Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1848-06-09
From the Union Magazine.
Vbe ])omcr Of Eour.
BY L. MARIA CHILD.

1t was one of Ireland's greenest lanesthat
wound its way down to a ripping brook in the
rear of Friend Goodman's house. And there, by
a mound of rocks that dipped their messy feet
in the rivulet, Friend Goodman walked slowly,
watching for his little daughter, who had been
spending the day with some children in the
neighborhood. Presently, the small maiden
cam jumping along, with her bonnet thrown
back and the edges Of her soft brown %ringlets
luminous in the rays Of the setting sun. Those
pretty curls were not Quakerly but Nature,
who pays no more attention 10 the regulations
of Elders, than she does to the cdicts of Bishops,
would have it so. At the slightest breath Of
moisture, the silky hair rolled itself into spirals,
and clustered around her pure white forehead,
As if it loved the nesting place. Jumping, like
wise, was not "A Quakerly proceeding. But lit
lie Alice. usually staid and demure, in imitation
of those around her, had met with a new COM
panion, whose temperament was more mercuri-
al than her own, and she was yielding TO its
magnetic influence.
Camille Campbell, a boy of six years, was the
grandson of an Italian lady, who had married
an Irish absentee, resident in Florence. Her
descendants had lately come to Ireland, and Ia.
ken possession of estates in the immediate neigh
borhood of Friend Goodman. where little Can,il.
los foreign complexion, lively temperament, and
graceful, broken language, rendered him an OBJ.
lect of great interest. especially among the chill.
dren. lie it was with whom little Alice was
skipping through the green lane, bright and free
as the wind and sunshine that played among
her curls. As the sober father watched theil
innocent gambols, he felt his W pulses quick
en-, and his motions involuntarily became more
rapid and elastic than usual. The little cir
came nesting up to his side, and rubbed heI
head upon his arm, like a petted kitten. Ia
milo peeped roguishly from behind the moss
rocks, kissed his hand to her, and ran of, hop
ping first on one foot and then on the other.
'Dost thou like that little boy 2 inquired
Friend Goodman, as he stopped TO kiss his dar
ling.
yes; Camillo's a pretty boy, I like him. sh,
replied. Then, with a skip and a bound, whicI
showed that the electric fluid was still leapinj
IN her veins, she added, He's a funny boy, too
he swears you all the time
The simple child, being always accustome,
to hear thee and thou, verify thought you was
p%rofanc word. Her father did what was yer,
unusual with him he laughed outright, as h
; replied
What a strange boy is that
lie asked me TO come down to the rock an
play tomorrow. May ! 90, after school 2 sh
asked.
I'VE will see what mother says he replied
: But where didst thou meet Camille?
lie came to play with us in the lane, an,
Deborah, and John, and !, went into his gardeI
to see the birds. Oh, he has got such pre,t
birds There's a nice little meeting house il
the garden; and there's a woman standing Their
with a baby, Camille calls her my donny. II
says we mustn't play in there. Why not1 WIN
is my donnyF
'Ihe people in Italy, where Camille used t
live, call the mother Of Christ, Madonna reptile
her father.
And who is Christ p she asked.
lie was a holy man, who lived a great man
years ago. ! read to thee one day about hi
taking little children in his arms and blessin
them
guess he loved little children almost as we
a thou, said Alice. But why do they p,
ms mother in that little Westinghouse 2
NOT deemlng it wise to puzzle her busy litt1
bra'n with theological explanations, Frier
'roohman called her attention to a small do
whose curly white hair soon displaced the NJ