:
 
 l^n 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 Ben and his farmyard fri<?!)dH. Page 80.
 
 BEN'S BOYHOOD. 
 
 BY MBS. C. E. BOWEff. 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED, 
 
 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 ^Boston: 
 Published by 0. Mothrop & Co.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. INTRODUCES MRS. PAINE AND HER LIT- 
 TLE DAUGHTER ALICE, 5 
 
 H. BEN LEYTON PONDERS OVER THE QUES- 
 TION WHETHER HE IS A " PORPOISE " 
 OR A " PAUPER," 14 
 
 m. WHAT THE BELLS OF ST. MATHEWS 
 
 CHURCH SAY TO BEN, 22 
 
 IV. COURAGE AND A COLD BATH, ... 34 
 
 V. BEN TURNS SNOW-SWEEPER, .... 49 
 
 VI. JACK BENBOW TURNS SCHOOL-MASTER, 58 
 
 VH. THE RED CLOAK, 63 
 
 VIII. RIPE CHERRIES. A YOUNG ROGUE, 
 
 AND AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE, ... 68 
 
 IX. BEN TAKES A STEP IN LIFE WHICH 
 
 LEADS TO PROSPERITY, 79 
 
 TRUSTED AND TRIED, 86 
 
 622729
 
 feEJTS <&OYHOO<D. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCES MRS. PAINE AND HER LITTLE 
 DAUGHTER ALICE. 
 
 ,N the suburbs of the country town of 
 Bedfordshire lived some years ago a 
 widow of the name of Paine, who, like 
 many of her neighbors, earned a liveli- 
 hood by lace-making. It is still the trade of the 
 county, but has been greatly injured, late years, 
 by the introduction of machiner}^ which supplies 
 large quantities of lace to those who are satisfied 
 
 to wear a very inferior though less costly article 
 
 (5)
 
 6 Bens Boyhood. 
 
 than the lace woven on the pillow by finger 
 industry. 
 
 Mrs. Paine had but one little girl to provide 
 for besides herself. By constant industry she 
 contrived to pay her way after her husband's 
 death, and to continue in the small but pleasant 
 cottage where they had lived from the time of 
 their marriage, and which she greatly prized, be- 
 cause of its standing in a garden of tolerable size, 
 always a boon to a poor person who knows 
 how to make the most of it. 
 
 As soon as her little daughter Alice was old 
 enough to be taught the art of lace-making in its 
 very simplest form, Mrs. Paine showed her tiny 
 fingers how to guide the bobbins ; and very proud 
 and happy was the child when she was made 
 mistress of a little pillow covered with red cloth, 
 and a large number of white and brown bobbins, 
 each one adorned with a pendant of sparkling, 
 many-colored beads. 
 
 Day after day, in summer, might the widow 
 be seen seated before her door in the little gar-
 
 Alice learns the art of lace making. Page 6.
 
 A Family Picture. 7 
 
 den, busily plying her occupation, no less beau- 
 tiful in its results than mysterious to the unini- 
 tiated in its execution. Little, bright blue-eyed 
 Alice was often seated on her low chair by her 
 mother's side with her pretty red pillow on her 
 lap, contrasting its bright hues with the golden 
 curls of the small head that bent over it. But 
 Mrs. Paine would not confine her child too rigor- 
 ously, and Alice might as often be seen racing 
 in the cottage garden, gathering flowers, or trot- 
 ting into Bedford on some errand for her mother. 
 Hard as she worked hour by hour, Mrs. Paine 
 would scarcely have been able to make ends 
 meet, and pay the rent of her cottage, if she had 
 depended entirely on the shops for the sale of 
 her lace. They were always ready to buy it, it 
 is true ; but the price they gave was so low, 
 compared to that which they received, that the 
 poor lace-makers were thankful if they could find 
 purchasers amongst the ladies of the neighbor- 
 hood who would pay them a fair remuneration 
 for their labor. Mis. Paine's lace being always
 
 8 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 beautifully made, she could often secure a pri- 
 vate customer. Especially she was known to the 
 young ladies belonging to a large school in Bed- 
 ford. They often had commissions from their 
 parents and friends to purchase for them some 
 of the far-famed Bedfordshire pillow lace, and 
 Mrs. Paine generally was pretty sure of being 
 sent for to the school at the close of the half- 
 year, when all was bustle and preparation for the 
 holidays. On such occasions she was allowed to 
 go into the dining-room, where a bev} r of the 
 elder girls of the school soon collected round her 
 basket, some as purchasers, some as admirers of 
 its delicate contents. The first time that little 
 Alice Paine accompanied her mother was after 
 she had just finished several yards of a narrow 
 lace, the first-fruits of her own industry. She 
 carried it in a little basket by itself, and, like her 
 mother, offered it for sale. When it was known 
 that it was the work of her own fingers, the tiny 
 maiden's head might almost have been turned by 
 the praises bestowed on it, and by the number
 
 Alice** Vast Capital. 9 
 
 of purchasers who were ready to give the very 
 moderate sum for which it was offered, but which 
 seemed a perfect fortune to Alice, who was to be 
 allowed to consider it all her own to spend as 
 she pleased. 
 
 Three shillings was a vast capital to a child 
 who had never before possessed more than a 
 penny. All the way home she was thinking 
 what should be done with it. Every possible 
 and impossible purchase was discussed, from a 
 new gown for her mother to a variety of other 
 articles ; the result was that Alice should put by 
 half-a-crown in a little box, till some urgent want 
 arose which did not appear at present ; for she 
 was a most unselfish child, and would not at all 
 have liked spending it on any toy or pleasure for 
 herself. One great happiness, however, she had 
 that day. Sixpence she took to old Betty 
 Brown, who was always so thankful for a drop 
 of lea when her funds could. afford it, which was 
 not very often. A windfall therefore such as 
 Alice's sixpence was all the more welcome, and
 
 10 Een's Boyhood. 
 
 her gratitude was accordingly warmly expressed 
 to the happy little lace-inaker. 
 
 One day a letter came directed to Mr. Paine. 
 The appearance of the postman at their cottago 
 was a thing so unusual that it brought several of 
 the neighbors to their doors to gaze in momentary 
 wonder at his red coat and budget of undelivered 
 letters. It was before the days of the penny- 
 postage, and the sum of ninepence was im- 
 patiently demanded by the man, who, somewhat 
 gruff and surly by nature, seemed to think that 
 the writer of this letter had taken an unheard-of 
 liberty in sending him so much out of his usual 
 course to the humble abode at the door of which 
 he stood. 
 
 " Who on earth can have been writing to 
 me ? " exclaimed Mrs. Paine, when, having 
 paid the postman and shut the cottage door, 
 she examined the letter carefully outside before 
 breaking the seal, which seemed impressed with 
 the end of a thimble. " Your eyes are sharper 
 than mine, Alice ; can you make out the post- 
 mark, all blotted as it is ? "
 
 Mr a. Lei/ton's Unexpected Letter. 11 
 
 " Northampton," pronounced Alice on exami- 
 nation, and with all the dignity of the lately 
 newly-acquired power of being able to read. 
 
 " Northampton ! that is where my old friend 
 Jessie Leyton lives, who married a sort of cousin 
 of mine. I've often wanted to know how she 
 and her boy have got on since her husband died, 
 and I shall hear at last." 
 
 So saying, Mrs. Paine sat down to read her 
 letter, which ran as follows : 
 
 "Mr DEAR MARY, 
 
 " I write to you from my dying bed. 
 Will you come and see me once more on earth 
 for the sake of old times when we were girls, and 
 of my husband, who was your kin. I have not 
 many days to live. My strength is failing fast. 
 Come to me if you can. 
 
 " Your Affectionate Friend, 
 
 JESSIE LEYTON." 
 
 Mrs. Paine was a good deal agitated by thia
 
 12 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 letter. She and Jessie had been brought up in 
 the same village, gone to the same school, 
 and had lived near each other when in service. 
 Jessie had married a bookseller, who might have 
 done well if he had not given too much time to 
 reading his own books, and too little to attend- 
 ing to his business. He was a man who had 
 plenty of brains, but not enough common sense ; 
 consequently, as is often the case with such 
 people, his shop affairs did not prosper, and cus- 
 tomers decreased, till at length he gave it up. 
 
 Whilst still living on what his small stock 
 sold for, Leighton was seized with cholera, and 
 died in a few days. His widow and their one 
 little boy were left to face absolute poverty, for 
 her health had become delicate, and she was un- 
 fit for exertion. She struggled on for a year or 
 two, and then disease attacked her of a very 
 serious kind ; and now it was that her thoughts 
 turned to her who was almost her only friend in 
 the world, and she wrote to beg her to go and 
 see her before she died.
 
 A Journey Resolved en. 13 
 
 Mrs. Paine at once resolved to go, and she saw 
 no time must be lost. But it is not an easy mat- 
 ter for the poor to take a sudden journey. Mrs. 
 Paine had to ascertain the best and cheapest 
 mode of getting to Northampton. Also sho 
 must either leave Alice in charge of some one or 
 take her with her. She decided on the former 
 plan. A neighbor offered to receive the child, 
 and look after the cottage in her short absence ; 
 for she hoped to return in a few days. There 
 was a carrier's cart, she found, which went three 
 times a-week from Bedfprd to a place whence 
 she could take the coach to Northampton, and 
 her return could be managed in the same man- 
 ner. So the next day she left Alice in the 
 neighbor's care, and started on her journey of 
 friendship and kindness.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BEN LEYTON PONDERS OVER THE QUESTION OF 
 
 WHFTHER HE IS A "PORPOISE" OR A 
 
 " PAUPER." 
 
 IETTER-WRITING was in former days 
 thought a much greater business by the 
 lower classes than it is now. Alice had 
 no expectation of hearing from her 
 mother during her absence, and was quite con- 
 tent to wait patiently for return in a few days. 
 More than a week, however, passed before 
 Mrs. Paine returned, and then, to Alice's un- 
 speakable surprise, she was accompanied by a 
 rosy-faced, sturdy little boy of about eight years 
 
 old 1 Greater still was she astonished when she 
 (14)
 
 Mrs. Paine takes Sen. 15 
 
 found that he was henceforth to live with 
 them. 
 
 " I found that he must go to the workhouse," 
 said Mrs. Paine, " and I couldn't bear the 
 thought of it. His poor mother had no idea of 
 my taking him when she asked me to go to her, 
 but she said she should like to know that I 
 would inquire about him now and then, and 
 give him a word of advice by letter, that he 
 might not feel there was no one to care for him. 
 So I thought to myself, * Suppose I were on my 
 death-bed, and it was Alice going to the work- 
 house, how should I feel ? ' Then I began to long 
 to take the boy, and I thought and thought, till at 
 last I told poor Jessie that whilst I had a home 
 little Ben should have one too and so here he 
 is. A nice little fellow. It was a sorrowful 
 time with the poor child when he found his 
 mother was gone, but he'll soon get settled with 
 us. We shall go on making ends meet some- 
 how, I dare say. In a few years he'll be able to 
 do something for himself."
 
 16 Ben** Boyhood. 
 
 All this was said to the neighbor, Mrs. Lang- 
 ley, who had been taking charge of Alice, and 
 who was disposed to think Mrs. Paine had done 
 rather a rash thing. 
 
 At all events, little Alice did rot disapprove. 
 She received Ben with open arms ; showed him 
 the garden, with its various treasures in the 
 shape of rose-bushes, creepers, etc. etc., and, 
 above all, the tiny arbor in the corner, made by 
 her father's own hands ; promised that he should 
 have half of the little flower-bed called hers; 
 and offered to teach him to make lace, saying, 
 she was sure mother would give him a pillow of 
 his own when he had learned. 
 
 But Ben, though well pleased at becoming 
 partner in the flower-bed, shook his head over 
 the lace pillow. " That's girls' work," he said ; 
 " Tm a boy." 
 
 That he was and so Mrs. Paine was remind- 
 ed every hour of the day. A high-spirited, in- 
 telligent, restless boy, always active and eager 
 to be doing something, but always affectionate, 
 tractable, and anxious to be useful.
 
 Ben's Character. 17 
 
 That he made a material difference in the 
 expenses of their little household there was no 
 denying, and Mrs. Paine found it impossible to 
 send him to school as she wished to do. He 
 could read and write a little, and she, being her- 
 self not a bad scholar, used to teach him and 
 Alice evenings ; and both of them went to Sun- 
 day-school regularly. 
 
 Like most children of his age, Ben took life as 
 it came, not troubling his head beyond the 
 affaire of the day. 
 
 When his mother died, be accompanied Mrs. 
 Paine to Bedford without feeling any wonder 
 that she took him with her. He easily slipped 
 into being Alice's brother and a little son to 
 Auntie Paine, as he called her, and had no idea 
 of being under obligation of any kind more than 
 all the other children around were to those they 
 lived with. Mrs. Paine was not one who would 
 ever remind him that she took him to avoid his 
 being sent to the workhouse. She believed she 
 
 was doing her duty as a Christian woman in giv- 
 2
 
 18 J5en' Boyhood. 
 
 ing him a home, and she looked for no other 
 approval but that of God and her own conscience. 
 
 Ben was sure, however, to have his eyes 
 opened sooner or later to the fact that he was 
 peculiarly circumstanced. 
 
 The winter was a very severe one that year. 
 Provisions were high, coals were dear. Tho 
 lace trade did not flourish. " Times were hard," 
 was a universal remark. Mrs. Paine felt the 
 truth of it, but said little. Not for one instant 
 did she regret having taken Ben, and neither he 
 nor Alice knew that she often worked far into 
 the night at her lace pillow to earn needful 
 clothing for the two. They did not know that 
 she often arose unsatisfied from a meal in order 
 that they might have enough. Nor did they 
 perceive that their clothing was warmer than 
 hers. 
 
 But one day Ben came in with a puzzled look 
 on his face. Mrs. Paine was gone out to sell some 
 lace at a shop, so he asked Alice the question 
 that was on his mind.
 
 Bens Difficulty. 19 
 
 " Alice, do you know what the word paupers 
 means? " 
 
 "Yes," said Alice, with an air of conscious 
 knowledge, " I know quite well ; it means a 
 -great fish that swims and rolls about in the 
 sea. There is the picture of one in my spelling- 
 book." Ben looked more puzzled than ever; 
 Alice's explanation had evidently not cleared 
 matters to him. 
 
 " What do you want to know for, Ben ? " 
 
 " Because I heard Mrs. Langley say to her 
 husband, when I went there for Auntie to-day, 
 that they were giving away warm clothing at 
 Squire Powell's, and that I had a right to some, 
 for I was after all only one of the paupers ; and 
 Alice, before mother died I remember she said to 
 Auntie something about my having to go amongst 
 paupers, and Auntie said I never should while 
 she lived." 
 
 " How very strange," replied Alice ; " it sounds 
 just as if your mother was afraid some one would 
 want to drown you, and send you down amongst 
 the fishes. We will ask mother nboui it."
 
 20 Bens Boyhood. 
 
 Mrs. Paine was both amused and pained when 
 the children asked her their question. She ex- 
 plained the bungle Alice had made between pau- 
 pers and porpoises, but in so doing she unavoid- 
 ably enlightened Ben as to the fact of his depen- 
 dent position. Some children would not have 
 troubled themselves about the matter, but Ben 
 was a boy of no ordinary character, as after events 
 proved. He was highly sensitive, too, and he 
 pondered over Mrs. Langley's speech about his 
 being a pauper long after Mrs. Paine thought he 
 had forgotten it. 
 
 " Mrs. Langley," said he, one day, when he 
 had been to fetch some milk for her at her re- 
 quest, " what did you mean the other day about 
 the warm clothing at Squire Powell's ; would 
 they give me some if I asked for it ? " 
 
 " I dare say they would if they knew all about 
 you, but I don't think your Auntie Paine would 
 like to you have go for any. She's not one to ask 
 for charity, I'm sure ; yet how she manages to 
 keep you and Alice looking as tidy as you do, 
 and iu such warm things, I don't know."
 
 Mrs. Paine explains the difference between paupers and porpoises. Pu^r 20.
 
 Mrs. Langleys Advice. 21 
 
 " Is Auntie Paine poor ? " asked Ben. 
 
 *' Aye, to be sure she is, and so am I, and so 
 are we all in such hard times as these. It's noth- 
 ing but slave, slave from morning to night, and 
 3 T et one can scarcely keep body and soul together. 
 But there, child, what can you understand about 
 it ? Run home ; and mind that you are always 
 a grateful boy to your Auntie, as you call her, 
 for she's been a kind friend to you when you'd 
 no other. When you get to be a large boy, you 
 must try and support yourself, and not be a bur- 
 den on her any longer."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WHAT THE BELLS OF ST. MATTHEW'S CHUECH 
 SAY TO BEN. 
 
 EN walked away from Mrs. Langley's cot- 
 tage at a much slower pace than was usual 
 with him. Nor did he feel inclined to go 
 home just then. He had a great deal to 
 think about, and he was unhappy. It was a 
 bright, cold day, so he put his hands in his pock- 
 ets to keep them warm, and turned down a road 
 leading away from the town. Oh, how he longed 
 for his mother to come back and feed him and 
 clothe him again I Auntie Paine was very kind, 
 
 but then he did not belong rightfully to her, or 
 (22)
 
 The Workhouse Children. 23 
 
 to anybody. She had only taken him out of 
 charity, and she was poor, Mrs. Langley said, 
 and perhaps she could hardly afford to keep him. 
 He remembered several things now which he 
 had not thought anything of before. For in- 
 stance, that very cape he had on to keep out the 
 cold, frosty air, was made out of the large cape 
 of Auntie Paine's cloak. She wore her cloak 
 without a cape now, and said it was still warm 
 enough. He felt sure that she only took it off 
 and cut it up for him because his every-day 
 jacket was so thin, and she could not afford to 
 buy him another. 
 
 Then again he remembered how he had some- 
 times heard her bobbins going, when he had 
 woke up, what seemed to him, in the middle of 
 the night. He had wondered always that she 
 could like to sit working so late, when she might 
 be snug in bed as he was ; but then he had 
 turned round and gone to sleep again, and 
 thought no more about it. Now, however, he 
 understood better about these things. She only
 
 24 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 worked so late in order to make more lace to sell, 
 not because she liked sitting up. 
 
 Just then he heard a sound as of many feet 
 coming along the frosty road. Tramp, tramp, 
 tramp, sounded from behind, and looking round 
 he saw a long row of children walking two and 
 two, all dressed alike, with their hair cut very 
 short. He knew them to be the workhouse 
 children, who Mrs. Paine had explained to him 
 bore the name of paupers, the word which had 
 so puzzled him. 
 
 He looked at them with very uncomfortable 
 feelings just now. He had always pitied them 
 so. Not that they looked ill or unhappy, but 
 because he knew how poor and friendless most 
 of them were. To-day he felt as though he 
 ought to be amongst them, rather than a burden 
 on Auntie Paine. Mrs. Langley had used that 
 word burden with respect to him, and he knew 
 that he must be one. He almost felt inclined to 
 go up to the matron who was walking wiLh the 
 children, and ask her to take him in with them
 
 The Matron* Reproof. 25 
 
 and keep him. He even took a step or two 
 towards her, his heart beating very fast; but 
 just at that moment one of the children ran out 
 of the ranks in which they were walking, to 
 gather a bunch of holly berries from the hedge. 
 She had evidently broken the rules, for the 
 matron gave her a cuff on the shoulder and 
 spoke angrily, desiring her not to be disorderly. 
 Ben stepped back very quickly and walked 
 towards home as fast as he could go. He 
 thought it would be terrible not to be allowed to 
 run about here, and there, and everywhere when 
 he went out. He had good sense enough to see 
 that if it were against rules for the children to 
 stop to gather anything from the hedges, the lit- 
 tle girl ought not to have done so, and that she 
 deserved reproof. But to have to keep such a 
 rule he thought must be dreadful, as well as 
 having to walk in that set, orderly manner, two 
 and two. No, he would not ask to be taken into 
 the workhouse ; he must try and think of some 
 other way of ceasing to be a burden to Auntie 
 Paine.
 
 26 Sen's Boyhood. 
 
 " Oh ! that I were a big boy instead of .a little 
 one!" Ben said aloud to himself; "then I 
 could work and help myself, as Mrs. Langley 
 says." 
 
 He had climbed on a gate leading into a field 
 by the roadside, and his arms were resting on tha 
 top bar. He did not perceive that any one was 
 near him till he felt a smart tap on his back, and 
 a tall, good-natured looking man asked him why 
 he was talking to himself in that queer sort of 
 way. 
 
 " Please, sir," said Ben, rather startled, and 
 frightened out of his reverie into his usual frank, 
 childlike manner, " I was only saying I wished 
 I was a big boy instead of a little one." 
 
 " And why do you wish that ? " 
 
 " Because then I could work and help myself." 
 
 " Well, you look ar> if you'd be a strong, sturdy 
 fellow one of these days ; in the meantime, sup- 
 pose j'ou move out of the way, and let me pass 
 through the gate ; and here, hold this stick for 
 me whilst I unlock the padlock ; though you
 
 Ben and the Farmer. 27 
 
 are^a little boy, you've got hands and feet, and 
 it's not too soon to learn the use of them at all 
 events." 
 
 Ben felt rather ashamed that he had not moved 
 out of the farmer's way without being told, and 
 that he had not offered to hold his stick without 
 being asked. He received a good-humored nod 
 from him as, having locked the gate on the other 
 side, the tall, strong man took his stick and 
 walked off over his well-ploughed field. 
 
 Ben noticed what large feet and hands he had, 
 and then he gave a look at his own small ones 
 with a feeling almost akin to contempt. 
 
 " Such strides, too, as those long legs of his 
 can take," thought Ben ; " he's half over the 
 field already ; it would have taken me twice as 
 long to go that distance.'' 
 
 Just then a pretty little terrier dog came run- 
 ning up the road, sniffing the way after his mas- 
 ter. He whined because he could neither get 
 through the bars of the gate, nor leap over the 
 top of it. He looked up into Ben's face, almost
 
 28 Ben % Boyhood. 
 
 asking him to lift him over. The boy did so, 
 and then laughed at the furious speed with which 
 the little creature scampered over the broad, 
 rough furrows till he gained his master's side. 
 
 "Well done, little fellow," he said to himself, 
 " you've caught up with him quickly, yet your 
 legs and feet are much shorter and smaller than 
 mine. To be sure you've got four of each, and 
 I've only two, but then your four put together 
 are not nearly so big as my two ? " 
 
 At that moment Ben's eye caught sight of 
 something bright lying on the ground. It was 
 the key of the padlock, which had evidently been 
 dropped by the farmer. 
 
 Ben scrambled over the gate in an instant, and 
 picked it up. Although the field was not a 
 thoroughfare, he thought he could riot be doing 
 trrong in going across it to catch the farmer arid 
 give him his key, but he must be as nimble as 
 the dog was, or he should lose sight of him. 
 
