parlor, which was seldom opened, except for a funeral, or wedding, or on the ever-observed Thanksgiving occasionall had been superceded by modern arrangements. But it took no very practised eye to see, that, even in this new house, the first object had been to secure convenience for household business. It could not be denied, however, that in the means for meeting great occasions, such as the visits of fashionable relatives, Thanksgiving parties, and family gatherings, there was evidence that the "young people": wished to go a little beyond the "respectable appearance" of the "old folks;" the pride of wealth was decidedly apparent.

On a cold October afternoon, a ruddy looking lad was: seen walking with an air of disappointment and sadness. from this house. He was thinly clad, but he seemed not to mind the penetrating wind which tossed the rustling leaves into fluttering heaps in his path, nor the quick chattering of the few remaining birds which lingered around the seedy and withered plants. His way lay by the old orchard, where many bushels of apples remained ungathered. Pausing for a moment, as if doubting the rightfulness of the act, he sprang over the wall, shook vigorously the nearest tree, and filling his hat and handkerchief, quickly disappeared on his way to his father's cottage, a half a mile distant, in a sheltering wood.

"Well, John," said his mother, as he entered the door, "so Mr. Mason has opened his heart for once, and given,

you a fine lot of apples. Surely," she continued, without waiting for an answer, "he is becoming more thoughtful of us poor folks, who hav'n't the abundance with which his store-houses are filled. We will be thankful, my boy, for it is not every family which has such favors."

John looked blank, and remained silent. The quick eye of his mother detected his embarrassment, and she said in a decided tone, "You surely did not take them, John, without permission?"

"I more than earned them," was the ready reply.

"O then," answered his mother, with a brightening countenance, "you have earned them by working for Mr. Mason. That is better than to have received them as a gift; for my boy is learning to be independent, and our neighbors will see that we wish nothing given which we can obtain by honest industry.'

Still no conscious self-approval flushed the accustomed evidence of happiness from the countenance of John. The searching glance of his mother, in consequence of his continued confusion, more piercing than her words, seemed to reach the secrets of his heart.

"Tell me now, my son, the whole truth; where did you get those apples?"

"Why, mother," said John, laying his hat and handkerchief of fruit on the table, and wishing them perishing upon the trees rather than in his possession, "I will tell you all; then, I am sure, you will say the apples are really

mine. I was at play near Mr. Mason's; and he seeing me, said, 'Come, John, go with us into the orchard and pick apples this afternoon, and you shall not be the loser.' I thought it would be a fine chance to get our thanksgiving supply, so at it I went, and worked right hard, mother. But as we were coming out of the orchard with the last load, Mr. Mason went off and left me with the boys. He did n't give me a single apple," added John, his feelings beginning to be too strong for utterance; “he never remembers such promises." The last sentence was uttered with an emphasis which showed that his experience had been concerned in the truth he spoke. "As I came by the old orchard, I saw bushels of apples which no one cares for, except old Mr. Mason. So I thought I would take my pay for a part of my afternoon's labor. For you know, mother," continued John, with increased animation, "you have often said, that it is very mean for rich people not to pay the poor all they earn."

Thus John continued to talk, in vindication of his candid statement. His mother looked thoughtful, and waived the subject for another occasion, requesting her son to put the apples away carefully where they would not be used. John's act involved a case of conscience, which at first seemed fairly answered by the reasoning with which he endeavored to convince his mother. A conflict had now been started in his mind, the result of which we shall attempt to

show. Leaving him to his agitated feelings, let us form a more intimate acquaintance with his father's family.

Mr. Jacobs and his wife were Puritans of the old school. Unlike their neighbors, they were not possessed of worldly affluence, and the "god of this world" had not blinded their moral perceptions. Religion, in their estimate, was of more value than gold; and a good conscience, than the rarest gem. Their habitation was in a retired situation, having an air of frugal comfort, while every foot of their small farm bore the evidence of the hand of industry. On the features of the pious couple, an observer might see the stern integrity of purpose by which their lives were governed. The weekly visits to the house of God, the family altar, the rigid exactness of Sabbath observance, were to them dearer than the ripening harvest upon which they were to subsist. John was an only child. They had no wealth but that which was included in their humble home, and a few acres of land, to bestow upon him should he survive them. They had purposed, therefore, to give him the moral basis on which a spotless reputation should be built, with habits of industry, and cast him, with the blessing of God, upon the world to work out his own best welfare. Napoleon did not watch the development of the military genius of his son, even when he placed him, at eight years of age, to do a sentry's duty in midnight storms and darkness, with more interest, than did these parents the moral purity of their son. If Napoleon would have rejoiced

at his boy, at the head of a veteran army taking a city, they would have rejoiced more in theirs, ruling his own spirit. If the warrior gloried in great deeds, they, with an enthusiasm scarcely less intense, exulted in right ones. Hence it was that the seemingly trifling affair narrated above, had made a deep impression on the mother's mind. Her ethics had not been learned in a worldly school. Possessed of great native, mental vigor, worthy of the mother of Washington or Wesley, she reached the true point of a moral question, as by intuition. No act of her son's was trifling, which could weigh a feather against the uprightness of his future character.

The family devotions were just closed on the following evening. The old Bible still lay on the stand. The father took his accustomed seat near the fireplace, in a thoughtful mood. The mother, with her left hand on the Bible, which she had just closed, sat holding her spectacles in her right hand.

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John," said the old lady, "do you recollect Ben Day, who visited the village last Summer?"

Yes," said John, "and a rich fellow he is too, I reckon, mother."

"Rich," replied his mother, with a twist of the voice, which showed her contempt at the very mention of the fact,

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rich, and without a conscience. He failed in business in the Spring, and has put on the airs of a prince ever since. I have known Ben from a boy. His father brought him