E-text prepared by Internet Archive; University of Florida; and Christine
De Ryck and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team



Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
      file which includes the original illustrations.
      See 11595-h.htm or 11595-h.zip:
      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/5/9/11595/11595-h/11595-h.htm)
      or
      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/5/9/11595/11595-h.zip)

      Images of the original pages are available through the Florida
      Board of Education, Division of Colleges and Universities,
      PALMM Project, 2001. (Preservation and Access for American and
      British Children's Literature, 1850-1869.) See
      http://purl.fcla.edu/fcla/dl/UF00001797.jpg
      or
      http://purl.fcla.edu/fcla/dl/UF00001797.pdf
      
      Project Gutenberg has another version of this book with some
      differences in the stories and illustrations.
      See 11237.txt, 11237.zip, 11237-h.htm, and 11237-h.zip, found at
      http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/2/3/11237/





THE PEARL BOX

Containing One Hundred Beautiful Stories for Young People.

BY A PASTOR.

1851.






[Illustration]




PREFACE.


In preparing this volume of stories for young readers, the writer has
had in view their instruction, by presenting to them the duties of their
station in a familiar and instructive story. Each story contains a
moral, and teaches principles by which the youth should be governed in
their private, social and public relations in life. In the perusal of
these stories, we hope to accomplish our great object, of aiding young
persons to pursue the peaceful and pleasant path of duty--to render them
more useful in the world, and to grow wiser and happier in the path of
life.





THE DYING BOY.


A little boy, by the name of Bertie, was taken very ill, and for
sometime continued to grow weaker until he died. A few hours before his
death he revived up, and his first request was, to be bathed in the
river; but his mother persuaded him to be sponged only, as the river
water would be too cold for his weak frame. After his mother had sponged
him with water, he desired to be dressed; when his mother dressed him in
his green coat and white collar, and seated him at the table with all
his books and worldly treasures around him. As he sat there, one would
have thought that he was about to commence a course of study; and yet in
the marble paleness of his features, and in the listless and languid
eye, there was evidence that life in the boy was like an expiring taper,
flickering in the socket. He soon asked to go out in his little
carriage. His grandfather, whom he very much loved, placed him in it,
and carefully avoiding every stone, drew him to a spot commanding the
entire landscape. The tide was up, and the sun was shining on the deep
blue waters, and bathing the distant mountains and the green meadows in
liquid gold. The gardens and orchards around were gay in the rich
crimson blossoms of the apple tree; the air was filled with the sweet
fragrance of flowers, and the birds were singing beautifully, when
little Bertie looked for the last time on the scenes of earth. He could
not remain long, and was soon taken back to the little parlor, where he
sat on the sofa, resting his elbows on the table. It was not long before
the little boy died. But he was very happy. Among his last words were
these, addressed to his little sister three years old: "Well, Emmie,
very ill--me going to Jesus." "Oh, mamma, Emmie loves her Saviour."




THE BOY AND THE GOLD ROBIN.


A bright eyed boy was sleeping upon a bank of blossoming clover. The
cool breeze lifted the curls from his brow, and fanned with downy wings
his quiet slumbers, while he lay under the refreshing shade of a large
maple tree. The birds sang to him during his happy hours of sleep. By
and by he awoke, and a beautiful gold robin sat on the spray, and sung
a song of joy. The boy reached out his hands to secure the prize, but
the robin spread his golden wings and soared away. He looked after it
with a longing gaze, and when it disappeared from his sight, he wept
aloud. At this moment, a form of light approached, and took the hands of
the child and pointed upwards; and he saw the bird soaring in freedom
and the sun shining upon its burnished plumes. Then the shining one
said; "Do you love that beautiful bird?" In the midst of his tears the
child replied, "Oh, yes." "Then," said the angel, "shall it not wing its
flight from flower to flower and be happy, rather than to dwell in a
prison with thee?" Then the streams and flowering vales of Elysium, that
breathe the pure air of freedom, spake: "Wouldst thou bring her back to
thee, and make her a prisoner? Dry up thy tears, and let thy song be,
'Stay not here, but speed thy flight, O bright one, and snuff the
mellow air of freedom.' God made the birds to be happy in their short
existence, and ought we to deprive them of their own elements of
happiness, and take from them the freedom which they enjoy?"




THE WAY TO OVERCOME EVIL.


A little girl, by the name of Sarah Dean, was taught the precepts of the
Bible by her mother. One day she came to her mother very much delighted,
to show her some plums that a friend had given her. The mother said to
her: "Your friend was very kind, and has given you a great many." "Yes,"
replied Sarah, "she was, and she gave me more than these, but I have
given some away." The mother asked to whom she had given them; when the
child replied: "I gave them to a girl that pushes me off the path, and
makes faces at me." Upon being asked why she gave them to her, she
answered: "Because I thought that would make her know that I wished to
be kind to her, and perhaps she will not be unkind and rude to me
again." This was true. The rude girl was afterwards very good to Sarah,
and felt very sorry that she had treated her unkindly. How truly did the
little girl obey the command, "_overcome evil with good_."




HARRIET AND HER SQUIRREL.


It was on a Sabbath eve, when at a friend's house, we were all sitting
in the piazza, conversing about the efforts which were being made for
the poor heathen, and the number of Testaments which were being sent to
them.

"Father," said little Harriet, "do the little heathen children wish to
learn to read the New Testament?"

"O yes, my child, many of them do," said the father. "But have they all
got Testaments if they did know how to read?" "No, my love; few of them
have ever heard about the Testament, about God, or about Jesus Christ."
"Will half a dollar buy one?" said Harriet. "O yes, my child."

"Then," said Harriet, "may I sell anything I have, if I can get the
money?" Her father told her she might.

Now, every child has some favorite toy. Harriet's was a beautiful tame
_gray_ squirrel. It would eat from her hands, attend her in her rambles,
and sleep on her pillow. She called its name Jenny. It was taken sick,
and the little girl nursed it with care, but it at last died in her lap.

Little Harriet wept sadly about it, and her father tried to console
her, and told her not to feel so.

"Ah," said she, "you know, father, you told me that I might sell
anything I had to buy a Testament for the heathen children, and I was
going to sell my pretty squirrel to Mr. Smith, who said he would give me
half a dollar for it; but now my Jenny is dead." The Father then put a
silver dollar into Harriet's hand, and she dried her tears, rejoicing
that Jenny's death would be the means of his little daughter having two
or three Testaments instead of one.




THE REWARD.


A teacher in a Sabbath School promised to supply all the children in his
class with a catechism, who had none.

One of the little girls went home from the school after the books were
given out and said:--

"Mamma, if I had told a lie to-day, I would have got a catechism."

"I think that very strange, Eliza; for the Sabbath School is no place
for lies, and if you could be so wicked, I know your teacher would not
have rewarded you for it."

"Mother," said Eliza, "I tell nothing but the truth; and now I will
explain it.

"You know I went to school this morning with the other girls. They told
me on the way how their mother had bought each of them a new catechism
on last market day, and they said, if I once saw how pretty their books
were I would not look at my old one any more. Our teacher asked us all,
when we went in, if we had any catechisms, and those who said they had
not, received one from the teacher as a present. Jane, after all she
told me, by the way, denied that she had any, and Lizzy did the same.
But when he asked me, I told him I had one at home; but if I had said
no, I would have got a new one."

Her mother then told her that she should be rewarded for not telling a
lie by giving her a new book and a new Bible.




ANECDOTES.


A poor Arabian of the desert was one day asked, how he came to be
assured that there was a God.

"In the same way," he replied, "that I am enabled to tell by a print
impressed on the sand, whether it was a man or beast that passed that
way."

       *       *       *       *       *

THANKFULNESS.--Walking along Bishopgate street one morning, I saw two
men standing as if amazed at something that had happened.

"Pray, gentlemen," said I, "what is the matter?"

One of them informed me that a genteelly dressed man had hastily come up
to him, and tapping him on the shoulder, had said:

"Sir, did you ever thank God for your reason?"

"No," said I, "not particularly."

"Well," said he, "do it now, for I have lost mine;" when he marched off
with great speed.

       *       *       *       *       *

HONESTY.--An honest boy, whose sister was sick and the family in want,
found a wallet containing fifty dollars. The temptation was great to use
the money; but he resolved to find the owner. He did so; when the owner,
learning the circumstances of the family, gave the fifty dollars for
their comfort. He took the boy to live with him. That boy is a
prosperous merchant in Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BOY AND HIS MARBLES.--One Sunday a lady called to her little boy,
who was shooting marbles on the pavement, to come into the house.

"Don't you know you shouldn't be out there, my son? Go into the back
yard, if you want to play marbles; it is Sunday."

"Yes, mother; but aint it Sunday in the back yard?"




THE BOY AND THE DEW DROPS.


A little boy who had been out early in the morning playing on the lawn
before his father's house, while the dew drops lay on the grass, was
soon after seen returning to the spot, and finding them all gone, he sat
down to weep. His father asked him why he wept.

"Because," said he, "the beautiful dew drops are gone."

His father tried to soothe him, but he continued weeping. Just then a
cloud passed ever, and on the cloud the beautiful rainbow had cast its
arch.

"There, see, my son," said the father, "there are all your dew drops;
the sun has taken them up only to set them forth in greater brightness
in the sky."

    "O father, dear father, why pass they away,
    The dew drops that sparkled at dawning of day,
    That glittered like stars in the light of the moon;
    Oh, why are the dew drops dissolving so soon?
    Does the sun in his wrath chase their brightness away,
    As if nothing that's lovely might live for a day?
    The moonlight is faded, the flowers still remain,
    But the dew drops have shrunk to their petals again."

    "My child," said the father, "look up to the skies,
    Behold that bright rainbow, those beautiful dyes,
    There, there are the dew drops in glory reset,
    Mid the jewels of heaven, they are glittering yet.
    Oh, are we not taught by each beautiful ray
    To mourn not earth's fair things, though passing away;
    For though youth of its beauty and brightness be riven,
    All that withers on earth blooms more sweetly in heaven.
    Look up," said the father, "look up to the skies,
    Hope sits on the wings of those beautiful dyes."




LETTICE AND MYRA.

A SCENE IN LONDON.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Myra once more uttered a sigh and cried:

"'Oh, my feet are dreadful cold.'

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

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

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

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

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

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




LETTICE TAKING HOME THE WORK.


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

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

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

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

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




LETTICE AND CATHERINE,

OR THE UNEXPECTED MEETING.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




THE EXPLANATION.


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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration]




JONAS AND HIS HORSE.


A horse is a noble animal, and is made for the service of man. No one
who has tender feelings can bear to see the horse abused. It is wicked
for any one to do so. A horse has a good memory, and he will never
forget a kind master. Jonas Carter is one of those boys who likes to
take care of a horse. His father gave Jonas the whole care of an
excellent animal which he purchased for his own use. Every morning he
would go into the stable to feed and water him. As all the horses in
the neighborhood had names, Jonas gave one to his, and called him Major.
Every time he went into the stable to take care of him, Major would
whine and paw, as if his best friend was coming to see him. Jonas kept
him very clean and nice, so that he was always ready for use at any time
of day. At night he made up his bed of straw, and kept the stable warm
in winter and cool in summer. Major soon found that he was in the hands
of a kind master, and being well fed, and well cleansed, he would often
show how proud and nice he was, by playing with Jonas in the yard. His
young master would often let him loose in the yard, and when Jonas
started to go in, the horse, Major, would follow him to the door, and
when he turned him into the pasture, no one could so well catch him as
Jonas; for every time he took him from the pasture, Jonas would give
him some oats; so when he saw his master coming for him, he remembered
the oats, and would come directly to him. Some horses are very difficult
to bridle, but it was not so with Major. When Jonas came with the
bridle, Major would hold his head down, and take in his bitts, and
appear as docile as a lamb. He well knew that Jonas never drove him
hard, but always used him kindly. Jonas was not a selfish boy; he was
willing to let his friends ride a short distance; and in the picture,
you will see him talking with one of his young friends about his horse.

Now, children, you may be sure that a dumb animal will remember his kind
master; and if ever you own a horse, or drive one which belongs to
another, be sure and treat him kindly. And you will find this rule to
work well among yourselves. Be kind to each other, and to all whom you
meet with, and it will help you along the pleasant path of life, and
secure to you many friends.




EDWARD AND ELLEN.


Edward Ford owned a snug little cottage with a small farm situated about
a mile from the village. When he was married to Ellen G----, who was
said to be one of the best girls in the village, he took her to his nice
little home, where he had every thing around very pleasant and
comfortable. Ellen was very industrious and remarkable for her prudence
and neatness. She spun and churned, and tended her poultry, and would
often carry her butter and eggs herself to market, which greatly added
to their comfort. She had a beautiful-little girl, and they gave her
the name of Lily. Things glided smoothly on until Lily was sixteen.
Edward was very fond of the violin and of reading books that were not
very useful, and as he was very fond of music, he spent a great deal
more time in making music and playing the violin than what his wife
thought profitable. Ellen loved music, and was willing to have him read
profitable books, but all this while she thought he might be patching up
the fences and improving the shed for the better comfort of the cattle.
Still she would not complain, hoping all the time that he would see the
necessity of being a little more industrious. The winter came, and all
through its dreary months he was unable to work, as he was sick. And
although Ellen worked hard, yet her husband required so much of her
attention, that all her efforts availed not much to keep poverty out of
their cottage. When the spring came, Ellen's husband was able to be
about again, and she began to hope that Edward would be more
industrious, and they would be able by strict economy to repair the loss
occasioned by his winter's illness, which had put them so far
behindhand. Edward had become lazy or disheartened. Affairs about house
continued to grow worse; his farm was ill worked or neglected, and by
the fall, his horse and oxen had to go for necessary expenses. Ellen
still kept her cows, but it was now very little help she received from
her husband. He had been formerly one of the most temperate of men, but
now he spent his days from home; and here lay Ellen's deepest sorrow. He
was often at the village tavern, wasting in senseless riot the time,
health and means that God had given him for other purposes. Ellen felt
sad, and in the next story you will see a painful scene in the life of




LILY FORD.