 " Now legs and feet off with you, though you 
 tire so small," quoth Ben, and off they went at
 
 The Lost Key. 29 
 
 his bidding at a pace that did them credit. To 
 be sure, they failed him once, for the ploughed 
 ground being hard with frost, and the ridges 
 high, he was suddenly tripped up by a lump of 
 earth, and found himself going heels over head 
 into a furrrow. But that was a trifle ; he was 
 up again in a second, and, panting and breath- 
 less, soon came up to the farmer, who seeing him 
 running guessed that something had happened, 
 and sat down on the stile at the other end of the 
 field to wait for him. Ben could not speak at 
 first ; he could only hold out the key with one 
 hand, and with the other pat the little dog, who, 
 "emembering the service he had done him at the 
 gate, leaped up and fawned upon him. 
 
 " Hollo, little man, so you've taken my advice 
 already, and begun to use your hands and feet, 
 and in my service, too. I should have been sorry 
 to have lost my key, for it's one that opens all 
 the gates. Now suppose I see what my hands 
 can find to reward yours with." 
 
 " I don't want any reward, sir," said Ben. 
 stoutly.
 
 30 Sen's Boyhood. 
 
 " Perhaps not, but for all that 3-011 won't refuse 
 a present of a sixpence if I give it to you." 
 
 The farmer had taken out a leather purse, 
 from which he tried to extract one, but his fin- 
 gers were so cold, and, as it seemed to Ben, so 
 big, that they fumbled and fumbled without 
 being able to catch hold of so small a coin. At 
 length he held the purse to Ben, and desired 
 him to take it out for himself. 
 
 The lad's small fingers, warm with the exercise 
 of his run, quickly drew forth a sixpence from 
 the pocket of the purse, for which he thanked 
 the farmer with a bow.' 
 
 " You see small hands are sometimes better in 
 getting money than large ones," said the farmer, 
 laughing. 
 
 He looked so good-naturedly at him, as he 
 said this, that, plucking up all his courage, Ben 
 ventured to say, 
 
 " Please, sir, could you give me any work to 
 do?" 
 
 "I'm afraid not, my lad, my work wanta
 
 The farmer desires Ben to take sixpence out of his leather purse. Page 30.
 
 Jack Benbow. 81 
 
 strength ; but when you get larger, come to me 
 and I'll see about it. In the meantime look 
 sharp, and you'll often be able to find work for 
 small hands and feet." 
 
 He whistled to his dog, and got over the stile. 
 Ben turned the other way and recrossed the 
 field, not running now, but with a brisk step, 
 and feeling much happier than before he saw the 
 farmer. That sixpence was a very pleasant little 
 possession ; but it was not so much that which 
 had lightened his spirit, as a sort of idea that 
 was arising in his mind that, child though he was, 
 he might find ways and means of helping to sup- 
 port himself. He was nothing but a pauper, 
 Mrs. Langley had said. A pauper he had ascer- 
 tained was one who had to be entirely supported 
 by others. So he really was a pauper, though a 
 very comfortable one, with such a snug home, 
 and such a kind auntie and sister. But if he 
 could earn money he would not be a pauper of 
 any sort. He knew a big orphan boy named 
 Jack Benbow, who q^uite kept himself; at least
 
 32 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 he paid a woman so much a-week for providing 
 for him, which was the same thing. If only he 
 could earn something to pay Auntie Paine every 
 week he should be not a pauper but but 
 in vain Ben tried to think of the word " inde- 
 pendent," which was the one he wanted. It 
 would not come into his head, so he summed up 
 his thoughts, with Jack Benbow's somewhat 
 inelegant mode of speaking viz., that " he 
 would then be on his own hook." 
 
 Those last words of the farmer's ran in his 
 head, " You'll often be able to find work for 
 small hands and feet." He began to think those 
 little members of his need not be so much 
 despised after all. 
 
 There had been a gay wedding that day in 
 Bedford, and the sweet-toned bells of the church 
 suddenly struck up a merry peal as Ben climbed 
 over the gate into the road. He quite started, 
 for they seemed to ring out seven words so 
 plainly, and those seven words were the very 
 same that the farmer had said :
 
 The Sells. 33 
 
 "Find work for small hands and feet." 
 u Find work for small hands and feet." 
 "Find work for small hands and feet." 
 
 And so they went on, and on, and on. Just 
 those words and nothing more to Ben's ear; 
 no others would they say.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 COURAGE AND A COLD BATH. 
 
 Ben got home, Alice was looking 
 out for him. She loved her adopted 
 brother very dearly, and did not like to 
 have him long from her. She and her 
 mother little suspected what had been troubling 
 him, for his face was now bright and happy as 
 usual. 
 
 " Don't the bells sound pretty, Ben ? " said 
 she. " Miss Powell is married to day ; and so 
 that is why they are ringing. They seem as if 
 they were telling us all to wish her to be 
 
 happy." 
 
 (34)
 
 Sen not a Burden. 35 
 
 **That isn't what they seem to say to me,'* 
 said Ben ; " they have kept on one sentence all 
 the time since they began; such a funny one, 
 Alice, 
 
 4 Find work for small hands and feet. ' " 
 
 Alice laughed at Ben's queer fancy ; but 
 she understood it better when he told her about 
 his meeting the farmer, and his running after 
 him with the key, and that he had asked him 
 for work, but that he was too weak and small 
 for him, but said he might look out, and find 
 work for small hands and feet. 
 
 All this interested Alice extremely, and she 
 no longer wondered that Ben fancied the bells 
 said what they did to him. 
 
 u What made you think of asking the farmer 
 to give you work, Ben ? " she asked. 
 
 " Because I don't' like to be a burden to Auntie 
 Paine," replied Ben, his bright face growing 
 doleful. 
 
 " You are not a, burden 1 " exclaimed Alice, in- 
 dignantly.
 
 86 Bens Boyhood. 
 
 " Yes, I am, Alice ; Mrs. Langley said I was, 
 and I know I am." 
 
 " But mother likes your living with us ; I 
 heard her say the other day that she loved you 
 as well as if you were her own boy." 
 
 " Still she is poor, and has to work harder 
 because I am here ; besides, Alice, I wanted 
 work to do because I am only a pauper, Mrs. 
 Langley says." 
 
 " Mother would be very angry if she knew 
 she had called you such names," said Alice, her 
 face growing scarlet with anger. 
 
 "But she wasn't calling me names, Alice," 
 said Ben ; " she was speaking quite kindly about 
 it, but I did not understand what a pauper was 
 till auntie told us." 
 
 " But mother said it was poor children in the 
 workhouse who were called pauper children ; 
 those who had no relations to help them." 
 
 ** Yes ; and I have no relations, so if auntie had 
 not taken me, I should have gone to live in the 
 workhouse. But she lets me live with you, and
 
 Ben and Alice Overheard. 37 
 
 she gives me my food and clothes, so I am a 
 pauper ; only I am her pauper, Alice." 
 
 " I wish you would not say that horrid word 
 any more," exclaimed Alice, flinging her arms 
 round Ben's neck, for she saw the little boy's 
 eyes were filling with tears, and she felt that her 
 own were not very far off. " You are our own 
 dear darling Ben, and we could not bear to be 
 without you." 
 
 The children had no idea that Mrs. Paine had, 
 from the little back ki'.chen, overheard their con- 
 versation. She took no notice of it just then, 
 however. 
 
 But in the evening, when the bells began to 
 ring again, Alice asked her mother whether she 
 had ever put words to bells. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Paine. " I never hear 
 those bells that are ringing now without being 
 reminded of my dear father's death. I was al- 
 most a child then. He was a good and holy 
 man, and though he knew he was dying, and 
 that he was leaving his wife and children to
 
 88 JJen's Boyhood. 
 
 struggle alone, he said he felt sure God would 
 take care of them, and never let them want. 
 And he bid me learn by heart a text from Jere- 
 miah (xlix. 11), 'Leave thy fatherless child- 
 ren, I will preserve them alive.' He wished me 
 often to repeat it to him the last few days of his 
 life. After he was gone I used to say it to my- 
 self; and it was very comforting to think that 
 God had made such a promise in His holy Word. 
 " Father died about a week before the new 
 year came in. On the last night of the old year 
 I was lying awake in my own little bed, when at 
 a little before midnight the church bell suddenly 
 began to toll the old year out, as it was always 
 the custom for it to do in our village. Though 
 I had heard it before every year since I was a 
 baby, I had never felt it so sad and solemn 
 Bounding as now. Perhaps that was because 
 the same bell had tolled for father's funeral only 
 two days before. Anyhow, I know I lay and 
 cried, and wondered what would become of us. 
 Then the verse father made me learn came into
 
 Mrs. Paints Father. 39 
 
 my vnind, and I said it over several times to my- 
 Belf, till I think I was just going to sleep saying 
 it, when suddenly the bells began to ring in the 
 new year with a most lively peal. Our ven- 
 erable church was noted, far and wide, for its 
 seven sweet bells. 
 
 " The sound roused me up directly ; and as 
 they rang they seemed to keep saying the words 
 I had been repeating to myself, 
 
 * Leave thy fatherless children, 
 I will preserve them alive.' 
 
 They went on ringing and speaking till I fell fast 
 asleep. Ever after that night I never heard the 
 bells ring without fancying they were saying 
 those words; and when I came to live here I 
 was quite glad to find that there was a peal of 
 seven bells within sound again, which I could 
 make say the same text to me, for of course one 
 can make bells say just what one pleases, as it is 
 fancy after all." 
 
 " And did your midnight bells speak the truth,
 
 40 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 mother ? " asked little Alice ; " were you always 
 taken care of?" 
 
 " Yes, my child ; I was going to tell you how- 
 good God was to us all. He raised us up kind 
 friends, who helped my mother, and enabled her 
 to see all her children well provided for before 
 her death. God always fulfils His promises, 
 though sometimes in one way, sometimes in an- 
 other. Often He takes care of His little ones by 
 giving them kind friends to care for and love 
 them, when He takes away their own parents, 
 
 " This," continued Mrs. Paine, " is the way in 
 which He has cared for you, His fatherless child, 
 Ben," and she drew the boy to her side, and 
 placed her arms tenderly round him. "He 
 looked on you as His own care from the moment 
 your mother died, and it was He who made me 
 wish to bring you home with me, and be as a 
 mother to you." 
 
 She had, as she intended, touched the aching, 
 tender spot in the poor little orphan child's heart 
 with true balm.
 
 Ben't Brain Busy. 41 
 
 Ben threw his arms round her neck, and told 
 her how unhappy he had been at the thought of 
 being a burden to her, and opened out all that 
 was on his mind, as he had done to Alice in the 
 morning. He ended by laying the sixpence the 
 farmer had given him on her lap, and asking her 
 to use it. 
 
 " No, Ben," she said, " that is yours, and I 
 would much rather that you kept it to spend as 
 you like. When you get older you will be able 
 to earn regular wages, and those I will take." 
 
 " What will you put me to do when I get big, 
 auntie ? " 
 
 " I do not know yet, my dear ; you are so 
 fond of reading and writing with me, that I 
 should like to have you go to school as soon as 1 
 can afford it ; you would have a better chance 
 of getting on if you were something of a scholar. 
 But I don't see any way of sending either } T OU or 
 Alice this winter, as I had hoped to do. Per- 
 haps times may improve after a while ; and you 
 are getting on a little, I think, even with my poor 
 tejichincr."
 
 42 Sen's Boyhood. 
 
 Ben went to bed that evening with a light 
 heart, but with more than ever to think about. 
 He lay awake with his brain working away at 
 the old query of his morning's walk, "How 
 could he earn money so as not to be a burden to 
 Auntie Paine ? " 
 
 He was more than ever anxious about it since 
 she had talked to him so kindly. His heart felt 
 quite running over with love for her. He began 
 to build up the most beautiful schemes for show- 
 ing her his love and gratitude ; schemes which 
 always ran thus: Hard work for him; plenty 
 of money earned by him for her and Alice. No 
 more work for them ; a pretty new house and 
 larger garden ; a donkey for Alice, because she 
 liked riding on one. (The donkey was changed 
 to a pony in the last scheme.) A new cloak for 
 Auntie Paine because hers was without a cape ; 
 a new dress for Alice and but Ben got so 
 drowsy just here, that his ideas all ran into one 
 great jumble. The house, and pony, and cloak, 
 mixed themselves up somehow in the oddest way,
 
 His Numerous Schemes. 43 
 
 and prevented his remembering what the other 
 thing was he was going to get foi Alice. Nor 
 did he find out, for he dropped into a sound 
 sleep, and did not wake again till morning, when, 
 on opening his eyes and looking out of the little 
 window of his room, he saw that it had been 
 snowing heavily in the night, and that every- 
 thing outside had a thick white covering on. It 
 looked all very beautiful, but so cold ! Ben 
 shivered as he sat up in bed, and instead of 
 jumping out quickly, as he was in the habit of 
 doing when he woke, he laid himself snugly down 
 again, and pulled up the bed-clothes, till they 
 covered even his nose and chin. He only left 
 his eyes outside, because he liked looking at the 
 snow, which grew whiter and brighter every mo- 
 ment as the sun began to shine on it. 
 
 His thoughts naturally turned on what he had 
 been thinking about when he fell asleep the night 
 before. By the morning light things seemed 
 rather more difficult to accomplish. 
 
 Instead of looking to the results of his intended
 
 44 jBew' Boyhood. 
 
 work, in the shape of new house, new pony 
 new cloak, new dress, etc., he had to think 
 about beginnings. Before all that quantity of 
 money could be secured which was to buy these 
 things, and enable his aunt and Alice to sit down 
 and be idle, as he meant them to do when it 
 came, he must find out how to begin and earn 
 even one shilling ! The song of the bells came 
 to his mind, 
 
 "Find work for small hands and feet." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Ben to himself, pulling the 
 sheet a little higher -over his nose, as a slight 
 draught from a crack in the window fluttered 
 over its bridge, " yes, yes, it's all very easy for 
 you seven Mr. Bells, with your seven loud 
 tongues, to keep telling me, as you did yester- 
 day, that I am to find work, but where am I to 
 get it ? Just ring again and tell me, please." 
 
 The bells were silent, but there was another 
 voice that spoke in reply to the request Ben had 
 just made. Nobody but himself heard what it 
 said, it was so very faint and gentle :
 
 What the Voice Said. 45 
 
 " You will never find work, or earn money, 
 by lying here in bed.'* 
 
 Now Ben heard that little voice very plainly 
 indeed, but he was rather sorry it spoke. It was 
 such a very cold morning, and so much pleasant- 
 er inside the bed than out of it that he felt dis- 
 inclined to move. 
 
 So he went on lying quite still, his bright 
 black eyes gazing at the snow, and watching 
 two little sparrows which were playing on the 
 roof of a cottage near. 
 
 Soon he heard Mrs. Paine moving about below, 
 and raking out the fire. He had brought in 
 some sticks the evening before, and he heard her 
 break them as she laid the fire ; and then he 
 liked hearing them crackle as they began to burn 
 up. It was very snug lying there listening to all 
 the sounds, but it was a sort of guilty, uncom- 
 fortable pleasure, for that tiresome little voice 
 kept on saying, 
 
 " You will never get work or earn money by 
 lying there."
 
 46 Bens Boyhood. 
 
 Whether it was the voice, or whether it was 
 the clock striking eight, or both, or neither, I 
 cannot saj r ; but all of a sudden Ben bounced up, 
 threw off the bed-clothes, and jumped out on the 
 floor. 
 
 A large earthen pan of cold water stood at the 
 foot of the bed. Mrs. Paine was a very particu- 
 lar woman about some things, and she liked 
 both Alice and Ben to take a good bath every 
 morning. Ben liked it in the summer time ; he 
 did not dislike it much in the autumn; since 
 winter came he had rather hated it ; but this 
 morning, which was by far the coldest they had 
 had, he looked at it with dismay. To get into 
 that bath would be far worse than getting out 
 of bed ! He stood for a moment shivering and 
 looking at the cold water ; then turning away 
 from it, he seized hold of his socks and put them 
 on, having decided to omit his bath that morn- 
 ing. But then came that tiresome little \oico 
 again ; I do not know exactly what it said this 
 time, but I fancy it was something about not
 
 Cold Bath. 47 
 
 being brave, for he suddenly drew off his socks 
 and his nightshirt, and made a leap into the very 
 middle of the tub. 
 
 He showed himself no mercy from that 
 moment ; not an inch of his body was spared the 
 cold water. Feet, legs, body, arms, face, head, 
 and hair, got it in their turns, and with such 
 energy were they soused, that it almost seemed 
 as though Ben were punishing them all round 
 for being cowards. 
 
 Then came the great coarse towel to rub them 
 dry ; and here again Ben did the matter well. 
 He rubbed and scrubbed till he was almost as 
 much out of breath as when he ran across the 
 ploughed field after the farmer. But he had his 
 reward, for he got into a delightful warm glow 
 all over, and felt so well and happy that he 
 could not help whistling the rest of the time he 
 was dressing. He ran down-stairs with his 
 brown hair curling all over his head in little 
 tight rings of curls, and his face beaming with
 
 48 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 health and good humor to such an extent that 
 Mrs. Paine said, 
 
 " Why, Ben, how bright you look I The snow 
 agrees with you, I see."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 BEN TUKNS SNOW-SWEEPER. 
 
 I EN had good reason to look bright. He 
 had fought two battles that morning, and 
 come off victorious in each. It is a pleas- 
 ant thing to be a conqueror, whether it be 
 in the case of good Doctor Livingstone overcom- 
 ing the great difficulties of his African researches, 
 or of a little boy fighting against his inclination 
 to lie in a warm bed, and his disinclination to 
 step into a cold bath. The consciousness of 
 being a victor gives a sense of power. Just as 
 
 Doctor Livingstone felt, after his successful ex- 
 4 (49)
 
 50 . JBens Boyhood. 
 
 ploits, that he had gained confidence and courage 
 to go on and make fresh discoveries, so did our 
 little friend Ben feel that, having fought success- 
 fully in two encounters against himself, he had 
 acquired more power and more spirit for any 
 future disagreeables. 
 
 . " Is the snow very deep, aunt ? " asked Ben, 
 peeping out of the window. 
 
 " Yes, so deep that I wet my feet completely 
 by only going to the pump to fetch a kettle of 
 water for breakfast." 
 
 There was a pump placed for the convenience 
 of the cottagers in the centre of a large square 
 patch of grass called " The Green," though 
 scarcely deserving the title. The water in thi* 
 pump was so superior to what was in the houses 
 that every one used it for cooking and drinking 
 purposes. 
 
 " Betty Brown will get her feet wet, I think," 
 said Ben ; " there she is, picking her way, By 
 putting her feet in somebody's footsteps." 
 
 " Poor old bodv, that won't save her from get-
 
 Ben's Petition for Work. 51 
 
 ting wet, though," said Mrs. Paine ; " a path 
 \vill get trod down in time, that's one comfort." 
 
 " Auntie, may I sweep the path here from our 
 door to the garden gate ? " 
 
 " That you may, Ben ; it will be making your- 
 self very useful. You may take the brush-broom 
 and work away after breakfast. I bought a light 
 one the other day, which will not be very heavy 
 for you." 
 
 " Find work for small hands and feet," sang 
 Ben, imitating the bells, as he ran into the little 
 shed, just outside the back-kitchen door, to hunt 
 for the broom. 
 
 After breakfast he began to sweep, Alice 
 watching him from the window. At first he was 
 rather clumsy, and sent the snow flying all over 
 himself; but by degrees he improved, and found 
 out how to sweep so as to leave a nice clear space 
 for walking in the middle of the path, whilst he 
 formed a white ridge of snow on either side. 
 
 By the time he got to the gate he was glad to 
 rest his arms, which ached a good deal with their 
 unusual exercise ....-^
 
 62 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 As he stood leaning on the gate-post, he saw 
 Mrs. Mary Kidman coming past. She was an 
 elderly spinster lady, who lived with one maid- 
 servant in a row of small, genteel-looking houses 
 not far off. Ben knew her because she some- 
 times gave an order for lace to Mrs. Paine for 
 friends of hers who lived at a distance. She 
 went to morning prayers regularly at the church 
 on Wednesdays and Fridays, and Ben knew she 
 was going there now in spite of the snow. 
 
 She stopped when she came up to him, and 
 looked over the gate at the nicely-swept path. 
 
 " Have you swept that yourself, little boy ? " 
 said she. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," said Ben, coloring with pleas- 
 ure at his work being noticed. 
 
 " Would you like to go and clear the gravel 
 walk in my front garden ? It is not longer than 
 this one, I think ; I was going to ask the sexton 
 to send up his lad to do it, but if you would like 
 the job you shall have it. If you do it well, and 
 also brush the steps quite clear, I will give you 
 sixpence for your work."
 
 Ren engaged to sweep Mrs. Kidman's pathway. Paee 52.
 
 Ben Engaged by Mrs. Kidman 53 
 
 " I will go directly," said Ben, seizing his 
 broom, and shouldering it with quite a conse- 
 quential air, as though he were about to march 
 forth on a mission of great importance. 
 
 "I shall perhaps be back again before you 
 have finished," said Mrs. Mary. " Knock at the 
 back door, and tell my servant I have sent you.'* 
 
 She went away, and Ben ran into tell Mrs. 
 Paine of his good fortune, and to receive her per- 
 mission to go ; and then he walked away also, 
 singing again, in imitation of the bells, " More 
 work for small hands and feet ! " 
 
 Mrs. Mary's maid, Susan, was very glad to see 
 his broom, but looked rather dismayed at her 
 mistress having selected so small a boy. 
 
 " Why, you are not so tall as your broom," 
 she said ; " I am afraid you will not be able to 
 sweep all that snow away with those small arms 
 and hands." 
 
 44 They are very strong," said Ben ; " and Mrs. 
 Mary has sent me because she saw I had done 
 our garden well."
 
 54: J5ew' Boyhood. 
 
 " Sweep away, then," said Susan, glad to shut 
 the door and get back into her own warm 
 kitchen. 
 
 Ben did " sweep away," and with such good 
 \vill that he had cleared the front path, and the 
 steps, and the little bit in front of the entrance- 
 gate, by the time Mrs. Mary returned. She was 
 quite satisfied, and put sixpence in his hand, but 
 said, looking up at the sky that she feared there 
 was more snow coining, and that it would soon 
 have to be done again. 
 
 As he was passing the next house but one, he 
 was again accosted by a lady from her parlor 
 window, and asked if he would come and sweep 
 her path. He had to go to dinner just then, 
 but promised to return immediately afterwards. 
 Work seemed offering itself to him in earnest 
 now the snow had come. He ran home a very 
 happy boy. He was busy all the afternoon, and 
 had another sixpence given him. A whole shil- 
 ling earned in one day was very encouraging. 
 He was master now of eighteenpence. Mrs.
 
 Bens New Idea. 55 
 
 Paine told him she should like to have him 
 keep it, and if he could add more from time to 
 time, he might be able to pay for half-a-year's 
 schooling. 
 
