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 OCSB tIBRARY
 
 ANECDOTES 
 
 GIRLS. 
 
 1NTERTAINING NARRATIVES AND ANECDOT 
 ILLUSTRATIVE OF PRINCIPLES AND CHARACTER. 
 
 HARVEY NEWCOMB, 
 AOTHOB OF "HOW TO BE A LABT," "HOW TO as A MAS," m. 
 
 ELEVENTH THOUSAND. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 GOULD AND LINCOLN 
 
 NEW YORK: SHELDON AND COMPANY. 
 CINCINNATI : GEO. S. BLANCHARD. 
 1860.
 
 Kbtered according to Act of Congresi, In the yew 1MT, 
 
 Br GOULD, KENDALL AXD LIXCOI.X, 
 h the ClerVs Office of the District Court of the Distric
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Ir was my intention to illustrate the several 
 topics noticed in my two last works for Boys and 
 Girls, with entertaining and instructive anecdotes ; 
 but I found the matter increasing on my hands 
 so much, that I was obliged to abandon this 
 purpose. Those works have met with so much 
 favor, that I have been encouraged to carry out 
 this design in separate volumes. In these works, 
 I have had the same general object in view as 
 in the former, namely, the early formation of 
 character. But I have not confined myself to 
 the same topics ; and the matter of these two 
 books, unlike the former, is entirely different, no 
 anecdote being introduced into one, which is 
 contained in the other. 
 
 This book is not a mere collection of stories, 
 for the amusement of juvenile readers. Such,
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 and such only, have been selected as could be 
 made to convey some useful instruction to the 
 mind, or produce some good impression upon the 
 heart. They have been collected from a great 
 variety of sources, some new and some old ; but 
 in nearly every case entirely re-written, and such 
 reflections added as have seemed necessary, to 
 impress upon the mind of the reader the lessons 
 which they teach. It is probable that some of 
 the anecdotes may be already familiar. If so, 
 they are here presented in a new dress, and 
 made to serve a new purpose ; so that they will 
 bear another reading. It is believed, however, 
 that most of them will be new to those into 
 whose hands they may fall ; and the author hopes 
 that they may prove both entertaining and useful 
 to a Class of young people, whose happiness and 
 future usefulness he sincerely desires to promote 
 
 Grantville, Mass., Sept. 1847.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. EARLY PIETY. Advantages of a little girl's 
 experience, 9 
 
 IL FILIAL PIETT. The faithful daughter filial 
 
 piety rewarded Lady Lucy's petition, 15 
 
 HL SISTBHLT AFFECTION. The Miss Singers a 
 generous sister the praying sisters be kind 
 to your sister love to brothers a loving 
 sister, 28 
 
 IV. BENEVOLENCE. A bountiful return a lesson 
 
 from the birds an angel of mercy, 45 
 
 V LEARNING TO WORK. New music making 
 bread Mrs. Milne high notions, 51 
 
 VI. HABITS. Heedlessness be neat carelessness 
 reading in the night drinking wine put- 
 ting pins in the month dress, Dr. Johnson's 
 opinion fondness for dress eyes and no 
 eyes, 60 
 
 Vll GOVERNMENT OF THE TONGUE. The washer- 
 woman Jenny Jenkins whisperers, 84
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 VIII. FEMALE INFLUENCE. Swearing in Hebrew 
 
 the sea captain doing good, 91 
 
 IX. NOVELS AND PLATS. Dr. Johnson's opinion 
 
 of novels novels and plays folly of ro- 
 mance, 98 
 
 X. DANCING. Examples of warning a contrast 
 
 death in a ball-room, 102 
 
 XL MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS. Honesty reward 
 ed temper and teazing advantages of 
 committing to memory Scripture, Hymns. &c. 112 
 
 XIT. RELIGION. Doing good the swearer reproved 
 
 the pearl of great price Lady Huntington 
 and the gardener faith a little girl and 
 her father a little girl's application of Scrip- 
 ture cherish serious impressions danger of 
 resisting the Holy Spirit the choice, a con- 
 trast conscience prayer praying in secret 
 
 pray without ceasing death-bed scenes 
 the unprepared peace in death, 195
 
 ANECDOTES FOR GIRLS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 . EARLY PIETY. 
 
 ET no light'-hearted girl throw 
 down this book because it begins 
 th a grave subject. There is 
 'nothing in it which interferes 
 ^with any proper youthful enjoy- 
 ment. I am sorry that any one 
 should think religion tends to 
 destroy the happiness of chil- 
 dren and youth. This is not true. 
 It does, indeed, forbid all sinful in- 
 dulgence ; but at the same time it 
 removes the desire for it ; and it in- 
 troduces them to pleasures of a more 
 exalted kind. Let no one say, " I will 
 have my pleasure now, and attend to 
 religion when I am a woman." Per- 
 haps you will not live to be a woman. But, 
 if you should, you want religion now, to lay the
 
 10 FURtFY THE SPRING. 
 
 foundation of a good character. When the 
 prophet Elisha was living at Jericho, some of the 
 people came to him, and told him that the water 
 was very bad. Now, the city of Jericho was 
 supplied with water from a spring, which was 
 conducted to the city, I suppose, in an aqueduct 
 of some kind. And what did the prophet do ? 
 He did not go to the streams, which conveyed the 
 water to different parts of the city, to see if he 
 could purify them ; but he went and cast salt 
 into the spring, and the water was made good. 
 This is what you must do: cast salt into the 
 spring, that the stream of life may run pure. 
 You want your heart purified by the influence of 
 true piety, in order that your character may be 
 formed upon the true model. 
 
 Neither let any one think, that there is greater 
 difficulty in becoming a Christian in childhood, 
 than there is at a later period of life. There is 
 much less. If any one wanted a tree in front of 
 his house, would he go and dig up and transplant 
 a great tree, with a tall, heavy trunk, wide- 
 spreading branches, and great roots running deep 
 into the ground ? He might possibly do it ; but 
 it would be a work of great difficulty, and the 
 tree would not be very likely to live. He would 
 rather choose a young tree, which would be easily 
 and safely transplanted. In like manner, the
 
 AN OLD LADY'S OPINION. 11 
 
 difficulty of becoming religious increases as one 
 grows older. 
 
 A woman of ninety lay on her death-bed, who 
 had been a disciple of Christ for half a century. 
 Conversing with a friend, she said, " Tell all the 
 children that an old woman, who is just on the 
 borders of eternity, is very much grieved that she 
 did not begin to love the Saviour when she was 
 a child. Tell them youth is the tune to serve 
 the Lord." 
 
 Neither let any one get the impression, that all 
 pious children die when they are young. Most 
 of the children's memoirs that have been written 
 are necessarily accounts of those who died young. 
 But thousands of children have died whose me- 
 moirs have not been written ; and a great many 
 die without giving any evidence of piety, which 
 is a much greater cause of alarm to you, than 
 that some pious children die. But children are 
 no more likely to die because they are pious. 
 Many, who have become pious in childhood, have 
 lived to a very great age. Phebe Bartlett, of 
 whose early piety a most delightful account was 
 given by President Edwards, lived to be seventy- 
 four years of age. Indeed, the tendency of true 
 piety is to promote health and long life.
 
 12 REMEMBER THE TEXT. 
 
 A Little Girl's Religious Experience. 
 
 The following sweet and simple expression of 
 early piety was presented to the church in Strat- 
 ham, N. H. nearly forty years ago, by a little 
 girl about eleven years of age, who lived many 
 years to adorn the profession which she then 
 made, by an exemplary piety and Christian con- 
 versation. 
 
 " My dear and honored parents had often told 
 me, when I was preparing to go to meeting, 
 that I ought to attend to the religious exercises, 
 and at least to remember the text. On the 
 Lord's day, last summer, as I was going to meet- 
 ing, I recollected my mother's advice, and had a 
 great desire, and some strong resolutions, to at- 
 tend, and at least to carry the text home with 
 me ; but I think I shall never forget it. These 
 solemn words, " How shall we escape, if we 
 neglect so great salvation ? " seem to be imprinted 
 on my heart, and will not, I trust, be soon blotted 
 out of my memory. I think I felt the truth of 
 every word that was said in the sermon. I am 
 sure I saw that the salvation of Jesus is a great 
 salvation, and that it was very wicked to neglect 
 it, and as dangerous as it was wicked. And I 
 was very sensible, that, though I was a young 
 sinner, I needed that great salvation, as really as
 
 CONVICTION. 13 
 
 the oldest sinner in the meeting-house. I was 
 very sure I had wickedly neglected it. Return- 
 ing home, I could not help thinking of the text 
 and sermon. Nor could I help reproaching my- 
 self for my wicked neglect of Jesus and his great 
 salvation. 
 
 " After this, I attended lectures whenever I 
 could, and thought all the awful and solemn 
 warnings of the word of God were directed to 
 me, as really as if I had been named. I heard 
 those alarming words, " Depart, ye cursed, into 
 everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his 
 angels." And this awful sentence I believed 
 would be directed against all who lived in sin, 
 and died destitute of love to God and the Lord 
 Jesus Christ. I found I had no love to God, no 
 love to Jesus ; and was certain, that if I lived and 
 died so, God would say to me, " Depart." The 
 thought distressed me. I could not bear to think 
 of being banished from God. I wanted to know 
 and love God. I asked for mercy. My heart, 
 I saw, was wicked, and must be changed, or God 
 could not love me. I found I could not change 
 it myself, and I tried to pray that God would re- 
 new my hard and sinful heart. I saw, too, that 
 I could not merit his favor, that my prayers 
 could not help me, nor oblige the Lord to save 
 me. I found myself altogether helpless, and 
 
 lying at the mercy of God. And, for ever blessed 
 2
 
 14 CHEIST PRECIOUS. 
 
 be his name, he led me to trust in his mercy, in 
 the Lord Jesus Christ. I had, I think, some 
 clear views of Jesus, as the Saviour, who alone 
 can save a sinner so unworthy as I saw myself 
 to be. I think I enjoy a measure of the peace 
 and comfort which flow from a reliance on his 
 glorious grace alone. And, though I have had 
 many doubts and fears, I have also many sweet 
 and refreshing seasons. 
 
 " And now, Jesus Christ is so precious to my 
 soul, his religion is so refreshing to my mind, 
 and his ordinances are so lovely in my view, that 
 I wish and long to enjoy access to them. I can- 
 not but anxiously desire to give myself up to 
 God, and to his church, in the bonds of his own 
 everlasting covenant. And now, while I ask 
 your charity, I also beg your prayers to God, 
 that he would own me as a child of his, in that 
 day when he will make up his jewels." 
 
 You will perceive, from this narrative, that re- 
 ligion is not gloomy and repulsive. It fits the 
 mind for true enjoyment. It gives a person the 
 only true ground of cheerfulness, which is, a 
 mind at peace with God. When embraced in 
 childhood, it lays the foundation of character 
 upon a solid basis. It gives it stability, by fixing 
 in the heart true principles of action, and giving 
 a love for what is right, and a dislike for what is 
 wrong.
 
 15 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 FILIAL PIETY. 
 
 Y readers will perceive why I 
 have chosen this for my next 
 subject ; because piety towards 
 parents is the next thing to 
 piety towards God. Indeed, it 
 is one of its first fruits. And I 
 9 can hardly think it possible that 
 a child can be pious towards 
 God, and irreverent and disobedient 
 towards her parents ; for parents 
 stand, in an important sense, to chil- 
 dren, in the place of God. He has 
 committed you to their care, to bring 
 - up for him. The following examples 
 furnish some forcible illustrations of 
 the subject of filial piety. 
 
 The Faithful Daughter. 
 
 During the French Revolution, M. Delleglaie, 
 who had been confined in prison at Lyons, was
 
 16 DUTIFUL DAUGHTERS. 
 
 ordered to Paris. His daughter begged to be 
 allowed to ride with him, but was refused. 
 Though of very delicate health, she followed him 
 on foot, a distance of more than three hundred 
 miles, preparing him food, and providing cover- 
 ing for him, in the dungeons where he was con- 
 fined at night. At Paris, for three months, she 
 presented herself before the authorities, in his 
 behalf, till, at length, she prevailed, and procured 
 his release. She conducted him back to Lyons. 
 But the effort was too much for her ; and having 
 gained her object, and saved the life of her father, 
 she lost her own. 
 
 Filial Piety Rewarded. 
 
 A female servant in London, in her early life, 
 spent all her wages hi the support of her aged 
 and distressed parents. She was afterwards 
 taken ill ; and the Rev. Thomas Scott, tp whose 
 congregation she belonged, with the aid of kind 
 friends, supported her for many years, by which 
 she was saved from going to the workhouse. 
 Thus was she rewarded for her dutiful conduct 
 towards her parents.
 
 LADY LUCY'S PETITION. 17 
 
 Lady Lucy's Petition. 
 
 The following touching narrative of a histori- 
 cal fact contains such a beautiful illustration of 
 filial piety as to need no comment. When I 
 commenced this book, one of my children, on 
 learning my intention, inquired, " Father, are 
 you going to make comments on your anecdotes, 
 or have them to tell their own story ?" In regard 
 to this one, I shall leave it to tell its own story. 
 
 James II., King of England, was a great 
 tyrant. He disregarded the constitution and 
 laws of "England, and undertook to exercise ar- 
 bitrary and absolute power. Among other ty- 
 rannical and oppressive measures, he undertook 
 to restore Popery, as the established religion. 
 The people of England could not bear these 
 things ; and they entered into a negotiation with 
 William, Prince of Orange, who had married 
 the king's daughter Mary, to come over from 
 Holland with an army, when they all joined him, 
 and King James was obliged to leave the coun- 
 try ; after which, the Parliament raised William 
 and Mary to the throne. James and his friends 
 made several ineffectual attempts to recover his 
 crown. In one of these attempts, Lord Preston 
 was engaged ; and, being taken, was condemned 
 2*
 
 18 LADY LUCY'S PETITION. 
 
 to die. His little daughter, Lucy, was taken by 
 her nurse, Amy Gradwell, to visit her father, in 
 the Tower, before his execution. As the coach 
 drove up before the prison, Lady Lucy raised 
 her eyes fearfully to the Tower, and exclaimed, 
 " And is my dear papa shut up in this dismal 
 place, to which you are taking me, nurse?" 
 When they alighted, and she saw the soldiers on 
 guard, and the sentinels before the prison, she 
 trembled and hid her face in Amy's cloak. " Yes, 
 my dear child," replied her nurse, "my lord, 
 your father, is indeed within these sad walls. 
 You are now going to visit him. Are you afraid 
 to enter this place, my dear ? " " No," replied 
 Lady Lucy, resolutely, " I am not afraid of going 
 to any place where my dear papa is." Yet she 
 clung closer to the arm of her attendant, as she 
 entered the gloomy precincts of the building, and 
 her little heart fluttered fearfully, as she glanced 
 around her; and she whispered to her nurse, 
 " Was it not here that the two young princes, 
 Edward V., and his brother Richard, Duke of 
 York, were murdered by their cruel uncle, 
 Richard, Duke of Gloucester?" 
 
 " Yes, my love, it was ; but do not be alarmed 
 on that account, for no one will harm you," said 
 An- y, in an encouraging tone. " And wa-3 not 
 good Henry VI. murdered, also, by the same
 
 LADT LUCY'S PETITION. 19 
 
 wicked Richard ? " continued the little girl, whose 
 imagination had heen filled with the deeds of 
 blood that had been perpetrated in this fatally 
 celebrated place ; many of which had been re- 
 lated to her by Bridget, the housekeeper, since 
 her father had been imprisoned in the Tower on 
 the charge of high treason. 
 
 " But do you think they will murder papa, 
 nurse ? " " Hush ! hush ! dear child, you must 
 not talk these things here," said Amy, " or they 
 will shut us both up in a room with bolts and 
 bars, instead of admitting us to see my lord, your 
 father." 
 
 Lady Lucy pressed closer to her nurse's side, 
 and was silent, till they were ushered into the 
 room where her father was confined ; when, for- 
 getting every thing else in the joy of seeing him 
 again, she sprang into his arms, and almost 
 stifled him with her kisses. Lord Preston was 
 greatly affected at the sight of his little daughter ; 
 and, overcome by her passionate expressions 
 of fondness ; his own anguish at the thought of 
 being separated from her by death ; and the idea 
 of leaving her an orphan at the tender age of 
 nine years ; he clasped her to his bosom, and be- 
 dewed her face with his tears. " Why do you 
 cry, dear papa ? " asked Lucy, who was herself 
 weeping at the sight of his distress. " And why
 
 20 LADY LUCY'S PETITION. 
 
 do you not leave this gloomy place, and come 
 home to your own hall again ? " 
 
 " Attend to me, Lucy," said her father, " and 
 I will tell you the cause of my grief: I shall 
 never come home again, for I have been con- 
 demned to die for high treason ; and I shall not 
 leave this place, till they bring me forth to Tower 
 Hill, -where they will cut off my head with a 
 sharp axe, and set it up afterwards over Temple 
 Bar or London Bridge." 
 
 At this terrible intelligence, Lucy screamed 
 aloud, and hid her face in her father's bosom, 
 which she wet with her tears. " Be composed, 
 my dear child," said her father, " for I have much 
 to say to you ; and we may never meet again in 
 this world." " No, no, dear papa ! they shall not 
 kill you ; for I will cling so fast about your neck, 
 that they cannot cut your head off; and I will 
 tell them all how good and kind you are ; and 
 then they will not want to kill you." " My dear- 
 est love, all this would be of no use," said her 
 father. " I have offended against the law, by 
 trying to have my old master, King James, 
 restored to the throne. Lucy, do you not re- 
 member that I once took you to Whitehall, to 
 see King James, and how kindly he spoke to 
 you ? " 
 
 0, yes, papa ! and I recollect he Iai4 his hand
 
 LUCY AND HER FATHER. 21 
 
 on my head, and said I was like what his 
 daughter, the Princess of Orange, was at my 
 age ; " replied Lucy, with great animation. 
 
 " Well, my child, very soon after you saw 
 King James at Whitehall, the Prince of Orange, 
 who had married his daughter, came over to 
 England, and drove King James out of his 
 palace and kingdom ; and the people made him 
 and the Princess of Orange king and queen in 
 his stead." 
 
 " But was it not very wicked of the Princess 
 to take her father's kingdom away from him ? 
 J am very sorry King James thought me like 
 her," said Lucy earnestly. 
 
 " Hush, hush, my love ! You must not speak 
 so of the Queen. Perhaps she thought she was 
 doing right to deprive her father of his kingdom, 
 because he had embraced the Catholic religion ; 
 and it is against the law for a king of England 
 to be a Catholic. Yet, I confess, I did not think 
 she would consent to sign the death-warrant of 
 so many of her father's old servants, only on ac- 
 count of their faithful attachment to him," said 
 he, with a sigh. 
 
 " I have heard that the Princess of Orange is 
 of a merciful disposition," said old Amy Grad- 
 well, " and perhaps she might be induced to 
 spare your life, my lord, if your pardon were
 
 
 22 LUCY'S COURAGE. 
 
 very earnestly entreated of her, by some of your 
 friends." 
 
 " Alas ! my good Amy, no one will undertake 
 the perilous office of pleading for a traitor, lest hb 
 should be suspected of favoring King James." 
 
 " Dear papa, let me go to the Queen, and beg 
 your pardon," cried Lucy, with a crimsoned cheek 
 and sparkling eye. " I will so beg and pray her 
 to spare your life, dear father, that she will not 
 have the heart to deny me." 
 
 " Dear simple child ! What could you say 
 to the Queen that would be of any avail ? " 
 
 " God would teach me what to say," replied 
 Lucy. Her father clasped her to his bosom. 
 " But," said he, " thou wouldst be afraid of 
 speaking to the Queen, even should you be ad- 
 mitted to her presence, my child." 
 
