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diff --git a/old/11435-h.zip b/old/11435-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b76f597 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11435-h.zip diff --git a/old/11435-h/11435-h.htm b/old/11435-h/11435-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9cd80e2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11435-h/11435-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3890 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=us-ascii"> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Small Means and Great Ends, Edited by Mrs M.H Adams. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + * { font-family: Times;} + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%;} + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; right: 100%; font-size: 8pt; justify: right;} /* page numbers */ +.ctr {text-align: center;} + // --> + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Small Means and Great Ends, Edited by Mrs. M. H. Adams + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Small Means and Great Ends + +Author: Edited by Mrs. M. H. Adams + +Release Date: March 4, 2004 [EBook #11435] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SMALL MEANS AND GREAT ENDS *** + + + + +Produced by Amy Petri and PG Distributed Proofreaders. Produced from +images provided by Internet Archive Children's Library and University +of Florida. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>SMALL MEANS AND GREAT ENDS.</h1> + +<h3>EDITED BY MRS. M.H. ADAMS</h3> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill003.jpg"><img src="ill003.jpg" alt="THE WIDOW'S POT OF OIL"></a></p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Word of Truth, and Gift of Love,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Waiting hearts now need thee;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Faithful in thy mission prove,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">On that mission speed thee.</span><br> + +<p>BOSTON:</p> + +<p>PUBLISHED BY JAMES M. USHER,</p> + +<p>No. 37 Cornhill.</p> + +<p>1851.</p> + +<p>Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, by</p> + +<p>JAMES M. USHER,</p> + +<p>In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="PREFACE"></a><h2>PREFACE.</h2> +<br> + +<p>From the encouragement extended to our worthy publisher on the +presentation of the first and second volumes of the Annual, we conclude +that the experiment of 1845 may be regarded as a successful one, and the +preparation of a little work of this kind an acceptable offering to the +young.</p> + +<p>The present year, our kind contributors have afforded us a much more +ample supply of interesting articles than could possibly appear. We +regret that any who have so generously labored for us and our young +friends, should be denied the pleasure of greeting their articles on the +pages of the Annual. Let them not suspect that it is from any +disapproval or rejection of their labors. Be assured, dear friends, we +are more grateful than can properly be expressed in a brief preface. Our +warmest thanks are due our old friends, who, in the midst of other +arduous duties, have willingly given us assistance. Let our new +correspondents be assured they are gratefully remembered, although we +have not the pleasure or opportunity to present their articles to our +readers in the present volume. They are at the publisher's disposal for +another year.</p> + +<p>May the blessing of our Father in heaven rest upon the little book and +all its mends.</p> + +<p>M.H.A.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<br> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2><br> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<a href="#PREFACE"><b>PREFACE.</b></a><br> + <a href="#SMALL_MEANS_AND_GREAT_ENDS"><b>SMALL MEANS AND GREAT ENDS.</b></a><br> + <a href="#MARY_ELLEN"><b>MARY ELLEN.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_DEAD_CHILD_TO_ITS_MOTHER"><b>THE DEAD CHILD TO ITS MOTHER.</b></a><br> + <a href="#HOPE"><b>HOPE.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_YOUNG_SOLDIER"><b>THE YOUNG SOLDIER.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_STOLEN_CHILDREN"><b>THE STOLEN CHILDREN.</b></a><br> + <a href="#MY_GRANDMOTHER'S_COTTAGE"><b>MY GRANDMOTHER'S COTTAGE.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_FIRST_OATH"><b>THE FIRST OATH.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_FAIRY'S_GIFT"><b>THE FAIRY'S GIFT.</b></a><br> + <a href="#A_LESSON_TAUGHT_BY_NATURE"><b>A LESSON TAUGHT BY NATURE.</b></a><br> + <a href="#FLORENCE_DREW"><b>FLORENCE DREW.</b></a><br> + <a href="#SHECHEM"><b>SHECHEM.</b></a><br> + <a href="#quotARE_WE_NOT_ALL_BROTHERS_AND_SISTERSquot"><b>"ARE WE NOT ALL BROTHERS AND SISTERS?"</b></a><br> + <a href="#FORTUNE-TELLING"><b>FORTUNE-TELLING.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_BOY_WHO_STOLE_THE_NAILS"><b>THE BOY WHO STOLE THE NAILS.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_CHILDLESS_MOTHER"><b>THE CHILDLESS MOTHER.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_MOTHERLESS_CHILD"><b>THE MOTHERLESS CHILD.</b></a><br> + <a href="#FAITH"><b>FAITH.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_SNOW-BIRDS"><b>THE SNOW-BIRDS.</b></a><br> + <a href="#MOUNT_CARMEL"><b>MOUNT CARMEL.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_PHILOSOPHY_OF_LIFE"><b>THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_STARVING_POOR_OF_IRELAND"><b>THE STARVING POOR OF IRELAND.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_SABBATH_SCHOOL_FESTIVAL"><b>THE SABBATH SCHOOL FESTIVAL.</b></a><br> + <a href="#NELLY_GREY"><b>NELLY GREY.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_FOUR_EVANGELISTS"><b>THE FOUR EVANGELISTS.</b></a><br> + <a href="#MAY-DAY"><b>MAY-DAY.</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_SNOW-DROP"><b>THE SNOW-DROP.</b></a><br> + <a href="#CAGING_BIRDS"><b>CAGING BIRDS.</b></a><br> + +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<br> + + +<a name="SMALL_MEANS_AND_GREAT_ENDS"></a><h2>SMALL MEANS AND GREAT ENDS;</h2> + +<p>OR,</p> + +<p>THE WIDOW'S POT OF OIL.</p> + +<p>BY JULIA A. FLETCHER.</p> + +<p>"Oh! how I do wish I was rich!" said Eliza Melvyn, dropping her work in +her lap, and looking up discontentedly to her mother; "why should not I +be rich as well as Clara Payson? There she passes in her father's +carriage, with her fine clothes, and haughty ways; while I sit +here—sew—sewing—all day long. I don't see what use I am in the world!</p> + +<p>"Why should it be so? Why should one person have bread to waste, while +another is starving? Why should one sit idle all day, while another +toils all night? Why should one have so many blessings, and another so +few?"</p> + +<p>"Eliza!" said Mrs. Melvyn, taking her daughter's hand gently within her +own, and pushing back the curls from her flushed brow, "my daughter, why +is this? why is your usual contentment gone, and why are you so sinfully +complaining? Have you forgotten to think that 'God is ever good?'"</p> + +<p>"No, mother," replied the young girl, "but it sometimes appears strange +to me, why he allows all these things."</p> + +<p>"Wiser people than either you or I have been led to wonder at these +things," said Mrs. Melvyn; "but the Christian sees in all the wisdom of +God, who allows us to be tried here, and will overrule all for our good. +The very person who is envied for one blessing perhaps envies another +for one he does not possess. But why would you be rich, my child?"</p> + +<p>"Mother, I went this morning through a narrow, dirty street in another +part of the city. A group of ragged children were collected round one +who was crying bitterly. I made my way through them and spoke to the +little boy. He told me his little sister was dead, his father was sick, +and he was hungry. Here was sorrow enough for any one; but the little +boy stood there with his bare feet, his sunbleached hair and tattered +clothes, and smiled almost cheerfully through the tears which washed +white streaks amid the darkness of his dirty face. He led me to his +<i>home</i>. Oh, mother! if you had been with me up those broken stairs, and +seen the helpless beings in that dismal, dirty room you would have +wished, like me, for the means to help them. The dead body lay there +unburied, for the man said, they had no money to pay for a coffin. He +was dying himself, and they might as well be buried together."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure, Eliza, that you have not the means to help them?" asked +Mrs. Melvyn. "Put on your bonnet, my dear, and go to our sexton. Tell +him to go and do what should be done. The charitable society of which I +am a member will pay the expense. Then call on Dr.---- the dispensary +physician, and send him to the relief of the sick one. Then go to those +of your acquaintance who have, as you say, 'bread to waste,' and mention +to them this hungry little boy. If you have no money to give these +sufferers, you have a voice to plead with those who have; and thus you +may bless the poor, while you doubly bless the rich, for 'It is more +blessed to give than to receive.'"</p> + +<p>Eliza obeyed, and when she returned several hours after, her face +glowing with animation, and eagerly recounted how much had been done for +the poor family; how their dead had been humanely borne from their +sight; how the sick man was visited by the physician, and his bitterness +of spirit removed by the sympathy which was sent him; how the room was +to be cleaned and ventilated, and how she left the little boy eating a +huge slice of bread, while others of the family were half devouring the +remainder of the loaf; her mother listened with the same gentleness. "It +is well, my daughter," said she; "I preferred to send you on this errand +of sympathy, that you might see how much you could do with small means."</p> + +<p>"I have a picture here," she continued, "which I wish you to keep as a +token of this day's feelings and actions. It is called 'The Widow's Pot +of Oil.' Will you read me the story which belongs to it?"</p> + +<p>Eliza took her little pocket Bible, the one that she always carried to +the Sabbath school, and, turning to the fourth chapter of the second +book of Kings, read the first seven verses. Turn to them now, children, +and read them.</p> + +<p>"You can see in this picture," said her mother, "how small was the 'pot +of oil,' and how large were some of the vessels to be filled. Yet still +it flowed on, a little stream; still knelt the widow in her faith, +patiently supporting it; still brought her little sons the empty +vessels; the blessing of God was upon it, and they were all filled. She +feared not that the oil would cease to flow; she stopped not when one +vessel was filled; she still believed, and labored, and waited, until +her work was done.</p> + +<p>"Take this picture, my daughter, and when you think that you cannot do +good with small means, remember 'the widow's pot of oil,' and +perseveringly use the means you have; when one labor is done, begin +another; stitch by stitch you have made this beautiful garment; very +large houses are built of little bricks patiently joined together one by +one; and 'the widow's small pot of oil' filled many large vessels."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother," said Eliza, "I hope I shall never be so wicked again. I +will keep the picture always. But, mother, do you not think Mr. Usher +would like this picture to put in the 'Sabbath School Annual?' He might +have a smaller one engraved from this, you know, and perhaps cousin +Julia will write something about it. I mean to ask them."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="MARY_ELLEN"></a><h2>MARY ELLEN;</h2> + +<p>A SKETCH FROM LIFE.</p> + +<p>BY MRS. MARGARET M. MASON.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"O, lightly, lightly tread!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A holy thing is sleep</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">On the worn spirit shed,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And eyes that wake to weep;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ye know not what ye do,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That call the slumberer back</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">From the world unseen by you,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Unto life's dim faded track."</span><br> + +<p>How beautiful, calm, and peaceful is sleep! Often, when I have laid my +head upon my pillow happy and healthful, I have asked myself, to what +shall I awaken? What changes may come ere again my head shall press this +pillow? Ah, little do we know what a day may unfold to us! We know not +to what we shall awaken; what joy or sorrow. I do not know when I was +awakened to more painful intelligence, than when aroused one morning +from pleasant dreams by the voice of a neighbor, saying that Mary Ellen, +the only daughter of a near neighbor, was dying. She was a beautiful +little girl, about three years of age, unlike most other children. She +was more serious and thoughtful; and many predicted that her friends +would not have her long. She would often ask strange questions about +heaven and her heavenly Father; and many of her expressions were very +beautiful.</p> + +<p>One day she asked permission of her mother to go and gather her some +flowers. Her mother gave her permission, but requested her not to go out +of the field. After searching in vain for flowers, she returned with +some clover leaves and blades of grass. "Mother," said she, "I could +find you no flowers, but here are some spires of grass and clover +leaves. Say that they are some pretty, mother. GOD made them." Often, +when she woke in the morning, she would ask her mother if it was the +Sabbath day. If told it was, "Then," she would say, "we will read the +Bible and keep the day holy." Her mother always strove to render the +Sabbath interesting to her, and to have her spend it in a profitable +manner. Nor did she fail; for little Mary Ellen was always happy when +the Sabbath morning came. The interest she took in the reading of the +Scriptures, in explanations given of the plates in the Bible, and the +accuracy with which she would remember all that was told her, were truly +pleasing. Her kind and affectionate disposition, her love for all that +was pure and holy, and her readiness to forgive and excuse all that she +saw wrong in others, made her beloved by all who knew her. If she saw +children at play on the Sabbath, or roaming about, she would notice it, +and speak of it as being very wrong, and it would appear to wound her +feelings; yet she would try to excuse them. "It may be," she would say, +"that they do not know that it is the holy Sabbath day. Perhaps no one +has told them." She could not bear to think of any one doing wrong +intentionally.</p> + +<p>Whenever she heard her little associates make use of any language that +she was not quite sure was right, she would ask her mother if it was +wrong to speak thus; and if wrong, she would say, "Then, I will never +speak so, and I shall be your own dear little girl, and my heavenly +Father will love me." We often ask children whom they love best. Such +was the question often put to Mary Ellen. She would always say, "I love +my heavenly Father best, and my dear father and mother next." Her first +and best affections were freely given to her Maker, not from a sense of +duty alone did it seem, but from a heart overflowing with love and +gratitude; and never, at the hour of retiring, would she forget to kneel +and offer up her evening prayer. Thus she lived.</p> + +<p>Now I will lead you to her dying pillow Many friends were around her. +No one had told her that she was dying; yet she herself felt conscious +of it. She wished to have the window raised, that she might see the +ocean and trees once more. "Oh!" said her mother, bending over her, "is +my dear little girl dying?" "I want to go," said Mary Ellen; "I want my +father and mother to go with me." "Will you not stay with us?" said the +stricken father; "will you not stay with us?" She raised her little +hands and eyes—"Oh no," said she; "I see them! I see them! 't is +lighter there; I want to go; get a coffin and go with me, father. 'T is +lighter there!" She died soon after she ceased speaking. Her pure spirit +winged its way to the blest home where we shall <i>all</i> have more light, +where the mortal shall put on immortality.</p> + +<p>She died when flowers were fading; fit season for one of so gentle and +pure a nature to depart.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"In the cold, moist earth they laid her</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">When the forest cast the leaf,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And we wept that one so beautiful</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Should have a life so brief.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And yet 't was not unmeet that one,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Like that young friend of ours,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">So gentle and so beautiful,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Should perish with the flowers."</span><br> + +<p>But Oh! when that little form was laid in the cold grave,—when the +childless parents returned to their lonely home, once made so happy by +the smile of their departed child,—Oh! who can express or describe +their anguish! In her they had all they could ask in a child; she was +their only one. Everything speaks to their hearts of <i>her</i>; but her +light step and happy voice fall not upon their ears; to them the flowers +that she loved have a mournful language. The voice of the wind sighing +in the trees has to them a melancholy tone. The light laugh of little +children, coming in at the open window,—the singing of birds which she +delighted to hear,—but speak to their hearts of utter loneliness. They +feel that the little form they had nursed with so much care and +tenderness, so often pressed to their bosoms, is laid beneath the sod. +Yet the sweet consolation which religion affords, cheered and sustained +the afflicted parents in their hours of deepest sorrow. They would not +call their child back. They feel that she has reached her heavenly home. +Happy must they have been in yielding up to its Maker a spirit so pure.</p> + +<p>Two years Mary Ellen has been sleeping in the little graveyard. Since +then another little daughter has been given her parents,—a promising +little bud, that came with the spring flowers, to bless and cheer the +home which was made so desolate. The best wish I have for the parents, +and all I ask for the child, is, that it may be like little Mary Ellen. +I have an earnest wish, too that all little children who read this +sketch may be led to love and obey God as much as Mary Ellen.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill019.jpg"><img src="ill019.jpg" alt=""></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_DEAD_CHILD_TO_ITS_MOTHER"></a><h2>THE DEAD CHILD TO ITS MOTHER.</h2> + +<p>BY MRS. E.R.B. WALDO.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Mother, mourn not for me;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">No more I need of thee;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Call back the yearning which would follow where</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">No mortal grief can go;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">All thine affection throw</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Around thy living ones; they need thy care.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Let not my name still be</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A word of grief to thee,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But let it bring a thought of peace and rest;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Shed for me no sad tear,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Remember, mother dear!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That I am with the perfect and the blest.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Yes, let my memory still</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">With joy thy bosom fill;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For, though thou dost along life's desert roam,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My spirit, like a star,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Bright burning and afar,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Shall guide thee, through the darkness, to thy home</span><br> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="HOPE"></a><h2>HOPE.</h2> + +<p>BY REV. H.B. NYE.</p> + +<p>Expectation is not desire, nor desire hope. We may <i>expect</i> misfortune, +sickness, poverty, while from these evils we would fain escape. Bending +over the couches of the sick and suffering, we may <i>desire</i> their +restoration to health, while the hectic flush and the rapid beating of +the heart assure us that no effort of kindness or skill can prolong +their days upon the earth. <i>Hope</i> is directed to some future good, and +it implies not only an ardent desire that our future may be fair and +unclouded, but an expectation that our wishes will, at length, be +granted, and our plans be crowned with large success. Hence hope +animates us to exertion and diligence, and always imparts pleasure and +gladness, while our fondest wishes cost us anxiety and tears.</p> + +<p>There are <i>false</i> and <i>delusive</i> hopes, which bring us, at last, to +shame. There are those who expect to gain riches by fraud and deceit, in +pursuits and traffics on which the laws of truth, love, and justice, +must ever darkly frown. They forget that wealth, with all its splendor, +can only be deemed a good and desirable gift when sought as an +instrument to advance noble and beneficent aims,—when we are the +almoners of God's bounty to the lonely children of sorrow and want.</p> + +<p>If we seek wealth, let us not forget that pure hearts gentle affections, +lofty purposes, and generous deeds, can alone secure the peace and +blessedness of the spiritual kingdom of God.</p> + +<p>There are some who have a strong desire for the praise and stations of +men, yet are often careless of the means by which they accomplish their +ends. Remember, my young friends, that no station, no crown, or honor, +will occupy the attention of a good and noble heart, except it opens a +better opportunity for philanthropic labor, and is conferred as the free +offering of an intelligent and grateful people.</p> + +<p>There are many, especially among the young, who seek <i>present</i> pleasure +in foolish and sinful deeds, vainly believing the wicked may flourish +and receive the blessing of the good. Believe me, young friend, such +hopes are delusive, and such expectations will suddenly perish. Let +fools laugh and mock at sin, and live as if God were not; but consider +well the path of <i>your</i> feet! When your weak arm can hold back the +globes which circle in space above us in solemn grandeur and beauty +forever, then may you hope to arrest the operation of those laws which +preserve an everlasting connection between obedience and blessedness, +sin and sorrow.</p> + +<p>In the spring-season of life, how beautiful are the visions which Hope +spreads out to our admiring view, as we go forth, with gladsome heart +and step, amid the duties of life, its trials and temptations. It begets +manly effort by its promises of success, and leads us to virtue and +self-denial, in our weakness and sin. When our heads are bowed to the +earth in despondency and gloom, hope putteth forth her hand, scattereth +afar the clouds, dispelleth our sorrow; and again, with a firmer step +and a more trustful heart, we go forth on the solemn march of life! It +is our solace and strength in the hours of woe and grief, when those in +whose smile we have rejoiced pass from our presence and homes to the +valley and shadow of death. And if we weep that they are not, and can +never return,</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Hope, like the rainbow, a creature of light,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Is born, like the rainbow, in tears,"</span><br> + +<p>and we rest in the calm and blest assurance that we shall ultimately go +to them, and with them dwell forever in a land without sorrow.</p> + +<p>It may be said that we scarcely live in the present. <b>Memory</b>, in +whose mysterious cells are treasured the records of the past, carries +us back to our earlier years, and all our pursuits, and sports, and +joys, and griefs, pass rapidly in review before us; and <b>Hope</b> leads +us onward, investing future years with charms, and bidding us strive +with brave and manly hearts in the conflicts and duties that remain. The +former years—sorrowful remembrance!--may have been passed in luxury, +indolence, or flagrant sin; the fruits of our industry and skill may +have wasted away; friends, whose love once cast a golden sunshine on the +path of life, may have proved false and treacherous; our fondest +desires, perchance, have faded, and sorrows may encompass us about;—yet +above us the voice of Hope crieth aloud, "<i>Press on</i>!"—through tears +and the cross must thou win the crown; be patient, trustful, in every +duty and grief; "<i>press on</i>," and falter not; and its words linger like +the music of a remembered dream in our ear, until, at the borders of the +grave, we lay down the burden of our sinfulness and care, and, through +the open gate of death, pass onward to that world where hope shall be +exchanged for sight, and we, with unveiled eye, shall look upon the +wondrous ways and works of God.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_YOUNG_SOLDIER"></a><h2>THE YOUNG SOLDIER</h2> + +<p>BY REV. J.G. ADAMS.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A soldier! a soldier!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">I'm longing to be;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The name and the life</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Of a soldier for me!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I would not be living</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">At ease and at play:</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">True honor and glory</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">I'd win in my day!</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A soldier! a soldier!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">In armor arrayed;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">My weapons in hand,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Of no contest afraid;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I'd ever be ready</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">To strike the first blow,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And to fight my good way</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Through the ranks of the foe.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But then, let me tell you,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">No blood would I shed,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">No victory seek o'er</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The dying and dead;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A far braver soldier</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Than this would I be;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A warrior of Truth,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the ranks of the free!</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">My helmet Salvation,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Strong Faith my good shield.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The sword of the Spirit</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">I'd learn how to wield.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And then against evil</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And sin would I fight,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Assured of my triumph,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Because in the right.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A soldier! a soldier!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">O, then, let me be!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Young friends, I invite you—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Enlist now with me.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Truth's bands will be mustered—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Love's foes shall give way!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Let's up, and be clad</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">In our battle array!</span><br> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill026.jpg"><img src="ill026.jpg" alt=""></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_STOLEN_CHILDREN"></a><h2>THE STOLEN CHILDREN.</h2> + +<p>BY MRS. M.A. LIVERMORE.</p> +<br> + +<p>Not many years ago, the beautiful hills and valleys of New England gave +to the wild Indian a home, and its bright waters and quiet forests +furnished him with food. Rude wigwams stood where now ascends the hum of +the populous city, and council-fires blazed amid the giant trees which +have since bowed before the axe of the settler. Between that rude age +and the refinement of the present day, many and fearful were the strifes +of the red owner of the land with the invading white man, who, having +crossed the waters of the Atlantic, sought to drive him from his +hitherto undisputed possessions. The recital of deeds of inhuman cruelty +which characterized that period; the rehearsal of bloody massacres of +inoffensive women and innocent children, which those cruel savages +delighted in, would even now curdle the blood with horror, and make one +sick at heart.</p> + +<p>It was in this period of fearful warfare that the events occurred which +form the foundation of the following story.</p> + +<p>Not far from the year 1680, a small colony was planted on the banks of +the beautiful Connecticut. A little company from the sea-side found +their way, through the tangled and pathless woods, to the meadows that +lay sleeping on the banks of this bright river; and here, after having +felled the mighty trees whose brows had long been kissed by the pure +heavens, they erected their humble cottages; and began to till the rich +alluvial soil. The colonists were persevering and industrious; and soon +a little village grew up beside the shining stream, fields of Indian +corn waved their wealth of tasselled heads in the breezes, the +rudely-constructed school-house echoed with the cheerful hum of the +little students, and a rustic church was dedicated to the God of the +Pilgrims. He who officiated as the spiritual teacher of this new parish, +also instructed the children during the week. A man he was of no +inferior mind, or neglected education; of fervent, but austere piety, +possessing a bold spirit and a benevolent heart. His family consisted of +a wife and two daughters; Emma, the elder, was a girl of eight summers, +and Anna, the younger, was about five.</p> + +<p>Never were children so frolicsome and mirth-loving as were Emma and Anna +Wilson, the daughters of the minister. Not the grave admonitions of +their mother, or the severe reproofs of their stern father; not their +many confinements in dark and windowless closets, or the memory of +afternoons, when, supperless, they had been sent to bed while the sun +was yet high in the heavens; not the fear of certain punishment, or the +suasion of kindness, could tame their wild natures, or force them into +anything like woman-like sobriety. Hand in hand, they would wander amid +the aisles of mossy-trunked trees, plucking the flowers that carpeted +the earth; now digging for ground-nuts, now turning over the leaves for +acorns; sometimes they would watch the nibbling squirrel as he nimbly +sprang from tree to tree, or overpower, with their boisterous laughter, +the gushing melody of the bobolink; they mocked the querulous cat-bird +and the cawing crow, started at the swift winging of the shy blackbird, +and stood still to listen to the sweet song of the clear-throated +thrush; now they bathed their feet in the streamlets that went singing +on their way to the Connecticut, and then, throwing up handfuls of the +running water, which fell again upon their heads, they laughed right +merrily at their self-baptism. They were happy as the days were long; +but wild as their playfellows, the birds, the streams, and the +squirrels.</p> + +<p>One beautiful Sabbath morning in July, their mother dressed them tidily +in their best frocks, and tying on their snow-white sun-bonnets, she +sent them to church nearly an hour before she started with their father, +that they might walk leisurely, and have opportunity to get rested +before the commencement of services. But it was not until near the +middle of the sermon that the little rogues made their appearance. With +glowing faces, hair that had strayed from its ungraceful confinement to +float in golden curls over their necks and shoulders,—with bonnets, +shoes and stockings tied together and swinging over each arm,—with +dresses rent, ripped, soiled and stained, and up-gathered aprons filled +with berries, blossoms, pebbles, fresh-water shells and bright sand, +they stole softly to where their mother was sitting, much to her +mortification, and greatly to the horror of their pious father.</p> + +<p>For this offence, they were forbidden to accompany their parents, on the +next Sabbath, to church, but were condemned to close confinement in the +house during the long, bright, summer day—a severer punishment than +which, could not have been inflicted. When the hour of assembling for +worship was announced by the old English clock that stood in the corner, +the curtains were drawn before the windows; two bowls of bread and milk +were placed on the dresser for their dinner; a lesson in the Testament +was assigned to Emma, and one in the Catechism to Anna; a strict +injunction to remain all day in the house was laid upon both, and Mr. +and Mrs. Wilson departed, locking the door, and taking the key. The +children soon wiped away the tears that their hard fate had gathered in +their eyes, and applied themselves to their tasks, which were speedily +committed. Then the forenoon wore slowly away; they dared not get their +playthings,—they were forbidden to go out doors,—and the only books in +the room were the Bible, Watts' Hymns, and the Pilgrim's Progress, which +lay on the highest shelf in the room, far beyond their reach. Noon came +at last; the sun shone fully in at the south window, betokening the +dinner hour, and then their dinner of bread and milk was eaten. What +were they next to do? Sorrowfully they gazed on the smiling river, the +green corn-fields, the large potato-plats, the grazing cattle, the +blooming flower-beds, and the shady walks which led far into the cool +recesses of the forest; and earnestly did they long for liberty to +ramble out in the glorious sunshine. As they were gazing wistfully +through the window, they saw their playful little kitten, Fanny, dart +like lightning from her hiding-place in the garden, where she had long +lain in ambush, and fasten her sharp claws in the back of a poor little +ground-bird, which had been hopping from twig to twig, chirping and +twittering very cheerfully. The little bird fluttered, gasped, and +uttered wailing cries, as it ineffectually labored to free itself from +the power of its captor, until Emma and Anna, unable longer to witness +its distress, sprang out the window, and, rushing down the garden, +liberated the little prisoner, and with delight saw it fly away towards +the woods.</p> + +<p>Delighted to find themselves once more in the open air, the joyful +children forgot the prohibition of their parents, and leaping over the +dear little brook with which they loved to run races, they filled their +aprons with the blue-eyed violets that grew on its margin. On they +bounded, further and further, and a few moments more found them in the +dense wood, where not a sunbeam could reach the ground. But suddenly the +leaves rustled behind them, and the twigs cracked, and there sprung, +from an ambuscade in the thicket, the tall figure of an Indian, who laid +a strong hand on the arm of each little girl, and, despite the cries, +tears, and entreaties of the poor children, hurried them deeper into the +forest, where they found a large body of these cruel savages, clad in +moose and deer skins, armed with bows and arrows, tomahawks, and +muskets. The children were questioned concerning the village, the +occupation of the inhabitants on that day, and the number of men at +home, and they replied correctly and intelligibly. A consultation was +then held among the Indians, which resulted in a determination to attack +the village; and forthwith, leaving but one behind to guard the little +prisoners, they made a descent on the quiet settlement, burning and +ravaging buildings on their way to the church. But they did not find the +body of worshippers unarmed, as they doubtless expected; for, in those +days of peril and savage warfare, men worshipped God armed with musket +and bayonet, and the hand that was lifted in prayer to heaven would +often, at the next moment, draw the gleaming sword from its sheath. At +the meeting-house, the savages met with a warm repulse; and were so +surprised and affrighted that they retreated back into the wild woods, +after wounding but one or two colonists, among whom was Mr. Wilson, +Emma's and Anna's father.</p> + +<p>The Indians commenced, about dark, a journey to the settlement where +they belonged, taking the stolen children with them; they reached their +destination early on the second day of their travel. Rough, indeed, +seemed the Indian village to the white children: the houses were only +wigwams, made by placing poles obliquely in the ground, and fastening +them at the top, covered on the outside with bark, and lined on the +inside with mats; some containing but one family, others a great many. +The furniture consisted of mats for beds, curiously wrought baskets to +hold corn, and strings of wampum which served for ornaments. Into one of +the smallest of these wigwams Emma and Anna were carried, and were given +to the wife of one of the chief warriors, who had but one child of her +own,—Winona was her name, which signifies the first-born,—a +bright-eyed, pleasant, winning little girl of two years of age. The +mother scrutinized them closely, but the child appeared overjoyed to see +them, and wiped away their tears with her little hand, and, jabbering in +her unknown language, seemed begging them not to cry. This interested +the mother, and she soon looked more kindly upon them, and set before +them food. But they were too sorrowful to eat, and were glad to be shown +a mat, where they were to sleep. Locked in each others' arms, cheek +pressed to cheek, they lay and wept as if their hearts were broken.</p> + +<p>"Let us pray to God," whispered Emma, after the inmates of the wigwam +were reposing in slumber, "and ask Him to bring us again to our father +and mother."</p> + +<p>So they rose, and knelt in the dark wigwam, with their arms about one +another's necks, and their tears flowing together, and offered to God +their childish prayer:</p> + +<p>"Our Father in Heaven, love us poor children; take care of us; forgive +us for doing wrong, and help us be good; take care of our dear parents; +comfort them, and bring us again to meet them."</p> + +<p>Then, more composed, and trusting in the blessed Father of us all, they +fell asleep, and sweet were their slumbers, though far from their dear +parents and home, for angels watched over them, and gave to them happy +dreams.</p> + +<p>A few days' residence among these untutored red men made Emma and Anna +great favorites among them; their pleasant dispositions, their good +nature, and, above all, their love for the little Winona, which was +fully reciprocated, endeared them to the father and mother of the Indian +girl. Though sad at being separated from their parents, and though they +often wept until they could weep no longer when they thought of home, +yet their hearts, like those of all children, were easily consoled, and +their spirits were so elastic that they could not long be depressed. +Winona loved them tenderly; at night she slept between them, and during +the day she would never leave them. She wore garlands of their +wreathing, listened to their English songs, stroked their rosy cheeks, +and frolicked with them in the woods, and beside the running brooks.</p> + +<p>Two months passed away; all the Indian women in the village were +speaking of the love that had sprung up between the little white girls +and the copper-colored Winona; and many a hard hand smoothed the golden +curls of the little captives in token of affection. Then Winona was +taken sick; her body glowed with the fever-heat, her bright eyes became +dull, and day and night she moaned with pain. With surprising care and +tenderness, Emma and Anna nursed the suffering child,—for to them were +her glowing and burning hands extended for relief, rather than to her +mother. They held her throbbing head, lulled her to sleep, bathed her +hot temples, moistened her parched lips, and soothed her distresses; but +they could not win her from the power of death—and she died!</p> + +<p>Oh, it was a sorrowful thing to them to part with their little +playmate,—to see the damp earth heaped upon her lovely form, and to +feel that she was forever hidden from their sight! They wept, and, with +the almost frantic mother, laid their faces on the tiny grave, and +moistened it with their tears. Hither they often came to scatter the +freshest flowers, and to weep for the home they feared they would never +again see; and here they often kneeled in united prayer to that God, who +bends on prayerful children a loving eye, and spreads over them a +shadowing wing.</p> + +<p>The childless Indian woman now loved them more than ever; but the death +of Winona had opened afresh the fountains of their grief, and often did +she find them weeping so bitterly that she could not comfort them. She +would draw them to her bosom, and tenderly caress them; but it all +availed not, and when the month of October came, with its sere foliage +and fading flowers, Emma and Anna had grown so thin, and pale, and +feeble, from their wearing home-sickness, that they stayed all day in +the wigwam, going out only to visit Winona's grave. They drooped and +drooped, and those who saw them said, "The white children will die, and +lie down with Winona."</p> + +<p>The Indian mother gazed on their pallid faces, and wept; she loved them, +and could not bear to part with them; but she saw they would die, and +calling her husband, she bade him convey them to the home of their +father. Many were the tears she shed at parting with them; and when they +disappeared among the thick trees, she threw herself, in an agony of +grief, upon the mats within the wigwam.</p> + +<p>It was Sabbath noon when the children arrived in sight of their +father's house; here the Indian left them, and plunged again into the +depths of the forest. They could gain no admittance into the house, and +they hastened to the meeting-house, where they hoped to find their +parents. They reached the church; the congregation was singing; +silently, and unobserved, they entered, and seated themselves at the +remotest part of the building. The singing ceased; there was a momentary +pause, and their father rose before them. Oh, how he was changed! Pale, +very pale, thin and sad was his dear face; and Emma's and Anna's hearts +smote them, as being the cause of this change. They leaned forward to +catch a glimpse of their mother, but in her accustomed seat sat a lady +dressed in black, and this, they thought, could not be her; they little +supposed that their parents mourned for them as for the dead, believing +they should see them no more.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wilson took his text from Psalms: "It is good for me that I have +been afflicted." With a tremulous voice, he spoke of their recent +afflictions; of the sudden invasion of the colony, the burning of their +dwellings, the wounding of some of their number, and then his tones +became more deeply tremulous, for he spoke of his children. The sobs of +his sympathizing people filled the house, and the anguish of the +father's feelings became so intense, that he bowed his head upon the +Bible and wept aloud. The hearts of the children palpitated with +emotion; their sobs arose above all others; and, taking each other by +the hand, the wan, emaciated, badly-dressed little girls hastened to the +pulpit, where stood their father, with his face bowed upon the leaves of +the Holy Book, and laying their hand upon his passive arm, they sobbed +forth, "Father! Father!" He raised his head, gazed eagerly and wildly +upon the children, and comprehending at once the whole scene, the +revulsion of feeling that came over him was so great,—the sorrow for +the dead being instantly changed into joy for the living,—that he +staggered backwards, and would have fallen but for the timely support of +a chair.