 This was a new and delightful idea. Ben had 
 heard so much about learning helping people on, 
 that he thought it would do wonders for him. 
 Jack Benbow had been to school, he knew, and 
 now he kept the accounts in a shop. Jack had 
 no relations, except one who was worse than 
 none a very drunken uncle ; but Jack was a 
 good, steady lad, who often said a kind word to 
 Ben, and sometimes on Sundays took a little 
 walk with him. Ben thought he would go and 
 call on him some day, and ask his advice about 
 getting on in the world. 
 
 But for several days his life was too busy for 
 him to have any time for making calls. The 
 weather was very unsettled. The days were 
 fine, but every night more or less snow fell. So 
 each morning the work of the day before was 
 undone ; either boys were scarce, or boys were
 
 56 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 idle, or boys were at school, for there was a 
 great scarcity of them and brooms.* Ben was 
 quite in request amongst the families living in 
 the before-mentioned row of houses. They were 
 mostly ladies with one or two maid-servants ; 
 and, as these maids did not like sweeping snow 
 and wetting their feet, the sight of a little boy 
 and a broom coming before their windows every 
 day caused many a servant to step and engage 
 his services in her mistress's name. 
 
 He did not, of course, get sixpence every time 
 he swept the little gardens, but the ladies never 
 gave him less than twopence or threepence, even 
 on the mornings when the snow lay the lightest ; 
 so that when a thaw came at the end of a week, 
 and Ben and Alice counted up what he had got, 
 there was in all five shillings and ninepence, be- 
 sides the sixpence the farmer had given him. 
 
 Ben's spirits knew no bounds that evening. 
 Mrs. Paine got tired of saying " Hush, hush.'* 
 She reminded him that the snow was a rare af- 
 fair, and that it might be long before he could
 
 Ben's Cheerfulness. 
 
 67 
 
 earn any more shillings. Ben still capered about, 
 and whistled, and sang, and kept up such 
 a succession of merriment, that Mrs. Paine was 
 not sony when he was snug in bed. But even 
 then she heard him whistling and singing by 
 turns for more than half-au-hour.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 JACK BENBOW TURNS SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 BENBOW had just finished tea. 
 The respectable woman who boarded him 
 had cleared it away, and was gone to see 
 a friend. Jack had drawn his chair to 
 the table, and was deeply engaged in reading a 
 magazine by the light of a candle, when a tap at 
 the door made him look up, and say, " Come 
 in." 
 
 He was surprised to see Ben enter, but he 
 liked the " little chap," as he called him, and 
 asked him to sit down and tell him what he 
 
 came for. 
 (68)
 
 How Jack got on. 59 
 
 " Aunt said I might come, Jack, when I told 
 her I wanted to talk to you." 
 
 " And what have you to say, youngster ; 
 you're not in any trouble, are you ? " 
 
 "No, but I want to get on in life, as people 
 say you are doing, and I thought that as you 
 have got on, I might, if I only knew how.'* 
 
 "But you are a young chap to be thinking of 
 such things for yourself ; how old are you ? " 
 
 " I shall soon be nine." 
 
 " Well, then, you are nearly as old as I was 
 when father died, and I've had to take care 
 of myself ever since. But you've got such good 
 quarters to live in, and are just the same as if 
 you were Mrs. Paine's own lad ; why do you go 
 troubling your head ? " 
 
 " Because 1 want to help myself, Jack. 
 Auntie Paine is very poor; she doesn't say so, 
 but I know she is." 
 
 "I see," said Jack; "you're quite right. 
 Begin, and you'll get on. Father used to say 
 to me, * Depend upon it Jack, God helps them 
 as helps themselves.' "
 
 60 Sen's Boyhood. 
 
 " What can I do for myself, Jack ? " asked 
 Ben. 
 
 " Lots of little things ; I used to pick up a 
 penny here, and a sixpence there, and sometimes 
 a shilling or two. There never was a week 
 that I couldn't get a little money, by hook or 
 by crook." 
 
 " You went to school, Jack ? " 
 
 " Yes, as long as father could send me ; and 
 when he got ill and couldn't afford it, the master 
 took me for nothing, because he said I was get- 
 ing on, and did him credit." 
 
 " I want to go to school," said Ben, " but 
 Auntie Paine can't afford to send me. I've got 
 five shillings and sixpence towards it though, 
 and when I have got a good deal more I am to 
 go. Aunt says she'd rather I would save my 
 money for that than give it to her." 
 
 " It'll be best in the end for her, and you too," 
 said Jack. '* What can you do, Ben, in the 
 learned way ; can you read and write ? " 
 
 "Yes, but Aunt Paine can't do sums, so I 
 know nothing of them."
 
 Jack's Advice, 61 
 
 ** Well, I tell you what, if you like to come to 
 me evenings sometimes, I'll teach J T OU summing 
 till you go to school. You're doing just what I 
 did, picking out your own way, and your 
 parents are dead, like mine." And poor Jack 
 brushed the back of his hand across his eyes as 
 he said this. He sometimes felt terribly solitary 
 in the world. He got up and brought a slate and 
 pencil out of a box, and gave Ben a lesson in 
 figures on the spot, and it was settled that, if 
 Mrs. Paine approved, he should come three times 
 a- week to learn. 
 
 " And now, youngster, take my advice, and 
 keep your eyes open all day for little jobs. 
 They'll come if you go half-way to meet them. 
 Boys don't care to get them very often, or they 
 might pick up lots of pennies." 
 
 All this advice from a big boy had a great and 
 lasting effect on our young hero. Mrs. Paine 
 was very glad to hear about the arithmetic les- 
 sons. She knew well that Jack was a good, 
 steady, high-principled youth, and was pleased to
 
 62 
 
 Ben 8 Boyhood. 
 
 find he was not above noticing such a little fel- 
 low as Ben, to whom his example might be of 
 inestimable service.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE BED CLOAK. 
 
 EGULARLY all through that winter Ben 
 did his suras with Jack, and regularly 
 kept his ears and eyes open for some- 
 thing which might add another mite to 
 his slowly but steadily increasing little fund. 
 
 Sometimes he ran errands for Mrs. Mary Kid- 
 man and other of the families in Harpur Row, as 
 it was called. Sometimes he got a stray penny 
 for fetching milk, or cutting up sticks and wood 
 for his humbler neighbors. But many weeka 
 passed, and he had no more such windfalls as in 
 
 the snow time. 
 
 (63)
 
 64 Sen's Boyhood. 
 
 With spring and summer, however, came bet- 
 ter times for Ben. Jobs began to fall in oftener. 
 The little gardens in Harpur Row wanted weed- 
 ing, and the ladies soon found out that there was 
 no boy who worked so steadily as Ben Burton. 
 He had sometimes more offers of employment 
 than he could accept. Sixpences and even shil- 
 lings found there way into the little bag which 
 Alice had made him to hold his money, and 
 before June arrived, he might have begun to 
 attend school, but he was improving so rapidly 
 under Jack's tutorage that for the present, at all 
 events, there seemed no occasion to make any 
 change. Jack began to feel a pride in his pupil, 
 and would have been sorry to give him up to 
 other hands. Ben wanted to pay him for his 
 instruction, but this Jack refused. He said that 
 almost all he knew had been taught him for 
 nothing, and that it cost nothing but a little 
 trouble to teach it to another. So Ben's earnings 
 remained untouched, whilst he was getting to be 
 more forward in reading, writing, and arithmetic
 
 Sen and Alice's Present* 65 
 
 than most of the boys of his age "who went to 
 school for several hours a clay ; but then there 
 were not many of them \vho felt so anxious to 
 get on, or who gave such earnest attention to 
 Mieir teacher's instruction. Reading to himself 
 j?as now a great delight to the boy. He had 
 4ome books, that had belonged to his father, 
 which, now he could read easily, he devoured at 
 spare moments, with great interest and attention. 
 
 And now came a very happy and exciting 
 thought into his head, which brought many pri- 
 vate consultations with Alice and Jack Benbow. 
 
 Mrs. Paine refused to touch any of the money 
 he had laid by for his schooling, though again 
 and again he had begged her to use it ; she 
 always reminded him he would want it if Jack 
 got tired of teaching him. Ben one day confided 
 to his good-natured teacher how much he longed 
 to be able to buy Mrs. Paine a new cloak. 
 Upon which, Jack told him that he should be 
 very glad to go on teaching him every night all 
 through the summer and winter, and so he need
 
 b6 Bens Boyhood. 
 
 not save the money for school. Then Ben 
 rushed off to buy a nice cloak for Mrs. Paine with 
 his money if he found he had enough to do so. 
 Red cloaks made of a warm, soft material were 
 very much sought after in that part of the coun- 
 try. Every well-to-do cottager had one, and it 
 was a possession rather eagerly desired by those 
 who had none. Alice and Ben settled that it 
 would be a charming present for her mother, and 
 as Alice had half-a-crown to add to Ben's store, 
 they found that their funds would buy one. 
 There was a shop in the High street where there 
 were several of these cloaks constantly hanging 
 up in a bright, tempting-looking row, and hither 
 the children went to make their purchase. 
 
 It was a proud, happy moment for Ben when 
 he carried the great brown-paper parcel into the 
 cottage and laid it before Mrs. Paine as a joint 
 present from himself and Alice, though the lat- 
 ter at once disclaimed all but a very small share 
 in the gift. 
 
 Jack's aid in the affair was not forgotten. He
 
 A present to Mrs. Pierce from Ben and Alice. Page i
 
 The Warm Red Cloak. 67 
 
 was brought that evening to see and admire the 
 cloak, and to be thanked warmly for his kind- 
 ness in continuing Ben as his pupil, and enabling 
 him to spend his money on so welcome and use- 
 ful a present.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 EIPB CHERRIES. A YOUNG ROGUE, AND AN 
 OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 r 
 
 OT very far from Mrs. Paine lived an old 
 man by the name of John Odell, who had 
 a small cherry orchard, the trees of 
 which bore remarkably fine fruit, and old 
 John used to pay a good portion of his rent by 
 its sale. He had a donkey and panniers, which 
 carried about cherries in the season, and parcels 
 at other times ; for John was a sort of carrier, 
 and might constantly be seen about the roads 
 with his donkey. One day, Ben, noticing the 
 
 old man sitting down by the roadside apparently 
 (68)
 
 Ben'% Kind Offer. 69 
 
 in pain, went up to ask him what was the mat- 
 ter. He found that in getting a stick out of the 
 hedge he had sprained his ankle, and that he 
 was quite unable to walk a step without diffi- 
 culty and suffering. 
 
 " You must mount the donkey, " said Ben ; "I 
 will lift off the panniers and watch the cherries 
 for you till you can send some one back with the 
 donkey to bring them." 
 
 "But I shall lose the sale of my cherries," 
 said the poor man ; " they will not keep, and 1 
 depend on them for my summer rent." 
 
 " I will go and sell them for you, if you will 
 trust me, " said Ben ; " aunt will let me, I know, 
 but I must tell her where I am gone." 
 
 Old John looked at the boy's eager, honest 
 face, and replied, 
 
 " I'll trust you, and thank you too, my lad ; 
 but you are a small chap, and perhaps big boys 
 will try and rob you of the cherries." 
 
 "I'll stop them if they do," said Ben, laugh- 
 ing ; " I'm not afraid ; " and he doubled up his
 
 70 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 fist to show John how big a one it was, but it 
 seemed to the old man a very small one indeed. 
 
 Just then a man and woman came up in a cart. 
 They knew John Odell, and, hearing of his trou- 
 ble, offered to give him a ride home, which offer 
 was gladly accepted. They promised to stop at 
 Mrs. Paine's cottage to tell her what had become 
 of Ben. 
 
 John gave him a few instructions as to the 
 price of the cherries, and the way to weigh 
 them, and then they each started off on their dif- 
 ferent roads. 
 
 Ben felt quite grand when left alone with a 
 real live donkey to manage, and two panniers 
 full of cherries to sell. At first he had some dif- 
 ficulty in persuading the animal to lift up his 
 head from the grass he was munching and go on 
 his way. He knew very well that Ben was not 
 his master, and was not disposed to acknowledge 
 him as such ; and it was fully ten minutes before 
 he consented to start on their journey. 
 
 Once off, however, things went on very well.
 
 Ben Successful with the Cherries. 71 
 
 They called at every house they came to, and 
 almost everywhere sold a few pounds of cherries, 
 till they began to diminish considerably. 
 
 Ben was very hungry after a while, and won- 
 dered what he should do for dinner. The cher- 
 ries looked tempting, but Ben's ideas of honesty 
 were of the highest character. Not one would 
 he have touched for the world. At last he de- 
 cided on buying a roll at a village shop with 
 twopence of the money he had taken, because he 
 could repay it from his own little store at home. 
 He did a good business too at the same shop, for 
 the woman bought a large quantity of cherries to 
 sell again. 
 
 44 You are but a small boy," said she, "but I 
 suppose John Odell knows you to be a trusty 
 one by sending you with his cherries. You've 
 not eaten many, I'll be bound." 
 
 " I've not eaten one," said Ben, and he leJ 
 away the donkey. 
 
 A boy about fourteen years of age was lolling 
 against a wall at that moment, looking vacant
 
 72 Bens Boyhood. 
 
 and idle. He came forward, and, peeping into 
 the panniers, said to Ben : 
 
 " Give me a handful, }-ou'll be none the 
 poorer." 
 
 *' I can't, they aren't mine," said Ben. The 
 boy tried to get his hand into the pannier, but 
 instantly Ben shut down the straw lid on his 
 wrist, making him glad to withdraw it. 
 
 " Be off with you, Mark Thompson," exclaimed 
 the Bhopwoman ; " ain't you ashamed of your- 
 self? If you want cherries, why don't you earn 
 some money to buy them with, instead of stand- 
 ing about idle all day long ? Not one do you de- 
 serve to have given you, even if they were the 
 lad's own to do what he liked with.*' 
 
 Mark muttered something which Ben did not 
 hear, though he saw how angry the boy looked, 
 and felt glad to get away from him. 
 
 He thought it was time to turn homewards, 
 but he took a different road for his return, as, 
 although rather longer, it would give him a 
 chance of selling his remaining cherries at one 
 or two houses which were on his way.
 
 Mark Thompson i Demand. 73 
 
 He had to go through a long, narrow lane 
 about half-an-hour later, and when he had reached 
 the middle of it he heard footsteps behind him, 
 and, looking round, felt rather dismayed at see- 
 ing Mark Thompson. 
 
 "I say, youngster, 1 ' said he, "I'm not a-going 
 to let you off without giving me some cherries, 
 so fork up a handful or two, quietly." 
 
 " No, I won't," said Ben ; and he placed him- 
 self between Mark and the pannier, by the side 
 of which he stood. 
 
 Mark walked round the donkey to the other 
 pannier. It was empty ; so Ben let him look in 
 without interfering ; but of course he soon re- 
 turned to the one which Ben was defending by 
 placing his t\vo arms upon it. 
 
 " You don't think I can't master you, and get 
 the cherries, do you ? " he asked. 
 
 " You are bigger and stronger than I am, I 
 know," said Ben ; " but for all that I will keep 
 you off as long as I can." 
 
 Mark came close to the brave little fellow, and
 
 74 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 pushed him on one side, but in an instant Ben 
 sprang back again, and held down the lid of the 
 pannier firmly. 
 
 He had greatly the advantage of Mark in agil- 
 ity, and for some minutes succeeded in defending 
 himself and the fruit. At length Mark hit him 
 a blow over the face which made his nose bleed 
 and rather blinded him. Mark saw his advan- 
 tage, and flung open the lid ; but at that moment 
 a tall, powerful man strode across a gap in the 
 hedge, and seized him by the arm, which he 
 grasped so tightly that the boy called out for 
 mercy. But mercy the enemy did not seem dis- 
 posed to show him. A few questions put to Ben 
 explained the whole affair ; and then Mark got 
 such a flogging with the big man's cane as he 
 had never had in his life before. 
 
 " There, sir," said his chastiser, letting him go 
 at last, though not till he had blubbered again 
 and again an entreaty to be released, " perhaps 
 that will teach you what a thief and a coward 
 deserves when he tries to steal, and to attack a
 
 The Farmer Chatises Mark. 75 
 
 boy younger and smaller than himself. Be off, 
 or I shall not be able to help giving } f ou a few 
 more lashes ; " and he looked so ready to com 
 mence afresh, that Mark fairly took to his heels, 
 and, turning a corner, got out of sight. 
 
 When Ben had time to look at his deliverer, 
 he felt sure he had seen him before somewhere, 
 though he could not remember where for a mo- 
 ment ; suddenly, however, he recollected him as 
 the farmer who had dropped his key at the gate 
 of the ploughed field, long ago. 
 
 "Well, my lad," said he, putting his hand 
 kindly on Ben's shoulder, " we've given him. 
 what he hasn't liked as well as cherries, haven't 
 we ? You are a plucky little fellow ; I saw 
 what passed from the other side of the hedge ; 
 but how's this, isn't that old John Odell's 
 donkey and panniers ? " 
 
 Ben explained matters, and as he did so, the 
 farmer began to remember him as being the 
 same boy that had asked him for work long ago. 
 
 " You are grown a good bit," said he, " since I
 
 76 Beri Boyhood. 
 
 saw you last. You seem an active fellow, and 
 one that will not let the grass grow under your 
 feet. My house is close by ; come in and wash 
 the blood off your nose, and get something to 
 eat." 
 
 It was a welcome proposition to Ben, who had 
 not found his roll very satisfying. He followed 
 the farmer along a grass field to a substantial- 
 looking house, with a pleasant garden in front, 
 and farm buildings at the back. 
 
 Mr. Medway was the farmer's name. He was 
 a man well-to-do in the world, and highly 
 respected in the neighborhood. 
 
 He led Ben to the kitchen, and ordered his 
 servants to give him a good meal ; and a wisp of 
 hay was brought lor the donke}', as he stood at 
 the gate trying to munch some dandelions that 
 were forcing their way between the stones at 
 his feet. 
 
 Mr. Medway met Ben afterwards in the yard 
 as he was crossing it to go back to his donkey. 
 " Well, my boy, and are you still wanting to 
 find work to do ? "
 
 Mr. Medway Offers Ben Work. 77 
 
 ** Yes, sir ; more than ever." 
 
 "Now tell me all about yourself; who are 
 your parents, and where do you live ? " 
 
 Ben's history was soon told ; and the farmer 
 seemed pleased at his wish to make himself 
 independent, and to cease to be a burden on kind 
 Mrs. Paine. 
 
 " If you were a year older, I would take you 
 myself," said he, " for I want a sharp, active boy 
 about the place instead of one whom I have had 
 to send off because he was idle." 
 
 Mr. Medway's eye glanced over Ben's little 
 person as he spoke, as though he were thinking 
 whether it would be possible that so young a 
 boy might suit his purpose. Ben intuitively felt 
 there was a chance for him, and drew himself 
 up to his extremest height, in his great anxiety 
 as to the result of the investigation on the 
 farmer's mind. He was relieved when he said, 
 
 " I'll try you, at all events ; tell your aunt, as 
 you call her, that I will come and talk to her 
 about you in a day or two."
 
 78 
 
 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 Ben drove the donkey home to John Odell, in 
 a very happy state of mind. The old man was 
 pleased and grateful to him for his day's assist- 
 ance ; and, as Ben resolutely refused to be paid 
 for it in money, he made him take home a bas- 
 ketful of cherries for himself and Alice.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BEN TAKES A STEP IN LIFE WHICH LEADS TO 
 PROSPERITY. 
 
 . MED WAY did not forget Ben. He 
 had taken a great fancy to the active, 
 intelligent-looking boy, who, though so 
 young, was thus desirous of becoming 
 independent. He called on Mrs. Paine, and, 
 after putting a few questions to her about him, 
 he offered to take him into his house to live for a 
 time. 
 
 " It will depend on yourself, Ben," said he, 
 " whether you remain with me. It will only be 
 
 a trial of you at first. My wife laughs at me for 
 
 (79)
 
 80 Ben a Boyhood. 
 
 thinking of so young a chap. She declares you 
 will be more trouble than help, but you must 
 prove that she is mistaken." 
 
 So to the farm Ben went in a day or two, and 
 Dot only Mrs. Medway, but the people about the 
 place, looked at him with some surprise, and 
 prophesied that he would be of little use. 
 
 But before a week was over, Mrs. Medway 
 and others had altered their opinion, and declared 
 that he was worth twenty of his predecessor, 
 though he was two years younger. Ben's duties 
 were multifarious. Sometimes they lay in the 
 house, sometimes in the farmyard. One moment 
 he was shouted for in one direction, the next in 
 another. Now he was to run off to Bedford on 
 a message, and as soon as he returned he was 
 wanted to fly to the hen-roost for eggs. Up and 
 down, in and out, at every one's beck and call, 
 was Ben, from morning till night. 
 
 But no one ever saw him out of temper, or 
 unwilling to do what he was told ; everything 
 seemed to be a pleasure to him ; till at length
 
 Ben Universally Popular. 81 
 
 even Sally the dairy-maid, who had looked at 
 him almost with contempt when he arrived, and 
 said master had brought a baby to the farm, 
 declared that " he was the most useful, obliging- 
 est little fellow she had ever seen, and she should 
 be very sorry to see him go away." 
 
 But neither the farmer nor his wife had any 
 intention of sending him away. Ben was 
 deservedly growing in their favor, and was un- 
 consciously making for himself friends. 
 
 Although he slept at the farm he was able 
 often to see Mrs. Paine and Alice, and his Sun- 
 days were generally spent with them. 
 
 Time passed on, and still Ben lived with Mr. 
 Medway, becoming every year a more valued 
 and trusty assistant to him, till at length he was 
 established as his head man, and, next to himself, 
 the chief director and manager of everything. 
 
 There were some who wondered at the farm- 
 er for putting so much trust in so young a man, 
 but his reply was always the same when ques- 
 tioned on the subject :
 
 82 Sens Boyhood. 
 
 " I trust him because I know he deserves trust. 
 Ben never drinks, never smokes, or does any- 
 thing e" 3 which might interfere with his steady 
 active 6 ities to me as his master. His heart ia 
 in his work, and self-indulgence is no part of hia 
 character. Surely then I am safer with a young 
 foreman such as this, than with an older onej 
 whose ways I could not so thoroughly approve 
 of." 
 
 Mr. Medway is growing old and less active than 
 formerly, but there is occasion for him to exert 
 himself more than he likes. He knows that Ben 
 is as little sparing of his hands and feet now as 
 he was when a little boy. He and his wife have 
 no children of their own, and Ben has become to 
 them like their own son. 
 
 Before we conclude our tale, we will ask our 
 readers to look for an instant on a sketch, the 
 scene of which lies in the vicinity of Mr. Med- 
 way's house. Almost within a stone's throw of 
 the farm has arisen, during the last few years, a 
 pleasant-looking, comfortable cottage, which con-
 
 Ben's Pleasant Home. 83 
 
 reys to the mind of the passer-by the idea of a 
 thoroughly bright and well-ordered abode. Its 
 gable front is covered with roses, which now in 
 the summer-time scent the air with the fragrance 
 of their abundant flowers. 
 
