THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 SARAH REWARDED 
 
 See page 38
 
 ELLEN AID SABAH; 
 
 OE, 
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 
 
 Dork: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CAKLTON & POKTER, 
 
 SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 200 MULBBREY-STREET.
 
 f; 
 
 ^ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAO 
 
 ELLEN AND SARAH J OB, THE SAMPLERS 5 
 
 DECEITFUL RACHEL J OR, THE CUT SLEEVE 71 
 
 IERMOT, THE FISHER-BOY OP INNISKERRY 103 
 
 *>. 4 il < ' 
 
 EDUCATION
 
 PA6B 
 SARAH REWARDED .. 2 
 
 THE MISTAKE. , 65 
 
 RACHEL CONFESSING HER DECEPTION 68 
 
 DERMOT AND HIS FATHER 100 
 
 DERMOT : S MOTHER 108 
 
 DERMOT AT THE PARSONAGE 137 
 
 PADDEEN FINDING THE SCRIPTURES 167 
 
 DERMOT'S BODY DISCOVERED l?<5
 
 ELLEN A.ND SAEAH; 
 
 OK, 
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 ELLEN JONES was the only child of a poor 
 widow, who lived in the pretty village of 
 Rosedale. Her father died when she was 
 quite a baby, so that she could not remem- 
 ber ever to have seen him. Her mother 
 was a clean, tidy woman, and supported 
 herself and her child by taking in washing 
 and needlework. She had a sister living 
 in the same village, whose husband was a 
 blacksmith ; his name was Brown. 
 
 Mrs. Brown had several children, the 
 eldest of whom was only a year older than
 
 6 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OE, 
 
 her cousin Ellen Jones. Sarah (fcr that 
 was the name of Mrs. Brown's eldest 
 daughter) was an active, good-tempered 
 girl, and of great use to her mother in 
 helping to look after the children, and to 
 clean the house. Her mother could not 
 spare her to go to school, except in the 
 afternoon, as there was plenty for her to 
 do at home in the morning, in order to 
 keep everything tidy and comfortable. 
 Sarah sometimes complained, and thought 
 it unkind of her mother to prevent her 
 from going to school. She said one day 
 to Mrs. Stanley, the minister's wife, that 
 it was very hard to be obliged to stay and 
 scrub the house when her cousin Ellen 
 was learning to read and write. 
 
 Mi's. Stanley said in reply : " You must 
 remember, Sarah, that to stay at home 
 and help your mother is your duty now ; 
 and how could you expect to be any the 
 better for learning to read and write, if, 
 in order to do so, you should neglect your 
 parents? You can read the Testament,
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 7 
 
 and you do read it every afternoon ; be- 
 sides which, you learn to work, which is 
 of the greatest use to a child who will 
 most likely, by and by, go to service. 
 On Sunday you read the Bible at the 
 Sunday school, and have it explained ; and 
 in church you have an opportunity of 
 hearing of God, and of praying to him. 
 Rather, my child, be thankful for the 
 blessings you have, than repine at what 
 you think a hard lot; and show your 
 thankfulness to God and your parents by 
 trying to perform well the duties which 
 have fallen to your share." 
 
 Poor Sarah left school a little vexed at 
 what Mrs. Stanley had said. She expected 
 to have been told that hers was a hard 
 case ; and she hoped that Mrs. Stanley 
 would try to persuade her mother to send 
 her to school every morning. But the 
 wise and excellent lady judged rightly, 
 that, next to her God, Sarah's first duty 
 was to her parents, and that nothing 
 should interfere with that. However, she
 
 8 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OR, 
 
 very kindly left a tract occasionally with 
 Mrs. Brown, for Sarah to read, and showed 
 the little girl kindness in many other ways. 
 After this Sarah became more contented, 
 and resolved to make the best use of the 
 schooling she had, and to hope for more 
 time to improve herself when the children 
 should be older. 
 
 Meantime, her cousin, Ellen Jones, went 
 to school every day, both morning and 
 afternoon ; and, being a quick child, she 
 got on well with her book, so that at ten 
 years old she could read and write very 
 nicely. Mrs. Jones was much pleased 
 with her progress, and looked forward 
 with pleasure to the time when Ellen 
 should be able to turn her learning to 
 some use. Every morning and evening 
 she made her little girl read a chapter in 
 the Bible to her, after which she questioned 
 her as to the meaning of what she had 
 read. The poor widow often said that 
 her only comfort on earth was this child ; 
 and she was very anxious to do all that a
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 9 
 
 parent could to bring her up in the right 
 path; and, in many ways, she was re- 
 warded for her anxiety and care. 
 
 At ten years of age, Ellen was an indus- 
 trious little girl, very fond of her mother, 
 clean, active, and desirous to do what was 
 right. But h6r fault was vanity ; and it 
 caused Widow Jones many an anxious 
 hour. Ellen tried to read well, that Mr. 
 and Mrs. Stanley might tell her she read 
 better than anybody else ; in work, writ- 
 ing, everything the same ; she looked for 
 nothing but praise; the praise of her 
 neighbors ; and unless there were somebody 
 present to praise her, she did not care how 
 she did things. She looked down upon 
 her cousin Sarah, and would sometimes 
 even tease her by making her confess, 
 before her playfellows, how little she 
 knew. How careful children should J>e 
 to check the first feelings of vanity ! It 
 will make the most good-natured do and 
 say unkind things, and even make a 
 naturally sincere child deceitful.
 
 10 ELLEN AND BAB AH ; OR, 
 
 Poor Sarah Brown felt very much the 
 difference between herself and Ellen ; and 
 more than ever one afternoon, when the 
 youngest Miss Stanley came to the school 
 with her mamma, and told the children 
 that she had brought some samplers with 
 her, and that whoever could mark one the 
 best should have a prize. 
 
 " I wish to have the alphabet and a 
 verse of a hymn on each," added the young 
 lady ; " but remember, no girl must help 
 another, either to spell the words or to 
 mark them. Mamma has given me leave 
 to say that you are all to come up to 
 the parsonage on my birthday, which 
 will be on the 30th of next month ; and I 
 shall give a present to the girl who has 
 finished her sampler the most neatly by 
 that time." 
 
 Miss Lucy Stanley then opened the 
 samplers, and asked her mamma to choose 
 which girls were to have them. Several 
 of the children had only lately begun to 
 learn to mark, so it was settled that, of
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 11 
 
 course, 4hey must wait before beginning 
 to mark a white sampler. At last, with 
 the assistance of the schoolmistress, ten 
 girls were chosen ; the only ten who could 
 mark well ; and to them Miss Lucy gave 
 the samplers, with the silks to mark each. 
 Ellen Jones and Sarah Brown were 
 among the number. 
 
 Mrs. and Miss Stanley remained for a 
 short time while the children sang a 
 hymn, and then they went away; soon 
 after which the mistress dismissed the 
 children. Nothing was talked of all the 
 way home but Miss Lucy's samplers and 
 treat; and nearly every little girl went 
 home thinking that she would be the one 
 who would gain the prize. When Sarah 
 reached her father's house she found one 
 of her little sisters at the door waiting for 
 her. The child, who could not yet talk, 
 pulled her by her frock into the house. 
 
 " Come in, Sally," cried her father, 
 " come in, my child ; and thank you with 
 all my heart."
 
 12 PTTT/RN AND SARAH ; OR, 
 
 " What for, father ?" asked S*rah, sur- 
 prised. 
 
 " What for, child ? why, for my shirts 
 that have been made so neatly, and, as 
 mother says, all made by you. And now, 
 see what I have bought for you in town 
 this afternoon a reward for your trouble, 
 my good little daughter." 
 
 Sarah was indeed astonished when she 
 saw a warm woolen shawl which her 
 father had brought home ; and, as she 
 kissed and thanked him, she felt that Mrs. 
 Stanley was right in bidding her try to 
 help her parents. She felt rewarded for 
 the long, heavy hours she had spent in 
 making the shirts; and she found that 
 duty well performed will bring its own 
 reward. At that minute she would not 
 liave changed places with any girl in Rose- 
 dale School. After a short time, however, 
 she began to look less cheerful, and her 
 mother asked her what was the matter. 
 
 Sarah told her what Miss Stanley had 
 said, and then showed her sampler. "But,
 
 13 
 
 mother," she added, " it is of no use for 
 me to try, for I am sure that I shajl never 
 be able to gain the prize ; I can hardly 
 spell at all." 
 
 " JSTever mind," replied Mrs. Brown ; 
 " do your best, and I have no doubt that 
 your sampler will be one of the nicest 
 when it is finished." 
 
 Sarah was cheered by what her mother 
 said ; and she made up her mind to try 
 and spell the words of the hymn quite 
 right. It was now time to put the children 
 to bed ; so Sarah wrapped her sampler up 
 carefully in a clean cloth, and laid it by 
 in a drawer. She then went up stairs with 
 the little ones, and did not come down 
 again until they were in bed, and all their 
 clothes neatly folded up. 
 
 But we must now hear what Ellen said 
 when she got home. She found her 
 mother busy finishing some work that was 
 to be taken home the next day ; but not 
 too busy to look at the sampler, and heai 
 of Mrs. and Miss Stanley's kindness.
 
 14: ELLHTOITD 
 
 SARAH ; OB, 
 
 "I wonder what the prize will be, 
 mother, " said Ellen ; " one thing I am sure 
 of, that I shall get it, whatever it may be." 
 
 " Why ?" asked the widow. 
 
 "Because I do not think any of the 
 girls mark half as well as I do ; and then, 
 as they are to mark the verse of a hymn, 
 I do not believe they will be able to spell 
 it right." 
 
 ""Who are the other girls?" inquired 
 her mother. 
 
 " Sarah is one, and you know she can- 
 not read at all well ; then there is Anne 
 Roberts, she perhaps may go near to get 
 the prize; and Martha Phillips works 
 pretty well, but her sister can mark but 
 very little ; no more can Jane and Mary 
 Price, nor the three Longs." 
 
 " I thought," answered" Mrs. Jones, 
 " that Margaret Long could work very 
 neatly and read very well. It is not long 
 ago that her aunt, who keeps the dry- 
 goods store, said that she would take 
 her to live with her, to help keep her
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 15 
 
 accounts and look after the store, only she 
 wished her to write a little better first." 
 
 "Yes, so she did," said Ellen; "but 
 still I think I shall get the prize." 
 
 " I am afraid, Ellen," said her mother, 
 " that you have too high thoughts of what 
 you can do. By what you say of your- 
 self, one would think you could .do every- 
 thing better than any one else, instead of 
 being a little girl who has much to learn, 
 and who cannot yet do anything well. If 
 you do not take care^ Ellen, your vanity 
 will lead you into trouble." 
 
 " But, indeed, mother, I am not vain." 
 
 " What is it but vanity, when I see you 
 every day looking in the glass, while you 
 put your shawl first this way, then that ? 
 What but vanity makes you ask contin- 
 ually for gay ribbons and fine dresses, 
 which are quite unsuited to your station ? 
 What but vanity makes you think your- 
 self so much above Sarah? And what 
 but vanity now makes you feel so sure of 
 doing better than anybody else ? Ellen,
 
 16 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OR, 
 
 Ellen, look at your actions, and you wjll 
 soon see that there is a great deal of vanity 
 in your heart." 
 
 Ellen was vexed. She did not like to 
 be told of her faults, even by her mother ; 
 but she could not help feeling that there 
 was truth in what her mother had said ; 
 and that evening, when, after reading a 
 chapter in the Bible, Mrs. Jones talked to 
 her of the sin of vanity, and how hateful 
 it is in the sight of God, the little girl 
 resolved to try and overcome this great 
 fault. Alas ! she forgot her own weakness, 
 and forgot, also, to ask God, for Jesus 
 Christ's sake, to help her; therefore, as 
 we shall see, she failed ; and her vanity 
 led her into more sorrow than it had yet 
 done. 
 
 The children worked at their samplers ; 
 and as Miss Lucy's birthday drew near, 
 the treat was talked of more than ever. 
 At last the day arrived. The sun shone 
 brightly, and the sky was clear. Mrs. 
 Brown, who loved her useful daughter
 
 THE SAMPLERS. IT 
 
 very much, had newly trimmed her bon- 
 net with a neat dark ribbon, and had 
 washed a cotton dress for her, so that with 
 her new shawl Sarah looked very tidy and 
 nice. She thanked her mother; kissed 
 her and the children; and ran away to 
 caL for her cousin. Her little sister Jane 
 cried to go with her, and Sarah ran back 
 to kiss the little child again, and left her 
 smiling at the thoughts of the pretty nose- 
 gay she promised to gather for her. 
 
 The evening before, Sarah had shown 
 her sampler to her father and mother; 
 they thought it very well marked, and her 
 mother said she was nearly sure Sarah 
 must get the prize. The verse marked on 
 her sampler was this : 
 
 " Lord, I have pass'd another day, 
 
 And come to thank thee for thy care ; 
 Forgive my faults, in work and play, 
 And listen to my evening prayer." 
 
 Sarah was pleased that her father and 
 mother should think her sampler so pretty, 
 for she had had a great deal of trouble 
 with it, as she had had to look in her 
 
 2
 
 18 ELLEN AND SARAH J OK, 
 
 Testament to see liow most of the words 
 were spelled before she conld mark them. 
 
 When Sarah reached her Aunt Jones's 
 house she found Ellen not yet dressed, and 
 looking rather sulky. As she came in at 
 the door, she heard her aunt say, " I can- 
 not help it, Ellen ; I will not allow you to 
 wear clothes unfit for your station, and I 
 hope Mrs. Willis will not give you such 
 things again." 
 
 " I cannot go in my old bonnet, mother ; 
 it is so shabby," replied Ellen. " I trim- 
 med this last night on purpose to wear to- 
 day ; and I think it is very hard that you 
 will not let me have it." 
 
 Mrs. Jones now saw Sarah, and Ellen 
 asked her cousin if she did not think her 
 bonnet very pretty. 
 
 " You are a neat little girl, Sarah," said 
 her aunt, before the child had time to 
 answer her cousin; "you-look very neat; 
 and I wish Ellen would be contented to 
 be the same." 
 
 "Look, Sarah," said Ellen; "mother
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 19 
 
 wants me to put on that shabby old thing, 
 when I have got this bonnet so prettily 
 trimmed." 
 
 "It is nearly half past two," said Mrs. 
 Jones ; " and if you are not quick, Sarah 
 cannot wait for you. Once for all, you 
 shall not wear this gay ribbon ; and if you 
 do not like to put on your other bonnet, 
 you may stay at home. I will not give in 
 to you in this. It was only vanity that 
 made you take off a good plain ribbon for 
 this; so now you must suffer for your 
 vanity. Put this on at once, and go with 
 Sarah ; or stay at home and lose the treat." 
 
 So saying, Mrs. Jones took the gayly- 
 trimmed bonnet up stairs. Perhaps some 
 little girls will think Ellen's mother un- 
 kind ; but if they could know the evil of 
 vanity they would think her very kind 
 indeed. Gay dress, such as Ellen wished 
 for, was most improper ; and so far from 
 admiring it, both Mr. and Mrs. Stanley, 
 and.every other well-j udging person, would 
 have pitied Ellen for trying to copy
 
 20 ELLEN AND SARAH J OB, 
 
 wealthy people ; so that she would have 
 lost the good opinion of those people whom 
 she most wished to please. Mrs. Jones 
 knew both the sin and the danger of vanity, 
 and she often thought of her child's fail- 
 ing, and prayed that God would make 
 Ellen see her folly and sin, and teach her 
 to seek for " the ornament of a meek and 
 quiet spirit, which is in his sight of great 
 price." 
 
 Ellen was obliged to go in her old bon- 
 net, which, though tidy enough, was very 
 brown and shabby. She was rather out 
 of humor at first, but soon recovered her 
 good temper, and she and Sarah talked of 
 the pleasures of the afternoon. 
 
 " I wonder who will get the prize ?" said 
 Sarah, as they got near the parsonage. 
 
 " So do I," said Ellen ; " who do you 
 think, Sarah?" 
 
 They were now joined by several of 
 their companions, and everybody was 
 asking the same question. 
 
 " I should think you would, Margaret,"
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 21 
 
 said Sarah to a tall girl near her. "Yon 
 work so nicely." 
 
 " But," said Margaret, " I have had so 
 little time that I was obliged at last to 
 hurry with my sampler, and it is not so 
 nicely done as it might be." 
 
 "Perhaps Annie will get it," said Jane 
 Price. 
 
 " Not she," answered Ellen ; " she can- 
 not work at all well ; besides, she is such 
 a poor, sickly girl, she is hardly ever able 
 to come to school three days together, so 
 that she has not learned much." 
 
 " I hope, though, that she may get the 
 prize," said Jane. " I arn sure I shall 
 not ; and I would rather Annie or Sarah 
 did than any other of you." 
 
 " Sarah ! Sarah get the prize !" ex- 
 claimed Ellen ; " that is too good. No, 
 indeed, Miss Jane, I should be more 
 likely to get it, I think." 
 
 Sarah felt hurt; she knew that it was 
 not her fault that she was backward, and 
 the discontent she had so often felt at hei
 
 22 ELLEN AN-D SARAH ; OK, 
 
 lot was returning; but the party had 
 reached the parsonage, and as the two 
 Misses Stanley were seen coming toward 
 them, the conversation dropped. 
 
 The young ladies took the children into 
 the garden, and showed them their seats. 
 Each little girl's name was written on a 
 slip of paper, which was put into her 
 plate, so that there was no confusion. 
 Besides the children from the Eosedale 
 School, there were about forty from a 
 neighboring school in which Mr. Stanley 
 took an interest, so that altogether there 
 was a large party. When the children 
 had taken their places, Mr. Stanley said 
 grace ; and then cake, fruit, and tea were 
 handed round. All the time of tea Ellen 
 was uncomfortable. She fancied, like most 
 vain people, that every one was looking 
 at her ; and she said to herself more than 
 once, " I have a great mind to tell Miss 
 Lucy that I have got a nice, pretty bonnet 
 at home ; she must wonder to see me in 
 this."
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 23 
 
 Now, it so happened, that Miss lucy 
 did not notice what Ellen had on, for she 
 was busy during great part of the time in 
 trying to arrange a comfortable seat for a 
 poor little cripple, who had been brought 
 by two elder sisters ; and during the rest 
 of the time she was taking care of a row 
 of little girls who were standing at a low 
 bench to eat their share of the feast. 
 
 After tea the children were assembled 
 on the grass ; and Mr. Stanley said a few 
 words to them about the faults he had 
 had to complain of lately in their conduct, 
 and then noticed the improvements he 
 had observed. He told them that they 
 must remember that no schooling would 
 do them real good unless they tried to 
 practice what they learned. He then 
 reminded them that God knew their 
 thoughts, and could always see their 
 hearts ; and that they could not deceive 
 Him, though they might deceive man ; 
 and, he said, he particularly wished them 
 to remember this, because he knew that
 
 24 ELLEN AND SARAVr , OS, 
 
 some of the children (he would not men- 
 tion their names) had been very sly 
 lately. He then bid them remember their 
 own weakness, and told them to pray to 
 God for help to do and think what was 
 right ; and when he had given them some 
 more good advice, he told the ten little 
 girls who had had samplers to bring them 
 to Miss Lucy. 
 
 - Ellen looked round her with triumph. 
 " Now for my present !" said she to 
 herself. 
 
 Miss Lucy unfolded the samplers, and 
 showed them to her parents and sister. 
 
 " This, I think, looks best done, Lucy," 
 said Miss Stanley, showing one to her 
 sister. 
 
 "So I thought, Jane," replied Miss 
 Lucy ; " but look, here is another quite 
 as nicely done." 
 
 "Whose is this?" asked Mr. Stanley, 
 holding one up. 
 
 " That belongs to Ellen Jones," was the
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 25 
 
 Ellen looked round at her companions 
 Now, who would have the prize ? Who 
 was right? 
 
 At last Miss Stanley said to her sister, 
 " Well, Lucy, I have a prize that will do 
 for one ; so suppose we give presents for 
 the two best samplers, for really it is not 
 possible to decide between these two." 
 
 The young ladies then said something 
 in a low voice to their father and mother, 
 after which Miss Stanley went in doors. 
 In a few minutes she returned, followed 
 by a servant carrying two parcels. 
 
 Every eye was fixed on the parcels, as 
 Miss Stanley and Miss Lucy untied them ; 
 and each girl longed to find that one prize 
 was for her. 
 
 " I shall put aside," said Mrs. Stanley, 
 11 those samplers which are marked by the 
 girls of the second class, as, excepting one, 
 they are not well done ; and the little girls 
 who marked them shall have another trial 
 among themselves." 
 
 Four samplers were given back, and tho
 
 20 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OR, 
 
 children were told that they should try 
 again at Christmas. Six were left. 
 
 " Anne Roberts," said Mrs. Stanley to 
 a very delicate-looking girl, "your sampler 
 is one of the two best, and Miss Lucy 
 wishes to give her present to you." 
 
