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diff --git a/15895.txt b/15895.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..412a8a8 --- /dev/null +++ b/15895.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3580 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Allegories of Life, by Mrs. J. S. 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: Allegories of Life + +Author: Mrs. J. S. Adams + +Release Date: May 24, 2005 [EBook #15895] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALLEGORIES OF LIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Wright American Fiction, Curtis Weyant, Mary +Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + Allegories of Life + + BY MRS. J. S. ADAMS + + 1872 + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + I. THE BELLS + + II. THE HEIGHT + + III. THE PILGRIM + + IV. FAITH + + V. HOPE + + VI. JOY AND SORROW + + VII. UPWARD + + VIII. THE OAK + + IX. TRUTH AND ERROR + + X. THE TREE + + XI. THE TWO WAYS + + XII. THE URNS + + XIII. SELF-EXERTION + + XIV. THE VINES + + XV. IN THE WORLD + + XVI. FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY + + XVII. GOING FORTH + + XVIII. THE FEAST + + XIX. THE LESSON OF THE STONE + + XX. THE SEEDS + + XXI. ONLY GOLD + + XXII. THE SACRIFICE + + XXIII. STRANGERS + + + + +I. + +THE BELLS. + + +In the steeple of an old church was a beautiful chime of bells, which +for many years had rung out joyous peals at the touch of the sexton's +hand upon the rope. + +"I'll make the air full of music to-morrow," said the white-haired man, +as he lay down to his slumbers. "To-morrow is Christmas, and the people +shall be glad and gay. Ah, yes! right merry will be the chimes I shall +ring them." Soon sleep gathered him in a close embrace, and visions of +the morrow's joy flitted over his brain. + +At midnight some dark clouds swept over the tower, while darker shadows +of discontent fell on the peaceful chime. + +Hark! what was that? A low, discordant sound was heard among the bells. + +"Here we have been ringing for seven long years," murmured the highest +bell in the chime. + +"Well, what of it? That's what we are placed here for," said a voice +from one of the deeper-toned bells. + +"But I have rung long enough. Besides, I am weary of always singing +one tone," answered the high bell, in a clear, sharp voice. + +"Together we make sweetest harmony," returned the bell next the +complainer. + +"I well know that, but I am tired of my one tone, while you can bear +monotony. For my part, I do not mean to answer to the call of the rope +to-morrow." + +"What! not ring on Christmas Day!" exclaimed all the bells together. + +"No, I don't. You may exclaim as much as you please; but, if you +had common sympathy, you would see in a moment how weary I am of +singing this one high tone." + +"But we all have to give our notes," responded a low, sweet-voiced bell. + +"That's just what I mean to change. We are all weary of our notes, +and need change." + +"But we should have to be recast," said the low-toned bell, sadly. + +"Most certainly we should. _I_ should like the fun of that. Now how +many of you will be silent in the morning when the old sexton comes to +ring us?" + +"I will," answered the lowest-toned bell, boldly. + +"If part of us are silent and refuse to ring, of what use will the rest +be?" said one who had remained quiet until then. "For a chime all of +us are needed," she added, sadly. + +"That's just the point," remarked the leader. "If all will be still, none +will be blamed: the people will think we are worn out and need making +over. So we shall be taken down from this tower where we have been so +long, and stand a chance of seeing something of the world. For _my_ +part, I am tired to death of being up here, and seeing nothing but this +quiet valley." + +A murmur ran from one to another, till all agreed to be silent on the +morrow, though many of the chime would have preferred to ring as usual. + +The man who had presented the bells to the church returned at midnight, +after a long journey to his native valley, bringing with him a friend, +almost solely to hear the beautiful chime on the morrow. + +As he passed the church, on his way home, the murmuring of the bells +was just ceasing. "The wind moves them--the beautiful bells," he said. +"But to-morrow you shall hear how sweet they will sing," he added, +casting a loving glance up to the tower where hung the bells. + +A few miles from the valley, close to the roadside, stood a cottage +inhabited by a man and wife whose only child was fast fading from the +world. + +"Raise me up a little, mother," said the dying boy, "so I can hear the +Christmas chime. It will be the last time I shall hear them here, mother. +Is it almost morning?" + +The pale mother wiped the death-dew from his brow and kissed him, +saying, "Yes, dear, it's almost morning. The bells will chime soon as +the first ray comes over the hills." + +Patiently the child sat, pillowed in his bed, till the golden arrows of +light flashed over the earth. Day had come, but no chime. + +"What can be the matter?" said the anxious mother, as she strained her +eyes in the direction of the tower. + +What if the old sexton were dead? The thought took all her strength +away. If death had taken him first, who would lay her boy tenderly away? + +"Is it almost time?" + +"Almost, Jimmy, darling. Perhaps the old sexton has slept late." + +"Will the bells chime in heaven, mother?" + +"Yes, dear, I hope so." + +"Will they ring them for me if--if--I--mother! hark! the bells _are_ +ringing! The good old sexton has gone to the church at last!" + +The boy's eyes glistened with a strange light. In vain the mother +listened. No sound came to _her_ ears. All was still as death. + +"Oh, how beautiful they sing!" he said, and fell back and died. + +Other chimes fell on his ear, sweeter far than the bells of St. Auburn. + +For more than an hour the old sexton had been working at the ropes +in vain. No sound come forth from either bell. + +"What can be the matter?" he exclaimed, nervously. "For seven long years +they have not failed to ring out their tones. I'll try once more." And he +did so, vigorously. + +Just then the figure of a man stood in the doorway. It was the owner +of the chime. He had gone to the sexton's house, not hearing the bells +at the usual hour, thinking he had overslept; and, not finding him, had +sought him at the church. + +He tried the ropes himself, but with no more success than the sexton. + +"What can it mean?" he said, as he turned sorrowfully away. + +It was a sad Christmas in the pleasant valley. To have those sweet +sounds missing, and on such a day,--it was a loss to all, and an omen +of ill to many. + +The next day, workmen were sent to the tower to examine the bells. No +defect was perceptible. They were sound and whole, and no mischief-making +lad, as some had suggested, had stolen their tongues. + +The bells were taken down and carried to a distant city to be recast. + +"There! didn't I tell you we should see the world?" said their leader, +after they were packed and on their way. + +"I don't think we are seeing much of it now, in this dark box," answered +one of the bells. + +"Wait till we are at our journey's end. We are in a transition state +now. Haven't I listened to the old pastor many a time, and heard him +say those very words? I could not comprehend them then, but I can now. +Oh, how delightful it is to have the prospect of some change before +us!" Thus the old bell chatted to the journey's end, while the other +bells had but little to say. + +Three days later they were at the end of their long ride, and placed, +one by one, in a fiery furnace. Instead of murmurs now, their groans +filled the air. + +"Oh, for one moment's rest from the heat and the hammer! Oh, that we +were all at the sweet vale of St. Auburn!" said the leader of all their +sorrow. + +"How sweetly would we sing!" echoed all. + +"It's a terrible thing to be recast!" sighed the deepest-toned bell; +and he quivered with fear as they placed him in the furnace. + +At last, after much suffering, they were pronounced perfect, and repacked +for their return. + +The same tone was given to each, but the quality was finer, softer, and +richer than before. The workmen knew not why--none but the suffering +bells, and the master hand who put them into the furnace of affliction. + +They were all hung once more in the tower--wiser and better bells. +Never again was heard a murmur of discontent from either because but +one tone was its mission. In the moonlight they talk among themselves, +of their sad but needful experience, and of the lesson which it taught +them,--as we hope it has our reader,--that each must be faithful to the +quality or tone which the Master has given us, and which is needful to +the rich and full harmonies of life. + + + + +II. + +THE HEIGHT. + + +There was once an aged man who lived upon an exceeding high mountain for +many years; but, as his strength began to decline, he found the ascent so +tedious for his feeble steps that he went into the valley to live. + +It was very hard for him to give up the view from its lofty height of +the sun which sank so peacefully to rest. Long before the sleepers in +the valley awoke, he was watching the golden orb as it broke through the +mists and flung its beauties over the hills. + +"This must be my last day upon the mountain top," he said. "The little +strength which is left me I must devote to the culture of fruit and +flowers in the valley, and no longer spend it in climbing up and down +these hills, whose tops rest their peaks in the fleecy clouds. I have +enjoyed many years of repose and grandeur, and must devote the remainder +of my life to helping the people in the valley." + +At sunset the old man descended, with staff in hand, and went slowly down +the mountain side. Such lovely blossoms, pink, golden, and scarlet, met +his eye as he gazed on the gardens of the laborers, that he involuntarily +exclaimed, "I fear I have spent my days not wisely on yonder mountain +top, taking at least a third of my time in climbing up and down. Richer +flowers grow here in the valley; the air is softer, and the grass like +velvet to the tread. I'll see if there is a vacant cottage for me." + +Saying this, he accosted a laborer who was just returning from his +toil: "Good man, do you know of any cottage near which I can rent?" + +"Why! you are the old man from the mountain," exclaimed the astonished +person addressed. + +"I am coming to the valley to live. I am now seeking a shelter." + +"Yonder," answered the man, "is a cottage just vacated by a man and +wife. Would that suit you?" + +"Anything that will shelter me will suit," was the answer. "Dost thou +know who owns the house?" + +"Von Nellser, the gardener. He lives down by the river now, and works for +all the rich men in the valley." + +"I'll see him to-night," said the old man, and, thanking his informant, +was moving on. + +"But, good father, the sun has already set; the night shades appear. +Come and share my shelter and bread to-night, and in the morning seek +Von Nellser." + +The old man gladly accepted his kind offer. "The vale makes men kindly of +heart and feeling," he said, as he uncovered his head to enter the home +of the laborer. A fair woman of forty came forward, and clasped his hand +with a warmth of manner which made him feel more at ease than many words +of welcome would have done. + +The three sat together at supper, and refreshed themselves with food +and thought. + +He retired early to the nice apartment assigned him, and lay awake a +long time, musing on the past and the present. "Ah, I see," he said to +himself, "why I am an object of wonder and something of awe to the +people of the valley. I have lived apart from human ties, while they have +grown old and ripe together. I must be a riddle to them all--a something +which they have invested with an air of veneration, because I was not +daily in their midst. Had it been otherwise, I should have been neither +new nor fresh to them. How know I but this is God's reserve force +wherewith each may become refreshed, and myself an humble instrument +sent in the right moment to vivify those who have been thinking alike too +much?" + +He fell asleep, and awoke just as the sun was throwing its bright rays +over his bed. "Dear old day-god," he said, with reverence, and arose +and dressed himself, still eying the sun's early rays. "One of thy golden +messengers must content me now," he said, a little sadly. "I can no +longer see thee in all thy majesty marching up the mountain side; no +longer can I follow thee walking over the hill-tops, and resting thy head +against the crimson sky at evening: but smile on me, Sun, while in the +vale I tarry, and warm my seeds to life while on thy daily march." + +The old man went from his room refreshed by sleep, and partook of the +bread and honey which the kind woman had ready for him. Then, thanking +them for their hospitality, he departed. + +The laborer and wife watched him out of sight, and thought they had +never seen anything more beautiful than his white hair waving in the +morning breeze. + +At dusk a light shone in the vacant cottage, and they sent him fresh +cakes, milk, and honey for his evening meal. + + * * * * * + +Ten years passed away. The old man had cultured his land, and no fairer +flowers or sweeter fruits grew in the valley than his own. He had taught +the people many truths which he had learned in his solitary life on the +mountain, and in return had learned much from them. He faded slowly away. +The brilliant flowers within his garden grew suddenly distasteful to him. +He longed to look once more on a pure white blossom which grew only at +the mountain top. With its whiteness no flower could compare. There were +others, growing half way up, that approached its purity, but none equaled +the flower on the summit. + +"I should like, of all things," answered the old man, when they desired +to know what would most please him,--for he had become a great favorite +in the valley,--"to look once more upon my pure white flower ere I die; +but it's so far to the mountain top, none will care to climb." + +"Thou _shalt_ see it!" exclaimed a strong youth, who was courageous, +but seldom completed anything he undertook, for lack of perseverance. + +The old man blessed him. He started for the mountain, and walked a +long way up its side, often missing his footing, and at one time seeking +aid from a rotten branch, which broke in his grasp and nearly threw him +to the base. + +After repeated efforts to reach the summit, he found a sweet, pale +blossom growing in a mossy nook by a rock. + +"Ah! here it is--the same, I dare say, as those on the mountain top. +So what need of climbing farther? What a lucky fellow I am to save so +many steps for myself!" and he went down the mountain side as fast as +he could, amid the rank and tangled wood, with the flower in his hand. + +Day was walking over the meadows with golden feet when he entered +the cottage and placed the blossom exultingly in the old man's palm. + +"What! so quick returned?" he said. "Thou must have been very swift--but +this, my good young man, never grew on the mountain top! Thee must have +found this half way up. I remember well those little flowers--they grew +by the rocks where I used to rest when on my journey up." + +The crowd who had come to see the strange white flower now laughed aloud, +which made the youth withdraw, abashed and much humbled. Had he been +strong of heart, he would have tried again, and not returned without the +blossom from the mountain top. Many others tried, but never had the +courage to reach its height; while the old man daily grew weaker. + +"He'll die without setting eyes on his flower," said the good woman +who had given him shelter the night he came to the valley. She had not +the courage to try the ascent, but she endeavored to stimulate others to +go to the top and bring the blossom to cheer his heart. She offered, as +reward, choice fruits and linen from her stores; but all had some excuse, +although they loved the old man tenderly: none felt equal to the effort. + +Towards noon, a pale, fragile girl, from a distant part of the vale, +appeared, who had heard of his desire, and stood at the door of his +cottage and knocked. + +"What dost thou wish?" he asked from within. + +"To go to the mountain for the flower and place it in thy hand," she +answered, as she entered his room and meekly stood before him. + +"Thou art very frail of body," he replied, "but strong of heart. Go, +try, and my soul will follow and strengthen thee, fair daughter." + +She kissed his hand, and departed. + +The morning came, and she returned not. The end of the second day +drew nigh, and yet she came not back. + +"Pooh, pooh!" exclaimed one of a group of wood-cutters near by the +cottage. "Such a fool-hardy errand will only be met by death. The old +man ought to be content to die without sight of his flower when it costs +so much labor to get it." + +"So think me," said his comrade, between the puffs of his pipe; "so +think me. Our flowers are pretty, and good 'nough, too. Sure, he +orter be content with what grows 'round him, and not be sending folk +a-climbing." This said, he resumed his smoking vigorously, and looked +very wise. + + * * * * * + +The aged man of the mountain was passing rapidly away. The kind +neighbors laid him for the last time on his cot, and sat tearfully around +the room. Some stood in groups outside, looking wistfully towards the +mountain; for their kind hearts could not bear to see him depart without +the flower to gladden his eyes. + +"The girl's gone a long time," remarked one of the women. + +"The longer she's gone, the surer the sign she's reached the mountain +top. It's a long way up there, and a weary journey back. My feet have +trod it often, and I know all the sharp rocks and the tangled branches +in the way. But she will come yet. I hear footsteps not far away." + +"But too late, we fear, for your eyes to behold the blossom, should she +bring it." + +"Then put it on my grave--but hark! she comes--some