A Book For The Young by Sarah French

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"MY DEAR HELEN,

"How shall I write, or where find words to express all I desire to
say. Shall I commence by hoping that absence has led you to regard
me with less affection, or shall I honestly say, I no longer love
you as you deserve to be loved, and that I am no longer worthy your
affection. It costs me much to say this; but you would not wish me
to deceive you; you would not wish me to go perjured from the altar
with you. I most earnestly hope, nay, I feel sure, you will not
regret that I have discovered this mistake ere too late for the
peace of both. I have opened my heart and most bitterly do I regret
its delinquency; but our affections are involuntary, and not under
our control. Till the last two months, I believed mine to be
inviolably yours. I know I am betrothed to you, and, if you require
it, am bound, in honour, to fulfil my engagement; but I will ask
you, ought I to do so, feeling I no longer love you as I ought? Is
it not more really honourable to lay myself open and leave the
matter to your decision? If we are united, three individuals are
miserable for life; but it shall rest with you, oh, my excellent
Helen; forgive and pity

"Your still affectionate,

"EDWARD."

What a blow was this to her warm and sanguine heart! What a return to
love, so trustingly bestowed! She uttered not one reproach in her
reply, but merely released him from every promise, and wished him
every happiness.

She had, from the tenor of all his late letters, had a presentiment of
coming evil; but she could hardly, till that cruel one, just given to
the reader, realize its full extent; but the young do, and must feel
keenly in these matters,--females in particular,--and, if
right-minded, their all is embarked, and, if founded on esteem, the
affections are not given by halves; and I firmly believe the author,
who says, "Man is the creature of ambition and interest; his nature
leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. Love is but
the embellishment of his early life, or a song, piped between the
intervals, But a woman's whole life is a history of her affections;
the heart is _her world_; it is there, her ambition strives for
empire; it is there, her avarice seeks for treasures. She sends forth
her sympathies on adventures, and embarks her all in the traffic of
affection, and, if shipwrecked, unless she be strongly supported by
religious principles, it is a complete bankruptcy of her happiness."

But let the young remember, there is often in these disappointments,
so hard to meet, the most wholesome and salutary chastenings. How very
many happy wives can look back with thankfulness and gratitude, to the
all directing hand of providence, that, by a blasting of their
seemingly fair prospects, they are directed to happier fate, than
their own inexperience would lead them. How often does their Heavenly
Father manifest his care, by leading them from the shoals and rocks of
misery, which are oft times hidden, not only from themselves, but even
from the anxious eye of parental vigilance.

When Helen had paid the funeral expenses and some trifling debts, she
found she had but a small sum left. It was now her all for the present
support of three individuals; and for the future? poor girl! did she
think of that? it did indeed cross her mind; but she suppressed the
murmuring sigh that arose; and her beloved mother's precepts were
remembered, and her injunctions, that in every trial, she would cling
to her God for help. And truly, and wonderfully was this lone girl
supported; and almost superhuman were the efforts she was enabled to
make. Fortunately, much manual labour was saved by the faithful
servant, Nancy, whom no entreaties could force to quit. She insisted
on accompanying the children of her beloved mistress to their new
home. She, therefore, went with the waggon, and the next day, Mr.
Montgomery drove the three young ones to their destination. They were
to spend the first night with Mrs. Cameron, whom Helen found the
counterpart of her worthy brother. Less refined in manner, it is true,
and with few advantages of education, but she had much common sense,
and a most benevolent disposition, and was able to judge most sensibly
of things passing around her. Greatly prepossessed by all she had
heard of Helen, she received her with the warmth of an old friend.
Little Henry soon became an especial favourite; he was delighted with
the change, and the natural buoyancy of his disposition, soon led him
to forget past sorrows; the farm yard, the garden, the promised
fishing from the neighbouring trout stream, were all novelties that
enchanted him. Nancy was up early, and with the aid of Mrs. Cameron's
servant, had got nearly everything into the different rooms, ere that
lady and Helen could get there. The cottage was very small, but nature
had done much for the situation, which was indeed beautiful. There was
a small bed room off Helen's that was exactly the thing for Henry, and
a back one, which Nancy took for granted would be hers, and had,
accordingly, put all her things in it.