 " I will read the verse marked on it 
 before Anne takes it back," said Mr. Stan- 
 ley, " and a very pretty verse it is. It 
 begins : 
 
 " ' Thou, God, seest me/ 
 
 Abide with me from morn till eve, 
 For without thce I cannot live ; 
 Abide with me when night is nigh, 
 For without thee I dare not die." 
 
 Miss Lucy then gave Anne a very nice / 
 strongly-bound Bible and Hymn Book; 
 and the clergyman said : " May this holy 
 word be a light to your feet, and a lamp 
 to your paths, and God grant, that by 
 dayly study of his word, with prayer for 
 his Spirit to help you, you may be enabled 
 to walk in his ways. May the holy 
 Scripture be your comfort in sickness, and
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 27 
 
 your guide in health ; and may yon ever 
 live according to its rules." 
 
 Anne thanked Miss Lucy and the kind 
 clergyman ; and, dropping a courtesy, she 
 went back to her place. 
 
 " Sarah Brown" was the next name, to 
 the great surprise and delight of the little 
 girl, who had not at all expected such good 
 fortune. 
 
 " Sarah Brown, Miss Stanley has chosen 
 your sampler as equally well done with 
 Anne's," said Mrs. Stanley ; " and I am 
 very much pleased that it should be so, 
 for it shows that you try to make the best 
 use of the instruction which has been 
 given you." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Mr. Stanley, " it 
 does ; and I am very glad to see a quiet, 
 industrious little girl rewarded." He then 
 read the verse which I have already given 
 my readers from Sarah's sampler ; and, as 
 Miss Stanley gave her a handsome work- 
 box, well filled with needles, cotton, thim- 
 ble, scissors, and everything a complete
 
 28 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OR, 
 
 workwoman could want,* he said: "This 
 will be a useful present to you, Sarah, as 
 you have a great deal of work to do at 
 home. While you use it your thoughts 
 may be employed ; and if you ever feel 
 inclined to murmur at being kept in doors 
 when your companions are at play, let the 
 thought that you are helping your mother, 
 who works so early and late for you all, 
 encourage you. By cheerful good temper 
 you may try to set a good example to the 
 little children who depend so much on you. 
 Above all, do not neglect morning and 
 evening to offer up your prayers to God, 
 begging him to forgive you where you 
 have thought or done wrong, and asking 
 him for grace to enable you to fulfill your 
 duty in that state of life to which it hath 
 pleased him to call you. And now," con- 
 tinued Mr. Stanley, " for my present. I 
 shall have each of these samplers framed; 
 and I hope that the little girls to whom 
 they belong will hang them in their bed- 
 
 See Frontispiece.
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 29 
 
 rooms, and every day repeat the verses 
 marked on them." 
 
 Poor Ellen Jones felt mortified ; her 
 vanity had received a severe blow; and 
 she whispered to Margaret Long, " I am 
 sure I ought to have had a prize long 
 before that stupid Sarah." 
 
 Mrs. Stanley heard the whisper, and, 
 calling Ellen aside, she talked to her for 
 some minutes about her fault of vanity. 
 " Look at your sampler," said she ; " you 
 know that you can mark very nicely ; how 
 is it, then, that threads are missed, stitches 
 wanting, and words crooked? Is it not 
 because you were so vain as to think that 
 you, without giving any trouble to your 
 work, could do it as well as others who 
 bestowed time and labor upon it ?" 
 
 Ellen could not deny what was so true. 
 "I am very sorry for you," said Mrs. 
 Stanley ; " and very sorry, too, for your 
 mother, who will feel the disappointment. 
 But, my child, if this day's sorrow should 
 help you to cure yourself of the sin of
 
 30 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OE, 
 
 vanity, you will never have reason to 
 regret that you lost the prize. I shall give 
 you your sampler, in the hopes that the 
 sight of it may sometimes check you when 
 you are inclined to be vain. But now, go 
 and play with your companions, and we 
 will 'talk more of this another day." 
 
 The afternoon was a very happy one ; 
 and when the games were over the chil 
 dren all sang a hymn ; after which kind 
 Mr. and Mrs. Stanley divided the remains 
 of the feast among those children who 
 had little brothers and sisters at home, 
 that those who were too young to be pres- 
 ent might still have some pleasure by 
 which to remember Miss Lucy's birthday. 
 
 Sarah's little twin sisters, who were only 
 three years old, were delighted to see her, 
 and thought her very kind to bring them 
 home cake. Her joy, too, was very grea 
 in being able to show her prize ; and she 
 felt more than usually happy when her 
 parents kissed her, and said it was a com- 
 fort to them to have such a daughter,
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 31 
 
 When she went to her bedroom that night 
 she prayed to God to make her contented, 
 and to enable her to keep the good reso- 
 lutions sbe had formed of trying to do as 
 Mr. Stanley had advised her. She thought 
 of her cousin, and felt for her ; and she 
 made up her mind to go and see her the 
 next morning before breakfast, and tell 
 her that she heard both the young ladies 
 say that Ellen's sampler had the prettiest 
 border round it of any. 
 
 Ellen had a sad tale to take home after 
 all her boasting. Mrs. Jones, of course, 
 was sorry and disappointed ; but she hoped 
 that Ellen might now see how wrong she 
 had been in many little things of late. 
 Poor Ellen cried very much ; but, happily,' 
 the event of this day had a better effect 
 than mere crying, for the first thing she did 
 the next morning was to take off the gay 
 ribbon from her bonnet, and put in its place 
 the plain one she had despised before. In 
 many other ways Mrs. Jones found that 
 her dear child was trying to overcome her
 
 32 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OK, 
 
 fault ; and whenever Ellen was inclined to 
 be vain, if her mother did but mention the 
 sampler, she would check herself. 
 
 Perhaps, at some future time, we may 
 hear how Ellen and Sarah went on as 
 they grew older ; for the present we will 
 take leave of them. And may all who 
 read this little story remember, that " God 
 resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to 
 the lowly !" 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Six years passed after the first treat at 
 Rosedale parsonage ; and every year Miss 
 Lucy Stanley's birthday had been kept in 
 the same way. It now came round again : 
 but the party was a very different one 
 from the first. Miss Stanley had been 
 married some five years before to a Mr. 
 Douglas, and was. now present with her 
 husband and two little children. Mar-
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 33 
 
 garet Long, and many others of the older 
 girls, had left home, and gone to service ; 
 and now the little sisters, to whom six 
 years before they had taken home cake 
 and fruit, were playing in their places. 
 Six years had brought joy to some; sor- 
 row to others. 
 
 Among the latter was Anne Roberts, 
 the pale, delicate girl who had gained the 
 first prize for marking. She had become 
 an orphan ; and, amid the deepest grief 
 for the loss of her fond parents, she had 
 many anxious thoughts as to what she 
 could do to get a living for herself. George 
 Brown and his wife were very sorry for 
 the poor girl ; but they were not contented, 
 like too many people, with being sorry 
 only; they directly began to think how 
 they could help her. On the evening after 
 Mrs. Roberta's death they talked over 
 different plans they had been thinking of. 
 Sarah had been with Anne all day; for 
 dhe had not yet been able to find a regular 
 place that her parents liked. She came in
 
 34 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OR, 
 
 for a few minutes on her way back from 
 the shop where she had been to buy some 
 tea and sugar for Anne. 
 
 " What do you think can be done for 
 the poor child, Sarah ?" asked her father. 
 
 "I have been thinking, father "' said 
 Sarah, in a timid voice; and here she 
 stopped. 
 
 " "What have you been thinking, child ? 
 Come, speak up ; I'm sure you need not be 
 ashamed." 
 
 " I have been thinking," continued 
 Sarah, " that if you and mother would let 
 Annie come and live with you, we could 
 all help to make her happy ; and then, 
 when I go out to work, which I hope I 
 shall soon do, I could help to pay for her." 
 
 " A good thought, and like my Sally !" 
 said her father. 
 
 " Very good," replied her mother; "it 
 will be hard if we cannot among us do 
 something for her, poor child !" 
 
 "And now, as you were the first to 
 think of it, you shall go down and tell
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 35 
 
 Annie yourself about it," said George 
 Brown. 
 
 Sarah ran off delighted. She had 
 thought very often of poor Anne ; and the 
 words of our blessed Saviour had more 
 than once come into her mind, " Whatso- 
 ever ye would that men should do unto 
 you, even so do ye also unto them." She 
 thought how forlorn she should feel, if left, 
 as Anne was, alone in the world and help- 
 less ; and she made up her mind that she 
 would ask her parents' consent to her plan. 
 Something like it had occurred to Brown 
 and his wife, just as Sarah came into the 
 cottage ; and when she proposed it they 
 were quite ready to agree. 
 
 And here it would be well to observe 
 what a good use Sarah was making of the 
 instruction she had had. Mrs. Stanley's 
 advice to her, to try to perform her duties 
 faithfully, and not . to murmur at her lot 
 in life, but rather to be thankful for the 
 blessings she enjoyed, had made a deep 
 impression upon her, and had had the good
 
 36 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OK, 
 
 effect -of leading her to think every night 
 over her conduct during the day. While 
 she prayed to God for his Spirit to enable 
 her to walk in the right path, she also set 
 herself sincerely to work to do her best. 
 She tried to profit by what she daily read 
 in the Bible, and she really wished to 
 make it the rule o,her life. 
 
 Thus, although she very likely could not 
 talk so well about religion as many little 
 girls could, she had more wish to practice 
 it ; and did really practice it far more than 
 most great talkers. A great many grown- 
 up people, as well as little girls, fall into 
 the mistake of thinking that they are re- 
 ligious because they know a great many 
 texts and hymns, and can talk well, and 
 they fancy that nothing more is neces- 
 sary ; but such persons forget our Saviour's 
 words, that "the tree is known by its 
 fruits /" and that, in the same way, real 
 religion shows itself in actions, and not in 
 <vords only. 
 
 Sarah had naturally a high temper, and
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 37 
 
 this temper led her often to do and say 
 what was wrong ; but since she had begun 
 to think more, and to try more to do what 
 she knew to be right, she had struggled to 
 overcome this fault. It would still often 
 break out, and lead her into trouble ; but 
 now she was sorry when this happened ; 
 and, instead of wishing always to make 
 out that she had been right, she would 
 confess herself in the wrong, 
 
 Sarah, as I said before, was delighted 
 to find that her father and mother would 
 agree to her plan for Anne Roberts ; and, 
 when she got back to Anne, she told her 
 of what they had been talking. But Sarah 
 had more trouble in making Anne come 
 to her father's house than she had had in 
 getting her parents to receive her. Anne 
 said that she was afraid she should be a 
 burden to them ; for she could not earn 
 enough to pay them. She was very grate- 
 ful to them for their kindness ; but she did 
 not like to live upon them when they had 
 such a large family to keep, and Sarah
 
 38 ELLEN AND SARAH; OR, 
 
 had not as yet heard of a .place. Sarah 
 talked to Anne for a long time, till at last 
 Anne said that she would come, and that 
 she would do her best to be of use to her 
 kind friends. The day after her mother's 
 funeral Mrs. Brown took the poor> forlorn 
 girl to her own house, which, from that 
 time', became Anne's home. 
 
 Anne could plait straw very nicely ; and 
 this plait she was able sometimes to sell 
 at Belford. Besides this, she could work 
 very well, so that she managed to gain a 
 small sum now and then, and was often of 
 great help to Mrs. Brown. Still, George 
 Brown and his wife were very anxious 
 that Sarah should meet with a place, as 
 it was necessary she should do something 
 to help her parents, especially now that 
 Anne was added to the family. 
 
 It has been said before that Miss Lucy 
 Stanley's birthday had come round again, 
 and that her sister, Mrs. Douglas, was on 
 a visit at the parsonage. 
 
 Late in the evening a message came to
 
 THE SAMPLERS 39 
 
 say that Mrs. Stanley wished to see Mrs. 
 Brown, so Mrs. Brown walked up to the 
 parsonage, and did not return for some 
 time. When she came back she told 
 Sarah that Mrs. Douglas wished to speak 
 to her in the morning, and that she 
 was kind enough to say she would take 
 Sarah into her service. Sarah was very 
 much pleased. She had been much 
 attached to Miss Stanley, and would 
 rather, she said, live with her than with 
 any one else. 
 
 The next morning she dressed herself 
 neatly, and went up to the parsonage. In 
 another fortnight she had wished her father 
 and mother "good-by," and had leftRose- 
 dale with Mr. and Mrs. Douglas. 
 
 But what had become of Ellen Jones all 
 this time ? 
 
 Mrs. Jones had, about a year before 
 this, heard of a place for her child. It 
 was as housemaid to a widow lady, who, 
 with her two daughters, lived in a small 
 town about fifteen miles from Rosedale.
 
 40 ELLEN AND SAKAH ; OK, 
 
 This lady had known Mrs. Jones some 
 years before, but had lost sight of her, and 
 only heard of her again through a lady 
 for whom Mrs. Jones had been doing some 
 plain work. When good Mrs. Seymour 
 was told that Jane Jones was a widow, 
 and living at Rosedale, she drove over to 
 see her, and asked her what she could do 
 for her. Mrs. Jones was very much pleased 
 to see so kind a friend, and, encouraged 
 by Mrs. Seymours manner, she said that 
 her greatest anxiety was about her child. 
 Mrs. Seymour asked to see Ellen, and then 
 offered to take her into her service. Poor 
 Mrs. Jones was most thankful ; for, with 
 Ellen's vanity, she felt it was of great 
 importance for her to meet with a mistress 
 who would take the trouble to check it. 
 
 Before Ellen left home her mother spoke 
 to her very gravely. She told her that 
 now that she was going to service, where 
 she could no longer always have some one 
 to warii her when she was tempted to be 
 vain, it was the more necessary that she
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 41 
 
 should learn to watch herself. Mrs. Jones 
 gave her much advice as to her conduct, 
 and Ellen promised that she would try to 
 follow it. She meant what she said ; but 
 Ellen's resolutions, like those of many 
 other people, were quickly made, and 
 almost as quickly broken. 
 
 The next morning, after the first grief 
 of parting with her mother was a little 
 gone off, she began to think of how Mrs. 
 Seymour would like her bonnet, and what 
 the cook would think of her, and whether 
 the youn^ ladies would think her prettier 
 than the last housemaid. Then she put 
 her shawl on afresh, an v d pulled her cap a 
 little more forward, and did many other 
 things to make herself look pretty. 
 
 While she was doing this, she began to 
 wish that her mother would allow her to 
 wear finer clothes ; then she thought that 
 she should now soon have money of her 
 own, and she could do as she liked with 
 that. But at this moment she happily 
 remembered that her mother was very
 
 4:2 ELLEN AND 8AKAH J OR, 
 
 much in want of a warm cloak ; and with 
 her mother and the cloak came thoughts 
 of home, then of the sampler in her little 
 bedroom, and Ellen could hardly help 
 crying. She recollected, too, what her 
 mother had said to her about vanity, and 
 felt sorry and ashamed that she should 
 already have given way to it ; so for this 
 time her fault was checked ; and during 
 the first month that she was in service it 
 did not show itself in any way that could 
 lead her into trouble. She had enough to 
 do to learn her work during the*day. and 
 was too tired at night to be able to think 
 of herself. But after a time she began to 
 fancy she knew how to do everything 
 well, and she did not like to be found 
 fault with ; neither would she ever ask for 
 advice. 
 
 It happened one day that the young 
 ladies were going to spend the evening 
 with a friend, and, after breakfast, Mrs. 
 Seymour told Ellen to iron their muslin 
 dresses. Ellen took them down stairs,
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 43 
 
 and the cook asked her if she could help 
 her. 
 
 " JSTo, thank you," said Ellen, " I can do 
 them very well." 
 
 "I will help you willingly, if you like," 
 said the cook. "The young ladies are 
 very particular, and, perhaps, you have 
 not been much used to this sort of work." 
 
 " It would be very strange if I could 
 not do such an easy thing as this," replied 
 Ellen, coloring with vexation. 
 
 "Very well," answered the cook, "if 
 3pu do not wish for help, I have plenty 
 to do, and cannot spare time for talking." 
 
 So away went the cook ; and Ellen, full 
 of herself and what she could do, began 
 to iron the dresses. 
 
 She had never been used to ironing, for 
 her mother had generally given her some 
 of the needlework to do, and, therefore, 
 she did not know very well how to set 
 about her task. However, having refused 
 the cook's help, she would not humble 
 herself to ask it now. She got on pretty
 
 44 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OB, 
 
 well at first, but soon her thoughts began 
 to wander to the ribbons and powers she 
 had seen in a shop window in the town 
 one day, when she had been sent on a 
 message. When the cook returned, in 
 about a quarter of an hour, she smelled 
 something burning, and, on looking to 
 see what it could be, she found that Ellen 
 was burning Miss Seymour's dress with 
 too hot an iron. 
 
 " There's a nice piece of work !" she 
 exclaimed ; " what is to be done now?" 
 
 Ellen started : her thoughts were in M& 
 Smith's shop. 
 
 " What ?" she said. 
 
 " What, indeed ! Look at the hole, you 
 careless girl ! That is just like you: too 
 vain to take help, and too foolish to be 
 able to do for yourself. Here's a pretty 
 business !" 
 
 "I'm sure I did not mean any harm," 
 returned Ellen. "Mother always makes 
 her irons hot ; I've seen them red-hot 
 numbers of times."
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 45 
 
 " I dare say ; but she takes good care 
 not to burn the clothes, I warrant you. 
 And look here! you have blacked the 
 whole of one sleeve for want of wiping 
 your iron." 
 
 "What can I do?" said Ellen. "I never 
 can take this up stairs ; do tell me what to 
 do." 
 
 " I do not know, indeed," answered the 
 cook : " you must do the best you can. 
 You had better go and tell the young la- 
 dies what you have done." 
 
 " Will you go for me?" said Ellen ; "/ 
 cannot go ; do go for me." 
 
 " No," said the cook, " I shall not go. 
 Go yourself. It will be a lesson to you 
 for the time to come. You were thinking 
 of yourself, or of some such vanity, and 
 now you must suffer for it. I dare say you 
 think I am very unkind," she added, as 
 the tears rose to Ellen's eyes, "but you 
 will find out, when you get older, that 
 it is the kindest thing I can do to make 
 you suffer for your fault now. So make
 
 4:6 ELLEN AND 8ABAH ; OR, 
 
 haste, and go directly with the dress to the 
 drawing-room." 
 
 The cook was so decided that Ellen 
 found she must go ; and, with a beating 
 heart, she knocked at the drawing-room 
 door. Mrs. Seymour told her to come in ; 
 and in she went with the dress in her 
 hand. As may be supposed, her mistress 
 was very much displeased ; the more so, 
 because, as she crossed the hall in the 
 morning, she had heard the cook offer to 
 help Ellen. Mrs. Seymour kept Ellen for 
 some minutes, and spoke to her very 
 plainly about her vanity ; adding, as she 
 sent her away, " But I fear, Ellen, that 
 you will never be cured of it till it has 
 brought you to worse trouble than this." 
 
 For some time things went on pretty 
 well. The burned dress served as a warn- 
 ing; and, for a few weeks, Ellen was on 
 her guard. 
 
 Meanwhile, Sarah was learning her 
 duties as nursery-maid. She did not find 
 it so easy as she expected. There were
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 4:7 
 
 many trials of her temper and patience, 
 and she found it very difficult to control 
 herself. Then, as she was not used to 
 have much to think of, she would some- 
 times forget what she was told to do ; 
 and, of course, the nurse found fault with 
 her for being careless. Then her temper 
 would rise, and she was tempted to an- 
 swer rudely. It was not often, however, 
 that she forgot herself and became saucy ; 
 and when she did, she was so truly sorry, 
 and so ready to confess her fault, that it 
 was willingly forgiven. 
 
 She was a great favorite witlj the chil- 
 dren, for she was always good-tempered 
 in playing with them, and ready to do 
 anything to amuse them. She was also 
 active and obliging, so that every one in 
 the house liked her. Even the nurse, 
 who had more trouble with her than any 
 one else, was fond of her, and said more 
 than once that she wished she might 
 always have as nice a girl under her. 
 Mrs. Douglas was very kind to Sarah ;
 
 4:8 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OR, 
 
 she would have her to read the Bible to 
 her very often, and took a great deal of 
 trouble to teach her what was right. 
 
 Sarah had not lived many months in 
 Mrs. Douglas's service, when she had a 
 letter one day from her mother, saying 
 that her father had had a kick from a 
 horse that he was shoeing, and that he 
 was very ill. The next day brought an- 
 other letter from Anne Roberts, to say 
 that he was dead, and her mother ill. 
 This was indeed a great grief to Sarah, 
 for she dearly loved her father. Mrs. 
 Douglas was very kind, and told her that 
 she should go home for a few days until 
 her mother should have got over the 
 shock. So Sarah went home ; and a 
 great comfort it was to her to have Anne 
 with her. 
 