one approaches!" + +Through the crowd, holding high the spotless flower, came the fair girl, +with torn sandals and weary feet, but with beaming eyes. The old man +raised himself in bed, while she knelt to receive his blessing. + +"Fair girl,"--he spoke in those clear tones which the dying ever +use,--"the whiteness of this blossom is only rivaled by the angels' +garments. Its spotless purity enters ever into the soul of him who plucks +it, making it white as their robes. To all who persevere to the mountain +top and pluck this flower, into all does its purity, its essence, enter +and remain forever. For is it not the reward of the toiler, who pauses +not till the summit is gained?" + +"Oh! good man, the mountain view was so grand, I fain would have lingered +to gaze; but, longing to lay the blossom in thy hand, I hastened back." + +"Thou shalt behold all the grandeur thy toil has earned thee. Unto +those who climb to the mountain summit, who mind not the sharp rocks +and loose, rough grass beneath their tread,--unto such shall all the +views be given; for they shall some day be lifted in vision, without aid +of feet, to grander heights than their weary limbs have reached." + +The old man lay back and died. + +They buried him, with the flower on his breast, one day just as the sun +was setting. Ere the winter snows fell, many of the laborers, both men +and women, went up the mountain to its very top, and brought back the +white blossoms to deck his grave. + + * * * * * + +The summit only has the view, and the white flower of purity grows +upon it. Shall we ascend and gather it? or, like the youth, climb but +half the distance, and cheat our eyes and souls of the view from the +height? + + + + +III. + +THE PILGRIM. + + +One sultry summer day a youthful pilgrim sat by the roadside, weary and +dispirited, saying, "I cannot see why I was ordered to tarry beside this +hard, unsightly rock, after journeying as many days as I have. Something +better should have been given me to rest upon after walking so far. If it +were only beside some shady tree, I could wait the appearance of the +guide. My lot is hard indeed. I do not see any pilgrim here. Others are +probably resting beneath green trees and by running brooks. I will look +at my directions once more;" and she drew the paper from her girdle and +read slowly these words: "Tarry at the rock, and do not go on till the +guide appears to conduct you to your journey's end." She folded and +replaced the paper with a sigh, while the murmur still went on: "It's +very hard, when beyond I see beautiful green trees, whose long branches +would shelter me from the burning sun. How thirsty I am, too! My bread is +no longer sweet, for want of water. Oh, that I could search for a spring! +I am sure I could find one if permitted to go on my journey. If the rock +was not so hard I could pillow my head upon it. Ah me! I have been so +often told that the guide had great wisdom, and knew what was good and +best for us pilgrims; but this surely looks very dark." + +Here weariness overcame the pilgrim, and involuntarily she laid her +head upon the rock; when, lo! a sudden spring was touched, and the +waters leaped, pure and sparkling, from the hard, unsightly spot. This +was the guide's provision for his pilgrim. It was no longer mystical why +he had ordered her to tarry there. + +When she had drank, and the parched throat was cool and the whole +being refreshed, the guide appeared rounding a gentle curve of the road, +and bade her follow him through a dense forest which lay between the +rock and the journey's end. The steps of the pilgrim now were more +firm, for trust was begotten within her, and the light of hope gleamed +on her brow--as it will at last upon us all, when the waters have gushed +from the bare rocks which lie in the pathways of our lives. + +At last we shall learn that our Father, the great Guide, leads us where +flow living waters, and that he never forsakes us in time of need. + + + + +IV. + +FAITH. + + +"Children," said a faithful father, one day, to his sons and daughters, +"I have a journey to take which will keep me many days, perhaps weeks, +from you; and as we have no power over conditions,--such as storms, +sickness, or any of the so-called accidents of life,--I may be detained +long beyond my appointed time of absence. I trust, however, that you will +each have confidence in me; and, should illness to myself or others +detain me, that you will all trust and wait." + +"We will, father!" shouted a chorus of voices, which was music to his +ears. + +With a fond embrace to each, he left them. Slowly he walked down +the winding path which led from his home. He heard the voices of his +children on the air long after he entered the highway--voices which he +might not hear, perchance, for many months. Sweeter than music to his +soul were those sounds floating on the summer air. Over the hill and +dale he rode till night came on, and then, before reposing, he lifted his +soul to heaven for blessings on his household. + +With the sun he arose and pursued his journey. The summer days +went down into autumn; the emerald leaves changed their hues for gold +and scarlet; ripe fruits hung in ruby and yellow clusters from their +strong boughs; while over the rocks, crimson vines were trailing. Slowly +the tints of autumn faded. Soon the white frosts lay on the meadows +like snow-sheets; the days were shorter and the air more crisp and chill. +Around the evening fire the household of the absent parent began to +gather. While summer's beauties abounded they had not missed him so +much, but now they talked each to the other, and grew strangely restless +at his long delay. + +"Did he not tell us," said the eldest, "that sickness or accident might +delay him?" + +"But he sends us no word, no sign, to make us at rest." + +"The roads may not be passable," replied the brother, whose faith as +yet was not dimmed. "Already the snow has blocked them for miles +around us, and we know not what greater obstacles lie beyond. No, let +us trust our father," he added, with a depth of feeling which touched +them all; and for a few days they rested in the faith that he would come +and be again in their midst. But, alas! how short-lived is the trust of +the human heart! how limited its vision! It cannot pierce the passing +clouds, nor stretch forth its hand in darkness. + +Together they sat one evening, in outer and inner darkness,--again in +the shadows of distrust. + +"He will never return," said one of the group, in sad and sorrowing +tones. + +"My father will come," lisped the youngest of them all,--the one on +whom the others looked as but a babe in thought and feeling. + +"I am weary with watching," said another, as she went from the window +where she had been looking, for so many days, for the loved form. "Our +father has forgotten us all," she moaned, and bowed her head and wept. + +There was no one to comfort; for all were sad, knowing that naught but a +few crusts remained for their morrow's food--and who would provide for +the coming days? Lights and fuel too were wanting, and winter but half +gone. Even the faith of the eldest had long since departed, and he too +had yielded to distrust. + +"My father will come," still whispered the little one, strong in her +child-trust, while the others doubted. + +"It's because she's so young, and cannot reason like us," they said +among themselves. + +"Perhaps God can speak to her because she is so simple," said one of +the household with whom words were few. + +They looked at each other as though a ray of sunlight had flashed +through their dwelling. Something akin to hope began to spring in their +hearts, but died away as the chilling blasts came moaning around them. + +Three days passed, while the storm raged and threatened to bury their +home beneath the heavy snows. There was no food now to share between +them. The last crumb had been given the child to soften her cries of +hunger. + +"I can stand this no longer," said the eldest, wrapping his garments +around him, and preparing to go forth to find labor and bread for his +brothers and sisters. "Ah, that I should ever have lived to see this +day!"--he murmured--"the day in which we are deserted and forgotten +by our father." + +The sound of murmuring within now mingled with the sighing of the winds +without. He stepped to the door; but for an instant the fierce blasts +drove him back--yet but for an instant. "I will not add cowardice to +sorrow," he said to them, in reply to their entreaties not to go in the +storm. With one strong effort he faced the chilling sleet, which so +blinded him that he could not find the path which led to the highway; +yet he went bravely on, till hunger and chill overcame him, and he could +no longer see or even feel. He grew strangely dizzy, and would have +fallen to the ground, but for a pair of strong arms which at that instant +held him fast. He was too much overcome to know who it was that thus +enfolded him; but soon a well-known voice rose above the wind and the +storm,--he knew that his father's arms were about him, and he feared +no more. In the hour of greatest need the father had come. There, in +that hour of brave effort, he was spared a long exposure to the wintry +blast. A carriage laden with food, fuel, and timely gifts, for each, was +already on the road, and would soon deposit its bounties at the door of +those whose faith had deserted them. + +What a happy household gathered around the father that night! There +was no need of lamps to reveal the joy on their faces, and the darkness +could not hide the tears which coursed down their cheeks. The little one +awoke shouting, in her child-trust, "My father has come! me knew him +would!" + +And they called her Faith from that hour. + +The only alloy in the joy of the others was, as the kind father explained +to them the causes of his delay, that they had not trusted him with the +faith of the little child; and when he told them of the strange people he +had been among, who needed counsel and instruction, and their great +need of his ministrations, they sorrowed much that doubt had shadowed +for a moment their trust in their father. + +Thus do we distrust our Heavenly Parent; and when our needs rise +like mountains before us, and all _seems_ dark, we cry, "Alas! he has +forgotten us!" And yet in our deepest night a light appears, his strong +arm uplifts us, and we are taught how holy a thing is Faith. + + + + +V. + +HOPE. + + +Darkness had been upon the earth for a long time. It was a period of war +and bloodshed, crime and disaster. + +The old earth seemed draped in habiliments of mourning; and there +was cause for aching hearts, for out of many homes had gone unto battle +sons, fathers, and husbands, who would return no more. They fell in +service; and kind mothers and wives could not take one farewell look at +their still, white faces, but must go about their homes as though life +had lost none of its helps. + + * * * * * + +"The poor, sad earth!" said one of a glad band, belonging to a starry +sphere above. "I long to comfort its people; but my mission is given +me to guide souls through the death valley, and bear them to their +friends in the summer-land. I must not leave my post of duty. Who will +go?" + +"I will," said Love, in sweet, silvery tones. + +"You are too frail to descend into such darkness as at present envelops +the earth; beside, they need another, a different element just now, to +prepare the way for better things." + +"Who shall it be?" they all said, and looked from one to the other. + +"Hope," said their leader, the queen of the starry band. + +There was to be high festival that night, in a temple dedicated to the +Muses; and it was quite a sacrifice for any of their number to leave +their happy sphere, for one so dark as that of earth. + +Hope came forward at the mention of her name, holding in her hand +the half-finished garland which she had been twining for one of the +Graces. + +"Wilt thou go to earth to-night, fair Hope?" asked the queen. + +The star on her fair brow glittered brighter as she said unhesitatingly, +"I will." + +"Your mission will be to carry garlands to every habitation which has +a light within. The others you cannot, of course, discern. Come now, +and let me clasp this strong girdle about thy waist, to which I shall +attach a cord, by which to let you down to earth." + +They filled her arms with garlands, and flung some about her neck, till +she was laden and ready to go. + +"Now," said their leader, "descend on this passing cloud; and while +you are gone we will sing anthems for you, to keep your heart bright and +linked to ours." + +Then she fastened the cord to her golden girdle, and let her down +gently from the skies. + + * * * * * + +In a little cottage by a roadside sat Mary Deane and her sister, reading. +They were two fair orphans whose father and brother were lost in battle. + +"Let's put out the light, and look at the stars awhile," said the +youngest. + +"Not yet, dear, it's too early. There may be some passer-by, and a +light is such a comfort to a traveler on the road. Many a time our +neighbor's light has sent a glow over me which has enabled me to reach +home much sooner, if not in better humor." + +"As you like, sister,--but hark! I thought I heard footsteps." + +They listened, and, hearing nothing more, finished their reading and +retired to rest. + +On opening their door the next morning, their eyes were gladdened by +a lovely garland which hung on the knob. The flowers were rich in, +perfume and color--unlike anything they had seen on earth. + +Much they marveled, and wondered from whence they came, and still +greater was their joy to find they did not fade. + +Hope found a great many dwellings with lights in them, but had to pass +many, as there was no lamp to signal them. At the door of the former +she left garlands to gladden the inmates. + +"It's no use to waste our oil: we have nothing to read or interest +us," said one of two lonely women, on the night Hope came to the earth. +So they sat down gloomily together, the darkness adding to their +cheerlessness, while a bright glow within would have gladdened them and +all without. + +Hope went by, laden with garlands, just as they took their seats in the +shadows. She would gladly have left them, for she had enough and to +spare; but, seeing no sign of a habitation, walked on. + +The two women talked of the dreary world until they went to rest. What +was their surprise, in the morning, to find their neighbors rejoicing +over their mysterious gifts. + +"Why had we none?" they said again and again. "The poor never have half +as much given them as the wealthy," they cried, and went back to their +gloom and despair. + +"Did you find a wreath on your doorstep this morning?" inquired a +bright, hopeful woman at noon, who had brought them a part of her +dinner. + +"No, indeed!" they answered. "Did you find one on yours?" + +"The handsomest wreath I ever saw. Who ever could have made +one so lovely? But"--she stopped suddenly, on seeing their sad faces. +"You shall have part of mine: I will cut it in two." + +"Never!" said the eldest quickly. "There is some reason why we +were omitted; and, until we can know the cause, you must keep your +wreath unbroken." + +It was very noble of her to come out of herself and refuse to accept +what she instinctively felt did not belong to her. + +A week passed away. A child in the village had had strange dreams +concerning the gifts, which, in substance, was that a beautiful angel +had come from the stars above, and brought flowers to every house in +which a light was seen. + +"We did not have any light that night,--don't you remember?" remarked the +eldest of the women, as their neighbor told them of the strange dream. + +"There must be _something_ in it," answered the little bright-eyed +woman. "For all the dwellings had flowers which were lighted." + +"I suppose we ought always to be more hopeful," said the women +together. "The lamps of our houses should typify the light of hope, +which should never be dim, nor cease burning." + + * * * * * + +Hope was taken up, by a golden cord, to her abode. The starry group +sang heavenly anthems to refresh her, and Love twined a fresh garland +for her brow. They held another festival in the temple, in honor of her +and her safe return from the earth. + +Ever since she has been the brightest light in the group; and at night, +when the clouds rising from the earth obscure all the others, the star on +the brow of Hope is shining with a heavenly lustre, and seen by all whose +gaze is upward. + + + + +VI. + +JOY AND SORROW. + + +Many years ago, two visitors were sent from realms above, to enter the +homes of earth's inhabitants, and see how much of true happiness and real +sorrow there were in their midst. Hand in hand they walked together, till +they entered a pleasant valley nestled among green hills. At the base of +one of these stood a cottage covered with roses and honeysuckles, which +looked very inviting; and the external did not belie the interior. + +The family consisted of a man and wife somewhat advanced in years, +an aged and infirm brother, and two lovely young girls, grandchildren +of the couple. + +The pleasant murmur of voices floated on the air,--pleasant to the ear +as the perfume of the roses climbing over the door was to the sense of +smell. It chimed with the spell of the summer morning, and the sisters +knew that harmony was within. + +"Let us enter," said Joy. + +Sorrow, who was unwilling to go into any abode, lingered outside. + +Within, all was as clean and orderly as one could desire: the young +girls were diligently sewing, while before them lay an open volume, from +which they occasionally read a page or so, thus mingling instruction with +labor. + +Joy entered, and accosted them with, "A bright morning." + +"Very lovely," answered the girls, and they arose and placed a chair +for their visitor. + +"We have much to be grateful for every day, but very much on such a +day as this," remarked the grandmother. + +"You're a busy family," said Joy. + +"Yes, we all labor, and are fond of