e
of Thorne, it was plain that he was very sick; and from all the
indications the room in which he lay, afforded, it was plain that
want and suffering were its inmates. The habit of idleness he had
suffered to creep at a slow but steady pace upon him. Idleness
brought intemperance, and intemperance, reacting upon idleness,
completed his ruin, and reduced his family to poverty in its most
appalling form. Now he was sick with a southern fever, and his
miserable dwelling afforded him no cordial, nor his wife and
children the healthy food that nature required.

"Mother!" said the little boy, getting up from the floor, where he
had been sitting for half an hour, as still as if he were sleeping,
and coming to Ellen's side, he looked up earnestly and imploringly
in her face.

"What, my child?" the mother said, stooping down and kissing his
forehead, while she parted with her fingers the golden hair that
fell in tangled masses over it.

"Can't I have a piece of bread, mother?"

Ellen did not reply, but rose slowly and went to the closet, from
which she took part of a loaf, and cutting a slice from it, handed
it to her hungry boy. It was her last loaf, and all their money was
gone. The little fellow took it, and breaking a piece off for his
sister, gave it to her; the two children then sat down side by side,
and ate in silence the morsel that was sweet to them.

With an instinctive feeling, that from nowhere but above could she
look for aid and comfort, did Ellen lift her heart, and pray that
she might not be forsaken in her extremity. And then she thought of
her sister Jane, from whom she had not heard for a long, long time,
and her heart yearned towards her with an eager and yearning desire
to see her face once more.

And now let us look in upon Jane and her family. Her husband, by
saving where Thorne spent in foolish trifles, and working when
Thorne was idle, gradually laid by enough to purchase a little farm,
upon which he had removed, and there industry and frugality brought
its sure rewards. They had three children: little Ellen had grown to
a lively, rosy-cheeked, merry-faced girl of eleven years; and
George, who had followed Ellen, was in his seventh year, and after
him came the baby, now just completing the twelfth month of its
innocent, happy life. It was in the season when the farmers' toil is
rewarded, and William Moreland was among those whose labor had met
an ample return.

How different was the scene, i