. OF CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS ANGELB* "I know he blesses me." Page 8. hit BY HARRIET B. McKEEVER, AOTHOB oi "EDITH'S MINISTRY," li WOODCIIFF," "WOODCLIFF cimnmmmf "8UNSI1INE; OR, KATE TINTOX." Nothing but leaves," the spirit grieve* Over a wasted life, O'er sin committed while conscien Promises made, but never kept, Folly, and shame, and strife, " Nothing but leaves," PHILADELPHIA : S. STUART, No. 9 SOUTH NINTH STREET. 1881. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by J. P. SKELLY A Co., In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE THK Two HEARERS 5 CHAPTER II. A BABBLING BROOK 19 CHAPTER III. "FIRST THE BLADE." 31 CHAPTER IV. LIP SERVICE 39 CHAPTER V. "THEN THE EAR." 50 CHAPTER VI. LOOKING BACK 61 CHAPTER VII. AN ANSWERING FATHER 76 CHAPTER VIII. " CUT IT DOWN." 86 CHAPTER IX. VANITY FAIR.... 103 2131637 iv CONTENTS. CHAPTER X. PAGE A RIDE WITH THB CHILDREN 124 CHAPTER XI. THE AUSTINS 141 CHAPTER XII. THE SENHORA'S BALL 164 CHAPTER XIII. THE CARNIVAL 181 CHAPTER XIV. SILENT FOOTSTEPS 195 CHAPTER XV. HOME FACES 214 CHAPTER XVI. LIFE AT THE PARSONAGE 229 CHAPTER XVII. BTEANGEBS 247 CHAPTER XVIII. "THE FULL COBN IH THE EAE.".... .. 265 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. CHAPTER I. THE TWO HEARERS. THE outskirts of a very pleasant village our first picture is smiling, and we will stop awhile to contemplate its features. The house is an old-fashioned stone building with its broad piazza, and a hall in the centre. It stands back from the village street in the midst of a green lawn, shaded by two large horse-chestnut trees. On one side of the dwelling, near the windows of some young occupants, stands an old pear tree, where the busy little wrens make their nests in the bright spring time, and little Letty Winslow is often seen watching Jenny and her brood, scattering her bread crumbs on the window-sill, and enjoying the songs of the happy birdy. At l* 5 6 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. the back of the house, there is a tine garden, part of which is devoted to the cultivation of vegetables, and the remainder to lovely flowers. How is it that Mrs. Winslow has the finest vegetables all around ? for she is a very delicate woman herself, keeps but one servant, her son Mark too young to be of much use, and her means too small to hire help. The question is easily answered. John Barlow and William Brown, two excellent farmers, take turns in cultivating the garden ; for it belongs to the minister's widow, and they have not forgotten the kind pastoral care, the faithful prayers by the death-beds of their loved ones, and the cease- less devotion of their departed minister. They made the bargain in good faith, and kept a watchful eye on the little patch. Many a nice basket of early peas, of ripe tomatoes, and sweet corn is filled by the grateful widow as she bids them good-evening, and blesses them in the name of the Lord ; and so the work of love goes on. There is moreover a great variety of fine shrubbery bordering the front lawn, and alto- gether it is a spot where a passer-by would often stop to enjoy the refreshing sight of this cool green picture, on a warm summer day. But now it is the close of a spring-day, and on the piazza are seated two whom we will THE TWO HEARERS. 1 introduoe, for one will have much to do with our story. One is a young lady of eighteen; not beau- tiful, for she has neither rosy cheeks, ruby lips, nor bright sparkling eyes ; but there is something better in the light that beams from the expressive dark grey eyes, and the smiles that nestle around a mouth, that speaks so many words of gentle affection to the patient little sufferer by her side. What is it, think you, my youthful reader ? It is the light of holiness, though the sweet girl knew it not. The little one that lies in that child's carriage is ten years old, though she looks but six, for Letty Winslow has been a cripple from her birth, and has never known the bliss of rambling amid the scenes of this world, or of sporting with children of her own age in the green fields. Xo marks of impatience nor discontent linger in those pale features, but such a sweet look of childish resignation, as suggests at once that the Holy Dove dwells in that crippled form. Her Cousin Mary is entertaining the dear child with a book of Scripture pictures, which she holds in her hand. It is a touching sight to see how the dark eye brightens at pictures of the Blessed Saviour, in the many beautiful cuts which adorn this volume. 8 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " Let me see the one where He blesses the chil- dren, Cousin Mary," said the child, " I am never tired of that, for I always feel as if I were one of those little ones; I know He blesses me, or else how could I bear all the pain that I sometimes sufler ? Don't you think so, cousin ?" " Yes, my darling, I am sure that you are one of His little lambs, and He will never leave you, nor forsake you, Letty." " I think, cousin, that I shall soon be with Him, for I know that I don't get any stronger, and I shall be so happy in that blessed world ; I love to think about it, and sing about it too let us sing my favorite hymn." And the two com- menced in sweet clear tones the beautiful words, " Around the throne of God in heaven, Thousands of children stand, Children whose sins are all forgiven A holy, happy band. Singing Glory, Glory, Glory be to God on high." The pale face of a middle-aged lady appeared at one of the parlor windows, listening to the eweet music, as at the same moment, a young lady opened the garden gate, and advanced towards the piazza. She was taller than Mary Elliott, very hand- some and showy in her appearance, with remark- THE TWO HEARERS. ably fine dark eyes, and a rich glowing com- plexion. She may be called striking, although her attire was extremely simple, indeed decidedly grave; for a plain, dove-colored ribbon sur- rounded her hat, her dress was a very small figured grave colored delaine, and her mantle a plain black silk, without the slightest ornament. It was not pleasing in so young a girl, and the contrast between this costume, and the neat becoming attire of the young girl on the piazza, was quite striking. Mary Elliott wore the colors that become youth, without bestowing any unnecessary thought upon the subject, and Charlotte Oliver really studied how she might appear dead to the world, by an affectation of prim singularity. "Aren't you going to lecture?" said the young visitor. " I am afraid not, Charlotte," was the reply. " Aunt Margaret is not well, and there is no one to put Letty to bed but myself; I cannot leave her this evening." "You allow very small things to keep you away from the house of God, Mary, and now that Mr. Butler is delivering these lectures to the young, I think that you ought to be more punctual." 10 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. "It is my wish, Charlotte, but if I go, Letty will have to be put to bed by a servant whom we do not like, and Aunt Margaret will be all alone . I know what the subject will be to-night, and aunty and I will talk about it when Letty is asleep." " You have strange ideas of duty, Mary ; the salvation of the soul should always be the first object, and every thing be made to give way to that." " That is all true, Charlotte, but staving away from an evening lecture does not endanger the soul when the motive is right." " I don't think that we ought ever to neglect one service, if we are well enough to go good evening, Mary, I will pray for you that you may have more light*" Mary saw her consin depart with regret, for she loved the services of God's house, and felt with David, that she " would rather be a door- keeper in the house of the Lord than to dwell in the tents of wickedness." The sun was rapidly descending behind the trees, and Mary turning to her little cousin said, "Come, Letty, it is time to retire, you have not been very well to-day." " You are so good, Cousin Mary, to stay at home for me, I do not like Jaue to put me to bed, THE TWO HEARERS. ll for she always makes me hurry with my prayers." Mrs. Winslow was reclining on the parlor sofa, and Mary, lifting the child from the carriage, carried her to her mother, when the good-night kiss was given. A half hour's chat with the little girl was particularly grateful this evening, and after her simple prayer was offered up so reverentty, Mary laid her upon her little couch, kissed her, and then hurried to her aunt. " I am sorry that you have heen disappointed my dear," said the good lady, "it is so important for you to attend these lectures." " I am sure that I was right, aunt, we can talk ahout the subject here at home, ai.d perhaps God, who knows why I am absent, may send the light of his spirit into this parlor, as well aa in the house of God." "What is the subject to-night, Mary?" " It is upon the duty of an open profession, aunt ; when do you think it right for a young person ? I have thought so much upon it lately." " Your uncle changed his views very much upon that subject in the latter years of his min- istry, Mary, and generally extended the time of probation much more than at first nothing is gained by hasty professions, sometimes much evil is done." 12 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. * I wish to be a real Christian, dear amit, and therefore I hesitate until well assured that a spiritual change has passed upon my heart. I am not ashamed of Jesus, aunt, but I cannot, run the risk of making a false profession." "You are right, my love, count the cost first, and then, trusting on divine grace, go forward." " Charlotte seems -very much in earnest, aunt," said the young lady. " Perhaps so," replied Mrs. Winslow, " but let us remember the hearers of the Gospel there were the wayside hearers, where the seed was quickly caught up, the stony ground hearers, the seed springing up suddenly for want of depth, soon scorched by the burning sun, and those described as receiving the seed into good soil." " What can be meant by good, aunt ? for we know that all have evil hearts." " Yes, Mary, that is true, but the good ground must mean ground prepared by the Holy Spirit, for the reception of the divine word." " That is what I desire, aunt." " Seek for it, Mary, pray for light to know yourself, and then to know your Saviour; you cannot be too importunate, or ask too much." Who can doubt that these hours of com- munion were means of grace to Mary Elliott? Blessed home for the young girl: from the age THE TWO HEARERS. 13 of six, had she dwelt beneath the roof of her pious relatives, daily listened to faithful words of earnest godliness, and read in the lives of her uncle and aunt living epistles of the power of the Gospel. Mary Elliott was the eldest daughter of Mrs. Winslow's sister Helen, the beauty of the family, who had married very young, lost her husband, and then marrying a rich Portuguese, she had gone to South America, leaving her little girl, then a child of six, under the care of her sister Margaret, desiring that she might have the benefit of a Protestant education. Little did she know of the weakness of her own principles, that yielded so soon to the influ- ence of her husband in a Popish country, for ere she had been there two years, she had herself joined the Roman Catholic church, and had become much more of a devotee than the senor. Mr. "Winslow was a clergyman eminent for piety and intelligence, and amid the hallowed influences of the parsonage at Hollyville, Mary Elliott had passed the years of her young life. When she was about sixteen, the faithful pastor had been called away to "the rest that remaineth for the people of God," and Mary still remained with her aunt, mutually blessing each other. 2 14 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. There was one son, a lad of eighteen, Mark "Winslow, a bright, impulsive, intelligent youth especially influenced by gentle Cousin Mary, Emily, a daughter of fourteen, and little Letty, a child of ten, afflicted with a disease of the spine from the day of her birth. Mrs. Wiuslow owned the house she lived in, and had a small annuity, but Mary's income helped her very much, as having a wealthy mother, an abundant support was allowed her. Charlotte Elliot, her cousin, lived near her in the village, she was a very excitable girl, quick to feel, and as quick to change. A period of great seriousness had long pre- vailed in the parish, and Charlotte had appeared deeply impressed under the power of divine truth, but it remained for time to prove how much of the work was real, and how much the effect of sympathy with others. Mary had long kept a diary, from which we shall make frequent extracts, for she felt assured that daily converse with her own spirit was especially beneficial : let us peep at one now. " Yesterday was a solemn Sabbath-day, fifteen openly professed their faith in the Redeemer. I feel a longing to be there, but the more that I read in God's holy word, the more do I see that to be a Christian is not simply to lead a decent THE TWO HEARERS. 15 life before men, or even to make a profession of the Saviour's name, but implies a life of God in the soul, which must precede this outward act. " Bread cannot feed a dead body, light cannot beam where there is no atmosphere, morality is not holiness, amiable aifections are not holiness. Ere I partake of spiritual food, let me ask, have 1 a spiritual appetite ? Ere I eat the children's bread, let me ask has the new birth made me one of the little flock ? Thanks to Uncle Wiris- low for such clear, decided teaching on the subject. " There were some in that little company, who I doubt not are all that they professed, the humble followers of the meek and lowly Saviour, but there were others who have been so hasty. I wonder how it is with Charlotte Oliver. I must not judge her, to her own Master she stands or falls, but it is so very recently that she has appeared interested in serious things, I sometimes fear that she has been over hasty, and when the days of trial come, she may fall away. " Mark looked so solemn, I wish that he were a Christian ; with his bright talents and warm heart, he would do much for the Master's cause. u I have strong faith for Mark, he is a son of the righteous, and to such are the promises. Letty is a dear, precious child of God, and Emily, too, is a subject of much serious thought. 16 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " For those educated as we have been, it is hard to say where the work of divine grace really does commence, for from our earliest days, we have been fed upon the milk of the Gospel. Sometimes I hope that I am renewed in the spirit of my mind, and then again, I fear that much that is simply the effect of education I may mistake for the work of grace. Expressions in the Bible are very peculiar. ' A new creature in Christ Jesus ;' ' Born again ;' ' A life hidden with Christ in God ;' ' Christ in you, the hope of glory ;' ' Justified by faith ;' ' Peace with God ;' 4 Accepted in the beloved ;' ' Having a full assur- ance of faith.' "These expressions indicate something in the state of the soul, not belonging to unregenerated nature, and these I long to possess ; they are so deep, so high, that sometimes I am discouraged, but then again I read, ' First the blade, then the ear, then the full corn in the ear.' " Only let me know, dear Lord, if the little blade is really shooting; if so, then I am sure that he who hath begun a good work in his humble child, will perfect it in the day of the Lord Jesus ; now what are these marks ? Sorrow for, arid hatred of sin, not slavish fear of punish- ment, because with the first dawn of penitence, is mingled love simple trust in Jesus only not THE TWO HEARERS. 17 in frames, not in feelings, not in prayers, but in Jesvs only ; in his finished sacrifice, his precious atonement, his present salvation. Sometimes I have such glimpses of the cross of the Redeemer, and waves of peace flow over my whole spirit, but oh ! how short the blessedness. " Another mark is a determination to give up all for him, love of prayer, love of God's word, love of God's people, desire to be conformed wholly to his will. " I think the blade is shooting up little green buds, may the Lord bring forth the ear, then the ripe, full corn." ********* Letters have just arrived from South America, the Senhora expresses a strong desire to see her daughter, and says that some day she must ex- pect to join them. Tells about her brother Leon and her sister Viola, sends a family picture ; the children are beautiful, with liquid dark eyes, rich olive com- plexions, and delicate forms. Mary longs to know them ; but the thought of leaving a Protestant country to go into a land of such a dearth of spiritual privilege seems really bewildering. Putting the evil day afar off", Mary took her picture to her aunt. " Does that look like my mother ?" said Mary. 2* 18 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " Yes, Mary, but she is much faded, she waa very handsome when she left this country." It was a beautiful woman, clad in the costume of the country, with a rich black lace mantilla imparting softness to the delicate features. The husband was a real Brazilian, with a fine face, much in it to like. " Do you think I will ever have to go, aunt ?" Baid her niece. " Yes, Mary, I expect a summons one of these days, and therefore I wish your Christian char- acter fully formed before that day of trial." " How did my mother become a Romanist ?" " She was by no means an established Chris- tian when she left us, she loves her husband very fondly, and in the absence of other influences, she was easily wrought upon ; but still she has had the benefit of early religious training in the simple gospel, and I cannot regard the word as seed sown altogether in vain." A BABBLI3G BROOK. 19 CHAPTER IL A. BABBLING BROOK. ..HE restless spirit of Charlotte wag constantly impelling her forward, not in the way of humble, fervent piety, but in that obtrusive, busy manner so often condemned in the writings of the apos- tles ; consequently, in a few days, we find her on a mission to her cousin. Mary Elliott. At the close of a very bustling day, Charlotte is threading her way up the path that led to Mrs. Winslow's. Seating herself in the family parlor, she laid aside her hat, and with a patronizing air addressed Mary Elliott. " How long do you expect to halt between two opinions, Mary?" inquired her cousin. "I am not halting, my dear cousin, I am convinced of the beauty and excellence of true, heart -felt piety, and am most earnestly striving to be a partaker of its blessedness." "I think you are mistaken, Mary, about the 20 FOTIIINa BUT LEAVES. way we are called upon to decide at once, for Christ or Belial." " I think that I have decided long ago, and am only trying and proving my heart, to see what is real, and what may be false there." "Is not the command, 'Come out from the world, and be separate ?' " "Yes, Charlotte, and there is another too, which says ' Examine yourselves whether ye be in the faith.' " " But while you are hesitating, you may be grieving away God's Holy Spirit." " I think not, Charlotte, for it is my morning and evening prayer, ' Cast me not away from thy presence, and take not the Holy Spirit from me ;' I have seen so much of hasty professions, that I fear for myself, Charlotte. I trust, my dear cousin, that last Sabbath was a happy day ?" " I did not realize all that I hope for, Mary, but I know that I was doing my duty. I am trying to take up my cross, for I feel that I shall have one to bear at home." " Was not your mother pleased with the step that you have taken, Charlotte?" " No, Mary, she is very unkind, she expects as much of me, as if I were an advanced Christian ;. T fear that I shall be one of those who are ' persecuted for righteousness' sake.' " A BABBLING BROOK. 21 "If your piety only makes you a better daughter and sister that will recommend the religion that you profess, Charlotte, and may lead, one by one, all the dear members of your family into the fold." "I do not look for it, Mary; my duties as a Christian are so many, and will lead me so often away from home, that I expect continual warfare." " "Would it not be well, dear cousin, to see how much of your Christian influence should be ex- erted at home, ere you step out of doors to find afield?" " I despair of doing any good there, for father and mother are always finding fault with me, and, therefore, I must look for a fie d elsewhere; there is the Dorcas Society, I cannot neglect that, for we are commanded to be kind to the poor; then there is the sewing circle for missions, it would be dreadful to pass by that, then another day ' to visit my Sunday scholars, another to attend the Bible class, one evening for lecture, and another for prayer-meeting; so you see, Mary, that if I do my duty in all these fields, I cannot be much at home." " But, Charlotte, may you not be neglecting most solemn duties, by this out-door piety? Aunt Oliver must have a great deal to do, with 22 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. herself, husband, son and three girls to sew for. It seems to me that it ought to be so delightful for you to feel that you can help your weary mother?" " I do, Mary ; every Saturday morning I clean the parlor, and when I am at home in the even- ing, I help with the sewing; but if those who profess the name of Christ hold back from the cause, who is to help it forward ?" "What is the cause, Charlotte? read the Epistles carefully, and see how minutely a woman's duties are laid down there is so much about domestic life commanded ; sometimes in laboring so much out of doors, we may be passing by the very field that our Master ex- pects us to cultivate. There is another duty, my dear cousin, another field that we have to look after." " What is that, Mary ?" " Our own deceitful hearts, Charlotte ; out of its secret chambers we are told come the issues of life and death." " I have very little time for that, Mary, for I get so tired with my daily routine of duties, that when evening comes, I am almost too weary even to read a chapter in the Bible, and some- times drop asleep on my knees." " Don't you feel afraid that religion may thus A BABBLING BKOOK. 23 dwindle away at last to a mere routine of out- door excitement, while the heart is left to work out its own will ?" " I never thought of that, Mary, but don't you think that these things ought to be attended to by Christians ?" "Undoubtedly, if we can do so, without neglecting the sacred duties of the little sphere where our Master has placed us." " How is it, Mary, that you do not attend our Dorcas meeting ? we are very much in need of workers." " I cannot always leave home, Charlotte ; Aunt Margaret is very delicate, sometimes cannot leave her room until ten in the morning ; little Letty must always have some one with her, and I cannot step over these, to seek out-door work. It is a great pleasure to work for the Lord, and I think I can make an arrangement by which I can have some work at home." " Will you go to our next meeting ?" " Yes, Charlotte, but I do not expect to go always," After the young lady had taken her departure, Mary felt -as though she had been listening to the babbling of a noisy, shallow brook, but an hour's tranquil communion with her gentle, holy aunt, restored the quiet of her spirit. 24 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. "We will follow Charlotte to her home after this day's bustle and noise. "Where have you been this long while, Charlotte ?" inquired her mother. " I have been working the whole day, with no one to help me until my head aches with weariness." " This was my Dorcas day, mother, and this afternoon I have been visiting some of my poor people." " Ah ! Charlotte, if you could only look upon your mother and your home, you might find plenty to do here, without searching after miser- able beggars." Charlotte lost her temper, and replied, " You are always finding fault with me, mother, not a word of encouragement do I get here, nothing but persecution and unkindness," and Charlotte burst into a flood of angry tears. "If I saw any of the fruits of real piety about you, Charlotte, I should not complain ; but really I cannot help thinking on the passage in the New Testament which speaks of young people as 'learning to be idle, wandering about from house to house, and not only idle, but tattlers also, and busy bodies, speaking things Wiiich they ought not.' " " I think you are very unjust, mother," said the young girl, as she flounced out of the room. A BABBLING BROOK. 25 Closing the chamber door, she sat down for a few- minutes weeping bitterly, and thinking herself one of the most abused of suffering, persecuted Christians. Her spirit was too much ruffled for communion with a holy God, so reading a few words in the Psalm, and bowing down at the foot of her bed, she murmured a hasty prayer, and throwing herself upon her pillow, soon cried herself to sleep. Poor, mistaken Charlotte ! Mary, too, in her chamber, her duties all performed, and before her little table, with pen, ink, and paper, communes with her spirit in her diary. " How blessed am I in this quiet home of love ! Poor Charlotte! I am sorry for her, she has never had the benefits of such a home, neither her father nor mother pretend to any piety, this world bounds their vision, and they have no sympathy with those interested in serious things. I fear that my cousin's restless, unchar- itable spirit will not recommend religion in their dight. O! that she could see the loveliness of woman's humble province as laid down in the word of God. May its holy teaching be written with a diamond pen upon my own heart. , 'But let it be the hidden man of 3 2t> NOTHING BUT LEAVES. the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.' ' Charlotte, true to her appointment, called for Mary to accompany her to the Dorcas meeting. A number of young ladies were present, presi- ded over by Mrs. Lacey, a most excellent, useful lady. " We are glad to see you, Miss Elliott," said the directors, " are you going to join us ?" " By my subscription, yes, but by my atten- dance, I fear not ; the nature of my engagements will prevent that." Mrs. Lacey handed her some work, and she took her seat by Charlotte and Matilda Hope. She was soon deeply pained by the young ladies' conversation, who seemed to be discussing their neighbors' faults. " Did you observe Mrs. Butler's dress last Sun- day," said Matilda. " Yes, it was a very handsome silk," was the reply, " I should think that it must have cost at least two dollars a yard ; and Harriet's bonnet was quite too tasty for a minister's daughter don't you think so, Matilda?" " Yes, indeed, when Mr. Butler tells us that we ought to come out from the world, I think thut hia own family ought to set the example." A BABBLING BROOK. 27 " Doubtless he meant the whole spirit of the world," said Mary, who had heard the remarks ; "there are many heart-sins to be removed if that is right, all the rest will be right. I do not think that you remember that Mr. Butler has a wealthy father, and I dare say the articles of a lady's wardrobe that you complain of, were sent by him. There is one thing that I have observed, Charlotte ; in all my intercourse with Mr. Butler's family, dress has never formed a sub- ject of conversation." *' You do not justify extravagance and world- liness, I hope, Mary." "I trust not, Cha-lotte, but that is a matter that each Christian must settle for herself, it is impossible for us to judge for each other." "I think you are quite a tasty little lady, Cousin Mary, and a spice of vanity in your nature, else why do you choose blue so fre- quentlj T ?" " Just because it is becoming, Charlotte, for I cannot imagine any piety in trying to make our- selves disagreeable, by affecting pious costume, and wearing colors suitable for the aged. Aunt Margaret regulates all that for me, and I am willing to be guided by her good sense and piety. I own that I admire pretty things wherever I see them, but so small is the consideration in 28 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. whi^li I hold such matters, that if I felt called upon to do so, I would wear drab color to the end of my life ; but Aunt Margaret says that she has often observed that young professors beginning with such ultra notions, soon substi- tute scarlet and feathers, for drab and brown BO take care, Cousin Charlotte." " What then becomes of the comm md, ' Come out from the world, and be separate ?" said Char- lotte. " It calls upon us to watch the secret move- ments of our hearts, Charlotte," was the meek reply, " there is the seat of pride, worldliness, and censoriousness ; all proceeding from a want of the spirit .of humility and love ; and this is the spirit of the world that must be cast out." Charlotte turned away, and addressed her companion. " Did you hear about Martha Roberts ? I was told that >he went to a ball last week, where there was dancing until two o'clock in the morning." " Indeed !" was the reply, " I am not suiv prised ; I never thought that she had the root of the matter in her." Mary hud heard this uncharitable speech, and quietly replied, "She was bridesmaid to her Cousin Ellen, A BABBLING BROOK. 29 there was a laige company, Charlotte, but neither dancing nor late hours, for Mr. Butler married them, the party set out immediately upon a journey, and the company dispersed at reasonable hours." Mary was heartily tired of this gossip, and taking home her share of work, quietly told Aunt Margaret that she would do her share at home, where she would not be compelled to listen to such uncharitable comments. Mary has a charming voice, and often sings with Mark to keep him at home ; for there are some boys in the village, whom she wishes him to avoid. This is a critical period in Mark's life, when his character is moving round a pivot, a very dangerous time for an impressible boy like Mark. Charlotte steps in one evening, and finds Mary at the piano, Mark choosing the music, and the two singing some very beautiful songs, but not one containing an improper sentiment. "I am very sorry to see you wasting your voice upon such music, Mary," said her cousin. " Why, what would you have me to do ? sing hymns for entertainment ! I prefer sacred -music, Mark does not ; if I tire him out with what is distasteful, I shall drive him out, and that I do not wish to do." 80 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " It seems to me a great waste of time to be singing songs, Mary." " Uncle Winslow did not think so, he used to choose them for us, and sometimes would join us himself." " A minister sing songs, Mary ! I am quite surprised !" " Here, in his own home, many a time would he join us to make home happy, but never one word that was inconsistent with the teachings of our dear Lord ; for I believe that he would have smiled on us himself, if he been here in person." " What a strange girl you are !" said Char- lotte ; " I don't know what to make of you, Mary." " I know," said Mark, " she is one who is always trying to make us all good and happy, Charlotte, and her religion is sunny and bright, just like dear father's." "It seems to me that people preparing for eternity, have no time for these things," said Charlotte. " They have none for sinful recreation ; but as flowers are scattered in our path, we are per- mitted to pluck them by the way ; and I see nothing to prevent our enjoyment of those social pleasures which our Father approves." TIRST THE BLADE. CHAPTER III. "FIRST THE 'IARY "Is there really progress in Christian character? What are the fruits of the Spirit? 'Love' do I love my Saviour ? do I love my fellow Chris- tians? do I delight in communion with my Father in heaven? I think that I can answer in the affirmative. - I can adopt the language of the hymn : " ' How sweet the name of Jesus sounds In a believer's ear!' " ' Joy ' what are the chief sources of my joy ? Do I delight in the things of the world? No my joy comes from a deeper, purer source. I rejoice, I trust, in the dawn of a Saviour's favor, in the hope of union with himself. "'Peace' peace with God through Jesus Christ faint, but sweet and holy, pervading my whole being following me in my daily walks, mingling with all my employments. 32 NOTHING BUT I EAVES. "'Long-suffering' a disposition to bear with the infirmities of my fellow Christians, knowing that I possess so many. " ' Gentleness ' the mind of Jesus, that patient, loving temper, which belongs only to the fol- lowers of the Lamb. " ' Goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.' I think I can trace these lineaments ; and if so, if they are real, then is it not evidence that I have something of the mind of Jesus ? If so, to God be all the glory, for grace must have all the praise, nature none. " ' First the blade,' I trust that these are the tender shoots." Mark is at school, and frequently gets into trouble by his hot, impatient temper there is a boy named Richard Cole, very envious of Mark, for he always holds a high rank in his classes; it is this boy's delight to rouse Mark's irri- table disposition, and he never passes by an op- portunity. Mary often takes her little Cousin Letty out in her carnage, and one afternoon, as Mark was drawing it along, Richard passed by ; he knew '.low Mark loved his deformed sister, and with a neer he raid, " How are you to-day, little humpback !" FIRST THE BLADE. 3? "How dare you!" said Mark, dropping the shaft of the carriage, and with a blow of his fist striking Richard in the face the blood gushed from his nose, and little Letty said, " Don't, brother Mark, don't fight for me ; I don't care about being called humpback; God made me so." Richard was a coward, and sitting down by the side of the road, he commenced blubbering like a great calf. Mary ran to a neighboring brook, and bring- ing a wet handkerchief, she washed the boy's face, and tried to soothe his irritated feelings. u Mark is very hasty, 1 ' said his cousin, " but you must excuse him this time, Richard; he loves little Letty, and it seems so unmanly to attack such a patient little sufferer." " He has no business to strike me, Miss Elliott," replied the boy. "I'll tell the master to- morrow : see if I dofl't." " I don't believe that he'll lay a finger on me," said Mark, " for defending my little sister ; he's a noble man, and would have given you a blow himself." "Hush, Mark!" said Mary, "you are too angry to talk now ; come, let us go home." ^nd as they walked along, she tried to con- vince her cousin of the folly of such rashness, but 34 TvOTIIING BUT LEAVES. Mark persisted that he was right, and declaring that if Richard did it again, he would beat him within an inch of his life, that he would." Emily was. at school, and many an hour in the evening was devoted to the cousins, who looked to Mary for aid in their lessons. Seated by Letty in the daytime, the cousina often conversed about the heavenly home, to which the little girl was so rapidly travelling. The translation became a familiar subject, and this sweet communion was laying up a store of memories to cheer the household, when Letty had crossed the dark river. Her favorite remembrance of Bunyan's Pilgrim was Christian in his passage through the swel- lings of Jordan, and many an echo was wafted to the dear child from the angels on the other side. Diary "Little Letty looks so spiritual, her skin is becoming so transparent, that she looks as if she would soon pass away, and be at rest. How we shall miss the dear child, with her winning ways, and her low, musical voice! I am sure that there is a mansion ready for her in the Master's house. I must be very tender and attentive to the little lamb, for she is one of the liock, I know, and in cherishing her, I am doing service to my Master, for she is one of hif. FIRST THE BLADE. 35 "AVent last evening to Matilda Hopes, to spend the evening dear Aunt Margaret seemed BO, pleased when she bade me 'good-by,' and said, as she looked at my dress, the work of her own hands, " ' There, that will do, Mary ; sometimes there is a look about you like your mother, though she is dark, and you so fair.' There were about a dozen present. I was so glad to see Harriet Butler, she is such a lovely, unassuming girl. I suppose that her pure white dress and blue ribbons did not suit Charlotte, who sat so demure in her dark gray suit, and hair so se- verely plain, but there was a soft light in Har- riet's dark eye that beamed with meekness and holy love, no such light illumined Chaulotte's face. " The conversation was anything but edifying ; one had to tell of a great preacher, who had just arrived in the metropolis, calling him ' perfectly divine!' another had to tell how much she had done that week for the missionary society, a third, of her self-denial in the spending of her weekly allowance, a fourth discussed her neighbors, and I drew close to the side of Harriet Butler, who never indulged in this sort of talk. " I proposed music, and several of the young ladies having sweet voices, we had some fine 86 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. sacred music, in the midst of which Mr. and Mrs. Butler entered. They are always so kind in their manners, and engaged my services for the approaching Christmas sale. I can do a great deal at home, and Letty will help with her knitting. The good minister is so happy in turning the channel of conversation profitably. I always feel, when I have passed an hour in his company, that I have been with one who lives near his Saviour." Mr. Butler esteemed his young parishioners, and remarked to his wife, " I have great hopes of Mary Elliott ; when she comes out on the Lord's side, we shall see ripe fruit, for I think I see it now ; I am afraid, how- ever, that in several of the^e young people, we shall see ' nothing but leaves.' I am always troubled when I hear the tongue so busy with mere religious cant, and Charlotte Oliver gives me much anxiety, there is such a lack of humility." The work for the Fair goes merrily on. Aunt Margaret, Mary, and Emily are very busy, and little Letty, propped up in the cradle, makes her iron-holders, her dolls' hoods and tidies, while in the evening Mark reads some interes ting book. Part of this work, however, is for another FIRST THE BLADE. 37 purpose, for it is proposed to give a donation party to the good pastor on New-Year's eve. Charlotte and Matilda are both making a great noise about what they are doing, but Mary, in the quiet of her home, is accomplishing much more. Plenty of leaves in the profession of the two, green, showy, shining ; but ripening, mellowing fruit in Mary Elliott's daily life ; for commenced at the foot of the cross, and drawn by the same attraction, each step is in the vale of humility. Mr. Butler has given notice that he proposes to deliver a course of lectures on the Pilgrim's Progress, and Mary hopes that she may be able to attend upon these services. She can do so now without neglecting home duties, for it will take but two hours once a week, Aunt Margaret is much better, and equally anxious for Mary to go. Mark and Emily accompany her, and many a heart-felt prayer does she breathe that the precious truths may reach their young hearts. Deep self-communing follows each lecture, for Mary is truly solicitous to know if she is really treading in the Pilgrim's Path. Diary " Last evening we saw the Pilgrim with the burden on his back, crying out for deliverance. 