FRANK.'

The summer months passed rapidly away.--Frank continued to meet with

temptations, which as he usually had the strength to resist them,

served to confirm his self-control. If, as was now and then the case,

he was betrayed into vanity, peevishness or imprudence, the sight of

his faithful talisman brought conviction of the error to his mind,

and inspired him with resolution, to make all the reparation in his

power. The boys all loved and respected him; and many, who from

timidity used to join a party they disapproved, were now emboldened,

by his example, to abide by their better judgment, and mischievous

projects became gradually less popular in the school.

Frank was spirited and active, and never refused to join in any thing

however hazardous or fatiguing, provided it was not dishonorable.

No one would venture to say, he wanted courage or ingenuity; though

William Gardiner and a few others, still persevered in asserting,

that he was squeamish; and they ascribed this to his having been kept

during the first years of his life, out of the society of boys of his

own age. The purity and moral sensibility which were by this means

preserved in his character, more than compensated for any little

defects, which the retirement of his childhood had occasioned. His

kind and judicious parents had selected the right moment to change

the influence to which he had been subjected; and had sent him from

home when his principles had gained sufficient strength to resist the

danger, to which a contact with others less pure than himself, might

expose them; and before any bad habits or narrow views had become

fixed in his character.

One such boy in a large school, so attractive in his manners and

disposition, and at the same time, so inflexible in virtue, is of

inestimable value. Their good influence over the other boys, the

majority of whom are of that uncertain class who always follow a

leader, and whose destiny depends on their finding a good or a bad

one, cannot be too highly appreciated. Mr. Reed was fully aware of

this, and it was with great pleasure that he communicated to his

wife, a letter he had received from Mr. Courtland, requesting that

Frank might return home to pass the autumn vacation, and engaging a

place for him for the next term.

We shall only relate one more of the many little incidents which

occurred to Frank, during this summer, and then take our leave.

'Frank,' said Mr. Reed one pleasant afternoon, 'you like a long walk;

will you do me the favor to take this letter to Squire Brazer's and

get an answer? It must go to night.'

'Yes, with pleasure,' answered Frank; and took his hat.

'You would like a companion?'

'If you please. Shall I ask William Gardiner?'

'You need not hurry yourselves; but take a pleasant walk and pick

blackberries by the way; only get home by dark.'

The boys walked on a mile or two, stopping now and then to gather

berries, and some of the last wild roses, which yet remained, in a

few sequestered spots; and conversing very pleasantly, when they

approached an old house, standing back from the road, and nearly

concealed by a row of elm trees. At the fence, by the road side, was

standing very quietly, though not fastened, an old horse, and rather

a shabby chaise.

'That's Parson Allen's chaise,' said William Gardiner. I'll warrant

you, he is making a sermon a mile long, to the old maids within; who,

no doubt are listening to him with the most flattering attention: for

I suspect, a call from a gentleman is a rare occurrence to them.'

'Yes,' said Frank, laughing; 'I dare say we might ride to the

Squire's and back again in his chaise, before the sermon was ended;

and the old horse would like it better, than standing here in the

sun.'

'It is rather provoking,' said Gardiner; 'that as there is so much

shade, he could not be put in it.'

'I make no doubt he was,' replied Frank; 'when the parson first

stopped; but probably the sun has moved on to another place, since

that time.'

'That is a good thought of yours, Frank,' said Gardiner; 'come get

in, I will take all the risk, and pay all damages. It would be a

lucky hit for his reverence, if we broke the vehicle, and had to get

a new one.'

'More lucky for him than for us,' said Frank, who had his foot on the

step, ready to get in; 'second thoughts are best; no, we had better

not.'

'There is your ridiculous particularity; I don't believe there is

another boy in the school, would refuse.--If the parson should come

out, and find the horse had walked off, he would only go back and

make the old ladies another sermon, which would be so much the more

for the good of their souls.'

Frank's good genius prevailed; his talisman rose up to his thoughts

like a guardian angel, and he said, 'it will be safest not to go.'

'Well, I will not be baulked of the ride,' said William,--'Lawrence

says, that I once took the lead in every thing; but that now I am no

better than your shadow; and that you govern me entirely; so I will

go, if it is only to tell him, I have acted once for myself.'

'I will walk on with the letter,' said Frank, 'and shall probably

meet you on my return.'

