Mil. li TV 'ounfl.lTo No. 4 OOVK BLOCK. , LEWIE; OK, THE BENDED TWIG. BY COUSIN CICELY, AUTHOR OF THE " OTLVER LAKE STORIES," ETC. HTO. "Train up this child for me, and 1 will give thee thy wages." " Mother ! thy gentle hand hath mighty power, For thou alone may'st train, and guide, and mould, Plants that shall blossom with an odor sweet, Or like the cursed flg-trce, wither and become Vile cumberers of th ground." AUBURN: ALDEN, BEARDSLEY r the doctor says the most perfect quiet is necossary, and you could not see Lewie if you -were a* home.'* BROOK FARM. 51 And now that the mind of little Agnes was comparatively free from anxiety, she entered with great delight into the preparations going on at Brook Farm for Christmas. III. Christmas "In the sounding hall they wake The rural gambol." THOMSON. AND now but a week was wanting to Christ- mas, and all was excitement and bustle among the little folks at Brook Farm. Lewie was quite out of danger, and Agnes was as happy and as busy as any of her little cousins. The cutter was in constant demand; for when one was particu- larly desirous to go over to the village on some secret expedition, that one must go alone, or only with those who were in her secret. Many were the mysterious brown-paper parcels which were smuggled into the house, and hidden away under lock and key in various closets and drawers ; and there were sudden scramblings and hidings of half- CHRISTMAS TIME. 53 finished articles, when some member of the family who " was not to see " entered the room. " Aunty," said Agnes one day, in a confidential tone, "I should like to make a needle-book for mamma, like the one cousin Emily is making for Effie. She says she will show me, and fix it for me, and I think I can do it. Do you think mam- ma would like it ?" " Certainly, darling, I should think she would like it ; I do not see how any mamma could help being pleased with anything her little girl made for her." "But, aunty," said Agnes, as if speaking of a well-known and acknowledged fact, "you know mamma does n't love me much, and perhaps it would trouble her." The sad tone in which these words were said brought tears to the eyes of Mrs. "Wharton, but still she encouraged Agnes to go on with the needle- book. It was not a very complicated affair, and Emily arranged all the most difficult parts; but still it was a work of time, and one requiring much 64 LEWIE. patience and perseverance on the part of so young a child as Agnes. However, it was at length com- pleted on the day before Christmas, and, when handed about for inspection, was much admired by all her friends. Agnes was very happy, for on Christmas day her uncle was to take her over home to see Lewie, who called for her constantly, her aunt said. Mammy had walked over too, to see her little girl, and she told her that " Lewie was greetin' for ' sister' from morn till night." The day before Christmas came, and with it the party at Brook Farm was augmented by the arrival of Mrs. Ellison, a younger sister of Mr. Wharton's, her husband and baby, a beautiful child of about a year old. There was great joy at the arrival of " Aunt Fanny," who was very lively, and always ready to enter with glee into the frolics and sports of the children. As they were sitting at the dinner table that day, Mr. "Wharton said : " I have received certain information that Santa Claus himself is to visit us to-night, and bring his CHRISTMAS TIME. 55 gifts in person. He desires me to inform the chil- dren, that all packages to be entrusted to his care must be handed into my study, labelled .and di- rected, before six o'clock this evening." Many were the wonders and speculations as to the nature and appearance of the expected Santa Olaus; but they were suddenly interrupted by Robert, who exclaimed : " "Why, who comes here up the lane? It 's old cousin Betty, I do declare, in her old green gig set on runners." "I thought cousin Betty would hardly let Christmas go by without making her appearance," said Mrs. "Wharton ; "1 have thought two or three times to-day that ehe might come along before night" " Cousin Betty " was a distant relation of Mrs. "Wharton's, a lonely old body, who lodged with a relative* in a village about ten miles distant from Brook Farm. She was very eccentric so much so, that she was by some thought crazy ; but Mrs. Wharton was of opinion that cousin Betty had 56 LEWIE. never possessed sufficient mind to subject her to such a calamity. She was more silly than crazy r very good-natured, very inquisitive as to the affairs of others, and very communicative as to her own, In a few minutes cousin Betty had received a hearty welcome, and was seated by the bright fire, asking and answering questions with the utmost rapidity. " I 've been looking for you, cousin Betty," said Mrs. Wharton. " Have ! What made you ?" " Oh, I thought you could hardly let Christmas go by without coming to see the fun." "Did! "Well, I never thought nothing about comin' till yesterday, when I sat in my little room, and I got feelin' pretty dull ; and thinks I to my- self, I '11 just borrow Mr. White's old horse, and take my old gig, and drive up to the farm, and see the folks." " Cousin Betty, who do you think is coming to Bee us to-night ?". asked little Grace. " I 'm sure I can't tell, child. Who is it ?" CHRISTMAS TIME. 57 " Why, Santa Glaus himself, with all his presents around him." "Is, hey?" said cousin Betty; "well, I shall be mighty glad to see him, I can tell you ; for, old as I am, I Ve never seen him yet." " I 'm so glad you Ve come, cousin Betty !" said Erne ; "we want you to go with us some day over to the farm-house, and tell us about our great- grandfather, whose house stood where the farm- house stands now ; and how his house was burnt down by the Indians, and he was carried off. Agnes wants to hear it so much." " Does ! "Well, I will go over there, and tell you the story, some day. But I can't walk over there while the weather is so cold ; I should get the rheumatiz." " I '11 drag you over on my sled, if that will do, cousin Betty," said Eobert. The children laughed so heartily at the picture presented to then: imagination of little old cousin Betty riding on Eobert's sled, that Grace actually rolled out of her chair. 58 LEWIE. " Why would n't it do to tell the story here, Effie?" asked Agnes. " Oh, because it is a great deal more interesting, told on the spot you know. Cousin Betty has heard it all over and over again from grand- mamma, and she can point out, from one window of the farm-house, all the places where all those dreadful things happened." Some warm dinner was now brought in for cousin Betty, and the children went off to tie up and label the gifts for Santa Glaus. " What shall we do with the presents we have for papa and mamma?" asked Grace. " Oh, we cannot hand those in to the study," said Effie ; "we must contrive some way to give them afterwards." And now the children, one after the other, with their arms laden with packages, were making their way to their father's study ; Emily and Agnes, too, had several contributions to make to the heap of bundles which was piled up on the study table; and before six o'clock, Mr. Wharton said he had CHRISTMAS TIME. 59 taken in enough articles to stock a very respectable country store. At six o'clock the study door was locked, and there was no more admittance. An hour or two after this, the whole family were assembled in the two large parlors, which were brilliantly lighted for the occasion, and all were on the tiptoe of expectation. " I should like to know how he is coming," said Albert ; " he '11 be likely to get well scorched, if he comes down either chimney." At this moment there was a slight tap at one of the windows owning on to the piazza, which Mr. Wharton immediately proceeded to open, and in walked St. Nicholas. He was a jolly, merry -looking, little old gentle- man, with beard and whiskers as white as snow, and enveloped in furs from head to foot. Around his neck, around his waist, over his shoulders, down his back, and even on the top of his head, were presents and toys of every description. Be- hind him he dragged a beautiful sled, which was loaded with some articles too bulky to be carried 60 LEWIE. around his person. Every pocket was full ; and as he passed through the rooms, he threw sugar plums and mottoes, nuts and raisins, on all sides, causing a great scrambling and screaming and laughing among the children. Then he began to disengage the presents, which were pinned about him, and tied to the buttons of his coat ; and as he did so, he looked at the label, and threw it at the one for whom it was intended. It would be hard for one who was not there to imagine the lively scene which was now presented in the great parlors at Brook Farm ; the presents flying round in all directions ; the children dodg- ing, and diving, and catching, while shouts and screams of laughter made the house ring. , "But who is he? who can he be?" was the question which each asked of the other a great many times during this merry scene. Mr. Whar- ton and Mr. Ellison, "Aunt Fanny's" husband, were both in the room, and they were sure there was no other gentleman in the house. Just then Robert screamed, " Oh, I know now I CHEISTMAS TIME. 61 It 's cousin Tom ! He throws left-handed !" And now the effort was made to pull off the mask, but Santa Glaus avoided them with great dexterity, still continuing his business of distributing the presents. At the feet of Agnes he placed a work-box, much handsomer than that which Lewie had de- stroyed ; at Emily's, a writing-desk, and some valuable books ; and ,when his sled was emptied, he drew the sled, and left it with little Harry, for whom it was intended. " My goodness gracious I" said cousin Betty, as a beautiful muff " took her in the head," as Albert said, and sadly disarranged the set of her odd little turban. " And now I believe old Santa Glaus has finish- ed his labors," said Mr. Wharton. " Oh no, not yet," cried Erne ; " he must come with us for a new supply. But I feel a little afraid of him yet. If I only could be sure it was cousin Tom !" " You need not doubt that, Erne," said Eobert ; 6 62 LEWIE. " nobody else ever threw like cousin Tom. I Ve seen him play snow-ball often enough." And now Santa Glaus was taken captive by the children, and in a few minutes he re-appeared, laden with gifts, but this time for the older members of the family; and the products of the children's industry made quite a display, and much astonished those for whom they were intended, the children having kept their secrets well. And now, as the rooms were warm, old Santa Glaus was quite willing to get rid of his mask and his furs; and this done, he straightened up, and cousin Tom stood revealed. " And how did you come, and where have you been ?" asked the children. " Oh, I came this afternoon, and stopped at the farm house," answered cousin Tom, or Mr. Thomas Wharton, for it is time he should be introduced by his true name to the reader. "And after it was dusk I slipped over here, and went round to uncle's study door while you were at tea. I sent CHEISTMAS TIME. 63 word by Aunt Fanny that you might expect Santa Glaus to-night." And now began a game of romps, which lasted for an hour or more, and then little bodies began to be stumbled over, and were found under tables, and on sofas fast aslsep, and were taken off to bed. Mrs. Ellison's baby being roused by the noise, had awaked, and persisted in keeping awake, and his mother came back to the parlor bringing him in her arms, with his night-gown on, and his cheeks as red as roses. " Is n't he a splendid fellow ?" said she, holding him up before cousin Tom. " A very comfortable looking piece of flesh cer- tainly," he answered ; " but then they are all alike. I think -you might divide all babies into two class, the fat and the lean ; otherwise, there is no difference in them that I can see." " Pshaw, how ridiculously you talk ; there is a great deal more difference between two babies, ti D between you and all the other young dandies who walk Broadway. They are all alike, the 64 LEWIE. same cut of the coat and collar, and whiskers ; the same tie of the neck-cloth, and shape of the boot : when you have seen one, you have seen all. But now just take a good look at this magnificent baby, and confess ; would n't you like to kiss him ?" " Excuse me, my dear aunty, but that is a thing I haven't been left to do very often. I've no fancy for having my cheeks and whiskers con- verted into spitoons. It is really astonishing now," continued cousin Tom, " what fools such a brat as that will make of very sensible people." "Are your allusions personal, sir?" asked Mrs. Ellison, laughing. " No, not just now ; but I was thinking of i man in our place, who used to be really a very sensible fellow ; and though quite an old bachelor, he was the life of every party he attended, and more of a favorite than most of the young men. Well, when he was about fifty years old he got married, and he 's got a young one now about two years old. And what kind of an exhibition do you suppose that man made of himself the other CHRISTMAS TIME. 66 day. Why, this refractory young individual couldn't be persuaded to walk towards home in any other way, when they had him out for an air- ing, and what does this old friend of mine do, but allow a handkerchief to be pinned to his coat-tail, and go prancing along the street like a horse for the spoiled brat to drive. The calf! I declare, be- fore I 'd make such a fool of myself as that, I 'd eat ray head ! "What are you writing there, uncle ?" " Only taking notes of these remarks, Tom," answered Mr. Wharton, " for your benefit on some future occasion." There was only one in that Christmas party who could not heartily join in the glee ; it was poor Emily, to whom this scene brought back so vivid- ly ether holiday seasons passed with those who had " gone from earth to return no more," that only by a strong effort could she prevent her own sadness from casting a shade over the happiness of others ; for they all loved cousin Emily so dearly, that they could not be merry when she was sad. Emi- ly was usually so quiet, that in their noisy play 66 LEWIE. they did not miss her as she retired to the sofa and shaded her eyes with her hand ; but her kind uncle noticed her, and readily understood the rea- son of her sadness. Taking a seat by her he put his arm around her, and took her hand in his. This act of tenderness was too much for poor Emi- ily's already full heart, and laying her head on her uncle's shoulder, she sobbed out her grief un- checked. "Come, wilt thou see me ride?" HENRY VIIL COUSIN BETTY was a little bit of a woman, with a face as full of wrinkles as a frozen apple, and a pair of the busiest and most twink- ling little black eyes you ever saw, a prominent and parrot like nose, with a chin formed on the very same pattern, only that it turned up instead of down, the two so very nearly meeting that the children said they had " to turn their faces side- ways to kiss her." She had some very unaccount- able ways too, which no one understood, and which she never made any attempt to explain, perhaps because she did not understand them herself. For instance, whenever meals were ready, and 68 LEWIE. the family prepared to sit down, though cousin Betty might have been hovering round for an hour or two before, she was often missing at that very moment, and when a search was instituted she was sometimes found taking a stroll in the gar- ret where she could have no possible business, and sometimes poking about in the darkest corner of the dark cellar, without the slightest conceivable object. If her thimble or spectacles were lost, she has often been known to go to the pantry and lift up every tumbler and wine-glass on the shelf, one after the other, and look under it as if she really expected to find the missing article there ; and to take off the cover of vegetable dishes to look for her snuff-box, or open the door of the stove, if her work-bag, or knitting were missing, apparently with the confident expectation of finding them un- harmed amidst the blazing fire. Cousin Betty had a very uncomfortable fashion of dying too, every little while, which at first alarmed her friends so much that restoratives were speedily procured ; but as she never failed to come COUSIN BETTY. 69 to life again, they became, after a time, accustomed to the parting scene, so' that there was great dan- ger that when she really did take her departure, nobody would believe it. "My dear," said she one night to Erne, " I feel very unwell; very unwell, indeed; I think it's more 'n likely I shan't last the night through. I wish you would n't leave me alone this evening, and then if I 'm suddenly taken worse, you know you can call the family. I should like to see them all before I go." Erne promised she would not leave her, and bringing her book, she seated herself by the stove in cousin Betty's room. In about a hour she ap- peared in the parlor, her face purple with the effort to suppress the inclination to laugh, and said, "Oh, do all of you please to come to cousin Betty's room a few moments." " What, is she dying ?" they asked. " Oh, no ! but just come ; very quietly ; there 's a sight for you to see." Cousin Betty always tied a large handkerchief 70 LEWIE. about her head when she went to bed, and on the night in question, the two ends of the handker- chief being tied in a knot stood up from her head like two enormous ears. She was bolstered up by pillows, as she declared she could not breathe in any other position, and at every breath she drew she opened and shut her mouth with a sudden jerk. Effie had looked up from her reading suddenly, and caught the reflection of cousin Betty's profile, thrown by the light, greatly magnified upon the wall, and stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth to prevent a sudden explosion of laughter, by which cousin Betty might be awakened, she ran to call the family. No pen-sketch but an actual pro- file would give the slightest idea of the extraordi- nary and most ludicrous appearance of the image thus thrown upon the wall; with the enormous ears standing up, and the mouth and chin snap- ping together like the claws of a lobster. One by one they rushed from the room, till at length a smothered cacchination from one of the little ocas awoke cousin Betty, who exclaimed : . COUSIN BETTY. 71 " Who is sobbing there ? My dear friends do not distress yourselves, I find myself considerably more comfortable." This " clapped the climax," and the room was unavoidably deserted for a few minutes; but at length Effie found courage to return, and, by plac- ing the light in another position, was enabled to keep watch for the remainder of the evening. There were some very amusing stories told in the family of cousin Betty's adventures, one of which I will relate here. She was at one time making one of her long visits at Mr. Wharton's, when, getting out of yarn, and not being willing to remain long idle, she began to worry about some way to get over to the village. The horses were all out at work upon the farm, except Old Prancer, a superannuated old horse, who was never used except for Mrs. Wharton or. the girls to drive; for, whatever claims "Prancer" may once have had to his name, it had been a misnomer for some years past, and no one suspected him of having a spark of spirit 72 LEWIE. When Mr. Wharton came in to dinner, and cousin Betty consulted him as to the best means of getting over to the village, he told her that the best thing he could do for her would be to put the side-saddle on to Old Prancer, and let her ride over. To this cousin Betty consented, not without a slight trepidation, for she had never been much of a horse-woman; but still, as she had known Prancer for many years, and he had always borne the character of a staid, steady-going animal, she thought there could surely be no risk in trusting herself to him. Soon after dinner, cousin Betty, with a very short and very scanty skirt, was mounted on the back of Old Prancer. She felt quite timid at first at finding herself upon so lofty an elevation, (for Prancer was an immense animal ;) but when she found how steadily and sedately he went on, and that neither encouragement nor blows could induce him to break into a trot, she lost all her fears, and began to enjoy her ride, saving that the pace was rather a slow one. COUSIN BETTY. 73 But just as cousin Betty began to ascend the hill leading into the village, the sound of martial music burst upon her ear, and she remembered hearing the children say that this was "general training day." Cousin Betty did not know that Prancer had once belonged to a militia officer ; and if she had, it would have made no difference, as all the fire of youth seemed to have died out with Prancer years ago. But early associations are strong ; and as the " horse scenteth the battle afar off," so did Prancer prick up his ears and quicken his pace at the spirit-stirring sounds of the fife and drum; and now he began to make an awkward attempt to dance sideways upon the points of his hoofs ; and as he neared the brow of the hill, his excitement became more intense, and his curveting and prancing more animated. Cousin Betty was almost terrified to death. Throwing away her whip, and grasping the reins, she endeavored to stop him ; but he only held in his head, and danced sideways up the street with more animation and spirit than ever. She thought of throwing herself 74 LEWIE. off, but the immense height rendered such a feat utterly unsafe ; she endeavored to rein the horse up to the side- walk ; but now he had caught sight of the motley array of trainers, and of the gay horses and gayer uniforms of the officers, and, re- gardless alike of bit and rein, he started off at full speed, to join the long-forgotten but once familiar spectacle. Cousin Betty had by this time dropped the reins, and was clinging with both arms to Old Prancer's neck ; and as he turned his face to the company, and backed gallantly down the street, the sight was too irresistibly ludicrous. Sh*uts and laughter, and expressions of encouragement to poor cousin Betty, were heard on all sides; till at length a militia officer, taking pity upon her helpless condi- tion, led the unwilling Prancer to the tavern, and assisted her to alight. Here cousin Betty remained till sun-down, and all was quiet ; and then, re- questing the tavern-keeper to lead the horse out of town while she walked, she again, with much fear COUSIN BETTY. 7i and trembling, mounted when beyond the precincts of the village. Prancer, however, walked slowly home, with his head drooping, as if thoroughly mortified at the excesses into which he had been betrayed; and cousin Betty, when she once got safely home, de- clared that she 'd go without yarn another time, if it was a whole year, before she would mount such a " treacherous animal as that 'ere." But, with all her ddities, cousin Betty was sometimes a very amusing companion. She had many stories of her youth stowed away in her memory, which, when wanted, could be found and brought to light much more readily than the arti- cles she was so constantly missing now; and though these stories were not told in the purest English, they were none the less interesting to the children for that. There came, early in February, some pleasant, mild days, which soon made a ruin of the 'boys' palace of snow ; and though cousin Betty had been in a dying state for an hour or two the night be- 76 LEWIE. fore, she was so far revived that morning, that she was easily persuaded by the children to go over with them to the farm-house; and tell them the story of their great-grandfather, and his capture by the In- dians ; which same, though a very interesting story to the children, might not be so to my readers; and after changing my mind about it several times, I have concluded to leave it out, as having nothing to do with the rest of my story. V. f nu $ g a i n . "Deal very, very gently with a young child's tender heart." "TT7"ITH a face beaming with joy, little Agnes took her place in the cutter by her uncle on Christmas morning, and nodded good-bye to her cousins, who were crowded at the window to see her off. "Mind you come back to dinner!" screamed little Grace, knocking with her knuckles on the window pane. Agnes nodded again, and they were gone. Many a time during the short ride did Agnes take out of her little muff the paper in which her needle- case for her mother was rolled up, to see if it was all safe ; and she never let go for a moment of the 7* 78 LEWIE. basket in which were some toys for Lewie, which she and her cousins had purchased at the village As she drove up the road from the gate to hex mother's house, it seemed to her so long since she had been away, that she expected to see greal changes. She had never been from home so long before, and a great deal had happened in that fort night. Mrs. Elwyn was reading again ; indeed, she had resumed that very yellow-covered book, the read- ing of which Lewie's sickness had interrupted ; so she had not much time for a greeting for Agnes, though she did allow her to kiss her cheek, and of course laid aside her book, out of compliment to Mr. "Wharton. But little Lewie, who was sitting in his cradle, surrounded by toys, was in perfect ecstasies at the return of Agnes. He stretched his little arms towards her ; and as she sprang towards him, and stooped to kiss him, he threw them around her neck, and clasped his little hands together, as if determined never to let her go again. HOME AGAIN. 79 " Sister come ! sister come 1" lie exclaimed over and over again, with the greatest glee; "sister stay with Lewie now." " Sister will stay a little while," said Agnes, kiss- ing over and over again her beautiful little brother. "No, sister stay! sister shall not go!" said Lewie, in the best manner in which he could ex- press it ; but exactly how, we must be excused from making known to the reader, having a great horror of baby-talk in books. " But I must go, darling ; all my things are at uncle's, and I want to get some books cousin Emily is going to give me ; but I will come back very soon to stay with Lewie." " No ! sister shall not go !" was still the cry; and Mrs. Elwyn settled the matter by saying : " Agnes, if Lewie wants you here so much, you may as well take off your things ; you cannot re- turn to Brook Farm; besides, I want you to amuse Lewie." Agnes thought of some of the conse- quences of her endeavors to amuse Lewie, and 80 LEWIE. " If your mother insists upon your remaining, Agnes," said her uncle, "I will bring over your things, and Emily shall come with me, to bring the books, and tell you how to study." " Oh, thank you, dear uncle !" said Agnes, her face brightening at once. In the first scene in which our little hero is in- troduced to the reader, he certainly does not appear to advantage, as few persons would in the first stages of a fever. He was not always so hard to please, or so recklessly destructive, as he was that day; and had an intimation ever been convey- ed to his mind, that it was a possible thing for any desire of his to remain ungratified, he might have grown up less supremely selfish than he did. But the natural selfishness of his nature being constantly fed and ministered to by his doating mother, led the little fellow to understand very early that no wish of his was to be denied ; and before he -was two years old, he fully understood the power he held in his hands. HOME AGAIN. 81 He was a beautiful boy; "as handsome as a picture," as Mammy said ; but, for my part, I have seldom seen a picture of a child that could at all compare with Lewie Elwyn, with his golden curls, and deep blue eyes, and brilliant color. He was warm-hearted and affectionate, too, and might have been moulded by the hand of love into a glorious character. But selfishness is a deformity which early attention and care may remedy, and the grace of God, alone may completely subdue ; but, if allowed to take its own course, or worse, if en- couraged and nurtured, it grows with wonderful rapidity, and makes a horrid shape of what might be the fairest. Upon this text, or something very like it, Mr. Wharton spake to Mrs. Elwyn, when Agnes had carried Lewie into the next room to spin his top for him. " Lewie is a most beautiful little fellow, certain- ly," said he ; "but, Harriet, take care ; he is getting the upper hand of you already. It is time already indeed, it has long been time to make him un- 82 LEWIE. derstand that his will is to be subservient to those who are older." To win, h Mrs. Elwyn replied, "How absurd, Mr. Wharton, to talk of governing a child like that!" " There are other ways of governing, Harriet, besides the whip and the lock and key, neither of which do I approve of, except in extreme cases. Lewie could very easily be guided by the hand of love, and it rests with you now to make of him almost what you choose. A mother's gentle hand hath mighty power." " Well, Mr. Wharton, to tell you the truth, no- thing seems to me so absurd as all these ideas of nursery education ; and the people who write books on the subject seem to think there is but one rule by which all children are to be governed." " I perfectly agree with you, Harriet, that it is very ridiculous to suppose that one set of rules will answer for the education of all, except, of course, so fa; as tho Bible rule is the foundation for all govern- ment. I think the methods adopted with children HOME AGAIN. 83 should be as numerous and different as the chil- dren themselves, each one, by their constitution and disposition, requiring different treatment ; but still there are some general rules, you must admit, which will serve for all. One of these is a rule of very long standing ; it is this ' Honor thy father and thy mother ;' and another ' Children, obey your parents in the Lord.' Now, how can you expect your son, as he grows up, to honor, respect, or obey you, if you take the trouble to teach him, every day and hour, that he is the master, and you only the slave of his will. There is another saying in that same old book from which these rules are drawn, which tells you that ' A child left to him- self bringeth his mother to shame.' " Mrs. Elwyn, during this conversation, kept up a scries of polite little bows, but could not altogether conceal an expression of weariness, and distaste at the turn the conversation had taken. She had a sincere respect, however, for Mr. Wharton, who al- ways exercised over her the power which a strong mind exercises over a weak one, and she felt in 84 LEWIE. her heart that he was a real friend to her, and one who had the interests of herself and her children at heart. As Mr. Wharton rose to go she said, laugh- ingly : " I thank you for your kind advice with regard to Lewie, Mr. Wharton, but hi spite of it, I do not think I shall put him in a straight-jacket before he is out of his frocks." "No straight-jacket is needed, Harriet; you have often written in your copy-book at school, I suppose, ' Just as the twig is bent the tree 's inclin- ed.' You remember that strange apple-tree in my orchard, which the children use for a seat, it rises about a foot from the ground, and then turns and runs along for several feet horizontally, and then shoots up again to the sky. When that was a twig, your thumb and finger could have bent it straight ; but now, what force could do it. If sufficient strength could be applied it might be broken, but never bent again* Excuse my plain speaking, Harriet, but I see before you so much HOME AGAIN. 