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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 ' 
 

 
 HELEN LINCOLN: 
 
 Calt. 
 
 BY 
 
 CARRIE CAPRON. 
 
 I , . 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 
 1856.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1856, by 
 HARPER A BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern 
 District of New York.
 
 PS 
 
 TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF MY BROTHER, 
 
 WHO 
 
 "IS NOT, FOE GOD TOOK HIM" 
 
 AHD TO 
 
 MY SISTER, 
 
 WHOSE SMILES STILL LIGHTEN LIFE'S PATHWAY, 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED. 

 
 HELEN LINCOLN, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " LAND HO !" had been sung out clearly by the watch 
 from the " crow's nest ;" the sailors had completed ar 
 rangements for going on shore; the signal-gun had 
 sounded over the water, and been answered from the 
 battery ; and the merchant ship Argos was smoothly 
 sailing up the bay of New York. 
 
 George Lincoln, the owner of the vessel, and his 
 wife were on deck, eager to catch. sight, if possible, 
 of some familiar object as -they approached their native 
 land, which they had left more than four years be 
 fore, a happy husband and his youthful bride. 
 
 But they returned not in all respects as they left. 
 A light-haired child, of three summers, was standing 
 beside them, and the wife of a hardy tar was near, 
 tossing an infant, and gayly singing the chorus, 
 
 " Home, sweet home." 
 
 A change had come. These little ones now claimed 
 a portion of that love which before the parents had 
 shared only with each other. 
 
 "George," said Mrs. Lincoln, looking up into her 
 husband's face ; " they will be long, weary years which 
 I shall spend before I again sail upon this ocean ; quite
 
 6 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 unlike those which have passed since I became your 
 wife." And she looked down into the blue water, as 
 unconscious of the great waves in the ocean of life as 
 were the gentle ripples of the bay to the heaving of 
 the bosom of the stormy Atlantic. 
 
 " Spare such reflections for some idle hour, Mary," 
 said Mr. Lincoln, cheerfully. " Don't you see, we shall 
 have to go on shore in a few minutes ? How busy the 
 city seems to be New York is a whole world in a 
 small compass." These last remarks were made to 
 dispel the gloom which seemed to be gathering over 
 his wife's countenance. 
 
 "It may be a whole world," she answered; "but 
 what is one world to me if you are in another ?" 
 
 " But we are together now," said he, " and I trust 
 many happy days will pass before I say 'Good-by.' 
 Come, cheer up, and let us enjoy the sunshine while 
 we may. It is soon enough to look for storms when 
 clouds begin to gather," and with one kiss he drove 
 away all her thoughts of sorrow. 
 
 Reader, were you ever present when a ship poured 
 out its burden after a long sea voyage ? If so, you 
 know how impossible it would be to give any just de 
 scription of the scene. " Going aboard" and " going 
 ashore," are phrases of widely different signification in 
 the sailor's vocabulary. The same ship, the same port, 
 the same faces, and the same hearts, produce very dif 
 ferent scenes in the one case from those of the other. 
 Farewell kisses, sundered hearts, bitter tears, waving 
 handkerchiefs, and loved ones fading fast from sight in 
 distance, in the first ; signs of recognition, tears of joy, 
 reunion of hearts, and kisses of welcome in the latter. 
 And such were some of the scenes which would enter 
 into a description of the landing of the crew of the 
 Argos. We should see soft lips kissing, and delicate
 
 1IELEN LINCOLN. 7 
 
 arms embracing the sunbrowned sons of the sea ; and 
 eyes moisten which were undimmed, and stout hearts 
 melted, which were unmoved amid the fury of the 
 ocean's wildest storms. 
 
 But let us turn from this picture of hurrying to and 
 fro, and glance at the former history of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Lincoln, while they are quietly resting at one of the 
 city hotels. 
 
 Mr. Lincoln had been the junior partner of a com 
 pany of East India merchants. By his prudence and 
 industry he had not only reached this position, but had 
 won the regard and confidence of the company. The 
 senior partner was a widower, and the father of Mrs. 
 Lincoln. She was a light-hearted, confiding girl ; the 
 idol of a father who had not another relative for whom 
 to live. She had early suffered her affections to fix 
 upon one who seemed to delight in his conquest, but 
 who, all unworthily, had dared to slight and trifle with 
 the holiest principles of our nature ; and her heart was 
 well-nigh shattered by the blow. But the broken ten 
 drils of affection cling firmly around the nearest support, 
 and Tier lacerated heart eagerly admitted the noble and 
 worthy one offered by George Lincoln. But though 
 the wound was healed, the scar was never removed. 
 She was all, however, that her husband could desire, 
 for in the nobleness of her woman's nature she appre 
 ciated his love, and the shadow which sometimes 
 clouded life's sunshine was ever banished by his pres 
 ence. 
 
 Since their marriage they had resided in the East 
 Indies, and during their absence, Mary's father had 
 died, the company had been dissolved, and Mr. Lin 
 coln, who had acquired a fine fortune, had determined 
 to enter more deeply into a similar trade upon his own 
 responsibility. lie was admirably fitted for such an
 
 8 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 enterprise. Just and honorable in all his dealings, he 
 was, nevertheless, a close calculator, and secured for 
 himself in return, that justice which he administered to 
 others. In his family he threw off the mantle of dig 
 nity and reserve which characterized him in his public 
 life, and was ever the affectionate, warm-hearted, loving 
 husband and father. He made his home a " city of 
 refuge," to which he fled for safety from the storms 
 and conflicts of busy life. He had returned to New 
 York to secure to his family those advantages which he 
 deemed desirable, and which could not be enjoyed else 
 where ; besides, his present plans, if carried out, would 
 require his presence in that city as often as abroad ; and 
 his home there would be as really his home as it could 
 be in India. 
 
 " Well, Mary," said Mr. Lincoln to his wife, after she 
 had time to recover from the fatigue of the voyage, 
 and Nellie, the little girl before mentioned, had learned 
 to walk as safely on terra firma as she had done on 
 the deck of the Argos, "we have now been nearly a 
 week in New York, and have you experienced that in 
 describable happiness so often spoken of, arising from 
 the simple fact of being once more in one's native laud?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied she, gayly ; "I have been endeav 
 oring to wake up all the patriotic feelings of my nature 
 to-day, but I confess I should have failed, almost en 
 tirely, had it not been for nurse, whose raptures seem 
 to have inspired me. She caught sight of an old ac 
 quaintance yesterday, and I have heard of little else 
 than the ' dear land' since. Were I a poet, I think I 
 might produce something quite affecting about Amer 
 ica and the * stars and stripes.' Dick has been in two 
 or three tunes, and seems to have caught his wife's 
 spirit, and has declared this a ' grate counthry entirely, 
 quite equal to ould Ireland.' "
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 9 
 
 Dick was an Irishman, while his wife was American 
 born, but of Irish parentage. She, nevertheless, re 
 tained more of the Irish brogue and Irish habits than 
 many who come to us fresh from the " Emerald Isle." 
 There is, perhaps, an apology due Dick for his enthu 
 siasm at this time. He was one of those husbands who 
 think their wives superior beings ; and he was sure the 
 land of her birth was a little beyond the one which 
 cradled his dawning genius. He was a faithful servant 
 to Mr. Lincoln, and his devotion to him now was com 
 plete, since, at a previous voyage, he had been allowed 
 to return for his Bridget, who was to be employed as 
 nurse in the family. Six happy months had since passed, 
 and, doubtless, he would have pronounced the " Aste 
 Andase greater entirely" than both America and Ire 
 land, had not Bridget expressed a preference for the 
 second ; and he was controlled by one wish, that of 
 making his wife's ideas and opinions his own. 
 
 " I am glad," returned Mr. Lincoln, " if you have 
 succeeded at all in your efforts. For my part, I feel a 
 kind of loneliness when I am about town ; and here, 
 where I can see you and the children, is the only place 
 where I can feel comfortable. It is nearly ten years 
 since I was here, to remain any length of time, and 
 every thing has changed so much, and I find so few 
 whose acquaintance I can claim, that the name home 
 ill becomes New York." 
 
 " Now, George," said his wife, " you have struck a 
 death-blow to all my enthusiasm. If friends and familiar 
 faces must make this city appear home-like, I shall be 
 lonely indeed. I was never here, but always at board 
 ing-school, after my mother's death, which, you know, 
 happened when I was very young ; and as soon as I 
 had finished my studies, you took me abroad, and 
 
 
 1*
 
 10 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 school-day friendships and acquaintances are soon lost 
 under such circumstances." 
 
 " I don't see," said Mr. Lincoln, " but we shall both 
 be obliged to depend upon new acquaintances and new 
 friends for the future ; but I hope they will be more 
 last nag than those which our roving lives have permit 
 ted us to enjoy in different parts of the world." 
 
 " I desire few intimate friends," replied the other, 
 "besides my own family. In their love I can be happy, 
 and I know that Dick would sacrifice every thing but 
 Biddy for our sakes ; and I can not feel friendless while 
 two such true, honest hearts beat for us. Come, I 'm 
 determined to appear contented, at least." 
 
 " Why, Mary," said her husband, cheerfully, " this 
 does my very soul good. I had quite caught the spirit 
 you manifested when we were coming up the Bay; 
 don't you recollect you had a slight attack of the 
 ' blues' while we were standing on deck, just before 
 landing ?" 
 
 " O, but then I was thinking of the time when I 
 should not have all my family with me," replied his 
 wife, sadly. 
 
 " But what did I tell you then," said Mr. Lincoln, 
 beginning to fear the effect his remarks might have 
 upon his wife's feelings. " I thought you had concluded 
 not to borrow trouble hereafter. But why don't you 
 ask me what success I have had in securing a house ? 
 I have scoured the city to-day, and have almost come 
 to the determination what I shall do." 
 
 "What is it? do tell me," said Mrs. Lincoln, eagerly. 
 
 " O, Mary," replied her husband, laughingly, " how 
 easily you are influenced by surrounding circumstances. 
 I hope the world will always treat you kindly, for you 
 would certainly repay it by the manifestation of a happy 
 heart ; but I should dread the effect real trouble would
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 11 
 
 produce upon your sensitive nature. Had I not been 
 fully aware of this disposition, I should, by this time, 
 have had you settled in a house of your own ; but I 
 have considered the thing fairly, and have concluded to 
 remain here a fortnight longer in order to secure a 
 more desirable location than any with which we can at 
 present be accommodated." 
 
 " I appreciate your kind thoughtfulness, George," 
 replied the wife ; " but I am surprised that you have so 
 much trouble in finding a house, when New York ap 
 pears to be a perfect sea of houses." 
 
 " But as one sea contains many fish," said her hus 
 band, " so is New York filled with people. It is a very 
 difficult matter to find a dwelling at this season of the 
 year. Next month will be moving time here, and the 
 residence I have engaged will not be vacated until 
 then. It is a little removed from the busy part of 
 town, the air around it seems purer than the air here, 
 and the in-door arrangements are just suited to your 
 taste." 
 
 " Plase, sir," interrupted Bridget, who had entered 
 with the children, and overheard the latter part of the 
 last sentence, " is it the house ye 're spakin' of?" 
 
 "Yes, Biddy," replied Mr. Lincoln; "I have en 
 gaged a very pleasant house, and I expect you will be 
 mistress of our domestic affairs." 
 
 " I '11 be that very same, sir," said Bridget, with a 
 mingled expression of pride and thankfulness. " It 's 
 your faithful sarvant I 've been since I came to ye, and 
 it 's a gintleman ye 've been to me ; and sparin' her 
 presence there's not a finer lady than the one ye 
 have, in all Ameriky. Bad luck to the wind that 
 blows hard on aither of ye !" 
 
 "I shall have an American girl to teach Nellie," 
 continued Mr. Lincoln. " She must begin to learn a
 
 12 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 little now, and then you will be much relieved from the 
 care of both of the children. There is a fine room for 
 a nursery in the house." 
 
 " Plase, sir," said Bridget, " where is it ?" 
 
 " On the first floor," replied Mr. Lincoln. 
 
 " But it 's the house itself I was askin' afther," said 
 Bridget ; " sure, we '11 be making a nursery of which 
 ever room we like." 
 
 Mr. Lincoln described the location, and Bridget 
 (who was well acquainted with the different parts of 
 the city) readily understood where their future home 
 was situated, and declared it to be the " very same she 
 was dhraming they could n't get. And ye '11 be goin' 
 from this directly ?" she continued. 
 
 " Not yet," replied Mr. Lincoln, " we can not take 
 possession under a fortnight." 
 
 " It 's me own dhreams that are always true ones," 
 said Bridget, in a satisfied tone of voice ; " but I 'm 
 plased it 's not for not at all that ye can 't get it ; it '11 
 be grate style we '11 be livin' in there ; and why not, to 
 be sure ? there 's not more of a gintleman in New 
 York than yourself, and, begging your pardon, sir, it 's 
 meself that knows best how to take care of such a 
 place." 
 
 Here the conversation was interrupted by the en 
 trance of Dick, who came to announce that the owner 
 of the house which Mr. Lincoln had engaged was in 
 the reading-room, and would like to make out the pa 
 pers necessary to complete the bargain. 
 
 During his absence, Mrs. Lincoln and Bridget busied 
 
 themselves unpacking trunks, and making their rooms 
 
 more comfortable, since their stay in them was to be 
 
 protracted. 
 
 , Mr. Lincoln took a lease of the house for four years,
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 13 
 
 securing the privilege of purchasing it at any time, 
 should it fully meet their expectations and wishes. 
 
 The sun of prosperity shone brightly around his 
 pathway, and, nurtured in the warmth of its rays, the 
 flowers of hope grew and flourished. 

 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IT was to no house, dreary by its emptiness, that 
 Mary Lincoln was removed from the lodgings where 
 we last saw her. There was no dreaded household 
 settlement to be accomplished, no thoughtful planning 
 for convenience to be encountered. The hand of 
 faithfulness and industry had been busily at work 
 there before her delicate feet pressed the marble steps 
 which lay at the entrance. On the grate in the draw 
 ing-room, a few half-smothered coals had been placed 
 to remove the chilliness of May weather ; two richly 
 ornamented gas-burners were bidding defiance to na 
 ture's darkness ; and Biddy's cheerful face was there, 
 annihilating all feeling of estrangement, and like an ex 
 pected guest, she was welcomed, just at evening, to 
 her home, by all that wealth and love could procure, 
 and the soft lips of that thankful wife pressed upon her 
 husband's cheek the acknowledgment of a gratitude 
 they were unable to express by words. 
 
 Love, and love only, is the price for love and Mr. 
 Lincoln found in his once heart-drooping Mary, new 
 wells of affection continually springing up ; for she best 
 knows the value of a true heart who has felt the 
 treachery of the inconstant. 
 
 " It 's a lucky pair ye are," said Bridget, who, having 
 drawn a tete-a-tete near the fire for Mr. and Mrs. Lin 
 coln, seated herself in a chair beside them ; for though 
 she would, at any time, assert the kitchen or nursery 
 to be her proper place, she never felt out of place in 

 
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 15 
 
 the parlor when there was no company present ; " there 
 is very few that 's fit as yerselves to be lucky. Ye can 
 tell a gintleman that 's not a gintleman, as far as ye can 
 see him," she continued. 
 
 " Biddy's ideas of aristocracy are developing, I im 
 agine," said Mr. Lincoln to his wife. Then turning to 
 Bridget, he asked, " What do you mean by a ' gentle 
 man who is not a gentleman ?' " 
 
 " Him that 's not born a gentleman," said Bridget, 
 promptly ; " like the big man next door to ye, sir." 
 
 " Who is he ? do you know him ?" asked Mr. Lin 
 coln. 
 
 " 'Tis the squire, sir," she replied ; " the very same 
 that was a poor man, no smarther than me own Dick, 
 ten years ago." 
 
 " What 's his name ?" asked the other. 
 
 " Squire Doxtather, sure," said Bridget ; " the very 
 same we used to call Jack Doxtather." 
 
 " Well, is n't he a gentleman, Bridget, because he 
 was once poor ? I was once a very poor orphan boy, 
 and you call me a gentleman." 
 
 " Ah !" said Bridget, with a significant turn of the 
 head, "he has not the face of a gintleman, and it 's un 
 mannerly, very, to be standin', as he has done, all this 
 week at the back window, watching every thing ye 
 sent to the house, sir. Afther ye get acquaint in the 
 neighborhood yerself, ye '11 find what I say to be true ; 
 it 's not the money and the fine house makes the gintle 
 man entirely, though ye can't be one without them." 
 
 Bridget's untutored mind was filled with both truth 
 and error. While she acknowledged the foolish belief 
 that wealth was one of the requisites of a gentleman, 
 she knew that its possession alone was insufficient to 
 secure the title. She had marked the wide difference 
 between the man boasting only riches, and the pos-
 
 16 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 sessor of those virtues which constitute the real gentle 
 man, and which are the promptings of a pure and gen 
 erous heart. 
 
 Mr. Lincoln's home was truly the abode of affluence, 
 ease, and, it may justly be added, of happiness ; for 
 education, refinement, and love, were mingled in the 
 cup of its joy. 
 
 Weeks had passed by, and more than one richly- 
 equipped carriage had rolled away from the door of 
 this dwelling, bearing the gay, the beautiful, and the 
 fortunate. Mr. Lincoln was becoming known among 
 business men, and every attention was paid to himself 
 and to his family. His name was fast becoming familiar 
 in the first circles ; and society already acknowledged 
 him one of its brightest ornaments. There is a homage 
 which the world renders to the wealthy, of which the 
 righteous poor are ignorant; there are friendships, 
 bought with the glitter of gold, which will not endure 
 trial, in the furnace of adversity ; there are hearts which 
 echo only those which beat beneath costly robes ; and 
 there are the great, which are not the good of earth. 
 But who shall read the untried heart ? who scorn the 
 smile which lights the stranger's face ? 
 
 So confiding and cheerful did Mrs. Lincoln appear to 
 her visitors, that she did not fail to win the admiration 
 of all, and city life did not prove to her what it has to 
 many who have lived years alone amid its multitude of 
 inhabitants. Bridget's pride and delight were un 
 bounded. She seemed to live for the interests of her 
 employers, and she felt herself equally honored with 
 them in all these attentions.. She had seen Fashion's 
 most loyal subjects cast glances of admiration upon the 
 elegant furniture, when she led them into the reception- 
 room, and she had noticed the expression of satisfaction 
 and pleasure which such manifested when they parted
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 17 
 
 with the lady, who was to all the greatest attraction of 
 her home. 
 
 One pleasant day, while Mrs. Lincoln was in the 
 nursery enjoying the company of her children, Bridget 
 entered. A cloud darkened the bright sunlight of her 
 countenance, as she handed JVlrs. Lincoln a card, say 
 ing " 'Tis from a lady below, ma'am ; could I say ye 
 are busy with the children ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! I will go down immediately," answered 
 the other ; at the same time glancing at the card, she 
 read the name, " Mrs. J. Doxtater." 
 
 "I told her," continued Bridget, "'ye was in the 
 nursery, but I 'd go for ye, and any raal lady would 
 have excused ye, I 'm sure." 
 
 " Why should I be excused, Biddy ?" said Mrs. Lin 
 coln, a little surprised ; then suddenly recollecting 
 Bridget's remark about her neighbor, she perceived 
 the cause of this displeasure, and went immediately to 
 meet her visitor. 
 
 The door of the nursery, which Mrs. Lincoln had left 
 open, was unobserved by Bridget, who was relating her 
 vexation to Sarah Pease (a young girl who had taken 
 her place in the nursery), and little Nellie, following 
 her mother, soon appeared in the parlor. Mrs. Doxtater 
 was delighted with the child, and was telling her of 
 her own little " Lulu," as she called her, who, she said, 
 was just about her age ; and Nellie, whose confidence 
 and acquaintance with the stranger was established by 
 the offer of a bright silver card-case, was, in her child 
 ish way, accepting an invitation to come and play with 
 Lulu, when Bridget, in a state of great excitement, 
 entered, and taking Nellie by the hand, apologized, 
 saying, 
 
 " 'T was a great mistake, sure, the child's straying 
 in this way."
 
 18 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " She gets very tired of the nursery, Biddy," said 
 the mother, "I wouldn't take her back just now;" 
 and Bridget, very reluctantly, left her enjoying Mrs. 
 Doxtater s society, and hastened back to finish her con 
 versation with Sarah. 
 
 Nellie told Mrs. Doxtater of her little sister, and 
 begged her to " come and see it," and after a some 
 what protracted call, that lady (obedient to Nellie's 
 importunities) followed Mrs. Lincoln to the nursery to 
 see the baby. Baby gave, first a wondering stare, 
 then a half-conscious smile, and finally, sucking its 
 thumb contentedly, manifested its perfect satisfaction 
 with the stranger. 
 
 Mrs. Doxtater declared she had had a most delightful 
 call, begged that the families might be neighborly, and 
 left ; not, however, without the conviction that Mrs. 
 Lincoln's waiting-maid was uncommonly rough, or she 
 never could have made the noise she did in shutting 
 the door after a visitor. 
 
 "She's no discretion, ma'am," said Bridget to Mrs. 
 Lincoln, as soon as Mrs. Doxtater was fairly away; 
 "its great presumption to be goin' all over a lady's 
 house the first time ye 're in it." 
 
 " She appears to be very sociable, Biddy," replied 
 Mrs. Lincoln, " and seems to wish to be friendly." 
 
 " The very same, ma'am, I '11 warrant," replied the 
 other. " She 'd like to be friendly with a lady like ye. 
 Did ye know her of old, as I do, ye 'd not wonder at 
 what I am spakin' to ye." 
 
 "And do you dislike her so much simply because 
 she was once poor ?" asked Mrs. Lincoln. 
 
 " That 's not it at all, ma'am," replied Bridget. " It 
 is a good woman she was, sure, when she was poor ; 
 't is the money, ma'am, has been the spilin' of her ; 
 sure, she was as polite to meself as to any lady of ye,
 
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 19 
 
 then; but she's lost the memory of me now. But 
 for ye're sake I 'd have told her, this is ye're ould 
 acquaintance, Bridget McCarthy ! >T is the pride, 
 ma'am, the money brings out, I 'm despisin'." 
 
 Mrs. Doxtater, disregarding parental advice, had mar 
 ried, in early life, John Doxtater, a worthless fellow ; and 
 the crowning days of her youth had been spent in the 
 society of the uneducated and unrefined. She had 
 well-nigh thrown from her ah 1 natural enterprise, and 
 was fast sinking, not to the depths of the vicious low, 
 but far below the position which, by a little effort, 
 she might have maintained. Her husband was the 
 nephew of a wealthy lawyer, a bachelor, and agreeably 
 to his wishes had several tunes commenced the study 
 of the law, but his lack of energy, together with the 
 consciousness of his own poverty and seeming worth- 
 lessness, would soon overcome his better resolutions, 
 and he was likely to become a miserable beggar. Just 
 at this crisis the uncle died, leaving his whole fortune 
 to his nephew, provided he would resume his studies, 
 persevere, and become a practicing lawyer. 
 
 Fired with a new ambition, "Jack," strong in the 
 belief of the old aphorism, " Never too old to learn," 
 commenced his studies eagerly. His perseverance, 
 certainly, was commendable; his wife, too, aroused 
 from the lethargy into which she had settled, and, 
 being addicted to no vices, unless indolence be ranked 
 a vice, her ambition was soon satisfied. Ten years had 
 rolled away since the uncle's death, and the family of 
 J. Doxtater, Esq., moved freely in the wealthy circle 
 of New York aristocracy. But the transition from 
 penury to affluence often proves too much for human 
 pride to endure becomingly ; and so was it with this 
 family. Measuring worth by dollars, they looked with 
 contempt upon their old, and less fortunate associates,
 
 20 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 and by their haughtiness and arrogance rendered them 
 selves despicable to all save kindred natures, numbers 
 of whom they were never troubled to find. 
 
 Without the key to the lady's character which Bid 
 dy had given, Mrs. Lincoln would have found little 
 trouble in reading it. Every action revealed the truth 
 of the assertion that, " she was not bred a lady." She 
 had expressed great surprise that Mrs. Lincoln "was 
 satisfied with her servants," and said that for her part, 
 she was tormented to death with her own, and had 
 sometimes almost concluded she would have to go into 
 the kitchen herself. She had held a long conversation 
 upon the latest styles, the prices of the hats worn by 
 some of her acquaintances, the last novel, and the merits 
 of the opera. By such means she hoped to establish 
 herself in the friendship and estimation of Mrs. Lincoln. 
 
 " Of all the causes which conspire to blind 
 Man's erring judgment, and mislead the mind, 
 What the weak head with strongest bias rules, 
 Is pride that never failing vice of fools." 

 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MR. LINCOLN, as we have before seen, had come to 
 New York entirely released from the incumbrance of 
 business in the East Indies. Though his determination 
 to return was fixed, bis plans, at the tune of his coming, 
 were not fully complete. He had no partner, and had 
 almost concluded that, with his own capital, he should 
 be able to do a profitable business without one. His 
 mind and time were much occupied with these affairs, 
 and he was less than usual in the company of his fam 
 ily. Thus far in life he had been a persevering business 
 man ; ho had already reaped the certain reward of such 
 labor ; and the success which he had attained was like 
 fuel to the fire of the ambition which had always 
 prompted him. 
 
 After weeks of deliberation upon the subject, he 
 finally decided to establish two trading houses one in 
 the city, and the other at Calcutta and immediately 
 commenced collecting a stock of goods for transporta 
 tion thither. It was the design of Mr. Lincoln to again 
 visit India, establish and arrange matters there, and 
 leave the business in the hands of an agent. He ac 
 cordingly secured the services of a gentleman a little 
 his senior, but one upon whose early efforts fortune had 
 not seemed to dawn with as much promise as it had 
 upon his own, and one whose present prosperity was 
 wholly owing to the company with which he had re 
 cently been engaged. Though this friend was now 
 placed in more than comfortable circumstances, Mr.
 
 22 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 Lincoln felt that the enterprise in which he was about 
 to engage him, would prove far more profitable than 
 the one in which his efforts were at present being 
 spent. After the completion of these arrangements, it 
 was his design to return and occupy himself mostly in 
 New York, visiting India only occasionally. 
 
 After arriving definitely at these conclusions, a bur 
 den seemed to be rolled from his mind and heart, and 
 he hastened to inform his wife of his intentions. She 
 had lived in a suspense, more painful than could possi 
 bly be felt by her husband ; for she had a true wife's 
 heart, which feels more sensibly the interests of the 
 object of her affections, than man is able to feel his 
 own. A woman's love is unselfish ; and only he who 
 has lived in such love can know aught of its power, and 
 he only who has felt it knows how powerless are words 
 to describe it. There is, too, in woman's nature, a con 
 sciousness of weakness ; not a weakness which renders 
 her inferior to him upon whom she looks as the strong 
 er ; not a weakness, which, when admitted, in the least 
 infringes upon her heaven-born " rights ;" not a weak 
 ness which conflicts with her boldly asserting and en 
 joying these sacred rights ; nor yet a weakness, on 
 account of which, in the eyes both of mankind and 
 righteous Heaven, she is regarded as any less than the 
 greatest of God's creatures ; but an inability to endure 
 the rougher toils and conflicts of busy life ; and she 
 naturally shrinks back from these, and looks for a pro 
 tector upon whom she may lean safely. So was it with 
 the gentle wife of Mr. Lincoln. She had trembled even 
 at the thought that a long separation from him, her 
 support, might become necessary. But while she felt 
 and acknowledged such a weakness, she had a con 
 sciousness of a greater strength than his. She felt 
 strong in a love that could conquer and subdue his
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 23 
 
 noble nature strong in the power to fix and temper 
 his heart and strong to shed, by her pure affection, a 
 sunlight over his pathway amid the darkest storms of 
 life ; who moulds in quiet homes the heart of man, 
 works nobler, mightier deeds in the world's great bat 
 tle-field, than all the mere material engines in the strife. 
 
 "And must you go so soon?" said Mrs. Lincoln, 
 after her husband had communicated to her his deci 
 sion. 
 
 " Just as soon as I can possibly get off," he replied. 
 
 A sigh was all the answer Mrs. Lincoln gave. Her 
 husband observed this, and said, cheerfully, "The 
 sooner I go, the sooner I shall return. Come, Mary, 
 you must forget the farewell, and look beyond, to the 
 meeting." But the farewell must needs come first, and 
 like a dark mountain, it hid all the bright light of the 
 future, to which he strove to direct her attention. " A 
 few months," he continued, " will soon slip away ; and 
 I think you can make the time pass very pleasantly, 
 now that you have a number of acquaintances ; and, 
 besides, the children are about the best of company ; 
 and then, too, you can be looking to a time, not far 
 distant, when I shall be settled at home." 
 
 " I know that is the way to talk," said the wife, smil 
 ing through her tears ; " but it is not the way I can 
 feel, after all." 
 
 Mr. Lincoln could but acknowledge the truth of 
 this ; he had said it manfully, but his firmness reeled 
 when he brought the matter home, as she said, to his 
 feelings. 
 
 " I have heard it remarked," continued Mrs. Lincoln, 
 " that we do not know how dear to us our friends are 
 until we have lost them ; and I begin to believe it is 
 true. The very thought of separation makes you seem 
 dearer; and when you are really gone," she added,
 
 24 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 rather jestingly, "I don't know but I may die of 
 love." 
 
 A strange, indescribable sensation had taken pos 
 session of Mr. Lincoln, and he sat silently, as if endeav 
 oring to analyze his emotions. Philosophy failed to 
 satisfy him, and a tell-tale tear came glistening in his 
 eye, and mirrored there the thoughts he strove to hide. 
 He was a man unused to weep, for he was strong in that 
 power which rules the tenderest sentiments of our nature. 
 
 The tear was quickly noticed by Nellie, who had, 
 almost unobserved, climbed upon his knees, and she 
 inquired, sadly, " Papa, what makes you cry ?" 
 
 Is sorrow calmed ? ask if it rests ; and how quickly 
 is it roused ! So with Nellie's papa. Her childish in 
 quiry had burst open the whole fountain of hii> tears, 
 and he wept. 
 
 Little Nellie looked wonderingly at her parents ; and 
 either catching the spirit of their grief, or fearing that 
 her question might have been the cause of this grief, she 
 cried aloud. 
 
 Roused by her cries, Mr. Lincoln wiped away his 
 tears, and laughing at what he styled his " folly," he 
 began tossing the child, and said, " We shall have to 
 thank mamma for all this, sha'n't we, Nellie ?" 
 
 The sorrows of childhood are transient ; and Nellie's 
 little face was soon wreathed in smiles. She really felt 
 like " thanking mamma," for she then enjoyed a longer 
 play with her father than she had been permitted to do 
 in many weeks. She had drawn him into the nursery, 
 and " baby" was sharing, equally, the sport, and add 
 ing her part to the fun, by chuckling, laughing, and 
 crowing. Just in the midst of their glee, Mr. Lincoln 
 kissed the trio lovingly, and after a cheerful " good-by," 
 hastened " down town." 
 
 The afternoon passed pleasantly away, the cloud
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 25 
 
 which had gathered at noon-day was gone, and the 
 sinking sun seemed to shine more brightly than usual. 
 Sarah declared the children perfectly unmanageable 
 " Mr. Lincoln had made them so wild ;" and when tea- 
 time came, little Nellie stood on a chair by the win 
 dow, her plump cheek pressed against one of the'panes, 
 striving to see as far down the street as possible, in 
 order to catch the first glimpse of her father when he 
 should return. 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln, whose sensitive nature made her the 
 victim of circumstances, had participated somewhat in 
 the merriment of the children, and in nothing more 
 than an occasional appearance of thoughtfuluess did 
 she manifest the presence of trouble ; and when her 
 husband returned, he was greeted, not only by the 
 clapping of Nellie's hands, and her happy smiles, but 
 by the smiles of his wife, whose face was as bright and 
 cheerful as a May morning. 
 
 After tea, and when the little ones had been full half 
 an hour in " dreamland," Mr. Lincoln was seated in his 
 easy chair, examining the " Daily," when his wife in 
 terrupted him by asking, " George, how long is ' as 
 soon as possible ? ' " 
 
 Mr. Lincoln smiled, and expressed his idea that the 
 question was rather indefinite. 
 
 " About as indefinite as the length of time denoted 
 by the expression, is to me," said the other ; " but to 
 be a little more definite, how long before you think of 
 going to India ? You said this morning * as soon as 
 possible,' and I have no idea of the time when you in 
 tend to leave." 
 
 " As early as week after next, Mary," said the husband. 
 
 " As early as week after next !" she repeated. "And 
 how long do you think you shall be gone?" 
 
 " It is impossible for me to say," Mr. Lincoln replied ; 
 2 

 
 26 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " but 1 can safely put the time between ten and twelve 
 months, and that time will slip away almost unno 
 ticed. I shall write you by every opportunity, and 
 shall think of you always." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln's mind glanced into the future, and the 
 twelve months looked long, and dark, and dreary ; but 
 summoning all the fortitude she could command,, she 
 inquired if Dick was to be taken on this voyage. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said her husband ; " he is my chief de 
 pendence, and so devoted to me and the ship, that I 
 doubt whether I could induce him to remain at home, 
 did I choose to leave him." 
 
 " Has he told Biddy he was going ?" asked the other. 
 
 " I think not," replied Mr. Lincoln ; " he will prob 
 ably do so this evening." 
 
 " I have tried not to think of the matter since you 
 told me your determination, and so have not spoken to- 
 her on the subject," said Mrs. Lincoln. " She is very 
 different from me ; she has been expecting it ever since 
 we came ; and, I think, will not be moved in the least 
 by the intelligence. But I have been hoping you 
 would give up your old ideas, and not think of going 
 abroad again." 
 
 " I have thought of it," said the husband ; " but the 
 
 India trade has never been more profitable than it is 
 
 at this time, and, with my acquaintace and experience 
 
 in the business, it would seem like folly for me to settle 
 
 down here." 
 
 Is it strange that the same hearts which melted, but 
 a few short hours ago, at the thought of separation, 
 could so soon appear hardened to a seeming indiffer 
 ence on the same subject ? strange, that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Lincoln, at evening, so calmly spoke words which, in 
 the morning, they were unable to speak or hear ! As 
 in nature, calms succeed storms, so in hearts, the storm 
 cf feelmg sinks at length into the quiet rest of reason.
 
 CHAPTER IJ. 
 
 THE good ship Argos having been thoroughly re 
 paired, was again freighted with the wealth of its 
 owner. The sturdy tars were at their posts, and in a 
 few hours they were to " weigh" anchor and be rocked 
 on the breast of the broad Atlantic. There was but 
 one thing left undone by Mr. Lincoln and Dick, but 
 this one rested with more weight on their minds than 
 had all the other arrangements. It was to say that 
 simple word, " good-by." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln stood locked in each other's 
 embrace. There was a sad silence in the room they 
 were alone ! The stanger seldom intrudes in scenes 
 like this and it is not ours to linger here. We may 
 not cross the threshold of the home of another's love. 
 True, we may stand outside and catch some manifesta 
 tions of its power. We may weep when others weep, 
 and strive to share their griefs ; but, " the heart know- 
 eth its own bitterness," and beareth its own sorrow ; 
 and we may never tell the feelings which prompted 
 those kisses, melted those eyes, and heaved those 
 bosoms. If flowers seemed thrown over this farewell, 
 they were the roses of present prosperity and hope ; 
 but the hands which held the blossoms were clasping 
 thorny stems ! 
 
 Poor Dick had an affectionate heart, and it beat as 
 truly for Bridget as did that of his employer for his 
 own gentle Mary ; and there was as severe a rending 
 of the cords of affection in the one case as in the other.
 
 28 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 But Dick had never learned that silence is the lan 
 guage of deep emotion. He felt bound to express ex 
 actly what, and all he suffered, and when language 
 failed, and words seemed entirely exhausted, he would 
 wring and shake his hands as if eager to drive from 
 the ends of his fingers the expression of sensations, 
 which, doubtless, he experienced, even there. 
 
 Bridget took the separation more philosophically. 
 She looked upon the grief of her employers as truly 
 becoming, but a like affection she thought had, or 
 should have no place in Dick's breast. " It was silly, 
 indade," she declared, " to be takin' on at that rate. 
 Poor people could n't expect to be always together ;' 
 while Dick, admitting by word his wife's assertion, still 
 felt an uncontrollable belief to the contrary. 
 
 Mr. Lincoln, after remaining as long as the time 
 would admit, kissed his wife and little ones, and hastily 
 leaving the room, breathed fervently, not the abbre 
 viation, but the entire parting blessing; "God be with 
 you." This was the first soul-felt prayer which had 
 risen from the altar of his maturer years. This was 
 the first time he had ever truly felt its need, and as he 
 hastened along the streets of the busy city on his way 
 to the wharf, he as fervently and as truly sent up his 
 own heart an offering to Him who has said, " He that 
 cometh unto me I will no wise cast out." 
 
 About an hour after Mr. Lincoln left his home, a 
 messenger came to the door with a note for Mrs. Lin- 
 corn. She knew quickly the hand-writing, and open 
 ing it, read thus : 
 
 " DEAREST MABY I have not left you alone. Look 
 upward, and you will find a truer friend than I know 
 how to be, who will never leave you. 
 
 " Tell Nellie of Jesus, that she may know, in her
 
 *' 
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 29 
 
 earliest years, that wisdom of which her parents have, 
 until now, been ignorant. I shall lay my treasures at 
 His feet, and do not you withhold the offering. 
 
 " We must be off ' Good-by' you shall ever live in 
 the heart and prayers of your loving husband, 
 
 " GEORGE LINCOLN." 
 
 Was Mrs. Lincoln dreaming ! again and again did 
 she review the contents of the note. No, she could 
 not be mistaken. She forgot her tears, and a feeling 
 of strange surprise took away all her thoughts of the 
 parting. She did " look upward," but it was with a 
 faithless, wondering glance. Her confidence was given 
 wholly to him who had just left her, and she had no 
 wish to share it with another. She could not think of 
 her husband as a Christian, and she strove to banish 
 the thought, and remember him only as the noble man 
 of the world whom she had so easily learned to love. 
 How strange that her tender heart, softened as it now 
 appeared, was thus insensible to that richer love which 
 had been offered to her. Did she fear that in setting her 
 affections on things above, she should rob the objects 
 of those affections here ? No ! She knew that she 
 as truly lived now in the love of him who had just 
 made an offering of that love to that Being who is the 
 fountain of it, as she had ever done before. She felt 
 powerless to make such an offering, and she shrank 
 from what she deemed so difficult a task. O ! sin- 
 blinded one ! Has Heaven demanded what thou canst 
 not give ? Unrighteous thought ! It is thine to guide 
 the purpose of thy life, and mold thy will ! Just guide 
 and mold as Heaven directs, and Heaven is thine ! 
 
 The day was bright and cloudless, the surface of the 
 ocean was undisturbed save by a quiet heaving, as if 
 forced to rest, while below the " storm-king" vainly
 
 30 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 strove to excite an angry war. The sails of the Argos 
 were spread to the breeze, and like a white-winged 
 bird, she darted* trustingly, far out upon the bosom of 
 the broad, deep sea, richly laden with the wealth of 
 earth and the wealth of hearts. 
 
 Bridget and Nellie became now, more than ever, the 
 companions of Mrs. Lincoln. There was a light as'well 
 as a dark side to her feelings, and she found it very 
 pleasant to forget her sad thoughts of the absent, and 
 to enter cheerfully into the gay society of these. Nel 
 lie was an uncommonly bright child, and Bridget had 
 often declared her head " too knowin' for the shoulders 
 which bore it." It was a difficult task to confine her 
 to the nursery ; the whole house scarcely afforded suf 
 ficient field for her unrestrained wanderings ; besides, 
 she had a thorough aversion to Sarah Pease, whose 
 pettish kind of discipline was naturally displeasing to 
 children. She was fond of her book, if her mother 
 taught her the letters, but the regular hour for instruc 
 tion wore tardily away when Sarah acted in the capac 
 ity of teacher. 
 
 The day following her father's departure, after she 
 had been repeating the alphabet to her mother, who 
 greatly encouraged her efforts by assuring her that she 
 was a good girl, and read very well, she looked up, and 
 exclaimed, delightedly, " I can read papa's letter now, 
 I guess." 
 
 Her mother drew the note from her pocket, and ex 
 plained to Nellie, as well as she was able, the differ 
 ence between written and printed letters, and told her 
 it would be a long time before she could read writing. 
 
 " I will not wait so long," said the child ; " I will 
 hearjnamma read it." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln, confident that she was too young to 
 understand what it contained, rather reluctantly began
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 31 
 
 reading the contents. When she came to the sen 
 tence, " Tell Nellie of Jesus," her voice trembled, and 
 the child interrupted her by saying, " Mamma did not 
 tell Nellie. I do not know who is Jesus." 
 
 Her mother, struggling with her own emotions, and 
 endeavoring to reconcile her conduct in the eyes of her 
 child, replied, " Oh, yes, He is God. Mamma has told 
 you that He made you, and little sister, and all the 
 people in the world ; don't you remember now, Nel 
 lie?" 
 
 " Yes ; I do remember," said Nellie, thoughtfully ; 
 " but I did not know that Jesus is God. What for did 
 papa want mamma to tell me ?" 
 
 " Because He makes little children good, and papa 
 wishes to have Nellie good," answered Mrs. Lincoln ; 
 and she continued reading the letter, hoping in this 
 way to divert the child's attention, for she had no de 
 sire to continue such a conversation ; but no sooner 
 had she finished than that same little voice asked 
 
 " Mamma, how does Jesus God make me good ?" 
 
 " You will know when you are older," said the 
 mother, conscious of her incapacity to answer the ques 
 tion. 
 
 " Does mamma know ?" again interrogated the 
 child ; and, almost involuntarily, the mother answered, 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Please, mamma, tell Nellie," said the little girl, 
 imploringly. 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln told her that she could not understand. 
 
 " I will try very hard," said Nellie ; and after the 
 assurance of the uselessness of such an effort, she an 
 swered, sadly, " I do wish I was older now !" 
 
 How sweet to the Christian mother would have been 
 the task of pointing Nellie's inquiring mind to that 
 Saviour of whom she so much desired to know ! to im-
 
 32 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 part to her, even in her tender years, a knowledge, 
 which, if then acquired, could mould for good her future 
 life ; a knowledge, which, rightly to possess, the aged 
 must become as little children. It was not that Mrs. 
 Lincoln's love was the less for Nellie that she refused to 
 enlighten her, but it was a consciousness of her own 
 ignorance and inability to instruct another in a way 
 in which she herself had never learned. 
 
 But Nellie was not without one godly friend. Dis 
 appointed at not being able to learn more from her 
 mother, she wandered into the kitchen, and climbing 
 into a chair beside the table, where Dinah, the cook, 
 was rolling cakes for supper, she asked, " Di" for so 
 she called her " how does Jesus God make me a good 
 girl?" 
 
 Dinah was a whole-souled Methodist ; one through 
 whose lips the pious "Amen" is sent involuntarily 
 from the heart, and whose whole being is renewed 
 by the single word, " Glory." For more than twenty 
 years she had been taught of God, and she was 
 pleased to tell Nellie all she could, of her heavenly 
 Master. 
 
 "De way is," she said, "for Nellie to pray eb'ry 
 day, and God will send de Spirit into de heart, and de 
 heart will want to be good, and Nellie will be just de 
 way her heart want to be." 
 
 Dinah's theology was simple, but it reached far be 
 yond the child's comprehension. 
 
 " I do not know how to pray," she said. 
 
 " De way is to kneel down by de cha'r, and look up 
 to de sky, and ax for de t'ing you wants, and you will 
 hab it," said Dinah. 
 
 "Does Jesus God stay up in the sky all the time?*' 
 inquired Nelh'e, looking through the window up into 
 the blue heaven.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 33 
 
 "Yes," said Dinah; "that is his home; you alers 
 find him dar." 
 
 " No, Di," said the child, beginning to doubt the 
 cook's word ; " I can not see him anywhere." 
 
 " O, you neber can see him till you die," answered 
 Dinah ; " but he can see you all the time." 
 
 " Too bad," ejaculated Nellie ; " I wish I could see 
 Jesus God." 
 
 Yes, and you shall see Him before you die, little 
 Nellie, by the eye of faith, and know Him, as He is, 
 if as earnestly and honestly you seek a little longer ! It 
 is true, He sees you always; and the sweet incense 
 wafted from the altar of your little heart, rises accept 
 ably before His throne, and even now He loves you. 
 He tenderly watches over the lambs of His flock. 
 2*
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ME. and Mrs. Lincoln, the week previous to the 
 departure of Mr. Lincoln, had accepted an invitation 
 to dine at Mr. Doxtater's, and their visit had afforded 
 them no little insight into the character of their neigh 
 bors. It was very evident that Mrs. Doxtater was 
 anxious to establish an intimacy between the families, 
 quite beyond their wishes ; and it was still more evi 
 dent that her demonstrative friendship was based upon 
 no firmer foundation than the respect she cherished for 
 wealth and fashion. She saw that ere long they must 
 hold, what she considered, a most enviable position in 
 society, and she hoped, by associating with them, to 
 share in their honor, forgetting that the lesser star is 
 often entirely obscured by its nearness to one of supe 
 rior magnitude. Her attentions, though received in a 
 manner not calculated to encourage an intimacy, were 
 not harshly repulsed; and a kind, formal friendship 
 was all that she seemed able to secure. She promised 
 to be a sister to Mrs. Lincoln during the absence of her 
 husband ; and Mr. Doxtater assured Mr. Lincoln that 
 he would make his family as much his care as he did his 
 own. 
 
 All attentions to little Nellie, however, were most 
 happily received by the artless child, and through her, 
 Mrs. Doxtater was able to secure what she so much 
 desired, the reputation of being the particular friend 
 of the new comers. Lulu seldom went to ride unac 
 companied by Nellie, for without an appearance of un-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 35 
 
 graciousness on the part of Mrs. Lincoln, she could not 
 refuse to allow her to go. Lulu's visits were frequent, 
 and the children were becoming very fond of each 
 other's society. Biddy's vexation was unbounded, and 
 but for the politeness which Mrs. Lincoln insisted was 
 due from her, she would have speedily ended all inter 
 course between the families. 
 
 One pleasant morning Mrs. Doxtater's nurse ap 
 peared at the door with Lulu, and requested Nellie's 
 company to take a short walk. The footways were 
 clean and dry, the air was uncommonly refreshing, and 
 the exercise of walking would have proved really 
 healthful to the children, but Mrs. Lincoln declined 
 letting Nellie go, telling the nurse that Lulu would 
 need all her attention while walking, and that she 
 would not trouble her with the care of Nellie. Be 
 sides, Sarah would soon go out with the baby and she 
 could ride with her. 
 
 Nellie heard this, and prefering Lulu's society to 
 that of the less companionable baby, cried out, angrily, 
 " I will not ride, I will walk with Lulu !" 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln was astonished. She had never heard 
 such words in her family before, and she had never 
 even dreamed that such a spirit might dwell in the 
 breast of her gentle child. Taking the little one upon 
 her lap she asked, 
 
 " What was that you said to mamma, Nellie ?" 
 
 " I said, I will not ride," she answered, sobbing, and 
 struggling to free herself from her mother's grasp. 
 
 This was the first intimation she had ever given that 
 she had a will, and Mrs. Lincoln rightly determined, at 
 once, to subdue it. When the storm of passion had 
 subsided, she asked Nellie where she had heard such 
 words. 
 
 "Lulu says so," said Nellie, and immediately her
 
 36 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 mother saw how unguarded she had been in allowing 
 her to associate with that child. In her anger she had 
 used the words "I will" and "I won't," very freely, 
 where she had been accustomed to say, mildly, " I had 
 rather not." Dinah, attracted by her cries, had wit 
 nessed this scene, and looking as if she believed her 
 convert had suddenly fallen from grace, said, 
 
 " De Lord Jesus neber gib you dat spirit, Nellie ; 
 dat come from de ebil one hisself." 
 
 Mrs. Doxtater, in rising from low to high life, had 
 not cultivated in her family the true spirit of refine 
 ment, and she, most certainly, did not naturally pos 
 sess it. It often dwells in its greatest purity in the 
 cottages of the humble poor, while many who make it 
 their boast know little of it. In mingling with this 
 family Nellie had often heard language which but ill 
 becomes those bound to each other by kindred ties. 
 True, Lulu was young, but from her brother, older 
 than herself, she quickly caught, and learned to use, ex 
 pressions which rendered her an unsafe companion for 
 Nellie, and even now, Mrs. Lincoln found that a long 
 time would be required to undo the evil which had al 
 ready been done. That Nellie experienced a feeling 
 of humiliation before those who had witnessed her 
 manifestation of anger, was very evident. She went 
 from one to the other seemingly more anxious than 
 ever to appear kind and gentle. She was soon re-in 
 stated in Bridget's favor, who was really pleased that 
 she had thus offended, for she was sure that Mrs. Lin 
 coln would now agree with her in utterly rejecting the 
 society of the Doxtaters. But with Dinah, who strove 
 to look upon sin as God views it, Nellie found some 
 difficulty in effecting the desired reconciliation. 
 
 " Please, Di, forgive Nellie," she said, beseech 
 ingly-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 37 
 
 But Dinah said, "Di can not do dat dat be de work 
 ob de Lor' Jesus." 
 
 " Did Jesus see me ?" asked Nellie, sorrowfully. 
 
 " He see you all de time when you was naughty," 
 said Dinah ; " and He will not lub naughty children." 
 
 " Then I will not love Jesus any more," said the 
 child, in an angry tone. 
 
 " O ! Missy Nellie," exclaimed Dinah, " dat must be 
 a berry wicked heart in you. You should pray de Lor' 
 Jesus to make you good, and love him better and 
 better eb'ry day." 
 
 " No ; I will not," persisted Nellie. 
 
 Dinah looked horrified at the little backslider, and 
 begged her to ask God to forgive her. 
 
 " He can not hear me, 'way up in the sky," answered 
 Nellie, somewhat softened by Dinah's importunity. 
 
 " O yes, he can hear eb'ry t'ing you speak," said 
 Dinah, a little more hopefully. 
 
 And with this assurance, Nellie looked up where she 
 had learned that God dwelt, and said, " Please, God 
 forgive me, and make me a good girl, and I will not do 
 so any more." 
 
 Dinah, trusting at least to her own faith, on the 
 wings of which she was certain Nellie's prayer had en 
 tered the ear of Him who is- more ready to hear than 
 His children are to ask, looked upon the reclaimed 
 little one with feelings of true thankfulness. But her 
 joy was destined to be of short duration. About the 
 middle of the afternoon she was singing, happily, her 
 favorite' hymn 
 
 "Jesus, my all, to heaven is gone, 
 0, I 'm bound for the land of Canaan" 
 
 when little Nellie came bounding into the kitchen, and,
 
 38 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 with an appearance of triumph, exclaimed, " Now, Di, 
 you lie !" 
 
 Poor Dinah was thunderstruck. She had never, in 
 the least, doubted her " title clear to mansions in the 
 skies," and Nellie was not old enough to think of such 
 things. What could the child mean? While these 
 thoughts were rushing through her mind, and before 
 she had time to speak, Nellie continued, " God did not 
 make me good girl," and Dinah's own faith in her as 
 sertion beginning to be somewhat confirmed, replied, 
 " Dat is consid'able of a charge you bring 'g'inst Dinah ; 
 please 'splain yourself, Missy Nelly." 
 
 "Because mamma tells me I am a very naughty 
 girl," said the other, putting out her foot, and display 
 ing a little bronzed gaiter which she had just cut, with 
 the scissors, half way down to the toe. 
 
 " Dat is very true," said Dinah, feeling somewhat re 
 lieved, " and what Dinah told you is just de same true ; 
 de Lor' Jesus allers help dem to be good what tries to 
 help demselves. You know'd bery well de scissors was 
 not for you to play wid ; and dat was a bery naughty 
 word you say to Dinah." 
 
 Dinah and Nellie, after a little time, ended their con 
 versation very amicably. Nellie never after doubted 
 " Di's" assertion, nor did she again use the word which 
 had so shocked the pious cook. She loved to listen to 
 Dinah's Bible stories ; and though she could compre 
 hend but little of their meaning, their influence over her 
 soon became perceptible. 
 
 In Bridget's eyes, Nellie was innocent ; for Lulu bore 
 the burden of all her failings ; and when she made use 
 of some wicked or coarse expression, Biddy would ex 
 claim, exultingly, "That comes, ma'am, from playing 
 with Lulu." 
 
 Although this association could not be broken off di- 
 
 *
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 39 
 
 rectly without giving offence, Mrs. Lincoln expressed a 
 wish to Mrs. Doxtater that the children should be less 
 . together, giving, as her reason, that both were becoming 
 quite unmanageable, and even troublesome, when sep 
 arated ; and when Lulu came again to visit Nellie, 
 though she was received kindly, a mother's watchful 
 eye was constantly upon them in their play.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THERE was in the second story of Mr. Lincoln's 
 house a corner room, the window on one side of which 
 was toward the ocean, and the view from it was al 
 most unbroken for many miles in that direction ; while 
 on the other side lay the busy city. This room was 
 the favorite resort of Mrs. Lincoln. Here she sat for 
 hours together, and while her eye drank in the pros 
 pect, bright pictures played upon her mental vision, 
 and she saw far beyond, where the oceans of earth 
 and sky seemed to mingle into one those loved 
 Islands, the happy home of her adoption, the cradle 
 of the first breathings of maternal love in her breast, 
 and the spot toward which the idol of her heart was 
 then fast approaching. Sometimes she watched the 
 sun rise, and felt that the long streaks of light which 
 shot across sea and sky were not unlike the bright 
 rays which cheered her own nature, reflections from 
 the sun of her aflPections which had disappeared in that 
 same direction; and sometimes she would look out 
 into the deep darkness, and delight in the thought 
 that, as truly as the returning morrow would be 
 heralded by the glorious king of day, so a bright mor 
 row should dawn on her loneliness ; and she grieved 
 only that the night was so long in wearing away. 
 There is a food on which the heart feeds, which, for the 
 time, may gratify and please, but nourished only by 
 this, it ere long becomes sickened and surfeited. Some 
 times she would look out of the other window, upon
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 41 
 
 the great thoroughfare of life which was there spread 
 before her view ; and as she watched the contest of 
 worldly interests, and listened to the tumult and noise 
 of business, she almost sighed for a heart-world where 
 such contests and such tumults might never enter, 
 
 Mr. Lincoln had been absent from his family more 
 than three weeks, and his wife was daily looking for 
 intelligence from him. She watched, anxiously, the 
 penny-post boy as he dropped regularly the paper at 
 the door, and her eager eyes ran quickly over the 
 " marine list," for she hoped, at least, to see the 
 Argos noticed as " spoken" by some of the returned 
 vessels. 
 
 A heavy " blow" had been experienced, and several 
 ships near the coast had been disabled, but the account 
 did not in the least excite her fears, and the subject 
 had well-nigh been banished from her thoughts. One 
 morning, while occupying her favorite seat at the win 
 dow, she noticed Mr. Doxtater coming from the town. 
 He was reading the morning paper with an earnest 
 ness which attracted her attention. Besides, at was an 
 unusual hour for him to be returning, and she quickly 
 conjectured that important intelligence was contained 
 in the paper. He hesitated a moment before the door 
 of Mrs. Lincoln's house, looked toward the window, 
 and then walked rapidly home. Her first impulse was 
 to follow him, but, recollecting herself, she wondered 
 why she had even thought of so doing. Her suspense, 
 though it had not yet become tedious or painful, had, 
 imperceptibly to herself, quickened her sensibilities, 
 and by what motives she was actuated, she knew not. 
 In a moment after Mr. Doxtater had passed, the news 
 boy ran up the steps, and, pulling the bell, dropped 
 the paper, and lingered on the walk until Bridget had 
 opened the door and taken it. Mrs. Lincoln observed
 
 42 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 this, and she flew hastily down stairs, and snatching it 
 from Bridget, opened it, and read these words : 
 
 "Arrival of the Henry. Accounts of further disas 
 ters during the late storm. Loss of the merchant ship 
 Argos. The whole crew lost." 
 
 There were no tears for Mrs. Lincoln's eyes, nor had 
 she words to tell poor Bridget that she, too, was a 
 widow. She sank unconscious to the floor. Bridget 
 and Dinah were making every effort to resuscitate her, 
 when Mr. and Mrs.-Doxtater entered. Neglecting the 
 usual formality of Tinging, their entrance was unob 
 served. The unfolded paper was lying upon the floor, 
 and it was evident that the news which they had come 
 to communicate had already reached Mrs. Lincoln. A 
 report of the disaster had been circulated the evening 
 before, but on account of its uncertainty it had been 
 prudently withheld from her. 
 
 Mrs. Doxtater soon acquainted Bridget and Dinah 
 of the loss. The former gave herself up to a paroxysm 
 of uncontrollable grief. If the freed spirit looks from 
 its heavenly home upon those it loved and cherished 
 here, the spirit of poor Dick was compensated in the 
 manifestation of Biddy's grief at his loss for her seem 
 ing indifference at his departure. Dinah, whose was 
 that trusting piety which " enters the closet and shuts 
 the door," sought, in the retirement of her chamber, 
 the protection and blessing of Him who has promised 
 to be the " widow's God" and a " Father to the father 
 less." 
 