 Poor Anne ! it was a pleasure to her to 
 have some way of returning the kindness 
 that she had received from the Browns. 
 She nursed Mrs. Brown, comforted Sarah, 
 n ml took care of the children, who were
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 49 
 
 as fond of her as if she were their sister. 
 Sarah remained at home for a fortnight ; 
 during which time the forge was sold to a 
 respectable young man in Rosedale, and 
 Mrs. Brown took a small house next to 
 the one in which her sister, Widow Jones, 
 lived. 
 
 Anne still lived with her, and earned 
 something toward their support. Indeed, 
 she was like another daughter to Mrs. 
 Brown; and, some years after, even the 
 offer of a share in a business, as straw- 
 bonnet maker, could not make her leave 
 her. Mrs. Brown had by that tim% got 
 all her children out in the world ; and 
 Anne said she would stay with her as 
 long as she lived. She took work from 
 the shop, and this, together with a little 
 money that George Brown and his wife 
 had saved in his lifetime, enabled them 
 to live comfortably. Mrs. Brown often 
 thanked God for his goodness in sending 
 her this faithful friend, while Anne also 
 was grateful to Him for giving her such
 
 50 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OK, 
 
 a home, and such a kind parent in the 
 place of her own. 
 
 How true are these sacred words: "He 
 that giveth unto the poor lendeth unto 
 the Lord ; and look, whatsoever he giveth, 
 it shall be paid unto him again !" There 
 are none so poor that they cannot assist 
 their neighbors in some way ; and, how- 
 ever trifling that assistance may be, let it 
 but be given, and given willingly, and it 
 will meet with its reward. 
 
 Sarah returned to her good mistress, 
 wishing more than ever to do well; and 
 she^)ften thought of Mrs. Stanley's advice 
 to her, some years before, to try and per- 
 form the duties belonging to the station 
 in which God had placed her, rather than 
 murmur because she had not the bless- 
 ings that some others had. 
 
 She now served Mrs. Douglas faithful- 
 ly, never wasting her time, or doing what 
 she knew her mistress would dislike. In- 
 deed, Mrs. Douglas was so pleased with 
 her, that when, after some years had
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 51 
 
 passed, the nurse married and left service, 
 she made Sarah nurse, which situation 
 she still holds, and is much respected and 
 beloved, by all who know her. She puts 
 by something every year from her wages, 
 by which she is able to help her mother ; 
 for though Anne Roberts has regular 
 work from the straw-shop at Belforcl, she 
 is very glad of a little help every year 
 toward paying the rent. 
 
 But to return to Ellen. Her vanity was 
 not yet cured. She still looked for the 
 praise of her neighbors as the chief good 
 she could have. Yet, to do her justice, 
 there were, times when she thought less 
 foolishly, and when she resolved to strive 
 against her fault. The mischief was, that 
 Ellen always tried in her own strength, 
 and, therefore, as might be expected, was 
 always failing. Her cousin Sarah, whom 
 she looked down upon as stupid, was 
 really the wiser of the two. She, with 
 humble consciousness of her own weak- 
 ness, always prayed for Divine help ; while
 
 52 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OR, 
 
 Ellen fancied she had only to try to be 
 sure of doing right. She could talk of 
 not being able of ourselves to do " any 
 good thing," but when she had done talk- 
 ing she had -done thinking. 
 
 One evening in the summer, Mrs. Sey- 
 mour, who was very kind to the poor, 
 wished to send some broth down to a 
 family, some of whom were sick. Her 
 daughters were away from home, and she 
 was not very well herself; she, therefore, 
 gave orders to the cook that the broth 
 should go down to the poor people, and 
 then went to lie down, saying that she did 
 not wish to be disturbed until she should 
 ring her bell. 
 
 The cottage was about a mile and a half 
 from the town, and as the cook knew the 
 way, she said that she would take the 
 broth, and charged Ellen to be attentive 
 to their mistress while she was gone. 
 
 The cook went away, and Ellen sat 
 down in the kitchen with her work, and 
 began to think how pleased her mother
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 53 
 
 would be to see her, for Mrs. Seymour had 
 promised her a week's holiday very soon, 
 to go home. Ellen was very fond of her 
 mother, and she had saved five dollars 
 from her wages, which she intended to 
 take home as a present. It had cost her 
 something to save this ; for whenever she 
 had any money the temptation to spend it 
 at Mr. Smith's shop, in ribbons and laces, 
 was great ; but Ellen's love for her mother 
 saved her from fine dress, although she 
 was fond of it. She had one day very 
 nearly bought a smart ribbon, but, just as 
 she was turning into the shop, she remem- 
 bered her mother's old worn-out cloak, and 
 the money was put back into her pocket, 
 and was part of the five dollars that she 
 now hoped so soon to take home. She sat 
 for some time fancying her mother's pleas- 
 ure and surprise on seeing her, what they 
 should talk of the first evening, and many 
 other things, when she heard her mistress's 
 bell ring. 
 
 She ran up stairs, and found Mrs. Sey
 
 54 ELLEN AND SABAH ; OK, 
 
 mour looking very poorly, and lying on 
 the sofa. 
 
 " Ellen," she said, " run down for a 
 glass, and give me some of that medicine 
 that Mr. Black sent." 
 
 Ellen soon returned, and was rather un- 
 easy to see her mistress nearly fainting. 
 But she was a quick, active girl, and made 
 up her mind to do her best till the cook 
 should come home. 
 
 " Can you read which is the right of 
 those two bottles ?" asked her mistress. 
 
 " O yes, ma'am," said Ellen, " I know 
 very well ; I have seen cook pour it out 
 before now." 
 
 " Be sure you look, or bring the bottle 
 here for me to see." 
 
 Ellen was vexed that her mistress should 
 doubt her. However, she was obliged to 
 show the bottles. 
 
 " One teaspoonful," said Mrs. Seymour, 
 faintly, " in a little water." 
 
 But Ellen would not hear. " Did Mrs. 
 Seymour think she could not read ?" She
 
 THE MISTAKE.
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 57 
 
 was quite affronted, and said to herself 
 that Sjhe would show she knew how to 
 give medicine as well as anybody. She 
 came with the glass, and raised her mis- 
 tress up to drink the medicine. She then 
 sat down near her for some time, until she 
 heard the cook ring at the back door, 
 when she went "down to let her in. 
 
 " Mistress is but poorly," she said ; "but 
 I gave her her medicine, and she has gone 
 to sleep." 
 
 " Which did you give her ?" asked the 
 eook. 
 
 " Out of the small bottle," replied Ellen. 
 "Fancy! mistress thought I could not 
 read the name ; but I did, and all right 
 too." 
 
 " She was quite right," said the cook ; 
 " it does not do to play with doctor's stuff. 
 I have heard before now of people being 
 killed by mistakes with it." 
 
 " As if I should do such a thing !" said 
 Ellen. " Not I ; I can read the names on 
 the bottles with any one. Why, people
 
 58 ELLEN AND SARAH J OK, 
 
 who make such mistakes must be born 
 idiots !" 
 
 " Softly," said the cook. " I know some 
 one who has such great notions of herself 
 that I expect her conceit will have to come 
 down some day." 
 
 " Do you mean me ? Are you saying 
 that at me ?" asked Ellen. 
 
 "Come!" said the cook, "I do not want 
 to quarrel ; let us live in peace. All I 
 mean to say is, that it is a pity you always 
 think you know everything better than 
 any one else. You will find the evil of it 
 some day. But never mind now. Get a 
 tray, and a cup and saucer, and I will 
 take a cup of tea up to mistress." 
 
 The cook took the tea up stairs, but she 
 had hardly reached Mrs. Seymour's room 
 before the bell rang loudly. 
 
 Ellen went up. 
 
 "Kun off for Mr. Black this instant, 
 Ellen," cried the cook. " Mistress is very 
 ill, I am sure ; what can be the matter ?" 
 
 True enough. Mrs. Seymour was very
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 59 
 
 ill ; she was in a deep, heavy sleep, and 
 nothing would wake her. 
 
 Ellen flew to Mr. Black's house, and in 
 a very short time the doctor arrived, to 
 poor Mrs. Cook's joy. 
 
 He asked a great many questions as to 
 what her mistress had taken, and made 
 Ellen show him the medicine she had 
 given. All seemed right, till at last the 
 cook said, " How much did you give 
 her?" 
 
 " What you always give," said Ellen 
 " a tablespoonful." 
 
 " A tablespoonful ! that is it," said Mr. 
 Black, hastily ; " you have killed your 
 mistress." 
 
 Ellen was almost beside herself. The 
 only thing she could do was to fly about 
 here and there for what Mr. Black wanted.. 
 The horror of having, perhaps, caused the 
 death of her kind mistress was very great, 
 and how much greater when her vain boast- 
 ings came into her mind ! It was long be- 
 fore Mrs. Seymour shewed any signs of life.
 
 60 ELLEN AND 8ABAH ; OK, 
 
 All had been done that could be done ; 
 and at last she opened her eyes. Mr. 
 Black stayed all night ; and the cook and 
 Ellen sat up, to be ready to get anything 
 he might want. 
 
 "O! cook, what shall I do? where shall 
 I go ?" sobbed Ellen. " I wish I was dead, 
 or that I had never come here." 
 
 "Do not wish that," said the cook. 
 " You are not fit to die." 
 
 " Every one will hate me, and I shall 
 feel so wicked. O dear ! what shall I do ? 
 Send me home, cook ; do send me home." 
 
 " No," replied the cook gravely, " I 
 cannot let you go home. You must stay 
 till we see whether poor mistress will get 
 over it." 
 
 " Do not talk that way, cook, unless you 
 want to drive me mad. I shall die if" 
 
 The ringing of the bell stopped their 
 conversation. The cook went up to see 
 what was wanted, and soon came back, 
 saying that her mistress was better. But 
 Ellen could not be c^taforted. She could
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 61 
 
 not forgive herself ; and a kind message 
 from Mrs. Seymour only caused a fresh 
 burst of tears. The poor girl's agitation 
 was so great that it brought on a fever, 
 which laid her up for some weeks. 
 
 The young ladies came home as soon 
 as they heard of their mamma's illness, 
 and Miss Seymour was very good to 
 Ellen. As soon as Ellen began to get 
 better she would go and sit with her, and 
 talk kindly to her. One evening she ask- 
 ed her if she would like to see her mamma. 
 
 Ellen did not answer. 
 
 " Mamma told me she would come and 
 sit with you," said the young lady. " She 
 is a great deal better, and she has some- 
 thing to say to you ; but I begged her not 
 to come till I could tell you first." 
 
 " She must hate me : she will send me 
 away," said Ellen. 
 
 "No," replied Miss Seymour, "she does 
 not hate you. She is too good to hate any- 
 body, and you will feel happier when you 
 have seen her."
 
 62 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OR, 
 
 At this moment the door opened softly 
 and Mrs. Seymour came in. Her daughter 
 left the room, and Ellen once more found 
 herself alone with her mistress. Mrs. Sey- 
 mour was very kind more kind than 
 Ellen deserved. She asked how she was, 
 read a letter to her from her mother, which 
 had just come, and told her that she hoped 
 the next week that she would be able to 
 <go home for a change of air. Ellen burst 
 into tears, and begged Mrs. Seymour to 
 forgive her. 
 
 " I have long forgiven you, Ellen," said 
 her mistress. " You have suffered for 
 your fault ; and I trust that what you have 
 felt will be a warning to you for the time 
 to come. Let us thank God that the mis- 
 take was found out in time to save you 
 from even more sorrow." 
 
 Ellen then told her mistress that the 
 mistake was owing to her being vexed at 
 having to show the bottles. She thought 
 she knew very well what was to be done, 
 and she had not looked at the label of the
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 63 
 
 bottle. She confessed that she wished to 
 show that she knew how much to give ; 
 and so, full of herself and her own fancied 
 wisdom, she did in a moment of mortified 
 vanity what had brought weeks of sorrow. 
 Her mistress said that she would not then 
 talk much to her, as she was still so weak ; 
 but she told her to pray for a lowly spirit, 
 and she said that she hoped this would be 
 a lesson to her to think more humbly of 
 herself. She showed her how she had 
 given way to conceit and vanity in many 
 things, and also pointed out to her how 
 impossible it was for her to overcome these 
 faults without prayer to God for the aid of 
 his Holy Spirit. 
 
 "You have tried in your own strength, 
 Ellen." said Mrs. Seymour, "and have 
 failed. For the future, seek for strength 
 from God, and pray to him for grace to 
 walk humbly in his ways. Then your ef- 
 forts to do right will succeed, and may he 
 guide and bless you !" 
 
 Mrs. Seymour rose to leave the room,
 
 64 ELLEN AND SARAH ; OK, 
 
 and Ellen tried to thank her for all her 
 kindness, but she could not speak. In a 
 few days Mrs. Jones arrived to take her 
 daughter home, and Mrs. Seymour was 
 good enough to send them in her carriage, 
 lest Ellen should take cold on the journey. 
 She promised to take Ellen back as soon 
 as she should be quite well ; and thus, 
 though there was much to make Widow 
 Jones and her child grave and sad, they 
 were not so unhappy as they might have 
 been. 
 
 Ellen stayed at home for two months, 
 during which time the Misses Seymour 
 drove over more than once to see her, and 
 hear how she was getting on. 
 
 At the end of two months she returned 
 to her place an altered girl. To one who 
 had seen her before would have known 
 her again. She was not less merry, or less 
 quick ; but she was more thoughtful, more 
 humble, and less inclined to judge others 
 than she had been. She was neat and 
 clean in her dress, but never fine ; and
 
 THE SAMPLERS. 65 
 
 every year she sent something home to 
 her mother, either in money or clothes. 
 She was still often tempted to give way to 
 vanity and self-conceit, but she had learned 
 the right way of curing her fault, and it 
 was seldom that it broke out openly. 
 
 She has now lived with Mrs. Seymour 
 for many years, and will probably remain 
 hi her service until the death of her mis- 
 tress. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour often says that she can 
 hardly believe, when she looks at Ellen, 
 so neat, so thoughtful, and so willing to 
 be taught, that it can be the same Ellen 
 who, as a young girl, was so vain and 
 conceited. 
 
 Sarah and Ellen were both at Rosedale, 
 on Miss Lucy Stanley's birthday, about 
 two years ago. Mrs. Stanley sent word 
 to say that she should be glad to see them 
 both at the parsonage, and they went very 
 gladly. As they walked home in the 
 evening, they began to talk of the first 
 treat, and the samplers.
 
 66 ELLEN AND SARAH. 
 
 " I was very full of myself then, Sarah," 
 said Ellen, " and I hated you and poor 
 Annie for gaining the prizes." 
 
 "And I was discontented because I 
 could not read and write so well as you," 
 said Sarah. " So we both had our faults, 
 and I never look at my sampler without 
 feeling how wrong I was. But here we 
 are at home, Ellen; and I see Aunt Jones 
 with mother, so we will all have tea to- 
 gether, better friends, I hope, than on the 
 evening of the first treat at the parson- 
 age." 
 
 And now let me beg of my young 
 readers to find out what their besetting 
 sin is; whether vanity, discontent, or a 
 bad temper; and, while they try them- 
 selves to correct it, let them remember 
 that they must not do so in their own 
 strength, but must seek for that help from 
 God, which he will certainly give them if 
 they ask for it earnestly, with humble 
 prayer and faith in Jesus Christ their 
 Saviour.
 
 RACHEL CONFESSING HER DECEPTION. 
 
 See page 93.
 
 DECEITFUL RACHEL; 
 
 THE CUT SLEEVE. 
 
 Ellen rmd Surah. 5
 
 DECEITFUL RACHEL; 
 
 OK, 
 
 THE CUT SLEEYE. 
 
 ANY little girls who have read the story 
 of " Ellen and Sarah," and their samplers, 
 may perhaps like to know something of 
 some other of the children who went to 
 the Kosedale school. 
 
 There was a small hamlet about two 
 miles from Rosedale, called Islip ; and in 
 this hamlet lived several families whose 
 children went to the school at Rosedale. 
 It was too long a walk for the children to 
 come home to dinner ; so their mothers 
 generally gave them a cold dumpling or 
 n thick slice of bread and butter to take
 
 72 DECEITFUL RACHEL ; OB, 
 
 to school for their dinner ; and often, es- 
 pecially in the winter, Mrs. Stanley would 
 send them some broth or a rice pudding 
 from the parsonage. 
 
 Among these children from Islip were 
 two little girls who had been play-fellows 
 from the time they could run alone. Their 
 names were Rachel Munt and Jane Coop- 
 er. Rachel had two brothers, who went 
 to school at Rosedale, as well as herself. 
 Jane had one sister, who sometimes walked 
 to school with her, but the distance was 
 too great for little Mary to walk every 
 day. 
 
 Rachel and Jane were clean, well-be- 
 haved girls; and it was not until you 
 knew them well that you found out how 
 different they were. Rachel is the child 
 this story is to be about. She was a very 
 obliging, good-natured girl, and when 
 first she went to school everybody liked 
 her. But this did not last long : after a 
 time every one seemed afraid of her; 
 even Jane looked shyly at her.
 
 THE CUT SLEEVE. 73 
 
 Rachel had one fault, and a great fault 
 it was ; she never told the exact truth. 
 Sometimes, indeed, she would tell a down- 
 right falsehood ; sometimes she would do 
 what was as bad, let another child be 
 blamed for a fault she herself had com- 
 mitted; this was a falsehood in action. 
 At other times she would make false ex- 
 cuses; and, in fact, she had so many 
 ways of deceiving that no one could trust 
 her. 
 
 It was the custom at the Rosedale 
 school for one girl to remain behind at 
 twelve o'clock to sweep out the ' room 
 ready for afternoon school ; and if she 
 found any book or pencil left about, it was 
 her duty to put it by. When the room 
 was cleared, the children from Islip were 
 allowed to have their dinner in an outer 
 room close to the school-room. 
 
 It happened one day that the school- 
 mistress, old Mrs. Norris, had placed her 
 china slate upon the chimney-piece, in- 
 stead of putting it by in her cupboard as
 
 74: DECEITFUL RACHEL j OR, 
 
 usual. The reason of this was, that she 
 had written something upon it that she 
 wished to remember during afternoon 
 school ; and she thought that, if the china 
 slate were placed on the chimney-piece, 
 she should be sure not to forget. She 
 therefore put it there, and hung the 
 string of the slate over a brass-headed nail 
 at some distance up the wall, so that the 
 slate could not fall, and no one could take 
 it down without standing on a chair to 
 lift the string off the nail. 
 
 It was Jane Cooper's day to sweep out 
 the school-room ; and she had leave to go 
 home as soon as she had finished, because 
 her mother wanted her that afternoon. 
 Jane put everything in order, locked the 
 door, and placed the key on a shelf in the 
 outer room. This was the usual plan, for 
 the children were not allowed to play in 
 the inner school-room. 
 
 Mrs. Norris was a wise woman ; she 
 knew that if people are to resist tempta- 
 tion when they are grown up, they must
 
 THE CUT SLEEVE. T5 
 
 begin when they are young. So she al- 
 ways gave the girl whose business it was 
 to sweep out the school the charge of the 
 key during the dinner and play hour, with 
 strict orders not to enter the room herself, 
 nor allow any one else to do so. If the 
 girl had leave to go home before after- 
 noon school, the rule was that the key 
 should be put on a high shelf out of the 
 reach of the very little girls. It was not 
 often that Mrs. Norris found her order had 
 been disobeyed ; for even among the 
 worst behaved of the children there .was 
 a strong feeling about it. Each liked to 
 think that Mrs. ]STorris trusted her. 
 
 It so happened after Jane was gone 
 home on this day, that the Islip children, 
 having finished their dinner, went out to 
 play. They were soon joined by some of 
 the Rosedale children, and the little party 
 was a merry and a happy one. 
 
 "What shall we play at?" was the first 
 question. 
 
 " Let us play at that pretty new game
 
 76 DECEITFUL RACHEL; OR, 
 
 we played at the parsonage," said Ra- 
 chel ; "I should like it better than any 
 other." 
 
 " Or shall .we skip ?" said another girl. 
 
 "Or play hot-boiled beans?" asked a 
 third. 
 
 " Well," replied Rachel, with her usual 
 good-nature, " let us have the game that 
 most like. If you will all stand in a ring, 
 I will go round and ask what each will 
 choose. I am sure I don't care which 
 it is." 
 
 " No ! you are always so good-natured, 
 Rachel," was the general answer. 
 
 Hide-and-seek was the game chosen, and 
 it was settled that the eldest should hide 
 first. After a time Rachel's turn came. 
 She hid in a small closet in the outer 
 room, where the children always hung 
 their cloaks and bonnets. While there 
 she remembered that the key of the inner 
 room had been left on the shelf; and 
 thinking that the school-room would be a 
 safer hiding-place, she made up her mind
 
 THE CUT SLEEVE. 77 
 
 to try it. The next minute, however, she 
 heard voices in the outer room, so she 
 could not move ; but the little girls only- 
 looked round the room, and then ran out 
 to seek her in the play-ground. Rachel 
 now came out softly, took the key, un- 
 locked the door, locked herself into the 
 school-room, and crouched down in one 
 corner. She had hardly done so before 
 she heard two of her companions at the 
 cloak closet. 
 
