very distinguished adventures, Fred
achieved the journey to Cincinnati and back, and proud of his laurels,
and with his wages in his pocket, found himself again at the familiar
door.

Poor Fred! a sad surprise awaited him. The elfin shadow that was once
ever flitting about the dwelling was gone; the little pattering
footsteps, the tireless, busy fingers, all gone! and his mother, paler,
sicker, sadder than before, clasped him to her bosom, and called him her
only comfort. Fred had brought a pocket full of sugar plums, and the
brightest of yellow oranges to his little pet; alas! how mournfully he
regarded them now!

How little do we realize, when we hear that such and such a poor woman
has lost her baby, how much is implied to her in the loss! She is poor;
she must work hard; the child was a great addition to her cares; and
even pitying neighbors say, "It was better for her, poor thing! and for
the child too." But perhaps this very child was the only flower of a
life else wholly barren and desolate. There is often, even in the
humblest and most uncultured nature, an undefined longing and pining for
the beautiful. It expresses itself sometimes in the love of birds and of
flowers, and one sees the rosebush or the canary bird in a dwelling from
which is banished every trace of luxury. But the little child, with its
sweet, spiritual eyes, its thousand bird-like tones, its prattling,
endearing ways, its guileless, loving heart, is a full and perfect
answer to the most ardent craving of the soul. It is a whole little Eden
of itself; and the poor woman whose whole life else is one dreary waste
of toil, clasps her babe to her bosom, and feels proud, and rich, and
happy. Truly said the Son of God, "Of such are the kingdom of heaven."

Poor Mary! how glad she was to see her boy again--most of all, that they
could talk together of their lost one! How they discoursed for hours
about her! How they cried together over the little faded bonnet, that
once could scarce be kept for a moment on the busy, curly head! How they
treasured, as relics, the small finger marks on the doors, and
consecrated with sacred care even the traces of her merry mischief about
the cottage, and never tired of telling over to each other, with smiles
and tears, the record of the past gleesome pranks!

But the fact was, that Mary herself was fast wearing away. She had borne
up bravely against life; but she had but a gentle nature, and gradually
she sank from