 Mrs. Doxtater watched by the bedside of Mrs. Lin 
 coln. At times she rallied, but with returning con 
 sciousness came the recollection of the sad truth, and 
 she would sink again into a dreamy, wandering state. 
 How truly may we be thankful even for the weakness 
 of our nature ; for when affliction like this falls crush-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 43 
 
 ingly upon us, that nature sinks, and we are lost in for- 
 getfulhess ; and realizing it only at intervals, we are 
 schooled to the endurance of our griefs. 
 
 The angel of sorrow had folded her sad wings, and 
 was resting upon this once favored home ! Here let us 
 leave it, a moment, in the darkness of her reign, and 
 read the account of the disaster from the captain of the 
 Henrie, as it was contained in the paper where Mrs. 
 Lincoln had first learned it. 
 
 " STATEMENT OP THE CAPTAIN OF THE HENRY. 
 
 " The wind was blowing hard toward the northwest, 
 and we were struggling against a heavy sea, certain, 
 however, that the gale would soon be over, when we 
 discovered in the distance what appeared to be a wreck. 
 We made toward her, and found her to be a sailing 
 vessel. Her masts had been torn away, the men were 
 busy at the pumps, and it was evident she was fast fill- 
 ing. The sea was constantly driving us from her ; we 
 lowered a boat, amid all the fury of the waves, deter 
 mined, if possible, to rescue the crew ; but our efforts 
 were useless, and we only succeeded in securing a 
 bottle which was thrown to us by a man upon the 
 wreck. About half an hour after we discovered her, 
 she sank. "We could distinctly see the crew, as they 
 gathered upon the highest points of the sinking vessel, 
 and the despairing cry which they uttered when they 
 were plunged into the water, reached our ears above 
 the roaring of the ocean. A letter contained in the 
 bottle which was thrown to us, was written, according 
 to the date, the day previous, and read as follows : 
 'Aug. 2, I write this, that if we are lost, our fate may 
 be made known to our friends. We have now been 
 three days tossed about by the waves ; our masts gone, 
 and our vessel perfedtly unmanageable. It is only by
 
 44 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 constant pumping that we can keep from sinking ; our 
 men are nearly exhausted, And we shall be able to hold 
 out but a few hours longer. May God have mercy 
 upon our families ! GEORGE LINCOLN, Ship ArgosS To 
 this was added a list of the names of the crew, in order 
 that there should be no uncertainty as to the fate of any. 
 We remained half an hour about the place where she 
 sank, to see if any thing further could be learned con 
 cerning her, and in the time fired three guns, but find 
 ing all useless, we steered our course homeward." 
 
 The hopefulness of Mrs. Lincoln's nature had never 
 suffered her to look upon so dark a woe as this. Her 
 sadness' had only been felt on account of the present 
 separation from her husband ; and when the stroke 
 came, and that hopefulness was forever crushed, she 
 sank beneath the blow ! For several days she seemed 
 to be in a kind of delirium, but it was only the wildness 
 of real sorrow. She clung to her little ones with an 
 agonizing grasp ; for they were all that was left to her. 
 Her affections were bounded by the world, but it was 
 now powerless to comfort her. 
 
 Nellie could understand but little of the occasion of 
 this change in her home, and she was wholly unable to 
 realize her loss. Dinah was the only person who lent 
 a patient ear to her many inquiries, and by her, many 
 truths were fixed upon the child's heart, which, in after 
 years, she learned fully to appreciate. She had already 
 learned to love her Saviour, and her love was str^ength- 
 ened more and more from Dinah's assurance, that He 
 would be her " Father, and watch over and take care 
 of her now." How unsuspecting is childhood's con 
 fidence ! Surely, to enter the kingdom of heaven, we 
 must become as little children. 
 
 One afternoon, as Nellie was standing by her moth-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 45 
 
 er's side, and looking wonderingly into her face, listen 
 ing to her sobs and exclamations of sorrow, she heard 
 her utter this expression " What will become of us ?" 
 and thinking the question addressed to her, she an 
 swered, " "Why, mamma, God will take care of us." 
 Then observing her mother's look of surprise, she con 
 tinued, as if fearing her assertion was doubted, " Mam 
 ma, Di tells me so, and Di knows all about it." 
 
 For a moment, there sprung up in the widow's heart 
 a resolution to trust Him ; but human pride seemed 
 unyielding, and she shrank from seeking, in adversity, 
 a Friend she had rejected in prosperity. " The human 
 heart is deceitful above all things," for God " is more 
 ready to give good gifts" than we are to ask for them. 
 
 A calmness at length succeeded to the wildness of 
 Mrs. Lincoln's grief, and Dinah often dropped into her 
 ear words which sank deep into her heart ; and she was 
 pleased to read to this faithful disciple the note which 
 she had received from her husband, the contents of which 
 she had never, until then, communicated. The whole 
 fountain of Dinah's gratitude was opened, and her 
 words were more and more comforting, since she could 
 point the heart of her mistress heavenward, not only as 
 to the dwelling of the " widow's God," but the home 
 of him for whom she mourned. 
 
 " God hath chosen the weak things of this world to 
 confound the wise ;" and the worldly wisdom and un 
 derstanding of Mrs. Lincoln was confounded by the 
 Christian fortitude and resignation of this unlettered 
 African.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE few succeeding weeks passed slowly and sadly 
 away. The captain of the Henry visited Mrs. Lincoln, 
 but in the published statement he had communicated 
 all that he knew of the fate of the Argos and its crew ; 
 still she hoped, and waited for more vain hope 1 A 
 dark world of waters was sweeping above the spot 
 where the vessel rested, and in their hollow roar were 
 chanting an unceasing dirge for the dead which they 
 were keeping, in that vast "grave-yard without a 
 monument," until the voice of the Omnipotent shah 1 
 call forth " all that are in their graves." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln had not made any intimate friends 
 since her coming to New York, and of all those chance 
 acquaintances there were none, except Mrs. Doxtater, 
 who felt at liberty to visit her in her affliction, lest 
 their visits might be considered intrusive. Deeply did 
 she feel the need of a kindly heart, into which she 
 might pour, freely, a portion of her sorrow. Mrs. 
 Doxtater came often to sit with her, and cheer, if pos 
 sible, her crushed spirit ; but she had more love for the 
 gay haunts of fashion than for the dwellings of mourn 
 ing, and her affected sympathy was ineffectual to com 
 fort. 
 
 Several weeks passed away in this manner, after 
 which Mr. Doxtater, taking advantage of his profes 
 sion, suggested to Mrs. Lincoln the necessity of having 
 the estate of her husband legally arranged that she 
 might know her real circumstances, and enter upon a
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 47 
 
 course of living becoming her situation. The style to 
 which she had been accustomed would soon exhaust a 
 large fortune, if that fortune were not invested so as to 
 secure a considerable income, and from the knowledge 
 which he had of Mr. Lincoln's affairs, he was confident 
 that in the destruction of the vessel and cargo, the 
 bulk of his property had been lost. This suggestion 
 should be attributed to a true spirit of kindness in Mr. 
 Doxtater, for he saw well that every day's delay was 
 but lessening the widow's portion. Mrs. Lincoln saw, 
 and felt this, and readily submitted the arrangement 
 of the business to him. 
 
 And now, for the first time, the thought that she 
 might soon be poor, and dependent upon the charity 
 of a cold world, flashed across her mind. 
 
 Her little ones, the elder of whom could number but 
 four winters, and the younger but one, might even 
 now be compelled to face the cold storms of adversity ; 
 and, cradled herself in the lap of luxury, how unfit 
 was she to nurse the children of misfortune. Comfort 
 ing burdens truly did they appear in this hour. But 
 the thought passed before her like a horrid dream, and 
 she clung, trustingly, to the home and comforts which 
 she then possessed. 
 
 Among all Mr. Lincoln's books and papers Mr. Dox 
 tater found nothing to encourage the hope that some 
 provision might have been made by the former for his 
 family, in case of an event like that which had really 
 taken place. 
 
 In about two weeks Mr. Doxtater called to acquaint 
 Mrs. Lincoln with the result of his investigations, and 
 offer advice as to what he deemed the wisest course 
 for her to pursue. 
 
 " There are no debts to be paid," said he, " neither 
 is there any thing due to the estate, and the business is
 
 48 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 in a remarkably correct condition. The household 
 furniture is all that you can ever realize, and I advise 
 you to sell it at auction, immediately, together with the 
 lease for the dwelling, which you can do, I think, with 
 profit, owing to the scarcity, at present, of desirable 
 locations in the city, and upon the proceeds of the sale 
 you will be obliged to depend for a livelihood. The 
 furniture is new," he continued, looking around the 
 room, " and very fashionable, and will bring quite a 
 comfortable sum, which, if managed with prudence, 
 will go far toward your support." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln listened earnestly. There was that in 
 Mr. Doxtater's manner and words which revealed to 
 her the fact that she was doomed to poverty, and the 
 thought which had flitted across her mind, she felt, 
 was a foreshadowing of her real fate, and, in an agony 
 of despair, she exclaimed, " What shall I do !" 
 
 " Have you no friends to whom you can go ?" asked 
 Mr. Doxtater. 
 
 " None," she said, sobbing violently. " I am home 
 less and friendless." 
 
 " O, no," said Mr. Doxtater, encouragingly ; " we 
 shall do the best in our power by you ; and I hope that 
 you may have sufficient to secure to you a comfortable 
 living, though it must necessarily be very different from 
 the one you have thus far enjoyed. These reverses 
 will come, and we can not tell who may be the next 
 to meet them. We must learn to bear them phil 
 osophically ; that is the only way to get along in this 
 world." 
 
 Her whole frame shuddered at the coldness of such 
 sympathy. She could say no more ; and Mr. Doxtater 
 left her to consider his proposition. 
 
 Bridget and Dinah had heard this conversation ; for 
 they had forgotten, in their affliction, all common form-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 49 
 
 alities, and were present, eager to catch every word 
 which might concern them. 
 
 " The cold-blooded fellow !" said the former, as Mr. 
 Doxtater closed the door behind him. " Sure no gin- 
 tleman would say the like to one troubled like ye." 
 And the pride of her nature rising with her pity, she 
 continued, " It 's not on him we '11 be dependin'. While 
 Biddy's got the strong arm she now has, ye '11 not 
 want, for it 's togither we '11 stay, that same I '11 prom 
 ise ye" and to the crushed heart of Mrs. Lincoln, 
 there was comfort even in this promise. 
 
 Dinah again sought to point her mistress to that com 
 fort which the world can not give, and which cometh 
 down from the " Father of lights." " Oh, Missy," said 
 she, " de Lor' Jesus can support in de hardest trials, 
 and it 'pears berry strange to Dinah, Missy don't trust 
 in Hun." 
 
 " I would if I could," said the half-resolved woman, 
 " but I can not ; I have tried." 
 
 " Missy did not try de right way, 'tis berry certain ; 
 for de Lor' Jesus allers hears dem dat comes to Him in 
 de right way. If I could read in de Good Book, like 
 de preacher can, and find all de places, you could see 
 de right way 'zactly ; but I only knows what I hears 
 on de Sundays, and I can't remember but berry little." 
 And then, as if catching a new idea, she continued, 
 eagerly, " but Missy can read for herself, and if she 
 don't read just de places de preacher does, it is all 
 good." 
 
 Persevere, faithful Dinah! The promises are sure. 
 " Cast thy bread upon the waters, and thou shalt find 
 it after many days." " Be not weary in well-doing, for 
 in due season ye shall reap if ye faint not." " The ef 
 fectual, fervent prayer of the righteous availeth much ;" 
 and thy prayers have arisen and entered the ear of 
 
 3
 
 50 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 Him whose ear is ever open to His children when they 
 cry unto Him. 
 
 This conversation was interrupted by the ringing of 
 the door-bell. Bridget obeyed the summons, and ad 
 mitted into the parlor a tall and remarkably fine-look 
 ing gentleman who inquired for Mrs. Lincoln. 
 
 " And who shall I tell her ye are ?" she asked. 
 
 The stranger hesitated a moment, then taking a card, 
 he wrote a few words upon it, and gave it to Bridget, 
 saying, " That will do take that to her." 
 
 There was an appearance of agitation in his manner 
 which excited her curiosity, and she went hastily to 
 deliver the message. 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln read the writing on the card, and the 
 deep color came and went rapidly on her face. With 
 it she was unacquainted, and the message was myste 
 rious indeed. 
 
 "Do not refuse to see one who loves you." 
 
 She sent Bridget to the parlor to ask once more 
 the name of the stranger, but she only received the 
 answer 
 
 " A true friend." 
 
 At another time, and under different circumstances, 
 she might have refused compliance with such a request ; 
 but the message was calculated to inspire confidence, 
 and in such a time of need, human nature shrank from 
 rejecting one who might prove to be a friend indeed, 
 and she went tremblingly to the parlor. When she 
 entered, the stranger stood gazing intently upon a por 
 trait of herself which was hanging against the wall, and 
 before her presence was observed, she had recognized 
 her visitor, and sinking upon the sofa, she buried her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 " Can you forgive me, Mary ?" were the first words 
 he spoke when he discovered her, and the tone and
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 51 
 
 voice in which they were uttered revealed the truth 
 that a sincere spirit of penitence prompted them. 
 
 "May slighted woman turn 
 And, as a vine the oak hath shaken off, 
 Bend lightly to her leaning trust again ? 
 
 0, no! 
 
 estrange her once it boots not how 
 
 By wrong or silence any thing that tells 
 A change has come upon your tenderness, 
 And there is not a feeling out of heaven 
 Her pride o'er mastereth not." 
 
 And thus unyielding was the pride of Mrs. Lincoln, 
 and she hesitated not to answer " No !" 
 
 She did not venture to uncover her face and meet 
 the eye of her visitor, lest she might be overpowered 
 by her emotions. He lingered but one moment, then, 
 without a farewell, he hurried from the house. When 
 she roused from the reverie into which she had fallen, 
 she discovered, lying beside her, another card, on 
 which was printed the name and place of business of 
 him who had just left her. On the back was written, 
 in pencil, these words. " Should you desire any fur 
 ther communication with me, address, as directed on 
 the other side." 
 
 In the^ evening Mr. and Mrs. Doxtater called, and 
 Mrs. Lincoln consented to the immediate disposal of 
 her goods, as Mr. Doxtater had advised. 
 
 Mrs. Doxtater repeated, again and again, her regret 
 that such an affliction had befallen her neighbor, and 
 offered the consoling assurance that she believed peo 
 ple are often as happy in humble life, and even more 
 so, than in the most exalted positions. Her best 
 wishes, she declared, would follow her friend wher 
 ever she went, and she invited Mrs. Lincoln, with her 
 family, to partake of her hospitality until she should
 
 52 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 make definite arrangements in reference to her future 
 course. 
 
 It was evident that the golden link of her friendship 
 had been lost with the wreck, in the bosom of the 
 ocean. But deeper interests were agitating the breast 
 of the widow, and she was almost unconscious of Mrs. 
 Doxtater's coldness. Recollections had that day been 
 awakened which seemed to deaden her sensibilities to 
 all things else.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " GOING, going, gone !" cried the auctioneer to the 
 crowd who had gathered at the auction room, in ac 
 cordance with a notice which had been posted in all 
 the streets, that, on that day, the personal property of 
 the late George Lincoln would be sold at public auc 
 tion. 
 
 " Going, going who bids higher ? going, going 
 the man who could take this article for six dollars 
 must have an India-rubber conscience, and I am afraid 
 it will snap at that going, going no more bids 
 going g-o-i-n-g gone !" 
 
 Thus, one by one, the different articles of furniture 
 were struck off at less than half their value, and car 
 ried away to beautify the parlors, or add comforts and 
 luxuries to the homes of those who were " rich and in 
 creased in goods, and had need of nothing," and who 
 seemed to forget that they were taking advantage of 
 misfortune, and robbing the widow and the fatherless. 
 
 But this is world-like. How often do we hear the 
 wealthy boasting of their good fortune in purchasing 
 some expensive article very much below its true value, 
 and sometimes they will add that it was charity for 
 the unfortunate which prompted the purchase ! Surely 
 there is one charity of the world, and another charity 
 which is heaven-born. 
 
 During the progress of the sale, a gentleman, leading 
 a little boy about seven years old, stepped in to see 
 what was going on. They, apparently, were not resi-
 
 54 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 dents of the city, but were walking through the street 
 simply to gratify their curiosity. Just as they entered, 
 the auctioneer displayed a portrait of the two children 
 elegantly framed. The infant was represented as sit 
 ting upon the floor, while little Nellie was striving to 
 attract its attention to a large red apple which she was 
 holding before her. There was a remarkably life-like 
 expression upon both countenances, and it was evident 
 the picture was the work of an artist of no ordinary 
 attainments. The auctioneer said, as he held it up be 
 fore the company of buyers who were assembled around 
 him : 
 
 " It is nothing but a widow's necessity that prompts 
 the sale of this picture, and now, gentlemen, bid as you 
 would bid for a fancy painting, for I promise you that 
 you will never find any thing much superior to this." 
 
 But the sale was dull no one seemed to desire the 
 portraits of another person's children, and there were 
 no bids. Still the auctioneer continued to urge. 
 
 " Buy it for the frame alone, then. Come, gentle 
 men, it must be sold. Can I have a bid ? Will some 
 gentleman bid !" 
 
 All this time the little lad, attracted by the picture, 
 was urging the gentleman, in whose charge he seemed 
 to be, to buy it for him. 
 
 " Please, uncle, get it for me," he said, and fearing 
 his importunity might be unavailing, he added, "I 
 had rather have it than the rocking-horse you prom 
 ised me. Uncle, won't you buy it?" 
 
 " Are you sure," said the gentleman, " that you will 
 not want the horse if I get you the picture ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the boy, eagerly ; and his admiration 
 being increased by the hope of possessing it, he added, 
 delightedly, " O, what a pretty little girl that is ; and 
 see how cunning that baby looks at the apple !"
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 55 
 
 " One dollar," shouted the uncle, just as the auction 
 eer was about giving up all effort to dispose of the 
 article. 
 
 " Two," cried a voice in a distant part of the room. 
 
 " Two," echoed the auctioneer. " Going going for 
 two dollars." 
 
 " Three," again shouted the uncle. 
 
 " Three and a half," cried the distant bidder again. 
 
 " Going going for three dollars and a half," contin 
 ued the auctioneer. 
 
 " Five dollars," cried the uncle, becoming excited in 
 the sale, and almost forgetting for what he was bidding. 
 
 " Going going for five dollars," cried the salesman ; 
 " going going" his hammer dropped, and the pic 
 ture was " gone" to its little admirer. 
 
 The by-standers were attracted by the manifestations 
 of delight which the little fellow exhibited when he re 
 ceived it, and one jocosely remarked, " When you are 
 older, Bub, you'll find it a difficult' matter to get the 
 lady you love at as cheap a rate as you have this one ; 
 five dollars won't begin." 
 
 A general laugh followed this remark ; and the little 
 fellow turned his head knowingly, and said, " We '11 
 see." 
 
 His uncle ended the conversation by saying, " If he 
 becomes as fine a man as he is a boy, perhaps some 
 lady will be willing to bid more than five dollars for 
 him ;" and, bowing to his transient acquaintances, he 
 left, with his nephew and the picture. 
 
 The time had passed rapidly away since they had en 
 tered the auction-room, and they hurried down the 
 street, and jumped upon a tram of cars which was 
 about to leave. Twice the engine whistled, and the 
 two were borne away toward their own home. 
 
 Next, an elegant sofa was put up, and the bidding
 
 56 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 was quick and animated until the amount reached 
 twenty-five dollars. " Going going," cried the auc 
 tioneer ; " and for twenty-five dollars, this sofa, which 
 was never bought for any sum inside of a hundred 
 going going gone ; whose is it ?" As Mr. Doxtater 
 stepped forward to claim the article, the auctioneer 
 added, in a low voice, " O, I thought so the man with 
 the India-rubber conscience again." 
 
 "One dozen sofa chairs. Now, gentlemen, let me 
 hear your bids." 
 
 " Fifty cents apiece." 
 
 " Fifty cents fifty cents ; going going." 
 
 " Seventy-five cents." 
 
 " One dollar." 
 
 " One dollar one dollar ; going, gentlemen, these 
 chairs at one- dollar ; each of them worth five dollars 
 this moment ; going going ; who bids higher ?" 
 
 u One dollar and a half." 
 
 "One dollar and a half ; going going; do I hear 
 any more ? going going." 
 
 " Two dollars." 
 
 " Two dollars two dollars ; going going going 
 gone ;" and again Mr. Doxtater appeared to claim the 
 chairs. 
 
 " O, how India-rubber will stretch !" soliloquized the 
 auctioneer. 
 
 A second day's sale became necessary, which in 
 creased expenses ; and interest growing dull, the sacri 
 fices became greater and greater ; and a few hundred 
 dollars was all that remained as the portion of the 
 widow and her little ones. 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln had been nearly a week with Mrs. Dox 
 tater. Sarah Pease had been dismissed ; Dinah had 
 bestowed her final blessing, and offered her final con 
 solation, and was now lost in the depths of one of the
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 57 
 
 city kitchens ; and Bridget, who had been the partner 
 of her mistress in prosperity, and her equal in affliction, 
 alone remained to be a sharer in her adversity. 
 
 " Homeless and friendless !" Mrs. Lincoln had once 
 uttered these words, but she now felt their import al 
 most perfectly. There was one friend left her, she 
 knew, in faithful Bridget ; but she was too weak to 
 protect and support her. Homeless and friendless! 
 No deeper life-woe can fasten upon us than is expressed 
 in those two words. There are some natures fitted to 
 breathe only the atmosphere of luxury, and who shall 
 tell how these shall endure the cold blasts of misfor 
 tune ! Homeless and friendless ! with a deep, dread 
 meaning did they sink into the widow's heart, and she 
 found her strength and hope fast going going almost 
 gone. 
 
 3*
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MKS. LINCOLN chose for her home a small brown 
 house, on a pleasant hill-road. It was quite beyond 
 the city, for her blighted hope and pride shunned con 
 tact with scenes in which she had mingled in happier 
 days. She shrunk from meeting the gaze of those 
 whose smiles would doubtless be exchanged for looks 
 of pitying scorn, and the tears she loved to shed would 
 fall freer in the solitude of the country than in the dis 
 turbed dwellings of the town. 
 
 Her two little ones and Bridget were her only com 
 panions, and she desired no others. A calm had suc 
 ceeded the fierce storm of her sorrows despair no 
 longer rested on her brow a look of hopefulness some 
 times shot across her countenance, but it was only 
 when she " looked upward," and she had learned to do 
 so confidently. She had consented to trust the " wid 
 ow's God." Dinah's prayers were answered, she had 
 not sought for her mistress worldly blessings, and Mrs. 
 Lincoln's hopefulness was not for the comforts of this 
 life, but of that which is to come. In this world, Di 
 nah might never know of this, but when both shall 
 have gained that " something beyond" for which their 
 hearts were then sighing, they shall sit together, and 
 unitedly chant the song of redeeming love. A dark 
 shadow hung over her earthly prospects, but the star 
 of a bright eternal destiny shone through the darkness. 
 
 Little Nellie sometimes hung upon her knee, and 
 begged to know why she would live there.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 59 
 
 " Mamma," she one day asked, " this is not our good 
 home. When will mamma go back ?" 
 
 " I can never go," she answered ; and the words 
 choked her utterance. 
 
 " Does mamma love this home best ?" the child con 
 tinued. 
 
 Again she choked, and wiped away the gathering tears. 
 
 " This is all the home we have," she replied. 
 
 " Why, mamma, where is our other home ?" 
 
 " Your father is dead, my child, and there is no one 
 to give us a better home." 
 
 " But, mamma, is not God our Father ? Why don't 
 He give us another home ?" 
 
 " He will, my dear, but not until we go beyond the 
 skies, where our own father is." 
 
 " Please, mamma, let us go home, then." 
 
 " O, Nellie ! if we only could, but we must wait pa 
 tiently till God takes us there." Though the grave is 
 dark, and lone, and dreary, and the soul clings fondly 
 to earth, yet was she weary of life, and would have 
 joyed to sink into its darkness ! 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln had purchased only a few necessary ar 
 ticles for house-keeping, and her home looked desolate, 
 indeed. The care of the children then rested wholly 
 upon her, for Bridget went every morning to perform 
 day-labor at the houses in the suburbs of the city, and 
 in this way earned a scanty support for the family. 
 Her walk was often long and tedious, and when at 
 night she returned, weary and worn, she could render 
 but little assistance to Mrs. Lincoln, upon whose health 
 these exertions made perceptible inroads. 
 
 One evening, as Bridget was returning from her 
 daily work, she was accosted by a gentleman whose 
 countenance she recognized, but when or where she 
 had seen him she was unable to recollect.
 
 60 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " Do you still live," he asked, " with Mrs. Lincoln ?" 
 
 " I do, sir," she answered, " and it 's not in me heart 
 to lave her at all." 
 
 " Will you hand her this note, and bring me an an 
 swer to-morrow morning ? I will be at the omnibus 
 watering-place at any hour you may please to name." 
 
 " With her lave I '11 do it, sir ; ye '11 see me when 
 I 'm passing, at six, or near that, sir. But maybe ye 'd 
 jist step up and see her yerself. It 's only in the brown 
 house yonder she 's stayin'." 
 
 "It is impossible," said the stranger; "the note 
 will be sufficient," and bowing politely, he walked away. 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln opened the note, and read as follows : 
 
 " MAEY Can you now forgive ? and would assist 
 ance from one who truly loves you be acceptable ? 
 
 " C." 
 
 A wild conflict of interest, pride, and contempt rose 
 in her thoughts. Her prayer had been "Forgive us 
 our debts, as we forgive our debtors," and she was 
 ready to pardon ; but to receive assistance from one 
 whom she could neither trust nor respect, even though 
 she so much needed it, she could not consent. There 
 were in her breast crushed flowers of affection which 
 sometimes seemed to spring and start to new life, but 
 reason and judgment trampled them again, and she 
 wrote these words : 
 
 " I forgive, even as I hope to be forgiven for my 
 trespasses by my abused Saviour ; but, with thanks, I 
 must decline all assistance, and all further intercourse 
 with you. I look for assistance from Him who has 
 never left or forsaken me ; and of Him I entreat you to 
 seek forgiveness. MAEY E. LINCOLN." 

 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 61 
 
 Bridget found the stranger where he had promised 
 to meet her, and waited until he had read the note, to 
 see if he would wish to return another, for she was 
 wholly ignorant of the contents of either. He looked 
 thoughtfully a moment, then said, 
 
 " Tell her farewell forever." 
 
 Bridget never met him again, though she watched 
 with no little interest whenever she passed that way. 
 
 When the cold, rainy autumn weather was full upon 
 them, Mrs. Lincoln's health and strength yielded, but 
 necessity stimulated her, and she seemed herself insen 
 sible to her rapidly increasing weakness. Bridget, too, 
 was more at leisure, and lightened her labor materially. 
 
 " I niver thought ye 'd come to this," said she, one 
 stormy afternoon, when Mrs. Lincoln was endeavoring 
 to prepare some suitable clothing for winter ; " sure 
 there 's no dependin' on riches ; it bates me dhreams 
 how quick ye 're changed." 
 
 "Yes, Biddy," she replied, "we have both seen 
 better days, and you were once dependent upon me, 
 but now, if it were not for you I should sink down and 
 die. Biddy," she continued, " you are very kind to 
 me, and I never expect to repay you." 
 
 " It 's not pay at all I 'm desirin'. It 's the very same 
 I 'm doin' for ye, ye long ago did for Biddy, barrin' the 
 money, ma'am." 
 
 " Your kindness is worth more to me than money," 
 said the other ; " but you are poor yourself, and I feel, 
 every day, that you ought to be engaged in some prof 
 itable employment." 
 
 " I '11 never lave ye, ma'am, be sure, while I 'm at all 
 meself," answered Bridget, determinedly; and for a 
 while both remained silently at their work. The big 
 tears would sometimes fall upon Mrs. Lincoln's lap, but 
 she brushed them quickly away, and worked as fast as
 
 62 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 her unaccustomed hands would permit. All at once, 
 Bridget's face brightened with animation, and she said, 
 
 " May be, ma'am, the world will be makin' another 
 shift with ye ; it 's many that 's been worse off than ye, 
 that 's now the best off of all the people in New York." 
 
 But earthly hope in Mrs. Lincoln's heart was dead ; 
 and she assured Bridget that rest from trouble would 
 never dawn upon her until it dawned beyond the night 
 of the grave. As she added, "Were it not for the 
 children, I should long to go to that rest immediately," 
 she cast pitying looks upon the little ones who were 
 playing upon the bare floor ; for childhood tastes not 
 the bitterest dregs of such misfortune, and it can 
 smile at momentary pleasure, all unconscious of its 
 real misery. 
 
 The winter was long and severe ; but by prudent 
 management, and the help of Biddy's earnings, Mrs. 
 Lincoln had saved enough of her small fortune to pro 
 vide the most necessary comforts, and though her 
 purse was rapidly being emptied, Biddy encouraged 
 her with the assurance, that when the spring should 
 come there would be plenty of work, and then she 
 could get much higher wages than she had done' in the 
 fall ; besides, the widow, by knitting during the long 
 evenings, was able to earn a little herself. A part of 
 the time she spent in teaching Nellie. Perhaps some 
 might have found happiness here, but too deep a sor 
 row had settled upon her, and earth could no more 
 avail to please. Had she then been placed under the 
 full glare of the sun of prosperity, her nature, already 
 crushed, would have withered the more rapidly ; for as 
 a plant, though colorless, will live in a dark cellar, if 
 transplanted to the healthier garden, the heat of the 
 sun will burn away every particle of its life. 
 
 The road, by the side of which Mrs. Lincoln's house
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 63 
 
 stood, was very delightful, and in summer was much 
 frequented by riding parties from the city ; and she sat 
 often by the window, and watched the faces of the 
 happy companies as they drove gayly by. Often, on 
 their return, would they stop and ask a drink of water, 
 and sometimes she saw those, who in other days had 
 sought her society, but who would have been unable to 
 recognize, in the thin, pale widow, the once admired 
 Mrs. Lincoln. The children would amuse themselves 
 for hours at a time, watching the splendid carriages 
 and the rich clothing of their occupants, or the gayer 
 appearance of those on horseback. Even Nellie had 
 now but a faint recollection of the beautiful clothes 
 which she once wore ; and all her thoughts of her 
 former home were like clouded remembrances of an 
 almost forgotten dream. 
 
 One afternoon, about the middle of the first summer 
 which they had spent in their new home, when Nellie 
 sat in the doorway watching the passers-by, she called 
 loudly to her mamma to see the carriage and pretty 
 horses, with bright buckles, which were coming down 
 the hill. Mrs. Lincoln glanced through the window, 
 and recognized the carriage as the one belonging to 
 Mr. Doxtater. John, his coachman, was sitting upon 
 the box, and when directly before the house, he stopped 
 the horses. 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln was quite certain that no desire to re 
 new their acquaintance with her, prompted the call, 
 and very prudently left Nellie to answer the demands 
 of the visitors. 
 
 " Little girl," said Mr. Doxtater, thrusting his head 
 out of the carriage, "won't you get my little girl a 
 drink of water?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Nellie ; and running quickly into the 
 house, she brought the earthen mug from which she
 
 64 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 herself drank at table, filled with cool, sparkling water, 
 and she felt happy in the thought that so pretty a child 
 was about to drink out of her cup. But Mrs. Doxtater, 
 regardless of her daughter's eagerness for the water, 
 drank before giving it to her. Lulu's impatience to 
 drink being increased by this little delay, she flew into 
 a violent passion, and refused to touch it. "While her 
 mother was endeavoring to pacify her, and coaxing her 
 with the promise of good things when they should get 
 home, John, who had been all the time eyeing Nellie 
 closely, stepped down from his seat and said to Mr. 
 Doxtater, 
 
 " If I ever saw her, that 's the little girl who lived by 
 you a year ago." 
 
 " O, no," said the other, quite unwilling to acknowl 
 edge the truth, " that family left the city immediately 
 after the sale of their property ; we should have heard 
 of them if they were as near us as this." 
 
 But John was not thus easily convinced that he was 
 mistaken, ; and turning to Nellie, he asked, " What is 
 your name, little girl ?" 
 
 " Nellie Lincoln." 
 
 " Do you live here ?" continued John. 
 
 "Yes, sir," she answered; "and I've got a little 
 sister, and my mamma is in the house." 
 
 " I thought so," said John, turning to Mr. Doxtater ; 
 but just here, Lulu, her temper having reached its 
 height, struck the mug from her lips, where her mother 
 had placed it, and dashed it to the floor of the carriage. 
 
 Nellie's heart was near bursting when she saw the 
 fate of her favorite cup, but Mr. Doxtater quieted her, 
 by saying, 
 
 " Never mind ; I '11 give you money to buy a prettier 
 one, if you will get me a little more water." 
 
 Nellie went as she was desired ; and while she was
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 65 
 
 gone, some words passed between John and Mr. Dox- 
 tater ; after which, the former took his seat, evidently 
 feeling rather vexed, for he sat cracking his whip and 
 muttering something to himself all the time Mrs. Dox- 
 tater was brushing away the water which had been 
 spilled upon their clothes. Lulu drank peaceably the 
 contents of the second cup which Nellie brought ; and 
 when Mr. Doxtater returned it, there was a bright 
 half-dollar shining in the bottom, and Nellie felt that 
 her loss was more than repaid when she discovered it. 
 
 The next day when Bridget went to town she car 
 ried the piece of money, and the two little ones were 
 watching, long before the hour for her return, and 
 when at last she did come, she brought each of them a 
 prettily colored mug, and Nellie a little reading-book 
 .with bright painted pictures, and all bought with the 
 half-dollar. Nellie was delighted, and she loved the 
 gentleman whose little girl had broken her cup. She 
 often noticed his carriage roll by, and as often felt dis 
 appointed that he did not stop and let her bring him 
 water in her new cup, and show him her pretty book. 
 
 But he never paid any more attention to her, though 
 she sometimes ran half across the road that he might 
 see her. 
 
 There was, too, a great omnibus with four horses 
 which passed every hour, and a man with very black 
 eyes sometimes sat by one of the windows, and when 
 ever he did he threw a piece of money to the little 
 girls ; and they loved him, too, and remembered him, 
 though weeks passed between his visits. 
 
 But the every-day history of real life is dull, and 
 there is a monotony in the story of its humbler walks 
 which soon becomes tedious to the listener.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 NEARLY three winters and three summers passed 
 away while the widow lived in the little brown house 
 on the hill-road. Sickness and want had been stealing 
 steadily upon her, and she had drunk deeply of the 
 cup of misery. Bridget had found an echoing heart 
 in the breast of a worthy compatriot, but she turned 
 a deaf ear to its pleadings, and remained faithful 'to 
 Mrs. Lincoln. 
 
 But a change was about to come. The pale face, 
 the hollow cough, and the trembling step of the poor 
 widow, plainly indicated this. Nor was she herself 
 unaware of the fact. Her sunken eyes were often 
 turned upward ; and as she seemed to catch new mani 
 festations of that spirit which is the happiness of the 
 home whither she was fast hastening, smiles lighted her 
 death-like features, and she longed for the hour of her 
 departure. There was still one tie to bind her to 
 earth. She knew, and felt a mother's love ! She had 
 watched the course of the motherless child ; she had 
 seen the cold eye of the world attracted only by its 
 faults, and she knew how the ear is chilled, and the 
 heart grows dead without the softening influence of 
 affection's voice. She knew, full well, how the young 
 plastic mind will yield to every power which may be 
 brought to bear upon it ; and she had seen how, even 
 with a mother's untiring care, the sweet, pure child 
 has grown perverse.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 67 
 
 "Strange that flowers of earth 
 Are visited by every air that stirs, 
 And drink in sweetness only, while the child 
 That shuts within its breast a bloom for heaven, 
 May take a blemish from the breath of love, 
 And bear the blight forever." 
 
 Mothers, I can not know your love. I can not ap 
 proach the threshold of the deep home of your affec 
 tions, but I have seen their workings, and I do know 
 something of their power. I have a mother, and the 
 warm breathings of her love still gladden all around 
 me. 
 
 I have seen her, when my angry passions rose, drop 
 bitter tears over my waywardness, and the pressure of 
 her loving lips has often checked my rising ire. Can 
 angry feelings, bitter thoughts, or even one harsh word 
 withstand the power of a mother's kiss ? And who 
 can not tell how it soothes the pain of the aching head, 
 and quiets the sting of the throbbing tooth, to rest 
 that head and warm the cheek on a mother's breast ! O, 
 while life lasts, may a mother's love be mine, and when 
 my eyes grow dim in death, may a mother's fingers 
 close their powerless lids ; may the sweet music of the 
 skies burst on my heaven-tuned ear but as the length 
 ened note of my mother's song ! 
 
 One evening, after a day of greater suffering than 
 usual, Mrs. Lincoln called her little ones to her side 
 and began reading these words, " Father, I will that 
 they also whom Thou hast given me be with me where 
 I am." She could read no more ; a quick pain in her 
 temples nearly blinded her eyes ; closing her Bible and 
 kneeling down, she offered a few sentences of that 
 same precious prayer. 
 
 " ' I pray not that Thou shouldst take them out of 
 the world, but that Thou shouldst keep them from tho
 
 68 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 evil. Sanctify them through Thy truth ; Thy word is 
 truth.' > 
 
 These two petitions included every thing that she 
 could desire for them, and she arose. She led the lit 
 tle ones to their bed, and lingered by them until they 
 had been a long time unconscious of her presence. 
 The warm kisses which she then pressed upon their 
 cheeks, she feared, yet was unwilling to believe, were 
 the last she should ever give them. 
 
 Before those sweet sleepers awoke from their quiet 
 slumbers, that mother had been sent from her heavenly 
 home, a ministering angel, to watch at their bedside ! 
 
 Bridget alone stood by her as she sank, suddenly, 
 into the sleep of death ; and when the bright sun arose 
 she was basking in the rays of that brighter sun, even 
 the Sun of Righteousness which lights the world to 
 which she had gone ! 
 
 That day the black-eyed stranger again rode by, and 
 instead of the silver coin which he was accustomed to 
 throw to Nellie, a bright gold one was sent to Bridget. 
 
 There were very few who followed the remains of 
 the poor widow, which were, the second day after, laid 
 solemnly in the " place to bury strangers in," but the 
 spot was not neglected ; a neat white marble slab soon 
 marked the grave. How it came there was a mystery. 
 Had Nellie seen it before she went away, she might 
 have said that it grew with the little flowers which 
 sprung up at its foot ; but older heads knew better. 
 
 " I am the resurrection and the life, he that believeth 
 in Me, though he were dead yet shall he live." 
 
 " O death, where is thy sting ? O grave, where is 
 thy victory ?" 
 
 " The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is 
 the law."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 69 
 
 " But thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory, 
 through our Lord Jesus Christ." 
 
 " For now is Christ risen from the dead, and become 
 the first-fruits of them that slept." 
 
 " Precious, in the sight of the Lord, is the death of 
 His saints." 
 
 " Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, yea, 
 saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors, 
 and their works do follow them." 
 
 " For we know that if our earthly house of this tab 
 ernacle be dissolved, we have a building of God, a 
 house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." 
 
 " And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes : 
 and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor 
 crying, neither shall there be any more pain." 
 
 " And there shall be no night there ; and they need 
 no candle, neither light of the sun, for the Lord God 
 giveth them light, and they shall reign forever and 
 ever." 
 
 Is the tale, gentle reader, too dark and sad ? We 
 may never paint heart-woes, and life's waves sometimes 
 beat with so great violence that the earth-tired soul 
 rejoices to plunge into the River of Death, knowing 
 that it shah 1 be borne to a happier shore. 

 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THERE was now no more obligation resting upon 
 Bridget. She had proved herself the friend, faithful 
 till death. It was not to be expected that she should 
 undertake the care of the children, who were now left 
 orphans. The city authorities had provided- a place 
 for such little unfortunates, and true charity demanded 
 that she should attend to her own wants, and endeavor 
 to make her situation more comfortable. Yet it was 
 hard to give up those whom she had loved with almost 
 a mother's love, to the cold charity of a heartless 
 world ; and she would gladly have toiled, as she had 
 done in years past, could that mother have lived to 
 guide their young minds, and whisper comfort when 
 they* wept with childish sorrow. 
 
 The day after the burial of Mrs. Lincoln, Bridget 
 took the little girls to the office of the overseer of the 
 city poor. At the time of her entering, that person 
 was busily engaged, and requested her to sit down un 
 til he had a little more leisure. 
 
 A new life had opened to the children, and even now 
 they seemed conscious of this. They clung to Bridg 
 et's clothes, and, with tears, begged her not to stay 
 there. Her fortitude, at tunes, almost yielded to their 
 entreaties, and she would feel half determined not to 
 give them up. 
 
 Meanwhile, a plainly-dressed man entered the office, 
 and said that he wished to transact a little business 
 with the overseer. He, too, was requested to wait. It
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 71 
 
 was evident that he was a hard-working man, and one 
 who estimated fully the value of every one of the sixty 
 minutes in each hour, for he could not be idle, and tak 
 ing up a paper, he tried to read, but his impatience so 
 disturbed his thinking powers that he soon grew weary 
 of it. He sauntered about the room, looking at the 
 advertisements which were hanging against the wall, 
 until he unconsciously came close to where Bridget and 
 the children were sitting. He looked carelessly at 
 them a moment, then slipping his hand into his pocket, 
 he drew out two fine yellow apples, and gave one to 
 each of the little girls. He found a third in another 
 pocket, which he offered to Bridget. She took it 
 thankfully ; for she was eager to do any thing beside 
 sitting still ; then, seemingly for want of something else 
 to occupy him, he began talking to Nellie. 
 
 " What is your name, Sis?" he asked. 
 
 " Nellie Lincoln," she replied. 
 
 " I suppose you mean Ellen, don't you ?" he again 
 inquired. 
 
 Nellie looked wonderingly at Bridget, who said, 
 " It 's the very same, sure ; but we 've fallen to callin' 
 her Nellie intirely." 
 
 " Where do you live ?" the man continued, interro 
 gating Nellie. 
 
 " Sure she does n't live anywhere, and it 's for a place 
 I brought her here this mornin'," again answered 
 Bridget. " The mother 's just dead ; I staid by her 
 till the last, but she 's gone now, and it 's the city> sure, 
 must take the children;" and as she said this, she 
 wiped the great tears from her eyes with her apron. 
 
 " She 's a right smart-looking little girl," soliloquized 
 the farmer. " How old are you ?" 
 
 " I am seven years old," said Nellie ; " and my little 
 sister is n't but three."
 
 72 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 The man walked up and down the room, thought 
 fully, a few moments, and then the overseer called his 
 attention, saying that he was ready to attend to him. 
 The two talked earnestly together awhile, and again 
 the farmer sat down. 
 
 The overseer was an elderly man, rather blunt in his 
 manner, but, it may be, kind-hearted. Coming toward 
 Bridget, he pulled down his spectacles, and after taking 
 a good look at her with his naked eyes, replaced them, 
 and remarked, 
 
 " You 're a stout-looking woman ; guess you 're able 
 to work ; you don't want any help, do you ?" 
 
 " It 's not for meself I 'm asking it, sir, but for the 
 children I 've brought." 
 
 " Whose are they ?" he inquired. 
 
 " A poor widow's who was buried yestherday, sir. 
 Sure she was once rich as any of ye ; but she was left 
 a widow, and it 's to this her children have come," said 
 Bridget, feelingly. 
 
 " But how came you to bring them here ?" again in 
 terrogated he. 
 
 " And is n't it I, sure, that was with the mother iver 
 since the little one was born, and it 's my work that 
 has kept them the last year, but I can't keep them any 
 longer ; it does n't signify for me." 
 
 A large man, who was sitting in the further corner 
 of the room, and had been busily reading since they 
 entered, looked from behind his paper at hearing this 
 last remark of Bridget's, and said, 
 
 " What that woman says is true. I know how that 
 matter is. I settled the estate of their father ; they 
 had better be taken to the Orphan Asylum ; but, bless 
 me, what will our taxes be if city paupers increase at 
 this rate!" 
 
 Bridget's blood boiled hi her veins to hear this from
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 73 
 
 Mr. Doxtater, but she had long ago learned to bear his 
 unkindness silently. , 
 
 " 'T will be pretty hard to fix that matter as you 
 spoke of, Mr. Burke," said the overseer, turning to the 
 farmer ; " the two stick pretty close together ; but I 
 really think it 's about the best thing we could do, after 
 all." 
 
 "Is it the children ye 're speaking of ? Sure ye 'd 
 not put them apart ! 't would kill them intirely," in 
 terrupted Bridget, a little concerned as to what might 
 be the matter under consultation. 
 
 " We can't pay much attention to the whims of poor 
 people when they come to us for support ; we do as 
 well as we can by them, and they ought not to com 
 plain," replied the overseer, rather pettishly ; and turn 
 ing to Mr. Doxtater, seemed to be asking his advice 
 about the propriety of his intention. 
 
 His back was toward Bridget, and she could not hear 
 what he was saying, but she heard Mr. Doxtater reply, 
 " Yes, yes ; altogether the best plan ; don't lose the 
 opportunity." 
 
 The farmer now stepped up to Nellie, and said, 
 " How would you like to go and live with me ?" 
 
 "I don't know," answered Nellie, drawing a little 
 closer to Bridget. 
 
 The farmer continued, rather coaxingly, " If you go 
 with me you can have plenty of those nice apples, and 
 you can ride almost every day, and have nice bread 
 and milk when you are hungry." 
 
 Nellie's eyes sparkled as she listened to this story. 
 She had almost forgotten how such nice things tasted, 
 and she answered, " I guess I would like to go very 
 well ; may my little sister have some, too ?" 
 
 " That other gentleman will get things for her," said 
 the farmer, pointing to the overseer.
 
 74 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " Well," said Nellie, contentedly, and was going 
 directly to Mr. Burke, when Bridget spoke. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Nellie, ye 're forgettin' yerself intirely ! 
 Sure ye '11 niver see little sisther any more if you lave 
 her now." 
 
 " O, I will come back right away, Biddy," answered 
 Nellie. 
 
 " Not a bit of that ye '11 do ; it 's little of the world 
 ye know at this age," answered Bridget. 
 
 Nellie's suspicion that all might not be as nice as she 
 had at first imagined, became a little aroused, and she 
 was quite undecided what she would do. Bridget's 
 protestations were vain. She had given the children 
 up to the care of a heartless charity, and she could not 
 now influence the disposal of them. Mr. Burke re 
 ceived a small sum from the city treasury to provide 
 suitable clothing for NeUie, and placed her carefully in 
 the great market wagon which stood before the door. 
 Bridget lamented loudly, but it was only what she 
 must expect. Nellie had been offered a good place, in 
 the world's eyes, and it could not be rejected. Nellie 
 hardly knew what it was best to do. She might have 
 cried thus to part with her only friends, but the prom 
 ise of those fine apples, and that nice bread and milk, 
 lightened her untaught heart, and restrained her tears ; 
 besides, she was just going to enjoy the first of the 
 promised rides. 
 
 Her little sister was carried to the Orphan Asylum ; 
 and Bridget went to the "far West" with Patrick, 
 many miles away from that dreaded ocean which had 
 been the cause of all her great troubles. She went to 
 begin a new life, in a new country, inspired by new 
 love, new hopes, and new desires. She lived and grew 
 old in her new home, and the last days of Patrick and 
 Bridget were their best days. The earth is now fresh
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 75 
 
 above the spot where their children kindly laid them, 
 to rest from their earthly toils. 
 
 After Nellie had kissed her little sister and Bridget 
 good-by, Mr. Burke sat down beside her in the wagon, 
 and drove away from the office into one of the busiest 
 streets of the city. She saw a great many things to de 
 light her, and to occupy her thoughts, but, most of all, 
 she was delighted with the two bundles which the 
 farmer placed behind the seat on which they were sit 
 ting, and which, he told her, contained new dresses for 
 her to wear, if she was a good girl. He put her old 
 bonnet away with the bundles, and gave her a new 
 straw one, with bright pink bows upon it. Nellie sat 
 up very straight all the way, for she could see the 
 new strings, which hung down over her waist when 
 she did so ; but she was careful not to handle them 
 much, lest she should soil them, for Mr. Burke told 
 her they would never look well again if she fingered 
 them. 
 
 It was ten miles to the place where farmer Burke 
 lived, and the ride to it, in a market-wagon, was a very 
 tedious one, to a child, after the novelty of riding had 
 passed away. The farmer could overcome the distance 
 without growing weary, for every field of grain, every 
 meadow, and every patch of woodland which belted 
 the country were full of interest to him. It was policy 
 in him to notice the improvements which the farmers 
 made, and to watch the success or failure of each ex 
 periment they tried ; but Nellie had no interest of this 
 kind. " God made the country," she thought, and she 
 never dreamed that He required the labor of man to 
 make it bud, and blossom, and bring forth fruit and 
 grain. She loved the bright yellow apple she had 
 eaten, but she was ignorant of the labor and care of 
 preparing and selecting the cuttings, and properly set-
 
 76 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 ting the graft. Mr. Burke was sensible of this, and 
 endeavored to entertain his little companion with sto 
 ries of squirrels and bees, and after listening to him 
 awhile she began to talk freely herself. 
 " Have you got any little sister for me where you 
 live ?" she inquired. 
 
 " No," he answered ; " but I have a little boy, and 
 you may make a brother of him if you choose." 
 
 Nellie remembered the little brothers she had seen 
 in the fine carriages, from the city, which so often 
 passed her home on the hill-road, and she asked, 
 
 "Does your little boy have bright buttons on his 
 coat ? 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Burke, rather sadly ; " but he don't 
 wear coats much, he is sick all the tune." 
 
 " Will he die, and be buried up in the ground, and 
 go up in the sky, as my mamma did ?" again asked 
 Nellie. 
 
 A tear stole down Mr. Burke's sun-burnt cheek as 
 he told her " he hoped not." 
 
 " Is he a good little boy ?" continued Nellie. 
 
 " Yes, he is a very good little boy, and he wants 
 some one to play with him, and that is the reason I 
 took you," answered the farmer. 
 
 Mr. Burke was a widower. A maiden sister had 
 kept house for him since his wife's death. She was a 
 good woman, but there was little or none of that ar 
 dent affection in her nature which Nellie had seen in 
 her mother. Perhaps such a principle was dormant in 
 her breast, but it certainly had never been awakened 
 toward any person whom she had met during a life of 
 forty years. Mr. Burke was sensible of this failing in 
 his sister, and though she was carefully kind, he was 
 conscious that his only son, Willie, who had long been 
 a sufferer from a disease of the hip, was not as happy
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 77 
 
 as he might be with a different companion ; and his 
 errand to the city on that day was to get, if possible, 
 from the Orphan Asylum, a child who should be com 
 pany for him. He had entered the office where he first 
 saw Nellie, to inquire of the overseer about the mat 
 ter, and, being pleased with her, he had offered, if the 
 city would clothe her, to board and send her to school 
 while she was in his family. He did not wish to adopt 
 her, and obtained the privilege of returning her when 
 ever he chose. The tenderest feelings of his nature 
 had been quickened by the sympathy which he felt for 
 Nellie, and Nellie's bright eyes and intelligent face had 
 won for her a kind protector. 
 
 It was nearly dark when Mr. Burke turned his 
 horses into a broad lane which led up to a neat, but 
 small farm-house. As he approached it a little pale 
 face appeared before the window. It was "Willie's. 
 He had been bolstered in a rocking-chair to watch his 
 father's coming. A smile lighted his countenance when 
 he saw him, and his father sang out, gayly, 
 
 " Halloo, sonny, father has brought you a nice little 
 sister." 
 
 Nellie felt very awkwardly when she first went into 
 the house, for every thing looked strangely to her, and 
 she was not as happy as she had been in the wagon, 
 alone with Mr. Burke, for a tall, sedate-looking woman 
 took her new dresses and her straw bonnet away into 
 another room, and she was not at all sure that she 
 should ever see them again. But the lady gave her a 
 bowl of bread and milk which tasted so nicely that she 
 entirely forgot to cry. 
 
 After she had eaten she grew very sleepy, and Miss 
 Burke took her up stairs and put her into a clean bed, 
 and she knew nothing more until the morning. 
 
 That evening Mr. Doxtater went home and told his
 
 78 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 wife that Mrs. Lincoln was dead, and that he had seen 
 Bridget and the children, and that he had influenced 
 the Poor-master to let Nellie live with a farmer who 
 wanted a little girl, and that the little one was well 
 taken care of, for she was in the Asylum. He added, 
 very complacently, he was glad that he had had this 
 opportunity of doing something for them he felt will 
 ing to make some effort for their comfort ; and then 
 stretched himself upon a velvet-cushioned sofa, two- 
 thirds of which, if paid for, would have gone far to 
 ward assisting the widow who had lately died from 
 over-exertion and want.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LITTLE Nellie was awakened very early in the morn 
 ing by the stirring of those below. When she opened 
 her eyes she was bewildered, and could not, at first, 
 recollect how she came there, and she trembled with 
 fear, and buried her face deep in the bedclothes and 
 wept. But her fatigue, at length, overcame this, and 
 she again sank to sleep. 
 
 It was long after breakfast, and not until "Willie had 
 grown very impatient to see his new sister, that Miss 
 Burke consented to open her door, for she had not 
 heard a sound from her room, and rightly conjectured 
 that she was still sleeping. When she did so, Nellie 
 was still lying with her head half buried in the pillow ; 
 one tightly-closed eye was in sight, but the deep fringe 
 of the little lids was wet with tear drops, and all down 
 her cheeks streaks of dirt from soiled hands showed 
 unmistakable signs of a sad, sad crying spell. Her lit 
 tle breast was still heaving, unconsciously, with sobs, 
 and Miss Burke was well-nigh melted to tears at the 
 sight. 
 
 When we see the weeds of mourning, or enter the 
 homes of want, we look for tears, and our hearts, 
 though they may be filled with sorrow, yet feel not that 
 warm, quick pity which seizes us when when we see a 
 child, whose very element is happiness, thus giving its 
 little self to sorrow. Life has its heavy cares and its 
 deep reverses which cause even the strong man to 
 bend, yes, sometimes to break beneath their weight,
 
 80 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 and little troubles break little hearts, eyen as the gentle 
 zephyr, so cheering to us, robs the spider of its silken 
 home, and makes its life a life of labor and disappoint 
 ment. Nellie had not wept over the great misfortunes 
 which had overtaken her, for she did not fully appre 
 ciate them ; but the horror of being in a strange room, 
 alone, had opened the fountain of her sorrow. 
 
 Miss Burke's sympathy was soon, however, lost in 
 vexation that she had been so thoughtless as to put 
 that child into clean sheets without first washing her, 
 after so dusty a ride as she had had the day before. 
 While she was looking steadily at the child, and re 
 proaching herself for this neglect, Nellie roused, and 
 called loudly, " Mamma, Biddy," and seeing the face of a 
 stranger in their stead, she began again to cry. Much 
 of her fear, however, was removed when she again saw 
 Mr. Burke; she had grown familiar with his face, 
 which she had so carefully studied during the long ride 
 of the previous day, and already she had learned to 
 love him. The wholesome breakfast, too, with the fre 
 quently repeated assertion of the farmer that she was 
 a " nice little girl," were powerful to banish her child 
 ish timidity. 
 
 After Mr. Burke had gone into the field, to his 
 work, Nellie began to look about a little. There was 
 a rag-carpet upon the floor with a great deal of red and 
 yellow in it which pleased her much. Willie's lounge, 
 too, was covered with a calico spread which had great 
 pictures of birds and roses all over it ; and there was a 
 clock upon the mantle with long feathers stuck around 
 it which had great blue eyes on the ends of them, and 
 the white dimity curtains had, what looked to her like 
 rows of tassels hung all down the edges. These things 
 suited her fancy well, and she was greatly entertained 
 with Willie's description of the parlor, of the peacock,
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 81 
 
 and of the chickens. She was very much surprised to 
 hear that they slept on poles, and never fell off, and 
 how the peacock would spread its feathers until it 
 looked like a great ball. 
 
 Pretty soon Willie called his aunt and asked for his 
 playthings. She opened a very little door beside the 
 clock, and took from the shelf a plaster dog and two 
 or three picture-books, and brought them to him, 
 charging Helen (as she called Nellie) not to hurt the 
 things if Willie let her take them. She put Willie's 
 little chair beside the lounge, and told Nellie she might 
 sit there, but she must be careful and not hit Willie, 
 for she might hurt him if she did. She then left the 
 two to entertain each other as they chose, occasionally, 
 however, putting her head through the door to see 
 what they were doing, and that the new comer kept 
 out of mischief. Her last remark called Nellie's at 
 tention to Willie's affliction, and she asked, 
 
 " What do you stay sick all the time for, Willie ?" 
 
 " Because I can't get well," he answered. 
 
 " You don't want to be sick, do you ?" again she 
 asked. 
 
 " No," he replied ; " but I ain't sick ah 1 over." 
 
 " Where are you sijck, then ?" she continued ; and 
 Willie put his hand on his side and told her it was 
 down there, so that he couldn't walk any. 
 
 " Can't you never go out doors ?" asked Nellie, piti 
 fully. 
 
 " Sometimes papa takes me out, and sometimes, in 
 warm days, aunt puts my lounge out under the big 
 tree in .the front yard," said he ; " but I can't go out 
 myself." 
 
 " Too bad," ejaculated Nellie. 
 