4 88 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " It troubles me, for I do not remember such a period in my spiritual life, sin was never such a burden to me, perhaps I have not experienced that godly sorrow for sin, but when he described the little wicket-gate, and the burden falling oft' at the foot of the cross, I could sympathize with that, for a glimpse of the dying Saviour at all times imparts joy and peace in believing. I have seen enough of the evil of sin to lead me there, and can sing, " ' Ever since by faith I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply, Redeeming love has been my theme And shall be till I die.' "What a picture of a Christian life is this wonderful book ! so descriptive of the struggles and trials of the believer, so full of comfort, and peace, and joy to the true disciple. "Mark listened very earnestly, and Emily asks me many questions, when we get home. Letty always looks for an account of the lecture, for she understands very much of the allegory ; doubtless she is one of the little pilgrims on her way to the heavenly city. LIP SERVICE. CHAPTER IV. JL.IP SERVICE. Sarah Oliver is very sick, Mary drops in daily to see her aunt. It is after a very anxious night that we lift the latch of the sick room. It is the nursery, close and uncomfortable, for they have not been able to move the child into another room. The mother has a couch in the room, a large basket of work is standing on the table, the child is tossing in the delirium of fever, and two little sisters are running about noisy and untidy. " Where is Charlotte ?" asked her cousin. " She is out on one of her religious tramps," said the mother, " she had no time for a worn-out mother, and a sick little sister ; I don't under- stand Charlotte's religion. She is very particular about the shape of a bonnet, or the color of a ribbon, shocked at a burst of childish laughter on the Sabbath day, but has no heart for home, no hand for a mother or sister. I was up all 40 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. night with, poor little Sarah, while Charlotte was sleeping to he prepared for to-day's labor among her poor people." Mary had not one word of excuse to offer, for her whole heart was with the mother ; but taking off her hat, she offered to aid her aunt, and calling her little cousins, Julia and Maria, she washed and dressed them, made the nursery comfortable, placed every thing in order, venti- lated the room, and then seating herself by Mrs. Oliver said, "Now, aunt, it seems a little brighter, don't it ?" " Yes, dear, if Charlotte were only like you, Mary, what a comfort she would be to her mother !" The very sight of the peaceful, happy face cheered the weary mother, and with Mary's help, they raised the suffering child, changed her garments, washed the face and hands in cool water, and then laying her back upon the pillow, had the comfort of seeing her close her eyes, and sink away into a quiet sleep. In the midst of this gentle ministry, Charlotte entered with a look of weariness and dissatisfac- tion upon her face. She was surprised to see Mary seated by her sister's bed, and taking off her hat and mantle, commenced fanning herself, as if very weary of her morning's labor. LIP SERVICE. 41 " I am so tired, Mary. I think that we have walked three miles to-day, for my district is larger than any other, and we have so many to look after, that I really dread the day to come. How is it, Mary, you never seem jaded out as I do?" Her cousin smiled. " Perhaps I do not work so hard, Charlotte." " There irf something in that, for you do not helong to so many societies, and spend such a quiet life at home, but I am never rested ; some- times I get really wearied out, I find neither peace nor satisfaction in such a life. How is it, Mary, that you are always the same happy creature ?" " I trust, dear Charlotte, that I am seeking for the spirit of my Master ; if we would only do his will day by day, peace and happiness must follow, for has not our Saviour said, ' If a man love me, he will keep my words : and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.' " "I am trying to serve God I am sure, Mary, and it brings me no peace." "Perhaps you are not in the path of duty, Charlotte; if so, the promise is not for you." Mary really pitied the mistaken girl, for lacking the free and loving spirit of a true child of God, 4* 42 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. and laboring in the bondage of servitude, she enjoyed neither religion nor the world. But ere Mary took her leave, she obtained a promise from her cousin that while Sarah was sick, she would stay more at home, and try to aid her mother in her heavy cares. Mary had a sad account to give of the state of affairs at Aunt Oliver's, so very different from her well- ordered Christian home. " Shall we take an excursion to-day," said Letty, " it is one of Mark's holidays." "It looks a little threatening," said her cousin, " do you see those dark clouds ? I am afraid that there is a shower there." " We need not go out of the village, Mary, and if it does rain, we can run into one of the houses, they are all good to Letty, cousin." Mark voted for a trial at all events, for Letty had not been out the day before, and the fresh air was life and health to the child. Starting with gay spirits, they chose one of the shady streets for their jaunt, and Letty's tongue ran on merrily under the influence of the pleasant day, and the cool, fresh air. On their return, the clouds gathered darkr.esa rapidly, and the shbwer descended. " What is that noise, cousin ?" said Letty, "I am sure that I heard the cry of a kitten,'* LIP SERVICE. 43 Stooping down, Mark picked up a poor little half drowned animal, that seemed crying pit- eously for help. Seeking shelter in the nearest house, Letty took the shivering kitten in her arms, and fold- ing it in her sacque, tried to dry the poor little thing that had been abused by some cruel boys, and then turned out of doors. It was a pretty kitten, with black and white spots, and Letty was delighted at the thoughts of a pet. As soon as the shower was over, they hurried home. A small basket with some soft woolen rags was prepared for Kitty, and Letty com- menced the business of a nurse. She had a tin basin of bread and milk always ready, and under kind treatment Kitty soonrecovered her health and beauty, for when she became fat, she was a soft little moppet, full of frolic and fun, and devoted to Letty; scarcely ever one was seen without the other. In all her rides, Kitty was in her carriage, she had her corner in Letty's sleeping room, and by the side of her cradle she played and romped and slept all day. Is Charlotte learning wisdom? we fear not, for having commenced wrong, there can be no ripening fruit, where there is no root of holiness 44 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. no union of the branch with the real Vine, and BO she went on her weary way, "nothing but leaves, nothing but leaves 1" It is vacation for both Mark and Emily, and Letty enjoys the season, for it brings her so much into daily sports out of doors. Mark has no greater pleasure than to plan trips for his invalid sister, and one morning at breakfast, brother pleases the child by his plan for the day. "What do you say to the lily pond?" said Mark. " That will be so nice, brother," said the child, for it was a favorite resort. "I'll run down for Harriet Butler," said Mary, "and we'll have a fine time under the green trees." " And I'll take Kitty," chimed in little Letty. " Wouldn't you like to go, Kitty ?" said the child to the frolicsome pet, that was playing around the breakfast table. Kitty mewed in quite a knowing style, and Letty thought that she was the smartest kitten in all Hollyville. When the morning duties were performed, the party started for the lily pond ; Mark drawing the carriage, Mary, Emily, and Harriet Butler by turns walking by the side, while Letty in her clear, sweet tones struck up the hymn, LIP SERVICE. 45 *' Children of the Heavenly King, As we journey, let us sing ; Sing the Saviour's worthy praise, Glorious in his works and ways." Their path was along a shady road, bordered on either side by fine trees, then through a thick wood, down to a pond surrounded by cool shade where the pure white lilies flourish. On their way, they met Charlotte and Matilda hurrying along to the cars, for it was the season of the Anniversaries in N"ew York. " I wonder how you can stay at home," said Charlotte, " when there are to be such grand speakers, and such crowds of people." " How is Cousin Sarah ?" inquired Mary. "She is rather better, but had quite a bad night." " Who is with Aunt Oliver ?" inquired her niece. " Aunt Martha is staying with her, and there is no earthly need of me, Mary." But the listener thought, how grateful a daughter's presence would be to a weary heart- sick mother. The girls pushed on Charlotte to enjoy her- self in Kew York, and our little party to the cool waters of the lily pond, where the smiles of a Heavenly Father rested upon the bright clouds. 46 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. and lit np the sparkling waters through the opening branches of the overhanging trees. " Here is a nice place for Letty," said Mark, as he drew the carriage down to the borders of the pond, under the shade of a large walnut tree. The three girls opened their camp-stools, and seated by the side of the cradle, each with her work, and Letty with her knitting, it was a very happy party that sat there, admiring the fair pond-lilies that floated with there pure white flowers in their green lily cups upon the surface of the sparkling water. Kitty was full of frolic, and sported about among the crisp leaves, tossing up the walnut hulls with her pretty white paws. "Are n't the lilies lovely?" said Letty, as she watched the beautiful flowers. " Would you like some, Letty ?" said Mark. "Yes, brother, but I don't see how you can get any." " I'll find a way," was the reply, and in another minute, rolling np his pantaloons to Iheir utmost height, he was in among the flowers much to Letty 's amusement, and not a little to her fears. " Take care, brother, is not the water deep ?" said the child, with an anxious face. LIP SERVICE. 47 " About deep enough to drown Kitty," was the reply, " suppose I try." "Xot on any account come here, Kitty." And with a bound and a purr the playful little creature was soon nestled close to her mistress' side. She was pretty well tired, for she had enjoyed a grand game of fun, and curling her- self up into a comfortable ball, she enjoyed a sound nap. Mark soon returned with a handful of lovely lilies, and after admiring them, they were care- fully laid in a nest of leaves on the borders of the pond, to preserve them fresh until they returned home. " Is not every thing lovely to-day ?" said Letty, as she looked up first at the clear blue heavens, and then around upon the sylvan beauty. "I wonder what we shall see in heaven," con- tinued the child. " AVe read, Letty, of the river of life, of trees whose leaves are for the healing of the nations, of a temple where there shall be no sunlight, for the Lamb is the light thereof." " I often want to be there, Mary," said the child, " and I am so sure that Jesus loves me, that I feel as if I have nothing to do but to give my hand to him when I come to the deep river 48 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. that 'Christian' crossed, and let him lead me safely over come, now, let us sing ' Jerusalem,' " and the pair sung in sweet, rich tones the beau- tiful old words, "Jerusalem, my happy home, When shall I come to thee? When sh^ll my sorrows have an end, Thy joys when shall I see ? happy harbor of the saints I sweet and pleasant soil ! In thee no sorrow may be found, No grief, no care, no toil." They sat silent for a moment, and then Mary said, with a voice full of feeling, " Shall we all meet there." Mark bowed his head upon his hands, and could not answer, for deep thoughts were stirring the fountains of his young soul. Emily pressed her cousin's hand, and little Letty said, " No one must be left out there, dear cousin, do pray for Mark and Emily but listen ! listen ! for the sweet birds have joined the song I wish that there were birds in heaven." " What a strange fancy,, child 1" said her cousin, "it will be bliss enough, dear, to join our songs with the great multitude, who sing the heavenly Hallelujahs*" They had passed a happy morning, and LIP SERVICE. 49 gathering the flowers, the party turned their footsteps homeward. Mrs. "VYinslow had prepared Letty's favorite dessert of cold custard and cream, and Harriet Butler stayed to dinner. ." Just look, mother, at the sweet lilies," said Letty, as she handed them to Mrs. Winslow. " Mark was so good, he went away out into the pond, just to gather them for me," and the child put up her arms to clasp her brother, as she pressed a fond kiss upon his cheek. Sweet abode of peace and love! for Jesus dwelt beneath that roo 50 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. CHAPTER V. "THEN THE EAR." '1ARY. "The stream of life rolls on very peacefully under Aunt Margaret's roof. I have been studying this heart of mine for several months. These lectures on the Pilgrim's Progress have been of unspeak- able comfort. " They answer so exactly to the Bible and expe- rience, that I feel I can trace their resemblance in my own spirit. What holy mysteries they teach! Justification by fait h, peace with God, access by faith, rejoicing in hope, the love of God shed abroad in the heart I know it all. ' Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift 1' I have watched the tender blade shooting up, now I humbly hail the ripening corn, as an evi- dence that grafted in the true vine, Christ Jesus, I may believe that I am one of the living branches. I know, too, something of the con- flicts of the Christian, for while I delight in the law, ' I see another law in my members, warring THEN THE EAR. 51 against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin.' But ' there is no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus.' Blessed, precious, holy truth I My trust is entire, sweet, abiding, simply and only in my Redeemer. " N"ow I may safely take upon my soul the obligations of the Christian profession, for I do trust that my spiritual life is ' hidden with Christ in God,' so that I may hope for daily supplies from the same source of light, and strength, and peace. United to Christ. I am ' one with him,' and can ' rejoice in hope of the glory of God,' for * when Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall we also appear with him in glory.'" "I have just had a visit from Mary Elliott," said Mr. Butler to his wife ; " she has been to apply for admission to the church, and seldom have I heard such a clear, decided account of real spiritual regeneration as she gave me, and yet in language so simple, so humble, that I could riot but adore the grace which has led her young footsteps so safely along." " She will be a bright light, husband," said the wife. "Yes, truly, I have watched her progress for mouths. I have iiot urged her 52 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. forward, because I have had every proof that the Spirit is her teacher, and will guide her aright. I feel that she is destined to leave a mark upon the world, and doubt not that she will come out purified from every trial." On the next communion day, Mary Elliott united herself with the church of the Redeemer, and thus she recorded her emotions on that solemn day: " "Tis done, the great transaction's done ; Deign, gracious Lord, to make me Thine: Help me, through grace, to follow on, Glad to confess Thy voice divine." "Yesterday was a holy, happy day openly before the world, I took the Lord to be my God, Jesus to be my Saviour, and his service to be my chief, my highest joy. As my lips pressed the sacred emblems, floods of peace, and joy, and love flowed over my heart, for in them I saw the great atonement; I heard the words, 'It is finished,' and felt that I could say, ' My Lord and my God,' and that Jesus said to me, ' My redeemed and chosen child, my beloved in the Lord.' Henceforth may my whole life be his, my whole heart devoted to his blessed service." We will spend an hour with Mary and Aunt THEN THE EAR. 53 Margaret after this open act of dedication to the Lord'. "I should like so much to do something in the way of teaching, aunt," said her niece ; " I cannot leave home in the morning; I was think- ing how it would do for me to search out the most neglected class, and gather them here at home on Sabbath afternoon ; you know that we have no church then, and it seems just what I might do." " You have my hearty approval, Mary," was her aunt's reply. "I was walking the other day with Letty, down on the borders of the creek ; I had no idea that there were such numbers of miserable children, as I saw running about there. There was one, whom they called ' Wild Mag,' a real vagabond of a child, and several others no better than she." 11 Not very inviting, Mary," was Mrs. Wins- low's reply. " Xo, dear aunt, not in the least romantic, but would the Saviour pass such by if he were on earth ? I thought of the poor, disgusting leper, and remembered Jesus' pitying words; of the wretched, demoniac, the ragged prodigal, and Lazarus covered with loathsome sores, and my heart went out at once to those neglected ones." 5* 54 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " Begin your work, my dear niece, at once, and may God guide and bless you, Mary." Next day she set off alone to seek these wild children. Eacing across the stepping stones, where the waters of the creek tumbled over in small cascades, she perceived " Wild Mag" and two or three other equally rude children. For some time, they ran backwards and forwards screaming and shouting in their rude glee, and did not perceive the young lady who sat watching them under the shade of a large overhanging tree. At length, curiosity led them to her neighbor- hood. " Come here, Mag," said Mary, " I have some- thing to show you," and opening a book con- taining a number of showy pictures, she enticed the wild child to her side. "Without shoes and stockings, clad in a ragged dress, with her rough, shaggy hair hanging in tangled masses over face and shoulders, she was truly a most unpromising looking subject for Mary's benevolence. " But she has a heart," thought Mary, " and I must seek to awaken its affections. "- "Do you like that picture?" said Mary, pointing to one representing a young group of children at play. THEN THE EAR. 55 " Yes, its rale purty, that gal in red is the one for me ; hain't you got no more, miss ?" " Yes, here are several more," and Mary turned over the leaves, until she drew several children to her side. After showing all the pictures, she took out some colored cards, and distributing them among the girls, she invited them up to her house on Sunday afternoon, where she had a great many more just such beautiful pictures. " I'll come," said Wild Mag. " And I too," said another, and so said several more. Mary gave very particular directions how to find her house, and turning away, hoped that she had gathered a few recruits. Turning back for a moment, she said, " If I were you, Mag, I'd wash my hands and face, and comb my hair ; the boys in the village might hoot at you, if they saw you in such a dirty trim." "We'll do that, ma'am," answered the child, and stooping down, she said, " Please, ma'am, let me pull the burrs off of your dress, you've got a heap of them from the bank." " Thank you, Mag," said the young lady, cheered by this little exhibition of gratitude on the part of the child. 56 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Mag joined her companions. "That's the rale lady," said the girl, "she did not turn up her nose at us, because we are poor and ragged, and she said, 'Thank you, Mag,' "just as if I were a lady too, this way, just look, Rache," and the girls all burst out laughing at Mag's attempt to show how Mary looked, and how she bowed her head, when she thanked the child. Mark prophesied that none would come, but on Sunday afternoon, while seated on the piazza, saw the advance, and came running in to Mary, exclaiming, "I wish you could just see what is coming in at the front gate ; I do believe that Wild Mag is there, Mary." And sure enough there was the ragged girl, with two or three others in the same guise, but Mary perceived that all had washed their faces, and combed their hair according to promise. Moreover, there was a most amusing attempt at ornament, for each had a bunch of thistle weed and dandelion pinned in the bosom of her ragged dress. This little act was very pleasing, for the same attempt at imitation would lead hereafter to copying better things. Mary invited them into the sitting-room, where they THEN THE EAR. 57 stared around at the simple furniture, as though they had been in a palace. The young lady brought out some beautiful Bible pictures, and found by her questions that these poor children were lamentably ignorant of anything connected with the word of God. After telling them some of the simplest truths of the Bible, she called in Mark and Emily with little Letty, and they sang some of their sweetest hymns, which Mary accompanied on the piano. The children were full of wonder, for this was to them a new world indeed. They had only heard the name of God in the language of blasphemy, and had grown up with their evil hearts untaught ; their wicked propen- sities unchecked. Wild Mag was the dread of the neighborhood, for she had spent her life robbing hens' nests in the day time, and poultry yards at night. The first thing to be done was to make the girls decent. Mary told them to come up next Saturday, for she had something for them, and making an attempt at a rude courtesy, they promised to come, and then they shuffled away out of the neat sitting-room. Aunt Margaret was much interested in Mary 'a class, and together they manufactured a change 58 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. of decent clothes for the children. Their eyes were opened wide, when they saw the nice calico dress, and clean checked apron, with each a pair of new boots, that were ready for them when they reached Mrs. Winslow's. " !N ow, Mag, I want you to be a decent girl," said the young lady ; " but if I give you these good clothes, I expect you to keep yourself very clean, to comb your hair every day, and try to help your mother at home." Mag dropped a courtesy in her rough way, as she replied, " Mag will try just to please the lady," while her small dark eyes expressed her gratitude. In a few weeks, Mary's class had increased to eight of these rough children, and Mark often peeped in to see the progress made. " Mag begins to look civilized," said the boy, as he watched her passing out of the gate, for the girl had a coarse straw hat now, and had undergone at least an outward reformation under Mary Elliott's care. "We will take another glance at Mary's inner life, for that is the real, after all. Diary " I wonder if this is not the Chamber of Peace, that Bunyan describes in his Pilgrim. Life has been so happy since my open profession of my Saviour's name. THEN THE EAR. 59 " I feel that my steps are upward and onward, all tending to that blessed state in the world to come, when trials all over, and the work of sanctification complete, I shall be presented faultless before the Lord. I can trust all to my Father in heaven, thus far he has been very good to his child. " It is so sweet to trust him day by day ; to think nothing of to-morrow, but just .to seek what I must do to-day? " I know the voice this morning, for Aunt Margaret's pale face and feeble steps are calling me to her aid. " There are many thing very necessary in the arrangements of a comfortable family. Aunt is not able to attend to them this season, so I must be busy. " There are the herbs to gather and dry for the winter, tomatoes and fruit to can, blackberry syrup to make, and nobody but I to do it all ; I am glad that I know how. This is certainly my duty, and doing God's will just as truly a8 serving in his temple ; so no more time for writing this morning," and Mary closed her diary. 1'utting on her neat kitchen apron, we might see her out in the garden gathering the herbs that were dry enough to put away placing each 60 NOTHING BUT LEASES. in its bag marked with the name, they were carefully hung up in the pantry. Then the making of the blackberry syrup occupied the rest of the morning, and Mary sang her sweet hymns of inward peace and joy, as she attended to her household work. When she went into the pantry and saw her bags of dry herbs, and her shelf of jars of blackberry syrup and currant jelly that she had put up before, she smiled as she said to Jane, " So much done, and Aunt Margaret is saved all that." Little Letty rejoiced over the work, and said, " How nice that is, Mary ! the sick people will get many of these little jars, I know." Was not this doing God's holy will? No wonder that Mary Elliott carried sunshine about with her daily work. LOOKING BACK. 61 CHAPTER VL LOOKINQ- B.A.CIC. CHARLOTTE was visiting Mary Elliott in her chamber, she observed a little book lying open on her table, ic which Mary had just finished an entry. " What have you there, Mary ?" inquired her cousin. " It is a diary, Charlotte, and a great help to me in my daily progress ; why don't you keep one, cousin ?" " What in the world should I find to write about?" " About the life within, Charlotte ; when one is accustomed to note the motions of the heart, it establishes the habit of watchfulness, and then there are the records of a Father's goodness and a Saviour's love, cousin. I would not give up my diary for any inducement." " I should not know how to write one, Mary. I have so much more to do than you, that I have no time for scribbling, and as to the life within, 3 62 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. I know nothing of what you speak of, it is quite beyond my depth." Mary looked serious, as she replied, "And yet, Charlotte, there is such a life in the heart of every true Christian." " Perhaps so, Mary, I don't know." The summer flowers have passed away, autumn fruits have been gathered, autumn winds have stripped the forests of their foliage, and winter with its keen, sharp northern blasts and driving snow storms is upon the inhabitants of Holly ville, shutting up the invalids in their rooms to peep out of the windows at the wintry streets, or hover round the warm fireside. Little Letty is confined to the house in bad weather, and is able to take but little exercise. Mary therefore is much more occupied with her cousin. One evening, a sleigh was heard driving up to the door, and in a few minutes Richard Franklin made his appearance in the family parlor. " Splendid sleighing, Mary !" said the visitor. " I have come down on purpose to take you out, so be ready to-morrow morning, invite some of your friends, and we will take a ride." Richard was one who had been intimate in the family from childhood, and devoted to Mary Elliot tj she, too, valued the friendship of the LOOKING BACK. 68 young man, for he had many sterling qualities, but-still devoted to the world. In company with Charlotte and Matilda Hope, the party were ready to set off, when Mary said, " Can't we take in little Letty ?" for the child was looking wistfully at the sleigh. " Certainly, get her ready, she is such a wee thing that we can easily find a corner for her." In a short time, Mary brought out her little cousin well wrapped up with Kitty in her arms^ for she could not go anywhere without her pet. " We did not bargain for puss," said Richard, looking very demure. " Then I car't go," said Letty, " Kitty would miss me so much." " Come along, little one, and bring your pet ; I was only in fun." And seated between Mary and Charlotte, little Letty was very happy, for the sound of the merry sleigh-bells was exhilarating to the poor invalid. Richard entertained the girls with an account of the amusements of the city. Opera, ball, theatre, were each in turn discussed. Matilda listened to the description of these fascinations, sorry that she had not tasted of their pleasures before she had joined the church. 64 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. and there was a secret longing at least to peep over the wall. Charlotte was open and severe in her disappro- bation, and Mary joined modestly in the conver- sation. "Why do you disapprove of them, Mary?" " My reasons are very simple, Richard, I have no desire for such things ; I trust that I enjoy better and higher pleasures then there is a positive command to Christians to come out from the vain pursuits of the world ; I conclude, there- fore, that there is something to renounce ; if so, what is it? certainly all those pleasures which are sinful themselves, or which are calculated to dim the power of spiritual things." "What do you say to my going just once?" said Matilda, with some hesitation in her voice. " If you have desires for these things, Matilda, your staying away is no particular merit, the trouble is that a n al child of God has no such tastes." " Then you would hint that I am not a child of God." " I did not say so, Matilda, but this I do think, that one who enjoys the privileges of a Christian does not long for the pleasures of the world." " I cannot bear to hear you talk so, Mary," said Richard. LOOKING BACK. 65 " Why not ?" replied the young lady. " Just because it shows that there is such. a broad gulf between us ; and I do want to see you a bright star, Mary." " A star in what world, Richard ?" "In the world of fashion and distinction, Mary." " I trust that I am shielded from that, Richard." Charlotte had listened with more interest than she would have cared to acknowledge to the description which Richard gave of the music, the splendor, the delight of these amusements, and wondered how it was, that there should be lurking desires for at least a glance at these gaieties. Poor girl! the seed of the word had fallen upon stony ground, where there was not much depth of earth, it had sprang up too suddenly, when the burning sun shall come to scorch it. Diary "I am sorry to see Richard so very- worldly ; he is such a noble, manly character, with such a warm and generous heart, would that he were a child of God. "I cannot join my destiny with one who is not truly a Christian, for he might lead me away from a holy life, and we should lack the l>ond of sympathy whteh ought always to exist * 66 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. in married life. I fear Matilda is really looking back with a wishful eye to worldly things, for she manifested so much interest in Richard's account, and Charlotte's expressions did not mislead me, for if I mistake not, the influence of a worldly friend would soon lead her away. " My class is prosperous. Wild Mag is begin- ing to learn, I see improvement. Rachel Sears, too, is softening, but the rest are sadly dis- couraging, for I saw three of them last week running about just as wild and wicked as ever, but I must not stop sowing, for 'in due season I shall reap if I faint not.' "I have twelve now. Harriet Butler has come to help me, and we have pleasant times in our sitting-room, while Letty listens to the exercise, and teaches one little one who has strayed in lately. The sick child seems to exert more influence over wayward little Nanny, than with Harriet or I, for she shrinks from us, and lingers around Letty 's cradle, and so the child is teaching her Bible verses, and simple hymns. It is a pretty sight to watch the two, Nanny in her low stool by the side of the cradle, listening to her gentle teacher, and Letty leaning over to show Nanny some sweet Bible picture, and telling her story in such tender simple tvords. LOOKING BACK. 67 The dew is falling around poor neglected Xanny, arid- who knows which may prosper? for 'out of the mouths of babes and sucklings.'" Christmas is approaching, and the Fair is daily discussed. A large number of articles have been sent for the Winslow circle, and it is quite a great success. Little Letty is delighted to find that all her contributions are selling fast, for so many want something made by the little sufferer. Xew- Year's Eve comes round, the time appointed for the donation party. Through Charlotte's noise and bustle, the news has reached the family at the parsonage sooner than had been intended, but on the morning of that day, a committee had waited upon Mrs. Butler requesting the use of the parsonage for the evening. Charlotte appeared most prominent, and had appointed herself to preside at the house in company with Mrs. Lacey. All day long articles were arriving groceries, flour, cake, pickles, preserves, ham, tongue, articles of clothing, books, stationery, household utensils, family medicines, and to crown all, a purse of one hundred dollars for the good pastor. Several others ladies came in the afternoon. 68 NOTHING' BUT LEAVES. Mrs. Butler and Harriet retired from the scene of action, and the ladies set the table, made the tea and coffee, brought out the delicacies intended for the party, and then invited the family to come to supper. A large number of the parishioners of all ranks had assembled, and partook of the good cheer in company with the pastor's family. After supper had been cleared away, Charlotte placed herself at the head of the table in the sitting-room, where the donations had all been arranged. In a most public and offensive manner, Charlotte called out the names of the donors, sometimes opening the bundles, and frequently adding, "I got this from Mrs. Jones, and this from Mi*s. Brown, and this from Mrs. Scott," and at the close of her display, concluded with the remark, " the value of the whole donation we have calculated to be four hundred dollars." She sat down self-satisfied, but little did she know how the delicnte feelings of her pastor and his wife had been pained by this blast of a shrill trumpet. Mary's contribution was really valuable, a handsome gentleman's wrapper and slippers, three shirts and six neck ties; from Letty, a shawl for Mrs. Butler: and from Aunt Margaret, LOOKING BACK. 69 six bottles of blackberry syrup, and six jars of currant jelly. The best of all was, that Charlotte had been compelled to say that no name had accompanied these gifts, and Mary had the pleasure of whispering to Mrs. Butler at the close of the evening, " Think of us when you use the anonymous gifts, we could not be paraded in a manner so offensive both to our pastor's family and ourselves." Mrs. Butler kissed the gentle girl as she replied, " This is the sweetest gift of all, for with it comes no mortification, Mary." The kind feelings thus promoted far over- balanced the drawback, for Mrs. Butler felt that the party was a genuine expression of Christian feeling, and though Charlotte's obtrusive and fussy manner of calling attention to her own work was offensive, yet the warm glow of Chris- tian love thus engendered, spread its mantle over the young lady's weakness, and inclined her to silence the whispers that she heard around to Charlotte's disadvantage. A year has passed by, ard changes are rolling on. Charlotte has held on her outwaid way thus far, but her zeal is diminishing, and the religion O ' O which has brought no inward peace is losing its 70 NOTHING BUI LEAVES. power over daily life, for it had no deep abiding root. She has been to the city to visit a relation, and there has formed the acquaintance of a young man named George Rogers, very handsome, very worldly. He has been struck by Charlotte's beauty, and commences his work of undermining her habits by words of flattery. " It is such a pity that you should deform yourself by such a style of dress," said the young man ; " there is Helen Woodly that attracts so much attention she has not one-half of your attractions, and she draws a train after her wher- ever she goes, just because she knows how to dress well ; you can be just as good a Christian without deforming yourself." Two months' residence amid such influences left its mark upon Charlotte Oliver, for when she returned to Hollyville, the change was manifest. The drab colored ribbons, prim cc stume, and plain hat had all disappeared youthful co ors and fashionable dress had taken their placa Mary Elliott remembered Aunt Margaret's predictions about scarlet and feathers, and con- cluded that she had been a wise counseller. It was the old story of " The Spider and the Fly ;" perhaps Mary Howitt may have had just such a, case in her eye when she drew that picture. LOOKING BA:K. 71 George Rogers is frequent in his visits, and Charlotte often accompanies him to the city: first to a concert, then to the opera, "just to hea'' the delightful music, nothing else;" and at last to the theatre. Charlotte has forgotten Mary's simple songs, by which she kept her cousin Mark out of bad company, and is learning a style of music, of which Mary knows nothing ; but she is very certain sometimes they breathe sentiments which a modest woman should not sing. "I thought that Charlotte's religion would O O not last long," said her mother, " it came with such a rush, and is dying out just as fast ; nothing but a sky-rocket after all." Aunt Margaret is ordered to the sea-shore, and, as it is the season of vacation, leaving her house in charge of Jane, the whole family take lodgings near the beach. To Mary it is charming the sight of the grand ocean, and the sound of its mournful music are so agreeable to her thoughtful mind. Mark is never tired of drawing Letty over the beach, nor Mary and Emily wearied of accompanying her in these excursions. While Bhe sits in her little carriage, inhaling the pure sea breeze, and watching the sea-gulls skimming over her head, Mark is gathering the beautiful 72 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. sea weed, and laying the delicate blossoms ir her little hand ; she calls them the flowers of the ocean, and thinks that she would like to take a peep at the lovely flower beds of the mighty deep. Then the bathing is so delightful, and does Aunt Margaret and Letty so much good. Mark is strong, and takes his little sister in every fine day, and when in her brother's arms she has frolicked long enough among the breakers, she is allowed to sit upon the edge of the beach, where the waves wash over her, and she can play in them with her little hands, and revel in the sports of the bathers. Charlotte and Matilda Hope have followed the party ; boarding at another house, Mary does not see much of the young ladies. One evening, when walking on the beach, in company with her aunt, a barouche is seen approaching, with one gentleman and two ladies. As they pass by, where Mary is standing, she perceives that one is Charlotte Oliver, dressed in a jaunty hat, with white feathers, a handsome opera cloak, and all resemblance of the zealous pro- fessor of Holyville gone. She seemed to be in a state of high excitement, her eye bright and spark- ling, her cheeks glowing, and giddy laughter gushing from her lips. "She is a beautiful girl!" said Mary. LOOKING BACK. 73 " Yes, Mary, out you see now A\ hut I have alwaj T s feared ; she placed so much stress upon outward things, and so little upon the state of the heart, that. I fear, ' nothing but leaves ' re- mains of all her high professions.'' Both seemed to have forgotten their vows at Holyville, for whenever there was an evening hop, or a gay amusement, both were present, and the "beautiful Miss Oliver," became the toast of the season. Diary " Seaside, August 8th I can scarcely realize the transformation in Charlotte Oliver; and yet she justifies herself, says that she has found no happiness in the strict path which she laid down to walk in, now she* is going to try an easier way. I told her what David and the apostles had said about the blessedness of God's service, but she said, ' It had brought none to her,' perhaps she has never entered on the path. She does not know what a free voluntary service that of the true child of God must be. The stream is sometimes hindered in its passage to the sea by rocks and rubbish which obstruct its course, take the hindrance away, and the clear sparkling river runs freely on, singing its blithe and merry song. So with the soul of man, the hindrance is within, we can- not force its action; such force must be 7 74 NOTHING BUT LEAVE'S. spasmodic, fitful, like galvanic action on the dead. Remove but the stony heart and per- verse will, then, like the unbound stream, the emancipated soul flows onward through a rougn rugged country, until it reaches the bosom of its God. I thought too of the ' barren fig-tree ' in the vineyard of the Lord, when I listened to Charlotte. Perhaps she has never been grafted on to the true Vine. "Dear Lord, guide me, prune me, watch around me, only never let me be a ' barren fig- tree.' " "Yesterday we went to the house of God, Mark drew little Letty, and the dear child enjoyed the sweet and soothing service, the simple heart-touching music, the fervent prayers and faithful holding up of Jesus. "Lctty, in her little carriage, drew much attention to herself, and a mild looking lady, who sat near her, found the place in the hymn book and handed it so pleasantly to the child ; Letty repaid the act with one of her sweetest smiles, and as the lady turned away, I saw her wipe a tear for our little lamb. In the intervals, we were near enough to the sea to hear the solemn music of its waves, which seemed to join with us in praising God. LOOKING BACK. 75 " Charlotte and Matil-la were both present, sitting just before us, but the former was light and trifling, for George Rogers was constantly whispering foolish speeches in her ear, which seemed to please her only too well. I could not help thinking of the stony-ground hearer, of whom it is said, ' Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth: And when the sun was up, they were scorched : and because they had not root, they withered away.'" " Home again ! the seaside was charming, with its grand expanse of sky, the music of its surging waves, its lovely beach and pleasant rides. There was much to enjoy in our summer trip, but home is sweeter, dearer still ; and seated in my pew at the dear old church, it was delightful to feel that we were once more amid the sacred influences of a Christian home. "Charlotte Oliver has returned too, and as yet retains her profession of the name of Christ, but, alas ! there is ' nothing now but leaves,' and Matilda is seldom in the house of God." NOTHING BUT LEAVES. CHAPTER VIL family circle was enlarged by tha addition of Mark, who has left school, and is once more at home. Mary and her cousin are standing before his father's picture in the parlor. It was a fine face, full of earnest thought, and holy saintliness. The deep blue eyes seemed to look lovingly upon Mark, as the two studied the portrait. " I have thought so much of my father lately," said Mark, " every night when I retire, I think of the conversations in the library, and recall the holy loving words, until I can almost feel my father's arm around me, as it used to Le, when kneeling by my side, he poured out his heart for his only son." "It was a blessed privilege to have such a father, Mark those prayers must be answered." " Yes, Mary, I feel it, for many a time, even. when I was most perverse, those holy words AN ANSWERING FATHER. 