THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 


 
 THE 
 
 CARPENTER AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 ALSO, 
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 ' The Black Velvet Bracelet," Annette Warington," " Willaon 
 Avery," &.C. &c. 
 
 . 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 LIGHT AND HORTON. 
 1835.
 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, 
 BY LIGHT AND HORTON, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
 
 
 
 CARPENTER AND HIS FAMILY.
 

 
 
 THE CARPENTER AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PEEVISHNESS AND ILL HUMOR. 
 
 "On dear ! I never shall get this long, long 
 side hemmed. I know I shall not, as long 
 as I live," exclaimed little Louisa, impa- 
 tiently stretching out a sheet she had been 
 listlessly holding, and on which she occa- 
 sionally sewed a few stitches. 
 
 "And why not, my little sister?" replied 
 a lovely girl who sat drawing at a small table 
 on the right of Louisa, while another young 
 pupil, diligently engaged with her needle, 
 occupied a low seat on her left. "Why 
 not, my little sister ? Mary comes on rapidly 
 with hers ; and she had no more of it done 
 than you had this morning : you began at 
 the same time." 
 1*
 
 6 THE CARPENTER 
 
 " Mary is older than I am, a great deal," 
 said Louisa. 
 
 "You thought this difference 'very tri- 
 fling' yesterday, I think, Louisa, when your 
 aunt said she would give the orange tree in 
 the pretty vase to the oldest, as she had not 
 one for each. Now in this case, it really is 
 not worth considering, since Mary learned to 
 sew at the same time with yourself; not a 
 month earlier, you know, on account of her 
 previous ill health. Your difference of age, 
 therefore, furnishes no excuse for your dif- 
 ference of progress." 
 
 "Well," said Louisa with an expostulating 
 tone, " her needle does not trouble her so all 
 the time, as mine does me. It is so rusty 
 with the warmth of my hand, that I cannot 
 push it through at all, scarcely;" and Louisa 
 gave the unfortunate needle so passionate 
 a thrust, as to break it in twain immediately. 
 
 "Have you no emery cushion, Louisa?" 
 inquired Augusta. " Mary, I see, passes 
 her needle through the emery cushion every 
 time she threads it, and by that care pre- 
 vents the trouble of which you complain. 
 You were taught to do the same ; why do 
 you neglect it?"
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 7 
 
 " I had a cushion when school began,"- 
 replied Louisa peevishly, " but it has got 
 away somehow. I have looked all about 
 this half hour for it, and I can't spend any 
 more time about the silly thing. Beside, I 
 have broken my needle now, and it will do 
 no good." 
 
 Augusta sighed, and was about to speak ; 
 but before she could do so, Louisa prevented 
 her. 
 
 " Then, beside, Mary's thread is not all 
 the time breaking ; mine keeps getting into 
 knots, and then I am obliged to break it, 
 and join on again, every minute almost ; 
 and Mary seems to sew right straight on, 
 as easy" 
 
 "And yet, my little girl," said Augusta 
 
 gently, " your sister's thread was wound 
 from your own ball. It is your own listless, 
 idle feelings your fretful impatience, which 
 thus obstructs your progress and causes you 
 such continual difficulties." 
 
 " Well, aTiy body would be impatient to 
 be so troubled as I am," retorted Louisa ; 
 " and only see now what a great long side 
 it is; there, I will just measure it," she
 
 8 THE CARPENTER 
 
 continued, seizing the yard-stick which lay 
 upon the table, and in the movement throw- 
 ing over a glass of water in which Augusta 
 had dipped her brushes, spilling its contents 
 quite over the sheet she was sewing. 
 
 "Why do you waste your time thus, 
 Louisa?" said Augusta, drawing back has- 
 tily from the stream of water. " You make 
 yourself, and every one around you, un- 
 comfortable. Recollect, your mother told 
 you that these sheets must be done, and 
 well done, this morning, if you would ride 
 with her after dinner. And though she was 
 in great haste, she gave yoii no more than 
 she knew you could perfectly well accom- 
 plish if you pleased. If the appointed por- 
 tion is not done, therefore, by the time the 
 carriage is at the door, you will assuredly 
 remain at home ;, and I assure you, you will 
 lose a great pleasure. This was your moth- 
 er's express condition, with which you are 
 well able to comply. You have chosen to 
 waste one precious hour, duving which 
 Mary has accomplished a third of her 
 work, by steady industry. Why will you 
 not imitate this good spirit ?"
 
 r " AND HIS FAMILY. 9 
 
 Louisa did not answer, but still looked 
 ill-tempered, and continued to measure the 
 piece she had to sew.. 
 
 " Louisa, my dear little girl, you will be 
 very sorry for this naughty conduct pres- 
 ently," said Augusta kindly, "when the 
 afternoon comes, and we go upon a pleasant 
 excursion without you, and leave you quite 
 alone. We shall all be sorry to think of 
 you, working here by yourself, with a 
 grieved heart condemning you all the while ; 
 and we are going upon such a" 
 
 " It is a great deal too long a piece ! " 
 
 interrupted Lonisa, laying down the mea- 
 sure. " There ! there is two yards and so 
 much over to do yet ; and I know I cannot 
 get it done. Besides, I have broken my 
 needle now ; and the work is all wet, too." 
 
 "I will give you a new bright needle, 
 which is not the least rusty, my dear," said 
 Augusta, smiling pleasantly to win back 
 the good humor which seemed to have 
 nearly forsaken the young bosom. " In the 
 mean time, go to my washstand and bathe 
 your warm hands. Find your emery cush- 
 ion, and secure it properly at your side, and
 
 10 THE CARPENTER 
 
 then we will begin anew. Your work will 
 soon dry." 
 
 During this dialogue; the little Mary had 
 steadily pursued her work ; her eye intent, 
 and her slender fingers, though they could 
 not move with the celerity she wished, yet 
 by industrious employment had accumu- 
 lated the fine stitches, until they already 
 stretched over nearly half the appointed 
 task, which still appeared so formidable to 
 her impatient sister. 
 
 "I know I cannot do it, very well," 
 murmured Louisa pettishly, as she slowly 
 obeyed the directions of hersister. 
 
 " If you are resolved that you cannot, and 
 will not even try, certainly that consequence 
 is inevitable," said Augusta; " and I hope 
 you are prepared for all others that will 
 follow in the train." 
 
 "I don't care anything about riding," 
 said Louisa, proudly brushing back the 
 clustering curls from her flushed face, for 
 her naughty temper was by no means sub- 
 dued, even by the forgiving kindness of her 
 gentle and patient sister. " Beside," she 
 continued, "I don't see at all why mother
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 11 
 
 said that I should not go without this sheet 
 was finished ; as if I could not do it just as 
 well to-morrow, and better too, a great deal ; 
 for then my work will be all fitted to begin 
 with in the morning, and my hands will be 
 cool ; and I am sure my mother need not be 
 in such a hurry for these particular sheets, 
 (coarse things they are, too,) when she has 
 a trunk quite full of nice fine ones for I saw 
 them myself yesterday, when she was turn- 
 ing them over for half an hour almost. But 
 she has said the word, that they must be 
 done to-day: I am sure I don't know for 
 what." 
 
 " Have you finished your angry, disre- 
 spectful speech, Louisa?" said Augusta 
 reprovingly. " It ought always to be a 
 sufficient reason for you, that your mother 
 has so ordered it ; because you know, from 
 experience of her goodness, that she never 
 bids you do anything without an object, or 
 without considering your ability to comply. 
 But I will on this occasion, (as indeed I had 
 intended long since, and should, but for the 
 interruptions of your temper,) I will ex- 
 plain her reasons fully; and I trust they
 
 12 THE CARPENTER 
 
 will make you blush for your presumptuous 
 doubts of your mother's judgment, as well 
 as for your own ill humor, for which I con- 
 fess I feel truly grieved. I thought your 
 angry temper would long since have yielded 
 to forbearing kindness. I am greatly pained 
 to find that you cherish the uncomfortable 
 guest, and will not even try to subdue it." 
 
 Louisa blushed, but still retained the low- 
 ering brow, while the sweet smile which 
 generally dimpled her happy mouth, ap- 
 peared to have fled forever. 
 
 " But," continued Augusta, " at least 
 attend to your work while I tell you the 
 story, for it is something of a story which 
 I must relate. You can listen to it quite as 
 attentively without laying down your sew- 
 ing to look at me, you know ; and, possibly, 
 when I have concluded, you may rejoice in 
 your progress, and need no more urging to 
 industry." 
 
 Louisa took up her work tardily, and her 
 sister began the promised recital without 
 farther delay.
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE STORY OF MRS. OSBORN. 
 
 " BOTH of you well know the poor wo- 
 man who, for the last year, has taken the 
 washing of our family. She has several 
 little children, the oldest of whom, a fine 
 intelligent looking boy, is unhappily both 
 deaf and dumb, and, of course, quite una- 
 ble to take care of himself. The other two 
 are under four years of age. Yet it has been 
 almost exclusively by her own unceasing 
 labor, that this family has been latterly 
 supported labor, which, you may easily 
 suppose, must be greatly interrupted by the 
 necessary attention to her little helpless 
 children. 
 
 "Mr. Osborn, who is a carpenter, and an 
 excellent, ingenious workman, might easily 
 sustain his family above want, if not in 
 competency, but for a miserable habit he 
 has contracted of drinking immoderately, 
 which drains away all the fruits of his in- 
 dustry, and must, I fear, ultimately leave 
 2
 
 14 THE CARPENTER 
 
 them destitute. Yet when he is sober, he 
 is a kind and affectionate husband, and 
 appears to love his children fondly. And 
 when he keeps at home, he is generally 
 steady ; for he knows he has a good and 
 faithful wife, who never reproaches him, 
 and is attentive to all his wants, and so 
 obliging and gentle, that his evil propensi- 
 ties seem to be restrained in her presence, 
 by the power of her virtue. Sometimes, 
 however, he gets employment for months 
 in the neighboring towns, where good work- 
 men are scarce ; and then it is that bad ex- 
 ample, frequent temptations, a weak head, 
 and weaker principles, lead him soon into 
 bad company, and evil indulgences. Poor, 
 wicked man ! " 
 
 As Augusta proceeded, and Louisa's at- 
 tention was drawn from the magnitude of 
 the task before her, and the various hard- 
 ships of industry, she had sewed on easily, 
 without trouble from the "rusting of her 
 needle," or the "knotting of her thread." 
 The work seemed at once to have become 
 smooth and simple, the flush faded from 
 her cheek, and the angry sparkle vanished
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 15 
 
 from her eye. She was no longer nourish- 
 ing, by indulgence, the passions, which 
 come so readily at the first bidding. Her 
 sister observed with satisfaction the sub- 
 siding of these ungentle and uncomfortable 
 feelings ; but for a time she forbore to no- 
 tice it to her. 
 
 " For the last few months," continued 
 Augusta, " Mr; Osborn has been engaged 
 with many others upon the new church at 
 B , which, you recollect, we were notic- 
 ing in our drive through the town last 
 week. His poor wife was cherishing strong 
 hopes of better days, from the circumstance 
 of his sending her once or twice a small 
 portion of his earnings ; but alas ! the trials 
 of this worthy woman have indeed been 
 multiplied most dreadfully. The day be- 
 fore yesterday, your mother went to see 
 her, as she has often done before, to carry 
 her some work to do, and to inquire into 
 her situation, and the wants which she 
 might relieve. She found her overwhelmed 
 with distress, weeping piteously, yet busy- 
 ing herself in setting her miserable little 
 cabin in order, in the best manner she
 
 16 THE CARPENTER 
 
 could. Upon inquiring into her circum- 
 stances, your mother learned, that her hus- 
 band, being at work upon the staging of the 
 church, and probably not quite sober, had 
 fallen from a considerable height and crush- 
 ed himself most shockingly. He had been 
 taken up alive, however, and. it was sup- 
 posed would linger sometime. This news 
 was brought to the poor woman on the night 
 previous to your mother's visit, with the 
 additional intelligence, that his employers 
 were sending him by the easiest conveyance 
 to his family, and that he would probably 
 reach them by Thursday night." 
 
 " This is Thursday to-day is Thursday, 
 sister," said Louisa. 
 
 "Yes, my dear, and this evening the 
 poor mangled, suffering husband, whom she 
 yet tenderly loves, notwithstanding his great 
 fault, will probably reach his afflicted wife. 
 Your mother found her weighed down, not 
 only by this calamity, but from apprehend- 
 ing a host of bitter consequences. ' How 
 am I to support them all?' said she in a 
 burst of grief. ' How can I earn their bread, 
 with these new cares upon my hands ? and
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 17 
 
 yet I cannot no, I cannot see my poor John 
 suffer for attendance, and not give it to him. 
 He must be made as comfortable as with 
 such wounds he can be, while I yet have 
 him with me. He was a kind, good hus- 
 band to me, ma'am, when he knew what he 
 was about ; and I am sure he was doing 
 better, and giving up his bad courses when 
 this dreadful accident happened. But, Oh 
 dear, dear ! I do n't know what I am to do, 
 for I have not wherewith to make him up a 
 decent bed to die upon ! ' exclaimed the poor 
 woman, clasping her hands in the bitterness 
 of her afflicted soul." 
 
 " Your dear mother," continued Augusta, 
 " spake comfort to her, and promised that 
 they should all be fed and taken care of until 
 he was able to work as usual; and that 
 her immediate wants should be attended to 
 without delay ; and she did not leave the 
 poor woman until she had eased her heart 
 of a heavy burden. Alas ! as much re- 
 mained as she could well endure. 
 
 "Since that hour, we have both been 
 steadily engaged in making the necessary 
 provision for the arrival of the sufferer; (for
 
 18 THE CARPENTER 
 
 truly Mrs. Osborn's house was destitute of 
 every comfort or convenience.) In looking 
 over the ' large trunk of bed linen/ Louisa, 
 to select such things as were proper for the 
 purpose, we found all much too large and 
 delicate for such uses, and judged that 
 some newer and stronger might be got in 
 readiness, with the active assistance of our 
 little girls, against the appointed time. Af- 
 ter dinner, they must be conveyed, with the 
 beds and bedding, to the house, that before 
 night everything may be prepared. John 
 cannot reach this place before five, at 
 soonest. 
 