 " But when I am older, papa says he guesses I can go 
 alone with a pair of crutches. I am so little now I 
 
 4*
 
 82 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 could n't keep on them good ; but if I can't walk like 
 the other boys, I have more rides and more picture- 
 books than they do, so I guess I have the most fun," 
 he continued. 
 
 Nellie then opened one of the picture-books, and be 
 gan reading under one of the prints, " A bear has four 
 feet." 
 
 "Willie was delighted when he heard her read ; he 
 never knew what it said under the pictures, and he 
 called his aunt to tell her that that little girl could 
 read, and that he liked her very well for a sister. 
 
 Miss Burke was much surprised to find Nellie so 
 forward, and asked her who taught her. 
 
 " My mamma, when she was n't dead," said Nellie ; 
 and then she told Miss Burke that her mamma was 
 dead, and was buried up in the ground, so that she 
 should never see her any more ; but that she had a lit 
 tle sister who staid with Biddy, and when she had 
 played long enough with Willie she was going to see 
 her again. The lady really pitied her, and half re 
 pented that she had so strongly opposed her brother 
 in bringing a child there ; besides, she was partly re 
 conciled from the fact that he had brought a girl in 
 stead of a boy, for she thought girls were more easily 
 managed than boys. 
 
 When Mr. Burke came home to dinner, Nellie sat 
 upon his knee, and read to him ; she showed him, too, 
 a ring which was tied upon her finger, and said that her 
 mamma put it there, and tied it with that strong 
 string, and told her not to take it off if she could avoid 
 it, until her finger grew large enough to fill it. 
 
 The farmer soon became deeply interested in his 
 little protegee ; he had been much in the company of 
 bis gentle son, and had learned to be interested in such 
 things as are interesting to children. He could forget
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 83 
 
 the heavy cares of life, and answer, heartily, the smile 
 which beamed in Nellie's face, as she mastered a diffi 
 cult word, or succeeded in reading a whole line with 
 out hesitation; could listen to her cheerful prattle 
 without weariness, and enjoy the little tales she told. 
 
 The afternoon was spent by the children much in the 
 same manner that the morning had been, in making 
 discoveries, and learning more of each other ; but they 
 were not there alone, for Miss Burke sat with them, 
 and cut Nellie's pink dress, and a pair of white panta 
 lets. Nellie sometimes approached her, and leaned 
 against her chair ; but there was something repulsive 
 in her manner ; and the child, instead of loving, feared 
 her. 
 
 After tea, Willie was again bolstered in the rocking- 
 chair, and placed before the window, where Nellie had 
 first seen him ; and Mr. Burke took her with him, 
 across the lane, into the yard where the chickens were 
 kept, and there she saw what Willie had described ; and 
 the peacock did spread its feathers, just as he had told 
 her. 
 
 Nellie thought that she had come into a place of 
 wonders ; and when night came again, she was very 
 tired of looking at all these strange things. With her 
 weariness came the remembrance of those she had -not 
 seen since the morning before, and from whom she had 
 never been so long separated at any previous time, and 
 she began to inquire for them. When she found she 
 could not see them, she wept bitterly, and was not 
 quieted until she forgot her troubles in sleep. 
 
 That day had been one of the brightest of little Wil 
 lie's life, for he had just the company he liked. When 
 the neighbors' children came to see him, they were not 
 contented to sit by him, but were off in the yard, out 
 of his sight, the greater part of the tune ; and if they
 
 84 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 did stay in the house, they were apt to make a noise, 
 and sometimes they hurt him in their rough play. Suf 
 fering had subdued his naturally lively spirits ; and al 
 though he was always cheerful, he was very mild and 
 gentle. 
 
 Every body loved Willie, not with a love which 
 springs from pity alone, but for his sweet and gentle 
 disposition, which made him love eveiy body. He was 
 never forgotten when the first apples were ripe, or the 
 strawberries turned red ; and when any of the children 
 went to the city and bought candies, they always saved 
 a piece for little Willie Burke. So it was well for him 
 that Nellie had come to live there, and very well for 
 Nellie, too. 
 
 Sunday at length came, and Miss Burke put the 
 pink dress and white pantalets on Nellie ; and then, for 
 the first time since she came, Willie wore his coat with 
 bright buttons, for it was a very pleasant day, and on 
 such days he sometimes went to church. His aunt tied 
 several pillows in the great rocking-chair, and made it 
 very soft around the arms, and he rode in it to church. 
 Mr. Burke placed the chair with Willie in it close by 
 the pew door, so that he was very comfortable. 
 
 So delighted was Nellie with her new clothes, and 
 Willie's coat, that she forgot all about listening to the 
 sermon. There were children there with much finer 
 dresses, but she only remembered her own. After 
 service a great many people came and spoke to Willie ; 
 some of the ladies kissed him, and asked him who that 
 little girl was, and he said it was his " sister Helen." 
 There was one very pretty young lady, with long curls, 
 who kissed Nellie, too ; for she said she loved her for 
 Willie's sake. She was his Sunday-school teacher. 
 
 After the most of the people were away, Mr. Burke 
 lifted Willie out of the chair, and Miss Burke shook up
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 85 
 
 the pillows to make his seat a little easier, and then the 
 young lady brought five other little girls and boys into 
 the pew, and talked with them about half an hour. 
 She asked Nellie several questions, which the latter 
 knew very well how to answer. She could read better 
 than any of the children in the class, and her teacher 
 gave her a book to take home with her. Then the 
 school sang a hymn ; and the young lady kissed Wil 
 lie and Nellie again, before Mr. Burke put them into 
 the wagon to go home. 
 
 Nellie liked Sunday better than all the other days, 
 and wished it would come very often ; for, besides go 
 ing to church and wearing her new clothes, Mr. Burke 
 staid in the house all the afternoon. She sat on his 
 knee, and seemed to enjoy it so much that Willie 
 thought he would try it ; but it hurt him, and he had 
 to make up his mind to be contented with seeing her 
 sit there. Nellie asked Mr. Burke a great many ques 
 tions about the heaven where her mamma and Willie's 
 mamma had gone, but he did not tell her all she wanted 
 to know, and she wondered why, and asked him if he 
 could not tell her about heaven. He told her he 
 " guessed not very well ;" and when he said so, his eyes 
 looked to her as if there was water hi them, but she did 
 not see any tears on his. cheeks. 
 
 There were sad thoughts in Mr. Burke's mind ; for 
 Willie's mamma, whom he dearly loved, had gone up 
 to heaven, and he was afraid Willie would soon go, too, 
 and then he should be left without any companion or 
 any little boy !
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE fall and winter passed away in much the same 
 manner that the first week of Nellie's stay at the farm 
 house had done. The snow was deep, and Willie sel 
 dom was taken out of doors, and Mr. Burke did not 
 often attend church when his son could not go, so that 
 she was almost constantly at home. The children had 
 grown firmly into each other's affections, and were well 
 fitted for each other's society, for "Willie, who had al 
 ways been acquainted with suffering, had been much 
 softened by its influence, and Nellie, whose fortune, 
 almost ever since her remembrance, had been linked 
 with misery, had learned to feel more at home with 
 the suffering than with the gay. He seemed happy 
 when enjoying her sympathy, and she was most happy 
 in imparting it. 
 
 "When the spring returned, and the roads became 
 settled, Nellie was sent to school. She had a long 
 way to walk, so she did not come home to dinner, but 
 carried a luncheon in a little basket, and ate at the 
 school-house. The seven hours she was away seemed 
 very long ones to Willie, though he was half repaid 
 for his loneliness when she returned, she learned so 
 many things during the day to tell him. Although 
 she was not taken as the child of Mr. Burke, Willie 
 claimed her as a sister, and she was called by no other 
 name than that of Helen Burke. . There was a harsh 
 ness to her in the name of Helen, but Miss Burke had 
 called her so from the first, while, with the simple
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 81 
 
 sound of the gentler title, Nellie, there was mingled 
 the idea of affection and love. This may have pro 
 duced, in a measure, the coldness which ever existed 
 between the two ; for first impressions of persons, from 
 whatever sources gathered, from look or tone, influence 
 greatly our after intercourse. 
 
 Miss Lane, the lady with long curls, whom Nellie 
 first met in the Sunday-school, was also the teacher of 
 the day-school, and the same gentleness which charac 
 terized her in the one, was not forgotten in the other. 
 A pure, unafiected piety controlled her actions, and 
 entirely subdued the risings of her temper. How are 
 the first dawnings of genius in the little child at once 
 put out, and its youthful intellect, instead of being suf 
 fered to expand, often crushed, and almost deadened 
 by unfit schoolmasters, unworthy the name of teachers, 
 for they plant no principles in the scholar's mind but 
 the principles of hate and dread of study ! How many 
 of the so-styled schools would be far more properly 
 called infant inquisitions! The paths of knowledge 
 may be strewn with flowers which children will love 
 to gather, and their little feet will run unconsciously 
 along the ways of science, eager to grasp the buds of 
 truth. Thus every fine and lovely feeling will be re 
 fined and strengthened, while the harsh, unpleasant 
 ones, for want of exercise, will disappear. And such 
 was the effect of the influence exerted upon the pupils 
 at Miss Lane's school. It was a nursery of all that is 
 pure in our nature. Although she never forgot the 
 dignity of the teacher, she was ever approachable, and 
 her kind words and sweet smiles inspired her scholars 
 with a desire to do as she would have them. 
 
 Miss Lane at first loved Nellie for Willie's sake, but 
 she soon loved her for her own. She was often her 
 companion in the long walks from school, and the les-
 
 88 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 sons which Dinah had first taught her were repeated 
 by Miss Lane, and she was then able to grasp much 
 more of their meaning than she could do in her younger 
 days. And all that Nellie learned was repeated to 
 Willie. The long Saturdays were his school-days, and 
 weh 1 did he improve and appreciate all he heard from 
 his youthful instructress. 
 
 One pleasant Saturday morning, when Miss Burke 
 had drawn Willie's lounge into the front yard, and 
 Nellie was sitting by him, he gazed long and earnestly 
 into the sky. Two great tears trickled down his hol 
 low cheeks, but a flush came suddenly over his counte 
 nance, and they seemed to dry away with the warmth 
 of a deep feeling within, which had sent the color to 
 his face. Nellie saw it, and asked, 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Willie ?" 
 
 " I was thinking of the time when I shall be in heav 
 en ; and how happy I shall be when I am not lame 
 any more," he said. 
 
 " But what made you cry ? Don't you want to go 
 to heaven ?" 
 
 " O, yes, I would like to be there now, but I know I 
 shall have to die first, and I don't want to die." 
 " But we can't go to heaven if we don't die ; and I 
 had rather die than stay here always, and be always 
 sick." 
 
 " I don't like to be buried in the ground. I don't 
 care for any of the rest ; I guess I suffer as much as to 
 die, sometimes." 
 
 Nellie was sad ; she did not know what to say to 
 comfort him, but she promised to ask Miss Lane the 
 next time she saw her. Just as she i.ad come to this 
 conclusion that lady appeared at the gate. She ran to 
 her, and told her how badly she wanted to see her for 
 Willie, so badly she could hardly wait till Monday.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 89 
 
 " What did you want to see me for ?" said Miss 
 Lane. 
 
 " O, for Willie. He feels bad about dying, and I 
 did n't know what to say to him," said Nellie ; " he is 
 out here under the tree, and I will run into the house 
 and bring you a chair to sit by him." 
 
 Miss Lane kissed Willie, and smiled, but she knew 
 what thoughts were in his mind, and she had no desire 
 to banish his sadness by any lightness of manner, but 
 only to cheer him with true comfort, and she inquired, 
 
 " What were you and your sister busying yourselves 
 about this morning ?" 
 
 "We were only talking," answered Willie, who 
 hardly knew what to say. .;$.-, 
 
 " And what were you talking about ?" 
 
 There was no feeling but one of perfect confidence in 
 Willie's breast toward Miss Lane, and he said, 
 
 " About my dying. I am afraid to die." 
 
 " Why, Willie, what makes you afraid ?" 
 
 " I don't know," said he ; " but something does." 
 
 " Are you afraid you shall suffer very much when 
 you die, is that it ?" 
 
 " No, I suffer all the time, and I sha'n't any more 
 after that ; but I don't know what it is." 
 
 " You think you sha'n't suffer any more after you 
 die ; who will make you well then, and keep you hap 
 py?" 
 
 " God." 
 
 " And if you live till to-morrow who will take care 
 of you then ?" 
 
 "God." 
 
 " Are you sure of this, Willie ?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " Well, are you afraid to live till to-morrow because 
 you must sleep before to-morrow comes ?"
 
 90 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Why, who will take care of you when you sleep ? 
 it will be all dark, and all around will be sleeping, 
 too." 
 
 " God always takes care of me when I sleep." 
 
 " "Well, if you are a good boy, when you die you 
 will only sleep in death to wake on the morrow in 
 heaven ; do you think you need be any more afraid of 
 that sleep than of the other ? The same God will take 
 care of you then." 
 
 Willie saw the matter in its true light, and the love 
 and confidence which he already bestowed upon his 
 Heavenly Father cast out his fear. She then told the 
 children of the death of her mother ; how peacefully 
 and happily she sank to her last sleep ; and they saw 
 how it might be very sweet to die. 
 
 Willie was old enough to know that he must waste 
 away under his disease, before very long ; and this was 
 why he thought so often of dying but now his fears 
 were gone. He had lived, as it were, free from con 
 tact with the sins of the world, and the truth found an 
 easy access to his heart.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE clouds had begun to darken the sky, the thun 
 der growled angrily, and its threatening tones spread 
 terror among the little band of children who were just 
 leaving the school-house. The rain had not yet begun 
 to fall, and the teacher hoped they might reach their 
 homes' before the storm came. Nellie had the longest 
 distance to go, and her little feet had not accomplished 
 more than half their task, when the darkness was 
 broken by a fitful light, and the great rain drops began 
 to fall heavily. 
 
 " Come in, child, come in," said a voice just behind 
 her. " Come in ; you should be coy of rain, for your 
 light went out on the water," and she was caught up 
 in the arms of old Barbara Dumo, a crazy woman, who 
 hurried with her into her little hovel. " Sit down till 
 the rain is over," continued the woman, before Nellie 
 could remonstrate. " It was the water put the light 
 out," and a smile shot over her vacant countenance 
 as she added, " it will burn again for me in the grave 
 yard." 
 
 Nellie had seen old Barbara often before, and 
 though she knew her to be always kind and gentle, 
 she trembled with fear, for her words were very 
 strange to her, and the wildness of the storm, the 
 heavy rolling of the thunder, with the sharp flashes of 
 the lightning, appeared more dreadful than ever to her 
 while she was in such a place. 
 
 Old Barbara had lived several years in this little
 
 92 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 hovel. She was perfectly harmless, and pity prompted 
 the neighbors to supply her wants. It was sometimes 
 suggested that she should be taken to the Insane Re 
 treat, but she so strongly opposed going, and pleaded 
 so earnestly to be suffered to remain where she was, 
 that none appeared willing to disturb her. Many were 
 the ears of corn which were left upon the stalks in the 
 harvest time for her to gather, and the bits of bread 
 and meat from many a table were carefully preserved 
 for her. Nellie had often set a pitcher of milk before 
 the house on her way to school, but she ran away be 
 fore Barbara opened the door to take it, and the 
 cleanly washed pitcher was always standing where she 
 had left it, when she returned. 
 
 Barbara replenished the fire, and drew the stool 
 upon which Nellie was sitting, close to it, to dry her 
 sprinkled clothes, and began preparing some tea. 
 Every moment seemed an age to the terrified child, 
 and at last she ventured to speak : 
 
 " I must go right home. Willie will want me now, 
 and it is n't a great way." 
 
 " No, no, child," said Barbara ; " have you forgotten 
 how your light went out on the water, and the rain did 
 it ? stay still where you* are, for there is death in the 
 storm." 
 
 " I can't stay," continued Nellie, imploringly, every 
 word the maniac uttered filling her with deeper fear. 
 
 Barbara gave a loud, senseless laugh, and taking 
 Nellie's hand, said, " No, child ; no," and eyeing her 
 closely, she continued, " Helen Burke Nellie Lincoln 
 has forgotten the light ; but, I tell you, it went out on 
 the water, and you, too, must be coy of the rain. 
 There was a little light left, but I can't tell where it 
 shines." Then turning up the palm of Nellie's hand, 
 she tried to read her destiny, in the lines upon it ; for
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 93 
 
 she fancied she could look into the future, and she ap 
 peared troubled, and said, " It is too dark ; my light 
 can't shine in the rain, for the great light went out on 
 the water." 
 
 She then poured the tea which she had prepared, 
 into a cup, and bade Nellie drink it. Fright made her 
 obedient. Barbara then took the cup and inverted it 
 upon the floor, and struck it seven times, and then 
 made another effort to read the destiny of her guest, in 
 the lees which adhered to its sides. 
 
 " It only tells of the past," she said, at length ; and 
 bidding Nellie look where she pointed, she told her 
 that that showed great misfortunes, that the greatest 
 one of these was the going out of the light upon the 
 water, and, she added, " it was for you I struck the cup ; 
 I can't see when it shall burn again; but mine shall 
 burn in the grave-yard." 
 
 The rain had now ceased, but the road was very 
 muddy ; and old Barbara took Nellie in her arms, and 
 carried her to Mr. Burke's door, then patting her 
 cheek, gently said, " Good-night, child ; be coy of the 
 rain, and remember how your light went out on the 
 water." 
 
 " O, I was so frightened !" said Nellie, after she had 
 repeated to Miss Burke the story of the terrible hour 
 spent with old Barbara. " She said such strange 
 things, and looked so wildly at me." 
 
 " Foolish little coward !" replied the other, as she 
 disappeared through the kitchen-door ; " I may thank 
 old Barbara that I sha'n't have you to take care of 
 through a course of fever. She knows more now than 
 half the people who ain't crazy."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THUS did Nellie spend her time during the six years 
 which succeeded her coming to Mr. Burke's. The pure, 
 health-giving air of the country, together with whole 
 some food and exercise, had painted her cheeks, and 
 added strength and vigor to her constitution. She 
 was then very different from the thin, delicate child 
 whom Mr. Burke found in the overseer's office. Her 
 disposition alone was unchanged. The same child-like 
 sweetness still characterized her, and maturer judg 
 ment added greatly to her charms. She was the 
 bright star in the sky of Willie's happiness, his guide, 
 his comfort, his almost all. Her hand oftenest smoothed 
 his pillow, and bathed his aching temples; her voice 
 cheered his saddest hours. Willie knew dark hours of 
 suffering; and the holy hope which had grown from 
 childhood in Nellie's heart, was the anchor which sup 
 ported him, and leaning confidently upon which, he 
 was able to smile cheerfully, even upon the borders of 
 that dark river near which he seemed to dwell. 
 
 He had grown since her coming, and the little 
 lounge was quite too short for him then ; but with his 
 growth he had been wasting in strength ; his face was 
 even thinner, and his dark eyes looked larger and 
 clearer. He was slowly sliding down the steep of life. 
 
 It was summer. The large tree in the garden af 
 forded as delightful a shade, the birds sang as sweetly 
 among its branches, and the breezes wafted as delici 
 ous perfumes and breathed as refreshingly as ever; but
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 95 
 
 he was too weak to enjoy them, death was creeping, 
 almost imperceptibly, yet with fearful certainty, over 
 him. 
 
 There are great lessons to be learned as we watch 
 the closing scenes of life. The mind, quickened by its 
 near approach to the spirit-world, speaks intelligibly in 
 every expression of the countenance, and the words 
 then spoken are the " words of truth and soberness." 
 The trusting smile proclaims the supporting power of 
 our religion, and the thoughtfully lustrous eye the 
 dread realities of eternity, while the falling tear con 
 firms the loveliness of life. By Willie's bedside, Nellie 
 learned those lessons well. 
 
 A sad quietness had stolen over the home of Mr 
 Burke. When Willie's mates came, they stood silently 
 beside him, and listened earnestly to the counsels he 
 gave them. Weeks roUed on, and the lamp of life con 
 tinued to burn ; and they who watched with him saw 
 how equal is, sometimes, the conflict between the two 
 great powers of Life and Death. 
 
 When the forest trees began to put on their rich 
 autumnal dress, and the summer flowers were wither 
 ing, and when the fruit was ripened, Willie was gath 
 ered, with the harvest, for heaven. It was early morn 
 ing when he died. Nellie was sitting beside him about 
 half an hour before his death, when he said, confidently, 
 
 " Sister, I am dying, now; call father and aunty, that 
 I may see you all together when I go." 
 
 It was no unexpected summons which Nellie gave 
 that father who had gone from the bed-side of his son 
 only to give unrestrained utterance to his grief. The 
 dying boy gave a kind word and a good-by to each, 
 and then went where he shall " never suffer any more." 
 " The silver cord was loosed, the golden bowl broken," 
 and " the spirit had returned unto God who gave it." 

 
 96 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 In the same church where Nellie had first gone with 
 Willie, his funeral was attended, and many more than 
 they who that day smiled upon him, came to drop a 
 tear over his coffin. He had faded in the spring-time 
 of life, but he had planted in the hearts of all who 
 knew hun, affections which memory loves to nurture 
 and treasure carefully, and all then felt that earth was 
 " poorer by one lovely spirit less." 
 
 The greenest, loveliest spot on Mr. Burke's farm had 
 been chosen for a family burial-ground. The place was 
 very unlike a grave-yard. There was no dreariness at 
 tached to it. Willie's mother and grandfather were 
 buried there, and the mound which was raised over 
 him was only the third. Those three graves seemed 
 like kind monitors to keep in mind the truth that there 
 is yet a brighter world than this. 
 
 Nellie was then fourteen years of age, but young as 
 she was, she had experienced more of this world's 
 treachery and inconstancy than many whose locks are 
 whitened with the frosts of time, and she was almost as 
 mature in thought as in experience. 
 
 She was aware that another change had come in her 
 history. She well knew that it was not a desire to 
 promote her good which had secured for her the com 
 fortable home which, during the period of six years, she 
 had found at farmer Burke's ; and that the love which 
 had produced a willingness to attend to her every ne 
 cessity, was not bestowed upon her, but upon him who 
 was now no more, and whose pleasure alone demanded 
 it. This knowledge, while she felt a true thankfulness 
 toward her benefactors, had prevented her from lavish 
 ing upon them that free, filial love, which otherwise 
 she could not have withheld. The sorrow which 
 the young heart feels when it is left wholly desolate at 
 the very budding of its deep affections, Nellie experi-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 97 
 
 enced as she sat alone by the new-made grave in which 
 Willie was sleeping. 
 
 Over Nellie's future course a darkness had gathered, 
 so deep that she could not trace it with the slightest 
 certainty, even for a single day, and her thoughts natu 
 rally reverted to the past. In the light of "Willie's love 
 she had almost forgotten its scenes, but now that was 
 gone, many of them came back with remarkable dis 
 tinctness to her memory. Her recollection of the days 
 when fortune smiled upon her was very faint, but the 
 scenes and faces which surrounded her while she lived 
 on the hill-road were as plainly before her as if she had 
 seen them but yesterday. She wondered why so great 
 a change had come at all ; then she remembered that 
 her mother had often said when she made such inquir 
 ies, " Your father is dead, and there is no one to give 
 us a better home." 
 
 Poor Nellie ! she had looked upon herself as the pro 
 tector of Willie, but she now felt how truly she had 
 been dependent upon him. She remembered how 
 want had crept into her family, and her mother had 
 slowly sunk beneath it ; and she remembered the last 
 night when her mother watched beside her until she 
 was fast asleep, and that when she awoke her mother 
 was cold and Kfeless. She remembered her sister, and 
 Biddy's kind face, and the unhappy hour she passed 
 with them in the overseer's office. She remembered, 
 too, that she had not seen nor heard of either of them 
 since, and she wondered where they were. 
 
 Almost the last words which Willie spoke to his 
 father were, " Be kind to sister," and from this she felt 
 much encouragement. It was sweet to her to feel that, 
 even in his last moments, he felt an interest in her wel 
 fare. " Oh !" thought she, " could Willie have lived, 
 how happy I should have been !" 

 
 98 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 For several days Nellie was permitted to pursue her 
 chosen way entirely undisturbed, but the time thus 
 given her only afforded opportunity for such thoughts 
 to increase and ripen, and she was very sad. Some- 
 tunes she went to see Miss Lane, and to her she told 
 her sorrows. That kind lady had known by a long ex 
 perience, what such sorrow is, and her sympathy was 
 pure and unaffected. How invaluable are such friends 
 in such hours ! Surely earth hath whereof to boast in 
 the possession of them. 
 
 Nellie had not lived an idle life. A great proportion 
 of the time when she was out of school, she had been 
 employed with her needle. Miss Burke had not suf 
 fered her education in this branch to be at all deficient. 
 She had done nearly all her own sewing, and Willie's 
 besides ; the care she had taken of him had very much 
 lightened his aunt's labor. The many steps which she 
 had been obliged to take daily before Nellie's coming, 
 to answer his calls, she had since been released from, 
 and her constant watching of him had become unnec 
 essary. Nellie had in reality been no burden, but an 
 almost indispensable requisite to the family.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Do you intend to keep Helen any longer, James ?" 
 said Miss Burke to her brother, one morning about a 
 week after Willie's death. 
 
 " I have not thought any thing about the matter," 
 he replied. 
 
 "I did not know what your calculations were. I 
 thought you only brought her here to be with Willie." 
 
 " Very true ; but she has become as one of the fam 
 ily, and I had not thought of sending her away." 
 
 " I suppose you know the board and clothes of such 
 a girl amount to considerable, and the city, I don't be 
 lieve, will help her much longer, if it does now." 
 
 " She is a good girl, and I really feel very much 
 attached to her. It would come hard to send her off." 
 
 " But I suppose you will send her away some time ; 
 you don't expect to keep her always, do you ?" 
 
 " Where in the world could she go ?" 
 
 "She is old enough to earn her own living now. 
 There are a great many girls much younger than she 
 who do it." 
 
 " She ain't used to it at all, and I don't believe she 
 would get along ; she 's amazing tender-hearted, and 
 wouldn't endure the treatment such girls get very 
 well." 
 
 " Well, I want you to do just as you choose, bat she's 
 got to come to it some time or other, and I think it well 
 to begin to bear the yoke a little in youth. I don't 
 suppose you will make her your heir when you've got 

 
 100 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 brothers and sisters to whom you are indebted, and 
 who need your assistance more than she." 
 
 Mr. Burke's temper was a little ruffled by this last 
 suggestion, and he answered rather tauntingly : 
 
 " I may ; for my brothers and sisters all had as fair 
 a start as I did, and it 's their own look-out how they 
 improved it." 
 
 Miss Burke felt this reply keenly, and she caught up 
 her knitting work and made the needles fly as if she 
 meant to make him feel his indebtedness to her, one of 
 these cold days, in the warmth of a pair of new socks, 
 and she said : 
 
 " Well, I have done the best I could by her, and 
 shall expect to keep on if she stays here ; I certainly 
 sha'n't raise any objections to your keeping two or 
 three more children if they only learn to wait on them 
 selves." Then, as if a little repentant, she added, " Helen 
 is very good about that ; I '11 say so much for her." 
 
 " I really think she might be of service to you. I 
 should be glad to see you have less to do this winter, 
 and I think she had better stay, and in the spring, if it 
 is best, we will find a good place for her." 
 
 Nellie was up stairs when this conversation took 
 place, but the door was partly open, and she overheard 
 it all. Her fears that she was no longer wanted were 
 realized, and, for a moment, she was at a loss what to 
 do ; whether to run down and beg permission to re 
 main, or let the affair take its own course. She wisely 
 determined upon the latter, but when she came down 
 to dinner it was with much agitation and fear ; her ap 
 petite was gone, and she showed other signs of sorrow. 
 After dinner she said to Miss Burke, in a very pleasant 
 tone, 
 
 "Don't you want me to help you? I haven't any 
 thing to do, now."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 101 
 
 " Yes, Helen, if you had a mind to do any thing you 
 might help me a great deal," answered Miss Burke. 
 
 " I have," said Helen ; " I will do whatever you 
 want me to." 
 
 " Well then, let me see how well you will clear up 
 this table and wash the dishes. But be careful about 
 breakin' things." 
 
 Miss Burke then sat down to her sewing, rising, 
 however, occasionally to give some new charge to 
 Helen, who was busily engaged about the work she 
 had undertaken. Helen carefully obeyed all these in 
 junctions, but was much longer accomplishing her task 
 than one more accustomed to such labor would have 
 been. But she did it well, and Miss Burke assured her 
 of this, adding, however, that it took her a great while. 
 
 Helen soon became initiated into the mysteries of 
 ordinary " house-work," and when the winter had 
 passed she found herself thoroughly established in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 But when spring returned her work was of a very 
 different character. She watched and attended the 
 hot-beds, and twice a week she accompanied Mr. 
 Burke to the city, and aided him in selling the pro 
 ducts of the dairy and garden. She had but little taste 
 for this kind of employment. Her mild, retiring na 
 ture shrank from the busy scenes into which she was 
 plunged in the crowded market, and she was very un 
 happy when obliged to listen to, and contend with 
 some of the rude city servants, who seemed inclined to 
 dispute her price but were eager to buy of her. 
 
 Mr. Burke's stand in the market was well known, 
 and there were several families who depended entirely 
 upon him for the supply of their tables. The neat 
 ness of every thing which he brought had not passed 
 unobserved, while his pleasant manner had added not
 
 102 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 a little to his success, and his new saleswoman was not 
 likely to repel, but to attract buyers. 
 
 Among those who were always earliest at the stand 
 of Mr. Burke, was an Irish girl, with whom Helen was 
 much pleased. She liked her good-natured face; and 
 the pleasant way in which she spoke of what she pur 
 chased, soon made her one of the market girl's favor 
 ites. Helen, not unfrequently, retained the choicest of 
 her store until she came. When the spring advanced, 
 the Irish girl inquired for strawberries, and seemed not 
 a little disappointed when Mr. Burke told her there 
 were fine ones hi the field, but he had not time to pick 
 them before he came to town. She said there were 
 plenty in market, but they were much bruised, and 
 seemed half decayed, and that her mistress, Mrs. 
 White, was unwilling to have her family eat them, as 
 she considered them very unhealthy. 
 
 While the girl was talking, a new idea crossed Mr. 
 Burke's mind, and a benevolent one it was, too. In 
 his anxiety to please, in this instance, he entirely forgot 
 the profitableness of his conclusion, and promised that 
 the next day Helen should come in with the single 
 wagon with berries. She could pick them, he said, in 
 the morning, and would be in the city about noon. 
 Helen heard this proposition, and might have objected, 
 but Mr. Burke told her that all she could make in this 
 way she might have, and she was quite delighted with 
 the idea of earning something which should be entirely 
 her own. 
 
 When day dawned the next morning, Helen was 
 ready for the meadow ; for she was anxious to gather 
 as many berries as she could. They were very large, 
 and ripe, and abundant, so that her pail filled rapidly ; 
 and Mr. Burke soon joined her with another pail, 
 which his industrious fingers filled before breakfast was
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 103 
 
 ready. Miss Burke, whose prudence would not suffer 
 a trip to town for the berries alone, was, meanwhile, 
 busied preparing something more substantial for sale, 
 and when Helen started, she found a large can of 
 cream, a bucket of pickles, and some fresh eggs, added 
 to her store. Helen was a safe and experienced driver, 
 but she had never before ventured so far alone, and a 
 kind of desolate feeling came over her when she left 
 the house. But " Old Gray" was a fast traveler, and 
 Helen's imagination getting busily at work, the dis 
 tance was overcome almost unperceived by her, and 
 she was not a little surprised when slje found herself at 
 the ferry. 
 
 Nellie had just reached the stand, and was arranging 
 her load a little more conveniently, when she perceived 
 Mrs. White's maid approaching. A bright, noble boy 
 was running before her, and she was leading a little 
 girl, whose happy smiles were playing among the clus 
 ters of flaxen ringlets which she had shaken over her 
 face. Helen thought she had never before seen so 
 beautiful a child, and she determined, since the berries 
 were her own, to fill the little basket which was hang 
 ing upon her arm. When they came up to the wagon, 
 Betty, the maid, smiled, and said, 
 
 " Sure, and I must bring both of the children to-day, 
 so eager are they for the berries." 
 
 They both danced with delight while Helen was 
 measuring the fresh, red fruit. Betty, finding Helen 
 had fresh cream for sale, and being sure that it was 
 nicer than the milkman's, at whose stand she had left 
 her pitcher, put the children into the wagon, and went 
 back for it. While she was gone, Helen put a paper 
 into the little girl's basket, and filled it with the ber 
 ries, for which the child kissed her sweetly. In her 
 delight, the child called, as loud as she could, to a gen-
 
 104 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 tl einan who was passing, " Doctor, see what I have got 
 in my basket !" 
 
 The gentleman turned, and exclaimed, " Well, Miss 
 Minnie, have you turned market girl ?" Then glancing 
 at Helen, to see into whose company his little friend had 
 fallen, he stopped, and after gazing steadily at her a 
 moment, he asked, " Are you Mr. Burke's girl ?" 
 
 " Yes, she is," said Minnie, eagerly ; " and she gave 
 me these berries." 
 
 But Helen replied, " I live at Mr. Burke's, but I am 
 not his daughter." 
 
 "How long have you been there?" inquired the 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Ever since my mother died, and that was when I 
 was a very little girl." 
 
 " Do you remember your mother ?" he again asked. 
 
 " Yes ; but she died a long time ago, and that was 
 when I was a very little girl." 
 
 Then turning to Minnie, the gentleman said, " Can't 
 you give that to the girl for giving you the berries ?" 
 at the same time oifering her a piece of money ; but 
 Helen declined taking it, and the child said, 
 
 " O, she did not want any pay. Betty paid for 
 those in the pail, and she gave me these." 
 
 The gentleman looked steadily and earnestly a mo 
 ment at Helen, and then, tossing the piece of money 
 into the wagon, said to her, "Buy what you want with 
 that," and soon passed out of sight. Helen picked up 
 the coin, which she found to be a dollar, feeling not a 
 little disturbed at the manner in which she had ob 
 tained it. She was displeased with the way in which 
 the gentleman gazed at her, and was entirely unwilling 
 to receive the money. 
 
 Betty had by this time returned, and Helen, finding 
 that the doctor was a frequent visitor at Mrs. White's,
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 105 
 
 prevailed upon Minnie to return the unwelcome gift to 
 the donor. There was something in the doctor's keen 
 black eye which would have rendered his gaze very un 
 pleasant to Nellie ; and the quick, nervous manner 
 which he manifested, excited her astonishment. 
 
 The doctor was tall, erect, and slender, naturally very 
 graceful and agile, and what many would style hand 
 some ; but so deeply disagreeable an impression had he 
 made upon Helen, that she forgot almost all else in her 
 thoughts of him. At times she endeavored to over 
 come these feelings, fearing it might be unjust thus 
 hastily to form an opinion, so unkind, of a stranger. 
 But why did he gaze so earnestly at her ? She was 
 nothing but a market girl ; perhaps that was the reason, 
 and he deemed it useless to use even common civility 
 toward her. This she could not believe ; and while she 
 was driving toward home, she was revolving the matter 
 in her mind. When she reached the ferry her surprise 
 was greatly increased, for there the doctor appeared, 
 and coming directly toward her, said, 
 
 " I will lead your horse on to the boat, if you please." 
 
 Helen thanked him, for she considered this rather a 
 dangerous place, but hoped to see him leave before 
 the boat pushed from shore. To her regret he re 
 mained until the boat had crossed the stream, and she 
 was safely on the road, then, bowing, he took a side 
 path, and walked almost as rapidly as she drove. Her 
 natural kindness of heart would have prompted her to 
 offer him a seat in the wagon, but her uneasiness for 
 bade it, and her fears being not a little aroused, she 
 hurried "Old Gray," who, conscious that he was 
 " homeward bound," needed but little urging to in 
 crease his speed enough to leave the doctor far behind, 
 and he was very soon entirely out of sight. 
 
 About a quarter of a mile below Mr. Burke's house 
 5*
 
 106 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 there was a sudden turn in the road, and within the 
 angle a beautiful dwelling had been erected. It stood 
 far back, upon a gentle rise of ground, and a smoothly 
 graveled carriage-road wound around the thick green 
 grove in which the house was built. Here and there 
 among the trees pieces of statuary were placed, and 
 two great marble lions guarded the entrance to the 
 grove. At one side of the house was a large fish-pond ; 
 the edge was formed, not of a regularly laid wall, but 
 ragged stones were thrown together in a careless man 
 ner, and over these vines of ivy and columbine ran 
 gracefully. The taste which directed its formation 
 was evidently that of a true admirer of nature in her 
 most perfect works. A huge bronze dragon arose out 
 of the middle of the pond, and Hercules was leveling 
 his deadliest blow at its head, while its wrath was dis 
 played, not by smoke issuing from the mouth and nos 
 trils, but by jets of water which were thrown high 
 above, and fell like rain back into the pond below. 
 
 Near this group stood an arbor built of rough poles ; 
 the roof was formed of tender saplings, braided togeth 
 er, and upon the center of it a rough statue of a wood- 
 nymph was placed. The chairs, tables, and sofas were 
 formed of like material, and the whole was admirably 
 suited to the place. At the further end of the grounds 
 a clear and rapid brook made its way, and seemed to 
 divide this beautiful spot from the rougher scenery be 
 yond, for just upon the opposite bank several huge 
 rocks raised their heads, and imparted a look of wild- 
 ness. 
 
 This was Nellie's favorite resort. She had often 
 wandered about the place with her deal- Miss Lane, 
 and many a weary hour had they here whiled away 
 after school was done; and now that that lady was 
 gone far from her, she loved to linger there alone, and
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 10*7 
 
 think of her and the gentle Willie who so delighted to 
 be carried there. 
 
 In her early childhood Nellie had grown familiar 
 with the place. Every shady nook she could tell, and 
 every deep basin in the brook, where the fishes seemed 
 most happy, was known to her. The house had been 
 unoccupied nearly all the time since she came, and her 
 rambles about it had been wholly unrestrained. A 
 family from the city had indeed occupied it during the 
 warmest months of two summers, but they were unused 
 to country-life, and seemed unhappy, even there. Nellie 
 was unhappy, too, while they remained, for she did 
 not venture to enter the grounds during their stay. 
 
 She had, when- but a small child, noticed the grace 
 ful mould of the limbs of the various statues, and though 
 there was a slight regret that the eyes were so inex 
 pressive, she admired them, and could point to the 
 most nicely turned joint, the best proportioned hand 
 or foot. Though her's was no taught and practiced 
 taste, it was refined and true, and she justly appreciated 
 beauty. With the master- works of that perfect Artist 
 who hollowed out the heavens, and framed the witch 
 ing scenery of nature, she had been constantly familiar, 
 and the plainest flower was rich with beauties to her 
 eye, and the sweet melody of the songsters among the 
 trees, was richer to her ear than the music of the full 
 est orchestra. 
 
 Nellie would sit for hours beside the brook, and 
 watch the wild flowers upon its banks, as they kissed 
 the ripples, or beside one of the deep basins, and notice 
 the fish as they glided near the edge. From the 
 stream to the house the ground rose quite rapidly, and 
 upon that side of the rise the morning sun shone but 
 obliquely, and its last rays, when setting, just touched 
 it in the opposite direction. Nellie had noticed this
 
 108 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 / 
 
 spot, and gave it the very becoming name of " Sunny 
 Slope," for all day long it was shone upon. 
 
 She had never seen the inside of the house ; the 
 blinds were always tightly closed, and the doors locked ; 
 but she was sure it must be a delightful home. She 
 knew that it had been built by a very wealthy gentle 
 man, who had long since left the country ; but that it 
 was now owned by a Mr. White, living in the city, 
 and who designed to spend his summers at the man 
 sion, but whose wife, being very feeble, needed medi 
 cal aid, and consequently was obliged to remain in 
 town. When she passed the place on her return home 
 from the market that day, she wondered if it were not 
 the little girl's father to whom she gave the berries, 
 and she felt quite certain that it must be. Consequently 
 a new interest was awakened in the place. She was 
 sure if the little girl whom she had that day seen, lived 
 there, she should be a welcome visitor at the house.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE next market-day Helen arose earlier than usual, 
 and picked a small pail of strawberries, which she de 
 signed to take with her as a present to her little friend, 
 Minnie White ; for, from some cause, she felt strongly 
 attached to the child. The berries were very red and 
 ripe, and she was pleased to think how joyously they 
 would be received. 
 
 Before they reached the city, and about a mile from 
 the ferry, Mr. Burke left her to go alone, while he re 
 mained, as he said, to attend to a little business at a 
 farm-house near by. Helen's success, the week be 
 fore, had much encouraged her, and she drove on quite 
 willingly. Betty's cheerful face soon appeared, and 
 again she was accompanied by the children. Minnie 
 caught sight of Helen, and letting go Betty's hand, she 
 rushed through the crowd to Mr. Burke's stand, and 
 almost breathless with excitement, began, 
 
 " Next week is my birthday, and mamma wants you 
 to come and let her talk to you about my party up at 
 your house." 
 
 " What did you say ?" asked Helen, entirely unable 
 to comprehend the meaning of what the child said. 
 
 " Mamma is sick, and can't have so much noise in 
 the house, and I am going to have my party out at 
 your houSe, and she wants to see you about the ber 
 ries." 
 
 By this time Betty came up, and said to Minnie, 
 
 " If this is the way ye're going to do, it 's not
 
 110 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 another time ye can come wid me to the market ; it 's 
 a grate risk ye run, sure, comin' alone through that 
 crowd ; did yer mother know it, it 's not a bit of a party 
 she 'd allow ye ; and it 's me that ought to tell her 
 about it." 
 
 But her reproof was powerless upon Minnie, and she 
 only begged her to ask about the party ; and Betty, 
 turning to Helen, said, 
 
 " Mrs. White would be plased to have ye stop at the 
 house a moment." 
 
 But Mr. Burke had not come, and Helen told her 
 that if she should drive away from the stand then, she 
 should lose the most favorable chance for the sale, and 
 she could not go unless she would come for her in 
 about an hour. 
 
 Mr. Burke soon came, and Helen was ready to ac 
 company Betty and Minnie when the appointed time 
 arrived. Minnie was full of glee, and danced and 
 skipped nearly all the way, much to Betty's annoyance, 
 who was trying, meanwhile, to entertain Helen. 
 
 It was the hour when Mrs. White usually rested, and 
 she sent for Helen to come to her chamber. Minnie led 
 the way, through the parlors and hall, up the stairs. 
 Helen had never dreamed of magnificence such as met 
 her there. She could hardly walk over the velvety 
 carpets, and she would have lingered to look longer at 
 the beautiful furniture, but Minnie rushed along, and 
 she was obliged to follow. When she entered the 
 chamber, Mrs White was reclining upon a sofa, wrap 
 ped in a rich silk double gown, and a young girl stood 
 by, fanning her. She was very pale and thin, but be 
 fore she spoke to Helen, a pleasant smile lighted that 
 pallid countenance, and she said : 
 
 "That will do, Jane, I thank you; you may rest 
 now." Turning to Helen, who was standing a little
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. Ill 
 
 back, from a natural feeling of timidity, she continued, 
 "Good morning, Miss Burke, take this easy-chair 
 nearer me, if you please." 
 
 That was an ugly name which she gave her, Helen 
 thought, but it was spoken so kindly that it sounded 
 better than it ever had done before. She took the of 
 fered chair, but for a while it proved a very uneasy one 
 to her, for she dared not sit down firmly, she sank so 
 far back into the cushions. 
 
 " You were very kind," Mrs. White continued, " to 
 bring those berries to Minnie, she is very fond of them. 
 Are there more as nice as those on your farm, now ?" 
 
 " O, yes, ma'am," said Helen, " a great many ; they 
 are better now than they have been at any other time." 
 
 " I thought so," returned the lady, " and next Tues 
 day is Minnie's birthday, and she wishes to have her 
 little friends enjoy the day with her ; but I am unable 
 to endure the noise which, to be happy, they must 
 necessarily make, and I have concluded to send them 
 in the coach to our country-seat, which, perhaps you 
 know, is near your house. The ride will benefit them, 
 and I know of no reason why they may not safely play 
 there perfectly unrestrained." 
 
 Minnie's face, as she listened to this, was eloquent 
 with expression, and she interrupted her mother by 
 putting her little hands upon those sunken cheeks, and 
 giving her a long, sweet kiss ; then rubbing her plump 
 little face upon that broad, smooth forehead, she assured 
 her mother how much she loved her. 
 
 " I sent for you," Mrs. "White continued, as soon as 
 Minnie had released her face, " to see if you would fur 
 nish berries and cream for their table. Do you think 
 you can do so ?" 
 
 " I know I can," said Helen ; " I will pick them my 
 self."
 
 112 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 "Then I will depend upon you," said the other; 
 " you can carry them into the grove when you see the 
 carriage drive up. I suppose it is all safe there for the 
 children, is it not ?" 
 
 " Unless it be around the pond," answered Helen. 
 
 " O, I will be sure and caution them about that ; and 
 I think I need have no fears since they are all old 
 enough to have some discretion about such matters." 
 
 Turning to Jane, who was looking out of the win 
 dow, Mrs. White said, " You may give Miss Burke a 
 glass of ice-water and some cake before she goes," and 
 after she had said a pleasant " good-morning" Jane led 
 the way down stairs, A better opportunity was then 
 afforded Helen to examine the furniture, and while she 
 looked and admired, she almost envied Jane her hap 
 piness in being even a servant in the midst of such 
 wealth. 
 
 But there was something more than the luxury that 
 wealth can procure which attracted Nellie, and excited 
 this feeling in her breast. It was the kind and gentle 
 manner of the lady who was mistress there, and to 
 whom was committed, in a great measure, the happi 
 ness of those around her. The feeling of dependence, 
 too, which was constantly choking Nellie's efforts to 
 be contented, influenced her much, and her ride home 
 seemed lengthened by the sad thoughts which crowded 
 thickly into her mind. A dark cloud seemed to hang 
 over her destiny, and her earliest recollections were of 
 its rising. Though there appeared to her no " silver 
 lining" to that early cloud, she lifted her heart in 
 thankfulness that the darkness was no deeper, and 
 sought holy submission to the will of Him whose infi 
 nite wisdom had marked all her way. 
 
 While she was eating the cake, a lady called, and 
 through the door which was partly open, Helen could 

 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 113 
 
 distinctly see her. There was that in the face of 
 the visitor which riveted her attention, and it appeared 
 to be no stranger's countenance. The voice, as the lady 
 talked with Minnie, seemed familiar, but memory was 
 powerless to aid, and Helen was certain, after a little 
 reflection, that she had been mistaken. 
 
 Little Minnie occupied much less time communicat 
 ing the account of the expected party to the lady, than 
 did Jane in announcing her coming to Mrs. White, and 
 waiting her decision whether" to comply with the lady's 
 earnest request that she would admit her to the cham 
 ber. Mrs. White had been considerably disturbed that 
 morning, and felt quite too feeble to entertain more 
 company, but her desire to please overcame the convic 
 tion of duty to herself, and Mrs. Doxtater was received 
 into Mrs. White's chamber. 
 
 Years had rolled away since Mrs. Doxtater so eagerly 
 sought the society of Mrs. Lincoln, but though fortune 
 had played unfeelingly with the latter, the former was 
 unchanged. Her hopes, her aims, and her prospects 
 were the same. 
 
 Her stay was informally long, and the invalid's weari 
 ness was increased by the regret she felt that Minnie 
 had made the disclosure of the party, for Mrs. Doxtater 
 had offered to add her children to the number, regard 
 less of the difference in age. Without a manifest un 
 willingness that they should be of the company, Mrs. 
 White could but consent to her proposition. 
 
 Minnie White was really beautiful. Hers was not 
 that doll-like beauty of which some boast ; nor was it 
 the beauty of nicely-finished features which in them 
 selves are beautiful, though wholly destitute of expres 
 sion ; but, in her frank, open countenance, lighted by a 
 generous soul reflected in every feature, it was a diffi 
 cult task to mark defects. Her flaxen hair hung in 

 
 114 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 graceful ringlets around a well-proportioned head, and 
 her broad forehead spoke a more than ordinary degree 
 of intelligence, while her natural kindness and affection, 
 strengthened by constant association with her mother, 
 rendered her the favorite of all who knew her. Pride, 
 if indeed she ever possessed the pride which, perhaps, 
 might better be called vanity, had been wholly rooted 
 from her heart, and her child-like artlessness made her, 
 at the age of ten years, almost as unsuspecting and 
 confiding as an infant. 
 
 Like a sunbeam, Minnie's presence ever served to 
 gladden those about her, and she was the joy and com 
 fort of Mrs. White. 
 
 Her brother, Will, was quite unh'ke her. Ever since 
 the morning that Will first set foot in boots, he had 
 fully realized the fact that he was " father to the man," 
 and though but three years Minnie's senior, he looked 
 backward more than three times three hundred and 
 sixty-five paces in his career manward upon her. He 
 had, too, exalted ideas of his elevation hi life. This, 
 perhaps, was well ; his pride proved a sure safeguard 
 to him. He was too proud to mingle with the vicious 
 or wayward boys of his own age too proud to do any 
 thing which should appear unworthy or degrading to 
 himself proud enough to maintain perfectly and honor 
 ably his standing among his associates and too nobly 
 proud to be unkind to any. He lacked that strength 
 and decision of character, however, which is necessary 
 to make the great man of the world ; and though he 
 might rank first in wealth, and first in success, he must 
 still be lost to view when people come to do homage 
 to the wealth of mind. 
 
 There was an ease and a lightness in Will's manner, 
 which never suffered him to be disagreeble, but oftener 
 rendered his society what might be styled refreshing.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 115 
 
 His mother understood well his character, and she 
 sometimes grieved as she thought of his butterfly ca 
 reer through life ; but he had not one bad habit over 
 which she could mourn, and as the fragility of the in 
 sect is forgotten when we gaze upon the beauty of its 
 wings, so did his lightness become pleasing to her 
 when she watched her cheerful and attractive boy. 
 
 The birds never awoke earlier than did Minnie White 
 on the morning of her eleventh birth-day. She awoke 
 from a night of happy dreams, she was sure, to a day 
 of happy realities, and there was little rest for any of 
 the family after the dawning of the first day of her new 
 year. Three well-filled carriages, besides Mrs. Doxta- 
 ter's, conveyed the happy party. It was a joyous time 
 for the children, and their merry glee, which continued 
 all the way, showed that their happiness was unabated. 
 
 Doctor Duval, Mrs. White's attending physician, ac 
 companied them as a kind of guardian or director. 
 This seemed the happiest day of all Minnie's life, and 
 she beguiled the distance in planning sports for the 
 party. 
 
 It was nearly noon when they reached the " country 
 seat." The sun was high, and pouring down its rays 
 with power ; but the thick shade of the grove bade de 
 fiance to his intrusion, and afforded a delightful cool 
 ness to the happy company. Helen had been watching 
 a long while for them, and shortly after their coming 
 she approached. The berries and cream she had placed 
 in a cool nook by the brook-side, and she only came to 
 tell Betty where she might find them. Minnie ran to 
 meet her, and listened attentively while she was com 
 municating her message to Betty, who was, with the 
 doctor, endeavoring to decide Where to spread the re 
 freshments. 
 
 When Helen had finished her errand, she turned as
 
 116 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 if to leave the ground, but rather intending to seek a dis 
 tant position where she might watch the sports of the 
 children. Before she had reached the gate she heard 
 Minnie's sweet voice calling after her, " Miss Burke, 
 Miss Burke, won't you please stay to my party ;" and 
 turning round, she saw her little friend bounding at full 
 speed down the road. She was pleased to accept this 
 invitation, and immediately began retracing her steps. 
 Before they reached the place where the company 
 were gathered, Minnie called out again, " Doctor, see, 
 she will come back." 
 
 This remark showed Helen that to the doctor, to 
 ward whom she felt so strong an aversion, she was in 
 debted for this pleasure more than to Minnie's kindness, 
 and she half regretted that she had not refused to re 
 turn. Then her better feelings gaining the mastery 
 over her prejudice, she tried to overcome her aversion, 
 and enter heartily into their pleasure. But she was 
 older than any of the children, except Louise Doxtater, 
 and her brother Jack, and these manifested a decided 
 determination to avoid her society. Conscious of her 
 superiority in age, and determined soon to enter the 
 ranks of the young ladies, Louise was constant in her 
 efforts to gain the attention of Doctor Duval ; while 
 Jack took charge of the younger brothers who were of 
 the party; and, consequently, she remained more a 
 spectator of their sports than a participator of their 
 happiness, except so far as she delighted in seeing them 
 so happy. 
 
 The usually quiet grove rang with the sound of 
 merry voices, and even the cold, mute statues, toward 
 which nature seemed as cold and mute, were embraced 
 and caressed by the gay company with as much ap 
 parent earnestness as if the marble really realized and 
 appreciated caresses. The doors of the mansion were
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 117 
 
 thrown open, and the vacant rooms and halls echoed 
 the tread of nimble feet, while even the fishes, quite 
 unused to be thus disturbed in their miniature sea, were 
 made to tax their swiftness in efforts to escape the 
 pebbles which the boys aimed at them. The table was 
 spread in the arbor, and, as the doctor rightly imagined, 
 that the long ride had sharpened the appetites of the 
 children, they partook of their refreshments quite 
 early. Helen chanced to stand beside the doctor at 
 table, but this annoyance was soon forgotten, as he was 
 so kind and attentive, and her plate was filled with the 
 choicest of the refreshments. 
 
 Louise Doxtater, who had taken her position just 
 the other side of the doctor, noticed his companionship 
 with Helen, and several times hinted that he seemed 
 quite taken with the market-girl. To these remarks he 
 did not deign a reply, unless one might have been read 
 in the quick twitching of his sharp black eye, and the 
 cloud of contempt which came over his features. The 
 great pail of berries stood before him, but his prudence 
 forbade him to open it until the sharpest cravings of 
 hunger had been satisfied, and when he did so, he 
 found a beautiful wreath of wild flowers laid upon the 
 white paper which covered them. 
 
 The sight of the flowers was sweeter than berries to 
 the refined taste of the doctor, and with many exclam 
 ations of admiration, he lifted up the chaplet, and said, 
 " Now you must crown a queen." 
 
 His suggestion was accepted with a unanimous clap 
 ping of hands, and he further suggested that the one 
 who arranged the flowers should be the chosen of the 
 company. 
 
 At this Louise's vexation became complete, and she, 
 spitefully, suggested, " I think those weeds would bet 
 ter become a country girl than us."
 
 118 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 Helen was too near for this to escape her ear, and 
 while she pleasantly declined to wear the wreath, there 
 was a feeling in her heart which almost compelled her 
 to accept the proffered honor, when little Minnie beg 
 ged her again and again to be their queen, for a kind 
 word falls with greater power when it follows such 
 harshness. 
 
 The relish of Helen for the luxuries before her was 
 lost, and she was glad when she could leave the table. 
 She wandered, unobserved, as she thought, down her 
 favorite " sunny slope," and seated herself beside the 
 brook. But she was not long alone. Doctor Duval 
 saw, and followed her. 
 
 "That wreath was very tastefully arranged, Miss 
 Burke," said he, when he came near. And sitting down 
 by her side, continued, " I imagine you have a taste for 
 the beautiful in nature, since you seem willing to leave 
 the company to enjoy this pleasant retreat." 
 
 Helen was confused, and without reflecting, said, " I 
 always like to go alone, I enjoy it very much." 
 
 "Perhaps I am an intruder then," said the other. 
 " Excuse me, will you ?" 
 
 " O, I did not mean that !" exclaimed Helen ; " you 
 know what I meant." 
 
 " I think I do," said the doctor, " and taking this for 
 granted, I shall feel a perfect freedom in remaining. 
 Do you come to this place often ?" 
 
 " Tes, sir," said Helen. " Mr. and Miss Burke are 
 tired when they get through work, and I don't like to 
 trouble them with talking ; so I come here and think." 
 
 "And have you lived this kind of life always?" 
 asked the doctor. 
 
 " O no, sir !" she replied. " When Willie was alive 
 I was with him all the time, and he was very fond of 
 talking with me."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 119 
 
 " You mean Mr. Burke's son, who was always an in 
 valid. I visited him when he was quite little, and 
 knew that he could not live, and that there was little 
 use in doing any thing for him." 
 
 " Then you knew Willie?" said Helen, her interest in 
 the doctor beginning to increase rapidly. 
 
 " Only professionally," he replied ; " though I have 
 been told that he was a fine boy." 
 
 " O, he was so good !" exclaimed Helen, and then 
 her eyes beginning to fill with tears ; the doctor im 
 mediately changed the subject. 
 
 Louise Doxtater, who kept an eye on the doctor, 
 had meanwhile drawn several of the company toward 
 the brook, and they were entertaining themselves with 
 running down the slope to see how near they could 
 come to the water without running hi. Helen observ 
 ing it, said : 
 
 " I have never seen ' Sunny Slope' look so beautiful 
 as it does now while the children are playing upon it ; 
 but I am afraid some of them will fall into the water, 
 and it 's quite deep here." 
 
 The doctor checked them, and then questioned 
 Helen as to the name which she had used. She 
 blushed slightly, and replied, "I forgot that this 
 was a name of my own adopting. I should not have 
 used it." 
 
 " It is certainly very pretty," said the doctor, " and 
 I think it a very appropriate name for the place." 
 
