A Book for the Young

Fred. Grayson.

LORD BYRON.

SELF–RELIANCE.

"Well, my dear Miss Willoughby, how is your mother this morning," said a venerable looking clergyman as he pressed the hand of a fair young girl, apparently, not more than eighteen. Her face was pale with watching, and her eyes were red with weeping, and though she seemed in deep distress, there was a subdued and resigned manner about her, as she replied:

"Not any better, sir, I fear; she has had a very bad night, her cough has been so very troublesome." Saying this, she opened a door which led to an inner apartment, into which Mr. Montgomery entered, and approached the bed, followed by the afflicted daughter, who now tried to assume a composure of manner, very foreign to her feelings, as faintly smiling, she exclaimed, "Here, dear mamma, is our kind friend again." The poor sufferer looked anxiously at him. Her attenuated frame and sharpened features told the sad tale, that consumption had done its work, and the hand of death was upon her.

"Well, my dear madam," said the good pastor, "I will not ask if you are better; I will only hope the same spirit of resignation to the Divine Will fills your mind as when I left you, yesterday. Remember in whom you trust, and for whom. There are never–failing promises recorded there," pointing to a Bible that lay on the bed, "and thrice happy are they who can rely on them in affliction's hour. I have read them to you, and your own eye, you tell me, has often rested on them; you have only, therefore, to 'commit your way unto the Lord, and he shall bring it to pass.'"

"Oh, yes," replied the suffering woman, in a feeble tone, "I know it all; I know He is able and willing to take care of my hapless children. I can and do trust them to Him; feeling sure He will more than supply the place of the only parent left them; but, oh, my dear sir, convinced, as I am, of all this, it is, nevertheless, hard to leave them; may He forgive my weakness; but human nature is such, that—" here she paused from exhaustion.

"It is, my dear madam, meant that we should do so; and trial would lose the object for which it is sent, did we not feel its bitterness; but you must try, and rejoice that you are allowed to manifest both faith and hope, under so severe and trying a dispensation. Let me entreat you to remember the many instances recorded in scripture, where answer has been given from on high to the prayers of those who can faithfully cling to them." But while the worthy man strove to lead the sufferer beyond this sublunary sphere, his heart bled for the poor children she was leaving. The first blow she received, was the sudden news of her husband's death in the Crimea, which came to her ears so abruptly, that her nerves received a shock, from which she did not rally for months. This was followed by a letter, informing her that some property which had been left to her a few months previous to Captain Willoughby's departure, had been claimed by a distant branch of the family, as heir at law, the testamentary document being found invalid. These circumstances, joined to delicate health, following each other so quickly, proved too much for feeble nature, and she sunk under them.

Her excellent daughter, whose fragile form seemed little calculated to breast the storms of adversity that now threatened her, was unwearied in attention to her dying parent. She saw there were heavy trials before her, and knew they could not be averted, though she could not tell how she was to meet them; but there was a trusting feeling in her young heart, that must ever be inseparable from a trust in God's over–ruling providence; and as she sat through the long nights, watching by her mother's bed, a thousand vague shadows of the future flitted before her, and many schemes offered themselves to her mind; she tried to drive them off, for it seemed to her sinful. She durst not think, but she could pray ; and she did so; and oh! the eloquence of that simple trusting prayer, that her God would protect and bless her and the two young beings, whose sole dependance she was soon to be. How widely changed was her position in a few short months! The petted, and almost idolized child of doting parents, whose every wish had been anticipated, must now soon exert herself to support her orphan brother and sister.

Mrs. Willoughby, as is often the case with those suffering from pulmonary affection, went off very suddenly; and now was every threatened evil likely to burst on poor Helen's devoted head; but though weak in the flesh, she was strong in faith. Relying, as she had been early led to do, on her God, she seemed to rise with fresh energy under accumulated trials. She soothed and kissed the weeping children by turns, but their grief was so violent, they refused to be comforted.

The night her mother was consigned to the grave, was indeed a trying one to Helen. The good clergyman, who had gone back to the house after the funeral, now knelt in prayer with the bereaved ones, and commending them to the care of their Heavenly Father, took leave, promising to be with them early next day.

