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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 iff O-^ i«ui 
 
QUOTATIONS 
 
 Select Stories 
 
 OPENING EXERCISES 
 
 IS SCHOOLS. 
 
 COMPILED BY 
 
 GEORGE F. BASS, 
 
 Supervising Principal, Indianapolis Public Schools. 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS: 
 
 CABLON A HOLLENBECK, PRINTERS. 
 1887. 
 

 
 Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the Librarian's Office at Wash- 
 
 ington, D. C, 1S87, 
 
 By GEORGE F. BASS. 
 
PRO CONFESSO. 
 
 Whoso writes delightful story, 
 
 True and touching, full of lore. 
 Shall in human nature's longing 
 
 Hold a place for evermore. 
 
 All the docks and mossy harbors, 
 Where the sea-ships come and go, 
 
 Still rehearse that spell and pleasing 
 Of the pages of Defoe. 
 
 Eldorado?— still we wonder, 
 
 Can there any island lie 
 In the west of life's attaining 
 
 Where our prime might never die? 
 
 Still in secret depths of feeling 
 
 We escape Time's onward span ; 
 For the youth's remote transfusion 
 
 Stirs the pulses of the man. 
 
 — George Wentz, in Open Court 
 
 (3) 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pages. 
 
 CHAPT. , '. 7-31 
 
 I- T-^' ■ 32-55 
 
 «• Honesty • gg_^3 
 
 III. Benevolence ^^^^ 
 
 VI. Courage and Bravery 
 
 V- «^^°''" ■ . ■ . ' m-144 
 
 VI. Politeness . • • * * 
 
 VII Be-ard for Parents and the Aged . • • 1^^^ 
 
 ^^^- ° . 161-172 
 
 VIIL True Worth ...••' ^^^_^^^ 
 
 IX. Promptness ' ^^^_^^^ 
 
 X. Kindness ..••*' 
 
 . 204-219 
 
 XI Contentment 
 
 . . 220-222 
 
 XII. Obedience 
 
 ■ . . 223-234 
 
 XIII. Animals 
 
 235-256 
 
 XIV. Miscellaneous 
 
 (4) 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 " Where can I get suitable selections to read as a 
 part of ray opening exercise ? '' 
 
 This question has been asked by many teachers. 
 Attempts to answer it suggested the preparation of 
 this little book. 
 
 Froebel says : ^' The story brings forward other 
 people, other relations, other times and places, other 
 and quite diiferent forms; notwithstanding this fact 
 the auditor seeks his own image, he sees it, yet no- 
 body can say to him, ^it is your own image.' ^^ 
 
 Much care has been taken to select such stories as 
 will show the pupil his better self and impress him 
 with it. 
 
 Stories that suggest the bad have been left out of 
 this book. They are believed to be harmful, because 
 they often suggest the doing of bad things the boy 
 never would have thought of had he not read it in 
 the story. 
 
 It is thought best to present these stories and selec- 
 tions without remarks from the compiler. 
 
 A teacher may, with profit, make each selection the 
 basis of an informal talk idth the pupils, not at them. 
 
 There has been no attempt made to grade the 
 selections, as most of them, with a slight modification, 
 that any teacher can make, may be used in any grade. 
 
6 PREFACE. 
 
 The selections are taken largely from newspapers. 
 Whenever the author or paper from which they were 
 taken is known to the compiler, proper credit is given. 
 
 This little book is submitted to the teachers with 
 the hope that it may be of some assistance to them 
 in their great work. 
 
 Indianapolis, Ind., June 16, 1887. 
 
(Sluotations anb Stories 
 
 FOU 
 
 OPENING EXERCISES IN SCHOOLS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TRUST. 
 
 The following selections show a faith in God and 
 His creatures. One great lesson that may be impressed 
 by them is, that " God helps those who help them- 
 selves." It is the lesson of work with an abidinor 
 iliith in God's eternal laws. ^^ Faith without works 
 is dead." 
 
 "Not as I will, but as ikou wi7^"— Mat. xxvi, 39. 
 
 NOT AS I WILL. 
 
 Blindfolded and alone I stand, 
 With unknown thresholds on each hand ; 
 The darkness deepens as I grope, 
 Afraid to fear, afraid to hope; 
 Yet this one thing I learn to know, 
 Each day more surely as I go — 
 That doors are opened, ways are made, 
 Burdens are lifted or are laid, 
 By some great law unseen and still, 
 Unfathomed purpose to fulfill, 
 " Not as I will." 
 (7) 
 
TRUST. 
 
 Blindfolded and alone I wait, 
 Loss seems too bitter, gain too late ; 
 Too heavy burdens in the load, 
 And too few helpers on the road ; 
 And joy is weak and grief is strong, 
 And years and days so long, so long, 
 Yet this one thing I learn to know, 
 Each day more surely as I go — 
 That I am glad the good and ill 
 By changeless law are ordered still, 
 " Not as I will." 
 
 " Not as I will ! " — the sound grows sweet 
 
 Each time my lips the words repeat, 
 '' Not as I will ! " The darkness feels 
 
 More safe than light when this thought steals 
 
 Like whispered voice to calm and bless 
 
 All unrest and all loneliness. 
 " Not as I will," because the One 
 
 Who loved us first and best has gone 
 
 Before us on the road, and still 
 
 For us must all His love fulfill — 
 
 " Not as we will." Helen Hunt Jackson. 
 
 WILLING TO SHOVEL. 
 
 To be willing to begin at the bottom is the open 
 secret of being able to come out at the top. A few 
 years ago, a young man came to this country to take 
 a position in a new enterprise in the Southwest. He 
 was well bred, well educated ; and he had the tastes 
 of his birth and education. He reached the scene of 
 his proposed labors, and found, to his dismay, that the 
 enterprise was already bankrupt, and that he was pen- 
 niless, homeless and friendless in a strange land. He 
 worked his way back to New York, and in midwinter 
 
Til U.ST. 9" 
 
 found himself without money or friends, in the great 
 busy metropolis. He did not stop to measure the ob- 
 stacles in his path; he simply set out to find work. 
 lie would have preferred the pen, but he was willing 
 to take the shovel ; and the shovel it was to be. 
 
 Passing down Fourth Avenue on a snowy morning, 
 he found a crowd of men at work shoveling snow from 
 the sidewalk about a well-known locality. He ap- 
 plied for a position in their ranks, got it, and went to 
 work with a hearty good-will, as if shoveling were his 
 vocation. Not long after, one of the owners of the 
 property, a many-millionaire, passed along the street, 
 saw the young man's face, was struck by its intelli- 
 gence, and wondered what had brought him to such a 
 pass. A day or two later, his business took him to 
 the same locality again, and brought him face to face 
 with the same man, still shoveling snow. He stopped, 
 spoke to him, received a prompt and courteous an- 
 swer, talked a few minutes for the sake of getting a 
 few facts about his history, and then asked the young 
 man to call at his office. That night the shovel era 
 ended; and the next day, at the appointed time, the 
 young man was closeted with the millionaire. In one 
 of the latter's many enterprises there was a vacant 
 place, and the young man who was willing to shovel 
 got it. It was a small place, at a small salary; but he 
 more than filled it. He filled it so well, indeed, that 
 in a few months he was promoted ; and, at the end of 
 three years, he was at the head of the enterprise, at a 
 large salary. He is there to-day, with the certainty 
 that, if he lives, he will eventually fill a position sec- 
 
10 TRUST. 
 
 ond in importance to none in the field in which he is 
 working. The story is all told in three words — willing 
 to shovel. — Christian Union. 
 
 Let us all work with a willingness to do that which 
 lies nearest us, trusting that if we are deserving we 
 will eventually be appreciated. There are many un- 
 pleasant things to be done — must be done. Let no one 
 shrink from them. " Learn to labor and to wait." 
 
 " Though He slay me, yet loill I trust in Himy — Job xiii, 15. 
 
 TRUST. 
 
 [A lady who is an invalid wrote as follows : "I have a little poem Avhich 
 J lepeated at Sabbath-school when I was five years old, which is as good to 
 me now that I am an invalid of fifty- five; and I wish to send it to you." 
 The poem, though simple in style, is good in spirit, and illustrates the 
 Talue of teaching early to children lessons of hope and trust which may 
 ielp them in coming years.] 
 
 My little girl the other day 
 
 (Three years of age a month ago) 
 Wounded her finger while at play, 
 
 And saw the crimson current flow. 
 With pleading optics, raining tears. 
 
 She sought my aid in terror wild. 
 I smiling said, " Dismiss your fears, 
 
 For all will soon be well, my child." 
 Her little bosom ceased to swell ; 
 
 While she replied, with calmer brow, 
 " I know that you can make it well ; 
 
 But hmo, papa? I don't see how." 
 Our children oft entreat us thus 
 
 For succor or for recompense. 
 They look with confidence to us. 
 
 As we should look to Providence. 
 
TRUST. 11 
 
 And each infantile doulit and fear, 
 
 And every little ciiildish s^rief, 
 Is uttered to a parent's ear 
 
 With full assurance of relief. 
 And shall I doubtingly repine 
 
 When clouds of dark allliction lower? 
 A tender Father still is mine, 
 
 With greater mercy, love, and power. 
 He clothes the lily, feeds the dove, 
 
 The smallest insect feels His cure; 
 And shall not man confess His love — 
 
 Man, His offspring and His heir? 
 Yes, "though He slay," I'll trust Him still, 
 
 And still with resignation bow. 
 He may relieve: He can. He will. 
 
 Although we can not yet see how. 
 
 '^Sister Mcuy," Christian Register. 
 
 THERE'S A SILVER LINING TO EVERY CLOUD. 
 
 S'ad are the sorrows that often times come, 
 Heavy and dull, and blighting and chill. 
 Shutting the light from our heart and our home, 
 Marring our hopes and defying our will ; 
 But let us not sink beneath the woe, 
 'Tis well, perchance, we are tired and bowed. 
 For be sure, though we may not oft see it below, 
 "There's a silver lining to every cloud." Eliza Cook. 
 
 I CAN AND I WILL 
 
 I knew a boy who was preparing to enter the junior 
 class of the New York University. He was studying 
 trigonometry, and I gave him three examples for his 
 next lesson. 
 
12 TRUST. 
 
 The following day he came into ray room to demon- 
 strate his problems. Two of them he understood^ but 
 the third — a very difficult one — he had not performed. 
 I said to him, '' Shall I help you ? " 
 
 " Xo, sir ! I can and will do it, if you give me time.^' 
 I said, " I will give you all the time you wish.^' 
 The next day he came into my room to recite a les- 
 son in the same study. 
 
 ^' Well, Simon, have you worked that example ? '' 
 "No, sir,^^ he answered; "but I can and will do it, 
 if you will give me a little more time.'' 
 
 " Certainly, you shall have all the time you desire." 
 I always like those boys who are determined to do 
 their own work, for they make our best scholars, and 
 men, too. The third morning you should have seen 
 Simon enter my room. I knew he had it, for his 
 whole face told the story of his success. 
 
 Yes, he had it, notv\^ithstanding it had cost him 
 many hours of the severest mental labor. 
 
 Not only had he solved the problem, but, what was 
 of infinitely greater importance to him, he had begun 
 to develop mathematical powers which, under the in- 
 spiration of " I can and I will,'' he has continued to 
 cultivate, until to-day he is professor of mathematics in 
 one of our largest colleges, and one of the ablest mathe- 
 maticians of his years in our country. — Evangelist. 
 
 Some people are afraid to trust their own powers. 
 A confidence in self is the first element of success. 
 
 " Where there is a will there is a way." If there 
 is not, the person who has the will will very soon make 
 a way. Nothing does one more good than to know 
 
TRUST. 13 
 
 that by his own efforts he has made a success. Such 
 a person will grow stronger and stronger. 
 
 "PAPA IS DRIVING." 
 
 I arrived at the station at the appointed hour. I 
 entered or rather was thrown by an attendant into the 
 car nearest to me. The door was quickly shut. The 
 whistle was blown, and we were off. I formed the 
 fifth passenger. Two of the corners were occupied, 
 one by an officer, and the other by a civilian. Facing 
 me was a woman, about thirty years old, and neatly 
 and modestly dressed, and beside her sat the most 
 beautiful little child I ever saw — a little girl about 
 six years old, with a flood of blonde curls waving 
 under her immense straw hat. Now and then the 
 child would look through the windows in the direc- 
 tion of the engine, and then her eyes seemed to wan- 
 der in the infinite space that was unrolling itself before 
 her. ^ye came to a station. The train stopped. The 
 little girl put her face to the window ^' I don^t see 
 him,'' she said to the lady beside her. " I don't see 
 him." Then suddenly her face brightened and her 
 eyes lit with golden hues, shining with indescribal)le 
 joy, while her lips came down upon two hands that 
 came from the exterior and were placed upon the frame 
 of the opened window. "Ah, papa ! Here is papa ! " 
 exclaimed my little neighbor, with the exuberant and 
 innocent joy of her six years. 
 
 It was the engineer of our train, w4io had come to 
 
14 TRUST. 
 
 speak to his little daughter and his wife, who were 
 seated in front of me. 
 
 ^' We are going very fast/^ said the woman. 
 
 "We must make up for lost time/' replied the man. 
 " Were you afraid, Jennie ? ^^ 
 
 " No/' said the child, ^' because I knew you were 
 driving.^^ 
 
 " Well, by-bye," said the man, as he left. 
 
 "By-bye, papa," said the child, throwing herself 
 into his arms. 
 
 The train started, and gradually reached an extra- 
 ordinary speed. I worship children, and began to 
 examine the little one in front of me. She was full 
 of life and good humor. She amused herself with 
 everything and nothing, cajoling with her mother, in- 
 quisitive with the window, severe with the doll. She 
 was carrying on a thousand conversations all at once, 
 and with a noise that was almost deafening, when, sud- 
 denly, the gentleman in the other corner exclaimed: 
 
 " Decidedly, we are going too fast. The train will 
 surely run off the track." 
 
 "Oh, don^t be afraid," said the child, seriously, 
 " papa is driving." 
 
 The officer was reading. He looked out of the 
 window, and then resumed his reading without mak- 
 ing any observation. 
 
 The other gentleman again began to talk. 
 
 " This is certainly madness," said he. 
 
 " Yes, madam/' he continued, addressing the lady, 
 "your husband is either drunk or crazy." 
 
 " Oh, sir," said the lady, " my husband never gets 
 
TRUST. 15 
 
 drunk. You saw him a little while ago. Certainly, 
 the train is going at a furious rate. I don't quite 
 understand it." 
 
 The officer closed his book, and stretched liimself 
 along the seat. " I would advise you to do the same," 
 he said, with the utmost coolness. "If you keep 
 seated, your legs will be smashed. Remember the 
 Versailles accident." 
 
 Certainly, the train was running at a terrifying rate. 
 What in the world could the engineer mean by such 
 driving? 
 
 " I am afraid," said the man, white with terror. 
 
 Then the officer took me aside. " Here is my name 
 and address," said he, " if I am killed or mortally 
 wounded in the accident to which we are running, and 
 you escape, promise me now that you will carry these 
 dispatches without a moment's delay to the general 
 whose name you will find by opening this envelope." 
 I promised. 
 
 The woman took the little child in her arms and 
 covered her face with tears and kisses. She seemed 
 to wish to make a rampart of herself to protect the 
 little one against the frightful smash-up that was 
 momentarily expected. 
 
 " I am not afraid," said the child, smiling ; " papa is 
 driving." And she alone among the passengers of the 
 car, and doubtless she alone among all on board of 
 the train, had faith and confidence. We could hear 
 in the other cars cries of terror and wailings of despair ; 
 and, in spite of the mother, the child leaned as far as 
 l)ossible out of the window in the back door, and 
 
16 TRUST, 
 
 shouted out, with all the force of her lungs, " Don't 
 be afraid ; papa is driving ! ^' Ah, that sweet little 
 girl, in the general terror, was a tower of strength 
 with that sacred love of a child for a father — an affec- 
 tion that nothing can break down. 
 
 Gradually, the train slowed, and came to a stand- 
 still. We were at a station. The engineer came to 
 the door. " We have been going very fast/' said he ; 
 " but, at all hazards, we must get to Reims before the 
 Prussians. That we must do at the risk of being 
 blown up or smashed to pieces on the way. I'm told 
 we are carrying important dispatches." And he looked 
 at his little girl with tears in his eyes. 
 
 " Give me your hand," said the officer ; " you are a 
 brave fellow. It is I who have the dispatches." " En 
 route / " then said the man ; and he gave a parting 
 glance at the fair form of his child, as if to bid her 
 farewell. But Jennie was not afraid, and, moreover, 
 nobody in our compartment was afraid any longer. 
 We knew that we were risking our lives for our 
 ■country, and that satisfied us. As for the train, it 
 recommenced its furious race. 
 
 This was in the month of September, 1879, on the 
 Eastern line. — From the French. 
 
 " Dear God, I am so weary of it all." 
 WEARINESS. 
 
 "Weary of each day's doing from rising to set of sun ? 
 
 Weary of so much doing and seeing so little done? 
 
 Are deeds so great in the dreaming, so small in the doing found ? 
 
 And all life's earnest endeavors only with failure crowned ? 
 
TRTST. 17 
 
 You look to the sky at evening, and out of the depths of blue 
 A little star, you call it, is glimmering faintly through. 
 Little! He sees, who looks from His throne in tiie highest place, 
 A great world circling grandly the limitless realms of space. 
 
 So with your life's deep purpose, set in His mighty plan, 
 Out of the dark you see it, looking with human scan. 
 Little and weak you call it. lie from His throne may see 
 Issues that move on grandly into eternity. 
 
 Sow the good seed, and already the harvest may be won. 
 The deed is great in the doing that God calls good when done. 
 'Tis as great, perhaps, to be noble as noble things to do ; 
 And the world of men is better if one man grows more true. 
 
 Let us be strong in the doing, for that is ours alone ; 
 
 The meaning and end are His, and He will care for His own. 
 
 And, if it seems to us little, remem1)er that from afar 
 
 He looks into a world where we but glance at a star. 
 
 Christian Register. 
 
 ^^In my father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would 
 have told you. I go to prepare a place for you." — John xiv, 2. 
 
 THE GATE OF THE PALACE. 
 
 BY REV. M. J. SAVAGE. 
 
 [Written for the dedication services of the Mortuary Chapel at Forest Hill 
 Cemetery, May 9, 1885.] 
 
 Is this the gateway of the dead, 
 
 Tiie portal of the land of gloom. 
 Wherein the Silent City lies 
 
 Whose streets are pathways to the tomb? 
 
 And as each white face passes through 
 And takes its downward, shadowy way, 
 
 Is it to say good-by to love, 
 
 A farewell to the gladsome dav? 
 
18 TRUST. 
 
 Is this slow music that I hear 
 From yonder organ-loft the sweep 
 
 Of solemn tones that mark the tread 
 Of shades that march to endless sleep ? 
 
 Nay, nay, we will not have it so ! 
 
 The heart proclaims a nobler trust; 
 This gateway on the road all tread 
 
 Ends in no silent house of dust. 
 
 The grave is but a robing-room 
 Where servant angels to us bring, 
 
 For outworn garments there laid by. 
 Fit robes wherein to meet the King ! 
 
 His antechamber this, where we. 
 Like all the loved and lost before. 
 
 Must wait until His high command 
 For us swings wide the Palace door! 
 
 A BOY WHO BECAME FAMOUS. 
 
 A boy, only six years old, was sailing with his 
 father down the Danube. All day long they had been 
 sailing past crumbling ruins, frowning castles, clois- 
 ters hidden away among the crags, towering cliffs, 
 quiet villages nestled in sunny valleys, and here and 
 there a deep gorge that opened back from the gliding 
 river, its hollow distance blue with fathomless shadow, 
 and its loneliness and stillness stirring the boy's heart 
 like some dim and vast cathedral. They stopped at 
 night at a cloister, and the father took little Wolfgang 
 into the chapel to see the organ. It was the first 
 large organ he had ever seen, and his face lit up with 
 delight, and every motion and attitude of his figure 
 expressed a wondering reverence. 
 
TRUST. 19 
 
 " Father/' said the boy, '^ let me play.'' Well 
 pleased, the father complied. Then Wolfgang pushed 
 aside the stool, and, when his father had filled the 
 great bellows, the elfin organist stood upon the pedals. 
 How the deep tones woke the somber stillness of the 
 old church! The organ seemed some great, uncouth 
 creature, roaring for very joy at the caresses of the 
 marvelous child. 
 
 The monks, eating their supper in the refectory^ 
 heard it, and dropped knife and fork in astonishment. 
 The organist of the brotherhood was among them, but 
 never had he played with such power. They list- 
 ened ; some crossed themselves, till the prior rose up 
 and hastened into the chapel. The others followed ; 
 but when they looked up into the organ-loft, lo I 
 there was no organist to be seen, though the deep 
 tones still massed themselves in new harmonies, and 
 made the stone arches thrill with their power. " It 
 is the devil !" cried one of the monks, drawing closer 
 to his companions, and giving a scared look over his 
 shoulder at the darkness of the aisle. " It is a mira- 
 cle !" said another. But when the boldest of them 
 mounted the stairs to the organ-loft, he stood as if 
 petrified with amazement. There was the tiny figure 
 treading from pedal to pedal, and at the same time 
 clutching at the keys above with his little hands, 
 gathering handfuls of those wonderful chords as if 
 they were violets, and flinging them out into the sol- 
 emn gloom behind him. He heard nothing, saw 
 nothing, besides ; his eyes beamed, and his whole face 
 lighted up with impassioned joy. Louder and fuller 
 
20 TRUST. 
 
 rose the harmonies, streaming forth in swelling bil- 
 lows, till at last they seemed to reach a sunny shore, 
 on which they broke ; and then a whispering ripple 
 of faintest melody lingered a moment in the air, like 
 the last murmur of a wind harp, and all was still. 
 
 The boy was John Wolfgang Mozart. — Christian 
 Intelligencer. 
 
 THE BLIND SPINNER. 
 
 Like a blind spinner in the sun 
 
 I tread my days ; 
 I know that all the threads will run 
 
 Appointed ways ; 
 I know each day will bring its task, 
 And, being blind, no more I ask. 
 
 I do not know the use or name 
 
 Of that I spin ; 
 I only know that some one came 
 
 And laid within 
 My hand the thread, and said, " Since you 
 Are blind, but one thing you can do." 
 
 Sometimes the threads so rough and fast 
 
 And tangled fly, 
 I know wild storms are sweeping past, 
 
 And fear that I 
 Shall fall, but dare not try to find 
 A safer place, since I am blind. 
 
 I know not why, but I am sure 
 
 That tint and place. 
 In some great fabric to endure 
 
 Past time and race, 
 My threads will have : so, from the first, 
 Though blind, I never felt accursed. 
 
TRUST. 21 
 
 I think, perhaps, this trust has sprung 
 
 From one sliort word 
 Said over rae when I was young — 
 
 So young, I heard 
 It, knowing not that God's name signed 
 My brow, and sealed me His, tliougli blind. 
 
 But whether this be seal or sign, 
 
 Within, without. 
 It matters not. Tlie bond divine 
 
 I never doubt. 
 I know He set me here, and still 
 And glad and blind I wait His will, 
 
 But listen, listen, day by day, 
 
 To hear their tread 
 Who bear the finished web away, 
 
 And cut the thread. 
 And bring God's message in the sun — 
 " Thou poor blind spinner, work is done." 
 ■Christian Reguter. H. H. 
 
 " What IS worth doing atoll is worth doing well." 
 LITTLE BY LITTLE. 
 
 " Little by little," an acorn said, 
 
 As it slowly sank in its mossy be4; 
 " I am improving every day. 
 
 Hidden deep in the earth away." 
 
 Little by little each day it grew, 
 
 Little by little it sipped the dew ; 
 
 Downward it sent out a thread-like root. 
 
 Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot. 
 
 Day after day, and year after year, 
 
 Little by little the leaves appear; 
 
 And the slender branches spread far and wide, 
 
 Till the mighty oak is the forest's pride. 
 
22 TRUST. 
 
 " Little by little," said a thoughtful boy, 
 "Moment by moment I'll well employ, 
 Learning a little every day, 
 And not spending all my time in play; 
 And still this rule in my mind shall dwell — 
 'Whatever I do, I'll do it well.' 
 Little by little I'll learn to know 
 The treasured wisdom of long ago ; 
 And one of these days, perhaps, we'll see 
 That the world will be the better for me." 
 And do you not think that this simple plan 
 Made him a wise and useful man ? 
 
 New Zealand Church News. 
 
 ONE BY ONE. 
 
 One by one the sands are flowing, 
 
 One by one the moments fall ; 
 Some are coming, some are going ; 
 
 Do not strive to grasp them all. 
 
 One by one (bright gifts from heaven) 
 
 Joys are sent thee here below ; 
 Take them readily when given — 
 
 Ready, too, to let them go. 
 
 One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, 
 
 Do not fear an armed band ; 
 One will fade as others greet thee — 
 
 Shadows passing through the land. 
 
 Do not look at life's long sorrow ; 
 
 See how small each moment's pain ; 
 God will help thee for to-morrow, 
 
 So each day begin again. 
 
 Every hour that fleets so slowly 
 
 Has its task to do or bear ; 
 Luminous the crown, and holy, 
 
 When each gem is set with care. 
 
 Adelaide A. Proctor. 
 
TRUST. 
 
 23 
 
 UNDER THE SNOW. 
 
 BY H. 
 
 Winter's drear carpet is over the earth ; 
 
 It covers the garden, is piled in the glen; 
 
 But safe and sound, beneath the ground, 
 
 Hid from the curious gaze of men, 
 
 Biding their time while the north winds blow. 
 
 The flowers are waiting under the snow. 
 
 Under the snow, the anemone 
 
 Lies, with her frail and delicate bell ; 
 
 She knows, with the earliest breath of spring. 
 
 Her leaf will burst and her i)uds will swell ; 
 
 And the May flower is lingering, folding low 
 
 Her fragrant blossom, beneath the snow. 
 
 Golden buttercups, daisies white, 
 
 Modest violets, yellow and blue, 
 
 Dandelions, with blossoms bright. 
 
 Honeysuckle of gorgeous hue — 
 
 Though the hours seem long and the days move slow, 
 
 "We know you are safe, down under the snow. 
 
 Rose-bush branches, brown, leallcss and bare, 
 Wait for a miracle to disclose. 
 When June comes with her softer air. 
 The full and perfect and blushing rose. 
 In the soft, black mud of the river's flow. 
 The lily gains beauty, 'neatli ice and snow. 
 
 The buds of the lilac, hard nnd brown. 
 
 Are hiding a sudden, leafy glory. 
 
 And whispering the twigs of the purple crown 
 
 They shall wear when spring repeats her story. 
 
 And the myriad grass blades sprout and grow, 
 
 Gath'ring their forces under the snow. 
 
24 TRUST. 
 
 Beautiful flowers of every hue, 
 Rosy, golden, or blue as the skies, 
 Waiting the summons that calls you forth, 
 Draws you upward and opens your eyes. 
 Yours is the lesson I long to know — 
 Lives that are hidden under the snow. 
 
 Christian Register. 
 
 Let us not be discouraged, though our future seems 
 
 dark and dreary. Let us do our part courageously. 
 
 This is the lesson the flowers teach. 
 
 " One soweth, and another reapeth" — John iv, 37. 
 SOWING AND REAPING. 
 
 BY REV. B. R. BULKELEY. 
 
 Surely, one man soweth 
 
 While another reaps ; 
 And the mother waketh 
 
 While the baby sleeps. 
 
 Each one finds a harvest 
 
 Which he never sowed ; 
 Each one bearing burdens 
 
 Lifts another's load. 
 
 Every one is reaper 
 
 From some distant seed ; 
 Every one is sower 
 
 For another's need. 
 
 This is law and gospel. 
 
 Sweet it is to find. 
 When the sowers perish. 
 
 Reapers come behind. 
 
 Praise the God of harvest, 
 What is wrought in tears 
 
 Bringeth some one blessings 
 In the mystic years. 
 
TRUST. 25 
 
 Praise the God of harvest 
 
 That another reaps, 
 So the labor fails not, 
 
 When the sower sleeps. 
 
 It has been said that he wlio plants a tree is a phi- 
 lanthropist. He will scarcely live to enjoy its bless- 
 ings. He plants it for the good of the race. *' One 
 soweth, and another reapeth." Let us remember that 
 what we reap was sown by another. Let every one be 
 careful to sow good seed that others may reap a har- 
 vest of good things. '* Do unto others as ye would 
 that others should do unto you." 
 
 '' Let U8 not weary in well doing ; for in due season we shall reap, ij v:e 
 faint noty — Gal. vi, 9. 
 
 THE TAPESTRY WEAVERS. 
 
 Let us take to our hearts a lesson — no lesson can braver be — 
 From the ways of the tapestry weavers on the other side of the 
 
 sea. 
 Above their heads the pattern hangs; they study it with care. 
 The while their fingers deftly work, their eyes are fastened there. 
 They tell this curious thing, besides, of the patient, plodding 
 
 weaver : 
 He works on the wrong side evermore, but works for the right 
 
 side ever. 
 It is only when the weaving stops, and the web is loosed and 
 
 turned. 
 That he sees his real handiwork — that his marvelous skill is 
 
 learned. 
 Ah ! the sight of its delicate beauty, how it pays him for all his 
 
 cost ! 
 No rarer, daintier work than his was ever done by the frost. 
 
26 TRUST. 
 
 Then the master bringeth liim golden hire, and giveth him praise 
 
 as well ; 
 And how happy the heart of the weaver is no tongiie but his own 
 
 can tell. 
 The years of man are the looms of God, let down from the place 
 
 of the sun, 
 Y/herein we are weaving alway, till the mystic web is done. 
 Weaving blindly, but weaving surely, each for himself his fate. 
 We may not see how the right side looks; we can only weave and 
 
 wait. 
 But, looking above for the pattern, no weaver need have fear. 
 Only let him look clear into heaven — the Perfect Pattern is there. 
 If he keeps the face of our Savior forever and always in sight, 
 His toil shall be sweeter than honey, his weaving is sure to be 
 
 right. 
 And when his task is ended, and the web is turned and shown, 
 He shall hear the voice of the Master. It shall say to him, " Well 
 
 done ! " 
 And the white-winged angels of heaven, to bear him thence, shall 
 
 come down ; 
 And God for his wage shall give him, not coin, but a golden 
 
 crown. 
 
 From a tract disseminated by the Roman Catholic Church. 
 
 FRED AND THE MICE. 
 
 Fred was a little five-year-old boy. Everybody 
 loved him, for he was a contented and happy child. 
 He thought himself a little hero, and often, armed 
 with a stick, made war on the chickens and geese. 
 Although Fred thought himself so brave, there was 
 one animal of which he was much afraid. What do 
 you think it was? Well, it was a mouse! Such a 
 little animal could make our young hero tremble 
 and cry. 
 
TEUST. 27 
 
 In the evening, when Fred went to bed, he was 
 obliged to go through an unused room, where the 
 mice seemed to hold possession. When he saw them 
 running over the floor or heard them gnawing, he 
 would cry, in a cowardly way, for his mamma to come 
 to him. 
 
 One evening his mamma was sick and his nurse 
 was away from home. There was no one there but his 
 papa, who was in the sitting-room reading his paper. 
 He told Fred it was time for him to go to bed. 
 
 " O papa, will you not take me to bed ? I do not 
 like to go through that room alone.'' 
 
 '^What do you fear?'' asked his father. 
 
 " I am afraid of the mice ; and I believe there are 
 rats, too." 
 
 " If that is all," answered his father, '^ I can soon 
 help you." 
 
 He took pen, ink and paper, and quickly wrote the 
 following : 
 
 ^' To all the rats and mice in this house ; I hereby 
 command you to let my little son go through all the 
 rooms of this house unmolested. Any rat or mouse that 
 does not obey will ])e dealt with according to law." 
 
 The father signed and then read the paper to his son. 
 Fred took it, thanked him, said "good-night" very 
 prettily, and went to bed. H(^ was no longer afraid. 
 He had often seen his father give passes to people who 
 wished to make a railroad journey, so he had a high 
 opinion of passes written by his father. 
 
