THE FAIRING.
Bridget had been a very good girl, and her mamma wished to reward her; so she gave her some money to buy herself what she liked at the fair. This was a double pleasure for Bridget, that she had pleased mamma, and that she could please herself. We shall soon see how she added a third pleasure to her list. It was a fine day, and crowds of people were seen, in their best attire, passing along the lanes and meadows to the fair. Bridget went there with her mother, and saw much to amuse her; besides, she found it a cheering sight, to look upon so many merry happy faces. Friends were meeting friends; some giving presents, some telling the news, some shaking hands; all were gay and blithesome, and a bright sun beamed on many a joyous face. Bridget's mamma led her to a stall, where toys and books were sold, and left her to buy what she chose, whilst she herself passed on to chat with a friend she saw in the crowd. Bridget had a pretty baby sister, and her first purpose was to find some toy for her. When she had bought a book full of pictures for the little Alice, she began to think what she should like best herself: after much thinking and looking, she settled to have either a workbox, or a lovely dressed droll. As she looked at the charming doll, which the woman held in her hand, she heard a plaintive voice behind her; and, turning round, she saw a very very old man. He was trembling with age and weakness, and held out a ragged hat, saying, "I am poor, and old, and needy!" Poor Bridget felt her heart fill with pity, and she turned from the tempting stall; when, thinking she had given the woman at the stall much trouble, she began to reflect whether she ought to leave it without buying something. So she said to the woman, "I have only bought this book from you, and I have given you some trouble, but I want to let this poor old man have my money."—"Do so, dear child," said the woman kindly; "he wants it more than I do." Bridget with joy gave all the money she had left to the beggar, and he said, "God bless you!" in a tone that came warm from his heart, and went warm to hers. How often did she recal that fervent "God bless you!" By night and by day it was with her, blessing her, cheering her, making her gladsome. What toy could have given her half so many pleasant thoughts! half so many real joys! half so many mirthful feelings!
MISTRUST YOURSELF.
The bells were ringing gaily for church, and the village was pouring out its tenants; all were bound to the holy fane, whose lofty spire was to be seen peeping from amidst the trees. Constance and Basil tripped lightly on the green sward, each with a book under the arm, and beguiling the time with blameless chat. As they moved forwards, Alfred, a worthless youth, passed them; instead of a book, he bore a hoop in his hand: his dress was shabby, and his look mean. "Basil," said Constance, "do not notice that idler; he may do you some harm, but he will not let you do him any good,"—"Nonsense, my girl," cried Basil, "he cannot, shall not lead me astray."—"Do not be too sure," said Constance. "You shall see," was the answer. "Good morrow, Alfred."—"The good day to you," said Alfred. "Whither so fast, this fine May morning? To church, I warrant! And my pretty Constance too!" Constance turned away, and walked off to a short distance, then stopped to wait for Basil. But Basil was deep in converse with the new comer, trying, as she thought, to coax him to the church; but, at the end of a few minutes, Alfred drew him from the path, and led him off to join some sports. Poor Constance wept, and went alone to church; and, when there, prayed for her dear Basil. At night he came home, with a broken head, and an empty purse. "Ah! Basil, dear, where have you been?"—"To no good, Constance, you may be sure, when Alfred led the way. My dear girl, what a fool I was to rely on my own strength, and put myself in the power of the artful and the wicked!" And Basil was very wretched, and blamed his own folly and conceit. Constance sought to console him, and spoke kindly to him thus: "Basil, the past is gone for ever; we cannot call it back; but, we can take care, that it shall not happen again. You must never more depend too much upon yourself; for, you see, you can be tempted to do wrong, even when you know it is wrong; now, if, in future, you avoid Alfred, and mistrust yourself, you will be all the better for what you have felt to-day. Thus good can be drawn from evil." Basil kissed her, and told her that her advice was very good, and he would follow it; "and your smile, Constance, shall draw me to virtue and to peace."
Mistrust Yourself.
Pubd. May 1, 1831, by J. Harris, St. Pauls Church Yard.