 "Aha!" thought Eachel; "haven't I 
 puzzled you well !" 
 
 She looked up, and the china slate 
 caught her eye. 
 
 " What a nice little slate !" she said to 
 herself; "I will just take it down and 
 look at it." She jumped on a chair, took 
 down the slate, and tried to draw on it 
 with her slate-pencil. Finding that it 
 would not mark, she began to hunt for a 
 lead-pencil. While she was busy doing 
 so she heard voices near the window ; 
 and, fearful lest she should be seen, she
 
 78 DECEITFUL RACHEL; OK, 
 
 again crouched down on the floor. Then 
 she thought that she should not like to be 
 found in the school-room, and that .she 
 had better go back to the cloak closet. 
 
 She stood up again on the chair to put 
 the slate back in its place, but in her 
 hurry she forgot to put the string over the 
 nail; the slate slipped, fell into the fire- 
 place, and was broken to pieces. 
 
 " What shall I do ?" was Rachel's first 
 thought ; and, " Make haste back to the 
 closet !" the next. All was still ; so she un- 
 locked the door as softly as she could, put the 
 key back upon the shelf, and slipped into the 
 closet again. She had scarcely hid her- 
 self behind a cloak before she heard 
 voices. 
 
 "Rachel! Rachel! where are you? 
 we've looked everywhere, and can't find 
 you. We give up, so come out !" 
 
 This was repeated several times, and 
 Rachel ran into the play-ground. 
 
 " Where have you been ?" cried half a 
 dozen voices.
 
 THE CUT SLEEVE. 79 
 
 "In the cloak closet; how came you 
 not to find me, you silly girls?" 
 
 "We looked there, but I am sure you 
 weren't in it," said Jane Price and Mar- 
 garet Long. 
 
 "But I was," persisted Rachel; "and 
 you'd have found me, too, if you'd shakea 
 the cloaks well." 
 
 Margaret and Jane looked as though 
 they could hardly believe her, and Rachel's 
 conscience told her that she was deceiv- 
 ing ; but Mrs. Morris was seen at the gate, 
 and the play was at an end for that day. 
 
 When Mrs. Norris reached the school- 
 room she was quite surprised to see her 
 china slate lying on the hearth, broken to 
 pieces. She waited until all the children 
 were seated, and then said, " Who has 
 been in this room during the play-hour ?" 
 
 " I've not ! I've not 1" was the answer 
 from all. 
 
 " Somebody must have come into the 
 room," said Mrs. Korris, " for here is my 
 china slate broken, and it could not have
 
 80 DECEITFUL KACHEL J OB, 
 
 fallen of itself, because the string was 
 round the nail." 
 
 " Really, ma'am, we have not been in," 
 said several voices, " and we didn't see any 
 one come in. Jane Cooper swept the 
 room and put the key on the shelf, and 
 we've not touched it." 
 
 " Perhaps Jane broke the slate," said 
 Rachel, in a loud whisper to Margaret 
 Long. 
 
 " No ! no !" replied Margaret ; " if Jane 
 had broken it, she would have said so. 
 Are you sure, Rachel, that you did not ? 
 Where were you when we hunted in the 
 cloak cupboard ? I am sure you were not 
 in it." 
 
 " I was behind one of the cloaks," was 
 the ready answer of the deceitful girl; 
 "how dare you say that I broke the slate?" 
 
 " Come, girls, silence !" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Norris, " and listen to me. It is certain 
 that some one has broken the slate ; Jane 
 Cooper may have done so, but she is not 
 here to speak for herself; I shall therefore
 
 THE OUT SLEEVE. 81 
 
 say no more about it until I can ask her. 
 In the meantime, if any girl here be the 
 per*son who transgressed the rules, by go- 
 ing into the school-room, I hope she will 
 say so." 
 
 There was a dead silence, but all the 
 girls suspected Rachel ; however, she did 
 not speak. When school was over, and 
 the children were walking down the nar- 
 row lane, at the end of which they were 
 to separate, several of the girls asked Ra- 
 chel whether she had not broken the 
 slate ; but she firmly denied having even 
 been into the room. 
 
 One falsehood leads to another ; and 
 Rachel added to her sin every time the 
 china slate was spoken of, by repeating 
 her denial that she knew anything of it. 
 Jane Cooper was questioned, but she de- 
 clared that she had left the slate quite 
 safe, and had not even touched it. She 
 said that she had only swept out the room, 
 locked the door, and put the key upon the 
 shelf where it had been found.
 
 82 DECEITFUL BACHEL ; OR, 
 
 Mrs. ISTorris felt sure that some one must 
 have told a falsehood ; she would not ask 
 any more questions, because she knew 
 that the first lie having been told, others 
 would follow whenever anything should 
 be said of the slate. But she determined 
 to watch the children very narrowly, that 
 she might find out who it was that would 
 thus deceive. So nothing more was said 
 about the slate for some time. 
 
 But truth is generally found out at last, 
 and so it was in this case with Rachel. 
 Her schoolmistress and her play-fellows 
 detected her several times in deceit ; aud 
 her mother, who was an excellent, truth- 
 loving woman, was quite distressed to see 
 how this sad habit was growing upon 
 her little girl. She talked to her, scolded 
 her, and punished her, but all in vain. 
 Rachel had allowed herself to tell false- 
 hoods, until she seemed hardly able to tell 
 the truth. 
 
 Mrs Munt was very anxious to do all 
 she could to cure her child of this dreadful
 
 THE CUT SLEEVE. 83 
 
 sin ; she would often make her read the 
 awful end of Ananias and Sapphira, talk 
 to her of the sin of deceit, and point out 
 to her the punishment that God has de- 
 clared shall be for those who indulge in it. 
 Then Mrs. Munt would teach her little 
 girl to pray to God to forgive her for Jesus 
 Christ's sake, and to help her to strive 
 against her besetting sin. Rachel would' 
 cry and say she was very sorry, but the 
 next moment all was forgotten ; and upon 
 the least temptation the ready falsehood 
 rose to her lips. Yet sometimes she was 
 really sorry, but this was when she was 
 found out ; her sorrow was not for her sin, 
 but for its consequences. This was not a 
 right sorrow, and therefore it did no good ; 
 instead of making her try to do better, it 
 only made her try to conceal her fault 
 more artfully the next time. 
 
 All that Mrs. Stanley said, and every 
 plan that Mrs. Munt and Mrs. Norris pur- 
 Bued, seemed in vain. 
 
 " You can do no more," said kind Mrs.
 
 84 DECEITFUL RACHEL ; OB, 
 
 Stanley one day to Mrs. Munt. " Yon 
 'have done your best, and you must pray 
 that God will hereafter bless your endeav- 
 ors. I doubt not that he will answer your 
 prayers ; for has not he promised to do so 
 when those prayers are offered in faith ? 
 You remember that text, ' Cast thy bread 
 upon the waters; for thou shalt find it 
 after many days.' You are casting the 
 bread upon the waters by doing all you 
 can to show your child her sin, and make 
 her sorry for it, and you must live in 
 hopes of 'finding it,' although it be not 
 until c after many days.' " 
 
 Mrs. Stanley's kindness was very grate- 
 fully received by the poor woman ; and 
 she did pray from her heart that God 
 would bless her endeavors for the good of 
 her child with success. 
 
 Some weeks passed after the breaking 
 of the china slate ; and the little girls, who 
 weie very fond of Mi's. Norris, had put 
 their coppers together and bought her a 
 new one. Rachel Munt was eager to give
 
 THE OUT SLEEVE. 85 
 
 her halfpenny; she tried to persuade her- 
 self that by doing so she could repair her 
 former fault. Poor child! she forgot that 
 she had sinned against Almighty God ; 
 and that, before her sin could be forgiven, 
 it must be repented of. She certainly 
 could atone to Mrs. Norris by helping to 
 pay for the new slate, but she could not 
 by that do away with the lie she had 
 told. 
 
 There was a little girl called Louisa 
 White, who often came to school in the 
 afternoon. Her mother lived at Rose- 
 dale, and was a widow; she supported 
 herself and this only child by dress- 
 making. Louisa was a great pet with all 
 the village; and she was very fond of 
 playing with the school children. She 
 often went to the play-ground with them 
 after dinner ; and then she stayed at school 
 until some of the girls who lived near her 
 mother would take her home with them. 
 Louisa generally brought some work or a 
 book to school with her ; and Mrs. Stan- 
 
 Ellen and Sarah.
 
 86 DECEITFUL RACHEL; OE, 
 
 ley saJ that, as long as she behaved well, 
 there was no objection to her remaining 
 during afternoon school, at which time the 
 girls were usually employed in needle-work. 
 One afternoon Louisa had come to 
 school as usual ; and, when all the work 
 had been fitted and given out, Mrs. Korris 
 called her, and told her to try and say her 
 letters. The little girl began, but soon 
 complained of headache ; and in a short 
 time she seemed so unwell, that Mrs. 
 ISTorris was much alarmed. One of the 
 girls was sent to call Mrs. White ; but, 
 unfortunately, she had gone out for the 
 day. At this moment Miss Lucy Stanley 
 came in, and she begged Mrs. Norris to 
 wrap the child up in a cloak, and carry 
 her to the parsonage to Mrs. Stanley, who 
 was always a kind friend in time of sick- 
 ness. Miss Lucy said that she would re- 
 main at the school until Mrs. ISTorris 
 should return. The schoolmistress thank- 
 ed her, and said she would come back as 
 quickly as she could.
 
 THE CUT SLEEVE. 8? 
 
 "While Mrs. Norris was absent, and Miss 
 Lucy Stanley was fitting some work, 
 Rachel Munt had the misfortune to cut 
 her work in unpicking a piece that had 
 been badly done. Mrs. Norris had often 
 forbidden her to use scissors for unpick- 
 ing, and had desired her to take a large 
 pin instead. But Rachel thought that it 
 was less trouble to unpick with scissors, 
 and she was now doing so slyly. She 
 hoped, by making great haste, to finish 
 before the schoolmistress should return. 
 However, with Rachel as with many 
 other people, " most haste" proved "worst 
 speed ;" for the scissors slipped and cut a 
 large hole in the shirt sleeve. What was 
 to be done ? Rachel thought for a mo- 
 ment of trying to sew up the hole ; but 
 then she remembered that she could not 
 do that without the marks being seen. 
 She was still in doubt what to do when 
 Mrs. Morris, who had been kept longer 
 than she expected, came in. The hour for 
 breaking up had come, and the children
 
 DECEITFUL RACHEI ,* OB, 
 
 were desired to fold up their work. Rachel 
 contrived to slip the cut shirt sleeve into 
 her bag, and then folded up the shirt. 
 Miss Stanley waited until the work was 
 all put away, and the hymn sung ; and 
 then she wished the mistress and children 
 " Good afternoon." Rachel was to call at 
 the parsonage after school for some broth 
 for her mother, who was unwell ; and, as 
 she walked up to the house, she turned 
 over in her mind what she should do 
 about the sleeve. 
 
 When Rachel got to the parsonage, she 
 was told by the cook to sit down in the 
 kitchen while she went for the broth. 
 There was some work on the kitchen 
 table, for the cook and housemaid had 
 been sitting together working. They had 
 been making shirts for Mr. Stanley's eld- 
 est son, who was just going abroad ; and, 
 as he wanted his shirts made quickly, 
 Mrs. Stanley sent some to the school, and 
 had some made at home. The housemaid 
 had been called away before Rachel came
 
 THE CUT SLEEVE. 89 
 
 in, and the little girl was now alone. She 
 soon perceived that among the work on 
 the kitchen table there were a great many 
 shirt sleeves ; and the thought came into 
 her mind, "Shall I change mine for one 
 of these sleeves ?" 
 
 Rachel forgot that the eye of God was 
 upon her, although no human eye could 
 see her. She quickly snatched up a 
 sleeve from under the rest of the work, 
 hid it under her shawl, and was on the 
 point of putting her own cut sleeve in its 
 place when she heard the cook's footsteps. 
 She had only time to hurry back to her 
 chair before the cook came in with the 
 broth. When Rachel reached home, she 
 was frightened and unhappy ; she thought 
 it must be found out that she had taken 
 the sleevS. How she wished that she had 
 never begun to deceive ! What to do 
 with the cut sleeve, she could not tell ; at 
 last she. determined to carry it in her 
 pocket, hoping to find a chance to put it 
 into the school closet without being seen.
 
 90 DECEITFUL RACHEL J OB, 
 
 "I thought you had put both sleeves 
 into your shirt, Rachel," said Mrs. Norris 
 the next day, when she was looking over 
 the work. " I am almost sure you were 
 putting in the second yesterday." 
 
 " No, ma'am," answered Rachel ; " that 
 was only the first ; I had to unpick it and 
 do it over again." 
 
 Mrs. ISTorris felt certain that this was 
 false ; but at this moment Mrs. Stanley 
 entered. 
 
 " Mrs. Norris," said she, " have you a 
 shirt sleeve more than .you want? My 
 housemaid, Anne, came to me in great 
 trouble just now ; there is a sleeve miss- 
 ing, and though she has searched every- 
 where she cannot find it. She says she is 
 sure they were all cut out right, and 
 Anne is so exact that I cannot doubt her. 
 Do you think you have taken one too 
 many by mistake ?" 
 
 " No, indeed^ ma'am," replied Mrs. 
 Norris ; " I am sure not. When the roll 
 of Mr. Edward's shirts was undone, I gave
 
 THE OUT SJLEEVE. 91 
 
 a shirt to each of the eight biggest girls to 
 make, and all the sleeves are put in ex- 
 cept Rachel Hunt's, and she is now 
 putting in the second of hers. Come here, 
 Rachel, and show Mrs. Stanley your 
 work." 
 
 Rachel brought her work, and Mrs. 
 Norris searched the closet, but no sleeve 
 was to be found. 
 
 " You are improving in your work, 
 Rachel," said Mrs. Stanley. " This sleeve 
 is very neatly made; did you do it all 
 yourself?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," answered Rachel, though 
 she knew she was telling a falsehood. 
 " I did it quite by myself." 
 
 " How is this ?" exclaimed Mrs. Nbrris 
 as she took up the sleeve ; " this wrist- 
 band is quite a different shape from the 
 other!" 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am," said Rachel, 
 coloring deeply. 
 
 " Surely, this is the very lost sleeve," 
 said Mrs. Stanley; "Anne told me that
 
 92 DECEITFUL RACHEL; OR, 
 
 the wristband was different from the 
 others ; but where can the proper sleeve 
 for this shirt, be ?" 
 
 Miss Lucy now came in ; and, seeing 
 that Mrs. Stanley was looking at Rachel's 
 shirt, she took up- the sleeve and said, 
 " Well, Rachel, have you mended the 
 hole ?" 
 
 "What hole, miss?" asked Rachel, try- 
 ing not to blush. 
 
 " The hole that you cut yesterday when 
 you were unpicking the sleeve." 
 
 Rachel started ; she did not know that 
 Miss Stanley had seen her. 
 
 " I saw* your scissors slip," said Miss 
 Lucy, "and meant to have shown you 
 how to mend it, only it was time for school 
 to break up." 
 
 She took up the shirt, but there was no 
 appearance of a cut on either sleeve. 
 
 " Where is the cut sleeve ?" said Miss 
 Lucy. 
 
 Rachel still denied that she had met 
 with any accident, and said that Miss
 
 THE CUT SLEEVE. 93 
 
 Stanley was mistaken ; but the little girl 
 was less bold than usual. She felt her 
 color rise ; and, to hide her confusion, she 
 took her handkerchief from her pocket 
 under pretense of blowing her nose. A 
 long thread came out with it, and then a 
 piece of muslin appeared. 
 
 "What is this?" exclaimed Mrs. Norris, 
 taking hold of the thread ; and the next 
 minute, to Rachel's horror, the schoolmis- 
 tress had pulled out the sleeve. 
 
 Rachel could deny no longer; and, burst- 
 ing into tears, confessed that she had cut the 
 sleeve by accident, and had taken the other 
 from the kitchen table at the parsonage. 
 
 " I meant to put this in the place of the 
 good one, indeed I did, ma'am ; pray, 
 pray forgive me ; I hadn't time, cook came 
 back so soon." 
 
 Mrs. Stanley was very much grieved, so 
 grieved that for several moments she could 
 scarcely speak. She wished Mrs. Norris 
 and the children " Good afternoon," and 
 desired Rachel to follow her.
 
 94 DECEITFUL BACHEL; OR, 
 
 Long, very long and earnestly did kind 
 Mrs. Stanley talk to the child when they 
 reached the parsonage ; and she entreated 
 her to repent and forsake her sin. " You 
 are sorry now for the consequences of the 
 untruth you have told," said this kind and 
 excellent lady, " but I wish you to be sorry 
 for the sin itself. Had you confessed that 
 you had cut the sleeve by accident, Mrs. 
 Norris might have been displeased by your 
 disobedience and carelessness, but you 
 would not have added to your fault by a 
 lie. You acted the first lie ; for you took 
 the sleeve from the kitchen table with the 
 intention of putting your cut sleeve in its 
 place ; by so doing you tried to throw the 
 blame of the accident on an innocent per- 
 son. One falsehood almost always leads 
 to a second ; and thus, when I praised the 
 improvement in your work, and asked if 
 you had made the sleeve yourself, you told 
 a second untruth, and said Yes ; and then 
 went on to tell several more when Miss 
 Lucy spoke to you. This sin of deceit
 
 THE CUT SLEEVE. 95 
 
 will certainly bring you to destruction 
 both in this world and the next unless you 
 repent of, and forsake it. Let the event 
 of this day be a warning to you, and, as 
 you value your happiness here and here- 
 after, strive to forsake this grievous sin. 
 You are laying up sorrow for yourself 
 when you give way to deceit. Even now 
 who believes you ? who trusts you ? and 
 does not God, who sees all hearts, look 
 upon you with anger? Think, too, of your 
 parents, who have worked and toiled for 
 you for years ; how ungrateful yon are 
 to them when you thus vex them by de- 
 ceit !" 
 
 " I am really sony," sobbed Rachel ; 
 ".only please to forgive me, and pray don't 
 turn me away from school ; I really will 
 not tell stories any more." 
 
 " And how often have not you promised 
 this before, Rachel? and yet you have 
 told falsehoods again ; but I will give you 
 another trial, and not send you away from 
 school. It will be punishment enough for
 
 96 DECEITFUL RACHEL; OR, 
 
 you that your word cannot be trusted, and 
 that you will feel that no one believes you. 
 You must pray to God that he will help 
 you by his Holy Spirit to conquer this evil 
 habit, and to resist every temptation to 
 falsehood. You will find deceit a very 
 difficult fault to cure, and you never can 
 overcome it in your own strength. Tow 
 go home, Rachel, and may God grant you 
 true repentance for your sin !" 
 
 Rachel went home, crying bitterly ; 
 but there was a hope that Mrs. Stanley's 
 words had not been without effect; for 
 the first thing RacheJ did was, to con- 
 fess the whole of what had passed to her 
 mother, adding also how she had broken 
 the china slate. 
 
 Mrs. Munt was very much distressed ; 
 yet she encouraged a belief that, as Ra- 
 chel had confessed her fault, she would 
 now set to work in good earnest to cure 
 herself of the habit of deceit. 
 
 Mrs. Munt walked up the next morn- 
 ing to call upon Mrs. Xorris, taking Ra-
 
 THE CUT SLEEVE. 97 
 
 chel with her; and she made Rachel 
 own to Mrs. ISTorris all her sin and false- 
 hood both about the slate and the shirt 
 sleeve. 
 
 After this Rachel became more watch- 
 ful over herself, and by degrees more 
 careful in what she said. But, as Mrs. 
 Stanley had warned her, her sin brought 
 its own punishment. She would often 
 feel hurt and cry at finding that the word 
 of the youngest child was taken against 
 hers. She was frequently not believed 
 even when she did speak truth, because 
 no one could be sure it was truth ; and 
 it was inany years before her acquaint- 
 ances could feel confidence in her. 
 
 It may, however, be an encouragement 
 to any children (who have the same fault 
 of being deceitful, yet wish to overcome 
 it) to hear that, by God's grace assisting 
 her, Rachel did, after many hard trials, 
 succeed in curing herself of it. 
 
 At my last visit to Rosedale I called 
 upon Mrs. Munt, and found Rachel at
 
 98 DECE1TTFUL EACHEL, ETC. 
 
 home. Her mother had been ill for some 
 time, and Rachel was nursing her like a 
 dutiful and affectionate daughter. She 
 added to her father's earnings by taking 
 in needle-work ; and Mrs. Stanley assured 
 me that she employed no workwoman who 
 was more exact and straightforward in 
 every way than Rachel Munt.
 
