LIBRARY OF PRINCETON 
 
 JUL 6 200 
 
 THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 BX9855 .B7 1879 
 
 Brown, Howard N. (Howard 
 
 Nicholson) , 1849-1932. 
 
 Sunday stories / by Howard 
 
 N. 
 
 Brown 
 
; ^l^':!4Mm::k:^2i 
 
 
LIBRARY OF PRINCETON 
 
 JUL 6 
 
 THEOLOGICALSEMINARY 
 
SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 BY 
 
 Rev. HOWARD N. BROWN. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 LOCKWOOD. BROOKS AND COMPANY. 
 
 1879. 
 
Copyi-iglit, 1879, 
 
 BY LOCKWOOD, BROOKS AND COMPANY. 
 
PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 The following pages are taken from discourses of the Rev. Howard 
 N. Brown, of Brookline, to the children of his parish, in Sunday 
 School ; and are now published, with his leave, by some of his 
 parishioners, who desire to extend to a larger circle, the pleasure 
 and the benefit they have derived from them. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 I. The Star in the East . . . . i 
 
 II. Tender- Heartedness .... 13 
 
 III. Truth 29 
 
 IV. Humility 44 
 
 V. Temper . • . . . . .58 
 
 VI. Good and Bad Seed . . . . 72 
 
 VII. The Heavenly Vision .... 86 
 
 99 
 
 VIII. Modesty 
 
 IX. The One Thing Needful . . .114 
 
 X. Self -Devotion . . . . . 128 
 
 XI. Loyalty . . . . , . .141 
 
 XII. How HARD IT is TO BE GoOD . . 1:^4 
 
 XIII. Fidelity in Little Things . . . '167 
 
 XIV. Patience . . . . . . 179 
 
 XV. Sincerity 193 
 
 XVI. Everlasting Life 208 
 
SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE STAR IN THE EAST. 
 
 w 
 
 We have seen his star in the east. — Matthno, ii. 2. 
 
 HEN JESUS was born in Bethlehem, says the 
 Gospel narrative, wise men came to Jerusa- 
 lem, asking, " Where is he that is born King of the 
 Jews ? For we have seen his star in the east." 
 And afterwards, continues the story, the star went 
 before them and guided them to the place where the 
 child Jesus was. 
 
 In those days there were many beliefs about the 
 stars which we do not hold now. If one of them 
 shone with more brilliancy than usual, as they some- 
 times do, people thought it a sign that something 
 unusual was to happen on the earth. 
 
 It is not surprising that at a time when all the 
 Jewish nation was looking for the Christ to come, 
 these wise men should take the star to mean that he 
 had come ; nor is it strange that the star should 
 seem to lead them to the spot where Jesus was born. 
 
SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 Some of you may have travelled far enough under 
 the stars to have noticed how they seem to go before 
 you. Just over the brow of the next hill, as you 
 ride, will hang a bright, trembling, little eye of light, 
 and it seems that before long you will be directly 
 under it. But when you have climbed the summit of 
 that hill, there is the star, winking merrily away just 
 over the brow of the next. And so as on you go, 
 down into the valleys, and up over the hills, always 
 the star seems just before you ; and always it seems 
 to go backward as you advance. 
 
 Is it not a pretty picture, these wise men of the 
 East in their priestly robes, mounting over the hill- 
 sides of Judea, in the full splendor of a cloudless 
 night, their eyes fixed upon the great burning star, 
 which shone down upon them with a solemn, holy 
 lio:ht .-* How their hearts must have swelled at 
 thought of the noble man and the great things which 
 that star portended, and how very eagerly they must 
 have followed its rays, until they came to Bethlehem, 
 and to the infant Christ ! 
 
 For each one of us, my dear children, there is a 
 star in the heaven, which points us the way toward 
 Christ and God, and it is about this star that I am 
 going to tell you. 
 
 We see it always in our childhood. Happy for us 
 if our eyes do not wander from it to some earthly 
 lio-ht ; if clouds do not hide it from our gaze, or if we 
 
THE STAR IX THE EAST. 
 
 find not the road too rough to follow its lead. It is 
 the star of goodness and truth, and it shines down 
 upon us, and touches our faces as they are turned up 
 toward it, with the light of faith. 
 
 Let me tell you what this star does for us. Out 
 upon the wide ocean, far away from land, where the 
 wind brings no scent of flowers, but only the cold 
 breath of the white-capped waves ; where is neither 
 song of birds nor hum of bees, but only the monoto- 
 nous, unending murmur of the waters ; where the 
 sun in his setting tips no hills with his glory, but 
 seems to put out his light as he dips himself into the 
 billows, and the stars seem like white bits of foam 
 that have blown up from the surface of the sea and 
 stuck themselves upon the sky, rides a ship, rising 
 and falling with the heave of the waves, while her 
 white sails silently and gently stretching out with 
 the breeze, urge her silently onward. 
 
 It is fine weather, and a merry party are on deck. 
 One by one the stars are coming out against the 
 darkening background of the sky, and low down in 
 the west, toward which they are sailing, the evening 
 star shines like a beacon light. The passengers are 
 thinking of home, for they are almost there ; and 
 that star hangs directly over the loved ones who 
 await their return. Perhaps they too are watching 
 it, over the fadins: crlovv of sunset, and wonderins: 
 how many times it must look down upon them 
 
8 UN DA Y S TOE lES. 
 
 before it sees the wanderers safe home again. Thus, 
 as the voyagers rise and fall with the heave of the 
 sea, the star beckons them to haven, and home, and 
 loved ones ; and it seems that they will never weary 
 of gazing at its radiant beauty. But at length the 
 night grows chill, and they go below to sleep, while 
 still the ship rises and falls with the heave of the 
 sea, and the star, lower down in the west, peeps over 
 her bow, and silvers her white deck. 
 
 All at once, in the dead of night, the passengers 
 are awakened. There is a sound of swift and heavy 
 trampling over their heads, as the sailors run hither 
 and thither, dragging at the heavy ropes. The vessel 
 madly plunges and rears like a frightened horse. 
 The waves with angry blows beat upon her sides, 
 and send a quiver, as of pain, through all her 
 timbers. The wind roars even louder than the sea, 
 and the hissing rain descends in torrents. Still the 
 ship tosses the foam from her bows, as though it 
 obstructed her sight, and rushes swiftly on. The 
 passengers are not allowed to go on deck, and 
 through many weary hours they can only listen and 
 wait. , The trampling above continues, and now and 
 then a loud crash tells that the spars are giving away, 
 or a sail has blown out of the bolt-ropes. The creak- 
 ing grows louder as the ship rolls from side to side, 
 and she seems to be losing her life ; growing ex- 
 hausted, as it were, in the long struggle. She rises 
 
THE STAR IN THE EAST. 
 
 less buoyantly upon the waves, but with sullen 
 determination plows through them. The water is 
 pouring into her from many an opened seam, and 
 the vessel is slowly sinking. 
 
 All through the night, and far into the afternoon 
 of the succeeding day, the passengers sit in the 
 cabin, without being able to do more for their safety 
 than hope and pray. Then the storm is surely going 
 down, and they begin to think that the danger is 
 past, when suddenly the hatches are opened, and a 
 hoarse voice shouts down the order to take to the 
 boats. Up they rush, and no time is to be lost. 
 The boats are already stored with provisions, and 
 they take their places. When all is ready, the 
 captain descends to his cabin for his instruments. 
 But just as he has almost reached the boat with 
 them, a great wave sweeps him off his feet, and he 
 is forced to cling with both hands to a rope. When 
 he regains his feet, the instruments are gone. There 
 is not a moment to spare. He springs to his place ; 
 the boat is cleared away, and the noble ship with a 
 plunge goes down into the deep. 
 
 Where are they now ? They have been driven far 
 out of their course, and have lost their reckoning. 
 They have no instruments with which to determine 
 their position, or tell them what way they should sail. 
 But as the sun goes down, the clouds clear away, 
 and struggling out of the west, growing brighter 
 
SUNDAY STOEIES. 
 
 and brighter as the day departs, appears the evening 
 star. 
 
 How different is their situation from that in which 
 they last beheld it ! Yet still it beckons them to 
 haven, and home, and loved ones ; and rising and 
 falling with the heave of the sea, they once more 
 turn their faces towards it, while the star shines on 
 to guide them across the watery way. Day succeeds 
 day of exposure and danger. But still, night after 
 night, the star comes out to inspire them with its 
 calm and steady light. Always, as darkness falls, 
 they turn their eyes towards the West, and wait in 
 breathless silence, till some one cries out, *' I see the 
 star ! " Then if they have left their course, they 
 once more turn their prow straight towards it, and as 
 again and again it appears before them, they know 
 they must be nearing loved ones and homes. They 
 see great sails upon the horizon, but too far away 
 to notice their little boat, and so rising and falling, 
 they patiently sail on. 
 
 At length, one evening, soon after the sun is out 
 of sight, a great light bursts out just above the line 
 of the sea, and a chorus of voices cries out, " I see 
 the star!" But a great joy shines in the captain's 
 face, as he says, '*No, it is not the star." And sure 
 enough, the star itself soon appears, and hangs just 
 over this other brilliant flame. Then they know 
 that they see the harbor light, and a great shout of 
 deliverance goes up to heaven. 
 
THE STAR IN THE EAST. 
 
 Thus in all their wanderings, the star has gone 
 before them, and has guided them surely to haven, 
 and loved ones, and home. 
 
 So, dear children, our souls are out upon the 
 ocean of life. In our hours of happiness and mirth, 
 when the-swelling tide of youth fills us only with joy 
 and delight ; while the gently heaving current hides 
 all its angry waves in a smile of security and peace, 
 and w^e build happy dreams of what shall come to 
 pass ; the star of faith in God, of trust in goodness 
 and truth, shines in upon our hearts, with a light 
 which kindles all our hopes, and leads us towards 
 that future in wdiich all our dreams are to be realized. 
 
 And if the hour of tempest and danger comes to 
 drive us from our course ; if the winds of temptation 
 blow, or the waves of sorrow rise ; if shipwreck befall 
 us and we are forced to exchange the ship of our 
 pride, for a life of danger and toil, exposed to rude 
 buffeting ; always this star shines out, to guide our 
 course and tell us of a home of happiness and peace 
 which awaits our cominc;. In all the scenes of our 
 life, whether we look and long for it, or forget that it 
 is there, the star shines ever the same, to make our 
 joy more joyous, to make our sorrow easier to bear, 
 and show us the way in which we shall find the safe 
 end of all our wanderings. 
 
 Let me tell you a short fable, to illustrate still 
 
SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 further what I mean. There was once a soft-eyed, 
 snowy -plumaged dove, that fell in love with a 
 beautiful star. She had never seen the star many 
 times, this dove, she went to sleep so early. But one 
 evening she was awakened in great fright by the 
 angry hooting of an owl, whose fiery eyes stared at 
 her through the window of her little house, till, find- 
 ing that he could not reach her, he flew away. Then 
 because she could not sleep, she looked up through 
 her window, to one very bright star. Perhaps it 
 was the contrast between its mild beauty and the 
 brutal stare of the owl ; perhaps it was because its 
 purity was so like the innocence of her own heart ; 
 but for some reason, the longer she gazed the more 
 fascinated did she become, and the less she felt like 
 going to sleep again. 
 
 Then she began to feel discontented with things 
 about her, and she cried out, ** Oh, star ! why can I 
 not fly away to you, and be among all the bright eyes 
 of night, far above this world where I see so much 
 that is cruel and bad, and where I have so many 
 foes } " But the star did not answer her, though she 
 crept out of her nest into the still evening air to 
 listen. Again and again she cried out, till the long- 
 ing of her soul grew so strong that she forgot every 
 thing else, and spread her white wings for flight. 
 Up and away she soared, for many and many an hour, 
 beatins: her wino-s in the thin air of the heavens, 
 
THE STAR IN THE EAST. 
 
 through which she could not mount. But the star 
 was still as far away as ever, and at length, utterly 
 exhausted, she fluttered back to earth again, murmur- 
 ing, *' Not yet ; I am not strong enough yet. By- 
 and-by I shall be stronger, or perhaps he will come 
 nearer to me." So she crept back to her nest, and 
 cooed to the star, long and lovingly. To be sure he 
 did not answer her ; **but," thought she, **he must 
 love me, else he would not shine upon me so sweetly 
 and constantly." 
 
 Thus the little dove was perfectly content, and 
 bided the time when it should be made right for her 
 to fly away to the brilliant sky. " It will come," she 
 said, " and meanwhile 1 have the beautiful light of 
 my star to comfort me." Night after night she 
 watched for his rising, nor would she close her eyes 
 till she had poured out to him her evening song of 
 love, and his holy peace had shone into her soul. 
 
 She was no longer afraid of the terrors of the 
 night, for was not his eye always open and watching 
 her.? So, although birds and beasts of prey were 
 abroad, she slept without fear, under the guardian- 
 ship of her star. She was a little troubled when the 
 clouds first hid him from her eyes, and thought, 
 " What if he has gone away and no longer loves 
 me .?" But the next night he was in his accustomed 
 place, and she soon learned never to doubt him, 
 when the storm" and the cloud came. She said, '* He 
 
lo SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 is there, and he knows that I am here, though I 
 cannot see him." 
 
 Through many bright summers and many weary 
 winters, the dove loved and waited and hoped on. 
 She did not mope or pine, but had many pleasures 
 dear to her heart. Still the chief of all, was to watch 
 the star and dream of the time when she should fly 
 away to him. 
 
 One clear and sunny morning, when all the earth 
 was decked in flowers, and every thing in nature was 
 radiant with happiness, the dove set off for a ramble. 
 The perfection of the day tempted her on and on, 
 and its heat made her seek the upland breezes, 'till 
 late in the afternoon she awoke as from a dream, to 
 find herself high up among mountains. The sun 
 was going down, and an angry storm rising, whose 
 winds were even then shaking the tops of the pines. 
 She was full of terror, but still her first thought was 
 that the star would be disappointed if he should not 
 find her in her nest. She hastily took her direction 
 and found that her home was directly in the face of 
 the coming storm. Swiftly she flew that she might 
 find shelter before it reached her. But it met her, 
 before her long journey was well begun. 
 
 Bravely she battled with its rage, but she could 
 make no headway against it. The torrents drenched 
 her plumage, and the stormy gusts swept her back- 
 ward and still backward, among the mountain peaks. 
 
THE STAR IN THE EAST. 
 
 She gained a moment's rest, by perching upon a rock 
 during a short lull of the wind, but it soon swept her 
 again with its tumult. She could not rise above it, 
 nor make headway through it. She could find no 
 cover from its awful power, and she dared not fly 
 before it lest she should blindly dash herself upon 
 some rock in the darkness. She was caught as by 
 the hand of a giant, and though she struggled long 
 and w^ell, the giant tossed her at length high up upon 
 a ledge, bruised and bleeding — her strength gone, 
 her snowy wings broken and torn, and her life slowly 
 ebbing out through the wounds made by the ugly 
 rocks. 
 
 *' Oh ! " moaned the poor dove, "does the star 
 know where I am ? Why does he suffer me to be so 
 tossed and torn by the cruel winds ? " Just then the 
 clouds parted, for the storm had gone by, and lo ! 
 from out the clear blue sky, the star looked kindly 
 down upon her. She caught his glance, and all 
 her pain was at once forgotten. Her soul went out 
 to him with as much love as thouofh she was sittiuGf 
 once more in her cozy dove-cote. All dying as she 
 was, she felt that at length she was strong enough to 
 make her way into the heavens. And though her 
 head slowly sank upon her blood-stained bosom, she 
 feebly fluttered her shattered wings, and murmur- 
 ing, "At last the time has come," she died. 
 
 But who shall say that her pure spirit had not 
 
12 SUNDAY STOEIES. 
 
 found strength to fly away to the home of her 
 dreams ? 
 
 Does not the fable carry its own moral to your 
 minds ? Are not all our souls like the dove, in love 
 with a star — the star of God's goodness, which 
 shines down upon us from so far away — yet whose 
 beams come so close to our hearts ? Suppose God 
 does not speak when we cry out to Him, is it not 
 enough that He still shines upon us, and answers our 
 love by never withdrawing His light ? And though 
 we find ourselves chained to the world amidst its 
 angry and brutal passion, still we can bide the time 
 when strength shall be given us to mount into the 
 heavens. For each one of us the star is shining; let 
 us follow it, and love it, and let us believe with the 
 dove, eveu tmtil death, that our souls shall at length 
 find it and be at rest. 
 
11. 
 
 TENDER-HEARTEDNESS. 
 
 And be ye kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one 
 another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you. — Eph., 
 
 TN trying to tell you what it is to be ''tender- 
 hearted," I think I must first ask you to be very 
 careful not to think of it as being "chicken-hearted," 
 that is, cowardly. I suppose there are few things 
 which boys especially despise more than cowardice, 
 but they sometimes do not call things by their right 
 names. 
 
 I agree with the boys that a coward is contempti- 
 ble, but I am not sure that we should always agree 
 who is the coward. Now so far are tender-hearted 
 people from being cowardly, that they are usually 
 among the bravest of the brave, because they are 
 easily moved by the danger or trouble of another, 
 and forget all about the risk to themselves, in trying 
 to right the wrongs, or relieve the perils of others. 
 
 Suppose, for example, that a pleasure-boat should 
 capsize near the shore, and, in full view of men 
 standing there, its occupants should be on the point 
 of drowning. One man might say, '* I run great risk 
 of drowning, myself, if I attempt to swim to their 
 rescue. Even if I reach them, I have heard that 
 
14 
 
 SUNDAY STOPiIES. 
 
 drowning people sometimes clutch one about the 
 body, and cannot be made to let go. My life is 
 worth as much as theirs, and so they may go to the 
 bottom for all me." 
 
 This man would be both hard-hearted and a cow- 
 ard ; hard-hearted because he would have so little 
 pity for those struggling desperately to save their 
 lives ; a coward because he would be afraid to risk 
 anything to rescue them. Another man would feel 
 as quickly and as keenly the danger of others as 
 though he himself were in peril of his life ; and with- 
 out stopping to calculate the chances, would rush at 
 once to their assistance. This would be the brave 
 and tender-hearted man ; brave because he had a 
 tender heart, which the sight of misfortune would 
 easily move. 
 
 Or, suppose you should some day find a group of 
 boys upon the play-ground, gathered about one large 
 boy abusing a small one, who was getting very badly 
 kicked and cuffed, without strength to defend him- 
 self. And suppose there should be other large boys 
 in the crowd, who looked on with indifference, and 
 would do nothing to help the weaker. Should you 
 not say they were both cowardly and hard-hearted .'' 
 And if there was a boy there who really pitied the 
 little fellow, and felt indignant with the bully, would 
 he not step forward and say, " Do you let this boy go, 
 or you'll have me to deal with " ? 
 
TEXUER - HE A It TEDXESS. 1 5 
 
 So I do not want you to think that "tender- 
 hearted " means " chicken-hearted," but something 
 quite the opposite. For when is a thing hard or soft ? 
 Plainly enough it is hard when you cannot easily 
 make any impression upon it. You accidentally run 
 your head against a door in the dark. It doesn't 
 hurt the door ; you will find no bruise upon its pan- 
 els, and there will be no need to apply brown paper 
 to keep it from swelling. But your head, ah, that is 
 another matter ! The door makes a good deal of an 
 impression upon that. The door is hard, because 
 when other things strike it, it makes little difference 
 with the door. That stands a good many hard 
 knocks, before it is seriously injured. But your head 
 •is tender or soft in comparison, because a very little 
 bump will set the stars dancing before your eyes, 
 and puff out a great swelling on your forehead, while 
 a good solid knock, such as you get sometimes in 
 skating, will render you for a time insensible. 
 
 This, then, is what I want to make you see, that 
 hard-hearted people, are such as are not easily affect- 
 ed by what they hear or see, or by what takes place 
 about them. Sound, you know, is made by little 
 waves of air, which beat upon the ear, like drum- 
 sticks on the head of a drum. Now when these little 
 waves of sound make no impression upon a man's 
 ear, we say he is hard of hearing, that is, he is deaf. 
 So little waves of joy and sorrow are always made 
 
1 6 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 by the lives of those about us, and are continually 
 beating against our hearts. If they make no impres- 
 sion upon us ; if our hearts only send them back 
 again as the side of a wall sends back your ball, then 
 we are hard-hearted, unfeeling, cold and without sym- 
 pathy. If these waves of joy and sorrow sent out 
 by others, enter into our minds and make us joyful 
 or sorrowful with those about us, then we are tender- 
 hearted, full of pity, and ready to forgive, even as 
 Christ forgave all his enemies. 
 
 Let me try to illustrate for you how much this 
 quality of tenderness or sympathy means in our 
 lives, and how much it has to do with our happiness. 
 The different articles of furniture in a parlor, once 
 fell into conversation among themselves while the 
 family were at dinner, and as some of them were 
 rather vain, they began to boast of their respective 
 powers to enjoy life and give pleasure to others. At 
 first the talk was mostly between a large pillow 
 lying upon the sofa, and a marble statue standing on 
 a pedestal in the corner. The pillow was very proud 
 of a bright silk patchwork covering, which indeed 
 looked very beautiful as the firelight shone upon it. 
 It was forever boasting of its bright hues, saying 
 that it could first attract the notice of every one who 
 entered the room, and was more admired than ever 
 that priggish statue had been, say what it would. 
 
 The statue replied with a little sniff of disdain, 
 
TEXBEB - IlEARTEDXESS. 
 
 n 
 
 that it hadn't much opinion of a stuffy, clumpy thing 
 with nothing but feathers inside it; which couldn't 
 stand alone if it tried ; whose shape was destroyed, 
 every time any one happened to touch it, and which 
 had to be shaken up a dozen times a day to keep it 
 in anv decent figure. " Now as for me," continued 
 the statue, "people may rub and thump and lean 
 upon me, I always preserve my own form. I am 
 solid and strong ; my beauty is the same, day in and 
 day out. Nothing disturbs me or annoys me, and I 
 am always a source of delight to those who look at 
 me. But as for you, (turning to the pillow,) although 
 you are sometimes rather pretty, yet half the time you 
 have no more shape than a lump of mud." 
 
 The pillow now shook itself up in its anger, and 
 its silk covering fairly rustled with indignation, as it 
 replied: ''Solid! I should think so — IfT were as 
 rigid as you, I should hate myself. Always standing 
 on that one toe, (I should think it must ache dread- 
 fully by this time ; ) always staring down at that one 
 flower, with that same smile ; and a precious silly one 
 it is ! I wish to goodness you could double up when 
 some one poked you in the side ; or take your arm 
 down ; or stand on the other leg, or do something to 
 change your position. I am sure it would be a relief 
 to all of us, for we are terribly bored at having so 
 cold and stiff a thing always in sight." 
 
 Hereupon the chairs and the sofas all chimed in 
 3 
 
SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 with their assent; while the clock and vases on the 
 mantle-piece, together with the pictures on the walls, 
 beo-an all to talk t02:ether in defence of the statue. 
 They grew very noisy and excited, and called each 
 other hard names. Even the books on the shelves 
 began to quarrel among themselves, as some were 
 bound in stiff hard boards, and felt themselves 
 aggrieved by what the pillow had said, while others, 
 bound only in paper, considered that the remarks 
 made by the statue reflected upon them. 
 
 So there was great pushing and crowding upon the 
 shelves, till half a dozen large volumes were elbowed 
 out of their places, and fell with a great crash to the 
 floor. At this the piano shuddered, and gave a little 
 moan of pain ; the first sign it had given that it took 
 any notice of what was going forward. 
 
 Of course the fall of the books made a little silent 
 pause, as all stopped to see what had happened ; and 
 so it chanced that all heard this little painful moan 
 given out by the piano. At once they all turned 
 fiercely upon it. Oh ! the dear delicate creature. 
 Such a great overgrown thing, and yet so very sensi- 
 tive ! How nice it must be to have such refined 
 nerves. Doubtless it felt shocked at the noise they 
 were making. But if it didn't like it, it had better 
 make some use of those elegant carved legs, and 
 march out of the room. 
 
 So angry did they grow, that when the fire-screen 
 
TENDER - HE A li TEDNESS. i g 
 
 proposed that they should rise in a body and put out 
 of the room a thing so aristocratic and one which felt 
 itself so much above them, there was a great tumult 
 and shout of applause, and the chairs and ottomans 
 tumbled over each other in their haste to get at the 
 piano. 
 
 But all this time a pair of brass tongs, with a very 
 solemn cast of features, had been leaning against 
 the fire-place and gazing quietly into the fire. Now 
 the tongs had won a great deal of respect and some 
 reputation as a philosopher, because it never lost its 
 temper, and when it got into an argument, was seen 
 to get the best of it. So now when it raised itself 
 erect and gave two or three loud snaps with its feet, 
 all knew what it meant. As when a meeting gets 
 noisy, and the president with his little wooden mal- 
 let calls it to order, so the sharp click of the tongs 
 reduced the whole room to silence. 
 
 "One moment," said the tongs, "before you turn 
 the piano out of doors. This dispute was at first as 
 to who could give and receive the most happiness. 
 Suppose we settle that first. You are angered with 
 the piano because it is so sensitive ; perhaps that 
 may turn out to be a virtue rather than a weakness. 
 Now," continued the tongs, "I shall go about the 
 room and give you each a good hard kick. That will 
 settle one thing, and that is, who is most likely to be 
 made unhappy by what others do to it." 
 
20 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 So saying the tongs made a stride forward, swung 
 back its long leg and delivered a vigorous kick at the 
 centre of the pillow. " Did it hurt ? " asked the 
 tongs. " Not a bit," replied the pillow. So all the 
 rest thought that to be as good as the pillow they 
 must say it didn't hurt. The chairs did ache a little 
 when their legs got two or three hard raps, but they 
 said, like the pillow, that it didn't hurt. 
 
 But when it came the turn of the piano, that could 
 not keep still. The very first blow set all its wires 
 jingling, and at the second it fairly screamed with 
 pain. Thereupon all the rest thought that its weak- 
 ness was very clearly shown. 
 
 " Hold," said the tongs, " I have yet one other 
 test." So mounting upon a table where stood a 
 large music-box, already wound up, the tongs touched 
 the spring which set it in motion, and off it went, 
 playing a beautiful air from an opera. " Oh, stop 
 that noise ! " cried all the chairs and sofas and tables 
 in a breath. " What is the good of setting that rat- 
 ling thing a-going. If you don't stop it, it will keep 
 .. p its horrid tinkling for an hour, and none of us will 
 be able to hear ourselves think." 
 
 " Silence all of you ! " shouted the tongs, " and 
 listen." So all kept perfectly quiet for a few mo- 
 ments, while the music-box played on, and then from 
 the other end of the room, wher^ the piano stood, 
 arose a little faint murmur of harmony in response. 
 
TENDER - HE A R TEDXESS. 2 1 
 
 All could hear it, and the chairs Avhich stood near 
 declared that the piano was fairly trembling with 
 pleasure. 
 
 " So, my friends," said the tongs, " the piano is 
 not only hurt by what does not trouble you, it takes 
 the keenest delight in what you cannot appreciate. 
 But I hear footsteps coming this way. Whoever it 
 may be, do your best to attract attention, and which- 
 ever of you succeeds best, let us say that is the one 
 which has most power to give happiness to others." 
 
 Just then a young girl appeared at the door and 
 paused upon the threshold to listen to the music. 
 The sofa-pillow coughed in its half-smothered voice, 
 as loud as it could, and shook if!? bright colors in the 
 firelight. The statue hummed and hawed, the chairs 
 shuffled their feet, and the lighter ones tried a little 
 dance. The pictures waved to and fro on the wall, 
 and the marble clock began to pound away furiously 
 on its silver bell. 
 
 But none of these extraordinary things did the 
 child notice. So absorbed was she in the music that 
 she did not even see the tongs, though that article of 
 furniture was curiously enough standing bolt upright 
 in the centre of the room and watching her very 
 earnestly. A moment she stood listening. Then 
 catching the air played by the music-box, she ran to 
 the piano and began playing an accompaniment. 
 The tongs looked slowly about at the crest-fallen 
 
SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 -furniture, stalked solemnly back to the fire-place and 
 resumed its contemplation of the fire. The little girl 
 played on long after the music-box had run down, 
 while the pillow, the statue and all the rest of them 
 relapsed into silent thought. 
 
 And this is the lesson I hope they had learned, — 
 that sensitive natures, which are easily pained by any 
 wrong-doing, find most in life to delight them and 
 are most capable of giving happiness to others. 
 
 There are soft-hearted people, we will say, like 
 the pillow, who are impressed by every thing that 
 troubles them, and have hardly any thoughts or feel- 
 ings of their own. Then there are hard-hearted 
 people like the statue, on whom nothing can make 
 any impression. But there are also tender-hearted 
 people whose natures, like the piano, are responsive 
 to the joys and sorrows of those about them, and 
 these, if they are sometimes most grieved, are at 
 other times the happiest people that live. 
 
 Will you put away in your memories the truth, my 
 dear children, that to be tender-hearted means to give 
 and to receive much happiness ? This is the first 
 lesson I want to teach you. The second is, that it is 
 our duty to be tender-hearted. How shall I make 
 you see this too ? Listen to another short story. 
 
 There was once a very good and great king, who 
 ruled over a brave and kind people, upon whom a 
 neighboring king made war. This other king, who 
 
TENBEB - IIEARTEDNESS. 23 
 
 began to fight, had no complaint to make against the 
 king or the people whom he set out to conquer, but 
 he had heard that they were very rich, and he deter- 
 mined to rob them. So he sent his son at the head 
 of a large army, to enter the good king's land and to 
 capture his cities. The young man was handsome 
 and a great soldier, but he had been brought up among 
 rough men and was very cruel in his disposition. So 
 when the armies of the two kings came together, 
 they fought a great battle, and the army of the bad 
 king was beaten and put to flight. Then word was 
 brought to the good king, that his enemy's son, who 
 had invaded the country and caused so mucl* blood- 
 shed, was taken prisoner, and very dangerously 
 wounded. He gave orders that the young man 
 should be brought before him, and when he was 
 brought in on a litter, all saw that he was in great 
 pain and very weak from loss of blood. When the 
 king asked his nobles what ought to be done with 
 him, all said that he should be put to death, for he 
 was a bad man who would give them trouble as long- 
 as he lived. But the king looked into his handsome 
 face and said, " No ! I ought rather to save him ; I 
 am sure there is much good in him, and perhaps the 
 poor fellow never has known what kindness is." 
 
 So he not only spared his life, but gave him money 
 and attendants, and physicians, and ordered his own 
 daughter to see that their guest had every comfort 
 
24 
 
 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 and attention. But all the while during his recovery 
 the Prince was meditating how to take revenge for 
 his defeat and the loss of his army. He rode all 
 about the city to find the weak places in its fortifica- 
 tions ; he bribed the servants of the king to carry 
 secret messages to his father's court ; and had 
 arranged a plan by which some of his own soldiers 
 were to enter the country in disguise, be admitted to 
 the city, and take the king prisoner. Then they 
 were to ride away with him, before any one knew 
 what was done, and get a very large sum of money, 
 called a ransom, for setting him at liberty. 
 
 But tithe king had .faithful servants, who told him 
 what the Prince was doing, and once more in the 
 presence of his nobles he called the young man be- 
 fore him. Again the nobles said that he ought to 
 die. But again the king looked into his face and 
 said : " No, he is smarting under the sense of defeat. 
 He has lost and suffered much, and thinks I do not 
 mean him any good. He must understand that he 
 will be closely watched, but he is free to go or stay ; 
 and if he chooses to go back to his own country, he 
 shall have money and horses and servants, according 
 to his condition." 
 
 So the Prince began to make arrangements for 
 departure. But the king said to his daughter, " Can- 
 not we touch his heart with pity, so that he wnll cease 
 brooding over the failure of his own plans, and learn 
 to live for others .'* " 
 
rENBER - UEARTEDNESS. 
 
 The Princess found a poor beggar woman, whom 
 she told to sit at the gate when the Prince dis- 
 mounted from his ride, and ask him for alms. But 
 the Prince swore at her a, great oath, and would give 
 her nothing. The next day she was there again, and 
 he struck her across the face with his riding-whip. 
 Then the Princess said, *' I myself will try if I can- 
 not touch his hard heart." So she put on a mean 
 dress, and rode away to the edge of the forest, where 
 dwelt an old woodman and his wife, whom she knew, 
 and by whose hut the Prince often rode. There the 
 Princess took up her abode ; and the next day, as the 
 Prince rode that way, he saw a young girl knitting 
 under the tree, with a jug of milk standing at her 
 side. Being thirsty, he reined in his horse and asked 
 her for a draught of milk. Then, seeing that she 
 was very beautiful, he said, '* It is a great pity that so 
 fair a face should not find its owner a fairer fortune." 
 ** Ah, my lord!" said she, *'my handsome face is no 
 treasure to me, for it exposes me to the insult of 
 every rude passer-by. Only last even there came 
 one to the hut, who swore he would have me for his 
 wife ; and when I refused, he said he would come 
 with a troop of horsemen and take me away." *'Tell 
 me where I may find him," said the Prince ; " "I 
 will chastise him as he deserves ; " for something 
 like pity for the defenceless stirred for the first time 
 in his heart. ''Alas ! but the poor man with whom I 
 
 4 
 
26 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 live owes him money, and if any harm should come 
 upon him through me, he would wreak his vengeance 
 upon this weak old man." 
 
 All this was true which the Princess had said, and 
 the Prince was much interested in the story. So he 
 rode back to the palace and found the king, and said, 
 " Sire, on the borders of the forest live a worthy 
 couple, whose distress I would fain have you relieve." 
 The king was delighted, for he perceived that at 
 length his heart was touched. '* Name any sum you 
 like," said he, "and be yourself the bearer of it to 
 those who are in need." 
 
 So the next day the Prince went again to the cot- 
 tage, and carried money enough to pay the old man's 
 debt. And while he was chatting with the Princess, 
 the creditor came. 
 
 He was so rough and rude to them all, that the 
 Prince beat him soundly with his riding-whip and 
 sent him away, promising to serve him worse if he 
 ever appeared there again. "Ah !" said the Princess, 
 " would you think it } When this cruel man was a 
 boy my godfather found him one night perishing in 
 the cold. He saved his life ; for my godfather is a 
 tender-hearted man, who could not bear to see even a 
 mouse suffer pain. But, though he was ever very 
 kind to this boy, yet he grew up cruel and unfeeling, 
 and now often strikes the very hand that saved his 
 life." Then the Prince was cut to the heart, for he 
 
TENDER - HEAR TEDNESS. 2 7 
 
 saw how he had wronged the good king who saved 
 his Ufe. 
 
