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[Illustration]


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                             LITTLE ALFRED.




                                   BY
                      THE AUTHOR OF “LITTLE ELLA.”




           Behold I have prepared the tenderest grass
           That grows on Zion’s hill. Here feeble lambs
           May find sweet nourishment, and gather strength
           To climb the verdant heights, where the fair flock
           On richer pasture feed.—PEEP OF DAY.




                        EDITED BY D. P. KIDDER.




                               New-York:
                       PUBLISHED BY LANE & SCOTT,
              FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION OF THE METHODIST
                   EPISCOPAL CHURCH, 200 MULBERRY-ST.
                       Joseph Longking, Printer.
                                 1850.


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              Entered according to Act of Congress, in the
          year 1847, by Lane & Tippett, in the Clerk’s Office
           of the District Court of the Southern District of
                               New-York.




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                                PREFACE.

                                  ---


I have written this book for little boys. I hope they may like it;
although it does not contain any wonderful stories about giants, or
genii, or fairies.

I wanted to do them good, as well as to amuse them. Although I do not
mention the name of the Saviour in every chapter, I yet try to talk of
things that will lead their minds up to him. I wish them to feel how
good he has been to them, in giving them kind parents to teach them his
word, health to enjoy the beauties of creation, and in bestowing on them
so many other mercies.

That they may love the Redeemer in their early years, and at last dwell
with him in heaven, is the prayer of their friend,

                                                             THE AUTHOR.


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                               CONTENTS.


                Chap.                                  Page

                   I. —Summer Pleasures                   9

                  II. —A Contrast                        14

                 III. —The Snow                          23

                  IV. —The Sled and the Skates           26

                   V. —Scripture Instruction             31

                  VI. —Little Samuel                     43

                 VII. —The Farewell—The Return Home      51

                VIII. —God’s Call to the Little          56
                        Prophet

                  IX. —Rupert’s Sunday Ride              62

                   X. —Sunday Evening—Talk with          69
                        Rupert

                  XI. —The Commandments                  72

                 XII. —Love makes Obedience easy         86

                XIII. —Prompt Obedience                  91

                 XIV. —The Disobedient Chicken           98

                  XV. —About many good Things           103

                 XVI. —The Obedient Boy                 108

                XVII. —Pierre Merlin                    112

               XVIII. —The Silly Bird                   124

                 XIX. —Joy in Heaven—The Runaways       129

                  XX. —The Rescue—Welcome Home          135

                 XXI. —The Little Dogs                  143

                XXII. —Forbidden Fruit                  150

               XXIII. —Happy Children                   160

                XXIV. —The School-house                 165

                 XXV. —The Sugar-plums                  171

                XXVI. —The Robins                       177

               XXVII. —The Prophet—His Deliverer        181

              XXVIII. —Little William                   187


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                             LITTLE ALFRED.




                               CHAPTER I

                           SUMMER PLEASURES.

                                -------

              Up! let us to the fields away,
                And breathe the fresh and balmy air:
              The bird is building in the tree,
              The flower has open’d to the bee,
                And health, and love, and peace are there.
                                              MARY HOWITT.


ALFRED PENROSE was a little boy who lived in a pretty town on the banks
of the Connecticut River. We will call the place in which Alfred lived
Norwood, although that is not its real name.

When the weather was warm Alfred’s father would often take him and his
older brothers in a little boat upon the river. Sometimes they would row
to a pleasant creek, over which large trees drooped their branches until
they touched the water. There Alfred’s father and brothers would catch
fish, which they carried home to have cooked for breakfast the next
morning. They were not cruel enough to use worms for bait. They baited
their hook with pieces of raw meat, or dough, which the fish liked quite
as well as worms.

While Alfred’s brothers helped their father to fish, the little boy
would steal away from them to a small brook which ran through the meadow
where his father allowed him to go by himself, because there was no
danger. Mr. Penrose did not like to have Alfred too near him when he was
fishing. The little fellow’s merry laugh and loud voice frightened away
the fish. So, as we have said, Alfred would steal away to the little
brook, and launch the shingle boat, with its paper sails, which his
brother Harry had made for him; or pick his way across the brook on the
stepping stones to the sunny bank, in search of the beautiful flowers
which peep forth from among the withered leaves of the last year. And
handfuls of the pretty light blue flower called innocence would he
gather, for it is found everywhere in its season, smiling in wood and
meadow, by shaded streams, and in the glittering sunshine.

O, very pleasant was the budding spring-time, and the rich, ripe summer
season, to little Alfred!

Then they would often bring their dinner with them, and eat it by the
pebbly brook, which sung its sweet tune to them as it danced along, and
mingled its voice with the merry birds which saluted them from the trees
above their heads.

Alfred’s father always received his son’s little love-offering of
flowers with a smile.

“I am glad my little boy loves flowers,” he would say. “They are God’s
beautiful presents to us. How sweetly Jesus speaks of flowers in Matthew
vi, 28-30:

“Consider the lilies of the field how they grow; they toil not, neither
do they spin: and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon, in all his
glory, was not arrayed like one of these.

“Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is,
and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you,
O ye of little faith?”


[Illustration]

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                               CHAPTER II

                   A CONTRAST TO THE FORMER CHAPTER.

             * * * * * little children, endeavoring
             to gather amusement from the very dust, and
             straws and pebbles of squalid alleys, shut out
             from the glorious countenance of nature.
                                            WILLIAM HOWITT.


WHEN little Alfred returned home, on a Saturday afternoon, from one of
the delightful visits to the woods of which I have told you, his mamma
lifted him up on the sofa beside her, and said,

“How good our heavenly Father is to my little Alfred! He has given him a
kind papa, who loves him dearly. Little boys cannot be thankful enough
to God for that great blessing. There are many little children who have
very unkind fathers. Some of them are wicked enough to spend all their
money for rum, and do not get anything for their poor little children to
eat.”

Alfred’s little sister Flora had run up to her mamma, to listen to her
as she talked with Alfred. She was a tender-hearted little girl, and her
lip quivered, and the tears came into her eyes, when she heard about the
children who had such naughty fathers.

Then Mrs. Penrose took little Flora upon her lap, and went on talking to
Alfred. She said,

“And my little Alfred’s papa takes him in the pleasant woods, and in the
fields, and lets him gather the sweet flowers which grow there. And he
and little Flora can hear the happy birds sing all day long. Now, there
are some little children who never see a flower grow, or hear a bird
sing, and they scarcely even see the pretty blue sky which is over their
heads.”

“O, mamma!” said Alfred, “are they blind and deaf?”

“No, my love, but they live in dark and crowded places in the city. Some
live in garrets, and some in cellars, where the houses are high and the
streets very narrow. So the beautiful things which God has given us to
make us glad are quite shut out from them. When I lived in the city I
went one day to see a poor family who lived in a cellar, in a dark and
dirty court. The father of this family was a drunkard. He had even sold,
for rum, the bed on which his sick wife lay. When I went to her, the
poor woman had only some straw, in a corner of the cellar, to lie upon.
The children had very little fire, although the weather was cold, and
nothing to eat, except what people carried them from day to day.

“Among the children was one pale, sickly-looking little boy, named
Johnny. He was only eight years old; but his mother told me that she did
not know what she should have done without little Johnny. He did
everything that he could for her during the day; and when she coughed or
moved at night, the little boy would run up to her and ask her if she
would have some water, or if he should raise her head higher.

“In a corner, Johnny had a faded rose planted in some dirt which he had
scooped from the cellar, and put in an old tin cup.

“The rose had been, one day, dropped by a lady, who was walking before
Johnny, in Broadway. Johnny was an honest boy. He ran up to the lady,
and offered her the rose which she had dropped. The lady smiled, and
said, ‘You can keep it, my little boy. I do not want it.’

“The rose was then fresh and beautiful. Johnny thought that if he
planted it, it might perhaps live. It did take root even in that poor
soil, but it could not grow any.

“He looked up into my face, on the day that I first went to see his
mother, and said,

“‘O, ma’am! do you think that my rose will live? I have kept it in the
warmest place, and watered it every day.’

“‘Yes,’ said his mother, ‘however hungry and cold poor Johnny has been,
he never forgot his rose.’

“I saw when he asked me the question that his rose was nearly dead. The
tears came into his eyes when I told him this.

“Poor little boy! The flower was like himself, withering away for want
of light and air.

“Just think, Alfred, how happy little Johnny would have been, running
with his bare feet through the fields, looking at the golden and
speckled butterflies, filling his cap with wild-flowers, and listening
to the song of the birds, and the busy hum of the honey-bee!

“One day I took Johnny to my house, and showed him a stand of flowers.
He was delighted. He clapped his hands, and his eyes sparkled. He smelt
the heliotropes and the roses, and he looked at the rich flowers of the
cactus. When I gave him a bouquet to carry to his own miserable home, he
seemed perfectly happy.

“The next time I went to that dark, gloomy cellar, there the flowers
stood in the old tin cup from which the poor rose had been taken.”

Alfred and Flora felt sorry for poor Johnny; but they were glad to hear
that his mother got well, and that little Johnny had been put with a
farmer, where he could hear the birds sing, and see the brooks and the
trees, and pick wild-flowers in the fields.

When they went to bed they thanked God for many mercies which they had
not thought of before.


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                              CHAPTER III

                               THE SNOW.

                    How beautiful the earth is now!
                  The hills have put their vesture on,
                    And clothed is the forest bough:
                  Say not ’tis an unlovely time!
                                          MARY HOWITT.


IF the summer season and the spring-time were pleasant to little Alfred,
so also were the winter hours.

When the snow came—the fair, beautiful snow, falling so softly and
quietly upon the frozen ground, and making every tree look like a fairy
bower—Alfred ran about the house, singing:

                 “I love the snow, the first white snow,
                  That decks the merry earth.”

When Alfred was very little he had no sled of his own; but his friends,
Charles and Arthur Brown, used now and then to give him a ride upon
their sled. This he always enjoyed very much.

When he was four years old, Alfred said,

“O, father, I do wish that I had a sled of my own!”

“Why do you wish to have a sled of your own, my son?” said his father.
“The boys are so kind as to give you a ride every day.”

“Yes, I know it, papa,” said Alfred; “but I am afraid they take me
sometimes when they want to ride themselves. And then you know I can
only go to ride when their school is out.”

“Indeed,” said Alfred’s mother, “I have thought lately that I would like
Alfred to have a sled of his own. He gets his lessons quickly now, so
that he is quite through them by eleven o’clock. If he had a little sled
he could slide down the terrace two hours before dinner time. It would
be good exercise for him.”

Alfred’s father looked pleased to hear that he got his lessons quickly.
He said, “I think if Alfred continues to study well he must have a sled
of his own.”

“O, father! do please get me one, and have it painted green, with a
black stripe around it.”


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                               CHAPTER IV

                        THE SLED AND THE SKATES.

            When the north winds blow, on my sled I go,
            With a bounding heart, o’er the glitt’ring snow;
            Or swift on the clear, cold ice I glide,
            With my watchful father close by my side.


O, HOW very much pleased was Alfred to find the sled he had asked for
standing by his bed one morning when he awoke! As soon as he had washed
and dressed himself, and said his prayers, he ran to thank his dear
father for his nice present. Alfred’s mamma had bought him a woolen cap,
which she wadded and lined, and he had a warm plaid cloak; so he was
quite ready for his first ride.

