pendence in yourselves, which will renderyou J superior to misfortune."

"You do not mean, dear father," exclaimed Caroline, "that you wish us to learn a trade 1"

"This is my wish; and I sincerely hope you will co-operate with me therein."

"Indeed, sir," interposed Ann, "it would be so disreputable."

"No useful occupation is disreputable. Ignorance and dependence are so."

"But we will pursue our music and French," urged Ann, "during the year, and then we shall have an independence in them."

"But not such an one as I could desire for you. If you both had been proficients in them, it still would have been my purpose to give you the knowledge of a trade. For dress-makers and milliners can generally find' work and support themselves; but few teachers of French and music are required to supply the demand, and these now mostly come from France, Germany, or Italy, and men are preferred. Depending alone on these, your chances, when thrown upon them as a re source for bread, would be slight for getting employment for your talents. I am serious and determined in this matter, my dear children, lor I know you will thank me for it when you are older."

"It will be such a disgrace, father;" said Caroline, scornfully, and with a burning cheek of wounded pride.

"You have false notions. It is, on the contrary, honorable."

"How every body will wonder and laugh at us;" added she, with tears in her eyes.

"None but the weak and foolish—and the opinions of such should have no weight with you."

"Sir," said Ann, impressively, "pray spare us this humiliation."

"It is for your good, and I shall feel happier, knowing you are fortified against the reverses which life daily brings to the wealthy."

"But do you fear poverty, fatherV she asked, earnestly.

"No, my dear. I am rich, and shall in a few weeks retire from business with as much of this world's goods as I desire. But if I be not unfortunate, you may see misfortune in your lives—you may marry, and reverses may happen—widowhood and poverty."

"It is a fearful picture, father;" said Caroline, shuddering.

'' Arm yourself, then, against it, as I would urge you to do, should it ever be realized."

Ann was silent a few moments, and then said, with firmness and displeasure, "I have thought of it, father, and feel I cannot yield

to this mortification for a possible contingency. You a"k too much, sir, of the obedience of your children."

Mr. Marshall looked with surprise at this unusual language and bearing of his daughter, hitherto the most gentle and yielding; but before he could reply, the street bell rang and a servant in a nioment after came in and said a woman was very urgent to see him.

"Is she a lady, James?"

The footman hesitated at first, andthen replied, " She is poor, now, but looks as if she might have seen better days. She says she must see you, sir."

"Show her into the library. This is a cold day for a poor woman to be abroad," added the benevolent merchant, whose well known charities brought many a poor way-fart r to his hospitable door for temporary relief.

James ushered in a slender female, not yet twenty-seven years of age. She was pale and emaciated, rather by famine than sickness. The day abroad was wintry and bleak, and yet she wore only a straw bonnet, a thin muslin gown, and a small silk handkerchief about her neck, all having the worn air of poverty.

Mr. Marshall instantly recognized in her the wife of a young man of fortune he had once known, and the daughter of a merchant with whom he had once been associated in business. He quickly rose and offered her a chair, and politely presented her to his daughters, who were struck with pity and surprise. The poor woman sank into the seat, and covered her face with her hands, seemingly overcome with sorrow and suffering. He kindly took her hand and inquired what he could do for her.

"Bread and shelter for my dear children," she answered, with such earnestness of petition, as deeply to move the sympathies of the sisters.

"Is your husband no longer living?"

"He has been seven months dead. He had become poor before his last illness, which took from me all I possessed. Since then, Mr. Marshall, I have been struggling with the most painful indigence;—his friends refusing me relief—for his evil courses had estranged their affection from him—my own friends are living in Boston, and could not help me if they would. Last week I parted with the last article I had on earth, for food for myself and two dear boys-—when I tell you it was my wedding ring I need not say any thing more to prove to you my utter destitution at this moment. To-day we were driven from our wretched dwelling, and I have come to you, remembering your former intimacy with my father, to influence you at least to save my children."

Mr. Marshall and his daughters listened to her painful narrative with pity.

"Could you obtain no employment, Mrs. Linnford, that you were driven to such distressing necessities."