 Hastening before him, he threw himself at his feet 
 and confessed, " Sire, I have been a very wicked 
 man; I have thought nothing of the good of others, 
 but only of my own pleasure. To your kindness I 
 owe my life ; and how have I returned it ? I am not 
 fit to govern a kingdom. Grant, then, that I may 
 marry a poor girl whom I have found in the forest, 
 and henceforth live in obscurit}^ among the poor and 
 distressed of your realm, to do what good I can." 
 
 " Now, indeed," replied the king, " you appear 
 most fit to govern a kingdom, since you have shown 
 that you can feel for the sorrows of others. Know 
 that the poor girl, whom you have learned to love, is 
 Princess of this realm, and loves you. Hold you 
 only to this new spirit that I see in you, and you 
 shall rule with the Princess as her husband when I 
 am gone." 
 
 So the Prince thenceforward kept trying evermore 
 to have a more tender heart toward all men ; to be 
 made glad by their joy, and to sympathize in their 
 misfortunes. And in after years he was called the 
 greatest and best king in all the world. 
 
 My children, we all serve a great King, whose 
 • goodness to us we cannot begin to estimate. He 
 has made and given to us all this fair earth, and fixed 
 wise laws for our government. And though we many 
 
28 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 times break these laws, He does not get angry with 
 us, but only loves and pities us without end. Is it 
 not our duty to be tender-hearted toward those about 
 us, even as God is always ready to forgive our tres- 
 passes ? I am sure you will each of you see that it 
 is your duty, as the Prince found it was his, to try to 
 enter into the thoughts and feelings of others ; not 
 only to refrain from doing them wrong, but to feel so, 
 sorry for their griefs as to want to do them good, 
 whatever they may do to you. 
 
 Be ye kind and tender-hearted one toward another, 
 because only so do we give or receive happiness, and 
 because that is what God expects of us as our duty. 
 
III. 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 ^ I ^HERE was a little girl, the daughter of a farmer 
 living away off among the hills, who was very 
 bright and active, and in many ways useful to her 
 parents. She could drive the cattle to pasture, 
 work in the field raking hay, help her mother wash 
 the pans and the pails, and sometimes assisted in 
 making the butter. What she did, she did so quickly 
 and skilfully, that she was quite the wonder of the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 But she did not speak the truth. There were days 
 when she seemed to be possessed of some evil spirit, 
 and when from morning till night she delighted in 
 telling falsehoods. At other times she would speak 
 the truth or not, just as it happened. 
 
 Her mother was a kind and gentle woman, who 
 had tried always to make her daughter see the sin of 
 telling falsehoods, and to persuade her to love the 
 truth. She had always hoped that as Christie grew 
 older, she would change in this respect and become 
 more like other children. But now she was getting 
 so old that her mother began to lose this hope, and 
 reluctantly resolved to try what punishment would 
 do. So Christie was told that the very next wrong 
 
30 SUNDAY STonirs. 
 
 story would cost her a whipping. For answer, she 
 went out of doors and can t in again, saying that the 
 pigs had broken out of their pens and were spoiling 
 the flower-garden. Her mother ran out in great 
 haste, but not a pig was to be seen. It was another 
 of Christie's fibs. When asked why she told it, she 
 only answered, " For fun ! " So she was punished, 
 and as it did not seem to make the slightest impres- 
 sion on her mind, next day she was punished more 
 severely. So it went on for some days ; the whip- 
 pings ever growing harder, and Christie giving no 
 sign that they affected her character in the least. 
 
 But her body was as sensitive to blows as any one's, 
 and Christie began to say to herself that she didn't 
 mean to stay at home and be whipped all the days of 
 her life. She was ten years old and able to do a 
 great deal of work, and she would run away and seek 
 her own fortune. 
 
 Of course she said nothing of all this to her mother, 
 but one day after the whipping had been unusually 
 severe, she slyly filled her pockets with cakes from 
 the pantry, and went out to make her own way in the 
 world. Knowing that search would be made for her, 
 she determined to walk all day, and through the fields 
 for the most part, so that no one should see her and 
 tell her parents which way she had gone. 
 
 She succeeded so well in escaping observation, 
 that her father could not get the least clue of her in 
 
TRUTH. 31 
 
 any direction, after she left the house. At last he 
 came to the conclusion that she had been drowned in 
 the river, back of the farm, where she often went to 
 play, and gave up all farther search. So Christie 
 was fairly launched upon the world. 
 
 Towards night of the first day of her travels, she 
 stopped at a farm-house and asked if they would like 
 to hire any help. The farmer's wife saw that she 
 looked very bright, and asked her what she could do. 
 Christie recounted the best of her accomplishments. 
 Then said the woman, *' Where do you come from } 
 Have you no home .-^ " So Christie made up a long- 
 story, of how her father and mother were both dead, 
 and she had lived with an aunt who had starved and 
 abused her, and at last turned her out of the house. 
 But something in her manner made the woman 
 suspect that she was not speaking the truth, so she 
 asked her, " Are you a truthful girl .'' " Christie 
 fired up in a moment; "It is none of your business," 
 she replied, and started off at a run. 
 
 She slept that night in a barn, and the next morn- 
 ing trudged along the highway again, looking for a 
 place to live. But at all the houses they asked her 
 the same question, whether she told the truth ; and 
 so she never would stop, longer than to beg for 
 something to eat. 
 
 " The truth } " she would say to herself ; '* why 
 should every body make such a fuss about the truth } 
 
32 
 
 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 What 's the good of it, I should like to know ? You 
 can't wear it, or eat it, and so long as I can work 
 with my hands, whose business is it, what I do with 
 my tongue? I hate the very name of truth, and if I 
 die for it, I '11 find some place where people mind 
 their own affairs, and leave me to talk as I please." 
 
 At last as Christie went on and on, she came to a 
 flat and marshy country, where the houses were 
 fewer and poorer than in her own neighborhood. 
 There were no good fences, and the farm-yards 
 instead of being tidy and neat, were all littered with 
 bits of old lumber and broken carts. She passed one 
 or two houses, because they appeared so shabby, and 
 at length coming to one rather more cleanly, she 
 knocked at the door and was bidden to come in. 
 The family were about to sit down to dinner, and so 
 the farmer was in the house. Both he and his wife 
 looked sharply at Christie as she told her story, and 
 to her relief, did not ask her when she had finished, 
 if she was in the habit of speaking the truth. They 
 simply looked at each other as much as to say, 
 " Guess we' d better keep her." They had but one 
 daughter, who was about Christie's age, and it was 
 evident that Christie was a girl who could do a great 
 deal of work. So the farmer put on a very kind 
 look, as he said, " Little girl, if you will stay with us 
 we will give you plenty of fine things to wear, and 
 we will pay you wages for your work ; and besides 
 
TRUTH. 
 
 33 
 
 all this, you shall go to school most of the time, if 
 you wish to." "And won't you mind if I don't 
 always speak the truth?" asked Christie. "Oh, 
 no ! " replied the farmer, " I don't care anything 
 about that." So Christie felt sure that she had found 
 a place which exactly suited her, at last, and after 
 dinner, set to work with right good will. 
 
 Everything went along beautifully for several days, 
 and she was as happy and content as possible. The 
 people did not seem shocked or grieved, if she told 
 a falsehood, and so as they did not produce any 
 impression, she fell out of the habit of inventing her 
 usual stories. 
 
 One morning a man came to the house to buy 
 a horse, which he had understood the farmer offered 
 for sale. Christie knew the horse to be a very vicious 
 one, who had run away many times, and broken more 
 than one wagon all to pieces. But the farmer at 
 once began to tell what a gentle and amiable disposi- 
 tion the horse had. One would have thought to hear 
 him talk, that for speed, strength, endurance, and 
 good-nature, there never was another such horse as 
 this. Only, as he said, it was too good a horse for 
 him, a poor man, to keep. The man seemed to be so 
 entirely deceived by these praises, that Christie pitied 
 him, and while the farmer was gone to the stable to 
 bring the horse out for inspection, she took occasion 
 to tell him the truth about the animal. " I know it 
 5 
 
34 
 
 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 well enough, young missy," said he, "do you mind 
 your business." So after the horse had been looked 
 at, the farmer named a ridiculously high price, which 
 the man agreed at once to give, saying that he 
 would pay half the money on the spot, and the re- 
 mainder next day. As half the sum named was more 
 than the worth of the horse, the farmer quickly 
 agreed ; the money was counted out, and the horse 
 taken away. 
 
 The next day the farmer went to the nearest 
 village to make some purchases, but came back at 
 night, in a great rage. He had discovered that most 
 of the money paid for the horse was counterfeit, that 
 is, false money. But his neighbor stoutly denied this, 
 and saying moreover that the horse was sold to him 
 under false pretenses, refused to pay anything more 
 at all. Christie said nothing, but she thought that 
 it served the farmer right, and she began to think 
 that grown people at least cannot get along very well 
 in their dealings with each other, unless they speak 
 the truth. 
 
 Shortly after this, Christie found that the farmer's 
 daughter was set to watch her all the time, and 
 scarcely ever did any work herself. More than this, 
 she began to tell false stories to her mother about 
 Christie, who was now often scolded severely and 
 without any cause. One day the farmer's daughter 
 broke a large dish, and told her mother that Christie 
 
TRUTH. 35 
 
 had done it, so that Christie received much the sever- 
 est whipping she ever had in her life. No one had 
 ever told falsehoods about her before, and she began 
 to feel what an ugly sin it was. 
 
 One day a peddler came to the house, and Christie 
 was tempted to buy a very pretty ribbon, which he 
 offered to sell for a few cents. So she went to the 
 farmer's wife and asked if she would please to give 
 her a part of her wages, as she wanted some money 
 to use. *' Money 1 " exclaimed the woman, " you 
 don't earn the salt in your porridge ! " "But," said 
 Christie, "you promised to give me wages," "What 
 if I did," said the woman.'* "in this country, people 
 do not keep their promises ; " and thereupon gave 
 Christie a smart box on the ear by the way of putting 
 an end to the conversation. 
 
 Poor Christie soon found that the promise of 
 clothes meant no more than that of money, for when 
 her own clothing wore out she got only the cast-off 
 garments of the farmer's daughter, and went most of 
 the time in rags. ' She would have run away if she 
 could, but every night she was locked into her room, 
 and through the day she was watched so closely 
 that it was impossible to escape. In her own home 
 all about her had been truthful, and she had never 
 realized how much trouble and sorrow her own un- 
 truthfulness caused. But now she saw what life was 
 among people who had no regard for truth. They 
 
36 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 were always trying to deceive one another, and no 
 one could trust another's promise. So there was 
 continual quarrel and strife, and nobody found any 
 real happiness in living. 
 
 One day only, Christie went to school. There she 
 found the same trials. It seemed to be the main 
 effort of all the children to tell the worst lies they could 
 about each other to the teacher, and the teacher him- 
 self encouraged it, for every day a little before the 
 close of school, he called up some scholar and made 
 him put on a great pair of leathern spectacles. He 
 must watch until he found some other scholar with 
 his eyes not on his book, who was then called up to 
 wear the spectacles and take his place. So it went 
 on, and the scholar who wore the spectacles when 
 school was dismissed, was to be whipped. So you 
 see some one was sure of a flogging every night. 
 None of the scholars really cared to find any one not 
 studying, but after wearing the spectacles for a little 
 time, would call out some one's name against whom 
 they happened to have a grudge, and whether that 
 one's eyes were on his book or not he must march 
 up and take his turn. 
 
 It chanced that the farmer's daughter w^as called 
 out this afternoon, and she, of course, declared that 
 Christie was not studying. Now Christie was entirely 
 absorbed in her book, for it was the first time she had 
 seen one for months. But there was no help for her. 
 
TRUTH. 
 
 37 
 
 Up to the master's desk she went and put on the spec- 
 tacles. She might have done Hke the rest and told a 
 lie to get them off again. But she had heard so many 
 outrageous falsehoods in the course of the day, that 
 she felt no desire to tell another. She could catch 
 nobody looking away from their book, and as she felt 
 the wickedness of an untruth as she never had done 
 before, she had not the smallest disposition to free 
 herself from her danger by telling one. So the school 
 closed while she was on the floor, and she took the 
 daily after-school flogging. 
 
 Poor Christie had found a country where nobody 
 cared whether or not she spoke the truth, but it was 
 not at all what she dreamed it would be. Nobody 
 had confidence in her, and she could trust nobody. 
 Everybody was continually in a quarrel, and such a 
 thing as love seemed to be entirely unknown. 
 
 But Christie did finally escape. One afternoon she 
 contrived to hide herself in the barn. When she was 
 missed, the whole family set off up and down the 
 road to look for her, while she ran away through the 
 field. By walking all night, she got back once more 
 among people who loved the truth. This time Chris- 
 tie told her true story, and every one believed her. 
 So food and clothes were given to her, and the farm- 
 ers carried her from house to house in their carts, till 
 at length she came to her own home, entirely cured 
 of her habit of telling falsehoods ; and there she lived 
 after that, beloved and happy and contented. 
 
^S SVJynAY STOIilES. 
 
 By this little story I hope to make you see that one 
 condition of all the happiness there is in the world, is 
 that each should speak the truth. You have seen in 
 early morning when there was not a breath of wind, 
 some little lake or pond lying perfectly smooth and 
 still, like a mirror in which the trees and houses on 
 the banks and the clouds overhead were perfectly 
 reflected. Now suppose you break all this beautiful 
 peace by throwing a stone into the water ; what hap- 
 pens ? The ripples from that splash spread out over 
 the surface of the pond, and destroy all the beautiful 
 pictures it contained. Every falsehood we tell, is 
 like a stone thrown into still waters ; it breaks up 
 that peace which reflects the beauty of heaven here 
 upon the earth. 
 
 It is sometimes hard to tell the exact truth, when 
 that obliges one to confess a fault before others. But 
 we must remember that nothing will make others 
 despise and distrust us so much, as to find that we 
 have deceived them. If we can all remember what 
 the world would be without truth, I think we shall 
 see what the need is that we should all be truthful, 
 for we shall see that no one who is known to tell 
 falsehoods can be trusted or loved. That is one 
 reason for speaking the truth. 
 
 But now I have another to give. There is some- 
 thing living and growing within us that we call a 
 soul. Though we do not see it, it lives and grows 
 
TRUTH. 39 
 
 just as truly as trees do in the world outside of us. 
 Now every untruth that we tell, is like striking a tree 
 with an axe ; it makes an ugly scar in aur hearts, 
 and weakens the very life of the soul. Let me tell 
 you a little story about this. Long ago, in the days 
 of enchantment, when there were giants and fairies 
 and magicians, there lived a man neither very good 
 nor very bad, whom we will call Pierre. Pierre was 
 a very decent fellow, who went to church on Sun- 
 days, and never committed any dreadful sin on week- 
 days; though at the same time he was in no wise 
 remarkable for his virtues. But one day Pierre fell 
 to wondering about his soul. The Bible and the 
 Priest told him he had a soul, and he had always 
 believed their word, but now for some reason he felt 
 a great longing to know for himself, whether the 
 Bible and the Priest were right. The more Pierre 
 thought about it, the more unsettled and uneasy did 
 he become, till at last he resolved to visit a certain 
 great magician, who lived in a neighboring city, to 
 see if he could not find some way to set the question 
 at rest. 
 
 So when he had found the magician he asked him, 
 "Have I a soul.?" *'Yes!" ''But how do you 
 know it.?" asked Pierre. *' I see them," was the 
 reply. " But can you make me see my own soul .? " 
 asked Pierre again. " I can," said the magician, 
 *' but only on these conditions ; I can separate your 
 
40 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 soul from your body, so that it will live outside of 
 you ; but in this case, all men can see it as well as 
 yourself, and it will be continually at your side 
 Avherever you turn. Besides this, it will be a twelve- 
 month and a day, before you can have your soul put 
 back into your body again." '' I accept the condi- 
 tions," said Pierre, " only let me see my soul and 
 know that I have got one." So the magician waved 
 his wand, repeating a form of words, and lo ! there 
 stood at Pierre's side a figure, very much resembling 
 himself, except that its face was somewhat wrinkled 
 and scarred, and its dress, which had originally been 
 white, was much soiled and torn. " Are you my 
 soul ? " asked Pierre. The figure said nothing, but 
 rather mournfully nodded its head. *' Well, I must 
 say," said Pierre, " I hoped to see something more 
 beautiful." '* You alone are to blame," said the 
 magician; "for the soul is just v/hat men make of it. 
 But now go home, and come to me again when a year 
 and a day are gone. I will then put your soul back 
 in its proper place." 
 
 So Pierre went out into the streets ; the people 
 whom he met all stared to see the figure marching 
 closely at his side, and always keeping its place, no 
 matter how quickly he might turn. But in the city, 
 he did not care, for nobody knew him, and it was dark 
 before he reached home, so that he escaped the 
 observation of his friends until he came to his own 
 
TRUTH. 41 
 
 house. Here his housekeeper stared at the figure, 
 much too astonished even to ask who it was. Now 
 Pierre was a little ashamed to own it as his soul, so 
 he said, " This is a brother of mine just home from a 
 long journey." Thereupon the figure uttered a sharp 
 cry, and when Pierre looked round, it was all doubled 
 up as if w^ith a terrible pain in the side. But it said 
 not a word, and the pain after a time seemed to wear 
 away. Now the soul being out of 4iis body, Pierre 
 felt no twinge of conscience when he told an un- 
 truth. The soul outside suffered for it, but that did 
 not trouble Pierre, and he soon became the most 
 outrageous liar ever heard of. And day by day, as 
 Pierre went on, the figure by his side grew shabbier 
 and more wrinkled, and continually shriveled away. 
 
 At first people shunned him, because of this mys- 
 terious figure always at his side. But his neighbors 
 became accustomed to it after a while, and began 
 to pity Pierre. He would not work, complaining 
 always that he was sick, and went about telling sor- 
 rowful tales of his pain and poverty, though in fact 
 he was entirely healthy, and lived like a prince on 
 what people gave him. He would lie not only to get 
 a living, but just for the pleasure of deceiving peo- 
 ple, and getting them into quarrels with each other. 
 But every day the figure at his side grew thinner and 
 paler, till at last Pierre began to say to himself, " If 
 this sort of thing goes on, I shan't have any soul at 
 6 
 
42 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 all to put back into my body when the twelve-month 
 comes round." So in great fear and trouble he went 
 off to beg the magician either to restore him his soul 
 at once, before it withered up out of sight, or to tell 
 how he could bring it back to its former size and 
 health. But the magician would tell him nothing 
 save to come when the year and the day had expired, 
 and sent him off again. 
 
 As Pierre went out upon the street in a dejected 
 and absent-minded mood, an old woman accosted him, 
 and asked him the way to a certain place. If he had 
 been thinking what he was doing, he would doubtless 
 have sent her far out of her way, for the pleasure of 
 thinking he had deceived her; but instead he told 
 her the direction, truthfully, and when he looked up 
 again he thought that the figure at his side appeared 
 brighter. This put him into so much better spirits, 
 that when he met a man whom he had cheated a few 
 days before in a bargain, he at once confessed that 
 he had told an untruth, and set the matter straight. 
 When he again looked about, the figure really 
 appeared quite beautiful, and Pierre could not mis- 
 take the cause of the change. He went home and 
 made it his first business to right all the wrongs he 
 had done, and correct all the falsehoods he had set 
 afloat ; and day by day he grew more pleased with 
 the new beauty and health which came back to his 
 soul. He learned to cling to the truth with much 
 
TRUTH. 43 
 
 more scrupulous exactness than ever he had done 
 before, and when the twelve-month was done, he 
 went back to the magician proudly, his soul without 
 wrinkle or scar or stain. 
 
 Of course it is not true that any man's soul can be 
 separated from his body and both live : that I have 
 only imagined. But it is true that if it could be, we 
 should see it so shriveled up by lies, and so made fair 
 and beautiful by truth, just as Pierre's was. What I 
 want you to remember is that though you do not see 
 your own souls, just this happens to them, according 
 as you are truthful or untruthful. 
 
 Now I have given you two reasons for speaking 
 the truth, first, that without it there can be no love 
 or peace between you and others ; secondly, that 
 every falsehood makes an ugly scar in your own souls. 
 If you will always keep these reasons in mind, I am 
 sure that no temptation can lead you to say a word 
 that you know to be untrue. 
 
IV. 
 
 HUMILITY. 
 
 Ill honor preferring one another. — Romans, ii. lo. 
 
 A NOTED clergyman once preached on a Western 
 steamboat from the text, " In honor preferring 
 one another." As he tells the story, the passengers 
 were grouped together on the main deck, and appeared 
 to listen very intently. He really thought as he saw 
 their eyes now glistening with enthusiasm, now fill- 
 ing with tears, that he was making an impression 
 which would lead them to prefer one another. So the 
 service closed with great interest. But just as the 
 last notes of the concluding hymn were dying away, 
 the dinner gong sounded, and the congregation at 
 once became a mob, pushing and scramblino- for the 
 best places at table, and the first chance at the best 
 dishes. That showed how little he had taught them, 
 after all, about the duty of preferring one another. 
 
 Now I know very well that every child here is too 
 well-bred ever to engage in such a scramble as that. 
 I know you would never crowd in to dinner like 
 cattle. But though good manners are worth a great 
 deal, they are not everything, especially in this mat- 
 ter of preferring one another. For you must know 
 that people who pass outwardly for gentlemen and 
 
HUMILITY. 45 
 
 ladies, are often very selfish, and when they can do so 
 without a breach of etiquette, show it very plainly 
 in their action. You must not think of this saying 
 as only meaning that we should politely give place to 
 another at table or in conversation. This is well so 
 far as it goes, but it does not go very far. When we 
 come to give up to another a place that we really 
 prize, out of love for that other, and because we 
 would rather see him happy in the place than to have 
 it ourselves, that is what the saying means. 
 
 Listen while I try to tell you, by means of a few 
 stories, how noble this is. Perhaps in the course 
 of your reading you have chanced upon the story of 
 some large family, the father of which was too poor 
 to give all his boys an education, and so all the rest 
 have cheerfully worked, and saved, and given up 
 many of their bright dreams, to s^nd one among 
 them to college. Think of that, you boys who enjoy 
 so many advantages without realizing that they cost 
 a great deal. What if your brothers and sisters, who 
 thirst for knowledge as much as you, were working 
 hard from morning till night, denying themselves 
 pleasure, and putting aside their own hopes, in order 
 that you might attend school. Should you feel that 
 you could ever repay them ? Or should you feel that 
 you could ever sufficiently love and admire them for 
 having preferred you before themselves? Let me 
 tell you there are many children doing that very thing 
 <"o-dav. 
 
46 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 There were once at school together, two boys who 
 were fast friends, and who were, beyond question, the 
 best and brightest boys of their class. In that 
 school there was a scholarship-prize, to be given to 
 the one who, both in lessons and deportment, should 
 best satisfy his teachers. Both of these boys worked 
 hard for it and expected to ^et it. The}" were fond 
 of thinking how they should feel, when they stood 
 before their classmates to receive the prize and 
 afterwards carried it home to their friends. 
 
 Now it so happened that they were so nearly even 
 at the end of the term, that their teachers were 
 unable to decide between them. To say that either 
 was first would be doing wrong to the other, and yet 
 there was only one prize. So when the day came, it 
 was announced that the two v/ere equally deserving, 
 and the matter could only be decided by lot. The 
 one upon whom the lot fell should have the prize, and 
 the other must be content with knowing that he was 
 just as well entitled to it. So a number of little 
 papers were put into a box, upon one of which was 
 written the word ''prize," and they were to draw by 
 turns until one of them should get that piece. 
 
 Of course both were anxious. But one of them 
 was the son of poor parents, and as his school-days 
 ended there, it was his last chance to win such an 
 honor. The other and older was to go on and 
 complete his studies. 
 
HUMILITY. 47 
 
 The drawing went forward, and presently the latter 
 boy drew from the box and held up before them all, a 
 paper upon which they could all read " Prize." Then 
 there was loud applause, and for an instant the victor 
 felt his heart full of happiness. But turning to his 
 rival, he saw the shade of disappointment upon his 
 face ; the quivering lip ; the coming tears which he 
 was manfully fighting to hold back, and which told 
 how much he prized the place he had lost. Quick as 
 thought it flashed upon his mind that for his rival 
 this was the last day of school, while there were 
 many honors that he might work for. Instantly he 
 stepped forward, holding out in his hand the paper he 
 had drawn, and said, ** I acknowledge you to be the 
 better scholar, and freely give to you the prize." Then 
 indeed a shout went up, and the tears which ill-luck 
 could hardly wring from the younger boy, made a 
 rainbow in his eyes, as his smile of gratitude shone 
 throuo'h them. 
 
 o 
 
 What do you think of such generosity .? I think 
 that if the boy who thus gave up what fairly belonged 
 to him, had lived to be as old as Methuselah, he could 
 never have done a nobler, or more graceful or Chris- 
 tian act. 
 
 Now I trust you know what the Bible means when 
 it says, " In honor preferring one another." 
 
 Here now is a story for the little ones, with fairies 
 in it, and I hope it may be entertaining, though if 
 
48 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 the fairies do not act in an interesting way of them- 
 selves, I cannot promise to make them. 
 
 Long ago, as you will read in the books, Eng- 
 land was full of elves and fays. In the hills they 
 had great caverns lighted by diamonds, carpeted 
 by flowers and filled with the music of running- 
 brooks. Here they dwelt through the day, but 
 at night the rocks opened, and they came forth in 
 troops to dance under the moonlight. There were 
 fairies good and fairies mischievous ; some who 
 spent their time in playing pranks upon mortals, and 
 others who dehghted to make little children happy. 
 They very often came disguised as little old women, 
 as Cinderella's god-mother, you will remember, came 
 to her. 
 
 Not far away from the castle where the king lived 
 part of the year, under the shadow of a lonely hill- 
 side, dwelt a forester and his two children. The 
 oldest was a boy just getting into his teens, and, 
 as boys are somewhat apt to do, he thought himself 
 a great deal more of a personage than he really was. 
 He had once been to the town, and was never weary 
 of astonishing his little sister with tales of what he 
 had there seen and done. And generally, he was 
 wont to display before her admiring eyes his supe- 
 rior wisdom. She, some years younger, and very 
 beautiful, was excessively proud and fond of her big 
 brother. The only bit of the great world that she 
 
HUMILITY. 
 
 49 
 
 had seen, was once when the King rode that way, 
 upon a hunt. For the rest, she devoutly beheved 
 what Richard told her, and when he was away in the 
 forest with his father, drew pictures in her mind, and 
 dreamed dreams of what should come to pass, all the 
 day long. 
 
 One day as twilight was falling, Ethel sat in the 
 door of her cottage, thinking what she would do if 
 she were rich, when some one said over her shoulder, 
 " Child, would you like to come with me "■ " She 
 turned her head, and no doubt any one of you could 
 tell me what she saw. Of course it was a fairy, 
 disguised as a little, humpbacked, old dame, leaning 
 upon her staff, with good nature shining in her 
 merry eyes, and even in the very tips of her long, 
 crooked nose and chin. Ethel was not in the least 
 frightened, the old lady was so little and so pleasant, 
 and besides, with a quick instinct, she knew who she 
 was. Still she did not recover from her astonish- 
 ment, until the fairy had repeated, " Would you like 
 to go with me.''" Ethel did not in the least know 
 where, but she felt that it must be to some good 
 place. *' Oh, if you please," she said, *' there is my 
 brother Richard, who is very clever. He is older 
 than I, and knows ever so much. I am sure you 
 would like him better than me. Cannot you wait a 
 little till he comes home, and take him ,^ " 
 
 " Yes, I know Richard," replied the fairy, some- 
 7 
 
^o SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 what coldly ; " but I cannot wait. However,' you 
 may tell him that if he will be in front of the ledge, 
 above the pine grove, at moonrise, he will see and 
 hear something to his advantage." 
 
 So saying, she vanished, and Ethel rose in all haste 
 to meet her brother. Taking him aside, she told him 
 what had occurred, and he was good enough to say 
 that she did quite right. "For," said he, "I shall, 
 make a much finer figure among the fairies than you 
 would." 
 
 He was vain, you see, and I fear there are other 
 boys afiflicted in that way. The moon did not rise 
 till late that night ; nevertheless, as soon as he had 
 snatched a little supper, Richard set off for the hill- 
 side, leaving many injunctions with his sister not to 
 follow. ''For," said he, "your presence might spoil 
 everything." 
 
 Having arrived before the ledge, he sat down upon 
 the trunk of a fallen tree to wait, with what patience 
 he could, for the appointed hour. At length the yel- 
 low tip of the new moon rose above the trees, and 
 Richard began to hear music beneath the ground. 
 Just as the moon sailed clear of the horizon, the 
 great ledge swung open and the fairies came rolling- 
 out like apples from an overturned basket. The boy 
 caught glimpses within of the dazzling flash of pre- 
 cious stones, and saw that the mountain must contain 
 enormous riches. He pressed hotly forward, so that 
 
HUMILITY. 51 
 
 as soon as the entrance should be cleared he might 
 rush in. He was in such eager haste that he did not 
 notice last of all the Queen of the fairies herself, 
 issuing forth, carried upon a tiny throne. He 
 crowded rudely past her, and already had his hand 
 upon the edge of the rock, when it swung to and 
 caught his fingers in a crevice; not with force 
 enough to hurt them seriously, but still enough to 
 hold them prisoner, and make him roar lustily with 
 pain. 
 
 The elves all set up a great shout at sight of him 
 in this misfortune ; but the Queen touched the rock 
 with her sceptre, and it opened a little, till he could 
 draw his aching fingers out. She bade him show his 
 hand to her, and laying her wand across it, instantly 
 it was made whole and sound. Then, being free 
 from pain, he ceased his dismal howling, and be- 
 thought himself to make his best bow before her 
 majesty. " I have summoned you here," she said, 
 " to ask what it is you most desire, since I mean to 
 teach you a useful lesson, and to put you in the way 
 of being a great man." ''I desire most of all," Said 
 the boy, " great riches, that I may go to Court and 
 then become a nobleman — perhaps, after a while, 
 even King." *' But you have a sister," the Queen 
 reminded him ; " do you wish nothing for her .-^ " 
 "What, that little chit } " said Richard. " She never 
 would make a fine lady. No, give vie riches, and I 
 
52 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 will buy her a new dress ; and, when I am a gentle- 
 man, sometimes I will hunt this way, and give her a 
 piece of gold." "Truly," replied the Queen, ''you 
 aie a generous youth, considering that you are here 
 by favor of your sister. Now, listen ; I shall redeem 
 the first part of my promise, by teaching you a lesson, 
 and that lesson will be to show you what you really 
 are." 
 
 So saying, she once more touched him with her 
 wand, and lo ! he was suddenly transformed into a 
 little grunting pig. He kept his own mind, for it 
 seems that fairies never had power to change that ; 
 but still he could do nothing but run up and down 
 and grunt. He was hungry, O, so hungry ! and 
 felt a sudden desire for acorns. So he went poking 
 his nose through the grass, scattering the fairies 
 hither and thither. Especially if he saw a group of 
 them perched upon a large leaf, he thought they 
 must be hiding acorns, and drove them away. As 
 for them, they jumped upon his back and pricked 
 him with thistles, until he squealed so that the Queen 
 was obliged to stop her ears. 
 
 All this time he knew that he was a pig, and felt 
 dreadfully ashamed of himself, yet he could not be- 
 have any better than he did. 
 
 Now, after her brother had gone, Ethel could not 
 sleep ; and when the moon rose, she thought there 
 would be no harm if she went up toward the ledge, 
 
HUMILITY. 
 
 53 
 
 and kept back out of sight. She heard the fairies 
 shout, but did not come within sight of the group 
 until the Queen began her speech. She could not 
 hear what was said, but, keeping watch, she saw her 
 brother transformed into a pig. 
 
 Full of grief and indignation, she darted forward, 
 atid would have attacked the Queen, but the uplifted 
 wand seemed to chain her wdiere she stood. ** You 
 naughty, ugly, wicked Queen," she began, " give me 
 back my beautiful brother." " That is not the way 
 to address fairies, when you wish something from 
 them," replied the Queen. Then, waving her wand 
 three times about her head, the fairy troop, the pig 
 and all seemed to vanish into the air, and Ethel stood 
 once more before the little old dame, who beamed 
 upon her good-naturedly. 
 
 Ethel now began to weep and beseech the fairy 
 that she would find her brother and restore him to 
 his right shape. *' Impossible," said the Queen, for 
 it was she. " You alone can do that. But dry your 
 eyes, child; trust in me, and all will yet be well." 
 Then she bade Ethel take her crutch, and as soon as 
 she touched it she felt herself growing light as air. 
 It was not long before she found that the trees and 
 the hills were gliding beneath her, and clapping her 
 hands with glee, she exclaimed, " Why, we are actu- 
 ally flying." And so they were, far, far away ; and 
 yet so swiftly that almost in a breath they alighted in 
 
54 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 a magnificent garden, before a palace. Dazzling 
 lio:hts shone from all the windows, and amons: the 
 trees. People in brilliant dresses, covered with 
 jewels, were walking about, while the most delicious 
 music swelled and died away with the soft evening 
 breeze. 
 
 Ethel caught the sparkle of something upon h$r 
 arm, as she stood under a lamp, and looking down 
 she found it to be a diamond bracelet. All at once 
 she discovered that she was dressed completely, like 
 the others, only with much more magnificence. And 
 the fairy whispered in her ear, *'It is a grand ball, 
 given by the young Prince. Go in, child ; be happy, 
 and forget your brother." 
 
 At these words, Ethel's grief again burst forth, 
 and she besought the fairy Queen to find Richard, 
 and dress him in the jewels which she wore. " I 
 shall be much happier," she said, " to wait in my 
 rags at the Palace gate and see him as he passes by." 
 ''Well," replied the Queen, "go in then and find 
 your brother; he will be there.* So Ethel eagerly 
 sprang forward and entered the palace. 
 