William Gardiner jumped into the chaise, and by dint of twitching the

reins, and applying the whip, succeeded in getting the horse into a

trot, and was soon out of sight. Frank proceeded with a light step,

and a still lighter heart, and delivered the letter. After waiting

half an hour for the answer, he returned, walking very fast, as it

was late. When he passed the old house, he saw Mr. Allen's horse and

chaise standing exactly in the same position in which they first

found it; and a short distance beyond, he overtook William.

'You have been gone for ever,' said he; 'why, I do believe I have

rode six miles, at least. I left the chaise in the same spot;

nobody but yourself, I will venture to say, is the wiser for the

expedition; for I turned down that unfrequented lane.'

They reached home before night; Frank delivered the answer to Mr.

Reed. Gardiner told of his ride to Albert Lawrence and a few other

boys. They had a good laugh,--said it was a capital trick, and they

thought it would be a real kindness to the horse, to relieve him

occasionally, from the tiresome business of standing an hour or two,

in the same spot.

The next evening, the minister called on Mr. Reed, and finding he was

in the play room, and all the boys round him, (for he often passed an

hour with them in this way,) he walked in. Mr. Allen was an amiable

man, and a group of happy young folks was always a pleasing sight to

him.

The boys were relating remarkable occurrences; each one trying to

recollect something strange, which he had lately heard or read of.

'I believe I can tell a singular story, which happened only

yesterday,' said Mr. Allen; though it may be rather too sad to

relate in this merry company. But they may as well look on the

shadows now and then, in the morning of life; for their turn must

come. I went yesterday afternoon to call on the Miss Bradford's,

worthy women as any in my parish. The special object of this visit,

however, was not themselves, but their niece, Miss Alice Bradford;

who has been in a consumption for more than a year, and came out here

six weeks ago, for the benefit of the country air. The change was

rather hurtful than beneficial; she failed fast, and became too ill

to be carried back. I had not, however, thought her quite so near

her end, as she proved to be. When I got there yesterday afternoon,

I entered into prayer with her, and found her spirit peaceful and

resigned. The piety and innocence of her short life, gave tranquility

and hope to her dying hour. Neither she nor her aunts appeared to

apprehend immediate dissolution. I had witnessed too many death-bed

scenes, not to know its symptoms, even when most deceitful. Her

aunt said, that she appeared to have but one earthly wish remaining;

and that they hoped to gratify, the next morning. It was to see her

younger sister, who had been purposely kept away; as the sight of

Alices' sufferings distressed her exceedingly. My mother has gone

before me, said the sweet girl. I am ready to join her; though I

had hoped it might be the will of our Heavenly Father that I should

be spared to my sister. Not as I will, but as thou wilt, she added,

after a moment's pause, and a great struggle; but I should like to

take leave of her and give her a few words of advice; as they are the

last, they will make a deep impression on her mind. I called one of

the ladies aside, and told her the present was the only time; I did

not believe her niece would be alive in the morning. She shuddered,

and exclaimed, what shall I do! how can I send for her sister now. I

have no horse,--no man. I will go, I replied; my horse is at the door

I shall be back before it is late; I will go directly. Thank you,

sir; thank you a thousand times; do go directly--and she returned to

prepare the young woman to receive her sister.

When I went to the bottom of the avenue, my horse and chaise were not

there; by the marks in the road, I found he had turned round, and

presumed he had taken a homeward direction. I hastened there, when

I arrived out of breath at home, no one had seen him. I resolved to

lose no more precious time, for I knew that the sands must be nearly

all out in the poor young creature's glass: so I hurried to Dr.

Parker to beg him to lend me his chaise; the Dr. had gone to visit

at Brookline: then I went to farmer Thomson; he willingly lent his

horse, but had neither chaise nor waggon. I determined to go over

to Mr. Welles' and borrow his chaise. In doing this, I of course,

passed by Miss Bradford's house. I had lost nearly an hour and a

half,--there I found my horse standing exactly as I had left him,

in the former part of the afternoon. I could not stop to make either

inquiries or reflections; but got in, hastened into town, and brought

the young sister out in the shortest time possible.

Soon after my departure from Miss Bradford's, the unequivocal

symptoms of death began to come on; but the poor creature made great

exertion to keep up her strength, anxiously expecting the arrival of

her sister, and wondering at the delay. She took some drops which

revived her a good deal; and half an hour before I arrived, conversed

freely with her aunts; spoke of her perfect reliance on the goodness

of God, and the merits of the Saviour, and gave many injunctions

in case she did not see her sister. Ere _we_ reached there, it was

too late. She took her sister's hand, looked up in her face with

an expression of disappointment which I shall never forget; but

she was speechless. The hour and a half which I lost, in looking

for a chaise, deprived her of that last and most earnestly desired

satisfaction, the power of taking leave of her sister, and of giving

her the invaluable instructions of her dying hour.