 " That her dear little girls, whom she 
 wishes to associate in every pleasure she 
 enjoys, more particularly in the pure de- 
 lights of benevolence, might partake in this 
 also, your kind mother has given you a 
 part to perform, and promised you also the 
 pleasure of riding with her, when it is ac- 
 complished. She intended to take the fruits 
 of your industry with us in the carriage, 
 rather than send them with the other arti- 
 cles, for a twofold reason : first, that it 
 gave you an hour longer to sew upon them,
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 19 
 
 and secondly, that you might have the 
 pleasure of bestowing them yourselves. 
 
 " Now, I trust, my dear Louisa, you see 
 a good cause for the present haste, even for 
 ' these very coarse sheets,' and a sufficient 
 reason why it will not do to postpone the 
 finishing the work until ' to-morrow.' You 
 must also perceive the propriety of your 
 not accompanying us, if, from indolence, or 
 ill temper, or any such improper cause, 
 you have rendered it impossible to present 
 your offering with ours. You see that 
 some of us must finish what you leave in- 
 complete ; and your mother thought it would 
 be too severe a punishment, even for your 
 fault, great as it would be, to render you the 
 mortified spectator of sufferings you could 
 not relieve of a charity of which you had 
 debarred yourself from partaking. Are you 
 now satisfied, my dear Louisa, that it is not 
 ' a great deal better to leave the remainder 
 of your work till to-morrow?' Are you con- 
 vinced of your mother's good judgment, in 
 determining that it must be done before you 
 could accompany her, and that you you 
 alone, are wrong?"
 
 20 THE CARPENTER 
 
 As Augusta had proceeded in her recital 
 of Mrs. Osborn's trouble, all Louisa's sym- 
 pathies had been awakened, and her con- 
 science had, from time to time, painfully 
 reproved her. Her chin trembled, and the 
 tear was ready to start from her full eye, 
 as much from the conviction that she had 
 been ill-tempered, and indolent, and unjust 
 to her kind mother, at the very moment, 
 too, when she was providing for her the 
 greatest pleasure, as from the mournful de- 
 tails of human misery to which she had 
 listened ; and she felt truly mortified, hum- 
 bled and unhappy.
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 REPENTANCE AND AMENDMENT. 
 
 LONG before Augusta had finished her 
 account of Mrs. Osbom's misfortune, Louisa 
 had resolved to redeem the time as far as 
 that was possible; and, if it were yet in 
 her power, by any exertions, to accomplish 
 her neglected task. Her little fingers had 
 long been exercised with unwonted zeal, as 
 the only atonement left her ; when there- 
 fore Augusta, laying down her pencil, and 
 smiling affectionately upon the repentant 
 girl, put these last queries, the streams burst 
 from their full fountains unrestrained, and 
 quick-coming sighs heaved her young bo- 
 som. 
 
 " If she had but told me ! " she at last 
 exclaimed, brushing away the troublesome 
 tears "I wish I had only known about it ! " 
 
 " You knew your duty pefectly well, 
 Louisa ; and should you not have trusted 
 your mother's goodness, without requiring 
 to know all her motives, previous to obey-
 
 22 THE CARPENTER 
 
 ing her? Have you ever found her un- 
 reasonable, unjust, or unkind? Does she 
 not always study your best good, and con- 
 tinually contribute to your happiness? It 
 was however her intention in this case, that 
 you should know all ; that you did not, is 
 simply the effect of your own impatient 
 temper. Last evening, when our plans 
 were matured, and your dear mother gave 
 this work into my hands, she said to me 
 ' let them have this sewing as early as you 
 can in the morning, Augusta ; it is rather a 
 long portion for them, but tell them, as they 
 work, the object of their industry. It will 
 render it a pleasant task, when they know 
 it is to relieve the afflicted. And I am sure 
 the recital of poor Mrs. Osborn's sufferings, 
 her many hardships, will make them thank 
 their heavenly Father more fervently, for 
 his mercy to themselves." 
 
 "And then why didn't you tell us, Au- 
 gusta?" interrupted Louisa, with quickness. 
 "If you had only said one word about 
 it" 
 
 " Louisa," replied Augusta, checking 
 
 the reproachful inquiry, "I began several
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 23 
 
 times to tell you. I have tried vainly to 
 hush your murmurings and settle you 
 quietly to your work, that I might have a 
 chance to communicate it. But you have 
 constantly prevented me. Beside, I thought 
 it right that some small degree of good 
 humor should precede the promise of such 
 a pleasure. I did not wish to hire your 
 compliance, most certainly. Such was not 
 your mother's intention ; but merely to be- 
 guile the hours of steady and cheerful de- 
 votion to your duty." 
 
 Louisa saw clearly that it was herself, 
 and herself alone, who must be blamed for 
 all that was wrong; and she felt exceed- 
 ingly sorry for her fault. She had a tender, 
 affectionate heart, and it was deeply touched 
 by the piteous story to which she had 
 listened. It was a soothing, delightful 
 thought that she was permitted to aid her 
 mother in relieving such sufferings. And 
 she now made her little slender fingers 
 speed along with all possible despatch, in 
 the faint hope of yet completing the ne- 
 glected work in season. But time had been 
 rapidly passing on, while her supineness
 
 24 THE CARPENTER 
 
 and indolence had been indulged. The 
 portion of sewing now to be accomplished 
 seemed truly to be more than could reason- 
 ably be expected of her best exertions ; and 
 her heart sunk when Mary, jumping up 
 gaily, exclaimed " Here sister, I have fin- 
 ished it; and I am very glad too," she con- 
 tinued, stretching out her weary limbs, "for 
 I am tired with sitting so long, and so still. 
 My foot is quite asleep; I can scarcely stand 
 upon it, it tingles so ; and my fingers ache 
 too. Shall I write now, Augusta?" 
 
 "No, my dear," replied her sister; "I 
 shall omit that part of your exercise this 
 morning. You may go now to your mother, 
 and she will tell you what to do next." 
 
 Mary had folded up her work, put her 
 thread, needle, thimble, and emery cushion 
 carefully in the pocket of her useful little 
 apron, and this again was deposited in her 
 work-basket ; and with light steps, and a 
 lighter heart, she had reached the door, 
 when she chanced to turn, and caught a 
 glance of the sad and anxious countenance 
 of her sister Louisa, her little hand eagerly 
 pushing the needle, and trembling with
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 25 
 
 its haste. A tear falling upon the work 
 at the same moment, quite subdued poor 
 Mary's heart. Hastily closing the door, 
 and returning to Augusta, she asked earn- 
 estly "Sister, can't I begin toward the 
 other end of Louisa's work, and help her ? " 
 " That must not be, my dear little kind 
 girl," replied Augusta, kissing her glowing 
 cheek, "your mother has other duties for 
 you; beside, your sister could not offer as 
 her own contribution, the work which you 
 had done, you know. She must herself per- 
 form the labor, if she would enjoy the re- 
 ward of well-doing. She had the same al- 
 lowance of time which you had ; and that 
 it was amply sufficient for the purpose, is 
 proved by your having already accom- 
 plished it. There is yet a good hour to din- 
 ner, so that I have no doubt, if she employs 
 it faithfully, Louisa will yet have the plea- 
 sure of going with us. Go now, my little 
 girl. And do you cheer up, my dear Louisa, 
 and rejoice that your better spirit returned 
 before it was quite too late to hope for suc- 
 cess ; cheer up ! you have advanced rapidly 
 3
 
 26 THE CARPENTER 
 
 and well the last hour, and I can almost 
 venture to promise you victory." 
 
 Louisa looked up one moment from her 
 work, and smiled gratefully for this kind 
 encouragement. She began to feel better 
 satisfied, and at peace with herself, as she 
 listened to her sister's hopes ; and she went 
 on more confidently. And what will not a 
 calm, resolute perseverance accomplish 7 
 it seems almost to give additional moments 
 to limited time; and the hours, like 'the 
 widow's cruise of oil,' appear to lengthen as 
 new demands are made upon them. 
 
 Before the period had elapsed which was 
 allowed for the duty, Louisa saw with de- 
 light that she was drawing near the end ; 
 and just as dinner was announced, she put 
 the finishing stitches to the work, with an 
 exultation and joy she could scarcely ex- 
 press. 
 
 " Dear Augusta," said she eagerly then 
 casting down her eyes, (which had at first 
 expressed only their emotion of exultation,) 
 as the remembrance of her early misconduct 
 flashed painfully across the brightness of 
 her thoughts, and a feeling of humility tern-
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 27 
 
 pered her self-gratulation, she continued in 
 a subdued voice " Dear Augusta, have I 
 made up for it ? have I repaired my fault 
 now? I am sorry I have been such a 
 naughty girl, Augusta ; I am ashamed of 
 my bad spirit ; but I have done all I could 
 since, and I have worked fast and well ; 
 and have finished my work too. Will you 
 not kiss me now, sister and say I am 
 1 your good Louisa? ' ' , / 
 
 " Yes, my good Louisa, you have really 
 done ' all you could,' all any of us can do, 
 after we have indulged improper feelings. 
 You have deeply repented of your fault, 
 turned resolutely from it, and persevered zeal- 
 ously in a right course, and thus, as far as 
 possible, repaired your error ; and I freely, 
 cordially, give you a heart-felt embrace. 
 But remember, my dear Louisa, that though 
 you have done*all you could to repair your 
 fault, you cannot undo the past ; you cannot 
 quite efface the evil effects of these indulged 
 passions from your heart. For every new 
 indulgence gives them additional power, 
 and renders their complete mastery, and 
 your future discipline more difficult, and
 
 28 THE CARPENTER 
 
 far more painful. Let this warn you to be 
 careful henceforward, and never for one 
 moment imagine that your faults leave an 
 unimportant stain upon your character, be- 
 cause they have been speedily followed by 
 repentanc'e; though most certainly that is 
 the best, the only way, indeed, in which you 
 can prevent their becoming indelible and 
 eternal." 
 
 " Go now, my dear Louisa; and do not 
 forget after dinner to jump, and skip, and 
 run, until you have faithfully exercised 
 these wearied limbs, before you are called 
 to seat yourself again in the carriage. This 
 is now a duty. Your young frame requires 
 considerable exercise. You have had none 
 to-day, and a drive over our smooth level 
 roads will not be sufficient." 
 
 Louisa promised obedience, and indeed 
 was thankful for the liberty ; being as yet 
 little accustomed to such close application, 
 for so long a period, and, like Mary, feeling 
 its effects wearisome.
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 29 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EXERCISES OF BENEVOLENCE, AND THEIR RESULTS. 
 
 LOUISA went immediately to seek her 
 mother and Mary in the room of the former, 
 but met them on their way to the dining- 
 room. 
 
 " Oh, Louisa," exclaimed Mary, " you 
 don't know what I have been doing. I 
 have been helping mother get things ready. 
 But I forgot ; have you done it the sheet, 
 I mean?" 
 
 "Yes, only think all that long piece 
 since you left off; and Augusta said it was 
 well done too. I did not have to pick out 
 one stitch. I am very glad ; and so are you 
 too, dear Mary, I know." 
 
 " I am sure I am glad, Louisa ; and I 
 wanted Augusta to let me help you, but she 
 said I must not, because my doing it would 
 not be your doing it, you know ; and beside, 
 my mother wanted me for another thing." 
 
 "I heard you ask her, Mary; and I 
 thank you, you dear girl," replied Louisa,
 
 30 THE CARPENTER 
 
 putting her arm around her sister, and skip- 
 ping toward the dining-room. " But what 
 else have you been doing, Mary anything 
 for Mrs. Osborn?" . 
 
 " Why, I will tell you all about it, Louisa. 
 As soon as I went to mother's room, do n't 
 you think, she told me to go with her to my 
 drawer, and there she made me take out all 
 my clothes every one of them, (my every- 
 day clothes I mean,) and try them on, or 
 hold them up before me, so that she could 
 see what I had outgrown ; and so every one 
 which was in the least too short, or too 
 small, or faded, or worn everything that 
 I could spare she told me to lay away 
 with my sheet, to carry this afternoon to 
 the poor woman's children. And after 
 dinner you are' going to do just the same 
 thing. She said that between us, we must 
 find enough for them at present, and that 
 this should be our present, our own gift, 
 since we must do with so much the less, at 
 least for some time. And I am sure I am 
 willing to." 
 
 " But there is the poor deaf and dumb 
 boy," said Louisa. " You know Augusta
 
 A\D HIS FAMILY. 31 
 
 told us there was a deaf and dumb boy, 
 Mary ; our clothes will not do for him. I 
 hope that brother Alfred left some of his at 
 home, when he went to school." 
 
 " You need not be afraid," replied Mary, 
 " for you know mother never forgets. She 
 had put by a large bundle, and she has been 
 mending and altering them to fit, all day 
 yesterday, almost she told me so ; and 
 there are rolls and rolls of old linen, and 
 bottles of wine, and boxes of sugar, and tea, 
 and rice, and coffee, and lots of things, put 
 into Caesar's little hand-cart, for him to 
 carry ; and he has already set off with 
 them ; for you know old Cessar does not 
 walk so fast as we do. Oh, what do you 
 think he said to Miss Joslin just now, 
 Louisa? it made her laugh so she could 
 scarcely tell me about it, for I could not 
 understand. He said' Misus go up tip 
 top ob hebben when she die, for Misus no 
 lip Christian.' How droll Caesar does talk." 
 
 "What did he mean by that, Mary?" 
 replied Louisa. "I do n't see anything to 
 laugh at. I don't understand what he 
 means; do you?"
 
 32 THE CARPENTER 
 
 " No, indeed, I did not. Louisa, until Miss 
 Joslin told me, or, as she called it, ' trans- 
 lated it into English.' She said he intended 
 to say, that mistress (mother, you know) 
 would have a high reward in heaven when 
 she died, because she not only professed 
 with her lips to be a Christian, but did con- 
 stantly the good works of one. This is the 
 way Miss Joslin explained it her very 
 words or I should never have found out 
 what it was to be ' tip top ob hebben." 1 But 
 poor old Ceesar ! he does not know any 
 better. Mother said he never studied gram- 
 mar, and the things we study, when he was 
 little, as we have. But never mind Caesar 
 now, for here is the dinner come ; and I am 
 hungry enough, I'm sure." 
 
 The light hearted little prattlers were 
 glad to seat themselves at the ample board ; 
 and their spirits received additional zest, 
 when they heard their mother order the 
 fragments of their favorite dishes to be de- 
 cently collected, and in readiness to be taken 
 with them in the carriage to Mrs. Osborn. 
 
