Miscellany: Truth: Chapter III.--The Prize

'Thi above all! - to thtne own self be truel And it must follow, as the niglit tho day, Thou canst not ihen bc false to any man." CIIATTKR I.--A MOTHER'S INFLUENCE. Mother! mother!' exclaimed a sweet eager voice, and the speaker, a child of thirteen years, burst into the room, where Mrs. Carlton sat at work, - 'don't you think there is to be a prize given on exhibition day for the best composition! -And I mean totry for it, - shan't I?' She was a little, harum-scarum looking thing! I suppose she had run all the way home from school, for her straw bonnet hung on her neck instead of her head.and u profusión of soft dark hair was streaming in such disorder about her glowing face, that you could not teil if she were pretty or not; but you could see a pair of brilliant gray or blue or black eyes, - they certainly changed their color with every new emotion, but I think they were really, - full of laughter, and love beaming through the truant tresses, and all eloquent with the beauty of a fresh. ■vrarm soil. This change in the child's cyes is no freak of a foolish fancy; for every one noticed it;and her school-crony, Kate Sumner, used to declare, that when Harriet was angry they were black; gray when she was thoughtful; violet when sad; and when happy and loving, they changed to the tenderest blue. Mrs. Carlton drew the little girl toward her, and smoothed back the rebellious curls, at the same time exclaiming with a long-drawn sigh, 'My dear Harriet! how you do look!1 Oh, motherJ U's not the least matter how I look! If ï were only a beauty, now, like Angelina Burton, I would keep my hair as smooth as, - as any thing; but I wouldn't rub my cheek though, as she does always, just before she goes into a room where there's company, - would you roother?' The mother gazed at her child's expressíve face, as she spoke, with its irregular, yet lovely features, the strange, bright eycs, the changing cheek, the full and sweet, but spirited mouth, and said to herself, "Whatever you may think, my darling, I would not change your simple, innocent, childlike unconsciousness, for all Angelma's beauty, spoiled as it is by vanity and affectation.' ♦But, mother, do give me a subject for composition, for I want to write it now. this minute!' 'Harriet,' said Mrs. Carlton quietly, 'go and brush your hair, change your shoes, and mend that rent in your dress as neatly as you can.' Harriet half pouted: but she met her mother's tranquil eye; the pout changed to a good-humored smile, and kissing her affectionately, ahe bounded off to do her bidding. While she is gone you would like, - would you not, dear reader? - to ask a few questions about her. I can guess rhat they are, and will answer them, to the best of my knowledge. Mrs.. Carlton is a widow with a moderate fortune, and a handsome house in Tremont street, Boston. She has been a star in fashionable life, but since the loss of her husband, whom she tenderly loved, she has retired from the gay world, and devoted herself to her child, - a wild, frank, happy, and generous impetuous creature with half a dozen glaring faults, and one rare virtue which nobly redeenied them all. That virtue, patiënt reader, you must find out for yourself. Perhaps you will catch a glimpse of it in CHAPTEE II,-- AUNT ELOISE. Harriet was busy with her composition, when her aunt, who was on a visit to Mrs, Carlton, entered the room. Aunt Eloise was a weak-minded and weakhearted lady, of a very uncertain age, unhappily gifted with more sensibility than sense. She really had a deal of Teeling, - for hersélf, and an almost inexbaustible hower of tears, variedsionally by hysterics and fainting-fits, whenever any pressing exigency, in the .fate of her friends, demanded self-possession, energy, or immediate assistance. - If, too. there happened, as there will sometimes, in a households, to be an urgent necessity for instant exertion by any member of the family, such as sewing, watching with an invalid or shopping with a country cousin, poor Aunt Eloise was invariably and most unfortunately seized with a sudden toothache,headache, xain in the side, strange feelings, dreadful nervousness. or some trouble of the kind, which quite precluded the . propriety of asking her aid. Every morning at breakfast Aunt Eloise edified the family with a wonderful dream, which the breakfast-bell had interrupted, and every evening she