Everything was soon nicely arranged, and but little had to be bought.
Mrs. Cameron sent a great many things from her house that, she said,
were superfluous, causing much extra trouble to keep in order. This,
Helen knew, was only intended to lessen the sense of obligation.
Naturally active in her habits, she soon made the little place
comfortable, and while she thought how different it was, to what she
had been used to, she also remembered how much better it was, far
better than she could expect under existing circumstances.

Her next consideration was the possibility of getting something to do
for their support before their little money was expended. She
consulted with Mrs. Cameron, as to the probability of obtaining
needlework, at which she was very expert; though she feared the
confinement might injure her health, of which, it behoved, her to take
especial care, for the sake of little Fanny and Henry. However, if any
could be obtained, at once, she resolved to take it, till she could
fix on something else; and early the next day Mrs. Cameron called to
say, Mrs. Sherman, the Doctor's wife, would have some ready, if Miss
Willoughby would call at three in the afternoon. Helen's pride rose,
and her heart beat high; was she to go for it herself? She, for the
moment, revolted at the idea; but principle soon came to her aid, and
she accused herself of want of moral courage.

"What!" said she to Mrs. Cameron, "has it pleased God to place me in a
position, at which I dare to murmur? oh, my dear friend, what would my
beloved mother say, could she witness my foolish struggle between
principle and pride. Were it not for my good, should I be called on to
do it?"

"No, my dear girl; and that Being who sees principle triumph, will
reward it. Go then, my child; you see and feel what you ought to do,
therefore, act up to it. It is only when the right path is rugged,
there is any merit in walking in it."

"You are right, my excellent friend; may God direct this rebellious
heart of mine. Oh, how unlike am I to that dear departed one,
who,----" here she burst into tears. Mrs. Cameron now rose to go, and
Helen promised to call after she had been to Mrs. Sherman's.

In the afternoon, she dressed herself to go for the work. Her deep
mourning added, if possible, to her lady-like appearance. When in
health, she was extremely lovely; but it was a beauty, one can hardly
describe, since it arose not from regularity of feature. Suffice it to
say, she found Mrs. Sherman alone, who received her, not only kindly,
but with a degree of feeling and respect, that is rarely accorded
those, whom adversity has depressed. She apologized for not having
sent the work, and said, that indisposition, alone, induced her to
trouble Helen to call for the directions as to making the shirts,
about which the doctor was very particular. While pointing out how
they were to be done, a little girl, about eleven, burst into the
room, and threw herself on the sofa. On her mother desiring her to
leave, she cried out in a wayward tone, "No, I shan't, I want to stay
here, because I like it, and I will, too; papa would let me if he was
at home, and if you turn me out, I'll tell him, so I will."

"Susan, my child, you must, indeed you must leave me, I want to speak
to Miss Willoughby alone."

"Oh, yes, I know you do; you don't want me to hear you tell her how to
make papa's shirts."

"Fie! my dear, how can you act thus perversely," said Mrs. Sherman, as
she forcibly led her to the door, which had no sooner closed on the
petulant child, than she apologized, with much feeling, and seemed
greatly mortified at this _contre temps_ of her little girl. "In fact,
my dear Miss Willoughby," she said, "she is, with several others,
running almost wild, for want of a good school in the place."

"Oh, madam!" cried Helen, in almost breathless haste, "do you say a
school is wanted here? oh, tell me, would they think me too young, if
I were deemed capable, which I feel I am; for my beloved mother spared
no pains in grounding me thoroughly in the essential points, and, for
accomplishments, I have had the best masters."

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Sherman, "could you undertake to impart the
rudiments of music?"

"I am sure I could," said Helen, blushing as she spoke, at the idea of
having, thus, to praise herself, "for when I left off learning, I
could play anything off at sight."

"If that be the case, I can easily get you a few pupils to commence
with, but how will you manage for a room?"

"Oh," replied the enthusiastic girl, cheered by these opening
prospects, "there is a room at the back of our parlour, which, being
so large, I did not care to furnish, it would make an admirable school
room."

"It is, indeed, a lucky thought, my dear Miss Willoughby, and may be,
not only of benefit to yourself, but to the inhabitants of the place;
that is, if you are capable and attentive."

"Indeed! indeed! I will be both. Only permit me to make the trial,"
said the excited Helen.