The snow was frozen very hard, so that the upper crust bore the sled;
and merrily, merrily indeed did the little boy slide swiftly down the
terrace, and even to the very bottom of the lawn. He did not mind
pulling the sled up the hill for the pleasure of riding down.

By and by he looked up at the bed-room window, and saw his little sister
Flora’s face looking at him through one of the panes. Alfred was not a
selfish boy. He liked to share every pleasure with his sister.

“O, my poor little Flora!” said he, “you must come out and have a ride
too.”

So he left his sled, and ran into the house to ask his mother if she
would not let Flora ride upon the sled. At first his mamma said she was
afraid it was too cold for Flora; but when Alfred promised to take great
care of her, she said that she might go out with him for a little while.
She put on Flora’s warm cap, and coat, and mittens, and comforter, and
stood by the window to watch the little ones.

O, how they both enjoyed it! Alfred was very much pleased to have Flora
put under his care. He kept her feet covered up, and drew the sled down
the terrace very carefully. After a little while Mrs. Penrose sent Ann
out to bring Flora into the house. When Mr. Penrose came home to dinner,
he asked Alfred how he had enjoyed the morning.

“O, father,” said Alfred, “I have been so happy! How much I thank you
for my new sled! I will be a very good boy for it.”

“I hope you will be a good boy, Alfred,” said his papa. “You must ask
God to keep you from doing wrong; for you know, I suppose, that it is
only through his help that we can do a right action. I am always afraid
when I hear people boast of what they intend to do.”

Soon after this, Alfred’s father bought him a beautiful little pair of
skates, and took him upon the pond to teach him to skate.

He had thought that winter was almost as pleasant as summer when he
first rode upon his sled; but now that he could skate too, he forgot all
the pleasures of the summer, and, like Tommy in the looking-glass,
wished that it could be “always winter.”


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                               CHAPTER V

                         SCRIPTURE INSTRUCTION.

             And these words, which I command thee this
             day, shall be in thine heart: and thou shalt
             teach them diligently unto thy children, and
             shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine
             house, and when thou walkest by the way, and
             when thou liest down, and when thou risest up.
             And thou shalt bind them for a sign upon thine
             hand, and they shall be as frontlets between
             thine eyes. And thou shalt write them upon
             the posts of thy house, and on thy gates.—Deut.
             vi, 6-9.


BEFORE little Alfred could read he knew a great deal of the Bible. He
had a volume of Scripture plates, which he would turn over upon his
father’s knee, and ask him the meaning of them. Alfred’s father loved
the Bible, and he wanted his children to love it too; and therefore he
took great delight in explaining it to them, and in telling them the
beautiful stories which it contains.

There was the picture of Jacob dreaming his sweet dream about the ladder
which reached to heaven, on which the angels of God came and went.

And there was brave Daniel in the lions’ den; because he _would_ worship
God when the king said he should not.

And there, too, was faithful Abraham, about to offer up to God “his son,
his only son Isaac,” whom he loved.

All these, and many more delightful stories from the Bible, Alfred and
Flora would repeat before they could read.

They both thought and talked a great deal about the Bible.

One day, in the summer time, Alfred and Flora went out together into the
garden. They sat down upon a seat under the willow-tree. Little Flora
took her doll in her arms when she went out; but when they returned to
the house she did not have it with her.

Alfred said,

“Flora, where is your doll?”

“O, brother,” said Flora, “I left her lying on the grass.”

“Why did you leave her there?” inquired Alfred.

“I thought, brother, that maybe God would make a gourd grow over her
head, like that which grew over Jonah.”

“But the sun is not as hot here as it is in Jonah’s country,” said
Alfred. “Besides, she is not flesh and blood.”

Some time after this, when the weather had become cold, Alfred had a
cousin, named Rupert, come to spend his vacation with him. Rupert was
five years older than Alfred. He had not lived much at home with his
parents. He had been almost always at a public school. Alfred had never
yet been to school.

Rupert’s mother sent Flora a large doll. She said,

“O, thank you, cousin! I will name her Miriam.” “Who is Miriam?” said
Rupert; for he had not heard of her.

“O, cousin,” said Flora, “Miriam was the dear little sister who watched
Moses when he lay in the ark by the river’s side. And it was Miriam who
played beautiful music on the timbrel, after the children of Israel had
crossed the Red Sea.”

Rupert managed to amuse himself pretty well, for the first few days,
with skating, and riding down hill on Alfred’s sled. But after a little
time he took a cold, which confined him to the house, and he began to
look around for something to read. Now there were quantities of very
instructive, and very amusing books too, about the house; but there were
not fairy tales enough to satisfy Rupert. So, in place of reading, he
began to tell Alfred a good many of the wonderful things that he had
heard or had read in his own books.

He said that there was once a man who had a wonderful salve, which, when
put on a person’s eyes, would make him see all the silver, and gold, and
diamonds, and other precious stones in the world.

“Is that true, Rupert?” asked Alfred.

“True? No, I do not suppose it is true.”

“Then I do not like it as well as that story papa told me the other day
about the blind man, on whose eyes Jesus put the eye-salve; for that is
true,” said Alfred.

“I will tell you another story, then,” said Rupert, laughing.

“A fairy once gave a cap to a man whose name was Fortunatus. Whenever
Fortunatus wished to be anywhere, he had only to put the cap upon his
head, and he was in the place where he wished to be, in less than a
minute.”

“Is not that true either?” said Alfred.

“No; fairy tales are never true.”

“I do not think it is as pretty as the story of Elijah, which papa has
often told me, nor any more wonderful either. Elijah was taken to heaven
in a fiery chariot. There is a great deal about Elijah in the Bible.”

“Well,” said Rupert, “I think you pair my stories pretty well. See if
you can match this.

“There was a poor woman who had a good little girl named May-Flower; and
one day a fairy brought May-Flower a cow, and told her to milk it. She
milked the cow, and it gave milk enough to fill all the dishes and pans
in the house; and yet the milk still ran, so that there was no end of
it. And that one cow made that woman the richest person on the island
where she lived.”

Alfred’s mamma had been listening to Rupert’s stories. When he stopped,
she smiled and said,

“I think Alfred can match that story.”

“How, mamma? O, I know! Elijah went once to a poor woman, and asked her
for a piece of bread, when there was a great famine in the land. The
woman had only ‘a handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a
cruse;’ but that handful of meal never grew any less, or the oil either,
until God sent rain to put an end to the famine.”

“Yes, Alfred, that is a match to Rupert’s story: but do not you
recollect another miracle, which is quite as wonderful as the story of
the cow which gave so much milk?”

Alfred did not, at first, understand what his mamma wanted him to
remember, until she said,

“What did the prophet Elisha do for the poor widow whose husband feared
God, when they were going to make slaves of her two sons?”

“O, he made one pot of oil fill all the vessels that were in the house;
and the woman sold the oil, and paid her debts with it, and then had
enough money left for herself and her sons to live upon.”[1]

Footnote 1:

  See frontispiece.

“Well, those _are_ nice stories,” said Rupert. “I did not know before
that there were any such in the Bible.”

Then Alfred said,

“O, you haven’t heard half of them yet. Let me show you my picture of
Samuel, and we will get mamma to tell us about him. I never get tired of
hearing about little Samuel and his dear, good mother!”

Rupert looked as if he did not care about hearing the story; but he
seemed pleased with the picture. It was the picture of a beautiful boy,
kneeling before a very old man, with a long beard. The sun fell upon the
boy’s curls, and made them appear of a golden color.

“Is not little Samuel pretty?” said Alfred. “And that is grandpa Eli.
Does not he look good? O, do mamma tell me about him!”

And mamma told him the story; and Rupert seemed to get interested in it
before she had finished. I give it to my little readers in the next
chapter.


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                               CHAPTER VI

                             LITTLE SAMUEL.

                     It is the child to Hannah sent,
                       When humbly she implored;
                     It is the child by Hannah lent
                       To her prayer-hearing Lord.
                                      BIBLE STORIES.


MRS. PENROSE said, “I like to read the stories in the Bible very slowly;
and I like to think, as I go along, how the persons of whom I read
looked, and how their houses looked, and how they felt when they did
certain things of which the Bible tells us. It makes me remember the
stories better, and makes me feel as if I had seen all that I read of.

“The story of Samuel always appeared to me like a beautiful picture. I
seem to see the house in which pious Hannah lived.

“There were many pretty hills in the land of Syria; and perhaps her
husband’s house stood on the side of one of them. Olive-trees, with
their pale green leaves, and dark cedars, may have shaded the house, for
they both grew in that country; and grape-vines, bearing sunny grapes,
may have grown over the pleasant porch.

“But I must not indulge my fancy too much: so I will go on with my
little story.

“Hannah was a good woman. She had no children: so she prayed to God to
give her a child. She said if God would do so, her child should be his
as long as he lived.

“God heard Hannah’s prayer. He sent her a little son, and then she was
very happy.

“Some people make promises to God, and then forget them. This is wicked.
Hannah did not do so. She remembered how she had promised God that her
little boy should be his child. She called him Samuel; and she took
great pains to make Samuel a good boy. She taught him about the true
God, and about the Messiah who was to come to redeem his people. She
sung him to sleep with holy songs. She taught him to kneel down and pray
to the God of Israel when he was a very little boy.

“I have no doubt that she told him of all the great things that God had
done for the children of Israel. How the waters of the Red Sea parted,
and stood up, like high crystal walls, on each side of them, as they
walked across on the dry land; and how he sent them bread from heaven,
when they traveled through the dreary wilderness, and made plenty of
pure, cool water gush out from the burning rock, when they were almost
choked with thirst.

“Little Samuel loved God. Very young children _can_ love God. They need
not wait to do that until they have grown large, or until they have
learned a great deal.

“At last Samuel became old enough to live away from his mother; so she
took him up to the tabernacle at Shiloh. The tabernacle was the church
in which the Jews worshiped. In the tabernacle lived a very good old
man. His name was Eli. It was Eli who was to take care of Samuel.

“I suppose Hannah led her little boy by the hand, except when the way
was rough, or when he became tired of walking, and then perhaps she
carried him. And maybe when it became hot Samuel might want to take his
little nap under some of the shady trees that grew on their way. As he
slept, I think, his mother sat beside him, and almost cried to think
that he was to be with her no longer; for although she was willing that
he should go to be a priest of the Lord, yet it was hard for her to part
with her only one. Perhaps, as she looked at Samuel sleeping under the
shadowing tree, she softly said, ‘O, my darling boy, how I shall miss
you when I return home! Your little feet will not run after me when I go
out to pick fresh flowers. When I go to bring water from the spring you
will not skip beside me, and no little dimpled hands will try to raise
the pitcher for me then. My house will be so lonely without my precious
boy! I shall dream of you in the night, and think that you are near;
but, when I try to touch you, no little hand will be there to take hold
of mine; and when I wake in the morning I shall never hear my Samuel’s
sweet voice saying, ‘Peace be with you, my mother.’

“But though Hannah may have thought thus while she looked at her
sleeping boy, she never once felt that she wanted to take back her vow.
She loved God so well that she was glad that she had anything as lovely
as her Samuel to give him.