 DERiiOT AND EIS FATHER. 
 See j
 
 D E E M T, 
 
 FISHEE-BOl OF
 
 D E E M T, 
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEMY. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 I LOVE the sea ; and often have I sat for 
 hours on its shores, until my whole being 
 was imbued with a soft and pleasing mel- 
 ancholy, inspired by the scene, and height- 
 ened by the thought of the boundless 
 waters that cut me off from the land I 
 loved. But, O ! who can paint the raptur- 
 ous delight with which I gazed upon it, 
 dashing its white foam upon the shores of 
 my own bright isle ? 
 
 Circumstances, needless to relate, had 
 obliged me to reside for many years in a 
 foreign land ; but the days of my boyhood, 
 
 Ell. n ami Sarah.
 
 104: THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERET. 
 
 and the cairn Lours of my happy infancy 
 had been spent in Ireland. Round every 
 stick and every stone was twined some 
 fond association of the dreams of earlier 
 years ; some dear remembrance of the gay 
 scenes of what I then thought a perfect, as 
 well as permanent happiness. But years 
 of disappointment and sorrow came, and 
 the world lost its rosy hue. Yet what of 
 that ? It is of Ireland I am to speak ; and, 
 in her own beautiful language of meta- 
 phor, I shall only add, that if clouds have 
 rolled over the pathway of my life, I have 
 learned to penetrate through the gloom, 
 and to discover that ther,e is a silver lining 
 to them all. 
 
 For the benefit of my health I had been 
 ordered a sea voyage. "With this purpose, 
 I embarked on board a ship bound from 
 London to one of the western seaports of 
 Ireland. Here I was received with cord- 
 ial warmth by the friend at whose hospi- 
 table rectory I was to be a visitor.
 
 THE FISHEK-BOY^Ifc 1 INNISKEBKY. 105 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 NOT many days after my arrival, I accom- 
 panied Mr. Yernon in a walk along the 
 pebbly beach of the wild and riigged 
 coast. My frame had been weakened by 
 recent illness; and, while inhaling the 
 strengthening breezes of the ocean, we 
 paused several times to rest upon the frag- 
 ments of rock around us. Calm, blue, and 
 cloudless were the heavens above ; and a 
 corresponding calmness was spread over 
 the deep and stilly waters. Even the very 
 sea-fowl seemed to slumber on their bosom, 
 and scarcely a ripple disturbed their sur- 
 face, except now and again, when a light 
 skiff darted by the echoing- rocks, resound- 
 ing to the fisher's merry laugh, or merrier 
 song. 
 
 We pursued our pathway to the en- 
 trance of a small village, inhabited chiefly
 
 106 THE FISHER-BOWDF INNISKEKRY. 
 
 by fishermen, as the various implements 
 around each cabin seemed to imply. The 
 little school-house, which stood alone in 
 the midst of a small garden, at the foot of 
 a hill whose summit was crowned with the 
 modest church, was an exception ; thus 
 silently proclaiming to the passer-by the 
 blessed instructions that were daily con- 
 veyed in one humble mansion to the 
 young, and that were weekly enforced 
 with the prayerful fervor of their much- 
 loved and faithful pastor, alike to the par- 
 ent and to the child, in the other. 
 
 The first cottage in this village attracted 
 my attention. There was a degree of 
 neatness in it which I had not observed 
 elsewhere. There was even an attempt at 
 ornament in the small trellised porch, and 
 in the creepers trained over the white- 
 washed walls, which pleased me not a 
 little. At the door sat a woman, appar- 
 ently past forty years of age, busily en- 
 gaged at her wheel. By her side, in the 
 last gleam of the setting sun, lay a little
 
 DERMOT'S MOTHER.
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEKRY. 109 
 
 terrier dog, who seemed well satisfied to 
 allow a couch upon his back to a fine 
 tabby cat, while a little further off, a huge 
 sow, with a litter of young ones, completed 
 the group. 
 
 We had approached close to the woman 
 before we were perceived, for the noise of 
 her wheel, and the loudness of her joyous 
 song, drowned every other sound Ipbut the 
 bright eyes of the watchful terrier, though 
 half covered with his paws, soon observed 
 us, and his shrill, sharp bark announced 
 our presence to his mistress. She was of 
 a tall, commanding figure, though rather 
 masculine in appearance. She was clothed 
 in a gown of dark linsey-woolsey, which, 
 though old, and mended with patches of 
 various sizes and colors, was yet carefully 
 pinned up behind, and displayed a petti- 
 coat of scarlet stuff; a blue spotted apron, 
 and a brilliant cotton handkerchief, com- 
 pleted her toilet, except that, indeed, she 
 had, I suppose to guard against the chilly 
 evening air, put on over her other liabili-
 
 110 THE FISHER-BOY OF UNNIbKEKET. 
 
 merits, what appeared to me to be one of 
 her husband's cloth jackets. This, being 
 open in front, did not conceal her hand- 
 kerchief. Her hair was carefully combed 
 back off her forehead, and confined under 
 a very tight cap, over which was tied an- 
 other scarlet and green handkerchief. The 
 scene was picturesque ; and I determined 
 to take Irsketch, while my friend Yernon 
 entered into conversation with the woman. 
 
 Addressing her in a friendly tone, he 
 said: 
 
 " "Well, Alice, to judge by your song, 
 you are very happy this evening." 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir," she replied, as she 
 rose to welcome him ; " you're right : a 
 light heart makes a merry song, your rev- 
 erence." 
 
 "And is your heart always so light, 
 Alice ?" asked my friend in, 1 thought, 
 rather a melancholy tone. 
 
 "Ah, then, why wouldn't it, your hon- 
 or?" Alice replied ; " what would vex me, 
 when I have a sober, quiet, good husband,
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEEBY. 115 
 
 was a man so changed ; and when Jimmy 
 Brien went away, he left the book after 
 him, and day and night my poor man 
 would car' it about with him, and the 
 dickens a bit of him would go to whisky 
 shop, or jigs, or anything else, ever since ; 
 but when he'd come home he'd be reading, 
 or mending of his nets, or talking to the 
 boy ; and I am sure your own honor's wor- 
 ship isn't milder nor what he is." 
 
 "Well, and what was the book all 
 about, will you tell us, Alice?" said Yer- 
 non. 
 
 She colored deeply ; and, after a little 
 hesitation, replied, 
 
 " Indeed, I don't know, sir ; Larry's ever 
 at me to hearken ; but I've no laming, 
 and I do be busy about everything ; only 
 sometimes I hear him reading it. ' Tis a 
 dale about our Lord Jesus Christ, his holy 
 name be p aised," said she, rising and 
 courtesying. 
 
 " Does Dermot read it ?" I inquired. 
 
 " He do, then, your honor : and you'd
 
 116 THE FISHER-BO ST OF INNISKERRY. 
 
 think his heart and soul would be in it, 
 he takes such pride out of it ; and, in- 
 deed, I don't doubt but 'tis that makes 
 him the boy he is. I won't tell nQ lie, sir ; 
 I know 'tis beautiful, and if I'd time I'd 
 hearken." 
 
 "And, Alice, have you no time to think 
 of your soul ? And yet must you not have 
 a time to die?" 
 
 " Och, sir ! I'm a stout, hearty woman. 
 I'll not die yet ; and, if I gets sick, I'll 
 send for the priest, and he'll give me abso- 
 lution and the oil, and then 'twill be all 
 right with me. And, indeed, your rever- 
 ence," she added, in a lower tone, " the 
 priest isn't agreeable to them two reading 
 the book at all. There's Larry never goes 
 to confession this long time on the 'count 
 of it, for his reverence axed him to give 
 up the book, and Larry wouldn't ; and he 
 never went next nor nigh him since. Only 
 /or the priest's a quiet old man, we'd have 
 great work ; he called 'em in chapel two 
 or three times, as I could hear, (for I wasn't
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNI8KEKRY. 117 
 
 there,) but all to no purpose. I struv to 
 hinder 'em of reading it for a while ; but 
 'twas no use ; and, troth, I thinks there 
 can't be much harm in it wherein they gets 
 so good from it." 
 
 Yernon did not here enter upon a dis- 
 cussion with this poor woman upon the 
 subject of confession and absolution. Her 
 ignorance and determination not to listen 
 would alike have made it useless. But a 
 few words he did speak to her of deep 
 and solemn warning; and, endeavoring to 
 impress her with the idea that God alone 
 can forgive sin, that the blood of Jesus 
 Christ cleanseth from all sin, he added : 
 " O, Alice, Alice ! remember your never- 
 dying soul ; remember * now is the accept- 
 ed time,' not to-morrow, not this evening, 
 but ' now is the day of salvation !' " 
 
 She appeared slightly touched, and 
 raised the corner of her apron to wipe 
 away a tear, but made no reply ; and we 
 thought it best to leave her for the present.
 
 118 THE FISHEB-BOY OF INNI6EJERKY. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 THE shades of night were gathering 
 around us; a thousand wondrous worlds 
 of light glittered in the starry firmament, 
 and the calm bright moon smiled placidly 
 upon the waters, while her beams danced 
 in fantastic beauty upon the far-off rocks, 
 
 " Distinct but distant ; clear, but 0, hcrv^cold." 
 
 My friend was silent for some time ; 
 and then, pointing to the moonlit scenery 
 around, he exclaimed: "Still, still does 
 that heart, where there is so much of 
 womanv tenderness and woman's love to 
 adorn it, yet remain as cold and as hard, 
 when you speak to her of the sinner's only 
 Friend, as yonder rock where the moon- 
 light plays." 
 
 "Then you have spoken to her before 
 on this subject?" 
 
 "Frequently; most frequently. She
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 119 
 
 had been a faithful and attached servant 
 in our family, from the age of fifteen till 
 she married. Alas ! at that time, before 
 her mind had become occupied by house- 
 hold cares, we lost many precious oppor- 
 tunities of speaking to her of her eternal 
 welfare; for we had not at that time 
 learned the value of our own souls, still 
 less the value of the souls of others, though 
 I had carelessly declared my intention to 
 enter upon the ministry, and to take upon 
 myself the sacred vows of ordination. 
 But thanks be to the Eternal Father of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ, ere the time came, 
 through his grace, which was abundant to 
 me, I was roused as it were from sleep, 
 and taught to feel the solemnity of the 
 office. And, by the aid of his Spirit, I 
 have, I trust, stood upon the watch-tower, 
 and have sounded the Gospel trumpet, 
 without compromise or fear, though, alas ! 
 with what deep searchings of heart, what 
 heaviness of spirit, am I forced to confess 
 that C I have left undone those things
 
 120 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEERY. 
 
 which I ought to have done, and have 
 done those things which I ought not to 
 have done, and there is no health in me.'" 
 
 Here Yernon paused, and seemed lost 
 in thought for some minutes, until I ven- 
 tured to remind him of Alice, when he 
 continued : 
 
 " With the characteristic thoughtless- 
 ness and haste with which our poor Irish 
 are accustomed to form the dearest and 
 holiest of all earthly ties, Alice, contrary 
 to our advice, at the age of three-and- 
 twenty, entered into a hasty union with a 
 fisherman who lived near us, and of whom 
 we had not heard a very unexceptionable 
 character. 
 
 "With him she removed to the opposite 
 side of the coast, and we lost sight of her 
 for some years. I need not repeat to you, 
 what you already well know, of the va- 
 rious changes which took place in our 
 family, until my father's death, when my 
 brother became master of Ardlish. This 
 church was bestowed on me. Here I
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNI8KERRY. 121 
 
 again met my friend Alice. Her husband 
 had, not long before, taken the cottage in 
 which they now live; and her joy was 
 very great on discovering that I was the 
 newly-appointed rector. Poor Alice! I 
 saw at once that she was unhappy ; her 
 look of cheerful, blooming health had 
 given way to a careworn expression of 
 fretful anxiety. From her I heard no 
 complaints; but from those around I 
 learned that her husband, who was scarce- 
 ly ever sober, treated her not only with 
 neglect, but with great cruelty. I felt 
 deeply for her, and longed to offer to her 
 the only balm for the sorrow-stricken 
 heart. On my first visit to her, I said, 
 without, of course, referring to her domestic 
 sorrow, which she evidently wished to con- 
 ceal: 
 
 "' Many years have passed, Alice, and 
 many a change has taken place since last 
 we met ; and sorrow, too, has visited both 
 our hearts, and sobered down our spirits.' 
 
 " 'True for you, sir,' she replied; 'I be- 
 
 Ellen and Sarah.
 
 122 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNI6KERRY. 
 
 lieve we both of us thought the way be* 
 fore us was bright and smooth ; but we's 
 found it dark and stony enough. Signs 
 by, the eye is not so lightsome, nor the 
 head so cheery as it was.' 
 
 " * Yes, Alice ; but that need not sadden 
 us, when we can look forward to the 
 world where the eye is never sad, and the 
 heart is never dreary ; is not this a bless- 
 ing?' 
 
 " She looked rather surprised, but gave 
 a cold assent. 
 
 " I spoke a little more to her, and en- 
 deavored to direct her to the Rock of 
 Ages ; but she evidently disliked the sub- 
 ject, and several times tried to turn the 
 conversation. Often, afterward, did I seek 
 to draw her to the only source of consola- 
 tion for sorrow such as hers, but in vain. 
 My wife, too, who had known her at Ard- 
 lish before our marriage, and who took no 
 small interest in her welfare, assisted me 
 by every means in her power, but in vain. 
 From both of us she turned, with a deaf-
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEERY. 123 
 
 ened ear and averted heart ; and at last 
 told us plainly that her priest had forbid- 
 den her ever again to allow us to inter- 
 fere between her and her God, as she 
 called it." 
 
 " Was Dermot born at this time !" I 
 asked. 
 
 " No ; and as they had been for several 
 years married, they had no great expecta- 
 tion of a child ; but at last it did please 
 God to send them as lovely a little infant 
 as I have ever seen." 
 
 " And did not this soften the mother's 
 heart?" 
 
 "It did for a time. We hastened to 
 congratulate her, and found her with a 
 heart overflowing with the soft, tender joy 
 and pride of a mother's first love ; but, 
 alas! mingled with it was no feeling of 
 gratitude to the gracious Giver of the 
 unexpected boon. c He is a lovely child, 
 Alice,' I said ; ' and will you not give 
 thanks to the merciful Father who has 
 sent you such a precious little gift ? Will
 
 124: THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERET. 
 
 you turn your back upon Him, who, in 
 spite of your forgetfulness of him. has 
 given you your heart's desire ?' 
 
 " A tear sprung to her eye, and she re- 
 plied, < Sir, I did thank Him, and bless 
 Him too ; and will ever bless Him while 
 my darling lives ; my own lamb, ma 
 cushla ma cree, (the vein of my heart ;) 
 gra machree ma vourneen, may the sun 
 of joy lighten the way before ye!' 
 
 " 'And yet, Alice, even should the Al- 
 mighty be pleased to take him back again, 
 still you should bless him, and say, Thy 
 will be done.' 
 
 " ' I couldn't, sir,' she said ; i I couldn't 
 bless Him if he did that. Now I've got 
 my little beauty, I couldn't give him up ; 
 no, avourneen, I couldn't nor I wouldn't, 
 either,' she added, kissing the baby's vel- 
 vet cheek. 
 
 " I was grieved at the last expression, 
 and tried to point out the evil of her 
 words ; but she had again steeled her 
 heart, and would hear no more ; and sel-
 
 THE FI8HEK-BOY OF ESTNISKERRY. 125 
 
 dom after that could I induce her to listen 
 to me." 
 
 "And what effect had the birth of his 
 child upon Larry ?" 
 
 " For some time after, he became much 
 more respectable in his conduct, and said, 
 now he had some one to come after him, 
 he would keep all his earnings for him. 
 He had even joined what was called the 
 Temperance Society, taki-ng a pledge to 
 abstain from every kind of spirituous 
 liquor; but this society sought only to 
 bind its members by a moral obligation, 
 without bringing before their eyes the ho- 
 liness of that sacred Gospel, which enjoins 
 men to soberness and temperance, as be- 
 ing one of the characteristic marks of him 
 who walks not after the flesh, but after the 
 Spirit. It painted strongly the disgrace 
 and ignominy of intoxication, with the 
 poverty and destitution which it produces ; 
 and it urged people on these grounds to 
 abstain. But it failed to direct them to 
 Him by whose power alone the natural
 
 126 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNI8KEEBY. 
 
 heart can be kept from indulging in its 
 congenial vices ; it failed to urge them to 
 seek in prayer for the aid of the Eternal 
 Spirit in resisting this too prevailing 
 temptation. Consequently, though some 
 did. from the desire for worldly prosperity, 
 persevere steadily in the observance of 
 their vow, and became respectable mem- 
 bers of society, yet many, who had set out 
 with an equal determination to persevere, 
 overcome by the temptation of their too 
 favorite indulgence, and having no power 
 to resist, fell back again, and added to 
 drunkenness the guilt of a broken vow." 
 
 "And thus it was with poor Larry, I 
 doubt not." 
 
 " Too truly so. None of his resolutions 
 being founded upon the solid ground of 
 religious principle, they soon gave way, 
 and before Dermot was much more than 
 a year old, he was become as great a 
 drunkard as ever! Yet so remarkable 
 was his love for'this child, that never, in 
 the worst moments of his aberrations, not
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEREY. 127 
 
 even when his passion rose to such a 
 height that his wife was obliged to fly 
 from the house, did he show one symptom 
 of violence toward him. One look at the 
 baby, one murmur of its infant voice, 
 would soothe him ; and he would caress 
 the little creature with as much tender- 
 ness as the gentlest woman ! At times, 
 indeed, when Dermot was older, he did 
 endeavor to correct him, when he really 
 deserved it ; but his wife, knowing his 
 natural violence, always interposed, and 
 never suffered her child to be touched. 
 No wonder that this boy, handsome, ami- 
 able, and endearing as he was, should 
 grow up a torment to the whole neighbor- 
 hood, from the wild, mischievous habits 
 which he was allowed to contract." 
 
 "When, then, did this great change take 
 place in poor Larry 3" 
 
 " When Dermot had nearly reached his 
 eighth year. At that time, as Alice said, 
 a "fisherman from the other side came here, 
 who had been an early friend and asso-
 
 128 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 
 
 ciate of Larry's, but who, since then, had 
 learned, in deep penitence for past of- 
 fenses, to know and love the Saviour of 
 his soul. He mourned deeply over the 
 recklessness of poor Larry, and strove to 
 lead him to the right way. At first, his 
 efforts appeared unavailing; but he pos- 
 sessed, what to Larry's heart was as dear 
 as the life he breathed, a knowledge of 
 the Irish tongue ; and, in that tongue, he 
 proclaimed to his wondering friend the 
 glad tidings of salvation." 
 
 "And was it tljat which worked so pow- 
 erfully upon his mind as completely to 
 change his conduct ?" 
 
 "Apparently it was. After his friend 
 had sufficiently engaged his attention, he 
 ventured to read to him a portion of 
 Scripture in the same language. I was 
 present at his first reading ; and to paint 
 the various expressions of wonder, delight, 
 and contrition which marked poor Larry's 
 speaking countenance would be impossi- 
 ble."
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERKY. 129 
 
 "Then, when the novelty wore off, he 
 still continued to like it ?" 
 
 " He did. From that time, a day never 
 passed that he did not entreat his friend 
 to instruct him in reading the Irish tongue, 
 and to read to him out of his elegant book, 
 as he called it. And even when out in 
 his boat, he would snatch every idle mo- 
 ment to pursue his beloved sfudy. Often, 
 wfcile the rest of his companions lay sleep- 
 ing on the beach, have I seen him seated 
 on a stone, his elbows resting on his knees, 
 his hands supporting his face, while his 
 eyes, fixed in the deepest attention on his 
 friend, seemed to drink in every word that 
 was uttered, proclaiming a dying Saviour's 
 love to each repenting sinner." 
 
 "Well, and how long did this go on?" 
 
 " For six months ; during which time, 
 as Alice told you, a surprising change 
 took place in Larry ; and even the ex- 
 pression of his countenance was complete- 
 ly altered." 
 
 " And his friend, what became of him?"
 
 130 THE FISHER-BOY OF INMSKERBY. 
 
 " At the end of six months I had a visit 
 from Brien, who informed me that he 
 should in a few days be obliged to leave 
 our coast ; ' and,' added he, ' I'm in a great 
 amplush, your reverence ; for there's poor 
 Larry O'Leary crying like a child, for 
 parting me. Only it's the book entirely 
 that's breaking his heart; for I haven't 
 only the one.+ And, indeed, your honor, 
 I'd sooner part all I has in the world n' 
 that. But Larry says what will he do ; 
 that he'll have neither friend nor tacher 
 when I'm gone ; and that he'll be for all 
 the world like a boat without a rudder ; 
 and that the book would tell him every- 
 thing. For he isn't cute at the English 
 at all, your reverence ; but he reads that 
 as pat as myself; and I come to see what 
 your reverence's honor could do for me. 
 I'm pulling two ways, for the dear knows 
 I'd be lost without my book, and to take 
 it from Larry would be a murder. For, 
 God knows, there's many a rock and many 
 a sand-bank in his way ; and he don't see
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEKRY. 131 
 
 very clear entirely yet ; and I'm in dread, 
 poor fellow, if I takes the light from him, 
 he'll be wracked entirely !' 
 