 As she entered the halls, every one was amazed at 
 her beauty, and many were the whispered conjec- 
 tures who the lovely young Princess might be. She 
 moved here and there apparently seeking some one, 
 and there was a shade of sadness and expectancy 
 upon her face which made her appear all the more 
 
HUMILITY. 25 
 
 beautiful. Many invitations she received to join in 
 the dance, but she excused herself. 
 
 At length the Prince himself honored her with an 
 invitation, and she danced with him more than once. 
 Certainly he was very good and very graceful, and 
 more than all, he was without doubt desperately in 
 love with her. But though she was charmed by his 
 company, she could not forget Richard, and as often 
 as the Prince asked her name, she said, " Let me 
 first find my brother." Suddenly there was a great 
 uproar. Ladies screamed, courtiers laughed, and 
 seemed to be trying to drive something out of the 
 Palace. Ethel turned in wonderment to see what 
 might be the matter, and there she saw a little 
 panting, squealing pig, darting hither and thither, 
 knocking the gentlemen's feet from under them, and 
 getting himself terribly entangled in the long dresses 
 of the ladies. 
 
 With a cry of joy Ethel sprang through the crowd 
 and caught him up in her arms. He appeared to 
 know her, and as best he was able testified his joy at 
 having found her. That is to say he looked up into 
 her face, grunted in a satisfied way, and wiggled his 
 little tail incessantly. No one dared laugh now that 
 the beautiful Princess had taken the pig under her 
 protection. While all kept silence, she walked slowly 
 out of the Palace, and nobody was so ill-bred as to 
 follow her. 
 
56 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 Long she wandered about the garden, trying to 
 find the good fairy ; and all the while she held her 
 poor brother close to her heart, wept over him, and 
 called him an endless number of pet names. But 
 the fairy could nowhere be found, and at last in 
 despair, Ethel seated herself in a little arbor, to wait 
 for the morning, when she thought she would try 
 and find her way back home. 
 
 The light fell through the trees, and as she looked 
 down into the pig's face, she thought his eyes had a 
 more human look. She watched for a moment, and 
 felt sure that a change was taking place. And so it 
 was, for her rich love, more potent than all fairy, 
 wands, was slowly restoring Richard to his own form. 
 The fairy could only make him appear, outwardly, 
 what he was inwardly ; but his sister's love was able 
 to change his spirit, so that a beautiful human form 
 belonged to him. 
 
 You may be sure Ethel was half wild with delight, 
 when she saw her brother coming to himself again ; 
 and the more caresses she heaped upon him, the 
 faster the process went forward. At last he was 
 fully restored, and able to say in his own voice, only 
 softer and sweeter than it used to be, " Oh, sister ! 
 how beautiful you are ! how beautiful you are ! Now 
 you are really a Princess and I will be your servant." 
 
 At these words, the bushes beside them rustled, 
 and out stepped the Fairy Queen, this time as a 
 
HUMILITY. 57 
 
 Queen again, with her magnificent sceptre and 
 crown. " So you have learned your lesson well, I am 
 glad to see," she said, ''and are at length willing to 
 prefer some one else before yourself." 
 
 Ethel was inclined to be a little indignant at this 
 speech, for she was so good that she did not think 
 her brother had need of such a lesson. Richard, 
 however, made haste to acknowledge his error, and 
 the Queen, entirely satisfied, promised them her 
 favor, telling them at the same time that a noble 
 mind was worth more than all she could bestow. 
 To conclude, Ethel married the Prince, and Richard 
 rose to be a great man, beloved by everybody ; for 
 whenever he felt inclined to put himself before 
 others, he always remembered how he had been a 
 pig, and what saved him from being a pig all his life. 
 
 I suppose none of you children have any fear that 
 you will be changed into pigs, but I hope you 
 will remember that the disposition sometimes shines 
 through the face in such a way as to suggest a pig, 
 very unpleasantly, to others. And let us all remem- 
 ber that to prefer one another in honor, as it raises 
 us above the beasts and makes us human, also makes 
 us disciples of Jesus and children of God. 
 
V. 
 
 TEMPER. 
 
 Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you. — James iv. 7. 
 
 /^^NE summer day of an olden time, when your 
 ^^^ great, great grandfathers and grandmothers 
 were girls and boys together, and when, where cities 
 and villages now stand, there stretched away broad 
 meadows and shady groves, a group of bright-eyed 
 farmers' children, as fair as the cloudless sky above 
 their heads, and as light-hearted as the birds whose 
 songs blended with their merry laugh, went romping 
 through the fields of new-mown hay. Nowhere can 
 one be gayer than in the hay-field. The odor of the 
 bleaching grass steals away all care, and seems to 
 carry the freshness which the sun takes out of the 
 sweet-scented clover, into one's heart. 
 
 So these children went up and down the long 
 mowers' swaths, singing, shouting, throwing at each 
 other the half-made hay, and making the distant hills 
 echo their laughter ; not so much because anything 
 really funny occurred, as because they felt so happy 
 that they must laugh. 
 
 Suddenly, as though all their hearts had been 
 touched by a flash of lightning, every particle of 
 
TEMPER. 5Q 
 
 mirth died out of them. Where a moment before all 
 had been gayety and life, they stood with pale faces 
 and hushed breath, all eyes fixed upon the two oldest 
 boys of the group. 
 
 These boys had been lashing each other with 
 wisps of hay, in high glee, until one, by accident, in 
 seizing a new handful, had grasped a large thistle 
 and struck his companion with it across his face. 
 He did not in the least know what he had done, 
 and the first intimation he had that their play was 
 interrupted was a stinging blow from his companion, 
 which sent him reeling backward. Now, just as the 
 attention of the rest was called to the scene, he had 
 gathered himself up and sprung back to return the 
 blow\ 
 
 There the two stood, while the rest w^aited in 
 terror for what should follow — the one sullenly 
 guarding himself from attack, the other with dis- 
 tended nostril, eyes flashing fire, and arm raised to 
 strike. An instant they stood thus ; then the one 
 who was about to strike drew back his arm, turned 
 on his heel, and walked quickly away. 
 
 It was all done in less time than I have taken to 
 tell it, but in none too short a time to spoil all the 
 happiness of the party. It mattered not now how 
 bright the sun might shine, there was a heavy cloud 
 over them, and their hearts w^ere gloomy. The birds 
 were still singing, the bees humming, and from afar 
 
6o SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 came the ring of the mowers' scythes. Nothing of 
 it all did they hear, for they could think only of the 
 angry scene they had just witnessed. 
 
 Silently plucking at the grasses they still held in 
 their hands, they slowly moved on in the direction 
 taken by the boy who had refused to fight, keeping 
 as by a common instinct, apart from him who had 
 struck the blow ; a blow not only upon the other's 
 cheek, but to all their sport. 
 
 He alone affected a hollow kind of mirth, whistled, 
 laughed, and in a mocking way made remarks not 
 very complimentary to the courage of his playmate. 
 The other had walked across the meadow and thrown 
 himself down in the shade of a huge tree, under 
 which the workmen ate their dinners and kept their 
 drink. 
 
 Thither the rest followed ; and, as they came up to 
 him, he was forced to hear a few loud and bitter 
 taunts. But, though rather nervous and pale, he still 
 kept silent, and so the whole party found themselves 
 seated upon the smoothly-shaven turf, trying hard to 
 look and act as though nothing had happened. 
 ' Some one proposed that they should tell stories, 
 and one or two fairy tales were attempted. These, 
 however, were not very well received. Instead of 
 that close attention which children are wont to pay 
 to such tales, the wandering eyes and listless looks 
 told that no enthusiasm was to be roused that day 
 by stories of Elfinland. 
 
TEMPER. 6 1 
 
 At last one happened to mention the Devil, and 
 suddenly all seemed to be interested. In that day 
 almost every one believed in the Devil, horns and 
 hoofs, and many wonderful incidents were related of 
 people who had seen him and felt his power. First, 
 the minister's daughter had to tell what she had 
 found in a book in her father's library, about a great 
 man called Luther, to whom the Devil had many 
 times appeared. . Others were ready, and the stories 
 were coming thick and fast, when up spoke the hot- 
 tempered lad, who a little while before had wanted to 
 fight, saying that all such stories were nonsense, for 
 there was no such thins: as a devil. 
 
 He was the son of a man about whom there was 
 some mystery, because he seemed to have a better 
 educa'tion than most of the little farming community. 
 Still, as he had fallen quietly into their ways, no 
 open distrust of him had shown itself. Whether the 
 boy had heard it from his father, or gathered it from 
 books which the more zealous Puritans would not be 
 likely to own, certain it is that he entirely disbe- 
 lieved in any such being as a Devil ; and now, 
 when his companions rather held aloof from him, 
 he showed his resentment by calling them fools for 
 believing such silly trash. They, of course, were 
 horrified. Deny the Devil ! Why, it was almost as 
 bad as denying God. And so they all set to work to 
 refute his terrible doctrine. Whv, there was Deacon 
 
62 SUNDAY STOUIES. 
 
 A., who only a little time before, going through a 
 piece of woods, after nightfall, had seen the Devil's 
 great fiery eyes looking over a stump. Moreover, 
 his black horns had been dimly visible, and he was 
 distinctly heard to switch his tail among the bushes. 
 
 The young heretic of course maintained that it 
 might have been a belated cow ; but this explana- 
 tion was scouted. Then there was old Goody Gloom, 
 who lived in a little hut all by herself, down under 
 the hill, and who said that many a time the Devil 
 had come down her rude chimney of sticks and mud, 
 and blown the fire in her face. As well as she could 
 for the smoke in her eyes, she had seen his black 
 form moving about the hearth ; but, more than all, 
 had heard his fiendish chuckle, as he swept up the 
 chimney again. 
 
 To this it was replied that Goody Gloom was mad, 
 and no wonder the wind played pranks with such a 
 crazy old chimney as hers. Then they quoted Scrip- 
 ture to him ; all the texts they could think of in 
 which the Devil was mentioned ; till at last some one 
 chanced to think of the verse, " Resist the Devil and 
 he will flee from you." " That is a very good text, 
 children," broke in a deep voice behind them, and for 
 the first time they were made aware that some one 
 was overhearing their controversy. 
 
 • As they turned about, there stood the father of the 
 boy against whom they were defending their belief. 
 
TEMPER. 
 
 63 
 
 So busily were they all engaged, that they had not 
 seen his approach; and, with a half-amused smile 
 upon his kindly face, he had stood for some time, 
 unperceived, listening to their talk. 
 
 '"Resist the Devil and he will flee from you.' 
 That is a very good text," he now repeated. 
 
 "There is a Devil, is there not, sir.^" they cried 
 out to him. All but one, and he held his peace, be- 
 fore his father. 
 
 For answer he only seated himself in their midst, 
 and proposed to tell them a short fable. " Oh ! that 
 would be fine ! ". So they settled themselves as close 
 as they could sit about him, and signified by their 
 quietness that they were ready for him to begin. 
 
 ''There was once," said he, "in a certain well 
 regulated barnyard, a young gosling, just turning 
 the corner of ganderhood, who gave his mother 
 goose much uneasiness. Beyond the yard and the 
 pond and a little stretch of pasture land, over which 
 the fowls were accustomed to roam, was a deep, dark 
 wood, toward which this gosling had always turned a 
 longing eye ; and he made no secret of his determi- 
 nation to visit that unknown place some day, and 
 explore its mysteries. 
 
 Now, there was in the yard the tradition of a fox, 
 who had once been seen prowling about, and who 
 was supposed to have his habitation in that wood. 
 So you may suppose it was with no little alarm that 
 
64 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 the goose mother heard her wayward son announcing 
 his favorite project, and trying to persuade his com- 
 panions to join him. She tried to frighten him with 
 stories that she had heard of this fox, and he dared 
 to say that if there was such a creature, he was a 
 peaceable enough beast, after all. 
 
 The geese and the ducks and the hens were all 
 securely penned every night at sundown, and this the 
 gosling took in high dudgeon. "As though there 
 were anything to be afraid of," he said; "and as 
 if they didn't know how to take care of themselves." 
 
 So every night he hissed and dodged about, and 
 made a great ado about going into the pen. But 
 once safely inside, the geese from their corner, and 
 the ducks from theirs, and the hens from their roost 
 overhead, began to tell wonderful stories about this 
 fox, until they all fell asleep. Very likely some of 
 them, especially the roosters, dreamed about him all 
 night ; for every now and then, one would awake out 
 of his sleep with a frantic crow, as though he were 
 already in the jaws of the fox, and was giving warn- 
 ing to the others to flee while yet there was time. 
 
 But in these twilight talks among the fowls, there 
 were, in truth, some marvellous tales related. One 
 or two of the older ducks had seen this fox in the 
 daytime, while they were taking their swim upon the 
 pond ; and one of the hens, who by chance had been 
 shut out of the pen one night, and forced to roost in 
 
TEMPER. 
 
 a tree till morning, declared that she had not been 
 able to sleep a wink by reason of his prowling about, 
 and makinsr continual efforts to climb the tree. 
 
 These, having nobody to contradict them, vied 
 with each other, who should tell the most aston- 
 ishing story about the fox. And the others, not to 
 be outdone, would always cap the tale with some- 
 thing more wonderful that they had heard. It was 
 told how this fox breathed fire and smoke from his 
 nostrils ; that he was a great deal larger than old 
 Tom, the cart-horse; that on his feet he had claws 
 like a hawk, only a great deal longer ; that his mouth 
 was filled with long, sharp teeth, like the prongs of a 
 pitchfork; that on his head, where ears should be, 
 rose long and slender horns, ever so high, upon 
 which, after he had eaten his fill, he strung his prey, 
 as children string raspberries upon a spear of grass. 
 And his tail! all agreed that never was such a 
 tail read of or heard of elsewhere. It was some- 
 thing like a snake, only a great deal longer than any 
 snake ever was ; longer than the rope coiled up on 
 the barn floor, which was used to weigh out hay ; 
 and after he had filled his stomach and his horns 
 with luckless fowls, he would bind up great loads of 
 them with this tail, and carry them on his back like 
 a peddler's pack. 
 
 As to his manner of taking his prey, opinion 
 was divided. The old hen, who had seen him, main- 
 9 
 
65 SUNDAY STOEIES. 
 
 tained that by means of his claws he could climb 
 wherever he could find anything to grasp, strong 
 enough to hold him. All that saved her that night, 
 she averred, was that she had chosen rather a small 
 tree, the branches of which broke off with his weight 
 as often as he tried to climb up to her. As it was, 
 she said, the tree was stripped as bare as a bean-pole, 
 all except the few twigs at the very top upon which 
 she sat. 
 
 The ducks, on the other hand, affirmed that the 
 hen must be mistaken, for when they had seen him 
 he used his tail, on the end of which was a claw, like 
 a long arm, with which he reached out and grasped 
 his victims. They related that he came down to the 
 bank, and stretched this out over the water after 
 them ; and, if one of the ducks remembered rightly, 
 one of the flock at that time, who was not quite 
 quick enough in getting out of the way, had been 
 seized and devoured on the spot. At any rate, these 
 ducks had seen him in the daytime, and the hen only 
 in the dark, so that the majority listened to their 
 report. 
 
 But nothing of all this convinced the young gander 
 of whom mention has been made, and as he was very 
 confident and esteemed himself quite an important 
 personage, he was not slow to express his opinions. 
 These were in effect not merely that the stories of 
 the older ones were partly false, but that they were 
 
TEMPER. 67 
 
 wholly without foundation. In fact nobody should 
 make him believe that there was any fox at all until 
 he had seen him with his own eyes. 
 
 He did not fail to point out to his companions that 
 such an awful monster as this was painted, would not 
 leave a single thing with feathers on its back alive at 
 the end of a year. Moreover were not his eyes as 
 good as any one's, and if anybody ever saw a fox why 
 should not he ! 
 
 So although he did not make much impression 
 upon his ow^n tribe, nor upon the ducks, he finally 
 persuaded some of the more venturesome young 
 chickens to join him in his favorite project of explor- 
 ing the wood. And now behold them cautiously 
 stealing out of the yard one by one in the early 
 morning, while yet their mothers were warming 
 themselves in the first rays of the sun, standing 
 about with one foot drawn up into their feathers, 
 their heads nestled down into the ruffles about their 
 necks, and their eyes half shut in a morning nap. 
 Out stole the adventurers, picking up food here and 
 there as though only in pursuit of breakfast, till all, 
 without having excited any notice, were met together 
 in the field. Then the young gander assumed the 
 lead, and stalking majestically before, at once made 
 directly for the forest. Arrived there they plunged 
 at once into the shadows, and throughout the long 
 forenoon they had a most lovely time. For the 
 
68 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 leader there were marshes and pools, in which he 
 paddled to his heart's content ; for the others there 
 was plenty of the most fertile scratching ground, and 
 all the bushes were so covered with great flies that 
 they could almost pick up their breakfast without 
 moving a step. 
 
 At length they gathered themselves together to 
 dress their feathers and congratulate each other on 
 their good fortune. How they did pity the poor 
 barnyard slaves who were prevented by their foolish 
 fears from joining them. There they were, toiling in 
 the hot sun, and doubtless without having yet found 
 half a dinner, ''While we," said they, "have all the 
 time enjoyed a most delightful shade." 
 
 Never would they go back again to that tiresome 
 place, for now it was perfectly evident that there was 
 no more to fear in the wood than upon the roost at 
 home. 
 
 They had just arrived at this most satisfactory con- 
 clusion, when out from the bushes before them 
 peeped the head of Master Fox himself, who had 
 been attracted by their loud cackling. Evidently he 
 selected the goose, as being the largest of the flock, 
 for his victim, and kept his eye upon him. As for 
 the rest, they were at once frightened without know- 
 ing why, and with shrill screams sought safety in the 
 branches of the trees. 
 
 The goose was afraid of nothing, and quietly stood 
 
TEMPER. 69 
 
 Still. The fox, finding that he made no effort to 
 escape, came slowly forward to see what it meant ; 
 when the gander politely accosted him, and begged 
 his pardon for the unruly chicks, who had created 
 such a disturbance. ''The fact is," said he, ''they 
 have all their lives been told silly tales about a 
 fox, said to be a terrible enemy to all fowls, and 
 by some thought to inhabit this wood, and I dare 
 say they imagined you might be he. But in me," 
 continued he proudly, "you will find one who never 
 gave ear to these foolish fancies." 
 
 " Here is easy game," thought the fox ; but he knew 
 how to be polite. So he courteously offered the hos- 
 pitality of the wood, saying that he was an old resi- 
 dent there, and the roosters might rest easy about the 
 fox, for in all his rambles he had met with no such 
 creature. " Near by," said he, " I have a very pleas- 
 ant cave in which I live, and if you will allow me to 
 point it out, perhaps you may sometimes be glad to 
 take shelter in it in case of a shower." 
 
 The gander would be obliged and delighted. 
 " Perhaps," said the fox, hoping to get another meal 
 out of them, " your friends might like to come also ; " 
 and he cast his eye up to the branches upon which 
 they sat. But a hoarse cackle told plainly that their 
 prejudice was unconquerable, and so the fox and the 
 goose marched off together. 
 
 As soon as they were out of sight, the roosters 
 
yo SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 looked at each other in dismay, and began to ask 
 what was to be done. They did not have long to 
 consider, however, for presently a few frightened 
 shrieks, and then a sound as of crunching of bones, 
 made them know that their worst fears were realized, 
 and that the poor gander had met his doom. Then 
 of one accord they set up a furious clamor, and run- 
 ning, flying, scrambling they made the utmost speed 
 out of the forest. Nor did they stop till, panting and 
 bruised, they found themselves once more in the 
 barnyard. Then, when the fowls were gathered at 
 night, they told such stories as made every heart 
 quake with fear, and eclipsed the imagination of the 
 oldest among them. 
 
 " That is the fable," said the story-teller, " now, 
 who will tell me the moral .'' " " I know," spoke up 
 one of the yourtgest of the group, " there is a Devil, 
 but he doesn't have any horns." "Well, hardly that," 
 said the story-teller smiling, " it is rather that what- 
 ever fanciful stories may have arisen about the Devil, 
 there is somethinsf devilish to be afraid of and to 
 shun and to fight against. As the foolishness of this 
 silly goose, so will be yours, if you think that because 
 these stories about a devil who can be seen are 
 untrue, therefore you will never be called upon to 
 resist the Devil. 
 
 " What was it," said the gentleman, turning to his 
 son, " what was it that prompted you to strike your 
 
TEMPER. 
 
 71 
 
 playmate, when if you bad stopped to think only an 
 instant you might have known that he meant you no 
 harm ? Was it not something evil in your own heart 
 that you ought to have resisted ? What matters it to 
 you that these tales that the others tell about a devil 
 with horns and hoofs, and fiery eyes, are false, while 
 there is something evil in yourself, which you have 
 not learned to conquer. That is the Devil that you 
 have to fear, your own ungovernable temper. But it 
 is said, ' Resist the Devil and he wdll flee from you.' 
 How true that is, may be seen in the conduct of that 
 boy whom you struck. The devil in his heart whis- 
 pered, * Strike back,' but he resisted only for an 
 instant, as I saw, and he was master of himself 
 again." 
 
 Then said he to all the children, what I wish 
 all children would take to heart, — learn well that 
 there will be many struggles between evil thoughts 
 and good thoughts in your own souls. These evil 
 ^thoughts and wrong feelings are the real Devil, and 
 no matter what foolish stories ma}' be told, this devil 
 you will have to meet and fight. If you do not resist 
 him he will lead you into evil and ruin. If you 
 determine to put him down, he soon flies from you, 
 and leav^es with you a victory, which means safety 
 and peace." 
 
VI. 
 GOOD AND BAD SEED. 
 
 Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. — Gal., vi. 7. 
 
 ^ I ^HERE was once a farmer, who was called very 
 rich by all his neighbors, but who wanted so 
 much to be richer than he was, that he could not 
 content himself with the profits of his ordinary crops 
 of wheat and corn. 
 
 In that country, no one had ever tried to raise 
 tobacco, and this farmer, having heard that a great 
 deal of money could be made from the plant, became 
 very anxious to try the experiment. 
 
 One day a genuine Yankee peddler, with his 
 lumbering red cart filled with all sorts of goods and 
 knick-knacks, came that way, and chancing to call 
 upon the farmer at his dinner hour, the two were 
 soon deeply engaged in trying to beat each other at 
 a bargain. 
 
 The peddler brought forth a coat, an a^Dple-paring 
 machine, a quantity of earthen and tin dishes, a 
 patent milking-stool, and other attractive commodi- 
 ties ; but the farmer could not agree with him upon 
 a price for any of them. 
 
 At length out came a box of garden-seeds. Did 
 
GOOD AND BAD SEED. 73 
 
 the farmer want any thing in that line ? The farmer 
 "didn't exactly know." Had the peddler any 
 tobacco seed ? Certainly ! Down went his hand 
 into the depths of the cart, and after some groping, 
 brought up a little calico bag, in which was a quantity 
 of very small seeds ; enough to make a man's fortune, 
 the peddler blandly said. 
 
 There was some further haggling about its worth, 
 but in the end the farmer paid a handsome price, and 
 became the possessor of it, together with certain 
 information in regard to the time and method of 
 planting, which the peddler was very ready to impart 
 without charge. 
 
 So in early spring of the following year, the 
 farmer prepared extensive hot-beds, with great care 
 and at considerable expense. All the neighborhood 
 wondered what was going forward, but he kept it a 
 close secret. 
 
 The seed was planted under glass, and in due time, 
 up came the little plants. Then some one guessed 
 that the farmer was putting in a crop of tobacco, and 
 all the country-side at once took deep interest in the 
 result of the experiment. Day after day, as the 
 young plants were taken from the hot-bed and trans- 
 planted into the fields, men would come and sit upon 
 the fence watching the operation. And as they grew 
 up, all who passed that way were sure to stop and 
 take a look at the farmer's tobacco-field. 
 
74 
 
 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 For a time he was full of triumph at the result. 
 He bought a book which gave pictures of the full- 
 grown plant, and told him how to cure it. Over and 
 over he counted the gain he would get from its sale, 
 with great satisfaction. But after a while the plant 
 began to send up a long, slender stem above the 
 leaves, which he did not find in the picture. This 
 troubled him, but he held his peace, thinking it might 
 be a different variety. People came and inspected 
 his field and went away laughing. This troubled him 
 more. He had certain uneasy suspicions which he 
 did not like to acknowledge to himself. 
 
 At length the stalk put forth a cluster of little 
 yellow flowers, and as he stood looking at it dubi- 
 ously one morning, a man came up and said, " Well, 
 neighbor, you have a fine crop of mullein there ! " 
 
 Mullein ! The farmer had never taken much notice 
 of that, as it is only a weed. But down into his 
 pasture he went straightway, and brought up a 
 specimen to compare. Sure enough he had spent 
 his money and his labor to raise a harvest of thrifty 
 weeds. 
 
 I suppose if ever a man went into a fury of rage 
 and disappointment, he was that man. It was of no 
 avail, you see, that he wanted to raise tobacco. He 
 had planted mullein, and he had nothing but mullein 
 to reap. 
 
 Now it is a very important part of Christ's teach- 
 
GOOD AXD BAD SEED. 75 
 
 ing, that whatever a man shall sow, not only in his 
 field, but in the garden of his soul, that he must also 
 reap. " Men do not gather grapes of thorns, nor 
 figs of thistles," he said. So if you plant in your 
 minds the seeds of anger, and evil, and discontent, 
 that is the only fruit you can gather in after years. 
 If you would have a harvest of goodness and love 
 and peace, you must sow their seed in the spring- 
 time of your lives. 
 
 Riding through the country in autumn, you will 
 find some fields of grain standing straight and free 
 of weeds, and this the reapers will bind into beauti- 
 ful, shining bundles. In other fields you will see 
 clusters of stout thistles mingled with the grain, and 
 the reapers at work with gloved hands binding 
 thistles and wheat together into awkward shapes. 
 Now and then the field of a careless farmer will be 
 so overrun with weeds that the grain cannot be bound 
 into sheaves at all, but only roughly scraped \ip with 
 forks and rakes. 
 
 Now in most human lives the thistles are mingled 
 with the wheat. There are a few in which no weeds 
 seem to grow, and a few which appear to bear noth- 
 ing but weeds. But it is all a question what seed has 
 been sown. If thistles were planted, few or many 
 thistles will come up, and nobody can help it. That 
 is God's law, which you may read in any garden, and 
 which we all find to be true in our own experience. 
 
76 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 The seed of hate will no more blossom into love, 
 than roses will grow upon a bean-stalk. Every thing 
 bears fruit of its own kind, and if we would have no 
 weeds in our lives, we must be careful not to plant 
 them. 
 
 Children must be especially careful what kind of 
 seeds they put into their minds, for though the weeds 
 of evil thousfhts and evil habits can some of them be 
 rooted up, others get so strong a hold, that they will 
 grow in spite of everything. Many grown-up children 
 are very negligent in this matter, and I suppose it is 
 partly because they do not know that whatever they 
 put into the mind will grow; and partly because it 
 seems so hard to realize that little things may grow 
 to be so very large. 
 
 If you did not know any thing about it, for exam- 
 ple, how hard it would be for you to believe that a 
 tall oak, almost as high as the church-steeple, would 
 come from a little acorn, dozens of which you can 
 cram into your pocket. So a boy will read or listen 
 to an evil story, only thinking that he is amused by 
 it, and forgetting that the memory of it is an evil 
 seed in his soul, — or if he does remember what it is, 
 he will often think it too small to be of consequence. 
 Now you children know as well as I can tell you, 
 that " Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also 
 reap." But there are these two mistakes which 
 children are apt to make, that of forgetting some- 
 
GOOD AND BAD SEED. jy 
 
 times, in their fun or excitement, how all the time 
 little seeds of good and evil are dropping into their 
 souls; and that of forgetting how some of the small- 
 est of these seeds may grow into the largest plants. 
 
 I should like to make you feel some of the conse- 
 quences of these mistakes, and so help you to guard 
 against them. A troop of children, who lived, I 
 suppose, where spring comes a little earlier than it 
 does to us — over in England, perhaps — once went 
 a-Maying together. They had crowned their Queen 
 with flowers, and gathered all the blossoms they could 
 carry, long before the sun was half way down the 
 Western sky. They had been playing up and down 
 a long hillside, the top of which was crowned with a 
 heavy wood. At length some one proposed that 
 they should explore this wood. Away they went 
 hand in hand, and their merry laughter' was soon 
 echoing among the trees. 
 
 Soon after entering the wood, the children per- 
 ceived that it was only a narrow belt, beyond which 
 were open fields again. But judge of their astonish- 
 ment upon emerging from the other side, to find 
 themselves in a large and beautiful garden. Such 
 brilliant flowers they had never seen ; such delicious 
 perfumes they had never breathed before. There 
 was the heliotrope clambering over the tops of tall 
 trees from which the flowers hung in mammoth 
 clusters like grapes. Mignonette 
 
7 8 SUNDAY STOJRIES. 
 
 hio'h as Indian-corn, and roses and camellias as laro-e 
 as dinner-plates were gently nodding with the breeze. 
 
 " This is fairy land," cried the children, as the 
 scene burst upon them. But they did not stand long 
 gazing. With childlike curiosity they plunged into 
 the nearest walk, and found it lined with so many 
 new and wonderful flowers, that they could only 
 wander on in speechless admiration. 
 
 Presently they turned an angle in the avenue, and 
 there before them, bending over a bed of earth 
 freshly turned, was a queer little old lady, not half so 
 large as the smallest of them. She did not seem in 
 the least surprised to see them, but turning her head 
 over her shoulder, gave them a j^leasant little nod, 
 and kept on poking holes in the earth with her 
 fingers, and dropping in seeds. 
 
 The children clustered about her, and one little 
 fellow rather less bashful than the rest, said, '' I 
 thought fairies could make things grow right up." 
 ** So they can," replied the fairy, "but they prefer to 
 have them grow slowly, so that they can have the 
 pleasure of watching them day by day." " I should 
 like to see a tree grow up in a minute, right here by 
 me," said the boy. 
 
 Without a word, the fairy took a seed from a little 
 box which hung at her girdle, and muttering some- 
 thing which the children did not hear, threw it upon 
 the earth in front of the boy, and ground it in with 
 
GOOD AND BAD SEED. yg 
 
 her heel. Instantly up came a green shoot, and as 
 quickly as you could raise your umbrella, there stood 
 a tree before them. But the boy was so anxious to 
 see it all, and stood so close to the spot where the 
 tree came up, that one of the branches as it sh out 
 from the trunk like a spear, was thrust right through 
 his jacket, and before he had time to draw back, 
 lifted him off his feet. 
 
 So when the children looked up among the boughs 
 of the magic-tree, there hung their companion, dang- 
 ling by his coat-skirts like an over-ripe apple just 
 ready to drop. The fairy laughed heartily arid 
 tapped the tree with her cane, when it withered 
 away and sank into the ground, as quickly as it had 
 risen. "There isn't much fun in that," said she, 
 " here is something much more interesting," and she 
 directed their attention to a large flower-bed, through 
 which a multitude of small green heads were slowly 
 pushing. " What are all these "^ " asked they. " Oh, 
 a variety of things," replied she, "just as different as 
 the things sprouting in your heads." 
 
 What did the fairy mean "^ The children stared at 
 each other, and took off their hats, and then declared 
 that they saw nothing but hair sprouting from their 
 heads. So the fairy explained to them of course 
 that very many thoughts and desires, she hoped only 
 good ones, were taking root in their minds, and grow- 
 ing up like plants. 
 
S UN DA Y S TO RIES. 
 
 While she was talking, she heard a little rustling of 
 paper, and looking behind her discovered this same 
 boy, who had first addressed her, nothing daunted by 
 his voyage in the air, investigating her box of seeds. 
 He had been tasting of one and another, and had 
 evidently found at length something good, for as the 
 fairy looked about he was just swallowing one huge 
 mouthful, and before she could get at him his cheeks 
 were distended with another handful. " What are 
 you doing," cried she. " Spit it out instantly, it is seed 
 which will make you grow into a thistle." 
 
 But it was too late. The mischief was done; while 
 the children looked at him, his hair all rose up 
 straight and turned a reddish purple. His jacket 
 collar turned up and grew over his face and ears like 
 a great green muffler, making his head an enormous 
 thistle bud. From his arms, his legs and his body 
 started forth long slender leaves covered with a mul- 
 titude of sharp needle points. He could no longer 
 walk. He could only plant his legs as far apart as 
 possible and hold his arms out straight in the air to 
 avoid striking the points into his body. But he could 
 not keep perfectly still, and beside, the wind would 
 blow the leaves against him, so that a succession of 
 muffled squeals came from the mouth hidden in the 
 bud ; and now and then words which, as near as they 
 could make out, seemed to be an earnest appeal to 
 some one to take a knife and trim his legs. 
 
GOOD AND BAD SEED. 8i 
 
 But the fairy thought this a good opportunity to 
 teach the children a lesson. So she said, " That 
 is the way with a great many of you mortals. You 
 only think of the taste of things. Your souls and 
 your bodies require food, but so you find something 
 which tickles your palate or affords you amusement, 
 that is all you care for. You have often to learn like 
 this boy by bitter experience that what tastes good 
 for the time being, may be the seed of something 
 which will make you very uncomfortable. Why can 
 you not always remember to see what kind of seed 
 you are eating, as well as what is pleasant to the 
 taste." 
 
 Much more she wanted to say, and doubtless would 
 have said, but the boy-thistle was rapidly going to 
 seed. His hair had turned white and the wind was 
 carrying it away. She feared not only the damage 
 that mio'ht be done to her sfarden, if she allowed such 
 seed to be scattered, but also that the boy would be 
 left entirely bald if she did not hasten to change him 
 back to his proper form. So she tapped him with 
 her cane, and in an instant he was a boy again, with 
 the stain of the thistle seed still about his mouth, 
 and a very sheepish look on his face. 
 
 The children all set up a great laugh at him for his 
 greediness, and the poor little fellow's temper had 
 been already so sorely tried by his fright and the 
 stings of the thistle points, that he could not take 
 
SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 the jeers of his companions with a very good grace. 
 His Hps were beginning to quiver and his eyes to fill 
 with tears, when the fairy came to his relief. *' Since 
 you all laugh at him," she said, " doubtless you are 
 all very much wiser than he. Come then, here is my 
 box! Let us see what choice of my seeds you will 
 make." 
 