“Thus I might weep, Alfred, if you were one day to go from us, as a
missionary, to distant lands; but I think that I should still be
willing, and even thankful, that you were called by God to such a high
and holy office.”


[Illustration]


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                              CHAPTER VII

                     THE FAREWELL—THE RETURN HOME.

                  And true it was that angels still
                    Good little Samuel led;
                  Were with him in his happy play,
                    And round his little bed.
                  They kept his heart so kind and true,
                    They made his eye so mild;
                  For dearly do the angels love
                    A gentle little child.
                                  FLOWERS FOR CHILDREN.


“PERHAPS Eli met Hannah at the door of the tabernacle, and she may have
said to him,

“‘Eli, I bring you a precious offering. It is my only child. It was
sweet to have him with me, for he was gentle and obedient, and he made
my house cheerful and happy. But I promised my little Samuel to the
Lord, and now I have come to perform my vow.’

“Then Eli would say,

“‘Thou hast done well, my daughter. The Lord bless thee, and repay thee,
because thou hast fulfilled the vows which thy lips did make unto him.’

“At last Hannah had to leave her little boy. It must have been hard for
Samuel to have his mother go away from him. At night her voice would not
sing him to sleep. When he wakened in the darkness, and said, ‘My
mother!’ she would not be there to answer him. No more would he sit upon
her lap, in the evening hour, to hear beautiful stories of the
patriarchs and saints, and of the great Messiah that was to come.

“But if he said, ‘Do not go, my mother!’ she told him that she would
love him still, and come again to see him; and that Eli would be a dear
father unto him.

“Perhaps when she went away she said,

“‘O, Eli, be very kind to my little boy! He is only a tender babe. His
little bed has always been near my own. Shall he not sleep near you at
night, so that if he is ill you may attend to him?’

“And the good old priest told Hannah to be comforted; for he would love
and take care of her boy, and teach him to be good.


[Illustration]


“Then Hannah kissed and blessed Samuel, and returned to her own home.

“But, O, how much she thought of him on her way back to her house! She
thought of him when she saw flowers such as he had picked for her on his
way to Shiloh, and which she had put in her bosom; and when the tree
came in sight under which he had slept, and when she saw, gushing from
the hill, the spring of whose water she had given Samuel to drink, and
with which she had wetted his soft, warm hair, and cooled his sweet;
rosy face. But Hannah heard God’s voice telling her not to grieve for
Samuel; for that he was to be a great and holy prophet, who should do
much good in the world, and serve the Lord from youth to old age. Then
Hannah listened to the voice of God, and was comforted.”


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                              CHAPTER VIII

                   GOD’S CALL TO THE LITTLE PROPHET.

                   When little Samuel woke,
                     And heard his Maker’s voice.
                   At every word he spoke
                     How much did he rejoice!
                   O blessed, happy child, to find
                   The God of heaven so near and kind!
                                  SUNDAY-SCHOOL HYMNS.


“HANNAH used to go up to the tabernacle, once a year, to see her dear
boy. She always took him a little coat. O, how much pleasure she must
have taken in making that little coat! It was of linen, and made very
much like the tunic aprons which children wear now, only that it was
long.

“Samuel must have enjoyed his dear mother’s yearly visit very much. I
think he often went to the door of the tabernacle, and looked out, on
the day that he expected her. When he saw her coming, perhaps he asked
Eli to let him run and meet her; unless he was too busy assisting at the
altar, for it was the day of the yearly sacrifice.

“Samuel lived happily in the tabernacle. God loved him, and those whom
he loves are happy.

“One night, as Samuel slept upon his little bed, a voice called
‘Samuel!’

“The little boy thought that Eli called him, and he ran to the prophet,
saying,

“‘Here am I.’

“Eli told Samuel that _he_ had not called him; and bade him go and lie
down again. He had just done so, when again the voice called ‘Samuel!’

“The little boy again jumped from his bed, and ran to Eli, saying,

“‘Here am I; for thou didst call me.’

“Eli said,

“‘I called not, my son. Lie down again.’

“Then the third time did God call to Samuel, and three times did he go
to Eli, thinking it was he who called him.

“But then Eli knew that it was God who called the child. He told Samuel
to say, when the Lord called him again, ‘Speak, Lord, for thy servant
heareth.’

“This little Samuel did. Then the Lord told him that he was going to
punish Eli’s wicked sons. Eli had wicked children, although he was a
good man. He did not punish his children when they were naughty; so they
grew up sinners against God, and were destroyed for their wickedness.

“Samuel lived to be a very old man. When he died the whole nation
mourned for him; for he was a great prophet in Israel. We do not read of
his having ever done one wrong thing during his whole life.

“Now, my children,” added Mrs. Penrose, “perhaps you may think that
Samuel was very highly favored to have God talk with him. But he speaks
to you also. He speaks to you in the Bible, which tells you how you may
get to heaven. He speaks to you by your minister and Sunday-school
teacher, every week. He speaks to you through your parents’ voices; and
he speaks to your heart, by his Holy Spirit, every day of your lives.”

Little Flora had been listening to the story as attentively as Rupert
and Alfred, although her bright blue eyes began to look sleepy. She
said,

“Mamma, is there more about Samuel in the Bible?”

“Yes, my dear, there is much more than I have told you,” said her mamma.

“Then I will make haste and learn to read,” said she, “that I may know
all that Samuel did when he was a big man.”

Her mamma was glad that her little stories made Flora wish to read the
Bible for herself.


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                               CHAPTER IX

                         RUPERT’S SUNDAY RIDE.

                   “This day belongs to God alone;
                   He chooses Sunday for his own;
                   And we must neither work nor play,
                   Because it is the sabbath-day.”


EVERY morning, at the breakfast-table, each one repeated a text of
Scripture. They selected their texts alphabetically, each text beginning
with the same letter. They began with A, and went on daily with each
letter until they got through the alphabet. Rupert did not like this. He
could not see the use of it, he said. But the truth was, he did not want
the trouble of learning the text.

Mr. Penrose knew that Rupert was to be with them but a short time, and
he was anxious to teach him something good while he had the opportunity.
He felt sorry for the poor boy, who had learned so little of God’s word,
and who had never been taught to make any difference between the sabbath
and other days. Rupert often gave Mr. and Mrs. Penrose trouble; but they
bore it patiently, in hope of doing him some good.

One Sunday the snow lay deep upon the ground, but there was a good path
down the hill. Alfred set off for church with his papa, brothers, and
Rupert. It was too cold for little Flora to go that day. When they got
about half way to church Rupert found that he had left his
pocket-handkerchief. Like most careless boys, Rupert was always losing
his pocket-handkerchief. Instead of putting it back in his pocket, after
using it, he would lay it by him in the chair on which he sat, and leave
it there when he got up. Rupert’s pocket-handkerchief was always to be
picked up.

“So, as I have said, when he was half way to church Rupert had to go
back for his pocket-handkerchief. The family walked slowly toward the
church, thinking that he would overtake them: but he did not; and Mr.
Penrose waited for him upon the step. As he stood there, however, he saw
Rupert riding in a sleigh, through a street which crossed the one on
which the church stood, with John Strong, a boy with whom he had formed
a great intimacy, very much against the wishes of his uncle and aunt.

The sermon had commenced when Master Rupert walked into church, and took
his seat in his uncle’s pew, with rather a sheepish air. As usual, after
he got there he gaped about the church, put his head down as if
composing himself to sleep; then jerked it up suddenly, turned round,
fidgeted on his seat, and made everybody near him uncomfortable.

When the hymn was sung he turned his back to the minister, and looked up
at the choir; a practice, by the by, which shows as much irreverence as
bad breeding. When we sing we should feel as much devotion as when we
pray. How can we do this when we stand gazing at the choir, instead of
feeling the solemn words that we are repeating?

As soon as the benediction was over, Rupert caught his cap, and, leaning
over to Alfred, said,

“By jingo! what a noble pair of horses John Strong drives! I have had
such a capital ride!”

Alfred’s father took hold of his hand, and did not let it go until he
got to the house; and Henry Penrose walked beside Rupert; so that he had
no one to listen to his praises of John Strong’s driving, and John
Strong’s horses, of which his mind was full.

Between the Sunday-school, church in the afternoon, and reading aloud to
Alfred and Flora, from some interesting and profitable book, Rupert had
no time for any conversation with Alfred; and nothing had been said to
him about his conduct in the morning. He seemed, however, even more
restless and tired of Sunday than usual. Mrs. Penrose searched the house
for some book to interest him, but could find none that he would read.


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                               CHAPTER X

                    SUNDAY EVENING—TALK WITH RUPERT.

               Ye shall walk after the Lord your God, and
               fear him, and keep his commandments, and
               obey his voice, and ye shall serve him, and
               cleave unto him.—Deut. xiii, 4.


AFTER tea the family assembled around a bright coal fire, which burnt in
the grate, and threw its pleasant glow over every object in the room.
The wind howled around the house, and more snow was falling to improve
the already fine sleighing. The solar lamp lighted the table around
which the family sat. All looked quiet and happy but our poor little
restless Rupert. In the next room slept Flora, it may be dreaming of the
loving Marys who went to the sepulchre of Jesus; for that was the story
which her mother told her that night, before she laid her in her little
bed.

“Papa,” said Alfred, “I know all the commandments now; may I say them to
you?”

And Alfred repeated them to his father, without missing many words.

“What’s the use of getting all those commandments?” asked Rupert.

“Papa says it is God’s law, which we are to try to keep,” said Alfred.

“Why, you _do_ keep it, don’t you?” said Rupert. “I am sure I do.”

“Are you quite sure, Rupert?” said Mr. Penrose, looking off his book.

“Yes, sir; I am sure I do not worship images, nor lie, nor swear, nor
steal.”

“And you think, then, that you have not broken one of God’s commandments
to-day?”

“I do not think I have.”

“O, Rupert, take care!” said Alfred. “I have often said so; but when
papa came to talk to me about them, I found that I broke them every
day.”

“Let us begin then, Rupert,” said Alfred’s father, “and inquire what the
first commandment is.”


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                               CHAPTER XI

                           THE COMMANDMENTS.

                                 Say not, Too soon
             I urge their tottering steps. Should I forbear,
             On every side deceitful strangers stand,
             And beckon them away; in flowery paths
             Awhile to sport; and then to wander long
             Amidst the hills of darkness and of death,
             Where hungry beasts, in every thicket hid,
             Wait to devour.—PEEP OF DAY.


RUPERT knew the words of the first commandment. He answered, “The first
commandment is, ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’”

“Now,” said Mr. Penrose, “this commandment forbids our giving that
worship, or love, to any other which is due to God alone. If we think of
anything besides God when we profess to be thinking of him, and when we
seem to be engaged in his worship, then we are putting other gods before
him. Now tell me, Rupert, were you thinking much of God when you were in
church this morning?”

“No, not very much,” said Rupert, who, with all his faults, generally
spoke the truth.

Then Mr. Penrose tried to show Rupert that he had broken the first
commandment, by allowing something besides God to have the first place
in his mind and heart; but he did not dwell as long upon the subject as
he wished to do, because he knew that young people, from their natural
dislike to serious truths, can best be instructed by a few hints at a
time.

“You say that you did not think much of God, Rupert. Will you tell me
candidly what you _did_ think of?”

After close questioning, Rupert acknowledged that he had been thinking
more of John Strong’s beautiful gray horses than of anything else; and
that he wished that he had them.

