-“What you say is very true, sir; but as I have already experienced your kindness, I should be unwilling to be a burden to you by passing the night in your cottage."

"Poor child!" said the farmer to his wife; "her situation really seems hard; could we not make her a bed of straw in the barn?"

"No, no," said the old woman in an angry tone; "we have given this straggler something to eat, we can do nothing more; to let her sleep in the barn would be imprudent; she might hurt our character. Besides, she can reach Aussig in two hours, and may be there before night."

them on account of the darkness. "Perhaps," said she, "it is a sign giving the direction to the village to which I am going! ... Ah! why does not the moon come to my assistance; at least I might ascertain whether I had taken a wrong road again!" Then kneeling down, she fervently implored the divine protection. After her prayer, she made a pillow of her little bundle, covered herself with her shawl, and sought in sleep some relief after her great fatigue. She awoke as the birds commenced their morning song; and after giving her first thoughts to God, her heart was filled with joy in seeing her hope realized. Clotilda bore all these humiliations with The words which she could not read the prepatience, and taking her little bundle undervious evening were, in fact, a direction to the her arm, sat out immediately, without mur-village of Aussig. Full of courage, and much muring against that woman who had harbored refreshed by the long rest which she had taken, against her the most unjust suspicions. Be-she resumed her journey with the hope of soon fore she had walked three miles her strength again failed her, and she could not proceed. Seeing a small thicket, she went to pass the night near the bushes. At a spot in which several roads met, and which she discovered, notwithstanding the darkness, she seated her-village that she was seeking. Yielding to her self at the foot of a cross erected near the deep trench which bordered the public road.

arriving at the village. In her eagerness she quite forgot the recommendation of the curate to avoid the high road as much as possible. From the top of a high hill she perceived a steeple which she thought must be that of the

feelings, she began to run at full speed, until covered with dust, and completely exhausted, Alone in this unknown place, with all the she sunk lifeless at the door of the first house horrors of her situation rising before her, she that she reached in the village. In this state wept bitterly. "See," she exclaimed, "to she was discovered by a goat-herd who was what a state I am reduced by the baseness and passing on his way to the fields; seeing the avarice of the wicked! . . . Men who unfortunate orphan apparently without life, he know my innocence have conspired to bring knocked at the door and called for assistance. me to a cruel, an ignominious death! An aged lady presented herself. Clotilda, My God! when wilt thou put an end to my who had been revived by the coolness of the afflictions! .. Why dost thou not stretch ground, raised her eyes, and thus addressed forth thy helping hand and prove my inno- the lady: "Take pity on me, madam; excescence? But thy designs are impene- sive fatigue prevented me from going further; trable, and I bow with submission to thy se- allow me to repose for a little while on this verest dispensations, for thou alone canst know step." After a few moments she again spoke what is best for thy servant, and most condu- to the lady, saying: "would you have the cive to her real happiness." 1. The virtu- kindness to inform me whether this is the vilous orphan then wiped away her tears, and › lage of Aussig, and to direct me to the dwelbegan to think how uneasy the curate wouldling of the sister of the curate of Leutmeritz?" be to find that she had not yet reached his sister's residence.

When her feelings were a little calmed, she embraced the cross at the foot of which she intended to repose. Raising her eyes she perceived certain characters traced on one of the arms of the cross; but she could not decipher

115

"This is the house, Miss," said the charitable lady who had helped Clotilda to rise; "lean on my arm, and come in." Are you not perhaps, my brother's protégée, whom I have been expecting for several days, and whom he has recommended to me in a very particular manner?"

I am she, madam; my name is Clotilda; I am an unfortunate orphan, a victim to the jealousy and avarice of my enemies."

agitation which brought on a dangerous fever. The kind sister of the curate had a bed prepared for her, and extended to her all the little attentions that her inventive charity could suggest.

The very next day, Clotilda was much bet

"I know your misfortunes: my brother has given me your history, no doubt with the desire of interesting me in your behalf; but he had no need of exciting my sympathy.ter, and again testified her gratitude to the The candor of your countenance, your refined manners, your looks, which bespeak your innocence, are more than sufficient to move me to lend the assistance that you require. . . . And does not God command us to help the unfortunate? How can I better please him than by mitigating your sufferings?"

Clotilda, who saw in the generous conduct of this lady the invisible protection of the Most High, interiorly thanked him for having given her so charitable a protector. Her feelings found vent in a flood of tears, while she expressed to her new benefactress her sincere gratitude for her generous hospitality.

