. Passing with hurried steps to Emily's cabin, Henry | costume of the savages; nearly all his flesh was gone, simply said that they would meet again at her father's and his skin looked as if it had been tanned. In his intended home-then embraced her tenderly, and bade her adieu.

Within a week after this sad parting, Col. B's boat was launched, and the utmost diligence was employed to fit her for her destined voyage. The deer and bear that had been killed were dried and stored away. A small quantity of corn had been brought on pack-horses from a settlement about sixty miles off After every necessary arrangement had been made, the voyage was commenced. The steering of the vessel was committed to the young white men-the oars were plied by the slaves. The downward current of the stream accelerated their pace. On each night the vessel was fastened to the shore, and means of defence regularly adopted.

Although Emily was occasionally sorrowful, yet her love of the works of nature was often gratified on her journey. Sometimes, at the narrow parts of the stream, the mountains seemed to imbosom them-then, at some bend of the river, there broke upon her view broad and rich bottoms, that seemed to be burdened by the immensely tall and heavy timber that covered and shaded them. The howl of the wolf and the scream of the panther, attracted as these animals were by the lights on the boat, were heard at the dark hour of midnight. But there were anticipations even in this hazardous and tedious voyage, which sustained the spirits of Emily B. Hope never deserted her. The land which her father was seeking lay before her, and each day brought her nearer to it. When reached, she might there receive the embraces of a devoted lover. Amongst the negroes on board, the banjou was heard every night, its sounds filling the young and the old with joy.

youth, his fore teeth had projected greatly; but some of them had decayed, and two only were now to be seen, which bore the appearance of tusks. His hair was long, and matted together with filth. His forehead was low, and the expression of his eye ferocious. His scrawny legs were bare-the skin upon them looked as if it had been parched. But this miscreant had committed two foul murders in his native state-had fled when pursued, and had become an outlaw. He spoke to the strangers with fluency, in a subdued and even kind tone. He stated that the commissioners from the congress had met the Cherokee chiefs, about four weeks before, at Hopewell, and had concluded a treaty. That all prisoners on both sides had been given up-that only two days previous, sixty women and children had set out from that part of the country, under an escort for Knoxville, to be restored to their friends. That there was to be no more war, and that all the Cherokees were getting ready to plant corn and hunt for deer and bear. No one of the Indians appeared to have arms of any kind.

It was proposed to Col. B that he should come ashore and tarry for the night, but he declined, alleging that he had been a long time on his way-that the moon was now full-the water at the right stage, and the weather mild-that he could now travel as well by night as by day. About this time the colonel bade the party adieu, when the white man observed that he and his companions were going a short distance down the river-that they would come on board and see them, to which proposal Col. B assented. Passing rapidly from the point of the cliff on which they stood, the whole party descended to a little cove behind, and quickAt last the voyagers approached that part of the ly appeared in a large canoe. The Indians paddled country bordering upon the Tennessee, which is high with much earnestness, and the canoe approached the and open. Large flocks of wild geese flew by, wheel-flat boat with great rapidity. They ascended and met ing and sailing through the air, and droves of deer were seen approaching the stream-halting now and then to look on the novel sight before them-then bounding off through the woods in mere wantonness and sport.

In the vicinity of Nicojack, on the Tennessee, there resided a considerable number of warriors, who had been active in the depending hostilities, and who had made many successful marauds into the Cumberland country. Unprincipled white men-French and Spaniards as well Americans-had penetrated through the wilderness from Pensacola and St. Augustine into the upper towns of the Cherokees, and had bartered arms, ammunition and blankets for bear and deer skins.