 It was a charming afternoon in May when 
 the party stepped into the carriage, intent
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 33 
 
 upon the proposed expedition, in which all 
 felt the most lively interest. The air was 
 fragrant, and the early vegetation spread a 
 vivid and beautiful green over the lap of 
 nature. The carolling of .the happy birds, 
 to which even threescore and ten scarcely 
 becomes insensible, sent an indefinable thrill 
 of joy through the young hearts which were 
 now whirling along through shaded roads, 
 over hill, through valley, on their errand 
 of mercy. There was a buoyant principle 
 within, aiding this hilarity of fresh animal 
 spirits in the spring-time of nature and of 
 life, which made every object a subject of 
 delight. It was the reward of virtuous self- 
 conquest to one young bosom, which, like 
 the dew of the morning, rises but to fall 
 again at eventide, refreshing anew the earth 
 from which it was exhaled. 
 
 The aged servant had just arrived, though 
 despatched a full hour before them, when 
 the party reached the humble dwelling ; and 
 no time was to be lost in making all things 
 ready before the arrival of the sufferer. 
 
 The tears of Mrs. Osborn's oppressed 
 heart fell anew, when she saw that God had
 
 34 THE CARPENTER 
 
 indeed raised up friends so powerful and so 
 unwearied, in her dark hour of affliction, at 
 the moment when she felt that all, save her 
 God alone, had failed her. They were tears 
 of gratitude, mingled however with appre- 
 hensions and fears most bitter, for her mis- 
 erable husband. 
 
 " Oh, I dread I fear his arrival, ma'am," 
 said she, almost gasping for breath. " What 
 am I to see and suffer ! How can I ever 
 look upon his mangled, disfigured features ! " 
 
 " Put your trust in God, Sarah, and he 
 will give you strength equal to your trials. 
 He will not leave nor forsake you while 
 you are faithful to your duties. Brace up 
 your heart for the worst, or it will faint 
 when your hour comes. But this can only 
 be done by strengthening your faith in God, 
 my good Sarah, and not in imagining hor- 
 rors which you may never be called upon 
 to endure. Perhaps the accounts which 
 have reached you have been exaggerated, 
 and the case will not prove so bad as has 
 been represented. And even should it be. 
 your best relief and preparation will be 
 procured by making every possible provision
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 35 
 
 for his comfort. Employment at present is 
 the best thing for you, Sarah and we will 
 to work speedily ; therefore let us see where 
 we can make up his bed, and dispose of all 
 these affairs." 
 
 Having prepared the bed for the expected 
 sufferer, they proceeded to find accommo- 
 dations, and arrange all the little refresh- 
 ments, dainties and necessaries, the ' oil and 
 wine,' which the kind forethought of true 
 benevolence had provided, in the best 
 manner that the humble and inconvenient 
 dwelling would permit. 
 
 " Well, how comfortable things look now 
 for the poor creature," exclaimed Mrs. Os- 
 born, wiping her tears with the corner of 
 her apron while she spoke ; for they would 
 not cease to flow, though she busied herself 
 most actively and earnestly. " I did not 
 expect, I'm sure, to have such a nice bed to 
 offer him. And how could I ? I knew not 
 where or who to look to for assistance ; for 
 you, ma'am, do so much and so constantly 
 for me, that I could not bear to bring all 
 these new wants to your door. And it does
 
 36 THE CARPENTER 
 
 seem as if God had sent you to me at that 
 very moment." 
 
 "He is always near us, Sarah, (as we 
 find when we seek his presence,) to alle- 
 viate our sufferings, or heighten our joys. 
 And now let us attend to these little ones," 
 continued Mrs. Morrison. " Bring us some 
 soap and watej, and give them a wholesome 
 washing first of all, for the poor things have 
 been but little cared for these few days past, 
 I suspect. You could think but upon one 
 subject." 
 
 This being over, when Mary and Louisa 
 brought forth their store, and saw the happy 
 children dressed comfortably in clean gar- 
 ments, which they bestowed with generous 
 alacrity, their bosoms bounded with the 
 purest joy that old or young may ever ex- 
 perience this side heaven, the delight of 
 relieving the wants of virtuous and innocent 
 poverty, of soothing the afflicted and the 
 suffering. 
 
 " So many of us will only perplex you 
 when John arrives," said Mrs. Morrison, as 
 they concluded this last work of charity ;
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 37 
 
 " and I had best depart with the children. 
 I shall leave Caesar at the door without, to 
 assist you, and to bring me tidings how 
 John is. And you will let me know by 
 him if anything more is wanted, which we 
 may have forgotten. Fail not to senql me 
 word. These little girls will make you a 
 change of bed linen %. the course of a few 
 days, and others will be provided in season. 
 Meantime I shall see you daily. Keep up 
 a trusting spirit, Sarah, and hope for bright- 
 er days." 
 
 Sarah could only answer by looks of 
 gratitude. Her heart was too full for utter- 
 ance, when she saw the merciful and kind 
 friend about to depart ; and a free indul- 
 gence of tears was necessary to relieve it, 
 when they had actually left her alone with 
 her sorrows.
 
 38 THE CARPENTER 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 GOOD COUNSEL, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 THE little girls were allowed to chatter to 
 their hearts' content, during the remainder 
 of their ride. Their neads were full of the 
 various details of the interesting scene they 
 had witnessed the anxious and affection- 
 ate* fears of Mrs. Osborn, and the pleasant 
 and happy faces of the children, and their 
 innocent observations, when cleanly dressed 
 in the garments furnished from their own 
 store. The air of comfort which the little 
 apartment exhibited when they left it, com- 
 pared to its very desolate appearance when 
 they first entered it, were each in turn the 
 subject of comment ; and then all thoughts 
 seemed to centre upon the sufferer himself, 
 and conjectures respecting the state in which 
 he would appear before his affectionate 
 family. 
 
 They were permitted to remain up half 
 an hour beyond the usual time, this even- 
 ing, that they might hear Caesar's report.
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 39 
 
 He was long upon the way, for he num- 
 bered many years, and was feeble from 
 their accumulated burthen. He came at 
 last, however, and brought the glad confir- 
 mation of Mrs. Morrison's most favorable 
 predictions. Sarah had expected to see the 
 crushed and mangled body of her husband, 
 insensible and hopelessly disabled. She 
 sent joyfully her message that " John was 
 not near as bad as she expected. His face 
 was not altered, except from the anguish of 
 his wounds, which was greatly increased 
 by the motion. He had his senses perfectly, 
 knew her, and thanked her gratefully for 
 all the comforts around him, and for his 
 kind reception. His chief injuries were 
 internal ; but even these, the doctor had 
 given her encouragement, might be healed 
 in time, by careful attention, provided the 
 effects of intemperance upon the system did 
 not prevent the cure; and these habits," 
 said the poor wife, "have only been a short 
 time indulged, and I cannot think have 
 much affected him yet. His constitution 
 was once a very good one, and, poor man ! 
 if it stands this shock, I feel now sure he
 
 40 THE CARPENTER 
 
 will leave off all his bad ways ; for there 
 never was a truer penitent than John is. It 
 would make your kind heart ache to hear 
 his sighs and self-reproaches ; and then he 
 seems so humble, and patient, and grateful 
 for every mercy." Sarah had been well 
 and religiously brought up, in the family of 
 a country clergyman, and her moral sensi- 
 bilities had been sadly violated by the irre- 
 gularities of her husband's late life. She 
 had tenderly loved him, and the least pros- 
 pect of reformation was hailed by her with 
 tfye joy of a Christian, as well as that of an 
 affectionate wife. 
 
 Mary and Louisa were unwearied through 
 the following week, and faithfully employed 
 their time, that by their industry, they 
 might farther contribute to the relief of a 
 family become so interesting to them ; and 
 had almost daily the satisfaction of seeing 
 or hearing of some alleviation their labors 
 had produced, or at least, had assisted. 
 
 John had been sadly wounded, and it 
 was long before he showed any signs of 
 radical amendment, and still longer before 
 he could be persuaded that there was the
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 41 
 
 slightest chance of recovery. The circum- 
 stance of having received the injury proba- 
 bly in consequence of partial intoxication, 
 weighed painfully upon his conscience, and 
 added mental anguish to his bodily suffer- 
 ings. He felt that the calamity which 
 had thus prostrated him was a just and 
 merited punishment a punishment \vilfully 
 brought upon his own head by his repeated 
 transgressions; and he was deeply humbled 
 by the conviction. But that his sin should 
 thus involve a most affectionate and faith- 
 ful wife in distress, and throw his help- 
 less family upon the precarious charity of 
 the world, without which they must all 
 perish for want, was a reflection which 
 agonized his mind, and appeared to- him, 
 now that he was entirely prostrated, in all 
 its enormity, and greatly retarded his re- 
 covery. His wife tried to soothe and to 
 comfort him ; but the greater her kindness, 
 and the fonder the innocent caresses of his 
 children, the sharper were the stings of re- 
 morse*; the bitter and continual expression 
 of which added severely to all the burthen 
 of distress thus brought upon his family. 
 4*
 
 42 THE CARPENTER 
 
 Mrs. Osborn found herself quite inade- 
 quate to meet the new demand upon her 
 fortitude ; she could minister to his corpo- 
 real necessities, with unwearied fidelity; she 
 could sympathize and suffer with him, but 
 was. unprepared with arguments to meet 
 the sudden rush of contrition which had 
 distracted, and now seemed to be settling 
 in one dark cloud of gloom upon his mind. 
 She 'besought Mrs. Morrison still farther to 
 befriend her, and add to her numberless 
 acts of kindness, that of endeavoring to re- 
 concile poor John to himself; for she knew 
 he could never get well, while his heart 
 was so oppressed. 
 
 " You can talk to him, ma'am, as I can- 
 not possibly ; and indeed, he will not hear 
 to me. If I speak kindly and encouraging, 
 it seems to make him feel worse ; and when 
 I beg him to forget the past, and only try 
 to get well, he tells me that ' he must not 
 forget that he ought to think of .his sins 
 forever while he lives, and mourn for them 
 continually;' and then I do not know what 
 to answer him at all ; for certainly I do not 
 wish him to forget the dreadful warning,
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 43 
 
 so as to return to his bad ways again ; but 
 yet it is a miserable life to me, to see him 
 take on so, all the time, and groan so pit- 
 eously, for what has past, and can't be 
 undone now. John has read his Bible 
 through and through, ma'am, in his young 
 days, and often answers me by a text, 
 when I am trying to pacify him, and puz- 
 zles me more and more. Will you just 
 look in upon him a little, when you have 
 leisure, and talk to him a while 1 I think 
 he will hear to you for I am sure I cannot 
 live so, and I do n't know what to do at 
 all." 
 
 " I am very sorry," replied Mrs. Morrison, 
 " that our excellent pastor is absent at this 
 time ; he is better calculated than any one 
 I know, to assist you in this difficulty." 
 
 " John would hear to reason better from 
 you, ma'am," replied Sarah ; " it is so long 
 since he has gone regularly to church, and 
 one thing and another, he don't seem to 
 like to see the minister now, and won ? t be 
 persuaded. He says 'he can't help him 
 any.'
 
 44 THE CARPENTER 
 
 Mrs. Morrison did not shrink from this 
 most painful and difficult exercise of Chris- 
 tian charity. She seated herself daily for 
 hours at the bedside of the miserable peni- 
 tent, listened to all his self-upbraidings and 
 self-accusations/ his gloomy predictions and 
 trembling fears, and With the blessed light 
 drawn from the promises of the gospel, 
 sought to relieve him ; and while she con- 
 firmed his penitence, by enlightening , his 
 conscience, and giving him clearer views of 
 the nature of genuine contrition, she bade 
 him be of good cheer. She convinced him 
 that the truly humble and contrite heart 
 will not be despised by the Father of mer- 
 cies ; but that such repentance was proved 
 only by the entire forsaking of our evil 
 ways, and turning resolutely to those which 
 were good, and not by noisy self-re- 
 proaches, and a continual and gloomy 
 brooding upon past transgressions, which 
 unfits us for present usefulness ; that if he 
 had reflected upon his devious course, and 
 the heinousness of his offences, so seriously 
 and effectually, as to be humble and con- 
 trite, in spirit and in truth, and fully re-
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 45 
 
 solved wherein he had done wrong, to do 
 so no more forever ; if he devoutly sought 
 aid and strength from God to keep his good 
 resolutions, and sustain his present chastise- 
 ment with a meek and patient mind, he had 
 then derived all possible advantages from a 
 review of the past, and farther to goad his 
 heart, and retard his recovery to add dis- 
 tresses innumerable to those already heaped 
 on his afflicted wife, by complaints and 
 lamentations was adding to his misdeeds, 
 and by no means lessened his guilt ; that 
 he must now look to the future, with cheer- 
 ing hopes of usefulness, and a humble but 
 heartfelt determination, with Almighty aid, 
 to repair the evils his misconduct and ex- 
 ample had brought upon his family and 
 upon society, and to the present, that he 
 might be patient and enduring thus alle- 
 viating, as far as possible, by his cheerful 
 suffering, the anxious solicitude of his ex- 
 cellent wife. 
 
 After many of these interviews, and with 
 watchful care, meeting all the alarms of his 
 conscience, and all the wants of his heart, 
 with such counsel as the religion of the
 
 46 THE CARPENTER. 
 
 gospel alone can furnish, John's mind seem- 
 ed to expand to a better apprehension of his 
 present duty, and a more definite under- 
 standing of the nature of true repentance, 
 and to comprehend more clearly the requi- 
 sitions and commands of God. He became 
 more patient, more gentle, and pleasant- 
 tempered, pleased and satisfied with all his 
 wife did for him, kind and affectionate to 
 his children. He now formed plans for 
 their future comfort, should his life be 
 spared and his strength restored, which his 
 constant industry and devotedness might 
 welt supply, and looked humbly and de- 
 voutly to God for a blessing on his resolves. 
 "What an altered man my poor John is 
 since his trouble!" exclaimed Mrs. Osborn 
 to Augusta some weeks after this period, 
 "since your dear good mother talked so 
 often with him, and you have read to him 
 your good books and ' devotional exercises.' 
 It is a pleasure to wait upon him now. Oh, 
 surely this affliction has been sanctified to
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 47 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BRINGING GOOD OUT OF EVIL. 
 