77 have followed me for days together. I am not sads-fied with what I am, my convictions of sin are deep, cousin; like Bunyan's Pilgrim, I carry a heavy burden, and cannot rest until, like him, I drop it at the foot of the Saviour's cross." "In your case, dear Mark, the Interpreter has preceded your convictions with a knowledge of the way, for dear uncle was that guide to you; just obey his teachings, Mark, go to the spot where you have so often knelt by your father's side, and seek deliverance there?" "I am resolved, Cousin Mary, for many a time have I grieved away the Blessed Spirit, who would have led me to the cross." Mark spent much time in his father's study, reading his t< / O father's Bible, and communing with his father's God. It cannot be in vain for the Saviour hath said, ' Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.' And so in the old fashioned way, trodden by all the saints of God, by apostles, martyrs and spirits of the just, Mark sought and found his'Saviour. Diary "Mark is a Christian, I am almost certain he has been deeply anxious for weeks, and resting upon Jesus only, has found place. Strange that Mark should not have submitted at 78 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. once, when- he knew the way so well, hut in every case, there is the same carnal mind, the same high thoughts which exalt themselves against God's method of justifying sinners, hence the struggle. " I have had a letter from Richard, the out- burst of a warm and manly heart, but I cannot entertain his proposals, for I believe that Chris- tians are commanded to marry in the Lord. It pains me so to wound his affections, for I know that they are deep and true, but he would not help me on to heaven, and I might do him no good. " Letters from my mother too have come, she describes the charms of Monte Rosa, the name of the place where they reside, paints the elegance iri which they live, tells me about the room that I shall have, the pleasure that she is planning, and I fear that some day I must leave my quiet village home to go into the furnace of worldli- ness and supers ;ition. But God is guiding my footsteps I am sure, and whatever is clearly duty that must I do, for there must be a reason for all that, and a shield to protect me every where, if I only use it. " Mark desires to be a minister, just what his father prayed for so long, but Aunt Margaret's means are so small, and lately she has had some losses ; how can ho be sent to college ? Mamma AN ANSWERING FATHER. 79 makes me a handsome allowance for my ward- robe, I do not need the half of it, for I have too much already ; I could appropriate half I am sure, if I only use some self-denial. " I was going to get a new cloak next winter, but the old one is very good. I shall only need two winter dresses, and then I can do so much for Mark; I will go to Mr. Butler and ask his advice." " I have seen my pastor ; he has told me about one of uncle's most intimate friends, John Craw- ford lie is a wealthy old bachelor, loved my uncle, and he thinks will help his son ; I am going to see him. but Mark must not know my errand." "I have seen Mr. Crawford, he listened so patiently to my appeal, and then said, 'I am not a religious man, young lady, but I loved Mark Winslow, and for his sake I will help his son ; you may consider me good for his educa- tion, if some way can be devised to find his books and clothes.' '"That is arranged already, Mr. Crawford,' and with warm thanks, I left the office. " Mark is going, how faithful our Father answered the prayers of the righteous. 80 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " Mark met me at the depot. "'You are going to college, Mark,' was my first salutation. " ' How, Mary ? what can you mean ?' and I relate the story of my day's adventure. "'God bless you, dear cousin Mary,' said the youth ; * I never could have gone but for you.' " ' Don't say so, Mark, God answers prayer, and if he had not used me, there would have been some one else, if he wants you for a minister.' " " Mark is beginning to look depressed at the thought of leaving home. Yesterday, with Emily, and precious little Letty, we visited the lily pond. She is drooping daily, I don't believe that Mark will ever see her again. AN e spend an hour there ; Letty was very serious. "' Go, bring me some flowers, Mark,' said the child, 'you will never gather any more for Letty, and these will soon fade, but I am going, brother, where I shall see brighter things in the i^ew Jerusalem ; repeat some of the sacred ivords, Mark ; begin with Thy gardens,' and her brother repeated, " ' Thy gardens and thy gallant walki Continually are green, N ANSWERING FATHER. 81 There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers, As no where else are seen. Quite through the streets, with silver sound, The flood of Life doth flow ; Upon whose banks on every side The tree of life doth grow. These trees forevermore bear fruit, And evermore do spring ; There evermore the angels sit, And evermore do sing.' " Mark could not restrain his tears, for thouo-h ' C> he was so certain of the blessedness of his little sister, there was such a world of tender love in his heart for the patient child, that he could not think of parting from Letty without the keenest sorrow. "Brino-ino; the flowers, he laid them in her O O ' hands- drawing Mark down, she kissed him fondly, and said, " ' When I am away in heaven, Mark, you will be preaching the blessed gospel, and when the Lord has done with you, Mark, you'll come to Letty and then we shall be so happy.' " We returned home quietly, for each heart felt that the parting hour was coming." " Mark has gone, and Letty was very quiet all day lorg even little Kitty failed to interest her. She wants many things that A ant Mar- 82 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. garet cannot give her, but I can, by a little more self-denial, and whatever I can get, that she shall have. "She goes out every day, and Emily and I take turns in drawing her carriage. Sometimes, Wild Mag meets us, and the grateful child will never let us draw it when she sees us. Many a sweet little chat does Letty have with her on the summit of Mount Pleasant, a pretty hill, one of Letty 's resorts, or else beside the lily pond,, where we still go. Her heart is filled with love to Jesus, and all the hymns that sing of him are what she asks for now. "It is the bright, joyous spring, and yesterday Letty asked to be taken to the shady dell, where the violets shod their early fragrance. It is a lovely spot, and often have we carried the dear lamb there to hail the first violets. Emily and I went with her, all along the road he talk was of heavenly things, and when we came in sight of the flower bank, a bright smile passed over her sweet face, and she said, " ; I shall see prettier things than these, dear cousin, in the land where I am going.' "'Yes, Letty, but best of all, you will see the King in his beauty.' "Turning on me her deep blue eyes, she whispered, 'And be with him forever.'" AN ANSWERING FATHE-R. 83 "Last Sunday we all went to church, with Letty in her carriage the sweet music, and the precious sermon seemed to comfort her. Surely, the good pastor remembered our little lamb, when he spoke of the good Shepherd's love for his flock. " When church was over, she said to me, * Wait a while, cousin,' and when the congrega- tion had all departed, she looked round at each familiar object, and said, " ' It is the last visit, I think ; I have been so happy in this dear house of God, but I shall soon be in the church above.' " The rays of the evening sun streamed in through the western window, lighting up the pulpit and shedding some of his glory upon the brown hair and saintly face of little Letty. I can never forget the look which shone in her violet-colored eyes, as she gazed once more all around, and then upward to the window, where the evening sunset was shining." "Letty has been so very ill since my last entry, that I have had time for nothing but to minister to her death bed ; but she is with the angels now. Such a peaceful, happy death just going to sleep, with her hand softly clasped in mine, and her head upon her mother's breast. 84 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Strange to say, her favorite, little Kitty, would not leave the room while she was sick, not even to get her meals, and would eat nothing when brought to her no place would suit her but on the bed where Letty lay ; and the little pet seemed to know that something was the matter with her little friend, moaning if taken away, and apparently sleeping when on the bed. When the last breath had departed, we turned away from the sleeper on the bed, and stretched out upon the carpet at the foot, lay little Kitty, gone too ; Jane, who was in the room, said that she saw the kitten stretch herself out in death, just as Letty's sigh was uttered. "We laid the dear child where she had requested, and on her grave we planted the violets that she so dearly loved. She sleeps by the side of her father, where the willow droops over tbeir precious lust ; asleep in Jesus, to wake with him. "I looked at little Letty in her coffin, sur- rounded by pure white blossoms, and praised God for her blessed life and peaceful death, and then on Mark standing by her side, a Christian youth, and thought of the answer to a father's earnest prayers for both of these beloved ones both saved, one in heaven, the other a pilgrim on his way to the Heavenly City. AN ANSWERING FATHER. 85 "'Over the river, the boatman pale . Carried another the household pet: Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale Darling " Letty I" I see her yet. She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, And fearlessly entered the phantom bark ; We watched it glide from the silver sands, And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. We know she is safe on the further side, Where all the ransomed and angels be ; Over the river, the mystic river, My childhood's idol is waiting for me. M 'And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold Is flushing river, and hill, and shore, I shall one day stand by the water cold, And list for the sound of the boatman's oar; I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail ; I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand ; I shall pass from sight, with the boatman pale, To the better shore of the spirit land ; I shall know the loved who have gone before, And joy fully sweet will the meeting be, When over the river, the peaceful river, The angel of Death shall carry me." 1 86 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. CHAPTER VIII. CTJT IT DO'WlSr.*' defection of Charlotte Oliver from her comet path was just as rapid as her eccentric course had been. "Nothing but leaves" remains of all her high profession she thinks Mary " righteous over much," and sometimes smiles at the odd fancies that had taken possession of her. She thinks now, that to gain George Rogers to the church, it is best to " become all things to all men." George smiles at her sim- plicity, he saw through the hollowness of her profession, and does not contradict her, for she is in a fair way to be rid of all her notions, that is ail she needs, he thinks, to make her a splendid woman. Diary "Charlotte is the wife of George Rogers this morning she took the vow which has introduced her to a life of vvorldliness. The sun is up, and is burning out the last feeble roots CUT IT DOWN. 87 that shot up so fast from the hard, rocky soil. Her talk is all of her style, her equipage, her dress, and the prospect of an elegant home in a distant land, for George Rogers talks of settling iii Rio Janeiro. " As I stood by her side, I thought of prim Charlotte Elliott in her severely old-fashioned dress, and then of Charlotte Rogers in her bridal costume how vast the difference ! " Matilda Hope has gone still further in the path of spiritual decay, for she has dropped even the profession of Christian ; her name has been erased from the church record. This is, indeed, one of the black days in the pastor's life, and woe to the backslider who has cast the shadow ! " She esteems all true Christians as enthusiasts and fanatics, and spends her Sabbaths in amuse- ment, lounging, and novel reading. Some stings of conscience have disturbed her in her down- ward path, but she tries to quiet them by picking holes in her neighbors' garments, especially pro- fessors of religion. " Matilda has resisted many warnings of the Holy Spirit ere she has reached this slippery ledge of the dark mountains, where her footsteps may slide at any moment. Once she was in the vineyard of the Lord, where fruit was long waited for. Alas! for Matilda." 88 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Mary Elliott often trembles when she roads the sentence of the "barren fig-tree" "Cut it down, why cumbereth it the ground?" And yet Matilda wore giddy smiles, choose giddy companions, followed the world and its pleasures with her whole heart. In the midst of her ungodliness, she was sud- denly taken sick, she knew that her condition was critical remorse and dismay seized upon her trembling soul the sentence, "Cut it down," was constantly ringing in her ears, for it was the last text that she had heard from Mr, Butler. Mary Elliott was often found by the bedside of the sufferer, and in the secret of her' retire- ment poured out her soul in prayer for her former companion. " Shall I bring Mr. Butler?" said her friend. " Yes, bring him, Mary, he can do me no good, but I may be a warning to others." It was one of the loveliest of summer days, when Mary passed out of the beautiful grounds that surrounded Mr. Hope's residence. The flowers had always before looked so lovely, and the wind, murmuring through the green leaves, had seemed so musical ; but now, the former seemed to droop their head, and the air was tilled with sighs, for Mary's heart was full of CUT IT DOWN. 89 sorrow, and the loveliness of nature looked all like mockery, while an immortal being was trembling on the verge of eternity without hope. The pastor hastened to the bedside, he spoke of Jesus, and his power to save the vilest. Matilda listened with a dreary look of despair. " You are very kind," said she, " but theso promises are not for me let me tell you my story since I began to grow indifferent in the service of God, I have had many warnings, many calls to return, but I have stifled them all. I made a vow," and here her voice trembled, " that if it were possible, I would get rid of these troublesome thoughts, and so I did it is long since I have had one serious thought. I hear the gospel, but it makes no impression there is no faith, no love, no hope in my forsaken spirit, and now I am going into the presence of God without a Saviour." " God's promises are to the penitent of the darkest dye/'' " But I am not a penitent, my heart is dead to every thing of a religious kind." " !Shall I pray, Matilda ?" " You may, if you please; I can listen, but I cannot pray." And while the good man poured out his heart in prayer, slie lay with her eyes n'xed upon the 8* 90 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. ceiling, her hands clasped, and her face rigid as iron. Ere he took his leave, Matilda said, " Do you remember the sermon that you preached upon the ' barren fig-tree,' about a month since ?" " I do, Matilda, it was a painful duty to preach such a sermon." "That 'barren fig tree' is myself, Mr. Butler; the sentence ' Cut it down,' has gone forth." " There is a balm in Gilead, there is a physi- cian there ; only repent, Matilda, only turn to the Lamb o* God " l - You don't know how I have sinned, I have ridiculed God's people, derided God's ministers, spoken lightly of the Bible, and defied the Holy Spirit ; there can be no pardon for me." " The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin, Matilda." " Cleanses the penitent, Mr. Butler." It was a hopeless case, and the pastor turned away to pray in secret places, for he could not light one glimmering ray of hope in poor Matilda. He came again and again, but without suc- cess ; at last the mind tottered on its throne, and in this state, Matilda Hope passed away. Diary "I have seen ths last of poor Matilda, CUT IT DOWN. 91 yesterday afternoon we committed her remains to the tomb ; we can leave her immortal spirit with God. for he is good, and wise, and holy in all that he does. "Charlotte heard the accounts of her 'last moments with a serious countenance, somewhat impressed by the dreariness of the departing hours. "Richard Franklin was here, and in the evening we all went to Mr. Butler's lecture. " His text was ' Grieve not the spirit.' It was deeply impressive ; he alluded to the funeral in the afternoon, and repeated the warning words uttered by Matilda on her death-bed. " Cut it down, why cumbereth it the ground." Fearful sentence against the unfruitful tree in the vineyard of the Lord." " Letters from Mark, he is so grateful for the ability to pursue his studies, looking forward to the future with bright anticipations, may he be a true and faithful servant of his Master. Emily is growing up to be a lovely woman, so gentle and retiring, but evidently under the teaching of God's Spirit. " My class is such a comfort, one scarcely knows 4 Wild Mag.' She is so anxious to learn, and is now beginning to read in the I^ew Testament; 92 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. there is much improvement in several. We miss Letty's sweet, voice in our little circle, and she has left her precious seed, which is taking root in the heart of Nanny Spear, whom she tau^at to read. She is very anxious to he a good g.rl, and I think knows what it means to come to Jesus ; she seems to love his name." "A letter from my mother; she has really summoned me to come hy the first opportunity. It is such a trial to leave dear Aunt Margaret, Emily, and Mark, my kind pastor, and the precious village church to go into a land of strangers, where there is nothing but world li- riess and superstition, my stepfather, a careless Romanist, my mother worldly, and devoted to the church ; but I must go if it is my duty ; if so, God will go with me, and I must rest in him. "I have just received an invitation to visit my father's relatives; Aunt Margaret thinks that I had better go, before I leave the United States. It will be very different from Holly ville, for so many of them are among what are termed the progressive order, the new lights of this free thinking agi>." "Truly, a 'new atmosphere.' I have lived so long near the Shepherd's tent, that I miss his CUT IT DOWN. voice in the morning and evening prayer. At Aunt Margaret's we dwelt very near the dear Lord, and ' his banner over us was love ;' but he does not seem to speak here, and if he did, there is none who care to hear. Here, it is so refined, so intellectual, so cold ; every one sharpening his wits, and holding himself up so erect in what I hear about continually, the dignity of human nature. There, it was bowing down so lowly at the feet of the Good Shepherd, always feeling for the touch of his hand, listening for the whispers of his voice, and counting that true dignity which was farthest off from Attican philosophy, and nearest to the Lord. " Here, they seem almost to ignore his blessed name there, we were happiest when we could feel his presence all the day. It was not only morning and evening that we sought him; it was all the day long we were so accustomed to associate the name of Jesus with everything, that we might say, ' He dwelt with us, and we with him.' I mean, however, to see for myself how foolish men can grow, who imagine them- selves wiser than the Lord, and independent of a Saviour. Only they must not ask me to waste my Sabbaths, they are sacred days." "Last Thursday evening, I went with Aiint 94 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Loring to near one of their great speakers. It was in a public hall, where there was simply a desk for the orator, settees for the hearers, a few seats for distinguished persons upon the platform, and a choir at the end of the room. My aunt did not tell me the name of the speaker, she left me to discover that myself. Well, it was 'high falutin,' truly not a sentence that poor, simple Mary Elliott could understand, an oration about everything but the gospel, and yet this was one of their religious men ; a wonderful deal about being wholly absorbed in God, and that the * Universe itself was God.' " Where then was the bosom on which the beloved disciple leaned? where the compassionate High Priest? where the tender, loving elder brother, who ' is touched with the feeling of our infirmities?' I must own that the tendrils of this human heart went wandering round for something real to clasp, but there was nothing in the empty air but sound, and they lay trailing on the ground. I thought of the fishermen of Galilee, and longed for either Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. When we came out, Aunt Loring asked me what I thought of the speaker. I replied, first of all, 'Is not that , the great Transcendentalist ?' *' ' Yes ; how in the world did you know it ?' CUT IT DOWN. 95 "'Just by his high-flown style, sailing far above the heads of his hearers, and certainly never reaching their hearts.' "I am told that such lectures are delivered here on Sabbath days, that odes are sung instead of hymns, and that social reform, political ques- tions, woman's rights frequently form the themes. Truly was I reminded of the ancient Athenians, ' who spent cheir time in nothing else but either to tell or to hear some new thing,' substituting vain philosophy for the teachings of Jesus, the great world reformer. They are here, too, in this nineteenth century of the world, and the wonder is, that surrounded as we are by gospel light, any one could turn away from this to the twilight of human philosophy." " Last evening, I was invited to meet a party of ladies and gentlemen at the house of Mr. Astlcy, one of the new lights of this modern Athens. There were authors, poets, public speakers, and some divines, choice spirits, I suppose ; and little Mary sat in a corner, quite confounded by the glitter of wit and eloquence. The ladies brought their knitting, and many of them were extremely interesting in appearance ; but there was such an exhibition of smartness, and such a dictatorial ex-cathedra manner of 96 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. uttering their sentiments, that I wondered again about the modest decorum of St. Paul's women in the Gospel. ' But he was an old bachelor, full of notions, quite behind this progressive age, and might learn much of the new lights it he were here in this land of knowledge.' This is a common speech among the new lights of these days. "There was a small, retiring lady in a corner of the room, who seemed to stt very much apart from the rest, and I inquired her name. "'Martha Elwood, the sister of one of our orthodox divines,' was the reply, and as soon as I could, I sought an introduction to the lady. "She was a bright, intelligent young person, extremel y modest, and only a listener like my- self in this intellectual assembly. "'Can you tell me where to find the real gospel ?' said I ; ' I am a stranger here, and know not where to look for an evangelical minister.' " ' Do you mean any particular sect ?' inquired she. " ' ISTot here,' was my reply, ' for I have become so hungry and thirsty, that any faithful preacher of the cross would be acceptable.' "'I will call for you. on Sunday next.' "'I have been listening all the evening,' said I, ' to these philanthropists and so-called Chris- CUT IT DOWN. 97 tians, but not one word about the Master lias ever reached my ears. I wonder if some of them do not think that Christ himself was capable of improvement.' " Miss Elwood smiled. ' You will hear some strange things in this new atmosphere,' said she, * very hard for a Bible Christian to receive.' " The characters of great men were dissected with a freedom and sharpness that surprised me, and even women applied the knife to the lives and motives of those who followed in the foot- steps of the Saviour of mankind." " Last Sunday, Martha Elwood called ; we passed by several large and elegant churches, and she named the ministers as we proceeded. I wondered why we did not stop at several, for I knew that eloquent preachers declared the doctrines of the cross in their pulpits. At length we turned into one of the humble streets in a poor district of the city. We enteied as the congregation were singing, "' There is a fountain filled with blood, Drawn from Emmanuel's veins, And sinners plunged beneath that flood Lose all their guilty stains.' I joined the humble worshippers, and my heart went out in love to them, as I took my seat at 98 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. length to listen to the old story of redeeming love, told in warm, glowing language by a youthful minister of the cross. u The heart tendrils trailed no more, for they had found something to clasp for their support. I was at home here was 'the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace," and I rejoiced in its blessedness, hoping one day to realize its fulness, when the ' church militant' becomes the ' church triumphant.' Uk lt is my brother,' said Miss El wood, when the services had ended. I did not ask by what sectarian name he was known, I only felt that here was a branch of the true Catholic Church, and that here the secret of true progression was understood; for many in this humble church were to be hereafter ' kings and priests unto God' in the everlasting Kingdom that is dignity enough for redeemed mortals, such OH proud philosophy scorns.'' " Last Wednesday, I went with Aunt Loring to hear another great reformer, but his attempts to demolish the Christian structure by substi- tuting his own wisdom were simply ridiculous. I thought of Samson, who drew down the temple upon himself, and saw a like fate for these false leaders. CUT IT DOWN. 99 " Fortunately, I had heard Uncle Winslow and Mr. Butler, and the shafts fell harmless. Two ladies sat upon the platform, great lecturers, and one arose at the close, and delivered a short harangue on freedom of speech. I thought of old-fashioned St. Paul again, who bids the 'women keep silence in the churches.' "'Well, Miry,' said my aunt, 'what do you think of our great apostle ?' " ' Apostle ! aunt !' said I, ' what can you mean ?' " ' He is our apostle of freedom and equal rights,' replied my aunt. " ' I have such a different system of ethics, aunt, that it would be quite impossible for me to admire such presumption.' "'Why presumption, Mary?' " ' Because such men think themselves wiser than God, and under this delusion have really become fools ; for do they not set themselves up above inspired men.' " And yet among these people we find benevo- lence, integrity, and uprightness, much that is lovely in domestic life ; but I must not be misled, for did not our Lord say of just such a young man, and one whom he loved: 'One thing thou lackest.' I have seen much in this refined city to admire, but nothing car compensate me fa* 100 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. the \\ ant of love for our dear Lord, and confor- mity to his holy, blessed will. "I have seen much of Martha El wood, she is a devoted Christian, active in all good works; through her, I have found a circle of followers of the Saviour they are not called by my earthly name, but there is ' one Lord, one faith, one baptism,' and these maintain the elements of that simple, holy faith ; and no where have I met society so elevated, as among the cultivated spiritual Christians of the modern Athens." " I am going to-morrow. I know that Aunt Loring thinks me an innocent little enthusiast ; my cousins pity me as a hopeless devotee of a wornout faith, that needs reforming; but the thought of my simple-hearted, humble Aunt Margaret, and precious Emily, the faithful pastor of my youth, and the dear village church fills my heart with joy, and I bless God for the prov- idence which cast my lot at Hollyville, instead of refined and cultivated Athens, where so much of semi-infidelity prevails." "At Holly ville once more, but the joy of return is saddened by the intelligence that Charlotte and Mr. Rogers sail for Rio Janeiro in a few weeks, and my time must be spent in CUT IT DOWN. 101 preparing for a separation from these beloved friends." Mary is very much occupied in these prepara- tions for a change of climate. At length the time of departure draws near. She has placed her class under the care of Harriet Butler, to be transferred to the Sunday-school. Her aunt is especially commended to the care of her pastor. John Barlow and William Brown are on a visit to the garden, for they have never neglected it yet. Mary joins them among the vegetables. "You will not forget my aunt, John," said the young lady ; "you will look after her affairs when I am gone." " You may trust us, Miss ; she is a good friend to us, and we shall never neglect her." Mark, too, has come home to say farewell. A visit to Lotty's grave, to the lily pond, and the violet dell are among the last acts of Mary Elliott. A blessing from her faithful pastor, tearful aclieux from the wife and daughter, and it only remains to take a last look at the home of her childhood. Aunt Margaret is deeply pained at the thought of parting, but her confidence in Mary's piety is unshaken. She remembers the picture in Pil- grim's Progress, where the man is seen behind 9* 102 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. the wait pouring in oil to keep the flame alive, which floods of water poured in by the evil oue cannot extinguish ; neither will Mary's piety die out, for she is truly of that nuniher whom this allegory so powerfully describes, and whom the Saviour thus represents " My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life ; and they shall never perish, neither shall any mail pluck thorn out of my hands." VANITY FAIR. 105 CHAPTER IX. VANITY fIARY "On board ship. Life has flowed on in such a gentle stream at dear old Hollyville, I scarcely knew how tranquil, until I feel it fading, and see in the future the real conflict which is to try my faith. With a fair wind, our vessel is rapidly leaving my native shore ; the clear features of the landscape are dwindling away ; the hroad bay widening into the grand ocean, which, with the bright expanse above, are fllling up my vision. Beyond the dim line that marks the port which we have so recently left, I imagine the shady streets, the green trees, the pleasant homes of Holly ville. The parsonage once seemed only an humble country home, but in memory's eye it looks lovely now, for it contains the friend and pastor of my youth. The dear old home of my childhood looks as it never did when I was one of its inmates those lovely trees, that smooth green lawn, that old pear-tree by Letty's window, 104 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. where the wrens sang their sweet morning songs ; how plainly do I see them all ! " It is morning now, breakfast is jnst over, and Aunt Margaret is moving about with her quiet footstep in her household duties. I see the band of dark brown hair, with its few silver threads under her widow's cap, the deep thoughtful eyes, and the sweet smile always resting around her mouth. "She is attending to my work now, for I always washed the breakfast things, and gave orders for the day. I wonder how she will bear her increased cares; but Emily is growing up very fast, she will leave school next term, and I hope will be all that her mother needs. My heart longs with a sickening feeling for these precious relations, but we are speeding on ; the line has faded on the horizon, the waves are widening and deepening in their graceful billows ; there is a mournful sound of plashing waters against the vessel, which rocks gently in the swelling ocean. "How sweet the sense of security in this vast expanse of water, as I listen to the lullaby of the waves, for with it I hear the voice of God. "How magnificent the Psalm readi here, which speaks of the mighty sea ! VANITY FAIR. 105 "'For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof. " ' They mount up to the heavens, they go down into the depths. " ' He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. " ' Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not known." " ' Held in the hollow of his hand, I am as safe here as on the land, for Jesus is my refuge, and my strength.'" " Out at sea. 1 can scarcely realize the change in Charlotte, wholly under the influence of her husband, she seems almost to be forgetting that she ever called herself a Christian. ' Hold Thou me up, and I shall be safe ; keep me from vain confidence, dear Lord.' " She avoids all spiritual conversation, for her thoughts are all of the earth." " We are in sight of land. I see the moun- tains of South America, and the rich coloring of tropical foliage; doubtless I shall be in a land of physical beauty, the moral atmosphere is what I fear, but God my Father is there, the Saviour, the Holy Spirit are there with all who really are the Lord's. 106 NOTHING BUT LEWES. " We are entering the Bay of Rio, so cele- brated for its beauty, almost rivalling the Bay of Kaples, so the captain says. "There is something protruding above the water; ah! it is the fin of a shark, but here is a more agreeable sight! hundreds of small sea- gulls whirling in the sunshine. What are those tall stately trees ? palm trees, fine specimens of tropical vegetation, and in bold relief. We are coming in sight of three mountain islairls, Pai, Mai, Menina. Father, mother, child. " We are now in a bay of islands, for there are seventy, and so beautiful we might almost call them ' the islands of the blessed.' We have a glimpse of the city with its tall spires and windows glittering in the morning sun. Hills every where crowned with churches and con- vents. It has been said, 'if angels lived with men, they could not have finer sites for dwellings than have the monks and nuns at Rio.' " One is especially worthy of notice, which the captain pointed out as the Gloria Hill, where the land shoots out into the bay, and on its crest stands a church dedicated to ' Our Lady of Glory.' " The people regard these churches on the hills as so many mediators between , arth and heaven, and believe the safety of the city intimately con- VANITY FAIR. 107 nected with the protection afforded by the prayers and fastings of these ' saints of the hills.' The back ground of Rio, and up the bay as far as one can see are nothing but sky and moun- tains, peaks behind peaks rising in the distance. "VYe are now in full view of the city which is to be my future home." The vessel has touched the shore, and a fine- looking man of middle age, with rich, olive complexion, and all the marks of a Portuguese, seems to be in search of some one. Mounting the deck of the vessel, he asked for Mr. Rogers. It is Mary Elliott's stepfather, the Senor Santos. "Is this my daughter?" said the gentleman, advancing to Mary. "I am Mary Elliott is this the Senor dos Santos?" " The same ; we are not strangers, young lady. I am not the Senor to you, but papa, always ; shall it be so ?" " Just as you will ; it is a very pleasant sound ;" and Mary had no reason to regret the compact thus sealed. " But come, let us hasten home, your mamma is waiting anxiously." Exchanging cards with Mr. Rogers, and 108 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. thanking him for his care of his daughter, she was conducted quickly to an open barouche, and soon found herself rolling rapidly along through a lovely country. Flowers of rich tropical hues bloomed in profusion by the roadside, birds of splendid plumage sang upon the trees, and all along the road they passed the houses of gentle- men engaged in business in the city. They were not remarkable for beauty, generally two storied buildings ; balconies at the upper windows were general, enclosed with lattice-work. The Seiior named several residents as they passed the houses. "You will have plenty of society," said the gentleman, " for we are intimate with most of these." " Are there any English or American families here?" "Oh, yes, several ; there is the English minister, Mr. Austin, he is a very fine gentleman, and the family of Mr. Blount, the Consul, and a number of American merchants; but here we are!" said the Senor, stopping at the most beautiful villa on the road. The house was a large two storied building, with balconies encircling both stories, and in accommodation to the taste of bia American lady, the Senor had made an inno- vation on old customs, and dispensed with VANITY FAIR. 109 "gelosias," "for," said the Senhcra, "I could never bear to be shut up inside of that gloomy lattice-work, I should grow melancholy, I am sure." Situated in the midst of grounds most taste- fully laid out, with its front terraces, its winding paths, rich shrubbery, and rare flowers, its pavil- ions, its fountains, all indicated the wealth of its owner. Mary thought of " the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life," as she surveyed the luxuriant home, and in another minute, led by the Senor, mounted the terrace, entered the house, and was soon folded in her mother's arms, who, in company with her brother and sister, met her in the drawing-room. After the excitement of the first meeting was over, the Senhora called Mary to her side. " Sit by me, my daughter, I want to look at you ; very like your father, Mary," and the lady was evidently pleased by the scrutiny. For she is now an interesting girl of twenty-one, small and gracefully formed, not so beautiful, as lovely. An expression of holy purity rests upon hnr face ; rich, brown hair, deep, thoughtful grey eyes full of expression, and a complexion rather p;tle. " Quite in the Madonna tyle ! ' said the S?nor to his lady. 10 110 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Mary looked upon lier mother with admiring eyes, for though faded, she was still beautiful lustrous dark eyes, glossy black hair, regular features, she might almost have passed for a Portuguese lady, were it not that the complexion was fair, instead of the rich olive of the natives. Her figure, which w r as symmetry itself, was clad in fine cobweb muslin, richly trimmed with real lace, and enveloped in a black lace shawl, which she wore with a peculiar grace. On her delicate fingers glittered diamonds of the first water, and a pin of the same costly gem fastened the throat of her dress. Notwithstanding this beauty, Mary was pained to see so many marks of fragile health about her mother, for the color on her cheek was variable, the neck somewhat attenuated, and the breath, as it moved the thin mualiu covering of her chest, came and went in short, quick motions. Lion was a beautiful boy of twelve, and Viola a sw r eet child of eight, each with the dark, tender eyes, black, glossy hair, and rich com- plexion of their father. They received their sister with a childish welcome of delight, and seating themselves near to Mary, quietly scanned the new comer, won- dering with childish curiosity how they should like her, and deciding very quickly that they ' But come, my dear." Page 111. VANITY FAIR. Ill should love Sister Mary, who, in her turn, was delighted to find that she could converse with her little brother and sister, for her mother had taught them English. The rooms on the lower floor were all com- municating with windows reaching to the floor, hung with fine lace curtains ; floor covered with matting; light, airy