i K mai i m ,) ! THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES OUR HAP P'Y HOME; FAMILY CIRCLE BY MRS. SARAH GOULD. " Home is the resort Of love, of joy, of peace, and plenty, where, Supporting and supported, polished friends And dear relations mingle into bliss." BOSTON- BRADLEY, DAYTON & CO., 20 WASHINGTON STKEET atered, according to Act of Conj?i,.. in the yoar ISfiG, by MKU1INS AND KKAPI.KY In tho Clerk 'sOffl- ofthi- District C t,rtof the District :>f Jla.ssj-hiiwt NOTE. Our Happy Home ! One of the sweet- est words in the English language, is Home ; be it ever so humble, there is al- ways connected with it some of the most pleasant associations of life. " There is no sweeter spot than home Upon this bleak and barren earth ; There are no purer joys below Than sparkle round the peaceful hearth. At home the wearied one may rest Awhile from tasks of worldly strife ; At home the care-worn soul may find A shelter from the storm of life." With what pleasure does the aged sire, upon whose brow is stamped the impress of seventy winters, relate the scenes of his youth. Time has not erased them from his memory, though he may have forgotten the events that occurred yesterday; but 622754 j v NOTE. tho.se of his childhood days, are indelibly fixed upon his mind, and cannot be oblit- erated. He also may have travelled into foreign lands roamed amid the " sunny climes " of Spain, and Italy, and visited all those remains of ancient grandeur of which the Old World so proudly boasts ; at the eame time, amid all those stupendous scenes, his mind will wander back to his native land, and his strongest and most ardent desire will continue to be, at the old mansion home, though it be crumbling to the dust, by the hand of time, and all that is near and dear laid low in the silent grave. " O, carry me back to my childhood's home, Where ocean surges roar, Where its billows dash on a rock-bound coast, And mourn forever more. I'm pining away in a stranger's land, Beneath a stranger's eye ; O, carry me home, O, carry me home, O, carry me home to die ! " 8. G. CONTENTS. Page. The Flower Angels, 1 The Little Star Gazer, 8 Benevolence, .........10 New Tippet's Worth, 16 Failure and Success, 18 His First Cigar, 19 The Moss Eose, 22 Flowers of Spring, . 24 Mary, Ellen, and the Tin Box, 26 Billy Babbit to Mary, 29 Make Your Mark, 30 The Honest Boy, 31 The Quarrel, 32 The Thistle Sifter, 35 A Puzzle, 35 Borrowing, 36 The Bear and the Children, 40 The Eose, 42 Why our Dog's Teeth are White, 43 Flowers, 48 The Clever Boy, ........ 49 Only One Brick on Another, 54 /The Advent of Hope, ...,,. 56 (v) VI CONTENTS. Child and Sire, ... .... 56 Flowers, 57 Kind Hearts Everywhere, . ..... 61 Voice of New England, ....... 62 Til be a Man, 64 To my Sister, 65 The Pledge, 66 George and His Dog, ... ... 67 The Fly with a Sore Toe, 68 Care, 71 True Love 71 The Bible, 71 I live to Learn, 72 What the Pine Trees Said, 73 Home of the Heart, ........ 76 The Bible, 78 Who made all Things ? 79 Why is the Rose most Beautiful ? 80 My Country, 81 Property ; or, Yours and Mine, 82 Morning Hymn, ... 91 The Child at the Tomb, 92 Jesus our Example, ........ 94 Angry Words, 94 Promises ... 95 Nothing is Lost, .96 Fighting in Love, 97 Good and Evil, 102 True Religion, 102 The Spring's Return, . . . . . . .103 My Home 104 Home, 105 War, .... . 106 CONTENTS. VT1 The Little Garden, Ill Thunder Storm on the Alps, 112 Cocoa, , . . . 113 The Promises, . 119 Patience, 119 Home, 120 Truth, The Watercress Man, 121 The Youngest, . 130 Speak Kindly to the Poor, 131 A Garland of Spring Flowers, 192 The Promises, 134 The Pleasures of Learning, 135 My Home, ,139 The Good we Might Do, 140 The Unsteady Youth, 141 The Spirit's Whisper, 148 Susan Gray, 150 The Indian Maiden's Farewell, 154 True Charity, 155 Temptations, . .159 Avarice Punished ... 161 My Mignonette, or Too Late, ... .162 Little Things, ... . 165 Ihe Angel Visit, 166 The Hose-Bell 172 The Angel of Humanity, . . . . . .173 Pearls and Pebbles, . . . . . . .177 Who is Happy? 178 At Home! At Home! 180 The Blind Boy, 181 Eedeeming the Time, 183 Voice of the Old Year, 187 Home, A Mother's Death 196 VJiJ CONTENTS. . 200 Losses, Christmas Brilliants, 201 202 Honor Among Boys, The First Robin, 205 The Robin's Appeal, 2( True Love 2 7 Influence , 208 Worth of a Kiss, 209 The Philosophy of Rain, . . > . -212 Come Home, my Stricken Daughter, . 214 My Philosophy, 215 Absence 216 The Importance of Punctuality, 217 Angel Home, 221 My Own Heart's Home, 222 The First Lie, 224 A Gentle Man 230 Wiser than the Emperor, 235 The Test of Friendship, '242 Little Things, 243 To the Birds of Spring, 244 Happy New Year, .... 245 OUR HAPPY HOME. THE FLOWER ANGELS. BY MISS SEDGWICK. " MOTHER," said Emma Goodwin, who had been reading Mary Howitt's pretty ballad called " Ma- bel on Midsummer's Day," " do you believe there ever were such people as Fairy-folk ? " " I cannot say, Emma ; there are and have been strange things in this world of ours." " That does not answer my question, dear mother. I want to know if there were ever really fairies ; and if there were, why did they Bay to little Mabel, " The lady fern is all unbroke, The strawberry flower untak'n ; What shall be done for her Who still from mischief can refrain ? ' M 1 (1) 2 THE FLOWER ANUELS. "Why, Emma, they spoke like very sensible little fairies. They commended Mabel for not plucking and marring flowers she had been asked not to touch. " As to the existence of these fairies, that, I be- lieve, is imaginary ; but I will tell you a story of our own times. " There is a certain city that you and I know so compactly built that thousands of people in it have no ground to plant a shrub. " The whole growing season passes the spring time and summer ; all the wonderful pro- cesses of nature go on, the sowing and reap- ing, the budding and blossoming, and they have no sweet scent or lovely sight of flowers. " For these poor people, thus deprived by poverty and circumstances of their participation in God's beautiful creation, a public ground was bought, planted with trees, shrubs, and flowers, and the public were asked to respect what was provided for the public to enjoy. This public ground was called Christian Square. " It happened in early summer, in June, the ' month of flowers,' that Fantasy, a little girl about your age, was passing at twilight on her THE FLOWER, ANGELS. 3 way norne through Christian Square. Just with- in the railing on the south side there was a bed of lilies of the valley. " The lily of the valley seems, you know, to have warmth of its own in its little heart, for it does not need sunshine. The flowers were abun- dant. Fantasy stopped to gaze on them. " She knew well that it was forbidden to touch any thing within that enclosure ; but she said, " ' To-morrow they will fade and die. No one will again see them to-night ; surely I may pick one little bunch of them.' "And she stooped to pick them, when, lo ! forth from one of the flower bells came a tiny form, wrapped in a robe of snowy hue. " ' My little lady,' said a silvery voice, pluck not my flowers.' " ' And pray who are you ? ' asked Fantasy, trembling more with pleasure than fear at a sight so strange and beautiful. " ' I am the lilies' angel. I hang them under their green tent ; I drop the dews on their sweet lips ; I shelter their modest heads in shadow ; I tend them from their birth to their death. 7 " ' And why may they not as well die on my bosom as here ? ' asked Fantasy. THE FLOWER AJSIGEL3. " The gentle spirit heeded not the pertness 01 the little girl, but patiently replied, " ' Because you are but one, my child, and here they are set for the good of many. Here they speak a word of God's kind providence to the sick and old who come tottering by ; to the poor from garret and cellar where no flowers live and breathe ; to all who have an eye to see God in the beauty he has made.' " The lilies' angel sank down and disappeared behind the flower cups, and Fantasy passed on. " She next approached a rose, whose manifold branches were clasped around a green stake. It was full of roses and swelling buds. Stretching out her hands, she said, " ' I will at least have one rose ! ' when a sharp voice exclaimed, " ' Hands off, little lady, or my thorns will pierce you!' " ' And who are you ? ' asked the bold child. ' ' Behold me 1 ' said the roses' angel ; and with- out the sound of even a rustled leaf, forth from the dark centre of the bush rose a form so lovely that Fantasy shouted with delight. "The brow, and neck, and arms were white THE FLOWER ANGELS. 5 as the Rose Unique, blended with the faint tint of the Maiden's Blush ; the cheeks were of the hue of the Damask Rose ; the lips were of the richest red of the Chinese Rose ; the flowing curls of the color of the Yellow Scotch Rose ; and around the figure floated a cloud tinged with the hue of every rose that blooms. " ' I love thee, little maiden/ said the angel, ( for thou lovest flowers, and round such the in- visible flower angels are ever floating. Seek the tokens of our favor elsewhere. Here the flowers are fo all, not for one. If thou dost respect us, touch them not.' The rose angel vanished. " Fantasy walked slowly on, and from every flower came forth its angel : the Forget-me-not's wore a zone of her blue flowers ; the Sweet Pea's a wreath of its lovely blossoms drooping over its arch, laughing eye ; and the Carnation's bore a shining shield with its rich flower in its centre. " Each waved a hand to Fantasy as she passed, and said, " 'We are for all not for one little maiden !' " Fantasy came to a bed of Hear-t's-ease - court beauties, dressed in royal velvets ! Old hab- its will prevail against the best of new lessons. G THE FLOWER ANGELS. " Fantasy stooped to pick 'just one ; ' when, lol hundreds of tiny fairies, glowing with rainbow tints, rose from them, and one spoke, " ' After all, little maiden, that you have been permitted to see and hear in your twilight pas- sage among us, if you pluck but "just one " of the flowers we tend for all, you must forfeit Hearts-ease forever.' " ' I never will,' replied Fantasy ; ' and here/ she added, clasping her little hands, ' I vow that I will never touch tree or shrub, flower or blade of grass provided for all, and not for one"?' " A soft, musical murmur came forth from tree, and shrub, and flower. Fantasy heard it. Such harmony ! it was such as Nature always breathes in the presence of those who love and serve her. " It is not often permitted to mortals to hear it. Fantasy was buoyed up by it, as by praise from those we love. " As she emerged from the farther gate into the paved etreet, she paused under a tulip tree. It was nearly dead hardly a leaf on its stately branches. The summer before, it had been full of polished green leaves and magnificent flowers. THE FLOWER ANGELS. 7 " ' Why so changed ? ' thought Fantasy. She heard a voice replying to her thought, " ' Look on the noble trunk, and see it gashed, and nearly girdled. Those wounds were made in mean revenge by a wanton boy, who was driven out of Christian Square last year for plucking the flowers. I am the tree's spirit, its life, and by that boy's rude hand doomed to leave it forever.' "And from the gently-stirring branches rose, to Fantasy's eye. a cloud, and floated away, lost in the dim atmosphere. " ' Poor tree ! ' she said ; ' who could have had the heart to kill that which God and years had made so beautiful ? ' " The girl heard her mother to the close, and then, taking a long breath, she said, " What does this mean, mother ? Is it not a true story ? " " No, my child, it is not. You may call it a dream, a vision, a mesmeric sleep, any thing you please, so that you learn from it to .respect and keep your hands off from whatever adorns those grounds provided at the expense of the public for the public to enjoy." THE LITTLE STAR GAZER. THE LITTLE STAR GAZER. I'm looking on the stars, mother, That shine up there, all bright, So like a brilliant string of beads Around the neck of Night. I love to greet their smiles, mother, That fall soft from the skies ; They seem to gaze on me in love With their sweet angel eyes. It seems to me sometimes, mother, That they are windows bright, Through which the happy spirits look, And shines heaven's holy light. O, are they not the gates, mother, Of radiant pearl and gold, By which we enter heaven at last, To rest in God's dear fold ? They look as if they were, mother, Bright golden bells that ring, And make accordant music tones Whene'er the angels sing. THE LITTLE STAR GAZER. Yon sky a garden seems, mother, All full of flowery beds, Where sunbeams sleep, and summer's breath Its incense ever sheds. O, I could almost leave thee, mother, My happy home and thee, To roam amid that starry field, And in that garden be. I would be like a star, mother, Far from the touch of bin, And ever own a heart that glows All full of light within. When at night I go to sleep Fourteen angels are at hand : Two on my right their watches keep Two on my left to bless me stand ; Two hover gently o'er my head ; Two guard the foot of my small bed ; Two wake me with the sun's first ray Two dress me nicely every day ; Two guide me on the heavenly road That leads to paradise and God. BENEVOLENCE. BENEVOLENCE. [SARAH BUNTIN, with a Bundle of Clothes, WIL- LIAM, with a Basket of Provisions, going to visit a poor family, meet ROBERT DAWSON, a School mate.] Robert. Good morning, Sarah and William ; where are you going so early this morning? Sarah. We are going over to Mrs. Gently's to carry some clothes and provisions, so that the children can go to school. Robert. Are they so poor that they cannot get clothes to wear to school ? Sarah. Yes, they are. They have neither clothes nor food to make them comfortable. Robert. Why don't they work and earn money wherewith to buy them clothes and food ? Sarah. They do, Robert ; and yet they cannot earn enough, I fear, to keep them from starving ; for nobody has now any work to give them. Robert. Have they no father ? BENEVOLENCE. 11 Sarah. No, Robert, they have no father. Their father was blind. He died a few weeks since, after being blind many years. Robert. How came he to be blind ? Sarah. It is a sad story. While he was at work, perfecting an important invention which required great use of the eyes, things began to look dark to him ; he could not see the fine lines clearly ; every day it grew darker and darker till all became as dark as night. Then the poor man sat down with his wife and children and thought over what he should do. Robert. Well, what did he do ? Sarah. He heard of a great doctor in Philadel- phia who was famous for curing blindness ; so he sold his little farm, and cows, and sheep, and took the money to pay his expenses in moving his fam- ily to Philadelphia and to pay the doctor. Robert. And did the doctor help him ? Sarah. No ; after trying the most celebrated physicians, and spending all his money, he found himself a beggar, and blind as ever. Robert. How sad ! What did he then do ? Sarah. He looked round for something to do for a living. At last he found a man who em 12 BENEVOLENCE. ployed him to turn a grindstone where they 'made cutlery. Robert. And could he earn enough by turning a grindstone to support his wife and children ? Sarah. No ; his wife took in washing ; and while he had employment they were able to earn enough to live from day to day. Robert. What did the children do ? Sarah. They helped their mother, out of school hours, except when Nancy was with her father, leading him to and from his work. Every morn- ing she would take him by the hand and lead him all the way up Water Street into Yine Street, where the manufactory was, and then run home and help her mother till school. Then at night she would go and lead her father home again. Robert. Tell me more about the blind man. What became of him ? Sarah. After a while business oecame dull, and they did not want him at the factory to turn the grindstone ; so he and Nancy walked all over the city to find work ; but nobody wanted him ; the^e was nothing which he could do. So rather than starve he sat down on a little stool by the 8ide of an old graveyard in Mulberry Street, juet 1 BENEVOLENCE. 13 by where Benjamin Franklin was buried, and held out his old worn-out cap for the passers by to throw in their pennies. There were some who would take pity on the poor blind man and give him ?,ome money. This was not all. His wife, by her hard work and anxiety, became sick and unable to take in washing for a time. This dis- heartened the poor man so that he became sick, and died of a broken heart. Robert. A sad story indeed. What became of the wife and the children ? Sarah. They became perfectly destitute, and had nothing to eat, nor hardly any clothes to wear. One evening, after they had been with- out food all day, Nancy thought she would go down to the Post Office, where she had seen other children sometimes hold out their hands for gentlemen to give them pennies, and hold out her hand ; perhaps some one would give her something, and then she could buy some bread for her mother and little sister to keep them from starving. Robert. Well, what luck did she have ? Sarah. She went and stood by the door that opens into the Post Office, and tried to hold out 14 BENEVOLENCE. her hand as she had seen other little beggars do, At first she could hardly get it out ; she seemed to feel ashamed to do it. At last a gentleman who noticed her, observing that she was not one of the common beggars, spoke to her kindly, and asked her who she was, and where she lived, and a great many other question^, which she answered so honestly and frankly that he gave her some money, and afterwards went home with her to see her sick mother and sister. Robert. He was a kind man. How did he find them. Sarah. He found them in the fourth story of a poor old building in Water Street, where they lived in a little attic room with only one bed, one table, a chair, and a stool for their furniture, and nothing to eat. He then gave them some money, and came home to our house, where he boards, and told us all he had seen. He then proposed that we should make a collection of clothes and provisions for the family, and send them. So this morning mother and I picked up all our old dresses, and made up a basket of provisions, with some money from the boarders, and Billy and I are going to carry them to the poor family BENEVOLENCE. 15 Robert. You are very kind, Sarah. I am very sorry for them. Your story and generosity have interested me in doing something for them my- self. Here is a sixpence T was going to spend for marbles. [Gives it to Sarah.] I will give them 'that ; and I should like to go and see them with you. Can I go,? Sarah. Certainly ; with all my heart. It will do you good to see those kind little girls and pa- tient mother who have suffered so much hunger and cold rather than beg. My mother tells me " it is better to give than to receive ; " that all our little actb of kindness to the poor are treas- ures laid up in heaven, where neither moth nor rust will corrupt, nor thieves break through and steal. Robert. I have heard that before ; but I never understood it as I do now. I will try and lay up some treasure there too ; so let us be going. 16 A NEW TIPPET'S WORTH. A NEW TIPPET'S WORTH. " I do not want a new tippet this winter, nor any thing new, dear mother," said a little girl, when her mother began to tell about buying some new winter clothes ; " do, mother, let me wear my old ones." " Not want a new tippet, when all your cous- ins are to have new ones ? " said the mother ; " why, I never saw a child that did not like new things ! " " I do not know as I do, exactly," said Janette. " And why do you not ? " asked her mother ; " why not ? " " Because," said the little girl, hesitating a mo- ment, " because it makes me feel real bad to be dressed up so, when there are so many children who have no clothes to wear, or houses to live in, or bread to eat. " mother ! if instead of buying me a new tip- pet you would only let me have the money to help them with, then I should be happy." As the mother listened to all her daughter eaid tears came in her eyes, for she was afraid A NEW TIPPET'S WORTH. 17 she had thought more of dressing her little girl in fine clothes than of teaching her to love oth ers, and of finding her the means of carrying out her love. But this had been taught Janette by her heavenly Parent, who is called the God of love. And what does Christian love ask of you, and me, and every little child ? That we must not live only to clothe, and feed, and improve, and please ourselves. 0, no ; for we have a great many brothe^ and sisters in the world who are destitute, and wicked, and sorrowful ; and the great God gives to us, that we may share with them. And now, as winter approaches, how many children feel like giving a beautiful new tippet's worth to help the poor? Perhaps you are not able to give as much as that ; but will you do something ? As the November winds sweep round your snug little chamber will you remember the poor? " And did her mother give Janette the tippet's worth ? " asks some little girl, perhaps. Yes, she did. Janette wore her old woollen tippet, and " the new tippet's worth " she gave 2 FAILURE AND SUCCESS. away to do good to others ; and never was a happier child than she; for the Scripture^says " It is more blessed to give than to receive." PBOVERBS. Let them laugh that win. tf o great loss but there is some small gain. Never too old to learn. FAILURE AND SUCCESS. It is in failure, in distress, When, reft of all, it stands alone, And not in what men call success, The noble, valiant soul is known. He who perfection makes his aim, Shoots at a mark he may not reach ; The world may laugh, the world may blame, And what it calls discretion preach. Think not of failure or success ; He fails who has a low desire. Up to the highest ever press ; Still onward, upward, higher, higher I HIS PIEST CTO.AR. 19 HIS FIKST CIGAR. Letter from Uncle Toby to Billy Bruce, about Jesse Shute with his Lemon and first Cigar. MY DEAR BILLY : Let me tell you a story about Jesse Shute. I was once standing on a wharf in New London, waiting for a boat to fire up, bound to New York. Whilst there, my eye rested on a group of small boys, gathered round a sugar boi. The most of them were busy in taking their first steps in laying aside the boy and putting on the man. Some were smoking, some were chew- ing, and some were doing their best to perfect the smaller ones in this fine art, or gentlemanly accomplishment ! It was on this occasion I saw Jesse Shute trying his first cigar. He was a thin, graceful, elegant boy, with a countenance expressive of fine sensibilities and a fine mind : in fact, he had that rich and delicate structure upon which tobacco plays almost with the fury of lightning in doing mischief. The initiatory process went hard with young Jesse. He had a lemon in one hand, and a 20 HIS FIRST CIGAR. cheroot in the other ; and he used them scien tifically, I assure you. He used them in turn. Now the little fellow would swell, pout, puff, puff, puff and being overcome by the precious fumes, his eyes would roll in their sockets, his limbs give way, and back he would fall on the box, as drunk as a toper in the ditch. But his remedy was at hand : his lemon was an antidote to sickness. He greedily put it to his mouth, and drew upon it with the enthusiasm of a young calf 1 This neutralized the nausea. And being made sick and well, drunk and sober, some half dozen times by his cigar and lemon, I came to the conclusion that he was a child of peculiar promise, bent on being a genteel dandy quite early, or a great smoker, as Nimrod was a great hunter. By this time, I presume, little Jesse struts and shows off in full bloom ; is quite a connoisseur in the cigar science ; talks about good, better, best, of a hundred varieties or more. I dare say he wags his head according to rule, perfumes the streets and saloons of New London with what Horace Greeley calls a profane stench ; HIS 7IRST CIGAR. 21 and though he was a mere boy then, I presume were I to call him a boy now, he would say, as another little fellow once said when I asked him to step aside and let me pass, " Sir, don't call me a boy ; I have used cigars these three years ! " I must not fatigue you, Billy ; but, rely upon it, to use tobacco is no more natural than to swal- low lightning, inhale assafoetida, or live on fire. Hence you must never use it. You are well now ; and neither this nor any other narcotic can make you better. If chewers, smokers, or venders entice thee, do not consent. Say to them as Omiah, a youth from Otaheite, said to a great Englishman who offered him his snuff box : " I thank you, my lord, my nose is not hungry ! " That is exactly the thing Omiah's nose was not hungry ! Neither is yours nor mine in snuff- ing such fragrance. And if our American lads had the independence of this young pagan, so many of them would not become sickly dupes to this artificial appetite ; but living in harmony with their real nature, in harmony with the voice of God within and around, " They would at once draw the sting of life and death, And walk with Nature ; and her paths are peace." 22 THE MOSS ROSE. THE MOSS ROSE. Have you ever imagined, when you stood be- side the sweet rose and admired its beauty and inhaled its fragrance, that it was talking all the while ? Listen to a conversation which the pious Krummacher once thought he heard as he stood admiring the moss rose and the simple dress with which the hand of nature, or rather the hand of nature's God, has clothed it. Here it is : " The angel who takes care of the flowers, and sprinkles upon them the dew in the still night, slumbered, on a spring day, in the shade of a rosebush. " And when he awoke, he said, with a smiling countenance, 'Most beautiful of my children, I thank thee for thy refreshing odor and cooling shade. Could you now ask any favor, how will- ingly would I grant it ! ' " ' Adorn me, then, with a new charm/ said the spirit of the rosebush, in a beseeching tone. " And the angel adorned the loveliest of flow- ers with simple moss. Sweetly it stood there in modest attire, the moss rose, the most beau- tiful of its kind." THE MOSS ROSE. 23 And the good man who wrote this adds, " Lay aside the splendid ornament and the glittering jewel, and listen to the instructions of maternal nature." "Whenever, therefore, you feel inclined to envy those who wear costly ornaments the ring of diamonds or the necklace of pearls think of the moss rose, and the lesson of wisdom which it teaches ; and remember that there is no fine gold equal to " the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is, in the sight of God, of great price." 24 FLOWERS OE SPRING. FLOWERS OF SPRING. The violets are coming, In the valley on the plain ; And the bees will soon be humming, And the streams be free again. There are pretty budding faces In the dell, so pure and sweet, And a thousand tiny traces Of their little blue-veined feet. The violets are coming, Their buds are scarcely seen ; But heaven wears a deeper blue, And earth a brighter green. The leaves are all unclosing, Our hearts grow full and strong, For we hail them as a prelude Vo a long bright summer song. The violets- are coming, There's a perfume on the air ; And the breath of early blossoms Uprising everywhere. Oh, I love the summer flowers, Each tiny, bright-lipped thing ; But more than them, I dearly love The first sweet buds of spring. MBS. H. MAKION STEPHEN*. MAEY, ELLEN, AND THE TIN BOX. 25 MARY, ELLEN, AND THE TIN BOX. In my visit to one of the Boston schools, a child asked me, "What does this mean, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive ' ? " " Children," I asked, " can any of you tell what it means ? " A little girl, whose name was Mary, an- swered, " I had a piece of cake the other day. 1 broke it into six pieces, and gave five of them to five other children who were playing with me, and kept the smallest myself." " Is not that what it means ? " asked another girl, named Ellen. " Yes, Ellen," I replied, " I think it is pretty near the meaning. I know a boy named Clark. He has several brothers and sisters. If Clark gets an apple, an orange, grapes, plums, or any thing, his brothers and sisters are always sure to get the largest share, and often the whole. " When they have 8tiy thing, Clark never teases them to give any to him ; but they often plead 26 MARY, ELLEN, AND THE TIN BOX. earnestly with him to take some. When he sees he cannot refuse Without hurting their feelings he always takes what they offer. I once asked Clark why he was not as willing to receive from his brothers and sisters as he was to give to them. " ' Because/ said the noble boy, ' I feel better pleased when I give to them than I do when they give to me.' " ' Why ? ' I asked. " ' Because I am afraid they will not have enough/ said he. " ' What if they should not ? ' I asked. " ' Why/ said he, ' how could I enjoy any thing when I would be thinking all the time that they wanted it, and that they had deprived themselves of it to give it to me ? ' " ' True, Clark, I do not know how you could/ I answered." After I had related this story, Mary said, " I think I should be more happy to give than to receive." Poor girl ! she did not know her own heart ; but it was soon brought to the test. Ellen took up a painted tin box belonging to Mary, and looked at it. " That is mine," said Mary, and snatched it away with some violence. MABY, ELLEN, AND THE TIN BOX. 27 Ellen gave it up very quietly, and then said, " Do let me look at it, Mary. It is so pretty ! " " I shall not," said Mary, " for it is mine ; and you had no business to touch it." " Dear Mary," said I, " do you really think it is more blessed to give than to receive ? You said just now you thought you should be more happy to give than to receive. You do not look very happy now." Poor girl ! she was cut to the heart. She in- stantly gave the box to Ellen, hung her head, and began to weep. " Children," said I to the scholars, " which do you think would have made Mary more happy to have allowed Ellen to look at the box as much as she pleased, or to have snatched it away as she did ? " All answered, " She would have been moife happy if she had allowed her to look at it." " So I think," I replied. " You do not feel so happy, Mary, as you would have done if you had told Ellen kindly, when, she took up your box, that she might look at it as much as she pleased." " If we feel as we ought to feel," I remarked to the children, "we shall give up our lives to 28 ANECDOTE. save the lives of others rather than take away their lives to save our own." " If they are our enemies, and are trying to kill us," asked Sarah, " should we feel happier to give up our lives rather than take theirs ? " "If we really feel that it is more blessed to give than to receive," I replied, " I think we should suffer and die for the good even of our enemies rather than make them suffer and die for our good. If we practise this precept, as Jesus did, it will prevent all wars, and settle all diffi- culties, without any violence." Jl Kiss for a Blew. BILLY BABBIT TO MARY. 29 BILLY RABBIT TO MARY. [Billy Rabbit was a little rabbit which a boj caught in the woods and gave to a little girl of the name of Mary. She was very attentive to the little prisoner, gave him an abun- dance of good things to eat, and tried her best to make him happy ; but all in vain. After many attempts, he at last suc- ceeded in making his escape, and iastantly disappeared in tht woods. In the course of the day *he iolio wing letter, sealed with a sharp thorn, was xer-ttYeu by nits friend Mary.] ARTICHOKE WOODS. You thought, my dfar Mary, you had Billy fast, But I tried very hard, and escaped you at last ; The chance was so tempting I thought I would 'nab it, It was not very nauphty, I'm sure, in a rabbit. O, let not your kind heart be angry with me, But think what a joy it is to be free ; To see the green woods, to feel the fresh air, To skip, and to play, and to run every where. The food that you gave me was pleasant and sweet, But I'd rather be free, though with nothing to eat. O, how glad they all were to see me come back ! And every one wanted to give me a smack. Dick knocked over Brownie, and jumped over Bun, And the neighbors came in to witness the fun. My father said something, but could not be heard ; My mother looked at me, but spoke not a word ; 30 MAKE YOUR MARK. And while she was looking her eyes became pink, And she shed a few tears, I verily think. To him who a hole or a palace inhabits, To all sorts of beings, to men, and to rabbits ; Ah ! dear to us all is sweet Liberty, Especially, Mary, to you and to me. So I hope you'll forgive me for sending this letter To tell you I'm safe, and feel so much better, Cut all sorts of capers, and act very silly, And am your devoted, affectionate BILLY, MAKE YOUR MARK. In the quarries should you toil, Make your mark ; Do you delve upon the soil ? Make your mark ; In whatever path you go, In whatever place you stand, Moving swift, or moving slow, With a firm and honest hand Make your mark. Life is fleeting as a shade Make your mark ; Marks of some kind must be made Make your mark ; THE HONEST BOY. 31 Make it while the arm IB strong, In the golden hours of youth ; Never, never make it wrong ; Make it with the stamp of truth Make your mark. THE HONEST BOY. Once there was a little boy With curly hair and pleasant eye A boy who always told the truth, And never, never told a lie. And when he trotted off to school, The children all about would cry, " There goes the curly-headed boy The boy that never tells a lie." And every body loved him so, Because he always told the truth, That every day, as he grew up, 'Twas said, " There goes the honest joutfr And when the people that stood near Would turn to ask the reason why, The answer would be always this : " Because he never tells a lie." 82 THE QUARREL. THE QUARREL. [The Father and his two Sons, JULIAN and ALONZO.] Julian. Father, Alonzo struck me. Fattier. Well, my son, what are you going to do about it ? You can do all that ought to be done to him. Julian. But, father, you have often told me I must love him, and never strike him, even if he strikes me. Father. Is it because you love your brother, my son, that you did not strike him when he struck you? Julian. Yes, father. [Faintly.