"Alas, sir, I am ignorant of any thing by which I can earn a penny. I tried first to get one or two French scholars, but I was found too deficient, not having properly been instructed in the language, so that it failed me when 1 would have made it a resource. My slight knowledge of drawing and painting failed to be of service, as those I applied to were not satisfied with my productions; in my music I was equally unsuccessful; and too late I found that I had been educated for prosperity, and not for adversity; and that my fashionable acquirements, when I would have leaned upon them, proved broken reeds."

Mr. Marshall glanced slightly at his daughters, who returned the look with emotions they found it difficult to suppress. Their eyes were filled with tears.

"Had you no more solid pursuits to fall back upon, then, Mrs. Linnford V inquired the merchant, questioning her further, desirous that his daughters should have the lull benefit of this opportunity of seeing illustrated in actual life, what he would have had them learn rather by the experience of others than their own.

"No, sir."

"Could you not sew?"

"A little, sir—but I could neither cut nor make any thing to be of use, or by which money could be made. If I had only given some of the wasted time over my piano and drawings in girlhood, to learning the trade of dress-making, I could easily have obtained employment, and supported my children decently. But as it is, sir, 1 have found myself perfectly helpless, and am at last driven to seek charity from one who knew me in the gaiety and sunshine of my youth, when I lived only for admiration and pleasure, believing life would always be thus to me."

Mr. Marshall wiped a tear from his eye, and then affectionately inquiring where her children were, ordered his carriage, and bp.de her go for them to a kind neighbor's with whom she said that she had left them, and at once return with them to his house. She quit him with tears of gratitude to fulfil his wishes.

For some moments after she had left the room, and they had heard the carriage drive away, they remained silent. At length Ann burst into tears of grief and penitence, and throwing herself into her father's arms, sobbed, without power to speak. Carolinecame and knelt at his feet, clasping his hands within hers. Both were overcome by the ecene

they had been a party to—both were touched with fear and distress.

"My dear daughters," said their father, pressing them alternately to his heart; "I am overjoyed to see that you feel. Providence has certainly sent her here to enforce my wishes in your behalf. This poor widow I once knew, as young, lovely, and happy, as either of you, and as likely to be happy in life. Her father was wealthy and indulged her, and she was surrounded with every luxury. She was a belle, admired, and caressed and flattered. She married a young man of fortune, who had already acquired dissipated and extravagant habits, and as she informs me—for I have long ceased to hear any thing from them—has ended his life in poverty, leaving her in utter destitution, and a petitioner of charity. Her fate, dear girls, Heaven has given as a lesson to you—oh, may it be so deeply impressed upon your mind as never to be erased. God in mercy avert evil from your heads, but if it come—as come it may, in this chequered life—may you be prepared for it while in prosperity."

"Dear, dearest father," they exclaimed, both at once, " we will not say one word more against learning a trade. We shall only be too happy if you will permit us."

"Now you have made me happy," he said, with a glow of pride and pleasure. "You have shown yourselves noble and generous girls; and when you have acquired it, 1 shall feel more confidence in letting you leave my roof, when the time of our separation comes; for I shall know whatever evil befal, the fate of this poor, helpless Mrs. Linnford can never be yours."

The comfort of Mrs. Linnford, was Mr. Marshall's first care; and when he had placed her in a comfortable suite of rooms, and seen her smile again with hope, he gave himself to the finishing of the education of his daughters. Mrs. Marshall, at first, made decided objections to the " preposterous idea," of putting Ann and Caroline to trades. "What would the world say?" was her narrowminded argument, when it was proposed to her. She, however, was prevailed upon to give her consent, on hearing the sad story of Mrs. Linnford; and the sisters choosing dress-makers' or "mantua-making" trade, were the next week placed with a Mrs. Goodwin, a lady who had once been a gentlewoman, and had moved in the same circles fifteen years before, with the Marshall family. Widowhood and poverty had driven her to provide for herself, which she was, happily, able to do, from having been taught by a sensible mother dress-making before she was married. It was now her means, not only of independence, but of respectability. With this excellent person Ann and Caroline were placed, and were highly pleased witli their new occupation. No distinction was made between them and the other apprentices, and all was harmony and cheerful employment. It was pleasant to see the sisters leave the house every morning at eight o'clock, in plain cottage bonnets, thick shawls, and neat chintz gowns, and with their baskets on their arms, trip to the shop. Atone, they came home, anil, changing their dresses, received their French, Italian and music teachers till five, and the evening they devoted, under their father's eye, to study.