</p> + +<p>The whole house was in instant confusion; in a moment they were clasped +in their mother's arms, and kisses and tears and blessings were mingled +together upon their white, thin cheeks. "Let us thank God for the return +of our children," said the pastor; and all kneeling reverently, he +thanked our merciful heavenly Father, in the warm and glowing language +of a deeply grateful heart, for restoring to his arms those whom he had +wept as lost to him forever.</p> + +<p>Oh, there was joy in that village that night again and again the +children told their interesting story, and those who listened forgot to +chide their disobedience, or to harshly reprove. Need I tell you how +they were pressed to the bosoms of the villagers; how tears were shed +for their sufferings, and those of the little lost Winona, whom they did +not forget; how caresses were lavished upon them, and prayers offered to +God, that their lives, which he had so wonderfully preserved, might be +spent in usefulness and piety? No, I need not, for you can imagine it +all.</p> + +<p>The sermon which was so happily interrupted by the return of the +children was the first Mr. Wilson had attempted to preach since the day +they were stolen; the wounds he that day received, and the illness that +immediately afterwards ensued, with his unutterable grief for the loss +of his children, had confined him mostly to his bed during their +absence. On the next Sabbath, Emma and Anna accompanied their father and +mother once more to church, when Mr. Wilson preached from these words: +"Oh, give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good, and his mercy endureth +forever."</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill041.jpg"><img src="ill041.jpg" alt="My Grandmother's Cottage"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="MY_GRANDMOTHER'S_COTTAGE"></a><h2>MY GRANDMOTHER'S COTTAGE.</h2> + +<p>BY REV. J.G. ADAMS.</p> + +<p>Of all places in the wide world, my own early home excepted, none seem +to me more pleasing in memory than my grandmother's cottage. Very often +did I visit it in my boyhood, and well acquainted with its appearance +within, and with almost every object around it, did I become. It stood +in a quiet nook in the midst of the woods, about five miles from the +pleasant seaport where I was born. The cottage was not a spacious one. +It had but few rooms in it; but it was amply large for my aged +grandparents, I remember. They lived happily there. My grandfather was +somewhat infirm; my grandmother was a very vigorous person for one of +seventy-five; this was her age at the time of my first recollection of +her. She used to walk from her cottage to our home; and once I walked +with her, but was exceedingly mortified that I could not endure the walk +so well as she did.</p> + +<p>I used to love this cottage home, because it was so quiet, and in the +summer time so delighting to me. I believe I received some of my very +first lessons in the love of nature in this place. It was a charming +summer or winter retreat. If the sun shone warmly down anywhere, it was +here. If the wind blew kindly anywhere, it was around the snug cottage, +sheltered as it was on every side by the tall old pines. If the robin's +note came earliest anywhere in the spring-time, it was from the large +spreading apple-tree just at the foot of the little garden lot. How +often has my young heart been delighted with his song there! And then, +what sweet chanting I have heard in those woods all the day from the +thrush and sparrow, yellow-bird and oriole! How their mellow voices +would seem to echo in the noon-silence, or at the sunset hour, as though +they were singing anthems in some vast cathedral! They were; and what +anthems of nature's harmony and praise! God heard them, and was +glorified.</p> + +<p>It seemed to me that every animate thing was made to be happy. I loved +to stand beneath a tall old hemlock in a certain part of the wood, and +watch the squirrels as they skipped and ran so swiftly along the wall, +or from branch to branch, or up and down the trees. Their chattering +made a fine accompaniment to the bird-songs. And here I learned to +indulge a fondness for the very crows, which to this day I have never +outgrown. Though they have been denounced as mischievous, and bounties +have been set upon them, I never could find it in my heart to indulge in +the warring propensity against them. They always seemed to me such +social company—issuing from some edge of the woodland, and slowly +flapping their black wings, and flocking out into the clearing, huddling +overhead, and sailing away, chatting so loudly and heartily all the +while, and reminding the whole neighborhood that when we have life, it +is best to let others know it! Yes—the cawing crows have been company +for me in many a solitary ramble; and whenever I hear them, I inwardly +pay my respects to them. All these, and other familiar sights and +sounds, did I richly enjoy at the old cottage in the woods.</p> + +<p>I loved to sit at the shed-door, and watch my grandfather at his slow +work; for he had been a mechanic in his day, and was able to do a little +very moderately at his trade now. He would tell me the history of the +old people in the neighborhood, and of the customs and fashions when +they were boys and girls; and my eyes and ears were open to hear him. I +used to wish I could see them just as they looked when they were +children. It was very difficult then for me to imagine how those who +had become so wrinkled could ever have had the smooth faces of infants +and children. But my grandfather could remember when he was a boy; and +his father had told him what things were done when he, too, was a boy. +And so I concluded that wrinkles were no disgrace, nor the fairest faces +of the young any protection against them.</p> + +<p>My grandmother was very fond of me, and took great pleasure in having me +read to her, as her eyesight had become somewhat dim. And so I used to +load myself with story-books and newspapers, when I became older, to +carry and read to her. And such times as we had with them! Voyages, +travels, discoveries, adventures, perils,—the wonders of the world, the +wonders of science, the wonders of history,—all came in for their share +of reading. Though I should read myself tired and sleepy, my grandmother +would still be an interested listener. Since I have been a minister, I +have often wished that many hearers would as eagerly listen to what I +had to say especially to them, as did my aged grandmother to my young +words then.</p> + +<p>Those sunny days have departed. The old cottage is not there now. Years +ago it was taken down. My grandfather died when I was yet a boy, and I +followed him to the grave with a heavy heart. My grandmother lived to +be almost a hundred years old,—her powers all gone, and she helpless. +It would sometimes, even in my manhood, deeply affect me to have her +look into my face with no sign in hers that she knew me, when she had +once loved her talkative and delighted grandchild so fondly. But she, +too, found her resting-place at last beside her companion. Peace to +them! They blest me with their kindly, cheering words when most I needed +them, and I will bless their memories. And peace to the spot where once +stood their quiet home! Wherever in life I may be,—however brightly its +pleasures may shine, or heavily its cares and afflictions press upon +me—never would I outgrow the inspiration of these early enjoyments; +never forget, that, however the great, proud, and contentious world may +distract and dishearten, there will yet be peace to the humble and +virtuous soul in many a nook like that which sheltered and blest my +grand mother's cottage.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_FIRST_OATH"></a><h2>THE FIRST OATH</h2> + +<p>BY REV. EBEN FRANCIS.</p> + +<p>It is now many years since a near friend of mine uttered his first oath. +We were very intimate in our youthful days. I have thought that I would +write a little story about him, for some of the little folks of these +times to read, hoping that it will not only be interesting, but do them +good; for I am indeed sorry to know that swearing is a very common sin +among the boys of our times.</p> + +<p>The parents of my young playfellow were of the humbler class in society; +they were industrious and prudent, and took great pains to teach him +what was right. They lived in the metropolis of New England, where my +schoolmate was born. His father wrought with the saw, the plane, the +hammer, and such tools as carpenters use about their business. His home +was a neat, wooden two-story house, in one of the streets of that part +of Boston which was generally known, when we were boys, by the name of +the MILL-POND. I suppose that most of my little readers who live in the +city can tell where it is. Many changes have taken place there since my +childhood. When I was a small boy it was called the <i>town</i>,—now we +never hear of it but as the <i>city</i> of Boston. Its population has +increased rapidly; its territory has been extended; it has grown in +wealth, in splendor, in its means for mental and moral improvement; in +the number and convenience of its public schools,—the pride and +ornament, or the disgrace, of any place. Yes, Boston is not, in +appearance or in fact, what it once was.</p> + +<p>But I am getting off from my story. I was saying that my young friend +resided on the "new-land"—no; the "Mill-Pond;"—well, it's all the +same—for when they dug down old Beacon Hill, they threw the dirt into +the Mill-Pond, and when it was filled up, or made land, the spot was +still known as the Mill-Pond, and oftentimes was called the new-land. In +later years, there have been other portions added to the city, by making +wharves, and filling up where the tide used to ebb and flow, and where +large vessels could float.</p> + +<p>But again I am digressing too far from the story.</p> + +<p>So soon as my friend was old enough, he was sent to one of the primary +schools, and was a pretty constant scholar at that, and afterwards at a +grammar school, till he was about twelve years old. He was, of course, +much with other lads of his own age, and some who were older and +younger than himself. He was, also, often in the streets, and as there +were a great many people who used profane language in those days,—as +there are at the present time,—he heard much of it; yet he had been so +carefully trained that he did not for years utter wicked words.</p> + +<p>It is always painful to most persons, old as well as young, to hear +profanity, even though it be very common in their hearing, if they are +never accustomed to its use.</p> + +<p>My young friend had been taught to reverence the name of that great +Being who made heaven and earth and all things. He was a member of a +Sabbath school, and thus had much valuable advice from his faithful +teacher to govern his conduct in word and deed. For a while he heeded +this, and was careful of his moral character. But by-and-by, he +overstepped the bounds of right.</p> + +<p>It is very true that "evil communications corrupt good manners;" and +that if one would not be bad, one means of safety is to keep out of bad +company.</p> + +<p>My friend was, in a few years, placed in a store, where there was a +large business carried on. He came in contact with persons who were not +so carefully instructed as he had been. They made no hesitation in +pronouncing the names of God and Jesus Christ in a blasphemous and +profane manner. He resisted the pernicious influence of their example +for a while, but at last it became so familiar to his ears, that he +could hear wicked words spoken without even a thrill of horror in his +bosom.</p> + +<p>He, however, had not the disposition to speak them, till one day, when +some little thing in the store did not suit him, his passion was +aroused, and, in the angry excitement of the moment, he spoke out,—and +in that unguarded expression there was profanity,—a miserable, +blasphemous, wicked word. He had uttered his <i>first oath.</i> The +disposition had been lurking in his heart for several days to do this; +but he had not been able to so far lower his moral sense as to do it +before. Now he felt as though he had done a brave act,—that he had +achieved something very grand. But soon, very soon, conscience whispered +her gentle yet severe rebuke. She complained sadly of the wickedness +that was done. The blush of shame mantled his cheek. Remorse took hold +on his spirit. He looked about to see who was upbraiding him; but none +seemed to notice it. He resolved that he would not again give occasion +for such feelings of regret and sorrow to himself as he then felt.</p> + +<p>Could you have then looked into his heart, you would have pitied him. +This resolution he kept a few weeks, when, being a little irritated, he +a second time profaned the holy name of Deity. This time he felt some +compunctions of conscience, but they were not as powerful as before; the +first step had been already taken, and a second was much easier.</p> + +<p>I need not go on to tell you how he, not long after, broke a second +resolution, and so on, till, ere many months, he had become really a +swearing young man.</p> + +<p>It all sprang from the first sinful act; and when at last he did break +himself of the habit, it was not done without a serious struggle.</p> + +<p>I have told you this story, my young readers, because I thought it might +be, not only interesting to you, but because I hoped it might be the +means of leading you to reflect upon the uselessness and wickedness of +PROFANITY; and that it might aid in impressing on your minds the +importance of governing your passions and keeping your tongues free from +evil speaking.</p> + +<p>I see my friend, about whom I have written, quite often. He is now a +parent, and occupies an eminent position in the community; but he often +thinks of his former life, and says he has not yet ceased to lament his +FIRST OATH. Let this fact, then, teach you how a recollection of the +sins of boyhood, even though you may call them little sins, will be +cherished through life, and poison many moments that would otherwise be +happy ones. How important that childhood be pure and righteous in the +sight of God, and to our own consciences, in order to insure a happy +manhood and old age!</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill053.jpg"><img src="ill053.jpg" alt=""></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_FAIRY'S_GIFT"></a><h2>THE FAIRY'S GIFT.</h2> + +<p>BY REV. J. WESLEY HANSON.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">It was a quiet summer's day,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The breeze blew cool and fair,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And blest ten thousand happy things</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Of land, and sea, and air,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And played a thousand merry pranks</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">With MARY'S golden hair.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">MARY was not a happy girl;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Her face was sad and sour,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And on her little pretty brow</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Dark frowns did often lower,—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And she would scold, and fret, and cry,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Full fifty times an hour.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">She sat and wept with grief and pain,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And did not smile at all,—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And when her friends and mates came near</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">She shunned them, great and small,—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And then upon the Fairy Queen</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">She earnestly did call.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Oh, hither, hither, good Fairy,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">I pray thee come to me!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And point me out the Path of Peace,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That I may happy be,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For I cannot, in all the world,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">A moment's pleasure see!</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"I try my work, my play I try,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">My little playmates, too;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Help me to find true happiness,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">I sadly, humbly sue;—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Oh! my lot is a darksome one,—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Fairy! what shall I do?"</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A humble-bee comes riding by,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">No bigger than my thumb,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And on his browny, gold-striped back,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Behold the Fairy come!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">One look upon her loveliness</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Makes little MARY dumb.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">She wore a veil of gossamer,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Her tunic was of blue,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A golden sunbeam was her belt,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And bonnet of crimson hue,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And through the net of her purple shawl</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Clear silver stars looked through.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Her slippers were of sunflower seeds,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And tied with spider's thread,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A rein of silkworm's finest yarn</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Passed round the bee's brown head;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">An oaten straw was her riding whip,—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Oh how her courser sped!</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">She beckoned to the sighing maid,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And led her a little way,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And showed a hundred fountains bright</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That bubbled night and day,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And flashed their waves in the glad sunlight,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And showers of crystal spray.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">She said: "Each stream has secret power</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Upon the human heart,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And, as you drink, the mystic draught</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Shall joy or woe impart;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">'T will give you pleasant happiness,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Or sorrow's painful smart."</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The founts were labelled every one,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">With titles plainly seen,—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The fountains <i>Pride</i>, and <i>Sin</i>, and <i>Wrong</i>,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And <i>Hate</i>, and <i>Scorn</i>, and <i>Spleen,</i></span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Goodness</i> and <i>Love</i>, and many more,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sparkled along the green.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And MARY drank at each bright fount,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">To draw her grief away;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But, spite of all the water's power,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Her sorrows they would stay.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And still she mourned, and still was sad,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Through all the livelong day.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">One morn she saw a little spring</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">She never saw before,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Down in a still and shady vale,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Covered with blossoms o'er,—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And when she 'd drunk, and still would drink</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">She thirsted still for more.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">She gladly quaffed its cooling draught,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And found what she had sought;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">No more her heart with sorrow grieved.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">She thirsted now for nought;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">She'd found a blessed happiness,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Beyond her highest thought.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And when she moved the vines aside</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That hid the fount from sight,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In loveliest, brightest characters,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Like stars of silver light,—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Goodness of heart, and speech, and life</i>,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">She read in letters bright.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And MARY drank the liquid waves,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And soon her little brow</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Became as pure, and clear, and white,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">As bank of whitest snow;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And when she drank of that blest fount,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">She purest joy did know.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Then MARY learned this highest truth.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Beyond all human art,—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That there are many things in life</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Can pain and woe impart;—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But Goodness alone of act and deed</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Can make a happy heart.</span><br> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="A_LESSON_TAUGHT_BY_NATURE"></a><h2>A LESSON TAUGHT BY NATURE.</h2> + +<p>BY MISS LOUISA M. BARKER.</p> + +<p>When I was a little child, younger than those for whom this book is +written, my home was in a valley. The usual appendages to a farm-house, +the garden, orchard and small pasture grounds, lay very near it; and I +was as familiar with these enclosures as with the rooms of the house. A +little further off there was a mimic river, which, as it wound about, +divided itself into different streams, and surrounded little islands, +shaded with the tall plane tree and the flexible willow. Here, too, with +those who were old enough to be careful in crossing the rustic bridges, +I sometimes played on summer afternoons;—gathered the prettiest flowers +in the sweetest little woods, and dipped my feet into the clear running +water.</p> + +<p>Beyond these there lay less frequented fields, which rose gradually, at +no very great distance, into a range of hills as green as the valley +below. One of them was covered all over its summit, and a little way +down its sides, with some dark old woods. The trees which grew there +were very tall, and so large that their thick and heavy tops seemed to +crowd together, so that you might have walked on them almost as well as +upon the hill itself. I loved sometimes, when the air was full of the +bright sunshine, to look at the rich shades of green upon those +tree-tops; but if ever my eye rested, for a moment only, upon the dark +and mysterious avenues which led into the depths of the wood beneath +them, there would creep such a chill to my heart,—such a feeling of +dread would come over me,—that I turned quickly to the glad-looking +homestead, that I might again grow warm and happy.</p> + +<p>At first it was probably no more than the idea that those woods formed a +limit to the world of light and gladness in which I lived. My eye could +not penetrate their dimness, and with a childish, human feeling I shrank +from the undiscovered and unknown. But as I grew older, and read the +stories in the small books which were given to me for presents, or lent +by my little friends, I had other and plainer reasons for the +apprehensive feeling with which I looked at the woods. I found that +children had been so lost among their thickets as hardly to be found +again; and that two poor little orphans, left there on purpose, had lain +down and died of hunger and weariness; and the birds covered them over +with leaves. Strange birds I thought there were in the woods. Then the +fairies that dwelt there, and the strange elfin creatures, and the +perils that travellers fell into with robbers and wild beasts; and still +I referred the scene of every story I read directly to those very woods +upon the hill-side, although they were so near that I could see them +plainly enough from the windows of the cheerful rooms at home.</p> + +<p>Time passed along in its usual way; but before I had acquired knowledge +or strength of mind enough to correct my early impressions of the woods, +I had permission, one bright afternoon in June, to go with an older +sister to a strawberry meadow across the creek. We were accompanied by +some little maidens, who were older and more adventurous than me; and so +it happened that when we did not find the fruit so abundant as we could +wish, they persuaded us to go into another field, and then into another, +I little thought where, until I became suddenly sensible of a shaded +light around me, of a breeze a little cooler than that which tempered +the warm air of the valley, and a low, wild music that I had never heard +before; and looking up, I saw that we were actually upon the ascent of +the hill which led up to the dreaded woods.</p> + +<p>Strange and almost horror-struck as I felt, I did not scream out, +(perhaps I should not have had breath to do so,) but I gathered up all +the wisdom that my little heart could boast, into the resolution not to +look at the woods, not to think of them; for we should soon go back +again, I thought, and nothing would happen. And my young friends can +judge how terrified I must have grown, when I heard one of the girls +begin to talk of the beautiful flowers her brother had brought her from +the woods, and end by proposing that we should go there, and get some +for ourselves. I waited breathlessly to hear the objections which I +doubted not would be urged against this plan, but none were offered; and +when I ventured to remonstrate, they paid so little attention to me, +that my pride was hurt at the thought of saying any more.</p> + +<p>There was another way in which my pride was at work. I was ashamed, +among those who were so brave, to own that I was afraid; so, though I +held the hands of those who led me pretty tight, and gave them some +little trouble to pull me along, they knew nothing more of my reluctance +to go with them.</p> + +<p>We got up the hill very fast; so at least it seemed to me. Here and +there a solitary tree, a few feet in advance, looked as if it had +stepped out to welcome and encourage us to pass on; and I cannot say +that my strength did not revive a little as I passed under the heavy +branches, and out again into the freer air. Be that as it may, it was +terrible enough to me, the approach to those woods. My companions were +eager and gay, and shouted out, as we entered them. They little thought +how overpowering were my feelings. And I little thought, myself, that I +was then and there to receive a lesson that I should never forget; one, +perhaps, that would do me more good than any other that I should ever +learn.</p> + +<p>At first, I was so frightened that my senses were all in confusion; but +as I gradually recovered the use of them, I took notice of the coolness +and the shade, and the dimness away in the distance; I heard the leafy +murmur above my head, the sweet notes that the birds were singing, and +the loud echoes. All these things seemed to blend together into +something so solemn and so magnificent, that I began to feel for the +first time what it was to be a little child. With that, soon came a +feeling of confidence and even love. I thought that the majestic +presence that filled the woods, whatever it was, would not hurt me, and +my heart grew so light at the thought, that I began to gather flowers +with the rest. How pretty they were! and what clean, shining leaves! And +here and there, wherever a little sunshine found an opening in the +branches and streamed down upon the bright green moss, it seemed so +golden, so clear, and so real, just as if I might clasp it in my hands!</p> + +<p>I grew so much affected, at length, that I sobbed myself into tears, and +my sister said that I had never been in the woods before, and she would +take me home. I did not like to say that I wanted to stay longer, but +held to my flowers; and after I reached home, was washed and rested, I +went to the window, and remained there a long time, looking at the +woods. I did not quite comprehend all I had thought and felt, but it +seemed to me that a great truth, one that would do me good, had dawned +upon my mind.</p> + +<p>It was a long time before I fully understood the lesson. In a few weeks +I caught one of those contagious diseases which children must have once; +and it went so hard with me, that, before I was able to walk about, and +go out of the house, the leaves were all gone, and the snow had covered +the ground. When spring returned I thought often of the woods, but I was +too sickly to go there; and when I grew strong again, my thoughts were +all occupied with an approaching event. Several changes had occurred in +the family, and others were expected, to which my friends though +discontented at first, had grown quite reconciled. It was not so with +me. There was one circumstance which affected me more than it did +others, and from that I prophesied a continual succession of evils. It +seemed to me that my life was to be wholly changed, and all the joy and +beauty left behind. It was childish, I know. I knew it then, for I would +not for the world have told any one how I felt. Still I was as much +affected by it as I have ever been since at any real grief.</p> + +<p>Late one afternoon, when my thoughts were busy with my fears, I went to +the window, and looked up at the woods. The sunshine was very bright on +their tops, and the shadow very dark on the hill-side below. Very +vividly then came back to me the memory of my visit to them the year +before. I thought of the evils which I expected to meet, and of the +beauty which I found there. It was some good angel which whispered then +in my thoughts, that, just as I went to the woods, full of fears and +forebodings, I was approaching the expected misfortune; that I might be +as happily disappointed in this as I had been in that.</p> + +<p>I cannot tell how delighted I was with this suggestion, nor how +completely it took possession of my mind. I was gloomy and fearful no +longer. I did not, indeed, when the change came, resign what I lost by +it without regret; but I was so certain of finding new enjoyments, that +I resigned it cheerfully. And when, after a few weeks' experience had +taught me that many advantages and many pleasures had come to me in +consequence of those very circumstances which I had dreaded so much, I +bound the lesson of the woods to my heart so firmly that there it still +remains.</p> + +<p>And let me say to you, for whom I have related this little incident of +my childhood:—do not tremble at the disappointments and trials which +await you. Do not seek to throw upon others any part of them which you +may more becomingly bear yourself. If you live always in the open +sunshine, you will never know what beauty there is in the woods. You +will find the sentiment in your books, that it is the night-time only +that shows us the stars; and in the gloom which must sometimes fall upon +this uncertain and mortal life of ours, you may find, if you will, as +much to rejoice in as to dread. You will form plans, and indulge in +hopes, which cannot be realized, and disappointment will look frowningly +upon you; but if you will submit yourself to the trial like a little +child, the hand that will lead you through it will point you to happier +scenes than those of your own imagining.</p> + +<p>You will have friends to love, that death may take away from you—and, +oh! then, the shadow of the woodland, as it lies against the sunny +meadow, will be less dark than your life. But do not despair. The few +rays of light that reach you will be richer, the flowers will be purer, +and the music will be softer and sweeter; for you will be nearer heaven +than you were before.</p> + +<p>There is another shadow which you and I, and all of us, are +approaching,—"the shadow of death." But will not "the lesson" brighten +our approach even to that? Certain I am, that if <i>that</i> hour of my +childhood, when, with a fearful heart, I went into the solemn woods, and +heard the sweet singing of the bird and the breeze, shall be remembered +then, even though the light of life be fading away, "I shall fear no +evil."</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill066.jpg"><img src="ill066.jpg" alt=""></a></p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill066b.jpg"><img src="ill066b.jpg" alt="FLORENCE DREW"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="FLORENCE_DREW"></a><h2>FLORENCE DREW.</h2> + +<p>"I will not go to Sabbath school to-morrow," said Florence Drew, as she +threw aside her catechism and sat herself sullenly by the window.</p> + +<p>"Florence!" said her mother; "I am astonished to hear you speak so +rashly."</p> + +<p>"I don't care,—I will not go,—my lesson is so hard I can't get it;" +saying which, she burst into tears. Mrs. Drew cast a look of sorrow upon +her only child as she left her to regain her good humor.</p> + +<p>No sooner had the door closed after her mother than the rustling of +leaves beneath the window drew the attention of Florence. Thinking it +her favorite Carlo, and being in no mood for a frolic, without lifting +her eyes she bid him "begone;" but she was soon undeceived by a shrill +voice pronouncing her name, at the same time finding her arm tightly +grasped by the thin, bony fingers of Crazy Nell, the terror of all the +truant children in the village. The terrified child vainly tried to +disengage herself from the maniac's hold; and, finding her calls for +help all unheeded, she gave up in despair.</p> + +<p>The wild, searching eyes of Crazy Nell detected her terror, and her +stern features relaxed into a smile as she said, "Poor child! I will not +harm you; you fear me, and think me mad; yes, I have been mad, but I'm +not now; and I have come to save you from being as I have been. Nay, +Florence, 't is useless for you to try to escape me; I will detain you +but a short time. I heard your angry words as I was gathering herbs, and +saw you fling your book away. I heard all. Listen to me, Florence Drew, +and I will tell you a story by which I hope you will profit.</p> + +<p>"I was once young, gay, and happy, as you, and, like you, an only and +indulged, but wilful child, with a quick and ungoverned temper.</p> + +<p>"One day, I was studying my Sabbath school lesson, and finding it, as I +thought, rather hard, I threw it away, as you did yours, saying that I +would not go to school at all. My poor mother's entreaties were all +unheeded by me, and I grew up in idleness and ignorance. My mother's +health daily declined, partly through my ill-treatment and wickedness. +Often did she plead with me, with tears streaming down her cheeks, to +alter my conduct; but I rudely repulsed her."</p> + +<p>Nell paused, and seemed very much agitated; her eyes glared wildly, and +bending close to Florence, she continued in a whisper: "We became very +poor, in consequence of my extravagance; I then thought my mother a +burden; she was too ill to work, and I left her to starve; she did not, +however; she died of a broken heart. <i>I was her murderer</i>! 'T was that +which drove me mad. Look! see you not that black cloud which darkens the +sunshine of my life?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot see a cloud," sobbed poor Florence, who was now tasting the +bitter cup of repentance.</p> + +<p>"I know it, poor child!" continued Nell; "the cloud I mean is such as +you just felt,—<b>Temper</b>. <i>It is within us</i>! Conquer your temper, +Florence Drew, and you may yet be good and happy. Go, now, and seek +mother, who is at this moment shedding tears of sorrow for her little +girl's ill-temper. Go to her and—" But, ere she could finish, Florence +had glided into her mother's room, and was kneeling humbly at her feet +Tears of sorrow were changed to those of joy and repentance, as Mrs. +Drew folded her little girl to her breast in a long and affectionate +embrace.</p> + +<p>Florence has never been unkind to her mother, or given freedom to her +temper, since that day. She is now the teacher of a class in a Sabbath +school, and she often relates to her little scholars the story I have +just related to you.</p> + +<p>Crazy Nell continues to gather herbs, an object of pity to the +benevolent, and of sport to the unfeeling. And now, my dear little +readers, I must repeat Crazy Nell's expression: "Conquer your temper, +and you will be happy;" or, in the words of the sacred Scriptures, "He +that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that taketh a city."</p> + +<p>MAY.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill072.jpg"><img src="ill072.jpg" alt="SHECHEM"></a></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="SHECHEM"></a><h2>SHECHEM.</h2> + +<p>BY REV. J.G. ADAMS.</p> + +<p>In the picture opposite, the reader will see represented a part of the +city of Shechem, at the foot of Mount Gerizim. It is a very noted place +in history. It is called Sychar in the Gospel, John 4:5. It was here, at +Jacob's well, that Jesus met the woman of Samaria. The account of the +conversation which they held together is one of the most interesting +records in the New Testament. I wish all our young readers would make +themselves acquainted with it. Jesus was a Jew; and the Jews had no +dealings with the Samaritans. Weary with travelling in the heat of the +day, our Lord sat down to rest by that ancient well, when the stranger +woman came to draw water from it. Jesus said unto her, "Give me to +drink." She was surprised that he, being a Jew, should ask water of her, +a Samaritan. This very surprise which she expressed led to a most +instructive conversation. Read it, and see how plainly Jesus teaches us +the nature of true worship. The Jews had their temple at Jerusalem; the +Samaritans had theirs on Mount Gerizim. The woman said to Jesus, "Our +fathers worshipped in this mountain, and ye say that Jerusalem is the +place where men ought to worship." She would ask which was the true +place. Jesus declared to her that it was not so much the place, as it +was the heart, which made worship what it should be. Read the answer of +Jesus as the New Testament gives it, and then see if the Quaker poet, +Barton, has not beautifully expressed it thus:</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Woman, believe me, the hour is near</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">When He, if ye rightly would hail him,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Will neither be worshipped exclusively here.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Nor yet at the altar of Salem.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For God is a spirit, and they, who aright</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Would perform the pure worship he loveth</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In the heart's holy temple will seek with delight</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That spirit the Father approveth."</span><br> + +<p>Through the knowledge of Christ obtained by the Samaritan woman in this +conversation, many of her sect were induced to believe on him.</p> + +<p>Shechem, or Sichem, is a very ancient place; though we do not find it +mentioned as a city until the time of Jacob, who purchased a piece of +land, and dug the well of which we have just spoken. The city lay +between the two mountains Ebal and Gerizim. It was made a city of +refuge. Joshua 20: 7. 21. 20, 21. Quite a number of events mentioned in +the Old Testament occurred here. It was at Shechem Joshua met the +assembled people for the last time. It was here that Rehoboam was made +king, and the ten tribes rebelled.</p> + +<p>In after time Shechem became the chief seat of the people who +thenceforth bore the name of Samaritans. They were made up in part of +emigrants from other eastern nations. When the Jews returned from their +long captivity in Babylon, and began to rebuild Jerusalem and their +temple, the Samaritans desired to aid them in their work. "Let us build +with you," was their request. The Jews refused to admit them to this +privilege; hence a strong hatred between the two sects arose. The +Samaritans erected their temple on Mount Gerizim.</p> + +<p>Shechem received the new name of Neapolis from the Greeks—a name which +it retains to the present day. The city has passed through many changes, +which, had we time to recount them, might be of deep interest to the +reader. But it would take a larger space to do this than we can now +occupy. The Samaritans are still here; but their number now is small, +not exceeding one hundred and fifty. They have a synagogue, where they +preserve several ancient copies of the books of Moses, and among them +one ancient manuscript which they believe to be three thousand four +hundred and sixty-five years old, saying it was written by Abishua, the +son of Phinehas (1 Chron. 6: 3, 4.) The manuscript, so travellers who +have seen it say, is very ancient; but they do not all think it so old +as the Samaritans pretend it is.</p> + +<p>Mount Gerizim is still held in great veneration by the Samaritans. Four +times a year they ascend it in solemn procession, to worship. The old +feeling of hostility between them and the Jews is still existing.</p> + +<p>The city of Neapolis, or, as the Arabs call it, Nablous, is long and +narrow, stretching close along the northeast base of Mount Gerizim. The +population is about eight thousand souls, all Mohammedans, with the +exception of about five hundred Greek Christians, and the one hundred +and fifty Samaritans already mentioned. Those who have taken part in its +eventful past history are gone. But never shall be heard there a more +glorious voice than that which uttered those sublime words of heavenly +truth to the woman at Jacob's well.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="quotARE_WE_NOT_ALL_BROTHERS_AND_SISTERSquot"></a><h2>"ARE WE NOT ALL BROTHERS AND SISTERS?"</h2> + +<p>BY REV. W.R.G. MELLEN.</p> + +<p>That the human race is one, bound together by the strongest and holiest +ties, is one of the sublimest truths announced by the Master. Indeed, so +close and intimate is the connection subsisting between the various +members of the common family, that to tear one from the body would be +like following the direction of Solomon to his servant, and dividing the +living child in two, leaving life's purple current to spout forth from +either half. An appreciation of this truth is what the world, heart-sick +and weary as it is, now needs above all things else. And to illustrate +and enforce the fact that it is not a vain shadow, but a solid reality, +too solemn to be trifled with, and too important to be neglected,—to +illustrate this by deeds which bear joy to the joyless and hope to the +hopeless,—is <i>the</i> work which Christians, the young as well as old, are +now called to perform. Will it need the voice of duty, which speaketh as +from the skies? This is the great truth, also, which, with all its +relations to life and duty, is to be impressed by the present, upon the +minds of the rising, generation. This is what my young readers are to +learn,—and not simply to learn, but to practise:—that we are all +brothers and sisters, no matter in what clime or country we may have +been born, or with what complexion we may be clothed.