 In the garden which surrounds the house 
 stand several hives of bees, the little inmates of 
 which have not far to go in search of the precious 
 nectar with which they make their honey, for 
 the front of the garden and all around the part 
 where the hives stand is one blaze of bright, 
 richly-perfumed flowers. 
 
 Amongst them plays a little girl, who is so 
 like the Alice of whom we have written, that 
 one could almost fancy time has for once stood 
 still, and left untouched the child who welcomed 
 so warmly to her early home tho orphaned and 
 then destitute Ben. 
 
 But another figure stands at the door of the 
 cottage, and calls to the little one in the garden 
 to come in, for her father is ready for his tea. 
 In the slight figure and still blooming face we
 
 84 Ben's Boyhood. 
 
 can recognize the former Alice, who has become 
 the wife of her old playfellow and the mother of 
 the little Alice whose feet run homewards on 
 hearing her voice. Mr. Medway built this cot- 
 tage for his faithful servant on his marriage, that 
 he might have him always within call. Indeed 
 so necessary is he to him, that many think he 
 will soon make him partner instead of foreman. 
 
 Mrs. Paine is dead. Her last days were made 
 comfortable and easy by her adopted son, and 
 she had the happiness of seeing Alice become his 
 wife whilst she was alive. 
 
 There is one visitor who often comes to Ben's 
 pleasant abode, and plays with the young ones, 
 with whom he is a great favorite. It is worthy 
 Jack Benbow Ben's old tutor. He is still un- 
 married, though Ben often urges him to follow 
 his example. 
 
 The church bells still ring their silvery chimes, 
 and still advise all little boys to begin and find 
 work for small hands and feet. But as all little 
 boys cannot hear what they say, we will beg
 
 A Useful Maxim. 85 
 
 them to believe that the instruction they give is 
 wise and good. Let little hands and feet find 
 ways of being useful and active as Ben's did 
 when young, for children as well as older peoplo 
 may be sure that idleness brings discontent and 
 sorrow, and industry leads to content and happi 
 ness. Let us also remember the command of St 
 Paul to the Thessalonians : "If any would 
 not work, neither should he eat."
 
 TRUSTED AND TRIED. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 bj BOUT fifty miles out of Paris stood a 
 beautiful country house, where M. Les- 
 salles was accustomed to spend the sum- 
 mer with his family. It was a delight- 
 ful spot, not indeed for the lovers of the pictur- 
 esque or grand in nature, but for those who 
 sought perfect quiet and pure country air. The 
 view from the terrace of the mansion presented 
 no striking features, and might even have seemed 
 to some monotonous and dull. The land was 
 very slightly undulated, and no hills worthy of 
 
 the name broke in any direction the broad hori- 
 
 (86)
 
 Trusted and Tried. 87 
 
 ron line of sky. A background of woods, and in 
 the foreground a river, the windings of which 
 threaded the meadows like a silver ribbon, 
 now hidden behind a clump of trees or between 
 deepened banks, now reappearing, sparkling in 
 the sunshine, these were the chief features 
 that made the landscape pleasant to the eye. 
 Here and there the tower of a village church 
 rose above the orchards, and herds of cattle were 
 seen grazing contentedly in the broad meadows. 
 On the one side of the setting sun stood one sol- 
 itary gigantic poplar, which commanded the 
 whole country round, and towards evening cast 
 far afield its great shadow, broken by the hedges 
 and inequalities of the ground. When the sky 
 was black with clouds, and the branches of the 
 other trees were swayed and bent hither and 
 thither by the storm wind, the poplar stood erect 
 and unmoved. Once or twice it had been seen 
 to bow and writhe in the tempest, but then it 
 seemed as if it must be torn up by the roots, so 
 stern was its resistance. This great tree sug-
 
 88 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 gested many curious questions and comparisons. 
 What was it for ? What was it like ? Did it 
 represent the wise man or the proud man? There 
 it stood, solitary, useless, not even giving in its 
 branches a shelter to the birds'-nests. At a lit- 
 tle distance from it, the apple-tree at the edge 
 of the road cast its shadow over the heads of the 
 passers-by and its fruit at their feet. Which 
 was best fulfilling its mission as a tree, the hum- 
 ble apple-tree or the proud poplar ? 
 
 At the moment when we imagine ourselves to 
 be peeping into M. Lassalles' park, the poplar 
 was absorbing all the attention of one of the fam- 
 ily, whose acquaintance shall be the first we 
 make. He is a little boy, scarcely nine years of 
 age, with a thin, pale, sickly face, and large 
 thoughtful eyes. At a little distance from the 
 house, under the shade of a great lime-tree, he is 
 tying, not on the mossy sward, tjbat is a forbid- 
 den luxury, but on cushions which are brought 
 for him every day to this his favorite place. He 
 is alone, but surrounded with his books, one of
 
 Trusted and Tried. 89 
 
 which lies open on his knee, while the rest, scat- 
 tered about the grass, seem to have been rejected 
 one after another. He is not reading, but look- 
 ing up steadily and long at the great poplar-tree. 
 What is he thinking of or dreaming about ? He 
 would hardly know how to tell you himself. He 
 is watching a little shrub, hardly visible from 
 our distance, which grows close against the great 
 trunk of the tall poplar. He is following with 
 his eyes the long shadow of the tree, as it creeps 
 round slowly with the sun, and is just about to 
 swallow up the humble little shrub. How it has 
 crept on again, the shrub reappears, and the 
 shadow stretches out longer and longer over the 
 meadow grass. Richard turns away his eyes at 
 length, and takes up his book once more, but you 
 see he is not reading. The shadow which has 
 left the bush seems to have come and settled on 
 his face. 
 
 To look at this child, you would say he was a 
 poor blanched plant that had grown up without 
 any sun upon it. The sunshine to his life would
 
 90 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 have been his mother's love, but a mother's love 
 he had never known. She had died when he 
 was born, and with all he had beside to make 
 him happy, there had always seemed something 
 wanting, a blank which nothing could fill. 
 
 He had always been a delicate child, so deli- 
 cate that it was only by great and constant care 
 he had struggled through the troubles of infancy. 
 He had never, indeed, known more than half the 
 life of other children. The merry games, the 
 wild adventures, the overflowing fun, the regular 
 studies which healthy boys and girls enjoy, had 
 always been beyond his strength. If he had had 
 a mother's tender, caressing love at home, he 
 might have been happy enough without all these 
 things, but this had been denied him too. 
 
 Richard was not altogether alone, however. 
 He had a father who loved him dearly, and a 
 brother and sister both older than himself. But 
 his father was much occupied, and could rarely 
 spend much time with him. His brother went 
 to school, and when he was at home, his rude,
 
 Trusted and Tried. 91 
 
 boisterous ways made Richard more afraid of him 
 than glad tc have his company. Then his sister, 
 though she was a kind-hearted girl, was brought 
 up by a model governess, who allowed her very 
 little leisure or liberty, but kept her very close 
 to "her duties," as she called them. She had 
 never any time to spare from her books and her 
 piano to devote to her poor little sick brother, or 
 to the ignorant children of the village, to whom 
 a few crumbs of the knowledge with which 
 Juliet was crammed would have been so useful. 
 She had not even time to attend to the flowers 
 in her own garden, and scarcely stopped to 
 admire them. 
 
 Just as we are looking on, however, she came 
 tripping up behind her brother, and said, 
 
 " Oh, how nice for you to be always out here 
 in the open air, Richard ! I only wish I was in 
 your place." 
 
 " Well, stay with me then. Sit down here by 
 me on the cushion," said Richard, making room 
 for his sister, and holding her by the dress.
 
 92 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 " Oh, I should like it so much, but you s?e 1 
 haven't a moment to lose. It is just going to 
 strike four, and exactly at four I must sit down 
 to the piano. Mademoiselle Leblois is very 
 strict. Every hour of practising must be full 
 sixty minutes long, and four hours of that a day 
 is enough to make a playing machine of me." 
 
 "Do you think there will be pianos in heaven? " 
 asked Richard, looking dreamily up into the sky 
 again. 
 
 " I really know nothing about that," said 
 Juliet, laughing. " What an absurd idea, Rich- 
 ard ! What makes you think of such things ? 
 I never should." 
 
 " I often think about heaven. I don't believe 
 it's so far off as we fancy. Sometimes I feel as 
 if living here is only like a dream, and I wish I 
 could wake up." 
 
 " You have very odd ideas of another world. 
 If you had as much to do as I have, you would 
 know life is something more than a dream. But 
 there's the church clock striking. I must rush 
 into the school-room."
 
 Trusted and Tried. 93 
 
 " Come back when you have done.'* 
 
 *' Oh, yes, I dare say ; and what about my 
 lessons for to-morrow, then ? " 
 
 44 Well, well, go away then," said Richard, a 
 little pettishly ; "you never can stay with me.*' 
 
 Juliet ran off, and the great poplar went on 
 lengthening its shadow over the field. Richard 
 had fallen back into his waking dream, which 
 nobody seemed able to understand. He looked 
 at the tiny, feeble shrub, and felt a sort of 
 sorrowful pity for it, such as children do feel 
 sometimes for things without life ; though he 
 scarcely knew it, he was really thinking of the 
 shrub as if it were part of himself.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HILE Richard was lying on the terrace, 
 M. Lassalles was busy in his kitchen- 
 garden and forcing-house; not that he 
 prided himself very much on the rare 
 fruits and vegetables he could grow, but that he 
 found gardening the best refreshment when his 
 mind was jaded with the cares of business and 
 of home. His family gave him much anxiety. 
 He saw Robert, his eldest son, growing up idle, 
 selfish, insubordinate ; Juliet, so absorbed in her 
 studies, that she forgot everything beside ; and 
 Richard, the most gifted of his children in heart 
 and mind, sickly, melancholy, and reserved. He 
 scarcely knew what means to use to change all 
 
 this, and he found the best diversion to his over- 
 (94)
 
 Trusted and Tried. 95 
 
 burdened mind in his garden. There, at least, 
 was a remedy for what was wrong ; if a stubborn, 
 branch refused to yield and be trained in the 
 required direction, the gardener was at hand 
 with the pruning-knife to cut it off. Anselm, 
 the gardener, took a great pride and delight in 
 his work, and M. Lassalles used to like to watch 
 his untiring industry and skill in transplanting, 
 grafting, pruning, training. The kitchen-garden 
 lay outside the park, at a little distance from the 
 house, on a gentle slope with, a southern aspect, 
 very favorable for the ripening of the fruit. Ifc 
 was enclosed with a high wall, and entered on 
 one side by a large iron gate, opposite that which 
 led to the house, and on the other by another 
 little iron gate let into the wall, which was 
 always kept locked, because it was only divided 
 by a ditch and a little strip of grass from the 
 main road. The gardener always carried the 
 key of this entrance in his pocket, and only used 
 it when he wanted to go a shorter way into the 
 village. No one else was allowed to come in
 
 96 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 that way at all. Indeed, Anselm kept guard 
 over his garden better than the dragon in the 
 fable protected the garden of the Hesperides. 
 His little house stood close by, and no one, not 
 even his master, could enter the garden without 
 Anselm's consent. He had no objection to allow 
 adult visitors of respectability to come and ad- 
 mire his fruits and vegetables ; but he had an 
 insurmountable aversion to children, and an 
 unbounded horror of the depredations, rapine, 
 and misdemeanors of aU sorts of which he held 
 them capable. Indeed, he had proved to his cost 
 that Robert never entered the garden without 
 leaving traces of his presence in some damage 
 done ; and it was probably his fault that Anselm 
 had come to regard the admission of a party of 
 schoolboys into a well-kept garden as the most 
 ruinous of invasions. 
 
 "What is that I see yonder, Anselm?" asked 
 M. Lassalles, looking in the direction of the little 
 open gate in the garden wall. " Is it a child ? " 
 
 Anselm turned sharply round in the direction 
 pointed out, and shrugged his shoulders.
 
 Trusted and Tried. 97 
 
 '* Aye, that it is, sir, the little vagabond I 
 But I'll make him take to his heels. I want no 
 boys about here." 
 
 " Well, but what harm is he doing you ? He 
 can't possibly get in, and I won't have you throw 
 that stone at him," said M. Lassalles, seeing that 
 Anselm had stooped to pick up a stone to aim at 
 the boy's head. " He can't do any mischief by 
 resting a little on the grass outside the gate." 
 
 As he spoke, M. Lassalles went softly towards 
 the gate, to observe the little fellow more closely 
 without being himself perceived. The boy was 
 eating a piece of bread, which, from the trouble 
 it gave him to bite, seemed very hard ; and, to 
 give a little flavor to the dry morsel, he was at 
 the same time crunching some very small sour 
 apples, which he picked up from the grass be- 
 side him. He had seated himself with his back 
 to the road, and his legs hanging over the ditch ; 
 and, from the direction of his head, M. Lassalles 
 could see his eyes were fixed on a fine pear-tree 
 planted at the corner of the garden, and which 
 1
 
 98 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 stretphed its laden boughs over the wall, as if to 
 invite the passer-by to pick the scented fruit. 
 Certain that the boy had not yet seen him, 
 M, Lassalles stepped a little back, so that he 
 might watch unobserved what would follow. 
 He never doubted that the child would yield 
 to the temptation, and only wondered he had 
 stopped so long to think about it. He was sur- 
 prised, therefore, to see him presently move his 
 position a little so as to reach a few more of the 
 tmripe apples, and go on eating them as he had 
 done the others, not without a little twitching 
 of the face at their sharpness. Then M. Las- 
 salles got from Anselm the key of the little gate, 
 and opening it quiekl} 7 , stood beside the boy, 
 who had half turned his back to the garden, and 
 was still diligently munching away. He seemed 
 neither frightened nor surprised, and this made 
 M. Lassalles still more sure of his honesty of 
 purpose ; he got up as he saw the gentleman, 
 and bowed politely. 
 
 " What are you doing there, my lad ? " asked 
 M. Lassalles.
 
 Trusted and Tried. 99 
 
 " I was stopping a little while to rest and eat 
 my bread," answered the boy, net at all con- 
 fused. 
 
 " Should not you have liked something better 
 to eat than dry bread and green apples ? Why 
 did not you pick one or two of those fine pears 
 you saw hanging there ? " 
 
 " Because they were not mine." 
 
 " But if they were given you, would you eat 
 them?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well, then, come with me. and I will give 
 you your pockets full." 
 
 Anselm stood in consternation as he saw M. 
 Lassalles bring the little vagabond into the gar- 
 den, and actually pick him a pocketful of the 
 finest pears; and then, instead of sending him 
 off again, stand and talk to him. 
 
 " Your feet are all cut and bleeding, my 
 child," he said, looking down at the bare feet * 
 " where have you come from ? " 
 
 "From Sordy, sir."
 
 100 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 " From Sordy ? " repeated M. Lassalles, who 
 had never heard the name ; " where is that ? 
 is it far away ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I have been walking as far as I 
 could every day for ten days, and I want to get 
 to Paris the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " The day after to-morrow ! why, it's more 
 than forty miles from here." 
 
 " I can go a little further to-night, sir." 
 
 "And what are you going to do in Paris?" 
 
 " An aunt of my mother's lives there, and I 
 am going to find her." 
 
 " And where is your mother I " 
 
 " She died, sir, a month ago," replied the 
 child, in a low voice, and looking down as he 
 spoke at a little bit of brown, crumpled crape, 
 which was tied round the cap he held in his 
 hand. 
 
 " And have you no other relations ? " 
 
 " None, but this aunt, sir." 
 
 "And that "nadp you think of going to Paris, 
 I suppose ? "
 
 Trusted and Tried. 101 
 
 '* My mother, before she died, told me to go. 
 She thought my aunt would take care of me for 
 her sake, and that I might be of some use to her 
 when I had learned a trade." 
 
 " And do you know your aunt's name and 
 address ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the boy, bringing out of his 
 pocket an old well-worn pocket-book. From 
 this he took a letter, the address of which was 
 almost illegible, so feeble and trembling had been 
 the hand which wrote it. M. Lassalles made it 
 out with difficulty. 
 
 " My boy," he said after a time, " you will 
 certainly never find your aunt by this address ; 
 this is one of the streets which Lave been pulled 
 down. How long is it since you heard from 
 your aunt?" 
 
 " Five or six years, or more than that, sir, I 
 think." 
 
 "But she may have died in that time, or 
 moved half-a-dozen times over." 
 
 " I shall be able to find out where she is gone," 
 said the boy.
 
 102 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 " Do you think Paris is like your village, then, 
 \vhere everybody knows everybody? Paris is 
 an immense place, my lad, and any one moving 
 from one part to another, is lost sight of directly. 
 Come up with me to the house, and we will see 
 if we can get any more light on this matter. If 
 we can, you shall go on to Paris. What have 
 you in that parcel so carefully tied up ? " 
 
 " A shirt, a pair of trousers, my books, and 
 my shoes, sir." 
 
 "Shoes, eh! Why don't yon carry them on 
 your feet, instead of in your hand ? " 
 
 " My mother taught me never to put them on 
 to walk in." 
 
 M. Lassalles smiled. 
 
 "And your books, where did you get them 
 from ? From the village-school, I suppose. 
 Were they your prizes, my boy ? " 
 
 " No, sir; I never went to school. My mother 
 taught me all I know." 
 
 " And what do you know ? " 
 
 "I can read and write a little."
 
 Trusted and Tried. 103 
 
 M. Lassalles now became quite silent, and 
 walked on, just as if he had no companion by 
 his side, till he entered the park, followed by his 
 little protege. Going up to a door, which led to 
 the kitchen-offices, he led the boy into a room 
 in which the servants took their meals, gave 
 orders that some bread and meat should be given 
 him, and that a bed should be got ready for him, 
 and then went away again. The first thing the 
 little fellow did when he found himself alone 
 was to go to the window, that he might gaze in 
 wondering admiration at the great trees in the 
 park, the bright velvet turf, and dazzling beds 
 of flowers. As he was looking all around him 
 he descried Richard on the grass under the lime- 
 tree, and wondered to himself what the poor, 
 pale, motionless lioy, surrounded by his books, 
 could be doing. Richard happened at this mo- 
 ment to look^ up to the window of the servants' 
 hall;" he raised himself on his elbow, astonished 
 to see a strange face there, and the eyes of the 
 two children met. Richard beckoned with hia
 
 104 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 finger, and the young stranger replied to the sign 
 at once by leaping over the low window- sill onto 
 the grass, with so much agility that he did not 
 even touch the flowers and shrubs growing in 
 the border underneath the wall. In the twink- 
 ling of an eye he was by Richard's side, who, far 
 from seeming alarmed at such a strange intro- 
 duction, looked at the boy with pleased surprise. 
 
 " Who are you ? " he asked, as soon as they 
 were side by side. 
 
 " My name is James Valmy. What is yours?" 
 
 " I am Richard Lassalles. But how did you 
 get into the house ? " 
 
 " A gentleman took me in, a very tall gen- 
 tleman, with gray hair. Do you know him ? " 
 
 44 That must be papa. Where did you meet 
 him ? " 
 
 James told the whole story, how he had 
 been stopping to rest and refresh himself by the 
 garden-gate, and what had followed. 
 
 " It must have been papa," repeated Richard. 
 "But do you like sour apples?"
 
 Trusted and Tried. 105 
 
 44 No ; but they are better than nothing." 
 
 " Better than nothing ? Have you no money 
 then ? " 
 
 *' Oh yes, to be sure I have ; but I was keep- 
 ing that till I got to Paris, so as not to be too 
 burdensome to my aunt, if she is poor. You can 
 always find kind people by the way, who will 
 give you a crust of bread, and often let you 
 sleep in their barn beside." 
 
 As he said this the boy showed Richard two 
 two-franc pieces which he had carefully, wrapped 
 up in paper, and some loose coppers which he 
 had in his pocket. Richard, who had more gold 
 pieces than that in his purse, did not seem to 
 think very much of such treasures. 
 
 " Have you come far ? " he asked. 
 
 44 From Sordy. I dare say you have never 
 been there, but it is quite a large village.'* 
 
 " As if I could know all the villages in France I 
 But what Department is it in ? " 
 
 "In Vienue." 
 
 44 Why, that is a long way off."
 
 106 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 " Yes, I have been walking ten or twelve hours 
 a day for several days. Sometimes I missed my 
 way, and then I had to turn back ; at other 
 times I was so tired that I was obliged to lie 
 down by the roadside and sleep awhile, before 
 I could go on." 
 
 Richard, who had been greatly interested in 
 the story of his new companion, now looked 
 down at his feet, and saw they were all dusty 
 and bleeding. He noticed, too, how brown his 
 face looked, and what old clothes he had on, and 
 then said, with a deep si^h, 
 
 " You are a happy boy ! " 
 
 " Ah, no," said James, " not since I lost my 
 dear mother." 
 
 " Have you lost your mother ? So have I," 
 said Richard. " And you see I cannot walk ; I 
 can hardly take a step by myself." 
 
 " Oh, dear, what a pity ! " exclaimed James, 
 looking at him in sorrowful wonder. 
 
 " No," Richard said again ; " I can't even get 
 from here to the house without help."
 
 Trusted and Tried. 107 
 
 " Oh, I am sorry ! " said James, who could 
 scarcely find words to express the pity he felt. 
 " But what is the matter with you ? " he went 
 on, seeing Richard was trembling from head to 
 foot : you look as if you had the shivers.*' 
 
 " I am so cold. I should like to go in, but 
 there is no one to carry me. Papa is in the gar- 
 den, and Louis is gone out ; and they are the 
 only ones who know how to lift me." 
 
 " I wish I could. Will you let me try ? I 
 am very strong." 
 
 " Yes, if you like ; but you must take care. 
 If you touch my back you will hurt me dread- 
 fully." 
 
 James, though he was tall and slight as a reed, 
 was very strong in the arms. He stooped down, 
 and raised the poor boy so gently that Richard 
 felt perfectly safe as he clung round the neck 
 of his new bearer. 
 
 " Go in by the middle door," he said, as they 
 came in front of the house. 
 
 James walked in the direction pointed out,
 
 108 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 ascended some stairs at Richard's direction, till 
 he found himself at the door of an elegantly 
 furnished dining-room. No one was there, and 
 Richard said, " Put me down on that couch in 
 front of the French window." 
 
 James had just carefully laid down his burden 
 when a side door in the room opened, and a 
 youth about his own height, with a quantity of 
 very curly black hair, and an unamiable expres- 
 sion of countenance, entered, carrying a horse- 
 whip in his hand. 
 
 " Hallo ! " he exclaimed, stopping short in the 
 doorway, " what is this young beggar doing 
 here? How dare you come into the house?" 
 
 " Robert," cried Richard, in terror of his 
 brother's temper, " pray don't speak to him so. 
 He only came to carry me in. Papa brought 
 him to the house. You ought not to insult him." 
 
 His pleading was vain, however. Robert, see- 
 ing that the boy did not move, and seemed in no 
 way intimidated by his presence, went up to him 
 and struck him a blow right across the face with 
 the horsewhip.
 
 Trusted and Tried. 109 
 
 " Oh, Robert ! you wicked, wicked boy I n 
 cried Richard, with a burst of tears. 
 