 BUT though daily improving, John had 
 been so severely wounded in body and 
 in spirit, that his restoration was very 
 gradual. And he soon found with bitter 
 anguish, that he was forever disabled from 
 prosecuting as formerly, his laborious busi- 
 ness ; he could enter upon no important 
 contracts, for he could not calculate on a 
 days reprieve from sufferings ; his season of 
 health and strength was forever gone by ! 
 they had been wasted and abused ; and 
 now, when he would, as he thought, truly 
 prize and improve the blessing, it had been 
 withdrawn forever ! The internal injuries 
 he had sustained and, as he could not but 
 remember, in consequence of his sinful in- 
 dulgences now forever cut him off from 
 steady, active exertion. This was indeed 
 a fearful trial, and the conviction came 
 to him loaded anew with remorse and un- 
 availing regret. His family was never so
 
 48 THE CARPENTER 
 
 dear to him, as at this moment, when he 
 thought himself incapacitated for support- 
 ing them, and feared he must either hang a 
 burthen upon them, or seek shelter in the 
 asylum provided for the poor and miserable. 
 These were dark hours, but it pleased God 
 to " lift up the light of his countenance 
 upon him," and John became calm and 
 patient, under his burthens. 
 
 After many months, during which she 
 was enabled, by the kindness of Mrs. Mor- 
 rison, to devote the whole of her time and 
 attention to the relief and comfort of her 
 husband, Mrs. Osborn found him so far 
 recovered, that she was once more at liberty 
 to work for their support. Employment 
 was immediately furnished for her in- 
 dustrious and profitable labors. The char- 
 itable hearts which had so far befriended, 
 did not now forsake her. Punctual and 
 ample remuneration followed her daily ex- 
 ertions. The poor deaf and dumb boy was, 
 by the efforts of the charitable, at length 
 placed in the merciful establishment foun- 
 ded for the relief of these unfortunate be- 
 ings. The little girls were sent to school,
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 49 
 
 and books and sewing provided for their 
 early instruction. 
 
 Our young friends, Mary and Louisa, 
 had the delightful privilege, under their 
 kind sister's superintendence, of altering 
 and making for them decent and comfort- 
 able clothing. 
 
 Such is the effect of good habits, and an 
 earnest desire to be useful, that at the very 
 moment when John thought himself becom- 
 ing a helpless burthen upon his family, he, 
 in fact, contributed more effectually to their 
 support, than even in his days of strength, 
 and vigor of constitution. Much of his 
 power, as he felt, was really withdrawn; 
 but he used, without abusing, what re- 
 mained, with scrupulous economy, and it 
 was blessed. He could not go out to work, 
 it is true, or engage in labors abroad at 
 all. This, however, had its advantages ; it 
 saved him from many temptations. And 
 the kindness of Mrs. Morrison, at a trifling 
 expense, fitted up a little work-shop adjoin- 
 ing his bedroom, and added to his scanty 
 stock of tools, such as were deficient, to- 
 5
 
 5U THE CARPENTER 
 
 gether with a supply of material for imme- 
 diate use. Every assistance was rendered 
 him which his circumstances required, to 
 stimulate and reward his laudable exer- 
 tions ; for the wealthy neighbors, prompted 
 by the example of Mrs. Morrison, were not 
 backward in these offices of charity. Here, 
 in a small, but lucrative way, the poor in- 
 valid employed every hour of strength and 
 health remaining to him. He was a neat 
 and ingenious workman, and soon found 
 patronage and employment. When weary, 
 he retired for a season to his adjoining bed- 
 room, for rest and refreshment, and to 
 gather new strength for the future. Spirits 
 and peace of mind came with an upright 
 and useful life ; and John tasted more 
 pure happiness, in the affections of a grateful 
 wife, and the emotions of conscious recti- 
 tude, than had ever gladdened him in his 
 wayward course. When unable to work, 
 he often (as Sarah said) had " a kind eye" 
 to the children, and kept them from harm, 
 while she went abroad to labor a liberty 
 she had not had before since she was mar- 
 ried.
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 51 
 
 Their united industry soon produced its 
 unfailing reward, while the delight, which 
 John's steady and affectionate conduct 
 gave to his rejoicing wife, seemed to bestow 
 upon her new strength and energy for all 
 emergencies. 
 
 "I should think, sister," said Louisa to 
 Augusta, as she once more sat beside her 
 drawing table, at her appointed work " I 
 should think the Osborns were a great deal 
 happier for having trouble. How much 
 more lively and cheerful they always look 
 now, than they used to. I should think he 
 liked to be sick, and that his wife liked to 
 have him so too ; and yet, she seemed to be 
 sad and sorrowful enough that first day, 
 when Mary and I saw her ; but how much 
 nicer and neater she keeps her house now, 
 everything looks comfortable, and they 
 have more furniture in their room now 
 than they had that day, the day poor John 
 was brought home." 
 
 " You are right in part, my dear," replied 
 Augusta, "but you do not exactly under- 
 stand the case, or clearly express yourself. 
 The Osborns are certainly not happier for
 
 52 THE CARPENTER 
 
 'being in trouble,' but they have become so, 
 from a right improvement of trouble. They 
 smarted bitterly under their afflictions, but 
 they have 'brought good out of evil,' by 
 meeting them like Christians. Mrs. Os- 
 born feels all that a good and fond wife can 
 feel, for the sufferings of her husband, but 
 she sees that it has been the means of re- 
 forming and improving him, and probably 
 saving him from the vastly greater misery, 
 which a sinful life always accumulates in 
 this world, and will surely endure through 
 that which is to come. She sees him pa- 
 tient, cheerful and happy, from the same 
 cause, and not from the remembrance that 
 he is now almost a helpless cripple; but 
 he is humbled and repentant, and has for- 
 saken his evil courses, which were a con- 
 stant sting to his conscience, and rendered 
 him sour, ill-tempered, and miserable. He 
 blesses the fatherly love, which by present 
 punishment has withdrawn him from sin, 
 and saved him from his worst enemy, him- 
 self. He is happy now, in well doing, 
 and in devoting all his remaining energies. 
 to the support of his deserving family.
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 53 
 
 This state of his mind and conduct, 
 amply compensates his good wife for the 
 trials they have both endured. Their 
 united industry has spread comfort around 
 their habitation, and conscious rectitude 
 illumines the face with smiles, and sheds 
 sunshine through the heart. In this way, 
 they are ' happier for their troubles ; ' and 
 in this sense, all troubles may be rendered 
 blessings to us. Your own character, 
 my dear Louisa, has been much brighter, 
 since the clouds of that same day to which 
 you refer. The little troubles which you 
 brought upon yourself, by your faulty 
 temper, your indolence and misconduct, 
 have proved a useful lesson, though your 
 young heart felt for a time almost bursting 
 from its self-upbraiding. You repented 
 truly, and I may say reformed, at least, I 
 date your great improvement from these dark 
 hours, since which, I rejoice to say, I have not 
 once seen the least indulgence of those im- 
 proper feelings. I have noticed, on the con- 
 trary, with what care you have kept your 
 affairs in order, and the industry and atten- 
 tion with which you pursue your appointed
 
 54 THE CARPENTER 
 
 task ; and I see too, that it is the recollection 
 of that day, and its timely warning, which 
 constantly rises to your mind, and con- 
 tinues its wholesome influences." 
 
 " Well, sister, so it is," replied Louisa j 
 " for somehow I never can sit down on this 
 low seat, and begin my sewing, without 
 thinking all about that, and how badly I 
 felt ; and then I say to myself, ' Louisa, now 
 take care this time ; ' and if I feel a little 
 lazy, and begin to fancy that mother has 
 given me too much work that soon drives 
 away such wrong thoughts, when I re- 
 member how very, very sorry I felt ; so, 
 Augusta, though a little girl, I am learning 
 * to bring good out of evil,' too, as you say 
 the Osborns have." 
 
 " Continue thus to pursue your good 
 course, my love," said Augusta, " and the 
 sun of peace will never cease to shine upon 
 you, however misfortunes may gather round 
 your path." 
 
 The calamities of life, though they in- 
 crease in magnitude, as we advance from 
 infancy, admit of one and the same ameli- 
 oration, and are alike capable of producing
 
 AND HIS FAMILY. 55 
 
 good or bitter fruits, as they are received, 
 sustained, and improved. Some hidden 
 purposes of mercy are ever shrouded be- 
 neath the miseries which seem even to 
 threaten the soul with an overwhelming 
 flood. A firm conviction of this truth, and 
 an earnest endeavor to co-operate in the 
 designs of an overruling providence, in pro- 
 ducing the ultimate good intended, is the 
 duty which alone can lighten our burthens, 
 or restore our peace. 
 
 The kind Augusta lost no opportunity of 
 enforcing this impression, by frequent and 
 affectionate illustrations, drawn from daily 
 occurences immediately within their sphere 
 of observation, if not intimately connected 
 with themselves, until the full power of 
 these important truths were engrafted upon 
 the tender plants she reared, and from the 
 discipline of the school-room, taught them 
 to "bring good out of evil," on the broad 
 theatre of life.
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 

 
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED, 
 
 " WELL, my children, what shall be our 
 recreations for the evening?" said Mr. 
 Russel to his assembled family, when the 
 tea equipage had been removed. " I am 
 well content that you should select for 
 yourselves, provided you are harmonious 
 in your choice." 
 
 " Oh, dear father", ^ exclaimed the young- 
 est girl, "I should like to play a game 
 
 of" 
 
 " Stop, stop, Mary," said her brother 
 James, "let me ask father; lam the oldest. 
 Father, will you be so good as " 
 
 "Remember," interrupted Mr. Russel, 
 
 " if you are not all agreed, we shall seek 
 enjoyment in vain. Cross purposes will
 
 
 60 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 never produce happiness. One discordant 
 instrument destroys the harmony of a whole 
 band ; and, in like manner, one discontented 
 spirit will disturb the peace of our entire 
 party. Let us have unanimity. Go on, 
 James, you shall be spokesman. What do 
 you propose for our evening's employment ?" 
 
 "Why, if the girls will like it," said 
 James, " I know at once what I should pre- 
 fer. But I am so afraid " 
 
 "Speak out, Jemmy," said Susan, 
 
 "why do you fear we shall object? I am 
 sure I shall be satisfied with whatever you 
 choose." 
 
 " I was only afraid that you and Mary 
 could not walk so far," said James. " I 
 was going to vote for a walk to the Park, 
 and one of my father's entertaining stories, 
 such as he used to tell us last winter." 
 
 " Yes, indeed; that is the very best thing 
 you could propose," exclaimed both the 
 little girls in a breath. 
 
 " I am sure the walk is not very long," 
 said James ; "at least not too long, when 
 we shall be so much interested. Should not 
 you like it, Emily?"
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 61 
 
 " Exceedingly well," replied his sister. 
 
 "As it respects the walk, my son, you 
 have selected wisely. You all require ex- 
 ercise after the confinement of school ; and 
 I can myself scarcely be comfortable with- 
 out it. The second proposition would be 
 subject to some objections, were it not for 
 the stipulation for unanimity, on which 1 
 insisted ; for really, I hardly know whence 
 I am to draw materials for new recitals ; I 
 have quite exhausted my fund or at least 
 I have given you all the cream of my ad- 
 ventures. You must be content if I re-skim, 
 and furnish what is neither new nor rich." 
 
 "Uncle John would say, that was but 
 a milk and water promise, however," said 
 James, laughing at his own poor pun. 
 " But if you will only talk, dear father, I 
 for one will not complain. And now shall 
 we be going 1 " 
 
 " A little patience, my son ; your mother 
 is not yet here : as she is the main-spring 
 of our enjoyments, you know, we cannot 
 get on at all without her. But here she 
 comes, and all equipped, I see." 
 6
 
 62 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 " Yes, quite ready now, my children, and 
 I regret to have kept yon waiting. But I 
 did not like to leave your little brother, un- 
 til he had fallen to sleep. And indeed he 
 looked so smiling and lovely, so rosy and 
 well, in his quiet slumbers, I shall be all the 
 happier for waiting." 
 
 While these preliminaries were in pro- 
 gress, bonnets and shawls were arranged, 
 and the family proceeded on their excur- 
 sion. It was a bright and refreshing evening, 
 after a warm autumnal day. The sun had 
 set in glory, and the beautiful heavens 
 were still glowing with his parting rays. 
 The foliage of the groves scarcely fluttered 
 in the dying breeze. And the hum of in- 
 sects, joyous in their brief existence, in- 
 stead of disturbing, only gave effect to the 
 peaceful stillness the impressive silence 
 of the hour. 
 
 " What a lovely night ! and how happy 
 I feel !" exclaimed the light-hearted Susan, 
 looking up and around her, with admira- 
 tion. Silence again followed this burst of 
 youthful enthusiasm.
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 63 
 
 " There is indeed a truth and sublimity 
 in the voice of nature, that speaks most 
 powerfully to the heart. Even the frolic- 
 some spirit of childhood pauses to listen to 
 its music. Was it not for 'the fear of being 
 sentimental, my dear Willson," she contin- 
 ued, smiling, " I should say the heavens at 
 this moment presented a beautiful illustra- 
 tion of my morning and evening of life. 
 Here is the rich glow of coloring the 
 young imaginings the varied beauties in 
 which the future was always portrayed. 
 Through such a gilded vista of the. cluster- 
 ing clouds, howe5errdense they might be, a 
 bright and beautifwLpcrspective was traced, 
 in soft but celestMUight. All this was an- 
 ticipation, gorgeous, glowing, indescribable ! 
 But behold on this side, there is fruition ! 
 A scene as pure and holy, as the spirit 
 which presides over and has ordered my 
 destiny ! The soft, placid moon is rising 
 in majesty upon the clear blue vault of 
 heaven, serene and cloudless as my present 
 happiness ! Reality fruition, has merged 
 every aspiration in peaceful, sweet content- 
 ment. The gaudy coloring of a too ardent
 
 64 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 imagination is chastened, subdued, mel- 
 lowed, but not lost by time less dazzling, 
 but not a whit less full, deep and perfect." 
 
 "A little spice of romantic, my dear 
 Louisa ; a shade of sentimentality in the 
 analogy you have traced," replied Mr. 
 Russel. " But it is so soothing to my van- 
 ity nay, so gratifying to my heart, that I 
 cannot be very severe upon it, or suspect 
 one tittle of its truth. How can I indeed, 
 since your illustration is drawn from high 
 heaven itself." 
 
 " Ah, Willy, I thought I should not come 
 off without a slight rub, to bring me down 
 from the clouds. But now that I have by 
 your assistance safely alighted upon earth, 
 let me remind you of these younklings, to 
 whom you gave a promise." 
 
