UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 THE 
 
 LAMPLIGHTER PICTURE BOOK. 
 
 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY JOIIX P. .IKWF/TT AND f'OMPAXY 
 
 VI. I. A N I), OHIO: 
 
 JEWETT, PROCTOR, AND \\ORTHINGTON. 
 
 NEW YORK: SHELDON, LAMPORT, A M KI.AKKMAV. 
 
 1856. 


 
 ^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 THE 
 
 LAMPLIGHTER PICTURE BOOK, 
 
 V OR THE STORY OF 
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTT. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE FOLKS. 
 
 BY A LADY. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 I PUBLISHED BY JOHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY. 
 
 CLEVELAND, OHIO: 
 JEWETT, PROCTOR, AND WORTHING TON. 
 
 NEW YORK : SHELDON, LAMPORT, AND BLAKEMAN. 
 
 1856.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, bj 
 
 JOHN P. JBWBTT AND COMPANY, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 STEREOTYPED AT THB 
 BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.
 
 incle Cnu KB* little 
 
 INTRODUCTORY STANZAS. 
 
 LISTEN, children, to the story 
 Which I now relate to you, 
 
 How forlorn and homeless " Gerty " 
 Found a friend in " Uncle True." 
 
 Gerty -was an orphan lonely, 
 Never meeting kindly smile, 
 
 Which from loving spirits only 
 Can the soul of grief beguile. 
 
 In the far-famed Tri-mount city 
 Scenes of sadness have transpired : 
 
 Not alone by little Gerty 
 Is the telltale muse inspired. 
 
 There, alas ! the foe of freedom 
 Captured once his trembling slave, 
 
 Placed on him again those fetters 
 Far less welcome than the grave. 
 
 There, too oft, the bondman, seeking 
 Freedom's boon, like Noah's dove 
 
 Found no resting-place of safety, 
 None to cheer, and none to love. 
 
 Better days, perchance, are dawning 
 
 For the weary fugitive : 
 Now the lark-song of our morning 
 
 Is, " Let all in freedom live."
 
 ->->V --r^-^T-rv- v -^- r V i-rvr^" 
 
 . <t 
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 Sad, indeed, was little Gerty ; 
 
 Not a friend seemed she to know ; 
 Cruel blows, and words as cruel, 
 
 Filled the cup of Gerty's woe. 
 
 All our blessings are God-given, 
 Ever numerous, ever new, 
 
 And, at last, as if from heaven, 
 Came to her good " Uncle True." 
 
 God is watching o'er each sufferer 
 With an eye that never sleeps, 
 
 Sees the slave of bonds so weary, 
 Sees when he for freedom weeps. 
 
 And as he to little Gerty 
 
 Gave a friend so warm and true, 
 So may each in slavery sighing 
 
 Find a friend and freedom too. 
 
 Ye who sigh as from these pages 
 Gerty's sorrows you may learn, 
 
 Ne'er forget the bondman's sadness, 
 Never from his pleadings turn. 
 
 eep the more lor slaves now 
 Oft with tyrant's lashes sore 
 
 Children, thank the God of freedom, 
 You have friends, and you are free 
 
 That such blessings all may share in, 
 Pray, whene'er ye bend the knee. 
 
 " It was growing dark in the city. Out in the 
 open country it would be light for half an hour 
 or more ; but within the close streets where my 
 story leads me it was already dusk. Upon the 
 wooden door step of a low-roofed, dark, and un- 
 wholesome-looking house, sat a little girl, who 
 was gazing up the street with much earnestness. 
 The house door, which was open behind her, was 
 close to the sidewalk; and the step on which 
 she sat was so low that her little unshod feet 
 
 rested on the cold bricks. It was a chilly even- 
 ing in November, and a light fall of snow, which 
 had made every thing look bright and clean in 
 the pleasant open squares, near which the fine 
 houses of the city were built, had only served to 
 render the narrow streets and dark lanes dirtier 
 and more cheerless than ever; for, mixed with 
 the mud and filth which abound in those neigh- 
 borhoods where the poor are crowded together, 
 the beautiful snow had lost all its purity. 
 
 "
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 " A great many people were passing to and fro, 
 bent on their various errands of duty or of pleas- 
 ure ; but no one noticed the little girl, for there 
 was no one in the world who cared for her. She 
 was scantily clad, in garments of the poorest de- 
 scription. Her hair was long and very thick ; un- 
 combed and unbecoming, if any thing could be 
 said to be unbecoming to a set of features which, 
 to a casual observer, had not a single attraction, 
 being thin and sharp, while her complexion 
 was sallow, and her whole appearance unhealthy. 
 
 " She had, to be sure, fine dark eyes ; but so un- 
 naturally large did they seem, in contrast to her 
 thin, puny face, that they only increased the 
 peculiarity of it, without enhancing its beauty. 
 Had any one felt any interest in her, (which no- 
 body did,) had she had a mother, (which, alas ! she 
 had not,) those friendly and partial eyes would 
 perhaps have found something in her to praise. 
 As it was, however, the poor little thing was told, 
 
 a dozen times a day, that she was the worst- 
 looking child in the world ; and, what was more, 
 the worst behaved. No one loved her, and she 
 loved no one ; no one treated her kindly ; no one 
 tried to make her happy, or cared whether she 
 were so. She was but eight years old, and all 
 alone in the world. 
 
 " There was one thing, and one only, which she 
 found pleasure in. She loved to watch for the 
 coming of the old man who lit the street lamp in 
 front of the house where she lived ; to see the 
 bright torch he carried flicker in the wind ; and 
 then, when he ran up his ladder, lit the lamp so 
 quickly and easily, and made the whole place 
 seem cheerful, one gleam of joy was shed on a 
 little desolate heart, to which gladness was a 
 stranger ; and, though he had never seemed to 
 see, and certainly had never spoken to her, she 
 almost felt, as she watched for the old lamp- 
 lighter, as if he were a friend." 
 
 WELCOME TO THE LAMPLIGHTER 
 
 t 
 The old lamplighter's welcome here, 
 
 With fiery torch of light, 
 It gladdens all the dreary street 
 
 With beam so clear and bright. 
 
 The ladder bearing in his hand, 
 From lamp to lamp he goes, 
 
 And quick for habit makes it ease 
 A gleam of light he throws. 
 
 Afar upon the traveller's path 
 
 His lanterns shed a ray, 
 Like deeds of kindness ofttimes seen 
 
 Along life's dreary way. 
 
 A welcome, Uncle True, to-night, 
 
 A welcome warm for thee ; 
 E'en Gerty welcomes thee, for thou 
 
 Art kind to such as she. 
 
 To me, lamplighter, thou dost seem 
 
 An emblem faint of Him 
 Who lit the polar star, and bade 
 
 Its rays no more be dim,
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 That it may guide from tyrant power 
 The slaves that northward flee, 
 
 To find a soil where rights are safe, 
 And men and minds are free. 
 
 " ' Gerty,' exclaimed a harsh voice within, 
 ' have you been for the milk ? ' 
 
 " The child made no answer, but, gliding off 
 the door step, ran quickly round the corner of the 
 house, and hid a little out of sight. 
 
 " ' What's become of that child ? ' said the 
 woman from whom the voice proceeded, and who 
 now showed herself at the door. 
 
 " A boy who was passing, and had seen Gerty 
 run, a boy who had caught the tone of the 
 whole neighborhood, and looked upon her as a 
 sort of imp, or spirit of evil, laughed aloud, 
 pointed to the corner which concealed her, and, 
 walking off with his head over his shoulder, to see 
 what would happen next, exclaimed to himself, as 
 he went, ' She'll catch it ! Nan Grant '11 fix her ! ' 
 
 " In a moment more Gerty was dragged from 
 her hiding-place, and, with one blow for her ugli- 
 ness and another for her impudence, (for she was 
 making up faces at Nan Grant with all her 
 might,) she was despatched down a neighboring 
 alley with a kettle for the milk. 
 
 " She ran fast, for she feared the lamplighter 
 would come and go in her absence, and was re- 
 joiced, on her return, to catch sight of him, as 
 she drew near the house, just going up his lad- 
 der. She stationed herself at the foot of it, and 
 was so engaged in watching the bright flame, 
 that she did not observe when the man began to 
 descend ; and, as she was directly in his way, he 
 hit against her, as he sprang to the ground, and 
 she fell upon the pavement. Hollo, my little 
 one ! ' exclaimed he, ' how's this ? ' as he stooped 
 to lift her up. 
 
 " She was upon her feet in an instant ; for she 
 was used to hard knocks, and did not much mind 
 a few bruises. But the milk ! it was all spilt. 
 
 " ' Well ! now, I declare ! ' said the man, 
 ' that's too bad ! what'll mammy say ? ' and, for 
 the first time looking full in Gerty's face, he here 
 interrupted himself with, ' My ! what an odd- 
 faced child ! looks like a witch ! ' Then, see- 
 ing that she looked apprehensively at the spilt 
 milk, and gave a sudden glance up at the house, 
 he added, kindly, ' She won't be hard on such a 
 mite of a thing as you are, will she ? Cheer up, 
 my ducky ! never mind if she does scold you a 
 little. I'll bring you something, to-morrow, that 
 I think you'll like, may be ; you're such a lone- 
 some sort of a looking thing. And, mind, if the 
 old woman makes a row, tell her I did it. But 
 didn't I hurt you ? What was you doing with 
 my ladder ? ' 
 
 " ' I was seeing you light the lamp,' said Gerty. 
 ' and I ain't hurt a bit ; but I wish I hadn't spilt 
 the milk.' 
 
 " At this moment Nan Grant came to the door, 
 saw what had happened, and commenced pulling 
 the child into the house, amidst blows, threats, 
 and profane and brutal language. The lamp- 
 lighter tried to appease her; but she shut the 
 door in his face. Gerty was scolded, beaten, de- 
 prived of the crust which she usually got for her 
 supper, and shut up in her dark attic for the 
 night. Poor little child ! Her mother had died 
 in Nan Grant's house, five years before ; and she 
 had been tolerated there since, not so much be- 
 cause when Ben Grant went to sea he bade his 
 wife be sure and keep the child until his return, 
 (for he had been gone so long that no one thought 
 he would ever come back,) but because Nan had 
 reasons of her own for doing so ; and, though she 
 considered Gerty a dead weight upon her hands, 
 she did not care to incite inquiries by trying to 
 dispose of her elsewhere. 
 