It was now in the latter part of December--two days more and comes the
season of "Merry Christmas." Ellen thought of the dreary prospect before
her. As she was thinking over her condition, and how she should manage
affairs so as to make home comfortable, the door opened, and in came
Edward earlier than usual, a sober man. With a grateful heart Ellen sat
about preparing the supper, and made all the evening as pleasant as she
could for him.

The next morning earlier than usual Edward was preparing to go out. The
weather was bitter cold, and the wood pile was very low. She did not
like to ask Edward to split some wood the evening before, as she did
not wish to vex him. Of late he had harshly refused her simple requests.
She, however, ventured this morning to ask him to split a few logs, and
he replied:

"Why did you not ask me when you saw me doing nothing all last evening?
You must get along the best way you can until night. I have engaged to
work for Squire Davis, and I shall be late unless I go at once."

"To work! Have you?" said Ellen, in a pleased and grateful tone.

"Yes; so don't detain me. I am to have a dollar and a half a day as long
as I choose to work."

"How very fortunate!" said Ellen.

After he was gone, Ellen busied herself in making things comfortable for
the children. It was market day, and she must carry her heavy basket to
the village for the different families who depended upon her for their
supply of fresh butter and eggs. A year ago she had a neat little-wagon
and a good horse to drive. There was something in the mind of Ellen,
what it was she could not tell, a kind of sad presentiment of something,
as she was preparing to go to market. I shall tell you in the next story
what it was. You will see that Ellen was very kind to her husband, and
tried every way to make him happy.




THE MARKET DAY.


Mrs. Ford had three little children, Lily, Hetty, and a dear little
babe. As she was now going to market, she told Lily, her oldest
daughter, to take good care of the baby. Lily promised to do so. It was
a very cold day. For a time the children got along very well; but soon
the wood was all burned, not a stick or chip remained; as their father
had gone away in the morning without splitting any, so they were obliged
to do the best they could. The baby began to look as if it was cold, and
Lily said:

"Come, Hetty, we will go out and see if together we cannot roll in one
of those great logs."

Hetty was eleven years old. Lily put the baby in the cradle and then
went out with Hetty to roll in the log. They rolled it up to the step,
and got it part way into the door, but, alas! they could not get it
further. There it stuck in the doorway, and the door was wide open; the
wind and snow beat in from without, and the fire gradually settled away
in its embers.

Something must now be done. Hetty put on her cloak and hood and set out
for her mother; for she told them if anything happened to be sure and
come for her. Hetty soon found her mother at the village store, and
without stopping to warm herself, she said:

"O mother, come home, for little Eddy is sick, and Lily says it is the
croup, and that he is dying. The fire is all out, and the room is full
of snow, because the big log we tried to roll in stuck fast in the
doorway."

Hetty and her mother hastened home: and as they were crossing the
street, there was her husband just entering the tavern. She told him
about little Eddy, and he promised to go for a physician, and to come
home immediately; and by the time they had gone half way home, Edward,
her husband, joined them.

They hurried along, and as they came near the cottage there stood two of
the cows, and under the shed was the third, the old "spotted cow," which
Hetty thought was in the pond when she left home. To their surprise the
log was rolled away from the door, and as Mrs. Ford opened the door with
a trembling hand, fearing her baby was dead, there was a young man
sitting by a good fire, which he had made while Hetty was gone, with
little Eddy folded in his arms. The anxious mother bent over her baby as
he lay in the stranger's arms, and seeing his eyes closed, she
whispered:

"Is he dead?"

"He is not, he only sleeps," replied the stranger.

This young man came into the house in time to save the baby from the
cold chills of death. He was ever after a friend to the family--a means
of Edward's reformation, so that with some assistance the mortgage on
the farm was paid off, and the farm re-stocked. This stranger became the
husband of Lily, the eldest daughter.




THE TWO MAMMAS.

FOR HENRY AND EDWARD.


    'Tis strange to talk of two mammas!
      Well, come and sit by me,
    And I will try to tell you how
      So strange a thing can be.

    Years since you had a dear mamma,
      So gentle, good and mild,
    Her Father God looked down from heaven,
      And loved his humble child.

Thy first mamma died on board of the vessel which took her from Burmah.
At parting--

    ----She kissed her little boys
      With white and quivering lip;
    And while the tears were falling fast,
      They bore her to the ship.

    And Abby, Pwen, and Enna went--
      Oh! it was sad to be
    Thus parted--three upon the land,
      And three upon the sea.

Thy first mamma was buried on a distant rocky isle, where none but
strangers rest. The vessel passed on her voyage, and--

    At length they reached a distant shore,
      A beautiful bright land,
    And crowds of pitying strangers came,
      And took them by the hand.

    And Abby found a pleasant home,
      And Pwen and Enna too;
    But poor papa's sad thoughts turned back
      To Burmah and to you.

    He told me of his darling boys,
      Poor orphans far away,
    With no mamma to kiss their lips,
      Or teach them how to pray.

    And would I be their new mamma,
      And join the little band
    Of those who, for the Saviour's sake,
      Dwell in a heathen land?

    Much do I love my darling boys,
      And much do they love me;
    Our Heavenly Father sent me here,
      Your new mamma to be.

    And if I closely follow Him,
      And hold your little hands,
    I hope to lead you up to heaven,
      To join the angel bands.

    Then with papa and both mammas,
      And her who went before,
    And Christ, who loves you more than all,
      Ye'll dwell for ever more.

MRS. JUDSON.

[Illustration]




MELLY, ANNA AND SUSY.


There is nothing more pleasant than to see brothers and sisters, lovely
in their lives, and in all their plays kind and obliging to each other.
Mrs. Jones' three little children were always noted for their good
behavior by all the people in the village, and the school teacher said
they were the prettiest behaved children she ever saw, and this was
saying much in their praise, for her scholars were noted for very good
behavior and promptness in their recitations. Mrs. Jones kept her
children under a good discipline, but she always gave them time and
opportunities for their pleasant plays. She would not allow them to
associate with vicious children, because "evil communications corrupt
good manners," and she knew her children were as liable to fall into bad
habits as any others. There were a few vicious boys in the village where
she lived who always took delight in teasing and vexing the other
children, and sometimes these boys would try some method to break up the
children's play.

One afternoon, there being no school, Mrs. Jones gave her little
children permission to go into the lower back-room and spend awhile in
play. Away they jumped and skipped along down stairs to the play room,
with merry hearts and smiling faces. They had not been there a long
time before they heard a very singular noise, which they did not know
what to make of. But they soon forgot it, and continued playing with the
same cheerfulness; very soon again they heard the same noise, which
sounded like somebody's voice. The children began to be a little
frightened, and you will see them in the picture standing "stock still,"
while little Susy stretches her hand out to take hold of the post, and
is in the act of running away. Molly and Anna put their fingers to their
lips, and listened again to know what the noise could mean. Soon the
noise was repeated, and away they flew to their mother's arms in such a
tremor that she felt at the moment alarmed herself. They told their
mother what had happened, and all that night the children could not
sleep.

It was ascertained the next day that one of the bad boys crept along in
the back part of the yard where the children were playing, and by an
unnatural sound of his voice made the noise that so alarmed the three
little children. Susy, who was the youngest, did not forget it for
sometime; and all of them were afraid to go alone into the lower room
for many weeks.

This was very wrong in the bad boy; he might have injured the children
at play so they would never have recovered from it. I have known young
children to be so frightened as never to forget the impression all their
life-time. How much better for the boy to have been like these good
children, and joined with them in their pleasant pastimes. Never do any
thing that will give sorrow and pain to others, but live and act towards
each other while in youth, so as to enable you to review your life with
pleasure, and to meet with the approbation of your Heavenly Father.




ARTHUR AND HIS APPLE TREE.


One summer day little William was sitting in the garden chair beside his
mother, under the shade of a large cherry tree which stood on the grass
plot in front of the house. He was reading in a little book. After he
had been reading sometime, he looked up to his mother, and said:

"Mother, will you tell me what is the meaning of 'you must return good
for evil?'"

His mother replied: "I will tell you a story that will explain it.

"I knew a little boy," she said, "whose name was Arthur Scott; he lived
with his grandmamma, who loved him very much, and who wished that he
might grow up to be a good man. Little Arthur had a garden of his own,
and in it grew an apple tree, which was then very small, but to his
great joy had upon it two fine rosy-cheeked apples, the first ones it
had produced. Arthur wished to taste of them very much to know if they
were sweet or sour; but he was not a selfish boy, and he says to his
grandmother one morning:

"'I think I shall leave my apples on the tree till my birthday, then
papa and mamma and sister Fanny will come and see me, and we will eat
them together.'

"'A very good thought,' said his grandmother; 'and you shall gather them
yourself.'

"It seemed a long time for him to wait; but the birthday came at last,
and in the morning as soon as he was dressed he ran into his garden to
gather his apples; but lo! they were gone. A naughty boy who saw them
hanging on the tree, had climbed over the garden wall and stolen them.

"Arthur felt very sorry about losing his apples, and he began to cry,
but he soon wiped his eyes, and said to his grandmother:

"'It is hard to lose my nice apples, but it was much worse for that
naughty boy to commit so great a sin as to steal them. I am sure God
must be very angry with him; and I will go and kneel down and ask God to
forgive him.'

"So he went and prayed for the boy who had stolen his apples. Now,
William, do you not think that was returning good for evil?"

"O, yes," said William; "and I thank you, mother, for your pretty story.
I now understand what my new book means." Little Arthur grew to be a
man, and always bore a good name.

[Illustration]




THE MOTHERLESS BIRDS.


There were two men who were neighbors to each other, living in a distant
country where they had to labor hard for the support of their families.
One of them was greatly troubled to know who would take care of his
children if he should die. But the other man was not so troubled, and
was always very cheerful, saying to his neighbor: "Never distrust
Providence."

One day as the sorrowful man was laboring in the fields, sad and cast
down, he saw some little birds enter a bush, go out and then return
again. He went towards the bush, and saw two nests side by side, and in
both nests some little birds, newly hatched and still without feathers.
He saw the old birds go in a number of times, and they carried in their
bills food to give their little ones.

At one time, as one of the mothers returned with her beak full, a large
vulture seized her and carried her away; and the poor mother, struggling
vainly under its talons, uttered piercing cries. He thought the little
young birds must certainly die, as they had now no mother to take care
of them. He felt so bad about them that he did not sleep any that night.
The next day, on returning to the fields, he said to himself: "I will
see the little ones of this poor mother, some without doubt have already
perished."

He went up to the bush, and saw that the little ones in both nests were
all alive and well. He was very much surprised at this, and he hid
himself behind the bush to see what would happen. After a little time he
heard a crying of the birds, and soon the second mother came flying into
the bush with her beak full of food, and distributed it all among the
little birds in both nests. He now saw that the orphan birds were as
well provided for as when their own mother was living.

In the evening he related the whole story to his neighbor, and said to
him:

"I will never distress myself again about who will take care of my
children, if I should die before them."

His neighbor replied: "Let us always believe, hope, love, and pursue our
course in peace. If you die before me, I take care of your children,
and if I die before you, you will be a father to mine; and if we are
both taken away before our children are able to provide for themselves,
there is a Father in heaven."




STORY ABOUT A ROBBER.


I will tell you a true story about a robber. A gentleman was once
travelling through a very unfrequented road, alone in a chaise, in the
latter part of the day. There was no house nor a sign of a human being
there. It was a very lonely road. Presently at a sudden turn in the
road, directly towards his horse's head, a man came out of the woods.
The gentleman was convinced by his appearance that he came for no good
purpose. He immediately stopped his horse, and asked the stranger to
get in and ride. The man hesitated a moment, and then stepped into the
chaise. The gentleman commenced talking with him about the loneliness of
the road, and observed that it would be an admirable place for a robbery
if any one was so disposed. He proceeded to speak of robbery and
criminals, and how he thought they should be sought out and instructed,
and if possible reformed; and that we ought to try to convert and reform
them; and then he began to tell him what course he should take with a
man who should attempt to rob him. He told him that he should give him
all his money first, and then begin to talk kindly to him, and show the
evil consequences of his course of life. He then said:

"Yes, I would die on the spot rather than to injure a hair of his head."

They soon came to another road, when the man, who had silently listened
to all the gentleman had said, desired to get out, saying that his home
lay in that direction. The gentleman stopped his horse, and the man got
out, took his adviser by the hand, saying:

"I thank you, sir, for this ride and for all you have said to me; I
shall never forget any part of it. When I met you, it was my intention
to rob you. I could easily have done so, but your kind act and your kind
words put better thoughts into my heart. I think I never shall be guilty
of the crime you have saved me from committing this afternoon. I thank
God for having met you; you have made me a better man."




GOOD COMPANIONS.


One day, says a Persian poet, I saw a bunch of roses, and in the midst
of them grew a tuft of grass.

"How," I cried to the grass, "does a poor plant like you dare to be
found in the company of roses?"

And I ran to tear away the tuft, when the grass replied:

"Spare me! It is true, I am not a rose; but you will perceive from my
perfume that I have been among the roses."

This is a very pretty fable for young people. It makes us recollect one
of the proverbs of Solomon: "He that walketh with wise men shall be
wise; but a companion of fools shall be destroyed." Young people like to
have companions, and it is proper that they should have them. If we had
no one to associate with, we should be unhappy. We need friends that we
may confide in, and that we may tell them what we feel and what we
think. But we must take care as to the choice of friends; for just as
the grass in the fable imbibed the scent of the roses, so we become like
those with whom we associate.




BERTIE'S BOX.


