conscientiously took the children to the Episcopalian Church each Sunday, put them in a pew and waited with them till service began; and then, in obedience to her own faith, withdrew-waited outside till service was over, and then went to bring them out! She sent them to a cheap school, that they might learn to read; but she found "the manners and words there vulgar," so she kept them at home-set them on a little form beside herself, for school hours, and taught them to sew and to spell, as best she could, and took them a walk every day, as nursemaid. She remade their mother's clothes for them, and mended and patched till little was left to mend; but the gown Mrs. Vincent had on when last she had seen her mother, before she left Ireland, she kept as it was, for she thought "it could appeal to the mother's heart, when she should see it, on behalf of the poor children." Her ring, and her bible, and this dress, she kept as reliques of the departed, for the survivors. Afraid that Master Robert should be corrupted,-for "New York is an awful wicked place, Ma'am,"-she put her shawl over her head, to use her own words, just before the hour of closing, and took her seat on a step opposite the store, and joined him as he came out, that he might not go with idle companions! On Robert remonstrating that this exposed him to the ridicule of his associates, she fixed with him that he should find her in an adjoining street; "for I would'nt be the cause of the poor boy's being laughed at." "But, nurse, what did you do with the children while you waited there for Robert every evening?" I put them to bed first, and locked the door!" Thus did this faithful creature, with unwearied tenderness and exertion, go on; but her small resources were about exhausted-her own stock of clothes so worn, as to be scarcely decent-when at length a letter from Dublin and a remittance arrived, desiring her to return with the three little girls, but to leave the boys behind. Robert had work, though very hard work, carrying out newspapers sometimes, sometimes a mere boy porter on the quays. "He that used to be dressed in silk and cambric, and his skin so fine, was all scarred with the rough clothing; and one poor shoulder was all growing out under the weights he had had carry, till he could do that no longer!" Johnnie was now some ten or eleven years old, and "to have left him behind would just have been to leave him to ruin and starvation;" and Nurse determined that he should go too, though at the risk of the anger of their friends in Dublin! Her little funds barely cleared the way for herself and the three little girls. She begged a trifle of the neighbours," and collected a sum sufficient to secure a deck passage for Johnnie: he could be fed by a little from each of their portions; and "if the captain had any heart, when once they had 66 sailed, he would let him have his mattrass brought down beside his sisters!" So it proved; and Johnnie reached Dublin with them, but nurse was told she had disobeyed orders, and she must on no account be instrumental in bringing poor Robert back also. "The thought of him, her first charge, was ever present in her heart. She never knew any peace for thinking of him. The poor boy, when he saw the vessel sail with all on board whom he loved, had thrown himself in paroxysms of grief on the shore, and cried to he taken with them! This image was ever present to nurse, who loved this, her first charge, supremely! She had a promise from one of her poor friends to give "Master Robert" a dinner every Sunday, in order to have some hold on him—some news of him:-but the thoughts never left her, how he was to be got back to Ireland-she dared not, if she could, move in it herself, but she was full of faith, as well as of anxiety, and was sure he would arrive some day! It was in the spring or summer of 1854, that she returned with the children to Dublin. No sooner were they in their grandmother's care, than with her independent spirit, she sought for employment for herself. She has two grown-up daughters-one married and one in service, and is herself about sixty-a fine, strong, ablebodied woman still-full of spirit and of pathos, and not only without self-exaggeration, but even self-appreciation-thinking, and no doubt truly thinking, that she has done no more than it was her duty to do, when she found herself in New York with three motherless children, of whom she had voluntarily pledged herself to their dying mother to take charge, so long as they depended on her! She very soon found a temporary charge with a lady, who was spending some months in Ireland, and in May, 1855, when I was staying in the house of the family in which she had lived twenty years ago, a report reached them, that "Master Robert" had arrived! This created quite a sensation, and they waited eagerly for a call from nurse, sure that if it were so, she would soon appear to tell them. I more than shared their hope that she would come soon, for I was anxious to see a woman of such affectionate fidelity and exertions; and I was not a little pleased to learn the Sunday after, "nurse is here." From nurse herself then I heard, that the week before, while she was seeing her last mistress and her family on board the packet, a man and boy had called at the lodgings, inquiring for her, and promised to call again. In the afternoon, while preparing to take her departure from that abode, she was told the boy had called again. "My heart misgave me, but that it was Master Robert, and I ran down, and sure enough it was he, but in such a state!" Dirty, ragged, pale, and thin-now sixteen-he returned to his native city, and found out first the faithful nurse! Her first work 66 was to fill a tub of warm water, and to cut his hair, and make him clean-then she put him in a clean bed, washed his shirt and stockings, mended his trowsers and jacket as best she couldbought him a pair of shoes, and next day sallied forth with him, clean at least, and the very image of his mother, just her look," to his grandfather's gate, at a little distance from Dublin. She pushed him in, not daring to go herself, for they would scold, and never believe that she had not been instrumental in bringing him over.. She thought she would "let the mother's look in him find its own way to the grandmother's heart." She waited outside for half an hour to see whether he was received or turned out again—and satisfied that she saw him not, she determined to keep away a week at least, and this would bring her to the time, at intervals, when she generally called to see the little girls! Her account was amusing, how she presented herself with a beating heart and an innocent know-nothing countenance! But she was at once kindly (which made her easy) greeted with "Ah! nurse, what have you been doing? you are at the bottom of it, we are sure-but however we are very glad now and thankful that poor Robert is here; he is to go to Cork, to some relations of his father's there, and to school!" And so ma-am, now I am quite easy, all those dear children are all here in Ireland and with their relations, and I care for nothing. else." "But how did Robert get over, nurse?" Why, you seethe friends who were to give him a dinner were coming, and he begged hard to come with them : he had suffered much all the year, and they could not find in their hearts to leave him, but they had no money to take a passage for him, and they thought if they could smuggle him on board among their things and themselves, and conceal him till they were on the wide ocean, the captain could not help himself then, and they would feed him with themselves; and so they succeeded, God be praised; and he is here, and he will larn at school, and all will be right." 66 Just as I was leaving my friends, Mrs. the grandmother, and the eldest little girl, came to call to relate the arrival of "Master Robert." I was pleased to see one of the children,—she has a gentle, refined, sweet little face, and pretty manners; you would never have guessed that she had already roughed it in the world, except from her small and fragile form! This is a true storywanting only in the pathos and graphic description, which mark the native character no less than fidelity and zeal. Pray for no particular blessing, but for that state of mind which will make His will ours.—Heylin. Stand. REST thee, Father!-evening shadows O'er the streams and spangled meadows Nature sinks in tranquil beauty !— But, alas!-thou lackest sight. List thee, Father! strains of sweetness Soaring to the realms of Greatness, Music's broad eternity Light reveals not earth's bright rapture, Kiss me, Father!-thoughts oppress thee,- Bless thee, Father! sight bereft thee, Keen perception of the mind!— J. A. J. O. |