 '^" When Gerty first found herself locked up for 
 the night in the dark garret, (Gerty hated and 
 feared the dark,; she stood for a minute perfectly 
 still ; then suddenly began to stamp and scream, 
 tried to beat open the door, and shouted, ' I hate 
 you, Nan Grant ! Old Nan Grant, I hate you ! ' 
 But nobody came near her; and after a while 
 she grew more quiet, went and threw herself 
 down on her miserable bed, covered her face with 
 her little thin hands, and sobbed and cried as if 
 her heart would break. She wept until she was 
 utterly exhausted ; and then gradually, with only 
 now and then a low sob and catching of the 
 breath, she grew quite still. By and by she took 
 away her hands from her face, clasped them to- 
 gether in a convulsive manner, and looked up at 
 a little glazed window by the side of the bed. It 
 was but three panes of glass unevenly stuck to- 
 gether, and was the only chance of light the 
 room had. There was no moon ; but, as Gerty 
 looked up, she saw through the window, shining 
 down upon her, one bright star. She thought she 
 had never seen any thing half so beautiful. She 
 had often been out of doors when the sky was 
 full of stars, and had not noticed them much ; 
 but this one, all alone, so large, so bright, and 
 yet so soft and pleasant-looking, seemed to speak 
 to her ; it seemed to say, ' Gerty ! Gerty ! poor 
 little Gerty ! ' She thought it seemed like a kind 
 face, such as she had a long time ago seen or 
 dreamt about. Suddenly it flashed through her 
 mind, ' Who lit it ? Somebody lit it ! Some 
 good person, I know! O, how, could he get up 
 so high ! ' And Gerty fell asleep, wondering who 
 lit the star. 
 
 " Poor little untaught, benighted soul ! Who 
 shall enlighten thee ? Thou art God's child, little 
 
 1
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 one ! Christ died for thee. Will he not send I kindle a light that shall never go out, the light 
 man or angel to light up the darkness within, to that shall shine through all eternity ? " 
 
 GERTY IN THE WOOD YARD. 
 
 Quite near the house of " old Nan Grant," 
 Which Gerty called her home, 
 
 A wood yard by the sea shore stood, 
 Where Gerty loved to roam : 
 
 Its friendly shelter, day by day, 
 
 Kept naughty children far away. 
 
 A cavity, by planks o'erhung, 
 
 Was Gerty's lone retreat, 
 And thither, from harsh words and blows, 
 
 She turned her little feet, 
 When breakfast hour for her was passed, 
 And she escaped from " Nan " at last. 
 
 More cheerful grew she as she gazed 
 
 Far o'er the waters blue, 
 And wondered what the gift would be 
 
 From kind old " Uncle True," 
 As in full many an after year 
 Styled she the old Lamplighter dear. 
 
 At times a snow-white sail she spied, 
 
 Far out upon the sea, 
 And queried if a soul on board 
 
 Was sorrowful as she ; 
 She knew not that there might be slaves, 
 For freedom sighing or their graves. 
 
 Alas ! too oft the gallant bark 
 
 Hath sped across the main, 
 Within her bosom bearing men 
 
 Fast bound in Slavery's chain ; 
 And gentle women groaned and cried 
 For Freedom's glorious boon denied.
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 There little children, weeping, begged 
 
 To see their early home, 
 The parents whom they left behind, 
 
 In distant lands to roam. 
 For little children, too, they steal, 
 And care not for their woe or weal. 
 
 All slowly passed the day to her 
 
 Who waited for the night, 
 When good and kind old " Uncle True " 
 
 The lamp again should light. 
 Thus slowly, oft, the day goes by, 
 To those who love the midnight sky. 
 
 The lonely fugitive, who seeks 
 
 From every eye to hide, 
 Lest he to slavery be returned, 
 
 If by the hunters spied, 
 He loves the darkness of the night, 
 And asks alone the polar light. 
 
 " True was late about his work that night, and 
 in a great hurry. He had only time to speak a 
 few words in his rough way to Gerty ; but they 
 were words coming straigh't from as good and 
 honest a heart as ever throbbed. He put his 
 great, smutty hand on her head in the kindest 
 way, told her how sorry he was she got hurt, and 
 said, ' it was a plaguy shame she should have 
 been whipped too, and all for a spill o' milk, that 
 was a misfortin', and no crime.' 
 
 " But here,' added he, diving into one of his 
 huge pockets, ' here's the critter I promised you. 
 Take good care on't ; don't 'buse it ; and, I'm 
 guessin', if it's like the mother that I've got at 
 home, 'twon't be a little ye'll be likin' it, 'fore 
 you're done. Good-by, my little gal ;' and he 
 shouldered his ladder and went off, leaving in 
 Gerty's hands a little gray and white kitten. 
 
 " Gerty was so taken by surprise, on finding in 
 her arms a live kitten, something so different 
 from what she had anticipated, that she stood for 
 a minute irresolute what to do with it. There 
 were a great many cats, of all sizes and colors, 
 inhabitants of the neighboring houses and yards ; 
 frightened looking creatures, which, like Gerty 
 herself, crept or scampered about, and often hid 
 themselves among the wood and coal, seeming to 
 feel, as she did, great doubts about their having 
 a right to be any where. Gerty had often felt a 
 sympathy for them, but never thought of trying 
 to catch one, carry it home, and tame it ; for she 
 knew that food and shelter were most grudgingly 
 accorded to herself, and would not certainly be 
 extended to her pets. Her first thought, there- 
 fore, was to throw the kitten down, and let it run 
 away." 
 
 LITTLE GEKTY'S KITTEN. 
 
 The kitten then to Gerty clung, 
 As if protection asking, 
 
 And often after, in the sun, 
 By Gerty's side lay basking.
 
 Uncle True giving Qerty the Kitten.
 
 10 
 
 UNCLE TEUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 Poor Gerty could not take her home ; 
 
 From Nan she sought to hide her, 
 For well she knew that cruel dame 
 
 Would kill her if she spied her. 
 
 The child loved " Kitty " all the more 
 
 Because she was in danger, 
 And braved Nan's wrath some milk to gain 
 
 To feed the little stranger. 
 
 When roughly came the autumn blast, 
 
 And cold the wintry weather, 
 Within the garret was Kitty hid, 
 
 And both were glad together. 
 
 Thus kind are some good persons, oft, 
 When slaves for aid are asking ; 
 
 Right deeds, they know, whate'er the law, 
 Will make God's favor lasting. 
 
 And thus good people often give 
 
 The fugitive a lodging, 
 Ne'er fearing those, intent on gain, 
 
 About his pathway dodging. 
 
 " The supper was just finished, when an organ 
 grinder struck up a tune outside the door. The 
 men stepped out to join the crowd, consisting 
 chiefly of the inmates of the house, who were 
 watching the motions of a monkey that danced 
 in time to the music. Gerty ran to the window 
 to look out. Delighted with the gambols of the 
 creature, she gazed intently, until the man and 
 monkey moved off; so intently, that she did not 
 miss the kitten, which, in the mean time, crept 
 down from her arms, and, springing upon the 
 table, began to devour the remnants of the re- 
 
 The organ grinder was not out of sight 
 when Gerty's eyes fell upon the figure of the old 
 
 past. 
 
 lamplighter coming up the street. She thought 
 she would stay and watch him light his lamp, 
 when she was startled by a sharp and angry ex- 
 clamation from Nan, and turned just in time to 
 see her snatch her darling kitten from the table. 
 Gerty sprang forward to the rescue, jumped into 
 a chair, and caught Nan by the arm ; but she 
 firmly pushed her back with one hand, while with 
 the other she threw the kitten half across the 
 room. Gerty heard a sudden splash and a piercing 
 cry. Nan had flung the poor creature into a 
 
 large vessel of steaming hot water, which stood 
 ready for some household purpose. The little ani- 
 mal struggled and writhed an instant, then died 
 in torture. 
 
 " All the fury of Gerty's nature was roused. 
 Without hesitation she lifted a stick of wood 
 which lay near her, and flung it at Nan with all 
 her strength. It was well aimed, and struck the 
 woman on the head. The blood started from the 
 wound the blow had given ; but Nan hardly felt 
 the blow, so greatly was she excited against the 
 child. She sprang upon her, caught her by the 
 shoulders, and, opening the house door, thrust 
 her out upon the sidewalk. 
 
 " ' Ye'll never darken my doors agin, yer imp 
 of wickedness ! ' said she, as she rusned into the 
 house, leaving the child alone in the cold, dark 
 night. 
 
 " When Gerty was angry or grieved, she al- 
 ways cried aloud not sobbing, as many chil- 
 dren do, but uttering a succession of piercing 
 shrieks, until she sometimes quite exhausted her 
 strength. When she found herself in the street, 
 she commenced screaming not from fear at 
 being turned away from her only home, and left 
 
 Li _^^C>-r-u ^N-jAj v. -ill
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 11 
 
 all alone at nightfall to wander about the city, j 
 and perhaps freeze before morning, (for it was 
 very cold.) She did not think of herself for a 
 moment. Horror and grief at the dreadful fate 
 of the only thing she loved in the world entirely 
 filled her little soul. So she crouched down 
 against the side of the house, her face hid in her 
 hands, unconscious of the noise she was making, 
 and unaware of the triumph of the girl who had 
 once thrown away her shoes, and who was watch- 
 ing her from the house door opposite. Suddenly 
 she found herself lifted up and placed on one of 
 the rounds of Trueman Flint's ladder, which still 
 leaned against the lamp post. True held her 
 firmly, just high enough on the ladder to bring 
 her face opposite his, recognized her as his old 
 acquaintance, and asked her, in the same kind 
 way he had used on the former occasion, what 
 was the matter." 
 
 After Gerty had informed the good old lamp- 
 lighter of the cause of her grief, he went into the 
 house and tried to induce Nan Grant to call the 
 child in out of the cold. Nan Grant cruelly re- 
 fused, and became angry with " Uncle True " for 
 taking Gerty's part. 
 
 " Gerty had ceased crying when he came out, 
 and looked up into his face with the greatest in- 
 terest. 
 
 ' Well," said he, ' she says you shan't come 
 back.' 
 
 " ' O, I'm so glad ! ' said Gerty. 
 
 " But where'll you go to ? ' 
 
 " ' I don't know ; p'raps I'll go with you, and 
 see you light the lamps'.' 
 