I went there again, this morning. She lived till daylight, but did

not speak. The sister is overwhelmed with grief.--'Could she have

spoken to me,--could I have been with her but one hour earlier I

could have borne it,' was all she said.'

Every one present was deeply affected by the narration; all mirth

ceased, and tears and sobs came in its place. Mr. Reed was himself

surprised at the effect it had produced on some of the boys, touching

as it was; he remarked a deadly paleness on William Gardiner's

countenance; little did he suspect the true cause.

'I fear I have thrown a gloom over your happy family,' said Mr.

Allen. 'It was not my intention to make the sad relation when I

came among you; but I was led to it from the singular circumstance

of my horse having gone off; for I have used him ten years, and

never knew any thing of the sort to happen before. He knows all my

parishioners' doors, I believe, as well as I do, and has never shown

before, that he thought my visits to them too long.

I should have imagined that some mischievous fellow had taken him;

but every body, even the smallest boy round this part of the country

knows the animal, and I can't believe that there is one among them,

would play me such a trick, and if any one had done so, I should not

probably have found the horse returned quietly to the same spot in

which I left him.'

'I must believe,' said Mr. Reed, 'that the horse was led away; and I

would make inquiry about it.'

Will Gardiner could stand this no longer, but slipped out of the

room, lest some questions should be asked.

'Did you pass Miss Bradfords' on your way to squire Brazer's, or did

you take the other road, Frank?' said Mr. Reed.

'I passed that way,' answered Frank.

'Did you observe the horse and chaise, as you went?'

'Yes, it was at the gate.'

'And on your return?'

'It was there then also.'

'Well, well, say no more about it, Mr. Reed,' said the good

clergyman; 'if it was a piece of mischief, I leave the person who

committed it, to the reproaches of his own conscience; he need suffer

no greater punishment, if he has any feeling. Though I own it would

be a satisfaction to me to know, that my old faithful horse was not

to blame.'

Mr. Allen took leave, and the boys soon retired. When Frank went to

his room he found William Gardiner in bed; and believing him to be

asleep, took a long look at his talisman, revolving in his mind,

whether it was his duty to tell all that he knew about the horse,

or to be silent on the subject, for William's sake. He remained

undecided; but felt no pain or compunction, for he was conscious,

that as soon as he had found out the right course, he should not fail

to adopt it.

After he had been in bed a short time, William Gardiner raised his

head and said, 'Frank, are you asleep.'

'No.'

'Why don't you talk then.'

'I thought you were asleep.'

'No, I am wide awake; I can't get to sleep. What is that little box

you have been looking at, so earnestly.'

'It is something.'

'Well I suppose it is; but do you want to keep it a secret; if you

do, I won't ask.'

'Why no, not exactly,' said Frank; 'it is something my mother gave

me, the night before I left home.'

'Well, what is it, I say?'

'It is a talisman,' said Frank, rather hesitatingly.

'A talisman; what is that?'

'Have you never read of talismans in fairy tales? it is a charm which

protects you from danger, as long as you keep it and consult it.'

'I know that is the description of them, in genii and fairy tales;

but you do not believe in _such_ things do you?'

'No, but this is real; it has a charm for me, to keep me from doing

wrong; this is the danger which my mother expected it would secure me

against.'

'If it has that sort of power, I wish I had had it this afternoon;

then I should have let alone that horse and chaise. Was it the

talisman which made you turn away, when your foot was on the step,

and you were just ready to jump in?'

'It was the thought of it, I am persuaded. I consult it so

frequently, and like to look at it so much, that now it is fixed in

my mind; and I see it as distinctly, as if it were really in my hand,

whenever I am going to do wrong.'

'And does it stop you short, as it did this afternoon?' said William.

'Unless I am very earnest indeed, too earnest to attend to its

admonitions.'

'What did it say to-night, when you looked at it?' asked William.

Frank repeated what the parson had said, after William left the room;

the questions Mr. Reed asked, with his own answers; and told William

that he was trying to come to a decision, what he ought to do.

'O you won't tell, will you? It is an evil spell that prompts you to

betray a friend. Besides, what good can it do? If it could restore to

the poor dead creature that one hour, I would tell myself instantly.'

'I have decided not to tell,' said Frank, 'without your consent.'

