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if we beat the Rebels, and proclaim liberty to all, we shall return good for evil; and that text would have done for my sermon, if I had thought about it. But then I think the greatest reason why we ought to proclaim liberty to all is because we ought to. And I don't know as I have anything more to say to-night."

As she descended from her eminence, all in a flutter, her friends came up to offer their money; and Uncle Joe patted her on the head as he said, "I've heard some sermons that were not so well worth ten cents."

There was a short recess, and Isabel played lively tunes while the guests walked about and ate ice-creams, which the girls had made, under their mother's directions. Over the refreshment-table Frank had printed, in large letters, "Home Manufacture." All the articles were sold before ten o'clock; for the secret was discovered, and everybody wanted to help on the good work. The children were a little impatient to have the guests go, that they might count their money. They were greatly surprised and delighted to find they had received more than two hundred dollars. They kissed papa and mamma, and kissed each other, and said, over and over again, "Did n't we have a good time?"

When they had sobered down a little, Isabel, looking up archly, said, "Papa and mamma, I 've got a new idea."

"I dare say she has," said Ellen; "she 's always having new ideas." "And what is it now?" asked their mother.

"We have got so much more money than we expected," replied Isabel, "that I think we can do two things. You know that slave woman down South, who hid Cousin George when the Rebels were after him? He wrote to us that she had a very pretty, bright little girl. Seeing Kitty Jones tonight has made me think about her. I should like to spend half our money in picture-books and toys for the freed children."

"Good! good!" exclaimed Ellen, clapping her hands.

They all agreed with her, and when their articles were collected together, they were divided into two parcels, one of which was immediately sent off to the islands of South Carolina; the other half was reserved till the day before Christmas, when they were conveyed to the Orphan Asylum. Frank procured a pretty evergreen tree, and they all went to help the Superintendent arrange the articles upon it. The little inmates of the asylum were kept in the dark about the whole affair till evening, when they were marched into the room in procession, two and two. They were very shy in presence of the strangers. A few of them gazed with wonder on the lighted Christmas Tree, and some little laughs were heard; but most of them stood with fingers on their mouths, looking down. When hoods and mittens, and balls and bats, and tops and skates, and dolls and picture-books were distributed among them, a few jumped and laughed; but most of them made little formal bows and courtesies, and said, "Thank 'ee, ma'am," "Thank 'ee, sir," as they had been taught to do. When the articles were all distributed, the Superintendent conducted them to the play-room. She returned a few minutes afterward, and said to Mr. Rich and his family, "They were constrained before stran.

gers; but I have left the door of the play-room ajar, and I should like to håve you peep in."

Such a merry scene! The orphans were jumping and skipping about, tossing up their balls and dancing their dolls. "See how high my ball goes!" shouted one. "See what a pretty dolly I've got!" said another.

"O mamma! this pays us for all our work," said Isabel.

"I thought you were paid in doing the work," rejoined her mother. "So we were," said Ellen; "but this pays us over again."

While they were putting on their cloaks to return home, a chubby little orphan asked the Superintendent for a "fower." When asked what she wanted it for, she answered, "For de lady dat did give me de dolly." When she had received a geranium blossom, she went to Isabella and bashfully held up her flower. Isabella thanked her and kissed her, and she trotted off in a state of high satisfaction.

When the family returned to their elegant parlor, there was only ashes in the grate, the gas burned low, with a seething sound, and the gleams of the gilded paper were hidden by a veil of shadow. But the cheeks of the children glowed as they had not glowed under the brilliancy of the last year's Christmas Eve.

"O, what a pleasant world this is!" exclaimed Ellen.

Isabel took up a graceful Parian vase for one flower, and said, "Mamma, won't this geranium keep longer if I put salt in the water?"

Her mother smiled as she replied, "You are not apt to be so very careful of the flowers that are given you. But I see, my dear child, that you are learning by experience how much more blessed it is to give than to receive."

The water in the vase was changed every day; and when the blossom fell, the petals were pressed in a book, and under them was written, "The Little Orphan's Gift, on Christmas Eve."

The Fair and the visit to the Asylum furnished topics for household conversation many a day afterward. When Petty Poo was asked what she did at the Fair, she answered, "Oo-up."

"O, but you naughty little puss, you made Asia laugh," said Isabel. "And what did sister Ellen do?" asked her father.

"Made booful preach," answered Petty Poo; and they all laughed, as if they had not heard their little darling say it twenty times before.

"And where did you send your black dolly, with the two babies in her arms?" inquired her mother; and again they laughed when she lisped out, "To ittle conty-ban."

In a few weeks they received a letter from Cousin George, in which he wrote: "Dear cousins, your box arrived safely, and the teachers distributed the things on New Year's Eve. I would have given fifty dollars if you could have looked upon the scene. Such uproarious joy I never witnessed. Such singing and shouting are never heard among white folks. I wrote to you that the slave-woman, who saved me from the horrors of a Rebel prison by hiding me under some straw in her hut, was here at work for wages. Her little Chloe is not much older than Petty Poo, and is as pretty, in a different

When the doll with two

way. Such glorious brown eyes you never saw. babies was given her, she jumped and capered, and danced and sung, till my sides ached with laughing. All these people naturally express their feelings in music; and little Chloe, small as she is, has the gift. She sings whatever tune comes into her head, and makes words to suit it as she goes along. It would have done your hearts good to hear her sing:

How kind de Yankee ladies is!

So kind I nebber see!
How kind de Yankee ladies is,
To gib dese tings to me!

I made a sketch of her merry little face on a leaf of my pocket-book, while she was singing, and if I had colored crayons here I think I could make you a pretty picture. It is a pity you could not have had her for your Tableau ; though I have no doubt she would have laughed when the white poodle appeared on the stage, and in all probability she would have jumped down to catch him."