 " I have not forgotten them or my prom- 
 ise, Louisa. But there is so much to de- 
 light and satisfy the heart in the scene 
 before us, and there already appears such 
 a fulness of satisfaction in contemplating 
 it, that I am thinking they will all agree to 
 the proposition I am about to make them. 
 What say you, my children 1 Should you
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 65 
 
 not willingly exchange the short story to 
 which time would limit me here, for a 
 longer and much more entertaining tale, 
 which I can read to you on our return? " 
 
 "I like a long story best, father, cer- 
 tainly," answered the ready James, "but 
 then I should a thousand times rather have 
 one of your own, taken from some of your 
 own voyages, than to hear any of those old 
 story books. I cannot say I care much for 
 them." 
 
 " My story book is not necessarily an 
 'old one,' Jemmy, and you cannot precisely 
 tell how you would like my selection. I 
 brought this volume from Boston, on my 
 last return, and have reserved it for some 
 occasion like the present. Nevertheless, if 
 you are all so minded, I will fulfil our first 
 plan, and relate to you whatever anecdotes 
 I can collect from my experience. I must 
 be brief, however, for the damps are gath- 
 ering fast, and we have some distance to 
 walk." 
 
 "Well, then," replied James, "I give 
 my voice for the new book. What say 
 you, girls ? Is it a vote 1 " 
 6*
 
 66 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 " Oh, the long story for me. If we take 
 the short one here, what shall we do with 
 all the evening, after our return?" 
 
 " You judge wisely, my little Sue," said 
 Mrs. Russelj "I like this provident fore- 
 cast, and I doubt not it will be well re- 
 warded. Your father never selects a book 
 for your entertainment, without a careful 
 examination of its merits. I anticipate, 
 therefore, a satisfactory termination of our 
 evening." 
 
 Our little party soon found it necessary 
 to retrace their steps. The evening still 
 continued bright and charming, but the 
 falling dews warned them that lovely as 
 was the scene around, sickness and suifer- 
 ing might, result from a longer exposure to 
 its influence. 
 
 " How very much Mr. Seymore's house 
 is lighted up to-night," said Emily, as they 
 approached a stately and fashionable edi- 
 fice, brilliantly illuminated. "And how 
 many coaches are drawn up before it ! 
 Look! the door is open, and there are 
 the servants, in their beautiful new livery,
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 67 
 
 showing in the company. Do you see, 
 James?" 
 
 " How grand the Sey mores are," ex- 
 claimed the youngest girl. "I wish you 
 kept a carriage, and livery servants, and 
 such things, father. I saw little Sarah rid- 
 ing all alone by herself, in their chariot, 
 yesterday, with the footman up behind, 
 all trimmed with scarlet and gold. Her 
 mother always sends the coach to bring 
 her from school, whenever there is the least 
 drop of rain. I wish I was Sarah Seymore, 
 I know. I should, be proud enough." 
 
 " You would soon wish yourself Mary 
 Russel again, my dear, if you could try the 
 exchange, I suspect," replied her father. "I 
 assure you, wealth does not confer happi- 
 ness, however gaudy its trappings. And if 
 it would make you ' proud,' my dear child, 
 it would certainly remove you widely from 
 it. Pride is as great an enemy to content- 
 ment as it is to virtue. You daily pray 
 * to be delivered from temptation,' and you 
 should, at the same time, bless your hea- 
 venly Father for having spared you those 
 to which this little girl is exposed. All
 
 68 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 this splendor and luxury is a temptation to 
 her young and inexperienced mind. For 
 myself," he continued, "I cannot well im- 
 agine how enjoyment can be increased by 
 shutting out the glories of this bright and 
 beautiful night the mild, soft air, and this 
 wide expanse of heaven to be pent up in 
 close-crowded rooms, glaring with stifling 
 lamps. The gratification of a paltry pride 
 must, I think, be dearly purchased by the 
 sacrifice, even were it, when attained, a 
 satisfying acquisition." 
 
 " But, dear father, they must be lighted 
 up, when they see company," observed 
 James. " And they are obliged to have 
 constant parties, living in the style they do, 
 and having so many acquaintances. Tom 
 Seymore told me that strangers come al- 
 most every day with letters to his father, 
 and you know he must invite them." 
 
 " Yes, my son, and this very necessity 
 involves one of the penalties of his wealth 
 and station. The luxury of retirement, 
 quiet and rest, seem absolutely to be de- 
 nied him. And the poorest man in his 
 employment does not labor more unceas-
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 69 
 
 ingly in his vocation than does this man of 
 millions. The highest luxury that the ra- 
 tional mind can enjoy, that of time for 
 thought and intellectual recreation, the pla- 
 cid, sweet, undisturbed indulgence of re- 
 flections to which such a walk as this, on 
 such a night, naturally gives rise, he can 
 indeed rarely enjoy. Hurry, bustle, fash- 
 ion, etiquette, splendor, and incessant com- 
 pany and visiting, fill every moment which 
 business leaves unoccupied. To my fancy, 
 such a life is as far removed from happi- 
 ness as the daily hard toil of poverty can be. 
 And the only counterpoise for all this sacri- 
 fice is, the gratification of a puerile pride 
 a pride which, to say the best of it, is a 
 stumbling block in the path of virtue." 
 
 " I am sure Ann Seymore appears happy 
 enough," said Emily; "she has everything 
 in the world she can desire. I met her the 
 other day in a jeweller's store, and she 
 was purchasing the most splendid set of 
 opal ornaments I ever beheld ; and laying 
 .down bill after bill, with as much uncon- 
 cern as if they were not of a pin's value.
 
 70 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 I do not doubt she buys everything that 
 strikes her fancy, cost what it may." 
 
 " Do not be deceived, my dear girl," re- 
 plied Mr. Russel. None of these things con- 
 fer happiness, or even contentment, which, 
 I do assure you, no gold can purchase no 
 treasure procure, but that of a mind and 
 heart well regulated, well controlled, and 
 a humble spirit, at peace with itself and 
 its Creator. You cannot see, Emily, and 
 therefore cannot judge, any heart but your 
 own. You cannot know what secret, un- 
 imagined pangs may make all this seem- 
 ing good a canker to the soul. Happiness 
 being the product of a subdued, a humble, 
 a devout mind, is as much within your 
 power of attainment, as it is in that of 
 the greatest potentate"on earth nay, more 
 so, in proportion as your temptations are 
 fewer." 
 
 Emily made no reply to her father, for 
 she yielded no assent to his assertions. Her 
 understanding did not gainsay one word, 
 but her feelings were all in rebellion against 
 them. She felt convinced that she should
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 71 
 
 be happy, if she had an unlimited purse, 
 and the power of making the brilliant dis- 
 play she had so often envied in others. 
 She very well knew that her father's prop- 
 erty would warrant his living in a style 
 much more consonant to her taste, and she 
 did not estimate aright the purity of his 
 motives, for that which he had adopted. 
 She was often goaded by the airs of supe- 
 riority displayed by Miss Ann Seymore, 
 and a foolish pride was rankling in her 
 heart, when comparing the gorgeousness of 
 the whole establishment of her new friends 
 with the chaste and primitive simplicity of 
 their own. .;& i 
 
 Mr. Russel was not sorry for the oppor- 
 tunity thus afforded him, of discussing this 
 subject in presence of his children, dazzled 
 as they naturally were, by the rich display 
 made by the fashionable strangers recently 
 established in their neighborhood. Emily's 
 observations had favorably introduced it, 
 and he thankfully followed up the advan- 
 tage, amplifying, and throwing in such re- 
 marks as he thought -might favorably affect 
 their minds. It -was particularly in refer-
 
 72 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 ence to his eldest daughter, just now upon 
 the threshold of life, and peculiarly exposed 
 to the pernicious influence of fashionable 
 follies, that he had selected the volume to 
 which he had alluded, having found a story 
 exceedingly applicable to her case, and cal- 
 culated, as he thought, powerfully to affect 
 a heart naturally affectionate and kind. 
 
 The lamps were lighted, the work pro- 
 duced, chairs drawn around the table, and 
 the little expectant circle, with bright coun- 
 tenances and suppressed breath, waited im- 
 patiently the promised treat, when a strong 
 pull at the door bell announced visitors. 
 
 " Was there ever anything so unfortu- 
 nate?" exclaimed Susan. 
 
 " O dear ! how unlucky we are ! I do 
 wish they had not come, just to spoil all 
 our evening," said Mary. 
 
 "It is always so!" added James moodily 
 "every pleasure snatched away." 
 
 But how rarely do we pronounce wisely 
 or justly, upon the good or ill fortune, (as 
 it is called,) of the daily events of God's 
 providence ! We know little indeed, what 
 will be the effect upon our state and con-
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 73 
 
 dition, of any occurrence which crosses our 
 path ; yet we pronounce with unrighteous 
 boldness upon all; not children alone, but 
 those of a larger growth, are too apt to be 
 guilty of this criminal want of filial trust, 
 and speak with confident bitterness upon 
 the "very unfortunate, unlucky accidents" 
 which have thwarted their calculations, or 
 interrupted their plans. Alas ! we may well 
 exclaim, with one who mourned this hu- 
 man frailty, " O ye of little faith ! " Why 
 will we not learn to confide, and believe 
 that whatever is ordered by the wisest, the 
 best, the tenderest of guardians, will ever 
 be for us " the most fortunate," the most 
 "lucky" events? To learn to wait is a 
 difficult lesson. 
 
 The visiters proved to be a gentleman 
 and lady, recently returned from abroad, 
 after four years absence, during which they 
 had viewed all the wonders of the old 
 world, explored, analyzed, and laid up trea- 
 sures from abundant fountains ; and they 
 entertained almost entranced their young 
 auditors, by their details, anecdotes, adven- 
 tures and "hair-breadth 'scapes." And 
 7
 
 74 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 when, after a long evening, they at last de- 
 parted, each one declared " that they never 
 in their whole lives had had such a treat ! 
 so delightful an evening ! " 
 
 " O, how glad I am that they came ! " 
 
 " We little thought how we were to be 
 entertained, when they rang the bell." 
 
 " When do you think they will come 
 again, mother ? What a charming woman 
 she is ! " 
 
 "I do not believe any of your printed 
 stories could be half so interesting half so 
 amusing, as these they have told us. I do 
 enjoy such things." 
 
 " Only to think of their crossing the Alps, 
 too ! " 
 
 " Yes; and what a funny time they had 
 when they left Rome ! " 
 
 "Ah! -but the Carnival frolics were the 
 best joke, after all." 
 
 Such were the exclamations of the ani- 
 mated little group, on review of their even- 
 ing's delights. 
 
 "Charming as all these things are, my 
 dear children, and impressive as the lesson 
 may be, which you derive from this inter-
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 75 
 
 ruption of our evening's plans, it is now too 
 late to talk more of them to-night. You 
 must go to bed, and dream, if you can, 
 about all these enchanting details. I have 
 letters to write, which can no longer be de- 
 layed. I am very glad you have so much 
 enjoyed your evening, and to-morrow we 
 will again discuss its various topics. Good 
 night to you all." 
 
 The little ones well knew there was no 
 appeal from this sentence ; and though they 
 would willingly have sat asking questions 
 and making comments, until midnight, and 
 were quite sure they were not the least 
 sleepy, they hesitated not to imprint the 
 parting kiss upon the offered cheek of their 
 beloved parent, and to prepare for rest. 
 
 Desirous of fulfilling every promise, given 
 or implied, and to employ every means of 
 enlarging and improving the minds of his 
 children, Mr. Russel, on the following 
 evening, renewed with them their favorite 
 walk, and delighted their young hearts 
 with long and spirited details of his adven- 
 tures abroad ; and having, as he hoped, pro- 
 duced a state of feeling favorable to the
 
 76 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 moral impression he desired should be made, 
 he fulfilled their earnest wishes, by read- 
 ing, on their return, the appropriate story 
 selected for the preceding evening's amuse- 
 ment, and which was so unceremoniously 
 interrupted by their visiters. 
 
 The careful parents had watched with 
 anxiety -every dawning fault in the minds 
 of their children, and hoped, by following 
 the excellent rule of giving " line upon line, 
 and precept upon precept," gently to re- 
 move every shadow which tarnished the 
 purity of that foundation on which the im- 
 portant superstructure of character should 
 be raised. But radical defects are not 
 speedily rooted out; and the emotions of 
 aristocratic pride, just putting forth its in- 
 cipient indications in the heart of their old- 
 est, much loved daughter, required patient 
 labor, and much thoughtfulness, to eradi- 
 cate. Parental affection, however, never 
 falters ; and every opportunity was eagerly 
 embraced, to effect the important object 
 they had so much at heart. 
 
 Mrs. Russel was possessed of some facts 
 relative to the Seymore family, the recital
 
 ,. PRIDE SUBDUED. 77 
 
 of which she did not doubt would greatly 
 lessen their influence upon Emily's mind, 
 and reduce the effect produced by the proud 
 display of affluence and luxury in which 
 they indulged, and lessen the importance 
 all are too much disposed to attach to 
 wealth and fashion. But the pure and 
 guileless heart, filled with charity and good 
 will, revolts to present the faults of a fellow 
 being to public scrutiny, or to remove the veil 
 which conceals their moral deformity, even 
 to produce a beneficial result. Mrs. Russel 
 shrunk from the ungracious task, and re- 
 served her communications for a last resort, 
 when circumstances should call more impe- 
 riously for them. She was not permitted a 
 long reprieve. A more serious display of 
 Emily's besetting sin, soon induced the un- 
 pleasant recital. The pain of this duty, 
 however, was ameliorated by the necessity 
 it involved, of painting the virtues and high- 
 minded character of a beloved friend, ac- 
 companied with incidents she had hitherto 
 felt bound to conceal. 
 
 "Emily, will you walk with me this 
 morning?" she said to her daughter, a few 
 7*
 
 78 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 days after the conversation just detailed 
 " I have some shopping, and some few calls 
 to make, and the weather is remarkably 
 fine." 
 
 "I wish we could ride, mother," replied 
 Emily ; I cannot say I much like walking 
 about, making calls. They say it is very 
 ungenteel ; and I am sure I think so." 
 