"That you shall, and have my little Susan to begin with; and the
sooner you do so, the better; but let me beg of you not to be too
sanguine, for fear of disappointment. Let me see, this is Wednesday;
you could not manage to get your room in order by Monday, could you?"

"At any rate," said Helen, "I would take the few who would attend, at
the first, in our little parlour."

Helen, then after thanking Mrs. Sherman for the suggestion, rose to
go; when that lady invited her back to tea, wishing to get more
insight into her plans and capability, before she ventured to
recommend her to others; and she wished that her husband the Doctor,
should see and converse with Helen, for whom she began to feel great
interest, as she had much reliance on his judgment, and penetration
into character. Having gleaned from the early part of her conversation
with Mrs. Sherman, her anxiety about the shirts, which were a new, and
difficult pattern, Helen insisted on taking and doing them at her
leisure, which after repeated refusals, she at length agreed to.

In returning home, she called, agreeably to her promise, on Mrs.
Cameron, who was as much pleased with the result of her visit as
herself.

"See, my dear Miss Willoughby," said she, "how your conduct was
rewarded, as I was sure it would be, for adhering to the right. Had
you sent Nancy for the work, perhaps you would never have got it, and
your qualification as a teacher might never been known. Was there not
my dear Helen, a special providence here? yes indeed there was."

Here, I must beg to digress a little, to urge the advantage of a
thorough education; which can never be too highly appreciated, or too
strongly enforced. Under any reverse of fortune, who can calculate on
the benefits? to say nothing of the gratification it affords in so
many ways. "Knowledge is power," and always secures its possessor, a
degree of influence, that wealth can never command. Oh! would that all
mothers, as well as daughters, could but be duly impressed, with a
sense of its _vital_ importance. Then we should not see girls, day
after day, permitted on any frivolous excuse, to absent themselves
from school: for if time be so truly valuable, as we know it really
is; how doubly, nay trebly, is it, in the period devoted to education.
If we could only rightly reflect, on the true end of education, this
serious waste could never be. What is it I ask? is it merely to
acquire a certain amount of rudimental information, and perhaps a
superficial acquaintance with showy accomplishments? assuredly not: it
is to learn how to think rightly, that we may by thinking rightly,
know how to act so. Rudimental instruction is necessarily the
foundation; and as such, must be duly and _fully_ appreciated; but it
is the _application_ of knowledge that education is meant to teach,
and this must be acquired by "line upon line and precept upon precept;
here a little and there a little," it is not the work of a day; nor is
it to be gained by alternate periods at school. Who know but those who
teach, half the time that is required to recover what is lost in these
frequently recurring, temporary absences. It is not only a large
portion of rudimental instruction that is lost; but those _many_
opportunities, which every conscientious teacher eagerly, and
anxiously, avails herself of, to enforce good principles. This can be
done at no stated periods, but they must be seized as circumstances
call them forth, whether suggested by the teachings of the sacred
writings, or from the ample pages of history: or even from the lesson
she may convey from the sentiment that often heads a child's simple
copy book. If these, lost and frittered away periods, be of no
account, then there is both time and money thrown away by those who
are regular in their scholastic attendance.

Most amply was Mrs. Willoughby's sedulous care in the education of her
daughter, repaid; what comforts it brought to her orphan children; and
to how many would it prove equally serviceable, and save them from
eating the bitter bread of dependence.

It was but little in consonance with the state of Helen's feelings, to
mix with strangers so soon after her beloved mother's death, and most
gladly would she have declined going back in the evening, and proposed
to send an apology, and say she would be with Mrs. Sherman early the
following day; but Mrs. Cameron, whom she consulted, and upon whose
advice she generally acted, strongly advised her to go, and take Fanny
with her, as Mrs. Sherman had requested.

"Situate as you are my dear," said she, "you owe it to yourself, and
the dear children, to make as many friends as you can. The Shermans
are kind-hearted, and I may say influential people, and may do you a
great deal of good. I have known them many years as worthy and sincere
characters." This was enough: and Helen was punctual to the time named.

The Doctor was in to tea, and his frank good humoured manner,
completely won Helen's heart. He too, on his part, was much pleased
with her. After conversing for some time, he appeared thoughtful, and
then put several questions to her; among others, asked, if she had
ever applied for the allowance from the "Compassionate Fund," for
herself and the children; saying, he knew some who received it; and
that he would inquire what forms were necessary for obtaining it:
adding,

"I believe it is not much; not more than ten pounds a year each, but
as there are three of you, thirty pounds is worth trying for."

