• LETTICE AND MYRA.
    A SCENE IN LONDON.

    My young readers may have heard about the poor people in London. The
    following story is a specimen of the hardships of many young girls,
    in that famous city.

    "Two young women occupied one small room of about ten feet by eight.
    They were left orphans, and were obliged to take care of themselves.
    Many of the articles of furniture left them had been disposed of to
    supply the calls of urgent want. In the room was an old four post
    bedstead, with curtains almost worn out, one mattrass with two small
    pillows, a bolster that was almost flat, three old blankets and cotton
    sheets, of coarse description, three rush-bottom chairs, an old claw
    table, a chest of draws, with a few battered band-boxes on the top of
    it, a miserable bit of carpet before the fire-place, a wooden box for
    coals, a little tin fender, and an old poker. What there was, however,
    was kept clean, the floor and yellow paint was clean, and the washing
    tub which sat in one corner of the room.

    "It was a bitter cold night, the wind blew and shook the window, when
    a young girl of about eighteen sat by the tallow candle, which burned
    in a tin candlestick, at 12 o'clock at night, finishing a piece of
    work with the needle which she was to return next morning. Her name
    was Lettice Arnold. She was naturally of a cheerful, hopeful temper,
    and though work and disappointment had faded the bright colors of
    hope, still hope buoyed up her spirits.

    "Her sister Myra was delicate, and lay on the mattrass on that night,
    tossing about with suffering, unable to rest. At last Lettice says to
    her:----

    "'Poor Myra, can't you get to sleep?'

    "'It is so cold,' was the reply; 'and when will you have done and come
    to bed?'

    "'One quarter of an hour more, Myra, and I shall have finished my
    work, and then I will throw my clothes over your feet, and I hope you
    will be a little warmer.'

    "Myra sighed, and lifted up her head, and leaning upon her arm watched
    the progress of her sister as she plied the needle to her work.

    "'How slowly,' said Myra, 'you do get along. It is one o'clock, and
    you have not finished yet.'

    "'I cannot work fast, Myra, and neatly too; my hands are not so
    delicate and nimble as yours,' and smiling a little, she added: 'Such
    swelled clumsy things, I cannot get over the ground nimbly and well at
    the same time. You, are a fine race horse, and I a drudging pony. But
    I shall soon be through.'

    "Myra once more uttered a sigh and cried:

    "'Oh, my feet are dreadful cold.'

    "'Take this bit of flannel,' said Lettice, 'and let me wrap them up.'

    "'Nay, you will want it,' she replied.

    "'Oh, I have only five minutes to sit up, and I can wrap this piece of
    carpet round mine,' said Lettice.

    "And she laid down her work and went to the bed and wrapped her
    sister's icy feet in the flannel, and then sat down and finished her
    task. How glad was Lettice to creep to the mattress and to lay her
    aching limbs upon it. A hard bed and scanty covering in a cold night
    are keenly felt. She soon fell asleep, while her sister tossed and
    murmured on account of the cold.

    "Lettice awoke and drew her over little pillow from under her head,
    and put it under her sister's and tried every way to make her sister
    comfortable, and she partly succeeded; and at last Myra, the delicate
    suffering creature, fell asleep, and Lettice slumbered like a child."

    How thankful ought we to be for kind parents, a comfortable home, and
    a good fire in a cold night. I will tell you in my next story what
    Lettice did with her work.


    * * * * *


    LETTICE TAKING HOME THE WORK.


    Early in the morning, before it was light, and while the twilight
    gleamed through the curtainless windows, Lettice was up dressing
    herself by the aid of the light which gleamed from the street lamp
    into the window. She combed her hair with modest neatness, then opened
    the draw with much precaution, lest she should disturb poor Myra, who
    still slumbered on the hard mattrass--drew out a shawl and began to
    fold it as if to put it on.