_Mr. Penrose._ “What is the second commandment, Rupert?”

Rupert undertook to say it; but could not get quite through it, and
Alfred helped him.

_Mr. Penrose._ “It is certain that we always worship what we love best;
and I fear, Rupert, although you had no graven image to worship, your
heart was going out in idolatry after those ‘beautiful gray horses,’ as
much as the poor Papist’s after his wooden cross, or his image of the
Virgin. Do you not think so? Alfred, can you tell me of another way in
which the second commandment can be broken?”

“By thinking of our clothes instead of listening to the minister, and
trying to pray to God, when we are in church,” said Alfred, blushing
very deeply.

“Well, that is what I did not do, I am sure,” said Rupert, whose fault
was certainly not that of being too particular about his dress; for his
clothes were always pitched on any way, although he was old enough to
dress himself properly if he would.

_Mr. Penrose._ “But it is what I knew a little boy do, when he had his
new suit of plaid clothes, with brass buttons, on for the first time,
and two pockets in them besides. First he looked at himself in the
buttons; then he put his hymn-book in his pocket; then he pulled it
out.”

_Alfred._ “O, father! I know I did that; but I was sorry for it, and I
have tried not to break the second commandment since.”

_Mrs. Penrose._ “Yes, father, I think that we must not talk of what is
past any more.”

_Mr. Penrose._ “I spoke of it to show Rupert in how many different ways
we can break God’s commandments; and to let him know that I did not
consider him the only guilty one. Now, I am afraid you have broken two
of the commandments, Rupert. Shall we go on with the others?”

_Rupert._ “Yes; for I am sure I could not have broken any more by that
little sleigh-ride.”

_Mr. Penrose._ “What is the third commandment, Rupert?”

_Rupert._ “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain: for
the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.”

_Mr. Penrose._ “Your first words after the congregation was dismissed
prove that you broke the third commandment. Christ says, ‘Swear not at
all: neither by heaven; for it is God’s throne: nor by the earth; for it
is his footstool: neither by Jerusalem; for it is the city of the great
King: neither shalt thou swear by thy head; because thou canst not make
one hair white or black. But let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay,
nay; for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil.’ Matt. v, 34-37.

“Now, your communication was not Yea, yea, or Nay, nay, when you burst
upon us with ‘By jingo,’ before the minister had hardly finished the
benediction. That word was wicked, and certainly comes under the head of
that ‘foolish talking’ which the apostle condemns.”

_Rupert._ “Well, I know you will make me out a sabbath-breaker next. I
knew I was that myself; but I did not know that I was doing so many
other bad things by that sleigh-ride.”

_Mr. Penrose._ “Since you plead guilty to breaking the fourth
commandment, Rupert, we will pass over that, and come to the fifth.”

“I did not break that. My father and mother would not have cared for my
riding to-day,” said Rupert, who had got the Bible opened before him, at
the twentieth chapter of Exodus, that he might find out what the
commandments were.

_Mr. Penrose._ “But you are now under our care, Rupert. We are as
parents to you while you stay with us. You knew that we would not like
to have you riding about the town on a Sunday; therefore, in not
honoring us, and doing as we wish, I think you broke the fifth
commandment.”

By this time Rupert seemed to have got quite interested in the
examination of himself; for Mr. Penrose spoke kindly to him, and he knew
that it was out of love to him that he thus talked to him of his faults.
He ran over the commandments:

“‘Thou shalt not kill.’ I am sure I did not do that.”

_Mr. Penrose._ “Not if you did not get angry at the horses, or overdrive
them.”

_Rupert._ “We could not get angry at them; they are such noble fellows,
and went so free: but they _were_ all in a lather when they got to the
stable. I cannot say they are not hurt, but that was not my fault, you
know.”

_Mr. Penrose._ “If they were hurt, I am afraid you will have to bear a
little of the blame; as you were probably the cause of the extra ride.”

_Rupert._ (Looking at the Bible,) “‘Thou shalt not commit adultery.’
That has nothing to do with horses. ‘Thou shalt not steal.’ We did not
steal, at any rate! ‘Thou’”——

_Mr. Penrose._ “Stop, stop! Rupert. Not so fast. Do not skip over the
eighth commandment so swiftly. Did Mr. Strong know that John had his
horses and sleigh?”

_Rupert._ “No, sir, I do not think he did. I suppose he expected John
would take them directly to the stable, when he left the family at
church.”

_Mr. Penrose._ “Then you were both using what belonged to another, in a
way that the owner would not have liked; and in doing this you broke the
eighth commandment.”

_Rupert._ “O dear, uncle! I hope that you won’t make out that I broke
any more of the commandments. I know that I did not break the ninth.”

_Mr. Penrose._ “Read the ninth commandment to me, Rupert.”

_Rupert._ “‘Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.’
That I did not do.”

_Mr. Penrose._ “This commandment forbids falsehood. A boy who, like John
Strong, would drive his father’s horses on Sunday, without permission,
would be likely to tell a falsehood to screen himself from blame.”

_Rupert._ “He _did_ say that he meant to tell his father he took the
horses directly home from the church.”

_Mr. Penrose._ “Then I very much fear that your company was the
temptation to John to take that ride, which ended in his telling a
falsehood to his father. When we are, in any way, knowingly the cause of
another person’s committing sin, it is the same as if we had committed
the sin ourselves. So, my dear Rupert, I fear you are not quite
guiltless upon the ninth commandment. But go on with the tenth.”

_Rupert._ “‘Thou shalt not covet.’ There! Now I know you will bring me
up with that too, uncle; because I said I wished I had John’s grays. I
do think that I broke that. But just to think that in less than an hour
I broke almost all the commandments!”

_Mr. Penrose._ “You see by this that the breaking of one commandment
leads to the breach of many. We rarely ever break one commandment alone.
As St. James says, ‘Whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend
in one point, he is guilty of all.’ James ii, 10.”

_Rupert._ “Well, I do not believe any person ever kept all the
commandments, or ever could keep them either.”


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                              CHAPTER XII

                       LOVE MAKES OBEDIENCE EASY.

                       May I in my God delight,
                       Have him ever in my sight;
                       Love to do his holy will.
                                LITTLE HYMN-BOOK.


“NO mere man ever lived without having broken God’s commandments,” said
Mr. Penrose. “Jesus Christ, who was both God and man, is the only person
who ever lived in our world without breaking that law which was given
upon Mount Sinai.”

“But must we always break God’s commandments, papa?” asked little
Alfred.

“When we believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and love him, then he takes
away our naughty feelings, and enables us to do his will. Do you
remember that very cold day when I was taken ill, and your mamma had no
one but you to send for the doctor? The snow lay deep upon the ground;
but you did not mind that or the cold north wind either. You loved your
father so well, that it was no hardship for you to run half a mile
through the cold for him. But if you had not wanted me to get well, I
know that you would have drawn up your little face, and said, ‘O, mamma!
must I go?’ especially as you were very happy, playing with your blocks
and your toy-sled, when she asked you if you thought you could take such
a long, cold walk for dear papa.

“Just so it becomes easy for us to keep God’s commandments when we learn
to love him. When we are made new creatures in Christ Jesus we feel as
the loving child does toward his dear father and mother. You know that a
child who loves his parents cannot bear to do anything to displease
them. He is always inquiring what he shall do for the dear father whom
he loves, and who is so very good to him. Just so the Christian feels.
He asks God, for his dear Son’s sake, to teach him what his will is, and
to enable him to do it; and God hears and answers his prayer. Thus Jesus
said, ‘If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love
him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.’ John xiv,
23.”

Mr. Penrose then told Rupert where he must go for pardon, even to the
Lord Jesus Christ, “who ever liveth to make intercession for us.” He did
not usually talk to the children upon religious things for as long a
time together as he had that evening: but Rupert was to leave them for
school in a few days, and Mr. Penrose wanted to give him as much
instruction as he could bear; hoping that he might think of his words at
some future time, although he did not care much for them now.

Rupert left Norwood at the appointed time; and we will now turn to our
little Alfred, who continued to have pleasant sled-rides, fine skatings,
and nice talks with papa.


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                              CHAPTER XIII

                           PROMPT OBEDIENCE.

              Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for
              this is right.—Eph. vi, 1.

                    I watch’d thee silently, and now
                      Thou art before mine eye.
                    It was a moment worthy years.
                                     BERNARD BARTON.


“COME, Alfred, it is time to go to bed,” said Mrs. Penrose to her little
son, one evening.

Alfred was busy making pictures on a slate, and did not want to go to
bed yet. He begged that he might finish off his horse. His mamma said he
_might_ finish his horse, although his hour for going to bed _had_ come.

Because he was allowed to sit up a little later than usual on that
evening, Alfred wanted to do so at another time. When his mamma said,

“Alfred, take the lamp, and go into the bed-room,” he would hesitate and
linger, as if he only obeyed his mamma because he was obliged, and not
because he loved to.

One morning Alfred’s mamma said,

“I am afraid my little boy has forgotten his old text, ‘Children, obey
your parents.’”

“Why, mamma,” said Alfred, “I think I do always obey you.”

“But you do not obey me directly; and you do not always seem to like to
do what I tell you. When I call you to me, you do not run quickly. And
lately, when I have told you to go to bed, you draw up your face, and
behave as if you went because you must, and not because you loved to do
what your mother desires. Now that is not the way that God would have
little children behave. He tells them to honor their parents. Children
should always obey willingly, and not stop to ask for a reason, when
they are commanded to do anything.”

Then Alfred’s papa, who had been reading in the room, but who had heard
what mamma had said to Alfred, said,

“I will tell you a story, Alfred, which I read when I was a very little
boy.”

“O, papa!” said Alfred, “did you use to read stories when you were a
little boy, and did you like to have stories told you as I do now, and
did you have a good papa to tell them to you, as I have? Or perhaps your
mamma told them to you.”

“You ask a great many questions in a breath, my little boy,” said his
father; “but I will try to answer them. I did love to read stories when
I was a little boy, and I did like to have them told to me; but my papa
was always too busy to tell me stories, and my mamma was dead; so I had
no one to tell me stories, as you have.”

Alfred stood still a moment, as if he were thinking. Then he said,

“O, papa, it must be very sad not to have a mamma! Did you never see
your mother? Were you a little baby when she died?”

Then his papa told Alfred that he was not a little baby when his mother
died; but that he was only five years old.

“I only remember one thing about her,” said he. “I went into her
bed-room one morning, and said, ‘Mamma, will you go down stairs now?’
And she answered me, ‘In a few minutes, Arthur. Go and stand by the
window until I am ready.’ Then as I stood by the window I saw my mamma
kneel down by the side of her bed, and put her hands over her face. When
she was done I asked her what made her cry? She answered, ‘I was not
crying, my child. I was praying to God.’ That is almost all I recollect
of my dear mamma, Alfred.”

“I think that was a pleasant remembrance, papa,” said little Alfred.
“Perhaps your mamma then prayed for you, and maybe that is the reason
why you are good now. But please tell me the story that you read when
you were a little boy.”

Then Alfred’s papa told him the little story, which you will find in the
next chapter.


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                              CHAPTER XIV

                        THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKEN.

                       The poor hen did cry,
                         And make a loud din.
                       And hard did she strive
                         To teach them aright;
                       For to see them do wrong
                         Always gave her a fright.
                             FLOWERS FOR CHILDREN.


