Chapter II: Part 2

"Calm these agitating feelings, my dear George," said Josiah, attempting to sooth him; and forgetting, whilst he did so, his usual precision. "I have long ago forgotten and forgiven our foolish dispute in the meadow; let not the recollection of such trifles discompose thy mind in an hour like this. Remember the past only as it refers to the improvement of the future; and believe that Josiah Shirley is thy sincere and lasting friend."

"God bless you for that word, Josiah!" exclaimed George, in a feeble voice, as he sank back exhausted on the pillow. "How little have I deserved this kindness from you. Oh, may I never be tempted to forfeit your esteem for the future!"

"After this worthy resolution, friend George," said Josiah, playfully putting his finger on his patient's lips, "I must insist on silence, for it cannot be very prudent for thee to converse on any subject in thy present weak state."

George smiled at this restraint on his tongue; but he very patiently submitted to the young Quaker's request.

Most sincerely did George promise amendment for the future; and Josiah was not backward in assisting him in the arduous task of self-improvement.

Whilst watching by his sick pillow, for George was confined to his bed many weeks, Shirley read to him passages from the best of our moral works, and daily portions of the divine gospels, whilst, in his simple language, he set before him the dreadful consequences which generally followed disobedience to parents, and keeping company with vicious people.

Every day added to young Hope's mental improvement; but his health remained in so precarious a state, that a decline was apprehended, and Mr. Hope granted Josiah's earnest request to let his son remain with them till he should have gained sufficient strength to return to school.

Indeed, George had grown so fond of Josiah, that he could not feel happy a moment out of his company. Often, when Shirley was busily employed in his studies, George would silently watch his mild sweet countenance, till he felt the tears tremble in his eyes, when he recalled the unworthy treatment the noble youth had experienced at his hands.

Yet, though he deeply repented of the past, George could never summon up courage enough to inform Josiah of his baseness in destroying his trees. A hundred times a day he was on the point of declaring his guilt; but false pride always hindered him from confessing so degrading an action.

As the spring advanced, he would rise early in the morning, and work with Josiah in the garden, and help little Rachel to feed her rabbits, and plant and tie up the flowers; and these small jobs he did with greater alacrity, hoping that the earnestness with which he performed any little office towards the re-embellishment of the garden would, in some measure, atone for the wanton mischief he had been guilty of in the summer; but he never entered the garden without a secret sigh, or saw Josiah labouring to restore it to its former beauty, without bitter feelings of self-condemnation.

Pat Lary came every day to inquire after the young Squire's health, and George never shook hands with the honest creature without the keenest remorse, while Simpson, who had been the author of all his vices, was heard to say in the village, "that it was a pity young Shirley saved him from being drowned; for he was a wicked lad, and he was sure he would never come to a good end."

The spring came, and passed away, with all its flowers and verdure, but George remained so feeble and dejected, that he was not able to return to school that quarter. Mr. Hope was greatly alarmed at the increasing debility of his son, though equally delighted with his mental improvement; and was not behindhand in making handsome presents to Mrs. Shirley, for the kind attention she payed to the suffering youth.

He likewise presented Josiah a beautiful pony, and a small library of choice books, as a testimony of his gratitude and esteem, which the young Quaker received with unfeigned pleasure; and, as he went to turn his new favourite into the meadow, Mr. Hope followed him, and, taking his arm, thus addressed him:--

"In spite of all your pains, my good Josiah, I fear my poor boy is fast hastening to the grave. Mr. Carter told me this morning he could assign no reason for his lingering illness; he thought it now rested entirely on the mind of the patient. You have many opportunities of noticing him, what is your opinion on the subject?"

"I agree with Mr. Carter, Sir," replied Josiah; "though I cannot discover the reason of my friend's obstinate grief. I have often questioned him, but to no purpose, as he only answers me on this head with tears."

"I fear, my kind lad," said Mr. Hope, sighing heavily as he spoke, "that it is some bad action he has committed before his illness, that lies upon his conscience; which, if once removed, would restore his health and spirits. If you can, my dear Josiah, possibly discover the cause of his dejection, I shall be greatly obliged to you." Josiah promised to do his best, and Mr. Hope wished him good morning.

It happened that day, that George was in better spirits than usual; and Josiah, as he watched the bright glow which at times flushed his pale cheeks, hoped he was fast improving in health. The evening was uncommonly beautiful; and, after they returned from their accustomary walk, Rachel invited them to take a turn in the garden, and eat some nice ripe strawberries she had gathered in their absence.

