II.
The stealthy fox, the prowling rat,
The serpent, Heaven-accursed,
The cruel tiger, and the cat,
The weasel, and the vampyre bat,
Have all been called my first.
My second is a shadowed place
Of forest bloom and song,
Where mosses creep o'er the rock's stern face,
Vines climb and swing in wildest grace,
And a streamlet laughs along.
My whole upbore the traitor's crest,
And gloried in his crime;
Yet England took him to her breast,
Which once received a like brave guest,—
Our Arnold, of old time.
BESSIE RAEBURN'S CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE.
CHAPTER I.
Bessie Raeburn was a very nice little girl indeed, truthful, trustful, generous, and affectionate. But she was by no means without some spicy little faults of her own. She was impulsive to rashness, and decidedly self-willed. She was given to odd little romantic fancies and secret schemes, which sometimes got her into trouble, when she attempted to carry them out. She was an only child, and much petted and indulged in a happy and luxurious home, having everything which a reasonable little lady in short frocks and long curls could ask for. Yet she was not contented; having a foolish ambition to distinguish herself by doing something quite out of the ordinary line of little girls,—something that would make people stare, and say "wonderful!" "surprising!" "a most extraordinary child!" She liked to say "I dare!" and "I 'm not afraid!" "I don't fear anything there is," she would say, "not even lions, or spiders, or bears, or bumblebees,—but I don't like them near me; they are disagreeable."
She learned to read when very young, and took most eagerly to books of travel and adventure. She passionately longed for adventures of her own, and often planned out exploits of a most perilous and surprising character.
One Christmas-eve, when Bessie was between seven and eight years of age, a wild little scheme came into her head, as she sat curled up on a sofa in the library, listening to her father, while he read to her sweet young mother a very sad account of the poor of New York, especially of the poor children, and of the noble efforts that were being made by a few good men and women to alleviate their wretched condition, to clothe them, teach them, and lift them into a better life.
"Ah, Charles," said Mrs. Raeburn, "what a sad, comfortless Christmas many of those poor little creatures will have,—children as dear to their parents as our little girl is to us. Only to think of it! cold, hungry, ignorant, helpless, and hopeless. It is dreadful."