A very little boy by the name of "Bertie," kept a box in which he
deposited his little treasures. After he died his mother took the key
and opened it. It was full of all sorts of things. There were specimens
of stones, and shells, and moss, and grass, and dried flowers. There
were, also, curious flies, found dead; but they were not destroyed by
him, as he would never sacrifice a short sunny existence for self
gratification. There were a number of books and small ornamental toys
which had been given him--a drawing slate with pencils, colored chalks,
a small box of colors, some little plates which he had colored in his
own untaught style--a commenced copy of the hymn, "I know that my
Redeemer liveth"--an unfinished letter to his grandpapa, and some torn
leaves which he had found with passages of scripture upon them--a copy
of the "lines on the death of an only son." Also a number of sketches of
missionary stations, chapels and schools, which he had cut out and
colored. His mother once asked him why he cut them out, saying, that
there might be some reading on the back of the pieces worth saving. "Oh
no, mamma," he replied, "I looked carefully at the backs first." In the
box was a purse containing three shillings.

Such were the treasures which this little lamb had left when he died.
And as you will be pleased to know what was done with the box of
treasures, I will tell you. "The thought struck me," says his mother,
"that after he was gone, I should not know what to do with Bertie's Box
of treasures; I therefore asked him what I should do with them." He
replied, "Oh, give half to God and half to the children, and be sure to
divide them fairly." The money in the box was devoted to the purchase of
the Bible--and a collecting box made in the form of a Bible; for, said
he, "when my friends come and give money to the children, then hold
Bertie's box for Bertie's share." This is a good example for all
children. Your little treasures may serve a good purpose when you die.




THE CHILD AND FLOWER.


    The Atheist in his garden stood,
      At twilight's pensive hour,
    His little daughter by his side,
      Was gazing on a flower.

    "Oh, pick that little blossom, Pa,"
      The little prattler said,
    "It is the fairest one that blooms
      Within that lowly bed."

    The father plucked the chosen flower,
      And gave it to his child;
    With parted lips and sparkling eye,
      She seized the gift and smiled.

    "O Pa--who made this pretty flower,
      This little violet blue;
    Who gave it such a fragrant smell,
      And such a lovely hue?"

    A change came o'er the father's brow,
      His eye grew strangely wild,
    New thoughts within him had been stirred
      By that sweet artless child.

    The truth flashed on the father's mind,
      The truth in all its power,
    "There is a God, my child," said he,
      "Who made that little flower."




ANNE CLEAVELAND.


Anne was the daughter of a wealthy farmer. She had a good New England
school education, and was well bred and well taught at home in the
virtues and manners that constitute domestic social life. Her father
died a year before her marriage. He left a will dividing his property
equally between his son and daughter, giving to the son the homestead
with all its accumulated riches, and to the daughter the largest share
of the personal property, amounting to 6 or 7000 dollars. This little
fortune became at Anne's marriage the property of her husband. It would
seem that the property of a woman received from her father should be
her's. But the laws of a barbarous age fix it otherwise.

Anne married John Warren, who was the youngest child, daintily bred by
his parents. He opened a dry goods store in a small town in the vicinity
of B----, where he invested Anne's property. He was a farmer, and did
not think of the qualifications necessary to a successful merchant. For
five or six years he went on tolerably, living _genteelly_ and
_recklessly_, expecting that every year's gain would make up the excess
of the past. When sixteen years of their married life had passed, they
were living in a single room in the crowded street of R----. Every penny
of the inheritance was gone--three children had died--three survived; a
girl of fifteen years, whom the mother was educating to be a
teacher--boy of twelve who was living at home, and Jessy, a pale,
delicate, little struggler for life, three years old.

Mrs. W---- was much changed in these sixteen years. Her round blooming
cheek was pale and sunken, her dark chestnut hair had become thin and
gray, her bright eyes, over-tasked by use and watching, were faded, and
her whole person shrunken. Yet she had gained a great victory. Yes, it
was a precious pearl. And you will wish to know what it was. It was a
gentle submission and resignation--a patience under all her afflictions.
But learn a lesson. Take care to whom you give your hand in marriage.




THE ORPHAN'S VOYAGE.


Two little orphan boys, whose parents died in a foreign land, were put
on board a vessel to be taken home to their relatives and friends. On a
bitter cold night, when the north-east winds sang through the shrouds of
the vessel, the little boys were crouched on deck behind a bale of
goods, to sleep for the night. The eldest boy wrapt around his younger
brother his little cloak, to shield him from the surf and sleet, and
then drew him close to his side and said to him, "the night will not be
long, and as the wind blows we shall the sooner reach our home and see
the peet fire glow." So he tried to cheer his little brother, and told
him to go to sleep and forget the cold night and think about the morning
that would come. They both soon sank to sleep on the cold deck, huddled
close to each other, and locked close in each other's arms. The steerage
passengers were all down below, snugly stowed away in their warm berths,
and forgot all about the cold wind and the frost. When the morning came
the land appeared, and the passengers began to pace the deck, and as the
vessel moved along they tried some well known spot to trace.

    Only the orphans do not stir,
      Of all this bustling train;
    They reached _their home_, this very night,
      They will not stir again!
    The winter's breath proved kind to them,
      And ended all their pain.

    But in their deep and freezing sleep,
      Clasped rigid to each other,
    In dreams they cried, "the bright morn breaks,
      Home! home! is here, my brother.
    The angel death, has been our friend,
      We come! dear father, mother!"




LOOK UP.


A little boy went to sea with his father to learn to be a sailor. One
day, his father said to him, "Come, my boy, you will never be a sailor
if you don't learn to climb."

The boy was very ambitious, and soon scrambled up to the top of the
rigging; but when he saw at what a height he was he began to be
frightened, and called out, "Oh, father, I shall fall, what shall I do?"

"Look up--look up, my son," said his father; "if you look down you will
be giddy; but if you keep looking up to the flag at the top of the mast
you will descend safely." The boy followed his father's advice, and soon
came down to the deck of the vessel in safety. You may learn from this
story, to look up to Jesus, as the highest example, and as the Saviour
of mankind.

[Illustration]




THE FLOWER THAT LOOKS UP.


"What beautiful things flowers are," said one of the party of little
girls who were arranging the flowers they had gathered in the pleasant
fields. "Which flower would you rather be like, Helen?"

"Just as if there would be any choice," said Laura. "I like the Rose. I
should like to be queen of flowers, or none." Laura was naturally very
proud.

For my part, observed Helen, I should like to resemble the
_Rhododendron_; when any one touches it, or shakes it roughly, it
scatters a shower of honey dew from its roseate cups, teaching us to
shower blessings upon our enemies. Oh, who does not wish to be as meek
as this flower? It is very difficult, I know, said Helen; but we are
taught to possess a meek and lowly spirit.

"It is difficult, I know," said Lucy, "if we trust to our own strength.
It is only when my father looks at me in his kind manner, that I have
any control of myself. What a pity it is that we cannot always remember
that the eye of our Heavenly Father is upon us." "I wish I could," said
Helen.

"Now, Clara, we are waiting for you," said Laura. Clara smiled; and
immediately chose the pale woodbine, or convolvulus, which so carelessly
winds in and out among the bushes--this is an emblem of loving
tenderness.

"Now what says Lucy?" exclaimed Helen.

"I think I can guess," said Clara; "either a violet, or a heart's ease.
Am I right?"

"Not quite," said Lucy, "although both the flowers you have mentioned,
are great favorites of mine. But I think I should like to resemble the
daisy, most, because it is always looking upward."

Certainly Lucy made a wise choice. What more do we require for
happiness, than to be able, let the cloud be ever so dark, to look
upward with trusting faith in God.

[Illustration]




THE WAYSIDE FLOWER.


    There's a moral, my child,
      In the wayside flower;
    There's an emblem of life
      In its short-lived hour.
    It smiles in the sunshine
      And weeps in the shower,
    And the footstep falls
      On the wayside flower.

    Now see, my dear child,
      In the wayside flower,
    The joys and the sorrows
      Of life's passing hour.
    The footsteps of Time
      Hasten on in its power;
    And soon we must fall
      Like the wayside flower.

    Yet know, my dear child,
      That the wayside flower
    Will revive in its season
      And bloom its brief hour;
    That again we shall blossom
      In beauty and power,
    Where the foot never falls
      On the wayside flower.

[Illustration]




THE FARMER.


    The Farmer ploughs and sows his seed,
      'Tis all that he can do;
    He cannot make the dry seed grow,
      Nor give it rain and dew.

    God sends the sunshine, dew and rain,
      And covers it with snow;
    Then let us thank Him for the gift,--
      To Him our bread we owe.

    Whene'er we view the waving grain,
      Or eat our daily food,
    Let grateful thoughts to God arise,
      Praise Him, for He is good.

    The youthful mind is like a field;
      Our teachers sow the seed;
    But when instruction's work is done,
      There's something more we need.

    Then let us pray that God may add
      His blessing to their toil;
    Then our young minds and hearts will prove
      A rich, productive soil.

[Illustration]




MAY-DAY.


    All hail the bright, the rosy morn,
      The first of blushing May,
    While fragrant flowers the fields adorn.
      And Nature smiles so gay.

    Oh, what a joyous festival
      To all the young and fair,
    Who love to rove through verdant fields
      And breathe the balmy air.

    With rosy checks, and laughing eyes,
      They hie to Nature's bowers,
    While birds trill forth their sweetest lay,
      To pluck the fairest flowers.

    Now some have strayed to sit beneath
      A grove of maples grey,
    To twine their flowers into a wreath,
      Or cull a sweet bouquet.

    While one small group is seated round
      A florid, mossy knoll,
    And laughing lisp that they have found
      The sweetest flowers of all.

    With bouquets sweet, and garlands gay,
      They homeward then repair,
    In haste to join without delay
      The pic-nic or the fair.

    For times are not as they were wont
      To be in years gone by,
    When on the rural village green
      They reared the May-pole high;

    While gathered round a merry group
      Of youths and maidens gay,
    To crown some rosy rustic maid
      The smiling Queen of May.




THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELD.

MATT. VI. 28.


    Behold the lilies of the field,
      In thousand colors drest;
    They toil not, neither do they spin,
      Yet God the flowers hath blest.

    Then toil not for the things of earth,
      But seek your God to please;
    For Solomon, in all his pride,
      Was not arrayed like these.

    Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass
      And flowers, that fade and die,
    Will he not much more care for you,
      And all your wants supply?

    Why will ye, O ye faithless ones,
      Distrust your Father's care?
    Are ye not better than the flowers?
      Will he not hear your prayer?

    Your Father knoweth what ye need;
      Fear not, but watch and pray;
    And let your light shine more and more
      Unto the perfect day.




MY EARLY DAYS.

(SEE FRONTISPIECE.)


My father's house was indeed a pleasant home; and father was the supreme
guide of his own household. He was gentle, but he could be firm and
resolute when the case demanded. Mother was the sunshine of our little
garden of love; her talents and energy gave her influence; and united to
a man like father, she was all that is lovable in the character of
woman.

But the dear old home, where I grew from infancy to boyhood, and from
boyhood to youth, I shall never forget. It was a large house on the
slope of a hill, just high enough to overlook several miles of our level
country, and smooth enough with its soft grassy carpet for us to roll
down from the summit to the foot of the hill. At the back of the house
was another hill, where we used to roll under the shade of the old elm,
and where Miles and I would sit whole afternoons and fly the kite, each
taking turns in holding the string. This was a happy place for us, and
especially in the spring time, when the happy looking cows grazed along
the pathway which winds around the elm to the stream where Kate and I
used to sail my little boat. All summer long this place was vocal with
the songs of birds, which built their nests in safety among the tall
trees of the grove in the rear of the farm. We had also the music of the
running brook, and the pleasant hum of my father's cotton mill, which
brought us in our daily bread. Haying time was always a happy season for
us boys. Father's two horses, "_Dick_" and "_Bony_" would take off the
farm as large a load of hay as any in the village.

Years past on, and we were a happy band of brothers and sisters. After
Kate, came the twins, Margaret and Herbert, and last of all came the
youngest darling, blue eyed Dora. We had a happy childhood. Our station
in the world was high enough to enable us to have all the harmless
pleasures and studies that were useful and actually necessary to boys
and girls of our station. Father always thought that it was better in
early youth not to force the boys to too hard study, and mother loved
best to see Kate and Margaret using the fingers in fabricating garments,
than in playing the harp. We were free, happy, roving children on
father's farm, unchained by the forms of fashionable life. We had no
costly dresses to spoil, and were permitted to play in the green fields
without a servant's eye, and to bathe in the clear shallow stream
without fear of drowning. As I have said before, these were happy days;
and when I think of them gone, I often express my regret that we did not
improve them more for the cultivation of the mind and the affections. In
the next story you will see that there were some passing clouds in our
early summer days.




MARGARET AND HERBERT.


In a large family there are often diversity of character and varieties
of mood and temper, which bring some clouds of sorrow. In our little
Eden of innocence there were storms now and then. Miles was a little
wild and headstrong from his babyhood, and Margaret, though very
beautiful, was often wilful and vain. For five years the twins had grown
up together the same in beauty and health. One day an accident befell
Herbert, and the dear child rose from his bed of sickness a pale and
crippled boy. His twin sister grew up tall and blooming. The twins loved
each other very much, and it was a pleasant sight to see how the
deformed boy was cherished and protected by his sister Margaret. She
would often leave us in the midst of our plays to go and sit by
Herbert, who could not share with us in them.

We had our yearly festivals, our cowslip gatherings, our blackberry
huntings, our hay makings, and all the delights so pleasant to country
children. Our five birthdays were each signalized by simple presents and
evening parties, in the garden or the house, as the season permitted.
Herbert and Margaret's birthdays came in the sunny time of May, when
there were double rejoicings to be made. They were always set up in
their chairs in the bower, decorated with flowers and crowned with
wreaths. I now think of Margaret smiling under her brilliant garland,
while poor Herbert looked up to her with his pale sweet face. I heard
him once say to her when we had all gone away to pluck flowers:

"How beautiful you are to-day, Margaret, with your rosy cheeks and
brown hair."

"But that does not make me any better or prettier than you, because I am
strong and you are not, or that my cheeks are red and yours are pale."

Miles was just carrying little Dora over the steeping stones at the
brook, when Herbert cried:

"O, if I could only run and leap like Miles; but I am very helpless."

