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bility of getting Emily on, rested on herself, she felt at once eager for success; and, more goodnatured than the god in the fable, she hurried back to put her shoulder to the wheel. Emily, dear," she said kindly, you feel very well this morning.

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"I don't think

"Yes, I do, Alice, perfectly well," replied Emily, in a voice that sounded as if it came from the tombs.

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Well, come then, Emily, you had better make haste, - it is past eight, - come, jump up, -I will give you a lift. These mattrasses are too heavy for you, till you can get used to them, and then they will seem as light as a feather;" and, suiting the action to the word, she threw over the mattrasses, while Emily crept languidly to the other side of the bed.

"Now let's beat it up, Emily, and then we will have the clothes on in an instant. There, smooth that sheet down, dear. Mother makes us as particular as old women about making up the beds,lay the pillow straight Emy, plummet and line, you know, - now, hem over the sheet this fashion, there, it is done! and I defy a Shaker to make a bed better."

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Emily was inspired by Alice's cheerful kindness, and when they went to the other bed, she begged Alice to let her try to do it alone. She tried, as if she had a mountain to move, but all in vain. Alice looked the other way to hide her smiles.

"I can't possibly do it!" said Emily, despair. ingly.

"Poor thing!" thought Alice, "her hands, as mother says, have indeed been tied; but we'll contrive to loosen them." "Take hold here, Emily," she said; not with just the little tips of your fingers, but so, - with your whole hand, there it goes! O, you'll soon learn."

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Do you really think I ever shall, Alice?”. "Ever! Yes, indeed, very soon. I will show you a little every day and you will edge on by degrees. The world was not made in a day, you know, as Aunt Betsey says.

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"But the sweeping, Alice? Do not, pray, tell any body, but I never swept a room in my life."

A girl of her own age, who did not know how to sweep a room, seemed to' Alice an object of equal wonder and commiseration. She, however, suppressed the exclamation that rose to her lips, and merely said, "Well, that is not your fault, Emily; take the broom and I will show you.

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Emily took it. "O not so, Emily, no, not so; just see me." Again Emily began, and looked so anxious and worked so desperately hard, that Alice could scarcely forbear laughing outright. She did, however, and very kindly and patiently continued to instruct Emily, till the mighty task was finished.

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"O you will learn after awhile," she said, as poor Emily set down the broom and sunk into a chair, out of breath and looking at her reddened palms. "I will teach you to sweep, and you shall teach me to dance, Emily."

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"O, you are very, very kind, Alice. I am sure

I think it is worth a great deal more to know how to sweep, than how to dance.'

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"And so do I," said Alice; "and yet we take a great deal of pains for the one, and the other we learn, we don't know how."

Alice spoke truly. We learn, we don't know how, the arts of domestic life, the manual of a woman's household duties.

Some among Mrs. Barclay's friends wondered she did not "get more out of Martha," and they never could exhaust their astonishment at what they called her inconsistency (a very convenient, indefinite word) in giving her girls accomplishments, strictly so called, and putting them to the humblest domestic employments. The Barclays neither saw, nor had they ever occasion to feel, this incompatibility. They believed that there was no way so certain of giving their boys habits of order, regularity, and neatness, and of inspiring them with a grateful consideration for that sex whose lot it is to be the domestic ministers of boy and man, as the being early accustomed to receive household services from their mother and sisters, - from those they respected and loved. They believed, too, that their girls, destined to play the parts of wives and mothers, in a country where it is difficult and sometimes impossible to obtain servants, would be made most independent and consequently most happy, by having their getting along faculties developed by use. These little operatives, by light labors which encroached neither upon their hours of study nor social pleasure, became industrious, efficient, and order

ly, and were trained to be the dispensers of comfort in that true and best sphere of woman, home. Equal, too, would they be to either fortune; if mistresses, capable, just, and considerate, towards those who served them; and if, perchance, obliged to perform their own domestic labor, their practical acquaintance with the process would make it light and cheerful.

Never, we believe, was there a pleasanter domestic scene, than the home of the Barclays; Martha, the queen bee, in her kitchen, as clean as any parlor, or as (to use the superlative degree of comparison) the kitchen of the pale, joyless Shakers; her little handmaids in her school of mutual aid and instruction, with their sleeves rolled up from their fat, fair arms, their curls tucked under their caps, and their gingham aprons, learning the mysteries of cake and pastry manufacture, pickling, preserving, and other coarser arts; while another little maiden, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed with exercise, might be heard plying her broom "up stairs and down stairs and in the lady's chamber," and warbling songs that might soothe the savage breast, for they breathed the very soul of health and cheerfulness.

Nor were they in the least disqualified by these household duties for more refined employments; and when they assembled in the evening, with their pretty work-boxes and fancy-work, their books and drawing, they formed a group to grace any drawing-room in the land.

Their labors and their pleasures were transitory, but the vivifying spirit of love and intelligence

that informed them was abiding, and was carrying them on to higher and higher stages of improvement, and preparing them for that period to which their efforts and hopes pointed, when the terrestrial shall put on the celestial.

CHAPTER XI.

GOING HOME TO GREENBROOK.

And yet, ere I descend to the grave,
May I a small house and large garden have,
And a few friends and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too.

Cowley.

THE race, we well know, is not always to the swift, nor the battle always to the strong; and the Barclays, like others, were sometimes thwarted in their plans and disappointed in their expectations. There were early indications in their eldest son of a fragile constitution, attended by the consequent preference of mental to corporeal labor. He had a fondness almost amounting to a passion for books, and his father, who sympathized in his tastes, and did not at first perceive the alarming influence of their gratification on his health, encouraged them. "Charles's destiny is certainly for one of the learned professions," he thought, and accordingly he stimulated him in the pursuits that would qualify him for them. But when, from thirteen to fifteen, he found that he was losing the

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