 When he came to the door of the room, he stopped, 
 and said, in a loud voice, " Rats and mice, you can not 
 
28 TRUST. 
 
 hurt me ; for here is my pass.'^ And so he did every 
 night afterward, until he became a large boy, and was 
 no longer afraid of rats and mice. — From the German, 
 
 THE LITTLE LODGER 
 
 A Baltimore policeman found a little boy wander- 
 ing about one of the wharves of the city at ten o'clock 
 at night, and took him to the station-house. The little 
 fellow was fair-haired and rosy-cheeked, and could 
 speak German only. He had lost his hat. A com- 
 fortable bed was made for him on one of the settees. 
 He lay down ; but, remembering himself, he said, in 
 his native tongue, *' I have not prayed yet." Then, 
 while three reporters and two policemen reverently 
 bowed their heads, the little hands were clasped, and 
 in childish accents he offered his prayers. When he 
 had concluded, a reporter tucked a policeman's coat 
 around the child, and he dropped into the sleep of 
 innocence. — Presbyterian Journal, 
 
 » A WISE CONCLUSION. 
 
 One summer evening, after Harry and his little sis- 
 ter Helen had been put to bed, a severe thunder-storm 
 came up. 
 
 Their cribs stood side by side ; and their mother, in 
 the next room, heard them as they sat up in bed and 
 talked, in low voices, about the thunder and lightning. 
 
 They told each other their fears. They were afraid 
 the lightning would strike them. 
 
TRUST. 29 
 
 They wondered whether they would be killed right 
 off, and whether the house would be burned up. They 
 trembled afresh at each peal. 
 
 But tired nature could not hold out as long as the 
 storm. 
 
 Harry became very sleepy, and at last, with renewed 
 cheerfulness in his voice, he said, as he laid his head 
 on the pillow, ^^Well, Fm going to trust in God.^^ 
 
 Little Helen sat a minute longer thinking it over, 
 and then laid her own little head down, saying, '^ Well, 
 I dess I will too.'^ 
 
 And they both went to sleep, without more words. 
 — Youth\s Companion. 
 
 LITTLE JIM. 
 
 BY F. H. LEIGHTON. 
 
 It was Christmas eve ; and the lighted street 
 Ke-echoed the tread of hurrying feet, 
 Of multitudes filled with the tender mirth 
 That blesses the time of the Savior's birth. 
 
 There were women, men and sweet little girls 
 With their rosy cheeks and fluttering curls ; 
 While the stores with urchins seemed all alive, 
 Bushing here and there like bees in a hive. 
 
 The pavements sparkled with an icy glare. 
 And a wintry chill was in all the air; 
 But never a thought for the cold had Jim, 
 For with joy his cup was full to the brim. 
 
 'Tis true his fingers were aching with cold, 
 His jacket was thin and ragged and old, 
 No place for his head in the bitter night ; 
 Yet Jim's little heart was full of delight. 
 
30 TRUST. 
 
 He had heard of Santa Claus. Who has not? 
 But Jim also knew more — the very spot 
 Where he lives; and he Avas going that night 
 To see if the v/ondrous story was right. 
 
 Now, Jim had in mind a mansion of stone, 
 Towering high on a corner alone ; 
 From every window a glare of light, 
 Bidding defiance to cold and night. 
 
 So he trudged along o'er the ice and snow ; 
 And a gay little tune he whistled low, 
 Till he reached the house that he sought at last, 
 While a ragged stocking his hand held fast. 
 
 Then, mounting the doorstep, a string he took, 
 Of the silver handle he made a hook ; 
 Then he pinned a paper fast to the toe. 
 Or over a hole where the toe would go. 
 
 You will smile at Jim's poor letter, I fear : 
 " Deer Mister Santa, I know you live here, 
 I hope you won't mind cause I've come to see 
 If you had not something for boys like me. 
 
 "I guess you have, so please put it in here. 
 But if you haven't, I'll wait till next year. 
 But just nothing at all seems kinder slim, 
 I hope tliere'U be something for little Jim." 
 
 Then, sitting down on the step in the cold, 
 He watched the lights shining cheery and bold ; 
 While the snowflakes, falling swiftly and white, 
 Made him a mantle, soft, fleecy and light. 
 
 Then he fell asleep and knew nothing more; 
 But his stocking still bravely waved by the door, 
 And the snow, with gentle but deadly hand, 
 Still wrapped him with silvery fold and band. 
 
TRUST. 31 
 
 But somebody came ere the night was gone, 
 And found Jim's message the stocking upon ; 
 And little Jim woke in a lovely room, 
 On a downy couch 'mid dainty perfume. 
 
 And, looking up in a strong, manly face. 
 He said, with a child's all unconscious grace, 
 " You're Santa, I s'pose, and I thank you so ; 
 But I never asked to come in, you know. 
 
 "I only thought that mayhap you could find 
 Some little thing that you wouldn't much mind 
 Giving away to a poor boy like me. 
 I've never had Christmas— never, you see. 
 
 " What ? Stay here always ? Well, then it's all true. 
 And Santa Glaus, yes, sir, I know he's you ; 
 And, if this isn't all a dream, I'll stay ; 
 If 'tis, I hope it will never come day." 
 
 And dear little children everywhere, 
 I know you are glad little Jim is there. 
 And that he has found a Santa Claus, too, 
 A father to love him and pet him like you. 
 
32 HONESTY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HONESTY. 
 
 An honest man's the noblest work of God. — Pope. 
 
 Provide things honest in the sight of all men. — 
 Romans, xii, 17. 
 
 Honesty is the best policy. — Don Quixote. 
 
 Honesty is not only the best policy, but the best 
 principle. — Hoss, 
 
 An honest man is able to speak for himself, when 
 a knave is not. — Shakespeare. 
 
 The more honesty a man has, the less he affects the 
 air of a saint. — Lavater. 
 
 There is no more impressive way of inculcating 
 ideas of honesty in children than by the story. This, 
 then, is the only excuse for presenting the following 
 stories : 
 
 " Take heed and beware of covetoiLsness." — Luke xii, 15. 
 THE BIG TURNIP. 
 
 A poor but honest and hard-working man had in his 
 
 garden a turnip which was so big as to astonish every- 
 body. So he thought within himself that he would 
 make a present of it to his landlord, who he knew 
 liked to see his tenants careful and industrious. His 
 landlord praised him very much for such attention to 
 his garden, and made him a handsome present for his 
 
HONESTY. 33 
 
 pains. A neighbor, who was very rich and covetous, 
 hearing of the poor man^s good fortune, thought that 
 he too would make a present to his landlord of a fine 
 fat sheep which he had, thinking that, if the other got 
 such a handsome present for a miserable turnip, he 
 should surely get much more for his fine sheep. When 
 his landlord saw him come with his present, he 
 knew very well that such generosity was only a mere 
 pretense, in order to get a good price for his sheep, 
 and therefore refused at first to accept it. But, as the 
 man still begged that he would be pleased to take it, his 
 landlord consented, saying, " Well, if you force me to 
 do so, I suppose I must take it; but, as you are so 
 very generous, allow me to make you a present in re- 
 turn of this very fine turnip, which, I assure you, cost 
 me three times the value of your sheep.^' The man, 
 thunderstruck at this unexpected present, sneaked off 
 with the turnip, not very well pleased at the success 
 of his scheme. 
 
 " Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is per- 
 fect:'— Matt V, 48. 
 
 THE THIEF'S DEVICE. 
 
 There is a fable among the Hindus that a thief, 
 having been detected and condemned to die, sent for 
 his jailer and told him he had a secret of great im- 
 portance which he desired to impart to the king, and 
 when that had been done he would be prepared to die. 
 Upon receiving this intelligence, the king ordered the 
 culprit to be conducted to his presence. The thief 
 3 
 
o4 HONESTY. 
 
 explained that he kuew the secret of causing trees to 
 grow which would bear fruit of pure gold. The ex- 
 periment might be easily tried, and his majesty would 
 not lose the opportunity. So, accompanied by his 
 prime minister, his courtiers, and his chief priest, he 
 wxnt with the thief to a spot selected near the city 
 wall, where the latter performed a series of solemn 
 incantations. This done, the condemned man pro- 
 duced a piece of gold, and declared that, if it should 
 be planted, it would produce a tree every branch of 
 which would bear gold. ^' But,'' he added, ^Hhis 
 must be put into the ground by a hand that has never 
 been stained by a dishonest act. My hand is not clean ; 
 therefore, I pass it to your majesty.^' 
 
 The king took the piece of gold, but hesitated. 
 Finally, he said : ^' I remember in my younger days 
 that I filched money from my father's treasury which 
 was not mine. I have repented of the sin, but yet I 
 can hardly say my hand is clean. I pass it, therefore, 
 to my prime minister." 
 
 The latter, after a brief consultation, answered : " It 
 were a pity to break the charm through a possible 
 blunder. I receive taxes from the people ; and, as I 
 am exposed to many temptations, how can I be sure 
 that I have been perfectly honest ? I must give it to 
 the governor of our citadel." 
 
 ^' No, no," cried the governor, drawing back. " Re- 
 member that I have the serving out of pay and 
 provisions to the soldiers. Let the high priest 
 plant it." 
 
 And the high priest said : " You forget that I have 
 
HONESTY. 35 
 
 the collecting of the tithes and the disbursements of 
 sacrifice/^ 
 
 At length the thief exclaimed, ^^ Your Majesty, I 
 think it would be better for society that all five of us 
 should be hanged, since it appears that not an honest 
 man can be found among us.'' In spite of the lament- 
 able exposure, the king laughed, and was so pleased 
 with the thief's cunning expedient that he pardoned 
 him.— Christian Weekly. 
 
 THE GOLD BASKET. 
 
 It was only a fruit-dish of white china with gilt 
 bands around it; but little Yi admired it very much^ 
 and called it "mamma's gold basket." 
 
 One afternoon. Aunt Emily came to make a call, 
 and mamma brought in the basket filled with nice 
 Florida oranges. After everybody had eaten an orange, 
 and Aunt Emily had gone, sister Anna set the basket 
 on the kitchen table, and that was the way the trouble 
 began. 
 
 Little Vi went out there alone to play with the cat. 
 She chased her around and around the room, till, by 
 and by, kitty, growing tired of the sport, jumped into 
 a chair, and got upon the table. 
 
 " Come down ! come down ! " said little Yi. " You 
 must not smell those oranges with your nose. Come 
 down ! " 
 
 But kitty did not come ; she was trying to decide 
 whether the beautiful yellow balls were good to eat. 
 Then Yi caught her by the tail and pulled her back- 
 
36 HONESTY. 
 
 ward. She did not do it roughly, but somehow that 
 gold basket got in the way — perhaps kitty\s paw 
 touched it, perhaps it was Vi's arm; but^ at any rate, 
 the basket was overturned, and down it fell, broken 
 in pieces upon the floor. 
 
 , Yi stared in surprise at the dreadful ruin, and then 
 stared at the oranges rolling, helter-skelter, under the 
 stove. 
 
 '' Who did that ? How did it fall ? " thought she. 
 
 But, the next moment, it came over her that she 
 herself was the one to blame. 
 
 " Why, I didn't mean to ! That pretty, pretty 
 basket ! What will mamma say ? ^^ 
 
 Little Vi's forehead was full of wrinkles, her eyes 
 were full of tears. She stood so still that you could 
 almost have heard the fly on the roller towel scrape 
 his wings. 
 
 " V\\ go tell mamma I did it, and I'm so sorry. No ; 
 I'll tell her kitty did it — I guess kitty did do it. 
 Naughty kitty ! " 
 
 The little girl moved one foot, and then she stood 
 still again. The clock ticked very loud — you know 
 how loud a clock does tick sometimes — and the fly on 
 the towel gazed at Vi, and she gazed at the fly. 
 
 "No ; I won't tell mamma anything; I won't go in 
 the parlor at all. I'll go out in the yard, and then 
 mamma will think kitty broke the basket ; for kitty 
 will be in here all alone." 
 
 Vi took three steps toward the outside door, and 
 then she stood still again, and the clock ticked worse 
 than ever. It seemed as if that clock was watching 
 
HONESTY. 37 
 
 to see Vi make up her mind, and as if that old fly 
 was watching, too. 
 
 " Tick, tock — if you go and leave the kitty in here 
 alone, it will be the same as a lie — tick, tock — same 
 as a lie.^^ It wasn't the clock that said that, but it 
 sounded just like the clock. 
 
 ^^ Will it be the same as a lie, a true lie ? ^' said the 
 child. And then she looked at the fly, who nodded 
 his head, and kept nodding it. Vi knew he didn't 
 mean "yes," but it seemed just as if he meant yes. 
 " I will not tell a lie,'' said Vi, turning her back to 
 the outside door, and putting her foot down hard; "I 
 will not tell a lie." And with that she ran into the 
 parlor ; for, if she walked, she was afraid she might 
 not go at all. She ran every step of the way as fast 
 as she could run, and sobbed out : 
 
 "O mamma, it wasn't the kitty; it was me ! But 
 I didn't mean to at all ! " 
 
 And her mamma kissed her, and said she " knew it 
 was an accident, and she never had loved her little 
 daughter so well in her life as when she came and told 
 the whole truth, like a dear, brave, good little girl; 
 for the truth is better than all the gold baskets in the 
 world." 
 
 HOW HE WON THE BEST PRIZE, 
 
 There were prizes in Willie's school, and he was 
 anxious to merit one of them. Willie was behind the 
 other boys in all studies except in, writing. As he 
 had no hope to excel in anything but writing, he 
 made up his mind to try for the special prize for that 
 
38 HONESTY. 
 
 with all his might. And he did try so that his copy- 
 book would have done honor to a boy twice his age. 
 When the prizes were awarded, the chairman of the 
 committee held up two copy-books, and said : " It 
 would be difficult to say which of these two books is 
 better than the other but for one copy in Willie's, 
 which is not only superior to Charlie's, but to every 
 other copy in the same book. This copy, therefore, 
 gains the prize." 
 
 Willie's heart beat high with hope, not unmixed 
 with fear. Blushing to his temples, he said : " Please, 
 sir^ may I see that copy ? " 
 
 ^^ Certainly," said the chairman^ looking somewhat 
 surprised. 
 
 Willie glanced at the copy ; and then, handing the 
 book back, he said : '' Please, sir, that is not my 
 writing. It was written by an upper class boy, who 
 took my book by mistake one day, instead of his own." 
 
 ^' Oh, oh ! " said the chairman, ^' that may alter the 
 case." The two books went back to the committee, 
 who, after comparing them carefully, awarded the 
 prize to Charlie. 
 
 One boy said he was silly to say anything about the 
 mistake. 
 
 " I wouldn't have told," said another. 
 
 ^^ Nor I," added a third. " The copy was in your 
 book, and you had a right to it." 
 
 But, in spite of all, Willie said : " It wouldn't have 
 been the truth, if I had not told who wrote the copy." 
 
 " Hurrah for Willie ! " " Three cheers for Willie ! " 
 "Well done, Willie!" shouted i\\Q boys; and Willie 
 
HONESTY. 39 
 
 went home far happier than if he had won the prize. 
 — The Children's Friend. 
 
 WAS HE TRUTHFUL? 
 
 Roger was deeply interested in his arithmetic. He 
 had begun working as soon as he came home, not even 
 stopping to make a visit to the pantry. His pencil 
 seemed to be running a race with the sewing-machine, 
 which kept up a busy hum. 
 
 Suddenly, something snapped, and the machine 
 stopped. 
 
 '^ There ! IVe broken my needle, and it is the last 
 one I have in the house. Roger, can^t you run to the 
 store and get me one ? I would like to finish this 
 stitching to-day.^' 
 
 ^^ O mamma, must you have it ? I haven't a single 
 minute to spare," said Roger. 
 
 ^^ I can work on something else, if you haven't time 
 to go," replied his mother. 
 
 Roger's pencil worked on noisily for a few minutes, 
 when some one knocked. 
 
 " Is Roger home ? " said an eager voice. '' Oh, say ! 
 the bows and arrows have come. Can't you go down 
 and see them ? " 
 
 Roger threv/ down his pencil, seized his hat, and 
 was off. 
 
 He did not return until tea-time. ^^ Now for arith- 
 metic," he said, when the table was cleared and the 
 lamp placed upon it with the daily paper. 
 
 " Halloa ! here's the new magazine. I must read 
 
40 HONESTY. 
 
 the continued story. I guess I will have time for 
 that.^^ 
 
 But somehow the story was very long, or else one 
 story led on to another ; for, when Eoger at last tossed 
 the book aside, he found the evening almost gone. 
 
 He glanced at the clock and rapidly counted the 
 leaves. ^'Oh, dear! I can^t do half as much as I 
 planned,^^ he said ; " I am so tired I can^t think." 
 
 The next day, the teacher was surprised that Eoger 
 had done so little ; and, when she asked the reason, he 
 said he had done all he had time for. 
 
 Was this truthful? Was it right? — Ckristian 
 Observer. 
 
 BRYANT'S TENDER CONSCIENCE. 
 
 The following anecdote is told of the late William 
 Cullen Bryant, the poet, by a former associate in his 
 newspaper office, which illustrates the good man's sim- 
 plicity of heart. Says the narrator : " One morning, 
 many years ago, after reaching his office, and trying 
 in vain to begin work, he turned to me and remarked : 
 ' I can not get along at all this morning.^ ^ Why 
 not?' I asked. ^ Oh,' he replied, ^ I have done wrong. 
 When on my way here, a little boy flying a kite passed 
 me. The string of the kite having rubbed against 
 my face, I seized it and broke it. The boy lost his kite, 
 but I did not stop to pay him for it. I did wrong ; I 
 ought to have paid him.' " 
 
 This tenderness of conscience went far toward mak- 
 ing the poet the kindly, noble, honorable and honored 
 man that he was, whose death was felt as a loss through- 
 out the land. 
 
HONESTY. 41 
 
 FRENCH IDEAS OF TRUTH TELLING. 
 
 A friend of ours, in personal conversation witli a 
 French lady, once remarked that the English and the 
 French ideas of truthfulness were different. ^^The 
 English/^ said he, " think it is wrong to tell a lie ; 
 the French think it is wrong, if it will do harm; 
 but, if it will do good, it is right." The French lady 
 indignantly resented the suggestion. " No,'' said she, 
 " I think the French are just as truthful as the En- 
 glish." "Ah ! " replied our friend, " I did not say 
 they were not as truthful ; I said their theory of truth, 
 differed — that the English think that lying is wrong, 
 whatever effect it produces; while the French think 
 that lying is right, if it will give pleasure and da 
 good." "No," replied the French lady, very ear- 
 nestly, "I think their theory is just the same; and, 
 besides, why is it not right to tell a lie if it will do 
 good ? " — Christian Union, 
 
 FAITHFUL IN LITTLE. 
 
 A lady bought a paper on a horse-car going down 
 Cornhill recently, and gave the lad five cents in pay- 
 ment. He started off as if to change it, and did not 
 return. Several days after, the same lady, getting off 
 the car at the same place, was accosted by a bare- 
 footed and honest-faced boy in these words : " Missus^ 
 missus, here's your change. I ran as fast as I could, 
 but the car had gone." And he insisted on returning 
 it to her. — Woman^s Journal. 
 
42 HONESTY. 
 
 " Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord." — Prov. xii, 22. 
 THE DOLLARS GO, BUT THE LIE STAYS. 
 
 ^' Would you tell a lie for five cents ? '^ asked a Sab- 
 bath-school teacher. ^' No, ma^am.^^ " For ten cents ? " 
 ,"]N'o, ma'am.'' ^^ For a dollar ? " "No, ma'am." "For 
 a hundred dollars ? " No, ma'am ; not even for a hun- 
 dred dollars." " For a thousand dollars ? " 
 
 Henry hesitated. He could buy many things with 
 a thousand dollars ! While he was thinking Charlie 
 answered, "No, ma'am," very positively. "Why 
 not ? " " Because, when the thousand dollars are 
 gone, the lie is the same." 
 
 Which of these boys was the stouter, morally ? Ten 
 cents would have measured the moral strength of some 
 boys. 
 
 TWO BLIND MEN. 
 
 FKOM THE GERMAN. 
 
 There were once in Rome two blind men, one of 
 whom cried in the streets of the city : " He is helped 
 whom God helps." The other, on the contrary, cried : 
 " He is helped whom the king helps." This they did 
 every day ; and the emperor heard it so often that he 
 had a loaf of bread baked and filled with gold pieces. 
 
 This gold-filled loaf he sent to the blind man who 
 appealed to the emperor's help. When he felt the 
 heavy weight of the bread, he sold it to the other 
 beggar as soon as he met him. The blind man who 
 bought the bread carried it home. When he had 
 broken it and found the gold, he thanked God, and 
 
HONESTY. 43 
 
 from that day ceased to beg. But the other continu- 
 ing to beg through the city, the emperor summoned 
 him to his presence, and asked him : ^' What hast thou 
 done with the loaf that I lately sent thee ? " 
 
 *' I sold it to my friend, because it was heavy and 
 did not seem well risen. ^^ 
 
 Then the emperor said : " Truly, he whom God 
 helps is helped indeed,^^ and turned the blind man 
 from him. — The Congregationalist. 
 
 " The lip of truth shall be established forever, but a lyiny tongue is but 
 fm^ a moment." — Prov. xii, 19. 
 
 LITTLE SCOTCH GRANITE. 
 
 Burt and Johnnie Lee were delighted when their 
 Scotch cousin came to live with them. He was little, 
 but very bright and full of fun. He could tell curi- 
 ous things about his home in Scotland and his voyage 
 across the ocean. He was as far advanced in his 
 studies as they were, and the first day he went to 
 school they thought him remarkably good. He wasted 
 no time in play when he should have been studying, 
 and he advanced finely. 
 
 At night, before the close of the school, the teacher 
 called the roll and the boys began to answer, " Ten." 
 When Willie understood that he was to say ten, if he 
 had not whispered during the day, he replied : ^' I 
 have whispered.'' 
 
 " More than once ? " asked the teacher. 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Willie. 
 
 " As many as ten times ? " 
 
44 HONESTY. 
 
 " Maybe I have/' faltered Willie. 
 
 " Then I shall mark you zero," said the teacher, 
 sternly ; " and that is a great disgrace." 
 
 " Why, I did not see you whisper once," said John- 
 nie, that night after school. 
 
 " Well, I did," said Willie ; " I saw others doing it, 
 and so I asked to borrow a book ; then I lent a slate- 
 pencil, and asked a boy for a knife, and did several 
 such things. I supposed it was allowed." 
 
 " Oh, we all do it," said Burt, reddening. '' There 
 isn't any sense in the old rule ; and nobody could 
 keep it — nobody does." 
 
 " I will, or else I will say I haven't," said Willie. 
 " Do you suppose I would tell ten lies in one heap ? " 
 
 " Oh, we don't call them lies," muttered Johnnie. 
 " There wouldn't be a credit among us at night, if we 
 were so strict." 
 
 ^^ What of that, if you told the truth?" laughed 
 Willie, bravely. 
 
 In a short time the boys all saw how it was with 
 him. He studied hard, played with all his might in 
 play -time ; but, according to his account, he lost more 
 credits than any of the rest. After some weeks, the 
 boys answered ^' Nine " and " Eight " oftener than 
 they used to. Yet the school-room seemed to have 
 grown quieter. Sometimes, when Willie Grant's mark 
 was even lower than usual, the teacher would smile 
 peculiarly, but said no more of disgrace. Willie 
 never preached at them or told tales ; but, somehow, 
 it made the boys ashamed of themselves, just the see- 
 ing that this sturdy, blue-eyed boy must tell the truth. 
 
HONESTY. 45 
 
 It was putting the clean cloth by the half-soiled one, 
 you see ; and they felt like cheats and story-tellers. 
 They talked him all over, and loved him, if they did 
 nickname him '^ Scotch Granite," he was so firm about 
 a promise. 
 
 Well, at the end of the term, Willie^s name was 
 very low down on the credit list. When it was read 
 he had hard work not to cry ; for he was very sensi- 
 tive, and he had tried hard to be perfect. But the 
 very last thing that day was a speech by the teacher, 
 who told of once seeing a man muffled up in a cloak. 
 He was passing him without a look, when he was told 
 the man was General , the great hero. 
 
 " The signs of his rank were hidden, but the hero 
 was there just the same," said the teacher. "And 
 now, boys, you will see what I mean when I give a 
 little gold medal to the most faithful boy — the one 
 really the most conscientiously ^ perfect in his deport- 
 ment' among you. Who shall have it?" 
 
 " Little Scotch Granite ! " shouted forty boys at 
 once ; for the child whose name was so " low " on the 
 credit list had made truth noble in their eyes. — The 
 British Evangelist. 
 
 STOLEN PROPERTY. 
 
 " I know all about Sadie's birthday party, for all 
 she tried to keep it such a secret," said Lottie Mills, 
 with a look of triumph. 
 
 "How did you find out?" I asked. 
 
 " Why, you see, Josie and I were reading a story 
 under the elm tree this noon, and Sadie came and sat 
 
43 HONESTY, 
 
 in the window with Carrie Richards, and they talked 
 it all over, and we heard every word. She's going to 
 have '' 
 
 " Stop, stop ! do you suppose I want to share any 
 stolen property ? '' 
 
 " Stolen property, auntie ? Why, we didn't listen — 
 we couldn't help hearing, for she talked right out 
 loud." 
 
 " That's very true, but she didn't know you were 
 there, so you have no right at all to her secret. A 
 listener is like a pickpocket who creeps up and steals 
 your secrets slily ; and you are like a person who sees 
 another drop a purse in the street and picks it up. 
 If you took the money and used it when you knew it 
 was not yours, would you be any more honest than if 
 you had taken it right out of a man's pocket?^' 
 
 ^^ Why, no, auntie ! of course I should give it back.'^ 
 
 " Or if you could not give it back at once, you 
 would keep it safely till you could. That is just what 
 you should do with secrets when people drop them 
 accidentally, and you pick them up. You have no 
 more business to use them than you have to use money 
 which you got in the same way." 
 
 " I believe that is so, auntie ; and I won't say a 
 word about that party to any one." — Child's World, 
 
 There are no fragments so precious as those of 
 time, and none so heedlessly lost by people who can 
 not make a moment, and yet can waste years. — Mont- 
 gomery, 
 
HONESTY. 47 
 
 WHY SHE "COULDN'T HELP IT." 
 
 ^^ O mamma, I am sorry, but I couldn^t help it. I 
 didn't mean to do it." 
 
 And, so saying, Minnie Norris looked down at the 
 fragments of what had been a very pretty pink china 
 cup and saucer, as they lay upon the floor in a most 
 pitiable state — such tiny fragments, some of them mere 
 chips, that it was well-nigh impossible to put them 
 together again. 
 
 ^^ Of course you didn't mean to do it," answered her 
 mother, "■ but why did you meddle with the cup ? " 
 
 " I wanted a drink, and '' — 
 
 " You might just as well have taken a drink out of 
 one of the goblets,'' said Alice, Minnie's youngest sis-^ 
 ter, to whom the cup had belonged. 
 
 " The goblets are all in the diniug-room closet. 
 Besides, water tastes so much nicer out of anything 
 pretty. I am sorry I broke your cup, Alice. Indeed, 
 I couldn't help it. I'll give you my new vase to 
 make up." 
 
 Alice v/as very easily pacified; and, as she knew 
 that her sister's destruction of the cup and saucer was 
 not intentional, she said no more about it. Neither 
 did their mother. 
 
 Grandma Norris was sitting in her arm-chair, knit- 
 ting as usual ; and, when the above conversation took 
 place, she looked up over her spectacles, first at the 
 children, then at their mother, but she said nothing. 
 
 The next day, Minnie came home from school with 
 a grievous rent in her best merino school dress. When 
 
48 HONESTY. 
 
 her mother uttered an exclamation of dismay, she 
 hastened to say ; 
 
 " I am real sorry ! I caught my dress on a nail in 
 the school-yard fence. I couldn't help its tearing." 
 
 Again grandma looked up over her spectacles, but 
 said nothing. 
 
 Just before bed-time there was a chorus of " ohs " 
 and '^ ahs '^ from the table in the back parlor where 
 the Norris children were clustered, preparing their 
 lessons for the next morning. 
 
 " What is the matter out there ? '' asked their father, 
 whose perusal of the evening newspaper had been dis- 
 turbed by their cries. 
 
 " I upset the ink bottle, papa,'' answered Minnie. 
 
 " All over my new atlas, too," grumbled Will. 
 
 " It will not hurt it ; it has only gone on the paper 
 cover ; and I'm sure we're mopping it up as fast as we 
 can," cried Minnie. 
 
 " How came you to be so careless ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir. I s'pose one of my books 
 must have hit it in some way. I did not mean to do 
 it. I'm sure I couldn't help it," she replied. " I'm 
 very sorry about it." 
 
 " Well, perhaps you couldn't avoid it ; but do be 
 more careful ! For a girl twelve years old, you cer- 
 tainly get into a great many scrapes," said her mother, 
 quickly, afraid, perhaps, that Mr. Norris might feel 
 it his duty to scold Minnie or to punish her. 
 
 Half an hour later, Minnie was in her pretty little 
 bedroom preparing for her nightly slumbers, when 
 grandma came in. 
 
HONESTY. 49 
 
 "As a general rule, Minnie dear, I think you are a 
 truthful girl. I was very glad to hear you own up so 
 promptly and courageously when you upset that ink 
 bottle a little while ago, but was exceedingly sorry to 
 hear you tell an untruth about it." 
 
 "An untruth, grandma? I don't remember it. 
 What did I say ? " And Minnie looked and felt very 
 much puzzled. 
 
 " The same, also untrue, which you said when you 
 broke Alice's cup and saucer, when you tore your 
 dress this morning, and which you have said on many, 
 many other occasions — that you couldn't help it." 
 
 " But, grandma, surely that was the truth ! X 
 could not help dropping the cup, nor " — 
 
 " Just think a moment, my dear; it was not at all 
 necessary for you to have touched the cup. In fact, 
 it was not yours, and you should not have done so ; 
 but, after touching it, you did not grasp it firmly. 
 Suppose, for example, you had been sure that it would 
 have cost you your life if you dropped it, could you 
 not then have avoided the calamity ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I suppose so." 
 
 " And your dress was torn on a nail. I fancy that 
 you were able to avoid going so near the nail. Where 
 was it?" 
 
 Minnie looked the least bit guilty as she explained 
 that she was trying to climb up the fence, just for fun, 
 not even to really get over it, and when she jumped 
 down the offending nail did the mischief. 
 
 "Then you could have helped it?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. I understand now what you mean, 
 
50 HONESTY. 
 
 I think. And, if I hnd not been pushing my books 
 on the table so as to joggle Alice's slate, I would not 
 have upset the ink.'^ 
 
 " Exactly so. I am glad that you comprehend what 
 I mean that, in saying you ^ couldn't help ' this, that 
 or the other^ you were not telling the truth. You 
 should have said, ^ I did not try as I ought to have 
 done to avoid unfortunate consequences,' to some ap- 
 parently trifling act. When one does what one ought 
 not to do, or leaves a plain duty undone, one is re- 
 sponsible for the results ; and therefore we can ^ help 
 it^ oftener than we realize." 
 
 "Next time, grandma, I'll try and only say, ^I 
 didn't mean to do it,' when I meet such misfortunes ; 
 for I see now that I wasn't really truthful when I 
 complained I ^ couldn't help.' " — Universalist. 
 
 WHO BANGED SUSIE'S HAIR. 
 
 Susie Burke came in from the garden one warm 
 summer afternoon with her little scissors in one hand 
 and a lot of paper doljs and dolls' clothes in the other. 
 
 " Why, Susie ! " exclaimed her mother. " What in 
 this world have you been doing to yourself?" 
 
 "Susie Burke, whatever possessed you to cut your 
 hair like that ? " exclaimed Helen, her elder sister. 
 
 " O-o-h ! what will papa say ? He just hates bangs ! " 
 put in Harry Burke, Susie's brother. 
 
 " How could you do such a thing, my child ? " 
 
HONESTY. 51 
 
 asked Susie's mother, with looks of mingled aston- 
 ishment and displeasure. 
 
 Susie's face grev/ red and she looked ready to cry. 
 She put her hand uneasily to her forehead, across 
 which the soft dark hair, which was usually combed 
 smoothly back, fell in a very irregular line. It was 
 easy to see that the ^' banging '' had been done by no 
 practiced hand. 
 
 " I didn't do it, mamma," said Susie. 
 
 " You didn't do it ? Who did, then ? " 
 
 " I don't know, truly, mamma." 
 
 " Why, Susie, how can that be possible ? " said 
 mamma. 
 
 " Why, Susie Burke, what a story ! " exclaimed 
 Harry. 
 