"Farewell, my child," said he, to Helen, "fear not for the future, for it is a merciful and loving God who lays his rod upon you; and though the clouds of darkness loom heavily around you, with Him nothing is impossible; and He could, in one moment, disperse them, if it were better for you. May you be purified by the affliction He sends. Good night, once more, and remember that not a sparrow falls to the ground unheeded by Him who made it."

How was it that this feeble child of affliction, went to bed that night in some degree composed? For every earthly hope seemed blighted. Her parents, one by one were re–called; her little patrimony taken away; and she and the little ones left almost friendless. Was it to make her the better feel where she could and must place her sole dependance? Doubtless it was. Oh! ye happy sons and daughters of prosperity, do you read this description, which many an afflicted one is now realizing, with apathy? Do ye regard it as an over–wrought scene of trial? Believe me it is no such thing. While you are surrounded by every earthly comfort, I will say by every earthly luxury; lolling, perhaps, on your sofas, or in your easy chairs, your cup filled to overflowing with every blessing, hundreds of your fellow creatures, young as you, are suffering privations, you hardly like to think of, but which they, alas! have to bear.

Helen rose early, refreshed by a long sleep, brought on by many nights of broken rest. She kissed the tears off her sleeping brother and sister's cheeks, and having recommended herself and them to God, proceeded to commence the arduous duties that now devolved on her. When Mr. Montgomery came, he found her doing that which he was about to suggest, viz., preparing for an immediate sale of the furniture, by taking an inventory, while the faithful servant was busily employed cleaning the house, for which a tenant was luckily found. The two young ones were doing their best to aid their sister. Mr. Montgomery wished them sent to the vicarage, but Helen would not hear of it till the day of, or after the sale. Well has it been said, that God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb; and so did she find it; for on applying, through Mr. Montgomery, to a neighbouring auctioneer, he, gratuitously, attended, and did all in his power to dispose of the things to advantage. Mr. Willoughby had taken the house on coming into possession of the property and furnished it throughout, so that being in good order, most of the furniture fetched a fair price. The day after Mrs. Willoughby died Mr. Montgomery had written to a sister of his, who lived twenty miles off, to enquire for a small house, should there be such in her neighbourhood. She sent word there was a cottage in the suburbs, which she thought would just suit, and, therefore, had taken it for one year certain, it being a very moderate rent. Although greater part of the things sold, had obtained a fair price, there were several useful articles that would have gone for little, and but for the good clergyman, have been completely sacrificed, these he bought in; among them was a large carpet and the piano; he thought they might, if the money were needed, be privately and more advantageously disposed of. The funeral expenses were, comparatively, small; for although Helen desired to pay every respect to her mother's memory, Mr. Montgomery convinced her it was an imperative duty on her, to avoid unnecessary expenditure, as she knew not what calls might yet be made on her resources. It next became a consideration how the things reserved from the sale, could be got, with the least expense, to their new place of residence; but Nancy who was present said there was a distant relative of hers, a farmer, who volunteered to take them in his large waggon, which he said, by starting at midnight, could be accomplished in one day, and as it was anything but a busy time, he could do it with little loss; added to which, he expressed himself right glad to be able to serve a young lady, who, with her mother, had been so uncommonly kind to his only parent, during a long illness. When did a good action ever lose its reward? Helen thankfully accepted Mr. Montgomery's kind offer of taking the young ones to stay with him till she was settled in their new abode, but Henry would not hear of it; he insisted on remaining with his sister and doing all he could to help her. So that not liking to leave Fanny alone, it was agreed they both should accompany her. She was not sorry for this, as she thought the bustle and novelty would divert their minds from their sorrow; for herself, so much was required of her, both to think and to do, that she had no time to dwell on the desolation of her position.