85 trouble, unless that little boy's strong will is controlled, that my conscience would not let me rest, unless I spoke honestly to you what is in my mind." " I must say you are not a prophesier of ' smooth things? " said Mrs. Elwyn, " but still, I hope the dismal things you have hinted at may not come to pass." " I hope not too, Harriet," said Mr. Whartpn, " but God has now mercifully spared your little boy's life, and it rests with you whether he shall be trained for His service or not." Then calling for Agnes and Lewie, Mr. Whar- ton kissed them for good-bye, telling Agnes that he would bring Emily over the next day. Mrs. Elwyn looked infinitely relieved when Mr. Wharton drove off, and returned to her novel with as much interest as ever, and in the very exciting scene into which her heroine was now introduced, she soon forgot the unpleasant nature of Mr. Wharton's " lecture," as she called it. Agnes was contriving in her mind all the morn- 8 86 LEWIE. ing, how she should present the needle-case to her mother, and wondering how it would be received. It was such a great affair to her, and had cost her so much time and labor, that she was quite sure it must be an acceptable gift, and yet natural timidi- ty in approaching her mother, made her shrink from presenting it, and every time she thought of it her heart beat in her very throat. At length the novel was finished and thrown aside, and Mrs. Elwyn sat with her feet on the low fender gazing abstractedly into the fire. Now was the time Agnes thought, and approaching her gently, she said : " Mamma, here is a needle-case I made for you, all myself, for a Christmas present." The words could not have been heard by Mrs. Elwyn, she only knew that a voice not Lewie's in- terrupted her in her reverie. " Hush ! hush ! child," she said, waving her hand impatiently towards Agnes, " be quiet I don't disturb me !" Oh, what a grieved and disappointed little heart HOME AGAIN. 87 was that, as Agnes turned away with the tears in her eyes, and a lump in her throat The next voice that, disturbed the young widow ivas one to which she always gave attention : "Mammal mamma!" cried Lewie, pulling im- periously at her gown ; " mamma ! sister feels sor- ry, speak to sister," " What is it, dear?" his mother asked. " Speak to sister! sister crying," said Lewie, pulling her with all the strength of his little hands tow;rds Agnes. " What is the matter, Agnes? Why are you crrng? What did you say to me a few moments af t ?" asked her mother. Agnes tried to say " It is no matter, mamma," bf t she sobbed so bitterly that she could not form tie words. But Lewie, who had seen and under- stood the whole thing, pulled the needle-case from his sister's hand, and gave his mother to under- stand that Agnes had made it for her, and then he struck his little hand towards her and called her " naughty mamma, to make sister cry 1" 88 LEWIE. More to please Lewie than for any other rea on, Mrs. Elwyn took the needle-case, and said : " Why Agnes, did you make this yourself, and for me? how pretty it is j is n't it, Lewie ? Now Agnes, you may fill it with needles for me." Agnes wiped her eyes and began her task, but that painful lump would not go away from her throat. Ah ! if those kind words had only come at first! How much suffering is caused to the hearts of little children by mere thoughtlessness, sometimes in those even who love them ; by a want of sym- pathy in their little griefs and troubles, as great and all-important to them, as are the troubles of " children of a larger growth," in their own esti- mation. VI. "A mournful thing is love which grows to one so mild as thon, With that bright restlessness of eye that tameless fire of brow Mournful ! but dearer far I call its mingled fear and pride, And the trouble of its happiness, than aught on earth beside." MRS. HEMANS. T EWIB recovered rapidly; and by the time ~ that "the singing of birds had come," the roses bloomed as brightly as ever in his cheeks ; and, with his hand in that of Agnes, he roamed about the woods and groves which surrounded their home, gathering wild flowers, and watching with delight the nimble squirrel and the brilliant wild birds, as they hopped from limb to limb. The children were always happy together ; Lewie was more yielding and less passionate when with his gentle sister than at other times ; and it was only when again in the presence of his mother that 90 LEWIE. his wilful, fretful manner returned, and he was again capricious and hard to please. Thus, while he was still almost in his infancy, his mother began to reap ihe fruit of her sowing ; for, while to others he could be gentle and pleas- ant, with her he was always fretful and capricious. Already her wishes had no weight with him, if they ran counter to his own, and commands she never ventured to lay upon him ; already the little twig was taking its own bent. The birth-days were all rigidly kept in Mr. Wharton's family, and some little pleasant enter- tainment provided on every such occasion. Thus, while Mr. and Mrs. Wharton failed not to make every proper and serious use of these way -marks on the journey of life, they loved to show their children how pleasant to themselves was the re- membrance of the day when one more little bright face had come to cheer and brighten their earthly pilgrimage. Miss Effie was the important charac- ter in commemoration of whose " first appearance on any stage " a pleasant party had collected in THE TABLEAUX. 91 Mr. Wharton's parlor, one evening in May. Mrs. Blwjn and her children were spending a few days at Brook Farm ; and the family of Dr. Rodney, and a few other little folks from the village, were invited, on Erne's birth-day, to pass the afternoon and evening. Great had been the preparations, for they were, for the first time, to have an exhibition of the " tableaux vivants" in the evening. Mr. Wharton bad constructed a large frame, which, covered with gilt paper, and having a black lace spread over it,' made the illusion more perfect. Many pretty scenes had been selected by cousin Emily, who was mistress of ceremonies ; and that no child's feelings might be hurt, a character was assigned for each one, in one or other of the pictures. A temporary curtain was hung across the room, which was to be drawn whenever the pictures were ready for exhibition. Agnes had been as busy as anybody in bringing down from a certain closet devoted to that purpose old finery, and other things which belonged to 92 LEWIE. days long gone by, and her anticipations of pleas- tire for the evening were raised to the highest pitch. But just when all were assembled in the darkened parlor, the lights all being arranged be- hind the curtain so as to fall upon the pictures, Master Lewie, who was up beyond his usual bed time, and who was hardly old enough to take much interest in what was going on, declared that he was sleepy, and would go to bed. Neither Mammy nor Anne were with them at Brook Farm ; and as Mrs. Elwyn seemed as much interested as any one in seeing the tableaux, Agnes knew what the result would be, if Lewie insisted upon going to bed ; so she endeavored to amuse him and keep him awake till she had seen at least one tableau. " Oh, Lewie, wait one moment !" said she ; " Lewie will see a beautiful picture." " Lewie don't want to see pictures ; Lewie wants to go to bed. Sister, come! sing to Lewie." " In one moment, then, little brother. Let Agnes see one picture. Won't you let sister see one picture ?" THE TABLEAUX. 93 " No ; Lewie must go to bed. Mamma, tell sis- ter to come with Lewie." The result was, of course, in accordance with Master Lewie's wishes, and Agnes was directed to take him up to bed. " He will very soon be asleep," her mother added, " and then you can come down." This Master Lewie heard, and it put quite a new idea into his head, it never having occurred to him before that the person who sang him to sleep left him alone, after her task was accomplished. That was a thing he was not going to submit to, and he was so determined to watch Agnes, lest she should slip away from him, that all sleep seemed to have deserted his eyes, which were wider open, and more bright and wide awake, than ever. Agnes laid down beside him, and, patting him gently on the cheek, she sang in a sleepy sort of way, hoping the tone of her voice would have a somniferous effect. " Sing louder I" shouted Master Lewie. Agnes obeyed, and sang many nursery songs 94 LEWIE. suggested by Master Lewie, hoping, at the end ol ? each one, that tRere would be some signs of drowsi- ness manifested on the part of the little tyrant ; "but the moment it was finished, brightly and quickly he would speak up : " Sing that over again ! sing another ! sing ' Old Woman !' sing ' Jack Horner,' " &c., &c. And Agnes' heart died within her as question upon question would follow each other in quick succession, suggested by the lively imagination of Master Lewie, as to the name and parentage of "the little boy who lived by himself;" and the childless condition of the man whose "old wife was n't at home ;" and where the dogs actually did take the " wheel-barrow, wife and all ;" he feeling perfectly satisfied of the accurate information of Agnes on all these important topics. Several times the little bright eyes slowly closed, and Agnes thought he was fairly conquered. Slowly drawing her arm from under his head, she began cautiously to rise ; but before she had stolen a foot from the bed, he would start up and stare at THE TABLEAUX. 95 her in amazement, exclaiming, " "Where going, sister?" and then he seemed to learn by experi- ence, and to determine that he would n't be " caught napping " again that evening. In the meantime, the fun was going on below, and several beautiful pictures had been exhibited and admired before Agnes was 'missed from the darkened parlor. But now came the cry, "Agnes! Come, Agnes ! Where 's Agnes ? She is to be in this picture." To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, that " Agnes was putting Lewie to sleep." " And has n't she been here at all, Aunt Har- riet?" " No," answered Mrs. Elwyn, " Lewie takes a long time to get to sleep to-night." " That is too bad, I declare !" said little Grace, her cheeks reddening with vexation, "Agnes di<\ want to see these pictures so ; can't I go up and see if Lewie is asleep, Aunt Harriet." 4 te,r not," said Mrs. Elwyn ; "you may dis- turb him just is he is dropping asleep, and then Agnes will have to stay much longer." 96 LEWIE. The exclamations of indignation were loud and furious from the whole party of little folks, when it was found that Agnes had been all the evening banished from the room, and they were ready to go up to Lewie's room in a body and take possess- ion of Agnes, and bring her down in triumph. But Emily said, " stop children, and I will go." Very quietly Emily stole into the room and up to the bedside. The children were lying with their arms about each other, Agnes' little hand was on her brother's cheek, and both were soundly sleeping. Emily touched Agnes gently and whis- pered in her ear, but her slumber was so very sound that she could not arouse her. " Better to let her sleep on now," said Emily, " and if Agnes only knew it, she has helped to make the prettiest tableaux we have had this evening." Thus early was little Agnes learning to give up her own gratification for the sake of others, while the strong will of her little brother was strength- ened by constant exercise and indulgence, for this was but one of many instances daily occurring, THE TABLEAUX. 97 in which Agnes was obliged to relinquish her own pleasure in order to gratify the whims and caprices of her little brother. Lewie had so often heard such expressions from his mother, that almost as soon as he could speak a connected sentence, he would say, " Lewie must have his own way ; Lewie must not be crossed," and in this way did his mother prepare him for the jostling and conflicts of life. 9 VII. * An ower true tale." MB. WHARTOIST was one day writing in his study, for though a practical farmer he de- voted much of his time to literary pursuits, when there was a knock at his door, and on opening it he saw there a young woman of delicate appear- ance, and of so much apparent refinement and cultivation, that he was quite taken by surprise when she asked him the queston, " if he had any wool to be given out on shares ?" Mr. Wharton replied, that he had had so much trouble with those to whom he had given out wool in that way, and had been so often cheated by them, that he had said he would give out no THE GOVERNESS. 99 more, but lie believed lie must break through his rule for once, in her favor. She seemed very grateful, and said she hoped he would have no rea- son to regret his kindness in giving her employ- ment. And so it proved ; Miss Edwards, (for that was her name,) gave such entire satisfaction as to her work, and the share of it she returned, that Mr. Wharton kept her for some time in constant employment. Every time she came, he was more and more pleased with her gentle and unaffected manners, and with the style of her conversation, which showed without the slightest appearance of effort, a person of great intelligence and good breeding, while an air of subdued melancholy ex- cited an interest in her, which increased with every interview. " She is an unmistakable lady," said Mr. Whar- ton to his wife, " but how she came to be living in the village, without friends, and as I believe in circumstances of great necessity, I cannot imagine. There is a slight reserve about her," he added, which may be difficult to penetrate, but if I mis- 100 LEWIE. take not, she is much in need of a friend, and I think she will not long resist the voice of kind- ness." Accordingly, the next time she called, Mr. "WTiarton, in his kind and sympathising manner, led her to speak of her own peculiar circum- stances ; and at length drew from her this much of her history : She was the daughter of a plain New England farmer ; had had a good common school education ; and was expected to devote the rest of her life to the making of butter and cheese, and to the other occupations carried on in a farm- er's family. Everything that she could do to aid her father and mother she was willing and ready to perform, but she sighed for knowledge ; she had learned enough to wish to know more, and she felt that there was that in her, which properly cultiva- ted, might fit her for something higher than the making of butter and cheese. Thus, when the day's labor was ended, and the old people, as was their custom, had retired early to rest, their dutiful daughter, her work for the day well done, sought THE GOVEKNESS. 101 with, delight her little chamber, and her beloved books, in whose companionship she passed the hours always till midnight, and sometimes till she was startled by the ' Cock's shrill clarion," and reminded that body and mind alike needed repose. In her studies, and in the choice of her reading, she was guided by her pastor; and a better guide, or one more willing to extend a helping hand to the seeker for knowledge she could not have found. "With such a teacher, and with such an eager desire for improvement, she could not fail to progress rapidly. On the death of her parents, both of whom she followed to the grave in the course 01 one year, the kind pastor took her to his own home ; but not being willing to be even for a time a burden to him, she immediately opened a small school- in a village near them. Now her kind pastor too was dead ; and having heard that a teacher was wanted in the village of Hillsdale, 102 LEWIE. she had come there in hopes of getting the situa- tion. Here she was doomed to disappointment, the vacant place having been supplied but a day or two before she reached the village; and now, among entire strangers, heart-sick with disappoint- ment, and with no friend to turn to in her distress, she was taken down with a fever. It was a kind- hearted woman, in whose house she had rented a small room, and she nursed her as if she had been a daughter, without hope of remuneration. As soon as she was sufficiently recovered to think again of work, she began to inquire eagerly for employment ; and her landlady having directed her to Mr. "Wharton, she had taken that long walk from the village, while yet very feeble, which resulted in the accomplishment of her wishes. There had been a brother, she told Mr. Wharton, an only child besides herself; but, as Mr. Wharton inferred from what she said, he was a wild, un- steady youth, and he had wandered from his home some years before, and gone far west toward* the THE GOVERNESS. 103 Mississippi. For some time they continued to hear from him, but he had long since ceased to write. She feared that he was dead ; but some- times she had a strong hope, which seemed like a presentiment to her, that she should yet look upon his face on earth ; and in this hope, she continued still occasionally to direct letters to the spot from which he had last written. When Mr. Wharton had repeated to his wife the story of Miss Edwards, she said immediately : "Why, is she not just the person for a governess for our younger children? No doubt, too, she might aid Emily in her studies, for the child is too delicate to send away from home." " Well thought of, my dear wife," said Mr. Wharton; "and if we could persuade Harriet to let poor little Agnes join us, what a nice little school we might have. It is strange the idea has not occurred to me before, for I have thought, a great many times, what a pity it was that such a woman as Miss Edwards should spend her life in spinning wool." 104 LEWIE. " When do you expect her again ?" asked Mrs. Wharton. " She will probably be here this afternoon." " Let us save her the long walk, by driving over to see her this morning : perhaps she can return with us." And in less than an hour, Mr. and Mrs. Wharton were seated in the widow Crane's neat little parlor, in earnest conversation with Miss Edwards. I need not say that the offer made by Mr. and Mrs. Wharton was unhesitatingly and gratefully accepted by Miss Edwards. Those only who have felt as utterly forlorn and desolate as she had done for the last few weeks, can understand with what joy she hailed the prospect of a home among such kind and sympathizing hearts. And a home indeed she found. From the time she entered Mr. Wharton's hospitable door, she was treated as companion, friend, and sister. No more sad, lonely hours for her, so long as she re- mained under that roof. There were plenty of happy, bright little faces around her ; there were THE GOVERNESS. 105 kind words always sounding in her ear; there were opportunities enough to be useful ; there were rare and valuable books for her leisure hours. With all these sources of enjoyment, could she fail to be happy ? And if Miss Edwards esteemed herself most for- tunate in having found so delightful a home, Mrs. Wharton was no less so in having secured her in- valuable services. " How have I ever lived so long without Ehoda !" she often exclaimed ; for the new gover- ness, by her own earnest request, soon lost the formal title of Miss Edwards in the family, and was simply " Ehoda " with Mr. and Mrs. Wharton, and " Miss Ehoda " with the children. " I think there is nothing that she cannot do, and do well," she added. " She is a most charm- ing companion in the parlor, with a never-failing fund of good humor and cheerfulness ; a kind and patient, and in all respects most admirable teacher, for the children ; an unwearied nurse in sickness ; a complete cook, if for any reason her services are 106 LEWIE. required in the kitchen ; and perfectly ready to turn her hand to anything that is to be done." " And now you have not mentioned the crown- ing excellence of her character, my dear," said Mr. Wharton ; " she is, I believe, a sincere and earnest Christian; and, as you say, I think we are most fortunate in having secured her as an inmate in our family, and a teacher for our children." Mr. Wharton, who had unbounded influence with Mrs. Elwyn, had no great difficulty in per- suading her to allow Agnes to become a member of his family, that she might with his children enjoy the benefit of Miss Edwards' instructions. Indeed, so long as Mrs. Elwyn had her darling Lewie with her, it seemed almost a matter of indif- ference to her what became of Agnes ; and thus the neglect and unkindness of her mother were overruled for good, and Agnes was placed in the hands of those who would sow good seed in her young heart, while improving and cultivating her mind. Happy would it have been for poor little Lewie, could he have been taken from the indul- THE GOVERNESS. 107 gent arms of his weak and doating mother, and placed under like healthy training, where his really fine qualities of heart and mind might have been cultured, and he might early have been taught to curb that hot and hasty temper, and to restrain those habits of self-indulgence, which finally proved his ruin. Miss Edwards remained six years in her happy home afo Mr. Wharton's, and had become as they all thought essential to their comfort and happi- ness, when she one day received a letter, which agitated her exceedingly. She was sitting at the dinner table, when the letters were brought from the village. One was handed to her ; she looked at the superscription, at the post-mark, which was that of a town far to the south-west; her cheek flushed, and with trembling fingers she broke the seal. She glanced at the signature, and turned so pale they thought she would faint, but in a mo- ment she was relieved by a burst of tears. . Her long lost brother was alive I he wrote that he was married, and settled in that far distant 108 LEWIE. State. One of his sister's letters (for she still con- tinued from time to time to write to him) had late- ly reached him, he said, and he wished her to come to him. Her mind was immediately made up to go ; she dearly loved her sweet pupils, and the kind friends who had given her a home, and a place in their hearts, but the ties of kindred were stronger than all other ties, and they drew her with resistless force towards the home of her own and only brother. There was something about the tone of this let- ter which Mrs. Wharton did not like, and she had a foreboding that this journey would not be for the happiness of her friend, and tried to dissuade her from undertaking it. And in this she was entirely disinterested ; for great as would be the loss of this gifted young lady to her, Mrs. Wharton was not the one to put a straw in her way, if she felt as- sured the journey would end happily for her. All that she said, however, was of no avail ; it had been the hope of Miss Edwards' life, once more to see this darling brother, and nothing could THE GOVERNESS. 109 deter Tier from making the attempt. Her prepara- tions were made in haste, and with many tears on her part, and on that of the kind friends she was leaving, and amid loud sobs and lamentations from her dear little scholars, they parted, never again to meet on earth. A tedious and perilous journey she had, by river and land, but she seemed to bear all the discomforts of the way with her own cheerful, happy spirit, and the let- ters she wrote to her friends from different points on the journey were exceedingly amusing and en- tertaining. One of them, anc], the last she wrote before reaching her point of destination, I will transcribe here in her own words : " SPEINGDALK, OCT. . " MY BELOVED PUPILS, I am going, in this let- ter, to tell you a ghost story, and a murder story, of both of which your humble servant was the heroine. But before your little cheeks begin to grow white, and your eyes to open in horror, let me tell you that the ghost was no ghost at all, and 10 110 LEWIE. in the murder scene, nobody's life was in danger, though both matters at the time were very serious ones to me. "I wrote you last from a little tavern in the northern part of Virginia, while I was waiting for a conveyance to continue on my journey, the stage passing over these unfrequented roads only twice a week. It has always been my lot to have friends raised up for me when friends were most needed ; and while sitting in the little parlor of the tavern, feeling very desolate, and very impa- tient, a gig drove uf^ to the door, from which an old clergyman alighted. He soon entered the par- lor, and in a few minutes we were engaged in a pleasant conversation, in the course of which I mentioned the circumstances of my detention in that place, and my extreme anxiety to progress in my journey. "The old gentleman, it seems, had been on a three days' journey to a ministers' meeting, and was now returning home, and as he was travelling in the same direction in which I wished to go, he THE GOVERNESS. Ill said it would give him great pleasure if I would take a seat in liis gig, in case my heaviest trunk's could be sent on by stage. This the good-natured landlord very willingly consented to attend to. The trunks were to be sent to the care of the old clergyman, who was to ship me for my destined port, and send my trunks on after me. "You may be sure I did not hesitate about accepting the old clergyman's offer, for after jolt- ing along with rough men, over rough roads, as I had done for many days, I anticipated with much pleasure a ride of two or three days in a gig, with the kind, pleasant old gentleman. And now comes the ghost story. " As we were riding along through this thinly settled part of Western Virginia, I noticed occa- sionally large, dark, barn-like looking buildings, with the wooden shutters tightly closed. After passing two or three of these buildings, I at length asked my companion for what purpose they were used. " ' Why, those,' said he, ' are our churches. I 112 LEWIE. had forgotten how entirely unacquainted you were with this part of the country, or I should have pointed them out to you.' " ' Is it possible,' I exclaimed, ' that you worship in those dreary, dark-looking places ! I must go inside of one of them on the first opportunity.' " Soon after I spoke, as we were ascending a hill, some part of the harness gave way, and we were obliged to alight from the gig, while the old gen- tleman endeavored to repair the injury. " ' How long will it take you, sir,' said I, ' to set this matter right ?' " ' Oh, some time perhaps a quarter of an hour,' he answered. " 'And cannot I help you?' I asked. 'I believe I can do almost anything I undertake to do.' " ' Oh, no, no,' he answered ; ' you had better not undertake to mend a harness, or you will be obliged, after this, to say that you have failed in one thing ; besides, I can do this very well alone.' " ' I have a great mind to take hold and mend it, just to show you that my boast was not an idle THE GOVERNESS. 113 one,' said I ; ' but if you are determined to scorn my offered assistance, I will run back, and take a survey of the interior of the old church we passed "> ""gw moments since.' " ' You will not see much,' the old clergyman called out after me ; ' for, as you see, the wooden shutters are kept closed during the week, and it is almost total darkness inside.' " However, on I ran down the hill, and was soon at the door of the old barn-like building. The door was not fastened, and I opened it, and entered the church. At first, the darkness seemed intense, broken only by little streaks of sunlight which streamed in through the small, crescent-shaped holes in the shutters ; but at length my eye became accustomed to the darkness, and I could begin to distinguish the rude seats and aisles, and even to see, at the end of the church, an elevation which I knew must be the pulpit. Determined to see all that was to be seen, I made my way along the aisle, ascended the pulpit stairs, and had just^laid toy hand on the door, when a tall, white figure 10* 114 LEWIE. suddenly rose up in the pulpit, and laid a coM hand on mine. I believe I shrieked ; but I was filled with such an indescribable horror, that I know not what I did, when a hollow voice said: " ' Don't be afraid ; I will not harm you. 1 " I snatched my.hand from the cold grasp which held it, and fled from the church. I remember nothing more, till I opened my eyes, and found the old clergyman bathing my face with water. He had become alarmed at my long absence, and, on coming back to seek me, had found me lying on my face, on the grass, in front of the old church. We had been riding again for some time, before I summoned resolution to tell the old gentleman what I had seen in the church. He complimented me by saying, that though his acquaintance with me had been short, he was much mistaken in me, if I was a person to be deceived by the imagina- tion; and he said he much regretted that I had not mentioned the cause of my fright before we left the old church, as it was always best to ascer- THE GOVERNESS. 115 tain at once the true nature of any such apparently frightful object. " ' We have no time to turn back now,' said he, 1 as we have already lost more than half an hour ; but the next best thing we can do is to stop at the first house we come to, and see if we can find out anything concerning the apparition which appeared to you in the church.' "We soon stopped before the door of a small log house, and at our summons a pleasant-looking woman appeared. To the inquiries of the old clergyman as to the appearance by which I had been so much alarmed, she replied : " ' Oh, it 's the crazy minister, sir. He used to preach in that old church ; but he 's been crazy for a long time, and often he dresses himself in a long white robe, and goes and sits in the pulpit of that old church all day. He 's very gentle, she added, turning to me, 'and would n't hurt anybody for the world ; but I don't wonder you got a good fright.' So ends my ghost story ; and now, if you 116 LEWIE. are ready for more horrors, I will tell you my other adventure. " Our detention near the old church, and the state of the roads, rendered heavy by late rains, made it impossible for us to reach the town at which we had hoped to spend the night ; and we had made up our minds that we would stop at the first promising-looking establishment we should see, when the coming up of a sudden storm left us no option, but made us hail gladly the first human dwelling we came to, though that was but a rough, rambling old hut, built of unhewn logs. " There was only an old woman at home when we stopped at the door, and I fancied she looked rather too well pleased when we asked if she could accommodate us for the night. I must confess to you, my dear children, I felt rather nervous after the fright of that afternoon ; I, who used to boast that I was ignorant of the fact of possessing such a thing as nerves; but I do think I must have been nervous, for very little things troubled me that evening, and my imagination had never been so THE GOVERNESS. 