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gratitude to admit of its learning the lesson of sad- Mr. Melroy ha:) succeeded in administering comfort ness,

to O'Neil, who at last consented to lie down and rest ; Mr. Melroy was about to answer, but he was inter- and our May bent like the ministering angel that she rupted, by a knock at the door; and our village phy- was over the sick couch of the two children, smoothing sician entered in great haste.

their pillows and bathing their temples. “I come,” said he, to our May, - from O'Neils- “ This is a wretched family," observed Mr. Melroy, the poor woman 's worse, and I am afraid she will not turning to Mr. Day. hvid out much longer. I advised them to send for a " Ay, but it would have been more wretched still, clergyman; but she says no one can pray for her like if it had ’nt been for our May. She came as willingly the sweet young lady who visited her to-night. So, as the like of her would walk into her uncle's parlor, my dear, if you will just jump into my carriage, your the minute I made her know how much she was face will do more good than my medicine."

needed; and all these little comforts are of her orderOur May snatched her bonnet, without speaking a ing. She sent too for Dr. Iloughton, and left her purse word, or glancing at the astonished faces beside her; with me to pay him; but Dr. Houghton says he can't and she was half way to O'Neil's, before she knew take money from such an angel." that Mr. Melroy was by her side,gund still held the " Is she always so ?'' asked Melroy, in a low tone. han1 by which he had assisted her into the carriage. " Always so! bless your heart, don't you know For some reason, though a tremor crept from the heart she's always so, and you the minister! Why she is into that pretty prisoned hand, our May did not think doing good all the time, she's kind to every body, and proper to withdraw it; and soon all selish thonghts no one can help loving her.” were dissipated by the scene of misery upon which they " No one can help it," answered Melroy, involunentered. Mrs. O'Neil was already dead; and the } tarily, and glancing at our May, who was supporting Millers, in whose hands the kind-hearted physician the head of the little sutlerer on her hand, while she had left her, were endeavoring to silence the clamors was directing Mrs. Day how to prepare the medicine. of the children, and striving all they could to comfort After the sick children had been cared for, and it O'Neil, who, with true Irish eloquence, was pouring was ascertained that Mr. and Mrs. Day, with one of out his lamentations over the corpse of bis wife. her sisters, would remain at O'Neil's during the night,

" An' there's the swate leddy who spake the kind Dr. Houghton, with Mr. Melroy and our May, toolo word to me," said one of the noisy group, springing leave. The drive home was performed in silence ; towards our May, “my mither said she was heaven's į and young parson Melroy, after conducting our May own angel, sure."

to her uncle's door, pressed her hand with a whispered, Well, come to me," said our May, " and I will * God bless you !” and turned away. speak to you some more kind words-poor things! In less than a twelve month from the death of poor you need them, sorely."

Mrs. O'Neil very ominous preparations were going The children gathered around the fair young girl, forward in the family inansion of Squire Loomis. noisily at first; but, as she gradually gained their They were ended at last by the introduction of our attention, their clamors ceased; and she at last made { May to the pretty parsona çe; and, although she still them consent to accompany father Miller to the farin- laughs very merrily, and sometimes overturns whole' house, where it was thought best for thein to remain passages of her husband's eloquence by a single stroke until after the funeral of the poor mother.

of humor, although she still prefers doing good privately, " And you will be very good and quiet,” said our and does not attend every meeting of the society, where May, as the noisy troop were preparing to leave the hut. her happy face appears, her husband's is far from

Sure an’ we will," answered a bright boy, “ if it { being the only heart or the only tongue to pronounce be only for the sake of ye 'r own beautiful face, Miss." the - God bless you!"


(See Plate.)

The days of " Love and Glory" have passed, and very happy or very miserable. We presume they it now requires something more attractive than a red are about pariing, she to dream of « Love" and he of coat, glittering epaulettes, and a sword snugly en. « Glory." If he is going out to battle in desence of sconced in its scabbard to win the hearts of our fair his country we wish himn : God speed,” if in the cause ladies of the nineteenth century. It is a very uncom. of

wrong and oppression, a more honorable pursuit in fortable thing to have a lover away on a three years life. campaign, and to live in the daily expectation of seeing With us, the sight of a soldier always awakens leis name in the bulletin as among the dead or wounded. ' unpleasant emotions. It is too sad a commentary Our maidens prefer to fall in love with quiet citizens. upon the evil heart of man for us to think upon with Fewer tears are shed, it is true, and to the really other feelinys. Still, we hold in the highest estimaromantic life is rather a tame affair, but this evil is tion the man who devotes his life to his country in not an unendurable one.

fighting a rainst her enemies, as we hole in the drepost The lovers in the picture before us do not seem to be detestation in wilo bas dy discrts her in her extremiiy.