I must not here forget to state, that, though only eighteen, Helen had experienced other troubles than those which now bowed her down; and they were such as the youthful mind ever feels most keenly. She had, with the sanction of her parents, been engaged to Edward Cranston; he was himself considered unexceptionable, and the match was thought a very eligible one; he was five years Helen's senior, and had just entered the practice of the law, with every prospect of being called to the bar. He was first attracted by her beauty and afterwards won by her amiable and pleasing manner. Idolized by his own family, where she first met him, and unremitting in his attention to herself, she soon felt attached, and, confidingly, plighted her troth, and all seemed the couleur de rose. His stay was some time prolonged, but he had, at length, to leave; it was a hard struggle to him to part from her; and he did not do so without many promises of fidelity. To see him leave her, was the first trial she knew. The pang was severe; but his devotion was such, that she doubted not his faith, and most indignantly would she have repudiated the idea that his love for her could lessen; but his disposition was naturally volatile, and once away from her, and within the blandishments of other beauty, he could not resist its power. He became enslaved by the fascinations of another, and poor Helen was almost forgotten. Painfully did the conviction force itself upon her, as his letters became first, less frequent, and then less affectionate. Love is generally quicksighted; but Helen's own heart was so pure, and so devoted, that it was hard to believe she was no longer beloved. Hers was, indeed, a delicate position. She noticed the alteration in Edward Cranston's style of writing, and fancied it proceeded from any cause but diminution of regard for her; that, she thought, could not be possible; but soon, alas! did she learn, the (to her) sad truth, that her affianced lover was devoted to another, a most beautiful girl, residing in the same town, and it was said, they were engaged, and too true were the reports, which the following letter confirmed.

"My Dear Helen,

"Edward."

What a blow was this to her warm and sanguine heart! What a return to love, so trustingly bestowed! She uttered not one reproach in her reply, but merely released him from every promise, and wished him every happiness.

She had, from the tenor of all his late letters, had a presentiment of coming evil; but she could hardly, till that cruel one, just given to the reader, realize its full extent; but the young do, and must feel keenly in these matters,—females in particular,—and, if right–minded, their all is embarked, and, if founded on esteem, the affections are not given by halves; and I firmly believe the author, who says, "Man is the creature of ambition and interest; his nature leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. Love is but the embellishment of his early life, or a song, piped between the intervals, But a woman's whole life is a history of her affections; the heart is her world ; it is there, her ambition strives for empire; it is there, her avarice seeks for treasures. She sends forth her sympathies on adventures, and embarks her all in the traffic of affection, and, if shipwrecked, unless she be strongly supported by religious principles, it is a complete bankruptcy of her happiness."

But let the young remember, there is often in these disappointments, so hard to meet, the most wholesome and salutary chastenings. How very many happy wives can look back with thankfulness and gratitude, to the all directing hand of providence, that, by a blasting of their seemingly fair prospects, they are directed to happier fate, than their own inexperience would lead them. How often does their Heavenly Father manifest his care, by leading them from the shoals and rocks of misery, which are oft times hidden, not only from themselves, but even from the anxious eye of parental vigilance.

When Helen had paid the funeral expenses and some trifling debts, she found she had but a small sum left. It was now her all for the present support of three individuals; and for the future? poor girl! did she think of that? it did indeed cross her mind; but she suppressed the murmuring sigh that arose; and her beloved mother's precepts were remembered, and her injunctions, that in every trial, she would cling to her God for help. And truly, and wonderfully was this lone girl supported; and almost superhuman were the efforts she was enabled to make. Fortunately, much manual labour was saved by the faithful servant, Nancy, whom no entreaties could force to quit. She insisted on accompanying the children of her beloved mistress to their new home. She, therefore, went with the waggon, and the next day, Mr. Montgomery drove the three young ones to their destination. They were to spend the first night with Mrs. Cameron, whom Helen found the counterpart of her worthy brother. Less refined in manner, it is true, and with few advantages of education, but she had much common sense, and a most benevolent disposition, and was able to judge most sensibly of things passing around her. Greatly prepossessed by all she had heard of Helen, she received her with the warmth of an old friend. Little Henry soon became an especial favourite; he was delighted with the change, and the natural buoyancy of his disposition, soon led him to forget past sorrows; the farm yard, the garden, the promised fishing from the neighbouring trout stream, were all novelties that enchanted him. Nancy was up early, and with the aid of Mrs. Cameron's servant, had got nearly everything into the different rooms, ere that lady and Helen could get there. The cottage was very small, but nature had done much for the situation, which was indeed beautiful. There was a small bed room off Helen's that was exactly the thing for Henry, and a back one, which Nancy took for granted would be hers, and had, accordingly, put all her things in it.