117 busy before. In aVeiy few moments, an old man, and three strapping, rough-looking youths, entered, with their axes over their shoulders, and dripping with rain ; and now I began to imagine that I saw suspicious glances passing between these young men, and I certainly heard a long whispered con- versation pass between two of them and the old woman in the next room. I looked towards my old friend the clergyman ; but he, good, unsuspi- cious old soul, was nodding in his chair by the log fire. I grew more and more uncomfortable, and heartily wished we had jogged on in the pelting rain, rather than trust ourselves to such very ques- tionable hospitality. One thing I made up my mind to, which was this that I would not close my eyes to sleep that night, but would keep on the watch for whatever might happen. " The old woman gave us a very comfortable supper, and soon afterwards she asked me if I would like to go to bed. Not liking to show any distrust of my hosts, I assented with apparent readi- ness, and followed the old woman into a hall, and 118 LEWIE. up a rude ladder, which. I should have found it very difficult to mount had it not been for my early exercise in this kind of gymnastics, -when searching for hen's eggs in the barn, at my New England home. "At the head of the ladder was a small passage- way, from which we entered the room which was to be my sleeping apartment. Whether there had ever been any door to this room or not I do not know ; certain it is there was no door now ; the only other room I could perceive in the upper part of the house, was a sort of a granary filled with bins to hold different kinds of grain. " ' Is the old gentleman with whom I came, to sleep in this part of the house ?' I asked in as careless a tone as I could assume. " ' No, he sleeps in the loft of the other part where the boys sleep ;' answered the old woman, and then looking at me with a grin which ] thought gave her the appearance of an ugly old hag, she said, ' Why ye ain't afeard on us, be ye?' THE GOVERNESS. 119 " 1 1 told her I had had quite a fright that day, and felt a little nervous.' "'Well,' said she, 'ye can just go to sleep without any frights here. We shan't do ye no harm, I reckon/ and she left me and descended the ladder. " Before going to bed I took my light, and step- ping out softly I went to reconnoitre the other room, the door of which we had passed on the way to the room in which I was to spend the night : I was obliged to descend two steps to enter this room, where I found nothing frightful to be sure, there being only some old clothes hanging up, and the bins of grain of which I have spoken before. I returned to my room, and with great difficulty moved a rude chest of drawers, across the place where a door should be, on this I placed my little trunk, and the only chair in the room, an old shovel, and a broken pitcher, determined that if any one did enter the room, it should not be without noise enough to give me warning. Before this barricade I set my 120 LEWIE. candle, hoping it might continue to burn aL night. "I laid down without undressing, determined that I would only rest ; I would not even close my eyes to sleep. I had laid thus as I supposed ar hour, listening to the voices of the old people and their sons, as in subdued toiies they talked togethei below. At the end of that time the door opened, and I heard stealthy steps ascending the ladder. My heart, as the saying is, was in my throat, and I could hear its every throb. The steps came nearer and nearer, and as the first foot-fall sounded on the floor of the little passage, which led to my room, I shrieked, 'Who is there? what do you want ? ? " ' Bless your soul it T s only me ; you need not scream so r ' said the old woman. ' I 'm only going to the bin-for some corn-meal to make mush for your breakfast.' " ' 1 do believe the gal thinks we are going to murder her in her bed,' I heard her say with a loud laugh as she descended the ladder; 'you THE G-OVEKNESS. 121 ought to see the chist, and the things she's got piled on top of it, all standing in the door-way.' " At this the men's voices joined in the laugh, and they sounded horribly to me. ' Yes,' I thought to myself, ' how easy it wo.uld be for them to mur- der us in our beds, and there would be no one to tell the tale.' Soon after this, in spite of my reso- lution to keep awake, sleep must have over-pow- ered me, for I was awakened by a tremendous crash, as if the house was falling, and I opened my eyes to find myself in total darkness, and to hear soft footsteps in my room. "Oh, how I shrieked this time! I believe I cried ' help ! help ! murder !' and I soon heard footsteps approaching, and saw a light gleaming up the ladder way, and soon the old woman's night-cap appeared over the chest. ' What is the matter now ?' she cried with some impatience, ' you certainly are the most narvous lodger I 've ever had yet.' " ' Matter enough,' said I, 'there is some one in my room. Did n't you hear that awful crash?' 11 122 LEWIE. " ' Pshaw 1 it 's only our old black cat 1" said the old woman ; ' he always comes up to this room to sleep, but we thought we had shut him out.' " ' Can he climb the ladder?' I asked. " ' Just like a human J said the old woman ; and, pushing aside the chest, she seized the cat, and raising the only window in the room, threw him out. " Again weariness overpowered me, and I slept, only to awake to new horrors ; for now I heard cautious footsteps and whispered voices, and out- side the grindstone was at work making something very sharp. Then the door opened, and a smother- ed voice said, ' Mother, is the water hot?' " ' Yes, bilin',' answered the old woman ; ' are the knives sharp ?' " ' All ready,' answered the young maa ; ' where 's father ?' " ' He 's gone to the loft,' said the old woman ; and then came some whispered words, which I could not catch. You will most probably laugh at me, but my mind was now so worked up by all THE GOVERNESS. 123 the agitation I had experienced, that I had not the smallest doubt that we were now to be murdered, and that the dreadful work was already going on in the loft, my kind old friend being the first vic- tim. Still I thought I might be in time to save him yet, and there might be a bare possibility of our escape. Springing from my bed in great haste and agitation, I hurried on my shawl, and cau- tiously descended the ladder ; but my blood froze with horror, as just then I heard a piercing shriek. In the passage below I encountered the old woman ; she had just come into the house, and had an old shawl over her head, and a lantern in her hand, I thought she gave a guilty start when she saw me, as she exclaimed : " ' Why, bless me, gal ! what are you down at this time in the morning for ?' " 'What are you all up so early in the morning for?' I asked, in a voice which I meant should strike terror to her heart. " ' Why, my old man and the boys had deter- mined to kill hogs this morning,' she answered; 124: LEWIE. 'but we tried to keep so quiet as not to disturb ye. I was afeared, though, that the squealing of the hogs would wake ye.' " The relief was so sudden, that I could hardly refrain from putting my arms round the old woman's neck, and confessing all my unjust sus- picions, but the fear of hurting her feelings pre- vented. With a tranquil mind I again climbed the ladder, and sought my humble bed, and was soon in such a sound slumber, that even the squeal- ing of the hogs, in their dying agonies, failed to rouse me. " Seen by the morning light, as we were seated around the breakfast table, these midnight robbers and murderers of my fancy appeared a family of honest, hardy New Englanders, who had bought a tract of land in Western Virginia. They showed us, at a little distance, a clearing where they were just erecting a larger and more comfortable log dwelling ; and the old woman assured us that if we would stop and visit them, if we ever passed that way again, we should not have to climb a THE GOVERNESS. 125 ladder, for they were going to have a 'reg'lar stair- way in t' other house.' "When the time came for parting with our kind hosts, and we offered to remunerate them for their trouble, they rejected the proffered money almost with scorn. " ' No, no,' said the old man, 'we have n't got quite so low as that yet ; and I hope that I nor none of mine will ever come to taking pay for a night's lodging from a traveller. We don't keep tavern here.' " The old woman's parting advice to me was to try and ' git over my narvousness ; and she thought I had n't better drink no more strong green tea.' " ' I think your tea was strong last night, my friend,' said I; 'and that, together with the sight of the ghost, of which I have been telling you, made me very uneasy and restless.' " 'Well,' said the old woman, 'I hope ye won't be so suspicious of us next time ye come ; for it 's a cartain fact, that we never murdered any human yet. We do kill hogs ; that I won't deny.' And 11* 126 LEWIE. she laughed so heartily, that I felt quite sure she had seen through all my fears and suspicions of the night before. So ends the murder story. " I wish you could have heard my old clergy- man laugh, as I related to him all the horrors of the night ; and when I came to mistaking the last squeal of a dying pig for his own death groan, I thought he would have rolled out of the gig That night, which was last night, found vs in the old gentleman's hospitable home, where his kind lady gave me as cordial a welcome as I could desire. Here I am still with these good friends, only waiting for my trunks ; and then, with God's blessing, two days more will find me in the home of my own dear brother."' And here, with many kind remembrances to the dear ones at Brook Farm, Miss Edwards' letter closed. VIII. ittn $1 " Oh ! art thou found ? But yet to find thee thus!" VESPERS OF PALERMO. TT may be as well for us to continue the history J- of Miss Edwards here, though its sad sequel was not known to the family of Mr. Wharton till a long time after she had left them. The letter with which the preceding chapter closes, was the last heard from her for many weeks. Various were the surmises in the family as to the reasons for her unaccountable silence, but at length they settled down in the belief that she must have fallen a vic- tim to some of the diseases of a new country; though why they should not have received some tidings of her fate from her brother, still remained a mystery. 128 At last, after many weeks, there came a letter from her, but it was short, and sad, and unsatisfac- tory; in all respects. She had had a terrible disap- pointment she said, but her friends must have for- bearance with her, and excuse her from detailing the events of the past few weeks. She was now at Springdale with her kind old friend, the clergy- man, and was just recovering from a long and tedious illness; she hoped soon to be able to be at work again, and a little school was ready for her, as soon as she should be sufficiently restored to take charge of it. Not one word was said of her brother, or of her reasons for returning to the home of the old clergyman. "She is evidently very unhappy," said Mr. Wharton, " and perhaps her funds are exhausted. She must return to us, and for this purpose I will send her the means without delay." But still Miss Edwards did not come, and her letters were few and far between. At length there came one written in much better spirits, and in her old cheerful style, in which she informed them that BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. 129 she was engaged to be married to a young phy- sician of that place. She seemed now very happy, and full of bright anticipations, not the least cheer- ing of which, was the prospect of visiting her kind friends once more, when she should travel to the east on her bridal tour. And this was the last let- ter they ever received from Miss Edwards. That same summer a package came to Mr. Wharton, directed in an unknown hand, from a place, the name of which he had never heard be- fore. It was from a physician, and ran thus : SIE, I was called a few weeks since to attend a young lady, who was lying dangerously ill, at the only tavern in our litttle village. I found her rav- ing in delirium, and your name, and the names of many whom I suppose to be members of your fam- ily, were constantly mingled with her ravings. She had stopped at the tavern the night before in the stage ; and when the other passengers went on was too ill to proceed with them. I attended her constantly for a week or ten days, and at the end of that time, I had the happiness to find that her 130 LEWIE. fever had entirely left her, and her mind was quite restored. She was, however, extremely weak, and feeling assured, she said, that she should never be able to reach the home of her kind friends, (men- tioning the name of your family,) she begged earn- estly for writing materials, and though I remon- strated and entreated, I found it impossible to prevent her writing. She said she had a commu- nication which it was due to you that she should make, and she charged me over and over again, to remember your direction, and send the package to you in case she did not leave that place alive. She was busily engaged in writing one day, when the noise of wheels attracted her to the window, which she reached in time to see a gentleman alight from a chaise, who proceeded to hand out a lady. A person in the room with her, saw her put her hands to her head, and then she rushed from the back door of the house, and did not stop till she reached the woods. When found she was a raving maniac, and is so still. We have been obliged to place her in the county house, where she is confined in the BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. 131 apartment devoted to Lunatics, and is as comfort- able as she can be made under the circumstances. The accompany ing package I found just as she left it, when she dropped her pen and hastened to the window, and I now comply with her earnest request and enclose it to you. With respect, &c. JAMES HASTEN. The manuscript, when opened, was found to be in Miss Edwards' well known hand- writing, though the fingers that held the pen, had evidently trem- bled from weakness and agitation. It was with the saddest emotions, that those who had loved her so tenderly, read the following communica- tion: " Painful and harrowing to my feelings as the task must be which I have undertaken, I feel that it is due to my kind and ever sympathising friends, to make them acquainted with the sad trials through which I have passed, and the bitter disap- pointments I have met with. I have tried to bear 132 LEWIE. up with the spirit of a Christian, and to feel that these trials are sent by One who orders all things in justice and righteousness ; I do submit ; I am not inclined to murmur ; I hope I am resigned ; but heart, and flesh, and mind, are weak, and these alas ! are all failing. " With the fondest anticipations I reached the village, where I expected to be received in the arms of my long lost brother. Oh, how my heart bounded, as the prolonged sound of the stage-horn told me we were approaching the end of my jour- ney ! and how my imagination pictured the joyful meeting, the cordial welcome, the fond embrace once more of my own loved kindred! I was much surprised that my brother was not at the tavern to meet me, and more so when, on asking for his residence, the landlord hesitated, as if per- plexed. "'Edwards! Edwards!' said he; 'there is but one person of that name that I know of in all the village ; but he can't be brother to such a lady as you.' BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. 133 " { Perhaps you have not been here long,' I said. " ' O yes, ma'am, nearly fifteen years,' lie an- swered. " ' And what is the name of this man of whom you speak ?' " ' Eichard, I think ; they always call him Dick Edwards about here,' answered the landlord. " I did not tell him that was my brother's name, but with a trembling heart I asked him to point me to the house of this Eichard Edwards of whom he spoke. " There was something of pity in the tone of the landlord's voice, as he told me to turn down the second lane I should come to, and go on to the last hut on the right hand. ' But I advise you not to go,' he continued, ' for I 'm sure there must be some mistake.' I was too heart-sick to answer, but, taking my travelling-bag on my arm, I followed the direc- tions of the landlord, and picked my way as well as I could through the mud of the miserable, filthy lane he had mentioned to me, all the time saying ISt 134: LEWIE. to myself, 'It cannot be there surely must be some mistake,' and yet impelled irresistibly to go on. " As I approached the door of the hut at which I knew I was to stop, I heard the sound of singing and shouting ; and as I came nearer, the words of a low drinking chorus sounded on my ear. I paused before the door, and a feeling of faintness came over me. I thought, ' I will turn back, and give up the attempt. Better never to find my brother, than to find him here, and thus.' But again something impelled me to tap at the door. It would be such an inexpressible relief, I thought, to find myself mistaken. It was some time before I could make myself heard above the noise of drunken revelry which sounded within the hovel ; but at length the door was opened by a wretched, frightened-looking woman, and a scene of indescribable misery was presented to my eyes. Around a table were seated three or four brutish-looking men, with a jug and some glasses before them. On the table was a BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. 135 pack of greasy-looking cards ; but those who sur- rounded the table were too far gone to play now; they could only drink, and sing, and shout, and drink again ; and one of them, in attempting to rise from the table, fell, and lay in a state of utter helplessness on the floor. " The man of the house was not so far gone as the rest; and when he came stagarerirtg forward, a few words sufficed to explain, the reason of my appearance. " His answer seemed to seal my fate. " ' Ho ! you 're Ehoda, then ! I wrote to you. I thought likely enough you 'd got some money. We 're pretty hard up here.' This was said with a silly laugh and hiccough, which filled me with an indescribable loathing. "And was this miserable, * bloated wretch my brother that brother whom I had so longed and prayed once more to see, of whom I had thought by day, and dreamed by night, for so many long years ! I turned to go without another word, but fell at tne door, and lay, I know not how 136 LEWIE. without sense or motion. When I revived, I found the woman (who, I suppose, was my sister- in-law) bathing my face. I have a dim recollec- tion, too, of seeing some dirty, miserable-looking children, and of being asked for money. I laid all that I had about me on the table, and, while they were eagerly catching for it, I left the wretched place ; and grasping by the fence to steady my feeble footsteps, I made my way back to the inn. I took the next stage, and then the boat, for the home of my kind old friend at Springdale, and arrived there ill in body and mind. From there I wrote you, when partially recovered. As soon as I was able, I began my school, and before long became much interested in my little scholars ; and in the hospitable home of my kind old friends, regained tranquillity of mind, and after a time even cheerfulness. But other trials awaited me. My head is weary, and I must rest before I relate to you the remainder of my melancholy story. "There was a young physician in that place, who had recently come from the East, and settled BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. 137 there. He was a man of agreeable person and manners, of much general information, and of very winning address; at least, so he seemed to me. He was entirely different from all whom I had met in that new country, and was the only person, besides my old friend the clergyman and his wife, with whom it was really pleasant to converse ; and I felt perfectly at ease in his society, having been assured that he was engaged to a certain Miss G , the daughter of a merchant in the village. Though much surprised at this, she having appear- ed to me but a mere flippant gossip, and he a man of refined and cultivated intellect, still I had no reason to doubt it, and was completely taken by surprise when, after an acquaintance of a few weeks, he one day made an offer of his hand and heart to me. I told him what I had heard of his engagement to another, but he assured me it was the idlest village gossip. 'There was nowhere else to go,' he said, 'till I came there, and so he had occasionally visited at Mr. Gr 's, but without the slightest intention of paying any serious atten- 12* 138 LEWIE. tion to either of his daughters, who, were girls not at all to his taste.' " The idea of this gentleman appearing in the character of a lover of mine was so new to me that I was obliged to take time to accustom my- self to it, and to ascertain the nature of my own feelings, which I soon found were such as to satisfy me that I should commit no perjury in giving him my hand. I will not tell you how I loved him ! I cannot write about it now ! But for a short time I was very, very happy, and even my bitter disap- pointments were forgotten. But suddenly he ceas- ed to visit me. Day after day passed and he did not come ; and yet I knew that he was in the vil- lage. At length I could no longer conceal my distress from my old friend ; who, being very in- dignant at this treatment, called my truant lover to account. " My cheeks glow with indignation as I write it ! A story had been circulated, which was afterwards traced to the G 's, that I had left a husband in an Eastern State ; and this man, without coming to me BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. 139 for a word of explanation, believed the story and deserted me. I had no friend of long enough standing there to contradict the report ; I wrote to you, Mr. Wharton, but the letter could never have reached you, for no answer came ; and this only confirmed the suspicions of those who had heard this slanderous story. All but my kind hosts look- ed upon me with suspicion ; the object of the slan- der was accomplished ; my former lover resumed his visits at the house of Mr. G , and his atten- tions to his daughter. He was not worthy of a love like mine ! Stranger as he had been to me, could I have believed a tale like that of him, with- out making an effort to investigate its truth, or giving him full opportunity to clear himself from the imputation ? That place could no longer be a home for me. I left it, dear friends,* and turned my face once more towards those who had been for so many years tried and true to me. But strength failed! I have been here I know not how many weeks, enduring torment of mind and body. My hope of reaching you is dying out. 1 140 LEWIE. have no hope but in God ; my friend and refuge in time of trouble ! I have ' " Here the writing ceased ; and the next moment she had seen her faithless lover hand his bride from the carriage, and reason fled from her poor brain forever. The day after this letter was received found Mr. Wharton on his way to the West, to ascertain for himself the condition of Miss Edwards, and to en- deavor to devise some means for her comfort and restoration, if possible. Has my reader ever visit- ed a county house, and especially the apartment de- voted exclusively to Lunatics ? If not, I will en- deavor to describe a few of the sights which met the eyes of Mr. Wharton, on his sad visit to the county house, which then stood a few miles from . He proceeded thither in company with the physician who had written to him, and sent him the package from Miss Edwards, and it was with a heavy heart that he first saw the desolate brick building in which she had been placed, and thought, " Is this the only asylum for one so love- BITTEE DISAPPOINTMENTS. 141 Iy and so gifted, and must she wear out her days in hopeless madness here?" Making their way through the crowd of miserable, hobbling, bandag- ed, blind and helpless creatures who were standing about the yard and halls, Mr. Wharton and Dr. Masten, guided by the superintendent of the coun- ty house, paused before the door of the " crazy room." Sounds of many voices were already heard, in various tones, singing and shouting, and preaching, and when the door was opened the din was such that it was impossible for the gentlemen to hear each other speak. What a place, thought Mr. Wharton, for those who should be kept quiet and tranquil, and who should have nothing about them but pleasant, cheerful sights. What possible hope is there of the restoration of any here ! About the large and not over clean room, were a number of cages, much like those you now see placed around a menagerie tent, though not so large or so comfortable as these cages of wild beasts. In each of these cages was confined a hu- 142 LEWIE. man being, and these poor creatures stricken by the hand of God, were in various stages of insani- ty, some wildly raving, others more quiet, and others still in a state of helpless idiocy. One poor creature had preached till her voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, and so she continued to preach, the keeper told them, day and night, till utterly ex- hausted, when she would fall into a state of insen- sibility, which could hardly be called sleep, but from which she would arouse to preach again, day and night, till again exhausted. A boy about sixteen years of age sat in one of the cages, with scarcely a rag to cover him, idly pulling through his fingers a bit of cord. This had been his employment for months, the keeper said. He was perfectly quiet, except the cord was taken from him ; but then he would be quite fran- tic. The ends of his fingers were quite worn with drawing this cord between them, and it was neces- sary to supply him constantly with a new bit of cord. "When asked wbv the boy remained nearly naked, the keeper said, they had never been able BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. 143 to devise any means to keep clothing upon him, or to find anything strong enough to resist the strength of his hands ; but if allowed to remain in a state almost of nudity, and to have his bit of cord, he was perfectly quiet and contented. These, and many more sad and horrible things, were seen and heard during their visit ; but Mr. Wharton's first object was to find her for whose sake he had undertaken this long journey. He knew her immediately, though her face was worn with trouble and sickness, and there was an intense and unnatural brightness about her eye. Her beautiful hair was unbound, and falling about her shoulders, as she sat in the farthest corner of her cage, perfectly quiet, and entirely unoccu- pied. " Khoda !" said Mr. Wharton, gently. She started, and put back her thick hair from her ear, at the sound of his familiar voice. " Khoda!" said he, " don't you remember me?" She looked at him intently, and the expression of her eye began to change. 144 LEWIE. "The children want to see you so much, Ehoda! Emily and Erne, and Agnes and little Grace." He mentioned each name slowly and distinctly, and then spoke of his wife and the other children, and mentioned scenes and incidents connected with his home. Her eye still looked with an earnest gaze into his ; her brow contracted, as if she was trying to recall some long forgotten thing; until at length, with the helplessness of an infant, she stretched her arms towards Mr. Wharton, and exclaimed, piteously: " Oh, take me away ! -take me to my home !" "You shall go with me, Ehoda; I will not leave you here," said Mr. "Wharton ; and beckon- ing to Dr. Masten, he left the room. As he reached the door, he heard a cry of agony, and turning, he saw Miss Edwards at the front of her cage, with both arms extended towards him through the bars, and the most agonized, imploring expression upon her face. Stepping back to her, he said : " Ehoda, I will not leave you. Be quiet, and I BITTEB DISAPPOINTMENTS. 146 will come back very soon to take you with me. Did I ever deceive you, Ehoda ?" "Oh!" said she, putting her hand to her head, "they have all deceived me. Eichard deceived me! He deceived me! oh, so cruelly! Who can I trust? They all desert me. I am all, all alone!" And she sat down; and dropping her head upon her knees, she wept very bitterly. When Mr. Wharton had again called the doctor from the room, he said to him : " Doctor, this does not seem to me such a hope- less case. How any sane person could retain his senses in that awful scene, I cannot imagine ; I am sure I should soon go crazy myself. ' But could I once remove Miss Edwards from these terrible associations, and place her in one of our Eastern asylums, where she might have cheerful com- panionships, and pleasant occupation for her mind and fingers, I doubt not she might be completely restored." The doctor thought it possible, but was not so sanguine on the subject as Mr. Wharton, who, he 146 LEWIE. said, had only seen the young lady in one of he? calmer moods. Still he by all means advised the trial. " We have no hope of cure" said he, " in placing these lunatics in the County House; the only object is to keep them from injuring them- selves or others. They are all of them from the families of the poor, who cannot afford to send them to an Eastern asylum. This young lady was a stranger, and without means, and so vio- lent, at tunes, that restraint was absolutely neces- sary; so that the only thing we could do with her was to place her here till I could write to you." "You did the very best that could be done under the circumstances, my dear sir," answered Mr. Wharton ; " but I sincerely hope the day is not far distant when your State will possess a more comfortable home than this for those afflicted as these poor creatures are. But I feel as if I could not lose a moment in removing my young friend from this place ; and if you, doctor, will be so kind as to take the journey with me, and aid me in the BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. 