the contents of her purse, we have not a great deal of money left.'

• How much?' inquired Mrs. Johnson, anxiously. 'About fifteen shillings,' replied the daughter.

'I thought you was going to say fifteen dollars,' responded the mother. If you have only that number of shillings, I suppose your father must have taken some of it when he left.'

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He did,' answered Frances; and may we not now expect to receive something from him ere long?'

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'We must not be disappointed should it be otherwise,' said this afflicted lady, with a sigh. I am greatly perplexed,' added she. I know if I would promise my friends that I would never consent to live with your father again, neither you nor myself would ever want a genteel support; but I dare not do so. I have solemnly pledged myself to be faithful to your unfortunate father, in the sacred relation I sustain to him, and cannot violate this covenant with impunity. As I am at present situated, I know not what to do. I see no way in which, under existing circumstances, we can procure a livelihood.'

'I do,' eagerly rejoined Frances, 'so do not feel anxious, my dear mother. I can, with the use of my needle, provide for both you and myself, and sewing is certainly an honorable employment.'

That is true, my child,' replied Mrs. Johnson, but I greatly fear your feeble health would prove inadequate to the task you so cheerfully assign yourself.'

'I trust not,' responded the daughter, in a pleasant tone. 'I hope you will soon recover your wonted strength, and then I shall have most of the time to devote to my needle.'

'But,' answered her mother, at present it is very important that you should have a season of rest.'

'I do not feel very well to-day,' said Frances, but trust that soon my health will improve; and believe me, I shall labor very cheerfully, as it ever affords me pleasure to make efforts for your sake.'

Her mother in silence encircled the neck of the lovely girl with her arms, and wept. The daughter was affected, yet endeavored to divert the thoughts of this much-loved parent from their gloomy prospects.

At this time a letter was brought in, addressed to Mrs. Johnson. She hastily broke the seal and perused its contents. It was from her husband. As on former occasions, the conscience-stricken man conjured his neglected wife to forgive his unkindness, and regard him favorably if she could.

He informed her that he had been so fortunate as to procure a good situation in a flourishing town on the bank of the Mohawk river, where his previous history was unknown, and thither he entreated his abused wife to come to him, accompanied by his amiable daughter. This forgiving lady immediately dictated a kind letter to her once more repentant husband, which was penned by her daughter and forwarded without delay.

Mrs. Johnson thought it strange that her husband did not allude to her straitened circumstances, but strove to regard him as favorably as possible. She was willing to think he did not fully understand her situation. Without in the least reproaching him for his neglect, she made him acquainted with the feeble state of both her own and daughter's health; also of the very low condition of their

funds. When Mr. Johnson perused this letter, he was pierced to the heart by a reflection of the distress he had caused his innocent family. One fact stated in the letter affected him more than anything he had ever before met with. This was a knowledge of the course pursued by his worthy daughter, to save her mother from suffering from want, or from becoming dependent upon the benevolence of friends who blamed her as the cause of the very sufferings she endured. Frances, without the knowledge of her mother, added a postscript to her letter, in which she communicated to her father the important fact respecting the labor she had been obliged to perform during his absence, trusting it might be of use to inform him of it. She judged rightly upon this point. He was overcome with a sense of his own guilt, and the noble-mindedness of his spirited daughter.

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'How very ungrateful,' said this self-upbraiding man, mentally, to one of the very best of wives, and loveliest of children too, have I proved, during these many years! would that I could recall the past! but as that is impossible, I pray that I may be enabled to make all amends in my power for the wrongs I have done.'

He wrote again to his wife, enclosing in the letter ample means to defray all needful expenses, and hastily forwarding it, longed for the time when the health of his wife would allow her to join him. He did not forget to give Frances a strict charge to do as little as possible, adding, I suppose it is necessary for you to make some exertion for your mother's sake; I shall never forgive myself for having been the means of bringing upon my

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daughter the hardship of laboring for the maintenance of an invalid mother.'

When Mrs. Johnson had finished reading this last sentence, in a tone of surprise she exclaimed, "Laboring for the maintenance of an invalid mother!" why Frances, what can your father mean? If you have done anything of which I am ignorant, I hope you will now acquaint me with it; I must know everything; tell me all, or I shall feel I have lost your confidence.'

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The affectionate daughter blushed and hesitated a few moments ere she replied, in a winning tone, Mother, I did not wish you to know how much I was perplexed during your illness, knowing full well that it would increase your sufferings. We were left by father with only a trifling sum of money in the house, and the almost constant demands upon your purse, during your sickness, would have left us penniless long ago, if I had not earned with my needle, from week to week, a sufficient sum to meet our wants.'

She then, in answer to the questions of her mother, informed her of every particular respecting this interesting period in the history of her life. A feeling of exultation pervaded the breast of Mrs. Johnson, as she heard her daughter relate the account of the self-sacrificing efforts she had made for her mother's comfort, and also to hide if possible the enormity of her father's guilt, while she tenderly enfolded her in her arms, feeling that this ever-beloved child was now doubly dear to her.

A week or two after this time, this faithful wife ventured to set out on her journey to the place where her husband

now resided, in company with Frances. Thinking it inexpedient to remove their furniture to their new home, she left it in charge of one of her friends. She left this city where she had for many years resided, and to which she was much attached, with a heavy heart. Her daughter, too, felt that she was going from friends and home to a place of strangers. She sighed on reflecting that she had taken leave of the spot where she had spent the happiest years of her life. Here her early childhood was passed; and often, after she found herself settled in a new dwelling in a remote place, she could with sincerity have adopted the following lines:

I dreamed not then that friends grew cold,
I thought life's path was strewed with flowers:
Fair Hope a flattering story told,

Then pointed to elysian bowers.