 At the same instant James stretched out one 
 of his strong arms, and with scarcely an effort 
 snatched the horsewhip out of Robert's hand. 
 
 " You have no right to strike me," he said ; 
 " I have done nothing wrong, but I will not stay 
 here another minute." 
 
 So saying, he threw the horsewhip far out of 
 the window, and before Robert had recovered 
 from his surprise, he had run out of the house, 
 and was hurrying towards the park-gate.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ICHARD'S eyes followed his new friend 
 with a look of consternation. He could 
 not call him back, he could not go after 
 him. What should he do ? His trouble 
 at the loss of his little friend made him forget 
 his anger, and he turned imploringly to Robert. 
 '* Oh, Robert ! do pray run after him, and tell 
 him you are sorry, and bring him back! He 
 must not go away so." 
 
 " Say I am sorry ' to such a fellow as that ! " 
 exclaimed Robert, in a mocking tone. " A likely 
 thing indeed ! If ever I meet him again I will 
 let him know I'm sorry I didn't give him a kick 
 to make him run a little faster. I owe him that, 
 more's the pity." (110)
 
 Trusted and Tried. Ill 
 
 ' How dare you say so ? " said Richard indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " How dare I ? What do you take me for^ 
 you babyish boy ? " 
 
 " You insulted him, and hit him ; but he 
 threw your whip out of the window. He had 
 all the honors of the war," said Richard trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 "Little monkey!" cried Robert, whom these 
 words stung to the quick, " I'll teach you to bri- 
 dle your saucy tongue. How I should like to 
 give you such a thrashing as you deserve, if " 
 
 " If what ? " asked Richard. 
 
 " If you weren't such a feeble, chicken-hearted 
 little creature," Robert replied. 
 
 The blow told. Like most delicate children, 
 Richard was extremely sensitive on this point; 
 and thought nothing so much to be envied and 
 desired as bodily strength. He was forever 
 contrasting Robert's big limbs and strong health 
 with his own puny, sickly frame, and the contrast 
 might have been enough to prevent their under-
 
 112 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 standing each other, or having much in common, 
 even if Robert had been far more amiable than 
 he was. 
 
 " You are a coward," said Richard, flying to 
 this objectionable word as the last resource of 
 the weak against the strong. 
 
 " A coward because I won't strike you, little 
 one? I " 
 
 " Come, come, boys, what, quarrelling again ? " 
 said M. Lassalles, who had come in unobserved, 
 as the last high words were spoken on either 
 side. " What made you call your brother a cow- 
 ard, Richard ? " 
 
 Richard told the whole story ; and while he 
 did so Robert turned his back, and began to whis- 
 tle. M. Lassalles took no notice of this disre- 
 spectful proceeding, for he was thinking only of 
 the disappearance of the boy, who had interested 
 him greatly. Before he left the room, however, 
 he turned to Robert, and reproved him severely 
 for such conduct to the unoffending lad. 
 
 " How should I know that beggars were to be 
 allowed here ? " Robert replied rudely.
 
 Trusted and Tried. 113 
 
 "He is not a beggar," exclaimed Richard; 
 " he is on his way to Paris to earn his living hon- 
 estly, and if he had asked for a bit of bread by 
 the wa} r , I don't see anything to be ashamed of 
 in that." 
 
 " How much eloquence you waste on the sub- 
 ject ! " said Robert scornfully. 
 
 M. Lassalles had left the room without another 
 word. Mademoiselle Leblois and Juliet soon 
 entered. 
 
 44 How you smell of the stable ! " said Juliet 
 to her eldest brother, at the same time taking 
 out a scented handkerchief, and holding it to her 
 nose. " Couldn't you at least wash your hands 
 before dinner ? I assure you such odors are any- 
 thing but pleasant in the dining-room." 
 
 " I may surely dare to offend your sensitive 
 nose, Miss Affectation, since you offend my ears 
 all day long with your incessant rattling on the 
 piano." 
 
 " How rude you are, Robert ! " 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Miss Juliet, when I am 
 8
 
 114 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 at home a few weeks from college, I am not go- 
 ing to be set upon by a pack of women and chil- 
 dren like you. What harm have I done you, I 
 should like to know ? Tell me if you can. I 
 can tell you what use girls are, none at all but 
 to bother other people." 
 
 Juliet tossed her head contemptuously, with- 
 out once raising her eyes from her work. 
 
 Mademoiselle Leblois, who seldom ventured 
 to interfere at all with Robert, thought she might 
 venture at least a suggestion. 
 
 " Perhaps it would be as well if you were to 
 brush your hair and your clothes before M. Las- 
 salles comes in," she observed. 
 
 " No, thank you, mademoiselle. I intend to 
 remain as I am." 
 
 Mademoiselle gave one glance at him as he 
 was, his hair almost standing on end, his hands 
 of very doubtful cleanliness, his necktie hanging 
 loose, his clothes covered with stable dust and 
 bits of straw (for he had been filling the mangers 
 to amuse himself); she sighed, shook her head, 
 bnt said nothing.
 
 Trusted and Tried. 115 
 
 A servant entered at this moment, bringing in 
 some letters and newspapers, which he laid upon 
 the table. 
 
 " Oh, now I can, see about the races," ex- 
 claimed Robert ; " there's something exciting in 
 that, at any rate," and he tore open the paper. 
 
 "Are there any letters for me, Robert?" 
 asked Juliet. 
 
 " You can look for yourself. It really makes 
 me feel ill to look at the letters young ladies 
 write to each other. Here, take them all ! " 
 
 He threw them all at his sister as he spoke. 
 She caught some, the others lay scattered about 
 on the sofa and the floor There was one for 
 her, which she opened, and less critical eyes than 
 Robert's might have been alarmed at the num- 
 ber of small closely crossed sheets which emerged 
 from the envelope. * 
 
 Robert glanced over the sporting news, which 
 was all that interested him in the paper, and 
 went out to report to his confidential friend, the 
 groom.
 
 116 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 While he was absent, M. Lassalles returned 
 and dinner was served. 
 
 *'I have brought back your little protege^ 
 Richard," said M. Lassalles, after an interval of 
 silence. 
 
 "My little protege!" Richard repeated, in 
 rather a sorrowful tone, as it to say, " I wish I 
 could protect any one, but I always need some- 
 body to protect me." 
 
 " Ah, that little beggar, you mean," observed 
 Robert, who had by this time joined the party 
 at table. 
 
 " I have promised him he shall not again bo 
 insulted in my house," M. Lassalles went on, 
 not noticing Robert's remark, " and that as long 
 as he stays here he shall earn his own bread hon- 
 estly. He is to work under Anselm in the gar- 
 den, and will only come up to the house when 
 he is sent on an errand," 
 
 " I am sorry for him then, that's all," said 
 Robert, " for Anselm is about as amiable as a 
 bull-dog. What a cat-and-dog life they will 
 lead ! "
 
 Trusted and Tried. 117 
 
 *' Poor James I " said Richard, with a sigh. 
 Glad as he was that his father had brought James 
 back, his little dream of having him with him, to 
 carry nim and keep him company, was at an end.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 |HE weather was glorious for the time of 
 year. For three days Richard had stayed 
 out-of-doors, under the lime-tree, almost 
 from morning till night. Sometimes ho 
 would read, sometimes make stories of his own 
 in his head, sometimes dream away, scarcely 
 knowing how the time passed, till he saw the 
 poplar shadow growing long across the grass. 
 The time of the singing of birds was gone, and 
 there was no longer the summer sound of hum- 
 ming insects, or the soft whispering of the wind 
 in the long meadow-grass as before the mowing. 
 All this pleasant music of the month of June had 
 
 given place to the silence, by which the country 
 (118)
 
 Trusted and Tried. 119 
 
 seems preparing in autumn for the long death of 
 winter. The farm was situated at some distance 
 from the castle, and the sounds of creature life 
 and of busy labor could not be heard in the park. 
 Nothing broke upon the stillness but the monot- 
 onous tones of Juliet's practising. 
 
 Richard was never very fond of nwsic, and 
 
 9 
 
 the incessant sound of the piano jarred upon his 
 nerves, and worked him sometimes almost into a 
 fever of impatience. He wanted to listen to the 
 silence, and the rattling noise disturbed him. 
 Oh, if he could only get up and walk away out 
 of reach of it. How he envied those who had 
 the free use of their limbs. He turned his face 
 towards the wooded side of the park, which he 
 had only once passed when they were driving 
 back to Paris. Between the little elevation 
 which was crowned by the wood and that on 
 which M. Lassalles' house stood, lay a fertile, 
 well-watered valley, which went widening out 
 till it closed with the slightly undulating hills of 
 the horizon line. At one end of this valley stood
 
 120 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 the poplar. No other large trees were near, but 
 a tiny trickling stream, often lost in the grass, 
 Lathed the roots of some dwarf willows, which 
 bent down their light flexible boughs to the 
 water's edge. Richard was always longing to 
 get to this stream. He wanted to bunt among 
 the long grass for some of the great blue forget- 
 me-nots, such as his sister had once brought 
 him. He longed to cut one of those soft willow 
 wands with his pocket-knife, and peel off first 
 the leaves and then the bark, and make shrill 
 white whistles for himself. With any other boy, 
 to will would have been to do, but what was the 
 use of his wishing ? Even such a simple pleasure 
 as this was beyond his reach. Yet he could not 
 tell what was the matter with him, his limbs 
 looked like other children's, only rather more 
 white and thin. He suffered no pain, nothing to 
 make him feel how weak he was, till he tried to 
 move. Yet he could not, try as he would, raise 
 himself up and walk alone, even such a short 
 way as to that stream, which seemed to him to
 
 Trusted and Tried. 121 
 
 flow in a little paradise, and which he had so 
 often watched with longing eyes. Richard had 
 read many times in the Gospel of the miraculous 
 healing of the halt and maimed. Many times, 
 too, he had asked God, before he went to sleep, 
 that he might wake up in the morning and find 
 that such a miracle had been wrought upon him. 
 But it had not come, and the prayer had fallen 
 back like ice upon his heart, freezing it towards 
 the God who seemed not to hear. He had not 
 told any one about these prayers and his disap- 
 pointments. Perhaps if he had, some one might 
 have explained to him that God often wants to 
 bring us to accept His will, before He delivers 
 us from the trial which He has sent for our good. 
 Or, perhaps, he would have been laughed at for 
 his simple faith, and the trusting heart of tha 
 child would have been yet more fretted and 
 chafed. 
 
 Richard was thinking of all these things, 
 when a voice close by him made him start. 
 
 " Is there anything I can do for you ? "
 
 122 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 Richard turned, and saw James standing at 
 his side, holding in his hand a splendid peach 
 wrapped in two vine leaves. 
 
 " Why, James, is it you ? I thought you 
 were never coming to see me any more, and yet 
 you knew I could not go to look for you." 
 
 " Master Anselm never gave me leave to come 
 till to-day." 
 
 " And how do you get on with Anselm ? 
 Don't you find him a great bear ? " 
 
 " He shows his teeth more than he bites," said 
 James. " I soon found that out. Rough-spoken 
 people are not always bad at heart. See, he 
 gave me this peach, which I have brought to you, 
 because I thought you would like it. He said, 
 * You can have it ; they have got enough up at 
 the house, and it will be rotten by to-morrow,' 
 and he almost threw it in my face. ' But don't 
 you want it, Master Anselm ? * I said. * I 
 should have kept it if I did, boy. Come, now, 
 you needn't stand there looking at it; you never 
 tasted such a peach in your life, I can tell you,
 
 Trusted and Tried. 123 
 
 And I ought to know, for I reared it, and ripened 
 it.' * I thought it was God who made the fruits 
 grow and ripen,' I said. * Of course, you stupid 
 boy ; but don't you think God lets us have a 
 hand in it, too ? It would never have grown 
 like that without my care.' So saying he 
 walked away, but turned back again to say, ' If 
 I had once seen you so much as look at one fruit 
 on the tree, I should have given you another 
 sort of treating from this, I can tell you.' You 
 know old Master Anselm, Mr. Richard?" 
 
 " Very little ; I have always heard that he is 
 very churlish and rough, so when he comes into 
 the park I pretend not to see him, or only just 
 Bay good-morning." 
 
 " Then that's why he says you are so proud j 
 I told him you were not, but he would not be- 
 lieve me." 
 
 " And do you find it very bad to live with 
 him?" 
 
 *' Oh, no ; I like it. He is so lonely and dull 
 at nights. I think, if he once begins to love me,
 
 124 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 he will be happier. Is there nothing I can do 
 for you now, Mr. Richard ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Richard, afraid his companion 
 was going to leave him. " Sit down here by me, 
 and I will tell you. I am not going to eat your 
 beautiful peach all by myself ; we will have it 
 between us, and talk while we eat it." 
 
 While they were despatching the delicious 
 fruit, Richard showed James the low meadow 
 where the osiers grew, and told him how much 
 he wished to go there. 
 
 " Is that all ? " replied the other lad. I can 
 easily carry you there." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure you couldn't." 
 
 " Why not ? Never you fear ; I won't let 
 you fall." 
 
 " But I am a great deal too heavy for you." 
 
 " You heavy ? " said James, with a smile, 
 glancing at the little wasted limbs. " Why, I 
 could carry twice your weight." 
 
 " But perhaps Anselm will scold if you stay." 
 
 *' Oh, he is gone down to the village. He told
 
 Trusted and Tried. 125 
 
 me to dig up one bed, but I can do that this 
 evening, after work hours. Now, then, let's go. 
 Nothing venture, nothing have. Put your two 
 arms well round my neck. Now, then, up I 
 Are you all right ? I will hold fast, and so do 
 you. Does it tire you to clasp your arms round 
 my neck ? " 
 
 " Oh no ; I have more strength in my arms 
 than in my legs." 
 
 " All right, then ; here we go." 
 
 They went quickly down the slope which led 
 to the osier-bed, but it took a good while to get 
 to the place, though James strode along as fast 
 as he could. Richard laughed, half in pleasure, 
 half in fear, at being thus rapidly carried on 
 James's back. At length they reached the de- 
 sired spot. James laid down his burden upon 
 the grass, wiped his forehead, and then, taking 
 off his coat, spread it on the ground for fear 
 Richard should find it damp. When he had 
 settled him comfortably on this new sort of car- 
 pet, he said, " Now, here we are ; what would 
 you like next ? "
 
 126 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 Richard looked around him with great delight. 
 He was close to the tall poplar, and its shadow 
 just reached his feet. He could almost count 
 the leaves of the poor little shrub he had so 
 often looked at from a distance. Presently he 
 asked James to go and find him some forget-me- 
 nots by the water's edge. 
 
 James could not find any, however, for the 
 season was over. He searched in vain all up 
 and down the banks. He could find nothing 
 flowering but some meadow-sweet, growing in 
 the midst of a clump of reeds. He next gath- 
 ered a quantity of the long flexible osier boughs, 
 and began to carve them skilfully with his pen- 
 knife, cutting the soft bark away in all sorts of 
 fanciful figures. Then he handed Richard the 
 pretty wands, all covered with green and white 
 patterns, and Richard was never tired of admir- 
 ing. 
 
 At length, after a long silence, during which 
 Richard had been looking about him dreamily, 
 he said, with a sigh, " James, I almost wish I
 
 Trusted and Tried. 127 
 
 had never come here. This always seemed to 
 me like a bit of enchanted land, where I should 
 discover all sorts of marvellous things if I could 
 onty get to it, and now I have come and seen it, 
 after all, I find it is like other places." 
 
 " You could see from where you were that 
 there were only trees and grass, and a little 
 water here," replied James, laughing. 
 
 " Yes, but I used to fancy all sorts of marvel- 
 lous flowers growing out of sight. Are you 
 never sad, James ? " 
 
 44 When I think of my mother I am, but I 
 should not be sad if I were like you." 
 
 " Not sad if you were like me ? if you couldn't 
 walk, like me ? " 
 
 44 No," said James, very decidedly : " for then 
 I could learn, and I like that very much." 
 
 44 Learn what ? " 
 
 41 Oh, all the things there are in those beau- 
 tiful books that you always have by you." 
 
 44 You don't know how to read, then ? " asked 
 Richard, in surprise, for he almost thought 
 people learned to read as they learn to speak.
 
 128 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 " Just a little I do, but it takes me a long 
 while to get down a page, and sometimes, when 
 I get to the last word in the sentence, I have 
 forgotten the first." 
 
 " Well, you shall come and read to me half 
 an hour every day, if you like, till you can read 
 quite easily." 
 
 " Oh, thank you," said James, with sparkling 
 eyes. " Now I will go and get some more wil- 
 low boughs, and you shall see what I can 
 do." 
 
 He got up and ran from tree to tree, choosing 
 out boughs of exactly the same size. Richard 
 followed his movements with curious delight. 
 Far from being envious of his activity, and 
 strength, and nimbleness, he liked to watch him, 
 and the thought that he could teach something 
 to a being so superior to him in other respects, 
 that he could make James a sharer in a good he 
 did not yet possess, gave the crippled child a 
 sense of satisfaction which reconciled him to his 
 lot. James was, as we have said, tall, slight,
 
 Trusted and Tried. 129 
 
 and thin ; he was a well-made, striking-looking 
 boy. Without really regular features, his face 
 was pleasant to look at; his large, soft, dark 
 eyes were perfectly frank and truthful, and at 
 the same time bespoke a quick intelligence. He 
 had that native dignity which comes from a good 
 conscience, and an earnest desire to do right. 
 How manj* fathers would have been proud of 
 such a son ! But he, poor lad, had no father to 
 be proud of him, no mother to love him ! 
 
 When he had found all he wanted, James sat 
 down again by Richard's side, and tried to make 
 a basket, as he had seen the basket-maker do in 
 the village. Richard meanwhile stretched him- 
 self out on the grass, and rested his head on 
 James's knees. 
 
 " Oh, how nice this is ! " he said, with a sigh 
 of satisfaction. " I can fancy we two are alone 
 in a little boat, in the midst of a great sea, with 
 no shore to be seen on any side. It is so still, 
 so still, that we cannot feel any motion of the 
 waves. And we are so happy that we do not
 
 130 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 even wish to float near to land, or to discover 
 one little sail on the horizon. We look up, and 
 there over our heads is -the great, deep, calm, 
 blue heaven ; is seems as if we might go up, and 
 up, and up forever. And below us is the deep, 
 deep sea, without a bottom or a shore." 
 
 Richard spoke so gravely and earnestly that 
 even James was for a little while carried away 
 by his words, and they both fancied they were 
 out on a charmed ocean, being drifted along by 
 the quiet waves, like a raft in a current. 
 
 They never noticed how the time was passing, 
 and the last rays of the sun had already faded in 
 the west, when James suddenly felt Richard 
 shiver and tremble from head to foot. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked, anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, I am so cold, and I feel so strange. 
 James, I quite forgot that papa told me never to 
 stay out after the sun was gone down. I'm 
 afraid he will be so angry. Do let us go back 
 quickly." 
 
 Much as James tried he could not get back,
 
 Trusted and Tried. 131 
 
 with Richard in his arms, as quickly as he had 
 come with him on his shoulders. The ground 
 sloped up, too, instead of down, and it was much 
 harder work. Still he never stopped, till pant- 
 ing and breathless he reached the dining-room 
 door. M. Lassalles, who had become uneasy 
 about Richard, had seen the two coming, and 
 was prepared to blame the boys for being so 
 thoughtless; but the words were checked on 
 his lips, as on going up to Richard he saw that 
 he had fainted, and was lying utterly powerless 
 in James's arms.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ffHE dampness of the autumn evening air, 
 and the exhalations of the marshy mead- 
 ows had seized the poor delicate child, 
 and for two or three days he lay very ill. 
 As soon as he recovered consciousness he asked 
 for James, and begged to have him with him. 
 James must give him his medicines, and no one 
 but James could amuse him. M. Lassalles made 
 no objection to the boy's presence, and from that 
 time he never left Richard's room. Mademoi- 
 selle Leblois and Juliet were amazed at Richard's 
 fancy for a little beggar-boy, and did not at all 
 approve of his being allowed to take the place 
 of one of the members of the family- by the sick-
 
 Trusted and Tried. 133 
 
 bed. They had, indeed, no forwardness on 
 James's part to complain of, for whenever they 
 went into the room he retired directly to the 
 farthest corner ; but if Richard noticed it he al- 
 ways called him back. The poor child still suf- 
 fered much, and no one ventured to oppose his 
 wishes. 
 
 Had the lookers on been kindly disposed, or 
 even simply just to James, they must have re- 
 marked the self-forgetfulness, presence of mind, 
 gentleness, and patience, which made him such a 
 pleasant nurse and companion to the little inva- 
 lid. But they were too much prejudiced to be 
 just. No one but M. Lassalles noticed all this, 
 tnd he said nothing. 
 
 One day Richard, on arousing from a heavy 
 doze, looked long and steadily at James, who 
 was sitting at the foot of the bed, and did not 
 know his little patient was awake. 
 
 " How good you are to me," Richard said sud- 
 denly. "I^lo love you." 
 
 " I do not see why you should call me good,"
 
 134 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 replied James ; " but if I know how to eta any 
 thing right I owe it to my mother. She taught 
 me to love God, and to do as 1 would be dono 
 
 by." 
 
 "Do you really love God ?" asked Richard; 
 "you can't know much about Him." 
 
 " I can see His good hand all around me," 
 James answered ; " and then when my mother 
 was alive, I saw how gentle, and patient and 
 good she was ; and I knew it was God who put 
 it into her heart. When I feel sad and lonely it 
 makes me happier to think of God, who loves us 
 so well, and is never far awaj' from us." 
 
 The two boys spent much time talking in this 
 way in the bedroom. Very different scenes 
 meanwhile were passing below. Robert had 
 hardly troubled to come to see his sick brother 
 even once a day, and had shown not the slightest 
 care or concern about him. The only companion 
 he cared for was his father's new groom. M. 
 Lassallcs had repeatedly told him bow much he 
 disapproved of this intimacy, but Robert paid no
 
 Trusted and Tried. 135 
 
 attention to nis words, and had even rudely an- 
 swered one day that he should be bored to death 
 at home if it were not for Philip's company. 
 
 He became daily more insolent, coarse, and 
 sullen in his behavior to his own family. The 
 groom kept him in a state of perpetual irritation 
 by telling him of the horses and the meets of the 
 last young master he had lived with, who was 
 not older than Robert, but had his own guns, 
 dogs and horses. Robert felt himself aggrieved, 
 and treated like a child, because he had only his 
 old pony to ride. His ill-humor fell principally 
 on James, to whom he gave an insolent word 
 whenever he was out of his father's hearing. 
 
 " What a pity it is, Master Robert," said 
 Philip, " that your father won't let you hunt. 
 Not many young gentlemen of your age are so 
 obedient as you. M. Arthur wouldn't have sub- 
 mitted to be kept like a caged bird with his 
 wings clipped, I know." 
 
 " I have told you often enough, Philip,'* 
 Robert replied, pettishly, " that my father saw
 
 136 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 a dreadful accident happen to one of his brothers 
 when he was young, and out hunting ; and ever 
 since then he cannot bear the name of field 
 eports." 
 