 " Hush, Harry ! don't accuse your litfcle sister of 
 telling v^^hat isn't true. Where have you been all the 
 time since lunch, Susie?" 
 
 '^ In the arbor in the garden, cutting out dresses for 
 my dollies," said Susie, holding up what she had in 
 her hand as evidence of the truth of her words. 
 
 " All the time ? " queried mamma. 
 
 "Yes, all the time. I haven't been anywhere 
 else." 
 
 "And you didn't cut any of your hair — not the 
 least little lock ? " 
 
 " No, not the least little bit. I knew papa wouldn't 
 like it." 
 
 " Did anybody come into the garden while you 
 were there ? " 
 
 " I didn't see anybody, mamma." 
 
52 HONESTY. 
 
 " Well, if that isn't a mystery ! '' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Burke. 
 
 " It's awful hard to believe, / think/' said Sister 
 Helen. 
 
 " We must believe it. Little Susie has never been 
 known to tell a lie. Whatever any of my children 
 tell me, I shall believe is true, till they have clearly 
 proved their words untrustworthy," said mamma, 
 firmly. 
 
 " But how could such a thing be ? " argued Helen. 
 " Her hair is cut all jagged, exactly as a child would 
 do it if she tried to cut it herself; and yet she didn't 
 do it and don't know who did it." 
 
 " And she asked papa the other day if she might 
 have her hair banged just like Nellie Eastman's," 
 said Harry. 
 
 ^^ I didn't do it, truly, truly, mamma," was all poor 
 Susie could urge ; while she nestled closer within the 
 encircling arm whose close clasp seemed to assure her 
 of defense against the displeasure and distrust of all 
 the world. 
 
 " We shall have to wait and see what papa will 
 say," said Mrs. Burke, after a moment of perplexed 
 thought. 
 
 "Will he be very angry?" asked Susie. " Will 
 you tell him I didn't do it ? " 
 
 " Or consent to its being done ? " cross-questioned 
 Helen. 
 
 " I didn't even know it was done till just as I got 
 up to come in," Susie declared. " I thought some- 
 thing felt odd, and I put my hand up ; and it was all 
 
HONESTY. 53 
 
 This was a mystery indeed. Nor could papa solve 
 itj though he questioned his little daughter even more 
 closely than her mother and sister had done. 
 
 " We must believe that she speaks the truth, be- 
 cause she has earned a character for truth/' he said 
 at last. ^^ I should be sadly disappointed and grieved 
 if I found I couldn't depend on the word of a child 
 of mine. Go to mamma, and let her make the cutting 
 even, Susie. Since I must submit to seeing you v/ith 
 your hair banged, it must be done in better style than 
 that.'' 
 
 "I'm sorry, papa, since you don't like it. Will 
 you kiss me?'' said Susie, lifting her shorn head 
 timidly. 
 
 Her father stooped and kissed her. " You needn't 
 feel badly when you are not to blame, my child. I 
 believe you, though it's the most incomprehensible 
 thing ! " 
 
 It remained the most incomprehensible thing for a 
 week or more. Then, one morning, soon after break- 
 fast, they had a caller, — two callers, in fact, — Mrs. Lake, 
 their nearest neighbor, and Rollie, her youngest son, 
 a merry rogue of ten or eleven years. 
 
 The boy looked shy and shamefaced, and kept as 
 much out of sight behind his mother as possible, while 
 she explained the reason of her call. 
 
 " I have just found out that this boy of mine has 
 been guilty of a very naughty trick," said Mrs. Lake. 
 " I thought you ought to know, as Susie might be 
 blamed unjustly. I brought him here that he might 
 confess. Now, Rollie, tell Mrs. Burke." 
 
54 HONESTY. 
 
 " I cut Susie's hair," Rollie blurted out, with his 
 eyes fastened to the floor. 
 
 " But how ? 'It has been the greatest mystery to 
 us ! How could you do it and Susie not know it ? " 
 
 " Oh, she was asleep ! '^ said Rollie. ^^ I found her 
 there in the arbor, leaning back, with a paper doll in 
 one hand and the scissors just dropped on her lap 
 from the other ; and I just thought Fd bang her hair. 
 I'm ever so sorry, and won't never do so again,'' said 
 Rollie, penitently. 
 
 " Did she get much blame for it ? " inquired Mrs. 
 Lake. " I couldn't think how you could help believ- 
 ing she did it, however she might deny it." 
 
 ^' We couldn't understand it at all," said Mrs. Burke ; 
 ^' but we believed Susie, though everything seemed 
 against her, because the child never yet told us a lie." 
 — Youth's CGmpanion. 
 
 AN ARGUMENT. 
 
 There were three boys on the street-car, bright, 
 handsome fellows, chatting together, having a good 
 time. The conductor halted before them to take their 
 tickets, and twang his bell-punch for each. Two of 
 them had passed up their tickets, when the watchful 
 eye of the conductor saw a man running and motion- 
 ing, and, pulling the bell to stop the car, went to4ielp 
 the man, and his wife, and a little girl, and a baby, 
 and a basket, and three bundles, to get on. 
 
 When all were settled he went back to his punch- 
 
HONESTY. 55 
 
 ing. " Did I take up your tickets ? " he said to the 
 
 boys, looking sharply at them. 
 
 ^^ Yes, sir/' said two boys in a breath ; the other one 
 said not a word. The conductor eyed them thought- 
 fully for a minute, then passed on. The silent boy 
 nudged the one next him, slyly held up his ticket, 
 covering it with the other hand, and chuckled. " See 
 that ? I'll get a free ride one of these days." 
 
 " That's stealing," said the boy, gravely. 
 
 " It isn't stealing either ! Isn't the ticket mine ? " 
 
 ^^ No, it's his ; you've had your ride, and that ought 
 to be given up to pay for it." 
 
 " Why didn't he take it then ? I didn't ask him 
 to go on and let me keep it." 
 
 " That's lying," said the third boy, gravely. 
 
 " No it isn't lying. I didn't open my lips. He 
 didn't ask me a question ; he looked right at you." 
 
 " Oh, poh ! " said the second boy. 
 
 " Fudge ! " said the third boy. 
 
 Then they all kept quiet. After a little the second 
 and third boy began to talk together in low tones ; 
 but the first boy had nothing to say ; all the pleasure 
 had gone out of his face. His ride seemed to be 
 spoiled. What do you suppose spoiled it ? 
 
 Time is like a ship which never anchors ; while I 
 am on board, I had better do those things that may 
 profit me at my landing than practice such things as 
 will cause my commitment when I come ashore. — 
 Feltham. 
 
56 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 The disposition to make others happy can not be 
 too highly commended. Children should early learn 
 to have a thought for the happiness and comfort of 
 their associates. The following stories may be of use 
 to impress such lessons ; 
 
 "HELP ONE ANOTHER." 
 
 " Help one another," the snowflakes said, 
 As they cuddled down in their fleecy bed ; 
 
 " One of us here would not be felt, 
 One of us here would quickly melt ; 
 But I'll help you, and you help me, 
 And then what a big white drift we'll see ! " 
 
 "Help one another," the maple spray 
 
 Said to its fellow leaves one day ; 
 " The sun would wither me here alone. 
 
 Long enough ere the day is gone; 
 
 But I'll help you and you help me, 
 
 And then what a splendid shade there'll be ! " 
 
 " Help one another," the dewdrop cried, 
 
 Seeing another drop close to its side ; 
 " This warm south breeze would dry me away, 
 
 And I should be gone ere noon to-day; 
 
 But I'll help you, and you help me. 
 
 And we'll make a brook and run to the sea." 
 
 " Help one another," a grain of sand 
 
 Said to another grain just at hand ; 
 " The wind may carry me over the sea, 
 
 And then, O! what will become of me? 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 57 
 
 But come, my brother, give me your hand ; 
 We'll build a mountain, and there we'll stand." 
 
 ip -JfC' ^K y^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 And so the snowflakes grew to drifts, 
 
 The grains of sand to mountains, 
 The leaves became a pleasant shade, 
 
 And dewdrops fed the fountains. 
 
 Bev. George F. Hunting, in the Parish Visitor, 
 
 So it is with boys and girls and older people. Not 
 one of us is much, account when alone. We must help 
 one another. 
 
 BETH GARLAND'S PRIZE. 
 
 " You are certain to have it, Beth, certain to have it." 
 
 '' Have what, Susie dear? ^' 
 
 ^' Why, the first-class prize, to be sure ! ' Presented 
 to Beth Garland for punctuality and for the highest 
 number of marks for lessons.' How I shall clap, 
 Beth, when you walk up to the desk to receive it I 
 No one will grudge my dear Beth the prize. Yon 
 have won it fairly, and well deserve it.'' Beth shook 
 her head. 
 
 " I don't know about that," she said, merrily. " We 
 shall see. . . . No, Susie dear, I can not go part way 
 home with you this afternoon." 
 
 " No, not a little bit of the way ? " said Susie, coax- 
 ingly. 
 
 " No, not a little bit," laughed Beth. 
 
 " Why, it's breaking-up day to-morrow ! You have 
 no lessons to learn." 
 
 " I have to call somewhere," said Beth. " So good- 
 by until to-morrow, dear." 
 
58 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 "Good-by, then," said Susie. ^^ I must hasten 
 iome, for mother wants to have tea early. '^ 
 
 Away across the field and out into the lane beyond 
 
 passed bright-eyed Susie Davis, looking back nov»- and 
 
 then at her friend, Beth Garland, who stood with her 
 
 ^bag containing her lesson books in her hand under a 
 
 shady tree, watching until Susie was out of sight. 
 
 " Now she can^t see me," exclaimed Beth, as she 
 caught the last faint glimpse of Susie's white pina- 
 fore. '^ She can't see me now, and wonder where I'm 
 going to." And, starting off at a sharp walk, which 
 soon became a run, Beth made her way back to the 
 village school-room she had left in company with her 
 friend about ten minutes ago. 
 
 ^' Why, Beth," exclaimed Miss Milwood, the teacher, 
 who was just locking up her desk, '^ how hot you are, 
 child ! You should not run this warm weather. What 
 is the matter? Have you forgotten one of your 
 books?" 
 
 '^ ]^o. Miss Milwood, thank you," replied Beth. " I 
 only came back because I wanted to speak to you 
 alone. To-morrow is breaking-up day " — 
 
 " So I suppose," said Miss Milwood, smiling. 
 
 '^And — and the girls think," stammered Beth—" at 
 least, Susie says they think I shall have the first-class 
 prize ; and — and, if I have. Miss Milwood, I want to 
 share it with Susie, please. We have had the same 
 number of marks for lessons and attendance for 
 months. I have counted them week by week, and 
 we are equal in the examination marks ; and you see. 
 Miss Milwood, it was not Susie's fault that she missed 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 59 
 
 school a whole week after that heavy snow-storm in 
 February/^ 
 
 '' No ; the roads were impassable/' said the teacher^ 
 thoughtfully. " Susie, living at such a distance from 
 the school, could not possibly attend. With the ex- 
 ception of that week " — 
 
 " We are about equal, are we not ? " asked Beth, 
 eagerly. 
 
 Miss Milwood smiled. 
 
 " You seem to know all about it,'' she said, kindly ; 
 "and certainly you two girls have worked harder 
 than any others in the class, with the exception of 
 Annie Merle and Kate Eoss, both of whom have left 
 during the half-year." 
 
 '^ Then you will divide the prize, will you not, dear 
 Miss Milwood ? " pleaded Beth. 
 
 " How can I ? " asked Miss Milwood. " The prizes 
 are ordered." 
 
 " Then let Susie have the prize intended for me," 
 said Beth, " and just give me a little certificate instead. 
 I am a whole year older than Susie. It is far more 
 to her credit than to mine to gain the prize. And 
 promise me, dear Miss Milwood, that you will not 
 mention it to the girls." 
 
 " Very well, dear," said Miss Milwood. " I promise 
 not to mention it to the girls." 
 
 The breaking-up day came — a bright, lovely, fine 
 day. Seated at their desks in the school-room were 
 Miss Milwood's scholars, and round the room were 
 placed chairs and forms for the children's friends and 
 parents. 
 
60 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 " The first-class prize has been honestly won by 
 Beth Garland," said Miss Milwood. 
 
 Susie began to clap most vigorously. 
 
 *^ Wait a moment, Susie/^ said Miss Milwood, smil- 
 ing. " I find that, had you not been obliged to remain 
 at home for a week after that heavy snow-storm in 
 February, you and Beth would have had an equal 
 number of marks. Therefore, I think all your school- 
 fellows will be quite willing that you should have a 
 share in the prize. 
 
 " The prizes had been ordered before this discovery 
 of the number of marks was made, and the first-class 
 prize is a small writing-desk. You are fond of writ- 
 ing, Susie, so the desk shall be yours ; and, as Beth is 
 very fond of needlework, if she does not mind wait- 
 ing a day or two, she shall have a work-box equal in 
 value to the desk. 
 
 The children cheered. Some of them surely must 
 have guessed that Beth had suggested the division of 
 the prize, they looked at her so lovingly, as, with her 
 fair face flushed with excitement, she walked up the 
 long school-room with her friend Susie, who received 
 from Miss Milwood a pretty writing-desk, while Beth 
 received a tiny note, containing these words : 
 
 " I kept my promise not to tell any of the girls, my 
 dear little Beth, but I did tell my brother about your 
 wish ; and he begged me to order the work-box for 
 you. Through all life's changes, Beth, try to keep 
 your loving, unselfish spirit. God will help you, if 
 you ask Him." 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 61 
 
 A BIG TURKEY. 
 
 He was a bouncing big turkey ; and they bad hung 
 him by the heels, so that his nose almost touched the 
 walk just outside the butcher^s shop, A little girl 
 was standing there watching it. You could see that 
 she was a hungry little girl ; and, worse than that, she 
 was cold too, for her shawl had to do for hood and 
 almost everything else. 'No one was looking, and so 
 she put out a little red hand, and gave the great tur- 
 key a push ; and he swung back and forth, almost 
 making the great iron hook creak, he was so heavy. 
 
 " What a splendid big turkey ! ^' 
 
 The poor little girl turned round, and there was 
 another little girl looking at the turkey too. She was 
 out walking with her dolls, and had on a cloak with 
 real fur all around the edges ; and she had a real muff, 
 white with little black spots all over it. 
 
 " Good morning, Miss,^^ said the butcherman. You 
 see he knew the little girl with the muff perfectly well. 
 
 " That's a big turkey, Mr. Martin.'' 
 
 "Yes," said the poor little girl, timidly; " he's the 
 biggest I ever saw in my life. He must be splendid 
 to eat." 
 
 " Pooh !" said the little girl with the muif, '^ he isn't 
 any bigger than the one my papa brought home for 
 Thanksgiving to-morrow, I know." 
 
 " Could I have a leg, if I came for it to-morrow ? " 
 asked the poor little girl, softly. 
 
 " What, haven't you a whole turkey ? " 
 
 " Never had one in my life," said the poor little girl. 
 
62 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 " Then you shall have this one/^ said the little lady 
 with the muff. " Mr. Martin, Pve got some money 
 in my savings bank at home ; and my papa said I 
 could do just as I wanted to with it, and I^ni going to 
 buy the turkey for this little girl." 
 
 The poor little girPs eyes grew so very large you 
 wouldn't have known them. " I shall love you always, 
 so much, so very, very much ; and I'll go home for 
 Foxy to help. Foxy is my brother, and I know we 
 can carry him.'' 
 
 I haven't room to tell you all about it; but the 
 poor little girl got her turkey, and papa his bill. 
 
 " What's this," said he ; ^* another turkey, eighteen 
 pounds; $3.60?" 
 
 ^^ That's all right," said the little girl who had the 
 muff. ^^ I bought him, and gave him to a poor little 
 girl who never ate one ; and the money is in my iron 
 bank." — New York Weekly Tribune, 
 
 A HARD BATTLE. 
 
 " A box, a box for Reeve and Marcia ! '^ exclaimed 
 papa, as he opened the mail from the north. ^^ And 
 all the way from Chicago, too, and from Aunt Emma, 
 I do believe." 
 
 When the box was opened, there, in a nest of soft 
 white cotton, lay two large eggs, ornamented in beau- 
 tiful colors. And, wonderful to tell, these eggs had 
 covers which, when lifted up, showed them to be full 
 of sugar-plums. But these lovely boxes were very 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 6S 
 
 frail ; and, in their long, rough journey, one of the 
 covers was badly crushed. 
 
 ^^ Sister can have that ; I'll have the good one,'' 
 said the little boy at once. 
 
 He was looked at with surprise, for he had always 
 soemed a generous little fellow. 
 
 " My dear," asked mamma, " would you do so 
 selfish, so unmanly a thing as that ? Go away, and 
 think about it." 
 
 " I don't wish to think about it. I don't wish to 
 think about it," he replied excitedly. " I want the 
 good one." 
 
 After that, no more was said. He began to walk 
 about the room ; his face was flushed, and he looked 
 very unhappy. If he chanced to come near papa, 
 papa did not seem to see him, he was so busy reading 
 his newspaper. 
 
 After walking awhile, he v/ent to the other side of 
 the room where mamma was bathing and dressing his 
 little sister. He was very fond of his mamma. When 
 she was sometimes obliged to punish him, as soon as it 
 v/as over, he would say : 
 
 ^' YVipe my tears ! kiss me ! " 
 
 So no w, when his dear mamma did not seem to see that 
 she had a little boy any m.ore, he v/as cut to the heart. 
 
 At last, he went into grandma's room. Now, he 
 and grandma were great friends. Many happy hours 
 did he spend in her lap, hearing stories ; and she 
 called him her "blessed boy." But now, alas ! she 
 was so busy with her knitting that she took no notice 
 of him whatever. This was dreadful ! 
 
64 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 He climbed up into a chair and sat down. An evil 
 spirit seemed to whisper, ^^ Don^t give up ; " and so 
 he began again his miserable walk. For nearly one 
 hour did this little boy fight his terrible battle with 
 selfishness, until at last, he could stand it no longer. 
 He came to mamma, and said in a pleasant voice : 
 
 ^^ I will take the broken one ; sister can have the 
 perfect one.^' 
 
 Then, when papa and mamma had kissed him, and 
 he had rushed into grandma^s loving arms, what a 
 load of unhappiness was lifted from his heart ! — Little 
 Men and Women, 
 
 "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of these little ones, ye have 
 done it unto me. Verily, I say unto you, ye shall in no wise lose your 
 reward" 
 
 DIMPLE'S DINNER COMPANY. 
 
 There was a sudden knock at the school-room door, 
 a loud rat-tat, as of some one in a hurry. 
 
 " Come in," said Miss Purviance ; and the door 
 was thrown open with a bang that jarred a whole 
 benchful of little girls. It was Dave Finley, a great, 
 strong, rough-voiced, kindly tempered fellow, who 
 hauled wood to the little town for sale. 
 
 " See here. Miss ^ Vance,' " he said, drawing for- 
 ward a little girl in a red calico dress and sun-bonnet, 
 " IVe brung you Molly Smooths gal to git some larnin\ 
 Moll is a powerful hand at books herself, Molly is ; 
 and, spite of Bill Smooths goin' and dyin' last spring, 
 and spite of there being four younger than Fan here. 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 65 
 
 MolPs sot on givin' her children larnin', too. ^ Well, 
 Molly/ says I, ' I kin furder you thar ; for I kin take 
 that little Jenny Wren of yours to town every day oa 
 my wagon 'longside of me, and glad of her company, 
 too.' ^ Land, Mr. Finley,' says Molly, ' how kind you 
 are ! ' ^ Well,' says I, ' we poor folks ain't got nuthin^ 
 but kindness to give one 'nother: and we must be 
 hard up, if we can't give that.' " 
 
 '• Come in, Fanny," said Miss Purviance. ^' Did 
 you say that her name was Fanny ? Thank you, Mr. 
 Finley ; we will see about her lessons now." 
 
 '^ All right, mum. I'll be 'long this way somewhere 
 short of four 'clock to pick her up again." 
 
 And the little stranger was given a seat near the 
 stove to warm her toes, while Miss Purviance hurried 
 through the interrupted recitation. 
 
 The new scholar had need to warm her toes ; for, 
 though the November frosts were sharp, her little 
 brown feet were innocent of shoes and stockings, and 
 the calico dress came but a stingy way down the 
 plump legs. 
 
 The little face, when the red calico sun-bonnet came 
 off, was seen to be round and rosy. It seemed that 
 poverty (and the Smoots were of the poorest) agreed 
 with Fan's health, and spirits, too ; for she was a gay 
 little witch, and soon became a favorite at Miss Pur- 
 viance's school. Her seat was by Dimple Duer, and 
 impulsive little Dimple was heels over head in love 
 with her at once. The difference between her dainty 
 laced and frilled ruffles, her silk stockings and kid 
 slippers, and Fan's clean but somewhat faded calico, 
 5 
 

 ^^ BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 her bare feet aud sunburnt hands, seemed not to strike 
 either of the little girls, who became devoted friends. 
 
 " Mother/^ said Dimple one Friday morning, stop- 
 ping in the midst of her breakfast of waffles and 
 honey, "can^t I have a dinner party?'' 
 
 ^^ Perhaps so,'' said the mother, smiling at her little 
 iri's serious face. ^' Whom will you invite?" 
 How many could I have, mother ? " 
 
 " Oh, four or five, I suppose," answered Mrs. Duer. 
 
 " Now, mother," Dimple said with great earnest- 
 ness, " wouldn't you just as lief I should have one 
 little girl five times as five little girls one time ? " 
 
 There was a laugh all around the table at this conun- 
 drum, but Dimple waited eagerly for an answer. 
 ^^ Dimple," said papa, " what little girl do you want 
 to invite to dinner five times ? " 
 
 " Why, papa," she said gravely, " Fanny Smoot 
 brings her dinner to school every day ; and it's hardly 
 ever anything but a piece of corn-bread and a potato. 
 She says sometimes her mother can give her two po- 
 tatoes, and sometimes a little piece of fat bacon." 
 
 Dimple's voice was trembling a little, and nobody 
 at the table laughed now. 
 
 "You shall have your dinner company, darling," said 
 the mother; and her voice was not very steady either. 
 
 So Dimple had her way, and went off to school 
 happy, with a little invitation written on one of 
 mother's gilt-edged cards : " Miss Dimple Duer re- 
 quests the pleasure of your company to dinner on 
 Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday 
 of next week." 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 67 
 
 Of course, the invitation was accepted; and the 
 next Friday, at recess, the two little girls were in 
 great glee over a card found in Dimple^s pocket, 
 directed to Fan, in a gentleman's bold hand : " Mr. 
 Sidney Duer [that was papa] requests the pleasure of 
 your company to dinner on Monday, Tuesday, AYednes- 
 day, Thursday and Friday of next week/' 
 
 And every week a different member of the family 
 sent Fan a little invitation, until she had been in- 
 vited by each one ; and then Dimple's turn came 
 again. 
 
 Do you think the four little Smoots envied Fan ? 
 iSTo ; and I'll tell you why. There was a round brown 
 woven basket on Mrs. Duer's wardrobe shelf, which 
 had once belonged to her little Fanny, now in heaven. 
 It had been her lunch-basket, and the sight of it made 
 the mother's heart ache with thinking of the bright 
 face that used to look back at her from the gate as the 
 little daughter tripped to school. 
 
 But the first week of Dimple's dinner company this 
 basket was taken down, and filled from the table for 
 Fan to carry home to the little ones there. She never 
 forgot to bring it back the next morning, and it never 
 failed to travel home with her again the same day 
 after school. 
 
 '' Mother," said observant little Dimple one night, 
 from her cot in the corner, " what makes you look so 
 teary, sometimes, when you are filling the broy/n 
 basket for the little Smoots ? " 
 
 The mother came over and kissed the rosy face on 
 the pillow. " Dimple," she said softly, " I count 
 
68 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 them your little angel sister's dinner company." — 
 Elizabeth P. Allen, in Canadian Baptist. 
 
 How happy it often makes us to make others happy ! 
 Dimple by her benevolence not only made herself 
 and little Fan happy, but all the members of both 
 families. Dimple did not seem to notice how Fan 
 was dressed. One can not always be judged by his 
 dress. 
 
 «-THE PENNY YE MEAN TO GIE." 
 
 There's a funny tale of a stingy man 
 
 Who was none too good, but might have been worse, 
 Who went to his church on a Sunday night, 
 
 And carried along his well filled purse. 
 
 When the sexton came with the begging plate 
 The church was but dim with the candles' light ; 
 
 The stingy man, fumbling all tliro' his purse, 
 Chose a coin by touch, and not by sight. 
 
 It's an odd thing, now, that guineas should be 
 
 So like unto pennies in shape and size. 
 'I'll gie a penny," the stingy man said ; 
 " The poor must not gifts of pennies despise." 
 
 The penny fell down with a clatter and ring. 
 
 And back in his seat leaned the stingy man. 
 ' The world is so full of the poor," he thought, 
 " I can't help them all. I give what I can." 
 
 Ha ! ha! how the sexton smiled, to be sure, 
 To see the gold guinea fall in the plate! 
 
 Ha ! ha ! how the stingy man's heart was wrung, 
 Perceiving his blunder — but just too late! 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 69 
 
 " No matter," he said ; " in the Lord's account 
 That guinea of gold is set down to me. 
 They lend to Him who give to the poor ; 
 It will not so bad an investment be." 
 
 " Na, na, mon," the chuckling sexton cried out, 
 " The Lord is na cheated ; He kens thee well ; 
 He knew it was only by accident I 
 
 That out o' thy finger the guinea fell. 
 
 " He keeps an account, na doubt, for the puir; 
 But in that account He'll set down to thee 
 Na mair o' that golden guinea, my mon, 
 Than the one bare penny ye mean to gie." 
 
 There's a comfort, too, in the little tale — 
 
 A serious side as well as a joke — 
 A comfort for all the generous poor, 
 
 In the comical words the sexton spoke; 
 
 A comfort to know that the good Lord knows 
 
 How generous we really desire to be, 
 And will give us credit in His account 
 
 For all the pennies we long " to gie." H. H. 
 
 Many persons who are unable to give are more 
 benevolent than the rich. It is not always the amount 
 that counts, but the spirit in which it was given. 
 
 A WAIF'S VIEW OF WEALTH. 
 
 A little street waif was once at the house of a great 
 lady, and the childish eyes that had to look so sharply 
 after daily bread were dazzled by signs of splendor on 
 every hand. '^ Can you get everything you want?" 
 the child asked the mistress of the mansion. '^ Yes, 
 I think so," was the reply. '* Can you buy anything 
 
70 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 you'd like to have ?" The lady answered, " Yes.'' 
 And the child, who was of a meditative turn of mind, 
 looked at her half pityingly, and said, wonderingly, 
 " DonH you find it dull f To the little keen mind, 
 accustomed to live bird-like from day to day, and to 
 rejoice over a little supply with the delight born of 
 rarity, the aspect of continual plenty, and desires all 
 gratified by possession, contained an idea of monotony 
 that seemed almost wearisome. Many an owner of a 
 well-filled purse has found life " dull," and pro- 
 nounced in the midst of luxury that all things are 
 vanity; but the hand that knows how wisely to dis- 
 tribute and scatter abroad the bounty possessed will 
 never be without interest in life- -will never miss the 
 sunshine that abides for kind and unselfish hearts. — 
 The Quiver. 
 
 When those who have plenty find it dull, let them 
 help some truly v/orthy and needy person. They will 
 then get great pleasure out of their wealth, and besides 
 make others happy. 
 
 "Castihy bread upon the waters : for thou shalt find it after many days." — 
 
 Eccl. xi, 2. 
 
 THE MISSION OF A DOLL AND TOP. 
 
 A TFvUE STORY. 
 
 A short time before Col. Taylor's battle with Alli- 
 gator and his warriors, a family by the name of Avery 
 went from Pennsylvania to join the white settlers in 
 Florida. 
 
 For some time after they had taken possession of 
 
BEKEVOLENCE. 71 
 
 their new home, their relation with the Seminoles was 
 most friendly. The Indians visiting them frequently, 
 they became accustomed to their savage ways, and soon 
 learned to trust them. 
 
 At length these friendly visits ceased entirely, and 
 for a long period not an Indian crossed the red man'.i 
 line. 
 
 Mr. Avery was not troubled by the circumstance ; 
 but his young wife grew nervous regarding the change^ 
 fearing that the wild men of the woods might meditate 
 war. 
 
 One day, when Mr. Avery was absent, Mrs. Avery 
 was much perplexed by the suddeif appearance of four 
 canoes laden with the treacherous Seminoles. They 
 landed and approached the house in single file ; but, 
 as they drew nearer and nearer, she was greatly relieved 
 bydiscoveringthatthepartyconsisted wholly of women 
 and children. Assured that it was no war band, she 
 went out to meet them, and soon discovered, from their 
 imperfect English, the object of their visit. 
 
 The Seminole braves had gone on a long hunt, and 
 the scanty store of provisions they had left behind 
 them had been consumed by the forest fires. Even the 
 rude wigwams that made up their little hamlet had 
 been burned up, and the poor squaws and papooses 
 were without food or shelter. 
 
 Mrs. Avery, assisted by her negro servants, spread 
 an abundance of good, wholesome food upon the grass, 
 and watched, with keen interest, the half-famished 
 people satisfy their hunger. 
 
 There was one sick child among the number that 
 
72 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 touched her mother-heart most deeply. For it she 
 prepared delicacies to tempt its appetite ; for it was 
 such dainties it needed more than medicine. Her two 
 little children, Willie and Meta, ransacked the house 
 for presents for the little papooses, and scarcely a red 
 child left the premises without a keepsake, even if it 
 were only a brass button. 
 
 Meta took a great fancy to the little sick baby, and 
 begged to be allowed to give it her new doll. The 
 Indian child was delighted Avith her treasure, while 
 her mother could not find words to express her 
 
 joy. ^ 
 
 Wishing to share in the blessedness of giving, Willie 
 brought his top, and bestowed it upon a boy near his 
 own age. After remaining all night, the party took 
 leave of the family, and, as the visit was not repeated, 
 Mrs. Avery concluded that the hunters had been suc- 
 cessful in the quest of game. 
 
 Soon after this the long peace between the Semi- 
 noles and the whites was broken by the outrages of 
 the tribe. 
 
 Some months after the trouble began, Mr. Avery 
 spied two Seminole warriors approaching his house 
 unarmed. He went to meet them, but neither of them 
 could speak a word of English. However, they shook 
 hands with him, and then proceeded to make certain 
 cabalistic marks upon the house. This done, they went 
 back to their canoes, and no more was seen of them. 
 
 "What does this all mean?" asked Mrs. Avery, 
 when her husband returned. 
 
 " It means that clouds are gathering over the white 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 7S 
 
 man's head, but that we are safe from all danger," he 
 replied, feelingly. 
 
 " How do you know?'' questioned his wife. 
 
 ^' They made me understand this by their gesticula- 
 tions, which could be interpreted no other way/' was 
 his assuring answer. 
 
 *^ Oh, yes ! " she replied, with a glance at the chil- 
 dren. " The doll and the top and the bright buttons 
 are all pleading for us in the dark forest." 
 
 ^^ That is it," replied her husband. " The Indians- 
 never forget a kindness, and you and the children have 
 saved our home and our lives." 
 
 A dreadful war followed ; and tragedy after tragedy- 
 was perpetrated by the treacherous Seminoles upon the- 
 white settlers, but no harm befell the Averys. Time 
 after time, news of the atrocities of the cruel foes 
 reached their ears, but not an Indian ever ventured in 
 sight of their plantation. In the early spring Mr.. 
 Avery was prostrated with a low fever, and the over- 
 sight of the servants fell upon Mrs. Avery. 
 
 One day, when she was engaged in directing the 
 transplanting of a young orange grove, she was hor- 
 rified at discovering her two little children Avere adrift 
 in an old canoe that had lain by the river's edge for 
 months. 
 
 The little ones had been playing in it, as was their 
 custom, and somehow the crazy old thing had broken 
 from its mooring and was helplessly floating down the 
 current. 
 
 Mrs. Avery was a brave woman, and with all the 
 speed she could make jumped into a canoe that lay- 
 
74 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 hard by and started in hot pursuit ; but, row as she 
 would, the children gained upon her, and soon she 
 beheld with dismay that her darlings were struggling 
 in the water. With a thrill of horror, she saw their 
 .sunny heads disappear beneath the Vv^ater. They rose, 
 and sank again ; and when she was about to give up 
 in despair three dusky forms ran down to the river 
 from the other side, and, springing into the swift tide, 
 struggled fiercely with the turbulent water until they 
 reached the spot where the children had disappeared. 
 The next moment they had seized the little limp 
 forms as they came up to the surface for the last time, 
 and carried them triumphantly to shore. The poor 
 mother, fearing that a worse fate than drowning had 
 overtaken her treasures, hurried on, determined to 
 secure them or die with them. 
 
