unded confidence in her children, and as my mother
thought, gave her girls too much rein in their own hands. Our mother was
more strict with her daughters and when we saw Mrs. Harcourt's daughters
having what we considered such good times, I used to say, 'O, I wish
mother wasn't so particular!' Other girls could go unattended to
excursions, moonlight drives and parties of pleasure, but we never went
to any such pleasure unless we were attended by our father, brother or
some trusted friend of the family. We were young and foolish then and
used to chafe against her restrictions; but to-day, when I think of my
own good and noble husband, my little bright and happy home, and my
dear, loving daughter, I look back with gratitude to her thoughtful care
and honor and bless her memory in her grave. Poor Lucy Harcourt was not
so favored; she was pretty and attractive and had quite a number of
admirers. At length she became deeply interested in a young man who came
as a stranger to our city. He was a fine looking man, but there was
something about him from which I instinctively shrank. My mother felt
the same way and warned us to be careful how we accepted any attention
from him; but poor Lucy became perfectly infatuated with him and it was
rumored that they were to be shortly married. Soon after the rumor he
left the city and there was a big change in Lucy's manner. I could not
tell what was the matter, but my mother forbade me associating with her,
and for several months I scarcely saw her, but I could hear from others
that she was sadly changed. Instead of being one of the most
light-hearted girls, I heard that she used to sit day after day in her
mother's house and wring her hands and weep and that her mother's heart
was almost broken. Friends feared that Lucy was losing her mind and
might do some desperate deed, but she did not. I left about that time to
teach school in a distant village, and when I returned home I heard sad
tidings of poor Lucy. She was a mother, but not a wife. Her brothers had
grown angry with her for tarnishing their family name, of which they
were so proud; her mother's head was bowed with agony and shame. The
father of Lucy's child had deserted her in her hour of trial and left
her to bear her burden alone with the child like a millstone around her
neck. Poor Lucy; I seldom saw her after that, but one day I met her in
the Park. I went up to her and kissed her, she threw her arms around me
and burst into a