There lives and works A soul in all things,--and that soul is God!
For a few minutes we will quit the "Research," and take a peep into Mr. Wilton's drawing-room. There is a bright, blazing fire; the crimson curtains are closely drawn; pussy is curled up in a circle on the soft rug; and Grandy, with her perpetual knitting, is still in the old leather chair.
"But where are all the others?" I fancy I hear my readers' inquiries. Look again. Who sits at the table writing so busily, and every instant turning over the leaves of a large book? It is George. Emma has gone with her papa and mamma to the Colosseum; but George was obliged to remain a prisoner at home, having been much inconvenienced by a severe cold. He is now working diligently to create a surprise for his sister on her return; and anxiety to please her gives such impetus to his exertions, that he accomplishes more than he even ventured to anticipate.
Grandy perseveres in her knitting: she silently commends her darling for his thoughtful affection, and occasionally pauses to cast a glance of deep earnest love, not unmixed with a degree of pride, on the beaming countenance of her favorite grandchild.
George completes his task, and causes his working apparatus to vanish before ten o'clock; then, twining his arms around the beloved grandmother's neck, he quietly whispers all the secret in her ear, and awaits her approval.
She suggests that he preserve it until the next evening, and then astonish the assembly by reading his extensive notes, the result of the last two hours' labor.
George is delighted, and amuses himself with imagining Emma's astonishment when he makes his grand display; and, with his mind vigorously engaged in picturing the pleasures of the surprise, he retires to rest.
Our young friends, Emma and George, were too sensible of the value of time to waste it in idleness or trifling pursuits; consequently, whenever you called at Mr. Wilton's, you might be sure to find them occupied with some work, profitable either to themselves or their fellow-creatures; and Mrs. Wilton in her daily instructions had so combined practice with theory, that her pupils almost unconsciously imitated her in the paths of industry and perseverance, no longer feeling (as heretofore) the sad effects of procrastination; but "whatsoever their hands found to do, they did it with their might."