“THERE was once a hen that had five chickens. They were all very pretty.
Four of them were white. One of them was of a reddish brown.

“The hen and chickens belonged to a little boy, named James. One day
James heard the hen and chickens make a great noise. He was planing some
boards with his little plane, to make a bird-house; but he dropped his
plane, and ran out into the yard. The old hen was calling her little
ones to come under her wings. She had seen a large, fierce-looking dog
come into the yard, and she was frightened for her chickens. She said,
‘Cluck! cluck! cluck!’ very quickly; and the chickens seemed to know
that she called them to her, for they all, except one, ran very quickly,
and hid themselves under her wings. One little white chicken looked up
at its mother, as if she said, ‘I will come directly, mother; but not
quite yet:’ and then went on picking up seeds with her little bill.

“The poor mother called louder. James ran to drive away the dog; but he
sprang forward, caught the little white chicken in his mouth, and ran
out of the yard.

“Now the poor chicken was lost for not minding its mother immediately;
and great harm may come to little children from the same cause.

“If children are not obedient to their parents they will not do well
here; but, what is worse, disobedience will be punished in another
world. It is said of him who does not honor his father and his mother
that ‘his lamp shall be put out in obscure darkness.’”

After this Alfred was very careful, for some time, to do everything that
he was told, immediately. It was pleasant to see him jump the instant he
was called, and make his little feet fly rapidly along to do what he was
bid. He did not say any more, “Mamma, I am not sleepy;” “O, please,
mamma, let me sit up a little longer! why must I go to bed so early?”
when his mamma said, “Alfred, it is your bed-time;” but he would take
the lamp in his hand, and say, “Good night” to all the family, and go to
bed with a pleasant smile upon his face.

The day after his father had told him the story of the disobedient
chicken, Alfred said to his mother,

“When papa was telling me that story yesterday it made me think of the
pretty words that Jesus said when he came nigh unto Jerusalem, and wept
over it. Won’t you read them to me, mamma?”

Alfred’s mother read the words to him, from Matt, xxiii, 37:—

“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest
them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy
children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings,
and ye would not!”


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                               CHAPTER XV

                        ABOUT MANY GOOD THINGS.

                   A sinful creature I was born,
                     And ever since have stray’d;
                   I must be wretched and forlorn
                     Without thy mercy’s aid.
                   But Christ can all my sins forgive,
                     And wash away their stain;
                   Can fit my soul with him to live,
                     And in his kingdom reign.
                   MY LITTLE HYMN-BOOK.


WE closed our last chapter with a beautiful verse from the Bible; and
when she had read it, Alfred’s mamma said,

“How full of love was our dear Saviour when he lived upon the earth! He
pitied the poor wicked people who despised him, and who at length put
him to death. And now that he is in heaven, at the right hand of God the
Father, he yet pities the poor sinner who will not come unto him and
obtain eternal life.

“O, Alfred! I hope that you will not make Jesus sorry, as the Jews did!
You must love him, my dear child. You must think of all his goodness.
You must pray to him very often, and try to please him in all things.
Then you will be his dear little boy. He will take care of you as long
as you live; and, when you die, he will take you to heaven, to dwell
with him for ever and ever.”

“O, mamma!” said little Alfred, “I do want to be God’s dear child. I do
not love wicked people who swear, and get drunk, and break the sabbath.”

“No, I dare say not, Alfred. But those who swear, and get drunk, and
break the sabbath, are not the only wicked people. There are some, who
would not do any of these things for the world, who yet are not good in
the sight of God. He sees their hearts, and he knows that they do not
love him. They do not think of him. They love many things better than
God.”

_Alfred._ “But it is so wicked, mamma, to love anything better than
God!”

_Mamma._ “Yet how many do this, Alfred! How few little boys there are
who think constantly of God, even when they are in church, or while they
are saying their prayers.”

Alfred, who sometimes boasted how good he was, although he had often
been told what a wicked and deceitful heart he had by nature, and how
necessary it was that it should be washed in the blood of Jesus, said,

“Mamma, I think of God when I go to church, and whenever I say my
prayers.”

_Mamma._ “I wonder then that you should have looked so long at those new
boots, in church, last Sunday, my dear. I was quite sorry and ashamed to
see you hold out your feet, and look at them so many times. Then you
would pull the straps, and turn your foot round and round, that you
might see the boots all over: and I do not believe that you heard a word
of the sermon all the time. O, my dear Alfred, you thought more of your
boots than of God!”

Alfred hung his head, and said he was sorry that he had done so; and
that he would pray to God to forgive him for Jesus’ sake. He asked his
mamma to pray that he might love God more, and try to do his will, not
only on Sundays, but every day and all day long.


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                              CHAPTER XVI

                           THE OBEDIENT BOY.

                      I must not tease my father,
                        For he is very kind;
                      And everything he says to me
                        I must directly mind.
                      MY LITTLE HYMN-BOOK.


A VERY few days after Alfred’s talk with his papa about obeying
immediately, Mr. Penrose met a gentleman who told him about a little son
of his, whose life was probably saved by his quickly obeying his father.
The story was as follows:—

The little boy, and his father and mother, were sailing upon a canal. A
canal is a very deep and wide ditch, full of water, on which boats sail.
Many bridges are built over these canals. Persons have been killed by
not lying down flat upon the deck of the canal-boat in time to prevent
their being struck by the bridges. But grown people generally look out
for them in time to save themselves, when they stand upon the deck of
the boat.

Little Edward had been taken from his parents by some of the passengers,
and carried up to the deck. He was then about six years old. After
awhile his father and mother also went up. As soon as they reached the
deck they saw the boat was going very rapidly toward a bridge; and O how
frightened they were to see their dear little boy standing alone on that
part of the boat which was nearest to it! There was no time to run and
catch him in their arms. The father could only speak to him, and his
mother stood trembling.

Little Edward’s father called very loudly to him, “Edward! lie down!”
and the dear little fellow was so accustomed to obey in a minute that he
dropped down upon the deck as soon as his father spoke to him. In this
way his life was saved. If Edward had stopped to say, “Why must I lie
down, father?” he would probably have been killed. It is promised to
those who keep their Father’s commandments, that they shall have “length
of days, long life, and peace.” Proverbs iii, 2.

This story delighted Alfred, and afterward, when he was bidden to do
anything, his mamma had only to say, “Alfred, remember Edward,” to make
him run very quickly and do what he was told to do.


[Illustration]


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                              CHAPTER XVII

                             PIERRE MERLIN.

                He pray’d, and, trusting in God, he slept
                  In his heaven-appointed nest.

              The angel of the Lord encampeth round about
              them that fear him, and delivereth them.—Psa.
              xxxiv, 7.


“PAPA, what is the name of the book you are reading?” said an older
brother of Alfred to his father, one day.

His father told him the name of the book, and Frank said,

“O, how dry it looks! I wonder you can bear to read such very dry books,
father!”

“The book is very interesting to me, Frank,” said his father.

“I like to read travels, and stories of all kinds; stories about the sea
and the land,” said Frank.

“God knew that children loved stories,” said his papa; “and he has
filled his own book with the most wonderful and beautiful stories.”

“Yes, and travels and voyages too, papa,” said Alfred. “Was not that a
fine voyage of Paul; and a wonderful journey which the Israelites took
through the wilderness?”

“O yes!” said little Flora; “with a bright pillar going on before them
at night, and a cloudy pillar all day.”

“And bread sent down from heaven for them to eat,” said Alfred.

“And cool water gushing out of the rock,” continued little Flora. “And,
O, how pretty the story of the Shunamite’s little boy is, who got sick,
and said, ‘My head! my head!’ I am glad Elisha made him alive again.”


[Illustration]


“And, O, Flora,” said Alfred, “all about Elijah is so pretty! Don’t you
remember how the ravens fed him in the wilderness? Was not that a
wonderful story, father?”

“Yes, my son,” said Alfred’s papa, “it was very wonderful: and I read a
story yesterday that was something like it, although it was not in the
Bible.”

“Dear father,” said Alfred, “will you tell it to me?”

“Yes, if you will bring your chair beside me, and sit very still.

“There was once a good man named Pierre Merlin. He was a pious minister;
and the Roman Catholics hated him, because he preached doctrines which
the Bible teaches, but which they do not like.

“At one time, the Roman Catholics, in France, determined to murder all
who did not belong to their church. They _did_ murder many hundred pious
persons, on a night which was called St. Bartholomew’s Eve. They would
have killed good Pierre Merlin, but he jumped out of a window, and thus
got away from those wicked people. It was dark, and he ran on, on, on;
expecting every minute to be caught. Then he came to a hay-stack. Quite
out of breath, he hid himself in this friendly place, which seemed set
there to be to him what the city of refuge was to the Israelites, when
they ran for their life. He thanked God for his mercy to him. He could
not lie down in that narrow place, and he was very tired; yet, nestled
in the hay, he slept in peace, for the Lord sustained him.

“The morning came, gray, still, and misty. The little birds began to
twitter, and the poultry around awoke, and shook their wings, and
smoothed their feathers, and sent out their long, loud cry of welcome to
the opening day. Then golden colors painted the eastern sky; and, at
last, the bright, red sun rose to spread his gracious rays over the
awakening earth.

“Pierre Merlin gladly, yet sorrowfully, looked at the sun. Since it had
last risen many of God’s dear saints had been cruelly murdered. Some of
his own friends were among the number. This thought made him weep.

“Do you think, my dear children, that Merlin wished any evil to those
people who had been so cruel to him, and to his friends? No, for he was
a Christian. Like Jesus, he said, ‘Father, forgive them! They know not
what they do.’

“I said that _gladly_, as well as sorrowfully, this good minister looked
at the sun. Though he was sorry for the wickedness of his enemies, and
for the death of his friends, he was yet glad that his life was saved.
He thought that he might yet preach the gospel of Christ.

“He knew that his enemies were all around, looking for him; for he had
heard his name mentioned by them with loud curses. He dared not venture
from his hiding-place; although, as the morning advanced, he became
faint and hungry. He thought he should perish with hunger if he remained
there many days. But he continued praying to God, and did not fail to
put his trust in him.

“After he had prayed, he felt something moving near him. Merlin’s heart
beat very quickly. What could it be? Was it a hand thrust in among the
hay, to feel if he was there? He lay very still. Still the motion
continued. Directly he heard a sound: it was the voice of a hen that
said, ‘Cack, cack, cack!’ very joyfully, because she had just laid an
egg.

“Then the hen went away; and Merlin put out his hand, and took the egg
which she had left, and ate it for his breakfast. O, he did not want
egg-glass or spoon, or even salt, to make that egg taste deliciously! He
felt stronger for eating it. ‘But what shall I do to-morrow?’ said he to
himself. Then came this text to Merlin’s mind: ‘Behold the fowls of the
air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet
your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?’
Matt. vi, 26.

“So he determined to trust in God for the morrow; in the gracious Father
who feeds the little birds that cannot do anything toward making food
grow for themselves.

“God did not forget his child. He saw Merlin in the hay-stack just as
plainly as he saw Elijah in the wilderness.

“The second day came; and the old hen came too, laid her egg in the
hay-stack, and walked off. Merlin thus got his breakfast on the second
day. It was not much, but it gave him some strength.