 " But that's no reason why you shouldn't go 
 shooting, Master Robert. If we had a gun we 
 might set off together, and nobody be any tho 
 wiser." 
 
 " Ah, if I only had a gun ! " sighed Robert. 
 
 "I saw a splendid one the other day, such 
 a bargain. You give me a hundred francs and 
 I'll get it for you this very night," said Philip. 
 
 " A hundred francs ! but I haven't got them. 
 I have only twenty left in my purse." 
 
 " Ask your father. He is rich enough to let 
 you have as much as you want." 
 
 Such conversations passed repeatedly till tho 
 wish to possess the splendid gun took such hold 
 of Robert that he could think of nothing else. 
 Such a desire becomes a terrible temptation to 
 an ill-regulated mind like Robert's. He had no 
 strength better than his own to keep him from
 
 Trusted and Tried. 137 
 
 evil, for he never prayed, and the thought of 
 God had no place in his heart. 
 
 One day Richard having passed a bad night, 
 fell asleep in the afternoon, and his faithful at- 
 tendant worn out too, dropped off himself, with 
 his head resting on the foot of the bed. While 
 they were both sleeping, Robert came into the 
 room to see if he had left his knife there the 
 evening before. His eye fell at once upon a 
 bank-note lying on the table. It was for one 
 hundred francs. Just the price of the gun ! 
 Who would be the wiser if he took it ? Rich- 
 ard's little pale face lay motionless on the pillow. 
 James's head was buried in the counterpane ; 
 both were breathing heavily. The temptation 
 was strong. Robert caught up the note, slipped 
 it into his pocket, and trembling all over, glided 
 out of the room on tiptoe lest the slightest sound 
 should awake one of the sleepers. He had 
 reached the door, and was just turning to shut 
 it, when he started to see James's eyes fixed 
 upon him with a steady, searching gaze. Had
 
 138 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 he been seen ? Would he be suspected ? Oh, 
 how he detested that boy who had been acting 
 the spy, perhaps, and would betray him. 
 
 The links which form the heavy chain of sin 
 are quickly forged. The thought that the sus- 
 picion of the theft might easily be made to fall 
 on James himself flashed into Robert's mind, 
 and he welcomed it. 
 
 A few moments after M. Lassalles came into 
 the room. Richard had just awoke. 
 
 " Did I not leave a bank-note here ? " M. Las- 
 salles asked. " I think it must have fallen out 
 of my pocket-book when I opened it If it is 
 not here I do not know where to look." 
 
 " Oh, yes, papa," said Richard ; " we found it 
 a moment, after you were gone out, and put it 
 here on the table for you. James, where is it ? " 
 
 But James was looking in vain. The bank- 
 note was not where they had put it. He could 
 not help recalling Robert's startled look as he 
 had suddenly woke up, and seen him leaving 
 the room.
 
 Trusted and Tried. 139 
 
 "Has any one been in since I was here?" 
 asked M. Lassalles. 
 
 " No, papa, nobody." 
 
 James did not contradict the words. How 
 could he throw suspicion on the son of his ben- 
 efactor ? And then he really could not believe 
 Robert would be capable of such an act. The 
 bank-note would certainly be found. He went 
 on seeking. M. Lassalles watched him with 
 a troubled countenance. But the search was 
 utterly vain ; the bank-note was gone beyond a 
 doubt. M. Lassalles, fearing to agitate the lit- 
 tle invalid, left the room without a word. A. 
 few minutes after James was sent for, and did 
 not come back. 
 
 It was not a mere suspicion which rested upon 
 the poor lad. M. Lassalles thought his guilt was 
 
 
 
 clear. It cost him much to renounce the trust 
 he had placed in the honest open countenance 
 of the orphan boy. But who has not been 
 deceived by appearances ? How often does vice 
 put on the garb of virtue I
 
 140 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 "Anselm was right," said M. Lassalles to 
 himself, as he walked slowly towards the gar- 
 deners's cottage ; " I was very imprudent in 
 taking such a boy into the house, and allowing 
 him to be friendly with my son. How difficult 
 it is to act wisely." 
 
 James had gone up to the little room he used 
 to occupy before he became Richard's companion. 
 Anselm, contrary to custom, was standing at the 
 door of his cottage, with his hands behind him, 
 and a very grave look on his face. 
 
 "You know what has happened, Anselm," 
 said his master. 
 
 " I know what is said," replied the gardener 
 gloomily. 
 
 " And you do not believe it ? " asked M. Las- 
 salles, in a surprised tone. " Why, you alwaya 
 thought badly of the boy." 
 
 " Sir," said the old man, with the calmness 
 given by strong conviction, "I know that boy 
 well now, and I am certain he is not guilty." 
 
 After leaving Anselm, M. Lassalles returned
 
 Trusted and Tried. 141 
 
 to Richard's room. He found him weeping bit- 
 terly, and deaf to all the arguments of his sister 
 and her governess. 
 
 " It is a wicked shame ! " he repeated again 
 and again. " Why not accuse me ? I was in 
 the room as well as James.'' 
 
 " It is very painful to me to accuse James," 
 said M. Lassalles, " but you must understand 
 that I should still less think of suspecting my 
 own son. Beside, my poor child, do you want 
 us to suppose that you got up out of your bed to 
 hide the note, when we know you cannot stand ? 
 No, my little man, you cannot take it upon your 
 self." 
 
 Richard buried his face in the clothes and 
 sobbed. 
 
 * He loved me so, and was so kind to me, and 
 did everything for me, and now this is how they 
 treat him. Oh, James ! James ! If I could 
 only tell him that I know he did not do it." 
 
 Two days passed away, and Robert, whom no 
 one suspected, was certainly the most miserable
 
 142 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 of all. He had not had a moment's peace since 
 he had touched the fatal note. He had locked 
 it up in a drawer and carried the key always in 
 his pocket, but it seemed to burn him every time 
 he felt it was there. Twenty times he was on 
 the point of secrectly putting the note back in 
 his father's desk, but he dared not. How could 
 it be explained ? Oh, if he had only known 
 what wretchedness that sin would cost him. 
 
 As he was walking alone in the park one 
 evening, anxious to avoid everybody's eyes, an-d 
 yet half frightened to be alone, feeling an Eye 
 upon him all the while which he could not 
 escape, and which read him through and through, 
 he suddenly found himself face to face with 
 James. 
 
 " What do you want here ? " said Robert, 
 who trembled violently when he saw him. 
 James was very pale and hollow-eyed ; it was 
 plain that he had been suffering terribly. 
 
 " Mr. Robert," he said, " tell the truth to your 
 father. Do, I implore you 1 You know you
 
 Trusted and Tried. 143 
 
 cannot hide it from God, and you cannot for- 
 give yourself." 
 
 " What do you mean V " said Robert, passion- 
 ately. " Leave me alone. I don't know what 
 you want with me." 
 
 " Yes, you do know. But perhaps you do 
 not understand all the harm you are doing me in 
 letting me be suspected of this theft. I have 
 stayed here till now, because I hoped you would 
 
 speak. I never thought you could But 
 
 to-morrow I shall go." 
 
 His courage broke down as he said these 
 words, and with a voice broken by sobs, he 
 added "I shall go, and they will think me 
 guilty. Even Richard will think so. Oh God, 
 what shall I do ? " 
 
 Through the whole night after this conversa- 
 tion, Robert could not sleep a wink. He had 
 always before him James's white face and 
 reproachful look. He kept hearing the heart- 
 broken tone of his last words. 
 
 " 1 cannot hide it from God," he said to him-
 
 144 Trusted and Tried. 
 
 self, " and I cannot forgive myself. It is true, 
 it is true ; " and he found not a moment's peace 
 till he had taken the firm resolve to go to his 
 father as soon as it was day, and confess all. 
 We will not describe what followed that confes- 
 sion. It was an hour never to be forgotten in 
 Robert's life, when, humbled and penitent as ho 
 was, he heard his father tell him that he loved 
 him still, and had more hope of him now than he 
 had had for many a day. 
 
 How shall we describe either, the meeting be- 
 tween Richard and James ? James had already 
 packed up his little bundle and was just about 
 to start, when he was sent for to M. Lassalles. 
 His master gave him a strong grasp of the hand, 
 arid then led him to Richard's bedside. 
 
 *' I never believed it for one instant," whis- 
 pered Richard, as in an ecstasy of delight he 
 clasped his arms round James's neck. 
 
 Presently Robert came in. He looked very 
 pale, and did not lift his eyes to James's face as 
 he held out his hand and asked him in a scarcely
 
 Trusted and Tried. 145 
 
 audible voice to forgive him the wrong he had 
 done. James seized the offered hand, and 
 pressed it between his own, which trembled with 
 joy, whils his eyes were full of tears. From 
 that moment the proud young master and the 
 honest serving-lad were trusty friends. 
 
 It was decided that James should go on work- 
 ing undsr Anselm's orders, but at the same time 
 he was to spend some hours each day under 
 Richard's teaching. Thus his two great desires 
 were fulfilled ; he learned the mystery of books, 
 and at the same time he proved the higher joy 
 of loving and being beloved.
 
 ELI4A FARM AN'S BOOKS. 
 
 These books, by the Editor of WIDE AWAKE, are full of 
 sympathy with youth, always sunshiny and hopeful, point- 
 ing out new ways to do things and unexpected causes for 
 happiness and gladness. 9 vo!s., large i6mo, illust., $10.00. 
 
 ANNA MAYLIE. 
 
 A story of faithful, resolute work in the Sunday-school 
 and in the field of the Western religious pioneer. A stand- 
 ard book for the libraries of Christian families. 12010, 
 $1.50. 
 
 A LITTLE WOMAN. 
 
 A beautiful story of what a little girl may do. i6mo, 
 $1.00. 
 
 GRANDMA CROSBY'S HOUSEHOLD. 
 A story narrating the noble possibilities of even the 
 simplest farmhouse life. i6mo, illust., Ji.oo. 
 
 A GIRL'S MONEY. 
 
 A fascinating and pathetic story of a girl who was true to 
 her ideals. i6ra-?, illust., $1.00. 
 
 GOOLr-FOR-NOTHING POLLY. 
 
 The story of a boy who ran away from home, assisted by 
 his father and the minister. i6mo, cloth, illust., $1.00. 
 
 HOW TWO GIRLS TRIED FARMING. 
 A piquant narrative of an actual experience. i6mo, 
 paper, 50 cents. Cloth, $r.oo. 
 
 THE COOKING CLUB OF TU-WHIT HOLLOW. 
 
 A merry, brigh book that will help make good house- 
 keepers of our daughters ; as through and through the 
 sparkling story runs practical lessons and valuable sug- 
 estions. i6mo, $1 oo. 
 
 MRS. KURD'S NIECE. 
 
 This is one of Miss Farman's strongest works for girls, 
 with characters finely drawn. I2mo, cloth, illustrated, $1.50. 
 
 A WHITE HAND. 
 A story of American society. iomo, illust., $1.50.
 
 MARGARET SIDNEY'S BOOKS. 
 
 Margaret Sidney may be safely set down as one of the best writers of 
 jurenile literature in the country. Boston Transcript. 
 
 Margaret Sidney's books are happily described as " strong and pure 
 from cover to cover, . . bright and piquant as the mountain breezes, or 
 a dash on pony back of a June morning." The same writer speaks of her 
 as " An American authoress who will hold her own in the competitive 
 good work executed by the many bright writing women of to-day." 
 
 There are few better story writeis than Margaret Sidney. HeralA 
 and Presbyter. 
 
 Comments of the Secular ami Religious Prca*. 
 
 FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND HOW THEY GREW. 
 
 A charming work. . . The home scenes in which these little Pep* 
 pers are engaged are capitally described. . . Will find prominent place 
 among the higher class of juvenile presentation books. Religions Htrald. 
 
 One of the best told tales given to the children for some time. . . 
 The perfect reproduction of child-life in its minutest phases, catches one's 
 attention at once. Christian A dvocate. 
 
 A good book to place in the hands of every boy or girl. Chicago 
 Inter-Ocean. 
 BO AS BY FIRE. 
 
 Will be hailed with eager delight, and found well worth reading. 
 Christian Observer. 
 
 An admirable Sunday-school book Arkansas Evangel. 
 
 We have followed with intense interest the story of David Folsom. . 
 
 . A man poor, friendless, and addicted to drink ; . . the influence 
 of Httle Cricket; . . the faithful care of aunt Phebe ; all step* by 
 which he climbed to higher manhood. Woman at Work. 
 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 It is one of the finest pieces of American fiction that has been pubr 
 lished for some time. Newsdealers 1 Bulletin, New York. 
 
 It ought to attract wide attention from the simplicity of its style, and 
 the vigor and originality of its treatment. Chicago Herald. 
 
 This is a capital story illustrating New England life. Inter-Ocean, 
 Chicago. 
 
 The characters of the story seem all to be studies from life. Boston 
 Post. 
 
 It is a New England tale, and its characters are true to the original 
 type, and show careful study and no little skill in portraiture. Chrittian 
 it Work, New York. 
 
 To be commended to readers for excellent delineations, sparkling style, 
 bright incident and genuine interest The Watchman. 
 
 A capital story ; bright with excellent sketches of character. Conveys 
 good moral and spiritual lessons. . . In short, the book is in every 
 way well done. Illustrated Christian Weekly. 
 HALF YEAR AT BRONCKTON. 
 
 A live boy writes : " This is about the best book that ever was written 
 or ever can be." 
 
 " This bright and earnest story ought to go into the hands of e\?ry boy 
 who u old enough to be subjected to the temptations of school life." 
 
 D. LOTHROP Sr, CO., Publishers. Boetoo.
 
 AFTER THOUGHTS OF FOREIGN TRAVEL. 
 BY REV. S. H. McCoLLESTEB, D. D. 
 
 The author has a happy faculty for vivid descriptions of 
 places and events, but the greater value of the work to the 
 student is in the care and accuracy with which the history of 
 the many points of interest visited has been given. The read- 
 er not only sees the towns, churches and castles as the author 
 saw them, hut by his aid sees them in the light of other days in 
 connection with the great events which have forever made them 
 memorable. Boston Journal. 
 
 A book of rare excellence. The author gathered the choicest 
 material as he passed along, omitting the commonplace facts 
 and incidents which usually find their way into books of this 
 class; he has arranged this material very happily, to gain and 
 Uold the attention of his readers, and has expressed his after- 
 thoughts in a clear and attractive style. The book is at once, 
 both fascinating and instructive in an unusual degree. Hiram 
 Orcutt, 
 
 One of the liveliest books of travel we have taken up for a 
 long time. To read it attentively, is to travel side by side with 
 the writer, seeing with our own, as well as with his eyes. We 
 heartily thank the authorfor the privilege of visiting, with him, 
 London, Edinburgh, Paris, Rome, Athens, Alexandria, Jerusa- 
 lem, and so many other places where our feet have not 
 trodden, hut \vhieh we have really seen. Rev. J. G. Adam*, 
 D.D. 
 
 The book is the work of a man who sees and thinks, and 
 who, when he travels, brings back something to tell worth 
 
 listening to One of the few in the great flood of 
 
 books of trav-el that are worth reading. Vt. Ecformer. 
 
 12mo, clo'.n. Price, $1.50. 
 
 D. LOTHROP & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 83 FRANKLJK STSXJCT, BOSTOS.
 
 SELF-GIVING. 
 
 * Have read with interest, and with admiration 01 the vivid- 
 ness and accuracy which characterize the descriptions given." 
 
 Rt. Rev. Thomas M. Clark, D. D., Bishop of Rhode Island. 
 "Very interesting. A true insight ; literally truth." Chris- 
 tian Observer, Louisville, Ky. 
 
 " It is best that the truth should be told about this matter." 
 The Budget, Boston. 
 
 "Important information. Highly interesting as a story." 
 Lutheran Observer, Philadelphia. 
 
 " Very instructive. His revealments are not at all damaging 
 to any who regard them properly. Wish all would read it" 
 Journal and Messenger, Cincinnati. 
 
 "Impartial, thorough and attractive." Journal, Providence. 
 
 " Will receive a cordial welcome by a host of his admirers." 
 
 The Methodist, Philadelphia. 
 
 "As throwing light upon the practical features of the mission- 
 ary operations of to-day, the work has no equal in missionary 
 literature.'' Advocate of Missions, Nashville, Tenn. 
 
 " Illustrates powerfully ' Self-Giving.' Read intelligently, the 
 influence of the book will be thoroughly good." President 
 Hovey, Newton Theo. Sem. 
 
 " A valuable work, rich in hints and suggestions. Sec'y M 
 G. Clark, D. D., American Board. 
 
 " How much we have enjoyed I All the churches are greatly 
 indebted." Rev. B. H. Badley, Methodist Missionary, Luck- 
 now, India. 
 
 "Deserving and certain of larger circulation than even same 
 author's Tour of Missions." Rev. J. Nevius. D. D., Presby 
 teriao Missionary, China.
 
 "PANSY' BOOKS. 
 
 Probably no living author has exerted an influence upop % 
 American people at large, at all comparable with Pansy's. Ttiot 
 lands upon thousands of families read her books every week, anq 
 the effect in the direction of right feeling, right thinking, and 
 right living is incalculable. 
 
 Each volume 12mo. Cloth. Price, SI. 50. 
 FOUR GIRLS AT CIIAUTAUQUA. MODERN PUOPHETS. 
 CHAUTAUQUA GIRLS AT HOME. ECHOING AND RE-ECHOING. 
 RUTH EKSKINE'S CROSSES. TIIOSK BOYS. 
 ESTER RIED. THE RANDOLPHS. 
 
 JULIA RIED. TIP LEWIS. 
 
 KING'S DAUGHTER. SIDNEY MARTIN'S CHRISTMA*. 
 
 WISE AND OTHERWISE. DIVERS WOMF.N. 
 
 ESTER RIED "YET SPEAKING." A NEW GRAFT. 
 LISKS IN REBECCA'S LIFE. THE POCKET MEASURE. 
 Fi*OJt DIFFERENT STAND- MRS. SOLOMON SMITH. 
 THREE PEOPLE. [POINTS. THE HALL IN THE GROVE. 
 
 HOUSEHOLD PUZZLES. MAN OF THE HOUSE. 
 
 AN ENDLESS CHAIN. 
 
 Each volume 12mo. Cloth. Price, $1.25. 
 Cufixi.vQ WORKMEN. Miss PIUSCILLA HUNTER and 
 
 GRANDPA'S DARLING. MY DAUGHTER SUSAN. 
 
 MRS. DEAN'S WAY. WHAT SHE SAID and 
 
 DR. DEAN'S WAY. PEOPI K WHO HAVEN'T Tim 
 
 Each volume IGmo. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
 NEXT THINGS. MRS. HARRY HARPER'S 
 
 PANSY SCRAP BOOK. AWAKENING. 
 
 FIVE FRIENDS. NEW YEAR'S TANGLES. 
 
 SOME YOUNG HEROINES. 
 
 Each volume 16mo. Cloth. Irice, $-75. 
 GETTING AHEAD. /ESSIE WELL*. 
 
 Two BOYS. DOCIA'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Six LITTLE GIRLS. HELEN LESTER. 
 
 PANSIES. BEKNIK'S WHITE CHICKES. 
 
 THAT BOY BOB. MARY BURTON ABROAD. 
 
 SIDE BY SIDE. Price, $.60. 
 
 The Little Pansy Series, 10 vols. Boards, $:5.00. Cloth, 
 Mother's Boys and Girls' Library. 12 vols. Quarto Boards, $2. 
 Pansy Primary Library, 30 rol. Cloth. Price, $7.50. 
 Half Hour Library. Octavo, 3 vcJa. Price, 3.20.
 
 MARIE OLIVER'S STORIES. 
 
 3 vols, isrno cloth, illustrated, $1.50 each; the set $4.50. 
 
 BUSY HAMILTON. OLD AND NEW FBIENDa 
 
 GZiDA'3 DISCIPLINE. 
 
 Extraziffsaxt co>utenti of null-kntneiijciirna.h. 
 RUBY HAMILTON. 
 
 This is a very excellent Sunday-school book, which can be 
 honestly commended for youthful readers. The Watchman. 
 
 It is a well-told story, conveys a pure, healthful lesson, and 
 is one of the best books of its class. Philadelphia Enquirer. 
 
 This is one of the best Sunday-school books in Lothrop's 
 long and admirable list. The story is a sweet one, and 
 charmingly told. Church Mirror. 
 
 The spirit throughout is healthy and devout. . . . Al- 
 together it is a charming aixl instructive book. The Church- 
 
 OLD AND NEW FRIENDS. 
 
 A very excellent specimen of the class of fiction designed 
 for young folk who have ceased to be children without 
 having become mature men and women. JV. Y. Evening 
 Post. 
 
 Many readers will remember "Ruby Hamilton," a volume 
 which created quite a sensation at the time of its publication. 
 . . . This volume, a continuation of this story, ought to 
 become as popular as its predecessor. Chriftian Mirror. 
 
 Contains some charming pictures of home-life. . . . 
 Cannot but help and strengthen the boy whose impulses 
 are for good. Herald and Presbyter. 
 
 Like all that comes from this author's pen, this volume 
 has merits of both substance and style. Western Christian 
 Advocate. 
 
 Adds another to the list of really goo j story books. 
 Cincinnati Journal and Messenger. 
 
 BEBA'S DISCIPLINE. 
 
 A good lx>ok to teach the uses of trouble in building up char* 
 flcter. Western Recorder. 
 
 Has a varied and absorbing interest from its beginning to its 
 close. . . . Sometimes sad and wonderfully pathetic; some- 
 times bright and cheerful, it is impressive always. In every 
 respect it is the best religious story we have seen for many a 
 day, and one . . . that can scarcely fail to benefit any 
 leader whom God leads along rough paths. The Interior. 
 
 Should be in every Sunday-school library. The Standard, 
 
 D. LOTHEOP & CO.. Publishers. Boston.
 
 SPARE MINUTE SERIES. 
 
 THOUGHTS THAT BREATHE. 
 From Dean Stanley. Introduction by Phillips Brooks. 
 
 CHEERFUL WORDS. 
 
 From George MacDonald. Introduction by James T. Fielda 
 THE MIGHT OF RIGHT. 
 
 From Rt. Hon. Wm. E. Gladstone. Introduction by John D. 
 Long, LL. D. 
 
 TRUE MANLINESS. 
 
 From Thomas Hughes. Introduction by Hon. James Russell 
 Lowell. 
 
 LIVING TRUTHS. 
 From Charles Kingsley. Introduction by W. D. Howells. 
 
 RIGHT TO THE POINT. 
 
 From Theodore L. Cuyler, D. D. Introduction by Newman 
 Hall, LL. B. 
 
 MANY COLORED THREADS. 
 From Goethe. Introduction by Alexander McKeime, D. D. 
 
 ECHOES OF MANY VOICES. 
 Introduction by Mrs. E. A. Thurston. 
 
