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Title: George Leatrim; or, The Mother's Test
Author: Moodie, Susanna (1803-1885)
Illustrator: Small, William (1843-1931)
   [second illustration in catalogue at end of book]
Date of first publication: 1875
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   Edinburgh: William Oliphant, 1875
   (first edition)
Date first posted: 13 February 2009
Date last updated: 13 February 2009
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #260

This ebook was produced by:
Marcia Brooks, David T. Jones
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net








[Illustration]





George Leatrim;



OR,



THE MOTHER'S TEST







BY



SUSANNA MOODIE



AUTHOR OF 'ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH,' ETC. ETC.





EDINBURGH:



WILLIAM OLIPHANT & CO.



1875.





[Illustration: Decoration]





GEORGE LEATRIM;



OR, THE MOTHER'S TEST.









CHAPTER I.





'One of the most terrible instances of dishonesty I ever knew,' said a

lady friend to me, 'happened in my own family, or, I should say, in

one of its relative branches. You were staying last summer at

Westcliff; did you hear Dr. Leatrim preach?'



'Yes; my friends resided about a mile from the parsonage, and were

constant in their attendance at his church. The Doctor was one of the

principal attractions of the place--one of the most eloquent men I

ever heard in the pulpit'



'Did you ever meet him in company?'



'Never. I was told that he seldom went into society, and lived quite a

solitary life; that some great domestic calamity had weaned him

entirely from the world; that his visits were confined to the poor of

his parish, or to those who stood in need of his spiritual advice;

that since the death of his wife and only son, he had never been seen

with a smile upon his face. To tell you the truth, I was surprised to

hear sermons so full of heavenly benevolence and love breathed from

the lips of such an austere and melancholy-looking man.'



'Ah, my poor uncle!' sighed my friend; 'he has had sorrows and trials

enough to sour his temper and break his heart. He was not always the

gentle, earnest Christian you now see him, but a severe,

uncompromising theologian of the old school, and looked upon all

other sects who opposed his particular dogmas as enemies to the true

faith. A strict disciplinarian, he suffered nothing to interfere with

his religious duties, and exercised a despotic sway in the church and

in his family. He married, early in life, my father's only sister, and

made her an excellent husband; and if a certain degree of fear mingled

with her love, it originated in the deep reverence she felt for his

character.



'He was forty years of age when the Earl of B----, who was a near

relation, conferred upon him the living of Westcliff. The last

incumbent had been a kind, easy-going old man, who loved his rubber of

whist and a social chat with his neighbours over a glass of punch, and

left them to take care of their souls in the best manner they could,

considering that he well earned his 700 per annum by preaching a

dull, plethoric sermon once a week, christening all the infants,

marrying the adults, and burying the dead. It was no wonder that Dr.

Leatrim found the parish, as far as religion was concerned, in a very

heathenish state.



'His zealous endeavours to arouse them from this careless indifference

gave great offence. The people did not believe that they were sinners,

and were very indignant with the Doctor for insisting upon the fact.

But he spared neither age nor sex in his battle for truth, and fought

it with most uncompromising earnestness. Rich or poor, it was all the

same to him; he spoke as decidedly to the man of rank as to the

humblest peasant in his employ.



'His eloquence was a vital power; the energy with which he enforced it

compelled people to listen to him; and as he lived up to his

professions, and was ever foremost in every good word and work, they

were forced to respect his character, though he did assail all their

public and private vices from the pulpit, and enforced their strict

attendance at church on the Sabbath day. This state of antagonism

between the Doctor and his parishioners did not last long. Prejudice

yielded to his eloquent preaching, numbers came from a distance to

hear him, and many careless souls awoke from a state of worldly apathy

to seek the bread of life.



'Just to give you a correct idea of what manner of man George Leatrim

was in these days, contrasted with what he is now, I will relate an

anecdote of him that I had from an eye-witness of the scene.



'A wealthy miller in the parish, a great drunkard and atheist, and a

very hard, unfeeling, immoral character, dropped down dead in a state

of intoxication, and, being a nominal member of the Church, was

brought there for burial. When the Doctor came to that portion of the

service, "We therefore commit his body to the ground, earth to earth,

ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the

resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ," he

paused, and looking round on the numerous band of relations and

friends that surrounded the grave, said in the most solemn and

emphatic manner, "My friends, the Prayer-book says this; but if there

is any truth in God's word, it cannot be applied to this man. He

denied the existence of a God, ridiculed the idea of a Saviour, was an

irreligious and bad member of the community, and died in the

commission of an habitual and deadly sin; and it is my firm conviction

that such as he cannot enter into the kingdom of God!"[1]



[Footnote 1: A fact.]



'The Doctor was greatly censured by the neighbouring clergy for boldly

declaring what he felt to be the truth; but it produced an electrical

effect upon those present, and the son of the deceased, who was fast

following in his father's steps, became a sincere and practical

Christian.



'Mrs. Leatrim was quite a contrast to her husband--a gentle,

affectionate, simple-hearted woman. She never thwarted his wishes in

word or deed, and was ever at his side to assist him in his

ministrations among the poor, in teaching the children, and reading to

the sick and inquiring. She had been the mother of several children,

but only one, and that the youngest-born, survived the three first

years of infancy. It is this son, named after his father, George

Leatrim, who forms the subject of my present story, which, though a

painful one in its general details, is <i>strictly true</i>.



'If the good Doctor had an idol in the world, it was his son George.

The lad possessed the most amiable disposition, uniting to the talent

and earnestness of the father, the gentle, endearing qualities of his

mother. He was handsome, frank, and graceful; the expression of his

face so truthful and unaffected, that it created an interest in his

favour at first sight. Religious without cant, and clever without

pretence, it is no wonder that his father, who was his sole

instructor, reposed in the fine lad the utmost confidence, treating

him more like an equal than a son, over whom he held the authority of

both pastor and parent.



'There was none of the nervous timidity that marked Mrs. Leatrim's

intercourse with her husband in the conduct of her son. His love for

his stern father was without fear, it almost amounted to worship; and

the hope of deserving his esteem was the motive power that influenced

his studies, and gave a colouring to every act of his life.



'The father, on his part, regarded his son as a superior being--one

whom the Lord had called from his birth to be His servant.