“The third day his good old friend again paid him a visit. O, how very
anxiously he had watched for her that morning! How afraid he was that
she would not come! Faint and hungry as he had become, it tasted even
more deliciously than the two former ones.

“On the third day all was still around him. He made a little hole in the
straw, and peeped out. He saw nobody. Night came on, and Merlin left his
hiding-place, praying to God every minute, as he walked along.

“What is that he sees in the distance? It is one of the cruel soldiers,
with his gun! But he must go on. He fears to turn back. As he comes
nearer he finds it is only a small tree, with a very long arm, which had
frightened him.

“Onward he goes, stumbling in the darkness, and very weary. The morning
comes. What is that before him? A river, gleaming, like molten silver,
in the early light. And, O joyful sight! a vessel, bearing English
colors, just setting sail. Merlin makes a signal. A boat is let down
from the vessel. He is taken in it, and escapes safely to England to
tell the story of his wonderful preservation.”


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                             CHAPTER XVIII

                            THE SILLY BIRD.

                    “The poor bird did not know,
                      For nobody taught her,
                    That her nice little nest
                      Would be drown’d in the water.”


ALFRED began to read pretty well by the time he was five years old. He
and his papa would read a chapter in the Bible together, verse by verse,
once a day. Then, when his papa had time, he would talk a little to his
son about what they had read.

The month of March had come, and brought with it many signs of spring.
The blue-bird and the robin had been heard, and wild-flowers bloomed in
warm and sunny nooks. The willow showed its silvery balls, and the sun
was high in the heavens.

One sunny day, when the snow had melted, and the roads were a little
dried, Mr. Penrose took his little boy to walk in the woods. They found
some beautiful green moss, and one bunch of arbutus. Alfred brought the
flower to his mamma, and put the moss around her flower-pots. Then, when
they had rested, he sat down to read his chapter with his father.

They read the seventh chapter of Matthew, which tells of the man whose
house the floods swept away, because it was built upon the sand.

“Who is meant by the foolish man, Alfred?” said his papa.

“Is it the wicked man, papa?” asked the little boy.

“Yes, it is the sinner, who does not love the Saviour. Jesus Christ is
the only hope of the soul. I know I often tell you this; but I do it
because I want you always to remember this great truth. Jesus here
compares himself to a rock. When we learn to love the Saviour as we
ought, then we are set upon this rock; and God will not let sorrow, or
even death, remove us from that safe resting-place.

“Last summer I saw something which made me think of what we have just
read.

“It had rained hard in the night, but cleared off early in the morning.
The sun was very hot. About ten o’clock I saw quite a smoke arise from
the flat, tin roof of the wing of the house. I looked, and found it
covered with water. I wondered what it could mean. Upon examination, I
found a bird’s nest, very neatly made of hair, and lined with feathers,
placed directly over the hole which led into the spout. It filled it up
entirely, and so prevented the water running into the spout.

“Poor foolish bird, to take so much pains to build its nest in that
insecure place! She had thought, I suppose, that she would keep house
very snugly there; and there bring up her little ones, and give them
their first lesson in flying from the house to the big willow-tree,
which stands alongside of it.

“How frightened she must have been when she felt the waters overflowing
her nest! How much she must have wished that she had put it in the right
place! My dear boy, we must make a better provision for our heavenly
home than this poor bird did for her nest; so that we may not be
surprised and disappointed, like her, at last.”


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                              CHAPTER XIX

                   JOY IN HEAVEN—THE LITTLE RUNAWAYS.

                 These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
                 Went wandering up and down.
                 BABES IN THE WOOD.


ONE day, when Alfred was at church, the minister preached from the
words, “I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of
God over one sinner that repenteth.” Luke xv, 10. It is a sweet text;
and the minister preached a beautiful sermon upon it. Alfred’s mamma
showed him the words in the Bible; and he remembered them, and told them
to his papa, who was ill that day, and could not go to church. Mr.
Penrose talked to Alfred about the words he had repeated to him, and the
next day told him about a family which rejoiced over the lost ones who
wandered from their home.

“I had two little cousins who lived in New-York,” said Alfred’s papa.
“Harry was six years old, and little Ann five. They had two brothers,
and one sister. They were never allowed to go into the street without
some person with them. This they did not like; so they often tried to
open the front door, but the latch was too high and too strong for them.

“One morning they went into the entry, before their papa and mamma had
come down stairs. While they were playing there the milkman rang at the
door. The servant went to get a pitcher for the milk, and left the front
door open. When Harry saw this he said,

“‘Ann, let’s go down on the pavement, and take a little walk.’

“Ann said,

“‘O, yes, Harry, do let us go!’

“So they walked out of the door, and down the steps to the pavement.
Then they felt very proud. They were pleased to think how nicely they
had run away. They had no cloak or shawl, although the day was cool, for
it was the fall of the year. Harry wore a little cap, and Ann a bonnet,
which they caught from behind the door, as they went out.

“They walked on through the streets, looking at all the pretty things
that they saw in the shop-windows. After they had gone on some time,
little Ann said,

“‘Brother, I am hungry.’

“Harry said,

“‘I am hungry too. We will go home, and get our breakfast.’

“But this was not easily done. They turned back; but they did not take
the right street to lead them home. Every step took them further off. So
on they went, hand in hand, like the babes in the wood, until they both
grew still more hungry and faint. They sat down upon some steps to rest,
and then got up, and wandered on.

“After awhile they found that they were near a river, and they saw a
boat lying by the wharf.

“Harry said,

“‘Ann, I think that boat will take us to grandpapa’s. We always sail on
the river when we go to see him. Let us step into it; and when we get to
Newark grandmamma will give us some breakfast.’

“The tears were running fast down poor little Ann’s purple cheeks; for
she was not only hungry, but tired and sorry.

“She said,

“‘But won’t mamma be angry? O, I want to see mamma!’

“Then Harry was very naughty. He shook his little sister, and pulled
her, to make her step upon the boat. She drew back, and Harry slipped,
and fell between the wharf and the boat into the water. Ann was
dreadfully frightened, and screamed. She thought her brother would be
drowned.”


[Illustration]


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                               CHAPTER XX

                        THE RESCUE—WELCOME HOME.

                    O joy! I see our mother’s face,
                      Our own delightful home;
                    And never more from it shall we,
                      Dear Annie, want to roam.


“IN our last conversation we left Harry struggling in the water, and Ann
standing on the wharf, screaming and crying very loud.

“Just then, a young man, who wore a short blue jacket, a checked shirt,
and a shining hat on the back of his head, came along; and, seeing Ann’s
distress and poor Harry’s situation, without saying one word, pulled off
his jacket, and jumped into the water after him. By this time a good
many other people had gathered around. The sailor soon came up, with
Harry in his arms; but the little boy was very pale and cold.

“Some people carried them into a small house that smelt of rum and
tobacco smoke. They asked the children their names, and where they
lived. When they had told them, they said they should be sent home after
awhile, but that Harry must first go to bed; for he shivered, and was
still very cold. They wanted him to drink some rum, but he refused. So
they carried him up into a little, dark room, and laid him in a dirty
bed, and put some very heavy covering over him; and then went to get the
children something to eat. Little Ann staid alongside of her brother’s
bed, crying all the time. Soon the woman of the house came up stairs,
bringing them some bread and butter, and crackers and cheese. But,
although they had been so hungry before, they did not feel like eating
then. They were sick and unhappy. It seemed to them as if they were a
great way off from their own home. The people in whose house they were,
were not at all like their dear papa and mamma. They talked very loud,
and laughed a great deal, and used words which the children had never
heard before. Ann said,

“‘Brother, we have been very wicked in going away from home. I am afraid
we never shall see our dear papa and mamma any more.’

“Then they put their arms around each other’s neck, and cried.

“Just then the woman of the house came in, and again asked them the name
and the number of the street in which they lived. This Harry remembered,
and told her.

“She said,

“‘Well, don’t take on so. I am busy fixing my Ned off to sea now; but
to-night I will take you to the place where your father and mother
live.’

“The children thought it would be a very long time before night would
come. Ann crept into the bed with Harry; and they nestled up to each
other, and fell fast asleep.

“While they slept, a sound was heard without: ‘Lost children! Lost
children!’ This was called out by a man who, at the same time, rang a
bell which he held in his hand.

“When he got near the sailor, he was told that the children were safe in
the house. He stopped ringing his bell, and went, in great haste, to
tell the parents of the children that they were found. Soon the father
came, in a carriage, to take his little runaways home. The children
awaked from their sleep in that miserable room to see their dear
father’s loving face bending over them, and to feel his warm kisses on
their lips and cheeks.

“It was dark when they got home. As they were taken from the carriage,
they saw each window in the brightly lighted parlor filled with faces on
the look-out for them. And, O, what joy, when they found themselves
again in their cheerful, happy home; in their precious mother’s arms!

“It was time for Willy and Charlie to have their supper, and for their
little baby-sister to be put to bed; but nobody thought of them. Every
one was thinking of the little ones who had been lost, but were now
found. Parents and servants rejoiced together over the little stray
lambs. They had been in danger, but were now safe. They had wandered
from their father’s house; and he had sent a messenger to find them.
They had been naughty; but their father forgave them, and rejoiced over
them.”

Alfred knew enough of the Bible to apply this story. He saw in Harry and
Ann’s kind father a picture of our dear heavenly Parent, who sent his
Son to call us back to him; and who kindly receives and freely forgives
us when we return. The rejoicing household, who forgot the other little
ones for joy that Harry and Ann were safe, reminded him of the holy
angels, who are so glad when a wicked person becomes good.


[Illustration]


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                              CHAPTER XXI

                            THE LITTLE DOGS.

                 Frank had two pretty little dogs,
                   With hair as soft as silk,
                 A few brown spots upon their 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.
                 It was rare fun to see them race
                   Through fields of bright-red clover,
                 And jump across the running brooks,
                   Flush and his brother Rover.
                                            MRS. CHILD.


ALFRED, with all his brothers and sisters, had been taught to tell the
exact truth. They had learned many texts of Scripture which speak of the
sin and punishment of lying. These are a few of them:—

“The mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped.” Psa. lxiii, 11.

“The lip of truth shall be established for ever: but a lying tongue is
but for a moment.” Prov. xii, 19.

“All liars shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and
brimstone.” Rev. xxi, 8.

Alfred’s brother Frank had two very beautiful young dogs. They had been
given him by a friend, and were of a scarce and valuable breed. One of
the dogs he had named Flush, and the other Rover. They had brown, silken
ears, and brown spots on their backs and legs. They had just been taken
from their mother when Frank brought them home in his arms. They mourned
a little; and Alfred and Flora felt sorry for them. They thought that
they cried for their mother; and I suppose they did. Frank fed them with
some warm milk. Then he let Alfred and Flora stroke them. After they had
been fed they lay down very quietly, and went to sleep. It was time for
Frank to go to school: so he said to Alfred and Flora,

“You must not touch my little dogs while I am at school.”

Little Flora said,

“No, brother, I will not.”

But Alfred said,

“May I not put them in my apron, very softly? I will not hurt them; for
I love them.”

His brother said,

“When I am at home I will let you play with the little dogs; but you
must promise me not to touch my dogs while I am at school. They are very
tender; and if you were not to lift them in just the right way, you
would hurt, and perhaps kill them.”