To which Margaret replied: "Never mind, brother; I will love you and
take care of you all your life," and she said these words with a
sister's love, as she put her arms around the neck of her helpless
brother. She loved him the more, and aimed to please him by reading
books to him which were his delight. This was a pleasant sight, and the
brothers always admired Margaret for her attention to their helpless
brother.




THE BIT OF GARDEN.


Young children like to have a small piece of land for a garden which
they can call their own. And it is very pleasant to dig the ground, sow
the seed, and watch the little green plants which peep out of the earth,
and to see the beautiful buds and fresh blossoms.

Every boy and girl has a bit of garden, and we are told in the good book
to take good care of it, and see that the weeds of vice do not spread
over it, and to be sure and have it covered over with plants of
goodness. This garden is the HEART. Such things as anger, sloth, lying
and cheating, are noxious weeds. But if you are active and industrious,
and keep cultivating this little garden, and keep out all the bad weeds,
God will help you to make a good garden, full of pleasant plants, and
flowers of virtue. I have seen some gardens which look very bad,
covered with briars and weeds, the grass growing in the paths, and the
knotty weeds choking the few puny flowers that are drooping and dying
out. Every thing seems to say--"How idle the owner of this garden is."
But I have seen other gardens where there were scarcely any weeds. The
walks look tidy, the flowers in blossom, the trees are laden with fruit,
and every thing says, "How busy the owner is." Happy are you, dear
children, if you are working earnestly in the garden of your hearts.
Your garden will be clean, pleasant, and fruitful--a credit and comfort
to you all your days.




REMEMBER THE CAKE.


I will tell you an anecdote about Mrs. Hannah More, when she was eighty
years old. A widow and her little son paid a visit to Mrs. More, at
Barley Wood. When they were about to leave, Mrs. M. stooped to kiss the
little boy, not as a mere compliment, as old maidens usually kiss
children, but she took his smiling face between her two hands, and
looked upon it a moment as a mother would, then kissed it fondly more
than once. "Now when you are a man, my child, will you remember me?" The
little boy had just been eating some cake which she gave him, and he,
instead of giving her any answer, glanced his eyes on the remnants of
the cake which lay on the table. "Well," said Mrs. M., "you will
remember the cake at Barley Wood, wont you?" "Yes," said the boy, "It
was nice cake, and you are _so kind_ that I will remember both." "That
is right," she replied, "I like to have the young remember me for _being
kind_--then you will remember old Mrs. Hannah More?"

"Always, ma'am, I'll try to remember you always." "What a good child,"
said she, after his mother was gone, "and of good stock; that child will
be true as steel. It was so much more natural that the child should
remember the cake than an old woman, that I love his sincerity." She
died on the 7th of Sept., 1833, aged eighty-eight. She was buried in
Wrighton churchyard, beneath an old tree which is still flourishing.




BENNY'S FIRST DRAWING.


You have perhaps heard of Benjamin West, the celebrated artist. I will
tell you about his first effort in drawing.

One of his sisters, who had been married some time, came with her babe
to spend a few days at her father's. When the child was asleep in the
cradle, Mrs. West invited her daughter to gather flowers in the garden,
and told Benjamin to take care of the little child while they were gone;
and gave him a fan to flap away the flies from his little charge. After
some time the child appeared to smile in its sleep, and it attracted
young Benny's attention. He was so pleased with the smiling, sleeping,
babe that he thought he would see what he could do at drawing a portrait
of it. He was only in his seventh year; he got some paper, pens, and
some red and black ink, and commenced his work, and soon drew the
picture of the babe.

Hearing his mother and sister coming in from the garden, he hid his
picture; but his mother seeing he was confused, asked him what he was
about, and requested him to show her the paper. He obeyed, and entreated
her not to be angry. Mrs. West, after looking some time, with much
pleasure, said to her daughter, "I declare, he has made a likeness of
_little Sally_," and kissed him with evident satisfaction. This gave him
much encouragement, and he would often draw pictures of flowers which
she held in her hand. Here the instinct of his great genius was first
awakened. This circumstance occurred in the midst of a Pennsylvania
forest, a hundred and four years ago. At the age of eighteen he was
fairly established in the city of Philadelphia as an artist.

[Illustration]




THE GREY OLD COTTAGE.


In the valley between "Longbrigg" and "Highclose," in the fertile little
dale on the left, stands an old cottage, which is truly "a nest in a
green place." The sun shines on the diamond paned windows all through
the long afternoons of a summer's day. It is very large and roomy.
Around it is a trim little garden with pleasant flower borders under the
low windows. From the cottage is a bright lookout into a distant scene
of much variety.

Some years ago it was more desolate, as it was so isolated from the
world. Now the children's voices blend with the song of the wood birds,
and they have a garden there of dandelions, daisies, and flowers. The
roof and walls are now covered with stone crop and moss, and traveller's
joy, which gives it a variety of color. The currant bushes are pruned,
and the long rose branches are trimmed, and present a blooming
appearance. This house, with forty acres of land, some rocky and
sterile, and some rich meadow and peat, formed the possessions of the
Prestons in Westmoreland. For two hundred years this land had been
theirs. Mr. Preston and his wife were industrious and respectable
people. They had two children, Martha and John. The sister was eight
years older than her brother and acted a motherly part towards him. As
her mother had to go to market, to see to the cows and dairy, and to
look after the sheep on the fell, Martha took most of the care of little
Johnny.

It is said that a very active mother does not _always_ make a very
active daughter, and that is because she does things herself, and has
but little patience with the awkward and slow efforts of a learner. Mrs.
Preston said that Martha was too long in going to market with the
butter, and she made the bread too thick, and did not press all the
water out of the butter, and she folded up the fleeces the wrong way,
and therefore she did all herself. Hence Martha was left to take the
whole care of Johnny, and to roam about in the woods. When she was
about fifteen her mother died, so that Martha was left her mother's
place in the house, which she filled beyond the expectation of all the
neighbors. Her father died when Johnny was sixteen, and his last advice
to his daughter was, to take care of her brother, to look after his
worldly affairs, and above all to bear his soul in prayer to heaven,
where he hoped to meet the household once more. The share of her
father's property when he died, was eighty pounds. Here Martha spent her
days, frugal, industrious and benevolent. And it is said, there will not
be a grave in Grasmere churchyard, more decked with flowers, more
visited with respect, regret, and tears, and faithful trust, than that
of Martha Preston when she dies. In the next story you will be
interested in what happened at the Grey Cottage.




THE BOY FOUND IN THE SNOW.


One winter's night when the evening had shut in very early, owing to the
black snow clouds that hung close around the horizon, Martha sat looking
into the fire. Her old sheep dog, Fly, lay at her feet. The cows were
foddered for the night, and the sheep were penned up in the yard. Fly
was a faithful dog, and for some reason, this evening, he was very
restless. Why he pricked up his ears, and went snuffing to the door, and
pacing about the room, was more than Martha could tell.

"Lie down, Fly,--good dog--lie down," she said; but Fly would not mind
her, which was an unusual thing. She was certain something was the
matter, and she felt she must go up to the fell; and with the foresight
common to the Dale's people, who knew what mountain storms are, she took
under her cloak a small vial of gin, which was kept in case of any
accident, and set out with the dog Fly. The snow fell fast, the wind
blew, and the drifts lay thick. She had great confidence in Fly, that if
any thing was the matter he would find it out. He ran straight up the
little steep path which led through the woods. On she followed, her
cloak white with snow, until she came into the more open ground, where
she lost sight of Fly, and for a time stood bewildered, until he should
return and guide her. The birds and beasts had gone to rest, and the
stillness of the moors was awful. It was night, and dark. Suddenly she
heard a child's feeble voice, and in an instant she pressed on towards
the spot from which the sound came; soon she heard Fly's loud howl for
aid. At last she reached the spot, and found a little boy half asleep, a
kind of drowsiness which precedes death. He could not speak; he could
only moan. She moistened his lips with the gin, and poured a little down
his throat. She then raised him up and carried him a short distance down
the hill; then she stopped to rest awhile; and then she got as far as
the woods, where the winds were not so cold. Again she gave him a few
drops from her vial, and now he was able to walk a few steps; then
Martha put up a fervent prayer to God for assistance, as she dragged the
lost boy to her cottage. She now laid him down to the warm fire, while
Fly snuffed around him in great joy. She took off his wet clothes, and
wrapped him in her woollen cloak. He soon recovered and was able to tell
his story.

His father had sent him up to the fells for a sheep that was missing.
The dog left him, and night and snow came on, and he got lost on the
fells. The family had lately come to live near Rydal, and the lad did
not know all the landmarks. Martha took the best of care of the boy till
the morning, when his mother came, with a grateful heart towards God for
the means which had guided Martha to her lost boy.




THE BROTHER AND SISTER.

(_In three Stories._)




THE PARTING SCENE.


In one of our western cities was a poor woman, in the garret of a lonely
house, who was very sick, and near dying. She had two children, a
brother and sister, who knelt beside her bed to catch her dying words.
"Annie, my daughter," said the mother, "soon, and your young brother
will have no earthly friend but you; will you, my daughter, be to him a
faithful sister?"

"Yes, mother, _I will_" said the daughter, as she wiped away her tears.

And then she laid her hand upon the head of her son, and said, "Be a
good boy, Willy, and mind your sister; she is but three years older than
yourself, but as far as her knowledge goes, she will be a guide for you;
and she and you have a Father in Heaven who will never leave you. Will
you promise to do as she wishes?"

Willy raised his eyes to his mother, and bowed his head in token of
assent, and then burst into tears. The mother was a Christian, and
putting her arm around the neck of Willy, and with the other hand
clasping her daughter, she calmly said to them, "Weep not, dear
children, you will find friends; God is the father of the fatherless.
Keep in mind that his eye is upon you; be honest and virtuous, faithful
and believing, and all things will work together for your good."

The dying mother could say no more; her breath grew short, and
stretching out her arms, she cried, "My dear children, I must leave you:
let me kiss you--God bless and keep--"

Her arms fell from around them, the words died away on her lips, and her
weary soul departed.

After the funeral of this mother, the moon shone brightly into the
desolate chamber, and revealed a beautiful scene, that of a sister's
love.

Anna sat near the window, and little Willy lay his weary head in her
lap. They were now without father or mother. Sleep had stolen upon the
weary eyes of Willy. Anna smoothed back the dark hair which hung over
his brow, then carefully raised his slender frame in her arms and laid
him upon his bed. Then seating herself beside him she thought of her
mother's last request to take care of Willy.

"Yes," she exclaimed, "I must begin to-morrow. I will go out and try to
get some work, for poor Willy must remain at school. Dear boy," she
exclaimed, "I will never see him suffer." You will, in the next story,
find




ANNA SEEKING EMPLOYMENT.


It was a wearisome day to poor Anna, as she walked from square to
square, calling at the houses for employment. Some received her kindly,
and patronised her themselves, and promised to interest their friends
in her behalf, while others, alleging that she could not earn as much as
a woman, endeavored to beat her down a few shillings in her price. But
among all, Anna found means of subsistence for many months. But soon her
constitution began to grow weak, and her friends thought it best for
Willy to give up his school awhile, and to obtain some place as errand
boy, and for Anna to pursue a more active life.

Soon Anna found herself in a new home, doing the work of a family which
devolved on her. She kept a diary, and she would often go away in her
own little room, and scribble a few lines in her book. Here is an
extract from her writings:--

"To-day I am very tired, and yet but very little has been accomplished.
I know I could do well enough if I was allowed to regulate my work, or
if there was only order in the arrangement. There is certainly a great
want of system in this family; I am never allowed to finish one piece of
work before I am called off to another, and then blamed because I did
not do the first in time.

"One wants me to put the dough in the pans, and before I get my hands
clean, another calls me to go and get some wood; another tells me to go
to the store for some thread; another cries out, Anna! Anna! and away I
am sent to the third story after a book. Do they think a girl like me is
never tired? Ah, me! I must seek another place. I love little children,
and I think I should do for a child's nurse; I will advertise."

And she did advertise, and it was not long before she was answered by a
request to call at Number 4, Elm street, at three o'clock on Wednesday.
In the next story we shall find




ANNA WITH A PLEASANT HOME.


Anna, having obtained leave of her mistress, soon found herself at the
door of Mrs. West. The servant girl came to the door, and Anna followed
her into the sitting-room, where every thing was nicely arranged. Soon a
gentle looking lady came into the room, with a babe in her arms, and
asked her, in a pleasant voice, "if she was the girl who advertised? You
look hardly strong enough to handle such a boy as this," said she, as
she placed on her lap a plump, black-eyed little fellow of eight months
old. "Let me see if you can lift him easily."

Anna gave the little fellow a hug and a kiss, and then playfully tossed
him up a few times, but he was so heavy that she soon placed him on her
knee, saying, "I am not used to holding children, but think I shall soon
get accustomed to it." The lady agreed to have Anna come and enter upon
her duties the next week.

Weeks rolled away, and Anna's face looked joyous, for peace was in her
heart. She loved her mistress because she was so thoughtful and would
not even let her carry the babe half so much as she wished, but would
tell her to amuse him on the floor. Mrs. West would often bring her work
and sit with Anna in the nursery, and talk with her about her mother and
Willy. Oh, how Anna loved Mrs. West!

Willy was now learning a trade with an honest carpenter, who gave him
permission to visit his sister once a week, and many happy hours did
they pass together in the nursery with the little pet Charley.

As the summer months came on, Mrs. West prepared to visit her mother,
who lived a few miles in the country. Anna went with her. Charley was
now old enough to go into the woods and run about, while Anna gathered
flowers, chased butterflies, and amused him with infant stories. Little
Charley would often fall asleep to the sweet tones of Anna's voice, and
then she would take him up and bear him to the house.

Three years passed away, and Charley needed no other nurse than his
mother, and Anna's heart ached at the thought of leaving Mrs. West and
little Charley. She had been so happy there that she dreaded to go out
among strangers to look for a new place.

Mrs. West made arrangements for Anna to live with her parents, who in a
short time made her their adopted child. It was a beautiful country
home, and she became as a dear child to Mr. and Mrs. Warren.