Everything was soon nicely arranged, and but little had to be bought. Mrs. Cameron sent a great many things from her house that, she said, were superfluous, causing much extra trouble to keep in order. This, Helen knew, was only intended to lessen the sense of obligation. Naturally active in her habits, she soon made the little place comfortable, and while she thought how different it was, to what she had been used to, she also remembered how much better it was, far better than she could expect under existing circumstances.

Her next consideration was the possibility of getting something to do for their support before their little money was expended. She consulted with Mrs. Cameron, as to the probability of obtaining needlework, at which she was very expert; though she feared the confinement might injure her health, of which, it behoved, her to take especial care, for the sake of little Fanny and Henry. However, if any could be obtained, at once, she resolved to take it, till she could fix on something else; and early the next day Mrs. Cameron called to say, Mrs. Sherman, the Doctor's wife, would have some ready, if Miss Willoughby would call at three in the afternoon. Helen's pride rose, and her heart beat high; was she to go for it herself? She, for the moment, revolted at the idea; but principle soon came to her aid, and she accused herself of want of moral courage.

"What!" said she to Mrs. Cameron, "has it pleased God to place me in a position, at which I dare to murmur? oh, my dear friend, what would my beloved mother say, could she witness my foolish struggle between principle and pride. Were it not for my good, should I be called on to do it?"

"No, my dear girl; and that Being who sees principle triumph, will reward it. Go then, my child; you see and feel what you ought to do, therefore, act up to it. It is only when the right path is rugged, there is any merit in walking in it."

"You are right, my excellent friend; may God direct this rebellious heart of mine. Oh, how unlike am I to that dear departed one, who,——" here she burst into tears. Mrs. Cameron now rose to go, and Helen promised to call after she had been to Mrs. Sherman's.

In the afternoon, she dressed herself to go for the work. Her deep mourning added, if possible, to her lady–like appearance. When in health, she was extremely lovely; but it was a beauty, one can hardly describe, since it arose not from regularity of feature. Suffice it to say, she found Mrs. Sherman alone, who received her, not only kindly, but with a degree of feeling and respect, that is rarely accorded those, whom adversity has depressed. She apologized for not having sent the work, and said, that indisposition, alone, induced her to trouble Helen to call for the directions as to making the shirts, about which the doctor was very particular. While pointing out how they were to be done, a little girl, about eleven, burst into the room, and threw herself on the sofa. On her mother desiring her to leave, she cried out in a wayward tone, "No, I shan't, I want to stay here, because I like it, and I will, too; papa would let me if he was at home, and if you turn me out, I'll tell him, so I will."

"Susan, my child, you must, indeed you must leave me, I want to speak to Miss Willoughby alone."

"Oh, yes, I know you do; you don't want me to hear you tell her how to make papa's shirts."

"Fie! my dear, how can you act thus perversely," said Mrs. Sherman, as she forcibly led her to the door, which had no sooner closed on the petulant child, than she apologized, with much feeling, and seemed greatly mortified at this contre temps of her little girl. "In fact, my dear Miss Willoughby," she said, "she is, with several others, running almost wild, for want of a good school in the place."

"Oh, madam!" cried Helen, in almost breathless haste, "do you say a school is wanted here? oh, tell me, would they think me too young, if I were deemed capable, which I feel I am; for my beloved mother spared no pains in grounding me thoroughly in the essential points, and, for accomplishments, I have had the best masters."

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Sherman, "could you undertake to impart the rudiments of music?"

"I am sure I could," said Helen, blushing as she spoke, at the idea of having, thus, to praise herself, "for when I left off learning, I could play anything off at sight."

"If that be the case, I can easily get you a few pupils to commence with, but how will you manage for a room?"