As the boat of Col. B was passing a projecting cliff of the river, a short distance above Nicojack, about five o'clock in the evening, a white man and eleven Indians, all warriors, suddenly made their appearance. This white man hailed the boat, and at the same instant raised a pole with a piece of white cloth tied to the end of it, as a token of peace. Col. B― answered this signal, and causing the boat to be turned a little towards the land, the white man inquired how long it was since he had left the upper country? To which Col. Breplied about forty days. Then, said the white man, you had hardly heard of the peace, before you left the Holston? To which the colonel said he had not. This man was tall, slender and sallow. He had adopted the

Col. B with all his family on the deck. The white man extended his hand and saluted all who were clustered around Col. B. He then introduced, in a formal manner, the principal chief.

The frame of this man was herculean-his age about fifty-his form was perfect. Being nearly naked, the deep and swelling veins of his long arms and legs were prominent to the view. His manner was proud and almost disdainful. On his immense head he wore a crimson turban, with various feathers in it, after the manner of his tribe. His face was painted red and black-his long lank hair was parted before, and thrown to either side of his high, broad and wrinkled forehead. His eye was small, deep sunk, coal black and brilliant. His natural ferocity seemed to have been increased by the frequent glutting of his vengeance in the white man's blood. His prowess in the field had secured him the lofty pre-eminence of principal chief of all his nation.

Col. B― and his family shook hands in the most gracious manner with all the party. He said something to the Indians, which, on being interpreted by the white man, awakened a dry, sardonic laugh amongst them. Beside Col. B——— stood his oldest boy, holding him by the coat. After a few moments, when all were at a pause, a loud shout was raised. The principal chief in an instant drew forth from under his hunting

shirt a tomahawk, and at one blow "literally parted this town, and the women and children soon made the head of Col. B- one half falling on either their appearance. They came near to the clustered shoulder."* captives and looked on them with intense and eager curiosity. About ten o'clock, high words were heard between some of the warriors at their fire. The dispute seemed to concern some matter in which they felt a deep interest. The terms in which each spoke to the other were angry and resolute.

When the Indians reached the deck of the boat, Mrs. B, as she afterwards said, perceived that the white man was acting the part of a traitor. This conviction satisfied her that her husband's hour had come. Before the cry was raised, she had become dumb. As the body of her father reached the deck, Emily Buttered a slight shriek and fell by his side. The five young white men were despatched in a moment. The white man seized the steering oar and rounded the boat too, that she might be secured to the shore. The two little girls uttered wild cries and threw themselves into the lap of their mother, who had gradually sunk down. The negroes in their terror had rushed to their apartment below, and were there all huddled together, when the white man ordered the hands to come up. Having done so, he directed them to strip off the clothes of the six who had fallen, that they might be given to the party. This command being executed, he directed that the dead bodies should be rolled into the river. The blood was heard trickling down into the water, from the deck, in small rills—the brains of the departed were scattered here and there-plunge followed plunge, until all were thrown overboard into their watery graves. The boat having reached the shore, the work of plunder was begun. The fire-arms, ammunition, chairs, clothes, cooking utensils, crockery ware, farming tools and wearing apparel, were taken out and placed upon the beach.

In rummaging through the boat, part of a barrel of whiskey was found, which filled the savages with joy. Towards nightfall, Mrs. B., her children and negroes, were ordered to leave the boat, which they did, and gathered themselves up in a group on the shore. Night soon set in: the air became chilly. The sufferers were faint and exhausted. Large fires were kindled, but the prisoners were not permitted to approach them.

Very soon portions of the whiskey were distributed amongst the Indians, and quickly after loud screams and laughter were heard.

At this instant, an Indian woman of small stature, apparently seventy years old, bent nearly double, approached the fire where the chiefs were with remarkable speed. She was heard to speak with great fierceness for one seemingly so debilitated. After a little she was seen leaving the Indians, with both hands full of tomahawks and scalping knives. Having disposed of these, she approached the two little girls, who were sitting at their mother's feet, and said in a softened tone two or three times, piccininis. She then seized the children and led them off, beckoning to Mrs. B. and Emily to follow, who obeyed her silent command, to a dark thicket near by, and directed them, in a whisper, to sit down, which they did. This being, who had no clothing but a large Indian blanket, bore the aspect of a hag. All her flesh seemed to be withered away. Her skin did not seem to be any part of her, but to have been thrown over her. There appeared to be a thousand wrinkles in her face. She had the invidious, sinister eye of the savage, and yet a close observer could perceive something of kindness, and much of shrewdness in its expression. It was apparent to Mrs. B. that the chiefs were quarrelling about the possession of the prisoners, and that being drunk, they might at once pacify the difference in their destruction. During this drunken revel the warriors would rise and seize some of the chairs on the beach, sit down in them, throw their legs across, and show the rest how the white men were used to sit in them. These exhibitions would be followed by loud laughter.