 The little girls had now gathered upon the edge of 
 the brook, and were busying themselves in watching 
 the fish ; but Louise, whose vexation was so great be 
 cause the doctor seemed wholly regardless of her pres 
 ence, manifested a little disposition to annoy them, and 
 when the girls were least expecting it, she would push 
 them toward the water and then catch them. This
 
 120 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 sport she seemed to enjoy much ; it was just suited to 
 her mood at the time. 
 
 At length, Louise caught sight of Minnie, who had 
 followed a finny pet quite a distance below where the 
 doctor and Helen were sitting, and she ran lightly to 
 ward her. Minnie, being all intent upon the fish, was 
 easily disconcerted ; a slight push sent her far beyond 
 the reach of Louise, and a sudden splash in the water 
 told what had happened. In plunged the doctor, but 
 the child was far below him, and he could make but 
 slow progress in the ragged bed of the brook. 
 
 She was swiftly floating further and further from 
 him, and, despite his own utmost efforts, might have 
 been drowned. Helen knew every turn in the brook, 
 and, quick as thought, she recollected where, a little 
 below, the banks nearly approached, while the stream, 
 rushed, quick and deep, through the narrow channel. 
 It was there so narrow that she could almost reach 
 across it. Like an arrow she darted over the ground, 
 and reached the spot just in time to catch the dress of 
 the child as she was being carried through the place. 
 Her clothes so increased her weight, that Helen was 
 unable to draw her out, and she could only hold her 
 tightly, and cry for assistance. The doctor sprang to 
 the bank, and ran to her aid. He succeeded in rescu 
 ing the child, but she was insensible; and while he 
 made every effort possible to resuscitate her, Helen 
 ran home, with almost incredible speed, and soon re 
 turned with dry clothes of her own to put on. 
 
 This adventure was a termination to the play ; and 
 when Minnie had sufficiently recovered, the party en 
 tered the carriages to return. 
 
 During that day the doctor had done much to in 
 spire Helen's confidence and esteem, and she might 
 have entirely overcome her aversion to him, had he
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 121 
 
 not again offered her money as a compensation for 
 rescuing Minnie. She positively refused to receive 
 it, saying that the act merited no reward ; and she 
 was sorry that he should think her willing to accept 
 any. 
 
 6 

 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A YOUNG lady once playfully said, " To love and lie 
 loved is all I live for ;" and there was more real truth 
 in that hasty remark, when applied to all mankind, than 
 even she herself realized. 
 
 In this world the heart seeks, naturally, some one 
 congenial spirit to share its joys and sorrows, its hopes 
 and fears, upon which it may lavish its strongest affec 
 tions, and from which it may expect a meet return. 
 Such should be the relations always between those 
 whose fortunes the marriage bond has linked together ; 
 and when such an attachment has been formed and en 
 joyed, how blasting, how withering is the blow which 
 dissolves the connection ! 
 
 This blow had fallen heavily upon Mr. Burke, and its 
 weight had been more fully realized, and a deeper lone 
 liness had settled upon him, since "Willie's death. What 
 wonder ! The noon-time of his days was passed, his 
 sun had crossed its meridian, and the shadows of life 
 were" lengthening before its declining rays. Fancied 
 joy had long since failed to please ; the world was all 
 world-like to him ; and if the young heart needs the 
 comfort of an echoing heart, most certainly one of 
 maturer years, like his, needed a counterpart. Mr. 
 Burke saw and felt this, and he determined to begin to 
 love and live anew. 
 
 Had Helen been less the child of nature, and more 
 perfectly skilled in the ways of the world, she might 
 have seen this long before it was made known to any
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 123 
 
 other. She might have guessed why, almost every 
 market-day, Mr. Burke wore his best suit of clothes to 
 town, until Miss Burke became exceedingly alarmed 
 on account of his increasing pride ; and why he always 
 left the wagon when he reached widow Hapwood's, 
 " to transact a little business," and sent her alone into 
 the city, often not coming to her until she had disposed 
 of the entire load ; and why, as they rode along, near 
 the house, he was so observant of the land, and so often 
 remarked upon its productiveness, and expressed so 
 much interest in the forwardness of the crops, some 
 times even suggesting how valuable such a farm would 
 become in the course of a few yers, on account of its 
 proximity to the city. 
 
 Helen then little dreamed that Mr. Burke's scythe 
 should one day glitter in those meadows, that his hand 
 should bind that ripened grain, and that when these 
 crops were gathered, he should sing their "harvest 
 home." 
 
 The remembrance of these circumstances lessened 
 her surprise, when he disclosed to his sister and herself 
 his intention to marry the widow. At the announce 
 ment of this fact, the tiger in Miss Burke's nature be 
 came clearly manifest, and all sisterly affection seemed 
 suddenly overcome. She was perfectly inexorable; 
 and after less than a week's delay, left the quiet home 
 which she had enjoyed so many years. 
 
 Miss Burke descanted loudly upon the cruelty of 
 stepmothers, and felt it to be a sin longer to mourn 
 that Willie had gone to that happy home, where sor 
 row can never enter, and assured her brother that in 
 taking a widow for a second wife, he was but nursing 
 a viper in his bosom. More closely than ever did she 
 then hug her single heart, as if to guard it from the 
 slightest wanderings. 

 
 124 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 Mistaken mortal ! How little did that sister realize 
 that she was pushing her boat through the rough sea of 
 life with but a single oar. No wonder that it was con 
 stantly turning, and that she found her journey so toil 
 some. Like the weight in the scales, she was striving 
 to rise, while there was no balancing power in the op 
 posite side. Like the bird with a broken wing, she saw 
 the clear sky of happiness above her, but she was un 
 able to soar aloft and bathe in its brightness. She was 
 forgetful of the truth, that when the inspired bachelor 
 asserted " she is happier if she so abide," he followed 
 only his own judgment, and spoke only of the well and 
 the better, while the superlative, best, he did not ven 
 ture to declare. She even read her Bible with a single 
 pair of eyes, and failed to learn from it that love is the 
 life of living, that those who love most purely and most 
 perfectly, most truly live, and that there are aching 
 voids in " single blessed" hearts. 
 
 Miss Burke's departure from her brother's house 
 threw upon Helen responsibilities which she was hardly 
 able to bear. Though she was well acquainted with all 
 necessary kinds of work, she was unused to the manage 
 ment and care of household duties to any considerable 
 extent, and this only hastened the consummation of 
 Mr. Burke's union with the widow. Helen had grown 
 almost wild with suspense in regard to her future 
 course, and anxiously and fearfully did she long to 
 have Mr. Burke mention the subject to her. 
 
 Mrs. Hapwood and her two daughters had visited 
 the farm of Mr. Burke, and had carefully examined the 
 house, but they paid little qr no attention to Helen. 
 She heard them express their preference to remain at 
 their own homestead, and saw the words "To Let" 
 placed over the gate at the end of the lane, but not one 
 word was said with regard to herself. Her suspense at
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 125 
 
 length became too great to be longer endured, and she 
 ventured to inquire of Mr. Burke, on the Saturday 
 evening previous to the Wednesday appointed for the 
 marriage, where she was to stay. His heart was soft 
 ened when he heard her question, for he thought of her 
 loneliness and dependence. She was endeared to him 
 by many acts of kindness and by sweet associations, 
 and he knew that he could no longer offer her a wel 
 come home. He was about to link his life and fortune 
 with those who felt no interest in her; and though 
 they might be induced to receive her, it would be with 
 an unwillingness which would, most certainly, render 
 her miserable, and he only answered her question, by 
 asking, 
 
 " Where would you like to stay ?" 
 
 The whole world offered no home to her, and the 
 weight of a desolate heart almost crushed her. Her 
 clear eyes were dimmed with gathering tears, and she 
 replied, 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 Mr. Burke saw her deep emotion, and his sympathy 
 beginning to unarm him, he said, in a consolatory tone, 
 
 " Well, don't trouble yourself about that ; you shall 
 go with me awhile, and when we have more time we 
 will conclude what it is best for you to do." 
 
 " I do not think Mrs. Hapwood wishes me to come," 
 said Helen, sobbing audibly, " and I can not stay where 
 I am not wanted." 
 
 There was no use in concealing aught from her long 
 er, and Mr. Burke said, mildly, 
 
 " You know, Helen, we must ah 1 depend, after we 
 are old enough, upon our own efforts. You have been 
 kind to me and to Willie, and ever since you were a 
 little girl I have been pleased to take care of you, and 
 should be glad to do so still, but my circumstances are
 
 126 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 now to be changed. Mrs. Hapwood's family is already 
 quite large, and I don't think she would wish to make 
 additions to it, though she will be perfectly willing that 
 you should stay with us until I can find a good place 
 for you in some family in which your work will enable 
 you to support yourself." 
 
 Helen felt the justice of the explanation. In the 
 darkness of her present desolation, the years which she 
 had spent with Mr. Burke looked bright and happy, 
 and almost unconsciously, she threw her arms around 
 the neck of her benefactor, and thanked him, again and 
 again, for all his past kindness to her. 
 
 " It is growing darker, I see, Nellie Lincoln," said 
 Barbara Dunn, entering the kitchen where Helen was 
 at work, on the day after the sign had been placed 
 over the gate. " Don't you see it is ? And it is be 
 cause your light went out on the water. You must be 
 coy, now, very coy ; remember what I tell you." 
 
 " How, coy, Barbara ?" asked Helen, whose troubled 
 state of mind rendered the unintelligible expressions of 
 the crazed woman doubly fearful. 
 
 " Coy of the storms," replied the maniac, uttering a 
 terrible laugh ; " coy of the storms, for it is growing 
 very dark, and I see the light that went out on the wa 
 ter is not going to shine again here. Ah ! Nellie Lin 
 coln, be very coy of the storms !" 
 
 " We are going to move away, Barbara," said Helen, 
 anxious to divert the thoughts of her visitor, " and I 
 shall not be here to bring you any more milk or food." 
 
 " I know it," replied the other ; " but you are not 
 going where the light burns. No, Nellie Lincoln ; re 
 member I have told you you are not going where the 
 light burns, and you must always be coy of the storms." 
 
 " I am going with Mr. Burke," said Helen, again. 
 
 " But the light will not follow where he goes," con-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 127 
 
 tinned the other ; " you, yourself must be coy of the 
 storms, for I tell you there is death in the storms." 
 
 " O don't talk so any more," said Helen, beseech 
 ingly ; " I can not understand you, and you frighten 
 me." 
 
 The maniac uttered another and a more horrifying 
 laugh than before, and replied, " You need not fear 
 what I say, it is the darkness which you are to fear, 
 and it is growing darker all the time. Yes, Nellie 
 Lincoln, I warn you to be coy of the storms, for there 's 
 death in the storms, and your light went out on the 
 water." 
 
 " On what water, Barbara?" again asked Helen. 
 
 " Don't you remember the water, child ?" said the 
 other, with a look of astonishment ; " the great water 
 which put the light out." 
 
 Helen had known old Barbara a long time. She 
 knew her kind and gentle ways, but her presen.ce then 
 filled her with fear. She at length began working, ap 
 parently unconscious of the maniac's presence, hoping, 
 that if unnoticed, she would leave ; but, heedless of inci 
 vility, the unwelcome Visitor remained. 
 
 Old Barbara had a very peculiar manner of dressing, 
 from which she never deviated. Her bonnet was black, 
 with white trimmings, and her dress was always suffi 
 ciently short to display her stockings, one of which was 
 white, and the other black. She was evidently not old 
 in years, but the word " old" is generally applied to 
 characters like her without reference to time. Her 
 hair was snowy white, but her face, which still retained 
 the freshness of middle life, showed that time's frosty 
 fingers had not whitened it, but that the breath of 
 cruel circumstance had done the deed. 
 
 There were many stories told of crazy Barbara, but 
 none with any certainty. Some people said that she 

 
 128 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 had loved, and that he whom she had loved had proved 
 untrue. Others said that he had died, and more be-, 
 lieved that she was always thus. She had wandered 
 alone into the neighborhood, and conscious of the 
 kindness of those among whom she had fallen, had 
 made the place her home, and no certain clew to her 
 origin could be obtained. Her visits at the farm-houses 
 were generally short, but this morning she was inclined 
 to protract her stay, and it was evident that something 
 which she considered important weighed upon her 
 mind. 
 
 " B coy of the storms, Nellie Lincoln ! O, be coy 
 of the storms !" the crazed one at length exclaimed, 
 excitedly. " Remember the light that went out on the 
 water be coy, very coy of the storms, for there 's 
 death in the storms !" 
 
 " O, you frighten me, Barbara. Don't talk so !" said 
 Helen again, earnestly. 
 
 " O, it was a frightful storm when the light went 
 out," continued the other ; " very frightful, but I know 
 you have forgotten it. Yes, I see you have forgotten 
 it, but I warn you be coy of the storms, for it is grow 
 ing darker now, very much darker now. So remember 
 what I tell you, there 's death in the storm, and your 
 light went out on the water, and the little light that was 
 left is lost. O, be coy, Nellie Lincoln, very coy of the 
 storms." Thus she ended her incoherences, addressed 
 to Nellie, and walked down the lane to the road. She 
 paused a moment before the sign on the gate, and 
 shaking her head ominously, muttered to herself, 
 " The light has gone out, and Nellie Lincoln must be 
 very coy of the storms." 
 
 The next Sunday, Helen spent much time by the 
 grave of Willie ; and while she remembered his angel 
 spirit, she sought a firmer hope and a clearer title to
 
 "Sal.. 
 ' 
 
 H-ELEN LINCOLN. 129 
 
 that mansion in the heavens where she knew she 
 should be reunited to him. Monday and Tuesday 
 were busy days for Helen. Wednesday saw the farm 
 house vacant; and the business which Mr. Burke so 
 often stopped to transact on the way to market, finally 
 settled. Helen's reception at the new home was just 
 such as she had anticipated. She was passed by un 
 noticed, or looked upon with a scornful eye. There 
 were visitors present in the evening, but she was not 
 invited into the parlor. When she heard their cheer 
 ful voices she was content to remain in the kitchen 
 with Katrine, the German girl, for cheerfulness was 
 quite uncongenial to her desponding spirits. No one 
 ventured to ask her to assist in waiting upon the com 
 pany, but she offered her services, and aided in such 
 things as should not call her into the parlor. 
 
 The Misses Hapwood were bright, energetic young 
 ladies of eighteen and twenty years. Three years be 
 fore they had gone to the city to attend a boarding- 
 school. They were then simple, unaffected, and lovely 
 girls. Their course of training at school was thorough 
 and complete, and their education was finished, not 
 only in regard to what they were to learn from books, 
 but in all the accomplishments which any receive at 
 such institutions. 
 
 During this process of training, the girls had been 
 completely metamorphosed, and returned to their 
 home, in every respect, according to the modern sense 
 of the term, young ladies. They considered that they 
 were born to move in a higher sphere than was the 
 market-girl who had been thrown into their family. 
 Providence, they saw plainly, had made them to differ, 
 and they had not the slightest inclination to interfere 
 with its wise arrangements. Besides, being not a little 
 opposed to the step which their mother had just taken, 
 6*
 
 130 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 though their good sense had influenced them to con 
 ceal their displeasure, they were less willing to receive 
 the encumbrance of Helen than they otherwise might 
 have been. Helen, meanwhile, felt keenly their cold 
 ness, but the gentleness of her nature did not suffer her 
 to make it known. She, at first, hoped, in the quiet 
 of her own chamber, to find some comfort, but she 
 shared Katrine's room, and it was so unlike the tidy 
 one to which she had been accustomed, that she was 
 glad to quit it at early morning. Though nothing had 
 been said to her upon the subject, she saw plainly that 
 the kitchen was considered the proper place for her, 
 and she had no desire to be with those who were hap 
 pier without her company. 
 
 Mr. Burke often stopped and talked familiarly with 
 her, but this only recalled the scenes of other days to 
 her memory, and sharpened the thorn which was lacer 
 ating her sensitive heart. Though she toiled hard and 
 willingly, yet she could not feel that her labor was re 
 garded by the family as any compensation for the per 
 mission to remain, and she longed to hear something 
 said in regard to her final removal.
 
 fii? 
 
 ' 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE sultry, busy days of harvesting were past, and 
 Helen remained still at Mr. Burke's, almost hopeless 
 that a change in her situation would ever come. She 
 had not sufficient independence and energy of charac 
 ter to prompt her to unaided efforts in making any ar 
 rangements for the desired change. On the contrary, 
 her timidity prompted her to shun that contact with 
 strangers, which she must necessarily undergo to ac 
 complish her desires, and she suffered patiently, hop 
 ing that, ere long, some other event would lead to the 
 desired result. 
 
 But the long delay of Mr. Burke in coming to a con 
 clusion on this delicate subject, had almost deadened 
 Helen's hope. Once or twice she had ventured to 
 mention it to him, but he only assured her that he 
 would see to it by-and-by. The truth was, that it was 
 hard for him to break the cord by which she was 
 bound to him, and he was loth to cast upon the world 
 one who had gained so strong a hold upon his affec 
 tions. Little did he think how much more painful to 
 her was his inaction than the separation itself could be. 
 But man may not always control his own destiny or the 
 destiny of those committed to his care. " There 's a 
 divinity that shapes our ends." 
 
 Early one morning, the team was standing before the 
 farm-house door, and old " Gray" and " Charley" were 
 pawing the ground, animated by the fragrance of the 
 load of fresh hay which they were to draw to market,
 
 132 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 and the spirited " Whitey" was standing uneasily be 
 fore the vegetable wagon, which also was loaded, when 
 John, the hired man, came into the kitchen and told 
 Mr. Burke that some of the props under the granary 
 floor were leaning, and that unless it was soon attended 
 to, the whole would fall in. 
 
 Mr. Burke saw that immediate attention was neces 
 sary, and that his trip to town must be given up. But 
 the wagon was filled, and the vegetables would be so 
 withered as to be unsalable if they stood until the 
 next day, and for the first tune since his marriage, he 
 asked Helen to act in her old capacity as market-girl. 
 She made the single objection that she was afraid to 
 venture with so spirited a horse as Whitey, but Mr. 
 Burke immediately overruled this objection by telling 
 her that he would as soon trust her with the reins as 
 he would trust himself; still it was with great reluct 
 ance that she yielded to his wishes. 
 
 All the way to town Helen kept behind the load of 
 hay, so that, in the event of any accident, she might 
 call to John ; consequently, her ride was very tedious. 
 Whitey snuffed gayly, as he walked behind the tempt 
 ing load, and sometimes, despite her efforts to curb 
 him, he would run close to it, and draw out long locks, 
 and shake his head with an air of satisfaction as he swal 
 lowed the savory mouthful. 
 
 It was pleasant to Helen to be once more at her old 
 stand. Among the buyers she recognized several fa 
 miliar faces ; but the most welcome one of all was that 
 of Betty. Helen had never heard from Mrs. White's 
 family since the unfortunate occurrence at the party, 
 and she inquired, eagerly, how Minnie had endured the 
 wetting. 
 
 " Sure," said Betty, " 't was a very short time she 
 took to get quit of that hurt ; she 's a stout girl ; but
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 133 
 
 it 's her mother that 's poorly, very, just now ; and a 
 grate bother we 're havin' with Jane. Sure, she 's no 
 pity at all, or she 'd not be lavin' her mistress now, for 
 Tim Satterly." 
 
 " Is Jane going away from Mrs White's ?" inquired 
 Helen. 
 
 " Yes, and that directly," said the other. " She 's 
 set to get married, and she '11 not hear a word we can 
 say to her ; it 's unkind, very, in Jane, for good girls 
 is scarce now, and Mrs. White will be bad off without 
 one just at this time, for she 's poorly, very." 
 
 " Do you think she would take me to live in Jane's 
 place ?" asked Helen, animatedly. " I will go if she 
 will." 
 
 " Sure," said Betty, " it 's not what she 'd be wish 
 ing to make a sarvant of ye ; it 's very often she 's 
 wishin' for the day when she '11 be strong enough to 
 ride out and reward ye for the saving of Miss Minnie, 
 as ye did." 
 
 " O, I do not wish any reward," said Helen ; "but I 
 would like to come and live in Jane's place." 
 
 A new hope had been kindled in Helen's breast, and 
 she was happy in the prospect which she had of living 
 in the family of Mrs. White, and ceasing to be depend 
 ent upon those who seemed so unwilling to aid her. 
 
 John was a kind-hearted man, and he readily* con 
 sented to watch Whitey while Helen went with Betty 
 to see Mrs. White. She found that lady indeed much 
 more feeble than she was when she saw her before. 
 She was lying upon the bed, and when Helen entered, 
 put out her thin hand, and clasping Helen's, thanked 
 her, with tears, for her kindness in saving Minnie. 
 
 " I have been hoping," said Mrs. White, " to be able 
 to see you myself, and express to you thanks which I 
 could intrust no others to convey to you."
 
 134 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 Helen's proposition was accepted readily, and the 
 light-hearted girl forgot every thing else in her happi 
 ness. Minnie kissed her affectionately, and repeated 
 again and again her joy that her kind market friend 
 was soon to come and live with them. The next Mon 
 day was the day appointed for Helen to enter upon 
 her new duties; and the hope of a speedy removal 
 from her unhappy home, at Mr. Burke's, with the 
 promised reward of wages sufficient to place her above 
 all dependence, was more than she could bear. More 
 than once, on her way back to the wagon, she felt the 
 tears of joy coursing down her cheeks. John heard her 
 story with pleasure, for he had long noticed her unhap- 
 piness, and added to her store of information the 
 knowledge which he had of Mr. White's family. 
 
 The transition from sadness to joy is seldom more 
 perfect under any circumstances than it was in Helen's 
 heart after her interview with Mrs. White. She felt 
 that she almost lived a new life, and she saw the " sil 
 ver lining" to that cloud, the darkness of which she 
 had before been unable to penetrate. She commenced 
 her journey homeward with a light and cheerful heart. 
 She had gone but a short distance, however, when a 
 paper fell from the rack which John was driving just 
 before her. A breeze carried it quickly across the 
 road, and directly under Whitey's feet. The horse 
 gave a frightful leap, and went bounding like a fury 
 down the street. 
 
 At the outset of this accident, one wheel was torn 
 off from the wagon by the collision with the rack. 
 The skill and strength of the most powerful man 
 would then have been useless and weak to restrain the 
 frightened animal. Helen clung to the uppermost side 
 of the wagon, but her head reeled as it was thrown up 
 and down until, consciousness entirely forsaking her,
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 135 
 
 she let go her grasp, and was thrown violently against 
 the stone pavement. On rushed the horse, his fright 
 increasing at every step, and seemingly bent upon com 
 pleting his work of destruction, until, overcome with 
 exhaustion, he fell. 
 
 When Helen was taken up from the pavement she 
 gave scarcely a sign of life. She was carried imme 
 diately to the city hospital, and properly attended to. 
 The external injuries, though severe, were not as alarm 
 ing as the protracted unconsciousness. During the 
 tedious operation of adjusting the broken bone of her 
 left arm, not a single manifestation of sensation was 
 observed, and all restoratives seemed, for some time, 
 unavailing. Near midnight a slight trembling of her 
 frame was perceivable, then a contraction of the lips, 
 as if there was an effort to speak, but soon she settled 
 back into the stupor from which she seemed, for a mo 
 ment, to be arousing ; and it was not until the next day 
 dawned that reason returned to her wandering mind. 
 
 It was late when John reached the farm house. He 
 had been delayed a long time in caring for Whitey, 
 and the family, whose anxiety was excited by his ab 
 sence, were not unprepared to hear of some accident. 
 They listened eagei'ly to John's story, and Mr. Burke 
 was inclined to attach the blame to himself, since he 
 had insisted upon sending Helen, against her will, with 
 so spirited an animal. The fragments of the wagon, 
 which John brought home upon the rack, showed how 
 terrible the catastrophe must have been, and gave 
 abundant proof of the truth of his statement. 
 
 On receiving this sad intelligence, Mr. Burke would 
 have gone immediately to the city had he not been 
 overruled by his wife. She insisted that it was quite 
 too late to make the journey that night, and that the 
 horses were tired ; besides, the girl was well provided
 
 136 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 for at the hospital. When the family were again 
 quietly seated in the sitting-room, Mr. Burke asked 
 advice of Mrs. Burke in regard to the best means 
 of removing Helen to their home. 
 
 " O, I should not think of doing so at all ;" she an 
 swered, decidedly. " Helen is just where she should 
 be now, and is much more comfortably situated than 
 she could be here." 
 
 Mr. Burke expressed his doubts upon the subject, 
 and added, that he felt it to be his duty to provide for 
 her when she was in trouble. 
 
 " That can not be your duty," said the wife ; " she 's 
 not your child, and she can never repay you for what 
 you have already done for her. There will, no doubt, 
 be heavy expenses incurred before she is again restored, 
 and I can not see why it is your duty to meet them any 
 more than it is to pay the pauper taxes of all your 
 neighbors." 
 
 " Very true," said the elder MisS Hapwood, " very 
 true, and she will need the constant care of some able 
 person. I really do not see who can be spared from 
 our family to attend her. We seem to be fully em 
 ployed now." 
 
 Mr. Burke, who was beginning to wear that " sub 
 dued look" which, as it is said, characterizes some mar 
 ried men, could not brave the opposition of both mother 
 and daughter. 
 
 " Yes," continued Miss Hapwood, after a moment's 
 pause, " she will be much better off where she is. I 
 am sure, if it were my case, I should prefer the hos 
 pital to any other place ; and," she added, as she took 
 a light and was about to retire, " you will think so 
 yourself, Mr. Burke, after you have given the matter 
 a second thought." 
 
 After Mr. Burke and his wife were left alone, he re-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 137 
 
 marked to her that Helen did not seem like a pauper 
 to him, that she was almost as near to him as an own 
 child. " She has lived with me," he said, " a number 
 of years, and has always been a faithful and an affec 
 tionate girl." 
 
 " May be," Mrs. Burke replied, " but you can not 
 expect to keep her always, and John tells me that she 
 herself was designing to leave you next Monday, and 
 had made all arrangements for living with a Mrs. White, 
 in the city." 
 
 Mr. Burke felt a little grieved that Helen should 
 take such a step without even consulting him, for, un 
 explained, her conduct seemed to show a disregard of 
 him. Finding his opinions and those of his wife on the 
 subject running in exactly opposite directions, he was 
 quite willing to discontinue the discussion, and retire. 
 
 -
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WHEN Helen awoke to consciousness she looked anx 
 iously about for some familiar face, but the place and 
 the faces which she saw were unknown to her. Doctor 
 Duval was standing at the head of the bed on which 
 she was lying, so that she did not see him until she 
 asked, hurriedly, 
 
 " Where am I ? What is the matter with me ?" 
 
 At this the doctor stepped befoi-e her, and said, 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, Helen." 
 
 " O tell me," she again exclaimed, hastily, " what 
 am I here for ?" 
 
 " Don't you remember that your horse ran away with 
 you yesterday ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," she replied, " but was I hurt much ? I 
 did not know it ; is my arm broken ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor, " it was fractured, but it is 
 in place now, and if you remain quiet will be healed 
 soon." 
 
 At this she burst into tears, and the doctor, fearing 
 the effect so much excitement might produce, endeav 
 ored to quiet her by a promise that if she would wait 
 until she should be a little more rested, he would tell 
 her all ; but her sobs and tears were unrestrained for 
 a long time. Perhaps she was influenced by pain, or 
 perhaps she recollected that with a broken arm she 
 could not perform the duties which would be required 
 of her at Mrs. White's, and feared that she had lost 
 the opportunity of securing the situation ; or she might
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 139 
 
 be suffering from the thought that she would now be 
 a double burden upon those with whom she had been 
 living. 
 
 When Helen had become a little more calm, she 
 looked about the room again, and strove to recall some 
 remembrance of it. But this was vain. It was quite 
 unlike any one she had ever occupied. It contained 
 but little furniture, and that was of the plainest kind ; 
 only such as was absolutely indispensable. Finding it 
 impossible to determine any thing about the place, she 
 turned to the doctor, and inquired, 
 
 " Doctor, where am I ?" 
 
 " You are where you will be well provided for," he 
 answered. " Don't you think you are as comfortable 
 as it is possible for you to be, now ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied she, " but whose house is this, and 
 who brought me here ?" 
 
 " It is a house built expressly for the sick ; and those 
 who took you up, yesterday, after you fell from the 
 wagon, brought you here." 
 
 " Then I am in the hospital, am I ?" she said, calmly. 
 
 " Yes ;" and the doctor inquired, " do you not think 
 it the best place for you ?" 
 
 " I suppose it is the only place for those who have 
 no real home," she answered, and again the tears gath 
 ered in her eyes as she thought of her loneliness. 
 
 The sensitive, sympathetic nature of the doctor was 
 touched at this, and he said, soliloquizingly, " There is 
 a real home for us all beyond the skies." 
 
 This was the first time in months that any person 
 had spoken to her of the home to which she was look 
 ing ; and hoping that he might prove a counselor and 
 friend to her now, she ventured to reply, " For all the 
 good, you mean, doctor." 
 
 But he only answered, " For all."
 
 140 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " But all are not holy," continued Helen ; " and only 
 the holy can live in heaven." 
 
 " But man must die before he can enter heaven," 
 said the doctor ; " and all that is evil in his nature per 
 ishes at death, and the holy, God-like part lives in eter 
 nal happiness." 
 
 The doctor, meanwhile, had seated himself in a 
 chair near the foot of the bed, and sat holding his head 
 bent down into his hands ; but he was soon roused 
 from his meditations by the entrance of the matron of 
 the hospital, with Mr. Burke and the elder Miss Hap- 
 wood. 
 
 " Good-morning, Doctor Duval," said the young 
 lady ; " and good-morning, Helen. Why ! how com 
 fortable you look here ! Doctor," she added, " must 
 we thank you that such land care has been taken of 
 our friend ?" 
 
 The doctor answered, coolly, " I attend to cases in 
 surgery at the hospital, and came to set Miss Burke's 
 arm ;" then bowing, hastily left the room. 
 
 But Mr. Burke, being desirous to know exactly the 
 extent of Helen's injuries, followed him into the hall, 
 and inquired, " How do you find her, doctor ?" 
 
 " She is very weE," he replied ; " but through the 
 night I was fearful she might never be conscious again." 
 
 " Do you consider her out of danger now ?" 
 
 " O, yes," said the doctor ; " she will be strong 
 again in the course of a few weeks. It was a pretty 
 serious affair, though ; and it is a great wonder that 
 she is living." 
 
 " I suppose so," said Mr. Burke, " from what I can 
 learn ; but not to detain you too long, she has been 
 several years in my family, and I am anxious to do 
 what is right by her, and should like to ask your advice 
 about moving her."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 141 
 
 " She had better remain quiet," said the doctor ; 
 " but site may be moved, with safety, if it is desirable ; 
 so that is a matter left wholly for you to decide. You 
 understand your obligations and wishes better than I 
 do." Then bowing politely, he left. 
 
 While Mr. Burke and the doctor were in the hall, 
 Miss Hapwood had been enlightening Helen upon the 
 benefits of city hospitals, where every comfort is pro 
 vided for the sick, and every attention is shown to 
 them. She drew a beautiful comparison between the 
 unfortunate in cities, and those in country-towns, 
 where, generally, no provision is made for them except 
 in the " poor-house." She admired the neatness of 
 Helen's bed, remarked upon the fine view from the 
 window, the kindness of Doctor Duval, and the good- 
 natured look of the matron. Had Helen been blind, 
 she might have believed that she was in a little paradise, 
 Miss Hapwood's admiration of every thing about her 
 was so exuberant. 
 
 When Mr. Burke returned, Miss Hapwood continued, 
 " Helen seems very contented here, and, indeed, any 
 girl of good sense would be. I think she is far better 
 off than she could be made anywhere else ; besides, the 
 ride would so disturb her arm. I think we had better 
 leave her where she is ; don't you think so, Mr. Burke ?" 
 
 " Perhaps she has some choice about the matter her 
 self," he replied ; then turning to Helen, " How do 
 you feel, Helen ?" 
 
 " Very comfortably, I thank you," said she, " except 
 it is tiresome to hold my arm in one position all the 
 time." 
 
 " I know it must be ; but it was a narrow chance you 
 ran of being killed outright ; for my part, I can't see 
 what saved you." 
 
 " Why, there is nothing left of the wagon," inter-
 
 142 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 rupted Miss Hapwood ; " and I am afraid Whitey is 
 ruined. Is n't it a pity? I expected to have such a nice 
 saddle-horse of him. However, it is fortunate you were 
 not killed." 
 
 These were comforting remarks to Helen, and she 
 said, bursting into tears, " I am sorry ; but I could not 
 help it. I did n't want to drive him." 
 
 " That is nothing at all," said Mr. Burke, not a little 
 vexed, "nothing at all to your injuries; there are 
 horses enough in the world ; but we have come down 
 to see what we can do for you." 
 
 " I don't know that I need any thing," said Helen. 
 
 " Well, had you rather go home with us, or remain 
 here, under the circumstances ?" said he. 
 
 " Your question hardjy needs an answer, Mr. Burke," 
 again interrupted Miss Hapwood ; " of course she pre 
 fers to stay where she can have the daily attention of 
 her physician." 
 
 But Mr. Burke waited a reply from Helen, who said, 
 
 " It is hard to be sick among strangers, but " and 
 she stopped. Had Mr. Burke been alone with her she 
 might have opened her whole heart to him, but she 
 could not, and she gave vent to her feelings in weeping. 
 
 "You are a little nervous, I guess, Helen, dear," 
 said Miss Hapwood, " and I don't wonder. But all 
 this shows how much you need quiet. You will get 
 acquainted with the matron in a little time ; and I have 
 no doubt that you will love her as well as you now do 
 us. And besides, some of us will come to see you 
 often." 
 
 Helen saw plainly how she might best gratify those 
 who had just been called dear to her, and she an 
 swered, firmly, 
 
 " If there are no objections to my remaining, I will 
 stay here."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 143 
 
 Mr. Burke's pity again prompted him to say what 
 he knew would displease his step-daughter. 
 
 " You shall never want for a home while I can pro 
 vide you one, Helen, and do not remain here a day 
 unless you choose to do so." 
 
 "I think it will be better for me," said Helen. "I 
 could not ride very comfortably with my arm in these 
 braces. I thank you for your kind offer, and for all 
 your kindness to me, but I presume I shall never live 
 with you again." 
 
 " What do you mean, Helen ?" said Mr. Burke, 
 touched with the thought of separation. 
 
 " I mean that I am old enough to take care of my 
 self, now, and when I get well I shall try to do so. 
 I did have a good place offered me, yesterday, and I 
 accepted it on condition you did not object. The work 
 was not very hard, though a little confining. I am 
 afraid I have lost that place, but I hope I can find 
 another." 
 
 " That was very well, indeed," said Mr. Burke ; 
 " but I believe I would rather have you make it your 
 home with me, Helen," he added, almost weeping, 
 " you seem like a child to me." 
 
 Just here Miss Hapwood looked at her watch, and 
 assured Mr. Burke that it was high time they were 
 going, as" it was past ten o'clock ; there were several 
 errands to be done, and she wished to be home to din 
 ner. She then kissed Helen a good-by, expressed a 
 wish for her speedy recovery, promised soon to come 
 again, and the two left. 
 
 Helen was then quite alone, and long did she reflect 
 upon that offer of a home. 
 
 " Without hearts there is no home." And she felt 
 that that sweet name could never be applied by her to 
 the one Mr. Burke had offered. Through almost all
 
 144 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 her life she had never known, by experience, the sweet 
 ness of the word, and she had grown almost weary of 
 life. But she had become accustomed to sorrow, and 
 had learned to bear it well. The heart may be school 
 ed, and fortune does much toward teaching it. 
 
 At evening, Doctor Duval called again. Helen was 
 alone. He looked at her long, and thoughtfully. 
 This was very unpleasant to her, but considering it a 
 physician's privilege, she endeavored to disregard it. 
 It was some time before he spoke, and when at last he 
 did speak, he merely suggested, " You are feeling bet 
 ter, now ?" 
 
 Helen hardly knew whether this was designed as a 
 question or not, but she answered, "Yes, sir," and 
 after a moment's pause inquired, " How long do you 
 think I shall have to stay here ?" 
 
 " Only three or four weeks," he answered ; "but you 
 will not be able to use that arm very much under 
 two or three months." 
 
 " And can't I do work before that tune," she again 
 inquired, sadly. 
 
 " O, yes," said the doctor, " a little easy work." 
 
 There was little to encourage her in what he said, 
 and Helen, thinking he did not seem inclined to talk, 
 turned her face to the wall and was quiet. In this 
 manner she remained until she was entirely lost in 
 thought, and almost forgetful of the doctor's presence. 
 When she again recollected herself she looked to see 
 if he had gone ; but he was seated in a chair tipped 
 back against the wall, his chin rested upon his bosom, 
 and he seemed wrapped in a moody silence. 
 
 How long the doctor remained in the room Helen 
 could not judge, but it appeared to her to be a great 
 while. Rousing at length, suddenly, he left without 
 saying a word, but as he passed between her and the 
 
 '
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 145 
 
 lamp Helen thought she saw tears glistening on his 
 cheeks, and she hoped that this was so, and that he was 
 weeping in sympathy for her. 
 
 From the hospital the doctor went to Mrs. White's. 
 The same moody silence hung about him, and the 
 family, who had often seen him appear in this man 
 ner, paid little or no attention to him. They well 
 knew his eccentricities, and left him to his own reflec 
 tions, until Mrs. White, thinking he was never going 
 to waken from his reverie, said, 
 
 " Doctor, you must do something to stop your hav 
 ing the ' blues.' Don't you know that you are making 
 your own life miserable, and robbing us of a great deal 
 of pleasure which we might otherwise enjoy from your 
 society." 
 
 " The world is full of misery," he replied, " and I 
 must be willing to take my share." 
 
 " But Providence," continued the lady, " has given 
 you every thing to render you happy, and it is ungrate 
 ful in you thus to make yourself wretched. You must 
 think how many there are who have not the means of 
 enjoyment that you possess, and be thankful that you 
 are so favored, and not give up to imaginary misery." 
 
 " You have it exactly," said the doctor, " I can't be 
 happy while I see so many wretched about me. If I 
 had been born without a heart I might enjoy the com 
 forts I possess ; but now they are worthless. I am sick 
 of myself because I can not help those I wish to aid ; 
 and I am sick of the world because there is so much 
 misery in it. I am sick of living, and were it not for 
 reproaching my Maker, I believe I would end my exist 
 ence immediately." 
 
 Mrs. White saw that she had led her friend to 
 thoughts exactly calculated to waken the keenest feel 
 ings of his nature, and fearing he might wander into 
 
 7
 
 146 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 one of those discussions which she had long ago ceased 
 to encourage, she said, calmly, 
 
 " You must do what you can to make those around 
 you happy; and be happy yourself in making such 
 efforts." 
 
 " I can't be happy, it is useless to try," he answered, 
 decidedly ; " there is wretchedness enough in this one 
 city to make the whole world miserable, would the 
 world but look a single moment at it. Why, just an 
 hour ago, I visited a young lady, in every respect supe 
 rior to any one of those who move in our fashionable 
 society, who is as wretched as a person is capable of 
 being, and I can't do a thing to help her. She lies 
 there at the hospital now, suffering for just what I have 
 more than I know how to use, and yet I can not help 
 her." 
 
 " If she is an object of charity," said Mrs. White, "I 
 can not see why it is not in your power to assist her." 
 
 " She is truly an object of charity ; too ill to help 
 herself, and prevented from receiving the assistance of 
 others by nominal friends into whose hands she has 
 fallen, but who are what I esteem the worst kind of 
 enemies too proud to let others help her, and yet too 
 selfish to help her themselves. Of this she is fully sens 
 ible, and it is the greatest source of her misery." 
 
 Doctor Duval had little charity for modern benevo 
 lence in any of its forms, and Mrs. White, desiring to 
 know more of the matter, inquired who the sufferer 
 was. 
 
 " The girl who lives with Mr. Burke." 
 
 " Not Miss Burke the market-girl ?" exclaimed Mrs. 
 White, starting from the pillow against which she was 
 resting. 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor, and again Mrs. White in 
 quired how she was injured.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 147 
 
 " She was thrown from the wagon, yesterday, and 
 dashed against the pavement with such force as to 
 fracture one arm, and injure her seriously otherwise. 
 She has lived with Mr. Burke ever since he was mar 
 ried, in the very midst of abundance, and yet is per 
 fectly wretched. She has been nearly killed in their 
 service, and yet they will consent to leave her in the 
 hospital. I believe she is glad to be left, for she can 
 not fail to read their feelings when they are as plainly 
 shown as they were this morning by Miss Julia Hap- 
 wood. One kind word, from a real friend, or one affec 
 tionate caress, would do more toward restoring her 
 than all the medicine she can take ; but these I can not 
 give ; the customs of society forbid it." 
 
 Here the doctor again settled into that same moody 
 silence, manifesting^ at times, a kind of nervous rest 
 lessness, as if his thoughts were too harrowing for en 
 durance. 
 
 Mrs. White at length roused him by remarking that 
 it was truly a great misfortune, and one in which she 
 was a small sharer, " for," she added, " she was to come 
 and live with me on Monday. I have been much 
 pleased with her, and anticipated much pleasure in hav 
 ing her in my family." 
 
 '"Tis just like this world," said the doctor, impa 
 tiently; "just when our hopes are brightest, the dark 
 est hour seems to be nearest. She would be happy 
 Jiere. She is a girl of the finest feelings; and her asso 
 ciations now are such as continually wound natures like 
 hers. I am thankful that a God rules the world, for I 
 know all will be right at last; but I can't see why 
 Providence takes such strange means to bring about its 
 ends." 
 
 " Doctor," said Mrs. White, " upon these matters we 
 have opinions widely different, and it seems useless for
 
 148 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 us to enter upon a discussion of them now. But I have 
 been thinking, if Miss Burke is able to be moved, I will 
 gladly give her a room and every comfort until she is 
 able to take Jane's place in assisting me. I shall be 
 happy to do any thing for her, for I feel that I can 
 never repay her for her efforts in saving Minnie. 
 
 Little Minnie had, until now, been a quiet listener, 
 but she here added her welcome to her mother's. 
 
 " I will go after her in the morning with you, doctor, 
 can't I ?" she asked. 
 
 Just here, Mr. White, who had remained in the sit 
 ting-room that he might examine his paper undisturbed, 
 called from the foot of the stairs, "Doctor, are you 
 having a sociable up there ? if so, I should like an in 
 vitation myself." 
 
 " Do, papa, come," cried Minnie, " and hear about 
 Miss Burke. She has broken her arm, and is very 
 sick." 
 
 Mr. White was not unlike his wife in kindness and 
 generosity ; and after listening to the account of the 
 misfortune, he said, "I will send the carriage for 
 her to-morrow, if she can be moved. How is it, 
 doctor ? 
 
 " I should think it prudent to let her remain as she 
 is a day or two, at least," said the doctor; "but I 
 think it would be well for you to call in the morning, 
 and make her the offer." 
 
 " O, I must leave that for you and Minnie to do j 
 you may offer ah 1 I have; but I was never made to 
 talk to sick people ; was I, wife ?" he said, turning to 
 Mrs. White. 
 
 "I never object to what you say," she replied, 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " O, I know I am always most agreeable to you," he 
 said, laughingly; "but other people don't think as 

 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 149 
 
 much of me as you do. I shall have to deputize the 
 doctor to do the calling for me." 
 
 Helen spent a tedious, restless night. Besides the 
 pain which she experienced from her injured arm, there 
 was a mental sorrow which drove sleep from her. Two 
 or three tunes the matron called upon her, and once 
 she asked if she would like to have her head bathed. 
 Helen replied that it would be refreshing, though she 
 feared it might tax her too much, as she seemed very 
 busy. But the matron spoke kindly to her, and said 
 she would send another to do it; and for an hour a 
 young girl bathed her temples, which relieved her 
 much. Helen felt little inclination to talk, and she then 
 enjoyed the most rest that she had done since she was 
 brought to the hospital.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " JOHN, you may go and get a dozen fresh oysters," 
 said Mr. White, the next morning, to his coachman, 
 " and tell Jane to make a nice stew of them ; and when 
 Doctor Duval and Minnie go to the hospital, you may 
 carry it for that sick girl they are going to see ; and 
 you can wait there till the doctor tells you whether 
 she needs any thing else. I think you had better 
 bring Minnie back ; the doctor will have several pa 
 tients to visit, and she won't want to stay so long." 
 
 " I may stay if I want to, can't I, papa?" said Minnie, 
 who overheard this. 
 
 " O, yes, as long as you like. Learn to be nurse, if 
 you choose." 
 
 " It 's a strange likin' ye '11 have, if ye '11 be left there 
 long," said John. " Six wakes I stayed there with a 
 faver, and it bothers me to tell which I was gladdest to 
 get quit of, the place or the faver." 
 
 " That will more than pay for them, John," said Mr. 
 White, tossing him a half dollar, " and you may keep 
 the rest for pocket-money; but, remember, Irishmen 
 love liquor, and you are Irish, so get out of the saloon 
 as quick as you can after you get your oysters." 
 
 "Thank ye, sir thank ye, sir," answered John. 
 " Never fear for me, sir ; I 'm a timperance man, in- 
 tirely." 
 
 Minnie had often seen oysters cooked ; but she felt 
 so deep an interest in these, that she was at Jane's 
 elbow all the time she was preparing them.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 151 
 
 Minnie's call was wholly unexpected to Helen, and 
 the kind offer which she brought almost overcame her. 
 She had not hoped for friends like these; and she 
 looked upon her misfortune in the light of a blessing 
 since it had revealed them to her. Minnie remained 
 with her while the doctor attended the patients in the 
 other rooms, and assisted her while eating the break 
 fast she had brought. 
 
 Just as the doctor was returning to Helen's room, he 
 met Mr. Burke, and said, " Perhaps you would prefer 
 to see Miss Burke alone. I will wait and give you the 
 opportunity." 
 
 "O, no," replied the other; "but I should like a 
 little conversation with you before we go in, in relation 
 to her staying here. I hardly know what is best to be 
 done. My wife and her daughters are entirely unwill 
 ing she should be brought to the house. They have 
 more to do now than they can attend to, and they feel 
 no more interest in her than in any other poor person ; 
 but I am strongly attached to her, and wish to do what 
 is right. I am willing to hire some one to attend her." 
 
 " There seems to be a better way provided for her," 
 said the doctor ; " the lady with whom she was engaged 
 to work wishes to take her now, and will give her the 
 best of care." 
 
 " It is strange she should be willing to take one she 
 is not acquainted with," answered Mr. Burke. 
 
 "Not so very strange, either," replied the doctor; 
 and then he related the incident of Helen's saving Min 
 nie from drowning, and told how grateful Mrs. White 
 felt toward her. 
 
 Mr. Burke was surprised that he had not heard of 
 this before, but remarked that it was just like Helen 
 not to tell any thing in her own praise. 
 
 Helen seemed inclined to accept Mrs. White's offer,
 
 152 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 and Mr. Burke did not object, but he seemed to hesi 
 tate about giving her up entirely, just at that time, and 
 under such circumstances. 
 
 When Mr. Burke returned from the city that even 
 ing, and acquainted the family with Helen's prospects, 
 the vexation of the young ladies was complete. The 
 esteem and friendship of Mr. White's family they earn 
 estly desired to secure, and they feared lest the ill- 
 treatment they were conscious they had shown Helen, 
 would be made known to them. 
 
 " We must call upon her immediately after she goes 
 to Mrs. White's," said Miss Julia, " and carry her some 
 present." 
 
 "And by calling often upon her," said Mary, the 
 younger sister, "we shall become better acquainted 
 with Mrs. White. Perhaps it will all work to our ad 
 vantage yet." 
 
 " But maybe Helen will say things of us which will 
 make her dislike us," said Julia. 
 
 " I don't think she is such a girl," said the other. 
 " She never said much, any way, here. How I wish I 
 knew better what she was." 
 
 " And there 's Doctor Duval, the richest beau in the 
 whole city, seems to take a great interest hi her," con 
 tinued Julia ; " you may be sure it was through him 
 Mrs. White made her the offer." 
 
 " Mr. Burke said so," said Mary. 
 
 " He never did pay us much attention in company, 
 and I don't believe he likes us very well ; and if Helen 
 tells him any stories, he will cut us entirely," remarked 
 Julia. " I should n't mind, if it was almost any other 
 gentleman. I shouldn't wonder if he should fall in 
 love with her yet. It would be just like him." 
 
 " Why, what an idea, Julia," said Mary, " he is over 
 forty, and she is n't more than sixteen, if she is that."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 153 
 
 " That is always so. Bachelors are forever fancying 
 the youngest of the girls," answered Julia, "but I don't 
 know about his taking a servant-girl when there are so 
 many of the upper-ten-thousand who would be glad to 
 get him." 
 
 " There 's no danger of tfcat," said Mary, " and much 
 less that he will take either of us." 
 
 " I don't know about that," replied the other ; " I am 
 going to set my cap for him, and you '11 see how well 
 I '11 succeed. I shall meet him yet at Mrs. White's. 
 He is very fond of flowers, and I '11 carry Helen a beau 
 tiful bouquet the next time I go, and it will attract his 
 attention, I know. How I do wish we lived in town," 
 she added, " I declare it is h'ke shutting us out from all 
 advantages to keep us here." 
 
 " Just think of what we have been saying," said Ma 
 ry, bursting into a loud laugh ; " why we talk as if it 
 was the chief end of one's existence to catch a hus 
 band." 
 
 " May just as well say it as to think it," answered 
 Julia, "and I'm certain I'd rather never have been 
 born, than to be an old maid." 
 
 " There is one alternative, at least," said Mary, " if 
 you can't catch a husband, Julia, you can enter a nun 
 nery, and take the vail. I really should think it advis 
 able." 
 
 " Come, Miss Mary," said Julia, " this is no laughing 
 matter. Just think how ashamed you would be of an 
 old maid sister." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Mary. " When I 
 get nicely settled in a house of my own, it would be 
 fine to have a good maiden sister like you to help me." 
 
 " How provoking ! I don't know but I should get 
 vexed with you, if I did not believe you to be joking." 
 
 *' I never was more earnest in my life," said the oth- 
 7*
 
 154 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 er, " I only wish your name was Margaret, so that I 
 could call you Aunt Peggy." 
 
 " You impertinent huzzy ! Take that light and be 
 off to your own room, and don't let me hear any thing 
 further from you to-night," said Julia, half-jestingly. 
 
 " O don't send me to be*d so early," said Mary, be 
 seechingly. " Just think, I 'm almost twenty." 
 
 The young ladies had been alone during this conver 
 sation, but here Mrs. Burke entered, and Julia sat 
 down to enjoy communion with her own thoughts, 
 while Mary began reading the last paper. She had 
 read but a few minutes when she burst into a violent 
 fit of laughing. 
 A " What is it ?" asked Julia. 
 
 " I '11 tell you in a moment," and after another hearty 
 laugh, she read as follows : 
 
 - " ' Terrible accident. Yesterday, as the adopted 
 daughter of Mr. Burke, a farmer residing about three 
 miles from the city, was driving home from market, 
 where she had been to sell vegetables, the horse took 
 fright, and ran with such violence as to throw her out 
 upon the pavement, fracturing one arm by the blow, 
 and injuring her otherwise considerably. She is now 
 at the hospital, and it is hoped that she will recover 
 from her injuries in the course of a few weeks.' " 
 
 " That is what I consider an advertisement much to 
 our credit," she continued. " Public notice given that 
 we allow a step-father's adopted child to be left at the 
 hospital." 
 
 Mrs. Burke and Julia could not be satisfied until 
 they had read it themselves ; and the former consoled 
 herself by saying that very few people would ever 
 think of reading it, and fewer would think of believ 
 ing it. 
 
 "The whole thing is provoking," said Miss Julia.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 155 
 
 " The idea that we would send her to market, and then 
 allow her to be left at the -hospital. How in the world 
 did that editor find out all that !" 
 
 " There 's one feather for that cap you talk of set 
 ting, Julia," said Mary. 
 
 Both the mother and daughters were not a little 
 chagrined to have the matter made so public, but de 
 termined to conceal all knowledge of the fact from 
 Mr. Burke, conscious that had his wishes been grati 
 fied, they would have been spared this mortification. 
 They were discussing the propriety of destroying the 
 paper, and thus keeping it from him, when he entered 
 the room and inquired for it. The paragraph soon 
 met his eye, as it was the first under " city news." 
 He read it aloud, and said that he considered such a 
 notice very much to his discredit, and gave it as his 
 opinion that the wiser course would have been to have 
 had Helen brought immediately home. 
 
 But their mortification did not end here. The re 
 ports from the hospital appeared daily ; and about a 
 week after, it was noticed that, " the daughter of Mr. 
 Burke, who was so severely injured a few days before, 
 has been removed from the hospital to the house of 
 Mr. White, in whose service she was intending to en 
 gage as waiting-maid." The press will meddle with 
 the private affairs of people. 
 
 Mrs. Hapwood's house had long been a favorite 
 resort for many of the young people of the city. The 
 ride from town was just long enough to be pleasant in 
 a moonlight summer evening, and the cheerful farm 
 house was very inviting in the cold evenings of winter. 
 The welcome of the young ladies was seldom less 
 cheerful. The marriage of Mrs. Hapwood was gen 
 erally known to their acquaintances in the city, and to 
 the daughters it proved rather a source of annoyance
 
 156 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 than otherwise, but the notices which had been circu 
 lated in regard to Helen rendered their mortification 
 complete. 
 
 Just one week from the day on which Helen was 
 taken to the hospital, she was assisted by Doctor Du- 
 val and Jane into Mr. White's carriage, and carefully 
 supported by pillows. When she had been placed in 
 an easy position, John came to shut the door, and said 
 to Helen, 
 
 " And is n't it plased ye are for the change ye' re 
 makin' ? Sure ye did well to get into the favor of a 
 lady as ye did." Without waiting for a reply he 
 jumped to his seat and drove away. When they 
 reached the house Mr. White, who was standing in 
 the door, called out, 
 
 " Well, doctor, what will you charge by the year to 
 do my gaUantry ?" and coming down to the carriage, 
 he continued, " Miss Burke, I am very glad you are 
 here at last, for Mrs. White has lost a pound of flesh 
 every day since you went to the hospital, she has been 
 so troubled with fear that you were not comfortable. 
 John has made her believe there is n't a worse place 
 than that outside of the inquisition." 
 
 " And that same is true, sir," said John. 
 
 " O, I know it, John," said the other ; " that's what 
 made you so little. You lost flesh and bones both, the 
 six weeks you had the fever there ; if they had kept 
 you another week there would n't have been any thing 
 left of you at all." 
 
 Helen had never before seen Mr. White, and she 
 hardly knew how to reply to his jesting remarks, and 
 was glad that he had turned his conversation to John. 
 The room into which she was taken was a neat and 
 pleasant one at the sid%of the house. A plain carpet 
 was upon the floor, the bed was covered with a white
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 157 
 
 spread, and an easy-chair stood beside it. Upon the 
 table, before a mirror, stood a vase of beautiful flowers. 
 Minnie was there to welcome her, and assured her, 
 again and again, that " this Avas her room forever, after 
 she got well, and all the time;" and she continued: 
 "The doctor put this bouquet here; but he did not 
 know any one saw him. I guess he likes you, or he 
 would n't have brought it." 
 
 " O, I guess not," said Helen, quickly ; "he is sorry 
 for me because I have been so badly hurt." 
 
 " Well, mamma does, and she is so glad you have 
 come. She says you sha'n't be left alone any more, for 
 she thinks she should n't have had me now if you had 
 not helped me out of the water." 
 
 "Minnie," interrupted Jane, who at this moment 
 entered, " your mamma says you must sit down very 
 quietly and not talk any, or else go down stairs till 
 Miss Burke rests a little, for she thinks she must be 
 tired." 
 
 " I '11 sit still right here," answered Minnie ; " and I 
 won't say a word till she talks to me." 
 
 Minnie kept her promise not to talk any ; but she sat 
 in the rocking-chair, and rocked furiously every mo 
 ment, except every fifth one, when she stopped and 
 leaned forward to look into Helen's face, to see if her 
 eyes were closed. 
 
 And her eyes were closed, not in sleep, but to offer 
 the incense of a grateful heart before the throne of that 
 Being whom she had found to be, indeed, a " Father to 
 the fatherless." 
 
 Helen was too unsuspecting to attach any meaning, 
 like that which Minnie had suggested, to Doctor Du- 
 val's kindness toward her ; and she did not for a mo 
 ment admit the supposition. She had not a thought 
 that there was any thing in her to be admired, and she
 
 158 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 entertained only feelings of gratitude toward those 
 among whom she had been thrown. She had lost, in 
 some degree, her aversion to the doctor, though she 
 disliked his manner, and particularly the moody silence 
 he maintained while in her room. She was sure it was 
 shown more when iu her presence than at other times, 
 for she could distinctly hear his hearty laughter when 
 he was in other parts of the house.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HELEN'S injury was a fracture of the large bone of 
 the fore-ai'm ; and after she had recovered a little from 
 the weakness induced by the shock to her nervous sys 
 tem, she was able, by carrying the arm in a sling, to sit 
 up the greater part of the tune. After she had been at 
 Mr. White's two days, during which Minnie had been 
 her almost constant companion, entert^aining her with 
 stories, or bringing her books from the library, Jane 
 opened her door, and said, 
 
 "Miss Hap wood has called to see you. If you are" 
 ready I will bring her up here." 
 