 " Why should I be afraid of speaking to her, 
 papa? Should she be angry with me, and 
 answer me harshly, I shall be thinking too much 
 of you to care about it ; and if she should send 
 me to the Tower, and cut off my head, God will 
 take care of my immortal soul." 
 
 " You are right, my child, to fear God, and 
 have no other fear. He, perhaps, has put it into 
 thy little heart to plead for thy father's life; 
 which if it be his pleasure to grant, I shall in- 
 deed feel it a happiness, that my child should be
 
 LUCY'S RESOLUTION. 23 
 
 the instrument of my deliverance. If it should 
 be otherwise, God's will be done. He will not 
 forsake my good and dutiful little one, when I 
 am laid low in the dust." 
 
 " But how will my lady Lucy gain admittance 
 to the Queen's presence ? " asked old Amy, who 
 had been a weeping spectator of this interesting 
 scene. 
 
 " I will write a letter to my friend, the Lady 
 Clarendon, requesting her to accomplish the 
 matter," said Lord Preston. He then wrote a 
 few hasty lines, which he gave to his daughter, 
 telling her that she was to go to the palace, the 
 next day, properly attended, and give the letter 
 to Lady Clarendon, who was there waiting upon 
 the Queen. He then kissed his child tenderly, 
 and bade her farewell. Though Lucy wept as 
 she parted from her father, yet she left the Tower 
 with a far more quiet mind than she had entered 
 it; for she had formed her resolution, and her 
 young heart was full of hope. The next morn- 
 ing, the little Lady Lucy was up before the lark, 
 dressed in a suit of deep mourning ; and as she 
 passed through the hall, leaning on her nurse's 
 arm, and attended by her father's confidential 
 secretary and the old butler, all the servants 
 shed tears, and prayed that God would bless and 
 prosper her. Lady Lucy was introduced to
 
 24 LUCY AND THE COUNTESS. 
 
 Lady Clarendon's apartments before she had left 
 her bed ; and having told her artless story with 
 great earnestness, presented her father's letter. 
 
 Lady Clarendon was very kind to little Lucy, 
 but told her plainly that she did not dare to ask 
 her father's life, because her husband was already 
 suspected of holding secret correspondence with 
 his brother-in-law, King James. " 0," said Lucy, 
 " if I could only see the Queen myself, I would 
 not wish any one to speak for me. I would plead 
 so earnestly, that she could not refuse me, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " Poor child ! What could you say to the 
 Queen?" 
 
 " God will direct me what to say," replied 
 Lucy. 
 
 " Well, my love, you shall have the opportu- 
 nity ; but much I fear your little heart will fail, 
 when you see the Queen face to face." ^ ?; 
 
 The Countess hastened to rise and dress, and 
 then conducted Lucy into the palace gallery, 
 where the Queen usually passed an hour in walk- 
 ing, early in the morning. While they were 
 waiting for the Queen, Lady Clarendon tried to 
 amuse little Lucy, by showing her the pictures 
 which hung on the wall. " I know that gentle- 
 man well," said Lucy, pointing to a fulWength 
 portrait of James II. " That is a portrait of
 
 LUCY AND THE QUEEN. 25 
 
 Queen Mary's father," said the Countess. " But 
 hark ! here comes the Queen with her ladies. 
 Now, Lucy, is the time. I will step into the 
 recess, yonder; but you must remain alone, 
 standing where you are. When the Queen ap- 
 proaches, kneel and present your father's petition. 
 She who walks before the other ladies is the 
 Queen. Be of good courage." 
 
 Lady Clarendon then made a hasty retreat. 
 Lucy's heart beat violently, when she found her- 
 self alone ; but her resolution did not fail her. 
 She stood with folded hands, pale but composed, 
 and motionless as a statue, awaiting the Queen's 
 approach ; and when the Queen came near, she 
 advanced a step forward, dropped on her knees, 
 and presented the petition. 
 
 The extreme beauty of the child, her deep 
 mourning, the touching sadness of her look and 
 manner, and, above all, the streaming tears that 
 bedewed her cheek, excited the Queen's atten- 
 tion and interest. She paused, spoke kindly to 
 her, and took the offered paper ; but when she 
 saw the name of Lord Preston, her color rose, 
 she frowned, cast the petition frum her, and 
 would have passed on; but Lucy, who had 
 watched her countenance with an anxiety which 
 almost amounted to agony, losing all awe for 
 royalty in her fears for her father, put forth her 
 3
 
 26 LUCY AND THE QUEEN. 
 
 hand, and, grasping the Queen's robe, cried in an 
 imploring tone, " Spare my father ! my dear, 
 dear father, royal lady ! " 
 
 Lucy had meant to say many persuasive 
 things ; but, in her sore distress, she forgot them 
 all, and could only repeat, " Save my father, 
 gracious Queen!" till her feelings choked her 
 voice, and throwing her arms round the Queen's 
 knees, she leaned her head against her person, 
 and sobbed aloud. Queen Mary pitied the dis- 
 tress of her young petitioner ; but she considered 
 the death of Lord Preston a measure of political 
 necessity, because he was a ringleader in a con- 
 spiracy to overturn the government, and bring 
 back King James, her father, to the throne. She 
 therefore told Lucy mildly, but firmly, that she 
 could not grant her request. 
 
 " But he is good and kind to every one," said 
 Lucy, raising her blue eyes, which were swiro- 
 ing in tears, to the face of the Queen. " He 
 may be so to you, child," returned the Queen; 
 " but he has broken the laws of his country, and 
 therefore he must die." 
 
 " But you can pardon him," replied Lucy, 
 and I have learned that God has said, ' Blessed 
 are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.' " 
 
 " It does not become a little child like you to 
 attempt to instruct me," replied the Queen
 
 LUCY PREVAILS. 27 
 
 gravely ; " I am acquainted with my duty. It is 
 my place to administer justice impartially ; axd. 
 it is not possible for me to pardon your father, 
 however painful it may be to deny so dutiful a 
 child." 
 
 Lucy did not reply ; she only raised her eyes 
 with an appealing look to the Queen, and then 
 turned them expressively on the portrait of King 
 James. This excited the Queen's curiosity, and 
 she inquired of Lucy why she gazed so intently 
 upon that picture. " I was thinking, " replied 
 Lucy, " how very strange, it is, that you should 
 wish to kill my father, only because he loved 
 yours so faithfully." 
 
 This wise and artless reproof from so young a 
 child went to the very heart of the Queen. She 
 raised her eyes to that once dear and honored 
 parent who had ever been a tender father to her ; 
 and when she thought of him as an exile in a 
 foreign land, relying upon the bounty of strangers 
 for his daily bread, while she was invested with 
 the royalty of which he had been deprived, the 
 contrast between herself and the pious and du- 
 tiful child before her affected her heart, and 
 she burst into tears. " Rise, dear child," said 
 she, " I cannot make thee an orphan. Thou hast 
 prevailed. Thy father shall not die. Thy filial 
 love has saved him ! "
 
 28 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 SISTERLY AFFECTION. 
 
 EXT to the duty of children 
 to their parents is their duty 
 to their brothers and sisters, 
 of the same family. Affection 
 lies at the foundation of the 
 social relations, and mutual 
 love is the reigning spirit in 
 every well-regulated family. 
 But love may exist, and yet some- 
 times give way to a naughty tem- 
 per, the evils of which cannot, for 
 long time, be remedied. And, if you 
 would cherish love, you must not do 
 violence to it, by the indulgence of con- 
 trary feelings and dispositions. Love 
 is a tender plant, which will not bear the 
 east wind. The following anecdotes illustrate 
 both sides of this subject. 
 
 The Miss Singers. 
 The following account was given by Miss
 
 THE MISS SINGERS. 29 
 
 Philomela Singer (afterwards Mrs. Howe) to 
 Rev. Dr. Colman, when he was in England : 
 
 " My sister was a year or two younger than 
 I ; and her affection, as well as wit, was quicker. 
 I seemed, however, myself to think more thor- 
 oughly. She desired ever to be with me, and I 
 wanted to be more by myself. We often retired, 
 by consent, each to her chamber, to compose, and 
 then meet to compare what we had written. She 
 always exceeded me in the number of lines ; but 
 mine, I think, were more correct. She exceeded 
 me much in the fondness of love, but never in 
 the truth and strength of it. She was jealous 
 of me, that my love was not equal to hers, and 
 invented a hundred ways to try me ; many of 
 which I thought childish and weak, and therefore 
 sometimes rather reproved than complied with 
 them. This gave her grief, and I found her in 
 tears, which I could not put a stop to, but by the 
 tenderest words and embraces. 
 
 " We lived years together, as happy as children 
 could be in each other. We lived religiously 
 together. We took care of one another's souls, 
 and had our constant hours of retirement and 
 devotion. We were daily speaking to each other 
 of God ; his being, perfections, and work ; the 
 wonders of creation and providence, the myste- 
 ries of redemption and grace. My father, in his 
 3*
 
 30 A TOUCHING SCENE. 
 
 widowhood, took great delight in us, and cherish- 
 ed our love to God and one another ; but, like 
 good Jacob, was fondest of the youngest, admiring 
 all she said and did ; and in her death he was to 
 be tried. But it was / that was taken sick, to a 
 very dangerous degree. When my physicians 
 were giving me over, my sister came to me, 
 drowned in tears, and, earnestly kissing me, be- 
 sought me to tell her whether I was, through 
 grace, prepared to die ; whether my interest in 
 Christ and title to heaven were comfortable and 
 clear to me. For she was afraid I should die, 
 and she could not part with me, only to go to 
 Christ, which was far better. I earnestly looked 
 upon her, and said, ' Why ! sister, do you think 
 me dangerous ? I must confess to you, my dis- 
 tress would be great, if I thought my dying hour 
 were now coming on ; for I have not that full as- 
 surance of my interest in Christ, which I have 
 always begged of God I might have, before he 
 should call me hence.' 
 
 " No sooner had she heard me say this, than 
 she fell, as in agony, on her knees, by my bed, 
 and in a manner inexpressible for fervor and hu- 
 mility, she begged of God, that, if her father must 
 have the grief of burying one of his children, it 
 might be herself; for through his free grace, and 
 to the glory of it, she could humbly profess before
 
 A STRANGE EVENT. 31 
 
 him, her assured hope of her interest in his ever- 
 lasting mercy, through Jesus Christ : wherefore 
 she"' could gladly and joyfully surrender herself 
 to die, if it might please God to grant her sister 
 further space wherein to make her calling and 
 election sure. Having prayed thus, in a trans- 
 port which was surprising and astonishing to me, 
 she kissed me, and left the room, without giving 
 me time or power to answer a word. And, what 
 is almost incredible to relate, from that moment 
 I grew better, and recovered ; but she took to her 
 bed, and died within a few days. Conceive, if 
 you can, how I was astonished by this event of 
 Providence, and overwhelmed with sorrow ; and 
 my father with me. The load of grief upon me 
 confined me to my chamber for more than six 
 weeks. My chief work was to consider the mind 
 of God, in this his mercy to me ; that I might 
 make it evident to myself, that, indeed, in love to 
 my soul, he had delivered me from the pit of de- 
 struction. We durst not be inconsolable, under a 
 bereavement so circumstanced ; yet my mourning 
 is always returning, with the remembrance of a 
 love stronger than death, and bright like that of 
 the seraphim, those flames of love and devotion." 
 The death of the younger sister might, per- 
 haps, be accounted for on natural principles, by 
 the influence of a strong belief that her prayer
 
 32 DISINTERESTED AFFECTION. 
 
 would be answered, upon a lively imagination, 
 and a nervous temperament. But the recovery 
 of the other could hardly be so accounted for. * It 
 is the more reasonable to regard it as a direct 
 answer to prayer ; which is agreeable to Scrip- 
 ture, for the feelings which the younger sister 
 manifested were such as God approves. It was 
 Christ-like. " Hereby perceive we the love of 
 God, because he laid down his life for us ; and 
 we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren" 
 It was disinterested love ; and who can help ad- 
 miring its strength and ardor ? 
 
 This example of sisterly affection is worthy of 
 being followed ; all except the jealousy manifested 
 by the younger sister, lest the elder's love should 
 not equal her own. Their example in helping 
 each other on their way to heaven, and in con- 
 versing on heavenly tilings, is worthy the imita- 
 tion of all good sisters. 
 
 A Generous Sister. 9 
 
 When Rev. Mr. Knibb, the missionary, was 
 teaching a school in Jamaica, a little boy had 
 been guilty of profaneness ; and Mr. Knibb was 
 going to shut him up for some hours alone, after 
 school. But the little boy's sister came to him,
 
 PRAYING SISTERS 33 
 
 and begged to be shut up instead of her brother. 
 To try her affection, he consented ; and she cheer 
 fully took the boy's place, while he was dismissed. 
 But the teacher, having satisfied himself of her 
 sincerity, dismissed her ; when she said, " School- 
 massa, me know it bad for curse ; and if my 
 broder eber do it 'gin, me bring him you for 
 punish." On their way home, the little boy 
 swore again ; and she immediately brought him 
 back to be shut up. 
 
 The Praying Sisters. 
 
 Two brothers left their mother and sisters, and 
 went to a distant state. There they embraced 
 some fatal religious errors, which were like to 
 prove their ruin. They had two pious sisters, 
 who no sooner heard of it, than they agreed with 
 each other to spend half an hour every Saturday 
 evening at sunset, separately, in prayer for their 
 brothers. The two brothers were awakened, 
 and hopefully converted to God. While this 
 incident furnishes a beautiful example of sisterly 
 affection, it likewise affords encouragement to 
 pray for our friends, in the most desperate cir- 
 cumstances. God is a hearer of prayer.
 
 34 UNKINDNESS. 
 
 EFFECTS OF UNKINDNESS. 
 
 The following story is taken from the " Re- 
 ligious Magazine," a work which was several 
 years ago published in the city of Boston. It is 
 well told, and true to the life ; so that, contrary to 
 my usual practice, I have inserted it entire, with- 
 out writing it over. Do any of my gentle readers 
 ever get into such an angry, cross, unkind mood 
 as that exhibited by Clara ? If so, I think they 
 cannot read this affecting story, without resolving 
 never again to indulge such a temper. 
 
 Be Kind to your Sister. 
 
 One morning, there was a little girl sitting on 
 the door-steps of a pleasant cottage near the 
 Common. She was thin and pale. Her head 
 was resting upon her slender hand. There was 
 a touching sadness in her sweet face, which the 
 dull, heavy expression about her jet-black eyes 
 did not destroy. 
 
 Her name was Helen. For several weeks she 
 *had seemed to be drooping, without any particular 
 disease, inconstant in her attendance at school, 
 and losing gradually her interest in all her former 
 employments. Helen had one sister, Clara, a 
 little older than herself, and several brothers.
 
 UNKINDNESS. 85 
 
 While she was most indisposed, they had express- 
 ed a great deal of sympathy, and tried to amuse 
 her, and had willingly given up their own enjoy- 
 ments to promote hers. But children will too 
 often be selfish ; and when Helen, for some days, 
 appeared better, and was able to run about and 
 amuse herself, they would forget how peculiarly 
 sensitive she had become ; and the cross words 
 which they occasionally spoke, and the neglect 
 with which they sometimes treated her, wounded 
 her feelings, and caused her to shed many bitter 
 tears as she lay awake on her little cot at night. 
 
 This day she seemed better ; and it was some- 
 thing her sister had said to her just before, which 
 gave that expression of sadness to her face, as 
 she sat at the door of the cottage. Clara soon 
 came to her again. 
 
 " Helen, mother says you must go to school to- 
 day ; so get up, come along and get ready, and 
 not be moping there any longer." 
 
 " Did ma say so ? " said Helen. 
 
 " Yes, she did," replied Clara. " You are well 
 enough, I know, for you always say you are sick 
 at school-time. Get your bonnet, for I shan't 
 wait." 
 
 Helen got up slowly, and, wiping with her 
 apron the tear which had started in her eye, made 
 preparations to obey her mother's command.
 
 36 SELFISHNESS. 
 
 Now Clara had a very irritable disposition. 
 She could not bear to have Helen receive any 
 more attention or sympathy than herself; and 
 unless she were really so sick as to excite her 
 fears, she never would allow her to be sick at all. 
 She was determined not to go to school alone this 
 morning, and had persuaded her mother to make 
 her sister go with her. 
 
 In a few moments they were both ready ; but 
 now a difficulty presented itself. The distance 
 to school was so great that they seldom returned 
 atf noon. Their dinner had been packed for them 
 in a large basket, Which stood in the entry. 
 Upon whom, now, should the task of carrying 
 this devolve ? 
 
 " Helen," said Clara, " I 've carried the basket 
 every day for a week ; it is your turn now." 
 
 " But it is twice as heavy now," said Helen. 
 I can but just lift it." 
 
 " Well, I don't care," replied Clara. "I have 
 got my geography and atlas to carry ; so take it 
 up, and come along, Miss Fudge. / shan't 
 touch it." 
 
 Helen took up the basket, without saying 
 another word, though it required all her little 
 strength, and walked slowly behind her sister. 
 She tried hard to keep from crying ; but the tears 
 would come as fast as she wiped them off. They
 
 ILL-HUilOK. 37 
 
 walked on thus in silence for about a quarter of 
 an hour. Clara felt too much ill humor to take 
 the least notice of her sister. She knew she had 
 done wrong, and felt uneasy, but was yet too 
 proud to give up, and was determined to " hold 
 out ;" excusing herself by thinking, " Well, Helen 
 is always saying she is sick, and making a greal 
 fuss. It is just good enough for her." When 
 she had reached the half-way stone, she had half 
 a mind not to let her rest there, as usual ; but the 
 habit was too strong to be easily broken, and she 
 sat down sullenly to wait for Helen to come up. 
 
 This was a spot which few could have passed 
 unnoticed. The broad, flat stone was shaded by 
 a beautiful weeping-willow, whose branches hung 
 so low, that even little Maria could reach them 
 by standing on tiptoe ; and around the trunk 
 of this tree ran a little brook, which came up just 
 to this rustic seat, and then turned off into the 
 next meadow. It would seem as if the beauty 
 of this place must have charmed away the evil 
 spirit which was raging in Clara's breast ; but 
 no ! The cool shade brought no refreshment to 
 those evil passions, and the little ripples which 
 sparkled in the sunbeam did not, for one moment, 
 divert her attention from her own cross feelings. 
 As I said before, she sat sullenly, till Helen came 
 up, and then began to scold her for being so slow. 
 4
 
 38 ANGER. 
 
 "Why don't you come along faster, Helen? 
 You will be late to school, and I don't care if you 
 are : you deserve a good scolding, for acting so." 
 
 " Why, Clara, I am very tired, my head does 
 ache, and this basket is very heavy. I do think 
 you ought to carry it the rest of the way." 
 
 *' Do give it to me, then," said Clara ; and 
 snatched it from her with such violence, that the 
 cover came off. The apples rolled out and fell 
 into the water, the gingerbread followed, and the 
 pie rolled into the dirt. It has been truly said, 
 " Anger is a short madness ;" for how little reason 
 have those who indulge in it ! Helen was not to 
 blame for the accident, but Clara did not stop to 
 think of this. Vexed at having thus lost her 
 dinner, she turned and gave her little sister a 
 push, and then walked on as rapidly as possible. 
 Oh ! could she have foreseen the consequences of 
 this rash act, could she have known the bitter 
 anguish which it would afterwards cause her, 
 worlds would not have tempted her to do it ; but 
 Clara was angry. Helen was seated just on the 
 edge of the stone, and she fell into the water. It 
 was not deep. She had waded there many a 
 day with her shoes and stockings off, and she 
 easily got out again ; but it frightened her very 
 much, and took away all her strength. She could 
 not even call to her sister, or cry. A strange
 
 BITTER REGRET. 39 
 
 feeling came over her, such as slie had never 
 had before. She laid her head on the stone, 
 closed her eyes, and thought she was going to 
 die ; and she wished her mother was there. Then 
 she seemed to sleep for a few moments; but 
 by and bye she felt better, and getting up she 
 took her empty basket, and walked on as fas't as 
 as she was able towards school. 
 