grew sentimental over the reminiscences which the twilight hour awakened. It was then that innumerable shades of former admirers arose. Some doubted if they had ever been more than shades;. but Aunt Eloise certainly knew best about that; and who had a right to deny, that Mr. Stnithhad knelt to herforpity; thatColonel Green had vowed eternal adoration; and that Lawyer Lynx had laid his hand, and his fees, which were not quite a fortune at her feet? Aunt Eloise had been, - at least she hinted so. - a beauty and a blue, in her day; and, to maintain both characters, she rouged, wore false ringlets, andscribbled love-verses, which she had a bad habit of leaving, by accident, between the leaves ofbooksin every frequented room of the house. . She thought and avowed herself extravagantly fond of her niece, during her early chiidhood, and imagined that she display ed a graceful enthusiasm in exclaiming, every now and then, in her presence, and in that of others, -Oh! you angel child! I do think she is the sweetest creature! Come here and kiss me, you beauty!' &c. &c. But no one ever saw Aunt Eloise taking care of the child, attending to its little wants, or doinganything for its benefit. The only tangible proof of her affection for her niece, was in the shape of bonbons and candy, which she was in the habit of bringing home from frequent walks in Tremont street. Harriet regularly handed these forbidden luxuries to her mother, and Mrs. Carlton as regularly put them in the fire. 'Isn't it a pity to waste such things, mother? Why not give them to some poor child in the street?' asked the little girl, one day, as she watched, with long"ng eyes, a paper full of the tempting poison, which her mother was quietly emptying into the grate. Mrs. Carlton did not disdain to reason with her child: - 'That would be wor'se than wasted, dear. [t would be cruel to give to another what [ refuse to you on account oL its unwholsomeness.' But Harriet had now been for a long time out of the spinter's books, - as the saying is, - and this misfortune occurred as follows: One morning, when she was six years old, the child carne into her mother's room from her aunt's, where she had been alternately petted, scolded, and teased, till she was weary, and, seating herself in a corner, remained for some time absorbed in thought. She had been reading to her mother that morning. and one sentence, of which she had asked an explanation, had made a deep impression upon her. - It was this, - 'God sendsus trial and troubles to strengthen and purify our hearts.' She uow sat in her corner, without speaking or stirring, until her mother's voice startled her from her rêverie. 'Of what are you now thinking, .Harriet?' 'Mother, did God send Aunt Eloise to strengthen and purify my heart?' 'What do you mean, my child?' 'Why, the book says he sends trials for that,and she is the greatest trial I have, you know. ' The indignant maiden was just entering the room as this dialogue began, and hearing her own name, she had stopped, unseen, to listen. Speechless with rage, she returned to her chamber, and was never heard to cali Harriet an angel child again. But we have wasted more words on the fair Eloise's follies than they deserve. - Let us return to Harriet's all-important composition. The maiden-lady, selfish and indolent as she was, took it into her head sometimes to be exceedingly inquisitive, and officious too; particularly where she thought her literary talents could come into play. She walked up to Harriet and looked over her shoulder. 'What's this, hey? oh! a story! That's right, Harriet; I am glad to see you taking to literary pursuits. Come, child! give me the pen and I will improve that sentence for you.''Thank you, aunt! but I don't want it improved.' 'Not want it improved! There's vanity!' 'Indeed, aunt, I an not vain about it, and I would like to have you help me, if it were not to be shown as mine. It wouldn't he fair, you know, to pass off another's as my own. I am writing for a prize.' 'For a prize! So much the more reason that you should be assisted. There, dear run away to your play and I wil] write it all ior you. You will besure to win the prize.' With every word thus uttered, Harriet's eyes had grown larger and darker, and at the close, she turned them, full of astonishment, from her aunt's face to her mother's. Reassured by the expression of the latter, she replied. 