They gladly accepted her offer, and retired to a bench at the bottom of the garden, which was overshadowed by a noble oak, which, in the language of that delightful poet of nature, Bloomfield--

"Had reached its full meridian height
Before our father's father breathed."

"Hark! how merrily the Reading bells are ringing," said Josiah. "Listen, Rachel and George, how delightfully the sound, softened by distance, floats over the woods."

"Yes, they sound very pretty," replied Rachel; "but I wish they were not ringing, for we shall not hear the nightingale, as we did last night; and I prefer her sweet melancholy notes to the sound of those jingling bells."

"I wonder what they are ringing for?" said George, thoughtfully. "I shall never hear the sound of bells with pleasure again."

"Why not, my dear friend?" asked Josiah, not a little curious to learn the cause of his dislike.

"Indeed, Josiah, I have not fortitude enough to tell you," returned George, hiding his face with his hands. "I once heard them ring as merrily as they do now, on as beautiful and calm an evening as this; but I have never been happy since, and, whilst the events of _that night_ weigh upon my mind, I shall never be happy again."

"And will not George reveal to his friend the cause of his grief?" said Josiah, kindly taking his hand. "Whence is this want of confidence and affection; surely I have deserved neither at thy hands?"

George flung himself into Shirley's arms, and the long-concealed truth trembled on his lips, when little Rachel cried out in a joyful tone--

"Oh, here comes Henry West! he will tell us what the bells are ringing for!"

"And that I will, and give you a fairing to boot, pretty Rachel," said Henry, as he stooped down to kiss her rosy cheek. "Why, what's the matter with Josiah and George? I thought I should have seen you both at the fair."

"Nay, Henry, I am sure such a thought never entered thy head," replied Shirley, "well knowing my aversion to such places of amusement."

"Well, I will own I did not much expect to see you there, Mr. Prim," said Henry, laughing; "but George has no such scruples of conscience, I dare say."

He turned to young Hope as he finished speaking, but was astonished and frightened to see the ghastly paleness which had overspread his countenance. "Josiah! your friend is ill: I think you are very imprudent to expose him to the evening air."

Josiah started up, and regarded George's varying countenance with interest and commiseration.

"Oh! no, no! I am not ill," exclaimed George, in a hurried voice; "I feel much better in the open air:" then, in a mournful tone, he added, "Are you sure, Master West, that to-day was Reading fair?"

"I am certain," said Henry, smiling, "for I am just come from thence; Mrs. Wilson took me in her carriage, and I was very well entertained by all the fine things that were to be seen, which my good friend, Josiah, will allow to be very babyish in a great fellow like me. But, Joe, to make my peace, I have brought you two small copies of verses for your scrap-book; and, as the subjects are serious, perhaps you will edify us all, by reading them aloud by the light of this glorious moon."

"With all my heart," said Josiah, unfolding the paper, and, hoping to divert George from his present state of dejection, he read the following lines:--

Awake, lute and harp, all thy melody pouring--
To heaven with the wild notes of triumph ascend;
While the children of earth, their Creator adoring,
The sweetness of song with their thanksgivings blend.

On the breezes of night, when the anthem is swelling,
With shadowy splendour the air seems to glow,
While fancy could hail each bright star as the dwelling
Of spirits released from their bondage below.

When o'er the raised soul high sensations are stealing,
The glorious spark immortality gave
Seems to lose, in the glow of devotional feeling,
Its portion of suffering, and soar o'er the grave.

To those regions of gladness, eternally glowing,
With the glory of Him who created the spheres,
From the light of whose countenance blessings are flowing,
To wipe from the eyes of the mourner all tears.

Where glorified spirits, each other outvying,
The praise of the Godhead triumphantly sing;
Such strains as might steal on the Saviour when dying,
As angels supported their crucified King.

To those mansions of bliss, for the faithful preparing,
Who the ordeal of suffering undauntedly tried,
With their master and king in his glory are sharing,
And exult that, to live, they in agonies died.

On the soul while such visions of splendour are burning,
It sighs for that peace the world cannot bestow;
Till the shadows of night, on the spirit returning,
Awake it again to its portion of woe.

There was something in these lines that greatly softened the heart of George Hope; and, turning to Josiah, he said with a deep sigh:--

"Josiah, does God always take vengeance on our crimes?"

"Not if we sincerely repent of them, and faithfully promise to sin no more;" returned Shirley; "and, should we again fall into temptation, God knows the weakness of our nature, and is ever more willing to forgive than we to implore his mercy."

"I have deeply repented of my past errors," said George; "and yet I feel as if my transgressions were not pardoned."