 It was nearly half done when she arrived there 
 and, as she entered the room, all noticed her pale 
 face and wet dress. She took her seat, and, 
 placing her book before her, leaned her aching 
 head upon her hand, and attempted to study, but 
 in vain. She could not fix her attention at all. 
 The strange feeling began to come over her once 
 more ; the letters all mingled together ; the 
 room grew dark ; the shrill voice of the little child 
 screaming its A B C in front of her desk, grew 
 fainter and fainter; her head sunk upon her 
 book, and she fell to the floor. 
 
 Fainting was so unusual in this school, that all 
 was instantly confusion, and it was some minutes 
 before the teacher could restore order. Helen 
 was brought to the air; two of her companions 
 were despatched for water ; and none were allowed 
 to remain near excepting Clara, who stood by, 
 trembling from head to foot, and almost as white 
 as the insensible object before her. Oh ! what a
 
 40 RESOLUTIONS. 
 
 moment of anguish was this, deep, bitter an- 
 guish ! Her anger melted away at once, and she 
 would almost have sacrificed her own life to have 
 recalled the events of the morning. That was 
 impossible. The future, however, was still before 
 her ; and she determined never again to indulge 
 her temper, or be unkind to any one. If Helen 
 only recovered, the future would be spent in 
 atoning for her past unkindness. It seemed, for 
 a short time, indeed, as if she would be called 
 upon to fulfil these promises. Helen gradually 
 grew better, and in about an hour was apparently 
 as well as usual. It was judged best, however, 
 for her to return home ; and a farmer, who hap- 
 pened to pass in a new gig, very kindly offered 
 to take her. 
 
 Clara could not play with the girls as usual, 
 she could not study. Her heart was full, and 
 she was very impatient to be once more by her 
 sister's side. 
 
 O how eagerly she watched the sun in his slow 
 progress round the school-house ! and when at last 
 he threw his slanting beams through the west 
 window, she was the first to obey the joyful sig- 
 nal ; and books, papers, pen and ink, instantly 
 disappeared from her desk. 
 
 Clara did not linger on her way home. She 
 even passed the half-way stone with no other
 
 CLARA'S PUNISHMENT. 41 
 
 notice than a deep sigh. She hurried to her 
 sister's bed-side, impatient to show her the cu- 
 riosities she had collected, and to make up, by 
 every little attention, for her unkindness. Helen 
 was asleep. Her face was no longer pale, but 
 flushed with a burning fever. Her little hands 
 were hot ; and, as she tossed restlessly about on her 
 pillow, she would mutter to herself, sometimes 
 calling on her sister, to "stop, stop," and then 
 again begging her not to throw her to the fishes. 
 
 Clara watched long in agony, for her to awake. 
 This she did at last ; but it brought no relief tc 
 the distressed sister and friends. She did not 
 know them, and continued to talk incoherently 
 about the events of the morning. It was too 
 much for Clara to bear. She retired to her own 
 little room and lonely bed, and wept till she could 
 weep no more. 
 
 By the first dawn of light she was at her sis- 
 ter's bedside ; but there was no alteration. For 
 three days Helen continued in this state. I 
 would not, if I could, describe the agony of Clara 
 a= she heard herself thus called upon and deserv- 
 edly reproached by the dear sufferer. Her pun- 
 ishment was, indeed, greater than she could bear. 
 At the close of the third day, Helen gave signs 
 of returning consciousness, inquired if the cold 
 water which she drank would injure her, 
 4* 
 
 *
 
 42 HELEN'S. DEATH. 
 
 recognized her mother, and anxiously called for 
 Clara. She had just stepped out, but was im- 
 mediately told of this. Oh ! how joyful was the 
 summons ! She hastened to her sister, who, as 
 she approached, looked up and smiled. The 
 feverish flush from her cheek was gone, she 
 was almost deadly pale. By her own request, 
 her head had been raised upon two or three pil- 
 lows, and her little emaciated hands were folded 
 over the white coverlid. Clara was entirely over- 
 come, she could only weep ; and as she stooped 
 to kiss her sister's white lips, the child threw her 
 arms around her neck, and drew her still nearer. 
 It was a long embrace ; then her arms moved 
 convulsively, and fell motionless by her side ; 
 there were a few struggles, she gasped once or 
 twice, and little Helen never breathed again. 
 
 Days, and weeks, and months, rolled on. Time 
 had somewhat healed the wound which grief for 
 the loss of an only sister had made ; but it had not 
 power to remove from Clara's heart the remem- 
 brance of her former unkindness which poisoned 
 many an hour. She never took her little basket 
 of dinner, now so light, or in her solitary walk *.o 
 school passed the half-way stone, without a deep 
 sigh, and often a tear of bitter regret. 
 
 Children who are what Clara was, go now and 
 be what Clara ?', mild, amiable, obliging and 
 pleasant to alL
 
 A NICE LITTLE GIRL. 43 
 
 Love to Brothers. 
 
 A gentleman, walking on the Battery in the 
 city of New York, as he passed a little girl, who 
 was blithely rolling her hoop, said, " You are a 
 nice little girl ; " to which she replied, patting 
 her little brother on the head, " And he is a nice 
 little boy, too." Here was delicate, disinterest- 
 ed feeling. This amiable little girl could not 
 bear even to hear herself praised, while her little 
 brother was overlooked. 
 
 A Loving Sister. 
 
 Sophia had one sister, older than herself, whom 
 she most tenderly loved. If she had any nice 
 things, such as the first ripe strawberry or peach 
 or plum, or any thing that her sister relished, she 
 would save it and share it with her, because she 
 delighted so much in seeing her pleased. It 
 seemed to give her more satisfaction to please her 
 sister than to enjoy any pleasure herself. Such 
 was her disinterested affection, that her teacher, 
 on one occasion, in order to reward her, put down 
 her sister's name among a select few who were 
 to go with her to a concert.
 
 44 A GENEROUS SISTER. 
 
 Another time, the girls in the boarding school, 
 which they attended, were directed to have a 
 piece of sewing done the next morning ; and, as 
 Sophia's sister was sometimes negligent of her 
 task, she was threatened with punishment if she 
 failed. This she dreaded very much ; but her 
 dilatory habits prevailed ; and when Sophia had 
 finished hers, her sister had not begun. It was 
 now evening, and she had abandoned the task in 
 despair, thinking it too late to have it finished. 
 The girls were all playing in the garden, in great 
 glee, when it was suddenly discovered that Sophia 
 was not among them. This occasioned great ex- 
 citement among the group ; for she was a general 
 favorite, as every one will be who acts from the 
 same disinterested feeling. After searching the 
 house over, she was at last discovered in an 
 old out-house, with th door fastened, busily at 
 work on her sister's task, that she might save her 
 the dreaded punishment. She was a happy 
 creature. No doubt, she had much more enjoy- 
 ment in making others happy, than she could 
 have had, if it had been her great aim to please 
 herself. Truly, as our Saviour says, " It is more 
 blessed to give than to receive." If you seek to 
 please others, you will be sure to please yourself; 
 for you cannot fail to enjoy the happiness which 
 you impart to others.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 N her death-bed, a pious 
 widow in England called her 
 daughter, and said to her, 
 I " Here are twenty pounds : I 
 wish you, after my death, to 
 give this money to the mission- 
 ary cause ; and, depend upon 
 it, you will never have any 
 reason to be sorry for having given 
 Jt." This was when the missionary 
 cause first began to attract attention 
 in England, and when many people 
 ridiculed it. But the daughter cheer- 
 fully obeyed the dying command of her 
 mother, though little expecting ever in 
 any way to meet a return. But she 
 had a son, who became exceedingly profligate, 
 and brought heart-rending trouble upon his 
 mother. He became utterly unmanageable, 
 either by tenderness or authority, and at length 
 forsook his friends, entered the army, and vanished
 
 46 A BOUNTIFUL EETUBN. 
 
 from their knowledge. The Providence of Gofl 
 led him to India. There he fell in company 
 with a Christian missionary, who dealt faithfully 
 with him, and wae the means of his conversion 
 to God. After a while, the young man himself 
 became a missionary, and wrote to his mother, 
 imploring her forgiveness, and informing her of 
 the alteration that had taken place in him and in 
 his employment. Here was her mother's gift 
 returned into her bosom a hundred-fold. But 
 the Lord repays bountifully those who lend to 
 him. This woman had a second son, who was 
 likewise a profligate, and had entered the army 
 before this news reached her. He also was led 
 to India. There he was taken sick ; and, being 
 affectionately attended by the missionaries, he 
 also was brought to repentance. His eldest 
 brother, who was several hundred miles distant, 
 and who did not know that he was in India, was 
 providentially led to visit the station at this time. 
 On hearing from the missionaries the interesting 
 facts in the case, he visited the young man, and, 
 to his great surprise and joy, discovered in the 
 sick youth his own brother ! He remained with 
 him till his death, which was peaceful and happy. 
 This narrative shows that it is profitable to give 
 to the Lord, and illustrates the proverb, " Cast 
 thy bread upon the waters, and thou shalt find it 
 after many days."
 
 THE BIRD IN TROUBLE. 47 
 
 A Lesson from the Birds. 
 
 A gentleman observed, in a thicket of bushea 
 near his dwelling, a collection of brown thrushes, 
 who, for several days, attracted his attention by 
 their loud cries and strange movements. At 
 length, his curiosity was so much excited, that he 
 determined to see if he could ascertain the cause 
 of the excitement among them. On examining 
 the bushes, he found a female thrush, whose 
 wing was caught in a limb in such a way, that 
 she could not escape. Near by was her nest, 
 containing several half-grown birds. On retiring 
 a little distance, a company of thrushes appeared, 
 with worms and other insects in their mouths, 
 which they gave first to the mother, and then to 
 her young; she, the meanwhile, cheering them, 
 on in their labor of love, with a song of grati- 
 tude. After watching the interesting scene till 
 his curiosity was satisfied, the gentleman released 
 the poor bird, when she flew to her nest with a 
 grateful song to her deliverer ; and her charitable 
 neighbors dispersed to their several abodes, sing- 
 ing, as they went, a song of joy. 
 
 " Isn't that beautiful ? " exclaims a sweet little 
 girl, whose happy face and joyous song, and 
 golden ringlets waving in the air, remind one of
 
 48 HOW TO BE LOVED. 
 
 the merry songsters of the grove. Beautiful 
 Indeed, it is. But I can tell you what is more 
 beautiful still. It is that little girl who drops 
 sweet words, kind remarks, and pleasant smiles, 
 as she passes along who has a kind word of 
 sympathy for every girl or boy she meets in 
 trouble, and a kind hand to help her companions 
 out of difficulty who never scowls, never con- 
 tends, never teazes her mates, nor seeks in any 
 other way to diminish, but always to increase, 
 their happiness. Would it not please you to 
 pick up a string of pearls, drops of gold, dia- 
 monds, and precious stones, as you pass along 
 the streets ? But these are the true pearls and 
 precious stones, which can never be lost. Take 
 the hand of the friendless. Smile on the sad 
 and dejected. Sympathize with those in trouble. 
 Strive everywhere to diffuse around you sunshine 
 and joy. 
 
 If you do this, you will be sure to be loved. 
 Dr. Doddridge one day asked his little girl why 
 it was that everybody loved her. " I know not," 
 she replied, " unless it be that I love everybody." 
 This is the true secret of being beloved. " He 
 that hath friends," says Solomon, "must show 
 himself friendly." Love begets love. If you 
 love others, they cannot help loving you. So, 
 then, do not put on a scowl, and fretfully com-
 
 , \ 
 
 A KIND-HEARTED GIRL. 49 
 
 plain that nobody loves you, or that such or such 
 a one does not like you. If nobody loves you, it 
 is your own fault. Either you do not make 
 yourself lovely by a sweet tamper arid kind, 
 winning ways, or you do not love those of whom 
 you complain. 
 
 An Angel of Mercy. 
 
 Mr. F. Grummet, an English gentleman, was 
 passing, as a prisoner, through a small village 
 near Rochfort, attended by a band of soldiers. 
 His feet were much blistered, and extremely 
 sore. He had covered them with fresh canvass ; 
 but it was soon worn out, and he suffered dread- 
 fully. About noon, they halted at the village to 
 rest and refresh. He took his seat on an old tea 
 chest, standing in front of a little shop, and re- 
 moved his tattered moccasins. While he was 
 doing this, an elderly lady came out of the shop, 
 accompanied by a young girl, prettily dressed. 
 When they saw him, they both exclaimed, " Poor 
 prisoner!" The girl, with tears in her eyes, 
 looked at his lacerated feet, and then, without 
 saying a word, returned to the house. In a few 
 minutes she re-appeared, with her finery taken 
 off, and a large bowl of warm water in her hands. 
 5
 
 50 A RARE PLEASURE. 
 
 In a moment, the bowl was placed before him, 
 and she motioned to him to put in his feet, which 
 he did ; and then down she went on her knees, 
 and washed them in the most tender manner. 
 The mother brought him food ; while the daughter, 
 having finished her task, wrapped up his feet in 
 soft linen, and then fitted on a pair of her moth- 
 er's shoes. While this was going on, a number 
 of persons had collected round, and stood, silently 
 witnessing this angelic act of charity. " Elalie" 
 (for that was the girl's name) "heeded them 
 not ; but, when her task was finished, a sweet 
 emile of gratified pleasure beamed on her face." 
 Surely, hers was a rare pleasure. There is no 
 enjoyment greater than that which is experienced 
 in relieving the distresses or administering to tbe 
 enjoyment of others.
 
 51 
 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LEARNING TO WORK. 
 
 OOR and helpless will that 
 woman be, who does not learn, 
 when a girl, to employ her 
 hands in useful labor. She 
 may have enough, but she 
 will not know how to use it 
 for the comfort of her family. 
 She may be well educated, 
 and able to converse interesting- 
 ly. She may play well on the 
 piano. And all this is well. But, 
 if she does not understand work, 
 her common, every-day duties cannot 
 be well done ; and these are what, in 
 all circumstances, contribute most to 
 the comfort of every-day life. 
 
 1 
 
 New Music. 
 
 An accomplished young lady stepped to the 
 door, on the ringing of the bell, and was greeted 
 by a young gentleman who had called to see her.
 
 52 NEW MUSIC. 
 
 On entering the parlor, he glanced at the harp 
 and piano, and said, " I thought I heard music : 
 on which instrument were you performing?" 
 " On the gridiron" she replied, " with the ac- 
 companiment of the frying-pan. My mother is 
 without help, and she says that I must learn to 
 finger these instruments sooner or later." 
 
 Another young lady, the daughter of a New- 
 England clergyman, was visiting a rich uncle, in 
 a great city in a neighboring State ; and, being 
 asked what instrument she played upon, replied, 
 "When I am at home, I play on the cooking 
 stove" These young ladies had the good sense 
 not to be ashamed of useful labor. It is a fine 
 thing to know how to finger the piano, and play 
 on the harp ; but these accomplishments are a 
 poor substitute for the ability to play on the 
 cooking stove. 
 
 Making Bread. 
 
 Good bread is one of the necessaries of life. 
 With it, one can make a meal, though every 
 thing else on the table be inferior. Without it, 
 no one can make a comfortable meal. But lo 
 make good bread is a very great art, and one 
 that every girl ought to learn in her mother's 
 house.
 
 MAKING BREAD. 53 
 
 There was a young lady, who had been brought 
 up in fashionable style, and was really quite ac- 
 complished ; but, her parents being wealthy, she 
 was under no necessity of laboring, and she was 
 educated without any practical knowledge of 
 household affairs. She was married ; and for 
 some time things went on very well, for she hap- 
 pened to have an excellent cook. But, after a 
 while, her cook left her ; and, as good help was 
 scarce, she took such a girl as she could get. 
 The first thing Nancy was required to do was to 
 make some bread. But she said she never had 
 
 done such work before ; but, if Mrs. would 
 
 tell her how, she could soon learn. And now 
 the lady's eyes were open, the first time, to her 
 mistake. She did not know how herself, and 
 how could she teach Nancy ? After considering 
 a moment, she replied, " Upon the whole, as 
 there is so much more that is important to be 
 done, we will put this matter off, and try baker's 
 bread." 
 
 After some days, as they were sitting at the 
 table, the husband inquired, " Cannot Nancy 
 make bread ? I am getting quite tired of baker's 
 bread." " She shall make some," replied the 
 wife ; " but this is nice baker's bread I don't 
 know but it is better than any home-made bread 
 I ever ate." "There is nothing," rejoined he, 
 5*
 
 54 
 
 THE FIRST LOAF. 
 
 " like good home-made bread, such as my mothet 
 used to make." 
 
 Nothing could be more mortifying to a young 
 wife, than to find herself in such a situation. 
 She was quite at a loss what to do. At first, she 
 thought of confessing her ignorance ; but, as they 
 had now been married some time, she thought it 
 would not do. The bread must be made ; but 
 how f that was the question. She concluded to 
 begin with pearlash bread, because she thought 
 it would be more easily managed than yeast; 
 but she knew nothing about it, except that it 
 must be made of flour, milk, salt, and pearlash. 
 She concluded she would put in pearlash enough, 
 so as to be sure and have it light. The prepara- 
 tion was made, and it was put in the oven. 
 
 Mrs. sat beside the stove, anxiously awaits 
 
 ing its progress, to see it rise. It grew beauti- 
 fully brown ; but, instead of rising up round and 
 plump, it remained flat, flat, flat / Dinner came. 
 
 Mr. walked in, with a friend or two to dine. 
 
 They sat down to the table. The mackerel was 
 well broiled ; the potatoes were well done ; every 
 thing was well, but the bread the article that 
 her husband consilered most important he 
 took a slice ; it did not look like bread, it was 
 thickly studded with little brown spots of undis- 
 solved pearlash ; and then, how it tasted !
 
 A SAD DILEMMA. 55 
 
 a strange mixture of salt and bitter. He 
 looked surprised and mortified. As soon as they 
 were alone, he said, " Had you not better attend 
 to the bread-making yourself, and not leave that 
 most important part of cooking to such miserable, 
 inexperienced hands?" She went away and 
 wept, with this pitiful lamentation, " What shall 
 I do ? " There stood the piano ; and there was 
 the handsome worsted work, over which she had 
 spent so many days in her father's house. But 
 of what use were all these fine things without 
 bread ? She had just discovered that she could 
 not be a good wife, and make her husband and 
 family happy, without knowing how to make 
 bread ; and this most important branch of educa- 
 tion had been entirely neglected. She was in- 
 deed in a dilemma. She, however, had good 
 sense and resolution enough to surmount the 
 difficulty. She resolved, from that moment, to 
 study her domestic duties, and to know how to 
 become a skilful, economical, thrifty housekeeper. 
 But she had a long and wearisome trial, before 
 she was able to set before her husband her sweet, 
 light, and wholesome loaves. When she found 
 herself in the sad dilemma that has been des- 
 cribed, she would have given all her knowledge 
 of music and embroidery to know how to make 
 good bread. Yet do not understand me as
 
 56. MISS COWIE. 
 
 speaking lightly of those accomplishments. They 
 are good in their place, and a great addition to 
 a young lady's education ; but they cannot make 
 up for the want of a knowledge of household 
 affairs. And, if my gentle readers will Ksten to 
 me, I would have them know that there is 
 nothing to be done in managing the house I it 
 what they ought to understand how to do, by 
 having done it themselves, and done it repeat- 
 edly, till they can do it well. In no other way 
 will they be able to avoid such a disagreeable 
 dilemma as that in which this lady found herself. 
 
 Miss Rachel Cowie ; afterwards wife of Rev. Dr. 
 Milne, missionary to China. 
 
 The following brief memoir shows the impor- 
 tance of a knowledge of some useful employ- 
 ment, even to females in high life. It likewise 
 exhibits a beautiful picture of filial piety, dili- 
 gence, and prudence. 
 