The old Indian woman appeared to be in deep trouble: she was perpetually in motion. Two or three times she made her way to the captives by a circuitous routelooked at them-gave a grunt of approbation, and hurAs they became more and more intoxicated, the ried off. She seemed to view the various articles principal chief would rise from his haunches, brandish collected on the sand with amazement. Several times his tomahawk, and exhibit to the rest how the bloody she put on the bonnets of Mrs. B. and Emily, held them work had been done upon Col. B. and his companions. in her hand and viewed them, but returned them careTo these exhibitions the rest would respond, by loud fully to their places. To all those around her she spoke shouts, which were re-echoed back to the shore from as one having authority. Towards midnight the warthe distant hills. The dogs which belonged to the cap-riors were all stretched out and profoundly asleep. tured party had crouched near the mistress and her Moving along softly, the old woman approached Mrs. children. They answered these shouts with long, deep, and mournful cries and howls, as if they even knew that the work of murder had been done upon their affectionate master. The fowls which were on board the boat, and which were ever of consequence to the new settlement, seemed to be restless whilst roosting on the low branches near which their mistress sat.

About a mile from the river there was a Cherokee town. It is in this way that the Indians are divided into small communities for social purposes. At nine o'clock the moon rose in all her fulness and beauty, and shed her radiant light upon this scene of desolation and horror. News of the recent capture had been taken to The identical words employed by Col. B's son in his

narrative to the writer.

B. and her children, and put forth both her dried and filthy hands that were filled with pieces of fresh deer meat that had been broiled on the coals, and were full of ashes, making signs to the captives to eat, and importunately pressing the two youngest children to do so in kind tones. After a few moments she disappeared, but returned quickly with a large gourd in her hand, containing some water mixed with pounded parched corn, of which Mrs. B. partook, and as she afterwards said, was the most delicious draught she ever swallowed.

At last the day dawned: the sun rose in all his brightness and glory. The vegetation was bursting forth over the whole country. The contrast between the condition of Mrs. B. and her family now, and on the previous day, was indescribable. It was manifest

to her that the captives were to be separated, and that her two little girls were to be torn from her.

But Mrs. B.'s religious convictions were strong and abiding. She cherished a steady faith in the overruling care of a kind providence. The sudden and shocking murder of her husband, would have overpowered her reason, but he was irrecoverably lost; and now her intense anxiety for the safety of her offspring seemed to sustain her.

THOUGHTS ON SUNDAY SCHOOLS,

AND SUNDAY SCHOOL BOOKS.

I go for Sunday schools. Apart from religious edification, they have at least three distinct recommendations, even to the mere worldling, who looks to nothing beyond the temporal good of man. 1. Their lessons are learnt peculiarly well, and act with peculiar force About seven o'clock, the chiefs who had been over-upon the mind and character, from their coming but come by the debauch of the previous night arose, and once a week. So long a space between the stated proceeded to dispose of the spoils. Whilst they were thus engaged, the old Indian woman spoke frequently. Sometimes she was greatly excited and even vociferous; at others she was softened and imploring in her tones. She moved to and fro perpetually, and often looked and pointed towards the prisoners, who by this time had been withdrawn from the thicket.

After a delay of several hours, all the final arrangements were made. The old woman approached with all her speed-her countenance full of eagerness and joy, and seizing the two little girls, raised them from the ground, and attempted to drag them along. The least clung to the mother, and uttered loud cries. She shrunk with horror from the touch of this being, as though she were not human.