147 care of her, you shall be well rewarded for your loss of time." >- It was with no great difficulty that this under- taking was accomplished ; and in less than a fort- night from the time when Mr. Wharton found Miss Edwards, caged like a wild beast in the County House at , she was placed at an asylum where every comfort surrounded her. It was not long before she seemed quite at home amid these new scenes, and began to interest her- self in books and work ; and though her mind never fully regained its tone, she yet seemed tran- quil and happy. But the scenes of trial through which she had passed had done their work upon her constitution, and she sank rapidly, until, in a little less than a year from the time of her entering the asylum, Mr. Wharton was summoned to her death-bed. He arrived but a short time before she breathed her last, and had the satisfaction to find that she knew him, to hear from her own lips the assurance that her faith in her Eedeemer was firm and unshaken, and to bear her last kind messages 148 LEWIE. to aU the dear ones at Brook Farm. And then the poor sad heart was still the mind was bright and clear again for the shattered strings were tuned anew in heaven. In a quiet nook at Brook Farm, where the willow bends, and the brook murmurs, is a spot marked out for a bur jing-place, and the first stone planted there bears on it the name of "Rhoda Edwards." IX. (fcrailj's frials. ." And dost thou ask what secret woe I bear, corroding joy and youth ? And wilt thou vainly seek to know A pang, even thou must fail to soothe ? BYRON. IN the meantime the education of Master Lewie was going on as best it might, and in a man- ner most agreeable to that young gentleman's in- clinations. When he chose to do so, he studied, and then no child could make more rapid advance- ment than he, but as he was brought up without any habits of regular application, study soon be- came distasteful to him, and at the first puzzling sentence he threw aside his books in disgust, and started off for play. The only thing he really loved, was music, and in his devotion to this de- lightful accomplishment he was indefatigable, and his proficiency at that tender age was remarkable. 150 LEWIE. But being now nine or ten years old, his moth- er, urged to this course by some pretty strong hints from Mr. Wharton, began to determine upon some systematic plan of education for him. And, acting upon Mr. Wharton's advice, she was so hap- py as to secure the services of Mr. Malcolm, the young clergyman at the village, as a- tutor for Lewie, upon the condition on his part, that unlimit- ed authority, in no case to be interfered with, should be given to him in his government of the hitherto untrained and petted child. And so it was settled, that Mr. Malcolm should ride over from the village every morning at a cer- tain hour, and attend to the education of little Lewie Elwyn. It was soon observed, that as the young clergman rode from the Hemlocks back to the .village, it seemed a difficult matter for him to pass Mr. Wharton's lane, but he often, and then oftener, and at length every day, turned his horse's head up the lane, and stopped to make a call. And the children (than whom there are no quicker observers in matters of this kind) soon made up EMILY'S TKIALS. 151 their minds that the object of Mr. Malcolm's fre- quent and prolonged visits was sweet cousin Emily. And they thought too, judging by the bright blush that came up in cousin Emily's usually pale cheek when he was announced, and by the look of interest with which she listened to his conver- sations with her uncle, or replied to him when he addressed a remark to herself, that cousin Emily was by no means indifferent to the young minis- ter. Having drawn their own conclusions from these premises, and watching with much interest, as children always do the progress of a love affair, they were surprised and disappointed when they found that as Mr. Malcolm's attentions increased and became more pointed, cousin Emily gradually withdrew from his society, and often declined al- together to come into the sitting room when he was there. Yet they were certain she liked him, for they often found her watching from her win- dow his retreating figure; and sometimes before she knew that she was observed, she would be seen 162 LEWIE. to wipe away the tears which were stealing unbid- den down her cheek. At length, one day, the minister came, and as he walked up the steps of the front piazza, those who caught sight of his face, saw that it was pale and agitated, and that he looked as if important matters for him were at stake. And he asked for Emily. There was no bright blush in her cheek now as she descended the stairs; it was pale and cold as marble. The interview was a long one, and when at length Mr. ^Malcolm mounted his horse and rode slowly away, his face was as white as when he came, but the look of suspense and expectation had passed away, and in its place was that of settled and fixed despair. Emily went to ner room, and to her bed, which she did not leave for some days; when she again appeared in the family she was calm and sweet as ever, but a shade more pensive. And the young minister came no. more. That was all. He was sometimes seen in the distant road rid- EMILY'S TRIALS. 153 ing rapidly by, to or from the Hemlocks, but though the horse from long custom, invariably turned his head towards Mr. Wharton's lane, he was not permitted to follow his inclinations, but was speedily hurried by. And Emily grew paler and thinner day by day, and there was sometimes a contraction about the brow which told of intense suffering ; and some- times, early in the evening she would leave -the par- lor, and not appear again for the remainder of the evening. On one of these occasions Agnes follow- ed her, as she had observed the deadly pale- ness of her countenance, and feared she would faint before she reached her room. As Emily as- cended the stairs, Agnes thought she heard groans, as of one in extreme pain. Emily closed her door and Agnes stood upon the outside ; and now the groans were plainly to be distinguished. " Cousin Emily," Agnes called, " dear cousin Emily, may I come in ?" There was no answer, but those same deep groans and now and then a plaintive moaning. 154: LEWIE. Agnes opened the door gently, and saw Emily upon her knees, and yet writhing as if in intense agony. She seemed to be trying to pray, and Agnes caught the words, " Oh, for strength, for strength to en- dure this agony, and not to murmur." Putting her arm around her, Agnes said : "What is it, cousin Emily ? Can you not tell me ?" Emily started at finding that she was not alone, and then said : " Help me to rise, Agnes, and hand me those drops. I am glad that it is you : better you than any of the others. Fasten the door, Agnes." Emily reclined upon the sofa, weak and ex- hausted, the cold beads of perspiration standing on her brow. Agnes sat in silence beside her, hold- ing her thin white hands in hers. At length Emily said : "Agnes, I try to be patient; I make an en- deavor even to be cheerful ; but I am indeed a great sufferer, and the anguish I endure seems, at times, more than mortal frame can bear. It is only by escaping to the solitude of my own room, EMILY'S TRIALS. 155 to endure the agony in secret, that I am enabled to i:eep it to myself. I am obliged to practice evasion to escape aunty's anxious interrogatories ; for, in her present state of health, I would not for the world cause her the anxiety and trouble which the knowledge of my sufferings would bring upon her." Then, with frequent pauses for rest, Emily told the weeping Agnes all. " And now," said she, " dear Agnes, you are very young for scenes like this ; but I know that you possess uncommon nerve and courage. / Can you, do you think, sit by my side, and hold my hand through a painful operation ? I can endure it alone, dear, and I intended to ; but as accident has revealed my sufferings to you, I feel that it would be a comfort to me to have my hand in that of one I love at that time." " I think I can, cousin Emily. I believe I could do anything for you, dear cousin Emily." " I do not want aunty and uncle to know of this till it is all over, Agnes. They go to the Springs 156 LEWIE. to-morrow, to remain some days, as you know: and I have arranged with Dr. Eodney to come while they are gone, and bring a surgeon from the city, and it will all be over before they return." " And is there no danger, cousin Emily ?" "Danger of what, dear? of death? Oh yes; the chances are many against me ; and even if the operation is safely performed, it may not arrest the disease. But to one who suffers the torture which it is the will of Heaven that I should bear, speedy death would only be a happy release. And yet, Agnes, do not misunderstand me ; I would not for the world do anything to shorten my life of suffer- ing. Oh no! "All the years of my appointed time will I wait till my change come." The course I am going to pursue is advised by the physicians, and it may be the means of restora- tion to health, at least for some years. Agnes, pray for me." When Mrs. "Wharton kissed Emily for good-bye, and told her to be a good girl, and take care of her health, she little imagined the suffering through EMILY'S TRIALS. 157 which her gentle niece was to pass before they met again. No one dreamed of it but Agnes. The next day, in answer to a message from Emily, the physicians came. They found her courageous and cheerful ; for she was sustained by an arm all-powerful. Strength was given to her for the day and the occasion ; a wonderful forti- tude sustained her ; and the precious promise was verified to her "When-thou goest through the waters, I will be with thee." And Agnes, who sat with one hand over her eyes, and the other clasping that of Emily, knew only by a sudden and long-continued pressure of the hand that the knife was doing its work. There was not a groan only one long-drawn sigh and it was over ; and the result was better than their most sanguine hopes. Mrs. Wharton returned, after an absence neces- sarily prolonged to some weeks. She found Emily sitting on the sofa, looking much as she had done when they parted ; and it was not till long after- ward that she discovered what had been the cause U 158 LEWIE. of Emily's illness, and learned how much she had endured. She understood many things now which had been mysteries to her before, realizing, in some degree, the torment of mind and body through which this gentle one had passed, and the reason of the bidding down of the tenderest feelings of her heart. Poor Emily ! None but He who seeth in secret had known the agony which wrung thy loving heart to its very depths, causing even the keen torture of physical suffering to be at times forgot- ten. But He can, and He does, give strength for the occasion, whatever it may be, and however sore the trial ; and leaning on His arm, His people pass securely through fires of tribulation, which, in the prospect, would seem utterly unendurable, and come out purified, even as gold from the furnace. X. " Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert." HENRY VI. Tl TE. WHAETON had endeavored to give Mr. -^-*- Malcolm a correct understanding of the na- ture of the case he was about to undertake, in be- coming the instructor of the spoiled and wayward Lewie. He told him of his natural good qualities, never suffered to develop themselves, and of the many evil ones, fostered and encouraged by the unwise indulgence of his fond and foolish mother, And yet, when the young clergyman had fairly entered upon his duties as tutor at the Hemlocks, he found, that " the half had not been told him." Lewie chafed and fretted under the slightest re- straint, and had not the remotest idea of doing 160 LEWIE. anything that was not in all respects agreeable to his own inclinations. The idea of compulsion was so new to him, that he was overwhelmed with amazement one day, when his tutor (after trying various means to induce him to learn a particular lesson) finally told him that that lesson must be learned, and recited, before he could leave the li- brary. Master Lewie, fully determined in his own mind to ascertain whose will was the strongest, and whose resolution would soonest give out, now open- ly rebelled, and informed his master that "he would not learn that lesson." With his handsome face flushed with passion, he struggled from his tutor, rushed to the door, and endeavored to open it ; but Mr. Malcolm was before-hand with him, and quietly turning the key in the lock, and putting it in his pocket, he walk- ed back to the table. The frantic boy now en- deavored to open the windows and spring out, but being foiled in this attempt likewise, as they were securely fastened, he threw himself upon the floor as he had been in the habit of doing when THE TUTOR AND PUPIL. 161 crossed, ever since his baby-hood, and screamed with all the strength of baffled rage. His anxious mother was at the door in an in- stant, demanding admittance. Mr. Malcolm un- fastened the door, stepped out to her in the hall, and gave her a faithful account of her son's con- duct during the morning. "And now, Mrs. Elwyn," said he, " the promise was, that I was not to be interfered with in my government of your son. As long as he hears your voice at the door, and knows that he has your sympathy on his side, he will continue obstinate and rebellious." " But, Mr. Malcolm, excuse me, but you do not know how to manage, him, you should soothe and coax him; he will not be driven. Oh, I cannot bear to hear him scream so," she exclaimed, as a louder roar from Lewie reached her ears ; " Oh, Mr. Malcolm, I must go to him." " Not unless you desire, madam, that I should resign at once, and forever, the charge of your son," said Mr. Malcolm, laying his hand upon the lock to prevent her carrying her purpose into ex- H* 162 LEWIE. edition. "I have spent this whole morning," he continued, "in expostulation and persuasion, and in endeavoring, as I always do, to make the lessons plain and interesting to my pupil; but Lewie is in one of his perverse humors, and no- thing but decision as unyielding as his own obsti- nacy, will conquer him. If you will return to your own room and allow me the sole manage- ment of him, I will remain here to-day till I have subdued him, if the thing is possible." " You will not use severity, Mr. Malcolm," said the weeping mother. " Never in the way of corporeal punishment, madam. When I cannot govern a pupil without having recourse to such means, I will abandon him. But I must stipulate that untill Lewie sub- mits, and learns that lesson, which he could easily learn in a few minutes, if he chose, he goes with- out food, and remains in the library with me. I am deeply interested in your son, Mrs. Elwyn ; he is a boy of fine talents, and of too many good qualities of heart, to be allowed to go to destruc- THE TUTOR AND PUPIL. 163 tion. I would save him if I can, but lie must be left to me. I have the hope of yet seeing him a noble and useful character, but I must do it in my own way." Mrs. Elwyn silently acquiesced, and withdrew to her own room very wretched. If she had been willing to inflict upon herself one tithe of the pain she suffered now, in controlling her son in his in- fancy, how different he might have been, as he grew up towards manhood. Mr. Malcolm returned to the library, and told Lewie that his mother had decided to leave them settle this matter between themselves. He should remain there, he said ; he could employ himself very agreeably with the books. Lewie might lie on the floor and scream, or get up and study ; but until that lesson was learned, he would not leave the library, or taste a morsel of food. The shrieks were now renewed in a louder and more agonized tone than ever, and were plainly heard in Mrs. Elwyn's sitting-room, where, in a state bordering on distraction, she was hurriedly 164 LEWIE. pacing the floor, at times almost determined to insist upon being admitted to the library, that she might take her unhappy son to her arms, and dis- miss his inexorable tutor ; and then deterred from this course by the promise she had made, and the deep respect which she could not but feel for the young minister. She could not but confess, too, in her inmost heart, that this discipline was really for the good of her passionate boy, though the means resorted to seemed to her severe. Of the two, she was more wretche LEWIE AT SCHOOL. 211 portance called him to the city; so that Agnes, who disliked to keep Mr. Fairland waiting for her any longer, wrote to him when he might expect her, and, much against Mrs. Wharton's wishes, set out alone in the stage for "Wilston. Xlil. far "The stranger's heart! oh, wound it not! A yearning anguish is its lot; In the green shadow of the tree, The stranger finds no rest with thee." " A ND when may we expect to be fav red with *-* the presence of this paragon of perfection, and embodiment of all wisdom, papa ?" asked Miss Evelina Fairland, with what was intended for the utmost girlish sprightliness of manner; for, al- though it was only at breakfast, Miss Evelina never laid aside her manner of extreme youth, as she thought it best to be continually in practice. Her father answered quietly, that he expected Miss Elwyn by the afternoon stage. " Is she one of these prim, old-maidish gover- nesses, like our poor old Miss Pratt?" asked Miss NEW SCENES FOB AGNES. 213 Calista, a lady of something over thirty, and rather the worse for twelve years' wear, in the way of balls and parties, the theatre and the opera. In- deed, at the breakfast table, Miss Calista looked considerably older than she really was, with her pale, faded cheeks, and her hair "en papillottes ;" but, in the afternoon, by the use of a little artificial bloom, some cork-screw ringlets, and a manner as gay and girlish as that of her sister, she appeared quite another creature. To Miss Calista's question Mr. Fairland, with an amused pucker about the mouth, answered : " Oh, I shall tell you nothing about her looks; you must wait and judge for yourselves. There 's one thing I will say, however. I suppose you can't alter your looks, girls ; but, as far as manners are concerned, I wish very much that I could place my two eldest daughters under Miss Elwyn's tuition." "Perhaps she will condescend to take a class, twice or three times a week, in ' manners for six- pence,' " said the sprightly Miss Evelina. " I 214 LEWIE. should like to see Calista and myself curtseying, and walking, and leaving and entering a room, as we used to be obliged to do for old Miss Pratt. Would n't you, Calista?" "Let's see," said Mr. Fairland, whose remin- iscences were not always of the most agreeable nature to the young ladies " let 's see. How long is it since you and C'listy were under the care of Miss Pratt? I think it must be nigh twenty years." " Twenty years, papa! absurd!" shrieked Miss Calista; "why, you must be losing your me- mory !" Now, if Mr. Fairland's daughters were touchy on the subject of their ages, their father was no less so on that of his memory, as Miss Calista well knew when she made the foregoing remark. " Losing my memory indeed, Miss C'listy ! My memory is as sound as ever ; and, to prove it to you, I will inform you, that I shall be sixty-four years old this coming August ; and by the same token, you are just exactly half my age ; and if NEW SCENES FOB AGNES. 215 you don't believe it, you may just take a look at the family record, in the big Bible." " C'listy 's scratcJied out her date," said little Rosa, " and so has Evelina." " Hold your tongue, you impertinent little rainxl" said Miss Calista; "I really hope the prinky old governess who is coming will be able to whip a little manners into you. I really wonder you can allow the children to be so pert, mamma, I" The lady addressed as "mamma" was the second wife of Mr. Fairland, a rather handsome, but very languid lady of forty, who was sleepily sipping her coffee during the foregoing conversation. Now, as Mrs. Fairland did not look much older (perhaps not at all older, at the breakfast table,) than the oldest of her step-daughters, the young ladies quite prided themselves on so youthful a "mamma;" and when in company, or at the various watering- places to which, in former times, they had succeed- ed in dragging their parents, they hung round her, and asked her permission to do this and that, with the most child-like confidence in her judgment. 216 LEWIE. This was by no means relished by the step- mother, who had no fancy for matronizing daugh- ters so nearly her own age, and who wished no less fervently than the young ladies themselves, that something in the shape of a husband would ap- pear to carry each of them off. She never failed after such a display of filial affection on their part to explain to those near her, that the young ladies were her step-daughters, and to mention how odd it Bounded to her when she was first married, to hear those great girls as tall as herself, call her " mam- ma." It was a beautiful evening in the pleasant month of July, when Agnes entered the lovely village of Wilston, and drove through its one long street, to the spacious and rather showy dwelling of Mr. Fairland. Agnes had heard much of the beauty of Wilston, but her heart was now so oppressed with many agitating emotions, at the near prospect of the new and strange scenes upon which she was about to enter in so new a character, that not even the loveliness of the landscape, with its NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. 217 variety of hill, and dale, and wood-land, on the one hand, and on the other the peaceful lake ting- ed with crimson by the setting sun, had power to win her attention. Yet we need not fear for Agnes, that in thus ap- pearing in the character of a governess, she will lose aught of her gentle dignity, or quiet self-pos- session. Agnes was a lady in every sense of the term, and place her where you would, or under whatever circumstances, she would invest her oc- cupation with a dignity all her own, and make it honorable ; winning from all around her an invol- untary respect and homage. Though ever kind and amiable, and ready to oblige, she will never cringe to those who, by the favors of fortune, are placed for the time in circumstances more prosper- ous than her own. Tried, she may be by their arrogance, and airs of assumed superiority ; but with the inward conviction which in spite of her modesty she must possess, that in all that is of real and true worth she is far above them, she will toil on undisturbed in her vocation, anxious only to 19 218 LEWIE. fulfil her duty towards God, and toward those whom He has placed under her influence ; and to acquit herself well of the high responsibility rest- ing upon her. Mr. Fairland met Agnes at the door, with his kind pleasant face, and with both hands extended to give her a cordial welcome to his roof. Mrs. Fairland rose languidly from her chair to receive the governess, and gave her a ceremonious, and to Agnes a most chilling greeting. The young ladies were out walking ; but presently a troop of noisy children, who from some part of the grounds where they were at play, had seen the arrival of the stranger, came bursting rudely into the room. These, as Agnes supposed, were her future pupils, and a most unpromising set they at first sight ap- peared. The eldest, " Tiney," was a heavy, dull looking girl of about ten years of age. Her eyes had no more brightness or expression in them than two balls of lead, and her flabby colorless cheeks hung down each side of her mouth, giving that feature NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. 219 much the expression of a bull-dog, while a sullen fierceness about her face, increased the resemblance to that animal. Her teeth, utterly unacquainted with the action of a brush, were prominent, so that her lip seldom covered them, and her un- combed hair hung rough and shaggy around her unattractive face. Agnes at once guessed that this poor child was deficient in intellect, and unamiable in temper. The next, Rosa, was a wild, handsome little gip- sey, with eyes as black as jet, and as bright as dia- monds, a brilliant color shining through her .sun- burnt cheek, and with straight black hair, no bet- ter cared for than her sister Tiney's. The third little girl, Jessie, was very fair, with beautiful deep blue eyes, and golden curling hair ; but the curls were all in tangles, for no one took the trouble to keep them in order, except on great occasions, when the poor child was put to the tor- ture of having it brushed and combed, and laid in ringlets, which for the tune were the special pride of her mother. 220 LEWIE. "You'll have enough to do, Miss tame all these rough spirits," said Mr. Fairland, " they have been running wild ever since we left the city, and a more rude and ungoverned set of little desperadoes, it has never been your lot to meet with, I '11 venture to say." And then ad- dressing them, he said, " come here, children, what do you stand there gaping for, with your thumbs in your mouths, as if you had never seen anybody before ? Tiney ! Eosa, you witch ! Jess, my chicken 1 come up here this minute, and speak to Miss Elwyn." But Tiney only pouted her ugly mouth and scowled ; and Kosa, making a sudden dart for her mother's chair, retreated behind it, peering out her black eyes occasionally, to take a look at the stranger; while Jessie ran and sprang into her father's lap, hiding her little tangled head on his shoulder. And now a whooping and shouting made known the approach of Master Frank, the son and heir, a young individual of about four years of age, who, nothing daunted by the stran- NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. 221 ger's appearance, made for his father's chair, and proceeded to dislodge his sister Jessie from her seat, and to establish himself in her place. Jessie screamed, and scratched, and pulled in vain. Frank, though younger, was much the strongest, and the fight ended by the sudden descent of Miss Jessie to the floor, and the ascension of Master Frank into the vacated place. " Be quiet now, will you, Frank, and speak to Miss Elwyn," said his father. "Hallo! is that Miss Elwyn?" exclaimed Master Frank, aloud ; " why, C'lista said she was old and ugly." " Well, C'listy did n't know, did she?" said his father. " And Ev'lina said she 'd train us well, and whip us, and shut us up, and be awful cross all the tune. She does n't look like that, does she, papa ?" "No, she does not," said his father; "and I guess Evelina must have been mistaken too." Agnes was all this time looking at Frank, very much amused, and laughing quietly at the de- 19* 222 LEWIE. scription which had been given of her to the chil- dren. "You think I do not look so very terrible, then, Master Frank," said she ; " do you think you will ever like me ?" " /don't know," said Master Frank, boldly ; "if you don't make me mind, I '11 like you." " But she is going to make you mind, Master Frank," said his father; "and, do you know, I have promised Miss Elwyn that she shall do just what she pleases with you all, and nobody shall interfere." "In school hours" said Agnes. " Yes, in school hours, and out of school hours, except when their mother or I are present : they are always to obey you, Miss Elwyn. I wish that to be understood in the family. But, my dear," said he to his wife, " perhaps Miss Elwyn would like to change her dress before tea." Mrs. Fairland languidly directed Tiney to show Miss Elwyn to her room; but the only notice taken of this command by Miss Tiney was a NEW SCENES FOB AGNES. 223 stupid, sullen stare. Agnes had risen to leave the room ; but perceiving that Tiney did not stir, she turned, and putting out one hand toward Eosa, said, in her own bright, winning way : " This little black-eyed girl will show me the way, I 'm sure." There was no resisting the gentle kindness of Agnes, and the confidence of little Eosa was won immediately. Coming out from behind her mo- ther's chair, she put her hand in that of Agnes, and led her up stairs into a large room, on the second floor, overlooking the beautiful lake. " What a very pleasant room I" said Agnes. " Is this to be mine ?" " Yes," answered Eosa, who, having once found her tongue, showed that she could make very rapid use of it when she chose " and that bed is yours, and that one is for me and Jessie." " 'Jessie and me, 1 you mean, Eosa, do you not?" " I 'm the oldest" answered Eosa. "I know that, Eosa; but recollect, whenever you speak of any one, no matter who, in connection 224 LEWIE. with yourself, always to mention the other person first. Will you remember that?" " Yes, I '11 try," answered Eosa. She then pro- ceeded to inform Agnes, that her mamma had wished to give her a little room on the other side of the hall, but papa said she should have this room, because it was so pleasant, and he had heard her say that she was so fond of the water. " That was very kind of your papa," said Agnes ; " and where does Tiney sleep ?" " Oh, Tiney sleeps with Susan, because she has fits, you know." " Who has? Susan?" asked Agnes. "No, Tiney has fits, and nobody likes to take care of her but papa and Susan." Agnes was disappointed to find that she was not to have a room to herself. " I came here to in- struct these children," said she to herself, " not to act in the capacity of nursery-maid. However, I will bear it patiently for the present; perhaps I shall gain an influence over them, by having them so constantly with me, that I could not acquire in NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. 