“Here,” he continued, handing him a paper, “this is the deed of a house on—­street, valued at eight thousand dollars; accept it as a present from me to you and your family, and remember this, that a kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones.  It was that which saved you, and by that you may save others.  Good-evening; I will see you at the store tomorrow.”

Having said this, he left, waiting not to receive the thanks that grateful hearts desired to render him.

And now, reader, our story is ended.  If you have followed us thus far, neglect not to receive what we have faintly endeavored to inculcate; and ever remember, while treading life’s thorny vale, that “a kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones.”

THE LOVE OF ELINORE.

    She stood beside the sea-shore weeping,
    While above her stars were keeping
        Vigils o’er the silent deep;
    While all others, wearied, slumbered,
    She the passing moments numbered,
        She a faithful watch did keep. 
    Him she loved had long departed,
    And she wandered, broken-hearted,
        Breathing songs he loved to hear. 
    Friends did gather round to win her,
    But the thoughts that glowed within her
        Were to her most fond and dear. 
    In her hand she held bright flowers,
    Culled from Nature’s fairest bowers;
        On her brow, from moor and heath,
    Bright green leaves and flowers did cluster,
    Borrowing resplendent lustre
        From the eyes that shone beneath. 
    Rose the whisper, “She is crazy,”
    When she plucked the blooming daisy,
        Braiding it within her hair;
    But they knew not, what of gladness
    Mingled with her notes of sadness,
        As she laid it gently there. 
    For her loved one, ere he started,
    While she still was happy-hearted,
        Clipped a daisy from its stem,
    Placed it in her hair, and told her,
    Till again he should behold her,
        That should be her diadem. 
    At the sea-side she was roaming,
    When the waves were madly foaming,
        And when all was calm and mild,
    Singing songs,—­she thought he listened,—­
    And each dancing wave that glistened
        Loved she as a little child. 
    For she thought, in every motion
    Of the ceaseless, moving ocean,
        She could see a friendly hand
    Stretched towards the shore imploring,
    Where she stood, like one adoring,
        Beckoning to a better land. 
    When the sun was brightly shining,
    When the daylight was declining,
        On the shore she’d watch and wait,
    Like an angel, heaven-descending,
    ’Mid the ranks of mortals wending,
        Searching for a missing mate. 
    Years passed on, and when the morning
    Of a summer’s day gave