 " ' But where'll you sleep to-night ? ' 
 
 " ' I don't know where ; I haven't got any 
 house. I guess I'll sleep out, where I can see 
 the stars. 1 don't like dark places. But it'll be 
 cold, won't it ? ' 
 
 " My goodness ! you'll freeze to death, child.' 
 
 " ' Well, what'll become of me then ? ' 
 
 " ' The Lord only knows.' 
 
 " True looked at Gerty in perfect wonder and 
 distress. He knew nothing about children, and 
 was astonished at her simplicity. He could not 
 ' leave her there, such a cold" night ; but he hardly 
 knew what he could do with her if he took her 
 home, for he lived alone, and was poor. But 
 another violent coughing spell decided him at 
 once to share with her his shelter, fire, and food, 
 for one night at least ; so he took her bv the 
 hand, saying, ' Come with rue j and Uerty ran 
 along confidently by his side, never asking 
 whither. 
 
 " True had about a dozen more lamps to light 
 before they reached the end of the street, when 
 his round of duty was finished. Gerty watched 
 him light each one with as keen an interest as if 
 that were the only object for which she was in his 
 company ; and it was only after they had reached 
 the corner of the street, and walked on for some 
 distance without stopping, that she inquired 
 where they were going. 
 
 " Going home,' said True. 
 
 " ' Am I going to your home ? ' said Gerty. 
 
 " Yes,' said True, ' and here it is." 
 
 " He opened a little gate close to the sidewalk. 
 It led into a small and very narrow yard, which 
 stretched along the whole length of a decent two- 
 storied house. True lived in the back part of the 
 house; so they went through the yard, passed 
 by several windows and the main entrance, and, 
 keeping on to a small door in the rear, opened it 
 and went in. Gerty was by this time trembling 
 with the cold ; her little bare feet were quite blue 
 with walking so far on the pavements. There 
 was a stove in the room into which they had en- 
 tered, but no fire in it. It was a large room, and 
 looked as if it might be pretty comfortable, 
 though it was very untidy. True made as much 
 haste as he could to dispose of his ladder, torch, 
 &c., in an adjoining shed ; and then, bringing in 
 a handful of wood, he lit a fire in the stove. In 
 a few minutes there was a bright blaze, and the 
 chilly atmosphre grew warm. Drawing an old 
 wooden settle up to the fire, he threw his shaggy 
 great-coat over it, and, lifting little Gerty up, he 
 placed her gently upon the comfortable seat. He 
 then went to work to get supper ; for True was 
 an old bachelor, and accustomed to do every thing 
 for himself. He made tea ; then mixing a great 
 mug full for Gerty, with plenty of sugar and all 
 his cent's worth of milk, he produced from a lit- 
 tle cupboard a loaf of bread, cut her a huge slice, 
 and pressed her to eat and drink as mucb as she 
 could; for he judged well when he concluded 
 from her looks that she had not always been well 
 fed, and so much satisfaction did he feel in her 
 evident enjoyment of the best meal she had ever 
 had, that he forgot to partake of it himself, but sat 
 watching her with a tenderness which proved that 
 the unerring instinct of childhood had not been 
 wanting in Gerty, when she felt as she watched 
 True about his work, so long before he ever spoke 
 to her, that he was a friend to every body, even 
 to the most forlorn little girl in the world. 
 
 " Trueman Flint was born and brought up in 
 New Hampshire ; but when fifteen years old, 
 being left an orphan, he had made his way to 
 Boston, where he supported himself for many 
 years by whatever employment he could obtain ; 
 having been at different times a newspaper car- 
 rier, a cab driver, a porter, a wood-cutter, indeed, 
 a Jack-at-all-trades ; and so honest, capable, and 
 good tempered had h* always shown himself, that 
 ne every wnere won a good name, and had some- 
 times continued for years in the same employ. 
 Previous to his entering upon the service in 
 which we find him, he had been for some time 
 a porter in a large store, owned by a wealthy and 
 generous merchant. Being one day engaged in 
 removing some heavy casks, he had the misfor- 
 tune to be severely injured by one of them falling 
 upon his chest. For a long time no hope was 
 entertained of his recovering from the effects of 
 the accident ; and when he at last began to mend, 
 his health returned so gradually that it was a 
 year before he was able to be at work again. This
 
 12 
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 sickness swallowed up the savings of years ; but 
 his late employer never allowed him to want for 
 any comforts, provided an excellent physician, 
 and saw that he was well taken care of. 
 
 " True, however, had never been the same man 
 since. He rose up from his sick bed ten years 
 older in constitution, and his strength so much 
 enfeebled that he was only fit for some compara- 
 tively light employment. It was then that his 
 kind friend and former master obtained for him 
 the situation he now held as lamplighter; in 
 addition to which he frequently earned consider- 
 able sums by sawing wood, shovelling snow, &c. 
 
 " He was now between fifty and sixty years 
 old, a stoutly-built man, with features cut in one 
 of nature's rough moulds, but expressive of much 
 good nature. He was naturally silent and re- 
 served, lived much by himself, was known to but 
 few people in the city, and had only one crony, 
 the sexton of a neighboring church, a very old 
 man, and one usually considered very cross- 
 grained and uncompanionable. 
 
 " But we left Gerty finishing her supper, and 
 now when we return to her she is stretched upon 
 
 the wide settle sound asleep, covered up with a 
 head resting upon a pil- 
 low. True sits beside her ; her little thin hand 
 
 warm blanket, and her 
 
 lies in his great palm ; occasionally he draws the 
 blanket closer round her. She breathes hard ; 
 suddenly she gives a nervous start, then speaks 
 quickly ; her dreams are evidently troubled. True 
 listens intently to her words, as she exclaims 
 eagerly, ' O, don't ! don't drown my kitty ! ' and 
 then again, in a voice of fear, ' O, she'll catch 
 me ! she'll catch me ! ' once more ; and now her 
 tones are touchingly plaintive and earnest, Dear, 
 dear, good old man! let me stay with you do 
 let me stay ! ' 
 
 " Great tears are in Trueman Flint's eyes, and 
 rolling down the furrows of his rough cheeks ; he 
 lays his great head on the pillow and draws 
 Gerty's little face close to his, at the same time 
 smoothing her long- uncombed hair with his hand. 
 He, too, is thinking aloud ; what does he say ? 
 
 "'Catch you? No, she shan't! Stay with 
 met So you shall, I promise you, poor little 
 birdie ! All alone in this big world, and so am I. 
 Please God we'll bide together.' 
 
 Gerty was taken home by " Uncle True," and 
 for three weeks was very ill with a violent attack 
 of fever. Uncle True found her stretched upon 
 the floor, having swooned. A kind neighbor took 
 care of her, and when she was well enough Gerty 
 became acquainted with the lady's only son, 
 whose name was " Willie." 
 
 Willie had a grandfather, Mr. Cooper, who was 
 one day talking with the good lamplighter about 
 Gerty, and asked him, 
 
 " ' What are you going to do with the found- 
 ling, Flint?' 
 
 "'Do with her? keep her, to be sure, and 
 take care on her.' Cooper laughed rather sar- 
 castically. ' Well, now I s'pose, neighbor, you 
 think it's rather freakish in me to be adoptin' a 
 
 child at my time o' life ; and p'raps it is ; but 
 I'll explain to you just how 'twas. She'd a died 
 that night I tell yer on, if I hadn't brought her 
 home with me ; and a good many times since, 
 what's more, if I, with the help o' your darter, 
 hadn't took mighty good care on her. Well, she 
 took on so in her sleep, the first night ever she 
 came, and cried out to me all as if she never had 
 a friend afore, (and I doubt me she never had,) 
 that I made up my mind then she should stay, 
 at any rate, and I'd take care on her, and share 
 my last crust with the wee thing, come what 
 might. The Lord's been very marciful to me, 
 Mr. Cooper, very marciful. He's raised me up 
 friends in my deep distress. I knew, when I was 
 a little shaver, what a lonesome thing it was to 
 be fatherless and motherless ; and when I see 
 this little sufferin' human bein', I felt as if, all 
 friendless as she seemed, she was more partick- 
 lerly the Lord's, and as if I could not sarve him 
 more, and ought not to sarve him less, than to 
 share with her the blessin's he has bestowed on 
 me. You look round, neighbor, as if you thought 
 "tvvan't much to share with any one ; and 'tan't 
 much there is here, to be sure ; but it's a home, 
 yes, a home ; and that's a great thing to her that 
 never had one. I've got my hands yet, and a 
 stout heart, and a willin' mind. With God's help 
 I'll be a father to that child ; and the time may 
 come when she'll be God's imbodied blessin' to 
 me.' 
 
 " True was so excited and animated by his sub- 
 ject, that he did not notice what the sexton had 
 observed, but did not choose to interrupt. Gerty 
 had .risen from her bed, and was standing beside 
 True ; her eyes fixed upon his face, breathless 
 with the interest she felt in his words. She 
 touched his shoulder ; he looked round, saw her, 
 and stretched out his arms. She sprang into 
 them, buried her face in his bosom, and, bursting 
 into a paroxysm of joyful tears, gasped out the 
 words, ' Shall I stay with you always ? ' 
 
 " 'Yes, just as long as I live,' said True, ' you 
 shall be my child.' " 
 
 The first time Gerty saw Willie was one even- 
 ing after she had, with the aid of Willie's mother, 
 and another neighbor, succeeded in arranging the 
 room in a more tidy manner than it had been for 
 years. Uncle True was very much pleased to see 
 Gertv neatly dressed, with clothes provided by 
 the daughter of True's benefactor, Mr. Graham, 
 and to see the room in such good order. Pretty 
 soon Willie came in with a plaster image of little 
 Samuel, about whom we read in the Bible, kneel- 
 ing in prayer. 
 
 " ' 0, how pretty ! ' exclaimed Gerty, full of 
 delight. 
 
 "Why didn't I think?' said Willie; 'I 
 might hare known what 'twas, by the feeling.' 
 
 " Why, did you ever see it before ? ' said Gerty. 
 
 "'Not this same one; but I've seen lots just 
 like it.' 
 
 " Have you ? ' said Gerty. I never did. I 
 think it's the beautifullest thing that ever was.
 