'There was another person in the house, whom, next to his wife and

son, Doctor Leatrim held in the greatest esteem and veneration, not

only on account of his having saved him, when a boy, from drowning, at

the imminent peril of his own life, but from his having persuaded him,

when a youth, to abandon a career of reckless folly and become a

Christian. Ralph Wilson was an old and faithful servant, who had been

born in his father's house, and had nursed the Doctor when a little

child upon his knees. When his master died, Ralph was confided to the

care of his son; and as he had never married, he had grown grey in the

Doctor's service, and his love for him and his family was the sole aim

and object of his life.



'Everything about the parsonage was entrusted to Ralph's care, and he

was consulted on all business matters of importance. All the money

transactions of the family went through his hands; and, like most old

servants, his sway over the household was despotic. The Doctor gave

him his own way in everything, for it saved him a great deal of

trouble. His mind was too much engrossed with his ministerial duties

to attend to these minor concerns. Ralph was a better business man, he

said; he could manage such matters more skilfully and economically

than he could.



'If Mrs. Leatrim came to consult him about any domestic arrangements,

it was always put a stop to. "Don't trouble me, Mary; go to Ralph, he

can advise you what to do." Poor Mrs. Leatrim did not like Ralph as

well as her husband did, and would much rather have had the sanction

of the legitimate master of the house.



'By his fellow-servants the old grey-headed factotum was almost

detested. "They could receive orders from the rector, and yield to him

a cheerful and hearty obedience; but to be under the control of a

stingy, canting old hypocrite like Ralph Wilson was hard to be borne.

The Bible, that was so often in his mouth, might have taught him 'that

no man can serve two masters.'" This fact was fully illustrated in

their case, for they loved the one and hated the other. There was

always trouble in the household--a perpetual changing of domestics,

greatly to the annoyance of Mrs. Leatrim; but the matter was one of

small importance to the rector, provided he was left in peace to

pursue his studies.



'Amiable and gentle as George was, he could not force himself to feel

any affection for Ralph Wilson. He treated him with respect for his

father's sake, more than from any personal regard, though the old man

was servile in his protestations of love and devotion. Some minds are

surrounded by a moral and intellectual atmosphere, into which other

minds cannot enter without feeling a certain degree of repulsion. Such

an insensible but powerfully acknowledged antagonism existed between

the faithful old servant and his young master. They did not hate one

another--that would have been too strong a term--but Doctor Leatrim

often remarked with pain that there was no love lost between them, and

often blamed George for the indifference he manifested towards his

humble friend.



'You remember the beautiful old church at Westcliff, surrounded by its

venerable screen of oaks and elms, and the pretty white parsonage on

the other side of the road, facing the principal entrance to the

church? The house occupies an elevation some feet above the

churchyard. The front windows command a fine view of the sacred

edifice, particularly of the carved porch within the iron gates at the

entrance, and the massive oak door through which you enter into the

body of the building. A person standing at one of these windows at

sunset, and looking towards the porch, can see everything there as

distinctly as if he were in it. Recollect this circumstance, for it is

connected with my story.



'In the porch Dr. Leatrim had placed a box against the wall, on the

right-hand side as you went in, for receiving contributions for the

poor. It was only unlocked twice a year, at Christmas and Easter, and

its contents distributed to the most needy among his parishioners.

There were many wealthy people in the neighbourhood, and the poor-box

generally yielded a plentiful harvest for the destitute.



'The key of the box was always kept in the rector's study, and

occupied the same hook with the key of the church. The windows of

this room were directly opposite to the church. No person had access

to this apartment but Dr. Leatrim, his wife and son, and old Ralph.

The latter kept it in order, for fear the women folk should disarrange

his master's papers. He performed all the dusting and cleaning, and

never was there a room kept more scrupulously neat. He had a private

desk for his own use under one of the windows, in which he kept all

the accounts that passed through his hands; and it was not an unusual

sight to see the Doctor composing his startling, soul-awakening

sermons at the large table in the centre of the room, and the little

shrewd-looking, grey-haired house-steward dotting down figures quietly

at the desk below the window. His presence never disturbed his master,

who often read to him portions of the discourse he was writing, for

his approval. Ralph's applause gave him confidence; he considered his

judgment in spiritual matters more correct than his own.



'On opening the poor-box at Christmas, the rector was surprised to

find that an unusually small sum had been deposited. He could not

account for the falling off, but made up the deficiency from his own

purse, and thought no more about it.



'At Easter, the Earl and Countess of B----always gave liberally, and

their example was followed by all the wealthy landholders in the

parish. There was always a good sprinkling of silver and gold to set

against the weekly donations of coppers and small coin, to make glad

the widows and orphans of Westcliff, to comfort the lame, the halt,

and the blind.



'The Sunday after Easter was the day Dr. Leatrim had always appointed

for the distribution of these alms to the poor. The box was opened the

morning previous, and the different sums allotted according to the

necessities of the recipients; and, to avoid all confusion, the

portion of each individual was enclosed in a sealed packet, and

addressed to the respective parties. After the morning service was

over, the Rector met his poor in the vestry, and George delivered to

each claimant the packet inscribed for him. This was always followed

by a short address, and an earnest prayer from Dr. Leatrim. It was a

happy day for him and George, who seemed to enjoy it as much as his

father.



'You may imagine the consternation of the Rector, when he opened the

box on the Saturday morning, and found the same deficiency which had

struck him as so remarkable on the previous Christmas.



'The Earl of B---- generally gave a five-sovereign gold piece at

Easter, and his numerous lordly visitors always followed suit. The

Doctor was never behind-hand with his noble neighbours, and many of

the well-to-do yeomen gave their sovereigns and half-sovereigns, and

there was no lack of silver.



'This day not a single gold piece was to be found in the box. The

conviction was unwillingly forced upon the Rector's mind that the

church had been robbed both before and now. But by whom? It was a

Bramah lock, the secret only known to himself, Ralph, and his son

George.



'The good man felt fear clutch at his heart with an iron grip. But the

thing had to be investigated, however repugnant to his feelings.



'Before he mentioned it to his family, and in order to satisfy his own

uneasiness, Dr. Leatrim thought it best to obtain a private interview

with the Earl, and inquire what he had given, as a foundation upon

which to ground his own investigations. The information he obtained

from this quarter did not lessen the difficulty.