 " Certainly," said Helen. " You are very kind, 
 Jane." 
 
 Jane made no answer to this, but said to Minnie, 
 " You 'd better go below, your mamma says, while the 
 lady is here." 
 
 " How long will she stay ?" inquired the child, who 
 disliked having her visit shortened in this way. 
 
 '"T would be well for you," answered Jane, "if she 
 staid a long while ; you 'd be out of this room a little 
 more." 
 
 " She does not trouble me any," said Helen. 
 
 " I don't expect she does," muttered the other, just 
 loud enough for Helen to hear, and went down stairs 
 with Minnie, to show Miss Hapwood the way to 
 Helen's room. 
 
 " Good-afternoon, Helen," said Miss Julia. " Why, 
 how comfortable you look."
 
 160 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " I am very comfortable, indeed," said Helen ; 
 " every thing is very pleasant here. I only wonder 
 why I am treated so kindly." 
 
 " No wonder at all," said the other ; " such girls as 
 you are not to be found every day, and city people will 
 take them at any price. You will more than pay for 
 all this when you get well." 
 
 " I don't think so," answered Helen ; " but I shall do 
 the best I can, I 'm sure." 
 
 " O, I know you will ; you always do, and you can't 
 think how we miss you at home ; it seems as if our main 
 stay was gone. But where is Mrs. White ? I did not 
 see any of the family while I was in the parlor," she 
 added. 
 
 " She keeps her room," said the other ; " she is very 
 much out of health." 
 
 " I should like to see her," said Miss Hapwood. 
 " Does n't she see company ?" 
 
 " Only her particular friends," answered Helen. 
 " But you can inquire." 
 
 ' Just here Minnie came rushing in with a bouquet, and 
 exclaimed, " Doctor Duval brought you this ; he says 
 he thought you loved flowers, and he bought this for 
 you. He will come in in a minute." 
 
 The bouquet was one of rare beauty ; and Miss Julia 
 blushed, with a mingled feeling of vexation and jeal 
 ousy, when she saw it. At first she was inclined not to 
 notice it ; but hearing the doctor approaching, she be 
 gan praising it loudly, and as soon as he entered, ex 
 claimed, 
 
 "Good-afternoon, Doctor Duval. You must be a 
 gentleman of excellent taste. I really think it a pity 
 that some of us who are so fond of flowers could not 
 get into your good graces. That carnation is magnifi 
 cent."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 161 
 
 " I am an admirer of flowers," replied the doctor, 
 " and consider it my privilege to give bouquets to my 
 patients. I think them quite beneficial to those who 
 appreciate them, as Miss Burke does." 
 
 "You are very kind," said Helen. "I thank you 
 much." 
 
 " You are very welcome," answered the doctor ; 
 " but," he continued, " I fear I am interrupting your 
 visit. I will come in again," and turned around to 
 leave, but Miss Hapwood detained him, by saying, 
 
 " Not in the least, doctor. Do come back. We see 
 so little of you, you should not deprive us of your com 
 pany now. Why is it, do tell me, that you do not 
 mingle more in society ?" 
 
 " My desire to be tolerated prevents me," said the 
 other. " I fear I should be considered a public nuisance 
 should I impose myself upon community to any greater 
 extent than I now do." 
 
 " You are fishing for a compliment, I am sure," said 
 Miss Julia, " and you shall have it ; I really think you 
 are one of our most agreeable young gentlemen." 
 
 " I seldom jest, Miss Hapwood. I meant what I 
 said, and I consider it any thing but complimentary for 
 you to advance such an opinion of me," he replied, 
 coolly. At the close, of this remark Miss Hapwood, 
 glancing at her watch, exclaimed, 
 
 " What have I done ! It is time for the last omni 
 bus, and I can not get to the station before it leaves, 
 and I surely can't walk home." 
 
 " My carriage is at the door," said the doctor, " and 
 if you will ride in it, I will drive dovrn to the station 
 with you." She bade Helen a hurried good-by, and 
 entered the doctor's carriage. He drove rapidly, but 
 it was useless, they were more than ten minutes too 
 late.
 
 162 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " What shall I do ?" said the young lady. 
 
 " You will have to favor some of your friends with 
 an unexpected visit," said the doctor. 
 
 " That would be impossible," said the other, " I must 
 be at home this evening." 
 
 She seemed thrown upon his gallantry, and he could 
 but offer to take her in his carriage. Nothing surely 
 could have pleased her better, though she expressed 
 much unwillingness to put him to that trouble. He 
 made but little effort to be agreeable, and Miss Hap- 
 wood was distressed lest she should fail to be entertain 
 ing, and she wondered upon what subject he could be 
 interested. She exhausted her store of knowledge 
 upon flowers, books, and medicine, but was unable to 
 draw him into any thing like an animated conversation, 
 and little more than an occasional yes or no fell from 
 his lips during all the ride. When they had reached 
 the farm-house, Mary, who was looking down the road 
 wonderingly, since the omnibus had passed without 
 bringing Julia, exclaimed, 
 
 " Well, I really thought you had been left in town, 
 but I see now you preferred to ride with Doctor Duval. 
 Doctor, allow me to suggest that you have driven a 
 one-sided carriage a long while, and I really think it 
 looks better as it now is." 
 
 " Maybe," said the doctor, as he was assisting Miss 
 Julia to alight, " but you know I don't see the defect 
 when I am in the carriage, consequently I can not 
 speak so certainly of the improvement." 
 
 "Indeed I do not consider you very complimentary," 
 interrupted Miss Julia. " I expected you would say 
 you never enjoyed a ride so much in your whole life, 
 and never hoped to again, unless it was under similar 
 circumstances. I am half inclined not to tell you how 
 much I am obliged to you for your kindness."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 163 
 
 " I spoke," replied the doctor, " of the improvement 
 in the appearance of the carriage, but if it will please 
 you more, I will say that you have been very entertain 
 ing, and I am sorry you had not a more agreeable com 
 panion." 
 
 " That will do vastly better," said Miss Hapwood ; 
 and she continued, " it is past supper-time, and you 
 must come in and take something to eat with me ; John 
 will see to your horse." 
 
 " No, I thank you," said the doctor ; " I shall be at 
 my boarding-house soon." 
 
 " But I can not consent to your returning without 
 tea," continued the lady. 
 
 " You must excuse me," he said, in a decided tone 
 of voice which prevented any further urging, " I have 
 several patients to visit to-night, and I must be back 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 " Well, I believe I shall have to catch a fever or the 
 small-pox before I can receive a call from you. You 
 wouldn't think of asking to be excused then, would 
 you?" asked Miss Julia, jestingly. 
 
 But he only replied, " My ride does not extend so 
 far from town. Good afternoon, ladies." 
 
 " Good afternoon," they replied, and he drove 
 away. 
 
 " He 's the strangest man I ever saw," said Julia to 
 Mary, as they walked into the house ; " I am half-in 
 clined to dislike him, and yet I can't." 
 
 " Why, what is the trouble ? I expected to see you 
 in fine spirits after your ride with Doctor Duval," said 
 her sister. 
 
 "I believe he 's a real crusty fellow," said the other ; 
 " I could n't make him talk all I could do. He was as 
 mum as an oyster all the way." 
 
 " I imagine the truth is," said Mary, " you were so 

 
 164 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 agreeable, and talked so fast yourself, that he did n't 
 get a chance to say a word." 
 
 " No such thing," said Julia, a little vexed, " he 
 would n't laugh, either, at the comical things I said ; 
 and it really provoked me, for you know when one 
 makes an effort at wit, and fails to excite a laugh, how 
 cheap one will feel." 
 
 " As cheap as I did," said Mary, " when I made the 
 suggestion about the carriage. I don't think I shall 
 like him for a brother-in-law. I think you had better 
 look for some one else." 
 
 " We don't know him well enough to decide what 
 he really is," said the other. " This is certain, at least, 
 he is quite popular in the city, among those who know 
 him well, and he seems perfectly at home at Mr. 
 White's." 
 
 " How came he to bring you home ?" inquired Mary, 
 " I almost forgot to ask." 
 
 " To tell the truth," said Julia, " I stayed past the 
 hour for the last omnibus, purposely, so that I might 
 be invited to spend the night at Mr. White's ; but 
 when .1 pretended to discover my mistake he was in 
 Helen's room, and offered to take me to the station, 
 but the omnibus had gone, and he could do no less 
 than bring me home." 
 
 " That 's the way you played the card, is it ?" said 
 Mary. "It is just good for you that you are so disap 
 pointed." 
 
 " But I almost forgot to tell you," continued Julia, 
 without seeming to notice her sister's remark, "he 
 brought Helen a beautiful bouquet. Isn't it strange 
 how he came to fancy her ? Just as I told you the 
 other day ; and I believe he loves her now." 
 
 " Foolishness, Julia," said Mary. " Why, I believe 
 you are jealous. I am ashamed of you, you act so
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 165 
 
 silly. But come, Katrine left the supper-table standing 
 for you, and it is n't right to keep her waiting so long. 
 She's had a good deal of trouble this afternoon. 
 Mother has had the sick head-ache, and the Dominie 
 called, and, of course, I was obliged to talk with him, 
 which left her all alone." 
 
 Before Miss Julia had finished her tea, Mary came 
 running in to tell her that Mr. Doxtater's carriage had 
 stopped before the gate, and she was quite sure Mrs.- 
 Doxtater had come to spend the evening with their 
 mother, as she had often promised to do. Katrine 
 went to answer the ringing of the door-bell, and soon 
 returned, saying there was a company of young ladies 
 and gentlemen in the parlor who wished to see them. 
 One of the ladies had given her name, Miss Df>xtater, 
 saying that would be sufficient. 
 
 " It can't be Louise, can it ?" said Julia. " She is n't 
 old enough to be riding with young gentlemen, is she ? 
 How does she look, Katrine ?" 
 
 " She has dark colored eyes and a big mouth," said 
 Katrine, " shocking big for a lady." 
 
 " That 's Louise," said Mary ; and the two went into 
 the parlor. Besides Jack and Louise, there were two 
 of their cousins who were paying them a visit. After 
 the introduction, Mary sat down to entertain the 
 strangers, while Julia began questioning Louise. 
 
 "Why, how is this?" she asked, "I didn't know 
 your mother would let you be riding evenings with 
 gentlemen. She told me the last time I saw her that 
 she considered you a little girl yet, and intended to 
 keep you out of company a while longer." 
 
 " She would like to if she could," said Louise, " but 
 she can't help herself. I 'm going to begin to go a lit 
 tle. And now I 've a good excuse : I have to 20 to
 
 166 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 make it pleasant for our cousins. She scolds some, 
 but I keep out of hearing, and don't mind it much." 
 
 " What a girl you are !" said Julia ; " I suppose you 
 are in school yet." 
 
 " Yes, I can't get out of that yet ; but I 'm almost 
 sixteen, and then I shall not go another day you see 
 if I do. I mean to make my ' come out' on my birth 
 day, and then I sha'n't pretend to ask ma what I may 
 do and may not, any more." 
 
 " I thought you always did about as you pleased," 
 said Julia. 
 
 " So I do ; but I ask ma's advice for the sake of 
 peace, and then go and do as I choose fact. I don't 
 think she '11 make any objections after, I am sixteen. 
 She thinks girls ought to be young ladies at that age." 
 
 " I suppose I may expect an invitation to that ' come 
 out,' as you call it, can't I ?" asked Julia. 
 
 " Of course you can. I mean to invite all the young 
 people. Ma says I must n't think about it so long be 
 forehand, but I will. Who shall I invite for a beau for 
 you ?" 
 
 " I can tell you," interrupted Mary, who overheard 
 Louise's question ; " the rich bachelor doctor." 
 
 " What ! Doctor Duval ?" exclaimed Louise. 
 
 "No such thing, Mary," said Julia. "Don't you 
 believe her, Louise." 
 
 " Well, well ; I was intending to have him myself," 
 said the other. 
 
 " I am sure I sha'n't stand in your way at all, he 
 does n't seem to fancy me," said Julia. 
 
 " You can't make me believe that," said the other. 
 " I shall invite him, and tell him you are coming. But 
 you will have one rival, for I shall try my prettiest to 
 cut you out ; and we '11 see who will be successful." 
 
 Jack here declared that Louise seemed bent on hav-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 167 
 
 ing the oldest beau New York afforded, for she had 
 been for six months trying to flirt with a widower." 
 
 " Well, I have an excellent reason for doing so," said 
 Louise. " I expect to have the charge of Jack until he 
 is old enough to take care of himself, and I want a 
 husband who can have a fatherly oversight of him, or 
 my task will be too great. Since he is so backward he 
 will, probably, be on my hands a long while." 
 
 " There, Mr. Doxtater," said Miss Julia, " I don't 
 think you will interfere with your sister's arrange 
 ments after this." 
 
 " I don't think of doing so ever," he replied ; " I 
 know her to be wise beyond her years." 
 
 " Louise," said Julia, " I am going to leave you and 
 try to entertain that cousin of yours. Mary seems to 
 have forgotten him. What did you say his name was?" 
 
 " Ashton," she said in a whisper ; " I don't know but 
 you '11 find him a little verdant. He came from the 
 country." 
 
 " Be careful, miss, how you talk about country cous 
 ins," said Julia. " I 'm going to see him ;" and taking 
 a chair nearer him, she inquired if this were his first 
 visit to the city. 
 
 " It is," he replied. 
 
 " Then I imagine," she continued, " your home must 
 be some distance from here." 
 
 " I am residing in Boston at present," he answered. 
 " The distance is not great ; but I have never, until 
 now, had any business leading me this way." 
 
 "You are a Yankee, then, I imagine," said Miss 
 Julia, making an attempt at wit, " all but the cotton 
 umbrella and gingerbread." 
 
 " And their sharpness and good sense," he added. 
 
 " You must leave me to judge as to that matter, Mr. 
 Ashton," said she.
 
 168 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 "You are but little acquainted with me," he re 
 sponded, "and I was helping you to form a correct 
 opinion. Unaided and hasty opinions, I suppose you 
 knoAv, are often mistaken ones." 
 
 Miss Hap woe d made no answer to this ; but seeing 
 Louise, who had been wholly unnoticed since she left 
 her, beginning to grow a little restless, she asked, 
 " Louise, what do you call Boston ?" 
 
 " In Massachusetts, somewhere," said Louise. 
 
 " I asked what you called it," said Julia. 
 
 " It 's a town, I suppose," she replied. 
 
 Mr. Ashton smiled. 
 
 " You should n't ask her such hard questions," said 
 Jack, "just because she's smart. She hasn't finished 
 going to school yet." 
 
 The company here arose to go ; but Miss Hapwood 
 prevailed upon them to wait and eat some fresh fruit. 
 
 " I hope you succeeded- better than I did in your at 
 tempt to talk to Mr. Ashton," said Mary, after they 
 were out of hearing. " I was so wicked, he would n't 
 pay any attention to me." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" said Julia, wonderingly. 
 
 " "Why, he 's going to be a minister," said the other; 
 " and I was unfortunate enough not to find it out until 
 I had made several very trivial speeches." 
 
 "I wonder," exclaimed Julia, "why Louise didn't 
 tell me of that. I would have talked real pious to 
 him. I can, if I try. But Louise will have a fine 
 party, I promise you ; and we must each get a dress 
 suitable to wear, and have it all ready beforehand. 
 What shall they be ?" 
 
 " Something I sha'n't think of to-night. O, I 'm so 
 tired."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 HELEN'S recovery was slow. A month passed, and 
 she was yet able to leave her room only occasionally. 
 Minnie's vacation had expired ; and Miss Jenks, her 
 governess, had returned, and. she was nearly all day 
 employed with her studies. Helen was, consequently, 
 much alone. But her time passed profitably and pleas 
 antly, with little exception, for her love of reading was 
 fully satisfied. Mr. White's library afforded much 
 that was interesting to her. Experience had made her 
 thoughtful beyond her years, and she loved to peruse 
 works which sometimes fail to interest those much her 
 seniors. Mrs. White had observed her taste in her 
 selection of books, and had often remarked upon it be 
 fore those who were in her room, little conscious that 
 it was displeasing to any. 
 
 " It is strange," she said, one evening, to Mr. White, 
 " that such a girl should read with as much interest as 
 she seems to, 'The Philosophy of a Future State,' 
 Shakspeare, and Milton. I think it betrays more than 
 an ordiififry degree of intellect, and great strength of 
 mind." 
 
 " Certainly it does," replied the other. " I knew from 
 the first she would be some remarkable character in the 
 end, from the simple fact that you fancy her so much. 
 I knew, long ago, that you never fancied people who 
 were not brilliant, and that 's the reason you consented 
 to be Mrs. White." 
 
 8
 
 170 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 ^ "I took you," she said, laughingly, " because I 
 could n't get rid of you." 
 
 " Then you mean to say," said he, assuming an air 
 of sadness, " that you did n't marry me because you 
 loved me !" 
 
 "No, indeed, I couldn't help loving you, you were 
 so kind and faithful to me," she answered. 
 
 " O, that is it," said he ; " and you made a husband of 
 me. What do you intend to make of your other 
 protege ? She is more promising than I ever was." 
 
 " I never expect to make any thing of her ; but I do 
 intend to give her all the advantages I can," said Mrs. 
 White. " If she had been born in other circumstances, 
 she would have been the pride of her parents, and an 
 ornament to any society in which she might move. I 
 really feel guilty about making a servant of her." 
 
 " Wife," said Mr. White, jestingly, " I don't see how 
 that conscience of yours ever lets you eat a single mor 
 sel of food when there are so many hungry in the 
 world." 
 
 " It does reproach me," she replied, " at times when 
 I am enjoying luxuries bought with money which might 
 go far toward relieving them." 
 
 " Doctor Duval," responded Mr. White. 
 
 " No ! Doctor Duval never said one word to me up 
 on that subject," said she. 
 
 " But that is his theory, exactly. I wonder what 
 kind of a couple you and he would have made ?" 
 
 This, and similar conversations Jane had often heard, 
 and they seemed to arouse the bitterest feelings of her 
 nature toward the object of Mrs. White's admiration, 
 whom she considered only her equal in station. Helen 
 had often noticed that her food was brought to her in 
 a state which rendered it almost impossible for her to 
 eat it. The meat Avas cut in pieces too large, and with
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 171 
 
 but one hand she was unable to cut it smaller. The 
 morning after this conversation it was more unmanage 
 able than ever, and she was obliged to leave it until 
 Jane came to take the dishes, when she asked her if 
 she would please cut the meat finer for her. 
 
 " And have n't you eat your breakfast yet ?" she an 
 swered, spitefully, and commenced cutting it as she 
 was desired. " People that have some one to wait on 
 them all the time, don't care how much work they make 
 for others." 
 
 " I did not know that it would trouble you," said 
 Helen, " but I could not eat it so large." 
 
 " I suppose it won't," said the other ; " I shall only 
 have to run up stairs once more after the dishes, and 
 have a second fuss washing them." 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Helen, " very ; but I will 
 try and carry them down myself; I think I can, easily, 
 by going twice." 
 
 " O, no !" said Jane, " it 's no matter. Mrs. White 
 would think you were killed if you had to carry your 
 own dishes down stairs." 
 
 Helen was grieved. She would much rather have 
 dispensed with the breakfast entirely than to have 
 caused any unpleasant feelings, and she began to reflect 
 whether her course toward Jane had not been different 
 from what it should have been, and concluded that she 
 had not been as familiar with her as she ought. When 
 Jane came to remove the tray upon which she had 
 brought the food, Helen said, kindly, 
 
 " Jane, why don't you come and sit with me, some 
 times ? I know you might, for I hear you often in the 
 kitchen, when Mrs. White does not need you." 
 
 " I did n't think ladies cared about visits from the 
 servants," she replied. 
 
 " I am sure," said Helen, " I am full as much a
 
 172 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 servant as you are ; it is your place I am going to 
 take." 
 
 " I know that, and I wish you 'd get well, for I don't 
 want to stay here much longer. I meant to have been 
 away before this, and I wouldn't have staid a day 
 longer than I agreed to, if Mr. White had n't promised 
 me a nice present if I 'd stay till you got well. But I 
 begin to think that 's going to be forever." 
 
 " O, no," said the other ; " the doctor says it will be 
 but a short time now." 
 
 " I 'm very glad to hear it," answered Jane ; " but it 
 is n't the having to stay, alone, that makes me mad ; 
 there are other things." 
 
 " It is n't any thing that I have done, is it ?" asked 
 Helen, earnestly. 
 
 " I don't know," was Jane's reply, " but it was n't 
 so before you came. But I can't talk any longer, I 
 must go to my work." 
 
 " Well," said Helen, " won't you come and sit with 
 me the first opportunity you get, and we '11 see if I can 
 make it pleasant for you." 
 
 " I '11 come if you want me to," said Jane, " to-night, 
 after Mr. White comes in. I should like to, very well, 
 for I can assure you I 'm not very fond of sitting in the 
 kitchen with them two Paddies." 
 
 " Who do you mean by the two Paddies John and 
 Betty ?" asked Helen. 
 
 " Of course I do," answered Jane, " ain't they Irish ? 
 and who wants to hear them jabbering ? it fairly makes 
 me nervous." 
 
 " O, I think they are very kind and pleasant," said 
 Helen. 
 
 ^%'m glad if you like their company," said the other, 
 as she went out of the door. " It 's very well, since 
 you 've got to stay with them."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 173 
 
 From this conversation Helen thought she had dis 
 covered the cause of Jane's unpleasant manner toward 
 her, and she determined, at evening, to reconcile her 
 if possible. Her dinner was brought in much more 
 inviting order, and she hoped that already a reconcili 
 ation had been commenced. It was far from her wish 
 to live at variance with any, and she would willingly 
 sacrifice her own comfort to promote the pleasure of 
 another. She was pained to hear Jane's remarks, for 
 they seemed to intimate that she had been the source 
 of unhappiness to her. 
 
 Jane was prompt to keep her engagement, for she 
 was anxious to learn something of the character and 
 origin of one whom she had heard so much praised. 
 
 " You see I 'm come as I told you," said she, when 
 she entered the door. " Mr. White is in early to-night, 
 and I don't know but you '11 get more of me than you 
 want." 
 
 " O, I think not," said Helen ; " I was feeling a little 
 lonesome, and wanted company. I get very tired sit 
 ting here holding my hand in this way." 
 
 " And I get tired," continued the other, " running 
 about all the time ; but I ain't going to do it much 
 longer." 
 
 " I am glad of it, if you want to change. It is n't 
 pleasant to stay where we are not contented." 
 
 " And I 'm tired of being waiter for other people," 
 said Jane ; " and I 'm going to have a home of my 
 own, where I will be mistress myself." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it, Jane," said Helen ; " I 
 heard you were going to be married, and I hope you 
 will have a good husband." 
 
 " I should n't take any other," said she, in a satisfied 
 tone of voice ; "but I suppose you feel too stuck up to 
 come and see me after I get to keeping house."
 
 174 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " Certainly not," said Helen ; " what makes you think 
 so of me ? I am not proud, for I have n't any thing to 
 be proud of. I think I ought to be very humble in 
 deed, since I am obliged to depend entirely upon char 
 ity for support."' 
 
 " I should think so," said Jane ; " but when people 
 get taken a little notice of they 're most always proud, 
 if they won't own it. But I 'd a thought Mr. Burke 
 would kept you, well off as he is. I don't think it looks 
 well for his wife's girls to be so much better off than 
 his own girl is." 
 
 "But I'm not his daughter," said Helen. "Did 
 you think I was ? He only took me to keep in his 
 family. It was very kind in him to take care of me as 
 long as he did." 
 
 "I know that," answered Jane; "but he adopted 
 you, and you 've got his name, and I should n't think 
 ho 'd want you out to service." 
 
 " He did not tell me to work out. It was my own 
 choice." 
 
 " I guess I'd a-staid with him as long as he 'd let me, 
 and you '11 think so after you 've tried it as long as I 
 have," said Jane. 
 
 " I think not, "said Helen. " But Jane, won't you 
 tell me what the things you referred to this morning 
 were, which you said made you angry ? I mean only 
 those which concerned me, of course." 
 
 " I don't know as it will do any good," was the re 
 ply ; " and perhaps I 'd better keep still." 
 
 " Just as you think best," answered Helen ; " I did n't 
 know but it was something that I could explain, and I 
 did not like to have you feel unpleasantly on my ac 
 count." 
 
 " Well, I suppose I may as well out with it. It won't 
 make any difference to me, I shall go away so soon."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 175 
 
 " Do not tell it," remonstrated Helen, " if you ought 
 not." 
 
 " It 's nobody's business but yours and mine," said 
 Jane ; " and I only thought it might make you mad at 
 me, that's all ; but I don't care, I '11 tell." 
 
 " I never get mad, Jane," said Helen, " and if I did, 
 it would n't be toward those who are as kind to me as 
 you have been." 
 
 " Well, to make it short," said Jane, " I was mad 
 because I thought you wer n't no better than me, and 
 I had to wait on you. Let me tell you 'twas dreadful 
 gallin'. And then eveiy time I went into Mrs. White's 
 room I had to hear something said about what a smart 
 girl you was, and how different from common ones. 
 I say 'twould made you mad, and you could n't help 
 it. I know I talked real mean to you this morning, 
 and I cut the meat big on purpose, but I couldn't 
 help it. Now that 's just all of it." 
 
 " I am glad if that 's all," said Helen. " I was afraid 
 I had done something to displease you, though I knew 
 if I had, it was perfectly unintentional." 
 
 "Mrs. White was talking last night about your 
 reading so much, as if any body could n't read when 
 they 'd nothing on earth else to do ? and she seemed to 
 think you was very smart ; but here, last winter, I knit 
 two pair of fine stockings and read Robinson Crusoe 
 besides, and all in the evenings, after work, too, and 
 she don't seem to count that any thing." 
 
 " Perhaps you don't know how much she thinks of 
 you," said Helen. "She has told me she considered 
 you a very excellent girl, and was sorry to lose you." 
 
 " Well, nobody ever told me so before ; and I did n't 
 know it if she does," 
 
 " In regard to waiting upon me," continued Helen, 
 " I was very sorry to trouble you ; I knew you had
 
 176 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 enough to do before I came, and I have felt very badly 
 because I was n't able to help myself." 
 
 " I thought you did n't seem to care very much," 
 replied the other ; " you took it wonderfully cool, at 
 any rate." 
 
 " Certainly, I tried not to murmur ; I think it very 
 wicked to murmur at the dispensations of Providence ; 
 we must be willing to suffer the will of God, and that 
 cheerfully," said Helen. 
 
 " You are good, too, I see," responded Jane ; " when 
 Mrs. White finds that out, I don't know what she '11 
 do. The only thing she thinks is wrong about Mr. 
 White is that he ain't good ; she tries to make him, 
 but he tells her she 's good enough for both of them, 
 and there is no use in his being any better." 
 
 " I hardly thought he was a Christian," said Helen. 
 
 " I guess he ain't," continued Jane, " he won't even 
 go to meetin' Sundays, because his wife can't. And 
 when she tries to make him, he tells her he had rather 
 stay and see her than all the people who go to church. 
 He 's a real pleasant man, though. I like to have him 
 around home ; he '11 always let you do just as you want 
 to, and give you money and such things. And there 's 
 Will is just like him, he 's a real good boy ; you '11 like 
 him first-rate when you know him as well as I do. But 
 Minnie ain't so, a bit ; she 's like her mamma ; she 's 
 real good, but she don't make as much fun as they do." 
 
 " She is n't very quiet, I think," said Helen ; " she 
 seems very lively." 
 
 " O, yes, she makes noise enough, but she don't carry 
 on as her papa and Will do." 
 
 After this first visit to Helen's room, Jane felt very 
 differently toward her, and all necessary services were 
 performed with perfect cheerfulness. She had before 
 cherished a feeling which had made it impossible, as
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 177 
 
 she had declared, to treat her even with civility. And 
 there is no feeling which can take possession of the hu 
 man breast that will more effectually deprive it of hap 
 piness, and more certainly render those toward whom 
 it is entertained odious, than jealousy. It is indeed 
 
 " The green-eyed monster which doth make 
 The meat it feeds on." 
 
 8*
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 IT was a moonlight evening in the late fall, a few 
 fleecy clouds hung motionless in the clear cold air, and 
 the moon in her full beauty sailed, a silvery sphere, 
 high in the blue depths of heaven. Here and there a 
 bright star opened its full eye upon the earth, which 
 seemed to have shrouded itself in a dusky vail, as if 
 loth to meet their piercing gaze. 
 
 Earth hath dark spots which it may blush to own. 
 Life, in this world, hath an upper- and a lower nature. 
 It bears a visible and an almost hidden form. The 
 busy, bustling, happy face which it presents to the 
 careless eye, is but the lighter portion which floats upon 
 the surface in the ocean of its realities. It hath deep 
 joys and woes which can not mingle with the pomp, 
 the pride, the vanity and fashion of its visible nature. 
 
 The long shadow of the palace rests upon many a 
 humble dwelling which finds no place upon the map of 
 life. The beating of the heart of earth's most honored 
 son is echoed by the throbbing of hearts to which the 
 world lendeth no ear. The wind that bears onward 
 the joyous shout whispers many a low and lonely moan. 
 This is no dreamy vision. There are children's hearts, 
 broken by sorrow young forms, bent with care 
 mothers, who answer with tears their infants' smiles 
 fathers, forgetful of that reverend name and old 
 age repining over the length of its remaining days. 
 There are shoeless feet to track the snow-clad earth 
 bared limbs to meet the driving storm mouths, eager
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 179 
 
 to catch the falling crumbs, and longing souls to feed 
 on ignorance. 
 
 It was on one of those nights when the eye can 
 seem to pierce through the clear blue dome above, 
 and almost to gaze into the very heavens, that Helen 
 sat stretching her sight far hi that direction. It 
 was at the close of the first day upon which she had 
 performed all the duties of her new station, and she 
 had retired to her chamber not a little wearied with 
 these exertions. But it was no time for rest. Her po 
 etic nature could not sleep when such a fountain of 
 beauty was opened before her. She had seated herself 
 by the window to gaze at those beauties, and the whole 
 soul of thought was wide awake within. She had just 
 begun to live for herself. She had now loosened her 
 self from the arms of charity in which she "had so long 
 been folded, and for a second time looked back over 
 the life she had led, and the remembrance of past sor 
 row awoke reflections like these : " "Why am I so lonely 
 in this wide world ? Once there were those to whom 
 I was as dear as life, then why were they so soon taken 
 from me ? and why, O why is my recollection of them 
 so faint ? I know that I once had an able and loving 
 father, for I learned that from my mother. I can just 
 remember how that mother loved me ; but she lived 
 borne down by misery and want, and sank into her 
 grave uncertain of what would be the fate of her child. 
 It would be sweet to weep by her grave, but hers is 
 an unknown grave, which none linger to notice, and 
 she who alone could love it, knows not where it is. 
 True, I have one relative, a sister, but in all probability 
 she is as lonely and as unhappy as I. Perhaps she is 
 less fortunate than myself. When I left her she was 
 weeping ; she was too young to remember me, and I 
 bear another name. Should we meet now we should
 
 180 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 not recognize each other ; but, O ! how rich in joy 
 would such a recognition be ; how sweet to feel, after 
 these years of loneliness, that I shared a sister's love ! 
 How sweet to lavish upon her the affections which 
 must now be choked within my breast 1" 
 
 This was unlike Helen, and just as she was about 
 yielding to despair, the consciousness of what she was 
 doing flashed across her mind, and she strove to banish 
 all such murmuring thoughts. But her efforts were 
 vain ; she was unfitted to turn to the brighter side of 
 her life, to reflect upon the blessings which she there 
 enjoyed, and she opened her Bible, and read to divert 
 her thoughts. She chanced to turn to the one hundred 
 and twenty-first Psalm, and read, hardly conscious of 
 what she was reading, until she came to these words, 
 
 " Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slum 
 ber nor sleep. 
 
 "The Lord is thy keeper; the Lord is thy shade 
 upon thy right hand. 
 
 "The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy 
 coming in from this time forth, and even forever more." 
 
 The flame of that holy faith which had, long ago, 
 been kindled in her breast, but which had for a moment, 
 seemed to die out, then burned with a new brightness, 
 and the calm which its light ever sheds over the spirit, 
 rested upon her, and she sank sweetly to repose. 
 
 In the morning she awoke much refreshed, and be 
 gan her duties with a new zeal. The sad reflections of 
 the evening before only rendered the view of her pres 
 ent enjoyments and blessings more perfect. After 
 Mrs. White had taken her breakfast, and Helen had 
 arranged her room, she inquired what further she 
 could do. 
 
 " You may read to me a little while," said Mrs. 
 White. "I should like to hear a chapter from the
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 181 
 
 Bible ;" and she asked, " Do you love to read the 
 Bible, Helen,?" 
 
 " Very much," said Helen ; " and sometimes it is the 
 only thing I care for ; and last night it did me so much 
 good." 
 
 " Why, Helen !" asked the other, " what good did 
 it do you ?" 
 
 Helen saw that she had, unintentionally, introduced 
 a matter which she would much rather have concealed, 
 but she could not refuse to answer Mrs. White's ques 
 tion, and said, " O, I felt rather sadly, and the chapter' 
 I read was very comforting." 
 
 " What made you sad ?" again asked the other. 
 
 " Nothing," said Helen, " except my thoughts. I 
 sat down by the window to look Out, last evening ; 
 every thing was so beautiful ; and I thought of things 
 which made me unhappy for a while." 
 
 " And can you not tell me what you were thinking 
 about," said Mrs. White, a little anxious to learn more 
 of the character of Helen. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, if you would like to hear ; but it will 
 not be very pleasant, I think." 
 
 " I should, if you are willing to tell me." 
 
 "I was thinking," said Helen, hesitatingly, "how 
 lonely and poor I am, and I felt like complaining be 
 cause I was not in different circumstances ; but I only 
 thought so a little while ; as soon as I remembered 
 how wrong I was, I stopped." 
 
 " And did you go to your Bible for comfort ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " And you found it ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " Who taught you to do so, Helen ?" 
 
 "I imagine my mother did," said Helen. "I re 
 member she used to read it to me."
 
 182 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " Then you can remember your mother ?" 
 
 " Only a little ; not very distinctly ; but I recollect 
 she used to teach me to pray." 
 
 " And have you been in the habit of praying ever 
 since ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said Helen ; but the sad thoughts of 
 the evening were again forced upon her, and she could 
 say no more, but buried her face in her hands. 
 
 Mrs. White would gladly have asked her many more 
 questions, but she would not willingly occasion sorrow, 
 and she strove to speak comfort and draw consolation 
 from that precious Word where she had learned that 
 Helen was accustomed to seek it. 
 
 As soon as Helen had succeeded La overcoming, in a 
 measure, her emotions, she began to read the chapter 
 which Mrs. White had selected ; but her voice faltered, 
 and she was pleased when the entrance of Doctor Du- 
 val released her from her task. After a moment's con 
 versation with Mrs. White, the doctor turned to Helen, 
 whom he had not met in a number of days, and in 
 quired if her arm felt strong now ; and coming to her, 
 he examined the injured portion. 
 
 Helen's eyes were swollen, and she would gladly 
 have escaped his notice. Mrs. White saw her agita 
 tion, and said, 
 
 " You may leave the room, if you choose, and I will 
 ring when I need you." 
 
 " I thank you," she replied, and went out. 
 
 " Doctor," said Mrs. White, after she had gone, " I 
 have found a treasure in that girl. Every day I find 
 more to admire ; but she has not the least idea of her 
 own worth, and makes no effort to display her virtues. 
 I have this morning found that she is a humble, prac 
 tical Christian, though she makes no profession of re 
 ligion." 

 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 183 
 
 " That is the right kind of Christianity," responded 
 the doctor ; " the kind which is calculated to bless the 
 world. That girl will do good wherever she is; she 
 will do you good. With all your superior knowledge, 
 you can not help but learn lessons of importance from 
 her. I have seen it long ago ; and I know the lessons 
 .of submission which ./have learned from her will make 
 me a better man. Why in the world she was n't born 
 in circumstances to exert a wider influence, I can not 
 see." 
 
 " Doctor, she would not murmur at that ; you must 
 learn a lesson from her there." 
 
 " It is my impulsive nature," he replied ; " but God 
 gave me this disposition, and it is not in my power to 
 overcome it." 
 
 " He who gave it you has promised to aid you," said 
 Mrs. White, rather reprovingly. " But to come back 
 to Helen : she might never be what she is had she lived 
 in prosperity. Perhaps her manner of iffe has been the 
 means which her Creator has taken to make her thus 
 humble." 
 
 " May be," said the other ; " but He has given you 
 and me the means to put her where her influence might 
 be felt in a much wider sphere than it now is ; and I 
 believe He wih 1 hold us responsible for our neglect in 
 this matter ; we shah 1 be punished for it, I am confi 
 dent ; there are not two ways about it. We may not 
 sin with impunity." 
 
 " But, doctor, I thought you did not believe in a fu 
 ture state of misery?" 
 
 " But I believe we shall be punished for our sins, and 
 I am enduring my punishment every day for my neg 
 lect in this very matter. I suffer more real pain from 
 the conscience within me than could be inflicted cor 
 poreally."
 
 184 HBLBN LINCOLN. 
 
 "Why, then, do you not do as you think you 
 ought," asked Mrs. White, "if you have both the 
 means and the inclination ?" 
 
 " Because," said the doctor " right is made to yield 
 to custom in these days." 
 
 "Why, doctor!" exclaimed the other, "I thought 
 you made it your boast that you were not influenced 
 by custom." 
 
 " I am not as much as other people are* ; but we are 
 all its slaves, more or less." 
 
 "What do you think I ought to do for Helen?" 
 
 " You have a conscience of your own," he answered. 
 
 " I have offered her all her time, except what I ab 
 solutely need of it, for study ; and Miss Jenks will as 
 sist her when she may require assistance ; so that I am 
 sure she will be able to secure a tolerably good educa 
 tion if she remains with me any length of time." 
 
 " So far, good," said the doctor ; " but I want to see 
 her in some situation besides that of servant." 
 
 " I don't think she would be willing now to be taken 
 into any family, as a child, if one should make her the 
 offer." 
 
 " No ; she is too noble-spirited for that." 
 
 " And she certainly is not competent to teach any 
 thing more than a very common school ; and she 
 would much better be a pupil than a teacher, at pres 
 ent, at least." 
 
 " I know it," said the doctor, rather impatiently ; 
 " but it is none of those places that I want her to 
 occupy." 
 
 " Well, what is it, doctor ? Let me know, and if it 
 is advisable, I will do all I can toward advancing your 
 wishes." 
 
 " I can't tell," he replied, with a kind of nervous 
 twitch, " but I can feel it all. O, I am sick of life ! I
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 185 
 
 rejoice that there are but a few short years for me be 
 fore the skies," he continued ; " and then I shall meet 
 with a spirit pure as hers, where no sorrow, poverty, 
 pain, or sin, can interfere." 
 
 " Doctor, what do you mean ?" said Mrs. White, 
 greatly surprised at his remark. " Are you insane ?" 
 
 " No ; but I wonder I am not ! I have had enough 
 to make me so ! Insanity would be bliss compared with 
 what I now endure ; but I am doomed to live and suf 
 fer, while my reason is the instrument of my suffering. 
 That pure and lovely being who has just gone out of 
 this room, is another of the instruments employed to 
 torture me ! I can not look at her in peace !" 
 
 " You need never see her again, doctor," said Mrs. 
 White. 
 
 " I can not live without seeing her," he replied. "I 
 must see her often, and yet I am wretched in her pres 
 ence." 
 
 "Doctor," said Mrs. White, calmly, "you are talk 
 ing very strangely, yet frankly, to me. Now let me 
 ask you plainly, Do you love Helen ?" 
 
 " No !" he answered decidedly. 
 
 " Then will you not tell me why you talk as you do 
 of her ? I think, perhaps, I ought to know the reason 
 of all this, to regulate my conduct toward you both ju 
 diciously." 
 
 " You shall know ; but it has never before passed 
 the door of my lips. I am called a man incapable of 
 loving, possessed of a harsh, unpleasant disposition, but 
 it is false ; I have a heart to love, and I have loved, and 
 Helen is just like the one I have loved, so kind, so gen 
 tle, so pure." 
 
 " And was not that love reciprocated ?" 
 
 "I know it was! with the whole heart she loved 
 me."
 
 180 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " And why were you not united then ? If both loved 
 so earnestly and truly, you would certainly have been 
 happy together. Would she not consent, or did her 
 friends interfere ?" 
 
 " She died !" he exclaimed, wildly, and began pacing 
 the room, his arms folded, and his head bowed in sadness. 
 
 In this manner he walked a long time in silence, ex 
 cept a frequent heaving of deep, heavy sighs. Mi's. 
 White did not feel inclined to speak to him, but she 
 looked on him with a look of deep pity. She was sure 
 she had learned the secret of his breast, and much in 
 his manner that had previously appeared very strange, 
 she could now easily understand. He, however, at 
 length broke the silence by a kind of soliloquy. 
 
 " Yes, she died ! and she is now with the angels and 
 the pure spirits above, as pure as they, while I am left 
 lonely and unloved upon earth ;" and again he walked 
 in silence. 
 
 After a moment Mrs. White remarked, " But there 
 are others who might love you as ardently as she did. 
 Perhaps you would be happier if you should transfer 
 your love from her to another." 
 
 " There is but little pure love now. Interest over 
 rules it, and I can not love those devotees of fashion 
 who can smile on all they meet. No ! my treasure and 
 my love are both above, and I long for the day when I 
 caH go where they are." 
 
 " Doctor," said Mrs. White, " I am glad that you 
 have told me this. Your conduct has troubled me. 
 You have manifested an uncommon degree of interest 
 in Helen. It was so evident that I could not fail to see 
 it, and I feared you loved her. I have thought of cau 
 tioning her, but she is so unsuspecting that I concluded 
 not to do so." 
 
 " Why," asked the other, " do you say you were
 
 UELEN LINCOLN. 187 
 
 afraid I loved her ? "Would you consider it wrong for 
 me both to love her and win her love in return if I 
 chose ?" 
 
 "I consulted her good in the matter," said Mrs. 
 White. 
 
 " Would not her situation be bettered ?" replied the 
 doctor. 
 
 " It is better for her to improve her mind now, and 
 she would be likely to neglect it were it thus." 
 
 " Never fear, Mrs. White ; I agree with you. I 
 never thought otherwise of her. I never expect to 
 marry. I have vowed I will not. It was sympathy 
 which prompted all my attention to Helen. I thought, 
 as I noticed her kind and gentle disposition, how it was 
 crushed and thwarted, and I know how keenly such 
 natures feel this." And again he seemed to be lost in 
 reflection, and it was evident what kind of thoughts 
 engaged his attention, for his manner was always a per 
 fect mirror of his thoughts. 
 
 Doctor Duval had long, been an intimate friend of 
 Mr. and Mrs. White, and by them his acquaintance and 
 friendship were highly valued. Kind and generous, he 
 had won their affections ; an earnest advocate of right, 
 he had gained their respect ; and ever faithful and just, 
 had secured their confidence. Still a vail of mystery 
 hung over his conduct which they were unable to pen 
 etrate. 
 
 Dark thoughts seemed ever to haunt Doctor Duval 
 while he was surrounded by every thing which should 
 serve to banish sadness, and to his friends this was in 
 explicable. Mrs. White was confident that she had, at 
 last, learned the reason of all this, and her pity excited 
 a still deeper interest and regard for him. But human 
 sight is short when it essays to pierce the deep recesses 
 of the heart.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE holidays were gone. Will and Minnie had 
 passed a delightful winter, for they had enjoyed all the 
 pleasure which wealth and kind friends could provide 
 for them. The Christmas sleigh-ride and the New 
 Year's gift had not been forgotten ; each had received 
 its share of attention, and the brother and sister had 
 now entered upon the more sober part of the season. 
 They were too young to mingle in the company of the 
 young ladies and gentlemen, and their visits and 
 amusements were always under the direction of their 
 parents. Will, however, attended dancing-school, and 
 had once or twice been present at " the public," or at 
 a select cotillion party, and had, in this way, gained an 
 acknowledged admittance into society. He was hand 
 some and attractive, and ladies of maturer years than he 
 could boast, courted his attention. He was tall, erect, 
 and graceful, a most acceptable partner in the dance, 
 and of an age when such amusements are the most 
 fascinating. His father delighted to encourage his 
 fancy for these things, as he was not unlike him in 
 character and taste. 
 
 On a clear, cold evening, in the last of January, Mr. 
 White was sitting at tea chatting with an old acquaint 
 ance who was paying him a visit. He was wholly re 
 gardless how rapidly time was slipping away, and 
 unconscious of Will's uneasiness, who was reluctant 
 to commit so great rudeness as to leave the table 
 before his father and the guest.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 189 
 
 But time sped on, and as it was getting very late for 
 Will to accomplish what he wished, he said, very 
 politely ; " Father, I have an engagement this evening ; 
 will you please to excuse me ?" 
 
 Will hoped by this remark to draw the two from the 
 table ; but his father only answered, 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, my son. I recollect you are 
 to make your debut to-night, you can be excused." 
 Then, turning to his friend, he continued, " Will is 
 getting along very rapidly in life ; he is as much of a 
 gentleman at fifteen as I thought of being at twenty- 
 five." 
 
 Will had left the tea-room, but his wish was not ac 
 complished, and after a moment's absence he returned 
 and said, 
 
 " Father, I am sorry to interrupt you, but I should 
 like to see you one moment in the hall." 
 
 "O, I understand," answered his father, without 
 rising. " I've been a young gentleman in my life ; you 
 need white kid gloves and slippers. Yes, Will, tell 
 John to get them for you." 
 
 " N~o, father, I thank you, I have attended to those 
 things. I wish to speak of another matter." 
 
 " Excuse me, then," said Mr. White, addressing his 
 friend ; " step into the parlor and take an easy-chair, 
 and I will be with you shortly." 
 
 A moment after Mr. White went into the hall, 
 Will's quick step was heard bounding up the stairs, 
 and the father returned to entertain his visitor. 
 
 " How soon boys learn to be beaux," said Mr. 
 White, laughingly, when he entered the parlor. " Will 
 has invited a young lady to accompany hin> to the 
 party to-night, and he wants John and the coach at his 
 service for the evening. Wife has some compunctions 
 of conscience about his- age, but I tell her he will never
 
 190 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 be young but once, and we must let him enjoy himself 
 as best he can." 
 
 " True, true," said his friend ; " but there is a great 
 difference in boys. I have a nephew Harry Lee 
 staying with' me who is just sixteen, and he seems to 
 care little for society." 
 
 " I don't dislike to see a boy lively, and fond of 
 amusement," replied Mr. White. " On the contrary, I 
 think it preferable that they should be so." 
 
 " To a certain extent," responded the other. " Har 
 ry is by no means dull, but he loves his book, and 
 seems to have a just estimation of the value of an 
 education. He has a mind such as you rarely find in a 
 boy of his age. He is a deep thinker, and will make 
 something yet, I 'm certain." 
 
 " Will is n't troubled in that way at all," said his 
 father. " I never expect he will be President of the 
 United States, or any thing approaching it ; but I am 
 confident he will make a pretty fair business man." 
 
 " Well, Harry is an uncommonly intelligent boy ; he 
 is bright and cheerful when in company, but he does 
 not neglect his studies to participate in the amusements 
 of the young. He has, even now, the whole plan of his 
 future course in life mapped out, and it has been done 
 with remarkable prudence and judgment." 
 
 " Will is very different there ; he will take the world 
 as it comes along. I shall start him in some profitable 
 business when the right time comes, and I have no 
 doubt he will succeed well." 
 
 " No doubt of it. I only spoke of the difference in 
 boys." 
 
 " I understand I understand," said Mr. White ; 
 " but what does Harry design to do in the line of busi 
 ness ? He will make a professional man, I suppose." 
 
 "Yes, he contemplates the. study of medicine or
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 191 
 
 the law ; at present he evinces a preference for the 
 former." 
 
 "Unwise, I think, very," said Mr. White. "He 
 won't find it so easy to ride to fame on a pill-box. I 
 should prefer the law." 
 
 " I have never heard him speak of fame. I only 
 gave it as my opinion that he would make a strong- 
 minded and noble man. I don't think he would have 
 a desire for common political fame, or any thing of 
 that nature." 
 
 " I sometimes wish Will was inclined a little more to 
 study," said Mr. White ; " but he appears so happy 
 that I don't know that it would make much difference. 
 If he is contented I may as well be satisfied. But I 
 mean to put him through college, at any rate." 
 
 The party which Will was preparing to attend was 
 the one Louise Doxtater had styled her " come out," 
 which, as she told Miss Hapwood, she was to make on 
 her sixteenth birth-day. She, indeed, made a brilliant 
 entree into society, if this party was her introduction. 
 In the selection of her guests she had disregarded age 
 entirely. All whom she deemed worthy of her no 
 tice, from the Master and Miss of fourteen, to Doctor 
 Duval, and even his seniors, were invited. When the 
 company had assembled, the richly furnished parlors 
 presented a scene of beauty, elegance, and gayety, far 
 surpassing any thing that is seen in the ordinary walks 
 of life. Soft eyes were lighted with an unnatural 
 brightness, and cheeks painted with a becoming glow 
 by excitement, and beauty then appeared more beauti 
 ful than ever. 
 
 Not unnoticed in the crowd at the party, was Will 
 White, and a lovely girl who was leaning upon his 
 arm, and whose manifest delight and interest in all that 
 passed, showed that she was unaccustomed to such
 
 192 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 scenes. In the gay circles they were the gayest ; of all 
 the voices which on that evening blended with the 
 tones of the piano, hers was the sweetest, and where 
 the dance .was liveliest this was the gayest couple. 
 Louise was perfectly happy. She had bidden " adieu" 
 to school and books, and had entered the ranks of fash 
 ion, which she had learned to consider the chief end of 
 her existence. She moved among the company, and 
 greeted each of her guests with an expression of de 
 light which could not fail to excite in them a corre 
 sponding cheerfulness. 
 
 It was near ten o'clock. Louise had taken Will's 
 second arm, and he, whose gallantry was not insufficient 
 for two ladies, was playing the agreeable most success 
 fully, when they observed the elder Miss Hapwood, 
 standing, apparently unattended, near one of the win 
 dows. 
 
 " I do wish nature had been more bountiful," said 
 Will, approaching her, " and given me three arms in 
 stead of two ; I should be most happy to offer you the 
 third." 
 
 " I thank you," she replied, cheerfully ; " but I think 
 you have quite as many ladies under your charge now as 
 you can well take care of." 
 
 " O, no," he answered, " I could take half-a-dozen 
 more just as well as not." 
 
 " So he could," said Louise ; " you have no idea what 
 a fine beau he is." 
 
 "There, Miss Hapwood," continued Will, " I suppose 
 you will not think of doubting a lady's word ?" 
 
 "Certainly not," said she ; " and I believe I shall join 
 in your regret that nature did not bless you with three 
 arms." 
 
 " But where is your beau ?" exclaimed Louise, as if 
 recollecting something. " I invited Doctor Duval on
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 193 
 
 purpose for you. Is n't he here ? He has n't sent a re 
 gret. He won't be so impolite as to neglect my invita 
 tion entirely, I hope." 
 
 " He will be here, yet," said "Will. " I heard him tell 
 father he should come up a few moments." 
 
 "A few moments!" repeated Louise; "what's the 
 reason he can't stay as other people do ?" 
 
 "O, you know he isn't fond of attending parties ; I 
 think it strange he is coming at all," said Will. 
 
 " He is just as odd as a fish," remarked Louise, " I 
 don't like him at all." 
 
 " Be careful, miss, how you speak of my beau," inter 
 rupted Miss Hapwood ; " I may resent it." 
 
 " Excuse me, do, Miss Julia ! I entirely forgot my 
 self. I think him the most graceful, kind, and fascin 
 ating gentleman I ever met." 
 
 " Come, come," said Will, " I can't allow this. You 
 must n't say any thing of that kind about my friend, 
 the doctor, he is a fine fellow. But how is it, Miss Hap 
 wood, is he a beau of yours ? I feel it my duty to keep 
 a Avatch over him, and I shall take him to task if he has 
 given his heart away without asking my permission." 
 
 " You need not be troubled," replied Miss Hapwood, 
 making an effort to appear agitated ; " this is a matter 
 between Louise and me alone." 
 
 " That will do so long as he is not engaged in it," 
 said the other ; " but you must be careful what designs 
 you have upon him. However, I will do all I can for 
 you in that direction ; my influence over him is great, 
 I assure you." 
 
 " I thank you," she replied, " but I will not trouble 
 you. I have no opinion of matches unless they are 
 made in heaven." 
 
 " It is pretty certain you will be obliged to wait 
 some time, then, as the doctor's health is very good," 
 
 9
 
 194 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 said Will ; " but I believe, according to Scripture, they 
 don't marry up there." 
 
 " You wicked fellow !" exclaimed Miss Hapwood. 
 
 " That is not wicked, I 'm sure," said the lad ; " but 
 there 's the doctor, now, coming to find you, Louise." 
 
 " Bless me !" exclaimed Miss Hapwood. " I 'm afraid 
 he heard what we were talking about." 
 
 " Good evening, Doctor Duval," said Louise, letting 
 go Will's arm. " I am happy to see you. I was afraid 
 you were going to neglect me entirely." 
 
 " O, by no means," he replied ; " on the contrary, I 
 have paid you marked attention by accepting your in 
 vitation. I seldom attend parties." 
 
 " What 's the reason ? pray tell. Is it because you 
 dislike the ladies so much ?" 
 
 " O, no, but I do not like to disturb the happiness of 
 others by my presence." 
 
 " If that is so, you ought to have heard how we were 
 just mourning your absence." 
 
 " Can it be ? You must have been laboi'ing under 
 aberration of mind." 
 
 " We were never more sane in our lives. Will has 
 even been reproaching nature for not having given 
 him three arms, so that he might take care of your lady 
 for you." 
 
 " My lady?" said the doctor. 
 
 " Yes, your lady ;" and turning to Miss Hapwood, 
 who had been an attentive listener, she continued, " I 
 know I should not have introduced the matter so pub 
 licly, but I trust to your generosity to excuse me." 
 
 The doctor's countenance darkened. But recollect 
 ing himself, he assumed a cheerful air, and remarked 
 that he regretted if this was the case ; he would be 
 more prompt in future ; and offered to make any atone 
 ment which the ladies might consider necessary.
 
 UELEN LINCOLN. 195 
 
 "You can atone in no other way than by offering 
 her your arm, and being most attentive the remainder 
 of the evening." 
 
 " Will you take my arm, then ?" he said, bowing to 
 Miss Hapwood. 
 
 She readily accepted it ; and bidding the trio good- 
 by, they moved away among the crowd. 
 
 "Haven't I done it?" said Louise, triumphantly. 
 "I told her I would." 
 
 "Yes, you have," replied Will; "and I hope you 
 will be as successful for yourself I mean I know you 
 will be as successful for yourself. Excuse my mistake." 
 
 " Come, sir ! no insinuations ; but see how happy my 
 couple look. I think the doctor makes a fine beau. 
 What does make him appear so oddly at times?" 
 
 " O, you don't know him ! When you are as well 
 acquainted with him as I am, you will understand him 
 better." 
 
 Miss Hapwood entertained the doctor nearly an 
 hour, and was becoming quite delighted with his atten 
 tions, when he said, rather bluntly, 
 
 " I must beg to be excused, Miss Hapwood. I would 
 like to find Miss Doxtater, and say ' Good-evening' be 
 fore I go ;" and without giving her time to reply, he 
 left her. 
 
 Louise was surprised when he told her his intention 
 to leave, and asked, "What have you done with Miss 
 Hapwood ?" 
 
 " I excused myself," he answered. 
 
 " And before you have taken any refreshments ?" 
 
 " I don't care for any. Good-evening," he said, and 
 was gone. 
 
 " Provoking fellow !" exclaimed Louise. " But let 
 us go and find Miss Hapwood." 
 
 She was standing in a kind of perplexed study, just
 
 196 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 where she had been left, when they approached her, 
 and did not observe them until Louise spoke, " Is n't 
 that one way to be gallant ?" 
 
 " It 's a way I don't fancy." 
 
 " Nor I, either ; but it is just like him. I believe I 'd 
 let him go if I were you, Miss Hapwood. I should n't 
 fancy him any better than I do his ways," continued 
 Louise. 
 
 " He goes, whether I let him or not," replied Miss 
 Hapwood. 
 
 " Now I can explain all this at once," interrupted 
 Will. " The doctor was so overcome with your agree 
 able society, he could not endure it another moment. 
 He will do what is right, I am confident, one of these 
 days." 
 
 " Maybe," said Louise ; " and I think I will follow 
 his example, and excuse myself, Mr. Will. I '11 make it 
 all right, one of these days ; just now I must attend to 
 the rest of my company. I must flirt awhile with Mon 
 sieur Boutillier. Don't you see he is left in a kind of 
 French solitude ? Meanwhile, I will put you under 
 Will's care, Miss Hapwood ; and we will see if he is 
 any more trusty than his friend." 
 
 " What a precious trust I have !" said Will, offering 
 his arm to Miss Hapwood. 
 
 " I am glad if you realize it," she replied. 
 