 Little Gerty lying on the floor.
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 Uncle True, did you say it was for me ? Where 
 did you get it ? ' 
 
 " ' It was by an accident I got it. A few min- 
 utes before I met you, Willie, I was stoppin" at the 
 corner to light my lamp, when I saw one of those 
 furren boys, with a sight o' these sort of things 
 and some black ones, too, all set up on a board, 
 and he was walkin' with 'em a-top of his head. 
 I was just a wonderin' how he kept 'em there, 
 when he hit the board agin my lamp post, and, 
 the first thing I knew, whack they all went! 
 He'd spilt "em every one. Lucky enough for 
 him, there was a great bank of soft snow close 
 to the sidewalk, and the most of 'em fell into 
 that, and wasn't hurt. Some few went on to the 
 bricks, and were smashed. Well, I kind o' pitied 
 the feller; for it was late, and I thought like 
 enough he hadn't had much luck sellin' of "em, 
 to have so many left on his hands ' 
 
 " ' On his head, you mean,' said Willie. 
 
 " ' Yes, Master Willie, or on the snow,' said 
 True ; ' any way you're a mind to have it.' 
 
 " ' And I know what you did, Uncle True, just 
 as well as if I'd seen you,' said Willie. ' You set 
 your ladder and lantern right down, and went to 
 work helping him pick 'em all up, that's just 
 what you'd be sure to do for any body. I hope, if 
 ever you get into trouble, some of the folks 
 you've helped will be by to make return.' 
 
 " ' This feller, Willie, didn't wait for me to get 
 into trouble; he made return right off. When 
 they were all set right, he bowed, and scraped, 
 and touched his hat to me, as if I'd been the 
 biggest gentleman in the land ; talkin', too, he 
 was. all the time, though I couldn't make out a 
 word of his lingo ; and then insisted on my 
 takin' one of the figurs. I wan't goin' to, for I 
 didn't want it; but I happened to think little 
 Gerty might like it.' 
 
 " ' O, I shall like it ! ' said Gerty, < I shall like 
 it better than no, not better, but almost as well 
 as my kitten ; not quite as well, because that was 
 alive, and this isn't ; but almost. 0, au't he a 
 cunning little boy ? ' " 
 
 THE PLASTER IMAGE. 
 
 Another gift to Gerty came 
 From kind old Uncle True, 
 
 A plaster cast of kneeling boy, 
 All white, and clean, and new. 
 
 She prized it as a gift of love, 
 But asked, " Why kneels it there? " 
 
 And then her playmate, Willie, said, 
 " It kneels because in prayer." 
 
 'Twould make one of a picture think, 
 
 That plaster cast to see, 
 Of one in chains, with upraised hands, 
 
 And bending, too, the knee. 
 
 To kindly heart a sadder sight 
 Than this is \scarce beheld 
 
 A slave imploring freedom's boon, 
 To servitude compelled. 
 
 Would any know what bondmen are ? 
 
 Most wretched men indeed ; 
 They who, alas ! can seldom know 
 
 The joy of being freed
 
 Tlie Plaster Image. 
 
 f
 
 16 
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 From tyrant masters' dreadful power, 
 
 From lifelong toil severe, 
 Too often sold to wander far 
 
 From wife and children dear. 
 
 The children of New England fair 
 
 Most grateful well may be, 
 That though they, too, should kneel in prayer, 
 
 They need not pray as he. 
 
 They need not ask for liberty 
 
 On them to be bestowed, 
 Yet pray for those in slavery's chains, 
 
 Beneath a weary load. 
 
 " After Willie went home that evening, and 
 Gerty was left alone with True, she sat on a low 
 stool beside him for some time, without speaking. 
 Her eyes were intently fixed upon the white im- 
 age which lay in her lap : that her little mind was 
 very busy there could be no doubt ; for thought 
 was plainly written on her face. True was not 
 often the first to speak ; but finding Gerty unu- 
 sually quiet, he lifted up her chin, looked in- 
 quiringly in her face, and then said, 
 
 " ' Well, Willie's a pretty clever sort of a boy, 
 isn't he?' 
 
 "Gerty answered, 'Yes;' without, however, 
 seeming to know what she was saying. 
 
 " ' You like him, don't you ? ' said True. 
 
 " ' Very much,' said Gerty, in the same absent 
 way. It was not Willie she was thinking of. 
 True waited for Gerty to begin talking about her 
 new acquaintance ; but she did not speak for a 
 minute or two. Then looking up suddenly, she 
 said, ' Uncle True.' 
 
 " ' What say ? ' 
 
 " ' What does Samuel pray to God for ? ' 
 
 " True stared. ' Samuel ! pray ! I guess I 
 don't know exactly what you're saying.' 
 
 " ' Why,' said Gerty, holding up the image, 
 ' Willie says this little boy's name is Samuel, 
 and that he sits on his knee, and puts his hands 
 together, so, and looks up, because he's praying 
 to God, that lives up in the sky. I don't know 
 what he means, way up in the sky, do you ? ' 
 
 "True took the image, and looked at it at-^ 
 tentively ; he moved uneasily upon his chair, 
 scratched his head, and finally said, 'Well, I 
 s'pose he's about right. This 'ere child is prayin' 
 sartain, though I didn't think on't afore. But I 
 don't jist know what he calls it a Samuel for. 
 We'll ask him, some time.' 
 
 " Well, what does he pray for, Uncle True ? ' 
 
 " ' 0, he prays to make him good ; it makes 
 folks good to pray to God.' 
 
 " ' Can God make folks good ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes. God is very great ; he can do any 
 thing.' 
 
 " 'How can he hear?' 
 
 " ' He hears every thing, and sees every thing 
 in the world.' 
 
 " ' And does he live in the sky ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes,' said True, ' in heaven.' 
 
 "All the information that Gerty could gain 
 amounted to the knowledge of these facts : that 
 God was in heaven; that his power was great; 
 and that people were made better by prayer. Her 
 little eager brain was so intent upon the subject, 
 however, that as it grew late, the thought even 
 of sleeping in her new room could not efface it 
 from her mind. After she had gone to bed, with 
 the white image hugged close to her bosom, and 
 True had taken away the lamp, she lay for a long 
 time with her eyes wide open. Just at the foot 
 of the bed was the window. Gerty could see out, 
 as she had done before in her garret at Nan 
 Grant's ; but, the window being larger, she had a 
 much more extended view. The sky was bright 
 with stars, and the sight of them revived her old 
 wonder and curiosity as to the author of such 
 distant and brilliant lights. Now, however, as 
 she gazed, there darted through her mind the 
 thought, ' God lit them ! O, how great he must 
 be ! But a child might pray to him.' She rose 
 from her little bed, approached the window, and, 
 falling on her knees, and clasping her hands pre- 
 cisely in the attitude of the little Samuel, she 
 looked up to heaven. She spoke no word, but her 
 eyes glistened with the dew of a tear that stood in 
 each. Was not each tear a prayer ? She breathed 
 no petition, but she longed for God and virtue. 
 Was not that very wish a prayer ? Her little up- 
 lifted heart throbbed vehemently. Was not each 
 throb a prayer ? And did not God in heaven, 
 without whom not a sparrow falls to the ground, 
 hear and accept that first homage of a little
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 17 
 
 untaught child; and did it not call a blessing 
 down ? 
 
 Many a petition did Gerty offer up in after 
 years. In many a time of trouble did she come 
 to God for help ; in many an hour of bitter sor- 
 row did she from the same source seek comfort ; 
 and, when her strength and heart failed her, God 
 
 hecame the strength of her heart. But never did 
 she approach his throne with a purer offering, a 
 more acceptable sacrifice, than when, in her first 
 deep penitence, her first earnest faith, her first en- 
 kindled hope, she took the attitude, and her heart 
 uttered, thougfi her lips pronounced them not, the 
 words of the prophet child, ' Here am I, Lord.' " 
 
 GERTY'S FIRST PRAYER 
 
 To little children, in their youth, 
 Full many a parent dear 
 
 Oft whispers, till they learn the words, 
 Some simple, morning prayer. 
 
 And when the stars are peeping out, 
 And twilight growing dim, 
 
 By parents taught, do children good 
 Oft sing their evening hymn. 
 
 But little Gerty never knew 
 The simplest, shortest prayer, 
 
 Since Nan was wicked, and the child 
 Had lost her mother dear. 
 
 She was not stolen from her home, 
 As some slave children are, 
 
 But still, like them, without a friend 
 To teach her one short prayer. 
 
 Yet Willie dear and Uncle True 
 Had told her of the Lord, 
 
 Who dwells in heaven, and loves to hear 
 Each childish prayer to God. 
 
 So Gerty knelt, one night, in prayer, 
 \ Yet not a word she spoke ; 
 
 I Her wish she thought, but still no sound 
 
 The evening silence broke. 
 
 She could not speak ; she knew not how 
 To tell the Lord her care ; 
 
 But still she prayed, for true desire, 
 Though uttered not, is prayer.
 
 18 
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 Though Gerty never learned the hymn 
 To Christian hearts so dear, 
 
 She felt whate'er the poet said 
 About true, fervent prayer : 
 
 " Prayer is the burden of a sigh, 
 
 The falling of a tear, 
 The upward glancing of an eye, 
 
 When none but God is near. 
 
 " Thou, by whom we come to God, 
 The life, the truth, the way, 
 
 The path of prayer thyself hast trod ; 
 Lord, teach us how to pray." 
 
 " The next day was Sunday. True was in the 
 abit of going to church half the day, at least, 
 with the sexton's family ; but Gerty, having 
 
 bonnet, could not go, and True would not leave 
 her. So they spent the morning together, wan- 
 dering round among the wharves, and looking at 
 the ships, Gerty wearing her old shawl, pinned 
 over her head. In the afternoon True fell asleep 
 by the fireside, and Gerty played with the cat. 
 
 " Willie came in the evening ; but it was only 
 to say good by, before going back to Mr. Bray's. 
 He was in a hurry, and could not stop at all ; for 
 his master had a sober household, and liked to 
 have his doors closed early, especially Sunday 
 night. Old Mr. Cooper, however, made his usual 
 visit ; and, when he had gone, True, finding Gerty 
 sound asleep on the settle, thought it a pity to 
 wake her, and laid her in bed with her clothes on. 
 