it," answered the woman, looking +fondly at the girls. "We have many blessings, far more than we can be +grateful for, I sometimes think." + +"Yes, I tell mother," broke in the husband, "that we must never lose +sight of our blessings; in fact, they are all such, though often in +disguise." + +At that moment Sorrow looked in at the open door. It was so seldom +that _she_ was recognized that she longed to enter. + +"You have a friend out there: ask her in," said the woman. + +Joy turned and motioned her sister to enter. She came in softly, and +sat beside Joy, while the woman spoke of her family, at the desire of +each of the sisters to know of her causes of happiness. + +"Yes, they are all blessings in disguise," she said, "though I could not +think thus when I laid my fair-eyed boy in the grave; nor, later, when +my next child was born blind." + +"Had you none other?" asked Joy. + +"One other, and she died of a broken heart." + +Sorrow sighed deeply, and would rather have heard no more; but Joy +wished to hear the whole, and asked the woman to go on. + +"Yes, she died heart-broken; and these two girls are hers. It was +very hard that day to see the hand of God in the cloud when they +brought the body of her husband home all mangled, and so torn that +not a feature could be recognized; and then to see poor Mary, his wife, +pine day by day until we laid her beside him." + +"But the blessing was in it, mother: we have found it so. They have +only gone to prepare the way, and we have much left us." + +The words of the old man were true, and it was beautiful to see the +face of his wife as it glowed with recognition. + +At that moment the sisters threw back their veils. Such a radiant +face was never seen in that cottage as the beaming countenance of Joy; +while that of her sister was dark and sad to look upon. + +"Oh, stay with us," exclaimed the girls to Joy, as the sisters rose to +depart. + +"Most gladly would I, but I have a work to perform in your village; +and, beside, I cannot leave my sister." + +"But she is so dark and sad, why not leave her to go alone?" said the +youngest girl, who had never seen Sorrow nor heard of her mission to +earth before. + +Sorrow was standing in the door and heard her remark. She hoped +the day would never come when _she_ should have to carry woe to her +young heart; but her life was so uncertain she knew not who would be +the next whom she would have to envelop in clouds. She sighed, plucked +a rose, and pressed it to her nostrils, as though it was the last +sweetness she would ever inhale. + +"How I pity her!" said the grandmother, her warm, blue eyes filling +with tears, as she looked at the bowed form in the doorway. + +"Ah, good woman, she needs it; for few recognize her mission to them. +She is sent by our master to administer woes which contain heavenly +truths, while I convey glad tidings. I shall never leave my sister save +when our labors are divided." + +Thus spoke Joy, while tears filled the eyes of all. + +Then the kind woman went and plucked some roses and gave them to +Sorrow, who was weeping. + +"I did not half know myself," she said, addressing the sad form; "I +thought I could see God's angels everywhere, but this time how have I +failed! Forgive me," she said to Sorrow, "and when you are weary and +need rest, come to our cottage." + +Sorrow gave her a sad but heavenly smile, and the sisters departed to +the next abode. + +"Did you ever see them before?" asked the children of their grandparents +after the sisters had gone. + +"Often: they have been going round the world for ages," answered +their grandparents. + +"But Joy looks so young, grandpa." + +"That's because she has naught to do with trouble. She belongs to the +bright side. She carries good tidings and pleasure to all; while Sorrow, +her sister, administers the woes." + +"But Joy is good not to leave her sister." + +"She cannot," said the grandparent. + +"Cannot! Why?" + +"Because Providence has so ordered it that Joy and Sorrow go hand in +hand,--pleasure and pain. No two forces in nature which are alike are +coupled. Day and night, sunshine and shadow, pleasure and pain, forever." + +"But I should like to have Joy stay with us," said Helen, the youngest, +to her grandparent. + +"We shall ever be glad to see her; but we must never treat her sister +coldly or with indifference, as though she had no right to be among us; +because, though in the external she is unlovely, within she is equally +radiant with her sister,--not the same charm of brilliancy, but a softer, +diviner radiance shines about her soul." + +"Why, grandpa, you make me almost love her," said Marion, the eldest, +while Helen looked thoughtful and earnest. + +The seeds of truth were dropped which at some future time would bear +fruit. + + * * * * * + +It was a large and elegant house at which the sisters stopped next. A +beautiful lawn, hedged by hawthorne, sloped to the finely-graded street; +while over its surface beds of brilliant flowers were blooming, +contrasting finely with the bright green carpet. They ascended the +granite steps which led to the portico, and rang the bell. A servant +answered the summons, and impatiently awaited their message. + +"We would see the mistress of the mansion," said Joy. + +They were shown into an elegant drawing-room, so large they could +scarcely see the farther end. It was furnished in a most dazzling style, +and gave none of that feeling of repose which is so desirable in a home. +After what seemed a long time, the lady of the mansion appeared, looking +very much as though her visitors were intruders. + +"A lovely day," said Joy. + +"Beautiful for youth and health," she answered curtly; "but all days +are the same to me." + +"You are ill, then," said Joy, sympathetically. + +"Ill, and weary of this life. Nothing goes well in this world: there is +too much sorrow to enjoy anything. But," she added after a brief silence, +"you are young, and cannot enter into my griefs." + +"I have come for the purpose of bringing you comfort and hope if you +will but accept it," answered Joy, modestly. + +"A stranger could scarcely show me what I cannot find. Be assured, +young maiden, if I had the pleasures you suppose I possess, I should not +be tardy in seeing them. No, no: my life is a succession of cares and +burdens." + +Joy was silent a moment, and then said, "But you have health, a home, +and plenty to dispense to the needy, which must be a comfort, at least, +in a world of so much need." + +"My home is large and elegant, I admit; but, believe me, the care of +the servants is a burden too great for human flesh." + +Joy thought how much better a cottage was, with just enough to meet +the wants of life, than a mansion full of hirelings; and she said, +hopefully, "Our blessings ever outnumber our woes. If we but look for +them, we shall be surprised each day to see how many they are. I am +on a visit to earth," continued Joy, "to see how much real happiness I +can find, and help, if possible, to remove obstacles that hinder its +advancement. This is my sister, Sorrow," she continued, turning to her, +"who, like myself, has a mission, though by no means a pleasant one." + +The sisters unveiled their faces. + +A flush of pleasure stole over the sallow face of the woman as she +gazed upon the brightness of Joy's countenance; but the look quickly +faded at the sight of Sorrow's worn and weary features. + +"My sister must tarry here," said Joy, as she rose to leave. + +"Here! With me? Why! I can scarcely live now. What can I do +with her added to my troubles?" + +"It is thus decreed," answered Joy. "You need the discipline which +she will bring to you." + +And she departed, leaving her sister in the elegant but cheerless +mansion. + +The mistress of the luxurious home had one fair daughter, whom she +was bringing up to lead a listless, indolent, and selfish life,--a life +which would result in no good to herself or others. + +Sorrow grew sadder each day as she saw the girl walking amid all the +beauties with which she was surrounded, careless of her own culture. +She felt, also, that she must at some time, and it might be soon, +be removed from her luxuries, or they from her. Each hour the fair girl's +step grew heavier, till at last she was too weak to walk, or even rise +from her bed. + +"All this comes of having that sad woman here," exclaimed the weeping +mother as she bent over her daughter. "I'll have her sent from the +house this day." And she rang for a servant to send Sorrow away. + +After delivering her message to her maid, she felt somewhat relieved. + +The servant went in search of Sorrow, but could not find her either in +the house, garden, on the lawn, or among the dark pines where she often +walked. + +Whither had she fled? + +All the servants of the house were summoned to the search; but Sorrow +was not to be found, and they reported to the mistress their failure +to find her. + +"No matter," she replied, "so long as she is no longer among us. Go +to your labors now, keep the house very quiet, and be sure, before dark, +to lock all the doors, that she may not enter unperceived." + +They need not have bolted nor barred her out; for her work was done, +and she had no cause to return. + +She was sent to the house of wealth to carry the blight of death. Her +mission was over, and she was on her way, seeking Joy. + +The young girl faded slowly and died. + +The mother mourned without hope, and was soon laid beside her daughter. +The home passed into the hands of those who felt that none must live for +themselves alone; that sorrows must be borne without murmur; and joys +appreciated so well that the angel of sorrow may not have to bear some +treasure away to uplift the heart and give the vision a higher range. + +Sorrow met Joy on the road that night. There was no moon, even +the stars were dim; but for the shining face of her sister, she would +have passed her. They joined hands, and walked together till morning +broke. They came in sight of a low cottage just as the day dawned. + +"Oh, dear!" said Sorrow, as they approached the familiar spot, "how +often have I been there to carry woe! Do you go now, Joy, and give +them gladness!" + +"If it is the master's hour I will most gladly," said Joy, looking +tenderly on the weary face of her sister, who sat by the roadside to rest +awhile while she lifted her heart to heaven, asking that she might no +more carry woe to that humble home; and her prayer was answered. + +"I feel to go there," said Joy, as Sorrow wiped her tears away. "Wait +here till I return;" and she ran merrily on. + +She entered the humble home with gladness in her beaming eyes, and, +as she bore no resemblance to her sister, they welcomed her with much +greeting; nor did they know but for Sorrow, Joy would not have been +among them. She talked with them a long time, and listened patiently +to the story of their woes. + +Sickness, death, and adversity had been their part for many years. + +"But they are passing away," said Joy, confidently, "and health and +prosperity shall yet be among you." + +"We shall know their full value," whispered a voice from the corner +of the room which Joy's eyes had not penetrated. On a low cot lay an +invalid, helpless and blind. + +The tears fell from her own eyes an instant, and then sparkled with a +greater brilliancy than before, as she said, "And this, too, shall pass +away." + +The closed eyes, from which all light had been shut out for seven long +years, now slowly opened; the palsied limbs relaxed; life leaped through +the veins once more; and she arose from her bed, while the household +gathered round her. + +A son, who was supposed to have been lost at sea, after an absence of +many years returned at that moment, laden with gold and other treasures +far greater, than the glittering ore,--lessons of life, which, through +suffering, he had wrought into his mind. + +Joy departed, amid their tumult of rejoicing, and joined her sister. + +The happy family did not miss her for a time; yet when their great +and sudden happiness subsided into realization they sought her, but in +vain. + +They needed her not; for the essence of her life was with them, while +she was walking over the earth, carrying pleasure and happiness to +thousands; yet doing the work of her father no more than her worn and +sad-eyed sister. + + + + +VII. + +UPWARD. + + +There was once an aged man who owned and lived in a large house +the height of which was three stories. His only child was a daughter, +of whom he was very fond, and who listened generally to his words +of counsel and instruction; but no amount of persuasion could induce +her to ascend to the highest story of their dwelling, where her father +spent many hours in watching the varied landscape which it overlooked. +It was an alloyed pleasure as he sat there evening after evening alone, +looking at the lovely cloud tints, and rivers winding like veins of +silver through the meadows. It detracted from his joy to know that the +view from the lower window offered naught but trees thickly set and dry +hedges. + +"Come up, child," he called, morning and evening, year after year, with +the same result. It seemed of no avail. "She will die and never know +what beauties lie around her dwelling," he said, as he sat looking at the +wealth of beauty. It seemed to him that the clouds were never so +brilliant, nor the trees and meadows so strangely gilded by the sun's +rays, as on that evening. He longed more than ever to share with his +child the pleasure he experienced, and resolved upon a plan by which he +hoped to attain his wish. + +"I will have workmen shut out the light of all the stories below with +thick boards, and bar the door that she may not escape. I will give her +a harmless drink to-night that will deepen her slumbers while the work +is being done; for by these seemingly harsh means alone can I induce my +child to ascend." + +That night, while she slumbered, the work was done, and she awoke +not at the sound of the hammer on the nails. When all was completed, +the father ascended to await the rays of morning, and listen for the +voice of his child, which soon broke in suppliant tones upon his ears:-- + +"Father! my father! It's dark! I cannot see!" + +"Come up, my child!" still he cried. "Come to me, and behold new +glories." + +She gave no answer; but he heard her weeping, and groped his way +below to lead her up. She no longer resisted. Her steps, though slow, +were willing ones: they were upward now, and the father cared not how +slow, so long as they were ascending. + +Many times she wished to go back, but he urged her on with gentle +words and a strong, sustaining arm, till the last landing was reached, +and the light, now streaming through the open windows, made words no +longer needful. With a bound she sprang to the open casement, exclaiming, +"Father, dear father!" and fell, weeping, on his breast. + +His wish was granted; his effort was over, and his child could now +behold the beauties which had so long thrilled his own soul. + +Thus does our Heavenly Father call us upward; and when he sees +that we will not leave the common view for grander scenes, and will not +listen to his voice, however beseeching, he makes all dark and drear +below, that we may be led to ascend higher, where the day-beams are +longer, the view more extended, and the air more rarified and pure. + + + + +VIII. + +THE OAK. + + +An old and experienced gardener had been watching a tree for many +days, whose branches and foliage did not seem to repay him for his +care. "I see," he said, a little sadly; "the roots are not striking deep +enough: they must have a firmer hold in the earth, and only the wind +and the fierce blast will do it." + +It was now sunset, and the faithful gardener put away his tools, closed +the garden gates, and went into his cottage. Soon a mass of dark clouds +began to gather on the horizon. "I am sorry to use such harsh means," +he said, waving his hand in the direction of the wind clouds; "but the +tree needs to be more firmly rooted, and naught but a violent wind will +aid it." + +A low, moaning sound went through the air, shaking every bush and +tree to its foundation. + +"Oh, dear!" sighed the tree. "Oh, the cruel gardener, to send this +wind! It will surely uproot me!" + +The tree readied forth its branches like arms for help, and implored +the gardener to come and save it from the fearful blasts. The flowers at +its feet bowed their heads, while the winds wafted their fragrance over +the struggling, tempest-tost tree. + +"They do not moan, as I do. They cannot be suffering as I am," said +the tree, catching its breath at every word. + +"They do not need the tempest. The rain and the dew are all they +want," said a vine, which had been running many years over an old dead +oak, once the pride of the garden. "I heard the gardener say this very +afternoon," continued the vine, "that you must be rooted more firmly; +and he has sent this wind for that purpose." + +"I wonder if _I_ am the only thing in this garden that needs shaking," +spoke the oak, somewhat indignantly. "There's a poor willow over by +the pond that is always weeping and--" + +"But," interrupted the vine, "that's what keeps the beautiful sheet of +water full to the brim, and always so sparkling,--the constant dropping +of her tears; and we ought to render her gratitude. Besides, she is so +graceful--" + +"Oh, yes: all the trees are lovely but me. I heard the gardener's +praise, the other day, of the elms and the maples, and even the pines; +but not one word did he say about the oaks. I didn't care for myself +in particular, but for my family, which has always been looked up to. +Well, I shall die, like my brother, and soon we shall all pass away; but, +unlike my brother oak, no one will cling to me as you do, vine, to his +old body." + +"You're mistaken, sir. The gardener said, but a few days ago, that he +should plant a vine just like myself at your trunk if your foliage was +not better, so that you might present a finer appearance by the mingling +of the vine's soft leaves, and be more ornamental to the garden." + +"I'll save him that trouble