} Father. Well, my son, I am glad you did not strike him, but rather came to me with your com- plaint. What do you want me to do to him ? Julian. Why, father, I thought you would wish to punish him if he struck me. Father. Do you wish me to whip your brother ? Julian. Why, father, you always tell us that you will help us to settle our disputes if we will come to you. THE QUARREL. 33 Father. So you would be glad to see him whipped, would you, Julian ? [Julian hangs down his kead, and makes no answer .] Alonzo, my dear, come here. \_Jllonzo goes to his father.} Alonzo, Julian says you struck him, and he seems to wish me to whip you. Alonzo. Julian kicked me, father, before I struck him. Father. That alters the case : Julian did not tell me that he had done you any injury. Alonzo. I should not have struck him if he had not kicked me. FatJier. Who ever saw the like of this ? Here are two brothers, each trying to enlist their father in a quarrel against the other. How often have I said to you, children, Love each other, and never fight ! and now each of you wishes me to punish the other. Alonzo, do you wish me to punish your brother? Jilonzo. [Looking at Jidian.\ No, father ; [ do not wish to have him punished. Father. But Julian wishes me to whip you, Alonzo Jilonzo. No matter : I do not wish to have my brother whipped. 3 34 THE QUARREL. Father. What ! not if lie wishes to have you whipped ? Jllonzo. No, father. [JJlonzo comes near, and takes hold of Julian's hand.] Father. Well, Julian, do you still wish me to whip your brother? Julian. No, father ; [In a subdued tone of voice.] I do not wish iny little brother to be punished. Father. Julian, my son, how is this ? Just now you seemed to wish me to take sides with you against your brother, and to help you to pun- ish him. Julian. That was when I was angry with him ; I do not want you to punish him now. I would rather you should whip me. Father. The next time, then, that your brother hurts you in any way, wait till your anger is all gone, and till you can put your arm round him, and love him, as you now do, before you come to ask me to help you to punish him. Never strike him yourself, nor kick him, whatever he does to you, till you can fold him in your arms, and love him as you do at this moment. Julian. Why, father, then I should never strike him at all, nor tell you if he struck me. THE QUARREL. 35 Father. All the better : then you would never get into a quarrel. When others strike you, never strike them in return ; but pray, to our heavenly Father that he would enable you to " So good for evil, to bless them that curse you, and to pray for them which despitefully use you." THE THISTLE SIFTER. Theophilus Thistle, the successful thistle sifter, in sifting a sieve full of unsifted thistles, thrust three thousand thistles through the thick of his thumb ; see that thou, in siftiiig a sieve full of unsifted thistles, dost not thrust three thousand thistles through the thick of thy thumb : success to the successful thistle sifter, who doth not get the thistles in his tongue. 36 BORROWING. BORROWING. " Borrow seldom, and return punctually. Be careful in no way to injure the property you borrow." Morals of Manners. Christine Alton, a girl thirteen years old, re- ceived a note from one of her friends, saying, "The long-expected box has come from Canton : come down and drink tea with me, and, Christine, as they say in the advertisements, ' you will hear something to your advantage.' " Christine was dressed, and ready to go, when her mother said, " It is beginning to rain, my child ; you must take an umbrella." Christine looked for one in the umbrella stand ; there was no umbrella there. "Where is my father's silk umbrella?" she said. Mr. Hicks had borrowed it a few evenings before, but had not sent it home. " But where," asked her mother, " is the little cotton one which I bought on purpose for you ? " " 0, that I lent to Ellen Hicks, and she has not returned it." BORROWING. 37 " Ask Philanda (the cook) to lend you hers." "Mother, she says she lent it last week to cousin Henry, and he has not returned it. I will just run into Anne's, and borrow hers." Anne Lincoln, her cousin, lived next door, and in one moment more Christine was in Mrs. Lin- coln's parlor, and asking Anne to be kind enough to lend her her umbrella. "I don't know exactly where it is," replied Anne, coldly. Anne's mother was struck with her manner, and looking up from her work, she said, " Go and find it, Anne." Anne winked at her mother, but her mother was determined not to understand her winks. " If you are not willing to lend your umbrella, say so, my child ; but don't make a pretext of not knowing where it is." " Well, then, I am not willing," said Anne. Christine was a girl of quick feelings. She said nothing, but instantly left the house. " Why, what do you mean, Anne," said her mother, " by your unwillingness ? Christine and all her family are always ready to lend any thing they possess." 38 BORROWING. " I know it, mother ; and to borrow any thing that any body else possesses. Christine has bor- rowed three books of me that she has never re- turned ; and my ' Poetry for Schools ' was ruined there. And last week she borrowed my rubbers, and forgot where she left them." "This is very inconvenient and disagreeable, my dear Anne ; still I think if you were even now to lend Christine your umbrella, and to tell her frankly your reasons for having withheld it, it might make her more careful in future. "If we were more patient with the faults of others, and took some little pains to mend them, the world would get on better than it does." Anne sat for a moment. The advice worked well. She kissed her mother, saying, " You speak so gently, mother, I can't help do- ing what you wish." She found her umbrella without much difficulty, and felt the pleasure of doing a kindness as she sprang up Mrs. Alton's steps. She found Chris- tine alone in the parlor, looking very disconso- late. Her new silk bonnet was untied, and lying beside her, and the tears were streaming from her eyes. BORROWING. 39 " Now, Christine," said Anne, " I am glad to find you alone, because I want to tell you I am ashamed of myself; and that we don't like to say before more than one person at a time, you know." Christine, the best-humored of girls, wiped off her tears and smiled. " Here, dear Christine," continued Anne, " is the umbrella for you ; and if you will be sure and return it as soon as you come home, I will never be so disagreeable again. " And, dear Christine, let me tell you why I was so ; and if you cure me of my fault, why, perhaps I may cure you of yours ; and then we shall love one another the better all our lives." And Anne courageously, and very pleasantly, detailed the causes of vexation she had had. Christine candidly confessed her fault, and from that moment began a reform which made her a comfortable as well as a charming friend. 40 THE BEAR AND THE CHILDREN. THE BEAR AND THE CHILDREN. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. I will tell you a circumstance which occurred a year ago in a country town in the south of Germany. The master of a dancing bear was sitting in the tap room of an inn, eating his supper, whilst the bear, poor harmless beast, was tied up behind the wood stack in the yard. In the room up stairs three little children were playing about. Tramp ! . tramp ! was suddenly heard on the stairs. Who could it be ? The door flew open, and enter the bear ; the huge, shaggy beast with his clanking chain ! Tired of standing so long in the yard alone, Bruin had at length found his way to the staircase. At first the little children were in a terrible fright at this unexpected visit, and each ran into a corner to hide himself; but the bear found them all out, and put his muzzle, snuffling, up to them, but did not harm them in the least. " He must be a big dog," thought the children THE BEAE AND THE CHILDEEN. 41 and they began to stroke him familiarly. The bear stretched himself out at his . full length upon the floor, and the youngest boy rolled over him, and nestled his curly head in the shaggy, black fur of the beast. Then the eldest boy went and fetched his drum, and thumped away on it with might and main ; whereupon the bear stood erect upon his hind "legs and began to dance. What glorious fun! Each boy shouldered his musket ; the bear must of course have one too ; and he held it tight and firm, like any soldier. There's a comrade for you, my lads ! and away they marched one, two one, two ! The door suddenly opened, and the children's mother entered. You should have seen her speechless with terror, her cheeks white as a sheet, and her eyes fixed with horror. But the youngest boy nodded, with a look of intense de- light, and cried, " Mamma, mamma, we are only playing at sol- diers ! " At that 'moment the master of the bear made his appearance. 42 THE ROSE. THE ROSE. * FROM THE GERMAN. There was once a poor woman who had two children. The youngest had to go every day to the forest to fetch wood. And once, when the little girl had strayed very far, and lost her way, there came a little child, who helped her to pick up the wood, and drag the bundle home ; and when they came near the house, the little child suddenly vanished. The maiden told her mother all that had passed ; but she would not believe it. At length the little girl brought home a rose, and said that the beautiful child had given it her, and had told her that when its leaves unfolded he would come again : so the mother put the rose into water. One morning the little girl did not get up as usual. The mother went to the bed ; the child was dead ; but it lay there with a calm and lovely smile. And that very morning the leaves of the rose unfolded. WHY OUR DOG'S TEETH ARE WHITE. 43 WHY OUR DOG'S TEETH^ARE WHITE. Mr. W. There are a great many curious things about the animals which we see every day, and yet do not notice particularly. What are you doing with Ponto, Tom ? Tom. Pray, father, look at Ponto, whom you took with you when you went shooting yesterday. Ponto is a fine pointer. I like to go with you when you take him along. It is so curious to see him stop short, when he comes upon a covey of partridges, and point straight at them with his nose ! He must be a very intelligent dog, and very well trained, too, to do it so nicely as he does. I love to observe all his motions. Will you tell us, this morning, why his teeth are so white and clean ? Mr. W. My dear boy, this important secret lies in a nutshell. Ponto sets a very high value upon his teeth, and little boys and girls set none what- ever upon theirs. Ponto never goes into a black- smith's shop to gnaw the files ; nor did I ever detect him in the act of chewing small pieces of steel or iron. He thereby keeps his teeth sound and good until he arrives at a good old age. 44 WHY OUR DOO'S TKLTU ARE WHITE. Amelia. But we do not eat hon, nor chew files. Mr. W. Certainly not ; but you file off the enamel, or outside, with sugar and sweetmeats, and you break them with cracking nuts and plum stones ; so that they decay, and are as useless as if you did both. How is that, my masters and mistresses ? Kenneth. Because our teeth are not dogs' teeth. Mr. W. They are just like dogs' teeth. We have teeth to bite our food, teeth to tear it, and teeth to grind it. Pray what has Ponto more ? He has "all his now, and a beautiful set they are. I will not say any thing about the color of yours, my children, because I hope to see them, after to- day, pearly white. But alas ! some of you have decayed teeth, which can never be remedied. Kenneth. 0, do tell us how Ponto managed his teeth. Mr. W. When Ponto was a baby-dog he lived wholly on milk ; and when his teeth were strong enough he began to pick a bone for himself. If his mother had then cut his meat with a knife, and fed him with a fork, his front teeth, for want of something to do, would have become tender and loose. The first bone he picked, one tooth WHY OUE DOG'S TEETH ARE WHITE. 45 would drop out, all the others would give way a bit, the food would then get fixed between them, and they would decay and ache, like children's. Tom. I do not see how feeding him with a knife and fork should loosen his teeth. Mr. W. But I do. Just remember : both your teeth and his are broad behind, and sharp and narrow in front. If all your food or his is cut, and put into your mouth, the broad, back teeth grind it, but the front ones have nothing to do. Tom. I should, therefore, think they would not wear out so soon as the back ones. Mr. W. My dear Tom, if I could make your right or strongest arm an idle gentleman's, hav- ing nothing to do but to walk about and swing a cane, and your left or weakest arm a blacksmith's, what should we see ? Ella. Why, one would be white, and the other black. Mr. W. Very true, ^ r ' - Pert; but the left or weaker arm would nu i umy be able to lift greater weights, and strike harder blows, bitf it would be larger, and harder, and stronger. Now, this is just the case with the teeth. If the front teeth have nothing to do, they become discolored 46 WHY OUK DOG'S TEETH ARE WHITE. and loose, and the gums grow spongy and un- healthy. Amelia. Then the reason why Ponto's teeth are so white and good is because he uses all his teeth front as well as back ? Mr. W. Precisely so. Ella. But why are they white ? Mr. W. Because every mouthful of food torn off is his tooth brush. If he had one tender tooth in front, they would soon lose their whiteness. Feed him with small pieces of meat for a month, and they will be any thing but white. Tom. 0, now I see ! We ought not to eat with a knife and fork, or spoon, but gnaw the meat off the bones. I cannot help laughing at the thought of all our boys scrambling for a bite at a boiled leg of mutton ! Mr. W. Laughable as all this seems, it is more rational than the boys or girls, or men or women, who cut all their food, and keep their front teeth in perfect idleness, and, shall I add ? dirtiness. Amelia. I Aould think that cannibals, sitting round a fire and eating one another, would have white teeth. Tom. And the Tartars or Abyssinians, who eat half-cooked steaks. WHY OUR DOG'S TEETH ARE \VHITE. 47 Mr. W. I dare say they have ; but you need neither be Tartars, nor cannibals, nor dogs, and yet have sound and white teeth. This may be done by removing every impurity from 4he teeth, and scrubbing the gums well, daily, with the tooth brush. Remember, that although you may whiten your teeth with tooth powders, yet, unless you do as Ponto does with his tooth brush, brush, ay, and brush roughly, too, both tooth and gum, you may have white teeth, but they cannot be sound and healthy. Brea/cfast-Table Science, 48 FLOWERS. FLOWERS. Flowers for the humble poor, Flowers for the weak and lone, Let them gently, gently fall, Where the weeds of toil are sown. Lifting up foul Discontent, From the lonely tenement, As the fainting toilers there Catch a breath of Heaven's air. Flowers ! lay them by the bed- Where the restless sick are lying : Let their freshness heal the air, Wounded by the sufferer's sighing, Let his eye a moment rest Where its seeing may be blessed, Ere they mingle their sweet breath With the heavy one of Death. Flowers for the rich and proud ! Lay them in the costly room Where art's thick luxuriant air May from Nature catch perfume, And like whispering angels start Pity in the rich man's heart Pity for some humble one, Who of flowers and fruit hath none. D. THE CLEVER BOY. 49 THE CLEVER BOY. BY MRS. S. C. HALL. " Well, but, grandmama," expostulated Edwin, " every body says I am very clever : now do not laugh ; every body says so, and what every body says must be true." " First," replied his grandmother, " I do not think that what every body says must of necessity be true ; and secondly, in what consists your every body ? " " Why, there is nurse." " Capital authority ! an old woman who nursed your mother, and, consequently, loves you dearly. Go on." " And the doctor ; he said I was a good boyj the other morning, when I swallowed the pill without a wry face." " Go on." " All the servants." " Excellent servants, Edwin, for the situations they are engaged to fill, but bad judges of a young gentleman's cleverness. The rector ? ;; 4 50 THE CLEVER BOY. ' That is cruel of you, grandmamma," replied our conceited little friend ; " you know he would not say it, because I did not get through the com- mandment, in the class, last Wednesday evening." " Does your papa say you are clever ? " The little fellow made no reply. " Do your schoolfellows ? " " They are big boys." " Then your character for cleverness depends on the old nurse, the still older doctor, and the servants ! " Edwin was again silent. " This," observed his grandmother, " recalls to my mind one of Randy the Woodcutter's fables. " A very pretty little tree grew near a quickset hedge that was cut close by the gardener, and the hedge looked up to the tiny little tree with great respect. It was so short itself that it fan- cied the tree was very tall. There were several brambles and nettles also round about, and they were perpetually praising the little tree, and in- creasing its vanity by their flattery. One day an old rook, the oldest in the rookery, perched on the little tree. ' What do you mean/ said the tiny tree, ' bj THE CLEVER BOY. 51 / troubling me with your familiarity ? The idea of such a bird as you presuming to rest upon iny branches ! ' and the little tree rustled its leaves arid looked very angry. " ' Caw, caw ! ' quoth the rook, which signi- fied ' Ah, ah ! ' ' Why, better trees than you are glad to give me a resting-place. I thought you would be gratified by the compliment paid you by alighting on your quivering bough, and by the pleasure of my company : a little thing like you could hardly have possessed much attraction for king rook ; but, indeed, I only perched upon you because you are a little taller than brambles.' " The dwarf tree considered it as great an in- sult to be called a ' little thing ' as some folks do to be considered ' not clever ; ' and he said a number j?f foolish words ; amongst others, that 1 there were birds that could not fly over him.' " ' Ay, indeed/ answered the rook, ' wrens, that never mount higher than a hedge ! ' " The rook soon flew away, ' caw-cawing ' at the folly and conceit of the little tree ; and, meeting the gardener, ' Good friend,' he said, ' I have just now been much struck by the conceit and absur- dity of a little tree beside yonder hedge. It is 52 THE CLEVER BOY. rather a pretty little thing, and might be brought to something if it were in the society of trees taller and wiser than itself ; but while it has no other companions than brambles and bushes, it will never try to grow tall. Do, good friend, take pity on this tree, and remove it into better company.' And the gardener had a great respect for the opinion of the old rook, and went, the next day, with a spade, and removed the turf, and bared the roots of the conceited tree. ' It is a stunted little thing/ he said ; ' but I will place it in society that will draw it up ; ' and he trans- planted it into a plantation where there were straight and noble trees. The little sapling felt bitterly its own insignificance, and its leaves hung helplessly from the boughs. There were neither hedges, nor brambles, nor nettles, to flatter its vanity nothing to pamper its self-love. There was nothing it could look down on ; the wood- bine turned to the oak for support, and the wild vine clung around the ash. Thus, when the little tree derived no pleasure from looking down, it be- gan to look up. There was a proud, fierce sound amid the leaves of the noble trees, and the breezes carried the sound far and wide. The THE CLEVER BOY. 53 gardener had planted the little tree where it had plenty of head room ; and a very beautiful beech which grew near it said, ' Dear me, how you are shooting ! ' and several of the good-natured trees remarked one to the otter, that ' their little neigh- bor seemed determined to grow.' This was quite true. When removed from the babble of low-bred flattery, and placed with those that were better and higher than itself, the little tree began to under- stand that false praise that is, praise for what is not delved is the bitterest of all censures ; and all its hope was, that it might grow like other trees, to be useful according to its kind. One stormy night a sheep and her lamb sheltered beneath its branches. That made the tree now no longer little very happy. In a few more years the gardener laid his hand on its stem, and said to a gentleman who was walking with him, ' See what cultivation which is the educa- tion of trees does ! This was a little stunted thing ; but the good society of tall saplings drew it up. See what it is now ! ' " And another day, when there was a very high wind, the tree saw an old, gray-headed rook drifting about, and it invited him to rest ; and 64 ONLY ONE BRICK ON ANOTHER. the rook did so ; and the tree recognized the roice of its friend. 'I am happy to see you, grandfather rook,' it said ; ' very happy to see you ; you and yours are quite welcome to rest on or build your nests amongfcay branches. But for you, I should have remained as I was, to be fooled and flattered by brambles now ; but I have learned to let acts, and not words, tell what I am.' And the old rook ' caw-cawed ' again and again, and signified that he knew the time would come when that very tree would be remarl^d alike for its vigor and its beauty. And the old rook told the history of the tree as old people sometimes tell histories over and over again. " I ant sure I would be very proud if it taught you, my dear, the folly of believing that you are clever, because people who do not understand what cleverness is, say you are so." ONLY ONE BRICK ON ANOTHER. Edwin was one day looking at a large building, which they were putting up just opposite to his ONLY ONE BRICK ON ANOTHER. 55 house. He watched the workmen from day to day, as they carried up the bricks and mortar, and then placed them in their proper order. His father said to him, " Edwin, you seem to be very much taken up with the bricklayers ; pray, what may you be thinking about ? Have you any notion of learning the trade ? " " No," said Edwin, smiling ; " but I was just thinking what a little thing a brick is, and yet that great house is built by laying one brick on another." "Very true, my boy. Never forget it. Just so it is in all great works. All your learning is only one little lesson added to another. If a man could walk all around the world, it would be by putting one foot before the other. Your whole life will be made up of one little moment af- ter another. Drop added to drop makes the ocean. " Learn from this not to despise little things. Learn also not to be discouraged by great labors. The greatest labor becomes easy if divided into parts. You could not jump over a mountain, but step by step takes you to the other side. Do not fear, therefore, to attempt great things. Always remember that the whole of that great building is only one brick upon another." 56 THE ADVENT OF HOPE. THE ADVENT OF HOPE. Once on a time, from scenes of light An angel winged his airy flight ; Down to this earth in haste he came, And wrote, in lines of living flame, These words on every thing he met, Cheer up ; be not discouraged yet." Then back to heaven with speed he flew. Attuned his golden harp anew, Whilst the angelic throng came round To catch the soul-inspiring sound ; And heaven was filled with new delight For HOPE had been to earth that night. CHILD AND SIRE. " Know you what intemperance is ? " I asked a little child, Who seemed fcao young to sorrow know. So beautiful and mild. It raised its tiny, blue-veined hand, And to a churchyard near It pointed, whilst from glistening eye Came forth the silent tear. FLOWERS. 57 FLOWERS. [PETER, NELLiE r <md CAROLINE.] I Peter. (Jllone) I wish Nellie and Gary were here ; they must be stopping by the way for some- thing. Nellie and Gary. (Coming in.} Peter, Peter ! look here 1 look here ! see what a lot of pretty flowers we have fonnd ! (Showing Peter the flowers.) Why didn't you stop and gather some ? Peter. How pretty ! Why, here is the (naming the flowers.) Where did you find them ? I didn't see them a I came to school. You must have stolen them out of Ned Johnson's garden. Nellie. No, we didn't, Peter. We wouldn't do such a thing ; I never steal. These pretty flowers all grew by the road side, near uncle Stephen's orchard. Gary. Yes, Peter, and there were plenty more just like them. See! how beautiful this star flower looks ! Peter. What made y^& think of gathering flowers to-day ? You never took any notice of them before. 58 FLOWERS. Nellie. Why, you know our teacher gave us a lesson the other day on plants and flowers, taught us their names, and told us, when we found any flowers, to bring them to her, and she would tell us what they were. Gary. Yes, Peter ; and brother Charles is go- ing to make me some little boxes, and fill them with some nice mould ; and all the pretty plants I can find I am going to transplant into the boxes, so I can water them and see them grow. Peter. Well, Gary, I should think it would take a great many boxes to hold all the plants you may find, if you get as many every day as you have to-day. Gary. Peter, I don't mean all of them ; I mean only the pretty ones. Peter. I should think you would rather set them out in your father's garden, where they would grow without so much care. Nellie. O, you know, Peter, that would only do for summer. Cousin Cary wants to see them grow in the winter. Cary. Yes, Nellie, you know, when the snow comes, the pretty flowers in the fields and gar- dens will all be covered up, and we shall not see FLOWERS. 59 them again till the warm spring sun comes and melts the snow, and brings up another flower. Nellie. Just so, Gary ; and when the ground is all covered with snow, and every thing is dead and cold in the fields and gardens, we shall have our little garden of flowers in our mother's kitch- en, which we can water and nourish every day. Do you remember, Peter, that little song our teacher taught us last winter about the flowers ? Peter. No, Nellie ; what was it ? My pretty flowers are gone away, All covered with the snow ; And I must wait till next May-day, To see my violets grow. I'm very sure the leaves will peep Again above the ground, Although the root lies very deep, And not a stem is found. I'm told, that when the grave shall close O'er little Jane and me, We, like our own sweet, fading rose, Shall dead but seem to be. 60 FLOWERS. I know my mother tells me true ; I'm not afraid to go To God, who showers my plants with dew, And covers them with snow. Peter. Beautiful, beautiful ! How much this song reminds me of my cousin's little grave, .where Margaret used to go and water the plants which her mother had set out over the grave ! Nellie. Yes, Peter, these flowers remind us also of death and the resurrection : those little seeds (pointing to the seeds in the flower) are em- blems of the deathless seed within us, which, if watered by the dews of kindness, and cultured with the heavenly Planter's care, will spring up, in the resurrection morn, plants of celestial beauty and unfading loveliness. May the good Gardener, who has planted these seeds of immor- tality in our hearts, so nourish them by his kindly care, that when the long winter of death shall come, they shall spring up in the immortal spring of life, like Sharon's rose, to bloom in perpetual ver lure. Ji KIND HEARTS EVERYWHERE. 