</p> + +<p>A little girl, some five years of age, whom the writer of this has often +fondled in his arms, had well learned this most important lesson. By +pious parents and earnest Sabbath school teachers had she been taught, +that to be like Jesus, who took little children in his arms and blessed +them, she must love and do good unto all, as brothers and sisters. This +had sunk deep into her young and tender mind; and when, on a visit at +the house of a friend, she was asked that familiar question, which is so +often put to children,—whom she loved,—</p> + +<p>After a moment's hesitation she replied, that she loved everybody. +"Indeed!" said the querist; "how can that be? You certainly do not love +me as well as you do your own brothers and sisters; do you?"</p> + +<p>After another short pause she replied, "Yes, I think I do; for <i>you</i>, +too, are my sister." "<i>I</i> your sister?" said the lady, in surprise; "how +can that be possible?" Looking up with a countenance in which all +heaven's innocence and purity were mirrored, she exclaimed, "Is not God +our Father? and are we not all brothers and sisters? and should we not +love each other as such?"</p> + +<p>There was no further argument to be used. Though hid from many wise and +prudent, yet the truth was thus revealed to babes.</p> + +<p>Yes, we <i>are</i> all brethren and sisters, having a common origin, a common +destination, and a common home. And may all those children who read this +short article ever recollect this important truth. When you behold a +poor, unfortunate man, with torn and filthy garments, and perhaps +intoxicated, reeling through the streets, do not hoot after, and throw +stones at him, as I have known many boys do, but think within +yourselves, "He is our brother."</p> + +<p>When one of your number abuses the rest, and you are tempted to injure +and beat him, wait till you have said to yourselves, "He is still our +brother; and though he has done us wrong, why should we strike or injure +him?"</p> + +<p>When you see a companion in trouble, and one to whom your assistance can +do much good, recollect he is a brother, or she is a sister, and fly to +help him. And oh! if all, both old and young, would act upon this +principle, how different would be the aspect of affairs from what it +now is! Then the kingdom of God would dawn upon us. Then the wolf and +the lamb would lie down together, and the lion eat straw like an ox. +Then we should be like <i>little children</i>, and the blessing-smile of +Jehovah would shed upon us choicest benediction.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill082.jpg"><img src="ill082.jpg" alt=""></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="FORTUNE-TELLING"></a><h2>FORTUNE-TELLING.</h2> + +<p>A DIALOGUE FOR EXHIBITIONS.</p> + +<p>BY JULIA A. FLETCHER.</p> +<br> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. Come, girls, let us go and have our fortunes told.</p> + +<p><i>Eveline</i>. Oh! I should like it of all things; where shall we go?</p> + +<p><i>Sarah</i>. Let us go to old Kate Merrill's. They say she can read the +future as we do the past, by hand, tea-cups, or cards. Come, Mary Ann.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. Excuse me, girls, if I do not go with you. I do not think it +is right to have our fortunes told.</p> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. Not right? why not?</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. Because, if it had been best for us to know the future, I +think God would have revealed it to us.</p> + +<p><i>Sarah</i>. Oh, but you know this is only for amusement.</p> + +<p><i>Eveline</i>. Of course, we shall not believe a word she says.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. If it is only for amusement, I think we can find others far +more rational and innocent. But depend upon it, girls, you would not +wish to go, if there were not in your minds a little of credulous +feeling?</p> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. Well, I am sure I am not credulous.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. Do not be offended, Sophronia; I only meant that we are all +of us more inclined to believe these things than we at first imagine.</p> + +<p><i>Sarah</i>. I think that Mary Ann is right in this respect. I am sure I +would not go if I did not think her predictions would come to pass.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. Certainly; I could not suppose you would spend your time and +money to hear an old woman tell you things you did not believe.</p> + +<p><i>Eveline</i>. Well, I am sure I do not see any harm in having a little fun +once in a while.</p> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. No; and I think it is very unkind in Mary Ann to spoil all +our pleasures with her whims. She is always preaching to us about giving +up our own way for the comfort of others, and I think she ought to give +up now, and go with us.</p> + +<p><i>Sarah</i>. Now, really, Sophronia, I think you are the one that is unkind. +If Mary Ann is wrong, it is better to convince her of it kindly, and I +am sure she will acknowledge it.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. I hope I should be willing to give up a mere whim for the +pleasure of those I love so well. But this is not a whim; it is a +serious conviction of duty.</p> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. Well, I thought you always pretended to be very obliging.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. I have no right to be obliging at the expense of what I deem +duty. Our own inclinations we should often sacrifice, our prejudices +always, but our sense of duty never.</p> + +<p><i>Eveline</i>. I think, girls, we have done wrong to urge Mary Ann to go, +after she had told us her reasons.</p> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. Well, then, don't spend any more time in urging her to go, +against her will. You know the old proverb "The least said is soonest +mended."</p> + +<p><i>Eveline</i>. Well, do not let us go away angry or ill-natured. You asked +Mary Ann to say why she thought it was wrong, and we should receive her +reasons kindly.</p> + +<p><i>Sarah</i>. So I think; but I wish she would tell us what harm she thinks +it would do to go.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. Well, girls, I think, by trying to look into the future, we +are apt to grow discontented and restless, and to forget that we have +duties to perform in the present. Then, if we do not believe in it, it +is a waste of time and money, which might be better employed in +relieving the suffering of the poor around us. But the greatest evil of +all is, that we should believe even a part; she would of course tell us +many little circumstances which would be true of any one; thus we might +be led to believe all she said; the prediction would probably work out +its own fulfilment, and perhaps render us miserable for life.</p> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. Oh, fudge! Mary Ann. This is altogether too bad and +ungenerous in you. In the first place, the few cents we give, bestowed +as they are on a poor old widow woman, are not wasted, in my opinion, +but well spent;—and if I spend an evening, granted to me by my father +and mother for recreation, in listening to Old Kate, it is no more +wasted than if I spend it with the girls in any other social way. And +when you connect fortune-telling and our duties in the present, you make +it too serious an affair. <i>Remember, this is all for sport</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. It may be so with you, Sophronia; but there are those who +seriously believe every word of a fortune-teller, and actually live more +in the unseen but expected events of the future, than in faithfully +performing their duties in the present. This is true, Sophronia. The +contentment and peace of many young minds have been utterly lost, <i>sold</i> +for the absurd jabbering of old, ignorant, low-bred women, who pretend +to read the future. [<i>In a livelier tone of voice</i>.] But just say, +girls, do you believe there is any connection between tea-leaves and +your future lives?</p> + +<p><i>Eveline, Sarah, Sophronia</i>. Why, no!</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. Do you believe God has marked the fortunes of thousands of +his creatures on the face of cards?</p> + +<p><i>Eveline, Sarah, Sophronia</i>. Certainly not.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. Well, do you believe, if God should intrust the secret +events of the future with any of our race, in this age, it would be with +those who have neither intellectual, moral, nor religious education—who +can be bribed by dollars and cents to say anything?</p> + +<p><i>Sarah, Eveline</i>. No, indeed!</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann. (Turns to Sophronia,)</i> You do not answer, Sophronia. Let me +ask you one or two more questions. Do you suppose Kate Merrill believes +that she has a revelation from God?</p> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. No, Mary Ann.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. Do you suppose she thinks you believe so?</p> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. Why, yes, I do.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. Then, is it benevolent to bestow money to encourage an old +woman in telling for truth what she knows to be false?</p> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. I doubt whether it is really benevolent.</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. And if Old Kate speaks falsely and knows she does so, and +you know it, yet spend your time in listening to what she has to say, +what good can come of it to head or heart?</p> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. None at all, Mary Ann. It is time wasted, and I am +convinced that I have been doubly wrong in wishing to go, and in being +angry with you. Will you forgive me?</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann</i>. Certainly, Sophronia. And now, if you wish for amusement, I +will be a witch myself, and tell your fortunes for you.</p> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. Oh, do tell mine; and be sure you tell it truly. What lines +of fate do you see in my hand?</p> + +<p><i>Mary Ann. (Takes her hand and looks at it intently.)</i></p> + +<p>(<i>To Sophronia</i>.)</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Passions strong my art doth see.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Thou must rule them, or they rule thee.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">If the first, you peace will know;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">If the last, woe followeth woe.</span><br> + +<p><i>Sarah</i>. Now tell mine next.</p> + +<p><i>(To Sarah</i>.)</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Too believing, too believing,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Thou hast learned not of deceiving.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Closely scan what seemeth fair,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And of flattering words beware.</span><br> + +<p><i>Eveline</i>. Now tell me a pleasant fortune, Mary Ann.</p> + +<p><i>(To Eveline</i>.)</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lively and loving, I would not chide thee,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Do thou thy duty, and joy shall betide thee.</span><br> + +<p><i>Sophronia</i>. Thank you, Mary Ann, for the lessons you have given us. We +can now, in turn, tell your fortune, and that is, Always be amiable and +sensible as now, and you will always be loved.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill089.jpg"><img src="ill089.jpg" alt=""></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_BOY_WHO_STOLE_THE_NAILS"></a><h2>THE BOY WHO STOLE THE NAILS.</h2> + +<p>BY REV. MOSES BALLOU.</p> +<br> + +<p>I remember well, that, when I was quite a little boy, a circumstance +occurred which I shall probably never forget, and which, no doubt, has +had some little influence on my life at many different periods since. I +will relate it; and I wish all my young readers would remember the +story.</p> + +<p>My father was somewhat poor. He had no salary for preaching, except for +a few months, perhaps not five hundred dollars for forty years of pulpit +labor. He maintained his family chiefly from a small farm, and, there +being several children, we were deprived of many little things that +wealthier parents are accustomed to furnish for theirs. We had few +presents, and those chiefly of necessary articles,—school-books, or +something of the kind; while toys, playthings, and instruments of +amusement, we were left to go without, or take up with such rude and +simple ones as we could manufacture for ourselves.</p> + +<p>I wanted a small box very much. A handsome little trunk, such as most of +my young readers probably have, was too much to hope for, and a plain +wooden box, even, I had no means to purchase.</p> + +<p>I went without for a long time, and at last determined that I would try +to make one. But the materials,—where was I to obtain them? True, my +father had pieces of thin boards that would answer, but there were +nails, and hinges, and a lock wanting. Where were these to come from?</p> + +<p>After trying a variety of methods, I invented a plan for fastening it +without a lock, and leather made a very good substitute for hinges, as +it was to be out of sight. Still, I wanted nails. There were some old +ones about the house, but they were crooked, and broken, and rusty. +These would not answer if anything better could be obtained.</p> + +<p>My uncle, who at this time lived but a short distance from us, was +engaged in building, and I watched the barrel of bright new nails his +workmen were using, with a longing eye. O, how I coveted them!</p> + +<p>The temptation was too great. I sought the opportunity while the hands +were at dinner, and, after cautiously looking about to see that no one +was near to observe me, with trembling hands seized upon them, <i>and +stole enough to make my box</i>. O! how my heart beat as I hurried away +across the fields home. I almost expected to see some one start up from +every stump and bush on the way, to accuse me of the theft. I hardly +dared to look behind me. It seemed as though my old uncle, with frowning +brow, was at my very heels. And then, too, the workmen;—were they not +suspicious from my hanging about them, and had not some of them watched +me? So horrid images began to dance about my brain. Dim visions of +court-rooms, and lawyers, and judges, and prisons, and sorrowing +parents, and frightened brothers and sisters, rose in awful terror +before me. I began to grow dizzy and faint. I had laid up, for a long +time, all the pennies I could obtain, which, at that time, amounted to +the vast sum of twenty cents, contained in an old-fashioned pistareen; +and the hope sprung up in my heart, that, possibly, by paying this to +the officers, they would not carry me to jail.</p> + +<p>Thought was busy in laying plans for escape, and I reached home in the +greatest excitement imaginable.</p> + +<p>Well, the deed was now done, and I could not undo it. I was really a +thief; and now, as I had got the nails, I thought I might as well use +them. I was too anxious about the crime, however, to do this at once. +So I hid them away for a week or more, before I ventured to make my box.</p> + +<p>Taking such leisure hours as I had,—for I was obliged to work most of +the time on the farm,—I crept away in the loft of an old building, and +finally succeeded in finishing my task. But, now that the box was done, +my troubles were by no means ended. It would be seen. I could not always +keep it out of sight. My brothers, and sisters, and playmates, would +examine it, and possibly my father would get his eye upon it! Suppose he +should, and ask me where those nails came from?</p> + +<p>O, how my poor brain was racked to invent some false story by which I +could escape detection! I thought of saying that they were old ones +which I had polished up so as to appear new, and I even filed down the +rust on the head of an old nail to see if they would look sufficiently +alike. But nothing of this kind would answer. The cheat, I thought, +would be detected; and so I was obliged, after all my trouble and +suffering, to keep my box hidden away when it was done. Every time I +went to look at it, those bright new nail-heads were staring out at me, +ready to reveal my crime to any one who saw them.</p> + +<p>For a long time, I did not dare to go to my uncles again. True, he knew +nothing of my wrong; but I felt guilty, and did not care to see him. +Finally, after some time had passed away, though I had by no means +forgotten the theft, and still suffered much every time it was thought +of, I ventured to call and see him. I could hardly avoid the impression +that he must know what I had done, and would accuse me of it; and when +he met me in the yard at his door; patted my cheek with a half-laughing, +half-reproving look; asked why I had stayed away from him so long; and +said, that, to punish me, he should go and get me some very nice apples +from the garden;—I could bear it no longer. It seemed as though my +heart would break. What I said, I have now forgotten. I remember that I +cried very heartily, and, as soon as my tears would allow it, told him +the whole story!</p> + +<p>I can still see, fresh in my memory, the sad look that came over him as +I confessed my crime; but not a single harsh or unkind word did he +utter. He told me that it was very wrong; that I had acted nobly in +confessing it; and that, if I had only asked him in the first place, he +would gladly have given me all I wanted.</p> + +<p>Thinking I had suffered enough already, he promised not to tell my +parents, in case I continued a good boy, and advised me to destroy the +box and bring him back the nails, as no one could then suspect what had +been done but ourselves.</p> + +<p>His kindness, I confess, pained me very much. I think nothing could have +tempted me to do him any wrong again.</p> + +<p>I loved him better than ever before. He never alluded to the subject +afterwards, but I always thought of it when I saw him. He died in a +short time; and, twenty years after, as I stood by his grave, the +circumstance came up, clear and distinct, to my recollection. I have +not, indeed, from that to the present hour, felt the least temptation to +commit any wrong of the kind without recalling it; and, if all my young +readers will think seriously how much suffering that one act cost me, +and how much happier I should otherwise have been, I am confident that +they will never commit a similar offence so long as they remember the +story of <i>the boy who stole the nails</i>.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_CHILDLESS_MOTHER"></a><h2>THE CHILDLESS MOTHER.</h2> + +<p>BY MRS. M.H. ADAMS.</p> +<br> + +<p>There are many childless mothers in our land. In some homes there never +lived a little child to make them happy; but in others the spirits of +the little ones have departed. They dwell in another home—the "dear +heavenly home." Their mothers, those childless mothers, weep day and +night in their loneliness and sadness. This sketch is of a mother who +had buried all her little babes—four precious children—all her little +family. The mother's name was Ellen Moore.</p> + +<p>For many months after the birth of her first child, Ellen was free from +sorrow as a bird in the morning. She never thought affliction might come +to her blessed home. It was not surprising, for she had never known what +bereavement and bitter disappointment were. She was educated to be a +child of sunshine. She had always lived amid smiles and tenderness, and +when the fearful cloud of sorrow broke, in an unexpected moment, upon +her head, she seemed bowed down, never to rise again in health and +beauty.</p> + +<p>It was a sad day in our neighborhood when Ellen's first little babe +died; we all wept. Not so much because he was dead, for we all felt that +<i>he</i> was at rest; but his dear mother was so sorely troubled, her heart +ached so grievously, it seemed as if she too would die. Days and nights +Ellen wept, and moaned, and walked her house. The tears seemed to burn +their way down her cheeks. She spoke but seldom, yet that pitiful moan +she so often breathed out pierced our souls and made us all very sad.</p> + +<p>After a few weeks, the consolation we offered her quieted her feelings, +and she became calm. She went to church, called on her friends, and +attended to her duties at home. But there was ever a sadness in her +voice and manners. Her home was so lonely, so strangely still and +vacant, and Ellen so silent, that the voice of gladness was not heard in +it again until a second beautiful boy was born under its roof.</p> + +<p>We were all happy then. Even Ellen smiled as she kissed her dear +babe—but a tear followed the smile and the kiss so soon, we knew her +wounded heart was not <i>then</i> healed. She was very sad, and felt that +this babe, too, might only be loaned her for a short time. It was not +long before we all felt so. That little face, so pale, so sad, so +beautiful, evidently bore the seal of death upon it. He refused all +nourishment, and pined slowly away. Ellen knew he must die, but could +not say so. She could not shed one tear to relieve her sorrowful heart. +She neither spoke nor wept, until her infant was laid in its coffin.</p> + +<p>A friend had woven a wreath of beautiful flowers, and laid it on the +satin pillow of the coffin, and placed a delicate rose-bud in the little +hand of the babe. Ellen went alone to take her last kiss, when, seeing +her babe so beautiful in death, she seated herself on the floor and wept +freely.</p> + +<p>"Who loved my babe so fondly?" said she, when she came from the room. +"Who has been so kind and thoughtful of me? It has unsealed my tears; +now let me weep alone." We left her. She came out of that room a changed +woman. She assisted us in our preparations for the burial of the dead, +spoke cheerfully to her husband, conversed freely about her children in +heaven, and remarked that henceforth her life should be worthy of a +Christian. We buried the sweet babe by the side of his brother, and +planted a rose-tree over his grave. Then our thoughts turned to Ellen, +whose whole manner indicated resignation and peace.</p> + +<p>We were not surprised at the effect of grief upon Ellen, for I have told +you she was not educated to bear human misery with much composure. Yet +what her parents had left undone seemed to be effected by those severe +dispensations of God. Our Father in heaven often educates us by his +chastisements, giving us wisdom, patience, hope, trustfulness and +resignation, according to the severity with which he afflicts us.</p> + +<p>Ellen maintained the same cheerful manner from the time of the burial of +her second babe to the birth of her third child. Her friends hoped many +blessings for Ellen in the life of this child. It was a daughter, +apparently healthy; and as its mother had endured so severe a trial we +hoped the Lord would deal mercifully with her in sparing this one to +her. For one short year we had reason to hope for the life of the child. +But it was too frail a creature for this world, and, like its little +brothers, died in early infancy. And its mother—we found her to be a +practical Christian indeed.</p> + +<p>Instead of moaning and violent grief, she held her babe as it breathed +its latest breath, and was first to break the awful silence in the room +that succeeded the final struggle, with these words: "She is with her +little brothers now, and I have reason to bless the Lord." She could say +no more then; and a few large tears fell on the cheek of her babe as it +still lay on her lap. Once only did she freely yield to tears. It was +when her husband first heard of the death of his babe. His anguish +overcame her composure. Soon recovered however, she maintained a truly +Christian deportment. The third little grave was opened in the burial +lot of Mr. Moore, and the body of this babe laid by its little brothers.</p> + +<p>A fourth babe was born in the lonely home of Ellen, and fresh hopes +cherished for the long life of her child. The burden of every prayer +offered at that family altar was, "Lord, if it be thy will, suffer us to +rear this tender child!"</p> + +<p>"Yet though I pray thus," said Ellen, "my heart is strong to meet its +early death; and if it dies, I shall not mourn as for my first-born. God +has afflicted me, but I am profited thereby."</p> + +<p>"Very true, Ellen, but if this fourth dear babe is taken from us, we +shall almost doubt the mercy of God. How can you, in your present +delicate health, endure to lay this last dear babe by the side of the +departed ones, and again find your home desolate and silent?"</p> + +<p>"My body is weak, Mary, but my spirit is well instructed in resignation, +and can calmly bear whatever new affliction God pleases to send. You +have called me changed since Alfred died, and sometimes too silent and +sad. I am changed and often silent, but not sad. <i>My</i> treasures are in +heaven, and my communings are more with the spirits of my children in +heaven than with the friends who are with me here. And if this child +dies, Mary,——if he dies—his death will prepare me for the duties of +all the rest of my life."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<p>The beautiful boy passed away just as his little lips had learned to +pronounce his mother's name—suddenly, unexpectedly to us all, and all +yielded to our grief but Ellen. We greatly feared his father would +become insane.</p> + +<p>But Ellen—believe me, she was transformed from a child of sunshine to +an angel and minister of light in darkness. She sat by her husband as +serene and collected as if her babe only slept; not a tear swept her +cheek, not a tremulous word fell from her lips, as she soothed her +stricken companion; her pale face wore no look of despair, and she +directed every funeral preparation with as much composure as if <i>her</i> +heart had not felt the awful wound. The world called her heartless,—but +Christ must have owned her as one of his brightest jewels, almost a +perfect disciple. When she spoke, we felt as if some mysterious power +from heaven was in our midst. We thought as much of the saint-like +fortitude and resignation of our feeble Ellen, and wept as much to +witness her calmness and spiritual strength, as for the loss of our +interesting little friend.</p> + +<p>Our pastor called to offer gospel consolations to the sorrowing mother, +but he wept as Ellen greeted him, saying, "God hath much love for us, +Brother Ellis, for he chasteneth much. Now, my only prayer is, that +Henry may be led to perceive it and be at peace. If you have words of +comfort, go to him and still his troubled spirit."</p> + +<p>The aged came to console her, but went back to their dwellings feeling +that she was as well instructed in the wisdom of heaven as the oldest +servant among them. The young and happy came to mingle tears of sympathy +with her, but returned to dwell upon her words as upon communications +from the spirit-land, rather than from a creature like themselves. Her +words found a way to the soul of the most thoughtless, fixing their +minds upon heaven, and revealing the unseen glories of a better home, +and the beauty of Christian faith in an earthly one.</p> + +<p>She was a Christian mother. When she put on Christ, she was "<i>a new +creature</i>" She believed her first grief was almost a murmuring against +heaven. Surely we know she bore an equal love for all her children, but +when her last one died, she loved God and her Saviour more, believing +fully that God would not do her wrong,—that he only sought the good of +his creatures in his dispensations,—that although they seemed grievous +and inscrutable to them, he saw the end from the beginning, and +chastized whom he loved.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_MOTHERLESS_CHILD"></a><h2>THE MOTHERLESS CHILD.</h2> + +<p>BY MRS. M.H. ADAMS.</p> +<br> + +<p>To become a childless mother is indeed one of the most severe +afflictions which woman can be called to endure; yet it may be, it is +often met with noble, Christian fortitude, with Christian humility and +resignation, that soothe the acute pains of the mother's heart, and +carry her thoughts away from earth and above its sorrows; so that we +feel that she can and has found a balm, and has still left her +consolation and happiness. But when we see a little child, whose mother +God has taken, as fully realizing its bereavement, its loneliness, its +absolute misfortune, as a child can do, we feel that to be a motherless +child in this unchristian world, is indeed an affliction for which there +seldom appears a balm; though we doubt not our Father hath the balm for +this as for every other wound.</p> + +<p>A young man sat by the corpse of his faithful wife, the mother of all +his little babes. One child was gazing silently and inquiringly at her +father, as he held his head weeping and groaning in anguish of spirit. +A tender infant of a few weeks lay asleep in the cradle at his side. The +young man's mother entered the room, and with tenderness of tone and +manner, endeavored to calm his grief; with words of gospel love and +faith to comfort him.</p> + +<p>"Abby has been to you a kind, faithful and devoted wife, David; an +agreeable companion and constant friend. Before God she was a humble +child, and before the world a worthy disciple of Christ. You doubtless +feel all this, and more. Few can speak evil of her, and very many will +sincerely mourn her early death, and sympathize with you in this +dreadful hour. But remember, David, you have, before this, professed +trust and belief in the promises and love of God. Now is the time to +make manifest your Christian faith, your hope in God, your belief in the +gospel. Try not to be utterly disconsolate in your loneliness. God is +very near to us, although this heavy cloud of sorrow lies between him +and us."</p> + +<p>They were interrupted by the entrance of the oldest child of the +departed one, a sensitive, intelligent boy of six or seven years. Tears +were in his eyes as he opened the door, and fell fast into the lap of +his father as he tried to speak to him.</p> + +<p>"Father," said he, "I have been down in the sitting-room, trying to read +my little books; but I think so much of my dear dead mother, I can't +read; and the tears come into my eyes so fast, that I can't see the +pictures. I went to rock in my little chair, but I saw my mother's empty +chair, and my little heart aches very much. It will be very lonesome and +sad here, if I don't see mother anywhere. And who will take care of this +little baby brother?"</p> + +<p>No word was spoken by those present, but their tears and sobs told +plainly that they too felt how lonely and sad that home would be without +the gentle voice and cheerful song of that "dear mother." As no one +checked him, Willie again spoke, and, as well as he could amid sobs and +tears, told the bitterness of his young spirit.</p> + +<p>"I love you some, father, but not as I did my mother; and now my mother +is in heaven, who shall I have to take care of me and kiss me, father; +who will say a prayer to me every night? Aunt Susan's prayers are not +like mother's; and your voice doesn't sound so sweet by the side of my +bed as my mother's did. Oh dear! what did my mother die for, and leave +me a poor little motherless boy?"</p> + +<p>His father then took him upon his knee, wiped his tears, and soothed him +to sleep with gentle caresses. No word could David utter. For a long +time he sat with his sleeping boy, beside his dead. The paleness of his +cheek, and the frequent sigh, expressed his sorrow. His mother again +tried to draw from him an expression of his Christian fidelity, fearing +that he was untrue to his God and his Master under a trial so severe. +When at length he did speak, a hardened heart might have been moved by +his broken sentences and choking words, as he made an effort to assure +his anxious parent.</p> + +<p>"Mother, I have the utmost confidence in the mercy and goodness of +God—even now that he has taken to himself one so very dear. I feel sure +there is some great and important lesson which he would have me learn +from this sorrowful event. I have all faith that Abby is at rest, and +will still love those of us who are left on the earth to mourn. I +believe we shall meet each other in the future, that we shall recognize +and love each other, with a far more perfect and a purer love than we +have cherished here. I shall be lonely, and miss from my hours at home +the counsel, the aid, the cheerfulness, sympathy and attentive love of +one of the best of women. Her beautiful example in the service of her +Master will often be remembered with deep and sincere grief.</p> + +<p>"All this I could bear calmly; if it were more bitter, I could bear it +and not weep. But to think of my children—as motherless babes; to hear +Willie tell his sorrow, and mourn so bitterly in his tender years for a +mother—so dear; to feel that with his susceptibility and keen +sensitiveness he realizes so fully his loss; to hear him sob on his +pillow at night, and, when alone, call himself 'little motherless +Willie;'—oh, mother! what man or Christian would not bow beneath a +burden like this?—It is the contemplation of <i>four motherless children</i> +that wounds me most. It seems to me Abby herself would not reprove me, +could those cold lips now bring me a message from her spirit in heaven."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<p>With expressions like those in the chamber of the dead was every hour in +the home of David embittered, for weeks and months, by the little +mourning child. He gathered flowers and laid them before his father, +saying, "I don't suppose you care about them, father; but my mother +isn't here to take them. I pick them because they look up into my face +as if mother was somewhere near them. But they wither on my hand, and +hold down their heads, just as I want to do now my mother is dead."</p> + +<p>Every object at home seemed to remind Willie of his mother, and keep his +bereavement uppermost in his thoughts. He did not weep as much after a +few weeks, but through all his boyhood there rested a sadness on his +countenance, that indicated a mournful recollection of that dear mother. +Through his whole life he felt that he was like a tender branch lopped +from the parent-tree; like a lamb sent out from the fold while too young +to meet the storms and travel the dangerous paths of which he often +heard from his mother. This idea seemed ever present, and served many +times to hold him back from adventurous pursuits and untried schemes. "I +don't know—but I should have known had my dear mother lived," was the +expression of his general course in life.</p> + +<p>As long as he was a child he spoke often and tenderly of his mother. He +cherished a remembrance of her faithful admonitions and precepts, as +vivid as might have been expected from a child bereaved at the age of +eight or ten. When older, he realized more fully his loss, especially +when he met one whom he believed to be <i>a good mother.</i> He then seldom +spoke of his mother; but his visits to the grave-yard, his sadness on +the anniversary of the day of her death, his conversations about her +with his brothers and sister, the value he attached to every token of +her love to him, convinced us that he remembered her with deep +affection.</p> + +<p>When a young man, he was several times beguiled by the tempter into +forbidden paths, and his eyes were not opened to behold the danger +until the fangs of the serpent pierced deeply into his heart. Then most +fully did he realize that he was <i>poor motherless William</i>; that he was +abroad in the world without those most effectual safeguards against sin, +a good mother's counsels and a mother's daily prayers; that while others +could express unreservedly to their mothers their hopes or fears, their +success or misfortune, their faithfulness in the hour of temptation or +weakness under its power, and be counselled, encouraged, urged or +entreated anew,—he could only go to his mother's grave and shed bitter +tears of repentance in loneliness, or withdraw himself from all around +him, and, <i>a poor motherless child,</i> call up the dim remembrance of that +young and cheerful being who once called him her precious son, her +treasured child,—and weep the more bitterly that no answering voice or +smile, or look of encouragement or hope, met <i>him</i> in this sinful world!</p> + +<p>Oh ye who have hearts to feel, who profess Christian principles to guide +you, and the holy love of our Master for your example, seek out the +<i>motherless child</i> of the poor, the ignorant, the vicious, and by the +power of Christ which is within you, according to the measure of that +power, strive to be like fond mothers to the thousands who cry "We have +no dear mother—our mother is in heaven—is dead—and we know not what +is right or what is wrong!" Help and pity them. Rescue them from that +heart-breaking loneliness and sorrow that prey incessantly on the +feelings of a sensitive, intelligent, <i>motherless child</i>.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="FAITH"></a><h2>FAITH.</h2> + +<p>BY MRS. E.R.B. WALDO.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Upon the peaceful breast of Faith</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">My troubled soul hath found repose,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Free from the sad and starless gloom</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That doubting scepticism knows.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Though disappointment, care, and pain,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Have bent my heart to their decree,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">One thought hath ever led me on,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">It is, <i>that it was so to be</i>.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Oft would my weary spirit faint,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">My heart yield almost to despair,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Did not "a still small voice" exclaim,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"There is no change, but God is there."</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That mighty power which points the shaft,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And forms the spirit to endure,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Will, in its own peculiar way</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And time, perform the wondrous cure.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Still may my soul, through faith, rely</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Upon the promises of God;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">His mercy see in every change,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And learn to bless his chastening rod.</span><br> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_SNOW-BIRDS"></a><h2>THE SNOW-BIRDS.</h2> + +<p>A DIALOGUE.</p> + +<p>BY MRS. C. HIGHBORN.</p> +<br> + +<p><i>Clarissa</i>. Pray, Mary, what are you going to do with those crumbs which +you hold in your hand?</p> + +<p><i>Mary</i>. I am going to feed my snow-birds with them; and I should be very +happy to have you go with me. I know you will enjoy seeing how merrily +they hop about and flutter their wings, and seem to chirp out their +thanks as they pick up the food I throw them.</p> + +<p><i>C</i>. Thank you for your invitation; but I beg you will excuse me; it may +be pretty sport for you, but, for my part, I can enjoy myself much +better to stay here and arrange my baby-things, for I expect some girls +to see me this afternoon. I cannot conceive what there is in those +ugly-looking snow-birds to interest you; they are not handsome, surely; +they have not a single bright feather; and, as for their songs, they +sound like the squeak of a sick chicken.</p> + +<p><i>M</i>. I am sorry to hear you speak so of my favorites; for, though they +are not so brilliant in their colors as many that flutter around us in +the summer, yet to me they tire dearer than any others, and far more +beautiful than those of a gaudier hue.</p> + +<p><i>C</i>. Well, you have a queer taste, I must confess; you remind me of the +philosopher I read of in the story-book, who thought a toad the most +beautiful of God's creatures. Come, perhaps you can show me why they are +entitled to your regard, and point out their beauties.</p> + +<p><i>M</i>. I will cheerfully comply with your request, for nothing gives me +more pleasure than to speak of the good qualities of my friends. Examine +them for a moment and see how exquisitely they are formed, and, though +not gaudy in their colors, yet their feathers are soft and glossy. But +these are trifles comparatively; what most endears them to me is their +constancy.</p> + +<p><i>C.</i> That is a new idea, indeed. Constancy in snow-birds! Please explain +yourself, Mary.</p> + +<p><i>M</i>. Well, they seem to me like those rare friends that love us best in +adversity, when the bright summer of prosperity, with its attendant +joys, has fled, and the winter of sorrow and misfortune shuts out, with +its dark clouds, the light of life, and withers, with its frosts, the +few flowers which bloom along its pathway. There are summer friends, +Clara, as well as summer birds, and they both wear brilliant colors, and +sing enchanting songs, but they depart with the sunshine; the first +leave us to battle the storms of adversity, and the others, the cold and +barren prospect of winter; these little snow-birds, however, remain, and +through all its dark hours they cheer us by their presence. They seem to +tell us that we are not entirely destitute of pleasure, but that the +darkest hours have something of beauty; and, while they serve to awaken +in our minds a remembrance of the bright days that have gone, they bid +us look forward to the end of our sorrows, and welcome the bright spring +days, which shall return to us the joys that departed.</p> + +<p><i>C.</i> I declare! you have preached quite a sermon, and from a funny text; +I confess there is both truth and poetry in what you say. I do not +wonder that you love the snow-birds, if they awaken such pleasant and +pretty thoughts in your mind. Henceforth I will love them myself, for +the good lesson that, through you, they have imparted. I trust you will +forgive me the rudeness of laughing at you.</p> + +<p><i>M</i>. Cheerfully, Clara; but learn from this never to despise any of +God's creatures; they can all teach us some important and beautiful +lesson which we should be happy to heed. And now, if you please, we will +go and feed the snow-birds.</p> + +<p><i>C</i>. With all my heart!</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill114.jpg"><img src="ill114.jpg" alt="MOUNT CARMEL"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="MOUNT_CARMEL"></a><h2>MOUNT CARMEL.</h2> + +<p>SELECTED.</p> +<br> + +<p>Mount Carmel is a high promontory, forming the termination of a range of +hills running northwest from the plain of Esdraelon. Mount Carmel is the +southern boundary of the Bay of Acre, on Acca, as it is called by the +Turks; its height is about fifteen hundred feet, and at its foot, north, +runs the brook Kishon, and a little further north the river Belus.</p> + +<p>Mount Carmel is celebrated in Scripture history as the place where +Elijah went up when he told his servant to look forth to the sea yet +seven times, and the seventh time he saw a little cloud coming up from +the sea "like a man's hand," when the prophet knew that the promised +rain was at hand, and girded up his loins, and ran before Ahab's chariot +even to the gates of Jezreel. (1 Kings xviii. 44-46.)</p> + +<p>Towards the sea is a cave, where it has been supposed that Elijah +desired Ahab to bring Baal's false prophets, and where fire from heaven +descended on the altar he erected. The present appearance of Carmel is +thus described by Dr. Hogg, who visited it in 1833. "The convent on +Mount Carmel was destroyed by the Turks in the early part of the Greek +revolution. Abdallah, the Turkish pasha, who commanded the district in +which Carmel is situated, not only razed their convent to the ground, +but blew up the foundations, and carried the materials to Acre for his +own use. The convent is now being rebuilt, or probably is now completely +finished, the funds having been supplied by subscriptions solicited all +over Europe, and a great part of the East, by one of the brethren, +Giovanni Battista, who has travelled far and wide for that purpose." Dr. +Hogg gives the following account of the condition of the place at the +time of his visit.</p> + +<p>"The whole fabric is of stone, and, when completed, will possess the +solidity of a fortress. The first story only is at present finished, and +hereafter will be solely appropriated to the accommodation of +travellers, when another, to be raised above, will be exclusively +devoted to permanent inmates. In the centre a spacious church has been +commenced, and already promises to be a fine building. The principal +altar will be placed over the cave so long held sacred as the retreat of +the prophet. This natural cavern exhibits at its farther extremity some +signs of having been enlarged by art. When the edifice above is +complete, it will be converted into a chapel; and a projecting ledge of +rock, believed to have been the sleeping-place of the prophet, will then +be the altar. The superior himself kindly conducted me to see one of the +celebrated caves which everywhere abound in the district of Mount +Carmel. Descending two thirds of the mountain by a narrow path, scooped +in the rock, we entered an enclosure of fig-trees and vines, where +several caverns, that of old belonged to the Carmelites, are now +inhabited by a Mohammedan saint and his numerous progeny. We first +entered a lofty excavation of beautiful proportions, at least fifty feet +long, with a large recess on one side,—every part chiselled with the +nicest care, and inscribed with numerous Greek initials, names, and +sentences. Here Elijah is believed to have taught his disciples, and +hence its name, 'the school of the prophets.' Some smaller adjoining +caverns, fronted with masonry, now form the residence of the saint and +his family. A deep cistern for the preservation of water has been hewn +in the rock, and the entrance is closed by a gate shaded inside by +vines.