225 any other way. There is so much to be corrected in their habits and language, besides their being so wofully ignorant I" Agnes continued talking pleasantly to little "Rosa, while she was dressing ; and when they went down stairs, hand in hand, the very pleasantest relations appeared to be established between them. " What shall we call you?" asked Eosa. " You may call me ' cousin Agnes,' if you choose," she answered, "and if your papa and mamma are willing." " Oh, I shall like that!" said Eosa. Soon after Agnes and little Eosa re-entered the sitting-room, the Misses Fairland returned from their walk. They were gayly and showily attired in the very height of the fashion, and entered the door talking and laughing very loudly ; but when introduced to Miss Elwyn, they stopped and open- ed their eyes in unaffected amazement. As Agnes rose with graceful ease to meet them, looking so lovely in her deep mourning dress, and with her rich waving chesnut hair, simply parted on her 226 LEWIE. forehead, and gathered in a knot behind, there was a most striking contrast between her and the gaudily dressed, beflounced, and beflowered ladies, who were fashionably and formally curtseying, and presenting her the tips of their fingers. Though younger by some years than the young- est of the Miss Fairlands, there was a dignified self-possession about Agnes, which was quite as- tonishing to them. Though rather of the hoyden- ish class themselves, they could not fail at once to recognize the air of refinement which marks the true lady, and while intending by their own ap- pearance to over-awe the new governess, they were so completely taken by surprise by her perfect ease and composure of manner, that they alone appear- ed stiff and awkward, and she unembarrassed and easy. And this was the prim old-maidish governess they had been expecting! this fresh, blooming, lovely looking girl ! It was by no means a pleas- ant surprise to the Misses Fairland. However, she was nothing but a governess after all ; and could NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. 227 easily be kept in the back ground ; it was to be hoped she would know her place and keep it. The Misses Fairland made the mistake very common with persons of weak mind, and little cul- tivation at that, and instead of judging of others by their intrinsic worth, character, or intellect, formed their estimate only by the outward circumstances in which they found them. Had this same Agnes Elwyn come to make a visit to her far away cous- ins, in her own carriage, and surrounded by exter- nal marks of wealth, they would have been ready to fall down and worship her ; but coming as a governess, and by the stage, what notice could she expect from the Misses Fairland! These young ladies had so often been made wretched, by inten- tional slights from those in whose sphere they had aspired to move, that they did not doubt Agnes would be rendered equally uncomfortable by their own neglect. The tea-bell rang, and the Misses Fairland has- tened to take off their bonnets, and soon re-appear- ed at the tea-table, where they took up the entire 228 LEWIE. conversation, telling of all they had heard and seen, in their calls through the village. For like the ancient Athenians, these young ladies literally " spent their time in nothing else, but to hear or to tell of some new thing." In the midst of the conversation there was a sudden bustle, and Tiney rose hastily from the table. Her father immediately left his chair, and went round to her place, and took her by the arm. There was a ghastly and disturbed look about poor Tiney's face, and an expression of -terrible malig- nity about her eye, and as she passed the chairs of her little sisters, one screamed loudly and then the other, and when she came near Agnes, it was with great difficulty that she too could resist the inclination to scream with the pain, caused by a terrible pinch from the fingers of Tiney, which left its mark upon her arm for many days. Mr. Fairland led the child from the room, and as the door closed after them, Agnes heard a suc- cession of the most piercing shrieks, as if all the SCENES FOR AGNES. 229 strength of the sufferer's lungs were expended upon each one. " Oh, dear ! Susan is out, and your father will need assistance," said Mrs. Fairland ; " but really, these scenes have such an effect upon my nerves, that I find it necessary to avoid them altogether." " And so do I," said Miss Calista, " indeed I al- ways suffer with a severe headache after them." "And they are so utterly disagreeable to me, to to be more candid than either of you," said Miss Evelina, " that I always keep as far out of the way as possible." " Can I be of any use?" asked Agnes, partly ris- ing and looking towards Mrs. Fairland. She would have followed poor Tiney and her father immediately, but did not wish to appear to pry into that of which nothing had been mentioned to her, and of which they might not like to speak out of their own family. " Oh, do go, Miss Elwyn, if you have the nerve" said Mrs. Fairland. The reader knows enough of Agnes to feel 20 230 LEWIE. assured that her nerves were never in the way, if opportunity offered to make herself useful to the suffering ; and the moment Mrs. Fairland answered her, she left the room, and, guided by those still piercing shrieks, she passed through a long hall, and entered a small bath-room, where she found Mr. Fairland holding the struggling Tiney, who presented a shocking appearance. Her face was now quite purple, and the white froth stood about her mouth ; and her father was holding both of her hands in one of his, to quiet her frantic struggles. "Oh, bless you, Miss Agnes !" said Mr. Fairland, as soon as she opened the door; " set that water running immediately till it is quite hot, and take off this poor child's stockings and shoes. You see I can do nothing." As quickly and as quietly as possible Agnes did as she was directed ; and then also, by Mr. Fair- land's direction, took down a bottle of medicine, always kept ready for this purpose in the bath- room, and dropped some of it for him. In a few NEW SCENES FOB AGNES. 231 moments, the shrieks subsided to moans, as Tiney lay with her head back on her father's shoulder. "Poor child !" said Mr. Fairland, wiping her lips nnd forehead, " she is a dreadful sufferer." " Has she been so long ?" asked Agnes. " Ever since her third year," answered Mr. Fair- land, " though, at first, the attacks were compara- tively slight ; but of late years they have grown, more and more severe. Her intellect, as you per- haps have already noticed, is much weakened by them, and her temper, naturally very sweet, is at times almost fiendish. It seems to be her great desire, while suffering so intensely, to injure all within her reach." Agnes now understood the reason of the screams of the children, and also of the pinch she had re- ceived as Tiney passed her chair. When poor Tiney's moans had become more faint, Mr. Fair- land said : " Agnes, will you sing ? Music seems to soothe her more than anything else, after the extreme suffering is over." 232 LEWIE. Agnes sang, with her marvellously sweet voice, a simple air : presently poor Tiney turned her head, and fixed her half-closed eyes on Agnes' face. Then she said, from time to time, in a dreamy way, "Pretty! sweet! Sing more;" and then she lay perfectly quiet, and soon fell into a gentle slumber. Often and often, after that, when poor Tiney was seized with these excruciating attacks, as soon as the first intense suffering was over, she would say, " Cousin Agnes, sing !" and, from the time she heard the gentle tones of Agnes' voice, she would be quiet and gentle as a lamb. The effect could be likened to nothing but the calming of the evil spirit which possessed the monarch of Israel, by the tones of the sweet harp of David. XIV. in t\t Mtst "Scatter diligently, In susceptible minds, The germs of the good and beautiful, They will develop there to trees, bud, bloom, And bear the golden fruit of paradise." A GNES found it no easy task to bring into **- training minds so ignorant and so utterly undisciplined as those of her little pupils. Left entirely to themselves, as they had been for many months, with a mother too indolent to trouble her- self about any systematic plan of government, and a father too easy and good-natured to carry out the many plans he was ever forming for their " break- ing in ;" scolded and fretted at by their older sisters, to whom they were perfect torments; by turns playing harmoniously, and then quarrelling most vigorously, they roamed the house and 20* 284 LEWIE. grounds, doing mischief everywhere, and bringing wrath upon their heads at every turn. With a perfect horror of anything like study, they had expected with great dread the arrival of a governess, as putting a final stop to all their fun and freedom. This dread had been in nowise diminished by the constant remarks of their older sisters upon governesses in the abstract, and their own expected governess in particular. One even- ing with Agnes served to dispel the horror, so far as she was concerned, though the dread of books was still as great as ever. Before the evening was over, Agnes had them all round her, as she sat on the sofa, telling them beautiful stories, and asking them questions. "Have you any pretty flowers in the woods about here ?" she asked. "Oh, lots!" answered Eosa; "yellow flowers, and blue flowers, and white flowers." " Then if you would like to learn something of Botany, so as to know the names of all these beautiful flowers, we will take many pleasant ram- SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. 235 bles in the woods, and gather the lovely wild flow- ers, and I will teach you how to press them." " But we have n't got any Botany looks" said little Jessie. " Oh, I think we shall not need any books, for all the Botany I shall teach you, Jessie ; and if we do, w r e will take the leaves of the flowers for the leaves of the books, and the flowers themselves for the pictures. Do you not think we can make beautiful books that way ? Jessie, can you read ?" "/can !" said Eosa, while Jessie hung her curly head. " And can you write, Kosa ?" "No. I can make straight marks," answered Eosa. " And what can you do, Master Frank ?" "Oh, Frank doesn't know anything?" said Jessie. " He did know his A B C's once, but he 's forgot them all." " Take care, Miss Jessie, that he does not read before you," said Agnes. " Your papa says we are to take the Test wing for our school-room; you 236 LEWIE. must show me where it is, and after a day or two to get in order, and to make each other's acquaint- ance, we will begin school in earnest." The next morning Agnes took the toilettes of her two little room-mates under her care, and when they appeared at the breakfast-table, the rest of the family hardly knew them, they looked so tidy and sweet. ' And poor Tiney, who gazed with astonishment at her two little sisters, made her ap- pearance at Agnes' door soon after breakfast, to ask " if she would n't make her look nice too." Agnes found so little to sympathise with, and took so little pleasure in the society of the ladies of the Fairland family, that she longed for her school to begin, that she might have useful occu- pation for her thoughts and time. On the appoint- ed morning therefore, she was well pleased to meet her little pupils in the pleasant little room in the "west wing," and to begin in earnest her labors as a teacher. Such a pile of soiled, well-thumbed, and dogs-eared books, as the children produced, Agnes had never seen together, and on opening SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. 237 them she found that the young Fairland's had been exercising their taste for the fine arts, by daubing all the pictures from a six-penny paint-box. "Now, my dear children," said she, "the first thing we shall do every morning, will be to read in the Bible ; but I do not see any Bible or Testa- ment among your books ; I suppose you each own one, do you not ?" If Agnes had been a little longer in the family of Mr. Fairland, perhaps she would not have ask- ed this question ; for she soon found that she had come into a family of as complete heathens, as she would have found if she had gone to be governess among the Hindoos. There was a " family Bible " in the house to be sure, but the only use to which it had ever been applied, was that of registering the births of the family, and the testimony it bore proved so exceedingly disagreeable to the Misses Fairland, that as Eosa has informed us, they took the liberty one day of erasing it. Agnes told the children to ask their papa if they might each have a Bible of their own, to which he 238 LEWIE. consented, and when the Bibles were brought home, the exclamations of derision from the Misses Fairland, were loud and long. "A missionary in disguise 1" they exclaimed; " a saint in the form of a governess ; come to con- vert us all, and the first thing is an importation of Bibles I" and many were the sneering and sarcastic remarks and allusions which came to the ears of Agnes, but she kept on her way quiet and undis- turbed. Agnes was perfectly astonished to find how utterly unacquainted these children were with the contents of the Bible. It was all new to them ; and after she had read to them every morning, she would gather them around her, and tell them in simple language the sweet stories from the Bible, while they listened, the younger ones with their bright, wide-open eyes fixed upon her face, as if they could not lose a word ; and even poor Tiney loved to lay her head in Agnes' lap, and hear of Him who ever sympathised with the sick and suffering. It was very strange, and very interesting to Ag- SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. 239 nes, to "hear the remarks these children made, and the many questions they would ask on subjects so new to them ; and as they had not yet learned to look at the character of God, as revealed in his Son, with the reverence which better instructed children feel, they often spoke of Him as they would of any good man of whom they might hear, and in a way which would seem too irreverential, were I to tell you all they said. Once when Agnes had been telling them of some of the miracles of our Saviour, in curing the sick, and giving sight to the blind, and hearing to the deaf, Kosa with her bright black eyes fixed in- tently on her face, said with the utmost earnest- ness : " Why, He was real good, was n't He ?" "Yes," said Agnes, "always good and kind, and always ready to help the sick and suffering." "He could cure anybody, couldn't He?" con- tinued Rosa. " Yes ; He was all-powerful" answered Agnes. " Could He cure Tiney ?" asJsed Jessie. 240 LEWIE. " Yes ; if Tiney liad lived wlien Christ was on earth, or if He was here now, He could say the word, and make her well." And then they asked, "Where is He now?" and " How can we talk to Him now?" and " Why will He not cure Tiney now ?" And Agnes tried, in the most simple manner, to teach them the nature of the prayer of faith. Once, when she was talking to them of our Sa- viour's meekness under injuries, and telling them of His bitter sufferings, and the kindness of His feelings towards His persecutors, the large tears rolled down their cheeks, and Eosa made a practi- cal application of the lesson at once, by saying : " The next time Tiney pinches me, cousin Ag- nes, I don't mean to slap her back again." " Nor I either," said Jessie. And Tiney whispered, " I wil] try and not hurt them next time." Frank, who had been choking down something in his throat, as he sat in his chair, said, in an un- steady voice: SCHOOL IN THE WEST WIN. 241 " Every word of it, Franky," said Agnes. " I Ve got something in my eye," said Frank, rubbing both eyes very hard with the back of his hands ; and then throwing himself on the settee, he cried bitterly for a long time. Agnes taught them many pretty hymns ; and as they all had good voices, and loved music dearly, they were never so happy as in singing, morning and evening, these sweet hymns with Agnes. Even poor Tiney, who was passionately fond of music, readily caught the tunes, though it was almost impossible to teach her the words. The very first Sunday that Agnes passed under the roof of Mr. Fairland, was enough to convince her that the Sabbath day with them was passed much like all other days. She was shocked to see novels, and other light and trashy works, in the hands of the Misses Fairland on this holy day, and to hear them howling snatches of opera tunes, as they ran up and down the stairs. These yqung ladies sometimes went to church in the morning, to 21 242 LEWIE. be sure, especially if they had lately received new bonnets from the city, which they wished to dis- play for the envy or admiration of their neighbors. Mrs. Fairland was too indolent to take the trouble, even if she possessed the inclination, to appear at church ; and Mr. Fairland looked upon this seventh day of the week literally as a day of rest, in which to recruit the exhausted energies of the body, in preparation for the labors of another week. The day was passed by him in looking over the news- papers, or sleeping in his large chair, with his red Bilk handkerchief over his head; and towards evening, he usually took a stroll over to his mills, or around his grounds, to mark out what was necessary to be done on the coming week. Agnes felt the importance of exerting in this ungodly family a strictly religious influence ; but, except with her own little pupils, she did not attempt, at first, to do so in any other way than by her own quiet, consistent example. Mr. Fairland was much surprised when Agnes requested per- mission to take the children to church with her * SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. 243 lie readily granted it, however, as lie invariably did the wishes of Agnes ; and from that time, Mr. Fairland's pew had at least four or five occupants, on the morning and evening of the Sabbath day. Though not required by her engagement to do so, Agnes kept the children with her on Sunday, read- ing to them, singing with them, or telling them beautiful Bible stories; and those pleasant Sab- baths spent with her they never forgot, nor did they ever lay aside the habits they acquired under her care. "What a pleasant day Sunday isl" exclaimed little Eosa ; " I never knew it was such a pleasant day before." " It 's 'cousin Agnes makes it so pleasant," said blue-eyed Jessie. " It is because you spend it as God directs, that it is a pleasant day to you, dear children," said Agnes ; " and I wish you to remember that it will always be a happy day, if you spend it in His ser- vice, ' from the beginning unto the end thereof.' " Even if I were sufficiently acquainted with them 244 LEWIE. to detail all the plans of Agnes for the education and improvement in manners and habits of her rude and ignorant little pupils, I should not do so here. They required peculiar training and an un- failing stock of patience, and it was long before any very perceptible change was wrought in their al- most confirmed habits of carelessness, or any im- provement in their rude and unformed manners ; but at length a material change was apparent, and even the Misses Fairland could not keep their eyes closed to the visible improvement of the children. They were all much more gentle and quiet ; and even poor Tiney softened much, under Agnes' gentle influence, and the light of intelligence began to beam in her heretofore dull eye. For the first time in her life, she was gaining useful ideas; and the consciousness that she was learning something as well as her sisters, seemed to make her happier and more kindly in her feelings. It was not long before the door would open gently, as the sound of their evening hymn was heard, and Mr. Fairland, who was extravagantly SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. 245 fond of sweet and simple music, would steal into the room, and seat himself in the corner. And when he heard the voices of his children singing the praises of God, and saw his poor Tiney, hith- erto so neglected, joining with eager interest in the singing, the tears would glisten in his eye, and roll unbidden down his cheek. Then he began to find his way to the school-room on Sunday evenings, and Agnes always took the opportunity on such oc- casions, to question the children on the elements of religious truth, that their young voices might be the means of instructing their father, who was more ignorant even than they, on these all-import- ant subjects. At these tunes he never said one word, but when he left the room, it was often wip- ing the tears first from one cheek and then from the other, and the heavy tread of his feet could be heard far into the night, as he walked the whole length of the two large parlors, with his hands be- hind him, and his head bent down. Before Agnes had been six months in the family, the good peo- ple sitting in the church at Wilston, one Sunday, 21* 246 LEWIE. opened their eyes with astonishment, to see Mr. Fairland walk into church and take his seat in a pew ; and still more were they amazed, to see him do the same thing in the afternoon. It was a sur- prise to Agnes too ; for though she had not failed to notice an unusual solemnity about Mr. Fairland, yet no word on the subject of his duty in this mat- ter had ever passed between them. Thus in the strict and conscientious performance of her daily duties, passed the summer with Agnes, with one delightful break, of a fortnight's vaca- tion, spent with the dear loving friends at Brook Farm, where she saw much of her dear brother Lewie, who rode over every evening and passed the night, returning to his college duties early in the morning. The quick eye of a sister's love soon detected that all was not right with Lewie. He was as affectionate as ever, and if possible handsomer ; but the faults of his childhood had grown with his growth and strengthened with his strength ; his temper seemed more hasty and im- petuous than ever, and there was a dashing reck- SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. 247 lessness about him which, gave his sister many a heart-ache ; and she had painful, though undefined fears for the future, for her rash and hot-headed brother. Her kind friends at Brook Farm, who fancied from some things they drew from Agnes, that her home at the Fairlands' was not in all respects a happy one, urged her most earnestly not to return there, but without success. Agnes was convinc- ed that there the path of duty lay, at least for the present, and nothing could make her swerve from it. " Eemember then, my sweet niece," said her uncle, as he kissed her at parting, "this is your home, whenever, for any reason, you will make as so happy as to return to it." The winter passed by very quietly to Agnes, in her accustomed round of duties; indeed she was happier than she had yet found herself under Mr. Fairland's roof, in consequence of the ab- sence of the two young ladies, who having by some means or other succeeded in securing an in- 248 LEWIE. vitation out of some acquaintances in the city, to make them a short visit, inflicted themselves upon them for the whole winter, and did not return to Wilston till the spring was far advanced. Their hosts, in order to rid themselves of such persever- ing and long-abiding guests, began to make their preparations long before the usual time for closing their house and going to the country, and the Misses Fairland, invulnerable as they proved all winter to anything like a hint, were obliged to take this intended removal of their friends as a " notice to quit," which they accordingly did. One bright spot to Agnes this winter, was a visit of a week from Lewie, who took his vacation at the time of the holidays to run up and see his sister. He had his guitar with him, and his voice, which had gained much in depth and richness, was in- describably sweet. It seemed as if Mr. Fairland never would tire of hearing the brother and sis- ter sing together. His mills and everything else were forgotten, while he sat silently in his great chair with his eyes closed, listening hour after SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. 249 hour to the blended harmony of their charming voices. That happy week was soon over, and the brother and sister parted. The next time Agnes heard the sound of her brother's guitar, under what differ- ent circumstances did its tones strike upon her ear! XV. in t\t 44 If thou sleep alone in Urrard, Perchance in midnight gloom Thou'lt hear behind the wainscot Sounds in that haunted room. It is a thought of horror, I would not sleep alone In the haunted room of Urrard, Where evil deeds are done." UMMOWN. " \T7~HAT do you think, Calista ? What do you ' think?" exclaimed Miss Evelina Fairland, one day soon after their return from the city, burst- ing in, in a great state of excitement. " Two of the handsomest men have come to the village, one of them is a Mr. Harrington ; is n't it a lovely name? and he has purchased " the Rookery" do you be- lieve ! some say that he is a young man, others that he is a widower. They have come down to STRANGERS IN THE EOOKERY. 251 hunt and fish, and he was mightily taken with " the Rookery," and in spite of ghosts and goblins he has actually bought it ;" and here Miss Evelina paused to take breath. " The Rookery" was a large old mansion which had once been a very handsome dwelling. It stood quite alone on a rising ground a little out of the village, and was surrounded with an exten- sive lawn, which on one side sloped down the lake, over which were scattered magnificent elms ; and there was only one thing that prevented " the Rookery" from being the most delightful residence in the country. This was the well-attested fact that the house was haunted ; and though at differ- ent times, those who were above being influenced by these idle fears, had fitted up the place and en- deavored to live there, yet there could be no com- fort in so large a house without servants, and not one could be found to remain in it more than one night. Servants were brought from a distance, but they soon heard in the village the story of the lady who died so mysteriously in that house twen- 252 LEWIE. ty years before, and how she walked every night, and then of course they heard sounds, and saw sights; and they too, forthwith took their de- parture. So the old house was quite falling into decay when these two brave men came down and took possession of it ; and fitting up comfortably two or three of the most tenantable rooms, they there kept bachelors' hall, unterrified and undisturbed, at least by spirits. A few days after the announcement of the arrival of the strangers in the village, a widow lady of the name of Danby came to make a visit to the Fairland's. She had with her a little girl, her only child, a wilful, spoiled little thing, who took her own course in everything, utterly re- gardless of the wishes or commands of others. In the afternoon, as Agnes was preparing to start with her little pupils for their accustomed walk, Mrs. Danby said : " Bella wishes to accompany you, Miss Elwyn, but you must take good care of her." " I will do my best, Mrs. Danby," said Agnes, STRANGERS IN THE EOOKERY. 253 ' but one thing I shall insist upon, and that is, that Bella shall obey me as my own little scholars do." Miss Bella was not at all pleased with the idea of obeying any one, and so she was continually showing off her independent airs as they walked, hiding behind trees, describing eccentric circles around the rest of the party, or darting off in tan- gents. At length she became so troublesome, that Agnes determined to shorten their walk, and turn- ed to retrace their steps ; at this Miss Bella was highly indignant, and declared " that she would not go back, she would go on, down there by the water." They were at this time near an open space, which reached to the water, at the end of which was a dock, for the convenience of those who wished to go out upon the lake in boats. Agnes endeavored to detain the wilful child, but she suddenly pulled away from her, and started like the wind for the dock. Agnes called, and the children screamed, in vain; faster and faster ran the little witch, still 254: LEWIE. looking behind every moment to see if she was pursued, till at length she tripped over a log, and fell far out into the water. Agnes clasped her hands in speechless terror, while the cries of the children were loud and agonizing. Just then a boat in which were two gentlemen rounded a point of land near them, and made rapidly for the struggling child, who in another moment was lift- ed into the boat, and handed Tip to the arms of Agnes. Agnes was too much agitated to take particular notice of these strangers, but taking off her- shawl she wrapped the dripping child in it, while one of her preservers carried her into a cottage near by, Agnes and the still weeping children fol- lowing. When the child was placed in the kind woman's bed, and little Eosa was sent home to ask Susan for some clothes to put on her, with special directions not to alarm Mrs. Danby, Agnes return- ed to the sitting-room of the cottage, to thank the strangers who had so opportunely come to their assistance, when what was her astonishment to STRANGERS IN THE ROOKERY. 255 find that one of them was her old friend, Tom Wharton. " And you knew I was in town, Mr. Wharton, and have been here three or four days without coming 4o see me," said she. " Oh ! you know I don't do things just like oth- er people," answered Tom ; " and to tell the truth, though I have no fear of ghosts and hobgoblins, I have not yet had the courage to face two famous man-hunters, who I hear reside under the same roo^ with you, Agnes. But it is time I should in- troduce you to my friend Mr. Harrington, the pres- ent proprietor of " the Eookery," together with all the spirits, black and white, red and grey, who are the inhabitants thereof." Agnes was glad to meet Mr. Harrington, of whom she had often heard her uncle speak in terms of great admiration, as an accomplished gen- tleman and a Christian ; and one who used the large property he had inherited in deeds of benev- olence and usefulness. They had been for some time in conversation about the friends at Brook I 256 LEWIE. Farm, from whom the two gentlemen had lately parted, when little Eosa returned. Kosa found that her older sisters and Mrs. Danby had gone out for a walk ; so it was a very easy matter to get some dry clothes for Bella, aad bring her safe home before her mother heard of the acci- dent. "What was the surprise of the Misses Fair- land, as, in coming down the street, they saw Agnes returning, accompanied by one of the hand- some strangers whose acquaintance they had been " dying " to make ; while the other followed, Car- rying little Bella Danby in his arms. A few words sufficed to tell the story of the accident, and to introduce the strangers, who, with the utmost cor- diality, were urged to come in ; an invitation which was unhesitatingly accepted by Mr. Harrington, and rather reluctantly by Mr. Tom Wharton. Mrs. Danby, pale and agitated, took her little darling in - her arms, and hurried to her own room, there to administer certain restoratives, and, much against the young lady's will, to place her again in bed. Mr. Harrington, having now gained the entree to STBANGERS IN THE EOOKERT. 