Alfred then said,

“Frank, I will not touch the pretty little things when you are away; but
you will let me pat them when you are at home, won’t you?”

“Yes; you may play with them, and pat them, when I am here; and then you
may feed them sometimes, too; but you will certainly remember your
promise when I am away.”

Some days after this, when Frank was at school, Alfred’s mamma heard him
say,

“O, pretty little fellows! nice little fellows! I love you very much,
little Flush and little Rover!”

Alfred’s mamma stepped into the hall to see what her little boy was
doing. He was standing by the steps of the kitchen door; and the dogs
were trying to climb into the house. But when they had put their paws
upon the step they would fall backward; for they were too small to climb
up. Alfred would stretch out his hand to help the little dogs; and then
he would draw it back again when he remembered his promise to his
brother.

The little colored boy was rubbing his knives in the kitchen, and he
said to Alfred,

“The dogs want to get up the steps. My hands are all brick-dust. Take
hold, and help them up.”

But Alfred said,

“O, I must not touch them, John; for I promised I would not. I wish I
_could_ lift the little things up!”

It made Alfred’s mamma glad to find how well her dear boy kept his word.
She lifted the dogs into the kitchen; and they seemed happy and well
satisfied, for they laid down close together, behind the door, and went
fast asleep.


[Illustration]


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                              CHAPTER XXII

                            FORBIDDEN FRUIT.

            And some of the fruit-trees that grew in the
            garden shot their branches over the wall; and
            they that found them did gather them up, and
            eat of them to their hurt. So Christiana’s boys
            (as boys are apt to do) being pleased with the
            trees, and with the fruit that did hang thereon,
            did pluck them, and began to eat. Their mother
            did also chide them for so doing.
                                     THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS.


SOON after this Mrs. Penrose went to New-York, and took Alfred and Flora
with her. There they saw many beautiful things. As they rode up from the
wharf, they were continually calling out, “O, mamma, look at that
window!” or, “O, mamma, see that picture!” and, “O, what is that high
building?” and, “Who is that queer-looking person?”

Their mamma shook her head, and said,

“Children, try to be quiet. Look as much as you like, but do not ask me
any questions now.”

The carriage rattled over the pavement, and there were so many other
noises around, that she could not hear their questions.

When they stopped at the house of the friend with whom they were to
stay, they saw much that was very beautiful. There were pictures and
vases, and many things that they had never seen or thought of in their
little simple country home. But Alfred thought that nothing in the house
was as pretty as what he saw from the back windows. It was a garden,
filled with flowers. He was delighted when he was told that he might
spend as much time there as he liked. Alfred was a real little country
boy, and he loved flowers dearly. In this garden were purple and white
petunias, and roses of many shades, and of different colors. Sweet
mignionette, too, grew there; and there was the delicate cypress-vine,
with its feathery stalk, and its little bright flower. There were
grape-vines too, which climbed a trellice that leaned against the high
brick wall. On the vines hung grapes; but they were still quite green
and hard.

Alfred’s mamma told him that he might walk in this garden; but that he
must never pick any of the flowers, or the grapes. She thought that she
might trust the little boy, who kept his word so well about the dogs.

Some days after this, when Flora was taking her nap, Alfred’s mamma
wanted him for something; and, from the garden door, called him to come
to her. While she waited, she saw him coming toward her, with his little
mouth puckered up, as if he had something in it. She called,

“Come here, Alfred.”

And Alfred came up the steps very slowly.

“What have you got in your mouth, my dear?” said Alfred’s mamma.

Not one word did Alfred answer; but he looked down, and turned very red.
His mother knew, from his looks, that he had been doing something that
was not right. He did not have that bright, happy face which he usually
wore.

Alfred’s mother said to him,

“My son, open your mouth.”

When Alfred opened his mouth, O, how sorry I am to tell it of him! he
showed a large green grape, tucked away in the corner of his mouth,
which he put into his hand as quickly as possible. His mamma took the
grape out of Alfred’s hand, and led him up stairs into her bed-room. She
said to him,

“Alfred, how many of those grapes have you eaten?”

“Just one besides this, mamma,” said he, crying very much.

“Why did you eat them, Alfred?” said his mother. “Did not I tell you
that you must not do so?”

“Yes, mamma; but they looked so very good.”

“My dear little boy, that was the reason that Eve ate the apple which
made us all sinners. She thought it looked good. It ‘was pleasant to the
sight.’ Did you not tell me, the other day, that you thought Eve was
very naughty to eat the apple; and that you would not have done as she
did? But you see you have done just like her. She disobeyed God by
eating the apple, and you have disobeyed him by eating that green
grape.”

_Alfred._ “Mamma, God did not tell me that I must not eat the grape.”

_Mamma._ “Yes, Alfred, he told you so through me; for it is for me to
tell you what the will of God is: and you did not follow God’s
commandment to ‘obey your parents’ when you ate that green grape. I did
not see you eat it, but God did; and God does not love little boys, you
know very well, who disobey their parents.”

Alfred continued to cry, and said,

“O, I am so sorry, mamma!”

His mamma told him to go into his room, and stay there by himself, that
he might think over what a naughty boy he had been.

Alfred went; and when his mamma followed him, some time afterward, he
came to her, and said,

“Mamma, I was very wicked, I know. But I have prayed to God to forgive
me, because Jesus Christ died. Don’t you think he will, mamma?”

His mother said,

“Yes, my dear, I have no doubt that he will forgive you, if you are
sorry for your sin, and are determined never again to do such a naughty
thing. God has forgiven us all a great many sins; and he is still
gracious and merciful. It is written, ‘Let the wicked forsake his way,
and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let him return unto the Lord,
and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantly
pardon.’ Isa. lv, 7.”

From that time, I am glad to be able to say, little Alfred always told
the truth; and would never stop to look at anything that he had been
told not to touch; but hasten from it, that he might not be tempted to
do as he had done about the grapes.


[Illustration]


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                             CHAPTER XXIII

                            HAPPY CHILDREN.

          Now I saw in my dream, that by this time
          the pilgrims entering into the country of Beulah,
          whose air was very sweet and pleasant, the way
          lying directly through it, they solaced themselves
          there for a season. Yea, here they heard continually
          the singing of birds, and saw every day
          the flowers appear in the earth, and heard the
          voice of the turtle in the land. In this country
          the sun shineth night and day.... Here they
          were within sight of the city they were going
          to: also here met them some of the inhabitants
          thereof: for in this land the shining ones commonly
          walked, because it was upon the borders
          of heaven.—THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS.


ALFRED and Flora, soon after this, went with their mamma to a very
delightful place. You must read the lines from the Pilgrim’s Progress
which I have put over the chapter; for the land of Beulah, which they
speak of, was very much like the spot they visited. The kind friends
with whom they staid loved God; and there were bright flowers, and
pleasant fruits, and blue hills, and a wide, clear river, and a dear
little boy for Alfred to play with. Alfred was very happy, running
through the garden and orchard, and swinging in the nice swing, and
going to school with little Walter. They went to school to a lady who
loved them, and taught them many good things.

My dear little readers, I wish you all to see the pretty school-house to
which they went every morning and afternoon. So get your caps, for the
sun is hot, and stand by me on this large piazza, from which we have so
fine a view of the river.

It is nine o’clock, and Alfred and Walter come running out of the house.
They turn to the right upon the gravel walk which leads to the river.
They take the longest way, because the walk is so pleasant.

How the river sparkles in the sunshine this clear morning! O, how many
boats we see! One, two, three, four. The boys get tired of counting
them, there are so many.


[Illustration]


Now a steam-boat, with many people on its deck, rushes swiftly past.
Alfred and Walter stand by the swing on the Catalpa-tree, to look at the
steam-boat. Then they must sit down, just one half minute, on that
pretty covered bench, standing between two trees. But they will not sit
long. They must not keep Miss Lee waiting; and she calls them from the
school-house door. Round the lawn they fly, past that large elm, and the
plum-tree, bent down with green gages. They have come to the
school-house, which well deserves a separate chapter.


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                              CHAPTER XXIV

                           THE SCHOOL-HOUSE.

                  Come, dear ones, to your lessons,
                    You have so much to say,
                  Your spelling and your reading,
                    Before you go to play.
                  Ah! I know you will be scholars;
                    You’ve said all rightly o’er:
                  Good children; and to-morrow
                    You are to learn some more.
                  Come now into the garden,
                    To the fruit and flowers away;
                  So well you’ve said your lessons,
                    That you deserve to play.—L. E. L.


O, WHAT a pleasant place that school-house was! How happily did Alfred,
and Walter, and little Sidney, pass their time there; taught so well and
so kindly by good Miss Lee!

There it stands, down in a little dingle, with its deep roof and carved
border, and its green latticed windows. It is shaded by a large elm,

                        “which, with looks of love,
                  Spreads its whispering leaves above,
                  Through long summer hours.”

A cherry-tree stands by the door. White and blue pigeons sit upon the
roof, and coo. The little boys smell the sweet flowers in the garden, as
they study their books. All kinds of sweet flowers grow in that charming
garden, alongside of the school-house. There are whole beds of the
heliotrope, the ever-sweet heliotrope, with its gray, crimped leaves,
and its yellow heart. Lovely mignionette, too, is hiding itself
everywhere. Although you do not see this modest flower, whose pretty
French name means little darling, yet you smell its sweetness
continually. There are white, and pink, and deep red roses, in full
bloom; and verbenas, pink, crimson, blue, white, and purple; and the
snow-white day-lily, which smells like fresh, ripe grapes. And near the
little school-house is the prettiest bower, made entirely of the
cypress-vine. It looks as fine and delicate as lace-work, yet its stalks
are so thickly woven that it will not blow down.

In front of the school-house is a green lawn. When the boys stood upon
it they saw the river, and the hills on the other side, and the noble
Catskill Mountains, as blue as the sky.

In this beautiful little place the boys spent some hours every day. When
their lessons were over they played in the garden, or swung, or
sometimes rode upon the donkey.

One day, as Alfred sat by the door, he saw something run past him, very
swiftly. He called out,

“O, Miss Lee, I see something!”

“What do you see, Alfred?” said Miss Lee.

“A pretty little red thing, with a long, bushy tail,” said he.

“I suppose it is a squirrel,” said Miss Lee.

“O yes, ma’am,” said Alfred. “it is a squirrel. I have seen squirrels in
the woods; but I did not know that they ever lived in a garden.”

As he said this, a little ground-squirrel, with two young ones, came out
of a hole under the green well-curb, by the school-house door. At first
they seemed a little afraid; but the boys were still, and the squirrels
became bolder. After that they would pay Alfred and Walter a daily
visit.

They were wise little squirrels to come and live with such good people.
They need not fear mischievous boys, or cruel guns, in that sweet, quiet
place.


[Illustration]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                              CHAPTER XXV

                              SUGAR-PLUMS.

                      I do not want to study,
                        It is so warm to-day;
                      So I’ll run into the meadow,
                        And roll among the hay.
                                    CHARLOTTE FOX.


At length the time came when Alfred’s pleasant visit must end. When he
was going away, Walter gave Flora a very beautiful box, as a keepsake.
The box was filled with sugar-plums.

He also gave one to Alfred, on which was a picture of a boy flying a
kite.