"Oh," replied the enthusiastic girl, cheered by these opening prospects, "there is a room at the back of our parlour, which, being so large, I did not care to furnish, it would make an admirable school room."

"It is, indeed, a lucky thought, my dear Miss Willoughby, and may be, not only of benefit to yourself, but to the inhabitants of the place; that is, if you are capable and attentive."

"Indeed! indeed! I will be both. Only permit me to make the trial," said the excited Helen.

"That you shall, and have my little Susan to begin with; and the sooner you do so, the better; but let me beg of you not to be too sanguine, for fear of disappointment. Let me see, this is Wednesday; you could not manage to get your room in order by Monday, could you?"

"At any rate," said Helen, "I would take the few who would attend, at the first, in our little parlour."

Helen, then after thanking Mrs. Sherman for the suggestion, rose to go; when that lady invited her back to tea, wishing to get more insight into her plans and capability, before she ventured to recommend her to others; and she wished that her husband the Doctor, should see and converse with Helen, for whom she began to feel great interest, as she had much reliance on his judgment, and penetration into character. Having gleaned from the early part of her conversation with Mrs. Sherman, her anxiety about the shirts, which were a new, and difficult pattern, Helen insisted on taking and doing them at her leisure, which after repeated refusals, she at length agreed to.

In returning home, she called, agreeably to her promise, on Mrs. Cameron, who was as much pleased with the result of her visit as herself.

"See, my dear Miss Willoughby," said she, "how your conduct was rewarded, as I was sure it would be, for adhering to the right. Had you sent Nancy for the work, perhaps you would never have got it, and your qualification as a teacher might never been known. Was there not my dear Helen, a special providence here? yes indeed there was."

Here, I must beg to digress a little, to urge the advantage of a thorough education; which can never be too highly appreciated, or too strongly enforced. Under any reverse of fortune, who can calculate on the benefits? to say nothing of the gratification it affords in so many ways. "Knowledge is power," and always secures its possessor, a degree of influence, that wealth can never command. Oh! would that all mothers, as well as daughters, could but be duly impressed, with a sense of its vital importance. Then we should not see girls, day after day, permitted on any frivolous excuse, to absent themselves from school: for if time be so truly valuable, as we know it really is; how doubly, nay trebly, is it, in the period devoted to education. If we could only rightly reflect, on the true end of education, this serious waste could never be. What is it I ask? is it merely to acquire a certain amount of rudimental information, and perhaps a superficial acquaintance with showy accomplishments? assuredly not: it is to learn how to think rightly, that we may by thinking rightly, know how to act so. Rudimental instruction is necessarily the foundation; and as such, must be duly and fully appreciated; but it is the application of knowledge that education is meant to teach, and this must be acquired by "line upon line and precept upon precept; here a little and there a little," it is not the work of a day; nor is it to be gained by alternate periods at school. Who know but those who teach, half the time that is required to recover what is lost in these frequently recurring, temporary absences. It is not only a large portion of rudimental instruction that is lost; but those many opportunities, which every conscientious teacher eagerly, and anxiously, avails herself of, to enforce good principles. This can be done at no stated periods, but they must be seized as circumstances call them forth, whether suggested by the teachings of the sacred writings, or from the ample pages of history: or even from the lesson she may convey from the sentiment that often heads a child's simple copy book. If these, lost and frittered away periods, be of no account, then there is both time and money thrown away by those who are regular in their scholastic attendance.

Most amply was Mrs. Willoughby's sedulous care in the education of her daughter, repaid; what comforts it brought to her orphan children; and to how many would it prove equally serviceable, and save them from eating the bitter bread of dependence.

It was but little in consonance with the state of Helen's feelings, to mix with strangers so soon after her beloved mother's death, and most gladly would she have declined going back in the evening, and proposed to send an apology, and say she would be with Mrs. Sherman early the following day; but Mrs. Cameron, whom she consulted, and upon whose advice she generally acted, strongly advised her to go, and take Fanny with her, as Mrs. Sherman had requested.

"Situate as you are my dear," said she, "you owe it to yourself, and the dear children, to make as many friends as you can. The Shermans are kind–hearted, and I may say influential people, and may do you a great deal of good. I have known them many years as worthy and sincere characters." This was enough: and Helen was punctual to the time named.