257 Mr. Fair-land's house, seemed inclined to be a fre- quent visitor, much to the gratification of the ladies Calista and Evelina, who laid siege to him right and left. If my reader "possessed the key to Mr. Harrington's real object in coming to Wilston, perhaps he would be as much amused as the gen- tleman himself at the efforts, so exceedingly appar- ent, to gain for one of them possession of his hand and fortune ; for that Mr. Harrington was wealthy, they were well assured. They each kept out a hook, too, for Mr. Tom Wharton, in case the other was successful in taking the more valuable prey ; but the bait was by no means tempting to Mr. Tom, who darted off, leaving his friend, unsup- ported and alone, to resist the attacks of these practised, but hitherto unsuccessful anglers. " Well, Harrington," said Mr. Tom "Wharton to his friend one day, " since your object in bringing me down here with you is accomplished, I must now leave you to your fate. What that may be, in the midst of attacks from spirits by night, and from more substantial persecutors by day, I cannot 22* 258 LEWIE. divine ; but if there is anything left of you, I shall hope to see you in the city before long, and to hear the account you have to give of yourself." " I thank you for your services thus far, my dear friend," said Mr. Harrington; "still, I think it would be the part of disinterested friendship to stay and help me a little longer." "I can't I can't stand it, Harrington. You may be able to bear it better ; but I 'm not used to this sort of thing, and I don't know how to get along with it at all. Your case is a hard one, I acknowledge, my friend ; but having some business of my own to attend 'to, I must leave you to fight out your own battles." And Mr. Tom "Wharton resolutely closed his ears to his friend's appeals, and took his departure. A beautiful little boat which Mr. Harrington had ordered from the city having arrived, he called, one afternoon, at Mr. Farrland's, to ask the ladies if they would take a sail with him upon the lake. Most eagerly the Misses Fairland consented, and were leaving the room to prepare to go, when Mr. STRANGERS IN THE ROOKERY. 259 Harrington turned to Agnes, who happened to be in the room, and said : " May I not hope for the pleasure of Miss Elwyn's company too ?" Upon which Miss Eve- lina, with a childishly-confidential air, raised her- self on tiptoe, and whispered in his ear : ' "It is not at all necessary to ask her: we never feel obliged to, I assure you. She is only governess to the children" But Mr. Harrington renewed his invitation, which Agnes had respectfully declined, when Mr. Fairland entered the room, and Mr. Harrington appealed to him. "Go? Certainly Agnes must go; she has never been on the lake in a sail-boat, and I have often heard her say she would delight to go. Come, Agnes ! put on your things without a word, and go along." Thus urged, Agnes consented to go, though she felt a little uncomfortable at the silent displeasure of the Misses Fairland. There was a pleasant breeze, and the little boat flew like a bird over the 260 LEWIE. dancing waves. Agnes, a devoted admirer of nature, was in an ecstasy which she could not conceal, as one beautiful view succeeded another during their sail up the lake ; but the other ladies were so much occupied in trying the effect of art, that they had no eye for the beauties of nature. The breeze soon died away, leaving them far from home, and Mr. Harrington was obliged to take to his oars ; and long before the village was in sight, the gentle moon had begun her walk through " golden gates," throwing across the water a bril- liant column of light, sparkling and dancing in glorious beauty on the gentle ripples of the lake. " Now is the time for music," said Mr. Harring- ton; "for truly " ' Music sounds the sweetest Over the rippling waves.'" But for once the Misses Fairland were obliged to relinquish the opportunity of charming by their united voices ; the only music in which they were practised, and which they thought worth listening to, being of the flourishing, trilling, running, qua- STRANGERS IN THE KOOKERY. 261 vering, shrieking kind ; and this they could not attempt without their "notes" and the "instru- ment." Mr. Harrington then proposed to Agnes to sing some sweet old-fashioned airs ; and laying down his oars, he took a seat beside her. and joined his rich tenor to the strangely-melodious tones of her voice; and as the harmony floated over the water, it seemed almost like the music of heaven. This was a state of things by no means agreeable to the two neglected ladies in the other end of the boat, and Miss Calista began to be afraid of the night air, and Miss Evelina was taken with a hack- ing cough ; so that Mr. Harrington was obliged to resume his oars, and row them rapidly to the village. Mr. Harrington consented to moor his boat, and accompany the ladies up to the house to tea. Anxious to try the effect of their own accomplish- ments, the Misses Fair-land, soon after tea, led the conversation to the subject of music, and were easily persuaded to attempt, with the " notes" and " instrument," some of their favorite songs. And 262 LEWIE. now began a flourishing and screaming unparallel- ed in the annals of music. Miss Calista screamed, "I love only thee!" and then Miss Evelina shrieked, " I love only thee !" and then Miss Ca- lista trilled it and Miss Evelina howled it and Miss Calista quavered it and Miss Evelina ran it and then one of them started on it, and the other ran and caught up with her and then one burred for some time on thee-e-e-e-e, while the other ran up and down, still asserting as rapidly as possible, and insisting boldly, and stoutly assever- ating, " I love only thee !" and then, with a com- bined shriek, they made known the fact once more and finally, and then the ears of their hearers were allowed to rest. " Now, girls, if you have done with that clat- ter," said Mr. Fairland, "I want Agnes to sing for me, one of those sweet old Scotch songs ; it will be quite refreshing after all this screech- ing." " Oh !" said Miss Calista, rising from the instru- ment, and casting up her eyes at Mr. Harrington, STRANGERS IN THE BOOKERY. 263 "my dear old papa has the oddest, old-fashioned taste!" But as soon as Agnes began to sing, it seemed as if Mr. Harrington's taste was quite as " odd " and "old-fashioned" as that of the "dear old papa" himself; for he was guilty of the impro- priety of not hearing what Miss Evelina was saying to him, and soon rose and took his stand by the piano, where he showed very plainly that he had no ear for any other sound than that of Agnes' voice. Agnes went to bed with some very pleasant thoughts that night ; for, though tongues may be silent, eyes can tell their story very soon ; and it is a pleasant thing to find one's self an object of in- terest to some noble heart ; and particularly grate- ful was it to Agnes, in her present lonely, toiling life. And she needed all the inward peace and comfort she possessed, to enable her to bear the increased ill-nature of Mrs. Fairland and her daughters; for the "mamma" was no less dis- pleased than the young ladies themselves at the 264 LEWIE. prospect of the failure of one of their cherished plans. And now, when Mr. Harrington called, there was generally some excuse contrived for sending Agnes from the room, and for keeping her busy in some other part of the house ; and though Agnes was indignant at this evident desire to get her out of the way, "by putting upon her labor which they had no right to require of her, yet, at the tune, and in Mr. Harrington's presence, she would not con- test the point, but quietly left the room. This never happened, however, when Mr. Fairland was present, as the good man, if he had fully seen through all the plans of his wife and daughters, could not have discomfited them more surely than he always contrived to do. In the meantime, the ladies Calista and Evelina never for a moment relaxed their efforts, or ceased to practise their arts, upon the wealthy and agree- able stranger. " How charming your place must be, Mr. Har- rington I" said Miss Evelina one evening * " I do STRANGERS IN THE KOOKERY. 265 delight in these old haunted mansions; there is something so delightfully romantic about them." "And have you really heard any of these strange noises at night ?" asked Miss Calista. " Noises? enough of them," he answered ; " I have sometimes been so disturbed, that I could not sleep at all." "And what did you do?" asked the young ladies in a breath, their eyes dilating with horror. " Why, in the first place," said Mr. Harrington, " I bought a terrier ', and in the next a large rat- trap ; and by means of both, I succeed in laying several of the spirits every night, and have strong hopes that, before long, perfect- quiet will be re- stored to the haunted mansion." Then calling Jessie, who was in the room, to his side, Mr. Harrington took her in his lap, and said : "You remind me very much of a little blue- eyed, flaxen-haired girl I have in the city." " Why, have you a little girl ?" Mr. Harrington, asked the young ladies. " Yes, two of them," he answered. 23 266 LEWIE. " Oh, how I doat on children 1" exclaimed Miss Calista. " Cousin Agnes, what is the meaning of doat ?" screamed Master Frank, running up to Agnes, who just then entered the room. " What is it to doat on any one ?" "It is to love them very dearly ;" answered Ag- nes quietly. " Ho 1 C'listy says she doats on children she doats on us, don't she Eosa ?" and Master Frank laughed such a laugh of derision, that Mr. Har- rington was obliged to say something very funny to little Jessie, who was still sitting on his knee, in order to have an excuse for laughing too. Miss Calista fairly trembled with concealed rage, and soon succeeded in having Master Frank sent off to bed. Indeed, Frank was the cause of so much mortification to Miss Calista, that she would gladly have banished him too from the parlor, but he was lawless, and no one in the house could do anything with him but Agnes. Mr. Harrington wavS very fond of children, and STEANGERS IN THE EOOKEBY. 267 often had long conversations with little Frank, whose bold, independent manners seemed to please him much. One evening when he was talking to him, Frank said : " Mr. Harrington I 'm saving up my money to buy a boat just like yours." " You are, hey, Frank ? and how much have you got towards it ?" asked Mr. Harrington. " Oh ! I Ve got two sixpences, and a shilling, and three pennies ;" said Frank. " I keep all my money in a china-box, one of C'listy's boxes she used to keep her red paint in ; this, you know I" touching each cheek with his finger. This was too much for Miss Calista ; she rushed from the room, and vented her indignation in a burst of angry tears, and the next time she met Master Frank, she gave him a slap upon his cheek, which made it a deeper crimson than the application of her own paint would have done. All these slights and mortifications were revenged upon poor Agnes, who would gladly have left a place where she was so thoroughly uncomfortable ; 268 LEWIE. but the thought of the children, to whom she had become attached, and who seemed now to be re- warding her pains and trouble by their rapid im- provement, deterred her from taking a step which should separate her from them forever. Poor Tiney too, who seemed rapidly failing under the power of disease, and who clung to her so fondly, how could jvtoo Uye her ? XVI. anfc She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer, Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear, Then, as if breaking from a cloud she gave Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave." CRABBI. NE summer night, Agnes, who had been up till very late, soothing and quieting poor Tiney, and had at last succeeded in singing her to sleep, left her in Susan's care, and returned to her own room. It was a lovely, warm, moonlight evening, ind Agnes stood by her raised window, watching the shadows of the tall trees which were thrown with such vivid distinctness across the gravel walks and the closely trimmed lawn, and think- ing of a pleasant walk she had taken that day, and of some one who joined her, (as was by no means 23* 270 LEWIE. unusual,) on her return from the woods with the younger children. Suddenly her reverie was broken by the sound of a few chords struck very lightly and softly upon a guitar. The sound came from the clump of trees, the shadows of which Agnes had just been admiring ; and she supposed they were the prelude to a serenade. Her heart whispered to her who the musician might be, for though she had never heard him, with whom her thoughts had been busy, touch the guitar, yet with his ardent love for music, she did not doubt that he might if he chose, accompany his rich voice upon so simple an instrument. But now the blood which had crimsoned her cheek flowed back tumultuously to her heart, as she heard a voice she could not mistake, humming very softly the notes of a sad and touching air, which she and Lewie had often sung together. This plaintive singer could be no other than her brother. But why here, at night, and in this clan- destine manner, evidently trying to win her atten- DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. 271 tion, without arousing that of others ? The house seemed quiet : and Agnes, throwing a shawl about her, quickly descended the stairs, and, quietly opening a side door, crossed the lawn, and in another moment stood beside her brother, under the shade of the tall old elms. " Lewie ! is it indeed you?" He made no answer, he said not one word, but, drawing Agnes to a seat under one of the trees, he seated himself beside her, and laying his head upon her shoulder, he was quiet for a few mo- ments ; and then Agnes felt his frame tremble with sudden emotion, and heard a deep sob. " Lewie ! my brother ! do speak to me ! What is it? Do not keep me in suspense! What dreadful thing has happened ?" "Agnes," said he, with a sudden and forced calmness, the words coming slowly from between his white, stiffened lips " Agnes, it is murder!" Agnes did not scream she did not faint for- getfulness for a moment would have been a relief. In a flash she had comprehended it all 272 LEWIE. " Lewie," said she, " is there blood upon this hand?" " Agnes, it is true ; your brother is a murderer ! No less a murderer, because the blow was struck in the heat of sudden passion, and when the brain was inflamed with wine ; and no less a murderer, because it was repented of the moment given, and before the fatal consequences were suspected. My sister, I am a fugitive and a wanderer, hunted by the officers of justice, and doomed to the prison or the gallows." It seemed to Agnes like a fearful dream! It was too dreadful to be true ! The thought crossed her mind, perhaps it is a dream; she had had dreams as vivid, and had awakened with such a blessed feeling of relief. But no ! she clasped Lewie's cold hand in hers, and felt assured it was all reality. For a few moments she could only bury her face in her hands, and rock to and fro and groan. She was aroused from this state of agonized feeling by Lewie, who said : " And now, what shall I do, Agnes ? I have DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. 273 come all this way on foot, and at night, to see you once more, and to ask you what I should do? Oh that I had been more willing to follow your gentle guidance before, sweet sister! but I have followed nothing but the dictates of my own ungoverned passions. Shall I try to escape, or shall I give myself up for trial ? On my word, Agnes, I am not a murderer by intention. I was excited ; some- thing was said which tried my quick temper; I answered with a burst of sudden passion ; more taunting words followed; and, quicker than the lightning's flash, I had dealt the blow which laid my class-mate dead at my feet. I was sobered in one moment ; and oh, Agnes 1 what, what would I not have given to restore my murdered friend to life ! not for my own sake ; for I never thought of myself till urged by my terror-stricken com- panions to fly. Then I thought of my own safety; and, my darling sister, I thought of you, and deter- mined that you should hear of your brother's dis- grace and crime from no lips but his own. I have been hanging about here all day, but could not see 274 LEWIE. you ; and finding no other way to call your atten- tion, I borrowed this guitar at the tavern, and have "been watching from these trees, till I saw a white form at a window, which I knew was yours. Now, Agnes, what shall I do ?" " Oh, Lewie, what can I say but fly, and save yourself from an ignominious fate ! It may not be right counsel ; but how can a sister advise other- wise ? My poor, poor brother !" And Agnes waa relieved by a passionate burst of tears. And now came the time for parting. He must go, for they would be likely to seek him in the home of his only sister, he must go quickly and quietly; and, with a few hurried words, in which his sister commended him to God, and entreated him to go to Him for pardon and peace, and with one last fond embrace, they parted. Agnes returned to the house with feeble, staggering steps, stricken to the very heart. No sleep visited the eyes of Agnes that night ; and when she appeared in the breakfast room the following morning, her pale and haggard counte DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. 275 nance showed marks of extreme suffering, which, should have been respected even by the Misses Fairland. But no ! their quick - ears had also saught the tones of the guitar, and rushing to a window on that side of the house, in the expecta- tion of a serenade, they had seen Agnes as she crossed the lawn, and returned again to the house. Here was food for conjecture, and jeal- ousy for the suspicious ladies, and they had long been awaiting the arrival of Agnes in the break- fast room, hoping to have the mystery cleared up. " May we be informed, Miss Elwyn," began Miss Calista, "how long you have been in the habit of receiving signals from lovers, and stealing out at night to give them clandestine meetings in the grove ?" A bright blush suffused the cheek of Agnes, which died away immediately, leaving it of an ashy paleness, as she said : " I have met no lover in the grove, Calista, at least not what you mean by a lover," she added, 276 LEWIE. thinking this might be an evasion, for did not her brother love her dearly ? " Not what /call a lover," said Miss Calista ; " a very nice distinction ! then you do not deny that you met what you call a lover in the grove. In- deed you need trouble yourself to make no denial, for Evelina and I both watched you." Agnes rose from the table, and all who were gathered around it were amazed at the unusual vehemence of her manner, as with an expression of intense wretchedness upon her face, she ex- claimed : "Oh! do, do let me alone! do leave me in quiet ; for I am very, very unhappy !" And hastily, and with great agitation, Agnes left the room. Mr. Fairland, who was so much interested in a paragraph in the paper, which appeared to shock him exceedingly, that he had not heard the ill-na- tured remarks of his daughters, looked up just as Agnes rose from the table, and heard her agonized address. DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. 277 With more sternness than usual, he asked his daughters what they had been saying to Agnes, and on hearing their account of the conversation, he exclaimed : "Poor Agnes! you will see in this paper girls something that will shock you, and will perhaps inspire you with a little sympathy for one whom it seems to be your delight to torment. You may perhaps now guess who it was that Agnes met in the grove last night." The Misses Fairland were really shocked to read the account of the murder, and to read the name of Lewis Elwyn as the murderer ; and something like remorse for a moment visited their minds, that they had added to the sufferings of the already burdened heart of Agnes. " Poor fellow ! poor young man !" exclaimed Mr. Fairland ; " such a handsome fellow as he was, and such a sweet singer too ! this seems to have been done in a sudden passion ; and not without provocation too. But it is an awful thing ! Poor Agnes ! she must not attempt to teach the children 24 278 LEWIE. while she is so distressed ; and I do desire girls, that you will have the decency, if you have not the feeling, to leave her entirely undisturbed." Days passed on and nothing was heard of the fugitive. Oh, what days of restless and painful suspense to Agnes ! Had she not had constant and unusual occupation for her time, it seemed to her that she could not keep her reason. But poor Tiney had grown suddenly and alarmingly worse, and the physician said a very days at most would terminate her sufferings. With all the distressing thoughts which crowded upon her, Agnes remained by the bed-side of the little sufferer, endeavoring to soothe and cheer her descent to the dark valley. Mrs. Fairland, who though indolent and indif- ferent in many things with regard to her children, was not altogether without natural affection, passed much of her time, during the last two or threo days of Tiney's life, in her room, sitting quietly near the head of the bed. Mr. Fairland, who seemed more overcome even than Agnes expect- ed, hardly ever left the bed-side. The older sisters DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. 279 looked in occasionally for a few moments, but their " nerves" (always ready as an excuse with people destitute of feeling) would not allow their staying for more than five minutes at a time, in the room of the sick child. The younger children wandered restlessly about the house, their little hearts op- pressed by the first approach of death among their number ; sometimes coming in quietly to look at the dying sister, and then wandering off again. " Cousin Agnes, must I die ?" asked Tiney, the day before her death, as Agnes and her father and mother were sitting near her. "You are not afraid to die, dear Tiney, are you ?" asked Agnes in reply, " No, I shall love to die, because you told me I would never be sick any more ; but I feel a little afraid to go to Heaven." " Afraid to go to Heaven, dear Tiney 1 And why should you be afraid to go there?" asked Agnes, in astonishment; for she had, oftener than ever, of late, talked to the felling child of the dories of Leaven, and did not. doubt that, even 280 LEWIE. with Her poor weak mind, she had so trusted by faith in the merits of an all-sufficient Kedeemer, that through those merits her spirit would be wel- comed to that blissful abode. " I was thinking," answered Tiney, " that I don't "know anybody there ; not a single soul ; and I feel so shy with strangers. Will they love me there, cousin Agnes, as you and papa do?" Agnes could not repress the tears at this ques- tion, so natural, perhaps, to a simple child, and yet one which she had never thought of as likely to occur to one before. But she talked to Tiney so soothingly and sweetly of Him who loved little children when on earth, and who was watching for her now, and would send some lovely angel to bear her to His breast, that poor Tiney lost her fears, and longed for the hour of her release. And it came the next morning. Just as the glorious sun was rising over the lake, the spirit of poor little Buffering Tiney left its earthly dwelling, and began its long and never-ending day of happiness. Oh I what a brilliant light shone for once in DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. 281 those dark gray eyes, as Tiney raised them, with a look of wonder and astonishment and joy, as if she saw far, far beyond the limits which bounded her mortal sight! and as, with an enraptured ex- pression, she murmured something about "that lovely music," the light faded from the still wide open and glassy eye ; and Agnes, passing her hand gently over the lids, said, "Mr. Fairland, she is gone I" and the first thought of her sad heart was, " Oh that I too were at rest 1" But she checked it in one moment, when she remembered that there were duties and conflicts and trials before her yet ; and she determined she would go forward, in the Divine strength, into the furnace which she must needs go through, in order to be refined and purified. Once, during Tiney's last sickness, a messenger called for Agnes, and put a note and a little bou- quet of green-house flowers into her hand. At first, Agnes hoped that the note might contain tidings of her brother ; but though disappointed in this respect, the contents of the note were soothing 24* 282 LEWIE. and grateful to her troubled heart. The words were simply these : "Is there anything I can do for you? And if you need a friend, will you call upon me?" The note was signed " C. H." At first Agnes merely said, in a despairing tone, " Oh no 1 nothing can be done ;" and then, feeling that a different answer should be sent to a message so kind, she tore off a bit of the paper, and wrote upon it : "Nothing can be done for me now. Believe me, I will not hesitate to call upon you, when you can do me any good." The day after Tiney's death, officers came to search Mr. Fairland's house for the fugitive, having traced him to "Wilston. Every corner of the house was searched, and even the chamber of death was not spared. The search, of course, was unsuccess- ful ; but, the day after poor Tiney's funeral, came tidings to Agnes of the arrest of her brother. He was taken at last, and safely lodged in the jail at Hillsdale, where he was to await his trial. DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. 283 And now Agnes, whose office ever seemed of necessity to be that of consoler and comforter, must leave her little charge, and go to be near her brother. It was a bitter parting ; it seemed as if the children could not let her go ; and the scene recalled so vividly to Agnes the parting with Miss Edwards at Brook Farm, that the recollection made her, if possible, still more sad, as she thought the resemblance might be carried out even to the end, and the close of this earthly scene to her might be as melancholy as was that of her beloved teacher. She promised Mr. Fairland that, as soon as she could attend to it, she would ascertain if there were vacancies in Mrs. Arlington's school for Eosa and Jessie, and also if Mr. Malcolm would consent to take charge of Frank's education; and, accom- panied by Mr. Fairland, she left Wilston, as she supposed, forever. XVII. 8il. M l may not go, I may not go, Where the sweet-breathing spring-winds blow; Nor where the silver clouds go by, Across the holy, deep blue sky; Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright Comes down, like a still shower of light ; I must stay here In prison drear; Oh! heavy life, wear on, wear on, Would God that thou wert gone." FANNY KEMBLC. reached Brook Farm late in the evening, * and here the greeting, though not as noisy and joyous, was warmer, and if possible more affectionate than ever. They all loved Lewie in spite of his many faults, and their sympathy was most sincere and hearfelt for Agnes, who was very dear to them all. As soon as Agnes could speak to Mr. Wharton alone, she said : THE JAIL. 285 " Uncle, have you seen him ?" " Every day, dear Agnes, and have been with him some hours each day." " And how does he feel, dear Uncle ?" " Relieved, I think, on the whole ; that the sus- pense is over thus far. He says he would not live over again the last three weeks for worlds. Many and many a time he had almost resolved to return and give himself up for trial ; but the thought of you, Agnes, prevented. He said that you must be a sharer in all his trouble and disgrace, and if he could spare your distress and suffering, by es- caping from the country, he meant to try and do it, and then he would soon be forgotten, except by the few who cared for him." " And how does he feel about the the result, uncle?" " Hopeful, I think ; he seems to think it cannot be brought in murder, when murder was so far from his intention." " And what do you think, uncle ?" " I ani inclined to think with Lewie, dear ; there 286 LEWIE. is always a leaning towards mercy, and your brother has counsel, the very best in the State." " Oh, uncle, how very kind ! how can we ever repay you for your kindness ?" " No thanks to me in this matter, Agnes ; Mr. "W has been retained by one who does not wish his name known ; one who would be glad, I fancy, to have a nearer right to stand by you through these coming scenes, but who will not trouble you with these matters at present." A bright blush came up in Agnes' cheek, and as suddenly died away as she said : " One question more, uncle ; when will it take place the trial, I mean ?" " It will probably come on in November," her uncle answered. " Two long months of imprisonment for my poor brother !" said Agnes. " But remember, Agnes, those two months will be diligently employed by his counsel in prepar- ing his defence." "And by those on the other side, in making THE JAIL. 287 strong their cause against him, uncle. My poor dear Lewie ! how I long to see him ; and yet how I dread the first meeting, oh ! if that were only over 1" The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Mr. Wharton and Agnes drove over to Hillsdale. Agnes shuddered, and turned pale, as they drew near the gloomy jail with its iron-barred windows, and closing her eyes she silently prayed for strength and calmness for the meeting with her brother. Mr. Wharton conducted her to the door of the room in which her brother was confined, and left her there, as he knew they would both prefer that their first meeting should be without witnesses. In one respect Agnes was agreeably disappointed ; she had expected to find her brother in a close, dark dungeon; and was much surprised to find herself in a pleasant, light room, with table, books, writing materials, and everything very comfortable about him ; the only things there to remind her tnat she was in a prison, being the locked door, and the grated window. 