'The Earl told him at once that he had given five sovereigns in gold,

and that he believed the Duke of A----, who was a guest at the castle,

had done the same; that a maiden aunt of the Earl's, who was very

rich, had put in ten; and all the members of his household, not

excluding the servants, who were constant attendants upon Dr.

Leatrim's ministry, had given liberally; that the box must have been

robbed, and that to a considerable amount. My uncle returned home a

miserable man. A great and heinous sin had been committed. To suspect

any of the members of his household was a sin almost as great. What

was to be done?









CHAPTER II.





'Dr. Leatrim's was not a spirit to brook delay. As stern as Brutus,

like Brutus he could be as unflinching in the performance of his duty.

He called Ralph into the study, and after carefully closing the door,

addressed him in a voice hoarse with emotion:



'"Ralph, the church has been entered, the poor's box opened, and money

to the amount of twenty pounds been abstracted. My dear old friend,"

he continued, grasping his hand, "can you throw any light upon this

dreadful transaction?"



'The old man was as much agitated as his master. A deadly pallor

overspread his face, and tears came into his eyes. "The church

entered! money stolen to such a large amount! My dear sir, can it be

possible?"



'"Only too true. But the thief, Ralph; who can be the thief? It must

be some one well acquainted with the premises, who could gain access

to the key, and must have known the secret of the lock. It is this

which distresses me--that fills my mind with the keenest anguish." He

looked hard at the old man--not a look of suspicion, but one of

intense inquiry, as if he depended upon his answer to solve his

doubts.



'Ralph trembled visibly. His voice became a broken sob. "Oh, my dear,

my honoured master, you cannot surely suspect me, your old and

faithful servant?"



'"I would as soon suspect myself!"



'The old man continued, in a deprecating tone: "You know, your

reverence, that money is no object to me. I have neither wife nor

child, and my wants are liberally supplied by you. I shall have to

leave <i>you</i> the money saved in your service, for the want of an heir;

and I generally give half my wages to the poor through that very box,

being more anxious to lay up for myself treasures in heaven than upon

earth."



'"Yes, yes, I know all this, my good Ralph," cried the Doctor

impatiently; "your character is above suspicion. I want you to give me

some clue by which the real culprit could be brought to justice."



'The old man cast a hasty glance at his master, as if he could do so

if he pleased, but remained silent.



'The look did not escape Doctor Leatrim's keen eye. "Speak, Ralph!

Speak out like a man. I feel certain that you know something about

it."



'"And suppose I do,"--he came a step nearer to his master, and spoke

in low, mysterious tones,--"that something had better remain unsaid.

You are a rich man; twenty or thirty pounds are nothing to you. You

gave twice that sum last week to get Hall out of jail; replace the

money, and depend upon my word that the felony will never be

repeated."



'"And let the culprit escape without the punishment due to his

crime--and such a crime! Would that be just, old man?"



'"It would be merciful," returned Ralph, drily. "A knowledge of the

truth would do no good; it would only make your reverence unhappy."



'"I must not consult my own feelings on the subject," said the Rector,

greatly excited. "No; though the felon were my son, who is dearer to

me than my own life, and I could effectually conceal his guilt, he

should pay the penalty due to his crime."



'The old man shuddered and drew back a few paces. "Your reverence has

made a pretty shrewd guess. It was Master George!"



'"George? my George?" The Doctor sank into his study chair. He grasped

at the arms convulsively. His broad chest heaved and panted, his

breath came in hoarse gasps. He was too much stunned to speak. Ralph

poured out a glass of water, and held it to his white and rigid lips.



'"'Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.' The Lord

help and comfort you, my dear master, under this heavy affliction. We

are all liable to temptation. Try and forgive your son."



'"My son! Never call him my son again. I disown him--cast him off for

ever. George, George, this will kill me! I loved and trusted you so

much--would have given my life to save yours any day--and you have

disgraced my name and calling, and broken my heart.--But are you

sure, old man?" he cried, clutching Ralph by the shoulder; "sure that

my George did this horrible thing?"



'"For God's sake, sir, moderate your anger. Master George is very

young; he may never do the like again."



'"That is no answer to my question," cried the wretched father,

tightening his grasp upon the old man's arm. "I do not ask you to

palliate his guilt. It admits of no excuse. Did you see him do it?

Tell me that--tell me quickly. I am in no humour for trifling."



'"Ay, seeing is believing," said the old man, sullenly. "As your

reverence knows the worst, it is of no use hiding the details. I saw

Master George take the money."



'The Doctor groaned in anguish of spirit.



'"How--when--where did you see him do it? May you not have been

mistaken?"



'"Impossible, sir. I would not advance a thing of this nature without

I had positive proof. I repeat to you again, on my word of honour, on

the faith of a Christian, that I saw him do it. What more do you

require?"



'"It is enough," sighed the miserable father, covering his face with

his hands. "George, George! my son, my only son; have I deserved this

at your hands? The trial is too great for flesh and blood to bear. O

my God! my just and righteous God! Thou hast shattered my idol of clay

to pieces, and my heart lies broken and trampled in the dust. Ralph,

tell the wretched boy to come to me directly."



'The old man hesitated. "Not while you are in this excited state, my

dear master. Wait a while, until your passion calms down; it is apt to

betray you into sin. I implore you to deal leniently with the lad.

Remember it is his first offence. He may repent, and you may save your

son."



'"Yes; if I could believe that it was his first offence. The same

thing happened at Christmas. He has become hardened in successful

villany. The crime is not against me alone; it is against the Church,

and must be punished accordingly. Don't raise your hands in that

deprecating manner, Ralph, or attempt to plead for him," and he

stamped his foot impatiently; "I must and will be obeyed. Why do you

loiter, old man? Go for him directly."



'Just then a rap came to the door.



'Ralph opened it, for he knew the step, and the accused stood before

them, smiling and serene, unconscious of the thunder-clouds that

lowered above his head. He advanced a few paces into the room, then

stood still. His eyes wandered from his father's death-pale face to

the downcast countenance of the old serving-man. Surprised and

distressed, he wondered what it could mean. His mother had been

confined to her chamber for some days with a serious attack of lung

disease. The doctor had just seen her, and pronounced her out of

danger; he came to bring the glad tidings to his father. The first

thought that struck him was, that anxiety about her had produced the

dreadful agitation that his father, with all his stoical philosophy,

found it impossible to restrain, and which was so painful for him to

witness. He hurried to his side. "Don't be alarmed, my dear father,

mamma is better. She sent me to tell you so, and that she wishes to

see you for a few minutes."