    "Alas!" said Lettice, "this will not do--it is thread-bare, time-worn,
    and has given way in two places." She turned it, and unfolded it, but
    it would not do. It was so shabby that she was actually ashamed to be
    seen with it in the street. She put it aside and took the liberty of
    borrowing Myra's, who was now asleep. She knew Myra would be awful
    cold when she got up, and would need it. But she must go with the work
    that morning. She thought first of preparing the fire, so that Myra,
    when she arose, would only have to light the match; but as she went to
    the box for coal, she saw, with terror, how low the little store of
    fuel was, and she said to herself, "we must have a bushel of coal
    to-day--better to do without meat than fire such weather as this." But
    she was cheered with the reflection that she should receive a little
    more for her work that day than what she had from other places. It had
    been ordered by a benevolent lady who had been to some trouble in
    getting the poor woman supplied with needle work so that they should
    receive the full price. She had worked for private customers before,
    and always received more pay from them than from the shops in London,
    where they would beat down the poor to the last penny.

    Poor Lettice went to the old band-box and took out a shabby old
    bonnet--she looked at it, and sighed, when she thought of the
    appearance she must make; for she was going to Mrs. Danvers, and her
    work was some very nice linen for a young lady about to be married.

    Just at this moment she thought of the contrast between all the fine
    things that young lady was to have, and her own destitution. But her
    disposition was such as not to cause her to think hard of others who
    had plenty while she was poor. She was contented to receive her pay
    from the wealthy, for her daily needle work. She felt that what they
    had was not taken from her, and if she could gain in her little way by
    receiving her just earnings from the general prosperity of others, she
    would not complain. And as the thought of the increased pay came into
    her mind, which she was to receive that day, she brightened up, shook
    the bonnet, pulled out the ribbons, and made it look as tidy as
    possible, thinking to herself that after buying some fuel she might
    possibly buy a bit of ribbon and make it look a little more spruce,
    when she got her money.

    Lettice now put on her bonnet, and Myra's shawl, and looking into the
    little three-penny glass which hung on the wall, she thought she might
    look quite tidy after all. The young lady for whom she made the linen
    lived about twenty miles from town, but she had come in about this
    time, and was to set off home at nine o'clock that very morning. The
    linen was to have been sent in the night before, but Lettice had found
    it impossible to finish it. This was why she was obliged to start so
    early in the morning. She now goes to the bed to tell Myra about the
    fire, and that she had borrowed her shawl, but Myra was sound asleep,
    so she did not disturb her, but stepped lightly over the floor and
    down stairs, for it was getting late, and she must be gone. Read the
    next story, and you will be deeply interested in the result.


    * * * * *


    LETTICE AND CATHERINE,
    OR THE UNEXPECTED MEETING.


    I must tell you who were Lettice and Myra. They were the daughters of
    a clergyman, who held the little vicarage of Castle Rising. But
    misfortune, which sometimes meets the wise and good, reduced the
    family to poor circumstances. After the parents' decease, Lettice and
    Myra located in London, for the purpose of doing needle work for a
    living.

    We said in the last story, that Lettice had entered the street and was
    on her way with the work she had finished for the young lady. It was
    a cold morning, the snow blew, and the street was slippery. She could
    scarcely stand--her face was cold, and her hands so numbed that she
    could scarcely hold the parcel she carried. The snow beat upon her
    poor bonnet, but she comforted herself with the idea that she might be
    supposed to have a better bonnet at home. She cheerfully trudged
    along, and at last entered Grosvenor Square, where the lamps were just
    dying away before the splendid houses, while the wind rushed down the
    Park colder than ever. A few boys were about the only people yet to be
    seen about, and they laughed at her as she held her bonnet down with
    one hand, to prevent its giving way before the wind, while she carried
    her bundle and kept her shawl from flying up with the other.

    At last she entered Green Street, and came to the house of the kind
    lady who had furnished her and many others with work; raised the
    knocker, and gave one humble knock at the door. She had never been at
    the house before, but she had sometimes had to go to other genteel
    houses where she had been met with incivility by the domestics.