furniture, suited to a tropi- cal climate; a fountain playing in the central room ; flowers adorned the verandah, and at the end of the suite of rooms was a conservatory, filled with the richest and rarest plants. " But come, my dear," said the mother, " you must he tired ; I will show you to your room/' and leading the way, she was conducted to a chamber on the second floor, opening also on a verandah, which enclosed that part of the grounds, where a fountain played beneath her window ; from another window there was a view of the lovely bay, for the house was on an eminence, and named Monte Rosa. The cham- ber was tastefully furnished with delicate colors, that were particularly grateful in the warm climate of Rio ; a small room adjoined her own, where her maid was to sleep. " Here is your young lady, Papita," said the yenhora, and a young colored girl courtesieU respectfully to Mary. 112 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " You must get rested in a few days," said th mother, " for a great many dinner parties are waiting for you among people of the highest rank in the place." "I hope that I shall not be compelled to accept all," said Mary, " a retired life suits me so much better." " You will not neglect the claims of your father's friends, Mary, I am sure ; but you had better rest now ; we dine at five o'clock," and the lady closed the door. The trunks had just arrived, and Papita asked to have them opened. She busied herself in putting away the contents in a wardrobe and bureau that stood in the room, and when Mary had rested brought out what she supposed suitable for dinner, but which the young lady had designed for great occasions. It was her silk dress, pearl-colored, and very simply trimmed. " Do not bring that, Papita," said Mary, " that is my best dress, and only intended to weai vvhea I ro out." ~ The maid looked greatly surprised. " Only one, Donna Mafia, why the Senhora has a dozen, arid always wears silk for dinner; what shall I get ?" " There is a lilac lawn that will answer." VANITY FAIR 113 Fapita smiled as she replied, " The Senhora will not be pleased." But arrayed in this simple costume, Mary appeared at dinner, where several gentlemen had joined the family, for they seldom dined alone. The Senhora arrayed in her costly silk, looked disapprobation at Mary's modest apparel, and took occasion to whisper, " You need transforming, my daughter ; where are your fan and gloves, Mary ?" " I have no fan but a palm-leaf, and I did net know that I must wear gloves." " You must be taught better," and the Senhora turned aside to introduce her daughter to several Portuguese gentlemen, who evidently scrutinized the appearance of the young lady. The table was elegantly laid, the dinner service of rich china, heavy plate and glass ; two colored waiters served the company, and the etiquette observed embarrassed Mary, who had never in all her life been associated with people living in such elegance, but observing what others did, she followed their example, save in the free use of wine, which even the children were allowed. No blessing was asked at her mother's table, but Mary's bowed head and mere touching of the wine glass with her lips attracted attention, 10* 114 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. and drew down upon her some severe remarks when the guests had retired to the smoking- room. " These peculiarities are unpleasant," said her mother, " and I desire that you will not repeat them ; you can be thankful without parading it before others ; and a glass of wine will not hurt you; these things are pharisaical, Mary." " I will do nothing to offend you, mamma, if I can help it, but asking a blessing on my meals I regard as a Christian duty, and ought to set the example." Mary was surprised to see her mother smoke a cigaritta after dinner, and when offered one, begged to be excused, but when urged to try one, she laughingly yielded to mamma, for this she regarded as one of the small things that she might innocently do, although it was really unplesant, and made her slightly sick. On retiring for the night, Papita was ready to assist her, and Mary perceived that a priedieu and a crucifix had been placed by the side of her bed, with candles, and a picture of the Virgin hanging on the wall. " I do not need these, Papita," said the young lady ; "you had better remove them." " Not need them !" said the maid, with hands uplifted, and consternation written upo*. her VANITY FAIR. Il5 face, that looked as if Mary were indeed a heathen. " Why, do you never pray to the blessed Virgin, Donna Maria ?" " No, Papita, I pray to ray Father in heaven, through the Lord Jesus Christ, and he hears my prayers." " I am so sorry to find that you are a heretic, Donna Maria," and the girl crossed herself devoutly as she spoke. "Don't distress yourself, my good girl, my hopes of heaven are all sure and steadfast ; you may pray to the saints and the Virgin, Papita, but I am contented with my faith in Jesus only" "Poor young lady! I wish that our good father Benediceto could talk to you ; but I will ask him to pray for you, Donna Maria." Mary heard Papita murmuring the words of prayer long after she had composed herself to rest, and supposed that the poor girl was beseig- in; the whole calendar of saints in her behalf. O In the morning the offensive articles were removed, and Papita reported faithfully in the kitchen and elsewhere the sacrilege committed by the new comer. Danger was in the house. and a fresh supply of amulets was in demand for the household of the Senor dos Santos to protect 116 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. them from contagion. Mary had shown her colors at once, and now it remained for her faithfully yet meekly to defend them. In the course of the morning the Senhora visited Mary to examine her wardrobe. " Is this all ?" said the lady, " one silk dress, four trumpery lawns, three white muslins, two bareges, and three chintz wrappers ! What in the world do you expect to do with these ?" holding up one of the plebeian chintzes. " Wear them to breakfast, mamma," was the reply. ' Give them to Papita at once," said the lady ; w none in our house wear chintz but our servants. Mary, how is it that you have such a miserable wardrobe ? I thought that I made you a hand- some allowance." " I think that I have a very large supply, mamma. Aunt Margaret's means were limited, and for the last year I have denied myself to buy Mark's clothes and books ; he was so anxious to become a minister." A frown lowered on the Senhora's face, and she replied with a sneer, " And so our money has been going to support a heretic from the true church to make a poor, miserable country priest." " Dou't talk so, mamma ; don't you remember VANITY FAIR. 117 Uncle Winslow ? he was a country minister, but where was there a holier, better man." u He was a heretic, Mary, and nothing else." "You did not think so always, mamma." " iNo ; I have learned a great many things in South America that I never knew before ; but we will drop this subject for the present, and return to yonr wardrobe ; you will mingle in the very best society here, Mary, and your dress will be according to that. I shall send orders to the city to-day, and Madame Le Vert will send one of her aids to fit your dresses." Accordingly, a servant was despatched with orders, two handsome silks were selected, three embroidered grenadines, and three elegant French muslins, Mary only being allowed to choose colors, and to beg that the trimmings might be moderate, such as became her simple tastes. A handsome hat, a lace mantilla, a\\ elegant fan, and some articles of jewelry were added. In the midst of the discussion, Mrs. Rogers was announced, and was deeply interested in the business of the day. Her eye rested upon the most expensive, and ordering several to her own residence, she con- sulted the Senhora upon the fashions of Rio with so much energy, that Mary could not but remember the prim-looking devotee, who had so often in former days attacked her simple apparel. 118 SOTHING BUT LEAVES. .But downward steps are rapid when the first has been taken. When Charlotte had taken leave, the Senhora took a chair near her daughter, and with a severe countenance said, "I was much displeased, Mary, to find you had ordered those symbols of our holy reli- gion removed from your room ; if you did not intend to use them yourself, you might have paid some respect to them in the presence of your maid." "I do not want to appear in a false light, tnamma ; I am a decided Protestant." Diary " What a complete transition from the world of sweet communion with the good and holy, to Vanity Fair, for there I am. Such a whirl of excitement around me all the time. Watchfulness must be my talisman, prayer my refuge here is every thing to dwarf the life of piety in the soul. There are some things which I am obliged to do, that I would not choose, but guch as do not affect my duty as a Christian ; I must yield to my mother ; but there are others which I must resist, with face set as a flint against conformity with the practices of a sinful world It wili cost me trial, perhaps suffering, but I must not shrink. VANITY FAIR. 119 " I think of Christian in Vanity Fair, kept by the power of faith pure in the midst of tempta- tion. So may I be preserved near my Saviour. The comforting lectures on the Pilgrim's Progress recur so often the thought of the man behind the wall secretly pouring in oil while the evil one was endeavoring to extinguish the flame comes always up with such cheering power. "Poor mamma! so frail, holding life by a thread so slender, I tremble for her, for she seems wholly wedded to her new faith. I see no Bible in her room, but plenty of Eoman missals and books of devotion, lives of the saints with accounts of their miracles. I wonder how a Protestant could ever be beguiled by such. I suppose that her desire to please the Senor operated at first, but now she is the devotee, and he is careless." A first Sunday in South America. There had been a late party on Saturday evening ; long after twelve o'clock, Mary heard them laughing and talking in the drawing-room, for she retired at ten. Consequently, all were late next morn- ing, Mary arose very early, and after reading her Bible and prayer, she seated herself by the window, that looked out upon the lovely pros- pect. The charming bay, the morning sun 120 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. shining on the fresh green islands, the pictur esque hills all around, crowned with their churches and convents, the numerous bells ringing to matims all reminded Mary that though in a country where natural beauty smiled every where, moral twilight was etill resting upon those neighboring hills ; she learned, alas! hereafter that even twilight had not dawned. She looked with longing eyes upon, the spires glittering in the sunshine, and wondered if there were not one little humb'e church among them all, where she might ap- proach her Father through One Mediator. The house was still very quiet, and she descended to the garden to inhale the fresh morning air. The windows of the sleeping rooms were still closed, and after awhilf the servants were seen issuing from the house on their way to early mass. Papita was among them, and Mary, calling her, asked where she could find a Protestant Church?" "Indeed, I do not know," said the maid, crossing herself, who either could not, or would not tell. After breakfast, the Sefihora announced her intention of going to church with the children, saying to Mary, VANITY FAIR. 121 " You can take a seat in the carriage ; there is plenty of room." " Excuse me, mamma," was the mild, but firm reply ; " I cannot go." "You are very obstinate, Mary," said the lady ; " I do not think that your religion has made you very respectful to your mother." Her eyes filled with tears as she replied, " I do not mean to be disrespectful, mamma, but my principles hold me back." " Do as you please, there be will no force ex- erted; come, children, it is time to go." And dressed in the costume of a Portuguese lady, with her lace mantilla drawn over her head, the three entered the carriage, and drove off to the church of St. Sebastian. The Senor seldom went with his lady, for he was a very undevout Catholic, an intelligent man, and had seen much to shock good sense and morality in this community. So in wrappers and slippers, with newspapers, cigars, iced wines and sherbet, he seated himself in a luxurious chair, in the smoking room, while Mary sought the quiet of her chamber. A sudden impulse seized her to seek for herself the Protestant chapel. She was not aware of the old Moorish notion of seclusion, which shut up females from public gaze in this 11 122 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Portuguese city, and rendered it quite inde- corous for a lady to be seen any where in public without an attendant. Quietly arraying herself for a walk, she started on her journey, inquiring the way as she went along, for she had learned the Portu- guese name for the English chapel. She observed that many looked after her, making strange exclamations in Portuguese, but inno- cent Mary still traveled on. The streets were alive with human beings, with carts, teams, and pannier-mules, gangs of slaves bearing the furniture of moving families. All were busy as on other days. She passed many ladies wrapped in their mantillas, with but one eye visible, attended by their slaves, who walked behind each with prayer book and kneeling cushion, on her way to church, glancing with wonder at the strange sight of a young lady alone, and unveiled in the public streets. She had not gone far into the city before Pedro, the waiter, came hurrying after her. " The Senor has sent me to bring you home, Donna Maria," said the man. " Why, I am going to chapel," said Mary. " It is not the custom here for ladies to go out alone do come home; the Senor will be very VANITY FAIR. angry ; another time, I will take you myself in the children's volante." And Mary was' obliged to turn back with Pedro. "You must not do this again," said the Senor ; " young ladies never go out alone." " You will excuse me this time, I hope, papa," was the reply. " I am ignorant of your customs yet," and Mary made the Senor laugh at the account which she gave of her adventures as she went along, inquiring in broken Portuguese for the English chapel. "We expect company to dinner, Mary. I hope that you will dress accordingly." And in obedience to her papa's request, she selected one of her new silk dresses, which had arrived the night before. Thus arrayed, she appeared at the table, where a large party of ladies and gentlemen had been invited to meet the stranger 124 NOTHING BUT LEAVER CHAPTER X. RIT5E -WITH THE "How my weary spirit longa for the sweet shelter of Holly ville the perfume.of its piety is with me still but this worldly atmosphere dims the blessed- ness that I knew while there. " Yesterday was my first Sunday in this barren land. No Sabbath services, no house of God. There was a party invited to dinner to meet me. The ladies were very beautiful, and elegantly dressed, the gentlemen polite and attentive to the stranger. Though I could not understand the language of the company, I judged the conversation to be frivolous in the extreme, from the laughter which accompanied it, and feared that it was profane, for I am almost certain that I heard the sacred name of ' Jesu ' lightly spoken by many of the party. " After dinner, drinking of wine and throwing bread pellets consumed an hour, the gentlemen A RIDE WITH THE CHILDREN. 125 then retired to the smoking room with their cigars, and the ladies regaled themselves in like manner with their cigarittas. Charlotte and her husband were among the invited guests, she had accommodated herself very speedily to the customs of the place, for dressed in the height of Portuguese fashion, she joined heartily in laughing at the frivolous conversation, and the giddy revelry seemed to suit her spirit well. I thought of Hollyville, and my heart was full of sadness. I suppose that my face betrayed my feelings, for Charlotte caught myeye once while throwing pellets, and did not look towards me again. " After a while, one of the ladies opened the piano, and entertained the company with some very fine music, but not suited to the sacred day. Papa asked if I could sing, to which I replied, ' Yes, but not upon the Sabbath.' U 'A little Puritane, I suppose,' said one of the ladies, who could speak English. " Then, the priest, who had been one of the party, proposed a visit to the cock-pit, for he had brought his game chicken with him even the ladies followed to see what they termed the fun between the Senor and priest's game chickens. I could endure no more, but watch- ing my opportunity, retired to my- room, where 11* 126 NOTHINO BUT LEAVES. I remained until all had departed. In the evening, I am sure that I heard dancing in the drawing-room. Oh! for wisdom to guide me, for I must be singular, if I would be one of the peculiar people of the Bible. " My mother was greatly displeased. The Senor shrugged his shoulders, as he said, ' It will not do, young lady, you must give up a few of your notions.' " Mamma was severe in the expression of her anger. "* You are making yourself ridiculous, Mary,' Baid she, ' when you are in Rome, you must do as Romans do.' " ' "What then becomes of the spirit of Christi- anity, mamma ?' I asked. " ' I want to hear no more of such nonsense, the ladies will think my daughter ignorant of all the rules of politeness, if invited on purpose to meet you, you see fit to absent yourself for hours from their society; Mrs. Rogers acts like a lady.' " I must watch and pray, for I am in the midst of danger ; this is truly Vanity Fair." Next day, Mary rode out with the children in their volante to a favorite resort about five milea A RIDE WITH THE CHILDREN. 127 Their ride was through a charming country, so different from any thing at home ; for luxu- riance characterized vegetation every where, and the climate rendered the insect world equally prolific. The children were affectionate, talkative little creatures, and entertained their sister with accounts of the various sources of amusement which were to be enjoyed. "You will be here at the carnival I hope, sister," said Leon.. "I think it likely, my dear, for mamma wishes me to remain with her." " We have grand times I can tell you ; we ride up and down the street in all kinds of funny dress, the ladies masked, and the people from the windows pelting us with bags of sugar plums, starch balls, and perfumed water; all kinds of musical instruments are heard, penny trumpets and large horns ; I declare it's a perfect bedlam, and every body seems half-crazy." " What is it for, Leon ?" " The people expect the long fast of Lent, and BO we have the carnival to make up for our penance." " Mamma is going to give us a fancy ball in carnival week," said Viola ; " all the little boys nd girls that we know will be invited. I am 128 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. going to be dressed like a flower-girl, and Leon like a Spanish Don. What will you wear, sister?" "I don't go to fancy balls, Viola," replied her sister. Viola opened wide her dark eyes, as she inquired, " "Why not, sister ?" " Because I think that it is a foolish waste of time and money, and because I have no love for such things." By this time they had reached the grove, in the midst of which stood a pavilion for the entertainment of visitors. There were orange trees, the banana, the tamarind, and the rich mango beds of gor- geous flowers, and superb fountains scattered through the grounds, which were tastefully laid out. Coming out upon an open space, Leon pointed in the distance to a mountain slope, above which towered ranges of lofty mountains, some of which were snow-capped. "Papa has a cottage there," said the boy, " and when the weather gets very warm, we go up there, and stay for a few weeks." " Do you like to go ?" said Mary. " Yes, indeed, we take servants, and company, and music, and have a gay time." A RIDE WITH THE CHILDREN. 129 " Leon, do you ever think why God has placed us in this world ?" said Mary. " I suppose to enjoy ourselves," said the boy ; " that is all that the people here eeern to think about." "You know that we all have souls, Leon." " Yes, sister, the priest tells us about them, and the church takes, care of them ?" " How is that, Leon ?" " Why, w T hen we are little babies, we are all baptized, and that makes us Christians ; when we are older we are confirmed, and then we take the sacrament ; we all have our guardian saint, and we pray to her and the Blessed Virgin; when we commit sin, we confess to the priest, do penance, and he absolves us from our sins ; if we only continue good Catholics, when we die we shall go to purgatory, and then when our sins are all purged away, we shall go to heaven at last." "Do you ever read the Bible, Leon?" "No, Mary, mamma says that we cannot understand it, but that the priest will teach us what we ought to do, and we must let the .Bible alone, for it may disturb our faith." " I will tell you one verse of the Bible, Leon. The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all 130 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Leon sat still for a moment, and then Mary inquired, " Do you go to school, Leon ?" " No, sister, mamma has a priest to teach us. I don't like him, because he is so cross ; I wish that mamma would get another teacher." " I have a great deal of time, children, I wish mamma would let me teach you." " That would be so nice," said Viola, " you would not scold us, would you, sister? and then we'd learn so much faster ; I'll ask mamma as soon as we get home." On their way back, Leon pointed to a convent, whose brown stone towers looked so gloomy above the high walls that surrounded the build- ing ; one of those monasteries that sheltered the " saints of the hills." I want to take you there, Mary," said Leon, "there is such a good nun living there sister Clarice ; she makes the most beautiful flowers out of shells that look like small pearls, and some out of beetles' wings, that look just like emeralds and rubies." " Mamma has a set," said Viola, " and she often wears them in her hair." " Don't you think that the nuns must be very good, Mary, to give up this beautiful world, and shut themselves up in that dark convent just to serve God ?" A RIDE WITH THE CHILDREN. 131 " Are you sure that is serving God, Leon ? the Bible says, * Let your light so shine before men, that you may glorify your Father which is in heaven.' now, Leon, their light cannot shine through those dark and gloomy walls." " The priest says that they are holy women," said Leon, " and very happy too ; I don't know how it is, but the priest says so." " If they are so happy, Leon, and like to stay, why do they have those high stone walls, those iron bars, and bolts and grating ?" Just then Leon called out, " Stop the carriage, Pedro, I want to get some of these flowers," and stepping out, he gathered a bunch of the lovely amaryllis and fuschia, and placing them in Mary's hand, asked, " Have you such beautiful flowers at home?" " K"o, Leon, ours are much more delicate ; pale blue, and pink and lilac mark our spring flowers ; our autumn flowers are of richer colors, but will not compare with the brilliant hues that are so common here; still, Leon, there is a dell at home where the sweet violets bloom, and a lily pond where the pure white blossoms float in their bright green cups, that I would rather see just now than the richest glories of this luxuriant clime." " Why, Mary ?" inquired the boy. 132 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " Because they are at home, Leon." As soon as the children entered the house, they flew to their mamma with the request that Mary might teach, them. She was pleased and flattered by the idea that Mary was willing thus to use her time, and said, " Are you sure that you will not grow weary, Mary? the children are very tired of Father Ambrose, and I am glad to make a change." " I love to teach, mamma, I am accustomed to a very active life, and I do not think that I should soon grow tired." " Do you know how high-tempered these little Portuguese are ?" " I have heard so, mamma, but they are warm hearted and affectionate ; I am not afraid." Accordingly, in another week, the priest was dismissed, and the children installed in a room next her own as daily pupils. She found that Leon had decided musical talent, Viola a passionate love of drawing ; these were their recreations, and with these she com- menced her labors. Neither, however, liked study, and when they found that sister Mary had a system that must be followed, for some time they were bent upon resistance, sometimes playfully, sometimes pas- sionately, but always wilfully. A RIDE WITH THE CHILDREN. 133 "While the novelty lasted, it was smooth sail ing, for Mary Elliott was a pleasant, intelligent teacher, but at length studies were introduced which required patient thought, and persevering efforts. Leon sat for awhile, with frowning hrow, and petulant expression, puzzling over a difficult ex- ample in arithmetic. Suddenly pushing away his slate and pencil, he started to his feet, and exclaimed, " Confound this old arithmetic, I hate it ; what's the use of puzzling one's brains over such stuff? I am not going to try any more." Mary took no notice of Leon's hasty speech, but calling Viola to her side gave her some directions about a drawing in which she was interested, and which was nearly finished. The boy's pride was wounded, for he had been accus- tomed to hold arguments with Father Ambrose by the hour. He stole a glance at Mary's face, but perceived nothing there but a calm, firm look, and the boy bit his lip with vexation; at length he spoke. " Aren't you going to help me, sister?" "I have explained the principle, Leon; it would be very easy fDr me to take your slate, and perform the work for you, but what would 12 134 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. you gain ? You must try to do it yourself, I know that you can." " You know that we are to ride to-day at eleven o'clock, I can't finish it by that time." " We will not go unless the example is com- pleted, Leon." The boy was in great passion, tramping up and down the floor, he declared that he would not do the work, and so the time rolled on. Viola completed her task, and directly Pedro opened the door to say that the volante was in waiting. "You may put up the carriage," said the young lady, " we are not going to ride to-day." .Leon seized his slate, and threw it to the other side of the room, dashing it to pieces, and then sweeping the drawing utensils from his sister's table, he seized her drawing, and tore it into atoms. "I am sorry for you, Leon, you only hurt yourself," said his sister ; " when you are a little more composed, we will talk over this business, but not now," and Mary and Viola left the room. The boy sat alone for some time, when passion had cooled he began to think upon all his sister's patient kindness, and felt that he was wholly wrong. A RIDE WITH THE CHILDREN. 135 Leon was a generous, impulsive boy, and seizing his cap went in pursuit of his sisters, and found them in one of the summer-houses in the garden. Quick to acknowledge wrong, he advanced to Mary's side, and with a manly directness said, "I have been wrong, sister, will you pardon me ? I have such a violent temper." "I was more grieved than angry, Leon; you are freely forgiven, my child ; to-morrow we will talk it all over." " You are my good sister ; there was no use of making apologies to Father Ambrose, for he never believed me, and always said that my pro- fessions were all pretence." Anxious to show his sincerity, Leon gathered some choice flowers for his sister, and bringing them into the summer-house, seated himself on the floor, and commenced arranging them. Just then, Mary perceived a scorpion approach- ing her brother's hand ; but a few inches divided them. "Run to the left, Leon, quick!" said Mary, and throwing her hat over the poisonous crea- ture, she exclaimed, "Do not move the hat, there is a scorpion underneath," and then fly'ng to the house, she returned ir a few moments with 136 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. a pitcher of scalding water, which she poured upon the hat. Then lifting it, she perceived the dead scorpion lying on the floor among the flowers. " Thank you 1 thank you, Sister Mary !" said the boy, " the bite is very poisonous. I did not see it, and but for you, I might have died." When the Senor returned home, Leon related the story of the scorpion, and his father, seizing her hand, poured out his emotions in warm, glowing language, while the mother could only express her feelings by her tears. Mary said nothing about the scene in the morning, but Leon related every word that had passed, and said, "I will do my very best to- morrow, sister ; you may trust me when I pass my word." " Who knows what you were sent here for, my daughter," said the Senor, with deep feeling, " to save Leon from worse foes than a scorpion, perhaps." These few words sank deeply down into her heart, and seated before her table, they are thus recorded : "In the broad Pacific lie groups of lovely green islands the work of the tiny creatures of the sea long nothing but bare coral reefs, until flocks of birds from distant lands drop here their precious seed, and they are thus clothed with A RIDE WITH THE CHILDREN. 137 beauty when G-od would make an island, he Bends the unconscious birds ministers of his will. May it not be so in the work of grace I If he intends to have a green corner of moral verdure here, may he not have sent me from a far distant land to droj the precious seed ; and by-and-by, under the sunshine and the shower, out of this little sea of life, to gather plants of grace that will hereafter bloom in the garden of the Lord on earth, in the Paradise of God above. Make me the bird to drop the precious seed, dear Lord." Next day, in mild, affectionate language, Mary endeavored to show Leon the terrible eifects of ungoverned tempers, citing several instances of life-sorrow produced by violent outbreaks of a passionate nature. "How shall I ever conquer it, sister?" said the boy. "I will tell you, Leon, there was One who spoke to the stormy winds once, saying, ' Peace, be still,' and they obeyed him, the same can still the waves of passion in a human breast He says, ' Come, learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and you shall find /eat unto your souls.'" " Whose words are these, Mary ?" "They are the Master's, Leon, our dear Saviour." 12* 138 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. The boy seemed very penitent all that day, and endeavored by his actions to prove his sincerity. Papita had witnessed the scene the morning before, and discussed the matter with the Senhora's maid. "I wonder how it is, Belika, Donna Maria can do more with the boy than Father Ambrose, papa, or mamma. I wonder if she is a sor- ceress." For these poor, superstitious creatures did really believe in witchcraft and sorcery. The next Sunday Pedro brought up the volaute for the young lady, and said, " the Senor told me that you may have the carriage every Sunday morning to go where you please." The two ladies' maids were watching the car- riage as it drove away. " What a pity that she is a heretic I" said Belika, crossing herself. "Yes," was the reply, "for she is a sweet young lady, and the children love her so much ; but Father Paul says that sometimes the tempter comes to us in the form of an angel." Mary directed the driver to take her to the English chapel. It was a small building, and quite a thin con- gregation, but Mary felt it a great privilege to A BIDE WITH THE CHILDREN. 139 mingle with God's people. The sermon was spiritual, the prayers comforting, and the music devotional. Mr. Austin had perceived a stranger in their midst, and stepping down from the pulpit, at the close of the services, he welcomed her among them. " We are a little flock," said the good man. " Here, in this Popish country, our influence is scarcely felt, but Protestant Christians of every name worship with us, and we enjoy in an humble way ' the communion of saints.' " " It will be a great privilege," said Mary, " for I am a member of a Catholic family, and feel so lonely." As soon as Mr. Austin heard where she dwelt, he remarked, " You will have need of much grace, my dear young lady, to keep your garments clean ; but there is a strong tower." " I know it, Mr. Austin, but will you not too call to see me !" " Gladly," was the quick reply, " and my wife and daughter will come also, we shall be glad to make your acquaintance." Diary "As .a draught of cool water in a thirsty land, so sweet is the consciousness that I 140 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. have found a little sanctuary, where, with my fellow Christians, I can worship my Redeemer. "It was such a blessed Sunday, the kind greeting of the English minister, the prospect of Christian friends, the faithful, earnest holding up of Jesus cheered my weary spirit, and filled my heart with joy and peace in believing. And even the giddy company always gathered on the Sabbath did not dim the vision of the ' Delec- table Mountains,' for in my quiet room, they were in view all day. "Papa has granted me permission to absent myself from these Sabbath gatherings, much to my mother's vexation. " Leon and Viola often come to me in my room in the afternoon, and I show them my book of Scripture pictures, of which they are very fond, and some times we sing hymns together. God bless the dear children and gather them into his spiritual fold, but they are beset with snares.'' THE AUSTINS. 141 CHAPTER XL THE "I have just had a visit from the pastor's wife and daughter. It was so delightful to see one who looked like a native of my own land. Mrs. Austin is an interesting Christian lady, middle-aged, with a fine, benevolent face, dressed in the modest costume of an English matron ; her daughter, Fanny, is about my own age, with a bright complexion, and such a pleasant smile upon features that are not regular. Her manners are artless and ingenious, with the polish of a refined education, none of the glitter of fashion, of which I see so much. They treated me with the freedom of an old acquaintance, and Mrs. Austin said, " ' "We expect to see a great deal of you, Miss Elliott ; Fanny has no very genial companion, and we are both delighted at the prospect of a friend ; will you spend next Wednesday with us?' 142 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " * I can come after twelve o'clock, Mrs. Aus- tin, for I am engaged with the children until that time every day but Saturday.' "Then kissing my cheek, Mrs. Austin took her leave, and left a blessing behind, for with it came the memory of Aunt Margaret." " I ha ve paid my first visit to the good min- ister's family they live in simple style in the neighborhood of the chapel there is one son, their eldest child, named Philip, a gentlemanly young man, who seems devoted to his parents and sister. We dined in an apartment adjoin. ag the drawing-room, looking out upon the garden. I could bow my head there without dreading a mother's frown, for Mr. Austin reverently asked a blessing. " The conversation was improving, and after dinner Fanny led the way to the drawing-room, where we three young people enjoyed an hour of Bacred music while Fanny played. She has a sweet, and Philip a powerful, voice. Mr. Austin praised the music, and said, " c We must have you in our choir, Miss Elliott, for there is quite a lack of good voices.' " Mrs. Austin reminded me of Aunt Margaret, not that she is at all like her, for she is rather stout and healthy, but there is a gentle, affec- THE AUSTINS. 143 tionate manner, which is so like that precious aunt " Philip is very intelligent, and Fanny a lovely girl. It was such a pleasant visit, no restraints, but all so congenial to my tastes. God is very good to grant me such a Bethel of refreshment :n a weary land of exile. " Philip took me home in their little carriage, and was pleased to say on parting, that he hoped my visits to the rectory would be frequent. " Papa is very kind, for he is grateful for the interest shown in the children, whom he idolizes, but my mother is often harsh and severe, she can scarcely tolerate my Protestant whims, as she is pleased to term them. Her priest, Father Bene- diceto, is a frequent visitor, especially since I have been attending the English chapel. I wonder if it is designed, for he evidently seeks my society. " One afternoon, I was seated in the pavilion, at the foot of the garden, when I saw the priest approaching, and my mother standing on the terrace, evidently watching. He came in, and took his seat by my side. After some general conversation, he inquired, '"Have you been to St. Sebastian's, Donna Maria?' " ' ]S T o. father, I am a Protestant.' " His countenance changed somewhat, but 144 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. putting on one of his blandest smiles, he re- plied, " ' Yes, I 'know that, but there is a great deal to interest a young lady of your taste ; the music is of the highest order: would you not like to hear it ?' "' Hot on the Sabbath, father, for on that day I go to church to worship God.' "'You can certainly worship God in other churches beside your own.' " ' Yes, certainly, in some, but not where the mass is performed.' "'Why, what objection do you see to that?' "'Idolatry, father; do you not elevate the elements, and call upon the people to bow down before them !' "'Is this the way that you speak of the body and blood of our Lord ?' " ' The body of our Lord is no more on earth, father, and a priest cannot create his God.' " The priest bit his lip, and then returned to the charge. " ' You certainly do not call the numerous sects in the world by the name of the Christian Church, Miss Elliott.' " ' I call all branches of the great Catholic or Universal Church, who hold the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.' THE AUSTINS. 145 "'"What! Episcopalians, and Presbyterians, and Baptists, and Methodists, and Lutherans 1' " ' All, father, who hold the doctrine's of salva- tion through a crucified Redeemer, and long for perfect sanctification tnrough the Holy Spirit. 1 look upon all such as members of the invisible Church of Christ, and as such, I can hold fellow- ship with them.' "'Monstrous!' said the priest, crossing him- self. ' I am surprised that a young lady of your intelligence on other subjects, can be so misled in this let me ask you a question where were all these sects in the days of the blessed apostles ?' " ' I will answer you by asking another, father, where was the Romish Church with its idolatry of the mass, its worship of the Virgin, its saints and images, its celibacy of the priests, its confes- sional, and other superstitions in that little upper chamber of Jerusalem, which contained the Christian Church, and where the early Chris- tians waited for the descent of the Holy Spirit ?' " The priest looked confounded. "'These are vain and curious questions, which I am not bound to answer, Miss Elliott.' " ' But remember, father, that I believe in the darkest days of the Christian Church, there were those who trusted simply in the Redeemer, who maintained spiritual communion with the Father, 146 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. and out of the midst of a corrupt church, were carried safely home to heaven, for God has had his people in all ages.' " The priest was silent for a minute, and then remarked, "'You will not object to come to St. Sebas- tian's on some of the week days ; there is not much fear of contamination for such as Miss Elliott.' "'I will come some day with my mother,' was my reply, and thus our interview ended." The priest had found his match, and walked with the young lady back to the house, but the Senhora could discover nothing of the results from his sphynx-like face. As he passed out, the lady followed him to the second terrace, when he said, " A confirmed heretic, Senhora ; there is no hope of your daughter, none whatever in argu- ment, she is posted in all the heretical dogmas the only way is to undermine set secret traps." Mary found great delight in the society she met at the rectory, where the best English and American families were in the habit of assem- bling. The monthly communion was a precious privi- lege, it mattered not whether she knelt or sat to THE AUSTINS. 