The Doctor was in to tea, and his frank good humoured manner, completely won Helen's heart. He too, on his part, was much pleased with her. After conversing for some time, he appeared thoughtful, and then put several questions to her; among others, asked, if she had ever applied for the allowance from the "Compassionate Fund," for herself and the children; saying, he knew some who received it; and that he would inquire what forms were necessary for obtaining it: adding,

"I believe it is not much; not more than ten pounds a year each, but as there are three of you, thirty pounds is worth trying for."

Helen was very grateful for the suggestion, and the good Doctor promised to make the requisite inquiries next day. While they were thus chatting together, the two little girls were amusing themselves in the drawing room, which communicated with the parlour by folding doors, and just as the Doctor was remarking how quiet they were, the piano was struck, and a pretty sonata played. Mrs. Sherman was surprised to find it was Fanny, and still more so, on hearing that Helen had been her sole instructress, as she played very prettily. The Doctor, who was passionately fond of music, was then very anxious to hear Helen play, and asked her to do so, but kind feeling restrained him from urging her, when she gave her reason, which, I need not tell the reader, was the recent death of her mother.

The evening passed off very cheerfully, and Helen found, ere she left Mrs. Sherman's, she had secured warm friends in her and her excellent husband. It was agreed that, on the following day, she should her introduced to several families, where she would be likely to obtain pupils; and so successful were Mrs. Sherman's efforts, that she had the promise of six to commence with on the following Monday, and ere a month had elapsed, three more were added to the number.

I should before have mentioned, that, on the death of her mother, Helen had written to an aunt, who was in great affluence, informing her of the sad event, from whom she received a cool letter of condolence, but not the slightest offer of assistance.

Finding it necessary to forward certificates of her parents' marriage, as well as those of her own and the children's baptism, she wrote to her aunt, for information as to where she might obtain them. In reply, she informed her where she could get them, and then concluded, by offering her and Fanny an asylum, for such she termed it, if for their board, Helen would instruct her three cousins. She took care to insinuate, that as doing this, would involve additional expense, she must be content to be received as a mere stranger; she would be expected even to assist in the family needle work. Fanny, Mrs. Selwyn said, would not require much clothing to be purchased, as two of her cousins were older than she, was, and never half wore their things out, adding, as Helen, would in all probability, obtain the compassionate allowance, it might, with care, clothe her and help Henry, if he needed anything. She finished her heartless letter, by saying: of course, Helen would try and find a place for him, as he must not, she said, be too particular now. Helen read, and re–read it, and then bursting into tears, fell on her knees, and thanked her Heavenly Father, who had given her the means, by honest industry, of saving herself and little ones the bitter pang of eating the bread of dependence. After this, with what heartfelt thankfulness, did she sit down with them, to their frugal meal.

She wrote and respectfully declined her aunt's offer. The fact of the matter was this: Mrs. Selwyn had heard of Helen's successful attempt, and though she held no communication with her sister,—Willoughby, after that lady had offended her father by marrying, yet she had little doubt of Helen's capability; and thought, after the energy and self reliance she had manifested, she might, for she was, though rich, a most parsimonious woman, turn it to her own account and for a few years, at least, get her children cheaply educated. It was Helen's determination, if she obtained the compassionate allowance, to keep it, as a reserve for her brother's education. She mentioned her intention to Dr. Sherman, who expressed his warm approval of her plan.

One day, Nancy, who had been to the shop for groceries, came in, very hastily, to the room Helen and Mrs. Cameron were sitting in.

"Oh, Miss Helen! do you know, while I was waiting in Mrs. Conway's shop, who should come in, but Peggy Smith, to say she was going to leave, the place, and go to her mother, a long way off, as she was, all along, so sickly, and she herself but a lone woman here; well she's going to sell that nice cow, and let the field that joins our little paddock, which she holds on lease. Now, I know that cow is a first–rate milker, and I thought if you would buy her, as I have a good deal of time, I could soon clear the five pounds, which is all she asks for it; she will calve in a month, and Mrs. Conway will take all the butter we don't want."