61 KIND HEARTS EVERYWHERE. Why should we call the path of life A bleak and desert spot, When we ourselves but make it so ? No, no, believe it not ; For though the ills we're doom'd to feel, Are sometimes hard to bear, The world we live in teems with good And kind hearts everywhere. A wish to calm each other's grief, To soothe each other's woes, In every bosom finds a place And thus all nature glows. Men of all climes, abroad, at home, His generous feelings share ;, The world we live in teems with good And kind hearts everywhere. And should misfortune's heavy hand On every side prevail, Or sorrow's overwhelming storm Our happy hours assail, To feel is folly, wise men say, Then why should we despair ? The world we live in teems with good And kind hearts everywhere. 62 VOICE OF NEW ENGLAND. VOICE OF NEW ENGLAND. BY J. G. WHITTIEB. Up the hill-side, down the glen, Rouse the sleeping citizen ; Summon out the might ot men 1 Like a lion growling low, Like a night storm rising slow, Like the tread of unseen foe, It is coming it is nigh ! Stand your homes and altars by ; On your own free thresholds die. Clang the bells in all your spires ; On the gray hills of your sires Fling to heaven your signal fires. From Wachuset, lone and bleak, Unto Berkshire's tallest peak, Let the flame- tongued heralds speak. O, for God and duty stand, Heart to heart, and hand to hand, Round the old graves of the land. VOICE OF NEW ENGLAND. 63 Whoso shrinks or falters now, Whoso to the yoke would bow, Brand the craven on his brow I Freedom's soil hath only place Por a free and fearless race. None for traitors false and base. Perish party, perish clan ! Strike together while ye can, Like the arm. of one strong man. Like the angel's voice sublime, Heard above a world of crime, Crying of the end of time, With one heart and with one mouth. Let the north unto the south Speak a word befitting both. We but ask our rocky strand, Freedom's true and brother band, Freedom's strong and honest hand, Valleys by the slave untrod, And the Pilgrims' mountain sod, Blessed of our fathers' God t 64 I'LL BE A MAN. I'LL BE A MAN. I mean to be a man ! I'm a boy now, a little boy. Look at my little arms, my little hands and fingers, my little feet ! See, how small they all are ! But I have been smaller than this ; so small that I could take up in these little arms what was once myself, and rock myself to sleep. But I am grow- ing, growing to be a man. These little arms will stretch themselves out, and grow, and become strong. These little legs will stretch themselves out, and grow, and I shall become tall. This little head shall expand itself, and I shall become wise. And then I shall become a man, and wear man's clothes. And when I come to be a man, I'll vote, you know ; but politicians, knaves, and fools shall never have my vote. TO MY SISTER. TO MY SISTER. Sweet sister, tell me if my home, My own dear home, is now As when I left, long months ago, With sadness on my brow. O, tell me if the sun shines in' As brightly as of yore, When in onr childhood-years we built Our play-house on the floor. And if the sweet, pale moon, and stars, And evening's sky are fair, As when beside a parent's knee, We lisped our infant prayer. And tell me if the red-breast comes, With song so glad and free, To build her nest, and rear her young, In the old Balm-Gilead tree. And doth thy lip still wear its smile, Thy cheek its roseate hue, Thy heart still own its brightness yet, Thine eyes their heavenly blue ? Sweet sister, thou art dear to me, More dear than words can tell ; And should I sin, methinks 'twill be In loving thee too well. M. B. BROW*. 66 THE PLEDGE. THE PLEDGE. A tippler I mil never be ; No drop my lips shall pass ; I'll sign the true teetotal pledge^ And keep it till the last. Nor will I use the poison weed, Which now so many crave, Because I mean to be a man, And never be a slave. O ye tipplers, Don't you fret for me ; For when I come to be a man, I'm going to be free. And many years must pass away, And 'I must go to school, That if they choose me president, I may know how to rule. With knowledge I must store my mind, For, though I'm e'er so tall, If I am rude and ignorant, I shall be very small. Men of learning, Don't you fret for me ; I'll study, that, when I'm a man, A wise one I will be. GEORGE AND HIS DOG. 67 GEORGE AND HIS DOG. In a lordly castle, rich and gay, There lives a little boy ; And often he goes out to play, With his good dog Le Roy. The garden it is very fair, With many fine old trees ; And little George can frolic there, Whenever he may please. This Georgy loves a caper, too, As well as brisk Le Roy : A thousand things that dog will do To please the darling boy. Sometimes he runs all round and round To catch his own black tail ; Then quickly scampers o'er the ground For George's little pail. And oft the faithful dog will kneel; When master wants a ride ; And very proud he seems to feel While Georgy climbs his side. 68 THE FLY WITH A SORE TOE. THE FLY WITH A SORE TOE. (MASTER BILLY, TOM, and MATTY.) Master Billy. Matty, if a fly had a sore ttfe, what would happen ? Matty. Master Billy, your question is very ridiculous. Who ever heard of a fly with a sore toe? Master Billy. And pray, miss, who ever heard of " that tribe who threw stones into their ma- chines," and many other .wonderful events. Tom. I cannot imagine a sore toe would be of any very great consequence to him. He could fly and crawl up and down. Master Billy. I rather doubt the crawling up and down. He might fly up, and fly down, but not crawl. Tom. I do not see that at all. Master Billy. Probably not ; it is wonderful how very little boys and girls do see in any thing, until their eyes are opened. Tom. B'at why cannot a lame fly crawl ? THE FLY WITH A SORE TOE. 69 Master Billy. Did you ever see what boys call a sucker, made of leather, softened ? It is put flat upon a stone, the centre is pulled up, and the sucker pulls the stone up with it. Tom. How does it do that ? - Master Billy. By taking off the pressure of the air from that part of the stone under the sucker, the outward pressure of the air on the sucker confines it to the stone, as if it were a part of it. If the edge of the leather were notched and un- even, what would take place ? Tom. It would not fit close to the stone. Master Billy. And of course the stone would not stick to the sucker. Tom. Certainly not. Master Billy. Well, that is the reason why a fly with a sore toe cannot crawl up and down. You remember, I never said he could not crawl. Tom. But, Master Billy, what has a fly's foot to do with a sucker ? Master Bitty. Every thing. If its foot did not act as this sucker, it could not walk up and down the smooth panes of glass, nor with its head down- wards upon the ceiling. Tom. Then you think if it had a sore toe it 70 THE FLY WITH A SORE TOE. would not press hard enough upon the pane to hold on? Master Billy. Certainly ; and a more beautiful contriyance is not to be found in bird or beast. Can either of you tell me what you think is the use of flies ? Matty. To fly about the window ? Master Billy. That is their play-ground, little missy. Tom. To eat the sugar out of the basin ? Master Billy. That is their bull's eyes and lol- lypops. Matty. Are they to eat peaches and other fruit. Master Billy. That is very near it. Tom. Is it not to eat up every thing that is use- less to man, and would be offensive to his sight or smell ? Master Billy. I think it is. * When food be- comes putrid and unfit for use, it is highly rel- ished by the epicure fly. Never form a resolution that is not a good one ; and when once formed, never break it. CARE. TRUE LOVE. THE BIBLE. 71 CARE. If every one's internal care Were written on his brow, How many would our pity share Who raise our envy now ! The fatal secret, when revealed, Of every aching breast, Would fully prove, that while concealed Their lot appears the best. TRUE LOYE. 'Tis not the face, 'tis not the form, 'Tis not the heart, however warm ; It is not these, though-oW combined, That win true love ; it is the mind. THE BIBLE. Behold the Book, whose leaves display Jesus, the life, the truth, the way ; Read it with diligence and prayer; Search it, and you shall find him there. 72 I LIVE TO LEARN. I LIVE TO LEARN. Though many a hope that I have cherishsd Has faded to my sight, And many a joy of mine has perished With many a dream of light. Yet, though I've watched each joy depart, Each hope more dimly burn ; Still fondly beats this trusting heart, I'm living but to learn. I live to learn the truth of life, Its toils, and pains, and fears, Its hours of agony and strife, In this dark vale of tears. I live to learn ! and though severe My lessons sometimes seem, Then comes the thought, to stay the tear, This life is but a dream. Life hath its joys ! I'm often glad, Though fate is sometimes stern ; I prize the lesson I have had, That I but " live to learn." M. a WHAT THE PINE TREES SAID. 73 WHAT THE PINE TREES SAID. It was a bitter cold morning ; the sun shone brightly, but the wind blew a chilling blast over the new-fallen snow. " Come, little boys," said mamma, " you must go to uncle Howard's for the milk." " 0, it is so cold ! " exclaimed Herbert. " So very cold ! " echoed Arthur. " Never mind the cold," answered mamma ; " wrap yourselves up well, and walk fast, and you will soon feel warm." Still the little boys lingered ; the coats and tippets the warm scarlet tippets their aunts had knit were on, and their mittens in their hands ; but still they lingered. " Run along, little boys," again said mamma ; " go and hear what the pine trees will say." Arthur looked up : "I never heard them say any thing : what will they say, mamma ? " " They almost always say something to me," answered mamma. " The other day, when I was coming Jiome from uncle Howard's, they said, ' Hurry^ome fast ; little Bessie wants to see you ; so do the little boys.' And one very bright morn- 74 WHAT THE PINE TREES SAID. ing I heard them say, ' How pleasant it is ! how good God is ! be cheerful, be happy ! ' " Herbert and Arthur listened with interest. " Come," said Arthur, " I should like to know what they will Bay to us." They hurried out ; and little Bessie watched them through the gate and up the hill, as long as she could see their red tippets. Soon they came to the pine grove. " I don't hear any thing," said Herbert. The wind blew through the branches with a murmur- ing sound. " I hear something," replied Arthur ; " but it is only, ' How cold it is ! how cold it is ! Run along, or you will freeze.' " On they went ; the wind was piercing cold ; their fingers ached. Arthur was ready to cry ; and, indeed, when they reached their aunt's warm breakfast room, the tears were beginning to start. But aunt Louisa was very kind : she warmed their fingers, gave them a biscuit to eat, and, better than all, spoke kind, comforting words to them. Then, with their pail of milk, and a cake for Bessie, the little boys started for home. The wind was now behind them, the sun h^kgrown warmer, and their hearts were full of pleasant WHAT THE PINE TEEES SAID. 75 thoughts. They forgot the pine trees till they were nearly opposite them. Then they listened, and the trees seemed to say, " Happy little boys ! how kind every body is ! Try to be good." They were soon at home, and with bright faces sat down to warm their feet, and recount what they had seen and heard. " And what did the pine trees say ? " asked mamma. " 0, they didn't really talk," replied Arthur ; " but it seemed as if they were almost crying when we went, and they were as merry as birds when we came home." " Ah, you have found out the secret," said mamma. " The pine trees seem to say just what is in our own hearts. They sighed and complained when you were going, feeling cold and sad ; but, when you came home bright and happy, the wind through the branches spoke of sunshine and hap- piness. Try to keep the kind, loving thoughts in your hearts, little boys ; then the pine trees will always echo back gratitude and love." From Jlunt Mary's Portfolio. 76 THE HOME OF THE HEART. THE HOME OF THE HEART. * O, give me the wings of a dove, And I'll fly to some bright land away, That is ruled by the spirit of love, "Where fountains of happiness play. I'll go where the bright, sunny skies Are never obscured by a cloud, Where loveliest prospects arise, And the heart ne'er by sorrow is bowed. I'll go where the silver streams flow Through valleys that ever are green, On whose banks the fair lily doth grow, And the bright rose of Sharon is seen. I'll go where, with form that's divine, And clothed with an angel's bright wing* The spirit of beauty reclines, And the bright bird of paradise sings. But a voice often rises in me, ' Can this happiness ever be mine ? To some bright fairy land can I flee, Untouched jy the finger of time ? " THE HOME OP THE HEART. 77 No, wanderer," a low voice replies, " Here this happiness ne'er can be thine ; The bliss for which the heart sighs Is found in a sunnier clime." k Go pilot me there, then," I cried, " Blest messenger sent from the skies ; There in peace and in love I'll abide, Where angels' soft music shall rise." " 'Tis beyond where the sun sinks to rest, Far beyond these pale shadows of even ; 'Tis a lovely abode, the repose of the blest, The home of the pure 'tis in heaven." G. 11. AVERT. 78 THE BIBLE. THE BIBLE, This little book I'd rather own Than all the gold and gems That e'er in monarch's coffers shone, Than all their diadems. Nay, were the seas one chrysolite, The earth a golden ball, And diamonds all the stars of night* This book were worth them alt, He who died on Calv'ry's tree Hath made that promise blest : Ye heavy laden, come to me, And I will give you rest. " A bruised reed I will not break, A contrite heart despise; My burden's light, and all who take My yoke, shall win the skies ! " WHO MADE ALL THINGS ? 79 WHO MADE ALL THINGS ? God made the earth And said, bring forth for great and small, The flowers and fruit Pleasant for taste, and good for all. God made the sea So broad so rich in treasure hidden deeps, Where living things, and precious pearl, And the lost sailor sleeps. God made the mountain Whose blue peaks reach upward to the sky, Snow capp'd and verdure crowned ; They ever point to Him on high. God spread the sky In whose blue depths are set Bright gems of night, the twinkling stars, A spangled diadem. God made the beast and birds A curious, wonderous group, In strength and beauty, rare and great, They speak His excellence to create. God m&Ae frail man And placed him here, a finished work ; But when he sinned, He drove him forth, Doomed to labor, pain, and death. C. 80 "WHY is THE ROSE MOST BEAUTIFUL?" " WHY IS THE ROSE MOST BEAUTIFUL ? " Why is the rose most beautiful Among the flowers that bloom, Where lily, daisy, daffodil, All mingle their perfume ? Is it because her varied tints Are blended into one, Or jewelled with the morning dews, She sparkles in the sun ? The colors of the violet Are not less pure or bright ; The dew upon her azure cheek Eesembles stars by night. And yet more varied are the tints The gorgeous dahlia shows Still, is the rose most beautiful, Still, loveliest is the rose. But 'tis not from the outward charms That captivate the eye, That thus in grove and bower she reigns In peerless majesty. The magic that sustains her power, Is innate, secret, sure : There's many a gayer, prouder flower, But ah, not one so pure. AKOH. MY COUNTRY. 81 MY COUNTRY. I love my country's pine-clad hills, Her thousand bright and gushing rills, Her sunshine and her storms ; Her rough and ragged rocks, that rear Their hoary heads high in the air, In wild, fantastic forms. I love her rivers deep and wide, Those mighty streams that seaward glide, To se<k the ocean's breast ; Her mighty fields, her pleasant vales, Her shady dells, her flowery dales, The haunts of peaceful rest. I love her forests dark and lone, For there the wild birds' merry tone I heard from morn till night ; And there are lovelier flowers, I ween, Than e'er in Eastern lands were seen, In varied colors bright. Her forests, and her valleys fair, Her flowers, that scent the morning air, Have all their charms for me ; But more I love my country's name, Those words that echo deathless fame, ' The land of Liberty! " 6 82 FROM THE FRENCH. PROPERTY ; OR, YOURS AND MINE. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. [M. DE VERTEUIL, ADRIEN, his Son, and a little Girl.] Jldrlen. See, papa, the handsome flowers! I will go and gather some. M. de V. You must not, Adrien ; I forbid you to touch them. Adr. Why, papa, I pray you, may I not have some? M. de V. Because these flowers are not yours ; they belong to the gardener, who lives yonder in that small cottage. Mr. papa, only two or -three! M. de V. Not one. Do you not remember, my son, that you complained to me the other day that your sister had torn up your lettuce to sow migno- nette in its place ? Jldr. Well, papa, had not I reason ? I had so much trouble to make my lettuce grow. M. de V. What had you done to make it grow? FROM THE FRENCH. 8S Jidt. I cleared a little spot of ground of weeds and stones, spaded up the ground, manured it, and then transplanted some lettuce, which I watered every morning and evening. And when my let- tuce had grown, and I had hoped to present you with some salad, my sister came and destroyed it all, because she thought her mignonette had a better smell. What do you say of this fine un- dertaking ? M. de. V. I say it was very bad of her, since it was your garden, and you had taken so much trouble to cultivate it. Mr. Should she thus make me lose, to gratify a little caprice, all the fruit of my labors ? M. de V. Certainly not ; but know you not, my son, that the pain your sister has given you by tearing up your lettuce is nothing to compare with that you would cause the gardener, were you to tear up the flowers ? JLdr. How, papa, I pray you ? M. de V. Because he has taken still more pains to adorn his garden than you have to cultivate yours. ftdr. What pains has he taken, papa ? M . de V. I will tell you. Last autumn he 84 FROM THE FRENCH. cleared out all the beds ; he spread over them a very rich manure, and planted a great many bulbous roots, which you now see in blossom. Do you not know those bulbous roots that your mother has placed in the vases on the mantel ? Mr. Indeed, papa, these flowers are exactly like mamma's. M. de V. Yes ; but they cost the gardener much more trouble to make them grow. After having put these bulbous roots in the ground, he covered them over with manure to keep them from the cold, and made straw beds to preserve them from the frost. On the approach of spring he uncovered these flowers by degrees, and care- fully watered them when the weather was too dry. How much trouble it has cost him to rear them, till they have attained their present size ! Now, if you would go and pluck one, and I another, and all others should do the same, would not all the labor of this industrious man be lost ? Adr. Yes, papa, that is true ; but what does he do with all these flowers? He cannot eat them, as we would have eaten our lettuce. M. de V. No, my sou ; but he gathers them to ell in the city. By this means he procurea r FROM THE FRENCH. 85 : i money ; and you know he must have that to lodge and feed himself. The more he has in his garden, the more money he receives. You understand this without explanation do you not? Jidr. Yes, papa, I understand very well ; but Louis, our gardener, does not complain when you gather the flowers for us ; however, I have seen that he takes much pains to cultivate them. Yes- terday he came with his wife and all his children to pull up the weeds. " Because," said he, " the flowers will become larger and more beautiful." M. de V. That is very true ; but do you wish that I would show you the difference" ? Mr. I would be much obliged to you, papa. M. de V. If my affairs would permit me, I would myself plant and cultivate the trees and flowers of my garden. But I am often occupied with more important affairs. So I hired the gar- dener, Louis, to keep it in order. For this I promised to give him one hundred crowns a year. By virtue of this agreement, all the fruits and flowers that grow in my garden belong to me. But neither you nor I, nor any other person, has given any thing to this gardener for his care. lie culti- vates this garden for his own advantage, and there- 86 FROM THE FRENCH. fore nobody has any right to prevent it by coming and gathering the flowers he has taken, so much pains to cultivate. Adr. You are right, papa ; but suppose you give him money for some of his flowers ? M. de V. Then he will willingly give them to us. Mr. Well, let us buy some, I pray you. I have six cents that I can lay out. M. de V. You cannot obtain many for six cents. The season is not yet advanced ; flowers are rare, and consequently bear a high price. Let us, however, go to his cottage and speak with him. Mr. Let us go, papa ! Let us go I M. de. V. (Advancing.} His door seems to be fastened ; I fear he has gone out. Go, knock. (Mrien runs and knocks at the door. JVo one an- swers. He returns.) M. de V. He has, without doubt, gone to sell his flowers in the city. We will buy some anoth- er time. Mr. I am very sorry that I cannot carry a handsome bouquet for mamma. M. de V. Since you have that wish, I can pro- .J FROM THE FRENCH. 87 CLre other flowers which are not so rare, but are, nevertheless, quite as beautiful. Mr. Where, papa ? M. de V. Yonder, in that heath. We shall there find some wild flowers that no person has sown or planted, but which grow of themselves on the old stocks, or which spring from seed fallen from the flowers of the last year. Mr. 0, that is wonderful, papa. Will you take me there ? M. de V. With great pleasure, my son. (They go to the heath.} Mr. 0, look, papa, at the number of handsome flowers. May I gather them ? M. de V. Yes, my son, you may gather them, without doing the least injury to any body. (Mrien begins to gather the flowers.) Mr. 0, papa, see how many I have -already gathered! I can hold no more in my hand. I am afraid I shall spoil them. M. de V. Have you nothing you can put them in ? Adr. No ; I do not know how. 0, I cannot think. My hat will do very well. M. de V. Without doubt the weather is mild 88 FROM THE FRENCH. enough to have the head uncovered. (Jldrien puts the flowers in his hat, and continues to gather.) Jldr. papa, here are two eggs that I have just found in a basket. I will take them. M. de V. What have you done, Adrian ? You should not have taken these eggs, as they do not belong to you. They belong to some one ; for they did not get into the basket of themselves. Jl little, girl comes out from among the heath, where she was concealed, and seeing the eggs in the hand of Jldrien, she runs to his hat, which she seizes, with the flowers, crying, " My little master, those eggs are mine. If you do not give them to me, I will keep your hat." Jldrien quits his father, and runs after the little girl. He makes a false step, falls upon the eggs, and breaks them. He rises, and cries to the little girl, "How, you little thief? Are you not going to give me my flowers ? I have had the trouble of collecting them ; they belong to me." Girl. I also have taken the trouble to seek those lapwing's eggs that you have taken from me. They are mine ; you must restore them, or you shall neither have your hat nor your flowers. FROM THE FRENCH. 89 Mr. How do you wish ine to restore your eggs ? I have broken them, by accident. Girl. Well, in that case, you must pay me what they would sell for in the city. Jldr. (To his father, who had approached in the interval.) Do you hear, papa ? She wishes to keep my hat and my flowers. M. de V. What do you wish me to say, Adrian? Why did you break the eggs ? She has taken the trouble to find them that she might sell them ; it is not just that you should make her lose the fruit of her labor. Tell me, my child, how much they are sold for ? Girl. Three cents apiece, sir, is the common price. M. de V. (To Adrien.} You see, my son, you have made this little girl lose six cents. You must give her the money that you just now wished to give the gardener for a bouquet. (To the little girl.) Will you not return on this condition his hat and his flowers ? Girl. Yes, sir ; I ask nothing more. M. de V. In that case, both of you are out of trouble. Jldr. Yes, papa ; but it will cost me six cents. 90 FROM THE FRENCH. M. de V. You deserve it. Why did you touch that which did not belong to you? You could here gather flowers, because they grow naturally, no person taking the trouble to cultivate them ; but you should know that eggs are not found in a basket without some one putting them there. This little girl has ran a long time in the heath to find them ; you had no right to seize on the fruit of her labor ; therefore you must pay her the value of the eggs in money. This value is just six cents. Unless you pay her this, the little girl has a right to retain your flowers and your hat till you have satisfied her. Mr. Yes, papa, I feel the justice of your judg- ment. Here, my friend, are my six cents ; they are yours. Girl. (Returning his hat and flowers.) Here, my little master, here is what belongs to you. M. de V. Now, my son, if you wish always to do right, you will henceforth never touch what you find without knowing whether it belongs to any one or not. Adr. Yes, paj>a ; it is a good lesson, I assure you, and I shall be wiser for -the future. MORNING HYMN. 91 MORNING HYMN. The morning bright, With rosy light, Has waked me from my sleep ; Father, I own Thy love alone Thy little one doth keep. All through the day, I humbly pray, Be thou my Guard and Quid* My sins forgive, And let me live, Blest Jesus, near thy side. O, make thy rest Within my breast, Great Spirit of all grace : Make me like thee ; Then shall I be Prepared to see thy face. 92 THE CHILD AT THE TOMB. THE CHILD AT THE TOMB. " A little child, That lightly Iraws its breath, And feels its life in every limb What should it know of death ? " I met one morning a little girl with a half-play- ful countenance, beaming blue eyes, and sunny locks, bearing in one hand a small cup of china, and in the other a wreath of flowers. Feeling a very natural curiosity to know what she could do with these bright things in a place that seemed to partake so much of sadness, I watched her light motions. Reaching a retired grave covered with a plain marble slab, she emptied the seed, which it appeared the cup contained, in the slight cavities which had been scooped out in the cor- ners of the level tablet, and laid the wreath on its pure surface. " And why," I inquired, " my sweet- little girl, do you put seed in those little bowls there ? " " It is to bring the birds here/' she replied, with a half- wonder ing look ; " they will light on THE CHILD AT THE TOMB. 93 this tree, when they have eaten the seed, and sing." " To whom do they sing to you, or to each other ? " " 0, no," she replied ; " to my sister ; she sleeps here." " But your sister is dead." " 0, yes ; but if she hears the birds sing " " Well, if she does hear the birds sing, she can- not see that wreath of flowers." " She knows I put it there. I told her, before they took her away from our house, I would come and see her every morning." " You must," I continued, " have loved that sister very much ; but you will never talk with her any more never see her again." " 0, yes," she replied, with a brightened look ; " I shall see her in heaven." " But she has gone to heaven already, I trust." " No .; she stops under this tree till they bring me here, and then we are going to heaven to- gether." Travels in the East. 94 JESUS OUR EXAMPLE. JESUS OUR EXAMPLE There's an example sacred, bright, That ever should be in your sight ; A character all holiness, That you should reverence, love, and bless Study this picture every day, And to be like it always pray.; 'For Jesus came that we might be Like unto him in purity. Fresh Flowers ANGRY WORDS. Poison-drops of care and sorrow, Bitter poison-drops are they Weaving for the corning morrow Sad memorials of to-day. Angry words O, let them never From the tongue unbridled slip ; May the heart's best impulse ever Check them ere they soil the lip. E. Coos. PROMISES. 95 PROMISES. Promist No. 1. The Lord will not forsake them that seek him. He forgetteth not the prayer of the humble. Promise No. 2. Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart Promise No. 3. The eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous, and his ears are open unto their cry, Promise No. 4. They that seek the Lord shall not want any good thing. 5. " Light is sown for the righteous, and glad- ness for tire upright in heart." 6. " The Lord executeth righteousness and judg- ment for all that are oppressed." 7. " Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him." 96 NOTHING IS LOST. NOTHING IS LOST. Nothing is lost ; the drop of dew Which trembles on the leaf or flower, Is but exhaled, to fall anew In summer's thunder shower; Perchance to shine within the bow That fronts the sun at fall of day; Perchance to sparkle in the flow Of fountain far away. Nothing is lost ; the tiniest seed By wild birds borne, or breezes blown Finds something suited to its need, Wherein 'tis sown and grown. The language of some household song, The perfume of some cherished flower, Though gone from outward sense, belong To memory's after hour. So with our words ; or harsh, or kind, Uttered they are not all forgot ; They leave their influence on the mind, Pass on, but perish not ! So with our deeds, for good or ill, They have their power scarce understood ; Then let us use )ur better will To make them rife with good. O. H. FIGHTING IN LOVE. ' 97 FIGHTING IN LOVE. Early one bright morning, I walked on Bos ton Common, with a troop of little children. After a while, we all collected under the royal old elm tree. That majestic elm is like the king of Boston Common ; and in summer, when he is arrayed in his verdant glory, the children delight to gather together under his branches. " Children," said I, abruptly, as we stood to- gether in a group under the elm, " did you ever hear of people fighting in love ? " " Fighting in love 1 No," said Catharine ; "no- body ever heard of such a thing." > " I have heard of persons fighting in love ; and a hard fight they had, too," said I. " I suppose they did not shed any blood, if they fought in love," said Rebecca. " Yes, they did," said I ; " their faces, hands, and jackets were covered with blood." " Then I know they did not fight in love " said Rufus. " How do you know it ? " I asked. 