if my life is spared. I have no desire +to be decked in borrowed leaves. The oaks have always kept up a good +appearance; but oh, dear me, vine, didn't that blast take your breath +away? I fear I _shall_ die; but, if I do live, I'll show the gardener +what I can do. But, vine," and the voice of the oak trembled, "tell the +gardener, when he comes in the morning, if--if I am dead--that--that +the dreadful tempest killed instead of helped me." + +The wind made such a roaring sound that the oak could not hear her +reply, and he tried now to become reconciled to death. He thought much +in that brief space of time and resolved, if his life was spared him, +that he would try and put forth his protecting branches over the beds of +flowers at his feet, to protect them from the blazing sun, and try to be +more kind and friendly to all. Deeper and deeper struck the roots into +the earth, till a new life-thrill shot through its veins. Was it death? + +The oak raised its head. The clouds were drifting to the south. All +was calm, and the stars shone like friendly eyes in the heavens above +him. + +"That oak would have surely died but for the tempest which passed +over us," said the gardener, a few weeks later, as he was showing his +garden to a friend. + +The gardener stood beneath the branches, and saw with pleasure new +leaves coming forth and the texture of the old ones already finer and +softer. + +"It only needed a firmer hold on the earth. The poor thing could not +draw moisture enough from the ground before the storm shook its roots +and embedded them deeper. If I had known the philosophy of storms +before, I need not have lost the other oak." + +Here the old gardener sat beneath the branches of the oak, and they +seemed to rise and fall as if bestowing blessings on his head. That spot +became his favorite resting-place amid his labors for many years. The +oak lived to a good old age, and was the gardener's pride. Maidens +gathered its leaves and wove garlands for their lovers. Children sported +under its boughs. It was blessed and happy in making others so. It +had learned the lesson of the storm, and was often heard to say to the +young oaks growing up about it, "Sunshine and balmy breezes have their +part in our growth, but they are not all that is needful for our true +development." + + + + +IX. + +TRUTH AND ERROR. + + +Amid the starry realms there lived an old philosopher, a man deep in +wisdom, who had two daughters, named Truth and Error, whom he sent to +earth to perform a mission to its people; and though he knew that their +labors must be united, he could not explain to them why two so dissimilar +should have to roam so many years on earth together. Well he knew that, +though Truth would in the end be accepted by the people, she must suffer +greatly. His life experience had taught him that she must go often +unhonored and unloved, while Error, her sister, would receive smiles, +gifts, and welcome from the majority. It was a sacrifice to part with his +much-loved daughter Truth, and a great grief to be obliged to send Error +with her. He placed them, with words of cheer and counsel, in the care of +Hyperion, the father of the Sun, Moon, and Dawn, who accompanied them in +his golden chariot to the clouds, where he left the two in charge of +Zephyr, who wafted them from their fleecy couch to the earth. + +One bleak, chilly day, the two were walking over a dreary road dotted +here and there with dwellings. The most casual observer might have +seen their striking dissimilarity, both in dress and manners. Truth was +clad in garments of the plainest material and finish, while Error was +decked in costly robes and jewels. The step of the former was firm and +slow, while that of the latter was rapid and nervous. The bleak winds +penetrated their forms as they turned a sharp angle in the road, when +there was revealed to them, on an eminence, a costly and elegant +building. + +"I shall certainly go in there for the night, and escape these biting +blasts," said Error to her sister. + +"Although, the house is large and grand," answered Truth, "it does not +look as though its inmates were hospitable. I prefer trying my luck in +yonder cottage on the slope of that hill." + +"And perhaps have your walk for naught," answered Error, who bade +a hasty good-by to her sister and entered the enclosure, which must have +been beautiful in summer with its smooth lawns, fine trees and beds and +flowers. She gave the bell a sharp ring, and was summoned into an elegant +drawing-room full of gaily dressed people. Error was neither timid +nor bashful, and she accepted the offered courtesies of the family as one +would a right. She seated herself and explained to them the object of +her call, dwelling largely on the grandeur of her elegant home amid the +stars, and tenderly and feelingly upon her relationship with the gods +and goddesses, and the numerous feasts which she had attended, so that +at her conclusion her hostess felt that herself and family were receiving +rather than bestowing a favor. + +The evening was spent amid games and pastimes till the hour for retiring, +when they conducted her to a warm and elegantly furnished room, so +comfortable that it made her long, for a moment, for her sister to share +it with her; for, despite the difference in their natures, Error loved +her sister. The soft couch, however, soon lulled her to sleep. She, +slumbered deeply, and dreamed that Truth was walking all night, cold +and hungry, when suddenly a lovely form came out of the clouds. It was +none other than Astrea, whom she had seen often in her starry home, +talking with Truth. She saw her fold a soft, delicate garment about the +cold form of her sister, at the same time saying, in reproving tones, to +herself, "This is not the only time you have left your sister alone in +the cold and cared for yourself. The sin of selfishness is great, and the +gods will succor the innocent and punish the offender." + +She closed, and was rising, with Truth in her arms, to the skies, when +Error gave such a loud shriek that Astrea dropped her, and a strong +current of air took the goddess out of sight. It was well for the earth, +which might have been forever in darkness, that Truth was dropped, +though hard for her. + +Error awoke from her dream, which seemed more real than her elegant +surroundings, and resolved to go in search of Truth when the morning +came; but a blinding storm of snow and sleet, and the remonstrance of +the family, added to her own innate love of ease, left Truth uncared +for by one whose duty it was to seek her. + +The days glided into weeks, and yet Error remained, much to the wonder +of the poorer neighbors around, that Mrs. Highbred should encourage and +keep such a companion for her daughters. They could see at a glance that +Error was superficial, that she possessed no depth of thought or feeling; +and their wonder grew to deep surprise when they saw all the gentry for +miles around giving parties in honor of her. Everywhere she was flattered +and adored, until she became, if possible, more vain and full of her own +conceit. + +"You should see the feasts of the gods in our starry realms," she +would say, as each one vied with a preceding festivity to outshine its +splendor. + +After Error left her sister, Truth walked slowly and thoughtfully +towards the cottage on the hill-side. She went slowly up the path, +which wound in summer by beds of roses, to the door, and rapped +gently. It was opened by a fair and beautiful woman, who bade her +"walk in" in tones which matched the kindness of her features. The +next moment Truth felt her gentle hands removing her hood and cloak, +and felt that she was welcome. A table covered with a snowy cloth +stood in the centre of the room, on which was an abundant supply of +plain, substantial food, more attractive to a hungry traveler than more +costly viands. A chair was placed for her by the bright fire, while the +air of welcome entered her soul and drew tears from her deep, sad eyes. +It was so seldom she was thus entertained--so often that the manner of +both high and low made the highway pleasanter than their habitations. +How often had she walked alone all night unsheltered, while Error, her +sister, reposed on beds of down! The sharp contrast of their lives was +the great mystery yet unrevealed. It cost her many hours of deep and +earnest thought. + +It was so rare that any one gave her welcome that her gratitude took +the form of silence. For an instant the kind woman thought her lacking; +but when her grateful look upturned to hers, as she bade her sit at +the table and partake of the bounties, all doubt of her gratitude +departed. + +Truth slept soundly all night, and arose much refreshed by her slumbers. +The storm of the day would not have detained her from continuing +her journey; but the warm and truthful appeal of the woman, who +felt the need of such a soul as Truth possessed with whom to exchange +thoughts, induced her to remain that day, and many others, which slipped +away so happily, and revealed to her that _rest_ as well as action is +needful and right for every worker. + +Truth became a great favorite among the poorer classes of the +neighborhood, as she always was whenever they would receive and listen +to her words; and it was not long before people of thought, rank, and +culture began to notice her and court her acquaintance. + +Mrs. Highbred, hearing of her popularity, concluded to give a party +and invite her. + +Error had never spoken of the relationship between them until the day +the invitations were sent. Then, knowing she could no longer conceal +the past, she availed herself of the first opportunity to communicate the +same to her hostess. Great was the surprise of Mrs. Highbred and her +household to learn that the quiet stranger at the cottage was the sister +of Error. + +"My sister is very peculiar, and wholly unlike myself," remarked Error +to her hostess; "and I fear you will find her quite undemonstrative. +Although it is my parent's wish that I should be with her, you cannot +imagine what a relief it has been to a nature like mine to mingle with +those more congenial to my tastes, even for a brief period." + +"It must be," answered Mrs. Highbred sympathizingly, and Error +congratulated herself on having become installed in the good graces +of so wealthy a person. + +"Now," she said to herself, "I need not go plodding about the world +any longer. Truth can if she likes to; and, as she feels that she has +such a mission to perform to the earth, she of course will not remain +in any locality long. But, thanks to the gods, who, I think, favor me +always, I shall not be obliged to roam any longer. Truth never did +appreciate wealth or the value of fine surroundings. She's cast in a +rougher mold than I--" + +"Ma sends you this set of garnets, and begs you will do her the favor +to wear them on the night of the party," said the bearer of a case of +jewels, as she laid them on the table, and bounded out of the room before +Error could reply. Indeed, her surprise was too great for words had the +child remained. "I wonder what Truth will say when she sees them," +thought Error, as she glanced again and again at the sparkling gems. + +Nothing could be more striking than the contrast between Truth and +her sister, both in costume and manner, as they stood apart from the +company a moment to exchange a few words. + +Error was decked in a costly robe of satin of a lavender hue, to contrast +with her gems; while Truth was arrayed in white, with a wreath of ivy on +her brow, and the golden girdle around her waist which her father gave +her at parting. She wore no gems save an arrow of pearl which Astrea gave +her when they parted at the gate of clouds, kept by the goddesses named +the Seasons, which opened to permit the passage of the celestials to +earth and to receive them on their return. + +The simple dress and manners of Truth won the admiration of a few, while +the majority paid tribute to Error, who kept her admirers listening to +her wonderful adventures amid the region of the stars. Truth spoke but +seldom; but what she uttered was food for thought, instead of a +constellation of merely dazzling words. + +A careful observer might have seen that the elder members lingered, +attracted by her simple charms, near Truth, as did also the youngest +portion of the company, while youth and middle age could not divine her +sphere of pure and earnest thought. The few who sought her would +gladly have continued the acquaintance, and they invited her to their +dwellings; but on the morrow she would set forth on her journey, feeling +that she had implanted in the minds of a few the love of something +beyond externals and mere materialisms. + +Her earthly mission was to traverse hill and plain throughout the land, +and sow seeds of righteousness which would spring up in blossoms of +pearl long after her weary feet had traversed other lands and sown again +in the rough places the finer seeds. + +At early dawn Truth went forth from the cottage and the kind woman +who had sheltered her. They had enjoyed much together in their mutual +relation. Trust met trust, hope clasped hope, and each was stronger for +the soul exchange. + +When the sun rose in the heavens Truth was on her way, while Error, +tossed in feverish dreams upon her bed, thought the Sun was angry with +her, and was sending his fierce rays upon her head to censure or madden +her. But he was only trying to waken her and urge her to go on with +her sister. A sense of relief came when she opened her eyes and found +it was, after all, only a dream. Yet the pleasure was brief; for a sharp +pain shot through her temples, her brow was feverish, and her pulses +throbbed wildly. "Oh, for the pure air and the cool, refreshing grass!" +she cried. "Oh, better the highway with its friendly blossoms than this +couch of down and this stifled atmosphere which I am breathing!" How +she longed for Truth then, to cool her brow with the touch of her gentle +hand. "Come back, oh, come to me, Truth!" she cried, so hard that the +whole household heard and came to her bedside. + +"She is ill and delirious!" they cried in one voice. The family physician +was summoned, who pronounced the case fearful and her life fast ebbing. + +"For whom shall we send?" said Mrs. Highbred, who was unused to scenes of +distress and now longed to have her guest far from her dwelling. + +"For her sister Truth," said one. + +"Truth--Truth," said the physician. "Is it possible?" and he gazed +from one to another for revelation. + +"Truth is her sister," said one of the younger members, and added, "I +think she is far better and prettier than Error,--" + +"Far better, far better," continued the physician, looking only at the +child, and inwardly saying, "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings +come words of wisdom." + +"I met her on the hill,--the one you call Truth," he said, in answer to +the searching look of Mrs. Highbred, who by manner and inquiry plainly +manifested her desire to have an end of the unusual state of things. + +"I will go for her. She will return with me," continued the doctor, +"and soon we will find some spot to which we can remove Error." + +A look of relief came over the face of the lady as he departed. + +Truth heard not the sound of the horses, nor the rumbling of wheels +as they approached, so intent were her thoughts on separation from her +sister and her own strange mission to earth; and she scarce sensed +whither she was going, when the kind man courteously lifted her into his +carriage. But when she stood by the fevered, unconscious form of Error, +a few moments later, all her clearness of thought was at her command. + +"Carry her to the cottage on the hill-side," she said, as she bound a +cool bandage on her sister's brow. + +They bore her there, and, as though in mercy, a dark cloud shut off +the sun's rays, and their fierce glare was obscured during transit from +the home of splendor to the humble cottage. + +There for many weeks Truth nursed her sister, while the kind hostess +and kind neighbors aided by words and deeds through the long night +watches. + +Error arose from her illness somewhat wiser, and firmly fixed in her +determination to follow Truth and share her fate to their journey's end. + +Thus, reader, shall we ever find them together while we dwell on earth, +and perchance in the regions above. Let us trust that they are wisely +related; and, while we love, reverence, and admire the purity of Truth, +let us seek also courteously to endure Error as an opposing force, which, +though it may seem for a time to work our discomfort and hinder us in +our progress, yet gives us strength, as the rower on the stream is made +stronger by the counter currents and eddies with which he has to contend. + + + + +X. + +THE TREE. + + +A large shade-tree grew near a house, and under its branches the children +played every summer day. It seemed to take great delight in their voices, +and shook its green boughs over their heads, as though it would join in +their sports and laughter. But, alas! one day it got a foolish idea into +its head--it grew discontented, and felt that its sphere of usefulness +was too limited. + +At that moment dark clouds gathered, a fearful tempest arose, and a +strong current of wind, soon set the giant tree swinging with such +violence that it was torn from the earth and lay like a broken column +on the ground. + +"Now I shall be something: I've got my roots out of the old earth. +Bah! such a heap of old black loam, to be sure, as I have been in! I'll +soon shake it off, however, and then the world will see that _I_ can soar +as well as other things." + +There was a terrible quaking and noise as the old tree tried to rise +from its recumbent position. The sun's rays were fast parching its roots, +causing sharp pains to shoot through its branches. + +"Oh, dear!" said the tree. "I hope I shall be able to get on my feet +soon, else people will be laughing at me for lying here so helpless." + +The golden sun went down behind the hills. Its rays could not gild +the top