 " O, I do, fully." Then turning to the young girl at 
 his side, who had been so long silent, he said, " Come, 
 Franky, what is the matter with you ? You must 
 wake up and say something, or I shall have to take you 
 to the asylum for mutes. Why don't you let us hear 
 your charming voice ?" 
 
 " I presume it is owing to my ignorance," she re 
 plied. " I am like a freshman in such a place as this, 
 and have n't learned much small-talk yet."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 197 
 
 " Do you mean to call what we say, small-talk ?" 
 
 " Certainly I do ; and I have been learning to cany 
 a part. I consider this a very fine opportunity for me." 
 
 " Let me tell you," said Will, lengthening his face, 
 " these matters which have engaged our attention are 
 of vital importance ; you will see things in their true 
 light hereafter." 
 
 " When all things are done right, I suppose," she 
 answered ; and continued, " You see I am quite an apt 
 scholar." 
 
 Just here the voice of Mr. Doxtater was heard, re 
 questing the guests to repair to the east and west 
 wings of the house, for refreshments. Miss Hapwood 
 was quite at ease with her new escort, and compli 
 mented him highly upon his gallantry. He was careful 
 that the ladies should receive a portion of every deli 
 cacy, and was particularly careful that each should have 
 a good supply of mottoes ; and with those missives he 
 made many startling declarations of affection. " Here 
 is one," he said, " for you, Franky ; just the thing ; I 
 could not have expressed my own feelings as well had 
 I studied a week on the subject." 
 
 She took it, and read thus : 
 
 " I wish you were a mouse, 
 
 And I a cat to watch ye, 
 I 'd chase ye all about the house, 
 
 You little mischief; till I 'd catch ye." 
 
 "And, fortunately, I have just the answer for you," 
 said she, gayly, offering him a paper she had been hold 
 ing some minutes : 
 
 " The motto I received from thee 
 Is candied o'er with flattery." 
 
 " Tell me," said Will, " you are ignorant on these 
 subjects ! I believe you are a natural flirt, trifling with
 
 198 IIELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 ray feelings in this kind of style. I expected some 
 thing very sweet and overcoming from you. Ah, Miss 
 Franky ! you are beginning altogether too young to 
 break hearts. I imagine you design to make a whole 
 sale business of it." 
 
 Twice John came with the coach, and twice was or 
 dered at a later hour ; and when, at last, Will was 
 ready to leave, the gray light of morning was shed 
 over the city. 
 
 " 'T is mighty tedious," said John, after Franky had 
 been left at her home, " to be watchin' the hours, and 
 comin' out in so cold an evenin' as this." 
 
 " You don't mean to complain, do you, John ? why 
 I expect you to do it often for me. This is only the 
 first time. But here 's a half-dollar, which I think will 
 square ah 1 accounts." 
 
 " No nade of that, at all, sir !" replied John careful, 
 however, that the coin was safely lodged in his pocket 
 before he made the remark. "I was only thinkin' 
 ye 'd better fix upon the hour it shall be, another time, 
 to be more sparin' of the hosses. They are a fine span, 
 and yer father does n't like them taxed too grately." 
 
 " And you got a little lonesome and sleepy, I guess, 
 John." 
 
 " Not in the laste. Helen set me some strong tay on 
 the stove, and gave me a grate chair and piller, so I 
 was as easy as ye could wish ; but, since ye 're home, 
 I '11 be takin' to the bed I 'm thinkin'." 
 
 " Money will do almost any thing for you, won't it, 
 John?" said "Will, who understood the Irishman's 
 weakness well. 
 
 " Ah, indade, and it will," he answered. " Sure, the 
 world 's poor without the money."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THREE years had passed away. Mrs. White's dis 
 ease had yielded, in a great measure, to medical treat 
 ment ; and she was able to move, with little difficulty, 
 in the midst of her family. Helen was still with them. 
 Her kindness and true worth were fully appreciated by 
 them, and they had learned to love her as a child and 
 sister. She had been Minnie's assistant in her studies, 
 and many an approving smile had been bestowed upon 
 her pupil, by Miss Jenks, for the accomplishment of 
 difficult tasks which, without Helen's aid, had remained 
 unlearned. 
 
 To Helen the world had grown brighter, and life 
 dearer. She lived independently, and was conscious 
 that she had secured the love of those whose friend 
 ship was better than riches. Her sadness had given 
 place to cheerfulness, though the gayety which is the 
 usual companion of her years, was wanting. Minnie 
 had grown, but the artlessness which characterized her 
 when a child was the greatest charm of her girlhood. 
 She was like a sunbeam in the midst of her home, 
 whose light shed happiness into every heart. 
 
 Mr. White had concluded to spend the coming sum 
 mer in the country, and, early in the spring, their 
 country-seat was repaired for their reception. The 
 dust of years was to be brushed away, and the house 
 thoroughly ventilated before it could be occupied. 
 Betty and John were several days in accomplishing 
 this, and when, at last, the family came from the city,
 
 200 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 the pride of the faithful servants, on account of their 
 success, was clearly manifested. Betty led Mrs. White 
 and Helen through the kitchen and wash-room, calling 
 their attention to every trifling convenience, and ex 
 pressing unbounded delight at the increased extent of 
 her premises. All the tin and copper utensils, with 
 the great copper pump, which stood just within the 
 kitchen-door, were bright as polished mirrors. 
 
 " Ye '11 never be lavin' this, I 'm sure," she said to 
 Mrs. White ; " it 's so delightful to see the green trees 
 and hear the robins sing. Sure, the city 's no place to 
 be stayin' in." And in Betty's joy did Mrs. White 
 truly participate. She could feel new strength in 
 vigorating her frame with every breath of air 'she in 
 haled. 
 
 " I like it all well," continued Betty, " barrin' the 
 stone men and women in the garden ; at night they 're 
 so like the ghosts I used to hear ob in the ould coun- 
 thry. I wound the one yonder with a blanket, the 
 second night afther I come, for it stood lookin' straight 
 at me when I tried to slape, and the light o' the moon 
 made it life itself, and it scared the wits out o' me, for 
 every time I opened me eyes I thought, shure, ' twas 
 a-movin'." 
 
 Marks of neglect were everywhere visible about the 
 grounds ; the weeds had grown over the edges of the 
 walks, and there was hardly a trace of the flower-beds 
 left. To arrange these properly afforded employment 
 both pleasant and useful to Helen. She directed John 
 about cutting a smooth edge to the walks, and watched 
 him lest his clumsy spade should cut beyond the line 
 she had drawn. She taught him to roll the gravel so 
 that the hollows which had been washed out by the 
 heavy rains should be filled, and the drifted piles of 
 stone removed. She taught him to prune the trees, and
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 201 
 
 selected the branches which were to be cut, in order 
 that each might grow thriftily and well-proportioned. 
 
 A long line of currant-bushes were growing against 
 the side fence of the garden. These bushes had become 
 perfectly rank, and were wasting ah 1 their strength in 
 leaves. When Helen had instructed him how to rem 
 edy this, and was certain he needed no further help 
 from her, she left him, and went to attend to her duties 
 in the house. Once or twice she came to the door and 
 spoke an encouraging word, for she well knew how 
 much this would lighten John's task, and she was never 
 forgetful to do a kindness, and John truly merited en 
 couragement. Suddenly she heard him screaming, as 
 if in great distress, and running out, saw him surround 
 ed by hornets. He was striking at them with all his 
 might, but the battle was not to the strong, and the 
 little winged army had all the advantage. 
 
 " Come away, John ! come away !" cried Helen, and 
 John threw himself upon the grass, rolling and scream 
 ing in agony. 
 
 Helen did not wait a moment, but ran to the brook 
 and filling her hand with soft black mud, came to his 
 assistance. The hornets were flying angrily about their 
 nest, and she drew him away from the bushes, and then 
 covered his face and hands with the mud, while he 
 kept up a constant screaming. 
 
 " O, me face is ruined ! The ba'as have killed me, 
 intirely ! O, me hands ! me hands ! I 'm dyin' with the 
 smart ! I 'm stung ! I 'm stung ! Blame the ba'as !" 
 
 Helen's remedy proved effectual, and in less than an 
 hour he was quietly sitting in the kitchen. 
 
 John had changed his clothes after this adventure, 
 
 and his vengeance was partially satisfied by the killing 
 
 of the little creatures which had crawled into his sleeves. 
 
 It was laughable to see him covered with mud, and 
 
 9*
 
 202 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 listen to his account of the engagement. His zeal 
 about trimming the row alone had abated, and he ex 
 pressed his conviction that it would be " safer not to 
 meddle in them parts." 
 
 At evening, when the hornets were all gathered in 
 the nest, Helen filled a large dipper with water, tind 
 told John to take his pruning-knife and follow her. 
 When he saw that she was going directly toward the 
 dreaded nest, he remonstrated loudly. 
 
 " Sure, Miss Helen, they can sting in the dark ; ye '11 
 be betther out of this. Ye can't drown them, at all, at 
 all.'' 
 
 Helen bade John be quiet, and going cautiously to 
 the nest, she placed the water under the opening near 
 the bottom, so that the hornets could not escape, and 
 ordered John to cut the bush upon which it was fast 
 ened, close to the root. "When he saw how they were 
 secured, he obeyed cheerfully, for he was anxious to 
 see them destroyed. But Helen took the bush and 
 carried it careful to keep the water under the opening 
 to a thicket of low bushes in an adjoining field, and 
 there left the nest unharmed. 
 
 John went willingly to his work the next morning, 
 but he was ever after careful, when trimming currant- 
 bushes, to keep an -eye out for the hornets. 
 
 The second Sabbath morning after their removal to 
 the country, Helen arose very early, and wandered in 
 the grove before the house. There is a sacredness 
 about the Sabbath in the country which is never felt in 
 the thickly-peopled city. A sweet and holy quiet ap 
 pears to pervade all nature, and throughout her broad 
 temple each breeze seems to whisper, 
 
 " The Lord is in His holy temple, let all the world 
 keep silence before him." 
 
 The trees seem to wave more gently, and the birds
 
 HE LBN LINCOLN. 203 
 
 to sing more sweetly upon the Sabbath day than upon 
 all the other six ; and " from the rising of the sun even 
 unto the going down of the same, all His works praise 
 Hun." Helen had learned this in former years, and 
 she arose thus early that she might not lose a single 
 hour of the precious time. Her heart beat in unison 
 with nature, and she found sweet pleasure as each mo 
 ment passed. The new-born leaves, with every blade 
 of grass, breathed their Maker's praise ; and when the 
 bell of the neighboring church rung the hour of service, 
 every farm-house poured forth a company of worship 
 ers. The faithful horses, which had all the week been 
 dragging the plow through the beaten earth, snuffed 
 with delight at the lighter task of carrying their mas 
 ters to the church. John put the horses before the 
 carriage, and Helen, with Minnie and Will, joined 
 those who had gathered there. 
 
 But little change had taken place in the country 
 meeting-house since Helen was last hi it, and she ob 
 served many a familiar face. There was the same little 
 square desk for a pulpit, and the same high-backed 
 pews. She noticed, particularly, the one where she sat 
 the first Sunday she came there with Willie Burke ; but 
 all had been painted newly, in anticipation of the com 
 ing of a new minister. Helen, at first, regretted that 
 the pastor, to whose teachings she had formerly lis 
 tened, was gone ; but she recollected how time had 
 laid its hand heavily upon him, how his voice trembled 
 when he assured his flock that his work was almost 
 done ; that, though he waited patiently his, appointed 
 time, he looked, with pleasure, to the day when he 
 should join the company who arq keeping the holier 
 Sabbath on high ; and she could but rejoice that he 
 had, at last, reached the haven of his desires. 
 
 When the new pastor entered the pulpit every eye
 
 204 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 was on him ; but he went with an appearance of rev 
 erence, which told, plainly, that he was insensible to all 
 save the all-seeing eye ; and when he bowed his head 
 in silent prayer, a spirit of supplication pervaded the 
 whole assembly, and many a heart joined in the earnest 
 entreaty, that this connection might be blessed to both 
 pastor and people. 
 
 Mr. Ashton for that was the new clergyman's name 
 had just finished his theological studies. He had 
 been recommended to this church upon the death of 
 their pastor, and on this Sabbath entered upon his new 
 charge. There was an unusual solemnity in his man 
 ner, which none failed to observe. Perhaps it was 
 caused by the peculiarity of the occasion ; but if this were 
 so, it proved to the people that his was a heart alive to 
 its responsibilities, and fully awake to their importance. 
 
 The new pastor selected, as his text, Peter's inquiry 
 of Cornelius " I ask, therefore, for what intent ye have 
 sent for me ?" His sermon was an examination of the 
 relations existing between pastor and people, the duties 
 belonging, particularly, to his office, and the co-opera 
 tion he might reasonably expect from them ; and his 
 words came with such power and deep meaning, that 
 they reached the heart of every hearer. After service, 
 they gathered around him, and each extending a 
 friendly hand, offered him an earnest welcome, and re 
 turned to their homes, bearing with them the Heaven- 
 sought blessing of their new and youthful pastor. 
 
 It is a very easy thing to win the heart. Kind words, 
 and a friendly interest in another's welfare, are never- 
 failing means of accomplishing this ; and he who de 
 lights in being kind, who is kind in reality, is always 
 rich in friends. 
 
 When Helen and the children returned, Mrs. White 
 made many inquiries respecting the sermon, and Min-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 205 
 
 nie was very ready to answer. She assured her mother 
 that preaching never before sounded to her as it had 
 that day ; that the people appeared deeply interested 
 in the services ; and when they bowed their heads in 
 prayer, they did not do it because they thought it was 
 necessary on account of custom, but because they 
 really prayed. 
 
 " Can you tell me what the minister's text was ?" 
 asked her mother. 
 
 " Yes, in one minute," answered Minnie, rubbing her 
 head with her hand, as if to rouse her memory. " O, 
 I know," she exclaimed, after a moment's thought, " it 
 was, ' What was the reason you sent for me ?' " But 
 this did not sound quite right, and again she tried to 
 recollect. Helen then opened her Bible at the passage 
 and handed it to Minnie, who read it to her mother. 
 Helen, however, seemed to have little or no inclination 
 to talk, but remained quiet and thoughtful. 
 
 Mr. Ashton was the same gentleman who had called, 
 with Louise and Jack Doxtater, at Mr. Burke's, and 
 whom Louise had notified Miss Julia Hapwood she 
 would probably find " a tittle verdant." His mother 
 was a sister of Mrs. Doxtater, though very unlike her 
 in character and tjste. She died when her son was but 
 a boy ; but the influence of her precepts and holy ex 
 ample, together with her prayers, had kept him un 
 spotted from the world. His father had long since lost 
 his eyesight ; and the property which he had accumu 
 lated in his more prosperous days, was barely sufficient 
 for his own maintenance. 
 
 Mr. Ashton and an only sister were early dependant 
 upon their own exertions for support, and his struggles 
 in obtaining an education had been long and tedious. 
 His visit to New York, several years before, had not 
 been made to revive an intimacy which had then been
 
 206 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 long broken off between kindred families ; but, in the 
 midst of his difficulties, he had ventured to ask the 
 loan of a few hundred dollars from his uncle, who had 
 enough and to spare, to enable him sooner to complete 
 his studies. He felt confident that he should be able 
 to refund the money long before it was needed, and 
 offered to devote the first fruits of his labors to that 
 purpose. But his uncle was older, and, in his own 
 estimation, much wiser than his nephew ; and, after 
 impressing upon his young mind, the advantage of grad 
 uating, even at a later period, free from all pecuniary in- 
 cumbrances, sent him away as empty as he had come. 
 
 Perhaps this disappointment was not without its good 
 results to Mr. Ashton, but he could not divest himself 
 of the belief that avarice had, in this instance, deprived 
 the world of some benefits which he might have 
 wrought, by more than a year of earnest efforts as a 
 pastor. But the difficulties were now overcome, and 
 he had entered upon the great mission of benevolence 
 and love, which our Saviour left to his early followers. 
 
 Before the leaves of spring, at that time just burst 
 ing into life, had put on their autumnal hues, his sister 
 became a teacher in the little school-house by the 
 church (the same in which Helen ha,d been instructed 
 in her childhood), and they two, with their aged sire, 
 lived hi the cottage near by. It was pleasing to watch 
 the expression of gratitude in that sister's face, as she 
 listened to her brother's ministrations, and witnessed 
 his success ; and to see the tears gather in the father's 
 sightless eyes, as the words of comfort and hope, ut 
 tered by his son, fell upon his ear. Although that 
 father could not see, he knew by the holy quiet which 
 surrounded him, that all the assembly were filled with 
 the spirit which then- pastor invoked heaven to shed 
 down upon his beloved people.
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " WILL ye be afther comin' into the kitchen, Helen ? 
 it 's meself that '11 not stay alone there another minute," 
 exclaimed Betty, in a state of great excitement ; " sure, 
 she 's no wit at all, or she 'd not be spaltin' such non 
 sense." 
 
 " Who what is it Betty ?" asked Helen, preparing 
 to follow her. 
 
 "And is n't that same more than Betty can tell ye? 
 grate things she 's sayin', all the time, of the light on 
 the water, and it 's not a bit of a light I 've had since 
 she came. What need of one had I in the day time, 
 sure ?" 
 
 " O, I know, it must be old Barbara," said Helen. 
 "Poor creature, is she alive yet ! she is a crazy woman, 
 Betty, but she never does any harm." 
 
 " And did n't I know she was crazy as soon as ever I 
 see the face of her," replied Betty. ' " But, and is n't it 
 harm to be scarin' the wits out of me, too, I 'd. like to 
 know. Ye 'd better send her out of this directly." 
 
 Barbara rose and made a precise courtesy when 
 Helen entered the kitchen, repeating the civility as 
 Mrs. White and Minnie, who had overheard the con 
 versation, appeared. 
 
 " How do you do, Barbara, and what have you been 
 doing since I went away from here ?" inquired Helen, 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "Looking for the light in the grave-yard," replied 
 the maniac ; " but it has n't burned yet."
 
 208 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " Och, save us !" exclaimed Betty, making the sign 
 of the cross upon her breast, and terrified at this 
 strange answer. 
 
 "It is too late to save us now," replied Barbara, 
 staring vacantly at Betty. " The light has gone out, 
 clear out on the water." 
 
 " Oj St. Mary ! but forgive me if it 's swarin," again 
 exclaimed Betty. 
 
 " Have you had any breakfast, Barbara ?" inquired 
 Helen. 
 
 " Yes, I eat as soon as the daylight comes. I never 
 want for food, but the darkness is my trouble," and 
 then, uttering a loud maniac laugh which drove Betty 
 into the most remote corner of the room, old Barbara 
 continued : " And your light went out on the water, 
 Nellie Lincoln, but you have been coy of the rain, and, 
 may be, it will shine outside of the grave-yard for 
 you." 
 
 " You have told me this a great many times," re 
 plied Helen. " Won't you try and tell me what you 
 mean, and what the light was ?" 
 
 Barbara uttered another loud laugh, which revealed 
 how perfectly the light of her reason had gone out, 
 and answered, 
 
 " I thought you had forgotten it, but it was a great 
 light, and it was dark when it went out, but it will 
 burn for me soon, again, and I have come to tell you 
 of it ; the darkness is almost over now." 
 
 " What light, Barbara ?". again asked Helen. 
 
 " The great light which you have forgotten," she re 
 plied. 
 
 " Barbara," interrupted Mrs. White, " where do you 
 live ?" 
 
 " In expectation of the light," answered the maniac. 
 
 " Do you suffer any ?" again inquired the other.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 209 
 
 "There is misery in the darkness, but it's almost 
 over now ;" and the horrifying laugh of the crazy woman 
 told how far hope and reason sometimes dwell apart. 
 
 " She talks very strangely," said Mrs. White, turn 
 ing to Helen ; " I do not understand her at all." 
 
 " Nor I," replied the other. " She has often told 
 me these same things, and she seems to know some 
 thing about me." 
 
 " Yes," interrupted Barbara. " I know how your 
 light went out ; and have n't you seen the darkness ?" 
 
 " And what d' ye think ye '11 find out by that ? ye 'd 
 betther be lavin' her to herself, and not bother yer 
 brains with the nonsense," said Betty, having gathered 
 courage enough to leave the corner. " I '11 give her a 
 bit if she wants it, and then let her be off." 
 
 " Let her stay as long as she chooses," replied Mrs. 
 White ; " you should pity her." 
 
 " And it 's meself '11 be afther needin' the pity, if ye 
 lave her here much longer," remonstrated Betty. 
 
 " Blame the witch !" exclaimed John as he entered 
 the kitchen and saw Barbara there. " Is n't it meself 
 that 's bate now ; three days the ould crature has been 
 peekin' through the fence, and I bid her begone out of 
 this entirely; shall I put her abroad, ma'am?" 
 
 " No, John, no ; treat her kindly," said Mrs. White 
 and Helen both at once ; " she can do no hurt." 
 
 " Strange likin's ye have, if ye 're fond of that sort 
 o' company," replied John; "sure, ye can get no 
 maanin' out of her, but it 's a light blame her non 
 sense she talks of entirely ;" and as she heard the 
 word light, she uttered another horrible laugh. 
 
 "Murther!" exclaimed, John; " the voice of her 's 
 destroyin'." 
 
 " Be coy of the storms, Nellie Lincoln," said Bar 
 bara, rising to leave ; " be coy of the storms, for your 
 light went out on the water."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 To Helen, every day of their stay in the country re 
 vived some recollection of former years. The fields, 
 the woods, and the wild-flowers, were freighted with 
 memories of the past. She rambled with Minnie over 
 the places which she had known in her childhood, and 
 told her of many and many an incident which then oc 
 curred. Together they sat by the side of Willie's 
 grave, and Minnie's tears fell in sympathy with those 
 which Helen shed. But sometimes "Helen visited the 
 place alone. She had often done so in the early morn 
 ing, but the dew on the long grass made this impru 
 dent, and she sought other opportunities. 
 
 One pleasant afternoon, in the early summer, when 
 a company of Will's Mends had come to spend a day 
 with him, at his coflntry home, and Minnie was enjoy 
 ing their society, Helen stole quietly out of the back 
 garden, and went to the grave of Willie. 
 
 She sat down upon the grass by the head-stone, un 
 conscious that any person was near to see, or to dis 
 turb her. She had been there but a few minutes, how 
 ever, when a rustling near by startled her, and looking 
 in the direction from which the sound proceeded, she 
 saw Mr. Ashton. He had been reading, just behind a 
 large tree which stood near, and fearing lest his pres 
 ence might be an intrusion, was making an effort to 
 leave unobserved. Helen's apparent agitation offered 
 a sufficient apology for speaking, and he said,
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 211 
 
 "Please, excuse me; I did not Intend to be dis 
 covered." 
 
 "Rather excuse me for interrupting you," replied 
 Helen ; " I did not know that any other person ever 
 came here." 
 
 "I often come," said he, "to read. I find this a 
 most delightful place, and a much more inviting study 
 than my low chamber in the house." 
 
 " It is, indeed, a lovely place, and particularly so to 
 me, on the account of one I once loved, but I did not 
 design to remain long, and I beg you will not let me 
 disturb you. I shall leave immediately," said she, 
 turning toward the entrance to the inclosure. 
 
 " By no means !" said Mr. Ashton. " The graves of 
 our friends are spots sacredly our own, and I can not 
 consent to your leaving until you have remained as 
 long as you choose. I can come another time just as 
 well." 
 
 "I thank you," said Helen. 
 
 "Allow me to inquire, will you?" continued Mr. 
 Ashton, " if these are relatives of yours ? I know 
 them, the family of a Mr. Burke, who formerly owned 
 the house where I board." 
 
 Helen hesitated a moment ; her answer would natu 
 rally reveal much of her early misfortune, or, if evaded, 
 excite Mr. Ashton's curiosity, and pei-haps increase her 
 embarrassment, and she answered frankly, 
 
 " No, sir ! but I was brought to Mr. Burke's when a 
 child, and I loved Willie as a brother." 
 
 Mr. Ashton was Helen's pastor, and with him she 
 felt acquainted, and still he was a stranger. She had, 
 however, a strong confidence in him. That this was 
 so, her manner plainly indicated, and it was not sur 
 prising that Mr. Ashton, taking advantage of the oppor 
 tunity, remarked,
 
 212 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " I have seen you at church, if I remember correctly, 
 with the son and daughter of Mr. White." 
 
 " Yes, sir ! I am living there now, and it is a very 
 delightful home for me. I think I was more fortunate 
 than people in my circumstances often are, in finding 
 such a home." 
 
 Helen had made this last remark purposely to inter 
 est Mr. Ashton, for she longed to share his sympathy. 
 
 " Pardon me if I ask," said he, " since you have in 
 troduced the subject, what you mean by people in like 
 circumstances with you ?" 
 
 " I mean those who are left, as I was, very early in 
 life, without parents, and without any means of sup 
 port ;" and she added, feelingly, " I was left so." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Ashton, " when earthly parents are 
 taken away, we have still a Father in heaven, who lias 
 promised to be a Father to the fatherless. I trust you 
 have found His promise true ?" He paused a moment 
 for a reply, but receiving none, he asked, " Have you 
 not learned to call Him Father ?" 
 
 " I have," said Helen ; " and I have never been al 
 lowed to suffer since I can remember. I mean," she 
 continued, " for the necessaries of life." 
 
 " And have' you suffered in any way ?" he asked. 
 
 " I have sometimes wished that I had some kind rel 
 ative, but now, in Mrs. White's family I have all that I 
 can desire." 
 
 " I know them to be wealthy, and able to gratify 
 every wish, but often the good fortune of those around 
 us serves to render the less fortunate unhappy. Does it 
 not sometimes affect you in this way?" again he inquired. 
 
 " O, no !" said Helen, " I never wished for wealth ; I 
 only desire a true friend, and I know that I have more 
 than one in that family. If you knew Mrs. White, you 
 would value her friendship more than riches.'*
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 213 
 
 " Have I ever seen her ?" asked Mr. Ashton. 
 
 " I think not," replied Helen, " She has been an in 
 valid for years, and though she is much better now than 
 formerly, she is not able to ride to church and sit dur 
 ing the service, and she seldom goes outside of the 
 yard. I remember all I can of the sermon, and tell it 
 to her after I get home." 
 
 " Perhaps she would not consider it out of place 
 since she resides at present in my parish if I should 
 call upon her ?" said he, in an inquiring tone. 
 
 " I know she would not," replied Helen. " I have 
 heard her express a wish that you would do so." 
 
 " I thank you," said Mr. Ashton, " but I did not de 
 sign to interrupt you so long," and shaking Helen's 
 hand, he left. 
 
 Helen entirely forgot the reflections in which she 
 had come to indulge. The pressure of the hand she 
 had just shaken seemed to have imparted a sensation 
 to her own which did not leave it when the hand was 
 removed, and the voice, with every word Mr. Ashton 
 had uttered, seemed constantly sounding in her ears. 
 Even after she reached home, they did not leave her, 
 and when others spoke to her, it seemed like an inter 
 ruption. The reason of this she could not discover, she 
 only knew that she had felt much in the same manner 
 when she came from church, after having listened to 
 Mr. Ashton's sermon she know not that 
 
 " Love at first is but a dreamy thing, 
 That slyly nestles in the human heart." 
 
 She never thought of love, and would have denied 
 the truth, though innocently, had she been questioned. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter with you, Helen !" said 
 Minnie, after many useless efforts to engage her atten 
 tion ; " you won't talk at all."
 
 214 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " What is it ? Nothing at all," answered Helen, a 
 little confusedly, " I will hear you now." 
 
 " Why, I have been telling you a great many pleas 
 ant things which have happened this afternoon, and 
 some very laughable ones too, and I don't believe you 
 know any thing about them now," replied Minnie. 
 
 "And I shall join with Minnie in this complaint," 
 said Mrs. White, cheerfully. " I never saw you appear 
 so strangely." 
 
 " I did not know it," replied Helen. 
 
 " I don't think you know any thing that is going on," 
 continued Minnie, " but you seem to be keeping up a 
 wonderful thinking. Come, tell us what your thoughts 
 are." 
 
 Helen slightly blushed and answered, " Nothing of 
 any importance." 
 
 " I think they must be of considerable importance to 
 change you so much," said Minnie, " and I am quite 
 curious to know what they are." 
 
 Helen could not have been induced to reveal her 
 thoughts. She would have blushed to own that an ac 
 cidental interview with one who was as a stranger to 
 her, had so much influenced her; and to satisfy Minnie, 
 she said, 
 
 " I have been to the grave-yard ; perhaps that has 
 made me a little thoughtful." 
 
 " O, that .is where you have been," said the other. 
 " I have looked all over for you." 
 
 "Did you want me for any thing particular?" in 
 quired Helen. 
 
 " Yes," said Minnie ; " for something very particular, 
 indeed. A gentleman from the city came to pay you 
 a visit while you were gone." 
 
 " Pray, tell who called upon me from the city !" said 
 Helen.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 215 
 
 " When I think you are awakened enough to realize 
 it, I shall tell you ; but I will wait awhile ; your anxiety 
 to know will be a good thing to arouse you," said Minnie. 
 
 " I guess I can realize it now. I confess a little 
 eagerness to know who it could be," replied Helen. 
 
 "It was Doctor Duval," said Minnie, laughing. 
 
 " What do you mean by telling me this, Minnie ?" 
 
 " Just exactly what I said. Doctor Duval called to 
 see you this afternoon." 
 
 "You are jesting, I 'm sure." 
 
 " Ask mother, then ;" and Minnie turning to her 
 mother, said, " Mother, is n't it so ?" 
 
 " Your word, I think, will satisfy Helen," answered 
 her mother. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," said Helen ; " but it was a 
 thing so unexpected, I could hardly credit it at first ; I 
 thought Minnie must be joking." 
 
 This was, in reality, no very wonderful circumstance, 
 for Mrs. White's family had long ago forgotten Helen 
 in her capacity of servant ; she had become as one of 
 them ; and though her discretion did not suffer her to 
 take the least advantage of this in regard to associating 
 with Mrs. White's friends, she often saw Doctor Du 
 val, whose visits had been so frequent, and he had 
 learned to look upon her as did the family. 
 
 "I think he was quite dissatisfied," said Minnie. 
 " He appeared so ; indeed, he was almost as absent- 
 minded as yourself." 
 
 " Perhaps he wished to know if I had broken my 
 arm again, since I am living in the country." 
 
 " No ; he wanted to see you, not professionally ; he 
 really likes you, and I always knew it ; he left his com 
 pliments for Miss Helen; and he wished me to say, 
 that the next time he came he would like to have you 
 let your whereabouts be known."
 
 216 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " I am very much obliged," said Helen. 
 
 " And are you not sorry that you were away ? I ex 
 pected to hear you express a great deal of regret." 
 
 Helen did not in the least regret that she had not 
 seen Doctor Duval. Her dislike for him then seemed 
 even stronger than ever, and she was rather pleased 
 because she was absent when he came. 
 
 Just then, Will and his friends, who had been out 
 for a stroll, came in. Will's eyes glistened as he en 
 tered the room ; and the expression of his counten 
 ance, when he fixed them upon Helen, told her plainly 
 that she might expect to be teased, before be had time 
 to speak. 
 
 " These grave-yard flirtations with the new minister 
 won't do, Helen," said he ; and the remark attracted 
 the attention of the whole company. " We shall have 
 to be careful how we let you go about, alone, after 
 this ;" and turning to his mother, he inquired, " Moth 
 er, has she told you of this ?" 
 
 Helen's face changed a dozen colors in a moment ; 
 but she knew the best way to take a joke was to join 
 it, and she answered, 
 
 " Of course, I kept it entirely to myself, and I thought 
 you was more my friend than to expose me in this 
 way." 
 
 " The true friend looks at the permanent, and not at 
 the momentary good," he continued; "but you didn't 
 think I saw you all the time, did you ?" 
 
 "No; I did not; and I hardly think you saw any 
 thing very wonderful," she replied. 
 
 "No; I suppose not. It wouldn't be any thing 
 very wonderful for you to flirt with a dominie ; it is 
 rather what might be expected," said he. 
 
 " Will, how you talk ! I never flirt. All I said was 
 said soberly and earnestly."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 217 
 
 " Exactly ! I thought you acted as if you were 
 ' playing to keep ;' but I did n't think you would be 
 so willing to own it. Mother," he continued, turning 
 to Mrs. White, " I must tell you how it was, and be 
 off; I will settle with Helen at my leisure. We were 
 walking along the road, when we saw a gray squirrel 
 run down a tree in Mr. Burke's woods, and we went 
 after him. He ran right toward the clearing ; and just 
 as we were going to rush out, I saw Helen and Mr. 
 Ashton talking, as she says, very soberly and earnestly. 
 Of course, we did not interrupt them, but I kept watch 
 until I saw them shake hands and part." 
 
 " I imagine here lies the secret of your absent-mind 
 edness," said Mrs. White, to Helen, after Will had left 
 the room ; " now, you will tell us all about it, will you 
 not ?" 
 
 " Certainly I will," answered Helen. " I went to sit 
 a while by Willie Burke's grave, and found Mr. Ash- 
 ton there reading. I insisted upon leaving, but he ob 
 jected so strongly that I remained ; and after a very 
 little conversation he left." 
 
 " What did he say ?" asked Minnie, becoming a little 
 inquisitive. 
 
 Helen's memory seemed to have grown, suddenly, 
 very treacherous. She could not recollect a v r ord of 
 what she knew so well but a few moments before, and 
 she replied, 
 
 " He made some inquiries about the graves, and this 
 family." 
 
 " O, I wish you had invited him to call here," said 
 Minnie ; and her mother added, 
 
 " Yes, I should like to see him." 
 
 " I did not invite him, but he said perhaps he should 
 do so, and I think he will," said Helen. 
 
 Will never forgot his promise to settle with Helen at 
 10
 
 -v - 
 
 218 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 his leisure, but his leisure hours all chanced to come on 
 Sunday, when they were riding from church, or after 
 service, when she wished to spend them alone, in re 
 flection. 
 
 To say that Helen loved Mr. Ashton after their first 
 interview, in the sense in which loving is commonly 
 understood, might, perhaps, be doing her injustice ; but 
 she herself would willingly have acknowledged that, 
 aside from her high respect for his character, she 
 greatly admired both his address and personal appear 
 ance. These influences are the foundation of all true 
 esteem, and the heart, once impressed with them, very 
 rapidly yields to the influence of the sweeter passion.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 EAKLY one morning the carriage was standing be 
 fore the gate, in readiness for Mr. White, who was 
 going to the city on business, when Mr. Ashton came 
 round the corner, on foot. When he reached the gate 
 he stopped, and leaned thoughtfully against it. John 
 was in the yard, and thinking he might be waiting to 
 speak to some of the family, he approached him, with 
 the pleasant salutation, 
 
 " The top o' the mornin' to yer reverence, sir ! may 
 be ye 'd like to see some of them within." 
 
 " Good morning !" replied Mr. Ashton. " Will you 
 tell me if this carriage is to take any of the family to 
 town this morning ?" 
 
 "Yes, to be sure! Isn't it every other morning 
 Misther White goes to the store !" 
 
 " Will he return this evening ?" inquired Mr. Ash 
 ton. 
 
 " Sure, he '11 be back at tay time, or near that." 
 
 *' Is he going alone ?" continued the clergyman. 
 
 " He is, sure. May be ye 'd be likin' to share the 
 seat," said John. " Misther White will be comin' him 
 self directly, and then ye can ask him, and it's meself 
 knows he '11 not refuse." Then, as if recollecting him 
 self, he said, " but maybe ye 'd just step into the house 
 and take a seat." 
 
 "No, I thank you ; I will wait here. I am obliged 
 to go to the city, this morning, and have no means of 
 getting there. I think it probable Mr. White will
 
 220 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 have no objection to my company, if he is intending to 
 go alone." 
 
 " Not the least, I 'in sure," said John. 
 
 " John !" cried a voice from the door of the house, 
 " take this glass jar and put it into the carriage ; be 
 careful and not break it." 
 
 " He is quite ready now," said John, as he went to 
 do as he was bidden, and in a moment more he came 
 back with Mr. White. "This is your own praste," 
 said he to that gentleman, as they came near to Mr. 
 Ashton, by way of introduction. " He 's business in 
 town, and not a bit of a horse. May be, sir, ye 'd not 
 be dislikin' his company, and he '11 go with ye." 
 
 " Good morning, sir !" said Mr. White, extending 
 his hand to Mr. Ashton. " Certainly, I shall be glad 
 of your company. Take a seat in the carriage, and we 
 will be off immediately." 
 
 Mr. Ashton hesitated a moment, and then said, "I 
 should have expressed my wishes hi the form of a re 
 quest, and I hope you will take it so from me ; your 
 man's confidence in your kindness will not warrant 
 presumption on my part." 
 
 " No apology necessary. I know John well ; it is 
 all right ; step into the carriage, if you please," said 
 Mr. White, and turning to John, he continued, " John, 
 you may draw off the water of the fish-pond, to-day, 
 and rake out the rubbish, and throw a little fresh gravel 
 over the bottom, and have it filled, ready for the fish I 
 shall bring when I come back ; and be careful you don't 
 make a fish of yourself in the operation." 
 
 " Never fear," said John, " ye '11 not be back till it 's 
 done." 
 
 Mr. White then stepped into the carriage, and crack 
 ing his whip once, " Mike" started gayly toward the 
 city.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 221 
 
 u May I ask the double favor of returning with 
 you?" said Mr. Ashton, immediately after they had 
 started. 
 
 " Certainly, sir," replied Mr. White ; " but I leave 
 town rather early." 
 
 " My business will detain me there but a short time," 
 replied the clergyman, " and I shall be glad to get back 
 as soon as possible ;" and he added, " do you know any 
 thing of old Mr. Douglas, who lives about a mile up 
 the road from your residence ?" 
 
 " I do not," said Mr. White, " why do you inquire ?" 
 
 " He is very ill, and I fear can not recover," replied 
 Ashton ; " but he is poor, and has been wholly without 
 medical aid during his illness, and I am going to con 
 sult some good physician for him to-day. I have a lit 
 tle hope he may yet be saved." 
 
 " And this, then, is your errand to town ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And do you intend to take as much care of all the 
 poor people in your parish ?" 
 
 " I wish to do all I am able for them. I consider it 
 my duty." 
 
 " Then let me tell you, my young friend, you have 
 got your, hands full without your preaching, and mark 
 my word, when you are ten years older you will have 
 different ideas of duty." 
 
 " I hope I shall never see it my duty to neglect the 
 poor." 
 
 " I know," said Mr. White, " every young clergyman 
 hopes just so, but before a great while he finds he is 
 getting poor himself; however, don't understand me 
 to object to your errand to-day. Is the old gentleman 
 able to pay for the physician's advice ?" 
 
 " He is not, and objected strongly to my consulting 
 one, on that very account ; but he is a worthy man,
 
 222 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 and does a great deal of good when he is well, and I 
 am not at all willing to see him sink into the grave 
 from neglect." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Mr. White, " and if you ever 
 again need a horse to assist him, there is one standing 
 idle in my stable, and John will harness him for you at 
 any time, or you can ride with me if you choose." 
 
 " Thank you ! I may be glad to avail. myself of your 
 kind permission." 
 
 " It is no kindness, sir. My horse is idle, and it is 
 better that he should be used. I hope you will not in 
 fer, from my manner of speaking, that I would advise 
 you to become less benevolent. I merely suggested 
 that you had duties to yourself as well as to others, and 
 it is a part of my creed that ' charity begins at home.' 
 This thing I have often noticed the poor, in every 
 parish, have an idea that their minister is bound to 
 provide for all their wants, especially if they are mem 
 bers of the church ; and if they suffer in the least, they 
 consider him accountable for it. Now this is all 
 wrong." 
 
 " Perhaps they know that when a person undertakes 
 the work of the ministry he devotes himself entirely to 
 his heavenly Master's service." 
 
 " They seem to think he devotes himself to their serv 
 ice, I am certain, but it's all wrong. A dominie, just 
 because he is a dominie, has not really any more obli 
 gation resting upon him in this matter than I have. 
 To be sure he has more time for such things, and ought 
 to look to them more, but he ought to have a salary 
 for it. If he performs my Christian duties I hold I 
 ought to pay him for it." 
 
 "You have taken altogether a novel ground, I think," 
 said Mr. Ashton, smiling. 
 
 " Well, isn't it pretty nearly the correct one ? You
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 223 
 
 clergymen must live, and if you employ your time in 
 assisting those who would otherwise be thrown upon 
 our charity, is n't it our duty to pay you ? Don't you 
 really see the matter so ? Every man wants a remu 
 neration for his labors." 
 
 " Our reward is from heaven." 
 
 " But, my young friend, you are getting too far the 
 other side of right. Don't you know such a reward 
 will not keep you from starving ? but it 's very good in 
 its place, I acknowledge." 
 
 " It is more to be desired than riches." 
 
 " Were you reduced to real want, I imagine you 
 would say as the old lady did, ' a little of both if you 
 please, sir.' We must not carry our belief any further 
 than we are willing to carry our practice." 
 
 " Very true, sir, I admit," said the young clergyman ; 
 " but I have not intimated that I would be justifiable 
 in neglecting myself; but let me present the subject hi 
 a different light. Am I at liberty to gather together 
 more of the good things of this life than I can profitably 
 use or enjoy, and hoard up these treasures, while my 
 neighbor is suffering for the simplest necessaries ? If 
 my Maker has given to me better business faculties 
 than he has given to that neighbor, or has placed me 
 in circumstances where it is easier for me to become 
 wealthy than it is for him to become so, am I not, 
 therefore, under responsibilities correspondingly great 
 er, to assist him who is less favored than I am ?" 
 
 " Wife has preached that very same doctrine to me 
 for years," answered Mr. White ; " but, after all, she 
 finds it very comfortable to sit down with the reflec 
 tion that there is something laid up for her against a 
 rainy day ; but she does just as she preaches ; and she, 
 and Helen, too, are constantly presenting me with 
 pauper taxes."
 
 224 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " But, of course, you follow your own inclination 
 about paying them." 
 
 " Not at all ! I long ago handed the keeping of my 
 conscience, in these matters, over to them, and I do 
 just as they tell me, and that is living exactly up to my 
 creed, as I stated it before they attend to my deeds 
 of charity, and I pay them for it." 
 
 " Perhaps, in this individual case, the system works 
 well, but I should doubt its expediency as a universal 
 means of performing duties. Will you tell me, if the 
 Helen of whom you spoke of is your daughter ?" 
 
 " No, sir, she is not ! She is a girl wife heard of sev 
 eral years ago ; she was at the hospital with a broken 
 arm, and wife had her brought to the house, and cared 
 for, until she recovered. They are just alike, and they 
 work together well." 
 
 Mr. Ashton was certain he knew who Helen was, and 
 he asked no further questions concerning her. They 
 had now reached the city, and he inquired of Mr. 
 White what physician he had better consult. This 
 gentleman's preferences were always for Doctor Du- 
 val ; and turning round a corner, they stopped before 
 his office. The doctor came out to meet them, and Mr. 
 White said, 
 
 "Doctor Duval, I will make you acquainted with 
 Mr. Ashton, the pastor of our parish in the country. 
 Please give him the information he desires, and what 
 ever else you may think necessary, and charge to my 
 account ;" then turning to Mr. Ashton, who had alight 
 ed, he continued, " I will call here for you at four 
 o'clock," and drove away to his store. 
 
 The doctor's sympathies were quickly enlisted in 
 behalf of the invalid, when he heard Mr. Ashton's 
 story ; and after he had given directions how to 
 manage the case, and prepared several remedies, he
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 225 
 
 placed a piece of money in the young minister's hand, 
 and said, 
 
 " I will make my charge against Mr. White, but the 
 money you may carry to your patient. I can not re 
 ceive pay in a case like this." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Mr. Ashton. " I do not 
 feel at liberty to refuse what you oifer for Mr. Douglas, 
 but I will return you thanks, which I know he will ex 
 press when he receives this from me." 
 
 " Sir," said the doctor, drawing a chair near to Mr. 
 Ashton, and taking a seat upon it, " I think you, min 
 isters, as a class, make great mistakes in regard to the 
 duties of your office." 
 
 " How shall I understand you ?" said Mr. Ashton, a 
 little puzzled. 
 
 " To explain : I mean to say, you preach too much, 
 and practice too little." 
 
 " In any one respect, or in general ?" again inquired 
 Mr. Ashton. 
 
 " You profess to. have devoted yourselves to the 
 promotion of righteousness, and to the spread of the 
 Gospel of Christ. Now, as I read that Gospel, it con 
 sists in feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, distrib 
 uting to the necessities of saints ; and not in spending 
 six whole days of the week preparing a moral essay to 
 be read in the church, to the rich, on the seventh." 
 
 " And a little further on, we are commanded by 
 Christ himself to preach that Gospel to every creature," 
 said Mr. Ashton. 
 
 " But you don't do it. You only preach to such as 
 are pleased to attend church. You can not obey that 
 command unless you go from house to house, among 
 the poor, as well as the rich," said the other. 
 
 " These, certainly, ought we to do, but not to leave 
 Jte other undone," continued Mr. Ashton. "The 
 10*
 
 226 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 souls of men are in as great danger of perishing as their 
 bodies, and as the value of the soul is infinitely greater 
 than that of the body, we should bestow upon it our 
 first thoughts." 
 
 "I can not agree with you," replied the doctor. 
 " The Creator never made a soul, and then suffered it 
 to be lost. It is madness to believe that he did." 
 
 " We see enough every day to convince us that pun 
 ishment follows sin, and why not believe that the sinful 
 soul shall be punished ?" remarked Mr. Ashton. 
 
 " It does not sin in the future world, and it is pun 
 ished in this for the sins committed in this," said the 
 doctor. 
 
 "But your theology fails, I think, to explain why 
 some of the righteous, and the very best people in this 
 world, suffer all their lives long, and finally die in 
 wretchedness, while the vicious are prosperous, and, 
 apparently, happy." 
 
 The doctor knit his brows, and for a time was silent. 
 He had stumbled over this same truth before. At 
 length, however, he remarked, " God is merciful." 
 
 " True," said Mr. Ashton ; " and yet he is just, and 
 will assuredly punish those who abuse his mercy ; but 
 if rewards and punishments are all received in this 
 world, we must, certainly, believe him unjust and 
 partial." 
 
 " We do not all see these matters in the same light," 
 replied the doctor, "consequently we believe different 
 ly ; but when we have once embraced a belief it is a 
 difficult thing to change, and I doubt whether we shall 
 ever come to agree." 
 
 " Perhaps our early education has made us to differ ; 
 but we should be willing to examine both sides of the 
 question, and if our reason and judgment tell us we are 
 in the wrong, we should be willing to embrace tho truth."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 227 
 
 " My education was exactly like yours, but experi 
 ence has proved more successful in teaching than were 
 my parents, and I am convinced that I am nearer the 
 truth now, than when I thought as you do." 
 
 " Have you ever been urged by the sweet voice of 
 affection, to obey the requirements of that Being who 
 will, certainly, punish the disobedient?" 
 
 " I have," said the doctor, hastily ; " but when you 
 take such a turn in the discussion you unman me ; you 
 must deal with my reason, and not with my affections. 
 With your consent we will drop the subject, and if op 
 portunity offers we wiH resume it at some future time. 
 There is a something which you can not know, which 
 drives me to request you to discontinue this conversa 
 tion for the present." 
 
 The doctor maintained a moody silence during the 
 remainder of Mr. Ashton's stay, when in his presence, 
 but much of the time he left him quite alone. Mr. 
 Ash ton was a man of keen perceptions, and he saw, 
 from this short conversation, how unstable were the 
 principles of his new acquaintance, and that his ad 
 herence to them was influenced more by will than by 
 the dictates of reason. 
 
 Mr. White did not come until near half an hour after 
 the appointed time, and then, holding up the glass jar 
 which John had placed in the carriage, and displaying 
 half a dozen goldfish, which were manifesting great 
 uneasiness in their contracted quarters, said : " Minnie 
 thought she could not wait another day for her fish, 
 and I have been detained in finding them. Have you 
 obtained all the advice you needed, Mr. Ashton ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, more than I expected, since the doctor 
 has never seen the patient." 
 
 " Doctor," said Mr. White, " are you very busy at 
 present ?"
 
 
 228 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " Not as much so as usual. I have been engaged in 
 keeping people well, so effectually, that I am losing 
 business rapidly." 
 
 " Could n't you ride out to-morrow and see Mr. 
 Douglas ? I think it would be well." 
 
 " Just as well as not," said the doctor. 
 
 " It might be the means of saving his life," remarked 
 Mr. Ashton ; " but your kindness, gentlemen, is very 
 great, and entirely unexpected." 
 
 " It will be for the doctor's health," said Mr. White ; 
 " and wife will rest better to-night if she thinks I 'm 
 remembering my duties a little ; so the kindness is all 
 toward ourselves ; " don't trouble yourself to mention 
 it, Mr. Ashton." 
 
 " You undertake the assistance of Mr. Douglas so 
 cheerfully," replied the young clergyman, "I may 
 presume to tax your benevolence at some future time." 
 
 " I hope you will," said the doctor ; " you will al 
 ways find me ready to help the poor, I think." 
 
 Minnie and John had both been some time at the 
 gate waiting the return of Mr. White. Minnie prompt 
 ed by her eagernesss to see the gold fish, and John to 
 take charge of the carriage. Minnie caught sight of 
 the bright yellow pets while they were yet some dis 
 tance away, for Mr. Ashton was holding the jar in 
 which they were upon his knee, and before he had time 
 to alight she reached forward her hand to receive them. 
 
 " O, thank you, papa !" she exclaimed ; " I shall kiss 
 you a great many times for your kindness in bringing 
 me these. How bright and beautiful they are. What 
 fine times they will have in the fresh water in the 
 pond ;" and as she spoke, with a gentle toss of her 
 head, she threw back the beautiful ringlets, which no 
 less became her fair features then, than they had done 
 in the days of childhood.
 
 IIELEN LINCOLN. 229 
 
 "But look here I" said her father, taking up Mr. 
 Ashton's hand. " The water has spilled all over these 
 gloves, and I am afraid they are ruined, and these pan 
 taloons, too, are all wet, and the dust with the water 
 has entirely spoiled them ! What are you going to do 
 about this? You or Mike must, certainly, be to blame 
 for it, and we shall have to hold you responsible for a 
 new pair." 
 
 A deep blush shot across the face of the sweet girl, 
 but it immediately vanished as she said, 
 
 " No, papa, you must be the one at fault ; you have 
 driven very carelessly, I 'm sure. You must get the 
 new pair." 
 
 " It is a matter of no consequence, whatever," said 
 Mr. Ashton ; " they will very soon dry." 
 
 " Certainly it is," replied Mr. White, " and Minnie 
 must pay for damages. But I think we '11 postpone 
 the suit a few days, since you are in some haste. 
 John," he continued ; " take the lines and drive wher 
 ever our friend chooses to go." 
 
 " I must decline letting him do so," said Mr. Ashton, 
 rising to alight. " I am very much obliged for your 
 kindness, but I will walk the rest of the way." 
 
 " By no means," replied Mr. White. " Keep your 
 seat ; it is getting late, and since I detained you half- 
 an-hour, I feel bound to do what I can to make up the 
 time." 
 
 Minnie herself turned the jar over the pond, and let 
 the fish drop, one by one, into the clear water. They 
 spread their finny wings as they fell into their native 
 element, and darted away in a company, as if on an ex 
 ploring expedition, just stopping to touch their noses 
 to each projecting stone, and then away again, making 
 the circuit of the pond over and over again. When 
 the fountain played they hid themselves in the niches
 
 230 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 of the surrounding wall to avoid the pelting shower, 
 and when quiet was restored, resumed their gambols 
 in the open water. 
 
 Toys and playthings are always pleasing and valua 
 ble to their little owners, but there is something in a 
 living pet which is far more pleasing, even to the small 
 est child, while it does not fail to offer attractions to the 
 most mature. The gambols of a kitten, the sweet song 
 of a Canary, and the sports of a less approachable fish, 
 seldom fail to doom senseless dolls to utter neglect 
 and this is owing simply to the principle of life. That 
 which is so dear in ourselves renders the presence of 
 the same principle correspondingly dear to us. 
 
 When Mr. Ashton witnessed the gratitude of Mr. 
 Douglas, and heard him raise his feeble voice to offer 
 the prayer of thanksgiving and faith, freighted with 
 petitions for blessings upon his benefactors, he felt that, 
 truly, he was receiving a sufficient reward for his labor 
 of love, while yet on earth's side of heaven ; and when, 
 after a few weeks, strength came again to the invalid, 
 and he went forth with renewed health and vigor, the 
 young pastor became more and more fixed in his reso 
 lution to remember the poor.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 " I HAVE drawn your easy chair out upon the piazza," 
 said Helen to Mrs. White, one sultry afternoon in July, 
 " the sun is now entirely away from that side of the 
 house, and there seems to be a little more air stirring 
 there, and I am sure you will find the place more com 
 fortable than it is here." 
 
 "Thank you, Helen," said Mrs. White; "you are 
 very thoughtful. I have hardly been able to catch a 
 single free breath to-day," and as she accepted the of 
 fered seat, she exclaimed, " O, how refreshing !" 
 
 Mr. White had taken a pillow and was lying upon 
 the grass, under the trees, for he had not sufficient 
 courage to brave the confined heat of the city on such 
 a day. His face was covered with his handkerchief, 
 and one would have believed him sleeping, had not the 
 sudden striking of his hands about his ears, every few 
 moments, given indisputable evidence of the contrary. 
 Minnie was sitting by her mother, testing the cooling 
 powers of a great palm-leaf fan, and watching with no 
 little feeling of merriment, the restlessness of her father. 
 Will had followed Mr. White's example, but was even 
 more restless. He had rolled about till the grass, for 
 yards around him, was bent down by his weight. All 
 at once he gave a hearty laugh, and said, rising to 
 meet Mr. Ashton, who was just then coming up one of 
 the walks toward the house, 
 
 " Excuse the manner of this reception, if you please, 
 Mr. Ashton, but I could not refrain from laughing. I
 
 232 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 have been watching father, yonder. That great blue 
 fly has been singing about his head this half-hour, and 
 he has struck at him until, I believe, he has dislocated 
 his shoulder." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. "White, drawing the handherchief 
 from his face, and rising, " blue-bottle has been serenad 
 ing me, much to my annoyance." 
 
 " Don't let me disturb you," said Mr. Ashton ; " I 
 called especially to see Mrs. White and your daughter." 
 
 " I '11 just get up and tell them who you are," replied 
 Mr. White, cheerfully, " and then, if I choose to stay, I 
 may be allowed to do so, I suppose." 
 
 Helen saw them coming toward the piazza, and be 
 fore they reached it she had provided two comfortable 
 chairs for their accommodation, and hesitating a mo 
 ment, until the introduction was over, she said, 
 
 "I think you will find it more comfortable here, 
 Mr. White, than it is within doors, and perhaps you 
 had better take these seats." 
 
 " You are a girl after my own heart, Helen," replied 
 Mr. White. " I have entirely forgotten to take any 
 thought for my own comfort, you anticipate all my 
 wishes, and are so ready to gratify them ; but come 
 back here," he continued, as she was quietly slip 
 ping through the door ; " a dominie always wants to 
 see the whole family, and you and I must stay here 
 now." She did as she was desired ; and when she re 
 ceived the hand which Mr. Ashton extended, as was his 
 custom in friendly greeting, the sensation which she 
 had once before felt, came back, and she blushed for 
 fear it might have been noticed. 
 
 " I called," remarked Mr. Ashton, looking at Minnie, 
 as soon as all were seated, " to thank you, Miss White, 
 for the very valuable, but unexpected present, I re 
 ceived from you last evening ; and," he continued, as
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. . 233 
 
 Minnie looked with surprise at him, and then at her 
 father, " I think the little accident called for no such 
 consideration ; but I accept the gift as a present, and 
 thank you for it." 
 
 " Why ! what do you mean ?" asked Minnie. 
 
 " Why, the piece of cloth and the gloves you sent 
 me last evening," said Mr. Ashton. 
 
 " I 'm sure I don't know any thing of it at all," re 
 plied Minnie ; " but papa's eyes look roguish, and I 
 think he knows what it means ; and, now, I know, 
 too," she exclaimed, joyfully. " Papa knew he was to 
 blame for letting the water spill upon your clothes, and 
 he has sent the others in my name, not thinking^ I 
 should find it out." 
 
 . " Mr. Ashton," said Mr. White, in a beseeching 
 tone, " don't you see how you are exposing me. I beg 
 you won't say another word about the matter ; you will 
 not, I am sure, if you have any regard for my feelings." 
 
 " I may express my obligation to you, may I not ?" 
 said the other. 
 
 " O, no," replied Mr. White ; " only consider the 
 damage repaired, and all will.be settled." 
 
 " I must inquire after the fish," said Mr. Ashton, 
 again addressing Minnie. " I suppose you have en 
 joyed their company much." 
 
 " Don't you think," answered Minnie, a little sorrow 
 fully, " they are all dead ?" 
 
 "How happened that?" inquired the other. 
 
 " I suppose I killed them," said she ; " but I don't 
 know. Papa said it was better not to feed them ; but 
 I loved to see them catch crumbs, and I wanted to do 
 it, and gave them a great deal to eat day before yester 
 day ; and yesterday morning, when I went to look at 
 them, they were all floating on their backs upon the 
 top of the water."
 