7 98 FIGHTING IN LOVE. " Because," said the same boy, " love never makes people fight." " How do you know ? " I asked. " Did you ever try to fight in love ? " " No, I never fought at all," said he ; " but I know I could not fight in love." " Why ? " I asked. " Because I do not feel any desire to fight with those I love," said he ; "I never want to hurt those I love." " What ! not to keep them from hurting yea ? " I asked. " No," said he. " But they will not wish to hurt me, if I love them ; and even if they should, I would let them hurt me, rather than hurt them." " But," said I, " the persons to whom I allude said that they fought in love ! " " I do not believe a word of it, although they did say so," said Catharine. " Fighting in love ! only think of it ! I could not believe it, if all the world should say so." " Well," said I, " you shall hear my story ; and then let us hear what you will say. " Nathan and Frederick lived in Massachusetts. FIGHTING IN LOVE. 99 Nathan's father, one afternoon, was sitting in his front room, with the windows open, looking up the street, and watching for his son to come home from school. Nathan soon came down the street, walking slowly, wHb. his hand to his face, as if nothing was the matter. He drew near, and his father saw that his face, hands, and jacket were covered with blood. He ran to the door, and met him. " ' What is the matter, Nathan ? ' said the alarmed father. " ' I have been fighting,' said he. " His father took him into the house, wiped off the blood, and stanched it. He then began, to talk to Nathan. " ' With whom did you fight ? ' he asked. " ' With Frederick,' said he. " ' What made you fight with him ? ' asked his father. " ' He struck me first,' said Nathan. " ' Do you hate Frederick ? ' asked his father. " ' No, father,' said he. " ' Does Frederick hate you ? ' " ' No, father,' said he, ' I don't think he does.' " ' Your sad appearance looks as if the person 100 FIGHTING IN LOVE. with whom you fought hated you. Would you like to have Frederick punished for striking you?' " ' No, sir/ said Nathan. " ' Would Frederick like to have you punished for striking him ? ' " ' No, sir/ answered Nathan. " ' Well, my son/ said his father, ' this has been a strange quarrel. You say that neither of you hates the other, or wants to have him punished. Do you love Frederick ? ' " ' Yes/ said he, after a little hesitation. " ' Does Frederick love you ? ' asked his father. " ' Yes, sir/ faintly murmured Nathan. " ' What on earth then did you fight for ? ' asked his father, in real astonishment, not know- ing what to make of this strange affair. " Nathan hesitatingly answered, ' We fought be- cause because we we loved each other ! ' jf " There, children ! " said I, when I had finished the story, " what do you think of that ? Cannot children fight in love ? " They all laughed heartily at the idea. "What did Nathan's father say?" asked a sweet-tempered little boy, named Lucius. FIGHTING IN LOVE. 101 " It was too much for his gravity," said I. " The idea of two boys, with flashing eyes and angry faces, beating and striking, and giving each other black eyes and bloody noses, all in love and gentle affection, was more than he could think of without laughing heartily." " No wonder," said Rebecca ; " it is enough to make any body laugh." " So it seems to me," said I. " It is an insult to common sense to say that children or men can , fight in love. But if love cannot make you fight, what can ? " " Hatred and revenge" said Catharine. " I believe it," said I. " Since, then, we are bound to love our enemies, and since we cannot fight with them if we love them, what shall we do?" " Not fight with them at all," said the children. " What ! " said I ; " not when they attack us ? " " No, sir," said all. " What shall we then do to them when they attack us ? " I asked. " We shall leave them to God, as Jesus did his enemies, and pray that he would forgive them," answered Rebecca. 102 FIGHTING IN LOVE. " True, dear children," said I ; " thus did Jesus, and thus ought we to do ; for it is very certain that neither children nor men can fight in love." A Kiss for a Blow. NOTE. The reader will notice that we have frequently inserted short paragraphs, laconics, mottoes, &c., with the em- phatic words Italicized. These pieces are intended for reading and declamatory exercises. They will require some study, and can be made very useful in the school room. It is a good exercise for the scholars to commit them to memory, and rise and declaim them. GOOD AND EVIL. If good we plant not, vice will fill the place, And rankest weeds the richest soil deface. But the good man, whose soul is pure, Unspotted and of pardon sure, Looks through the darkness of the gloomy night, And sees the dawning of a glorious light . TRUE RELIGION. True religion Is always mild, propitious, and humane, Plays not the tyrant, plants no faith in blood ; But stoops to succor, polish, and redress, And builds her grandeur on the public good. THE SPRING'S RETURN. 103 THE SPRING'S RETURN. I come ! from the bosom of yon dropping cloud I come, while music wakes all around. Winter passes off. Far to the north he goes, and calls along his ruffian blasts. His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill, the shattered forest, and the ravaged vale. My sweeter gales succeed, at whose kind touch dissolving snows are lost in livid torrents. Mountain, hill, and plain are now with verdure crowned. No more our atmosphere, is cramped with cold, but, full of life, it lifts the light clouds up on high, and spreads them, thin and white, o'er all surrounding heaven. 104 MY HOME. MY HOME. My home ? 'tis where wild valleys bloont, And endless springs adorn ; There is no night, or death, or gloom, Where this blithe heart was born. The stars, the moon, the sky, the earth, Yon sun's transcendent flame, First drew their far immortal birth Whence my free spirit came. Then home, O, home ! my bargeman, ply Thy shadowy helm and wing ; Vain shall thy spectred terrors try This steadfast heart to wring. In rain shall earthly storms assay Thy deathless faith to quell, Or thy free heavenward step to stay, My soul, that trusteth well ! E'en boatman, thou, grim shadowy speck. That mockest now at me, Eternity thy bark shall wreck, And drink thy greedy sea. Oblivion's 'whelming flood shall drench Creation far and near; But time, nor gloom, nor death, can quench My soul, that dwells not here ! HOME. 105 HOME. Home, is where affections bind Gentle hearts in unison ; Where the voices all are kind, Holding sweet communion ! Home, is where the heart can rest, Safe from darkening sorrow ; Where the friends we love the best Brighten every morrow ! Home, is where the friends that love To our hearts are given ; Where the blessings from above Make it seem a Heaven ! Home is where congenial hearts All are kindly blended ; Where no treasure e'er departs, And no sweets are ended ! Home is where the stars will shine In the skies above us ; Peeping brightly through the vine, Trained by those who love us ! Yes ! 'tis home, where smiles of cheer Wreathe the brows that greet us ; And the one of all most dear Ever comes to meet us I ALBERTA. 106 WAR. WAR. [ Uncle James, William, John, and Lucy.] William. Uncle James, was it really a glory for our f9refathers to kill the poor Indians ? John. And to come over on purpose to rob them, and to burn their villages ? Uncle James. Well, Willie, / do not think so ; but there are hundreds of people even now who call such actions " glory." William. But if a boy in our school knew more about fighting than any of the others, and then would always be " knocking them about," because they had not learned how to fight, we should call him a coward. John. And if he fought the others on purpose to take away all that he had ? m William. Then we should call him a sneak not a conqueror. John. Or, Uncle James, you know that we have, each of us, a little garden. Now, if Willie, because he is the strongest, were to kill Lucy and me, on purpose to take our gardens away from us? WAR. 107 William. 0, how can you talk so, John! John. But I only say, if you should do so. William. Well, I should be hanged, of course. John. Then why do not the government hang those armies who go to kill other nations on pur- pose to take away their land? William. Why, you forget. The government send their soldiers, so the people of the govern- ment would have to punish themselves. Lucy. I think that nations kill each other, be- cause they are heathens; only such nations as have not learned about God and Jesus Christ would do such things. William. But the English and Americans are not heathens, they are Christians, and have mur- dered natives in America, Africa, Australia, and India, on purpose to get their lands. Uncle James. That is true, Willie ; but we must not say they murdered them. People call this " murder " when one man goes up to another, and kills him ; but when one nation of men march to another to kill them, that is called " war." Lucy. And the men are not called " murderers" they are called "warriors." John. How curious, that the men should be 108 WAR. called by a different name, because they all happen to be together by the side of each other when they are killing ! Suppose a man was sixty yards away from the others, and was to kill one of his enemies, would he be a warrior, or a mur- derer ? William. That would depend upon which name he liked best. You may call the action what you please ; but I think that the thing which is done I mean the killing is just the same. There are not two killings and there is no dif- ference in the thing itself, because it is done by several people. John. So I think ! To kill a man means " to make him die ; " and unless there is any other kil- ling, it is the same, whether it be done by a man or a nation. Unck James. Well, John, that is quite true ; it is just what any boy's common sense will teach him. Christian people are now beginning to be- lieve that it is wrong to make wars, or to call them " glory." Lucy. Are they only beginning to believe, Unclo James ? How strange ! Unck James. But there are some who say that, as there are always wicked people in the world WAK. 109 who will rob and steal, if you let them, we ought to have soldiers to defend us. William. But, Uncle James, could not you teach these people better ? couldn't you prevent them from fighting or stealing, by being kind to them ? Uncle James. There are many people now, Wil- lie, who think that we could. You know there has been only one Teacher in the world whose words we can be sure are quite right. Lucy. Yes, that is Jesus Christ. Uncle James. Jesus Christ, then, wrote a law to show us how to live without fighting. It is writ- ten " Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them." But that is a very hard law to keep. There is no doubt at all that men would leave off fighting, if they all knew the law, and had hearts good enough to keep it. John. Then, of course, we ought to teach that law to one another as fast as we can. Lucy. And so ought all the English and Amer- ican people, because it is Christ's law, and the English and Americans are Christians. Uncle James. This is one of Jesus Christ's great laws, and no one can teach it until he has karned it. God will teach all of you, if you ask him. 110 WAR. John. Then, I am sure, I will ask him. I be- lieve it is wicked to fight ; I think there ought not to be any soldiers made on purpose. I will never be a soldier ! William. Nor If Lucy. Nor I, to fight with sword and spear in the armies that kill ; for woman's mission is not to fight with such weapons. But I will be a sol- dier in that blessed army, whose banner is righte- ousness and truth, and whose leader is called the Captain of our Salvation. Uncle James. Yes, Lucy, that is your mission ; and it should be the mission of us all. There is nothing stronger than truth. All the armies in the world arrayed against it cannot overcome it. Let us each, then, embalm this motto on our hearts, " Truth is mighty, and will prevail." Go to the bee ! and thence bring home (Worth all the treasures of her comb) An antidote against rash strife ; She, when her angry flight she -wings, But once, and at her peril, stings ; But gathers honey all her life. BISHOP. THE LITTLE GARDEN. HI THE LITTLE GARDEN. Well I know a little garden, Circled in by ruby walls, Having for its high-born tenant Primal heir of Aidenn halls ; And it waiteth for the sunshine, Waiteth for the dew and rain, rhat it may be green and fruitful, And reward the laborer's pain, Filling up its secret fountain Crystal mirror of its worth Till it overflows with blessings For the supplicating earth. And it waiteth all the spring time For the good seed to be sown, Hidden germ of future harvests, For an unseen gamer grown. Yet, without a constant watching, And the tenant's earnest care, Weeds will spring and blight his prospects, Poisoning all the garden ah Till the Eden-tinted blossoms That might grow in beauty there, Find no place to gather greenness, And put up their incense-prayer. 112 THE LITTLE GARDEN. And the streams that go to water Lands beyond the garden walls, Grow unclean, and cease to gladden Where their willing offering falls ; Till we wait, in vain for blessings, Wait in vain for fruits and flowers, Sad to see so fair a garden Thorn-grown in a world like ours. Pilgrim, to the unknown hastening, Made almost an angel here, Thou hast such a little garden, And the harvest draweth near .' Give it, then, thy constant labor, Stock thy HEART with Heaven's own flowers, That it bear thee fruits of Eden In a better world than ours. LILLIAN. THUNDER STORM ON THE ALPS. Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder ! not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud. COCOA. 113 COCOA. [jJda, Willie, Lucy, Ion, and their Mother.] Mother. Can you tell me, children, what cocoa is? Ion. I have read, mamma, that it is the seed of a tree, but I don't know where it grows. M. You know where South America is. Yoa had better fetch the map, I think ; then we shall see its place more clearly. If you were to go there, particularly in those parts which belong to the Spaniards, you would see some large cocoa plantations. Jida. Whatare " plantations," mamma ? M. A plantation means a place where trees are planted. Tell me some trees that grow in plantations. L. Coffee grows in plantations, mamma they plant the coffee-trees. The sugar-canes and tea- trees, too, are planted. W. Corn is not grown in plantations, but in the fields. Ion. Apples and other fruits are grown in orchards ; but the vegetables we have for dinner, 8 114 COCOA. most of those are grown in gardens, kitchen-gar dens, by the market-gardener so that Vegetables and flowers grow in gardens. Most fruits grow in orchards. Corn and oats grow in fields. Coffee, tea, sugar, and cocoa grow -in planta- tions. M. Cocoa plantations are found not only in South America, but in the "West Indies. In one of the West India islands, called GRENADA, the plantations are pleasantly situated amongst the mountains. Thus, there is always cool shade for the negroes to work in. The trees, which are twenty feet high, about four times as tall as papa, are arranged in rows, forming what are called " cocoa walks." Whan the young leaves come out they are of a pale red color, and as they get older they become green. Then you will see numbers of small flowers spring- ing from the thick branches of the trees they are of a light red color, mixed with yellow. When the flowers have dropped off, they are followed by small pods of an oval shape, like an egg. These pods, when they have grown to their full size, and are green, are very nice. They con- COCOA. 115 tain the unripe seeds, and a beautiful white pulp> which is sweet and cooling to the taste. Very often the poor blackamoor travellers, when they feel hot and weary, stop to pick a few pods, and refresh themselves by eating their pulp. So ex- cellent and good is this pulp, that the great bot- anist, Linnaeus, gave to the cocoa-tree a name which means " food for a god." These trees were so valuable at one time, that in a West India island called Trinidad, when people were so foolish and wicked as to keep slaves, there was a law*, that if a slave planted one thousand cocoa-trees, and could make them all bear fruit, he could claim his liberty from his master or his manumission, as it was called. I have heard, too, that the cocoa seeds were, a long time ago, used as money in America. I can tell you another curious thing about this tree, although I am not quite sure whether it is correct. It is said, that in order for it to grow well, it must be under the shade of the coral-tree, a tree with fine bright scarlet blossoms. The Spaniards, I know, call the coral-tree " the mother of the cocoa." When the pods on the cocoa-tree have turned 116 COCOA. yellow, or a brownish red color, they are ready for picking. This is done twice a-year in December and June. On opening one of these pods, you would see three rows of long seeds, lying parallel to each other, and close together as closely as peas are packed in their pods. You may remember the history of coffee, and the way in which the ne- groes prepare it. They have almost the same plan in preparing the cocoa. The pods are dried in the sun, or in hot clay, until the husks are crisp, and can easily be broken off. If the seeds, which are called " nibs," are to be made into cocoa, they are ground into a powder ; but, if they are to be made into chocolate, they are formed into a thick paste. L. Where is the cocoa sent to, mamma ? M. Some is exported to England ; some to France. The French make many different drinks from it ; but the largest quantity is consumed in Spain. The Spaniards have always been famous for eating as well as drinking chocolate. I have brought you, from the grocer's, two or three of the seeds, or rather the cocoa nibs. Which of you would like to examine one, and give me its description ? COCOA. 117 L. I should, mamma, if 1 may. I notice, 1st That it is of a long, oval shape. 2nd. It has a rich deep brown color. 3rd. Thirdly W. I'll give you a " thirdly " feel it! it feels rather oily and greasy. Ion. Just try and break it, Lucy, and see if it is brittle. L. It does break easily, but not -with very sharp edges, like a brittle substance. Ion. Yet it is not friable, because it does not crumbk. L. These pieces are not crumbs, certainly. No, the proper, word to use is "crisp" it is crisp. W. Let me taste it, Lucy, please. Well, I should call such a taste peculiar. It has not a saline flavor, not a Utter flavor, not a sour flavor, not a sweet flavor. Its taste is oily, rather bitter, rather sweet, and it has an aromatic flavor all four flavors mixed together. We had better say that it has a rich taste. Ion. And it has a smell so it is odorous. Then we will say that it is of a long oval shape, reddish brown color, oily, crisp, odorous, and with a rich taste. 118 COCOA. M. You have done well, Ion. Now, will you give us an abstract of our dialogue, so that your brothers and sister will remember what we learned to-day ? Ion. Cocoa nibs are the seed of a tree growing in South America and the West Indies, where the sugar and coffee grow. They are of a long, oval shape, reddish brown color, oily, crisp, odorous, and with a rich taste. The trees are cultivated in plantations, where they form long rows called cocoa walks. The pods which contain the seeds are nearly of an oval -shape. When they are green, they contain not only the unripe seeds, but a pulp which is so sweet and refreshing that it is of great ser- vice to travellers, and has been called " the food for a god." These seed pods, when ripe, are picked, pre- pared almost in the same way as the coffee-ber- ries, and exported to other countries. PATIENCE. 119 THE PROMISES. 1. Blessed is he that considereth the poor ; the Lord will deliver him in time of trouble. 2. Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no guile. 3. The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles. 4. Blessed are the undefiled in the way, who walk in the law of the Lord. PATIENCE. What cannot patience do ? A great design is seldom matched at once ; 'Tis patience heaves it on From savage nature ; 'Tis patience that has built up human life ; The nurse of arts ; and Rome exalts her head, An everlasting monument to patience. 120 HOME. HOME. Scarcely in our English language Can be found a word more sweet Than the one our childhood's lispingf Learn so early to repeat ; From the humble, toiling peasant, To the queen upon her throne, Not a heart but beats responsive To the magic spells of Home. Birthplace of the soul's affections ! Light is thy unchanging dower, As the light is to the sunbeam, And sweet odors to the flower ; Love unseen, but ever present, Like the free, unfettered air, Unperceived by outward vision, Yet we breath it everywhere. Home ! all charms around thee twining, Bind us to the sacred spot ; Earliest scene of fond remembrance, And the last to be forgot. Pole-star of the wandering stranger ! Whereso'er his footsteps roam, Turns his heart, with strong attraction, To the blessed light of Home. P. M. TKUTH. 121 TRUTH THE WATER-CRESS MAN. [Edwards, the Water-cress Man; Willie, Lucy, Ion, and their Father.] Edwards. Water cree-e-e-e-e-e-e-ses. Buy my wat Willie. 1 There goes good old " Graycoat," droning along, with his black and white dog be- hind him! He has stopped at No. 4, over the way. See ! his basket is quite empty ; there is nothing left but the cloth. Ion. Yes; I often meet him as I come home from school, and his basket is nearly always empty. I wonder how he sells his cresses so fast. Papa. I can tell you. He owes it all to "Truth." But he shall tell you himself. You know he lives in one of my cottages. I am going this evening to see him, for he wants me to let him a piece of the field at the bottom of his gar- den, and you shall go with me. W. Then we will go and change our shoes before tea, and get our best hats. * * * 122 TRUTH. Ion. Papa, is that the old jnan's cottage ? There is a pretty laburnum tree. P. Yes. We will go in. Good evening, Ed- wards. I have brought my two sons and my daughter with me, that they may see your garden. I want you, too, to tell them how it is you are getting on so well. E. Yes, sir, that I will. Sit down, young mas- ter. What is your name, pray ? W. I am called Willie, my sister's name ia Lucy, and this boy is my brother Ion. E. Well, Master Willie, if you had come to my cottage two years ago, it was not such a place as it is now ; we were very poor people. I have had four sons. One of them is a soldier ; another has gone to Canada. The eldest one, who lives next door, is a bricklayer. He earns twenty-five shillings per week, but he has seven children. My youngest son, poor boy I was' working at yon- der railway bridge, when one of the arches fell in, and he was killed ; so none of my sons can help me. My good dame, who is sitting on that low chair, (she cannot hear that we are talking about her,) used to earn one shilling and sixpence a week TRUTH. 128 at making straw-plait, but_ now she cannot see even with her spectacles ; and my daughter, who is walking up and down the garden in such a hurry, she, poor thing, is silly. So I have no oneF to help me ; and, although I am sixty-seven years old, I have to help myself. O, it was hard work once ! I remember, after my son died, the d^jr when we had only two pence halfpenny in the house, and I went to the pawn- broker and pawned my dame's wedding ring to get some money to buy water-cresses. " Go on, father ! " said my eldest son, (who came in early next morning to start me.) " I'll lend you this old basket : let me fasten the strap round your shoulder ! There, put in the cresses, and lay the white cloth over them. Good by! Now, make the people buy them. Sing out, ' Water- cresses ! ' louder than you can ! Let me hear you begin." So, whilst other folk we're asleep, I set off in the damp air, through the churchyard past the Almshouses down West Street, past the market-place and the railway, until I reached the bridge, at the farther end of the High Street, when I came up the long hill. L24 TRUTH. Every where I cried, " Water-cresses ! " as loud as my shaky old voice would letTne. They were fine cresses ; so I told every one that they were very fresh, and that they were the best in the town. I sold a great many, and in the evening I sold those which were left. Every day I worked hard. I never stopped for the rainy weather, or wind, but went on, singing out lofldly, " Fine water- cresses ! " " Fine young * water-cresses ! " and told every body again that they were the finest in the town. Still I did not earn enough money to buy us bread. I could never sell two baskets full in a day, but had to sell in the afternoon what I had left from the morning. So we often had potatoes out of the garden, and salt, for dinner ; and tea- leaves and bread for tea. I had to sell both our chickens, for we had no barley to feed them with. I sold our eight-day clock, that warming pan, the bedstead, and my wheelbarrow. And, ! as the autumn came on, and the evenings were dark- er, it was very cold to sit here on the stones with a small fire made of sticks from the com- mon, and a greased rush for a candle. Then we would go to bed at seven, to save the TRUTH. 125 rushlights and sticks, and would think, " What shall we do when the winter comes on, and the water-cresses are gone ? " So, when the quarter- day came, I had no money to pay your father his rent. Ion. But how have you managed to make such a difference in two years and a half ? E. Ah, young master, isn't it a difference! Look at my dame ; what a clean white cap she has now we bought a box-iron second hand. She wears her stuff frock every day. I have bought back my eight-day clock from the pawn- broker's, and our bedstead, and the old warming pan. We have meat for dinner, four times a week. There is a new piece of oil-cloth ; and 0, come and see the garden. Those are my pigs I paid a friend of my son's one shilling and two pence for a new thatch to their sty. I gave four pence for this old dog, and can afford to keep him. I am going to buy some chickens, for I have thirty- seven shillings in the Savings Bank ; and I have asked your papa for^, bit of the field at the back, for my son and I to grow turnips. Ion. Well, but how did you get the money for so many things ? 12b TKUTH. E. Only by speaking the exact truth. TRUTH has bought all this for me in twc years and a half. It was a very little thing which made so great a difference. I left off selling the best water-cresses, and only sold good ones that was all. W. I don't understand that. E. I will tell you. One day, your mamma asked me, "Are these good water-cresses, Ed- wards ? " " Yes, ma'am, the finest in the town" "But, Edwards," she said, "they cannot always be finer than any one else's. They are good water- cresses, and if you would only say that they are good, instead of saying that they are the best, you would be speaking the plain truth. Then, depend upon it, you would sell them sooner." And, do you know, Master William, that one word which your mamma gave me helped me to become rich, and to pay your papa his rent ? I thought, as I went through the street, about the plain truth and about being careful not to say more than the truth. So, when I remembered that my water-cresses were those \diich were left from the morning, I only cried out, " Water cresses," and left out the word " fine." " Are these water-cresses fresh, Edwards ? " said TRUTH. 127 the landlady at the " Golden Lion." I was just going to say, " Yes, ma'am, very*' wien I stopped, and said, " No, ma'am, they are good, but they were picked this morning." W. And did sne buy them ? E. No, I lost my halfpenny then ; but I felt that I had spoken the plain truth, and no more. So God, who looked down from heaven upon me, was pleased, and I was pleased, more than if I had had the halfpenny. W. But you don't think that God takes notice of such a little thing as selling water-cresses ? E. Ah, indeed! To be sure he does. Did not God make the water-cresses ? TRUTH is just the same, if you are selling any thing for a half- penny or for a thousand pounds. A thousand pounds is not greater than a halfpenny to God. He notices water-cress men as much as kings. See how God noticed me. I was obliged that evening to sell my cresses three bunches for a halfpenny, to get rid of them, just because I would only say they were good; and, when I said that they were picked in the morning, some people would not have them at all. 128 TRUTH. W. Well, but that was not the way to get on. E. Yes it was* The Bible says, " Hold fast to that which is good ; " and so I did. Some of my customers, who would not buy my cresses in the evening, bought some on the next morning ; for when I said that they were " quite fresh," they believed me. I never said that they wer,e very good, or better than other people's, for that was more than the truth. When the people found this out, they began to trust me, and to believe all I said ; and soon I had no cresses to leave till the evening. Before the end of the week, I had saved threepence. The next week I saved one shilling and a penny. Soon people gave me other things to do ; they would trust me to take a par- cel, or to carry back an umbrella, or to clean the windows ; and when they paid me, and asked how long I had been working, I told them the exact time and no more, and they always believed me. 50, the third week, I saved one shilling and eleven pence ; and the fourth week, one shilling and ninepence ; and the fifth week, three shillings. I grew richer every week ; and now, you see, I sell a heavy basket-full of cresses every morning and evening. TRUTH. 129 Ion. Yes. I meet you every afternoon, as I come from school, and your basket is often empty. E. Well, then, you see, Master Ion, what a good thing plain truth is. It soon brought me more riches than all the loud crying and boasting I made. fc Many people think that nothing is worth BO much as money. When your mamma spoke to me about truth, if she had asked me which I should have,j#ye sovereigns or the advice she was going to give me W. 0, you would have asked for the sovereigns, of course. You would have thought that they were more real. E. I dare say I should have done so : yet you see that those .words have been worth more to me than the gold. The money would not have bought half so many things, nor have made me so happy. L. No. The five sovereigns would not have made, people trust you. E. Ah ! and five sovereigns would not have bought the love of GOD. When I feel sure that God and men trust me, that feeling gives me more joy than my old eight-day clock, or my wife's new 9 130 TRUTH. gown, or my chickens or pigs. TRUTH ! 