of its branches now, and the tree missed the benediction of its +parting rays. A feeling akin to homesickness came over it, and a longing, +as the dews of evening came, to be once more rooted to the earth. + +A wild wind sang a dirge all through the night, and ceased not till day +darted over the hills. It was not very pleasant for the old tree to hear +the children's regrets and words of grief as they came around it in the +morning to play and sit as usual under its pleasant shade. It had hoped +to have been far away by dawn, and thus have escaped the sound of their +voices. + +"I'll wait till they are gone, and then I must be off," said the tree +softly. + +"Papa will cut it all up into wood, I know," said the youngest of the +group, a bright, three-year-old boy. + +"I am going to have a piece of one of the boughs to make a cane of," +said another. + +"And oh, dear me!" sighed little blue-eyed May. "I can't have any +more autumn leaves to make pretty wreaths of for mamma." + +Poor old tree! how it had mistaken its mission and its relation to the +earth! So it is with people who lament the position in which Providence +has placed them. In vain the old tree tried to rise: its branches +withered, its leaves dropped one by one away, and rustled on the lawn. It +found, to its sorrow, that it was not made for the air, and that the once +despised earth from which it drew its nourishment was its true parent +and source of life. + +Out of respect to its former protection and beauty, its owner had its +wood made into handsome ornaments and seats for the garden to keep +its memory alive in the minds of the children. + +When any of them repined in after years at the lot which God had +assigned them, the folly of the tree was alluded to, and all restlessness +was allayed. + +Over the spot where it stood a beautiful rustic basket made of its own +wood was set, from which bright flowers blossomed throughout the summer +day. + + + + +XI. + +THE TWO WAYS. + + +Two men were informed, as they were listlessly standing and gazing +into a dense forest one day, that beyond it lay a fertile and beautiful +valley, reached only through the dark and close woods; but, when +reached, it would repay them for all their efforts. + +They started one morning, entering the forest together, and forced +their way for a while through the tangled woods. They held the branches +for each other to pass, and walked along in social converse. Soon one +began to grow restless and impatient of the slow progress made. + +"I must get on faster than this," he exclaimed, and began to quicken +his pace, regardless of overhanging boughs and thorny branches, which +pierced his flesh at every step. He rushed forward, leaving his +companion; and, so intent did he become on reaching the valley with all +possible speed, that he no longer noticed the briers which pierced +him or the underbrush which entangled and made his feet sore. In +a few days he reached the valley, tired, worn, and bleeding from head +to feet. + +The laborers who were working in their gardens looked on him with +pity, and several, at the command of a leader, carried him to a house +(for he could no longer walk), where he was cared for and nursed. + +His companion, whom he had outrun, took a better and wiser course. +Finding the wood so dense, he bethought himself of making a pathway +as he journeyed. It would take much longer, but the comfort and good to +others who might follow could not be told. Faithfully he labored, cutting +away the branches which impeded his progress, and clearing the underbrush +from the ground; while each day, in the valley beyond, the wounded man +wondered that he came not, and concluded that he must have perished in +the forest. + +The days passed into weeks, and yet no sign of his companion. If he +could only rise from his bed, he would go in search of him; but, alas! +he was helpless, lame, and sore in every joint. + +At the close of a beautiful autumn day, when the laborers had bound +their sheaves and were going to their homes, a traveler was seen coming +with a firm step from the forest. On his shoulder he carried the axe, +whose polished edge glittered strangely in the rays of the setting +sun. The laborers wondered why he was not torn and weary like the other. + +"Thee must have had a better path than the one who came before +thee," said one of the group to the stranger. + +"I made a path," was his only answer; and then he glanced around the +room, as though he would find him with whom he started: for the interest +felt for any companionship, however brief, is not easily laid aside. + +The laborers told him of his companion's inability to work, and of his +days of pain. + +"Let me see him," he said; and they went with him. + +The next day the traveler who had slowly journeyed, and made a path +for those who would come after, was able to go to his labors; while his +companion was disabled for many days longer. + +Soon after, many others came through the forest to the valley, and +their first remark was, "Show us the traveler who made for us such a +comfortable path;" and, seeing him, they all blessed him in word and +deed for his nobleness in making their way so easy for them. + +"But for that path," said many to him, "I should never have come to +this lovely valley." + +There are two ways of journeying through life: one, like the first +pilgrim, who thought only of self and of speedily reaching the vale and +the journey's end; the other better and wiser one, productive of greater +good to all, of making a path, that all who come after us may be blessed +by our labors. + + + + +XII. + +THE URNS. + + +In a peaceful valley there lived a number of people whose leader +dwelt on the hill and guided the tillers of the soil, weaving into +their lives many lessons of truth. They were supplied with water from +the mountain, which was sent them every morning by a carrier. It was +the master's rule that each should have his urn clean, that the fresh +supply might not be mingled with the old. For a time all were faithful: +as each day's supply was used the urn was made clean for the new. But, +alas for human weakness! so prone to fall from the line of duty--soon a +murmur was heard among the people. + +"I have had no fresh water for days," said one of the group standing +idly by the roadside. + +"Neither have I," said another. + +"It's no use for the master to expect us to labor," remarked a third, +"if we are not supplied with fresh water. Life is hard enough to bear +with all we can have to help us," he continued. "Now there's our +neighbor, Cheerful, over the way--his urn is full of pure, sparkling +water each morning." + +"And why?" broke in a voice in tones of remonstrance. The idlers +looked at each other, and then at the face of old Faithful, who was just +returning from his evening walk and had heard their words of complaint. + +"Let me assure you, my neighbors," he said mildly, yet with force, +"it's all your own fault that your urns are not filled. You each know the +master's command, that they should be kept clean and ready for the fresh +supply. Have you all been faithful to the command?" + +They thought among themselves, and answered with but partial truth, +saying, "We may not always have had our urns clean, but why should +they be unfilled for that?" + +"Because the new water would be made unclean and useless by being +mixed with the old, as you each can see for yourselves. Our master loves +all alike; but he cannot supply us with fresh waters and new life if we +have not used the old and prepared for the new." + +"I suppose, if we had them ever so clean now, that the carrier would +pass us by," remarked one of the group. + +"Try, and see," said Faithful. "We may always rest assured that if our +part is done the master will do his; for no one, however kind and +merciful, can benefit us if we do not put ourselves in a state to be +blessed. If the master sends us fresh water each day, and our urns are +impure, is it the fault of the benefactor that they are so? We must +prepare to receive." + +Faithful went on his way. The sun sank in its bed of fleecy clouds, +the evening dew fell on the earth, and all was still. The lesson must +have penetrated the hearts of the listeners; for on the morrow their +urns, white and clean, were full of sparkling water. + +Do we look into our hearts each day and see that the life from thence +has gone forth for good and made ready for new, or are we idly murmuring +that we have no life-waters? Can the Father's life inflow if we do +not _give_? Our souls are sacred urns, which He longs to fill to +overflowing with pure and heavenly truths if we are willing to receive, +and faithful to extend, his mercies. + + + + +XIII. + +SELF-EXERTION. + + +An aged man who had built for himself a house upon a high elevation +of land, and had labored many years, yea, the most of his lifetime, +in conveying trees, plants, and flowers with which to decorate his +grounds, came one day in his descent upon a youth who sat by the roadside +looking greatly dispirited. + +"Hast thou no parents nor home?" inquired the kind man. + +The youth shook his head, and looked so lonely and sad that the heart +of the questioner was touched, and he said, "Come with me." + +The boy looked pleased at the invitation, and, springing to his feet, +stood by the stranger. + +Together they commenced the long and toilsome ascent; but the feet +of the youth were tender, and ere long the aged man was obliged to carry +him on his back to the very summit. + +He set his burden down at the door of his pleasant home, expecting to +see an expression of wonder or pleasure on the boy's face; but only a +sensuous look of satisfaction at the comforts which the laborer had +gathered about him was visible on his dull features. + +"I'll let him rest to-night," said the kind man. "To-morrow he shall +have his first lesson in weeding the beds and watering the flowers." + +At dawn the old man arose, dressed himself, and went forth to view +the sun as it rose over the hills; while the youth slumbered on till +nearly noon, and when he arose manifested no life nor interest till the +evening meal was over. He partook largely of the bounties, and seemed +so full of animation that the old man took courage, and smiles of +satisfaction settled on his features; for he thought he had found a +helper for himself and wife. + +The next day they called him at sunrise, and after many efforts succeeded +in arousing him from his sleep. The aged couple went to their garden +after the morning meal, and awaited the appearance of the youth. + +"I sent him to gather ferns to plant beside these rocks: he surely cannot +be all this time gathering them," remarked the woman. + +The husband went to the edge of the wood whither she had sent him, +and found him lying upon the ground, looking dreamingly at the skies. + +The good couple did not succeed in arousing him to a sense of any +duty. He was dead to labor, and had no life to contribute to the scene +around him. + +"I fear you have made a mistake," said the wife of the good man when +the shadows of evening came and they were alone. "I see the boy can +never appreciate the toil of our years. He must return and climb the +mount for himself. He has no appreciation of all this accumulation +which we have been years in gaining, nor can he have. It is not in the +order of life: each must climb the summit himself. A mistake lies in +our taking any one in our arms and raising him to the mount." + +"I see it now," said her husband, who had, like many people, been +more kind than wise, and like many foolish parents who injure their +offspring by giving them the result of their years of toil. + +On the morrow, the youth was sent back. A few years after, the aged +man saw him toiling up a steep hill, seeking to make a home of his own. +It was a beautiful eminence, and overlooked the fields and woods for +miles around. + +"He will know the worth and comfort of it," said the old man to his +companion. + +"Toil and sacrifice will make it a sweet spot," she answered; "and +after the morning of labor will come the evening of rest." + + + + +XIV. + +THE VINES. + + +They grew side by side. The most casual observer would have said +that one was far more beautiful than the other. Its height was not +only greater, but its foliage was brighter. + +"I should think," remarked the vine of superior external appearance to +the other, "that, for the gardener's sake, you would try and make a +better appearance. I heard him remark this morning that he almost +despaired of your ever bearing fruit, or looking even presentable. I am +sure we each have the same soil to draw our nourishment from, and one +hand to prune away our deformities." + +"I think I can defend myself to the satisfaction of both yourself and +the gardener; and if you will listen to me this evening, as I cannot +spare any of the moments of the day, I will tell you what labor occupies +so much of my time." + +"Both myself and the gardener would be delighted to have an explanation; +for it has been a wonder to us both what you can be doing. You +certainly have not attained any height, nor put forth foliage of any +account for the past year." + +The full-leaved vine spent the day fluttering her leaves in the wind and +listening to the praise of passers-by. + +"What a difference in these vines!" exclaimed two gentlemen as they +walked past the garden. + +"Just what every one remarks," said the good-looking vine to herself; +and, raising her head very high in the air, she put forth another shoot. +Yet, with all her fullness of conceit and vainglory, she grew very +impatient for the hour to arrive when her sister would be at leisure +to talk with her. + +At sunset, after the gardener had laid his tools away and closed the +garden gates for the evening, her sister announced to her that she was +ready to explain her strange life for the past year. + +"If you can call anything 'life' which has no visible sign of growth or +motion," pertly remarked the gay vine. + +Her sister took no notice of the remark, though it wounded her, and +some of her leaves fluttered and fell to the ground. Had her sister been +more sensitive, she could have seen her tremble in every limb, though her +voice was sweet and clear as she commenced, saying, "I have been very +busy the past year, but in a direction which no one but myself could +perceive. Knowing that we are subject to periods of drought, I have been, +and I think wisely too, occupying all my time in sending fibres into the +earth in every direction. I have already got one as far as the brook, the +other side of the wall. I heard the gardener say it was never dry, so I +struck out in that direction, and expect to bring forth fruit next year +for all." + +"But could you not have put forth some leaves, at least, and made a +more pleasing appearance?" inquired her sister. + +"No: it took all my strength to strike into the earth. I hope to see +the time when no one will be ashamed of my appearance." + +The vain vine grew quite thoughtful. Was she, after all, ahead of her +sister? Was a good external appearance the sure sign of merit? + +These questions kept her busy for many days. She reasoned them in her +mind, but did not act on the lesson they taught. She, too, would like to +have made preparation for seasons of drought, but her pride stood in the +way. She feared to lose her lovely foliage; and the month sped on. + +Another year came. The earth was parched: no rain fell on the dry plants +and leaves. The once lovely vine lost all her foliage, while her sister +was full of leaves and promise of fruit. + +"I declare," said the gardener, "it does seem strange. I expected this +vine had lost all its life; yet it is now bright and vigorous, while the +one I looked to for much fruit is fast fading. What can be the reason?" + +Later in the season, the vine which had worked so long out of sight +had the pleasure of seeing not only the table of its owner supplied with +delicious fruits from its branches, but also of hearing the gardener +remark to visitors that the sick and feeble of the neighborhood were +strengthened and refreshed by the cooling grapes which she had, through +so much exertion brought forth. + +The other vine bore no fruit, and had to be pruned severely; but pride +stood no longer in the way of her progress. She began to send forth her +fibres into the earth, as her sister had done. It was hard at first for +her to be obliged to listen to the praises of one whom she considered +her inferior; but she at length attained that glorious height which +enables us to rejoice when the earth has been made richer, no matter +by whom or by what means. + + + + +XV. + +IN THE WORLD. + + +A parent who loved his son more wisely than most earthly parents, and who +longed to see him crowned with the light of wisdom, felt that he must +send him afar from himself to gather immortal truth: and his heart was +moved with a deeper grief at the thought that he must send him forth +alone, and unprovided with means to procure his daily sustenance; for +only thus could he learn the lessons which were necessary for his soul's +development. + +The boy lay sleeping upon a soft white bed: his hands were folded +peacefully upon his breast. Hard was the task the father knew was +his,--to break that sleep, that slumber so profound, and send his boy +out into a cold and selfish world. But, shaking off the tremor and the +weakness of his soul, he said, "Arise, my son: I must send you forth +upon a long and dangerous journey to gather truths to light your soul; +and you must go without the means to procure your bread and shelter. +It grieves my heart, my son, that all this must be so; but yet I know +the journey must be taken, and all its dangers and privations met. My +prayers and blessings will go with you, child, through all your scenes." + +The astonished son gazed on his father's face. The parent turned and +wept; then, wiping away the fast-falling tears, he said, "I do not wonder +at your earnest, curious gaze, you who have so long lived in the bosom +of my love; but there are lessons that must be learned by