"You must banish such thoughts as these, my dear George," returned Henry, "or you will never be happy. I have heard my Father say, that if we sincerely repent of any crime we have committed, we must not doubt the mercy of our God. Surely you have every reason to be more cheerful than you are. Do but contrast your present character with your idle pursuits last year; and I am sure you will rejoice at the change."

George shuddered, while Henry continued--

"You were universally and justly despised by the whole village; and I will frankly own, I felt for you the most hearty contempt. Now, every one mentions you with interest and commendation; and you have gained the unfeigned love of Josiah and myself. Such a change in your favour should raise, not depress your spirits."

"I am perfectly sensible of your goodness, my kind friends," returned George, "and feel that gratitude towards you which no words can express. To-morrow I may feel in better spirits; but I cannot conquer the depression that clouds my mind to-night. But I see Josiah is going to read something else to us."

"It is a paraphrase on the twenty-ninth psalm," said Josiah; "and, though the author has failed in conveying the awful grandeur of the original, I think the verses will please my friends:--

"Ye sons of the mighty, a sacrifice bring
To the footstool of power, and your thanksgivings raise;
For the Lord is your strength, your Creator, and King,
Who demands from his children the tribute of praise.

"Yea, the voice of our God, in its fury, controls
And stills the wild waves of the tempest-swoll'n deep;
When borne on the thunder as slowly it rolls,
We hear midst its terrors Omnipotence speak.

"The voice of our God is a glorious sound:
When it moves on the waters, or speaks through the storm,
The cedars of Lebanus bend to the ground,
And the mountains and hills from their fabric are torn.

"The voice of the Lord, in his wrath, can divide
The red rushing flames, and their fury awake;
When forth on the wings of destruction they ride,
And beneath them the powers of the wilderness shake.

"Yea, the voice of our God is mighty in power
On his bounty the wild tribes of nature depend:
The hind rears her young in the green forest bower;
From his altars the prayers of his children ascend.

"The voice of the Lord, in his glory, shall bring
To his people the fulness and blessings of peace;
The Lord o'er the water-flood reigneth a King,
And his portion, eternity, never shall cease."

Josiah had scarcely concluded the psalm, when Mrs. Shirley came to fetch the young people from staying out longer in the night air; and Henry, bidding Josiah good night, and shaking George heartily by the hand, hoping to see him in better health and spirits the next day, took his leave.

The sun was scarcely up the following morning, when George tapped at Shirley's door, and proposed a long walk into the country before breakfast.

The young Quaker was already dressed, and he accepted the invitation with pleasure, hoping, by the way, to induce his friend to reveal the cause of his grief. In the parlour they were joined by little Rachel, who begged so earnestly to accompany them, that George insisted on her request being granted.

The morning was delightful, the dews sparkled on the grass, and the blackbird poured his merry lay from among the high hawthorn hedges that rose on either side of them.

The spirits of the little party rose in proportion to the beauty of the morning; and they directed their course down a long, lonely, but very romantic lane, over-arched with old oaks, that formed a rich canopy over their heads.

Rachel ran laughing on before, filling a little basket she had in her hand with flowers; then, having passed a sudden angle in the lane, the friends were alarmed by her giving a loud scream.

"What can have happened?" cried Josiah, hurrying forward. "I am afraid she has trod upon a snake among the flowers."

He had scarcely finished speaking, before Rachel came running towards them, out of breath, and very pale; and, flinging her arms round Josiah, she sobbed in the most agitated manner.

"Turn back! turn back, Josiah! There is something dreadful in the road."

"Do not be alarmed, Rachel; it shall not hurt thee," said Josiah, still fancying she had seen a snake.

"Oh no, it is dead! and the ground is all bloody! and it looks as pale as George did, when they took him out of the pond."

Frightened in his turn, Josiah burst from the hold of the terrified child; and, bidding her sit down on the bank till he returned, the two friends, with faces almost as white as Rachel's, proceeded to the spot she described.

What language can describe the horror they felt, when, on turning the projection of the lane, they beheld the mangled body of Daniel Simpson, lying dead across the path.

This wretched young man had stayed drinking late at the fair; and, returning home in a taxed cart, in a state of intoxication, the horse took fright, and, turning suddenly down this narrow lane, Simpson lost his balance, and fell out of the cart, with violence to the ground; and, the wheel going over his head, he was killed on the spot.

Thus did this wicked young man come to a deplorable end, on the very night that a twelvemonth before he had so successfully plotted against the peace of the poor Irishman and Josiah Shirley.

George was so dreadfully agitated at this shocking sight, that Josiah could scarcely keep him from fainting; and, calling Rachel, he bade her lead George home, and fetch assistance from the village, whilst he remained by the body.