147 receive the sacred emblems, so that she heard the Saviour's words : " This is my body, which is given for you, this do in remembrance of me," and, " This cup is the New Testament in my blood, which is shed for you." Like gentle dew they sank into the young believer's hoart, and often sent her on her way rejoicing. " Have you any Sunday-school, Mr. Austin ?" said the young lady one day, when on a visit to the rectory. " We have none, Miss Elliott, but I should be happy if we could bring one into our little chapel." " Three teachers will be enough to commence with," was the reply ; " Philip, Fanny, and my- self could teach twenty or thirty ; there are several families who attend at the chapel, who have children." " Go, see what you can do, my child, and God's blessing go with you." In company -with Philip and Fanny, they called upon several families, who were glad to have biich an opportunity, and next Sunday eight little girls, and three boys presented thera- Belves at the chapel. Mary felt once more at home, for in the re- 148 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. membrance of the happy days at Hollyville, the faces of her wild, untutored girls often arose before her, and the thought of Wild Mag brought back the memory of the half-savage crew with singular power. But these were of a different order, belonging to the better classes of Protestant families in the city. Diary "I often stay to dinner with the Austins on Sunday, and thus I escape the vanity and sin of that holy day. " Charlotte has thrown herself completely into the vortex of folly by which we are surrounded opera, ball, theatre, dress, fill up all her time dissatisfaction rests upon her beautiful face, and lines of care are marked upon her forehead. "I find constantly upon my table books de- fending the Romish faith ; I suppose that Father Benediceto employs Papita to put them there, for she sometimes asks me if I have read them* They fall harmless, for I still carry ' the shield of faith, and the sword of the spirit,' by which to ward off every attack. " Charlotte was here yesterday, and for a few minutes we were alone. She looked depressed. I asked if her present life of gayety satisfied her. Her eyes filled with tears as she replied, THE AUSTINS. 149 "*I have tried religion, it was only bondage] I have tried the world, and it yields bittei ashes.' " ' You are mistaken, Charlotte, you have not tried religion ; just read what the Psalmist and apostles say about the blessedness of God's service, and see if all do not pronounce the King- dom of God " righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.'" "' It was never so to me,' said the lady. " ' Because you did not commence your Chris- tian life from within ; outward restraints and out- door activity were all that you conceived of god- liness, while the heart was all unchanged; no wonder that you deemed it bondage.' " ' It may be so, Mary, but it is too late now ; I am on the road to something else,' and Char- lotte walked forward to the terrace to meet some of her Portuguese friends, who were just then advancing. " To-morrow is the day for blessing the ashes of the dead. Mamma has invited me to go with her to church. She has two infant children, whose ashes have just been placed in two silver urns in the church of St. Sebastian ; I promised to go." " I went yesterday to witness the ceremony 150 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. it appears that the remains of departed friends are placed in niches in a wall, then in succession priests and friends throw hoi}' water and a scoop of quick lime on the body, until a bushel is thus disposed of, entirely concealing the body. In half an hour after the ceremonies, the niche is bricked up, and covered with a coat of white plaster. In this mode, nothing like corruption takes place. The lime consumes the flesh, and in two years the bones are taken out and placed in a rose-wood or marble vase, or burned, and the ashes preserved. These urns are placed around the church, and once a year brought out and placed around the altar to be blessed by the priest. To me the ceremonies were extremely revolting ; the sprinkling with holy water, the burning of incense and muttered prayers, hurried over by the priest, were to me like mockery ; nothing was impressive but the music. I thought of the sacred dust of Uncle Winslow and little Letty, sleeping so sweetly in the church yard at Holly ville, and blessed God for the assurance that, precious in the sight of the Lord, is the dust of all who sleep in Jesus. Mamma asked me if I did not think the ceremony touching, I could only say, '"Don't ask me, mamma, I might pair, you by telling you what I think.' THE AUSTINS. 151 "'You are an outrageous Protestant, Mary, you stayed much too long at Holly ville.'" " It is growing very warm, and papa proposes to go next week to the villa on the mountain. Mamma is very frail, her step grows weaker as her eye grows brighter, and the color on her cheek of sometimes almost carnation tints, and then again pale as a lily. Leon and Viola are delighted, for they are to have a holiday, several young friends go with us, and I am allowed to invite Fanny Austin, not by mamma, but by papa's permission." "Yesterday we started for the villa had a most charming ride. Papa, mamma, and the priest in one carriage, Fanny Austin, the two children, and myself in another, while a third brought up some of the family servants. AVe found a villa just adapted to the climate, simply furnished with matting, and cane-seat chairs, and settees ; windows open to the floor, and air invited every where. " I do not like the idea of Father Benediceto as a constant guest, but I find that the time for Viola's confirmation is approaching, and he comes to instruct her. " The villa is situated on a Blope of the moun- 152 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. tain, where the weather is not too cool for abundant vegetation ; wild flowers abound ; there is a mountain stream near, and from every win- dow we have a view of snow-capped mountains, in some places scarcely to be distinguished from the masses of glistening clouds. Every day brings us additions to our company, who stay a few days, and then give place to others. I am expected to do my part towards entertaining them. I have learned to play on the guitar, and Leon and I can. sing a number of pretty songs together. " Last evening, papa brought up the Senor de Lagua, brother to Sister Clarice, the nun of whom Leon has so often spoken. I am very sorry, for he has often sent me flowers, has invited me out to ride, and seeks my society more than I desire. Papa and mamma treat him with great deference. He belongs to one of the oldest and most wealthy families of the country, and they have frequently pained me by their open approbation of his attentions. He is one of the best of his class that I have met, handsome, accomplished, and much ad- mired by the young ladies here; but he is a Romanist, a worldling, and cannot be admitted to intimacy, for he belongs to Vanity Fair, from which I have long ago come out." THE AUSTINS. 153 " Phiiip Austin came up last evening, and we propose, in company with Fanny, to explore these heights together ; there are such charming pictures every where. Mamma does not like his visits, but he comes to see his sister, and is very intelligent and interesting ; so I think. It is such a treat to have these congenial friends in a land of exib. " Philip was doubly welcome, for he brought me letters from Aunt Margaret and Harriet Butler an extract below from Aunt Margaret's. "'It is spring-time, Mary. Emily and I visited the violet dell, and thought of Letty and Mary ; we gathered some of the sw T eet blossoms, and I placed them in the pure white vase on your bureau ; it seemed, Mary, as if you must be there, to say how sweet they were. Harriet has been very faithful to your class, they have been removed according to your desire to the Sunday-school, and none are more interested than these rude, untutored girls, w r ho sjiow so much improvement. Four have obtained places in the factory, and are supporting themselves ; three are living in families, Wild Mag with Mrs. Butler, and bids fair to become an excellent servant, for she is a bright girl, very quick to learn; and what is best of all, she exhibits decided marks of piety ; she is one of your most NOTHING BUT LEAVES. devoted friends. Mark is still absent, but very industriously pursuing his studies. Emily is really taking your place, and is a great comfort to her mother. I think of you, my dear niece, at " Vanity Fair," for you may well call it so, but I remember who was there with Christian, and how safely and unharmed he walked through all its snares. I see the man behind the wall feeding the flame with secret oil, which the evil one tries in vain to extinguish with streams of water ; I believe that just such a one is near my Mary.'" The children are devoted to Mary, for she is a loving, faithful sister, but their frequent exhibi- tions of violent temper cause her great anxiety. Leon loves to teaze his little sister, and one day Viola came rushing into Mary's room with her pet dog in her arms, half-drowned. " See ! what this bad boy has done, almost drowned my pet. I hate him, that I do," and the little girl's dark eyes flashed with anger, while Leon stood by, laughing at her excite- ment. Turning to her brother, she commenced a tirade in Portuguese, making violent gesticu- lations at the same time ; then seizing a tumbler, she threw it at Leon, and struck him on the head. This aroused his temper j seizing her by THE AUSTINS. 155 the shoulders, lie shook her violently, stamping his feet and grinding his teeth with rage. Mary tried to interfere, but both resisted her efforts at the moment, the Sefior passed the window ; calling him in, it required the force of a stroug arm to detach Leon's hold of little Viola. It took some hours for the two to recover, and when Leor became more calm, Mary took him aside, and remonstrated with him on the wicked- ness of such tempers. " I am afraid, Leon, that some day you will bring sorrow and disgrace upon your family, if you do not learn to control yourself." " I can't help it, sister, I was born with such a temper, and Viola did make me so angry." " You were most to blame, Leon ; you know how she loves her little dog, and it was unmanly to treat her so ; you are her brother, four years older, and should protect her from outrage." " You are always right, sister. I wish that I could be like you." " There is but one way, Leon, the Saviour who cast out devils, and stilled the waves of the sea, is the only one who can cure my brother." " I cannot find him, sister ; he seems so far off, for I have always been taught to pray to the Virgin and the saints, and it does not help me one bit." 156 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. "You must remember, Leon, that when on earth, Jesus allowed sinners to come near enough to touch him, and when they came thus to be healed, he never turned one away." " But I can't come that way, Mary, for he is far oft' in heaven now." " By faith you can come just as near, Leon, and he will be just as certain to help you ; but there is one thing that you must do now, go and ask your sister's pardon." " That I will do at once, Mary, for I know that I was wrong ;" and seeking the child, he found her crying on the bank of the mountain stream. Viola loved her brother dearly, and when she saw him coming, she arose immediately, laid her head upon his shoulder, and wept convulsively. "Don't cry so, Viola," said her brother; "I was a bad boy to hurt you so ; I am very sorry." "And I was bad, too, Leon ; it was dreadful to throw the tumbler at you ; suppose that it had broken forgive me, Leon." The two passionate, impulsive children sealed their reconciliation with a warm kiss, and Leon taking out his handkerchief, and dipping it in the water, wiped his sister's eyes, and then led her back to the house, In a few minutes, the boy brought out his THE ATTSTINS. 157 pony, and was giving his little sister a ride, trying by every means in his power to make amends for the morning's outrage. Mary and her father were at the window. The Senor smiled, and said, " Their little quarrels are soon over, daughter." He seemed satisfied, but Mary took a different view, and looking forward to the future, feared the volcanoes that lodged in their youthful bosoms. The Senhora seemed much benefit ted by the change, but was often very irritable, and com- plained that Belika did not know how to dress her hair. One day, Mary was present, and ventured to say, " Let me try, Belika, perhaps mamma will let me dress it." The maid retired, and Mary taking the comb and brush commenced the task. The lady had a profusion of soft black hair, and Mary was very gen tie' in her touch, but the secret of her success lay in the power that she had by her pleasant chat of turning her thoughts into another channel. She related in a graphic manner the adventures of the day before, telling her mother how Philip and she had been frightened by the sight of what 14 158 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. they supposed to be mountain robbers, and then, when the monsters drew near, who should they be but Pedro and Baptiste, who laughed heartily at the joke. Mamma was amused at the thought, and thus beguiling the time, Mary succeeded in dressing the hair to mamma's satisfaction. " How nicely you have done it !" said the lady, as she surveyed her hair in a small toilet glass. " I think, Mary, you must do this every day, for my head is tender, and Belika is rough, and hurts me dreadfully." "Now, mamma, let me play you my new piece," and Mary brought out her guitar, and sang with her own sweet accompaniment, " Sounds from Home." " That is charming, Mary," said the invalid, " but very sad ; I suppose that it takes you back to Holiyville." " Yes, mamma ; it was a sweet and holy home, "and I was very happy there." " Then you are not happy here ?" " I did not say so, mamma." " But you think so, Mary." "There is only one thing that weighs upon my spirits, and that is, the difference in our faith." u You ought to be contented, Mary, for we lay no positive restraints upon you, although we are THE AUSTINS. 159 pained by your heresy ; you would have found your way into a convent long ago in many other families : for, looking upon heresy as soul-destroy- ing, devout Catholics think any means justifia- ble to bring wanderers into the fold of the true church." "I am thankful for your indulgence, mamma, for it would have been a sore trial to have been compelled to attend upon a Romish church ; but let us change the subject. I want you to hear a hymn that I have learned lately," and she played most touchingly, "Jesus, Saviour of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the waves of trouble roll, While the tempest still is nigh. " The mother was silent, evidently touched by the sweet music, and the words of living faith. " I used to love that hymn when I was young, Mary ; it brings back the days when we used to go to church with father and mother." Just then, Father Benediceto made his appear- ance suddenly through the open window that led out into the verandah, for the Seiihora's apart- ments were on the first floor. Mary suspected that he had heard much of their conversation, for he wore a dark scowl upon his face, as he eaid, 160 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. "Miss Elliott, we would like to be alone*" And kissing her mother, Mary left the room to join her young companions, who were waiting at the gate. " This is a charming day for a stroll," said Philip, "suppose that we seek the mountain top." "I would rather enjoy the view by sunset," was the reply ; " but we will take the boat, and row about among the shadows of the trees," and Mary called Pedro to examine the skiff. Taking her guitar, they entered the boat ; under the shade of a thick awning they were completely sheltered from the rays of the sun, and among the windings of the mountain stream they spent the morning, Mary playing on her guitar, and the three singing sweet, soothing hymns. The evening found them in the midst of a shady grove, where several rustic seats had been placed for the benefit of those who wished to enjoy the finest view of the snow-capped mountains. It was sunset, and the mountain peaks reflect- ing the lovely colors at that peculiar hour, seemed bathed in glory ; as the sun declined, the more glowing colors melted away into rosy tints, and the clouds which lay like banks of snow above, gradually changed their glistening white into the glories of a tropical sunset. THE AUSTINS. 161 "I always think of the ^New Jerusalem," traid Mary, " when I look upon such a picture ; those mountain peaks look like towers, and the clouds to me often assume the form of turrets, behind which I imagine the angels let me repeat some beautiful lines," and in sweet tonea she recited, " ' Thy turrets and thy pinnacles WitH carbuncles do shine ; Thy very streets are paved with gold, Surpassing clear and fine. *" Ah, ray sweet home, Jerusalem, Would God I were in thee ! Would God my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see !' "Have we all a hope to meet there?" said Mary. " "What can compare with that !" replied Philip Anstin. "I look around sometimes upon this vain and wicked world, so given up to sensu- ality, and wonder why the Lord does not cut it off." The last rays of the sun had long since disap- peared, the last faint tints of departing day had failed, and the gray shadows creeping down the mountain sides warned the party that it was time to return. Reluctantly they turned their 11* 162 NOTHING BUT LEAA^ES. faces homeward, and the face of the priest was the first to meet them at the garden gate. It was not pleasant to either, and yet they could scarcely tell why, for the priest was very bland and gracious in his manner, had opened wide the garden gate, holding it in his hand until all had passed in; then bowing low, he vanished. Mary was insensibly gaining influence day by day over her mother, for the sanctity of real holiness does preach its silent lessons every where. Daily, it was her office to dress her hair, and during these hours she lost no opportunity of dropping a precious seed. She had not for- gotten the green island in the ocean, nor the birds who dropped the seeds of vegetation there. The resolution to leave one text daily in her mother's room was faithfully kept, and God's blessing supplicated in secret places. And yet there was no forcing ; all was so natural and easy, that mamma had learned to look for the parting words. " This to-day, mamma," said her child, " JOSUH Christ came into the world to save sinners." "I could not deny her," thought the mother, as she closed the door ; " she only asks to leave one every day, and then our Church believes that so Father Benediceto says." THE AUSTINS. 163 She did not know how powerfully the lessons of her youth were retnrr ing on swift and silent wing to do the Master's bidding. The air is full of such holy messengers, and they were gath- ering around the Senhora, silently displacing the dogmas which had so long enthralled her spirit. 164 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. CHAPTER XIL THE SENHORA.'S BA.3L.Ij. Philip. don't we go to the convent ?" said Leon. " I do want Mary to see Sister Clarice; I know that she would love her." " Suppose that we go to-morrow," said " I must return soon, and I should like to see the interesting nun before I go." Accordingly, a party consisting of Fanny, Philip, Mary and the two children set out. It was a ride of about ten miles, and when they reached the gate, the convent bell was ringing a call to prayer. Therefore the party were in- vited into the parlor until the service was over. It was Mary's first visit to a convent the dark parlor, with its sombre furniture, struck her with a sense of gloom. After a short space, the Lady Superior appeared at the grating, and told them that they might see some portions of the convent, and attend upon the vesper services, but the nuns were never seen by strangers. THF SENIIORA'S BALL. 165 After rambling around, the vesper bell called them to the chapel ; at one end was a vertical wall of iron work three stories high, bars and bolts passing througli loops fixed in cross ones ; the upper story of a finer texture. Behind this lattice, the nuns attend mass, yet no one can behold them, nor can they steal a peep at human faces in the chapel. Between them and the grating falls a curtain of black linen, secured to the walls and floor, that no hand can push aside. This is four feet from a similar grating, made also of metal. Among these cloistered nuns was Clarice in her black robes, but there was that in her aspect which the Superior understood, for it said plainly that neither soul-subduing music, nor the low, solemn chants, neither the dim religious light streaming in through the stained glass, nor the language of the vesper prayers exercised their fascinations over her senses, for in the heart of the young recluse was hidden the precious talisman, the Word of God. Clarice was a niece of the Superior, and her firmness brought upon her sore and heavy persecutions, so that life became a burden to the tortured girl. But she had one friend, the old porteress, who had once been a servant in her father's house, and who had contrived *o inform Clarice of the presence of the strangers. 166 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. The old woman had shown them about the convent, and as she was about to open the gate hastity slipped a small note into Fanny's hand. Entering the carriage, Fanny opened it, and read in small letters, "Try to bring me a Testament and a bundle of arrows." " What can she want with arrows ?" said Fanny ; " does she mean to shoot any one ?" "I think not," was Mary's reply; "she has some plan of escape." After supper, Mary called Philip aside, and showed him the note. "The arrow means flight," said the young man. " Yes, I think so, too," said Fanny, " but how she is ever to escape from that dungeon puzzles me." "One escaped last year," was the brother's reply ; " but you have never heard her story, Mary. Her name is Inez de Lagua, sister to Ferdinand ; she belongs to one of the most pow- erful families in the country, who have often held positions near the emperor; they are rigid Catholics, and her aunt the Lady Superior. " About a year and a half ago, we observed an interesting young lady in the costume of the country, deeply veiled, often attending upon the services of the chapel in the afternoon, always THE SENIIORA'S BALL. 167 listening with deep seriousness to my father's preaching ; at length, she sought an interview, stating who she was, and why she paid her visit. Her faith in Popery was shaken ; she was seeking for a better, purer faith ; my father gave her a Bible in the Portuguese language, and a great de;il of wise and faithful counsel, to which she listened eagerly, and seemed determined to perse- vere in her inquiries. She continued to come, but not so often, and still in secret visited my father. She was in great distress, for her steps had been traced, and she was threatened with a convent; at length, she disappeared, and for a long time we heard nothing, only that she was not at home. One day, we received permission to go to the Convent of the Carmelites, to wit- ness the ceremony of two young ladies taking the veil. I shall never forget my emotions when, in one of the fair brides of heaven, dressed according to custom, in wedding costume, I recognized the sad, pale face of Inez de Lagua. During the ceremonies, I observed that not one word passed her lips, but one of the nuns spoke for her. When the services were ended, Inez de Lagua appeared in the vestments of the sister- hood, known in future as Sister Clarice, and as Bhe disappeared from sight in the sad procession of nuns, with their black robes and burning 1G8 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. tapers, it seemed to me like lighting the poor girl to her dreary living tomb. She is not a willing inmate of the convent, Mary." "How shall we get a Testament to her, Philip?" " I know not now, but I shall probably pay another visit to the convent soon, for I have some English friends who wish to see the in- terior of one; the old porteress, I think, will help me." Philip's ingenuity devised the mode, and the old porteress dexterously concealed the Testa- ment and arrows beneath the folds of her robes. In a few weeks, the Senor's family were ready to return to the city ; cooler days had succeeded the season of excessive heat, and the Senhora seemed better. The anniversary of her wedding day was ap- proaching, and it had been her custom ever since her marriage to celebrate the occasion by a ball, quite an event among the fashionables of Eio. Mary had firmly declined all such invitations, although she had received many. She had formed but few acquaintances among the na- tives, for they generally esteemed her a great oddity. But here, in her mother's house, on such an occasion, she could not ask to bo ex THE SEXHORA'S BALL. 169 cnsed ; and, unpleasant as it was to her spiritual tastes, she allowed the Scnor to purchase her dress, only begging that it might be white, and not calculated to draw attention to herself. When Mary stood before her mother, arrayed in a cobweb robe of fine embroided lace over white silk, with ornaments of costly pearl, and a few white flowers in her soft brown hair, even the SeShora was satisfied with her " little Quaker- ess," as she styled her daughter, for no dress could have been selected that suited better her pure and holy face. Even now, she did not forget her text, and whispered, " This is the verse for to-day, mamma, ' The fashion of this world passeth away, the flower thereof falleth, and the grace of the fashion of it perisheth.'" The rooms all thrown open, were in a glow of splendor the conservatory filled with lovely flowers, and the fountain playing in the central room ; the whole suite of apartments decorated with rich flowers. The rooms were filled with ladies dressed in a style of magnificence, of which Mary in her simplicity had never dreamed. Diamonds gleamed in the glossy black hair, and robes of costly fabrics adorned the forms of Portuguese beauty. Attention was directed, however, chiefly to 15* 170 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. the lovely Mrs. Rogers, who, in queenly attiie, moved about in this scene of giddy revelry. The Sef.hora, in her fa led beauty, drew all eyes to her in pitying sympathy. Clad in a robe of lace and satin, glittering with diamonds, the splendor seemed but mockery ; for her short, quick breath which came and went so rapidly, her liquid dark eyes glittering with fever, and the carnation tints which touched cheek and lips, all spoke volumes to the guests. She did not attempt to move about among the company, for she was not equal to the effort, therefore the honors of the entertainment were performed by Mary Elliott. "In the world, but not of the world ;" with quiet, graceful ease she moved about, and all who looked upon her, felt that the mild, holy face, the tender, saintly smile that lingered upon her countenance were all different from the assembled throng; for all understood that she had no sympathy with this assemblage of giddy dancers. It was a sad evening to Mary the ghastly paleness that every now and then stole over her mother's face alarmed her ; for the quick motions of her glittering fan indicated shortness of breath. Papa scarcely left her side, but leaned over her, as though anxious for the evening to close. Mary saw the approaching messenger, and never THE SENHORA'S BALL. 171 more plainly than when looking at the Senhora under the gaslight, clad in her magnificent dress. The sight oppressed her, and watching her op- portunity, she passed silently into the garden, the grounds be'ng thrown open, illuminated with colored lamps and Chinese lanterns, and glittering with the rich glow worms of this tropical clime. Seated in the pavilion, she was surprised by approaching footsteps, and in an- other minute Philip Austin made his appearance. Fanny and he had both been invited, but had declined. Passing by, Philip had observed the gate open, and entering for a minute, had been looking at the giddy dancers, and thinking of all its folly, as he surveyed with mournful gaze the fading lady, whose wedding day it celebrated. "Oh, Philip! it was so inexpressibly sad,'' said the young lady, " that I could bear it no longer did any one in a ball-dress ever look as my mother does?" and she burst into a flood of tears ; " but I must not stay too long, I dread, I know not what ; let us go back to the house/' and taking the young man's arm, they returned to the upper terrace, where they stood watching the dancers, with their dark, flashing eyes, their splendid jewels, and spangled fans. The Senhora was still seated in the same chair, but nearer the window, her husbard fanning her, for she looked 172 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. very faint ; suddenly, her head fell back, and then leaning forward, a clear red stream flowed steadily from her ghastly lips. The Scuor lifted her in his arms. Mary had seen it all, seizing Philip's arm, she said, " Come, come, my mother is dying," and with Philip's help, they carried the two to the Senhora's room, for Mary had fainted also. All was confusion below the company speedily dispersed, and Charlotte Rogers, who had a terri- ble dread of scenes, hurried away with the crowd. Pedro speedily summoned a physician, and when he arrived, the lady in her ball costume still lay insensible, and Mary on a lounge, where Philip was fanning her. Papita was soon upon the ground, and after Philip's departure, Mary was quickly disrobed, and ready to wait upon her mother. It was a severe hemorrhage, and for hours the Senhora lingered between life and death. Father Benediceto was summoned, and when consciousness seemed returning, held up the crucifix before the lady. She took but little notice of the act, turning her head awaj and clos- ing her eyes, while her lips murmured words of prayer, which none could quite distinguish, save the one word, " Jesus." All next day she lay in her costly robes, and THE SENHORA'S BALL. 173 when, at length, she was to be undressed, the physician himself conducted the disrobing, mo- tion was so dangerous in her condition. She could not bear Mary out of her sight, and the presence of this heretical daughter so con- stantly around the Senhora was alarming to the priest, for he had learned to fear her influence. Mary nev^er forgot her daily text, and once or twice her mother had asked for its repetition. They were always passages which spoke of Jesus and his precious offices, and who knows how fast the good seed thus humbly sown was taking the place of the tares so long entertained. For weeks she was confined to her room, and when at length permitted to seek the drawing-room, it was to be carried down by her husband, and laid upon a couch purchased especially for the invalid. Her thoughts seemed constantly reverting to the days of her youth, to her parents, her sister Margaret, and the associations of those early years. One evening Mary was playing " The Blue Bells of Scotland," of which the Senhora was very fonJ. " Where did you get those sweet silvery vari- ations, Mary ? they are delicate as the notes of a musical-box." The daughter smiled as she replied. " 174 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. "Impromptu, mamma, they are ny own." " That was my father's favorite when I first began to play ; he always asked for that or ' Auld Lang Syne.' I feel as if I could see him now ; I don't know how it is, but the words that he used to speak, and the prayers he uttered are with me every day. There is a little book, Mary, which my Sunday-school teacher gave me once for good lessons you will find it in a small box locked up in the wardrobe ; go bring it, daughter." And Mary found that the book so carefully kept was " Daily Food." Her heart was full of hope. Were not the early lessons of her mother's youth all returning? and might not the seed buried so long yet take root? But in the midst of these daily trials, how was it with Mary's own Christian state? A reference to the diary will answer. " My hopes are fading why is it ? I have so little senee of acceptance with God, so little com- fort in prayer. Have I been sleeping like Chris- tian in some bower of ease, and lost my roll ? Or have I been so much engrossed by daily cares, and depressed by anxiety as to lose my hold upon the promises ? "'I cannot live without Thy light, Cast out and banished from Thy sight, Thy holy joys my God restore, And guard ine that I fall no more.' THE SENHORA'S BALL. 175 "Like Christian, back to the place where first I missed my roll, I mast go; and, prostrate at my Saviour's feet, will not go until he bless me." Charlotte is no longer a Protestant ; charmed O ' by the music, and bewildered by the pomps of the ceremonial, she has given herself up to Father Beuediceto to be guided as he wills. Her husband smiles, and encourages the act, saying, that her present religion is most con- venient, as it does not in any sense interfere with his enjoyment of the world, for Charlotte is always ready to join him except on fast days. The season for confirmation has arrived. Viola's instruction has been completed, her new white dress and veil have been purchased, and in corn- pan}' with a large number, the little girl was made a recipient of this rite, and by her side knelt Charlotte Rogers. " And this is the something else that she was seeking," thought Mary, for in the absence of her mother, she had been requested to go to church with Viola on Whit Sunday. "Nothing but leaves" thought Mary, "and even these are withered." " I am so sorry we can't have our party," said Viola. 44 AVhat party ?" replied Mary. 176 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " Why, mamma always promised that I should have one on the day that I was confirmed ; and now she has changed her mind." " Mamma is too sick, Viola." "Yes, I know, sister; but that is not all. Belika says that she don't care so much about parties now." The Austins have been faithful friends during all this time of trial, and Philip has news of Clarice. " She will not be there always," said the young man, "for if I am not mistaken, she is planning her escape. It was only last week that I was riding by the convent examining it very particular^, when I perceived in a very small loophole near the belfry the waving of a small flag. I kept my eyes fixed there, and in a moment a bow and arrow appeared at the opening, from which was shot a slip of paper, on which was written, " ' I am watched ; I must escape ; they have found my Testament, and taken it away. "'CLARICE.'" " Can't we help her, Philip?" asked Mary. " We must watch opportunities, Mary. I frequently walk by the convent in the evening, for it is but a short distance from the city." Mary had observed that two sistors, Beatrice THE SENHORA"S BALL. 177 and Agnes, were in frequent attendance upon her mother, seeking opportunities to be alone with her, and always leaving a book with the Senhora, but she also observed that the books were seldom read, and that every day the little book of Daily Food was in her hands. The padre eyed Mary with suspicion, for he was quite aware that her silent example was working in the Senhora's household. The bearer of the gospel was under that roof quietly but powerfully pervading the whole mass. Mary learned some of the old German hymns to please her mother, but they were always such as sang of Jesus and the power of the cross. J'aul Gephardt's was an especial favorite. "O Sacred Head, now wounded, With grief and shame weighed down ; Now scornfully surrounded With thorns, thy only crown ; " Sacred Head, what glory, What bliss, till now was Thine 1 Yet, though despised and gory, I joy to call Thee mine. "What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, Was all for sinners' gain ; Mine, mine was the transgression, But Thino the deadly pain. 178 WOTHING BUT LEAVES. " Lo ] here I fall, my Saviour 1 ' f is I deserve Thy place, Look on me with Thy favor, Vouchsafe to me Thy grace." And thus Mary Elliott dropped tho seeds from her own ripening ears, and thus sweetly she sang the gospel in her mother's hearing. So in dealing with her brother and sister, she did not attack what they had been taught to venerate ; but lived the gospel, and with holy unction held up before them the precious doctrines, before which darkness and supersti- tion must fall. As the walls of Jericho fell down by the simple blowing of trumpets for seven days, so shall the citadel of error fall before the simple gospel, for God is with both. No need of arguing and preaching, Mary Elliott be thou but the silver trumpet in thy mother's household, and thou shalt rejoice hereafter, also wonder that Father Benediceto lea red the gentle ministry, and that, in company with Sisters Agnes and Beatrice, they besieged the Virgin and all the saints that the house- hold might be kept from the pollution of heresy. The priest still came monthly to receive the Senhora's confession, and to administer the sac- raments, but it was evident .Mary's hymns wore more impressive. THE SENHORA'S BALL. 179 Belika wondered how it was, for she feared that her lady was under the influence of the evil one, for the maid observed that she made no use of her rosary, neglected the books left by the sisters, and took great delight in Mary's hymns. Belika was frequently seen to cross herself when passing near the temptress, for as such she looked upon Mary. Leon and Viola were daily improving ; it had been a long time since there had been any out- break of temper, and their sister hailed the signs with hope and trust. They had learned to repose confidence in their sister, revealing many secrets that were not in- tended for her ear. One day, the children came running to Mary greatly excited. " If you won't tell anybody, I want to show you something, sister," said Leon, and opening his jacket, he produced two embroidered pads, an inch and a half square, connected by a double silk cord. On one was the Lady of Carmo and child, on the other a fanciful figure. Passing the cord over the shoulders, one pad rested on the bosom, the other at the back. " What are these, Leon ?" inquired his sister. " They are Bentinhos. Belika told the padre that you wore a sorceress, and that we were in 180 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. danger of becoming heretics: and so those articles are sent to keep us safe. Viola has one too." " Do you believe in them, Leon ?" The boy stretched up to his sister's ear, and then whispered emphatically, "No." " I don't believe that you can hurt us, sister," said Viola, "but perhaps some one else might, and so I wear mine." " When I am in danger of evil, Viola, I go to my Father in heaven, and pray, " Hold Thou me up, and I shall be safe ;" and then He says to me, " For He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways." " We pray to the saints, Mary, but they never answer us iix that way." THE CARNIVAL. 181 CHAPTER XIIL great Bacchanalian revel is draw- n igk, when the whole population seems turned into a heathen community, lasting from the first of January, to the beginning of Lent. The actors may well be called Bacchants, for they romp, feast, dance, frolic in-doors and out, playing all manner of tricks, wetting and powdering one another. Thousands turn out in masks, some on foot, some in carriages, or on horseback, in all manner of grotesque attire, accompanied by musical and unmusical instru- ments, making perfect discord; the streets swept and strewn with mango leaves, the house* illuminated, dressed with evergreens and drapery, and the people at the jalousies throwing out colored balls of starch, or sugar plums, and from countless syringes saturating the passers by with water. One is reminded constantly of descriptions that we read of old heathen revels. 16 182 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. The Intrude is another, which commences in the latter part of February, lasting three da} r 8, beginning on the Sunday before Ash Wednesday. This is especially the reign of folly, when people of all ranks and classes join in sports. Indeed festivals an 1 processions are the chief amusements of the masses; even saints come out of their sanctuaries, and join with the padre and people in the frolic. A close observer cannot fail to see the resemblance between pagan and modern Rome. Call the churches temples, and the saints gods, and they seem almost the same, save that the ecclesiastical form is so much worse in representing or rather caricaturing the Christian religion. One can easily understand how little such a gross form of religion could influence a character moulded as Mary Elliott's had been, in the spiritual school of the Redeemer. A letter to Aunt Margaret will best describe her impressions in this land of darkness. " DEAR AUNT MARGARET. Just two years since I left Hollyville, and in that space of time, I have been living in a new world, and learning b}' blessed experience the . sweetness of trusting day by day to the guiding hand of the Good Shepherd. " My pilgrim steps have been and still are THE CARNIVAL. 