 "'And do you think, Brien,' said I, ' if 
 I was to give Larry another book like 
 yours, he would take care of it ?' 
 
 " ' Take care of it, sir ! would he take 
 care of his child ? Why, then, 'twould be 
 as dear to him as that same. And there's 
 another thing, your honor ; he's beginning 
 to tache it to Dermot ; and it's after kill- 
 ing him dead entirely to think he'd be hin- 
 dered of that.' 
 
 " * Well, Jim,' I answered, 'I have some 
 of those books here, and as you will go 
 security for Larry's care of it, I will give 
 you one for him.' So saying, I took one 
 down and gave it to Brien. He turned 
 over the pages for a few minutes, and then 
 said : 
 
 " ' If it wouldn't be displeasing to your 
 reverenced honor, I'd keep this one my- 
 self. And don't be thinking 'tis for .the 
 lucre of getting the new one, for the oth-
 
 132 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEERY. 
 
 er's an old friend, and I likes to stick to 
 them always ; but 'tis the way, the pages 
 isn't the same ; and Larry wouldn't get 
 out the places so easy as in the other one. 
 And besides, there's a dale of marks in 
 the other, the two of us made together : 
 and 'twould vex him to lose them, your 
 reverence.' 
 
 " c Do whichever you think best your- 
 self, Jim,' said I ; ' I know I can trust 
 you.' 
 
 " ' Thank your reverence's honor, sir,' 
 he replied ; ' indeed you may ; and God 
 Almighty guard and guide you, and all 
 belonging to you, all your days, and steer 
 you into the right harbor at last.'
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEKBT. 133 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 "THE next day Brien took his depart- 
 ure ; and from that time Larry has gone 
 on steadily reading his Irish Bible, and 
 praying for the Spirit's teaching, both for 
 himself and for his son, who can now read 
 as well as his father, and takes, if possi- 
 ble, more pleasure in itj entering, as he 
 does fully, into the blessings and promises 
 therein contained, so full of comfort to the 
 Christian's heart, as the following little in- 
 cident will show. 
 
 "Not long ago, I walked out, very early 
 in the morning, along the beach, after a 
 very stormy night ; and in a niche of the 
 rocks, at some distance, I saw young Der- 
 mot stretched at full length, studying his 
 Bible so intently, that for some minutes 
 he did not observe me. At length I said, 
 4 Well, Dermot, my child, you seem very
 
 134 THE FISHER-BOY OF 
 
 busy.' The dear boy looked up ; and, 
 while a glow of pleasure overspread his 
 fine countenance, -he exclaimed, Tve 
 found it here, Mr. Yernon.' 
 
 " l Found what, Dermot ?' 
 
 " ' I asked the reason why father was 
 kept from going out agin the storm last 
 night, your honor ; 'tis, sir, because [here 
 he pointed to this verse in his Bible, beg- 
 ging me to read it] The eye of the Lord is 
 upon them that fear him, upon them that 
 hope in his mercy ; to deliver their soul 
 from death, and to keep them alive.' Psa. 
 xxxiii, 18. 
 
 " It is evident too, from the whole tenor 
 of his conduct, that not only are God's 
 promises the comfort of his soul, but that 
 his precepts are the rule of his life, and 
 that, young aS he is, he has ' chosen that 
 good part, which shall never be taken 
 away.' " 
 
 " And will not even the influence of her 
 precious child," I inquired, "avail tc 
 arouse the interest of poor Alice ?"
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF HTNISKERRY. 135 
 
 " ~No ; 'often and earnestly have both 
 Dermot and her husband endeavored to 
 do so, but in vain. With a smile and a 
 kiss, she will reply : ' Thank ye, my dar- 
 ing; I'm glad ye likes it so much: but 
 I've no time for it, I'm so busy ; and, 
 when I'm at work, I'd sooner be hearken- 
 ing to your own sweet song than to the 
 finest book ever was wrote, avourneen.' 
 
 " ' But, mother, it is God's own word,' 
 Dermot often says. 
 
 " ' I know it is, ma bouchel. And when 
 I'm sick I'll hear to it ; but now I'm well, 
 I'd sooner hear your own welcome talk, 
 avich ma chree.' (O son of my heart.) 
 
 " ' O Alice, Alice !' her husband some- 
 times says, 'hould your tongue, before 
 you'd anger the Almighty too much. 
 You're putting your child between you 
 and the Lord. God help you, but maybe 
 he'll punish you for it yet.' But all falls 
 unheeded on Alice's ear ; which, like the 
 deaf adder, hearkeneth not to the voice of 
 charmers, charming never so wisely."
 
 THE FI8HEK-BOY OF INNISKERET. 
 
 CHAPTEK Y. 
 
 BY this time we had reached home, and 
 found tea ready, and Mrs. Yernon await- 
 ing our return, having dismissed most of 
 her merry little group to bed. The next 
 morning, just as I was about to set out for 
 a walk, I met at the door a fine blooming 
 lad of about fourteen, whom I instantly 
 guessed to be our friend Dermot. On 
 seeing me, he took off his cap ; and his 
 fine curly hair, blowing back from his 
 sunburned brow, displayed a countenance 
 radiant with happiness and good temper. 
 I asked him what was his business; he 
 touched his hair, and replied : 
 
 " I'd like to see the'mistiss's honor, sir ; 
 we'd a great take last night ; and this," 
 said he, holding up a large fish, " was the 
 best among 'em, so I brought it to her 
 ladyship."
 
 DEKMOT AT THE PARSONAGE.
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 139 
 
 " And what is your name, my boy 3" I 
 inquired. 
 
 "Dermot O'Leary, plase your honor: 
 and the man that owns me, is him they 
 calls Big Larry, the fisherman below at the 
 carrig." 
 
 I summoned Mrs. Yernon ; and having 
 dispatched his business with her, I accom- 
 panied the lad during the greater part of 
 his walk home. 
 
 " Well, Dermot," I said, " and are you 
 a great fisherman ?" 
 
 He smiled and replied : " I'm getting 
 into it, sir ; but my father's the best among 
 us. Only for him, we wouldn't get so 
 much last night." 
 
 " You don't always get so much, then ?" 
 
 " Och no, your honor; we do be some- 
 times th whole night, and gets nothing." 
 
 "And what are you all doing, while you 
 are waiting for the fish?" 
 
 "Some do be sleeping, sir; and more 
 do be watching, or smoking, or singing, 
 eir." 
 
 Elian and Sarah. 9
 
 14:0 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEERY. 
 
 "And what do you do, Dermot?" 
 
 " My father do be always reading to 
 me, sir, or either I to him ; and there's a 
 couple more of the boys likes to be heark- 
 ening to us often, your honor." 
 
 "And what book do you read, Der- 
 mot?" 
 
 " The Bible, sir." 
 
 " And do you love that book, Dermot ?" 
 
 He raised his sparkling eyes to mine, 
 and replied : " With all the veins of my 
 heart, sir : and why wouldn't I ?" 
 
 " And what makes you love it so much, 
 my boy?" 
 
 "Ah, sir, sure there's everything in it. 
 If I wants an advice, 'tis there better nor 
 I'd get from any one ; if I do be any way 
 down-hearted, sure I finds peace there ; 
 and if any harm overtakes us, I reads 
 there, that He that keeps us neither 
 slumbers nor sleeps ; and all that a body 
 wants, they finds in it !" 
 
 "And are you often down-hearted, Der 
 mot?"
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 14:1 
 
 "Och, no, your honor; I've nothing to 
 trouble me, only one thing." 
 
 "What's that, my boy?" . 
 
 He colored deeply, and began to twist 
 a little stick in his hand with great vio- 
 lence. Then, after a short pause, he said 
 in a low voice, " My mother, sir !" 
 
 " What !" said I, " is your mother un- 
 kind to you?' 
 
 " O no, sir," he cried, " not that, not 
 that. She's the best mother ever boy had. 
 Sure, if it would benefit me, she'd lie 
 down, to let me walk over her ! She's 
 only too good to me." 
 
 " How do you mean she's too good to 
 you ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, she loves me too well ; for 
 she loves me better than Him that ought 
 to be dearer to her than all. O, sir ! she 
 puts away the thoughts of Him from her 
 too much entirely." 
 
 "And don't you try to lead her to think 
 of Him, and hear of Him ?" 
 
 " Ah, then, I do, your honor ; and so
 
 142 THE FISHEE-BOY OF INNI8KEKRY. 
 
 does my father. And it's the only thing 
 she won't do for me. She says, she'd 
 sooner be hearkening to rne than to God's 
 word: and, ah, sir, dear! sure that isn't 
 the way she ought to be !" 
 
 " And, Derrnot, do you do nothing but 
 ask her to think of God ?" 
 
 "O, many and often is the time my 
 father and I kneels down before the Lord, 
 and axes him to bring her to the right 
 way of thinking; but he didn't do it yet." 
 
 "Remember, Dermot, we are told to 
 continue in prayer." 
 
 " Yes, sir, we often think of that, and 
 how often David almost gave over prayer, 
 and said he was desolate, and no man 
 cared for his soul, and after all he was 
 heard; 'tis that, sir, and many such like, 
 that's all our comfort."
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNI8KERRY. 143 
 
 CHAPTEK YI. 
 
 AFTER a little more conversation with 
 this interesting boy, we parted. I had, 
 subsequently, many interviews with both 
 Dermot and his father, with whom I was 
 equally pleased, and whose conduct, as 
 well as words, evinced a degree of piety 
 only to be met with in those who, under 
 the Spirit's teaching, have made the Bible 
 the rule of their lives. 
 
 In Alice, too, I took a deep interest ; for 
 though I could not but deplore the de- 
 termination with which she turned away 
 from everything connected with her soul's 
 salvation; yet, on other subjects, there 
 was a depth and tenderness of feeling, a 
 warmth of heart, and even a rectitude of 
 principle, which I could not but admire. 
 After remaining with my friends a few 
 months, I departed, promising to pay them 
 another visit the following summer, if life 
 was spared to us all.
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF DTNISKERBY. 
 
 CHAPTER YH. 
 
 QUICKLY passed the winged days, weeks, 
 and months : the period soon came round 
 again, and I embarked for Ireland. I 
 need not stop to tell how delighted I felt 
 once more to land upon my own green 
 isle, nor with what mingled feelings of 
 sorrow and of love I sang : 
 
 " My country, ray country, my beautiful Erin, 
 
 Ah, why hangs this darkness around thy green 
 
 plains ? 
 
 Ah, why comes there, blent with thy name so en- 
 dearing, 
 A remembrance of sorrow, of guilt, and of chains ? 
 
 14 There are mists of more gloom than the murkiest 
 
 night : 
 
 Like clouds o'er thy mental horizon they roll, 
 there are chains, than the bondslaves' more galling 
 
 and tight : 
 
 They shackle and bind the free thoughts of thy 
 soul." 
 
 Every blade of grass was dear to me. 
 Every furze bush, every mud-built cabin-,
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISZERRY. 145 
 
 told me I was in Ireland, in my native 
 land ; and I was happy, for who is there 
 
 " With soul so dead, 
 
 Who never to himself hath said, 
 
 This is mine own, my native land ?" 
 
 I found my hospitable friend well and 
 happy, in the midst of his numerous farn- 
 
 % 
 
 At the first leisure moment I inquired 
 for my friend Dermot. 
 
 " He is as well as can be," answered Yer- 
 non, " growing quite a man ; and, if pos- 
 sible, a greater idol than ever with his 
 poor mother." 
 
 "Then Alice is not improved?" I said. 
 
 "In some things she is," said Mrs. Ver- 
 non. " She does sometimes show an in- 
 terest in serious things, and has more than 
 once lately asked Dermot to read his Bible 
 to her; but her idolizing fondness for that 
 boy is, as my husband says, if possible, in- 
 creasing." 
 
 "Poor, poor Alice," I replied ; " will she 
 never be warned of her error 2"
 
 146 THE FISHER-BOY OF INHISKERRY. 
 
 " Some months ago," continued Mrs. 
 Vernou, "just after you left us, Dermot 
 was seized with a sudden and dangerous 
 illness. For some hours his life was de- 
 spaired of ; and to paint the wretchedness 
 of his agonized mother, is beyond my 
 power. We begged of her earnestly, (at 
 the same time that we felt deeply for her 
 sorrow,) to remember that He, who had 
 given her her child, surely had a right to 
 resume that gift." 
 
 " ' I don't care who gave him,' she 
 said ; ' he's mine now, and I won't give him 
 up.' 
 
 " ' O, Alice, Alice !' I said, < think who 
 it is you speak of: the great, the Almighty, 
 the merciful God, who gave up his own, 
 his only Son, to bear poverty and pain, 
 and distress and sorrow, to see all his 
 friends forsaking him, and then, alone and 
 in misery, to give up his life upon the 
 cross, all for you ! And will you refuse 
 the very first thing he asks of you ? Will 
 you not try to submit to his will 2'
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEKRY. 147 
 
 " ' If he'd ask anything else in this wide 
 world I'd give it ; but my child, my life, 
 my darling, my weenach, that I nursed in 
 my bosom, and carried in my arms, and 
 never drew one tear from my eyes till 
 now ; my jewel, my bright beauti- 
 ful flower ! O, my boy, my boy ! I 
 can't, I can't!' she cried, bitterly sob- 
 bing. 
 
 " Charles knelt down, and prayed that 
 God might, in his infinite mercy, be 
 pleased to spare this poor mourner's child, 
 if such was his all- wise will. In every 
 petition she joined fervently and warmly; 
 but when he went on to pray that, if his 
 sovereign wisdom saw fit to do otherwise, 
 he might send his Spirit into her heart, 
 and enable her to bow in meek submission 
 to his will, we observed that she was si- 
 lent ; nor, while he prayed that Almighty 
 grace might enable her to loosen her too 
 tightly drawn affections from this idol 
 of her heart's worship, did one singlo 
 amen escape her lips. She remained in
 
 148 THE FISHEK-BOY Ot INNISKEERY. 
 
 sullen silence, except when a groan of 
 anguish relieved her burdened heart." 
 
 " What a sad state of inind ; but yet 
 her child was spared ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and a few days after he had 
 been pronounced out of danger, we called 
 on her again. 
 
 . " 'O, Alice !' said I, ' have you not great 
 reason to thank your heavenly Father for 
 his goodness to you?' 
 
 "'Indeed, and that's true for you, 
 ma'am,' she replied : ' and I thanks his' 
 reverence, too, for his beautiful prayers ; 
 for I wouldn't believe but 'twas them done 
 it, for he got a turn for the better that very 
 night.' 
 
 " l But, Alice,' said Charles, ' you did 
 not join in those prayers.' 
 
 " ' I did in most, your reverence ; but 
 you axed what I didn't want of you, 
 sir.' 
 
 " < "What was that ?' inquired I. 
 
 "'Why, ma'am, that I mightn't love 
 my child as well as I does now ; and sure
 
 THE FISIIEE-BOY OF INNISKKREY. 149 
 
 that was a quare thing to ask for any 
 mother ; and I wouldn't give in to it, for 
 I wouldn't wish to love him a bit less 
 than I does. Sure, if a mother wouldn't 
 love her child, let alone her only one, 
 would there be any love in the world ?' 
 
 " ' Alice, 5 I replied, i I well know the 
 depth and tenderness of a mother's love ; 
 but I know, too, there is a higher, holier 
 love ; and if we do not prefer the Giver 
 of all good to any of His gifts, we are 
 committing idolatry as much as if we 
 made a god of stone, and fell down to 
 worship it.' 
 
 " On hearing this Alice turned away, 
 with the same obstinacy of countenance 
 as you may sometimes have observed in 
 her. c Agh, 'tis easy talking; but if God 
 didn't choose we should love the childer, 
 he wouldn't give 'em to us ; in especial 
 wherein we didn't expect one.' 
 
 " We rose to go away; and Charles said, 
 'Alice, from my heart I pity you, for I 
 cannot but fear that your rebellious idol-
 
 150 THE FISIIKK-BOY OF INNTSKERRY. 
 
 atry will yet call down the vengeance of 
 God upon your head. You have said, 
 you would not give up your child to him. 
 And, O! beware lest his anger be pro- 
 voked to tear away from you that which 
 still keeps your heart from him.' 
 
 " She made no reply, and we left her. 
 
 " I think the boy's illness has, in some 
 degree, softened her feelings, but has not 
 led her to prefer her Lord and Saviour as 
 her chief joy. That will, I doubt not, yet 
 be accomplished ; but by what means it 
 may be I dread to think of." 
 
 CHAPTEE Till. 
 
 A FEW days after this discourse I accom- 
 panied Yernon in a visit to Alice. As 
 we entered very gently we were not ob- 
 served for some minutes, and my surprise 
 was only equaled by my pleasure at the 
 scene before me.
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEKBY. 151 
 
 The always industrious Alice, as usual, 
 busy with her knitting, sat on a low stool 
 near the fire on the ftoor. At her feet 
 was seated Dermot with his Bible, which 
 he was reading aloud to her ; while around 
 the room, some on the floor, some on the 
 settle, one on a tub turned upside down, 
 (to serve as a stool for the time being,) 
 and others on any other accommodation 
 equally un'couth and near at hand, were 
 assembled a group of listeners : some wo- 
 men, with infants in their arms, a few 
 boys and fishermen, two or three girls, 
 and four old men. 
 
 Among the last was Larry, occupied 
 with his nets ; and as Alice turned to make 
 some remark, which showed her interest 
 in the subject, I observed- him, poor fel- 
 low ! lifting up his eyes toward heaven 
 with an expression of thanksgiving ; while 
 with the rough sleeve of his jacket he 
 wiped away an unbidden tear. At length 
 one of the women perceiving us, the whole 
 group arose ; but Dermot's countenance
 
 152 THE FISHER-BOY OF IXXISKERRY. 
 
 was much too expressive not to display, 
 in spite of his welcome, no small degree 
 of disappointment at the interruption. 
 However, after they had paid their respects 
 to us, Yernon desired them again to be 
 ' seated, which they obeyed, having first 
 presented us with the two best chairs the 
 house afforded, their former occupiers con- 
 tenting themselves with the floor. 
 
 Dermot then proceeded. To me all he 
 said was unintelligible ; but Vernon, by 
 now and then looking to his own Bible, 
 was able to follow him nearly through the 
 whole ; while, in watching the varying 
 countenances around me, I found abund- 
 ant and interesting occupation. Poor Der- 
 mot! I never shall forget the smile of 
 delight with which he looked up at us 
 when, having ended one chapter, his 
 mother begged of him to begin another. 
 Dear, happy Dermot ! poor, fond Alice ! 
 how little did either of you imagine what 
 was at hand? 
 
 At length the reading was concluded ;
 
 THE FISHEE-BOT OF INNISKERRY. 153 
 
 and the delighted auditors, having thank- 
 ed their young friend, some even with 
 tears of joy, departed, freely expressing 
 their opinions as they went. 
 
 u Ah, then, he's a "fine scholard," said 
 one. 
 
 " He was ever ready at the book, 'God 
 bless him !" said another. 
 
 "Why, then, I'll tell you what," said an 
 old man, with a solemn and important 
 shake of the head, "the larning's a fine 
 thing, and a good thing too; and that's 
 what / say." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AFTER they were all gone, we conversed 
 for some time with Alice, whose mind 
 certainly appeared opening to the new 
 and blessed truths which her son had just 
 been conveying to her ears. I say her 
 mind, for it did not appear that her heart
 
 154 THE FISHER-BOY OF 1NNISKERBY. 
 
 was yet engaged. Her reason was con- 
 vinced, but her heart was still cold and 
 hard toward its God ; while she clung with 
 far greater tenacity to her darling child 
 than to him, the Saviour, the Mighty and 
 All-merciful Redeemer ! 
 
 A circumstance had occurred not long 
 before my arrival, which had certainly 
 made an impression on her mind, and was 
 not without its good effects. 
 
 It was this : 
 
 There was at Inniskerry two distinct 
 parties : those who read the Bible, and 
 those who did not. Larry was not the 
 only one in the place who was concerned 
 for his soul's welfare : many more had 
 followed his example, and the effect of 
 that blessed word, accompanied as it was 
 by the Spirit's teaching, was very visible 
 among them. 
 
 It happened that there had been for 
 some days very little doing among the 
 fishermen ; but at last, one Sunday morn- 
 ing, there was, as they said, "a great sign
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 155 
 
 of fish on the water;" and, regardless of 
 the sacredness of the day, they began 
 eagerly to prepare their boats, all but 
 Larry and the " little flock " who shared 
 his sentiments. This was by no means 
 pleasing to the opposite party, who were 
 anxious to enlist Larry, as being the best 
 and most experienced fisherman among 
 them. They urged him strongly to it, 
 represented the distress they had been 
 suffering for some time, and declared 
 that it was his duty to provide for his 
 wife and child, as well as that of others. 
 
 " Ah, then, 'tis you that will get the fine 
 tearing from the wife, if you stops at home. 
 Let her alone for a tongue, when 'tis let 
 loose." 
 