 " She did not wake until morning ; and then, 
 much surprised and amused at finding herself 
 dressed, sprang up and ran out to ask True how 
 it happened. True was busy making the fire ; 
 and Gerty, having received satisfactory answers 
 to her numerous inquiries, when and where she 
 fell asleep, and how she came in bed, applied 
 herself earnestly to help in every possible way 
 about getting breakfast, and putting the room in 
 order. She followed the instructions of Willie's 
 mother, all of which she remembered, and showed 
 a wonderful degree of capability in every thing 
 she undertook. In the course of the few "follow- 
 ing weeks, during which her perseverance held 
 out surprisingly, she learned how to make her- 
 self useful in many ways, and, as Willie's mother 
 had prophesied, gave promise of becoming, one 
 day, quite a clever little housekeeper. Of course, 
 the services she performed were trifling ; but her 
 active and willing feet saved True a great many 
 steps, and she was of essential aid in keeping the 
 room neat, that being her especial ambition. She 
 felt that Willie's mother expected her, now that 
 
 the dust and cobwebs were all cleared away, to 
 take care that they should not accumulate again ; 
 and it was quite an amusing sight, every day, 
 when True had gone out, as usual, to fill and 
 clean the street lamps, to see the little girl dili- 
 gently laboring with an old broom, the handle of 
 which was cut short to make it more suitable for 
 her use. Willie's mother looked in occasionally, 
 to praise and assist her ; and nothing made Gerty 
 happier than learning to do some new thing. She 
 met with a few trials and discouragements, to be 
 sure. In two or three instances the toast got 
 burned to a cinder ; and, worse still, she one day 
 broke a painted teacup, over which she shed 
 many a tear ; but, as True never thought of 
 blaming her for any thing, she forgot her misfor- 
 tunes, and experience made her careful. 
 
 " One Sunday, Gerty, who had now a nice little 
 hood, which True had bought for her, was return- 
 ing with Mr. Cooper, Mr. Flint, and Willie, from 
 the afternoon service at church. The two old 
 men were engaged in one of their lengthy dis- 
 cussions, and the children, having fallen into the 
 rear, had been talking earnestly about the church, 
 the minister, the people, and the music, all of 
 which were new to Gerty, and greatly excited her 
 wonder and astonishment. 
 
 "As they drew near home Willie remarked 
 how dark it was growing in the streets ; and then 
 looking down at Gerty, whom he held by the 
 hand, he said, ' Gerty, do you ever go out with 
 Uncle True, and see "him light the lamps ? ' 
 
 " ' No, I never did,' said Gerty, ' since the first 
 night I came. I've wanted to, but it's been so 
 cold Uncle True would not let me ; he said I'd 
 just catch the fever again.' 
 
 " It won't be cold this evening,' said Willie ; 
 ' it'll be a beautiful night ; and, if Uncle True's 
 willing, let's you and I go with him. I've often 
 been, and it's first rate ; you can look into the
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GEETY. 
 
 19 
 
 windows, and see folks drinking tea, and sitting 
 all round the fire in the parlors.' 
 
 " ' And I like to see him light those great 
 lamps,' interrupted Gerty, ' they make it look so 
 bright and beautiful all round. I hope he'll let 
 us go ; I'll ask him ; come,' said she, pulling him 
 by the hand ; ' let's catch up with them, and ask 
 him now.' 
 
 " ' No, wait,' said Willie ; ' he's busy talking 
 
 with grandpa ; and we're almost home, we can 
 ask him then.' 
 
 " He could hardly restrain her impatience, 
 however ; and, as soon as they reached the gate, 
 she suddenly broke away from him, and, rushing 
 up to True, made known her request. The plan 
 was willingly acceded to, and the three soon 
 started on the rounds." 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S WALK WITH THE OLD LAMP- 
 LIGHTER. 
 
 " Dear Uncle True, pray let us go," 
 
 Once little Gerty said, 
 " And see you light the lamps to-night, 
 
 Which such glad beams may shed." 
 
 Dear Willie joined in this request, 
 
 And Uncle True replied, 
 " I like to have you, children dear, 
 
 Walk prattling at my side." 
 
 So through the streets with him they went, 
 
 And many a pleasant sight 
 Those youthful eyes oft met. beside 
 
 The lantern's pleasant light. 
 
 Within one house were children fair, 
 
 So fair that Gerty's heart 
 With pleasure leaped, because a joy 
 
 Such beauty could impart. 
 
 At last, to " old Nan Grant's," they came, 
 
 That hovel drear and old ; 
 And Nan was there, still proving how 
 
 To neighbors she could scold. 
 
 With anger there did Gerty look, 
 
 Till Willie bade her come, 
 And when she moved not, would not wait, 
 
 But hastened towards his home.
 
 20 
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 " Gerty turned, saw that he was going, then, 
 quick as lightning, stooped, and, picking up a 
 stone from the sidewalk, flung it at the window. 
 There was a crash of broken glass, and an ex- 
 clamation in Nan's well-known voice ; but Gerty 
 was not there to see the result of her work. The 
 instant the stone had left her hand, and she 
 heard the crash, her fears all returned, and, fly- 
 ing past Willie, she paused not until she was safe 
 by the side of True. Willie did not overtake them 
 until they were nearly home, and then came run- 
 ning up, exclaiming breathlessly, Why, Gerty, do 
 you know what you did ? You broke the window ! ' 
 
 " Gerty ierked her shoulders from side to side 
 to avoid Willie, pouted, and declared that was 
 what she meant to do. 
 
 " True now inquired what window ; and Gerty 
 
 unhesitatingly acknowledged what she had done, 
 and avowed that she did it on purpose. True 
 and Willie were shocked and silent. Gerty was 
 silent, too, for the rest of the walk ; there were 
 clouds on her face, and she felt unhappy in her 
 little heart. She did not understand herself or 
 her own sensations ; we may not say how far she 
 was responsible for them, but this much is cer- 
 tain, her face alone betrayed that, as evil took 
 violent possessjon of her soul, peace and pleas- 
 antness fled away. Poor child! how much she 
 needs to learn the truth ! God grant that the 
 inward may one day become as dear to her as 
 now the outward light ! 
 
 "Willie bade them good night at the house 
 door, and, as usual, they saw no more of him for 
 a week." 
 
 GERTY IN THE CHURCH. 
 
 " ' Father,' said Willie's mother, one afternoon 
 as he was preparing to go put, and to take with 
 him a number of articles which he wanted for his 
 Saturday's work in the church, ' why don't you 
 get little Gerty to go with you, and carry some 
 of your things ? You can't take them all at 
 once ; and she'd like to go, I know." 
 
 " ' She'd only be in the way," said Mr. Cooper ; 
 4 1 can take them myself.' 
 
 " But when he had swung a lantern and an 
 empty coal-hod on one arm, taken a little hatchet 
 and a basket of kindlings in his hand, and hoisted 
 a small ladder over his shoulder, he was fain to 
 acknowledge that there was no accommodation 
 for his hammer and a large paper of nails. 
 
 " So Willie's mother called Gerty, and asked 
 her to go to the church with Mr. Cooper, and help 
 him carry his tools. 
 
 " Gerty was very much pleased with the pro- 
 posal, and, taking the hammer and nails, started 
 off with great alacrity. 
 
 " When they reached the church, the old sex- 
 ton took them from her hands, and, telling her 
 she could play about until he went home, but to 
 be sure and do no mischief, left her and went 
 down into the vestry room to commence there his 
 operation of sweeping, dusting, and building 
 fires. Gerty was thus left to her own amuse- 
 ment ; and ample amusement she found it, for 
 some time, to wander round among the empty 
 aisles and pews, and examine closely what, hith- 
 erto, she had only viewed from a corner of the 
 gallery. Then she ascended the pulpit, and in 
 imagination addressed a large audience. She 
 was just beginning to grow weary and restless, 
 however, when the organist, who had entered un- 
 perceived, commenced playing some low, sweet 
 music ; and Gerty, seating herself on the pulpit 
 stairs, listened with the greatest attention and 
 
 pleasure. He had not played long before the 
 door at the foot of the broad aisle opened, and a 
 couple of visitors entered, in observing whom 
 Gerty was soon wholly engrossed. One was an 
 elderly man, dressed like a clergyman, short and 
 spare, with hair thin and gray, forehead high, 
 and features rather sharp ; but, though a plain 
 man, remarkable for his calm and benignant ex- 
 pression of countenance. A young lady, appar- < 
 ently about twenty-five years of age, was lean- 
 ing on his arm. She was attired with great 
 simplicity, wearing a dark-brown cloak, and a 
 bonnet of the same color, relieved by some light- 
 blue ribbon about the face. The only article of 
 her dress which was either rich or elegant was 
 some beautiful dark fur, fastened at her throat 
 with a costly enamelled slide. She was some- 
 what below the middle size, but had a pleasing 
 and well-rounded figure. Her features were small 
 and regular ; her complexion clear, though rather 
 pale ; and her light-brown hair was most neatly 
 and carefully arranged. She never lifted her eyes 
 as she walked slowly up the aisle, and the long 
 lashes nearly swept her cheek. 
 
 " The two approached the spot where Gerty 
 sat, but without perceiving her." 
 
 The gentleman having left the lady for a time, 
 she sat down in a chair near the pulpit, listening 
 to the organist's music. After a time Gerty 
 moved from her seat ; the lady heard her, and 
 asked, " Who's there ? " Then Gerty went and 
 stood by the lady, and they talked together. 
 When Gerty had told her own name, she asked 
 the lady what her name was. 
 
 " ' My name is Emily Graham.' 
 
 " ' O," I know,' said Gerty, springing suddenly 
 up, and clapping her hands together ; ' I know. 
 You asked him to keep me ; he said so I 
 heard him say so ; and you gave me my clothes ;
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 21 
 
 and you're beautiful ; and you're good ; and I 
 love you ! O, I love you ever so much ! ' 
 
 " As Gerty spoke with a voice full of excite- 
 ment, a strange look passed over Miss Graham's 
 
 face, a most inquiring and restless look, as if the 
 tones of the voice had vibrated on a chord of her 
 memory. She did not speak, but, passing her arm 
 round the child's waist, drew her closer to her." 
 
 To Gerty's eyes" the church was grand, 
 The windows full of beauty ; 
 
 For ne'er with Nan to church she went- 
 Nan deemed not such her duty. 
 
 The lofty organ's peal to her 
 In tones of grandeur sounded, 
 
 And woke new joys in one whose life 
 With ignorance abounded. 
 