'He met the stern severity of Dr. Leatrim's glance; it chilled him to

the heart. He drew back, regarding him in wondering surprise.



'"What is the matter, my father? Something dreadful has happened. Are

you ill?"



'"Yes, sir, I am ill--sick at heart--sick of a malady that will bring

my grey hairs in sorrow to the grave. My wound is incurable, and the

hand of a wicked son has dealt the blow."



'"Father! what do you mean? I do not understand these terrible words;"

and the boy raised the calm, inquiring glance of his clear, candid

eyes to the father's clouded brow and rigid face. "In what manner can

I have offended you?"



'"Miserable boy, if you had only offended <i>me</i>, I could bear it and

forgive you; but you have committed a crime against God--a crime so

great, that the felon who will be hung next week at N---- for murder

is innocent in comparison."



'George gazed steadily into his father's face as he said slowly, and

with blanched and quivering lips, "What have I done?"



'"Robbed the poor! Stolen thirty pounds in gold from that box"

(pointing to the poor's box on the table before him); "and you dare to

ask me what you have done, and, knowing your guilt, to raise your

hardened eyes to mine!"



'The hot blood rushed in a crimson tide into the face of the accused;

he drew up his slight figure to its full height, and looked a man in

the strength of his indignation. "The guilty alone are cowards," he

said, softening the vehemence of his manner; "it is only truth that

dare look at justice without quailing. If I am guilty of the crime of

which you accuse me, father, I am no longer worthy to be your son.

Who, then, is my accuser? Who charges me with the guilt of a crime so

base? Who dares to tell me to my face that I did this foul wrong?"



'"One who saw you do it."



'"The man does not live who saw me do it. The spirit does not live who

read in my heart a thought so vile. The God to whom the secrets of all

hearts are open knows my innocence, knows that I am belied. O father!

dear, honoured father! do not look so sternly upon me. I have thought

at times that you could read my heart with that searching gaze. Oh,

read it now! It is bared for your inspection. I do not shrink from the

investigation. Do not pronounce me guilty until you have sifted the

matter thoroughly. Innocence is stronger than guilt. I never took the

money. I know nothing about it, so help me God!"



'Dr. Leatrim's heart was touched. His eyes were full of tears. He made

a motion to Ralph Wilson to speak.



'"Master George," said the old man, coming close up to the agitated

youth, and laying his hand upon his shoulder. The lad shuddered, and

shrank from his touch as if he had suddenly come in contact with a

viper. "How can you speak in that hardened manner to your father? Are

not you ashamed of what you have done? Will you add falsehood to

theft?"



'"Peace, old man! This is no business of yours. I appeal to my father,

not to you." Then, looking sternly in the old man's face, he added in

a bitter tone: "Perhaps you are the traitor who has poisoned his mind

against me. If so, speak out. I do not fear you. I defy your malice."



'"Bold words, Master George, and boldly spoken. But facts are hard

things to disprove." Then, going close up to the lad, he said in a

cool, deliberate tone, "I saw you take the money out of that box."



'"Old villain, you lie!"



'"George!" cried the Doctor in an angry tone, lifting his pale face

from between his supporting hands, "how dare you use such language to

my friend--my father's friend?"



'"No friend to you, sir, when he charges your son with a crime he

never committed. I spoke rashly; anger is always intemperate. You

must make some allowance for my just indignation." Again he turned

and confronted his grey-haired accuser: "You saw me take the money out

of that box? When did I take it?"



'"Last Friday afternoon. You came into the study while I was writing

out a receipt at my desk. You were in a great hurry; I don't think you

saw me."



'"I did see you."



'"Ha!" cried the Rector, who was now sitting upright in his chair,

intently listening to the conversation. "You own, then, that you were

in the study at that hour?"



'"I have no wish to conceal the fact," returned George.



'"It would be of little use his attempting to deny it," said Ralph,

pointedly. "He came in and took the key of the box from the hook on

which it always hangs."



'"I did not take the key of the box; in that, at least, you are under

a strange delusion."



'"O Master George!" Ralph shook his head, and raised his hands in

pious horror.



'"Where did he go, Ralph, when he left the study?" asked Dr. Leatrim.



'"I am not quite certain, sir. I think he went first into the garden,

and then across the road into the churchyard. When he took down the

key, he seemed very much confused. There was a look in his eyes which

made me mistrust him, and I went to the window, which commands a view

of the inside of the porch. If you come here, sir," continued Ralph,

advancing to the window, "you will see everything as plainly as if you

were there."



'"I know it."



'"Well, sir, I saw Master George take down the box, place it on the

bench by the door, unlock it, and take out something. You may guess

what that was, for he was some minutes examining the contents."



'George Leatrim turned very pale, and visibly trembled; but he never

took his eyes, from the old man's face.



'"George Leatrim," said the Doctor, "you are now at liberty to give

your explanation of this extraordinary conduct. I charge you to answer

truly the questions I put to you. I do not mean to condemn you

unheard. What did you want in the study last Friday afternoon?"



'"I went there to seek you, and not finding you, I took down the key

of the iron gates that open into the porch of the church, and went to

look for you in the garden."



'"What did you want with me?"



'"You gave me on my birthday a silver crown piece."



'"I did so. My father gave it to me when a boy of your age. It was one

of the coins struck in commemoration of George III.'s coronation.

What of that?"



'"I wished to give it to God. I went into the study to ask your

permission to do so, as it was a present from you. I found Ralph

Wilson writing, as he says, and you absent. I took the key of the

church--not of the poor's box, as he affirms, for I could make my

deposit without that--and went into the garden, hoping to find you

there. I then made up my mind to put the piece into the box, as it was

getting late. This I did without taking down the box, a fact which

that man knows as well as I do. I returned to the study and replaced

the large iron key. Ralph was no longer there. This is the truth--the

whole truth; so help me God!"