185 through Vanity Fair, almost in a heathen land. The dangers which heset my path are not from the false religion which meets me every where, for that is too gross, but from the dead- ening effect of the worldly atmosphere in which I move. The Catholic religion is a totally dif- ferent thing here from that which we see in the United States ; made up of festivals and showy processions of superstition most revolting, its appeals are all made to the senses, and the lives of the priests in many instances are scandalous. Even papa allows that ; consequently, seldom goes to church, and shrugs his shoulders when he speaks of the padre. He evidently has no respect for them. "How my mother ever could have been en- trapped, puzzles me daily. I suppose that attach- ment to her husband ; absence from all home associations, and the lack of a real, settled faith operated .all together, and brought her into connection with the Romish Church, but I have no doubt that much was concealed from her, in consideration of the prejudices of a Pro- testant education. " I hope, dear aunt, that its power is weakening iu her case, her health is in a most critical state; but the teaching of her early days are returning. She often refers to those happy times, recalling 184 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. her old church, her childish hymns, and religious associations. " I am allowed to repeat one text daily in her hearing, but it is kept most carefully concealed from the priest. It is the subject of daily prayer, dear aunt, and may we not hope under the silent power of the precious word of God, she may yet be recovered out of the snares of Popery. The superstitious priests and servants here look upon me with suspicion, and would you believe it, that the padre has furnished the children with charms which they wear upon their persons, to shield them from my evil influence? And here I would whisper a secret which Leon confided to me they have no faith in their Bentinhos. " I have lately witnessed two of the dramas enacted here, most shocking to Protestant views'. The first on Good Friday, representing the burial of our Lord, consisting of a procession of priests, one bearing a black wooden cross, over the transverse bar of which is hung a white cloth folded in the form of an M signifying death or morte, monks follow draped like the cross-bearer, brothers in white bearing candles, then angels with wings, the three women, or rather men disguised, representing the three Marys. Then follows the bier, in the shape of a bedstead, on which lay a " dead Christ " one of those exposed THE CARNIVAL. 185 in the churches borne by four monks, on two staves resting on the shoulders, each carrying a pronged stick to support the load when all stand to hear an angel chant, then come more angels led by brothers, followed by a girl of fourteen, who mounts a pair of steps chanting, and opening a white cloth, the handkerchief of St. Veronica, then brothers, monks, and candles, angels, monks and brothers ; then most conspicu- ous, " Nossa Senhora " in purple dress and silver rays upon the forehead. " The band of music followed with brothers in albs, and last of all the soldiery. " When we entered the church, it was darkened, wii h but one candle glimmering. To the proces- sion already described were added the Roman executioners, the centurion in golden helmet, scarlet tunic, staff surmounted by an eagle, then flocks of angels again ; and thus the most solemn event that ever transpired in the history of the universe was dramatized in this benighted land. After the procession came Alleluia Saturday, the last day of Lent, when the saints throw off their mourning, screens from images are with- drawn, bells ring again, and Judases are torn to pieces in the streets. I witnessed the blessing of fire and water that day. After baptism the litany of the sairts was read, and the mass as 16* 186 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. on Palm Sunday. When the padre came to the -words 'Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia,' the bells struck up a merry peal, screens before the images dropped, a burst of light flashed throughout the church, and the music in the gallery commenced a triumphant piece, while the whole church resounded with the chant of ' God is risen from the dead '.' The padres of the various churches wait for the signal from the Imperial Chapel, where the bishop officiates. As soon as he arrives, at the word Alleluia, rockets are sent up; priests contrive to be near that part of the service, ready on hearing the guns, to utter the joyful words ; and thus ends another drama in the history of our holy religion. " How much spirituality is left behind after the long fast may be inferred, when one views the universal license that follows Lent. If there is any place in the world where a missionary of the cross is needed, it is surely here. After all this mockery, you may easily imagine what a sweet season we enjoyed on Easter morning at the English chapel. Mr. Austin, the minister, is one of the suit of the earth, eminently spiritual, of the Wilberforce and Legh Richmond school. Protestants of all names attend here, for there is no other place where they can assemble. In the precious bonds of a common faith sects were THE CARNIVAL. 187 forgotten, and we all listened to an eloquent sermon on the resurrection, rejoicing that all whose lives are 'hidden with Christ in God,' * shall hereafter appear with him in glory ' we sang the sweet Easter hymn, " ' Christ the Lord is risen to-day, Sons of men and angels say : Raise your joys and triumphs high, Sing, ye heavens and earth reply.' " On that blessed day, thoughts of Letty and Uncle "Winslow mingled with my meditations, and hopes of reunion in that world beyond the grave, filled all my Sabbath thoughts. I have just learned an old German hymn, and on retiring to our pastor's house, in company with Philip and Fanny we sang the sweet words of the hymn called, THE LONG GOOD-NIGHT. '* * Go to thy quiet resting, Poor tenement of clay! From all thy pain and weakness I gladly haste away. But still in faith confiding To find thee yet again, All glorious and immortal, Good-night, till then ! " ' Why thus so sadly weeping, Beloved ones of my heart? The Lord is good and gracious, Though now he bids us part. 188 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Oft have we met in gladnes* And we shall meet again, All sorrow left behind us Good-night, till then 1 ** ' I go to see his glory Whom we have loved below ; I go, the blessed angels, The holy saints to know. Our lovely ones departed, I go to find again, And wait for you to join us, Good-night, till then I '.' "We were silent for a few minutes, arid Mr. Aus- tin said, ' Have you any waiting there, my child ?' " ' Yes, a father, a dear uncle, and a precious little cousin.' " * And we have two dear children,' said the father, " how joyous will the resurrection morn- ing be !' "It is a great privilege to mingle with this Christian family. Fanny, Philip Austin, and I have a Sunday-school in the chapel, and the Sabbath is my white day, dear aunt. I felt on that Easter evening, as if I had been in view of the ' Land of Beulah,' had been favored with a glimpse of the blessed ones, as they roamed through its blissful regions, and could almost hear the songs of triumph which swell from tho throng of happy pilgrims. TIIE CARNIVAL. 189 " "When I reached home it was such a contrast, for the children had an account to give of the pageant of the day that was indeed a picture of mockery. Viola was full of excitement ; poor little girl ! how little she knows of true heart- felt piety ; but I am permitted to teach them daily, and endeavor to drop the precious seed, looking to Grod for his blessing. I often think of the green island out on the broad ocean, where the birds scatter the germs of vegetable beauty, may I not do the same in the moral world? " If you could only see this beautiful country, you would mourn with me I know, upon the contrast between the world physical, and the world moral, in Brazil. " The other day I paid a visit to the Botan- ical Garden, with Philip and Fanny Austin. It is about six miles from the city ; hiring a gondola, not a Venetian skiff, but one in which nine of us could sit, we went swiftly along, until we entered a lake, communicating with the ocean, on whose banks the garden fronts. "We passed many handsome cott&ge residences on our way. The garden lies between Mount Corcovado and the sea. Many of the plants were new to me, and here a naturalist might actually revel. There were gravel walks, and trellis-work seats surround a basin where a beautiful fountain 190 plays. A stream two feet wide flows through the grounds, rushing over a stone channel, broken at one place into a miniature cascade. Many plots are covered with tea-plants, and cocoas, mangoes, cinnamon, cloves, figs, cacti, hamboos, and tamarinds, and palms spring up every where. After rambling about in this world of beauty, we rested in a house-like arbor, whose walls, roof, door and window-frames were made of dense vines ; built upon a mound it is approached by steps cut in the ground carpeted vith grass. " Every where we saw the broad-leafed bananna, among whose branches glittering rays of green and purple, of crimson and gold flashed upon the sight from the wings of tiny humming-birds ; while gorgeous butterflies almost tempted one to follow them, were we not afraid of disturbing some of the happiness of this tropical revel of the pretty creatures. After rambling three or four miles farther, we returned to a very sumpt- uous dinner prepared for as at the inn about one mile from the garden. And these, dear aunt, are some of the features of Brazilian beauty, luxu- riance every where. But there is another feature of society here which shocks me daily ; and that is the slavery of this country ; it. would take a volume to describe my impressions, but THE CARNIVAL. 191 when I meet every where half-naked negroes, degraded to mere beasts of burden, and op- pressed to the lowest pitch of human misery, I do not wonder that suicide is so common here among that wretched class. When will that better day dawn upon the world when supersti- tion and wickedness of every form shall be banished from the earth? Yon cannot conceive the con- trast between this and our own favored land, where the light of the gospel shines freely. " I suppose that you would like to know some- thing of Charlotte Rogers ; we do not see each other very frequently, for she is no longer a Protestant ; her husband has followed her exam- ple from motives of policy, believing that it will be to his interest in a pecuniary point of view to be a member of the church of the country. Charlotte is the mother of a sweet boy about one year old ; sad to know that he is to be brought up in the faith of this darkened land. But to turn to a more pleasant subject. I wish that you knew Philip and Fanny Austin, they are just what you would admire for Mary's friends. Philip is manly, intelligent, pious, and a kind friend, ready at all times to take me to see the beauties of the country. We often go to the Larengeiras or Orange groves, a most delightful place of resort. Palms, bananas, 192 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. orange and other trees, with shrubbery and flowers every where abound, snow-white walla glisten on distant hills, a romantic brook comes dancing down the glen, and a glorious range of mountains bound our favorite stopping-place. The country near the " Agoa Ferria " exceeds all the rest in beauty, and in this particular neighborhood it is our delight to ramble. Sometimes we recline under tamarind, mango, or banana trees, and partake of a desert furnished at our hands. For the most delicious fruits load the trees, and all that we have to do is to knock the fruit which forms the bower above us, and can thus enjoy a most sumptuous feast ; while every variety of birds with their gorgeous plumage entertain us with their melody, and butterflies of every brilliant hue flit around. "And yet, I know that you will believe me when I say, that I would willingly exchange all this luxuriance for our little home at llollyville, with our changeable northern climate, where but one pear tree adorned our grounds, but where we sat beneath the Shepherd's tent together. " And yet it would be a trial to leave the Austins, for I love them very much, all of them but Philip, and him I respect, but somehow or another, for the last two years we have met weekly, almost daily, and seek out-door recrea- THE CARNIVAL. 193 tions very often together; to the Larengeiras, to the Botanical Garden, to ride on horseback, and Fanny cannot always go, so Philip and I have become very well acquainted : it is a great advantage to associate with one so intelligent and pious, with tastes so highly cultivated. He has planned a course of reading for me; lends, or rather brings me books from his father's library, and I find that his choice is always the best ; and then I have learned the music that he selects, and we sing a great deal together. So, dear aunt, I shall miss the Austins very, very much ; for there is no one to take their place exactly even at Holly ville. Ere I close this long epistle, I must say something about my brother and sister. They are bright, intelligent children, but have naturally the warm passionate nature of their country But I think that I can see i mprovement ; formerly there was an outbreak fron i either one or the other once or twice a week ; nov , it is much more rare, and though some- tiin 3S I see Leon's dark eye flash, and his cheek redden, yet have I also seen him more than once coTiquer the rising passion. The padre does not like my presence in the school-room with the children ; but the Senor does, and says that he will neve transfer the charge of their education to any one else ; he wants " to see them good," he 17 194 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. says, and likes my way of governing them. I have great hopes of both, for they love sister Mary with all their hearts. "My warm love to Mark, Emily and the Butlers. " This is a long letter, but I have not said the half that I wish to ; perhaps some day I may yet sit down by dear Aunt Margaret, with her hand clasped in mine, and tell her all. Until that day comes think of me always as your own loving, SILENT FOOTSTEPS. 195 CHAPTER XIV. SILENT JtTOOTSTEIS. jlJERE is a conscious presence of a solemn messenger at Monte Rosa, the mother is declining rapidly, and Mary is now never absent from her room ; late delusions are fading imperceptibly, and purer, holier messages are impressing their silent lessons. We will step into the sick room on one of her comparatively comfortable days. Her chamber opens on the garden, in full view of the beautiful Bay of Rio. "Do you see that ship, Mary?" said the mother, " I wonder if it is going to our native land." Her attention was directed towards a white- winged vessel, sailing gallantly out of port. " Do you ever desire to see the old home again, mamma?" "Yes, indeed. Did Aunt Margaret ever take you to our homestead, daughter?" 196 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " Yes, several times ; bnt it is occupied now by Btrangers, and always made my aunt so sad, that she has made her visits very rare." " I was thinking last night of the old family room where my mother used to gather us chil- dren around her, and talk to us of heavenly things ; the words of one of our childish hymns kept ringing in my ears, which I have not thought of for a long, long time, called ' The Star of Bethlehem.' Get my old hymn-book, Mary, and read it to me." Stowed away among some old books was the worn-out copy which contained the hymn; in soft, low tones, she read, " When marshalled on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestrode the sky, One star of all the numerous train, Can fix the sinner's wondering eye. Hark ! hark ! to God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem ; But one alone the Saviour speaks, It is the Star of Bethlehem !" "That is a sweet hymn, Mary," said the invalid, " it is strange how these old things are coming back ; almost seventeen years since I left home, and great changes have passed upon me here. I have been a great wanderer, Mary ; but SILENT rr*TTEPS. 197 the new faith is fading, tb* old one is return- ing, and strange to say, it -somes to me in the words of childhood." "It is a blessed way, dear mamma, and I trust is a token of good frox our Father in heaven." " Did you ever hear your auni speak of Miss Archer, my old Sunday-school teacher? She was a good, patient friend to me ; I remember now how my worldliness and vanity used to pain the dear, kind soul ; I used to laugh at it then, because I was a giddy child, and thought only of this world." " Miss Archer is living still, the same faithful devoted Christian, and occasionally comes to see Aunt Margaret ; I don't think that she has ever forgotten you, mamma." " Now, Mary, what is the text to day ?" Mary opened her little book and read, " And He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world." " How could I ever think of any other, Mary ? it seems as if I had been living under a dark cloud for these long, long years." After an hour's pleasant intercourse, Mary proposed a ride, for it was one of the charming days of the season, and carried down by her 16* 198 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. kind husband, she was comfortably seated in the open carriage, and the two drove off', meeting the sisters Beatrice and Agnes just coming in. Mary bowed politely to the sisters, who re- turned the salutation by a cold inclination of the head. " I wish they would not come so often," said her mother, " their visits bring no comfort, I do not want to hear about the saints now. Do you know, my daughter, how your silent example has impressed your mother?" "No, mamma, it has always seemed to me such a very feeble taper, that I wonder at the grace which has used it for my good." " If you had attacked my new faith by severe remarks, and arguments however good, I should probable have risen up in its defence ; but you just hold up your beautiful picture of real piety by the side of the tinselled mockeries that I have seen so long, that unconsciously they have become more and more repulsive, while the real is each day more lovely in my sight. I have remembered, too, the humble Christians in my own land, and have learned to think that there must be something divine in a faith which produces such holy fruits." "I must own, mamma, that there is not much here to lead the heart to heaven." SILENT FOOTSTEPS. 199 " No, Mary, on the contrary, every thing to draw it down ; when first I began to think of these subjects, I resisted the impressions, and still counted my beads, and prayed to the Virgin and the saints ; but my mother's prayers, the words of my childish devotion, and my father's supplications for his children always resisted me at these hours, and many a time I concluded my evening devotions with the dear old words, " Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." Mary listened with a full heart to this almost childish account of the Spirit's guidance. " When you first came among us, Mary, I looked forward to introducing you into my world, and placing you in a station of rank and elegance and there have been more opportuni- ties than Ferdinand de Lagua but I soon found that you were of another order, and although at first I was so disappointed and vexed, I learned day by day to respect the consistency of your conduct, and to love that dutiful, affectionate daughter who has been the light of m^ declin- ing days." 200 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Mary took her mother's hand and pressing it to her lips, said, " Now I know why I was sent to this far dis- tand land, mamma ; how strange it seems that such a very humble instrument should be chosen to bear the message of a Saviour's love to those dearest to me." They were now riding through the valley of the Larengeiras, and on their return passed the convent where Sister Clarice was immured. " What a pity that such a sweet girl should be buried there !" said the lady ; " I know her as the sister of Ferdinand de Lagua, who is her twin brother ; he mourns deeply over the fate of his favorite sister, and I think would not be very much shocked if she were to escape." It had been a pleasant ride, and whenever the Senhora's strength was equal to the exertion, Mary and she sought this exercise in the open air, some- times accompanied by the Senor, who was devoted in his attentions to his invalid wife. The priest was unremitting in his attention, but the lady received his instructions in silence, and one day, when Mary was absent from the room, he perceived a copy of Daily Food lying on a table near the couch. " What have we here ?" said the padre ; " it is a very improper book for you, Scnhora, calculated to lead you SILENT FOOTSTEPS. 201 away from the faith. "With your permission, I will remove it." " Not with my permission, dear father, it was the gift of a dear friend, and I shall never part with it ; beside it contains the words of Jesus, and that is what I want, just such precious crumbs from the Master's table." The priest looked daggers at Mary, who just then entered the room. " Where is your crucifix, Senhora ?" asked the priest, for it had formerly hung over a small table opposite her bed. " I believe that it is in the closet," was the reply, " will you look for it, Mary ?" And bringing it from its retirement, she handed it to the priest, who hung it up again in its old place. I hope that you do not neglect your devotions, Senhora? The absence of the crucifix does not seem as though you were faith- ful in your duties." " I can worship my Saviour without a crucifix, father, but it may hang there, it can do no harm." The priest threw up his eyes, and lifted his hands in holy horror. " Heresy ! vile heresy !" exclaimed the padre, " you have listened to the serpent who has poisoned your fakh." 202 woTHisra BUT LEAVES. "You are mistaken, father; old truths are returning, and the new delusions vanishing, melting into mist like that of the Dismal Swamp ; the true light is shining above it, and by that I am trying to get back to Jesus he is my hope, my all." The priest shortened his visit, and as he left the room, crossed himself, as he gave a parting, withering glance at Mary. " Go bring me a packet, daughter, that you will find in that box ; ask your papa to come here, and then leave us alone." Seated by her side, the husband read the paper which bequeathed the sum of five thousand dollars to Father Benedicito for the erection of an Orphan Asylum. " Now, husband, I want that all changed ; have the paper drawn up at once, and let the same amount be left to my daughter Mary for any benevolent purpose that she may wish to aid ; I can trust my child. " I am rejoiced, my wife," said the Senor, " for I believe that in her hands it will really do good." " There is another subject, husband, which I wish to talk about while I have strength, and that is, our children ; Mary has thus far been a great blessing to them, and I wish her to have BILEXT FOOTSTEPS. 203 the entire charge of their education ; when I am gone, you had better take them to the United States, where they can have the best advantages, and above all things, a Protestant education." u That is just what I desire myself, Helen. I have not been a resident for more than three years with our daughter, without being con- vinced that just what she is, I desire to see our children ; I have seen religion under a new phase, Helen, in contemplating Mary Elliott ; but do not let us talk about these sad things any longer, wife, I cannot bear it." From this day, the change in the Senhora was rapid confined to her room entirely, but with simple, humble faith trusting only in Jesus. Belika kept a strict watch by her bedside, and reported day by day the progress of affairs ; the Bible reading, the holy heavenly hymns, the words of sweet confiding prayer. While strength remained, the mother sent for her children. " Come, sit near me, Leon," said the Senhora,. " I am going to leave you soon, and I have much to say before I go your sister Mary will have the charge of your education, my dear children, and you must be obedient and loving to her ; if I only could believe that you would live to be 204 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. like my daughter Mary, I should die happy you will go with her to the United States to be sent to school there." Both children were convulsed with weeping, for they loved their mother dearly : taking the hand of each, she continued, " Dont cry so, my darlings, I am going home to my Saviour, I trust. I have no hope, no confi- dence in any thing but Jesus saints cannot help me now, the Virgin can do me no good, but Jesus is all my hope ; I want my dear children to love and follow him, and to become while you are young his true and loving children be good and. obedient to your papa, he will miss your mother, but you must comfort him." Viola threw her arms around her mother's neck, in an agony of tears, and Leon turned away to hide his anguish. "Oh, mamma! mamma! dont leave us," sobbed the little girl. Fearing the agitation, Mary hurried them from the room, and taking her Bible, sat down to read the words of Jesus, so soothing at all times to her departing parent. The parting hour came at length, and assem- bled in the dying chamber were the husband and children, Belika had stolen out to summon SILENT FOOTSTEPS, 205 the priest, for with the superstition of her coun- try, she believed that her lady could not depart in peace without the offices of the Church. He soon appeared, and requesting the family to leave the room, he approached the dying Senhora. " They must not go, father," said the lady, "they can hear all that we have to say." "Not the words of confession, Senhora," replied the priest. " No, they are made to God only, father, from him I trust that I have obtained pardon and peace through Jesus Christ our Lord." The priest held up the crucifix, but the lady closed her eyes, and turned her head away. "You die in the faith of the true church, Senhora," said the father. "I die in the simple faith of the Gospel, father, trusting in Jesus only, in him I have peace." The priest took his departure; and alone, with her husband and children, the Senhora passed away quietly, hopefully, her head upon her husband's breast, her hand clasped in that of her daughter Mary. The grief of the children was violent, and leading them to her own room, the sister laid them on her b,d, and with a Rweet soothing i* 206 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. words endeavored to comfort the bereaved ones, who at length cried themselves to sleep. Returning to the Senor, Mary found him walking the floor of the room, adjoining his own, in great agony of mind, for dearly had he loved the wife of his bosom. " She is at rest, papa," said the daughter, "her confidence was all in her blessed Savi- our." "But what shall I do without her?" said the afflicted husband, " she was always so good and devoted to me." " I will try to comfort you, papa ; but there is only One who can support you ; if you only knew Him, papa, as a friend and sympathizer." The funeral was given into the hands of the sisters who directed all ; not dropping a word about the heresy of the Senhora's last moments, for it was a policy of the priest to conceal all such cases. The house was closed, a festoon of black cloth and gold hung over the front door, the remains, according to the custom for married ladies, shrouded in black, with a long black vail, the arms folded, and the hands resting upon the opposite elbows, and candles burning at the head and foot of the coffin, while a crucifix lay upon her bosom. SILENT FOOTSTEPS. 207 Tlio remains were committed to the cemetery with the forms of the Roman Catholic church, and the Seiior, in compliance with old usages, paid large sums of money for masses for repose of the soul ; not that he had much faith left in these observances, but considered it best to con- form to the customs of the Church. Mary saw the funeral procession wind out of the grounds of Mount Rosa from the windows of her own room, and felt that in this departed one there was hope of a blessed resurrection. But the house seemed dreary without her mother her chamber was closed, everything that she had valued carefully put away, and about a week after her departure, the Senor called Mary to his room, .and laying a paper in her hand, said, " There is something left by your mamma, Mary." Opening it, she read with tearful eyes the bequest of five thousand dollars left to her for her charities. " How good this was, papa !" said the daugh- ter, " I can do good with it I know." " The priest was here the other day," was the reply, "to inquire about his bequest; but I informed him that the money left formerly for the Orphan Asylum had been devoted to another purpose." 208 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. u I hope that you did not tell him that it was left to me, papa ?" " I did not, my child, for I should dread his malice." About a month had passed since the Senhora's death, when one evening, Philip Austin called to see Mary. " I have great news !" said the young man ; " Clarice has made her escape, and is in conceal- ment with an old woman named Carlotte, who lives in a very retired place on one of the hills outside of the city." "How was it effected, Philip?" "I rode frequently by the convent, always watching the loophole near the belfry. One morning a slip of paper was shot out containing the words, ' Be here to-morrow at the vesper hour, workmen are busy at the south wall, there is a ladder which I can use inside, that is my hope.' " I went at the appointed time, the vesper bell rang, and in a few minutes the head of Sister Clarice appeared at the top of the wall ; I had brought a rope ladder with me ; throwing it up, she descended a carriage was ready with two swift horses, my sister was with me, and, having made previous arrangements with old Carlotte, we drove rapidK to the cottage on the hill. SILEXT FOOTSTEPS. 209 Fanny had brought a change of clothing with her, and the nun was soon transformed, but a poor emaciated being she is, with harsh treatment and close confinement for so many weary months." "Can you trust the old woman, Philip?" " Yes, Mary, she lived with us once, and was a faithful old servant ; beside, she is very little of a Catholic, and I know will not betray the poor girl." "How did she get out of the convent, Philip?" " The old porteress was her friend, she saw how cruelly she was treated, and left the door open for a few minutes : Clarice feigned sickness, and was thus absent from chapel : the old por- teress was to be found insensible by the door, with the keys by her side as though knocked down, and thus Clarice escaped." "How will she be supported, Philip?" " I have several friends in Rio who will help." ( " And so will I, Philip, until something is done to insure her safety." "Will you ride with us to see her?" con- tinued the young man, " we are going to-mor- row." "Call for me, and I will go.'* Early in the morning, Mary provided herself 210 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. with such articles of clothing as the poor girl would need, and thus her first appropriation was made of the mother's legacy, for the Senor had already placed in her hands the first six months' interest. Very pale and sad was the emaciated girl, her spirits broken by her long confinement, and Mary's warm heart went out to her at once, in loving sympathy. Starting at every sound, she feared discovery, for she well knew what would be her fate, if returned to convent life. Mary's active, benevolent spirit was full of plans, and on their return home, there was free discussion of the different arrangements. "I wonder if we could not trust Ferdinand," said Mary, " she is so anxious to see her brother." " lie is very fond of her," replied Philip, " and I think that we might." Accordingly, Mary sent for the young man. " I have a secret, Senor de Lagua," said the young lady, " which I almost fear to confide to you, it is so very important." "It concerns my sister I doubt not, for the city is alive with the news o";' her escape; do you know where she is?" " Can I trust you ?" ** Yo i may fully, Donna Maria, I would give SILENT FOOTSTEPS. 211 any thing to see my sister, for I love her very tenderly, and never approved of the harsh treat- ment which she has received." " We will take you to-morrow," said Mary. And next day, in company with Philip and Fanny, they sought the lonely cottage. Situated at the bottom of a deep ravine, and concealed from the sight of those on the top of the cliff, by high trees, no human eye would have detected the hut without a clue. Leaving the carriage on the cliff, they de- scended by a circuitous path, holding on to the outstretched branches for support. Inez was sitting on a low chair in front of the dwelling; on seeing a stranger in company with her friends, she started to escape into the house. In another minute she was folded to the breast of her beloved brother. "Ferdinand, my brother 1" "Inez, my sweet sister!" were all the words that could be uttered. The two sought the retirement of the little room occupied by the nun, and there she poured out the story of her persecutions, her wrongs, her devoted friends, and together they talked of the future. " AY hat do you design, Inez ?" said the brother, "you cafinct live in safety long; for already 212 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. they are on the search for you, and you the fate of an apostate nun." Inez clasped her hands in agony " I know brother, there was one in the convent, dreadful \vas her fate. I think that I shall leave South America with the family of Senhordos Santos, who are going to the United States, and there I can support myself by teaching music." "It seems a wise plan, Inez; but we shall probably never see each other again." " That is my grief, brother, for you are the only one of all my family, who retains any love for poor outcast Inez.' " Why must you go, sister ? can't you come back again to the church of our parents ?" " Not with my convictions, Ferdinand, and if 1 did, it would be to be immured again in that dreadful prison." " That is true, sister, but I shall never cease to love my dear little Inez, and remember the happy days when we played together in the sweet orange groves; but we can write to each other, when you are far away . I don't think it euch a dreadful thing to be a Protestant, if they are all like Mary Elliott, Inez." News of the Senhora's death has reached Aunt Margaret, and thus she writes, SILENT FOOTSTEPS. 213 "Your letter, dear Mary, was read \vith mingled feelings of grief and joy grief, that 1 shall see my dear Helen no more on earth joy, in the hopes that we entertain of her eternal blessedness, and in the prospect of having you all with us once more at Ilollyville even our quiet Emily is intoxicated with the idea, and dances about almost wild with delight. Nearly four years of separation have made great changes, Mary. Mr. Butler is about to leave for a new parish, Mark will be ordained in a few weeks, it is almost certain that Harriet will go out to India as a missionary, and your Aunt Oliver is greatly changed. She mourns over Charlotte's defection, and is herself I doubt not treading in the Pilgrim's path. Mark is very promising, the people of the parish often talk about him, as successor to Mr. Butler ; he is twenty-four now, and his character rapidly developing ; it would be strange if you should find us at the Parsonage. We shall l^ok for you early in the autumn ; and then, what joy if God spares our lives ! Come as soon as you can ; I do so long to see Helen's children, and am already prepared to love the Senor, just because he loves my Mary. Emily joins me in love. God bless you, my beloved neice, and pra^ for me alwa} T s as your affec- tionate AUNT MARGARET." 214 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. CHAPTER XV. HOME FACES. r Nearly four years since I left home ! I trust that I have been permit- ted to scatter some precious seeds in this moral island of the sea, for I have seen some of the green shoots. Ere I leave this land, I would review with humble adoring gratitude all the way that the Lord hag brought his child "Truly has it been through the noise and tumult of Vanity Fair. "Sometimes its jingling bells, and tinselled glittering toys have bewildered me, not turned away my footsteps from the paths of peace, but introduced images of vanity and sin that have disturbed my spirit, and marred the sweet- ness of my communion with heaven ; but there has never been a period when the sanctuary of my own room has failed to restore my peaceful hope and trust in Jesus. " God has been very good to me in this dark HOME FACES. 215 knighted land, in providing me sucli dear Christian friends. How I shall mis& the Aus- tins! I am going home to my own dear coun- try, and God only knows if we shall ever meet again, but the remembrance of the dear parlor at the Rectory, our rambles on the Larengeira, our rides, our visits to the mountain villa will always be green and fresh in the fields of mem- ory. The remembrance of my mother, too, is full of sweet and pleasant thoughts how changed she seemed ! how like a little child trusting so humbly in her Saviour ! " It is so comforting to feel that I shall not be parted from the dear children ; the good Senor seems well pleased with my government, and they are delighted with the idea of a new home, like all children pleased with novelty ; may the dear Lord go with us and bless us all!" "Yesterday was my last Sunday at the chapel, how solemn the services appeared ! the good minister very tender and affectionate, my Sun- day-school class so sorrowful at the parting, Philip and Fanny full of grief. We attempted some sacred music together, but our voices failed, for we may never meet again on this side of the better land. How much I realized that here we 216 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. have no continuing city, and that this life is only a pilgrimage. "God of our fathers, by whose care, Thy people still are blest, Be with us through our pilgrimage, Conduct us to our rest." " Philip and I took our last ride to the Valiey of the Larengeiras; how beautiful everything looked ! " There is nothing like this charming country in our own land. "We sat in silence under the orange trees, and then with hearts full of emotion reviewed all the past ; Philip promised to continue the class at the chapel. " He thinks that some day he may visit us at Hollyville, for he expects to enter into a mercan- tile firm very soon, that will take him to the United States ; that was a pleasant thought, for I could not bear to think of parting with the Austins to meet no more. " He gave me a case containing a picture of himself and sister, saying, "You must not forget us, Mary, when you, reach your native land.' " I promised my own in return. " One evening, when rambling in our garden, I pointed out to Philip my favorite rose, saying, HOME FACES. 21? * Old Pedro planted that for mo.' These partings are very, very sad. " Charlotte Rogers came to bid me farewell- how strange it seems after a lapse of four years to mark the change which has passed upon her ! the mother now of two lovely children and yet devoted to the vanities of the world ; she seems to have forgotten the days when she was such a rigid professor of religion. I never see her without thinking of the barren fig tree, and dreading the fate of that which bore 'nothing but leaves.' " " On board Ship We are sailing down the beautiful bay in sight of the lovely scenery around Rio how strangely we are constituted ! for my heart is heavy at the thought of seeing those grand mountains, that lovely valley, those charming rambles no more. " Why is it ? for I have passed through many trials in South America. I see the spires of the churches, and hear the bells that summon the people to mass, but my heart is travelling to the little Knglish chapel where I have been fed with the bread of life, and to the dear friends of my exile. " There is something for me to do on board the vessel, for Inez needs all my sympathy. 