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[The Third Volume of the Series of Books, “ THE MAIDEN," "" THE WIFE." and " THE MOTHER," is nearly reads, and will appear in a few days. We give an extract in this nuviber of our Magazine.




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6 That is much better, my

And thus she corrected his disorderly habits, quieted “ There come the children from school," said his impatient temper, and checked his rudeness, withAunt Mary, looking from the window.

< Just see

out showing any disturbance. This she had to do that Clarence! He'll have Henry in the gutter. I never daily. At almost every meal she found it necessary to saw just such another boy. Why can't he come repress

his rude impatience. It was line upon line, quietly along like other children. There !—now he and precept upon precept. But she never tired, and must stop to throw stones at the pigs. That boy 'll rarely permitted herself to show that she was disgive you the heart-ache yet, Anna.”

turbed, no matter how deeply grieved she was at Mrs. Hartley made no reply, but laid aside her times over the wild and reckless spirit of her boy. work quietly and left the room, to see that their din On the next day she was not very well. Her ner was ready. In a few minutes the street door was head ached badly all the morning. Ilearing the thrown open, and the children came bounding in, full children in the passage, when they came in from of life, and noisy as they could be.

school at noon,

she was rising from the bed where she " Where is your coat, Clarence ?" she asked, in a had lain down, to attend to them, and give them their pleasant tone, looking her oldest boy in the face. dinners, when Aunt Mary saidOh, I forgot !” he replied, cheerfully, and turning

" Don't get up,

Anna. I will see to the cbilquickly, he ran down stairs, and lifting his coat from dren." where, in his thoughtlessness, he had thrown it upon It was rarely that Mrs. Hartley let any one do for the floor, hung it up in its proper place, and then them what she could do herself, for no one else could sprung up the stairs.

manage the unhappy temper of Clarence. “ Is n't dinner ready yet ?” he said, with fretful violent was the pain in her head, that she let Aunt impatience, his whole manner changing suddenly. Mary

go, and sunk back upon the pillow from which " I'm hungry."

she had arisen. A good deal of noise and confusion " It will be ready in a few minutes, Clarence." continued to reach her ears, from the moment the " I want it now. I 'm hungry.”

children came in. At length a loud cry, and passion“ Did you ever hear of the man,” said Mrs. Ilart ate words from Clarence, caused ber to rise up ley, in a voice that showed no disturbance of mind, quickly and go over to the dining room.

All was us who wanted the sun to rise an hour before its { confusion there, and Aunt Mary out of humor, and time?"

scolding prodigiously. Clarence was standing up at “ No, mother Tell me about it, won't you ?the table, looking defiance at her, on account of some All impatience had vanished from the boy's face. interference with his strong self-will. The moment

“ There was a man who had to go upon a journey. the boy saw his mother, his countenance changed, The state coach was to call for him at sunrise. More and a look of consusion took the place of anger. than an hour before it was time for the sun to be up, " Come over to my room, Clarence," she said, in a the man was all ready to go, and for the whole of low voice; there was sadness in its tones, that made that hour he walked the floor impatiently, grumbling him feel sorry that he had given vent so freely to his at the sun because he did not rise. "I'm all ready, \ ill-temper. and I want to be going,' he said. It's time the sun " What was the matter, my son ?" Mrs. Ilartley was up, long ago.' Do n't you think he was a very asked, as soon as they were alone, taking Clarence by foolish man ?"

the hand, and looking steadily at him. Clarence laughed, and said he thought the man " Aunt Mary would n't help me when I asked her." was very foolish indeed.

" Why not?” « Do you think he was more foolish than you were, - She would help Henry first.” just now, for grumbling because dinner was n't - No doubt she had a reason for it. Do you know ready?"

her reason ?" Clarence laughed again, and said he did not know. " She said he was youngest." Clarence ponted Just then, Hannah, the cook, brought in the waiter, out his lips, and spoke in a very disagreeable tone. with the children's dinner upon it. Clarence spring - Don't you think that was a very good reason for a chair, and drew it hastily and noisily to the " I've as good a right to be helped first as he table.

has." Try and see if you can 't do that more orderly, - Let us see if that is so. You and Marien and my dear," his mother said, in a quiet voice, looking at Henry came iņ from school, all hungry, and anxious him as she spoke, with a steady eye.

for your dinners. Marien is oldest-she, one would The boy removed his chair, and then replaced it suppose,

from the fact that she is oldest, wonld be gently.

better able to feel for her brothers, and be willing to

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sme their wants supplied before her own.

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She is n't kind to me, mother. She calls me a older than Henry, and should feel for him in the same bad boy, and says every thing to make me angry when way. No doubt this was Aunt Mary's reason for I want to be good." helping Henry first. Had she helped Marien ?"