'Don't ask me to give that; it is impossible.'

'Why, you said just now, you would tell yourself, to restore that

lost hour. This I know cannot be done; but something as valuable,

which you have lost yourself, may be restored, by confessing the

truth.'

'What is that?'

'Your own peace of mind; have you not lost that?'

'Yes, I have; I cannot shut my eyes without beholding that

speechless, dying girl; it is frightful; I never was such a coward

before. But I shall get over it I know, in a few days. Whenever I get

into a scrape, I always feel horridly at first, for fear I should be

found out,--but I never am, and I soon forget it.'

'But the consequences are seldom so serious, of any of our pranks,'

said Frank.

'Why there was the widow's granddaughter who was burned so badly, all

owing to my carelessness in dropping that piece of phosphorus, or

some of the matches, on the day of our balloon frolic. It troubled

me when I first heard of it, as much as it did you. I bought her a

new pair of shoes, and I have given her or her grandmother something

every time I go that way; and persuaded several of the other boys to

do so too. The old woman said the last time I was there, that she

hoped she should be brought to a realizing sense that every thing was

ordered for the best; for Sally's accident had proved a real blessing

to the family.'

'It is striking ten, William;' said Frank.

'Is it?' replied William.--'O dear! I shall never get asleep.'

Frank waked earlier than usual, the next morning; and he found

William up and dressed.

'How early you are up,' said he.

'I am going to take a walk,' replied William. 'I feel as if I should

smother, if I stay any longer shut up here.'

'Should you like to have me go with you?' said Frank.

'Will you? that's a good fellow.'

After they had walked a little way in silence, Gardiner said, 'I am

glad Frank, that I know you have got something to help you to do

right; for now there don't seem to be such a difference between us.

Albert said, he believed you had a good genius always at your elbow,

when you declined going into swimming with us, the day after the

guards were broken by the high wind; and Mrs. Reed said your good

genius was your virtuous thoughts; but she did not know the whole. If

_I_ had not gone at that time, Greenville would have been drowned;

for there was not a fellow among them all, who had the courage

to jump in after him when he floated outside the bars; so I can't

reproach myself for that.'

'You said,' replied Frank, 'Mr. Reed commended your courage very

much: but he told you you were as wrong as the others in going; and

that we must not do evil that good may come of it.'

'Well, Frank,' said William, 'what would you do in my place about the

chaise? suppose I go and tell parson Allen the whole truth; where is

the use of it? It would only disgrace the school, to have it talked

about all over the neighborhood; and injure the other boys as well as

myself.'

'I agree with you,' said Frank; 'but can't you tell Mr. Reed?'

'How could that make the matter any better?'

'You would be relieved from the dread you now feel, of being found

out.'

'That is something, I acknowledge; for I never did feel so badly

about being found out before.'

'Then,' said Frank, 'if you confess the fault and say you are sorry,

you will have made all the reparation in your power, and your

conscience will be lightened of a load.'

'I know it, and if I had your talisman, perhaps I should.'

'But you may, if you choose, have the good genius which Mrs. Reed

thinks I have--_virtuous thoughts_.'

'I wish I always did have them, I am sure.'

'If you once brought your mind to confess this,' said Frank; 'I

think you would never engage in any more mischief. You know that Mr.

Reed told you the day you saved Greenville, that you were a noble

fellow; and if you could break yourself of your little mischievous

propensities, you might be one of the first in his school, in

character, as you now are in talents.'

'Yes,' said William; 'and I remember he advised me to make you my

model; and if I had the courage, I would do as you advise.'

'Will you agree to this,' asked Frank; 'you know the questions Mr.

Reed asked me about the horse.'

'Yes.'

'I was sorry not to be able to tell all I knew; this will make it

natural enough for me to speak of it first; and then I will say I

had your consent to tell the whole; that you are very sorry, and are

determined to break off your mischievous habits.'

'What will the boys say when they know it?' said William.

'Perhaps Mr. Reed will not choose to tell them; and if he does, all

those whose opinions are worth caring for, will think the better of

you.'

'I believe they will,' said William; 'for I know we did not think any

the less of you, for what you said, the night of the balloon. Frank,

I consent; only I should feel better to have you tell it to Mrs. Reed

first, and let _her_ tell Mr. Reed,--she is so kind, she will make

the very best that can be made of it; and she will not say a harsh

word to me.'

'I will,' returned Frank; 'take courage, you will never be sorry,

when it is once told,--like having a tooth out, it will be soon over,

and you will be relieved.'