 " They say! Emily; pray who are they, 
 that settle this matter so promptly ? " 
 
 " Why, everybody, mother, that knows 
 anything about fashion. I heard the Sey- 
 mores laugh heartily, the other day, about 
 some ones 'trudging' along through the 
 dirty streets without a servant, too ring- 
 ing themselves at their neighbor's doors! 
 It certainly does seem vulgar enough, and 
 I cannot imagine why we do not keep a 
 carriage. I am sure father might do so 
 very well, if he pleased. But, however, I 
 will go with you, mother, if you will please 
 to wait for me a moment, while I just put 
 on my new hat, and smooth the folds of 
 my pelerine a little. Shall you call at Mrs. 
 Turner's and Mrs. Fearon's, mother? You 
 are owing them calls, I believe. "
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 79 
 
 " Yes, my dear, and on Mrs. Mott." 
 
 " O, dear ! I hope you are not going to 
 see that little mean looking Mrs. Mott ! I 
 really hate to be seen going there. I do 
 not believe anybody visits her beside you." 
 
 Mrs. Russel looked exceedingly pained 
 by this exhibition of her daughter's mind. 
 But for the present, she forebore entering 
 upon a subject she deemed so seriously im- 
 portant, until there was an opportunity 
 fully to discuss it. She therefore made no 
 reply to these remarks. 
 
 " I really wish my gloves fitted a little 
 better than they do," pursued the discon- 
 tented girl, while she gave a finishing pull 
 to her white kids, as she followed her pa- 
 tient mother into the street. " I never saw 
 such great unsightly sacks as they are. 
 Ann Seymore was an hour picking out 
 gloves, last Wednesday, at Palmer's full 
 an hour measuring and trying, bundle af- 
 ter bundle, to get a good nice fit. I do not 
 believe she would wear a pair that had a 
 single wrinkle in them; and only to see 
 these things ! "
 
 80 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 "Ah, my dear daughter," sighed Mrs. 
 Russel, "I am sorry to find you giving 
 consequence to trifles so utterly unimpor- 
 tant. Your mind is becoming strangely 
 bewildered of late, by the mere fripperies of 
 fashion. I scarcely know you, my child, 
 under these new influences." 
 
 Just at this moment, a decent, but appar- 
 ently an obscure, middle-aged female passed 
 them, upon the opposite side. Mrs. Russel 
 bowed and spoke to her with pointed polite- 
 ness, and much cordiality. Emily, mean- 
 while, adroitly glided behind her mother, 
 but colored deeply. Soon as they had 
 passed, she exclaimed with energy 
 
 "Mother! I wonder why you will al- 
 ways bow to that disagreeable old Mrs. 
 Allison. You gave her one of your most 
 polite and graceful bows, just now; and 
 there was Mrs. Seymore and her daughters 
 passing, in their elegant new carriage, at 
 the very moment. They looked directly at 
 us, too ! and Ann smiled so contemptu- 
 ously, and turned up her nose, and curled 
 her lip with such an air of disdain, to see 
 you noticing such low folks! Even the
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 81 
 
 footman sneered impudently. I did feel 
 mortified ! " 
 
 " The footman's sneer was much more 
 excusable than your mortification, Emily, 
 for he is an ignorant man, and has proba- 
 bly been but little instructed in his moral 
 duties, either by the precept or example of 
 his employers. But from you, my child, I 
 had hoped better things ; and your whole 
 conversation, this morning, developes feel- 
 ings so very reprehensible, that I scarcely 
 know in what manner to reply to them, 
 and am wholly unable to express the pain 
 you have caused me." 
 
 " I am sorry, mother ; I did not intend 
 to distress you, by my remarks." 
 
 " But tell me, if you can, Emily, why I 
 should not bow politely to Mrs. Allison. 
 What objection have you to her? What 
 do you know against her?" 
 
 " Why, nothing very particular, mother, 
 only she is so old-fashioned, and poor, and 
 vulgar; and looks so formal, everybody 
 laughs at her." 
 
 "Everybody! Emily! are you sure that 
 everybody laughs at her ? said Mrs. Russel.
 
 82 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 " I mean all the girls, mother ; and Mrs. 
 Seymore and Ann always laugh, she looks 
 so vulgar, in her old black bonnet." 
 
 " Poverty is not vulgarity, my dear Emi- 
 ly. And if it were, let me ask you, Is Mrs. 
 Allison guilty of having brought it upon 
 herself? Do you know of any improper 
 conduct by which she has become degraded 
 and poor?" 
 
 "Indeed I do not know what has made 
 her poor, dear mother. No, I do not sup- 
 pose she could avoid it. It is not probable." 
 
 " Then surely she cannot be less re- 
 spectable, less estimable, for being so, or in 
 any degree 'ridiculous,' or 'vulgar,' on that 
 account. Nor are we, Emily, one whit 
 more worthy, or more respectable, for hav- 
 ing abundance ; since, like Mrs. Allison, we 
 have done nothing to bring ourselves into 
 the situations we occupy in society. It is 
 the allotment of Providence, which has ap- 
 pointed to each our place and our duties 
 surrounding us with every comfort, and 
 throwing the shades of obscurity over the 
 humble lot of the excellent Mrs. Allison; 
 and in both cases, by circumstances over
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. S3 
 
 which we had no control. I pray God I 
 may be as faithful in my vocation as she 
 has ever been in hers. And now, let me ask 
 you again, Emily, why we should think 
 ourselves more deserving, or my friend less 
 so, on account of this accidental difference 
 of situation." 
 
 " Really, I do not know why we should, 
 mother ; but the Seymores laughed so much 
 to see you bowing and smiling so very gra- 
 ciously, and so familiarly, too, to such a 
 mean looking, vulgar old body." 
 
 " Emily! must I repeat to you again that 
 poverty is not vulgarity ? that it is igno- 
 rance and vice alone, which can render any 
 one vulgar ? And from these, none are far- 
 ther removed than Mrs. Allison. Her edu- 
 cation, her acquirements, her moral culture, 
 are far above my own, and immeasurably 
 above those of Mrs. Seymore, whose laugh 
 of derision seems so much to have alarmed 
 your pride ; for your ' everybody,' I see, 
 after all, means no more than Mrs. Sey- 
 more and her daughters. I have seen, my 
 child, with much regret, this foolish pride 
 gaining strength in your heart, and the un-
 
 84 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 due importance you attach to wealth and 
 station. Believe me, they are entitled to 
 your respect, only so far as they are em- 
 ployed for the benefit of our fellow crea- 
 tures. You should not suffer yourself to be 
 mortified when your conscience does not ac- 
 cuse you of anything wrong. You should 
 not stand in so much awe of wealth, as to 
 permit it to make you blush for anything 
 not in itself blamable. In this case, it has 
 caused you to be extremely unjust." 
 
 " Dear mother, how have I been un- 
 just?" 
 
 " When we allow ourselves to condemn 
 from appearances only, we are always in 
 danger of being unjust, my child. You 
 have established it in your mind, as a fact 
 indisputable, that Mrs. Allison is, (to use 
 your own inelegant expression,) 'a vulgar 
 old body,' unworthy of notice, because she 
 appears to be poor and friendless, and wears 
 a dress somewhat worn and antiquated. 
 And again, upon no better foundation, you 
 have concluded that Mrs. Seymore must be 
 very respectable ; and have granted her, in 
 consequence, a very pernicious influence
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 85 
 
 over your mind, merely because her attire 
 is more expensive, her equipage and style 
 of living more rich and fashionable than 
 usual. In all this, you are unjust and il- 
 liberal. Now I happen to be well informed 
 respecting the history of both these indi- 
 viduals, Emily, and at a more favorable 
 opportunity, I will relate some of the most 
 prominent circumstances of their lives, that 
 I may effectually prove to you that pov- 
 erty and vulgarity are not necessarily con- 
 nected, and to impress strongly upon your 
 mind the impropriety of judging so hastily 
 as you are disposed to do." 
 
 " O do ! do ! mother, tell me all about 
 it. I wish exceedingly to know about the 
 Sey mores, and how they became so very 
 rich. And I wish more, to understand 
 why it is you always look so stately and 
 serious, when you meet them: it is so 
 strange, so unusual, for you to assume a 
 haughty manner you are always so pleas- 
 ant to every one else, even to that Mrs. 
 Allison, who, after all, does seem to me 
 vulgar and disagreeable, and I do dislike 
 her exceedingly, notwithstanding you say 
 8 
 
 '
 
 86 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 she is not so ; and indeed, I should abso- 
 lutely think you loved the woman." 
 
 " Most certainly I do love her ! And if 
 this foolish pride has not quite corrupted 
 your heart, and overpowered the good prin- 
 ciples you once possessed, you, Emily, will 
 love her too, when this mist of prejudice is 
 removed, like a film from your eyes, and 
 when, like myself, you see beneath that 
 faded garb, an elegant, refined mind, and a 
 heart filled with benevolence and affection- 
 ate feeling. You shall tell me in the end, 
 which of these women is the most honor- 
 able acquaintance." 
 
 "Ah, mother," said Emily, smiling, "I 
 shall not hesitate long upon that subject, 
 most certainly. To be sure, Mrs. Seymore 
 must be the most honorable acquaintance. 
 Beside, she may be good, I suppose, though 
 she is rich." 
 
 "Yes, my daughter, but not because she 
 is rich ; that is all I ask you to believe, un- 
 til you know something more of her claims 
 upon your regard. But here we are at Mrs. 
 Fearon's, and we must postpone further 
 discussion on this subject until our return."
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 87 
 
 The whole morning was consumed in 
 the various visits, shopping, &c., which 
 had called them out. It was late, therefore,, 
 hefore Mrs. Russel and Emily found them- 
 selves again at home ; when they immedi- 
 ately separated to prepare for dinner ; and 
 it was not until they returned to the draw- 
 ing-room in the afternoon, that any oppor- 
 tunity occurred for the promised recital. 
 Neither the one, or the other, however, had 
 lost sight of the subject. The mother 
 hoped, by a plain relation of facts, (which 
 delicacy had hitherto confined within her 
 own bosom,) to make a powerful attack 
 upon those offensive prejudices which seem- 
 ed to be fixing themselves upon the heart 
 of her daughter. She well knew that there 
 was a counteracting principle strong within 
 her, if it could be seasonably excited to 
 action ; and she doubted not, a timely ap- 
 peal to her better feelings, would strength- 
 en her effectually against the evil influences 
 to which she was exposed. 
 
 Emily, on her part, felt her curiosity ac- 
 tively excited to learn the basis of her 
 mother's strong impressions towards these
 
 88 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 two individuals. She could not well im- 
 agine any reasons, sufficiently powerful, for 
 the repugnance she manifested to the in- 
 creasing intimacy of a family so genteel, 
 and moving in the highest circles of fash- 
 ion, so splendid in their establishment, and 
 all the paraphernalia of high ton ; so 
 sought so courted by all. Nor could she 
 perceive any better grounds for her wonder- 
 ful partiality for an old woman so singularly 
 uninviting, so antiquated, so insignificant, 
 and so obscure, as Mrs. Allison still appear- 
 ed to her. When, therefore, the children 
 had been recalled to the nursery, and she 
 found herself quietly seated at her em- 
 broidery, beside her mother in the drawing- 
 room, she failed not to resume the subject, 
 by inquiring of her "how long she had 
 known Mrs. Allison." 
 
 " From early youth, my dear Emily. 
 Before I had attained your years, she was 
 my chosen, my bosom friend ; and though 
 circumstances have induced her to retire 
 from society, and to seek a seclusion which 
 I dare not invade, she has never ceased to 
 be very dear to me."
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 89 
 
 " The father of Mrs. Allison was a man 
 of the finest talents, and irreproachable 
 character. He was some years governor of 
 the state of , where he lived until with- 
 in the last ten years. His property was 
 scarcely sufficient for his wants in the sta- 
 tion he filled, and at his death, he left noth- 
 ing but his high and unspotted reputation, 
 as a legacy to this his only child. He had 
 given to her, however, every advantage of 
 education, and well did she repay the in- 
 dulgence ; for her improvement in mind and 
 heart was constant and rapid. She was 
 amiable, lovely, and accomplished. Her 
 benevolence was almost proverbial. No 
 one was sick or afflicted, for miles around 
 her father's dwelling, to whom she did not 
 appear as a ministering angel, to soothe, 
 comfort and relieve. When " 
 
 "What! Mrs. Allison, mother?" ex- 
 claimed Emily, whose astonishment could 
 no longer be repressed. 
 
 "Wait patiently, until I have finished, 
 
 my dear ; do not interrupt me, and your 
 
 curiosity shall be fully satisfied. When 
 
 she married Mr. Allison, all was smiling, 
 
 8*
 
 90 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 and bright, and joyous in the prospect be- 
 fore her. Wealth, honor, character, and 
 love the most devoted, were uniteS to 
 spread around her the fairest promise of 
 happiness, as lasting as it was pure. Alas ! 
 it was a promise never to be realized ! It 
 glittered but for a moment, like . the gay 
 fancies of a morning's dream, and then was 
 lost in the deepest realities of sorrow ! 
 
 " At the time of this marriage, your 
 uncle, Charles Clinton, (who was a near 
 neighbor of her father's, and had been 
 known to her from his youth,) was but a 
 poor captain of a vessel, in the employ of a 
 selfish and sordid merchant without for- 
 tune, and without any efficient commercial 
 friends to aid his upward course. Good, 
 honest, upright, and with as noble a soul 
 as ever man was blest with, he was yet 
 struggling and toiling almost hopelessly 
 against his adverse destiny. Fortune un- 
 relentingly frowned upon all his fairest ex- 
 ertions. I was then, my dear Emily, a 
 portionless orphan, and dependent upon the 
 love and protection of this dear and esti- 
 mable brother. My friend no sooner be-
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 91 
 
 came the betrothed of a wealthy man, than 
 she sought to interest him in our fate. It 
 was his delight to aid her active benevo- 
 lence. He gave your uncle immediate, 
 constant, and lucrative employment, and 
 threw such facilities and advantages in his 
 way, as he could never otherwise have 
 commanded, and, in fact, laid the broad 
 foundation of that affluence which we now 
 enjoy. Your uncle's lamented death, as 
 you well know, put me in possession of his 
 ample fortune. 
 
 " Mr. Allison was an English gentleman, 
 of the first respectability in character, rank 
 and fortune. His father, unhappily, enter- 
 ed into large and dangerous speculations, 
 which, within four years after the marriage 
 of his son, had a most disastrous issue. He 
 became unexpectedly a bankrupt ; and such 
 was the connection between them, that the 
 son was overwhelmed in the ruin of the 
 father. 
 