“ Think, my son, if there is not some reason for · No, ma'am."

Aunt Mary calling you a bad boy. You know, your. "Did Marien complain ?"

self, that you act very naughtily sometimes, and pro“No, ma'am.”

voke Aunt Mary a great deal." " No one complained but my unhappy Clarence. « But she said I was a naughty boy, when I went Do you know why you complained? I can tell yon, out just now; and I was sorry for what I had done, as I have often told you before. It is because you and wanted to be good.” indulge in very selfish feelings. All who do make 6 Aunt Mary did n't know that you were sorry,

I themselves miserable. If, instead of wanting Aunt

When she called you · naughty boy,' what Mary to help you first, you had, from a love of your did you say?" little brother, been willing to see him first attended to, “ I was going to say · you 're a fool!' but I did n't. you would have enjoyed a real pleasure. If you had I tried hard not to let my tongue say the bad words, said Aunt Mary, help Harry first,' I am sure llenry though it wanted to." would have said, instantly— No, Aunt Mary, help Why did you try not to say them ?" brother Clarence first.' How pleasant this would have 6. Because it would have been wrong, and wonld been; how happy would all of us have felt at thus have made you feel sorry. And I love you.” Again seeing two little brothers generously preferring one the repentant boy kissed her. His eyes were full of another."

tears, and so were the eyes of his mother. There was an unusual degree of tenderness, even While talking over this incident with her husband, sadness, in the voice of his mother, that affected Mrs. Hartley said, Clarence. But he struggled with his feelings. When, “ Were not all these impressions so light, I would however, she resumed, and said

feel encouraged. The boy has warm and tender feel“ I have felt quite sick all the morning. My headings, but I fear that his passionate temper and has ached badly-so badly that I have had to lie down. selfishness will, like evil weeds, completely check I always give you your dinners when you come home, their growth.” and try to make you comfortable. To-day I let sunt • The case is bad enough, Anna, but not so bad, I Mary do it, because I felt so sick. But I am sorry hope, as you fear. These good affections are never that I did not get up, sick as I was, and do it myself active in vain. They impress the mind with an indellithen I might have prevented this unhappy outbreak of ble impression. In after years the remembrance of my boy's unruly temper, that has made not only my them will revive the states they produced, and give head ache ten times as badly as it did, but my heart strength to good desires and intentions. Amid all his ache also--"

irregularities, and wanderings from good, in after life, Clarence burst into tears, and throwing his arms the thoughts of his mother will restore the feelings be around his mother's neck, wept bitterly.

had to day, and draw him back from evil with chords of “ I will try and be good, dear mother!" he said. love that cannot be broken. The good now implanted “ I do try, sometimes, but it seems that I can 't.” will remain, and, like ten just men, save the city. In

“ You must always try, my dear son. Now dry most instances where men abandon themselves finally up your tears, and go out and get your dinner. Or, to evil courses, it will be found that the impressions if you would rather I would


I will do so." made in childhood were not of the right kind. That “ No, dear mother!" replied the boy, affection the mother's influence was not what it should have ately. * You are sick. You must not go. I will be been. For myself, I am sure that a different mother good.”

would have made me a different man. When a boy, Clarence kissed his mother again, and then returned I was too much like Clarence; but the tenderness with quietly to the dining room.

which my mother always treated me, and the unimpas" Naughty boy !” said Aunt Mary, as he entered, sioned but earnest manner in which she reproved and looking sternly at him.

corrected my faults, subdued my unruly temper. A bitter retort came instantly to the tougne of When I became restless or impatient, she always had a Clarence, but he checked himself with a strong effort, book to read to me, or a story to tell, or had some and took his place at the table. Instead of soothing device to save me from myself. My father was the quick-tempered boy, Aunt Mary chased him by her neither harsh nor indulgent towards me; I cherish his words and manner during the whole meal, and it was memory with respect and love. But I have different only the image of his mother's tearful face, and the feelings when I think on my mother. I often feel, even remembrance that she was sick, that restrained an out now, as if she were near me-as if her cheek were break of his passionate temper.

laid to mine. My father would place his hand upon When Clarence left the table, he returned to his my head, caressingly, but my mother would lay her mother's room, and laid his head upon the pillow cheek against mine. I did not expect my father to do where her's was resting.

more-I do not know that I would have loved him “ I love you, mother,” he said, affectionately. it You had he done more, for him it was a natural expression are good. But I hate Aunt Mary.”

of affection. But no act is too tender for a mother. “O, no, Clarence. You must not say that you Iler kiss upon my cheek, her warm embrace, are all hate Aunt Mary, for Aunt Mary is very kind to you. felt now, and the older I grow the more holy seem the You mus n't hate any body."

influences that surrounded me in childhood."

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