 She felt that other > newer themes 
 Were opening to her spirit ; 
 
 The organ seemed to speak of God, 
 And Gerty loved to hear it. 
 
 For Uncle True, and Willie kind, 
 Had taught the little maiden 
 
 That every hour of every day 
 Is with God's blessings laden ; 
 
 That every joy her spirit knew 
 
 Was by that Father given, 
 And she must take with thankful heart 
 
 Each gift bestowed by Heaven. 
 
 While Gerty in the church remained, 
 
 A lady came and waited ; 
 And then met Gerty one whose deed 
 
 Old True had oft related. 
 
 A while they talked together there, 
 And Gerty's heart was gladdened, 
 
 Till Gerty from the lady learned 
 That which her spirit saddened. 
 
 " As the peculiar expression passed away frrfm 
 Miss Graham's face, and her features assumed 
 their usual calm composure, Gerty, as she gazed 
 at her with a look of wonder, (a look which the 
 
 child had worn during the whole of the conversa- 
 tion,) exclaimed, at last, ' Are y u going to 
 sleep ? ' 
 No. Why?' 
 
 f
 
 22 
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 " ' Because your eyes are shut.' 
 
 " ' They are always shut, my child.' 
 
 Always shut ! What for ? ' 
 
 " ' I am blind, Gerty. I can see nothing.' 
 
 " ' Not see ! ' said Gerty ; ' can't you see any 
 thing ? Can't you see me now ? ' 
 
 " 'No,' said Miss Graham. 
 
 " ' O,' exclaimed Gerty, drawing a long hreath, 
 ' I'm so glad.' 
 
 "' Glad?' said Miss Graham, in the saddest 
 voice that ever was heard. 
 
 " ' O, yes ! ' said Gerty, ' so glad you can't see 
 me ! because now, perhaps, you'll" love me.' 
 
 " ' And shouldn't 1 love you if I saw you ? ' 
 said Emily, passing her hand softly and slowly 
 over the child's features. 
 
 " ' O, no ! ' answered Gerty ; ' I'm so ugly ! 
 I'm glad you can't see how ugly I am.' 
 
 " ' But, just think, Gerty,' said Emily, in the 
 same sad voice, ' how would you feel if you could 
 not see the light could not see any thing in the 
 world ? ' 
 
 " ' Can't you see the sun, and the stars, and 
 the sky, and the church we're in ? Are you in 
 the dark ? ' 
 
 " ' In the dark all the time, day and night in 
 the dark.' 
 
 " Gerty burst into a paroxysm of tears. ' O,' 
 exclaimed she, as soon as she could find voice 
 amid her sobs, ' it's too bad ! it's too bad ! ' 
 
 " The child's grief was contagious ; and, for 
 the first time for years, Emily wept bitterly for 
 her blindness. It was but for a few moments, 
 however. Quickly recovering herself, she tried 
 to compose the child also, saying, Hush ! hush ! 
 don't cry ; and don't say it's too bad ! It's not 
 too bad; I can bear it very well. I'm used to it, 
 and am quite happy.' 
 
 " ' I shouldn't be happy in the dark ; I should 
 hate to be ! ' said Gerty. ' 1 ain't glad you're 
 blind ; I'm real sorry. I wish you could see me 
 and every thing. Can't your eyes be opened, any 
 way ? ' 
 
 " ' No,' said Emily, never ; but we won't talk 
 about that any more ; we'll talk about you. I 
 want to know what makes you think yourself so 
 very ugly.' 
 
 " ' Because folks say that I'm an ugly child, 
 and that nobody loves ugly children.' 
 
 " ' Yes, people do,' said Emily, ' love ugly chil- 
 dren, if they are good.' 
 
 " ' But I ain't good,' said Gerty ; ' I'm real bad.' 
 
 " ' But you can be good,' said Emily, ' and then 
 every body will love you.' 
 
 " ' Do you think I can be good ? ' 
 
 " Yes, if you try.' 
 
 " ' I will try.' 
 
 " I hope you will,' said Emily. Mr. Flint 
 thinks a great deal of his little girl, and she must 
 do all she can to please him.' " 
 
 GERTY AT SCHOOL. 
 
 One Saturday evening, when Willie was 
 present, True broached the subject of Gerty 's 
 going to school. Gerty herself was very much 
 disgusted with the idea ; but it met with Willie's 
 warm approbation, and when Gerty learned that 
 Miss Graham also wished it, she consented, 
 though rather reluctantly, to begin the next 
 week, and try how she liked it. So, on the fol- 
 lowing Monday, Gerty accompanied True to one 
 of the primary schools, was admitted, and her 
 education commenced. When Willie came home 
 the next Saturday, he rushed into True's room, 
 full of eagerness to hear how Gerty liked go- 
 ing to school. He found her seated at the 
 table, with her spelling book ; and, as soon as he 
 entered, she exclaimed, ' O Willie ! Willie ! come 
 and hear me read ! ' 
 
 " Her performance could not properly be called 
 reading. She had not got beyond the alphabet, 
 and a few syllables which she had learned to 
 spell ; but Willie bestowed upon her much well- 
 merited praise, for she had really been very dili- 
 gent He was astonished to hear that Gerty 
 
 liked going to school, liked the teacher and the 
 scholars, and had a fine time at recess. He had 
 fully expected that she would dislike the whole 
 business, and very probably go into tantrums 
 about it, which was the expression he used to 
 denote her fits of ill temper. On the contrary, 
 every thing, thus far, had gone well, and Gerty 
 had never looked so animated and happy as she 
 did this evening. Willie promised to assist her 
 in her studies ; and the two children's literary 
 plans soon became as highflown as if one had 
 been a poet laureate and the other a philosopher. 
 
 " For two or three weeks all appeared to go on 
 smoothly. Gerty went regularly to school, and 
 continued to make rapid progress. Every Sat- 
 urday Willie heard her read and spell, assisted, 
 praised, and encouraged her. He had, however, 
 a shrewd suspicion that, on one or two occasions, 
 she had come near having a brush with some 
 large girls, for whom she began to show symp- 
 toms of dislike. Whatever the difficulty originat- 
 ed in, it soon reached a crisis. 
 
 " One day, when the children were assembled
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 23 
 
 in the school yard, during recess, Gerty caught 
 sight of True in his working dress, just passing 
 down the street, with his ladder and lamp-filler. 
 Shouting and laughing, she bounded out of the 
 yard, pursued and overtook him. She came back 
 in a few minutes, seeming much delighted at the 
 unexpected rencounter, and ran back into the 
 yard out of breath, and full of happy excitement. 
 The troop of large girls, whom Gerty had al- 
 ready some reason to distrust, had been observing 
 her, and, as soon as she returned, one of them 
 called out, saying, 
 
 " ' Who's that man ? ' 
 
 " ' That's my Uncle True,' said Gerty. 
 
 " Your what ? ' 
 
 " ' My uncle, Mr. Flint, that I live with.' 
 
 " ' So you belong to him, do you ? ' said the 
 
 girl, in an insolent tone of voice. ' Ha, ha, ha ! * 
 
 " ' What are you laughing at ? ' said Gerty, 
 
 " ' Ugh ! Before I'd live with him ! ' said the 
 girl 'old Smutty!' 
 
 " The others caught it up, and the laugh and 
 epithet Old Smutty circulated freely in the corner 
 of the yard where Gerty was standing. 
 
 " Gerty was furious. Her eyes glistened, as 
 she doubled her little fist, and, without hesita- 
 tion, came down in battle upon the crowd. But 
 they were too many for her, and, helpless as she 
 was with passion, they drove her out of the yard. 
 She started for home on a full run, screaming 
 with all her might." 
 
 The naughty girls in Gerty's school 
 
 Her Uncle True derided, 
 And for her love of one so kind 
 
 Poor Gerty oft was chided. 
 
 But with a spirit, though so young, 
 That then was proud and haughty, 
 
 She sought her guardian to defend, 
 And spoke some words quite naughty. 
 
 From words to blows is but a step, 
 As many a bondman knoweth, 
 
 When overseer with cruel taunts 
 His wicked passion showeth. 
 
 So Gerty fell upon her mates, 
 From passion boldly striking, 
 
 As if it was a glorious deed 
 To be for insult fighting. 
 
 Then rushing to her humble home, 
 Poor Gerty, sobbing wildly, 
 
 Was overheard by that kind friend 
 Who ever spoke so mildly. 
 
 Her gentle words and accents kind 
 Were to the child so winning, 
 
 She soon repented of her deeds, 
 And wished to leave off sinning.
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 " ' Do you not wish God to forgive and love 
 you ? ' asked Miss Graham. 
 
 "'God, that lives in heaven that made the 
 stars ? ' said Gerty. 
 
 Yes.' 
 
 " ' Will he love me, and let me some time go 
 to heaven ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, if you try to be good, and love every 
 body.' 
 
 " ' Miss Emily,' said Gerty, after a moment's 
 pause, ' I can't do it so I s'pose I can't go.' 
 
 " Just at this moment a tear fell upon Gerty's 
 forehead. She looked thoughtfully up in Emily's 
 face, then said, ' Dear Miss Emily, are you go- 
 ing?' 
 
 " ' I am trying to.' 
 
 " ' I should like to go with you,' said Gerty, 
 shaking her head, meditatively. 
 
 " Still Emily did not speak. She left the child 
 to the working of her own thoughts. 
 
 " ' Miss Emily,' said Gerty, at last, in the 
 lowest whisper, ' I mean to try, but I don't think 
 I can.' 
 
 " ' God bless you, and help you, my child,' 
 said Emily, laying her hand upon Gerty's head. 
 
 " For fifteen minutes, or more, not a word was 
 spoken by either. Gerty lay perfectly still in 
 Emily's lap. By and by the latter perceived, by 
 the child's breathing, that, worn out with the 
 fever and excitement of all she had gone through, 
 she had dropped into a quiet sleep. When Mrs. 
 
 Ellis " (the lady who had led Emily there) " re- 
 turned, Emily pointed to the sleeping child, and 
 asked her to place her on the bed. She did so, 
 wonderingly ; and then, turning to Emily, ex- 
 claimed, ' Upon my word, Miss Emily, that's the 
 same rude, bawling little creature, that came so 
 near being the death of us.' " (Gerty had run 
 against Mrs. Ellis on her way home from school.) 
 " Emily smiled at the idea of a child eight years 
 old overthrowing a woman of Mrs. Ellis's inches, 
 but said nothing. 
 