 " Never shall I forget the noble conduct of 
 my dear friend, at this trying period. With 
 habits of munificence like hers, these re- 
 verses must have been appalling. She had
 
 92 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 collected a band of pensionaries around her, 
 who depended almost exclusively upon her 
 for employment, and consequently, for their 
 daily bread. She had opened so many 
 avenues by which her bounty flowed in re- 
 freshing streams to gladden desolate hearts, 
 and spread comfort around dark and cheer- 
 less hearths, that it would seem as if misery 
 must follow the closing up of those foun- 
 tains of mercy, which had reached and 
 blessed them. But her activity arrested the 
 anticipated evil. Her exertions were un- 
 wearied. She made known to her wealthy 
 and powerful friends, the capabilities of 
 one, the faithfulness and industry of anoth- 
 er, the merit and helplessness of a third, 
 the goodness and devotion of all. She as- 
 sailed the compassion of one heart, the self- 
 interest of another, and the better principles 
 of both ; and in fact, ceased not her efforts, 
 until she had procured new guardians and 
 protectors, for all whom she deemed deserv- 
 ing assistance. 
 
 At home, she was not less energetic, in 
 sustaining her poor husband under this 
 prostrating calamity. She was an example
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 93 
 
 worthy of all imitation ; cheerful, resigned, 
 uncomplaining, and full of hope and love. 
 She continued to throw sunshine in upon 
 his heart, notwithstanding the thick dark- 
 ness which enveloped his prospects. Well 
 did he know her worth, and fully did he 
 reciprocate her affection ; but their reverses 
 compelled them to part ; and even this she 
 bore, without a murmur at the hard neces- 
 sity. 
 
 "Leaving this young and lovely wife with 
 her aged parent, whom she could not for- 
 sake in her advanced age and increasing 
 infirmities, Mr. Allison immediately sailed 
 for Europe, that he might ascertain if any- 
 thing could possibly be saved from the gen- 
 eral ruin, or the best method of averting its 
 worst consequences. 
 
 " When, after a boisterous passage, they 
 neared the coast of England, they encoun- 
 tered a tremendous gale; the ship was 
 wrecked, and every soul perished ! " 
 
 " Oh, horror ! " exclaimed the tender- 
 hearted Emily ; " what did his wife do ? " 
 
 "My heart bleeds at the recollection of 
 her awful sufferings at that distressing
 
 '94 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 period," continued Mrs. Russel. "The 
 stroke was almost annihilating, and I 
 feared she would sink under it; but her 
 religion was steadfast, and it sustained her. 
 She had treasured it in her prosperity, and 
 it did not fail her now that her dark hour 
 had come. Its promises and its hopes shed 
 a radiance which penetrated even this deep 
 -gloom, and brought peace and resignation 
 to her soul. Her conduct was that of a 
 meek and humble Christian, whose faith in 
 the goodness, and wisdom, and mercy of 
 the great Almighty Ruler of our destiny, 
 was fixed arid immovable, but her earthly 
 hopes were buried in the grave of her de- 
 parted friend. 
 
 "When a little recovered from the first 
 overpowering shock, Mrs. Allison employed 
 her many accomplishments to gain a repu- 
 table support. Her father's long infirmities 
 had completely drained his early resources. 
 Till time and suffering had enfeebled her 
 constitution, however, she was always able 
 to make a respectable appearance ; but as 
 her means declined, her hollow-hearted 
 friends, who had bowed to her wealth and
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 95 
 
 enjoyed its splendor, dropped away, one af- 
 ter another. They had basked fondly in the 
 sunshine of her prosperity, but they shrunk 
 timidly and coldly away when the gloom 
 of night enshrouded her fortunes. They 
 thought perhaps, with you, Emily, that she 
 had become ' vulgar ! ' ' 
 
 "O don't, don't say so, mother!" exclaim- 
 ed the repentant girl. 
 
 " Her retirement from society," continued 
 Mrs. Russel , ' ' became a thing of course. At 
 present, she is able to do little, from the ex- 
 treme delicacy of her health ; nevertheless, 
 she prefers relying upon her own exertions, 
 her own scanty resources, to making known 
 the extent of her necessities to the relations 
 of her husband, who, it is said, are again in 
 affluent circumstances. But tell me, my 
 daughter, is such a woman to blush for her 
 poverty 1 Are we to pass by her in silence, 
 with averted looks, fearing to recognize her, 
 because some of our more opulent and fash- 
 ionable acquaintance happen to be near at 
 the time, and may smile in derision ? " 
 
 " No ! no indeed, mother." replied Emily, 
 eagerly, "it would be cruel and ungrateful.
 
 96 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 and wicked to do so. I am sure I feel truly 
 ashamed to think I indulged such proud 
 thoughts for a moment; but it was seeing; 
 Ann Seymore, and her mother too, look and 
 laugh so contemptuously. Ann made up 
 such a queer face, when she saw your very 
 polite bow I wish you could have seen it 
 and gave her head such a toss ; and then I 
 did not know all these things, you remem- 
 ber, mother." 
 
 " No, my dear ; you judged without 
 knowing, and from appearances," said her 
 mother impressively. 
 
 Emily blushed deeply, when her mother 
 made this reply, for she recollected that it 
 was for hasty judgment, as well as for wicked 
 pride, that she had been corrected. After a 
 short pause, however, she asked modestly, 
 "if she would not tell her about the Sey- 
 mores, as she had promised." 
 
 "I shall tell of their course with much 
 less pleasure, my child," resumed Mrs. Rus- 
 sel ; " and were it not to impress a most use- 
 ful and important lesson upon your mind, 
 which I regret to say you greatly require, I 
 would much prefer to leave their history
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 97 
 
 unrelated. It is painful to speak of those 
 whom we cannot and ought not to com- 
 mend. 
 
 "Mr. Seymore's father was an honest 
 and respectable shoemaker at the north end 
 of Boston 
 
 " A shoemaker ! mother," exclaimed 
 
 Emily, starting with surprise. 
 
 "Yes, my dear, a shoemaker; but that of 
 itself is nothing in his disfavor, if, as I said, 
 he was an honest and a worthy man. See, 
 again you are about to pass judgment and 
 condemn a person as 'vulgar,' because his 
 station is humble." 
 
 " No, mother, not because his station is 
 humble ; but it seems so very surprising, 
 that the rich Mr. Seymore's father should 
 have been a shoemaker ! of all things." 
 
 " Not at all, my dear; in our young coun- 
 try, few of us can look back many genera- 
 tions, without encountering some such cir- 
 cumstance to mortify our family pride. 
 When our forefathers sought these shores, 
 they made prodigious sacrifices for the in- 
 dulgence of their religious freedom. Few of 
 their descendants, under such circumstances 
 9
 
 98 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 as the early history of our country presents, 
 but were obliged to have recourse to some 
 mechanical labor for the support of their 
 families, or the establishment of the younger 
 branches. But if you interrupt me thus, 
 I shall not have time to relate to you all I 
 intended. The son of this shoemaker, then, 
 the present Mr. Seymore, as soon as he was 
 old enough, was placed upon his father's 
 bench to learn the same trade, and was of- 
 ten employed in carrying shoes to a neigh- 
 bor's house to be bound. This woman, who 
 gained a livelihood by washing, binding 
 shoes, and sundry similar employments, 
 had a daughter, who was literally brought 
 up in the street, where I have often seen 
 her, in my frequent visits to Boston, carry- 
 ing about little twists of molasses candy, to 
 sell to the children of the neighborhood. She 
 was consequently extremely illiterate, coarse 
 and bold in her manners, and in all respects 
 truly ' vulgar ; ' for nature had given her a 
 cunning and malignant temper. She was 
 nevertheless exceedingly pretty, both in face 
 and figure, so much so, that poor Jacob be- 
 came quite charmed, in their frequent meet-
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 99 
 
 ings, and resolved that as soon as he could 
 'compass the cash,' he would marry the 
 girl. He was now very urgent with his 
 father to release him from the shop., and 
 permit him to go to sea. As consent could 
 not be obtained, he ran away, and became 
 a sailor without it. 
 
 "At first he sailed as cabin boy; but he 
 was an active, shrewd lad, and after a few 
 years, was promoted. In process of time, 
 becoming an experienced seaman, he deemed 
 himself able to begin the world with his 
 pretty wife. He married Dolly Beckford, 
 and continued to follow the sea for some 
 years. It was in one of his trips to Havana, 
 that he became acquainted with the crew 
 of a Guinea ship about to sail from that 
 place. The seducing offers which were 
 made him, induced Jacob to connect him- 
 self with the nefarious band, and in the 
 profitable but abominable traffic, his wealth 
 increased with rapidity. He found himself, 
 after some years, the entire owner of a val- 
 uable ship, which he continued to employ 
 in this wretched business ; and indeed, it is 
 supposed, (with but too much reason for
 
 100 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 suspicion,) that he is even now in league 
 with a company at Havana, who every 
 season fit out many valuable ships from 
 that place for the Guinea trade. In this 
 way his fortunes rose with almost unexam- 
 pled celerity; for when we scruple not at the 
 means, whether they be good or whether 
 they be evil, there is little difficulty in 
 amassing a fortune. He did so, by the 
 sighs and groans, the lashes and anguish, 
 the bitter miseries of these helpless and suf- 
 fering slaves; and every dollar, could it find 
 a tongue, would tell of the agonies by which 
 it has been obtained." 
 
 "Oh, dreadful ! " exclaimed Emily; " how 
 dreadful !" 
 
 "Wealth," continued Mrs. Russel, "has 
 thus poured in upon them. His Dolly, 
 whose beauty is really brilliant enough to 
 grace a better heart, became a fine lady ; 
 they removed from their obscure lodgings, 
 and at last thought it fitting to quit alto- 
 gether the scene of their early adventures, 
 and the vicinity of poor relations. They 
 came to New York, and entered upon the 
 expensive establishment in which you now
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 101 
 
 see them, surrounded with extravagance and 
 splendor. For this, as their wealth, it is 
 supposed, is very great, they may perhaps 
 be forgiven ; but to leave her poor old wid- 
 owed mother in such absolute indigence as 
 she has, and to deny her all the respect and 
 affection which a daughter owes a parent ; 
 to be insensible to all those strong obliga- 
 tions which no circumstances can cancel, 
 this, this is not to be excused ; and it is for 
 this heartless conduct this narrowness of 
 mind this real vulgarity of character, that 
 I turn from her with the loathing and dis- 
 gust you have noticed, and not in any de- 
 gree from the accident of her low origin 
 and early poverty. And now tell me, my 
 daughter, are they worthy to excite that 
 glow of pride which tinged your cheek, 
 when they bowed to you, from their gilded 
 vehicle ? Are they deserving that blush of 
 shame which flashed even to your eyes, 
 when you saw them smile contemptuously 
 at our recognition of Mrs. Allison, as she 
 took her humble walk by the wayside, 
 alone and in silence, bent, I would dare as- 
 sert, on some errand of mercy, carrying 
 9
 
 102 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 consolation to some sufferer, whose wounded 
 heart she would soothe, whose sorrows she 
 would assuage, whose ignorance she would 
 enlighten, or whose faith she would confirm 
 and strengthen. With a mind filled with a 
 godlike henevolence, she devotes a portion 
 of her scanty pittance to those whose wants 
 are greater than her own; and with scarcely 
 enough for the necessities of nature, she yet 
 contrives to perform more acts of charity, 
 to hush more sighs, and dry more tears, than 
 any other individual I have ever known. 
 Such, however, is her unobtrusive excellence, 
 so secret her deeds of beneficence, that they 
 seem to fall like the dew of heaven on the 
 parched earth, in the silence and stillness of 
 night, refreshing while unobserved. Few, 
 very few, besides the recipients of her boun- 
 ty, have any knowledge of its exercise, and 
 even those can scarcely trace the channel 
 by which mercy reaches them, though they 
 bless the source. Indeed, my dear daughter, 
 knowing Mrs. Allison as 1 do, I can never 
 look upon her subdued and humble figure, 
 contemplate her chastened spirit and ex- 
 panded benevolence of soul, without feeling
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 103 
 
 myself refreshed and purified by the obser- 
 vation of such truly Christian virtues." 
 
 Emily sat for some time without speak- 
 ing. A tear trembled on the long lash of 
 her dark eye, and her lip quivered with 
 emotion, when she broke the pause which 
 followed the last words of her excellent 
 mother. 
 
 "I have been wrong, very wrong," at 
 length she said. " Had you told me a thou- 
 sand times, that I was 'proud,' 'unjust/ 
 and ' hasty in my judgment,' my dear moth- 
 er, I could not have felt it to be so really 
 true, as I now do, after hearing these stories. 
 I should not have seen how foolishly I was 
 influenced by the glare of fashion and 
 wealth : but you do not know how much 
 attention these Seymores have paid me; 
 how much they have praised and flattered 
 me ; and how many ways they have tried 
 to make me admire them ; and how much 
 they have talked about George, and extolled 
 his beauty, air and manners ; and I do so 
 love to hear my dear brother admired. But 
 I see now, that I was growing vain, and 
 proud, and silly, and wrong, every way."
 
 104 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 " No, no, my dear, not ' every way ;' you 
 are now unjust to yourself; your better feel- 
 ings were weakened, to be sure, but not de- 
 stroyed. Your good sense was obscured. 
 You saw things through a false medium, 
 for you were dazzled, though not blinded ; 
 you see your fault, and I trust it is not quite 
 too late to overcome it; but you must be 
 watchful in the moment of temptation. 
 Yanity and pride are powerful enemies to 
 contend with ; and flattery, my child, is a 
 weapon often used with fearful success." 
 
 " You are so good and, kind, my dearest 
 mother," said Emily, smiling through her 
 tears, " that I should be the worst girl in 
 the world, I 'm sure, if I did not endeavor to 
 correct my faults ; and as to that good Mrs. 
 Allison, I do hope I shall never appear dis- 
 respectful to her again, if the Seymores 
 laugh directly in my face ; and yet I think 
 it is unpleasant enough too, such scornful 
 looks as they give." 
 
 " It is not pleasant, my daughter, certain- 
 ly ; it is a temptation ; but recollect that you 
 would wound one of the purest and best of 
 hearts, render yourself guilty in your own
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 105 
 
 eyes, and above all, offend your heavenly 
 Father, if, after so much warning and so 
 much instruction, you should fear to do 
 right, least you should excite the ridicule of 
 these fashionable ladies." 
 