"It will be a capital thing, Helen," said Mrs. Cameron, "if Nancy understands how to manage her."

"I should think, ma'am, I did, when I was brought up in a dairy all my life, till I went to live with Mrs. Willoughby, and mother's been sick two months at a time, and I made all the butter and cheese too."

Mrs. Cameron told Helen, she had no doubt it might be made quite a profitable investment, as Nancy was such a good manager, and even offered to lend the money, but Helen had so well economised her little stock, this was not required.

Weeks and months passed away, but no satisfactory, or indeed, any answer at, all could be obtained as to the compassionate allowance. At last, Dr. Sherman wrote again to the War Office, and received an answer, saying, the request could not be complied with, on the ground that Captain Willoughby's death was not properly authenticated, though it was not, in the least, doubted, as a miniature of Mrs. Willoughby, and his pocket book, were found in the breast of a dead major, a friend of his, and in the same regiment, it was supposed, that he consigned them to the major, in his dying moments. The grant, therefore, could not be allowed while the essential document was wanting.

Among her pupils, she gave lessons in music at their own house, to the Misses Falkner. One morning, being tired of waiting which she invariably had to do, she sat down to the instrument to pass away the time. One of her favorite songs lay before her on the Piano, and she almost unconsciously struck the keys and played the accompaniment, and sang it. Hardly had she finished, than Miss Falkner came in; exclaiming, as she did so, "what, you here, Mr. Mortimer! how long have you been waiting?" not taking the slightest notice of Helen.

"Some time," said he, "but both my apology, and thanks, are due to this lady, for the high treat, she has afforded me. I was standing outside the veranda, when she entered and seeing it was a stranger, was going off, when she commenced a favorite air of mine, and I was spell bound! but you will introduce me, will you not?

"Oh yes, certainly," said Miss Falkner in a hesitating tone. "It is the young person to whom Julia goes to school, and who gives me, and Eliza lessons in music; Miss Willoughby," here she stopped; she did not even add the gentleman's name. "I am sorry Miss Willoughby," said she "I cannot take my lesson to–day, and therefore need not detain you."

Helen colored, and bowing left the room, the stranger rose, opened the door for her, and accompanied her to the street door, when he again bowed his head respectfully.

When he returned to the room, Miss Falkner rallied him on his politeness, to the village governess, as she contemptuously, styled Helen.

"Village queen! I think," said he, "for she certainly has a most dignified, and ladylike bearing, and is very good looking too."

"Well, I do declare Mr. Mortimer, you have quite lost your heart."

"By no means my dear Miss Falkner, it is not quite so vulnerable. A lovely face and graceful form alone, will never win it: even with the addition of such a syren's voice as Miss Willoughby possesses; she sings, not only sweetly, but scientifically."

"Of course," said she, "if people are to get their living by their talents, they ought to be well cultivated."

So little accustomed, since the death of her mother, to kindness from the world in general, and made to feel, so keenly, her dependant situation, Helen fully appreciated the respectful deference accorded to her by the stranger.

Her pupils increased so, that in a short time, she had twelve, besides several for accomplishments but the Misses Falkner, for reasons best known to themselves, declined her future instructions, and just as she was preparing to go to them a day or two after being, so cavalierly dismissed, Mrs. Falkner was announced at the cottage. She came, she said, to pay the bill, and say her daughters would discontinue their lessons:

"Of course," she said, "you will only charge for the time you actually came to them."

Helen quietly replied, "that she should certainly expect the quarter they had commenced, to be paid for." She knew they could afford it, and she felt it due to those she laboured for, not to throw away one penny.

"Well," said Mrs. Falkner, "this comes of patronizing nobody knows who, it is just what one might expect."

"Madam," said Helen, her colour rising as she spoke, "had you thought proper to have done so, you might have known who I was."

"I think," said the unfeeling woman, "as Julia's quarter is up, I shall keep her at home too, for the present."

"As you think proper," said the agitated girl.