 Miss Cowie's father was a wealthy man, en- 
 gaged in extensive business. He lived in Aber- 
 deen, Scotland. But, in that country, the females 
 of many families in the higher ranks of society, 
 as well as those in middling circumstances, are 
 instructed in some branch of business suited to
 
 MISS COWIE. 57 
 
 their strength. This is an excellent custom ; 
 for, whatever may be our circumstances to-day, 
 we know not what they will be to-morrow. 
 Riches are no sure dependence, for they often 
 " take to themselves wings." This is especially 
 the case in this country, where reverses are so 
 common. That your father is rich to-day is no 
 evidence that he will be a few years hence. It 
 is therefore necessary that you should be pre- 
 pared to provide for yourself; and, to be so, you 
 must not despise any employment that is useful 
 and suitable for your sex. 
 
 Rachel Cowie was early put to learn a branch 
 of the millinery business ; which she industriously 
 acquired, though she knew not that she should 
 ever need it. But, after a while, her father's 
 business began to decline, and at length he failed. 
 He gave up to his creditors every thing but their 
 wearing apparel and a few books. Both her 
 parents were infirm, with no means of support 
 in their old age. There was no one but herself 
 on whom they could depend. When Rachel saw 
 the decline of her father's business, she obtained 
 his consent to set up her own. She had a small 
 sum of money, and she borrowed a little more 
 of a friend, to begin with. She began her busi- 
 ness, praying that God would prosper it, and 
 keep her from the new temptations to which shs
 
 58 HIGH NOTIONS. 
 
 should be exposed. She was successful. In a 
 few months, she was able to pay what she had 
 borrowed, and to furnish a house for herself. 
 
 When her father's business completely failed, 
 and her parents were thrown upon the world, 
 destitute of the means of support, she was pre- 
 pared to receive them into her own house. She 
 supported them by her labors ; nursed them with 
 the utmost tenderness in their illness ; attended 
 them in their last sickness, and saw them die in 
 the hope of glory. While they lived, she would 
 listen to no proposals of marriage ; but after 
 their death, she became the wife of Rev. Dr. 
 Milne, and accompanied him on his mission to 
 China, where she was a great solace and comfort 
 to him, and a helper to him in his labors. 
 
 Learn not to despise any useful employment ; 
 but deem it honorable to be able to provide for 
 yourself, and to help others. 
 
 High Notions. 
 
 A young gentleman became very much inte- 
 rested in the daughter of a wealthy farmer, and 
 thought of marrying her ; but, after a while, he 
 discovered that she was wholly ignorant of do- 
 mestic afiairs. He therefore sought an opportu-
 
 HIGH NOTIONS. 59 
 
 nity to introduce the subject of domestic econo- 
 my, when she declared her opinion that it was 
 grossly indelicate for a lady of fashionable edu- 
 cation to be engaged in domestic concerns. Just 
 then, her mother came in, with her arms full of 
 wood for the fire. Her reflections just before, 
 taken with this fact, would seem to imply that 
 she regarded her mother as a vulgar sort of a 
 woman. At any rate, it showed that she was 
 unfeeling enough to set up for a fine lady, and 
 let her mother do the drudgery of the house. 
 The young man was so disgusted that he never 
 visited her again. Some time afterwards she 
 married a young merchant, who was doing a fair 
 business, and carried her high notions into full 
 operation. With extravagant furniture, nu- 
 merous servants, and attendant expenses, her 
 husband's affairs became embarrassed, and every 
 thing was seized by his creditors. Poor Zelia 
 had the mortification to return to her father's 
 house, a victim to her conceits a useless and 
 unhappv creature.
 
 60 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HABITS. 
 Heedlessness. 
 
 [OSALINDA was pretty, gen- 
 tle, and amiable. But she had 
 one very bad habit. She was 
 so heedless that she scarcely 
 thought what she said or did. 
 As her father and mother were 
 going out to spend the evening, 
 they charged the children to be 
 good, to amuse themselves, but 
 not to be rude or careless, so as to 
 do any mischief. The children 
 minded what they said. They stud- 
 ied their lessons, made no noise, and did 
 not quarrel. Every thing was in order, 
 and they would have passed the evening 
 very happily, but for Rosalinda's heed- 
 lessness. She wanted something that was in the 
 closet in her father's library, and she took a 
 candle to find it. Here she committed two faults. 
 She ought not to have gone to her father's library
 
 A FIRE. 61 
 
 in his absence. But, if she went, she should not 
 have taken a light to a closet, or among her 
 father's papers. But this was not her only fault. 
 After she had got what she wanted, she heedless* 
 ly left the candle burning on her father's itble, 
 where there was a large heap of papers. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour, Rosalinda smelt 
 something burning, and, recollecting that she had 
 left a light burning in the study, immediately ran 
 to get it. She had carelessly set the candle on a 
 bundle of papers. It had fallen over, and set the 
 papers on fire ; and, as she opened the door, she 
 found herself completely enveloped in smoke. 
 She was affrighted, and cried out aloud. Her 
 brothers and sisters and the servant ran to the 
 spot ; but none of them had the presence of mind 
 to pour some water on the fire, which they might 
 easily have done, and put it out, if they had shut 
 the door, so as not to give it air, till they had 
 brought the water ; for as yet there was nothing 
 on fire but the papers and the table. But they 
 were so frightened that they could do nothing but 
 cry out, " The house is on fire ! dear ! O 
 dear ! What shall we do ! What shall we do ! " 
 While they were thus lamenting, the fire, having 
 burst into a flame on the opening of the door, had 
 spread to the curtains and the drawers, and soon 
 the whole room was on fire. The neighbors saw 
 6
 
 62 THREE GOOD RULES. 
 
 it, and ran crying " Fire ! " and ringing the bells. 
 The tumult was now dreadful. On all sides, 
 people were crying out, " Fire ! fire ! water ! 
 water ! " " Here is the fire," said the neighbors : 
 " we must knock at this house." So they broke 
 open the windows, and began to play the engines 
 upon the fire. After two hours, it was put out ; 
 but there remained nothing of the house or its 
 contents but a heap of ruins. The children were 
 all saved ; but Rosalinda, in the confusion, was 
 severely hurt. The father and mother now ar- 
 rived ; but what was their consternation to find 
 their house reduced to ashes, and themselves to 
 poverty ! However, they were thankful that their 
 children were all alive. All this came, in the 
 first place, by Rosalinda's heedless habits. But, 
 after the fire was discovered, the house might 
 have been saved by a little thought. Learn from 
 this story, 
 
 1. To avoid heedless, careless habits. 
 
 2. Never carry a light about the house. It is 
 dangerous for children to carry a light, especially 
 among papers or clothing. 
 
 3. If you open the door of a room, and find 
 that a fire has caught, shut the door instantly, and 
 run for some water. Fire cannot spread rapidly 
 without air ; and by shutting the door, you may 
 keep it in check, till it can be put out. A large
 
 NEATNESS. 63 
 
 family were once thrown into consternation, on 
 opening the door of a room where there was a 
 fire, and the flames bursting out. The men were 
 so frightened that they could do nothing. But 
 two of the daughters shut the door, and seizing 
 each a pail, ran for water, and dashing it into the 
 room, shut the door again and ran for more, till 
 in a few minutes they put the fire out, and saved 
 the house. 
 
 Be Neat. 
 
 Neatness must be cultivated in early life. It 
 is hard to overcome any disorderly or dirty habit, 
 whfch has become confirmed in childhood and 
 youth. But, if such habits are indulged at this 
 period of life, they will afterwards occasion severe 
 mortification. Fanny Freeman, for some years, 
 dressed in black ; and she fell into the dirty habit 
 of wiping the point of her pen on her black dress. 
 This habit became so confirmed that she did not 
 mind when she did it. One afternoon, she dress- 
 ed herself in white, to go some distance on a visit ; 
 but, having first to write a letter, she carelessly 
 wiped her pen as usual on her dress. When the 
 carriage drove to the door, and she was about to 
 set her foot on the step, her attention was called 
 to her dress ; and, on looking down, she saw long
 
 64 A CARELESS GIRL. 
 
 blots of ink crossing each other in all directions 
 a perfect fright. She blushed to the very 
 ears for shame and mortification, and was obliged 
 to go back to her room, and put, on a black 
 dress. 
 
 Carelessness. 
 
 "Oh, dear!" said Jane, as she came home 
 from Sabbath School, '"I cannot please my 
 teacher at all. I learn my lessons well, but she 
 is never pleased with me." 
 
 Jane thought the fields looked so pleasant, she 
 would go across them to school, and enjoy the walk 
 among grass and the flowers ; but, in doing so, 
 she tore her tippet, bent her bonnet, slit her frock, 
 and stained the bottom all round with the wet 
 grass and dirt. When she came in, her" teacher 
 exclaimed, " O Jane ! how untidy you come to 
 school ! I am quite ashamed of you." When 
 she took her ctlechism, it was all ove? finger 
 prints and grease-spots ; for she had used it after 
 breakfast, without washing her hands. " Oh ! 
 what a careless girl ! " said her teacher. " What 
 a dirty book ! You have had it but a fortnight, 
 and it is not fit to touch." Then, when she came 
 to recite her hymns, the book was handed to her
 
 A CARELESS GIRL. 65 
 
 teacher all over dirt. She had dropped it in the 
 rad, and another girl had stepped on it. " How 
 did this happen ? " inquired her teacher. " An- 
 other dirty trick, I fear." Another book was 
 torn, one leaf quite out, and another pinned in, 
 wrong end upwards. When her teacher saw 
 this, she told her she was one of the most care- 
 less girls she ever saw. And, when she came to 
 give little books to her scholars, she told Jane it 
 was no use to give one to her ; for she was so 
 careless, it would soon be lost or torn to pieces. 
 No wonder her teacher could not be pleased with 
 her. No other good traits will make up for this 
 bad habit. A careless girl will try the patience 
 of her father and mother and teacher, and every 
 one else that she has any thing to do with, and 
 her own too. And it is a habit for which there 
 is no excuse. It is easier to be tidy than care- 
 less. " But how is that ? " you say. " I find it 
 very difficult to be tidy; and mother chides me 
 every day for my carelessness." Ijnean, it is 
 easier, all things considered ; or^^khey say, 
 " in the long run" You make y^BPn a great 
 deal of unnecessary work by your careless habits. 
 I dare say, if you are a careless girl, fourteen 
 years old, you have spent more than a month 
 hunting for your scissors. If you doutt this, use 
 a little arithmetic, and see if I am not right. 
 <**
 
 66 AN TJNTIDT GIRL. 
 
 Do you not spend, on an average, a quarter of 
 an hour every day, hunting for your scissors ? 
 In six years, that would be twenty-four days. 
 And, suppose you have done the same with 
 respect to three other articles, you have lost an 
 hour a day, just in hunting for your things ; and 
 this, in six years, would be four months. All 
 this time might be saved, if you would be care- 
 ful, when you use any thing, to put it in its place 
 again. But this is not all that is lost by care- 
 lessness. Yoa destroy your books, tear your 
 clothes, injure furniture, lose your own patience, 
 and your mother's approbation. When you take 
 all these things into consideration, I think you 
 will agree with me, that it is cheaper and easier 
 to be tidy and careful, than it is to be careless 
 and untidy. 
 
 Another Example. 
 
 One fin^^pring morning, Laura Selby told 
 her moth^HKt she had mastered her music 
 lesson, anc^pP nothing to do just then ; " and 
 now," said she, " pray, be so kind as to lay aside 
 your work, and walk with me." 
 
 Just then, their attention was attracted by the 
 sound of the piano. " Whal is that sound I hear, 
 my love ? "
 
 AN UNTIDY GIRL. 67 
 
 *' I dare say it is little George, amusing him- 
 self with my piano. I forgot to shut it, when I 
 had finished my lesson." 
 
 " I am sorry for that, my daughter, especially 
 as you have so frequently been told to take care 
 of your music. Go, without delay, and close it." 
 
 Laura, quite ashamed at her carelessness, as 
 ter piano had just been put in tune, ran to obey 
 her mother, and returned, renewing her request 
 for a walk. 
 
 Her mother told her that she wa>s going out, 
 and would take her with her, if she could make 
 herself ready without delay. Laura was de- 
 lighted, and ran quickly to tie on her bonnet and 
 s"hawl. She was gone longer than seemed neces- 
 sary. Her mother was obliged to call twice, 
 before she made her appearance, and was about 
 proceeding without her, when she ran hastily 
 through the hall. " My love," said Mrs. Selby, 
 " this is not doing as you ought." 
 
 " Mother," said Laura, blushing, " I could not 
 find my shawl for a good while ; and then I 
 hunted some time for my pin." 
 
 " But where did you put your shawl, that it 
 could not be. found?," 
 
 " I left it on a chair in the hall, where I sat 
 down a moment, when I came in yesterday^ an<i 
 forgot ta put it in my drawer."
 
 DO THE TORJS GLOVE. 
 
 "' I am grieved, Laura, to find this unfortunate 
 habit of carelessness strengthening, rather than 
 disappearing." 
 
 Laura felt ashamed and unhappy. When 
 Mrs. S. had done shopping, they called on Mrs. 
 Ellenwood, and Laura was very happy to find 
 Grace at home ; for it was to see her that she 
 had desired to walk. The girls were chatting 
 together in fine spirits, when Mrs. Ellenwood, 
 with a look of pity, inquired what was the matter 
 with Laura's hand, which was wrapt in her hand- 
 kerchief. " Laura has not injured her hand, I 
 believe," said her mother. " Pray, my dear, 
 why have you twisted your handkerchief over 
 it?" 
 
 Laura slowly unrolled her handkerchief, and, 
 exhibited a torn glove. " My dear," said her 
 mother, " we must be on our way home ; you 
 have employment there, I believe." 
 
 Mrs. Ellenwood urged Mrs. S. to let Laura 
 stay and spend the day with Grace, which was 
 what she -wanted to do ; but her mother would 
 not consent,^he was so displeased with Laura's 
 negligence. Laura was sadly mortified ; and, 
 when they got into the street, she could not re- 
 frain from tears. When they arrived at home, 
 Mrs. S- asked Laura why she went out with her 
 gloves in that condition.
 
 UNTIDINESS. 69 
 
 " Because," said Laura, " the last time I wore 
 them, I made several holes in them, and and 
 I forgot to mend them." 
 
 " That is the very thing, my dear, for which 
 you deserve to be reprimanded. Forgetfulness 
 of such duty arises from carelessness. If you 
 exhibit yourself every day, with some part of 
 your dress out of order, your habits of careless- 
 ness will be confirmed, and your character, as an 
 untidy young lady, quite established. I am par- 
 ticularly mortified with your appearance to-day, 
 and recommend that you spend the remainder of 
 it in repairing your clothes." 
 
 There is, perhaps, no other habit which inter- 
 feres so much with a girl's happiness, and con- 
 tributes so much to spoil her temper, as careless- 
 ness. A mother does not take delight in chiding 
 her girls ; but how can she help it, if they are 
 careless ? The snail, as it crawls along on the 
 earth, leaves a track behind it ; and so does an 
 untidy girl. Her things are always out of place ; 
 and not only her own things, but every thing 
 else that she touches. She forgets to put any 
 thing in its place. Her clothes are disordered ; 
 and if there is a rent anywhere in her wardrobe, 
 she forgets to mend it till the moment it is want- 
 ed. And these things are so continually occur- 
 ring, that her mother is obliged to spend half her
 
 70 A DANGEROUS HABIT. 
 
 breath in fruitless efforts to correct this disagree- 
 able habit. Thus, her own temper is fretted and 
 injured, not only by the inconvenience to which 
 she is subjected by her own carelessness, but by 
 the constant displeasure of her mother. This 
 will be tenfold worse if she lives to have a 
 family of her own. If you would have it sun 
 shine about you, be neat and tidy. 
 
 v 
 
 Reading in the Night. 
 
 Girls sometimes contract the habit of reading 
 in bed, with a lamp by their side ; or of sitting 
 up late, to read, after they have retired to theii 
 rooms. Either of these practices is both inju- 
 rious and dangerous. It is a good thing to have 
 a taste for reading ; but the day, in summer, and 
 the day and early part of the evening, in winter, 
 are long enough to do every thing that needs to 
 be done. " The night cometh, when no man can 
 work." The night is for rest and repose. No 
 one can safely encroach upon it. The habit, of 
 which we are speaking, has ruined the eyes of 
 many a girl for life ; and in many instances, she 
 has dropped asleep, and left her light burning, 
 which has caught the bed-clothes or the furni- 
 ture of the room, and set the house on fire.
 
 ANOTHER FIRE. 71 
 
 Tirzah Locke had acquired this dangerous 
 habit. There was nothing she loved so well to 
 do, as to sit up late at night to read, after all 
 others in the house had retired to rest. She 
 would undress, and put on her night-clothes, wrap 
 a large blanket round her, and recline herself, in 
 the most comfortable position, in a large easy 
 chair, by the side of the table, which held her 
 lamp ; and there she would sit and read, perhaps 
 half the night. Two or three times she fell 
 asleep there, and slept till morning, when she 
 found her lamp still burning, or the oil burnt out. 
 One night, Mr. Williams, with whom she lived, 
 was called up to prepare some medicine for his 
 wife ; and, as he opened the door, he thought he 
 perceived a smoke. He went up stairs and 
 opened the door where his daughters slept, and 
 one or two other doors, when he hastened to Tir 
 zah's room. The smoke rushed out, so that he 
 was obliged to step back to get his breath. But, 
 in a moment, he returned and opened the win- 
 dow. The smoke was so thick that he thought 
 Tirzah could not live there long ; and he went to 
 the bed, but she was not there. At that moment 
 there was a blaze near the table, which discovered 
 her, lying in the large chair, surrounded by 
 flames, and apparently suffocated. Mr. Williams 
 caught her in his arms, and carried her down
 
 72 TIRZAH'S BLINDNESS. 
 
 stairs. The family were roused, and with some 
 difficulty the fire was put out. On searching for 
 the cause, it appeared that Tirzah had fallen 
 asleep while reading, and, in her sleep, had thrown 
 out her arms towards the light, with the book iu 
 her left hand ; for the book, which was a beauti- 
 ful annual that had been given her by her mother, 
 was nearly consumed. There was a large place 
 burnt in the top of the table, a small place in the 
 floor, and the whole covering of the chair. Tir- 
 zah was stifled, almost beyond recovery ; and it 
 was a long time before she could be revived. 
 Then she was almost delirious, in view of the 
 consequences of her carelessness, and her narrow 
 escape. She was sick a number of days. 
 
 Some years after, she sat in an open window, 
 with a fan and a glass in one hand, and the other 
 moving cautiously over the branch of a rose- 
 bush, which grew so near the window as to enter 
 the room, when the window was raised. She 
 had just been trying to distinguish the colors of 
 some flowers ; but they seemed to be all blended 
 and indistinct. The habit, which she indulged 
 while a girl, of reading late at night, though she 
 perceived no ill effects at the time, had ruined 
 her sight ; and she was destined to spend the re- 
 mainder of her days in almost total darkness.
 
 STRANGE OBJECT. 73 
 
 Drinking Wine. 
 
 At a temperance meeting, some years ago, an 
 address was made by Rev. Albert Barnes, in 
 which he showed that alchohol is formed by fer- 
 mentation ; so that it exists in wine, cider, and 
 beer, along with other matter. But. to form ar- 
 dent spirits, it is separated and thrown off by 
 Jieat. After the address was finished, a gentle- 
 man rose and said he wished to say a word or 
 4wo to a lady, who had refused to sign the pledge ; 
 giving as a reason, that she now and then loved 
 to take a little wine. It has been shown, said 
 ne, that, when a little wine, or a little beer, or a 
 little cider, is exposed to heat, the alcohol is 
 thrown off. This is called distillation. Now, 
 when the lady takes a little wine into the warm 
 etomach, the alcohol is thrown off through " the 
 worm of the still ;" up it flies into the brain, and 
 if it does not blow off the cap, it may play mis- 
 chief there not very creditable. Every time, 
 therefore, that a lady takes a little wine, or a 
 a little cider, or a little l/eer, she is converted into 
 a distillery! I think my readers will resolve 
 never to taste a drop of intoxicating liquors, lest 
 they should, unfortunately, be turned into such a 
 loathsome object. 
 7
 
 74 DANGEROUS HABIT. 
 
 Putting Pins in tjie Mouth. 
 
