Public disgrace was the consequence; and the insignificance of the sum and the magnitude of the offence were alike the theme of general discussion. Mingled commiseration and blame were bestowed upon the unhappy parents. People generally love to think that a faulty education is the root of the evil. Some, therefore, censured the system that had restricted him in means; others thought a too ample allowance had been the origin of the sin. The affair was canvassed in every possible spirit, and though commiseration could not be refused to the heart-stricken parents, yet the tone of it was often qualified by the personal sentiments of the speakers, for it is wondrous how unpopularity will cling to those who have incurred it, even under calamities which one would suppose were enough to bury all old griefs. “I cannot but feel sorry for any mother under such circumstances,” had been said, “but I feel as little for Mrs. Allen as I could feel for any one so situated. She meets with more sympathy now than she ever would have given to another.” “Had it been any one else’s son but Sarah Allen’s,” exclaimed another, “I should have been sorry indeed. But hers is a hard temper. Now, however, she knows what trials are.” “I am sorry for any one so situated, but if such things will happen, I had rather it had fallen on Mrs. Allen than on any one else I know.” The Brandons breathed a deeper but silent comment upon the blow that had fallen on the haughty and unfeeling woman whose early slight they never had forgiven. “My early, only friend,” cried Mrs. Allen, as she threw herself into Mary Ludlow’s arms, who, ever true to her in sorrow as in joy, was with her now in her hour of bitterest anguish, “you, you alone feel for one who did not feel for others. The heart that was hardened by prosperity deserved to be broken by sorrow.” And then the full tide of anguish, and repentance, and confession, gushed forth with a freedom and humility that wells up alone from a broken and a contrite heart. The stern lesson had been taught, and received in a spirit that shows that where there is Sense, experience must teach Sympathy. The rock had been smitten, and the waters that gushed forth were pure and regenerating. * * * * * “OH MOTHER OF A MIGHTY RACE.” BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. Oh mother of a mighty race, Yet lovely in thy youthful grace! The elder dames, thy haughty peers, Admire and hate thy blooming years. With words of shame And taunts of scorn they join thy name. For on thy cheek the glow is spread That tints thy morning hills with red; Thy step—the wild deer’s rustling feet Within thy woods are not more fleet; Thy hopeful eye Is bright as thine own sunny sky.