THE GLOW WORM.


On a summer's evening, about half an hour after bed time, as three
little brothers lay talking together they heard a gentle footstep on the
stairs. It was their sister Lucy. "Are you asleep," she asked.

"No, we are not asleep," cried the boys.

"I have brought something to show you," said Lucy, and going into the
darkest corner of the room, she opened her hand and the boys saw
something sparkle like a diamond or a star.

"What is it," cried little Frank, jumping out of bed and running to
look. Lucy held out her hand, but told him not to touch it.

"Oh, it moves! It moves!" said he. "It must be something alive."

"Ah!" said John, "it is a glow worm. I saw one last summer on a bank in
Sand Lee."

"Take care," said Frank, "that it does not burn the counterpane." The
two elder brothers laughed; but Lucy reminded them that they would most
likely have fallen into the same mistake, if they had not been taught
that the glow worm's light, though it shines so brightly, does not burn.
To convince Frank she told him to hold out his hand. The little boy felt
afraid, but as he knew that Lucy never deceived him, he put out his
hand, and soon, to his great delight, the harmless glow worm lay in his
hand. Lucy promised to tell him something about the glow worm another
time. Frank went back to his bed, and Lucy bid her brothers good night,
promising to put the prize under a glass on the lawn.

So night after night, for weeks, the three boys saw the twinkling light
of the glow worm on the dewy grass. One evening they began to quarrel
about it, and none but little Frank was willing to give up his claim to
it. It grieved him to hear his brothers quarrelling and saying unkind
words to each other; and he also thought that the poor glow worm ought
not to be kept a prisoner under the glass, instead of flying over the
green turf or the mossy bank. But when he tried to bring John and Robert
to the same opinion, they would not hear to him. So Lucy, who was a kind
sister, when she found that the pleasure she had procured for them was
the occasion of their naughty conduct, sat down by the window and told
them to remember that God, who made the glow worm and caused its light
to shine, could see them in their chamber, and hear every sinful word.
John and Robert felt the force of their sister's words, and settled
their quarrel without delay, and they gave Frank permission to go early
in the morning and let the imprisoned glow worm creep away.




EMILY'S MORNING RAMBLE.


In the suburbs of the city of B. stands the beautiful residence of Mr.
James. It was a rural spot, as it was surrounded with all the beauties
of nature. There were rippling streams, and winding paths through the
green fields and woods, sunny hills and mossy rocks. Emily, the only
daughter of Mr. J., had all these pleasant scenes to enjoy, and every
thing to make her home happy. Her father owned a noble pair of grays and
a very fine carriage, and she had the pleasure of riding with her father
whenever she chose. But Emily did not live altogether for her own
happiness; she was accustomed to go and see the people in the
neighborhood of her home, and if any were poor or sick she would always
try to benefit them.

Her mother had to put up many a bundle of nice things for her to take to
some poor family in need. She was also fond of the works of nature, and
would frequently spend an hour in walking alone in the shady and rural
places in her town. One day, as the beautiful spring had just unfolded
its loveliness, Emily thought she would walk out and breathe the
delicious air. With a heart laden with good thoughts and with a quick
step she passed along the gravelled street and by the cultivated grounds
and fine houses, until she reached the green turf and wooded slopes, and
here paused awhile under the large old trees, and thought of the
wisdom, goodness, and love of God in giving us such a beautiful earth.

On her route, where the river curved around the foot of a gentle sloping
hill in the shadows of old forest trees, was made a rural cemetery; so
pleasant were its quiet paths and its cool shades in summer, that the
living loved to wander there. Friends came there to plant flowers upon
the graves of dear ones they had lost.

Through a low ivy covered gateway of stone, Emily entered the quiet
place. There were no massive railings, and lofty monuments, and no
costly devices, but God had made this place very beautiful--flowers were
blooming along the well trodden paths, and around the last resting
places of the dead. Here and there arose a simple shaft or a light
column, and the graves of the household were bordered by a green hedge
or surrounded by shadowing trees.

As Emily passed through the familiar walks, she came suddenly to a
grave in the remote corner of the cemetery, beside which sat a solitary
mourner. A small white slab lay upon the centre of the green mound and
at its head grew a rose bush in bloom, bending, till its weight of white
buds and blossoms touched the long bright grass upon the grave. Emily
was attracted by its simple beauty, and drawing near, she stooped down
and read upon the marble slab, "Dear Mina." Her young eyes filled
instantly with tears, for she knew that it was the darling child of a
lady who to her was a stranger. As she turned away from the spot she met
a lady approaching, who passed her and kneeled down beside the grave.
She thought she would speak to the lady, and with tender sympathy she
asked, "Was it your child?"

The lady, who was deep in thought, looked up at the sound of Emily's
earnest voice, and answered, softly, "Yes; 'Dear Mina' was my only
child." This interview led Emily to an acquaintance with the sorrowing
mother, which caused her never to forget her morning ramble. She was a
good woman, and at the decease of Emily's mother became her Christian
companion and instructor.

       *       *       *       *       *

I doubt whether he will find the way to heaven who desires to go there
alone: all heavenly hearts are charitable: enlightened souls cannot but
diffuse their rays. I will, if I can, do something for others and for
heaven; not to merit by it, but to express my gratitude. Though I cannot
do what I would, I will labor to do what I can.--_Feltham_.

[Illustration]




FLYING THE KITE.


Flying the kite is a pleasant amusement for boys, and when we see the
kites flying high in the air, we are always reminded of a kite whose
history we heard when a little child, and which we give our readers.
Shortly after the close of the Revolutionary war, there was a little boy
whose parents had left their home and friends in England on account of
their sympathy with the struggle of freedom for their rights in America.
Their first home was in Norfolk, Va.

This little boy was very much delighted with the American eagle, and he
determined to make a kite as much like his favorite bird as he could. He
had a friend who was a painter and gilder, and a person of great
ingenuity. Together they contrived a beautiful kite, representing an
eagle of gigantic size. It was painted and gilded in the most beautiful
manner, and a small but very brilliant lantern was attached to it just
below the breast.

They kept their secret very carefully, never suffering any one to enter
the room while it was making.

On a dark, cloudy, windy night, the kite was flown. Its mechanism was so
perfect that it sailed very beautifully. The lantern illuminated every
part, and it made a very brilliant appearance. Crowds of people thronged
the streets, wondering what the strange visitor was. Some were alarmed,
and thought it was an omen of fearful events.

Great was their admiration when they discovered that the wonderful bird
was the ingenious contrivance of a little boy; and they could scarcely
be convinced that what looked so much like a real bird was only an
ingenious combination of sticks and painted paper.




THE HAPPY FAMILY.


There are a great many novel sights in the streets of London, for the
cheap entertainment of the people. The family circle of different
animals and birds is an admirable illustration of the peace which should
pervade among families. The proprietor of this novel menagerie calls it,
"The Happy Family." The house in which they are kept is a simple
constructed cage. It is a large square hen-coop, placed on a low
hand-cart, which a man draws about from one street to another, and gets
a few pennys a day from those who stop to look at the domestic happiness
of his family. Perhaps the first thing you will see, is a large cat,
washing her face, with a number of large rats nestling around her, like
kittens, whilst others are climbing up her back and playing with her
whiskers. In another corner of the room a dove and a hawk are setting on
the head of a dog which is resting across the neck of a rabbit. The
floor is covered with the oddest social circles imaginable--weazles and
Guinea pigs, and peeping chickens, are putting their noses together,
caressingly. The perches above are covered with birds whose natural
antipathies have been subdued into mutual affection by the law of
kindness. The grave owl is sitting upright, and meditating in the sun,
with a keen-sighted sparrow perched between his ears trying to open the
eyes of the sleepy owl with its sharp bill.

Children stop to look at this scene, and Mr. Burritt thinks they may
carry away lessons which will do them good. They will think on it on
their way to school, and at home too, when any thing crosses their will
in family or on the play ground.




STORY ABOUT AN INDIAN.


A poor sick man might go to the door of some rich person's house and ask
relief for himself and not be able to obtain admittance; but if he
brought in his hand a paper written by the son of the master of the
house, whom he had met with in a distant land, and in his name asked for
the relief, his request would be granted for the sake of the master's
son.

Now we all need friends and every one tries to get and keep a few
friends. Children will love a little dog, or a lamb, or a dove, or a
bird. The little boy will talk to his top, and the little girl will talk
to her doll, which shows that they want a friend; and if the top and the
doll could talk and love them, they would feel happier.

Some years ago there was an Indian in the State of Maine, who for his
very good conduct had a large farm given him by the State. He built his
little house on his land, and there lived. The white people about him
did not treat him so kindly as they ought. His only child was taken sick
and died, and none of the whites went to comfort him, or to assist him
in burying his little child. Soon after, he went to the white people,
and said to them--"When white man's child die, Indian may be sorry--he
help bury him--when my child die, no one speak to me--I make his grave
alone. I can no live here, for I have no friend to love me."

The poor Indian gave up his farm, dug up the body of his child, and
carried it with him 200 miles through the forest, to join the Canada
Indians.

The Indian loved his child, and he wanted friends. So you children will
need a friend to look to every day. When we are sick, in distress, or
about to die, we want a friend in whom we may trust and be happy.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wherefore did God create passions within us, pleasures round about us,
but that these, rightly tempered, are the very ingredients of
virtue.--_Milton_.




GATHER THE FLOWERS.


Two little girls went into the fields to gather flowers. Buttercups,
violets, and many other blossoms were in abundance. One of the girls was
pleased with every thing, and began to pick such flowers as came in her
way. In a short time she collected a great quantity of flowers, and
though some of them were not very handsome, yet they made a very
beautiful bunch. The other child was more dainty and determined to get
her none but those which were very beautiful. The buttercups were all of
one color and did not strike her fancy--the blue violets were too
common, and so the little pair wandered on through the fields till they
were about to return home. By this time the dainty child, seeing that
her sister had a fine collection of flowers while she had none, began
to think it best to pick such as she could get. But now the flowers were
scarce; not even a dandelion nor a flower was to be found. The little
girl at length begged of her sister a single dandelion, and thus they
returned home. The children told their story, and their mother addressed
them thus--"My dear children, let this event teach you a lesson. Jane
has acted the wisest part. Content with such flowers as came in her way,
and not aiming at what was beyond her reach, she has been successful in
her pursuit. But Laura wanted something more beautiful than could be
found, collected nothing from the field, and was finally obliged to beg
a simple flower from her sister. So it is, children, in passing through
life--gather what is good and pleasant along your path, and you will,
day by day, collect enough to make you contented and happy. But if you
scorn those blessings which are common, and reach after those which are
more rare and difficult to be obtained, you will meet with frequent
difficulties, and at last be dependant on others. So gather the flowers
as you go along the pathway of life."

       *       *       *       *       *

Think not all is well within when all is well without; or that thy
being pleased is a sign that God is pleased: but suspect every thing
that is prosperous, unless it promotes piety, and charity, and
humility.--_Taylor_.

       *       *       *       *       *

God hath given to man a short time here upon earth, and yet upon this
short time eternity depends.--_Taylor_.

[Illustration]




JANE AND HER LESSONS.


It is a mark of a good scholar to be prompt and studious. Such were the
habits of little Jane Sumner. She was the youngest of three sisters, and
from her first being able to read, she was very fond of reading; and at
school her teacher became much interested in little Jane on account of
her interest in study, and the promptness she manifested in reciting her
lessons. Jane had a quiet little home and was allowed considerable time
for study, although she had to devote some time in assisting her mother
about house.

There was a very fine garden attached to Mrs. Sumner's residence, where
she took much pleasure in cultivating the flowers. In the centre of the
garden was built a summer house all covered over with grape vine. The
broad leaves of the vine made a refreshing shade to it, and thereby
shielded the warm sun from persons under it. This little summer house
Jane frequently occupied for her study. In the picture you see her with
book in hand getting her lesson. She arose very early in the morning,
and by this means gained much time.

    Up in the morning early,
    By daylight's earliest ray,
    With our books prepared to study
    The lessons of the day.

Little Jane, for her industry and good scholarship, obtained quite a
number of "rewards of merit," which her schoolmates said she justly
deserved. There is one of them with these lines:

    For conduct good and lessons learned,
    Your teacher can commend;
    Good scholarship has richly earned
    This tribute from your friend.

On one day, she came running home very much pleased with her card,
which her teacher gave herself and her little sister Emma, for their
good conduct and attention to their studies. The card contained these
lines:

    See, Father! mother, see!
    To my sister and me,
    Has our teacher given a card,
    To show that we have studied hard.
    To you we think it must be pleasant,
    To see us both with such a present.

Every good boy and girl will be rewarded, and all such as are studious,
and respectful to their teachers, will always get a reward.

       *       *       *       *       *

God never allowed any man to do nothing. How miserable is the condition
of those men who spend their time as if it were _given_ them, and not
lent.--_Bishop Hall_.




HARVEST SONG.


    Now the golden ear wants the reaper's hand,
    Banish every fear, plenty fills the land.
      Joyful raise songs of praise,
      Goodness, goodness, crowns our days.
      Yet again swell the strain,
    He who feeds the birds that fly,
    Will our daily wants supply.

CHORUS--

    As the manna lay, on the desert ground,
    So from day to day, mercies flow around.
    As a father's love gives his children bread,
    So our God above grants, and we are fed.

       *       *       *       *       *

Think in the morning what thou hast to do this day, and at night what
thou hast done; and do nothing upon which thou mayest not boldly ask
God's blessing; nor nothing for which thou shalt need to ask his
pardon.--_Anon_.




TELLING SECRETS.


There is a company of girls met together, and what can they be talking
about. Hark! "Now I will tell you something, if you'll promise never to
tell," says Jane. "I will, certainly," replied Anne. "And will you
promise _never_ to tell a single living creature as long as you live?"
The same reply is given, "_I will never tell_."