When they were in the steam-boat, Alfred brought the box to his mother,
and said,

“Mamma, how many of these sugar-plums may I eat to-day?”

His mother said,

“You had better give me the box to keep for you, my dear; and when you
say your lessons well, I will give you a few sugar-plums at a time, as a
reward.”

Alfred loved sugar-plums very much; and he said he would rather keep the
box himself, and eat them just when he liked.

His mother told him that if he did he would eat them all up, as the boy
in the story-book eat his cake, and very likely get as sick as he;
therefore he had better give them to her to deal out to him. So Alfred
consented that his mamma should do this.

There were some very hot days after Alfred’s return to Norwood. On one
of these he felt very lazy, and said,

“O, mamma, my lesson is so hard that I cannot get it to-day!”

Then, instead of studying it, he would play with his shoe-string, or
pocket-handkerchief.

His mamma said, many times,

“Alfred, it is getting quite late. Are you not ready to say your lesson
yet?”

But Alfred did not get ready until twelve o’clock; and even then did not
know his first lesson quite well; and the second one had to be put off
until the afternoon. In the afternoon it was hotter than it had been in
the morning. Alfred held his book in his hand, and did everything but
study. He would lie down upon the floor, and look out of the window,
although nothing was to be seen there but the still trees, and the
drooping flowers, and the parched grass, and the hot, blinding sun,
which seemed to have frightened the katydids, and the bees, and the
birds, into entire stillness.

At night, when he went to bed, he called to his mamma, who was in the
next room,

“O, my sugar-plums, mamma! I have not had my sugar-plums!”

“No, I know you have not, my dear. But why should you have them?”

“O, because I love them! And you know, mamma, I was to have a few every
day.”

“Yes, if you deserved them. You know they were to be a kind of reward;
but you certainly cannot, feel that you ought to have any to-night.”

Alfred confessed that he had not deserved them, and said he would try to
do better the next day; and so, after saying the little verse which he
used to repeat after he had said his prayers, he went to sleep.

This is the verse which Alfred said:—

                  “At night I lay my little head
                    To rest upon my nice soft bed;
                  Lord, let thy holy angels keep
                    Thy watch around me while I sleep.”

After this Alfred got his lessons well, even without sugar-plums. He
began to think, too, that he was too large to eat them, and gave them
all away; although he still kept the box with the picture of the boy and
the kite on it. But it became quite a saying among the children, when
any one wanted something that they had not earned, “O, you must not have
the sugar-plums, when you have not got your lesson.”


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                              CHAPTER XXVI

                              THE ROBINS.

                    O, they are sweet, pretty things!
                    Flying round with rapid wings.
                                FLOWERS FOR CHILDREN.


ONE sweet September morning, Alfred’s papa rose early. Silvery mists
rested upon the mountains; but when the sun arose they parted, and
curled upwards. The industrious little spider, who works when we sleep,
had hung fine silk threads over the dewy blades of grass. The sky was
bright, and the air very still.

Mr. Penrose was going to take a ride into the country; and Alfred was to
go with his papa. As they stood by a window, waiting for the carriage,
they heard a strange whirring sound. They looked up into a wild
cherry-tree, that stood at a short distance from the window, and saw so
many robins that they could not count them. The little thieves were
stealing all the cherries. O, how fast they picked and ate! The robins
did not belong there. Other birds built their nests in that tree; but
the robins always built in the mossy and crooked apple-trees, on the
other side of the fence.

At first Alfred was pleased to see the robins enjoy the cherries; but
afterward he thought they ate so many that none would be left for the
little birds who made their home in the shrubbery, and sung for them all
day long.

I think Alfred never had a pleasanter ride than on that day with his
papa. The road was hilly; and a great part of it lay through rich, dark
woods. The smell of the woods was delightful; and beautiful mosses were
spread along the track of their carriage. Now and then, little brooks
ran swiftly along, with a gurgling sound; and gray squirrels leaped
among the branches of the trees.

Mr. Penrose, who always tried to say something that would do his
children good, when he was with them, said to Alfred,

“My son, you may say your text to me this morning, as you did not say it
at the breakfast-table.”

So Alfred repeated the text to his father, which he had learned the
night before. It was this:—

“Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of
cold water only in the name of a disciple, verily, I say unto you, he
shall in no wise lose his reward.” Matthew x, 42.


[Illustration]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                             CHAPTER XXVII

                       THE PROPHET—HIS DELIVERER.

             Blessed is he that considereth the poor: the
             Lord will deliver him in time of trouble. The
             Lord will preserve him, and keep him alive;
             and he shall be blessed upon the earth: and
             thou wilt not deliver him unto the will of his
             enemies.—Psa. xli, 1, 2.


WHEN Alfred had finished, his father said, “That text tells us that God
knows when we are kind to his children, and will reward us for it at the
judgment day.”

“But, father,” said Alfred, “you told me once that we did not deserve
reward for any good thing which we ever did.”

“We do not deserve any reward,” said Mr. Penrose. “The wish in us to do
anything right comes from God. Yet, after he has given us this
disposition, he rewards us for the exercise of it; so, as the apostle
Paul tells us, ‘It is all of grace.’”

“Does God never pay us in this world for doing right?” said Alfred.

“Sometimes he _does_ pay us, even in this world, for being good to his
people. I will tell you, Alfred, how he once rewarded a man because he
was kind to one of his ministers.

“Many years, a great many years ago, some wicked men took one of God’s
good ministers, and put him in a dungeon. A dungeon is a dark prison.
The dungeon in which this good minister, or prophet, was put was a
doleful place under ground. The bottom of it was full of soft, filthy
mud.

“Wicked people put him in this sad place, because he feared the Lord,
and would say what he bade him, instead of what the enemies of the Lord
wished. They wanted him to say pleasant, flattering things; but God did
not tell him these.

“No doubt Jeremiah, for that was the prophet’s name, prayed to God from
that dark dungeon. Daniel cried to him from the lions’ den, and Jonah
prayed to him when the darkness wrapped him about. Man could not hear
Jonah’s voice from the midst of the seas; but God heard both Daniel and
Jonah. And he also heard the voice of his faithful Jeremiah from the
deep, damp dungeon.

“God put it in the heart of a man, who lived in the king’s house, to
remember Jeremiah, and to pity him. This good man went to the king, and
said,

“‘Those are wicked people who have cast Jeremiah into the dungeon. He
will die for hunger.’

“The king told this man to take some persons to help him, and to draw
Jeremiah out of the dungeon.

“Then this kind man let some ropes into the dungeon, and drew Jeremiah
out of it. He made him put some old linen, which he threw down to him,
under his arms, lest the ropes should hurt him. So he was very tender
toward him.

“Now because the man had done this thing to one of God’s faithful ones,
God remembered him when, some time after, fierce soldiers came against
the city, and killed almost all the people. He was not hurt because of
his kindness to the prophet.

“So you see, Alfred, _he_ was paid for it in this world.

“You will find this story in the twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth chapters
of the book of Jeremiah. “When you get home you must read it for
your-self.”


[Illustration]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                             CHAPTER XXVIII

                            LITTLE WILLIAM.

                   Forget her not! though now her name
                   Be but a mournful sound.—HEMANS.


JUST as Alfred’s papa had finished saying these words they reached the
gate of the house where they were to breakfast. It belonged to a friend
of Mr. Penrose, who wished to see him on some business; and Mr. Penrose
had chosen the early part of the day for the visit, because he was
generally much engaged at other times.

Alfred saw that the gentleman looked very serious; and that no lady sat
down to the breakfast-table with them. There were two children; a little
boy about the age of Alfred, and a sister who was older. The little
boy’s name was William. He looked pale and sad; and Alfred could not
help feeling sorry for him.

After they had finished eating breakfast, William’s papa told him that
he might take Alfred out into the garden, to walk. Rosa also went with
them, and seemed very cheerful and kind; and showed Alfred her rabbits,
and her birds and flowers. She said,

“William used to love these, and helped me to take care of them once;
but he does not care anything about them now.”

When Rosa said this, Alfred saw the tears come into William’s eyes, and
he wished Rosa had not spoken so.

William said,

“I did love them when mamma was here, Rosa; but now everything makes me
feel sorry.”

Then Rosa turned red, and went into the house; and William cried very
much, as Alfred stood by him. Alfred said,

“Has your mamma gone away from you?”

“Yes,” said little William, “my mamma died two weeks ago. I know she has
gone to heaven; but I miss her very much. Nobody loves me as she did.”

Alfred felt ready to cry too. He said,

“But you know if you are a good boy you will go to heaven too, William,
and see your dear mamma in that beautiful place.”

“Yes, I know it,” said William. “She told me so before she died. She
said if I was a good boy it would not be long before I should come to
her; and that then she would not go away from me any more.”

Alfred was an affectionate child. His heart was full of sorrow for
little William. All the way home he could talk of nothing else: but he
was glad when his papa told him that William’s father had promised to
let his little boy come over, on the next week, and spend several days
with them.

William came; and soon felt quite at home. Mrs. Penrose liked to hear
him talk of his good mother; and all the family loved him, for he was a
good-tempered and interesting little fellow.

The evening after Alfred’s first visit to William, he told his sister
Jane about him. The next morning she brought him a folded paper, and, as
she opened it, said,

“Alfred, I thought so much of your little friend last night that I wrote
some verses about him, which I will read to you.”

The verses were as follows; and were headed,


                          THE MOTHERLESS BOY.

               It is the hour when I was wont,
                 At my lost mother’s knee,
               To say my little evening prayer,
                 Before she read to me.
               But many weary months have pass’d,
                 And many tears I’ve shed,
               Since I have felt her gentle hand
                 Laid kindly on my head.

               The hour I loved so dearly once,
                 Now only sorrow brings;
               No mother reads the word of life,
                 Or song of Zion sings.
               A stranger comes, with careless voice
                 And bids for bed prepare;
               And often hardly gives me time
                 To say a hurried prayer.

               Although this room is just the same,
                 It wears a mournful look;
               Yet here’s her bed, and here’s the stand
                 Which bears the holy book,
               That tells me of another land,
                 In which she dwelleth now:
               O, often o’er that book she bent,
                 With pale and earnest brow!

               In other days this little room
                 A temple seem’d to me;
               She taught me here to worship God
                 In truth and purity.
               The fields beneath the window smile,
                 And wear their summer hue;
               The flowers she nursed look gay and bright,
                 As when they met her view.

               Yet, O, to me no thought of joy
                 This happy season bears;
               All dimm’d are these delightful scenes
                 With thick and blinding tears.
               I cannot laugh as once I could,
                 Nor hide the deep distress
               That breaks my heart, when I reflect
                 That I am motherless.

               And, sister, when I see you stand,
                 With such an anxious air,
               Before the glass, your sash to fix,
                 And smooth your braided hair;
               I think of one so far above
                 The petty pride of dress;
               Who only shone in plain attire
                 And simple loveliness.

               She’s gone! but let her image sweet
                 Be in our memory set;
               And her example, pure and bright,
                 Ah, let us not forget!
               We see her not; but I believe
                 Her mild and pitying-eye
               From heaven with anxious love looks down,
                 Our actions to espy.


[Illustration]

------------------------------------------------------------------------


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------------------------------------------------------------------------




 ● Transcriber’s Notes:
    ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
    ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
    ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
      when a predominant form was found in this book.