 Before she reached the shore she discovered that it 
 was lined with Indians, who seemed to be watching 
 her movements with intense interest. Some of the 
 men assisted her in landing, and the women clustered 
 eagerly around her, trying to make her understand 
 that they were true friends. 
 
 Among those who took her hand were many of the 
 same women she had fed ; while the one who had car- 
 ried the sick child upon that trip held up her papoose, 
 now v>^ell and strong, exultingly. The child still 
 clung to Metals doll, which at once explained all the 
 kindness lavished upon her and her children. 
 
 The redskins sent a deputation of their braves to 
 accompany them to the plantation, and then, with the 
 assurance of further protection, the warriors returned 
 to the forest. 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 75 
 
 ^^ I told you that they would not forget Willie's top 
 or Metals doll/' exclaimed Mr. Avery, after he had 
 listened to his wife's pathetic story of the double es- 
 cape of their precious children. 
 
 " And you were right/' she answered. " A good 
 action always brings a sure reward." 
 
 " Blessed are they who sow beside all 
 B. U. C, in the YouthJs Evangelist. 
 
 THOUGHTFaL BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 This would be a glad v/orld if every creature in it 
 v/ere to do all he could to lessen pain and increase 
 happiness. 
 
 It is astonishing how much suffering can be pre- 
 vented by a little attention of the right kind at the 
 right moment. An audience of three thousand people 
 may be kept in misery for two hours if the janitor 
 does not watch the thermometer; or a whole play- 
 ground full of well-disposed boys may be tormented 
 by one half-civilized bully. On the other hand, a 
 large party goes off beautifully, simply because the 
 director of the entertainment has taken thoughtful 
 pains to have it go off so. 
 
 Some people seem to have a lovely genius for dif- 
 fusing happiness around them. They are themselves 
 so engaging that only to be near them is a delight. 
 Most of us, however, if we would enjoy the happiness 
 of making others happy, must try to do it. We must 
 avoid and remove causes of pain ; we must invent and 
 provide the means of enjoyment. 
 
76 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 The most usual cause of failure in this particular 
 comes from not thinking. The evening lamp is dis- 
 tressing a pair of aged eyes; a thoughtful person 
 quietly places a screen so as to shelter them from the 
 piercing light. 
 
 "Why didn't I think of that?" whispers the on- 
 looker to himself. Thinking of it is the rare accom- 
 plishment. Anybody can perform the trifles of house- 
 hold benevolence ; the merit lies in not forgetting to 
 do them. 
 
 Mr. Andrew Carnegie, one of the iron kings of 
 Pennsylvania, mentions in his now celebrated article 
 in The Foy^um two facts which illustrate what a little 
 thought may do to mitigate the human lot. One of 
 the workmen in the employment of his company hap- 
 pened to allude to the increased cost of groceries 
 through having to buy on credit, wages being paid 
 only once a month. 
 
 " Well,'' said Mr. Carnegie, " why can not we over- 
 come that by paying every two weeks ?" 
 
 " We did not like to ask it," replied the man, " be- 
 cause we have always understood that it would cause 
 much trouble ; but if you do that, it would be worth 
 an advance of five per cent, in our wages." 
 
 The change was made at once, and now the custom 
 prevails in many manufacturing centers of paying 
 wages every week. Millions of men have desired 
 that for sixty years. A little thoughtful good nature 
 would have sufficed to bestow the boon two genera- 
 tions ago. 
 
 From another man at the same interview Mr. Car- 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 77 
 
 negie was surprised to learn that poor men who bonght 
 a few bushels of coal at a time paid just twice the 
 price which his company paid. One moment's kindly 
 thought remedied this grievance. 
 
 ^^ How easy for us/' said the president of the com- 
 pany, ^^ to deliver coal to our men in small quantities 
 at cost ! '' 
 
 So said, so done. 
 
 And as such ideas are exceedingly contagious, a 
 very large number of ironmasters now provide their 
 men with coal on the same terms. 
 
 There are few things more catching than wise be- 
 nevolence. It beats the scarlet fever. Despite all 
 appearances to the contrary, the deepest thing in man 
 is the love he bears his fellov/-man. — YouWs Com- 
 panion. 
 
 WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR? 
 
 Thy neighbor? — It is he whom thou 
 Hast power to aid and bless, 
 
 Whose aching heart or burning brow 
 Thy soothing hand may press. 
 
 Thy neighbor?— 'Tis the fainting poor 
 Whose eye with want is dim, 
 
 Whom hunger sends from door to door. 
 Go thou and succor him. 
 
 Thy neighbor? — 'Tis that weary man, 
 Whose years are at their brim. 
 
 But low with sickness, cares and pain. 
 Go thou and comfort him. 
 
78 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 Thy neighbor? — 'Tis the heart bereft 
 
 Of every earthly gem ; 
 Widow and orphan, helpless left — 
 
 Go thou and shelter them. 
 
 Where'er thou meet'st a human form 
 
 Less favored than thy own, 
 Remember, 'tis thy neighbor worm, 
 
 Thy brother or thy son. 
 
 Cowderifs Moral Lessons. 
 
 " It is more blessed to give than to receiveJ^ — Acts xx, 35. 
 PROVIDENCE AND THE WOOD-PILE. 
 
 One snowy Saturday night, years ago, when the 
 wood-pile of the Alcott household was very low, a 
 neighbor's child came to beg a little wood, as " the 
 baby y/as very sick, and father off on a spree with 
 his wages.'' 
 
 There was a baby, too, in the Alcott household ; 
 and the storm was wild, and the Sabbath was coming 
 between that night and the chance of more wood. 
 For once, Mrs. Alcott hesitated ; but the serene Sage 
 of Concord looked out, undismayed, into the wild and 
 wintry storm. 
 
 "Give half our stock," said he, resolutely, "and 
 trust to Providence. Wood will come, or the weather 
 will moderate." 
 
 His wife laughed, and answered cheerfully, " Well, 
 at any rate, their need is greater than ours ; and, if 
 our half gives out, we can go to bed and tell stories." 
 
 So a good half of the wood went to the poor neigh- 
 bor. Later on in the evening the storm increased, 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 7^ 
 
 and the family council decided to cover up the fire to 
 keep it^ and go to bed. Just then came a knock at 
 the door ; and, lo ! it was the farmer who usually sup- 
 plied Mr. Alcott with wood. 
 
 He had started to go into Boston with his load, but 
 the storm so drove in his face, and the snow so drifted 
 in his path, that it had driven him back ; and now, if 
 he might unload his load there, it would save him 
 taking it home again, and he " s'posed they'd be want- 
 ing some soon.'^ 
 
 Of course, his proposition was gladly accepted ; and, 
 as the farmer went off to the wood-shed, the triumph- 
 ant Sage of Concord turned to his wife with a wise 
 look, which much impressed his children, and said : 
 
 " Didn^t I tell you wood would come, if the weather 
 did not moderate ? '' — Youth's Companion, 
 
 It might be interesting for the pupils to know that 
 the ^^ Sage of Concord'^ referred to above is the, father 
 of the author of " Little Women '' and '' Little Men/' 
 His willingness to divide shows one of his many noble 
 traits. 
 
80 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 Webster says that courage is that firmness of spirit 
 and swell of soul which meets danger without fear. 
 Bravery is daring and impetuous courage, like that of 
 one who has the reward continually in view, and dis- 
 plays his courage in daring acts. Courage and bravery 
 are important elements in a character. Sometimes 
 boys get a false notion of what they really are. The 
 following selections, when well studied, will teach 
 true courage and bravery. An informal talk loith the 
 pupils, after reading the stories, is very valuable : 
 
 DARE AND DO. 
 
 Dare to think though others frown ; 
 
 Dare in words your thoughts express ; 
 Dare to rise though oft cast down ; 
 
 Dare the wronged and scorned to bless. 
 
 Dare from custom to depart ; 
 
 Dare the priceless pearl possess ; 
 Dare to wear it next your heart; 
 
 Dare, when others curse, to bless. 
 
 Dare forsake what you deem wrong; 
 
 Dare to walk in wisdom's way ; 
 Dare to give where gifts belong; 
 
 Dare God's precepts to obey. 
 
 Do what conscience says is right ; 
 
 Do what reason says is best ; 
 Do with all your mind and might; 
 
 Do your duty, and be blest. 
 
 Cowden/s Moral Lessons. 
 
COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 81 
 
 HER HELP. 
 
 General Hancock relates the following pathetic inci- 
 dent, which occurred at Gettysburg, just before his 
 famous charge: Passing near the outskirts of his 
 lines, he came upon a child, only half-a-dozen years or 
 so of age, and hardly yet old enough to speak plainly. 
 She somehow had strayed near to the Union pickets, 
 bringing an old rifle heavier than she could well carry 
 without showing that she was overburdened. When 
 she saw General Hancock she held the load in her arms 
 a little higher and fairly ran into his arms crying : 
 " My papa^s dead, but here's my papa's gun ! '' 
 There was something like a tear in General Han- 
 cock's eye as he recited the heroic little incident. "I 
 never recall that brave chit of a child's offering to our 
 cause," he said, " without feelings of deepest rever- 
 ence. Her half-lisped words voiced a sentiment that 
 was sublime." 
 
 COURAGE. 
 
 Be free ! be free ! let no cold chain 
 
 Of worldly prudence bind thee ; 
 What didst thou bring? Thou'lt go again 
 
 And leave all things behind thee. 
 
 Face doubts and foes ; why should'st thou flee? 
 
 Stand fast, and do thy duty ; 
 And the whole universe for thee 
 
 Shall blossom into beauty. 
 
82 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 Be true! be true ! not just the same 
 
 Are we in form and feature; 
 A different trial and different name 
 
 Is given each heaven-born creature. 
 
 True to tliy God, through all thy years, 
 
 Let nothing less content thee ; 
 Confide to Him thy hopes, thy fears, 
 
 For He, and no man, sent thee. 
 
 Be brave ! be brave ! it is no wrong 
 
 To stand with none beside thee ; 
 If thou art fearless, true and strong, 
 
 What evil can betide thee? 
 
 S. A, Pye, YouilCs Companion, 
 
 A BRAVE LADY. 
 
 !N"ews comes from Sydney of a gallant deed done by 
 a Mrs. Campbell. She was a passenger in a steamer 
 from Hong Kong to a Queensland port. Owing to a 
 sudden lurch of the ship, a little boy, four years old, 
 of whom she was very fond, fell overboard. Except- 
 ing Mrs. Campbell and the man at the wheel, pas- 
 sengers and crew were at dinner when the accident 
 occurred. Y/ithout removing any of her clothing or 
 waiting for a life-belt, and merely saying to the man, 
 " Don't tell the child's mother," Mrs. Campbell sprang 
 into the water, swam to the boy, arid held him up till 
 both were rescued, the steamer having in the mean- 
 time been stopped and a boat lowered. Neither poor 
 boy nor brave lady was much the worse for the acci- 
 dent. This true anecdote shows the advantage of 
 being taught to swim. 
 
COUEAGE AND BRAVERY. 83 
 
 PERCY'S PERIL. 
 
 " You don't dare to take a sail in that tub," said 
 Jim, one of three boys standing beside a mill-pond. . 
 
 " Yes, I dare,'' returned Percj ; ^^ but a tub isn't 
 made to sail in, isn't a boat." 
 
 " No, you don't dare set your foot in the tub," said 
 Ned. 
 
 " What a coward ! " cried Ned and Jim together. 
 " You don't dare ! Mother's baby knows he don't 
 dare ! " 
 
 Percy could not bear that. It is a pity he did not 
 say to those rough boys, " I will not be ^ dared ' into 
 doing wrong ; " but, rather than be laughed at, he 
 clambered into the tub at the water's edge. He did 
 not try to get out when Jim and Ned pushed the tub 
 from shore. He meant to show how daring he was. 
 The tub turned partly around, rocked for a moment, 
 then the current drew it farther out and down toward 
 the mill-dam. Even Jim and Ned were scared when 
 they saw what they had done. One wrong step led 
 to another. The boys who had called Percy a coward 
 were too cowardly to give an alarm. Afraid of being 
 blamed, they ran away as fast as they could. They 
 told each other never, as long as they lived, to tell 
 how little Percy was drowned. Percy had the courage 
 to sit still, else the tub would have tipped over at 
 once. He cried for help, but the noise of the falls 
 ¥7as ten times louder than a child's voice. He was 
 nearing the mill-dam. Swifter and swifter the water 
 bore him toward it. How he wished he had dared 
 
84 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 to do right ! Oh, if he could only say good-by to his 
 mother ! 
 
 The miller looked out of his window. He saw the 
 tub and the child in it, sailing fast to his death. An 
 instant more, and there was no miller in the mill to 
 pick up the bag that was spilling its grain on the 
 floor. Down the bank and into his boat leaped the 
 man. He struck the oars into the water, rowing fast 
 and strong. Would he be able to save the boy ? Loud 
 shouts were heard now. Others had discovered the 
 danger. Half the village was running toward the 
 river. Some shouted to cheer the only man who 
 could possibly do any good : " Hurrah ! you'll have 
 him yet ! Now for it ! Good ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! '' 
 But it appeared more likely that boat and all would 
 be hurled over the fall than the boat would be saved. 
 Suddenly, a glad shout arose. The tub did indeed 
 go over the dam, but it was empty. Almost at the 
 edge, the boy had been snatched from it into the boat, 
 and the oars were bendiog again with their hard labor. 
 It was all that the man could do to get the boat out- 
 side that fatal sweep of the v/aters. Everybody said 
 it was a narrow escape. Little Percy's face, when 
 they gave him to his weeping mother, was nearly as 
 white as the foam at the foot of the falls. He had 
 h^arned a lesson he would never forget. What was 
 h?—The Watchman. 
 
 Little Percy was a coward. So were the boys who 
 got him into the tub. The man who rescued the boy 
 showed great courage. 
 
COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 85 
 
 BRAVE BETH. 
 
 Little Beth lived in a beautiful home on the bank 
 of a river ; and she had all the nice clothes and books 
 and playthings that she wanted, and a kind father and 
 mother who loved her dearly. Sometimes, she thought 
 she was the happiest child in the world, except her 
 little brother, Rob, Baby Bob, Avhom everybody loved 
 for his sunny temper, cunning ways, and sweet, lisp- 
 ing baby talk. 
 
 When Bob was two years old, one summer after- 
 noon, Beth came running home from school, and went 
 in search of him. for their usual romp. Mamma Avas 
 busy, and said he was not with her, but had gone into 
 the garden a little while ago. So Beth went on into 
 the garden, where she found his little wagon and his 
 hat lying out under the tree ; but she could see noth- 
 ing of Bob. Then she ran down the garden walk, 
 calling, ^^ Bob ! Bob! where are you. Baby Bob?^' 
 But no sweet little voice answered her. When she 
 reached the farther end of the walk, she found that 
 the gate which was always kept fastened had been 
 carelessly left open. Passing through, her heart stood 
 still at the sight before her. A little back of the house 
 ran the railroad, with a long, high bridge over the 
 river. Some planks had been laid along the middle 
 of the bridge for the convenience of persons crossing 
 on foot, and away on this narrow walk, half way 
 across the bridge, was Baby Bob. In one hand he 
 carried a little basket, and in the other a little stick 
 which he was using for a cane. There he was trudg- 
 
86 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 ing along, as unconscious of danger as if he had been 
 walking across the nursery floor. 
 
 It was no wonder that Beth's heart stood still, for 
 that first glance had also shown her a train coming up 
 the track — coming, it seemed to her, faster than train 
 ever came before. And it was so near. 
 
 Beth gave one scream, hoping that her mother 
 might hear it, and then started down the track. It 
 seemed as if her feet had wings. She knew that she 
 had never run so fast before ; but run as fast as she 
 could, the train ran faster. She reaches the bridge, 
 and darts along the narrow walk. She knows that 
 she is putting her own life in danger, l)ut she does not 
 hesitate. She does not even think that she is per- 
 forming a heroic act, but only that her darling little 
 brother is in great peril, and that she must save 
 him, if she can. Even Baby Rob at last seems aware 
 of his danger, as he notices the panting monster rush- 
 ing down upon him. 
 
 He turns and begins to run as fast as he can, and, 
 seeing Beth coming he reaches out his little arms to 
 her, and cries : 
 
 " Take Rob, Beth ! Rol)'s Yraid ! '' 
 
 And Beth clasps him in her arms, and feels his soft 
 little arms around her neck ; but she also feels the 
 bridge tremble beneath her. The engine has reached it. 
 She knows that she can not reach the other end of the 
 bridge v/ith her burden ; yet, even now, she might 
 escape, had she nothing to carry. But the thought of 
 saving herself and leaving poor, helpless little Rob 
 there to be crushed to death never enters her mind. 
 
COUEAGE AND BRAVERY. 87 
 
 She can almost feel the hot breath of the merciless 
 giant. Think quick^ little Beth, is there no way of 
 escape? One way seems possible to her; she will 
 try it. And, running to the end of one of the ties, 
 she loosens the little arms that cling around her neck ; 
 and, kissing the soft baby cheek, she says, " Good-by, 
 Rob ! ^' and drops the little burden in the stream be- 
 low. She hopes that some one will come and save 
 him before he drowns. 
 
 And, now, she will m^ake a brave effort for her own 
 life. So, clasping her hands over one of the ties, she 
 drops down with her body hanging over the stream. If 
 she can only hang on this way till the train has passed, 
 she may yet be saved. But the sharp edges cut her 
 wrists, and the tie trembles under the weight of the 
 cars, and with the roaring in her ears she grows faint 
 and dizzy, and loosens her hold and drops into the 
 dark water beneath. 
 
 The engineer had at last seen the brave act of the 
 little girl ; and, as quickly as possible, he stopped his 
 train and went back to rescue the children. One man, 
 throv/ing off his coat, swam in and easily brought 
 Baby Rob to shore ; but it was some time before Beth's 
 body was borne by strong arms to her father's house. 
 For a long time, loving ones worked over their un- 
 conscious forms to win them back to life. At length, 
 Baby Rob opened his eyes, and, trying to lift up his 
 weak little arms, cried ; ^' Take Rob, Beth ! Rob\s 
 Afraid.'' And for weeks this cry rang in the mother's 
 ears as she nursed the little sufferer through the de- 
 lirium of fever. But Rob called in vain ; for the 
 
88 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 loving arms, which would so gladly have taken him, 
 were motionless forever. Little Beth was dead. They 
 folded the poor bruised hands over the brave little 
 heart, and covered them with flowers ; and, when they 
 laid her under the maple in the quiet graveyard, they 
 wrote on her headstone: "Our Beth. Aged ten.^^ 
 " Greater love hath no man than this, that one should 
 lay down her life for her friends.^^ — Christian at Work. 
 
 A BRAVE WOMAN. 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 Nearly a century ago, when West Virginia, thinly 
 settled and cleared, was a favorite fighting ground of 
 the Indian tribes, there lived near the Kanawha Falls 
 a settler of Dutch extraction named Van Bibber, a 
 man of some note and distinction in those early times. 
 His homestead stood below the falls ; and opposite to 
 it, on the other side of the river, was an overhanging 
 rock of immense size, jutting out about a hundred feet 
 over the seething whirlpool caused by the falls, and 
 rising to nearly one hundred feet above the water. 
 This rock was once the scene of a remarkable advent- 
 ure which exhibits what woman's love will give her 
 courage to achieve for the defense and rescue of those 
 to whom she is united in the tenderest bonds of affec- 
 tion. 
 
 Van Bibber was one day returning from an expedi- 
 tion into the dense forest on the opposite side of the 
 river to his home, when he unfortunately crossed the 
 path of a party of Indians returning from some dis- 
 
COURAGE AND BRAVEEY. 89' 
 
 tant fray, and dressed in the full glories of the war- 
 path — paint, feathers and wampum. A moment more^ 
 and they were in hot pursuit after him ; and the set- 
 tler, though possessed of great agility and being a 
 swift runner, found himself unable to gain the bank 
 of the river before the flying steps of the savages had 
 enabled them to double on him ; and, cutting off all 
 approach to the water, he was driven to the sum- 
 mit of the overhanging rock, where, by the aid of 
 his rifle, he kept the enemy for a few moments at 
 bay. 
 
 He stood up bravely in full view of the savages 
 both above and below, who yelled with triumph at 
 the prospect of his speedy capture. Across the river 
 before him lay his home ; and as he looked he saw his 
 wife emerge from the house, startled by the noise, 
 with her babe nestled in her arms. She stood as if 
 petrified with terror and amazement ; helpless, as he 
 thought, to render assistance. Suddenly, borne upon; 
 the light breeze, to his ear came the clear tones of her 
 voice : '^ Leap into the water and meet me !^' And, 
 laying her babe on the grass, she flew to the little 
 landing, seized the oars, and sprang into the skiff 
 alone. Well for her that her arms were strong, and 
 that so many of their hours had been passed on the 
 sunny river which flowed, with hundreds of eddies in 
 its rapid current, past the walls of their home. 
 
 There is no indecision or weakness in the steady^ 
 firm stroke of the oars which bears her rapidly on 
 her dangerous course. Her husband must be rescued, 
 and there is no human arm but hers to save him* 
 
:90 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 ^ferved by love to double exertion, the brave woman 
 steadily iiears the middle of the river. 
 
 ^' Drop lower, wife.^' 
 
 " Lower yet f^ and with the last words Van Bibber 
 sprang from the crag, and descended like an arrow 
 into the water. 
 
 "With every pulse beating wildly, the devoted wife 
 rested on her oars to see him rise to the surface, while 
 her frail canoe danced like a cork on top of the swirl- 
 ing waves. Ages seemed to pass in that awful sus- 
 pense. Had the fall injured him? Had he struck 
 the bowlders which lay, as she well knew, in multi- 
 tudes under the water, carried down from the falls 
 above? Would he never rise? Her eyes tried in 
 vain to penetrate the depths of the water, and in an 
 agony she swept the canoe still further down the 
 stream. A moment more, and his head rose suddenly 
 near her, and all her mind was directed to helping 
 him to climb into the shelter of the canoe, amid the 
 shower of arrows and shot which the baffled Indians 
 poured upon their escaping foe. 
 
 No word was exchanged between them. Though 
 her husband was rescued, they had not yet reached 
 the opposite shore ; and the brave woman saw that, 
 after the perilous leap and the sudden immersion in 
 the ice-cold water. Van Bibber was more dead than 
 alive. Everything depended on her strength being 
 maintained till she could attain the bank ; and, with 
 a heart which almost stood still with fear, the devoted 
 wife bent once more to the oars with her whole powers 
 of mind and body. God be thanked ! she was sue- 
 
COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 91 
 
 cessful ; and after their desperate adventure the ex- 
 hausted husband and wife landed on the spot whence 
 she had started on her perilous voyage^ where the 
 babe still lay, crowing and laughing, in the last rays 
 of the afternoon sun. 
 
 Two or three neighbors, who had been gathered by 
 the reports of the rifles, pulled the canoe to the sands, 
 and helped to lift Van Bibber to his feet. He could 
 not walk, so they laid him on the green sward by his 
 babe ; and, falling down by his side in her utter ex- 
 haustion and thankfulness, the overexcited nerves of 
 the woman found vent in a wild and uncontrolled fit 
 of weeping. 
 
 ^^ Just what any other woman would have done,^^ 
 says some young reader, with a little air of surprise 
 and disdain. 
 
 Exactly so, my dear. But then, you see, another 
 woman might have cried at the wrong time — before 
 instead of after the event narrated in my story ; and 
 then Van Bibber would never have been rescued from 
 his deadly peril, and the baby might never have lived 
 to be a grandfather, and have related the story as I 
 have told it to you. 
 
 And if you ever go there they will show you the 
 jutting crag, which is called Van Bibber's Rock to 
 this day. 
 
 A BRAVE LITTLE REBEL, 
 
 If Cynthia Smith walked the earth to-day she 
 would be a great-great-grandmother ; but at the time 
 of this story — 1780 — she was only a small girl, who 
 
92 COUEAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 lived in South Carolina — twelve years old, and as 
 stanch a rebel as you could have found in all America. 
 
 When she was only five years old her little heart 
 had beaten hard at the story of the ^^ Boston Tea 
 Party," at which a v/hole ship-load of tea had been 
 emptied into the harbor because George III. insisted 
 on a threepenny tax. 
 
 ^^ TheyVe burned the stuff in Annapolis, and it's 
 spoiling in the Charleston cellars, bless the Lord !'' 
 said Mr. Smith. 
 
 "Hurrah V cried John and Jack and William and 
 Ebenezer, Cynthia's brothers. '^ Hurrah V echoed 
 Cynthia, as if she understood all about it. 
 
 The following year, when England shut up Boston 
 harbor with her *^ Stamp Act," never a bit of rice did 
 Cynthia get to eat ; for her father sent his whole har- 
 vest North, as did many a Southerner. 
 
 After that John went to Massachusetts to visit 
 Uncle Hezekiah, and the next June they heard that 
 he had been shot dead at the battle of Banker Hill. 
 
 Cynthia wept hot tears on her coarse homespun 
 apron ; but she dried them in a sort of strange delight 
 when Jack insisted on joining the Virginia Riflemen. 
 
 " It's ' Liberty or Death' we have marked on our 
 shirts, and it's ' Liberty or Death' we have burned 
 into our hearts," Jack wrote home, at which his 
 mother wrung her hands, and his father smiled 
 grimly. 
 
 " Just wait, you two other boys," said the latter ; 
 " we'll have it hot and heavy at our own doors before 
 we're through." 
 
COUKAGE AND BRAVERY. 93 
 
 That was because Will and Ebenezer wished to 
 follow in Jack's footsteps. But Cynthia had little 
 time for patriotic yearnings. She helped to w^eave 
 cloth for gowns and trousers, and to spin and knit 
 yarn for stockings. This kept her very busy until 
 1776, when two great events took place. One was 
 the signing of the Declaration of Independence ; the 
 other was the birth of a red and white calf in Mr. 
 Smith's barn. Which was of the most importance to 
 Cynthia it is hard to say. 
 
 To be sure, she tingled from head to foot at her 
 father's ringing tones as he read from a sheet of paper 
 some one had given him, '' All men are born free and 
 equal ;" but she also went wild with joy when her 
 father said, ^' You may keep that bossy for your own 
 if you'll agree to raise her, Cynthy." 
 
 Cynthia took the calf into her inmost heart, and 
 she named her ^' Free-'n'-equal." 
 
 Free-'n'-equal was Cynthia's only playmate, for no 
 children lived within six miles. As the calf grew 
 into a cow the more intimate and loving were the 
 two. To Free-'n'-equal did Cynthia confide her se- 
 crets. She even consulted her as to the number of 
 stitches to be put on a pair of wristlets for Jack, who, 
 in the winter of 1777-78, had .gone with General 
 Washington to Pennsylvania. Alas ! Jack never 
 wore those wristlets. He was one of the many who 
 lay down to die of cold and hunger in that awful 
 Valley Forge. 
 
 Quite as much did she share her joy when Cynthia 
 came flying to the barn with the joyful tidings that 
 British Burgoyne had surrendered at Saratoga. 
 
94 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 Again the joy vanished, and Cynthia sobbed her 
 woe into Free-'n'-equaPs sympathizing ear when Sir 
 Henry Clinton captured Charleston. 
 
 But she sobbed even more a few months later. 
 ^^ For General Gates has come down to South Caro- 
 lina, Free-'n'-equal, and father and Will and Ebcnezer 
 have gone to fight in his army." 
 
 Free-'n'-equal shook her head solemnly at that ; 
 and her long, low " Moo-o" said plainly enough, 
 " What's to become of the rest of us, my poor little 
 mistress V^ 
 
 " We'll take care of ourselves, that's what we'll do. 
 Mother and I'll hoe the rice ; and, Free-'n'-equal, 
 you've got to give more milk to keep us strong." 
 
 ^^ Trust me for that," said Free-'n'-equal's eyes. 
 And she kept her promise. 
 
 Those were dangerous days all along the Santee 
 river, for Lord Cornwallis' troops v/ere roaming over 
 the land and laying waste the country. But Cynthia 
 was not afraid — no, not even when Lord Cornwallis 
 came within three miles of the plantation. 
 
 '' Just let those soldiers touch anything of ours, and 
 see what they'll get !" said she, with ponderous dig- 
 nity. 
 
 Free-'n'-equal was perfectly sure Cynthia could 
 manage the whole British army if need were, and 
 munched her cud in blissful serenity. 
 
 Oh, no ! Cynthia had no fear, even when a red-coat 
 did sometimes rise above the horizon like a morning 
 cloud. 
 
 So no wonder that she was taken mightily aback 
 
COUKAGE AND BRAVERY. 95^ 
 
 when, one afternoon as she came home with her bun- 
 dle of sticks, her mother met her with a pale face. 
 
 " Cynthy, they Ve been here and carried off Free'n'- 
 equal.'^ 
 
 " They ! '' gasped Cynthia. " Who ? " 
 
 " The British soldiers. They tied a rope round her 
 horns. She kicked well, but they jerked her along. 
 Cynthy, what shall we do ? '^ 
 
 Cynthia darted out of the door. Along the dusty 
 road she ran, on and on — one mile, two miles, three 
 miles — on and on. At last she reached Lord Corn- 
 wallis^ headquarters. Never a moment did Cynthia 
 pause. The sentinels challenged her in vain. She 
 marched past them. Into the house, into the parlor, 
 walked she. 
 
 There sat Lord Cornwallis and some six of hi& 
 officers, eating and drinking at a big table. 
 
 Cynthia stopped at the threshold, and dropped a 
 courtesy. Lord Cornwallis glanced up and saw her. 
 
 " I am Cynthia Smith,^^ said she, gravely ; '^ and 
 your men have taken, my cow, Free-^n^-equal Smithy 
 and IVe come to fetch her home, if you please.'^ 
 
 "Your cow?^^ questioned Lord Cornwallis. 
 
 " They carried her oif by a rope,^^ said Cynthia. 
 
 '^ Where do you live ? '' asked the British general. 
 
 " Three miles away, along with my mother." 
 
 " Have you no father ? " 
 
 " One, and four brothers." 
 
 " Where is your father ? " 
 
 " In General Gates's army, Mr. Lord Cornwallis ? " 
 
 "Oh, he's a rebel, is he?" 
 
"96 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 '' Yes^ sir/^ said Miss Cynthia, proudly erect. 
 
 " And where are your brothers ? '^ 
 . Cynthia paused. '^ John went to heaven from the 
 top of Bunker Hill/' said she, with a trembling lip. 
 
 One of the younger officers smiled, but he stopped 
 in a hurry as Lord Cornwallis's eyes flashed at him. 
 
 " And Jack went to heaven/' proceeded Cynthia, 
 softly, " out of Valley Forge.'' 
 
 " Where are the other two ? " 
 
 '^ In the army, Mr. Lord Cornwallis." 
 
 "Rank rebels?" 
 
 " Yes, they are." 
 
 " Hum ! And you're a bit of a rebel too, I'm 
 ihinking, if the truth were told." 
 
 Miss Cynthia nodded with emphasis. 
 
 " And yet you come here for your cow ? " said Lord 
 Cornwallis. "I'll be bound she's rebel beef herself." 
 
 Cynthia meditated. " I think she would be, if she 
 had two less legs, and not quite so much horn. That 
 is, she'd be rebel, but maybe they wouldn't call her 
 beef then." 
 
 Lord Cornwallis threw back his head, and laughed 
 a good-natured, hearty laugh. All his officers laughed 
 too. 
 
 Miss Cynthia wondered what the fun might be ; but, 
 in no wise abashed, she stood firm on her two little 
 .feet, and waited until, the merriment over, they might 
 see fit to return the cow. 
 
 At last, her face began to flush a little. 
 
 What if these fine gentlemen were making game of 
 her, after all. 
 
COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 97 
 
 Lord Cornwallis saw the red blood mount in her 
 cheeks ; and, just because he was a real gentleman, he 
 became sober instantly. " Come here, my little maid/^ 
 said he. " I myself wdll see to it that your cow is 
 safe in your barn to-morrow morning. And per- 
 haps/*^ he added, unfastening a pair of silver knee- 
 buckles which he wore, ^^you will accept these as a 
 gift from one who wishes no harm to these rebels. ^^ 
 
 She dropped a final courtesy, clasped the shining 
 buckles, and out of the room she vanished, sure in her 
 mind that Free-^n^-equal was her own once more. 
 