19 218 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Her's ia a sad and desolate lot, separated perhaps forever from those she loves, and going into a land of exile to earn her daily bread. Her part- ing with her brother was one of deep and touching sorrow, he paid her passage, provided her with comforts, and gave her several hundred dollars to supply her wants until she was fixed in some way of supporting herself; the only com- fort was the possibility of Ferdinand's coming to see his sister. " Inez speaks broken English, and I shall find abundant employment in given her daily lessons, for she can do nothing until she speaks the language. I find my thoughts often travelling back to Monte Rosa. I hope that Pedro w r ill take care of my flowers, he is a kind old man, and was always good to me from the first day that I came. " The house must look very desolate, all closed, excepting the rooms used by Pedro and Theresa. k ' We are speeding on, every day bringing us nearer and nearer to America." The Sefior is truly a kind parent to Mary Elliott, and many a pleasant chat do they have on their voyage. One fine evening they were seated together, HOME FACES. 219 on the quarter deck, talking in this familiar style, while the children were playing around them, watching the gulls resting lightly upon the waves, or flitting around the masts of the vessel. " Leon is growing to be a fine boy," said the father, as he watched his sports with his sister. " He is very handsome, papa," was the reply, "and a boy of brilliant talents; I look forward to a bright future for him, if he only becomes a real Christian." " He is a smart fellow, and I often laugh at the boy's remarks about the priests, for he sees through their craftiness, Mary." "I have not taught him to judge harshly." " No, I know that ; but he is capable of draw- ing contrast, and we have all been occupied in that way for some time, Mary." " If I could only hope, papa, that you would study the character of our dear Lord, I am sure that its divine power and holiness would lead you to seek for it yourself." "From my boyhood I was taught to study the lives of the saints, and but little was ever said to me about the Great Master, but I always knew that if a religion had been sent from heaven, it would have been something different from what we see in the priests at Rio." 220 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. "There is a better, holier example, dea? papa; promise me that you will read the Ke\\ Testa- ment, for there you will see holiness in all its wonderful, attractive power." " I promise, my daughter, but I have been doing that already for some time." At length the cry of "Land ahead" waa heard one night from the maintop, and Mary's heart gave a bound at the thought of home. In the morning the green shores of her native land were in sight, and as the vessel sped on to her appointed haven,, each familiar object came looming up before her with all its loveli- ness, as she sat gazing in silent joy at the spires of the city, and thinking of the dear village home that lay beyond. Soon landed, there was no delu}' in the great metropolis, and by the earliest conveyance, they started for Hollyville. Aunt Margaret hud not been notified of their arrival. Passing swiftly through the village, Mary's liead w r as constantly stretched out of the carriage window, and as they swept by each familiar object, she busied herself in pointing out everything of interest, to the children. But how is this ? the old house is closed, it is evidently uninhabited. HOME FACES. 221 Driving on to the parsonage, wild Mag is just passing it at the gate giving one hasty glance at the travellers as the carriage stopped, she rushed into the house to announce the arrival. In another minute, Mary Elliott was folded in the arms of dear Aunt Margaret, then of Mark and Emily, while the strangers looked on with lieart-felt sympathy. Somewhat recovered Mary presented her papa and the dear children. Aunt Margaret folded each in her arms, for she had a warm corner in her motherly heart for her mister's children. " Let me introduce my friend," said Mary, aa she brought forward the trembling Inez, and the good lady pressed a kiss upon the pale, tearful face, for she had heard the story of Sis- ter Clarice. Seated at the table, there was too much joy for partaking of Aunt Margaret's good cheer, for as Mary looked first at that dear relative, then at Mark in his mature an J serious manhood, at Emily in her sweetness, and at Mag in her decent, well ordered deportment, she could not restrain the brimming tears that would well up into her eyes at the consciousness that she was once more at home vith the precious friends of her early days. 19* 222 NOTHING BUI LEAVES. "When Mark so reverently and devoutly conducted the evening worship of the family, it may well be imagined what were Mary Elliott's emotion, when she remembered her agency in the training of her cousin. Ere separating for the night, Aunt Margaret called Mary alone into the library. ""Were you surprised to find us here?" in- quired the lady. " Not very much, for your letter had prepared me for the change ; how long have you been at the parsonage ?" " About two months, and Mark is very accep- table to the people;" glancing around at the fine library, she continued, " how thankful I am that I never sold these books ; they are invalu- able to Mark." Just then her cousin entered; seating him- self by Mary's side, he said, " Well, my dear cousin, you see here your good work completed ; if you had not stepped forward when you did, I would not have been the young pastor of Hollyville church." " Don't say so, Mark ; you know what I always said that if God wanted you lor a minister, he would have employed somebody to do his work ; it was a great privilege that he deigned to use Mary Elliott." HOME FACES. 223 They turned their eyes to the calm, holy face of Uncle Winslow, that looked out upon them from the frame that hung over the mantel piece. "He seems to smile, Mary, don't he?" said Mark. " I 'wonder if he knows," replied his cousin, "if he does, it must be another source of bles- sedness in the world above." " How did you leave Charlotte ?" inquired her aunt. "Well, dear aunt, and beautiful as ever, but wholly given up to the world, and quite a devoted Romanist." " You remember what I told you, Mary, these noisy brooks are very shallow, and I always feared for the genuineness of Charlotte's professions, but- your aunt has a comfort in 8arah, she is growing up to be a lovely Christian girl, and a most excellent daughter." " What an interesting nun you have brought with you," said her cousin, " with such a sweet serious face, and such deep melancholy eyes." " You may well say so, Cousin Mark, she has gone through deep trials in the profession of her new faith, is cast off by all but her brother, and we must extend to her the cup of cold water in the name of our dear Lord." 224 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " My heart opened at once to her, Mary, for every glance of her dark eyes asked for sympa- thy." " She has remarkable musical talents, her intention is to teach as soon as she can obtain pupils; papa has brought the children here to receive a Protestant education, and she will instruct Viola." "Shall she teach Emily too," replied Mark, " she is quite anxious to take le.-sons ; we have no good teacher in the village, and it was only the other day that I heard Miss Davenport regretting that she had no competent teacher of music in her school." " Who is Miss Davenport ?" " A very superior lady, who opened a school here about one year ago, she has been quite successful, and would employ your young friend as soon as the present term expires. But what beautiful children you have brought, Mary!" " They are dear, loving ones to me, Mark, but have caused me great anxiety ; they are both such warm, passionate creatures Viola is much improved, but Leon is all fire." " What a fine man the Senor appears !" said Mark. " Yes, cousin, he is the only Portuguese that HOME FACES. 225 1 have seen with such noble qualities ; he is very sensible too, and a most affectionate father to me." " Is he still a Romanist, Mary ?" " His mind is awaking, Mark, he has long been a very careless Catholic, seldom going to church, but is now reading the Testament daily ; he is a most candid man, loving the good wherever he Bees it; but where is Mr. Butler ?" "He has taken charge of a city church. Harriet is really preparing to go to India with Mr. Armstrong ; it has been a great trial to give her up, but her parents are reconciled now." " I am not much surprised, Mark, for she was always so much interested in missions ; how I should like to see her !" " She will come as soon as she hears of your arrival, for she is as anxious as yourself to meet her old friend." The family were soon domesticated, the Senor furnished two rooms handsomely for his chil- dren, purchased a piano for Viola, and soon the lessons were commenced ; Mary instructing the child also until the commencement of the next term, for papa would remain with them for some months. There was much of an amusing character in these first few months, for every thing was so NOTHING BUT LEAVES. different from their Brazilian home, that ques tions of the oddest kind were continually occur- ring ; and wild Mag seemed as if she would never cease to wonder at the strange looking children, peeping in at them on all occasions, and when one imagined her busy at her work, many a time her shrewd face and small dark eyes were seen peering behind the doors, or peeping in at the windows to watch them, and to wonder if they were not something " pretty much like darkies after all." Their first visit to the village church was quite an event. Mary was not a little amused to see that they took their Prayer Books, and when they entered, the eyes of all were turned upon them as they made the sign of the cross, and bowed down in front of the pew, as they had always done at home. " Had you not better tell them, Mary ?" said Cousin Mark, " that this is not our custom, it draws unpleasant attention towards them." " I thought about it before we went, Mark, but concluded that it was best not; they are very observing children, and will imitate what they see." The music pleased them very much, and Mary was glad to hear them asking how to HOME FACES. 227 find the Lymns, and wanting to learn them at home. Inez was in a new world. In a pure church, where she was permitted to worship God in the spirit it was to her like cool streams in a thirsty land, and Mark's preaching was so instructive, so spiritual, that the young stranger unconsciously excited the interest of all, as she sat with eyes fixed upon the youthful preacher, drinking in every word of the new Gospel which she had so lately embraced. The Senor too was a constant atten- dant, he had never been inside of a Protestant church before, and the truth in all the power of its simplicity, commended itself impressively to the conscience of this almost modern Cornelius. Communion day was a most impressive season ; for Inez was to be admitted for the first time, to the Supper of the Lord. Seated close to Mary, her devout and holy aspect touched every heart, as for the first time, she pressed the simple elements divested of all the superstitions of her early days. Simple bread and wine, impressive emblems of the broken body, and poured out blood of the Redeemer. Iler's was a happy borne, for each Christian heart beat with her's in sympathy, and Mark was always ready when he heard the timid knock at 228 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. the study-door, for he had learned to look for Inez, and was glad to welcome the inquirer with her open Testament in her hand, and a face beaming all over with earnest questions. Seated near the table, her dark ej T es bent upon the floor, and in her silvery broken accents, asking for instruction in the way of life, Mark was never tired of guiding these young trembling footsteps. LIFE AT THE PARSONAGE. 229 CHAPTER XYL LIFE -A.T THE k T is autumn now, and the cool days are hastening on the strangers are struck with the beauty of this northern season, for they have never seen anything like it in Brazil. The clear bright sky, the gorgeous drapery of the forest, the delicious dreamy haze, that some- times, like a gauzy veil, drops over the land- scape in the days of Indian summer, and the glowing sunsets, all tempt them out of doors. Often their rambles extend to the lily pond, but they do not see it in its beauty, for it is not the season for the floating lilies ; but there is much in the vicinity to charm, and under the broad green trees, arid beside the sparkling water many a pleasant hour is spent by the family, listening to the story of the sweet lamb, who so frequently sought this cool retreat. Viola especi- ally loved to talk of little Letty, and once said to Mary, 20 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " She must have been a favorite of the Virgin, sister, was she not ?" " No, Viola, our Letty was one of the lambs of the Good Shepherd, taught by the Holy Spirit, and early prepared for heaven." " Did she ever get angry, like me, sister ?" " I do not remember it, Viola, but suffering made her patient, and then she had such simple trust in Jesus." "How, sister? I wish I were like Letty." u She believed his word, and went to him every day for the supply of all her wants ; you know the Saviour says, ' Come, learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls.' " " How shall I go, sister ?" and Viola drew closer to Mary, and looked up in her face, with her dark, earnest eyes. " In prayer, my child, morning arid evening, and whenever you feel the need of his help." Leon and his sister were members of a blessed household, here they saw piety in its purity and loveliness, not marred by sourness or austerity, but shining forth in the spirit of holy love. For a long time, they continued to use their rosaries, and hung their crucifix at the foot of the bed, but here in this godly family, in the place of the Virgin and saints, they heard of Jesus and LIFE AT THE PARSONAGE. 231 the Holy Spirit they saw a throne of grace erected where in the exercise of a holy faith, Mark Winslow bore each member on his heart, looking upward to the Great Mediator. The peace of these holy hours distilled its dew around the family hearth, and gradually the children ceased to count their beads, or to seek the Fathar, with an eye upon a visible crucifix. Pictures of the saints, and stories of their wondrous miracles, faded from their memory, and in their place came stealing into the cham- bers of their young hearts, holy images of the love of Jesus, pictures of his birth, his childhood, his ministry, his holy life, his painful death of agony for them, his resurrection and ascension into heaven. These holy themes mingled with all the doings at the parsonage, and the Senor, Inez and the children breathed the atmosphere ot holiness, almost unconscious of its power. Like the gentle falling of snow upon the fleece, or like small rain upon the tender herb, so the showers fell around the dwellers at the par- sonage ; the thoughts of another life in all its blessedness, another kingdom in its glory were ever present varieties, and the Senor felt that here at least, the power of these truths was realized. Thus the shadows of superstition were melting 232 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. away, before the light and purity of the real gospel. As the time of the Senor's stay grew shorter, we often find him in Mark's study, and many an hour of serious converse was passed by the two ; the young minister's interest deepening daily, and the Senor's inquiries each hour of a more practical character. After placing Leon at college, where Mark had graduated, the father prepared for a return to Monte Rosa. The warmJiearted children were filled with grief at the thoughts of his departure, and nothing but a promise of visiting them once a year, could possibly reconcile them. His absence left a great blank in the family circle, for he was a liberal minded, intelligent man, and ever welcome at the family board. Viola was placed under the care of Miss Davenport, a lady well qualified to conduct the education of this impulsive child ; her home studies were under the eye of sister Mary, and she improved rapidly in her English education. Inez was installed as music teacher of the establishment, and her refined and gentle man- ners, sweet silvery speech, and great musical ability soon rendered her a most popular and successful teacher. LIFE AT THE PARSONAGE. 233 Mary took her place again in the Sunday- school, Viola and Inez always ready to accompany her; at the head of the Young Ladies' Bible class, the young Portuguese was only too happy to sit as a learner at Mary Elliott's feet. Yiola was an eager listener, for everything here was so new to the young stranger. One evening, they were seated in the family parlor, and after Viola had completed her lessons, she turned to Mary and inquired, " Do you never have any church processions, or festivals here." "No processions, Viola, but we have our festivals too, and I am sure that you will enjoy them, especially at Christmas." " When will that be here ?" "In about four weeks, Viola: then Leon will De at home, and we shall have a holiday, I will send for the Oliver children, and you shall have a grand time." "Will there be any snow then, sister?' Mary smiled as she replied, " I cannot promise a snow-storm exactly, but I suppose that we may have one, for that is the season." Next day was very cold, and the South Americans were shivering all day, from the change in the atmosphere, scarcely able to keep 20* 234 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. themselves warm, even when wrapped up in extra clothing, and seated close by the tire. In the evening, the wind arose, and Mary looking at the leaden sky, remarked, " It feels wonderfulh like snow, Viola, I should not be surprised if we have some by to-morrow." " I shall be so glad," said the child, " for I have never seen any." Earl} 7 in the morning, a cheery voice roused her cousin. "Look out, Mary ! everything is covered with something white, and it is falling so thick and fast ; is that snow, sister ?" "Yes, Viola, a real snow-storm," for the feathery flakes were tilling the air, driving in thick, heavy scuds, covering the field and house, and trees and fence with a fleecy mantle. " Isn't it beautiful ?" said Viola, fairly clapping her hands with delight ; " shall I go out, and see it, sister?" "Yes, Viola, but you would not like to walk out in such a storm, you will have to stay at home to-day ?" After breakfast, the child was standing by the window, when she called out, " Look here, sister ! there are two dear little birds hopping about the window-sill ; I wonder if they are not hungry." LIFE AT THE PARSONAGE. 235 " They are snow-birds, Viola, and if you choose you rnay open the window softly, and throw out some crumbs.'" For sometime, the wondering little girl amused herself by feeding the birds, who ap- peared quite tame, for Mary said that they were yearly visitors. A very short tramp out in the snow was sufficient, for although covered with fur and woolen clothing, Viola had never felt such cold before, and shrank away shivering from the rude blasts. "What are you so busy about, sister?" said the child ; for in the evening a large basket was brought out, containing flannel anjl wooling goods. "We are making up our winter hoods and clothes for the poor people." The four ladies were soon plunged into the depths of their benevolent work. ' " Can't I help !" said Viola, looking on. " What can you cfb, little sister?" said Mary. " I think I can sew up some of the breadths," for Viola had taken some lessons in sewing. " You may try," said Mary, with a smile of encouragement. With her gold thimble and her pretty needle book Viola Avas ready, and handing her a child's shirt, Mary gave directions about the work. 236 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. The little girl really did feel very happy, (for who does not?) when she felt that her lingers were so busy in preparing a warm garment for some poor, suffering child. When Mary commended her work, the little seamstress sparkled and smiled like a bright warm sunbeam. "You may make it all yourself," said her sister, " you are doing so well, I am sure that you can finish it." " Wouldn't papa open his eyes to seo his little Viola making a petticoat for a poor child ? Rich people don't do their own sewing in Rio, for we have so many servants, that there is no need." "But it is much more pleasant to learn to be useful, is it not ?" "Yes, I think so," said the child, with a grave look upon her young face, " shall I give them away myself, sister?" " Yes, have you thought f any one ?" "Little Molly Riggs, who belongs to Miss Oliver's class she looks so poor and cold." Folding the garment up, she carried it to her own room, new thoughts stirring in her young heart. Thus fell the gentle dew around the little girl, sinking gradually, but deeply down into her spiritual life. LIFE AT THE PARSONAGE. 28> Let us turn awhile to Rio, and the Senoi. A letter from Fanny Austin brings all before us. "Eight months of absence, dearest Mary, have not dimmed the memory of our friend at Monte Rosa. " We cannot tell you how lonely we are ; Philip and I go very often to the garden, and pluck bouquets from your favorite rose-bush ; we almost always have some flowers from your old home in our chamber vases, for they belong to us individually, Mary, not to the parlor. " The other day we called upon the Senor. who has just returned. Everything looked so sad; no merry, laughing children, no interesting invalid, who was always to be seen somewhere, no "dear, precious Mary to meet us with her gentle smile the closed piano, the silent rooms, the covered pictures all spoke of loneliness and sorrow. " But the Senor is always glad to see us, and visits us quite frequently at the rectory ; papa and he are becoming good friends, he never goes to St. Sebastian's but has come several times to our chapel ; papa thinks that he is in a very hopeful state of mind; you should hear him speak, dear Mary, of the silent ministry of your four years' sojourn at Monte Rosa ; it has not been in vain, I am sure ; he is never so happy, as 238 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. when speaking of you, and hopes to have you with us all again, for he says he cannot be parted from his daughter. " I have a plan too in my wise little head, but that is a secret, that I must keep all to myself. Philip is a member of a firm which I think will send him one of these days, to the United States, so that you need not be surprised to see him coming with the Senor ; perhaps he may tell my secret then, but I don't know. There is such a contrast at Monte Rosa no more Sunday ca- rousing ; the Senor has a few select friends, whose intimacy he cultivates, but they under- stand that he does not entertain on that holy day ; they all admire tlu Senor, but shrug their shoulders, saying, that it was ' the daughter Americana.' " We are still engaged in our Sunday-school ; a young lady, who has lately come among us, supplies your place, but no one can compensate for our Mary. I often wish that we had a superior teacher at Rio, for really the Protestants have no means of educating their children, except by Bending them to the United States. " Think of it, when you return ; try to bring one with you, who will not only beii teacher, but. a: missionary in this benighted land. 1 am sure ~.hat there would be encouragement ; I have two LIFE AT THE PARSONAGE. 239 families at least who would patronize a school of high order. " Papa and mamma send their love ; Philip desires to be remembered, he bids me say that he has not given up the idea of seeing you once more at Monte Rosa; till then, remember as your most devoted friend. " FANNY L. AUSTIN." Mary sat with her letter in her hand, and eyes bent thoughtfully upon the floor. She -was once- more in the sweet garden, rambling in the valley of the Larengeiras, seated beneath its orange trees, enjoying the mountain air at the pleasant little villa, or domesticated with the Austins, making one of their dear family circle. Almost unconsciously she whispered, " At Monte Rosa again ! who knows what may be? the thought is pleasant; for I could not bear to be parted from the dear children, and the thought of reunion with the Austins is a sweet, bright dream." Leon is giving great satisfaction to his instruc- tors with regard to his intellectual advancement, but much anxiety for his spiritual state. The same fierce temper still exhibits itself, though not so frequently as formerly, but its violence gives occasiou of alarm when it does occur. 240 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. The boys know his infirmity, and take plea- sure in provoking him. Dick Allen is an especial torment, and Leon has often threatened him. One day passing Leon in the hall at recess, iu company with another boy, several times, with a malicious leer, he repeated the word, " darkey." " Brazilians are all dark I am told," was the reply. " Not so dark as this one ; I tell you he is a " darkey !" Leon heard it all striding up to the boy, with a dark frown upon his brow, and fire shooting from his dark eye, he said, " Richard Allen, do you mean to say that I have negro blood ?" " If you choose to think so, you may attach what meaning you please to the word ' darkey.' " Leon was on fire snatching a dirk from the breast of his coat, in a moment he plunged it into the side of his enemy. Richard fell bathed in blood ; in another moment the alarm was spread, and teachers and boys hastened to the spot. The bleeding boy was carried off, and Leon put in a place of confinement until his friends could be summoned. The wretched boy was in agony, for the wound was dangerous, and no words could paint " Fire shooting from his dark eye, he said." Page 240. LIFE AT THE PARSONAGE. 241 the remorse of his silent, lonely hours. Securing his dirk, for the President was afraid of self- destruction, he was left to the accusation of his own conscience, until the arrival of his cousin Mark. When the young minister entered his darkened room, he found Leon pacing the floor almost in utter desoair; seizing his cousin's hand, he exclaimed, " Do not say that I am a murderer, I cannot live if Richard dies." "His life is hanging upon a thread, Leon; until then, there can be no relief from the conse- quences of this rash act." Seeking the President, Mark obtained permis- sion to take him home, giving bail for his safe keeping. Bowed down with anguish, Leon left the scene O ' of his disgrace, and could scarcely endure the hours that must pass ere he was folded to his sister's bosom. Mary was waiting in the hall, and when the carriage drove up, received the boy in speechless grief. It was scarely possible to pacify Viola. Taking him by the arm, Mary lead him to his own room, Viola wringing her hands, and weeping in childish anguish. 242 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Loon had no excuse to make, his self-reproacheH were bitter and intense that was hopeful. " Has Mark got the dirk ?" said the boy. " I believe he lias," was the sister's reply. " Throw it into the creek, Mary, let me never see it again this dreadful deed has cured me; oh ! Sister Mary, is it too late?" "The last news was rather more favorable, Leon, but it will be several weeks before we can know the end." "Weeks, sister! how can I endure it?" said Leon, wringing his hands, and clasping them over his burning head. "Feel my head, Mary, it is on fire." She laid her soft hand upon the burning brow, and was alarmed at the violent throbbing of the temples ; the eyes too were blood-shot, and the pulse like a mad race-horse. She had him quickly undressed, placed quietly in bed, and then calling Mark, she stepped out into the entry, and said in hurried accents, " Go at once for Doctor Holland, Leon is very ill ; no time must be lost." Returning to his bedside, she applied cold ice- cloths to his head, and mustard to his wrists and ancles, but the fever made rapid strides, and when the physician arrived, Leon was iu a state ot high delirium. LIFE AT THE PARSONAGE. 248 Day and night Mary and Mark watched by the bedside. At the end of nine days, the crisis arrived ; the fever had been broken, and Leon lay with scarcely any indication of life, almost as pale and silent as a sheeted corpse. "There must be perfect silence," said the doctor, "do not leave him one moment; if he only sleeps, his waking may be to life again." Oh I the agonies of that night Leon slept while Mark and Mary watched and prayed. Once or twice she looked at her cousin with quivering white lips, as she touched the clammy hand, and thought that she felt no pulse. Hours passed on, Mark praying from the depth of his heart for the li fe of the sufferer. The taper burned low in the cup, the gray dawn began to stream in faintly, and Mary thought she heard a sigh stooping down, all was still, profoundly still. "Oh! Mark, is it over?" sho whispered. "Be silent!" in a low suppressed tone, " it is a natural sleep now," and stooping down again, Mary heard the gentle breathing like that of a sleeping infant. Bow- ing her head on the pillows, the big, scalding tears fell silently upon the case, and in a few minutes more, a deep sigh, then another, then a movement, and the dark eyes opened; reason 244 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. was in its throne again, for there was conscious- ness of the presence of the watchers, as he stretched out his hand, and drawing Mary's to his lips, murmured, " Sister." " Don't speak a word, Leon," was the quick reply, as she commenced administering the draught left by the physician. At that moment, the room door was gently opened, and a pale face stood at the opening. It was Viola, too agonized to speak. Mary advanced and whispered, "Leon is saved." The reaction was too great, and the child fell fainting at her sister's feet ; carrying her tp Inez's room, she returned to the sick room. Ail day the symptoms improved. " He is saved," said the doctor, " but it was hard swimming for the young life." When able to bear the news, Leon was in- formed of the convalescence of the wounded boy. " God be praised ! how good he has been to me! But as soon as I am able, I will stand my trial, and bear my punishment." "I think not, Leon," said Mark, "Mr. Allen will not prosecute the case ; he knows how often Richard had provoked you, and now that he is well, and you have been so near to death, he thinks abundant expiation has been paid." LIFE AT THE PARSONAGE. 245 "But I must see Richard," said the boy, " there is something due to him." And in Mark's study, clad in his sick wrapper, stretched upon the couch, pale and languid, Richard Allen was brought in. Leon raised his full dark eyes beaming with feeling to the face of his enemy, and extending his withered hand, said, " Forgive me, Richard, I might have been your murderer; my hot, violent temper has nearly destroyed me." The boy looked with deep emotion on the pale face of the speaker, and replied, " I too have something to acknowledge ; I knew that you had a violent -temper; you did nothing to provoke me, Leon ; I too must ask forgive- ness." With tears in the eyes of each, they clasped hands never to quarrel again. It was the turning point in Leon's life ; every afternoon carried down to Mark's study, there was such a pouring out of the young heart with all its throbs of real penitence, that none could doubt that through the deep waters of a stormy tempest, Leon was sailing into a harbor of peace. The deep bay window looked out upon the garden, the light of the study softened Uy the 246 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. old trees that screened it from the glaring sun, and Leon knew that this was holy ground, for here Mark communed with his Saviour, and the boy remembered how Moses felt when approach- ing the burning bush ; he too felt like taking oft* his shoes, as he lay there with his hand clasped in sister Mary's, while with the other she smoothed the dark locks, conscious of Leon's deep affec- tion as he kissed the hand that comforted him. I feel just like a child that has been out in a tempest, sister," said the boy, " so tired, but so happy. I have thought so often of the Saviour walking on the sea when the storm was raging, he seemed to say" to me, 'It is I, be not afraid."' These were blessed hours when the gentle rain fell so softly upon the youthful penitent, when with eyes fixed upon Mark's face, he received the news of a Saviour's full, free pardon of his many sins. So changed was Leon so meek, so loving who would doubt that through this great tribulation he had found his way into the kingdom I STRANGERS. 247 CHAPTER XVII. STRANGER. S. " Surely, goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life ; here let me set up another pillar in my pilgrim path. It is blessed to retrace the steps of the way in which the Lord has led me, so marked are the guidings of his gracious hands. " Two years ago, I left my native land to take up my abode among the spiritually dead. When I look back at the pages of my diary, they reproach me with their unbelief. I went with trembling footsteps, but the hand of the Lord has pointed me all the way. He kept me near the Shepherd's tent, he spread over me his banner of love, and held me by his own dear hand. Straight through .the trials of Vanity Fair, kept from the snares and pitfalls all around, tf) his grace be all the glory. " Great trials bring great comforts ; for many a vision sweet as Jacob's, with only a stone for bis pillow, has been vouchsafed in the land of my 248 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. pilgrimage, glimpses of the same ladder on which angels have ascended and descended, bringing me their heavenly messages. "How my heart mourned over my mother, and how wonderfully did the precious seed scattered around her daily path germinate, so silently, yet so powerfully! " Then, dear, impulsive Leon how great the change! he has gone through a fiery furnace, kindled by his own hot passions ; almost con- sumed, but the dear Lord has been merciful, and I see the marks of renewing grace in him also. Self-distrust, deep humility, earnest desires to be spiritually changed. " When papa left us, it was with bright hopes we bade him farewell. Mark had several inter- esting interviews with him, he says that the bulwarks of Popery are falling around him; indeed, there must have been large breaches long ago, he is so ready to receive the truth. Our own Iiiez, too, is such a docile, gentle disciple, growing so much like the dear Master. "But time rolls on, one year has already passed since we left Rio : as the work of educa- tion progresses, I am reminded that the time of parting with the dear children is drawing nigh. I can scarcely bear to think of it, but this care with all others I desire to commit to our Father STRANGERS. 249 in heaven, he will order all things, and I can trust him fully." Leon has returned to college, the President is well satisfied that he is really a changed boy, and what is remarkable, Richard and he are devoted friends. His progress is henceforth upward ; the old enemy sometimes returns, but the spark in the eye, the tightening of the lip is all that appears to the eye of man. But in the secret of his devo- tional hours there is many a conflict, for natures strong as Leon's do not become lamb-like at once. There are white days at the parsonage, and Christmas is one we will let Viola describe the holiday to papa. " We have had such a grand holiday, papa, so much better than our processions, even when I was one of the spangled angels. Leon was at home a whole week, it was so cold, but then we had good fires ; a large stove in the hall, open fires in the parlor and sitting-room, and Jack Frost did not dare to blow his breath upon us. Sister Mary kept her secret well, she did not let us know one word about what was coming. I knew it was something very nice, for I heard Margaret knocking at Sister Mary's door, and 250 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. saw her with her good-natured laugh, hand in bundle after bundle, and I did wonder what was in them. " Well ! Christmas morning came, the bells of the village church rang out a merry peal ; after breakfast we were all invited into the parlor, the shutters closed, and the room was all lit up, and dressed with bright evergreens, and in the middle of the floor stood a large Christmas tree, dressed with bright, red apples and colored glass globes, and shining all over with colored wax candles ; but the best of all, on the branches were hung the prettiest presents, something for every body ; for Sister Mary says that Christmas brings 'good will to men.' I thank you so much, dear papa, for remembering Viola when you are so far away ; how did you get the gifts here in time? I suppose that sister told you about it before you went away, and you took pains to be ready ; the guitar was a perfect beauty, the little watch a real gem, and the port- folio was beautiful. Every one seemed so happy. Inez played the Christmas hymn, and we all sang it together. The little Olivers spent the day with us; we had a grand dinner, turkey and chicken, cranberry and apple-sauce, nice vege- tables, mince pie, cranberry tarts, and blanc- mange. In the afternoon, Sister Mary's Sunday STRANGERS. 251 scholars came, and each one had a gift. Now, was not this really ' good will to men?' " Some more little girls came in the evening, and Sister Mary and Cousin Mark played with us the minister, papa ! hut it did not make me think any less of him when he stood in the pulpit next Sunday ; indeed, his sermon seemed more real and good, for I knew that Cousin Mark's heart was brimful of love, and that's what made him play with the children. How I wished for you, papa, for you never saw any- thing in Rio like this happy day. ! there was something else ! we all hung up our stockings on Christmas eve, and Kris-Kringle filled them with good things. I like the Christmas fun a great deal better than the Carnival ; for then every body just wants to have a good romp ; but here all tried to show how much they loved each other. I wish you could see Leon, papa; we never have any quarrels now, he is such a dear brother; I think he will be a very good man, and I know he'll be a smart one. " We are in our second year now ; I am trying to learn as fast as I can, so that I can come home sooner ; not that I am not happy here, but I want to be near my dear papa. I want to tell you a secret, papa : I never pray with my rosary any more; it never did ine any good, arid 252 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. I have learned to come to my Heavenly Father through the Lord Jesus Christ, not through saints and the Virgin. " Good-by, dear papa, I shall begin to look for you after the first of May ; I keep a little book with all the weeks marked in it, and on every Saturday night I mark one more gone. "Give my love to old Pedro and Theresa. Sister has looked over rny letter, and made all right ; there were a good many mistakes, but she says that I am learning pretty fast. " Good-by, dear papa ; from your own VIOLA." Early in the spring, Mrs. Oliver announced the expected arrival of Charlotte and her chil- dren, and the mother was busily occupied in making arrangements to welcome them. She had been absent nearly six years, and great changes had taken place. When the carriage drove up to the. door, and the elegant Mrs. Rogers stepped out, the mother could scarcely believe the evidence of her own senses, so great was the transformation. In the place of the village girl in her primitive costume, here was a self-possessed woman of the world, with two sweet little girls, who shrank away from the strangers with childish bashful- ness. And what shall we say of Charlotte's STRANGERS. 253 emotions upon treading the floors of her child- hood's home? How wa's it that something o stifled her as she looked around ? Here was her old room with the same familiar furniture, and the soft cushion upon which she had often knelt in the days of her early profession an invol- untary sigh escaped her lips as she glanced at the mute monitor. On the little table by the side of her bed was her well-worn hymn book, on the fly-leaf of which was written, " Received into the com- munion of the church, May 8th, 18 , Char- lotte Oliver." Perhaps she thought of another record that must meet her eye on the great day. " Why did my mother place it here ?" said the lady. "I suppose to remind me of those early days ; but it is better as it is, for living as we do in a Catholic country, it would injure my hus- band's prospects to remain a Protestant." With these words, she hid the hymn book away on the top shelf of her closet, and replaced it by her Roman Catholic missal. Just then, her mother knocked at the door. " Come in," said the voice inside. " Is all comfortable, my daughter ?" said the mother. " Very nice, mother, only a little too much like old times." 