'But, Aunt Eloise, that would be a ( ïood you know.' 'A falsehood, miss!' cries the maiden sharply. 'It is a very common thing, I assureyou!' But not the less false for being common, Eloise,' said Mrs. Carleton; 'pray let Harriet have her own way about it. It would be far better to lose the prize, than to gain it thusdishonestly.' Aunt Eloise, as usual, secretly determined to have her owu way; but she said no more then, and Harriet pursued her employment without further interruption. The exhibition day had arrived. Harriet had finished her story several days before, and read it to her mother. It was a simple, graceful, childlike eöusion, with less of pretensión and ornament, and more of spirit and originality, than the compositions of most childrenof the same age contain. Mrs. Carleton seemed much pleased; but Aunt Eloise had criticised it without mercy. At the same time she wasobserved to smile frequently with a cunning, sly, triumphant expression, peculiar to herself,' - an expression which she always wore when she had a secret, and secrets she had, in abundance, - a new one almost every day, - trivial, petty secrets, which no one cared about but herself; but which she guarded asjealously as if they had been apples of gold. The exhibition day arrived. 'Goodbye, mother; good bye, aunty,' said Harriet, glancing for a moment into the break room. She was looking very pretty in simple, tasteful dress, made for the occasion. She held the story in her hand, neatly enclosed in an envelope, and her eyes were full of hope, - the cloudless hope of childhood. 'Don't be surprised, Harriet,' said her aunt, 'at anything., that may happen today. Only be thank ful if the prize is yours, that't all.' If Kate Sumner don't win it, I do hope shall!' replied the eager child, and away shetripped to school. At twelve p'clock Mrs. Carlton and her sister took their seats among the audience, in the exhibition room. The usual exercises were completed, and it only remained for the compositions to be read aloud by the teacher. The first was a sentimental essay upon Friendship. Mr. Wentworth, the teacher, looked first surprised, then amused, then vexed as he read, while a gaily and fashionably dressed lady, who occupied a conspicuous place in tho assembly, was observed to toss her head and fan herself with a very complacent air, while she met, with a nod, the conscious eyes of a fair and beautiful, but haughty-looking girl of fifteen seated among the pupils. 'By Angelina Burton,' said the teacher as he concluded, and laying it aside without further comment, he tookup the next, - 'Lines to a favorite Tree,' by Catherine Sumner.' It was short and simple, and ran as follows: Tby leaves' lightest raurmur, Oh! beent i fu! tree! Euch betid of thy branches, The stateiy, tbe free, Each wild, wavy whisper, Is music to me. I gazed tliro' thy labyrinth, Golden and green, Where the light loves to linger, In gïory serene, Farup, lili yon heaven blue Trembles between. I sluit out the city, It sightand its sound, And away, far away, For the forest I'm bound, For the noble oíd forest, Which ages have crowned! I lean on lts moss banks, I stoop o'er its rills, I eee tliro' its vistas The vapor-wreathed hills, And my soul with a gush Of wild happiness filis! I pino for the freshncss, The freedom the health, Wbich Nature can give me; My bouI's tlcarest weoHb111 ' I Ja wosted in citiea; - Where, only by 6tealth, The mountainborn breezes Can fitfully play, Where we steal but a glimpse Of tliis glorious day, And but by the calendar Learn it is Maj. But twny with repining,- FU study from thee A lesson of paticncc. Oh! noble, oíd tree! JVIid darle walls imprisoned, Thou droop'st not like me;- But stri vost forever Still uj, strong and brave, Till in Heaven's pure sunshine Thy free branches wave! Oh! thusmay I meet it, No Ionger a slave? The next was a story, and Harriet Oarlton's eyes and cheeks changed color as she listened. It was the same, yet not the same! The incidente were hers, the sentiment more novel-like, and many a flöwer and highly wrought sentence had een introduced, which she had never leard before. She sat speechless with wonder, indignation, and dismay, and though several other inferior compositions were readsshe was so absorbed in rêverie, that she heard no more until she was startled by Mr. Wentworth's voice calling her by name. She looked up. In his hand was the príze, - a richly chased, golden pencil-case, suspended to a chain of the same material. The sound, the sight recalled her bewildered faculties, and ere she reached the desk, she had formed a resol ution. which, however, it required all her native strength of soul to put in practice. 