Now Jane tells the secret, and what is it? It turns out to be just
nothing at all, and there is no good reason why every body should'nt
know it. It is this--"Lizzy Smith is going to have a new bonnet, trimmed
with pink ribbon and flowers inside." Anna thinks no more of her solemn
promise, and the first school-mate she meets, she opens the secret, with
a solemn injunction for her not to tell. By and by the secret is all
out among the girls--the promises are all broken. Now, children,
remember your word--keep it true, and never make a promise which you do
not intend to keep, and always avoid telling foolish secrets.




AGNES AND THE MOUSE.


One brilliant Christmas day, two little girls were walking towards a
neighboring village, when they observed a little creature walking about
the road. "Surely," said Mary, "it is a large mouse;" and it did not
seem to be afraid, so they thought from its tameness, it must be hungry.
"Poor little thing," said Agnes, "I wish I had something to give you."
She took a few almonds from her pocket and went gently along towards the
mouse and put it close by its side. The mouse began to nibble, and soon
finished it. Agnes then put down two or three more, and left the mouse
to eat its Christmas dinner. I think you would have enjoyed seeing the
mouse eating the almonds. I hope you will always be kind to poor dumb
animals. I have seen children who were cruel to dumb animals. This is
very wrong, and such children will never be respected, nor can they
expect to be befriended.




THE TWO ROBINS.


A few summers ago I was sitting on a garden seat, beneath a fruit tree,
where the works of nature look very beautiful. Very soon I heard a
strange noise among the highest branches of the tree over my head. The
sound was very curious, and I began to look for the cause. I shook one
of the lower branches within my reach, and very soon I discovered two
birds engaged in fighting; and they seemed to gradually descend towards
the ground. They came down lower and lower, tumbling over one another,
and fighting with each other. They soon reached the lowest branch, and
at last came to the ground very near me. It was with some difficulty
that I parted them; and when I held one of them in each of my hands,
they tried to get away, not because they were afraid of me but because
they would resume the conflict. They were two young robins, and I never
before thought that the robin had such a bad spirit in its breast. Lest
they should get to fighting again, I let one go, and kept the other
housed up for several days, so that they would not have much chance of
coming together again.

Now, children, these two little robins woke in the morning very
cheerful, and appeared very happy as they sat on the branch of the tree,
singing their morning songs. But how soon they changed their notes. You
would have been sorry to have seen the birds trying to hurt each other.

If children quarrel, or in any degree show an unkind temper, they appear
very unlovely, and forget that God, who made them, and gives them many
blessings, disapproves of their conduct. Never quarrel, but remember how
pleasant it is for children to love each other, and to try to do each
other good.

       *       *       *       *       *

Every hour is worth at least a good thought, a good wish, a good
endeavor.--_Clarendon_.

[Illustration]




THE PLEASANT SAIL.


Down by the sea-coast is the pleasant town of Saco, where Mr. Aimes has
resided for many years. Once a year he had all his little nephews and
nieces visit him. It was their holiday, and they would think and talk
about the visit for a long time previous to going there. Their uncle
took much pleasure in making them happy as possible while they were with
him. He owned a pleasure sail boat which he always kept in good order.
On this occasion he had it all clean and prepared for the young friends,
as he knew they lotted much on having a sail. As his boat was small, he
took part of them at a time and went out with them himself, a short
distance, and sailed around the island, and returned. In the picture you
see them just going out, with their uncle at the helm, while three of
the nephews are on the beach enjoying the scene.

But I must tell you children to be very careful when you go on the water
to sail. There are some things which it is necessary for you to know, as
a great many accidents occur on the water for the want of right
management. When you go to sail, be sure and have persons with you who
understand all about a boat, and how to manage in the time of a squall.
Always keep your seats in the boat, and not be running about in it.
Never get to rocking a boat in the water. A great many people have lost
their lives by so doing. Sailing on the water may be very pleasant and
agreeable to you if you go with those who understand all about the
harbor, and are skilled in guiding the boat on the dangerous sea.




THE SAILOR BOY.


Yarmouth is the principal trade seaport town in the county of Norfolk.
Fishermen reside in the towns and villages around, and among the number
was a poor man and his wife; they had an only son, and when ten years
old his father died. The poor widow, in the death of her husband, lost
the means of support. After some time she said to her boy, "Johnny, I do
not see how I shall support you." "Then, mother, I will go to sea," he
replied. His mother was loth to part with Johnny, for he was a good son
and was very kind to her. But she at last consented on his going to sea.

John began to make preparations. One day he went down to the beach
hoping to find a chance among some of the captains to sail. He went to
the owner of one and asked if he wanted a boy. "No," he abruptly
replied, "I have boys enough." He tried a second but without success.
John now began to weep. After some time he saw on the quay the captain
of a trading vessel to St. Petersburg, and John asked him if "a boy was
wanted." "Oh, yes," said the captain, "but I never take a boy or a man
without a character." John had a Testament among his things, which he
took out and said to the captain, "I suppose this won't do." The captain
took it, and on opening the first page, saw written, "_John Read, given
as a reward for his good behavior and diligence in learning, at the
Sabbath School_." The captain said, "Yes, my boy, this will do; I would
rather have this recommendation than any other," adding, "you may go on
board directly." John's heart leaped for joy, as, with his bundle under
his arm, he jumped on board the vessel.

The vessel was soon under weigh, and for some time the sky was bright,
and the wind was fair. When they reached the Baltic Sea a storm came on,
the wind raged furiously, all hands were employed to save the vessel.
But the storm increased, and the captain thought all would be lost.
While things were in this state the little sailor boy was missing. One
of the crew told the captain he was down in the cabin. When sent for he
came up with his Testament in his hand and asked the captain if he might
read. His request was granted. He then knelt down and read the sixtieth
and sixty-first Psalms. While he was reading the wind began to abate,
(the storms in the Baltic abate as suddenly as they come on.) The
captain was much moved, and said he believed the boy's reading was heard
in Heaven.




THE BRACELET;

OR, HONESTY REWARDED.


At St. Petersburg, the birth day of any of the royal family is observed
as a time of great festivity, by all kinds of diversions. When the
vessel in which John Read shipped arrived, he was allowed to go on shore
to see the sport on that occasion. In one of the sleighs was a lady, who
at the moment of passing him lost a bracelet from her arm, which fell on
the snow. John hastened forward to pick it up, at the same time calling
after the lady, who was beyond the sound of his voice. He then put the
bracelet into his pocket, and when he had seen enough of the sport, went
back to the ship.

John told the captain all about it, showing him the prize which he had
found.

"Well, Jack," said the captain, "you are fortunate enough--these are
all diamonds of great value--when we get to the next port I will sell it
for you." "But," said John, "It's not mine, it belongs to the lady, and
I cannot sell it." The captain replied "O, you cannot find the lady, and
you picked it up. It is your own." But John persisted it was not his.
"Nonsense, my boy," said the captain, "it belongs to you." John then
replied--"But if we have another storm in the Baltic," (see story
preceding.) "Ah me," said the Captain, "I forgot all about that, Jack. I
will go on shore with you to-morrow and try to find the owner." They did
so; and after much trouble, found it belonged to a nobleman's, lady, and
as a reward for the boy's honesty, she gave him eighty pounds English
money. John's next difficulty was what to do with it. The captain
advised him to lay it out in hides, which would be valuable in England.
He did so, and on arriving at Hull, they brought one hundred and fifty
pounds.

John had not forgotten his mother. The captain gave him leave of absence
for a time, and taking a portion of his money with him, he started for
his native village. When he arrived there, he made his way to her house
with a beating heart. Each object told him it was home, and brought
bygone days to his mind. On coming to the house he saw it was closed. He
thought she might be dead; and as he slowly opened the gate and walked
up the path and looked about, his heart was ready to break. A neighbor
seeing him, said, "Ah, John, is that you?" and quickly told him that his
mother still lived--but as she had no means of support, she had gone to
the poor house. John went to the place, found his mother, and soon made
her comfortable in her own cottage. The sailor boy afterwards became
mate of the same vessel in which he first left the quay at Yarmouth.




NO PAY--NO WORK.


"Little boy, will you help a poor old man up the hill with this load?"
said an old man, who was drawing a hand cart with a bag of corn for the
mill.

"I can't," said the boy, "I am in a hurry to be at school."

As the old man sat on the stone, resting himself, he thought of his
youthful days, and of his friends now in the grave; the tears began to
fall, when John Wilson came along, and said,--"Shall I help you up the
hill with your load, sir?" The old man brushed his eyes with his coat
sleeve, and replied, "I should be glad to have you." He arose and took
the tongue of his cart, while John pushed behind. When they ascended the
top of the hill, the old man thanked the lad for his kindness. In
consequence of this John was ten minutes too late at school. It was
unusual for him to be late, as he was known to be punctual and prompt;
but as he said nothing to the teacher about the cause of his being late,
he was marked for not being in season.

After school, Hanson, the first boy, said to John, "I suppose you
stopped to help old Stevenson up the hill with his corn."

"Yes," replied John, "the old man was tired and I thought I would give
him a lift."

"Well, did you get your pay for it?" said Hanson, "for I don't work for
nothing."

"Nor do I," said John; "I didn't help him, expecting pay."

"Well, why did you do it? You knew you would be late to school."

"Because I thought I _ought_ to help the poor old man," said John.

"Well," replied Hanson, "if you will work for nothing, you may. _No pay,
no work_, is my motto."

"To _be kind and obliging_, is mine," said John.

Here, children, is a good example. John did not perform this act of
kindness for nothing. He had the approbation of a good conscience--the
pleasure of doing good to the old man--and the respect and gratitude of
his friends. Even the small act of benevolence is like giving a cup of
cold water to the needy, which will not pass unnoticed. Does any body
work for nothing when he does good? Think of this, and do likewise.




THE TREE THAT NEVER FADES.


"Mary," said George, "next summer I will not have a garden. Our pretty
tree is dying, and I won't love another tree as long as I live. I will
have a bird next summer, and that will stay all winter."

"George, don't you remember my beautiful canary bird? It died in the
middle of the summer, and we planted bright flowers in the ground where
we buried it. My bird did not live as long as the tree."

"Well, I don't see as we can love anything. Dear little brother died
before the bird, and I loved him better than any bird, or tree or
flower. Oh! I wish we could have something to love that wouldn't die."

The day passed. During the school hours, George and Mary had almost
forgotten that their tree was dying; but at evening, as they drew their
chairs to the table where their mother was sitting, and began to arrange
the seeds they had been gathering, the remembrance of the tree came upon
them.

"Mother," said Mary, "you may give these seeds to cousin John; I never
want another garden."

"Yes," added George, pushing the papers in which he had carefully folded
them towards his mother, "you may give them all away. If I could find
some seeds of a tree that would never fade, I should like then to have a
garden. I wonder, mother, if there ever was such a garden?"

"Yes, George, I have read of a garden where the trees never die."

"A _real_ garden, mother?"

"Yes, my son. In the middle of the garden, I have been told, there runs
a pure river of water, clear as crystal, and on each side of the river
is the _tree of life_,--a tree that never fades. That garden is
_heaven_. There you may love and love for ever. There will be no
death--no fading there. Let your treasure be in the tree of life, and
you will have something to which your young hearts can cling, without
fear, and without disappointment. Love the Saviour here, and he will
prepare you to dwell in those green pastures, and beside those still
waters."

       *       *       *       *       *

Every neglected opportunity draws after it an irreparable loss, which
will go into eternity with you.--_Doddridge_.

[Illustration]




YOUNG USHER.


You gave read of that remarkable man, Mr. Usher, who was Archbishop of
Armagh. I will tell you something about his early childhood. He was born
in Dublin, in the year 1580, and when a little boy he was fond of
reading. He lived with his two aunts who were born blind, and who
acquired much knowledge of the Scriptures by hearing others read the
Scriptures and other good books. At seven years of age he was sent to
school in Dublin; at the end of five years he was superior in study to
any of his school fellows, and was thought fully qualified to enter the
college at Dublin.

While he was at college he learned to play at cards, and he was so much
taken up with this amusement that both his learning and piety were much
endangered. He saw the evil tendency of playing at cards, and at once
relinquished the practice entirely. When he was nine years old, he heard
a sermon preached which made a deep impression on his mind. From that
time he was accustomed to habits of devotion. He loved to pray, and he
felt that he could not sleep quietly without first commending himself to
the care of his Heavenly Father for protection. You see him in the
picture kneeling by his bed side, alone with God. When he was fourteen
years old, he began to think about partaking of the Lord's supper. He
thought this act to be a very solemn and important one, and required a
thorough preparation. On the afternoon previous to the communion, he
would retire to some private place for self examination and prayer. When
he was but sixteen years of age, he obtained such a knowledge of
chronology as to have commenced the annals of the Old and New
Testaments, which were published many years after, and are now a general
standard of reference.

When his father died, he being the eldest son, the paternal estate was
left to him to manage. But as he feared that it would occupy too much of
his time and attention, he gave it entirely to his brother and sisters,
reserving only enough for his books and college expenses. At the age of
twenty he entered the ministry, and seven years after was chosen a
professor in the University of Dublin. In 1640, he visited England at
the time of the commencement of the rebellion; all his goods were seized
by the popish party, except some furniture in his house, and his library
at Drogheda, which was afterwards sent to London. He bore his loss with
submission, but he never returned to Ireland. He had many trials to
endure on account of the troublous times in England, (it being the time
of the civil wars.) In 1646 he received a kind invitation from the
Countess of Peterborough to reside in one of her houses, which proposal
he accepted and lived in one of them till his death, in 1665. By the
direction of Cromwell he was buried in Westminster Abby.




A GOOD ACT FOR ANOTHER.


A man was going from Norwich to New London with a loaded team; on
attempting to ascend a hill where an Indian lived he found his team
could not draw the load. He went for the Indian to assist him. After he
had got up the hill he asked the Indian what was to pay. The Indian told
him to do as much for somebody else.

Some time afterward the Indian wanted a canoe. He went up Shetucket
river, found a tree, and made him one. When he had finished it he could
not get it to the river; accordingly he went to a man and offered to pay
him if he would go and draw it to the river for him. The man set about
it immediately, and after getting it to the river, the Indian offered to
pay him. "No," said the man; "don't you recollect, so long ago, helping
a man with a team up the hill by the side of your house?" "Yes." "Well,
I am the man; take your canoe and go home."




