 
 " ' Yes, my dear boy, if I could only get into 
 a carriage ; but that I have not done for so many 
 years that I should quite forget how to be- 
 have.' 
 
 " ' We shall see about that,' said he, and away 
 he ran, his face beaming with joy. 
 
 " In a few hours after, in came Mr. Afton, Ar- 
 thur, and Charley, bringing this nice chair, which, 
 as you see, ma'am, is so comfortably stuffed ; and 
 it can be raised or lowered as I please ; it is on 
 castors, and I can push myself all over the house. 
 It has been a great comfort to me, and even the 
 exercise of moving from room to room has im- 
 proved my health. 
 
 " ' Here is your carriage, Mary,' said Mr. Af- 
 ton ; ' and now you will be a little more com- 
 fortable, and by and by, when we can push you 
 3*
 
 30 THE CHEERFUL HEAET. 
 
 about the garden, and let you smell of Charley's 
 flowers, you will be better, I am sure.' 
 
 " ' 0, what a comfort ! ' I replied. ' But, my 
 dear John, I fear you have been obliged to run 
 in debt to get it for me.' 
 
 " ' No, no,' he said. ' It is Arthur's present ; 
 and to him your thanks are due. It is all paid 
 for, I assure you, and is that dear boy's birthday 
 present to my wife.' 
 
 " ' Mr. Afton,' said Arthur, ' pray do not 
 say so. It is your husband's gift, my dear mad- 
 am, and he has taken the greatest pains to pro- 
 cure it for you from the city, where he has been 
 for several days to assist in its construction.' 
 
 " ' Mary,' said my husband, ' it is Arthur's pres- 
 ent, for by his efforts I was rescued from a drunk- 
 ard's grave, and the money which I paid for the 
 chair, but for him, would have been worse than 
 wasted at the tavern ; and more than this, I could 
 not save enough by several dollars to pay for it ; 
 the deficiency he chose to make up* out of his 
 own pocket ; and when I objected to borrowing
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 31 
 
 it, lest it should not be agreeable to his mother, 
 he did away with all my scruples, by saying that 
 she always permitted him to do with his pocket 
 money as he pleased. 
 
 " ' So you see, Mary, that I was right, and it 
 is really Arthur's present.' 
 
 " madam," said Mrs. Afton, " God has in- 
 deed bestowed upon you a treasure, and long 
 may he be spared." 
 
 Mrs. Burton mingled blissful tears with those 
 shed by Mrs. Afton, and as she arose to de- 
 part, she assured the invalid that she highly 
 approved of all that her son had been able 
 to do for her. She also expressed a wish to 
 have Charley pass two evenings in the week 
 with her son, as it might be an advantage to 
 him to study with them. Mrs. Afton, with many 
 thanks, assented to this proposal, and from that- 
 time until other arrangements were made, which 
 were more for Charley's interest, these meetings 
 were kept up. 
 
 As Mrs. Burton walked home with her son,
 
 32 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 she could not avoid lifting her heart in thank- 
 fulness to the Giver of all good, for such a 
 child, to be, as she hoped, a prop for her de- 
 clining years. 
 
 As soon as Arthur heard Mrs. Afton commence 
 talking to his mother about him, he had left 
 the room, gently shaking his head for her to 
 desist. This she understood, but she felt that 
 she must pour out her full heart to one who bet- 
 ter than any other could appreciate his excel- 
 lence. Mrs. Burton desired to say much expres- 
 sive of her approbation of Arthur's conduct, but 
 she did not consider it judicious to give utter- 
 ance to but a few words, but those were under- 
 stood and garnered up by her child, who so well 
 comprehended this best of earthly friends. 
 
 " Dear mother, do you not think Mrs. Afton 
 uses language superior to what we generally 
 hear from persons in her situation ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I remarked that repeatedly this af- 
 ternoon. She must have had advantages in 
 early life, for not only her expressions, but her
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 33 
 
 manners, are superior to those of many with 
 whom we meet." 
 
 " I have always thought so, mother ; and one 
 day I made a remark to Mr. Afton, which in- 
 duced him to give me some account of her early 
 history. It seems that her father was not a na- 
 tive of this country, but was the only son of 
 parents who during their prosperity had given 
 him a superior education. Owing to reverses 
 they became poor, and after their death he came 
 to this country to seek his fortune. He was for 
 a long time principal in an academy, with a good 
 salary. He married, and purchased the house 
 and laud attached to it where Mrs. Afton lives. 
 She was his only child, and he took great de- 
 light in instructing her. His wife died when 
 his daughter was a little girl, and she and her 
 father remained in the valley until she was 
 grown up. As he grew old, he gave up teaching, 
 and devoted himself to the culture of flowers, 
 of which he was extremely fond ; and when he 
 died," said Mr. Afton, " he left the finest garden
 
 34 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 any where about. It was his pleasure and his 
 pride ; but when it fell into my hands, it soon, 
 through neglect, lost its beauty, and poor Mary 
 being unable to walk, for a dreadful rheumatic 
 fever which she had soon after her father's de- 
 cease, deprived her of the use of her limbs, 
 of course she could not take care of it. But I 
 am determined it never shall look so again. In- 
 deed, Master Arthur, you have no idea of the 
 delight I take in its cultivation. I always loved 
 flowers, and each blossom as it bursts forth seems 
 to look upon me as if it thanked me for my care. 
 I often think flowers have a language, and it is 
 very certain that they speak to my heart in a 
 way to make it better." 
 
 " mother," said Arthur, " you cannot tell 
 how much joy it affords me to see Mr. Afton and 
 his family so happy. I do wish, however, that 
 something more could be done to relieve Mrs. 
 Afton. Do you not think Dr. Lawrence could 
 help her?" 
 
 " I was thinking of that," said Mrs. Burton,
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 35 
 
 " but you have anticipated me. You shall go 
 to-morrow and see the doctor, and ask him 
 to call upon her ; perhaps he will return with 
 you, and then you will hear his opinion of her 
 case." 
 
 " 0, how much I hope he can benefit her, moth- 
 er ! it will be so delightful for her to get about 
 again." And that cheerful, loving boy in imagi- 
 nation saw the invalid walking, and rejoicing 
 in the use of her limbs, of which she had been 
 so long deprived. 
 
 " Always hopeful, my child," said Mrs. Burton. 
 " I trust your wishes will be realized ; but you 
 must not be too sanguine, as Mrs. Afton's lame- 
 ness has continued so long." 
 
 "But, mother, nothing has been done for 
 her, you know, and she has consulted no physi- 
 cian. I am almost sure Dr. Lawrence will cure 
 her." 
 
 Arthur was so full of his desire to benefit Mrs. 
 Afton, that he arose before the sun, and was on 
 his way ere Mrs. Burton had left her chamber.
 
 36 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 It was a lovely morning that he set out on his 
 benevolent errand ; the sweet breath of early 
 summer blew upon him, the flowerets, nursed by 
 the pearly dews, seemed to him more beautiful 
 than usual. " And surely," whispered the boy to 
 himself, " the music of the birds never sounded 
 so sweetly ; " and when the sun arose from behind 
 the hills, and shone forth in all his glory, Arthur 
 paused, and looked at it for several moments, de- 
 termining in his own mind never again to lie in 
 bed when there was such exquisite enjoyment to 
 be derived from the beauties of the early morn- 
 ing. Fortunately the doctor was at home ; but 
 if Arthur had lingered longer by the way, ho 
 would have been absent. He opened the door 
 himself in answer to Arthur's ring, all prepared 
 to set off on his daily round of visits. 
 
 " Good morning, Cheerful Heart," said he, 
 (for thus he generally called Arthur ; ) " nobody 
 sick at home, I trust. No ? "Well, I am rejoiced 
 to hear that, at any rate : but come in ; I can 
 spare you ten minutes, though I was in a great
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 37 
 
 hurry. What has given me the honor of a 
 visit so early in the morning ? " 
 
 The doctor was well acquainted with Arthur's 
 favorite saying, and lived up to it, for the sun 
 never shone upon a more cheerful, benevolent 
 being than himself. He was possessed of a 
 large property, and could have given up his 
 profession, but his friends were so much attached 
 to him that they would not hear of having any 
 body else, stoutly asserting that they should die 
 in any other hands ; and his cheerful manner and 
 kindly sympathy certainly did much towards 
 their recovery, aside from his well-known skill. 
 He was a physician truly for the "mind dis- 
 eased" as well as the body. He pointed the 
 way to that land where sickness and sorrow 
 are unknown, and where all tears are wiped 
 away. 
 
 After listening 4 o Arthur's relation of Mrs. 
 
 Atfon's case, and of some particulars of what 
 
 her situation had been, the good doctor said, 
 
 "Well, Cheerful Heart, I have known cases as 
 
 4
 
 38 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 bad as hers, and I think something may be done 
 for her ; I cannot say, however, until I see her ; 
 but I have given you half an hour instead of ten 
 minutes, as I promised ; therefore I must run off ; 
 but tell your mother that I will be over this 
 afternoon. So, good morning, my boy." And 
 away went the doctor on his benevolent errands. 
 Arthur hastened home, rejoiced to learn that tho 
 doctor thought Mrs. Afton might be relieved. 
 
 " Where is Dr. Lawrence, my dear ? " said 
 Mrs. Burton. " I hoped he would return with 
 you." 
 
 " He will be here presently, mother ; he is 
 to call for me to go to Mrs. Afton's with him. 
 He would have come this morning, but his busi- 
 ness will detain him until afternoon." 
 
 " Ever in the way of his duty," replied Mrs. 
 Burton. "Your father said to him, when he 
 was talking about giving up his profession, that 
 he believed he ought to continue to practise 
 particularly among the poor, who have always 
 found him a fast friend. I have no doubt that
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 39 
 
 he has assisted thousands. I trust his life will 
 be spared many years, for I know of no one that 
 could fill his place. I once heard him say, ' The 
 poor are my children, for they have but few 
 friends.' 
 
 " After your father's death, Dr. Lawrence 
 seemed nearer than any one else to me, for his 
 sympathy was so heartfelt, and he manifested it 
 in so delicate a manner, that I can never for- 
 get it " t and, besides, he had known and loved 
 him from a boy, and could, therefore, appreciate 
 his character better than the other persons 
 around me." 
 
 At the time promised the doctor made his ap- 
 pearance at the cottage, and he and Arthur went 
 to see Mrs. Afton, who, although the call was 
 entirely unexpected, received him with so much 
 propriety and native politeness that he was 
 agreeably surprised, and found no difficulty in 
 making her understand his wishes with regard 
 to the course for her to pursue in order to im- 
 prove her situation. After making quite a long
 
 40 THE CHEERFUL HEAKT. 
 
 call, he said to her at parting, " Madam, I feel 
 confident that you will obtain the use of your 
 feet, although it may be some time before this 
 is brought about ; you will probably never be 
 quite well, but you will, I think, enjoy a com- 
 fortable share of health." 
 
 " O doctor," said the poor woman, " thanks to 
 this dear boy and his mother, under Heaven, my 
 cup is already running over. I cannot find 
 words to express my feelings. I had become 
 resigned to my lot, never expecting to be any 
 better, and feeling thankful for the comforts 
 which I enjoyed ; but you have, by bidding me 
 hope, made me the happiest woman in existence. 
 If the prayers of a grateful heart can benefit 
 you, mine shall ever be offered in your behalf." 
 
 " You give me a large fee," said the doctor, 
 " far more than my services deserve ; but I will 
 confess that they are a kind of treasure of which 
 I am desirous of laying up a store ; " and with a 
 tear in his eye, which he hastily wiped away, the 
 doctor returned home. I will here mention that
 
 DAISY VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS. 41 
 
 Mrs. Afton did recover the use of her limbs, and 
 was able, with Charley's assistance, to visit her 
 kind friend, Mrs. Burton, and a proud and 
 happy boy was he as they walked together, to 
 point out to his mother the improvements made 
 in the valley, by the efforts and advice of his 
 friend Arthur. 
 
 4*
 
 
 
 .. 
 42 THE CHEERFUL 'HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DEATH IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 " Flowers, bright flowers ? Why do ye bring 
 
 Those lovely things to me ? 
 Think ye they soothe my saddened heart, 
 
 That's bursting to be free ? 
 No, no, take back the fading things, 
 Nor think to mend the broken strings 
 Of my lone heart, by bringing flowers 
 That perish with the passing hours." 
 
 THE summer and fall of 18 had been very 
 lovely. Never did the trees and gardens in the 
 Valley of Daisies present a finer appearance, 
 or put forth their beauties more luxuriantly. 
 Winter with his icy fingers had not as yet 
 approached the happy valley, and many of its 
 inhabitants, particularly the children, began to 
 think that he had forgotten to come near them, 
 and that the warm, smoky days would continue
 
 DEATH IN THE VALLEY. 43 
 
 until spring. Some of the older inhabitants 
 shook their wise heads, and prophesied " either 
 a severe winter, by and by, or sickness which 
 would sadden the hearts of those who now 
 rejoiced in the (as they expressed it) unseason- 
 able weather." 
 
 "We do not like this shaking of heads general- 
 ly, for it looks like doubting the goodness of 
 God, who always does exactly what is best for 
 his creatures ; and although it may seem myste- 
 rious to us, yet he doeth all things well. Sick- 
 ness did come, and many hearts received wounds 
 which it took months and years to heal ; but 
 they were healed at length, and many, who knelt 
 over their dead ere the bodies were consigned 
 to the earth, were enabled to breathe prayers 
 that were not "all complaints." 
 
 In a neat cottage, at the foot of one of the 
 hills which shut in the valley, lived a woman 
 who was a widow, with one daughter, who was 
 as good and as lovely a child as mother could 
 desire. Mrs. Lawton for this was that moth-
 
 44 THE CHEEEFDL HEAET. 
 
 er's name was a favorite with both Arthur 
 and Mrs. Burton, and even little Annette always 
 begged to go when they made a call upon her. 
 There was such a congeniality of feeling be- 
 tween her and Arthur that it is not to be won- 
 dered at that his visits to the widow were 
 frequent, and that he generally made a long 
 call. 
 