 It was, however, many months after this, 
 before Emily again saw Mrs. Allison. The 
 wealth and splendor of the Seymores, 
 whose origin and characters were little un- 
 derstood by their associates, had opened for 
 them an intercourse with the most respecta- 
 ble and fashionable society. The beauty of 
 the ladies, together with a facility and 
 quickness in catching the manners and eti- 
 quette of those with whom they mingled, 
 had thrown an air of seeming gentility 
 around them, which was accepted by many, 
 in the place of real good breeding. Emily 
 constantly met them in every fashionable 
 circle; and such were the attentions, such the 
 court paid them, and so numerous the grati- 
 fications which she enjoyed through the 
 medium of their acquaintance, that the con- 
 versation she had held with her mother 
 about them, and the feelings it had pro- 
 duced, had been gradually effaced from her
 
 106 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 mind. She saw them admired, and sought 
 for ; and forgot to consider their real claims 
 upon her regard. No circumstance had oc- 
 curred to draw from them an exhibition of 
 that low pride, the unfailing indication of a 
 vulgar mind, which she had witnessed with 
 regard to Mrs. Allison. Emily, too, soon 
 forgot that they were not good as well as 
 rich, wise as well as fashionable. 
 
 It happened one fine evening, that she 
 was returning from a walk on the Battery, 
 with a number of the most fashionable of 
 her acquaintance, among whom were the 
 beautiful Seymores, when Ann, suddenly 
 bursting into a rude laugh, and pointing 
 with her pretty taper finger, glittering with 
 diamonds, before her, said most sarcastical- 
 ly "Look ! look ! Miss Russel, there comes 
 your interesting friend, the lady of the par- 
 ty-colored bonnet. Oh, what a figure it is ! " 
 she added contemptuously: "I think she 
 must be one of Noah's family, recently from 
 the ark of safety. Do look at that dress ! 
 positively made in the year one ; great scarci- 
 ty of silk, I 'm thinking, that same year; two 
 breadths of three-quarters width, perhaps.
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 107 
 
 Do you behold the dame, Lawson ? if you 
 could but obtain the article for your collec- 
 tion of curiosities but come, Miss Russel, 
 prepare your best bow, for this specimen 
 of the fashions before the flood." 
 
 Emily, at the commencement of this 
 speech, and the view of Mrs. Allison's rusty 
 and primitive appearance, contrasted with 
 the gay party beside her, felt a burning 
 blush of shame and mortification flush her 
 cheek. She even began with indignation to 
 expostulate, and exculpate herself from the 
 charge of being the " friend" of such a per- 
 son; but turning to look haughtily at the ill- 
 bred speaker, she saw along with the exulta- 
 tion which was in her eye, the same expres- 
 sion of contempt the upturned nose, and 
 the mouth drawn down, which was stamped 
 upon her countenance the day she had 
 passed them as they were bowing to Mrs. 
 Allison. All the feelings, all the circumstances 
 of that period, all the subsequent conversa- 
 tion with her mother, returned like a flash 
 of lightning to her memory all that she had 
 heard of the two characters, her repentant 
 tears, her virtuous resolves, her mother's
 
 108 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 admonitions, and her own humble promises. 
 There was a momentary struggle with her 
 unworthy pride, but it was subdued; and 
 she replied with a firm voice "I am not 
 ashamed to own that I am her friend ; she 
 is as good as she is poor, Miss Seymore," 
 and she was ready, as Mrs. Allison passed 
 by her, to bow with marked respect. To her 
 surprise, Mrs. Allison addressed her, though 
 with evident reluctance, least she should 
 inflict mortification. 
 
 " Forgive the intrusion, Miss Russel, but 
 will you have the goodness to tell me where 
 I may find your mother 7 I have very 
 pressing need of her advice and assistance 
 for a suffering friend," she added in a low 
 tone. " I am quite sure of obtaining both if 
 I can but make my wants known. I have 
 been already to your house, but she is not 
 there." 
 
 "I will go for her this moment," said 
 Emily. "I think she is at my aunt Mer- 
 cer's, and I am certain she will thankfully 
 assist you if she can." 
 
 " Do not let me take you from your par- 
 ty, my dear," said Mrs. Allison. " I will go 
 myself for your mother."
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 109 
 
 "I will accompany you, then, if you 
 please," replied Emily, with a warmth and 
 sweetness which conquering virtue always 
 inspires. " I too may he useful." 
 
 Emily heard the tittering, and the sar- 
 casms of the fashionable party hefore her ; 
 they had passed on, and still lingered for 
 her. But the struggle was over, the victory 
 obtained; and indignation now aided her 
 virtuous resolution, particularly as she saw, 
 by the varying countenance of Mrs. Allison, 
 that she was in no degree insensible to the 
 indecency of their conduct, or ignorant of 
 its cause ; but as Emily offered her arm to 
 the old lady, she looked in the face of the 
 lovely girl, with an expression of benignity, 
 gratitude and admiration, so pure and holy, 
 that it reached the soul of Emily. This 
 was for her one of those moments of un- 
 mingled delight, which our heavenly Father 
 bestows as the sweetest reward and strength- 
 ener of virtue, after a successful conflict 
 within. 
 
 " Think not, my sweet girl," at length 
 she said, " that a victory like this you have 
 just achieved passes unobserved by that 
 10
 
 110 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 great Being who searches the heart. You 
 look inquiringly, and would ask, how I can 
 know your secret conflicts ; but believe me, 
 observation, experience, and, I would add, 
 suffering, makes us clear-sighted in these 
 things ; they enable us to read the counte- 
 nance, and look into the heart, when the 
 young think that all is concealed. Your 
 friends, however, have not usually, they 
 have not now, made their remarks in a 
 whisper; their voices came loud upon the 
 wind, and reached me, before I knew from 
 whom they came ; it was not a new or un- 
 common sound to my ears. I saw on ap- 
 proaching, the blush upon your cheek, and 
 the momentary hesitation you felt. I caught 
 your answer, and I see ' your victory ! God 
 has strengthened you to subdue the rising 
 pride, and will reward the effort. For 
 you, I rejoice ; such a conquest over 
 the frailties of our nature, brings in a rich 
 harvest of virtues ; but for myself, it is long 
 since I have learned, though not without 
 suffering, to look upon such scoffs only with 
 commiseration. The arrows fall pointless, 
 when we keep the eye steadily directed to
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. Ill 
 
 that infinite Being, who, though he permit 
 the trials, is ever ready to strengthen us to 
 meet them." 
 
 They now reached the residence of Mrs. 
 Mercer, where Emily found her mother. 
 
 A beaming glance from her maternal eye, 
 as it turned rapidly from one to the other, 
 showed Emily that all was understood by 
 her watchful parent. The necessities of the 
 case in hand, were soon made known. Mrs. 
 Allison told the story of her afflicted friend, 
 which excited all the sympathy she expect- 
 ed. Emily was permitted to accompany 
 them on their visit of mercy, and there she 
 saw Mrs. Allison in her true and elevated 
 character, like an angel of peace, pouring 
 consolation and hope into a wounded heart. 
 She saw the high and noble aim of her life, 
 meeting its pure reward in the comfort and 
 joy she shed around her footsteps. 
 
 The afflicted blessed her, the sick felt the 
 efficient aid of her increasing attentions. 
 After administering all the assistance re- 
 quired by the occasion, Mrs. Allison pre- 
 pared to pass the night with the distressed 
 friend, while her companions retraced their
 
 112 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 steps to their own happier dwelling. Emily 
 retired to her own room in silence. Seated 
 at the open casement, and fixing her eye on 
 the bright blue sky thickly inlaid with its 
 glittering gems, she thought over the events 
 of the last few hours, and searched her 
 heart and its feelings. The words of Mrs. 
 Allison, and her saint-like expression of 
 countenance, had penetrated its deepest re- 
 cesses; she sighed, and a repentant tear 
 stole down her cheek, when she remembered 
 the strong emotion of mortification which 
 swelled her bosom at the first coarse de- 
 rision of her unworthy companions. 
 
 " I ought to have remembered my resolu- 
 tions better," said she to herself. "Why did 
 I allow my foolish pride to rise almost to 
 overpower them, at this first temptation? 
 Did I not promise myself, that if I should 
 ever be placed in such circumstances again, 
 I would be firm to my duty ? Did I not 
 solemnly promise myself, that I would not 
 be overcome by the dread of their contempt, 
 or fears of their laughter 1 I was wrong, 
 very wrong; but I thank my heavenly 
 Father that it was soon over. How much I
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 113 
 
 should have felt of unavailing regret, how 
 much I must have lost too, if I had not 
 resisted these unworthy feelings at last." 
 
 It was not long after this period, that 
 some circumstances came to the knowledge 
 of the community, which awakened strong 
 suspicions and distrust of Mr. Seymore, and 
 he found himself most uncomfortably situ- 
 ated. Rumors began to circulate through 
 the fashionable circles of the city, respecting 
 their early history and sudden rise of for- 
 tune. The arrival of a family from Boston, 
 to whom the whole was known, and who 
 had not that repugnance to speak of the 
 dark side of another's character, for which 
 Mrs. Russel was distinguished, confirmed 
 all the whispered suspicions. They were 
 soon neglected by the fashionable for their 
 vulgarity; despised by the good for their 
 vices, and "cut," as the phrase is, by all 
 simultaneously. It was at this most unfor- 
 tunate juncture of their lives, that some 
 unsuccessful speculations, added to the 
 boundless extravagance in which they had 
 indulged, was found to have robbed this 
 unhappy family of all their ill-gotten wealth. 
 10*
 
 114 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 It is needless and disgusting to trace the ef- 
 fects of such reverses upon such characters. 
 They had nothing to sustain them under 
 these accumulated misfortunes. Poor, mis- 
 erable, and despised, they sunk to obscurity 
 with as much celerity as they had risen 
 from it. Mr. Seymore fled from the coun- 
 try to avoid the odium which fixed upon 
 him. His wretched wife became the vic- 
 tim of intemperance, and .died a martyr to 
 the poison. Poor Ann, after vainly strug- 
 gling against it, was obliged to seek in Bos- 
 ton a shelter in the asylum of the poor; all 
 her relatives had been exceedingly indigent, 
 and unable, if willing, to save her from this 
 fate. The neglect of their rich relatives 
 had not served to soften their hearts to pity, 
 and they rather exulted in this downfall of 
 pride. 
 
 "Hmily was exceedingly shocked by these 
 events. Her mind was deeply impressed 
 with such a powerful instance of retributive 
 justice. While she sat musing on this sub- 
 ject, and revolving in her mind the singular 
 course of these two individuals, who, but a 
 short time back had caused her so sore a
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 115 
 
 conflict, while she renewed her resolutions 
 and determined to model her own character 
 by that of Mrs. Allison's, and to walk in 
 her steps, and to strive for her spirit, Mrs. 
 Russel entered her room with a flushed face, 
 and her eyes brightened with the joy of her 
 heart. 
 
 " I have something here, my dear Emily, 
 that I am sure will rejoice you. It is a let- 
 ter from Mrs. Allison, inclosing one she has 
 just received from England. I should not 
 have called so confidently upon your sym- 
 pathy in the happiness of so poor and hum- 
 ble a being, one year since, my child ; but 
 you have learned that poverty and " vulgar- 
 ity " are not always inseparable, and to re- 
 spect virtue though in the meanest vest- 
 ments. You deserve, then, to unite in the 
 joy I feel at this moment. 
 
 " Oh tell me, what is it, mother? I am sure 
 I shall be delighted, sincerely delighted, in 
 any happiness that reaches Mrs. Allison. 
 I owe her much for the instruction she has 
 given me, and for all I have learned by my 
 intercourse with her in the dwellings of the 
 miserable, and suffering, and sorrowful,
 
 11C PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 where she has so kindly permitted me to go 
 with her ; but tell me what has happened to 
 her, if you please, mother." 
 
 " This letter is from the executor of Mr. 
 Allison's youngest brother. This brother 
 has recently died, and has left her twenty 
 thousand pounds ! which will be a most 
 ample fortune for her. The letter contains 
 many compliments on Mrs. Allison's scru- 
 pulous delicacy, in never making known to 
 her husband's family the extent of her pe- 
 cuniary embarrassments, which came but 
 by accident to the knowledge of the deceas- 
 ed but a few months previous to his death. 
 Some kind friend, with the hope of obtain- 
 ing a bequest for this estimable woman, 
 made an effort to interest the old bachelor, 
 the last of Mr. Allison's family, in her 
 favor, it would seem, without the smallest 
 idea but that all the circumstances of her 
 situation were known to him. The good 
 man, as appears from this letter, was much 
 shocked by the information he obtained, 
 and without loss of time made an alteration 
 in his will to provide for her. He ex- 
 pressed great regret that she had so carefully
 
 PRIDE SUBDUED. 117 
 
 concealed from his scrutiny so many impor- 
 tant circumstances of her situation. Mrs. 
 Allison, as you will see by these few lines, 
 which she has sent me, meets with this 
 happy reverse with the same Christian 
 meekness that distinguished her in adver- 
 sity. It appears to me that her character 
 rises in dignity with every change of for- 
 tune. But I will read all to you, and then 
 we will rejoice together. She is confident, 
 she tells me, that she shall have our sym- 
 pathy in all her feelings at this moment. " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! " exclaimed Emily, whose 
 heart was full of the most disinterested joy ; 
 "but how wonderful it is, mother ! I was 
 but this moment thinking of the Seymores, 
 and their wretched fate, and remembering, 
 as if it had happened but yesterday, all that 
 I thought and felt only one. year since of 
 them and of Mrs. Allison. What a striking 
 lesson their history affords." 
 
 "It is most true, my daughter. It is 
 rarely indeed that we have an opportunity of 
 seeing the just rewards of virtue and of vice 
 so fully exhibited. This world affords, gen- 
 erally speaking, only the trials of virtue ; a
 
 118 PRIDE SUBDUED. 
 
 future and a better world dispenses its re- 
 wards. May the lesson be to you as deeply 
 impressed as it is clearly illustrated, and 
 you will learn in humble imitation of your 
 heavenly Father, to look through the glitter 
 of wealth, and the rust of poverty, to the 
 heart and life, and according to the purity 
 and excellence there discernible, give your 
 respect and your affection ; and by this same 
 rule, judge of your own title to the respect 
 and affection of your friends. For such is 
 the test by which we must all be tried, 
 when this world and its allurements have 
 passed away, and we stand before him who 
 sitteth in judgment above."
 
 LIGHT & HORTQN, 
 
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