Pat Lary, with some working hands, immediately ran to the spot, and, raising the mangled remains of Simpson on a hurdle, they were conveyed to the next house, there to remain till the Coroner's inquest could be held on the body.

When Josiah returned home, he found George leaning against the window in the parlour, pale and in tears. Knowing his unfortunate association with the deceased, Josiah was not surprised, that the untimely death of this unfortunate young man should deeply affect his friend; and, kindly taking his hand, the amiable boy strove to comfort him.

"George! dear George! pray dry these tears: they really distress me. Though Simpson merited his death, remember that God is merciful, and all-sufficient to save."

"Oh, Josiah! I, too, have merited death!" exclaimed the agitated George, burying his face in Shirley's bosom, and giving way to a fresh burst of grief.

"We are all liable to err, George, and merit death every hour in the day, if it were only for our vile ingratitude to that great and munificent Being from whom we received the principles of our existence, and upon whose bounty we depend from day to day. We cannot be saved by our own righteousness; did not we read together last night, in the Psalms--That God did not find one perfect amongst the children of men. Then dry these unavailing tears, and return thanks to that divine Providence that has saved thee from a similar fate."

George returned no answer to this speech for some minutes, but seemed to be struggling with intense and overpowering feelings; at length, turning toward Josiah, with a face burning with conscious shame, he said--

"Yes, Josiah, God has indeed called me to a sense of my past wickedness; and I will no longer withhold from you the base cruelty with which I suffered an innocent fellow-creature to bear the disgrace of my own infamous conduct."

Then casting his eyes to the ground, in faltering accents, he continued--

"Josiah, you suspected that poor Irishman of having broken your trees. The dear, honest creature is innocent. I was the perpetrator, in conjunction with that wretched Simpson."

Josiah started back, whilst the surprise he felt was strongly marked on his countenance.

"Thee, George Hope! Oh, poor Lary, how basely I have injured him."

"Oh, do not--do not say so!" cried George, weeping bitterly. "I only am to blame. Ah, Josiah! dear good Josiah! I fear you will never love me, or call me friend or brother, after this disgraceful disclosure. Yet do forgive me? and I will never act so unworthily again." He would have thrown himself at his feet, but the noble boy prevented him, by raising him in his arms.

"Indeed, George, I did not suspect thee of such a crime; but I forgive thee, from my very heart. But poor Lary! I cannot pardon myself for having suspected him, without being certain of his guilt; and then the circumstance of the hatchet being found in the garden, and Rachel's rabbits being in his son's possession--how could all that come about?"

"Oh, Josiah!" replied George, "the more I reveal of this dreadful business, the more shocking it will appear; but, as I have commenced the narration, I will continue it to the end."

He then faithfully informed the young Quaker of the whole transaction, not sparing himself at all in the relation. Josiah was shocked and astonished at the depravity of heart, and the depth of dissimulation, that had been shown throughout this disgraceful affair; and, when George finished speaking, he grasped his hand firmly, and said:--

"Bless the hour, George, when the waters ingulfed thee, and the long and lingering illness which bowed down thy exhausted frame, if they were the means of snatching thee from guilt like this."

"And, above all," cried George, pressing Josiah's hand to his heart, "the kind friend who not only forgave the injuries I had so undeservedly heaped upon his head, but saved my worthless life, at the peril of his own, and, by his unremitting care and advice, has brought me to a full conviction of my past guilt."

"Say no more, George; I have only one request to make, which will sufficiently repay me for all my trouble. Let us go instantly to poor Lary and state the case to him; I cannot be happy till I have asked his pardon for the unjust suspicion which I have attached to his name. I know the honest creature so well that I am sure we shall never have any reason to repent trusting to his generosity."

This George willingly consented to do; and he felt so much happier since he had opened his mind to his friend, that he no longer dreaded the interview with Lary; and, after breakfast, the two friends stepped across to Lary's cottage.

They found the poor Irishman sitting on the bench before his door, trimming some plants to put in 'Squire Hope's garden; and, taking a seat on either side of him, the young gentlemen informed him of the cause of their visit. The Irishman listened to them with surprise and wonder; but, when they proceeded to ask his forgiveness, Pat interrupted them, by saying, "That it was not fit for young gentlemen like them to ask pardon of a poor fellow, such as the likes of Pat Lary; and that he forgave them from his very soul; and as to the poor lad that's gone, he has been punished enough, Heaven knows; Pat Lary bears no malice against him."

"But, Patrick, why did not thee boldly deny the charge I brought against thee?" said Josiah.