    But "like master, like man," is a stale old proverb, and full of
    truth. The servant came to the door. He was a grave old man about
    fifty. His countenance was full of kind meaning, and his manners so
    gentle, that before hearing her errand, observing how cold she looked,
    bade her come in and warm herself at the hall stove.

    "I have come," said Lettice, "with the young lady's work--I had not
    time to come last night, but I hope I have not put her to any
    inconvenience--I started before light this morning.'

    "Well, my dear, I hope not," said the servant, "but it was a pity you
    could not get it done last night. Mrs. Danvers likes to have people
    exact to the moment. However, I dare say it will be all right."

    As Reynolds, the servant-man, entered the drawing-room, Lettice heard
    a voice, "Is it come at last?" And the young lady, who thus enquired,
    was Catherine Melvin, who was then making an early breakfast before a
    noble blazing fire.

    "Has the woman brought her bill?" asked Mrs. Danvers.

    "I will go and ask," said the servant. "Stay, ask her to come up. I
    should like to enquire how she is getting along, this cold weather."

    Reynolds obeyed, and soon Lettice found herself in a warm,
    comfortable breakfast room.

    "Good morning," said Mrs. Danvers. "I am sorry you have had such a
    cold walk this morning. I am sorry you could not come last night. This
    young lady is just leaving, and there is barely time to put up the
    things." Catherine (for this was the young lady's name) had her back
    turned to the door quietly continuing her breakfast, but when the
    gentle voice of Lettice replied:

    "Indeed, madam, I beg your pardon, I did my very best"--Catherine
    started, looked up and rose hastily from her chair; Lettice, advancing
    a few steps, exclaimed--"Catherine."

    And Catherine exclaimed: "It is--it is you!" and coming forward and
    taking her by the hand, she gazed with astonishment at the wan face
    and miserable attire of the work-woman. "You," she kept repeating.
    "Lettice! Lettice Arnold! Good Heavens! Where is your father? your
    mother? your sister?"

    "Gone," said the poor girl, "all gone but poor Myra!"

    "And where is she? And you, dear Lettice, how have you come to this?"

    Such was the unexpected meeting of these two persons, who were once
    children of the same village of Castle Rising. Lettice had been
    working for her schoolmate, Catherine Melvin. The result was a happy
    one, and it was not long before, by the kindness of Catherine, that
    the two orphan girls were situated pleasantly in life. But as you will
    wish to know how all this came about, I will give you the
    circumstances in another story.


    * * * * *


    THE EXPLANATION.


    Lettice's father was a man of education, a scholar, a gentleman, and
    had much power in preaching. He received one hundred and ten pounds
    per year for his services. Her father's illness was long and painful,
    and the family were dependant on others for assistance.

    "We at last closed his eyes," said Lettice, "in deep sorrow." He used
    to say to himself, "It is a rough road, but it leads to a good place."

    After his funeral, the expenses exhausted all that was left of their
    money--only a few pounds were left when the furniture was sold, and
    "we were obliged," said Lettice, "to give up the dear little
    parsonage. It was a sweet little place. The house was covered all over
    with honeysuckles and jessamines; and there was the flower garden in
    which I used to work, and which made me so hale and strong, and aunt
    Montague used to say I was worth a whole bundle of fine ladies.

    "It was a sad day when we parted from it. My poor mother! How she kept
    looking back, striving not to cry, and poor Myra was drowned in tears.

    "Then we afterwards came to London. A person whom we knew in the
    village had a son who, was employed in one of the great linen
    warehouses, and he promised to try to get us needlework. So we came to
    London, took a small lodging, and furnished it with the remnant of our
    furniture. Here we worked fourteen hours a day apiece, and we could
    only gain between three and four shillings each. At last mother died,
    and then all went; she died and had a pauper's funeral."

    From this room the orphan girl removed soon after their mother's
    deceased, and located among the poor of Marylebone street, where Mrs.
    Danvers accidently met with the two sisters, in one of her visits
    among the poor, and for whom she obtained the work which led to the
    unexpected meeting related in the previous story.


    * * * * *