'The lad, before so calm, now flung himself in an agony of tears at

his father's feet, and clasping his knees, cried out in piteous tones,

"Father, do you believe me?"



'The Doctor pushed him aside. "The evidence is too strong against you.

I wish I could."



'"Father, did I ever deceive you?"



'"Never, that I am conscious of, until now."



'"Did you ever detect me in an act of dishonesty?"



'"Never."



'"Then how can you condemn me? You will say, upon the evidence of this

<i>honest</i> man. Am I not as worthy of belief as Ralph Wilson?"



'"His character is above suspicion."



'"So ought mine to be," said the lad proudly.



'"Ralph is incapable of falsehood. How dare you to insinuate that he

could be capable of such a crime? What inducement could that pious,

grey-headed old man have for slandering the son of his friend and

benefactor? I am so certain of his fidelity, that I know he would

rather bear the brand of shame than bring dishonour upon me and mine."



'"It is strange," mused George, unconsciously uttering his thoughts

aloud, and half repenting the harsh language he had used to the old

servant. "If he has not plotted this accusation against me to hide his

own guilt, he has made a grievous mistake."



'"It is no mistake!" cried Ralph indignantly. "I saw you take the

money. You can't persuade me out of my senses. I have borne an honest

character all my life. It is not a beardless boy that can rob me of it

in my old age."



'"It may be possible, Ralph, that you were mistaken," said Dr.

Leatrim, after a long and painful silence, in which he had been

summing up the evidence on both sides. "The boy's account of himself

is very clear. George, I will give you one trial more. If I find that

crown piece in the box, I will believe that Ralph is in error, that

some villain unknown to us has been the robber."



'"Most joyfully, dear father!" exclaimed George, springing from his

knees beside the Rector, and bringing him the box. "God will attest my

innocence, and prove to you that I have spoken the truth."



'A gleam of hope shot through the thick gloom that had gathered round

Dr. Leatrim. With a steady hand he unlocked the box. The crown piece

was not there!



'"Liar!" he cried, in a tone of mingled contempt and horror. "What

have you to say for yourself now?"



'George uttered a sharp and bitter cry of disappointment. He pressed

his hands tightly over his breast, as he murmured in a hollow, broken

voice, "Nothing."



'"You plead guilty?"



'"I should prove myself a liar, sir, if I did."



'"Liar and thief! Base hypocrite! Kneel down and ask pardon of that

worthy man for the injurious language you have used towards him."



'"Never!" George Leatrim fixed his brow like iron. "I will die first."



'"You deserve death, sir," cried his father, rising in great anger;

"and I would inflict upon you the utmost penalty of the law were it

not for your poor mother."



'"Oh, my mother!" said George, in a low, heart-broken voice; "this

disgrace will kill her."



'Dr. Leatrim was too much overcome by passion to hear that despairing

moan, his pride too deeply wounded to pity and forgive; and he

continued, with the utmost severity of look and manner: "Ay, wretched

boy, you should have thought of that before; but not even to spare her

feelings can I neglect my duty. I cannot demean myself by touching a

thing so vile. Ralph, whom you have calumniated, shall inflict upon

you a punishment suited to the baseness of your crime. Wilson, you

will find a light cane in that corner; bring it here."



'"You do not mean to chastise me like a dog, father?"



'"Never address me by that title again, sir, until deep repentance and

a long-continued course of well-doing restore you once more to my love

and favour--though never, never can you again occupy the place you

once held in my heart. You have acted like a felon, and shall receive

a felon's reward."



'"Beware what you do, sir," cried George, frowning in his turn. "Get

your menial to punish me in this degrading manner, and you will repent

it to the last day of your life."



'"Oh, monstrous depravity! Do you dare to threaten me? Take off your

jacket, sir.--Ralph, give him twenty lashes, and don't spare the

whip."



'The man drew back. "I cannot strike my master's son."



'"Do as I bid you."



'The boy stood firm as a rock, his lips compressed, his brow rigid,

and his face livid in its ghastly pallor. Turning from his stern

parent to the old man, he said, with an air of calm indifference:



'"I am ready; perform your task. I am not the first victim who has

suffered wrongfully. My Saviour endured a harder scourge; I will learn

patience from His cross."



'"What barefaced wickedness!" groaned the Doctor. "God grant him

repentance, and save his miserable soul."



'"Amen," said Ralph, as he turned to his abhorrent task with an energy

equal to the guilt of the criminal.



'George bore the severe castigation without a murmur. When it was

over, Doctor Leatrim told him to go to his own room, and pray to God

to soften his hard and impenitent heart.



'As the boy passed his father on his way out, he gave him a look full

of love and compassion, and said, in a firm voice:



'"Sir, I pity and forgive you. If you have erred, it was under the

full conviction that you were doing your duty."



'He closed the door softly, and staggered up to his own chamber.



'What was there in that look that went so home to the heart of the

stern father--in those loving, broken words of the poor abused boy? If

they did not stagger the conviction of his guilt, they made him feel

most unhappy. Had he acted well, or wisely, or like a Christian? Was

the punishment that he had inflicted--so harsh and degrading to a

sensitive mind--likely to produce the desired effect? He could not

answer the question in a manner at all satisfactory to his mind, or

still the sharp upbraidings of conscience; and flinging himself upon

his knees, he buried his face in his hands, and offered up to God an

agony of repentant tears.



[Illustration: chapter-end glyph]





[Illustration: Decoration]









CHAPTER III.





'George Leatrim's first thought was to go to his mother; but then she

was ill, and happily unconscious of what had taken place. Besides,

like his father, she might believe the evidence that Ralph had

witnessed against him, and he had not the fortitude to bear that. As

his passion subsided, he had courage to recall the painful events of

the past hour, and to acknowledge that the circumstances by which he

was surrounded were suspicious enough to condemn him in any court of

law, and must be maddening to a proud, sensitive man like his father.

Struggling with the shame and agony of his position, he could not

recognise this before, or admit that both his father and Ralph might

be deceived.



'He had never felt the severe corporeal punishment during its

infliction. His mind was in too violent a state of agitation to care

for bodily suffering; but now that he was alone, the fiery indignation

that had upheld his spirit in the hour of his humiliation flickered

and went out, and the sense of degradation and intolerable wrong alone

remained.