0, it's worth a great deal more than five pounds. L. What do you call it, papa, when men speak more than the plain truth ? P. It is called " Exaggeration." L. Then we will try and remember tho, lesson : It is wrong to speak more than the Truth, for that is EXAGGERATION. THE YOUNGEST. I rocked her in her cradle, And laid her in the tomb. She was the youngest ; What fireside circle hath not felt the charm Of that sweet tie ? The youngest ne'er grow old. The fond endearment of our earlier days We keep alive in them, and when they die, Our youthful joys we bury with them. SPEAK KINDLY TO THE POOR. 131 SPEAK KINDLY TO THE POOK. Speak kindly to the poor ! One little word, if timely said, May tend to soothe a thousand cares May dry the tear by sorrow shed. Let no reproaches from thy lips Be breathed, which thou might'st not endure; Or give of that which nothing costs ! Speak kindly to the poor. Look gently on the poor ! And not be hasty to depart ; Beneath those homely garments throb Full ma^p an honest heart. Thy smile may shed a heaven of joy ; A sunlight word of hope ensure ; O, turn not then in scorn away ! Look gently on the poor. Be friendl} 7 to the poor! To such the promise lias been given ; Despised and scoffed at here on earth, They shall inherit peace in heaven : But, ah ! how sad will be thy fate ! Thou com'st to enter at the door, And find'st no banquet there prepared For any save the poor ! B. W. 332 A -GARLAND OF SPRING FLOWERS. The snowdrop ! the snowdrop ! The foremost of the train ; The snowdrop ! the snowdrop ! Whose lustre bears no stain. In modest beauty peerless, It shows its little bell, Through frost and snow so cheerless, Of sunny days to tell. The crocus ! the crocus ! Unheeding wind or rain ; The'erocus ! the crocus ! Comes peeping up again. In purple, white, or yellow, So charming to the sight, We scarce can find its fellow, For colors pure and bright. The daisy ! the daisy ! Spread wide o'er hill and dale ; The daisy ! the daisy ! No season knows to fail. Though bitter blasts are blowing, Its lovely buds unfold, A crown of silver showing, And breast of yellow gold. A GARLAND OP SPRING FLOWERS. 133 The Violet ! the violet ! From sheltered mossy bed ; The violet ! the violet ! Just lifts its purple head. Beneath the hedgerow hiding, Wheie withered leaves are cast, It cares not for the chiding Of March's angry blast. J The primrose ! the primrose ! Beneath the ancient trees ; The primrose ! the primrose ! Seeks shelter from the breeze. Or where the streamlet dances, 'Mid rocky banks and steep, To catch the sun's first glances, Its early flowerets peep. The cowslip ! the cowslip ! With leaves so fresh and green } The cowslip ! the cowslip ! With speckled bells is seen. Its bold and hardy flowers Shoot up among the grass ; Nor fear the driving showers That o'er the meadows pass. A garland ! a garland ! % Of blossoms rich and fair ; 134 THE PROMISES. A garland ! a garland ! We'll bind for Spring to wear. With butter-cups entwining, The blue-bells shall be there, With hawthorn's bloom combining, And lilies white and fair. Training School Song Book. THE PROMISES. 1. The meek shall inherit the earth, and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace. 2. A little that a righteous man hath is better than the riches of many wicked. 3. The Lord knoweth the days of the upright, and their inheritance shall be for ever. 4. They shall not be ashamed in the evil time, and in the days of famine they shall be satisfied. THE PLEASURES OF LEARNING. 135 THE PLEASURES OF LEARNING. Ji story about a good little boy who taught his little sister a great many things. There was once a little boy, whom all liked very much. He was only ten years old. He could not play well at ball or hoop, yet he was the first boy in the school. His mother had taught him the hard lessons, and explained all the hard words to him ; so that while other boys were at play, or doing mischief, he was learning something useful from his mother. One day his father and mother died, and he and a little sister had to go and live with an aunt, a great distance from the school. So the little boy thought, as he could not go to school, he would read all the books he could get, and teach his little sister all that he knew, and all that his good mother had taught him about God and the heaven- ly country where their father and mother had gone. And, 0, how delighted he was to teach his Bister! How joyfully he would get up at six 136 THE PLEASURES OF LEARNING. o'clock in the morning, and would tie on her little black bonnet, and white pinafore and shawl ! Then he would brush her tiny shoes, until they were very black, and would put on his straw hat, and away they would go over the hills together. At nine o'clock, he would teach her to read ; then he taught her to write and to spell. He showed her how to make figures, and work sums on her slate, and her aunt taught her to sew. One day, when they were out on the hills, said Joseph to Kate, (for these were their names) " I am going to teach you all that my dear mother taught me from underneath this tree. Here are hundreds of things yet to find out and learn. " Look at that beautiful sky, and the long, streaky clouds. We are going to find out where the clouds come from, and what they are made of. Then we want to find out why some clouds are round, and some long, and why they are of such a rosy color in the morning." " Then," said little Kate, " I want to know what the wind, which blows them along, is made of, and where it comes from. We have been noticing, too, the music which the animals make to the sun, when they see him." " Do you see," said Joseph, " that he is just THE PLEASURES OP LEARNING. 137 getting up ! Listen, only now ! There's the sing- ing of the birds, the buzzing of the insects, the bleating of the lambs in the valley, and the caw- ing of the rooks a long way off. We mean this summer to count up the different trees and plants here, and, perhaps, the different earths, and rocks, and stones." " Why," said Kate, " what is there to be learned from this old stump ? " " Ah," said Joseph, " our mother taught me many things from it ; we had twelve lessons : 1st. We examined the roots, to see what they are made for. 2d. We learned about the sap. 3d. The trunk. 4th. The branches. 5th. The pith. 6th. The layers of wood. 7th. The bark. 8th. The buds. 9th. The leaves, and what they were made for. 10th. The little insects which live on the leaves and under the bark. llth. How the tree came here, and what it was made for. 12th. We learned its name, and to what family of trees it belongs. And 13th. I am going to teach att this to you." " But what is the use," said Kate, " of spending BO much time in learning these things ? " " Ah, my dear Kate," said Joseph, " we ought 138 THE PLEASURES OF LEARNING. to notice and learn every common thing around us. From the plants we get food to nourish us, medicine to heal us, and clothing to cover us. The wheat plants gave me the straw for my hat. The crocus plant grew the yellow color for the ribbon. The indigo plant the dark blue for neck- erchiefs. The flax plant, the linen for my shirt ; and the cotton tree for your gown." " Yes," said Kate, " and my shoestrings came from a silkworm, your coat from a sheep, and your shoes from a calf." "And," resumed Joseph, "the oak trees are made into ships, the hemp plant into sails, and the wind blows them along. The earth gives us iron for our railroads ; and water the mighty steam for the engines. These are all very com- mon things, and yet man has found much good by thinking about them." Thus little Joseph taught his sister every day about all the things they saw, until she was a great girl ; and now they both enjoy more happi- ness than ever ; for they are both teaching more than a hundred children how to feel that they are all the works of God, and how beautifully every thing is made to delight the e,ye and satisfy the soul that thirsts for knowledge. MY HOME. 139 MY HOME. My home, my own dear home ! It is a happy place, Where smiles of love are brightening Each dear, familiar face Where parents' arms enfold me, In fond embraces pressed, And daily, nightly blessings Upon the household rest. Our morning salutations, How gladsomely they sound ! And kind " good nights," at evening, Like curtains, close us round. The bird seeks not to wander From its own quiet nest, But deems it of all places The dearest and the best. Home is my nest, where round me Soft sheltering wings are spread, And peace, and joy, and gladness, With shade and sunlight, shed. O may I bring no shadow Of sorrow or of care, To dim the open brightness Of happy faces there ! J. E. L. 140 THE GOOD WE MIGHT DO. THE GOOD WE MIGHT DO. We might all do good, When we often do ill ; There is always a way, If we have but the will. Though it be but a word Kindly breathed or suppressed, It may guard off some pain, Or give peace to some breast. We all might do good In a thousand small ways ; In forbearing to natter, Yet yielding due praise ; In spurning ill humor, Eeproving wrong done, And treating but kindly Each heart we have won. We all might do good, Whether lowly or great, For the deed is not gauged By the purse or estate ; If it be but a cup Of cold water that's given, Like " the widow's two mites," It is something in heaven. A. S. O THE UNSTEADY YOUTH. 141 THE UNSTEADY YOUTH. excellent memory and a lively disposition, the good effects of which were nevertheless almost destroyed by an unfortunate failing he was too changeable. Zephirin went one day to pay a visit to one of his young friends. He found him employed in copying a Roman head. Ze- phirin stood by him, following every touch of the pencil with anxious eyes. He was seized with a desire to learn drawing. He hastened home, and meeting his father on the stairs, he threw his arms round his neck, and entreated him to go out immediately and find a drawing master for him. His father, pleaded with his ardor, consented to his request. They set out immediately and en- gaged one of the best teachers. 142 THE UNSTEADY YOUTH. Zephirin was very much grieved to hear that the teacher would not be able to devote the whole of every day to him ; indeed, he was hardly to be contented with two hours a day. " Such a useful and agreeable art," said Ze- phirin. " I am surprised, that it is so much neglected." The rest of the day was spent in scribbling upon bits of paper. To be sure, ftne of his drawings were presentable. They consisted gen- erally of crooked mouths and noses, immense staring eyes, and arms and legs entirely devoid of proportion. For the first week, it all went on very well. Zephirin made himself an enormous book of drawing paper, and soon filled it. Seeing that the garret walls had been lately whitewashed, he undertook a series of the Roman emperors, con- suls, and tribunes on horseback, and triumphal processions. But this did not last long. Zephirin soon be- came tired of such excessive application. He found that the pencil blacked his hands, and Ma penknives grew dull with so much cutting. In vain his master spoke of the glory and utility of TgE UNSTEADY YOUTH. 143 the art ; in vain artist after artist "was cited a9 example and encouragement. One day, the teacher hoping to excite his now listless pupil, brought with him a young man, just from Koine, who spoke in exalted terms of the splendid works of art he had lately beheld. In expressing himself, he made use of several Italian words, which made much more impression on Zephirin than all the paintings in the world could have done. " How much better," exclaimed he, " to speak a living language than to employ one's self contin- ually in drawing useless heads ! " He ran to communicate his new impressions to his father, and the next day Zephirin took his first Italian lesson. For the first few days his attention was unre- mitting, the difficulties of the grammar were soon mastered, and Zephirin, delighted with the soft- ness and beauty of the language, spoke his newly- acquired phrases to every body in the house, and was very much displeased to find no one could understand him. He called the cook Vostra Signora, and the footman Cor mio. He soon got through the Italian translation 144 THE UNSTEADY YOUTH. of Telemachus, and searching in his father's book- case for a more difficult book, " Don Quixote," in Spanish, fell into his hands. This was a new source of delight. 0, what a treasure! and how necessary it was now to be- come able to read it, the pride of Spanish lit- erature, with its proverbs, its witty speeches, all in its native richness. What were Mentor's grave harangues in comparison with Sancho's admirable remarks ! and Calypso, in all her pride of beauty and loveliness, could she inspire half the interest which very one takes in Dulcinea ? Spanish was now the order of the day, and Ze- phirin was for a time perfectly happy ; but before Don Quixote had accomplished his second sortie Zephirin had given up Spanish for English, and that in its turn had been superseded by German. So that at the end of a year, Zephirin could speak four living languages, but all so imperfectly, and with such a mixture of all in his every-day con- versation, that it was almost impossible to under- stand him. Zephirin was very anxious to learn to dance well ; but his impatience prevented him from making any progress in the art. THE UNSTEADY YOUTH. 145 He next turned his attention to music. But* on what instrument should he begin ? After a great deal of indecision he selected the violin, and at the end of six months took up the flute in- stead, and succeeded in learning to play with some skill. His father, alarmed at his changeable disposi- tion, and fearing that he would never learn any one thing, consented to his desire of visiting the different countries of Europe, in the hope that by mixing more with his fellow-creatures he would learn the folly of his own habits. Zephirin therefore set out for England, accom- panied by a tutor. Arrived in London, Zephirin was in ecstasy ; he spent his whole time in run- ning about the streets, admiring the churches, the shops, the magnificence of the houses, &c., but he became very much fatigued and very anxious to visit some new place. He therefore, with great joy, ordered post horses for Dover the next day. Italy was now the great object of > his wishes glorious Italy ! After suffering much from sea- sickness, they arrived safely, and made their first visit to Leghorn, from whence they set out for Florence ; but Zephirin could think and talk of 10 146 THE UNSTEADY YOUTH. Nothing but Rome. Even the gallery at Florence had no charms for him. Arrived at Rome, Ze- phirin, at the end of three days, was perfectly sat- isfied. He had seen every thing of note in Rome, and even found time to pack up his clothes, and was all ready to set out for Naples. At Naples, Zephirin's imagination feasted on the pleasure he should receive from visiting Pompeii ; but here too he was disappointed. Even the fine port at Naples won from him no admiration ; his restless spirit never enjoyed the present ; comparisons were instituted between it and the equally cele- brated ports of Amsterdam, Bourdeaux, and Con- stantinople, which he now longed to behold. They now directed their course towards Ven- ice. The journey, it is true, was to be long and tiresome, for they were to go from one end of Italy to the other, but every sacrifice was cheer- fully made by Zephirin in favor of Venice, with its five hundred bridges, its gondoliers, and its canals. But our readers will accuse the tutor of unrea- sonable compliance with the whims of this foolish boy. The truth was, that Zephirin's father, by means of constant communication with his son. THE UNSTEADY YOUTH. 147 Lad discovered, to his great regret, the effect of his travels upon his mind. He observed that Zephirin always complained very much of the place they were in, and looked forward with en- thusiastic longings to the next stage of their journey. He therefore resolved to recall him im- mediately ; but from observing the course pursued by him, he doubted not but that Zephirin would soon hasten home of his own accord. He there- fore desired the tutor to bear with his whims for a while, in the hope that they would not be of long duration. It happened exactly as the old gentleman had predicted. Zephirin, after passing rapidly through Venice, Turin, Switzerland, and Holland, returned to France, dissatisfied. His father received him with affection, but at the same time could not avoid observing how dearly his son had paid for all the advantages he had received. Acquainted with no one accom- plishment or science, but possessing a confused mixture of all, he beheld him just about to enter the state of manhood with no qualifications for business, no strivings after excellence, idle, rash, vain, impetuous, and variable ; a misery to himself and to all around him. 148 THE SPIRIT'S WHISPER. THE SPIRIT'S WHISPER. Sweet mother, do not weep ! The joy of sainted spirits now is mine ; I roam the fields of light, with those who keep Bright watch, where heaven's own golden portals shine. I am the babe no more, "Who gave its feeble wailing to thine ear ; Free from the cumbering clay, I mount, I soar, Upward and onward, through a boundless sphere. O, couldst thou know how fair, How full of blessedness, this better land, Thou wouldst rejoice thy child in safety there Had place for ever 'mid the angel band. I may not tell thee all Its light and loveliness ; its hymns of joy Upon a mortal ear may never fall, And tongues immortal can ? Jone employ : But, O, 't is sweet to be A sinless dweller 'mid its radiant bowers ! To join its seraph-songs of harmony, To breathe the incense of its fadeless flowers, THE SPIRIT'S WHISPER. 149 To d-w ell no more with pain, To shed no tears, to feel no panting breath. Sweet mother, do not grieve for me again, I am so blessed ; I bless the hand of death. Turn with unwavering trust From the green earth-bed, where my body lies ; Ihou didst but lay its covering in the dust ; Thy child yet lives, will live, beyond the skies. There we shall meet again : O, yes ! sweet mother, meet to part no more ! I'll welcome thee with heaven's angelic train, And lead *hee to the Saviour we adore. A mirror has been well defined An emblem of a thoughtful mind ; For, look upon it, when you will, You find it is reflecting still. I hate to see a boy so rude, That one might think him raised In some wild region of the wood, And but half civilized. 150 SUSAN GEAY. SUSAN GRAY. " Can I stay at home from school to day, mother?" said Susan Gray. " Why," asked her mother, as she looked up from her sewing, " are you sick, my child ? " "No," replied Susan, as she hung down her head, "but I do not wish to go to-day." The mother for a few moments was silent. She had but little property, and she had been making a great effort to educate her child. She had practised not a little self-denial her- self, and often urged upon her daughter the im- portance of making all the improvements in her power. Susan, however, had not always heeded her advice, and cared little about her books. Quick and lively, fond of the society of her young companions, she very much preferred to mingle with them, and laugh and talk, instead of the hard study of the school room. Often before had she begged her mother to permit her to remain at home, and too often succeeded, for Mrs. Gray, though a sensible and good woman, could not al- ways resist the importunities of her child. She SUSAN GRAY. had been much afflicted. Several of her children were in the grave, and her heart was often sad as she thought of their bright faces and cheerful voices which she could never hear again. Her heart clung still more fondly to those that sur- vived, and often in her tenderness she could not deny what she knew was for their injury. Susan, too, was the youngest. She had often been sick, and the very care she had required had only ren- dered her more dear. " You can stay at home," at last said Mrs. Gray, " though I am very sorry you wish it so much, for your school days, Susan, must soon end." Susan did stay at home. Gladly she busied herself in different ways. She attended to her Canary bird, and listened for a while to his merry singing. Then she remembered a nice story she was reading, and she hurried for the book and finished it. Then she was a little lonely, for there seemed nothing she could think of to in- terest her, and she felt a little sorry she had not gone to school. But after dinner some young friends called, and she was quite happy. They gave her an invitation, too, to go with them in the evening, where in sport and merriment the 152 SUSAN GRAY. time flew swiftly on. But at home at last, when in the silence of her own chamber, she did not feel quite so happy. She thought of her mother's reluctant consent, and how pained she had evi- dently been at her request. She felt, too, that swiftly as the day had passed she had spent it unprofitably. She could recall not one good deed done, not one good lesson learned. She thought, too, of her lost lessons at school ; how unfitted they had made her to go on with her class ; of the additional labor she must impose upon her teachers ; of the influence her irregu- larity was exerting upon the school. As these thoughts came and went, she felt little satisfied with herself, and regretted the manner in which she had spent the day. " I am not preparod," said Susan Gray to her teacher the next morning, " I was absent yester- day, and have had no time to study my lessons." The teacher looked at her, but said nothing; for many times before had he heard this from her lips. His thoughts, however, were very busy. He thought of her wasted talents and misim- proved opportunities ; of the little time before her school days would be over, and she would SUSAN GRAY. 153 sigh for them in vain ; of what an intelligent, useful wjman she might be, and how little she would be regarded, how little influence she would exert as she would be ; of the disappointed hopes of her friends, expecting much where so little would be done : he thought, too, of the many he had known deprived of all means of education, and how much they would give for a little part of these privileges so slightly regarded. These thoughts and many more were in his mind, and he was sick at heart as he gazed at the intelligent- looking girl before him. Should he tell her his thoughts ? He had before counselled her, and it had done no good he could tell her nothing she did not know. She would choose her own way, and she must reap as she would sow. He was silent for a moment, and then simply said, " I am sorry ; " and she turned to her seat, glad that she had escaped a reprimand, that not even the reason of her absence was asked, which she felt, she should so poorly be able to explain. Sad is it that Susan Gray will not be wise. That parent who now mourns because she is so indifferent will one day pass away, though not the remembrance of her affection- and efforts for 154 THE [NDIAN MAIDEN'S FAREWELL. her child; those teachers whose cares have been much increased by her will be her teachers, in the course of time, no longer ; whether Susan is intelligent or ignorant will then make no differ- ence to them ; but years hence, each unimproved opportunity will come back, and bitter tears will Susan Gray shed over the follies and neglect of her youth. From the Casket, a paper published in the Newburypott Female High School. THE INDIAN MAIDEN'S FAREWELL. On the soft, green moss, in the forest wild, At the sunset hour, lay a dying child ; The "Indian's Pride," on her death bed lay, In the forest dark, at the close of day. And through the dim aisles of the forest still, Wild rang her voice as a clarion shrill : " It is the ' Great Spirit ' hath laid me low; He called me to come, and I must go. " Farewell ! I must go to the spirit land, I must go to dwell with that happy band : TRUE CHARITY. 155 'JTiey called mo this morn at break of day, They called me to go with them away. " Their voices I hear in the sighing breeze, That sings 'mid the boughs of the old oak trees ; They call me to go with them away ; They call me, and 1 can no longer stay. " Farewell to my friends, farewell to my home ; The spirits are calling ; 1 come, 1 come." In the forest dark, at the close of day, Her life, with the sunbeams, hath passed away. Ellen. TRUE CHARITY. BENJAMIN, JOHN, AND MOTHER. (Enter Ben, with a loaf of bread.) Ben. Here's the bread, mother. Now you must eat as much as you want, for you see I can earn money enough to buy more when we've eaten up this. John. And you'll buy me a cap, won't you, Ben ? 156 TRUE CHARITY. Ben. 0. yes, Johnny : you shall have a cap if we have money enough. Mother. (Beginning to cut the bread.) This bread is hard : the knife won't go through it. Ben. mother, it's only because you are so weak, and you know you hurt your arm when our house was burned. Give me the knife, mother, and I guess I'll make it go through about the quick- est. (Takes the knife, and with great force cuts th% bread, upon which several pieces of money fall to the floor.} Mother. What are you doing, my child ? What's all that? Where has all this money come from ? Ben. From the bread, mother ; from the bread, as soon as I got the knife into it. Hurrah ! what a loaf of bread ! It is a loaf of money. Now, says I, we've got money enough to last us all our lives. (Begins to pick up the money.} Mother. Stop, Ben, stop! This is not your money, nor mine : you must not touch it. Ben. But, mother, I bought the bread and paid for it with the money I earned for cleaning the knives. Mother. I know that, my dear boy ; but the per- son who sold you this loaf did not mean to give TRUE CHARITY. 151 you this money. There must be some mistake. You must take it back, my boy. Sen. (Sorrowfully.) What, all of it, mother ? Mother. Yes, every piece : it isn't honestly ours. Ben. 0, dear, how I wish it was 1 Well, the baker must give me another real good one, and I'll go and get it in about no time. (Exit Ben.) Mother. We'd better starve than be dishonest. John. Why did you send that money back to the baker, mammy ? Mother. Because it was not mine to keep. John. Then haven't we any money to buy bread with? Mother. Yes, we have some money, and Ben will soon be back, and bring some bread that we can eat. John. I'm glad, 'cause I'm so hungry ; I want some bread to eat. Mammy, couldn't I get some money, like Ben? I can clean knives too, and then you wouldn't cry so. (Enter Ben.) Ben. Hurrah ! mother, the bread and the money is all ours, every bit of it ; the baker said so ; and here it is, and another nice loaf. He told me 158 TRUE CHARITY. that somebody came there this morning, and gave him the money, and told him to put it into the bread, and if I came to buy a loaf, to give me this very one. So he gave me back the money and a good loaf beside. Mother. I don't know what to do, my boy. What can this mean ? Ben. It means, mother, that you shall have a good loaf of bread and enough money to buy more with : it certainly is yours, and you must keep it. Who do you suppose it was, mother ? Mother. Well, my child, I suppose you are right, and I must keep the money. Who can have done this? Ben. O mother, I know now I guess I do. It was the very gentleman who gave me the knives to scour. Mother. It was- somebody that was very good, and you shall now eat as much as you want. Perhaps we may find out who has been so kind to us ; and we can love them, even if we don't. John. (Thoughtfully.) Haven't I heard you read, somewhere, mother. "It is more blessed to give than to receive " ? Mother. Yes, John, I have ; and our good friend TEMPTATIONS. 159 has found that out, and learned also to give his alms in secret, and he will have his reward ; for God, who hears the ravens when they cry, has also heard the cry of the widow and the father- less, and will grant to him who gave in secret to their necessities an open reward. TEMPTATIONS. Often are we sorely tempted On this sorrow-laden shore, Seemingly from nought exempted Which can cloud the spirit o'er. Every day brings many trials We must breast with manly hearte, Brings afflictions, self-denials, And a thousand cunning arts Which the tempter ever uses To ensnare us if he may, If the tempted spirit chooses To be guidad in the way He would paint for weary mortals, Paint with fascinating sin, Lest they pass the heavenly portals Where the angels enter in. Yet wheK filled with cankering sorrow, As we feel their vexing power, il 160 TEMPTATIONS. Seeing not a bright to-morrow Through the shadows of the hour, But instead a dark foreboding Of the gloomy hours to be, Heavily the spirit loading, Till no ray of hope we see, Then it is we need assistance From an ever-powerful arm, Which can give us in resistance "Victory and spirit calm ; Which can give us joy for weeping, Hope for melancholy thought, Flowers of love for daily reaping, And a thousand gifts unsought. Stronger grow we through temptation If we manfully resist, And our earthly tribulation Still is but a shadowy mist, Through which, with a strong decision, We must press our onward way To the shining fields elysian, Where is one eternal day. Let us then forever banish From us each rebellious ^bought, And a thousand ills shall vanish Which we often wish were not. And through faith our hearts shall gather Strength to gain an Eden-rest, And to feel our heavenly Father Knoweth what is for the best. Lillian. AVARICE PUNISHED. tM AVARICE PUNISHED. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. Three men travelled together ; advancing on their journey they found a treasure ; they were much pleased. Continuing to proceed, hunger seized them, and one said, " It is necessary to have something to eat ; who will go and get it ? " " I/' replied the second. He departed, bought meat ; but after buying it he thought if he poisoned it, his companions would die, and the treasure would remain to him. So he poisoned the meat. How- ever, during his absence, the two others had med- itated to kill him, and divide the treasure between them. He came, they killed him, ate of the meat that he had bought, died, and the treasure belonged to no one. 162 MY MIGNONETTE, OR TOO LATE. MY MIGNONETTE, OR TOO LATE. How delightful to return a^ter a long journey, to meet again dear faces, to sit in the old seats, to behold at every corner the sweet familiarities of home ! We ran down the walk to take a survey of the garden, and to rejoice over the growth and blooming beauties of our dear summer companions, the garden flowers. They seemed to have been nicely cared for, and looked as fair and fresh as the morning. Sweet-pea was on tiptoe. Coreopsis smiled radiantly, while Heart's-ease was as charm- ing as could be. We greeted them all, gladly enough ; but where was my modest little favorite, my choice friend, without whose fragrant presence no bouquet is either beautiful or complete where was Mignonette? I hurried around, longing to inhale its sweet breath. I looked where it used to be, and it was not there : I sought where it might be, and it was not there ! Where is my Migno- nette ? Nobody knew ; nobody had missed it ; some surmised that it had never been planted ; others suggested that it might have been wed up among the weeds. MY MIGNONETTE, OR TOO LATE 163 " Oh, I must plant more," I cried sadly. " To- morrow I will come again and plant." To-morrow came, and other things came in to hinder me. " To-morrow will do," again solaced me ; then another to.-morrow, and still another, and so on, till * full many to-morrows passed 'by, and my work was not yet done ; each one bearing a little regret for the past, a little promise for the future, and a se- cret yearning for the meek eye and soft perfume of my favorite flower. At length a to-morrow came, long way off from the first to-morrow, and I went out to sow the seed. " It is too late," admonished a friend near me. " Too late ! Oh, no. Are there not sun and rain and dew and warmth enough in summer yet ? Yes, surely." " It is too late," repeated she. " Oh, it will soon come up, and soon bloom ; why not ? " and in all haste I began my work. " Too late ! look at the summer sky, and see if it is too late. No, no ! " On the third day after, behold, little tips of green appear ; then a sprig, then a leaf ; fast they came, as if redeeming the time. I was glad over 164 MY MIGNONETTE, OR TOO LATE. it. " Too late ! No, no ! there is the seasoiv yet ; " and so it kept growing, day after day, put- ting forth a multitude of leaves. Day after day I carefully watched and sought buds thereon. At last, when well nigh weary with watching, I des- cried on the topmost sprig a cleaving together among its tiniest leaves, like a first faint embryo. " The flower is near ! " I exclaimed joyfully. I looked on it at morning and evening, and at mid- day : the sun shone brightly, the dews exhaled freely, the rains fell gently, but it grew no more : the small buds, if buds they were, opened not : its leaves were green and flourishing, but it bore leaves only ; it never came to maturity ; and when the last autumn chill came, it drooped and died. It was too late. I looked mournfully over it, and it utters the rebuke, " Too late." Ah, yes, a sad and solemn lesson it teaches me. There is a time, when, if you plant, you shall never reap. Too late ! Mother, have you taken the best and earliest time to plant the precious seed of God's word in the heart of your boy? Hasten, nor trust to future to-morrows. It may be too late. Teacher, have you to-day pointed the young spirit before you to the heavenly city, and urged it MY MIGNONETTE, OB TOO LATE. 165 to press on thither. Next Sabbath may be too late. Christian, danger lurks in the path of your friend ; will you wait the morrow to warn him from the snares of the destroyer ? It may be too late. Man of God, are you up with an alert activity bidding your flock to flee to the cross for refuge from the wrath to come ? The Sun of righteousness may shine, the dews of divine grace may descend, showers of mercy may plenteously fall, yet, for many a soul, it may be too late, too late ! H. c K LITTLE THINGS. SCORN not the slightest word or deed, Nor- deem it void of power; There 'a fruit in each wind-wafted seed, Waiting its natal hour. A whispered word may touch the heart, And call it back to life ; A look of love bid sin depart, And still unholy strife. No act falls fruitless, none can tell How vast its power may be; Nor what results unfolded dwell Within it, silently. 166 THE ANGEL VISIT. THE ANGEL VISIT. ON the evening of one thirty-first of December I had been cherishing the humiliating and solemi reflections which are peculiarly suitable to the close of the year, and endeavoring to bring my -mind to that view of the past, best calculated to influence the future. I had attempted to recall the promi- nent incidents of the twelve months which had elapsed ; and, in this endeavor, I was led frequent- ly to regret how little my memory could retain even of that most important to be remembered. I could not avoid, at such a period, looking forwards as well as backwards, and anticipating that fearful tribunal at*which no occurrence will be forgotten ; whilst my imagination penetrated into the distant destinies which shall be dependent on its decisions. At my usual hour I retired to rest but the train of meditation I had pursued was so important arid appropriate, that imagination continued it after sense had slumbered. " In thoughts from the vi- sions of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon man," I was mentally concerned in the following scen'3 of interest. I imagined myself still adding link after link to THE ANGEL VISIT. 167 the chain of reflection, the progress of which the time of repose had interrupted ; and whilst thus en- gaged I was aware that there remained but a few moments to complete the day. I heard the clock as it tolled the knell of another year, and as it rung slowly the appointed number, each note was followed by a sting of conscience bitterly reproach- ing me for my neglect of precious time. The last stroke was ringing in my ears painful as the groan announcing the departure of a valuable friend when, notwithstanding the meditative posture in which I was sitting, I perceived that the dimness of the apartment changed to brightness and on lifting my eyes to discover the cause, I was terri- fied at perceiving that another being was with me in my seclusion. I saw one before me whose form indeed was human but the bright burning glance of his eye, and the splendor which beamed forth from every part of his beautifully proportioned form, convinced me at a glance that it was no mortal being that I saw. The elevation of his brow gave dignity of the highest order to his countenance but the most acute observation was indicated by his piercing eye, and inexorable justice was im- printed on his majestic features. A glittering phy- lactery encircled his head, on which was written as 1 168 THE ANGEL VISIT. in letters of fire, " The Faithful One." Under one arm he bore two volumes ; in his hand he held a pen. I -instantly knew the recording angel the secretary of the terrible tribunal of Heaven. With a trembling which convulsed my frame I heard his unearthly accents. " Mortal," said he, " thou wast longing to recall the events of the past year thou art permitted to gaze upon the record of the book of God peruse and be wise." As he spoke thus he opened before me one of the vol- umes which he had brought. In fearful appre- hension I read in it my own name, and recognized the history of my own life during the past year with all its minutest particulars. Burning words were those which that volume contained all the actions and circumstances of my life were register- ed under their respective heads in that dreadful book. I was first struck by the title " Mercies Received" Some were there, the remembrance of which I had retained more, which were recalled after having been forgotten but the far greater number had never been noticed at all. Oh ! what a detail of preservations and deliverances, and in- vitations, and warnings, and privileges, and bestow- ments ! I remember that " Sabbaths " stood out in very prominent characters, as if they had been THE ANGEL VISIT. 169 among the greatest benefits. In observing the re- capitulation, I could not but be struck with one cir- cumstance. It was that many dispensations which I had considered curses were here enumerated as blessings. Many a one which had riven the heart many a cup whose bitterness seemed to desig- nate it as poison, was there verifying the language of the poet " E'en crosses from His sovereign hand, Are blessings in disguise." Another catalogue was there it was the enu- meration of transgressions. My hand trembles as I remember them ! What an immense variety of classes ! Indifference thoughtlessness formal- ity ingratitude unbelief sins against the world against the Church against the Father against the Saviour and against the Sanctifier stood at the head of their crowded battalions, as if for the purpose of driving me to despair. Not one sin was forgotten there neglected Sabbaths abused ordinances misimproved time - en- couraged temptations, there they stood, with no excuse, no extenuation. There was one very long class I remember well " Idle words" and then the passage flashed like lightning across my mind " For every idle word that men shall speak, 170 THE ANGEL VISIT. they shall give account thereof in the day of judg- ment." My supernatural visitant here addressed me " Dost thou observe how small a proportion thy sins of Omission bear to those of Commission ? " As he spoke, he pointed me to instances like the following "I was hungry and ye gave me no O O t/ */ O meat." " I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink." " I was sick and ye did not visit me." I was conscience-stricken. In another part of the record, I read the title, " Duties performed." Alas ! how small was their number ! Humble as I had been accustomed to think the estimate of my good works, I was greatly disappointed to perceive that many performances on which I had looked back with pride, were omitted, " because " my visitor inform- ed me " the motive was impure." It was, how- ever, with feelings of the most affecting gratifica- tion I read beneath this record, small as it was, " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye hath done it to me." " Who- soever shall give a cup of cold water only in the name of a disciple, he shall in no wise lose his re- ward." Whilst I gazed on many other similar records, such was the intense feeling which seemed to be awakened within me, that my brain g^ow dizzy THE ANGEL VISIT. 171 my eyes became dim. I was awakened from this state by the touch of my supernatural instructor, who pointed me to the volume in which I had read my own terrible history, now closed, and bearing a seal, on which with sickening heart I read the in- scription " Reserved until the day of judgment."' " And now," said the angel, " my commission is completed. Thou hast been permitted what was never granted to man before. What thinkest thou of the record ? Dost thou not justly tremble ? How many a line is here, ' which dying, you would wish to blot ? ' I see you already shuddering at the thought of the disclosure of this volume at the day of judgment, when an assembled world shall listen to its contents. But if such be the record of one year, what must be the guilt of your ivhole . life ? Seek then, an interest in the blood of Christ, justified by which, you shall indeed hear the repe- tition, but not to condemnation. Pray that when the other books are opened, your name may be found in the book of life. And see the volume prepared for the history of another year - yet its page is unsullied. Time is before thee seek to improve it. Privileges are before thee may they prove the gate of Heaven ! Judgment is before thee prepare to meet thy God." He turned to 172 THE ROSE-BELL. depart and as I seemed to hear the rustling which announced his flight, I awoke. Was it all a drean ? H - s - THE ROSE-BELL. ABOVE her lone and lowly tomb, Like sorrow's incense o'er the dead, Shedding its fresh and sweet perfume, The rose-bell droops its pensive head, For youth and beauty fled ! When summer winds, with plaintive sigh, Breathe gentle requiems round the bier, The dew-drops 'neath the placid sky Fall sadly as a lover's tear For one who sleepeth there. And when the wind with roughened swell Sweeps wildly past the house of death, The flu weret shakes each tiny bell, Ami peals a soft and solemn knell O'er her whi rests beneath. A. WM. SILLOWAY, F. R, & THE ANGEL OF HUMANITY. 173 THE ANGEL OF HUMANITY. " I WAS standing in the street of a large city. It was a cold, bleak winter's day. There had been rain ; and although the sun was shining bright- ly, yet the long icicles hung on the eaves of the houses, and the wheels hmibered loudly as they passed over the ground. There was a clear, bright look, and a cold, bracing feeling in the air, and a keen north-west wind quickening every step. Just then a little girl came running along, a poor, ill- clad child ; her clothes were scant and threadbare ; she had no cloak and no shawl, and her little bare feet looked red and suffering. She could not have been more than eight years old. She carried a bundle in her hand. Poor little shivering child. As she passed me her foot slipped and she fell with a cry of pain ; but she held the bundle in her hand, and jumping up, although she limped sadly, endeavored to run as before. " ' Stop, little girl, stop,' said a sweet face ; and a beautiful woman, wrapped in a shawl and with furs around her, came out of a jeweller's store close by. ' Poor little child,' said she, ' are you hurt ? Sit down on this step and tell me.' 174 THE ANGEL OF HUMANITY. " How I loved her, and how beautiful she look- ed ! " 0, I cannot,' said the child ; ' I cannot wait I am in such a hurry. I have been to the shoe- maker's, and mother must finish this work to-night or she will never get any more shoes to bind.' " ' To-night,' said the beautiful woman, * to- night ? ' " ' Yes,' said the child for the stranger's kind manner had made her bold ' yes, to-night ; and these satin slippers must be spangled and ' " The beautiful woman took the bundle from the child's hand and unrolled it. You do not know why her face flushed and then turned pale, but I looked into the bundle, and on the inside of a slip- per I saw a name, a lady's, written I shall not tell it. " And where does your mother live, little girl ? " " So the child told where, and then she told her that her father was dead, and that her little baby brother was sick, and that her mother bound shoes that they might have bread ; but that sometimes they were very cold, and that her mother often- times cried because she had no money to buy milk for her little sick brother. " And the lady's eyes were full of tears, and she THE ANGEL OF HUMANITY. 175 rolled "up the bundle quickly and gave it to the lit- tle girl, but she gave her nothing else no, not even a sixpence, and turning away went back into the store from which she had just come out. Pres- ently she came back, and stepping into a handsome carriage, rolled off. The little girl looked after her for a moment, and then, with her feet a little colder than before, ran quickly away. " I went with the little girl, and I saw her to a narrow street, and into a small, dark room ; I saw her sad, faded mother, but with face so sweet, so patient, hushing and soothing her sick baby. And the baby slept, and the mother laid it on her lap, and the bundle was unrolled, and a dim candle helped her with her work ; for though it was not night, yet her room was very dark. Then, after a while, she kissed her little girl and bade her warm her feet over the scanty fire in the grate, and then gave her a little piece of bread, for she had no more ; then she heard her say her evening prayer, and blessed her, and told her that the angels would take care of her. " And the little child slept and dreamed, such pleasant dreams, of warm stockings, and shoes ; but the mother sewed on alone. And as the bright spangles glittered on the satin slippers, came there 176 THE ANGEL OF HUMANITY. no repinings into the heart ? When she thought of the little child's bare, cold feet, and of the scant morsel of dry bread which had not satisfied her hunger, came there no visions of a bright room and gorgeous clothing, and a table loaded with all that was good and nice, a little portion of which, spared to her, could send warmth and comfort to her hum ble dwelling ? " If such thoughts as these came, and others of a pleasant cottage, and one who had dearly loved her, and whose strong arm had kept want and trouble from her and her babes, but who could never come back ; if these thoughts did come re- piningly, there also came others, and the widow's hands were clasped and her head bowed low in deep contrition as I heard her say, " ' Father, forgive me, for Thou doest all things well I will trust Thee.' " Just then the door opened softly, and some one entered. She went to the bed, where the sleeping child lay, and covered it with warm blank- ets. Then there came coal, and presently a fire blazed and sparkled there, such as the old grate had seldom known before. Then a loaf was upon the table, and fresh milk for the sick babe. Then she passed gently before the mother, and drawing THE ANGEL OF HUMANITY. 177 the unfinished slipper from her hand, placed there a purse, and said in a sweet, low voice, " ' Bless thy God, who is the God of the father- less and of the widow,' " and she was gone. The mother, with hands clasped and streaming eyes, blessed her God who had sent an angel to comfort her. I then went to a bright room, where there were music, and smiles and joy ; and I saw young happy faces, and beautiful women richly dressed and sparkling with jewels, but none that I knew, until one passed me whose dress was of white. No spangled slipper glistened on her foot, but the beauty of holiness had so glorified her face, that I felt as I gazed upon her that she was almost an angel." PEARLS AND PEBBLES. BE frank and pure, and brave and true ; True to thyself and heaven ; And be thy friends the gifted few, And be thy foes forgiven. For lovely things have mercy shown To every failing but their own ; And every woe a tear may claim, Except an erring sister's shame. BVBOM. 12 178 WHf IS HAPPY ? WHO IS HAPPY? To answer this question, which has often arisen in my mind, I wandered forth one pleasant morn in June, determined ere the shades of night should come on, to find one being that was happy. As I directed my steps through the busy streets of our thriving village, I thought, shall I not find among the many that are passing to and fro, one whose every feature is stamped with the seal of true hap- piness, one whose countenance speaks not of care or anxiety ? An old man I met, who seemed bent down with age : time had left deep furrows in the cheeks of the old man, and tears dimmed his almost sightless eyes. As I passed him, a sigh escaped his lips, and he muttered to himself of the days that were. As I passed one after another, my heart sank within me at the prospect of finding happiness where all seemed striving for it in this world's goods. I determined to leave this " road of folly " and seek in some lonely lane, open field, or wood, for happiness. I then turned my steps toward the woods, and after wandering about for some time, I espied a WHO IS HAPPY ? 179 woodman's cot, situated on a little eminence, at a short distance across a pleasant field, in the clear- ing of the woods. Thither I directed my course. Just before I reached the cot, I saw two little children (the elder a little boy of some eight or nine years ; the other a bright black-eyed little girl,) sporting before the door with a pet dog, which they called Rover. I thought, as I saw them jump- ing and skipping about, their countenances beam- ing with pleasure surely, here may happiness be found. But, alas ! when I asked them if they were not happy in this their wild-wood home, a shade of sadness quickly dispelled the glad sun- shine, and they answered, while tears filled their eyes, " We were happy once, but we are orphans now, with no one to love or care for us but our Rover ! " After trying to comfort them for the burst of grief which I had occasioned, I bade them adieu, and retracing my steps, I set my face homeward, with this inquiry still on my mind, Who is Happy? A. w. a. 180 AT HOME ! AT HOME ! AT HOME ! AT HOME ! Where burns the fireside brightest, Cheering the social breast ? Where beats the fond iieart lightest, Its humble hope possessed? Where is the hour of sadness With meek-eyed patience borne ? Worth more than those of gladness, Which mirth's gay cheeks adorn ! Pleasure is marked with fleetness To those who ever roam, While grief itself hath sweetness At home sweet home ! There blend the ties that strengthen. Our hearts in hours of grief The silver links that lengthen Joy's visits when most brief; There, eyes in all their splendor Are vocal to the heart, And glances, bright and tender, Fresh eloquence impart ; Then dost thou sigh for pleasure ? O, do ngt widely roam, But seek that hidden treasure At home sweet home ! Does pure religion charm thee, Far more than aught below * Wouldst thou that she should arm thee Against the hour of woe 1 THE BLIND BOY. 181 Her dwelling is not only In temples built for prayer, For home itself is lonely, Unless her smiles be there; Wherever we may wander, 'Tis all in vain we roam, If worshipless her ahar At home sweet home I THE BLIND BOY. Just at an aged birch tree's foot, A little boy and girl reclined ; His hand in hers she kindly put--'. And then I saw the boy was blind. " Dear Mary," said the poor blind boy, "That little bird sings very long; Say, do you see him in his jov, And is he pretty as his sony V " " Yes, Edward, yes," replied the maid, " I see the bird on yonder tree ; " The poor boy sighed, and gently said, " Sister, I wish that I could see. " The flowers you say are very fair, And bright green leaves are on the trees, And pretty birds are singing there How beautiful for one who sees ! 182 THE BLIND BOY. " Yet I the fragrant flower can smell, And I can feel the green leaf's shade ; And I can hear the notes that swell From those dear birds that God has made, " So, sister, God to me is kind, Though sight, alas ! He has not given : But tell me, are there any blind, Among the children up in heaven ? " " No, dearest Edward ; there all see ; But wherefore ask a thing so odd ? " a O Mary, He's so good to me, I thought I'd like to look at God." EPISCOPAL RECORDER, " REDEEMING THE TIME." 183 " REDEEMING THE TIME." It is the end of one, the beginning of another year ; the sealing up of the past, the opening of the future ; an era in probation ; a crisis, it may be, in life, of death, for eternity. How fit the season, for beginning anew the great work of " REDEEMING THE TIME." In devout thankfulness. Another year our lives have been spared, and we surrounded with God's mercies. Life, health, food, ra.ment, society, friends, the joyous flowers, and ripening harvests all these God has given. He has blessed us publicly, in our country, and personally, in our families ; and continued to us Sabbaths and means of grace, and the offers of salvation through his Son. " Every good and perfect gift cometh down from Him." " Bless" then, " the Lord, our souls, and forget not all his benefits." As a time of serious reckoning. Anticipating the final day, let us search and try our ways, and prepare for the account of our stewardship. An- other year has fled. How have we spent it ? It has given us time; have we redeemed it? Sab- baths ; have we improved them ? Divine truth ; 184 " REDEEMING THE TIME." have we made it a savor of life ? Mercies ; have they led to repentance ? Afflictions ; have they been sanctified ? Seasons for prayer ; have they found us at the throne of grace ? Opportunities ; have we made the most of them? A continued probation; have we spent it in working out our salvation, in blessing man, and glorifying God ? As a time of de&p humiliation. Side by side with the mercies of the past, rise up also its sins; sins of thought, feeling, motive, conduct, omission, commission, enough to humble us in the very dust before God. Let us not close our eyes to these sins ; but, like Pharaoh's chief butler, Confess, " I do remember my faults this day ; " and like the penitent Peter, as " we think thereon," let us " weep." Looking away from the failing of others ; let us ponder our own. And let the burden of our grief be, that " against God we have sinned : " the burden of our prayer, that he would " be merciful to us ! " As a time of solemn resolutions. As God is turning over a new leaf in the book of judgment, how proper that we do the same in our plans of life. How becoming are new resolutions for a new year solemn purposes for so solemn a season. With Elisha, then, let us resolve, " If we have "REDEEMING THE TIME." '185 done iniquity, we will do so no more." Let us aim, in the future, to be wiser, happier, holier, more humble, obedient, watchful, and prayerful, than in the past ; more carefully to avoid evil hab- its and form good ones, to seek for higher attain- ments and for greater progress in the divine life. Knowing the uncertainty of all future time, let us resolve, " To seize the present moment, as it flies, And stamp the marks of wisdom on its wings ; To let it not elude our grasp ; but, like The good old patriarch of God's holy word, Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless us ! " Let us " live with our might while we do live," and " continually do whatever is most for the glory of God, and our own good, profit, and pleasure, whether, now, or never so many myriads of ages hence." As a time for salutary fear. " This year thou shalt die," may be written of us. Let us live as if it were ; for " the time is short," and " we know not what a day may bring forth." Let us then fear, lest we fall into temptation or a snare, or be found idle, and unprepared when our Lord shall come ; lest a promise being left us of entering into his rest, any one of us should ever seem to come 186 " REDEEMING THE TIME." short of it. Do all that we can to stand, and then fear lest we fall, and by the grace of God we are safe. As a time of earnest prayer. Without this, all else is in vain in vain our thankfulness, self-ex- amination, humility, -purposes, and fears, if unat- tended with God's blessing. To him, then, let us send up the heart-felt petition, " So teach us to number our days, that we apply our hearts unto wisdom." Standing between the unchanging past and the unknown future, let our language be, " Thanks, for mercies past, receive ; Pardon of our sins renew ; Teach us henceforth how to live, With eternity in view ! " Let us not so much pray to live long, as well ; not so much for the increase of our days, as of our graces ; for the extension of our time, as of our usefulness ; that we may live for the good of men, and the glory of God. Such be our prayer, and effort too, and we shall " redeem the time " to wise purposes, holy aims, and blessed ends. And whether another year finds us in time or eternity, it will be well with us forever. Our time will have been so redeemed that our eternity will be for ever blessed. T. E, THE VOICE OF THE OLD YEAR. 187 THE VOICE OF THE OLD YEAR. Methinks the departing year hath a voice for you also, little children, as well as others. As he pauses to bid farewell to earth and its inhabitants, I see him gaze with a sad but kind earnestness upon those rosy cheeked groups hastening to school; those happy young daughters prattling by the side of their mother ; those restless boys by their father's knee, with minds thirsting for knowledge and limbs eager for action. I see the Old Year turn his eye alike upon the studious circles seated on benches and the mirth-loving multitudes by way-side or fire- side, in fields and in gardens, and he speaks to each as if he called him by name. Like some venerable preacher about to go into a far country never to return, he gathers the little ones of the flock around him, and bids them remember his parting words. Hark ! like the sigh of the even- ing wind, like the murmur of the distant stream, I hear his solemn voice. The warm hearts and the light hearts of childhood beat quicker and grow thoughtful as he proceeds with his earnest ques- tions. " Children " says the departing year, " do you 188 THE VOICE OF THE OLD YEafl. know that there is a God, who &jade the heavens and the earth, and all things ; <*nd that tie is not only the greatest, but the wisest, the most lovely, and the host of all beings ? Do you know that he is everywhere present, that he sees not only your actions, but hears every whispered word, and knows your secret thoughts ? " You are now living, full of hope and joy, and surrounded with blessings. A short time ago you were not. It was God who culled you into being, and who graciously styles himself your Father. He made you to love and .serve him, and has com- manded you to remember him in the days of your youth. Have you listened when he spoke ? Have you come when he called ? Have you sought to become acquainted with him and to obtain his fa- vor ? Have you daily praised him for all his won- derful works, and rendered him hearty thanks for all his good gifts ? What have you done for the good of others ? Who has been made better by your exertions ? " Do you know that God is holy, and looks with displeasure upon sin ? And are you not sinful ? Do you not every day think and do many things amiss, and provoke the great God to be angry with you? And are you willing to endure his anger THE VOICE OF THE OLD YEAR. 189 for ever? Will you not come now and entreat him, for the sake of Christ his Son, who died for man, to pardon your offences ? Sweet it is to be at peace with God. Blessed is the man that re- pents of his evil ways, that forsakes his sin, and that, through faith in Christ, obtains mercy. ' Joy to the world, the Lord is come ! ' Through Christ the fountain of forgiveness, peace and eternal happiness, is kept unsealed, and for ever full and flowing, and little children, with even more tenderness than others, are invited to come and drink, and live for ever. " I -am now," continued the slow sad voice of the Old Year, " about to leave you. I have carried you one year farther along the path of life, one year nearer the end of your great journey. I have kept a faithful record of your lives from da/ to day and from hour to hour, in characters more durable than those that the steel cuts into brass or marble, and it is laid up in heaven to be produced when you stand before the judgment-seat. " You cannot live always. The time will come when you must die. Your bodies will be laid in the grave to moulder into dust, while your