own; for when they were examined, the greater portion of them was
found to be hers. Time has not exhausted the truth and beauty of the
saying, that "in the night the stars shine forth," and the stars did not
pale even in the terrible light of the fire that consumed half a city.

MY LITTLE BOY.

There were nine of us, all told, when mother died; myself, the eldest,
aged twenty, a plain and serious woman, well fitted by nature and
circumstance to fill the place made vacant by death.

I cannot remember when I was young. Indeed, when I hear other women
recount the story of their early days, I think I had no childhood, for
mine was like no other.

Mother was married so young, that at the age when most women begin to
think seriously of marriage she had around her a numerous brood, of
which I was less the elder sister than the younger mother. She was
delicate by nature, and peevish by reason of her burdens, and I think
could never have been a self-reliant character; so she fretted and
sighed through life, and when death came, unawares, she seemed not sorry
for the refuge.

She called me to her bed one day in a tone so cheerful that I wondered,
and when I saw the calm and brightness in her face, hope made me glad,
"Margaret," she said, "you have been a good daughter. I never did you
justice until this illness opened my eyes. You have shamed me by your
patience and your sacrifices so gently borne. You are more fit to be a
mother than I ever was; and I leave the children to your care without a
fear. It is not likely you will ever marry, and I die content, knowing
that you will do your duty."

After this came many sad days,--the parting, the silent form which death
had made majestic, the funeral hymns, the tolling bell, the clods upon
the coffin-lid; and when the sun shone out and the birds sang again, it
seemed to me I had dreamed it all, and that the sun could not shine nor
the birds sing above a grave on which the grass had not yet had time to
grow. But I had not dreamed, nor had I time for dreaming. Mother was
dead, and eight children claimed from me a mother's care,--the youngest
a wailing babe but seven days old, whom I came to cherish and love as my
little boy.

When I had settled down, and grown accustomed to the vacuum which never
could be filled for me, I thought a great deal upon mother's last words.
I was proud of the trust she reposed in me, and I meant to be faithful
to it. I wondered much why she ha