'He remembered how his father had spurned him from his feet, had

called him a thief and a liar, and witnessed unmoved the infliction of

a cruel punishment, administered by the hand of the menial who had

accused him of the crime; and had ordered him from his presence

without one word of pity or affection.



'These after-thoughts were terrible. George felt that he had not

deserved this severity, and the tears which pride had restrained while

under the weight of Ralph Wilson's unsparing hand now burst forth in

a torrent, and he wept until the lamp of life flickered to extinction

in his panting breast.



'The mother whom he wished to save from the knowledge of his

degradation awoke suddenly from a short and disturbed sleep. She heard

the sobs and moans in the adjoining room, and recognised the voice of

her son. The next moment saw her seated upon his bed, her arms around

the weeping boy. All sense of her own sickness, of her weak state, was

gone. She was only conscious of his intense mental agony.



'He placed his aching head upon her faithful breast, he wound his

trembling arms around her slender neck, and poured into her

sympathizing ear the terrible tale of his wrongs,--how he had been

falsely accused of the commission of a heinous crime, his

protestations of innocence disregarded, and had been sentenced by his

father to receive a punishment more galling to him than death; that he

had been tempted to rebel against his father's authority, and curse

the hand that smote him--to hate where he had loved with such fond

idolatry.



'The good mother listened attentively, and weighed every circumstance.

The frankness of his unreserved confession convinced her of its truth.

When all the sad tale was told, she took him in her pitying arms, and

told him that, though all the world should believe him guilty, she

felt that he was innocent from her very soul.



'"God bless you, dearest, best mother," sobbed the poor boy, covering

her hand with kisses. "I knew you would not condemn me. I never have,

nor ever will give you cause to be ashamed of me. But my father--it

seems unnatural, monstrous that he should believe me guilty at once. I

shall never get over it. It crushes my heart; it presses out my life.

If I could only convince him of my innocence, I could die in peace."



'"Don't talk of dying, George. Leave your cause to God. He can bring

to light the hidden things of darkness, and make the black cloud that

now envelopes you as clear as the noonday. Let me go to your father,

George; I think I can convince him of your innocence, and that he has

acted too hastily."



'Exhausted as he was, George grasped his mother's hand, and held her

fast. "I could not see him again while this conflict is going on in my

mind--not while he looks upon me as a felon, a disgrace to his name

and family. The brand must be removed from my brow before I meet him

face to face. I want to love him as I once loved him. I feel as if I

never could love him again."



'Again the voice became choked and hoarse, and the lad gave way to a

fresh agony of tears. After a while he grew calmer, and said in a

whisper: "Mother, pray for me--pray with me, that I may bear this

cross with Christian fortitude, and be taught to forgive my

enemies--yes, as He, the dear Master, forgave them," he continued,

reverently folding his hands together, "and gave His life for sinners

like me, and died, the just for the unjust."



'They prayed long and earnestly, that sorrowful mother and son. At

length a light broke over the pallid countenance of the youth; he

raised his head slowly and with difficulty from that dear mother's

supporting arms, and gazed into her tearful eyes with a look of

unutterable love. "Mother, blessed mother," he whispered, "the agony

is over; I feel calm and happy now. Our prayers are accepted; the

divine peace which Christ bestowed upon His disciples, His last, best

gift, is filling my heart, and the anger I felt at my dear father's

unjust suspicions is lost in pity and love. My sorrows are over; his,

alas! are to come. To you, dearest mother, I leave the task of

reconciliation. You will vindicate my memory, and teach him to respect

me in death. And that miserable old man--tell him to deal gently with

him for my sake. Tell him that I forgive him, that he must forgive him

also, and lead the sinner back to God." He paused, and panted for

breath. "George," cried the terrified mother, "you are ill; let me

send for Dr. Aldis, and call your father."



'"Too late! who can heal a broken heart? It will soon be over. God is

dealing very gently with me, beloved mother. Let the thought console

you that you have a son in heaven. But my father, my dear, unhappy

father, may God comfort him! It grows very dark; I cannot see your

sweet face, mother, but all around is joy and peace."



'A shade passed over the noble young face, a tremor shook the slight

frame of the dying boy, and the enfranchized spirit, throwing off the

last coil of clay, followed the unseen messenger to the land of the

hereafter.



'A shriek, a loud, piercing shriek, rang through the silent house. Dr.

Leatrim started from his knees and rushed up-stairs. The next moment

he was standing beside the bed of his son, upon which his wife was

sitting with the head of the dead boy in her lap.



'The Doctor staggered like a drunken man, and held to the bed-post for

support. He comprehended the awful truth at a glance, but the

conviction was too terrible to receive at once. It was an illusion of

the senses, a ghastly vision; it was too dreadful to be a hard,

everyday fact. He had poured out his soul to God; had deplored to the

great Judge that his sentence had been too severe, that kindness

would have done more to soften the proud heart of the boy than the

violent course he had adopted. He had just made up his mind to go to

George, and once more address him with love and confidence, when that

horrid cry, wrung from a mother's breaking heart, closed the doors of

mercy for ever, and left him desolate and childless.



'"Mary," he gasped out, "do not say that he is dead! It is but sleep

or exhaustion. It cannot be that he is dead?"



'His wife was quite calm now. With a mournful smile she pointed to the

beautiful face of the dead. "The seal of God is on that brow. Your

severity could only destroy the body; God has claimed the soul. I

cannot weep for him; he is happier than his parents. Can you now look

in that pure face and believe him guilty?"



'"O woman, great is your faith. But the proof--how can I do away with

the proof of his crime?"



'"Leave that to me. I have a solemn duty to perform for my murdered

son. May God give me strength for the task. Call Ralph Wilson, but do

not tell him what has happened."



'Humbled and subdued, but still unconvinced of his son's innocence,

the Doctor left the room, and shortly returned, followed by the old

man.



'Mrs. Leatrim motioned to him to approach the bed.



'Rigid and immoveable, the Doctor resumed his place, still grasping

the bed-post to support him from falling. Mrs. Leatrim spoke slowly

and with some effort, but every word fell distinctly upon his ear.



'"Ralph Wilson, this is your work!"



'"I, my lady? I did not kill him! I did not strike him hard enough for

that. It was the Doctor that ordered me to do it. I begged him to have

mercy on the lad. O Lord! who would have thought of his taking a

little beating so to heart?"



