d man, who
typified the old year, faded from my view, and, almost before I was
aware of the change, youth and beauty stood smiling before me. The old
year gone, the new year had begun. His robes were white and glistening,
his voice was mirthful, and his step buoyant; health and vigor braced
his limbs. He, too, bore in his hand a scroll, but white as the
unsullied snow; not a line was yet traced upon its pure surface, except
the title, Record of 1872. I gazed on its fresh and gladsome visage with
mingled emotions of sorrow and joy, and I breathed my prayer for
forgiveness, for the follies and sins of the departed year.

EARNEST HARWOOD;

OR,

THE ADOPTED SON.

CHAPTER I.

It was on a pleasant afternoon, in the month of June, some years ago,
that a small funeral procession might have been seen slowly wending its
way to the church-yard from the dwelling of Mr. Humphrey, in the village
of Walden in one of the Eastern States. Although a deep seriousness
pervaded the small company, and the manner of each was subdued, yet
there were no visible tokens of that strong grief which overwhelms the
soul when the ties of nature are rent asunder; for, with the exception
of a little boy, apparently about five years of age, whom Mr. Humphrey
kindly led by the hand, no one present bore any relationship to the
deceased. As the procession approached the grave, and the coffin was
lowered to its final resting-place, the little boy sobbed bitterly as he
begged of Mr. Humphrey not to allow them to bury his mamma in the
ground. Mr. Humphrey took the child in his arms, and endeavored to quiet
him by many kind and soothing words, explaining to him, so far as the
child was able to comprehend his meaning, that the soul of his mamma was
now in Heaven, but that it was necessary that her dead body should be
buried in the grave; and that although he would see her no more in this
world he would, if he were a good boy, meet her one day in Heaven. The
child still continued to weep, though less bitterly than before,--and
when the grave had been filled up he quietly allowed Mr. Humphrey to
lead him from the church-yard.

In order that the reader may understand the event above narrated, it is
necessary that I should go back a little in my story.

A few weeks previous to the circumstance related at the opening of this
chapter a pale weary-looking woman, leading by the hand a little boy,
might have been seen walking one evening along the