spirits will be called to appear before the throne on high, 190 THE VOICE OF THE OLD YEAR. where you will see the books opened and hear /om final sentence pronounced by the Son of God, the great Judge of all. Is that Judge your friend ? Will he throw his everlasting arms around you as a shield in that awful moment, if you reject his grace when it is freely offered ? " See to it, then, my readers, that the next year shall bear a better report to heaven, concern- ing you, than the past. Go and sit at the feet of Him who was meek and lowly in heart, until you imbibe the same heavenly temper. Go and hearken to the still small voice of the Holy Spirit whisper- ing in your hearts, and bidding you give the dew of your youth to God. Go -and yield to your parents and teachers, love and honor, submission and cheerful obedience. Go and forsake sin worship God hallow the Sabbath study the Scriptures visit the poor and the sick and with all your might labor to bring men from the broad road to ruin into the safe and narrow way of eternal life. Even a child may save a soul." The voice ceased, and the Old Year was no more. Like the rushing of the surge' over the sands that breaks and then dies slowly away, was the sound of his wings as he spread them for flight and then dropped into the silent bosjm of the past. THE VOICE OF THE OLD YEAR. 191 The little ones to "whom he had spoken, went on - their various ways with downcast eyes and slow steps, and methought I heard each one resolving in his heart r- This year I will live the life of a true Christian. There is a Grecian allegory from which we may derive an instructive lesson for January, or that point of time when the Old Year is dying and the New Year begins its course, bright and joyful, full of life and hope. And here we may remark that it is well to know something respecting the false religions of ancient nations, that we may see how far they were from true wisdom, and how great was the necessity of a divine revelation to lead men to the knowledge of the truth. Janus was the fabulous deity, from whom the month of January, the period when we enter upon a New Year, derives its name. He is always re- " presented with two faces looking in opposite direc- tions, one backward as if retracing the events of the past year, the other forward in thoughtful anti- cipation of the future. What an interesting sym- bol ! How full of instruction and beauty ! This is indeed but a pagan image, and Christianity among 192 THE VOICE OF THE OLD YEAR. its numerous blessings has freed us from the bond- age of believing in the wild fables and strange gods of the heathen. Who is it that can alone contemplate the past with minute accuracy and the future without shadow of error ? Who can look backward through a past eternity and forward through everlasting ages ? Not? " the gods many and lords many " of the heathen, but He only who, before time was, could say / am, and who will ever exist without change. Yet there is an excellent moral woven into this fable of Janus, and if the month of January, as often as it returns, would forcibly impress it upon our minds, it might come with rich blessings to us. It counsels us to pause in our career : to live over the past year in deep reflection, and with thought- ful solicitude gather up the rich seeds of truth and wisdom that have been dropped, in order to sow them and obtain a harvest for the coming year. The recollections of the past, the fond review of joys and sorrows, labors and dangers that are now no more, is indeed of use to us, only as it serves to influence our future conduct and guide us through the untried paths upon which we are entering. The past is the school of experience out of which we ought to be wiser and better each revolving THE VOICE OF THE OLD YEAR. 193 year. The power of retrospection was given ua that we might glean, from the backward view, warn- ings and admonitions to prevent us from falling again into past errors, and counsels to direct us in the pursuit of future good. The torches that were left burning along the wayside of the year that has been, ought to cast some gleams of light upon the darkness and uncertainty of the year that is to be. The poet speaks wisely when he tells us " To make each year a critic on the last." Would not every one's character be improved by such a course ? Is it wise to glide along through life in a careless, rash or random manner, without reflection or forethought, the victims of chance and circumstance ? No : let us take the hint suggest- ed by January, and begin the year with a fixed determination to improve upon the past, to be guided, not by contingencies, not by the example of others, but by a resolute purpose to act well our part, to seek truth and do that which is right. The fable of Janus with its beautiful and in- structive moral would lead thus far ; but if we turn to higher authority we shall find that the divine word attaches still greater importance to a review of the past. 13 194 THE VOICE OF THE OLD YEAR. Three times a year were the Jews commanded to hold solemn festivals in commemoration of former events. At the first they were to retrace all the circumstances connected with their deliverance from Egypt. At the second the glorious and aw- ful display of the mercy and power of God that accompanied the giving of the law. The third was devoted to a review of the history of their long abode in the desert. There is always some degree of sadness in the memory of the past, but these celebrations were of a joyful more than a melan- choly character ; and why ? Because they were not only to look backward, but forward, to rely with happy faith on the divine promise, and to re- joice hi the prospect of that day of universal joy, when the appointed ONE should appear, in whom all the nations of the earth were to be blessed. Moses, the great leader of the Jews, finding his end near at hand, assembled the people for the ex- press purpose of reviewing with them the history of the past, this being the best preparation for their future course. From this armory they Avere to be furnished with shields and spears for future con flict. The whole book of Deuteronomy is a divine- ly wrought monument, showing the value of retro- spection ; but yet connected with this summary of 'THE VOICE OF THE OLD YEAK. 195 the past are bright anticipations of the future, and frequent glimpses of those blessings which accord- ing to the covenant of Jehovah they would here- after inherit. Thus we see that both reason and the word of God call upon us at set times to look backward and forward with peculiar earnestness, and profit- ing by the experience of the past to begin our course anew. What era more proper for this than the beginning of a new year ? What guide, what chart for the way so safe, so sure as the oracles of God? Experience is said to be the mother of wisdom, but it is only when she leads us to this fountain of true wisdom that she can lay claim to that exalted character. " The fear of the Lord is the begin- ning of wisdom." " Wisdom is the principal thing." " She shall give to thine head an ornament of grace a crown of glory shall she deliver to thee." i\ M. c. 196 HOME A MOTHER'S DEATH. HOME A MOTHER'S DEATH. I see thee yet again, my home ! thou'rt there amidst thy vines, And >clear upon thy gleaming root the light of summer shines. MRS. HEMANS. Home ! What a magic power dwells in that little word ! Breathe it in the ear of decrepit old age, and in a moment the dim curtain of time rises the bright, unfading, sunny scenes of happy, innocent childhood are spread out before the men- tal vision in all their witching loveliness and per- fection ! The sluggish-moving current of life quick- ens its motion, and the whole being seems reno- vated with the spring-time of existence. Again is he in that dear childhood's home surrounded with the playmates of youth, and blest with the genial warmth of parental love and tenderness. Loving eyes are beaming on his path, and faithful hearts, in which there is no deception lurking, are giving words of counsel and advice. The same sweet music, which charmed his boyhood's hours, is floating around him, filling his innocent heart with love and gratitude to the Great Creator. There flows the murmuring streamlet, close beside his father's door where, beneath the wide-spread- HOME A MOTHER'S DEATH. 197 ing branches of his favorite shade-tree, so many blissful, carelese hours were spent. The shouts of joy, which rang out on the breezes of heaven, vi- brate on the ear the very stones, and trees, and paths are all unchanged. Yes, and even there, in that old poplar at the front door, sits the dear old Robin pouring out her cheering notes of " cheer up cheer up" in rich cadence on the listen- ing ear ! 0, home ! home ! childhood's home thou art hallowed by the deathless love of a dear, departed, angel-Mother! Oh, how precious is her every word and look, treasured in the store-house of memory ! With what deep, unwearied love did she watch over and guard her dependent house- hold in sickness and in health in joy and sorrow unmindful of self, ready ever to sacrifice case and enjoyment to contribute to the comfort and happiness of all around her. But she has gone gone, (but, blessed be God, not lost,) with a vast debt of love and gratitude uncancelled ! 0, that her beatified spirit could hover o'er this restless head, and whisper "forgiveness" for all my past ingratitude. Art thou not, freed spirit, ever near to bless and guard thy wandering, er- ring child? To strengthen her resolves to nerve her spirit to meet, unshrinkingly, the ills of life 198 HOME A MOTHER'S DEATH. and the terrors of death ! Joyful thought thou shalt be ever my comforter as I tread the rough paths of life ! Departed one, I'll yet hope to meet thee where there will be no more separation ! 0, blissful hope, and will that mother recognize and love us there ? Shall we be permitted to pronounce that name, so full of sweet music to the affection- ate heart Mother? Oh! "Tell us, thou bird of solemn strain ! Can those who have loved for- get ? We call and they answer not again. Do they love do they love us yet ? We call them far through the night, and they speak not from cave or hill. We know, thou bird ! that their land is bright. But say, do they LOVE there still?" Yes it must be so ! Love is of God. It must, then, be immortal ! A Mother's Love will survive the chilling blasts of death the wreck of worlds ! It is an emanation from the great foun- tain of infinite fulness a part of Deity ! It is that principle, which, in God's own appointed time, shall renovate and save a fallen, sinful world. It is that principle which is to. do its work, silently but perfectly, in the minds of mankind, until all become truly and spiritually holy. Christ shall sit as a refiner, until he beholds his own blessed image reflected in every soul which HOME A MOTHER'S DEATH. 199 God has spoken into being. " He shall see of the travail of his soul and be satisfied ! " His own soft hand shall wipe the tears " From every weeping eye, And pains, and groans, and griefs, and fears, And death itself shall die ! " Dear Mother " 'T is there we'll meet, at Jesus' feet, When we meet to part no more ! " There to spend an eternity in praising and adoring our Father and our God ! This world is beautiful, 'tis true But there's a brighter world than this Beyond that dome of wavy blue, A home of everlasting bliss ; That spirit land, whose canopy Is never sullied with a cloud ; Where, clad in spotless drapery, Saints are in adoration bow'd ; A myriad band of vestals raise Their voices in Jehovah's praise. u. 8. 0. 200 LOSSES. LOSSES. Upon the white sea-sand There sat a pilgrim -band, Tilling the losses that their lives had known, While evening waned away From breezy cliff and bay, And the strong tides went out with weary moan. One spake, with quivering lip, Of a fair freighted ship, With all his household to the deep gone down ; But one had a wilder woe For a fair face long ago Lost in the darker depths of a great town. There were who mourned their youth With a most loving truth, For its brave hopes and memories ever green ; ' And one ttpon the West Turned an eye that would not rest For far-off hills whereon its joy had been. Some talked of vanished gold, Some of proud honors told, Some spake of friends that were their trust no more ; And one of a green grave Beside a foreign wave That made him sit so lonely on the shore. But when their tales were done, There spake among them one, CHRISTMAS BRILLIANTS. 201 A stranger, seeming from all sorrow free " Sad losses have ye met, But mine is heavier yet, For a believing heart hath gone from me." " Alas ! " these pilgrims said, " For the living and the dead, For fortune's cruelty, for love's sure cross, For the wrecks of land and sea ! But, however it came to thee, Thine, stranger, is life's last and heaviestjoss." LONDON ATHENAEUM. CHRISTMAS BRILLIANTS. The night is cold, the Year is old. The pulse of time is beating slowly ; But Christmas cheer, to-night is near, And Christmas thoughts are high and holy j We weep no U'ars for dying years ; Be theirs of life the common story ; But give to truth, eternal youth, And crown its natal day with glory. The hearth is warm, though fierce with storm The bitter wind without be blowing ; For Christmas time's the tropic clime Of hearts with cheerful homage glowing; The winter grieves o'er withered leaves, And leafless branches sigh and quiver; But green shall be our CHRISTMAS TREE, And beautiful, in faith, forever. 202 HONOR AMONG BOYS. HONOR AMONG BOYS. If, as it is said, there is " honor among thieves," why should this noble quality be lacking in so many little boys ? " Boys will be boys," said one in reply to a re- mark of mine on this subject. This I know, and do not desire-to see " old heads upon young should- ers." What I want is to beg boys to be govern- ed by honor, and honesty, in their dealings with one another. " Why don't you lend your skates and sled to the other boys when you are not using them ? " I have asked, and been answered, " Because boys think nothing of breaking one another's things, and sometimes consider it smart, and then laugh at you for being so green as to lend them." " But don't they pay the damages ? " Now was my turn to be laughed at for the ab- surdity of my question. " Pay damages ! never ! " This grated harshly upon a mother's ears, and I'll tell you, why. Because in the first place I know how much a boy thinks of his first sled, first skates, and first pocket-knife. Many rich men who live in free-stone palaces in New- York will confess that HONOR AMONG BOYS. 203 they never had a greater prize than their first sled, with its bright paint and well-ironed runners, and that the possession of skates gave them many sleep- less hours of delight. Now when boys know so well how much they prize their own things, is it not very much like stealing, to carelessly injure another boy's property and make no effort to re- pair the loss ? " But how can a boy pay, when he has got no money ? " I hear one of my readers say, perhaps impatiently. He can go home and tell his father what he has done, and beg him to give him the means of re- pairing his loss. If his father sees fit to refuse his request, he can save his pennies till he has enough of money of his own ; or he can select from among his playthings something worth enough to pay for the harm he has done, even if he has to give away a very precious toy. If he is too poor for this and has a little Yankee contrivance, perhaps he can mend the injured article and make it as good as new. If this cannot be done, he can go to his playmate, and say he is very sorry for the acci- dent, and that he is not able to repay the damages, and then show his sorrow by improving the first chance to do his injured friend a favor. He will 204 HONOR AMONG BOYS. not have to wait long for an opportunity to show kindness which is better than money. This is as much a young boy's duty as it will be when he is a few years older, and accidentally in- jures a borrowed horse and carriage, to repay the owner for his loss. A boy who will break another's knife, lose his ball, drop his new book in the mud, or break his sled, and then laugh at his playmate's distress, or even refuse to pay him in some way for his loss, will be very likely to make a forger, defaulter, burglar, or perhaps something worse. A mean unfeeling boy is a sad, hopeless sight. Like a crooked, dwarfed young tree, nothing grand or noble can be made of it. Age will only make it more ugly and despised. It is too much the fashion among boys to scorn gentle, loving manners, or leave their sisters to learn such ways, while they try to be what they call men. A boy who wishes to be a true man, " the noblest work of God," must begin while he is young to be honest and honorable, and "do as he would be done by," for he will be the same person when he grows up that he is now, only stronger, larger, in mind and body, and better able to do good or evil. Let us by all means have " honor among boys." M. E. W. THE FIRST ROBIN. 205 THE FIRST ROBIN. I heard you, little robin, The first song I have heard, Since winter came upon us here, - From any little bird. I heard you, little robin, It was a pleasant sound, I watched your little russet coat, In all the garden round. You hopped all down the alleys, Then perching on a tree, You poured forth from your little throat A burst of melody. You chirped about and twittered, And then you flew away ; But you will come again, robin, When comes a pleasant day. Who kept you all the winter, When snow was everywhere, And shielded your poor little form From the chill frosty air ? Who fed you in the dim, dark woods, And sheltered yon from harm ? Who taught you to come forth, robin, Soon as the days were warm ? 206 THE ROBIN'S APPEAL. Who taught you such a cheerful song? Tell me, dear robin, do ; Next time you come to visit me, I'll listen unto you. C. E. R. P. THE ROBIN'S APPEAL. O kill me not ! Thou thoughtless boy, While singing here In all my joy ; 'Tis wicked thus To harm me now, Still let me hop From bough to bough. kill me not ! Life's dear to me As 'tis to you, So wild and free, Now poised in air, Then sailing low, How full of glee We only know. O kill us not ! In yonder tree My mate and I Have nurslings three; TRUE LOVE. t 207 You would not, sure, That these should die For want of food, Up there so high ! O let us live ! And day by day We'll utter thanks In our own way ; We'll surely come Quite near your door, And sweetest songs Sing o'er and o'er. J. M. H, TKUE LOVE. The butterfly gazed on the beautiful flower, And fanned it with her wing ; The rain came down in a gentle shower, And watered the pretty thing. The lady-bird flew from her downy home, To nestle on its breast ; The dew from heaven came glistening down, To find therein her rest. The humming-bee sped from her waxen cell, To increase her honeyed store ; And from the flower she loved so well, Drew sweetness more and more. 208 INFLUENCE. % When the sun went down, the meadow-fly With her little lamp came near To light the flower modestly, To shield her from all fear. O ye, who boast of sterling love ! O, ye, who fain would win it ! Go, seek the flower in the grave, And read the lesson in it. MARY WOODBIWB. INFLUENCE. Drop follows drop and swells With rain the sweeping river} Word follows word, and tells A truth that lives forever. Flake follows flake, like spirits Whose wings the winds dissever; Thought follows thought, and lights The realm of mind forever. Beam follows beam, to cheer The cloud the bolt would shiver j Throb follows throb, and fear Gives place to joy forever. The drop, the flake, the beam, Teach us a lesson ever ; The word, the thought, the dream, Impress the soul forever. WORTH OF A KISS. 209 WORTH OF A KISS. In the University of Upsalo, in Sweden, lived a young student a lovely youth with a great love for studies, but without means for pursuing them. He was poor, and without connections. Still, he studied, living in great poverty, but keep- ing a cheerful heart and trying not to look at the future, which looked so grimly at him. His good humor and good qualities made him beloved by his young comrades. Once he was standing with some of them in the great square of Upsalo, passing away an hour of leisure, when the attention of the young man became arrested by a very young and elegant lady, who at .the side of an elderly one, walked slowly over the place. It was the daughter of the Governor of Upland, living in the city, and the lady with her was the Governess. She was gene- rally known for her goodness and gentleness of character, and was looked upon with great admira- tion by the students. As the young men now 14 " 210 WORTH OF A KISS. stood gazing at her, as she passed on like a grace- ful vision, one of them exclaimed : " Well, it would be worth something to have a kiss from such a mouth ! " The poor student, the hero of our story, who was looking intently on that .pure and angelic face, exclaimed as if by inspiration, " Well, I think I could have it." " What ? " cried his companions in a chorus, are .you crazy ? Do you know her ? " etc. " Not at all," he answered, " but I think she would kiss me now, if I asked her. " What, in this place, before all our eyes." " In this place, before your eyes." "Freely?" " Freely." " Well, -if she will give you a kiss in that man- ner, I will give you a thousand dollars," exclaimed one of the party. " And I ! and I ! " cried three or four others, for it so happened that several rich young men were in the group, and bets ran high on so improb- able an event; and the challenge was made and received in less time than we take to relate it. Our hero (my authority tells not whether he was handsome or plain. I have my reasons for WORTH OF A KISS. 211 believing that he was rather plain, but singularly good looking at the same time) our hero imme- diately walked off to meet the young lady, and said : " (min froleen) my fortune is in your hand." She looked at him in astonishment, but arrested her steps. He proceeded to state his name and condition, his aspiration, and related simply and truly what had just passed between him and his companions. The young lady listened attentively, and when he ceased to speak, she said, blushing, but with great sweetness : " If by so little a thing so much good can be effected, it would be foolish in me to refuse your request," and she kissed the man, publicly, in the open square. Next day the student was sent for by the Gov- ernor. He wanted to see the man who had dared to ask a kiss of his daughter in that way, and whom she had consented to kiss, so. He received him with a severe and scrutinizing brow, but after an hour's conversation was so pleased with him, that he offered him to dine at his table during his studies in Upsalo. Our young friend now pursued his studies in a manner which soon mado- him regarded as the most promising scholar in the University. Three years 212 WORTH OP A KISS. were now passed after the day of the first kiss, when the young man was allowed to give a second one to the daughter of the Governor, as to his in- tended bride. He became, later, one of the greatest scholars in Sweden, as much respected for his learning as for his character. His works will endure forever among the works of science ; and from this happy union sprang a family well known in Sweden at the present day, and whose wealth of fortune and high position in society are regarded as small things, compared with its wealth of goodness and love. THE PHILOSOPHY OF RAIN. To understand the philosophy of this beautiful and often sublime phenomenon, so often witnessed since the creation of the world, and so essential to the very existence of plants and animals, a few facts derived from observation and a long train of experiments, must be remembered : 1. Were the atmosphere everywhere at all times of a uniform temperature, we should never have rain, or hail, or snow. The water absorbed by it THE PHILOSOPHY OF RAIN. 213 in evaporation from sea and earth's surface, would descend in an imperceptible vapor, or cease to be absorbed by the air when it was once fully satura- ted. 2. The absorbing power of the atmosphere, and consequently its capacity to retain humidity is pro- portionately greater in warm than cold air. 3. The air near the surface of the earth is warmer than it is in the region of the clouds. The higher we ascend from the earth the colder do we find the atmosphere. Hence the perpetual snow on very high mountains in the hottest climate. Now, when, from continued evaporation, the air is highly saturated with vapor, though it be invisi- ble and the sky cloudless, if its temperature is sud- denly reduced by cold currents descending from above, or rushing from a higher to a lower lati- tude, or by the motion of saturated air to a cooler latitude, its capacity to retain moisture is diminish- ed, clouds are formed, and the result is rain. Air condenses as it cools, and like a sponge filled with water and compressed, pours out the water which its diminished capacity cannot hold. How singular, yet how simple, the philosophy of rain ? What but Omniscience could have devised such an admirable arrangement for watering the earth ? 214 COME HOME, MY STRICKEN DAUGHTER. Come home, my stricken daughter ! A sire in kindness said Now thy beloved husband Is numbered with the dead. Come home and we will cheer thy heart With fond affection's rays ; Come, fill the place that was to thee So dear in other days. Here are the scenes thou lov'dst so well Here passed bright childhood's hours, The purling brook, the woody glen, Where blooms the same sweet flowers. Here are the friends that kindly watched Thy infancy and youth : Who sought to fill thy tender mind With virtue, love, and truth. I know thy heart will not repine, Though earthly joys are fled ; And each glad thought and hope of thine \Lies buried with the dead. Then come, my lonely widowed on,e ? Thy father welcomes thee : And while his heart with life shall beat, His home thy home shall be. ANNA A. ANDERSON. MY PHILOSOPHY. 215 MY PHILOSOPHY. Kind words can never die, Cherished and blest ; God knows how deep they lie Stored in the breast. Like childhood's simple rhymes Said o'er a thousand times, Aye, in all years and climes, Distant and near, Kind words can never die, Saith my philsophy ; Deep in the soul they lie, God knows how dear. Childhood can never die Wrecks of the past Float on the memory E'en to the last. Many a happy thing, Many a daisied spring, Flow, on Time's ceaseless wing, Far, far away ; Childhood can never die, Saith my philosophy ; Wrecks of our infancy Live on for aye. 216 ABSENCE. ABSENCE The hopes to which I fondest cling, Are those which from remembrance spring, That I once more may see that face, Where mem'ry loves the charms to trace, That I adore. The flow'ry paths of life to me, Are dull and cheerless without thee ; And if I chance to cull a flower, My lonely heart hath not the power To love it long. My happiest hours are spent alone, Since from my bosom thou hast gone 'Tis then I dwell upon the past, Which was too heavenly to last, Too bright for earth. The twilight hour is dear to me, 'Tis a sweet emblem, love, of thee ; The calm and quiet sky above, Then looks the image of thy love, That knew no change. In all things beautiful I see Some sweet resemblance, love, to thee ; The brilliant sun thy mind portrays, In shedding forth his cheering rays, To light and guide. THE IMPORTANCE OP PUNCTUALITY. 217 Thou wert my sun to guide by day, Each step I trod o'er life's dark way, How lonely, then, would be my lot, If tliou by me could'st be forgot, Or lightly loved ! THE IMPORTANCE OF PUNCTUALITY. " BEHIND TIME." A railroad train was rush- ing along at almost lightning speed. A curve was just ahead, beyond which was a station at which the cars usually passed each other. The conductor was late, so late that the period during which the down-train was to wait had nearly elapsed ; but he hoped yet to pass the curve safely. Suddenly a locomotive dashed into sight right ahead. In an instant there was a collision. A 'shriek, a shock, and fifty souls were in eternity ; and all because an engineer had been behind time. A great battle was being fought. Column after column had been precipitated for eight mortal hours on the enemy posted along the ridge of a hill. The summer sun was sinking to the West; reinforce- ments for the obstinate defenders were already in sight ; it was necessary to carry the position with 218 THE IMPORTANCE OF PUNCTUALITY. one final charge or everything would be lost. A powerful corps had been summoned from across the country, and if it came up in season all yet would be right. The great conqueror, confident in its arrival, formed his reserve into an attacking column, and led them down the hill. The whole world knows the result. Grouchy failed to appear ; the imperial guard was beaten back ; Waterloo was lost. Napoleon died a prisoner at St. Helena be- cause one of his marshals was behind time. A leading firm in commercial circles had long struggled against bankruptcy. As it had enor- mous assets in California, it expected remittances by a certain day, and, if the sums promised arrived, its credit, its honor, and its future prosperity would be preserved. But week after week elapsed with- out bringing the gold. At last came the fatal day on which the firm had bills maturing to enormous amounts. The steamer was telegraphed at day- break ; but it was found on inquiry that she brought no funds, and the house failed. The next arrival brought nearly half a million to the insolvents, but it was too late ; they were ruined, because their agent, in remitting, had been behind time. A condemned man was being led out for execu- tion. He had taken human life, but under circum- THE IMPORTANCE OF PUNCTUALITY. 