288 LEWIE. Agnes had been preparing herself ever since she first received the tidings of her brother's arrest, for this meeting ; and she went through it with a calm- ness and composure which astonished herself. But poor Lewie was completely overcome. He knew his sister would come to him ; but he had not ex- pected her so soon, and the first intimation he had of her arrival, was the sight of her upon the thresh- old of his door. "Poor Agnes! poor dear sister!" said he, as soon as he could speak ; " what have I ever been from my childhood up, but a source of trouble and distress to you. You were punished for my un- governed temper all through your childhood ; you are suffering for it now ; you will have to suffer for it more, till your bloom is all gone, and you are worn to a skeleton. If I had dared, Agnes if I had dared, I should have put an end to this mortal existence ; and thus I should have saved you all this coming disgrace and misery. But I had not the courage to lay violent hands upon my- self, and go, a deliberate suicide, into the presence THE JAIL. 289 of my Maker. I have tried all other means ; 1 have gone through exposure and fatigue, which at any other time I know would have killed me ; I have laid out all night in the rain ; I } who used to be so susceptible to cold, but nothing seemed to hurt me. I have been reserved for other and more terrible things. And you, Agnes, who are always kind, and forbearing, and self-sacrificing, it seems to be your fate ever to suffer and endure for others. Oh, my sister, you deserve a happier lot!" " Don't talk so, dear Lewie 1" said Agnes ; " you have given me very many happy hours, and all the little troubles of ' long, long ago ' are forgotten. And now, what greater pleasure can I have than that of sitting with you here, working and reading, and trying to wile away the tedious hours of your captivity ?" " Agnes ! this must not be ! I cannot allow it. It will brighten the whole day for me, if you will come and spend an hour or two with me every morning ; but I cannot consent that you shall be 25 290 LEWIE. immured for the whole day in the walls of this gloomy prison-house." " But what can you do, Lewie? I am going to be obstinate for once, and take my own course. Uncle will drive me over every morning, and come for me at night ; and I am going to enjoy a pleas- * ure long denied me, of spending every day with my darling brother." " Oh, Agnes ! this is too, too much !" " Not too much at all, Lewie. Do you think I could be happy anywhere else than with you ? What should I do at uncle's but roam the house, restless and impatient, every moment I am absent from you? And the nights will seem ,30 long, because they separate me from you !" " Oh I how utterly undeserving ! how utterly undeserving such love and devotion !" said Lewie, pacing up and down the room. " Sweet sister! dearest Agnes! now has my prison lost all its gloom ; and were it not for the future, I might be happier here than when out in the world; for THE JAIL. 291 temptation here is far from me, and only good in- fluences surround me." "And what of the future, dear?" "Of my trial, Agnes? Well, I hardly know what to say. My friends and lawyers try to keep up my spirits, and mention to me many hopeful things; and, for the time, I too feel encouraged. But I can think of many things that a skilful lawyer can bring up against me, and which would weigh very heavily. I am trying to think of the worst as a probability ; so that if it comes, I shall not be overwhelmed." " Oh I" said Agnes, shuddering, and covering her eyes, as if to shut out some horrid spectacle, " it cannot be! I cannot bring myself to contem- plate it for a moment !" " And yet it may be, Agnes I or they may spare my life, and doom me to wear out long years of imprisonment, and then send me out into the world a blighted and ruined man 1 That is the best I can hope for; and but for the disgrace 292 LEWIE. which would come upon me, I should say the sud- den end is better." " And what of the future after that, Lewie? for that, after all, is the great concern." " The eternal future you mean, Agnes. Ah ! my sister, the prospect there is darker and more dreary still. I know enough of religion to feel assured that my short life has not been spent in the way to prepare me for a future of happiness ; and I am not yet so hardened as to pretend not to dread a future of misery." " God grant such may not be your fate, dear brother. Whether life be long or short, happy or sorrowful, our future depends upon heart-felt re- pentance here, and faith in the 'sinner's Friend.' You have now time for quiet and reflection. Oh ! improve it dear Lewie, in so humbling yourself before Him whom you have offended, and in so seeking for pardon, that He will bless you and grant you peace." "I see, Agnes," said her brother, with a sad smile, " you want me to follow in the footsteps of THE JAIL. 293 all other offenders and criminals, who, after doing all the mischief possible, and living for their own selfish gratification while abroad in the world, spend the time of their imprisonment in acts of penitence and devotion, and go out of the world, as they all invariably do, in the full odor of sanc- tity, in peace with God, and in charity with men." " Is my advice to you in any way different, my dear brother, from what it was when you were free and unrestrained ? Indeed, so much did I dread the effect of your undisciplined temper, and so assured did I feel that for you the grace of God was peculiarly necessary, that I have feared I sometimes made my presence unwelcome by my constant warnings and admonitions." " Never, Agnes never, dearest sister ! I always thanked you from my inmost heart for your kind, loving, tender counsel ; and though apparently I turned it off lightly and carelessly, yet it often sank deep in my heart ; and when parted from you, I often thought what a miserable wretch I was not to give better heed to it." 294 LEWIE. " Yet, Lewie dear, I will not deny that I think the need more urgent than ever for repentance and pardon now. I do not wish to harrow up your feelings, dear brother; but, oh! it is an awful thing to send a fellow-creature into eternity !" " And do you think that thought ever for a mo- ment leaves me, Agnes? Indeed, I think that while I have been skulking and hiding, hunted and pursued from one place to another, and since I have been shut up in these walls, every harrowing thought that could possibly be brought before my mind, has been dwelt upon till it seemed some- times as if I should go mad. I have mourned for Cranston as if I had no hand in his death ; I have thought of him in all his hope and promise; I have thought of his poor mother and sisters, till the tears have rained from my cheeks ; and I believe I have been sincere in my feeling, that if by suffer- ing an ignominious death, I could restore my mur- dered friend to life, I should be glad to be the sacri- fice. And then when I thought of 'myself as the cause of all this suffering, it seemed as if it ought not to THE JAIL. 295 be a matter of wonder or complaint if the verdict should be, that such a wretch should cumber the earth no longer. And yet, Agnes, in the eye of Him who looketh only on the heart, I believe I was as much a murderer when I struck down my school-mate in the play-ground as now. For in the height of my passion then, I think I should have been glad to have killed him. But the thought of murder did not enter my heart when I struck poor Cranston ; it was a sort of instinctive movement ; the work of a moment ; and had not the murderous weapon been in my hand, the effects of the blow would have been but slight." Many such conversations as these passed be- tween the young prisoner and his sister, during those two months preceding the trial every day of which, except during church hours on Sunday, Ag- nes passed with him from morning till night, almost as much a prisoner as he, except that hers was not compulsory. This time was faithfully improved by Agnes, in endeavoring to lead her brother to right views upon the subject of his own condition, in the 298 LEW in. sight of a Holy God. He was very gentle and teachable now, and before the day of trial came, Agnes hoped that her brother was a. true peni- tent, though his own hopes of pardon were faint and flickering. Mr. Malcolm too, often visited young Elwyn, in whom he was most deeply interested ; and his gentle teachings and fervent prayers were eagerly listened to by the youthful prisoner. Mr. "W , his counsel, came often, also, but in his endeavors to keep up the spirits of Lewie and his sister, his manner was so trifling and flippant that it grated on their feelings painfully. He was working as laboriously it seemed, as the enormous fee promis- ed him would warrant, leaving no stone unturned which would throw some favorable light on young Elwyn's case. Thus days and weeks passed on, and in the midst of increasing agitation and excite- ment, the day of trial came. When the brother and sister parted the evening before the trial, Agnes once more renewed the en- treaties she had so often made, that Lewie would THE JAIL. 297 allow her to remain by his side during the painful events of the coming day. But his refusal was firm and unyielding. " No, no, dear sister, pray do not urge it," said he. "I know I shall be too much agitated as it is ; I do not believe I can go through it with even an appearance of calmness alone ; and how much more difficult it would be for me with you by my side. I know I could not bear it. No ! Agnes, remain in the village if you prefer it, but do not let me see your dear face again till my fate is de- cided. Let us pray once more together, sweet sis- ter let us pray for mercy from God and man." And when they arose from their knees they took their sad farewell, and Agnes accompanied her un- cle to the house of her kind friend, Dr. Eodney, where she was to remain till the trial was over. XVIII. flu ril. 'The morn lowered darkly; but the sun hath now, With fierce and angry splendor, through the clouds Burst forth, as if impatient to behold This our high triumph. Lead the prisoner in." VESPERS OP PALERMO. rri say that, long before the hour fixed for the -*- trial, the court room was crowded to its utmost capacity with eager and expectant faces, would be to repeat what has been written and said of 'every trial, the events of which have been chronicled ; but it would be no less true for that. And when the young prisoner was brought into the room, his handsome face pale from agitation and recent confinement, and with an expression of intense anxiety in his eye, all not before deeply interested for the friends of the unfortunate Cran- THE TKIAL. 299 ston were moved to pity, and strongly prepossessed in his favor. Mr. W , the counsel for the prisoner, was an able and eloquent lawyer. He was a small, slight man, with a high, bald forehead ; and a pair of very bright, black, restless eyes. His manner was naturally quick and lively ; but he well knew how to touch the tender strings, and make them give forth a tone in unison with his own, or with that which he had adopted for his own to suit the occa- sion. He had an appearance, too, of being assured of the justice of his cause, and perfectly confident of success, which was encouraging to the prisoner and his friends. After the necessary preliminaries and statements had been gone through with, the witnesses against the prisoner and in his favor were called, who tes- tified to the fact of the murder, and to the prisoner's natural quickness of temper, inducing fits of sud- den passion, which, even in childhood, seemed at times hardly to leave him the mastery of himself. Friends, school-mates, college-mates, in turn gave 300 LEWIE. their testimony to the prisoner's kindness of heart, which would not suffer him to harbor resentment ; and yet many instances were mentioned of fierce and terrible passion, utterly heedless of results for the moment, and yet passing away quick as the lightning's flash. It was shown that he had no ill-will to young Cranston ; on the contrary, they were generally friendly and affectionate ; that they had been so throughout the evening on which the fatal deed was done. It was at a supper table, when all were excited by wine ; and Cranston, who was fond of a joke, and rather given to teazing, and being less guarded than usual, introduced some subject ex- ceedingly unpleasant to young Elwyn. The quick temper of the latter was aroused at once, and he gave a hasty and angry reply. The raillery was pushed still farther ; and before those about him had time to interfere, the fatal blow was struck in frantic passion. " And is this no palliating circumstance," said Mr. W , " that God has given to this young THE TRIAL. 501 man a naturally fierce and hasty temper, which could not brook that which might be borne more patiently by those whose blood flows more coldly and sluggishly ? Is there no difference to be made in our judgment of men, because of the different tempers and dispositions with which they were born ? Of course there is ! of course there is I It has been clearly shown that there was no malice aforethought in this case ; the injury was not brooded over in silence, and the plan matured in cold blood to murder a class-mate and friend. No ! on the moment of provocation the blow was struck, with' but the single idea of giving vent to the passion which was bursting his breast. And those who witnessed his deep remorse and agony of mind, when he discovered the fatal effects of his passion, as, all regardless of his own safety, he endeavored to restore his expiring friend to life, have assured me, that though they were witnesses of the whole scene, they felt for him only the deepest commiseration." And here Mr. W paused and wiped his eyes 26 302 LEWIE. repeatedly, and the sobs of the young prisoner were heard all over the court room. " There was one," Mr. "W continued, " of whom he wished to speak, and whom, on some accounts, he would have been glad to bring before the jury to-day. But he would not outrage the feelings of his young friend by urging him to con- sent to the entreaties of his lovely sister, that she might be permitted to sit by his side in that prisoner's seat to-day. She is his only sister ; he her only brother ; and they are orphans." (Here there was a faltering of the voice, a pause, which was very effective ; and after apparently a great effort, Mr. TV went on.) " She has sat beside him hour after hour, and day after day, m yonder dreary jail, endeavoring to make the weary hours of solitude and captivity less irksome, and lead the prisoner's heart away from earthly trouble to heavenly comfort. Her hope in the jury of to-day is strong. She believes they will not doom her young and only brother to an ignominious death, and a dishonored grave ; she THE TRIAL. 303 even hopes that they will not consign him to long years of weary imprisonment ; she feels that he is changed; that he no longer trusts to his own strength to overcome his naturally strong and vio- lent passions, ; but that his trust is in the arm of the Lord his God, who ' turneth the hearts of men as the rivers of water are turned.' " May He dispose the hearts of these twelve men, on whom the fate of this youth now hangs, so that they shall show, that like Himself they are lovers of mercy" And Mr. W sat down and covered his face with his handkerchief. The hope and expectation of acquittal now were very strong. And now slowly rose the counsel for the prose- cution. Mr. G was a tall thin man, of a grave and stern expression of countenance ; his hair was of an iron-gray, and his piercing gray eye shone from under his shaggy eye-brows like a spark of fire. It was the only thing that looked like life about him; and when he first rose he be- gan to speak in a slow, distinct, unimpassioned 304 LEWIE. manner, and without the least attempt at elo- quence. " He had intended," he said, " to call a few more witnesses, but he found it was utterly un- necessary; those already called had said all he cared to hear ; indeed, he had been much surprised to hear testimony on the side of the prisoner which he should have thought by right his own. No one attempts to deny the fact of the killing, and that the deed was done by the hand of the pris- oner. The question for us to decide is, was it mur- der? was it man-slaughter? or was it nothing at all? for to that point my learned adversary evidently wishes to conduct us. " The young man it appears, by the testimony of friends and school-mates, has always been of a peculiarly quick and fiery temper ; so much so it seems, that a playful allusion, or what is commonly called a teazing expression, could not be indulged in at his expense but his companion was instantly felled to the ground. And was he the one to arm himself with bowie-knife or revolver? Should THE TRIAL. 805 one who was perfectly conscious that he had not the slightest control over his temper, keep about him a murderous weapon ready to do its deed of death upon any friend who might unwittingly, in an hour of revelry, touch upon some sore spot ? "As soon would I approach a keg of gun-powder with a lighted candle in my hand, as have aught to do with one so fiery and so armed for destruc- tion. It has been said that it is the custom for young men in some of our colleges to go thus armed ; the more need of signal vengeance upon the work of death they do. Gentlemen of the jury, if this practice is not loudly rebuked we shall have work of this kind accumulating rapidly on our hands. " * It was done in the heat of frenzied passion, and so the prisoner must go unpunished.' My learned friend argued not so, when he appeared in this place against the murder Wiley ; poor, igno- rant, and half-witted ; who with his eyes starting from his head with starvation, entered a farmer's house, and in the extremity of his suffering de- 26* 306 LEWIE. manded bread. And on being told by the woman of the house to take himself off to the nearest tav- ern and get bread, caught up a carving knife and stabbed her to the heart, seized a piece of bread, and fled from the house. He had a fiendish temper too ; it was rendered fiercer by starvation ; and when asked why he did the dreadful deed, he said he never could have dragged himself on three miles to the nearest tavern, and he had no money to buy bread when he got there. He must die anyway, and it might as well be on the gallows as by the road-side. " He, poor fellow, had no friends ; he had been brought up in vice and misery ; he had no gentle sister to lead him in the paths of virtue, a kind word was never spoken to him ; a crust of bread was denied him when he was starving ; and above all, he had no wealthy friend to pay an enormous counsel fee, and my learned opponent standing where he did just now, called loudly on the jury and said, 'away with such a fellow from the earth T THE TRIAL. 307 "Do not think me blood-thirsty or unfeeling. The innocent sufferer in this case, the sister of this unfortunate young man, has my deepest sympathy and commiseration, as she has that of this audience and the jury. But could those here present have gone with me" (here the speaker paused, too agitated to proceed) " to yonder desolated home ; had they seen a mother, lately widowed, and four young sisters, around the bier where lay the remains of the murdered son and brother their only hope next to God he for whom they were all toiling early and late, that, when his education was completed, he in turn might work for them, had they heard that mother's cry for strength, now that her last earthly prop was thus rudely snatched away, they would have found food for pity there. I tell you, my friends, I pray that I may never be called upon to witness such a scene again!" Wiping his cheeks repeatedly, Mr. Gr resumed : " These tears surprise me ; for I am not used to the ' melting mood,' and I cannot afford to weep 308 LEWIE. as readily as my learned opponent, who will count his pile of bank notes for every tear he sheds, and think those tears well expended. I speak for an outraged community ; my sympathies are with the poor with the widow and the fatherless with those whose only son and brother has been cut off in his hope and promise, and consigned to an early grave. " Shall these things take place unnoticed and unpunished ? and for a light and hasty word, shall our young men of promise be cut down in the midst of their days, and the act go unrebuked of justice? I look not so much at this individual case as to the general good. Were I to look only on the prisoner, I too might yield to feeling, and forget justice. But feeling must not rule here : in the court room, justice alone should have sway; and I call upon the jury to decide as impartially in this case as if the poorest and most neglected wretch, brought up in vice and wretchedness, sat there, instead of the handsome and interesting prisoner ; and I call upon the jury to show that, THE TEIAL. 309 though in private life they may be 'lovers of mercy,' yet, where the general good is so deeply involved, they are determined to ' deal justly' with the prisoner." The judge then gave his charge to the jury, which was thought to lean rather to the side of the prisoner, though he agreed with Mr. G , that some sharp rebuke should be given to the practice, so common among the young men in some of our colleges, of carrying about with them offensive weapons. The prisoner was led back to the jail ; the jury retired ; and it being now evening, the court room was deserted. XIX. " Sister, thy brother is won by thee." MRS. HEMANS. verdict would not be made known till the -*- next morning. Oh ! what a night of mental torture was that to the devoted sister of the pris- oner! The terrible suspense left it out of her power to remain quiet for a moment, but she rest- lessly paced the room, watching for the dawn of day, and yet dreading the signs of its approach. Her aunt, who remained with her during that anxious night, endeavored as well as she could to Boothe and calm her excited feelings; but how little there was to be said ; she could only point her to the Christian's never-failing trust and confi- dence ; and it was only by constant supplications for strength from on high, as she walked the room, THE SEALED PAPER. 811 that Agnes was enabled to retain the slightest appearance of composure, or, as it seemed to her, to keep her brain from bursting. The longest night will have an end, and morn- ing at length dawned on the weary eyes of the watchers. The family rose and breakfasted early, for an intense excitement reigned throughout the house. Agnes begged to be allowed to remain in her own room ; and though, in compliance with the entreaties of her friends, she endeavored to eat, she could not swallow a morsel. Mr. Wharton came early ; and soon after breakfast, he and Dr. Eodney went out. At nine o'clock the court were to assemble, to hear the verdict ; and from that moment, Agnes seated herself at the window, with her hands pressed on her aching forehead, and her eyes straining to catch the first glimpse of them as they returned. She sat thus for an hour or more at the window, and at the end of that time the crowds began to pass the house, and she soon caught sight of Dr. Rodney and her uncle. They did not hasten as if 812 LEWIE. they had joyful news to tell, and as Agnes in hei agitation rose as they approached the gate, and watched their faces as they came up the gravel walk, she saw there enough to tell her the whole story; and pressing both hands upon her heart ehe sat down again, for she had no longer strength to stand. In a few moments she heard her uncle's step coming slowly towards her room. As the door opened very gently she did not raise her head ; it had fallen upon her breast, and she was asking for strength to bear what she knew was com- ing. When at length she looked towards her uncle she saw him standing with his hand still on the lock, and gazing at her intently. His face was of an ashy paleness, and he seemed irresolute whether to approach her or to leave the room. " Uncle," gasped Agnes, " do not speak now ; there is no need ; I see it all," and slowly she fell to the floor and forgot her bitter sorrow in long in- sensibility. When she recovered it was nearly mid-day, and only her aunt was sitting by her bed- side. THE SEALED PAPER. 313 " Aunty," said she, as if bewildered, " what time is it ?" Her aunt told her the time. " And is it possible," said Agnes, " that I have slept so late ?" and then pressing her hands to her head, she said : " Who said " condemned " and " sentenced F" " No one has said those words to you, dear Ag- nes," said Mrs. Wharton. "But oh, aunty!" she exclaimed, seizing Mrs. Wharton's hand, " it is trite, is it not ? Yes, I know it is. My poor young brother! And here I have been wasting the time when he wants me so much. I must get up this moment and go to him." Her aunt endeavored to persuade her to remain quiet, telling her that Mr. Malcolm was with Lewie, and that he was not left alone for a moment. Ag- nes insisted, however, upon rising, but on making the attempt her head became dizzy and she sank back again upon her pillow ; and this was the be- ginning of a brain fever, which kept her confined to her bed in unconscious delirium for more than three weeks. In her delirium she seemed to go 27 314: LEWIE. back to the days of her childhood, and live them over again with all the trouble they caused her young heart. Sometimes she fancied herself a lonely prisoner again in the cold north room, and sometimes pleading with her little brother, and begging him to "be a good boy, and to try and not be so cross." At one tune Dr. Eodney had little hope of her life, and after that he feared per- manent loss of reason, but in both fears he was disappointed. Agnes recovered at length, and with her mind as clear as ever. During the days when she was convalescing, but still too weak to leave her bed, her impatience to get to her brother was so great, that the doctor feared it would retard her recovery. It could not be concealed from her that Lewie was ill, and the consciousness that she was so necessary to him, made it the more difficult for Agnes to exercise that patience and calmness which were requisite to ensure a return of her strength. Lewie had taken to his bed, immediately after his return to the jail, on the morning of the sentence, and had THE SEALED PAPER. 315 not left it since. He seemed fast sinking into a decline, and much of the good doctor's time was taken up in ministering at the bed-side of the brother and sister. At length Agnes was so much better that the doctor consented to her paying her brother a visit. She found him in the condemned cell, but no man* acles were necessary to fetter his limbs, for a chain stronger than iron bolts confined him to his bed, and that strong chain was perfect weakness, Though his cell was darker and more dungeon-like, yet through the kindness of friends the sick young prisoner was made as comfortable as possible. By a very strong effort Agnes so far commanded her- self as to retain an appearance of outward com- posure, during that first meeting after so long and jo eventful a separation ; and now began again the :y ministrations of Agnes at the bed-side of her brother, for in consideration of his feeble con- dition his sister was permitted to remain with him constantly. Lewie knew that he was failing ; "I think," 316 LEWIE. said lie to Agnes, " that God will call for my spirit before tlie time comes for man to set it free. But oh ! Agnes, if I could once more look upon Ike green earth, and the blue sky, and breathe the pure fresh air ; and die free" It was after longings for freedom like these, that when Agnes returned to Dr. Rodney's one evening, (for ever since the trial, at the earnest request of the kind doctor and his wife, she had made their house her home except when with her brother,) she found her cousin Grace, who often came over to pass the night with her, waiting her arrival with tidings in her face. "Agnes," said she, " I have heard something to- day which may possibly cast a ray of hope on Lewie's case yet." " What can it be, dear Grace ?" asked Agnes. " "Who do you think the new Governor's wife is, Agnes ?" "I am sure I cannot imagine." "Do you remember that strange girl, Euth Glenn?" THE SEALED PAPER. 317 " Certainly." " Well, it is she. Only think how strange I I have no idea how much influence she has with the Governor; but unless she has changed wonderfully in her feelings, she would do any- thing in the world to serve you, Agnes, as she ought." " Oh, blessings on you, Grace ! I will go ; there may be hope in it ; and if poor Lewie could only die free ; for die he must, the doctor assures me perhaps before the flowers bloom." " Father will go with you, Agnes. I have been talking with him about it." " Oh, how very, very kind you all are to us 1" said Agnes. " Then, no time must be lost, Grace ; and if uncle will go with me, we will start as early as possible in the morning." Agnes rose early the next morning, with some- thing like a faint tinge of color in her cheek, lent to it by the excitement of hope ; and after visiting her brother, to give some explanation of the cause of her absence, she took her seat in the carriage by 27* 318 LEWIE. her uncle, for they must ride some miles in order to reach the cars. They reached the Capitol that afternoon; ana Agnes, who felt that she had very little time to spare, left the hotel a few moments after their arrival in the city, and, leaning on her uncle's arm, sought the Governor's house. Agnes felt her heart die within her as she ascended the broad flight of marble steps. Years had passed, and many changes had taken place since she had met Ruth Glenn. Would she find her again in the Governor's lady ? Mrs. F was at home, and Mr. Wharton left Agnes at the door, thinking, that, on all accounts, the interview had better be private. " He should return for her in an hour or two," he said, " when he intended to call upon the Governor, who had once been a class-mate and intimate friend." Having merely sent word by the servant that an old friend wished to see Mrs. F , Agnes was shown into a large and elegantly-furnished parlor, to await her coming. In a few moments, she THE SEALED PAPER. 319 heard a light step descending the stairs, and the rustling of a silk dress, and the Governor's lady- entered the room. Could it be possible that this blooming, elegant, graceful woman was the pale, nervous Euth Glenn, whom Agnes had befriended at Mrs. Arlington's school ? To account for this extraordinary change, we must go back a few years, which we can fortu- nately do in a few moments, and give a glance at Kuth Glenn's history. She had left school almost immediately after Agnes and her cousins, having been recommended by Mrs. Arlington to a lady who was looking for a governess to her children. Here she became acquainted with a lawyer who visited frequently at the house ; a middle-aged man, and a widower, who was just then looking out for some one to take care of himself and his establishment. By one of those unaccountable whims which men sometimes take, this man (who, from his position and wealth, might have won the hand of almost any accomplished and dashing young lady of his 320 LEWIE. acquaintance,) was attracted towards the plain, silent governess, and lie very soon, to the astonish- ment of all, made proposals to her, which were accepted. Soon after their marriage, business made it necessary for Mr. F to go to Europe, and Ruth accompanied him. A sea voyage and two years' travel abroad entirely restored her health, and with it came, what her husband had never looked for beauty; while the many opportunities for improvement and cultivation which she en- joyed, and the good society into which she was thrown, worked a like marvellous change in her manners. All her nervous diffidence banished, and in its place she had acquired a dignified self- possession and grace of manner, which ^ted her well for the station of influence she was to occupy. Soon after her return, her husband was elected Governor ; and the city was already ringing -with praises of the loveliness and affability of the new Governor's wife. No wonder, then, that as Agnes rose to meet THE SEALED PAPER. 