 "And small blame to her," said anoth- 
 er; "when she's without her rights this 
 time back, and might asy get 'em now if 
 he chose. And, sure, the priest came down 
 and blessed the boats ; and where's the fear 
 now, except that they'd be too full to bring 
 
 10
 
 156 THE FISTTER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 
 
 The temptation was strong, but the 
 "stronger One" was with Larry. He 
 lifted up his heart for a moment in prayer, 
 and then said, " I tell ye, boys, there's no 
 blessing can ever be with them that 
 crosses the will and commandment of 
 God ; and with his help, I'll not lay a 
 hand to my boat afore twelve o'clock this 
 blessed night." 
 
 And he turned away and entered his 
 house, followed by the jeers, laughter, and 
 curses of the other party ; and received 
 from Alice no gentle reprimand for what 
 she called " his Protestant palaver " He 
 listened for some time in silence, knowing 
 too well how useless it is to attempt to 
 stay the torrent of an angry woman's 
 tongue ; but when there was a pause, he 
 said calmly and solemnly, " Protestant or 
 Roman, it's all one if they reads their Bi- 
 ble, and believes it, they'll not go agin 
 what God commands ; and I'll tell you 
 once for all, Alice, if you expects me to 
 consider your will and pleasure before the
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF IKNISKEKRT. 157 
 
 Almighty God's, it's what I never can, 
 nor never will do. Anything else in this 
 earthly world to serve you I'll do ; but I 
 cannot put even you betune [between] 
 God and my own soul ; and with the help 
 of him above, I never will ; and so give 
 over your talk now." 
 
 Alice was not an ill-tempered woman : 
 her passion was soon over ; and Larry 
 spent the remainder of the day in peace. 
 
 When the Sabbath was over, and the 
 morning of Monday began to dawn, he 
 and his companions, together with Der- 
 mot, (who had heartily concurred in his 
 father's decision,) launched their boats, 
 and departed on a fishing expedition; 
 and on the following evening, all the 
 boats returning, to the great discomfiture 
 of the first party, the boats of Larry 
 and his company were abundantly sup- 
 plied, while their own had scarcely 
 brought enough to show even what they 
 had been about. This excited great sur- 
 prise among the people, who could in no
 
 158 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEKET. 
 
 way account for the superior success of 
 the unblessed boats. 
 
 On some this affair, which they pro- 
 nounced "the quarest thing ever they 
 knew," produced a most happy effect, 
 leading them to depend no longer upon 
 the word and power of a mortal man, but 
 to seek in Jesus alone for pardon, accept- 
 ance, and life everlasting. As to Alice, 
 it greatly shook her confidence in her 
 spiritual directors, and led her to inquire, 
 for a time at least, after the true God of 
 power and of love. But much more was 
 yet to be done, and the time was not yet 
 fully come. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WE shall now return to Larry, who ac- 
 companied us part of the way home. 
 
 From his conversation we gathered, 
 that the Lord was daily drawing him
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEEBY. 159 
 
 nearer to himself, and that Dermot was 
 fast ripening for that eternal glory, of 
 which he was so soon to be made a par- 
 taker. To some remark made by my 
 friend, Larry replied, with a fervor of de- 
 votion I never shall forget, " O, sir ! a 
 heart of iron would melt, if it could call 
 to mind all the whole love of God to- 
 gether!" 
 
 "His love is indeed wonderful," said 
 Yernon ; " far beyond what man's heart 
 can imagine." 
 
 <f Ah, sii*t I sometimes think of all his 
 love, and all his mercy, till I feels a'most 
 choking; and I'd cry my two hands full, 
 and then I'd get ease, and fall down, and 
 thank him for everything. There's one 
 book in the Bible, your honor, is very full 
 of the love of God ; not but that 'tis the 
 way with the whole of 'em, but I con- 
 sates there's most in that. 'Tis Hosea, 
 your reverence. Ah, sir ! it seems to go 
 very hard with the Lord to give up 
 his people, bad entirely, and wicked as
 
 160 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEKEY. 
 
 they were." And he repeated, in Irish, 
 the eighth verse of the eleventh chapter, 
 "How shall I give thee up, Ephraim?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Yernon ; " and then how 
 sweetly he tells them, ' I drew them with 
 the cords of a man, with bands of love, 
 but they refused to return !' " 
 
 " O, sir!" said Larry, "sure I was just 
 like them myself once. Many a way did 
 the Lord strive to draw me to him ; (I've 
 seen it all since, but I didn't know it then ;) 
 and I hardened myself agin him, till at 
 last, without any grief or misfortune, \>ut 
 just by the bands of love, through the 
 means of his own blessed word, he awak- 
 ened me up at once : and sure, sir, what 
 thing else was it but the hand of God 
 brought that word to me? Ah, then, 
 wasn't it the love of God that sent Pad- 
 deen to the stream just at that minute? 
 and wasn't it he made the book stick to 
 the hook? and wasn't it he made Jimmy 
 Brien larn himself first, and then sent him 
 here to larn to me? But sure enough,
 
 THE FISHEK-BOY OF INOTSKERRY. 161 
 
 when he roused me first, I thought it was 
 only to put me to greater punishment ; for 
 O, your reverence ! I thought my sins so 
 black entirely that the Lord would never 
 look on me, but only to destroy me. But 
 blessed be his name, he said to me, as he 
 said to them of old, after telling 'em, 
 6 He'd carry 'em away like a cloud Yet 
 I am the Lord thy God : thou shalt know 
 no God but mdf for there is no Saviour 
 besides me !' " 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 HERE we parted; and, not long after, we 
 met a woman, who appeared in a state of 
 no small irritation, as her words evinced. 
 
 "Bad lucl%to him for a young rascal !" 
 said she ; " never fear, but I'll wallop him 
 well, when I catches a hoult of him !" 
 
 "What's the matter, Judy?" inquired 
 Vernon.
 
 162 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEKRY. 
 
 She started at the sound of his voice 
 and, appearing rather confused, replied, 
 " 'Tis Barney, sir, the young villain. I'm 
 bawling here till I'm tired ; and I can't 
 get him high nor low. Ah, then, if I 
 don't make his four bones sore this blessed 
 night!" 
 
 " O, Judy ! pray have more patience. 
 I suppose the poor child does not know 
 you want him." 
 
 " O then, if he don't, sir, small blame to 
 me to be angry, when he knows he's my 
 only dependence !" 
 
 'iHave you no son but him?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Not one in the wide world, your 
 honor ; only Bill that do be minding the 
 crows, and Pat, and Joaneen, that's a 
 girl, and three I buried, the craturs ; but 
 they didn't break their fas^ to-day, and 
 haven't a drop to wet their little hearts." 
 
 "And what is Barney to do for them ?" 
 
 "Why, sir, to be down on the crasa 
 roads, your honor. There's a dale of
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEKRY. 163 
 
 quality passing to-day ; and he ought 
 to be there to ax a penny for charity's 
 sake." 
 
 " That's a bad trade for him, Judy." 
 
 "Wisha, then, 'tis a poor one too, your 
 reverence, but sure I can't help it." 
 
 " Could not Barney as well work for 
 you as beg ?" 
 
 " Agh, what signifies the trifle of brass 
 a poor gossoon like him would get for his 
 work ? 'twouldn't put a pratee in his own 
 mouth, let alone the others." 
 
 "Well, Judy, just try. I have some 
 hay to be made, so send him to-morrow ; 
 and we shall see what sort of a day's work 
 he will do." 
 
 "The Lord prosper, and bless, and in- 
 crease your honor's reverence, and that I 
 may never live to see your downfall, and 
 that you may never feel could nor hun- 
 ger, you nor yours, for a darling man. 
 O, then, 'tis Barney will be proud entire- 
 ly ; for he don't much like to be after the 
 quality that way at all ; not but what he
 
 164: THE FISHEB-BOY OF IXNISKERKT. 
 
 used to be as cute at it as any boy from 
 this to Dublin." 
 
 " And what has changed him so much ?" 
 
 "Wisha, I don't know, tir; only he's 
 ever after Dermot O'Leary, and he got it 
 out of his book. That 'tis his, I makes 
 him tell ; and sure, your honor, 'tisn't 
 right for a boy to go agin his mother that 
 way." 
 
 " But does he go against you in any 
 other way, Judy?" 
 
 " Indeed, your honor's worship, he do 
 not. I'll tell you no lie. He was a wild 
 chap enough once ; but, since he took up 
 with Dermot and his book, there is not a 
 milder, quieter child in the barony. 
 'Twould be a fine thing for me if Bill was 
 like him. I am sure I don't know the 
 rason of it, but there never was a greater 
 change come on any one. Only for that 
 I'd never let him near Dermot. In regard 
 af him refusing to go down the crass roads 
 larrin, I'll lave him say what he chooses 
 himself."
 
 THE FISHEK-BOY OF INNISKEERT. 165 
 
 After a little more conversation, during 
 which Vernon endeavored to enlighten 
 poor Judy upon the subject of falsehood, 
 of the guilt of which she seemed to have 
 a very small idea, we parted, obtaining 
 from her a promise that Barney should be 
 in the hay-field early next morning. 
 
 Thus did this dear boy Dermot give 
 evident proof of his being a child of God, 
 by his anxiety to impart to others that 
 saving knowledge, which was to him 
 sweeter than honey, and the droppings of 
 the honeycomb. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 WE must go back a little in our narra- 
 tive, to explain the somewhat ambiguous 
 expressions used by Larry in the conversa- 
 tion which I have just related, and which 
 may at the same time show the beautiful 
 manner in which the God of Providence
 
 166 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNTSKERBY. 
 
 makes what appear to us the most trivial 
 incidents work to the glory of his name and 
 the good of his children. 
 
 In the part of the country where Lar- 
 ry's friend Brien resided, there was a nar- 
 row, rapid stream, running at the foot of 
 a mountain. In this stream the boy, 
 whom Larry called Paddeen, was one 
 day fishing, when something unusual 
 struck his hook. He drew it slowly and 
 carefully up ; and finding it to be part of 
 a book, he dried it, and took it to his 
 uncle, James Bryan. His uncle, having 
 some time before this been studying Irish, 
 was delighted to find this prent book, as 
 Paddeen called it, in his own tongue. 
 This book turned out to be a portion of 
 the New Testament; and constant, dili- 
 gent, and earnest was Brien's perusal of it. 
 The Lord was pleased to enlighten his 
 mind by it ; and, from that one small por- 
 tion, found, as the world would say, by 
 chance, this hitherto reckless sinner had 
 learned to flee for refuge to the hope set
 
 PADDEEN FINDING THE SCRIPTURES.
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INOT8KERRY. 169 
 
 before him, and to seek for admittance to 
 the heavenly inheritance, alone through 
 the righteousness of his redeeming Sav- 
 iour. 
 
 He afterward procured a Bible. How 
 much he valued this we have already 
 seen, and how his knowledge of it was 
 afterward blessed to poor Larry. The 
 boy Paddeen also, through God's blessing 
 on the perusal of it, has been led to the 
 Saviour's feet, and has learned to esteem 
 the reproach of Christ greater riches than 
 all the treasures of this world. 
 
 CHAPTEK XIH. 
 
 WOULD that I could draw a vail over 
 the sad and dreary future! But no: it 
 were to hide the just dealings of Almighty 
 Wisdom and Sovereign Love ! 
 
 1 scarcely remember a more lovely 
 evening than that of the 1.5th of August.
 
 170 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 
 
 The extreme warmth of the air would 
 have been oppressive, but for the gentle 
 and balmy breezes from time to time 
 wafted over the waters. How calm and 
 still were those deceitful waters, as, re- 
 flecting Heaven's own light, they lay 
 outstretched before us, 
 
 " Deeply, darkly, beautifully blue." 
 
 The sun was near its setting, and its last 
 golden rays were dancing with fitful luster 
 upon the stern rocks : now lighting the en- 
 trance to some dark cavern, now smiling 
 upon the many-colored heaths or herbage 
 scattered around ; again stretching away 
 into a long line of softened light upon 
 the sparkling sea; and finally resting its 
 laughing beams upon the merry group 
 assembled round the fishing-boats. What 
 numbers that evening saw their dearest 
 earthly treasures embark upon those frail 
 vessels without the shadow of fear or 
 mistrust! "Wives parted with their hus- 
 bands, children with their fathers, mothers
 
 THE FISHEK-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 1?1 
 
 with their sons. Among the latter was 
 Alice, whose tall form we recognized, 
 busy in stowing on board her husband's 
 little bark everything that affection could 
 suggest, or her slender means afford to 
 her idolized child. 
 
 "Hurrah, boys!" cried one of the men, 
 " where's the use of dilly-dallying ? let us 
 be off." 
 
 "Stop a little for Dermot," said an- 
 other ; " he's off for something he forgot. 
 Here he is ! musha, 'tis the book, I'll be 
 bound : he wouldn't leave that after him." 
 
 "I wouldn't then," said Dermot, who 
 now appeared with his usual bright, hap- 
 py smile. "What business would we 
 have of a boat without a rudder? And 
 this is the best rudder, for 'twill steer us 
 beyant this world !" 
 
 "Slawn agaeth, and God keep you, 
 cushla ma cree!" said Alice, embracing 
 him : " may the Lord bless you, Dermot, 
 my lanna, and bring the both yees safe 
 home to me again, avourneen!"
 
 172 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNI8KEKRY. 
 
 " Amen, then !" resounded from many 
 a cheerful voice. The word was given, 
 and the five well-manned boats departed. 
 
 CHAPTEK XIY. 
 
 THAT night I was aroused from sleep by 
 the deep booming sound reverberating 
 along the shore, which is ominous of an 
 approaching storm. I thought of the 
 boats/ and sat up to listen. A sudden 
 and violent gust of wind shook the house : 
 another and another followed. I could 
 no longer sleep ; and rising, I dressed 
 myself, and ran to a window from which 
 the shore was visible. There I perceived 
 lights moving quickly backward and for- 
 ward. I was soon joined by Yernon, 
 and we proceeded to the beach, to try 
 what aid we could afford to the poor 
 terrified villagers. What a scene was 
 there ! -
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INN1SKERRY. 173 
 
 The night was fearfully dark. We 
 hung out lights in all directions; but 
 the rain and wind as quickly extinguished 
 them. We kindled a large fire, which 
 we continued to feed as long as we could 
 get fuel. At length the morning began 
 to dawn, and exhibited on all sides devas- 
 tation and woe. All that, long, fearful 
 day the storm continued to rage with un- 
 abated fury. Weeds, wrack, fragments 
 of trees, all were tossed about in a mingled 
 mass of ruin, while the wild sea-birds 
 added their "weak, complaining cry" to 
 the unrestrained and loud lamentings of 
 the poor terrified villagers. Vainly, 
 vainly, did they watch and weep, and 
 watch again, for one glimpse of the boats. 
 In some, suspense gave way to despair; 
 in others, to hope. 
 
 Among the last was Alice. She had 
 been all night wandering up and down 
 the beach, her dark hair streaming wildly 
 to the winds, and her eyes haggard and 
 swollen with weeping. She exclaimed, 
 
 Ellen and Sarah. 11
 
 174 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKFJZBY. 
 
 endeavoring to be cheeiful, " I kno tf they're 
 safe; they can't but be; they put into 
 Innisraullen port when they seen the 
 storm coming, I'll be bound. . They're 
 safe, they're safe; never fear! God 
 Almighty's above 'em, to keep 'em from 
 harm, his holy name be praised !" 
 
 But poor Alice had forgotten that she 
 had never sought the Lord while he might 
 be found. In the midst of his mercies she 
 turned her back upon him ; and she now 
 expected that her offended God would 
 avert from her the calamity which her 
 own idolatry had called down upon her. 
 
 CHAPTEK XY. 
 
 Two weary days did these poor creatures 
 spend in vain expectation. 
 
 Toward the close of the second, as we 
 were again proceeding along the beach, 
 we observed something at a little distance
 
 EEJIHOT'S BODY DISCOVERED.
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEERT. 177 
 
 floating on the water. In dreadful sus- 
 pense we watched each returning wave. 
 At length one long, rolling billow swept 
 in the object of our anxiety close to where 
 we stood. It was a human form ! Imme- 
 diately another billow succeeded. And 
 how shall I describe our feelings when we 
 recognized in the pale corpse, the sunken 
 features and glazed eyes of the once bright 
 and blooming Dermot? His soft curly 
 hair, of which his poor mother had been so 
 vain, was dripping with the briny waters. 
 Not a ray of color remained in his cheeks; 
 his hands, in the stiffness of death, were 
 tightly clasped across his breast. With 
 some difficulty we disengaged them ; and, 
 opening his waistcoat to try if any pulse 
 yet throbbed, we found, laid next to the 
 once warm and beating heart, which had 
 in life so fondly cherished it, his own 
 treasured Bible " The story of peace !" 
 Yes, blessed Dermot, it was to thee, 
 while on earth, a story of peace, of joy, 
 of love ! And it was thy guiding star to
 
 178 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 
 
 lead thee to thy home of peace above ; 
 even to the bosom of thy reconciled Father 
 and God! 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 "\VELL was it for poor Alice that her 
 restless anxiety had led her to walk to a 
 coast-guard station nearly four miles dis- 
 tant, to make inquiries, which had been 
 asked and answered many a time. 
 
 During her absence we had all that re- 
 mained of her poor boy carried into the 
 house, and laid upon his bed. O*! it was 
 a sad, sad sight. There were seen the 
 woodbine, the rose, and the beautiful white 
 jasmine, with its deep green leaves and 
 its pure star-like flowers. They had been 
 trained by Dermot's own hand, and softly 
 they smiled in the glad light of the even- 
 ing sun ; that sun whose laughing beams 
 shone with .such a painful contrast into
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEREY. 179 
 
 the little room where his cold remains 
 were laid ! How he had loved to train 
 these beautiful children of nature over 
 the whitewashed walls of his humble but 
 happy 'home ! They flourished still in un- 
 conscious loveliness ; but the bright coun- 
 tenance, the sunny smile which had glad- 
 dened that lonely dwelling Was gone for- 
 ever ! 
 
 A few of the weeping neighbors en- 
 deavored to render death's awful change 
 a little less appalling ; but, O ! no appear- 
 ance could lessen the anguish of a moth- 
 er's breaking heart ! And when Alice, 
 who had heard some rumors of the occur- 
 rence, came rushing wildly in, and beheld 
 what was once her idol, she shrieked fear- 
 fully, and fell into a violent hysteric fit. 
 Fit after fit succeeded ; and her state be- 
 came so alarming that Yernon sent for a 
 physician, who, when he came, bled her 
 profusely, and ordered her to be kept in a 
 state of perfect quiet.
 
 ISO THE FISI1ER-LOY OF LNNISKEERY. 
 
 CHAPTEK XVII. 
 
 WE shall now leave her for a while to 
 give some account of the remainder of the 
 boat's company. 
 
 Not long after we left poor Alice three 
 men arrived, to the inexpressible joy of 
 their nearly distracted wives. From them 
 we learned that, with the exception of 
 Dermot, two men, and one little boy, all 
 had escaped. 
 
 "We were rejoiced to find that Larry 
 survived, though" so exhausted from fa- 
 tigue and anxiety about his son as to be 
 unable to leave the house where he had 
 taken shelter. 
 
 The boats, they said, had proceeded to 
 a greater distance than usual. On the first 
 symptoms of the approaching storm they 
 had endeavored to gain the nearest port. 
 But the wind rose so suddenly and violent-
 
 THE FISHEK-BOY OF INNISKERKY. 181 
 
 ly, and the waves rolled against them with 
 such tumultuous force that all their ef- 
 forts were unavailing. A sudden squall 
 had upset Larry's boat, and plunged the 
 whole crew into the waters, while the 
 darkness of the night precluded all hope 
 of saving one another. They all tried to 
 swim to the nearest land, where they per- 
 ceived lights were hung out. Larry and 
 Dermot had kept together as long as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 At length Larry discovered that Dermot 
 was no longer near him, and his agony 
 was so great that his companions could 
 scarce prevail on him to proceed ; but, 
 recollecting that perhaps Dermot might 
 have got nearer to land than they, he 
 made a great effort and was saved. But 
 so exhausted were they, that he and sev- 
 eral others were carried in a state of per- 
 feet unconsciousness to the house of the 
 persons who still kindly harbored them. 
 Their more fortunate companions, who 
 Lad been able to reach the shore in safety,
 
 182 THE FISHER-BOY OF 1NNISKERRY. 
 
 now anxiously went in pursuit of Dermot, 
 and of the others who were missing. Two 
 whole days did they spe'nd in this vain 
 search ; all the means in their power were 
 used; but the whole was useless. The 
 trembling father could not give up all 
 hope ; and the kind-hearted men, who 
 had remained to comfort their afflicted 
 companions, now hastened to the village 
 to learn if any tidings of Dermot had ar- 
 rived there. 
 
