470 



MONTHLY JOURNAL OF AGRICULTURE. 



rent. For oh, Madam! if the world smile upon 

 us, and our path be smooth, and riches increase, 

 and pleasures surround us, there will still be a 

 void, if the heart is not vi'ith God ; but if sorrows 

 come, and sickness fall upon us, and poverty 

 gather round us, and the world forsake us, 

 where shall be our hope, but in those ' treasures 

 in Heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth 

 corrupt 1 ' I was perhaps too importunate to my 

 unhappy George. He became averse to my 

 Bociety. He began to be connected with loose 

 companions. Our business went on badly: we 

 got in debt; my little Susan was born; and" 

 (she covered her face with her hands and wept 

 for a minute) '• my little Susan was born, and — 

 my George forsook me." The kind visitor took 

 Mary affectionately by the hand, and implored 

 her to compose herself. After a little pause she 

 resumed her story. 



" For the sake of my children I bore up against 

 my sorrows. I endeavored to carry on our busi- 

 ness, but I was unsuccessful. Affairs got worse. 

 I called the creditors together. They were kind 

 and considerate. They would have had me con- 

 tinue my shop, and would have accepted a small 

 compensation for their debt. But I was deter- 

 mined not to risk their property. I sold every- 

 thing, and paid my debts to the extent of my 

 ability. I had a trifle left. I opened a school. 

 My neighbors supported me ; and I could have 

 brought up my family : but my poor boy began 

 to hear about his unhappy father. A thought- 

 less urchin one day told him tliat his father was 

 a rogue. I thought my child's heart would have 

 broken. I determined that my little ones should 

 not be made wretched by the knowledge of 

 their parent's shame ; I gave up my school and 

 came hither, where I was quite unknown. It 

 is ray husband's parish ; and though I would 

 not willingly become burdensome, I would not, 

 in the extremity of misery, for my children's 

 sake, refuse that support which the merciful 

 laws have provided. May this last Borrow be 

 spared me !" 



Mary looked up in her visitor's face and saw 

 that she was in tears. The good lady said noth- 

 ing ; but pressing her hand, left the cottage. In 

 an hour she returned, followed by several chil- 

 dren. " Young woman,'' she said, " I have the 

 fullest confidence in you : these are the children 

 of my servants and tenants ; take them under 

 your instruction ; make them as good and as re- 

 ligious as yourself; it will be my duty to pro- 

 vide that your care shall procure a compe- 

 tence." 



Mary Williams entered upon her duties with 

 alacrity. The liberality of her patroness soon 

 placed" every reasonable comfort within her 

 reach. In a few years a female .school upon an 

 extensive scale was committed to her charge ; 

 and she saw herself the possessor of a neat 

 house, a prolific garden, and an income beyond 

 her well-regulated wishes. Her children were 

 her great solace. They both manifested the best 

 dispositions. Though she sometimes wept at 

 the recollection of the blight which had with- 

 ered her early love and her domestic happiness, 

 she poured out her thanksgivings when she 

 looked upon her boy and girl, saying in her 

 heart, " Did ever any tru.st in the Lord, and was 

 confounded ? or did any abide in his fear, and 

 was forsaken "^ or whom did he ever despise 

 that called upon ^im?" 



The benevolent clergyman of the parish had 



assisted Mary Williams in the education of her 



boy : at the age of fourteen he possessed a deep 



sense of pietv, upright nrinciples, aud a cultivated 



(870) 



understanding. His kind friends undertook to 

 apprentice him. He served his master faithfully 

 and diligently. Susan had grovra up into a 

 blooming girl. She was devotedly attached to 

 her mother, and looked forward with delight to 

 the prospect of assisting her in school. They 

 both considered themselves orphans ; for the 

 faint remembrance of his father had passed 

 across the infant mind of the hoy as an incoher- 

 ent dream ; and the mother, though she never 

 forgot her George, thought it her duty not, as 

 yet, to impart to her children the knowledge of 

 a parent's crime. She had never heard of him, 

 except that he was gone to a foreign country. 



Henry had been apprenticed three years, 

 when his master offered him permission to 

 pass a few days with his mother and sister, at 

 the season of Christmas. He gladly accepted 

 the kindness. On the eve of the celebration of 

 the Redeemer's nativity, the happy boy and 

 girl went forth in their joy to collect holly and 

 misletoe from a neighboring wood, with which 

 they proposed to adorn their mother's cottage. 

 The air was bitterly cold, but they hurried along 

 in the cheerfuhiess of their health and innocence, 

 unmindful of the blast, and unthinking of sorrow 

 or penury. Their happy talk was interrupted 

 by the moan of a fellow-creature. They looked 

 round and saw a famishing man lying by the 

 wayside. The principle of humanity was natu- 

 ral to them ; they did not stop to deplore his 

 soiTows, but they hastened to relieve them. The 

 afflicted man spoke not. Henry was a strong 

 lad, and his feeling for the wretched gave him 

 additional strength. He raised the sinking trav- 

 eler from the earth, and with his sister's aid, 

 slowly conveyed him toward their mother's cot- 

 tage. 



Mary Williams was engaged in preparing a 

 frugal entertainment to welcome her Henry on 

 the approaching festival. Her boy and girl 

 stayed from home until the night had closed. — 

 She became anxious. The door at length opened, 

 and her children appeai-ed, supporting a fainting 

 aud emaciated stranger. She looked a smile of 

 approbation, and prepared to assist in the 

 Christian duty of relieving the wretched. They 

 seated the perishing man by their cheerful fire, 

 and hastened to procure a cordial. The stran- 

 ger opened his dim and weary e.yes. Mary 

 gazed for an instant ; and then with an agon- 

 izing .shriek fell upon his neck. It was her cru- 

 el, her prodigal, but her once-loved George. — 

 She forgot her wrongs ; she thought only that 

 he was the father of her children ; that he was, 

 perhaps, a dying penitent. 



The' wretched man was slightly roused at 

 this act, hut he speedily relapsed into uncon- 

 sciousness. Mary's good sense pointed out to 

 her the necessity of caution ; she tore herself 

 away and ran to implore a neighbor's assist- 

 ance. She represented the afflicted man to her 

 friend, and to her children, as one whom she 

 had recognized as a dear relative. Rest and 

 nourishment were prescribed to him : in a lew 

 days he became sensible to the attentions which 

 were shown him ; but he was visibly dying. 



^Vith an aff'ectionate regard to his health. Jla- 

 ry did not dare to trust herself in his presence 

 But the anxious Susan was his constant nurse.. 

 The child's sense of the consolation of religion 

 was habitual ; and she therelbre thought it her 

 duty to read the Word of God to the afflicted 

 man. She and her brother ^vere yet ignorant 

 of the relation which he bore toward them, 

 though they perceived that il'.eir niotlier w.i.-j 

 deeply interested in his fate. The unhappy uvdii 