Not long afterward Captain George came home on a fortnight's leave of absence. And, hurried as he was, he found time to make a picture of little Chloe in colored crayons. The yellow cheeks and the great brown eyes made it look like a coreopsis blossom in the sunshine; and the face had such a happy, merry expression, that everybody laughed who looked at it. Isabel printed under it: "From Cousin George. A Souvenir of our Useful Christmas." It was framed and hung in the breakfast-room; and one day they found that Frank had pasted on the back the following inscription : "This is a commentary on the 'booful preach' Ellen made at our Fair, from the text, 'Proclaim Liberty throughout the land, to all the inhabitants thereof.""

L. Maria Child.

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THIS

THE INEQUALITIES OF FORTUNE.

HIS is an abstract subject, my little friends, if you look at it simply as a subject; but the things which the words stand for are things which most of you have doubtless seen and felt, and, I fear, mourned and wondered over. At least I have known so many young people disturbed by the difference between their own lot and that of others, that I have thought a little talk about it might be useful to all our young folks.

In the first place, little friends, let us accept the facts as they are. The leg of an old bedstead is not so good to bat a ball with as a real bat, broad where the ball is to be hit, and narrow and slender where you are to take hold of it; and if your well-shaped bat is also polished and carved and marked with your name in gay letters, why, it may not win you the game, but it is prettier to look at and easier to keep.

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You, little girls, love to adorn yourselves with whimsical devices. You delight in stabbing your hair with long pins, whose great, round white heads your envious brothers tease you by calling eggs and cannon-balls. You fasten white beads around your necks, with red, white, and blue streamers fluttering behind you, a large cloth-yerde and more." All right, young people, stream away as much as you like. Your brothers will soon get tired of teasing you, and doubtless you can find something equally absurd to tease them about. Nothing is more harmless than beads and bows. I regret that there are some little girls who can only look with wistful eyes at the fluttering ribbons of their friends, without hope of attaining any such delights themselves. Not that I think they would be more beautiful with them than without them, but I like to see children have what they want when their wants are innocent. Here is a little boy who read the prospectus of the "Young Folks," and scarcely gave it a thought. He knew he could have it by saying a word; his mother would be only too glad at the slightest symptom that he was developing a taste for reading. Another boy lay awake nights, trying to think whether there could be any hope of his subscribing for it, and considers himself very happy in clubbing with three other boys and taking it together. He does not mind that he gets it a week after it is out, and slightly battered at that. When a little girl who wears calico and walks to church is playing with a little girl who wears silk and rides in her carriage, and a third little girl comes by and invites the latter into her garden and says nothing to the former, she feels slighted and unhappy, and it is quite natural she should.

But, little friends, be comforted. You who see the fashions come and go, and are not able to follow them, you who cannot get "a quarter" just for the asking, you whose clothes are a little faded, and perhaps patched here and there, you who see the toys and the candies in the hands of other children and not in yours, you who live in the plain, small, and perhaps unattractive houses, let not your hearts be troubled.

There are many reasons why they need not be, some of which you can understand and some you cannot. I will begin with one that you cannot understand, and you must simply take my word for it.

You should not be troubled, because, although you may miss many good things, you can always have the best things. Character is of more consequence than clothes. If you are a gentle little girl, if you speak in soft, pleasant tones, if you are kindly in your acts and generous in your feelings towards all, whether they are dressed better or worse than you, if you are respectful to your elders, and especially to your parents, if you are truthful and obedient, and do not talk when there is company, why, it is not of the smallest consequence whether you have a string tied around your neck or not. If you are a brave, honest, manly boy,—if you are polite to your mother, and take good care of your sisters, even if you do tease them a little, as I am confident you do,—and not a very little either,—if you scorn a meanness, and are not afraid to apologize when you have, in a passion, said or done a wrong thing, then you may consider yourself extremely well off in the world, although you have no pony, and are rather bashful, and must work when other boys are at play, and your jacket is short-waisted. Every good thing I have mentioned you may possess, whether you are rich or poor. If you have not these things, riches will do you no good, — and if you have them, poverty will do you no hurt. I mean, if a girl is rough in speech and coarse in manners, she will be disagreeable to all those whose good opinion is worth having, even though she wear a new hat every day with feathers floating all over it; and a well-bred boy will be liked, and favored, and helped on in the world, whether he wear broadcloth or blue overalls. This is not merely what the books say, but it is true in life.

Let me tell you a short story to illustrate another reason.

Two boys living next door to each other were playmates and friends. Henry's father was rich, and Robert's father was poor. Robert often used to wonder in his own mind why it was that Henry should have so many fine things and himself so few. When Henry rode by on his pony, Robert had hard work not to feel envious and unhappy. Time passed on, and Robert left his native city. He had been a good boy, and he became a good man, and a learned man, and a rich man. He drove his own horses, and lived in a handsome house, and associated with the best people. One day he was walking along the beach during a short visit at home, and he met a man whom he half recollected, and who half recollected him. "Is this Henry?" "Is this Robert?" And very glad they were to see each other. "And how goes the world with you?" asked Robert.

"Miserably enough," replied Henry, sadly. "I am a pauper!"

Robert was shocked, and hardly knew what to say, but Henry went on frankly: "You had nothing but your energies to rely on. You went abroad, and have made yourself a name and a fortune. I had plenty of money. My friends were unwilling to have me leave them. I had no genius to impel me from within, and no necessity to force me from without. I led an aimless, useless life. I fell into extravagance from sheer listlessness. I was too lazy

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