every human +soul. I cannot tell you what these lessons are: they must be experienced, +else gladly would I spare you the toil, and myself the pain of parting." + +The boy looked sad as he thought of the perils and exposures to which +he should be subjected, without means to procure the least comfort. + +The night shades fell on the earth. Only a glimmer of daylight tinged +the sky when father and son parted, the one for action, the other to +endure and wait his return. + +The journey for many days lay over cheerless hills and barren plains; +and many a tear was brushed from that young cheek by the hand which +his father had so warmly pressed at parting. + +At the close of a dark, stormy day, weary and faint for food, he was +about to lie down on the damp grass, overcome with weariness, when he +espied an elegant edifice a little way beyond. + +"I will travel on," he said hopefully; "for surely, in such a mansion, I +shall find protection and food for my famished body." + +It took much longer to reach it than he expected; but at last, with torn +and bleeding feet, he came to the broad avenue which led to the dwelling. + +"What magnificence!" he exclaimed. "How glad I am that my father sent me +hither to see such wondrous things!" With hope beaming in every feature, +he approached the door and knocked. + +It was opened by one whose voice and face exhibited no sign of welcome. +He cast an impatient glance upon the traveler, who shrank abashed and +trembling from so rude a gaze. + +"Can I find food and shelter here?" he asked, his voice tremulous with +emotion. + +The door was shut upon him. + +It was not the cold of the piercing storm which he felt then, but the +chill of an inhospitable soul. It froze the warm current of hope that, a +few moments before, had leaped so wildly in his veins; and he went +forth from the elegant mansion, and sat upon the ground and wept. + +"O father! why did you send your child so far away to meet the harsh +and cruel treatment of the world when your home abounds with plenty?" +said the weary child. + +The shades of night were gathering fast. The cold, damp ground, which had +been his only bed so many nights, offered a poor protection now for his +weary form. + +"I was contented there. Why did he send me hither?" was the questioning +of his mind as he sat alone and sad. + +As he was about to lay himself upon the ground, he saw light glimmering +through the trees, just as the light of hope breaks on us at the +moment of despair. + +"I would journey thither," he said, despondingly; "but rest and shelter +were denied me here. How can I hope to find it elsewhere?" + +But hope whispered to his weary heart; and he arose, and passed on. + +It was a small, humble dwelling, but one in which dwelt loving hearts. + +He turned involuntarily into the little path that wound by fragrant +shrubs and flowers to its door, and then checked himself, as though he +could not bear again a cold denial. It were far easier to feel the blast +and storm than again to hear unwelcome tones fall on his ears. Despite +his feeble faith, he walked to the door and gave a timid rap. + +The door flew open wide, as though the hinges were oiled with love; +and there stood before him a form all radiant with smiles of welcome. +She bade him enter; and the traveler, already warm with her bright +smiles and words of welcome, felt a glow pervade his whole being,--a +feeling new and unfelt before; for he had never, before this absence from +his father's house, known a want or woe. + +Both food and shelter did the woman give unto him; and, when the morning +sun came over the eastern hills, another sun of joy and gratitude was +shining over his hills of doubt. And when the woman turned from his warm, +full thanks, and went about her daily tasks, these words came with a new +life and meaning to her mind: "As ye have done it to the least of these +my brethren, ye have done it unto me." + +Years rolled away. The murmur of their deeds was like the distant +rumbling of retreating clouds after a great storm. + +The youth visited strange cities, saw nations at war with each other, +and learned the conflict of the human soul, and how it battles in the +great life which threatens to bear it down each hour. Amid all this +strife and selfishness of heart, he found many that were loyal to God and +Truth. He daily learned rich lessons which he would not have effaced +for all the gold and pomp of earth. + +The light of wisdom began to dawn. "This is the experience which my +father saw I needed. Had he provided me with means with which to journey +through the world, how different would have been my life! I then should +have known no value of human love and kindness. O my father! I long to +return to thee, and love thee as I never could have loved thee before!" + +He sat weary, but not sad, by the roadside one day, thinking of his +father's love, when the sound of a traveler's approach was heard on the +road. He turned his eyes in its direction, and saw one of his father's +servants on a beautiful white horse. + +"Your father bids you come," were the welcome words that fell upon +his ears. + +"Take thy steed," he said, "and journey quickly home: he waits +impatiently for your return." + +Fast over hill and dale he rode; and when day passed from sight, leaving +a jeweled sky to mark its absence, the long-absent son rode to his +father's door, and wept tears of joy upon his breast. + +Together they stood, father and son, upon the Mount of Experience, +overlooking all the scenes of life. + +Our heavenly Father wakes us all from the slumber of infancy and +helplessness, and sends us forth alone into the world to learn life's +great lessons. When we have learned them well, he sends the pale +messenger, Death, to take us home. How blessed will be that reunion! With +the crown of wisdom on our heads, how sweet it will be to go no more out, +but dwell with him forever! + + + + +XVI. + +FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. + + +In one of the dark periods, when shadows lay upon the earth, a beautiful +angel was sent to abide there and teach the doubting and weary of a +Father's love and care. + +She found it a tedious task, and, after many years of toil, felt that she +needed a helper. + +"If my sister were here," she often said to the people, "she could aid +you to greater efforts; for, while I seem to supply a needed element to +your souls, I only half succeed in meeting your wants." + +"If she is but half as good as yourself we will welcome her," answered +those to whom she spoke. + +"I will go for her," said Faith, one dark night, after she had been +trying to rouse the people to higher states, with what seemed to her but +little success. Faith was weary, and wept; and, when her tears flowed, +her sister, yet in the realms of peace, by a strange law of sympathy, +knew it, and ran to her father, saying, "I, too, must go to the earth; +for Faith needs me." + +Her parent sat awhile in deep thought, and Hope waited impatiently +for his answer, which came spoken in a firm, clear voice: "We have done +Faith a great wrong, I fear, in sending her alone where so much light and +comfort is needed. It was too much for her. Go, Hope, and my blessing +attend you." + +She was overjoyed at receiving her father's permission to join her +sister; for, since Faith had gone, her beautiful home had seemed lonely. + +Faith sat all night with her eyes uplifted to heaven, and, when the +morning sun lit the hill-tops, behold! on its beams Hope was descending +to earth. + +Faith was not long in ascending the hill to meet her sister. Their +meeting was full of joy. + +"If my eyes had not been lifted heavenward, I should have missed you, +Hope: and you must have searched a long time for me; for my journeys +are far each day," said Faith to her sister. + +"Keep your eyes _ever_ uplifted," answered Hope, "and you will see not +only the brightness of the heavens, but also the father's angels whom he +chooses to send to your aid." + +"I will," answered Faith; and ever after her eyes were raised heavenward. + +They descended to the valley, hand in hand, and reached it as the people +were passing to their daily toils. + +How light now seemed the labors of Faith! What a comfort it was to +have Hope by her when she walked along the dreary wayside; and Hope's +bright words, how they cheered the downhearted! + +"I wonder your parents ever permitted you to come to the earth alone," +remarked an old and venerable woman to Faith, as the latter was imparting +to her some truths which lay almost beyond the grasp of mortals. + +"My father, as well as myself, had to learn that I needed Hope with +me to make my work more perfect. We must first feel our own inadequacy +before our helpers can be fully appreciated. I think she came in the +right time," said Faith reverently. + +"No doubt," replied the woman; "I have often heard you say that all +our blessings come at the needful moment; but surely Hope looks as +though she could endure the rough clime, and still rougher ways of our +people, better than yourself, although I do not know what my life would +have been without you." + +"That was why I was sent here. I came to prepare the way for Hope. I was +needed first; and now, with my sister's brighter element, I expect to do +a good work on the earth." + +"A blessed pair!" exclaimed the woman, as they left her home to go +to others more dark and drear. + +Faith was summoned that night to the home of a widow whose only child was +passing away; for the clear, far-seeing eyes of Faith could see the soul +depart and take on its heavenly form. It was a great comfort to the +bereaved in hours like those to have her near. + +"I wonder how we lived without her," were household words, and words +which she could hear without any semblance of vainglory; for her soul +was too deeply impressed with the magnitude of her mission to allow her +to be elated or depressed by any remark that might be made. + +Faith's eyes followed the dying boy far into the realms of light. She +wiped the mother's tears away, and disclosed to her sight the way the +soul had fled, while Hope stood by to assure her that the parting was +not forever. The two tarried through the night with the mother, and when +friends came to bury the dead form she had learned that "the grave is +not the goal." + +The sisters toiled together many years. They wove beautiful truths +into the minds of the people, till the once dark condition of earth +seemed passing rapidly away. People grew trustful, and less gloomy: yet, +with all the teachings of Faith, and the cheering words of Hope, they +failed to exercise the right feelings at all times towards each other. + +The sisters sat by the wayside one evening, after a hard day's toil, +their eyes lifted to the stars, which seemed to look lovingly on them. +They sat without words, while each possessed the same unspoken wish. They +both longed for their sister, who at that moment was thinking earnestly +of them. + +Faith glanced from the stars to the scarcely less brilliant eyes of Hope, +and a few tears fell over her face. Even Hope sighed, and almost wished +herself back to her starry home with her father. + +"Are you sorry, Hope, that you came to earth?" asked Faith, tenderly. + +"No: but I was thinking--" + +"I know your thought: it must be the same as my own," said Faith. + +"Yes, our sister--" Hope ventured thus far. + +"Charity come too." Faith finished the sentence. + +"Just my wish," said Hope, rejoiced to find they had the same desire. + +"I see," said Faith, "that we are all needed here to make our work +complete," while the brilliant eyes of Hope spoke more than words. + +"I have felt for a long time," answered Hope, "that another element, +softer, sweeter, and finer than ours, was needful for the people." + +"Do you suppose that father would spare Charity, too?" asked Hope +of her sister. + +"I know he would, if convinced that earth's people would receive her." + +"Why, Faith, you speak with such confidence!" + +"Because I know how good our father is, as you do yourself, Hope. If +needed, she will come," said Faith, trustingly, thinking of her own +experience that lonely night. + +"Charity is so delicate," said Hope, a little doubtfully, "I do not quite +see how she could endure this cold clime." + +"She could not without our presence to sustain her," answered Faith. + +"But, with us to help her, she could; for we can all live wherever we +are called to do the work of our father." + +"Let us lift the voices of our souls," said Hope; and they offered a +silent prayer for their sister. + + * * * * * + +That night, in his abode of peace and comfort, the father walked to and +fro; for the voices of his children on the earth, pleading for their +sister, had reached him. + +It was not without a struggle that he called the only remaining child +to his side to look upon her for the last time for many years. + +"It must be," he said, "and then will my sacrifice be perfect; and from +perfect sacrifice must fullness of good come forth. Faith alone could not +perfect the work; Hope's added brightness was not all that was needed. +Charity must be added." And he drew the fair, frail form to his side, and +told her to go for her mantle. + +He enveloped her slight figure in the spotless garment, and, placing +her in the care of Zephyr, the gentle west wind, who was always faithful +to her charges, bade her depart, with his prayers and blessings. + +Zephyr was very tender of her charge, and, after what seemed a long +journey to Charity, she laid her on a soft bed of moss in a pleasant +woodland, where her sisters were gathering flowers. + +She might have lain there some time had not Faith's eyes discovered +her coming through the clouds. + +Full and joyous was the meeting of the three; and when the sun went +to rest they sought shelter among the people. + +With the uplifted eyes of Faith, the clear, soul-speaking face of Hope, +and the tender, forgiving words of Charity, their united force was great. + +Some of the people at first refused to admit the last comer into their +dwellings. + +"Faith, with her lovely eyes, and Hope, with her bright ways, are good +enough," they said; "and why need they bring this pale, fragile one to +earth?" + +But when once she had spoken, either in council or rebuke, to her +listeners, there was melody and richness in her tones: such an awakening +of their souls' finer powers that they ever after bade her welcome. + +Her strength lay in her gentleness. She always went when called for, but +never obtruded herself on others. Very often her sisters were invited to +the feast of the people without her. It took time for her quality to be +known: she was so still and silent. Her step, too, was noiseless, and her +delicate feet left no prints where she trod. + +Before she grew into favor with the people they used to watch for her +footprints to see whose guest she had been; but they found no traces, +and learned to entertain her after a long time for the lovely qualities +which she possessed. + +They walk the earth now, each loved and entertained by many, while +some sit in the shadows, and know not that earth has the angels of Faith, +Hope, and Charity to bless them. + + + + +XVII. + +GOING FORTH. + + +A wise parent sent his children to a distant country to learn the lessons +of life which experience alone can teach. Before their departure he +called them to him, and, after providing them liberally with means, told +them that at their return he would listen to their several experiences; +at the same time telling them to use the means which he had given them +well--neither to hoard, nor spend them unwisely; above all, not to bring +them back in their original form, but a full equivalent therefore, either +in spiritual or material things. + +A year had scarcely passed, when, as the father sat looking at the +western sky, the youngest son came running breathlessly up the path. + +"So soon returned?" asked his father--which caused a look of +disappointment to pass over the face of the youth; and his words were +shaded with regret as he replied, "I thought you would be glad to see +me, and would rejoice that I got through so quickly." + +"Not so, my son," replied the father. "You cannot, in the brief time +you have been absent, have performed many, if any, deeds of goodness +compared with what you might have done by tarrying longer; and your +gold--you surely cannot have used it all in so brief a period." + +"Why, I've brought all the money back you gave me, father. You see, +I got through without its costing me a penny." + +"It grieves me more than all, my son, that you should go through +any country and return no equivalent for deeds and kindness given. Rest +awhile, and in a few days return to the land and the people I sent you +among, and come not back again to me till every farthing is wisely +spent." + +The youth murmured within himself, but dared not reply. A few days +later he departed, to go over the same ground and do the work he had +neglected for the sake of a speedy return. + +At the end of the second year another returned, looking sad and +dispirited. + +"Thou hast soon returned, my son," said the father. "Is thy work +done in so brief a period?" + +The youth hung his head, and answered slowly, "I was so weary, father. +I saw so much sorrow among those people, I longed to come home where +all is rest and peace. Surely, I was right in that, was I not?" + +"Far from it, my child. If there was much sorrow there, that was the +very reason why you should have remained. Dost thou not remember +those lines I have so often quoted,-- + +"'Rest is not quitting the busy career: +Rest is the fitting of self to one's sphere'?" + +"I remember them well, father," the youth replied; "but I never felt +their meaning until now." + +"And if you sense it now, my son, what is your duty?" + +"To return, I suppose." + +"But how--cheerfully or otherwise?" + +"Gladly and willingly," said the son, born from the old to the higher +self. + +"I will provide you with more means," remarked his father, while a +feeling of joy thrilled his being at the thought that his son was