321 her, they stood looking at each, other in silence for a moment ; Agnes vainly endeavoring to discover a trace of Euth Glenn in the easy and elegant woman before her, and Mrs. F trying to divine who this guest -who had called herself an old friend might be. For sickness and sorrow had changed Agnes too. Her bright bloom was all gone; her charming animation of manner had given place to a settled sadness ; and though still most lovely, as she stood in her deep mourning dress, she was but a wreck of the Agnes Elwyn of former years. . But when after a moment Agnes said, "Euth, do you not know me?" The scream of delight with which Euth opened her arms, and clasped her to her breast, crying out, " Agnes Elwyn! my dear, dear Agnes I" con- vinced her that in heart at least her old school- mate was unchanged. Euth immediately took Agnes to her own room, that they might be undis- turbed, for she guessed at once her purpose in coming ; and then Agnes opened to her her bur- 322 LEWIE. dened heart; relating all her brother's history; telling her of his naturally strong passions, and saying all that was necessary to say, in justice to her brother, of the injudicious training he had received ; at the same tune treating her mother's memory with all possible delicacy and respect. " And now, dear Euth," she said, " I do not come to ask that my young brother shall be per- mitted to walk forth to do like evil again ; there would be no danger of that, even if he were not greatly changed, as I solemnly believe he is, in heart and temper; for his doom is sealed; con- sumption is wasting his frame ; we only ask that we may carry him forth to die and be buried among his kindred. Oh! how he pines for the free air and the blue sky, and longs to die else- where than in a condemned cell ! If I might be permitted to remoye him to my uncle's kind home, where he could have comforts and friends about him, I could close his eyes, it seems to me, with thankfulness, for I do believe that the Christian's hope is his." THE SEALED PAPER. 323 Ruth's sympathizing tears had been flowing down her cheeks, as, with her hand clasping that of Agnes, she had listened to her sad story. She now rose, and said she would go to her husband, who was slightly indisposed, and confined to his room, and prepare him to see Agnes. " And do, Agnes, talk to him just as you have done to me," she said. " He is called a stern man ; but he has tender feelings, I can assure you, if the right chord is only touched." Ruth was gone a long time, and Agnes walked the floor of her room in a state of suspense and agitation only equalled by that of the night after the trial. At length Ruth returned : she looked sad and troubled. " Agnes," said she, " you must see my husband yourself, and say to him all you have said to me. He is deeply grateful for all you have done for me, and would do anything in the world for you except what he thinks, or what he seems to think, would be yielding to the call of feeling at the expense of justice. He says his predecessor has been much 324: LEWIE. censured for so often granting pardons to criminals, especially to any who had influential friends ; and 1 fear that, in avoiding his errors, he will go to the opposite extreme. He remembers your brother's case well, and says, that "though it could not be called deliberate murder, still it was murder; and he agrees with the lawyer, Mr. Gr , that some signal reproof should be given to this practice among the young men of carrying about them offensive weapons. This is all he said ; but he has consented to see you, and is expecting you. I shall leave you alone with him ; and oh ! Agnes, do speak as eloquently as you did to me. I know he cannot resist it." The Governor, a tall, fine-looking man, was wrapped in his dressing-gown, and seated in his easy chair. He rose to receive Agnes, gave her a cordial welcome as a friend to his wife, and bade her take a seat beside him ; but there was some- thing in his look which said, that he did not mean to be convinced against his better judgment by two women. THE SEALED PAPER. 325 Agnes was at first too much, agitated to speak ; but the Governor kindly re-assured her, by asking her some questions about her brother's case, and soon she thought of nothing but him ; her courage all revived; and with an eloquence the more effective from being all unstudied, she told her brother's story to the Governor. "He is so young," said she, " only eighteen years old ; and yet he must die. But, oh ! sir, if you would but save him from being dragged in his weakness to a death of shame, or from lingering out his few re- maining days in that close, dark cell; oh! if he might only die free !" "Ruth tells me," said the Governor, quietly, " that your uncle, Mr. Wharton, is with you. Is it William Wharton, of C County ?" Agnes answered in the affirmative. "Once a very good friend of mine," said he; "but it is many years since we have met. "Where is he?" "He .came to the door with me," answered 28 326 LEWIE. Agnes, " and will return for me soon. He hoped to have the pleasure of seeing you, sir." "I will see him when he comes," said the Governor. " Go you back to Kuth, my dear young lady. I will think of all you have said." "When Mr. Wharton called, he was admitted to the Governor ; and the two former friends, after a cordial greeting, were closeted together for a long time. He confirmed all ihat Agnes said of her brother, and assured the Governor that it was the opinion of physicians that he could not recover, and might not last a month. He spoke long and feelingly of the devotion of Agnes to her brother, in attendance upon whom, in his loneliness and imprisonment, she had worn out health and strength. The eyes of the Governor now glistened with emotion as he said, " "Well, well, I hope I shall not be doing wrong. At what time do you leave in the morning, Mr. Wharton ?" "In the very first train. Agnes cannot be longer from her brother's bedside." THE SEALED PAPER. 327 " Can you bring her here for one moment before you leave ?" " Certainly." "Well, then, tell her to lie down to-night, and sleep in peace ; and may Heaven bless a sister so devoted, and a friend so true." The Governor was not so well when Mr. Whar- ton and Agnes called the next morn lag ; but Ruth appeared, her face radiant with joy, and, throwing her arms around Agnes' neck, she put into her hand a sealed paper. XX. . "Oh liberty! Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which Life is as nothing." KNOWLES. ! the sunshine, and the glad earth, and the singing of the birds of early spring, to tho prisoner, sick, and worn, and weary ! How tho feeble pulse already begins to throb with pleasure, and life which had seemed so valueless before, looks lovely and much to be desired now. The official announcement of the pardon reach- ed Hillsdale almost as soon as Agnes herself, and the friends of the young prisoner lost no time in removing him as gently and as comfortably as pos- sible, to his uncle's kind home at Brook Farm. Here nothing was left undone by his devoted TWICE FREE. 329 friends to soothe his declining days ; and with a heart overflowing with gratitude and love, Lewie eank quietly towards the grave. He was very gentle now, and the change in him was so great, that his sister doubted not that re- pentance and faith had done their work. His own doubts and fears were many, though sometimes a glimmering of hope would beam through the clouds which seemed to have gathered about him. One day, after a long conversation with Agnes upon the love and mercy of God, he said : "Well Agnes, it may be, there is hope for me too ; I know lie is all-powerful and all-merciful ; why, as you say, should not his mercy extend even to me ?" " He is able and willing to save unto the utter- most," said Agnes. " Unto the uttermost ! Unto the utter- most !" repeated the sick youth slowly ; then look- ing up with his beautiful eye beaming with express- ion ; " Yes, Agnes," said he, " I will trust him I" 25* 330 LEWIE. Day by day lie grew weaker, and at times Ms sufferings were intense ; but such, a wonderful patience and calmness possessed him, and he seem- ed so to forget self in his thought for others, that Mrs. Wharton said, in speaking of him : "I never so fully realized the import of the words ' a new creature. 1 Who would think that this could be our impetuous, thoughtless Lewie, of former times." "You must make some allowance for the lan- guor of sickness, my dear," said Mr. Wharton, who of course did not see so much of the invalid as those who had the immediate charge of him. " Weakness, I grant, would make him less im- petuous and violent," answered his wife, "but would it make him patient, and docile, and consid- erate, if there were not some radical change in his feelings and temper ?" During the last few days of lus life, and when the flickering flame was hourly expected to die out, his uncle saw more of him, and he, too, be- came convinced of the change in Lewie, and was TWICE FREE. 331 certain that for him to die would be gain. And at last, with words of prayer upon his lips and a whisper of his sister's name, he sank away as gently as an infant drops asleep. " How like he looks," said old Mammy, with the tears streaming down her withered, cheeks, "how like he looks, with the bonny curls lying round his forehead, to what he did the day he lay like death at the Hemlock's, when he was only two years old." Mrs. "Wharton's mind immediately reverted to the scene, and to that young mother's prayer of agony, " Oh, for his life ! his life !" and as she thought over the events of that short life of sin and sorrow, she said within herself, " Oh I who can tell what to choose for his portion! Thou Lord, who knowest the end from the beginning, choose Thou our changes for us, and help us in the darkest hour to say, ' Thy will be done.' And in the quiet spot where the willow bends, and the brook murmurs, by the side of his mother, and near the grave of Ehoda Edwards, rest the re- mains of Lewie. 332 LEWIE. It is strange how much a human heart may suffer and yet beat on and regain tranquillity, and even cheerfulness at last. It is a most merciful provis- ion of Providence, that our griefs do not always press upon us as heavily as they do at first, else how could the burden of this life of change and sorrow be borne. But the loved ones are not forgotten when the tear is dried and the smile re- turns to the cheek; they are remembered, but with less of sadness and gloom in the remem- brance ; and at length, if we can think of them as happy, it is only a pleasure to recall them to mind. So Agnes found it, as after a few months of rest and quiet in her uncle's happy home, the gloom of her sorrow began to fade away, the color return- ed to her cheek, and she began to be like the Ag- nes of former times. And now that health and en- ergy had returned, she began to long for employ- ment again, and though she knew it would cost a great struggle to leave her dear friends at Brook Farm, she began to urge them all to be on the watch for a situation for her as governess or teacher. TWICE FREE. 833 At length, one day, some months after her brother's death, Mr. Wharton entered the room where she was sitting, and said : "Agnes, there is a gentleman down stairs, who would like to engage you to superintend the education of his children." If Agnes had looked closely at her uncle's face, she would have observed a very, peculiar expression there ; but only laying aside her work, she said : "Please say to him, uncle, that I will come down in one moment." "With a quiet step and an unpalpitating heart, Agnes opened the parlor door, and found herself alone with Mr. Harrington 1 And here we will end our short chapter, though enough was said that morning to make it a very long one, as it certainly was an eventful one in the history of Agnes. XXI. inbing % 0r t\t gunning % gftte tttes test. "Still at thy father's board There is kept a place for thee And by thy smile restored, Joy round the hearth shall be." MRS. HEMANS. "He will not blush that has a father's heart, To take in childish plays a childish part, But bends his sturdy back to any toy That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy." COWPER. " "TTJTHAT do you think, Calista ? what do you think?" asked Miss Evelina Fairland of her sister, about two years after she had asked these same questions before. " There are masons, and carpenters, and painters, and paperers, and gardeners, at work at the old Rookery ; a perfect army of laborers have been sent down from the city. What can it mean ?" THE WINDING UP. 335 " I cannot imagine, I am sure," answered Miss Calista, " unless Mr. Harrington is really going to settle down, and look out for a wife at last." And Miss Calista looked in the glass over her sister's shoulder, and both faces looked more faded and considerably older than when we saw them last. "Do you know," said Miss Evelina, "that I really believe Agnes Elwyn thought the man was in love with her ?" " Absurd 1" exclaimed Miss Calista. " Besides, if he ever had entertained such a thought, he would not, of course, think of anything of the kind since that affair of her brother's. Such a disgrace, you know I" The appearance of the old Rookery changed so rapidly, that it seemed almost as if the fairies had been at work ; and in a few weeks, glimpses of a fair and elegant mansion, with its pretty piazzas and porticos, could be seen between the noble oaks which surrounded the mansion. And now Miss Calista and Evelina, who kept themselves informed of all that was going on at the Rookery, 336 LEWIE, reported that " the most magnificent furniture " had come, and the curtains and pictures were being hung, and it was certain that the owner of the place would be there soon. At length a travelling carriage, in which was seated Mr. Harrington, with a lady by his side, and two little girls in front, was seen by these inde- fatigable ladies to drive rapidly through the street, and out towards the Eookery. The lady was in nfourning, and her veil was down. "Who could she be ? And now it was rumored in the village that Mr. Harrington was actually married; and whenever he met any of his old acquaintances, he invited them with great cordiality to call to see his, wife. The Misses Fairland determined not to be outdone by any, and, the more effectually to conceal their own disappointment, were among the first to call. "Who can conceive of their astonishment and mortification, when they found that the mistress of the Eookery was no other than the former gover- ness, Agnes Elwyn ! Agnes received them with THE WINDING UP. 837 the utmost kindness; begged them to ask their father, whom she remembered with much affection, to come very soon to see her ; was much pleased to hear how happy Eosa and Jessie were at Mrs. Arlington's ; and brought them tidings of Frank, who was under Mr. Malcolm's care. "And where is that delightful gentleman who was with Mr. Harrington, when he was here two summers since Mr. Wharton I think his name was ?" asked Miss Evelina. " Mr. Tom Wharton ? Oh, he will be here in a few days. He has purchased the place next to us, and is about to build there. I suppose, as it is no longer a secret, I may tell you that he is soon to be married to my cousin, Effie Wharton. They will remain with us most of the time till their house is finished." The countenances of the visitors fell on hearing this, and they soon rose and took leave. And now we know not better how to wind up or run down our story, than to pass over two or three years and introduce our reader to another 29 338 LEWIE. Christmas party at Mr. Wharton's, for it still is the custom, for all the scattered members of the family to gather in the paternal mansion to spend the Christmas holidays. Mr. and Mrs. "Wharton appear as a fine-looking middle-aged couple, on whom the years sit lightly, for their lives have been happy and useful ones, and there is no such preservative of fresh and youthful looks, as a contented mind and an untrou- bled conscience. The two older sons are married. Robert is settled as a clergyman in a western vil- lage, and Albert as a merchant in the city ; these with their wives, most charming women both, are there. Mr. Malcolm, who wondered more and more that he ever had the presumption to suppose that such a woman as Emily "Wharton could fancy him, at last so recovered from his disappointment as again to entertain thoughts of matrimony ; and he and our friend Grace have been married about six months, and are nicely settled in their own pretty house at Hillsdale, where Mr. Malcolm is still the THE WINDING UP. 339 loved and honored pastor. Cousin Emily, calm and tranquil as ever to all outward appearance, aid- ed in the preparations and appeared at the wedding, and it was no cause of wonderment to any, that she was confined to her bed the next day with one of her nervous headaches, for great excitement and fatigue were always too much for cousin Emily. Mr. Tom "Wharton and Erne are at home too, the former no whit more sedate, in consequence of the added dignities of husband and father which attach to him. And our own dear Agnes is there too, with her husband, her two little step-daughters, and her own little boy, a noble, handsome little fellow, but with some traits of character which occasionally cause a pang to cross the heart of his mother ; they re- mind her so of the childhood of one whose sun went down so early and so sadly. But we hopo much that proper training, with the divine blessing, will so mould and guide this tender plant, that it will grow up to be an ornament and a blessing to all around, Agnes makes just such a step-mother 340 LEWIE. as we should expect, and her dear little girls feel tliat in her they have indeed found a mother. But long after all the rest of the large party have been seated at the dinner-table, there remains a vacant seat, and here at last slowly conies the expected occupant. "What, cousin Betty ! alive yet ? Yes, and " alive like to be," till she has finished her century. She retains many of her old, strange habits, but has long since given up dying, as others begin to expect such an event to happen in the ordinary course of nature ; indeed, it rather hurts cousin Betty's feelings to be spoken of as a very aged person, or as one whose time on earth is probably short. She is laying her plans for the future as busily as any one, and it may be that her old wrinkled face will be seen in its accustomed haunts long after some of the blooming ones around that board are mouldering in the grave. Old Mammy too, whose home has been with Agnes ever since her marriage, has come back to her old home for the Christmas holidays. But THE WINDING UP. 341 Mammy is a good deal broken, and nothing is required of her by her kind mistress, except such little offices as it is a pleasure to her to per- form. Cousin Emily, the " old maid cousin," as she calls herself, is in great demand; indeed, as she says, she is a perfect " bone of contention," and in order to keep peace with all, she has had to divide the year into four parts, and give three months to each of those who have the strongest claim upon her time. It is always a season of rejoicing when cousin Emily arrives, with her ever cheerful face, her entertaining conversation for the older ones, and her fund of stories and anecdotes for the children. After dinner came an old-fashioned Christmas frolic, and the older ones were children again, and the children as wild and noisy as they chose to be. Mr. "Wliarton on entering the room suddenly, saw his nephew, Mr. Tom, going around the room on all fours, as a horse, driven by his only son and heir, Master Tom, junior. 29* 342 LEWIE. " Tom," said Mr. Wharton suddenly, " how do you prefer calf's head ?" " What do you mean by that, uncle ?" said Mr. Tom, pausing a moment and looking up. " I took some notes of a certain conversation which took place some years ago," said his uncle, "in which a certain young gentleman called a certain old gentleman a calf, because he made such a fool of himself as to be a horse for his little son to drive ; and this young gentleman ^aid he would sooner eat his head, than make such an exhibition of himself." ""Well, circumstances do alter cases, don't they, uncle ?" said Mr. Tom, beginning to prance about again under the renewed blows of the whip in Master Tom junior's hand. Mrs. Arlington and her daughters still keep their school, which is as popular and flourishing as ever. Eosa and Jessie Fairland are still under their care, and it is a great pleasure to Agnes to see what fine, agreeable girls they are growing up to be. They retain a warm affection for Agnes, THE WINDING UP. S43 and pass many a pleasant day at the Eookery, when they are at home for a vacation. Frank is still under Mr. Malcolm's care, and a member of his family. Mr. Malcolm finds him a much more tractable pupil than one we know of, to whom he tried to do his duty many years ago. And we must not close without saying a word of the kind, true-hearted, Euth Glenn. Governor F , at the close of his term of office was re-elected, and when at last he left the city and returned to his country home, it was with the deep regrets of all the many friends which his residence in the capi- tol had not failed to create for himself, and his amiable wife. As she passed within a few miles of Wilston, Mrs. F turned out of her way to stop and pay Agnes a short visit, and she found again the bright, and cheerful Agnes of former times ; and many a pleasant hour the friends enjoyed to- gether, in talking over the days and nights at Mrs. Arlington's school, for even out of the latter they could now draw some amusing recollections. Miss Calista and Miss Evelina are still on the 344 LEWIE. " look out." The wife of the clergyman at Wil ston, having died about a year since, Miss Calista, ever ready to take advantage of any opening, be- gan immediately to attend church very regularly, and with a vory sanctimonious and attentive air. It remains to be seen whether anything comes of it. And now our task is done. If the sad story of the short life of poor Lewie, will be the means of leading any mother to use more carefully and more conscientiously, the power which she alone possesses now, of training aright the little plants in her nursery, so that they may grow up fair and flourishing, and bear good fruit ; and in time repay her care by the fragrance and beauty and com- fort which they shower about her declining day? , it will be enough. And may each little plant, so trained, bloom evermore in the paradise of God. THE END. Six Thousand in Sixty Days! Dickens' New Ecok! Comprising selections from that admirable publication, "Dick- ens' Household I fords" FIRST SERIES. 1 vol. 12mo., (uniform with Lewie,) price 1.00. ALDEX, BEARD.SLEY & Co., Auburn, N. Y.. } \\A.\XER, BEAKDSLEY & Co., Rochester, N. Y., \ Pulhshen. This volume is the first in asenes gathered from the same pub- lication. It is enriched with an admirable likeness of DICKENS, engraved for this work. The Publishers commend the volume as pure m sentiment, wholesome in morals, and abounding m such incident and interest as cannot fail to secure a friendly reception and a wide circulation with American readers. (Second series will be published July 1st, 1854.) So say the PressShort Extracts from Lengthy Notices. It is not a story of pearl diving in the Indian seas, but a choice collec- tion of pearls fished from Dickens' Household Words, and strung together as an ornament for the library and the parlor. * * * * Such a selec- tion of Dickens' own gems is quite a favor to his admirers in the United States. * * * * The story of Lizzie Leigh is alone worth the price of the volume. N. Y. Independent. It was a good thought of the publishers to collect the best stories of the Household Words into acceptable volumes, printed in large new type, on good paper, to please fastidious readers like ourselves, and to entice even aged people to the perusal. * * * This series should command a large circulation, if good taste in the choice of fictitious literature has not died out with the success of Hot Corn and similar atrocities. jV. Y. Times. * * * The book contains a charming selection of the best stories from " Dickens' Household Words." * * * Most valuable and inter- esting publication, handsomely printed in the large type, open page, which are happily superseding the absurd, crpwded, and illegible pages which the cheap publication system has imposed upon the American public. New York Day Book. These stories, selected from Dickens' Household Words, make a hand- some volume, with a fine likeness of their author. It is a capital thought to gather up such of those interesting papers as wiil be of most interest to the American reader. Providence Daily Post. * * * In gathering these choice stories the selection has been made of such as furnish the most brilliancy and value. * * * Replete with incident and absorbing interest, from beginning to end. And what is more and better, the less.ons they teach are of the purest morality. young * The stories have point and force, and will be read by all, old and , with delight and profit. Auburn Daily Advertiser. Four Thousand in Thirty Days'. FRANCE mmw One volume 12mo., (uniform with Lewie and Pearl Fishing,) 368 pages. %* In the Stories of the Revolution, the author has detailed the mournful history of the " Dauphin," and presented a summa- ry of the evidence so far discovered, in regard to that most inter- esting historical question the identity of the Rev. Eleazer Wil- liams with Louis XVIL Muslin, Gilt, $1, Gilt Edges, 1,25, Fall Gilt Edges & Sides, $1,75. ALDEN.BEARDSLEY & Co., Auburn, N. Y., ; D ,,. , WANZER, BEARDSLEY & Co., Rochester, N. Y., \ NOTICES OF THE PRESS. * * * We have read this volume with a good degree of satisfaction and interest. * * * The soul-stirring events of the incarceration of the Dauphin, Prince Louis XVII. his probable escape through the aid of the friends of the reigning King, and the evidence pro and con, relating to the claims of Rev. Eleazer Williams, now a missionary in this country, to be the identical person the rightful heir to the throne of France, in place of the present incumbent. Ontario Messenger. * * * A most interesting volume. We need but mention the fact that the author has selected for his stories two of the most important periods in the annals of France. To the general reader, as well as to the scholar, this portion of French history is confessedly remarkable for its intense interest. Syracuse Journal. * * * The author treats of the Williams Dauphin question, and haa stated the arguments, and pronounced it " at least highly probable" that Mr. VV. is the Dauphin. This volume will be found a very attractive one to young readers, and should have a place in all the libraries for young men. Evening Mirror, New- York. * * * These stories traverse one of the most deeply interesting pe- riods of French History. * * A fine steel engraving of the reverend gentleman prefaces the volume. The Medina Whig. * * * Thrilling events. The revolution of 1789 stands distinguished for deep and world-wide interest. * * The fate of the helpless infant Dauphin has excited the deepest emotions of the civilized world. What- ever relates to these events is read with interest. * * * It is, there- fore, with peculiar pleasure that we have perused the late issue. Full of startling incident, and withal bearing the stamp of truth on all its pages, it cannot fail to entertain and instruct him who sits down to its perusal. Lima Visitor. Popular Work! I Twelfth Thousand Now Ready ! LEWIE, OR THE~BENDED TWIG. BY COUSIN CICELY, Author of " Silver Lake Stories," etc., etc. One Volume 12mo., ----- Price $1.00. ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO., AUBURN, N. Y., J p , ... A . WAJSZER. BEARDSLEY &, CO., ROCHESTER, N. Y., i ^ " Mother ! thy gentle hand hath mighty power, For thou alone may'st train, and guide, and mould Plants that shall blossom, with an odor sweet, Or, like the cursed fig-tree, wither, and become Vile cumberers of the ground." Brief Extracts from Notices of the Press, * * * A tale which deserves to rank with "The Wide, Wide World." It is written with graphic power, and full of interest. Hartford Repub. * * * Her writings are equal to the best. She is a second Fanny Fern Palmyra Democrat. * * * It is recommended by its excellent moral tone and its whole- some practical inculcations. TV. Y. Tribune. * * * Full of grace and charm, its style and vivacity make it a most amusing work. For the intellectual and thinking, it has a deeper lesson, and while it thrills the heart, bids parents beware of that weakness which prepares in infancy the misery of man. " Lewie " is one of the most pop- ular books now before the public, and needs no puffing, as it is selling by thousands. N. Y. Day Book. * * * The moral of the book is inestimable. The writer cannot fail to be good, as she so faithfully portrays the evils which owe their ori- gin to the criminal neglect of proper parental discipline. Hunt'* Mer- chants' Magazine. * * * The plot is full of dramatic interest, yet entirely free from extravagance ; the incidents grow out of the main plot easily and natural- ly, while the sentiment is healthy and unaffected. Commend us to more writers like Cousin Cicely books which we can see in the hands of our young people without uneasiness. Books which interest by picturing life as it is, instead of giving us galvanized society. National Democrat. * * * A touching and impressive story, unaffected in style and ef- fective in plot. N. Y. Evangelist. * * * The story of the Governess, contained in this volume, is one of rare interest. Highland Eagle. * * * The story is a charming one the most affecting we ever read. Jersey Shore Republican. * * * "Cousin Cicely" is just the person to portray family scenes. * * * This story will be profitable reading. Daily Capital City Fact, Columbus, Ohio. * * * The contents of the work are of the first order, and unexcep- tionable. Hartford Dotty Times.i IM M ENSE SALE ! THE BENDED TWIG! IBV