 As for those buckles, they are this very day in the 
 hands of one of Cynthia^s descendants. For there 
 was a real cow and a real Miss Cynthia, as well as a 
 real Lord Cornwallis. — Harper^s Young People. 
 
 SAVING THE HERD. 
 
 " One of the bravest things I saw in my travels," 
 said a passenger from the West, " was a cowboy stop- 
 ping a cattle stampede. A herd of about six or eight 
 hundred had got frightened at something, and broke 
 away pell-mell, with their tails in the air, and the 
 bulls at the head of the procession. But the cowboy 
 did not get excited at all when he saw the herd were 
 .ii:oing straight for a high bluff, where they would cer- 
 tainly tumble down into the canon and be killed. 
 You know that when a herd like that gets to going 
 they can^t stop, no matter whether they rush to death 
 or not. Those in the rear crowd those ahead, and 
 away they go. I wouldn't have given a dollar a head 
 7 
 
98 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 for that herd. But the cowboy spurred up his mus- 
 tang, made a little detour, came in right in front of 
 the herd, cut across their path at a right angle, and 
 then galloped leisurely on to the edge of the bluff, 
 halted, and looked around at that wild mass of beef 
 coming right toward him. He was as cool as a cu- 
 cumber, though I expected to see him killed, and was 
 so excited I could not speak. Well, sir, when the 
 leaders had got within a quarter of a mile of him I 
 saw them try to slack up, though they could not do it 
 very quick. But the whole herd seemed to want to 
 stop; and when the cows and steers in the rear got 
 about where the cowboy had cut across their path I 
 was surprised to see them stop and commence to 
 nibble grass. Then the whole herd stopped, wheeled, 
 staggered back, and went to fighting for a chance to 
 eat where the rear guard was. You see, that cowboy 
 had opened a big bag of salt he had brought out from 
 the ranch, galloped across the herd's course, and emp- 
 tied the bag. Every creature sniffed that line of salt, 
 and, of course, that broke up the stampede. But I 
 tell you it was a queer sight to see that chap out there 
 on the edge of that bluff quietly rolling a cigarette, 
 when it seemed as if he'd be rolling under two hun- 
 dred tons of beef in about a minute and a half.'' — - 
 Christian Register. 
 
 t 
 
 " Love your enemies, do good to them ivhich hate you." — Luke vi, 27. 
 
 ROSS CARSON'S COURAGE. 
 
 Shouting, laughing, pushing against each other, the 
 boys rushed out of the school-house pell-mell. 
 
COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 99 
 
 " Look out, Ross Carson/^ shouted Tom Lane, in a 
 tone of pretended alarm, "there's a spider on the 
 pump-handle. Run, quick, it may bite you/' 
 
 There was a roar of laughter at this would-be witty 
 remark; and the eyes of a score or more thoughtless 
 boys were bent upon the figure of a slender, delicate- 
 looking lad who had been one of the first to get out, 
 and who had approached the pump for the purpose of 
 getting a drink. 
 
 His face flushed painfully as Tom's jest fell on his 
 ear; and the hand that held the tin drinking-cup 
 trembled perceptibly, and his lips scarcely touched 
 the water. 
 
 "Oh, he'll stand anything rather than double up 
 his little fist," cried Tom ; and, crowding close to 
 Ross, he deliberately knocked the books from under 
 his arm. The slender lad's face flushed at the insult, 
 but he said nothing. He stooped, picked the books 
 up, and then walked on again. 
 
 He was quite aware of Tom Lane's great anxiety 
 to pick a quarrrel with him, but was determined to 
 give him no excuse for doing so. For Ross knew 
 that he could not with safety enter into any trial of 
 strength with a boy so much older than himself. His 
 lungs were weak, and the doctor had said they could 
 bear no strain whatever. But it was hard to be called 
 a coward, to bear insults of every description without 
 open resentment, to feel that he was looked upon with 
 contempt by his companions, because no taunts or 
 sneers could induce him to fight. And he was too 
 sensitive and shy to explain to them his reasons for 
 
100 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 not doing so, knowing well that his explanation would 
 be greeted with ridicule and laughter. So he bore his 
 various trials in silence, and not even his mother knew 
 what he endured. He did not know that this for- 
 bearance showed him possessed of true heroism ; for, 
 like most boys, he had a strong admiration for deeds 
 of daring and saw little merit in silent endurance. 
 
 Tom Lane was the most daring boy among them 
 all. He boasted that he had the coolest head, the 
 strongest arm, and the greatest amount of courage of 
 any fellow of his age in Hillsboro ; and none disputed 
 his claim. He was always ready for a fight, and gen- 
 erally came off victor in any contest. He had no 
 pity for weakness, no charity for timidity, and thought 
 all those who feared him fair game for his powers of 
 teasing. Ross might have been fairly treated by the 
 other scholars but for Tom, who was never weary of 
 exciting enmity against him, and, understanding how 
 to magnify the veriest trifles, was ever showing him 
 up as '^ the biggest coward in Hillsboro Academy." 
 
 But retribution was near at hand, and Tom was 
 to be strangely punished for his sins in respect to 
 Koss. 
 
 A new town-hall Avas being built in Hillsboro ; and 
 a very high, imposing edifice it was to be, with a 
 steeple second to none. Tom Lane heard his father, 
 who was the contractor for the building, say that a 
 magnificent view could be obtained from this half- 
 completed steeple ; and the next day, at the noon 
 recess, Tom proposed to half a dozen of his young 
 friends to go up and take a look for themselves. 
 
COUEAGE AND BE AVERY. 101 
 
 ^^ I have a pass from father," he said, " and the- car- 
 penters won^t make any fuss/^ 
 
 The ascent to the steeple was easily made, for a 
 narrow, winding stairs led up to it ; and the boys soon 
 attained a height that made their heads swim as they 
 looked down, breathless, and saw how small appeared 
 the people on the pavement below. 
 
 "A good place for a suicide," said Tom as he 
 leaned out. 
 
 " Do be careful," said a low voice, in a tone of en- 
 treaty, and, looking around, the boys saw Ross Carson 
 standing near. He had come up the stairs unper- 
 ceived. 
 
 " How came you here, you little coward ? " asked 
 Tom, rudely. 
 
 " The carpenter gave me leave to come up," an- 
 swered Ross, quietly. " I did not know any one was 
 up here, and I was anxious to see the view. But it 
 is a dangerous place." 
 
 " It's likely you think so," sneered Tom. " You'd 
 find the head of a barrel a dangerous place. As for 
 me, Vd like to see the place where I wouldn't go ! 
 Boys, do you see that ? " 
 
 He pointed to a scaffolding which had been erected 
 about the steeple for the use of the workmen. It 
 projected several feet, and overhung the vast chasm 
 below. 
 
 " We see it ; but what of it ? " asked Louis Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 " You'll see what of it," ansv/ered Tom. '^ It's a 
 jolly place to dance a hornpipe." And before his 
 
102 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 companions could realize his intention^ he had climbed 
 out upon the scaffolding and was walking fearlessly 
 about it. 
 
 The boys stared in sheer amazement at such reck- 
 lessness, and begged him to be careful. 
 
 But their fears for his safety only made Tom more 
 anxious to show his boasted courage, and he began 
 rather a feeble imitation of a sailor's hornpipe. 
 
 '^ Wouldn^t it be a long jump to the pavement?" 
 he said. 
 
 As he spoke he looked down ; a fatal thing ; for 
 his head, which had until now been so cool and 
 steady, began to whirl strangely. He could not re- 
 move his eyes from the awful chasm below him. It 
 seemed to fascinate him. 
 
 The boys looked at each other in horror. They 
 saw the terrible danger which menaced him ; they 
 knew it was only a question of moments now before 
 he must fall and be dashed to atoms on the pavement 
 below. He stood in a kind of stupor, looking down 
 into the fascinating gulf, his eyes wild and staring, 
 his face white with terror. He, too, knew the awful 
 danger in which he stood, but he was powerless to 
 help himself. The slightest change of position, even 
 the raising of his eyes, and he must fall. The gulf 
 seemed drawing him on ; his brain grew more torpid 
 with every instant, and his eyes seemed started from 
 their sockets. Back of him shuddered his horror- 
 stricken comrades, waiting in an agony of sus- 
 pense for the fatal end of this terrible drama. Be- 
 fore and below him yawned the great chasm, at the 
 
COUKAGE AND BKAVEKY. 103 
 
 bottom of which the people moving along looked like 
 dwarfs. 
 
 Suddenly there was a movement among the boys, 
 and Ross Carson, with white face and set teeth, 
 climbed quickly and noiselessly out of the steeple on 
 to the scaffolding, and with steady step approached 
 the boy who stood on the brink of such a fearful 
 death. 
 
 ^^ If he touches him Tom will fall,^' whispered 
 Louis Raymond. 
 
 Low as the whisper was, Ross heard it, and half 
 turned his head toward Louis, pausing an instant, as 
 if to think. Then he made a quick, firm step for- 
 ward, and, throwing both arms around Tom^s waist, 
 dragged him backward. 
 
 It was all over in an instant. In the face of a fear- 
 ful and imminent danger, Ross saved his enemy, and 
 slowly, carefully, for every step was peril, drew him 
 back to the steeple, and with the help of the other 
 boys got him inside once more, white as a corpse, it 
 is true, and utterly unnerved, but safe. 
 
 There was little said by any one. In silence Ross 
 helped Tom descend the winding stair, and then 
 walked home as quickly as possible. 
 
 " I don't feel well enough to go to school again this 
 afternoon,^' he said to his mother, " so Fll weed out 
 your flower beds for you." 
 
 " You are pale/' said Mrs. Carson. '^ I'm afraid 
 you study too hard. 
 
 Ross did not answer, but threw off his coat and 
 began to v/eed the beds, hoping by hard work to 
 
104 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 overcome the nervousness which had possessed him 
 ever since leaving the new town halL 
 
 He was still weeding a couple of hours later, when 
 he heard the tramp of many feet, and, looking up, he 
 saw about a dozen of his schoolmates coming in at the 
 little wooden gate, Tom Lane first of all. 
 
 '' I've come to ask your pardon, Ross Carson,^' said 
 Tom, holding out his hand. ^' You've taught me this 
 day what true courage is, and made me see what a 
 cowardly sneak IVe been.'' 
 
 Tom's lips quivered as he made this humiliating 
 confession, and his eyes were moist with the tears 
 which he could restrain with only the greatest effort. 
 
 Ross took the proffered hand in a warm and hearty 
 grasp as he said : ^' I'd have done as much for any 
 one, Tom. Don't make so much of it. But I'm out 
 and out glad to bo friends with you." 
 
 And friends, fast and true, they were from that time 
 forth ; and no one ever again even whispered that 
 Ross Carson lacked courage. The story of that brave 
 deed of his on the scaffolding about the new hall had 
 borne testimony to his courage which was sufficiently 
 convincing, and the people of Hillsboro were proud 
 of their young townsman. In their eyes he was a 
 hero. But I think the noblest thing about his brave 
 act was that he risked his life to save that of his 
 enemy. — Florence B, HaUoweU, in the Illustrated 
 Christian Weekly. 
 
COUKAGE AND BRAVERY. 105 
 
 LINDY, A BRAVE GIRL. 
 
 " O Daddy ! ^^ called a clear, girlish voice. 
 
 ^* Yes, Lindy ; what's wanted ? '' 
 
 ^^ Ma wants to know how long it'll be 'fore you're 
 ready." 
 
 " Oh, tell her I'll be at the door by the time she 
 gets her things on. Be sure you have the butter and 
 eggs all ready to put into the v/agon. We're makin' 
 too late a start to town." 
 
 Butter and eggs, indeed ! As if Lindy needed a 
 reminder other than the new dress for which they 
 were to be exchanged. 
 
 " Elmer and I can go to town next time, can't we,, 
 ma ? " she asked, entering the house. 
 
 " Yes, Lindy, I hope so," was the reply. " But. 
 don't bother me now. Your pa is coming already, 
 and I haven't my shawl on yet. Yes, Wilbur, I'm 
 here. Just put this butter in, Lindy, I'll carry the 
 eggs in my lap. Now, Lindy, don't let Elmer play 
 with the fire or run away." 
 
 And, in a moment more, the heavy lumber wagon, 
 rattled av/ay from the door ; and the children stood 
 gazing after it, for awhile, in a half- forlorn manner. 
 Then, Lindy went in to do her work, Elmer resumed 
 his play, and soon everything was moving along as 
 cheerfully as ever. 
 
 After dinner, Elmer went to sleep ; and Lindy,. 
 feeling rather lonely again, went out-of-doors for a 
 change. It was a warm autumnal day, almost the 
 perfect counterpart of a dozen or more which had 
 
106 COUEAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 preceded it. The sun shone brightly, and the hot 
 winds that swept through the tall grass made that and 
 all else it touched so dry that the prairie seemed like 
 a vast tinder-box. Though her parents had but lately 
 moved to this place, Liudy was accustomed to the 
 prairies. She had been born on them^ and her eyes 
 were familiar with nothing else ; yet, as she stood to- 
 day with that brown, unbroken expanse rolling away 
 before her until it reached the pale bluish-gray of the 
 sky, the indescribable feeling of awe and terrible soli- 
 tude which such a scene often inspires in one not 
 familiar with it stole gradually over her. But Lindy 
 was far too practical to remain long under such an 
 influence. The chickens v/ere ^' peeping '^ loudly, and 
 she remembered that they were still without their 
 dinner. 
 
 As she passed around the corner of the house with 
 n dish of corn in her hands, the wind almost lifted 
 her from the ground. It was certainly blowing with 
 greater violence than during the morning. 
 
 Great tumble-weeds went flying by, turning over 
 and over with almost lightning rapidity, then, pausing 
 for an instant's rest, were caught by another gust and 
 carried along, mile after mile, till some fence or other 
 obstacle was reached, where they could pile up in 
 great drifts, and wait till a brisk wind from an oppo- 
 site direction should send them rolling and tumbling 
 all the way back. But Lindy did not notice the 
 tumble-weeds. The dish of corn had fallen from her 
 hands, and she stood looking straight ahead with 
 wide-open, terrified eyes. 
 
COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 107 
 
 What was the sight that so frightened her ? 
 
 Only a line of fire below the horizon. Only a line 
 of fire, with forked flames darting high into the air 
 and a cloud of smoke drifting away from them. A 
 beautiful relief, this bright, changing spectacle, from 
 the brown monotony of the prairie. 
 
 But the scene was without beauty for Lindy. Her 
 heart had given one great bound v/hen she first saw 
 the red line, and then it seemed to cease beating. 
 She had seen many prairie fires ; had seen her father 
 and other men fight them ; and she knew at once the 
 danger her home was in. What could she, a little 
 girl, do to save it, and perhaps herself and her little 
 brother, from the destroyer which the south w^nd was 
 bringing straight toward them ? 
 
 Only for a moment Liudy stood white and motion- 
 less. Then, with a bound, she was at the well. Her 
 course was decided upon. If only time and strength 
 were given her! Drawing two pails of water, she 
 laid a large bag in each, and then, getting some 
 matches, hurried out beyond the stable. She must 
 fight fire with fire. That was her only hope. But a 
 strong, experienced man would have shrunk from 
 starting a back-fire in such a wind. 
 
 She fully realized the danger, but it was possible 
 escape from otherwise inevitable destruction, and she 
 hesitated not an instant to attempt it. Cautiously 
 starting a blaze, she stood with a wet bag ready to 
 smother the first unruly flame. 
 
 The great fire to the southward was rapidly ap- 
 proaching. Prairie chickens and other birds, driven 
 
108 COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 
 
 from their nests, were flying over, uttering distressed 
 cries. The air was full of smoke and burnt grass, and 
 the crackling of the flames could plainly be heard. 
 It was a trying moment. The increased roar of the 
 advancing fire warned Lindy that she had very little 
 time in which to complete the circle around house 
 and barn. Still, if she hurried too much she would 
 lose control of the fire she had started, and with it all 
 hope of safety. 
 
 The heat was intense, the smoke suffocating, the 
 rapid swinging of the heavy bag most exhausting ; 
 but she was unconscious of these things. The extrem- 
 ity of the danger inspired her with wonderful strength 
 and endurance. Instead of losing courage, she in- 
 creased her almost superhuman exertions ; and, in an- 
 other brief interval, the task was completed. None too 
 soon, either; for the swiftly advancing column had 
 nearly reached the wavering, struggling, slow-moving 
 line Lindy had sent out to meet it. 
 
 It was a wild, fascinating, half-terrible, half-beauti- 
 ful scene. The tongues of flame, leaping above each 
 other with airy, fantastic grace, seemed, cat-like, to 
 toy with their victims before devouring them. 
 
 A sudden, violent gust of wind, and then with a 
 great crackling roar the two fires met, the flames shoot- 
 ing high into the air as they rushed together. 
 
 For one brief, glorious moment they remained there, 
 lapping the air with their fierce, hot tongues. Then, 
 suddenly dropping, they died quickly out; and where 
 an instant before had been a wall of fire, was nothing 
 now but a cloud of blue smoke rising from the black- 
 
COURAGE AND BRAVERY. 109 
 
 ened ground, and here and there a sickly flame finish- 
 ing an obstinate tuft of grass. The fire, on each side, 
 meeting no obstacle, swept quickly by ; and Lindy 
 stood gazing, spell-bound, after it, as it darted and 
 flashed in terrible zigzag lines farther and farther 
 away. 
 
 " O Lindy ! '^ called a shrill little voice from the 
 house. Elmer had just awakened. 
 
 ^^ Yes, Fm coming,^' Lindy answered, turning. But 
 hoAV very queer she felt! There was a roaring in her 
 ears louder than the fire had made. Everything whirled 
 before her eyes, and the sun seemed suddenly to have 
 ceased shining, all was so dark. Reaching the house 
 by a great effort, she sank, faint, dizzy, and trembling 
 upon the bed by her brother's side. 
 
 Elmer, frightened, and hardly awake, began to cry ; 
 and, as he never did anything in a half-way manner, 
 the result was quite wonderful. His frantic shrieks 
 and furious cries roused his half- fainting sister as ef- 
 fectually as if he had poured a glass of brandy between 
 her lips. She soon sat up, and by and by color began 
 to return to the white face and strength to the ex- 
 hausted body. Her practical nature and strong will 
 again asserted themselves; and, instead of yielding to 
 a feeling of weakness and prostration, she tied on her 
 sun-bonnet firmly, and gave the chickens their long- 
 delayed dinner. 
 
 But when, half an hour later, her father found her 
 fast asleep, with the glow from the sky reflected on her 
 v/eary little face, he looked out of the window for a 
 moment, picturing to himself the terrible scenes of 
 
110 HEROISM. 
 
 the afternoon, and then down at his daughter. '^A 
 brave girl ! ^' he murmured, smoothing the yellow hair 
 with his hard, brown hand; '^a brave girl ! " — Char- 
 lotte A. Butts in St. Nicholas. 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 • HEROISM. 
 
 The true hero is the great wise man of duty — he 
 whose soul is armed by truth and supported by the 
 smile of God ; he who meets lifers perils with a cau- 
 tious but tranquil spirit ; gathers strength by facing its 
 storms, and dies, if he is called to die, as a Christian 
 victor at the post of duty. And if we must have 
 heroes and wars wherein to make them, there is no war 
 so brilliant as a war with wrong, and no hero so fit to 
 be sung as he who has gained the bloodless victory of 
 truth and mercy. H. Bushnell. 
 
 He gave his life " a ransom for many." 
 LITTLE JOE. 
 
 BY KATE LAWRENCE. 
 
 Good for nothing was little Joe, 
 
 All the neighbors declared him so. 
 
 His mother was poor as poor could be, 
 
 And a heavy burden, they thought, was he, 
 
 "With his twisted limbs, his crooked back, 
 
 And his face betraying a mental lack ; 
 
 And half in pity, and half in scorn. 
 
 They said, " It were well had he never been born." 
 
HEROISM. Ill 
 
 " Good for nothing ! " the school-boys cried ; 
 "He can not swim, and he can not slide ;" 
 
 And the master echoed, " For naught, indeed , 
 
 He never will learn to write nor read ;^" 
 
 And the parson muttered, " 'Tis very plain 
 
 No thought can enter that darkened brain 
 
 Of grace, or election, or primal fall : 
 
 I will leave him to Him who careth for all." 
 
 "Good for my comfort," his mother said, 
 
 As she tenderly stroked the shiftless head ; 
 
 And smiled, as she would to a babe on her knee, 
 
 Till the little one laughed with a vacant glee. 
 
 And she said, as she gave him a broken toy, 
 " I never shall mourn o'er a wayward boy. 
 
 There is love in his heart, and I can guess 
 
 The thoughts he can not in words express." 
 
 " The boy was a hero " the people cried, 
 And the news so wondrous spread far and wide. 
 The child for this hour was surely kept. 
 Did it waken some power that long had slept, — 
 That terrible night when the bridge went down. 
 And the river came up to flood the town ? 
 For poor little Joe, in the wind and rain, 
 With his tiny lantern had stopped the train. 
 
 "A ransom for many," so reads the stone, 
 That stands by the graveyard gate alone. 
 No longer pelted or mocked or jeered. 
 By turns tormented and scorned and feared ; 
 But blest and honored and mourned he lies 
 Who gave his life as a sacrifice. 
 And with thrilling heart and a faltering tongue 
 The story is told by old and young. 
 
 — Christian Register, 
 
112 HEROISM. 
 
 OUR HEROES. 
 
 Here's a hand to the boy who has courage 
 
 To do what he knows to be right ; 
 When he falls in the way of temptation 
 
 He has a hard battle to fight. 
 Who strives against self and his comrades, 
 
 Will find a most powerful foe ; 
 All honor to him if he conquers, 
 
 A cheer for the boy who says " No ! " 
 
 There's many a battle fought daily 
 
 The world knows nothing about ; 
 There's many a brave little soldier 
 
 Whose strength puts a legion to rout. 
 And he who fights sin single-handed 
 
 Is more of a hero, I say, 
 Than he who leads soldiers to battle, 
 
 And conquers by arms in the fray. 
 
 Be steadfast, my boy, when you're tempted, 
 
 To do what you know to be right; 
 Stand firm by the colors of manhood, 
 And you will o'ercome in the fight. 
 **The Right," be your battle-cry ever 
 In waging the warfare of life; 
 And God, who knows who are the heroes, 
 Will give you the strength for the strife. 
 
 — Phoebe Cai-y. 
 
 A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. 
 
 One of the loveliest lakes that ever lay encircled 
 bv ri^'^frcd mountains is Lake Constance. The skies 
 above are reflected in the blue bosom of the lake 
 below, and as you watch the white clouds passing 
 over it you think it just a piece of heaven on earth. 
 
HEROISM. 113 
 
 Above the lake has stood for a thousand years or 
 more the quaint old Tyrolean city Bregenz ; and it is 
 the legend of this city — how the town was saved one 
 night three hundred years ago — that I am going to 
 tell you. A Tyrol girl left her home and friends to 
 go to service in the Swiss valleys. She stayed in 
 Switzerland so long that her homesickness was for- 
 gotten, the language of her new friends was no longer 
 strange, and v/hen she led her cattle out to pasture 
 she looked no more on this side and that, wondering 
 in which direction lay dear old Bregenz. Still, she 
 used to sing to her master's children the old songs of 
 her native land ; and at night, when she knelt for her 
 simple prayer, it was the words of her childhood 
 which came to her. Suddenly arose in the peaceful 
 valley strange rumors of war and strife ; the men 
 were sterner, there was little talk of spinning or 
 working among the women, and even the little chil- 
 dren seemed afraid to go out alone to play. One 
 night the men and women were assembled, and talked 
 over a plan for a secret attack on the stronghold of 
 the enemy, Bregenz. Their words were like death to 
 the heart of the poor Tyrol maiden ; and as she 
 thought of the beauty of her native city, that it was 
 her old home, and where her kinsfolk still lived, she 
 saw in her new friends only the foes of her country. 
 These words sounded in her heart : '^ Go forth, save 
 Bregenz, and then, if need be, die." She went with 
 trembling haste to the shed, loosened the strong white 
 horse that fed daily from her hand, mounted him, and 
 turned his head toward Bregenz. Out into the dark- 
 
114 HEROISM. 
 
 ness they fly — faster, ever faster — in her heart a 
 prayer for Bregenz. She hears before her the rushing 
 of the Rhine. Her horse draws back in terror, for 
 the bank is steep and high. One moment, and in he 
 plunges. It is a hard struggle ; she can not see 
 through the darkness ; the waters rush above the 
 mane of her horse ; but at last it is over, and the 
 noble horse bears her up the steep bank on the other 
 side. Again they rush onward, and just at midnight 
 they reach the city. Bregenz is saved. The battle- 
 ments are manned before daylight, and the advancing 
 army is met with defiance. Thafwas three hundred 
 years ago ; but the old stone gateway which was 
 erected on the hill to do her honor stands there still. 
 And still at night, as the warder paces to and fro, 
 guarding the old gateway and calling each passing 
 hour, when midnight comes he calls the maiden's 
 name. 
 
 ENGLISH HEROISM. 
 
 One of the most interesting places in the High 
 Peak district is a picturesque little village about a 
 mile from Stoney Middleton, spelled Eyam, pro- 
 nounced Eem. A walk through Middleton dale 
 brings us to Eyam dale, a delightful miniature valley 
 that leads us to places where memorable scenes w^ere 
 enacted, the influence of which remains to-day. At 
 Eyam, in the year 1666, the plague raged so fiercely 
 that only ninety-one survived out of a population of 
 three hundred and fifty. It was said that the plague 
 
HEROISM. 115 
 
 was brought into the village in some goods sent by a 
 tailor from London in the summer of the previous 
 year, for a few persons died of it then ; but as soon as 
 the hot weather of the next summer came the villagers 
 Yv'ere attacked on all hands, and died one after another. 
 Then it was seen how much heroism there was in the 
 hearts of English people. The rector of the place,. 
 Mompesson by name, drew a cordon around the in- 
 fected place, and urged his people to remain within it 
 rather than by their own want of self-control spread 
 the infection to other places. The people obeyed 
 their pastor implicitly. No strangers were allowed 
 to enter, nor did the inhabitants attempt to leave. 
 Every morning food was brought to certain places 
 and left there, friends outside, the Duke of Devon- 
 shire especially, attending to the supply; and thence 
 it was afterward fetched by the villagers. Not only 
 food, but medicines were thus provided. The pastor 
 and his wife and the previous vicar, Mr. Stanley, de- 
 voted themselves to the work of ministering to the 
 dying. The church was closed, and the people used 
 to assemble in a dell known as The Delf, or Cucklet 
 Church; and there, in an archway of a remarkable 
 rock, Mr. Mompesson used to read to his flock from 
 the Word of Life, lead them in prayer to God, and 
 speak words of consolation to them. The pastor's 
 wife died in the midst of it, and the man was left 
 alone with his work and his grief; but he kept at his 
 post until the terrible time was over. The dell in 
 which he ministered is exceedingly beautiful, and 
 many people visit it. Eyam church has been restored, 
 
118 HEROISM. 
 
 persons from America, France and all parts of the 
 world having sent contributions toward the expense. 
 It is a pretty church, and a tablet has been placed in- 
 side with the following inscription: 
 
 This memorial aisle was erected by voluntary contributions, 
 ^obtained in 1866, to commemorate the christian and heroic 
 virtues of the Kev. "W. Mompesson (rector), Catherine, his wife, 
 and the Eev. W. Stanley, late rector. When this place was vis- 
 ited by the plague in 1665-66 they steadfastly continued to succor 
 the afflicted and to minister among them the truths and consola- 
 tions of the gospel of Jesus Christ. 
 
 — Marianne Farnham, in the Christian World, 
 
 A YOUNG TENANT. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have all kinds of tenants," said a kind- 
 faced old gentleman ; ^' but the one that I like the 
 best is a child not more than ten years of age. A 
 few years ago, I got a chance to buy a piece of land 
 over on the west side, and did so. I noticed that 
 there was an old coop of a house on it, but I paid no 
 attention to it. After awhile, a man came to me, and 
 wanted to know if I would rent it to him. 
 
 " ' What do you want it for ? ^ says I. 
 
 "^To live in/ he replied. 
 
 " ^ Well,' I said, ' you can have it. Pay me what 
 you think it is worth to you.' '' 
 
 " The first month he brought two dollars ; and the 
 second month, a little boy, who said he was the man's 
 son, came with three dollars. After that, I saw the 
 man once in awhile; but in the course of time the 
 boy paid the rent regularly, sometimes two dollars 
 
HEROISM. 117 
 
 and sometimes three dollars. One day^ I asked the 
 boy what had become of his father. 
 
 " ' He's dead, sir/ was the reply. 
 
 '' ' Is that so ?' said I. ^ How long since ? ' 
 
 '^ ^ Moreen a year/ he answered. 
 
 " I took his money ; but I made up my mind that 
 I would go over and investigate, and the next day I 
 drove over there. The old shed looked quite decent. 
 I knocked at the door, and a little girl let me in, I 
 asked for her mother. She said she didn't have 
 any. 
 
 ^^' Where is she?' said I. 
 
 " ' We don't know, sir. She went away after my 
 father died, and we've never seen her since.' 
 
 " Just then, a little girl about three years old came 
 in, and I learned that these three had been keeping 
 house together for a year and half, the boy supporting 
 his two little sisters by blacking boots and selling 
 newspapers, and the elder girl managing the house 
 and taking care of the baby. Well, I just had my 
 daughter call on them, and we keep an eye on them 
 ROW. I thought I wouldn't disturb them while they 
 were getting along. The next time the boy came 
 with the rent, I talked with him a little, and then I 
 said : 
 
 " My boy, keep on as you have begun, and you will 
 never be sorry. Keep your little sisters together, and 
 never leave them. Now look at this.' 
 
 " I showed him a ledger in which I had entered up 
 all the money he had paid me for rent, and told him 
 it was all his with interest. ^ You keep right on,' says 
 
118 HEROISM. 
 
 I, 'and 1^11 be your banker; and, when this amounts 
 to a little more, I'll see that you get a house some- 
 where of your ow^n/ That's the kind of a tenant to 
 have.'^ — Chicago Herald. 
 
 HEROES IN EMERGENCIES. 
 
 Another instance comes to me in the story of one 
 who only died on April 26th, the day before I write 
 these lines. Alice Ayres was a poor girl, in the very 
 humble establishment of an oil and color man named 
 Henry Chandler, in that part of London which is 
 called ^' the Borough." A fire broke out on the 
 premises, and catching the inflammable materials 
 stored up in the shop, began to burn Avith frightful 
 fury and intensity. The only inmates of the little 
 house were the owner, his wife, their little boy, three 
 little girls of three, four and six years of age, and 
 this poor girl, Alice Ayres, who was a sister of Mrs. 
 Chandler. Such w^as the sudden power and fury of 
 the flames that before any help couJd be given, or any 
 firemen arrive, the father and mother and the little 
 boy were burned to death. The poor girl, thus ter- 
 ribly startled from her sleep, got to a window, three 
 stories from the ground, which looked down into the 
 street. The crowd shouted to her to jump down, and 
 they would catch her, and break her fall. The in- 
 trepid girl refused. Rushing back into the flaming 
 house, she seized a feather-bed from a bedstead and 
 flung it down, calling to the people to hold it out. 
 
 Then she plunged into the suffocating volumes of 
 
HEEOISM. 119 
 
 smoke, seized the youngest of the three little girls 
 and threw her down. Unhappily, the child was in- 
 jured by the fall, and shortly after died. But again 
 she rushed back to save another little one. 
 
 Again she succeeded. She threw the child down, 
 and it was caught, safe and uninjured, on the feather- 
 bed. By this time the heat of the room in whicli 
 Alice Ayres was standing was intense. The flames 
 were bursting out from the windows of the other 
 stories, and tongues of fire vvere beginning to flash out 
 amid the acrid, stifling smoke. The people shouted 
 to the girl to jump for her life. But again she 
 plunged back to save a third child, the eldest of them, 
 and again she succeeded. No others remained to save. 
 They had already perished when the girl jumped 
 down herself. But her head was giddy, her eyes 
 dimmed, her nerves utterly unstrung. 
 