'When shall you tell?' asked William.

'When I get a suitable opportunity; don't be too anxious.'

As soon as Frank found Mrs. Reed disengaged, he related to her the

whole affair; and represented as he could, with sincerity, that it

was only meant as a harmless joke. He said as little of himself as

possible, throughout the narration; and omitted almost entirely, the

persuasion he was obliged to use, to induce William to take this

step. Mrs. Reed sent for William into her own room, and remained

alone with him some time; treating him with the tenderness of a

mother, and taking care to say nothing which should make him regret

for an instant, that he had opened his heart to her.

She then dismissed him, and in the course of the day communicated

the matter to her husband; who, though mortified to find that the

disgrace of such an affair belonged to any member of his family; yet

rejoiced at this proof of an ingenuousness in William Gardiner, which

he had almost begun to despair of ever seeing in his character.

In the interview which succeeded, he did not inform William whether

he should disclose the truth to Mr. Allen or not; indeed, he had not

at that time, made up his mind on the subject.--But he said he should

not mention it to any one of the scholars. This indulgence he thought

due to the great effort he knew it must have cost William to make the

confession.

'I never should have done it, but for Frank; he persuaded me into it.'

'He is your good genius then, William; and I advise you to attach him

as closely to your side as possible. Some how or other, he contrives

to discern and preserve the right course more perfectly than any of

you.'

'I believe,' said Frank, 'I do not deserve more praise on that

account, than the others.'

'And why not, if you do in fact excel them?'

'Because,' said Frank, with some embarrassment,--

'Shall I tell?' said William.

'Yes.'

'Because he has something which none of us have; which helps him in

doing right.'

'That must be a valuable possession in such a little world as this

school,' said Mr. Reed; 'what can it be?'

'A talisman,' answered William; 'which his mother gave him, and said

that it would secure him against all harm.'

'From moral harm,' said Frank; 'only from doing what I know to be

wrong.'

'If he only just looks at it,' said William, 'it makes him do right.'

'It inspires me with courage to do right,' said Frank.

'May we see this curious treasure?' asked Mr. Reed.

'Yes sir,' said Frank. 'I have intended to show it to Mrs. Reed, for

some time.'

Frank ran up to his trunk, took it out and brought it into Mrs.

Reed's room. He opened the box and presented it to her. She smiled

and looked surprised.

'There is a charm indeed; I do not wonder at its magical

influence.--It is, said she--looking up at Frank,--

'My mother's picture,' he answered.

'What a delightful countenance,' exclaimed Mr. Reed. A glance at such

features would, I am sure, drive away all evil thoughts. 'Especially

if they were a mother's,' said Mrs. Reed; 'and these were the lips

from which had proceeded, all your lessons of virtue.'

'I can have no such talisman,' exclaimed William, with a sigh. 'I

have no mother. I do not remember her face. She died when I was an

infant.'

'This is a great excuse for your faults,' observed Mr. Reed. 'Nothing

can supply a mother's place entirely, in the important period of

childhood. But you have found a friend who may be a talisman to you,

through life, if you will but adhere to him.'

'That I shall, I am resolved,' replied William; 'if he will adopt me.'

'Affection for a worthy object,' said Mrs. Reed; 'whether it be

parent or friend, is a talisman which has preserved many a noble

youth from the dangers of temptation.'

I trust it will not be uninteresting to our young friends to be

informed, that Frank and William's friendship, increased every year;

and that it was a source of mutual advantage through life. When

Frank went home in the vacation, his parents were delighted with

his improvement in looks and manners; he had acquired a manly air,

a clear and ready manner of expressing himself. His progress in his

studies exceeded their expectations; and his mother told him she was

repaid for the sacrifice she had made in parting with him.

The vacation passed away; and when Frank returned to school, both

his father and mother accompanied him to Boston. Mrs. Courtland was

very desirous of becoming acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Reed, to whom

she and her husband felt so much indebted for the happiness and

improvements which Frank had found in their family.

Sam Brown's father was so much struck with Frank's improvement,

that he resolved to send his son to the same school; though it was

rather difficult for him to afford the expense of it. Sam was a boy

of fine talents, and well rewarded his father's exertion. He entered

college at the same time with Frank and William Gardiner. They were

so attached to each other, that they went by the name of the friendly

trio; and having quitted the University with honour, became highly

respectable and worthy men.

Frank was his mother's pride in manhood, as he had been her hope and

comfort in youth.

* * * * *