The world made a great noise about it, and many of their aristocratic friends cut the apprentices. But these were the very ones whose friendship and acquaintance would have been valueless, if not injurious to them; so they were well got out of the way. Mr. Marshall was called eccentric; some thought he feared bankruptcy; and some said one thing and some another; and so the matter, after occasioning a little town wonder and talk, subsided.

The young ladies nobly pursued their object, and at the end of nine months, both of them had learned their trade thoroughly, and felt more proud of Mrs. Goodwin's jpraises

than of all Madame 's false flatteries, on

their quitting her school. They felt themselves now, mdependent, and a conscious pride of self-dependence gave them more energy and strength of character than they had ever felt before. Their studies in the meanwhile had been thoroughly reviewed and learned over, so that, at the end of the year, they felt they could not only entertain M. Laveaux in his native language, but really did converse a whole evening with French and Italian gentlemen that were guests at their father's. They replaced their former teacher's lying drawings and paintings by genuine ones from their own pencils; and both proved such proficients in music, as to compose very excellent pieces, and play at sight the most difficult compositions of Mozart and Hayden.

Thus good sense triumphed over prejudice. By stooping to learn a trade, these young ladies gained self-respect, and truly ennobled themselves in the eyes of the world which had affected to despise them. As these events are of recent occurrence, and as all the parties still live, we have little more to add, having elucidated our principle and its moral. Ann, it may be said, is well married to a merchant, and lives in a style becoming her wealth and station. Caroline is engaged to that Mr. " Somebody" she once danced with. That their future life may be happy as its morning was bright and serene, and that no vicissitudes of fortune will compel them to resort to that self-dependence which

they both have made such noble sacrifices of prejudices and pride to obtain; and that Mr. Marshall, the kind, wise, and good father,* may live to see them, and their children after them, blessed and happy, is the prayer of the writer, as he feels it will be that of all those who have read this tale of " No Fiction."

Written for the Ladies' Garland.
Lines To .


Forget me not when far away,
And other friends you greet;

Forget me not when with the gay
In social cheer you meet.

Forget me not in sunny hours,
When fleetest flowers bloom;

And zephyrs waft from spicy bowers
Their fragrance and perfume.

Perchance, thy path may lead thee on

To honor and renown,
By virtuous deeds more nobly won

Than many a monarch's crown.

May virtue guard thee on thy way,
Till life's short journey's o'er;

Then may we meet in endless day,
Where friends shall part no more.

Harmony, JV. J., May, 1842. J. R. L.

Written for the Ladies' Garland.



O Lord! my Redeemer! my Saviour! my Friend!
Incline now thine car, to my prayer attend;
Kend down in thy mercy, 0 scatter my fear!
And let in thy favor thy servant appear.

My pathway seems gloomy. and dark are my skies; Deep sorrows oppress me, and pain'd are mine eyes; [ weep with sore weeping, and weeping, I sigh

0 Jesus my Saviour! in mercy draw nigh.

Where! where shall I find him !—I seek for his seat,
To order my cause, and to plead at his feet;
To tell him my sorrows, make known my request,
And thus, heavy laden, iay down on his breast.

1 mourn like the willow that droops in the storm,
When its leaves are all faded, its beauty all torn;
The shade of the cypres steals dark o'er my sight;—
My light is all darkness, my day turned to night.

Oh that I had wings! as a dove I would soar,
And leave nil my sorrows, and sorrow no more;
I would haste to my Shepherd, and flee to his breast,
Where, ceasing from trouble, the weary may rest.

Hdtborovgk, June, 1842.

An eastern paper remarks that Judge Kent must have a good wife, or he never would IJ have said, that "There are few evils to which man is subjected that he would not avoid, if he would converse more with his wife, and follow her advice."

Written for the Ladies' Garland.