 Lucy Lawton was one of those favored per- 
 sons " whose wealth of hope seemed inexhausti- 
 ble." Her father had once been wealthy, but 
 had lost all his property by becoming surety 
 for a friend, who deeply wronged him. Lucy 
 at that time received a lesson from her mother 
 which she never forgot ; for she had, both by 
 precept and example, carried out what she in- 
 culcated ; therefore the child early learned to 
 thank God for the mercies still enjoyed. It was 
 by such instructions, always given in a cheerful 
 manner, that Lucy's mind was developed ; and 
 when she was married to a young man worthy 
 of her, she possessed those qualities which not
 
 DEATH IN THE VALLEY. 45 
 
 only gain, but secure, the esteem of a husband, 
 which is far better. Mr. Lawton was not rich, 
 but he received a sufficient salary to begin life 
 in a manner which would insure to himself and 
 wife many comforts and conveniences. Under 
 such favorable, auspices the young couple com- 
 menced housekeeping, and for two years were 
 happy. At this time Mr. Lawton was taken 
 ill of a fever of which he died, and the young 
 widow was left with her child to make her way 
 in the world by her own exertions. Mrs. Law- 
 ton deeply mourned her husband's death, for she 
 had loved him with all the wealth of a true 
 woman's affection. She felt, however, that she 
 must not selfishly give way to her affliction, 
 severe as it was. She also realized that her 
 child was dependent upon her for support. The 
 dignity and decision of her character were now 
 manifested, and her energies exerted to the 
 utmost. She hoped, and as Hume says, this 
 was worth ten thousand a year to her ; and 
 certain it is, that many possessed of that sum
 
 46 THE CHEEEFUL HEAKT. 
 
 are not so happy as Mrs. Lawton became in the 
 pursuit of her duty and in fulfilling it. She was 
 an excellent seamstress, and soon procured work 
 enough to afford a good living for herself and 
 child. The little Emily was sent to school, and 
 was taught of how much importance it was to 
 '' improve her advantages. There were moments 
 when Lucy Lawton felt as if every bright vision 
 of the future, which had always been connected 
 with her husband, had vanished ; but she soon re- 
 newed her resolution to be resigned, and looked 
 forward to the future of her daughter ; and as 
 "it requires but few threads of hope for the 
 heart that is skilled in the secret to weave a 
 web of happiness," Lucy became happy in weav- 
 ing those threads around her cherished child. 
 One sorrow she could not always overcome, 
 
 and that was the knowledge of .her failing 
 
 - 
 health, and the thought of what would become 
 
 of Emily if she should be taken away. This, 
 however, led her to cast her cares upon Him 
 who is a Father to the fatherless, and in thus
 
 DEATH IN THE VALLEY. 47 
 
 doing, all clouds were removed from her mind 
 and hope again shone forth triumphant. 
 
 After a few years, Mrs. Lawton had accumu- 
 lated sufficient money to purchase a little cot- 
 tage in the Valley of Daisies, where she had 
 removed, soon after Mrs. Burton had come there 
 to reside. Under the genial, health-giving breezes 
 of the valley, her health and that of her daugh- 
 ter, which had of late been rather feeble, began 
 to improve ; and the mother rejoiced in this 
 favorable change more on her child's account 
 than on her own. With returning strength the 
 little Emily became as gay as a bird, seeming 
 to have inherited much of her mother's hope- 
 ful spirit. After Mrs. Burton's removal to the 
 valley, several families from the city had built 
 houses there, and occupied them in the summer 
 
 J 
 
 season. This .-was very pleasant for her and- 
 Arthur, as they thus became acquainted with 
 persons whose educations better fitted them for 
 companions than many of the previous inhabit- 
 ants of the valley. This was also an advantage
 
 48 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 to Mrs. Lawton, as she thus procured considera- 
 ble needlework without going to the city to 
 obtain it. One of these families, consisting of 
 a gentleman and lady with three children, Mrs. 
 Burton had become intimately acquainted with. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Thornton had been prospered, and 
 for many years had not known sorrow. Their 
 children were lovely and amiable, and their sky 
 appeared to be without a single cloud. Their 
 prosperity, however, did not cause them to be- 
 come arrogant, and the children were taught 
 to treat all with kindness, but particularly the 
 humble and the unfortunate. On this account 
 Mrs. Burton and Arthur found them very effi- 
 cient assistants in ameliorating the condition 
 of many of the cottagers, who but for their 
 united influence would have remained in the 
 degraded state in which they were when they 
 first removed tp the valley. 
 
 One day, as Mrs. Thornton and Mrs. Bur- 
 ton were making some calls, at Arthur's re- 
 quest they went to see Mrs. Lawton. The air
 
 DEATH IN THE VALLEY. 49 
 
 of taste in the cottage gratified them very 
 much, and they were as well pleased with its 
 mistress as with her house and garden ; and 
 when Emily Lawton entered with her hands 
 filled with flowers, her sweet face suffused with 
 a modest blush, both ladies thought they had 
 never seen a lovelier creature^ and when about 
 to take her leave, Mrs. Thornton felt such an 
 interest in the child that she requested her 
 mother to allow her to come as often as she 
 cou^*. spare her, and play with her daughter 
 Sophia, who was of nearly the same age. 
 * " Arthur tells me, also, Mrs. Lawton, that you 
 sometimes do fine needlework ; and as my eyes 
 are not strong, I am prevented from attending 
 to any thing of the kind, and should be glad to 
 engage you to do all mine. I never wish you 
 to hurry, as I can arrange my plans so that you 
 will not be obliged to weary yourself." 
 
 The considerate manner in which this was 
 said touched Mrs. Lawton's heart, and caused 
 her to have a deep sense of the goodness of her 
 5
 
 50 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 Father in heaven, who had thus influenced the 
 sympathies of people in her behalf. The inter- 
 est expressed for her beloved Emily also led 
 her to reproach herself for the want of faith 
 which she had sometimes felt when dwelling 
 upon the future for this cherished object. " Just 
 as Arthur saicyji thought the good woman to 
 herself, " ' a silver lining to every cloud,' if 
 we will only look for it. Bless the dear boy, 
 .he is always right, and to him I owe this 
 supply of work, just when I was beginning to 
 despond." "With many thanks she accepted 
 the offer, and promised that little Emily should 
 make a visit on Sophia Thornton the next 
 holiday. After the ladies left, Mrs. Lawton 
 could- not avoid wishing that her husband, who 
 had so idolized their child, could have -lived to 
 share with her the pleasure of knowing that she 
 was noticed and cared for by those whose influ- 
 ence upon her would be such as he would have 
 approved. It is so hard to rejoice when those 
 who would have joyed with us have passed from 
 earth.
 
 DEATH IN THl^ALLEY. 51 
 
 "I will not repine," said she; "I know this 
 jf wrong, and perhaps my husband's spirit is 
 now looking down from his heavenly home, and, 
 although I know it not, is rejoicing in my happi- 
 ness. 0, how much I have to be thankful for! 
 and I trust I am truly grateful to Him from 
 whom all blessings flow." 
 
 She wiped away a tear, but it was not a bitter 
 one, and the thoughts of the hour produced a 
 salutary effect upon the warm heart and hopeful^ 
 spirit of the lone widow. 
 
 No wonder those ladies were attracted by 
 the appearance of that lovely child, beautiful in 
 person as well as mind. No wonder that in her 
 that mother had garnered up her heart. Emily 
 Lawton was one of those children whose mission 
 on earth seems to be to create a world of love 
 around them. She had that deep, holy light in 
 her soft blue eyes which savored of heaven and 
 of communings with angel messengers. Often, 
 as Arthur listened to her remarks, as she accom- 
 panied him on some errand of mercy, he was
 
 52 THE CHBERFUL HEART. 
 
 surprised at the depth of the thoughts which 
 she expressed, so much wiser than those of t{jf 
 children whom he was in the habit of meeting ; 
 and he said one day .to his mother that she was 
 so lovely he feared she would not live -to 
 grow up. 
 
 " I often thinjAear mother, that she is early 
 ripening for heaven, and that poor Mrs. Lawton 
 will be bereft of her last tie here. I drive away 
 the thought, but it will return." 
 
 "My dear boy," said Mrs. Burton, "I trust 
 your fears will not be realized, and that Emily 
 will long be spared to glad her widowed moth- 
 er's heart." 
 
 " 0, so do I, mother ; for what would Mrs. 
 Lawton do ? She is a Christian, I have no 
 doubt, and is always cheerful ; but I fear 
 such a shock would be more than she could 
 bear." 
 
 " "We will hope for the best, my son," replied 
 Mrs. Burton. " It may be that your fears arise 
 from having heard that oft-repeated saying, that
 
 DEATH IN THEt^ALLEY. 53 
 
 * such lovely children generally die young ; ' now, 
 Ifris is not always the case, and Emily may be 
 an exception." 
 
 Months passed on, and Arthur was still active 
 in his efforts to promote the happiness and com- 
 fort of the people in the valley. Emily was 
 delighted to accompany him ^^ his visits, and 
 she now appeared so happy and so healthy 
 that his fears on her account began to abate. 
 Yet the ethereal expression in her eyes, and 
 the soul-felt ardor with which she engaged 
 in every work of love and goodness, fre- 
 quently caused the old thought to return to 
 his mind. 
 
 O, how happy were the days when those two 
 youths, so well fitted for each other's companion- 
 ship, visited the couch of sickness, relieved the 
 indigent, or cheered the sad heart with an offer- 
 ing of flowers from the gardens which they had 
 cultivated, or of fruit from the vines which they 
 together had trained ! Emily had made the 
 promised visit on Mrs. Thornton's little girl.
 
 54 THE CI^KFUL HEART. 
 
 and had won such golden opinions from both 
 the father and mother of Sophia, that at Mflfc 
 TVs urgent request the children were much to- 
 gether. 
 
 Sophia had one day just returned from 
 the city, where she had been to make a visit, 
 and Emily was^pssmg the afternoon with her. 
 The girls were enjoying themselves finely, So- 
 phia in relating, in a most animated manner, the 
 appearance of the children at a juvenile concert 
 she had recently attended, and Emily in listen- 
 ing, when, in a moment, the former was seized 
 with a dreadful headache, which obliged her to 
 leave her description unfinished. Emily with 
 the utmost tenderness bent over her friend, 
 bathed her flushed brow, and did every thing 
 which affection could dictate for the relief of 
 the sufferer; and Sophia did seem better, and 
 insisted upon Emily's remaining with her through 
 the -night, as she was quite sure she should be 
 well in the morning, and would then be able 
 to entertain her friend with what she had seen
 
 DEATH IN THE ^JALLEY. 55 
 
 in the city. Mrs. Lawton's consent to this ar- 
 rangement being asked and obtained very read- 
 ily, the friends retired to rest, anticipating much 
 pleasure on the morrow. 
 
 As Mrs. Thornton stole softly into their room 
 before she retired, she found them asleep locked 
 in each other's arms. 
 
 " 0," said she, as she looked at them, " can 
 any thing be more lovely ? There is something 
 in innocent, happy childhood which speaks to 
 us of heaven ; which tells us of those pure, an- 
 gelic beings which surround the throne of God, 
 untouched by sin, untainted by the breath of 
 corruption." 
 
 Alas ! she little thought the sweet sleepers 
 were almost there ; that they were soon to com- 
 mence that unending song, perfect in harmony 
 only in the bright world beyond the stars. 
 Could Death have power over any .thing so 
 beautiful ? Yes ; their Father in heaven was 
 seeking his missing jewels, and he called them 
 from this world, all glorious as it was to them, 
 

 
 56 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 filled with the flowers which they loved so well, 
 to a home where flowers never fade, and sorrow 
 never enters. In the midst of happiness, while 
 their speaking eyes were yet bright, and Health 
 flung around them her rich luxuriance, that de- 
 vouring scourge which has scathed and withered 
 the hopes of so many fond parents, and sent so 
 many of the beautiful ones of earth to a prema- 
 ture grave, had marked them for its victims. 
 The scarlet fever was in the valley, and where 
 would its ravages stop ? Instead of being bet- 
 ter in the morning Sophia was worse, and in 
 great alarm Mrs. Thornton summoned Dr. Law- 
 rence. Every thing that human skill could do 
 was done, but it availed not ; and scarce three 
 days had passed away ere all that remained on 
 earth of the beloved Sophia was the cold and 
 untenanted form in which her happy spirit had 
 once dwelt. In two weeks from that time Emily 
 was also called from earth to join her friend 
 in heaven. The widow was overwhelmed with 
 sorrow. She could not be resigned. Many said
 
 DEATH IN THE VALLEY. 57 
 
 they had expected it, and they wondered that 
 she should be so overcome. Ah, they knew not 
 what treasures of the heart, what rich fancies 
 had been destroyed, sent apparently from her 
 very grasp by this blow. Every bright vision 
 of the future had been connected with her child ; 
 and that mother, hopeful as she naturally was, 
 could not at once gather up the fragments of 
 her shattered hopes, and mould them anew. 
 The first thing which aroused her from her 
 grief was a visit from Arthur, who bore in his 
 hand a bouquet which he had gathered from 
 Emily's garden ; he had culled those flowers 
 which he knew she loved the best, and brought 
 them as an offering, which, he trusted, would 
 soothe the mourner's heart. 
 
 " 0, my dear friend, I thank you ; you, I know, 
 can feel for me, for you knew and appreciated 
 my child. But, madam," said she to Mrs. Bur- 
 ton, " how feeble is language to express the ago- 
 ny of a mother, when called to surrender the 
 cherished object of her love to the silent grave ;
 
 58 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 to stand by the bed of death, and watch the 
 sufferings which she cannot alleviate ; to see 
 the eye now beaming with consciousness, and 
 then averted by distress, and to know that no 
 rest but that of the grave will still that agony, 
 and that the moment which brings relief to the 
 sufferer will separate her from all on earth to 
 whom she is so dear ; to know that those sealed 
 lips will never again give voice to the sweet 
 words of affection, or those arms be extended 
 to caress you ! 0, how can I be resigned ? " 
 
 " Look for the ' silver lining,' my dear Mrs. 
 Lawton, and see it in the sweet smile which still 
 illumines the face of Emily, and tells us that she 
 is far happier than she could be amid the sor- 
 rows of this earth. Remember that the grave 
 cannot fetter the soul, and hers is now expand- 
 ing in heaven. She was happy here ; she is 
 happy there ; for while on earth, 
 
 ' Happy and joyful on she moved, 
 
 Bright angels ever near, 
 For well are earth's pure beings loved 
 By dwellers in that sphere,
 
 DEATH IN THE VALLEY. 59 
 
 Where fadeless flowers and crystal rills 
 Rich music breathe amid the hills.' " 
 
 " I will be calm," said Mrs. Lawton. 
 
 " Be still, my heart ! what could a mother's prayer, 
 In all the wildest ecstasy of hope, 
 Ask for its darling like the bliss of heaven ? " 
 
 From that time the bereaved mother was 
 calm. Arthur saw her shed tears but once, and 
 it was when they laid her child's body in the 
 earth. The fever continued to rage in the val- 
 ley until the cold weather came, and many a 
 cherished one was called home. The widow 
 Lawton and Arthur were in every cot where 
 the destroyer came, assisting the helpless, com- 
 forting the mourner, and bidding the hopeless 
 to hope again. In thus doing the widow 
 found comfort. The Friend in whom she trust- 
 ed never forsook her, and she was not misera- 
 ble. Sorrow had touched her cheek, but it 
 was only with a softening power. She. was 
 pale, but not wasted. There was still hope in
 
 60 THE CHEEBFUL HEART. 
 
 her heart, the hope of once more meeting those 
 who had gone before in a brighter world. 
 
 She could calmly look upon the happiness of 
 others, and do all in her power to promote it. 
 She felt that hers would come, but not yet.
 
 THE HERMIT. 61 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE HERMIT. 
 
 " But there misfortune followed him, 
 And Sickness with her livid eye 
 There sought him out, and laid her hand, 
 Her withering hand, upon his brow, 
 And made him feel a pilgrim there, 
 And that his place on earth was not 
 In that far sunny land." 
 