 Of course no one was in a hurry to accept the 
 challenge. But the fairy encouraged them by telling 
 them that it would do them no harm, for she would 
 change them all back again, and they might learn a 
 useful lesson from it. So one of the larger boys 
 came forward, and said he would try how wise a 
 choice he could make. ** Now," said he, "I would 
 like to know how it seems to be very large, a hun- 
 dred feet high ; so I shall look for the seed of a tall 
 tree." All was silence, while he turned over the 
 various packages, marked with letters that he did not 
 understand, and felt of them or peeped in to see what 
 they contained. At length he turned up something 
 about the size of his two fists. " That is a lar2:e 
 seed, said he, " something huge must come from it." 
 The fairy, of course, did not say a word, so after 
 smelling it, and biting out a trifle to find that it had 
 no particular taste, he proceeded to eat it up. 
 
 Very soon he began to change, but instead of 
 growing tall he became shorter. He shrivelled 
 away, till his legs were no thicker than one's thumb, 
 
GOOD AND BAD SEED. 
 
 83 
 
 and he was not half his usual height. From all over 
 his body sprouted green leaves till he was completely 
 enveloped in a cloud of foliage. But the most sur- 
 prising change was to be noticed in his feet. They 
 took firm root so that he could not lift them. His 
 toes began to swell, and bursting through his shoes 
 grew and burrowed into the ground, like so many 
 enormous sweet potatoes. 
 
 In fact, that is just what he became in a few 
 moments ; a very good sized potato bush. Nothing 
 more. It was so funny a sight, especially as the 
 children remembered how he had wanted to grow 
 into something very great and grand, that they burst 
 into shouts of laughter. 
 
 " There's another mistake which you mortals are 
 always making," said the fairy. "You think large 
 things must grow from large seed. Little opportuni- 
 ties, little habits of thought you overlook because you 
 want to be something great, and you stuff yourselves 
 with some great potato, under the delusion that it 
 will produce a great tree. Here now," said she, 
 taking a tiny black speck in her hand, " is the seed 
 of the largest tree in all my garden." 
 
 So the boy was brought back to his own shape, and 
 as he was very good-natured over his mistake, and 
 laughed as heartily as any about his toes growing into 
 potatoes, all the rest were quite ready to try the 
 experiment. One who wished to become some kind 
 
$4 SUNDAY STOEIES. 
 
 of beautiful flower, chose what proved to be cucum- 
 ber seed, and falling down upon his face, every bone 
 in his body began to stretch out long and thin like 
 warm molasses candy. His fingers tapered off into 
 small green threads and curled up like little spiral 
 springs. His neck spun out and out till the children 
 wondered how it could hold together, and all the 
 flowers he bore were made by his ears which 
 expanded into two broad yellow blossoms. 
 
 But not to spin my story out to the same extent, 
 they all made their choice of seeds in turn. Some 
 succeeded in becoming what they wanted to be and 
 others failed. But all of them learned that it was 
 wiser to know beforehand what kind of seed they 
 were taking, than to depend upon its taste or appear- 
 ance. 
 
 When they went home and told their parents all 
 these wonderful things, their parents told them they 
 had fallen asleep and dreamed them. Perhaps they 
 had, for it is certain that they were never able after- 
 wards to find the place in which they had seen the 
 fairy. But whether it was a dream or a real experi- 
 ence, the children never forgot its lesson. When 
 they found themselves doing something which didn't 
 seem exactly right, though it was fun, they stopped 
 and thought, *' I wonder if I am not eating thistle- 
 seed." When they were tempted to make light of 
 little matters of speech or deportment, or thought 
 
GOOD AND BAD SEED. 
 
 8S 
 
 they would some day find a great opportunity to be 
 good, so that it didn't matter about the little chances; 
 they said to themselves, '* Now I am looking for a 
 potato, and if I am ever to be great and good, very 
 likely some little thing is the seed." 
 
 That is precisely what I want to teach you. First 
 that you must think not only of what is pleasant to 
 your taste, but what will bear fruit in your lives in 
 after years ; and next that the noblest characters 
 often grow from the very smallest seeds. You could 
 not all of you tell cucumber from flower seeds, I dare 
 say. Neither can you always tell what will make 
 your after-lives beautiful or ugly. You should be 
 willing to depend upon the knowledge of older peo- 
 ple, who have found out by their own experience 
 what it is good for you to plant in your minds. 
 
 Perhaps some of you wonder why you should go to 
 Sunday-school ; you do not see much use in it some- 
 times. It is because there your teachers are trying 
 to drop into your souls some little seeds of goodness 
 and truth, which will slowly grow and grow, until 
 they fill your whole lives in years to come. It is 
 because they hope thus to make your lives happier ; 
 to keep out of them many thorns and thistles, and to 
 help them not only to blossom into beauty, but to 
 bear fruit which shall be gathered in heaven, long 
 after your lives on earth have closed. 
 
VII. 
 THE HEAVENLY VISION. 
 
 I was not disobedient to the heavenly vision. — Acts, xxvi., 19. 
 
 'T^HIS verse of Scripture has always been very 
 dear to me, and I have selected it as an intro- 
 duction to something I want to say to you, hoping 
 that it may help some of you, as it has helped me. 
 
 It is a saying of the Apostle Paul's, and this is 
 how it came to be spoken : Paul had been accused 
 by the Jews of doing many things contrary to the 
 law, and was making his defense before the King. 
 He told him that at first, after Jesus' death, he had 
 persecuted the Christians. That is, he had them 
 whipped and imprisoned and stoned, believing that 
 he did God service in putting them out of the world. 
 
 But one day, going to Damascus, Jesus suddenly 
 appeared to him in a vision, and not only com- 
 manded him to leave off his persecutions of the 
 Christians, but to go out among the surrounding 
 nations and preach his Gospel. "And," says Paul, 
 " I was not disobedient to the heavenly vision." 
 
 You do not need to be told that in all human prob- 
 ability we should have known nothing about Christ 
 to-day, had it not been for Paul. He it was who 
 
TDE HEAVENLY VISION. 87 
 
 planted the churches outside of Judea, which Uved 
 after Jerusalem had been destroyed and the Jews 
 scattered, and he did this because of a vision. 
 
 If Paul had been disobedient, of course we do not 
 know all the difference it would have made. But we 
 do know that instead of being the greatest and most 
 famous man, save one, in all our history, he would 
 have been forgotten, along with many other Jewish 
 teachers of his day. This vision was not merely im- 
 portant to the world and the cause of religion ; it 
 was a great event to Paul himself, for it w^as the turn- 
 ing point in his whole life. 
 
 Travellers have found in the far West, upon the 
 mountains beyond the great Plains, a little spring 
 just upon the ridge of what is called the water- 
 shed, between two great valleys. It is so situated 
 that any one with a spade could alter the channel in 
 a few minutes, and make it run down either slope at 
 pleasure. Suppose you were to stand beside that 
 spring, and find its waters running toward the west. 
 You would know that they would at length find their 
 way through mountain torrents and deep ravines 
 into the river Colorado, and thence into the Pacific 
 Ocean. 
 
 But suppose you were to dig for it a new channel 
 for a few steps, and set its current towards the East ; 
 how entirely you would change its destiny, for then 
 it would mingle its waters with the noble streams 
 
88 SUNBAY STORIES. 
 
 which cross the wide prairies, until it met the great 
 Father of Rivers — the Mississippi himself — and by 
 him would be carried out into the broad Atlantic. 
 
 Now, just as there is a point in that little stream, 
 when it can be turned in one direction or the other 
 and sent toward either of two oceans which are thou- 
 sands of miles apart, so, when Paul saw this vision, 
 it was the turning point in his life. Afterwards he 
 lived in a different way, among different people, and 
 all he did was in exactly the opposite direction to 
 what he had done before. 
 
 Now, I would like you children to consider two 
 things. The first is, that in every life, and espe- 
 cially in every young life, there are just such turning 
 points. 
 
 To be sure, they are not often so all-important as 
 they were in this case ; but, on the other hand, there 
 are more of them. There are man^ times when what 
 you do turns the direction of your lives in some de- 
 gree, toward the good or the bad ; but never after- 
 wards will anything be likely to make so great a 
 change as now in your youth. You can see readily 
 enough that when the slender rivulet had grown to 
 be a great river, it would be a giant work to make for 
 it a new channel. 
 
 At the beginning is always the time to decide the 
 direction. Says the old proverb, *'As the twig is 
 bent, so is the tree inclined." 
 
THE HEAVENLY VISION. 
 
 The second thought I ask you to consider is that a 
 vision may decide your destiny, as really as it did 
 that of Saint Paul. " A vision ! " I think some of 
 you will exclaim, ''How is that?" We see no vis- 
 ions, except when we sleep, and then we call them 
 dreams. Surely, you do not mean that what we 
 dream is of much importance .'' " But I do mean to 
 say that dreams of one kind and another have a great 
 influence over your lives. Not alone the dreams that 
 come to you in your sleep, though I may have some- 
 thing to say about them ; but I mean, in a general 
 way, the visions in which your mind sees things not 
 seen by your bodily eye. Do you never have day- 
 dreams .'' I know you do, all of you, for I have seen 
 young children stand long moments with deep, won- 
 dering eyes, seeing and hearing nothing going on 
 about them, but looking away and away, they only 
 knew where or what they saw. 
 
 Let me tell you what you sometimes see in such 
 visions. You look through years of the future, and 
 see yourselves grown to manhood and womanhood. 
 You are surrounded by loving friends, whom it is 
 your delight to make happy. You have grown noble 
 and powerful, so that your praises are upon many 
 lips, and many hearts are thanking you for the help 
 you have given. You are helping the world to put 
 away all that is hateful and sinful and unlovely. 
 You have surrounded yourselves with things of 
 
 12 
 
go SUNBAY S TOBIES. 
 
 beauty in beautiful homes, and all your lives are 
 passed in an atmosphere of love and happiness. 
 
 This is a heavenly vision which comes to all chil- 
 dren, and it is a great thing if you are never disobe- 
 dient ; for you soon discover that it is not easy to be 
 so good as you have dreamed of being. When you 
 try to help people they will sometimes give you 
 curses instead of blessings. And, just as Paul was 
 obliged to suffer from the false and evil accusations 
 of his enemies, so there are many things that you 
 will have to suffer if you are obedient to your vision. 
 
 Many a man and many a woman will try for a little 
 while, and then give up. They come to think that 
 their childish dream of being so good and useful was 
 all folly, and afterward they only selfishly take care 
 of themselves, not caring how their neighbor fares, 
 and are only just so good as it is convenient to be. 
 But, let me tell you, that will be a sorry day on which 
 you shall thus disobey the heavenly vision. When 
 your childish faith and hopefulness go out of your 
 lives, that moment all the joy which marks your 
 childhood's years dies out of your hearts. Whatever 
 it costs of labor and sacrifice, you ought always to 
 follow this dream of something happier and better 
 than you have yet known. 
 
 This is the way in which the text has helped me. 
 When it has seemed that it was not worth while to 
 try any longer to be what I should like to be, these 
 
THE HEAVENLY VISION. 91 
 
 words have come to me, '' I was not disobedient to 
 the heavenly vision ; " and the thought of what Paul 
 endured for the sake of his vision, has made me 
 ashamed that I so soon thought of deserting mine. 
 
 I have no doubt that sometimes when you fall into 
 a reverie or day-dream, and see so many things in 
 the far future, if some one were to ask you what you 
 were doing, you would reply, ''Only thinking." But 
 if you once realize that the voice which speaks to 
 you in such visions is the voice of God calling you 
 to a better life, you will no longer say only thinking, 
 and will know that such kind of thought makes a 
 new channel for your lives, leading more directly to 
 the Kingdom of God. 
 
 You know that the ancients gave great importance 
 to the dreams which came to them in sleep. The 
 Old Testament contains many wonderful stories of 
 people who were warned in dreams of the future, 
 and how to meet it. There was Pharaoh's dream, 
 which Joseph interpreted, foretelling the famine 
 which afterward caiiie. 
 
 There was the strange dream of King Nebuchad- 
 nezzar, which he could not remember, and was after- 
 ward revealed to Daniel in a dream, together with 
 its interpretation. And there are scores of others, 
 equally wonderful and curious. 
 
 Many times a dream will make an impression that 
 you will carry for days and days. Indeed, I know 
 
92 
 
 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 that I have had dreams which I shall never forget, 
 however long I may live. 
 
 There is one remarkable thing abont a dream, 
 which sometimes makes it of great importance. 
 When we actually do wrong to another, straight- 
 way we begin to try to make it appear to ourselves 
 that we hadn't done wrong at all. 
 
 Suppose one of you children gets provoked and 
 strikes a playmate. What do you say.? Why, you 
 say: "I don't care — she needn't have taken my 
 doll;" or, "If he didn't want to get hurt, what did 
 he break my hoop for.?" And not alone you, little 
 ones, but also many older people, as ■ soon as their 
 conscience begins to accuse them, seek to put all the 
 blame upon some one else. Now, in a dream you do 
 not do this so much, and I believe not at all ; when 
 you dream of doing wrong you are always very sorry 
 for it, and so, sometimes in your sleep, you see what 
 is right and what is wrong more clearly than you do 
 in your waking moments. 
 
 Let me tell you a short story to show you what I 
 mean. There was once a little girl who was not by 
 any means generally naughty, but who had peevish 
 moods, when it seemed to her that everybody and 
 everything tried to torment her. If she wanted very 
 much to do something, her mamma was' sure to say 
 that she must not ; and all her toys would lose or 
 break themselves, or behave in some terribly aggra- 
 
THE HEAVENLY VISION. g. 
 
 vating way. Of course, the fact was, she herself 
 was hateful, and so she thought all the world must 
 be so. 
 
 Well, in one of these moods, she decided that she 
 would go out for a walk ; and, sure enough, mamma 
 said she must stay in the house. It was a damp, 
 unwholesome day, when she would run a great risk 
 of making herself sick, and this her mother tried to 
 tell her. But she knew it was only that her mother 
 took delight in making her cry, and so she said some 
 very saucy and hasty words, and threw herself upon 
 the sofa, to have a real, good, satisfactory cry. 
 
 She sobbed and sobbed, waiting for mamma to 
 come and make it up ; but mamma, with a very 
 grave face, kept steadily on with her sewing. 
 
 So the little girl grew angrier, and cried harder 
 than ever, till at length she cried herself to sleep. 
 At first she seemed to be in a great dark wood, 
 and the wind roaring through the branches over- 
 head, filled her with dread. She was all alone, and 
 searched in vain for some path to lead her into the 
 light. So, crying out for help, she went stumbling 
 up and down for days and days together, until finally 
 a great root tripped her and she fell. 
 
 She was not hurt, but angry, and as soon as she 
 had risen, picked up a long stick and beat the tree as 
 long as she was able. Suddenly all the wood van- 
 ished, and as she looked up she saw that instead of 
 
94 
 
 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 the tree, she was beating her mother, who looked 
 down upon her with sad, reproachful eyes. Instantly 
 she sank at her mother's feet to implore forgiveness, 
 when once more she was alone — alone in the midst 
 of a great plain. As far as eye could reach not a 
 living thing could be seen ; not a single bird was in 
 the heavens, not a blade of grass above the ground. 
 No breath of air was stirring, and all was dead 
 silence, save a faint moan, which seemed to rise out 
 of the earth, ever and ever so far away. 
 
 Slowly and sadly she wandered on in the direction 
 whence this sound proceeded, until all at once she 
 found herself on the brink of a rapid river, whose 
 inky waters leaped and roared far beneath her. 
 
 "What river is this.^" asked the child, with a 
 vague notion that she had never heard of it in her 
 geography. The words were no sooner out of her 
 mouth than a great shriek rang out, and " Remorse, 
 Remorse, Remorse!" went echoing away back into 
 the ravine from which the river came. 
 
 And now wherever she looked she could only see 
 her mother's sad, reproachful eyes. They looked 
 dow^n upon her from the clouds, which were growing 
 heavier ; they were being carried quickly past by 
 every wave below. Wherever she turned her gaze, 
 those eyes, full of grief, looked back at her. 
 
 " Oh ! what shall I do, what shall I do ? " she 
 cried, and then the earth began sinking under her 
 
THE HEAVENLY VISION. 95 
 
 feet. Down, clown, down, she fell. It seemed to be 
 a great slide of the bank, off into the black waters, 
 and scrambling- for a foothold amongst the rolling 
 stones, bruised and bleeding and crying for help, 
 down she went, the sad eyes still following her. 
 
 She heard the splash of the water as the great 
 rocks before her leaped in ; but, just as she herself 
 was sinking into their chill embrace, there stood 
 mamma upon the brink with arms stretched out to 
 save her. 
 
 With a cry of mingled joy and terror, the child 
 sprang forward, and found herself close clasped in 
 her mother's arms. '' What has my darling been 
 dreaming that she cries out so in her sleep } " said a 
 soft, soothing voice. But for a long time she could 
 only soh out a prayer for forgiveness for the ugly 
 words she had spoken before she went to sleep. 
 
 She had had her vision, and she never forgot it. 
 The memory of those eyes she had seen in her 
 dream never left her, and whenever she afterward 
 felt tempted to say anything wrong, the vision all 
 came back to her, and her anger was melted in an 
 instant. 
 
 I cannot pretend that through all my boyhood 
 years I was as truthful as George Washington is 
 said to have been, for, although I have no very 
 distinct remembrance about it, I dare say that I 
 might have told a few moderate falsehoods. But of 
 
96 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 this I am sure, that I should have told a great many 
 more except for a dream I once had. I dreamed of 
 throwing my ball through a large glass window, and 
 that, when the owner of the house came out and 
 asked me if I did it, I said ''No." Then I thought 
 he pounced upon a playmate, of whom I was very 
 fond, saying, '' It must be you, then," and dragging 
 him in, gave him a sound whipping. 
 
 No words can express how mean and degraded I 
 felt, in my dream, as I heard that boy's cries. Had 
 I been awake I should likely enough have said, 
 ** Well, he need not have been standing around 
 there, if he didn't want to be whipped." But not 
 so in my sleep. I felt as if I was the meanest, most 
 cowardly wretch on the face of the earth, and I had 
 not a single word to say in my own defense. I never 
 should be able to make you understand how I loathed 
 and abhorred myself — how ashamed I was of my 
 own presence — unless you have had such a dream 
 yourselves. 
 
 After I awoke it was a long while before I could 
 shake off the impression that I had actually done 
 something terribly mean. The dream gave me such 
 an instinctive hatred and horror of all lies, as I do 
 not believe I could have been made to feel in any 
 other way. 
 
 But I do not want you to think that these are the 
 only heavenly visions to which you ought to be 
 
THE UEAVEXLY VISION. gj 
 
 obedient. The vision is something that tells you 
 what is right and what is wrong, and oftentimes only 
 speaks very clearly in a dream, because then you do 
 not seem to care to defend yourself against your 
 conscience. If some one had tried to convince Paul 
 that he ought not to persecute the Christians, he 
 would have found plenty of reasons why he should. 
 But when Jesus appeared to him in the vision, and 
 said, " Saul ! Saul ! why persecutest thou me.'' " Paul 
 had not a word to say. But, wherever you may be, 
 and however occupied, when it flashes upon you 
 what you ought to do, that is your heavenly vision ; 
 and better that you had never been born than that 
 you should not obey it. 
 
 I remember to have read or heard or imagined the 
 story of a boy who once tried to whip a favorite dog. 
 He had struck him many times before in a passion, 
 and never thought it any worse than to strike a rock. 
 But this time something in the dog's cry, or in the 
 piteous look of his eye, made him feel how cruel he 
 was. So suddenly it came upon him that it caught 
 him with his hand raised, in the act of striking. It 
 seemed to be a power holding him back — as of old, 
 the angels caught Abraham's hand when he was 
 about to kill his son. Indeed, I think that is pre- 
 cisely what the old story about Abraham and Isaac 
 means. 
 
 He was just ready to slay Isaac, according to an 
 
SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 old heathen custom, that he might offer up his body- 
 as a burnt offering. But even as he had the knife 
 poised in air, suddenly he saw what a hideous act it 
 was ; and his arm was stayed, as by an angel from 
 heaven. 
 
 Such heavenly visions come to us all, when a great 
 light bursts upon us, and our duty is made plain. 
 You have all, perhaps, on some summer evening, 
 watched the coming up of a thunder storm. You 
 will see only a great indistinct mass of heavy clouds 
 rolling up the sky and casting a deep shadow over all 
 the landscape. Then will come a dazzling flash of 
 lightning. For an instant everything will appear in 
 a great glare of light. The distant hills, the trees 
 and houses near you, will be as' plainly seen as at 
 noonday, and into the surface of the cloud will be 
 stamped a long zigzag line of flame. So, where all is 
 dark and uncertain, there sometimes bursts upon us 
 a clear picture of the right. And it will be the 
 greatest of all things for you children, if in after 
 years you can look back upon such an experience, 
 and say, like Paul, '' I was not disobedient to the 
 heavenly vision." 
 
VIII. 
 MODESTY. 
 
 Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. — Matt. v. 5. 
 
 TT'AR away in the heart of a great wilderness liv^ed 
 a lion, who was acknowledged to be king, by 
 all the beasts in that part of the world. He was 
 very large and strong, and of course if he could 
 master other lions, he had nothing to fear from such 
 animals as wolves and bears. 
 
 This lion had a kind of court, as kings do, that is, 
 he gathered about him the strongest and the swiftest 
 of the other animal tribes, and made them hunt for 
 him, or to act as scouts to bring him reports where 
 game could be found. On condition that they did 
 this service for him well, the King promised not to 
 eat them. All other animals in his dominions he 
 would devour, whenever he felt hungry and could 
 catch them. 
 
 Of course there was great fear of him among all 
 his subjects, and a great desire to attach themselves 
 to his Court, for those only whom the King would 
 deign to employ, were safe from his hungry jaws. 
 Even these had always to dread that in some 
 outburst of anger he might turn upon them, and so 
 they all sought to please him by flattery. 
 
loo SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 Partly because those about him were always telling 
 him what a powerful and magnificent animal he was, 
 and partly because he was naturally rather vain, the 
 lion became a great boaster, and thought that as he 
 never had been, he never could be beaten in fight. 
 
 One day the Court was all assembled about the 
 King, who, having just finished a hearty dinner, was 
 \'ery good-natured ; though now and then he could 
 not forbear lashing with his great tail the little 
 monkeys who acted as his pages, just for the fun of 
 hearing them cry with pain. Every little while he 
 would walk majestically back and forth before his 
 courtiers, giving one of his loud roars, at which they 
 all fell trembling with fright, and this pleased him 
 very much. Still, he was, for him, very good- 
 natured, and the Court was enjoying quite a comfort- 
 able afternoon, when suddenly there was a loud 
 trampling and crackling among the bushes, and 
 while all were looking to see what caused it, the 
 great head of an elephant was pushed through the 
 thicket. 
 
 Its astonished owner stopped upon finding himself 
 an intruder, and would have retired, only he was 
 curious to know what the scene meant. It chanced 
 that this was the first elephant that had ever entered 
 the lion king's dominions ; so neither he nor his 
 courtiers knew what kind of animal this great black 
 head and long swinging nose belonged to. 
 
M DDK STY. 
 
 All the smaller animals were thrown into great 
 terror by its sudden appearance, and crouched trem- 
 bling behind their King. And he, if the truth were 
 known, felt his knees shake a little — with anger as 
 he afterwards said — but really in fear. But he knew 
 that he must not show any weakness, so he put on a 
 bold face, and demanded of the elephant how he dared 
 to enter his presence without leave, and what reason 
 he could give why he should not be killed and eaten 
 on the spot. 
 
 At this all the animals set up a great howl, which 
 was meant for applause of their King, and made the 
 elephant open his eyes to their widest extent. When 
 he had a little recovered from his astonishment, he 
 answered courteously enough, that he came from a 
 distant part of the country, and had never heard of 
 his Majesty. He had strayed from the herd to 
 which he belonged, and was wandering about aim- 
 lessly, when he chanced to stumble upon their place 
 of meeting. Being innocent of any wrong intent, he 
 hoped the King would do him no harm, but permit 
 him to withdraw. 
 
 Finding him thus peaceably disposed, all the ani- 
 mals at once regained their courage, and began to 
 clamor for the King to put him to death instantly. 
 But the King suspected that this might not be so 
 easy, and feeling some curiosity moreover to look at 
 the elephant, he professed himself satisfied with the 
 
102 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 answer, and invited liim to come forward, assuring 
 him at the same time in a very patronizing way, that 
 none of his subjects should hurt him. So the 
 elephant stepped out from the bushes, and again 
 made a little panic of fright among the beasts, as his 
 tremendous size was disclosed to view. 
 
 However, his quiet and gentle manner at once 
 reassured them, and they soon began to laugh at 
 his clumsiness, and to play tricks with him. The 
 monkeys began to climb his trunk, and when he 
 shook them off because their claws pierced his 
 thick skin, they declared that they had mistaken it 
 for the stump of a dead tree. The squirrels bur- 
 rowed into his huge ears, saying that they supposed 
 them to be hollows in trees, and thought that they 
 should find stores of hickory nuts laid up there. The 
 foxes bit his heels, just to see, they said, whether 
 they were really made of wood. 
 
 The elephant took all this in a very good-natured 
 way, so that instead of fearing him they all began to 
 despise him, the Lion most of all. "Still, one might 
 make such a stupid brute useful," thought the King. 
 "I might train him to bring home the game after I 
 have killed it, and thus save myself many a weary 
 tug." But he never thought of asking the elephant 
 whether he would like to engage in his service. He 
 simply informed him in a lordly way that he would 
 be permitted to remain at Court, and would not be 
 harmed so long as he did what was required of him. 
 
MODESTY. ^ 103 
 
 Now the elephant cared nothing for threats. He 
 was not afraid, but at the same time he liked to live 
 in peace. He knew well enough that he had tre- 
 mendous strength, but he never boasted of it, and 
 never needed it except to defend himself. So he 
 cared nothing for the Lion's bragging, and as there 
 was plenty of food for him in the neighborhood, he 
 thought he might as well spend a little time in 
 ** society." 
 
 He remained some days at Court, and because he 
 did not roar and rave about like the Lion, all the 
 beasts became confirmed in the opinion that he was 
 a great coward, who wouldn't dare to fight a mouse. 
 
 At last one day the King went a-hunting, and all 
 the court went with him. He succeeded in killing a 
 fine large buck, which he ordered the elephant to 
 carry home. With his usual good nature the 
 elephant wound his trunk about the body of the deer, 
 swung it upon his back and trudged^ along. 
 
 Now while they were yet at some distance from 
 home, the elephant, feeling hungry, stopped to browse 
 on the lower limbs of a tree under which he chanced 
 to pass. The Lion, being also hungry, ordered him 
 to come along and not keep his betters waiting for 
 their dinners. The elephant replied that he only 
 wanted a few mouthfuls, and would come along 
 directly ; whereupon the King flew into a great rage 
 and declared that he would kill him then and there. 
 
104 < SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 So he walked up to him foaming at the mouth and 
 lashing his tail. But the elephant was ready for him. 
 Just as he saw the Lion crouching to spring at his 
 throat, quick as thought he wrapped the long trunk 
 about him, picked him up from the ground, and 
 giving him a swing tossed him some distance away 
 unhurt. 
 
 Here was a pickle for a Lion and a King to be in, 
 with all his court looking on to see him beaten. He 
 did not much relish the idea of trying it again, but 
 he knew that he would be Kins; no lono-er if he 
 acknowledged himself vanquished. 
 
 The elephant also knew that he could have no 
 more peace with the Lion ; for if the latter found he 
 could not kill him in open battle, he would some time 
 spring upon him in his sleep. So he determined to 
 finish the King then and there. As he advanced 
 once more the elephant was ready. Catching him 
 again Avith his trunk, he lifted him high up in the air 
 and dashed him violently upon the ground, with so 
 much force as to break half the bones in his body. 
 The Lion had just life enough left to crawl away, and 
 what became of him none of his Court ever knew. 
 He was never heard of again in that country. 
 
 The beasts were all very glad to be relieved from 
 fear of him, and made the elephant King in his 
 place. 
 
 This story illustrates my first point, which is, that 
 
MODESTY. 105 
 
 they who possess the highest strength and courage 
 are modest or meek. The braggart is always at heart 
 something of a coward, and is never so much of a 
 person as he gives himself out to be. I think you 
 will never find the maxim fail, that people who are 
 really powerful like the elephant, in respect of mind 
 or body, are also modest people who never boast of 
 their strength, and do not show it upon all occasions, 
 but who nevertheless know well enough how to use 
 it when the time comes. 
 
 People who think they know more or are stronger 
 in any way, than all the rest of the world put 
 together, are pretty sure to find, like the Lion, some 
 one or something that can take the conceit out of 
 them. 
 
 Now I know that children are pretty sharp and 
 clear-sighted, so I need not tell you that I have not 
 yet shown the verse at the beginning of my story to 
 be true. Suppose that all strong people are meek, 
 that is not saying that all meek people are strong. 
 You might say that everybody's head is round, but 
 that would not be saying that every round thing is a 
 head, for there are apples and pumpkins, and many 
 things that are round as well as heads. 
 
 So now having shown you that great strength is 
 modest, I must try to show you that in modesty is 
 strength. Or as the text says, The meek shall 
 inherit the earth. And this will be the second point 
 I shall try to illustrate. 
 
io6 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 A spider once in the spring-time made a very large 
 and beautiful web across a little cleft in some rocks, 
 calculating that it would supply him with food all 
 summer long. Just after it was finished there blew 
 into it a little thistle seed, which, having some of its 
 last year's down still upon it, was caught and held 
 fast. Out came the spider, thinking he had caught 
 a fly, and when he found only a thistle-seed, he was 
 very angry. 
 
 The seed said to the spider, " I am only a little 
 mite of a thing, please carry me out into the sun- 
 light, where I shall find more room to grow." But 
 the spider replied that he should have trouble enough 
 to mend his web, and would do nothing but drop the 
 seed into the little dark hole underneath. 
 
 Very soon a little pale green head began to peer 
 up from this dark corner toward the light. One day 
 the spider caught sight of it. '* Hullo ! " said he to 
 himself, " so that ugly little seed has begun to grow ! " 
 ** I say," he called out, ''what do you expect to come 
 to, down there. If I were such a sickly-looking thing 
 as you, I would give up and die." " To be sure," 
 replied the young thistle, " I am yet small and weak, 
 and not very healthy here in the dark. But I get a 
 little sun, sometimes, and with his light to help me I 
 hope by and by, to get out into open day." " Pooh ! " 
 said the spider. " It is precious little notice that the 
 sun will take of you, I think. And besides, don't 
 
MODESTY. 
 
 107 
 
 you see that I have spun my web directly over you ? 
 You can't get out through that." The thistle only 
 replied that it would do the best it could. 
 
 Day by day it kept growing, and as the spider saw 
 how large it was, he began to strengthen his web. 
 He spun it so fine and it looked so solid, that the 
 poor thistle sometimes gave itself up for lost, and 
 thought it should never get out to daylight. Then 
 the spider was so confident, , and laughed so loudly at 
 what he called the pretensions of the thistle, that its 
 courage grew less and less every day. But it kept 
 on growing, and after a time its head pushed up 
 against the centre of the web and began to lift it. 
 Then the spider became alarmed. He ran hither 
 and thither, strengthening his little silken ropes. 
 But of course it was of no use. The thistle was now 
 up where the sun shone upon it and it grew very fast. 
 So in a week more, nothing was left of the web but a 
 few tatters flying in the wind, and the spider had all 
 his work to do over aoain. 
 
 The thistle was strongest, because it meekly relied 
 upon the help of the sun, while the spider vainly 
 trusted in the strength of the little threads he had 
 spun out of himself. 
 
 So there is a sun from which our souls derive help. 
 If we are vain and proud like the spider, we shall 
 trust wholly in what we can do of ourselves. If we 
 are meek in disposition, we shall ask God, the sun of 
 
io8 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 our lives, to help us ; and when his strength comes 
 into our hearts, we shall make short work with all 
 the cobwebs. 
 
 Now let me try to put the same truth into a little 
 story rather more like real life. There were once 
 two boys who set out together to seek their fortunes, 
 and first they decided to go to sea. So they walked 
 to the city, and found a ship just about to sail. 
 They found her captain, and asked him if he would 
 take them. The captain inquired what they knew 
 about a ship. One of them, named Tom, said at 
 once, " Oh ! a great deal." The other, named Joe, 
 said, *' Not much," but he would try to learn. '' Can 
 you furl the yard-arm ? " asked the captain. Now of 
 course, no one can do that, any more than he can 
 fold up a board, and the captain only asked this to 
 catch them. - Neither knew what it meant, but Joe 
 said at once that he could not. Tom said, "Oh, yes," 
 he knew all about furling the yard-arm. "Very well," 
 said the captain, "you may do that for me, and Joe 
 may coil up this rope. If you do your tasks well, I 
 will employ you." 
 
 Tom immediately began running about among the 
 sailors, asking them where he could find the yard- 
 arm, and how he should furl it. Some simply 
 laughed at him, others sent him to various parts of 
 the ship above and below decks. At length one fel- 
 low told him that to furl the yard-arm, a man had to 
 
MODESTY. 109 
 
 be pulled up into the rigging by a rope made fast to 
 his heels, and untie certain knots in the shrouds. So 
 the man tied a rope to Tom and pulled him up a lit- 
 tle way from the deck, where he left him hanging by 
 his heels, to the great amusement of the sailors. 
 
 Meantime, Joe looked about him and saw one of 
 the men coiling a rope, and after watching him a 
 moment, he knew how to do the task the captain had 
 set for him, and did it so carefully and neatly that 
 when the captain came out from the cabin, he told 
 Joe that he had done very well, and as he was short 
 of hands, at once engaged him for the voyage. 
 
 Tom, too, was so humble when brought down to 
 the deck again, that the captain was prevailed upon to 
 take him also. So they sailed away from port, and 
 after they had recovered from their first sea-sickness, 
 set about learning to be sailors. Tom always thought 
 he could do everything, was always thrusting himself 
 forward, and consequently got into a great many bad 
 scrapes, without learning much after all. Joe kept 
 his eyes open, but never boasted, and only did what 
 he was asked to do, as well as he was able. The con- 
 sequence was that he learned very fast, and soon 
 became a handy sailor. 
 
