guided by your own judgment, and struggle with the world unaided by the
friends of your boyhood. There is a little pride, and a great deal more
of anxiety, in your thoughts now, as you look steadfastly into the home
blaze, while those delicate fingers, so tender of your happiness, play
with the locks upon your brow.

----To struggle with the world,--that is a proud thing; to struggle
alone,--there lies the doubt! Then crowds in swift upon the calm of
boyhood the first anxious thought of youth; then chases over the sky of
Spring the first heated and wrathful cloud of Summer.

But the lamps are now lit in the little parlor, and they shed a soft
haze to the farthest corner of the room; while the firelight streams
over the floor, where puss lies purring. Little Madge is there; she has
dropped in softly with her mother, and Nelly has welcomed her with a
bound and with a kiss. Jenny has not so rosy a cheek as Madge. But
Jenny with her love-notes, and her languishing dark eye, you think of as
a lady; and the thought of her is a constant drain upon your sentiment.
As for Madge,--that girl Madge, whom you know so well,--you think of her
as a sister; and yet--it is very odd--you look at her far oftener than
you do at Nelly!

Frank too has come in to have a game with you at draughts; and he is in
capital spirits, all brisk and glowing with his evening's walk.
He--bless his honest heart!--never observes that you arrange the board
very adroitly, so that you may keep half an eye upon Madge, as she sits
yonder beside Nelly. Nor does he once notice your blush as you catch her
eye when she raises her head to fling back the ringlets, and then with a
sly look at you bends a most earnest gaze upon the board, as if she were
especially interested in the disposition of the men.

You catch a little of the spirit of coquetry yourself,--(what a native
growth it is!)--and if she lift her eyes when you are gazing at her, you
very suddenly divert your look to the cat at her feet, and remark to
your friend Frank in an easy off-hand way--how still the cat is lying!

And Frank turns--thinking probably, if he thinks at all about it, that
cats are very apt to lie still when they sleep.

As for Nelly, half neglected by your thought as well as by your eye,
while mischievous-looking Madge is sitting by her, you little know as
yet what kindness, what gentleness, you are careless of. Few loves in
life, and you will learn it before life is done, can bala