 IN one of Arthur's rambles among the hills he 
 came upon a cottage, which so nearly partook 
 of the color of the shrubbery which surrounded 
 it, now of a grayish hue, it being winter, that 
 he would not have observed it but for the smoke 
 which was gracefully curling upward from its 
 chimney. There was an air of taste evidenced 
 in the rustic seats made of the roots and branch- 
 es of trees, in the training of the trees and 
 shrubs, which ornamented the enclosure at- 
 6
 
 62 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 taclied to the cottage, which interested him, and 
 induced him to approach it, hoping to get a peep 
 at its inmates. As he came nearer, he overtook 
 a boy who was a few years younger than him- 
 self, and but for a sickly paleness which was on 
 his thin cheek, he would have been handsome. 
 As it was, his face had the expression which 
 mental cultivation alone can give. He returned 
 Arthur's salutation with so much politeness that 
 he was very agreeably surprised. Seeing him 
 about to enter the cottage, young Burton said, 
 
 " Will you allow me to step in and rest my- 
 self for a short time? I have been rambling 
 among the hills for several hours, and am con- 
 siderably fatigued." 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; my brother will be glad to 
 have you ; and although he cannot see you, for 
 he is blind, yet he can hear you converse, and 
 that will be a pleasure to him, I am quite sure. 
 He is rather low spirited to-day, however, and 
 may not entertain you as agreeably as he some- 
 times could ; but perhaps your .call will do him 
 good."
 
 THE HERMIT. 63 
 
 Thus cordially invited, Arthur very gladly 
 entered, and saw before him a gentleman of 
 about forty years of age, whose form and face 
 had all the dignity of manly beauty, although 
 sickness and hope deferred had marked it with 
 lines which made him look older than he really 
 was. His eyes were large, dark, and expressive, 
 although they were sightless. At first you would 
 not have suspected his misfortune ; but after ob- 
 serving him closely, you would perceive from 
 the motions of his hands and the care with 
 which he moved, that he was deprived of one 
 of God's best gifts to man. His mouth had an 
 expression of so much tenderness, particularly 
 when he replied to his young brother's ques- 
 tions, that Arthur's heart was drawn towards 
 him at once. His dress, although old-fashioned, 
 'was neat in the extreme, and seemed to our 
 * young friend in accordance with what he sup- 
 posed from his appearance his character must 
 be. "With perfect ease Mr. -Carlton (for that 
 was his name) entered into a conversation with
 
 64 THE CHEEEFUL HEART. 
 
 Arthur which soon convinced him, young as he 
 was, that he had met with a person possessing 
 no common mind, and who must have devoted 
 years to intellectual pursuits. In fact, the boy 
 was so delighted with his visit, that he pro- 
 longed it until the sun was sinking behind the 
 western hills ; and even then he felt unwilling to 
 part with his new friend. Mr. Carlton appeared 
 on his part equally gratified, and urged Arthur 
 to repeat his visit with an earnestness which 
 convinced him that he was a welcome, although 
 unexpected, guest. 
 
 Upon his return home, he related to his moth- 
 er the agreeable acquaintance he had made, and 
 expressed a desire to know more of the stranger. 
 Mrs. Burton made some inquiries with regard 
 to this gentleman. All that was known of him 
 was, that a few years previous to Mrs. Burton's 
 removal to the valley, the recluse had come 
 there and bought the cottage which he occupied, 
 which was then in a dilapidated condition, but 
 had since been made habitable. He was led
 
 THE HERMIT. 65 
 
 about by his young brother, who had always 
 devoted himself to him, seeming to anticipate 
 his every wish. The neighbors had tried to 
 become acquainted with Mr. C. at first, but he 
 appeared so reserved, although he answered 
 their inquiries with kindness, that they had 
 ceased to call upon him. All the information 
 they could obtain was through Mrs. Brown, 
 the laundress, who said that wnenever she went 
 to get the clothes the young brother was either 
 reading aloud to him, or working in the garden 
 in the summer. And said she, (for although 
 something of a gossip, yet she was " a very good 
 hearted woman,") "It almost makes the tears 
 come in my eyes to see little Robert lead his 
 brother about, always finding the nicest seat in 
 the prettiest spot for him ; and one day would 
 you believe it ? the dear child carried him the 
 most beautiful bunch of roses, lilies, and pinks 
 that you ever saw, just as if he could see them 
 with his poor blind eyes, which look at me often 
 in such a way that I can scarcely think he is 
 6*
 
 66 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 blind. I know he is though, for when he took 
 the flowers, he said, ' Thank you, brother ; they 
 are very fragrant and very beautiful, I know, 
 for although I cannot see them, yet I have not 
 forgotten how they used to look, and I can tell 
 by the feeling that they are very perfect in form. 
 You have succeeded finely in raising them, and 
 they are a great comfort to me ; ' and then he 
 placed his hand* on Robert's head, and turned 
 towards him with so much love in his face, that 
 his little brother would have kissed him, I know, 
 if I had not been there. Every morning, Rob- 
 ert goes to the city, but he gets back before 
 noon, and if I happen to go to Mr. Carlton's 
 while he is away, he is always playing upon his 
 fiddle, or violin, as he calls it ; and once I heard 
 him singing a song which was so sad that you 
 would have cried to hear it. It was about 
 friends he had lost, and I could hear his voice 
 tremble once in a while when he was singing it. 
 I didn't like to go in then, so I went round after 
 the other folks' clothes first, and when I got
 
 THE HERMIT. 67 
 
 back he was in the garden with Robert. 0, 1 
 wish you could hear him play, for he makes the 
 fiddle laugh or cry, or whatever he wishes. I 
 am so glad, as I told my husband to-day, that he 
 can amuse himself with his music. He's got 
 heaps upon heaps of books ; but what a pity he 
 can't see to read one of them ; but Robert reads 
 them to him, and that's a comfort ; but he, poor 
 boy, looks sick and delicate like, and can't last 
 forever. He would be better, I know, if he 
 would play with other boys. I told him so once, 
 but he said he was well, and that he could not 
 leave his brother. We had some nice vegetables 
 the other day, and I told my boy to take them 
 over some ; but I thought, perhaps, I had better 
 go myself, as Mr. Carlton was so particular like. 
 He thanked me, but I thought from his manner 
 that he would rather I should not have brought 
 them ; so I haven't sent any thing else. He don't 
 seem proud, but yet I think he don't like to take 
 favors. He is a good man, I believe, and a great 
 scholar ; but he don't want to get acquainted
 
 68 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 with folks, for Mrs. Cross called to see him, 
 and although she says he treated her well, yet 
 somehow she didn't want to go again. Ev- 
 ery body calls him the Hermit, and they don't 
 trouble him now, but let him live in his own 
 way. I saw Arthur Burton go there the other 
 day, and since then he has been a number of 
 times, so I guess Mr. Carlton likes him ; but that 
 is nothing strange, for every body loves him, for 
 he is always doing good to every body. I never 
 shall forget what he did for us when my Mary 
 Ann was sick ; but you all know him, so I need 
 not tell you of his good deeds ; and here I have 
 been talking for an hour, and Mary Ann is at 
 home all alone ; she won't know what's got me." 
 And away went the kind-hearted but loquacious 
 gossip, Mrs. Brown. 
 
 Arthur continued to visit Mr. Carlton, and 
 each visit endeared the recluse to him more and 
 more. One day Mr. C. said to him, 
 
 " My dear boy, I feel that I am growing so 
 fond of your society that I know not what I
 
 THE HERMIT. 69 
 
 should do if deprived of it; yet I have been 
 thinking that if we devoted some of the hours 
 we spend together to reviewing your studies, 
 your mother would, perhaps, approve of it, and 
 would be willing to spare you longer to me. 
 Robert is one of the best fellows in the world, 
 and one of the most devoted brothers ; he is 
 obliged," said Mr. C., with some hesitation, " to 
 spend his forenoons in the city, writing ; for, al- 
 though so young, under my teachings he has 
 learned to keep books very neatly, and in that 
 way he earns enough for our support, with a 
 small fund which I possess. Our wants are easi- 
 ly supplied ; therefore a few hours a day are all 
 that is necessary for him to apply himself. I 
 fear, although he never complains, that he is not 
 quite well, and if he has a companion of his own 
 age, I think it will be beneficial to us bofc 
 Your cheerful, hopeful spirit has already done 
 wonders for us ; and at times I, who had almost 
 become a misanthrope, can see in my mind's eye 
 the ' silver lining ' to the dark clouds which have
 
 70 THE CHEERFUL HEAET. 
 
 overshadowed my life. I can instruct, although 
 I am blind ; for fortunately I am blessed with a 
 good memory, and can recall almost all that I 
 learned before this misfortune overwhelmed me. 
 For years I feared it, and endeavored to lay up 
 a store of information against the long night 
 of darkness which I believed was to come up- 
 on me." 
 
 "My mother will be delighted, sir, to find such 
 a teacher ; for she was saying, a few days since, 
 that she should be obliged to look out for a 
 tutor for me, as I was getting beyond ' her 
 knowledge,' and you would exactly suit her, I 
 am sure, if you will take me as your pupil. Mr. 
 Thornton has a son of the same age as myself, 
 and there is Charley Afton, whose tuition iny 
 mother will defray, and ourselves, with your 
 
 ther Eobert, will just make up a pleasant 
 53. 0, do consent to take us, Mr. Caiiton ; 
 it will only occupy a few of your spare hours, 
 and will, perhaps, amuse without fatiguing 
 you."
 
 THE HERMIT. 71 
 
 "If your parents approve I shall like the 
 plan much." 
 
 " When shall we begin, Mr. Carlton ? But f 
 have already been receiving instructions from 
 you at every interview." 
 
 " As soon as your friends are ready, Arthur. 
 But do not be too enthusiastic ; you may not 
 progress as rapidly in all your studies as if your 
 teacher could see, but in some it will make no 
 difference. I have a good library, although not 
 very large ; but to that you shall always have 
 access, and when you feel disposed to read aloud 
 to me, the habits of discipline which I acquired 
 when in college may be of advantage to us 
 now." 
 
 " How much we shall all thank you, sir," said 
 Arthur, " for allowing us to make this arrange- 
 ment! We will be ready by the day after 
 morrow, as I am quite sure of the approval of 
 our friends." 
 
 As Arthur had supposed, his mother, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Thornton, and Charley's parents were high-
 
 72 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 ly gratified at finding a tutor for their children 
 so near home, and one with whom an after 
 acquaintance proved a source of the greatest 
 pleasure. Months pas&d on, and the young 
 men progressed with rapidity in their studies, 
 and became so much attached to their teacher 
 that they vied with each other in guiding him 
 in his walks ; for now the recluse was often 
 persuaded to accompany his young friends 
 home, where he always received a cordial 
 welcome. Few persons possessed such conver- 
 sational powers as Charles Carltou, and as he 
 brought forth from the inexhaustible storehouse 
 of his memory incidents which he had met with 
 in his travels, sketches of persons whom he had 
 seen abroad, and relations from books which he 
 had read, all paused to hear, forgetting the flight 
 
 ttime. It was most touching, however, to 
 iten to his vivid descriptions of Nature in all 
 her forms, as he spoke of the stars, the moun- 
 tains, the lowly flowers at their base, the ocean 
 in its mild and in its stormy moods, he seemed
 
 THE HERMIT. 73 
 
 again to be contemplating them, and one could 
 scarcely believe tliat he was only living in the 
 past. At these times he was happy, for he dwelt 
 in a world so beautiful that he forgot his great 
 deprivation. Said he to Arthur's mother, one 
 morning, 
 
 "I am a better and a wiser man, madam, 
 since I have known your son, for he has taught 
 me lessons, boy as he is, which will cheer my 
 pathway, and lead me to see brightness where 
 all before was dark and dreary. I will one 
 day relate to you my history, and then you can 
 judge for yourself whether my life has not been 
 a sad one ; and you will not wonder that I 
 desired to shut myself out from communing 
 with my kind! The people here have called me 
 the 'Hermit,' and I deserved the appellation, 
 for I secluded myself from society, and by my 
 acts at least, if not by my words, declined their 
 companionship. I did wrong, as Arthur has 
 taught me to think, for people were disposed to 
 pity the blind man's lot. Even -my laundress, 
 7
 
 74 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 unlearned as she is, speaks to me with a tender- 
 ness in her tones which always goes to my heart, 
 and offers her services to myself and Robert 
 with a delicacy I have often looked for in vain 
 in those occupying what the world calls a far 
 higher station in life." 
 
 "Ah, yes, my friend," replied Mrs. Burton, 
 " my own experience has proved that true good- 
 ness oftener dwells beneath the cotton garment 
 than the silken and velvet attire." 
 
 In the pursuit of his self-imposed duties and 
 in the society of his kind friends, months passed 
 tranquilly by to Mr. Carlton, and in the cheer- 
 ful, active, social being who now frequently 
 visited the cottagers, noticed their children, and 
 always received their attentions with kindness, 
 few would have recognized the silent, reserved 
 hermit who seldom left his solitary home except 
 to take a short walk with his delicate-looking 
 little brother, who had seemed almost too frail 
 to long continue an inhabitant of earth. The 
 change in Robert was as great as that which
 
 THE HERMIT. 75 
 
 had taken place in his brother ; for in seeing that 
 dear friend on whom his very existence appeared 
 to depend, happy, he became joyful himself, and 
 the healthful exercise which the pupils of Mr. 
 Carlton daily took had invigorated his frame, 
 and given color to his pale cheek. 
 
 " I will, as I promised, madam, relate my his- 
 tory to you," said Mr. Carlton to Mrs. Burton, 
 one stormy evening which he was passing at her 
 house ; " we are not liable to any interruption, 
 as the night is so inclement." 
 
 " It will afford us much pleasure to listen to 
 it, my dear sir," said Mrs. Burton ; " but if it 
 will pain you to recall events long past, do not 
 make the effort for our gratification." 
 
 " Arthur's pleading looks would induce me to 
 go on, had I no other motive, ma'am ; but I 
 think the effect of the narration will be salutary 
 upon myself, for now, thanks to my young friend 
 here, I can see ' silver linings ' to many of the 
 clouds with which my life has been darkened. 
 