</p> + +<p>"The memory of Elijah is equally venerated by Christians and Moslems; +and the votaries of each faith are liberally allowed access to the +several caves. At the time of our visit the general appearance of Mount +Carmel was dry and sterile; but the superior assured us that in spring +it was clothed in verdure and beauty."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_PHILOSOPHY_OF_LIFE"></a><h2>THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE.</h2> + +<p>BY MISS ELIZABETH DOTEN</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Daily striving, though so lonely,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Every day reward shall give,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Thou shalt find by striving only,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And in loving, thou canst live."</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">Miss Edwards.</span><br> + +<p>"On dear!" said Annie Burton, as she sat down under the old apple-tree +by the spring; "I wonder what ails me; there's been such a choking +feeling in my throat all this afternoon, and though I winked and +swallowed with all my might, the tears would come in spite of myself. +Here I've been wandering for more than three hours, up hill and down, +through brambles and brier-bushes; my hands are scratched and bloody, +and the sun has burnt me as brown as a berry. Three long precious hours +in the sunny month of August! and what does it all amount to? Why, I +have picked a basket of berries that can be eaten in half an hour; and +here is a bunch of flowers for little Katie, that she will take and +admire, and then tear to pieces; that will be the end of them. But that +isn't the worst of all; no, not by a great deal; there is a great rent +in my frock, gaping and staring at me, waiting to be mended; and nobody +knows how long 't will take me to do that. Oh dear! how I hate to work! +I don't see how it is; there's mother takes care of the children, sews, +makes bread and washes the dishes, just as willingly and cheerfully as +if she were playing on the piano or reading a pleasant book. They say +that good people are always happy; but I <i>never</i> am. Oh, I believe I am +the worst creature that ever lived!" and she bent her head upon her lap +and burst into tears.</p> + +<p>It was not long before she was roused by the sound of footsteps; she +raised her head, and saw an old woman coming down the road with a large +basket on her arm. She looked tired and weary, as well she might be, for +she had travelled a long distance; it was a hot, sultry afternoon, and +every footstep stirred a cloud of dust. She came towards the spring; but +before she reached it, she struck her foot against a stone and fell.</p> + +<p>"Have you hurt you?" exclaimed Annie, as she sprung to her side.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit, not a bit," she replied, as she shook the dust from her +apron, and replaced the things that had fallen from her basket.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you have!" said Annie; "see, the blood is streaming down your +arm!"</p> + +<p>"Oh that's nothing; only a scratch. Blessings on the good Father that +watches over me! I might have broken my arm, and that would have been a +deal worse! How fortunate I happened to fall just by the spring here! +I've been longing for a drink of cold water, and I sha'n't need it any +the less for getting such a mouthful of this hot dust."</p> + +<p>"Heart's dearest!" she exclaimed, as she put down the iron dipper that +always hung by the spring, after having satisfied her thirst, "what is +it troubles you? Such sorrowful eyes and a tearful face belong only to +older heads and more sinful hearts; and God forbid it even to them, +unless it is wrung out of the agony of their very souls; for though his +providences are just and wise, yet nature must have its way sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Oh," she replied, as the tears filled her eyes again, "I have been +crying to think how wicked I am."</p> + +<p>"Well-a-day!" said the old woman, looking rather droll; "it's very +strange such a young creature as you should come down here to weep on +account of great wickedness. You don't look much like a Salem witch, or +a runaway from the house of correction."</p> + +<p>Annie could not help laughing at such an idea; but as the smile passed +away, the troubled waters of her heart seemed to burst forth in a +flood, and she wept violently.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said the old woman, shaking her head sorrowfully: "I ought not to +have spoken thus; I see how it is. Poor lamb! she hears the voice of the +Shepherd calling her, but she is bewildered and knows not the way to the +fold; and may the Lord Jesus look upon me, as he did upon his sinful +servant Peter when he denied him, if I fail to point out to this dear +child the path wherein he himself has taught me to tread."</p> + +<p>She sat down beside Annie and laid her arm gently around her. "There's a +dear girl," said she, raising her head, and putting back the locks of +moist hair; "listen to me a little while, and I will tell you what will +make you happier." She took the cool waters of the spring, and bathed +her burning forehead, and washed away all traces of dust and tears. The +water had a cooling and soothing effect upon Annie's troubled brain.</p> + +<p>"There now," said the good dame; "don't you feel better?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Annie, almost cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Well," she continued, "God's love is just like this spring; it is full +and free to all. Now don't you suppose, if you could cleanse and purify +your heart from all traces of sin and sorrow in its blessed waters, just +as you bathe your face in this spring, that you would feel happier and +better."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Annie, slowly and thoughtfully, as if a new idea was passing +through her mind.</p> + +<p>"Well then, I will tell you how. I have felt just as you do now. When I +was a girl I was a restless, idle creature; useless to others, and a +burden to myself. Of course I was unhappy, miserable. It was in vain +that I went to school with such a discontented mind. I had a harder +lesson to learn than any that my teacher could learn me. God grant you +may not have to learn it in the same way that I did! I learned it by +experience; a sorrowful way that is to learn anything, although it is +slow and sure; you may be pretty certain that you never will forget it. +I have found out, by experience, that the only way that we can live and +be happy, is by loving and serving others, just as the blessed Jesus +did; and if you will try it you will find it so."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Annie, "I am a little girl. What good can I do? If I was the +Lord Jesus, I would go about doing good; then I would cast out devils, +and heal the sick, and raise the dead."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; I know you are yet but a 'wee thing,' and have much to learn; +but 'the race is not always to the swift and the battle to the strong;' +it isn't the tallest men and the oldest heads that do the most good in +the world. But I'll tell you what <i>you can</i> do, if you can't work +miracles; though there's many a devil cast out in these days of sin and +sorrow, that men know not of; those who struggle and strive with the +Evil One, and thrust him out of the doors of their heart, do not sound a +trumpet before them in the streets, for they are true followers of the +dear Lamb of God. That same old spirit of selfishness that tempted Eve +in the garden of Eden has gone through the world like a creeping, wily +serpent ever since. It has wound itself round and round our hearts, coil +upon coil, until we scarce seem to have any heart at all. It is this +that troubles you, and you must cast it out; you must forget your own +interest, and learn everybody to love you; then you can't help loving +everybody, and you will be happy. Oh, it will be hard, very hard, to do +this; you will stop, and perhaps turn back; but when it is the darkest +you must take the gentle hand that our dear brother, the Lord Jesus, +stretches out to you, and he will lead you safely to the very bosom of +the Father.</p> + +<p>"But look up, dear one, the sun has gone down behind the hill, and you +must hasten homeward. The mother bird must needs feel anxious when her +nestlings are away. But don't forget what I have told you."</p> + +<p>"No," said Annie, raising her head, for she had been thinking +earnestly; every word that her kind friend had spoken went with a +powerful influence to her heart; "I will <i>try</i> and <i>do what I can,"</i> +said she.</p> + +<p>"Ay," said the old woman, "that's right! not even an angel can do more. +But stop," she added; "do you remember what day it is?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Annie.</p> + +<p>"Well then, just a year from this time, if the Lord permits, we will +meet again by this spring. Now good night, and may the blessing of the +Great Father go with you."</p> + +<p>"Good night," said Annie, and with a cheerful heart and light footstep, +she hastened homeward.</p> + +<p>No sooner did she come in sight of her home, than she perceived a horse +and carriage standing by the gate. She recognized it in a moment; it was +the doctor's. A cold shudder passed over her, and an indefinable fear +entered her mind. She hastened onward and entered the house.</p> + +<p>Upon the bed lay little Katie; her eyes fixed upon the wall, seemingly +unconscious of all that passed around her, sending forth low moans, as +if in great pain. Beside her sat the doctor, counting the beatings of +her pulse, and closely observing the alterations of her countenance.</p> + +<p>"I cannot give you much encouragement," said he. "It is a disease of +the brain. All shall be done for her that is possible, but I fear there +is not much hope."</p> + +<p>Alas! it was even so; all was done in vain. She laid day after day, a +helpless sufferer. It was long before the vital energy was spent; but +through all this weary time, there was one constant watcher by her +bed-side.</p> + +<p>Annie, with the impression of a deep truth upon her soul, felt that +<i>now</i> was the time to act, and most faithfully did she perform her duty. +And when, at last, sweet Katie died, with a warm gush of tears she laid +one of the flowers that she had gathered from the hill-side upon her +bosom, and clasping her arms around her mother's neck, she said: +"Mother, dear sister is gone, and now I must be both Annie and Katie to +you; and if God will help me, I shall be more of a blessing to you than +I ever yet have been."</p> + +<p>Oh, it was like a ray of sunshine to that weeping mother's heart, to +hear her once wayward child speak thus! and though it was like taking +away the life-drops from her heart to give up her cherished little one, +yet she felt there was still a great blessing remaining for her.</p> + +<p>Time passed on. Autumn came with its ripened fruits and golden foliage; +winter laid his glittering mantle upon the streams and hill-tops, and +spring brought blossoms for little Katie's grave.</p> + +<p>Annie, the gentle Annie, where was she?</p> + +<p>Firm to her purpose, she had gone onward. At times the struggle was hard +indeed. Then she would go to the spring, and kneel down, and talk with +her Good Father, until the evil feelings had left her heart, and the +cheerful smile came again to her countenance.</p> + +<p>At length summer, bright, beautiful summer, beamed over the land once +more, and as it drew to a close it brought the day on which Annie was to +meet her friend at the spring.</p> + +<p>It was the close of the Sabbath, and the last rays of the setting sun +streamed through the branches of the trees that surrounded the spring, +and tinged its waters with a rosy light. There sat the old lady, looking +anxiously up the road.</p> + +<p>"I wonder why she don't come," said she. "Perhaps the young thing has +forgotten me. Sure 'twould be a sorrow to me if I thought she had."</p> + +<p>"No indeed," said a pleasant voice. A light form sprang from a clump of +bushes close by, and she felt a warm kiss upon her cheek. "No, I have +not forgotten you, but I have come to tell you how happy I am. Oh, I +have seen trouble and sorrow <i>enough</i>, since I saw you; but for all +that, I am much happier than I was then. You told me that I must learn +to love everybody, and so I did; and now it seems as if everybody and +everything loved me, even our old cat and dog. Strange, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Heart's dearest!" said the old woman, as soon as she could speak, +wiping away the tears from her eyes with the corner of her apron; +"there's a philosophy in all things, even in baking bread and washing +dishes; but the true philosophy of life consists in loving and doing; +and, blessed be God! that is so plain, that the least of his children +can understand it."</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill130.jpg"><img src="ill130.jpg" alt=""></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_STARVING_POOR_OF_IRELAND"></a><h2>THE STARVING POOR OF IRELAND.</h2> +<br> + +<p>BY REV. J.G. ADAMS.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A wail comes o'er the ocean,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Though faint, yet deep with woe!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A nation's poor are falling</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Before the direst foe!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Grim Famine there hath seized them,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And over Erin's land</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The multitudes are perishing</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Beneath his blasting hand!</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The father gives his morsel</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">To his imploring child,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Himself imploring mercy, too,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">With voice and visage wild.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The ever-faithful mother</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Her portion, too, will share</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With those who lean upon her,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And plead her dying care.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Then father, mother, children,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Must listen, one and all,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To Famine's surer, sterner voice—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">To Death's relentless call.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For means are all exhausted;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Bread! bread! There is no more!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And in that once glad cabin</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The conflict now is o'er.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Fond, faithful hearts there perished;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Affections deep and true</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As other homes and loved ones</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Now know, or ever knew.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And why this visitation</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">So sweeping and so sore?</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Why? why? Repeat the question</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The wide world o'er and o'er!</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In that same land is plenty,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Profusion, wealth, and power,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Enough to stay the famine-plague</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">This very day and hour.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yes, while the poor are starving</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">By scores and hundreds even,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Riches and luxury send up</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Their impious laugh to heaven!</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Wrong! wrong! this destitution,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">While there are means to save</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A nation of strong-hearted men</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">From famine and the grave.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Thanks, thanks for riches! but a woe</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">To this our earth they bring,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">So long as they shall fail to save</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">God's poor from suffering!</span><br> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_SABBATH_SCHOOL_FESTIVAL"></a><h2>THE SABBATH SCHOOL FESTIVAL.</h2> + +<p>BY REV. HENRY BACON.</p> +<br> + +<p>In these days of "exhibitions" and "excursions" which give such rich +pleasure to our Sabbath school children, it may be well to turn back +something over twenty years, and see what used to be "great things" to +the pupils of the Sunday schools. The only festival I ever knew while in +a Sabbath school, in my youth, was at Dr. Baldwin's church, Boston. As I +was cradled in a different faith, I ought to tell how I came to be a +scholar in a Baptist school; and I will do so, as it may give a good +hint to some teachers to be impartial.</p> + +<p>At the school I attended a decision was made to give a silver medal to +the best scholar. A good many of us worked hard for it, especially the +boys in the round pews near the pulpit, who had reason to think that the +prize would fall to one of their number. A right good feeling prevailed +amongst them; all were willing to acquiesce in whatever should be the +decision of the superintendent or committee. When the time for decision +came, a lad, the son of a deacon, and who had left school and had not +been at school for six months, was sent for, and <i>to him</i> the silver +medal was given! We all felt outraged, but did not dare to say much. I +begged my parents, with good reasoning, to let me go to another school, +where I had many friends; and I went to Dr. Winchell's, in Salem street, +where Mr. John Gear was superintendent.</p> + +<p>What lessons I did get! Whole chapters were recited from the New +Testament, because so many verses brought me a reward, so many rewards a +mark, and so many marks <i>a book</i>! We had no libraries then. Well, the +annual meeting came round, and one evening the school met and marched +down to Dr. Baldwin's church. I remember the children did the singing, +and while they were singing, of course, I sung; and I have not forgotten +how crest-fallen I felt when Mr. Gear came along, and whispered to me, +"Don't sing <i>so loud</i>;" but he might just as well have said, "Don't +sing," because I knew he did not want me to sing, for I could not keep +time. But it was festival-night, and he was extremely good-natured, and +did not wish to cut short the privileges of any. A prayer was offered, +and then we sung again. A big man, in a large black silk gown, got up, +and delivered a sermon; but we did not heed it as we ought to have done, +because some <i>tea-chests</i> were ranged along at the base of the pulpit. +It was not the <i>tea-chests</i> that attracted our attention, but the sweets +that we knew were <i>in</i> them.</p> + +<p>After the sermon was over, and the scholars were ranged in order, in +single file, they marched up to the table near the chests, and each one +received <i>a quarter of a sheet of gingerbread!</i> How rich we were! How +sweet the cake tasted! We were in perfect ecstasies at the "great piece" +given to each of us! Such rows of happy children are seldom seen, and +all because two cents worth of gingerbread was given to them all alike! +We had thought of it for weeks, and it was delightful to anticipate the +occasion. We felt paid for all the trouble we had met in learning +lessons, in getting to school on rainy days, and keeping still and +orderly when we got there. And why all this happiness from so slight a +cause? Because we all felt loving and happy; we loved our teachers and +our school; and it seemed <i>so odd</i> to get gingerbread in the church and +from the Sabbath school superintendent.</p> + +<p>But how is it now? A long ride or sail; swings, music, cakes, pies, +fruit, lemonade, and a vast variety of "good things," must be had, or +else the Sabbath school children do not have "a good time!" After all +this is had and enjoyed, I do not believe it is any better than our +simple quarter of a sheet of gingerbread, unless the scholars love each +other more, and their schools better, than we did. Do <i>you</i>, reader?</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill136.jpg"><img src="ill136.jpg" alt=""></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="NELLY_GREY"></a><h2>NELLY GREY.</h2> + +<p>"Nelly! Nelly! Where can the child be? Nelly! Nelly!" But Nelly Grey was +away off in dreamland, and the cheerful tones of her mother's voice fell +all unheeded upon her ear, as did the impatient touch of her little dog +Frisk's cold nose upon her hand. She was sitting on the last step of the +vine-covered portico in front of the cottage,—the warm June sun smiling +down lovingly upon her, and the soft wind kissing the little rings of +chestnut-colored hair that clustered about her temples.</p> + +<p>What could make the child so quiet? It must be some weighty matter that +would still <i>her</i> joyous laugh. Why, she was the merriest little body +that ever hunted for violets. There was a laugh lodged in every dimple +of her sunny face, and her busy little tongue was all the day long +carolling some happy ditty.</p> + +<p>"Nelly, what are you dreaming about? I've been calling you this long +time, and here you are in this warm sun, almost asleep."</p> + +<p>"No, no! mother dear, I've only been thinking, and haven't heard you +call once. Only to think that you couldn't find me mother! how funny!"</p> + +<p>"And what has my little girl been thinking of?" said Mrs. Grey, as she +lifted Nelly into her lap, and smoothed hack the silky curls from her +brow. Nelly laid her rosy cheek close to her mother's, and wound her +small arms about her neck, and told her simple thoughts in a low, sweet +voice.</p> + +<p>"You know it's strawberry time, mother, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling."</p> + +<p>"Well, I was thinking, if you would let me, I could pick a big basket +full, they are so thick over in our meadow; and maybe Mrs. Preston would +buy them of me, for she gives Mr. Jones a heap of money every year for +them."</p> + +<p>"And what does Nelly want of a heap of money?"</p> + +<p>"Why, mother, little Frisk wants a brass collar,—don't you, Frisk?" +Frisk barked and played all sorts of antics to show his young mistress +he was very much in need of one. "Think how pretty it would be, mother, +round Frisk's glossy neck. Oh, say that I may—do, do, mother!"</p> + +<p>Nelly's pleading proved irresistible, and her mother tied her little +sunbonnet under her chin, gave the "big basket" into her hands, and the +little girl trudged merrily off, with Frisk jumping and barking by her +side to see his young mistress so happy.</p> + +<p>Shall I tell how the long summer afternoon wore away, dear little +reader, and how the big basket was filled to the tip-top and covered +with wild flowers and oak leaves? Shall I tell, or shall I leave you to +guess, my little bright eyes? You say, yes? Well, I will tell you about +her walk to Mrs. Preston's after the sun had gone down and the azure +blue sky had become changed to a soft, golden hue.</p> + +<p>It was a pleasant walk under the drooping trees, and Nelly Grey, +swinging her basket carefully on her arm, tripped lightly on her way. +Oh, how her blue eyes danced with joy as she looked down upon the little +merry Frisk trotting by her side; her bright lips parted as she +murmured, "Yes, yes, Frisk shall have a nice new collar, with 'Nelly +Grey's dog, Frisk,' written upon it;" then Frisk played all sorts of +funny antics again, probably by way of thanks.</p> + +<p>Ah! but what calls that sudden blush and smile to Nelly's face?—and she +had well nigh stumbled, too, and spilt all her strawberries. No wonder +she started, for, emerging from under the shadow of the trees, was a +handsome lad some half a head taller than Nelly. He was gazing, too, +with a witching smile into her face, waiting till it should be the +little maiden's pleasure to notice him. She nodded her pretty little +head as demurely as a city belle, laid her small hand lovingly upon +Frisk's curly coat, and walked with a slower and less bounding step than +before. But Phil Morton was not to be abashed at this; so he stepped +lightly up to Nelly, saying,</p> + +<p>"Let me carry your basket; it is too heavy for you."</p> + +<p>The little girl, with many injunctions to be careful and not tip it +over, delivered the basket to him; she then told him her project of +buying Frisk a collar with the money got by the selling of the +strawberries, which young Phil approved of very much, and offered to go +with her to buy it, for he knew somebody, he said, that kept them for +sale. Nelly joyfully assented to his offer, and thanked him heartily, +too, for his kindness.</p> + +<p>"There, Phil, we are almost there. I can see the long study window; we +have only to pass the widow Mason's cottage, up the green lane, and we +shall be there."</p> + +<p>On they walked, laughing merrily for very lightness of heart, till they +were close beside the poor widow's low cottage window. Suddenly Nelly +stopped, and the laugh was hushed upon her bright lips. "Did you hear +it, Phil?" she said softly. "Hear what, Nell?" and Phil turned his black +eyes slowly round, as if he expected to see some fairy issue from the +grove of trees near by. "Why, Lucy Mason's cough. Mother says she will +not live to see the little snow-birds come again. Poor, dear Lucy!" The +great tear-drops rolled fast over Nelly's red cheeks, and fell like rain +upon her little hand. "Oh, Phil, I'll tell you what;—I'll give these +strawberries to Lucy. She used to love them dearly."</p> + +<p>"Poh! poh! Nelly; what a silly girl! to give them away when Mrs. Preston +will give you such a deal of money for them!"</p> + +<p>"But, Phil, Lucy's mother is poor; she can't buy them for her, and you +can't think how well Lucy loves them."</p> + +<p>"Well, what if she does, and what if she is poor? can't her mother pick +them over in the fields, if she wants them so bad? I wouldn't give them +away."</p> + +<p>"For shame, Phil Morton! To think of poor old Mrs. Mason's going over in +the fields to pick strawberries, leaving Lucy all alone, and so sick! I +shouldn't have thought it of you, Phil. No, indeed I shouldn't. Give me +the basket," said Nelly sorrowfully; "I shall give them to Lucy." Phil +silently handed the basket to her, and, without speaking, he followed +Nelly as she went round to the cottage door.</p> + +<p>The tears ran silently down the poor widow's cheek as she led the +children to her sick child's room, for it touched her heart to see young +and thoughtless children so attentive to her poor Lucy. "And did you +come all this way, you and Phil, Nelly, to bring me these nice +strawberries?" without waiting for her to reply, she turned to a little +choice tea-rose that stood beside her, and, breaking off two half-blown +buds, she gave them to Phil and Nelly, saying as she did so, "It's all I +have to give you, darlings, for your kindness to me, but I know that you +will like them as coming from your sick friend."</p> + +<p>The bright blood flashed over Phil's dark brow and crimsoned even his +ears. Poor Phil! The shame and remorse of those few minutes washed away +his unthinking sin, and Nelly forgave him, and tried with all her power +to make him forget it. But the kind though thoughtless boy was not +satisfied until he had sent Lucy a pretty little basket filled with rare +and beautiful flowers, gathered from his father's large garden. Then, +and not till then, did he look with pleasure upon the rose Lucy had +given him.</p> + +<p>Some time after the above occurrence, perhaps a week, Nelly was sitting +in her low rocking-chair, under the shadow of the portico, sewing as +busily as her nimble little fingers would let her, when a shadow +darkened the sunlit walk leading to the house. Nelly saw it, and knew +well enough who it was; but there she sat, her pretty little mouth +pursed up, and her merry blue eyes almost closed, working faster than +ever.</p> + +<p>"Oh! is it you, Phil?" she exclaimed, as Phil Morton bounded lightly +over the railing beside her, (for he disdained the sober process of +walking up the steps;) "how you frightened me!" <i>He</i> frighten <i>her!</i> +Though he was naughty sometimes, and scared the little birds, he would +not think of frightening Nelly Grey. No, not he.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Phil, I have something to show you," said the little girl, after a +while, and then she raised her voice and called, "Frisk! Frisk!" Frisk +was not far away from Nelly, and presently he came lazily along, shaking +his silky coat as if he did not quite relish being waked from his nap so +abruptly.</p> + +<p>"But what is that shining so brightly around his neck—can it be a +collar? Well, it is, sure enough. But where <i>did</i> you get it, Nell?" +said Phil, turning to her in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Preston, the minister's wife, gave it to me; how she came to know +I wanted it, I can't think."</p> + +<p>"But I can, Nell. She heard us when we were talking, I'll bet; for you +know she came in just after we did, and she gave it to you for being so +good."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, Phil! I only did what anybody else would have done."</p> + +<p>"<i>Anybody</i>? You know <i>I</i> didn't want to Nelly," said Phil sadly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, never mind <i>that</i>, Phil; you did afterward, you know."</p> + +<p>"Well, but, Nell, I <i>know</i> she gave it to you for being so good. Isn't +there something on the collar?"</p> + +<p>"No, only Frisk's name;" and she turned to examine it with Phil.</p> + +<p>"There, Nell! what do you call this?" and Phil triumphantly held up the +edge of the collar, on which was written, "<i>Nelly's reward for +self-denial."</i></p> + +<p>"Why, Phil, I never saw it before; isn't it queer?"</p> + +<p>"Queer, that you didn't <i>see</i> it before? Yes; but it isn't queer that +she gave it to you No, not at all; I should have thought she would."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Phil, how you praise me! you mustn't," said Nelly, her pink cheeks +deepening into scarlet.</p> + +<p>She deserved praise, did not she? for she was a very good little girl. +But I will not tire you with any more about her now. So good-by, my +sweet little reader.</p> + +<p>NORA.</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill145.jpg"><img src="ill145.jpg" alt=""></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_FOUR_EVANGELISTS"></a><h2>THE FOUR EVANGELISTS.</h2> + +<p>BY REV. H.R. NYE.</p> +<br> + +<p>My Young Friends:</p> + +<p>I love to hear and to tell stories nearly as well as when I was a child; +but I cannot write them for others to read. Even <i>small</i> children are +sometimes <i>great</i> critics. At any rate, I shall not venture at +story-telling here.</p> + +<p>You have all read some portions of the book we call the Bible. But do +you know who wrote the Bible? at what time it was written? or anything +of the men by whom it was composed? It was not written by any one man, +at one time, and by him sent out to all men in every part of the world; +but by various persons, in different ages, and first addressed to +particular churches or people. I will not attempt, in this article, to +furnish you with an account of all the individuals, Moses, David, +Isaiah, Paul, John, and others, who wrote portions of the sacred volume; +but I will try to give you some sketches of <i>the four Evangelists,</i> +Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, who wrote the four <i>gospels</i>, or Lives of +Jesus, to which their names are now attached. And,</p> + +<p>1st, of MATTHEW, by whom the <i>first</i> gospel was composed. He was +called, also, Levi. He was a Jew, born in the province of Galilee. We +suppose that from his youth he was familiar with the worship of the +synagogue and temple, and educated strictly in the religion of Moses. He +filled the office of a publican, was a collector of taxes from the Jews, +to which place he was appointed by the Romans, who, in his day, ruled +over Judea. While engaged in these duties, he became acquainted with the +preaching, miracles, and character of Jesus, the despised Nazarene, and +left all,—his business, friends, home,—to follow him. He journeyed +with Jesus in his ministry, and, after his Master went up to heaven, he +left his own land to preach the gospel among the Gentiles. Some people +suppose that he was a martyr, but this is not well established. Matthew +wrote his gospel either in Hebrew or Greek, (some say both,) about 1800 +years since,—very soon after his Master had finished the labors of his +mission, and returned unto his Father. I said, I think, that this man +left all; made many sacrifices to become Jesus' disciple. But we do not +find this in <i>his</i> book. With other virtues, he was an <i>humble</i> man, +quite too modest to praise himself. Luke, in his narrative, mentions +this fact concerning Matthew. Modesty is a rare virtue; an ornament to +the aged, and very beautiful in the young. But I will tell you,</p> + +<p>2d, of Mark, sometimes called John, and once, John Mark, in the New +Testament. Very little is known concerning this man. He was probably +born in Judea, and, it is supposed, was converted to Christianity by the +preaching of the ardent, zealous Peter. At one time, he was the +companion of Paul and Barnabas; but, when a quarrel sprang up between +these men, each went his way. Christians quarrelled then sometimes as +well, or as bad, as in our days. Chiefly, Mark travelled with Peter, as +he went forth among Jews and Gentiles, and aided him in his arduous +toils. He went, at last, to Egypt, where he planted churches, and where, +also, he died. Mark was not an apostle; neither did he attend on the +ministry of Jesus. Do you ask, how, then, could he write a correct +account of our Saviour's life? Here is one fact worth remembering. Mark +was the companion of Peter, who was an apostle, who saw the miracles and +heard the discourses of Christ. He examined the account which Mark had +written, and gave it his approval, as being correct,—true. Very few men +who write histories have vouchers like his. So, did we not regard the +Bible-writers as inspired men, we should place the utmost confidence in +the truth of Mark's gospel. He composed it about A.D. 65. We come now,</p> + +<p>3d, to LUKE. He was a Gentile,—all people not born in Judea were called +Gentiles,—born in Antioch, the capital of Syria, where the disciples of +Jesus first were called Christians. Luke was a learned man, we are told, +having studied in the famous schools of his own land, also of Greece and +Egypt. He was a physician by profession; and physicians assure us, that, +in his gospel, he has given a more accurate account of the diseases +which Jesus cured than any other New Testament writer: that he often +uses medical terms in his description of the miracles which were +wrought. He was a good and careful thinker, not at all credulous, but +disposed to prove all things, holding fast only to the good and true. He +wrote his gospel (perhaps you know that he was the author of the book of +Acts, also) in Greece, about 35 years after the ascension of Jesus. He +was associated with Paul in his travels, went with him to Rome, and +continued there during the imprisonment of the apostle. Historians are +not agreed in regard to the time or manner of his death. Some affirm +that he suffered as a martyr; others, simply, that, in due time, he +"fell asleep," or died a natural death. We are sure that his talents, +learning, and time were given to the diffusion of the Christian faith. +Lastly, and</p> + +<p>4th, of JOHN, the beloved disciple, so termed because of his mild and +gentle spirit, and because he most resembled his and our Master. He was +born in Judea, near the sea, or lake, of Galilee. Zebedee, his father, +was a fisherman; and John, probably, engaged in his father's business +until he became a preacher of glad tidings. You must not, from this +fact, conclude that they were certainly poor men, for then, at least, +men of wealth were engaged in the business, and I suppose many now are. +John was the youngest apostle, and "the disciple whom Jesus loved;" you +may recollect that he leaned on the bosom of Christ at the "Last +Supper." He, only, was present, of all the apostles, when Jesus was +crucified,—and Jesus commended his mother to this disciple's care. +After the resurrection of Jesus, John preached "the gospel" in various +parts of Asia.</p> + +<p>He wrote his gospel at Ephesus, and, by his labors, the truths of +Christianity spread everywhere among men. The story sometimes told, that +he was put into a caldron of burning oil, by a Roman emperor, and came +out unharmed, is not true. He lived to a very advanced age, and died +when not far from 100 years old. Late in life, when too feeble to +preach, he was often carried into the meetings of the disciples, at his +own request, and, stretching out his hands, as he sat in his chair, was +wont to say, "Little children, <i>love</i> one another." And, when asked why +he so often gave this precept, he would say, "If this be obeyed, it is +the Lord's command, and it sufficeth."</p> + +<p>Children, will you think of that precept?</p> + +<p>Conversing with two lads once, I asked one, Who wrote the Bible, good +men, or bad men? "Good men, of course," was the response. "But how do +you know they were <i>good</i> men?" I rejoined. And he said, "Because,"—a +very common and very foolish answer,—and was silent. "I think," said +the other lad, the younger of the two, "that good men wrote the Bible, +because <i>good</i> men <i>love</i> the Bible, and <i>wicked</i> men don't."</p> + +<p>Can you give another reason as good?</p> + +<p>Now I have told you, briefly, of the four evangelists. They were good +men, honest-minded and sincere. Wicked men, all men, act from motives. +But <i>they</i> could have had no motive to deceive. They lost friends, and +wealth, and honor, and ease, and gained contempt, persecution, and +suffering, by preaching the gospel. Their conduct is full evidence that +they were pure and good men. And, if they were good men, they wrote +<i>the truth</i>; and, by their labors we have a correct and faithful account +of the life of Jesus. Study these books, and by them be made wise. Above +all, remember the precept of John, "Little children, love one another."</p> + +<p class="ctr"><a href="ill152.jpg"><img src="ill152.jpg" alt=""></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="MAY-DAY"></a><h2>MAY-DAY.</h2> + +<p>BY MRS. NANCY T. MUNROE.</p> +<br> + +<p>It is spring,—a backward spring, it is true, for now it is the first +week in May, and not a flower to be seen except the yellow dandelion, +not a blossom even on a cherry tree; nothing is green but the grass, and +that—yes, that is very green, especially this piece before my window; +it seems a relief to look upon it.</p> + +<p>Poor May-day revellers! May-day this year was pleasant; that is, the sun +shone, the sky was blue, and the grass was green, in spots at least; but +the cold north wind was blowing, and one needed to be told it was the +first of May.</p> + +<p>The sun was higher than usual on such occasions, when the children came +upon our hill;—yet they did come with wreaths and May-poles, but, ah! +the flowers were artificial. Some of the children had on sun-bonnets and +thin shawls; they should have worn hoods and cloaks, and then they might +have been comfortable. But it takes a great deal to discourage children +from going "Maying."</p> + +<p>Our hill is a famous place for children on May-day, for it is green and +pleasant; it is glorious to run down its sides, and pleasant to sit on +its banks, which once were forts, and behind which, in less peaceful +days, lurked soldiers with weapons of war. Ah, those children were a +pleasant sight, and as I heard their glad laughter, and saw them chase +each other down those green banks, I said, Peace is better than war.</p> + +<p>"Please, ma'am, will you tell me what time it is?" said a little girl, +coming forward from one group of children.</p> + +<p>"Quarter of nine," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"I didn't think it was so late; did you?" said she, turning to her +companions. They had been out perhaps two hours, and thought it was most +noon, and back they went to their sports.</p> + +<p>Soon I heard a sound of weeping. I went to the door, where stood a group +of children around the pump; one poor shivering child, looking blue and +cold, was having her hands and face washed by another, with water cold +from the pump, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and she sobbing +piteously.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, little girl?"</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the one who was performing the washing operation, "she fell +from the top of the hill to the bottom, and made her nose bleed and hurt +her dreadfully."</p> + +<p>The poor child still sobbed and shivered. We carried her in, set her +down before a hot coal fire, and tried to warm her red hands. Her little +companions came and stood beside her, and told her not to cry; but, oh! +she was so cold, and "the tops of her fingers did ache so!"</p> + +<p>And this was going a Maying! But yet, next year, these very girls, I +doubt not, will start with just as buoyant hearts for May-day sports, +forgetful of the fall, the cold, and all inconveniences. Ah, childhood's +hopeful heart is a blessed thing!</p> + +<p>I well remember now a May-day of by-gone years. Then we had a queen, a +tent, and a table set with numberless delicacies. We had rare sport that +day. The weather was not as cold as the day of which I have been +speaking; we had a few <i>real</i> flowers, and some hardy girls even +appeared in white dresses. The forenoon passed pleasantly; numerous +visitors thronged to see us, and we were the happiest of all May-day +revellers. But all pleasure must have an end. Soon word came that we +must surrender the sails of our tent, for the owner had need thereof. +This caused a general <i>strike</i>, and, in the confusion which ensued, a +boy had the misfortune to sit or fall upon the queen's straw bonnet, +which had been laid aside for her flowery crown. It was literally +smashed, unfit for further use. "Ah what will mother say?" was all the +disappointed queen could say. Some few laughed at the queer, misshapen +thing, but more looked on with sad countenances, for it was the queen's +best bonnet.</p> + +<p>We separated, tired, and, it may be, a little out of humor; but yet, a +few days made everything bright again; we remembered the pleasure with +pleasure, and thought of the disappointments only to laugh over them.</p> + +<p>And that bent, spoiled bonnet! When the ex-queen appeared in a fine new +one, with gay ribbons, many looked on, and almost wished that they had +been so fortunate as to have had their bonnets spoiled.</p> + +<p>As I look back, other May-days throng upon my mind. The memories of some +of these are sad, yea, very sad! One was the birth-day of a little one +who now rests beneath the green sod. And well do I remember another +bright May morning, when I wandered out over the hill, holding the hand +of a little fair-haired child within my own. Her tiny basket was filled +with flowers the children had given her, and her bright, sunny face was +radiant with smiles. That was her first May-day walk, and much did the +little being enjoy it.</p> + +<p>It was her last! Ere the spring breezes came again, she lay within her +little shroud. The snows of winter fell silently upon her little grave, +by the side of him who had gone before, and, ere another May-day, the +sod was green above them.