I cannot tell how long afterwards it was, for months and years are not very different in the calendar of childhood, when I was surprised with the announcement that a change had come over Cousin Mary Rose.  She was changed to Mrs. Williams, and had gone with him, I think, to the South.

I doubt if any trace of the family is still to be found in the pleasant village which was their home.  The parents have gone to their rest.  The younger members removed long ago to the distant West.

My Cousin Mary Rose, for many years a happy and useful wife, has at last found, in some part of the great western valley, a peaceful grave.  I do not know the spot where she lies, but I would fain twine around it these little blossoms of grateful remembrance.

There is a moral in this slight sketch which I wish to impress on the daughters who read this Magazine.  It is that their influence is greater than they may suppose.  Children read the purpose, the motive of conduct, and understand the tenor of character; they are attracted by feminine grace and refinement; they are keen admirers of personal beauty, and they can be won by goodness and gentleness.  Never, dear young friends, overlook or treat with indifference a child thrown in your way.  You may lose by it a choice opportunity of conferring happiness and lasting benefit.

Norwich, Conn.

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Original.

MY LITTLE NIECE, MARY JANE.

CONCLUDED.

When the sick child had recovered, and the family were again collected, Mary Jane was sent to school.  This was a delightful change to her—­she loved her teacher, she loved the little girls, she loved her book, but more than all, her needle.  The neatly folded patchwork made by her little fingers, is kept as a choice relic to this day.

She had been in school just one month when she was taken sick.  Whether this was owing to the confined air of the school-room, or to a too close application to her studies and work, is not known.

She returned from school one evening, and having sat with the family at the table as usual, she went to her mother, and with rather unusual earnestness requested her to take her in her lap and tell her a story.  To be told a story in mother’s lap was regarded as a great indulgence by the children.  The little ones on hearing her request, ran to mother and insisted on being attended to first.  “Take me up, mother, and do take me up.”  At length Mary Jane with her usual self-denial restored quiet by requesting her mother to begin with the youngest first.  When a short story had been told her little brother, and she was about occupying the desired position, she again yielded her right to the importunities of her younger sister.  A longer story was now told, in which she became quite interested herself, so that when her turn came, she appeared somewhat exhausted.  As her mother took her in her arms, she laid her head upon her shoulder, saying it ached very hard.  It was thought that sleep would restore her, so she was placed in bed.