velope his nature, and shrank from the
rough chilling blast.

None, who has not experienced it, can know any thing of the suffering
such a child endures when deprived of the sweet influences of home. Such
an one often appears dull and stupid to a careless observer, when there
is throbbing under that cold exterior, a heart of the keenest
sensibility. Let the bold, healthy, active boy be sent from home, if
necessary; a little hardship, and a little struggling with the rougher
elements of life, will perchance but strengthen and increase his
courage, and prepare him for the conflicts and struggles of after years;
but oh, fond mother, keep that delicate, timid child which nestles to
thy side with such confiding trust, which trembles at the voice of a
stranger, and shrinks like the mimosa, from a rude and unfamiliar touch,
under thine own sheltering roof-tree, for a time at least; there seek to
develope and strengthen his delicate nature into more manly strength and
vigor; there judiciously repress excessive sensibility, and increase
confidence in himself and others; if it can possibly be avoided, do not
expose him, while a child, to the tender mercies of those who do not
understand his peculiar temperament, and who, however kind their
feelings, cannot possess his confidence.

We need not dwell on the first weeks of Arthur's stay at Mr. Martin's.
They thought him a little homesick, but presumed he would soon get over
it; he performed the little tasks they exacted of him with great
alacrity, and was quite a favorite with Mrs. Martin, who said he was the
most quiet, and well-behaved child she ever saw. At first, Arthur
thought of nothing but home, and home-scenes; but he struggled bravely
to rise above sad and sorrowful thoughts, and to be contented. "They
shall never hear me complain," he said to himself, "and dear mother too
shall never know how bad I feel. I want to do my duty, and be a
_brave_ boy."

Every fortnight a letter came from home, and though Arthur read it with
streaming eyes, it was a precious treasure. He would read them over and
over, till he seemed to hear his mother's voice once more, and feel her
loving hand upon his head. He answered them; but wrote only a few words,
saying, he was well, and the other common place remarks children usually
write. He was not happy, but he was calmer now, and did not _every_
night cry himself to sleep. The visit at home, was a bright, cheering
spot, to which he often looked