The old woman struck the child on the mouth to quiet her; and the mother in an agony persuaded the child to go, because she perceived that it was kindness that moved this singular creature, and that in her care her little girls would at least be safe. At last the woman raised the youngest child upon her back, and firmly grasping the other by the hand nearly dragged her along. Seeing that at last she had succeeded in her wishes, she laughed, and in doing so looked like an unearthly being.

When the children disappeared, Mrs. B. felt as though she had sunk into the depths of despair; but there were others whose destiny was still unknown.

Her manly boy was assigned to a robust and good natured looking chief, who spoke in a gentle tone to him, and pointed to him to take the road and go forward.

mental repasts, causes them to be thoroughly digested; and creates for them an appetite ravenous, yet most healthful. Accordingly, the most rapid advancement in knowledge that I have ever known (considering the quantity of instruction given), has been made by children whose only teaching was at Sunday schools. 2. They afford opportunities for thousands, who (to the shame of Virginia be it spoken) have no other means of knowledge, to acquire much that may be useful. Some of these thousands cannot be spared from home on work-days: some, whose parents cannot afford to pay for their schooling, are not sent to the poor-schools, because pride will not let them consent to be singled out as objects of charity. Sunday schools avoid both these difficulties. The children of the rich and poor meet together there, without distinction—just as they would in those COMMON-SCHOOLS, the want of which has been so long and so justly a reproach to us. 3. Children who go to the Sunday school are kept out of mischief; saved from habits of vice and idleness. I have no morbid horror at the 'desecration of the Sabbath ;' but I do believe, that a child, who spends all of it that is not devoted to needful bodily exercise, in improving his mind, stands a far better chance to be useful, respectable, and happy, than if he had given the same hours to idleness or sport. Compare any number of regular Sunday scholars, with as many children of like condition, who have idled away their Sundays: and see which will furnish the larger number of good-fornothing, or profligate people; if not criminals.

Thus, whether we look to the welldoing of individuals, or to the good of society, Sunday schools, if not greatly perverted, must receive signal praise.

But, some of them at least, have been greatly per

But Emily sat alone in all the bitterness of grief. She was of a tender age, and about to be separated, perhaps forever, from her mother, her instructress, her adviser, friend and companion. She was to be domi-verted: so greatly, as to make them agents of less than ciliated in the family of a savage. Her father had half the good, which they might otherwise have fallen prematurely. Her thoughts reverted to him who wrought. had parted from her when she was flushed with hope, To pass over their omission to teach writing, geograand sustained by a devoted passion. Filled with terror,phy, or arithmetic-though these might to some extent lest disobedience should be followed by a violent death-be easily and most usefully taught-the greatest perstill clinging to life under all these sorrows, Emily B. marched feebly along before the haughty chieftain whom she was to serve, and in whose train there were many ponies loaded with large portions of the plunder found in the boat. This warrior was a young man-a stern looking fellow-his face painted, with feathers in his turban-his tomahawk at his side-his rifle in his hand-a beautiful beaded shot-pouch over his shoulder, with beaded moccasins of great beauty on his feet, and leggins of the same material.

version consists in the sort of books, used. Instead of Sandford and Merton, Evenings at Home, Edgeworth's Early Lessons, or the stories contained in them and in her Parents' Assistant and Popular Tales; instead of Peter Parley's shrewd, instructive stories, or the not less instructive Conversations of Uncle Philip; and Popular Lessons, Sergeant's Temperance Tales, or even that excellent series, the New York Spelling Book and Readers;—a tribe of books has been introduced, many of which no one can with a safe conscience Mrs. B. was attached to a chief whose squaw was employ as vehicles of knowledge, unless he is of the along, having with her two of her sons.

sect to whom that particular Sunday school belongs. The negroes were parted into small lots, and disposed Not content with the New Testament—though, (beauof to those who had captured them.

tiful as it often is in style, and perfect in morals) that is

a very unsuitable school-book for young children—the caterers for such a seminary provide works not only staggering to faith, but puzzling to intellects ripe in years and long exercised in study. An innocent of eight years old is made to get and say by rote, mysterious doctrines that Athanasius and Arius in the fourth century, a thousand Fathers in the Middle Ages, the Council of Nice, and the Synod of Dort, battled it over in vain; when, like the fallen Angels in Pandemonium, they

'reason'd high

Of Providence, foreknowledge, will and fate,
Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute;
And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.'