 She fell short of the feather-bed, upon the pave- 
 ment, and dislocated her spine. She was instantly 
 carried to Guy's Hospital, and there, after lingering 
 for two days, she died— died in physical agony indeed, 
 but in great peace of mind, cheered by the thought 
 of the little innocent lives she had rescued ; cheered, 
 also, during her last moments, by being made aware 
 of the hearty sympathy which her brave deed had 
 called forth. 
 
 She died early, but she had not lived in vain. 
 
 Her example is one of the thousands of daily proofs 
 which present themselves to us in the history of man- 
 kind that there is a latent power of heroism in the 
 hearts of myriads who live unnoticed and die un- 
 
120 HEROISM. 
 
 known. There are angels among us in human guise, 
 though we never see the waving of their wings. There 
 are saints among us, it has been said, though no tablet 
 marks the houses in wdiich they have lived, and no 
 lamp marks their windows for a shrine of pilgrimage. 
 But God knows them, and occasionally — to show us 
 how little we need despair of human nature — for one 
 day, or one hour, or one moment of that mortal life, 
 He makes them known to all the world. 
 
 AN HEROIC OLD WOMAN. 
 
 Her name w^as Louisa Guedan. She was a widow, 
 seventy years old, and carried on an artificial leaf fac- 
 tory in New York City. 
 
 This fact and the remarkable energy with w^hich she 
 managed her business were all that seemed to distin- 
 guish her from a score of other old women with whom 
 she gossiped. 
 
 But one morning a lot of chemicals exploded on 
 the first floor, where Mrs. Guedan was busy. In a 
 moment the flames flashed into the one hallway and 
 up through the building. Above, on the second floor, 
 eight men were at work, unconscious of danger. In 
 the top story, a woman lived, with her four children. 
 They were out, but the brave old woman did not 
 know it. 
 
 Her one thought was to alarm the men and save 
 the mother with her children. She rushed up the 
 stairs, banged at the door of the workmen's room. 
 
HEROISM. 121. 
 
 shouted, " Fire ! ^^ and then sprang up the second 
 stairway. 
 
 A workman opened his door, caught a glimpse of 
 the '' old woman '' rushing upward to save the tenants 
 above, and then a black cloud of smoke shut her out 
 from his view. 
 
 He jumped forward to pull her back, but the flames 
 darted between them. With great difficulty, he and 
 his fellow-workmen escaped to an adjoining building. 
 
 The firemen fought their way up inch by inch,, 
 quenching the flames as they went. When they 
 reached the upper landing, they found the heroic old 
 woman lying dead at the door of the mother's room. 
 
 — Youth's Companion. 
 
 'a WILL STAY." 
 
 In a Memphis graveyard is buried a young hero.- 
 He was a pilot on board a White River steamboat. 
 The boat caught fire while he was at the v/heel. See- 
 ing that to land against the bluff bank opposite to 
 the boat would cause the loss of many lives, he headed 
 the steamer for a sand-bar, some distance away, where 
 all could be saved. 
 
 The flames came nearer and nearer the pilot-house. 
 He was urged to fly, but answered, his hands grasping 
 tighter the spokes of the wheel : 
 
 ^'' I will not go. If I go, nobody will be saved ; if 
 I stay, no one v/ill be lost but me. I \y\\\ stay." 
 
 And he stood by the wheel till the boat ground in 
 
122 HEEOISM. 
 
 the shallow water on the bar. The flames had closed 
 round the pilot-house, and in escaping through them 
 he was fatally burned. Of the two hundred persons 
 on board, his was the only life lost. 
 
 '^ The history of Mississippi piloting," says Mark 
 Twain, in his " Life on the Mississippi," where we 
 found this anecdote, ^' affords six or seven instances 
 of this sort of martyrdom. 
 
 *^ But," he continues, and the noble fact is worthy 
 of the italics in which he puts it, ^'' there is no instance 
 of a pilot deserting his post to save his life, while by 
 remaining and sacrificing it he might secure other 
 lives from destruction." — Youth^s Companion. 
 
 A CHILD HERO. 
 
 Of the child heroes of to-day, little Nellie Barry 
 stands among the first. Motherless and with a father 
 unfitted by alcohol to be the protector of his family, 
 this ten-years-old Cambridge girl proved herself brave 
 and true at the time of need. The house and stable 
 belonging to her father were consumed one night. 
 When the work of destruction was far advanced, 
 Nellie was awakened by a falling timber. Without 
 waiting to dress, she seized her two-years-old brother, 
 and bore him safely out. She then hurried back to 
 rescue another brother, and succeeded in saving the 
 lives of the four little ones under her care. As none 
 of her relatives are able to support her, Nellie Barry 
 finds a home in the city almshouse. — Christian Reg- 
 ister. 
 
HEKOISM. 123 
 
 A BOY HERO. 
 
 He was only six years old, little Tommy Brown. 
 His father was a pioneer out in Oregon. (Look on 
 the map, as always, and find Oregon, if you don^t 
 know where it is.) Pioneers have discomforts and 
 privations that the people in older settlements do not 
 dream of. They are often twenty miles away from 
 any store. If anything has happened that they have 
 not laid in a supply of meat, flour, and meal, and 
 these things give out at home, it becomes a very seri- 
 ous business. If the roads are snowed up, or if the 
 mud is so deep as to make them impassable, there is 
 a chance that the pioneer's family may go hungry, 
 they may even starve. 
 
 Provisions had given out in the family of Mr. 
 Brown. There had been a deep, soft snow, so the 
 roads were very bad indeed. But food must be had, 
 or his babies would have nothing to eat. So the 
 father started with his wagon to the store, twenty 
 miles away. He was a long time getting there, for 
 the road was so heavy. 
 
 Mr. Brown loaded his wagon and started back. 
 But a tremendous fall of snow came, and blinded him 
 and blocked his way. The storm continued several 
 days. The forlorn man staggered on as best he could ; 
 but it grew colder and colder. He began to be chilled 
 through. Nobody knew what finally happened to him 
 in those awful hours, or what he thought about. 
 
 For he never came home. When the storm cleared 
 away, and the people Vv^ent to look for him, they found 
 
124 HEROISM. 
 
 him frozen stiff and dead in the road. His wife was 
 dead ; and his children had been left at home alone, 
 to wait till he came back with the provisions. What 
 had become of them, poor babies ? 
 
 It had not been so very cold when he left home, 
 and nobody thought anything would happen. There 
 were two children — Tommy and a younger brother, 
 only four years old. The father would have hardly 
 dared to leave them, except that he had a beautiful 
 and faithful shepherd dog. This noble animal was 
 used to taking care of the children just as if they had 
 been two lambs. His name was " Shep.^^ He watched 
 and guarded them at play during the hours when their 
 papa was obliged to leave them alone. 
 
 The little creatures and the faithful dog waited all 
 day for Mr. Brown to come back. They went to bed, 
 and to sleep ; and still tlie father was not there next 
 morning. They began to get hungry as the day wore 
 on. But another night passed, and the next morning 
 they were very liungry indeed. They thought they 
 would go out and try to find papa. They were not very 
 warmly dressed, but out they v/ent. They wandered 
 into the woods, Shep after them. It was Sunday 
 morning when thej left their cabin. They walked 
 and walked, and cried bitterly ; but no papa came. 
 Shep hugged as close to them as he could. There 
 were wild animals in the woods that would have at- 
 tacked and devoured the helpless babies, only for 
 Shep. He was as brave as a lion and faithful as a 
 father. Worn out at last when darkness came, they 
 huddled down against Shep's warm coat and lay there. 
 
HEKOISM. 125 
 
 It is the greatest wonder they did not die with the 
 coldo But they did not. Toward morning, it be- 
 came warmer and began to rain. How the poor things 
 suffered when morning came ! They had no hope and 
 no refuge but Shep. They hugged him, and cried 
 together. They called till they could shout no longer, 
 but nobody came. At last the younger brother 
 said : 
 
 " Tommy, O Tommy, Pm freezing to death ! '' 
 Then what do you think this brave, tender, big 
 brother did ? — big brother, though he was only six 
 years old. He took his own coat off, all the warm 
 garment he had, and wrapped it round the younger 
 child. The rain poured in torrents, and Tommy had 
 nothing upon his shoulders but a cotton shirt ; but he 
 bore it all, and pulled the coat close about his baby 
 brother. There is not the least doubt the little fellow 
 would have frozen to death but for this. 
 
 So, at last, the neighbors found them at noon Mon- 
 day, cuddled down all close together — Tommy, the 
 small brother and Shep. A few hours more, and both 
 the children would have been dead. But how much 
 the kind-hearted people made over them, when they 
 did discover them ! There was hardly anything good 
 enough for those two whom the storm had left father- 
 less. They will find plenty of friends now. But 
 Tommy Brown is the bravest, noblest little lad I 
 have ever heard of in many a day. He is one of the 
 heroes of the world. — Christian Register, 
 
126 HEKOISM. 
 
 ONE LITTLE GIRL. 
 
 She Avas a little girl, not more than ten years old. A 
 faded calico dress, not over clean, a pair of shoes with 
 more buttons missing than were present, made up a 
 by no means fashionable toilet. Her eyes were not 
 " large and dark ;'^ in fact, she was a very common- 
 place-looking little girl. If you met her on the 
 street, it is quite certain you would not look at her 
 twice ; for in New York there are many little girls 
 not so clean and w^ith clothes more ragged than Rosens. 
 
 She came into a court-room in New York, one day, 
 two or three weeks since, leading by the hand a little 
 boy with bare feet, ragged clothes, and a hat with a 
 torn crown. He was crying very hard, and once in 
 awhile would say, between his sobs, ^' I won't do it 
 again, Rosie — I won't do it again. '^ But Rosie shut 
 her lips tight, and walked through the little iron gate, 
 and stood on the platform before the judge. She was 
 not afraid of the good-natured-looking man who was 
 the judge that morning. 
 
 '' Please, sir, will you please take care of Johnny ? 
 He is too much for me. I can mind the baby all 
 right, but Johnny runs away.'' 
 
 ^^ I won't do it again," wailed Johnny. 
 
 '^ Where is your mother?" said the judge. 
 
 A crimson wave flashed over the face of the little 
 woman, and, with eyes looking on the ground, she said : 
 , '' On the island." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " She got drunk." 
 
HEROISM. 127 
 
 ^' Where is your father ? " 
 
 '^ I don^t know ; and, please, will you take care of 
 Johnny?" 
 
 After much questioning, the story was told. 
 
 Little Rosie for eight weeks had been taking care 
 of a baby sister eight months old, and Johnny. 
 
 ]^bw, Johnny would not stay at home ; and Rose 
 had heard that there was a big house up-town where 
 he could not run away, and she came to the judge to 
 have him sent to that place. 
 
 Rose really took care of Johnny and the baby. 
 She earned money by selling papers and ^^ minding '^ 
 the babies of two or three mothers who lived in the 
 big tenement house in which she lived, who had to go 
 away from home to earn money. She paid the rent 
 of the one room she called home, and was father and 
 mother to her brother and sister. 
 
 The judge did send Johnny to the place up-town 
 Avhere Rose wanted him sent. How he cried when 
 the big policeman took him away from Rose ! And 
 Rose cried. The great tears rolled down her cheeks 
 as she went out on the street ; and she waited around 
 the door, with the baby in her arms, till it was almost 
 dark, to see Johnny go away. Perhaps it was best 
 that Johnny went out by another door while she was 
 waiting. 
 
 Now, Johnny plays on a big lawn with a lot of 
 other little boys. His face and clothes are clean ; and, 
 when Rose goes up to see him, she will be surprised 
 to see how fat and happy he is. 
 
 Some people went down to see Rose, and tried to 
 
128 HEROISM. 
 
 persuade her to put the baby in a home and go to 
 another home herself. But Rose said " no ; '^ she 
 must keep the house and the baby until her mother 
 got back, and she could not be separated from the 
 baby. She was so womanly, so motherly, in her 
 determination, she was permitted to do as she wished. 
 To-day, if you should go into one of the tenement 
 houses near that gloomy building called the Tombs, 
 you would find Rose living with the baby; and, if it 
 was the afternoon, you would find three other babies 
 with her, to whom she proves a good nurse. — Chris- 
 tian Union. 
 
 ONE WAY TO BE BRAVE. 
 
 "Papa," exclaimed six-year-old Marland, leaning 
 against his father's knee after listening to a true story, 
 *^ I wish I could be as brave as that ! " 
 
 " Perhaps you will be, when you grow up.'' 
 
 "But maybe I shan't ever be on a railroad train 
 when there is going to be an accident ! " 
 
 "Ah ! but there are sure to be plenty of other ways 
 for a brave man to show himself." 
 
 Several days after this, when Marland had quite 
 forgotten about trying to be brave, thinking, indeed, 
 that he would have to wait anyway until he was a 
 man, he and his little playmate, Ada, a year younger, 
 were playing in the dog-kenneL It was a very large 
 kennel, so that the two children often crept into it to 
 ^^ play house." After awhile Marland, v/ho, of course, 
 was playing the papa of the house, was to go " down 
 town " to his business. He put his little head out of 
 
HEROISM. 129 
 
 the door of tlie kennel, and was just about to creep 
 out, ¥/hen, right in front of him in the path, he saw 
 a snake. He knew in a moment just what sort of a 
 snake it was, and how dangerous it was. He knew 
 it was a rattlesnake, and that if it bit Ada or him, 
 they would probably die. For Marland had spent 
 two summers on his papa's big ranch in Kansas, and 
 he had been told over and over again, if he ever saw 
 a snake, to run from it as fast as he could ; and this 
 snake, just in front of him, was making the queer 
 little noise with the rattles at the end of his tail, which 
 Marland had heard enough about to be able to rec- 
 ognize. 
 
 ISTow, you must know that a rattlesnake is not at 
 all like a lion or a bear, although just as dangerous in 
 its own way. It will not chase you. It can only 
 spring a distance equal to its own length ; and it has 
 to wait and coil itself up in a ring, sounding its warn- 
 ing all the time, before it can strike at all. So, if you 
 are ever so little distance from it when you see it first, 
 you can easily escape from it. The only danger is 
 from stepping on it without seeing it. But Marland's 
 snake was already coiled, and it was hardly more than 
 a foot from the entrance to the kennel. You must 
 know that the kennel was not out in an open field, 
 either, but under a piazza ; and a lattice work very 
 near it left a very narrow passage for the children, 
 even when there wasn't any snake. If they had been 
 standing upright, they could have run, narrow as the 
 way was. But they v/ould have to crawl out of the 
 kennel and find room for their entire little bodies on 
 9 
 
130 HEROISM. 
 
 the ground before they could straighten themselves up 
 and run. Fortunately, the snake's head was turned 
 the other way, 
 
 "Ada/' said Marland, very quietly, — so quietly that 
 his grandpapa, raking the gravel on the walk near by, 
 did not hear him, — " there's a snake out here, and it 
 is a rattlesnake. Keep very still, and crawl right 
 after me." 
 
 "Yes, Ada," he whispered, as he succeeded in 
 squirming himself out and wriggling past the snake 
 till he could stand upright, "there's room, but you 
 mustn't make any noise ! " 
 
 Five minutes later the two children sauntered slowly 
 down the avenue, hand in hand. 
 
 " Grandpapa," said Marland, " there's a rattlesnake 
 in there where Ada and I were. Perhaps you'd better 
 kill him ! " 
 
 And when the snake had been killed, and papa for 
 the hundredth time had folded his little boy in his 
 arms and murmured, " My brave boy ! my dear, brave 
 little boy ! " Marland looked up in surprise. 
 
 " Why, it wasn't I that killed the snake, papa ! it 
 was grandpapa ! I didn't do anything. I only kept 
 very still and ran away ! " 
 
 But you see, in that case, keeping very still and 
 running away was just the bravest thing the little 
 fellow could have done. And I think his mamma — 
 for I am his mamma, so I know just how she did 
 feel — felt when she took him in her arms that night 
 that in her little boy's soul there was something of 
 the stuff of which heroes are made. — Mrs. Alice Well- 
 ington Rollins, in V/ide Awake. 
 
POLITENESS. 131 
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 POLITENESS. 
 
 Politeness has been defined as " benevolence in 
 small things/^ There are many who can remember to 
 be polite in great things, and in the presence of great 
 people. The truly polite are polite to all classes of 
 people at all times ; to home-folks as well as to stran- 
 gers. They never forget a " thank you '' for even the 
 smallest favor. They not only say polite things, but 
 they aet politely. ^^Actions speak louder than words.^^ 
 
 TRUE POLITENESS. 
 
 A kind heart is the first essential of true politeness. 
 The other day we saw a poor woman, her arms laden 
 with bundles, trying to open the lid of a street letter- 
 box. Dozens of people jostled hj her without offer- 
 ing to help, but presently a finely-dressed young lady 
 came along, who, with her daintily-gloved hand lifted 
 the lid, then smiled and passed on, as if she were in 
 the habit of being thoughtful for others. The same 
 spirit characterized the following act, told in the 
 Christian Advocate : 
 
 An aged truckman bent under the weight of a big 
 roll of carpet. The bale-hook fell from his hand and 
 bounded into the gutter out of reach. Twenty idle 
 clerks and salesmen saw the old man's predicament, 
 
132 POLITENESS. 
 
 and smiled at his look of bewilderment. No one ven- 
 tured to help him. 
 
 A fashionably-dressed young woman came along, 
 took in the situation at a glance, and, without looking 
 to the right or left, stepped into the gutter, picked up 
 the hook in her dainty, gloved fingers, and handed it 
 to the man with a pleasant smile. 
 
 The idlers looked at each other, and at the fair 
 young woman. The old truckman, in a violent effort 
 to express his thanks politely, lost his hat. It rolled 
 into the gutter where the hook had been. 
 
 This was almost too much for any woman, young 
 or past young, but this New York girl was equal to 
 the occasion. 
 
 Into the gutter she tripped again and got the soiled 
 hat. When she handed it to the truckman, a happy 
 smile was seen to play about her lips. " God bless 
 ye, miss," the old man said, as the fair maiden turned 
 her back on the idlers, and went on her way. 
 
 — Christian Standa^^d. 
 
 THE POLITEST OF CLERKS. 
 
 " When Grant was in Chicago, three or four years 
 ago," said an army official, " he lounged about Sheri- 
 dan's head-quarters a good deal. His son Fred was, 
 at that time, on Sheridan's staff, but was absent one 
 day ; and Grant took his place at Fred's desk, to look 
 after the business. A nervous, fidgety, irritable old 
 fellow came in to inquire for some paper that he had 
 left with Fred. When he stated his case. Grant took 
 
POLITENESS. 133 
 
 up the matter in a sympathetic way^ and proceeded, 
 after the manner of an over-anxious clerk^ to look 
 the paper up. The document could not be found; 
 and Grant, apologizing, walked with the old gentle- 
 man to the door. As I walked down the stairs with 
 the mollified visitor, he turned and asked : ^ Who is 
 that old codger? He is the politest clerk I ever saw 
 at military head-quarters. I hope that Sheridan will 
 keep him.' I answered quietly, ^ That is General 
 Grant.' The fidgety old gentleman, after staring at 
 me for a full minute, said, with considerable fervor, 
 ^ I will give you fifty cents, if you will kick me down- 
 stairs.' " — Chicago Tribune. 
 
 "^ little wrong done to another is a great wrong done to ourselves." 
 NOT ''SMART." 
 
 Of all forms of bad breeding, the pert, smart man- 
 ner affected by boys and girls of a certain age is the 
 most offensive and impertinent. One of these so- 
 called smart boys was once employed in the office of 
 the treasurer of a western railroad. He was usually 
 left alone in the office between the hours of eight and 
 nine in the morning, and it was his duty to answer 
 the questions of all callers as clearly and politely as 
 possible. 
 
 One morning a plainly -dressed old gentleman 
 walked quietly in, and asked for the cashier. 
 
 " He's out," said the boy, without looking up from 
 the paper he v/as reading. 
 
134 POLITEXESS. 
 
 ^' Do you know where he is ? " 
 
 ^^When willhebein?^^ 
 
 '^ 'Bout nine o'clock/' 
 
 " It's nearly that now, isn't it ? I haven't western 
 time." 
 
 " There's the clock," said the boy smartly, pointing 
 to a clock on the wall. 
 
 *^ Oh, yes ; thank you," said the gentleman. ^^ Ten 
 minutes until nine. Can I wait here for him?" 
 
 " I s'pose so, though this isn't a public hotel." 
 
 The boy thought this was smart, and he chuckled 
 aloud over it. He did not offer the gentleman a chair, 
 or lay down the paper he held. 
 
 " I would like to write a note while I wait," said 
 the caller; "will you please get me a piece of paper 
 and an envelope ? " 
 
 The boy did so, and as he handed them to the old 
 gentleman, he coolly said : 
 
 '^ Anything else?" 
 
 " Yes," was the reply. " I would like to know the 
 name of such a smart boy as you are." 
 
 The boy felt flattered by the word " smart," and 
 wishing to show the full extent of his smartness, replied : 
 
 "I'm one of John Thompson's kids, William by 
 name, and I answer to the call of ^ Billy.' But here 
 comes the boss!" 
 
 The " boss " came in, and, seeing the stranger, cried 
 out : 
 
 " Why, Mr. Smith, how do you do ? I'm delighted 
 to see you. We" — 
 
POLITENESS, 135 
 
 But John Thompson's " kid '^ heard no more. He 
 was looking around for his hat. Mr. Smith was pres- 
 ident of the road, and Billy heard from him later, to 
 his sorrow. Any one needing a boy of Master Billy's 
 peculiar " smartness '' might secure him, as he is still 
 out of employment. 
 
 "A good word is as soon said as an ill one" 
 
 TWO SCENES IN A HORSE-CAR. 
 
 There is an old Spanish proverb which says, " Make two friends 
 for every enemy you make. Then what is stolen from you in 
 hate, will be made good to you in affection." Another saying, 
 common to every nation, is, "He who always demands his exact 
 rights on every occasion, will never get anything more." Kiding 
 in a horse-car lately, the writer saw an impressive application of 
 these sayings. 
 
 The car was crowded, and several persons were 
 standing up. As the car rounded a curve, one man 
 lurched over to one side, and knocked his neighbor's 
 hat over his eyes. The man thus accidentally struck, 
 turned around angrily and asked who hit him. 
 
 " I did. What 're you going to do about it?" an- 
 swered the other. 
 
 " I 'd show you v/hat I 'd do about it, if I had you 
 out of this car ! " 
 
 " You would, eh ? " 
 
 '' Yes, I would ! " 
 
 "Why don't you do it here?" 
 
 " I will, if you doa't shut up." 
 
 "You will?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
136 POLITENESS. 
 
 ^'Perhaps you own this car?^' 
 
 "Perhaps I do. I don't take up more than my 
 share of it^ though. '' 
 
 " Well, I intend to have all the room I need. I 
 don't mean to give up my personal rights to any man.'' 
 
 " Nobody asked you to. But you needn't push me 
 out of my place." 
 
 '' Who's pushing you out of your place ? " 
 
 " You are." 
 
 "You lie!" 
 
 At this point the conductor interfered, and threat- 
 ened to put the disputants oif the car. After a few 
 more hard words, the man who had been the occasion 
 of the dispute got out. 
 
 " Each man has made his enemy," thought more 
 than one person in the car. 
 
 In a few minutes another passenger came in, and as 
 it was cold near the door, he wedged his way slowly 
 up to the front. In doing so, he stepped on the foot 
 of the man who had already had his hat jammed over 
 his face. 
 
 " Look out ! What are you doing there ? Can't 
 you step somewhere else?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon ! Very awkward of me, I'm 
 sure. Hope it didn't hurt you much." 
 
 "Well — no — not very much." 
 
 " They don't make these cars big enough for men 
 with big feet like mine and yours, eh ? " 
 
 " That's so. Ought to put on platform-cars for us." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! Good! Glad you take it so good- 
 naturedly. Fine frosty evening, isn't it ?" 
 
POLITENESS. ' 137 
 
 " You 're right. Good Christmas weather." 
 
 " That's so. Do you celebrate ? '' 
 
 " Why^ of course ! Do you take me for a pagan? '' 
 
 ^^ You don't look like one, that 's a fact. What 's 
 that in your overcoat pocket? A sled?" 
 
 " Not quite. A Noah's ark." 
 
 " Ah ! That flood was a good thing for Noah's de- 
 scendants, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " First-rate. But I must get out here. Wish yoa 
 a Merry Christmas, sir ! " 
 
 ^[ Same to you, and many of 'em ! ' 
 
 The second man got out two blocks further on, but 
 to us who remained, it seemed as though he had 
 breathed into the chilly air his own warm, hearty 
 spirit. That man made more than one person happier 
 that night. — Youths^ Companion, 
 
 RECOGNITION OF FAVORS. 
 
 Gratitude is a grace by far too rarely found. The 
 story of the lepers in a book which reveals not only 
 more of the Divine nature, but more of human nature^, 
 than any other, represents the usual sad disproportion 
 of gratitude in the world. The lepers were peculiar 
 in the misfortune of leprosy, but not peculiar in the 
 other misfortune of ingratitude. Every feeling grows 
 by expression ; hence, we should strive to increase 
 our appreciation of favors by every possible acknowi- 
 edgment of them. Yet a great many favors are ha- 
 bitually accepted by us as a matter of course, and, if 
 
138 POLITENESS. 
 
 not entirely unacknowledged, are very carelessly and 
 indifferently received. 
 
 A domestic said once, in speaking of a deceased 
 
 mistress with respect and affection, ^^ It was a pleasure 
 
 to do anything for her, for whatever it was, great or 
 
 ^small, she always had a bright smile and a hearty 
 
 ^' Thank you.' '' 
 
 '' Why do you suppose Madam B has so many 
 
 friends ?'' asked a young girl about an aged lady who 
 received a great many visits and tokens of remem- 
 brance. " Everybody seems to like her.'' 
 
 " I can give you one reason," answered her aunt ; 
 "she is always grateful for every kindness, and shows 
 that she appreciates even the slightest favor — a flower, 
 the loan of a book, whatever it may be — by a prompt 
 and heartfelt recognition of any attention, any per- 
 sonal thoughtfulness, on the part of others." 
 
 SHOWING POLITENESS TO THE AGED. 
 
 It happened at Athens, during the public repre- 
 sentation of some play exhibited in honor of the com- 
 monwealth, that an old gentleman came too late for a 
 place suitable to his age and quality. Many of the 
 young men who observed the difficulty and confusion 
 he was in made sign to him that they would accom- 
 modate him if he came where they sat. The good 
 man bustled through the crowd accordingly ; but 
 when he came to the scats to which he was invited 
 the jest was to sit close and expose him, as he stood 
 out of countenance, to the whole audience. 
 
POLITENESS. 139 
 
 The frolic went round the Athenian benches. But 
 on those occasions there were also particular places 
 assigned for foreigners. When the good man sulked 
 toward the boxes appointed for the Lacedsemonians 
 that honest people, more virtuous than polite, rose up 
 all to a man, and with the greatest respect received 
 him among them. The Athenians, being suddenly 
 touched with a sense of the Spartan virtue and their 
 own degeneracy, gave a thunder of applause; and the 
 old man cried out : ^* The Athenians understand what 
 is good, but the Lacedaemonians practice it." — Addi- 
 son. 
 
 SURLY AND SWEET. 
 
 Johnny and Jimmy were twins, and looked " as 
 near alike as two peas," everybody said. 
 
 *^ Shure," said Bridget, the kitchen girl, " the looks 
 of thim is as near alike as two pays ; but the actin^ of 
 thim is no more alike than pays and punkins! Jimmy 
 is that plisant ye can^t help lovin' him ; but Johnny — 
 och ! he ^s the sour cratur ! " 
 
 ^^Come here, boys, and let me see if I can tell you 
 apart." Johnny declared that was what everybody 
 said who came into the house to stay five minutes. 
 He often slipped out into the woodshed or stole softly 
 up in the garret to get out of sight. Jimmy was al- 
 ways ready to walk up cheerfully when asked, like the 
 pleasant little gentleman he was. 
 
 " I wish I didn^t look like anybody ! " Johnny 
 would often snarl out. '^ I ^m so sick of always being 
 looked at ! " 
 
140 POLITENESS. 
 
 Jimmy never made any such complaint, though he 
 m-ight with some reason ; for the teacher kept him by 
 mistake one night after school to learn his spelling les- 
 son, when Johnny was the one who had missed, after all. 
 
 ^^ Why, see ! There ^s Mrs. Hall in her door ! " said 
 Jimmy to Johnny one night, as they were going home 
 from school. " I didn^t know she had got home.^' 
 
 "Nor I,^' said Johnny. 
 
 " Come in a moment, boys,^^ called the lady to them. 
 '^ I want to look at you." 
 
 " I shan't go a step ! " muttered Johnny. 
 
 ^' Yes, let 's go in,'' pleaded Jimmy. " Mrs. Hall 
 has been gone a whole year ; and, of course, she wants 
 to see us." 
 
 " I don't care if she does ! " snapped Johnny, start- 
 ing off on the run. But Jimmy went in. 
 
 " When did you get liome, Mrs. Hall ? " he asked 
 politely, as she shook hands with him. 
 
 " I only came this afternoon," she said. " Now^ 
 which are you, Jimmy or Johnny? " 
 
 " Jimmy." 
 
 "Why didn't Johnny come in? I wanted to see 
 if you looked as much alike as you used to." 
 
 " He thought he must go home," said Jimmy, try- 
 ing to excuse his brother, as he had to do very often. 
 
 " Come into the parlor," said Mrs. Hall. " I want 
 to show you a new playmate. Here is my nephew 
 Ilobbie, come to stay with me a long time ; and I 
 hope you will be good friends. Let us have some 
 nuts and apples to eat while we talk. I want to ask 
 so many questions about your mother." 
 
POLITENESS. 141 
 
 They had a very pleasant chat over the apples and 
 nuts, and Robbie and Jimmy felt quite like old 
 friends. Then Jimmy rose to go, 
 
 ^* Wait a minute more/^ said .Mrs. Hall, taking a 
 covered basket from the cupboard. " Here are some 
 presents for you boys ; but I think Johnny doesn't 
 care for any, as he would not come in.'' She took 
 out two beautiful books, two nice balls and two pearl- 
 handled knives, and gave one of each to Jimmy, who 
 thanked her again and again. 
 
 " And now," she said, ^^ please tell your mother I 
 want both you boys to come and spend next Saturday 
 with Kobbie." 
 
 ^^Oh! thank you," replied Jimmy. " We shall be 
 very glad^to come." 
 
 Johnny's eyes opened wide when he saw Jimmy's 
 presents. ^' I'd have gone in," he said, " if I'd known 
 she was going to give lis anything." 
 
 ^^ Jimmy didn't knov/ it, but he v/ent in," said their 
 mother. '' Surly, selfish people often punish them- 
 selves." 
 
 They went to see Robbie the next Saturday, and 
 Johnny hoped he should have some presents ; but he 
 found afterward that Mrs. Hall had given them to 
 Robbie. — Companion. 
 
 In all the affairs of human life, social as well as 
 political, I have remarked that courtesies of a small 
 and trivial character are the ones that strike deepest 
 to the grateful and appreciating heart, — Henry Clay, 
 
142 POLITENESS. 
 
 "BRIGGS DID DO IT." 
 
 Lord Maeaulay's definition of politeness, " Benev- 
 olence in trifles/' was once impressively illustrated by 
 that good governor and excellent Christian gentleman, 
 George N. Briggs, of Massachusetts. 
 
 One day, while walking on the naain street of Pitts- 
 field, he was overtaken by a shower. Stepping into 
 a store, he stood in the doorway, umbrella in hand, 
 waiting for the showier to pass away. 
 
 Just then, a young colored woman came along. 
 She was well dressed, but, apparently, was too timid 
 to seek the shelter offered by the open stores. As she 
 stood, irresolute, Governor Briggs noticed her distress, 
 and, stepping forv/ard, spread his umbrella over her, 
 and insisted upon her taking it. 
 
 A few days after the governor's death, this incident 
 was mentioned at a social gathering by a gentleman 
 who had witnessed it. One of the company — a young 
 man, who did not sympathize with the general admi- 
 ration which the anecdote excited — exclaimed petu- 
 lantly : 
 
 '^ Why, anybody could have done that ! '' 
 
 " Yes,'' rejoined the witty Dr. John Todd, '^ but 
 Governor Briggs did do it ! " 
 
 The silence of the youth showed that he appre- 
 hended the force of Dr. Todd's emphasis on the 
 "did." — Central Christian Advocate. 
 