 234 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 Mrs. White very soon became earnestly engaged in 
 conversation with the clergyman, and the time stole 
 rapidly by. Both were much surprised when the bell 
 called them to supper, and announced the hour of six. 
 A single request induced Mr. Ashton to remain, though 
 not without first offering a slight apology that he had 
 been so forgetful of the time. 
 
 Time was never long, when spent in company with 
 this family. Their cheerful, friendly manner banished 
 all feeling of diffidence or estrangement ; and the kind 
 welcome which they at this time extended to their vis 
 itor, rendered his stay more than ordinarily agreeable. 
 
 "Wouldn't you like to take a stroll over the 
 grounds ?" said Will to Mr. Ashton, when they arose 
 from the table. 
 
 " Certainly I should," replied the other ; and the 
 two went down the walk which led toward the arbor 
 of saplings. 
 
 As soon as Minnie discovered where they were go 
 ing, she followed, and joined in their conversation, and 
 appeared as much interested in all they saw as if she 
 then beheld it for the first time. 
 
 " Wife," said Mr. White, when he saw how unhesi 
 tatingly she had joined the ramblers, " what are you 
 going to do with Minnie ? She is almost a young lady 
 now, and seems perfectly unconscious of the fact ; she 
 has gone after Mr. Ashton as freely as if she were a 
 little child." 
 
 " What am I going to do with her ?" repeated Mrs. 
 White. " I shall keep her a little girl just as long as I 
 can. I would not have her get the idea that she was a 
 young lady." 
 
 " It may answer when her fancies are for the dom 
 inie," continued her father ; " but when we go back to 
 town, she will, probably, be considered as she really is."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 235 
 
 " I hope so, to be sure," said Mrs. White ; " unsus 
 pecting and artless : these are what make her the lovely 
 girl she is." 
 
 " She is a little too frank and open-hearted, in my 
 opinion," said the father. 
 
 " O, I think not ! These traits are the charm of her 
 character," replied the other. 
 
 " See her now," said Mr. "White, pointing to a green 
 plat by the brook-side, upon which she had seated her 
 self, and was inviting Mr. Ashton to sit beside her. 
 " One of our city masters would hardly know what to 
 think of a young lady who appeared so familiar after so 
 short an acquaintance." 
 
 Mrs. White looked at her daughter ; her face was 
 lighted with animation, her clustering ringlets were 
 displaced by the gentle evening breeze which was just 
 rising, and hung carelessly about her shoulders; and she 
 thought she appeared more lovely than ever, and she 
 replied, " I am glad to see her so." 
 
 Minnie was, really, more engaged in this conversa 
 tion than ordinarily. She was relating the story of the 
 party, which she well remembered, when Louise Dox- 
 tater pushed her into the brook, and after she had fin 
 ished the recital, she said, 
 
 " That was when we first began to love Helen, and 
 we have loved her every day since better and better." 
 
 Mr. Ashton made many inquiries respecting Helen, 
 which Minnie freely answered. She told him that she 
 was an orphan, and was taken when a very little child 
 by Mr. Burke, and that was why she was called Helen 
 Burke, but that she had a prettier name, though it was 
 very long since she had been called by it. She told 
 him, too, of the time when she was a market-girl, and 
 how her arm was broken, and how. kind and gentle she 
 had always been since she came to live with them. 
 
 ,
 
 236 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 Mr. Ashton was an attentive listener to the narra 
 tive. He had gathered fragments of Helen's history 
 by occasional reference to her, so that his interest had 
 become considerably awakened, and he was glad to 
 learn more of it. Her retiring modesty during the 
 afternoon had not failed to attract his attention, and he 
 had not only observed, but admired it. He had spoken 
 to her but few times, and when he did so her answers 
 were so short and satisfactory that he found it impos 
 sible to engage her in conversation. So interested 
 were Mr. Ashton and Minnie in this conversation, that 
 they did not observe how chilly the air was growing, 
 until Helen approached and laid a shawl over the young 
 girl's shoulders. 
 
 " Miss Burke," said Mr. Ashton, rising, when he 
 saw what Helen had done, and recollected how impru 
 dent he had been : " I do not think I shall take more 
 than half the blame if Miss White finds she has taken 
 a severe cold. I suggested, when we first took this 
 seat, that it might be imprudent, but she thought 
 otherwise, and has been so entertaining since that I 
 entirely forgot myself." 
 
 " Minnie was never ill a day in her whole life," re 
 plied Helen, " and I think that may account for her 
 carelessness at times. I find she requires considerable 
 watching." 
 
 " Perhaps we had better return to the house," said 
 Mr. Ashton. 
 
 " You would be perfectly safe out of doors, I am 
 sure, if you were walking," remarked Helen ; and turn 
 ing to Minnie, she continued, " you have n't shown Mr. 
 Ashton our favorite piece of statuary ; I think he would 
 be pleased to see it." Then making a single apology 
 for interrupting them, she turned to go into the house. 
 
 " Will you not join us in our walk ?" said Mr. Ash-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 237 
 
 ton to her when he saw that she was leaving. " Our 
 friend Will has left us, and we must have some one to 
 fill his place." 
 
 They wandered about the grove until the long gray 
 shadows of the trees became distinctly visible, and it 
 was time for the visitor to commence his walk home- 
 Avar d. 
 
 If Mr. Ashton admired Helen's modest demeanor 
 during the afternoon, far more did he admire her gen 
 tleness and intelligence when the mantle of restraint 
 was thrown off, and she engaged freely with him in 
 conversation. He was not slow to learn her true char 
 acter, and the " small hours" of that beautiful night 
 found him sitting by the windows of his quiet study, 
 lost in deep, but pleasing thoughts. 
 
 The pastor was not studying the hidden meaning of 
 a disputed passage of Sci'ipture, nor was he meditating 
 upon some comforting promises which he might upon 
 the coming Sabbath present to his little flock, neither 
 did the beauties of that summer night engage his 
 thoughts. O, no ! it was something very different from 
 any of these. He would have declined revealing what 
 it was, and, gentle reader, you must here be left to 
 your own conjectures.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 "Do you remember what I told you, Nellie Liu- 
 coin ?" said old Barbara Dunn, as she came into the 
 road to meet Mrs. White and Helen, who were riding 
 leisurely along to enjoy the delightful air of the early 
 morning, a few days after her visit to their home. 
 Helen, who was generally Mrs. White's attendant in 
 her morning rides, checked the horse to answer this 
 inquiry. " Do you remember what I told you ? there 
 will be but a very little more darkness before the light 
 will shine for me in the grave-yard." 
 
 " Why, how do you know this, Barbara ?" asked 
 Helen. 
 
 " The future is clearer than the present, to me," re 
 plied the maniac ; " for the light is shining hi it." And 
 after adding her old injunction, " be coy of the storms, 
 Nellie Lincoln, for your light went out on the water," 
 she turned to leave them. 
 
 Helen knew it to be useless to attempt to detain her, 
 but she waited, and watched her until she had entered 
 her hut. 
 
 " Let us go in," said Mrs. White, " and see if she 
 has enough to make her comfortable." 
 
 Barbara paid little or no attention to them after 
 their entrance, but busied herself placing a quantity of 
 sticks she had collected, in a broad pile in the chim 
 ney-place. 
 
 " You are not cold, are you, Barbara ?" asked Mrs. 
 White, after having watched her some minutes.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 239 
 
 "No, not cold," replied the other, uttering one of 
 her horrid laughs ; " no, not cold, but the light is to 
 shine very soon." 
 
 " Are you going to make a light with that wood ?" 
 again asked Mrs. White ; and again Barbara replied, 
 
 " There will be a greater light than the wood can 
 make ;" and her loud laugh rung through the hovel. 
 
 " It is very strange," said Mrs. White to Helen, after 
 they were again seated in the carriage, and the gentle 
 Lightfoot was trotting along at his favorite pace; 
 "very strange, indeed, what Barbara means by the 
 light. She introduces it into every sentence she ut 
 ters." 
 
 " Yes," replied the other ; " and if she can not do so 
 she will omit answering a question, however much you 
 may urge her ; but I can not see why she talks as she 
 does to me; if I were at all superstitious it would 
 trouble me, and I confess to a little uneasiness once in 
 a while. I know better still her remarks are not 
 without their influence upon me." 
 
 " Such things are unavoidable," remarked Mrs. 
 White. 
 
 Not more than half an hour after, when Mrs. White 
 and Helen, on their return, again neared Barbara's 
 home, they were startled by loud piercing cries, as of 
 a person sufiermg intensely. It was evidently old Bar 
 bara, and upon looking, they discovered smoke issuing 
 from her door ; hastening to open it, they were hor 
 rified at the spectacle which met their eyes. The pile 
 of wood in the chimney-place was nearly consumed, 
 and the wretched inmate of the hovel lay upon the 
 floor terribly burned. The fire was still doing its 
 dreadful work, and Barbara, rolling her eyes in agony 
 toward them as they entered, exclaimed, 
 
 " The light, the light in the grave-yard, Nellie Lin-
 
 240 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 coin ; I warn you to be coy of the storms, for your 
 light went out on the water !" 
 
 They succeeded in extinguishing the flames, which 
 were still being fed by the remaining clothes of the 
 maniac, and placed her upon the bed which she had 
 made in the midst of her darkness. 
 
 There was no doubt that Barbara had been her 
 own destroyer ; that in her collected moments if, in 
 deed, the mad may have such moments she had plan 
 ned and accomplished this destruction. To give Helen 
 an intimation of her intentions was probably the cause 
 of her visit at Mrs. White's, and the light in the grave 
 yard, in expectation of which she had been living for 
 years, it was then easy to see, was not to burn until 
 she should become a dweller in that " silent city." 
 
 During three days the neighboring farm-wives 
 thought of little else than to procure comforts for old 
 Barbara. It is comparatively easy to meet misfortune 
 in the country, where selfishness is a plant of but 
 feettle growth, and where man is taught, by the boun 
 tifully yielding earth, to open his hand and supply the 
 wants of the needy. But there were days and nights 
 destitute of comfort to her who was the object of this 
 care, and anxiously did the watchers by this bedside 
 wait for life's closing hour. 
 
 Toward the close of the afternoon of the third day 
 after old Barbara was burned, Helen stood beside her. 
 The pain of the sufferer had been forgotten in a calm 
 deep sleep, and the usual look of madness was gone 
 from her features. Every succeeding breath was 
 shorter than the previous one, and old Barbara seemed 
 indeed approaching . the light which she had so often 
 said should shine for her in the grave-yard. Suddenly 
 a tremor seized her, and she writhed convulsively. 
 It continued but a moment, after which her eyes
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 241 
 
 opened mildly, and she cast a gentle look, such as 
 those eyes had not known for years, upon those around 
 her. Barbara was herself again. 
 
 " Nellie," said she, in a voice which betrayed a sor 
 row wholly destitute of wildness, " this has been a ter 
 rible night, a long, long night ;" and tears filled those 
 eyes whose glaring balls had not been moistened in 
 years before. 
 
 Helen took the extended hand of the sufferer as she 
 added : 
 
 " But there is light for me beyond this darkness." 
 
 " It is a heavenly light, is it not, Barbara ?" asked 
 Helen. 
 
 " O, yes," she replied, " the light of happiness and 
 heaven ;" and she continued, " in that wild, wild 
 storm, upon the ocean, the light of my eai'thly hap 
 piness went out forever." 
 
 " What do you mean, Barbara ?" again asked Helen, 
 almost confident that she should now receive a satisfac 
 tory answer. 
 
 " Don't you remember," said Barbara, wonderingly, 
 " how the Argos sank in the storm yesterday, and my 
 William, whose absence for a single day made me 
 wretched, was lost forever, and your father went down 
 with him ? O, how could I sleep in such sorrow ? But 
 I did, and I have passed a terrible night ; the storm 
 has been raging all around me ; and, O ! it has been so 
 dark !" 
 
 " Did you know my father, Barbara ?" asked Helen. 
 
 " Yes," replied the now rational woman ; " he was a 
 noble man, and my husband was the captain of his ves 
 sel. Nellie, you will never know what you have lost ; 
 you are so young." Then, looking steadily at her she 
 was addressing, she said, in a tone of great surprise, 
 " But you are not young now. You were a very little 
 
 11
 
 242 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 girl when I last saw you. Where have I been ? Am 
 I dreaming ?" 
 
 " No, Barbara. I have grown since my father's 
 death, which happened many years ago, and I can not 
 now remember him. I want to learn something of 
 him. Tell me all you know." 
 
 "Many years since, indeed," repeated Barbara ; 
 " and where have I been ? Did my reason leave me ? 
 Was it this which made the time so like one long ter 
 rible night ? I am not mistaken now, am I ? I am 
 myself, am I not ?" and she looked around the place 
 doubtingly. 
 
 " Yes," replied Helen ; " you are perfectly yourself." 
 
 " Yes, truly the light " 
 
 , Nature here gave way ; the tongue became power 
 less ; and old Barbara was at rest, where there shall be 
 no more night ; where " they need no candle, neither 
 light of the sun ; for the Lord God giveth them light." 
 Helen Lincoln wept as she closed the eyes of her 
 father's friend. 
 
 " There is a tear for att that die, 
 A mourner o'er the humblest grave."
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE delightful days of summer passed away. The 
 rich crimson, scarlet, and yellow of the dying leaves of 
 the beech, the birch, and the maple, mingled with the 
 never-fading green of the pine and hemlock, till " the 
 vast woodland seemed a sea of flowers." Nature, like 
 a happy bride, put away her simple, maiden dress, and 
 arrayed herself in her richest robe, to welcome the 
 stern lord of the year, Winter. The wind howled 
 mournfully through the grove, as if in bitter lamenta 
 tion at her choice. The " country seat" was then all 
 quiet again, and the pale statues stood, cold, and mute, 
 and neglected, as they had done in former years. But 
 Mr. White's family did not leave this delightful place 
 without many deep regrets. 
 
 From the school of nature, which Minnie had for 
 months enjoyed, she went to attend the fashionable, 
 formal one of the city ; and often, when she returned 
 home at evening, vexed and perplexed with its mo 
 notony and formality, did she sigh for the enjoyments 
 of the departed summer. True, she could study the 
 beautiful flowers, and count their delicate stamens in 
 the painted plates of her Botany ; but she loved far 
 better to dwell among living flowers. While she 
 sought, by pushing back the silken petals, to enjoy the 
 delicious perfume as the sweet aroma arose and filled 
 the air, so she could read how the leaves of the forest 
 trees really breathed and drew nourishment from the 
 atmosphere. But she loved better to watch the flow-
 
 244 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 ers, as they increased in size and number, and to sit 
 beneath their pleasant shade, at the scorching hour of 
 noon-day. Could Minnie have been unhappy, she 
 would have been so then ; but her elastic spirits were 
 not easily crushed, and after hours of tedious confine 
 ment, she would come forth as bright and gay as if she 
 had received no check. 
 
 Minnie White was not formed to be re-moulded at 
 another's will ; and the long years which she had spent 
 in the fashionable seminary proved too short to meta 
 morphose her ; and she left it as she had entered, un 
 suspecting and artless. She had grown, meanwhile, 
 and discretion had ripened with her years ; but true 
 simplicity never fails to please, and the young lady was 
 no less lovely than the child. And Will, too, had 
 changed. Time leaves nothing without his impress 
 upon it. He was what his boyhood had plainly pre 
 dicted he would be. In college he was a favorite in 
 his class, not as the possessor of the brightest intellect, 
 but as the jovial, friendly companion, the open-hearted, 
 generous youth. 
 
 One evening, about the middle of the third year of 
 his absence at college, while the family were all gath 
 ered together, a young gentleman called at the resi 
 dence of Mr. White, and handing him a letter, sat 
 down, without revealing his name or errand. Mr. 
 White glanced hastily at the contents, and then rising, 
 extended his hand to Harry Lee and bade him a hearty 
 welcome. 
 
 " So you have concluded to become a resident of our 
 city," said Mr. White, after the visitor had received a 
 greeting from each member of the family. 
 
 " For the present, at least," he replied ; then turning 
 to Mrs. White, he continued, " I have a note to you 
 from your son. I left him only yesterday."
 
 ***&: 
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 245 
 
 " Happy, of course," said Mr. White, as his wife be 
 gan reading Will's note. 
 
 " Yes, sir ! he is always in fine spirits, and there is 
 not another student in college who can number as 
 many warm friends as he," replied Mr. Lee ; " all findf 
 it a pleasant rest from study to spend an hour in his 
 society." 
 
 " Will is a very musical fellow," remarked his father. 
 
 " Yes, he is. His store of wit seems inexhaustible, 
 and he is invariably in good humor. He is calculated 
 to make friends wherever he may be." 
 
 " He '11 never make much of a scholar, I conclude," 
 said Mr. White. 
 
 " He has no difficulty in maintaining his position in 
 his class," replied Mr. Lee. 
 
 " Ah, no ! he would have too much pride to fall be 
 hind," continued the father. " Will is a proud fellow." 
 
 " Certainly it is a pride for which he is to be com 
 mended," said the other. " I find very much, in him to 
 admire ; his gentlemanly deportment is certainly very 
 becoming." 
 
 " If it will be agreeable to you all, I should like to 
 read this letter aloud," said Mrs. White, interrupting 
 their conversation. " It is so like Will." 
 
 They all expressed a desire to hear it, and she read 
 as follows : 
 
 " Cambridge, . 
 
 " MY DEAR MOTHER Harry Lee, the bearer of this 
 letter, is a fine fellow, just such an one as you, in your 
 maternal wisdom, have been endeavoring, all my life, 
 to teach me to become. But I doubt the ruth of the 
 old saying, ' Just as the twig is bent the tree 's inclined,' 
 except so far as it is applied to the animal kingdom ; 
 and if I admit the truth that ' all flesh is grass,' which
 
 246 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 would make a vegetable of me, I shall be obliged to 
 consider it a rule, even then, subject to exceptions. 
 Yes, mother, I incline exactly the opposite way from 
 that in which you strove to bend me. 
 
 " But away with aphorisms. Harry has called pur 
 posely to testify to my good behavior while away 
 from your watchful care, and to present himself as a 
 specimen of my associates. But to know him you must 
 be with him, and I recommend you, or rather ask you, 
 for my sake, to invite him to remain with you a week 
 or two, until he has a little opportunity to become 
 acquainted in town. He graduated a year ago last 
 commencement, and has since been engaged in the 
 institution as tutor, an hour or two of each day, 
 and has employed the remainder of his time reading 
 law. 
 
 " Please say to father that I am improving rapidly. 
 I find no trouble whatever in disposing of three Ha- 
 vanas a-day, never come out with less than ' honors 
 easy' at whist, and have so far crowded myself into the 
 good graces of the ' Prex' that he consented to let me 
 accompany his niece to a concert, one evening last 
 week. I have nearly reached the goal of my ambition, 
 namely, a ' sheepskin? and hardly think I shall visit 
 home again until that is secured. With a kiss for Min 
 nie, and love to Helen, I remain your affectionate boy, 
 
 " WILL." 
 
 " According to Will's own account," remarked Mr. 
 White, " he is striving to obey the command, ' Honor 
 thy father and thy mother.' " 
 
 " I can assure you," said Mr. Lee, " he is improving 
 in different branches from those in Avhich he has chosen 
 to mention, and brings no dishonor upon his parents. 
 His love of study may not be as strong as that of oth-
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 247 
 
 
 
 ers; but feeling the importance of an education, he is 
 making commendable efforts to secure one." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. White, a little hurriedly, "the 
 evening is wearing away, will you tell me where your 
 baggage may be found ?" 
 
 " I have had it taken to my room at the hotel," re 
 plied Mr. Lee. 
 
 " But you are to be our guest for a few weeks," said 
 the other. 
 
 " O no, I thank you, sir," replied the young gentle 
 man ; " I was ignorant of the contents of Will's letter, 
 and beg leave to decline his invitation." 
 
 " You may do as you please with his, but I shall in 
 sist upon your acceptance of mine^ said Mr. White. 
 " You '11 get home-sick at a hotel, I 'm sure ; but if you 
 are here, I think we can keep you in tolerable spirits, 
 at least." 
 
 All Harry Lee's excuses were vain. For Mr. White 
 did insist upon having his invitation accepted, and 
 John was dispatched for the young gentleman's bag 
 gage. 
 
 Mr. White's acquaintance and experience proved in 
 valuable aids to the stranger in securing the situation 
 he desired ; and the three weeks which he spent in this 
 family, afforded him opportunity to form many agree 
 able acquaintances. Much of the time, however, was 
 spent in Minnie's society. They played at backgam 
 mon and chess, or amused themselves with an enter 
 taining book while at home, but oftener passed the 
 time enjoying some favorite drive, and when, at length, 
 he left, his absence was noticed, almost equally with 
 Will's. 
 
 There was that in Harry Lee's appearance which 
 could not fail to attract both attention and admiration. 
 His broad, full forehead bespoke a master intellect ; his
 
 248 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 
 
 deep, mild eye showed him a person of gentle thoughts ; 
 while the unaffected dignity which ever characterized 
 him, revealed his truly noble nature. His society and 
 friendship were courted by all who met him ; and the 
 kind and gentlemanly manner in which he received and 
 answered such attentions, was particularly noticeable. 
 
 Mr. Lee's most ardent admirer was Louise Doxtater. 
 Experienced in all the schemes and tricks of coquetry, 
 she was able to secure much of his notice ; and often 
 did he find it difficult, honorably and kindly, to thwart 
 her well-arranged plans. Quick and cunning she cer 
 tainly was, and possessing every advantage of wealth, 
 she was able to influence, in a great measure, the soci 
 ety in which she moved, and in the ranks of the fash 
 ionable she shone, " a bright, particular star," receiving 
 the willing homage of the lovers of gold and the lovers 
 of pleasure. She could not boast a handsome face, but 
 her figure was tall and commanding, and her showy 
 and costly apparel gave her a queenly appearance. 
 
 One lovely morning in the early part of September, 
 about a week after "Will's return from college, he 
 dropped into the office where his friend Harry was 
 pursuing the study of the law, and found him poring 
 over a huge volume of Kent ; and taking the book from 
 his hand, he said, 
 
 " Come, come, chum, you have n r t lent me but one 
 eye since I came to town, the other is always prying 
 into some twist of the law. This is one of the finest 
 days you ever saw, but you will never find it out unless 
 I take you away from this office ; what say you to tak 
 ing a trip to Hoboken to-day." 
 
 The student leaned back in his chair, thrust both 
 arms over his head, and after a hearty yawn, which 
 showed plainly how much he needed relaxation, said, 
 " I don't know, really. I should enjoy it much, but I
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 249 
 
 have determined to read fifty pages, besides doing con 
 siderable copying, to-day. I began at five o'clock this 
 morning, and have only stopped long enough to break 
 fast since." 
 
 " Your fifty pages will do you no good while you 
 are as dull as you are now ; you need waking up, and 
 to accept my invitation is, by far, the best way to do 
 it," replied Will. 
 
 Harry was then easily persuaded, for he felt that he 
 was confining himself too closely to his books, and be 
 gan divesting himself of gown and slippers. " I shall 
 claim the privilege of inviting your sister to accompany 
 us," said he. 
 
 " I only thought of ourselves," said Will ; " but if 
 you choose to have Minnie's company, I shall invite my 
 friend, Franky May." 
 
 " Very well," replied Harry ; and after a moment's 
 hesitation, he continued, " it seems to me you have 
 quite a fancy for Miss May." 
 
 "So I have," said Will; "and don't you think her 
 pretty ?" 
 
 " Very pretty," said Harry ; and taking his hat, he 
 said, " if we are successful we will meet in half an hour 
 at the foot of Barclay-street." 
 
 At the appointed time the company were standing 
 among the crowd, by the ferry landing, waiting for the 
 approaching boat, which was then in the middle of the 
 stream. Just as they stepped upon the boat, an easily 
 distinguished voice greeted them with 
 
 " So, young ladies, we are to have your company to 
 day ;" and Louise Doxtater came toward them, leaning 
 upon the arm of Monsieur Boutillier. " A lovely morn 
 ing this, Mr. Lee," she continued ; then addressing 
 Will, "I don't know that I shall say how d' ye do, to you, 
 you've been so careful to neglect me since your return." 
 11*
 
 250 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 v 
 
 " Business is always a sufficient apology," replied 
 Will, " and as such I will offer it." 
 
 " It will never answer for you," said the other. " I 
 have known something of your whereabouts." 
 
 Will strove to manufacture a more acceptable excuse. 
 
 The boat soon touched the opposite shore ; and after 
 walking a short distance by the water's edge, and en 
 joying a refreshing draught from the well in the cave, 
 the party strolled, in couples, into the shady woods. 
 Minnie's unaffected admiration of every thing she saw, 
 and her child-like expressions of pleasure, proved very 
 entertaining to Mr. Lee ; and not until the others had 
 been a long time resting upon one of the benches in the 
 Elysian Fields, did these join them. 
 
 " You are beginning well, Miss Minnie," exclaimed 
 Louise, as the young girl seated herself beside her, her 
 bonnet swinging from her arm, and her cheeks deeply 
 flushed with the healthy exercise. " These protracted 
 flirtations, at the outset, are dangerous, I assure you." 
 
 " O, we have been climbing all over the rocks, and 
 you can not think how delightful it is," she exclaimed, 
 not seeming to notice what Louise had said. 
 
 " I dare say it has been very delightful, you have had 
 such delightful company," replied the other ; and Min 
 nie glanced into Mr. Lee's face and colored a little 
 deeper, but the bright sparkle of her eye made no 
 contradiction of the assertion, and Louise continued, 
 " How do you know but I shall be jealous ?" 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Doxtater would like to exchange 
 seats with you," said Franky, purposely to tease Min 
 nie, who, as she knew, had a strong aversion to the 
 young Frenchman. 
 
 "I shall wait, at least, until she suggests the ex 
 change," replied Minnie, " before I consent to it." 
 
 " If that is all that is necessary," said Louise, " I will
 
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 251 
 
 propose it immediately ;" and, taking Mr. Lee's arm, 
 she continued, " Mr. Lee, would n't you enjoy a walk 
 to the other side of the field ?" 
 
 Minnie saw herself left in the undesirable society of 
 Monsieur Boutillier, and a frown came over her fea 
 tures, for she was half vexed with the thought that her 
 companion should leave her so ungallantly. But he 
 only yielded to the first effort which Louise made to 
 draw him away, and then remarked, " I can not go ex 
 cept by Miss White's direction." 
 
 Minnie quickly caught the unexpected assistance 
 which was given her in this remark, and said, 
 
 "I should not think of accompanying you here and 
 then directing you to leave." 
 
 "Then I do not feel at liberty to go, Miss Dox- 
 tater," said he ; " and under existing circumstances 
 you will willingly excuse me if I decline your invi 
 tation." 
 
 " You are very particular," replied Louise. " I hope 
 you will always be as much so. I think I will test you. 
 We are contemplating a drive this evening, into the 
 country, to visit two very fine young ladies ; will you 
 be one of the company ?" 
 
 " I am not acquainted with any ladies in the country 
 about here, and hardly feel willing to visit them with 
 out an invitation," said the other. 
 
 " If that is all your excuse, I can do away with it, at 
 once : I have a standing invitation to bring you out 
 there; perhaps you have heard of them, the Misses 
 Hap wood." 
 
 " O, I know who they are. They used to come to 
 see Helen, but they do not any more, now," said Minnie. 
 
 "Well, I shouldn't think they would," replied 
 Louise. " She is n't a person they would wish to 
 associate with, and besides, the fact that she lived
 
 252 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 with Mr. Burke before he married their mother does 
 not make it their duty. She is nothing but a servant- 
 girl, and they are first-class young ladies." 
 
 " We don't consider her a servant-girl," said Minnie, 
 a little energetically ; " she is a very lovely girl, and if 
 you knew her better you would not speak so slightly 
 of her." 
 
 " Well," replied Louise ; " you .may think as you 
 choose of her, but you can't influence the thoughts of 
 other people, and she can't get into the first society if 
 she tries." 
 
 " She does n't try, nor does she wish to," said the 
 other, a little indignant at the way in which Louise 
 was talking ; " but there are others besides our family 
 who think as much of her as we do, and they are 
 worthy people, too." 
 
 "Well, I know that; but do you know she came 
 near making difficulty between Mr. and Mrs. Burke 
 when they were first married, because she remained 
 there ; and Mr. Burke advised her to, when they both 
 knew she was not wanted ? It was all accidental, too, 
 her leaving at last." 
 
 Mr. Lee saw that the conversation was taking rather 
 an unpleasant turn, and interrupted it by saying, 
 
 " You will have a beautiful evening for your ride, 
 Miss Doxtater, but I must decline accompanying you, 
 for reasons which I assure you are sufficient, but which 
 I do not choose to name." 
 
 " I suppose then I must excuse you from necessity," 
 replied Louise. " But speaking of the country, recalls 
 a bit of news I have for you, Minnie. Do you recollect 
 the minister who preached in the little church you at 
 tended, the summer you spent in the country ?" 
 
 " Mr. Ashton, you mean. O, yes, I recollect him. 
 Well," said Minnie, " he is n't dead, is he ?"
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 253 
 
 " No, indeed ! but don't be in too great a hurry, 
 you can't guess what I have to tell you. He received 
 a call to preach in a church in Boston, at a salary of 
 fifteen hundred dollars a year, and left his old place 
 last week. Miss Julia Hapwood is my authority ; she 
 admired his preaching so much that she went every 
 Sunday to hear him, and she says the whole country 
 around there are feeling dreadfully about his leav 
 ing.'.' 
 
 " He is an intimate friend of mine," said Mr. Lee ; 
 " my counselor while I was in college. His prospects 
 are really very flattering. He called upon me on his 
 way to Boston, and told me of his success." 
 
 " He is an own cousin of mine," said Louise, " and I 
 feel quite proud of him." 
 
 " And you have every reason to," said the other. 
 
 " But he does n't favor us with much attention," con 
 tinued Louise; "I suppose it is because we are too 
 wicked to suit him." 
 
 "He would have preferred to remain at his little 
 church in the country ; he did not accept the call from 
 choice," said Mr. Lee. 
 
 " Foolish fellow !" replied Louise, " what could he 
 have been thinking of!" 
 
 " He thought he might be as useful in his old situa 
 tion ; besides he could not, willingly, break the relation 
 between pastor and people when the people were as 
 united as his seemed to be, in their attachment to him ; 
 but his salary was small, and he felt it to be his duty 
 to accept the offer of a larger one, even at the sacrifice 
 of his personal feelings, on the account of his father and 
 sister, who are dependent upon him ; and he tells me 
 he has not yet been able to settle his college expenses." 
 
 " We all loved him very much," said Minnie, " and 
 we only saw him a few times."
 
 254 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " Loved him," repeated Louise ; "just think what a 
 confession you are making, Miss Minnie." 
 
 " No more than I am willing to," replied the other ; 
 " we did love him, as a pastor, and as a friend, and as 
 a gentleman, too." 
 
 " His friendship is to be valued highly," remarked 
 Mr. Lee. " He ^vas a correspondent of mine in the 
 years I spent in the East Indies, and his letters I pre 
 serve with the greatest care, for they are calculated to 
 benefit whoever may read them."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 OSTE dark, raw night in November, Helen heard the 
 door of her room opened carefully. It was long past 
 midnight, and she started with alarm but immediately 
 she heard Minnie's well-known voice, saying, 
 
 " It is I, Helen, don't be frightened." 
 
 " What is the matter, Minnie ?" she asked, not a little 
 surprised at her unseasonable call. 
 
 " O, I don't know," replied the other, " but I can't 
 sleep at all. I have been very restless all night, and my 
 bones ache, and I feel very chilly." 
 
 Helen lighted a lamp, and a glance at Minnie's face 
 told her that all was not well. The deep red of her 
 cheeks betrayed the presence of fever, and when she 
 laid her hand upon her forehead, her flesh was of a 
 burning heat. 
 
 " Come back to your room," said she, " you will take 
 cold here, and I will stay with you." 
 
 Minnie once more tried to sleep after Helen had 
 bathed her heated temples, but she was restless, and 
 kept constantly asking for water. 
 
 " Minnie," said Helen, when she saw how useless were 
 all her effort*to sleep,." when did you first feel this ?" 
 
 " To-night," she replied ; " I think I took cold at 
 the concert ; one of the windows was open, and the 
 wind blew across nay neck, and I have not felt warm 
 since." 
 
 " Did n't you know it was very dangerous to sit in a 
 draft of air ? why did n't you change your seat ?"
 
 256 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " Yes, I knew it very well, but it was crowded, and 
 I did n't see any other place." 
 
 "Then you should have come away. You would 
 have better lost the music than to have taken such a 
 cold." 
 
 " Had I gone with Will I should have done so, but 
 I did not like to ask Mr. Lee to come away, he seemed 
 to be enjoying the singing so much, and we don't hear 
 such fine singers often. O how parched my lips are !" 
 
 When the morning began to dawn, Minnie remarked, 
 " I did not think a night was half as long as this one 
 has been ; how glad I am to see the daylight. I am 
 sorry to have kept you up, Helen, but I could n't bear 
 to stay alone. I think you should try to get a little 
 sleep now. I sha'n't be as lonely as I was when it was 
 dark." 
 
 " I had had a fine sleep before you came to me," re 
 plied Helen ; " and I do not wish for more ; do not ask 
 me to leave you." 
 
 " O, you are so kind, Helen. I did n't want to 
 wake mother. She isn't strong enough to sit up. 
 What would I have done without you." She took 
 Helen's hand in hers and kissed it affectionately. 
 
 During two days there was little change in her dis 
 ease. Her mother sat by her bedside the greater part 
 of the time, and her father and Will came often to her 
 room to cheer her with their ever enlivening presence, 
 while Helen left nothing undone which could in the 
 least promote her comfort. Doctor Diiral expressed 
 no anxiety in regard to his patient, and the family felt 
 none. 
 
 On the third night of Minnie's illness, Helen was 
 sitting alone beside her. She had been urged to go 
 to rest, but she could not be induced to leave Minnie 
 to the care of another. She knew how to trace the
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 257 
 
 course of disease by symptoms, and had observed an 
 occasional rolling of the eyes of the invalid which 
 somewhat excited her fears. Once or twice she thought 
 her mind wandered, but when spoken to, she appeared 
 perfectly rational, and Helen communicated her fears 
 to no one. About midnight Minnie raised her head, 
 and looking earnestly around the room, said, in an un 
 der tone, 
 
 " Do you hear the discord ?" 
 
 " What did you say ?" said Helen. 
 
 " Don't speak so loud, you will be heard," she re 
 plied. "I asked if you detected the discord." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" again inquired Helen. 
 
 " Why, the bass does n't accord at all ; can't you see 
 that it don't," said Minnie. 
 
 "Minnie," said Helen, seeing that she was really 
 wanderiiig, and hoping by the sound of her name to 
 rouse her to consciousness ; " Minnie, does your head 
 ache ?" 
 
 " JSTo, it 's in my ear, is n't it in yours ?" she replied, 
 and then starting, as if surprised, she asked, " Who 
 are you ?" 
 
 Helen pulled the bell-cord which i.ung near the 
 bed; its sound seemed doubly loud at that still hour, 
 and in a moment Mr. and Mrs. White, and Betty, had 
 answered the summons. 
 
 " She seems to be delirious," said Helen, stepping to 
 the door to meet them. " Come in quietly." 
 
 Minnie kept constantly talking, sometimes inco 
 herently, but generally her expressions were distinct, 
 though unmeaning. John was sent in great haste for 
 Doctor Duval, but though he went with the utmost 
 possible speed, and the doctor did not in the least de 
 lay his coming, the moments seemed like hours to 
 those who, trembling with alarm, watched the sufferer.
 
 258 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " It is just what I expected," said the doctor to Mr. 
 White,' who met him at the door, and began stating 
 the case, and whose every word was full of anxiety, 
 while his appearance manifested great alarm. The 
 doctor continued, " Don't be so troubled, it is common." 
 
 He seemed unusually calm while looking at Minnie, 
 and timing her pulse, and giving directions to Helen 
 in regard to the necessary treatment. 
 
 "Your weeping may injure her," said he to the 
 parents, who were close beside her. "Perhaps it 
 would be better if you should sit a little out of her 
 sight." 
 
 It was hard to go away from her. She seemed 
 dearer to them now than she had ever before ; but her 
 welfare demanded it, and they did as the doctor had 
 advised. Helen took Minnie's hands, which she was 
 inclined to throw wildly about, and rubbed them 
 gently, and she seemed quieted, a moment, by the 
 action, then drew them away and threw them about as 
 wildly as before. For several days she failed rapidly. 
 She gave no look of recognition to any, nor spoke one 
 affectionate word, and hope was fast dying in the 
 breasts of those loving friends. It was the Sabbath. 
 Will could no longer endure the sad stillness which 
 reigned throughout his home, and he sought the office, 
 where he knew he should find his friend, Harry, alone. 
 
 " I could not stay and see her die," said he, as he 
 opened the door ; " it is more than I could bear. Did 
 she know me, I would sit by her till the last breath 
 was gone, but I can not see her so ; it is no comfort !" 
 
 Harry asked no questions. Will's remark had told 
 him all he wished to know, and he replied, 
 
 " Th^s is indeed a mysterious dispensation of Provi 
 dence, but I am not yet without hope. Doctor Duval 
 speaks quite encouragingly of her case."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 259 
 
 " I know he does n't give her up yet, but I can-'t see 
 the reason why. She is a dear, good sister ; how can 
 I part with her," said the agonized brother. " I love 
 her, Harry, you can not know how well." 
 
 " True," replied the other ; " I never had a sister, 
 but I have seen enough of Minnie to learn how pleas 
 ant it might be to have so lovely a companion. Had 
 I been blesed with a sister's love, and had I from child 
 hood associated with one like her, I think I should 
 have been better myself. I can see that I have lost 
 much by this want." 
 
 " But you have also gained much. You can never 
 feel the agony of losing her;" said Will. 
 
 Harry made no reply. He was unwilling to tell how 
 strongly his affections were fastened upon the one 
 whom Will called by the endearing appellation of sister ; 
 unwilling to tell how heavily the hours had dragged 
 since he heard of her illness ; and how he longed, once 
 more, to look upon her face, and to hear her voice, even 
 though the expressions might be prompted by a wan 
 dering mind. 
 
 Harry felt that hidden grief was doubly dreadful to 
 endure. Will found a momentary relief in pouring his 
 sorrows into the ear of his sympathizing friend ; and 
 Harry's first impulse was to unburden his own heart, 
 and mingle his tears with those of the weeping brother. 
 He had never declared his love, and he determined, if 
 the object of it was then torn away from earth and 
 from his sight forever, to bear his griefs alone. 
 
 " I can not stay here in this suspense," said the other, 
 after a short pause ; " let us both go to the house, and 
 hear if any change has taken place." 
 
 It was just at the close of evening service, and as the 
 two went on their mournful errand, they passed crowds 
 of the young, whose faces shone brightly with the
 
 260 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 glow of health, and who lent not a single thought to 
 the article of death. How, like a very mockery, did 
 their cheerful smiles, and happy voices, seem to the sad 
 ones ! As they entered the house, Harry discovered 
 Franky May sobbing, violently, in a distant corner of 
 the parlor, and Louise Doxtater standing, tearless, and, 
 apparently, unmoved, near the door. He could have 
 waited by the weeping Franky had she not seemed 
 striving to hide herself, but he could not brook to see 
 the soulless Louise, and he passed silently on with Will 
 to his room. 
 
 " Sit down," said Will, " while I go and see how she 
 is." 
 
 Doctor Duval was in the room when they entered, 
 and his quick eye was not slow to read the expression 
 of anxiety which rested upon Harry's features. He had 
 suspected that he loved, when he called at the office to 
 inquire after the sufferer, and suspicion then became 
 certainty. He had felt the same, and he knew how 
 powerful to comfort would be a sympathizing word, and 
 taking Harry's arm, he said, " I have known it all." 
 
 Like an electric shock, could it reach the soul, did 
 those words send a thrill through that young lover's 
 heart. 
 
 " I know," continued the other, " what a satisfaction 
 it must be to look upon the loved one's face, and it 
 shall not be denied to you." 
 
 Then drawing him gently, he led him to the door of 
 Minnie's room. It was open, and through it, Harry 
 gazed earnestly upon her. He was unobserved ; for 
 all present thought of nothing but the sufferer. Will 
 was sitting upon the bedside, holding her thin, white 
 hand against his lips, and her deep blue eyes were fixed 
 upon him. There was no wildness in that look. Her 
 tangled curls were thrown back upon the pillow, and
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 261 
 
 her face, white as marble, was beautiful, death-like as it 
 seemed. Suddenly a smile came over the before still 
 features, but it passed away, and the eyes slowly 
 closed. 
 
 " There 's a change," said the doctor, hurriedly, as 
 he dropped Harry's arm, and approached the bed. 
 " The crisis is passed, and the gentle closing of those 
 eyes gives me new hope." As he put his ear close to 
 her face, and heard her regular though faint breathing, 
 that hope was reflected, brighter and brighter, from his 
 countenance, and inspired all present. 
 
 " She sleeps," he said, at length ; " consciousness is 
 restored ; but the worn physical nature is hardly able 
 to retain the little life that remains, and upon the care 
 she receives to-night, hangs life or death. Strength is 
 all that is needed." 
 
 As Harry walked with "Will back to his room, he 
 whispered in his ear, " This is an hour when you may 
 easily learn to pray." 
 
 Through the long watches of- that night, Helen wet 
 the lips of the invalid with a reviving liquid ; and when 
 the gray light of the morning crept in through the 
 Avindow-shutters, those lips parted to receive the offered 
 nourishment. When her eyes first opened, they rested 
 upon a beautiful rose, and she smiled. It was one 
 Will had placed upon her pillow, by Harry's request. 
 She seemed conscious that it was the gift of love, but 
 she was ignorant of the birth-place of that love. Like 
 the rain-drops to the drooping flower, was that smile to 
 those sinking hearts. Like the Saviour's voice to the 
 deaf man, was her first rational whisper to those wait 
 ing ones who were standing around the sufferer. 
 
 All night long the doctor, too, had been a watcher; 
 not of her whose breath came so feebly, but of that 
 tireless friend, whose unceasing faithfulness made her
 
 262 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 the earthly giver of that breath ; not of her whose life 
 seemed wholly committed to their care, but of her who 
 risked her own life, and complained not of fatigue, if 
 she might but aid to save the helpless one. 
 
 Day by day Minnie gained health and strength, and 
 in a few weeks mingled, as she had been accustomed, 
 with her friends. But she was dearer to them now ; 
 the fear of losing her had made her more precious, and 
 the sorrow they had felt at the thought of her loss, had 
 taught them how indispensable she was to their happi 
 ness.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 IT was past the business hours. Mr. White was sit 
 ting alone by a warm fire in his counting-room, examin 
 ing the result of the inventory which had just been 
 taken of his goods, and comparing expenditures with 
 receipts, preparatory to making arrangements for the 
 spring importations. A very comfortable feeling had 
 taken possession of him, such as every merchant expe 
 riences when receipts greatly overbalance disburse 
 ments, and the standing capital is suddenly swelled by 
 thousands. This feeling always adds a relish to the 
 choicest viands, and wakens all the goodness of the 
 tradesman's human nature. 
 
 Just as Mr. White had completed this examination, 
 and was taking up the evening Journal, Harry Lee 
 entered. 
 
 " Don't let me interrupt you," said he, " I will wait 
 until you are at leisure." 
 
 " No interruption, at ah 1 ," replied Mr. White, feeling 
 in his very best mood. " I am glad you have come. 
 Let me see," he continued, " this is your first call at my 
 room here, is it not ?" 
 
 " It is, sir, and I should not have presumed to inter 
 rupt you now, but I wished to see you alone," said Harry. 
 
 " Have not been getting into any difficulty, I hope," 
 said Mr. Lee, jestingly. 
 
 " Yes sir, I have ; and a pretty serious matter it bids 
 fair to be," replied Harry ; " I think it may influence, 
 greatly, all my future life."
 
 264 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " What is it ?" asked Mr. White, undecided whether 
 to consider his young friend in earnest or not. 
 
 " I hardly know how to introduce the subject," said 
 the other ; " I have been three months pleading cases 
 at law, but I am unpracticed in this business. Do you 
 suspect me ?" he asked, looking earnestly at Mr. White. 
 
 " I do not," replied the gentleman ; " but if you find 
 it such a difficult matter to introduce the subject, con 
 sider that done, and go on to its discussion." 
 
 Harry Lee was not a man to try by arts or cunning 
 to accomplish his wishes, and with the dignified bold 
 ness which was characteristic of him, he said, 
 
 " Mr. White, I have known your daughter, person 
 ally, nearly a year, and longer by reputation, and 
 through her letters to Will, while at college. To me, 
 to know her has been to love her ; but I consider it my 
 duty, before making any such declaration to her, to 
 obtain your permission to win her love in return, if I 
 am able ; and to secure that permission, or the refusal 
 of it, I have called to-night." 
 
 Both were for a while silent, when Mr. White 
 replied, 
 
 " This is unexpected by me, but the honorable course 
 you have taken can not pass unnoticed. I thank you 
 for the regard you have manifested for* my wishes, and 
 this alone would be a strong inducement to me to give 
 you my consent. But is not this unlike you ? I learned 
 from your uncle that you are not easily influenced, and 
 that you never act hastily." 
 
 " I have not acted hastily," said the other. " When 
 I read the affectionate letters which she wrote to Will, 
 little thinking that any eye but his should see them, I 
 learned to love her as I saw her there ; and a year's 
 acquaintance with her has only strengthened and ma 
 tured that love."
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 265 
 
 "But you are young," replied Mr. White; "you 
 may meet prettier faces, and those whom you will 
 love better than you do Minnie. You have not seen 
 half the world yet, and she is not a young lady in any 
 thing but age ; she is as simple as a little child." 
 
 " And that simplicity is what I admire," remarked 
 the young gentleman. " I have seen just enough of 
 the world to teach me what it is, and to banish all de 
 sire to gain its friendship. In the love of one so free 
 from all its vanity and deceit I shah 1 be happy, and in 
 that love alone." 
 
 Harry Lee was growing bold in urging his suit, and 
 hope was the secret of his boldness. There was no 
 thing in Mr. White's manner which threatened refusal, 
 and he no longer feared it. 
 
 " Are you sure," said Mr. White, at length, looking 
 searchingly at Harry, " that the fortune, of which you 
 consider her an equal heir, has not influenced you in 
 your decision." 
 
 " I only ask your daughter," replied he, the deep 
 color for a moment mounting to his face. " I ask for 
 nothing more ; you mistake me if you think I sue for 
 gold." 
 
 " You have," continued Mr. White, " always had the 
 assistance of your father in pecuniary matters, but now 
 you have entered upon the practice of your profession, 
 and are starting for yourself. You have no idea of what 
 it costs to live, and are you not hasty in thinking of add 
 ing an incumbrance with which you may so easily dis 
 pense ? Should I tell you that I design to make my son 
 my only heir, would you not change your conclusion ? 
 You know, too, the report is current that yxm are the 
 favorite of Miss Doxtater, and it is well known that her 
 father has already settled upon her half of his fortune. 
 That fact should influence you in your decision. Mon- 
 12
 
 266 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 ey, my young friend; is the great good to be obtained 
 in these days." 
 
 Harry Lee's pride was touched, and had he been 
 capable of unmanliness he would have been unmanly 
 then, but he answered coolly, 
 
 " I have not found it so." 
 
 " Your experience amounts to little more than a 
 cipher," said Mr. White. " You have never, for a mo 
 ment, known the want of money, nor have you learned 
 the difficulty of obtaining it. A few hundred thousand 
 dollars would add considerable tp the worth of a wife." 
 
 " But if all her worth lay in the dollars, both would 
 be valueless to me," said Harry. 
 
 "I have seen more years than you, my friend," re 
 plied Mr. White, leaning back his chair, and throwing 
 his arm affectionately over the great pile of ledgers 
 and day-books he had been examining ; and in advis 
 ing you I shall dispute Paul's assertion to his young 
 friend, Timothy, that ' the love of money is the root of 
 all evil.' People have learned that it is best to take the 
 money, and run the risk of the evil. Miss Doxtater's 
 fortune is not to be despised." 
 
 " You do me " but before the word " injustice" had 
 passed his lips, Harry Lee ceased from speaking. 
 
 "Pardon me, then," said Mr. White, suspecting 
 what the sentence, if completed, would have been. 
 "Believe me, I have the highest respect and regard 
 for you, and this is why I have endeavored to unde 
 ceive you, if, perhaps, you were deceived ; but if, after 
 I tell you frankly that Minnie can receive but a small 
 portion of my property, if any, you do not withdraw 
 your request, with her mother's consent, you may be 
 sure of mine." 
 
 Perhaps it was ungenerous in Mr. White thus to 
 question the motives of one so noble as was Harry
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 267 
 
 Lee, and, doubtless, when he heard his manly con 
 fession of disinterested affection for the one he sought, 
 he regretted the course he had taken ; but the act was 
 characteristic of the lover of wealth. He has learned 
 the value of gold. He has tasted the pleasure it 
 brings, and he knows how powerful it is to attract. 
 
 Though it was now late, Harry Lee that night spent 
 a long tune alone with Mr. and Mrs. White, at their 
 home, and when he left he had learned a fact, of which 
 all the other admirers of sweet Minnie White were 
 ignorant ; and the knowledge of it made him thought 
 ful. But he had secured the favor he went to ask, and 
 in his thought-fulness he was happy. 
 
 Another evening, and Minnie White and Harry Lee 
 sat side by side upon the sofa. 
 
 No stranger's ear was near to catch their earnest 
 words, and no other eyes to see the deep blush which 
 mantled the maiden's cheeks, or to admire the cluster 
 ing curls which hung so carelessly down on her bosom. 
 Minnie had entered that room, on this occasion, full of 
 life and gayety to meet her friend ; but when Harry 
 took her hand within his own she had no wish to 
 withdraw it. Before his lips pronounced the sentence, 
 " Minnie, I love you," she had inferred as much, and, 
 dropping her head modestly down, her luxuriant curls, 
 like thoughtful helpers, gathered thick around her face 
 and hid her answering blushes. Again pressing her 
 hand he repeated the assertion, " Minnie, I love you," 
 and added, " can you love me in return ?" 
 
 Minnie was a novice in affairs of love, except as her 
 heart was open to receive the whole world. But Har 
 ry's declaration had awakened a kindred feeling in her 
 breast which had long nestled there, and which she 
 had been cherishing, though she knew it not; and 
 when the question was urged the second time, she re-
 
 268 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 plied, half-raising her eyes, with her accustomed frank 
 ness, 
 
 " I did not know it 'before /" 
 
 If Harry had admired her frankness and affection 
 ate spirit when manifested in the scenes and loves of 
 every day, he now admired them more than ever, 
 when, forgetting all the vain, unmeaning excuses and 
 objections that heartless maidens make to those who 
 offer love, she affected not to hide a truth which could 
 not be concealed. 
 
 As Harry placed upon the hand he held the golden 
 circle, which was the emblem of their mutual unend 
 ing attachment, a new charm was added to his life ; 
 for the heart which had from early boyhood been 
 wrapping its warmest affections within itself, and had 
 grown almost an isolated thing, from the want of a 
 kindred heart, now lived in woman's love. 
 
 Love is a strange, mysterious thing. It leads man 
 blindfold at its will, but he who most loves has most 
 of happiness.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 IT was very late. The watchmen were at their posts, 
 and their measured tramp as they passed and repassed, 
 could be distinctly heard. It was a cold and cheerless 
 night, such a night as is common when the spring thaws 
 begin to come ; a night when the wind finds every 
 crevice in the shattered dwellings of the poor, and 
 when the ram creeps in unfeelingly upon the inmates. 
 
 Harry Lee had laid aside his book, and was sitting by 
 a comfortable fire, half yielding to the call to rest, yet 
 possessing hardly energy enough to move. Suddenly 
 there was a light rap upon the door, but he hesitated 
 to open it, wondering who this unseasonable visitor 
 might be, when a female voice said, 
 
 " Please to let me in." 
 
 He obeyed, and a slender woman appeared before 
 him. Her dress was scant and thin, and the drops of 
 rain fell from her close hood upon her thread-bare 
 shawl. It was evident she had not come for food or 
 shelter; and, touched 'with pity, the young lawyer 
 slipped his hand into his pocket ; but before the coin 
 which he had taken in his fingers had been withdrawn, 
 she said, 
 
 "Forgive me, sir. The love of my children has 
 driven me here." 
 
 Her voice trembled, and she stopped a moment, 
 when Harry inquired, 
 
 " What has sent you out at this late hour ? You are
 
 2YO HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 in danger of being taken by the watch ; you should 
 have waited until morning." 
 
 " O, sir !" she replied, her sobs choking her utter 
 ance. "In the morning I shaU be taken to the court, 
 and I have no one to speak for me, and I can not speak 
 for myself. I am. afraid I shall be sent to prison, and 
 then, O ! what will become of my poor children !" 
 
 "Tell me your story," said the other, who saw 
 plainly that an honest heart prompted every word. 
 
 "I have been stealing," she replied, looking sus 
 piciously behind her, as if she feared other ears might 
 hear her confession ; " but, sir, it was no sin." 
 
 " It is always a sin to steal," said the other, calmly ; 
 " but tell me what did you steal ?" 
 
 " Money," replied the woman, bursting into tears. 
 
 " How much ?" again inquired Harry. 
 
 " Seventy dollars," said she. " I was detected before 
 I was half way home, but, on account of my little child's 
 sickness, they left me till morning ; and now I have, 
 come to see if you will speak for me in court. Maybe 
 I could say something myself; but Squire Doxtater is 
 against me, and I can not, for I know him to be so 
 hard with poor people." 
 
 " Sit down," said the other, placing a chair near the 
 fire for her, " and let me hear your story, and then I 
 can tell better what can be done for you." 
 
 She had found it no easy task to come, undiscovered, 
 through the broad streets and dark lanes which lay be 
 tween the little garret which she called her home, and 
 the office she had just entered. More than once she 
 had been obliged to conceal herself, to escape the no 
 tice of the policeman ; and now, though she was safe 
 from all such fears, she trembled, and sometimes start 
 ed at the sound of her own voice. But her confidence 
 in the young lawyer was increasing, and she began far
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 271 
 
 back in her history to relate the cause of -her trans 
 gression. 
 
 " I was. not always poor," she said. " I had a hus 
 band a year ago. He was a hard-working mechanic, a 
 kind man, and on his wages we lived very comfortably. 
 He was a fireman, and was often out late, and in cold 
 storms, working to save burning buildings. It was too 
 hard for him, and the night before he designed to leave 
 the company, the wholesale grocery store on the cor 
 ner of and streets took place. The fire was 
 
 in the roof, near the chimney, and could not be reached 
 by the engine, so my husband went upon the building, 
 and poured water upon the fire, from buckets which 
 were handed him from below. When it was out, and 
 he started to come down, the ladder was wet, and his 
 foot slipped the first step he took upon it, and he fell to 
 the ground. He only lived two days after ;" and here 
 the relator buried her face in her hands and wept. 
 
 At length, drying her tears, the stranger continued : 
 " He left me with two little children, one of them a very 
 sickly child, which needed all my care. I was not will 
 ing to go to the poor-house, and I tried to earn enough 
 to support myself and little ones by washing ; but I am 
 not strong, and through the winter I was able to make 
 but little besides my rent. Often we were hungry and 
 cold. O, sir!" she said, again bursting into tears, 
 " you know but little what poor people suffer. Twice, 
 when I had nothing to give my children to eat, I went 
 to the grocer, and told him how my husband was killed 
 in trying to save his store, and asked him to have pity 
 upon me ; but he said it was a fireman's business, and 
 he was not to blame if my husband was careless ; and I 
 went away without assistance. Then I used to pray, 
 and hoped better ^times would come ; but I only grew 
 poorer and poorer, tiH I gave up praying.
 
 272 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " Driven to desperation, I determined yesterday to 
 go once more to the grocery, and beg for assistance. 
 When I went in, the keeper looked very cross at me, 
 and sat down by bis desk to count some money. I 
 spoke once or twice, but he paid no attention to what 
 I said, and went on counting his money. He had laid 
 the bills in several piles, with some silver pieces upon 
 them, to keep them from being misplaced. All at once 
 he dropped a piece of money, which rolled under the 
 desk, and he stooped to find it. While he was stoop 
 ing, I drew two or three bills from one of the piles, and 
 walked away. I thought it belonged to me, for the 
 whole store would have been burned and been lost to 
 him, if my husband had not put out the fire. He missed 
 the money a moment after I left, and followed me with 
 a policeman, and to-morrow I must be tried." 
 
 The tears which occasionally gathered in the listen 
 er's eyes were not unobserved by the woman, who 
 spoke bolder and easier as she added an account of her 
 sufferings. 
 
 " It was no sin to take the money, I am sure it was 
 not. It is not sin for me to use any means to save my 
 starving children, and the God who planted a mother's 
 love in my breast will hold me guiltless," 
 
 There was that in the woman's language which be 
 spoke no limited degree of intelligence, and in her story 
 enough to rouse the deepest sympathies of which the 
 young lawyer was capable, and he had not the heart to 
 oppose her assertion that she was " sinless." 
 
 After learning from her the name of the grocer, and 
 of the captain of the fire-company of which her husband 
 had been a member, and receiving directions where to 
 find her home, Harry promised to be present in court 
 on the following morning, and she went back, through 
 the wild, pitiless storm, to her little ones.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 273 
 
 The account of the widow's misfortune had driven 
 all sleep from Harry Lee's eyes, and the remainder of 
 the night was spent in preparation for the defense he 
 had determined to undertake, and at daybreak he was 
 gathering additional evidence from those to whom he 
 had been referred. He found more than one ready to 
 confirm the truth of her statement, and a visit to her 
 wretched habitation nerved him to his work. 
 