 The ship, after being out some weeks, encountered 
 a very heavy storm, and the men were forced to work 
 night and day till they were nearly worn out. But 
 at length the storm subsided, and they ran into a very 
 
SUNDAY STOEIES. 
 
 thick fog so that a sharp lookout had to be kept up 
 every moment to guard against running into other 
 vessels. Now Tom had thought it would be a very- 
 fine thing to be stationed up aloft, and cry out, *' Sail 
 on the starboard bow ! " as the lookout did. So the 
 day after the storm he besought the officer on duty 
 to let him go up and take the lookout's place for an 
 hour or two, in order that he might get some rest. 
 The officer knew that the lookout man was very much 
 exhausted, as all the men were, and after questioning 
 Tom to make sure that he knew starboard from port, 
 he consented, but cautioned him to keep his eyes 
 open. 
 
 So Tom went aloft and relieved the lookout, and 
 felt very grand at taking this responsible place. For 
 a little while he looked very eagerly, but nothing 
 came in sight, and the fog was so thick that he could 
 only see a little way ahead. The officer frequently 
 called to him, to make sure he was doing his duty, 
 and he replied so promptly that the officer's fears 
 were quieted. 
 
 But Tom found it rather chilly work, and it 
 occurred to him that if he could lash himself to 
 the mast, he could put his hands in his pockets and 
 keep them warm. So he took the end of one of the 
 ropes used in furling the sails, and proceeded to tie 
 his body firmly to the mast. But there were several 
 knots to be untied first, and, as this took some little 
 time, Tom forgot all about keeping the lookout. 
 
MODESTY. Ill 
 
 At length, just as he had finished, he glanced up 
 and saw a great ship close upon them on his port or 
 left-hand side. It was well that he was tied to the 
 mast, or in his sudden fright he would have fallen. 
 His brain grew confused, and he shouted, " Sail close 
 on the starboard," which means right. Now, the two 
 ships would have passed each other if they had both 
 kept straight on. But the man at the helm hearing 
 Tom's cry, instantly put his helm so as to' turn his 
 ship toward the left, and, owing to Tom's mistake, 
 ran her directly into the side of the other vessel. 
 
 There was a great crash ; captain and men came 
 running on deck, axes were brought, and after a time 
 the ships were cut loose from each other. Then it 
 was seen that the stranger's side was completely 
 crushed in, and hardly had they got away from her 
 when she filled and sank. Her crew, all who had 
 not climbed into the other ship through the rigging, 
 while they were fast locked together, jumped into 
 the water, and the captain of Tom's ship instantly 
 ordered the boats to be lowered. But before he could 
 be obeyed a boat shot out from under the vessel's 
 stern, in which Joe was rowing with all his might. 
 
 When he came on deck, after the collision, he saw 
 he could be of no use forward, so he quietly went aft 
 and managed somehow to lower one of the boats, to 
 be ready for an emergency. So, just as soon as he 
 saw the men in the water, he pulled away, and before 
 
112 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 another boat could be lowered he had picked them 
 all up. So Joe figured as the hero of the occasion ; 
 while, after the helmsman told his story, poor Tom 
 got nothing but a scolding. 
 
 I am sure it will not surprise you to be told that 
 Tom never found his fortune as a sailor, and that 
 Joe became in after years captain of many ships, and 
 won his way to the confidence and respect of all who 
 had to do 'with him. 
 
 What I want you to see is this : that one boy 
 failed because he thought he knew everything, and 
 was always thrusting himself forward into places 
 which he could not fill ; and that the other succeeded 
 because he modestly waited till he should be called 
 upon, and undertook nothing which he was not sure 
 of accomplishing. This, to be sure, is not all that 
 Jesus meant by the word meekness, but it is part of 
 it, and that part which I think children have most 
 need to learn. , 
 
 You must learn by hard experience, if you will not 
 learn without, that you are very far from knowing 
 everything, and from being able to do everything 
 that you would like to do. When you learn this, 
 you are meek, as Christ means us to be. 
 
 You will sometimes hear it said that the great 
 secret of success is what is called, in slang phrase, 
 "cheek." If one only has "cheek" enough, some 
 people think, he will get on in the world well enough. 
 
MODESTY. 
 
 113 
 
 Don't believe a word of such nonsense — not a word! 
 People must have courage and resolution, but the 
 self-conceited man is almost sure to come to failure 
 in the end. 
 
 You must learn, first of all, to look up to God; 
 feeling that you have great need of His help, and 
 that without His blessing you can do nothing. 
 
 You must learn in the next place that you have 
 need of the counsel and advice of all that are older 
 and wiser than you. You must not allow yoursel-ves 
 to think, " Oh, yes ; I know all about it. I can do 
 everything that I want to do." You must know that 
 the duties of life are very serious things, and not to 
 be done easily. 
 
 If you see a boy who says to himself, '' Oh, that's 
 nothing — I can do that perfectly ; " you may be 
 pretty sure that he will make a blunder before he 
 gets through. If he has the feeling, ''I'll do the best 
 I can," he is much more likely to get through suc- 
 cessfully. This, I suppose, is what Christ meant by 
 saying that the meek shall inherit the earth. They 
 who modestly try to do what they can, will succeed 
 better than those who think they can do everything. 
 
 15 
 
IX. 
 
 THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. 
 
 The kingdom of heaven-is like unto a merchantman seeking goodly 
 pearls ; who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and 
 sold all that he had and bought it. — Matt. xiii. 45, 46. 
 
 "X/'OU do not know, dear children — nor can you 
 know, till in older years you look back upon 
 your childhood — how much you have to be grateful 
 for, which other people when they were children did 
 not enjoy. A few hundred years ago, as you will 
 learn from your histories, the only schooling children 
 could get was what they could remember of the lec- 
 tures of monks. 
 
 There were no books for them, and most of them 
 had never been taught to read or write, when these 
 monks or schoolmen began to lecture. But hundreds 
 of them in England begged, their way to the towns, 
 and there got all their living by begging, in order 
 that they might hear what these monks could tell. 
 
 Since that day the schools have grown better and 
 better ; but even now you will hear many fathers say, 
 "Oh, if I only could have had the benefit of such 
 schools as my boys and girls attend." 
 
 People's ideas about a church, what it can do for 
 them and their children, and what it means to join a 
 church, have all changed a great deal. 
 
THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. 
 
 I am not going to trouble you about this change 
 further than as it applies to you children. Suppose, 
 on a bright summer's day, you were to enter a great 
 empty church, with windows all closed and shades 
 down ; a damp, mouldy smell in the air, which would 
 send the shivers all over you; heavy, gloomy shad- 
 ows on all its walls, and the hollow echoes soundino- 
 away up in the dim roof whenever you ventured to 
 speak. Should you not say, *• Oh, dear ! let us hurry 
 out into the open air, where we can see the sun and 
 hear the birds.?" Well, that is something like the 
 feeling children used to have about church. 
 
 Now, suppose on some dreary November day you 
 were forced to take a little journey, say a walk home 
 from school through a cold rain and colder wind. 
 Suppose, all wet through to your skin, and feeling 
 as if your back bone were one great icicle, tired, 
 hungry and discouraged, you should reach your 
 home, and, just before mounting the steps, should 
 catch a glimpse, through the window, of the bright 
 fire and the happy faces gathered about it. How 
 beautiful it would look to you, and how glad you 
 would be to get home ! 
 
 That is the way we should like to make children 
 feel about the church. We want to get all the 
 brightness and good cheer into it that we can, and 
 shut outside all the darkness and cold. When you 
 think of religion, we want you to think of something 
 
ii6 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 which will make you a great deal happier in life than 
 you can be without it. 
 
 In one of his shorter parables, Jesus says : '* The 
 kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchantman seek- 
 ing goodly pearls ; who, when he had found one pearl 
 of great price, went and sold all that he had and 
 bought it." That means that one's religion should 
 be more beautiful and precious than anything else on 
 earth. That is just the thought I wish to impress 
 upon you, and of course I must try to tell you how it 
 can be worth so much, and why it has so much 
 beauty. I think I can do that rather better by a 
 story than in any other way. 
 
 There was once a boy who went out into the world 
 to seek his fortune. Of course, all you who have 
 read the story-books know that boys once did that a 
 great deal, though now-a-days they do not go away 
 till they know where they are going. But all the 
 books tell about bright little fellows who, without 
 even a penny of spending-money, and with no idea 
 of going to any particular place, went out to seek 
 their fortunes. So this boy, who shall be called 
 Edwin, set off one bright morning, without telling 
 even his mother what was in his mind, and resolved 
 not to come back again till he should be rich and 
 famous. 
 
 As he went along all the birds asked of him, 
 ^' Where are you going, little boy, with such a bright 
 
THE OXE THING NEEDFUL. 
 
 117 
 
 look on your face?" and Edwin answered, "I am 
 going to seek my fortune." "And what fortune do 
 you seek ? " asked they again. " Riches and fame," 
 replied the boy. 
 
 Then the birds stopped singing, and looked after 
 him curiously till he was out of sight. As he 
 trudged on through the forest, the deer started 
 from his path ; but, seeing that he did not notice 
 them, they stopped to ask, ''Where are you going, 
 little boy, with such a far-away look in your eyes ? " 
 and Edwin answered as before. Then the deer 
 shook their heads, as if they did not know what to 
 make of it, and watched him until he was out of 
 sight. 
 
 He came to a river, wide and deep, but he rushed 
 in and nearly drowned himself before he could scram- 
 ble back to the shore. There was a horse grazing 
 upon the bank, who said to him, " Where are you 
 going, little boy, that you are in such great haste ? " 
 '* To seek my fortune," Edwin replied. The horse 
 could make nothing out of it, but he offered to carry 
 him across the river. So Edwin climbed upon his 
 back, and was taken safely over. But he was in such 
 haste that he hardly paused to thank the horse, who 
 stood long on the bank, watching him till he had 
 gone out of sight. 
 
 At last the boy met a man on horseback, who 
 asked, " Who are you, my boy, that you so boldly 
 
ii8 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 enter the dominions of our sovereign lord, the 
 king ? " ** I am going to seek my fortune," said 
 Edwin, and passed on. The horseman wheeled 
 about and looked after him a little ; then, putting 
 spurs to his horse, soon overtook him. " You are a 
 plucky little fellow," said he, ''but you can't get 
 much farther at that pace. Climb up behind me, 
 and I will carry you a league or two on your jour- 
 ney." Edwin gladly accepted the invitation, and 
 was soon seated astride the powerful animal, clinging 
 round the waist of his rider. Then the horse broke 
 at once into a run. The horseman urged him on 
 faster and faster, to try how well the boy behind him 
 could keep his seat. They rushed through dense 
 thickets and under low boughs, which caught 
 Edwin's clothing and even tore his flesh. They 
 leaped great rocks and floundered through bogs. 
 Still the boy held fast to the rider's waist. At 
 length, with a great bound, the horse plunged from a 
 little bluff into the waters of a lake below. Down 
 they sank, all three. But when they came up again, 
 Edwin was still in his place. So, after that, the 
 horseman drew rein a little, and they trotted leis- 
 urely along, till they entered a beautiful park, and 
 rode up to the porch of a palace all glittering with 
 gold and jewels. Then said the horseman, as they 
 dismounted, '' Since you ride so well, let us see what 
 kind of page you will make ; " and Edwin followed 
 him into the palace. 
 
TTIE OXE THING NEEDFUL. 
 
 The knight gave him a splendid suit of livery, and, 
 after he himself had dressed, led the way to the great 
 hall. Here, seated about a long table, upon which 
 glittered great heaps of gold and precious gems, sat 
 a king and his courtiers, drinking and gambling. 
 Pages were coming and going, bearing huge flagons 
 of wine, and among these Edwin took his place, as 
 his master seated himself at the table. 
 
 Every now and then a fierce quarrel would break 
 forth. Men would take each other by the throat, 
 and for a few moments all would be in an uproar. 
 But then the king would rise, and in an instant the 
 tumult would be stilled. Rapidly the dice rattled, 
 swiftly the piles of gold were changed, and deep and 
 often drank the knights. But the wine soon began 
 to overpower their senses. One after another they 
 fell fast asleep, dice-box in hand, till even the king 
 was snoring loudly. The pages stole away as their 
 masters' heads sank upon their breasts, till Edwini 
 was left alone. Quickly seizing one of the rich rugs,, 
 which was spread upon the floor, he tied the corners, 
 together in such a way as to make a sack, and threw 
 into it armful after armful of the glittering treasure, 
 till he could just stagger under the load. Then,, 
 watching his opportunity, he stole as noiselessly as. 
 possible through the long hall and out into the 
 open air. 
 
 In the stables were always the fleetest horses 
 
SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 Standing ready, saddled and bridled, and Edwin 
 had little difficulty in leading" one out and hoisting 
 his load to the saddle bow. Then off he went at full 
 pace, not caring where, except to get away from 
 the palace. *' Hurrah!" said he, "I have found my 
 fortune." 
 
 He had not ridden far before shouts of pursuit 
 broke upon his ear. His escape had been discovered 
 and the knights were all after him. But, by good 
 luck, Edwin had taken the best horse ; and so, 
 despite his heavy load, long kept in the advance. 
 His pursuers gained upon him, however, and were at 
 his very heels, when a sharp turn in the road brought 
 him to a bridge over the stream which marked the 
 boundary of the king's dominions. H^is horse car- 
 ried him across, but at the first bound upon the 
 other side fell dead. Edwin rolled over and over, 
 stunned by the fall. 
 
 When he again came to consciousness, no one was 
 to be seen. He ran back eagerly to his dead steed, 
 and there was still his precious bundle hung to the 
 saddle-bow ; but when he peeped in, he found that 
 all his rich gold had turned into a heap of filthy dirt. 
 
 " Well," said he, " I see that I must seek some 
 better fortune than riches ; " and once more he set 
 forth on his pilgrimage. But now, when the birds 
 asked him where he was going, he replied, " I am 
 seeking fame ; I will be a great man. All the world 
 
THE OXE THIXG NEEDFUL. 121 
 
 shall hear of me, and every mouth shall be full of my 
 praise." At last, as he went forward, the air began 
 to be full of the shouts of a distant multitude, and 
 very soon he could distinguish names which thou- 
 sands of voices seemed to be crying out at once. 
 Presently his path led him to the brow of a little hill, 
 and there stretched before him a vast plain, filled as 
 far as his eye could reach with a dense crowd. In 
 the centre rose a stately temple in which a magnifi- 
 cent queen was seated, and on the steps stood 
 heralds with long brass trumpets. 
 
 While Edwin looked, he saw a man mount the 
 steps and kneel before the queen, who placed a 
 crown of laurel upon his brow. Then his name was 
 given to the heralds, who shouted it through their 
 trumpets, and it was taken up in thundering tones 
 by all the people. *' This," said Edwin, " is the 
 Goddess of Fame, and if I can make my way to her 
 throne, I shall become famous, and 7/ij' name will be 
 shouted by all the people." But how to get there 
 was the question, for this was precisely what every 
 one in the crowd was trying to do, and they were all 
 packed together so closely that though he looked for 
 hours and hours, he could not find the smallest 
 opening. 
 
 At last a bright idea came into his mind. A tree 
 stood near him, and its branches extended out over 
 the heads of the crowd. Taking off his boots, he 
 16 
 
SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 clambered up to the lowest bough, and creeping" out 
 upon it a little way, he found he could almost touch 
 the heads of the people beneath, though they were 
 so busy watching the temple and shouting the names, 
 as one after another the attendant heralds called 
 them out, that no one paid the slightest attention 
 to him. 
 
 After taking a good long rest, he swung himself 
 down and planted his foot firmly upon the shoulder 
 of a stout man underneath. The man gave a grunt 
 and tried to get his arms up to take him off. But 
 before he could do this, Edwin made a great leap and 
 came down upon the bald head of a man in front. 
 His foot slipped and he very nearly tore off the poor 
 man's ear, but he couldn't stop to make any apolo- 
 gies. At the next jump he crushed a lady's new 
 spring bonnet. So he went from head to head, 
 sometimes up and sometimes down. He left some 
 bloody noses and tore out a good many handfuls of 
 hair, in trying to clutch something to help himself up 
 again, when he fell. But nobody could free their 
 hands soon enough to catch him as he went over 
 them, and finally, with a bound he cleared the last 
 head and alighted in the open space in front of the 
 temple. 
 
 Then he had only to wait his turn, which soon 
 came. For an instant he kneeled before the God- 
 dess ; he felt the crown upon his brow ; he heard his 
 
THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. 123 
 
 name shouted by the multitude, and was supremely 
 happy. 
 
 Full of the consciousness of greatness, he de- 
 scended. But his foot had scarcely touched the 
 earth, when he heard the air ring with a new name, 
 and putting his hand to his forehead he found that 
 his crown had turned to dust. Still he had been 
 made famous, and he walked boldly up to the crowd, 
 commanding them to open and let him pass. To his 
 surprise not one paid the slightest heed to him. 
 " Give way," said he, " I am that Edwin who but 
 just now was crowned." But already they had 
 forgotten his very name. There was but one thing 
 to do ; he threw himself upon his hands and knees, 
 and pushed in among the legs of the multitude. He 
 was trampled on, and kicked, and choked with dust ; 
 but at length, more dead than alive, he did creep out 
 again. 
 
 So now as he went forward on his journey, and 
 when the birds asked him where he was sfoins^, he 
 answered sadly, '* I am seeking my fortune ; can you 
 tell me what it is ? " But though he questioned all 
 the birds and the beasts, they could only tell him 
 that they had heard vague stofts of a wonderful 
 treasure, beyond a wide forest, if any one was bold 
 enough to go and claim it. 
 
 So, footsore and weary, Edwin crept listlessly 
 forward and entered the forest. No loncfer in eairer 
 
124 
 
 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 haste, but painfully and slowly, without much hope 
 or care, he walked on. And evermore as he went 
 deeper into the forest, the shadows grew darker, the 
 wind moaned more hoarsely among the trees, the 
 clouds overhead grew blacker and began to send out 
 their dazzling flashes of light. But Edwin paid 
 little heed, till the rain came down in torrents ; the 
 great trees about him were falling with crash after 
 crash, and the roar of the thunder was incessant. 
 Then half wild with terror, he cried out, *' There is 
 no good-fortune anywhere ; it is an ugly, wicked, 
 hateful world, and I wish I had never been born." 
 
 Just then, beside his path, he heard a sharp cry, 
 and stooping to see whence it came, he saw, by a 
 flash of lio-htnins:, the face of a little old woman, 
 upon whom a tree had fallen. It was not a very 
 ugly face to be sure, but it was very different from 
 the face of that beautiful maiden whom Edward had 
 seen in his dreams, and he could not help a little 
 feeling of disgust. But the old woman pleaded 
 earnestly for help. She was not much hurt, she said, 
 but the tree had crushed her into the soft earth and 
 held her prisoner. So Edwin set to work with his 
 hands, and soon cffig away the soil so that she could 
 creep out. Then said she, *' If you will let me lean 
 upon you, I will help you to find your fortune." 
 " There is no fortune that I care for," said Edwin ; 
 but he allowed her to lean upon his arm. 
 
THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. 
 
 125 
 
 Somehow her touch sent a thrill all through him, 
 and his hope and courage began to revive. She 
 spoke to him in a sweet voice, but he could not again 
 see her face, for the lightning had died away in a 
 distant glimmer, leaving them in almost total dark- 
 ness. But he loved to hear her speak and to feel her 
 hand upon his arm. 
 
 Very soon his ear caught strains of distant music. 
 It swelled and died away with the breeze, and seemed 
 to come from no particular direction, but rather to be 
 all about them, instead of the light ; for still Edwin 
 could not see. At last they paused before what 
 appeared, in the dim outline, like a church. The 
 music, rich and full, seemed to make the very earth 
 tremble, and a pure, soft light streamed through the 
 windows. Edwin's heart was all on fire with a hope 
 which he could not explain to himself, as he pushed 
 open the door and entered. Then for the second 
 time, he saw the face of his companion, and now it 
 was more lovely than any thing he had ever seen in 
 his dreams. 
 
 "Who are you.-^" he cried, gazing rapturously 
 upon her. '* My name is Goodness," she replied. 
 " Then," said he, '* I ask no other fortune, only that 
 you will come back with me to my own country, 
 that I may live in the light of your smile." And the 
 maiden said, '* So that you will promise always to 
 love me as you do now, I will go with you anywhere 
 
126 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 on the face of the earth." Edwin promised with all 
 his heart, and a quiet voice, coming from some 
 unseen source above him, said, " I have heard your 
 promise, go in peace." 
 
 When Edwin and his companion came out again, 
 he thought the air had never been so bright, and 
 that he had never heard the birds sing so sweetly. 
 They walked back through the forest, and found it 
 all full of the most beautiful flowers. They came to 
 the multitude still surging around the temple of 
 Fame, and what was Edwin's surprise to hear the 
 air ringing once more with his own name. The 
 crowd parted before them, and all the people threw 
 flowers before them as they walked up before the 
 Temple. Here the Queen offered them her throne. 
 But Edwin no longer cared for it, and together they 
 passed on, leaving the crowd still shouting Edwin's 
 name. 
 
 They came to the place where the dead steed was 
 still lying, and Edwin showed his companion the 
 sack of dirt with which he had tried to escape. But 
 she took a handful and held it for an instant upon 
 her palm, where it once more became gold and 
 diamonds. "It is only dross," said she, *'to those 
 who do not use it for good purposes." 
 
 Then she went to the horse and raised up his head, 
 and he bounded to his feet, as full of life, and strong 
 as ever. So they mounted and rode away to Edwin's 
 
THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. 127 
 
 home, where they lived long together, making every 
 one about them happy, and being themselves the 
 happiest of all glad people that ever lived. 
 
 This, children, is the moral of my story : that the 
 world is never a bright or pleasant world to people 
 who are merely rich or famous. Some of the 
 wealthiest kings, and men whose names were the 
 widest known, have been miserably unhappy all their 
 days, because they had no love of goodness in their 
 hearts. 
 
 That is why I said at the beginning, that one's 
 religion should be more beautiful and precious than 
 anything on earth beside. It is through religion that 
 we learn to love goodness, and we go to church, 
 because it is only when God pours light upon our 
 eyes that we can see her beautiful face. 
 
IX. 
 
 SELF-DEVOTION. 
 
 He was wounded for our transgressions ; and with his stripes we 
 are healed. — Isaiah, liii. 5. 
 
 /^^HRISTMAS time means, especially to children, 
 ^^ a time for giving and receiving gifts ; for many 
 games and relief from study ; for faces full of good 
 cheer and hearts full of good wishes ; in brief, for 
 universal happiness and content. But how is it, 
 children, that this world is so full of joy at all times, 
 and fairly bubbles over with delight at this holiday 
 season } What have we done to make life so 
 pleasant, or to deserve that God should make it so 
 pleasant for us .-* 
 
 Suppose that every year you were obliged to 7nake 
 all this good time, instead of simply enjoying it. In 
 the autumn you go into the orchard, and behold ! the 
 trees bend down to you laden with ripe fruit, which 
 you have only to pluck and eat. Suppose that you 
 were obliged to make your apples and pears before 
 you could eat them. I fear you would not have them 
 in so great plenty, and that what you had would not 
 be so deliciously flavored. 
 
 Well, somebody must make the apples. Nature 
 
SELF- BE VO TION. j 2 9 
 
 alone will only grow little sour and shriveled things, 
 which nobody cares to eat. Somebody must plant, 
 and prune and cultivate for many, many years, before 
 you get your juicy pear, or mellow, rosy-cheeked 
 apple. 
 
 So somebody must make the good cheer of Christ- 
 mas time. Somebody must have toiled and suffered 
 a weary while, in order that our hearts to-day might 
 enjoy so much. Who has been that somebody, and 
 what has that somebody done .'* It would not do to 
 say that any one person has given us everything ; for 
 many thousand heads have planned, many thousand 
 fingers have labored to make our holiday enjoyments. 
 
 But on Christmas day we celebrate the birth of 
 Christ, and we are led to ask why it is that the gayest 
 season of all the year should be associated with that 
 event. What did he do for us, that we should 
 thus remember his birth } You all believe, doubtless 
 that Christ was very good and very great, and that 
 it is your duty to try and live like him so far as 
 you can. But I fancy many of you might ask me, 
 whether if Christ had not lived, we could not be just 
 as happy to- day 1 No, we could not, and that is what 
 I want to show you. 
 
 Many years before the first Christmas, an old 
 
 Jewish Prophet, speaking (as is generally thought) of 
 
 the Christ who was to come, as though he had 
 
 already seen him, said this : " He was wounded for 
 
 17 
 
130 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 our transgressions, and by his stripes we are healed." 
 And that means that he suffered to save us from 
 suffering ; that because he had so many sorrows to 
 endure, we are in great measure freed from sorrow. 
 This kind of labor and suffering is known by a hard 
 name, but you need only remember that it was 
 suffering and labor which Jesus undertook, to save 
 some one else from it. 
 
 " By his stripes we are healed." Does that mean 
 that if we feel sick, and can get some one else to take 
 a whipping, that will cure us.'* Not at all, though the 
 old Jews thought it did. For when they had done 
 wrong, and imagined that God was angry, they took 
 a poor innocent lamb, and killed it, thinking that by 
 its death God would be satisfied. 
 
 But the text means this rather. Suppose you 
 were lost in a wood, and had wandered and climbed 
 about till your hands and feet were torn with the 
 sharp rocks ; your face scratched and bleeding from 
 your attempts to push your way through the tangled 
 briars ; and suppose just as you had sunk down upon 
 the earth, courage and strength gone, all hopes of 
 getting nearer home departed, some one should 
 appear before you, saying, I will show you the way. 
 Suppose then he should go before you, choosing out 
 a smooth path, pushing aside the brambles with his 
 own hands, so that while his clothing was torn, and 
 his body xyounded by the thorns, you could follow 
 
SELF- DEVO TIOX. j 3 1 
 
 behind, safe from their cruel points, until he had led 
 you out once more under the open sky, and put you 
 upon the broad road for home. That would be such 
 suffering as Christ took upon himself for the sake of 
 others. 
 
 For men were lost in a wilderness, and though 
 they had struggled long, they could not find the way 
 out into the sunshine of heavenly love and peace, 
 until Christ came to show them the way. He came 
 into the gloomy depths of ignorance and sin, where 
 man had sunk down exhausted, saying, " Rise and 
 follow me." Then he went before, fighting all the 
 temptations, enduring all the griefs which had bewil- 
 dered the world, until, through them, he had made a 
 plain path to heaven, in which others could follow. 
 
 This is the way the world escaped from the wilder- 
 ness, and found its way to so much of the gladness 
 of heaven. Surely it ought to be happiest of all 
 when the day comes round on which this great soul 
 first appeared upon the earth. 
 
 I wish I could show you what a beautiful and 
 sublime thing it was that Jesus did, thus to give up 
 all thoughts of his own ease and comfort, and take 
 upon himself a world's suffering. Then I should 
 hope that this Christmas would leave with you some 
 deeper love for him, and make you readier to live a 
 noble life. 
 
 Perhaps, if I can do this at all, it will be by some 
 
132 
 
 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 illustrations which fall within your experiences of 
 life. Listen then. At a boarding-school for boys, 
 there was once a rather feeble and sickly child, who 
 was neither very handsome in person nor very 
 pleasant in disposition. He was lame, and so could 
 not join in the sports of his fellows. He was dull, 
 and always behind in his studies. No one took much 
 notice of him upon his f^rst arrival, and so he took a 
 dislike to the whole school. Being of rather a crab- 
 bed turn of mind, he resisted all proffers of friendship, 
 and having been guilty of one or two little mean- 
 nesses, he called down upon himself the ill-will of 
 everybody. 
 
 Very soon, every little theft was laid to him, and 
 if any one lost an article without knowing how, he 
 was sure Peter had stolen it. Did any one find in 
 his seat a cunningly-bent pin for him to sit upon, 
 that must be Peter's work. In brief, he was charged 
 with many things that he never dreamed of doing, 
 and this made him sourer and meaner than ever. So 
 that he got plenty of cuffs and hard knocks, and 
 every one said, " Served him right." 
 
 Every one but one, a boy of about Peter's age, who 
 could not help pitying his forlorn and unhappy con- 
 dition, and often thought he would like to help him 
 out of it if he knew how. But he could not discover 
 any way to do this, and so the matter drifted along, 
 getting always worse for poor Peter. At length, one 
 
SELF- DEVOTION. 133 
 
 day as the boys were at play together, one of the 
 older ones, who had been using his pocket-knife, 
 suddenly missed it and accused Peter of having 
 stolen it. Peter at once gave him the lie, coupled 
 with a not very soft name, and words began to run 
 high. 
 
 The whole school quickly gathered in a knot, and 
 most of them sided entirely with the older boy. 
 Now Fred, (the one who had taken pity on Peter,) 
 did not believe that he had stolen the knife, as while 
 it was being used, he was in a different part of the 
 playground. But though he said as much, nobody 
 listened to him, and the big boy steadily worked him- 
 self into a furious passion. Suddenly, as Fred stood 
 beside him, he saw a terrible gleam of anger shoot 
 from his eyes, and he raised his hand to strike the 
 weak and cowering boy before him. Not clearly 
 thinking of the consequences, but only feeling the 
 injustice about to be done, Fred sprang forward to 
 confront the assailant in Peter's place. The blow 
 descended upon his own head, and felled him to the 
 earth, where, save for some slight quivering of the 
 muscles, he lay like a log. Then there was a great 
 commotion. Fred was picked up and taken to his 
 room, where it was found that he was seriously hurt, 
 his head having fallen upon a stone. Had the frailer 
 boy received the blow, it might have killed him. 
 
 The knife was soon afterwards found just where 
 
134 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 the owner had left it, so as to clear Peter of all 
 suspicion. His fellows began to see that he was 
 not quite so black as they had painted him. But 
 upon Peter himself the effect of this scene was 
 marvellous. He could not mistake Fred's motive, 
 for aside from what the latter had said, he saw his 
 fists tightly clenched as he sprang before him. That 
 any one should freely step into his place and take the 
 suffering intended for him, — this was a thing incred- 
 ible to Peter, had he not seen it with his own eyes. 
 It gave him a new conception of goodness, and made 
 him so thoroughly ashamed of his mean disposition, 
 that from that day he began to mend his ways, and 
 grew to be one of the best-loved boys in school. 
 
 Now what do you say of this act of Fred's .^ I say 
 it was an act of which any one might well be proud, 
 thus to take upon himself the penalty of another's 
 supposed transgression. This was what Christ did. 
 Evil thoughts and evil passions were ruling the earth. 
 He, though without sin himself, stepped forward and 
 received the blows of cruel men. He even let them 
 kill him, that others might be freed from sin. Chil- 
 dren, — his was a life and death which cannot be 
 matched in all history. 
 
 Here is another short story — which if not entirely 
 true, is at least all out of my own head, and so will 
 be new to you. Through what befell a little girl, I 
 hope to teach you the same lesson : that those who 
 
SELF-DEVOTION. 
 
 35 
 
 suffer for the sake of others, are the most worthy to 
 be held in remembrance. When the world was much 
 younger than it is now, before there were any rail- 
 roads or even any stores, when the wide, roaring 
 fire-place was used for cooking as well as for warmth, 
 there sat one evening before its great blaze, a girl, 
 dreaming of the coming Christmas. She was the 
 daughter of a mountaineer, who dwelt up among the 
 high Swiss Alps, and besides her father and mother, 
 knew hardly any one save the little herd of goats, 
 with whom much of her life was passed. 
 
 As I said, she was sitting before the open fire, for 
 the first winds of winter had begun to rage, and the 
 air was full of driving snow. The child was alone, 
 her mother being busy in the fading light out of 
 doors, and her father not yet returned from the 
 village below. So the child fell to dreaming about 
 the Christmas only a week or two distant, and 
 wondered whether this year Santa Claus would 
 remember her. 
 
 Suddenly, as she watched the leaping blaze, a mon- 
 strous pair of fur-covered boots dangled into sight 
 from one corner of the chimney, and a moment later 
 down dropped the stump)^ form of Santa Claus him- 
 self. Before he could get the smoke out of his eyes, 
 the child cried out, '' Oh, Santa Claus ! shall I have a 
 present this year ? " *' Humph ! " said the old fellow, 
 brushing the soot off his nose, ** how can I tell before 
 
136 
 
 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 I know whether you deserve one or not ?" *'0h, but 
 what shall I do to deserve one?" said the girl eagerly. 
 "That would be folly for me to tell you," replied he. 
 '' Do what you think is right, and if it pleases me 
 you shall have a present." " But how shall I know 
 when you are pleased?" asked she again. "Oh, I 
 may perhaps look in upon you again before Christ- 
 mas," replied Santa Claus, giving a sharp look into 
 her eyes. 
 
 So saying, and having taken a glance about the 
 room, to see what the child needed in case she 
 deserved anything, he made a little hop into the 
 corner of the chimney, away from the blaze, and 
 after some wriggling and kicking, disappeared as 
 he had come. The child sprang forward and shouted 
 after him, " Santa Claus ! let it be a large doll, with 
 red shoes." But whether Santa Claus gave a grunt 
 or a chuckle in reply, or whether it was only the 
 crackling of the fire, she could not tell. 
 
 She said nothing of what she had seen, but secretly 
 resolved that she would win that doll. She was very 
 good, indeed, the next day and week ; so prompt and 
 thoughtful in the discharge of all her duties, that it 
 attracted the notice of her parents. From some- 
 thing that she said in her sleep, they gathered what 
 she had seen, and v/hat she so much desired. 
 
 But, though every evening she watched for Santa 
 Claus in the chimney, no Santa Claus appeared. I 
 
SELF- DEVOriON 
 
 ^37 
 
 suppose he knew that she was thinking always of the 
 doll, and did not see much virtue in her behavior. 
 
 So at last Christmas Eve came, and with it a terri- 
 ble storm. The wind howled most dismally about 
 the mountaineer's little cottage, and the snow drove 
 through the cracks of the rude door. Mother and 
 father were dozing in the chimney corner, and the 
 girl sat before the fire, looking into it half eagerly, 
 half sadly, because Santa Claus had not appeared to 
 her again — hoping against hope that the morrow 
 might bring her the doll. All at once she jumped to 
 her feet, turned toward the door and stood listening. 
 Another gust swept by, and surely she heard it again 
 — this time quite distinctly — the bleat of a kid from 
 the cliffs above. Waiting only to snatch up her 
 shawl, she quickly undid the fastening of the door, 
 and, without waking her parents, passed out into the 
 storm. 
 