A BOY REPROVED BY A BIRD.


The sparrows often build their nests under the eaves of houses and
barns. A young lad saw one of the sparrows conveying materials for her
nest, which she was building under the eaves of a cottage adjoining his
father's house. He was told not to disturb it. But birds' eggs form a
temptation to many boys. At a favorable opportunity the lad climbed up
to the roof of the cottage and carried away the nest with the eggs in
it. Among the materials of which the nest was composed was a piece of
paper with some printed verses on it. The boy pulled it out and found it
to be a page of one of Dr. Watts' hymns, which had been picked up in the
yard by the poor bird for strengthening her nest. The boy unfolded the
paper and read:--

    "Why should I deprive my neighbor
      Of his goods against his will?
    Hands were made for honest labor.
      Not to plunder nor to steal."

The lad says, in his after years, "I never forgot the lesson presented
to me by that leaf of paper which had been fixed to the nest of the
poor sparrow." Let young people remember that when they do wrong they
will get reproved, and it may be by the means of a bird.




THE ECHO.


Little Charles knew nothing about an echo. As he was playing by himself
in the field, he cried out, "Ho, hop!" and immediately a voice from the
woods near by answered, "ho, hop!" Being surprised at this, he called
out, "who be you?" The voice answered, "who be you?" Charles thought
this very strange, and cried out "you're a stupid fellow," and "stupid
fellow," was the reply from the woods.

Charles began to be much displeased, and called several abusive names,
and every name he called, came back to him. "I never met with such
insolence," said he, "but I'll revenge myself;" and he ran up and down
among the trees, trying to find the supposed offender, but he could see
no one. Vexed and disappointed, he hastened home and told his mother
that a bad boy had hidden in the woods and called him all sorts of
names.

His mother smiled and shook her head. "Now you have been angry at
yourself, Charles, for you must know that you heard nothing but your own
words repeated. As you have seen your own face reflected in the water,
so you have now heard your own voice echoed." Had Charles spoke kind
words he would have heard kind words in return. It is often true that
the behavior we meet with from others, is but an echo of our own. If we
speak kind words we shall have kind words in return.

[Illustration]




LIZZY AND HER DOG.


I wish to relate to you a very affecting story about a good girl who
died when she was thirteen years old. She was an interesting young girl,
and possessed great intellectual powers. She was also very fond of the
works of nature, especially of flowers, and would often say, "How good
God is to make these beautiful flowers for us to enjoy." Soon it was
very evident to her friends that disease was preying on her delicate
constitution. She bore all her sickness with calm submission, and when
she died she appeared to all who knew her to be prepared for heaven.
While she was sick, her parents did every thing to make her comfortable
and happy. They had a dog which Lizzy set a great deal by, and with him
she used to play in the house and in the garden. When Lizzy was so sick
that she could not play with him, he would come and lay himself down at
her bed side, and appeared to be very sad on her account. When she died
and was buried, the dog followed with the parents in the funeral, to the
grave yard where Lizzy was laid away. One day, about five months
afterwards, I went with her father to see the grave of Lizzy. As we went
into the grave yard, we walked slowly along, reading the names of
persons buried there, while the dog followed us. We soon missed the dog,
supposing he had wandered into some other part of the cemetery. But when
we came within a few yards of Lizzy's grave we saw him sitting at its
head, leaning against the stone which was erected in memory of the
lovely daughter. It was a very affecting scene--the attachment of the
dog, as well as the power of his memory. Dogs are faithful creatures,
and we can never bear to see them abused. Be kind to them and they will
be kind to you.




JULIA'S SUNSET WALK.


It was a beautiful June day, just at the sun's setting, when Julia
Easworth went to visit the resting place of a dear grandmother. While
she was in the grave-yard, meditating on the loss of one of her best
earthly friends, she saw a lady dressed in mourning busily engaged in
doing something near a rose bush that grew at the foot of a little
mound, at a short distance from where she stood. Julia walked along and
came near where she was, and laid her hand gently upon the woman and
said, "Madam, is this your little mound?"

"Oh, no, my child; it is my dear Elise's grave."

"And is it long since you laid her here, ma'am," said Julia.

"Only a few weeks," was the reply; "there were buds on this rose bush
when I brought it here."

"And was it her's," asked Julia, as she stooped down to inhale the rich
fragrance of the beautiful flower.

"Yes, my child, it was a dear treasure to her. My Elise was a good
child, she was my Idol, but my Heavenly Father has seen best to remove
her from me. I only cared to live that I might be useful to her in
giving her such instructions as might be a blessing to her. I almost
adored her, but she is gone from me, and I am alone. I know she is
happy, because she was good."

"And have you always lived here in our town," asked Julia.

"Oh, no! I am from Italy. When my child was but two years old, I left my
native shores, and with my only relative, my father, followed my young
husband, who is an American, to his own land. We settled in the State of
Virginia, and a short time ago he died and left me with a charge to take
care of our dear Elise. She had her father's hair and complexion, and
inherited his delicate constitution. We were poor and I labored hard,
but I cared not, if I could only make my child comfortable and happy.
She was not like me--her mind was full of thoughts of beauty--she would
often talk of things with which I could not sympathize--the world seemed
to her to be full of voices, and she would often say 'How beautiful
_heaven_ must be.' Her nature was purer and gentler than mine, and I
felt that she was a fit companion of the angels. But she is now gone to
be with them, and I hope soon to meet her."

Julia bid the lady good bye and went towards her home. As she walked
slowly along, she thought to herself, "Elise with the angels!" and she
dwelt on the theme till her mother, seeing her rather different in her
conduct, asked her the cause, when she replied, "Oh, mother! I want to
dwell with the angels."




FLORA AND HER PORTRAIT.


"And was there never a portrait of your beautiful child," said Anne
Jones to a lady whom she met at the grave where her child had been lain
a few weeks.

"Oh, yes! but I may never have it," replied the woman, as she stood
weeping at the grave.

Anna did not understand the mother's tears, but in a few moments she
became calm, and continued to explain.

"Not many weeks before my child's illness, as we were walking together
in the city, an artist observed my daughter and followed us to our
humble home. He praised her countenance to me, and said her beauty was
rare. In all his life he had never seen face to compare with it, nor an
eye so full of soul--and begged to have me consent to his drawing her
portrait. After many urgent entreaties, my dear child consented. For
several mornings I went with Flora to the artist's room, though I could
ill afford the time, for our daily bread was to be earned. When he was
finishing the picture, Flora went alone. One day she returned, and
flinging into my lap her little green purse, she said:--'The picture
does not need me any more, and I am very glad, for my head aches badly.
They say the portrait is very like me, mother.'

"I resolved to go and see it the day following, but when the time came
that I first looked upon it, my dear child began to fade in my arms,
until she died. And here she is buried. Since then I go to the artist's
room to see her portrait, and there, full of life and beauty, she stands
before me, and I have permission to see it every day.

"But I am about to leave this country for our native land. My aged
father has long wished to return to his own country, and we shall soon
sail with our friends for Italy. I must leave the dear child here. But
if I can purchase the picture of the artist, I shall be happy. We are
poor; but by the sale of some little articles, we have raised money
enough to buy the picture, at the price which the artist demands for a
similar picture.

"When I went to buy it, you know not how I felt, when the artist,
notwithstanding all my pleadings, denied my request. His apology was,
that he had taken it for some purpose of his own--some great exhibition
of paintings--what, I could not fully comprehend. He would not sell it.
Day after day I have been to him, but in vain. And now the time of our
departure will soon come, and duty demands that I must go with my
father, and I must leave my dear Flora, and portrait too."

She then laid her face upon the grave and wept. Anna's eyes were filled
with tears, and for some moments she did not speak. At last she
thought--"I know the artist." And then touching the mother, who was
almost insensible, she said, "Madam, it may be that I can do something
for you--describe to me the picture. I think I must have seen it at this
same artist's room."

The mother then gave the description, and after Anna had gathered from
the mother all needful information, her name, and residence, and time
of sailing, then giving her own address, and speaking to her words of
consolation and hope, she arose and left the stranger at the grave of
her child. The next story will tell you how the picture was obtained.




THE PORTRAIT OF FLORA PURCHASED.


Anna started for her home, and when she had arrived, she slowly ascended
to her room, flung herself upon her couch, and buried her face in its
cushions.

"Edgar," (for that was the artist's name, and Anna knew him,) "Edgar is
cold hearted." She did not meet the family at tea that evening, but when
her mother came to inquire if she was ill, she related all the sad story
of the childless mother, and asked what could be done. The next
morning, Anna and her father went to see the artist. He was not in
attendance, but one to whom they were well known brought forward the
picture, at Anna's request, and which she had before seen. While they
were looking at it, the artist came in.

"Pardon me, sir," said Anna's father, "for examining your beautiful
picture during your absence, but my daughter has a very earnest desire
to possess it. Is it for sale?"

Edgar replied, "I have painted this picture for the coming artist's
exhibition, and, therefore, I have made no design as to its disposal,
but it would be an honor to me to have you and Miss Anna its purchasers.
I would wish, however, previously to its being given up, that it might
be exhibited, according to my intention, at the rooms, which open on
Monday next."

Mr. H. hesitated--the vessel, which was to carry away the sorrowing
mother, was to sail in a little more than two weeks--they must have the
picture at that time, if ever; and he said to the artist, "I am aware
that this is a beautiful painting, and I will pay you your price, but I
must be allowed to take it at the expiration of ten days, if at all."

Edgar reflected a few moments, and being well aware that, in the mansion
of Mr. Hastings, his elegant picture would be seen by persons of the
most accomplished manners, and of excellent taste, concluded to sell the
picture. The bargain was made and Anna and her father departed, leaving
the artist somewhat elated at the thought of having Mr. H. the owner of
his picture.

That night Edgar dreamed that Flora, who had been buried a few weeks,
and of whose image his picture was the exact resemblance, stood before
him, pleading him to have pity on her lonely mother--he dreamed her hand
clasped his, and he awoke trembling.

He raised himself upon his elbow, and pressed to his lips some flowers
which were left on his table, and then rejoiced that the ocean would
soon lie between him and the wearisome old woman who had so long annoyed
him about the picture.

The Monday morning came, and with it the portrait of Flora, which had
been admired at the exhibition rooms the previous week. A simple frame
had been prepared for it, and for a few moments Anna gazed on the
picture, and with a love for the buried stranger, looked for the last
time into the deep dark eyes which beamed on the canvas.

The ship Viola, bound for the port of Naples, lay at the wharf, the
passengers were all hurrying on board, the flags were flying, and all
wore the joyous aspect of a vessel outward bound. A carriage drawn by a
pair of horses came down to the vessel. Mr. Hastings and Anna alighted,
and were followed by a servant, who took the safely cased portrait in
his arms, and accompanied them on board the ship. They soon met the
mother of Flora, and Anna took the picture and presented it to her, and
promised to care for the rose buds which bloomed at Flora's grave. Mr. H
received from the gallant captain a promise to take special charge of
the Italian widow, and her aged father, and to care for the valued
picture of Flora. Thanks and farewells closed the scene, when Anna, with
her father, returned home. There she found a note from Edgar, the
artist, requesting permission to call on Anna that evening. She wrote a
reply, saying that a previous engagement would forbid her complying with
his request, at the same time enclosing a check for $200, saying, "My
father requests me to forward this check to you, in payment for the
portrait of _Flora Revere_"




THE SAINT'S REST.


    We've no abiding city here:
      This may distress the worldling's mind,
    But should not cost the saint a tear,
      Who hopes a better rest to find.

    We've no abiding city here;
      We seek a city out of sight,
    Zion its name: the Lord is there:
      It shines with everlasting light.

    Hush, my soul, nor dare repine;
      The time my God appoints is best;
    While here to do his will be mine,
      And his to fix my time of rest.

[Illustration]




A GOOD MOTHER.


Mrs. Savage was the eldest sister of Matthew Henry. When she was a child
she had a great many advantages for the improvement of her mind. When
only seven years of age, she could translate the Hebrew language, and
when ten years old, she would write out her father's sermons. She
possessed a very amiable disposition, and was very kind and benevolent
to all who needed the comforts of life. She was a Christian, and when
she became a mother she began the work of educating her children
herself. She had a large family of nine children, and as she had
treasured up in her memory many hymns and verses which she had learned
when a child, she was able to teach the same to her children. She was so
kind and affectionate that every body loved her. Her children took much
pleasure in hearing their mother repeat to them the hymns and texts of
Scripture which she had learned.

Some children are very careless, and indifferent to their parents'
advice; such ones will regret it in their riper years. But Mrs. Savage's
little boys and girls loved their mother, and were very obedient to her
commands. When evening came, before they retired to bed she would call
her little children around her (as you see in the picture,) and they
would kneel down and say their evening prayer. A pleasant sight, indeed,
to see our dear children remembering their Creator in the days of their
youth. Mrs. S. was "useful, beloved, meek, humble, and charitable." She
lived a happy, cheerful life; she was an ornament to her Christian
profession, a "good mother." She died suddenly at the good old age of
eighty-eight.




MOTHER'S LAST LESSON.


"Will you please teach me my verse, mamma, and then kiss me and bid me
good night," said little Roger, as he opened the door and peeped into
the chamber of his sick mother. "I am very sleepy, but no one has heard
me say my prayers." Mrs. L. was very ill, and her friends believed her
to be dying. She sat propped up with pillows and struggling for breath,
her eyes were growing dim, and her strength was failing very fast. She
was a widow, and little Roger was her only darling child. He had been in
the habit of coming into her room every night, and sitting in her lap,
or kneeling by her side, while she repeated some Scripture passages to
him or related a story of wise and good people. She always loved to
hear Roger's verse and prayer.