</p> + +<p>These are the memories that come over me when I look out upon the +revellers; yet just as well do I love to see them at their sports, and I +can look upon their light, graceful forms, and hear their merry +laughter; and, though my heart goes to the grave-yard and mine eyes rest +upon the spot, yet I can smile upon the gay, living creatures before me, +for I know that childhood is a glad and joyous thing, and that these +beings are the light and joy of some homes, and I pray that these homes +may be never darkened by Death's shadow crossing the threshold.</p> + +<p>These my May-day reveries have begun lightly, and ended, as May-days +themselves have done, in sad thoughts. But sad thoughts and life's +troubles are, or ought to be, the heart's discipline. For this purpose +do they come to us, and we should go forth from them purer and better.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_SNOW-DROP"></a><h2>THE SNOW-DROP.</h2> + +<p>BY MRS. M.A. LIVERMORE.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The gentle, laughing, spring had come</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">With eye and cheek so bright;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The bird glanced through the clear, blue air,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">On wing of golden light;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And earth, in gladness, lay and smiled,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">To see the beauteous sight.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The streams went singing to the sea,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And dancing to their song;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Its carpet, had the young grass spread</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The hills and vales among;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yet not a flower its bloom had shed,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The fresh green earth along.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Not yet the violet had unsealed</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Its blue and loving eye;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Nor had the primrose dared unfold,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">For fear that it might die;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And on the tree-tops shook the leaves,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Which oped to kiss the sky.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But so it chanced, one gentle day,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">While softly wept the rain,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And sadly sighed the mourning breeze,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The flowers to see again;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A silvery snow-flake fell to earth,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Escaped from winter's chain.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And daintily it laid itself</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Where greenest grass was spread,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And where the bland and warm south-wind,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Soft-footed, loved to tread,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And here the white-robed fugitive</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Made for itself a bed.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The flower-goddess smiled to see</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">This new-born snow that fell;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"I'll change it to a flower," said she</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"By magic touch, and spell;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For 'twill be long ere blossoms ope,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That spring doth love so well."</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Then with a wand of living light,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">She touched the feathery snow;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And on it, radiant from her cheek,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">There streamed a sunny glow.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Forth from the tiny, crystal flake,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The pearly petals came;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The stem sprang up—there waved a flower,—</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The SNOW-DROP was its name!</span><br> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CAGING_BIRDS"></a><h2>CAGING BIRDS.</h2> +<br> + +<p>I never liked the idea of rearing birds in cages; of confining those +little creatures, that seem to enjoy liberty most of all God's vast +family, in the little, stinted prison-house of a cage. Girls seldom +incline to keep them caged; I wish, fewer women did; but boys seem +almost to possess a different nature. Many really enjoy taking the +little helpless fledglings from the nest, hid away so slyly among the +thick boughs of the forest-tree; crowding two, three, or even four, into +one cage, oftentimes not eighteen inches square. They are even so +heartless as to laugh at the fluttering, slapping, and beating of the +poor prisoner against the wiry walls of his gloomy, unnatural home.</p> + +<p>To be sure, I once owned a caged bird. It was a robin. A dear brother +had kept him several years, and, on leaving home for a residence in +Boston, where he could not take care of the bird, he gave him to me. It +was not at a season of the year when we could safely release him from +confinement; and, besides that, our oldest brother had taught him to +whistle parts of several tunes, and we feared, moreover, that he might +suffer even in the best season of the year, from the fact of his having +been taken when so young from other robins. Confinement, probably, does +not destroy the instinct of birds, so that they would starve if +released. After having been an inmate of our family nine years, having +suffered countless frights and manglings from the many kittens we had +kept in the time, he at last died by the claws of the family cat, when +released one fine afternoon for an airing, and to have his cage cleaned.</p> + +<p>I never since have wished to own a caged bird. The song of a canary +bird, born and reared in a cage, never pleases me like the cheerful +warbling or merry whistle of the wild, free birds of our woodlands. The +one seems but the expression of a cheerful forgiveness of unkind +treatment, the bursting forth of a happy nature in spite of man's +cruelty; while the other seems a free outpouring of perfect happiness, +and the choicest notes of a grateful little being directed to the good +GOD of nature.</p> + +<p>I know we often hear of happy, contented little pet birds; yet I never +saw one that did not seem to prefer the freedom of an out-of-door +excursion on the strong, free wing, to the hopping, swinging, perching, +and fluttering, within a narrow cage. The taming and petting of +sparrows, robins, yellow-birds, snow-birds, and swallows, round the +doors or windows of one's house, I admire. There is nothing inhuman in +this practice. It rather calls forth some of the better feelings of the +heart—gives pleasure to us and the birds, yet violates no law of +nature.</p> + +<p>I here give you a little story of a pet swallow that I met with in a +little English book, which, perhaps, few of you have read. The children +named in the story were certainly kind-hearted towards their little pet, +and very indulgent. Mark well their reward! Some of you may be induced +to imitate them; at least, I hope you will not again be so selfish as to +cage a bird for his song, while, with the exercise of a little patience +and kindly attention, you can tame them so easily at your door.</p> + +<br> + +<p>THE PET SWALLOW.</p> +<br> + +<p>One day we had been out gathering primroses, and, to put the pretty pale +flowers neatly into baskets, we had sat down under one of the windows in +the old church tower. Mary was sitting next the wall, when something +touched her shoulder, and fell on her knee. It was a young swallow, +without any feathers, that had fallen, or perhaps had been thrown, out +of the nest, by some quarrelsome brother or sister.</p> + +<p>The poor primroses were cast away, and every little hand was ready to +seize the prize. When we found it was not killed, or even hurt, by its +fall, some called for a cage; others said, "Let us put it back in the +nest; we do not know what to give it to eat; we may be sure it will +die." And this seemed so very true that we were all obliged to agree; +but, alas! the poor swallow having built in a false window of the tower, +there was no way of getting to the nest, and so the cage was brought, +and the little bird did not die, but grew bigger and prettier every day, +until at last it could skim through the room on its pretty, soft wings, +and would dive down to us, and light upon our shoulders, or let itself +fall into our hands. How we did love that little bird! and oh, how sorry +we were one day, when it flew out at the window! We all ran down to the +lawn; we were quite sure it would never come back to us again, for it +seemed so happy to be free; and we watched it flying here and there—now +high in the air, now close down to the ground. We had called our pretty +bird Fairy, and it really seemed like a fairy now; one moment it was +quite out of sight, the next so near it almost touched us. At last, Fred +gave a long, loud whistle; when he began, it was up in the air, high, +high above our heads, but, before the sound passed away, it was +fluttering its pretty dark wings upon his face. From this time Fairy was +allowed to go free; and it would skim about before our windows all day +long, coming in from time to time to pay us visits, and to sleep at +nights in its old post on the top of one of our little beds in the +nursery.</p> + +<p>At last August came, and then our pretty Fairy skimmed through the air, +far, far beyond the reach of Fred's whistle, for it had set out, with +all the other swallows, on its long voyage across the seas.</p> + +<p>We had never thought of this,—never thought that our faithful Fairy +would so leave us,—and it was many days before the hope of its coming +back next year could make us feel at all happy again.</p> + +<p>But Fairy, our own dear little Fairy, <i>did</i> come back, and it remembered +us all, as if it had been away only for a few hours, instead of nearly +eight whole months.</p> + +<p>It was a very happy day, the day that Fairy came back, and it seemed to +feel as much joy as we did; first it flew to Mary, and then to Fred, and +then to one after the other, twittering its wings, and rubbing its +pretty black head on our hands or faces, as we see dogs and cats do +when they want to show great kindness.</p> + +<p>It flew to the top of the little bed at night, pecked at the window when +it wished to get out in the morning, and would dart down at Fred's +whistle as readily as it had been used to do the year before. In short, +notwithstanding the long voyage it had made, Fairy seemed to have +forgotten neither its old friends nor its old ways.</p> + +<p>When it came near the time for the swallows to fly away again, we grew +very sad at the idea of losing our pretty Fairy: some thought it would +be wise to put it into a cage, and keep it there until all the others +were gone; while some, who were wiser, said it was Fairy's nature to go +away, and that Fairy must go. But what do you think was our joy to find, +that, of its own good will, Fairy stayed with us? All the others went +away; and, whether it had grown fonder of us, or that it had not liked +the long voyage it had been led into by the example of others, I cannot +say; but for four winters it stayed always with us, taking a flight now +and then in the open air, but spending the greatest part of the day in +the school-room, till summer came, when it would again join its friends, +and always build its nest in the very window from which it had fallen +into Mary's lap.</p> + +<p>Six years had passed since then, but what now became of it we could +never learn. For a long time we hoped it had gone again over sea and +land, to visit far countries with all the others, but whether it had or +not we never knew, for we saw our pretty Fairy no more.</p> + +<br> + +<p>LAST PAGE.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The last bright page before you,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Kind reader and good friend,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Is of another Annual</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The very pleasant end.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Our Book's communication</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">To goodly themes applied,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">None of its pages would we wish</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">To change, expunge, or hide.</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With us be Life's brief pages,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">When looking back to youth,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">So filled with kindly words of love,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And timely Christian truth,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That with an honest confidence</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">In what our deeds shall say,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With steady and firm hand we write</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Our "last page," and away!</span><br> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Small Means and Great Ends +Edited by Mrs. M. 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H. Adams + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Small Means and Great Ends + +Author: Edited by Mrs. M. H. Adams + +Release Date: March 4, 2004 [EBook #11435] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SMALL MEANS AND GREAT ENDS *** + + + + +Produced by Amy Petri and PG Distributed Proofreaders. Produced from +images provided by Internet Archive Children's Library and University +of Florida. + + + + + +[Illustration: THE WIDOW'S POT OF OIL.] + +SMALL MEANS AND GREAT ENDS. + +EDITED BY MRS. M.H. ADAMS + + Word of Truth, and Gift of Love, + Waiting hearts now need thee; + Faithful in thy mission prove, + On that mission speed thee. + + + + +1851. + + + + + +PREFACE. + + +From the encouragement extended to our worthy publisher on the +presentation of the first and second volumes of the Annual, we conclude +that the experiment of 1845 may be regarded as a successful one, and the +preparation of a little work of this kind an acceptable offering to the +young. + +The present year, our kind contributors have afforded us a much more +ample supply of interesting articles than could possibly appear. We +regret that any who have so generously labored for us and our young +friends, should be denied the pleasure of greeting their articles on the +pages of the Annual. Let them not suspect that it is from any +disapproval or rejection of their labors. Be assured, dear friends, we +are more grateful than can properly be expressed in a brief preface. Our +warmest thanks are due our old friends, who, in the midst of other +arduous duties, have willingly given us assistance. Let our new +correspondents be assured they are gratefully remembered, although we +have not the pleasure or opportunity to present their articles to our +readers in the present volume. They are at the publisher's disposal for +another year. + +May the blessing of our Father in heaven rest upon the little book and +all its mends. + +M.H.A. + + + + CONTENTS. + + * * * * * + + Small Means and Great Ends + + Mary Ellen + + The Dead Child to its Mother + + Hope + + The Young Soldier + + The Stolen Children + + My Grandmother's Cottage + + The First Oath + + The Fairy's Gift + + A Lesson taught by Nature + + Florence Drew + + Shechem + + The Little Candle + + "Are we not all Brothers and Sisters?" + + Fortune-Telling + + The Boy who Stole the Nails + + The Childless Mother + + The Motherless Child + + Faith + + + +SMALL MEANS AND GREAT ENDS; + +OR, + +THE WIDOW'S POT OF OIL. + +BY JULIA A. FLETCHER. + +"Oh! how I do wish I was rich!" said Eliza Melvyn, dropping her work in +her lap, and looking up discontentedly to her mother; "why should not I +be rich as well as Clara Payson? There she passes in her father's +carriage, with her fine clothes, and haughty ways; while I sit +here--sew--sewing--all day long. I don't see what use I am in the world! + +"Why should it be so? Why should one person have bread to waste, while +another is starving? Why should one sit idle all day, while another +toils all night? Why should one have so many blessings, and another so +few?" + +"Eliza!" said Mrs. Melvyn, taking her daughter's hand gently within her +own, and pushing back the curls from her flushed brow, "my daughter, why +is this? why is your usual contentment gone, and why are you so sinfully +complaining? Have you forgotten to think that 'God is ever good?'" + +"No, mother," replied the young girl, "but it sometimes appears strange +to me, why he allows all these things." + +"Wiser people than either you or I have been led to wonder at these +things," said Mrs. Melvyn; "but the Christian sees in all the wisdom of +God, who allows us to be tried here, and will overrule all for our good. +The very person who is envied for one blessing perhaps envies another +for one he does not possess. But why would you be rich, my child?" + +"Mother, I went this morning through a narrow, dirty street in another +part of the city. A group of ragged children were collected round one +who was crying bitterly. I made my way through them and spoke to the +little boy. He told me his little sister was dead, his father was sick, +and he was hungry. Here was sorrow enough for any one; but the little +boy stood there with his bare feet, his sunbleached hair and tattered +clothes, and smiled almost cheerfully through the tears which washed +white streaks amid the darkness of his dirty face. He led me to his +_home_. Oh, mother! if you had been with me up those broken stairs, and +seen the helpless beings in that dismal, dirty room you would have +wished, like me, for the means to help them. The dead body lay there +unburied, for the man said, they had no money to pay for a coffin. He +was dying himself, and they might as well be buried together." + +"Are you sure, Eliza, that you have not the means to help them?" asked +Mrs. Melvyn. "Put on your bonnet, my dear, and go to our sexton. Tell +him to go and do what should be done. The charitable society of which I +am a member will pay the expense. Then call on Dr. ---- the dispensary +physician, and send him to the relief of the sick one. Then go to those +of your acquaintance who have, as you say, 'bread to waste,' and mention +to them this hungry little boy. If you have no money to give these +sufferers, you have a voice to plead with those who have; and thus you +may bless the poor, while you doubly bless the rich, for 'It is more +blessed to give than to receive.'" + +Eliza obeyed, and when she returned several hours after, her face +glowing with animation, and eagerly recounted how much had been done for +the poor family; how their dead had been humanely borne from their +sight; how the sick man was visited by the physician, and his bitterness +of spirit removed by the sympathy which was sent him; how the room was +to be cleaned and ventilated, and how she left the little boy eating a +huge slice of bread, while others of the family were half devouring the +remainder of the loaf; her mother listened with the same gentleness. "It +is well, my daughter," said she; "I preferred to send you on this errand +of sympathy, that you might see how much you could do with small means." + +"I have a picture here," she continued, "which I wish you to keep as a +token of this day's feelings and actions. It is called 'The Widow's Pot +of Oil.' Will you read me the story which belongs to it?" + +Eliza took her little pocket Bible, the one that she always carried to +the Sabbath school, and, turning to the fourth chapter of the second +book of Kings, read the first seven verses. Turn to them now, children, +and read them. + +"You can see in this picture," said her mother, "how small was the 'pot +of oil,' and how large were some of the vessels to be filled. Yet still +it flowed on, a little stream; still knelt the widow in her faith, +patiently supporting it; still brought her little sons the empty +vessels; the blessing of God was upon it, and they were all filled. She +feared not that the oil would cease to flow; she stopped not when one +vessel was filled; she still believed, and labored, and waited, until +her work was done. + +"Take this picture, my daughter, and when you think that you cannot do +good with small means, remember 'the widow's pot of oil,' and +perseveringly use the means you have; when one labor is done, begin +another; stitch by stitch you have made this beautiful garment; very +large houses are built of little bricks patiently joined together one by +one; and 'the widow's small pot of oil' filled many large vessels." + +"Oh, mother," said Eliza, "I hope I shall never be so wicked again. I +will keep the picture always. But, mother, do you not think Mr. Usher +would like this picture to put in the 'Sabbath School Annual?' He might +have a smaller one engraved from this, you know, and perhaps cousin +Julia will write something about it. I mean to ask them." + + + + +MARY ELLEN; + +A SKETCH FROM LIFE. + +BY MRS. MARGARET M. MASON. + + "O, lightly, lightly tread! + A holy thing is sleep + On the worn spirit shed, + And eyes that wake to weep; + Ye know not what ye do, + That call the slumberer back + From the world unseen by you, + Unto life's dim faded track." + +How beautiful, calm, and peaceful is sleep! Often, when I have laid my +head upon my pillow happy and healthful, I have asked myself, to what +shall I awaken? What changes may come ere again my head shall press this +pillow? Ah, little do we know what a day may unfold to us! We know not +to what we shall awaken; what joy or sorrow. I do not know when I was +awakened to more painful intelligence, than when aroused one morning +from pleasant dreams by the voice of a neighbor, saying that Mary Ellen, +the only daughter of a near neighbor, was dying. She was a beautiful +little girl, about three years of age, unlike most other children. She +was more serious and thoughtful; and many predicted that her friends +would not have her long. She would often ask strange questions about +heaven and her heavenly Father; and many of her expressions were very +beautiful. + +One day she asked permission of her mother to go and gather her some +flowers. Her mother gave her permission, but requested her not to go out +of the field. After searching in vain for flowers, she returned with +some clover leaves and blades of grass. "Mother," said she, "I could +find you no flowers, but here are some spires of grass and clover +leaves. Say that they are some pretty, mother. GOD made them." Often, +when she woke in the morning, she would ask her mother if it was the +Sabbath day. If told it was, "Then," she would say, "we will read the +Bible and keep the day holy." Her mother always strove to render the +Sabbath interesting to her, and to have her spend it in a profitable +manner. Nor did she fail; for little Mary Ellen was always happy when +the Sabbath morning came. The interest she took in the reading of the +Scriptures, in explanations given of the plates in the Bible, and the +accuracy with which she would remember all that was told her, were truly +pleasing. Her kind and affectionate disposition, her love for all that +was pure and holy, and her readiness to forgive and excuse all that she +saw wrong in others, made her beloved by all who knew her. If she saw +children at play on the Sabbath, or roaming about, she would notice it, +and speak of it as being very wrong, and it would appear to wound her +feelings; yet she would try to excuse them. "It may be," she would say, +"that they do not know that it is the holy Sabbath day. Perhaps no one +has told them." She could not bear to think of any one doing wrong +intentionally. + +Whenever she heard her little associates make use of any language that +she was not quite sure was right, she would ask her mother if it was +wrong to speak thus; and if wrong, she would say, "Then, I will never +speak so, and I shall be your own dear little girl, and my heavenly +Father will love me." We often ask children whom they love best. Such +was the question often put to Mary Ellen. She would always say, "I love +my heavenly Father best, and my dear father and mother next." Her first +and best affections were freely given to her Maker, not from a sense of +duty alone did it seem, but from a heart overflowing with love and +gratitude; and never, at the hour of retiring, would she forget to kneel +and offer up her evening prayer. Thus she lived. + +Now I will lead you to her dying pillow Many friends were around her. +No one had told her that she was dying; yet she herself felt conscious +of it. She wished to have the window raised, that she might see the +ocean and trees once more. "Oh!" said her mother, bending over her, "is +my dear little girl dying?" "I want to go," said Mary Ellen; "I want my +father and mother to go with me." "Will you not stay with us?" said the +stricken father; "will you not stay with us?" She raised her little +hands and eyes--"Oh no," said she; "I see them! I see them! 't is +lighter there; I want to go; get a coffin and go with me, father. 'T is +lighter there!" She died soon after she ceased speaking. Her pure spirit +winged its way to the blest home where we shall _all_ have more light, +where the mortal shall put on immortality. + +She died when flowers were fading; fit season for one of so gentle and +pure a nature to depart. + + "In the cold, moist earth they laid her + When the forest cast the leaf, + And we wept that one so beautiful + Should have a life so brief. + And yet 't was not unmeet that one, + Like that young friend of ours, + So gentle and so beautiful, + Should perish with the flowers." + +But Oh! when that little form was laid in the cold grave,--when the +childless parents returned to their lonely home, once made so happy by +the smile of their departed child,--Oh! who can express or describe +their anguish! In her they had all they could ask in a child; she was +their only one. Everything speaks to their hearts of _her_; but her +light step and happy voice fall not upon their ears; to them the flowers +that she loved have a mournful language. The voice of the wind sighing +in the trees has to them a melancholy tone. The light laugh of little +children, coming in at the open window,--the singing of birds which she +delighted to hear,--but speak to their hearts of utter loneliness. They +feel that the little form they had nursed with so much care and +tenderness, so often pressed to their bosoms, is laid beneath the sod. +Yet the sweet consolation which religion affords, cheered and sustained +the afflicted parents in their hours of deepest sorrow. They would not +call their child back. They feel that she has reached her heavenly home. +Happy must they have been in yielding up to its Maker a spirit so pure. + +Two years Mary Ellen has been sleeping in the little grave-yard. Since +then another little daughter has been given her parents,--a promising +little bud, that came with the spring flowers, to bless and cheer the +home which was made so desolate. The best wish I have for the parents, +and all I ask for the child, is, that it may be like little Mary Ellen. +I have an earnest wish, too that all little children who read this +sketch may be led to love and obey God as much as Mary Ellen. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE DEAD CHILD TO ITS MOTHER. + +BY MRS. E.R.B. WALDO. + + Mother, mourn not for me; + No more I need of thee; + Call back the yearning which would follow where + No mortal grief can go; + All thine affection throw + Around thy living ones; they need thy care. + + Let not my name still be + A word of grief to thee, + But let it bring a thought of peace and rest; + Shed for me no sad tear, + Remember, mother dear! + That I am with the perfect and the blest. + + Yes, let my memory still + With joy thy bosom fill; + For, though thou dost along life's desert roam, + My spirit, like a star, + Bright burning and afar, + Shall guide thee, through the darkness, to thy home + + + + +HOPE. + +BY REV. H.B. NYE. + +Expectation is not desire, nor desire hope. We may _expect_ misfortune, +sickness, poverty, while from these evils we would fain escape. Bending +over the couches of the sick and suffering, we may _desire_ their +restoration to health, while the hectic flush and the rapid beating of +the heart assure us that no effort of kindness or skill can prolong +their days upon the earth. _Hope_ is directed to some future good, and +it implies not only an ardent desire that our future may be fair and +unclouded, but an expectation that our wishes will, at length, be +granted, and our plans be crowned with large success. Hence hope +animates us to exertion and diligence, and always imparts pleasure and +gladness, while our fondest wishes cost us anxiety and tears. + +There are _false_ and _delusive_ hopes, which bring us, at last, to +shame. There are those who expect to gain riches by fraud and deceit, in +pursuits and traffics on which the laws of truth, love, and justice, +must ever darkly frown. They forget that wealth, with all its splendor, +can only be deemed a good and desirable gift when sought as an +instrument to advance noble and beneficent aims,--when we are the +almoners of God's bounty to the lonely children of sorrow and want. + +If we seek wealth, let us not forget that pure hearts gentle affections, +lofty purposes, and generous deeds, can alone secure the peace and +blessedness of the spiritual kingdom of God. + +There are some who have a strong desire for the praise and stations of +men, yet are often careless of the means by which they accomplish their +ends. Remember, my young friends, that no station, no crown, or honor, +will occupy the attention of a good and noble heart, except it opens a +better opportunity for philanthropic labor, and is conferred as the free +offering of an intelligent and grateful people. + +There are many, especially among the young, who seek _present_ pleasure +in foolish and sinful deeds, vainly believing the wicked may flourish +and receive the blessing of the good. Believe me, young friend, such +hopes are delusive, and such expectations will suddenly perish. Let +fools laugh and mock at sin, and live as if God were not; but consider +well the path of _your_ feet! When your weak arm can hold back the +globes which circle in space above us in solemn grandeur and beauty +forever, then may you hope to arrest the operation of those laws which +preserve an everlasting connection between obedience and blessedness, +sin and sorrow. + +In the spring-season of life, how beautiful are the visions which Hope +spreads out to our admiring view, as we go forth, with gladsome heart +and step, amid the duties of life, its trials and temptations. It begets +manly effort by its promises of success, and leads us to virtue and +self-denial, in our weakness and sin. When our heads are bowed to the +earth in despondency and gloom, hope putteth forth her hand, scattereth +afar the clouds, dispelleth our sorrow; and again, with a firmer step +and a more trustful heart, we go forth on the solemn march of life! It +is our solace and strength in the hours of woe and grief, when those in +whose smile we have rejoiced pass from our presence and homes to the +valley and shadow of death. And if we weep that they are not, and can +never return, + + "Hope, like the rainbow, a creature of light, + Is born, like the rainbow, in tears," + +and we rest in the calm and blest assurance that we shall ultimately go +to them, and with them dwell forever in a land without sorrow. + +It may be said that we scarcely live in the present. =Memory=, in +whose mysterious cells are treasured the records of the past, carries +us back to our earlier years, and all our pursuits, and sports, and +joys, and griefs, pass rapidly in review before us; and =Hope= leads +us onward, investing future years with charms, and bidding us strive +with brave and manly hearts in the conflicts and duties that remain. The +former years--sorrowful remembrance!--may have been passed in luxury, +indolence, or flagrant sin; the fruits of our industry and skill may +have wasted away; friends, whose love once cast a golden sunshine on the +path of life, may have proved false and treacherous; our fondest +desires, perchance, have faded, and sorrows may encompass us about;--yet +above us the voice of Hope crieth aloud, "_Press on_!"--through tears +and the cross must thou win the crown; be patient, trustful, in every +duty and grief; "_press on_," and falter not; and its words linger like +the music of a remembered dream in our ear, until, at the borders of the +grave, we lay down the burden of our sinfulness and care, and, through +the open gate of death, pass onward to that world where hope shall be +exchanged for sight, and we, with unveiled eye, shall look upon the +wondrous ways and works of God. + + + + +THE YOUNG SOLDIER + +BY REV. J.G. ADAMS. + + A soldier! a soldier! + I'm longing to be; + The name and the life + Of a soldier for me! + I would not be living + At ease and at play: + True honor and glory + I'd win in my day! + + A soldier! a soldier! + In armor arrayed; + My weapons in hand, + Of no contest afraid; + I'd ever be ready + To strike the first blow, + And to fight my good way + Through the ranks of the foe. + + But then, let me tell you, + No blood would I shed, + No victory seek o'er + The dying and dead; + A far braver soldier + Than this would I be; + A warrior of Truth, + In the ranks of the free! + + My helmet Salvation, + Strong Faith my good shield. + The sword of the Spirit + I'd learn how to wield. + And then against evil + And sin would I fight, + Assured of my triumph, + Because in the right. + + A soldier! a soldier! + O, then, let me be! + Young friends, I invite you-- + Enlist now with me. + Truth's bands will be mustered-- + Love's foes shall give way! + Let's up, and be clad + In our battle array! + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE STOLEN CHILDREN. + +BY MRS. M.A. LIVERMORE. + + +Not many years ago, the beautiful hills and valleys of New England gave +to the wild Indian a home, and its bright waters and quiet forests +furnished him with food. Rude wigwams stood where now ascends the hum of +the populous city, and council-fires blazed amid the giant trees which +have since bowed before the axe of the settler. Between that rude age +and the refinement of the present day, many and fearful were the strifes +of the red owner of the land with the invading white man, who, having +crossed the waters of the Atlantic, sought to drive him from his +hitherto undisputed possessions. The recital of deeds of inhuman cruelty +which characterized that period; the rehearsal of bloody massacres of +inoffensive women and innocent children, which those cruel savages +delighted in, would even now curdle the blood with horror, and make one +sick at heart. + +It was in this period of fearful warfare that the events occurred which +form the foundation of the following story. + +Not far from the year 1680, a small colony was planted on the banks of +the beautiful Connecticut. A little company from the sea-side found +their way, through the tangled and pathless woods, to the meadows that +lay sleeping on the banks of this bright river; and here, after having +felled the mighty trees whose brows had long been kissed by the pure +heavens, they erected their humble cottages; and began to till the rich +alluvial soil. The colonists were persevering and industrious; and soon +a little village grew up beside the shining stream, fields of Indian +corn waved their wealth of tasselled heads in the breezes, the +rudely-constructed school-house echoed with the cheerful hum of the +little students, and a rustic church was dedicated to the God of the +Pilgrims. He who officiated as the spiritual teacher of this new parish, +also instructed the children during the week. A man he was of no +inferior mind, or neglected education; of fervent, but austere piety, +possessing a bold spirit and a benevolent heart. His family consisted of +a wife and two daughters; Emma, the elder, was a girl of eight summers, +and Anna, the younger, was about five. + +Never were children so frolicsome and mirth-loving as were Emma and Anna +Wilson, the daughters of the minister. Not the grave admonitions of +their mother, or the severe reproofs of their stern father; not their +many confinements in dark and windowless closets, or the memory of +afternoons, when, supperless, they had been sent to bed while the sun +was yet high in the heavens; not the fear of certain punishment, or the +suasion of kindness, could tame their wild natures, or force them into +anything like woman-like sobriety. Hand in hand, they would wander amid +the aisles of mossy-trunked trees, plucking the flowers that carpeted +the earth; now digging for ground-nuts, now turning over the leaves for +acorns; sometimes they would watch the nibbling squirrel as he nimbly +sprang from tree to tree, or overpower, with their boisterous laughter, +the gushing melody of the bobolink; they mocked the querulous cat-bird +and the cawing crow, started at the swift winging of the shy blackbird, +and stood still to listen to the sweet song of the clear-throated +thrush; now they bathed their feet in the streamlets that went singing +on their way to the Connecticut, and then, throwing up handfuls of the +running water, which fell again upon their heads, they laughed right +merrily at their self-baptism. They were happy as the days were long; +but wild as their playfellows, the birds, the streams, and the +squirrels. + +One beautiful Sabbath morning in July, their mother dressed them tidily +in their best frocks, and tying on their snow-white sun-bonnets, she +sent them to church nearly an hour before she started with their father, +that they might walk leisurely, and have opportunity to get rested +before the commencement of services. But it was not until near the +middle of the sermon that the little rogues made their appearance. With +glowing faces, hair that had strayed from its ungraceful confinement to +float in golden curls over their necks and shoulders,--with bonnets, +shoes and stockings tied together and swinging over each arm,--with +dresses rent, ripped, soiled and stained, and up-gathered aprons filled +with berries, blossoms, pebbles, fresh-water shells and bright sand, +they stole softly to where their mother was sitting, much to her +mortification, and greatly to the horror of their pious father. + +For this offence, they were forbidden to accompany their parents, on the +next Sabbath, to church, but were condemned to close confinement in the +house during the long, bright, summer day--a severer punishment than +which, could not have been inflicted. When the hour of assembling for +worship was announced by the old English clock that stood in the corner, +the curtains were drawn before the windows; two bowls of bread and milk +were placed on the dresser for their dinner; a lesson in the Testament +was assigned to Emma, and one in the Catechism to Anna; a strict +injunction to remain all day in the house was laid upon both, and Mr. +and Mrs. Wilson departed, locking the door, and taking the key. The +children soon wiped away the tears that their hard fate had gathered in +their eyes, and applied themselves to their tasks, which were speedily +committed. Then the forenoon wore slowly away; they dared not get their +playthings,--they were forbidden to go out doors,--and the only books in +the room were the Bible, Watts' Hymns, and the Pilgrim's Progress, which +lay on the highest shelf in the room, far beyond their reach. Noon came +at last; the sun shone fully in at the south window, betokening the +dinner hour, and then their dinner of bread and milk was eaten. What +were they next to do? Sorrowfully they gazed on the smiling river, the +green corn-fields, the large potato-plats, the grazing cattle, the +blooming flower-beds, and the shady walks which led far into the cool +recesses of the forest; and earnestly did they long for liberty to +ramble out in the glorious sunshine. As they were gazing wistfully +through the window, they saw their playful little kitten, Fanny, dart +like lightning from her hiding-place in the garden, where she had long +lain in ambush, and fasten her sharp claws in the back of a poor little +ground-bird, which had been hopping from twig to twig, chirping and +twittering very cheerfully. The little bird fluttered, gasped, and +uttered wailing cries, as it ineffectually labored to free itself from +the power of its captor, until Emma and Anna, unable longer to witness +its distress, sprang out the window, and, rushing down the garden, +liberated the little prisoner, and with delight saw it fly away towards +the woods. + +Delighted to find themselves once more in the open air, the joyful +children forgot the prohibition of their parents, and leaping over the +dear little brook with which they loved to run races, they filled their +aprons with the blue-eyed violets that grew on its margin. On they +bounded, further and further, and a few moments more found them in the +dense wood, where not a sunbeam could reach the ground. But suddenly the +leaves rustled behind them, and the twigs cracked, and there sprung, +from an ambuscade in the thicket, the tall figure of an Indian, who laid +a strong hand on the arm of each little girl, and, despite the cries, +tears, and entreaties of the poor children, hurried them deeper into the +forest, where they found a large body of these cruel savages, clad in +moose and deer skins, armed with bows and arrows, tomahawks, and +muskets. The children were questioned concerning the village, the +occupation of the inhabitants on that day, and the number of men at +home, and they replied correctly and intelligibly. A consultation was +then held among the Indians, which resulted in a determination to attack +the village; and forthwith, leaving but one behind to guard the little +prisoners, they made a descent on the quiet settlement, burning and +ravaging buildings on their way to the church. But they did not find the +body of worshippers unarmed, as they doubtless expected; for, in those +days of peril and savage warfare, men worshipped God armed with musket +and bayonet, and the hand that was lifted in prayer to heaven would +often, at the next moment, draw the gleaming sword from its sheath. At +the meeting-house, the savages met with a warm repulse; and were so +surprised and affrighted that they retreated back into the wild woods, +after wounding but one or two colonists, among whom was Mr. Wilson, +Emma's and Anna's father. + +The Indians commenced, about dark, a journey to the settlement where +they belonged, taking the stolen children with them; they reached their +destination early on the second day of their travel. Rough, indeed, +seemed the Indian village to the white children: the houses were only +wigwams, made by placing poles obliquely in the ground, and fastening +them at the top, covered on the outside with bark, and lined on the +inside with mats; some containing but one family, others a great many. +The furniture consisted of mats for beds, curiously wrought baskets to +hold corn, and strings of wampum which served for ornaments. Into one of +the smallest of these wigwams Emma and Anna were carried, and were given +to the wife of one of the chief warriors, who had but one child of her +own,--Winona was her name, which signifies the first-born,--a +bright-eyed, pleasant, winning little girl of two years of age. The +mother scrutinized them closely, but the child appeared overjoyed to see +them, and wiped away their tears with her little hand, and, jabbering in +her unknown language, seemed begging them not to cry. This interested +the mother, and she soon looked more kindly upon them, and set before +them food. But they were too sorrowful to eat, and were glad to be shown +a mat, where they were to sleep. Locked in each others' arms, cheek +pressed to cheek, they lay and wept as if their hearts were broken. + +"Let us pray to God," whispered Emma, after the inmates of the wigwam +were reposing in slumber, "and ask Him to bring us again to our father +and mother." + +So they rose, and knelt in the dark wigwam, with their arms about one +another's necks, and their tears flowing together, and offered to God +their childish prayer: + +"Our Father in Heaven, love us poor children; take care of us; forgive +us for doing wrong, and help us be good; take care of our dear parents; +comfort them, and bring us again to meet them." + +Then, more composed, and trusting in the blessed Father of us all, they +fell asleep, and sweet were their slumbers, though far from their dear +parents