 "I was born in this country, in the delightful
 
 76 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 town of D . My parents were descend- 
 ants of highly respectable families, who had 
 borne unsullied reputations for generations. 
 Never very wealthy, but generally well to do in 
 the world, they had always given one or more 
 of their sons a collegiate education, and many 
 of them had held offices of trust in the states 
 in which they resided. My father was in public 
 life, and he possessed a mind of no stinted re- 
 sources. He was not a great man, but he was a 
 good one in the true sense of the word, and my 
 mother, my beloved mother, was every way wor- 
 thy to be the bosom friend and companion of 
 such a man. She was to my father the ' very 
 spirit of his being,' and when she left this world 
 for a better, his sun appeared to set in dark- 
 ness. The good always seem to be taken from 
 earth young, as if this world, with its cares, 
 its trials and sorrows, were no fitting abode for 
 their pure spirits. From this time my father's 
 health began to fail, and ere two years had 
 passed over his head, the tomb which held my
 
 THE HERMIT. 77 
 
 mother's remains was again opened, and my 
 father was laid by her side. They were united 
 in heaven ; but we, one sister and myself, were 
 left to mourn over a deserted hearthstone and 
 a cheerless home. My mother's harp we still 
 retained as a sacred thing, and as Angela and 
 myself looked at it, we sometimes imagined that 
 we should again see her dear form bending over 
 it ; and often in the silent night I have thought 
 that I heard her touching its chords as in days 
 which were forever past. It was a long time 
 before I discovered that it was my sister who 
 stole at that hour to the room which my mother 
 had occupied, to commune in this way with our 
 sainted parent, for the child really believed that 
 her mother assisted her in her efforts to improve 
 herself in an art which she worshipped ; and, 
 perhaps, if this is permitted, it was so, for that 
 young girl (she was only sixteen) became one of 
 the finest players on the harp in the vicinity. 
 At the time of my parents' death I had not fin- 
 ished my collegiate course, and in accordance 
 7*
 
 78 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 with their desire, I went through with it. As 
 soon as the clods were replaced on my father's 
 grave, I sold our house, hurried from the spot, 
 and taking Angela with me, went on with my 
 studies with an earnestness and determination 
 which soon prostrated a frame never vigorous. 
 A fever laid me on my couch for weeks, and 
 during that time I learned the value of a sister's 
 tender love and care. But Angela's constitution 
 was unequal to the task which she had under- 
 taken, and fatigue and anxiety overcame her, 
 and when I was pronounced convalescent she 
 was laid upon a bed of sickness. She was in a 
 constant state of delirium, and most touchingly 
 would she entreat her attendants to allow her 
 to go to her mother, if only for a few moments ; 
 and then she would imagine that I needed atten- 
 tion, and that she must see me. madam, the 
 agony I then endured can scarcely be conceived 
 of. She was all I had left to love on earth ; and 
 
 
 
 0, how earnestly I prayed that her life might be 
 spared. My prayers wpre answered, and for a
 
 THE HEEMIT. 79 
 
 few years more she remained here to illumine a 
 home, which but for her presence would have 
 been all dark to me. Years passed on, and I 
 selected the profession of law, by which to ob- 
 tain a livelihood ; for although we had some 
 property left us, still there was not sufficient 
 to support us as I wished without exertion. I 
 found myself, however, poorly adapted, after a 
 few years' experience, to push my fortunes in this 
 way, as I could scarcely breathe in the atmos- 
 phere of the law courts ; so I abandoned my 
 profession, and devoted myself to literary pur- 
 suits, into which my sister entered with her 
 whole soul. But somebody else had discovered 
 the beauty and brightness of the gem, which I 
 had determined to appropriate to my own use. 
 Angela was wooed by one worthy of her, and I 
 could not deny my sanction to her marriage, 
 for I felt it would be wrong for me to be thus 
 selfish, although I really believe she would have 
 remained with me, and led a single life, if I had 
 expressed one desire to that effect. I could not
 
 80 THE CHEEEFUL HEART. 
 
 do it ; so she was married, and I knew that she 
 was happy. Solitary and alone, for I could 
 not intrude my moody self upon her happiness, 
 I res'olved to travel, particularly as this was 
 prescribed by my physicians, as my health was 
 failing, and I then first began to perceive a 
 weakness in my vision, which was attributed to 
 feebleness of body. For the next five years I 
 lived among the most beautiful scenes of earth. 
 I visited England, and gazed upon its won- 
 drous architectural piles, planned by those who 
 had for scores of years been dust. I went to 
 France, and feasted my soul upon her galleries 
 of paintings, and gained a degree of health be- 
 neath her sunny skies. I next wandered to the 
 laud of your birth, where the rosy heavens and 
 the glorious sunshine so early ripen the hearts 
 which dwell beneath their influence. I drank 
 in rich draughts of loveliness, as I gazed upon 
 that bay which is in sight of the home of your 
 childhood. I loitered long 'mid the cliffs which 
 overlook it, laying up a store of beauty which
 
 THE HERMIT. 81 
 
 should dwell in my mind after my fading vision 
 should be lost in darkness. I studied Nature in 
 all her forms. The grand, the picturesque, the 
 lovely, the frightful, all had charms for me ; for 
 I was tracing pictures upon my mind which I 
 hoped to make so indelible there, that when 
 blindness came upon me (for I felt that it must 
 come) I might live over again the happy hours 
 which I had passed amid her great storehouse, 
 and be resigned to what was inevitable. Little 
 by little the light faded from me. I was not 
 blind, but I could not for years see distinctly ; 
 yet I thanked Heaven that I could see even that 
 little. But I must hasten on to the saddest part 
 of my story. Sorrows many and great now be- 
 fell me. One who had promised to bear my 
 name, and whom I had deemed all that was ex- 
 cellent, proved recreant to her vows, and wedded 
 another, in whom I had confided as if he had 
 been a brother ; that false friend not only seri- 
 ously injured me pecuniarily, but he made a 
 wound in my heart which has never quite healed.
 
 82 THE CHEERFUL HEAET. 
 
 I hurried home, sure of finding a true, loving, 
 sympathizing friend in my sister. 'Yes/ said 
 I, 'Angela loves me better than herself. She 
 will receive me, poor, blind, hopeless, and de- 
 sponding as I am.' I hastened on, sure of 
 grasping one warm hand, and clasping to my 
 breast one heart that could feel for me. It 
 were better I had lingered, for the blow would 
 have been spared me for a time. 
 
 " Alas ! madam," said Mr. Carlton, " instead 
 of the kiss of affection and the tear of joy at 
 my return, I found but a grave. Angela had 
 gone to rejoin those whom she had so loved in 
 heaven. Her husband was dead, also, of the 
 same fever, and a feeble boy was all that was 
 left to remind me of the joys past, never to re- 
 turn on earth. That child is Robert, who*has 
 always called me brother, as he liked the name 
 better than that of uncle, and a dear and tender 
 brother he has been to me ; but for him I should 
 long since have sunk into my grave ; but feeling 
 that I had something to live for has caused me
 
 THE HERMIT^ 83 
 
 to make an effort to support life, and I have 
 lived on, caring not for companionship, therefore 
 shunning my fellows. While Robert was very 
 young, I went and came among men where duty 
 bade me, avoiding, however, all society as much 
 as possible, only mixing with those who took 
 care of the child, or when it was necessary to 
 attend to his wants and my own. The boy was 
 too young when 'the pall of death' was let 
 down upon his parents to remember the great 
 affliction which had befallen him ; but when, as 
 he grew older, I led him to their graves, and 
 told him of his mother, he wept such tears as 
 children seldom shed ; and since then I am 
 sensible he has felt bitterly that void in the 
 heart which only an orphan can know. He is 
 much older in feeling than in years, and as soon 
 as he could guide my steps, I requested a friend 
 to purchase the cottage which I now occupy ; 
 for I remembered this valley, and have often 
 wandered here in happier days with my mother 
 and Angela. The city had lost its charms for
 
 84 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 me, and the world its allurements, and I stood 
 upon my native soil as a stranger in a strange 
 land. Disappointment, misfortune, and ill health 
 clustered around me, and thus my character took 
 its stamp, and Robert, being constantly with me, 
 learned to feel as I felt, and think as I thought. 
 If Angela had lived, we should have been differ- 
 ent beings, for her heart was too finely attuned 
 to care much for the enjoyments of earth ; hers 
 was a mind which would command respect wher- 
 ever she moved. "With all this, my sister could 
 love with the fervor and strength of woman, 
 and upon those whom she did love was poured 
 out a wealth of affection which nought but death 
 could destroy. Yon will forgive me, madam, 
 for dwelling thus upon her virtues ; but when 
 speaking of her, I forget every thing else. 
 After I came to the valley, as you know., I de- 
 clined all companionship, and lived only for 
 Robert, who devoted himself to me with an 
 untiring love, seldom manifested by a child of 
 his age. We had been here about two years
 
 THE HERMIT. 85 
 
 when my sight failed entirely, and I have since 
 lived in the past. Eobert every day read to 
 me from some volume in my library, and in in- 
 structing him and in thinking of the incidents 
 of my life, time has slowly gone on, bringing me 
 each year nearer to its close. But since my 
 acquaintance with your son, I have become 
 another being, and have borrowed from his 
 cheerful, loving spirit rich draughts of content, 
 and even happiness ; for owing to his sugges- 
 tion and your kindness, my little class of pu- 
 pils was formed, and in listening to their 
 recitations and in gaining a knowledge of 
 their natures, I have forgotten my own sorrows, 
 and have become, I trust, a better man. I can 
 now endure the thought of living many years, 
 and have no desire to murmur at what I once 
 considered an eternal night. I can now play 
 upon my mother's harp, which until within a few 
 months was kept out of sight, and I almost feel, 
 at times, as Angela did, as if in thus doing I
 
 86 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 was communing with the loved, and not lost, 
 only gone before." 
 
 "I wonder not at your sadness, my dear 
 sir," said Mrs. Burton, as she wiped the tears 
 from her eyes ; " yours have been such sor- 
 rows as but few could sympathize with, for 
 but few have suffered as you have. I have 
 known affliction, but I have never sorrowed 
 without hope ; there has generally been a ray 
 of brightness to penetrate my clouds, and keep 
 me from utter despair. I have almost always 
 been able to see 'the silver lining,' and have 
 tried to live above earth and its transitory 
 joys." 
 
 " I must now bid you and Arthur good night," 
 said Mr. Carlton. " Our walk home will not 
 be an unpleasant one ; for Robert tells me, and. 
 I know from the feeling of the atmosphere, that 
 the storm has passed away. How pure the air 
 is, and how fragrant are the flowers and shrubs ! 
 Perhaps I can appreciate, if not the sights, the
 
 THE HERMIT. 87 
 
 perfumes and the sweet sounds of nature better 
 than those who possess in perfection all their 
 senses ; for as one fails Heaven mercifully quick- 
 ens those which remain." And with a cheerful 
 smile upon his features, Mr. Carlton took leave 
 of his friends for the night. 
 
 " My son," said Mrs. Burton, " I am anxious 
 that Dr. Lawrence should become acquainted 
 with Mr. Carlton. He has a high reputation 
 for the treatment of eye diseases, and possibly 
 something could be done for our friend. I will 
 invite the doctor here, and perhaps, after your 
 tutor has learned to appreciate -his many excel- 
 lences, he will confide in him, and allow him 
 to examine his eyes." 
 
 "I wish he might, mother. I spoke to him 
 .about it a short time since, but he replied that 
 he had had them examined many times, and had 
 spent much money, and been imposed upon so 
 frequently that he had determined never to 
 make another trial, but must be resigned to 
 his lot. I think, however, that his feelings
 
 88 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 have changed since then, and that he now might 
 be induced to consult Dr. Lawrence. At any 
 rate, two such men should be acquainted." 
 
 " Mr. Carlton has promised to have his harp 
 brought over, and play to us some evening next 
 week. I will ascertain which will be most con- 
 venient to him, and then we will send for the 
 doctor." 
 
 " In the mean time I will see Dr. Lawrence, 
 mother, and enlist his feelings in Mr. Carlton's 
 behalf; but that is hardly necessary, for I am 
 sure Dr. L. will be delighted with him as soon 
 as he hears him converse, especially if we can 
 make Mr. C. forget that there is a stranger 
 present, as you know he is sometimes reserved 
 at first." 
 
 " Well, my son, do as it pleases you best. I 
 shall, I am sure, be satisfied with your arrange- 
 ments ; and if such a valuable man as Mr. Carl- 
 ton can be restored to society, and to the useful- 
 ness he is capable of, we shall all have great 
 reason to rejoice."
 
 THE HEEMIT. 89 
 
 Robert was let into the secret, if thus it may 
 be called, planned by Mrs. Burton and Arthur, 
 for a meeting to take place between Dr. Law- 
 rence and Mr. Carlton, and the excellent boy 
 was almost wild with delight at the idea of his 
 beloved friend's sight being benefited. Mrs. 
 Burton felt compelled to tell him that it was 
 altogether improbable that Mr. C.'s eyesight 
 could be restored ; but she also said that it was 
 right to hope, even though their ardent wishes 
 might be disappointed. Robert, however, was 
 such an enthusiast that his transports could 
 scarcely be moderated, and he was so uncom- 
 monly joyous that Mr. Carlton noticed it, and 
 rejoiced at it as an evidence of returning health. 
 
 "Wednesday was the evening appointed for 
 the meeting at Mrs. B.'s, and with Mr. C.'s 
 consent all of his pupils were present to hear 
 him play upon the harp. Dr. Lawrence did not 
 arrive until young Thornton and Charles Afton 
 
 41 
 
 had left, much gratified with their tutor's music, 
 for he was a proficient in the art ; but they were
 
 90 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 obliged to bid their friends good niglit at an 
 early hour, that their lessons for the following 
 day might be in readiness. It was past eight 
 o'clock when the good doctor came ; he apolo- 
 gized for his late call, by saying the duties of 
 his profession had detained him ; he, therefore, 
 hoped his excuse would be deemed sufficient. 
 
 "Certainly," said Mrs. Burton; "but allow 
 me to introduce you to our friend, Mr. Carlton, 
 my son's tutor, of whom you have heard us so 
 frequently speak." 
 
 As Mrs. Burton spoke, the doctor turned to 
 offer his hand to Mr. C., but hastily withdrew 
 it, and fairly hugged him around the neck, in a 
 most cordial and characteristic manner. This 
 surprised Mrs. B. and Arthur ; but their surprise 
 was increased fourfold when the dignified Mr. 
 Carlton returned the doctor's embrace with 
 equal cordiality.' The doctor was the first to 
 break the silence, by exclaiming, 
 
 " Can I believe my senses ? and is this Ed- 
 ward Crawford, the long-cherished and dearly-
 
 THE HERMIT. 91 
 
 loved friend of my youth, whom I have mourned 
 as dead in a foreign land ? Well, Cheerful 
 Heart, wonders will never cease, and I believe 
 you are fated to bring good news. I always 
 rejoiced at your coming, but I little* thought that 
 you would introduce me to one whom I had 
 long given up as lost in this world. With all 
 your other good qualities, I had no idea that 
 you could bring the dead to life. But, Edward, 
 tell me where you have been, and when you 
 returned to your native land, why you did not 
 inform me of it. Did you, could you believe 
 that Charles Lawrence had changed ; or that 
 he could ever forget one of a family to whom he 
 owed so much ? Do explain, for Mrs. Burton 
 and Arthur, as well as myself, are longing, I 
 know, to have the mystery solved." 
 
 " My dear Charles, this is as much of a sur- 
 prise to me as to you ; for when I came home, 
 and found the last link which bound me to earth 
 severed by the death of Angela, I was informed, 
 when I sought you, to pour into your faithful
 
 92 THE CHEERFUL HEAET. 
 
 breast my sorrows, that you had gone abroad, 
 and were not expected to return for years. De- 
 siring to be entirely forgotten by those who had 
 known me in happier days, I changed my name, 
 and with Angela's child retired to the cottage 
 which we now occupy. You will remember that 
 my sight was poor when I left home, but at that 
 time you thought with care it might be pre- 
 served ; but alas ! I could not be careful of it, 
 for my only pleasure arose from study, and I 
 used to read nearly all night, as my mind was 
 in such a state that I could not sleep. This, 
 with ill health, brought about what I had so 
 long dreaded ; and for four years I have seen 
 only with my mind's eye the beauties which sur- 
 round me. But I am now happy, thanks to Ar- 
 thur, who has planned a delightful occupation 
 for me. doctor, you cannot imagine how 
 much I owe him ; for when I first made his ac- 
 quaintance, I was fast becoming a misanthrope, 
 feeling that I never again could love any body 
 but Robert, and that none else cared whether I
 
 THE HEEHIT. 93 
 
 lived or died. But though my eyes are closed 
 forever upon this beautiful earth, and all my 
 former prospects are blighted, yet I am re- 
 signed, and now feel as if my usefulness and 
 happiness were in a degree restored." 
 