Now the early instruction of youth, like the offices of humanity, surely is what men ought to agree in; so far, at least, as to forbear inculcating doctrines which, if intelligible to the pupil, are useful only to prime him for bitter controversy, and cruel intolerance. In the immense fields of confessedly valuable knowledge, there is common ground enough to employ all childhood in traversing, without straying into the by-ways of sectarian mysticism. To explore the several kingdoms of visible Nature, even superficially; to learn somewhat of Man's constitution and history; to master that sum of all moral duty, comprised in the injunction, 'Do justice-love mercy-and walk humbly before Heaven ;' are studies to fill many years; studies which no rational being can postpone to such questions as 'how many persons are in the Godhead?'-and, ‘is sprinkling or immersion the right mode of baptism?' Those studies are the common ground of humanity; on which all sects should meet, and to them confine early education.

Cannot the wise and good of every Christian denomination (including Unitarians and Catholics) determine, with some exactness, the great principles of religious truth in which they all agree; and then expel from Sunday schools, all books that teach any other religious tenets? The principles thus adopted, with moral duties, and the knowledge of Nature,--* would present a range wide enough for the most active mind, during the longest life. Hundreds and thousands of volumes might be filled, within that range; schools might go on for hundreds of centuries, to teach what it contains; and leave it, after all, far from exhausted.-Why-why

Locke on the Human Understanding, is not commonly deemed a very simple book: few persons would think of putting it into the hands of small school-children. But it is easily intelligible, compared with some of the catechisms for Sunday schools. A very sensible member of a leading denomination of Christians lately told me, that one day, after instructing his own class of Sunday scholars in a plain, common-sense way, he perchance listened awhile to the lesson of a neighboring class; and was astonished to hear the little creatures utter mysteries unintelligible to him, and, he could not but suppose, unprofitable to them. The lighter-reading furnished by way of accompaniment to those profound catechisms, is not much better. It consists of Essays, Biographies, and Tales (pious novels), tending mainly to exemplify and illustrate the mystic doctrines aforementioned; with but an incidental bearing upon common life. Even Miss Hannah More's 'Two Wealthy | will not those wise and good come to that agreement ? Farmers,' Miss Jane Taylor's 'Display,' and her still more excellent Contributions of Q. Q.' so full of genuine piety, are scarcely evangelical enough for our Sunday schools.

For my part, this cause has long shut me out from a regular share in those schools. I grew up to manhood, and began to grow gray, teaching in them through six or eight summers: but sectarian books were introduced, which I could not explain and enforce (as books alway sought to be, to pupils) without a seeming hy. pocrisy. Occasional help has since been all that was in my power.

Why cannot they make that sacrifice of the spirit of proselytism, upon the altar of their country, and of humanity?

In whatever school that generous sacrifice may be made, or in whatever one a rational influence may prevail,-Sandford and Merton, with the other books first mentioned, ought to be among the first adopted.