 Once more she stood and listened, and again the 
 beseeching cry came down the mountain-side, min- 
 gled with the howling of the wind. 
 
 She instantly recognized it as the bleat of her 
 favorite white kid, whom she loved almost as well as 
 her father and mother, and better than^all the world 
 beside. Bitterly did her heart reproach her, for she 
 had been so absorbed in her dreams that she had not 
 gone out that evening, as was her wont, when the 
 goats were driven into the fold, to see if her darling 
 i8 
 
138 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 was safe. He must have strayed from the herd, and 
 her father had not noticed it. 
 
 There was a narrow path leading up through the 
 rocks behind the fold, which the child knew perfectly 
 well, and although it was night, and the snow was 
 fast drifting it full, up this path she sprang. Many 
 times she slipped and fell on the steep ascent, but 
 soon she came. out upon an open space and paused 
 to listen. Again she caught the plaintive cry, and 
 once more on and up she ran. But at the next pause 
 the voice of the kid was as far away as ever. Evi- 
 dently he was bewildered by the storm, and was going 
 farther away from home. She shouted his name with 
 all her strength, hoping that he might hear her and 
 wait till she came up with him. The wind, however, 
 which bore his cry to her, took hers away from him, 
 and the poor little fellow wandered on. 
 
 The child pursued, straining every nerve to over- 
 take him — ever pausing to get the direction from 
 his voice, and shouting in reply. She had long ago 
 forsaken the main path and wandered off among the 
 ledges, where even the goats had need of their sure 
 footing to prevent them from falling over the preci- 
 pices. But wherever a goat could go she could fol- 
 low ; and, heeding no danger, she hurried on. The 
 wind had blown the shawl from her shoulders ; her 
 hands were torn from clinging to points of rock ; 
 the snow filled her hair and blinded her eyes, so that 
 she was often obliged to pause till a gust had swept 
 
SELF-DEVOTION. 139 
 
 by, to enable her in the dim light to distinguish her 
 way. Sometimes, indeed, she was on the point of 
 turning back, but then the cry of her kid would reach 
 her ears, and with a sob of mingled hope and fear 
 she would start forward again. 
 
 At last she knew that she was nearing him, for his 
 bleat grew more distinct. Still it was short and 
 faint, and the child knew that he had fallen ex- 
 hausted. Soon she came near enough to make him 
 hear her and answer her pet name. 
 
 Suddenly all the air was filled with a distant roar, 
 louder than the storm, like the low roll of distant 
 thunder. The child stood numb with terror as she 
 heard it, for it was a loosened avalanche. She knew 
 that the path by which they often descended was just 
 before her. Nay ! that if it were a large one it might 
 sweep over the very spot where she was standing. 
 All her soul was in one thought — to save her kid. 
 A few springs brought her to the spot where he was 
 lying. As she bent over him, he struggled to his 
 feet. She had just time to clasp him in her arms, 
 when the avalanche struck her and whirled her away. 
 Not far, however, for she was just upon its edge ; 
 and, clutching with one hand, while the other held 
 her kid, at the branch held down to her by a friendly 
 tree, she held on with all her remaining strength. 
 After a moment all was still. The avalanche had 
 passed, her kid was safe, and then she knew nothing- 
 more. 
 
140 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 Soon after the girl had left the cottage, her father 
 awoke from his doze, to find her gone and the door 
 unfastened. At first he thought nothing of it ; but, 
 as she did not return, he stepped to the door, where 
 he heard her calling to her goat on the mountain-side 
 above. Seizing his lantern, he rushed out and fol- 
 lowed her. The fierce wind which prevented the kid 
 from hearing her swept back her father's voice, and 
 he could only follow her, as she did the kid. He 
 was close upon her when the avalanche came, and 
 after it had passed, was not long in finding her. 
 When the child awoke from her stupor she found 
 herself once more before the open fire. The first 
 object she saw was a large doll, with red shoes, 
 sitting in the chimney corner. The next she saw, or 
 thought she saw, was the face of Santa Claus peep- 
 ing down the chimney, all covered with the broadest 
 smile. He lingered only long enough to give a 
 very slow and emphatic wink, and then disappeared. 
 Then she heard her mother saying, '' It must be 
 because my little girl was brave enough to risk her 
 life to save a poor kid from perishing with cold, that 
 Santa Claus has brought her this beautiful present." 
 
 This, then, is my story, and this is its lesson : that 
 they who, out of love for others, will endure suffering 
 to save them from it, are the noblest among their 
 fellows ; best loved by God and man. Most like to 
 Christ, who was wounded and killed for the trans- 
 gressions of others. 
 
XL 
 LOYALTY. 
 
 Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life. 
 
 — AVz'.. ii. ic. 
 
 ^ I ^HE Book of Revelation, as you all very well 
 know, is the last book of our New Testament, 
 and among modern Christians, is generally considered 
 of the least importance. And yet there are so many 
 beautiful things in it, that it is well worth any one's 
 while to read and study it, though they may not 
 understand all its pictures and symbols. 
 
 This promise which I want you to remember, as my 
 text, is one of the finest passages in the whole Bible. 
 St, John, the Revelator, relates that he was on the 
 island of Patmos one " Lord's day," (our Sunday,) 
 when he heard a voice behind him, commanding him 
 to write what he should hear and see, to the seven 
 churches of Asia. Then he fell into a vision, and 
 saw the Spirit of Jesus, who sent a message to each 
 of these churches. To that of Smyrna, he said that 
 he was not unmindful of the sufferings it had 
 endured and Avould thereafter be called upon to 
 bear, but he left with it this promise, '* Be faithful 
 unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life." 
 
142 SUNDAY STOEIES. 
 
 You know that in the old games of wrestling, 
 running, etc., engaged in by the Grecian youth, 
 whoever was judged the victor, was rewarded with 
 a crown of laurels. So in the tournaments of the 
 Middle Ages, when knights, all cased in armor, rode 
 at full gallop through the lists, and endeavored to 
 unhorse their adversaries by striking them with their 
 spears ; or, in more peaceful contests, tried who could 
 most skillfully bear off a suspended ring upon the 
 point of his lance, as he ran his steed underneath it 
 — in these warlike games, the champion received a 
 crown. The crown was a reward for well doing ; so 
 the promise of Jesus was : I will reward with life 
 in another world, those who are faithful till death 
 here. 
 
 Now I want to tell you, first, what it is to be faith- 
 ful until death, and, second, how or in what ways, you 
 may be faithful to the truth of Jesus. 
 
 I remember that when I was a boy at school, there 
 was one story in our reading-book, which I never 
 could read without crying outright. It was not that 
 I merely whimpered a little, for I used regularly, 
 when that story came round, to break entirely down 
 before it was finished, so that I could not read a 
 word, thereby making a spectacle of myself, to the 
 amusement of some of my less sentimental play- 
 mates. So, as I did not relish being laughed at, any 
 more than boys usually do, I generally devised some 
 
LOYALTY. 143 
 
 excuse for staying at home whenever that piece was 
 in the lesson. It was the story of a dog, and though 
 many of your parents may remember it, I think it 
 may be new to most of you. As it illustrates what 
 it is to be faithful unto death, I will relate it as nearly 
 as I can call it to mind. 
 
 A traveller was taking a long journey upon horse- 
 back, attended only by a very affectionate and 
 intelligent dog. He carried with him a little bag 
 of gold, with which to buy food for himself and his 
 animals whenever he came to a town. But as his 
 way led him for long distances over a lonely road, he 
 had pistols to defend himself from robbers, and a bag 
 in which to store food for himself and his dog; while 
 his horse had often to make his dinner upon the 
 grass w^hich grew by the roadside. 
 
 One noontime he dismounted, and after unsaddling 
 his horse, in order that the poor beast might get as 
 much rest as possible, he partook of his luncheon, 
 and calling his dog to guard him, lay down in the 
 shade and fell fast asleep. When he awoke, the sun 
 was already low in the heavens, and as he had far to 
 •go before reaching a sleeping-place, he made great 
 haste to gather up his baggage, re-saddle his horse 
 and continue his way. For the first few miles he 
 rode at such a pace that he did not notice the 
 absence of his dog; but as he drew rein to ascend a 
 hill he found that he was gone, and stopped to call 
 
T44 
 
 SUNDAY sroniES. 
 
 him. At length he saw him coming far in the 
 distance, and so resumed his journey. Very soon 
 the dog overtook his master, and at once began to 
 act very strangely, for he would stand in the way 
 before him barking most furiously, so that the horse 
 was frightened and did not like to go on. And when 
 the traveller would not be turned aside, but com- 
 pelled his horse to go forward, the dog ran by his 
 side, still barking, and caught at the stirrups as 
 though to hold him back. 
 
 Now the man was already vexed from having lost 
 so much time, and was very impatient with what he 
 at first considered his dog's playfulness. So he bade 
 him sharply, "be quiet," and when he found that his 
 command was not in the least obeyed, grew angry 
 and gave him a severe blow with his whip. But the 
 dog continued his former movements, and his master, 
 now in a towering passion, began to imagine that the 
 brute was mad ; 'so without further consideration, he 
 drew one of his pistols and shot him. The poor dog 
 uttered a piteous cry, and instantly turned about and 
 ran back toward the resting place. 
 
 As for the traveller, he muttered to himself some 
 justification of his act, as angry people always will, 
 when they have done something hastily which their 
 conscience does not approve, replaced his pistol, and 
 once more rode on. He had not gone far, however, 
 when he accidentally discovered that his bag of gold 
 
LOYALTY 
 
 45 
 
 was missing. Then at once it flashed upon him that 
 in the hurry of starting after his nap, he had in some 
 way dropped it; that the dog had noticed it, and 
 stayed for a while to guard the treasure, and that he 
 had only been endeavoring to attract his master's 
 attention to his loss, and induce him to turn back 
 again. 
 
 Then indeed he was deeply concerned, not only 
 for the safety of his bag, but for the life of the poor 
 creature, which he had so hastily attacked. Back- 
 ward he rode with all speed, and spots of blood along 
 the roadside here and there, told him that the dog 
 was still before him. As he drew near the place 
 where he hoped to find his money, he discovered 
 the faithful animal stretched upon the ground, and 
 although unable to rise, the dog expressed his joy at 
 his master's coming, by barks and whines. Upon a 
 nearer approach he saw the bag of gold where he 
 had dropped it. But all his thought then, was to save 
 the life of the dumb servant, who had returned to 
 guard his master's property, after that master had so 
 cruelly wronged him. But it was too late. As the 
 traveller threw himself from his horse, the dog, with 
 one last effort, staggered to his feet, and as his 
 master's hand was stretched out to him, that hand 
 which had given him his death-wound, he had just 
 sufficient strength to kiss it with all his old affection,. 
 and fall back dead. 
 19 
 
146 SUN]) AY STORIES. 
 
 Faithful unto death, surely ought to have been 
 written over his grave, if ever man deserved to have 
 it inscribed upon his tombstone. To be faithful is 
 simply to do one's duty ; the work which God, our 
 Master, has appointed us to do. This poor dog knew 
 it to be his duty to guard his master's property; and 
 though his master distrusted him, and even shot him 
 because he supposed he was no longer faithful to his 
 trust, still returned to do his duty while life lasted. 
 So we are faithful unto death, if we continue our 
 work, notwithstanding dangers and trials, just as we 
 would if the way were all pleasant. 
 
 Telling you one bit of my schoolboy experience, 
 brings another to my mind, which may help you to 
 see what I mean. Near the country school-house 
 where I learned to read and write and cipher, was a 
 large pond, which in the winter furnished capital 
 skating. Besides this, men used to come with teams 
 when the ice was very thick, to fish through it. 
 They would cut a line of holes, at a little distance 
 apart, across the pond. A man was stationed at 
 each of these holes, bending down so that he could 
 see into the water beneath, and armed with a long 
 pole, at the end of which were large iron hooks. 
 Then the sleighs would go far above, and drive back 
 and forth on the ice, making a great noise, so that 
 the fish were frightened, and dashing down past the 
 line of holes, great loads of them were hooked out. 
 
LOYALTY 
 
 147 
 
 You may judge that this pond was on some days a 
 great attraction, and as many of the scholars came 
 for miles through the snow, bringing their luncheon 
 with them, so soon as this was eaten, they took their 
 skates and hurried off to spend their nooning upon 
 the ice. 
 
 Now it was but natural, that being boys, they 
 should be in no hurry to get back to the hot school- 
 room and their books ; so that sometimes stragglers 
 from the pond would be coming in at all hours of the 
 afternoon. This, of course, greatly disturbed the 
 master and the school, and he soon made a rule that 
 he would ring two bells for the opening of school, 
 allowing sufficient time between them for the boys to 
 reach the school-house from the pond. At the first 
 they were to start, and at the second they must be 
 in their places. But the very next day a conspiracy 
 was formed by the large boys, which the smaller ones 
 were compelled, under fear of dire pains and penal- 
 ties, to join — a conspiracy to remain upon the ice as 
 long as they pleased, and go' back to the school-room 
 in a body. 
 
 The expectation of course was that a fault com- 
 mitted by half the school, would not be punished 
 very severely, if at all. There was one of the 
 smaller boys, however, (I am sorry to say it was not 
 I,) who resolved that he would manage to slip away 
 when the bell rang, and obey the call. 
 
148 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 Now perhaps some of you may think it a very 
 mean resolution. But if you will consider a moment, 
 you will see that he was brave, and not cowardly. 
 The master's ferule, bad as it was, was nothing in 
 comparison with what he had to expect from those 
 tyrants, the big boys, if he offended them. It was 
 simply that he respected and loved his teacher, that 
 he thought the others were wrong, and that he 
 resolved to do what was right, no matter how much 
 it might cost. 
 
 So, as his fellows were all in the midst of a game, 
 when the bell rang, he contrived to slip behind a 
 little promontory, take off his skates and start for 
 school, without being missed. He did not get far, 
 however, before he was captured by one of the older 
 scholars, who, although not in school that day, knew 
 what was going forward, and at once, perceiving that 
 he had captured a deserter, treated him, to several 
 dips in a snowdrift. To be brief, he detained and 
 tormented the little fellow till he thought he would 
 be late enough at school to get a whipping, and then 
 let him go. But before he could find his skates and 
 his hat, and get himself brushed clean of snow, the 
 others had finished their play and set out for school 
 by another way. So that he was there only in time 
 to march in with the last of the stragglers, who, as 
 they had not noticed his absence, supposed that he 
 had been with them all the while. 
 
LOYALTY. 149 
 
 Now, the boys had taken counsel without knowl- 
 edge, when they imagined that the master would not 
 punish all so severely as one or two. He wore a 
 threatening frown as the young rebels came in, and 
 when he had dismissed the class with which he was 
 engaged, the whole of them were called up to give an 
 account of themselves. No one had anything to say 
 save the one boy who had tried to obey the rules of 
 the school, and he told the story of his detention. 
 But all the rest cried out that it wasn't true, and the 
 master was forced to conclude that he had told a 
 falsehood, for the sake of escaping punishment. 
 Then, beginning at the head of the line, the first 
 boy was bidden to hold out his hand, and once, twice, 
 thrice and again the ruler descended upon it. 
 
 The heavy oak ruler was not something merely 
 to look at in those days, but every time it came down 
 upon the open palm the culprit was forced to cry out 
 with pain, and went to his seat with a hand that felt 
 as if it had been under a sledge-hammer. Down 
 the line the schoolmaster came, and the groans and 
 lamentations increased, until he reached the scholar 
 who, alone of them all, did not deserve punishment. 
 It was easy to see that it hurt the master as much as 
 the boy, for there had been a genuine affection be- 
 tween them. But he would not show partiality, and 
 his blows were just as heavy as before. The boy set 
 his teeth hard, but uttered not a sound, nor did a 
 
^5° 
 
 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 single tear spring to his eye, until the teacher bade 
 him hold out his other hand and take double punish- 
 ment, because he had told a lie. The injustice of 
 that broke him down, and he went to his seat sob- 
 bing as though his heart would break. 
 
 Now I want you boys to stop a moment and think 
 what you would have done in his place. Would you 
 have hated that teacher, and stopped trying to ob- 
 serve his rules and do your duty ? If so, you would 
 have been of meaner spirit than the dog I have told 
 you of, and far less faithful than this boy was. For, 
 although he could not establish his innocence, be- 
 cause the one who was at fault would not confess, 
 through fear of a whipping, he went on as before, as 
 studious, attentive and obedient as ever. 
 
 After the matter had been partially forgotten, the 
 big boy made some boasts to his companions of what 
 he had done, so that finally, though not until the very 
 end of the term, the truth reached the master's ears ; 
 and then, though he could not take back the punish- 
 ment he had given, he cleared the boy's character of 
 the charge of falsehood before the whole school. 
 
 You children will find, as you grow older — if you 
 have not already discovered — that it is not always 
 agreeable to do one's duty, but that it sometimes 
 causes one to suffer great injustice. Jesus told His 
 disciples that simply for speaking His truth they 
 would be made to suffer terrible persecutions, and so 
 
LOYALTY. 151 
 
 it proved. You may think that if you do right, you 
 ought to be the more respected and loved by your 
 fellows ; but there may be times when others will 
 hate you, and say evil things against you, if you try 
 harder than they to observe the law of God. 
 
 You may ask, can God be deceived, then, as the 
 traveller and the schoolmaster were .? And does He 
 punish us when we are innocent ? You are to be- 
 lieve just the opposite of this ; you are to believe 
 that, however men may unjustly suspect or accuse 
 you of wrong, God sees the right, and will take care 
 that in the end you shall be much better off for hav- 
 ing done your duty. 
 
 Think which you would rather have been, — the 
 boy who, by brute force, had caused another to suffer 
 in body and mind, and who must forever carry with 
 him a remembrance of the wrong he had done — or 
 the boy who, though under a cloud for a time, had all 
 the while his own conscience to approve him, and 
 finally won all the more esteem, because he held to 
 his duty when it cost something. 
 
 Depend upon it, children, that they who are faith- 
 ful until death will always gain by it in the end, both 
 on earth and in heaven. 
 
 I want, secondly, to show you in what ways you 
 may be faithful. I can only say a few words, for I 
 would not attempt to tell you all the ways, but 
 only to show you that you can find plenty of occa- 
 
1^2 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 sions, if you seek them, for being faithful to the 
 truth, as Jesus taught it, when for the time being 
 it may cost you pain. 
 
 You boys, when some one has injured you, and 
 you are smarting under the sense of wrong, will 
 probably feel like paying it back in the same coin — 
 blow for blow, hard words for hard words. But you 
 may remember that Jesus said, " Overcome evil with 
 good ; " still, though you may feel, what is true, that it 
 is far nobler to punish a wrong by scorning to notice 
 it, than by descending to its own level and doing the 
 same thing in return ; still, your playmates, some of 
 them, may call you coward if you undertake to disarm 
 your enemy by being kind and courteous. 
 
 I know that nothing hurts a boy more than to call 
 him a coward ; but if you will bear the taunt, rather 
 than degrade yourselves, that is being faithful to the 
 truth of Jesus, and will surely win for you in the 
 end. If some vile boy should throw mud at you, 
 would not you be obliged to get into the mud, and to 
 soil your hands, if you threw it back ? So, whoever 
 gives you a blow or a foul word soils his soul, and if 
 you give it back again you soil your soul. Whatever 
 may be the satisfaction you may feel in beating your 
 enemy at his own game, it will not pay you to de- 
 grade yourself in doing so. 
 
 You girls, although you never fight with your 
 hands, feel sometimes tempted, I dare say, to do it 
 
LOYALTY. 1^3 
 
 with your tongues ; and so the same lesson is for 
 you, that no matter what struggle it may cost, it is 
 better to be faithful to the precepts which Jesus 
 expects you to follow. I am not so well acquainted, 
 of course, with the experience of girls as of boys ; 
 but I am sure that there are many temptations which 
 allure you, for the sake of some present ease or 
 advantage, to forsake what Jesus and your own heart 
 tells you to be your duty. But remember always 
 how much nobler it is to remain faithful ; how much 
 brighter and happier your lives will be after the 
 momentary self-denial is made, than if you had always 
 to carry with you the consciousness of having acted 
 a mean, ignoble part. Remember, also, that God is 
 watching all those who profess to believe in and fol- 
 low His truth, and that He only promises the crown 
 of life to such as are faithful, even unto death. 
 
XII. 
 HOW HARD IT IS TO BE GOOD. 
 
 Take up the cross and follow me. — Mark x. 21. 
 
 '^ TT IS SO hard to be good," said a little girl, half 
 to herself and half to her brother, with whom 
 she was at play. '' It is so very hard to be good, and 
 I don't see any use in it." 
 
 She possessed some little temper, and had recently 
 been chidden by her mother for an outburst of pas- 
 sion. The present trouble was that she had been 
 trying to build a very complicated house of blocks, 
 which would tumble over just as she had almost com- 
 pleted it. At last her patience gave out, and, seizing 
 a handful of blocks, she was in the act of flinging 
 them angrily across the room, when her mother's 
 rebuke came to her mind. The remembrance at 
 once stopped her hand, and provoked the petulant 
 exclamation, ''It is so hard to be good! No, I don't 
 see any use in it, and you needn't look so shocked 
 about it, either," said she, turning somewhat fiercely 
 upon her brother. 
 
 In truth, that young gentleman's face bore evi- 
 dence of some dismay. At Sunday School, the day 
 before, he had heard for the first time the story of 
 
HOW HARD IT IS TO BE GOOD. 
 
 155 
 
 certain children who were devoured by bears because 
 they had mocked a prophet ; and, as he had op sev- 
 eral occasions been guilty of irreverence toward his 
 superiors, the story had made a great impression on 
 his mind. 
 
 At this very moment the bears were in his thought, 
 and he glanced rather nervously at the door, as though 
 fearing that his sister's wickedness might provoke 
 their appearance. 
 
 The door was shut, however, and, gathering cour- 
 age, he replied, ''No use in it .^ Think of " — think 
 of the bears, he was going to say, but, remembering 
 that his sister had already laughed at that story, he 
 did not finish the sentence. "Well," said the girl, 
 ** maybe there is some use, but I don't see much, and 
 I know it is dreadfully disagreeable sometimes. I 
 should like to be just as wicked as I wanted to for 
 once, and see how it would seem." 
 
 If her brother had been shocked by the previous 
 speech, he was thunderstruck at this. There was at 
 this moment a slight rustling at the door, and he 
 was certain that the bears had come. But the door 
 opened, and, to his relief, nothing more blood-thirsty 
 than his mother entered. 
 
 The look upon her face, however, somewhat 
 thoughtful and grave, told the children that she had 
 overheard what had been said. Calling them to her 
 side, she endeavored to show them of what use it is 
 
156 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 to try to be good ; and what she said to them is the 
 story which I am about to tell you. 
 
 There was once a little brook, which made its 
 way down a steep and high mountain-side ; running 
 amidst great rocks ; dashing'over frightful precipices ; 
 murmuring and weeping through deep ravines, where 
 the sun never reached it. Working its way through 
 tangled masses of driftwood, losing itself under piles 
 of fallen trees, in many ways tormented and hin- 
 dered, the poor brook was kept fuming and fret- 
 ting, and lashed into white foam. And, as often as 
 it dashed against the rocks, making its frothing spray 
 fly into the air, or when it fell exhausted into some 
 deep, dark pool, from the edge of an overhanging 
 cliff, '' Oh, dear ! " said the brook, " this is a very 
 hard life, and I should like to know what it amounts 
 to. For my part, I should be glad to get out of this 
 narrow zig-zag way, which well nigh drives me to 
 desperation, and find a spot where I needn't do any- 
 thing unless I have a mind." 
 
 At last one day, when near the foot of the moun- 
 tain as it was about leaping over a ledge of rocks, 
 the brook caught sight of a marsh at some little dis- 
 tance below ; and it seemed so quiet and contented, 
 and reflected the sun in such a beautiful way that 
 the brook said, " Now, when I get there I shall be 
 happy." 
 
 So it bounded hopefully along. But as it began to 
 
7/0 ir HARD ir IS TO BE GOOD. i^y 
 
 draw near the marsh, strange sounds filled the air. 
 The screams of hawks and crows and various birds 
 of prey, and the hoarse croak of the frogs, were 
 louder than its own noise, and began to fill it with 
 fright As it came nearer and nearer, the earth be- 
 came a dirty black mud ; in place of the clean and 
 shining rocks, its bed was a mass of slime and ooze. 
 Then, as its motion grew slower, it found itself shad- 
 owed by tall reeds ; and through its own bright 
 waters, now dark with mud and filth, all manner of 
 ugly reptiles crawled. 
 
 Long days did the brook lie there sweltering in 
 the sun, dreaming of its mountain course, in which, 
 in spite of hard knocks, it had been happy, and 
 scarcely knowing that it moved at all, except as from 
 time to time it noticed that it had changed its place. 
 
 How bitterly did it repent that it had even wished 
 to find such a place, and with what earnest longing 
 did it pray to be delivered. 
 
 But the sorrows of the brook drew to a close, for 
 there was a way out of the marsh, and at length the 
 brook found it. Then, also, was it delivered from 
 its scrambles among the rocks, for it found a smooth 
 and even road of pebbles, along which it ran singing 
 with quiet joy, through miles of meadows, bordered 
 by banks of flowers, and overlooked by stately trees, 
 until, after a whole summer's journey, it ran into the 
 sea. Its way down the mountain side was hard, but 
 did it not repay the brook to keep on ? 
 
158 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 * * * * * jje 
 
 There were once two young birds hatched and 
 reared in the same nest, in whose breasts the ambi- 
 tion to fly began to be so strong that, one morning 
 after their parents had gone out to make some calls, 
 they resolved upon the attempt. 
 
 So they crawled to the edge of the nest, where 
 they balanced themselves as well as they were able ; 
 their little tails bobbing up and down ; their slender 
 feet making a convulsive clutch now and then, to 
 avoid tumbling over. 
 
 There they stood a long time, swaying back and 
 forth, urging each other to make the first attempt, 
 until at length the bolder of the two, after a great 
 deal of useless flapping of his wings, and several 
 false starts, did really make a little hop into the air 
 and fly for dear life. It was very feeble flying, how- 
 ever, for he went downward about as fast as onward, 
 and regained his feet rather clumsily in the deep 
 grass at the foot of the tree. 
 
 His brother, seeing that he was not hurt, roused 
 his own courage, and a moment afterward both stood 
 panting, side by side, upon the ground. 
 
 ''Well," said one, "that's too hard work for me. 
 Let them fly that wish ; I shall hereafter be quite 
 content to walk." Of course, his brother tried to 
 dissuade him from this foolish conclusion, but all in 
 vain. Worms couldn't be found up in the air, he 
 
HO]V HARD IT IS TO BE GOOD. 
 
 ^59 
 
 said, and what was the use of mounting up into the 
 sky, if there was nothing there to eat. He thought 
 it might be easy to fly ; it certainly looked so ; but 
 now that he had discovered how hard work it was, no 
 more of it for him ; there wasn't any use in it. 
 
 So, although the parent birds came back, and grew 
 very earnest in their entreaties that he would try to 
 do as other birds did, and although his brother, mak- 
 ing constant trial, found that his wings grew stronger 
 and would carry him easier and to greater distances 
 — notwithstanding all this, the mean-spirited little 
 fellow went poking about in the deep grass all day 
 long looking for worms; and, indeed, he found so 
 many before nightfall, that the strongest pair of 
 wings would hardly have supported him. 
 
 What was the consequence ? A very sad one. 
 For while the bird who had kept trying to fly was 
 able at sunset to get back to the nest, the other was 
 obliged to spend the night upon the ground, and 
 when morning came not so much as a feather of him 
 was left. His family surmised that he had been car- 
 ried off by a cat ; but at any rate, nothing more was 
 ever seen of him. 
 
 Now, just as it was well for the brook to keep on 
 its way, though it was so trying — just as it was of 
 use for the young bird to learn to fly, though it was 
 hard work — so it is worth the while of children to 
 try to be good, even though it costs them many 
 struggles. 
 
i6o SUNDAY SrOBIES. 
 
 To allow oneself to be wicked is to be lazy, to 
 dislike work and sigh for such a good time in doing- 
 nothing as the brook wanted ; and which, when it 
 was found in the swamp, proved worse than anything 
 it had known. 
 
 It is hard to be good, just as it is hard to get 
 knowledge ; but in the end it will repay you for all 
 your toil. How much it will be worth in the end, 
 perhaps you will get a hint from the following story. 
 
 There was once a child to whom an angel appeared 
 in a dream, and said, *' I am sent to you from a great 
 King." 
 
 *' Who is this King.?" said the child. 
 
 *'It is He," replied the angel, "who made the 
 earth, and who gave you life ; who has watched over 
 you when you have not known it, and who now wants 
 you to try to take care of yourself." 
 
 *' Why does He want this of me .? " again asked the 
 child. 
 
 ''That He may know how worthy you are of what 
 He has already done for you," was the reply. 
 
 "And if I do not act as He wishes me, what 
 then } " 
 
 " Then you will find sorrows and troubles." 
 
 " How can I know what He would have me do "^ " 
 
 "Listen," said the angel. "There was once a 
 man on earth who spent all his life in doing good to 
 others, and whose enemies killed him because he was 
 
HO]V TIAnD IT IS TO BE GOOD. i6i 
 
 SO noble. This man said to his followers, ' Take up 
 the cross and follow me.' So I say, take up your 
 cross and follow him." And with these words the 
 angel vanished. 
 
 When the child awoke, these words were in her 
 mind : 
 
 " Take up the cross and follow me." 
 
 But they were a riddle to her and she knew not 
 what they meant. 
 
 In her work and in her play that day and many 
 days after, they continually rose in her memory, and 
 long she puzzled in vain to find out what meaning 
 they could have for her. And so day by day, as the 
 vision haunted her, the child grew sad and thought- 
 ful. The feeling grew upon her that she ought to do 
 something she was not doing ; but because she did 
 not know what that something was, she tried to do 
 nothing except to get through with the tasks which 
 others gave her. 
 
 She had happy moods, and she had miserable 
 moods, but, sad to say, the dark hours grew longer, . 
 and the bright ones fewer and shorter. She became 
 cross and peevish, was easily angered, said very 
 harsh and bitter things, and at times seemed to hate 
 everybody and everything that lived. 
 
 One night the angel came to her again, and said, . 
 "Come with me." So they went out into the fields,, 
 and found it shining day. Presently they came to a. 
 
 20 
 
1 62 SUNDAY SrOIUES. 
 
 garden, and entering, the angel conducted her to one 
 corner, where there was a mass of briars and thistles, 
 much higher than her head, and looking as ugly and 
 forbidding as you can imagine. 
 
 The child in her dream was just thinking of that 
 bramble-bush into which a certain wise man jumped 
 and scratched out both his eyes, — that if he had 
 jumped into t/iis pile of briars, probably his ears and 
 his nose would'have gone also. 
 
 The angel, pushing them aside, disclosed one little 
 sickly rosebush, feebly holding up one faded blossom, 
 where a bit of sunshine stole through its prison-bars, 
 but evidently exhausted and dying for want of air 
 and light. 
 
 " These briars and thistles must be cleared away," 
 said the angel, "before the rose can live." So 
 saying he again vanished. 
 
 The child was passionately fond of flowers, and 
 eagerly set to work to liberate the rose. She toiled 
 and toiled, as it seemed to her many hours, but in the 
 end she found her hands so torn and bleeding, that 
 she could no longer use them, her dress in rags, and 
 still the mass of ugly weeds before her, upon which 
 she had scarcely made an impression. 
 
 What could she do but sit down and cry } And 
 cry she did, not merely in her dream, but in reality, 
 for she awoke sobbing violently, and her pillow was 
 wet with tears. It was only a dream, but she thought 
 she understood the lesson. 
 
 • 
 
UOW HARD IT IS TO BE GOOD. 163 
 
 This sickly rose was her own better nature, which 
 she had allowed to be smothered with weeds. She 
 was unhappy because she was like this rose, shut out 
 from the light, and wounded with thorns. It was 
 taking" up her cross, to fight down these weeds of 
 evil, and this she would do without delay. So at this 
 task she toiled and toiled. In spite of the pain and 
 the struggle which it cost, she persevered until sum- 
 mer had turned into winter,' winter into summer 
 again, and another birthday had come round. 
 
 On this day she made a party for her young 
 friends, which passed off very miserably indeed. 
 Something went wrong at the outset, and before the 
 day was done, she had seriously quarrelled wdth 
 about half her guests. All her ugly and discontented 
 feelings came back to her, and she went to sleep that 
 night remembering the dream, and thinking that 
 though she had worked at the briars a whole year, 
 the rose was no better off. 
 
 It was very discouraging. First she had not tried 
 to be good ; and she had found herself with a very 
 unhappy disposition. Then she had tried, but she 
 found it was too late, and now everybody would hate 
 her always, and nobody would love her. 
 
 But perhaps the angel would come back to her 
 once more, and in that hope she fell asleep. The 
 angel did visit her, and this time she was struck with 
 the great love and pity that shone in his face. She 
 
1 64 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 noticed too that on his forehead were scars, as if 
 thorns had torn the flesh, and his garment, instead 
 of being pure white, was worn and soiled, and 
 covered with dust, as if from a long journey. 
 
 *' Take up your cross and follow me," he said, and 
 the child, not quite understanding him, yet rose and 
 followed. 
 
 She was still thinking of her sins, and how to be 
 rid of them, whjen the angel stooped down to her as 
 she walked by his side, and folding her in his arms, 
 said : " So you could not clear away the brambles, my 
 poor child ? I see, I see, your hands are sadly torn." 
 
 "Alas ! they were so many," replied she. 
 
 "They were very many," said the angel, "but now 
 learn that to bear your cross, is not to fight with it. 
 Think no more about your sins, though they are 
 heavy for your young shoulders, but come and see 
 what I shall show you." 
 
 Then all at once they were in the midst of a great 
 city. The crowd rushed hurriedly along, pushing 
 and jostling them, as they strove to work their way 
 through the noisy streets. Suddenly they turned 
 aside into a low doorway, and mounted up and up the 
 dirty, creaking stairs, until they stood in a rude 
 garret,^ and saw before them a poor mother, pressing 
 to her bosom her dying child. 
 
