all eyes; even
those of the weary mother. The year had brought many trials, and some
heavy ones, but there was in spite of them all, much to be thankful for,
especially that all her beloved children had been preserved to her, and
were so healthy, so promising, and so likely to prove blessings to her.
Ah, how long afterwards did she recall that merry evening, and those
beaming faces, with a heavy heart!

CHAPTER III.

THE SEPARATION.

Thanksgiving is over! Its dinner, its frolics, its boisterous mirth, are
all in the past! It is Sabbath evening. A sadness seems to hang about
the party. Lucy had returned to her aunt, with whom she lived. James was
to go home that evening. Henry and Arthur in the morning. They with John
and their mother, sat thoughtfully around the fire; the younger children
were in bed; little was said by any one, but Mrs. Hamilton, wishing to
have a more private interview with Arthur, took him to her room. There
she questioned him about his new home more particularly. To her
amazement, the moment she spoke of his returning, he burst into a flood
of tears. Poor Arthur! he meant to be brave, and to hide his troubles,
but now that his heart had been warmed by the light of affection and
home-joy, the idea of going back was terrible to him. He could not
deceive, or keep back any thing. With passionate earnestness, he
besought his mother to let him stay at home.

"I will only eat a potatoe and a piece of bread, if you will let me
stay, mother; indeed I won't be much of a burden to you, but oh, dear
mother, don't send me back there," cried he, sobbing as if his heart
would break.

This was a sad trial for Mrs. Hamilton, and she paused to think what was
right, and to ask for guidance from on high. It seemed to her that
Arthur's dissatisfaction arose from his own weakness of spirit, rather
than from anything really disagreeable in his situation. They were kind
to him; he was not over-worked; could attend a good school; and would it
not be an injury to him, to indulge this excessive love for home, and
yield to his entreaties? Would he ever be a man, with courage to face
the storms of life, if she, with a woman's weakness, allowed her
feelings to prevail over her judgment? It must not be. She must be firm
for his sake; cruel as it seemed, it was real kindness, and she trusted
he would soon be contented. If not, she could then change her
determination if she wished. So she told him once more, that dut