 " Politeness is to do and to say 
 The kindest things in the kindest way." 
 
POLITENESS. 14S 
 
 " To he polite is to be kind." 
 BE POLITE. 
 
 Hearts, like doors, will ope with ease 
 
 To two veiy little keys ; 
 But don't forget the two are these : 
 " I thank you, sir," and " If you please." 
 Be polite, boys ; don't forget it 
 
 In your wandering day by day. 
 When you work and when you study, 
 
 In your home and at your play. 
 
 Be polite, boys, to each other ; 
 
 Do not quickly take offense ; 
 Curb your temper ; you'll be thankful 
 
 For this habit seasons hence. 
 Be respectful to the aged, 
 
 And this one thing bear in mind : 
 Never taunt the wretched outcast, 
 
 Be he helpless, lame or blind. 
 
 Be polite, boys, to your parents ; 
 
 Never let them fail to hear 
 From their sons the best of language 
 
 In the home you should love dear. 
 To your brothers and your sisters 
 
 Speak in accents kind and true. 
 Be polite ; 'twill serve you better 
 
 Than a princely gift can do. 
 
 — New York Ledger. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN. 
 
 I saw two gentlemen on a street car lately. One 
 of them was grown up. He was handsomely dressed 
 in a gray business suit, and had very neat kid gloves 
 and fine boots. The other was about twelve years 
 old. His jacket had several patches, and needed 
 
144 REGARD FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 
 
 more; and his shirt was of brown cotton, and not 
 very clean. Do you wonder how I knew he was a 
 gentleman ? I will tell you. 
 
 The bay went through the car to give some message 
 to the driver. As he returned he gave a little jump 
 through the door, and as he did so his bare foot 
 touched the grown gentleman's knee and left a little 
 mud on it. Turning around on the platform, he 
 raised his straw hat, and said, very politely, in a clear 
 tone, '^ Please excuse me.'' Then the other gentle- 
 man bowed in his turn, just as he would have done to 
 one of his own age, and said, with a pleasant smile, 
 "Certainly."— Fowj^A's World, 
 
 CHAPTER Y II. 
 
 REGARD FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 
 
 " Honor thy father and mother J^ 
 
 A MOTHER'S INFLUENCE. 
 
 In a railway-car a man about sixty years old came 
 to sit beside me. He had heard me lecture the even- 
 ing before on temperance. " I am master of a ship," 
 said he, "sailing out of New York, and have just 
 made my fifteenth voyage across the Atlantic. About 
 thirty years ago I was a sot, shipped while dead- 
 drunk, and was carried on board like a log. When I 
 came to, the captain asked me, ^ Do you remember 
 your mother?' I told him she died before I could 
 
EEGAED FOR PAEEXTS AXD THE AGED. 145 
 
 remember. ^ ^Yell/ said he, ^ I am a Vermont man. 
 When I was young, I was crazy to go to sea. At last 
 my mother consented I should seek my fortune. " My 
 boy/^ she said, ^^ I don^t know anything about towns, 
 and I never saw the sea, but they tell me they make 
 thousands of drunkards. Xow promise me you'll 
 never drink a drop of liquor." He said, ^ I laid my 
 hands in hers and promised, as I looked into her eyes 
 for the last time. She died soon after. I^^e been on 
 every sea, seen the worst kind of life and men — they 
 laughed at me as a milksop, and wanted to know if I 
 was a coward. But when they offered me liquor I 
 saw my mother^s pleading face, and I never drank a. 
 drop. It has been my sheet-anchor ; I owe it all to 
 that. Would you like to take that pledge ? ' said he." 
 My companion took it, and he added : ^- It has saved 
 me. I have a fine ship, wife and children at home, 
 and I have helped others." 
 
 That earnest mother saved two men to virtue and 
 usefulness ; how many more. He who sees all can alone 
 teW.^ Wendell Phillips. 
 
 TO SAVE HIS MOTHER. 
 
 We have had a German baron among us — Baron 
 von Karlstine — who has written a book about ]N'ew 
 York and its inhabitants. One of his anecdotes is 
 very good and interesting. 
 
 On Washington's birthday he was standing in a 
 crowd on the corner of Fifth avenue and Fourteenth 
 street, waiting for the grand procession to arrive. 
 10 
 
146 REGARD FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 
 
 The first drums were heard in the distance, when a 
 young man, in his shirt sleeves and hatless, passed 
 through the multitude and addressed the policeman 
 who kept the people back. 
 
 " Officer," he exclaimed, " my mother is sick in a 
 house near Sixth avenue ; she has suddenly been 
 taken much worse, and the doctor says that if the 
 procession passes our house the noise will kill her." 
 
 " O K, young fellow," said the policeman, and left 
 him to run up the avenue, w^here he stood some twenty 
 feet before the procession and screamed, " Halt !" 
 holding up a light rattan cane with both hands. 
 
 The w^ord was passed along the line, an adjutant 
 galloped forward, bent over his horse's neck, and ex- 
 changed a few w^ords with the policeman. 
 
 Suddenly the command, '^ Forward march !" was 
 heard, and the immense body of men proceeded to the 
 corner of Fourteenth street without any music except 
 the lightest possible tapping of drums. Then came 
 " Right wheel !'' and nearly fifty thousand men, whom 
 immense crowds were waiting to see and cheer, 
 wheeled up Fourteenth street to Broadv/ay, and down 
 Broadway they marched without music until they 
 w^ere beyond the distance at which they might disturb 
 the sick woman. 
 
 No one asked Avhy an army of well drilled, admiia- 
 bly equipped men, many of them battle-scarred vet- 
 erans, turned out of their path at the simple request 
 of a single policeman armed with but a little rattan 
 cane. It would have been but a trifling matter for 
 them to take Gotham. But no. The general in 
 
REGARD FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 147 
 
 command, when he received the young man's thanks 
 reminded him that his very natural request was ad- 
 dressed to gentlemen and soldiers ; and a gentleman, 
 be he a soldier or not, reveres the sacred name of 
 mother. — -YoutNs Companion. 
 
 DO MORE FOR MOTHER. 
 
 " Is there a vacant place in this bank which I could 
 fill? '^ was the inquiry of a boy, as, with glowing cheek, 
 he stood before the manager. 
 
 ^' There is none," was the reply. " Were you told 
 that you might obtain a situation? Who recom- 
 mended you?" 
 
 ^^ No one recommended me, sir," calmly answered 
 the boy. " I only thought I would see." 
 
 There was a straightforwardness in the manner, an 
 honest determination in the countenance of the lad, 
 which pleased the man of business, and induced him 
 to continue the conversation. He said : 
 
 ^^ You must have friends who could aid you in ob- 
 taining a situation ; have you told them?" 
 
 The quick flash of the deep blue eyes was quenched 
 in the overtaking wave of sadness, as he said, though 
 half musingly : 
 
 " My mother said it would be useless to try with- 
 out friends ; " then, recollecting himself, he apologized 
 for the interruption, and was about to v/ithdraw, when 
 the gentleman detained him by asking him why he 
 did not remain at school for a year or two, and then 
 enter the business world. 
 
148 REGARD FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 
 
 '^ I have no time/^ was the reply. " I study at 
 home, and keep up with the other boys.'' 
 
 " Then you have a place already V^ said the inter- 
 rogator. " Why do you leave it ? '' 
 
 *^ I have not left it/' answered the boy, quietly. 
 ^ '^ But you wish to leave it ; what is the matter ? '' 
 
 For an instant the child hesitated; then he replied 
 with half reluctant frankness : " I must do more for 
 my mother ! " 
 
 Brave words ! Talisman of success anywhere, every- 
 where. They sank into the heart of the listener, re- 
 calling the radiant past. Grasping the hand of the 
 astonished child, he said, with a quivering voice ; 
 
 '^ My good boy, what is your name ? You shall 
 fill the first vacancy for an apprentice that occurs in 
 the bank. If, meantime, you need a friend, come to 
 me. But now give me your confidence. Why do 
 you wish to do more for your mother ? Have you 
 no father ? " 
 
 Tears filled the boy's eyes as he replied : 
 
 "My father is dead, my brothers and sisters are 
 dead, and my mother and I are left alone to help each 
 other. But she is not strong ; and I wish to take 
 care of her. It will please her, sir, that you have 
 been so kind ; and I am much obliged to you." 
 
 So saying, the boy left, little dreaming that his own 
 nobleness of character had been as a bright glance of 
 sunshine into that busy world he had so tremblingly 
 entered. A boy animated by the desire to help his 
 mother will always find friends. 
 
RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 149 
 
 " Perform a good deed, speak a kind word, give a pleasant smile, and 
 you will receive the same in return." 
 
 PASS THEM ON. 
 
 Christmas has gone, but the time for kindly acts 
 and good deeds has not gone. Pass them on. The 
 Master's commands are all days the same. 
 
 If all the good deeds of men's lives could be passed 
 on by those who are made happier by them the world 
 would be better. Pass the good deeds on. This is 
 gratitude. 
 
 When the Rev. Mark Pearse was about fourteen 
 years old he went to London, having been in a school 
 in Germany. He stayed in London long enough to 
 spend all his money excepting enough to pay his fare 
 to his home in Cornwall. 
 
 He went by train to Bristol, and there took passage 
 on a vessel. He thought that the passage money in- 
 cluded his board, and therefore ordered his meals that 
 day. 
 
 At the end of the journey a dapper little steward 
 presented a bill for meals to the lad. 
 
 " I have no money," said the surprised boy. 
 
 " Then," replied the steward, " you should not have 
 taken your meals at the table. What is your name ?" 
 
 " Mark Guy Pearse." 
 
 The steward closed his book, took the boy by the 
 hand, and said : 
 
 " I never thought I should live to see you. My 
 mother v/as in great distress years ago. My father 
 had died suddenly, and your father was very kind to 
 my mother and me. I promised myself then that if I 
 
150 RESPECT FOR PARENTS AXD THE AGED. 
 
 could ever do so I would show like kindness to some 
 one your father loved/' 
 
 The truly grateful steward paid the boy's bill, gave 
 him five shillings, and sent him ashore in a boat rowed 
 by five sailors. 
 
 Mark's father was waiting to receive his son. 
 
 " Father," said the boy, ^' it is a good thing to have 
 a good father ; " and then the story of the steward's 
 kindness was told. 
 
 "My lad," said Mr. Pearse, "it is long since I 
 passed the kindness on to him in doing what I did. 
 Now he has passed it on to you. As you grow up, 
 mind that you often pass it on to others." 
 
 Years afterward, when the boy had become a man, 
 he was going by rail on a short journey, when he saw 
 a boy crying bitterly. 
 
 On asking the cause of his grief, the boy replied 
 that he had not enough money by fourpence to pay 
 his fare to the town in which he lived. 
 
 Mr. Pearse at once bought the boy a ticket, and 
 then related his own experience on the steamer years 
 before. 
 
 "And now," he concluded, " I want you to be sure 
 and pass this kindness on to others if you are ever 
 able to do so." 
 
 As the train left the station, the smiling boy waved 
 his handkerchief and said : 
 
 " I will pass it on, sir ; I will pass it on." 
 
 Good deeds, kind acts — pass them on. Pass them. 
 The year awaits them — three hundred and sixty-five 
 days — full of human needs. 
 
RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 151 
 
 FATHER'S VIOLIN. 
 
 Victor had come to live with his grandmother. 
 
 His father had been music teacher in the little town 
 of Carfard ; and from his earliest years, Victor had 
 looked upon " father^s fiddle '' as the grandest instru- 
 ment in existence. Now and then he would be allowed 
 to touch it, and sometimes he would be shown how to 
 draw the bow across the strings ; and it was the dream 
 of his life to grow up to be a musician. 
 
 But his father had died very suddenly, leaving a few 
 debts and very little money to pay them with. Every- 
 thing had to be sold, even to the little violin, in spite 
 of poor Victor^s pleading. 
 
 /^ Nay, Victor,^' answered his mother, in reply to 
 his entreaties, " don't make it harder to me than it is. 
 I'm sick at heart to have to sell what your father 
 loved ; but it is the right thing, dearie ! '' 
 
 And the lad was silent. The things were sold, and 
 the debts paid. But the widow had scarcely any 
 money left. So she determined to leave the town and 
 take her boy into the country, where her good old 
 mother lived. Unfortunately, on the way, the poor 
 woman was taken ill ; and, within three months after 
 his father's death, Victor lost his mother also. 
 
 The boy was, however, better off than many poor 
 little orphans ; for his grandmother had a loving heart, 
 and a wise head into the bargain. 
 
 She was very fond of Victor ; and he, in his turn, 
 thought no one was like grannie. To her, he confided 
 all his joys and his troubles ; and, among the latter, 
 
152 EESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 
 
 you may be sure the loss of the violin was one of the 
 chief. 
 
 " Grannie/^ said he one evening, as they were sit- 
 ting over the wood fire, ^^ don't you think it was a 
 pity mother sold the violin ? Folks needn't have 
 known. It would have made very little difference to 
 them ; but to me — why, look what a difference it 
 would have made to me ! I could have learned to 
 play well by this time.'' 
 
 ^' 'Twas hard on ye, laddie, I make no doubt. But 
 mother was right — yes, mother was quite right," 
 repeated the old woman. ^' We can't go far wrong, if 
 we stick to the old adage." And she began to croon 
 
 softly : 
 
 " Do thou tliy duty — it is best — 
 And leave unto the Lord the rest." 
 
 " It'll come right one of these days, if you only work 
 and wait, laddie." 
 
 " But, grannie," pursued the boy, " do you think I 
 could do some work now, I mean work for money — 
 money enough to buy a violin ? " 
 
 Grannie did not at all see why he should not earn 
 money ; and so they entered into a long conversation 
 as to the ways and means, the upshot of which was 
 that Victor sought and obtained employment for a 
 couple of hours every day, at a neighboring farmer's, 
 after school hours. 
 
 The next person to be consulted was Morris, the 
 2)eddler. He was a great friend of Victor's ; and, 
 when he heard of the boy's wish, he declared that he'd 
 bring him a fiddle back the very next time he went 
 
RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 153 
 
 on his rounds^ if he could possibly find anything both 
 good and cheap. 
 
 The peddler had a long round to make, so he did 
 not return for over four months. But one day in Sep- 
 tember, as Victor was coming home from work, he 
 recognized his friend, trudging along with his pack, a 
 few paces in front. He could scarcely stop to give 
 the usual greetings before he asked anxiously : 
 
 '^How about the violin?'^ 
 
 The peddler laughed, nodded his head, and said he 
 had made a longer journey this time, and had been as 
 far as Carford ; and there, hanging in a shop, was an 
 old violin, marked up so cheap that he went in and 
 made inquiries about it at once. 
 
 ^' Carford ! " exclaimed Victor. ^^ Why, that's the 
 place where we used to live ! I shall love it all the 
 more for coming from the home country.'' 
 
 By this time they had entered the cottage, and the 
 peddler commenced undoing his pack. At last, he 
 came to the bottom ; and, taking the violin from the 
 case to give to the boy, he saw Victor's face turn pale 
 with excitement. Seizing the violin in both hands, 
 he dropped down on a chair in his excitement, and 
 fell into an uncontrollable fit of crying. Morris tried 
 to rouse him. 
 
 " That'll do, that'll do, old chap. I knew you were 
 anxious for it, but I didn't think you'd take on like 
 that." 
 
 After a minute Victor looked up. " But you don't 
 know all," he sobbed : " it's my own father's fiddle 
 come back to me." 
 
154 RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 
 
 And so it was. By a curious coincidence, it was 
 hanging for sale as the peddler passed through the 
 town ; and so the boy regained his treasure, and 
 henceforth it became his constant companion. * * ^ 
 
 Years have passed by, and Victor has became a 
 famous musician. He often tells his children the 
 story of his early days, and always concludes by say- 
 ing, ^' Granny's words were good words and true, chil- 
 dren: 
 
 " ' Do thou thy duty — it is best — 
 And leave unto the Lord the rest.' " 
 
 JUST THE TIME TO BE PLEASANT. 
 
 " Mother 's cross ! " said Maggie, coming out into 
 the kitchen with a pout on her lips. 
 
 Her aunt was busy ironing; but she looked up, and 
 answered Maggie : — 
 
 "Then, it is the time for you to be pleasant and 
 helpful. Mother was awake a great deal in the night 
 with the poor baby." 
 
 Maggie made no reply. She put on her hat, and 
 walked off into the garden. But a new idea went 
 with her. 
 
 " The very time to be helpful and pleasant is when 
 other people are cross.'' " Sure enough," thought 
 «he, " that would be the time when it would do the 
 most good." 
 
 " I remember, when I was sick last year, I was so 
 nervous that, if any one spoke to me, I could hardly 
 
RESPECT FOE PARENTS AND THE AGED. 155 
 
 help being cross ; and mother never got angry nor out 
 of patience, but was just as gentle with me ! I ought 
 to pay it back now, and I will." 
 
 And she sprang up from the grass where she had 
 thrown herself, and turned a face of cheerful resolu- 
 tion toward the room where her mother sat, soothing 
 and tending a fretful, teething baby. 
 
 Maggie brought out the pretty ivory balls, and be- 
 gan to jingle them for the little one. 
 
 He stopped fretting, and a smile dimpled the cor- 
 ners of his lips. 
 
 " Couldn't I take him out to ride in his carriage, 
 mother ? It 's such a nice morning,^' she asked. 
 
 " I should be glad if you would,'' said her mother. 
 
 The little hat and sack v/ere brought, and the baby 
 was soon ready for his ride. 
 
 " I '11 keep him as long as he is good,'' said Maggie ; 
 '^ and you must lie on the sofa and get a nap while I 
 am gone. You are looking dreadfully tired." 
 
 The kind words and the kiss that accompanied them 
 were almost too much for the mother. The tears rose 
 to her eyes ; and her voice trembled, as she answered : 
 
 ^^ Thank you, dearie : it v/ill do me a world of 
 good, if you can keep him out an hour ; and the air 
 will do him good, too. My head aches badly this 
 morning." 
 
 What a happy heart beat in Maggie's bosom, as she 
 trundled the little carriage up and down on the walk ! 
 
 She had done real good. She had given back a 
 little of the help and forbearance that had so often 
 been bestowed upon her. 
 
156 EESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 
 
 She had made her mother happier, and given her 
 time to rest. 
 
 She resolved to remember, and act on her aunt's 
 good word, " The very time to be helpful and pleasant 
 is when everybody is tired and cross. '^ 
 
 ' " 3fy little children, let ws not love in word, neither in tongue ; but in 
 deed and in truth."— 1 John iii, 18. 
 
 WHICH LOVED BEST? 
 
 "T love you, mother," said little John ; 
 Then, forgetting his work, his cap went on, 
 And he was off to the garden swing, 
 And left her wood and water to bring. 
 
 " I love you, mother," said rosy Nell, 
 "I love you better than tongue can tell." 
 Then she teased and pouted full half the day, 
 Till her mother rejoiced when she went to play. 
 
 "I love you, mother," said little Fan ; 
 
 "To-day I'll help you all I can. 
 How glad I am that school doesn't keep!" 
 So she rocked the baby till it fell asleep. 
 
 Then, stepping softly, she brought the broom, 
 And swept the floor, and tidied the room ; 
 Busy and happy all day was she. 
 Helpful and happy as child could be. 
 
 " I love you, mother," again they said — 
 Three little children going to bed. 
 How do you think that mother guessed 
 Which of them really loved her best? 
 
RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 157 
 
 A HOUSEHOLD FAIRY. 
 
 " If I were only a fairy — well ! 
 'Twould take me ever so long to tell 
 Of all the beautiful things I'd do 
 For everybody I loved or knew ; 
 For I'd have a wonderful wand of gold, 
 Like fairies carried in days of old. 
 
 " Mother should have a house as grand 
 
 As any you see in all the land ; 
 
 A cap of lace and a velvet gown, 
 
 And a carriage to ride about the town ; 
 
 She never should do a thing all day 
 
 But hold her hands like a lady gay ; 
 
 And all this tiresome, tiresome work, 
 
 Which every day I am glad to shirk, 
 , Would just be done — wouldn't that be fine? — 
 
 The minute I waved that wand of mine ! 
 
 ** That's what I'd like to do ; but, oh ! 
 I'm only a bit of a girl, you know, 
 Working away at homely things, 
 And not a fairy with shining wings. 
 I haven't a wand ; and if I had 
 Perhaps the fairies would think it sad, 
 If they had a chance to look and see 
 What a fearfully lazy girl I'd be. 
 
 ""But I have two nimble hands, that know 
 How to knit and to mend and sew, 
 How to cook and to dust and sweep — 
 Come, and I'll let you take a peep. 
 So I'll hurry and do my very best 
 While mother sits by the fire at rest, 
 And she will think, if she does not say. 
 One little fairy's alive to-day, 
 And for everything that a girl should do 
 Can wave, not one little wand, but two." 
 
 — Sidney Dayre, in Youth^s Companion. 
 
158 RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 
 
 THE SILENT MAN. 
 
 Among the reminiscences of the war, the following 
 extract from an interview with an old Virginia Meth- 
 odist preacher is interesting : 
 
 " Yes, my house was full of your generals last night. 
 There was Sheridan, Humphreys, Meade, Custer, Ord, 
 and quite a number of others; and they were a lively 
 set and full of fun, and quite jolly, with the exception 
 of one officer, whom I noticed sitting apart from the 
 others, smoking and taking but little part in the sports 
 in which they v/ere engaged. They all went out of 
 the house but this solitary, silent man ; and, as I was 
 going out, he asked me where the pump was, as he 
 would like to get a drink. On oifering to get him 
 some water, he said : ^ No, sir ; I am a younger man 
 than you. I will go myself' And, as I passed out, 
 he came out behind me, when, in about the middle 
 of the hall, my little grand-daughter came running 
 toward me ; but the silent man, spreading out both 
 arms, caught her, taking her up, fairly smothered with 
 kisses, said, ' This reminds me of my little girl at 
 home, and makes me homesick.' To the question, 
 ' Where is your home ? ' he replied, ^ Galena, 111. ; but 
 I have my family at City Point, and am anxious to 
 get back to them.' I said, ' Will you permit me to 
 ask your name, sir ? ' ' Certainly. My name is Grant.' 
 'Grant,' exclaimed I : 'General Grant?' And I 
 stood there, awe-stricken and paralyzed with aston- 
 ishment, while my heart went out after this man. I 
 thought to myself. Here is a man whose name is now 
 
RESPECT FOR PARENTS AND THE AGED. 159 
 
 in the mouth of every man, woman, and child through- 
 out the civilized world, and yet withal he exhibits no 
 emotion and seems unconcerned and unmoved until 
 the little child reminds him of his loved ones at 
 home ; and I fairly broke down, as General Grant had 
 been pictured to us as a bloody butcher, and I had 
 looked for a man looking as savage as a Comanche 
 Indian. To say I was agreeably disappointed when I 
 saw Grant expresses my feelings but feebly.'' 
 
 — Christian Register, 
 
 "IZe that hath pity upon the poor lendeth to the Lord; and that which 
 he hath given mil he pay him again." — Prov. xix, 17. 
 
 THE LOST CHANGE. 
 
 A woman, feeble and bent with age and overwork^ 
 stepped into a New York horse-car. 
 
 She hobbled to a seat (fortunately there was one 
 vacant), and, depositing her bundle on the floor, pro- 
 ceeded to fumble in her pocket for her fare. 
 
 After much searching, she produced a quarter, which 
 she handed to the conductor. 
 
 He returned the change to her trembling fingers ; 
 but, before she could put it in her pocket, a piece — 
 probably a dime — fell to the floor, and was lost be- 
 tween the slats at her feet. Jn vain did she try to 
 find it. 
 
 It pained her to bend so low, and with a look of 
 resignation she gave it up. 
 
 A tall man, dressed in black, sat facing her, and 
 watched her intently as she leaned back in her seat. 
 
160 EESPECT FOR PATIENTS AND THE AGED. 
 
 His hand went to his pocket, then, stooping for- 
 ward, he appeared to be looking for the lost coin, and 
 with an ^^Ah ! here it is, madame,'^ he stretched his 
 hand to the floor, and, raising it, deposited the money 
 in her lap. 
 
 He rose and immediately left the car. The old 
 woman beckoned to the conductor, and, showing him 
 a five-dollar gold piece, asked if he had not given it 
 to her by mistake. 
 
 He assured her he had given her two dimes. 
 
 She could not understand how she came by it, but 
 a few of the passengers could ; and, as she put her 
 hand to her face to hide the tears of joy that dimmed 
 her eyes, some one whispered the stranger's name. 
 
 He is one of the best-known philanthropists of 
 New York, a member of a family noted for many 
 years, far and wide, for its countless good deeds. 
 New York Tribune, 
 
TRUE WORTH. 161 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 TRUE WORTH. 
 
 " Character is what you are ; reputation is what people think you are." 
 -Memory Gems. 
 " As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." 
 
 THE MANLIEST MAN. 
 The manliest man of all the race, 
 Whose heart is open as his face, 
 Puts forth his hand to help another. 
 'Tis not the blood of kith or kin ; 
 'Tis not the color of the skin ; 
 'Tis the true heart which beats within, 
 Which makes the man a man and brother. 
 
 His words are warm upon his lips. 
 
 His heart beats to his finger-tips, 
 He is a friend and loyal neighbor; 
 
 Sweet children kiss him on the way, 
 
 And women trust him, for they may ; 
 
 He owes no debt he can not pay ; 
 He earns his bread with honest labor. 
 
 He lifts the fallen from the ground. 
 And puts his feet upon the round 
 
 Of dreaming Jacob's starry ladder. 
 Which lifts him higher, day by day. 
 Toward the bright and heavenly way, 
 And farther from the tempter's sway, 
 
 Which stingeth like the angry adder. 
 
 He strikes oppression to the dust, 
 
 He shares the blows aimed at the just, 
 He shrinks not from the post of danger ; 
 
 And in the thickest of the fight 
 
 He battles bravely for the right. 
 
 For that is mightier than might. 
 Though cradled in an humble manger. 
 11 
 
162 TRUE WORTH. 
 
 Hail to the manly man ! fie comes 
 Not with the sound of horns and drums, 
 
 Though grand as any duke, and grander ; 
 He dawns upon the world, and light 
 Dispels the weary gloom of night, 
 And ills, like bats and owls, take flight. 
 
 He's greater than great Alexander. 
 
 George W. Bungay. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL THINGS. 
 
 Beautiful faces are those that wear — 
 It matters little if dark or fair — 
 Whole-souled honesty printed there. 
 
 Beautiful eyes are those that show, 
 
 Like crystal panes where hearth-fires glow, 
 
 Beautiful thoughts that burn below. 
 
 Beautiful lips are those whose words 
 Leap from the heart like songs of birds, 
 Yet whose utterance prudence girds. 
 
 Beautiful hands are those that do 
 
 Work that is earnest, and brave, and true, 
 
 Moment by moment, the long day through. 
 
 Beautiful feet are those that go 
 On kindly ministries to and fro — 
 Down lowliest ways, if God wills it so. 
 
 Beautiful slioulders are those that bear 
 Ceaseless burdens of homely care 
 With patient grace and daily prayer. 
 
 Beautiful lives are those that bless; 
 
 Silent rivers of happiness, 
 
 Whose hidden fountains but few may guess. 
 
 — The Day^priitg. 
 
TRUE WORTH. 163 
 
 "Seest thou a man diligent in business f he shall stand before kings ; he 
 shall not stand before mean men. — Prov. xxii, 29. 
 
 THE PRINTER BOY. 
 
 About the year 1725, an American boy, some nine- 
 teen years old^ found himself in London, where he 
 was under the necessity of earning his bread. He 
 was not like many young men in these days, who 
 wander about seeking work, and who are '^ willing to 
 do anything'* because they know how to do nothing; 
 but he had learned how to do something, and knew 
 just where to go to find something to do. So he 
 went straight to a printing office, and inquired if he 
 could get employment. 
 
 ^' Where are you from ? " inquired the foreman. 
 
 ^' America,'^ was the answer. 
 
 " Ah,'' said the foreman, " from America ! a lad 
 from America seeking employment as a printer ! "Well, 
 do you really understand the art of printing? Can 
 you set type ? " 
 
 The young man stepped to one of the cases, and in 
 a brief space set up the folio Aving passage from the 
 first chapter of John : " Nathaniel said unto him, Can 
 there any good thing come out of Nazareth ? Philip 
 saith unto him. Come and see." 
 
 It was done so quickly, so accurately, and admin- 
 istered a delicate reproof so appropriate and powerful 
 that it at once gave him influence and standing with 
 all in the office. He worked diligently at his trade, 
 refused to drink beer and strong drink, saved his 
 money, returned to America, became a printer, pub- 
 
164 TEUE WORTH. 
 
 lisher, author, Postmaster-General, member of Con- 
 gress, signer of the Declaration of Independence, 
 ambassador to royal courts, and finally died in Phila- 
 delphia, April 17, 1790, at the age of eighty-four, full 
 of years and honors; and there are now more than a 
 ^hundred and fifty counties, towns, and villages in 
 America named after that same printer boy, Benjamin 
 Franklin, the author of ^' Poor Richard's Almanac." 
 — The Little Christian. 
 
 MY PORTION. 
 
 Very little of gold have I, 
 Wealth and station have passed me by ; 
 But something sweet in my life I hold, 
 That I would not change for place or gold. 
 Beneath my feet the green earth lies, 
 Above my head are the tender skies. 
 I live between two heavens : my eyes 
 Look out to where, serene and sweet. 
 At the world's far rim two heavens meet. 
 
 I hear the whisperings of the breeze, 
 
 That sweet, small tumult amid the trees; 
 
 And many a message comes to me 
 
 On the wing of bird, in the hum of bee. 
 
 From the mountain peak and the surging sea. 
 
 E'en silence speaks with voice so clear 
 
 I lean my very heart to hear. 
 
 And all above me, and all around. 
 
 Light and darkness and sight and sound 
 
 To soul and sense such meanings bring, 
 
 I thrill with a rapturous wondering. 
 
 And I know by many a subtle sign 
 That the very best of life is mine. 
 
TRUE WORTH. 165 
 
 And yet, as I spell each message o'er, 
 
 I long and long for a deeper lore ; 
 
 I long to see and I long to hear 
 
 With a clearer vision, a truer ear ; 
 
 And I pray with the keenest of all desire 
 
 For the lips that are touched by the altar fire. 
 
 Patience, O Soul ! from a little field 
 There cometh often a gracious yield : 
 Who toucheth his garment's hem is healed. 
 
 — Christian Register. 
 
 WHAT DOES IT MATTER? 
 
 It matters little where I was born, 
 
 Or if my parents were rich or poor ; 
 Whether they shrank at the cold world's scorn 
 
 Or walked in the pride of wealth secure ; 
 But whether I live an honest man, 
 
 And hold my integrity firm in my clutch, 
 I tell you, my brother, as plain as I can. 
 
 It matters much ! 
 
 It matters little how long I stay 
 
 In a world of sorrow, sin, and care ; 
 Whether in youth I am called away. 
 
 Or live till my bones of flesh are bare ; 
 But whether I do the best I can 
 
 To soften the weight of adversity's touch 
 On the faded cheek of my fellow man. 
 
 It matters much ! 
 
 It matters little where be my grave, '* 
 
 Or on the land, or on the sea ; 
 By purling brook, or 'neath stormy wave. 
 
 It matters little or nought to me; 
 But whether the angel of Death comes down 
 
 And marks my brow with his loving touch. 
 As one that shall wear the victor's crown, 
 
 It matters much ! — William Andrew Sigourney. 
 
166 TRUE WORTH. 
 
 ^^The love of money is the root of all evil." — I Tim, vi, 10. 
 ABOUT MONEY. 
 