"So you will go, Charles!" said a young and beautiful girl, with tears glittering on her dark eye-lashes, as she clung to the arm of a fine, noble-looking youth, who, from his resemblance to her, was evidently her brother.

"Yes, Kate, I must go; but why will you weep thus? Think how soon I shall return; —nay, you unman me," and, half ashamed of his tears, he dashed them aside, and parting the raven ringlets off his sister's fair brow, he kissed her: saying, "Listen, Kate, mother calls you; once more good-by," and kissing his hand to a lady,—lovely, and scarce beyond the prime of life, he hastened away. Yet more than once he turned to gaze on the home he was leaving for the first time; and the fair young girl and her mother watched him 'till the shaded trees prevented their distinguishing him longer.

Charles Elliott was the only son of Capt. Elliott, a brave and distinguished officer, but who had died before Charles had numbered his sixteenth year; leaving his widow with two children, and a fortune sufficient to maintain them comfortably, and supply them with not alone the necessaries, but the luxuries of life.

An only brother of Mrs. Elliott's, Edward Clare, had in early life visited the East Indies, wishing to amass sufficient wealth to enable him to return a rich man; but the only tidings Mrs. Elliott had ever heard of him was the loss of the vessel in which he had sailed; and this induced her to decline giving her consent to Charles, when he informed her his most ardent wish was to accept a lucrative employment, which had been offered him in the Indies.

The Indies! it sounded to her as a deathknell, and it was not until the advice of her friends and the entreaties of Charles were exhausted, that she could yield her consent.

But Charles was so animated, so\ full of hope and gaiety, that she could not but believe his cheerful prophecies of a happy return. To Kate, poor Kate! it seemed impossible Charles could leave them; and the two years he was to remain, she fancied a long, long time. She strove, by a thousand little cares, to drive the melancholy thoughts from her mind, but they would return; and every thing seemed sad that day—even the gay carol of her cannry, and the murmur of a fountain that played amid a group of plants in front of the cottage. Yet, as day by day rolled by, their sorrow wore off; and they

began to look cheerfully forward to his return.

Kate Elliott was very beautiful; tall, wellformed and commanding in person. Her face was of an oval contour, with exquisitely fine features; complexion of a warm, rich hue, with redundant tresses of raven blackness; and eyes large, expressive, and melting in their own softness, though of the same dark hue as her hair. Her disposition, like Charles's, was naturally gay and lively; her mind well stored with not mere accomplishments, but with the best literature of the day. She had been educated under the careful eye of Mrs. Elliott. She was just sixteen—but two years younger than Charles; and now just merging from lovely girlhood to a beautiful woman.

» t * * *

It wns a bright summer morning, three months from the commencement of my story. In the small but elegantly furnished drawing-room of Elliott Cottage, sat Kate and her mother. The windows were low, opening on a balcony or piazza, filled with plants; white muslin curtains shaded the sun's bright rays; a small marble stand, supporting a vase of beautiful flowers, stood before Mrs. Elliott! Kate sat by her side; some fine needle-work, with which she 'had been engaged, lay on her lap, and an expression of deep thought was on her fine countenance.

"What are you thinking of, Kate?" said Mrs. Elliott, smiling; "you appear to be meditating deeply on some very interesting subject."

Kate looked up; a tear rested on her dark eye, as she said, "I am thinking of Charles, and I wonder he does not write."

"You forget he has not had time to arrive there yet, and you know we have heard from him once."

At this moment a servant entered, with a letter in his hand. Kate sprang up, exclaiming, "a letter; from whom can it bel" and hastily seized it. The hand-writing was strange, and it was directed to Mrs. Elliott, who opened it, and read but a few lines, when, in a voice tremulous from emotion, she exclaimed, " Kate, we are ruined!"

Mrs. Elliott's property was vested in the stock of a bank, considered perfectly safe, but the letter informed her it had kuely broken, and that her whole property was lost. Not her's alone; many had suffered by it, too; many more unable to bear it than she. Elliott Cottage did not belong to her; it had been leased to her for a number of years, with the privilege of purchasing it, at the end of that time. The lease expired within one month, and Mrs. Elliott then intended to purchase it; but now her plans were all frustrated.