"Hush! hush!" said the lady who was watching beside the couch. "Your
dear mamma is too ill to hear you to night." And as she said this, she
came forward and laid her hand gently upon his arm as if she would lead
him from the room. "I cannot go to bed to night," said the little boy,
"without saying my prayers--I cannot."

Roger's dying mother heard his voice, and his sobs, and although she had
been nearly insensible to everything around her, yet she requested the
attendant lady to bring the boy and lay him near her side. Her request
was granted, and the child's rosy cheek nestled in the bosom of his
dying mother.

"Now you may repeat this verse after me," said his mother, "and never
forget it: 'When my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me
up.'" The child repeated it three times--then he kissed the pale cheek
of his mother, and went quietly to his little couch.

The next morning he sought as usual for his mother, but she was now cold
and motionless. She died soon after little Roger retired to his bed.
That was her last lesson to her darling boy--he did not forget it. He
has grown to be a man and occupies a high post of honor in
Massachusetts. I never can look upon him without thinking about the
faith so beautifully exhibited by his dying mother. It was a good
lesson.




THE GOLDEN CROWN.


A teacher once asked a child, "If you had a golden crown, what would you
do with it?" The child replied, "I would give it to my father to keep
till I was a man." He asked another. "I would buy a coach and horses
with it," was the reply. He asked a third. "Oh," said the little girl to
whom he spoke, "I would do with it the same as the people in heaven do
with their crowns. I would cast it at the Saviour's feet."




EARLY AT SCHOOL.


One Sabbath evening a teacher was walking up and down in the porch
before his house, in one of the South Sea Islands. The sun was setting
behind the waves of the ocean, and the labors of the day were over. In
that cool, quiet hour, the teacher was in prayer, asking a blessing on
his people, his scholars, and himself. As he heard the leaves of the
Mimosa tree rustling, he thought the breeze was springing up--and
continued his walk. Again he heard the leaves rattle, and he felt sure
that it could not be the wind. So he pushed aside the long leafy
branches of the trees, and passed beneath. And what did he find there?
Three little boys. Two were fast asleep in each other's arms, but the
third was awake.

"What are you doing there, my children?" asked the teacher. "We have
come to sleep here," said the boy. "And why do you sleep here; have you
no home?" "Oh, yes," said the lad, "but if we sleep here, we are sure to
be ready when the school bell rings in the morning." "And do your
parents know about it?" "Mine do," said the lad, "but these little boys
have no parents; they are orphans."

You know the nights in the South Sea Islands are not cold and damp like
ours, but as the teacher thought a heavy rain would fall in the night,
he roused the orphans, and led the three little boys into the large
porch of the house, where they might rest in safety. He was happy to
find that they were some of his scholars, and that they loved their
school. What would these little Islanders think if they could look from
their distant homes into some of our schools and see how many late
comers there are!




THE PLUM BOYS.


Two boys were one day on their way from school, and as they were passing
a cornfield, in which there were some plum trees, full of nice ripe
fruit, Henry said to Thomas, "Let us jump over and get some plums.
Nobody will see us, and we can scud along through the corn and come out
on the other side."

Thomas said, "I cannot. It is wrong to do so. I would rather not have
the plums, than to steal them, and I think I will run along home."

"You are a coward," said Henry, "I always knew you were a coward, and if
you don't want any plums you may go without them, but I shall have some
very quick."

Just as Henry was climbing the fence, the owner of the field rose up
from the other side of the wall, and Henry jumped back, and ran away.
Thomas had no reason to be afraid, so he stood still, and the owner of
the field, who had heard the conversation between the boys, told him
that he was very glad to see that he was not willing to be a thief. He
then told Thomas that he might step over the fence and help himself to
as many plums as he wished. The boy was pleased with the invitation, and
soon filled his pockets with plums which he could call his own. Honesty
will always get its reward.

[Illustration]




GEORGE AND HIS DOG.


    George had a large and noble dog.
      With hair as soft as silk;
    A few black spots upon his back,
      The rest as white as milk.

    And many a happy hour they had,
      In dull or shining weather;
    For, in the house, or in the fields,
      They always were together.

    The faithful creature knew full well
      When Master wished to ride;
    And he would kneel down on the grass,
      While Georgy climbed his side

    They both were playing in the field.
      When all at once they saw
    A little squirrel on a stump,
      With an acorn in his paw

    The dog still looked with eager eye,
      And George could plainly see,
    It was as much as he could do
      To let the squirrel be.

    The timid creature would have feared
      The dog so bold and strong,
    But he seemed to know the little boy
      Would let him do no wrong.

    He felt a spirit of pure love
      Around the gentle boy,
    As if good angels, hovering there,
      Watched over him in joy.

    And true it is that angels oft
      Good little George have led;
    They're with him in his happy play.
      They guard his little bed;

    They keep his heart so kind and true,
      They make his eye so mild,
    For dearly do the angels love,
      A gentle little child.




THE FIRST DOLLAR.


I will tell you an affecting story about a young lad by the name of
Emerson Terry, who lived in Hartford, Ct. He was very kind to the poor,
and could never see the suffering of his fellow beings without making an
effort for their relief. Here is one instance of his kindness and
liberality.

While he resided in Bristol, his father, Dr. Terry, took little Emerson
with him to ride into Hartford that he might see the city. Emerson had
one dollar, and it was the first dollar he ever earned. He took the
dollar with him, thinking to buy something with it in the city. While
they were riding along on the way, they overtook a poor fugitive slave
seeking his freedom in the North. Mr. Terry kindly took the wayfaring
man into his carriage when the poor man related to him his sufferings
and poverty, and also his trust in God. Young Emerson's heart was
touched, when, of his own accord, he drew out his _first_ and _only_
dollar and gave it to the poor fugitive. When he returned home he told
his mother what he had done, with a satisfaction that indicated his
pleasure in being able to relieve a suffering stranger. How noble was
this act. He felt willing to forego the pleasure of spending his dollar
for himself, for any pleasing toys, that he might help a poor wanderer
on the earth. When he was fifteen years of age, he was drowned in the
Connecticut River. He was beloved and respected by a large circle of
acquaintance. He was noted for his kind disposition, tender feelings,
and lovely spirit. He sleeps in peace, and we all hope to meet him in
heaven.




THE SHEPHERD AND HIS BIBLE.


A poor shepherd, living among the Alps, the father of a large family,
for whose wants he provided with great difficulty, purchased an old
Bible from a dealer in old cloths and furniture. On Sunday evening, as
he was turning over the leaves, he noticed several of them were pasted
together. He immediately began to separate the pasted leaves with great
care. Inside of these leaves he found carefully enclosed a bank bill of
five hundred dollars. On the margin of one of the pages was written
these words: "I gathered together money with very great difficulty, but
having no natural heirs but those who have absolutely need of nothing, I
make thee, whosoever shall read this Bible, my natural heir."

We cannot promise our young friends that they will find money in the
leaves of their Bibles, but you may be assured that if you study its
pages, and follow its precepts, you will find wisdom, which is better
than silver, and the gain thereof than fine gold.




REVELATION OF GOD'S HOLY WORD.


    Ye favored lands, rejoice,
      Where God reveals his word:
    We are not left to nature's voice
      To bid us know the Lord.

    His statutes and commands
      Are set before our eyes;
    He puts the gospel in our hands,
      Where our salvation lies.

    His laws are just and pure,
      His truth without deceit;
    His promise is for ever sure,
      And his rewards are great.

[Illustration]




PLEASANT PLAY.


There are many plays in which children may amuse themselves so as to
benefit both the mind and body. Exercise is very essential to the
health, and all children should accustom themselves to such exercise as
will give elasticity to all the muscles of the body. Some children often
play too hard, and others, before they get through playing, get to
quarrelling. Children never appear so badly as when they quarrel with
each other. Joseph and William, Jane and little Susan, are out in the
garden playing "hide and seek," around the summer house, as you see in
the picture. William became a little contrary, because every thing in
the play did not suit him, and declared he would run away. And you see
how cross he looks at Jane, as he turns round to run away. Children
should never let anger rise in their bosoms because of some small
mistake on the part of others. They should always overlook all mistakes,
forgive all injuries, and learn to love each other when at play, as well
as when at school. Good children will play together, without getting
angry, and it is a pretty sight to see such children all happy in each
other's society, and enjoying their pleasant pastimes, with cheerful and
happy hearts.

    Our evil actions spring like trees,
      From small and hidden seeds;
    We think, or wish some wicked thing,
      And then do wicked deeds.

    Whoever dares to tell a lie,
      Whoever steals a pin,
    Whoever strikes an angry blow,
      Has done a deed of sin.




GEORGE AND HIS GUINEA.


Little George Ames went with his Aunt to attend a missionary meeting.
After the minister had ended his sermon, as he sat in the pew he
whispered to his aunt, saying, "I wish you would lend me a guinea and I
will give it to you again when we get home." His aunt asked him what he
wanted of his guinea; he told her he wished to put it in the box when it
came round, to assist in sending the gospel to the heathen children. She
replied, "a guinea is a great deal of money, George; you had better ask
your mother, first." As George's mother lived very near the church, he
went home immediately, and said, "Mother, will you let me have my guinea
to give to the mission." George's mother saw that he was very much
interested for the heathen children, and says to him, "supposing you
give half of it." "No," said George, "I want to give it all."

"Well, my dear, you will remember you cannot give it and have it too."
She then gave him a one pound note, and a shilling. But George said he
would rather have a guinea. "Why," said his mother, "what difference can
it make? it is just the same amount." "Yes," said George, "but that one
pound will seem so much for a little boy to give. If I had a guinea, I
could put it in between two half-pence and nobody would know any thing
about it." His mother was pleased with his proposal, and George having
got his guinea returned to the church and put it in the box as he
intended.

Little George is now dead, and there is no danger of his being puffed up
by what he has done. You may learn from this act of George, how to do
some good to poor heathen children. You should be willing to deny
yourselves some pleasures in order that you may benefit others. And if
you do good out of a pure motive you will be blessed in the deed.




THE JEW AND HIS DAUGHTER.


A Jew came to this country from London, many years ago, and brought with
him all his property. He had a lovely daughter of seventeen; with her he
settled in a charming retreat on the fruitful banks of the Ohio, in the
Western part of Virginia. He had buried his wife before he left Europe,
and he knew no comfort but the company of his beloved daughter. She
possessed an amiable disposition, and was well educated; she could
speak several languages, and her manners pleased all who knew her. Being
a Jew, he brought up his daughter in the strictest principles of his
faith.

It was not long after that his daughter was taken sick. The rose faded
from her cheek, her strength failed, and it was certain that she could
not live long. Her father was deeply affected. He tried to talk with
her, but could seldom speak without weeping. He spared no expense to
have her get well. One day he was walking in the wood near his house
when he was sent for by his dying daughter. With a heavy heart he
entered the door of her room, and he saw that he was now to take the
last farewell of his daughter.

"My father," said the child, "do you love me?" "Yes," he replied, "you
know that I love you." "I know, father, you have ever loved me. You have
been a kind father, and I tenderly love you. Grant me my dying
request."

"What is it, my child? ask what you will, though it take every farthing
of my property, it shall be granted. I _will grant_ your request."

"My dear father, I now beg of you never again to speak lightly of Jesus
of Nazareth; I know that he is a Saviour, and that he has made himself
known to me, since I have been sick, even for the salvation of my soul.
I entreat you to obtain a Testament that tells of him and that you may
bestow on him the love that was formerly _mine_." She now ceased
speaking, her father left the room, when her soul took its flight to God
who gave it. After her decease the parent purchased a Testament and read
about Jesus of Nazareth, and is now a devoted Christian. Good children
may be made blessings to their parents and friends.




ANECDOTES.


TRUE BENEFICENCE.--Mark Antony, when very much depressed, and at the ebb
of his fortune, cried out, "I have lost all, except what I have given
away."

WASHINGTON AND THE SOLDIER.--A British soldier said, "It was once in my
power to shoot Gen. Washington." "Why, then," said an American, "did you
not do it?" "Because," he replied, "the death of Washington would not
have been for our benefit, for we depended upon him to treat our
prisoners kindly."

YES AND NO.--John Randolph, in one of his letters to a young relative,
says: "You must expect unreasonable requests to be preferred to you
every day of your life; and you must endeavor to say _no_ with as much
facility and kindness as you would say _yes_."

OSCEOLA.--It is said that the name of Osceola was given to that famous
chief by an old lady in a frontier village, who had newly arrived in the
country, and had never seen an Indian. When she saw him she burst forth
in utter astonishment--"Oh see! Oh la! What a curious looking man!"

SIGISMOND.--This Emperor was once reproached by some courtiers for being
favorable to his foes--to whom he replied, "Do I not effectually destroy
my enemies when I make them my friends?"




CHINESE PROVERBS.


What is told in the ear is often heard a hundred miles.

Riches come better after poverty, than poverty after riches.

Who aims at excellence will be above mediocrity; who aims at mediocrity
will fall short of it.

No remedies can revive old age and faded flowers.

A truly great man never puts away the simplicity of a child.

He who toils with pain will eat with pleasure.

A wise man forgets old grudges.

       *       *       *       *       *

Those that dare lose a day are dangerously prodigal; those that dare
mis-spend it, desperate.--_Bishop Hall_.

Truth enters into the heart of man when it is empty, and clean and
still: but when the mind is shaken with passion as with a storm, you can
never hear the voice of the charmer, though he charm never so wisely.

[Illustration]




COMFORT AND SOBRIETY.


In the picture you see a true emblem of a temperate and virtuous life.
Let me here give you a few maxims to commit to memory:--

Avoid and shun the sources of misery.

Be sure not to _indulge_ your appetite.

Strong drink excites a person to do wrong.

Remember you are never out of temptation.

_A life_ of _virtue_ and _temperance_ will secure to you money and time;
will give you health, and prosperity, peace, character, respect, and
usefulness.




PLEDGE.


    Our hands and our hearts we give
      To the temperance pledge, declaring,
    That long as on earth we live,
      All its bountiful blessings sharing,

    We will taste not and touch not the bowl
      That burns with intoxication,
    And will lend our assistance to roll
      The temperance ball through the nation.