 " But, Edward," said the doctor, " it is possi- 
 ble that your sight can be restored ; and as I 
 look at your eyes, I have strong hopes that 
 this may be the case. I will come to-morrow, 
 and bring an eminent oculist, Dr. Williams, 
 with me. He is remarkably skilful, and has 
 already restored many to sight, who had for 
 years been blind. He is not only very skilful 
 in his profession, but you will find him wor- 
 thy of your regard for the unbounded benev- 
 olence of his heart. In fact, he belongs to 
 ' the highest style of man/ and his views and 
 feelings as a Christian are beautifully blended 
 with those of a classical scholar." 
 
 "From your description," said Mrs. Burton, 
 " I shall be impatient to make the doctor's ac-
 
 94 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 quaintance ; and I see from Arthur's eyes that I 
 give voice to his wishes also." 
 
 " 0, yes, Cheerful Heart," said the doctor, " I 
 prophesy you and he will be bosom friends at 
 once, for you are congenial souls." 
 
 "Your partiality, my dear sir, blinds you to 
 my many faults ; but I trust one day I shall be 
 deserving of it." 
 
 With a cordial grasp of the hand from all, 
 the good doctor went on his homeward way, 
 hoping, almost with certainty, that the blessing 
 of restored sight was in store for his friend 
 Crawford. 
 
 Mr. Crawford, as we will now call him, re- 
 turned home that night with hope in his heart, 
 although he scarcely dared indulge it, he had 
 been so frequently disappointed in the checkered 
 scenes of his life. 
 
 - Robert's face fairly glowed with joy, as he 
 said to his brother, " You will see, I know you 
 will ; for such a skilful man as Dr. Lawrence 
 cannot well be mistaken ; and every thing else
 
 THE HERMIT. 95 
 
 unpleasant will vanish before so much happi- 
 ness." 
 
 " It would certainly have a wonderful effect, 
 my dear Robert ; but we must not be too san- 
 guine, lest the disappointment should be more 
 than we can bear." 
 
 But Robert could not be as calm as his broth- 
 er, and he lay the whole night without closing 
 his eyes, thinking of walks which he would take 
 with him, and lovely views which he would show 
 him when he could see again. Just as morning 
 dawned, he fell asleep only to dream over his 
 waking thoughts, and to start from his light 
 slumbers, rejoicing at the bright prospect before 
 his beloved friend. At the appointed hour the 
 physicians arrived ; and after carefully examin- 
 ing Mr. Crawford's eyes, and consulting togeth- 
 er, they decided that it was on many accounts 
 best that an operation should be performed, as 
 in all probability Mr. C.'s sight could be par- 
 tially, if not entirely, restored. 
 
 Arthur, who had waited with the most intense
 
 96 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 interest to learn the result of their consultation, 
 hastened to inform his mother and Robert of 
 the good news. It was a long time, however, 
 before the latter could be found ; but at last he 
 was discovered in his room on his knees so ear- 
 nestly petitioning Heaven in his brother's behalf, 
 that he did not hear his friend's step, and was 
 so overcome with joy at his announcement, that 
 it was some moments before he could speak. 
 It was decided that Mr. Crawford should go 
 to the city where the operation was to be per- 
 formed, and where Robert was to remain with 
 him until he could with safety return to his own 
 home. 
 
 The operation was performed by Dr. Williams, 
 three days after Mr. Crawford went to the city. 
 It was successful, and the patient was allowed 
 to take just one look at the world of beauty 
 around him, and then he was led to a darkened 
 room, and light was gradually admitted, until 
 his no longer sightless eyeballs were able to 
 bear the brightness of day.
 
 THE HERMIT. 97 
 
 But we will now return to the valley, and 
 learn what has oeen going on there during our 
 absence. But we must go back a few weeks, 
 and admit our readers into a secret which 
 caused Arthur and the two doctors to lay their 
 wise heads together for several hours in each 
 day, after it was ascertained to a certainty 
 that Mr. Crawford's sight would be restored. 
 Knowing Mr. C.'s talent for teaching, Arthur 
 had, with the approbation of his excellent friend 
 the doctor, resolved to interest influential per- 
 sons in the city of D., and friends in the valley, 
 who were able to assist in building an academy 
 there, to which a house .should be attached, in 
 which the preceptor should live, and where pu- 
 pils from abroad could board under his immedi- 
 ate supervision. When every thing was in read- 
 iness, it was their intention to request Mr. Craw- 
 ford to take charge of it, with Robert for an 
 assistant. Here boys were to be prepared for 
 college in one department, and it was proposed 
 that Charles Afton should instruct the younger 
 9
 
 98 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 children of the valley iii another, winters, as he 
 designed to go to college, and what he could 
 earn in this way would nearly defray his ex- 
 penses ; and as his father was now prospering 
 in business, he would gladly make up any defi- 
 ciency. 
 
 Arthur's plan was highly approved of by all 
 to whom it was mentioned, and a sum was soon 
 collected sufficient to put up a fine, convenient 
 building, spacious enough for the purposes de- 
 sired. Mr. Thornton generously gave the land, 
 and also enough for a common and playground 
 for the pupils. In the course of the summer, a 
 gentleman in the city, who was much pleased 
 with the plan, and had already given largely, 
 gave in addition several thousand dollars, the 
 income of which- was to be appropriated as 
 a salary for teachers, for keeping the building 
 in repair, ornamenting the grounds, &c. Daisy 
 Yalley Academy, therefore, became an endowed 
 institution, and bade fair to open under as 
 favorable auspices as any seminary of the kind
 
 THE HERMIT. . 99 
 
 in the country. One clause in the conditions 
 of this gentleman's gift delighted the inhabit- 
 ants of the valley very much. It was this. 
 Every scholar who prepared for college in that 
 academy was, in each year of his stay there, 
 to set out, at least, one tree, and was himself 
 to take every care in his power to make it 
 live, and if it died he was to replace it ; and 
 in this way in a few years the grounds would 
 be ornamented and beautified. 
 
 Early in the spring of the next year the acad- 
 emy was completed, and Mr. Crawford, now in 
 possession of his eyesight, was invited to take 
 charge of it. With heartfelt gratitude to the 
 friends who had exerted themselves so much in 
 his behalf, he accepted the appointment, and 
 devoted himself to the duties devolving upon 
 him with an energy and determination which 
 promised great results. His health and spirits 
 rapidly improved in an employment for which 
 he was so well adapted. 
 
 But probably some of our readers will like
 
 100 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 to know how he felt after his return to the val- 
 ley, when the long night which it had been his lot 
 to endure had departed. Arthur and Robert were 
 his companions, and as they guided him among 
 the charming scenery of their beloved valley, 
 and pointed out to him its pretty white cottages, 
 embowered amid the tall elms, woodbines, and 
 honeysuckles, he said they looked like " bowers 
 of peace in a little world of fragrance and 
 beauty." They lingered until the shades of 
 evening were gathering about them, and the last 
 rays of the setting sun were edging the summits 
 of the hills with purple and gold. " 0," said 
 Mr. Crawford, "such scenes were always de- 
 lightful to me, but this is more beautiful and 
 impressive than any I have ever imagined." 
 His heart seemed overflowing with joy, and he 
 expatiated upon the beauties around him with 
 the enthusiasm which such an occasion fully justi- 
 fied. He was a changed man from the time that 
 his sight was restored, for he not only looked 
 upon every object with the eye of a poet and
 
 THE HERMIT. 101 
 
 a painter, but with the deep fervent gratitude 
 of a Christian. He saw every thing as the 
 work of a Father who loveth his children, and 
 has filled this world with beauty for their en- 
 joyment. All around him spoke to his heart 
 and awoke the poetry of feeling which lived, 
 but had been hidden there during the years of 
 darkness which had passed so sadly to him. 
 In his new vocation, the traits of excellence, 
 which, under other circumstances, would not 
 have been discovered, expanded, and the purity 
 and elevation of his mind, and the tenderness 
 of his nature, evidenced themselves, and won for 
 him the regard and affection of his pupils and 
 friends. As a teacher, he gave universal satis- 
 faction ; and such was the reputation of the 
 school, {hat new applicants were constantly pre- 
 senting themselves, even after the number to 
 which it was limited was made up. Charles 
 Afton in his department gave equal satisfaction, 
 and it was proverbial of Daisy Valley scholars 
 that they were improving faster than in any 
 9*
 
 102 THE CHEEKFUL HEART. 
 
 institution of the kind in the vicinity. Arthur 
 and Charles were to go to college in the spring, 
 as this was thought best by their teacher, as 
 they were already prepared to enter a year in 
 advance, and unwilling as they both were to 
 leave their beloved valley, yet, of course, they 
 acquiesced in Mr. Crawford's views, realizing 
 that he had their best good at heart. Kobert 
 preferred remaining with his brother, as he had 
 decided that his proper vocation was to be an 
 assistant to this beloved friend ; and as such, 
 Mr. Crawford considered him invaluable, and 
 rejoiced at his decision, as he had so long been 
 his companion that he could not endure the idea 
 of a separation. The day for the departure of 
 Arthur and Charles at length arrived, and it 
 made a great sensation in the valley, for there 
 was scarcely a family in the whole place that 
 had not in some way been benefited by Arthur, 
 and by Charles as his ready and efficient assist- 
 ant. Old and young gathered around them as 
 they were about getting into the coach which
 
 THE HERMIT. 103 
 
 was to convey them to their destination, and 
 showered little gifts and blessings upon them, 
 weeping at the idea of even their short ab- 
 sence. 
 
 " We will take the best care of your mother 
 and Miss Netta," said one. 
 
 "Not a weed shall rear its head in your 
 garden," said another. 
 
 " And the flowers you shall see in our patches 
 when you come back, Mr. Arthur, will do your 
 eyes good to look at," said another, whom Ar- 
 thur had encouraged to industry. 
 
 " God bless you all," said Arthur, as, waving 
 his cap to them, the coach turned a corner, and 
 he was hidden from their view. 
 
 " Ah, Charley," said he to his companion, " I 
 had rather deserve such love as theirs than to 
 possess the wealth of the Indies. But whom 
 have we here ? Old Mrs. Blake, I declare. 
 Well, I am glad to see her once more ; for I 
 was sorry to leave without bidding her another 
 good-by, for she is one of my best friends. Mr.
 
 104 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 Clark, please to stop a minute ; here is a friend 
 that I wish to speak to." 
 
 " We are behind our time, Mr. Arthur ; but I 
 cannot deny your request, for I have not for- 
 gotten that you saved my life last winter, when 
 but for your assistance I should have frozen to 
 death, having taken a little too much at the 
 tavern ; and thanks to you, since I have not 
 tasted a drop of the villanous stuff, and never 
 will, God helping me. Step up, goody ; you 
 shall speak to Master Arthur, if I am late." 
 
 The old lady approached, holding in her hand 
 a little bundle, which she had come a mile to 
 present, old and feeble as she was. " Good-by, 
 Master Arthur," said she. " I couldn't have you 
 leave without saying one more good-by, and 
 asking God to bless you ; but he will, I know, 
 if the prayers of the widow and orphan are 
 heard. Here are a pair of stockings such as 
 you told me you liked ; and you will wear them 
 to please me, won't you, Master Arthur? and 
 when you put them on, perhaps you will some-
 
 THE HERMIT. 105 
 
 times think of the widow whose heart you mado 
 to sing for joy." 
 
 "I give you many thanks for them, Mrs. 
 Blake ; they are just what I wanted. And you 
 may be sure I shall not forget you, and the 
 pleasant chats we have had together. I shall 
 come and see you when I return, and eat some 
 of your nice cakes again." 
 
 "I am old, Master Arthur, and may not live 
 until then ; but if I do not, we shall meet in 
 heaven." 
 
 " And on earth, too, many times, I hope, Mrs. 
 Blake. I shall be back, if my life is spared, in 
 six months, and one of my first calls will be 
 upon you, to tell you how your present wore." 
 And having in this way caused the old lady to 
 smile, he bade her good morning, and was soon 
 out of sight. 
 
 " If I envy you any thing," said Charles, " it 
 is the possession of such blessings as those, Ar- 
 thur ; for he that receives them is rich indeed,
 
 106 THE CHEERFUL HEAET. 
 
 both in this world, and he will, I am sure, reap 
 a large interest in another." 
 
 " You must not envy me my treasure, my dear 
 fellow, and you need not, for you certainly de- 
 serve your share, and I cannot afford to lose 
 even one of those pure coins." 
 
 Arthur and Charles soon gained friends at H. 
 They were eminent for their talents, and for 
 the faithful discharge of their duties. They 
 everted an influence which was felt throughout 
 the college. To Arthur the name of Peace- 
 maker was given, for he often adjusted disputes 
 and reconciled feuds which had existed for a 
 length of time. In fact, he was almost invaria- 
 bly called upon by his class when any point at 
 issue was to be settled ; and so much was his 
 opinion respected, that even the one decided 
 against generally admitted the justice of the 
 decision, and went away trying to be satisfied. 
 
 The months passed rapidly away, and in 
 the pursuit of their studies our young friends
 
 THE HERMIT. 107 
 
 found true enjoyment. They applied themselves 
 closely, yet they found time for long walks 
 among the fine scenery of H. which combined 
 the beautiful with much of the sublime and pic- 
 turesque. On two sides of the town the pros- 
 pect is bounded by irregular ranges of lofty 
 mountains, whose summits rise against the sky, 
 assuming a variety of fantastic forms, their 
 sides being clothed with ta*ll pines. Arthur and 
 Charles felt quite at home here, although the 
 hills which surrounded the Valley of Daisies 
 were pygmies when compared with the cloud- 
 capped mountains of H. Almost every day the 
 friends found some new and charming scene, 
 which lay hid among the hills, and they looked 
 with renewed delight upon the varied and ex- 
 tensive prospect commanded from their tops. 
 At one time smiling villages, with their happy 
 homes, lay before them, and from another point 
 of view could be seen far away in some valley 
 a silver streamlet, whose course they could trace 
 until it entered the broad bosom of a river.
 
 108 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 which bore it onward to the ocean. And again 
 they looked upon a town, where men were hur- 
 rying to and fro, each seeming intent upon 
 gome object which demanded all their attention. 
 Large manufactories reared their broad fronts 
 in the streets, and spacious mansions were to 
 be seen which gave indication of wealth and 
 thrift. 
 
 "But where are their trees?" said Arthur. 
 " I could not live contentedly in a town without 
 trees ; it seems as if all had, in this instance, 
 been felled for building purposes. 0, how deso- 
 late a home must be there ! so unlike our val- 
 ley, Charles, which, is almost a wilderness, you 
 know." 
 
 " Look again, Arthur, more to the right, and 
 you will see a redeeming feature in that little 
 world of bustle." 
 
