Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1844-04-05
VIRGINIA,
I HE LITTLE M~ATCH-GIRL
OF KENTUCKY.
RY FRANCES s. osGoop.

as a birds, and Russell Hartley turned to
see from whence it proceeded a little bare
looted girl, about ten years old, with the
sunniest, sweetest face he had ever seen.
was tripping Just behind, and as he turned.
she held up her matches with such a win
ming, pleading, heavenly smile in her blue
eyes, that he bought nearly all she had at
once.
Her fair hair fell in soft light waves, rather
than curls, nearly to her waist, and a hole
IN her little straw hat let in a sunbeam upon
it that turned it half to gold.
In spite of the child's coarse and tattered
apparel, in spite of her lowly occupation,
her Manner, her step, her expression, the
very tones Of her voice unconsciousIy be-
trayed a native d~elicacy and refinement,
which deeply interested the high-bred youth
whom she addressed. Impelled by an ire
sistible impulse, he fingered by her side as
she proceeded. What is your name, my
child I! he asked.
Virginia, sir. What is yours
'Hartley-Russell Hartley he replied.
smiling at her artless and native simplicity
and where is your homep
oh? l have no home, at least not much
of one. l sleep in the barns about here
and again she looked up in his face, with a
happy and touching smile.
And your mother 2
In an instant the soft brow was shadowed.
and the uplifled eyes glistened with tears.
Il will tell you all about it, if You will
come close to me. l don't like to talk loud
about it, she replied, in low and f~altering
tones.
Russell Hartley took her little sunburnt
hand in his, and bent his head in earnest at
%tention.
we had been in the great ship ever so
many days, mother, and father, and |, and
all the other people, and one night we were
In the room they called the Ladies' Cabin,
and mother had Just undressed me, and |
was sitting on her knee singing the little
hymn she taught me, and she had her arm
around my neck-mother loved me-oh
50 dearly-and she was SO sweet and good !
nobody will ever be so good TO ne again p
and here the little creature tried to repress
a sob, and wiped her eyes with her torn
apron. We'll, and so l was Just singing my
pretty hymn,
III know no fear, when dangers near,
I'm safe on sea or land,
For I've in heaven, a Father dear,
And lie will hold my hand;
All at once, there was a dreadful, confused
sound, a rurnbling, crashing, shrieking noise
"a terrible pain, and them woke up, and
there was on a bed in strange room, and
some people standing by the fire, talking
about a steamboat that had burst her boiler
the day before, and found that | had been
washed on shore, and that Mr.. Smith had
found me, and taken me home to his wife.
and she put me into a warm bed and tried
to rouse me but she couldn't till / woke
up myself the next day. And when | cried
for my own sweet mother, they looked sad.
and said she was drowned, and | should never
see her again Aud then | wanted to be
drowned too, but they said that was wicked,
and | was sorry j had said so, for | would
not be wicked for the world Mother al
ways loved TO have me good and SO | tried
to be happy as they told me ! must but |
couldn't-not for a great while--I used to
pine SO at night for her dear arms round
mel At last, l found a little comfort in do
ing just as | knew she would like to have
me, and in knowing she could see me still,
and in talking TO her and | used to sing
my little hymn 10 her up in heaven, Just as /
did when | sat on her knee, and | sing it
now every night. Mr.. Smith and his wife
both died and left me all alone again but
j am hardly ever sad now, for / am almost
always good, and you know good people
must not be unhappy" and the beautiful, low
ing smile shone again through her lingering
tears, as she finished her simple story.
Russell was touched to the heart. His
W eyes were moist, and bending down, he
kissed the innocent cheek of the little or
phan, and babe her go with him, and he
would give her money to clothe and feed
herself.
But the child drew, gently, yet some
what proudly, back and said, earnestly, 'Ol
l never take money as a gift; mother would
not like it, Then, kissing tenderly the
gentle hand, that still held hers, she tripped
lightly round a corner, and a moment after,
Hartley heard her soft, %silvery, childish
treble, far in the distance, singing, Matches,
matchesl Six for a ftp Who'll buy my
matches matches, no T
Russell Hartley kept that sweet picture
in his soul, undimmed, through years of
travel and change and care. He visited,
with enthusiasm, the noble galleries of paint
ing and sculpture in England, France, aud
Italy, and many a gem of art was enshrined
and hallowed in the mosaic tablets of memo
ry. but there was none to rival the gem of
nature-the matchless little match-girl from
Kentucky with her fair hair streaming on
her scanty red cloak, the glad and innocent
in her childish eyes, and the lovely
sunbeam stealing through the hole in the
old straw hat to light, as with message
from Heaven. the lovely head of the orphan