 Its pale eyes looked up to her with a feeble smile, 
 as she wildly moaned to see the light of life fade out 
 
HOW HARD IT IS TO BE GOOD. 165 
 
 of them. But the angel stepped forward, *and took 
 its wasted hand in his, and straightway the color 
 came back to its poor little cheek. Its eye kindled 
 with new life, and as the angel released its hand, its 
 arms, a moment before so lifeless, clasped its mother's 
 neck in a close embrace. She, too happy to speak, 
 looked her gratitude, and so they left her. 
 
 They went into many sorrowing homes, and stood 
 by many a bedside of pain, but always when they 
 came away they ieft joy behind them. 
 
 At last they could enter no more dwellings, for the 
 crowd came forth to meet them. The sick were 
 brought forth upon couches, and the angel healed 
 them. 
 
 Many came with great sorrow and anxiety in their 
 faces. But he looked into their eyes, spoke to them 
 a few words of love and hope, and sent them away 
 happy and comforted. 
 
 Then the child began to feel a great desire to do 
 as the angel did. At first she did not believe that 
 she could, but presently, as a wan and wasted little 
 girl crept to her feet, she forgot all her doubts, and 
 stretching forth her hands, took the girl in her arms, 
 and kissed her. Instantly her love drove disease out 
 of the hunger-pinched face, and she was answered 
 with a kiss. 
 
 Then she forgot everything else, for a long time, 
 only to do as she had seen the angel do. 
 
1 66 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 When she looked around again he was gone, but 
 somehow she felt that he was over her, and for hours 
 and hours, as it seemed to her, she kept on, feeling a 
 happiness in her work such as she had never known 
 before. 
 
 At last she woke from her dream to find it broad 
 day, and the sun shining into her room. Once more 
 her pillow was wet with tears, but this time with 
 tears of joy. There was no mistaking the lesson 
 now. Being good meant doing goocf ; and to take up 
 the cross, was to bear her sins and trials as patiently 
 as she could, while she sought for ways to help and 
 comfort those about her. 
 
 After this she was a happy child ; the old bad 
 thoughts and feelings would sometimes rise, but she 
 always knew how to stop them, by turning her atten- 
 tion to the happiness of others. This is how she 
 found it of use to try to be good. 
 
 And so, children, shall we all find that it is worth 
 all that it can cost, never to cease trying to do good, 
 for it is the only way to the highest happiness. 
 
XIII. 
 FIDELITY IN LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 He that is faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in much. 
 
 — Licke, XV. 10. 
 
 /^^NE thing which troubles children not a little, 
 and which troubles some people all through 
 life, is a failure to see that it is worth while to be 
 good in little things, and a desire to be all at once 
 very noble and great. They want their blossoms to 
 become all at once full-grown apples, and do not like 
 to wait till the little, hard, sour thing has time to 
 grow and ripen. 
 
 They read, perhaps, of the gentle and courageous 
 knight, who long ago undertook so many adventures 
 to help the needy and do justice to those who 
 suffered wrong ; of the many heroes and heroines of 
 both ancient and modern days, whose great deeds 
 will make them famous for many hundred years to 
 come ; and reading, they think, " How I should like 
 to do something noble and brave like that." They 
 resolve that when they grow up, they will seek out 
 some opportunity of proving to the world how gener- 
 ous and noble they are, so that the world may put 
 their names into its history and its songs ; and yet 
 
1 68 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 all the while they may be so selfish and mean in 
 their homes and among their playmates, as to be 
 generally disliked. 
 
 I do not mean, of course, that many children are 
 so selfish as that. But I want you to see that one 
 may wish to be very noble, and yet be very mean ; 
 because we all of us have a feeling sometimes, when 
 our attention is called to the many little ways of 
 being unselfish, thoughtful, and polite, that it is so 
 small a way of being good, and amounts to so very 
 little, that we should like to do some good deed which 
 would amount to something. 
 
 I want you to see, moreover, that every one is 
 obliged to learn by little and little to be brave and 
 kind ; so that after all, if the little rules of conduct 
 are not obeyed, the great ones will not be minded 
 either. You have each of you been told over and 
 over again, that if you begin by telling falsehoods 
 and doing wrong to other children, you will grow up 
 to be shunned of men, as untruthful and unjust ; and 
 that if you begin by doing right and being generous, 
 you will grow up to be respected and loved. And 
 you have said, " Oh ! of course I know that," and 
 very likely have forgotten all about it in half an hour. 
 
 Now I should like to be able to teach you what 
 that means, so truly, that you may never forget it, 
 but have it always in your thought. This and some- 
 thing more ; that if you are ever to do any great deed 
 
FIDELITY IN LITTLE THINGS. 169 
 
 ■ #— 
 
 like those you read about, you must be great in such 
 ways as you can, even now. 
 
 You may be sometime placed where your courage 
 and presence of mind will save your own and 
 hundreds of other lives ; but if you are a coward 
 now, you will be a coward then, and the opportunity 
 to do a noble thing will be lost to you. 
 
 This is a verse of Scripture which I should like to 
 have you remember in connection with this subject. 
 " He that is faithful in that which is least, is faithful 
 also in much ; and he that is unjust in the least, is 
 unjust also in much." To show you what is the 
 meaning in this text that I wish you to remember, 
 let me tell you a fable. A very old one, it is true, 
 but I will tell it in my own way and perhaps you may 
 find it interesting. It shall be about a bee and a 
 butterfly. 
 
 The bee was one of those happy and cheerful little 
 things, which in summer goes zig-zagging over the 
 fields, and helps to make that delightful, drowsy hum 
 which fills the summer air. Not one of those great 
 pompous fellows in yellow and black, whose sole 
 business seems to be to fly in at open windows and 
 frighten children ; but a plain and modest little bee, 
 who never came near houses, but lived altogether in 
 the sunshine and annong flowers. 
 
 The butterfly was a gorgeous creature in black and 
 gold, who might be a fairy prince in disguise, and 
 
i^o SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 — » • 
 
 who was continually taking little airy, purposeless 
 flights, or sipping daintily and leisurely the sweets of 
 the flowers. 
 
 The two had never met, though the bee had often 
 admired from a distance the butterfly's resplendent 
 wings, and now and then, when she felt a little 
 romantic, had wondered whether he would take any 
 notice of such a homely body as she. But one 
 morning it chanced that as the butterfly alighted 
 upon a rose which looked particularly inviting, the 
 bee was just creeping out, heavily laden with honey, 
 to fly away to her hive. You may suppose her small 
 heart was all in a flutter, to find those great eyes 
 suddenly fixed upon her, and when she was not look- 
 ing her neatest either, but was in quite a wretched 
 plight with the honey which she had accidentally 
 smeared upon her wings and body. 
 
 So she made as much haste as she was able, to 
 gather up her sticky feet and take to flight. But the 
 butterfly was curious and detained her by a question. 
 Fanning himself in a lordly way, with his beautiful 
 v/ings, and looking very much amused at the nervous- 
 ness of the poor bee, he asked her what she did with 
 the honey which she had stored up in those funny 
 little sacks upon her thighs. She answered timidly 
 that she carried it home, to lay up against the coming 
 winter. And when he questioned her further, and 
 she found him really a sympathetic listener, she 
 
FIDELITY IX LITTLE THINGS. 17 1 
 
 opened her heart to him and told him readily all 
 about the queen bee whom she served, the drones 
 who would not work, the beautiful way iu which they 
 constructed the honey-comb, how much honey they 
 had already gathered, and how much more they hoped 
 to put in store if the weather continued fine. 
 
 So flushed and confident did she become in telling 
 her own story, that when she had finished she felt 
 emboldened to ask, "And you, sir, do you have no 
 hive, and gather no honey?" ** No," replied the 
 butterfly. " But do you not know that the winter is 
 coming on, when all the flowers will die.-*" asked the 
 bee, wonderingly. The butterfly did know it most 
 assuredly, but he was good enough to inform the bee 
 that she was very foolish and superstitious to work as 
 though the winter were coming to-morrow, '* For," 
 said he, " winter is yet a great way off. There wdll 
 be plenty of time by and by to prepare for it, and 
 meantime it is the part of wisdom to enjoy one's self." 
 
 " But," persisted the bee, *' when winter does come, 
 you have no hive ; what will you do .? " *' Oh ! with- 
 out doubt I shall find a shelter," said the butterfly, 
 " and not only a shelter, but plenty of food already 
 stored up." And then he entered into a long argu- 
 ment to show what right he had to expect that the 
 God who created him, would take care that all his 
 wants were supplied. 
 
 " Here," said he, "in the present I am surrounded 
 
172 
 
 SUNDAY STOUIE."^. 
 
 by every thing which can gratify my tastes. Every 
 thing is beautiful. I am continually finding some 
 new thing to delight me, and as for food, why there 
 are oceans of it running to waste. Why should I 
 doubt the future ? Will not the Power which is 
 so wondrously good to me now, take care of me 
 then ? " 
 
 He even went so far in his discourse as to accuse 
 the bee of want of faith in God, because she was 
 anxious about the winter, and wanted to bestow his 
 pity upon her, because her life was so tied down to 
 small daily duties, that she could not go out in search 
 of great pleasures. 
 
 Here, however, the bee interrupted him, for she 
 had not a little pride, and made haste to assure him 
 that she should accept no pity for doing what she 
 felt it her duty to do. *' And do you not think then," 
 she added, '* that God meant us to take care of 
 ourselves, and instead of depending wholly upon his 
 bounty, to lay up, little by little, stores for the 
 future } " But to this the butterfly gave no other 
 answer, than that he considered it a very petty 
 business to be engaged always in providing one's 
 breakfast and dinner ; and as for him he minded 
 greater things, believing that the small ones would 
 take care of themselves. And so saying, he spread 
 his wings and sailed majestically away. 
 
 The Bee flew thoughtfully home, so absorbed in 
 
FIDELITY IN LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 her reflections, that she several times wandered from 
 the " Bee-line," and losing her way, was obliged to 
 stop and fly about in a circle until she found it again. 
 
 She did not altogether believe what the Butterfly 
 had said, but it was the first time she had ever heard 
 the like, and it troubled her somewhat. " Can it be," 
 she thought, " that I am foolish to work so busily .'' 
 Who knows but if I were to leave the hive, and go 
 off seeking my fortune, I should find, as he said, 
 some great store of the sweetest honey, so that I 
 should not need to gather it any more little by little, 
 and carry it so far. And he talks so fairly too, and 
 has sucH lovely wings. Perhaps if I should ask him, 
 he would let me fly away with him, and keep near 
 him. Then I should have nothing to do but listen to 
 him, and see always new and splendid things. Oh ! 
 how beautiful that would be ! " 
 
 Still she could not quite make up her mind to take 
 so great a step, and so she went on from day to day 
 as before, only that always a vague longing and 
 regret filled her with unrest, and sobered her happy 
 song. 
 
 All the rest of the summer she had less heart in 
 her work, for the dream of pleasure had entered into 
 her hitherto contented soul, and gathering honey 
 seemed to her, as the butterfly had said, a very petty 
 business. 
 
 Now and then she met him in his fli^ihts, and 
 
174 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 longed to ask him if he had yet found any great 
 treasure, but he never noticed her. He had evidently 
 forgotten all about her, and she could not quite sum- 
 mon up courage to address him. But as the season 
 wore on and flowers began to get scarce, she noticed 
 that the Butterfly was just as gay and idle as ever. 
 She could no longer doubt that he had realized all his 
 expectations, and felt sure that all her work, day by 
 day, had been utterly wasted. 
 
 Then indeed she felt the temptation stronger than 
 ever to leave her home, and go out to join her for- 
 tunes with his ; and if she had not been too timid, 
 she would have done so. 
 
 The truth was however that the Butterfly began to 
 feel the loss of a breakfast, now and then, and, 
 though he kept up his fine appearance, to doubt if 
 his philosophy had been entirely sound. He thought 
 about the future as little as possible, but that could 
 not prevent the future from coming on. The first 
 frosty nights of autumn stiffened him sadly, and the 
 want of food weakened his spirits as much as his 
 body, so that finally he gave up in despair and flut- 
 tered down under a leaf to wait for the end. 
 
 It was a cold and cheerless morning, and a kind' of 
 numbness came upon him, from which he was sud- 
 denly aroused by a subdued hum which went slowly 
 by. Looking up he caught sight of his little friend 
 the Bee, and instantly remembered that she must 
 
FIDELITY IN 'LITTLE TIIIXGS. 175 
 
 have food and shelter, enough and to spare. So 
 because his pride was utterly gone, he roused all his 
 energies to follow her and beg enough to keep life in 
 his poor body. 
 
 The Bee flew slowly, for she was thinking of the 
 Butterfly, whom she had not seen now for some time, 
 and thinking that he must have gone to a summer 
 clime, while she must remain shut up during the 
 long dismal winter. 
 
 So, nerved by the strength of despair, the butter- 
 fly managed to keep her in sight, until at last he saw 
 her alight at her hive, about which no other bees 
 were stirring, and creep regretfully in. Summoning 
 all his powers for one last effort, he moved his wdngs 
 a few times, and fell before the entrance, entirely 
 exhausted, and unable to move a limb. 
 
 The short day soon passed, and still no bees issued 
 forth. The sun went down, but still the butterfly 
 was lying there upon his side, and no strength came 
 back to him. The bee sat in her cosy cell all the 
 night, dreaming of her hero in distant lands, while 
 all the time he lay dying before her door. 
 
 In the morning, when she peeped forth to see what 
 the w^eather might be, there she saw him, half 
 covered with the first little fall of snow. Back she 
 went in all haste, and loaded herself with food, which 
 she brought out to him, but he was quite dead, and 
 not even the odor of the hgney would revive him, 
 
176 S UN DA Y STO EIES. 
 
 though s^e carefully brushed the snow from his still 
 beautiful wings, and waited long and patiently to see 
 if the morning sun would not bring life to him. 
 
 When all hope was over, bitterly did she mourn, 
 not only for the dead butterfly, but for her vanished 
 dreams. Had she been human, she would have 
 remembered the old saying, " He that contemneth 
 small things, shall fall by little and little." As it 
 was, she only felt in her instinctive way, that she 
 had been right, and that he had been wrong. 
 
 So when the spring came again, she went back to 
 her work as cheerfully and contentedly as ever, and 
 indeed taught by her experience, she became an 
 example to all the rest, of a happy and industrious 
 disposition. 
 
 No fable is good for anything without a moral, and 
 the moral of this is plain. It is folly to seek for 
 great things in life while we overlook the little 
 ones ; and if we take care for the little ones, the 
 great will follow as matter of course. This moral I 
 wish you to apply to your minds, in order to teach 
 you that the great qualities of heart and soul which 
 will make your lives happy and successful, and your- 
 selves respected by God and your fellows, — these 
 qualities cannot be found already stored up, in after 
 years, any more than the butterfly could find laid up 
 for him a winter's supply of honey, but must be gath- 
 ered little by little now, through your goodness and 
 
FIDELITY IX LITTLE THINGS. jjy 
 
 gentleness in every day affairs. You must not get 
 the notion that whenever the occasion offers, you can 
 be just as great and noble as you would like to be. 
 
 For example, you all remember some of the fright- 
 ful steamship disasters that have occurred during the 
 recent years, and the great panic which has seized 
 upon many of the passengers, when they were 
 brought face to face with death ; and I dare say some 
 of you have thought, " if I had been there, how brave 
 and calm I should have been," or, " if I had been one 
 of the men, I should have thought of just the right 
 thing at the right moment, and saved a great many 
 lives." Now that depends upon how brave and clear- 
 headed you are in small emergencies. If you get 
 easily frightened by little things, the chances are 
 that you would be the very last person to withstand 
 any great shock, no matter how much you may 
 admire courage. If you learn to be brave in slight 
 dangers, then you may expect not to be cowardly, if 
 you are called upon to stand in great peril. 
 
 So you need to cultivate, to store up as it were, 
 all great and good qualities of mind, and then you 
 will be ready for whatever may come to you. You 
 must store them up for yourselves, if you would have 
 them at all. God has made it necessary for us all to 
 work for them, as most men have to v-/ork for their 
 daily bread, and we can get them only little by little. 
 This is what Jesus meant when he said, " He that 
 23 
 
178 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 is faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in 
 much." I hope you will take pains to look up that 
 text, and repeat it over to yourselves, until you know 
 it so thoroughly that you can never forget it. If you 
 will so fix the saying in your memories, it will be to 
 you always a reminder that if ever you are to do any- 
 thing in the w^orld, of which you can be glad and 
 proud in after years, you must first learn to do 
 thoroughly, and as though God were watching you, 
 all little things. 
 
XIV. 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 << A S patient as Job," says the old proverb. Who 
 then was Job, and why should he be called a 
 model of patience? He was a very rich man, richer 
 than any of his countrymen ; — he had not only 
 gold and silver in abundance, but many large herds 
 of sheep, oxen and camels. His greatest treasure, 
 however, was in his children, whom he loved and 
 cared for with all a father's devotion. Good and 
 prosperous and happy was Job. A man who feared 
 God, and one whom God loved. He had every rea- 
 son, he thought, to believe that God would keep him 
 in happiness and prosperity to the end of his life. 
 
 But suddenly one day a messenger appeared before 
 him, to say that a band of robbers had carried away 
 all his oxen, and killed the servants who were keep- 
 ing them. No sooner had this messenger departed, 
 than another came, bringing Job word that the light- 
 ning had fallen upon his sheep and destroyed them. 
 While he was speaking came a third, to relate how 
 another band of robbers had stolen all his camels. 
 So the rich man. Job, found himself almost instantly 
 reduced to poverty. But this was not the whole or 
 
i8o SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 even the worst of his misfortunes, for a fourth mes- 
 senger appeared bearing the most dreadful tidings of 
 all. His sons and his daughters were feasting to- 
 gether, when a hurricane struck the house in which 
 they were seated, and before any could escape, -the 
 building fell, burying them all, mangled and killed, 
 beneath the ruins. 
 
 Thus in the same day. Job was made childless and 
 a beggar. But he only said. The Lord gave, and the 
 Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the name of the 
 Lord. But now in the midst of his poverty and his 
 grief, Job was smitten with a most painful and loath- 
 some disease. So wretched was his condition, that 
 his wife bade him curse God, who had allowed all 
 these evils to fall upon a just man. But he answered 
 again. Have we received good from the hand of God, 
 and shall we not also receive evil ? 
 
 This is why Job is called the patient man. He 
 did not rebel against these misfortunes which he 
 could not cure, but submitted quietly to all his afflic- 
 tions, believing that God would do him right in the 
 end. These things are hard, said Job, but I must 
 bear them, and though God kills me, yet will I trust 
 in Him. 
 
 Still he was not entirely patient, for afterward he 
 did complain. There has been but one model of per- 
 fect patience, and that was Jesus. He had as many 
 sorrows as Job, yet did he never once complain of 
 
PATIEyCE. i8i 
 
 the hardness of his lot ; never once fly in a passion 
 because he could not have the world as he would like 
 it. When men told falsehoods about him and sought 
 to put him to death, he never got angry with them ; 
 never said petulantly, Why will men be so cruel and 
 unjust to me? When God suffered his enemies to 
 nail him to the cross, he did not accuse God of nes:- 
 lecting him. 
 
 Jesus was entirely patient, and patience is one of 
 the virtues he expects -in all who try to follow him, 
 even in little children. 
 
 What patience is, and what impatience — some 
 of the ways in which children get impatient where 
 they ought to be patient, this is what I should like to 
 illustrate for you. 
 
 Two little acorns fell to the ground together one 
 autumn, and together the wind swept them into a 
 little crevice under a pile of rocks. When the 
 spring sun warmed the rocks above them, both 
 sprouted and struck their roots into the soil. 
 Scarcely had they begun to grow, before both felt 
 the narrowness of room given them. Their heads 
 pushed against the unyielding mass of stone above 
 them, and on every side but one, their twigs touched 
 the wall of a prison. On that side they could catch 
 a glimpse of the free air and sunshine. So one said 
 to the other, " Come ! let us make haste to push 
 our way along under this low ceiling of rock, and 
 
i82 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 get our heads into the open day. Here, I am op- 
 pressed by the darkness, and stifled by the want of 
 air." But the other answered, " Patience yet a little 
 longer ! Ours is indeed an uncomfortable position. 
 But if we go that way, we must creep upon the 
 ground and so deform ourselves for life. Perhaps if 
 we wait awhile and strengthen our roots, Heaven will 
 open a way above us." 
 
 But the first would listen to no such counsel. He 
 was too impatient to feel the sun, and so, cursing the 
 folly of his brother, cursing the wind which had 
 blown him,, when an acorn, among the rocks, cursing 
 almost everything indeed, he bent his head and crept 
 along as fast as he could toward the opening of his 
 little cave. 
 
 He was in such a hurry that he could not think 
 much about his roots in the soil, and so grew above 
 the ground much faster than below. However, he 
 worked along till he got his head into daylight, and 
 then what did he find himself ? A long naked stem 
 crowned with three or four little sickly leaves. Not 
 a very flattering comparison with the thrifty young 
 oaks he found outside ! It made him more unhappy 
 than ever to see their beautiful proportions, and gave 
 him new reason to curse the fate which had so un- 
 kindly shut in his infancy by giant rocks. 
 
 In only one thought could he find any comfort. 
 He remembered the sad plight of his brother, who 
 
PATIENCE. 
 
 183 
 
 had not the courage to try to escape, and thought 
 "At least I am better off than he." Meanwhile what 
 had that brother been doing ? As a cat crouches for 
 a spring, gathering her feet under her, and making 
 sure that she has firm footing, so this little shrub 
 growing in the darkness, had sent its roots deep into 
 the ground ; had crouched and waited as it were, till 
 it should find an opening in the rocks. 
 
 At last one of its twigs did find a little seam, 
 looking upward through the shelf of stone which 
 covered it. It was a very small opening, but the 
 young oak was not slow to improve it. First it 
 pushed its slender trunk as far as possible into the 
 seam, and then it grew and swelled and crowded the 
 rocks a little further apart until it could lift its head a 
 little higher. So it slowly and patiently elbowed its 
 way, so to speak, little by little prying the seam into- 
 a wider opening, and at last it entirely loosed the 
 great rocks from its fastenings. 
 
 One morning when the impatient shrub was try- 
 ing to shake off the heavy dew, which bowed its lean 
 stem to the earth, it heard a crash behind and over- 
 head. Looking about it found that the great rock 
 which once covered it, had been split in two and fallen 
 apart, leaving all its long body trailing upon the 
 ground, exposed to view. And there stood its 
 brother, straight as an arrow, upright, strong and 
 healthy. The wind rustled his leaves, and he seemed 
 
1 84 SUNDAY STOIUES. 
 
 to sigh with pity, as he looked down upon his weak 
 companion, and perhaps he said in the language of 
 trees, " Ah, if you could have had a little patience, 
 you would not now lie there, hopeless of any strong 
 and noble life." The first storm twisted the frailer 
 shrub from its roots, and thus it perished. In its 
 history you may read the results of an impatient dis- 
 position. The other grew to be a tall and stately 
 tree, and enduring all storms as patiently as it had 
 worked its way through the rock, it lived for many 
 years, in enjoyment and content. 
 
 Now if the men whom we read of in the Bible 
 could endure so many disappointments and sorrows 
 without losing their patience ; if even a. little shrub 
 can slowly and quietly, without noise or anger, move 
 out of its way great rocks piled on top of it, how 
 dreadfully ashamed of themselves ought children to 
 be, when they find themselves screaming with. pas- 
 sion because a little toy will not do what they want. 
 
 I dare say if I were to question closely, I should 
 find some little girl, who during this very past week 
 has been angry with her doll ; so angry that she 
 cried, because the poor thing could not sit in a chair 
 and fold her hands as she was told to do. Or per- 
 haps I should find another, who after a long struggle 
 to get a very large button through a very small 
 button-hole, had given a twitch and a growl like an 
 angry kitten, and suddenly felt a longing to scratch 
 
PATIENCE. 
 
 '8S 
 
 somebody or tear something all to pieces. I should 
 not be surprised if I found also a little girl, who had 
 asked for something that mamma thought she ought 
 not to have, and who thereupon sat down on the 
 floor, to indulge in a good long cry, feeling that 
 mamma was the naughtiest, crudest woman, and she 
 the most abused child in all the world. 
 
 Equally certain I am that I could soon point out 
 the boy who went skating the other day, and who 
 not being able to get his skate firmly in place upon 
 his foot, worked at it with numb fingers for a time, 
 until his face began to grow very red, and sharp- 
 cornered words to come out from between his teeth. 
 This boy at last threw the senseless piece of iron 
 with a great bang upon the ice, and only after having 
 cuffed and made miserable a smaller boy who laughed 
 at his vexation, could he sufficiently recover his tem- 
 per to take up the skate again. 
 
 Then you know there is the boy, who was sharpen- 
 ing his pencil with a dull knife, and just as he had 
 almost finished the point, once and again the lead 
 broke short off up to the wood. He, too, lost his 
 patience, struck viciously at the pencil with the point 
 of his knife, but having gashed his own thumb in- 
 stead, threw his knife one way and the pencil 
 another, kicked the dog, and with his thumb in his 
 mouth walked forth into the open air, feeling that this 
 is a very unhappy world. 
 24 
 
1 86 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 Of the others I need not speak. You will remem- 
 ber when you smashed your top with your boot-heel 
 because you could not make it spin. When you 
 bumped your head against the door, and with an 
 angry exclamation turned round and kicked the door. 
 When, because you thought Miss Dolly was obsti- 
 nate, you threw her down and broke her nose. 
 
 You will all remember how in one way or another 
 you have been impatient with people or things about 
 you, and said or done what you were afterward 
 ashamed of. 
 
 Now there are many reasons why impatience, even 
 in little things, is bad, and patience good. Impa- 
 tience is always destructive. Anger is blind, and 
 Hke an owl in the daytime, rushes head-foremost at 
 whatever stands in its way, thus doing much damage 
 to itself, as well as to what it flies against. 
 
 A fit of impatience is bad, if only because it makes 
 one feel like destroying something; a feeling which 
 children too often yield to without thinking. It is 
 bad because it leads us to do things in a hurry, which 
 might be better done with more time. Just as it led 
 the young oak to grow all wrong, when with patience 
 it might have grown like other trees. It is bad 
 because it makes us unhappy in ourselves and 
 unpleasant to our friends. It is bad in all little 
 things, because it is only by learning to be patient 
 under little disappointments and trials, that we ever 
 get to be patient at all. 
 
PATIEXCE. 
 
 187 
 
 All this let me strive to impress upon your minds, 
 by relating the adventures of a bumble-bee, which a 
 child saw in a dream. A certain boy, not very little 
 nor yet very big, neither foolish nor extremely wise, 
 was one day engaged in carting sand about his 
 mother's 'flower-garden. As he himself was driver, 
 horse, and the man who did the shovelling, all three, 
 his duties were very heavy, and naturally enough 
 soon made him feel rather tired. Thus it happened 
 that he began to get himself, as a horse, mixed up 
 with himself as a man. Having to do both the 
 shovelling and the pulling, he could not keep the cart 
 in the right road. First he was vexed, then he grew 
 downright angry, and presently his mother found him 
 in a perfect fury of passion, beating the cart as if it 
 w^as to blame. 
 
 *'Why," said she, "my little boy is for all the 
 world like the big bumble-bee which flew in at the 
 window this morning, and tried to sting the broom- 
 stick, when the maid put him out again." So he was 
 carried in to eat his supper, wondering if he did look 
 like a bee. He thought about it a good deal, and 
 went off to bed thinking. 
 
 Scarcely had he fallen asleep when he began to 
 dream, and in his dream he not only looked like, but 
 was a great big yellow and black bumble-bee. At 
 first he was having a glorious time buzzing about here 
 and there, and taking a sip from the flowers now and 
 
i88 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 then. He was just diving into a wild honey-suckle, 
 when he caught a glimpse of something whizzing 
 over his head. " Better not do that again," he said, 
 with an angry growl. But just as he settled himself 
 down once more, " whiz " it went a second time, 
 almost touching him. '' Do that again and I '11 sting 
 you," said he, in a great rage, getting himself ready 
 for a fight. " Whiz," it went again, and this time it 
 fairly knocked him out of the flower. Darting up 
 into the air, he saw a great ox feeding near, whose 
 tail had undoubtedly caused the mischief. Down he 
 pounced upon the back of the ox, resolved to teach 
 him to be more careful where he swung that ungainly 
 tail, when, "whiz" a fourth time it came, and this 
 time very nearly killed him. Down he tumbled into 
 the grass, sadly bruised, while the big ox walked 
 away entirely unconscious that there was a bee 
 an3^where in the neighborhood. 
 
 ''Well," thought the bee, "I was a little too hasty 
 that time." Then the scene of the dream changed. 
 He was flying over a smooth sheet of water, admiring 
 his own reflection, when he heard a great rumbling 
 on the shore, and cauo'ht si2;ht of somethino^ flashinir 
 in the sunlight. As he flew towards it, he saw that 
 it was a mill-wheel slowly turning, for although in his 
 dream he felt like a bee, he saw with his usual eyes. 
 Being interested in the sight, he alighted upon a 
 beam just above the wheel, to watch it for a time. 
 
PATIENCE. 
 
 Presently up dashed a spray of water, and filled his 
 eyes. Indeed, only by hastily drawing back did he 
 avoid being thoroughly drenched. 
 
 "Do you mean to insult me.?" asked he, crossly. 
 But the mill-wheel answered never a word. Up came 
 the spray again and again, and each time the bee 
 grew more enraged, until at last he could endure it 
 no longer. ''But," thought he, "I shall not get 
 caught as I was before. I shall wait for a good 
 chance, and then I will show that wheel that a bee is 
 not to be trifled with. So, after a minute, he saw his 
 opportunity and darting at one of the shining buckets, 
 began stinging away most industriously. But the 
 wheel turned him under, and the first thing he knew, 
 down came a torrent of ice-cold water, which washed 
 him of"f into the stream. 
 
 There, despite all his floundering, he was helpless. 
 The little fish jumped at him and made savage bites 
 at his legs ; his wings were so heavy with wet that he 
 could hardly move them, and he was half numbed 
 with cold. Whirling round and round, down he 
 went with the current. He just caught sight of a 
 big trout rushing at him with open mouth, when a 
 wave lifted him up to a little rock, and left him there, 
 with a shivering body and a very sour temper. 
 
 But before he had time fairly to dry himself in the 
 sun, on went the dream, and so on went the bee. 
 Away he flew in his zig-zag fashion, angry with all 
 
190 
 
 SUN J) AY S TOBIES. 
 
 the world. Literally he was mad as a wasp, as the 
 old saying is. He wished that everybody and every- 
 thing were rolled up into one body, and that he could 
 sting and sting and sting, until he stung it to death. 
 He flew in the face of dogs ; buzzed about the heads 
 of children ; frightened everybody he could, and was 
 angrier than ever, when he found that a lamp-post 
 wouldn't get scared. 
 
 Finally he found an open window, and in he rushed 
 to see if he could do any damage there. The room 
 was empty, and after circling round it a few times, 
 he dashed .at the window again. But he had come in 
 through the lower sash, which was raised, and he now 
 attempted to go out through the upper half, which 
 was closed. The consequence was that he came 
 with a great thud against the glass, and fell stunned 
 and senseless to the floor. As soon as he came to 
 himself again he cried out, " Who struck me ? Let 
 me see who it was ; I'll teach them a lesson." But 
 no one appeared, and once more he attacked the 
 glass. He could see right through ; of course he 
 could fly through ; so he reasoned. Up and down, 
 from side to side of the window pane, he buzzed and 
 pushed, and beat his wings, until he was forced to 
 stop and rest. But if his strength gave out, his 
 temper kept hot, and he was just about to try it 
 again, when the door opened, and in came the maid. 
 Cautiously she approached him, holding up the brush 
 end of her broom. 
 
PATIENCE. igi 
 
 Now the boy in his dream knew perfectly that she 
 wished him to chng to it till she could put him out of 
 the window. But still he had all the feelings of a 
 bee, and in his blind rage he flew at the broom. He 
 didn't seem to hurt that very much, and catching 
 sight of a hand upon the handle, made a dash toward 
 that, and that he did hurt. With a scream of pain, 
 the maid threw him to the floor, where she beat him 
 with her duster until he could not stir, and she had 
 just raised her foot to make a finish of him, when 
 the dream vanished, and the boy found himself wide 
 awake, sitting bolt upright in bed. 
 
 What do you think he did .-^ Well, he laid directly 
 down again to think over the dream. And the more 
 he thought, the more certain it became that his 
 mother was right in saying he was like a bumble bee ; 
 and that if the bee could have had a little more 
 patience, and kept his temper, all his misfortunes 
 would have been avoided. 
 
 This is the lesson I should like to leave with you. 
 Besides being wicked, it is foolish to get so easily 
 vexed with little troubles, and to act as if whatever 
 crosses your wishes were done purposely to spite 
 you. If, when you get impatient, and feel like doing 
 something desperate to somebody, you will stop long 
 enough to remember what a ridiculous figure the bee 
 made, trying to sting the water-wheel, or break the 
 n'indow-pane by bumping his soft mite of a head 
 
ig2 SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 against it, I am sure you will see how much you are 
 like him, and all your impatience will end in a laugh. 
 By-and-by, when you grow older, and life's harder 
 disappointments come upon you, you will realize how 
 god-like is the virtue of patience, and be very thank- 
 ful if in these young days you have taken pains to 
 cultivate it. 
 
■XV. 
 
 SINCERITY. 
 
 For our rejoicing is this, the testimony of our conscience, that in 
 
 simplicity and godly sincerity, not with fleshly wisdom, we 
 
 have had our conversation in the world. 2 Cor. i. 1 2. 
 
 ^ I ^HIS text contains some hard words, but it has 
 really a very plain and simple meaning. Paul 
 tells the Church at Corinth, (to whom he is writing,) 
 that the Christians rejoice because they have walked 
 among men in simplicity and sincerity, not in fleshly 
 wisdom. 
 
 By fleshly wisdom I suppose he means such 
 cunning instincts as cats and wolves and tigers have ; 
 wisdom to lay secret plans and plots to accomplish 
 some selfish purpose. 
 
 Men are very shrewd in devising schemes by 
 which to get the better of their fellows ; but after all 
 they only copy the feathered and four-footed tribes. 
 The hunter makes a little raft, covering it over with 
 green boughs, in which he hides himself, and floats 
 down the river upon it, into the midst of a flock of 
 wild ducks. Is he not very like your cat, who creeps 
 stealthily through the tall grass, till she gets near 
 enough to spring upon an unsuspecting robin .^ The 
 25 
 
1^4 SUN BAY STORIES. 
 
 cat has as much of this instinctive or fleshly wisdom 
 in her way, and'is no more cruel than the man. 
 