 Arthur did look, and saw nestled away among 
 a forest of evergreen trees and shrubs a church, 
 whose modest front peeped out from the tall 
 guardian pines and elms which sheltered it with
 
 THE HERMIT. 109 
 
 their protecting arms. Its spire pierced the 
 clouds, and pointed heavenward, as if to remind 
 the busy dwellers in the town that earth was 
 not their abiding-place. One day the friends 
 were about ascending a mountain, the highest 
 in the range ; they paused at its foot to speak 
 to an aged man, whose white locks floated in 
 the breeze, but whose firm step and hale, rud- 
 dy face contradicted the tale which they told. 
 He entered into conversation with them, and 
 related many incidents connected with the moun- 
 tains, which interested them much. Among oth- 
 ers, he spoke of a legend which was believed by 
 the red men who once dwelt in the vicinity, and 
 whose hunting grounds had now passed into the 
 hands of strangers who had forgotten their red 
 brothers, or remembered them only as a race 
 long since passed away. Said he, " The tribe 
 which owned this part of the country was quite 
 numerous, and a finer formed, brighter eyed, 
 or braver hearted race never trod their native 
 woods. Oswego was one of their bravest war- 
 10
 
 110 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 riors, and was looked up to with reverence by 
 the whole tribe on this account. He had been 
 in danger of losing his life many times, yet never 
 
 for a moment did his bright eye quail ; and when 
 
 
 led by his foes in chains to an almost certain 
 
 and lingering death, still his proud lip curled in 
 scorn, and he dared them to do their worst. 
 By his own cunning he escaped from their hands, 
 and lived years after to chase the deer among 
 the vast hunting grounds of his tribe ; for" they 
 extended much farther than the eye can reach, 
 even beyond those hills where sinks the setting 
 sun. One day, in his wanderings, he was en- 
 gaged so earnestly in his favorite pursuit that 
 he marked not the flight of time. A sudden 
 storm arose ; the loud pealing thunder echoed 
 through the rocks, and the lightning's vivid flash, 
 reflected in yonder lake, was all that lighted 
 up the scene, which was now shrouded in mid- 
 night darkness. Still the heart of the brave 
 warrior quailed not, and its throbs were not 
 quickened ; he loved the storm, for to his spirit
 
 THE HERMIT. Ill 
 
 such scenes were congenial. Cautiously he 
 threads his way amid dangers which would have 
 appalled one less brave ; suddenly he stops, 
 however ; an unaccustomed sound strikes his ear. 
 It is as if a river was so near him that it would 
 be foolhardy to proceed until the storm has 
 passed ; and now, as another flash lights up the 
 scene, he sees before him a mighty torrent, dark 
 as night, and deep and rapid in its course as if 
 it would bear all before it. He pauses ; and 
 now the storm is almost over, for the sun is once 
 more fringing the dark clouds with purple and 
 gold, and in the far east the rainbow flings its 
 changing hues over the* sky. The rain has 
 ceased, and the warrior looks about him to dis- 
 cover which is the best course for him to take 
 to reach his home, for in the darkness he has 
 lost his way. There seems to be but one path ; 
 but why does he not go on ? Why is his face 
 pale with dread ? Why sinks that brave heart 
 for the first time ?
 
 112 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 ' It fears not man ! and shall it faint 
 "When Fancy's doubts assail ? 
 On, red man, on ! your way lies on, 
 Where yonder craggy height 
 Hangs o'er the torrent's rocky hed, 
 Dark as the womb of night ! ' 
 
 " It was told by the wise of Ms nation, that 
 on the frowning height which he must climb in 
 order to reach his home, or retrace his steps, 
 the ' Great Spirit ' was throned ; and never be- 
 fore had one of his tribe ventured so near to 
 that sacred rock ; and if he presumed to go 
 on, the avenging bolts of Heaven, he felt sure, 
 would be hurled upon his head. He dared not 
 tempt the wrath of Him who, he believed, sat in 
 'lofty grandeur' upon that mountain, or cross 
 the dark lake at its foot ; so, veiling his sight, 
 he turned to pursue his homeward way in anoth- 
 er direction. But, alas ! what had been little 
 rills when he passed them in the morning, ere 
 the Storm Spirit was abroad, were now mighty 
 rivers torrents, which bore every thing before 
 them ; for that is frequently the case among
 
 THE HEEMIT. 113 
 
 these mountains, and during one thunder storm 
 the aspect of the place will be so changed that 
 you would scarcely recognize the spots which 
 you had passed an hour before. The strong 
 warrior wandered on ; but the difficulties in his 
 way increased, and darkness coming on, he be- 
 came completely bewildered. That night his 
 wigwam was without a master, and the ashes 
 grew cold upon his hearthstone. The morning 
 sun arose upon the corpse of Oswego, and that 
 lake which he had so much dreaded had become 
 his grave ; for all unknowingly he had returned 
 to it, and found, too late, that by braving, as he 
 believed, the dread presence ' which wielded in 
 his hand the thunder clouds,' he had paid the 
 penalty with his life. Long his tribe mourned 
 his loss, and long Dove Eye, his bride, waited 
 and watched for his coming ; but his quick step 
 no more bent the tall grass of his native valley, 
 and his unerring aim no more brought down the 
 swift deer. Dove Eye refused to be comforted ; 
 and one day they found her wrapped in a sleep 
 10*
 
 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 from which she did not awaken ; she had gone 
 to rejoin her husband in a brighter land beyond 
 the rising sun. 
 
 " The bones of a man were found by a party 
 of white men, a few years since, at the foot of 
 yonder mountain, and near the lake, which at 
 that time could be waded across. They were 
 gathered up and placed in a cave, which I will 
 show you ; and there they will remain until they 
 moulder back to dust, for those who had a right 
 to claim them have gone to their happy hunting 
 grounds, which no stranger hands shall deprive 
 them of." 
 
 Arthur and Charles accompanied the old 
 man to the cave which he had mentioned, and 
 looked upon the remnants of mortality, which, 
 he said, were "all that was left of the brave 
 warrior, who feared to dare the Great Spirit." 
 Thanking him for his kindness, they parted with 
 their new friend, promising to visit his home at 
 some future time. 
 
 But now the term has nearly closed, and a
 
 THE HERMIT. 115 
 
 letter has been received by Mrs. Burton, which 
 contains the joyful news that, in a very short 
 time, Arthur and Charles may be expected in 
 the valley. For many days after this, friends 
 were busily employed in arranging every thing 
 about the house and garden in the most tasteful 
 and advantageous manner, for his reception. 
 
 It was June, and the whole valley was filled 
 with fragrance. The roses, Arthur's favorite 
 flowers, were in full bloom, and the loved home 
 of his childhood had never presented a more 
 beautiful appearance. He and Charles were 
 expected on Wednesday, and anxiously were 
 the hands of the clock watched by Annette and 
 her mother, as the hour drew near for the com- 
 ing 'of the dusty vehicle, which, only twice a 
 week, came to the valley ; for there was not as 
 much travelling then as now, and if a journey 
 was contemplated on any other day the person 
 must go to the city to speak for his passage. 
 Several of Arthur's most intimate friends had 
 assembled at Mrs. Burton's to await his arrival,
 
 116 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 among others, Mr. Crawford and Robert, Dr. 
 Lawrence, Mr. and Mrs. Thornton, c. Soon 
 the wheels of the coach are heard in the dis- 
 tance, and unable to wait quietly in the house, 
 Mrs. Burton and Annette are at the gate. The 
 stage comes nearer and nearer, and at length 
 it stops, and in another moment the beloved son 
 and brother is clasped to the hearts of those 
 dear friends. 
 
 " How well you are looking, my son ! " said 
 Mrs. Burton. " Why, I should scarcely know 
 my pale, thin boy in the tall, rosy, dark-com- 
 plexioned young man who has returned to me ; 
 but I see that the dark color will not be perma- 
 nent, as now your hat is removed, I find that 
 your forehead retains its native hue." 
 
 "Yes, dear mother, I am much tanned ; and 
 thanks to my rambles among the mountains and 
 to Dr. Lawrence's advice, I am in better health 
 than ever before. You are looking just the 
 same, but Annette has changed ; 0, how much ! 
 I left her a child, and she seems almost a woman.
 
 THE HERMIT. 117 
 
 Do not blush, sis ; the change is certainly for the 
 better, and I shall be prouder of you than ever, 
 for I see that you retain the same loving heart, 
 and are the same self-sacrificing, affectionate sis- 
 ter as when I left." 
 
 Arthur was astonished at the improvement in 
 Annette ; she had become as lovely in person as 
 she was in mind. Her mother's teachings had 
 not been lost upon her, and another person be- 
 sides her brother looked upon her intellectual 
 and amiable countenance with an emotion which 
 he could not control. This was Charles Afton, 
 who now came forward and received a warm 
 welcome also., for he had greatly endeared him- 
 self to all the inhabitants of the cottage, and 
 his absence had been felt next to Arthur's. 
 
 " "Well, Cheerful Heart," said the doctor, who 
 now warmly shook hands with his favorite, " I 
 see, if I had not made some advances myself, 
 these good people would have entirely monopo- 
 lized you and Charles, and the Hermit and we 
 other ' folks ' should have seen nothing of you
 
 118 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 until it was too dark for us to discover how 
 much you had improved in looks, increased in 
 stature, &c. But seriously, my dear fellow, it 
 does my old heart good to see that you are 
 looking in such good health, and Charley, too ; 
 well, really, if going to college makes people 
 look so much better and handsomer, I think it 
 would be well for you and I, Crawford, to try 
 it, as we are getting a little in the sere and 
 yellow leaf, and it would be quite a benefit to 
 us to become young and good looking again." 
 
 " My dear pupils," said Mr. Crawford, " I re- 
 joice to see you distinctly, for you know that I 
 could only look at you with a partially obscured 
 vision when you left ; but now my sight is per- 
 fectly restored, and I am really one of the hap- 
 piest men upon earth, for with sight I feel as if 
 all obstacles in my path were nothing, and could 
 be overcome with scarce an effort. But I am 
 detaining you from other friends." 
 
 Kobert, Arthur was delighted to find, was in 
 good health, and instead of the silent, reserved
 
 THE HERMIT. 119 
 
 boy they had left, had sprung up into a cheerful, 
 intelligent young man, who could enter with 
 spirit and good sense into the conversation. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Thornton, with the other friends, 
 also welcomed the returned students to their 
 home, but not more warmly than many a more 
 humble friend, who modestly awaited their turn 
 to grasp the hands which had so often been 
 outstretched for their benefit. Even Goody 
 Blake had hobbled over to Mrs. Burton's to see 
 young Master Arthur ; and right glad was he 
 to return her friendly words, and to invite her 
 in where she could rest her weary limbs, and be 
 taken gfcod care of by the thoughtful Annette, 
 who, Mrs. Blake declared, was "just like Ar- 
 thur," his "very moral," in fact. 
 
 Seldom has a happier evening been passed 
 than that at Mrs. Burton's cottage. The night 
 and the scenes around were beautiful, but the 
 conversation, the feeling that the absent one 
 had returned to his home, prolonged the charm, 
 and gave to it an interest which can only be felt
 
 120 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 under similar circumstances. But we will follow 
 Charles Afton on his homeward way ; we must 
 quicken our pace, for he is so anxious to see the 
 beloved ones that he allows no obstacle to de- 
 tain him. But with how much surprise he looks 
 upon the pretty white cottage which has taken 
 the place of his former home. The young man 
 rubbed his eyes, believing that he was under the 
 influence of a delusion. Still the neat cottage 
 remained where the old brown one had stood. 
 There were the tall elms under which he had so 
 frequently played ; the flowers and shrubs were 
 in their old places, only there were many more 
 of them. He could not have mistaken the spot, 
 for there, on the east, was the lofty hill, its sides 
 still clothed with verdure, and shaded by the 
 pines, the same pines whose music he had in his 
 boyhood imagined to be made by angel fingers 
 stirring their leaves. He approached the case- 
 ment ; a corner of one of the curtains had acci- 
 dentally been left up ; he peeped in, and now he 
 was sure that all was right, for at a table on
 
 THE HERMIT. 121 
 
 which a book was laid sat his father, who had 
 apparently just left off reading ; his mother was 
 on the opposite side, looking in good health, and 
 appearing to be very happy. But, hark! she 
 speaks. 
 
 "No Charley to-night, I fear, for it is now 
 quite dark, and the stage arrives by eight 
 o'clock. I trust no accident has happened ; 
 but how dark it is ! " said she, approaching a 
 window. " I fear we shall have a storm. He 
 is in the hands of his heavenly Father, however, 
 and he will care for him ; " and with a resigned 
 air Mrs. Afton resumed her knitting. 
 
 " I think he will be here yet, Mary," said Mr. 
 Afton. " You know he wrote us that he should, 
 and he always does as he says, unless he has a 
 good reason for changing his plans. True, it is 
 late, but he would have to stop to answer Mrs. 
 Burton's and Mr. Crawford's questions, you 
 know ; so don't be anxious." 
 
 " I wonder what he will say to the new house, 
 and whether he will think the garden has im- 
 11
 
 122 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 proved. I am impatient to hear his opinion, 
 and to look at his face as he approaches it. 
 The inoon was out a short time since, but it has 
 clouded up, so that he could not see the change. 
 If he comes now to-night, he will go round where 
 the door used to be in the old house, and will 
 run into the rosebush. Had we not better hang 
 the lantern against it, and save him from scratch- 
 ing himself?" 
 
 " Yes, I will get it immediately, Mary. Your 
 woman's thoughtfulness never forsakes you ; but 
 I had quite forgotten the thorns." 
 
 As Mr. Afton went to the door, he was re- 
 ceived into a pair of young, strong arms, and a 
 cheerful voice said, 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself, father ; I found where 
 the door was before the moon concealed herself 
 behind the mountains ; but if she had not lent 
 me her friendly light, I should certainly have 
 sought for it in the old place ; but as I could 
 scarcely believe my eyesight, I have been loiter- 
 ing about here for half an hour, trying to learn
 
 THE HERMIT. 123 
 
 whether I had really got home or not, and have 
 only just come to the conclusion that all is right 
 by hearing you and mother talking about me." 
 
 " Come in, my boy ; we rejoice to see you. 
 Your mother had almost come to the conclusion 
 that you must have met with some accident ; but 
 thank God, you are safe. I had some fears my- 
 self, but I did not mean that she should know of 
 them." 
 
 " Mother," said Charles, as he stepped softly 
 behind her chair, " here I am returned to you. 
 through the blessing of Heaven, and I am glad 
 to find you so well and happy." 
 
 Up started Mrs. Afton, with all the mother 
 beaming in her face, and for a few moments 
 the parent and child were locked in a fast 
 embrace. 
 
 " I am so happy to see you again, my child. 
 I have expected you so impatiently ; we are and 
 have been happy, but I was anxious that you, 
 too, should enjoy our good fortune. Since you 
 went to H., my uncle, who has been so long ab-
 
 124 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 sent, has left me some property, and we are now 
 entirely above want. I rejoice at this, as your 
 father will not have to work so hard, and you 
 will not be obliged to keep school during your 
 vacations unless you wish ; we have also been 
 able to build this new house, which is so conve- 
 nient and pretty that we think you will like it. 
 I should have written you of this, but your father 
 and Mr. Crawford thought it would be such a 
 pleasant surprise to you to find it all completed 
 when you returned ; so we resolved to keep the 
 secret, though it has been a difficult matter for 
 us to do it. The carpenters have hurried them- 
 selves to the utmost, and Mr. Crawford, Robert, 
 and young Thornton have assisted a great deal 
 about the garden, so that it might be in order 
 against your return. It really looks finely, 
 thanks to their efforts and good taste, and I am 
 sure you will like the arrangements." 
 
 " "Without doubt, mother ; but how kind all 
 are to me ! I feel truly grateful to each of 
 them."
 