 It is a very dangerous habit to carry pins in 
 the mouth. A servant girl, in the town of Gore, 
 Upper Canada, some years ago, in taking down 
 some clothes that were pinned on a line, put the 
 pins in her mouth ; several of which she acci- 
 dentally swallowed. One of them stuck in her 
 throat, and the pain, occasioned by the surgeon 
 in removing it, threw her into convulsions. But 
 the pins which she had swallowed occasioned 
 terrible pains in her stomach and bowels and 
 made her very sick, so it was thought she could 
 not live. 
 
 Dr. Johnson's Idea of Elegance in Dress. 
 
 Dr. Johnson,* speaking of a lady who was 
 celebrated for dressing well, remarked, " The 
 
 * SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D., one of the greatest literary 
 characters of the 18th century, author of a dictionary that 
 has done more, perhaps, than any other to settle the 
 English language. He was a man of taste, a poet, and a 
 moralist He wrote some of the finest productions which 
 our language affords. He was the son of a bookseller, 
 born at Litchfield, in 1709. [See frontispiece.] He was 
 educated at Oxford, and lived mostly in London. He died, 
 a Christian, in 1784.
 
 DRESS. 75 
 
 best evidence that I can give you of her perfec- 
 tion in this respect is, that one can never remem- 
 ber what she had on." Delicacy of feeling in a 
 lady, will prevent her putting on any thing cal- 
 culated to attract notice ; and yet, a female of 
 good taste will dress so as to have every part of 
 her dress correspond. Thus, while she avoids 
 what is showy and attractive, every thing will be 
 adjusted so as to exhibit symmetry and taste. 
 
 Fondness for Dress. 
 
 Emma returned from a visit to her uncle's, 
 vexed and unhappy. Her father, perceiving it, 
 invited her to take a walk with him. On their 
 way, they passed the shop of a fashionable dress- 
 maker, when Emma exclaimed, " This is where 
 Aunt purchased Maria's new pelisse, father. 
 You cannot think what a contrast there was in 
 hers and mine. One looked so nicely, and the 
 other so old fashioned and shabby, I was ashamed 
 to walk with her." " I am very sorry for that," 
 * said her father. " Yet, if you had not told me, 
 I should not have discovered any thing so mean 
 in your pelisse. However, since wearing it ex- 
 poses you to so serious a mortification, I will 
 make you a present of a new pelisse like Maria's,
 
 76 
 
 APING OTHERS. 
 
 if your mother has no objection." Emina thank- 
 ed him heartily, and her good humor returned. 
 
 The object of the walk, was to visit a little 
 girl, belonging to the Sabbath School, who had 
 been absent several weeks from sickness. They 
 found her pale, emaciated, and dejected, sitting, 
 in a cold day, by a few dying coals in the grate. 
 She was just recovering from a violent fever. 
 
 " Where is your mother, my good girl ? " in- 
 quired Emma's father. The little girl told him 
 that her father's wagea were insufficient to sup- 
 port the family, and her mother had lost much 
 time in taking care of her. She was gone out 
 to work, to get something for her and six other 
 little children to eat. 
 
 By this time, Emma's face was suffused with 
 tears ; and as they went out, she entreated her 
 father to send some coals to keep them warm, 
 and some food for them to eat. But he told her 
 that he could not afford it ; for her pelisse would 
 cost as much as they could spare for a long time 
 to come. "Forgive me, my dear father," sha 
 said, " and since vanity can only be gratified by 
 such cruel selfishness as this, I hope I shall never 
 again be ashamed, if my clothes are not so ex- 
 pensive or fashionable as Maria's." Nothing is 
 more foolish than to ape others in dress. If you 
 see some that can dress better than yourself, you
 
 USING THE EYES. 77 
 
 may easily find others who cannot dress so well. 
 This will cure your vanity. 
 
 Eyes and no eyes. 
 
 Every thing in nature is beautiful. God de- 
 lights in beauty ; and he has made every thing 
 full of it. But many things are so nicely formed 
 that one who only looks carelessly around, will not 
 see their beauty. The consequence is, some peo- 
 ple go moping through life, seldom seeing any 
 thing to admire ; while others never behold the 
 face of nature without being enraptured with the 
 beauty of God's works. 
 
 A little girl, named Mary, whose parents lived 
 in the city, was spending the summer with hex 
 aunt in the country, and going to school with hei 
 cousin Helen. One morning, Mary began to 
 wish herself back in the city, and to complair 
 that there was nothing to be seen or heard in the 
 country. Helen felt a little disturbed at this ; 
 and the two cousins were on the point of a serious 
 difference, when they were joined by Helen's 
 sister Lucy, five years older than they, who pro 
 posed to accompany them to school. The little 
 girls recovered their temper in a moment, sub 
 dued by the sweet tones of Lucy's voice, who wa* 
 a kind-hearted sister, and who took delight ia 
 7*
 
 78 A RAMBLE. 
 
 making the younger ones happy. She had over- 
 heard their conversation ; and her object was 
 to show Mary that the country was full of beauty, 
 if she would but open her eyes to see it. 
 
 " Stop a moment," said Helen, as they were in 
 the court-yard, " I must make up a bouquet for 
 the school-mistress." 
 
 "And so will I, too," said Mary. So they 
 gathered white and red roses, and pinks, and 
 convolvulus, and Lucy gave them some sprigs 
 from geraniums which were standing in pots, 
 and they each formed a pretty little bouquet. 
 " Do you go directly to school ? " inquired Lucy. 
 
 " ! no. My aunt sends us off three quarters 
 of an hour before school-time, which she wishes 
 us to spend in the open air ; but I am sure ten 
 minutes would be enough ; there is nothing to be 
 seen but those dingy old rocks ; and I am tired 
 of them." 
 
 They were just then going past a little clump 
 of bushes. " What is that fluttering and chirp- 
 ing ? " said Lucy. 
 
 The children went up on tiptoe, and peered 
 mtp the bushes. They saw a dear little robin's 
 nest, with three smooth spotted eggs, lying in the 
 bottom of it. <f Oh how pretty," said Helen, " but 
 we won't touch them, will we, Mary ? we will just 
 a peep at them, and then twine the branches
 
 BEAUTIFUL THINGS. 79 
 
 together, so that the boys shall not see it ; and we 
 will bring some crumbs for the robin every day, 
 and some cherries, won't we, Mary ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mary. " I '11 leave part of my 
 biscuit now ;" and she crumbled a little piece on 
 the grass under the nest. We will call this our 
 robin, and this shall be our robin's nest ; and we 
 won't let any body touch it, nor come near it, till 
 the little birds are out of the shell, and have 
 learned to fly." 
 
 Presently, they came to a low bridge which 
 crossed a pretty brook. Lucy stepped on the 
 bridge. " Pray, Lucy, what are you looking at ? " 
 inquired Mary. 
 
 " I am seeing how bright the golden sands look 
 in the bottom of the brook ; and how prettily the 
 lights and shadows crinkle through the water. 
 And see what a quantity of pretty flowers grow 
 on its margin. I wish I had some of them." 
 The two little girls ran down the bank, and gath- 
 ered each a handful of iris and cardinal flowers, 
 and Lucy made a bouquet which they declared 
 to be prettier than those they had brought from 
 the garden. They walked on. 
 
 " What a beautiful pile of rocks that is before 
 us," said Lucy. "How prettily the sides are 
 stained with lilac and green and brown, and what 
 a fantastic old pine tree that is on the top. What
 
 80 DRAWING FROM NATURE. 
 
 a nice picture it would make. I wish you would 
 lend me your porcelain slate and pencil for a few 
 minutes, Mary." Mary took them from her 
 straw school-basket, and Lucy sat down upon a 
 bank, and began to sketch the pile of rocks. As 
 she did so, she gave a kind of playful lecture on 
 drawing, to the little girls. 
 
 " I must begin." said she, "with a line for the 
 bottom of the rocks, not straight, because they go 
 up and down, here and there. Now, I observe 
 that the pile of rocks is about half as high as it is 
 broad ; and here is a sharp point, and there is a 
 round outline. Here is a monstrous crevice, and 
 there is a great crack ; and here is a queer, one- 
 sided stone with some bushes growing round it ; 
 and on the very top is the old pine tree, with its 
 rough trunk and scare-crow branches. Here a 
 line and there a dot ; and now for the shading ; 
 the straight lines, and the cross lines, and the 
 zigzag lines. Here it must be left light, for the 
 sun shines brightly upon it ; and there it must be 
 dark, for it is in shadow ; and those great cracks 
 must be almost black ; and I must not forget the 
 little tufts of grass and flowers springing up here 
 and there. Now, how do you like my picture ? " 
 
 Helen thought it was pretty, but Mary was in 
 an ecstacy. It seemed to her like magic. " O ! 
 how I should like to draw from nature ; and how
 
 A SQUIRREL. 81 
 
 pretty these rocks look to me now. Do let me 
 try to draw them." 
 
 Lucy advised her to begin with a single stone, 
 or bush, or flower. " Try that little crooked tree." 
 Mary looked at it very attentively, and then she 
 tried to draw it. She got the trunk and branches 
 very well, but when she came to the foliage it 
 looked stiff and unnatural. " My branches look 
 just like cabbage-heads," said she. Lucy took 
 her pencil, and showed her on the corner of her 
 slate just the kind of lines she ought to make, and 
 after that, she succeeded admirably. She really 
 made a very pretty little tree. She could not ex- 
 press her pleasure at her own success. " Mother 
 always said I had a genius for drawing ; and now 
 I intend to draw something every day, and you 
 shall tell me what is wrong." Lucy promised 
 she would ; and then they went on. 
 
 The school-house stood just the other side of 
 a little wood, which they had to pass through. 
 When they had got about half way through the 
 wood, they saw a grey squirrel run up the trunk 
 of a tree, and seat himself on one of the lower 
 branches. " ! what a pretty creature. I won- 
 der if he would run away if we were to go nearer. 
 Let us try." So they stepped carefully over the 
 grass and leaves, until they got near the squirrel, 
 which seemed quite tame, and peered at them very
 
 82 ,.; MUSIC. 
 
 knowingly out of his little grey eyes, as he sat 
 gnawing at an acorn. " Only see his little, sharp 
 teeth ! " said Mary, " and how cunning he looks 
 sitting there, with his broad flat tail rising up on 
 his head like a feather. He seems to be a happy 
 little creature. Don't you think he is, Lucy ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Lucy ; " and every nook and corner 
 of the woods and fields is full of innocent little 
 creatures, which a kind Providence has made to 
 live and be happy." 
 
 " I never saw them," said Mary ; " where are 
 they ? I can see nothing now but this squirrel." 
 
 " Listen," said Lucy. " Do you hear nothing ? " 
 
 " I hear some birds singing. Oh ! I forgot the 
 birds. Yes, there are plenty of them, and happy 
 enough they are." 
 
 " Can you hear nothing else ? " 
 
 " Nothing but a confused sound, as if a thou- 
 sand crickets and catydids and grasshoppers were 
 singing together." , 
 
 " Which in truth they are. They are on every 
 side of you, and under your feet, singing away as 
 merrily as can be. But do you hear nothing 
 else?" 
 
 " I hear the bleating of lambs," said Helen t 
 and the peeping of frogs, from yonder brook. 
 Let us go to the brook." They did so ; and, 
 looking attentively into the deepest places, they
 
 FISHES. 83 
 
 saw that it was filled with pretty little fishes, 
 darting and playing about. 
 
 " Oh ! how pretty," said Mary ; and how happy 
 they seem to be, too, although they do not make 
 a noise. But what is that ? Is it possible that 
 it is the school-bell ? We must run. Good bye, 
 dear Lucy, kind Lucy, sweet Lucy ; good bye." 
 
 The next morning the girls did not wait to be 
 urged off to school, they were ready ten minutes 
 before the time ; for, as Mary said, she longed to 
 see if the little robin's nest was safe ; and she 
 wished very much to try a -little corner of the 
 clump of rocks ; and to gather some cardinal 
 flowers and iris. " And then, you know, Helen, 
 we are to look for the squirrel, and carry him 
 some nuts. And I want to find a catydid, which 
 my aunt says is such a curious creature. And I 
 wish to take another peep at the fishes, to see if 
 there are any like those in the book that Lucy 
 showed us last evening. I really do not think 
 we shall ever find the walk to school dull again." 
 The reason of this change was, that Mary had 
 just opened her eyes, while before she kept them 
 shut.
 
 84 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 GOVEBNMENT OF THE TONGUE. 
 The Washerwoman. 
 
 .CARCELY is there a habit 
 of more mischievous tendency 
 than tattling. It is a vice to 
 which females have peculiar 
 temptations ; and it is general- 
 ly supposed to prevail more 
 among them than among the 
 other sex. But, whether this 
 be true or not, we have an example 
 of a woman in humble life, which 
 shows that a woman can govern her 
 tongue. In a small town there lived 
 a woman, who supported herself more 
 than forty years by washing for people 
 at their houses ; and all this time, she 
 was never known to repeat in one house 
 what was said in another. It is hardly necessary 
 to say that she gave perfect satisfaction to her 
 employers. In several instances, she was em- 
 ployed for the whole forty years in the same 
 families. This example is worthy the imitation
 
 TALE-BEARING. 85 
 
 of all ; but especially of those who are employed, 
 as many young females are in this country, in 
 dress-making, house-work, or other services, in 
 different families in the same neighborhood. It 
 is in their power to do great mischief; and they 
 have a strong temptation to it. But they have, 
 also, a good opportunity to learn the very difficult 
 art of governing the tongue. 
 
 Jenny Jenkins. 
 
 A tale-bearer is always despised by the whole 
 neighborhood. Solomon says, " Where no wood 
 is, the fire goeth out ; and where no tale-bearer is, 
 strife ceaseth." One tale-bearer can easily set 
 a whole village on fire. And yet, though it does 
 so much mischief, and destroys their own reputa- 
 tion, many girls love to tell tales, as well as they 
 love to eat cakes and sweetmeats. Jenny Jenkins 
 was a sad tattler. Every thing she heard, she 
 told over and over again, without giving herself 
 the least trouble in the world to find out whether 
 it was true or not. Indeed, she often added to 
 the story; for tale-bearers are rarely satisfied 
 with the plain unvarnished truth. 
 
 8
 
 86 WHISPERERS. 
 
 Whisperers. 
 
 l( A whisperer separateth chief friends." Prov. 
 16:28. 
 
 A whisperer is one who slily insinuates things 
 to the disadvantage of others ; who tells tales 
 secretly, and charges those to whom she pretends 
 to be revealing secrets, to tell nobody. But very 
 likely, the next person she meets will hear the 
 same story, perhaps with a little more exaggera- 
 tion, and accompanied with the same charge not 
 to tell any body. Thus, in a few hours, the whole 
 village will have the news, under strict injunc- 
 tions of secresy. But, often this gossiping, tattling 
 habit is accompanied with a malicious disposition ; 
 and then, look out for mischief. It was of such 
 a one that Solomon was speaking, when he said, 
 " A whisperer separateth chief friends." 
 
 Mary and Nancy Worthley had two cousins, 
 Jane and Eliza Mason, who lived very near, and 
 with whom they were very intimate. They loved 
 each other as much as if they had been sisters. 
 After some time, however, Mrs. Worthley observed 
 that Mary did not seem so glad as usual when 
 Jane and Eliza came to see her ; and she did not 
 so often ask leave to go and visit them. Even 
 little Nancy's eyes did not now sparkle as they 
 used to, at the thought of going to Col. Mason's.
 
 WHISPERERS. 87 
 
 One afternoon, Mrs. Worthley went away, and 
 left Mary to entertain a company of her young 
 friends. Among these were her two cousins. 
 When Mrs. Worthley returned home, the com- 
 pany were gone, and Mary and Nancy appeared 
 vexed and unhappy. "O mother," said Mary, 
 " I wish Jane and Eliza would never come here 
 again, and that you would never send me to their 
 house." " What ! my love, your dear cousins ? " 
 " I don't want to call them cousins any more. 
 They have spoiled our visit this afternoon." 
 " What have they done, my daughter ? " " Why, 
 we talked about some old affairs, and Sarah Por- 
 ter and I told them how naughty they had been ; 
 but they said it was not so, and were displeased, 
 and cried about it, and made us all unhappy." 
 
 " But what are the old affairs, that make them 
 such naughty girls?" inquired Mrs. Worthley. 
 " You do not tell me what wicked things your 
 cousins have done." 
 
 " O, mother, they have not loved me this good 
 while, because I was a better scholar at school 
 than they ; so they would go and tell tales about 
 me to their mother and all the girls. They 
 always laugh, too, about my dress, and make game 
 of my looks and words. When they come here, 
 it is onlv to get something to talk about, and to 
 make themselves merry with. I am" sure I never
 
 88 WHISPERERS. 
 
 shall go to their house any more ; and Sarah and 
 Dolly Porter shall be my cousins. 
 
 " But, my daughter, how do you know that 
 your cousins have been so wicked ? Have you 
 ever seen any such actions in them yourself?" 
 
 " O, no ; they are very kind to my face, and 
 profess a? much friendship as ever ; but that only 
 shows that they are artful, and put on a fair show 
 to deceive me the easier." 
 
 " How, then, do you know ? " 
 
 " O, Sarah Porter has told me about it a great 
 many times. She has been so kind as to watch 
 their conduct towards me, and let me know about 
 it, or I might never have found it out." 
 
 " Could not any of the other girls in the neigh- 
 borhood have told you ? Have they not seen 
 some of these misdeeds ? " 
 
 (Hesitatingly.) " I do not know that any of 
 them have," 
 
 " Have none of them ever spoken to you about 
 it ? Has not Dolly Porter confirmed her sister's 
 story ? " 
 
 No ma'am." 
 
 "What, then, did all the girls say, when you 
 told your cousins of their wickedness so plainly ?" 
 
 " At first, we didn't let them hear what we said 
 to Eliza and Jane. But they found out some- 
 thing was the matter ; and when we told them, 
 they would not believe a word of it."
 
 WHISPERERS. 81* 
 
 " So, then, nobody knew any thing against 
 them but you and Sarah." , 
 
 " Nobody but Sarah. I know nothing but 
 what she has told me." 
 
 " But how could you and Sarah maintain your 
 ground against the whole company, and against 
 the two girls, who protested that they were in- 
 nocent ? " 
 
 " I don't know, only that Sarah talked very 
 fast and loud, and kept all in confusion till they 
 went away." 
 
 " I am sorry to say, my daughter, that Sarah 
 Porter has accused your cousins falsely, and that 
 you have been duped by her stories, till you have 
 treated your best friends very ill indeed. Your 
 suspicions of Eliza and Jane must be groundless. 
 If they had long done as Sarah says, you would 
 have seen it yourself, and I should have noticed it 
 long ago ; and so would the rest of your play- 
 mates. But it seems that every body has been 
 blind and deaf except the dear and friendly Misa 
 Sarah. Not even her own sister will believe that 
 your cousins are guilty. All this looks very 
 much as if Sarah was the guilty one, and had 
 made up false reports, to do mischief. I will tell 
 you. Mary, what I have seen. I have observed 
 that you did not treat your cousins so kindly as 
 you had done, and that they appeared grieved 
 8*
 
 90 WHISPERERS. 
 
 and distant, of course ; while I have had no sus- 
 picion of their being envious or disposed to talk 
 against you. I have seen, also, that Sarah Porter 
 is apt to talk about other people, and I have 
 feared that she indulged in idle gossip and tale- 
 bearing." 
 
 u O, I see it now, mother. This is the work 
 of poor Sarah, alone. She told some things first 
 as a great secret, that made me suspicious of my 
 cousins, and ready to listen to her again. Since 
 that time, when I have seen her, she has done 
 nothing but whisper, whisper, whisper about Eliza 
 and Jane, till she has made me believe almost 
 any thing. I have not a doubt they are innocent. 
 I will go to them in the morning, confess the 
 injury I have done them, and beg them to forgive 
 me." 
 