 When you children have grown older, and mingled 
 more with the world, you will find there are not only 
 hunters of birds and beasts, but hunters of men, — 
 people who seek by secret arts and tricks to entrap 
 their fellows. Indeed there are some people who 
 find it hard work to speak or act the plain and open 
 truth, even when there is nothing to lose by it. 
 
 After pussy has caught and killed a mouse, she 
 often drops it upon the ground, and going away a 
 few steps, creeps round and round it, making believe 
 that it is still alive, and that she is once more having 
 the pleasure of catching it. 
 
 So there are people who love to make believe that 
 they are carrying out some deeply-laid plot, and hunt- 
 ing some secret game, even when they have nothing 
 to gain by secret methods. 
 
 It is such people as these, among others, I suppose, 
 whom Paul had in mind when he spoke of those who 
 trusted in "fleshly wisdom." He rejoiced that the 
 Christians were not like them. They had never any 
 creeping or hiding to do. All the world could see 
 where they went, and what they intended. They had 
 no occasion to utter a lie, either in word or act, but 
 walked always in simplicity and sincerity. 
 
 So then all those long words mean just this; that 
 the true Christian does nothing which he is afraid or 
 ashamed to have others know about. 
 
SINCERITY. If) 3 
 
 He is glad and content, because instead of doing 
 or having done anything which he fears others may 
 find out about him, he means only good, and need 
 never hide that meaning away from the world's 
 knowledge. This is sincerity ; to speak and act 
 nothing but the truth. 
 
 There are times when it may not be well to speak 
 all that we know or believe to be true, but there is 
 never any time when it is well to speak what we 
 know to be untrue. 
 
 There are people who never make any secret of 
 their thoughts, however much pain they may give to 
 others, and that they call sincerity. By such people 
 it is often said that politeness forces people to be 
 insincere. 
 
 That is a very bad idea to get into children's minds, 
 for they are sure to try to be polite, and they ought 
 not to be made to feel that good manners involve 
 untruthfulness. 
 
 If your playmate has an unlovely face, you are 
 insincere if you try to flatter him by telling him that 
 he is handsome. Politeness only requires that you 
 should say nothing about it. 
 
 If some one by accident steps on your foot, you try 
 to suppress all expressions of pain, because you know 
 it makes another feel badly to think that he has seri- 
 ously hurt you. But this keeping back something 
 that is in your own mind, out of consideration for 
 
ig6 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 the feelings of others, is very different from telling 
 falsehoods for the purpose of deceiving. We must 
 not think that in true politeness there is insincerity, 
 nor must we allow ill-bred people, who give offense 
 by needlessly showing their dislikes for others, to 
 claim for themselves the virtue of sincerity. 
 
 I suppose all the world knows well enough that it 
 is wrong to tell falsehoods. A great many people, 
 however, seem to think tliat something is to be 
 gained by deceit ; and what I want to teach you here 
 is that in the end people never gain, but always lose, 
 through insincerity. 
 
 It is not only wrong but foolish to tell falsehoods ; 
 and to impress this truth upon your memory, I 
 propose to relate to you a fable. 
 
 You know there are many fables about the fox, 
 and I dare say you have read not a few of them. 
 They all relate how Master Fox, by his secrecy, his 
 cunning, and his power to deceive others, gets a very 
 good living without labor, and without injury to him- 
 self. 
 
 As for instance, there is the fable of the Fox and 
 the Crow. Sir Knight of the Bushy Tail, spies a 
 crow sitting in a tree, holding in her beak a very nice 
 bit of cheese. At once the fox begins to flatter her. 
 Though he knows that she cannot sing, he praises 
 her angelic voice, and begs of her to give him a song. 
 
 At last, forgetting the cheese, she opens her mouth 
 
SINCERITY. igy 
 
 to caw, when down falls the morsel, which the fox 
 was after, and he runs off with it in high glee. The 
 inference is that a smooth tongue which can tell 
 shrewd falsehoods, is able to satisfy all its owner's 
 wants. 
 
 A smooth tongue undoubtedly does a good deal of 
 mischief sometimes, but still there are not so many 
 fools like the crow, in the \yorld, as flatterers and 
 deceivers are apt to think, and fhey do not always 
 have so easy a time as they look for. 
 
 There is another side of the history of Master 
 Fox, which I propose to show you ; hoping thereby 
 to make you see that a falsehood, whether acted or 
 spoken, is always the longest and hardest, and not 
 the shortest and surest way to gain one's object; and 
 that those who begin by deceiving others, are sure to 
 end by injuring themselves. 
 
 At a certain time, not very long ago, and in a 
 certain wood not far from a large farm, lived the fox 
 who is to be the hero of this story. He was like all 
 the rest of his tribe about whom the fables tell. He 
 had the same long sharp nose, bright eyes and bushy 
 tail ; the same power and love of de(?eiving others, 
 and the same taste for a sfood fat o-oose, that have 
 distinguished all his ancestors. 
 
 One bright morning this fox came out of his hole 
 with his tail very smartly brushed, and set out for a 
 day's stroll. He was bent both upon business and 
 
SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 pleasure. He hoped to have a httle fun out of some- 
 body, and also to discover a roost which might be 
 comfortably robbed after nightfall. 
 
 As he walked quietly along, every bird took wing 
 at the first hint of his approach ; nor with all his art 
 could he get one of them into conversation. They 
 perched upon the very highest branches of the trees ; 
 stopped all their chattering, and eyed him with fear 
 and distrust till he had passed on out of sight. For 
 whether it be fox or man, nobody likes to have any- 
 thing to say to one who is known to be false and 
 treacherous. 
 
 The disdain of the birds made the fox feel rather 
 mean and cross ; and he went on muttering about the 
 stupid things who couldn't say a civil word to a 
 gentleman. Presently he came to the edge of the 
 wood which bordered upon a sheep -pasture, and 
 there, not far away, discovered a flock of sheep, 
 quietly grazing. 
 
 There was no reason why he should not have 
 walked boldly out of the wood and across the field, 
 through the very midst of them. They were not 
 afraid of him,* nor he of them. But the fox had a 
 habit of skulking, and disliked an open field. So he 
 began picking his way through the thicket of briars 
 which lined the fences, hoping to escape observ^ation. 
 
 It chanced that one of the old ewes was led toward 
 the fence to look after a frisky young lamb which 
 
SINCERITY. J go 
 
 gave her much trouble, and hearing a rusthng in the 
 thicket, she looked up just in time to catch a faint 
 glimpse of the fox, creeping through a thin spot in 
 the bushes. Her eyesight was none of the best, 
 while her fears were great; and instantly the idea 
 took possession of her that she had seen a wolf. So 
 she at once set up a pitiful bleating, and with all the 
 speed she could muster, ran back toward the flock. 
 
 This of course alarmed the rest, and in much less 
 time than I take to tell it, the air was filled with a 
 chorus of daas, and fifty little woolly tails were 
 bobbing up and down, as their owners went scurry- 
 ing across the smooth turf. 
 
 The farmer, who was at work in the next field, 
 heard the commotion, and came running with his dog. 
 A search was made for the cause of |,he fright, and 
 before the fox could get back into the wood, the dog 
 had found his trail, and was after him at full speed. 
 
 Now a fox does not like to lead a dog straight to 
 his burrow, but runs in circles ; and, on the top of 
 stone walls, will make all manner of sharp turns and 
 twists, in the hope of throwing his pursuer off the 
 scent. 
 
 But in this instance it was all in vain. The 
 dog gained so fast, and pressed so close upon 
 him, that he was forced to look for shelter. The doo- 
 was at his very heels, when he spied a woodchuck's. 
 hole at a little distance, which he had just time to ■ 
 
200 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 gain. Down he plunged, but the opening was rather 
 small, and in squeezing through, he left his bushy 
 tail for a moment exposed. This the dog seized, and 
 pulled one way ; the fox dug his toes into the ground 
 and pulled the other. But a tail was not made for a 
 rope. It broke in two under the strain, leaving the 
 fox to pull in his wounded stump, and the dog to paw 
 and bark impatiently outside. 
 
 While he is trying to dig out his rascal prey, let us 
 pause long enough to remark that the fox got himself 
 into this sad scrape by his habit of skulking secretly 
 behind fences and through bushes. If he had openly 
 shown himself to the sheep, they would not have 
 been alarmed ; the farmer would have kept on at his 
 work, and the dog would have continued his nap. 
 
 It is amoi-^ people, just as it is among animals. 
 They are afraid of a hypocrite, an insincere person, 
 any one who seems to want to hide himself, or to 
 have some secret way. Though he may not mean 
 them any more harm than the fox did to the sheep, 
 he excites their fears, and soon finds the hounds of 
 hate and suspicion upon his track. 
 
 But to return to the fox. As he descended into 
 the hole, it broadened into a little room, and at the 
 farther end sat the owner, very angry at this 
 intrusion. 
 
 *' A nice mess you have got me into," said the 
 woodchuck to the fox. " Here my fine house will be 
 
SINCERITY. 2 01 
 
 ruined by that great dog, and it is more than likely 
 that he will dig us both out and eat us up. At any 
 rate, we shall be shut up here till we are nearly 
 starved." 
 
 " Calm yourself, my good sir," said the fox. *' I 
 give you my word of honor that you shall not suffer 
 on my account. I will myself defend you. The dog 
 shall reach you only over my dead body ; and having 
 my bones to pick, he will be satisfied." 
 
 This is what he said. But he thought, '' If worst 
 comes to worst, I can make a meal out of you ; 
 though I shouldn't wonder if your teeth would be 
 troublesome." 
 
 Well, all day the dog snuffed and dug above them, 
 but there weYe so many roots in the way that he 
 made little progress. Towards evening the farmer 
 came, and after staying a little while he and his dog 
 went away together. No sooner were they out of 
 hearing than the fox attempted to crawl forth. But 
 at the entrance of the cave he found a large trap, 
 over which he could not pass without springing it. 
 
 " Lucky," said he to himself, " that I did not kill 
 the woodchuck, for I must make him go out first; he 
 will spring the trap and drag it out of my way." 
 
 Returning to the woodchuck he put on his blandest 
 smile and said : " Now my dear friend, you shall go 
 out and get your supper. The danger is over, and 
 26 
 
SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 you will be entirely safe ; as for me, I think I will first 
 take a nap." 
 
 But the woodchuck was a gruff old fellow, and he 
 replied : '* As for you, I think you should take your- 
 self off and leave me to sleep. I have no appetite, 
 and do not propose to go out for the present." 
 
 " In truth," replied the fox, " I should like to go, 
 but you see this wound in my tail ! It pains me 
 dreadfully, and I fear," said he, as he sunk down 
 upon his back, " I fear I shall die unless I get relief." 
 
 " Humph ! " said the woodchuck, " rather a sudden 
 attack, I should think." 
 
 But the fox continued groaning and rolling his 
 eyes, as if in mortal agony. So that at last his com- 
 panion began to pity him, and was moved to ask if 
 he could do anything for his relief. 
 
 " I know of but one thing," replied the fox. *' If I 
 had some leaves of the gentian, that I think would 
 cure me. But you needn't go for them," gasped 
 he, " I am now so nearly dead that I shouldn't live 
 till you returti." So saying he stiffened himself out 
 with an awful groan and seemed indeed to be passing 
 away. 
 
 The woodchuck no longer hesitated, but sprang to 
 the entrance of his cave. Beinof much smaller than 
 
 o 
 
 the fox, he could leap where the other could only 
 crawl, and as good luck would have it, he cleared the 
 trap at a bound before he could check his speed. 
 
siycEnri'Y. 203 
 
 The sight of the trap, however, made him suspect 
 some plot, and as he turned about, there was the fox 
 poking his nose out after him to see if the way was 
 clear. 
 
 *' Oh ! Sir Knave," said the woodchuck, '' you are 
 better, I see ; your trick has failed to work. I have 
 the honor to wish you good night and speedy deliv- 
 erance." So saying he turned about and trotted 
 away. 
 
 It was a long while before the fox escaped. Day 
 after day came the farmer, until at last he concluded 
 that the burrow must be empty, and took his trap 
 away. Then the prisoner came forth, poor and 
 dejected, starved almost to the shadow of his former 
 self, and with his stump of a tail hugged close be- 
 tween his legs he sneaked off to find something to 
 eat. 
 
 Before going far he met a raccoon, a creature 
 almost as full of falsehood and deceit as himself, but 
 with this merit, that he is always ready to help his 
 friends in distress. 
 
 " Can you give me anything to eat ? " were the 
 first words with which the fox saluted him. 
 
 ** Certainly," said the raccoon, "you do look hun- 
 gry, but come with me and you shall have a feast." 
 
 The raccoon's home was in a hollow tree, and his 
 larder was always well supplied. Since the fox could 
 not climb, he brought down to him a plentiful supply 
 
204 
 
 SUNDAY S TOE IE 8. 
 
 of young chickens, till the fox had eaten all he 
 wanted. Then with many promises to return the 
 favor if ever he found opportunity, Master Fox took 
 his departure. 
 
 But at once he began to cast about in his mind for 
 some scheme, by which to get the raccoon out of the 
 way and secure his store of food. So absorbed was 
 he in this matter, that he rambled on without taking 
 any notice of things about him, and suddenly, on 
 turning the corner of a fence, found himself face to 
 face with the dog. Taken so unawares, he trembled 
 in every joint, like a thief before a constable. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," said the dog, " I am not 
 after you, this time. But can you tell me where in 
 this neighborhood lives a Raccoon ? I should very 
 much like to put my teeth into him." 
 
 " Certainly," replied the overjoyed fox. " But he 
 lives in a tree, where you can not reach him. How- 
 ever, if you will meet me at this place to-morrow at 
 sundown, I will conduct you thither, and engage to 
 entice the raccoon out of his castle." 
 
 The bargain was concluded, and tlie fox ran 
 quickly back. It chanced, however, that a magpie 
 overheard the conversation, and flying before, told it 
 all to the raccoon before the fox arrived. 
 
 Great was the raccoon's indignation, but he 
 resolved to see if he could not outwit his false 
 friend at his own crame. 
 
SINCERITY. 205 
 
 " My dear friend," began the fox, upon his return, 
 " little did I think I could so soon return your kind- 
 ness. But I have just met a brother fox, who is 
 attached to the court of the Lion King, and he offers 
 me a very fine situation in the King's employ. I told 
 him I would much rather you should have the place, 
 and spoke of your cleverness in such warm terms 
 that he has consented to take you, and will call for 
 you to-morrow at nightfall." 
 
 '* How very good of you," said the raccoon, with 
 well-affected gratitude. '' I shall be rejoiced to go ; 
 and as I shall not want my store of provisions, I will 
 turn them over to you, provided you will bring a rope 
 with w^hich I can draw you up to them. You can 
 easily jump down again, after they are exhausted." 
 
 The fox was filled with glee at the success of his 
 scheme. A little after the appointed hour, just as it 
 grew too dark to distinguish clearly, he was on the 
 spot with the dog and the rope. 
 
 " Methinks your friend is rather large for a fox," 
 said the raccoon, as he peeped from his hole. 
 
 "■ He is very large," said the fox. *' That is owing 
 to the good living they have at Court. But he is 
 impatient to begin his journey ; are you ready ? " 
 
 " As soon as I have drawn you up," was the reply. 
 So saying, raccoon came down the tree to take the 
 end of the rope, which the fox reached up to him. 
 
 " Now then," said he, after he had wound the rope 
 round a limb, " put your body into the noose." 
 
2o6 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 No sooner said than clone. The raccoon drew 
 him up till his feet were all off the ground, and then 
 tied the rope fast and left him hanging. 
 
 " What does this mean ? " said the fox. 
 
 '' It means," replied the raccoon, " that I know 
 your game. *' Sir bailiff Dog, you will not get me 
 this time, and you might as well make a meal of the 
 fox." 
 
 This, however, the dog disdained to do, and 
 marched away. The raccoon turned in and went to 
 sleep, and before morning, the fox was strangled to 
 death. 
 
 That, my dear children, is the other side of the 
 history of Reynard the Fox, which is not often told 
 in the fables. 
 
 It is by far the truer side of the history of all who 
 undertake to lead insincere and crafty lives, rather 
 than be honest and straightforward. It is true of 
 each one of us in some degree, if ever we allow our- 
 selves to lay plans as this fox did, for the deception 
 of others. 
 
 You .can not tell so smooth a lie that God will not 
 detect it ; and sooner or later, every falsehood is sure 
 to be discovered. People will love you only when 
 they find you earnest and sincere, and know they 
 can depend upon your word as the truth. Let them 
 once find out that one whom they know, child or 
 grown-up person, has played the hypocrite and 
 
SIXCEniTY. 207 
 
 deceived them, instantly they begin to be afraid of 
 that person. It is impossible for him to prosper or 
 be happy long, anywhere, because nobody will trust 
 him. 
 
 Be sure of this, that the truth is always the safest 
 and surest way to reach what you want ; or, if you 
 want any thing that can only be gained by some 
 knavish trick, it is best that you should not have it. 
 For instance, if you wish to go to some place, and 
 think your parents will not let you go unless you tell 
 them a falsehood, it is better for your happiness that 
 you should stay at home, than to run the risk of 
 losing their confidence by telling an untruth. 
 
 Be sincere in all your words and deeds ; then you 
 will never have cause to hang your head for shame. 
 You will never get caught, like the Fox, in your own 
 trap, if you never set a trap for some one else. 
 
 Be sincere ; then men will respect you. God in 
 heaven will love you, and will think you worthy to be 
 counted a disciple of Jesus. 
 
• XVI. 
 EVERLASTING LIFE. 
 
 The grass withereth, the flower fadeth ; but the word of our God 
 shall stand forever. — Isaiah, ii. 8. 
 
 ^ I ^HE autfimn is sometimes called a sad season, 
 because all the beautiful summer then goes 
 away from us ; and then a great many sermons 
 preached about it, even sadder than the autumn 
 itself. I might, if I chose, take some such text as, 
 We all do fade as a leaf, or. All flesh is grass, and as 
 the flower of the field so it perisheth ; and perhaps I 
 should succeed in making you quite sorrowful. But 
 I do not desire to make you sad, only a little bit 
 sober and reflective. 
 
 You see the difference ! You are sad when you 
 meet with some loss, as when a pet animal dies, or a 
 pretty toy gets broken. You are sober and reflec- 
 tive, when you look up into the clear heavens at the 
 brilliant stars, and think how very, very far away 
 they must be, and wonder whether there are children 
 up there thinking and feeling as you do down here. 
 I want to make you feel something as you do then, to 
 show you where you stand, and lead you to think a 
 little about what is before you. 
 
EVERLASTING LIFE. 
 
 209 
 
 One habit of childhood, as I know from remem- 
 brances of my own childhood, is to postpone reflec- 
 tion. Though, for that matter, it is too often the habit 
 of older people as well. Yet I am only speaking to 
 the children here, and I know as I say because I 
 have been a child, that they are apt to put aside any 
 question that troubles them, thinking "there is time 
 enough for that by and by." Now every one who 
 loves children will certainly wish that they may not 
 grow old before their time. You cannot be more of 
 a joy to your parents and friends, than by living out 
 your bright, happy and cheerful childish natures. 
 And yet, I know it well, you all have sober moments. 
 Do you not sometimes think what a strange world 
 this is, and of what wonderful things it is full "^ And 
 do you not try to guess how it all came to be, and 
 what it is all coming to 1 Well, at these times, when 
 God puts such questions into your minds, he means 
 that you should think about them for yourselves as 
 best you are able. No matter if you cannot make it 
 all plain and satisfactory, it is only by beginning to 
 think that you will ever see light in these great prob- 
 lems. God gives you many times very clear percep- 
 tions of what is good and true and right, and jf you 
 will oftener think of these subjects when they come 
 into your minds, I am sure God will help you now, 
 as well as after you are older, to arrive at the truth. 
 
 So then that is what I want to do now, to make 
 27 
 
2IO SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 you a little more thoughtful. The grass withereth, 
 the flower fadeth ; but the word of our God shall 
 stand forever. The Prophet, you see, contrasts 
 something that is old and dying with something 
 that never grows old and never dies ; and in 
 that contrast is the whole force of his saying. 
 Perhaps you do not feel how much there is in such a 
 contrast as you will when the years begin to write 
 furrows in your face, and sprinkle your hair with 
 grey. I know that for you the season does not grow 
 old. When the frosts of autumn come, your eyes are 
 only pleased with the beautiful colors, not pained be- 
 cause underneath this gorgeous mantle, the skeleton 
 fingers of the trees begin to peep out. It is to you 
 of little moment that the summer dies, because the 
 winter has in store an unceasing round of sports. 
 But to father and mother this season brings the 
 thought that their lives are passing away, just as 
 leaves wither and fade. Their autumn is coming on, 
 when they will be forced to part from you and all the 
 things of this beautiful earth. 
 
 Most of you have read enough history to be famil- 
 iar with the story of the old Spanish adventurers 
 who came to this country when it was new, and spent 
 so much time and wasted so many lives, in searching 
 for the Fountain of Youth. It was very foolish of 
 them, no doubt, to imagine that there were any 
 waters, by bathing in which, they could keep them- 
 selves always young. But that they should want to 
 
EVERLASTING LIFE. 
 
 find such a fountain was natural enough, for it was 
 just this same want that everybody feels, for some- 
 thing they can keep forever. 
 
 You have all seen, doubtless, the picture of a 
 cross, set firmly into a rock, and lifted just above 
 the reach of a boiling tide of waters. To the cross 
 are clinging shipwrecked people, and others with 
 arms vainly outstretched toward this refuge, are 
 being driven past to some horrible dark fate below. 
 It is not altogether a pleasant picture to look at, but 
 it illustrates what I just now want you to see, the 
 value of something that stands — that is, which is not 
 swept away by this great tide of change. Not only 
 the leaves, but trees and animals and men, are all 
 brought at length, into the dust together. Even the 
 great rocks of the mountains slowly decay and fall 
 into the valleys. We all want to find something that 
 will stand without ever crumbling to pieces. We lay 
 hold of objects and keep them for a time, but one 
 after another, they are taken away from us, and we 
 stretch out our arms toward something that neither 
 the frosts of autumn nor the storms of winter, 
 neither decay, nor disease nor death itself, can move. 
 As autumn is the time when the grass withers and 
 the flowers fade, it brings to our remembrance how 
 our bodies and all things earthly, will in the same 
 way wither and fade, and the great lesson of that 
 season of the year is to turn our thoughts toward 
 what will still endure, when the autumn and winter 
 
SUNBAY STOBIES. 
 
 of our lives come upon us. We want to know then, 
 what will thus endure ? What does the prophet 
 mean, when he says, The word of our God shall 
 stand forever ? Well, then, since it is said, you 
 remember, that there are sermons in sticks and 
 stones, — let us see if the history and experience of 
 one of these same leaves, now whirled about by our 
 December winds, will not help us to find out its 
 meaning. 
 
 Away back in the spring-time, (for does not that 
 seem ages ago ? so much has happened since) — 
 away back in the early spring-time, on the topmost 
 twig of the very highest bough of a tall and stately 
 apple-tree, a little bud, which for months had been in 
 a sort of shivering sleep from the cold, began in a 
 dreamy sort of way to hear the robins chirp, and to 
 feel, deep down in its heart, that the sun's rays were 
 getting uncomfortably warm beneath its thick cover- 
 let. So first the sleep of the little bud began to be 
 uneasy and broken. It stretched itself out, within 
 its snug nest, and pushed its little green head into 
 the open air, and then in an instant it was broad 
 awake, filled with wonder and surprise. From its 
 high perch, it could look over all the neighboring 
 trees, away beyond the town, to the great hazy hills 
 in the distance. There was nothing above it but the 
 deep blue sky, across which were lazily sailing white 
 masses of stately clouds. 
 
 And so the little bud looked up and blinked at the 
 
EVERLASTIXG LIFE. 213 
 
 full splendor of the morning sun. Then the music 
 of a bird close by its side attracted its attention, and 
 when the bird had flown, it fell to watching the 
 sports of some children underneath. Then it specu- 
 lated much about the nature and purpose of the 
 carriages dashing past on the highway, and laughed 
 till it burst its coat, watching the funny antics of the 
 lambs in the next field. 
 
 Altogether, its first glance at the world filled it 
 with delight, and as it thought What a beautiful, 
 happy time I shall have day after day, with nothing 
 to do but enjoy the sunshine, and watch what goes 
 on about me for ever, it grew a whole eighth of 
 an inch with the thrill of pleasure. So the bud 
 soon became a tiny leaf, and grew to know that 
 portion of the world which it could see, quite 
 minutely. It went through its first storm very 
 bravely and soon forgot it, in the new brightness 
 that succeeded. 
 
 But meantime another little bud had been opening 
 on the same twig ; and one morning, the leaf, which 
 was not yet fairly out of its shell, became aware of 
 the presence of a white blossom, delicately tinged 
 with pink. The first hint from its neighbor, was a 
 breath of perfume, which the blossom sent across by 
 a passing breeze. The leaf nodded its acknowledg- 
 ments, and thus the way was opened for an acquaint- 
 ance, which before noon ripened into intimacy. 
 
 The leaf had much to relate of what it had seen, 
 
214 SUNDAY STOBIES. 
 
 being a little older than the blossom, and the latter 
 in turn was moved to unfold all its hopes for the 
 future. But soon the leaf began to contrast its form 
 and color with those of its beautiful friend, and find- 
 ing the comparison result to its own disadvantage, a 
 little bit of envy sprung up in its tender heart. Then 
 it observed that the children now bestowed upon the 
 blossom all their admiring glances ; that the humming- 
 birds and the bees paid it frequent visits, quite to the 
 neglect of the leaf ; so it began to be jealous, and as 
 is usual, its envy and jealousy found vent in abuse. 
 
 It confided to a robin, that in its opinion the 
 blossom was afflicted with the most brazen impu- 
 dence; that it should henceforth decline ever to 
 speak one single word to it, and that he, (the robin), 
 need only just wait until after the first shower, to see 
 that pretty pink all faded, if indeed the whole flower 
 were not washed away. 
 
 This was purposely said in a loud tone, so that the 
 blossom might overhear ; but it was very busy, trying 
 to make a small apple, so it simply shook out another 
 little laugh of perfume, and went on with its work. 
 However, the prediction of the leaf came true, for 
 the very first rain thoroughly drenched the poor 
 blossom and scattered it far and wide. 
 
 Then the leaf was triumphant, and although it had 
 only spoken a malicious wish, without any real knowl- 
 edge of what was coming to pass, yet it prided itself 
 greatly on the superior wisdom it had displayed. 
 
EVERLASTING LIFE. 215 
 
 The same storm blew out from under a clump of 
 bushes, a bunch of withered leaves, which, as they 
 went rustling and skurrying across the field, attracted 
 the leaf's notice. It was the first time it had looked 
 upon anything dead, and it did not know what to 
 think. 
 
 So when the robin came back to see about the 
 blossom, he was asked for information on the subject. 
 Then he had to tell the poor little leaf, that one of 
 those dry, twisted things had very likely grown upon 
 that very same twig, the summer before, and that by 
 and by would come storms and frosts, when it too 
 w^ould grow old and die, and be swept away " by 
 chillinsf winds. 
 
 This troubled the leaf not a little, for a time, but 
 presently it said, Well, I will have a good time while 
 I can, anyhow ; and so dismissed the whole matter. 
 Then it fell to thinking again about the blossom, and' 
 being in a reflective mood, and glancing toward the 
 place which the blossom had lately occupied, found 
 that the blossom had left behind it a funny-looking, 
 little, green ball. As this did not seem to be nearly 
 so pretty as itself, the leaf was quite ready to lay aside 
 all spite, and enter into friendly relations. 
 
 So the apple and the leaf grew together, through 
 all the summer loveliness. Together they suffered 
 from the dust, and enjoyed the pattering showers.. 
 Together they laughed when the wind swung them 
 
2i5 SUNDAY STORIES. 
 
 to and fro, and together they watched the busy life 
 about them during the sultry calms. 
 
 As autumn came on, the apple grew gradually 
 ruddy and smooth and full, but so slowly, that the 
 leaf's envy was not aroused, or perhaps it had gained 
 too much wisdom to make its envy known. 
 
 The season went on, until the farmers had well- 
 nisfh r]ii!>iied harvestins;, when one morninsf the leaf 
 awoke to find itself covered with a pure white coat, 
 from which stood out multitudes of little sharp 
 needle-points, reflecting the sun in a most dazzling 
 way. To be sure it felt a certain unwonted numb- 
 ness, but still you may believe it was mightily 
 pleased with this new splendor. Very short-lived it 
 was, however, for the sun had hardly looked at it, when 
 a few little drops of water trickled away, a little puff 
 of steam went up, and the beauty of the frost had 
 vanished. 
 
 Then it was that the leaf perceived the injury that 
 had been done to it. The frost was not severe, and 
 so had not killed it outright, but its edges began to 
 curl a little, and then grow stiff and hard. So the 
 leaf turned to the apple for sympathy, but behold ! 
 its place was vacant, and there was nothing but a 
 little black stump to mark where the stem had parted. 
 Away down below, half hidden amidst the grasses, 
 its ruddy face shone back to its former companion, 
 and there was a great ugly bruise upon one side, 
 where it had struck a bou2:h in its descent. Soon a 
 
EVERLASTING LIFE. 217 
 
 man came under the tree and picked it up, but find- 
 ing the bruise, threw it down again. At first the 
 leaf was saddened by the loss of its friend, but 
 directly it began to feel triumphant, as it had over 
 the blossom. 
 
 Well, it thought, the frost couldn't cut me off so 
 easily. My stem is sound, and I shall hold out so 
 long that it isn't worth while thinking about the end. 
 So it plucked up heart, forgot the apple, and went on 
 enjoying itself as heretofore. But the nights grew 
 colder, the days shorter, and the winds sharper. 
 Gradually a yellow tinge spread over the surface of 
 the leaf, and even crept down the stem. Still the 
 leaf w^ould not allow itself to think that it must die, 
 but persistently put the idea aside and pursued the 
 •little round of pleasure left to it. 
 
 The air was full of its falling fellows, but it only 
 laughed to see them dodge and twist about to avoid 
 tumbling to the ground. There was still one little 
 green spot left in its centre, and it thought itself 
 safe, as long as it could retain that. But even in the 
 midst of its glee at the misery of others, a fierce 
 blast swept by, and tore it from its fastening. Then 
 indeed it was full of alarm. This way and that it 
 madly flew, to catch something to stop its fall. But 
 down at last it came, right beside the apple. 
 
 " Well," said the leaf, ** so here we are together 
 once more, and almost dead." 
 28 
 
SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 " Speak for yourself," replied the apple, " for as for 
 me, I shall never die." *' But," said the leaf again, 
 '* You are decaying already, and judging from appear- 
 ances, I should say you were nearer gone than I am." 
 ** Very true," replied the apple, " but down in my 
 heart I feel a little germ of life, already budding 
 anew. All along I have hoped and dreamed that it 
 might be so, even from the time the blossom left 
 me a little ugly unripe ball ; and now I know that I 
 contain a seed of life which will live on, though my 
 body die, and will see the new spring-time, will bud 
 and blossom and bring forth fruit of its own." 
 
 Then said the leaf, " Oh ! that I had been a blos- 
 som." Just then a rake came by, dragging and 
 mangling the poor fallen leaves. So that this leaf 
 was very thankful for a gust of wind which hurried it 
 away, and lodged it high up in the corner of a fence. 
 From thence it watched the gardener with terror, as 
 he raked together load after load and carted them 
 into the hungry flames, until finally, its turn came. 
 There was a crackle and glow, a little fierce sputter- 
 ing struggle, as the heat reached all the life left to 
 it, then a pile of white ashes soon scattered by the 
 wind, and that was the end of the leaf forever. 
 
 But the apple sent a little sprout into the earth, 
 and when the soft southern breezes came again, 
 where it had lain, people found a little tender shoot 
 of green. So they nurtured it and tended it until it 
 
EVERLASTIXG LIFE. 219 
 
 grew to be a giant tree, and the birds came and built 
 their nests in it. The children for many summers 
 played in its shade, and ate of its fruit, and its help 
 and blessing extended to many of God's creatures. 
 
 Now see you what stood where the_ leaf had faded ? 
 and why the leaf dried ? It was not that it had done 
 anything very wrong, but because it neglected to do 
 anything very right. It lived altogether in the pres- 
 ent moment, and took no thought for a life beyond. 
 Its joys were joys which soon passed away, but it 
 was content with them, and took no pains to provide 
 pleasures which could endure. The blossom too had 
 a beauty in itself, and enjoyed the momer^s as they 
 went by, just as keenly, but it also found time to 
 grow into an apple, and as an apple to mature its 
 seeds, and as a seed it found opportunity to become 
 a tree. 
 
 The life that was in the blossom, stood, that is, 
 remained through all changes ; the life that was in 
 the leaf, grew old and perished with the summer. 
 
 You children, have your sports and games, as you 
 ought to have, in which you take keen delight, but 
 will you try to remember that these are the leaves of 
 your lives, and must soon fade ? As you grow older, 
 many things in which you now have pleasure will be 
 laid aside. I would not have you hasten to give 
 them up, but you should already have a care to find 
 enjoyment in things which do not pass away. 
 
SUNDAY S TOBIES. 
 
 The word of God is in your hearts, even that word 
 which, as the Prophet declares, shall stand forever. It 
 tells you to do the right, prompts you to generous and 
 unselfish deeds, and fills you with a great bounding 
 joy, when you have done something good and kind. 
 And will you try also to remember that these ^re the 
 blossoms of your lives ? The beauty and joy of any 
 one such act may soon die out of your remembrance, 
 even as the blossoms perish on the tree, but it will 
 leave its fruit behind, and that fruit will sink deep 
 into your souls, and will come up again like a tree of 
 life, to fill your own and other lives with gladness, 
 even though every other source of joy were dead to 
 you. 
 
 Thus through all the storms of sorrow ; through all 
 the changes between you and manhood and woman- 
 hood ; through all the trials to be met before you 
 reach the gate of heaven ; through the last great 
 change of death, and on into the boundless life be- 
 yond. However the grass may wither and the flow- 
 ers fade, the word of God, once planted in your 
 hearts, will stand forever. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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