 THE HEEMIT. 125 
 
 " We have preserved a great many of your 
 favorite lilies of the valley, at Miss Netty's 
 suggestion. She comes to read to me almost 
 every day, and frequently rides over with the 
 pony chaise, with a request from her mother for 
 me to pass the day with her ; and I am so happy 
 with Mrs. Burton and her sweet child, for she is 
 exactly like Arthur, and but for her I should 
 have missed his reading exceedingly, as my eye- 
 sight is quite poor now. But I need not praise 
 Netty to one who knows her so well as you 
 must, having seen so much of her when studying 
 with Arthur." 
 
 "What makes the young student start up and 
 go to the window just at this moment, without 
 replying to his parent's remarks ? Is he partic- 
 ularly desirous of watching the clouds, or is it 
 to conceal his face from the penetrating glance 
 of a mother's eye ? We will leave the reader 
 to guess, and if he cannot, why, we will, perhaps, 
 tell him at the proper time, but not now. 
 11*
 
 126 THE CHEEEFUL HEART. 
 
 In a few moments Charles returned to his 
 seat and remarked, 
 
 "I cannot thank my friends enough, dear 
 mother, but I am sensible of their goodness, and 
 will, if possible, manifest my gratitude." 
 
 "They are aware of that, Charles, and enjoy 
 doing you a kindness as much as you would 
 delight in benefiting them ; so you understand 
 each other." 
 
 The morning sun rose bright after the storm of 
 the night before, and as Charles walked about 
 his father's garden, every thing seemed so fresh 
 and beautiful, that it appeared to him that he 
 had never looked upon so lovely a place as the 
 Valley of Daisies, and that no people could be 
 happier than its inhabitants. 
 
 " Here let me live, here let me die," said he, 
 " for here alone my heart can know that peace 
 which will insure its happiness." 
 
 He was delighted with all the arrangements 
 which had been made during his absence ; yet as
 
 THE HERMIT. 127 
 
 he wandered towards the cluster of lilies of the 
 valley, and bent over them, he heaved a deep 
 sigh, and said, 
 
 " It can never be ; I must conquer this, and 
 remember that there is much for me to do ; my 
 books must be my companions, and I must de- 
 vote myself to them, without even hoping for a 
 nearer and dearer tie." Yet a faint hope still 
 lingered in his heart, and as he placed a stalk 
 of lilies in his vest, he could not avoid saying, 
 " Who knows, who knows what may come ? "
 
 128 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 " There's nae place like our am home ; 
 
 O, I wish that I was there ! 
 There's nae home like our ain home, 
 
 To be met wi' any where ! 
 And that I were back again 
 
 'Mid a' our flowers sae green, 
 An' heard the sang o' my ain ones, 
 
 An' was what I hae been ! " 
 
 " Sister, forget you the home of our youth, 
 Where we first lisped -prayers of hope, of truth ; 
 Where the wild flowers wreathed our cottage o'er, 
 And the fields their brightest colors wore ; 
 Where the blithe birds' sweetest murmur awoke, 
 In the waving boughs of our own loved oak ? 
 That, that is our home." 
 
 SWIFTLY sped the vacation, amid the sunny 
 smiles of friends and all the charms which home 
 could offer to our young students. Pleasant 
 were the walks which they took among those
 
 CONCLUSION. 129 
 
 old trees, every branch of which seemed familiar 
 to them. The clear, rippling brook laughed on 
 in its gladness, uttering such music as the friends 
 declared none other could send forth. Those 
 were joyous hours, and there were glad hearts 
 around those cottage hearthstones. The part- 
 ing hour, however, came at last, and again 
 Charles and Arthur took their seats in the same 
 stage coach which had before conveyed them 
 to H. 
 
 Years passed on, and but few changes took 
 place in the valley. The widow Law ton was 
 called to her rest just before the young men 
 graduated. She was gathered like " a shock of 
 corn fully ripe ; " " she died calmly, for she had 
 heaven in view." Mrs. Burton was with her 
 when she passed away from earth, and so sweet- 
 ly did the lone widow fall asleep, that her death 
 was scarcely perceptible. Many mourned her 
 departure, for to many had she been the sympa- 
 thizing friend and the efficient comforter. Her 
 home and her purse were ever open to the
 
 130 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 unfortunate, and sadly will she be missed by the 
 widow and the fatherless. There are warm 
 hearts still in the valley, however, who will do 
 all in their power to supply her place. They 
 laid her remains by the side of her child, in a 
 lovely spot, where the winds of evening whisper 
 a sweet requiem 'mid the pines which she and 
 her daughter so loved while on earth. 
 
 " 'Twas sorrow that blanched her cheek 
 
 And clouded her gentle brow, 
 And she faded, the good and the meek ; 
 She is free from all suffering now." 
 
 Goody Blake had also departed to a happier 
 home, with almost her last breath uttering a 
 message of love for her favorite, whom she was 
 very desirous of seeing ; but she said, " Dear boy, 
 we shall meet in heaven, where the shrivelled 
 hand which he has so often grasped on earth 
 will be changed, as I shall there put on a more 
 glorious body." 
 
 It had been unusually healthy in the valley 
 for the year, and Annette wrote to Arthur,
 
 CONCLUSION. 131 
 
 " All is as when you left ; the ' dark messen- 
 ger' has kept aloof from our valley, and health 
 and happiness seem every where to prevail. 
 Mr. Crawford has constant applications for ad- 
 mission to his school which he is obliged to 
 refuse. He was here last evening, and was so 
 delightful in conversation that the hours passed 
 like minutes. Since his eyesight was restored, 
 he is a different man ; previous to that, you 
 know, he was at times quite reserved ; but now 
 he is the most cheerful, animated person I ever 
 saw. Nothing is too small or too inferior for 
 him to notice, and he sees beauties in every 
 thing, from the tiniest flower to the noble oak 
 which seems to pierce the skies. ' Sadness/ 
 said he to me the other day, 'sadness should 
 never dwell in the heart of any one whom 
 God has placed upon this beautiful earth ; if 
 he will only seek it, there is joy every where. 
 Even the loss of friends, if viewed in its prop- 
 er light, is cause for rejoicing ; for have they 
 not gone home, where sorrow never conies, and
 
 132 THE CHEEEFUL HEART. 
 
 where flowers immortal bloom, fadeless, and 
 how fair ! how gloriously tinted ! In my dreams 
 I see them and walk among them, inhaling their 
 fragrance and watching their development.' 
 There is a freshness and beauty in Mr. Craw- 
 ford's thoughts which I have never observed 
 before. His pupils are much attached to him, 
 and we hear golden opinions of his school from 
 all quarters. 
 
 " Cyril Thornton has decided, as you supposed 
 he would, to become a lawyer, and he is so con- 
 scientious that we have no doubt he will be an 
 honest one ; he will reside in the city, for he 
 could hardly find any thing to do in our valley. 
 Dr. Lawrence was here yesterday to inquire for 
 you under his favorite name, Cheerful Heart. 
 ' Tell him from me,' said he, ' that he must not 
 make up his mind with regard to a profession 
 until he sees me, as I am determined that he 
 shall take my place, for I am now too old to 
 practise, and the villagers will have nobody 
 else unless Arthur will turn doctor. Strange
 
 CONCLUSION. 133 
 
 that they should fancy rne, but there is no ac- 
 counting for tastes.' Little Netty Thornton, 
 my namesake, has taken the place on earth 
 of the sweet Sophia in heaven, and bids fair 
 to resemble her sister in person and mind. 
 Tell Charles that mother sends her love, and 
 hopes he will not change his mind with re- 
 gard to his choice of a profession. Old Dr. 
 Landon, our minister, fails rapidly, and would 
 be glad of a colleague ; and he told mother, the 
 other day, that it was the earnest desire of his 
 heart, that Charles should take his place when 
 he slept with his fathers. I write this, my dear 
 Arthur, at mother's request. Mrs. Afton is well, 
 and sends much love to you both. She wishes 
 me to say, that Charles's rosebush is now full 
 of buds and blossoms. But what a long letter 
 I am writing ! but you, I know, will not weary 
 of it, as it is from your affectionate sister. 
 
 "Monday, 9th. I again open my letter, my 
 dear Arthur, to tell you the good news. "We 
 have just received a letter from grandmother 
 12
 
 134 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 Ladoni, which says that she has lost her old and 
 faithful servant, and wishes to die in the arms 
 of her child ; and notwithstanding her years, she 
 will take passage in the next vessel which comes 
 to D., and in a few months we may hope to see 
 her. Mother is so happy at this unexpected 
 news, that tears of joy are now streaming down 
 her cheeks as I read the letter to her. Only 
 two weeks more and you will be with us, and 
 then for delightful walks and heart-commun- 
 ings. Adieu. NETTY." 
 
 From Annette's letter our readers will learn 
 much that had taken place in the valley, during 
 Arthur's absence. The young men returned at 
 the expected time, and were received with a de- 
 light which was not to be damped by the pros- 
 pect of their again being so long away from 
 home. Arthur, after thinking over the matter, 
 and finding that it would fully coincide with 
 the wishes of his friends, decided to study with 
 Dr. Lawrence, and to attend medical lectures
 
 CONCLUSION. 135 
 
 at D. ; this would preclude the necessity of his 
 boarding away from his loved home in the val- 
 ley, which had become, if possible, more dear 
 to him than ever. When the villagers learned 
 that he was about preparing to take Dr. Law- 
 rence's place, they were reconciled to that gen- 
 tleman's retiring from his labors, particularly 
 as he promised always to consult with his favor- 
 ite, Arthur, as long as he retained his faculties. 
 Charles's choice is also made, and the announce- 
 ment of it is received by his friends with almost 
 as much joy as was the decision of Arthur. 
 " Who," said they, " is so well fitted to break to 
 us the bread of life as one who was born among 
 us, and who has been with us in joy and in sor- 
 row ? '' And truly, Charles had chosen wisely, for 
 few were better calculated to fill the responsible 
 office of teacher to the flock in the valley. When 
 his mother learned his decision, tears flowed 
 down her cheeks ; and as she affectionately 
 clasped him to her heart, she said, " my son, 
 this is what I have so ardently prayed for, and
 
 136 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 you have made my heart to sing for joy." At 
 first Charles had had some doubts with regard 
 to his choice ; but as soon as it was made, these 
 all disappeared, and cheerfully he commenced 
 his preparation, and ardently he pursued his 
 theological studies, feeling anxious to begin the 
 work which he felt assured it was appointed 
 him on High to do. There was a theological 
 seminary only a few miles from his home, so that 
 he was enabled to spend most of his nights at 
 his father's ; the walk was a delightful recrea- 
 tion to him, and was conducive to the health of 
 his body as well as to that of his mind. His 
 course through the seminary was very pleasant ; 
 and having won golden opinions from the fathers 
 in the ministry, he commenced his work. He 
 received a unanimous call, and was ordained 
 over the society which the aged and excel- 
 lent Dr. Landon delightedly vacated in his 
 behalf. 
 
 " I leave in my place," said ho to his people, 
 " one every way worthy and competent to fill it.
 
 CONCLUSION. 137 
 
 His heart is in his work, and he will, I am 
 assured, do it well. God has called him to the 
 ministry, and he will teach him how to dispense 
 the word to his people ; if you receive it aright, 
 his blessing will follow ; therefore look to it 
 that ye hold up your pastor's hands." 
 
 It was spring, that season of bright skies and 
 blossoming trees, when the soft green grass lifts 
 itself above the ground which has so long been 
 covered with its snowy mantle, when the sweet 
 violet, one of Nature's favorites, raises its per- 
 fumed blossom above the dark earth ; that sea- 
 son when the melodies of the birds are so 
 sweet, and when the whole earth is robed in 
 beauty and freshness. It is M-ay, and the pas- 
 tor is about taking possession of the home 
 which his people have provided for him ; and 
 0, how pretty it is ! with its simple and un- 
 pretending style of architecture. It is not a 
 cottage, for the inhabitants of the valley are 
 beginning to think that good chambers are a 
 matter of much importance, for their physician 
 12*
 
 138 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 has told them so ; and as high chambers are more 
 beneficial to health than low ones, of course the 
 pastor's home must be made as comfortable as 
 possible. " For surely," said one of his deacons, 
 " we wish to keep him in good health, for then 
 he can perform his duties better ; and who minds 
 the little difference in the cost when it is for one 
 we love so well ? " So the parsonage was built 
 two stories in height. It was placed in a shel- 
 tered nook, which some one had heard the pas- 
 tor say, one day, was just the loveliest spot in 
 the valley, and as he loved trees so well, not one 
 of the natural growth had been felled. Choice 
 flowers were scattered here and there, not for- 
 getting his favorite lily of the valley. Roses 
 and climbing vines were trained over the piazza, 
 and, in short, " nothing," as Charles said, " which 
 affection could bring or taste suggest was for- 
 gotten." And, truly, that parsonage would have 
 attracted the attention of even the most indif- 
 ferent passer by, and would have given him a 
 favorable opinion of both minister and people.
 
 CONCLUSION. 139 
 
 But the arrangements at the parsonage, perfect 
 as they seem to be, are not yet quite complete. 
 " What can be wanting ? " perhaps some reader 
 will say ; and we will answer their question by 
 asking another. " What is a parsonage without 
 a mistress ? and what can a young minister do 
 without a helpmate to assist him in every good 
 word and work ? " This question ha^becn agi- 
 tated in another quarter, and that kind friend 
 who has been a second mother to Charles has 
 put it directly to him. With a mother's quick 
 perception, she long ago penetrated her daugh- 
 ter's secret, and realizing the feelings of Charles, 
 who was so modest and humble that he feared 
 to ask for Annette's hand, lest he should meet 
 with a refusal, Mrs. Burton, with much deli- 
 cacy, led her young friend to open his heart to 
 her, and with Arthur's full approbation and the 
 blessing of the parents on both sides, Annette 
 and Charles plighted their troth to each other. 
 
 "Take her, Charles," said Mrs. Burton ; "I do 
 not fear to trust you. She is young, but she
 
 140 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 is, I hope, a cheerful, earnest Christian. She 
 will not start back from the trials which are 
 the lot of all in this life, but will uncomplain- 
 ingly bear them with you." 
 
 " 0, how much do I owe you, my second moth- 
 er ! " said Charles : " although words are inade- 
 quate to express my feelings, yet my future con- 
 duct willfl trust, prove how much I prize the 
 treasure you have confided to my care." 
 