 This story illustrates the Proverb of Solomon, 
 " A whisperer separateth chief friends." Sarah 
 Porter was a whisperer, and she separated these 
 little friends, who loved each other as sisters. A 
 whisperer is a very bad character. If you will 
 read the 29th, 30th, and 31st verses of the first 
 chapter of Romans, you will see that Paul classes 
 them with the very vilest of characters.
 
 91 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FEMALE INFLUENCE. 
 
 HERE are some things, which 
 females can do, in a modest, 
 quiet way, to exert a good in- 
 fluence upon others, to much 
 better effect than the other sex. 
 Perhaps there is nothing in 
 which they can do this more 
 effectively than in checking 
 such evil habits as drinking intoxi- 
 cating liquors, using tobacco, and 
 an indulgence in impiety, vulgarity, 
 and profaneness of speech. 
 Their persuasive appeals, or keen re- 
 bukes, will often be received, when, if 
 they came from a man, they would only 
 give offence, and excite anger. 
 
 Swearing in Hebrew. 
 
 A young lady in the cars was very much an- 
 noyed by the conversation of a young naval offi- 
 cer, which was intermingled with oaths. After
 
 92 SWEARING IN HEBREW. 
 
 bearing it a while, and seeing no improvement, 
 she inquired, " Sir, can you converse in the 
 Hebrew tongue?" He replied that he could, 
 expecting, no doubt, to have the pleasure of hold- 
 ing some learned conversation with her. She 
 then very politely told him that, if he wished to 
 swear any more, he would greatly oblige herself, 
 and probably the rest of the passengers, if he 
 would swear in that language. The young man 
 was silent the rest of the way. Profaneness, 
 besides being an impious offence against God, is 
 universally considered as too vulgar to be in- 
 dulged in the presence of ladies. It is such an 
 offence against decency and propriety, that, in 
 any company, they will be sustained in rebuking 
 it. But it has a much finer effect, when it can 
 be done in such a style as this. Probably the 
 young man never will forget it as long as he lives. 
 
 The Sea Captain. 
 
 A young gentleman was standing with a young 
 hvdy on the deck of a steamboat, conversing on 
 the comparative beauty of a storm and a calm at 
 sea, when suddenly they had the opportunity of 
 making the comparison. The heavens became 
 black as night. The wind moaned through the 
 ship's rigging. The thunder came nearer, and
 
 THE SWEARER CHANGED. 93 
 
 the lightning wreathed the clouds with its flame. 
 The black waters foamed angrily, and the waves 
 went rolling and tumbling onward, dashing their 
 crested tops to the clouds, while the boat was 
 tossing like a feather in the wind, now mounting 
 on the billow, and now sinking again to the 
 depths. There was hurrying to and fro upon the 
 deck, and anxiety on many a countenance. The 
 loud shout of the commander was heard above 
 the voice of the tempest, issuing orders to the 
 crew. He came near where the young gentle- 
 man and lady were standing, and awoke them 
 from their reverie of admiration by a blast from 
 his speaking-trumpet, giving some command to 
 his men. The command not being obeyed, it was 
 repeated, accompanied with horrid oaths and 
 curses. The young lady started, and with a 
 shudder, said to her companion, " I fear not the 
 voice of the tempest, or the wrath of the deep, or 
 the fiery footsteps of Jehovah, as he walks upon 
 the wings of the whirlwind ; but I dare not stand 
 in the presence of a man who curses his God. 
 Let us go below." 
 
 As they passed away, the captain turned and 
 looked upon them with an air which told that he 
 heard and felt the remark. After the storm had 
 passed away, the captain sought the lady, and 
 begged her pardon, promising never again to
 
 94 THE SWEARER CHANGED. 
 
 take the name of God in vain. "With expression? 
 of gratitude to God, she drew a small Bible from 
 her side, and presented it to him, saying, she 
 hoped it might work in him a greater and holier 
 reformation. 
 
 Some years after, this young lady with her 
 father and mother were at church, in a strange 
 city, listening to the burning eloquence of a man, 
 whose whole soul was absorbed in the mighty 
 theme of the cross. When he came down from 
 the, pulpit, he greeted the strangers, and lifting 
 a small volume towards heaven, expressed his 
 gratitude at beholding again the person who had 
 given him that Bible, with that kind admonition, 
 through which the blasphemous sea captain was 
 changed to a minister of righteousness. 
 
 Doing Good. 
 
 Some people complain that they have no op- 
 portunity to do good. They think, perhaps, if 
 they were in such or such a situation, they might 
 do much. Perhaps some of my readers may be 
 ready to ask, " What good can a little^girl do ? 
 If I grow to be a woman, perhaps I shall be a 
 missionary, and then I can do good to the poor 
 heathen children ; or, it may be I shall be a 
 minister's wife, and then I can do good to all the
 
 DOING GOOD. 95 
 
 little boys and girls in the parish. But now, I 
 am only a little girl, what good can I do ? " 
 Our Saviour says, " He that is faithful in that 
 which is least, is faithful also in much." If you 
 wish to be prepared for a higher station, you 
 must be faithful where you are ; if you would be 
 prepared for great usefulness, you must embrace 
 every opportunity to do good to those around 
 you, in your own family, and among your young 
 companions. But you cannot tell how much good 
 may be accomplished, with a very little effort, in 
 an humble sphere ; for an influence once set a 
 going, rolls on, increasing as the waves of the sea. 
 This you will see, in the following anecdote. 
 
 A girl employed in a woollen -factory in Eng- 
 land, obtained leave of absence to visit her native 
 place. While there, she called at a factory in 
 that town, where she had formerly worked, in 
 which there was a Sabbath school. Her late 
 mistress inquired whether they had a Sabbath 
 school in the factory where she was now employ- 
 ed, and finding they had not, she encouraged the 
 girl to try to form one, and gave her some books 
 When she returned, she talked to her companions 
 on the subject, and several of them agreed to the 
 proposal. The next Sabbath, they went in a 
 little company to the church. When the pro- 
 prietor of the factory heard of it, he talked with
 
 96 INFLUENCE OF A WORD. 
 
 his foreman about it, and agreed to superintend 
 the school, and the factory was turned into the 
 school-room. All the children, amounting to 
 about seventy, employed in the factory, attended, 
 and ten of the workmen became teachers. The 
 conduct of the children was soon greatly improv- 
 ed. Instead of being engaged in idle and vicious 
 conversation, they might be seen with their books 
 before them, diligently storing their minds with 
 Scripture truth. 
 
 When the establishment of this school became 
 known in the town, numerous applications were 
 made by the poor, for permission to attend the 
 "Factory Sabbath School." But as there was 
 not room for them in the factory, application was 
 made to the minister of the place, to see if some- 
 thing could not be done to provide instruction for 
 the poor children of the town. The minister 
 wrote a subscription-paper, and went round to 
 see if money could be raised to build a school- 
 house. The proposal was well received. One 
 gentleman gave a piece of ground to build on, 
 with fifty dollars a year to support the school. 
 Two others gave two hundred dollars apiece ; 
 and the inhabitants generally subscribed liberally. 
 A substantial school-house was built, in which 
 more than one hundred and fifty boys received 
 daily instruction.
 
 INFLUENCE. 
 
 97 
 
 How small an influence set all this in motion ; 
 In the first place, a kind encouraging word and a 
 lew books, from a benevolent woman to a young 
 girl ; and next, the influence of this girl upon her 
 companions. The stone was set a rolling on the 
 top of the hill, and every stone it touched in its 
 progress moved along with it, till hundreds came 
 tumbling down like an avalanche. Such is in- 
 fluence. Let no one say, " I can do no good."
 
 98 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 NOVELS AND PLAYS. 
 Dr. Johnson's opinion of Novels. 
 
 PON Garrick, the play-actor, 
 Dr. Johnson one day called, 
 and was shown into his study, 
 to wait for his appearance. 
 In an adjoining room were 
 all the novels and other light 
 works, which had been pre- 
 sented to Mr. Garrick by his 
 friends. The door being open, Dr. 
 Johnson went in, and taking up first 
 one and then another of the books, 
 read a little, and then threw it 
 'down. Before Garrick arrived, the floor 
 , was strewed with these splendid volumes. 
 Garrick was very angry at finding John- 
 son there, and said it was a private cabi- 
 net, and no company was admitted there. " But," 
 eaid Johnson, " I was determined to examine 
 some of your valuables, which I find to consist 
 of three sorts, stuff, trash, and nonsense."
 
 NOVELS AND PLATS. 99 
 
 Novels and Plays. 
 
 At a dinner party of young gentlemen, some 
 years ago, in Philadelphia, theatrical perform- 
 ances were spoken of with great approbation, and 
 praised as the best moral school in the world. 
 One of the company being silent, his opinion was 
 asked. He begged leave to differ from them 
 entirely ; and gave it as his opinion that such 
 performances were calculated to check in young 
 gentlemen and ladies, all solid moral and mental 
 improvement, and to introduce extravagance, 
 dissipation, and light and frivolous conversation. 
 This fixed the eyes of the whole company upon 
 him, with a sternness that convinced him that 
 they thought his opinion deserved the strongest 
 disapprobation. But to convince them that he 
 was right, he proposed that they should appoint 
 a committee of two of their number, with whom 
 he would visit the theatre two or three nights in 
 a week for a month, on condition that they should 
 the next morning introduce him to some of the 
 young gentlemen and ladies who were at the play. 
 This was agreed to. At the expiration of a 
 month, the same party dined together, in order 
 to hear the report of their committee ; who stated 
 that of eighty young ladies, whom they had visit- 
 ed the next morning after the play, only one of 
 them had spoken of the moral of the play ; and
 
 100 ROMANTIC NOTIONS. 
 
 that the conversation was generally respecting 
 the dresses and gestures of the actors and act- 
 resses, the fashionable dresses of the ladies in the 
 audience, novels, dances, &c. This conversation 
 had convinced the committee that plays and novels 
 were a very great injury to all solid improvement ; 
 and this report convinced the whole company of 
 the correctness of the gentleman's opinion at the 
 previous party. 
 
 The Folly of Romance. 
 
 Novel-reading fills the heads of young girls 
 with romantic notions. They become weary with 
 the dull round of ordinary life. They sigh for 
 some adventure, such as they have read of in 
 works of fiction. The restless and uneasy spirit 
 thus cultivated prepares them to become an easy 
 prey to the false-hearted libertine. 
 
 A young lady of sixteen, an orphan, under the 
 care of an uncle, was attending a boarding-school 
 in Upper Canada. She was delicately bred, and 
 ignorant of the world. Her naturally romantic 
 feelings had doubtless been fostered by the perni- 
 cious practice of novel-reading, which has turned 
 the heads of thousands. A man was introduced 
 to her friends as a gentleman of standing and re- 
 spectability ; and, by his pleasing address and 
 winnirg manners, soon presented to her mind the
 
 AN ADVENTURE. 101 
 
 beau-ideal of the romance. He proposed mar 
 riage. Her guardian and other friends opposed 
 it. He was a stranger. She was too young. 
 But this opposition was necessary to complete 
 the romance, and make out an adventure. An 
 elopement was now agreed upon. They ran 
 away together, and were married in Detroit. It 
 was not long, however, before he was over:aken 
 by a creditor, from the place where he had for- 
 merly resided, arrested, carried to Cleveland, Ohio, 
 and put in jail. His young and beautiful wife fol- 
 lowed him, declaring herself willing to die with 
 him in prison. This was necessary to complete 
 the romance. But then she was informed that he 
 had left a wife as well as creditors, at the East. 
 The scene was now heart-rending. All the ro- 
 mantic hopes, which for weeks had filled her 
 mind, were now dashed in a moment. The fiend 
 in human shape, who had deceived her, being 
 released from prison, left her to her fate. For 
 him she had given up all the home and com- 
 panions of her childhood, her guardian and 
 friends, and now he not only abandons her, 
 but denies their marriage. She returned, asham- 
 ed and broken-hearted to her friends, a lesson 
 to romantic girls not to make matches in their 
 teens, against the advice of their friends a lesson 
 to boarding-school misses to mind their studies, 
 and keep shy of novels, men, and boys. 
 9*
 
 
 102 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 DANCING. 
 
 OICE of Warning. A young 
 lady was attentive to religious 
 meetings, and was for some 
 time the subject of serious 
 impressions. But a dancing- 
 school was opened, and she at- 
 tended it. Of course, she lost 
 all her seriousness. The spirit 
 of the Lord is far from scenes of 
 giddy mirth. One day, there was a 
 ^funeral in the village at noon, and 
 un the evening of the same day, di- 
 rectly across the street, there was a 
 , dance. Another day, the young lady I 
 have mentioned followed one of her rela- 
 tives to the grave. Soon after, a young 
 gentleman called to accompany her to the dance. 
 Her mother told her she had better not go, it 
 would not be proper so soon after the funeral of 
 their friend. The daughter answered, " I. shall 
 go to the dance, if I die, and all my friends were 
 corpses ! " She was immediately taken sick ; and
 
 SOLEMN WARNINGS. 103 
 
 the day after lie was to have waited on her to 
 the ball, the young gentleman followed her corpse 
 to the grave ! 
 
 Another. 
 
 A pious lady had two children, a son and a 
 daughter. The son was immoral in his conduct, 
 and a source of great grief to his mother ; but the 
 gentle and docile character of the daughter gave 
 great promise of excellence. She grew up beau- 
 tiful and graceful ; and her father, who was not a 
 pious man, insisted on sending her to the village 
 dancing-school. To the mother, who had devoted 
 her child to God, such an act seemed little short 
 of sacrilege. But, in spite of her tears and en- 
 treaties, the daughter was decorated with the 
 earnings of the dealing father, and sent to this 
 school of fashion and folly. Her beauty was so 
 remarkable, and her natural graces so attractive, 
 that she soon became the belle of the village. 
 
 The father now died, and the poor widow was 
 enabled to withdraw her daughter from these 
 scenes of temptation. She sought, with some 
 success, to instruct her in those religious truths, 
 which had proved her own comfort and support 
 in scenes of trial. The daughter lent a willing 
 ear, ayd seemed to be the subipct of good im-
 
 104 BAD EXAMPLES. 
 
 pressions ; and two years after the death of her 
 father, she was on the point of making a public 
 profession of religion. But now the village was 
 thrown into great excitement. Some rich men, 
 to show their generosity, determined to gratify 
 the people with a horse-race and a ball. The 
 poor widow shuddered as she witnessed the rapid 
 progress of this much dreaded evil. In the midst 
 of this excitement, her deceased husband's brother 
 came to town with his only daughter, and stopped 
 at her house. This man was a horse-jockey, and 
 his daughter an ardent votary of second-hand 
 fashions and graces. He fell into raptures at the 
 sight of his niece's beauty, and declared that ho 
 would be at the expense of equipping her like 
 his own child, and that she should eclipse all the 
 women of rank and fashion in the ball-room. 
 
 The poor girl was at first unwilling to listen to 
 these follies ; but she had always delighted in 
 dancing, and, on this occasion, suffered her better 
 judgment to be overruled. " 'T is but for once, 
 mother," said she, "and to please my uncle 
 nay, to avoid giving him incurable offence. Be- 
 lieve me, I shall not suffer my head to be turned 
 by one night of gaiety. Pray for me, mother, 
 that this compliance with the will of my father's 
 brother may not produce evil consequences." 
 
 " My child," s^aid the distressed mother, " I dare
 
 WANT OF RESOLUTION. 105 
 
 not so word my supplication. It is in compliance 
 with your own will, that you thus venture on the 
 tempter's own ground, and in this open act of 
 disobedience to your Heavenly Father I cannot 
 lend my aid to excuse or extenuate your guilt. 
 I have prayed I will still pray that you may 
 not venture still further in this matter ; but if 
 you do, the responsibility must rest with your- 
 self." 
 
 " But, mother, the scriptures say there is a 
 ' time to dance.' " 
 
 " So, they say, in the same place, 'there is a 
 time to make war, a time to hate.' The wise 
 man means that all sins and follies will have their 
 seasons, but he does not therefore, advocate sin 
 and folly. O beware, my child, and let the same 
 scriptures tell you, that he who hardeneth his 
 neck under reproof shall be destroyed, and that 
 suddenly. These are fearful words, my cnild. 
 O heed my reproof, and do not harden your 
 neck." 
 
 " Mother," the girl replied, " I have promised 
 my uncle to go to this unlucky ball, and I cannot 
 break my promise without offending him. He 
 has been so kind that it would seem ungrateful to 
 du appoint him in this trifle." 
 
 " my daughter," said the mother, stopping 
 her ears, " let me not hear you use such awful
 
 106 A SAD 11ESULT. 
 
 language ! Can it be you who call this sin a 
 trifle ! Go, if you will, but make no more vain 
 attempts to make it appear right, lest you add to 
 your condemnation." 
 
 The daughter went to the ball. She was much 
 admired, and so often solicited to dance that her 
 blood became painfully overheated. She started 
 to go to a little back porch, in order to find relief 
 from the heated atmosphere of the room. As 
 she was passing rapidly out of the room, she met 
 a servant, half intoxicated, carrying a pitcher of 
 water. In staggering out of the way he overset 
 the water into her bosom. This sudden shock 
 was too much for her. It brought on a violent 
 ague, which terminated hi convulsions, and before 
 the dawn of day, she expired in the arms of her 
 distracted mother. She was heard, in her last 
 moments, with difficulty to utter the word "sud- 
 denly" evidently alluding to the warning which 
 her mother had given her. 
 
 This narrative affords a good answer to the 
 question, whether it is safe for girls to attend the 
 dancing school. If they learn to dance, they 
 will then be importuned to go to balls ; and we 
 have seen how this young lady overcame her 
 scruples. We cannot disregard the hand of God 
 in her sad end ; but if we could, and there were 
 no moral evils attending such places of amuse-
 
 TENDENCY OF DANCING. 107 
 
 ment, the danger to health and life, to which 
 young ladies are exposed, by these unnatural ex- 
 citements, heated rooms, stimulating refreshments, 
 and exposure to the cold while heated, is a suffi- 
 cient reason why they should not attend. But the 
 exposure to moral evlh is still greater. The ball 
 room is the place to harden the heart against all 
 serious impressions. It is the place where the 
 unwary are exposed to the most dangerous seduc- 
 tions. It is the place where no one can expect 
 the grace of God to help her resist temptation. 
 
 A contrast to the foregoing. 
 
 There was a young girl, who was beloved by 
 very many friends ; and whose warm heart recip- 
 rocated all the affections which were bestowed 
 upon her. She had a father and mother, who 
 were extensively known and respected. She had 
 brothers and sisters, both older and younger than 
 herself ; and love was the presiding genius of the 
 family. The mother was a pious woman and she 
 faithfully instructed her children in their duty to 
 God. The daughter of whom we are speaking, 
 was early brought, as she believed, to receive the 
 blessed Saviour as her friend and the guide of her 
 youth. Soon after, she left home to attend 
 school. Though here she met a large number
 
 108 THE PEAYING GIRL. 
 
 of the gay and thoughtless, she turned away from 
 those who wasted the precious time allotted them 
 for improvement in vain and trifling amusements. 
 After some months, she returned home, and soon 
 after united with the church. 
 