Added to them, should be a recent one of Miss Sedgwick's; 'A LovE-TOKEN FOR CHILDREN.'†

The eight stories which compose this little book, are suited to the capacities and tastes of children; for whom they were written. They show that knowledge of common life and of the young heart, for which the author is remarkable; and they possess that quality, the unfailing test of a truthful and wholesome book-the

In this thing, sects might profit by a sort of apologue in Evenings at Home.' A gentleman and his son were walking in a village one Sunday, as the church bells were ringing. The various societies of worship-quality of making the reader feel, that good principles pers were going to their respective houses of worship. within him have been fortified, and generous impulses 'Father,' said the little boy, 'why do not these people aroused, by the perusal. But the highest praise is yet all agree to worship God in the same manner?' And to be uttered. Although these stories bear the manifest why should they agree? They were not made to agree impress of decided christian piety, they contain not the in this, I suppose,' said his father. Just then, a poor slightest indication of the author's particular creed. man fell down in the street, in a fit. Numbers instantly The truly virtuous of every sect must acknowledge and hastened to aid him. A Presbyterian sat down and admire her, as a co-worker for the great end of Relimade his lap a pillow for the sick man's head; a Bap-gion--human happiness: yet not one of them could claim tist chafed his temples; a Roman Catholic lady held her exclusively, as a sister, in subordinate points of her smelling bottle to his nose; a Unitarian untied his faith. This is well nigh the beau ideal of a book for neck-cloth, and unbuttoned his collar, to let him breathe Sunday schools; indeed, I cannot help saying, of a more freely; a Methodist ran for a doctor; an Episcopalian soothed the poor man's crying children; and a Quaker held his wide umbrella over him, to keep off moral and physical science, and all sorts of history.

By the phrase knowledge of Nature,' I mean all kinds of

'A Love Token for Children. Designed for Sunday School the burning sun.-Arthur,' said the gentleman, point-Libraries. By the Author of "The Linwoods."" Live and let ing to the scene,-'this is what men were made to agree Live," "Poor Rich Man," &c. &c. New York: Harper & in.' Brothers.'-pp. 142. 12mo. VOL. IV.-29

book for any school. It should exhibit not the belief of Calvin, or Socinus, or Fenelon; but the maxims of common sense, and the principles of Christianity: just as the speech of a real statesman breathes not the spirit of party, but the holy dictates of Patriotism and Justice. Such a book ranges within that common-ground, upon which all sects ought to meet. Like the spectacle of distress in the apologue, it calls them away from points wherein they differ, to things wherein, if true to their common Master, they must agree to succor the afflicted, to comfort the wounded in spirit, to diffuse all around them the kindly charities of life. Such a book

is this one.

The best stories in it are 'The Widow Ellis and her son Willie,' 'Our Robins,' and 'Mill-Hill:' and again of these three, 'Mill-Hill' is at once the longest and best. If the Editor of the Messenger can spare room, he will find it well filled by copying one of these stories-Our Robins'-as a touching and instructive lesson to his young readers.*

A railroad was projected, to run by Mill-Hill. The Irish came (as where do they not?) to work upon it. The villagers were very much afraid of so lawless a horde; but Emma Maxwell, in the 'ladies' sewing society,' maintained, that if rightly treated, those people would be found honest and tractable. It proved so. She soon had an opportunity of showing kindness to a little orphan girl among them-Anny Ryan, whom she sister, the last of her family. Emma managed to soothe saw weeping inconsolably over the fresh grave of a her a little, and accompanied her to the shanty, where lived her only protectors, an Irish laborer and his wife,

They are all New England Stories. Emma Maxwell, the heroine of Mill-Hill,' is a being of that captivating, yet unexaggerated loveliness, which the author so well knows how to portray. I subjoin an account of her; given, just after a description of the village bury-named O'Neil. The description of the dwelling is ing ground.

graphic. And there are few Temperance orators who might not envy the eloquent power of Emma's appeal to Mike, against the jug of liquor. I beg the reader not to stop till he has read all the following extract:

'Emma had never before seen the inside of a shanty; and, though she was well acquainted with the poorest abodes of our native people, she was astonished to see so many human beings hale and thriving in such a habitation. There was no table, no