 It was a lovely day in June, bright, leafy 
 June, when Charles and Annette knelt in front 
 of the altar in the church of which the venerable 
 and excellent Dr. Landon had so long been the 
 pastor, to pronounce their nuptial vows. The 
 depth of feeling with which the aged clergyman 
 spoke, as he repeated, "What God has joined 
 together let not man put asunder," caused many 
 a tear to fall from eyes all unused to weep ; and 
 as the sweet bride turned from the altar, leaning 
 upon the arm of. him whom she had chosen, many 
 a hand was held out to grasp hers, and many a 
 silent blessing was bestowed from warm hearts
 
 CONCLUSION. 141 
 
 upon herself and husband. The pretty parson- 
 age is no longer without a mistress, or the young 
 minister without a wife ; so the wishes of kind 
 friends in this respect are fulfilled. Annette is 
 delighted with all the arrangements, and her 
 heart overflows with regard for a people who 
 have so generously ministered to the every wish 
 and need of their pastor and his wife. ^ 
 
 "It appears, dear Charles," said the young 
 wife, as she looked at the garden, laid out with 
 so much taste, and at the house, so convenient 
 and pretty, " as if they had known exactly what 
 we liked, and had determined that no desire 
 should be ungratified." *- 
 
 Years wore away, and they were happy years 
 in the Valley of Daisies. Charles Afton's peo- 
 ple had not been disappointed in their cfcosen 
 pastor, and he was " not without honor even in 
 his own country," although but little knowledge 
 of his excellence had reached the world beyond. 
 His character was fully appreciated by his be- 
 loved parishioners and by his own family. To
 
 142 THE CHEEBFUL HEART. 
 
 live within the sphere of such a man's influence, 
 and to witness the constant exercise of his vir- 
 tues, is, indeed, a privilege, and his people felt it 
 as such. His heart was entirely devoted to the 
 faithful discharge of his duties. His messages 
 from the sacred desk were full of earnestness 
 and power, and the deep love for them evidenced 
 in his vofce and manner, when he exhorted his 
 people to persevere in the paths of peace, evinced 
 how ardently he desired what would Toe for their 
 best good. He visited among them frequently, 
 and whenever he came, the joy manifested by 
 parents and children showed that they both 
 respected and loved him. Annette proved her- 
 self every way worthy to be, as she was, the 
 cherished companion of such a man. She entered 
 with interest into all his feelings and pursuits, 
 and by the kindness prompted by the dictates 
 of her own gentle heart, she won the love of all 
 her husband's parishioners. No child in the 
 valley that did not take delight in a call from 
 their pastor's wife, for she listened patiently to
 
 CONCLUSION. 143 
 
 their little trials, and pointed out the remedy in 
 a manner adapted to their comprehension. 
 
 But to return to our friends at the cottage. 
 Arthur (or the doctor, as we must now call him, 
 for he has taken his degree some months since, 
 and is in full practice) is just at this time intent- 
 ly engaged, every moment which he can spare, 
 in overseeing the building of quite an extensive 
 addition to his mother's cottage, which is in 
 future to be only an L to the main building. 
 The old doctor comes .over every day, and ap- 
 pears to be as much interested in what is going 
 on as his friend, Cheerful Heart. And now he 
 is giving directions as if he really had a right 
 to a voice in the matter ; and if we observe still 
 closer, we shall see that the carpenters follow 
 his directions, while the young M. D. looj^s on 
 smilingly and approvingly, as if quite satisfied 
 that all will be right. There certainly is a mys- 
 tery in this, which we will try to solve for the 
 benefit of our readers, who probably have some 
 curiosity with regard to the affair. "Well, in
 
 144 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 order to do this, we must take you, gentle ques- 
 tioner, into Mrs. Burton's parlor for a few mo- 
 ments ; we will not detain you long, only to 
 introduce you to a young dark-eyed lady, with 
 whose raven curls a little chubby-faced girl is 
 playing, who calls Annette Afton mother. Now, 
 this young lady with the curls bears a very 
 striking resemblance to Dr. Lawrence ; and if 
 you observe, you will hear her call that gentle- 
 man father, as she affectionately leans upon his 
 arm, and goes out with him to look at the prog- 
 ress of the new building. But why does the 
 rich color deepen in her cheek, and the light 
 brighten in her eye, as young Dr. Burton ap- 
 proaches ? Ah ! you have guessed our secret, 
 we think ; but if not, we will tell you what 
 it is. In his frequent visits to the doctor's, 
 Arthur had learned more than was in his medi- 
 cal books ; he had learned to love the daughter 
 of his respected friend, and the good doctor had 
 readily acquiesced in an arrangement which 
 would unite the two whom he loved best on
 
 CONCLUSION. 145 
 
 earth ; and this is why he is building " a cage 
 for his birds," as he calls the house, which he 
 insisted upon erecting for his Mary and Arthur 
 to dwell in ; and as Mrs. Burton's house is not 
 large enough for all, and she wishes to have 
 her son with her, they are to occupy the new 
 home together. One evening, just as the house 
 was finished and furnished in accordance with 
 the taste of the gentle being who is soon to be 
 its mistress, and who in her own glad tones, 
 whose music thrills the heart of the chosen one 
 on whose arm she is leaning, is saying, "All 
 is perfect, dear father, and you, Arthur, iave 
 forgotten nothing," she is interrupted by the 
 rattling of the stage coach up the quiet street. 
 
 " Who can have come, Arthur ? " said she. 
 " Are you expecting any one at this time ? " 
 
 "No, Mary; but doubtless it is some friend 
 whom we shall welcome to our bridal." 
 
 " That is to be a very quiet affair, you know, 
 Arthur, as I dislike bustle and confusion at such 
 times, and I have your promise and your moth- 
 13
 
 146 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 er's that none but our friends in the valley shall 
 "be present." 
 
 " As you will, Mary ; but let us sec who has 
 arrived." 
 
 As they entered the parlor, they saw before 
 them a lady of dignified and commanding bear- 
 ing, clasped in Mrs. Burton's arms. She was 
 about sixty years of age, but her fine figure was 
 still unbent, and the fire of her dark eye still 
 unquenched. There was firmness expressed in 
 her small mouth, but there was a world of love 
 in the whole face, which at once took the heart 
 captive, and won the regard of all on whom she 
 chose to bestow her smiles. 
 
 "This is, this must be our dear grandmother, 
 whom we have so long expected, and for whose 
 coming we have so ardently longed," said Ar- 
 thur. " Welcome, thrice welcome, to our homes 
 and hearts ; equally welcome in each of them, 
 dear grandmother. You have arrived at just 
 the right moment, and our timid Mary will not 
 object, I am sure, to your being present when
 
 CONCLUSION. 147 
 
 another will have the right to call you pa- 
 rent." 
 
 Madam Ladoni for it was she arose and 
 embraced her grandson and the blushing being 
 by his side, and with tones whose melody was 
 not injured by a slight foreign accent, re- 
 sponded with great affection to Arthur's words. 
 
 " And this, then, is Arthur ; but you are no 
 stranger to me, my child, for your mother's let- 
 ters and your own have made me acquainted 
 with your inner self. But where is Annette, 
 the sweet childlike girl, whose purity of feeling 
 spoke in every line of her welcome letters ? " 
 
 " She will be here immediately, dear mother, 
 with her husband and child. We have sent for 
 her, and she will come on the wings of love to 
 see you, for much she has wept the 'hope de- 
 ferred ' of your coming, and anxiously has she 
 studied the papers to find some cause for the 
 detention of the vessel in which you were to 
 sail." 
 
 " You received my letter, of course, and that
 
 148 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 solved the mystery of our not coming," said 
 Madam Ladoni. 
 
 " No, mother," replied Mrs. Burton, " we have 
 not heard from you for long weeks, and have 
 been extremely anxious ; Arthur has made every 
 inquiry in his power with regard to the vessel 
 
 9 
 
 in which you were to take passage, and his 
 cheering words alone prevented me from being 
 really unhappy on your account. He always 
 sees a 'silver lining to every cloud,' however, 
 and possesses the power, as I have so often 
 written you, of imparting his hopefulness to all 
 around him." 
 
 "I see," said Madam Ladoni, "that I must, 
 then, as this is the case, render an account of 
 myself ; and I will not keep you longer in sus- 
 pense. "We sailed at the time I wrote you. 
 For several days we had fine weather, and got 
 on charmingly ; but a storm arose, and we were 
 in great danger ; but fortunately we were able 
 to get into a port, from whence I wrote you, 
 and as there was no other vessel to sail for the
 
 CONCLUSION. 149 
 
 season, and winter was approaching, I decided 
 to remain there until the vessel was repaired, 
 or another should start for this country. As I 
 had written you the particulars of our detention, 
 I did not apprehend that you would be anxious, 
 aiid therefore felt no fears on your account." 
 
 " I am glad, dear mother, that we did not 
 receive the letter, for I should have keen in a 
 constant state of alarm, as we have had such 
 severe storms the past season, and so many ves- 
 sels have been lost. But, thank Heaven, you 
 are with us now, never more to leave us. But 
 here are Annette and Charles, with their little 
 one." 
 
 0, those were joyous days in the valley, not 
 only to those immediately concerned, but all 
 the villagers rejoiced in the happiness of those 
 whom they loved so well, and grandmother 
 Ladoni very soon felt perfectly at home in their 
 midst, declaring that she was willing to end her 
 days in the loveliest spot on earth next to her 
 13*
 
 150 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 own Italy, and by the side of her own glorious 
 Bay of Naples. 
 
 In one week after Madam Ladoni's arrival, 
 Arthur was married to the bride of his choice, 
 and all said, as they looked upon her bright, pure 
 face, that she 'was a fit companion even for their 
 doctor, and would with him always find a ' silver 
 lining to every cloud ; ' and so it proved, for 
 during the long life which she spent with him in 
 their midst, she was a very angel to her husband, 
 and she had not an enemy or a cold friend in 
 the world. And here we must leave them, hap- 
 py in each other, and sympathizing in every good 
 word and work. 
 
 Once more Mrs. Burton was called to mourn ; 
 once more the family tomb in the cemetery was 
 opened to receive a beloved friend ; but 
 
 " That was a mother's grave ; weep not for her ; 
 She has a rich reward in heaven. She sank 
 Honored and full of years. And many friends 
 Stood round her grave ; and 'twas their kindly hands 
 That trimmed the daisied turf and cropped the boughs, 
 That the blessed sunbeams might stream freely down 
 Upon her verdant bed. Weep not for her."
 
 CONCLUSION. 151 
 
 The beloved pastor still leads bis flock by the 
 side of the still waters, and points out to them 
 the way to heaven. His wife "reposes beneath 
 his protecting tenderness, walking in the light 
 of his talents and piety in confiding happiness, 
 seeming almost unconscious of a separate being.' 7 
 
 The good old doctor still lives, retaining his 
 faculties perfectly, and never seeming so happy 
 as when surrounded by the children of his Mary 
 and Annette, stoutly declaring that each is 
 equally dear to him. 
 
 Mr. Afton has for years led a most exemplary 
 life ; he has become wealthy, and is universally 
 respected, not on account of his prosperity, for 
 " money does not make the man " in the Valley 
 of Daisies, but for the excellence of his charac- 
 ter, and for the example which he sets to his 
 neighbors. His wife is a healthy and happy 
 woman, and the now aged pair never cease to 
 attribute all that they are, and all that they 
 have, under Heaven, to the exertions and efforts 
 of Arthur Burton in tlfeir behalf.
 
 152 THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
 
 It is whispered in the valley that a double 
 wedding is soon to take place between Mr. 
 Crawford and Mrs. Burton, and our friend Rob- 
 ert and a modest, retiring little lady, who fully 
 appreciates his many good qualities. The last 
 mentioned wedding is certainly to come off soon ; 
 but as for the first, time will show. "When the 
 young doctor is questioned about the matter, he 
 only smiles, and says, " Mr. Crawford is already 
 as dear as a father to me, and it will not make 
 much difference in my feelings if the two best 
 friends I have in the world are united by a 
 closer tie." 
 
 And now, gentle reader, we must close our 
 story, and, simple though it be, if by it any one 
 is taught to cultivate a cheerful spirit like Ar- 
 thur's, and to imitate his active virtues, never 
 forgetting that "there is" certainly "a silver 
 lining to every cloud," if they will only look 
 for it, our end will be attained, and we shall 
 not have labored in vain.
 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, & CO. 
 
 PUBLISH THE FOLLOWING JUVENILE WORKS, 
 
 $H fumx . SHnniuartjr. 
 
 EDITOR OF "WOODWORTH'S YOUTH'S CABINET," 
 
 AUTHOR OF "TUB WILLOW LANE BUDGET," "THE STRAWBERRY GIRL," 
 
 "THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE," "THEODORE THINKER'S 
 
 TALES," ETC., ETC. 
 
 UNCLE FRANK'S BOYS' AND GIRLS' LIBRARY, 
 
 rf Beautiful Series, comprising six volumes, square 12mo., with eight 
 
 Tinted Engravings in each volume. The following 
 
 are their titles respectively i 
 
 I. THE PEDDLER'S BOY ; OH, I'LL BE SOMEBODY. 
 II. THE DIVING BELL ; OR, PEARLS TO BE SOUGHT FOR. 
 
 III. THE POOR ORGAN GRINDER, AND OTHER STORIES. 
 
 IV. OUR SUE : HER MOTTO AND ITS USES. 
 
 V. MIKE MARBLE: His CROTCHETS AND ODDITIES. 
 VI. THE WONDERFUL LETTER BAG OF KIT CURIOUS. 
 
 "Woodworth is unquestionably and immeasurably the best writer foi 
 children that we know of; for lie combines a sturdy common sense and 
 varied information with a most childlike and loveful spirit, that finds its 
 way at once to the child's heart We regard him as one of the truest bene- 
 factors of his race ; for he is as wise as he is gentle, and never uses his 
 power over the child-heart to instil into it the poison of false teaching, or 
 to cramp it with unlovely bigotry. The publishers have done their part, as 
 well as the author, to make these volumes attractive. Altogether we regard 
 them as one of the pleasantest series of juvenile books extant, both in their 
 literary character and mechanical execution." Syracuse CJV. Y.) Da.Hi 
 Standard.
 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, & CO. 
 
 PUBLISH THE FOLLOWING JUVENILE WORKS 
 
 CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS AT CHESTNUT HILL. 
 
 BY COUSIN BIARY. 
 
 Containing fine engravings from original Designs, and printed 
 
 very neatly. 
 It will be found to be a charming little book for a present for all seasons. 
 
 ESTELLE'S STORIES ABOUT DOGS; 
 
 Containing six beautiful Illustrations ; being original Por- 
 traits from Life. 
 
 Printed on superfine paper. 16mo, colored engravings, 75 cents ; plain, 
 50 cents. 
 
 LITTLE MARY; 
 
 OK, TALKS AND TALES. 
 
 BY H. TRUSTA, 
 
 Author of " SUNNY SIDE," " PEEP AT NUMBER FIVE," tc., Ac. 
 
 This little book is charmingly illustrated, and is a very beautiful book. 
 
 It is made up of short lessons, and was originally written for the practical 
 
 use of children from five to ten years of age.
 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISH 
 
 PEEP AT "NUMBER FIVE;" 
 
 OR, A CHAPTER IN THE LIFE OP A CITY PASTOR 
 BY H. TRTJSTA, 
 
 Author of "THE SUNNY SIDE," &.C., &C. 
 Twenty-fifth Thousand. 
 
 THE TELLTALE; 
 
 OR, HOME SECRETS TOLD BV OLD TRAVELLERS. 
 BY H. TRUSTA, 
 
 Author of " PEEP AT NUMBER FIVE," " SUNNY SIDE," &c., &.c, 
 
 TVntA Thousand. 
 
 
 
 THE "LAST LEAF FROM SUNNY SIDE;" 
 
 By H. TBTJSTA, 
 a*tkor of " PEEP AT NUMBER FIVE," "TELLTALE," &.c., &.e. 
 
 TkirtccntJt Thousand. 
 
 FATHER BRIGHTHOPES; 
 
 OH, AN OLD CLERGYMAN'S VACATION. 
 
 By PAUL CEEYTON. 
 Uniform with " Peep at Number Five," " Last Leaf," &.c 
 
 HEARTS AND FACES; 
 
 OR, HOME LIFE UNVEILED. 
 By PATTL CEEYTOff, 
 " FATHER BRIGHTHOPES," &c. 
 Uniform vith Vie above.
 
 UCSB LIBRARY 
 
 University of California Library 
 Los Angeles 
 
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