"Well, well, you are mighty high, I think, for a person obliged to work for her bread. You are come down pretty low, and may——"

"Hold!" said Helen, "let me intreat you, Mrs. Falkner, to desist these cruel taunts. God has been pleased to place me in my present position; and it is, with thankfulness, nay, with pride, I exert the talents he has given me for the support of myself and the dear children, he has committed to my care. Poverty, madam, may try us, and that severely; but while we act rightly, it can never degrade us, but in the eyes of those, unfeeling as yourself."

"Mighty fine and heroic, to be sure! Is it not a pity Mr. Mortimer isn't hidden somewhere to hear you, as he was when you sung, and pretended not to know he was listening. He could see through it, though, as well as we did; and let, me tell you, artful as you are, that he is not a bird to be caught with chaff. But there's your money, so give me a receipt." This, she no sooner received than off she started.

Helen, who had, with difficulty, restrained her tears, now gave way to her feelings, and thus relieved her over–charged heart. At this moment, Mrs. Cameron came in, and having heard all that had passed, said:

"Never mind, my dear child, we must all be tried, some way or other, and even this cruel heartless woman could not vex you thus did not God permit her to do so; we have all, yes, the very best of us, proud, rebellious hearts, that need chastisement; and it is not for us to choose, how it is to be done. God knows best; meet it, therefore, my dear, humbly, as from Him, and not man; all will yet come right. You are a good girl; still Helen dear, you need, as we all do, the chastening of the Almighty, for we every one of us, come short, and 'when weighed in His balance, are found wanting,'"

A few days after this, Henry, who had been out fishing, came in, with his basket full of trout."

"Look there, Helen," said he, "what do you think of that? There's trout for you?"

"Why, Henry dear, are you already so expert at fishing?" asked his sister.

"No," replied Henry, "but a gentleman joined me, and we angled together. See, what beautiful flies he has given me! He caught three fish to my one, but he would make me take all. Oh, he's a real nice fellow. He has hired Mr. Bently's hunting lodge for the season, and says I may go with him, whenever I please, if you will let me.

"Whenever it does not interfere with your studies, Henry, but you must mind and not be troublesome to him."

"I'll take care of that; but I forgot to tell you, I met Mrs. Sherman, as I was coming home, and she wants you to go to tea there, and Susan is to come down and stay with Fanny."

Mrs. Sherman had seen Mrs. Cameron, and learnt from her the cruel manner in which Mrs. Falkner had behaved, and kindly desired to have a chat with Helen, in order to soothe and strengthen her mind, and; if it were possible, render her less vulnerable to these shafts of malice. After they had, for some time, discussed the matter:

"Now," said Mrs. Sherman, "let us forget all unpleasantries, and give me one of your nice songs; I wonder where the Doctor is? he promised to be in to tea; but, I suppose, he has taken it where he is detained."

Helen sat down, and played and sang. At length, the Doctor's voice was heard in the passage; but Mrs. Sherman insisted on her going on, and held up her finger, as her husband entered, in token of silence. The Doctor sent Mrs. Sherman to the parlour door, where stood Mr. Mortimer; when Helen had finished, she turned and saw him. He bowed and went across to her, and expressed his pleasure in meeting her again, in such a frank off–hand manner, that our heroine, if such she, may be called, soon lost all feeling of embarrassment, and went on playing and singing and the evening passed imperceptibly away. When the Doctor escorted Helen home, Mr. Mortimer accompanied them to the gate, leading to the cottage and took his leave.

Their meeting at Dr. Sherman's was entirely the result of accident. Mr. Mortimer had been on friendly terms at the house ever since he had been in the neighbourhood, but as both the Doctor and his wife concluded he was engaged to Miss Falkner, they never thought to ask him, when Helen was expected, and so tenacious was he, not to win her affections, till assured he could make her his, that he carefully assumed an indifference he was far from feeling. He pitied her position; which he saw was a trying one; and he greatly admired the way she acquitted herself in it. He gained a great insight into her character, in his conversations with Henry, who, entirely off his guard, was very communicative. The following letter, however, from Mr. Mortimer to an old friend, will best elicit his views and opinions:

"My Dear Emmerson,