ir memories. And peace to the spot where once
stood their quiet home! Wherever in life I may be,--however brightly its
pleasures may shine, or heavily its cares and afflictions press upon
me--never would I outgrow the inspiration of these early enjoyments;
never forget, that, however the great, proud, and contentious world may
distract and dishearten, there will yet be peace to the humble and
virtuous soul in many a nook like that which sheltered and blest my
grand mother's cottage.

THE FIRST OATH

BY REV. EBEN FRANCIS.

It is now many years since a near friend of mine uttered his first oath.
We were very intimate in our youthful days. I have thought that I would
write a little story about him, for some of the little folks of these
times to read, hoping that it will not only be interesting, but do them
good; for I am indeed sorry to know that swearing is a very common sin
among the boys of our times.

The parents of my young playfellow were of the humbler class in society;
they were industrious and prudent, and took great pains to teach him
what was right. They lived in the metropolis of New England, where my
schoolmate was born. His father wrought with the saw, the plane, the
hammer, and such tools as carpenters use about their business. His home
was a neat, wooden two-story house, in one of the streets of that part
of Boston which was generally known, when we were boys, by the name of
the MILL-POND. I suppose that most of my little readers who live in the
city can tell where it is. Many changes have taken place there since my
childhood. When I was a small boy it was called the _town_,--now we
never hear of it but as the _city_ of Boston. Its population has
increased rapidly; its territory has been extended; it has grown in
wealth, in splendor, in its means for mental and moral improvement; in
the number and convenience of its public schools,--the pride and
ornament, or the disgrace, of any place. Yes, Boston is not, in
appearance or in fact, what it once was.

But I am getting off from my story. I was saying that my young friend
resided on the "new-land"--no; the "Mill-Pond;"--well, it's all the
same--for when they dug down old Beacon Hill, they threw the dirt into
the Mill-Pond, and when it was filled up, or made land, the spot was
still known as the Mill-Pond, and oftentimes was called the new-land. In
later years, there have been other portions added to the city, by making
wharves, and filling up where