 Yernon, hearing this, resolved to go 
 himself to convey the melancholy news. 
 The little terrier, Dermot's favorite com- 
 panion, followed us. Even his bright eyes 
 wore an expression of sadness, and his low, 
 melancholy whine as he licked the lifeless 
 hand of his young master went to many a 
 heart. He now trotted on before, not aa 
 his wont, with tail and ears erect, but with 
 a drooping head and nose to the ground 
 lie pursued his road, uttering now and 
 again his dismal howl, till we approached 
 the house where Larry was. Led by his
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 183 
 
 instinct, the poor little animal rushed im- 
 petuously forward, and was in Larry's 
 arms before he had time to see us. He 
 started up, and cried out, " What news, 
 sir? is Dermot " 
 
 Here the dog moaned piteously ; and 
 that, together with Yernon's expressive 
 countenance, told all. Poor Larry, cov- 
 ering his face with both his hands, wept 
 long, bitterly, and silently ; wept in heart- 
 rending anguish. At length, when his 
 sobs permitted him, he said, " My blessed 
 boy ! My poor, poor Alice ! -I must go to 
 her." 
 
 Yernon told him of her state in as gen- 
 tle terms as possible ; and with great diffi- 
 culty persuaded him to remain one night 
 more with his hospitable friends. Having 
 related to him the place in which Der- 
 mot's Bible was found, he took it from his 
 pocket and gave it to him. The poor fel- 
 low pressed it in silence to his lips, and 
 covered it with tears. Yernon then spoke 
 a few words of comfort to him, and ex-
 
 184: THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERKY. 
 
 horted him to implore the aid of his heav- 
 enly Father, both for himself and for 
 Alice, under this overwhelming affliction ; 
 and then, preparing to depart, he called 
 to the dog to accompany him ; but the 
 little creature only nestled itself the closer 
 to poor Larry, and looked up into his face 
 with such a look of real sorrow, that it 
 again called forth a flood of bitter tears. 
 He sobbed out, "O, sir! leave him; 
 leave him with me : he loved my child, 
 and my child loved him ; and I'll never, 
 never part with him !" And taking him 
 In his trembling arms, he fondled him 
 like a child. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIH. 
 
 MEANWHILE, poor Alice's illness rapidly 
 increased, and a violent fever seized her. 
 
 Totally deprived of reason, she called 
 loudly on her husband and child, and
 
 TIIE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 185 
 
 earnestly begged them not to forsake her. 
 The next moment she would start up with 
 vehemence and exclaim : " They took 
 him from me ! .Give him back ! Give 
 back my child, I say !" And then would 
 sink back exhausted on her pillow. 
 
 She continued in this state for some 
 days ; and when poor Larry returned to 
 his now mournful home, she seemed not 
 to recognize him in the smallest degree. 
 Thus she remained for a week, during 
 which time we daily visited her cottage. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ENTERING suddenly one day, we found 
 Larry seated on a stool, near a low table, 
 on which he had stretched out both his 
 arms, while with his hands he had 
 covered his face, so that he did not 
 perceive us. 
 
 " Larry," said Yernon.
 
 186 THE FISHER-BOY OF I3TNISKERRY. 
 
 He started up, and we beheld a coun- 
 tenance bedewed with tears, and marked 
 with traces of deeper dejection than we 
 had yet observed. 
 
 "O, sir! what will I do?" he cried; 
 " what will I do ? She isn't a bit better ; 
 and they say, without she gets a coolin' 
 to-day, they don't think she will this side 
 twenty-one ; and, och hone ! your honor, 
 sure with the raging fever that's on her, 
 she'll be lost entirely !" 
 
 By this Larry meant to say, that if her dis- 
 order did not that day come to a crisis, it was 
 not likely to take place till the twenty-first 
 day ; and he feared, from the violence of 
 the fever, that by that time her strength 
 would be completely exhausted. 
 
 Yernon was, indeed, what the Apostle 
 Paul so beautifully describes himself to 
 be, Gentle -among his people, even as a 
 nurse cherisheth her children. 
 
 "Larry," said he, in the mildest tone, 
 " is your faith beginning to fail ?" 
 
 " O, master dear," replied Larry, "I
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEKRY. 187 
 
 think I have faith sometimes ; but when 
 I looks at her, and when I thinks of him 
 that's gone, it all goes from me, and I'm 
 tossicated and broken-hearted entirely. 
 Qph hone ! my child ! my darling ! my 
 son! my joy! And you, too, my wife, 
 my poor Alice, wirrastrua! Och hone! 
 och hone !" 
 
 Here the poor man wept like an in- 
 fant. 
 
 Dermot's Bible lay on the table, and 
 Vernon, taking it up, read the following 
 verses : " He shall call upon me, and I 
 will -answer him ; I will be with him in 
 trouble ; I will deliver him, and honor 
 him." Psalm xci, 15. 
 
 Larry made no reply, and he pro- 
 ceeded : 
 
 " Call upon me in the day of trouble ; 
 I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify 
 me." Psalm 1, 15. 
 
 " Thou shalt make thy prayer unto the 
 Lord, and he shall hear thee." Job 
 xxii, 27.
 
 188 THE FISHER-BOY OF INXISKERRY. 
 
 " Hear my prayer, O God ! attend unto 
 my cry. From the ends of the earth will 
 I cry unto thee, when my heart is over- 
 whelmed within me. Lead me to the 
 Rock that is higher than I." PsaUn 
 Ixi, 1, 2. 
 
 "Ah, sir!" said Larry, "it is very 
 beautiful : if I could pray." 
 
 "My poor friend," replied Yernon; 
 " in the day of prosperity you could call 
 upon God; and will you not in the day 
 of adversity ?" 
 
 "God help me!" he answered; "the 
 sorrow has put me all astray ! "Will- your 
 reverence pray ?" 
 
 Yernon khelt down, and with deep 
 fervor appeared to address the God who 
 heareth prayer. As his words were Irish, 
 I could not understand them; but the 
 earnest tremulousness of his voice, and 
 the glistening of his heaven-directed eye, 
 showed how his whole soul was engaged 
 in the work. Larry knelt also, and cov- 
 ered his face with his hands; but many
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 189 
 
 a tear forced its way through his closed fin- 
 gers. He remained on his knees for some 
 minutes after Vernon had ceased to pray ; 
 and when he arose, though he still looked 
 melancholy and dejected, his countenance 
 had lost its former expression of despair- 
 ing misery. 
 
 "There's a peace, sir," he said, "that 
 earth can't give; for it comes when the 
 heart turns away from earth entirely." 
 
 "Yes, Larry; it is the gift of God 
 alone. ' Peace I leave with you, my 
 peace I give unto you,' is the promise of 
 our blessed Redeemer ; and if the tempter 
 tries to rob you of that peace, lift up your 
 heart at once to Him whose goodness you 
 have experienced. Though you may not 
 be able with your tongue to pray, yet 
 let your heart come before the Lord, who 
 has said : ' Before they call, I will answer; 
 and while they are yet speaking, I will 
 hear.' And, 'May the peace of God, 
 which passeth all understanding, keep 
 your heart and mind in the knowledge
 
 190 THE FISHER-BOY OF IXNTSKERKT. 
 
 and love of God, and of his Son Jesus 
 Christ.'" 
 
 "Amen!" was all poor Larry could ut- 
 ter ; but he wrung Vernon's offered hand 
 with an almost convulsive grasp. 
 
 His prayers were heard ; for that very 
 night Alice got some hours' quiet sleep, 
 after which she appeared decidedly bet- 
 ter. 
 
 From that time her bodily health 
 rapidly improved ; and in about a fort- 
 night after she was able to sit up in her 
 wicker arm-chair. But, alas! the sudden 
 shock which she had received, and the 
 violent fever which had succeeded, had 
 been too much for her mind to bear, and 
 her reason was gone !
 
 THE FISHEB-BOY OF INNISKEKKY. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 FOR some weeks after her illness, Alice 
 remained in apparent unconsciousness of 
 what had happened ; and would, in plaint- 
 ive tones, ask why Dermot was so long 
 in coming. Then she would burst into a 
 wild, convulsive laugh, which pierced to 
 ^the ver;f heart of her bereaved husband. 
 
 In this state she continued a consider- 
 able time ; at some periods extremely 
 violent, at others, perfectly quiescent, 
 until one day an incident occurred which 
 appeared to alter the current of her ideas. 
 
 In one of our visits we were accom- 
 panied by Mrs. Vernon, and a little boy, 
 who was a great favorite with Alice. 
 For a few minutes she talked to us in her 
 usual incoherent strain ; then, starting up 
 with a solemn countenance, and with 
 considerable dignity of manner, she ap- 
 proached Mrs. Yernon, saying, "Mrs. 
 
 Ellen and Sarah. 1 2
 
 192 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEKRY. 
 
 Yernon, do you love your child? Have 
 you the feelings of a mother? ay, tell 
 me, have you?" 
 
 Mrs. Yernon replied -only with tears. 
 
 Alice again exclaimed : " You have, I 
 see you have! I see it in your eyes. 
 Then tell me, Where is Dermoti" She 
 pronounced the. last words slowly, firmly, 
 and distinctly. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon hesitated to reply, when 
 Alice almost screamed, "Tell me, I say I 
 where's my child? Why does he not 
 come back ?" 
 
 Yernon's little boy gently took her 
 hand, saying, "Dermot will come no 
 more, Alice." 
 
 "Come no more, child! come no more ! 
 "Where is he gone to ?" she said. 
 
 The child calmly raised his eyes to her 
 perturbed and agitated countenance ; and 
 then, pointing to the sky, he said, " He's 
 up there, in heaven, Alice ; he's waiting 
 for you to come there.'* 
 
 These few words seemed to have re-
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 193 
 
 moved the cloud from her mind, and to 
 have burst the flood-gates of her grief. 
 She clasped the little one to her heart, an<i 
 gave way to an agony of tears tears which 
 we did not attempt to restrain ; for they 
 seemed to be a sweet and salutary relief 
 to her oppressed heart and burning brain. 
 At length she gave expression to her va- 
 ried and confused feelings in the follow- 
 ing words : 
 
 " Dermot, my child ! light of my eyes ! 
 darling of my heart ! why do you wait so 
 long? Your father's here the boat's ready 
 the sea's smooth the bright sun is 
 shining even the dog looks up at me, 
 and wonders. Why won't you come, my 
 lannaf But my flower is cut down ! he'll 
 blossom no more! my pretty bird will 
 never sing again ! Och hone! my heart's 
 jewel ! but you're up there above us ! 
 Are you, honey ? Yes, cushla ma cree, 
 you are. You're looking at me ; and one 
 you loved is keeping you from me ; and 
 you won't come to your own poor mother,
 
 104: THE FISHER-BOY OF INOTSKEKRY. 
 
 Her heart is broke, is broke, is broke en- 
 tirely ! The praties is boiled, my darling, 
 ^nd the laine goirt* is ready; and the 
 laine milis^ if you like it better, ma vour- 
 neen ; and you won't come ! you won't ! 
 O, wirra ! wirra ! you won't ! Och mairg 
 dawmsha, mairg dawmsha!^. O, avick 
 ma vourneen ! avick, avick ma cree ! 
 
 No restraint was put upon the expres- 
 sion of her grief; and she continued all 
 that day in constant fits of weeping and 
 lamentation. At last, wearied and worn 
 out, she lay down to rest; tired nature 
 sunk into a sweet and refreshing sleep ; 
 and she awoke next morning without (as 
 she said) "the fire that was about her 
 head and heart." 
 
 Sour milk. f Sweet milk. J Woe is me. 
 my beloved son, my son, the son of my heart
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF tSTNISKEKKY. 195 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THUS we may see the very differ- 
 ent effects of affliction upon different 
 hearts. 
 
 'Larry's feelings were not less ardent, 
 nor were his affections less warm, than 
 those of Alice. His heart, too, had been 
 so closely drawn to his cherished child, 
 that, with Jacob, it seemed as if his life 
 was bound up in the lad's life. But his 
 was a chastened and purified affection. 
 "While Alice gave herself up to all the 
 idolizing fondness of a doting mother, 
 forgetful that the object of her love was 
 in the hands of Him, who, having power 
 to give, has also power to take away, 
 Larry's heart was drawn by the cords of 
 gratitude from the gift to the gracious 
 Giver ; and each endearing quality in the 
 character of his son only gave him fresh
 
 196 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKEERY. 
 
 reason for thankfulness to Him who Lad 
 endued him with these gifts. 
 
 When the blow came, the. sudden and 
 awful blow, which severed them forever 
 in this world, though stricken to the very 
 soul, and for a while bowed down beneath 
 the weight of woe, yet never for a moment 
 did he question the dealings of his heav- 
 enly Father. Meekly submissive, he ex- 
 claimed, " I shall go to him, but he shall 
 not return to me !" "Thou, Lord, doest all 
 things well; he was thine. Thy will, not 
 mine, be done." 
 
 Alice, on the contrary, had looked upon 
 this precious boy as all her own. She had 
 thought a mother's fondness could shield 
 him from every ill. She had never al- 
 lowed herself to admit the possibility of 
 his removal from her. She had turned 
 willfully from the thought of her Divine 
 benefactor. Hence, when the hour of 
 trial came she sank at once. She had 
 contemned the idea that God would rob 
 her of her treasure ; and when his mercy
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNTSKEKRY. 197 
 
 saw fit to withdraw her heart's idol, she 
 fell powerless and wretched beneath the 
 stroke. He had spoken softly to her soul, 
 but she had refused him admittance, and 
 in. the hour of desolation he was not to be 
 found. He had withdrawn himself, and 
 was gone. But it was only for a time. 
 It was not his will that this stricken one 
 should perish. The day was coming when 
 she, too, was to hear his voice, and be led 
 into his fold. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A FEW days after this sudden revulsion 
 in the mind of poor Alice, we again vis- 
 ited her cottage. 
 
 The kitchen was empty, and Mrs. Yer- 
 non, softly entering the bed-room, beheld 
 a sight, new indeed, but how delight- 
 ful ! Alice was on her knees : her hands 
 were clasped together, and her whole
 
 198 THE FISUER-BOY OF 1NNISKERKY. 
 
 soul seemed to ascend with each petition 
 to her God. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon's eyes filled with tears. 
 She gently closed the door, without being 
 perceived by Alice, and we left the 
 house. 
 
 l$ot far distant we met Larry, who ac- 
 costed us with " Good morning to your 
 honor's reverence. Were you along with 
 Alice, Mi&tis?" he asked. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon told him what she had just 
 seen ; nd he replied : "Ah, Mistis dear, 
 the Lord's ways is wonderful ! Share, after 
 all that he sent upon us, and after the senses 
 was druv out of her entirely, the dear 
 knows, but he's bringing her back now, 
 and turning her to hisself. She do be 
 ever and always axing me to read the book 
 to her ; and she crying like an infant, not 
 for her trouble at all ; but all her talk is, 
 that she is a great sinner." 
 
 "Ah, Larry!" answered Mrs. Yernon, 
 " we may see now why it was the Lord 
 saw fit thus to afflict you."
 
 TIIE FISHER-BOY OF LNNISKEKRY. 199 
 
 " Wisha, ma'am, I do see it, your honor," 
 said he ; " and long ago I seen it ; and, 
 though I haven't faith enough to be glad 
 though it broke the very core of rny 
 heart -I'm not sorry." 
 
 Poor Alice ! though the Lord had af- 
 flicted, he had not forsaken her; and that 
 proud, unyielding heart, which had re- 
 fused to bend, was melted by the all-pow- 
 erful beams of the Divine Spirit. She 
 had, as it were, exclaimed in the bitter- 
 ness of her grief, " Is it nothing to you, 
 all ye that pass by ? Behold and see if 
 there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow, 
 wherewith the Lord hath afflicted me in 
 the day of his fierce anger." 
 
 But a friend was at hand, and her pious 
 husband had whispered to her : " God 
 doth not WILLINGLY afflict, or grieve the 
 children of men. Let us then search our 
 hearts, and try our ways." And earnestly 
 had he besought the Lord to aid them in 
 the work, and finally to " lead them in the 
 way everlasting."
 
 200 THE FISHER-BOY OF LNNISKEKKY. 
 
 What the result was, we shall perceive 
 from the words of Alice herself. 
 
 In one of Mrs. Yernon's almost daily 
 visits, Alice exclaimed, "Ah, ma'am! I 
 was very unhappy last night; I was awake 
 all night, thinking." 
 
 " Thinking of what, Alice ?" inquired 
 Mrs. Yernon. 
 
 " "Why, ma'am, your honor, thinking of 
 everything that happened : and I was get- 
 ting very angry with the Lord, to say 
 he'd take my only one from me, and spare 
 theirs that has plenty. There's Nelly 
 Regan and Kathleen M' Car" thy, and all of 
 'em has a houseful; and my beautiful 
 child, my diamond, my only one, in his 
 could, dark grave !" Here she began to 
 weep bitterly. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon replied: "And did you 
 allow yourself to give way to such feel- 
 ings, my poor Alice ?" 
 
 " No, ma'am ; I began to think of what 
 Larry often tells me, that the Lord never 
 willii)(j1y afflicts; and, says I to myself,
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OP INNISKEKKY. 201 
 
 there surely must be some reason for it. 
 And ah, ma'am ! with a scalding heart I 
 called to mind the time, and it wasn't 
 once nor twice, but many and many a 
 time, that I said, I wouldn't give up my 
 child. And I usedn't to care at all about 
 the Lord, nor wouldn't hearken to his 
 word at all : only for I thought it would 
 pleasure my poor boy, I did sometimes." 
 
 " And you see, Alice, that the merciful 
 Lord loved you too well to allow you to 
 go on in your sin." 
 
 "I do, ma'am; I do. 'Tis his love 
 makes me cry, and not his anger at all. 
 O, what wonderful love he has for us poor 
 creatures ! Sure he had a right to let me 
 go on in my wickedness to the end, and 
 to destroy me forever. And what did I 
 do to deserve his love, or what will I ever 
 do for him, poor sinner as I am ?" 
 
 Here this poor humbled creaifc-e wept 
 again, with the overwhelming sense of 
 her Redeemer's love. 
 
 "We did nothing to deserve his love,
 
 202 THE FISHER-BOY OF 
 
 Alice," said Mrs. Yernon. "While we 
 were yet sinners, he first loved us. Of 
 his own will he laid down his life for us. 
 No man took it from him ; but he laid it 
 down of himself, that his sheep might hear 
 his voice, and follow him, and live." 
 
 " And O, ma'am !" cried Alice, clasp- 
 ing her poor, worn hands together, " can 
 we do nothing for him ?" 
 
 " We can, Alice ; and it is a very small 
 thing he asks." 
 
 "That's our hearts, ma'am," she replied, 
 quickly; "and- that's what I refused. 
 O, a weenach, how could I love even 
 you better nor Him? My blessed boy, 
 you often told me that, and I didn't givo 
 heed. How could I be so hardened 
 entirely ? O, ma'am ! there's light on it 
 all now! He took what kept my heart 
 from him, and blinded my poor eyes from 
 his lovJfc And 'twas all to save the soul 
 of one who never loved him ! And his 
 name be praised ! His holy name be 
 praised!" said she, reverently courtesying;
 
 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERP.Y. 203 
 
 "'tis the first time I said it since I lost 
 my jewel!" 
 
 Alice daily went on, drinking water 
 from the wells of salvation, and, under the 
 teaching of her husband, by the Spirit's 
 aid, "growing in grace, and in the 
 knowledge of her Lord and Saviour 
 Jesus Christ." Instead of a proud, self- 
 satisfied worldling, she is now become 
 one of the meekest of believing Christians. 
 Deeply sensible of her own un worthiness, 
 she casts herself, in childlike confidence, 
 upon her Eedeemer. 
 
 The last time I visited my friends, I 
 found her and Larry still living "in the 
 unity of the Spirit, in the bond of peace, 
 and in righteousness of life." 
 
 There is in the churchyard of Innis- 
 kerry a lowly grave, beneath the shade 
 of a beautiful cypress. There rests all 
 that is mortal of the happy Dermot ; and 
 Vernon's children have decked their 
 young favorite's tomb with a variety of 
 ]ovely flowers. There, the first pale prim-
 
 204 THE FISHER-BOY OF INNISKERRY. 
 
 rose is seen to blossom ; and there, in 
 their season, the sweet-scented violet and 
 the lily of the valley spread their richest 
 fragrance. 
 
 ]S r o stone marks the spot ; but bereaved 
 affection loves to linger there ; and often 
 has the green sod been moistened by the 
 sorrowful tears, of the lonely parents. 
 
 There Alice comes each evening to 
 muse upon the dead. With her apron 
 rolled over her arm, she sits and rocks 
 herself backward and forward in unison 
 with the winds, which, whistling through 
 the trees, seem as it were to utter a 
 requiem for the dead. But she sits there, 
 not to mourn or bewail ; but, turning her 
 heart and her thoughts to the God of her 
 salvation, and to the unseen world above, 
 
 " She lifts the eye of faith to heaven, 
 And thinks ' my child is there !' " 
 
 THE END.
 
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 This book is DUE on the last 
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 UC SOUTHERN REGI 
 
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