going +to give his life to human needs. + +They parted on the morrow, though that separation was the nearest +approach of their lives; for they were united by a truth which is ever +the essence of a divine union. Many years passed by. The hair of the +father grew whiter, and his ears longed to hear the voices of his sons, +yet he would not call, in word or feeling, so long as the busy throng was +receiving or giving them life. + +One evening, when his thoughts were taking a somewhat pensive turn, +a messenger came to his door with a letter from the long-absent and +eldest, who had not returned to his home since the day of his departure. +Its words were these:-- + +"Dear Father,--I cannot come to the home I love so well, nor to +your side, while this land is so full of need of human words and deeds. +With your blessing I shall remain here my lifetime; and when age comes +on, and I can no longer serve the people, may I return?" + +The tears fell over the good man's face. God had blessed him greatly +in bestowing on him so worthy a son; and he penned warm and glowing +words of encouragement to his child, and sent by the messenger, with +gold to alleviate the wants of the needy. + +"Tell him a thousand blessings await him when his work is done," said +he to the messenger as the latter mounted his horse to ride away. + +Long after, when the father grew old and helpless, the sons returned +laden with rich experiences and abundantly able to care for him. + +They had learned the great and valuable lesson that all must learn ere +they truly live,--that we must give to receive, sow if we would reap, +and lose our life to find it. + + + + +XVIII. + +THE FEAST. + + +There was once a husbandman who had laborers in a valley, clearing it of +stones and brush, that it might become fit for culture. He resided near, +on a fine hill, where he raised rare fruits and flowers of every variety. +The view from the hill-top was extensive and grand beyond description, +and it was the kind owner's desire that each day the laborers should +ascend and be refreshed by whatever he had to offer them, beside catching +the inspiration of the lovely and extensive landscape. Some days he had +not much to offer them; at other times, the repast would be sumptuous and +most tempting: so those who went each day were sure of receiving in their +season the delicious fruits which ripened at different periods. + +There had been a succession of days in which there was nothing but +dry food on the hill, with none of the luscious fruits which invigorate +and refresh; for they had been slow in ripening, and the kind husbandman +would not gather them before they were mellow and fit to spread before +his laborers. + +"_I_ am not going to climb the hill to-day for a few crumbs," said one +dissatisfied toiler, as he sat by the roadside at noon-day, looking very +unhappy. + +"Nor I!" "Nor I!" added a second and a third, until there was quite +a chorus of the dissatisfied. + +The remainder went up as usual. A most tempting repast was before +them, of fruits and cake and refreshing wines, while the table was decked +with rare and fragrant flowers. + +How glad was the good man to spread the bounties before them! for +well he knew of the murmurs which had gone out of their hearts for a +few days past. "Are they not all here?" he asked of those who had +ascended the hill, while a look of disappointment came over his face. + +"Oh! let us go down and tell them what a nice feast is waiting," said +one of the group, as he gazed on the well-filled table. + +"Nay, not so," answered the husbandman, in a gentle but commanding +tone. "My people should have faith in me, and know that I spread for +them all I can each day. My power, even like that of the Infinite, is +limited by conditions. It is not my pleasure ever to have them go +unrefreshed; but how much better for them, could they be content with +whatever comes each day, though sometimes meager. How it cheers me to +see those who have come in good courage and faith, _not_ knowing that the +feast was here. Eat and give thanks," he said; while a band played +some lively airs. + + * * * * * + +Shall we refuse to ascend each day the mount whereon dwells our +Father? Shall we, because some days no feast awaits us, linger in the +valley of doubt, and lose the bounties which his hand at other times has +ready for us? No: the faithful and believing will go up to the mount +each day, and take without murmur the morsel, or the fruits with +thanksgiving. + + + + +XIX. + +THE LESSON OF THE STONE. + + +It was with feelings of satisfaction and pride that a builder looked +upon a large and costly edifice which, after much exertion, was just +completed. Long had the workmen toiled to place one stone upon another. +Many hours of thought had the designer spent in perfecting its +proportions, and a deep sense of relief came over him as he saw the +last stone deposited on the summit of the structure. Yet it was only to +be followed by one of pain; for, as he walked one evening to enjoy the +beautiful symmetry of his building, he heard words of contention and +strife among the various stones of which it was composed. + +"Just look at my superior finish," said one of the top pieces to those +beneath it. "You are only plain pieces of granite, while I am polished, +elegantly carved, and the admiration of all eyes. Do I not see all the +people, as they pass by, look up at me?" + +"Not so fast," replied one of the foundation stones. "A little less pride +would become you; for do you not see that, but for us below, you could +not be so high? And it matters very little, it strikes me, what part of +the building we are placed in, if we but remain firm and peaceful." + +The words of the wise stone pleased the owner so much that he +resolved to remove a little of the vanity of the top one, and lay awake +a long time that night, thinking of some plan by which to effect his +purpose. The elements, however, spared him any effort on his part, for +the next day a terrible hail-storm swept over the land, and its hard +stones defaced all the ornaments which had led the lofty one to boast so +loudly of its superiority. + +"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" moaned the vain piece of granite. "How I wish I had +been taken for a foundation stone, instead of being here to have all my +beauty destroyed by this awful storm! I'd much rather have been in the +middle of the building than up here, where all the force of the storm is +spent on my head." + +The stone at the foundation could not help smiling, though he really +pitied the vain thing above him. "It will teach her wisdom," he said to +himself; "and she may learn that none in life are lowly if they bear +their part, and that a lofty position is far more dangerous than a humble +one." + +There was a fearful crash in the air at that instant. The foundation +stone thought the building was coming down. Something struck him, +which he recognized as a part of the top stone; for he had seen the +workmen cutting and smoothing it day after day for many weeks prior to +its elevation. Now she could boast no more of superior finish or +position. + +The following day, the remaining shattered portion was removed and +left by the roadside, where it could see another prepared to take its +place. + +"I thought that stone was a little weak when we raised it," said one of +the workmen as it was placed aside. + +It lay by the roadside until it grew to be humble and glad to be of any +use,--even delighted when one day the owner of the building took it to +finish a wall which was being built around some pasture land. + +"Here I can be of use," she said, as the workmen deposited it on a +sunny corner as the place it was to occupy. It was glad to be there and +find itself useful and at rest; for it had been obliged to listen to the +remarks of the passers-by each day, and to endure their comments on its +misfortune. + +"I suppose I shall never know any other life but this; so now, being +firmly set, I can sleep a little:" for the stone was sadly in need of +rest. + +After what seemed to be a long period of repose, the stone awoke, with +new pulsations and finer emotions thrilling within it. The sound of +children's voices were heard in the air. How sweet and life-giving they +were! far more pleasant than the words of admiration which men uttered +when she was on the building's top. A new joy was hers also, for soft +hands were caressing her. Beautiful mosses had grown on her surface, +and delighted children were gathering them. + +Useful and beautiful too! and the stone was silent with happiness. +She hoped the children would come again; and they did, bringing others +with them. + +"I wonder how this beautiful moss grew on me," she said one day to +herself--at least she thought no one heard her. But an older stone +beside her replied, "By being perfectly quiet we become covered with +this lovely moss, firmer than grasses of any lawn." + +The once vain stone grew to be perfectly contented, and never longed +for her former position. When the storms came, it knew it was close to +the earth. It had no fearful height to be pulled from, and the beautiful +lichens which grew upon its surface were far more ornamental than its +former carved and elegant adornings. + + + + +XX. + +THE SEEDS. + + +They lay side by side one morning, while the gardener was preparing +the ground in which to plant them and many other varieties. + +"Just think," said the more talkative one of the two, "how sad it is +that we are going to be put in that dismal ground! I shall not allow +myself to be buried out of sight this lovely morning." + +"But," answered the more quiet seed by her side, "it is only for a brief +period that we shall lie there, and then we shall be far more beautiful." + +"What care I for beauty for others to look at? I want my freedom, +and intend to have it, too. The wind is my friend, and I shall ask her +to waft me over to those lovely hills, where I can see something of the +world." + +"I think it would be wiser to remain where we are, and let the gardener +care for us: he must know what is for our good," remarked the gentle +seed. + +"You are too prosy by far. I think our own feelings tell us what we +need. So good-by," exclaimed the self-reliant seed, as she motioned to +the wind to bear her away. + +She thought her breath was leaving her, as she was borne through +the air, and wished she were back in the garden. But when she found +herself on the warm hill-side she felt reassured, and nestled herself +amid the soft grass, whose waving motion soon lulled her to sleep. + +Now the two seeds which the gardener had laid on the ground were of +a very choice and rare kind; and he felt very sad that the wind should +have blown one away. He took the remaining one and laid it carefully +in the ground, with many hopes that it would spring up and bear rich +blossoms, which would yield more seed. That night a cold wind came +on; but the little seed in the warm bed did not feel it at all, while her +absent sister shook all night with the cold. + +After what seemed a long time to the seed in the ground, something +like a new life came over her. There was a deeper pulsation through +her being, and a strong desire to shoot upward to the light and air. This +feeling deepened every hour. + +"At this rate I shall soon be in the air, where I can see all that is +going on about me," she said joyfully. Then she felt very quiet, and fell +asleep. When she awoke she saw the gardener bending over her with a +joyful face. "When did this happen? How came I up here in the warm +sunlight?" the seed exclaimed to him. + +"Because the wind did not bear you away, and I could put you in the +ground, is the reason why you are here. First out of sight, then to the +light, my little seed! But," he said sorrowfully, "I wish we had the +other one, for your kind is rare." + +The plant then told the gardener that her sister purposely went away, +at which he wondered that she had power of motion until she became a +plant. + +"Oh, she asked the wind to carry her," answered the fresh-growing +plant. + +"If I knew where she had gone I'd search for her, and bring her back." + +"She asked the wind to take her to yonder hill-side," said the plant, +hoping, oh, so much! that he would go and find the seed, and plant it +beside her, that she, too, might have the pleasure of becoming a plant as +beautiful as herself. + +The gardener went towards the hills; but the seed saw him, and +begged the south wind to bear her away. And she took her on her wing +and wafted her many miles from home. + +The gardener searched a long time, and was obliged to return without +her. So he took extra care of the plant, and it grew to be the pride of +the garden; while the seed that had her own way was roaming over the +world. The truant one soon lost all her influence over the winds, who +finally refused to carry about a good-for-nothing seed while they had so +much needful work to perform. A cold northern blast was the last one +she could persuade to bear her, and he dropped her on a rock, where she +at last perished from exposure to the rain and cold. + +The day before her death, a company of people passed by her, bearing +in their hands some rare and fragrant blossoms, to which she felt a +strange attraction. This gave place to a deep thrill of sorrow as she +heard them describe the lovely plant which grew in a beautiful garden, +and which by their description she knew was her own home, which she +in her folly had left. + +"Had I but accepted the conditions of growth, I too might have been +a lovely plant, giving and receiving pleasure," she said, after the +people had passed on. "But now, alas!" and her breath grew quick and +short, "if I had only some one to profit by my last words, telling of my +life of folly, I might not have lived wholly in vain." But there was +nothing about her which she could discern save a tuft of moss upon the +cold, hard rock which must now be her death-bed. + +But behind the rock, on the south side, there was growing a family of +wild daisies, who were going to migrate to a warmer part of the country +to plant their seeds before the winter came on. This was one of the +conditions which Providence ever has around the most seemingly deserted +and desolate, that her words might not only profit them, but that +they could convey the benefit of them to all wayward seeds who were +unwilling to accept the natural conditions of growth. And thus the seed, +though dying with its mission unfulfilled, did not live wholly in vain; +for its wasted life saved others from a similar fate. + + + + +XXI. + +ONLY GOLD. + + +A parent sent his children forth one day into a fertile land to gather +fruits, flowers, and whatever was beautiful to adorn their homes. They +wandered till nightfall, gathering their treasures, while their joyous +laughter filled the air, and made music to the listening laborers in the +fields. + +Just as the shadows of evening came on they approached an open field: +it was barren of verdure, but the ground was covered with golden stones, +which glittered strangely in the setting sun. They gathered as many as +they could with their other treasures, and then all but one of the group +began to prepare for home, while he lingered, eager to gather the shining +pebbles. + +"We must return," they all said in chorus to him. They disliked to +leave without him; but darkness was fast coming on, and they must obey +their parents' command and return before the shades of evening had +covered the earth. One voice after another died away on the air as they +pleaded vainly for him to go with them, but he heeded them not: the +golden stones were far more precious in his eyes than kindred, home, or +friends; and they departed sorrowfully without him, while he remained +and added stone to stone, till he was obliged at last, from exhaustion, +to lie down on the damp ground. + +It was not like his warm bed in his pleasant home; and he missed the +cheerful voices of his brothers, and more than all his parents' fond +goodnight, after the evening prayer. He slept; but his dreams were wild +and feverish, and there was no atmosphere of love about him to soothe the +weary brain. + +The next day at noon his parents sent a messenger to him, bidding him +return. But the love of his golden stones was paramount to the wishes +of kindred, and the unnumbered comforts of a happy home; and his reply to +the messenger was, "I will return, when I have enough of these," pointing +to a large collection which was already higher than his head. At +nightfall hunger seized him. He felt too weary to go in search of +food, but the demand of nature asserted its claim, and he dragged himself +to a field near by, where grew berries and fruits in abundance. His +spirits rose after the cravings of hunger were satisfied, and he lay down +again by his precious pile of stones. + +The days glided into weeks, and still he fed upon the berries and +gathered the golden pebbles. His father had ceased to send messengers to +him, knowing that nothing but a long experience would teach his child +the value of life's many blessings, and that gold _alone_ has no power to +bless us. The father suffered much in knowing and realizing that his +son must learn the truths of life through such severe lessons; but wisdom +told him it could not be otherwise. + +The chill air of autumn came, and no longer could the fruits and berries +ripen for him. He saw some laborers one day in a field near by, eating +their meal which they had brought from their homes. Oh; what would he not +now give for some of their meat and bread! "I will go to them," he said, +"and offer some of my golden stores in exchange for just a few morsels." + +He did so; and they only smiled at his offer, saying, "What would then +refresh and fit us for the rest of our day's labor? Surely your gold +would not." + +"But it would help you to buy more," he replied. + +"Yes, to-morrow: but we cannot spare a morsel to-day, for we need +all our supply to strengthen us for our work." + +He turned away in deep thought. Was he not losing all of life's joys +and