 Arrangements were then made for her to spend 
 several months in the city ; and a short time before 
 she left home, her father, who was a man of the 
 world, told her that it was his wish that she should 
 spend part of her time in attending the dancing 
 school, for the purpose of polishing her manners ! 
 As though good manners could only be learned in 
 the school of vanity and folly. But nothing that this 
 father could have done, would have given greater 
 pain to his beloved child than this request. She 
 was anxious to please and honor him ; but she 
 thought a compliance with his wishes would dis- 
 honor the Saviour, to whom she had just devoted 
 herself. She told her father how she felt ; and 
 her mother approved her choice. But her father 
 laughed at what he called her folly, and turned 
 away from her with displeasure. She was griev- 
 ed to the heart. She loved her father ; but she 
 loved her Saviour more. She retired to her 
 closet, and like good king Hezekiah, " spread the 
 matter before the Lord." She prayed earnestly 
 that He who has power to change the heart, 
 would reconcile her father to the decision which
 
 A GOOD RESULT. 109 
 
 she had made. She returned to the parlor. Her 
 father's feelings were softened, though he knew 
 not what she had been doing. In tones of ten- 
 dernesss, he said, "My child, I will not insist 
 upon your attending the dancing school. If you 
 prefer not to attend it, you shall act your pleas- 
 ure." ....j 
 
 These words from her father, so different from 
 those which he had so recently addressed to her, 
 filled her with sweet peace. She went to the 
 city, where she entered a school of sixty young 
 ladies, all older than herself, and all gay and 
 thoughtless. When they went to the dance she 
 went to the prayer-meeting or the social circle. 
 She did not seclude herself, but enjoyed the soci- 
 ety of some of the most refined and intellectual 
 people in the city a far better school for the 
 improvement of manners, than a company of 
 thoughtless young people, under the direction of 
 an unprincipled Frenchman, to teach them how 
 to hop and skip scientifically and gracefully. 
 This young lady has lived many years, and passed 
 through a great variety of scenes and changes ; 
 but she has never regretted the decision which 
 she made at that time. How much better the 
 termination, in this case, than in the other, where 
 the young girl went to dancing school to please 
 an ungodly father, and to a ball to please a 
 10
 
 110 DEATH IN A BALL-KOOM. 
 
 worldly-minded uncle, and from the ball-room, to 
 eternity ! 
 
 Death in a Ball-room. 
 
 A student was spending a vacation with a cel- 
 ebrated physician. On a beautiful, but keenly 
 cold evening in January, a young gentleman came 
 into the office, and with a hurried air, inquired 
 for the doctor. As the physician was not to be 
 found, the student was requested to go with the 
 young man, which he did. On the way, the young 
 man informed him that there was a ball at the 
 hotel, which had been interrupted by the sudden 
 illness of one of the belles of the evening. On 
 arriving at the hotel, they were surprised at the 
 rapid filling and driving away of the carriages. 
 The hilarity of the occasion had been suddenly 
 exchanged for mute terror. Hurrying through the 
 crowd, they entered the ball-room. It was spa- 
 cious and brilliantly lighted, but deserted of its 
 occupants, save a horror-stricken group in the 
 center. On a sofa, which had been drawn from 
 the side of the room, sat a young lady, in a stoop- 
 ing posture, as though in the act of rising, with 
 one hand stretched out to take that of her part- 
 ner, who was to have led her to the dance. With 
 the smile upon her lip, and eyes beaming with
 
 A SAD SPECTACLE. Ill 
 
 excitement, death had seized her. The smile 
 of joy was now transformed to a hideous grin. 
 The beaming eye now seemed but a glazed mass, 
 protruding from the socket. The carmine added 
 to give brilliancy to her complexion, now con- 
 trasted strangely with the sallow hue her skin 
 assumed, while the gorgeous trappings, in which 
 fashion had decked her, seemed but a mocking of 
 the habiliments of the grave. The pale mother, 
 as she knelt beside her child, groaned out, " Not 
 here ! not here ! Let her die at home ! " 
 
 I do not pretend to say that God sends death 
 into the ball-room to show his disapprobation of 
 such scenes. This would not be a fair conclusion ; 
 for death sometimes seizes people in the house of 
 God. We do not know the reasons of God's 
 Providential dispensations ; though open and 
 presumptuous sins are often visibly punished. 
 As I have remarked before, the exposure, the 
 tight dressing, and the high excitement of the ball- 
 room, has a strong tendency to bring on sudden 
 death, especially with females, It may be, also, 
 that God intends by it to show that no place is 
 exempt from the destroyer. At all events, the 
 fact that so many have been suddenly called into 
 eternity from such scenes of mirth, shows that it 
 may occur again ; and who would wish to die in 
 a ball-room?
 
 
 112 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS. 
 Honesty Rewarded. 
 
 HILE walking in Broad- 
 way, in the city of New 
 York, a gentleman discover- 
 ed that he had lost his pocket- 
 book. He immediately re- 
 turned, asking every one 
 he met, whether they had 
 seen it. At length, inquir- 
 ing of a little girl ten years of age, 
 she asked, " What kind of a pocket- 
 book ? " He described it, and 
 then she unfolded her apron and 
 took out one just like what he had 
 described, saying, "Is this it?" The 
 gentleman told her it was, and said she 
 must go into the store with him. So he 
 opened the book, examined the money and papers, 
 and found she had taken nothing out of it. " Fif- 
 teen bills, of a thousand dollars each," said he. 
 If they had fallen into other hands, I might never
 
 HONESTY REWARDED. 113 
 
 have seen them again. Take this on*, of a 
 thousand dollars, my little girl, as a reward for 
 your honesty." "No sir," said the little girl, 
 " I have been taught not to keep what is not mine, 
 and my parents might not. he pleased, if I should 
 take it home they might think I had stolen it." 
 " Well, then, my child, show me where your pa- 
 rents live." The little girl showed him the way 
 to a small house, in a back street, for her parents 
 were poor. He informed them what hd hap- 
 pened. They told him that their little girl had 
 done right, in not accepting the money ; for, in 
 giving him the pocket-book, she only did what she 
 ought. It would have been a crime if she had 
 kept it However, the gentleman insisted on their 
 taking the tnousand dollars ; which enabled them 
 to pay their debts, live comfortably, and educate 
 their daughter ; who afterwards became the wife 
 of a respectable merchant in New York. But 
 if she had kept the pocket-book, she would have 
 got herself and her parents into serious difficulty. 
 It is always safest and best to do right. 
 
 Temper and Teazing. 
 
 There was a rich nobleman in England, who 
 had a little daughter named Anne. They were 
 very fond of her ; for she was a fine little crea- 
 10*
 
 114 TEMPEE AND TEAZING. 
 
 ture, very lively and merry, affectionate, and 
 exceedingly beautiful. But she had a naughty 
 temper. When any thing vexed her, she would 
 fly into a rage, and turn and strike any one that 
 provoked her. After every fit of rage, she would 
 be ashamed and sorry, and resolve never to be 
 so bad again. But the next time she was pro- 
 voked, it was all forgotten, and she was as angry 
 as ever. When she was between four and five 
 years of age, her mother had a little son, a 
 sweet little tender baby. The servants, who 
 were thoughtless and wicked, loved to teaze little 
 Anne, because she was so easily irritated ; and 
 so they told her that her father and mother would 
 not care for her now, because all their love and 
 pleasure would be in this brother, and they 
 would not mind her. Poor Anne burst into a 
 flood of tears, and cried bitterly, saying, " You 
 are a wicked woman to say so ; mamma will al- 
 ways love me, I know she will, and I '11 go this 
 very moment and ask her." And she darted out 
 of the nursery, and flew to her mother's room. 
 The servant called after her, " Come, Miss, you 
 needn't go to your mother's room, she won't see 
 you now." Anne burst open the door, but was 
 instantly caught hold of by a strange woman she 
 had never seen before, "My dear," said this 
 woman, " you cannot be allowed to see your
 
 TEMPER AND TEAZING. * 115 
 
 mamma just now " and she was going on to 
 tell her that it was because she was very sick 
 and must not be disturbed. But she was too 
 angry to listen ; and she screamed and kicked at 
 the woman, who was obliged to take her by force 
 and carry her back to the nursery. When she 
 put her down, she gave the servant a charge to 
 prevent her going to her mother's room. This 
 added to her rage. But the wicked servant burst 
 into a laugh, and said, " I told you that, Miss. 
 You see your mamma does not love you now." 
 The poor child became mad with fury. She 
 seized a smoothing iron, and darting forward, 
 threw it upon the baby's head, as it lay in the 
 cradle. The child gave one struggle, and breath- 
 ed no more. 
 
 Anne's mother died that night of grief. No 
 other child was ever born to the family. Anne 
 grew up and became the Countess of Crawford 
 and Livingstone. She was fully informed of the 
 fatal deed she had committed ; and in all her life, 
 was never afterwards known to smile. 
 
 This melancholy tale (which is a well-authen- 
 ticated fact), teaches two important lessons: 
 (1.) The folly and danger of teazing children ; 
 and, (2.) The danger of indulging angry passions. 
 When I see older people take delight in teazing 
 children, or children in teazing one another, I
 
 116* TEMPER AND TEAZING. 
 
 think it an evidence of a bad disposition, a mali- 
 cious, black heart. What else could give them 
 delight in tormenting one another ? And if I 
 see a little girl in a storm of passion, her eye- 
 balls flashing with rage, and her hands and feet 
 flying with fury, I think of Cain, who killed his 
 brother, and fear that some terrible disaster will 
 happen. If any one of my readers is afflicted with 
 a bad temper, I would advise her when she feels 
 an angry fit coming on, to run to her room, as 
 fast as her feet can carry her, and there remain 
 till it is over, falling on her knees and praying 
 God to give her strength to control it. 
 
 If any of you are tempted to teaze others, re- 
 member this sad story, and reflect what conse- 
 quences followed the thoughtless conduct of these 
 vicious servants, who amused themselves by ex- 
 citing the passions of this little girl. But if any 
 one teazes you, think what a slave you make of 
 yourself, by suffering your temper to be disturbed 
 by such things. Have independence enough not 
 to mind what is said on purpose to teaze you ; 
 and then no one will attempt it. These servants 
 by teazing, and this girl by being teazed, were 
 both guilty of murder ; and the lives of the moth- 
 er and the child were both lost in consequence.
 
 AN AFFECTING SCENE. 117 
 
 Advantages of committing to Memory Scripture, 
 Catechisms, and Hymns. 
 
 No one knows what changes may take place in 
 her situation. The eyes are a very delicate 
 structure, easily destroyed. The ears are often 
 gradually closed, and the mind shut up in silence. 
 Then the soul is dependent upon memory for its 
 intellectual food. Happy, at such times, are they 
 that have their minds stored with the precious 
 word of God. A young lady was led into the 
 presence of an eminent surgeon, totally blind and 
 deaf. This calamity came upon her suddenly, by 
 a violent pain in the head. She was brought to 
 be examined, to see whether there was any relief. 
 Several surgeons were present, all of whom pro- 
 nounced her case hopeless. After this was over, 
 and she was taken to the house of a friend, she 
 eagerly inquired what the doctor said, and whether 
 he could afford her any relief. The only way 
 her inquiries could be answered was, by tapping 
 her hand for " No" and squeezing it for " Yes ; " 
 for she could not hear the loudest noise, nor dis- 
 tinguish day from night. When she received 
 the answer " No," she burst into tears, and wept 
 aloud, in the bitterness of despair. " What ! shall 
 I never again see -the light of day, nor hear a
 
 118 AN AFFECTING SCENE. 
 
 human voice ? Must I remain incapable of aL 
 social intercourse shut up in silence and dark- 
 ness while I live?" Again she wept. The 
 scene was truly affecting. Had she been able to 
 see, she might read, and receive the sympathetic 
 expression of the countenances of her friends. 
 Had she been only blind, she could receive knowl- 
 edge and expressions of friendship through the 
 sense of hearing. But both these avenues were 
 closed, to be no more opened in this world. Her 
 friends could pity, but could not relieve. And to 
 add to the trial, she was an orphan, with no fa- 
 ther, mother, brothers, or sisters, to pity and care 
 for her. She was entirely dependent upon a few 
 pious friends for suppport. This she keenly felt. 
 As she continued to weep, a friend took up a 
 Bible and placed it on her breast. She felt it, 
 and said, " Is this the Bible ? " She was answer- 
 ed that it was. She held it to her bosom, and said, 
 " This is the only comfort I have left, though I 
 shall never be able to read it any more," and 
 began to repeat some of its promises, as " Cast 
 thy burden on the Lord, and he will sustain thee." 
 " As thy day is, so shall thy strength be." " Call 
 upon me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver 
 thee." " My grace is sufficient for thee." " In a 
 moment," says the narrator, " she dried her tears, 
 and became one of the happiest creatures I ever
 
 CONSOLATION. 119 
 
 saw." She never seemed to deplore her condi- 
 tion afterwards. Although the channels of com- 
 munication with the world were closed, one was 
 opened between her soul and heaven. When she 
 was a very little girl, she had been to the Sabbath 
 School, where she had committed to memory 
 many portions of Scripture ; and these were the 
 manna on which her soul now feasted. 
 
 The Assembly's Catechism. 
 
 In a certain school district in the State of New 
 York, there lived a man who was an infidel, and 
 bitterly opposed to religion. The Assembly's 
 Catechism was taught in the district school ; but 
 when the children were called upon to recite ity 
 this man's children were placed on a seat by 
 themselves, and forbidden to take part in the ex- 
 ercise. They went home grieved that they 
 should be treated so differently from the rest of 
 the children, and asked their mother what it 
 meant. She told them she did not know, though 
 she suspected the cause. When her husband 
 came home, she told him about it, and asked him 
 whether, as she suspected, it was by his orders. 
 He told her it was. He had forbidden the in- 
 etructer of the school to teach it to them. " Then," 
 said the mother, " they shall learn it at home."
 
 120 THE CATECHISM. 
 
 "No," said he, "they shall never learn it at 
 home. I will never have it brought into the 
 house." " I have the catechism every word of it 
 in my heart," she replied ; " and as long as I am 
 your wife, I shall teach it to our children." The 
 man said no more, but went to the teacher, and 
 said, " My wife is queen, and you must teach the 
 catechism to the children." This woman had 
 committed the whole catechism perfectly to mem- 
 ory, when a child. 
 
 Another woman when she became very old 
 and blind, so that she could not read, took great 
 comfort in repeating the catechism, every word 
 of which she remembered ; and she dwelt with 
 great delight on the precious truths which it con- 
 tarns. 
 
 Hymns. 
 
 Many years ago, several German families left 
 their native land and settled in this country. 
 Among them was a man from Wirtemberg, who 
 settled with his family in Pennsylvania. There 
 were no churches or schools in that part of the 
 country ; and he was obliged to keep the Sab- 
 bath with his family at home ; instructing them 
 to read the Bible and pray, and to commit to 
 memory portions of Scripture and hymns.
 
 THE CAPTURE. 121 
 
 In 1754, a terrible war broke out between the 
 French and English. The Indians took part with 
 the French ; and some of them came into Penn- 
 sylvania, murdering the inhabitants and burning 
 their houses. They reached the dwelling of the 
 family from Wirtemberg, while the mother and 
 one of the sons were gone to a mill, four miles 
 distant, to get some corn ground. The father, 
 the eldest son, and two little girls named Barba- 
 ra and Regina, were at home. The father and 
 son were instantly killed ; but the little girls 
 were carried away into captivity, with a great 
 many other children, who were taken in the same 
 manner. They were led many miles, through 
 woods and thorny bushes, that no body might 
 follow them. 
 
 Barbara was at this time ten years old, and 
 Regina nine. It was never known what became 
 of Barbara ; but Regina, with a little girl whom 
 she had never seen before, was given to an old 
 Indian woman, who was very cruel to them. 
 Her only son lived with her, and maintained her ; 
 but he was sometimes from home for weeks to- 
 gether, and then these poor little children were 
 forced to go into the woods to gather roots and 
 and other things for the old woman to eat ; and 
 when they di d not bring her enough, she would 
 beat them so cruelly that they were nearly killed. 
 11
 
 122 LITTLE CAPTIVE GIRLS. 
 
 And now Regina began to find the advantage of 
 committing to memory Scripture, Hymns, and 
 Prayers. She would kneel down with the other 
 little girl, under a tree, and repeat the prayers to 
 the Lord Jesus, and the hymns, which her father 
 had taught her ; and the little girl prayed with 
 her, and learned the prayers and hymns by heart. 
 In this condition these children remained nine 
 long years, till Regina was nineteen and her little 
 companion eleven years old. While captives, 
 they took much comfort in repeating together the 
 verses and hymns which Regina's father had 
 taught her. They would cheer each other, espe- 
 cially with one hymn from the German hymn- 
 book, used at Halle, in Germany : 
 
 " Alone, yet not alone am I, 
 Though in this solitude so drear." 
 
 They constantly hoped that the Lord Jesus 
 would sometime bring them back to their Chris- 
 tian friends. In the year 1764, this hope was 
 realized. The English Colonel Bouquet came 
 to the place where they were, conquered the 
 Indians, and made them restore all their pris- 
 oners. More than four hundred were brought 
 to him, and among others, these two little girls. 
 The Colonel and his soldiers gave them food and 
 clothes, and brought them all to the town of Car-
 
 AN AFFECTING SCENE. 123 
 
 lisle, in Pennsylvania, and published a request in 
 the newspapers that all parents, who had lost 
 their children, would come to this place, and see 
 if they could find them among the captives. 
 Regina's mother came, but her child had become 
 a stranger to her. Regina had the language and 
 manners of the Indians, and neither mother nor 
 daughter knew each other. The poor mother 
 went up and down among the young captives, but 
 could find nothing of her daughters. She wept 
 in bitter grief and disappointment. Colonel 
 Bouquet asked her if she recollected nothing by 
 which her children might be discovered. She 
 said she recollected nothing but the following 
 hymn, which she used to sing with them : 
 
 " Alone, yet not alone am I, 
 
 Though in this solitude so drear ; 
 
 I feel my Saviour always nigh, 
 He comes, the weary homes to cheer. 
 
 I am with him and he with me, 
 
 Even here alone I cannot be." 
 
 He requested her to sing the hymn ; but she 
 had scarcely sung two lines of it, when Regina 
 rushed from the crowd, began to sing too, and 
 flew into her mother's arms. They both wept 
 for joy. But the other sister was not found, and 
 no one came for the other little girl, Regina's 
 companion, who clung to her and would not let 
 her go. Regina's mother, though poor, took them
 
 124 THE BIBLE. 
 
 both home with her. Regina repeatedly asked 
 her mother for " the Book in which God speaks 
 to us ;" for she remembered that, when her father 
 took down the Bible to read to them he always 
 said, ? Now, my children, be still, and listen to 
 what I am going to read; for it is God who 
 speaks to us in this book." But her mother had 
 no Bible. She lost every thing when the Indians 
 burnt their house. She determined to go to 
 Philadelphia and buy one ; but the pastor of the 
 church, learning her situation gave her a Bible. 
 Regina had not forgotten what her father had 
 taught her ; for she was able to read the Bible, 
 as soon as she received it. 
 
 Thus the hymns and Scriptures which this 
 young woman had learned when she was a little 
 girl, besides being a great comfort to her in her 
 long captivity, were the means of restoring her 
 to her mother.
 
 125 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 SECTION I. DOING GOOD. 
 The Swearer reproved. 
 