 " Why did Emily weep long that night, as she 
 recalled the scenes of the morning ? Why did 
 she, on bended knee, wrestle so vehemently with 
 a mighty sorrow ? Why did she pray so earnestly 
 for new strength and heavenly aid? Why did 
 she so beseechingly ask of God his blessing on 
 the little child ? Because she had felt, in many 
 a year of darkness and bereavement, in many an 
 hour of fearful struggle, in many a pang of de- 
 spair, how a temper like that which Gerty had this 
 day shown might, in one moment of its fearful 
 reign, cast a blight upon a lifetime, and write in 
 fearful Jines the mournful requiem of earthly 
 joy. And so she prayed to Heaven that night for 
 strength to keep her firm resolve, and aid in ful- 
 filling her undying purpose, to cure the child of 
 her dark infirmity." 
 
 Miss Graham, with the help of God, was suc- 
 cessful, and when Gerty reached womanhood she 
 had learned to control her passions. 
 
 WILLIE'S REWARD. 
 
 " One Saturday evening in December, the third 
 winter of Gerty's residence with True, Willie 
 came in with his French books under his arm, 
 and, after the first salutations were over, ex- 
 claimed, as he threw the grammar and dictionary 
 upon the table, ' O Gerty ! before we begin to 
 study I must tell you and Uncle True the fun- 
 niest thing, that happened to-day ; I have been 
 laughing so at home, as I was telling mother 
 about it.' 
 
 " ' I heard you laugh,' said Gerty. ' If I had 
 not been so busy I should have gone into your 
 mother's room to hear what it was so very droll. 
 But, come, do tell us.' 
 
 " ' Why, you will not think it is any thing like 
 a joke when I begin; and I should not be so 
 much amused, if she hadn't been the very queer- 
 est old woman that I ever saw in my life. 
 
 " ' Old woman ! you haven't told us about 
 any old woman.' 
 
 " ' But I'm going to,' said Willie. ' You no- 
 ticed how every thing was covered with ice this 
 morning. How splendidly it looked, didn't it ? 
 
 I declare, when the sun shone on that great elm 
 tree in front of our shop, I thought I never saw 
 any thing so handsome in my life. But, there, 
 that's nothing to do with my old woman, only 
 that the sidewalks were just like every thing else, 
 a perfect glare.' 
 
 " ' I know it,' interrupted Gerty ; ' I fell down, 
 going to school.' 
 
 " ' Did you ? ' said Willie ; ' didn't you get 
 hurt?' 
 
 " ' No, indeed. But go on ; I want to hear 
 about your old woman.' 
 
 " ' I was standing at the shop door, about 
 eleven o'clock, looking out, when I saw the 
 strangest looking figure that you ever imagined 
 coming down the street. I must tell you how 
 she was dressed. She did look so ridiculous ! 
 She had on some kind of a black silk or satin 
 gown, made very scant, and trimmed all round 
 with some brownish-looking lace, (black, I sup- 
 pose it had been once, but it isn't now ;) then she 
 had a gray cloak, of some sort of silk material, 
 that you certainly would have said came out of
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTT. 
 
 25 
 
 the ark, if it hadn't been for a little cape, of a 
 different color, that she wore outside of it, and 
 which must have dated a generation farther back. 
 I would not undertake to describe her bonnet ; 
 only I know it was twice as big as any body's 
 else, and she had a figured lace veil thrown over 
 one side, that reached nearly to her feet. But 
 her goggles were the crowner ; such immense, 
 horrid-looking things I never saw ! She had a 
 work bag, made of black silk, with pieces of 
 cloth of all the colors in the rainbow sewed on to 
 it, zigzag ; then her pocket handkerchief was 
 
 pinned to her bag, and a great feather fan (only 
 think, at this season of the year!) that was 
 pinned on somewhere (by a string, I suppose), 
 and a bundle handkerchief and a newspaper ! O, 
 gracious ! I can't think of half the things ; but 
 they were all pinned together with great brass 
 pins, and hung in a body on her left arm, all de- 
 pending upon the strength of her bag string. 
 Her dress, though, wasn't the strangest thing 
 about her. What made it too funny was to see 
 her way of walking ; she looked quite old and in- 
 firm, and it was evident she could hardly keep 
 her footing on the ice ; and yet she walked with 
 such a smirk, such a consequential little air ! O, 
 Gertv, it's lucky you didn't see her ; you'd have 
 laughed from then till this time.' 
 
 " ' Some poor crazy crittur, wasn't she ? ' asked 
 True. 
 
 " ' O, no!" said "Willie, 'I don't think she 
 was; queer enough, to be sure, but not crazy. 
 Just as she got opposite the shop door her feet 
 slipped, and the first thing I knew, she fell flat 
 on the sidewalk. I rushed out, for I thought the 
 fall might have killed the poor little thing ; and 
 Mr. Bray, and a gentleman he was waiting upon, 
 followed me. She did appear stunned, at first ; 
 but we carried her into the shop, and she came to 
 her senses in a minute or two. Crazy, you asked 
 if she were, Uncle Tme. No, not she ! She's as 
 bright as a dollar. As soon as she opened her 
 eyes, and seemed to know what she was about, 
 she felt for her work bag, and all its appendages ; 
 counted them up, to see if the number were 
 right, and then nodded her head very satisfac- 
 torily. Mr. Bray poured out a glass of cordial, 
 
 and offered it to her. By this time she had got 
 her airs and graces back again ; so, when he rec- 
 ommended to her to swallow the cordial, she 
 retreated, with an old-fashioned courtesy, and put 
 up both hands to express her horror at the idea 
 of such a thing. The gentleman that was stand- 
 ing by smiled, and advised her to take it, telling 
 her it would do her no harm. Upon that she 
 turned round, made another courtesy to him, and 
 answered, in a little cracked voice, " Can you as- 
 sure me, sir, as a gentleman of candor and gal- 
 lantry, that it is not an exhilarating potion ? " 
 The gentleman could hardly keep from laughing; 
 but he told her it was nothing that would hurt 
 her. " Then," said she, " I will venture to sip 
 the beverage ; it has a most aromatic fragrance." 
 She seemed to like the taste, as well as the 
 smell, for she drank every drop of it ; and when 
 she had set the glass down on the counter, she 
 turned to me, and said, " Except upon this gen- 
 tleman's assurance of the harmlessness of the 
 liquid, I would not have swallowed it in your 
 presence, my young master, if it were only for 
 the example. I have set my seal to no temperance 
 pledge ; but I am abstemious because it becomes a 
 lady ; it is with me a matter of choice a mat- 
 ter of taste." She now seemed quite restored, 
 and talked of starting again on her walk ; but it 
 really was not safe for her to go alone on the ice, 
 and I rather think Mr. Bray thought so, for he 
 asked her where she was going. She told him, 
 in her roundabout way, that she was proceeding 
 to pass the day with Mistress somebody, that 
 lived in the neighborhood of the Common. I 
 touched Mr. Bray's arm, and said, in a low voice, 
 that, if he could spare me, I'd go with her. He 
 said he should not want me for an hour ; so I 
 offered her my arm, and told her I should be 
 happy to wait on her. You ought to have seen 
 her then ! If I had been a grown-up man, and 
 she a young lady, she couldn't have tossed her 
 head or giggled more. But she took my arm, 
 and we started off. I knew Mr. Bray and the 
 gentleman were laughing to see us, but I didn't 
 care ; I pitied the old lady, and I did not mean 
 she should get another tumble.' " 
 
 Young Willie was a lad so kind, 
 He wished his aid to lend, 
 
 "Whatever might be the dress or words 
 Of stranger or of friend. 
 
 A lady he one day espied, 
 
 As on the ice she fell, 
 And though so curious her attire, 
 
 So strange to hear her tell;
 
 26 
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 In language quaint, her errand forth, 
 
 Yet Willie smothered quite 
 The rising laugh, and asked to be 
 
 Her escort, " gallant knight 1 " 
 
 Then safely o'er the ice she passed, 
 
 While leaning on his arm, 
 The presence of the noble lad 
 
 Protecting her from harm. 
 
 She did not soon forget the deed, 
 
 And she was grateful, too, 
 For when poor Willie lost his friend, 
 
 His early friend and true, 
 
 She gained a place for Willie kind, 
 Where wealth he might attain, 
 
 And then his mother dear support, 
 And buy a home again. 
 
 So Willie gained a just reward, 
 
 But in his youthful heart 
 The consciousness of doing right 
 
 Could higher joy impart. 
 
 And evermore the truly good, 
 
 The gentle and the kind, 
 The bondman's and the poor man's friend, 
 
 A sweet reward shall find. 
 
 GERTY'S BEREAVEMENT. 
 
 " ' I wonder,' said Miss Peekout, as she leaned 
 both her hands on the sill of the front window, 
 and looked up and down the street, a habit in 
 which she indulged herself for about ten minutes 
 after she had washed up the breakfast things, 
 and before she trimmed the solar lamp, ' I won- 
 der who that slender girl is that walks by here 
 every morning, with that feeble-looking old man 
 leaning on her arm! 1 always see them at just 
 
 about this time, when the weather and walking 
 are good. She's a nice child, I know, and seems 
 to be very fond of the old man, probably her 
 grandfather. I notice she's careful to leave the 
 beat side of the walk for him, and she watches 
 every step he takes ;*she needs to, indeed, for he 
 totters sadly. Poor little thing ! she looks pale 
 and anxious ; I wonder if she takes all the care 
 of the old man ! ' But they are quite out of
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 27 
 
 sight, and Miss Peekout turns round to wonder 
 whether the solar lamp doesn't need a new wick. 
 
 " ' I wonder,' said old Mrs. Grumble, as she sat 
 at her window, a little farther down the street, 
 'if I should live to be old and infirm (Mrs. Grum- 
 ble was over seventy, but as yet suffered from no 
 infirmity but that of a very irritable temper}, I 
 wonder if any body would wait upon me, and take 
 care of me, as that little girl does of her grand- 
 father ! No, I'll warrant not! Who can the 
 patient little creature be ? ' 
 
 " ' There, look, Belle ! ' said one young girl to 
 another, as they walked up the shady side of the 
 street, on their way to school ; ' there's the girl 
 that we meet every day with the old man. How 
 can you say you don't think she's pretty ? I ad- 
 mire her looks ! ' 
 
 " ' You always do manage, Kitty, to admire 
 people that every body else thinks are horrid 
 looking.' 
 