"Why, your honour, I was not sober, and I thought I might have done it," replied honest Pat; "besides, was there not my hatchet staring me in the face, as much as to say, 'Pat Lary, you know you did it?' Would it have been right, Master Shirley, to have denied my own? However, I always thought one day I should find out I did not do it."

This speech would have upset the young gentlemen's gravity at another time: and Josiah could scarcely forbear smiling, as Pat continued--

"And since you gave me that good advice, Master Shirley, I have never been intoxicated since; and, now I have seen the shocking end of that poor lad, I think I shall never give way to strong drink again."

"In truth, friend," said Josiah, shaking hands with him, "if thou hadst been soberly inclined, Simpson never dare have taken thy tools, and I never had suspected thee."

They then made the poor gardener a handsome present, and returned home.

When once this painful load was removed from George Hope's mind, he rapidly improved in health and spirits; and, before the midsummer vacation commenced, Mr. Carter proclaimed him sufficiently recovered to return to school.

The young friends parted mutually attached to each other; and, on leaving the house of the good Quakers, George grasped Josiah firmly by the hand, and said--

"Accept, my dear Josiah, my boundless gratitude and affection. You have taught me a lesson I never shall forget during the remainder of a life I owe to your care,--that moral virtues are confined to no rank or station in life; that such exist among every class and sect of people; and that the greatest of all weaknesses is that of despising any one because he may differ in opinion from ourselves.

"For your sake, I will never judge any one before I have gained a thorough knowledge of his character; and, whatever my prejudices may have been, I frankly own, that to the day of my death I shall have reason to bless the name of a Quaker."

THE END.

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1. Christian Alphabet; illustrative of the New Testament.

2. Scripture Alphabet; illustrative of the Holy Bible.

3. Ladder to Learning; or, Sure Road to Wealth.

4. Royal Alphabet; or, the History of an Apple Pie.

5. Pretty Alphabet; or, Path to Learning strewed with Flowers.

6. Peacock's Alphabet; or, Birds taught their Letters.

7. Flora's Alphabet.

8. Pomona's Alphabet.

9. Butterfly's Alphabet.

10. Gold Fish at School.

11. Lion turned Teacher.

12. Imperial Alphabet.

13. Parables of Jesus Christ.

16. Acts of the Apostles.

17. Lives of the Apostles.

18. Joseph and his Brethren.

19. Prodigal Son.

20. Scripture History.

21. History of Samson and Joshua.

22. Life of Moses.

23. Little Boy's Laughing-Stock; or, New Figures of Fun.

24. Cries of London: Part One.

25. Cries of London: Part Two.

26. Jemmy Jumps.

27. School's Up; or, a Trip to the Fair.

28. Jackoo, the Monkey.

29. Little Old Man.

30. Elderly Gentleman, his Cane, Hat, and Wig.

31. Miss Deborah Diddle.

32. Dandy Family.

33. One, Two: Come, Buckle my Shoe.

34. History of Good Boys and Girls.

35. Youthful Games.

36. Queen Tab and the Princess Kitten.

37. Bob Brush; or, the Young Artist's Twelve Days' Work.

38. Life and Death of Cock Robin.

39. New House that Jack Built.

40. Little Dog Toby.

41. Bob Buffon's Quadrupeds.

42. Bob Buffon's Birds.

43. My Mother, a Pathetic Tale.

44. My Father; or, Filial Recollections.

45. My Grandmother: a Tribute of Affection.

46. My Grandfather: an Offering of Gratitude.

47. My Aunt: a Tale of Duty.

48. My Uncle: a Token of Respect.

49. My Sister; or, Returns of Love.

50. My Brother: Verses of Affection.

51. Little Tom and Jerry.

52. Harlequin and Mother Shipton.

53. No Pleasing Every Body.

54. Juvenile Almanack.

55. History of the Horse.

56. History of a Quartern Loaf.

57. Boys' Games; or, Holyday Recreations.

58. Girls' Games.

59. Mother Hubbard and her Dog.

60. Juvenile Traveller's Delight.

61. Book of Working Trades.

62. Ditto, Part Two.

63. Juvenile Recreations.

64. The Little Wanderers.

65. The Good Boy's Aviary.

66. The Good Girl's Aviary.

67. The Lion's Banquet.

68. The Dolphin's Gala.

69. The Eagle's Concert.

70. The Hen and her Chickens.

71. The Queen-Bee's Supper-Party.

+-------------------------------------------------------+
|Transcriber's Note: |
| |
|In the list of Instructive Toy-Books, numbers 14 and 15|
|were not included in the original book. |
+-------------------------------------------------------+