'Miss Carlton, the prize is yours!' and the teacher leaned forward to thröw the chain around her neck. Tha child drew back. 'No, sir,' she said in a low, but firm and distinct voice, looking, up bravely in his face 'I did not write the story you have read.' 'Not write it!' exclaimed Mr. Wentworth. 'Why, then, does it bear your name? Am I to understand, Miss Carlton, that you have asked another's assistance in your composition, and that you repent the deception?' Poor Harriet! this was too much! Her dark eyes first flashed, and then filled with tears; her lip trembled with emotion, and she paused a moment, as if disdaining a reply to this unmerited charge. A slight and sneering laugh from the beauty aroused her, and she answered, respectfully but firmiy, 'The story, I did write, was in that envelope yesterday. Some one has changed it without my knowledge. It was not so good as you have read; so I must not take the prize.' There was a murmur of applause thro' the assembly, and the teacher bent upon the blushing girl a look of approval, which amply repaid her for all the embarrassment she hadsuflered. Aunt Eloise toök advantage of the momentary excitement to steal unobservec from the room. Harriet took her seat, and Miss Angelina Burton was next called up. The pprtly matron leaned smi lingly forward; and the graceful little beauty, already afFecting the airs of a fine lady, sauntèring up to the desk anc langu idly reached out her hand for the prize. 'I cannot say much for your taste in selection, Miss Burton. I do not admire your author's sentiments. The next time you wish to make an extract, you musl allow me to choose for you. There are better things than this, even in the trashj magazine from which you have copiec it' And with this severe, but justly meritei reproof of the imposition that had been practiced he handed the young lady, no the prize, which she expected, but the MS essay on Friendship, which she had cop ied, word for word, from an old magazine The portly lady turned very red, anc the beauty, bursting into tears of ange and mortification, returned to her sea discomftted. 'Miss Catherine Sumner, resumed the teacher, with a benign smile, to a plain yet noble looking girl, who came forwan as he spoke, "I believe there can be no mistake about your little effusion. I fee great pleasure in presenting you there ward, due, not only to your mental culti vation, but to the goodness of your heart What! do you, too, hesitate?' 'Will you be kind enough, sir,' said the generous Kate, taking a paper from her pocket, 'to read Harriet's story before you decide. 1 asked her for a copy several days ago, and here it is.' 'You shall read it to the audience yourself, my dear; I am sure they will listen patiently to' so kind a pleader in her friend's behalf.' The listeners looked pleased and eagcr to hoar the story; and Kate Sumner, witha modest self-possession, which veil be came her. and with her fine eyes lighting up as she read, did full justice to the pretty and touching story, of which Harriet has been so cruelly robbed. 'It is well worth reading,' said Mr. Wentworth, when she had finished; 'your friend has won the prize, my dear young lady; and, as she owes it to your generosity, you shall have the pleasure of bestowing it, yourself.' Kate's face glowed with emotion as she hung the chain around Harriet's neck; and Harriet could not restrain her tears, while she whispered, 'I will take it, not as a prize, but as a gift from you, dear Kate!' 'And now, Miss Sumner,' said Mr. Wentworth, in conclusión, 'let me beg your acceptance of these volumes, as a oken of your teacher's respect and eseem;' and presenting her a beautifully xund edition of Milton's works, he bowed lis adieu to the retiring audience. 'Will you lend me your prize-pencil his morning, Harrief?' said Mrs. Carlon the next day. She was dressed for a valk, and Harriet wondered why she should want the pencil to take out with her; but she immediately unclasped the chain from her neck, and handed it to her mother without asking any questions. She was rewarded at dinner by finding it lying at the side of her plate, with the single word, 'truh,' engraved upon its