'The old man turned from the bed, and cried aloud.



'"A slanderous tongue is sharper than a two-edged sword; to noble

natures like his, it strikes home to the heart. Ralph Wilson, you are

an old man standing on the very verge of the grave. You accused my son

of theft, and declared on your word of honour as a Christian that you

saw him commit the robbery!"



'"Yes, my lady. A dreadful business, my lady, but too true."



'"I demand, in proof of this, that you come here and lay your hands

upon the brow of your victim, and swear by the living God, by your

hopes of salvation through the blood of Christ, that you saw George

Leatrim commit this crime."



'The man made a few steps forward. His face became livid, large drops

of perspiration trickled down his forehead, his teeth chattered

together, and a universal spasm convulsed his features.



'"You dare not do it!" said Mrs. Leatrim, pointing to the calm,

majestic face of her son. "To witness against him now were to lie in

the face of God!"



'"I have murdered him!" sobbed the old man, sinking on his knees at

his master's feet. "It was I who stole the money."



'"You, Ralph?" and the Doctor tried to shake himself free from the

grasp of the withered hands that clutched his garments. "Oh, my poor

injured boy!"



'"Yes, I did it," continued Ralph, in a tone of despair. "The devil

tempted me, as he did Judas to betray his Master. I have been a

hypocrite all my life. I loved gold--I worshipped it--I lost no

opportunity of obtaining it when I could escape detection; but it has

destroyed my miserable soul."



'"But why lay the robbery of the box on George?" asked Dr. Leatrim.

"You were safe from detection; I never suspected you."



'"But <i>he</i> did," returned the old man bitterly. "He never loved me. I

saw it in his eye. I knew it by his manner. He believed me to be a

rogue, though he dared not express his opinion in words. I hated him

because he knew my character; and to ensure my own safety, I denounced

him."



'"And what do you think of your work?" and the Doctor turned Ralph's

face towards the dead.



'"Mercy! mercy!" shrieked the felon. "I would rather die upon the

gallows than look in that face again."



'"You will have to meet it once more, and that before long, Ralph

Wilson, to answer for this foul murder at the judgment-seat of

Christ."



'With a heavy groan the old man fell down in a swoon at his master's

feet.



'"Deal gently with Ralph," said a low voice from the bed. "George made

it his dying request. He not only forgave him his sin against himself,

but charged you to do so for his sake. My dear afflicted husband,"

continued Mrs. Leatrim, "let us be thankful to the heavenly Father

that He has cleared the stain of guilt from the memory of a beloved

son, and placed him beyond the power of sin and temptation for ever."'



'And what became of the wicked old man?' said I eagerly.



'That night Mrs. Leatrim died. Her son's tragic end brought on a fatal

return of her dangerous malady. When Ralph heard of her death, he went

out and hung himself. What Dr. Leatrim's feelings were at this

unlooked-for desolation of all his earthly hopes, one can only

imagine, it is impossible to describe. One grave contained the mortal

remains of the mother and son, and the sad story created for the

bereaved husband and father a world-wide sympathy.



'It was some years after the occurrence of this domestic tragedy

before I visited Westcliff. Time had softened the anguish of the

wound, but it was still unclosed, and left the traces of a deep,

incurable grief in my uncle's face. He had become a drooping,

white-haired man, but was still at his post, a faithful and zealous

minister of the gospel.



'Sorrow had worn smooth all the harsh angles in his character, and

made him simple and affectionate as a little child. He had borne the

cross and worn the crown of thorns, and, purified by self-denial and

suffering, had found love a more powerful weapon than fear in bringing

souls to Christ. His calamities had endeared him to his people, and

he had become their pastor in the truest sense of the word.



'On the anniversary of the day when George and his mother died, Dr.

Leatrim holds a solemn fast, and excludes himself from every eye,

spending the long day in meditation and prayer.



'One fine summer evening last July, I was strolling through Westcliff

churchyard, and found the dear old man lying on the turf that covered

the remains of his wife and son. He called me to him.



'"This little hillock of green sod," he said, "contains all that was

once dearest to me on earth. My heart rebelled against God when my

treasures were taken from me; but the Judge of all the earth knew what

was best for my eternal peace. It was not until these idols were

shattered in the dust that I discovered that I was poor, and blind,

and naked, and not a righteous man, wiser and better than my

neighbours. In my deep sorrow and humiliation I was taught the

knowledge of myself; that I was still in my sins, a proud,

unregenerated man. Yes; I can now acknowledge with the deepest

gratitude, that, heavy and maddening as the blow was, it was necessary

to bring me to God, and make me a true Christian."



'I went up to the monument. It was a simple urn of white marble,

surrounded by beautiful flowering shrubs. The inscription that

recorded the untimely death of his son made me start, it was so

painfully characteristic of the truthfulness of the father:



'"Here repose in peace the mortal remains of George Leatrim, who died

at the age of 15, of a broken heart, caused by a false accusation and

the unchristian severity of his too credulous father. Reader, mourn

not for the dead, but weep sore for the living."



'I saw that my uncle was watching me with his eyes full of tears.



'He told me the sad story you have just read, sitting beside that

grave in the dim twilight. How much I respected the undying love of

the faithful heart, that never sought to spare himself in the mournful

narration.



'"Ah," he said, rising from his recumbent posture, and speaking in a

cheerful, hopeful voice, "How little we 'know of the spirit of which

we are made.' I have reason to rejoice--ay! and I do rejoice--that God

gave me such a son, and that he died a true Christian martyr,

forgiving and praying for the wretched sinners that caused his

death.'"





MURRAY AND GIBB, EDINBURGH,

PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE.





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LIST



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    By R. Hope Moncrieff.



 6. Eaton Parsonage.



 7. The Race for Gold; or, The City Merchant and his Country Brother.



 8. The Goldsmith's Widow. And other Stories.



 9. The Martyr Shepherd: A Story of the Scottish Covenanters.

    By R. Hope Moncrieff.



10. Mr. Leslie's Stories. By the same Author.



11. Lucy Smith, the Music Governess.



12. Jem the Tinker and his Children.



13. Four Years in a Cave.



14. Until the Shadows Flee Away: A True Tale of Last Century.



15. Marian Temple's Work, and what came of it.

    By Mrs Henderson.





