Arthur Hamilton, and His Dog. Unknown

earth was a poor man, and worked with his hands for a living. He won't despise the poor now he has gone into heaven again; for he will remember how he was poor once. Mother says, nothing will break her heart but living to see us do some wicked deed, and that she could not survive that. We must be careful not to break her heart, musn't we, Arthur?"

      So the lads rode on till noon; and when the sun shone out warmly, the forest-trees looked more magnificent in its golden light, than King Solomon in all his glory. There was the crimson-leaved maple, and the yellow beach, and the variegated oak, mingled with the fresh green hemlocks and pines. There was something in the quiet, and deep stillness of the woods, which made the boys silent, as they rode through; they felt the influence of its exceeding beauty, though they could not have expressed it in words; for God always speaks to us through his works, and if we will listen to the voice, our hearts will be softened, and pleasant and profitable thoughts will arise.

      It was two in the afternoon, when John and Arthur reached Mr. Martin's. He was not at home, but Mrs. Martin received them kindly, saying, "she expected they would come that day." She was a grave-looking old lady, who wore spectacles, and the inquisitive manner in which she looked over the top of them into Arthur's face, quite frightened the little fellow, and he could only reply in very low monosyllables to the questions she asked him; so John gave her such information as she desired. Mrs. Martin showed them the small chamber in which Arthur was to sleep, and John carried up the wooden box, and put it down in one corner. After staying half an hour, John thought he must go. A sense of the loneliness of his situation among strangers, where no one familiar voice would be heard, and not one familiar object seen, came over the heart of poor Arthur with such force at this moment, that he burst into a flood of tears, exclaiming–

      "Oh, don't leave me here, John! don't leave me, I cannot stay." Brushing the tears from his own eyes, John drew the sobbing child out into the yard, saying, as he put his arms affectionately about his neck,–

      "But Arthur, what do you think mother would say to see you coming back with me? How it would distress her! Indeed you must stay, and try to be contented. I think it looks like a pleasant place here. This is a very pretty yard, and yonder is a large garden; I dare say Mr. Martin will let you have a bed in it next spring."

      "But it is living here all alone, which I dread," said Arthur.

      "You know mother says we are never all alone," said John. "God will be with you, and if you try to be a good contented boy, he will approve of your conduct, and love you. Only six weeks too, remember, till you come home. Just think how soon they will be gone!"

      Rover had been gazing wistfully into Arthur's face, as if he wondered what was going on that made them all so sober, and now he gently laid his paw upon his hand. Arthur caressed him fondly, saying–

      "Oh, Rover, dear good fellow, how I wish I could have you for company."

      "I wish you could," said John, "but I don't think it would be right to leave him, for Mr. Martin might not wish to have him."

      John now untied his horse, saying,

      "Try to be contented for mother's sake, dear Arthur."

      Many years after, when John was a middle-aged man, he told me that nothing in his whole life had made him feel worse than leaving little Arthur behind him, that day. "I can see the poor little fellow now," said he, "just as he looked standing at the gate, weeping bitterly."

      Rover refused at first to leave Arthur, but John lifted him into the wagon, and drove off.

      It was a lonely evening to Arthur. There was no frolic with Rover and the children on the green; no kind mother's voice to call him in; no affectionate good-night kiss for the little stranger. Mr. and Mrs. Martin were very kind-hearted people, but they had little sympathy with a child, and made no conversation with him. There was no hardship imposed on Arthur; indeed they required less of him than he had been accustomed to doing at home, and had he been a courageous, light-hearted boy like his brother James, he would soon have been very happy in his new home. But we have said he was shy and sensitive; like a delicate plant he needed sunshine to develope his nature, and shrank from the rough chilling blast.

      None, who has not experienced it, can know any thing of the suffering such a child endures when deprived of the sweet influences of home. Such an one often appears dull and stupid to a careless observer, when there is throbbing under that cold exterior, a heart of the keenest sensibility. Let the bold, healthy, active boy be sent from home, if necessary; a little hardship, and a little struggling with the rougher elements of life, will perchance but strengthen and increase his courage, and prepare him for the conflicts and struggles of after years; but oh, fond mother, keep that delicate, timid child which nestles to thy side with such confiding trust, which trembles at the voice of a stranger, and shrinks like the mimosa, from a rude and unfamiliar touch, under thine own sheltering roof-tree, for a time at least; there seek to develope and strengthen his delicate nature into more manly strength and vigor; there judiciously repress excessive sensibility, and increase confidence in himself and others; if it can possibly be avoided, do not expose him, while a child, to the tender mercies of those who do not understand his peculiar temperament, and who, however kind their feelings, cannot possess his confidence.

      We need not dwell on the first weeks of Arthur's stay at Mr. Martin's. They thought him a little homesick, but presumed he would soon get over it; he performed the little tasks they exacted of him with great alacrity, and was quite a favorite with Mrs. Martin, who said he was the most quiet, and well-behaved child she ever saw. At first, Arthur thought of nothing but home, and home-scenes; but he struggled bravely to rise above sad and sorrowful thoughts, and to be contented. "They shall never hear me complain," he said to himself, "and dear mother too shall never know how bad I feel. I want to do my duty, and be a brave boy."