22 254 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. " Don't you like to think of those days, Char- lotte?" . "!N~o, mother, the thoughts are disagreeable." "It was such a grief, Charlotte, when we heard that you had changed } r our religion." The lady's countenance fell, as she replied, " I never had any, mother.' " How is it now, Charlotte ?" For a moment she hesitated, and then replied, " The Church takes care of me now, mother ; in- deed I don't trouble myself very much about these matters, I have so much to occupy my time at home, that I am pretty much taken up with these things." "What things, Charlotte?" "Company, and dress, and household cares, and servants." " Are you happy, my daughter ?" "About as happj' as the majority of people, mother ; but let us go down-stairs, I promised to walk out with Mary." Their ramble was through many old familiar lanes, and among the spots dear to both in daya of childhood. Mary's enjoyment of these was keen as ever, for their memory was only fraught with pleasant associations, and Charlotte's were full of accusa- tions, wiitten upon sky, and tree, and river. STRANGERS. 255 On their return home, they passed by the cemetery, the gate of which was open. Mary led her companion along, until they arrived at Matilda Hope's grave. They stood in silence by the dreary spot, and the wind sighed mournfully through the large willow tree that bent over the grave. Six years the dust had slumbered there, and Charlotte remembered the hopeless deathbed, the warning evening lecture, and the sad sentence that rang around Matilda's dying bed " Cut it down why cumbereth it the ground ?" They turned silently away, some powerful recollections were stirring the depths of Char- lotte's heart, and Mary was thinking of that long past profession, of which there now re- mained, " nothing but leaves." Charlotte walked almost in silence back to her home, at length turning to her cousin, she said, " I wish that you had not taken me there, Mary, it has made me feel dreadfully." " Such thoughts are salutary sometimes, Char- lotte, for we are only mortals." The spring with all its beauty, is budding and bursting ; the front grounds of the parsonage are fragrant with lilac bushes ; joyous birds are car- olling their happy songs everywhere, and almost 256 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. daily the ladies of the family, with Viola by their side, may be seen, sometimes at the violet- dell, sometimes by the lily-pond ; occasionally Mark is with them in the afternoon, but not often, for he is a busy, earnest pastor, but Viola did so long for some pond-lilies, that one day, the minister put himself to some trouble to gather some for the Portuguese child, as he had often done for little Lett.y. She thanked him with her full dark eyes, and said, " I'll do something for you, Cousin Mark." It was not a mere promise, for in a few weeks a pretty black velvet sermon case made by Viola lay upon his study table. He smiled when he opened it, and read on a slip of paper, "From Viola, to Cousin Mark." " This is the fifth of May," said the child, one morning at the breakfast table. " I told papa I should begin to look for him soon after May began." And sure enough, day by day, Viola counted the days, as the time for his arrival drew near. One evening, the family-assembled in the sitting- Toom, and the conversation turned upon the Sefior. STRANGERS. 257 "I wonder what papa meant in one of his letters," said the child, " for he wrote that ho had a surprise for us all. I guess that he's go- ing to bring us a paroquet, sister." Just then, Margaret put her head in the door saying, " Miss Mary, a gentleman wishes to see you in the parlor." On entering the room, who should stand in the middle of the floor, but Philip Austin ! a pre- sence wholly unexpected. It need not be said that heart-felt joy dictated the salutations of the reunited friends. " Where is papa ?" was the first inquiry. " I left him in New York to look after the baggage ; Ferdinand de Lagua is with us ; I came on business for the firm, but could not tarry in New York." Seated side by side, the affairs of Monte Rosa and the English rectory occupied an hour at least ; Fanny's messages and reminiscences came iti for their turn, and ere Mary left the parlor, she knew all about Fanny's secret plan for bring- ing her back to Rio. Aunt Margaret was pleased with the frank, manly bearing of the young man when Mary in- troduced her friend, and Mark, too, extended a warm hand to the stranger. 22* NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Viola was growing to be a very intei-esting girl of fourteen, full of sprightliness and anima- tion, and quite a favorite pupil with [nez. She had tine musical talents, and for several weeks had been diligently practising that she might please dear papa on his arrival. When Philip therefore told that the Senor was in Xew York, she could -scarcely restrain her impatience. ]^ext day the gentlemen arrived ; Inez was standing at the window of the second story, when the carriage drove up; the door opened, and out stepped the Senor " but who is this ?" for a younger man had followed. "Ferdinand! my darling brother !" exclaimed the sister, as she flew to the hall, and in another minute was folded in her brother's arms. Two years had made great changes in the ap- pearance of Inez ; no longer pale, sad, and ema- ciated ; but bright and blooming, the rich glow of health tinged her olive cheek, and beamed in her full dark eye. " Let me look at yon, Inez," said her brother, as he held her off, " nobody would ever recog- nize the poor, disconsolate nun : I need not ask if you are happy." " I am in the midst of dear Christian friends, with whom I board, have plenty of occupation, STRANGERS. 259 and above all, dear brother, am able to hear a pure gospel." " Do you never long for home, Inez ?" The dark eyes swam in tears as she replied, " I have no home, brother ; there is no domestic roof for me in Brazil, for it is family love that makes a home." " I cannot understand the religion that could banish one like you, on account of religious opinions ; I must own that it puzzles me." " It is not the religion of our Master, Ferdi- nand ; tUat is full of love, and holy, heavenly charity." Sunday came around, and Inez persuaded her brother to accompany them to church. Education, not conviction, held him still with- in the folds of the Romish Church, but he was candid enough to see the beauty of Mark's char- acter, and therefore to listen to the truths w T hich he taught with respectful attention. The sweet devotional music charmed him, for Inez presided at the organ, and Mary, Emily and Viola were members of the choir. But the pomp of the Romish ceremonial had been so constantly interwoven with all his ideas of public worship, that he could not feel satisfied with this bald absence of imposing forms. Spiritual union with the Lord of the sanctuary 260 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. was wanting, and therefore Ferdinand had no sympathy with the simple worship, but never- theless he could admire the sense and piety of Mark's preaching, and felt drawn to him not so much as an humble Christian, as the bold and eloquent man preaching with power the verities that he believed. But where is Charlotte Rogers during all these Sabbath services ? Not in her former seat at the village church, but at the Cathedral of the neighboring metro- polis, where her love of pomp and artistic music was fully gratified. The few weeks of the strangers' sojourn at Hollyville flew too rapidly, and after their de- parture Mary is found with her Diary open again. " The pleasant summer sojourn is at an end, and we are once more alone never so very lonely, the parlors seem really deserted, and I cannot bear to open the rooms occupied by our visitors. Dear papa's genial face and cheering voice, Fer- dinand's pleasant society, and Philip's sympathy, so much like the hours at Rio, all leave a blank not easily filled. Then dear Leon too has gone. I can scarcely believe that he is the same fiery, passionate boy that once he was ; he is growing thoughtful., earnest, intelligent, and I doubt not pious. STB ANGERS. 261 " Papa was so happy to be with Leon ; it was really cheering to watch the two, such a deep affection binds them together. Papa was seldom seen without Leon either walking up and down the piazza or parlor, with an arm thrown round the boy's waist, or seated on the sofa in the same endearing attitude ; may our Father spare his life to bless his parent." " His love for Viola was scarcely more tender, all the difference that could be seen was that his eye rested upon Leon with pride, as well as love ; on Viola with the tenderness of a mother : she grows like mamma, and papa said one day, " ' Your mother is reviving in this dear child, Mary, don't you see it ?' " I know no difference between him and a real parent ; there must be something very good and noble in the Senor dos Santos, to rise, as he has done, above the prejudices of education, and to acknowledge the power of goodness wherever he sees it. " But there is more than that in dear papa ; he desires to know the truth, and Mark says that whenever he came into his study, he was re- minded of Cornelius, for his whole manner was but an embodiment of the spirit of the centu- rion, when he said, u * Now therefore we are all here present before 262 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. God, to hear all things that are commanded thee of God.' " If the Spirit is his teacher, I can leave it all with him. "I wonder if I shall ever see Phillip again papa talked a great deal to me ahout his own future plans, he says that he shall always regard me as head of his family, and does not dream of separation ; when the children return, he says that he must have his daughter. " I leave all with my Father in heaven ; if he has work for me in Brazil, he will make my path plain before me. " Poor Inez ! my heart bled for her when she parted from Ferdinand ; but one. of her family to love her, and separated now from him !" It was such a blessed, happy summer, Ferdi- nand was so affectionate, left her such a hand- some donation, with the promise to come again. It has been an oasis in the desert of her do- mestic life not in her spiritual, for in that, she is led by the Shepherd's hand beside the green pastures and still waters of his love ; there is no desert there. " How good the Lord is ! here is Inez, the sub- ject of such domestic trials, but favored with Biich secret manifestations of a Saviour's love others more favored in theii social relations, are 8TRAXGERS. 263 the subjects of distressing doubts and fears. Truly, 'He tempcreth the wind to the shorn iarnb.' 'May I trust Him forever.' "I have just had a visit from Harriet Butler, with Mr. Armstrong; they came to bid me fare- well, for they are about to sail for India. How much she is improved ! When I left the United States, she was a lovely, interesting girl ; now, she is the thoughtful, earnest woman ; there is a look of hoi y elevation in the deep blue eye, and a cairn, happy smile around the mouth. " I think that she has counted the cost of a missionary's life, and that she is ready to take up the cross, and bear it cheerfully after her Lord and Master. " She has very warm affections, for when she walked with me through the rooms of the par- sonage, where she had spent the happiest years of her life, she betrayed deep emotion, an 1 said, '"Do not suppose that it costs me nothing to leave my native land, every stone in this dear old house is precious to me, aud if this is so, what must it be to leave my parents ?' " Her partner is one of the devoted followers of the Master, following Him in the upper atmos- phere of the Christian's march, willing to spend and be spent in the service of the Lord. It was delightful to spend an hour in his society; I 264 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. thought of the beloved disciple when I listened to his conversation, and felt as if I were near to one who v:as a bosom companion of the Lord Jesus, and as if the atmosphere of the little upper Toom in Jerusalem surrounded Edward Armstrong, not waiting only for the descent of the Holy Spirit, but actually dwelling beneath the o'ershadowing of his wings. "I could say farewell to Harriet Butler, and bid her God speed on her pilgrim way, remem- bering the shining crown of those who shall 'turn many to righteousness.' " It may be a short and shining way home to glory, and very soon the two may be removed to heaven, but every fallen missionary leaves behind, in the dreary desert of the world, here and there some scattered gleams of imperishable light, shot out from the Sun of righteousness, at last con- verging into streams and waves and floods of light until it brightens the whole earth. O O " Blessed privilege to be one of the scatterers of these immortal rays ! " God directs these departing Missionaries to India, whither am I to go ? perhaps to Brazil, to bear the standard of my Lord in an humble way." THE FULL CORN IN THE EAR. 265 CHAPTER XVIII. 'THE IT-ULH. CORN IN THE passing seasons bring the Senor still to visit his children the last is approaching, for he has notified Mary that he is coming to take them home, as soon as Leon has graduated. She is deeply ex- ercised as to what is duty ; the thought of part- ing with these two is scarcely to be endured, the final leaving of dear Aunt Margaret, Mark and Emily is almost as painful. Leon is now twenty, and Viola sixteen ; both full of happiness at the thought of reunion with papa, but troubled at the doubts which still hang about Mary's plans. Viola is constantly hovering around her sister. "Don't send us away without you, Mary," said the 'young girl, "we should be so lonesome in that great house, and what should we do without some one at the head ; won't you promise, Mary?" " Wait, Viola, till I see papa, we have a great deal to say upon that subject." a 266 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. But Mary Elliott's thoughts were very busy, an 1 more and more earnestly did she pray for guidance. The Senor is here, and the house is bright with his cheering presence. Leon has graduated with high honors; Viola, too, is an intelligent, animated being. The father has good reason to be proud of hid children ; under the guiding hand of Mary Elliott and Mark Winslow, the foundations of a Chris- tian character were laid, and the Senor may be excused for his pride, when he saw how hand- some Leon had become, and how lovely was the young Viola. The cheerful spirit however gradually van- ished, for none could bear to think of the part- ing. The presence of a young and joyous crea- ture like Viola had filled the house with melody and sunshine; and to Aunt Margaret, it seemed as if half the household would flee away with her. " Well, Mary, have you decided ?" asked the Senor. " Remember, my daughter, it must be for life ; have \ ou read your letter ?" The Senor alluded to one that he had brought from Philip Austin. Mary blushed as she replied, THE FULL CORN IN THE EAR. 267 " It contained serious matter, papa." "Yes, I know all about it, my child, it was with my full approbation; Philip Austin is an excellent man, he is with me now in business; but, remember, Mary, that decide as you may, wo cannot be separated ; Monte Rosa is large enough for us all." Earnest thought sent Mary to her Diary again. " I am not to be parted from the dear children, Providence has decided all for me. I am to be the life-companion of Philip Austin, the partner of his pilgrimage. One in hope, in faith and aim, we will strive to kindle a light at Monte Rosa, that shall guide other pilgrims on their way to heaven. Mark cannot bear to think of my go- ing away ; Emily is in quiet distress, and Aunt Margaret moves about so silently, just as she always does when in trouble. I feel most for Inez, for I have always seemed to her a link be- tween North America and Brazil. I think that I can persuade Miss Davenport to go out with me to complete Viola's education, and Philip writes that there is encouragement for the com- o mencement of a good Protestant school ; perhaps there will be in this way some use for my legacy. In my early days, when I first began to think of usefulness, I always dreamed of this little village NOTHING BUT LEAVES. of Hollyville as my humble sphere of labor, but God has appointed a different field ; perhaps he designs to use his child for some good in another and distant land." "My last evening at Hollyville how ear- nestly Mark prayed for us all. I felt that there were tears around that family altar, I know that there were scalding drops upon my cheek, but I felt comfort in the thought, that morning and evening Mark will remember us at our Father's throne. " ' Blest is the tie that binds Our hearts in Christian love, The fellowship of kindred minds Is like to that above.' " Aunt Margaret was busy all day in helping to pack our trunks ; it went to my heart to see Inez handing her different articles, with a face bathed in tears. I could not restrain my own, when I saw the precious love-gifts from Aunt Margaret, Mark, Emily, Inez, and even poor Margaret everything for our comfort at sea, and such nice pretty little things for my own room." It was a silent parting-; even Mark could only whisper, "God bless you, Cousin Mary," and THE FULL CORN IN THE EAR. 269 Auut Margaret folded her child in an embrace that seemed as if it could never release her. As the carriage rolled by the village church, the cemetry, the walks, the lanes, the pretty houses with their neat gardens, love drew the picture on Mary Elliott's heart, which memory would love to recall so long as life should last. Out at sea, Mary writes again " How mingled are my emotions ! so much of joy, so much of sorrow ! " Leaving far behind such dear friends going to others so tenderly beloved. How different are my feelings from the time when first I crossed the ocean ! still I realize the guiding hand. " ' God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform, He p'.ants his footsteps on the sea And rides upon the storm.' "In sight of Rio the lofty mountains, the magnificent bay, the enchanting islands, the city spires ! but my heart is passing them all lovely as they are, and flying to the villa out of town, and to the friends that are waiting for me at the dear old rectory. God bless and guide me in my new relations, may He dwell beneath our roof a constant guest, sanctifying all our joys and sorrows." 23* 70 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. The Diary ia closed, for the vessel is now in port, and Mary's heart gives a bound as she sees an eager face looking among the crowd, she knew for her. In another minute, Philip had reached her side, and whispered, " To be parted no more, Mary, is it so ?" "Xo more, Philip." The congratulations of the party were soon exchanged, and seated in two carriages, they drove to Monte Rosa, the happy father \vith his two children, and Philip and Mary following. There was much to tell, and much to hear; but both were comparatively silent, as deep emo- tion always is. Pedro and Theresa were the first to welcome the exiles home again. u We are so glad to see you, Donna Maria," Baid Theresa, "it is a bad thing to be without a mistress, but \ve have tried to do our best." Theresa conducted the young lady to her room, and there were all the familiar things of former days. " How Donna Viola has grown !" said the ser- vant, *' I never should have known her, and what, a beauty ! just like her mamma." " Yes, Theresa, I think she is ; but better than all, she is a good child." THE FULL CORN IN THE EAR. 271 " I am so glad yo'i have all come ; the Senor has been so lonesome, I declare it often made me cry to hear him walking so late at night up and down in the Senhora's room." " He won't be lonesome any more, Theresa, we have all come home to stay now." After supper, old Pedro invited Mary out to see the flowers, and in company with Philip, she sought the garden. " Here is your rose, bush," said the old man, "it has been well taken care of, and this gentle- man used to come every few days to watch them, too." Philip smiled at the old man's garrulity, but whispered to his companion, " I dont deny the charge, Mary, they were your representatives." Early the next morning, Fanny Austin and her mother hurried to welcome the new comers. " This is my second daughter," said the lady, as she folded Mary in a warm embrace. "And my dear sister," added Fanny. The reunited friends had a great deal to say, and the mother and sister rejoiced in the pros- pect of keeping Mary among them for life. It is one of the loveliest of Brazilian days, and Philip has engaged to drive Mary and Fanny to their favorite resort. 2V 2 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. How keenly did each remember the last ride b fore she left Brazil, their hearts filled with thoughts of parting. Now how different! henceforth their lives were to flow side by side on the same stream of mortal life, all servants of the same Master, bound to the same heavenly home, and Mary felt that " the lines had fallen to her in pleasant places." Reaching the orange grove, they rested where they had often sat before, and Philip remarked, " "What a blessed lot is ours, Mary ! with the means of blessing so many." "Yes, Philip, we ought to be thankful, some- times I wonder at what I see papa is certainly a changed man, Leon I am sure is a Christian, and Viola too." " My father has been the Senor's most intimate friend for a long time ; the priests were dread- fully exercised for a while, but they have given the matter up, now, and look upon Monte Rosa as the very hotbed of heresy." " Yes, and I suppose that I am the sorceress." " Father Benedicito does not give you his blessing, Mary," said Philip smiling ; " it is quite amusing to hear some of them talk about Miss Davenport and her school, for it has leaked out ; I suppose that Viola has told some of her Romau Catholic friends." THE FULL CORN IN THE EAR. 273 " What are they afraid of, Philip ?" " They are afraid that some of the children of Romanists may get there." "We shall not refuse them if they come, Philip, the Bible is to be taught there, and may scatter some of the darkness around us." " Monte Rosa shall be the light-house, Mary, and we will try to feed the lantern." " Let us take care that it is not put out." " I know what the priests would do if they could, Mary, but, fortunately, they cannot inter- fere with us." "We shall have you in our Sunday-school again," said Fanny, "several of your scholars are quite grown now, but they have never forgotten you." In communion like this the hours stole away, until it was time to return. In a few weeks, Philip Austin was placed at the head' of the household, with Mary for his life companion, the Senor reserving to himself a suite of rooms. Everything was now changed at Monte Rosa ; for on the first day of entrance, Philip Austin consecrated his household to the Lord. It was indeed a contrast to former days ; instead of a family whose aims and pursuits were bounded by this lower earth, here was one whose daily 274 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. life and immortal hopes stretched onward to eternity. No desecrated Sabbath, no low sensual pleas- ures, no sound of giddy company and midnight revels ; but in their place, a life of blessedness and peace because it had its source in the great fountain head of happiness, even in God himself. The servants attended at the family devotions, and old Pedro was often heard to say that young master's prayers did him more good than all the priests of Rio. Mary was surprised after a few weeks' residence, to receive a visit from Tapita, who begged to be restored to the house- hold ; she had been employed in the cottage on the mountain, but as soon as she heard of Donna Maria's return, she hastened to Monte Rosa. Charlotte Rogers took an early opportunity to call upon Mary. "Do you know how much you are talked about, Mary ?" said the lady. " No, Charlotte, I was not aware that I had excited enough of interest for that." " The Brazilian ladies are quite indignant at the new order of things at Monte Rosa, I can assure you, for formerly it' was the centre of gaiety at Rio its dinner parties were the most luxurious, its balls the most superb, its society the most select." THE FULL CORN IN THE EAR. 275 " I am sorry that they are so much offended, Charlotte, for we shall have none of these things rational pleasures we enjoy, but none of the giddy dissipation of the world." " I think you carry your ideas very far, Mary ; we certainly ought to conform somewhat to tte customs around us, or else become ridiculous." " I think so too, Charlotte, but it must be only in things indifferent, whenever such customs are in opposition to the revealed will of God, duty ia very plain." " It does make you so conspicuous, Mary." "We do not seek that, Charlotte, but you know that we are commanded to 'Let our light shine,' and not to place it under a bushel. I suppose that in a place like Rio, a really sober minded Christian family must be singular, it ia so contrasted with the ungodliness around." " Do you never mean to give dinners, Mary ?" " I dare say that we shall on week-daya sometimes, for Philip and papa have frienda whose intimacy they wish to cultivate, especially among the English. " " Will you never give balls, not even when Viola is ready for society?" Mary smiled " 2s"ot even then, Charlotte ; ours is a household of God's professed servants, we are trying to live for a better world, and there- 276 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. fore must be contented here to belong to those who are called 'a peculiar people, zealous of good works.' " " Will you have no female society, Mary ?" " That we shall, something is due to tlie community in which we live; we shall entertain our friends hospitably, not extravagantly ; ration- ally, but not after the fashion of the people of this giddy world we had a few friends to dinner last week." " Yes, I heard Senhora de Cabada tell about it, and she thought it quite pleasant, though so very different from every body else ; but how does the Senor like such a change ?" " It suits him exactly, he is fond of domestic life ; but do you know of any persons wishing to place daughters at school ? Miss Davenport is anxious to secure some." " Is she a Protestant, Mary ?" " Yes decidedly, but highly accomplished, and well qualified to teach." "There are some Protestant families who would be very glad," was the reply, naming three or four. Mr. Austin was greatly interested in the plan, for he had long desired such a school for the members of his flock. Tlie idea was eagerly embraced, and furnishing THE FULL CORN IN THE EAR. 277 a small building at the foot of the grounds, the initiatory steps were taken, and Miss Davenport opened her school with ten pupils, the members of Protestant families, and by the particular request of the principal, Mary was placed in charge of Bible studies. Every Monday morning, therefore, we find he'r in her little class-room surrounded by her pupils, in her own spiritual and attractive manner ex- plaining to them the precious word of God. But even this did not satisfy her desires for usefulness. Her mother's legacy must extend farther than the mere assistance rendered in this manner. Consequently we find her one morning at Mr. Austin's study door. He knew the voice that followed the gentle knock. " Come in, my daughter," said the minister, " what brings you so early ?" . " Busy thoughts that kept me awake for hours last night, papa, and I have come to consult you about a plan that I am contemplating. I think of establishing a few scholarships in our school, for the orphan children of Rio ; I know that it must be very few at first, but I am sure that there must be some here, who need just such an opportunity," 24 278 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. ** Do you contemplate the children of Protes- tants only ?" " By 110 means, any one may be admitted, but it is not probable that any Roman Catholics will ajply, and if they did, the priests would interfere." U I know of two, Mary, the daughters of our organist ; he lost his wife two years ago, and on account of his poverty, he is obliged to send his children to the Sisters' school, where they are taught, all the superstitions of the country ; they would be most appropriate objects of your benevolence; you will find their father in a small dwelling just back of the chapel." Mary hurried over to Mr. Harcourt's to make known her wishes. The father listened with deep interest to her proposition, and replied, "This is just what their mother desired, it has been a source of great trouble to place them among the Romanists of this city ; but I could do nothing else." Opening the door leading out into the passage he called, " Maria, Ellen, a lady wishes to see you." In a few minutes, two modest little girls, one twelve, and the other ten entered the room. A half hour's pleasant chat secured the con- fidence of the children, and when they heard THE FULL CORN IN THE EAR. 279 that they were to go to school at Monte Rosa, they were delighted at the news, and said, " Papa, I heard Sophy Reynolds talking about it last week at the Sunday-school, it will be so nice to go to school in sight of such a beautiful garden." Next Monday, the two children were entered as the first beneficiaries. It was a pleasant room with windows opening on the garden, only separated by a green wire fence ; the room covered with matting, and furnished with every convenience and comfort. The most attractive feature, however, was the sparkling intelligent teacher, who presided over the interesting group. Every day, Mary Austin might be seen walking down the garden path, plucking flowers by the way, opening the little wicker gate, and dropping a few words of en- couragement to the animated company within. One would have a drawing, another an attempt at composition, another a weekly report, all anxious to obtain a smile from Mrs. Austin. One morning, an aged woman was seen coming up the road with a little girl by the hand. As she drew near, Mary recognized old Carlotta, the dweller at the cottage which had sheltered Inez. Invited into the class-room, she opened her business. 280 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. "I have brought you my little Annita," said the old woman, " she lost her mother two years ago, and has lived with me ever since on the mountain. I heard about your school, Senhora, and I've travelled all the way on foot, just to see if I cannot get Annita in among you." "Ours is a Protestant school, Carlotta, and she will be taught the Bible." "That's just what I want; I saw what the good book had done for Donna Inez, and I want my little girl to learn how to read it." " But the priests will not let her stay with me, Carlotta." " They don't know me, Senhora, for I live away on the mountain, and I am too poor to be cared about very much." " Where will she live, Carlotta? ours is not a boarding-school." " There is the trouble, Senhora ; I know a young woman, a friend of her mother, who would keep her fora small sum; I shall not be here very long, and then what will become of my little girl?" "Come again to-morrow, Carlotta," said the lady, " and I will tell you what I can do." "Please, Senhora, let me stay," said the child v kissing Mary's hand, and fixing her full dark eyes upon her face. THE FULL CORN EN THE EAR. 281 The consultation with her husband and the Penor ended in placing Annita in the list of beneficiaries, and the first child of Roman Cath- olic parentage was numbered among the pupils, and placed also in the Sunday-school at the chapel. The doings at Monte Rosa excited much observation among the people of Rio, and when it was reported that the lady herself was em- ployed in teaching a class, many wondered what had come over the former master of the estab- lishment to allow such degradation. Another visit from Charlotte Rogers. " Do you know that you are really losing caste, Mary Austin? Who ever heard of a lady occupying your position in a city like this, stoop- ing down to teach actually doing the work of hired persons." "I esteem it a great privilege, Charlotte, to teach the word of God, for that is my province in Miss Davenport's school." " You will provoke the enmity of the priests, Mary, for I hear that you have a Roman Cath- olic child in your establishment," ' " I am trying to do my duty, Charlotte, and if the child of a Romanist is brought to me, I shill certainly not turn her away." Charlotte took her leave disappointed, and 21* 282 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Mary went back to the days when her cousin walked with such a high head in Ho.lyville, what now was left of that noisy profession? "Nothing but leaves," and even these were withered. The family at Monte Rosa is rapidly becom- ing a Protestant household, for all are now in attendance upon the English chapel, and in full communion with its membership; the Bible is the book of the household, and the family ser- vants are daily brought under its sacred teach- ings, for Philip and Mary feel their responsi- bility for the people committed to their care. One evening, old Pedro asked to see the lady of the family. " I want to speak to you, Senhora, about some of the poor people on the place out of town ; some of them are very sick, and there is no one to look after them ; I was over there last night, and could not sleep think- ing about them." " Bring up the carriage, Pedro, I will go at once." And visiting the place herself, Mary found a state of affairs that she set herself at once to remedy. And first she sought the Seiior, and acquainted him with what she had seen. " I appointed an overseer, daughter, and gave him directions what to do." THE FULL CORN IN THE EAE. 283 " I have no doubt of that, papa, but he is a negligent, cruel man ; let me have the sick brought here ; there is an out-house that could easily be fitted up, and then I can see to them myself." "Do you know what you are undertaking, Mary?" " Only my duty, papa ; if we have such people employed in our service, it is our duty to take care of them : don't you think so, papa ?" "Do what you will, Mary, I am sure that it will be right," and the Senor pressed a fatherly kiss upon the fair forehead of his daughter. All that day, with the help of Pedro and Theresa, she was busy in getting the apartment ready for the invalids. " What a blessed lady we have got !" said the old man, when Mary returned to the house. " I always thought that she was a real lady, and now I know that she is a real Christian, for no one else would care about these poor people but such a one as the Senhora." ]SText day, four of the sick were brought to the new Infirmary, and Mary Austin might be seen all day looking after the sufferers, waiting upon them, providing for their comfort, and dropping her gentle, holy words among them. It was curious to watch the wondering gaze that fol- 284 KOTHING BUT LEAVES. lowed the lady; for it was the first time that a ministering angel had crossed their weary path, and none of her rank had ever deigned to notice their existence before. When Philip came home to dinner, Mary was not ready to greet him ; on inquiring for her, he was directed to the Infirmary. Standing quietly in the doorway, he watched her motions among the sufferers ; her back was towards the door, and she was administering a bowl of gruel her- self to a poor old woman, who was kissing -the little hand of the gentle nurse ; advancing a step forward, the noise attracted her notice, and turning, she perceived her husband. " God bless you, Mary, in your noble work," said the young man ; " there are few around us who care for these poor creatures." "It is so sweet to see their gratitude, Philip; who wants purer pleasures than this ?" Thus the Infirmary at Monte Rosa was started, and it became at last an established chanty, under the care of a good and faithful nurse. But never did Mary Austin forget the daily visit, when, with all the tenderness of a Chris- tian woman, she sat down by the lowly cots, and whispered her Saviour's holy words around the beds of the neglected arid despised. Thither were the sick ones brought, and the THE FULL CORN IN TIiE EAR. 285 influence thus acquired opened a highway in many a heart for the Master's messages. Alary was not alone in her holy mission, for Philip was in all things counseller, guide, com- fort. Jfo spasmodic benevolence marked the piety at Monte Rosa ; the genuine fruits of a " life hidden with Christ in God ;" the sponta- neous acts and words transpiring beneath its roof, were but the revelations of the principle within. A few words from Mary's Diary will exhibit something of her internal spiritual life. "A year has passed since with Philip for my companion, I took another important step in the pilgrimage of .life. Yesterday was the ani- versary of that event, for we have agreed to put up a pillar in every return of that happy day. "We had a pleasant evening; the Austins, Charlotte and her husband, a few of Philip and papa's select friends assembled with us we had a handsome dinner, and after that was over, the gifts were all brought out. A watch and trinkets from Philip, a set of silver from papa, and some keepsakes from both families, delight- ful music, and pleasant social intercourse. " In the course of the evening, the girls of Miss Davenport's school spent an hour with us, ainging some of their sweet pieces, and each NOTHING BUT LEAVES. depositing her bouquet of flowers in the large vase upon the centre table. " What a blessed year the past has been ! Leon is such a comfort to papa, and Viola growing in grace and loveliness, but what part of the pilgrim's journey have I already reached? '"Looking unto Jesus !' I think I shall never get beyond that. It was that which guided my first trembling footsteps it was that which enabled me to lay hold of the promises it was that which has directed every footstep of my way thus far. "'Looking unto Jesus,' I was enabled to walk humbly and peacefully in a family dead to God. * Looking unto Jesus,' I was led safely through Vanity Fair, sometimes in the Valley of Humili- ation, sometimes in view of the Delectable Mount- tains, or the land of Beulah. " I see so many short comings, so many failures to exhibit the real loveliness of the Gospel, but ' Looking unto Jesus,' I renounce all other pleas for acceptance, and thus have peace. There may be much of trial in my future life, for if I am truly the Lord's, the purifying days must come; but with this motto, I have nought to fear, and 'Looking unto Jesus,' I shall pass through the dark valley of the shadmv of death fearing no evil." FULL CORN IN THE EAR. 287 Piety is reproductive light must travel the leaven must work the seed must germinate. And thus the spiritual life of Mary Austin had been gradually developed, " First the blade, then the ear, then the full corn in the ear," until in this distant land, the rich ripe corn was casting its golden grains here a grain, and there a grain, silently as is the process in nature; one in some youthful bosom in the school that was daily increasing in usefulness, another in the class at the Sabbath-school, another in the heart of some poor, neglected being who languished in the Infirmary, hourly around the dear hearth-stone at Monte Rosa, and not uufrequently among the mansion. We cannot refrain from looking back at the starting point of two lives in the quiet village of Holly- ville. Let us for one moment direct a glance towards the prim young girl, who so often took upon herself to censure the course of Mary Elliott. Like a rocket naming up to the zenith, and then dying out in noise, leaving nothing behind but charred remains of a dead branch, we leave her now. To the eye of man, we behold an ele- gant woman, the centre of a fashionable circle, with a face wreathed in smiles, a form decked with the richest costume, the envy of her giddj 288 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. companions but to the eye of God, a tree once planted in the vineyard of the Lord, dying at the root, and crowned only with a few blasted withering leaves on the sickly branches. "Nothing bvt leaves, no ripened sheaves, Garnered of life's fair grain ; We sow our seed lo, tares and weeds, Words, idle words, for earnest deeds } Ripening we find with pain, 'Nothing but leaves.' " ZflE KNBi A 000126827 5