 TREASURE THOUGHTS. 
 From Canon Farrar. Introduction by Rose Porter. 
 
 Each volume, 1 2*7/0, cloth, $1.00. 
 
 D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, 
 
 Franklin and Hawley Streets, Boitoa,
 
 NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 OBIGINAMTY. By Elias Nason. Boston: D. Lothrop & 
 Co. Price $.50. Mr. Nason has here made a reply to 
 Wendell Phillips' "Lost Arts," which is well worth read- 
 ing for its point and snggestiveness. He endeavors to slmv 
 the meaning of the word, and what important results have 
 come from the originating powers of a few bright men since 
 the beginning of civilization. He takes up, one by one, ihe 
 points made by Mr. Phillips in his famous lecture, and shows 
 on what slight, grounds they rest, and of how little weight 
 they really are when examined and analyzed. Mr. Nason 
 does not believe that any of the useful arts have been lost. 
 The ancients had few to lose. They made glass, but they 
 did not know how to use it. They could embalm dead 
 bodies; hut of what use were embalmed dead bodies ? They 
 Jiad some knowledge of mathematics, but a school-boy's 
 arithmetic to-day contains more mathematical knowledge 
 than has come out of all the exhumed cities of the Orient. 
 There were more marvels of art displayed at the Centennial 
 exhibition than in the ancient world for twenty centuries. 
 Mr. Nason insists that the seslhetical productions of the 
 ancients have bean vastly over-estimated. The periods of 
 Demosthenes," he says, "yield in Titanic force to the 
 double-compact sentences of Daniel Webster. Mr. Phillips 
 himself has sometimes spoken more eloquently than Cicero. 
 Homer never rises to the sublimity of John Milton." The 
 world grows wiser and better. Age by age, it has been de- 
 veloping its resources and adding pearl to pearl to the diadem 
 of its wisdom; sometimes slower, sometimes quicker, but 
 always upward and onward. Mr. Nason writes in a fresh 
 and sparkling style, and the thousands who have listened 
 with rapt attention to Mr. Phillips' eloquent presentation of 
 his side of the question will find equal pleasure and greater 
 profit in reading this charming essay, which is equally elo- 
 quent and unquestionably sounder in its conclusions. 
 
 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF CHAKLES DICKENS. By 
 Phebe A. Hanaford. Boston: D. Lothrop & Co. Price 
 $1.50. A life of Dickens, written by a popular author 
 and upon a new plan, will be sure to meet with favor at the 
 hands of the public. Mrs. Hanaford has not attempted to 
 write a critical and original analysis of the great author 
 from her own point of view, but, while sketching the main 
 incidents of his life, has quoted liberally from his works to 
 illustrate his genius, and from the correspondence and 
 writings of his personal friends to show the estimation in 
 which he was held by them as a man, a philanthropist and 
 a Christian. The volume commends itself to every lover of 
 Dickens, and deserve* to be widely known and read.
 
 NEW BOOKS. 
 
 AROUND THE WORLD TOUR OF CHRISTIAN MISSIONS. A UNIVERSAL SURVKY. 
 By William F. Bainbridge. With Maps of Prevailing Religions and all Lead- 
 ing Missions Stations. Boston : D. Lothrop & Co Price $2.00. 
 The readers of the JOURNAL are enjoyably familiar with "Round the World 
 Letters," from the pen of Mrs. Bainbricge, which have recently been published 
 in book form. The same publishers now issue a volume written by the Rev. Mr. 
 Bainbridge, but occupying a different field of research, and embodying more 
 directly the principal purpose of the tour. Mr. and Mrs. Bainbridge with their 
 son and a friend made up the little party that started for a two years' journey 
 around the globe. Their object incidentally was to improve the opportunities for 
 sigb'.-seeing afforded by foreign travel, but primarily to examine the principal 
 mission-fields throughout the world. They travelled at their own expense, and 
 were therefore unfettered by obligation to any special missionary organization. 
 The only help received was in the form of introductory letters from the secretaries 
 of the leading Foreign Missionary Societies of America. They visited over a 
 thousand missionaries, made a close personal examination of the details of their 
 work, the amount of good they were accomplishing, and the scops and bearing of 
 present effort in relation to the prospect of the evangelization of the heathen. 
 They returned freighted with the rich material they had so carefully garnered, 
 and full of hope that the day will sometime dawn when the Christian religion 
 shall prevail throughout the land. 
 
 On the return of the tourists to America, Mr. Bainbridge was urged by the ex- 
 ecutive officers of the missionary societiej of the different branches of the 
 Church to publish a record of his personal impressions concerning the utility and 
 methods of Christian Missions. He accepted ths commission, and the volume 
 now issued under the title of " Around the World Tour of Christian Missions," 
 embodies the result of his labors. The work could not have been placed in 
 better hands. Providence Jynrnal. 
 
 ROUND THE WORLD LETTERS. By Lucy S. Bainbridge. Boston : D. Lothrop 
 
 & Co. Price $1.50. 
 
 The author, who had perseverance and energy enough to travel round the 
 world, happily possesses the facile pen that enables her to paint a vivid picture of 
 her adventures by the way. The letters are so sprightly and vivacious, the scenes 
 are so graphically portrayed, the character-portraits are so vigorously outlined, 
 and the information is so tangible that the reader seems for a Urns to bs trans- 
 ported to foreign shores, to become a member of the pleasant travelling party, 
 and to share in the perplexities and pleasures, the good fortune and evil fortune 
 that blend in the story, and develop stores of information seldom accessible from 
 to reliable a soure*. r
 
 NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 AFTEB THE FRESHET. By Edward A. Rand. Boston: 
 D. Lotlirop & Co. Price $1.25. This is the second volume 
 in the V I F series which was stamped with success by the 
 first issue. It is unnecessary to say of any books of Mr. 
 Rand's that they are bright, interesting and helpful; that 
 may be taken for granted. His stories Lave always 
 been characterized by those qualities and in the one 
 before us they are particularly prominent. There is 
 always a purpose in his books, an influence which remains 
 after the mere incidents of the story are forgotten. He has 
 painted a variety of characters, good and bad, in After 
 the Freshet, all of which have a special mission to per- 
 form. The main character of the story is Arthur Manley, a 
 young man of fine talents and noble character, who has been 
 brought up in a rough farmer's family in ignorance of his 
 parentage. From the fact that he has become a great favor- 
 ite with a wealthy family in town, he has incurred the 
 dislike of an unprincipled lawyer, who has designs upon 
 that family, and who resorts to a series of persecutions in 
 order to get him out of the way. The story of how he 
 evades the plots of his enemy and how he ultimately dis- 
 covers the secret, of his birth and achieves the other and 
 higher ambitions of his life, is vividly and affectingly told. 
 
 TODAYS AXD YESTERDAYS. By Carrie Adelaide Cooke. 
 Boston : D. Lothrop & Co Price $1.25. This pleasant 
 story is from the pen of the author of From June to June, 
 and is intended for the reading of girls who havs reached 
 that age when their real mission in life seems to commence-, 
 the age when school-days are ended, and the sphere of duty 
 i* enlarged by wider acquaintance and new responsibilities. 
 The story opens at a New Hampshire seminary on the eve 
 of examination day. and the principal characters are three 
 girls, school-companions and fellow-graduates. It is not a 
 story of incident, nor does its interest depend upon strong 
 contrasts or vivid descriptions. The narrative is a quid 
 following out of the currents of these three lives, with_ their 
 various changes, their joys and sorrows. A strong religious 
 element permeates the book, and it will be found a valuab* 
 dditicn to Sunday-school literature.
 
 NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 MBS. SOLOMON SMITH LOOKING ON. By Pansy. Boston: 
 D. Lothrop & Co. Price $1.50. The fount of Mrs. Alden's 
 inspiration seems inexhaustible. So long as an evil exists 
 lu family or society which may be remedied, wrongs which 
 may be righted, or abuses that may be done away with, 
 so long until her world's work is done we may count 
 on finding her pen busy in the good work. It would be 
 interesting to know how many hearts had been tightened, 
 how many doubting souls made strong, how much real good 
 done in the world by this same pen. The present story has 
 for its principal character an old country lady of primitive 
 ways, but who is deeply and practically religious, besides 
 being gifted with an unusual share of shrewdness and sound 
 common sense. She is a keen observer, and her comments 
 on people and things are always to the point. She goes to 
 the city from her country home on a short visit, and while 
 &ere attends a Sunday-school convention. Her description* 
 of ifc and of the people who attended it is true to the life, and 
 contains a good many sharp truths. (Subsequent journeys 
 to the homes of different relatives give her opportunities of 
 studying human nature on the road, in public places and in 
 the domestic circle. She always has a word at the right 
 time, and says it in the most effective way ; never angrily, 
 sarcastically or rebukingly, but kindly, and with a tact and 
 directness which always penetrates the joints of the harness 
 and does its work. But the interest of the work does not 
 lie wholly in the sayings and doings of Mrs. Solomon Smith. 
 There are plenty of other characters. Some of them exceed- 
 ingly well-drawn, and the story in which they all play a part, 
 full of incident and happily told.
 
 NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 YOUNG FOLKS' HISTORY OF AMERICA. Edited by Heze- 
 kiah Butterworth. Boston : D. Lbthrop & Co. Price $1.50. 
 Iu form and general appearance this is an exceedingly attract- 
 ive volume. The paper is good, the type clear, and the illus- 
 trations \vitli which its pages are crowded are well chosen 
 And finely engraved. Mr. Butterworth has selected for the 
 basis of his work McKenzie's "History of the United 
 States," which was published in England several years ago. 
 The text has been thoroughly revised, changes made where 
 necessary, fresh matter introduced and new chapters added, 
 the remodelled work being admirably adapted for use in 
 schools or for home reading. It sketches succinctly and yet 
 clearly the gradual development of the country from the 
 time of the landing of Columbus down to the present; 
 brings into relief the principal occurrences and incidents in 
 our national history ; explains the policy of the republic, 
 and gives brief biographies of the statesmen and soldiers 
 who have rendered especial services to the country. The 
 narrative is brought down to the present moment, "and in- 
 cludes an account of the inauguration of Garfield, with 
 sketches of the members of his cabinet. An appendix con- 
 tains a list of the Presidents and Vice Presidents of the 
 United States, with the dates of their qualifications; statis- 
 tics showing the population and area of the states and terri- 
 tories, a list of the cities and towns of the United States hav- 
 ing a population of ten thousand and upwards, according to 
 the census of 1880, and a chronological table of events. 
 There is, besides, an exhaustive index. The work should 
 find a place in every home library. 
 
 WARLOCK o' GLENWARLOCK. By George MacDonald. 
 Illustrated. Boston: D. Loth rop & Co. Price $1.50. This 
 charming story, by one of the foremost English writers of 
 the time, which has appeared in the form of monthly sup- 
 plements to WIDE AWAKE, will be brought out early this 
 fall in complete book form uniform in style with A Sea 
 Board Parish, and Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood. It is 
 a picture of Scotch life and character, such as none but Mi*. 
 MacDonald can paint; full of life and movement, enlivened 
 with bursts of humor, shaded by touches of pathos, and 
 showing keen powers of analysis in working out the charac- 
 ters of the principal actors in the story. The book was set 
 from the author's own manuscript, and appears here siinuA 
 taneously with the English edition.
 
 D LOTHROP & CO:S NEW BOOKS. 
 
 D. LOTHROP & Co. present a remarkably attractive 
 IJst of new publications possessing genuine value from 
 every point of view, as will be evident from the follow- 
 ing notes. The literature offered, which includes his- 
 tory, biography, general literature, romance, poetry, 
 and various scientific works, presents a sufficiently 
 wide range to meet the needs of all classes of readers. 
 
 A Family Flight Around Home, and a Family 
 Flight Through Mexico are the two latest volumes of the 
 Family Flight Series, by Edward Everett and Susan Hale, and 
 deal largely with the picturesque side of history, as well as of life 
 and scenery in the countries treated. Illustrated, extra cloth, $2.50. 
 
 Art for Young Folks. Contains a description of an 
 art school for children in New York; biographies and portraits 
 of twenty-four of the leading American artists, with engravings of 
 paintings, studios, etc., etc. Quarto, boards, $2.00; cloth 
 gilt, fo.oc 
 
 Boys and Girls' Annual, 1885. Contains original 
 stories expressly prepared by the best of living authors who are 
 favorites with the young folks. Extra cloth, gilt, $3.00. 
 
 Our Little Men and Women. Contains a miscellany 
 more charming than ever. Dainty short stories with seventy-five 
 full-page attractive illustrations, and countless smaller ones. It is 
 especially suited for use in homes and schools, having a variety 
 of articles on plant-life, natural history, and like subjects, written 
 most attractively to please the little ones. Among serial articles 
 of permanent value are " Kings and Queens at Home," " Stories 
 of Favorite Authors," " Nests and Nest Builders," and Margaret 
 Sidney's " Polly." Quarto, illuminated cover, $1.50: cloth, $1.00. 
 
 'We Young Folks. All young people will be attracted by 
 this book with its stories of hunting and fishing, of life in the 
 "good old times," of famous men and women, etc. Lithograph 
 covers, $1.50. 
 
 The Children of Westminster Abbey. By Rose 
 
 O. Kingsley, daughter of Canon Kingsley. Reading Union Li- 
 brary. Profusely illustrated from photographs and old prints, i6mo, 
 cloth, $1.00. A graphic descriptive narrative of all that relates to 
 the old Abbey, with stories of secret statecraft, gorgeous pageants 
 of weddings, christenings and coronations, and a fine description 
 of the old Abbey itself.
 
 >. LOTHROP dr> CO:S NEW BOOKS. 
 
 Wonder Stories Of Science. Popular studies in ele- 
 mentary science, by various authors, very fully illustrated. i6mo, 
 doth, $1.50. 
 
 Pine Cones. By Willis Boyd Allen. i2mo, cloth, illus- 
 trated, $1.00. A story of adventure for girls and boys by an author 
 who possesses the secret of success as a writer for the young. 
 
 What's Mine's Mine. By Geo. MacDonald, author of 
 "Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood." i2mo, cloth, illustrated, 
 $1.50. Published from the original manuscript in advance of it* 
 appearance in England. A fascinating fairy tale. 
 
 Echoes Of Many Voices. A collection of short say- 
 ings from various sources, compiled by Elizabeth A. Thurston. 
 Spare Minute Series. i2mo, extra cloth, $1.00. As a compendium 
 of wit and wisdom, sense and sentiment, in their most terse and 
 attractive expressions, this volume is unrivalled. 
 
 Tom Tits and Other Bits. With other verses, by 
 Amelia M. Starkweather. Quarto, extra cloth, finely illustrated, 
 $1.00. Pleasant stories and sketches in verse, with illustrative 
 pictures of unusual merit. 
 
 Life of General U. S. Grant by E. E. Brown. i2mo. 
 
 1.50. Containing a sketch of his political services, with portrait 
 and illustrations. Has been long in preparation and is the care- 
 ful and successful work of a popular writer. 
 
 Up Hill and Down Dale. By Laura D Nichols. One 
 of the valuable and fascinating natural history volumes, or " nature- 
 books," similar to "Overhead" and "Underfoot," which have 
 proven so popular in home circles and reading unions. i2mo, cloth, 
 $1.75. Boards, 1.25. 
 
 Many Colored Threads. Selections from the writings 
 of Goethe, edited by Carrie Adelaide Cook. Those familiar with 
 the writings of the great German author, and those who know lit- 
 tle of them, will be alike interested in this collection of " best 
 thoughts." Eloquence, pathos, romance, philosophy a wide 
 range of sentiment and feeling, characteristic of the life of Goethe 
 are revealed in these selections. The book is a worthy com- 
 panion to the six preceding volumes of the widely-circulated 
 " Spare Minute Series " " Thoughts that Breathe," Dean Stan- 
 ley; "Cheerful Words" George MacDonald; "The Might of 
 Right," Gladstone; "True Manliness," Thos. Hughes; " Living 
 Truths," Charles Kingsley ; " Right to the Point," Doctor Cuyler. 
 Extra cloth, gi.oo.
 
 D. LOTHROP 6" CO.'S NEW BOOKS. 
 
 Wide Awake S. (Popular edition). Contains tales, biog. 
 raphy, history, and poetry, with an intermingling of lighter matter, 
 profusely iilustratea, and especially adapted to the taste of intelli- 
 gent and inquiring young folks. Handsome lithograph cover, $1.50. 
 
 Little Folks' Art Book. Such artists as Bodnsh, 
 Sweeney, Barnes, and Francis, have furnished outline drawings 
 calculated to entice the little ones into attempts at copying, and 
 thus lead them to a taste for art. 
 
 The Gray Masque, and Other Poems. By Mary 
 
 Barker Dodge. This little volume of "tender and beautiful 
 poems " as the London Literary World styles them, has passed 
 to second edition, which appears in a rich dress of cardinal, red 
 and gilt. 121110, $1.25. 
 Artists' Gallery Series. Six volumes. First, MillaU t 
 
 second A Ima Tadema, third Rosa Bcnhettr, fourth Bouguereau, 
 fifth Fortuity, sixth Munkacsy. Each of these volumes is a minia- 
 ture gallery devoted to a single modern artist, containing nine superb 
 fac-simile photogravures of the artist's most famous representa- 
 tive paintings, with portraits and biography. Printed on finest 
 plate paper in three tones. Exquisite binding, new style, full gilt, 
 per volume, $1.50, satin, $2.00 
 
 Helps by the Way. Compiled by S. W. W. and M. S. 
 
 H. with an introduction by Rev. Phillips Brooks, D. D., contain? 
 triple quotations for each day in the year. Elegant cloth, i6mo, 
 $1.00, gilt edges, $1.25. 
 
 Boys' Heroes. By Edward Everett Hale. Rsading 
 Union Library. i6mo, illustrated, cloth, $1.00. Twelve chapters 
 containing the story told in Dr. Hale's characteristic style, of a 
 dozen characters famed in history as worthy to bear the title of 
 heroes, and the story of whose deeds and lives possesses a special 
 interest for boys. 
 
 The Temperance Teachings of Science. By 
 
 Prof. A. B. Palmer, M. D. LL. D. A book for home and school 
 use, presenting the strongest arguments in favor of temperance 
 from the standpoint of the highest scientific authority, with an in- 
 troduction by Mrs. Mary A. Livermore. i6mo, cloth, jf.6o. 
 
 But Half a Heart. Seventh volume of the famous V. I. 
 F. Series. By Marie Oliver. i2mo, $1.25. A new volume by a 
 charming writer whose vigor and originality are winning for her 
 high place as a writer of choice romance.
 
 D. LOTHROP & CO.'S NEW BOOKS 
 
 The Pansy, 1885, is distinguished among annuals, ai 
 formerly, by articles which commend it especially to Christian 
 homes. It abounds in delightful stories, interesting descriptions 
 of famous men and places, and the brightest of pictures. Litho- 
 graph covers, $1.25 ; cloth, $1.75; cloth, gilt, $2.00. 
 
 Some Boys and Girls. Edited by Pansy. These are 
 stories of good times the delightful experiences of genuine merry- 
 hearted boys and girls in this and other lands, with much that is 
 entertaining in biography and history. Lithograph covers, $1.25. 
 
 Storyland. A land which all little people will delight to 
 visit. Its stories are illustrated by beautiful pictures and appear 
 in handsome type. Lithograph covers, $1.25. 
 
 Chautauq.ua Young 1 Folks' Annual, 1885 This 
 
 annual has been styled " a young folks' cyclopaedia." The present 
 volume exceeds in richness all of its predecessors, new editions of 
 each of which have been made to meet the demand for them. 
 Lithograph cover, $1.00: cloth, $i 50. 
 Young Folks' Cyclopaedia of Stories of I'a- 
 
 mOUS Authors. Favorite stories by such authors as Mary 
 Hartwell Catherwood, Ella Farman, C. R. Talbot, Julia A. East- 
 man, Mrs. Hallowell, and others. Elegant cloth binding, $3.00. 
 
 Wide Awake Volume T. Contains beside other no- 
 table features Charles Egbert Craddock's brilliant Tennessee story 
 " Down the Ravine," a stirring historical serial, " In Leisler's 
 Time," by Elbridge S. Brooks, and Mrs. Champney's " Bubbling 
 Teapot," with stories, poems and papers by Mrs. A. T. D. Whit- 
 ney, Edwin Arnold, Margaret Sidney, Susan Coolidge, Edward 
 Abbott, Rose Terry Cooke, etc. A frontispiece in eighteen colors, 
 "A Merry Christmas to you," is reproduced by L. Prang & Co. in 
 their choicest style, from drawings by L. H. Lungren. Quarto' 
 400 pages, boards, $1.75; cloth, gilt, $2.25. 
 
 The Golden West, as seen by the Ridgway Club, by 
 Margaret Sidney. The fascinating record of a journey embodying 
 material collected in personal travels by the author, and admirably 
 adapted not only to the instruction of the young, but of older 
 readers. It presents authentic information as to the people, 
 natural scenery and customs of our newer States and Territories. 
 Lithograph cover, $1.75 ; cloth, $2 25. 
 
 Babyland, 1885, is, as usual, "radiant with pictures jf 
 bonny baby life, and its rhymes and jingles ring with sweet glee 
 and laughter.*' Quarto, lithograph cover, 75 cents; cloth, Ji.oo.
 
 RECENT PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 ENGLAND AS SEEN BY AN AMERICAN BANKER. 
 Notes of a Pedestrian Tour. Boston : I). Lothrop 
 & Co. Price 1.50. This charming work is suffi- 
 cient disproof of the popular belief that the only 
 book a banker knows anything about is an account 
 book. It is really one of the best descriptive 
 works of travel we have seen for a long time, and 
 absolutely more satisfying to the reader who 
 wishes for clear impressions of places and people 
 than Richard Grant White's England Without 
 and Within, which is regarded by most Ameri- 
 cans as the standard book on the subject. The 
 author has a way of making readers see what he 
 sees ; he notes the little traits which make those 
 whom he is among different from the people of his 
 own country ; he comments shrewdly and curiously 
 upon these differences and the reasons for them ; 
 he describes charmingly the scenery of the various 
 districts through which he traveled, the towns he 
 visited, the people he saw, and the facts he col- 
 lected. He very decidedly contradicts some state- 
 ments which Englishmen have made about them- 
 selves, and which American readers have accepted 
 as facts. He tells us, for instance, that English 
 boys are not so strong and vigorous looking as 
 American boys, and that the popular opinion to 
 the contrary lias no real foundation. It is written 
 in an off-hand, easy style, which makes it pecu- 
 liarly agreeable to read, and can be set down as 
 really one of the notable books on English travel 
 that we have had for the past half-dozen years.
 