 The court-room was crowded not by those who had 
 come to learn the widow's fate, or to offer a word to 
 mitigate her sentence, but by a throng which curiosity 
 had gathered, to hear the dispute of two wealthy men 
 who were at variance. 
 
 The widow sat erect in the prisoner's box, and many 
 thought her careless and unrepentant of her sin ; but 
 no ! she saw her promised benefactor there, and hope 
 was high within. The grocer sat near, and eyed her 
 with an angry scowl, and then settled back in his seat 
 while an expression of satisfaction came over his coun 
 tenance, for he was feeding upon revenge. 
 
 The judge sat listlessly while the testimony of the 
 grocer was taken, and while Mr. Doxtater urged the 
 guilt of the widow in terms which fall harshly upon the 
 ear of suffering woman, and the blood in young Lee's 
 veins boiled while he listened to his heartlessness and 
 injustice. 
 
 " Have you any thing to say," inquired the judge of 
 the prisoner, " why the sentence of the law should not 
 be passed upon you ?" 
 
 At this moment Harry Lee arose and said, 
 
 " Sir," for he could not brook the words " Tour 
 Honor," " I am here to say a few words in behalf of 
 the prisoner whom you are about to sentence." 
 
 " I object," shouted Mr. Doxtater. 
 
 " The law governs," replied young Lee, with calm 
 12*
 
 274 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 decision ; " and the prisoner must be heard in reply to 
 the question put by the court." 
 
 The judge settled back into his chair after having 
 decided the right of this claim, but not into the listless- 
 ness he had before manifested. 
 
 Harry Lee's practice had never before called him to 
 perform so public a duty, and excitement and anxiety 
 paled his cheek, while the just indignation which the 
 scene had aroused made him bold. His voice was at 
 first low and gentle, but his eloquence was entrancing, 
 and every ear in the assembly caught each word he ut 
 tered, and it found its way deep into the heart. Then 
 that voice grew louder, and firmer, as he exposed the 
 injustice and partiality of the former proceedings, and 
 repeated the story of the fireman's death, and finally 
 appealed to their sympathies by the tale of the widow's 
 woe. 
 
 The grocer writhed, and sat uneasily in his chair, and 
 Mr. Doxtater frowned and bit his lips in anger, while 
 the widow smiled ; but hers was not a smile which be 
 trayed defiance to suffering or sin, but which had its 
 birth in a thought of righteousness. 
 
 He did not plead for pardon. The law had been 
 broken, and its demands must be answered. He ac 
 knowledged the justice of this, but he iirged the mild 
 est penalty imposed for the offense. His appeal was 
 effectual. The passionate harangue of Mr. Doxtater 
 was powerless, and the judge's finger, which had rested 
 upon the word "imprisonment" in the statute-book, 
 slipped down to a petty fine. 
 
 The widow's heart, for a moment, sank when she 
 heard this sentence, but it was but for a moment. 
 Harry Lee knew her poverty, and approaching the 
 clerk's desk, placed the required nominal sum of money 
 upon it, and turning to the widow, whose eyes were
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 275 
 
 then filled with tears for the first time since she entered 
 the court-room, he said, " Go, but sin no more." 
 
 The scene had not been without efiect upon the 
 crowd who had witnessed it ; and as the noble-hearted 
 youth walked toward the door, behind her whom he 
 had so justly befriended, every eye followed him, with 
 a look of admiring approval, which was exchanged for 
 one of the most perfect contempt, as they again rested 
 upon the grocer. 
 
 " You must give up all idea of pleasing Harry Lee," 
 said Mr. Doxtater to Louise, as he that day sat down, 
 with little appetite, before a sumptuous dinner. 
 
 " Why, father ! what do you mean ?" she asked. 
 
 " I mean," said the other, " the matter is settled, and 
 he is left with a poor opinion of us." 
 
 "I hope you haven't done any thing to vex him, 
 have you ?" again asked Louise. 
 
 " N"o, not to vex him," replied her father ; " but we 
 clashed in a suit to-day." 
 
 "And you were successful?" interrupted Louise. 
 " I declare I 'm sorry." 
 
 " No, indeed ; but he placed my client and me in a 
 most uncomfortable position in court. It was in Jane's 
 trial. You recollect I told you we permitted her to 
 remain with her children last night, after the hour for 
 the police to be out, thinking it perfectly safe ; but, 
 somehow or other, she managed to secure him for her 
 counsel, but I knew nothing of it, and I undertook to 
 dispose of her case rather summarily. It was my bus 
 iness, of course, to do the best I could for my client, 
 and not thinking I should be opposed, I made short 
 and rather careless work of it. Just as the Judge was 
 going to sentence her, Lee rose to speak for her. I 
 tried to disconcert him by objecting, but he was not to 
 be trapped by that. He made speedy, but certain
 
 276 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 destruction of my work, secured the imposition of a 
 mere nominal fine upon Jane, and then came forward 
 and paid it himself!' 1 '' 
 
 "How provoking!" exclaimed Louise. " You know 
 you mortally offended young Boutillier, just as I had 
 about determined to go to Paris and live ; but I '11 send 
 for Mr. Lee to eat ice-cream with me to-morrow even 
 ing, and I '11 join his side." 
 
 " He is a keen fellow," replied her father, making a 
 constant ringing upon a tumbler with his fork ; " you '11 
 find it difficult work to manage him. This is a fortun 
 ate affair for him; for it is just the kind of a story to 
 be caught up by every body. You '11 have to give him 
 up, Louise. I declare you seem to be mighty unfor 
 tunate with your beaux : as soon as you get your mind 
 made up to take them, they are off." 
 
 " I '11 show you what I '11 do one of these days," said 
 Louise, her face flushed with a feeling of injured pride. 
 
 " You '11 have to be about it," continued her father ; 
 " you 've been in the market some tune ; you must look 
 out you don't get unsalable." 
 
 " I seem to have unlucky help," replied Louise, a lit 
 tle angrily ; to which Jack added the comforting as 
 surance, that she " need n't feel so bad about the mat 
 ter, for Mr. Lee never did fancy her, and never would ;" 
 and then congratulated himself upon the fact, that 
 " there was but one daughter in the family to be dis 
 posed of." 
 
 "Don't be in a hurry, Master Jack," continued 
 Louise, her temper gaining the mastery over her judg 
 ment, " you may not get rid of me as soon as you hope." 
 
 "I confess, I'm afraid we sha'n't," replied the 
 brother. "When a girl gets the name of a flirt, as 
 you have, she is generally no longer transferable prop 
 erty in the hands of her parents."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE little piazza, upon the back of Mr. White's 
 house, was a favorite resort for Helen. She loved re 
 tirement, and often stole away from the presence of the 
 family to sit there alone, and enjoy the evening ah- and 
 summer starlight, while holding converse with her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 Thought is a great well-spring of our happiness, and 
 they who never hold communion with that sweet com 
 panion within, rob life of one of its richest charms. 
 We may dwell upon the history of the past, and from 
 it draw great lessons- for the future ; we may stretch 
 our sight beyond the vail which hides from view all 
 coming years, and revel in their untried scenes ; or we 
 may ponder those truths which reflect wisdom, and 
 which expand the mind, strengthen the affections, and 
 purify the heart. Thought molds the life of man, and 
 they who never school their thoughts, like a ship with 
 out a rudder, float helplessly down the stream of time, 
 blown carelessly about by the slightest breeze of cir 
 cumstance. 
 
 " Fine thoughts are wealth, for the right use of which 
 Men are, and ought to be accountable." 
 
 Unschooled thoughts flit through the mind, leaving 
 but vague impressions of their presence, and, ere long, 
 become chainless as the ebbing tide, while that great 
 source of happiness which nature has placed in every 
 breast is wasted.
 
 278 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 It was a lovely evening in the early summer, an 
 evening when daylight seemed reluctant to cling to its 
 great source, and, with him, to leave the spots which 
 it had cheered, but seemed to hang stealthily back, 
 shedding a delightful beauty over nature. 
 
 Helen had left the cheerful company in the drawing- 
 room, and stood leaning against one of the pillars of 
 the piazza. She was deaf to all sound save the music 
 of her own heart, which fell sweetly upon her mental 
 ear, and was unconscious of the approach of any per 
 son until a hand was laid upon her shoulder, and a 
 voice whispered : 
 
 " May I join you ?" 
 
 She roused from her reverie, and looking behind her, 
 saw clearly, by the light of the evening, the intruder, 
 whose voice she had before recognized as that of Doc 
 tor Duval. In her agitation she forgot to answer, and, 
 drawing the h'ght shawl which hung upon her shoul 
 ders more closely about her, turned to enter the house. 
 
 "Don't go, pray don't," said the other, in a be 
 seeching tone of voice; "why do you try to shun 
 me?" 
 
 "I have already been here some time. I did not 
 try to shun you," she replied, hardly conscious of what 
 she was saying. 
 
 " Stay, then, a moment longer, and hear me," said 
 he ; "I am wretched, I am miserable, Helen ; do stay 
 and hear me." 
 
 Doctor Duval had passed middle life, but the ap 
 pearance of youth had not yet left him. Among his 
 black curling locks a few gray hairs were scattered, 
 but none who knew him believed them marks of age, 
 and the silvery lines were so sparsely strewn that few 
 discovered them. Year after year Helen had met him 
 almost daily, but at every meeting the vail of mystery
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 279 
 
 which hung about him had grown more impenetrable. 
 His face had never worn a calm complacent expression 
 when in her presence, but his piercing, troubled look 
 had been to her a constant source of annoyance ; and, 
 with the greatest reluctance she remained beside him. 
 
 " You have seen me often, Helen," said he, when he 
 saw that she complied with his request; "and you 
 have not failed to see that I am unhappy. I know 
 you have a heart to pity." His voice trembled, not 
 less with excitement than feeling, and he continued, 
 " You alone can make me happy, and you must not, 
 you can not refuse to do it." 
 
 " You talk very strangely," said Helen, not less agi 
 tated than he ; " don't say any more, I beg of you." 
 
 "I must," replied the doctor. "I must tell you 
 that I love you, and I have, ever since the first time I 
 saw you, and I am determined to make you mine." 
 
 " You are beside yourself," said Helen ; " you do not 
 know what you are saying." 
 
 " I do," said the other ; " and had I said it long ago 
 I might have escaped months of wretchedness. Helen, 
 tell me, will you be mine?" and he placed his arm 
 around the waist of the trembling girl as if certain of 
 her consent, but pushing it away quickly, she replied : 
 
 " It never can be." 
 
 " Think," said the doctor, " think a moment, do not 
 be so hasty." 
 
 " It does not require a single moment's thought ; it 
 can never be," she replied. 
 
 " Upon your answer," continued the doctor, " de 
 pends my happiness or misery, and will you not give it 
 a moment's reflection?" Then folding his hands, he 
 walked silently up and down the piazza. At length he 
 approached her, and asked her in a calmer voice, 
 
 " What answer now, Helen ?"
 
 280 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 " I was decided before," she replied ; " and you, sir, 
 are not conscious what you are saying ; I am certain 
 you are not." 
 
 " Why do you think so ?" he continued ; " is it be 
 cause you think nature gave me a heart destitute of 
 affections, and that I can not love ? If so, you have 
 not learned me well." 
 
 " I acknowledge I have not. It has been impossible. 
 You have always appeared so strange," replied Helen, 
 anxious to evade the former part of the question. 
 
 " No," he continued, in a soliloquizing tone, " it is 
 not true. I can love I have loved and will you 
 crush a heart which has so long been miserable ! think 
 again." 
 
 After a short pause, Helen said, calmly, 
 
 " Doctor, I am but a common servant-gii'l, poor and 
 almost friendless, and one in my humble circumstances 
 can not expect the notice of one in your position ; and 
 you are unconscious of what you say when you offer me 
 your love." 
 
 " I have enough," replied the doctor, " but it fails 
 to afford me happiness. Wealth is vanity, it can never 
 satisfy the heart. I have tried it until more than half 
 my days are wasted in the vain effort, but I freely offer 
 all I possess if you will share it with me. Tell me, then, 
 is there any reason why we may not live and be happy 
 together ?" 
 
 " You are inconsiderate," said Helen. " Without 
 congeniality of feeling, and mutual sympathy, there can 
 not be happiness, and we are very different." 
 
 " No, I trust not," replied the "other ; " every wish 
 and thought of yours I will gladly make my own ; we 
 are not so very different." 
 
 " In hopes, enjoyments, and feelings," continued Hel 
 en, " we certainly disagree ; and it is not within our
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 281 
 
 power to change our character at will ; will is strong, 
 but its power is not absolute." 
 
 " Helen," he asked, calmly, " will you add another 
 ingredient to the cup of misery from which I must con 
 tinually drink?" 
 
 " I am not doing it," she replied. " I have never 
 sought your affection, and it is not duty to sacrifice my 
 own happiness in this manner. Doctor Duval, I can 
 never grant you this request ; leave me, I beg of you, 
 and do not speak of it again." 
 
 " Helen, be careful !" said he ; " you do yourself a 
 wrong." 
 
 She could not understand the meaning of this last 
 sentence, nor did she wait to inquire, but sought retire 
 ment in her own room. 
 
 Scenes like this awaken peculiar thoughts, and 
 whether we will or not, they cling to us. Vain, and 
 worse than vain are all efforts to banish them, for each 
 effort is a fresh reminder of them. But the words 
 " You do yourself a wrong," weighed deepest upon 
 Helen's mind. Did she wrong herself in not accepting 
 the love of one she could neither love nor respect ? 
 Wrong herself in not accepting wealth, on conditions 
 which her conscience and desires opposed? Wrong 
 herself in utterly rejecting attentions she was deter 
 mined at last to discard ? N"o she knew she did not, 
 and to her the sentence was without meaning. It had 
 been uttered with peculiar emphasis, but she could get 
 no clew to its import.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 " AH, Miss Helen !" exclaimed "Will, as he appeared 
 at the door of her room, holding a letter in his hand, 
 " I see I have n't kept as close a watch of you as I 
 should have done ; but I am rather fortunate in detect 
 ing you in every thing you undertake. Come, I must 
 know what this means," slipping his finger into the en 
 velope, as if about to break the seal. 
 
 " I don't understand you," answered Helen. 
 
 He came a little closer, and displaying the name 
 upon the letter, said, " Can you understand that ?" 
 
 Helen saw that it was her own name, in a round, leg 
 ible hand-writing, and extended her hand to take it. 
 
 " By no means," said he ; " it is not advisable to let 
 such things pass without investigation. I see, by the 
 post-mark, the writer lives in Boston ; and, since Yan 
 kees are so noted for their ingenuity, I shall be doubly 
 careful in attending to this affair, and shall consider 
 that I do well if I succeed in outwitting a Yankee." 
 
 "Come, Will," said Helen, with apparent indiffer 
 ence, " the lette'r is mine ; let me see what is in it." 
 
 Her curiosity was really greatly excited ; but she 
 knew well the character of the person with whom she 
 had to do, and she made no manifestation of her true 
 feeling. 
 
 " My sense of duty must control me in this matter," 
 he replied. " It is unpleasant for me to do it ; but I 
 long ago learned that I must sacrifice pleasure in very 
 many instances ;" and he cracked the seal which
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 283 
 
 guarded the strange secret that the letter con 
 tained. 
 
 " Will !" said Helen, with a threatening turn of the 
 head ; and he dropped the letter, as if by accident, at 
 her feet. As she glanced at the name at its close, she 
 colored, and a look of great surprise rested upon her 
 countenance. She could not read it until her visitor 
 was gone, for she was unwilling he should know its 
 source ; but he seemed determined upon remaining. 
 She at length began sewing, apparently undesirous to 
 peruse it ; and he took up a little volume which lay 
 upon her table, and appeared perfectly contented to 
 wait her pleasure. At last, overcome by impatience, 
 she said, 
 
 "Will, your society is very agreeable ; I think your 
 mother would enjoy it." 
 
 " I am very happy to hear it," he replied ; " and I 
 shall do myself the pleasure of remaining where I know 
 it is appreciated." 
 
 "How provoking!" ejaculated Helen. 
 
 " What is it ? have you pricked your finger ?" ex 
 claimed the other. " I am very sorry." 
 
 " No," she replied ; " but I will be much obliged to 
 you if you will postpone your visit a short time." 
 
 After giving her an assurance of the injustice of such 
 ill-treatment, Will did as she had desired. 
 
 The letter was from Mr. Ashton, and read thus : 
 
 " Boston, 
 
 " Miss HELEN BUKKE You may be a little surprised 
 to receive a communication from me ; but I trust to 
 your kindness to be excused for any seeming presump 
 tion. 
 
 " It is now four years since we first met in the little 
 grave-yard in the country. You told me then that you
 
 284 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 were almost friendless, and, from those who knew you, 
 I learned more of your history. Then I pitied, but 
 pity soon ripened into a deeper regard. 
 
 " I have made several previous efforts to communi 
 cate with you, which, I am almost confident, have 
 failed, and of the reason of this I am not wholly igno 
 rant. 
 
 " The sister, who has so long been my companion at 
 home, has linked her heart with another, and I am de 
 prived of her sweet association. Now, I want a com 
 panion with whom I may share my joys and my sor 
 rows, upon whom I may lavish my affections, and who 
 will not consider me unworthy of her love. The slight 
 acquaintance which I had with you four years ago, was 
 not insufficient to assure me, that every impulse of your 
 heart could find an echo in my own, and poverty 
 alone forbade me then to reveal to you the truth ; but 
 a kind Providence has smiled upon my efforts, and that 
 objection is now removed. I, like you, am almost 
 alone in the world; but I seek a friend in you, and 
 offer, in return, the purest affections which can exist in 
 my heart. Life may be brighter to us both, lightened 
 by each other's love ; and, as a pastor, I may be more 
 successful in my labors, if encouraged by your co-oper 
 ation. 
 
 " Please answer as soon as possible, and believe me, 
 Yours, truly, 
 
 " GEOEGE ASHTON." 
 
 Years had rolled away since the pressure of the 
 young clergyman's hand had left so strong an impres 
 sion upon Helen's mind ; but the heart has deep hiding- 
 places, where it may preserve affections and impress 
 ions, which seem to be lost in forgetfulness, but which 
 the tide of circumstances brings back again to light,
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 285 
 
 in all their freshness, and in more complete perfection. 
 So did her heart give back what it had so long held in 
 secret. And why was it? Their eyes had met hi 
 formal friendship, but had they whispered of a mutual 
 interest awakened ? Lip had answered lip in but formal 
 recognition, and surely they had not been the betray 
 ers ! or is there a silent language between hearts ? It 
 may be that there is. 
 
 Heart-language is such as hearts only can know, and 
 we may never explore the birthplace of their mutual 
 love. 
 
 The thought of love, now, was unlike what it had 
 been when introduced by Doctor Duval, for while she 
 strove to banish it in the one instance, she found it sweet 
 to cherish it hi the other. Yes, Helen loved ; but hers 
 was not a love which had just burst into life ; not a 
 love which was begotten by selfish interest, and which 
 dies when that interest ceases to be promoted by the 
 sweet passion. No, it had been born in her breast 
 when no thought of self could control ; and it had been 
 manifested in the happiness she had ever felt when she 
 learned of the country pastor's success, while wholly 
 unconscious that he bestowed one thought upon her. 
 
 Again and again did she peruse that letter, and the 
 flame it had roused to new life, burned brighter and 
 brighter at each perusal. Her poverty and humility 
 did not appear to forbid her to receive and cherish the 
 offered affection, for he who had offered it loved even 
 these. He, too, had borne them, and he did not de 
 spise them in another. In the dark day of his own ad 
 versity he had learned to love her as a child of greater 
 adversity, and in the brightness of the dawning pros 
 perity he looked down with unchanged affection. 
 
 There is a purity in genuine love, and Helen wel 
 comed it. To preach the Gospel, which had been her
 
 286 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 comfort from childhood, and which was her hope for 
 the future, was the mission he had chosen, and she 
 reverenced it. Its holy influences controlled all his 
 life, and she, too, sought to be governed by the same 
 spirit. Could she then cherish one thought but that 
 of acceptance ? Certainly not, and the answer which 
 John slipped so quietly into the post-office, the follow 
 ing evening, breathed of nothing else. Examine its 
 contents, and know how she was willing to acknowl 
 edge her gratitude. 
 
 " MB. ASHTON Your last letter is the only one I 
 have ever received from you. I thank you for the 
 kind remembrance of me, which it assures me you have 
 cherished. 
 
 " The heart that has never felt the sweetness of the 
 tie which binds kindred hearts ; which has forgotten 
 how confidingly it could once say father, and how 
 sweet it was to breathe the words, my mother ; which 
 has no knowledge of a brother's or a sister's love, but 
 which has been almost friendless through life, is slow 
 to reject what you have offered to me. Mine is such 
 a heart, and though I can now trust confidently the 
 affections of those with whom I live, yet I know and 
 it is just, and I do not complain that I hold but a 
 second place in those affections. Poor you know me 
 to be, yet, regardless of that, you are willing to love 
 me. I am thankful for that love, and assure you that 
 to reciprocate it will be to me a very delightful task. 
 
 " HELEN BUKKE." 
 
 Helen's ever ready adviser, Mrs. White, was not ig 
 norant of this correspondence, and this letter had not 
 been sent without her approval. She rejoiced that 
 Helen had secured the love of one so worthy of her,
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 287 
 
 and she felt assured that in her the young clergyman 
 would find what he needed, a true and devoted com 
 panion, an able and discreet counselor. 
 
 It has been said that " this is a weeping world," and 
 it may be true. Helen had been nourished by tears, 
 but she would now have added, it is also a smiling 
 world. The little grief-drop, when it leaves the eye, 
 rushes rapidly past the home of smiles; the cheek 
 so beautiful, wet with tears, is still more beautiful 
 wreathed with smiles ; and the heart which bursts at 
 grief is equally sensible to joy. This, then, is a world 
 of smiles and tears. Sometimes they are mingled, but 
 Helen had drunk her share of misery, and her cup of 
 life held no longer any thing but joys. 
 
 Life hath real joys. The happy face of the child, 
 that delights in the first draught of existence, tells of 
 real joy ; and so pure are life's morning pleasures that 
 they shed a cheering light over the darkest hours of 
 later years. The settled look of calm cheerfulness 
 which rests upon the countenance of the aged father, 
 as he watches the success of those who have been his 
 car for years, and in whose affectionate arms he is 
 borne as he journeys to the tomb, reveals a joy which 
 is earth-born, but Avhich shall live, and be meet for the 
 habitation of heaven. 
 
 Love is the completion of the happiness of heaven ; 
 but love's first-fruits are gathered " on this side Jor 
 dan," and the world is its birth-place. The soul hun 
 gers, and the highest happiness of mortals is to feed 
 that soul. The invisible food upon which it is nour 
 ished " cometh down" to earth, and as the bliss of the, 
 better world, whence it cometh, shall be to satisfy 
 those inner longings, the work, surely, is begun below.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 IT was the evening before Minnie White's wedding- 
 day. There was a deeper flush than usual upon her 
 cheek, and her young heart throbbed with unwonted 
 quickness. The folding-doors between the parlors 
 were thrown partly open, and the movements of the 
 inmates plainly indicated that they were momentarily 
 expecting guests. Presently Harry Lee entered, ac 
 companied by an elderly gentleman, whom he intro 
 duced as his father. Minnie's heart throbbed still 
 quicker, and the color on her face was still deeper 
 when she saw him, and when Harry presented her to 
 the stranger as the one whom he might address, on the 
 following morning by the endearing title of daughter. 
 The stranger kissed the brow of the agitated girl, and 
 welcomed her to a daughter's place in his affections, 
 while her unaffected " I thank you," revealed the truth 
 that she not unwillingly accepted it. Under such cir 
 cumstances the powers are quickened, and at the first 
 glance Minnie learned every feature of Mr. Lee's face, 
 and read much of his character. 
 
 " Rather a remarkable coincidence has come to light 
 since I reached the city this afternoon," said Mr. Lee, 
 when he had become engaged in conversation with Mr. 
 and Mrs. White, and Minnie and Harry had forgotten 
 all but each other. 
 
 " Any thing of importance ?" inquired Mr. White. 
 
 " It is a thing which interests me considerably," re 
 plied the other ; " and it may aid me in finding an old
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 289 
 
 friend, which I have been unable to do by inquiry. 
 When I entered my son's room this afternoon, I saw, 
 hanging against the wall, a portrait of two children, 
 which was painted in India by an artist who spent a 
 few months there for his health, and which belonged 
 to the gentleman who aided me in making my first suc 
 cessful efforts in that trade. They are the portraits of 
 his children. He removed to New York, and was 
 about engaging in a more extensive business when he 
 was lost at sea, on a voyage which he found it necessary 
 to make in order to complete his arrangements." 
 
 " It is rather singular," said Mr. White. " How did 
 your son come in possession of the picture ?" 
 
 " His uncle purchased it at auction for him ?" replied 
 Mr. Lee. " I have made every effort to learn what 
 became of the widow and children, but have entirely 
 failed. I have repeatedly written to the lawyer who 
 settled the estate, for information concerning them, but 
 he has always professed an ignorance of them for which 
 I consider him really blamable. Mrs. Lincoln was a 
 woman illy calculated to depend upon herself, and I 
 fear she may have suffered." 
 
 " Lincoln ! Lincoln !" repeated Mr. White, thought 
 fully, as if endeavoring to rouse some recollection of 
 the person. " I don't believe I ever knew him." 
 
 " He M 7 as lost fifteen or sixteen years ago," said the 
 other. 
 
 " O, that was before my coming to this city," replied 
 Mr. White ; " I thought I had never heard of him." 
 
 " Probably not," said Mr. Lee ; " he spent but a 
 short time in the city ; his home, after his marriage, 
 was in India. His was one of the loveliest fami 
 lies I ever knew," he continued, " and his elder daugh 
 ter, Nellie, was a favorite of mine, and when I saw her 
 face so perfectly to-day, it awakened very peculiar emo- 
 13
 
 
 290 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 tions. I loved little Nellie Lincoln as I would have 
 done an own daughter." 
 
 " Nellie Lincoln !" exclaimed Mrs. White, but she 
 was quick to read a glance from her husband's eye, 
 which showed that the same thought was in both their 
 minds, which cautioned her about revealing it. 
 
 " Yes, or rather Helen Lincoln," answered Mr. Lee, 
 and again Mr. White inquired, 
 
 " Did you know much of the parents ?" 
 
 During this conversation Helen was sitting just the 
 other side of the folding-doors, and every word which 
 the stranger uttered reached her ear, and emotions 
 deep as the soul's own interests wrung her soul. The 
 name Nellie Lincoln was familiar to lier, and one which 
 was associated with her happiest days. But she over 
 came her desire to make herself known, and listened, 
 to learn, if possible, something more concerning her 
 parents, if indeed they were the persons referred to, 
 and of the truth of this she had but little doubt. Had 
 notice been taken of her countenance then, the observ 
 er would have witnessed a lively sporting of pallor and 
 blushes, for, almost at the same moment it would be 
 pale as the unblemished marble, and again crimsoned 
 like the warm blood which coursed in her veins. 
 
 " I knew them well," said Mr. Lee, in reply to Mr. 
 White's question ; " and would have done any thing 
 to aid them when in trouble. I fear the widow and 
 children were not well provided for, for I am quite cer 
 tain that the greater part of Mr. Lincoln's fortune was 
 lost at the time his vessel was wrecked." 
 
 "There was then little or nothing left for them," 
 continued Mr. White. 
 
 " Not really," replied the other ; " but projects 
 which Mr. Lincoln originated I have carried out, and 
 they have proved most successful, and to his ingenuity
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 291 
 
 I am indebted for what I now possess ; and this being 
 the case, I really consider myself but a partner in the 
 profits of my late undertakings, and could I have found 
 the widoAV I should have considered it a duty to share 
 them with her." 
 
 " The law would have released you from any thing 
 of the kind," said Mr. White. 
 
 " But justice and my own conscience would have de 
 manded it," replied Mr. Lee. " Established law and the 
 law of right are not always the same, in my opinion ; 
 and one great reason why I have come to America is, 
 to make more decided efforts to learn something of 
 this family to assist them, if they are living, and need 
 assistance. But the lawyer who settled Mr. Lincoln's 
 estate, wrote me that Mrs. Lincoln had left New York, 
 and I am doubtful whether I can get any trace of 
 them." 
 
 " A charitable errand, I think, Mr. Lee," remarked 
 Mr. White. 
 
 " I object to the word charitable," replied the other, 
 " and I sometimes reproach myself that I did not un 
 dertake it sooner. I could have done but little the first 
 year or two, for the profits of the business did not ap 
 pear immediately, and I myself was in but comfortable 
 circumstances at the time of Mr. Lincoln's death. But 
 I hope his family have not suffered, and that if I find 
 them, it may prove that all has been well, and that we 
 may enjoy our meeting much. Mrs. Lincoln," he con 
 tinued, settling back into the great chair he was occu 
 pying, " was a sensitive woman, naturally, and very 
 easily influenced by circumstances, and this sensitive 
 ness was greatly increased by an affair which happened 
 while she was at school. Mr. Ermstead, her father, 
 was in business, and Mary, being motherless " 
 
 "Mary Ermstead! Was her name Mary Enn-
 
 292 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 stead ?" exclaimed Mrs. White, who had been for some 
 time a silent listener, starting from her chair, a look of 
 great astonishment having taken possession of both her 
 own features and those of her husband. 
 
 " Yes, Mary Ermstead ; and after she was married 
 she preserved her maiden name, and her younger child 
 was named Mary Ermstead Lincoln ; but tell me, why 
 do you appear so surprised ?" 
 
 " Singular, very !" said Mr. White, beginning to 
 pace the room in a manner which excited the attention 
 of all, and not offering to answer Mr. Lee's inquiry. 
 " Singular, very !" he repeated. 
 
 The riddle of years was fast being solved. 
 
 Helen's excitement was becoming too intense to be 
 longer concealed ; and drawing from her finger the 
 ring, which her mother had tied upon it when she was 
 a child, and which her friend, the farmer, had carefully 
 kept for her until she had grown large enough to wear 
 it, she handed it to the stranger, pointing to the name, 
 " Mary E. Lincoln," which was engraved upon the in 
 side of it. 
 
 " Tell me whose is this, and where did you get it ?" 
 he exclaimed, eagerly. 
 
 "My mother!" was all the delighted girl could an 
 swer ; and tears, such as few eyes are ever permitted 
 to shed, ran down her cheeks. 
 
 " Nellie !" exclaimed he, seizing her hand, and be 
 ginning to catch the secret of the general surprise 
 " Nellie Lincoln ! yes, I see that mother's face in 
 yours ; but where is she ?" 
 
 There was a pause, then Helen answered, "Tn 
 heaven," and turned away to conceal her emotions. 
 
 " John," said Mr. White, entering the kitchen. "Go 
 to the office and say to Doctor Duval that I would 
 like to see him immediately, in the library ;" and, in a
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 293 
 
 short time Mr. and Mrs. White were engaged in earn 
 est conversation with the doctor. 
 
 The web of mystery once broken, revelations roll out 
 in quick succession. Of the truth that Helen was 
 one of the family which *Mr. Lee desired to find, there 
 was not a single doubt ; but another inquiry, of deeper 
 interest to them, engaged the thoughts of Mr. and 
 Mrs. White. To learn the reason of this, it is neces 
 sary to look back a moment into the history of the 
 past. 
 
 Several years before Helen met Minnie in the mar 
 ket, and filled her little basket with strawberries, Mr. 
 and Mrs. "White left their home, in the delightful groves 
 of Alabama, to visit New York. Their only daughter, 
 then not four years old, was too frail to endure the fa 
 tigue of the voyage, and, before reaching the city of 
 their destination, they mingled their tears with the 
 waters of the ocean, to whose bosom they had commit 
 ted the lifeless form of their little one. It were useless 
 to attempt to describe the sorrow which wrung the 
 hearts of those loving parents. They who have felt 
 a like sorrow know what it is ; and they who have not, 
 may thank the great Ruler of their fortunes for this 
 ignorance. 
 
 One of the first acquaintances which the visitors 
 made in New York, was that of Doctor Duval ; and the 
 generous sympathy which he manifested, and felt for 
 them, begat a mutual confidence and esteem. He saw 
 how that mother's heart yearned for a child to love, 
 and how a void, cheerless and painful, had been made 
 in that father's breast. He, one day, brought with 
 him, to visit them, a little girl very nearly the same 
 age with their own. " She is an orphan, and entirely 
 friendless," said he ; " perhaps she might partially sup 
 ply the place of the one you have lost." As Mrs.
 
 294 II EL EN LINCOLN. 
 
 White looked upon that bright little face which never 
 received a mother's kiss, and at those little arms which 
 had only a stranger's neck to clasp, and listened to that 
 .childish voice which was music to no ear, her heart 
 turned involuntarily toward the little unfortunate. 
 
 This child was Mary Ermstead Lincoln ! 
 
 Doctor Duval exercised great caution in this matter, 
 and gave the child's name as Mary Ermstead, hoping, 
 by this means, to remove all possibility of her parent 
 age becoming known at any coming period. None, 
 save the overseers of the Asylum from which she was 
 taken, knew aught of this, besides the doctor ; and his 
 assurance that no person would ever appear to claim 
 her, was all that Mr. and Mrs. White required. 
 
 Four years the little " grafted bud" was nourished 
 in the genial air of Alabama, after which Mr. White 
 established himself in the city of New York. Even 
 those who might have known something of Mary Lin 
 coln were slow to suspect that Minnie White was any 
 other than the new merchant's daughter ; and when 
 Minnie wept, as she listened to the tale of Helen's mis 
 fortunes, and heard her sigh for the sister of whom she 
 was unable to gain the least information, little did she 
 think she had been a sharer in each of those mis 
 fortunes, and that the tears she shed moistened the 
 lost sister's eyes. 
 
 Helen and Minnie had loved each other, but when 
 they were that night clasped in each other's arms, new 
 love, new emotions, which language is impotent to de 
 scribe, filled their hearts. They were akin to those 
 which the weeping Mary and Martha experienced 
 when "he that was dead came forth," and which 
 prompted Jairus, the ruler, to worship the despised 
 Nazarene. 
 
 That Minnie was an adopted daughter Harry Lee
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 296 
 
 knew well. It was the secret he learned the evening 
 he sought the interview with Mr. White hi the count- 
 ing-room, and here was the reason of those singular 
 remarks in which that gentleman then indulged, and 
 which so well-nigh disturbed the equanimity of the 
 young attorney's temper. 
 
 Sweet Franky May shed a single tear when she 
 learned that Minnie would not be, in reality, her sis 
 ter, though she had consented to be one with the brill 
 iant Will. At her suggestion the true sister stood in 
 Franky's appointed place, beside the gentle bride of 
 the following morning, when she took upon her the 
 vow to love and cherish through life ; and the thought 
 of disappointment vanished at the sight of the happi 
 ness which had been so justly transferred to another. 

 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 " HSLEN, may I talk with you a little while ?" said 
 Doctor Duval to her, as he turned to re-enter the door, 
 after parting with the gay bridal company which had 
 just left. 
 
 "Certainly, sir," she replied, for she had, for the 
 time, lost all her aversion to him, since he had been 
 the only person able to prove, to a certainty, that Min 
 nie was indeed her sister, and as she sat down in the 
 deserted parlor, she remarked with unusual emphasis, 
 " This is the very happiest day of all my life." 
 
 " And will you not consent to make it such to me," 
 said the doctor. 
 
 The hated subject was again forced upon Helen's 
 mind, and her bitter feelings returned, doubly bitter 
 in comparison with the delightful ones she had jast 
 been indulging, and she replied, 
 
 " I have told you once, "and I can never change my 
 answer." 
 
 Have you considered the matter ?" again he asked. 
 
 " All that I ever shall," she answered, determinedly, 
 and recollecting the interview on the piazza, she asked, 
 
 " Doctor, why did you say I did myself a wrong in 
 refusing to comply with your request ?" 
 
 " Because," said he, " I am in the possession of facts 
 concerning you and your parents which would be of 
 interest to you." 
 
 " Did you know, before now, that Minnie was my 
 sister ?" inquired Helen, looking reprovingly at him.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 297 
 
 " I did," was his reply. 
 
 "And can you now ask me to love one who has 
 willingly deprived me of happiness, which might 
 have banished every dark hour t of the years that are 
 passed ?" 
 
 Contempt, pride, and resolution, were plainly de 
 picted upon Helen's countenance when she said this, 
 and the look which she cast upon her visitor was such 
 as he had never before met. 
 
 " Not willingly," he replied. " You judge me too 
 hastily. ISTot willingly, Helen ; the necessity has de 
 stroyed all my happiness ; only hear me and exercise 
 your unprejudiced judgment, and you can not cen 
 sure." 
 
 "Pardon my rashness, then, and tell me all you 
 know." 
 
 " It was my design when I sought this interview, 
 but" and knitting his eyebrows evidently greatly 
 agitated, he added, " it must reveal my deeper sin." 
 Again his brow contracted, and an expression of fixed 
 determination settled upon his features, and looking 
 Steadily upon the floor he began, 
 
 " I knew your mother when she was very young. 
 You are like her, but adversity has cultivated more 
 your decision of character, and experience has taught 
 you to be more watchful and guarded in your actions 
 than was she. She was more like Minnie in these re 
 spects. All who knew Mary Ermstead, loved her, and 
 she never had occasion to mistrust a smile or kind word 
 when it was offered her. I sought her society. I was 
 willing to do any thing to please her, and my associa 
 tion with her was such that, before I was aware of it, 
 she loved me. The first and purest affections of her 
 generous faithful heart were given to me. I was proud 
 to know it. I gloried in my conquest, but understand 
 
 13*
 
 298 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 me I had loved her first. I was young, and I knew 
 not the value of such love." 
 
 He paused. There were no tears to moisten his rigid 
 features. No he had nerved himself against tears. 
 
 " But I know it now," he at length continued. " I was 
 ignorant how deeply little things may wound loving 
 hearts, and thoughtlessly Heaven knows I meant no 
 wrong ! yes, thoughtlessly, I turned all my attention 
 to a heartless belle, who was, for the time, the center 
 of attraction in our society. In this I never thought 
 of loving her. I could not have done it. I only no 
 ticed her, as we eagerly watch the vanishing meteor, 
 which dazzles but for a moment. As we turn from its 
 transient glitter with greater admiration of the planet 
 whose light is constant, though for the time less brill 
 iant, so did I intend to return to the gentle girl whom 
 for weeks I had almost neglected, and who had firm 
 hold upon my affections, how firm my life of agony 
 alone has revealed. 
 
 " While I was thus trifling, unkindly, I will admit, I 
 would not have exchanged one smile of Mary's for all the 
 flattery which she whose favors I had turned to court, 
 could have lavished upon me. It was folly, boyish fol 
 ly, which influenced me, and when I came again to re 
 ceive and reciprocate the love which I had not dreamed 
 I could lose, I found it had changed. Pride had gained 
 the mastery over it, and Mary's respect for me had 
 gone. I was not hated, but despised. I made every 
 effort to reinstate myself in her affections, but it was 
 impossible her studied coldness and neglect of me I 
 could not overcome, and I became almost frantic. 
 
 " It was at so great and irremediable a sacrifice that 
 I learned the noble nature of woman. I had believed 
 her weak, and easily influenced, but I saw my mistake, 
 and remorse has since been my constant companion.
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 299 
 
 It is this, Helen, that has poisoned all my happiness ; 
 this that has made me the strange, disagreeable person 
 you have found me ; and it was this forced me to for 
 sake the pure religion to which you so resolutely cling. 
 Earth has proved to me a place of unceasing torment, 
 and I could not, would not, believe that a greater punish 
 ment than I was suffering, could exist. I saw the heart 
 which I had been proud to possess, given to another, 
 and when at the altar Mary vowed to love and cherish 
 George Lincoln, I vowed to live and die unloved. 
 
 " The first years of her married life were spent in 
 India. Twice I visited that country to look upon her 
 face. I saw her, but she was unconscious of my pres 
 ence, and after your father returned to this city I saw 
 her often. Immediately after his death I visited her, 
 and when I saw her in affliction I loved her more deep 
 ly than before, but she could not trust one whom she 
 believed unfaithful. I saw her when in deep want, but 
 she scorned the assistance I offered. I saw her miser 
 able when I was able to do much for her comfort, but 
 she would not receive assistance from me, and my own 
 conduct was the cause of all this. I had poisoned her 
 happiness and my own, and every luxury I procured 
 was more powerful to torment me than the severest 
 poverty could have been. I was numbered with the rich, 
 but none was ever poorer in ah 1 that makes life desirable. 
 
 " I often rode by her home when she lived in the little 
 brown house just out of the city, but she carefully pre 
 vented me from seeing her. As a last effort, I sought 
 by a note, her forgiveness. It was granted, but with 
 the forgiveness came the request that she should hear 
 nothing further from me. Then I almost yielded to 
 despair. I was present, the most sincere mourner at 
 her burial, and I secretly caused a small headstone to 
 be raised at her grave. Months after, when I was cer-
 
 300 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 tain none would know of it, she was removed from the 
 burying-place of the poor, and laid in a quiet corner of . 
 'Greenwood.' The wrld is ignorant who sleeps in 
 that grave, but it is not a forgotten spot : the choicest 
 flowers have been strewn upon it, and tears of real, un 
 affected sorrow have watered it. 
 
 " As soon as the opportunity was presented, I found 
 this happy home for Minnie, and it was through my in 
 fluence that you were taken to Mr. White's, when so 
 helpless, after that injury. Helen, I have done what I 
 could. My honor was at stake, or I should have re 
 vealed to you that Minnie was your sister. Had you 
 known it as a secret it would have afforded no happi 
 ness ; but I have been continually hoping something 
 might reveal it. Helen, I love you for your mother's 
 sake, and for your own. Can you forgive as that moth 
 er forgave, and love me, now that I have confessed ah 1 , 
 and repent ?" 
 
 " I freely forgive," she replied, without a moment's 
 hesitation ; " but my love is given to another." 
 
 This was a second crushing of Doctor Duval's hopes, 
 but his heart was schooled to endurance ; forgiveness 
 was sweet, and it lightened the disappointment which 
 accompanied it. 
 
 Before that sun set Helen had read lines penned by 
 a hand which had rested upon her infant head ; had 
 gazed upon the picture of features once dear to her, 
 but which she had almost forgotten ; and, with Doctor 
 Duval, had stood beside the mound, beneath which all 
 that is earthly of her mother was laid. Fresh flowers 
 were smiling upon that quiet grave ; a neat monument 
 bearing no name told that the sleeper there had " pass 
 ed that way to heaven ;" and the -now happy Helen 
 kissed affectionately the hand of him who had so 
 faithfully, but so strangely befriended her.
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE investigation which Mr. Lee made of the dis 
 posal of Mr. Lincoln's property, tevealed a heartless- 
 ness, and disregard for the welfare of others in Mr. 
 Doxtater, which few are capable of manifesting. The 
 limits of law, it is true, had not been overstepped, but 
 honor and conscience had been wholly unconsulted. 
 He to whom had been %iven the office of handing the 
 helpless from affluence to penury, had not smoothed 
 the way by kindness and care, nor avoided the thorns, 
 which might have easily passed unnoticed, and thus 
 have shielded the crushed heart from blows whtch it 
 was in his power to avert. No, but from the wreck 
 of another's misfortune he had gathered spoil in which 
 himself might luxuriate, and with it had swelled the 
 almost bursting coffers of his own treasures ; but they 
 who had bowed reverently before the shrine of his 
 gold now despised its possessor. 
 
 To Mr. Doxtater's care Mr. Ashton had intrusted 
 tte first communications which revealed his love for 
 Helen; but though he had seen her struggling for 
 years against the fierce blasts of adversity, self-interest 
 and pride had induced him to sacrifice honor all that 
 can give the slightest claim to the title, man to 
 quench the spark which might kindle the flame of her 
 happiness. 
 
 Acquaintance and intercourse, even with those who 
 fail to win our friendship or esteem, beget, at least, an
 
 302 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 interest, and we love to listen to the story of their 
 fortunes. 
 
 Parental influence is powerful, and the spirit of the 
 parent often lives again in the breast of the child. 
 From the training which Louise Doxtater had received 
 it is easy to imagine her character. To restraint she 
 was a stranger, and the injunction, "Honor thy father 
 and thy mother" was unheeded by her. Gold had se 
 cured for her admirers, and, among them, the French 
 man whom her fath6r had offended was the most con 
 stant. The efforts which were made by the parents to 
 repel him only increased his determination, and Louise, 
 mistaking this manifestation of will for love, and disap 
 pointed by the failure in her attempts to win Albert 
 Lee, encouraged all his plans. 
 
 One cloudy, dark morning, Louise left her home. 
 She was observed as she was passing out of the door, 
 but her mother had, long before, learned that it was 
 useleSs to interfere with her arrangements, and she did 
 not question her respecting her errand. The hour for 
 dinner came, but Louise did not appear, and the un- 
 suitableness of the dress she had worn, for visiting, 
 awakened her mother's suspicions. She went to her 
 room to see if, perchance, she had not returned unob 
 served. A note directed to Mrs. Doxtater was lying 
 upon the floor, directly before the door, where it could 
 not fail to attract the attention of any person who 
 should enter the room. With the intensest excitement 
 she tore it open, and read as follows. 
 
 " MY DEAR MOTHER For I do love you and now 
 as I am about to leave you, perhaps forever, my love is 
 stronger than ever before. I have been unhappy at 
 home. Love is unconquerable, and you and niy father 
 have tried, by every possible means, to separate me
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 303 
 
 from one who has my affections, and whom I have 
 been for a long time determined to marry. Your own 
 course has driven me to the step which I have taken. 
 Instead of going to the theater last evening, as you 
 
 supposed, with Mr. , I went to the parsonage in 
 
 S street, where I was married to Monsieur Bou- 
 
 tillier. Should you wish to learn any thing further of 
 
 me, Mr. can give you the information, as we have 
 
 made him our confidant, and authorized him to tell 
 you all. 
 
 "Before you find this I shall be far out at sea, on 
 my way to my home in Paris. If you forgive I may 
 see you again ; but if not, farewell forever. 
 " Your daughter, 
 
 " LOUISE BOUTTLLIER." 
 
 The vexation, mortification, and remorse of Mr. 
 Doxtater's family were unbounded ; but the hour for 
 the departure of the steamer had not yet arrived, and 
 Mr. Ddxtater hastened to the wharf to detain, if pos 
 sible, his daughter. He was one minute too late. He 
 reached the wharf just as the great wheel made its 
 first circuit in the water, and the unchained steamer 
 pushed away in its freedom. Louise was standing up 
 on deck, and, catching sight of her father, she waved 
 her handkerchief, threw him one parting kiss, and 
 turned from seeing him more.
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 IT was the Sabbath. The congregation had assem 
 bled earlier than usual in the church on street. 
 
 The heavy organ sent forth a cheerful voluntary, which 
 he whose fingers directed the notes might Jiave said 
 was a " Te Deum" or a " Gloria in Excelsis ;" but 
 there was a cheeriness to it which contradicted this. 
 Holy hearts were there, which might have said they 
 had come to worship God ; but their countenances de 
 clared that the Invisible was not in all their thoughts ; 
 that, like the ancient Jews, they were momentarily ex 
 pecting a being incarnate, who should appear in that 
 " temple made with hands." There were smiles upon 
 faces usually grave and solemn in the sanctuary, and 
 ears open to every suggestion, which, on other Sab 
 baths, were deaf to all that is worldly. 
 
 Little Mrs. Howe, who was a kind of secret spring 
 working through her second half, the good old deacon, 
 in the movement of the church machinery, had tarried 
 a little in the porch after her coming. When, at 
 length, she appeared, as she made her way to the dea 
 con's pew, she cast significant glances, which all under 
 stood. The deacon himself, after she had whispered a 
 moment to him, aroused to an unnatural gallantry, and 
 opened the door of the newly-cushioned pew which 
 had been prepared for the pastor's family, just as the 
 pastor and his bride entered the church, accompanied 
 by Harry and Mary Lee. 
 
 Mrs. Rowe's little black eyes sparkled like diamonds
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 305 
 
 in the sunlight, as she watched the head which was, a 
 moment after, bowed devotionally ; and, seemingly for 
 getful that the cold winds of November Avere blowing 
 without, she untied her bonnet-strings, and began to 
 sway rapidly the great feather fan which always hung 
 at the end of the deacon's pew. 
 
 The people of Mr. Ashton's charge loved him, and 
 many who, at his coining, had prayed that pastor and 
 people might be closely knit together in the bonds of 
 holy confidence, now prayed that they might not be 
 suffered to set their affections unduly upon an earthly 
 guide. 
 
 Mr. Ashton brought to his congregation, on that Sun 
 day, equally precious promises with those which had, in 
 former days, taken hold upon their hearts ; but his ef 
 forts to gain their attention proved almost ineffectual. 
 
 When the hour for reflection came, even Deacon 
 Rowe found himself almost destitute of new thoughts 
 and hopes ; and his evening prayer at home went up, 
 freighted with confessions, and with an earnest plea to 
 be forgiven for his wandering thoughts. His cheerful 
 wife, also, whose piety, though genuine, was not of the 
 character to add one jot to the length or solemnity 
 of her plump little face, found a seat by the front win 
 dow to be the most fitting place for her meditations ; 
 for the newly-purchased parsonage stood just on the 
 opposite side of the street, and her thoughts were all 
 there. 
 
 Mrs. Rowe's interest manifested for the parsonage, 
 at this time, was natural enough. She had not wholly 
 lost her delight at the happiness and surprise which she 
 had witnessed the evening before, when the omnibus 
 driver, contrary to Mr. Ashton's directions, turned for 
 him to alight upon the left, instead of the right-hand 
 side of the street. He had lived a long while in the
 
 306 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 family of Deacon Howe, and when he left a week be 
 fore, to go for* his expected bride, he went, with Mrs. 
 Rowe's promise that he could occupy the north front- 
 room of her house, if he desired. 
 
 There was an unusual sparkle to the kind lady's eyes 
 when she made this promise to Mr. Ashton, but he 
 thought it was occasioned by the delight which she felt 
 in the prospect of seeing her pastor's wife. But those 
 eyes sparkled more brightly, when, despite all his ex 
 postulations, he was set down across the street from his 
 supposed home, and she opened the door t and welcom 
 ed him to a well-furnished home of his own I 
 
 Though it was late, and the company which Mr. 
 Ashton had brought were weary, they could but accept 
 Mrs. Rowe's invitation to look at the house. They fol 
 lowed her through all its apartments, and gratification 
 soon overcame their weariness. 
 
 The neatly-furnished parlor, with its tasteful but 
 modest chandelier, seemed a fitting reception-room for 
 those who should desire to associate with the humble 
 servant of the Most High. The airy and convenient 
 " study," in one corner of which stood the pastor's 
 scanty but thoroughly-read library, the companion of a 
 large and judiciously-selected one which the congrega 
 tion had delighted to present to him, invited him to 
 enter it with a cheerful heart, and to search diligently 
 for the true bread of life in their behalf. 
 
 The study-chair and secretary were presents from 
 Mrs. Rowe, and as Mr. Ashton took his destined seat, 
 he discovered on the floor, at his feet, a pair of beauti 
 fully embroidered slippers, whose lining of snowy silk, 
 quilted in close diamonds, told him full plainly, that the 
 delicate fingers of sweet Mary Rowe had not been un 
 employed in striving to promote his happiness. 
 
 In all these arrangements blind old " Father Ashton"
 
 HELEN LINCOLN. 307 
 
 had not been forgotten. A convenient room had been 
 fitted up for him, and there he sat in his great arm 
 chair, waiting to receive his new daughter, for he was 
 too feeble to mingle with the company. After passing 
 his hand lightly over Helen's features, and smoothing 
 her hair, he kissed her forehead, and gave her a hearty 
 welcome, and his richest blessing. 
 
 Like the face at once wreathed with smiles and bathed 
 in tears, or rather, like the aged oak, whose strength is 
 almost wasted, and whose long arms are dried and leaf 
 less, but from whose trunk a new and tender plant is 
 springing, was that scene. The blood in the old man's 
 veins coursed feebly; life glimmering, a single spark 
 amid the gathering darkness of death, and the soul 
 seemed wrestling with its clay, eager to wing its flight 
 to its better home ; but a young and vigorous shoot 
 from the parent stock had risen, and was just now en 
 tering upon the brightest day of life. " In him, though 
 he were dead," should that father live, and growing 
 arms of usefulness were stretching to cover the places 
 from whence the dried branches had fallen away. 
 
 The new home was a parsonage only as it was a pas 
 tor's dwelling. The deed of the property was present 
 ed to Helen by Mr. Lee, who considered that, in 
 so doing, he made but a slight return for the assistance 
 which in former years he had received from her father. 
 He wept as he thought of the sorrows which had been 
 sown in the pathway of his favorite, but smiles sported 
 unpityingly with those tear-drops, for she was then 
 gathering a harvest of joy. 
 
 At the parsonage Doctor Duval was not an unfrequent 
 nor an unwelcome visitor. The bitterness of remorse 
 which had poisoned his happiness for years, had been 
 partially washed away by the tears of repentance the 
 beloved counterpart of the one he had injured had be-
 
 308 HELEN LINCOLN. 
 
 come his forgiving, faithful friend, and the vow made 
 in despair, he had no desire to break. 
 
 Calmer moments were granted to him, and his once 
 troubled spirit rested thankfully in the quiet. His 
 mind, which, through its blindfolded eyes, had caught 
 indistinct and strange impressions of the workings of 
 Him who rules all things, saw clearer and more cor 
 rectly with an unobstructed vision, and the cloudy 
 noonday was melting into a clear and tranquil evening. 
 
 The sunniness of rnii'th never sported on his counte 
 nance ; gayety was a stranger to him, but a calm, quiet 
 peace was the atmosphere in which he breathed. Like 
 the ocean when the winds are chained, he rested ; like 
 the violet, when the storm is over, he lifted his droop 
 ing head ; Avhile, like the repentant, pardoned culprit, 
 he knew the woe of sin. 
 
 Many Sundays had come and gone since that one on 
 which Deacon Howe's devotions were so disturbed; 
 the cushion in the pastor's pew had become worn ; the 
 slippers, the silken lining of which Mary so carefully 
 quilted, no longer " beautified the feet of him who 
 preached the Gospel of peace ;" the sightless -eyes of 
 the beloved sire saw clearly in the daylight of heaven, 
 but no dark day had ever dawned upon the inmates of 
 the parsonage. 
 
 Wealth might have brought them greater luxuries ; 
 worldly honor might have feasted their pride, and the 
 laurels of fame might have added a transient beauty to 
 their brows, but holy hearts are insensible to these, and 
 Helen Ashton was happy. 
 
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 the American Revolution in such an attractive manner, as to entice the youth of 
 his country to read the wonderful story, study its philosophy and teachings, and 
 to become familiar with the founders of our Ilepublic and the value of their labors. 
 In this he has been eminently successful; for the young read the pages of the 
 '' Field-Book" with the same avidity as those of a romance ; while the abundant 
 stores of information, and the careful manner in which it has been arranged and 
 set forth, render it no less attractive to the general reader and the ripe scholar of 
 more mature years. 
 
 Explanatory notes are profusely given upon every page in the volume, and also 
 a brief biographical sketch of every man distinguished in the events of the Revo, 
 iution, the history of whose life is known. 
 
 A Supplement of forty pages contains a history of the Naval Operations of the 
 Revolution ; of the Diplomacy ; of the Confederation and Federal Constitution ; 
 the Prisons and Prison Ships of New York ; Lives of the Signers of the Declara 
 tion of Independence, and other matters of curious interest to the historical student. 
 
 A new and very elaborate analytical index has been prepared, to which we call 
 special attention. It embraces eighty-five closely printed pages, and possesses 
 rare value for every student of our revolutionary history. It is in itself a com 
 plete synopsis of the history and biography of that period, and will be found ex 
 ceedingly useful for reference by every reader. 
 
 As a whole, the work contains all the essential facts of the early history of our 
 Republic, which are scattered through scores of volumes often inaccessible to the 
 great mase of readers. The illustrations make the whole subject of the American 
 Revolution so clear to the reader that, on rising from its perusal, he feels thorough 
 ly acquainted, not only with the history, but with every important locality made 
 memorable by the events of the war for Independence, and it forms a complete 
 Guide-Book to the tourist seeking for fields consecrated by patriotism, which lie 
 scattered over our broad land. Nothing has been spared to make it complete, re 
 liable, and eminently useful to all classes of citizens. Upward of THIRTY-FIVE 
 THOUSAND DOLLARS were expended in the publication of the first edition. 
 The exquisite wood-cuts, engraved under the immediate supervision of the author, 
 from his own drawings, in the highest style of the art, required the greatest care 
 in printing. To this end the efforts of the publishers have been directed, and we 
 tnk(' (rreat pleasure in presenting these volumes as the best specimen of typogra 
 phy ever issued from the American press. 
 
 The publication of the work having been commenced in numbers before its 
 preparation was completed, the volumes of the first edition were made quite un 
 equal in size. That defect has been remedied, and the work is now presented in 
 two volumes of equal size, containing about 780 pages each.

 
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