 OUNG persons may do gocd. 
 A girl about twelve years of 
 age, . the daughter of a sailor 
 in Southwark, England, being 
 sick, her father determined to 
 take her with him on a little 
 voyage to Dunkirk. Before 
 she started, she asked her 
 Sabbath School teacher to give her 
 some tracts to take with her, as she 
 hoped they might be useful. On 
 the way, the vessel was becalmed, 
 which irritated the sailors, and made 
 them utter a great many profane oaths. 
 The girl was shocked to hear such 
 language ; and though she was lying in 
 her birth, very ill, she mustered courage enough 
 to crawl to her box, where she found the tract 
 entitled " The Swearer's Prayer," which she gave 
 11*
 
 126 THE YOUNG CAN DO GOOD. 
 
 to the young man who had been the worst, and ask- 
 ed him if he would not like to read it. He said he 
 should be glad to read any thing to pass away the 
 time. He began and read it aloud to the rest of 
 the men, who seemed very attentive. Some time 
 after, one of them swore again. Upon which, the 
 young man said to him, " How can you swear, 
 after hearing what has just been read ! I have 
 determined never to swear again as long as I 
 live." " So have I," said another. And the 
 whole company made a solemn vow that they 
 would not swear any more ; and no more pro- 
 faneness was heard, during the voyage. Thus, 
 my readers will see how easy it is, even for young 
 persons to do good, if they are always intent 
 upon it. It would be well for them always to 
 carry about them some copies of the " Swearer's 
 Prayer," whenever they are going where they 
 may possibly be exposed to hear profane lan- 
 guage, and make a similar use of it. It may 
 please God to employ them in promoting the 
 honor of his great name. 
 
 The Pearl of great, price. 
 
 A native of one of the Islands in the Indian 
 Ocean, was married to a Scotch merchant, who 
 returned with her to his own cointry. She had
 
 THE PEARL OP GREAT PRICE. 127 
 
 been brought up a heathen ; but in Scotland, she 
 lived without any religion at all. She had a 
 great many jewels ; and she spent her time in 
 adorning herself with them, and playing with her 
 children. One day she heard a loud rumbling 
 noise, in the street where she lived, in the city of 
 Aberdeen ; and on looking out, she saw it pro- 
 ceeded from some carts filled with blocks of 
 granite, which were passing in the street. Turn- 
 ing to an old Scotch nurse, then in the room, she 
 said, " What a poor country Scotland is ! Its 
 hills produce nothing but great blocks of stone. 
 In my country, they obtain from the hills gold, 
 jewels, and precious stones." " But," replied the 
 pious old woman, " we have one treasure here in 
 Scotland, which your country does not possess 
 the pearl of great price? " O," said the Indian 
 lady, " I must have that treasure cost what it 
 will. I am sure my husband will buy it for me. 
 I will part with all my other jewels, if I can get 
 this." u Ah !" replied the old woman, " this trea- 
 sure is not to be bought. It is to be had freely, 
 without money and without price. It is not an 
 ornament for the neck or for the ears, but a bless- 
 ing for the heart." " O, that is just what I 
 want," rejoined the lady. "I am often very 
 unhappy, when I think of my relations, whom I 
 shall never see, and of my much loved native
 
 128 EFFECT OF GOOD WORDS. 
 
 land. I often have an aching heart in spite of 
 my children, my jewels, and all my other com- 
 forts." The woman told her the treasure was 
 hid in the field of the Holy Scriptures, and was 
 to be found by diligent seeking. The lady im- 
 mediately undertook to learn to read, which she 
 accomplished in a little time; and by diligently 
 searching the Scriptures, she found the " Pearl 
 of Great Price," became a member of the Chris- 
 tian church, lived a happy life, and died a peace- 
 ful death. 
 
 How many of my readers, who have had the 
 Holy Scriptures in their hands, and have been 
 able to read them ever since they were old enough, 
 have sought and found the " Pearl of Great 
 Price?" 
 
 From the foregoing story, we learn how much 
 good one may do, by watching opportunities, even 
 in the humblest station. Solomon says, " A word 
 spoken in due season, how good it is ! " This old 
 Scotch nurse, was wise to win souls. She knew 
 how to speak a good word at the right time, and 
 God blessed it. The following anecdote illus- 
 trates the same truth, in a different station of 
 life.
 
 A WORD FITLY SPOKEN. 129 
 
 Lady Huntingdon and the Gardner. 
 
 Lady Huntingdon, having employed a man to 
 Work in her garden, took an opportunity to urge 
 him to take some serious thought about his souL 
 Some years afterwards, she employed another 
 man for the same purpose, and began to talk to 
 him in the same way, expressing her fears that he 
 never prayed nor looked to Christ fa* pardon. 
 " Your ladyship is mistaken," said he. " I heard 
 what passed between you and James, at such a 
 time, and the word designed for him took effect 
 on me." " How did you hear it ?" she inquired. 
 " I heard it," he replied, "on the other side of the 
 garden, through a hole in the wall, and shall 
 never forget the impression I received." Do 
 any of my readers ask, " What good can 7 do ? " 
 You perceive what power there is often in a 
 " word in due season," " fitly spoken." You 
 know not what good you may do, by watching 
 opportunities to speak good words.
 
 
 130 
 
 SECTION n. FAITH. 
 A little Girl and her Father. 
 
 LITTLE girl was trying to 
 find her father, who had gone 
 into the cellar, by a trap door, 
 with no light. Coming to the 
 door, and looking down, she 
 could see nothing, for it was 
 all dark. She called out, 
 "Are you down cellar, father ?" 
 " Yes ;" he answered. " "Would you 
 like to come, Mary ? " " It is dark. 
 I can't come, papa." " Well, my 
 daughter, I am right below you, and 
 I can see you, though you cannot see 
 me. If you will drop yourself down, I 
 will catch you." " Oh ! I shall fall, I 
 can't see you, papa." " I know it," he 
 replied, " but I am truly here, and you shall not 
 fall or hurt yourself. I will catch you." She 
 strained her eyes, but could not see him. She 
 hesitated, then advanced a little, and finally threw 
 herself down and was caught in his arms. This 
 was faith faith in her father. Though you
 
 FAITH. 131 
 
 cannot see Jesus, he is as truly present as this 
 little girl's father was ; and he says, " suffer little 
 children to come unto me, and forbid them not." 
 Now, can you not believe him, and in your mind, 
 cast yourself into his arms? You need not be 
 afraid. Only trust in him. 
 
 A little girl's application of Scripture. 
 
 An active little girl, ten years of age, had for 
 some weeks been nursing, with affectionate care- 
 fulness, a sick sister, who was expected to die ; 
 her mother and another sister also being sick. 
 She began to feel quite worn out. One morning, 
 she went for some medicine with a heavy heart,' 
 crying very much. But on the way she heard 
 some one speak of two criminals, who were about 
 to be executed. She immediately began to think 
 of the contrast between her feelings for her poor 
 sick sister, and the feelings of the friends of 
 these unhappy wretches. Her sister, she hoped, 
 was prepared to meet death ; and if she died, it 
 must be God's will, and for good reasons. She 
 saw that her feelings had been wrong. She 
 determined, therefore, to do all she could for the 
 comfort of her sister Lizzy, and leave the event 
 with God. While she was returning across the 
 fields home, she began to think of what she had
 
 132 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 learned in the Bible. The 75th verse of the 
 119th Psalm came to her mind: "I know, 
 Lord, that thy judgments are right, and that thou 
 in faithfulness hast afflicted me." She felt so 
 cheered by this text, that her mother was quite 
 surprised at her briskness and change of spirits 
 on her return ; and on asking her the cause, the 
 little girl told her what had passed in her mind. 
 She continued active day and night, in waiting 
 on her sister, and had the happiness, at length of 
 seeing her recover. At the same time, she often 
 comforted her mother with passages which she 
 repeated from the Scriptures, suited to her case. 
 This little girl had faith. She trusted in God.
 
 133 
 
 SECTION in. CHERISH SERIOUS IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 >EETINGS were held by a 
 pastor in different parts of his 
 parish, at which he was in the 
 habit of speaking directly to 
 every one who attended, about 
 ' their souls' concerns. At one 
 of these meetings, several young 
 ladies, in order to avoid being 
 conversed with, rose and left the 
 house. After that, there were eight 
 revivals in the place, some of them 
 very extensive and powerful; but 
 these young women passed through 
 them unaffected. And they all died as 
 they lived, unawakened and careless. 
 
 A young lady had been for some time 
 serious, and seemed to be " not far from the king- 
 dom of heaven." At this time, some of her gay 
 companions called on her to accompany them to 
 a ball. At first she refused to go. Every thing 
 in the house of mirth was contrary to her present 
 feelings. But they urged her, ridiculed her 
 u Methodism," railed at ministers and Christians, 
 and so wrought upon her, that she exclaimed, 
 " Wett, I wiU go, if lam damned for it" 
 12
 
 134 STIFLING SERIOUSNESS. 
 
 She went ; but the blessed Spirit immediately 
 withdrew his influences. She seemed to be sen- 
 sible of it ; for she no longer felt sorrow for sin, 
 "but a certain fearful looking for of judgment 
 and fiery indignation." She fell into the horrors 
 of despair, and pined away and died. The min- 
 ister was sent for, but she would not consent that 
 he should pray with her. He tried to direct her 
 to the blood of Christ, but no ray of comfort 
 entered her mind, and she went out of the world 
 with despair depicted in her ghastly countenance. 
 This comes from stifling serious impressions. 
 
 The Choice A Contrast. 
 
 On a pleasant evening, two young ladies were 
 walking together, in a certain town in New-Eng- 
 land. One said to the other, " I understand there 
 is some prospect of a Revival of Religion in this 
 town ; and if there is, I hope I shall be a subject 
 of it." The other replied, "Well, I hope I shall 
 not, for I have not enjoyed enough of the world 
 to attend to religion yet." This discovered their 
 different states of mind. The first one showed a 
 sense of her need, and a willingness to give up 
 all for Christ ; but she was wrong in supposing 
 that she must wait for a Revival before she could 
 be converted to God ; for Christ is ever ready to
 
 A CONTRAST. 135 
 
 receive all who come to him. But the other 
 showed that she preferred the pleasures of this 
 world, to the favor and service of God. In her 
 heart she said unto God, " Depart from me, for I 
 desire not the knowledge of thy ways." 
 
 The one first mentioned attended the prayer- 
 meetings, became deeply concerned for her soul, 
 and after two or three weeks, she found peace in 
 believing in Jesus. About the same time, the 
 other young lady awoke in the night and called 
 her mother, saying she was very unwell. Her 
 brother ran across the street for a physician ; but 
 when he came she was a corpse ! This shows 
 the folly and the danger of putting off attention 
 to religion, and preferring present pleasure to 
 everlasting bliss.
 
 136 
 
 SECTION IV. CONSCIENCE. 
 
 ONSCIENCE is the faculty 
 which distinguishes between 
 right and wrong, and approves 
 or condemns us, according as 
 we do one or the other. It is 
 a generous friend, but a terri- 
 ble enemy ; and, if we would 
 keep its friendship, we must 
 be careful to do nothing to offend 
 it. The following story not only 
 illustrates the power of conscience 
 to accuse and condemn, but like- 
 wise shows the importance of being 
 strictly honest in little things. Girls, 
 who rob their mothers' closets of cakes 
 and sweetmeats, and boarding-school 
 misses, who peculate upon the larder or the 
 baker's basket, may see to what they are expos- 
 ing themselves. These are dangerous practices. 
 When habitually indulged, they blunt the con- 
 science in regard to the rights of others, and 
 sometimes produce the confirmed habit of thiev- 
 ing. This woman suffered more than tongue can
 
 CONSCIENCE. 137 
 
 tell, from having indulged this thievish habit at 
 boarding school. 
 
 In the year 1835, a lady about thirty-eight 
 years of age, elegantly dressed, entered the shop 
 of a pastry-cook in the neighborhood of London, 
 in great mental excitement, and inquired if Mr. 
 
 was still alive, as she wished to see him. 
 
 The man was engaged, and sent his daughter, 
 to whom she stated, that more than twenty years 
 before, she was at a boarding school, which Mr. 
 
 supplied with pastry ; and that while there, 
 
 she was in the habit of taking little articles from 
 his tray, unknown to the person who brought it. 
 She had now been married some years, and was 
 the mother of six children, having every" comfort 
 which this world could afford ; but the remem- 
 brance of these petty thefts so haunted her 
 conscience that she was never happy. Her hus- 
 band, perceiving that she was unhappy, inquired 
 the cause ; and finding it continued to prey upon 
 her spirits, he advised her to see if the pastry 
 cook was alive, and to make him or his family a 
 recompense ; and as she was about to leave Lon- 
 don that day, she had come for that purpose. 
 After begging his forgiveness, she insisted on his 
 accepting a sum of money, which she believed to 
 be about the value of the articles stolen. 
 
 12*
 
 138 
 
 SECTION V. PRATER. 
 PRAYING IN SECRET. 
 
 ITTLE Mary W. was asked, 
 "Which do you love best, to 
 pray in the family or in se- 
 cret ? " Her reply was, " I 
 love to pray with others ; but 
 I can say to God when I am 
 alone, what I cannot say when 
 I am with others." 
 A little girl in the country was 
 frequently sent to a spring, some 
 distance from the house, for water. 
 Her father noticed that she some- 
 times stayed longer than was necessary, 
 and one day followed her without being 
 noticed. "When she got to the spring, 
 she set down her pitcher and kneeled 
 down to pray. When she arose, he came forward 
 and said, " Well, my dear, was the water sweet ? " 
 . " Yes, father," she replied, " and if you were but 
 to taste cne drop of the water I have been tast- 
 ing, you would never drink the water of this 
 world any more."
 
 PRAYER. 139 
 
 Pray without ceasing. 
 
 At a ministers' meeting, the question was pro- 
 posed, " How can the command ' pray without 
 ceasing ' be complied with ?" After some discus- 
 sion, one was appointed, to write upon it for the 
 next monthly meeting. A female servant, over- 
 hearing the conversation,, exclaimed, " What ! a 
 whole month wanted to explain the meaning of 
 that text ! It is one of the easiest and best texts 
 in the Bible." " Well, well," said an aged min- 
 ister, " Mary, what can you say about it ? Let 
 us know how you understand it. Can you pray 
 all the time ? " " O yes, sir," she answered. 
 " What, when you have so many things to do?" 
 " Why, sir, the more I have to do, the more I can 
 pray." "Indeed; well, Mary, do let us know 
 hrw it is; for most people think otherwise." 
 ' Well, sir," said the girl, " When I first open my 
 iyes in the morning, I pray, ' Lord, open the eyes 
 of my understanding ; ' and while I am dressing, 
 I pray that I may be clothed with the robe of 
 righteousness ; and when I have washed myself, 
 I ask for the washing of regeneration ; and as I 
 begin to work, I pray that I may have strength 
 equal to my day. When I begin to kindle the 
 6re, I pray that God's work may revive in my
 
 140 PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. 
 
 soul ; and as I sweep the house, I pray tLat my 
 heart may be cleansed from all its impurities. 
 "While preparing and partaking of breakfast, I 
 desire to be fed with the hidden manna, and the 
 sincere milk of the word ; and as I am busy with 
 the little children, I look up to God as my Father, 
 and pray for the Spirit of adoption, that I may 
 be his child. And so on, all day, every thing I 
 do furnishes me with a thought for prayer." 
 " Enough, enough," cried the aged minister ; 
 " these things are revealed to babes, though often 
 hid from the wise and prudent. Go on Mary, 
 pray without ceasing ; and as for us my' brethren, 
 let us thank God for this exposition, and remem- 
 ber that He has said, ' The meek will he guide in 
 judgment.' " It is not to be supposed that these 
 ministers were ignorant of the meaning of this 
 text ; but it must have been gratifying to them to 
 see how Christian experience will exemplify it, 
 so as to render any explanation unnecessary If 
 our readers will follow the example of this 
 servant-girl, they will learn how to "be in the 
 fear of God all the day long."
 
 141 
 
 SECTION VI. DEATH-BED SCENES. 
 THE UNPREPARED. 
 
 (ARIA was an amiable youth, 
 in blooming health. She at- 
 tended to the concerns of this 
 life, was modest and gentle, 
 and correct in her outward de- 
 portment. She attended pub- 
 lic worship regularly, and list- 
 ened attentively to"the word 
 God; but she put off attending 
 the things which she heard, think- 
 ing, because she was young, and in 
 vigorous health, there was time 
 enough yet. She forgot that God 
 claims the heart in life, and not merely 
 in death. One evening, she was cheer- 
 ful and happy as usual, promising her- 
 aelf months and years of worldly enjoyment. 
 But in an hour she was taken to her bed, from 
 which she was carried to the grave. Disease had 
 taken hold of her vigorous frame with relentless 
 grasp. The physician was called, and all the 
 tender offices of anxious friends were afforded.
 
 142 THE UNPREPARED. 
 
 One fainting fit followed another, in rapid succes- 
 sion ; daring the intervals of which, she would 
 exclaim, " for life! for life! life! life! for a 
 little life to prepare to die ! " In this situation, 
 she lingered a few days, and died. Reader, 
 while you have life, devote it to God, and then 
 you will want no time to prepare to die. 
 
 Peace in Death. 
 
 Ruth Maria Robbins died in Quincy, Illinois, 
 Aug. 22, 1830, aged ten years. Her mother was 
 a pious woman, who trained up her children in 
 the " nurture and admonition of the Lord." Maria 
 was the subject of many prayers, and received 
 much good instruction when she was very young. 
 At the age of three years she was sent to the 
 Sabbath School. She very soon became much 
 attached to the teachers, was punctual at school, 
 and never failed to have her lesson well learned. 
 About a year before she died, her parents remov- 
 ed to Quincy. At that time, there was no Church 
 and no Sabbath School in Quincy, for it was a 
 new place. Maria felt these privations and often 
 spoke with regret of the change in her situation. 
 
 Maria's last sickness was very distressing, but 
 she bore it with much patience and resignation ; 
 for, while in health, she had put her trust in
 
 PEACE IN DEATH. 143 
 
 Christ, and was prepared to endure whatever her 
 heavenly Father saw fit to send upon her. Her 
 physician said he had never before seen so much 
 fortitude and patience in one so young. When 
 asked if she did not wish to recover, she replied, 
 " If I should, I must die some time. I trust I 
 am now prepared to go. Then why should I 
 wish to live any longer ? I desire to go to God, 
 in whose presence there is fulness of joy, and at 
 whose right hand there are pleasures forever - 
 more. There I shall be free from sin and pah,, 
 and dwell for ever with my Saviour." She thei 
 said to her mother and little sisters, " I have pm 
 my whole trust in Christ, and now he supports 
 me. You must all do likewise, and in the trying 
 hour, he will also be your supporter." A few 
 days before her death, she was told that a Church 
 was about to be formed in Quincy. She said, " I 
 should be happy to join it," and then inquired, 
 " Are there not some in all the Churches who are 
 hypocrites." Her mother replied, " No, in the 
 Church of the first-born, the society of heaven, 
 they are all holy, harmless, undefiled." " True," 
 said she, " and I shall soon be a member of that 
 society." Then with rapture she exclaimed, 
 " Farewell, world, I am going home." In this 
 frame of mind, she " fell asleep." 
 
 This little girl did not begin to be religious
 
 144 CONCLUSION. 
 
 after she was taken sick ; but in her health, she 
 put her trust in the*Saviour, and took the Lord 
 for her portion ; and the Lord fulfilled toward her 
 these precious promises of his holy word : " Thou 
 wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is 
 stayed on thee." " When thou passest through 
 the waters, I will be with thee ; and through the 
 rivers, they shall not overflow thee." 
 
 It is my desire, in taking leave of my readers, 
 that they also may put their trust in the blessed 
 Saviour, and thus be prepared, like Maria, to 
 meet trials with patience and resignation, and to 
 face death with calmness and composure, in pros- 
 pect of a glorious immortality. I desire, also, to 
 meet them in that blest abode ; and then it will 
 increase my joy to know that my book has been 
 a benefit to their souls. 
 
 Sweet peace smile on thee, gentle reader; 
 faith point thee to that world of light ; bright 
 hope cheer thee on thy way ; and the glorious 
 " Ark of Safety " bear thee over the " deep 
 waters," to the haven of eternal rest. Adieu ! 
 
 END. 

 
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