The fatigue which Clotilda had suffered, the fears and anxieties that she had experienced in her painful circumstances, had produced an

benefactress whom God had provided for her at the very moment in which she seemed destined to drain the cup of affliction to the very dregs.

"Take courage, Miss," said the lady; "in my house you shall be treated as my daughter; sheltered from the attacks of your enemies, you shall stand in need of nothing; seeing no one, you have no reason to fear discovery. The walk in my garden I find sufficient for my amusement; I never go out, except to church, which is but a few steps from here, and to which you may go without being perceived." What kindness!" exclaimed Clotilda; {“how shall I ever be able to repay your generosity! Be assured, at least, madam, that my heart will never forget my dear benefactress."

From the Young People's Book.

DRESS AND ADDRESS.

A TRUE STORY.

BY NATHAN SARGENT.

[The following plain and unvarnished tale appears to have been written by our respected correspondent, with a view to rebuke a species of impertinence which is altogether too prevalent in our schools, where the children of persons in affluent circumstances are mingled with those of parents possessing but moderate means of support. We perfectly coincide in the opinion that the distinctions of fortune should never be recognized in the school; but that on the contrary, the palm of eminence in these sacred retreats of learning should only be awarded to superior moral and intellectual merit.]

not think you unreasonable; there must be some cause for your complaint. Tell me what it is."

"You will think me very foolish, I am afraid, mother, but indeed I cannot help feeling

“Perhaps I may think you foolish, but I must insist on knowing the cause of your feelings."

You know Arabella Goldfinch, Elizabeth Manners, Eliza Ann Pardow, and several other girls whose parents are very wealthy and live in great style, are in the same class with

me."

costly as those worn by the girls who thus attempt to ridicule you, are as good as our circumstances will permit us to give you, and they are good enough for any one to wear at school, no matter how rich her parents may be. To dress as those girls do is, I think, great folly, and much more deserving of reproach than to dress as you do. I regret that you are thus circumstanced, and liable to have your feelings hurt daily, but cannot help it. The school is a good one, and you are learning fast, and we cannot think of taking you away. You must fortify yourself against the ridicule of the girls you speak of, by recollecting that the dress is really of very little consequence; that it is the mind and the disposition, which, after all, constitute the real worth of a woman. Suppose you were to dress up a monkey in "Yes, but I hope you do not make yourself silks and laces and jewelry, and send it to unhappy because you cannot vie with them in school every day in a carriage, with a footman fine clothes. You are well dressed-quite as to let down the steps and open the door; would well as we can afford to dress you, and your it be any thing but a monkey still? After all, clothes, my daughter, are much more expen- the girls who ridicule your dress are more to sive than those I wore when I went to school,be pitied than yourself, and are much less dealthough my parents were in better circum-serving of blame than their mothers. They stances than we are. I hope you are not so silly as to wish to wear clothes which we cannot afford, because other girls dress better than yourself."

"Yes, I have heard you speak of it before; but what has that to do with the matter?" "Their parents are very rich and dress them very elegantly."

I

are taught, if not by precept, at least by example, at home, that one's importance depends entirely upon wealth, dress and furniture; and that the only merit one can have is money. presume they care very little for their books, and scarcely ever know their lessons, when they come to recite."

That is the case, mother; they say they will not study; and that they have not time to (do so at home, they have to go out so much, and have so much company."

"No, no, mother, you misunderstand me; I do not wish so; I know you do all you can for me, and more than I ought to expect; but these girls endeavor to make fun of my dress, and ridicule me because I wear the same frocks so often, and because I, also, wear leather shoes. They jeer at me, and ask me how many dresses I have, what they cost, and wonder if the shoes "Poor girls, I pity them. Suppose, my I wear are not very expensive? So, too, with dear Emily, that their parents should by my bonnet, shawl, and every thing I wear. I some chance lose their property and become know I ought not to mind them, but I cannot poor; (and the wealthiest are liable to lose help feeling very uncomfortable when they all in this country, as riches take unto thus try to ridicule me, and especially when themselves wings, and fly away,' often when so many of my school-mates join in the laugh › least expected;) what would they do? How they raise against me. I cannot help crying, and wish I could get away from them."

