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The Pearl Box by "A Pastor"

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Transcribers Note: There are many, but not one hundred,
stories in this volume.


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


* * * * *


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

"Oh, mamma, Emmie loves her Saviour."

* * * * *


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

* * * * *


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

* * * * *


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

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

"O yes, my child, many of them do," said the father.

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

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

Now, every child has some favorite toy. Harriet's was a beautiful tame
_gray_ squirrel. It would eat from her hands, attend her in her
rambles, and sleep on her pillow.

She called its name Jenny. It was taken sick, and the little girl
nursed it with care, but it at last died in her lap.

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

"Pray, gentlemen," said I, "what is the matter?" One of them informed
me that a genteelly dressed man had hastily come up to him, and
tapping him on the shoulder, had said:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

"Because," said he, "the beautiful dew drops are gone." His father
tried to soothe him, but he continued weeping. Just then a cloud
passed over, and on the cloud the beautiful rainbow had cast its arch.

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Myra once more uttered a sigh and cried:

"'Oh, my feet are dreadful cold.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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


* * * * *


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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

"How very fortunate!" said Ellen.

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is he dead?"

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

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

* * * * *


There is nothing more pleasant than to see brothers and sisters,
lovely in their lives, and in all their plays kind and obliging to
each other. Mrs. Jones' three little children were always noted for
their good behaviour by all the people in the village, and the school
teacher said they were the prettiest behaved children she ever saw,
and this was saying much in their praise, for her scholars were noted
for very good behavior and promptness in their recitations.

Mrs. Jones kept her children under a good discipline, but she always
gave them time and opportunities for their pleasant plays. She would
not allow them to associate with vicious children, because "evil
communications corrupt good manners," and she knew her children were
as liable to fall into bad habits as any others. There were a few
vicious boys in the village where she lived who always took delight in
teasing and vexing the other children, and sometimes these boys would
try some method to break up the children's play.

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

They soon came to another road, when the man, who had silently
listened to all the gentleman had said, desired to get out, saying
that his home lay in that direction.

The gentleman stopped his horse, and the man got out, took his adviser
by the hand, saying:

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

This is a very pretty fable for young people. It makes us recollect
one of the proverbs of Solomon: "He that walketh with wise men shall
be wise; but a companion of fools shall be destroyed," Young people
like to have companions, and it is proper that they should have them.

If we had no one to associate with, we should be unhappy. We need
friends that we may confide in, and that we may tell them what we
feel and what we think. But we must take care as to the choice of
friends; for just as the grass in the fable imbibed the scent of the
roses, so we become like those with whom we associate.

* * * * *


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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

"Now what says Lucy?" exclaimed Helen.

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

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

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

* * * * *


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


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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

"But that does not make me any better or prettier than you, because I
am strong and you are not, or that my cheeks are red and your's are

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

* * * * *


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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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


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

* * * * *

(In three Stories.)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *


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

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

* * * * *


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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

* * * * *


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

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

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

* * * * *


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

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

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