With Gilt Side.





16. Ned's Motto.



17. Crossing the Line.



18. Bertie Lee; or, The Threshold of Life.



19. A Little Leaven.



20. Ocean Venture.



21. Beacon Lights.



22. Drifting and Steering.



23. The Gate of Pearl.



24. Little Effie's Home.



25. The Wonderful Pocket.



26. The Magic Shoes.



27. The Magic Spectacles.





In Foolscap.





28. Aunt Mabel's Prayer.



29. The Exiles of France.



30. Martin the Weaver; or, The Power of Gold.



31. Mrs Gibbon's Parlour-Maid.



32. Doctor Dunbar, and Elsie's Trial. By M. G. Hogg. With Illustrations.



33. Ivan Papof. A Tale founded on Facts. By the Author of "Lucy

    Smith," etc. With Illustrations.





<i>One Shilling Each.</i>



With Illuminated Side and Frontispiece, Cloth, New Style.





 1. Andrew Campbell's Visit to his Irish Cousins. By Grace Kennedy.



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 5. Eadie's Lectures to the Young.



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 7. The Gardener's Daughter, and Mary Grant.



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 9. Jessie Allan, the Lame Girl.



10. Kitty Brown beginning to Think.



11. Lame Allan; or, Cast thy Burden on the Lord. By Mrs Scott.



12. Lame John, and the Green Brook Schoolboys.



13. Lily Douglas.



14. Little Pansy, the Minister's Orphan Daughter.



15. Little Sabbath-breakers, and Mary and Archie Graham.



16. Little Tales on Great Truths.



17. Military Blacksmith, and Highland Chairman.



18. Morning. A Book for Mothers and Children.



19. Order and Disorder.



20. Pollok's Helen of the Glen.



21. Pollok's Persecuted Family.



22. Pollok's Ralph Gemmell.



23. Scottish Stories.



24. The Student's Walk.



25. Susan and Magdalene.



26. The Broken Hyacinth.



27. The Manse of Sunnyside; or, Trials of a Minister's Family.



28. The Hallet Family: A Story for the Young.



29. The Mother Dove. And other Stories.



30. Thomas Shaw and his Daughter Alice.



31. Tom Ilderton. By Mrs Scott.



32. The Two Friends, and The Rescue.



33. Why the Mill was Stopped.



34. Widow Gray, and Elspeth Sutherland.



35. The Basket of Flowers.



36. Thy Kingdom Come.



37. Little Eddy Hill.



38. The Angel Fairy.



39. Pleasant Grove.



40. The Dairyman's Daughter.



41. The Pet Lamb. By the Author of "The Basket of Flowers."



42. The Young Artist. By the Author of "The Basket of Flowers."



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45. Countess Margarethe and her Children.





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10. Little Sabbath-Breakers.



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12. Mary and Archie Graham.



13. Military Blacksmith.



14. Old Margie's Flower Stall.



15. The Orphan of Kinloch, and Young Pedlar of Carrivoulin.



16. Sarah's Present.



17. Sketches of Broadburn; or, A Visit to Uncle Seton.



18. The Fir-Tree of the Jura.



19. The First Christmas-Tree.



20. The Rescue.



21. The Two Friends.



22. Thomas Shaw; or, The Baby's Baptism.



23. Widow Grey and her Family.



24. The Young Cottager.



25. The Dairyman's Daughter.



26. The German Pastor.



27. Dick Ennis. By R. Hope Moncrieff.



28. How to be Beautiful.



29. Pleasant Words.



30. Blanche Gamond, a Heroine of the French Reformation.

    By the Rev. R. B. Blyth.



31. Little Blue Mantle. From the French. By Mrs Campbell Overend.



32. The Lieutenant's Daughters.





<i>Fourpence Each.</i>



Nos. 1 to 29 of the above Series, in Illuminated Paper Covers.





Pearl Series. With Illuminated Side and Coloured Frontispiece. Cloth Neat.



<i>Price Sixpence Each.</i>





 1. The Pearl of Forgiveness.



 2. The Pearl of Contentment.



 3. The Pearl of Peace.



 4. The Pearl of Meekness.



 5. The Pearl of Faith.



 6. The Pearl of Diligence.



 7. Little Henry and his Bearer.



 8. The Little Forester.



 9. The Little Woodman.



10. Waste not, Want not.



11. The White Dove.



12. The Bracelets.



13. Paul Cuffee, the Black Hero. By the Author of "Tibbie the Charwoman."





<i>Oliphant's Ninepenny Books.</i>



Small 8vo, Cloth.



<i>Each with Beautiful Illuminated Side and Coloured Frontispiece.</i>





THE LITTLE FAN SERIES.





 1. Robbie's Christmas Dream.



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 6. The Young Comforters.





THE SPRINGDALE SERIES.



<i>Just Published.</i>





 7. The Boys of Springdale.



 8. George Leatrim; or, the Mother's Test.



 9. The Little Ballet Girl.



10. Catharine's Peril.



11. The Village Flower Show.



12. Little Nellie; or, He careth for You.





"Prettier little books, with prettier little stories, for young

children, need not be desired."--<i>Literary World.</i>





<i>Oliphant's Pictorial Hymn Cards</i>.



<i>Richly Illuminated, Beautifully Illustrated and Printed in Colours

and Gold.</i>



Price 1s. 6d. each.





 1. MORNING PRAYER,    By Mary L. Duncan.



 2. EVENING PRAYER,     " Mary L. Duncan.



 3. WHATEVER BRAWLS,    " Isaac Watts.



 4. WHENE'ER I TAKE,    " Isaac Watts.



 5. JESUS LOVES ME,     " Anna Warner.



 6. SWEET BY AND BYE,   " S. F. Bennett.





The last two form a most appropriate Souvenir of MOODY AND SANKEY'S VISIT.





MEN OF MARK, in British Church History. By Rev. Dr Marshall. Small

crown 8vo, with Four Illustrations, price 3s. 6d.





SCENES AND SKETCHES, in English Church History. By Sarah M. S. Clarke.

Crown 8vo, with Handsome Frontispiece, price 5s.






[End of _George Leatrim_ by Susanna Moodie]