 RECENT PUBLICATIONS, 
 
 TREASURE THOUGHTS. From the writings of 
 Frederic W. Farrar. Selected by Rose Porter. 
 Spare Minute Series. Boston : D. Lothrop & Co. 
 Price $1.00. This excellent compilation of the 
 choice utterances of Canon Farrar comes at a 
 peculiarly happy time. The distinguished preacher 
 has hardly left our shores, and the impression he 
 made upon the public mind, yet fresh, will be 
 deepened and made more enduring by the con- 
 tents of this volume. The compiler truly says 
 that no words of approval are needed in introduc- 
 ing it to the public. The name alone "will prove a 
 potent entrance plea, claiming interest from read- 
 ers all the broad land over, so well are Canon 
 Farrar's writings known and prized. Doubly so 
 since the hour when the heart of this English 
 Archdeacon met the heart of the American people 
 in responsive sympathy, as it did, when in West- 
 minster's ancient Abbey, standing Avithin the 
 shadow of the tombs of England's illustrious dead, 
 he uttered that eloquent eulogy on our nation's 
 hero Grant. A tribute which spanned the wide 
 Atlantic like the warm hand-clasp of a brother." 
 Miss Porter alludes to the fact that there are those 
 who, while they admire the writings of Canon 
 Farrar, gravely fear their tendency when they deal 
 with the orthodox belief touching the future life, 
 their fear being lest he opens heaven's gate too 
 wide and holds it open too long. In fairness to 
 this class and to the preacher himself, she quotes 
 at length his full religious belief from the closing 
 pages of his well-known work Mercy and Judgment. 
 Like all the preceding ones of the Series, it is beau- 
 tifully printed and bound.
 
 RECENT PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 CHAUTAUQUA YOUNG FOL'^S' ANNUAL. Illustia- 
 tecl. Boston: D. Lothrop & Co. Price, illumi- 
 nated hoard covers, $1.00; cloth, $1.50. If there 
 is any book published in America of the same num- 
 ber of pages, which contains more interesting and 
 really valuable information than this handsome 
 volume, we have yet to know of it. The very best 
 writers of magazine literature are represented in 
 it, and every article was especially prepared for 
 the work. There are papers by Edward Everett 
 Hale, Rose G. Kingsley, daughter of the late 
 famous English author, Charles Kingsley ; Mrs. Jes- 
 sie Benton Fremont, Dr. Felix S. Oswald, the dis- 
 tinguished naturalist; Sarah Orne Jewett, Prof. 
 A. B. Palmer, Oscar Fay Adams, Yan Phou Lee, 
 the Young Chinese scholar and lecturer; Mrs. 
 Mary A. Livermore, Amanda B. Harris, and others. 
 Mrs. Fremont paints some vivid pictures of life 
 at the South thirty and forty years ago ; Mr. Hale 
 contributes a number of historical studies called 
 " Boys' Heroes," in which he tells the real stories 
 so far as they are known, of some famous charac- 
 ters of ancient times, Hector, Horatius Codes, 
 Alexander the Great, Hannibal and King Arthur ; 
 Miss Kingsley tells some interesting stories about 
 the "Children of Westminster Abbey;" various 
 authors instruct boys and girls " How to Do 
 Things," and Mr. Adams, in a series of questions 
 and answers, imparts a great deal of general lit- 
 erary information. It is just the book for a par- 
 ent to put into the hands of his children.
 
 D. Lothrop 6 Company's New Books. 
 
 HISTORY OP CHINA. By Robert K. Douglas. 
 Until this book appeared, a thoroughly good one-volume history 
 of the " Walled Kingdom " for popular use, was not to be had. 
 There have been many works upon China and the Chinese, but of 
 these, few have attempted to summarize the history of that great 
 empire and its citizens in a single comprehensive work, and none 
 have ui.c ^> with such SUCGJSS as to meet the popular need. In 
 this volume we have an authentic, scholarly and most interesting 
 summary of Chinese history from the earliest period to the present 
 time. In addition to the careful editing of Mr. Arthur Oilman, 
 the book has had the advantage of the critical abilities of the young 
 Chinese scholar, Mr. Yan Phou Lee of Yale College. The v jlume 
 is richly illustrated with appropriate engravings, and will rank 
 among standard books. i2mo, cloth, illustrated, $1.50. 
 
 ALASKA: ITS SOUTHERN COAST, AND 
 THE SITKAN ARCHIPELAGO. By E. Ruhama Scid- 
 more. No book yet published bears any comparison with this 
 volume in respect of valuable andauthentic information relating to 
 the history, geography, topography, climate, natural scenery, in- 
 habitants, and rich resources of this wonderful terra incognita. 
 The author, who is a writer of well-known reputation, has had 
 exceptional opportunities for the preparation of her attractive work, 
 having visited the regions described, at different periods, under 
 most favorable circumstances, and having had access to the gov- 
 ernment documents relating to the history and surveys of Alaska, 
 aside from the kindly assistance of the experts and scientists best 
 acquainted with that marvellous region. Her book has all of the 
 interest of a delightfully written story of adventures in a compara- 
 tively unknown region, and with the additional value which it pos- 
 sesses as the only approach thus far made to a trustworthy treatise 
 upon the history and resources of Alaska it will commend itself to 
 all persons interested in that country, either as students or voya- 
 geurs. Fully illustrated, 121110, cloth, $1.50. 
 
 PHILOSOPHISE QU2ESTOR, or Days at Concord. 
 By_///Vz R. Anagnos. In this interesting book Mrs. Anagr.os, one 
 of the accomplished daughters of Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, presents 
 under cover of a pleasing narrative, a sketch of the memorable 
 Emerson and other sessions of the Concord School of Philosophy. 
 It has for its frontispiece an excellent picture of the building occu- 
 pied by this renowned school. 12010, 60 cents.
 
 D. Lothrop 6 Company's New Books, 
 
 IN CASE OP ACCIDENT. By Dr. D. A. Sargent. 
 This little handbook is worth its weight in gold, and should be 
 found on the most convenient shelf of every family library. The 
 author is connected with the Harvard College Gymnasium, and the 
 contents of the volume are made up of practical talks delivered 
 before the ladies' class of the Gymnasium. His aim is to give such 
 practical information as will aid to self-preservation in times of 
 danger, and to teach a few of the simplest methods of meeting the 
 common accidents and emergencies of life. The illustrations are 
 numerous and excellent. Illustrated. Price 60 cents. 
 
 THE EVOLUTION OF DODD. By William Hawley 
 Smith. This remarkable book is destined to create as great a stir 
 in its way, as " Ginx's Baby," although written in an entirely dif- 
 ferent style. It treats of phases of young life as seen through tho 
 spectacles of a keen-eyed man, sharp enough to let none of the 
 intricacies of the newer systems of education evade him. It should 
 be read by every parent, teacher, and public school officer in the 
 land. Extra cloth, izmo, $1.00. 
 
 HEALTH AT HOME LIBRARY, or Mental and 
 Physical Hygiene. By J. Mortimer Granville. i. Tlie Secret 
 of a. Clear Head, chapters on temperature, habits, pleasures, etc. 
 
 II. Sleep and Sleeplessness, chapters on the nature of sleep, going 
 to sleep, sleeping, awakening, sleeplessness, sleep and food. 
 
 III. The Secret of a Good Memory, chapters on what memory 
 is, how it works, taking in, storing, remembering, etc. IV. Com- 
 mon Mind Troubles, chapters on defects in memory, confusion of 
 thought, sleeplessness, hesitancy and errors in speech, low spirits, 
 etc. V. How to Make the Best of Life, chapters on what consti- 
 tutes health, on feeling, breathing, drinking, eating, overwork, 
 change, etc. 5 volumes, iomo, cloth, sold separately, each sixty 
 cents, the library $3.00. 
 
 MONEY IN POLITICS. By Hon. J. K. Upton, latt 
 Assistant Secretary of ttie United States Treasury. This volume 
 presents a complete history of money, or the circulating medium 
 in the United States, from the colonial days to the present time. 
 Mr. Edward Atkinson, in his introduction, pronounces it the most 
 valuable work of the kind yet published. To citizens, legislators 
 and business men it affords authentic information of the very first 
 importance. Extra cloth, gilt top. izmo, $1.25.
 
 D, Lothrop &> Company's New Books. 
 
 RED LETTER STORIES. Translated from tJie Ger- 
 man by Lucy Wlieelock. Madame Johanna Spyri is pronounced 
 by competent critics the best living German writer for children. 
 Miss Lucy Wheelock of the Chauncy Hall School, Boston, has 
 gracefully translated some of her most charming tales, under the 
 above title. 1 his delightful volume, prettily bound and illustrated, 
 is one of the best selling books of the season. Price 60 cents. 
 
 WITHIN THE SHADOW. By Dorothy Holroyd. 
 " The most successful book of the year." " The plot is ingenious, 
 yet not improbable, the character drawing strong and vigorous, 
 the story throughout one of brilliancy and power." " The book 
 cannot help making a sensation." Boston Transcript. "The 
 author is an original and vigorous writer and at once takes rank 
 with the best writers of American fiction." Toledo Journal. 
 " A ctory of such brilliancy and power as to at once entitle its au- 
 thor to recognition as a writer of high ability." Journal Press, 
 St. Cloud. " The author has skill in invention with the purest 
 sentiment and good natural style."' Boston Globe. 
 
 HOW SUCCESS IS WON. (Little Biographies. 
 Third Scries.) By Sarah K, Bolton. This is the best of the recent 
 books of this popular class of biography; all its " successful men " 
 are Americans, and with two or three exceptions they are living 
 and in the full tide of business and ]x>wer. In each case, the facts 
 have been furnished to the author by the subject of the biography, 
 or by family friends ; and Mrs. Bolton has chosen from this authen- 
 tic material those incidents which most fully illustrate the successive 
 steps, and the ruling principles, by which success has been gained. 
 A portrait accompanies each biography. Price $i.co. 
 
 THE ARNOLD BIRTHDAY BOOK. Edited by kit 
 Daughters, With an autograph introductory poem by Edwin 
 Arnold, and choice quotations from his poems for everyday. The 
 many admirers of the " Light of Asia " will gladly welcome this 
 graceful souvenir of the author, which is handsomely illustrated and 
 daintily finished. $1.25. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE REVOLUTION. (A 
 Double Masquerade.) By Rev. Charles R. Tattat. With illus- 
 trations by Share, Merrill and Taylor made from careful studies. 
 The portion describing the Battle of Bunker Hill, as seen by the 
 boys, has been said to be one of the most graphic and telling ac- 
 counts ever written of .that famous conflict Extra doth, $1.25.
 
 D. Lothrop &-' Company's New Books. 
 
 STORIES FROM THE PANS Y. A library of delight- 
 ful short stories in which instruction is pleasingly blended with 
 entertainment. These stories, culled from the writings of well- 
 known authors, will command the favor of parents seeking the best 
 books for their children, and of those who desire the most accept- 
 able books for Sunday-school libraries. Second series, fully illus- 
 trated, six volumes in a neat box, the set $1.80. 
 
 IN THE WOODS AND OUT. By Pansy. Here is a 
 book admirably suited to the needs of that large class of young 
 folks who wish at times to read, or have read to them, the choicest 
 of short tales. Mothers and older sisters will make a note of this, 
 and for the twilight hour when the young folks clamor for " a 
 story," will provide themselves with " In the Woods and Out." 
 Illustrated, izmo, cloth, $1.00. 
 
 COULDN'T BE BOUGHT. A book far Hie Sunday- 
 school library. By Faye HuiUington. For genuine excellence 
 in both manner and sentiment, few writers of books for the young 
 excel the author of this excellent character study. It is a book 
 which will be equally interesting and profitable. i6mo, cloth, illus- 
 trated, 75 cents. 
 
 INTERRUPTED. By Pansy (Mrs. G. R. A Iden). It has 
 all the charm of this most popular author's fascinating style, grown 
 riper each year, and possessing more of the peculiar power by 
 which she adapts herself to lier varied audience. More than a 
 hundred thousand of Pansy's books are sold every year. Extra 
 doth, 121110, $1.50. 
 
 LIFT UP YOUR HEARTS. Compiled and arranged 
 by Rose Porter. Helpful thoughts for overcoming the world. A 
 vest pocket volume, in dainty flexible covers, printed in sepia. 
 Bound in red doth. 2 5 cents. 
 
 BACCALAUREATE SERMONS. By Rev. A. P. 
 Peabody, D.D., LL. D. The sermons contained in this volume, 
 delivered before the graduating classes of Harvard University, it 
 is safe to say are not excelled by any productions of their kind. 
 They are not only rarely appropriate, as discourses addressed to 
 educated young men upon the threshold of active life, but are 
 models of logical thought, and graceful rhetoric worthy the study 
 of all ministers. I2mo, $1.25.
 
 BOOKS BY POPULAR AUTHORS 
 
 Ella Farman, a graceful writer as well as the accomplished and success- 
 ful editor of WIDE AWAKE ; Julia A. Eastman, whose school life stories 
 are full of sparkling expression and incisive knowledge of human nature ; 
 Rev. J. L. Pratt, who writes with rare appreciation of the needs of 
 young people who are beginning to examine for themselves into religious 
 beliefs and opinions; Mrs. A. E. Porter, whose stories are well calculated 
 to make truthfulness, steadfastness and right living the subjects of youth- 
 ful admiration ; the author of Andy Luttrell, whosa books, dealing with 
 knotty problems, and positive in religious teachings, are perennial favor- 
 ites; Mrs. E. D. Kendajl, whose writings, excellent for boys, are marked 
 by an earnestness of purpose well calculated to impress life lessons; 
 Mary J. Capron, whose healthful and stimulating stories point lo right 
 ideas on the fundamental truths of Christian religion ; Rev. Z. A. 
 Mudge, a favorite Sunday-school writer; these are among the popular 
 authors whose works can be unhesitatingly accepted as worthy of admit- 
 tance to Sunday-school or family libraries. 
 
 ELLA FARMAN'S BOOKS. 
 9 vols., i2>fio, ilhist., $10.00. 
 
 Annie Maylie. Grandma Crosby's Household. 
 
 A Little Woman. Good-for-Nothing Polly. 
 
 A Girl's Money. How Two Girls Tried Farming. 
 
 A White Hand. Cooking Club of Tu-Whit Hollow 
 
 Mrs. Kurd's Niece. 
 
 JULIA A. EASTMAN'S BOOKS. 
 
 6 vols*, izmo, ilhist, $7.50. 
 
 Kitty Kent. Romneys of Ridgemont (The). 
 
 Young Rick. Schooldays of Beulah Romney. 
 
 Striking for the Right. Short Comings and Long Goings. 
 
 REV. J. L. PRATT'S BOOKS. 
 
 4 vols., i2tno, illust., $6.00. 
 
 Evening Rest. Branches of Palm. Bonnie JErie. Broken Fetter* 
 MRS. A. E. PORTER'S BOOKS. 
 
 5 vols., i2Mo, illust., $6.25. 
 
 This One Thing I do. Sunset Mountain. 
 
 Millie Lee. My Hero. Glencoe Parsonage. 
 
 BY AUTHOR OF ANDY LUTTRELL. 
 
 6 vols., 12010, illust., $7.50. 
 
 Andy Luttrell. Strawberry Hill. Barbara. 
 
 Silent Tom. Talbury Girls. Hidden Treasure. 
 
 MRS. E. D. KENDALL'S BOOKS. 
 
 3 vols., i2t>io, illust., $3.75. 
 Judge's Sons. Master and Pupil. 
 
 The Stamfords of Staniford's Folly. 
 
 MARY J. CAPRON'S BOOKS. 
 
 4 vols., izmo., illust., $5.00. 
 
 Plus and Minus. Maybee's Stepping Stones. 
 
 Gold and Gilt. Mrs. Thome's Guests. 
 
 REV. Z. A. MUDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 3 vols., i2to, Must., $3.75. 
 Shell Cove. Luck of Alden Farm. Boat Builders. 
 
 W. H. G. KINGSTON'S BOOKS. 
 
 8 vols., i2tno, illust., $8.00. 
 
 Voyage of the Steadfast. Young Whaler. Charley Laurel. 
 Fisher Boy. Virginia. Peter the Ship Boy 
 
 Little Ben Hadden. Ralph and Dick.
 
 MARIE OLIVER'S STORIES. 
 
 3 vols, I2mo cloth, illustrated, $1.50 each; the set $4.50. 
 
 RUBY HAMILTON. OLD AND NEW FRIENDS. 
 
 SEBA'S DISCIPLINE. 
 
 Extracts from comments of well-known journals. 
 RUBY HAMILTON. 
 
 This is a very excellent Sunday-school book, which can be 
 honestly commended for youthful readers. TheWatchman. 
 
 It is a well-told story, conveys a pure, healthful lesson, and 
 is one of the best books of its class. Philadelphia Enquirer. 
 
 This is one of the best Sunday-school books in Lothrop's 
 long and admirable list. The story is a sweet one, and 
 charmingly told. Church Mirror. 
 
 The spirit throughout is healthy and devout. . . . Al- 
 together it is a charming and instructive book. The Church- 
 man. 
 
 OLD AND NEW FRIENDS. 
 
 A very excellent specimen of the class of fiction designed 
 for young folk who have ceased to be children without 
 having become mature men and women. N. Y. Evening 
 Post. 
 
 Many readers will remember " Ruby Hamilton," a volume 
 which created quite a sensation at the time of its publication. 
 . This volume, a continuation of this story, ought to 
 become as popular as its predecessor. Christian Alirror. 
 
 Contains some charming pictures of home-life. . . . 
 Cannot but help and strengthen the boy whose impulses 
 are for good. Herald and Presbyter. 
 
 Like all that comes from this author's pen, this volume 
 has merits of both substance and style. Western Christian 
 Advocate. 
 
 Adds another to the list of really goo j story books. 
 Cincinnati Journal and Messenger. 
 
 SEBA'S DISCIPLINE. 
 
 A good book to teach the uses of trouble in building up char- 
 acter. Western Recorder. 
 
 Has a varied and absorbing interest from its beginning to its 
 close. . . . Sometimes saa and wonderfully pathetic ; some- 
 times bright and cheerful, it is impressive always. In every 
 respect it is the best religious story we have seen for many a 
 day, and one . . . that can scarcely fail to benefit any 
 reader whom God leads along rough paths. The Interior. 
 
 Should be in every Sunday-school library. The Standard
 
 MARGARET SIDNEY'S BOOKS. 
 
 Margaret Sidney may be safely set down as one of the best writers of 
 juvenile literature in the country. Boston Transcript. 
 
 Margaret Sidney's books are happily described as " strong and pure 
 from cover to cover, . . bright and piquan as the mountain breezes, or 
 a dash on pony back of a June morning." 'I he same writer speaks of her 
 as " An American authoress who will hold her own in the competitive 
 ood work executed by the many bright writing women of to-day." 
 
 There are few better story writers than Margaret Sidney. Herald 
 *nd Presbyter. 
 
 Comments of the Secular and Religious Press. 
 
 FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND HOW THEY GREW. 
 
 A charming work. . . The home scenes in which these little Pep- 
 pers are engaged are capitally described. . . Will find prominent place 
 among the higher class of juvenile presentation books. Religious Herald. 
 
 One of the best told tales given to the children for some time. . . 
 The perfect reproduction of child-life in its minutest phases, catches one's 
 attention at once. Christian A dvocate. 
 
 A good book to place in the hands of every boy or girl. Chicago 
 Inter-Ocean. 
 
 SO AS BY FIRE. 
 
 Will be hailed with eager delight, and found well worth reading. 
 Christian Observer. 
 
 An admirable Sunday-school book Arkansas Evangel. 
 
 We have followed with intense interest the story of David Folson. . 
 
 . A man poor, friendless, and addicted to drink; . . the influence 
 of little Cricket ; . . the faithful care of aunt Phebe ; all steps by 
 which he climbed to higher manhood. Woman at Work. 
 THE PETTIBONE NAME. 
 
 It is one of the finest pieces of American fiction that has been pub- 
 lished for some time. Newsdealers' 1 Bulletin, New York. 
 
 It ought to attract wide attention from the simplicity of its style, and 
 the vigor and originality of its treatment. Chicago Herald. 
 
 This is a capital story illustrating New England life. Inter-Ocean, 
 Chicago. 
 
 The characters of the story seem all to be studies from life. Boston 
 Post. 
 
 It is a New England tale, and its characters are true to the original 
 type, and show careful study and no little skill in portraiture. Christian 
 at Work, New York. 
 
 To be commended to readers for excellent delineations, sparkling style, 
 bright incident and genuine interest The Watchman. 
 
 A capital story ; bright with excellent sketches of character. Conveys 
 good moral and spiritual lessons. . . In short, the book is in every 
 way well done. - Illustrated Christian Weekly. 
 HALF YEAR AT BRONCKTON. 
 
 A live boy writes : " This is about the best book that ever was written 
 or ever can be." 
 
 " This bright and earnest story ought to go into the hands of every bo] 
 who is old enough to be subjected to the temptations of school life."
 
 The Yensie Walton Books. 
 
 These books, from the pen of Mrs. S. R. Graham CUrk, are possessed 
 of such conspicuous merits, as to secure for them the unqualified com- 
 mendation of eminent religious journals such as the Central Christian 
 Adtiocate, The Journal and Messenger, 7 ho Neio Orleans Christian 
 Advocate, The Lutheran Observer, Christian at Work. The Dover 
 Morning Star, The Gospel Banner, Philadelphia Methodist, Herald 
 and Presbyter. 
 
 YENSIE WALTON. OUR STREET. 
 
 YENSIE WALTON'S WOMAMHOOD. 
 THE TRIPLE E. ACHOR. 
 
 i2mo, cloth, illustrated, uniform binding, $1.50 each. 
 YENSIE WALTON. 
 
 " Yensie Walton," by Mrs. S. R. Graham Clark. Boston : D. Loth, 
 rop & Co. Full of striking incident and scenes of great pathos, with 
 occasional gleams of humor and fun by way of relief to the more tragic 
 parts of the narrative. The characters are strongly drawn, and, in gen- 
 eral, are thoroughly human, not gifted with impossible perfections, but 
 having those infirmities of the flesh which make us all akin. It will take 
 rank among the best and most popular Sunday-school books. Episcopal 
 Register. 
 
 A pure sweet story of girl life, quiet, and yet of sufficient interest to hold 
 thfe attention of the most careless reader. Ziou's Advocate. 
 YENSIE WALTON'S WOMANHOOD. 
 
 The many readers who have made the acquaintance of " Yensie Wai- 
 ton" in one of the best Sunday-school books ever published, will be de- 
 lighted to renew that acquaintance, and to keep their former companion 
 still further company through life. There is a strong religious tone to the 
 whole story, and its teachings of morality and religion are pure and 
 healthful and full of sweetness and beauty. The story is a worthy suc- 
 cessor to Mrs. Clark's previous work. Boston Post. 
 
 The heroine is an excellent character for imitation, and the entire atmos. 
 phere of the book is healthful and purifying. Pittsburg Cliristian Advo- 
 cate. 
 OUR STREET, 
 
 By the same author, is a capital story of every day life which deals with 
 genuine character in a most interesting manner. 
 
 THE TRIPLE E, 
 
 Just published, is a book whose provoking title will be st once acknowl- 
 edged by the reader as an appropriate one. It fully sustains the author'* 
 reputation. 
 AC~HOR, a new book .
 
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