comforts in living thus alone only to amass such quantities of gold? +But as he looked again on the shining treasures his ambition arose with +increased power; and he forgot, for a time, his hunger in his toil. Then +a new thought came to him. "Now that the fruits are gone I can go to +the forest and gather nuts. They will be better food, too, for these +chilly autumn days. Surely I am provided for, at least till winter," and +he left his labor and repaired to the woods, where he feasted and +gathered enough for many days. + +The household mourned much for their absent brother. They missed him in +their daily joys, and every hour they watched, waited, and hoped to see +him return. They almost rejoiced when the bleak winds of autumn swept the +foliage from the trees, because they could look farther down the road for +their brother. + +"I shall soon be able to travel and see the world," said the youth to +himself every day as the pile of gold grew higher; but, alas for human +calculation! he awoke one morning to find his huge mountain of gold +one solid mass. The action of the light, heat, and atmosphere had fused +them together, and no exertion of his could break off even the smallest +atom. + +Must he return with not even one golden pebble? for he had gathered +them all--not one was in sight, no more were to be found. + +His golden dream of travel was over, and, worse, the freshness and +buoyancy of youth had departed. His limbs, alas! were stiff and sore. +He had a mountain of gold, not one atom of which he could use for himself +or others. And now he must return to his father's house empty-handed, +and void of truths or incidents to relate to his brothers. + +But some kind angel led him home, where his blessings were yet in +store, awaiting his return. One evening when the shadows crept over +the earth, he walked up the well-known path. The brothers had long +before ceased to watch for his coming; and great was their surprise to +see him again among them, although not the brother of that happy, +sunny day of long ago. He told them sadly of the result of his long toil, +while they related to him the good results of their few golden pebbles, +which they brought home, and with which their father had purchased +land, which was now yielding them rich returns, aside from the health +and pleasure which they derived from its culture, the labor of which they +performed with their own hands. "Health, wealth, and happiness combined," +he murmured sadly, as he felt keenly that his youth and opportunities +had departed. + +Are there not too many who seek for gold alone, forgetting the joys +which it purchases, and forgetting that its possession alone has no +value? Rightly acquired and used it alleviates and mediates, but gathered +and amassed for itself only it is but a mountain of shining ore, +valueless and unsatisfying to its possessor. + +"Fool that I have been thus to waste my time and strength!" said the +long-absent son that night as his father bade him welcome. + +"If wisdom is purchased by the experience, it matters not how great +the price," answered his parent. + +"But I have lost my youth and my strength," responded the son. + +"Which loss will be compensated by more thought and greater ability +to labor mentally," said his parent consolingly. + +In after years the youth who had wasted his bodily strength became a +worker in words of cheer and hope to others, and hence he had not +wholly lived in vain. He learned to love the angel Truth so well that +she came to his side each day, and gave him sweet counsel and many +lessons for mankind. + +But he had purchased the light at a cost which few can afford to give. + + + + +XXII. + +THE SACRIFICE. + + +A large party of travelers on their way to a distant country were obliged +to pass through a dense forest to reach it. Their leader went forward, +and, seeing the darkness of the dense woods, was convinced of the +impossibility of his people going through it, without the aid of a +light to guide them. He sat beside the mossy stones at the entrance, +trying to devise some means by which to light up the darkness. There +seemed but one way, and that almost hopeless, as it involved a sacrifice +of life, and he knew too well the nature of the trees to expect any of +them to give themselves up for his travelers. How could he ask it, as he +stepped into the deep wood, and looked on their grand proportions and +rich foliage? His was no enviable position to entreat them to give up the +existence which must be dear to themselves,--to pass from the known to +the unknown life. + +Vainly he tried to think of another way to accomplish his purpose. None +presented itself; so with glowing words he appealed to their nobler +selves, telling them all the great need of the travelers who were obliged +to pass that way. First he appealed to a fine birch which bordered the +forest. + +"Not I, indeed!" answered the tree. "Do you think I would give my +life to light a few people through this woodland? I prefer to live a few +years longer." + +He next addressed a walnut. She shook a few leaves from her branches, +and made a similar reply, preferring to live in her own form, and amid +her sister trees, to going she knew not whither. + +"Are there none here," he continued, "who are willing to sacrifice their +lives for the needs of others?" + +He looked around the forest in vain: all were silent, and he was about +to return to the people, when a large and stately oak spoke in clear and +ringing tones, saying, "I will give my body that the travelers may have +light." + +"What! that grand old body of yours, that has been so many years +growing and maturing to its present stately and fair proportions!" +exclaimed several of the trees. + +"You are not only rash, but foolish," remarked a small fir growing by +its side. + +"Beside taking away the pride of our grand old forest," said a delicate +birch, that had always admired the oak. + +"Just throwing your life away," broke in a tall and rather sickly pine. + +"When will you be ready for me?" asked the oak of the leader, who +had stood admiring its beautiful proportions, and sorrowing within +himself that it must be so. + +At the close of the next day the travelers came to the edge of the +forest, and tarried while their leader lit the fire at the roots of the +oak. Now the flames went upward and flashed in the darkness; for it was +evening, and not a star was visible. The flames rose upward and touched +not even the bark of another tree, but wound closely around the oak, as +though it knew its work and that the light of that tree only was needed +to pass the travelers through in safety. It touched their hearts to thus +witness that the life of the noble oak must be sacrificed, and they +offered, with one accord, a silent prayer that its life might be extended +in a higher form. Having passed through, they tarried at the end of +the forest until the flames died away, and then pursued their journey. + + * * * * * + +Years passed away. From the pile of ashes left by the departed oak +sprang lovely flowers, which charmed the eyes of all the trees in the +forest, and atoned, in a great measure, for the loss of their noble +companion. + +After a brief period workmen were seen in the forest felling the trees. + +"Ah!" exclaimed the old pine who had refused to give its life for the +travelers, "I don't see as we have gained anything. If our life is to go, +it might as well have gone by the fire as by the axe." + +"Just so," answered the beach, "only if we had perished by the fire +we might now be coming again into another form of life, as our oak seems +to be, from that pile of dust and ashes; for see what lovely blossoms are +coming forth from that unsightly heap of dust." + +"I heard the workmen say that all these trees were to be cleared away, +and houses erected on the land," remarked a trembling ash, and her leaves +quivered beyond their wont with the terror of this new thought. + +"And that will surely be the end of us," moaned the pine. + +"Our happy life is all over now," said a small fir, who would have +continued bemoaning their destiny had not her attention at that instant +been arrested by two forms entering the forest. They went to the spot +where once stood the brave oak, and gazed admiringly on the lovely tinted +blossoms. They had heard of the sacrifice of the tree, and had come to +gaze upon its resurrection. + +"We will gather some for our festival to-night," they said, and stooped +to pluck the fragrant blossoms. + +The fire had not destroyed the consciousness of the oak: its soul was +still alive, enjoying its new form of existence, and it sent forth +thrills of gratitude, which took the form of sweetest odor, filling the +air around with fragrance. "Instead of losing my life it is being +extended, even as the good leader of the people said," were its words as +the two departed, bearing the flowers, instinct with its oak life, away. + +Many went to the forest while the workmen were there, to gather the +seeds of the rare blossoms to plant in their gardens. + +How much of human life did the soul of the oak learn as it went forth +thus amid the throngs of people; and how it rejoiced that it had given +its life for the good of others, knowing not that greater bliss was in +store for it! It was held in the hands of the aged; it crowned fair +brows; it was carried to the bedside of the suffering; it was laid upon +the caskets of the dead; it was planted by the door of the cottage and +reared in the conservatories of the rich,--everywhere admired and +welcomed. Was not this life indeed worth all the pain and heat of the +flames, and the loss of its once statelier and loftier form? + +It never sighed for its forest home, but often longed to know of the +fate of its brother trees. One day a child, bearing in her hand one of +its blossoms, wandered to the ground where once arose the tall trees. The +eyes of the oak, through the flower, looked in vain for its kindred. None +were standing. They had all been felled and their wood converted into +dwellings,--a useful but less beautiful form of existence than that which +the oak possessed,--and they learned, after a time, that it is only by +apparent destruction that life can be reconstructed. But they could only +have the experiences which came within the scope of their life; and the +oak was more than ever satisfied with its own, and rejoiced that it had +passed through the refining element, losing thereby only its grosser +form. It filled the air with the fragrance of its gratitude. Whenever it +wished to journey, the winds, who were its friends, conveyed its seeds to +any portion of the earth it designated. Its blossoms were not only bright +to the eye, and their odor sweet to the sense of smell, but the leaves of +the plant were healing. Three forces connected it with human life: so +that it was in constant action, and its highest joy lay in the +consciousness of its increased usefulness. + + + + +XXIII. + +STRANGERS. + + +In a large and elegant mansion dwelt a wealthy man who had three lovely +daughters. The house was built on an eminence upon the banks of a river +which wound like a thread of silver through the valleys for many miles. +Afar from the mansion were a large number of cottages, in which dwelt +carpenters, shipbuilders, gardeners, and some of every trade. Most of +them were good and honest people, though tinged with the love of earthly +gains, and many of them, too, often crushed many of the soul's finer and +better emotions in the greedy love of material things. The owner of the +mansion sorrowed over this failing of theirs, and, to rid them of it, +devised a plan by which to give those who wished an opportunity to be led +by their better nature, and forget, for the time, self and gain. + +Accordingly, he told his daughters to deck themselves in their richest +apparel and ornaments, which were rare and choice, and then to throw +over the whole large and unsightly cloaks, so that the disguise might be +perfect, and conceal all the splendor beneath. To each he gave a purse +filled with gold to bestow upon the one who should welcome and give +them shelter. + +At evening he went forth with them to the narrow street, and bade +them knock at the doors of the cottages, while he waited outside, and see +who would admit and give food and shelter to travelers in need. They +obeyed him, and first approached a dimly-lighted cottage. Making +known their presence by a gentle rap, the door was opened by a woman +of large and coarse features, whose eyes had no welcome in their rude +stare. She scarcely waited for the words of the travelers to be spoken, +ere she gruffly answered, "No: we have neither room nor food for +beggars," and closed the door abruptly. + +They applied next upon the opposite side, saying to the man who opened +the door, "Can you feed and give shelter to three weary travelers?" + +"We have no food to waste, and our home is scarcely large enough for +ourselves," he replied, and quickly shut the door upon them. + +The same answer came from all, and they turned to their parent, saying, +"Shall we try any more?" + +"There are but two more: try all; see if one at least can be found not +wholly selfish; and, as you are not truly in need of their bounties, you +can well afford to importune and be denied." He then guided his children +to the end of the street. + +"This one looks quite gay compared with the others," said the eldest +of the daughters, as they all looked on the well-lit rooms, and beheld +forms flitting to and fro within. + +"We shall certainly be admitted here," said the others. + +But the parent kept his council, and was invisible while they rapped +at the door, which was opened by a bright and rather stylish-looking +girl, who gazed wonderingly on the group. + +"Can you give us shelter for a night, and a little food?" asked the +eldest. + +"Not we, indeed: we have just spent all our money for a merry-making +for our brother Jack, who has just come home from sea. Not we: +we have not one bit of room to spare; for all our friends are here." + +"But we are weary, and ask rest and food," pleaded one of the three; +and her eyes wandered to the well-filled tables. + +"Yes: but what we have is for our company and ourselves--not for +beggars," said the girl, and she closed the door upon them. + +"Shall we try again, father?" they said to their parent. + +"Just this one, which is the last," he answered, leading them to the +door of a cot where dwelt a poor and lonely widow. + +They paused at the threshold, for a voice was heard within, low and +sweet; yet they heard the words of the kneeling form, in deep petition, +saying, "Give me, O Father, my daily bread; forgive me my trespasses, +and lead me not into temptation. For thine is the kingdom, and the +power, and the glory, forever and forever. Amen." + +She arose at that instant. A gentle knock was heard. Without delay +she opened it, and smiled upon the strangers, who asked for more than +she could give. + +"I have shelter, but no food; yet enter and be welcome," she said, and +opened wide the door. + +They passed in, and left their parent, whom they knew would soon follow, +outside. + +"I grieve that I have no food to offer thee," said the woman, "but come +to my fireside; for the evening air is chilly, and you must need rest." + +She placed for them her only chairs beside the fire, saying, "I am glad +you come to-night; for this is my last fuel, and to-morrow eve it will be +all dark and chill within my dwelling." + +The eldest bowed to the woman gracefully, and threw aside her cloak; +and at once the others followed her example. + +Great was the surprise of the widow. She thought her senses had +departed, and, for an instant, had no voice, no words, naught but wonder +beaming from her eyes, so sudden and great was the surprise. Another +gentle rap at that instant seemed to help her to find herself, and she +was hastening to open it, when the eldest one said, "It is our father, +come to thank you for admitting angels in disguise; for, though not +angels in form, we hope to prove such by our administration to your +needs." And they laid upon her only table the purses of gold. + +"He will ever give daily bread to those who forget not to entertain +strangers," said their father to the widow, as they took their leave of +one who had not refused to receive strangers. + +The next morning there was great commotion in the neighborhood; +for the widow had been seen to exchange gold for bread at one of the +shops; but greater still was their surprise when she told them, as they +flocked around her dwelling, that it was given by three strangers who +had asked for bread and shelter the night before. + +"Three strangers!" exclaimed they all. "They must be the same that called +at our dwellings. What fools we were that we did not let them in!" + +"Nay: it but shows how dead you were in sympathy for human need," +spoke a voice among them, which, as they turned, they found to be that +of the owner of the mansion. + +Shame and confusion came over their faces; for he had long been their +benefactor, both in words of counsel and deeds of kindness. Their eyes +fell to the ground, as he in gentle tones chided them for their lack of +kindness and want of faith in the Father's love. "He who giveth not in +another's need shall receive none in his own," he continued; "and let +the lesson taught you by the experience you have just had, and the +example of the poor widow, last you through all the years of your life; +for she refused not the strangers whom you turned from your doors the +shelter which they apparently needed." + +"But they were not cold and hungry," said one of the group. + +"The demand upon your sympathies was just the same; for you knew not to +the contrary," he answered, and they could not but feel the truth of his +words. + +The lesson was not lost; for in after years they grew less mercenary, +more kindly of heart, and never again closed their doors to strangers +asking aid. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Allegories of Life, by Mrs. J. S. 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