Helen was very grateful for the suggestion, and the good Doctor
promised to make the requisite inquiries next day. While they were
thus chatting together, the two little girls were amusing themselves
in the drawing room, which communicated with the parlour by folding
doors, and just as the Doctor was remarking how quiet they were, the
piano was struck, and a pretty sonata played. Mrs. Sherman was
surprised to find it was Fanny, and still more so, on hearing that
Helen had been her sole instructress, as she played very prettily. The
Doctor, who was passionately fond of music, was then very anxious to
hear Helen play, and asked her to do so, but kind feeling restrained
him from urging her, when she gave her reason, which, I need not tell
the reader, was the recent death of her mother.

The evening passed off very cheerfully, and Helen found, ere she left
Mrs. Sherman's, she had secured warm friends in her and her excellent
husband. It was agreed that, on the following day, she should her
introduced to several families, where she would be likely to obtain
pupils; and so successful were Mrs. Sherman's efforts, that she had
the promise of six to commence with on the following Monday, and ere a
month had elapsed, three more were added to the number.

I should before have mentioned, that, on the death of her mother,
Helen had written to an aunt, who was in great affluence, informing
her of the sad event, from whom she received a cool letter of
condolence, but not the slightest offer of assistance.

Finding it necessary to forward certificates of her parents' marriage,
as well as those of her own and the children's baptism, she wrote to
her aunt, for information as to where she might obtain them. In reply,
she informed her where she could get them, and then concluded, by
offering her and Fanny an asylum, for such she termed it, if for their
board, Helen would instruct her three cousins. She took care to
insinuate, that as doing this, would involve additional expense, she
must be content to be received as a mere stranger; she would be
expected even to assist in the family needle work. Fanny, Mrs. Selwyn
said, would not require much clothing to be purchased, as two of her
cousins were older than she, was, and never half wore their things
out, adding, as Helen, would in all probability, obtain the
compassionate allowance, it might, with care, clothe her and help
Henry, if he needed anything. She finished her heartless letter, by
saying: of course, Helen would try and find a place for him, as he
must not, she said, be too particular _now_. Helen read, and re-read
it, and then bursting into tears, fell on her knees, and thanked her
Heavenly Father, who had given her the means, by honest industry, of
saving herself and little ones the bitter pang of eating the bread of
dependence. After this, with what heartfelt thankfulness, did she sit
down with them, to their frugal meal.

She wrote and respectfully declined her aunt's offer. The fact of the
matter was this: Mrs. Selwyn had heard of Helen's successful attempt,
and though she held no communication with her sister,--Willoughby,
after that lady had offended her father by marrying, yet she had
little doubt of Helen's capability; and thought, after the energy and
self reliance she had manifested, she might, for she was, though rich,
a most parsimonious woman, turn it to her own account and for a few
years, at least, get her children cheaply educated. It was Helen's
determination, if she obtained the compassionate allowance, to keep
it, as a reserve for her brother's education. She mentioned her
intention to Dr. Sherman, who expressed his warm approval of her plan.

One day, Nancy, who had been to the shop for groceries, came in, very
hastily, to the room Helen and Mrs. Cameron were sitting in.

"Oh, Miss Helen! do you know, while I was waiting in Mrs. Conway's
shop, who should come in, but Peggy Smith, to say she was going to
leave, the place, and go to her mother, a long way off, as she was,
all along, so sickly, and she herself but a lone woman here; well
she's going to sell that nice cow, and let the field that joins our
little paddock, which she holds on lease. Now, I know that cow is a
first-rate milker, and I thought if you would buy her, as I have a
good deal of time, I could soon clear the five pounds, which is all
she asks for it; she will calve in a month, and Mrs. Conway will take
all the butter we don't want."

"It will be a capital thing, Helen," said Mrs. Cameron, "if Nancy
understands how to manage her."

"I should think, ma'am, I did, when I was brought up in a dairy all my
life, till I went to live with Mrs. Willoughby, and mother's been sick
two months at a time, and I made all the butter and cheese too."

