Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1866-03-15

y
another time
He went towards the house, and watched
him till he entered Then ran to my bow
er, sat down upon the dried grass, and be-
gan to cry as if my heart would break
Repentance and regret, though they may be
keenly felt by child, are not reasoned on
very distinctly. had often been very sorry
before, but whether for the fault, as dis
tinct from the punishment, l had scarcely
inquired l was heartily sorry now. not
only for my disobedience and because my
father had forfeited the shilling, but because
| saw it had vexed and hurt him to do it
not only because had preferred pleasure
to duty, neglected the opportunity for doing
good, and lost it-but because the feeling,
if not the words, of st. Paul pressed heavily
upon my heart, when l would do good,
evil is present with me-
/ was still crying when On sudden, look
ing up, saw my father standing before me,
and watching me with evident regret. My
first impulse was to say, 20, papa, Twas not
crying about the shilling
He becAoned to me to rise out of my bow
er, and said, Then what were you crying
about, my little darling?'
tried not to sob; he led me to garden
seat, and took me on his knee. Then, with
great many tears, told him all that
have now, dear reader, heen telling you,
and ended with passion of crying.
80, papa, do teach me to be different, and
to wish the same thing when l am tempted
that do when no pleasure tempts me.
Pray teach me to do good
Ny dear child, God is teaching you now
uhar I'm
nifty is gone, and my silver opportunity has
come to nothing"
Quite true; but then you are doubly
sure now-you know by ample experience,
do you not THAT of yourself you can do
nothing
was so convinced of it that was verg-
ing On an opposite fault to self-confdence.
l was almost doubling whether any assis-
lance that could hope to have would make
me proof against temptation. But now was
my fathers golden opportunity and he
awaited himself of it. Although l cannot
remember his words their influence remains
to this day. Certain sensations anu i'm
pressions connected with that wise and
fatherly conversation return upon me often,
even now. 1t conveyed to my mind the idea
that this weakness itself was to be my
strength, if it made me depend upon q
stronger than myself-that this changeable
disposition would make more precious to
me the knowledge that with God is no
variableness, neither shadow of changing
When he ceased to speak, said with q
sorrowful sign, 'And now, papa, there is
only one penny left of all my opportuni-
ties3'
well, my darling he replied, sit is pos
sible that you may do acceptable good even
with that. Remember what our Savior said
about the cup of cold water
YES said, but the person who gave
the cold water had nothing better to give;
which he first wasted and threw away
my dear, you need not inquire into that;
you might have done better; but as there is
still something to be done, DO it with thy
might
When was quite calm again, and almost
happy, he sent me into the house to play at
ball AS passed the kitchen door, poor
old woman whom my mother used sometimes
to help turned from it, and [ heard the
housemaid say, Mistress has just walked
out, and cannot say when she will be at
home"
She was hobbling away when bethought
me of my penny; took it out of its bag, and
pulling her by the cloak, offered it to her.
At first she did not seem to understand
me, but when she saw my copper opportu-
nifty, which was as bright as sand-paper
could render it, she gave me just the shadow
of a smile, and taking it in her skinny hand,
said, Il thank you kindly, my pretty
Poor old creature said the housemaid,
'that will buy her trife, mayhap; she
house Tomorrow
passed into the house penniless, but in
subdued and humble state of mind. The
lessons l had had were not without good
effect; but it cannot be expected that can
remember much of the working of my mind.
1 only know that time did pass, that | went
to bed, got up, said my lessons, and had my
play for long time, perhaps fortnight.
At the end of about that time my little sister
Sophy and l went out one day for long
walk, with Matilda, our nurse, and took a
little basket with us to put flowers in, and
blackberries if we should be so fortunate as
to find any. We walked a long way, till
Sophy was tired and became clamorous to
sit down; so Matilda led us to the entrance
of little wood, and there we sat and rested
ON the steps of stile. There was a cottage
near at hand; presently an old woman came
out of it with a kettle in her hand, and |
recognized ner as the woman to whom had
given my penny. She hobbled to the edge
OF little stream which flowed close to our
seat, and dipped her kettle in, but did not
notice us till Matilda called to her.
How are you, Mrs. Grattan, and how's
your old gentleman
THANK you kindly, girl, we be pretty
moderate, vas the reply. He and she
pointed with stick to a field opposite,
where several men were at work he be
among them, picking up stones-ha! ha he
be as blithe as boy!
'We was all very glad up at the Grange,
to hear of your good luck said Matilda, il
the loudest tones of her cheerful voice, for
the old woman was rather deaf sOur mis-
tress was main glad, I'll assure you.
'Ah, very kind on you all. How be the
old gentleman
quite hearty
By this time she had reached us, set down
her kettle, and taken her place beside Ma
tilda. l was busily plating straw, but /
listened carelessly to their conversation.
'And SO you got your rent paid and all,
said Matilda, turning her eager black eyes
on the old woman. What good son Joe
is to YOU
.Ah, that he be, DEAR was the reply;
sthat he be wrote he did, so pretty, My
dear mother he says, don't you go for to
think l shall ever forget how good you was
to me alwsys-for shall not he says
Matildas eyes flashed and glistened; she
took a particular interest in this young
man, though l did not know that till long
afterwards.
Tell us how it all was,' she said quickly.
stVhy roY, coo daor he not yY,u oxup