and home, for angels watched over them, and gave to them happy +dreams. + +A few days' residence among these untutored red men made Emma and Anna +great favorites among them; their pleasant dispositions, their good +nature, and, above all, their love for the little Winona, which was +fully reciprocated, endeared them to the father and mother of the Indian +girl. Though sad at being separated from their parents, and though they +often wept until they could weep no longer when they thought of home, +yet their hearts, like those of all children, were easily consoled, and +their spirits were so elastic that they could not long be depressed. +Winona loved them tenderly; at night she slept between them, and during +the day she would never leave them. She wore garlands of their +wreathing, listened to their English songs, stroked their rosy cheeks, +and frolicked with them in the woods, and beside the running brooks. + +Two months passed away; all the Indian women in the village were +speaking of the love that had sprung up between the little white girls +and the copper-colored Winona; and many a hard hand smoothed the golden +curls of the little captives in token of affection. Then Winona was +taken sick; her body glowed with the fever-heat, her bright eyes became +dull, and day and night she moaned with pain. With surprising care and +tenderness, Emma and Anna nursed the suffering child,--for to them were +her glowing and burning hands extended for relief, rather than to her +mother. They held her throbbing head, lulled her to sleep, bathed her +hot temples, moistened her parched lips, and soothed her distresses; but +they could not win her from the power of death--and she died! + +Oh, it was a sorrowful thing to them to part with their little +playmate,--to see the damp earth heaped upon her lovely form, and to +feel that she was forever hidden from their sight! They wept, and, with +the almost frantic mother, laid their faces on the tiny grave, and +moistened it with their tears. Hither they often came to scatter the +freshest flowers, and to weep for the home they feared they would never +again see; and here they often kneeled in united prayer to that God, who +bends on prayerful children a loving eye, and spreads over them a +shadowing wing. + +The childless Indian woman now loved them more than ever; but the death +of Winona had opened afresh the fountains of their grief, and often did +she find them weeping so bitterly that she could not comfort them. She +would draw them to her bosom, and tenderly caress them; but it all +availed not, and when the month of October came, with its sere foliage +and fading flowers, Emma and Anna had grown so thin, and pale, and +feeble, from their wearing home-sickness, that they stayed all day in +the wigwam, going out only to visit Winona's grave. They drooped and +drooped, and those who saw them said, "The white children will die, and +lie down with Winona." + +The Indian mother gazed on their pallid faces, and wept; she loved them, +and could not bear to part with them; but she saw they would die, and +calling her husband, she bade him convey them to the home of their +father. Many were the tears she shed at parting with them; and when they +disappeared among the thick trees, she threw herself, in an agony of +grief, upon the mats within the wigwam. + +It was Sabbath noon when the children arrived in sight of their +father's house; here the Indian left them, and plunged again into the +depths of the forest. They could gain no admittance into the house, and +they hastened to the meeting-house, where they hoped to find their +parents. They reached the church; the congregation was singing; +silently, and unobserved, they entered, and seated themselves at the +remotest part of the building. The singing ceased; there was a momentary +pause, and their father rose before them. Oh, how he was changed! Pale, +very pale, thin and sad was his dear face; and Emma's and Anna's hearts +smote them, as being the cause of this change. They leaned forward to +catch a glimpse of their mother, but in her accustomed seat sat a lady +dressed in black, and this, they thought, could not be her; they little +supposed that their parents mourned for them as for the dead, believing +they should see them no more. + +Mr. Wilson took his text from Psalms: "It is good for me that I have +been afflicted." With a tremulous voice, he spoke of their recent +afflictions; of the sudden invasion of the colony, the burning of their +dwellings, the wounding of some of their number, and then his tones +became more deeply tremulous, for he spoke of his children. The sobs of +his sympathizing people filled the house, and the anguish of the +father's feelings became so intense, that he bowed his head upon the +Bible and wept aloud. The hearts of the children palpitated with +emotion; their sobs arose above all others; and, taking each other by +the hand, the wan, emaciated, badly-dressed little girls hastened to the +pulpit, where stood their father, with his face bowed upon the leaves of +the Holy Book, and laying their hand upon his passive arm, they sobbed +forth, "Father! Father!" He raised his head, gazed eagerly and wildly +upon the children, and comprehending at once the whole scene, the +revulsion of feeling that came over him was so great,--the sorrow for +the dead being instantly changed into joy for the living,--that he +staggered backwards, and would have fallen but for the timely support of +a chair. + +The whole house was in instant confusion; in a moment they were clasped +in their mother's arms, and kisses and tears and blessings were mingled +together upon their white, thin cheeks. "Let us thank God for the return +of our children," said the pastor; and all kneeling reverently, he +thanked our merciful heavenly Father, in the warm and glowing language +of a deeply grateful heart, for restoring to his arms those whom he had +wept as lost to him forever. + +Oh, there was joy in that village that night again and again the +children told their interesting story, and those who listened forgot to +chide their disobedience, or to harshly reprove. Need I tell you how +they were pressed to the bosoms of the villagers; how tears were shed +for their sufferings, and those of the little lost Winona, whom they did +not forget; how caresses were lavished upon them, and prayers offered to +God, that their lives, which he had so wonderfully preserved, might be +spent in usefulness and piety? No, I need not, for you can imagine it +all. + +The sermon which was so happily interrupted by the return of the +children was the first Mr. Wilson had attempted to preach since the day +they were stolen; the wounds he that day received, and the illness that +immediately afterwards ensued, with his unutterable grief for the loss +of his children, had confined him mostly to his bed during their +absence. On the next Sabbath, Emma and Anna accompanied their father and +mother once more to church, when Mr. Wilson preached from these words: +"Oh, give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good, and his mercy endureth +forever." + +[Illustration: My Grandmother's Cottage] + + + + +MY GRANDMOTHER'S COTTAGE. + +BY REV. J.G. ADAMS. + +Of all places in the wide world, my own early home excepted, none seem +to me more pleasing in memory than my grandmother's cottage. Very often +did I visit it in my boyhood, and well acquainted with its appearance +within, and with almost every object around it, did I become. It stood +in a quiet nook in the midst of the woods, about five miles from the +pleasant seaport where I was born. The cottage was not a spacious one. +It had but few rooms in it; but it was amply large for my aged +grandparents, I remember. They lived happily there. My grandfather was +somewhat infirm; my grandmother was a very vigorous person for one of +seventy-five; this was her age at the time of my first recollection of +her. She used to walk from her cottage to our home; and once I walked +with her, but was exceedingly mortified that I could not endure the walk +so well as she did. + +I used to love this cottage home, because it was so quiet, and in the +summer time so delighting to me. I believe I received some of my very +first lessons in the love of nature in this place. It was a charming +summer or winter retreat. If the sun shone warmly down anywhere, it was +here. If the wind blew kindly anywhere, it was around the snug cottage, +sheltered as it was on every side by the tall old pines. If the robin's +note came earliest anywhere in the spring-time, it was from the large +spreading apple-tree just at the foot of the little garden lot. How +often has my young heart been delighted with his song there! And then, +what sweet chanting I have heard in those woods all the day from the +thrush and sparrow, yellow-bird and oriole! How their mellow voices +would seem to echo in the noon-silence, or at the sunset hour, as though +they were singing anthems in some vast cathedral! They were; and what +anthems of nature's harmony and praise! God heard them, and was +glorified. + +It seemed to me that every animate thing was made to be happy. I loved +to stand beneath a tall old hemlock in a certain part of the wood, and +watch the squirrels as they skipped and ran so swiftly along the wall, +or from branch to branch, or up and down the trees. Their chattering +made a fine accompaniment to the bird-songs. And here I learned to +indulge a fondness for the very crows, which to this day I have never +outgrown. Though they have been denounced as mischievous, and bounties +have been set upon them, I never could find it in my heart to indulge in +the warring propensity against them. They always seemed to me such +social company--issuing from some edge of the woodland, and slowly +flapping their black wings, and flocking out into the clearing, huddling +overhead, and sailing away, chatting so loudly and heartily all the +while, and reminding the whole neighborhood that when we have life, it +is best to let others know it! Yes--the cawing crows have been company +for me in many a solitary ramble; and whenever I hear them, I inwardly +pay my respects to them. All these, and other familiar sights and +sounds, did I richly enjoy at the old cottage in the woods. + +I loved to sit at the shed-door, and watch my grandfather at his slow +work; for he had been a mechanic in his day, and was able to do a little +very moderately at his trade now. He would tell me the history of the +old people in the neighborhood, and of the customs and fashions when +they were boys and girls; and my eyes and ears were open to hear him. I +used to wish I could see them just as they looked when they were +children. It was very difficult then for me to imagine how those who +had become so wrinkled could ever have had the smooth faces of infants +and children. But my grandfather could remember when he was a boy; and +his father had told him what things were done when he, too, was a boy. +And so I concluded that wrinkles were no disgrace, nor the fairest faces +of the young any protection against them. + +My grandmother was very fond of me, and took great pleasure in having me +read to her, as her eyesight had become somewhat dim. And so I used to +load myself with story-books and newspapers, when I became older, to +carry and read to her. And such times as we had with them! Voyages, +travels, discoveries, adventures, perils,--the wonders of the world, the +wonders of science, the wonders of history,--all came in for their share +of reading. Though I should read myself tired and sleepy, my grandmother +would still be an interested listener. Since I have been a minister, I +have often wished that many hearers would as eagerly listen to what I +had to say especially to them, as did my aged grandmother to my young +words then. + +Those sunny days have departed. The old cottage is not there now. Years +ago it was taken down. My grandfather died when I was yet a boy, and I +followed him to the grave with a heavy heart. My grandmother lived to +be almost a hundred years old,--her powers all gone, and she helpless. +It would sometimes, even in my manhood, deeply affect me to have her +look into my face with no sign in hers that she knew me, when she had +once loved her talkative and delighted grandchild so fondly. But she, +too, found her resting-place at last beside her companion. Peace to +them! They blest me with their kindly, cheering words when most I needed +them, and I will bless their memories. And peace to the spot where once +stood their quiet home! Wherever in life I may be,--however brightly its +pleasures may shine, or heavily its cares and afflictions press upon +me--never would I outgrow the inspiration of these early enjoyments; +never forget, that, however the great, proud, and contentious world may +distract and dishearten, there will yet be peace to the humble and +virtuous soul in many a nook like that which sheltered and blest my +grand mother's cottage. + + + + +THE FIRST OATH + +BY REV. EBEN FRANCIS. + +It is now many years since a near friend of mine uttered his first oath. +We were very intimate in our youthful days. I have thought that I would +write a little story about him, for some of the little folks of these +times to read, hoping that it will not only be interesting, but do them +good; for I am indeed sorry to know that swearing is a very common sin +among the boys of our times. + +The parents of my young playfellow were of the humbler class in society; +they were industrious and prudent, and took great pains to teach him +what was right. They lived in the metropolis of New England, where my +schoolmate was born. His father wrought with the saw, the plane, the +hammer, and such tools as carpenters use about their business. His home +was a neat, wooden two-story house, in one of the streets of that part +of Boston which was generally known, when we were boys, by the name of +the MILL-POND. I suppose that most of my little readers who live in the +city can tell where it is. Many changes have taken place there since my +childhood. When I was a small boy it was called the _town_,--now we +never hear of it but as the _city_ of Boston. Its population has +increased rapidly; its territory has been extended; it has grown in +wealth, in splendor, in its means for mental and moral improvement; in +the number and convenience of its public schools,--the pride and +ornament, or the disgrace, of any place. Yes, Boston is not, in +appearance or in fact, what it once was. + +But I am getting off from my story. I was saying that my young friend +resided on the "new-land"--no; the "Mill-Pond;"--well, it's all the +same--for when they dug down old Beacon Hill, they threw the dirt into +the Mill-Pond, and when it was filled up, or made land, the spot was +still known as the Mill-Pond, and oftentimes was called the new-land. In +later years, there have been other portions added to the city, by making +wharves, and filling up where the tide used to ebb and flow, and where +large vessels could float. + +But again I am digressing too far from the story. + +So soon as my friend was old enough, he was sent to one of the primary +schools, and was a pretty constant scholar at that, and afterwards at a +grammar school, till he was about twelve years old. He was, of course, +much with other lads of his own age, and some who were older and +younger than himself. He was, also, often in the streets, and as there +were a great many people who used profane language in those days,--as +there are at the present time,--he heard much of it; yet he had been so +carefully trained that he did not for years utter wicked words. + +It is always painful to most persons, old as well as young, to hear +profanity, even though it be very common in their hearing, if they are +never accustomed to its use. + +My young friend had been taught to reverence the name of that great +Being who made heaven and earth and all things. He was a member of a +Sabbath school, and thus had much valuable advice from his faithful +teacher to govern his conduct in word and deed. For a while he heeded +this, and was careful of his moral character. But by-and-by, he +overstepped the bounds of right. + +It is very true that "evil communications corrupt good manners;" and +that if one would not be bad, one means of safety is to keep out of bad +company. + +My friend was, in a few years, placed in a store, where there was a +large business carried on. He came in contact with persons who were not +so carefully instructed as he had been. They made no hesitation in +pronouncing the names of God and Jesus Christ in a blasphemous and +profane manner. He resisted the pernicious influence of their example +for a while, but at last it became so familiar to his ears, that he +could hear wicked words spoken without even a thrill of horror in his +bosom. + +He, however, had not the disposition to speak them, till one day, when +some little thing in the store did not suit him, his passion was +aroused, and, in the angry excitement of the moment, he spoke out,--and +in that unguarded expression there was profanity,--a miserable, +blasphemous, wicked word. He had uttered his _first oath._ The +disposition had been lurking in his heart for several days to do this; +but he had not been able to so far lower his moral sense as to do it +before. Now he felt as though he had done a brave act,--that he had +achieved something very grand. But soon, very soon, conscience whispered +her gentle yet severe rebuke. She complained sadly of the wickedness +that was done. The blush of shame mantled his cheek. Remorse took hold +on his spirit. He looked about to see who was upbraiding him; but none +seemed to notice it. He resolved that he would not again give occasion +for such feelings of regret and sorrow to himself as he then felt. + +Could you have then looked into his heart, you would have pitied him. +This resolution he kept a few weeks, when, being a little irritated, he +a second time profaned the holy name of Deity. This time he felt some +compunctions of conscience, but they were not as powerful as before; the +first step had been already taken, and a second was much easier. + +I need not go on to tell you how he, not long after, broke a second +resolution, and so on, till, ere many months, he had become really a +swearing young man. + +It all sprang from the first sinful act; and when at last he did break +himself of the habit, it was not done without a serious struggle. + +I have told you this story, my young readers, because I thought it might +be, not only interesting to you, but because I hoped it might be the +means of leading you to reflect upon the uselessness and wickedness of +PROFANITY; and that it might aid in impressing on your minds the +importance of governing your passions and keeping your tongues free from +evil speaking. + +I see my friend, about whom I have written, quite often. He is now a +parent, and occupies an eminent position in the community; but he often +thinks of his former life, and says he has not yet ceased to lament his +FIRST OATH. Let this fact, then, teach you how a recollection of the +sins of boyhood, even though you may call them little sins, will be +cherished through life, and poison many moments that would otherwise be +happy ones. How important that childhood be pure and righteous in the +sight of God, and to our own consciences, in order to insure a happy +manhood and old age! + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE FAIRY'S GIFT. + +BY REV. J. WESLEY HANSON. + + It was a quiet summer's day, + The breeze blew cool and fair, + And blest ten thousand happy things + Of land, and sea, and air, + And played a thousand merry pranks + With MARY'S golden hair. + + MARY was not a happy girl; + Her face was sad and sour, + And on her little pretty brow + Dark frowns did often lower,-- + And she would scold, and fret, and cry, + Full fifty times an hour. + + She sat and wept with grief and pain, + And did not smile at all,-- + And when her friends and mates came near + She shunned them, great and small,-- + And then upon the Fairy Queen + She earnestly did call. + + "Oh, hither, hither, good Fairy, + I pray thee come to me! + And point me out the Path of Peace, + That I may happy be, + For I cannot, in all the world, + A moment's pleasure see! + + "I try my work, my play I try, + My little playmates, too; + Help me to find true happiness, + I sadly, humbly sue;-- + Oh! my lot is a darksome one,-- + Fairy! what shall I do?" + + A humble-bee comes riding by, + No bigger than my thumb, + And on his browny, gold-striped back, + Behold the Fairy come! + One look upon her loveliness + Makes little MARY dumb. + + She wore a veil of gossamer, + Her tunic was of blue, + A golden sunbeam was her belt, + And bonnet of crimson hue, + And through the net of her purple shawl + Clear silver stars looked through. + + Her slippers were of sunflower seeds, + And tied with spider's thread, + A rein of silkworm's finest yarn + Passed round the bee's brown head; + An oaten straw was her riding whip,-- + Oh how her courser sped! + + She beckoned to the sighing maid, + And led her a little way, + And showed a hundred fountains bright + That bubbled night and day, + And flashed their waves in the glad sunlight, + And showers of crystal spray. + + She said: "Each stream has secret power + Upon the human heart, + And, as you drink, the mystic draught + Shall joy or woe impart; + 'T will give you pleasant happiness, + Or sorrow's painful smart." + + The founts were labelled every one, + With titles plainly seen,-- + The fountains _Pride_, and _Sin_, and _Wrong_, + And _Hate_, and _Scorn_, and _Spleen, + Goodness_ and _Love_, and many more, + Sparkled along the green. + + And MARY drank at each bright fount, + To draw her grief away; + But, spite of all the water's power, + Her sorrows they would stay. + And still she mourned, and still was sad, + Through all the livelong day. + + One morn she saw a little spring + She never saw before, + Down in a still and shady vale, + Covered with blossoms o'er,-- + And when she 'd drunk, and still would drink + She thirsted still for more. + + She gladly quaffed its cooling draught, + And found what she had sought; + No more her heart with sorrow grieved. + She thirsted now for nought; + She'd found a blessed happiness, + Beyond her highest thought. + + And when she moved the vines aside + That hid the fount from sight, + In loveliest, brightest characters, + Like stars of silver light,-- + _Goodness of heart, and speech, and life_, + She read in letters bright. + + And MARY drank the liquid waves, + And soon her little brow + Became as pure, and clear, and white, + As bank of whitest snow; + And when she drank of that blest fount, + She purest joy did know. + + Then MARY learned this highest truth. + Beyond all human art,-- + That there are many things in life + Can pain and woe impart;-- + But Goodness alone of act and deed + Can make a happy heart. + + + + +A LESSON TAUGHT BY NATURE. + +BY MISS LOUISA M. BARKER. + +When I was a little child, younger than those for whom this book is +written, my home was in a valley. The usual appendages to a farm-house, +the garden, orchard and small pasture grounds, lay very near it; and I +was as familiar with these enclosures as with the rooms of the house. A +little further off there was a mimic river, which, as it wound about, +divided itself into different streams, and surrounded little islands, +shaded with the tall plane tree and the flexible willow. Here, too, with +those who were old enough to be careful in crossing the rustic bridges, +I sometimes played on summer afternoons;--gathered the prettiest flowers +in the sweetest little woods, and dipped my feet into the clear running +water. + +Beyond these there lay less frequented fields, which rose gradually, at +no very great distance, into a range of hills as green as the valley +below. One of them was covered all over its summit, and a little way +down its sides, with some dark old woods. The trees which grew there +were very tall, and so large that their thick and heavy tops seemed to +crowd together, so that you might have walked on them almost as well as +upon the hill itself. I loved sometimes, when the air was full of the +bright sunshine, to look at the rich shades of green upon those +tree-tops; but if ever my eye rested, for a moment only, upon the dark +and mysterious avenues which led into the depths of the wood beneath +them, there would creep such a chill to my heart,--such a feeling of +dread would come over me,--that I turned quickly to the glad-looking +homestead, that I might again grow warm and happy. + +At first it was probably no more than the idea that those woods formed a +limit to the world of light and gladness in which I lived. My eye could +not penetrate their dimness, and with a childish, human feeling I shrank +from the undiscovered and unknown. But as I grew older, and read the +stories in the small books which were given to me for presents, or lent +by my little friends, I had other and plainer reasons for the +apprehensive feeling with which I looked at the woods. I found that +children had been so lost among their thickets as hardly to be found +again; and that two poor little orphans, left there on purpose, had lain +down and died of hunger and weariness; and the birds covered them over +with leaves. Strange birds I thought there were in the woods. Then the +fairies that dwelt there, and the strange elfin creatures, and the +perils that travellers fell into with robbers and wild beasts; and still +I referred the scene of every story I read directly to those very woods +upon the hill-side, although they were so near that I could see them +plainly enough from the windows of the cheerful rooms at home. + +Time passed along in its usual way; but before I had acquired knowledge +or strength of mind enough to correct my early impressions of the woods, +I had permission, one bright afternoon in June, to go with an older +sister to a strawberry meadow across the creek. We were accompanied by +some little maidens, who were older and more adventurous than me; and so +it happened that when we did not find the fruit so abundant as we could +wish, they persuaded us to go into another field, and then into another, +I little thought where, until I became suddenly sensible of a shaded +light around me, of a breeze a little cooler than that which tempered +the warm air of the valley, and a low, wild music that I had never heard +before; and looking up, I saw that we were actually upon the ascent of +the hill which led up to the dreaded woods. + +Strange and almost horror-struck as I felt, I did not scream out, +(perhaps I should not have had breath to do so,) but I gathered up all +the wisdom that my little heart could boast, into the resolution not to +look at the woods, not to think of them; for we should soon go back +again, I thought, and nothing would happen. And my young friends can +judge how terrified I must have grown, when I heard one of the girls +begin to talk of the beautiful flowers her brother had brought her from +the woods, and end by proposing that we should go there, and get some +for ourselves. I waited breathlessly to hear the objections which I +doubted not would be urged against this plan, but none were offered; and +when I ventured to remonstrate, they paid so little attention to me, +that my pride was hurt at the thought of saying any more. + +There was another way in which my pride was at work. I was ashamed, +among those who were so brave, to own that I was afraid; so, though I +held the hands of those who led me pretty tight, and gave them some +little trouble to pull me along, they knew nothing more of my reluctance +to go with them. + +We got up the hill very fast; so at least it seemed to me. Here and +there a solitary tree, a few feet in advance, looked as if it had +stepped out to welcome and encourage us to pass on; and I cannot say +that my strength did not revive a little as I passed under the heavy +branches, and out again into the freer air. Be that as it may, it was +terrible enough to me, the approach to those woods. My companions were +eager and gay, and shouted out, as we entered them. They little thought +how overpowering were my feelings. And I little thought, myself, that I +was then and there to receive a lesson that I should never forget; one, +perhaps, that would do me more good than any other that I should ever +learn. + +At first, I was so frightened that my senses were all in confusion; but +as I gradually recovered the use of them, I took notice of the coolness +and the shade, and the dimness away in the distance; I heard the leafy +murmur above my head, the sweet notes that the birds were singing, and +the loud echoes. All these things seemed to blend together into +something so solemn and so magnificent, that I began to feel for the +first time what it was to be a little child. With that, soon came a +feeling of confidence and even love. I thought that the majestic +presence that filled the woods, whatever it was, would not hurt me, and +my heart grew so light at the thought, that I began to gather flowers +with the rest. How pretty they were! and what clean, shining leaves! And +here and there, wherever a little sunshine found an opening in the +branches and streamed down upon the bright green moss, it seemed so +golden, so clear, and so real, just as if I might clasp it in my hands! + +I grew so much affected, at length, that I sobbed myself into tears, and +my sister said that I had never been in the woods before, and she would +take me home. I did not like to say that I wanted to stay longer, but +held to my flowers; and after I reached home, was washed and rested, I +went to the window, and remained there a long time, looking at the +woods. I did not quite comprehend all I had thought and felt, but it +seemed to me that a great truth, one that would do me good, had dawned +upon my mind. + +It was a long time before I fully understood the lesson. In a few weeks +I caught one of those contagious diseases which children must have once; +and it went so hard with me, that, before I was able to walk about, and +go out of the house, the leaves were all gone, and the snow had covered +the ground. When spring returned I thought often of the woods, but I was +too sickly to go there; and when I grew strong again, my thoughts were +all occupied with an approaching event. Several changes had occurred in +the family, and others were expected, to which my friends though +discontented at first, had grown quite reconciled. It was not so with +me. There was one circumstance which affected me more than it did +others, and from that I prophesied a continual succession of evils. It +seemed to me that my life was to be wholly changed, and all the joy and +beauty left behind. It was childish, I know. I knew it then, for I would +not for the world have told any one how I felt. Still I was as much +affected by it as I have ever been since at any real grief. + +Late one afternoon, when my thoughts were busy with my fears, I went to +the window, and looked up at the woods. The sunshine was very bright on +their tops, and the shadow very dark on the hill-side below. Very +vividly then came back to me the memory of my visit to them the year +before. I thought of the evils which I expected to meet, and of the +beauty which I found there. It was some good angel which whispered then +in my thoughts, that, just as I went to the woods, full of fears and +forebodings, I was approaching the expected misfortune; that I might be +as happily disappointed in this as I had been in that. + +I cannot tell how delighted I was with this suggestion, nor how +completely it took possession of my mind. I was gloomy and fearful no +longer. I did not, indeed, when the change came, resign what I lost by +it without regret; but I was so certain of finding new enjoyments, that +I resigned it cheerfully. And when, after a few weeks' experience had +taught me that many advantages and many pleasures had come to me in +consequence of those very circumstances which I had dreaded so much, I +bound the lesson of the woods to my heart so firmly that there it still +remains. + +And let me say to you, for whom I have related this little incident of +my childhood:--do not tremble at the disappointments and trials which +await you. Do not seek to throw upon others any part of them which you +may more becomingly bear yourself. If you live always in the open +sunshine, you will never know what beauty there is in the woods. You +will find the sentiment in your books, that it is the night-time only +that shows us the stars; and in the gloom which must sometimes fall upon +this uncertain and mortal life of ours, you may find, if you will, as +much to rejoice in as to dread. You will form plans, and indulge in +hopes, which cannot be realized, and disappointment will look frowningly +upon you; but if you will submit yourself to the trial like a little +child, the hand that will lead you through it will point you to happier +scenes than those of your own imagining. + +You will have friends to love, that death may take away from you--and, +oh! then, the shadow of the woodland, as it lies against the sunny +meadow, will be less dark than your life. But do not despair. The few +rays of light that reach you will be richer, the flowers will be purer, +and the music will be softer and sweeter; for you will be nearer heaven +than you were before. + +There is another shadow which you and I, and all of us, are +approaching,--"the shadow of death." But will not "the lesson" brighten +our approach even to that? Certain I am, that if _that_ hour of my +childhood, when, with a fearful heart, I went into the solemn woods, and +heard the sweet singing of the bird and the breeze, shall be remembered +then, even though the light of life be fading away, "I shall fear no +evil." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: FLORENCE DREW.] + + + + +FLORENCE DREW. + +"I will not go to Sabbath school to-morrow," said Florence Drew, as she +threw aside her catechism and sat herself sullenly by the window. + +"Florence!" said her mother; "I am astonished to hear you speak so +rashly." + +"I don't care,--I will not go,--my lesson is so hard I can't get it;" +saying which, she burst into tears. Mrs. Drew cast a look of sorrow upon +her only child as she left her to regain her good humor. + +No sooner had the door closed after her mother than the rustling of +leaves beneath the window drew the attention of Florence. Thinking it +her favorite Carlo, and being in no mood for a frolic, without lifting +her eyes she bid him "begone;" but she was soon undeceived by a shrill +voice pronouncing her name, at the same time finding her arm tightly +grasped by the thin, bony fingers of Crazy Nell, the terror of all the +truant children in the village. The terrified child vainly tried to +disengage herself from the maniac's hold; and, finding her calls for +help all unheeded, she gave up in despair. + +The wild, searching eyes of Crazy Nell detected her terror, and her +stern features relaxed into a smile as she said, "Poor child! I will not +harm you; you fear me, and think me mad; yes, I have been mad, but I'm +not now; and I have come to save you from being as I have been. Nay, +Florence, 't is useless for you to try to escape me; I will detain you +but a short time. I heard your angry words as I was gathering herbs, and +saw you fling your book away. I heard all. Listen to me, Florence Drew, +and I will tell you a story by which I hope you will profit. + +"I was once young, gay, and happy, as you, and, like you, an only and +indulged, but wilful child, with a quick and ungoverned temper. + +"One day, I was studying my Sabbath school lesson, and finding it, as I +thought, rather hard, I threw it away, as you did yours, saying that I +would not go to school at all. My poor mother's entreaties were all +unheeded by me, and I grew up in idleness and ignorance. My mother's +health daily declined, partly through my ill-treatment and wickedness. +Often did she plead with me, with tears streaming down her cheeks, to +alter my conduct; but I rudely repulsed her." + +Nell paused, and seemed very much agitated; her eyes glared wildly, and +bending close to Florence, she continued in a whisper: "We became very +poor, in consequence of my extravagance; I then thought my mother a +burden; she was too ill to work, and I left her to starve; she did not, +however; she died of a broken heart. _I was her murderer_! 'T was that +which drove me mad. Look! see you not that black cloud which darkens the +sunshine of my life?" + +"I cannot see a cloud," sobbed poor Florence, who was now tasting the +bitter cup of repentance. + +"I know it, poor child!" continued Nell; "the cloud I mean is such as +you just felt,--=Temper=. _It is within us_! Conquer your temper, +Florence Drew, and you may yet be good and happy. Go, now, and seek +mother, who is at this moment shedding tears of sorrow for her little +girl's ill-temper. Go to her and--" But, ere she could finish, Florence +had glided into her mother's room, and was kneeling humbly at her feet +Tears of sorrow were changed to those of joy and repentance, as Mrs. +Drew folded her little girl to her breast in a long and affectionate +embrace. + +Florence has never been unkind to her mother, or given freedom to her +temper, since that day. She is now the teacher of a class in a Sabbath +school, and she often relates to her little scholars the story I have +just related to you. + +Crazy Nell continues to gather herbs, an object of pity to the +benevolent, and of sport to the unfeeling. And now, my dear little +readers, I must repeat Crazy Nell's expression: "Conquer your temper, +and you will be happy;" or, in the words of the sacred Scriptures, "He +that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that taketh a city." + +MAY. + +[Illustration: SHECHEM.] + + + + +SHECHEM. + +BY REV. J.G. ADAMS. + +In the picture opposite, the reader will see represented a part of the +city of Shechem, at the foot of Mount Gerizim. It is a very noted place +in history. It is called Sychar in the Gospel, John 4:5. It was here, at +Jacob's well, that Jesus met the woman of Samaria. The account of the +conversation which they held together is one of the most interesting +records in the New Testament. I wish all our young readers would make +themselves acquainted with it. Jesus was a Jew; and the Jews had no +dealings with the Samaritans. Weary with travelling in the heat of the +day, our Lord sat down to rest by that ancient well, when the stranger +woman came to draw water from it. Jesus said unto her, "Give me to +drink." She was surprised that he, being a Jew, should ask water of her, +a Samaritan. This very surprise which she expressed led to a most +instructive conversation. Read it, and see how plainly Jesus teaches us +the nature of true worship. The Jews had their temple at Jerusalem; the +Samaritans had theirs on Mount Gerizim. The woman said to Jesus, "Our +fathers worshipped in this mountain, and ye say that Jerusalem is the +place where men ought to worship." She would ask which was the true +place. Jesus declared to her that it was not so much the place, as it +was the heart, which made worship what it should be. Read the answer of +Jesus as the New Testament gives it, and then see if the Quaker poet, +Barton, has not beautifully expressed it thus: + + "Woman, believe me, the hour is near + When He, if ye rightly would hail him, + Will neither be worshipped exclusively here. + Nor yet at the altar of Salem. + + For God is a spirit, and they, who aright + Would perform the pure worship he loveth + In the heart's holy temple will seek with delight + That spirit the Father approveth." + +Through the knowledge of Christ obtained by the Samaritan woman in this +conversation, many of her sect were induced to believe on him. + +Shechem, or Sichem, is a very ancient place; though we do not find it +mentioned as a city until the time of Jacob, who purchased a piece of +land, and dug the well of which we have just spoken. The city lay +between the two mountains Ebal and Gerizim. It was made a city of +refuge. Joshua 20: 7. 21. 20, 21. Quite a number of events mentioned in +the Old Testament occurred here. It was at Shechem Joshua met the +assembled people for the last time. It was here that Rehoboam was made +king, and the ten tribes rebelled. + +In after time Shechem became the chief seat of the people who +thenceforth bore the name of Samaritans. They were made up in part of +emigrants from other eastern nations. When the Jews returned from their +long captivity in Babylon, and began to rebuild Jerusalem and their +temple, the Samaritans desired to aid them in their work. "Let us build +with you," was their request. The Jews refused to admit them to this +privilege; hence a strong hatred between the two sects arose. The +Samaritans erected their temple on Mount Gerizim. + +Shechem received the new name of Neapolis from the Greeks--a name which +it retains to the present day. The city has passed through many changes, +which, had we time to recount them, might be of deep interest to the +reader. But it would take a larger space to do this than we can now +occupy. The Samaritans are still here; but their number now is small, +not exceeding one hundred and fifty. They have a synagogue, where they +preserve several ancient copies of the books of Moses, and among them +one ancient manuscript which they believe to be three thousand four +hundred and sixty-five years old, saying it was written by Abishua, the +son of Phinehas (1 Chron. 