"I do not at all wonder at your feelings, my dear child; few can stand the ridicule of others unmoved, where, as in the present case, it is without cause; and to a sensitive mind, it is like the application of vinegar to a fresh wound. Your clothes, though not so rich and VOL. I.-No. 2.

they would then regret that they had neglected the opportunities they are now throwing away, of obtaining an education which might enable them to secure a handsome support, and save themselves the mortification of being a burden to their parents or friends. Depend upon it, Emily, those who thus throw away the advantages which good fortune gives

P

changes in the condition of individuals and families have they not made,-what lessons of morality have they not taught! Thousands who then rolled in wealth, real or fancied; who lived in a style of splendor better befit

who gave expensive parties, sported carriages and blooded bays, and dashed away for some weeks every season at Saratoga, the Falls, or Virginia Springs; or, perhaps, scattered their money, as though it was dross, over the conti

honors of the forest before the driving blast of winter. The places that knew them in the fashionable circles of our cities, shall know them no more forever. And when some old fashionable acquaintance condescends to ask where they are, "Echo answers where?"

them, will one day look back upon their folly with regret and sorrow. A full purse may make amends with some for an empty mind; but what compensation or consolation has such a mind when the contents of the purse are gone? None whatever. We are endea-ting princes than plain republican citizens; voring to give you a good education, because we have little else to give you, and because it is an investment that is more secure than real estate, and is always sure to yield a good interest. Money may be stolen, property burned up, and bank stock become valueless; but anent of Europe, are now gone like the leafy good education is permanent; it can be neither stolen by robbers, destroyed by fire, nor wasted by the frauds of others. If you should be poor, it will be a bank upon which you can always draw for a handsome support, and should you be so fortunate as to have wealth, it will be to you a never-failing fountain of rational enjoy- Emily, who was then in her thirteenth year, ment, and enable you to look upon the frippe- is now a happy wife and mother. With wealth ries of fashion with that contempt which they enough to command all the rational enjoydeserve. Continue then, my child, as you ments of society; with a cultivated mind and have heretofore done, to devote yourself to an amiable disposition; and above all, having your studies, and pay as little regard to the ill-been taught in the school of adversity, lessons natured and unkind remarks of your school- of humility, she is the pride of her husband, mates as you can. Remember that we have the mild but admired star of her circle of acall to bear our crosses, and we should do soquaintance, and the object of love to the poor. without murmuring or repining at our lot. With some of her school-mates she has exmay be the best thing for you that you have changed positions; but she remembers not thus to suffer; it may teach you humility, and their jibes at her dress. She only remembers cause you to respect the feelings of others, that they have been unfortunate, and are thereshould you ever enjoy the sunshine of pros-fore entitled to her sympathy; and though her perity. I do not expect you to disregard en-house and furniture are better than they can tirely the ridicule of your school-mates, but I hope you will strive not to let it affect you to raise yourself above it; and the best way to do so is to think of other and more important things."

It

"I will try to do so, mother; I know it is foolish to be affected by it, and I will not be,

any more."

Since this conversation took place, nearly seven years have rolled around: and what

now afford, she does not consider that circumstance any reason why she should drop their acquaintance and pass them in the street as though they were strangers. It may be presumed that both sometimes think of their school-days; but to which the recollection gives the greatest pleasure, we leave our young readers to decide, hoping they will follow the example of the one whose conduct they most

approve.

THE TEMPTATION IN THE WILDERNESS.

BY BERNARD BARTON, ESQ.

Not in the noise, the tumult, and the crowd,

Did the arch-tempter spread his snares for THEE:
There he might hope to catch the vain, the proud,
The selfish ;-all who bend the willing knee
To pageants which the world hath deified,
Seeking from such their pleasure and their pride.

But THOU, who, even in thy tarriance here,
Didst bear about thee tokens of the high
And holy influence of thy primal sphere,

Stamping thy manhood with Divinity!
Who, IN the world, wert still not of it-thou,
He could not hope, unto its spells wouldst bow.

Therefore he sought and found thee in the gloom
Of the vast wilderness, perchance employed
In meditating on man's hapless doom;

Who but for sin had still in peace enjoyed
The bliss of Eden, ere the serpent's thrall

Had wrought our earliest parents' fatal fall.

But vain the tempter's power and art. Though spent
With long, lone fasting in that desert drear,

Thou, in thy Deity omnipotent,

As man-from human crimes and follies clear,
Wert still temptation-proof, from frailty free:

He left-and angels ministered to thee!

Oh! then, as Eden, when by sin defiled,

Was paradise no more, THY PRESENCE made

A brief Elysium in the desert wild,

And more than sunshine pierced its matted shade;
Its darkest depths by heavenly hosts were trod,
And the rude wilderness confessed its GOD!

From L'Union Catholique.

FORM OF GOVERNMENT IN THE PAPAL STATES.

BY ALBERT DU BOYS.

THE actual government of the papal states) measure, confided to committees, which form,

in its mode of exercise. Its formation is by the and act executively or judicially in those matelective process: its exercise is, in a great ters which belong to their respective depart