As the first shock of the blow wore off; they planned their future movements.

"We must," said Mrs. Elliott, " leave the cottage, and"

"Leave the cottage!" cried Kate, "Oh, no, we cannot leave this, our own beautiful home."

"Listen, Kate," said her mother, "how would this costly furniture contrast with our present fortunes? We have nothing left us, my child, save these; and to support ourselves, at least for a time, we must part with them."

Convinced of the truth of her mother's remarks, Kate strove to command her feelings, and appear in her mother's presence cheer fu!.

To Charles they wrote immediately, hoping the letter would reach him soon after his arrival. Mrs. Elliott knew that he would wish to return instantly on the receipt of her letter; but she assured him, much as they longed to see him, that it would be advisable for him to remain at present, as his employment was a lucrative one.

Happily, they received an advantageous offer for their furniture, which Mrs. Elliott instantly accepted. Kate's harp was sold; but her piano, with a few pieces of furniture, reserved by Mrs. Elliott, were conveyed to Woodford, a small village but five miles distant from Elliott Cottage, and where they •were in future to reside.


At last the day came for their departure from their old home; and Kate had visited all the villagers, heretofore pensioners of her bounty, and the neighbors, who had sympathised with them; and now she ran over the cottage, to look at the old rooms once more. At one she stopped; it was her own room. The woodbine had climbed the latticed window, and its perfumed fragrance filled the air. Kate approached the window, and gazed long and anxiously out. Before her was the smooth velvet-like lawn; beyond, the woods, through which they had seen Charles last. The trees looked fresher, and greener, in the rich, warm sunlight that was poured upon them; and the birds sang gayer, merrier than ever.

Poor Kate! she thought of the happy days she had passed there; of the many joyous hours she might never see again; and her tears fell, like rain-drops, on the honey-suckle beneath.

She broke a branch, laden with bright blossoms; and not daring to gaze again on it, she hastily left the room.

"Come, Kate, are you ready?" said her mother, who was already seated in the carriage.

The servants were gathered on the lawn,

in a melancholy group, to bid Miss Kate good-by. The gardener approached her with a boquet of rare exotics. '' Good-by, Miss Kate," said the poor fellow, whijR tears rested in his eyes; "I have gathered some of the flowers you love; and. Miss Kate, I have sent some of the prettiest on to Woodford fir you ; and when you water them, and tend them, will you remember poor Robert?"

"Oil shall never forget you;" cried Kate, and springing in the carriage, it drove off, amid the blessings of the group.

Their new home was small; it consisted of but two rooms on the first floor of a small two story house; the rest of which was occupied by its owner, a respectable widow lady, Mrs. Lacy. The view from it, however, was pleasant; and under Kate's judicious management, their furniture was soon arranged; and it looked (although far different from their former style of living,) so neat and comfortable, that her gay spirits rose again.

"See, mamma," she exclaimed, "does not that recess look as if it were made for my piano? The plants, too, are almost as pretty as at the cottage; and Bob, pretty fellow, 1 am sure he likes it belter—don't you, my birdie?" and Bob burst out with a gay merry strain, as if he understood his mistress's words.

Mrs. Elliott smiled; but it was a sickly smile, and Kate saw that her cheek was paler than its wont, and her eye had lost its usual brightness. "I am sure you are sick, mamma; are you

not?" You look pale"

"No, dearest," interrupted her mother, " I am only weary; you must remember our excitement is wearing off. Come, let us look on yonder beautiful sunset."

But on the morrow she was worse, much worse; and Kate, alarmed, sent for a physician.

Mrs. Elliott's constitution had always been delicate; and she had taken a severe cold before she left Elliott Cottage, which, in the excitement of their departure, she had either neglected, or had not noticed. The physician pronounced it, accordingly, a violent cold; which, if great care were not taken, might end in something much more dangerous. Kate watched unweariedly beside her, and saw that she had every luxury which she needed, and to which she had been accustomed.

At this time, they received a letter from Charles, and as he made no mention of their letter; and as his was directed to their old home, there was no doubt that he had not received it.


It was four months after their removal from Elliott Cottage, toward the close of au

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