Ask any one at Mill-Hill whose thought it was thus to beautify their burial-place, and you will be answered, "Emma Maxwell's. Emma is so thoughtful about the children, and she thinks, if there are flowers about the graves, it will take off their gloomy feelings, and they won't be so shy about going there. She says it's a teaching-place, for there is always a still small voice comes up from the grave; and besides, since we have tried it, the neighbors all say it's a comfort to do it." Should you proceed in your inquiries, and ask "who planted the trumpet-chair save one broken one; boards fixed on blocks served to eat creeper that winds round and round that old dead tree by the schoolhouse, and who trained the sweetbriers round the win dows," you will be answered, "the children did it, but Emma has seen to it." "And who cut out the earth like stairs to 'Prospect Rock' at the top of the hill?" "The boys, but Emma Maxwell put it into their heads." "And who keeps the Sunday school for those little Irish children from the shanties on the railroad?" "Emma Maxwell; who but she would take the trouble, when their folks did not care one straw whether they were taught or not?"

And so you might go on for an hour, and find that Emma Maxwell did good deeds that others, for want of thought (and perhaps faith) rather than time or heart, do not do.

There are persons in this world who would almost seem to be deprived of the natural relations of parents, brothers and sisters, husband and children, that they may do the little odd jobs for the human family left undone by the regular laborers. Emma Maxwell was one of these, God's missionaries to his children. Emma was an orphan. She lived at her uncle's, where, though she paid her board, she rendered many services that lightened the burden of life to every member of the family. Perhaps some of my young readers would like to know how Miss Emma Maxwell looked. She was tall, and not very slender, for she took good care of her health, and had the reward of her care in strength and cheerfulness, and the sign of it in the bright bloom of her cheek. She had a soft blue eye, and one of the sweetest mouths I ever saw. How could it be otherwise? for never any but kind words and soft tones came from it. And she had-do not be shocked, my gentle readers--red hair. Depend upon it, all young ladies, be they good and lovely, and even pretty (and pretty Emma undeniably was), do not have-except in books"auburn hair," or "flaxen," or even "rich brown." Emma's hair was so plainly and neatly arranged, that no one noticed it except to say that "somehow red hair did not look badly on Emma Maxwell." The light that comes from within can make

*We will copy it in our next. No.-[Ed. Mess.

and sit on. On her first survey Emma concluded there was no bed, but a second view led her to believe that a heap of rubbish in one corner of the apartment had served as a bed, and that there poor Judy had died. In an opposite corner lay a bushel of potatoes. A junk of pork and half a newly-killed calf hung beside the door, while a bountiful mess was frying, and Dame O'Neil was stirring up a cake to bake before the fire. She first perceived the approach of Anny with her new friend. "Be quiet, Mike, and hold your tongues, men, will ye?" she said, to her husband and some half dozen men, who, with a jug of liquor beside them, were all talking in the same breath, "the lady is coming with Anny Ryan. Och, Rose, take the babby's hands out of the molasses. Biddy, move aside the pan of milk that bars the door, will ye? The Lord above bless ye, Miss," to Emma; "ye've had trouble enough with her?”

"Oh no," replied Emma, entering quietly, and accepting with a kind look of acknowledgment the seat offered her; "Anny is trying her best to feel and act right, and that's all we can any of us do, Mrs. O'Neil."

"That's true, indeed, in trouble and out of it."

"She tells me, Mrs. O'Neil, that you have been very kind to her and hers, and now she'll find it a comfort to do for you.”

"Lord help the poor child, Miss, if she'll stop fretting it's all I ask of her. She's always ready to do little jobs for me; it's enough I have to do, my oldest being boys-make a bow to the lady, Pat--and no help like to me."

"But rather a hinderance, I should think, Mrs. O'Neil. Here's a school for boys near you, kept by a very good young man, where you can send those two little boys for twenty-five cents a week."

"Do you hear, Mike?" asked Katy O'Neil.

"And where's the twenty-five cents to come from?" answered Mike," when we are all fed the week through, six of us, besides Anny Ryan, that, shall have her full male if the little reg'lars go starved."

"Oh, there is no starving in this land, my good friend, for the family of a stout working man with a busy wife at home. But