219 stances of the greatest provocation, and public sym- pathy was active in his behalf. Thousands had signed petitions for a reprieve, a favorable answer had been expected the night before, and, though it had not come, even the sheriff felt confident that it would yet arrive in season. Thus the morning passed without the appearance of the messenger. The last moment was up. The prisoner took his place on the drop, the cap was drawn over his eyes, the bolt was drawn, and a lifeless body swung revolving in the wind. Just at that moment a horseman came into sight, galloping down hill, hia steed covered with foam. He carried a packet in his right hand, which he waved partially to the crowd. He was the express rider with the re- prieve. But he had come too late. A compara- tively innocent man had died an ignominious death because a watch had been five minutes too slow, making its bearer arrive behind time. It is continually so in life. The best laid plans, the most important affairs, the fortunes of individ- uals, the weal of nations, honor, happiness, life it- self are daily sacrificed because somebody is " be- hind time." There are men who always fail in whatever they undertake simply because they are " behind time." There are others who put off re- 220 THE IMPORTANCE OF PUNCTUALITY. formation year by year till death seizes them, and they perish unrepentant, because forever " behind time." The allies have lost nearly a year at Se- bastopol because they delayed a superfluous day after the battle of Alma, and came up too late for a coup de main just twenty-four hours " behind time." Five minutes in a crisis is worth years. It is but a little period, yet it has often saved a fortune or redeemed a people. If there is one virtue that should be cultivated more than another by him who would succeed in life it is punctuality ; if there is one error that should be avoided it is being behind time. ANGEL HOME. ANGEL HOME. Last night, mamma, I had a dream, So happy while I slept, That when at early morn I woke And found it false, I wept. Methought my sister played with me Beside a fountain clear, Where birds were singing in the trees, And flowers were blooming near. A robe of shining white she wore, And in her eye a smile, As pure and sweet as angels wear, Was beaming all the while. We wove of fragrant jasmine buds, A garland for her hair, And gazing in the fount she smiled, To see herself so fair. When down her cheeks bright tear-drops fell, Like dew on lilies white, Alas ! " she sighed, " how soon the flowers Must wither in our sight. But, brother dear, I know a land, It is my angel home, Where beauty never fades away ; My brother, will you come ?" 222 ANGEL HOME. She twined her soft arms round my neck, And whispered, sweet and low, " Come, brother, where the angels sing ; Say, Eddie, will you go ? " u O sister, let me first go home, And kiss our mother dear, And tell her not to weep for me, She'll be so lonely here ! " I hastened home to say good bye, And you awoke me then ! Say, mother, will the night come soon, That I may dream again ? , Night came again, and Eddie slept, But ere the morning's beam He culled the deathless flowers that bloom Beside the living stream. MY OWN HEART'S HOME. My own heart's home ! Like a wearied dove I come to thee, When the wild waste had no home for me, When the winds were fierce, and with tearful e I could but look upward and ask to die, Yearn wildly to die ! MY OWN HEART'S HOME. 223 My own heart's home ! I rest in the calm of thy holy shade, Hearing the world-strife, but am not afraid ; I smile when the turmoil grows hottest with strife, For thou art my shelter, what fear I in life ? In the turmoil of life ? My own heart's home ! Where the purest of angels are ever near, Where eden-like music is mine to hear. For Hope, Faith and love twine their arms about me, And bathe my glad spirit in whispers of thee, Sweet whispers of thee ! My own heart's home ! That casteth a shelter so strong 'round the weak, How vain are the praises my soul-love would speak, How faint are the whispers that answer to thine, How cold is their meaning when told in my rhyme, For thee in my rhyme ! Still fold me in love Close to thy heart, for my own would break, And never again to gladness awake, Should the home of my heart turn cold with scorn, And I wander forth to battle the storm, The world's tempest storm. My own heart's home ! ,Angels around it and faith within, It seemeth too good for me to rest in ; Yet since thou hast called me its rest to share, O ! let me forever, forever be there, Forever be there ' JENNY MARSH, 224 THE FIRST LIB. THE FIRST LIE. I remember it as yesterday. The roses flush by my side as if newly opened ; they hang from rude trellises trained over the low kitchen. How delicious the woodbine smells ! I scent it through the open gates of my childhood's memory. And that dear wee garden that my mother loved and tended ; and the old, wooden pump, with its neck- laces of green moss! A little winding path led to that pump, and by it, out into the orchard. I think that when a little girl my mind must have been poetically inclined, for I have stood many a time with swelling heart and clasped hands, gazing at the trees all a-blossom and likening them to so many things ; to drops of snow, to bits of fleecy clouds, to lambswool, white and soft to every- thing tender, pure and beautiful. One day in early spring, my father brought home some choice young fruit trees, and the hands set them in a rich black earth, so straight and so neat- ly, that they were a pleasure to gaze at. I was then a little thing, not yet four years old, and I remember his replying to all questions with that straightforward simplicity that he always used to wards children, and indeed towards everybody. TilE FIRST LIE. 225 He told me that in a year or two, there might be some beautiful red apples on those pretty trees, and asked me if I could wait with patience till then and if I had faith to believe that of which there was no sign. I had a vague idea then that the apples lay hidden in the trunk somewhere, and somebody had once told me that angels came down and put the fruit on, after the blossoms had gone but it was not hard to believe my father, for he always told the truth. Two springs passed, and at last there came a few blossoms on the little trees ; beauties they were, tinged with little pink edges, streaked Avith faint veins ; and some of them I could see plainly by standing on tiptoe, for the trees were very short. That year my Aunt Mary died, and I was sent for, to pass a few months with her lonely little girl. It made me sad to see her looking so sorrowful, and dressed in that sombre black ; but she was not very sorrowful more than a week or two, and by degrees we came to have fine romps ; and after the fun was exhausted, we sat in the housekeeper's room and listened to her garrulous tongue, as it ratiled off pleasant stories and mirth-provoking anecdotes. At last the fall months came, and in October I 15 226 THE FIRST LIE. was to return. Pleasant as my stay had been, I was wild with delight at the thought that I should soon meet my gentle mother, and my dear, dear father How I flew through the old house, after I had kissed everybody, and almost every thing even to the sober old cat, who gave an ungracious protest, and jumped angrily over my head ! The flowers had faded, but the autumn glories were in all their vivid coloring and beauty of apparel. The pump still bore its wreaths of moss, and its iron handle, standing almost upright, received a hearty shake at my hands. I passed into the old orchard. It was filled with fruit, and on one of the trans- planted trees hung one only one great rosy ap- ple, so tempting ! so luscious-looking, that from the first I felt a desire to possess it, and before I had given myself time to resist the evil, the apple was in my hand. ! how strangely I felt for a mo- ment ! I turned to go into the house and give it to my father, trusting that he would ask no ques- tions ; or if he did, my frankness might be my me- diator ; but the melting lusciousnexfi that seemed to permeate even the glossy rind, mcHed my resolu- tion, and I hurried breathlessly to a large tree at the end of the orchard, and, as guilt always strives to do, hid myself. Not a mouthful lid I enjoy ; it THE FIRST LIE. 227 was sweet, delicious, but in my wicked haste I choked it down, and had eaten to the core, when I heard my father's voice. A clap of thunder had not sounded more terrible than those mild tones, just then : I threw down the remnant of the apple, wiped my hands, and with cheeks that seemed bursting, went forward to my father. He looked at me keenly, and we passed into the house to meet a little friend who had called to see me after my long absence. I was so filled with the great misery of my sin, that I could hardly force myself to seem pleased with the visit ; and all that long afternoon my heart ached. " I am sorry, mother," said my father, " but the apple you wanted so much is gone." I cowered as I stood watching my mother pre- paring sweetmeats for my little friend and myself. My mother paused with a look of anxiety, as she said, " Who do you suppose has taken it ? It was there this morning." " I am afraid some of the children." " I didn't touch it," cried I, before he had finished. " No one has accused you, Marcia," said my father, after interchanging glances with my mother 228 THE FIRST LIE. " why are you ready to deny before the que&- tion is asked ? " I said nothing. In a little while my father took me into his work-room, to show me a little toy he had been making for me. My cheek still burned, and I kept choking back the tears ; I was suffering the first agony of a lie unconfessed. Suddenly my father took my hand, and drawing me towards him, held up the very apple-core I had thrown away. " I never touched it ; I never saw it ; I didn't throw it there ! " I cried in incoherent sentences ; then shrieking in my agony, I began to sob and cry piteously. "My daughter, you took the apple," said my father, in his calm, sweet voice and oh ! as I looked at him I saw tears in his eyes, and hia lips, those mild lips, trembled. That was terrible ! I could have borne his anger I longed for him to scold me, and call me a wicked, lying girl anything but that look that look that pitied me so. I stopped crying, but I thought in the silence that followed, my heart would burst ; my eyes were bent to the floor, and it seemed as if I could scarce- ly breathe. I felt his fingers under my chin, press- ing it to make me look up. I heard his voice, THE FIRST LIE. 229 now a little stonier, saying, " Lift your eyes up, my child " and I did lift them, heavily, to his sorrowful face. Then he talked with me about my dreadful sin till my. very soul was melted within me; till at last I cried out " Oh! forgive me, forgive me I took the apple ; I told a lie I am very wicked I shall never dare to pray again ! " " I am old now," said the sweet-faced lady who told this story, " I am old now, but the prayer that my father offered to heaven, that agonizing petition, mingled with the sobs of strong feeling, I seem to hear it as if it were a thing of yesterday. Days, weeks passed before I felt innocent again. Alas ! I have always, and shall carry to the judg- ment with me, the memory of that first lie. For months my cheeks tinged at my father's glance, and my heart felt faint when I thought of my sin. But never since then never once have I been tempted to falsehood. " The sting of remorse left a wound, thank God, that bleeds afresh at the thought of wrong. Oh ! I often think, if children who are thoughtlessly left to work out their own life-prob lems could have the benefit of a supervision like that of my gentle, praying father's to watch for evil, and apply the remedy, what a world full of 230 A GENTLE MAN. angels this would be ! Oh! parents what solemn, awful responsibilities fall to your lot, only eternity will reveal. Watch for the first sin and espe- cially let your tears, your prayers, bear witness to your horrors of that awful sin, when your resolute but erring boy your blue-eyed girl, stand weep- ing before you, burdened with the guilt of their "first lie." M. J. A GENTLE MAN. A man need not be a tyrant to show himself strong ; and yet such strange vagaries do some men possess that they fight down the tenderness that is inherent in their natures for fear they may be called weak. " Tied to mother's apron-string " is the first laughing sneer of the school-boy if he finds in his playmate a disposition to love his home. " Before I'd be governed by a girl ; " is the next taunting fling, as the headstrong child is curbed by an elder sister ; and if there are not the firmest hands and the holiest hearts, and the finest judg- ments around that child's hearthstone, he will grow up with a contempt for every feminine trait, and A GENTLE MAN. 231 in proving himself a man will display only brute strength, and stoical insensibility. Many such have married ; how they won their wives it is impossible to imagine ; how they could smile, or show any little attention that required delicate management we cannot even dream ; but they do sometimes, nay, often, find hearts to break, and ruthlessly they break them. " I can't bear to fuss over woman," said one of these bears, when he was queried why in some trifling thing he did not assist his wife. Did ho think it manly, refined, brave, thus to deport him- self towards one who had thrown her life, her hap- piness, her all into his keeping ? ! if he knew with what disgust all true men and women would henceforth look upon him, could his speech be branded upon his forehead, he would have shrunk in the shadow of his own baseness, nor ever opened his lips again. It is compatible to join with the nobility of man- hood the quiet grace, the gentle, low voice, and the winning tenderness of woman. Thrice beauti- ful is it to see the man step down from the pedes- tal whereon he has spoken " words that burn " where his thoughts have been clothed in the daz- zling garments of heaven-born genius where mul- 232 A GENTLE MAN. titudes have sat, delighted worshippers, thrice beau- tiful it is to see him change the lofty gesture, the oratorical manner, to the quiet, soft accents of ten- derness as he speaks to his wife, to his little child. Thrice beautiful to see him careful of their health, their interest, their comfort. Aye, if man would be truly, devotedly loved, and all but worshipped by woman, let him be womanly. It would detract nothing from his mental stature ; it would exalt him among the heroes of earth ; it would kindle for him an undying interest in the heart to which he has given life. And if he should die, his tomb would be a Mecca. Beautiful flowers would bloom there but not as fresh, as undying, as radiant in color- ing, as sweet in fragrance as those that would blos- som continually in the memory of the living tem- ples in which his unfading image shall never know decay. How many various ideas we have of a gentle- man ! Every person aims to become a gentleman, and there is no one but would regard it as an in- sult to be told he was not. Every one, therefore, is a gentleman in his own way. Some think dress is the only requisite ; some wealth, regardless of dress, mind or manners. Wealth is doubtless the great sine qua non of gentility in our day. A A GENTLE MAN. 233 perfect boor is transformed into a gentleman by its magic power ; his power admits him at once into the most refined (?) circles, and amongst the high- est classes. He appears with bold assurance where genius and true merit dare not come. But after all, is he the real gentleman ? The poor scholar who racks his brain to earn his bread the artist, whose struggling genius earns him a bare subsistence the teacher, whose miser- able pittance but just buys bread enough to satiate the clamorous appetites of half a dozen children, cannot, of course, be gentlemen ! They are the servants of the wealthy, and an insurmountable barrier keeps them away from the real gentlemen, and walls them up in their own little circle, their proper sphere ! We don't all think so, however thanks to American common sense ! There are some gentle- men in the world that money never made, and a few that wealth never exalted to such a dizzy height as to render them completely oblivious of the fact that they were yet frail human creatures, and lived in common brotherhood with the rest of mankind. Gentility is not in wealth ; it is not in dress, nor genius, nor any other attribute of man, unless it go hand in hand with a cheerful disposition, an ami- 234 A GENTLE MAN. able temper and a philanthropic will. There are real bona fide gentlemen in all classes of society, and he is the greatest gentleman who mingles with all, and remains untarnished. Real gentility is moral freedom; it respects no particular persons, as a class beyond their merits ; it does not exclude one man because he is poor ; but embracing all who ire worthy, it regards tfrem as kindred souls who should ever dwell harmoniously together. This constitutes a gentleman. WISER THAN THE EMPEROR. 235 WISER THAN THE EMPEROR. There was once a poor man, who dwelt in a hut, and gained his livelihood by begging alms. He had an only daughter, whom heaven had gifted with extraordinary wisdom, and who, little by little, taught her father to speak so wisely, that one day, when he had gone to ask alms of the Emperor, the latter was astonished at the wisdom with which he spoke, and demanded from whom he had acquired it. " From my daughter, noble Emperor ! " an- swered the poor man ; and the Emperor being very wise himself, and proud of his wisdom, resolved to put that of the poor man's daughter to trial ; so he gave the poor man thirty eggs, and said : " Take these to thy daughter, and bid her get them hatched into thirty pullets. If she refuses to obey, evil will befall her." The poor man burst into tears, for he saw that the eggs had all been boiled. But when he had reached home, and had told his daughter all that had passed, she bade him be cheerful and retire to rest, telling him that ho need fear no danger. She then took a pot of water, put a handful of beans 236 WISER THAN THE EMPEROR. into it, and placed it over the fire ; and on the morrow, when her father had risen, she gave him the boiled beans, and told him to take his spade and dig a trench in a certain field, by which the Emperor would pass as he went out hunting, ad- ding, u And as the Emperor passes by, take the beans and sow them in the trench, and cry aloud ' God be gracious, and grant that my boiled beans may spring up quickly ! ' and if the Emperor asks how it is possible for boiled beans to grow, re- ply that it is as easy as it is for a pullet to be hatch- ed from a boiled egg." " The poor man did as his daughter had in- structed him. He took his spade and dug a trench in a field by the side of the highway, and when he saw the Emperor coming, he began to sow his beans in the trench, and cry aloud : " God be gracious and grant that my boiled beans may spring up quickly ! " When the Emperor heard these words, he stop- ped, and asked how it was possible for boiled beans to grow. Whereupon the poor man answered : " Gracious Emperor, it is as easy as for a pullet to be hatched from a boiled egg." The Emperor divined whom it was that had ar- ranged this stratagem ; and in order still more to I WISER THAN THE EMPEROR. 237 try the maiden's wisdom, he gave the poor man a small pack of hemp, and said : " Take this to thy daughter, and bid .her make me from it as many sails and ropes as are neces- sary for a ship. If she refuses to obey, her head shall pay the forfeit." The poor man was sorely troubled at these words ; and, having received the pack of hemp, returned to his daughter, weeping all the way. But when he had told her all that had passed, she again comforted him, and bade him be cheerful, and re- tire to rest, and fear no danger ; and, on the mor- row, when he had risen, she gave him a little piece of wood, and said : " Take this to the Emperor ; and say that if he will cut me out of it a spinning-wheel, a loom, and a shuttle, then will I do that which he has com- manded." The poor man did the second time as his daugh- ter had instructed him ; and when he had deliver- ed her message, the Emperor was more than ever astonished at her wisdom. To put it to a new trial, he took a drinking glass, and said to the poor man : " Take this to thy daughter, and bid her empty the sea with it, and make its bed dry enough to 238 WISER THAN THE EMPEROR. grow corn. If she refuse to obey, both her head and thine own shall pay the forfeit." At this the poor man was more terrified than ever. But when he had returned home, and told his daughter what the Emperor had commanded, the maiden comforted him the third time and bade him be cheerful, and retire to rest and fear no danger. And on the morrow when he had arisen, she gave him a pound of tow, and said to him : " Take this to the Emperor, and say that if he will stop with it the mouths and the springs of all the rivers in the world, then will I do that which he has commanded." Again the poor man did according to his daugh- ter's counsel ; and when he had delivered her mes- sage, the Emperor acknowledged that she was wiser than he was himself, and commanded that she should at once be brought before him. When she had <;ome into his presence and had saluted him, he said to her : " My daughter, tell me what can be heard the farthest ? " and she answered, " Gracious Emperor, thunder and a lie." The Emperor then took his beard into his hand and demanded of his counsellors how much it was worth. When they had placed upon it a value, WISER THAN THE EMPEROR. 239 some a greater and some a less, the maiden said : " Most Gracious Emperor, none of thy counsellors have answered well. The beard of the Emperor is worth three showers of rain in a dry summer." These words delighted the Emperor, who de- clared that the maiden had answered better than all his counsellors. He then asked her if she wquld become his wife, saying that he would receive only one answer. The maiden prostrated herself before him, and replied : " Gracious Emperor, it is thine to command, and mine to obey what thou commandest. Let me ask of thee but one thing, namely, that thou shalt give me a writing, written with thine own hand, that if ever it should be thy pleasure to send me away, I may carry from thy castle whatever single thing I may love best." The Emperor gave her the writing that she asked, and then had her placed upon the throne beside him. For many summers the Empress was beloved of her husband ; but it came to pass in time that he ceased to cherish her. He then said to her one day : " I do not wish thee any longer to be my wife. Leave my castle and go wherever thou wilt." She answered, " Illustrious Emperor, I will obey 240 WISER THAN THE EMPEROR. thee. Grant me only that I may stay until to-mor- row." The Emperor granted what she asked, and in the evening she poured some of the juice of a certain herb into a cup of wine, and presented it to him, and said : " Drink, illustrious Emperor, and be happy! To-morrow I go away, and to- morrow I shall be more joyful than I was even on my marriage morn.*' The Emperor drank, and soon his eyelids be- came heavy, and he fell asleep ; and while he slept, the Empress had him lifted into a carriage which was in readiness, and therein conveyed to a distant grotto, which she long before had prepared in anti- cipation of such an emergency. When the Em- peror awoke, and found himself in the grotto, he angrily demanded how he had come thither. " I have had you brought here," replied the Empress. And he then asked very angrily, wherefore she had done this, adding : " Did I not say that thou shouldst no longer be my wife ? " The Empress took out of her bosom the writing which the Em- peror had given her before her marriage, and an- swered : " It is true, illustrious Emperor ; but this writing which was given with thine own hand accorded me the right to bring away with me, when I quitted WISER THAN THE EMPEKOK. 241 the castle, whatsoever I might love the best ; I ex- ercised my right, and brought thee, most gracious Emperor." When the Emperor heard these words, he vowed never to part from so faithful and wise a wife. So he embraced her, and returned with her to the castle ; and they two sat thereafter side by side upon the throne for many summers ; and when the last summer was past, Death reaped them both to- gether like a double ear of corn. There are two hearts whose movements thrill In unison so closely sweet, That, pulse to pulse, responsive still They both must heave or cease to beat. There are two souls whose equal flow In gentle streams so calmly run, That when they part they part ! ah, no ! They cannot part their souls are one ! BARTOW 16 242 THE TEST OF FRIENDSHIP. THE TEST OF FRIENDSHIP. Brightest shine the stars above When the night is darkest round us ; Those the friends we dearest love Who were near when sorrow bound us. When no clouds o'ercast our sky, When no evil doth attend us, Then will many gather nigh, Ever ready to befriend us. But when darkness shades our path, When misfortune hath its hour, When we lie beneath its wrath, Some will leave us to its power. Often have we seen at night, When the clouds have gathered o'er tu, One lone star send forth its light, Marking out the path before us. Like that star, some friendly eye Will beam on us in our sorrow ; And, though clouded be our sky, We know there'll be a better morrow. We know that all will not depart, That some will gather round to cheer us; Know we, in our inmost heart, Tried and faithful friends are near us. i LITTLE THINGS. 243 Brother, those who do not go, May he deemed friends forever; Love them, trust them, let them know Nothing can our friendship sever. LITTLE THINGS. Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the beauteous land. And the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity. So our little errors Lead the soul away From the paths of virtue, Oft in sin to stray. Little deeds of kindness, Little words of love, Make our earth an Eden, Like the heaven above. Little seeds of mercy, Sown by youthful hand% Grow to bless the nations Far in heathen lands. 244 TO THE BIRDS OP SPRING. TO THE BIRDS OF SPRING. Spring has come, We'll welcome home The birds among the flowers ; Here to-day, Till forced away, By winter's chilling bowers Teach your young The warbling song, Among the vales and mountains ; With delight, Live day and night, As rolls the murmuring fountains. Pass your time, From clime to clime, Till life's weary journey is o'er ; When I'm gone Whence none return, Then o'er my grave gently soar. Tributes fairy, And gently sing, When the morning sun is shining; Remember well Thy notes do swell Where beauty is reclining. HAPPY NEW YEAR. 245 HAPPY NEW YEAR. The old year has passed away. The record of its acts and events has been closed and sealed, and a new volume of the great book of life has been opened. Its fair white pages are now awaiting the record of another year. It is a time for reflection for repentance, even, and for new resolutions. There are few, we presume, except those who are giddily and thoughtlessly hurrying down the stream of life, who do not commence the new year with a fixed determination to perform some new or neg- lected duty to reform some bad habit to em- brace more faithfully the opportunities everywhere afforded for self-improvement, and to strive to be wiser and better than during the past year. There is a certain thoughtful solemnity about New Year's Day which is incident to no other day of the year. It has been commemorated as well in heathen as in Christian countries, almost from time immemorial, as a day of retrospection and good resolutions as a day for putting off the old man and putting on the new. On this day the Romans laid aside all old grudges and ill-humor, and took care not to speak one ominous or untoward word. The me- 246 HAPPY NEW YEAR. chanics began some work of their trade ; the men of letters did the same as to books, poems, etc. ; and the consuls, though chosen before, took the chair and entered upon their office on New Year's day. The Jews considered this day as the day on which God holds judgment, and also as the anni- versary of the day on which Adam was created. Looking back from this standpoint of time upon the year which has just closed, we cannot but rec- ognize the fact that it has Hbeen to us as a nation, one of great prosperity. While other nations have been involved in wars, or suffered from short crops and commercial revulsions, we have been at peace with all the world. The labors of the husbandman have prospered commerce and the arts have flour- ished and even the gloomy clouds which at the commencement oi the year hovered over the polit- ical horizon, have grown less dense. We have been favored as a nation, and can set down the year in the calendar of our national progress as a white year. To how many of us as individuals has the year which has just closed been a year of prosperity and happiness ? The record of many is undoubtedly bright with scenes of joy and prosperity : HAPPY NEW YEAR. 247 " But earthly hope, how bright soe'er, Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene, As false and fleeting as 'tis fair." The record of others is dark with unhappiness with destitution with bereavement with misery unutterable. Happiness may predominate in the case of most of us, but as the ivy twines around the oak, so do misery and misfortune encompass the happiness of man. Let those to whom the year has been a white year, be doubly thankful to a kind Providence ; for many of their fellows who entered upon the old year with as high hopes, and with prospects as bright and joyous, would gladly drink of a Lethean stream to bring oblivion for the deeds and events of the year which has closed. The sweetest of American poets, whose words of cheer and hope have carried comfort to many a troubled heart, in his " Psalm of Life," has advised us to " Let the dead past bury its dead." The advice is good, though we may well hed the further monition to " Trust no future, howe'er pleasant," but " Act act in the living present, Heart within and God o'erhead." 248 HAPPY NEW YEAR. The present is ours, but who can count upon the future ? Another New Year's day, and many of us will have passed from this limited stage of ex- istence. What an incentive is there in this reflec- tion, which must force itself upon the mind at this season, to right views of duty, and to the proper fulfilment of the obligations which we owe to our- selves, to our friends, to the community, and, above all, to the great Ruler of the universe. While we are planning and forming new resolutions for the future, may we all keep in mind the fact that the present is all that is really ours to improve. The pendulum of the clock, as it swings backward and forward, is constantly ticking out the minutes of our future, and as the bard of Avon has said : " What's past and what's to come, is strewed with husks, The formless ruin of oblivion." That the new year will be a happy one to our readers is our heartfelt wish. May prosperity at- tend their undertakings, and abundance bless their boards. When the record of the year is closed, may it have many delightful pages. May it be fragrant with good actions, and be gilded by the memory 'of many happy hours. THE END. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 THE LIBRARY m*.^ H REGI NAL LIBRARY FACII II Hill Illliliiii linn AA 000475244 PZ6 G?36h