6: 3, 4.) The manuscript, so travellers who +have seen it say, is very ancient; but they do not all think it so old +as the Samaritans pretend it is. + +Mount Gerizim is still held in great veneration by the Samaritans. Four +times a year they ascend it in solemn procession, to worship. The old +feeling of hostility between them and the Jews is still existing. + +The city of Neapolis, or, as the Arabs call it, Nablous, is long and +narrow, stretching close along the northeast base of Mount Gerizim. The +population is about eight thousand souls, all Mohammedans, with the +exception of about five hundred Greek Christians, and the one hundred +and fifty Samaritans already mentioned. Those who have taken part in its +eventful past history are gone. But never shall be heard there a more +glorious voice than that which uttered those sublime words of heavenly +truth to the woman at Jacob's well. + + + + +"ARE WE NOT ALL BROTHERS AND SISTERS?" + +BY REV. W.R.G. MELLEN. + +That the human race is one, bound together by the strongest and holiest +ties, is one of the sublimest truths announced by the Master. Indeed, so +close and intimate is the connection subsisting between the various +members of the common family, that to tear one from the body would be +like following the direction of Solomon to his servant, and dividing the +living child in two, leaving life's purple current to spout forth from +either half. An appreciation of this truth is what the world, heart-sick +and weary as it is, now needs above all things else. And to illustrate +and enforce the fact that it is not a vain shadow, but a solid reality, +too solemn to be trifled with, and too important to be neglected,--to +illustrate this by deeds which bear joy to the joyless and hope to the +hopeless,--is _the_ work which Christians, the young as well as old, are +now called to perform. Will it need the voice of duty, which speaketh as +from the skies? This is the great truth, also, which, with all its +relations to life and duty, is to be impressed by the present, upon the +minds of the rising, generation. This is what my young readers are to +learn,--and not simply to learn, but to practise:--that we are all +brothers and sisters, no matter in what clime or country we may have +been born, or with what complexion we may be clothed. + +A little girl, some five years of age, whom the writer of this has often +fondled in his arms, had well learned this most important lesson. By +pious parents and earnest Sabbath school teachers had she been taught, +that to be like Jesus, who took little children in his arms and blessed +them, she must love and do good unto all, as brothers and sisters. This +had sunk deep into her young and tender mind; and when, on a visit at +the house of a friend, she was asked that familiar question, which is so +often put to children,--whom she loved,-- + +After a moment's hesitation she replied, that she loved everybody. +"Indeed!" said the querist; "how can that be? You certainly do not love +me as well as you do your own brothers and sisters; do you?" + +After another short pause she replied, "Yes, I think I do; for _you_, +too, are my sister." "_I_ your sister?" said the lady, in surprise; "how +can that be possible?" Looking up with a countenance in which all +heaven's innocence and purity were mirrored, she exclaimed, "Is not God +our Father? and are we not all brothers and sisters? and should we not +love each other as such?" + +There was no further argument to be used. Though hid from many wise and +prudent, yet the truth was thus revealed to babes. + +Yes, we _are_ all brethren and sisters, having a common origin, a common +destination, and a common home. And may all those children who read this +short article ever recollect this important truth. When you behold a +poor, unfortunate man, with torn and filthy garments, and perhaps +intoxicated, reeling through the streets, do not hoot after, and throw +stones at him, as I have known many boys do, but think within +yourselves, "He is our brother." + +When one of your number abuses the rest, and you are tempted to injure +and beat him, wait till you have said to yourselves, "He is still our +brother; and though he has done us wrong, why should we strike or injure +him?" + +When you see a companion in trouble, and one to whom your assistance can +do much good, recollect he is a brother, or she is a sister, and fly to +help him. And oh! if all, both old and young, would act upon this +principle, how different would be the aspect of affairs from what it +now is! Then the kingdom of God would dawn upon us. Then the wolf and +the lamb would lie down together, and the lion eat straw like an ox. +Then we should be like _little children_, and the blessing-smile of +Jehovah would shed upon us choicest benediction. + +[Illustration] + + + + +FORTUNE-TELLING. + +A DIALOGUE FOR EXHIBITIONS. + +BY JULIA A. FLETCHER. + + +_Sophronia_. Come, girls, let us go and have our fortunes told. + +_Eveline_. Oh! I should like it of all things; where shall we go? + +_Sarah_. Let us go to old Kate Merrill's. They say she can read the +future as we do the past, by hand, tea-cups, or cards. Come, Mary Ann. + +_Mary Ann_. Excuse me, girls, if I do not go with you. I do not think it +is right to have our fortunes told. + +_Sophronia_. Not right? why not? + +_Mary Ann_. Because, if it had been best for us to know the future, I +think God would have revealed it to us. + +_Sarah_. Oh, but you know this is only for amusement. + +_Eveline_. Of course, we shall not believe a word she says. + +_Mary Ann_. If it is only for amusement, I think we can find others far +more rational and innocent. But depend upon it, girls, you would not +wish to go, if there were not in your minds a little of credulous +feeling? + +_Sophronia_. Well, I am sure I am not credulous. + +_Mary Ann_. Do not be offended, Sophronia; I only meant that we are all +of us more inclined to believe these things than we at first imagine. + +_Sarah_. I think that Mary Ann is right in this respect. I am sure I +would not go if I did not think her predictions would come to pass. + +_Mary Ann_. Certainly; I could not suppose you would spend your time and +money to hear an old woman tell you things you did not believe. + +_Eveline_. Well, I am sure I do not see any harm in having a little fun +once in a while. + +_Sophronia_. No; and I think it is very unkind in Mary Ann to spoil all +our pleasures with her whims. She is always preaching to us about giving +up our own way for the comfort of others, and I think she ought to give +up now, and go with us. + +_Sarah_. Now, really, Sophronia, I think you are the one that is unkind. +If Mary Ann is wrong, it is better to convince her of it kindly, and I +am sure she will acknowledge it. + +_Mary Ann_. I hope I should be willing to give up a mere whim for the +pleasure of those I love so well. But this is not a whim; it is a +serious conviction of duty. + +_Sophronia_. Well, I thought you always pretended to be very obliging. + +_Mary Ann_. I have no right to be obliging at the expense of what I deem +duty. Our own inclinations we should often sacrifice, our prejudices +always, but our sense of duty never. + +_Eveline_. I think, girls, we have done wrong to urge Mary Ann to go, +after she had told us her reasons. + +_Sophronia_. Well, then, don't spend any more time in urging her to go, +against her will. You know the old proverb "The least said is soonest +mended." + +_Eveline_. Well, do not let us go away angry or ill-natured. You asked +Mary Ann to say why she thought it was wrong, and we should receive her +reasons kindly. + +_Sarah_. So I think; but I wish she would tell us what harm she thinks +it would do to go. + +_Mary Ann_. Well, girls, I think, by trying to look into the future, we +are apt to grow discontented and restless, and to forget that we have +duties to perform in the present. Then, if we do not believe in it, it +is a waste of time and money, which might be better employed in +relieving the suffering of the poor around us. But the greatest evil of +all is, that we should believe even a part; she would of course tell us +many little circumstances which would be true of any one; thus we might +be led to believe all she said; the prediction would probably work out +its own fulfilment, and perhaps render us miserable for life. + +_Sophronia_. Oh, fudge! Mary Ann. This is altogether too bad and +ungenerous in you. In the first place, the few cents we give, bestowed +as they are on a poor old widow woman, are not wasted, in my opinion, +but well spent;--and if I spend an evening, granted to me by my father +and mother for recreation, in listening to Old Kate, it is no more +wasted than if I spend it with the girls in any other social way. And +when you connect fortune-telling and our duties in the present, you make +it too serious an affair. _Remember, this is all for sport_. + +_Mary Ann_. It may be so with you, Sophronia; but there are those who +seriously believe every word of a fortune-teller, and actually live more +in the unseen but expected events of the future, than in faithfully +performing their duties in the present. This is true, Sophronia. The +contentment and peace of many young minds have been utterly lost, _sold_ +for the absurd jabbering of old, ignorant, low-bred women, who pretend +to read the future. [_In a livelier tone of voice_.] But just say, +girls, do you believe there is any connection between tea-leaves and +your future lives? + +_Eveline, Sarah, Sophronia_. Why, no! + +_Mary Ann_. Do you believe God has marked the fortunes of thousands of +his creatures on the face of cards? + +_Eveline, Sarah, Sophronia_. Certainly not. + +_Mary Ann_. Well, do you believe, if God should intrust the secret +events of the future with any of our race, in this age, it would be with +those who have neither intellectual, moral, nor religious education--who +can be bribed by dollars and cents to say anything? + +_Sarah, Eveline_. No, indeed! + +_Mary Ann. (Turns to Sophronia,)_ You do not answer, Sophronia. Let me +ask you one or two more questions. Do you suppose Kate Merrill believes +that she has a revelation from God? + +_Sophronia_. No, Mary Ann. + +_Mary Ann_. Do you suppose she thinks you believe so? + +_Sophronia_. Why, yes, I do. + +_Mary Ann_. Then, is it benevolent to bestow money to encourage an old +woman in telling for truth what she knows to be false? + +_Sophronia_. I doubt whether it is really benevolent. + +_Mary Ann_. And if Old Kate speaks falsely and knows she does so, and +you know it, yet spend your time in listening to what she has to say, +what good can come of it to head or heart? + +_Sophronia_. None at all, Mary Ann. It is time wasted, and I am +convinced that I have been doubly wrong in wishing to go, and in being +angry with you. Will you forgive me? + +_Mary Ann_. Certainly, Sophronia. And now, if you wish for amusement, I +will be a witch myself, and tell your fortunes for you. + +_Sophronia_. Oh, do tell mine; and be sure you tell it truly. What lines +of fate do you see in my hand? + +_Mary Ann. (Takes her hand and looks at it intently.) + +(To Sophronia_.) + + Passions strong my art doth see. + Thou must rule them, or they rule thee. + If the first, you peace will know; + If the last, woe followeth woe. + +_Sarah_. Now tell mine next. + +_(To Sarah_.) + + Too believing, too believing, + Thou hast learned not of deceiving. + Closely scan what seemeth fair, + And of flattering words beware. + +_Eveline_. Now tell me a pleasant fortune, Mary Ann. + +_(To Eveline_.) + + Lively and loving, I would not chide thee, + Do thou thy duty, and joy shall betide thee. + +_Sophronia_. Thank you, Mary Ann, for the lessons you have given us. We +can now, in turn, tell your fortune, and that is, Always be amiable and +sensible as now, and you will always be loved. + +[Illustration.] + + + + +THE BOY WHO STOLE THE NAILS. + +BY REV. MOSES BALLOU. + + +I remember well, that, when I was quite a little boy, a circumstance +occurred which I shall probably never forget, and which, no doubt, has +had some little influence on my life at many different periods since. I +will relate it; and I wish all my young readers would remember the +story. + +My father was somewhat poor. He had no salary for preaching, except for +a few months, perhaps not five hundred dollars for forty years of pulpit +labor. He maintained his family chiefly from a small farm, and, there +being several children, we were deprived of many little things that +wealthier parents are accustomed to furnish for theirs. We had few +presents, and those chiefly of necessary articles,--school-books, or +something of the kind; while toys, playthings, and instruments of +amusement, we were left to go without, or take up with such rude and +simple ones as we could manufacture for ourselves. + +I wanted a small box very much. A handsome little trunk, such as most of +my young readers probably have, was too much to hope for, and a plain +wooden box, even, I had no means to purchase. + +I went without for a long time, and at last determined that I would try +to make one. But the materials,--where was I to obtain them? True, my +father had pieces of thin boards that would answer, but there were +nails, and hinges, and a lock wanting. Where were these to come from? + +After trying a variety of methods, I invented a plan for fastening it +without a lock, and leather made a very good substitute for hinges, as +it was to be out of sight. Still, I wanted nails. There were some old +ones about the house, but they were crooked, and broken, and rusty. +These would not answer if anything better could be obtained. + +My uncle, who at this time lived but a short distance from us, was +engaged in building, and I watched the barrel of bright new nails his +workmen were using, with a longing eye. O, how I coveted them! + +The temptation was too great. I sought the opportunity while the hands +were at dinner, and, after cautiously looking about to see that no one +was near to observe me, with trembling hands seized upon them, _and +stole enough to make my box_. O! how my heart beat as I hurried away +across the fields home. I almost expected to see some one start up from +every stump and bush on the way, to accuse me of the theft. I hardly +dared to look behind me. It seemed as though my old uncle, with frowning +brow, was at my very heels. And then, too, the workmen;--were they not +suspicious from my hanging about them, and had not some of them watched +me? So horrid images began to dance about my brain. Dim visions of +court-rooms, and lawyers, and judges, and prisons, and sorrowing +parents, and frightened brothers and sisters, rose in awful terror +before me. I began to grow dizzy and faint. I had laid up, for a long +time, all the pennies I could obtain, which, at that time, amounted to +the vast sum of twenty cents, contained in an old-fashioned pistareen; +and the hope sprung up in my heart, that, possibly, by paying this to +the officers, they would not carry me to jail. + +Thought was busy in laying plans for escape, and I reached home in the +greatest excitement imaginable. + +Well, the deed was now done, and I could not undo it. I was really a +thief; and now, as I had got the nails, I thought I might as well use +them. I was too anxious about the crime, however, to do this at once. +So I hid them away for a week or more, before I ventured to make my box. + +Taking such leisure hours as I had,--for I was obliged to work most of +the time on the farm,--I crept away in the loft of an old building, and +finally succeeded in finishing my task. But, now that the box was done, +my troubles were by no means ended. It would be seen. I could not always +keep it out of sight. My brothers, and sisters, and playmates, would +examine it, and possibly my father would get his eye upon it! Suppose he +should, and ask me where those nails came from? + +O, how my poor brain was racked to invent some false story by which I +could escape detection! I thought of saying that they were old ones +which I had polished up so as to appear new, and I even filed down the +rust on the head of an old nail to see if they would look sufficiently +alike. But nothing of this kind would answer. The cheat, I thought, +would be detected; and so I was obliged, after all my trouble and +suffering, to keep my box hidden away when it was done. Every time I +went to look at it, those bright new nail-heads were staring out at me, +ready to reveal my crime to any one who saw them. + +For a long time, I did not dare to go to my uncles again. True, he knew +nothing of my wrong; but I felt guilty, and did not care to see him. +Finally, after some time had passed away, though I had by no means +forgotten the theft, and still suffered much every time it was thought +of, I ventured to call and see him. I could hardly avoid the impression +that he must know what I had done, and would accuse me of it; and when +he met me in the yard at his door; patted my cheek with a half-laughing, +half-reproving look; asked why I had stayed away from him so long; and +said, that, to punish me, he should go and get me some very nice apples +from the garden;--I could bear it no longer. It seemed as though my +heart would break. What I said, I have now forgotten. I remember that I +cried very heartily, and, as soon as my tears would allow it, told him +the whole story! + +I can still see, fresh in my memory, the sad look that came over him as +I confessed my crime; but not a single harsh or unkind word did he +utter. He told me that it was very wrong; that I had acted nobly in +confessing it; and that, if I had only asked him in the first place, he +would gladly have given me all I wanted. + +Thinking I had suffered enough already, he promised not to tell my +parents, in case I continued a good boy, and advised me to destroy the +box and bring him back the nails, as no one could then suspect what had +been done but ourselves. + +His kindness, I confess, pained me very much. I think nothing could have +tempted me to do him any wrong again. + +I loved him better than ever before. He never alluded to the subject +afterwards, but I always thought of it when I saw him. He died in a +short time; and, twenty years after, as I stood by his grave, the +circumstance came up, clear and distinct, to my recollection. I have +not, indeed, from that to the present hour, felt the least temptation to +commit any wrong of the kind without recalling it; and, if all my young +readers will think seriously how much suffering that one act cost me, +and how much happier I should otherwise have been, I am confident that +they will never commit a similar offence so long as they remember the +story of _the boy who stole the nails_. + + + + +THE CHILDLESS MOTHER. + +BY MRS. M.H. ADAMS. + + +There are many childless mothers in our land. In some homes there never +lived a little child to make them happy; but in others the spirits of +the little ones have departed. They dwell in another home--the "dear +heavenly home." Their mothers, those childless mothers, weep day and +night in their loneliness and sadness. This sketch is of a mother who +had buried all her little babes--four precious children--all her little +family. The mother's name was Ellen Moore. + +For many months after the birth of her first child, Ellen was free from +sorrow as a bird in the morning. She never thought affliction might come +to her blessed home. It was not surprising, for she had never known what +bereavement and bitter disappointment were. She was educated to be a +child of sunshine. She had always lived amid smiles and tenderness, and +when the fearful cloud of sorrow broke, in an unexpected moment, upon +her head, she seemed bowed down, never to rise again in health and +beauty. + +It was a sad day in our neighborhood when Ellen's first little babe +died; we all wept. Not so much because he was dead, for we all felt that +_he_ was at rest; but his dear mother was so sorely troubled, her heart +ached so grievously, it seemed as if she too would die. Days and nights +Ellen wept, and moaned, and walked her house. The tears seemed to burn +their way down her cheeks. She spoke but seldom, yet that pitiful moan +she so often breathed out pierced our souls and made us all very sad. + +After a few weeks, the consolation we offered her quieted her feelings, +and she became calm. She went to church, called on her friends, and +attended to her duties at home. But there was ever a sadness in her +voice and manners. Her home was so lonely, so strangely still and +vacant, and Ellen so silent, that the voice of gladness was not heard in +it again until a second beautiful boy was born under its roof. + +We were all happy then. Even Ellen smiled as she kissed her dear +babe--but a tear followed the smile and the kiss so soon, we knew her +wounded heart was not _then_ healed. She was very sad, and felt that +this babe, too, might only be loaned her for a short time. It was not +long before we all felt so. That little face, so pale, so sad, so +beautiful, evidently bore the seal of death upon it. He refused all +nourishment, and pined slowly away. Ellen knew he must die, but could +not say so. She could not shed one tear to relieve her sorrowful heart. +She neither spoke nor wept, until her infant was laid in its coffin. + +A friend had woven a wreath of beautiful flowers, and laid it on the +satin pillow of the coffin, and placed a delicate rose-bud in the little +hand of the babe. Ellen went alone to take her last kiss, when, seeing +her babe so beautiful in death, she seated herself on the floor and wept +freely. + +"Who loved my babe so fondly?" said she, when she came from the room. +"Who has been so kind and thoughtful of me? It has unsealed my tears; +now let me weep alone." We left her. She came out of that room a changed +woman. She assisted us in our preparations for the burial of the dead, +spoke cheerfully to her husband, conversed freely about her children in +heaven, and remarked that henceforth her life should be worthy of a +Christian. We buried the sweet babe by the side of his brother, and +planted a rose-tree over his grave. Then our thoughts turned to Ellen, +whose whole manner indicated resignation and peace. + +We were not surprised at the effect of grief upon Ellen, for I have told +you she was not educated to bear human misery with much composure. Yet +what her parents had left undone seemed to be effected by those severe +dispensations of God. Our Father in heaven often educates us by his +chastisements, giving us wisdom, patience, hope, trustfulness and +resignation, according to the severity with which he afflicts us. + +Ellen maintained the same cheerful manner from the time of the burial of +her second babe to the birth of her third child. Her friends hoped many +blessings for Ellen in the life of this child. It was a daughter, +apparently healthy; and as its mother had endured so severe a trial we +hoped the Lord would deal mercifully with her in sparing this one to +her. For one short year we had reason to hope for the life of the child. +But it was too frail a creature for this world, and, like its little +brothers, died in early infancy. And its mother--we found her to be a +practical Christian indeed. + +Instead of moaning and violent grief, she held her babe as it breathed +its latest breath, and was first to break the awful silence in the room +that succeeded the final struggle, with these words: "She is with her +little brothers now, and I have reason to bless the Lord." She could say +no more then; and a few large tears fell on the cheek of her babe as it +still lay on her lap. Once only did she freely yield to tears. It was +when her husband first heard of the death of his babe. His anguish +overcame her composure. Soon recovered however, she maintained a truly +Christian deportment. The third little grave was opened in the burial +lot of Mr. Moore, and the body of this babe laid by its little brothers. + +A fourth babe was born in the lonely home of Ellen, and fresh hopes +cherished for the long life of her child. The burden of every prayer +offered at that family altar was, "Lord, if it be thy will, suffer us to +rear this tender child!" + +"Yet though I pray thus," said Ellen, "my heart is strong to meet its +early death; and if it dies, I shall not mourn as for my first-born. God +has afflicted me, but I am profited thereby." + +"Very true, Ellen, but if this fourth dear babe is taken from us, we +shall almost doubt the mercy of God. How can you, in your present +delicate health, endure to lay this last dear babe by the side of the +departed ones, and again find your home desolate and silent?" + +"My body is weak, Mary, but my spirit is well instructed in resignation, +and can calmly bear whatever new affliction God pleases to send. You +have called me changed since Alfred died, and sometimes too silent and +sad. I am changed and often silent, but not sad. _My_ treasures are in +heaven, and my communings are more with the spirits of my children in +heaven than with the friends who are with me here. And if this child +dies, Mary,----if he dies--his death will prepare me for the duties of +all the rest of my life." + + * * * * * + +The beautiful boy passed away just as his little lips had learned to +pronounce his mother's name--suddenly, unexpectedly to us all, and all +yielded to our grief but Ellen. We greatly feared his father would +become insane. + +But Ellen--believe me, she was transformed from a child of sunshine to +an angel and minister of light in darkness. She sat by her husband as +serene and collected as if her babe only slept; not a tear swept her +cheek, not a tremulous word fell from her lips, as she soothed her +stricken companion; her pale face wore no look of despair, and she +directed every funeral preparation with as much composure as if _her_ +heart had not felt the awful wound. The world called her heartless,--but +Christ must have owned her as one of his brightest jewels, almost a +perfect disciple. When she spoke, we felt as if some mysterious power +from heaven was in our midst. We thought as much of the saint-like +fortitude and resignation of our feeble Ellen, and wept as much to +witness her calmness and spiritual strength, as for the loss of our +interesting little friend. + +Our pastor called to offer gospel consolations to the sorrowing mother, +but he wept as Ellen greeted him, saying, "God hath much love for us, +Brother Ellis, for he chasteneth much. Now, my only prayer is, that +Henry may be led to perceive it and be at peace. If you have words of +comfort, go to him and still his troubled spirit." + +The aged came to console her, but went back to their dwellings feeling +that she was as well instructed in the wisdom of heaven as the oldest +servant among them. The young and happy came to mingle tears of sympathy +with her, but returned to dwell upon her words as upon communications +from the spirit-land, rather than from a creature like themselves. Her +words found a way to the soul of the most thoughtless, fixing their +minds upon heaven, and revealing the unseen glories of a better home, +and the beauty of Christian faith in an earthly one. + +She was a Christian mother. When she put on Christ, she was "_a new +creature_" She believed her first grief was almost a murmuring against +heaven. Surely we know she bore an equal love for all her children, but +when her last one died, she loved God and her Saviour more, believing +fully that God would not do her wrong,--that he only sought the good of +his creatures in his dispensations,--that although they seemed grievous +and inscrutable to them, he saw the end from the beginning, and +chastized whom he loved. + + + + +THE MOTHERLESS CHILD. + +BY MRS. M.H. ADAMS. + + +To become a childless mother is indeed one of the most severe +afflictions which woman can be called to endure; yet it may be, it is +often met with noble, Christian fortitude, with Christian humility and +resignation, that soothe the acute pains of the mother's heart, and +carry her thoughts away from earth and above its sorrows; so that we +feel that she can and has found a balm, and has still left her +consolation and happiness. But when we see a little child, whose mother +God has taken, as fully realizing its bereavement, its loneliness, its +absolute misfortune, as a child can do, we feel that to be a motherless +child in this unchristian world, is indeed an affliction for which there +seldom appears a balm; though we doubt not our Father hath the balm for +this as for every other wound. + +A young man sat by the corpse of his faithful wife, the mother of all +his little babes. One child was gazing silently and inquiringly at her +father, as he held his head weeping and groaning in anguish of spirit. +A tender infant of a few weeks lay asleep in the cradle at his side. The +young man's mother entered the room, and with tenderness of tone and +manner, endeavored to calm his grief; with words of gospel love and +faith to comfort him. + +"Abby has been to you a kind, faithful and devoted wife, David; an +agreeable companion and constant friend. Before God she was a humble +child, and before the world a worthy disciple of Christ. You doubtless +feel all this, and more. Few can speak evil of her, and very many will +sincerely mourn her early death, and sympathize with you in this +dreadful hour. But remember, David, you have, before this, professed +trust and belief in the promises and love of God. Now is the time to +make manifest your Christian faith, your hope in God, your belief in the +gospel. Try not to be utterly disconsolate in your loneliness. God is +very near to us, although this heavy cloud of sorrow lies between him +and us." + +They were interrupted by the entrance of the oldest child of the +departed one, a sensitive, intelligent boy of six or seven years. Tears +were in his eyes as he opened the door, and fell fast into the lap of +his father as he tried to speak to him. + +"Father," said he, "I have been down in the sitting-room, trying to read +my little books; but I think so much of my dear dead mother, I can't +read; and the tears come into my eyes so fast, that I can't see the +pictures. I went to rock in my little chair, but I saw my mother's empty +chair, and my little heart aches very much. It will be very lonesome and +sad here, if I don't see mother anywhere. And who will take care of this +little baby brother?" + +No word was spoken by those present, but their tears and sobs told +plainly that they too felt how lonely and sad that home would be without +the gentle voice and cheerful song of that "dear mother." As no one +checked him, Willie again spoke, and, as well as he could amid sobs and +tears, told the bitterness of his young spirit. + +"I love you some, father, but not as I did my mother; and now my mother +is in heaven, who shall I have to take care of me and kiss me, father; +who will say a prayer to me every night? Aunt Susan's prayers are not +like mother's; and your voice doesn't sound so sweet by the side of my +bed as my mother's did. Oh dear! what did my mother die for, and leave +me a poor little motherless boy?" + +His father then took him upon his knee, wiped his tears, and soothed him +to sleep with gentle caresses. No word could David utter. For a long +time he sat with his sleeping boy, beside his dead. The paleness of his +cheek, and the frequent sigh, expressed his sorrow. His mother again +tried to draw from him an expression of his Christian fidelity, fearing +that he was untrue to his God and his Master under a trial so severe. +When at length he did speak, a hardened heart might have been moved by +his broken sentences and choking words, as he made an effort to assure +his anxious parent. + +"Mother, I have the utmost confidence in the mercy and goodness of +God--even now that he has taken to himself one so very dear. I feel sure +there is some great and important lesson which he would have me learn +from this sorrowful event. I have all faith that Abby is at rest, and +will still love those of us who are left on the earth to mourn. I +believe we shall meet each other in the future, that we shall recognize +and love each other, with a far more perfect and a purer love than we +have cherished here. I shall be lonely, and miss from my hours at home +the counsel, the aid, the cheerfulness, sympathy and attentive love of +one of the best of women. Her beautiful example in the service of her +Master will often be remembered with deep and sincere grief. + +"All this I could bear calmly; if it were more bitter, I could bear it +and not weep. But to think of my children--as motherless babes; to hear +Willie tell his sorrow, and mourn so bitterly in his tender years for a +mother--so dear; to feel that with his susceptibility and keen +sensitiveness he realizes so fully his loss; to hear him sob on his +pillow at night, and, when alone, call himself 'little motherless +Willie;'--oh, mother! what man or Christian would not bow beneath a +burden like this?--It is the contemplation of _four motherless children_ +that wounds me most. It seems to me Abby herself would not reprove me, +could those cold lips now bring me a message from her spirit in heaven." + + * * * * * + +With expressions like those in the chamber of the dead was every hour in +the home of David embittered, for weeks and months, by the little +mourning child. He gathered flowers and laid them before his father, +saying, "I don't suppose you care about them, father; but my mother +isn't here to take them. I pick them because they look up into my face +as if mother was somewhere near them. But they wither on my hand, and +hold down their heads, just as I want to do now my mother is dead." + +Every object at home seemed to remind Willie of his mother, and keep his +bereavement uppermost in his thoughts. He did not weep as much after a +few weeks, but through all his boyhood there rested a sadness on his +countenance, that indicated a mournful recollection of that dear mother. +Through his whole life he felt that he was like a tender branch lopped +from the parent-tree; like a lamb sent out from the fold while too young +to meet the storms and travel the dangerous paths of which he often +heard from his mother. This idea seemed ever present, and served many +times to hold him back from adventurous pursuits and untried schemes. "I +don't know--but I should have known had my dear mother lived," was the +expression of his general course in life. + +As long as he was a child he spoke often and tenderly of his mother. He +cherished a remembrance of her faithful admonitions and precepts, as +vivid as might have been expected from a child bereaved at the age of +eight or ten. When older, he realized more fully his loss, especially +when he met one whom he believed to be _a good mother._ He then seldom +spoke of his mother; but his visits to the grave-yard, his sadness on +the anniversary of the day of her death, his conversations about her +with his brothers and sister, the value he attached to every token of +her love to him, convinced us that he remembered her with deep +affection. + +When a young man, he was several times beguiled by the tempter into +forbidden paths, and his eyes were not opened to behold the danger +until the fangs of the serpent pierced deeply into his heart. Then most +fully did he realize that he was _poor motherless William_; that he was +abroad in the world without those most effectual safeguards against sin, +a good mother's counsels and a mother's daily prayers; that while others +could express unreservedly to their mothers their hopes or fears, their +success or misfortune, their faithfulness in the hour of temptation or +weakness under its power, and be counselled, encouraged, urged or +entreated anew,--he could only go to his mother's grave and shed bitter +tears of repentance in loneliness, or withdraw himself from all around +him, and, _a poor motherless child,_ call up the dim remembrance of that +young and cheerful being who once called him her precious son, her +treasured child,--and weep the more bitterly that no answering voice or +smile, or look of encouragement or hope, met _him_ in this sinful world! + +Oh ye who have hearts to feel, who profess Christian principles to guide +you, and the holy love of our Master for your example, seek out the +_motherless child_ of the poor, the ignorant, the vicious, and by the +power of Christ which is within you, according to the measure of that +power, strive to be like fond mothers to the thousands who cry "We have +no dear mother--our mother is in heaven--is dead--and we know not what +is right or what is wrong!" Help and pity them. Rescue them from that +heart-breaking loneliness and sorrow that prey incessantly on the +feelings of a sensitive, intelligent, _motherless child_. + + + + +FAITH. + +BY MRS. E.R.B. WALDO. + + Upon the peaceful breast of Faith + My troubled soul hath found repose, + Free from the sad and starless gloom + That doubting scepticism knows. + + Though disappointment, care, and pain, + Have bent my heart to their decree, + One thought hath ever led me on, + It is, _that it was so to be_. + + Oft would my weary spirit faint, + My heart yield almost to despair, + Did not "a still small voice" exclaim, + "There is no change, but God is there." + + That mighty power which points the shaft, + And forms the spirit to endure, + Will, in its own peculiar way + And time, perform the wondrous cure. + + Still may my soul, through faith, rely + Upon the promises of God; + His mercy see in every change, + And learn to bless his chastening rod. + + + + +THE SNOW-BIRDS. + +A DIALOGUE. + +BY MRS. C. HIGHBORN. + + +_Clarissa_. Pray, Mary, what are you going to do with those crumbs which +you hold in your hand? + +_Mary_. I am going to feed my snow-birds with them; and I should be very +happy to have you go with me. I know you will enjoy seeing how merrily +they hop about and flutter their wings, and seem to chirp out their +thanks as they pick up the food I throw them. + +_C_. Thank you for your invitation; but I beg you will excuse me; it may +be pretty sport for you, but, for my part, I can enjoy myself much +better to stay here and arrange my baby-things, for I expect some girls +to see me this afternoon. I cannot conceive what there is in those +ugly-looking snow-birds to interest you; they are not handsome, surely; +they have not a single bright feather; and, as for their songs, they +sound like the squeak of a sick chicken. + +_M_. I am sorry to hear you speak so of my favorites; for, though they +are not so brilliant in their colors as many that flutter around us in +the summer, yet to me they tire dearer than any others, and far more +beautiful than those of a gaudier hue. + +_C_. Well, you have a queer taste, I must confess; you remind me of the +philosopher I read of in the story-book, who thought a toad the most +beautiful of God's creatures. Come, perhaps you can show me why they are +entitled to your regard, and point out their beauties. + +_M_. I will cheerfully comply with your request, for nothing gives me +more pleasure than to speak of the good qualities of my friends. Examine +them for a moment and see how exquisitely they are formed, and, though +not gaudy in their colors, yet their feathers are soft and glossy. But +these are trifles comparatively; what most endears them to me is their +constancy. + +_C._ That is a new idea, indeed. Constancy in snow-birds! Please explain +yourself, Mary. + +_M_. Well, they seem to me like those rare friends that love us best in +adversity, when the bright summer of prosperity, with its attendant +joys, has fled, and the winter of sorrow and misfortune shuts out, with +its dark clouds, the light of life, and withers, with its frosts, the +few flowers which bloom along its pathway. There are summer friends, +Clara, as well as summer birds, and they both wear brilliant colors, and +sing enchanting songs, but they depart with the sunshine; the first +leave us to battle the storms of adversity, and the others, the cold and +barren prospect of winter; these little snow-birds, however, remain, and +through all its dark hours they cheer us by their presence. They seem to +tell us that we are not entirely destitute of pleasure, but that the +darkest hours have something of beauty; and, while they serve to awaken +in our minds a remembrance of the bright days that have gone, they bid +us look forward to the end of our sorrows, and welcome the bright spring +days, which shall return to us the joys that departed. + +_C._ I declare! you have preached quite a sermon, and from a funny text; +I confess there is both truth and poetry in what you say. I do not +wonder that you love the snow-birds, if they awaken such pleasant and +pretty thoughts in your mind. Henceforth I will love them myself, for +the good lesson that, through you, they have imparted. I trust you will +forgive me the rudeness of laughing at you. + +_M_. Cheerfully, Clara; but learn from this never to despise any of +God's creatures; they can all teach us some important and beautiful +lesson which we should be happy to heed. And now, if you please, we will +go and feed the snow-birds. + +_C_. With all my heart! + +[Illustration: MOUNT CARMEL.] + + + + +MOUNT CARMEL. + +SELECTED. + + +Mount Carmel is a high promontory, forming the termination of a range of +hills running northwest from the plain of Esdraelon. Mount Carmel is the +southern boundary of the Bay of Acre, on Acca, as it is called by the +Turks; its height is about fifteen hundred feet, and at its foot, north, +runs the brook Kishon, and a little further north the river Belus. + +Mount Carmel is celebrated in Scripture history as the place where +Elijah went up when he told his servant to look forth to the sea yet +seven times, and the seventh time he saw a little cloud coming up from +the sea "like a man's hand," when the prophet knew that the promised +rain was at hand, and girded up his loins, and ran before Ahab's chariot +even to the gates of Jezreel. (1 Kings xviii. 44-46.) + +Towards the sea is a cave, where it has been supposed that Elijah +desired Ahab to bring Baal's false prophets, and where fire from heaven +descended on the altar he erected. The present appearance of Carmel is +thus described by Dr. Hogg, who visited it in 1833. "The convent on +Mount Carmel was destroyed by the Turks in the early part of the Greek +revolution. Abdallah, the Turkish pasha, who commanded the district in +which Carmel is situated, not only razed their convent to the ground, +but blew up the foundations, and carried the materials to Acre for his +own use. The convent is now being rebuilt, or probably is now completely +finished, the funds having been supplied by subscriptions solicited all +over Europe, and a great part of the East, by one of the brethren, +Giovanni Battista, who has travelled far and wide for that purpose." Dr. +Hogg gives the following account of the condition of the place at the +time of his visit. + +"The whole fabric is of stone, and, when completed, will possess the +solidity of a fortress. The first story only is at present finished, and +hereafter will be solely appropriated to the accommodation of +travellers, when another, to be raised above, will be exclusively +devoted to permanent inmates. In the centre a spacious church has been +commenced, and already promises to be a fine building. The principal +altar will be placed over the cave so long held sacred as the retreat of +the prophet. This natural cavern exhibits at its farther extremity some +signs of having been enlarged by art. When the edifice above is +complete, it will be converted into a chapel; and a projecting ledge of +rock, believed to have been the sleeping-place of the prophet, will then +be the altar. The superior himself kindly conducted me to see one of the +celebrated caves which everywhere abound in the district of Mount +Carmel. Descending two thirds of the mountain by a narrow path, scooped +in the rock, we entered an enclosure of fig-trees and vines, where +several caverns, that of old belonged to the Carmelites, are now +inhabited by a Mohammedan saint and his numerous progeny. We first +entered a lofty excavation of beautiful proportions, at least fifty feet +long, with a large recess on one side,--every part chiselled with the +nicest care, and inscribed with numerous Greek initials, names, and +sentences. Here Elijah is believed to have taught his disciples, and +hence its name, 'the school of the prophets.' Some smaller adjoining +caverns, fronted with masonry, now form the residence of the saint and +his family. A deep cistern for the preservation of water has been hewn +in the rock, and the entrance is closed by a gate shaded inside by +vines. + +"The memory of Elijah is equally venerated by Christians and Moslems; +and the votaries of each faith are liberally allowed access to the +several caves. At the time of our visit the general appearance of Mount +Carmel was dry and sterile; but the superior assured us that in spring +it was clothed in verdure and beauty." + + + + +THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE. + +BY MISS ELIZABETH DOTEN + + "Daily striving, though so lonely, + Every day reward shall give, + Thou shalt find by striving only, + And in loving, thou canst live." + Miss Edwards. + +"On dear!" said Annie Burton, as she sat down under the old apple-tree +by the spring; "I wonder what ails me; there's been such a choking +feeling in my throat all this afternoon, and though I winked and +swallowed with all my might, the tears would come in spite of myself. +Here I've been wandering for more than three hours, up hill and down, +through brambles and brier-bushes; my hands are scratched and bloody, +and the sun has burnt me as brown as a berry. Three long precious hours +in the sunny month of August! and what does it all amount to? Why, I +have picked a basket of berries that can be eaten in half an hour; and +here is a bunch of flowers for little Katie, that she will take and +admire, and then tear to pieces; that will be the end of them. But that +isn't the worst of all; no, not by a great deal; there is a great rent +in my frock, gaping and staring at me, waiting to be mended; and nobody +knows how long 't will take me to do that. Oh dear! how I hate to work! +I don't see how it is; there's mother takes care of the children, sews, +makes bread and washes the dishes, just as willingly and cheerfully as +if she were playing on the piano or reading a pleasant book. They say +that good people are always happy; but I _never_ am. Oh, I believe I am +the worst creature that ever lived!" and she bent her head upon her lap +and burst into tears. + +It was not long before she was roused by the sound of footsteps; she +raised her head, and saw an old woman coming down the road with a large +basket on her arm. She looked tired and weary, as well she might be, for +she had travelled a long distance; it was a hot, sultry afternoon, and +every footstep stirred a cloud of dust. She came towards the spring; but +before she reached it, she struck her foot against a stone and fell. + +"Have you hurt you?" exclaimed Annie, as she sprung to her side. + +"Not a bit, not a bit," she replied, as she shook the dust from her +apron, and replaced the things that had fallen from her basket. + +"Oh, yes, you have!" said Annie; "see, the blood is streaming down your +arm!" + +"Oh that's nothing; only a scratch. Blessings on the good Father that +watches over me! I might have broken my arm, and that would have been a +deal worse! How fortunate I happened to fall just by the spring here! +I've been longing for a drink of cold water, and I sha'n't need it any +the less for getting such a mouthful of this hot dust." + +"Heart's dearest!" she exclaimed, as she put down the iron dipper that +always hung by the spring, after having satisfied her thirst, "what is +it troubles you? Such sorrowful eyes and a tearful face belong only to +older heads and more sinful hearts; and God forbid it even to them, +unless it is wrung out of the agony of their very souls; for though his +providences are just and wise, yet nature must have its way sometimes." + +"Oh," she replied, as the tears filled her eyes again, "I have been +crying to think how wicked I am." + +"Well-a-day!" said the old woman, looking rather droll; "it's very +strange such a young creature as you should come down here to weep on +account of great wickedness. You don't look much like a Salem witch, or +a runaway from the house of correction." + +Annie could not help laughing at such an idea; but as the smile passed +away, the troubled waters of her heart seemed to burst forth in a +flood, and she wept violently. + +"Ah," said the old woman, shaking her head sorrowfully: "I ought not to +have spoken thus; I see how it is. Poor lamb! she hears the voice of the +Shepherd calling her, but she is bewildered and knows not the way to the +fold; and may the Lord Jesus look upon me, as he did upon his sinful +servant Peter when he denied him, if I fail to point out to this dear +child the path wherein he himself has taught me to tread." + +She sat down beside Annie and laid her arm gently around her. "There's a +dear girl," said she, raising her head, and putting back the locks of +moist hair; "listen to me a little while, and I will tell you what will +make you happier." She took the cool waters of the spring, and bathed +her burning forehead, and washed away all traces of dust and tears. The +water had a cooling and soothing effect upon Annie's troubled brain. + +"There now," said the good dame; "don't you feel better?" + +"Yes," said Annie, almost cheerfully. + +"Well," she continued, "God's love is just like