 " ' Horrid looking ! ' replied Kitty, in a pro- 
 voked tone ; ' she's any thing but horrid looking ! 
 Do notice, now, Belle, when we meet them ; she 
 has the sweetest way of looking up in the old 
 man's face, and talking to him. 1 wonder what 
 is the matter with him ! Do see how his arm 
 shakes the one that's passed through hers.' 
 
 ' The two couples are now close to each other, 
 and they pass in silence. 
 
 " ' Don't you think she has an interesting 
 face ? ' said Kitty, eagerly, as soon as they were 
 out of hearing. 
 
 " ' She's got handsome eyes,' answered Belle. 
 ' I don't see any thing else that looks interesting 
 about her. I wonder if she don't hate to have to 
 walk in the street with that old grandfather ; 
 trudging so slow, with the sun shining right in 
 her face, and he leaning on her arm, and shaking 
 so he can hardly stand on his feet ! I wouldn't 
 do it for any thing.' 
 
 " ' Why, Belle ! ' exclaimed Kitty, ' how can you 
 talk so ? I'm sure I pity that old man dreadfully.' 
 
 " ' Lor',' sixid Belle, ' what's the use of pity- 
 ing ? If you are going to begin to pity, you'll 
 have to do it all the time. Look," and here 
 Belle touched her companion's elbow, ' there's 
 Willie Sullivan, father's clerk ; an't he a beauty ? 
 I want to stop and speak to him.' 
 
 " But, before she could address a word to him, 
 Willie, who was walking very fast, passed her 
 
 with a bow, and a pleasant ' Good morning, Miss 
 Isabel,' and, ere she had recovered from the sur- 
 prise and disappointment, was some rods down 
 the street. 
 
 " ' Polite ! ' muttered the pretty Isabel. 
 
 " Why, Belle ! do see,' said Kitty, who was 
 looking over her shoulder; 'he's overtaken the 
 old man and my interesting little girl. Look 
 look ! He's put the old man's other arm through, 
 his, and they are all three walking off together. 
 Isn't that quite a coincidence ? ' 
 
 " Nothing very remarkable,' replied Belle, 
 who seemed a little annoyed. ' I suppose they 
 are persons he's acquainted with. Come, mako 
 haste ; we shall be late at school.' 
 
 "Reader, do you wonder who they are, the 
 girl and the old man ? or have you already con- 
 lectured that they are no other than Gerty and 
 Trueman Flint ? True is no longer the brave, 
 strong, sturdy protector of the feeble, lonely lit- 
 tle child. The cases are quite reversed. True 
 has had a paralytic stroke. His strength is gone, 
 his power even to walk alone. He sits all day in 
 his arm chair, or on the old settle, when he is not 
 out walking with Gerty. The blow came sud- 
 denly ; struck down the robust man, and left him 
 feeble as a child. And the little stranger, the 
 orphan girl, who, in her weakness, her loneliness, 
 and her poverty, found in him a father and a 
 mother, she now is all the world to him his 
 staff, his stay, his comfort, and his hope. During 
 four or five years that he has cherished the fraU 
 blossom, she has been gaining strength for the 
 time when he should be the leaning, she the sus- 
 taining power ; and when the time came and 
 it came full soon she was ready to respond to 
 the call. With the simplicity of a child, but a 
 woman's firmness ; with the stature of a child, 
 but a woman's capacity ; the earnestness of a 
 child, but a woman's perseverance, from morn- 
 ing till night, the faithful little nurse and house- 
 keeper labors untiringly in the service of her 
 first, her best friend. Ever at his side, ever 
 attending to his wants, and yet most wonderfully 
 accomplishing many things which he never sees 
 her do, she seems, indeed, to the fond old man, 
 what he once prophesied she would become 
 God's imbodied blessing to his latter years, 
 making light his closing days, and cheering even 
 the pathway to the grave." 
 
 The summer sun was brightly glowing, 
 The summer breezes softly blowing, 
 When Gerty walked with Uncle True, 
 While hoping health to gain anew. 
 
 Full many watched the gentle maiden, 
 With basket for her dinner laden, 
 And wondered why, each pleasant day, 
 She made her purchases that way.
 
 28 
 
 UNCLE TKUE AND LITTLE GERTT. 
 
 No more her uncle could protect her, 
 But she rejoiced he yet was left her, 
 And gladly bade him on her lean, 
 Presenting picture seldom seen. 
 
 And Willie to the old man hasted, 
 Regarding time elsewhere as wasted ; 
 He passed away from maidens fair, 
 And sought a kindly deed to share. 
 
 Alas ! that with the coming morrow 
 There came for Gerty greater sorrow ; 
 The good Lamplighter passed away, 
 To enter heaven's glorious day. 
 
 But still the eye that never slumbers, 
 And e'en each hair, in kindness, numbers, 
 The eye of God, her heavenly Friend, 
 Watched over Gerty to life's end. 
 
 " That evening, when True had already retired 
 to rest, and Gerty had finished reading aloud in 
 her little Bible, as she always did at bedtime, 
 True called her to him, and asked her, as he had 
 often done of late, to repeat his favorite prayer 
 for the sick. She knelt at his bedside, and with 
 a solemn and touching earnestness, fulfilled his 
 request. 
 
 " ' Now, darlin', the prayer for the dyin' ; 
 isn't there such a one in your little book ? ' 
 
 " Gerty trembled. There was such a prayer, a 
 beautiful one ; and the thoughtful child, to whom 
 the idea of death was familiar, knew it by heart 
 but could she repeat the words ? Could she 
 command her voice ? Uncle True wished to hear 
 it ; it would be a comfort to him, and she would 
 try. Concentrating all her energy and self-com- 
 mand, she began, and, gaining strength as she 
 proceeded, went on to the end. Once or twice 
 her voice faltered, but with new effort she suc- 
 ceeded, in spite of the great bunches in her 
 throat, and her voice sounded so clear and calm 
 that Uncle True's devotional spirit was not once 
 disturbed by the thought of the girl's sufferings ; 
 for, fortunately, he could not hear how her heart 
 beat and throbbed, and threatened to burst. 
 
 " She did not rise at the conclusion of the 
 prayer she could not but remained kneeling, 
 her head buried in the bed-clothes. For a few 
 moments there was a solemn stillness in the 
 room ; then the old man laid his hand upon her 
 head. She looked up. 
 
 " ' You love Miss Emily, don't you, birdie ? ' 
 
 '"Yes, indeed.' 
 
 " ' You'll be a good child to her, when I'm 
 gone ? ' 
 
 " ' O, Uncle True,' sobbed Gerty, ' you musn't 
 leave me ! I can't live without you, dear Uncle 
 True ! ' 
 
 " ' It is God's will to take me, Gerty ; he has 
 always been good to us, and we musn't doubt 
 him now. Miss Emily can do more for you than 
 I could, and you'll be very happy with her.' 
 
 "'No, I shan't! I shan't ever-be happy 
 again in this world ! I never was happy until I 
 came to you ; and now, if you die, I wish I could 
 die too ! ' 
 
 " ' You mustn't wish that, darlin' ; you are 
 young, and must try to do good in the world, 
 and bide your time. I'm an old man, and only a 
 trouble now.' 
 
 " ' No, no, Uncle True ! ' said Gerty, ear- 
 nestly ; ' you are not a trouble, you never could 
 be a trouble. I wish fd never been so much 
 trouble to you.' 
 
 " ' So far from that, birdie, God knows you've 
 long been my heart's delight. It only pains me 
 now to think that you're spending all your time, 
 and slavin' here at home, instead of goin' to 
 school, as you used to ; but, O ! we all depend 
 on each other so first on God, and then on 
 each other. And that minds me, Gerty, of what 
 I was goin' to say. I feel as if the Lord would 
 call me soon, sooner than you think for now ;
 
 Gerty kneeling by Uncle True.
 
 30 
 
 UNCLE TRUE AND LITTLE GERTY. 
 
 and, at first, you'll cry, and be sore vexed, no 
 doubt ; but Miss Emily will take you with her, 
 and she'll tell you blessed things to comfort you ; 
 how we shall all meet again, and be happy in 
 that world where there's .no partin's ; and Wil- 
 lie'll do every thing he can to help you in your 
 sorrer ; and in time you'll be able to smile again. 
 At first, and p'raps for a long time, Gerty, you'll 
 be a care to Miss Emily, and she'll have to do a 
 deal for you in the way o' schoolin', clothin', and 
 so on ; and what I want to tell you is, that Uncle 
 True expects you to be good as can be, and do 
 just what Miss Emily says ; and, by and by, may 
 be, when you're bigger and older, you'll be able 
 to do somethin' for her. She's blind, you know, 
 and you must be eyes for her ; and she s not over 
 strong, and you must lend a helpin' hand to her 
 weakness, just as you do to mine ; and, if you're 
 good and patient, God will make your heart light 
 at last, while you're only tryin' to make other 
 folks happy ; and when you're sad and troubled, 
 (for every body is, sometimes,) then think of 
 
 old Uncle True, and how he used to say, Cheer 
 up, birdie, for I'm of the 'pinion 'twill all come 
 out right at last. There, don't feel bad about 
 it ; go to bed, darlin', and to-morrow we'll have 
 a nice walk, and Willie's goin' with us, you 
 know.' 
 
 " Gerty tried to cheer up, for True's sake, and 
 went to bed. She did not sleep for some hours ; 
 but when, at last, she did fall into a quiet slum- 
 ber, it continued unbroken until morning. 
 
 " She dreamed that morning had already come, 
 that she and Uncle True and Willie were taking 
 a pleasant walk; that Uncle True was strong 
 and well again his eye bright, his step firm, 
 and Willie and herself laughing and happy. 
 
 " And, while she dreamed the beautiful dream, 
 little thinking that her first friend and she should 
 no longer tread life's path together, the mes- 
 senger came, a gentle, noiseless messenger, 
 and, in the still night, while the world was asleep, 
 took the soul of good old True, and carried it 
 home to God ! " 
 
 If the reader would*learn more of Gerty's after life, he will find what he 
 wishes in perusing " THE LAMPLIGHTER," a most excellent book, which all 
 should read ; published by 
 
 JOHN P. JEWETT & CO., BOSTON.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES 
 
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