Mrs. Cameron told Helen, she had no doubt it might be made quite a
profitable investment, as Nancy was such a good manager, and even
offered to lend the money, but Helen had so well economised her little
stock, this was not required.

Weeks and months passed away, but no satisfactory, or indeed, any
answer at, all could be obtained as to the compassionate allowance. At
last, Dr. Sherman wrote again to the War Office, and received an
answer, saying, the request could not be complied with, on the ground
that Captain Willoughby's death was not properly authenticated, though
it was not, in the least, doubted, as a miniature of Mrs. Willoughby,
and his pocket book, were found in the breast of a dead major, a
friend of his, and in the same regiment, it was supposed, that he
consigned them to the major, in his dying moments. The grant,
therefore, could not be allowed while the essential document was
wanting.

Among her pupils, she gave lessons in music at their own house, to the
Misses Falkner. One morning, being tired of waiting which she
invariably had to do, she sat down to the instrument to pass away the
time. One of her favorite songs lay before her on the Piano, and she
almost unconsciously struck the keys and played the accompaniment, and
sang it. Hardly had she finished, than Miss Falkner came in;
exclaiming, as she did so, "what, you here, Mr. Mortimer! how long
have you been waiting?" not taking the slightest notice of Helen.

"Some time," said he, "but both my apology, and thanks, are due to
this lady, for the high treat, she has afforded me. I was standing
outside the veranda, when she entered and seeing it was a stranger,
was going off, when she commenced a favorite air of mine, and I was
spell bound! but you will introduce me, will you not?

"Oh yes, certainly," said Miss Falkner in a hesitating tone. "It is
the young person to whom Julia goes to school, and who gives me, and
Eliza lessons in music; Miss Willoughby," here she stopped; she did
not even add the gentleman's name. "I am sorry Miss Willoughby," said
she "I cannot take my lesson to-day, and therefore need not detain
you."

Helen colored, and bowing left the room, the stranger rose, opened the
door for her, and accompanied her to the street door, when he again
bowed his head respectfully.

When he returned to the room, Miss Falkner rallied him on his
politeness, to the village governess, as she contemptuously, styled
Helen.

"Village queen! I think," said he, "for she certainly has a most
dignified, and ladylike bearing, and is very good looking too."

"Well, I do declare Mr. Mortimer, you have quite lost your heart."

"By no means my dear Miss Falkner, it is not quite so vulnerable. A
lovely face and graceful form alone, will never win it: even with the
addition of such a syren's voice as Miss Willoughby possesses; she
sings, not only sweetly, but scientifically."

"Of course," said she, "if people are to get their living by their
talents, they ought to be well cultivated."

So little accustomed, since the death of her mother, to kindness from
the world in general, and made to feel, so keenly, her dependant
situation, Helen fully appreciated the respectful deference accorded
to her by the stranger.

Her pupils increased so, that in a short time, she had twelve, besides
several for accomplishments but the Misses Falkner, for reasons best
known to themselves, declined her future instructions, and just as she
was preparing to go to them a day or two after being, so cavalierly
dismissed, Mrs. Falkner was announced at the cottage. She came, she
said, to pay the bill, and say her daughters would discontinue their
lessons:

"Of course," she said, "you will only charge for the time you actually
came to them."

Helen quietly replied, "that she should certainly expect the quarter
they had commenced, to be paid for." She knew they could afford it,
and she felt it due to those she laboured for, not to throw away one
penny.

"Well," said Mrs. Falkner, "this comes of patronizing nobody knows
who, it is just what one might expect."

"Madam," said Helen, her colour rising as she spoke, "had you thought
proper to have done so, you might have known who I was."

"I think," said the unfeeling woman, "as Julia's quarter is up, I
shall keep her at home too, for the present."

"As you think proper," said the agitated girl.

"Well, well, you are mighty high, I think, for a person obliged to
work for her bread. You are come down pretty low, and may----"

"Hold!" said Helen, "let me intreat you, Mrs. Falkner, to desist these
cruel taunts. God has been pleased to place me in my present position;
and it is, with thankfulness, nay, with pride, I exert the talents he
has given me for the support of myself and the dear children, he has
committed to my care. Poverty, madam, may _try_ us, and that severely;
but while we act rightly, it can never _degrade_ us, but in the eyes
of those, unfeeling as yourself."

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