this spring; it is full +and free to all. Now don't you suppose, if you could cleanse and purify +your heart from all traces of sin and sorrow in its blessed waters, just +as you bathe your face in this spring, that you would feel happier and +better." + +"Yes," said Annie, slowly and thoughtfully, as if a new idea was passing +through her mind. + +"Well then, I will tell you how. I have felt just as you do now. When I +was a girl I was a restless, idle creature; useless to others, and a +burden to myself. Of course I was unhappy, miserable. It was in vain +that I went to school with such a discontented mind. I had a harder +lesson to learn than any that my teacher could learn me. God grant you +may not have to learn it in the same way that I did! I learned it by +experience; a sorrowful way that is to learn anything, although it is +slow and sure; you may be pretty certain that you never will forget it. +I have found out, by experience, that the only way that we can live and +be happy, is by loving and serving others, just as the blessed Jesus +did; and if you will try it you will find it so." + +"Oh," said Annie, "I am a little girl. What good can I do? If I was the +Lord Jesus, I would go about doing good; then I would cast out devils, +and heal the sick, and raise the dead." + +"Yes, yes; I know you are yet but a 'wee thing,' and have much to learn; +but 'the race is not always to the swift and the battle to the strong;' +it isn't the tallest men and the oldest heads that do the most good in +the world. But I'll tell you what _you can_ do, if you can't work +miracles; though there's many a devil cast out in these days of sin and +sorrow, that men know not of; those who struggle and strive with the +Evil One, and thrust him out of the doors of their heart, do not sound a +trumpet before them in the streets, for they are true followers of the +dear Lamb of God. That same old spirit of selfishness that tempted Eve +in the garden of Eden has gone through the world like a creeping, wily +serpent ever since. It has wound itself round and round our hearts, coil +upon coil, until we scarce seem to have any heart at all. It is this +that troubles you, and you must cast it out; you must forget your own +interest, and learn everybody to love you; then you can't help loving +everybody, and you will be happy. Oh, it will be hard, very hard, to do +this; you will stop, and perhaps turn back; but when it is the darkest +you must take the gentle hand that our dear brother, the Lord Jesus, +stretches out to you, and he will lead you safely to the very bosom of +the Father. + +"But look up, dear one, the sun has gone down behind the hill, and you +must hasten homeward. The mother bird must needs feel anxious when her +nestlings are away. But don't forget what I have told you." + +"No," said Annie, raising her head, for she had been thinking +earnestly; every word that her kind friend had spoken went with a +powerful influence to her heart; "I will _try_ and _do what I can,"_ +said she. + +"Ay," said the old woman, "that's right! not even an angel can do more. +But stop," she added; "do you remember what day it is?" + +"Yes," said Annie. + +"Well then, just a year from this time, if the Lord permits, we will +meet again by this spring. Now good night, and may the blessing of the +Great Father go with you." + +"Good night," said Annie, and with a cheerful heart and light footstep, +she hastened homeward. + +No sooner did she come in sight of her home, than she perceived a horse +and carriage standing by the gate. She recognized it in a moment; it was +the doctor's. A cold shudder passed over her, and an indefinable fear +entered her mind. She hastened onward and entered the house. + +Upon the bed lay little Katie; her eyes fixed upon the wall, seemingly +unconscious of all that passed around her, sending forth low moans, as +if in great pain. Beside her sat the doctor, counting the beatings of +her pulse, and closely observing the alterations of her countenance. + +"I cannot give you much encouragement," said he. "It is a disease of +the brain. All shall be done for her that is possible, but I fear there +is not much hope." + +Alas! it was even so; all was done in vain. She laid day after day, a +helpless sufferer. It was long before the vital energy was spent; but +through all this weary time, there was one constant watcher by her +bed-side. + +Annie, with the impression of a deep truth upon her soul, felt that +_now_ was the time to act, and most faithfully did she perform her duty. +And when, at last, sweet Katie died, with a warm gush of tears she laid +one of the flowers that she had gathered from the hill-side upon her +bosom, and clasping her arms around her mother's neck, she said: +"Mother, dear sister is gone, and now I must be both Annie and Katie to +you; and if God will help me, I shall be more of a blessing to you than +I ever yet have been." + +Oh, it was like a ray of sunshine to that weeping mother's heart, to +hear her once wayward child speak thus! and though it was like taking +away the life-drops from her heart to give up her cherished little one, +yet she felt there was still a great blessing remaining for her. + +Time passed on. Autumn came with its ripened fruits and golden foliage; +winter laid his glittering mantle upon the streams and hill-tops, and +spring brought blossoms for little Katie's grave. + +Annie, the gentle Annie, where was she? + +Firm to her purpose, she had gone onward. At times the struggle was hard +indeed. Then she would go to the spring, and kneel down, and talk with +her Good Father, until the evil feelings had left her heart, and the +cheerful smile came again to her countenance. + +At length summer, bright, beautiful summer, beamed over the land once +more, and as it drew to a close it brought the day on which Annie was to +meet her friend at the spring. + +It was the close of the Sabbath, and the last rays of the setting sun +streamed through the branches of the trees that surrounded the spring, +and tinged its waters with a rosy light. There sat the old lady, looking +anxiously up the road. + +"I wonder why she don't come," said she. "Perhaps the young thing has +forgotten me. Sure 'twould be a sorrow to me if I thought she had." + +"No indeed," said a pleasant voice. A light form sprang from a clump of +bushes close by, and she felt a warm kiss upon her cheek. "No, I have +not forgotten you, but I have come to tell you how happy I am. Oh, I +have seen trouble and sorrow _enough_, since I saw you; but for all +that, I am much happier than I was then. You told me that I must learn +to love everybody, and so I did; and now it seems as if everybody and +everything loved me, even our old cat and dog. Strange, isn't it?" + +"Heart's dearest!" said the old woman, as soon as she could speak, +wiping away the tears from her eyes with the corner of her apron; +"there's a philosophy in all things, even in baking bread and washing +dishes; but the true philosophy of life consists in loving and doing; +and, blessed be God! that is so plain, that the least of his children +can understand it." + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE STARVING POOR OF IRELAND. + + +BY REV. J.G. ADAMS. + + A wail comes o'er the ocean, + Though faint, yet deep with woe! + A nation's poor are falling + Before the direst foe! + Grim Famine there hath seized them, + And over Erin's land + The multitudes are perishing + Beneath his blasting hand! + + The father gives his morsel + To his imploring child, + Himself imploring mercy, too, + With voice and visage wild. + The ever-faithful mother + Her portion, too, will share + With those who lean upon her, + And plead her dying care. + + Then father, mother, children, + Must listen, one and all, + To Famine's surer, sterner voice-- + To Death's relentless call. + For means are all exhausted; + Bread! bread! There is no more! + And in that once glad cabin + The conflict now is o'er. + + Fond, faithful hearts there perished; + Affections deep and true + As other homes and loved ones + Now know, or ever knew. + And why this visitation + So sweeping and so sore? + Why? why? Repeat the question + The wide world o'er and o'er! + + In that same land is plenty, + Profusion, wealth, and power, + Enough to stay the famine-plague + This very day and hour. + Yes, while the poor are starving + By scores and hundreds even, + Riches and luxury send up + Their impious laugh to heaven! + + Wrong! wrong! this destitution, + While there are means to save + A nation of strong-hearted men + From famine and the grave. + Thanks, thanks for riches! but a woe + To this our earth they bring, + So long as they shall fail to save + God's poor from suffering! + + + + +THE SABBATH SCHOOL FESTIVAL. + +BY REV. HENRY BACON. + + +In these days of "exhibitions" and "excursions" which give such rich +pleasure to our Sabbath school children, it may be well to turn back +something over twenty years, and see what used to be "great things" to +the pupils of the Sunday schools. The only festival I ever knew while in +a Sabbath school, in my youth, was at Dr. Baldwin's church, Boston. As I +was cradled in a different faith, I ought to tell how I came to be a +scholar in a Baptist school; and I will do so, as it may give a good +hint to some teachers to be impartial. + +At the school I attended a decision was made to give a silver medal to +the best scholar. A good many of us worked hard for it, especially the +boys in the round pews near the pulpit, who had reason to think that the +prize would fall to one of their number. A right good feeling prevailed +amongst them; all were willing to acquiesce in whatever should be the +decision of the superintendent or committee. When the time for decision +came, a lad, the son of a deacon, and who had left school and had not +been at school for six months, was sent for, and _to him_ the silver +medal was given! We all felt outraged, but did not dare to say much. I +begged my parents, with good reasoning, to let me go to another school, +where I had many friends; and I went to Dr. Winchell's, in Salem street, +where Mr. John Gear was superintendent. + +What lessons I did get! Whole chapters were recited from the New +Testament, because so many verses brought me a reward, so many rewards a +mark, and so many marks _a book_! We had no libraries then. Well, the +annual meeting came round, and one evening the school met and marched +down to Dr. Baldwin's church. I remember the children did the singing, +and while they were singing, of course, I sung; and I have not forgotten +how crest-fallen I felt when Mr. Gear came along, and whispered to me, +"Don't sing _so loud_;" but he might just as well have said, "Don't +sing," because I knew he did not want me to sing, for I could not keep +time. But it was festival-night, and he was extremely good-natured, and +did not wish to cut short the privileges of any. A prayer was offered, +and then we sung again. A big man, in a large black silk gown, got up, +and delivered a sermon; but we did not heed it as we ought to have done, +because some _tea-chests_ were ranged along at the base of the pulpit. +It was not the _tea-chests_ that attracted our attention, but the sweets +that we knew were _in_ them. + +After the sermon was over, and the scholars were ranged in order, in +single file, they marched up to the table near the chests, and each one +received _a quarter of a sheet of gingerbread!_ How rich we were! How +sweet the cake tasted! We were in perfect ecstasies at the "great piece" +given to each of us! Such rows of happy children are seldom seen, and +all because two cents worth of gingerbread was given to them all alike! +We had thought of it for weeks, and it was delightful to anticipate the +occasion. We felt paid for all the trouble we had met in learning +lessons, in getting to school on rainy days, and keeping still and +orderly when we got there. And why all this happiness from so slight a +cause? Because we all felt loving and happy; we loved our teachers and +our school; and it seemed _so odd_ to get gingerbread in the church and +from the Sabbath school superintendent. + +But how is it now? A long ride or sail; swings, music, cakes, pies, +fruit, lemonade, and a vast variety of "good things," must be had, or +else the Sabbath school children do not have "a good time!" After all +this is had and enjoyed, I do not believe it is any better than our +simple quarter of a sheet of gingerbread, unless the scholars love each +other more, and their schools better, than we did. Do _you_, reader? + +[Illustration] + + + + +NELLY GREY. + +"Nelly! Nelly! Where can the child be? Nelly! Nelly!" But Nelly Grey was +away off in dreamland, and the cheerful tones of her mother's voice fell +all unheeded upon her ear, as did the impatient touch of her little dog +Frisk's cold nose upon her hand. She was sitting on the last step of the +vine-covered portico in front of the cottage,--the warm June sun smiling +down lovingly upon her, and the soft wind kissing the little rings of +chestnut-colored hair that clustered about her temples. + +What could make the child so quiet? It must be some weighty matter that +would still _her_ joyous laugh. Why, she was the merriest little body +that ever hunted for violets. There was a laugh lodged in every dimple +of her sunny face, and her busy little tongue was all the day long +carolling some happy ditty. + +"Nelly, what are you dreaming about? I've been calling you this long +time, and here you are in this warm sun, almost asleep." + +"No, no! mother dear, I've only been thinking, and haven't heard you +call once. Only to think that you couldn't find me mother! how funny!" + +"And what has my little girl been thinking of?" said Mrs. Grey, as she +lifted Nelly into her lap, and smoothed hack the silky curls from her +brow. Nelly laid her rosy cheek close to her mother's, and wound her +small arms about her neck, and told her simple thoughts in a low, sweet +voice. + +"You know it's strawberry time, mother, don't you?" + +"Yes, darling." + +"Well, I was thinking, if you would let me, I could pick a big basket +full, they are so thick over in our meadow; and maybe Mrs. Preston would +buy them of me, for she gives Mr. Jones a heap of money every year for +them." + +"And what does Nelly want of a heap of money?" + +"Why, mother, little Frisk wants a brass collar,--don't you, Frisk?" +Frisk barked and played all sorts of antics to show his young mistress +he was very much in need of one. "Think how pretty it would be, mother, +round Frisk's glossy neck. Oh, say that I may--do, do, mother!" + +Nelly's pleading proved irresistible, and her mother tied her little +sunbonnet under her chin, gave the "big basket" into her hands, and the +little girl trudged merrily off, with Frisk jumping and barking by her +side to see his young mistress so happy. + +Shall I tell how the long summer afternoon wore away, dear little +reader, and how the big basket was filled to the tip-top and covered +with wild flowers and oak leaves? Shall I tell, or shall I leave you to +guess, my little bright eyes? You say, yes? Well, I will tell you about +her walk to Mrs. Preston's after the sun had gone down and the azure +blue sky had become changed to a soft, golden hue. + +It was a pleasant walk under the drooping trees, and Nelly Grey, +swinging her basket carefully on her arm, tripped lightly on her way. +Oh, how her blue eyes danced with joy as she looked down upon the little +merry Frisk trotting by her side; her bright lips parted as she +murmured, "Yes, yes, Frisk shall have a nice new collar, with 'Nelly +Grey's dog, Frisk,' written upon it;" then Frisk played all sorts of +funny antics again, probably by way of thanks. + +Ah! but what calls that sudden blush and smile to Nelly's face?--and she +had well nigh stumbled, too, and spilt all her strawberries. No wonder +she started, for, emerging from under the shadow of the trees, was a +handsome lad some half a head taller than Nelly. He was gazing, too, +with a witching smile into her face, waiting till it should be the +little maiden's pleasure to notice him. She nodded her pretty little +head as demurely as a city belle, laid her small hand lovingly upon +Frisk's curly coat, and walked with a slower and less bounding step than +before. But Phil Morton was not to be abashed at this; so he stepped +lightly up to Nelly, saying, + +"Let me carry your basket; it is too heavy for you." + +The little girl, with many injunctions to be careful and not tip it +over, delivered the basket to him; she then told him her project of +buying Frisk a collar with the money got by the selling of the +strawberries, which young Phil approved of very much, and offered to go +with her to buy it, for he knew somebody, he said, that kept them for +sale. Nelly joyfully assented to his offer, and thanked him heartily, +too, for his kindness. + +"There, Phil, we are almost there. I can see the long study window; we +have only to pass the widow Mason's cottage, up the green lane, and we +shall be there." + +On they walked, laughing merrily for very lightness of heart, till they +were close beside the poor widow's low cottage window. Suddenly Nelly +stopped, and the laugh was hushed upon her bright lips. "Did you hear +it, Phil?" she said softly. "Hear what, Nell?" and Phil turned his black +eyes slowly round, as if he expected to see some fairy issue from the +grove of trees near by. "Why, Lucy Mason's cough. Mother says she will +not live to see the little snow-birds come again. Poor, dear Lucy!" The +great tear-drops rolled fast over Nelly's red cheeks, and fell like rain +upon her little hand. "Oh, Phil, I'll tell you what;--I'll give these +strawberries to Lucy. She used to love them dearly." + +"Poh! poh! Nelly; what a silly girl! to give them away when Mrs. Preston +will give you such a deal of money for them!" + +"But, Phil, Lucy's mother is poor; she can't buy them for her, and you +can't think how well Lucy loves them." + +"Well, what if she does, and what if she is poor? can't her mother pick +them over in the fields, if she wants them so bad? I wouldn't give them +away." + +"For shame, Phil Morton! To think of poor old Mrs. Mason's going over in +the fields to pick strawberries, leaving Lucy all alone, and so sick! I +shouldn't have thought it of you, Phil. No, indeed I shouldn't. Give me +the basket," said Nelly sorrowfully; "I shall give them to Lucy." Phil +silently handed the basket to her, and, without speaking, he followed +Nelly as she went round to the cottage door. + +The tears ran silently down the poor widow's cheek as she led the +children to her sick child's room, for it touched her heart to see young +and thoughtless children so attentive to her poor Lucy. "And did you +come all this way, you and Phil, Nelly, to bring me these nice +strawberries?" without waiting for her to reply, she turned to a little +choice tea-rose that stood beside her, and, breaking off two half-blown +buds, she gave them to Phil and Nelly, saying as she did so, "It's all I +have to give you, darlings, for your kindness to me, but I know that you +will like them as coming from your sick friend." + +The bright blood flashed over Phil's dark brow and crimsoned even his +ears. Poor Phil! The shame and remorse of those few minutes washed away +his unthinking sin, and Nelly forgave him, and tried with all her power +to make him forget it. But the kind though thoughtless boy was not +satisfied until he had sent Lucy a pretty little basket filled with rare +and beautiful flowers, gathered from his father's large garden. Then, +and not till then, did he look with pleasure upon the rose Lucy had +given him. + +Some time after the above occurrence, perhaps a week, Nelly was sitting +in her low rocking-chair, under the shadow of the portico, sewing as +busily as her nimble little fingers would let her, when a shadow +darkened the sunlit walk leading to the house. Nelly saw it, and knew +well enough who it was; but there she sat, her pretty little mouth +pursed up, and her merry blue eyes almost closed, working faster than +ever. + +"Oh! is it you, Phil?" she exclaimed, as Phil Morton bounded lightly +over the railing beside her, (for he disdained the sober process of +walking up the steps;) "how you frightened me!" _He_ frighten _her!_ +Though he was naughty sometimes, and scared the little birds, he would +not think of frightening Nelly Grey. No, not he. + +"Oh! Phil, I have something to show you," said the little girl, after a +while, and then she raised her voice and called, "Frisk! Frisk!" Frisk +was not far away from Nelly, and presently he came lazily along, shaking +his silky coat as if he did not quite relish being waked from his nap so +abruptly. + +"But what is that shining so brightly around his neck--can it be a +collar? Well, it is, sure enough. But where _did_ you get it, Nell?" +said Phil, turning to her in amazement. + +"Mrs. Preston, the minister's wife, gave it to me; how she came to know +I wanted it, I can't think." + +"But I can, Nell. She heard us when we were talking, I'll bet; for you +know she came in just after we did, and she gave it to you for being so +good." + +"Oh no, Phil! I only did what anybody else would have done." + +"_Anybody_? You know _I_ didn't want to Nelly," said Phil sadly. + +"Oh, never mind _that_, Phil; you did afterward, you know." + +"Well, but, Nell, I _know_ she gave it to you for being so good. Isn't +there something on the collar?" + +"No, only Frisk's name;" and she turned to examine it with Phil. + +"There, Nell! what do you call this?" and Phil triumphantly held up the +edge of the collar, on which was written, "_Nelly's reward for +self-denial."_ + +"Why, Phil, I never saw it before; isn't it queer?" + +"Queer, that you didn't _see_ it before? Yes; but it isn't queer that +she gave it to you No, not at all; I should have thought she would." + +"Oh, Phil, how you praise me! you mustn't," said Nelly, her pink cheeks +deepening into scarlet. + +She deserved praise, did not she? for she was a very good little girl. +But I will not tire you with any more about her now. So good-by, my +sweet little reader. + +NORA. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE FOUR EVANGELISTS. + +BY REV. H.R. NYE. + + +My Young Friends: + +I love to hear and to tell stories nearly as well as when I was a child; +but I cannot write them for others to read. Even _small_ children are +sometimes _great_ critics. At any rate, I shall not venture at +story-telling here. + +You have all read some portions of the book we call the Bible. But do +you know who wrote the Bible? at what time it was written? or anything +of the men by whom it was composed? It was not written by any one man, +at one time, and by him sent out to all men in every part of the world; +but by various persons, in different ages, and first addressed to +particular churches or people. I will not attempt, in this article, to +furnish you with an account of all the individuals, Moses, David, +Isaiah, Paul, John, and others, who wrote portions of the sacred volume; +but I will try to give you some sketches of _the four Evangelists,_ +Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, who wrote the four _gospels_, or Lives of +Jesus, to which their names are now attached. And, + +1st, of MATTHEW, by whom the _first_ gospel was composed. He was +called, also, Levi. He was a Jew, born in the province of Galilee. We +suppose that from his youth he was familiar with the worship of the +synagogue and temple, and educated strictly in the religion of Moses. He +filled the office of a publican, was a collector of taxes from the Jews, +to which place he was appointed by the Romans, who, in his day, ruled +over Judea. While engaged in these duties, he became acquainted with the +preaching, miracles, and character of Jesus, the despised Nazarene, and +left all,--his business, friends, home,--to follow him. He journeyed +with Jesus in his ministry, and, after his Master went up to heaven, he +left his own land to preach the gospel among the Gentiles. Some people +suppose that he was a martyr, but this is not well established. Matthew +wrote his gospel either in Hebrew or Greek, (some say both,) about 1800 +years since,--very soon after his Master had finished the labors of his +mission, and returned unto his Father. I said, I think, that this man +left all; made many sacrifices to become Jesus' disciple. But we do not +find this in _his_ book. With other virtues, he was an _humble_ man, +quite too modest to praise himself. Luke, in his narrative, mentions +this fact concerning Matthew. Modesty is a rare virtue; an ornament to +the aged, and very beautiful in the young. But I will tell you, + +2d, of Mark, sometimes called John, and once, John Mark, in the New +Testament. Very little is known concerning this man. He was probably +born in Judea, and, it is supposed, was converted to Christianity by the +preaching of the ardent, zealous Peter. At one time, he was the +companion of Paul and Barnabas; but, when a quarrel sprang up between +these men, each went his way. Christians quarrelled then sometimes as +well, or as bad, as in our days. Chiefly, Mark travelled with Peter, as +he went forth among Jews and Gentiles, and aided him in his arduous +toils. He went, at last, to Egypt, where he planted churches, and where, +also, he died. Mark was not an apostle; neither did he attend on the +ministry of Jesus. Do you ask, how, then, could he write a correct +account of our Saviour's life? Here is one fact worth remembering. Mark +was the companion of Peter, who was an apostle, who saw the miracles and +heard the discourses of Christ. He examined the account which Mark had +written, and gave it his approval, as being correct,--true. Very few men +who write histories have vouchers like his. So, did we not regard the +Bible-writers as inspired men, we should place the utmost confidence in +the truth of Mark's gospel. He composed it about A.D. 65. We come now, + +3d, to LUKE. He was a Gentile,--all people not born in Judea were called +Gentiles,--born in Antioch, the capital of Syria, where the disciples of +Jesus first were called Christians. Luke was a learned man, we are told, +having studied in the famous schools of his own land, also of Greece and +Egypt. He was a physician by profession; and physicians assure us, that, +in his gospel, he has given a more accurate account of the diseases +which Jesus cured than any other New Testament writer: that he often +uses medical terms in his description of the miracles which were +wrought. He was a good and careful thinker, not at all credulous, but +disposed to prove all things, holding fast only to the good and true. He +wrote his gospel (perhaps you know that he was the author of the book of +Acts, also) in Greece, about 35 years after the ascension of Jesus. He +was associated with Paul in his travels, went with him to Rome, and +continued there during the imprisonment of the apostle. Historians are +not agreed in regard to the time or manner of his death. Some affirm +that he suffered as a martyr; others, simply, that, in due time, he +"fell asleep," or died a natural death. We are sure that his talents, +learning, and time were given to the diffusion of the Christian faith. +Lastly, and + +4th, of JOHN, the beloved disciple, so termed because of his mild and +gentle spirit, and because he most resembled his and our Master. He was +born in Judea, near the sea, or lake, of Galilee. Zebedee, his father, +was a fisherman; and John, probably, engaged in his father's business +until he became a preacher of glad tidings. You must not, from this +fact, conclude that they were certainly poor men, for then, at least, +men of wealth were engaged in the business, and I suppose many now are. +John was the youngest apostle, and "the disciple whom Jesus loved;" you +may recollect that he leaned on the bosom of Christ at the "Last +Supper." He, only, was present, of all the apostles, when Jesus was +crucified,--and Jesus commended his mother to this disciple's care. +After the resurrection of Jesus, John preached "the gospel" in various +parts of Asia. + +He wrote his gospel at Ephesus, and, by his labors, the truths of +Christianity spread everywhere among men. The story sometimes told, that +he was put into a caldron of burning oil, by a Roman emperor, and came +out unharmed, is not true. He lived to a very advanced age, and died +when not far from 100 years old. Late in life, when too feeble to +preach, he was often carried into the meetings of the disciples, at his +own request, and, stretching out his hands, as he sat in his chair, was +wont to say, "Little children, _love_ one another." And, when asked why +he so often gave this precept, he would say, "If this be obeyed, it is +the Lord's command, and it sufficeth." + +Children, will you think of that precept? + +Conversing with two lads once, I asked one, Who wrote the Bible, good +men, or bad men? "Good men, of course," was the response. "But how do +you know they were _good_ men?" I rejoined. And he said, "Because,"--a +very common and very foolish answer,--and was silent. "I think," said +the other lad, the younger of the two, "that good men wrote the Bible, +because _good_ men _love_ the Bible, and _wicked_ men don't." + +Can you give another reason as good? + +Now I have told you, briefly, of the four evangelists. They were good +men, honest-minded and sincere. Wicked men, all men, act from motives. +But _they_ could have had no motive to deceive. They lost friends, and +wealth, and honor, and ease, and gained contempt, persecution, and +suffering, by preaching the gospel. Their conduct is full evidence that +they were pure and good men. And, if they were good men, they wrote +_the truth_; and, by their labors we have a correct and faithful account +of the life of Jesus. Study these books, and by them be made wise. Above +all, remember the precept of John, "Little children, love one another." + +[Illustration] + + + + +MAY-DAY. + +BY MRS. NANCY T. MUNROE. + + +It is spring,--a backward spring, it is true, for now it is the first +week in May, and not a flower to be seen except the yellow dandelion, +not a blossom even on a cherry tree; nothing is green but the grass, and +that--yes, that is very green, especially this piece before my window; +it seems a relief to look upon it. + +Poor May-day revellers! May-day this year was pleasant; that is, the sun +shone, the sky was blue, and the grass was green, in spots at least; but +the cold north wind was blowing, and one needed to be told it was the +first of May. + +The sun was higher than usual on such occasions, when the children came +upon our hill;--yet they did come with wreaths and May-poles, but, ah! +the flowers were artificial. Some of the children had on sun-bonnets and +thin shawls; they should have worn hoods and cloaks, and then they might +have been comfortable. But it takes a great deal to discourage children +from going "Maying." + +Our hill is a famous place for children on May-day, for it is green and +pleasant; it is glorious to run down its sides, and pleasant to sit on +its banks, which once were forts, and behind which, in less peaceful +days, lurked soldiers with weapons of war. Ah, those children were a +pleasant sight, and as I heard their glad laughter, and saw them chase +each other down those green banks, I said, Peace is better than war. + +"Please, ma'am, will you tell me what time it is?" said a little girl, +coming forward from one group of children. + +"Quarter of nine," was the reply. + +"I didn't think it was so late; did you?" said she, turning to her +companions. They had been out perhaps two hours, and thought it was most +noon, and back they went to their sports. + +Soon I heard a sound of weeping. I went to the door, where stood a group +of children around the pump; one poor shivering child, looking blue and +cold, was having her hands and face washed by another, with water cold +from the pump, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and she sobbing +piteously. + +"What is the matter, little girl?" + +"Oh," said the one who was performing the washing operation, "she fell +from the top of the hill to the bottom, and made her nose bleed and hurt +her dreadfully." + +The poor child still sobbed and shivered. We carried her in, set her +down before a hot coal fire, and tried to warm her red hands. Her little +companions came and stood beside her, and told her not to cry; but, oh! +she was so cold, and "the tops of her fingers did ache so!" + +And this was going a Maying! But yet, next year, these very girls, I +doubt not, will start with just as buoyant hearts for May-day sports, +forgetful of the fall, the cold, and all inconveniences. Ah, childhood's +hopeful heart is a blessed thing! + +I well remember now a May-day of by-gone years. Then we had a queen, a +tent, and a table set with numberless delicacies. We had rare sport that +day. The weather was not as cold as the day of which I have been +speaking; we had a few _real_ flowers, and some hardy girls even +appeared in white dresses. The forenoon passed pleasantly; numerous +visitors thronged to see us, and we were the happiest of all May-day +revellers. But all pleasure must have an end. Soon word came that we +must surrender the sails of our tent, for the owner had need thereof. +This caused a general _strike_, and, in the confusion which ensued, a +boy had the misfortune to sit or fall upon the queen's straw bonnet, +which had been laid aside for her flowery crown. It was literally +smashed, unfit for further use. "Ah what will mother say?" was all the +disappointed queen could say. Some few laughed at the queer, misshapen +thing, but more looked on with sad countenances, for it was the queen's +best bonnet. + +We separated, tired, and, it may be, a little out of humor; but yet, a +few days made everything bright again; we remembered the pleasure with +pleasure, and thought of the disappointments only to laugh over them. + +And that bent, spoiled bonnet! When the ex-queen appeared in a fine new +one, with gay ribbons, many looked on, and almost wished that they had +been so fortunate as to have had their bonnets spoiled. + +As I look back, other May-days throng upon my mind. The memories of some +of these are sad, yea, very sad! One was the birth-day of a little one +who now rests beneath the green sod. And well do I remember another +bright May morning, when I wandered out over the hill, holding the hand +of a little fair-haired child within my own. Her tiny basket was filled +with flowers the children had given her, and her bright, sunny face was +radiant with smiles. That was her first May-day walk, and much did the +little being enjoy it. + +It was her last! Ere the spring breezes came again, she lay within her +little shroud. The snows of winter fell silently upon her little grave, +by the side of him who had gone before, and, ere another May-day, the +sod was green above them. + +These are the memories that come over me when I look out upon the +revellers; yet just as well do I love to see them at their sports, and I +can look upon their light, graceful forms, and hear their merry +laughter; and, though my heart goes to the grave-yard and mine eyes rest +upon the spot, yet I can smile upon the gay, living creatures before me, +for I know that childhood is a glad and joyous thing, and that these +beings are the light and joy of some homes, and I pray that these homes +may be never darkened by Death's shadow crossing the threshold. + +These my May-day reveries have begun lightly, and ended, as May-days +themselves have done, in sad thoughts. But sad thoughts and life's +troubles are, or ought to be, the heart's discipline. For this purpose +do they come to us, and we should go forth from them purer and better. + + + + +THE SNOW-DROP. + +BY MRS. M.A. LIVERMORE. + + The gentle, laughing, spring had come + With eye and cheek so bright; + The bird glanced through the clear, blue air, + On wing of golden light; + And earth, in gladness, lay and smiled, + To see the beauteous sight. + + The streams went singing to the sea, + And dancing to their song; + Its carpet, had the young grass spread + The hills and vales among; + Yet not a flower its bloom had shed, + The fresh green earth along. + + Not yet the violet had unsealed + Its blue and loving eye; + Nor had the primrose dared unfold, + For fear that it might die; + And on the tree-tops shook the leaves, + Which oped to kiss the sky. + + But so it chanced, one gentle day, + While softly wept the rain, + And sadly sighed the mourning breeze, + The flowers to see again; + A silvery snow-flake fell to earth, + Escaped from winter's chain. + + And daintily it laid itself + Where greenest grass was spread, + And where the bland and warm south-wind, + Soft-footed, loved to tread, + And here the white-robed fugitive + Made for itself a bed. + + The flower-goddess smiled to see + This new-born snow that fell; + "I'll change it to a flower," said she + "By magic touch, and spell; + For 'twill be long ere blossoms ope, + That spring doth love so well." + + Then with a wand of living light, + She touched the feathery snow; + And on it, radiant from her cheek, + There streamed a sunny glow. + Forth from the tiny, crystal flake, + The pearly petals came; + The stem sprang up--there waved a flower,-- + The SNOW-DROP was its name! + + + + +CAGING BIRDS. + + +I never liked the idea of rearing birds in cages; of confining those +little creatures, that seem to enjoy liberty most of all God's vast +family, in the little, stinted prison-house of a cage. Girls seldom +incline to keep them caged; I wish, fewer women did; but boys seem +almost to possess a different nature. Many really enjoy taking the +little helpless fledglings from the nest, hid away so slyly among the +thick boughs of the forest-tree; crowding two, three, or even four, into +one cage, oftentimes not eighteen inches square. They are even so +heartless as to laugh at the fluttering, slapping, and beating of the +poor prisoner against the wiry walls of his gloomy, unnatural home. + +To be sure, I once owned a caged bird. It was a robin. A dear brother +had kept him several years, and, on leaving home for a residence in +Boston, where he could not take care of the bird, he gave him to me. It +was not at a season of the year when we could safely release him from +confinement; and, besides that, our oldest brother had taught him to +whistle parts of several tunes, and we feared, moreover, that he might +suffer even in the best season of the year, from the fact of his having +been taken when so young from other robins. Confinement, probably, does +not destroy the instinct of birds, so that they would starve if +released. After having been an inmate of our family nine years, having +suffered countless frights and manglings from the many kittens we had +kept in the time, he at last died by the claws of the family cat, when +released one fine afternoon for an airing, and to have his cage cleaned. + +I never since have wished to own a caged bird. The song of a canary +bird, born and reared in a cage, never pleases me like the cheerful +warbling or merry whistle of the wild, free birds of our woodlands. The +one seems but the expression of a cheerful forgiveness of unkind +treatment, the bursting forth of a happy nature in spite of man's +cruelty; while the other seems a free outpouring of perfect happiness, +and the choicest notes of a grateful little being directed to the good +GOD of nature. + +I know we often hear of happy, contented little pet birds; yet I never +saw one that did not seem to prefer the freedom of an out-of-door +excursion on the strong, free wing, to the hopping, swinging, perching, +and fluttering, within a narrow cage. The taming and petting of +sparrows, robins, yellow-birds, snow-birds, and swallows, round the +doors or windows of one's house, I admire. There is nothing inhuman in +this practice. It rather calls forth some of the better feelings of the +heart--gives pleasure to us and the birds, yet violates no law of +nature. + +I here give you a little story of a pet swallow that I met with in a +little English book, which, perhaps, few of you have read. The children +named in the story were certainly kind-hearted towards their little pet, +and very indulgent. Mark well their reward! Some of you may be induced +to imitate them; at least, I hope you will not again be so selfish as to +cage a bird for his song, while, with the exercise of a little patience +and kindly attention, you can tame them so easily at your door. + + + +THE PET SWALLOW. + + +One day we had been out gathering primroses, and, to put the pretty pale +flowers neatly into baskets, we had sat down under one of the windows in +the old church tower. Mary was sitting next the wall, when something +touched her shoulder, and fell on her knee. It was a young swallow, +without any feathers, that had fallen, or perhaps had been thrown, out +of the nest, by some quarrelsome brother or sister. + +The poor primroses were cast away, and every little hand was ready to +seize the prize. When we found it was not killed, or even hurt, by its +fall, some called for a cage; others said, "Let us put it back in the +nest; we do not know what to give it to eat; we may be sure it will +die." And this seemed so very true that we were all obliged to agree; +but, alas! the poor swallow having built in a false window of the tower, +there was no way of getting to the nest, and so the cage was brought, +and the little bird did not die, but grew bigger and prettier every day, +until at last it could skim through the room on its pretty, soft wings, +and would dive down to us, and light upon our shoulders, or let itself +fall into our hands. How we did love that little bird! and oh, how sorry +we were one day, when it flew out at the window! We all ran down to the +lawn; we were quite sure it would never come back to us again, for it +seemed so happy to be free; and we watched it flying here and there--now +high in the air, now close down to the ground. We had called our pretty +bird Fairy, and it really seemed like a fairy now; one moment it was +quite out of sight, the next so near it almost touched us. At last, Fred +gave a long, loud whistle; when he began, it was up in the air, high, +high above our heads, but, before the sound passed away, it was +fluttering its pretty dark wings upon his face. From this time Fairy was +allowed to go free; and it would skim about before our windows all day +long, coming in from time to time to pay us visits, and to sleep at +nights in its old post on the top of one of our little beds in the +nursery. + +At last August came, and then our pretty Fairy skimmed through the air, +far, far beyond the reach of Fred's whistle, for it had set out, with +all the other swallows, on its long voyage across the seas. + +We had never thought of this,--never thought that our faithful Fairy +would so leave us,--and it was many days before the hope of its coming +back next year could make us feel at all happy again. + +But Fairy, our own dear little Fairy, _did_ come back, and it remembered +us all, as if it had been away only for a few hours, instead of nearly +eight whole months. + +It was a very happy day, the day that Fairy came back, and it seemed to +feel as much joy as we did; first it flew to Mary, and then to Fred, and +then to one after the other, twittering its wings, and rubbing its +pretty black head on our hands or faces, as we see dogs and cats do +when they want to show great kindness. + +It flew to the top of the little bed at night, pecked at the window when +it wished to get out in the morning, and would dart down at Fred's +whistle as readily as it had been used to do the year before. In short, +notwithstanding the long voyage it had made, Fairy seemed to have +forgotten neither its old friends nor its old ways. + +When it came near the time for the swallows to fly away again, we grew +very sad at the idea of losing our pretty Fairy: some thought it would +be wise to put it into a cage, and keep it there until all the others +were gone; while some, who were wiser, said it was Fairy's nature to go +away, and that Fairy must go. But what do you think was our joy to find, +that, of its own good will, Fairy stayed with us? All the others went +away; and, whether it had grown fonder of us, or that it had not liked +the long voyage it had been led into by the example of others, I cannot +say; but for four winters it stayed always with us, taking a flight now +and then in the open air, but spending the greatest part of the day in +the school-room, till summer came, when it would again join its friends, +and always build its nest in the very window from which it had fallen +into Mary's lap. + +Six years had passed since then, but what now became of it we could +never learn. For a long time we hoped it had gone again over sea and +land, to visit far countries with all the others, but whether it had or +not we never knew, for we saw our pretty Fairy no more. + + + +LAST PAGE. + + The last bright page before you, + Kind reader and good friend, + Is of another Annual + The very pleasant end. + + Our Book's communication + To goodly themes applied, + None of its pages would we wish + To change, expunge, or hide. + + With us be Life's brief pages, + When looking back to youth, + So filled with kindly words of love, + And timely Christian truth, + + That with an honest confidence + In what our deeds shall say, + With steady and firm hand we write + Our "last page," and away! + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Small Means and Great Ends +Edited by Mrs. M. H. 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