 Some boys and girls have an idea that money can 
 do almost anything, but this is a mistake. Money, it 
 is true, can do a great deal, but it can not do every- 
 thing. I could name you a thousand things it can 
 not buy. It was meant for good, and it is a good 
 thing to have, but all this depends on how it is used. 
 If used wrongly, it is an injury rather than a benefit. 
 Beyond all doubt, however, there are many things 
 better than it is, and which we can not purchase, no 
 matter how much we may have of it. If a man has 
 not a good education, all his money can not buy it for 
 him. He can scarcely ever make up for his early waste 
 of opportunities. He may say, as I have heard of men 
 saying, '^ I would give all I have if I had only had a 
 good education and a well-trained mind ; '^ but he 
 will say it in vain. His money alone can't obtain it. 
 !J^either will wealth itself give a man or a woman good 
 manners. Nothing, next to good health, is of more 
 importance than easy, graceful, self-possessed manners. 
 But they can't be had for mere money. A man who 
 is what is called '^ shoddy,'' who has not taste and 
 correct manners, will never buy them, though he 
 would, no doubt, like to. They are not to be had in 
 the market. They are nowhere for sale. You might 
 as well try to buy sky, or cloud, or sunbeams. Money 
 can't purchase a good conscience. If a poor man, or 
 a boy, or a girl — any one — has a clear conscience, that 
 gives ofiP a tone like a sound bell when touched by the 
 
TRUE WORTH. 167 
 
 hammer, then be sure he is vastly richer than the 
 millionaire who does not possess such a conscience. 
 Good principles are better than gold. All the gold 
 of Golconda couldn't buy them for a man who hasn't 
 them already. — Pennsylvania School Journal. 
 
 A RUSSIAN FABLE. 
 
 A peasant was one day driving some geese to a 
 neighboring town, where he hoped to sell them. He 
 had a long stick in his hand ; and, to tell the truth, he 
 did not treat his flock of geese with much consider- 
 ation. I do not blame him, however ; he was anxious 
 to get to the market in time to make a profit ; and 
 not only geese, but men, must expect to suffer if they 
 hinder gain. 
 
 The geese, however, did not look on the matter in 
 this light ; and, happening to meet a traveler walking 
 along the road, they poured forth their complaints 
 against the peasant who was driving them. 
 
 '^ Where can you find geese more unhappy than we 
 are ? See how this peasant is hurrying on this way 
 and that, and driving us just as though we were only 
 common geese. Ignorant fellow as he is, he never 
 thinks how he is bound to honor and respect us ; for 
 we are the distinguished descendants of those very 
 geese to whom Home once owed its salvation, so that 
 a festival was established in their honor." 
 
 " But for what do you expect to be distinguished 
 yourselves ? '^ asked the traveler. 
 
168 TRUE WORTH. 
 
 " Because our ancestors '^ — 
 
 " Yes, I know : I have read all about it. What I 
 want to know is what good have you yourselves 
 done?'' 
 
 ^' Why, our ancestors saved Rome." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; but what have you done of the kind ? " 
 
 '' We ? Nothing." 
 
 ^^ Of what good are you then ? Do leave your an- 
 cestors at peace. They were honored for their deeds ; 
 but you, my friends, are only fit for roasting." 
 
 — Christian at Work, 
 
 TRYING TO FLY. 
 A LITTLE SKETCH WITH A MORAL. 
 
 The following pleasing sketch is from the pen of 
 Kate W. Hamilton, a clever writer for young folks : 
 
 It was a bright, warm day. Mike was threshing 
 in the barn, whjle the sunshine streaming in at the 
 open door turned the grain dust to gold. Outside in 
 the yard were the children and the chickens — the for- 
 mer idle enough, and the latter running here and 
 there and scratching as vigorously as if their lives 
 depended upon their own exertions. Presently Win- 
 nie picked up the dish in which she had brought the 
 corn and went back to the house ; but the younger 
 children lingered, declaring that the pleasant autumn 
 day was just like summer. From watching the chick- 
 ens they began to watch the doves on the roof of the 
 barn. 
 
 "I'd rather be a bird than a chicken," said Georgie. 
 
TRUE WORTH. 169 
 
 " I'd like to be a bird/' said Nell^ dreamily ; " tliea 
 I'd fly away up in the sky. I b'lieve I could 'most 
 fly to heaven. Any way, I'd go 'way off over the 
 ocean." 
 
 " Why can't we fly ?" asked Georgie, wonderingly. 
 ^^ I never thought about that." 
 
 " 'Cause we don't have any fezzers," exclaimed 
 Teddie, turning round from his post of observation 
 by the barn door. 
 
 " That's it ; we haven't any feathers or wings/^ 
 said Nell ; " if we had I guess v/e could fly." 
 
 ^' I'm going to have some right now/' declared 
 Teddie, jumping down from the steps and beginning 
 to pick up some of the feathers scattered about the 
 yard ; " then I'll fly 'way off." 
 
 That was a brilliant idea ! The little girls opened 
 their eyes wide in wonder for a minute, and then they 
 followed Teddie's example, and three pairs of little 
 hands worked busily. They stuck feathers in their 
 belts, feathers in their hair, feathers in their shoes^ 
 and then, with a great bunch in each hand, they 
 climbed to the top of the chicken house " to get a 
 good start," as Georgie said. 
 
 ^^ I — I — don't know how," admitted Teddie, rather 
 doubtfully, as they stood in a row on the roof of the 
 low building. 
 
 " Why, you must flop your wings just this way/^ 
 said Nell, waving her hands wildly ; " and when I 
 say ^ three' we'll jump off and fly. One, two, three P* 
 
 The jumping was easy enough, but alas for the fly- 
 ing ! Down among the straw and hay of the bam- 
 
170 TRUE WORTH. 
 
 yard tumbled three disconsolate little figures, and 
 Teddie, striking an arm against an old wagon box, 
 set up a cry of pain, which brought Mike from the 
 barn. 
 
 ^' And why couldn't ye fly ?" repeated Mike, when 
 he had heard the story. " Why, because the wings 
 was none of your own, and nobody can fly with bor- 
 rowed ones. If ye'll just remember that it'll be some- 
 thing worth learnin', for there's plenty of older folks 
 than you that's thryin' to do it. They fly into splen- 
 dor on other people's money, and into good society 
 on the responsibility of their families, and some of 'em 
 €ven think to fly into heaven on the goodness of their 
 fathers and mothers. They'll never do it. It's noth- 
 ing but pickin' up feathers in the barnyard, and it'll 
 end in a tumble." 
 
 Mike went back to his work, and if the children 
 did not quite understand him Nell caught a part of 
 his meaning, for she said, " Well, if we can't make 
 good birds I guess we can make good children, and 
 we'll have to wait till God gives us wings." 
 
 TOMMY TUCKER'S BOOK. 
 
 As I went down to the meadow this morning, whom 
 should I see bat Tommy Tucker, half buried in a 
 cosy heap of Farmer Brown's new hay. He was read- 
 ing out of a book with yellow paper covers ; but, when 
 I came near, he gave a little start, closed the book and 
 slipped it out of sight. Tommy and I are quite good 
 
TEUE WORTH. 171 
 
 friends, so I knew when he put the book away so 
 quickly that it was something he was ashamed of. 
 
 ^^A bright day to you. Tommy Tucker/' I said. 
 ^' Don't let me stop your reading. Indeed, if your 
 book is so interesting as it seemed to be a minute ago, 
 and, if you don't object, I wish you would read it 
 aloud." 
 
 Tommy's face flushed crimson. 
 
 ^^I — I don't think you would care for the story, 
 Mr. Earlston ; and I'd—I'd rather talk." 
 
 Now this was so unlike the straightforward Tommy 
 Tucker, who tells me all his little secrets, that I said 
 right out, *^ Surely, Tommy Tucker doesn't read books 
 that he is ashamed to let his friends see ! " 
 
 The blush which had begun to die out on Tommy's 
 face came back with a deeper glow. 
 
 '^ I don't know that it's very wrong," ssid he. ^'It's 
 only a boy who went off to kill Indians, and who 
 fought six highwaymen single-handed and beat them 
 all, and rescued a lot of soldiers who had been cap- 
 tured, and had a great many other wonderful adven- 
 tures. I'll sliow you the book, sir," continued Tommy, 
 
 " No, don't," I said. '^ I don't want to read any 
 book that you think bad enough to hide from me." 
 
 Tommy looked hurt, but did not say anything, so 
 I went on : 
 
 "You see, Tommy, I am just taking your own 
 judgment on the book. It isn't so very wrong, you 
 say; and yet it is so wrong that you would rather I 
 hadn't seen it, neither would you like to go home and 
 read it to your little brothers. If it isn't a wicked 
 
172 TRUE WORTH. 
 
 book, it is a foolish book. Who ever heard of a 
 boy who did the wonderful things that your hero does 
 in the story everyday? It isn't likely that you'll 
 ever be called upon to fight a band of highwaymen ; 
 and it isn't likely that you'll whip six of them single- 
 ,,, handed, if you have to fight them,^' 
 
 I Tommy was silent. 
 
 " May I ask you a question, Tommy ? Does the 
 reading of that book make you study your lessons 
 better, or make you more content at home, or fit you 
 better for the every-day work you have to do ? Or, 
 does it take you away from your lessons, and make 
 you discontented with home, make you want to do 
 impossible things instead of the plain things God has 
 given you to do ? " 
 
 ^^ You are right, Mr. Earlston," said Tommy, for- 
 getting that I had only asked some questions, and that 
 he was really answering the accusation of his own con- 
 science, ^^ you are right. It is a foolish book ; and, 
 if it isn't wicked, it was making me wicked. It was 
 making me careless in everything. Mother doesn't 
 know why my school averages were lower last week, 
 and why I forgot some errands I had to do. She 
 didn't know about the book. I didn't want Tier to 
 know. I will never read a book again that I don't 
 want her to know of." 
 
 He took the book from his pocket and tore it into 
 pieces. 
 
 " Tommy Tucker," I said, " you will never go far 
 wrong if you don't hide anything from your mother." 
 
PEOMPTNESS. 173 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 PROMPTNESS. 
 
 " Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may 
 bring forth." — TroY. xxvii, 1. 
 
 TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. 
 
 Don't tell me of to-morrow. 
 
 Give me the boy who'll say- 
 That when a good deed's to be done, 
 " Let's do the deed to-day." 
 We may all command the present 
 
 If we act, and never wait ; 
 But repentance is the phantom 
 
 Of a past that comes too late. 
 
 Don't tell me of to-morrow. 
 
 There is much to do to-day 
 That can never be accomplished 
 
 If we throw the hours away. 
 Every moment has its duty; 
 
 Who the future can foretell? 
 . Then why put off till to-morrow 
 
 What to-day can do as well? 
 
 Don't tell me of to-morrow. 
 
 If we look upon the past, 
 How much we have left to do 
 
 We can not do at last ! 
 To-day ! It is the only time 
 
 For all on this frail earth. 
 It takes an age to form a life ; 
 
 A moment gives it birth. 
 
1 74 PR0MPT2S ESS. 
 
 NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT. 
 
 If you're told to do a thing, 
 
 And mean to do it really, 
 Never let it be by halves ; 
 
 Do it fully, freely. 
 
 Do not make a poor excuse, 
 
 Waiting, weak, unsteady; 
 All obedience worth the name 
 
 Must be prompt and ready. 
 
 If you're told to learn a task, 
 
 And you should begin it. 
 Do not tell your teacher, "Yes, 
 
 I'm coming in a minute." 
 
 Waste not moments nor your words 
 In telling what you could do 
 ■ Some other time ; the present is 
 For doing what you should do. 
 
 Don't do right unwillingly, 
 
 And stop to plan and measure ; 
 'Tis working with the heart and soul 
 
 That makes our duty pleasure. 
 
 — Phcebe Gary. 
 
 No element in a person^s character is more valuable 
 in the ^' business world'^ than promptness. No banker 
 could succeed without it. A merchant must be 
 prompt, and must require his clerks and customers 
 to be so. A lawyer must attend to his business 
 promptly. The physician must go promptly when 
 called. Railroad trains must be on time, and so must 
 the people who ride on them be on time. Since we 
 " study for life and not for school/' pupils should 
 
PEO^rPTNESs. 1 75 
 
 learn to be prompt by being prompt in all their school 
 work. 
 
 A person who Has to run to catch the train — gets 
 there only by the " skin of his teeth '' — is not on time ; 
 he is not prompt. A pupil v/ho rushes into the school 
 building, and goes up the stairs two steps at once, and 
 just gets in, is not on time. He is forming the habit 
 of putting things off. He is not forming the habit of 
 promptness. He is living up to the letter, but not to 
 the spirit. Be prompt in all things. 
 
 HARRY'S KNIFE. 
 
 Harry never tired of looking at his new pen-knife* 
 He thought his big Cousin Jack a very nice young 
 man, because he chose him so fine a birthday present. 
 And then, all at once, he blushed. 
 
 No vv^onder Harry blushed. Here it was three 
 o'clock, and Cousin Jack\s rabbits had not been shut 
 up and fed yet ! And such mischief as the little 
 brown hungry rogues had made in the garden ! And 
 Cousin Jack had asked him to feed them, give them 
 a run on the lawn, and then shut them up in their 
 pen ! 
 
 And there was Cousin Jack, just driving up from 
 town, where he had been all day. He looked sur- 
 prised, for he saw the rabbits leaping up the terrace 
 and down again. Without a word, he helped Harry 
 catch the rogues and shut them up. " Now jump in 
 
176 PROMPTXESS. 
 
 the carriage," said he, '^and I'll take you where your 
 knife was made/' Harry was surprised when they 
 stopped at the grim old iron foundry. Cousin Jack 
 picked up a piece of iron mixed with clay. " Here's 
 stuff for a dozen bright knife-blades/' said he. 
 
 Then, Harry saw the men put the rough iron into 
 a stove with limestone and charcoal and burn it. 
 Then he saw the melted iron pour like a stream of 
 iire from a hole in the bottom of the stove into beds 
 of sand. 
 
 " When this iron is cold," said Cousin Jack, ^' they 
 call it pig-iron. It is not nice enough yet for birthday 
 knife-blades. Besides, it would break and crumble, 
 if they tried to shape it now." 
 
 They put the pig-iron into the fire again, and heated 
 it gently, so that it was softer. " Now," continued 
 Cousin Jack, smiling, "it is malleable iron. It can 
 be pounded flat, and shaped without breaking." 
 
 Next, it was pounded flat, then heated hot and cut 
 into knife-blades, then plunged into cold water several 
 times, then polished, then sharpened, 'and at last it 
 was ready to be set into the handle. 
 
 " Knife-handles," said Cousin Jack, "are made from 
 elephant tusks, ox and buflalo horns, cocoa wood, and 
 shells of pearl eysters." 
 
 " Mine is a pearl one," said Harry ; " and I wish I 
 had fed your rabbits and shut them up." — Our Little 
 Men and Women, 
 
 " It is what we do that counts, not what we intend 
 to do." 
 
PROMPTNESS. 177 
 
 EARLY RISING FLOWERS. 
 
 All the flowers are still fast asleep. The buds on 
 the trees and bushes have their winter coats on yet ; 
 some of them have even their little fur tippets. The 
 mountains are covered with snow; and, early in the 
 morning, little frost stars sparkle on the dry blades of 
 grass. But, in the garden, the snowdrop is already 
 peeping out of the brown earth. It stretches up its 
 green leaves, and between them is the dear little 
 flower. The snowdrop is the early riser among the 
 flowers, the very first one that shows its tiny face 
 above the snow. It tells us that spring is coming, 
 and looks so neat and pretty in its green frock and 
 and snow-white overskirt — ^just like a little maid on a 
 holiday. 
 
 But how does the snowdrop contrive to be the early 
 riser? I will let you into the secret, for I know that 
 you would like to be an early riser too. 
 
 In the autumn, when all the flowers went to bed, 
 Snowdrop put everything in order for the morning. 
 The white bulb, deep under the ground, is her little 
 bed-room. The fine, soft coverings of the bulb are 
 her bed-clothes, and in them she sleeps snugly. Here, 
 in her little room. Snowdrop has laid everything in 
 order that she wants to put on when she gets up early 
 in the spring. There, the stem has commenced 
 already to grow. The two green leaves lie cosily in 
 a white case of silken, soft skin. On the end of the 
 short stem is the little flower with its three white outer 
 leaves and three yellow-green inner leaves, and its six 
 12 
 
178 PROMPTNESS. 
 
 golden stamens. All is enveloped in the fine case as 
 in a cloak. The parts of the flower are still very 
 small, particularly the stem ; but they are all ready, 
 waiting for spring. In spring, they will only need to 
 stretch themselves to shoot up, to unfold themselves, 
 and the flower will be perfect. 
 
 In the summer-time, Snowdrop even prepared her 
 breakfast. In the thick skin of the bulb, she gath- 
 ered all kinds of food, to feed the stem, leaves, and 
 flowers in the early spring-time. 
 
 During the long winter, little Snowdrop sleeps as 
 soundly as her companions. But, when the snow 
 begins to thaw, she wakes up, finds everything in 
 order for early rising, eats a little breakfast quickly, 
 and then comes out of the earth bright and fresh, long 
 before the other flowers have opened their eyes. 
 
 From this, you may learn, little one, that whoever 
 will be an early riser must lay everything in order the 
 night before, so as to find all ready early in the morn- 
 ing. Then, you will be the first down-stairs, unless 
 you go to sleep again after you have been called. — From 
 the German of Hermann Wagner, 
 
 ALWAYS LATE. 
 
 Half the value of anything to be done consists in 
 doing it promptly. 
 
 And yet a large class of persons are always more or 
 less unpunctual and late. Their work is always in 
 advance of them, and so it is with their appointments 
 and engagements. 
 
PEOMPTNESS. 179 
 
 They are late, very likely, in rising in tlie morning 
 and also in going to bed at night ; late at their meals ; 
 late at the counting-house or office ; late at their ap- 
 pointments with others. 
 
 Their letters are sent to the post-office just as the 
 mail is closed. They arrive at the wharf just as the 
 steamboat is leaving it. They come into the station 
 just as the train is going out. 
 
 They do not entirely forget or omit the engagement 
 or duty, but they are always behind time, and so gen- 
 erally in haste, or rather in a hurry, as if they had 
 been born a little too late, and forever were trying to 
 catch up with the lost time. 
 
 They waste time for themselves and waste it for 
 others, and fail of the comfort and influence and suc- 
 cess which they might have found in systematic and 
 habitual punctuality. 
 
 A good old lady, who was asked w^hy she was so 
 early in her seat in church, is said to have replied that 
 it was her religion not to disturb the religion of 
 others. 
 
 And if it were with all a part, both of courtesy and 
 duty, not to say of religion, never to be unpunctual, 
 they would save much vexation of spirit. 
 
 To be always intending to live a new life, but never 
 to find time to set about it — this is as if a man should 
 put off eating and drinking and sleeping from one day 
 and night to another till he is starved and destroyed. 
 — Tillotson, 
 
180 PROMPTNESS. 
 
 NEXT YEAR. 
 
 " Next year, next year," we say, 
 When come to naught 
 Our plans and projects gay. 
 Our bright dreams, fraught 
 
 With brighter hopes, that shine 
 
 On that far rim 
 Of life's horizon line 
 
 Where dreams lie dim 
 
 And touched with morning dew. 
 " Next year, next year ;" 
 And while we plan anew 
 The days grow sere. 
 
 The year has fled, and lo ! 
 
 We've left behind 
 The glory and the glow 
 
 We hoped to find. 
 
 And missed again the clew 
 
 We meant to heed — 
 The cherished plan to do 
 
 Some cherished deed. 
 
 " Next year, next year !" 
 Oh ! why not now, 
 Delaying soul, this year, 
 Keep word and vow? 
 
 Oh ! why not now and here ? 
 
 Why not to-day, 
 Before another year 
 
 Shall run away. 
 
 Keep word and faith or ere 
 
 An hour's delay — 
 Make good the promise fair 
 
 To-day, to-day ? 
 
 — Nora Peiry, in the Companion. 
 
PEOMPTNESS. 181 
 
 GIANT DELAY. 
 
 This giant has another very long name. It is Giant 
 Procrastination. It always says : ^^ Never mind about 
 doing as mother says just now. After awhile will 
 do — there^s no hurry.^^ Do you ever hear anybody 
 talking in that way, dear children ? If you do you 
 may be sure Giant Delay is around. One day Annie 
 was playing in the garden. Her mother called her to 
 come and take care of baby brother a few minutes. 
 Giant Delay said : ^' There^s no hurry ; just finish this, 
 and then you can go.^^ Mamma thought she was 
 coming right away ; so she left the room a moment. 
 Annie still listened to Giant Delay, until she heard a 
 scream from the baby, when she went in and found 
 he had fallen and hurt himself. If you stop to listen 
 to this giant, you may be sure some trouble will fol- 
 low for which you may be sorry. You had better 
 kill him at once ; for if he grows strong with you, he 
 will cheat you out of a great many pleasures, and not 
 give you half time to perform your duties aright. So 
 the sooner you kill him, the better it will be. 
 
182 KINDNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 KINDNESS. 
 
 Words of kindness we have spoken 
 May, when we have passed away, 
 Heal, perhaps, a spirit broken, 
 Guide a brother led astray. 
 
 — J. Hagen. 
 The drying up a single tear has more 
 Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore. 
 
 — Byron. 
 Kindness by secret sympathy is tied ; 
 For noble souls in nature are allied. 
 
 — Dryden. 
 In nature there's no blemish but the mind ; 
 None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind. 
 
 — Pope. 
 Kindness has resistless charms ; 
 
 All things else but weakly move ; 
 Fiercest anger it disarms, 
 
 And clips the wings of flying love. 
 
 —Earl of Rochester. 
 
 A WORD TO BOYS. 
 
 You are made to be kind, boys — generous, mag- 
 nanimous. If there is a boy in school who has a 
 club-foot, don't let him know you ever saw it. If 
 there is a poor boy with ragged clothes, don't talk 
 about rags in his hearing. If there is a lame boy, 
 assign him some part in the game that doesn't require 
 running. If there is a hungry one, give him part of 
 your dinner. If there is a dull one, help him get his 
 lesson. If there is a bright one, be not envious of 
 
KINDNESS. 183 
 
 him ; for if one boy is proud of his talents, and an- 
 other is envious of them, there are two great wrongs, 
 and no more talent than before. If a larger or 
 stronger boy has injured you, and is sorry for it, for- 
 give him. All the school will show by their counte- 
 nances how much better it is than to have a great fuss. 
 — Horace Mann. 
 
 A KINDLY ACT. 
 
 M'lle Anne Dronsert, a promising pupil of the 
 Conservatoire, was sitting one morning at her window 
 in the Kue Sertier, when a poor woman came along 
 the street singing in a low and broken voice, in the 
 hope of earning a few sous. Her glance was directed 
 pitifully toward the houses on either side ; but the 
 windows all remained closed, and the much needed 
 help came not. She turned sorrowfully away to try 
 her fortune in another quarter ; but the aching limbs 
 refused to carry her further, and the poor woman sank 
 down on the pavement. It was but the work of a 
 moment for Anne Dronsert to fly down the stairs to 
 the succor of her unfortunate sister, to raise her from 
 the ground, and to read starvation plainly written on 
 her wan features. Money she had none to give ; her 
 own studies and the necessities of daily life absorbed 
 the whole of her little pittance; but she took the 
 woman's hand in hers, and with the full force of her 
 young voice woke the echoes of the street with one 
 of the airs which had so often won the admiration of 
 the professors at the Conservatoire. Like magic, the 
 
184 KINDNESS. 
 
 windows on all sides flew open ; and at the conclusion 
 of the song a shower of silver pieces rained down, 
 until at last the poor woman was sent on her way 
 with a sum of seventy francs. It reads almost like a 
 tale of Ouida's, but it is a true story for all that. — 
 Lynn Transcript. 
 
 ^^ Pretty is as pretty does." 
 THE UGLY DUCHESS. 
 
 The following story is told of the Duchess de Berri : 
 
 She was extremely fond of Dieppe, and passed a 
 great deal of her time there in summer. Indeed, it 
 is said that the town owes to her fostering patronage 
 the establishment of the workshops for the production 
 of those exquisite ivory carvings which are well known 
 to every stranger that has tarried at Dieppe. 
 
 One summer evening a fisherman met a plainly 
 dressed lady, walking alone on the beach. He ven- 
 tured to accost her, saying that he had a petition 
 vdiich he wished to present to the Duchess de Berri, 
 but that he did not know how to proceed in order to 
 do so. 
 
 " Did you ever see the duchess ? ^^ asked the lady. 
 
 ^^ No," was the answer ; " but I am told that she is 
 very ugly." 
 
 " Give me the petition, at all events," said the ques- 
 tioner; "and it shall be placed in the hands of the 
 princess herself." 
 
 The fisherman complied with the request; and, a 
 few days later, he was summoned to the villa of the 
 
KINDNESS. 185- 
 
 duchess. What was his dismay, on being introduced 
 to the presence of the princess, to find that she was 
 the person to whom he had given his petition ! He 
 commenced to stammer forth some incoherent excuse, 
 but Marie Caroline interrupted him. 
 
 ^^ Your petition is granted/' she said, smiling ; " and 
 henceforth, when people say that the Duchess de Berri 
 has an ugly face, do you add, ^ But she has also a kind 
 heart.''' 
 
 COMFORTING A CAT. 
 Once upon a time, a little orphan girl lived with an 
 ill-tempered old woman called Sarah, in an almshouse 
 in Stockholm. Johanne, as the lassie was named, 
 used to make hair plaits ; and, whenever Sarah took 
 them to market to sell them, she would lock the door 
 and keep poor Johanne prisoner till she came back. 
 But Johanne was a good little girl, and tried to forget 
 her troubles by working as hard as she could. How- 
 ever, one fine day, she could not help crying, as she 
 thought of her loneliness ; but noticing the cat, as 
 neglected as herself, she dried her tears, took it up in 
 her lap, and nursed it, till pussy fell asleep. Then 
 she opened the window to let in the summer breeze, 
 and began to sing with a lighter heart as she worked 
 at her plaits. And, as she sang, her beautiful voice 
 attracted a lady, who stopped her carriage that she 
 might listen. The neighbors told her about Johanne, 
 and the lady placed her in school. Then she was 
 
186 KINDNESS. 
 
 entered as a pupil elsewhere, aud in course of time, 
 under the name of Jenny Lind, ^^ the Swedish night- 
 ingale/^ became the most famous singer of her day. 
 — English paper. 
 
 THE LITTLE NURSE, 
 
 When the celebrated philanthropist Florence Night- 
 ingale was a little girl, and living in Derbyshire, En- 
 gland, everybody was struck with her thoughtfulness 
 for people and animals. She even made friends with 
 the shy squirrels. When persons were ill, she would 
 help nurse them, saving nice things from her own 
 meals for them. 
 
 There lived near the village an old shepherd named 
 Roger, who had a favorite sheep-dog named Cap. This 
 dog was the old man's only companion, and helped in 
 looking after the flock by day and kept him company 
 al night. Cap was a very sensible dog, and kept the 
 sheep in such good order that he saved his master a 
 deal of trouble. 
 
 One day, Florence was riding out with a friend, 
 and saw the shepherd giving the sheep their night feed ; 
 but Cap was not there, and the sheep knew it, for 
 they were scampering about in all directions. Flor- 
 ence and her friend stopped to ask Roger why he was 
 so sad, and what had become of his dog. 
 
 " Oh,'' he replied, " Cap will never be of any more 
 use to me. I'll have to hang him, poor fellow, as 
 soon as I get home to-night." 
 
 '' Hang him ! " said Florence. " Oh, Roger, how 
 wicked of you ! What has poor old Cap done ? " 
 
KINDNESS. 187 
 
 " He has done nothing/^ replied Eoger ; " but he 
 will never be of any more use to me, and I can not 
 afford to keep him. One of the mischievous school- 
 boys threw a stone at him yesterday, and broke one 
 of his legs.^^ And the old shepherd wiped away the 
 tears which filled his eyes. " Poor Cap/^ he said, ^' he 
 was as knowing as a human being.'^ 
 
 " But are you sure his leg is broken ? ^^ asked Flor- 
 ence. 
 
 " Oh, yes, miss, it is broken, sure enough ; he has 
 not put his foot on the ground since.'' 
 
 Then Florence and her friend rode on. 
 
 " We v/ill go and see poor Cap," said the gentle- 
 man. " I don't believe the leg is really broken. It 
 would take a big stone and a hard blow to break the 
 leg of a great dog like Cap." 
 
 ^^ Oh, if you could but cure him, how glad Roger 
 would be ! " exclaimed Florence. 
 
 When they got in the cottage, the poor dog lay 
 there on the bare brick floor, his hair disheveled and 
 his eyes sparkling with anger at the intruders. But, 
 when the little girl called him " poor Cap," he grew 
 pacified, and began to wag his short tail. Then he 
 crept from under the table, and lay at her feet. She 
 took hold of one of his paws, patted his rough head, 
 and talked to him while the gentleman examined the 
 injured leg. It was badly swollen, and hurt him very 
 much to have it examined ; but the dog knew it was 
 meant kindly, and, though he moaned and winced 
 with pain, he licked the hands that were hurting 
 him. 
 
188 KIXDXESS. 
 
 '^ It's only a bad bruise. No bones are broken/' 
 said the gentleman. ^' Rest is all Cap needs ; he will 
 soon be well again.'' 
 
 " I am so glad ! " exclaimed Florence. " But can 
 we do nothing for him ? He seems in such pain." 
 
 " Plenty of hot water to foment the part would both 
 ease and help to cure him." 
 
 "Well, then/' said the little girl, "I will foment 
 poor Cap's leg." 
 
 Florence lighted the fire, tore up an old flannel pet- 
 ticoat into strips, which she wrung out in hot water,' 
 and laid on the poor dog's bi^iiise. It was not long 
 before he began to feel the benefit of the application, 
 and to show his gratitude in looks and wagging his 
 tail. On their way home, they met the old shepherd 
 coming slowly along with a piece of rope in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Oh, Roger ! " cried Florence, " you are not to 
 hang poor old Cap. We have found that his leg is 
 not broken after all." 
 
 " No, he will serve you yet," said the gentleman. 
 
 " Well, I am most glad to hear it," said the old 
 man ; " and many thanks to you for going to see 
 him." 
 
 The next morning, Florence was up early to bathe 
 Cap. On visiting the dog, she found the swelling 
 much gone down. She bathed it again, and Cap was 
 as grateful as before. 
 
 Two or three days later, when Florence and her 
 friend were riding together, they came up to Roger 
 and his sheep. Cap was there, too, watching the 
 
KINDNESS. 189 
 
 sheep. When he heard the voice of the little girl, his 
 tail wagged and his eyes sparkled. 
 
 ''Do look at the dog, miss/' said the shepherd, 
 "he's so pleased to hear your voice. But for you, I 
 would have hanged the best dog I ever had in my 
 life." — Youth's Temperance Banner. 
 
 THE OBSTINATE LOUISE. 
 
 Here is an anecdote of Victor Hugo, told by his 
 secretary, M. Lesclide : A charitable lady, Madam 
 Paul Meurice, used, during the siege of Paris, to dis- 
 tribute the poet's alms, besides many gifts of her own, 
 to the necessitous during that trying time. She came 
 one day to tell Victor Hugo of a poor woman whom 
 she had found in the most wretched state of destitu- 
 tion, and immediately received from him a hundred 
 franks for the alleviation of her needy protege. A 
 hundred franks, even with siege prices, could be made 
 by care to go a long way ; and the poet was accord- 
 ingly somewhat surprised when next day Madam 
 Meurice told him that ^' Louise was as badly off as 
 ever." " What about the hundred francs of yester- 
 day ? " "Ah ! the hundred francs. She has given 
 them away to poor mothers, to little children starving 
 of hunger and cold." " Good ! Here is another hun- 
 dred francs upon the express condition she keeps them 
 for herself." 
 
 " Is it only on this condition he gives them ? " said 
 Louise, on hearing this message. " Exactly." " Then 
 
1 90 KINDNESS. 
 
 you may take tliem back. Thank Victor Hugo for 
 Ills good intentions, for which I am grateful." 
 
 Madam Meurice was embarrassed. She dared not 
 take the money back to Victor Hugo, and so handed 
 it unconditionally to the ^^ obstinate Louise.'' The 
 obstinate Louise was no other than Louise Michel. — 
 Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 LENDING A HAND. 
 
 About forty years ago, several haulers were em- 
 ployed in carrying pig-iron from Braymbo to Queen's 
 Ferry. Among the number was one William Grif- 
 fiths, who is still alive. This man, when going down 
 Tinkersdale one day with his load of iron, was accosted 
 by a stranger, who chatted very freely with him. 
 Among the questions, the stranger asked how much 
 he got per ton for carrying the iron. 
 
 " Six and sixpence," said the carter. 
 
 " "What weight have you on the cart ? " 
 
 " About a ton and a half." 
 
 " And what do you pay for gates ? " 
 
 '^ Eighteen pence. '^ 
 
 ^' How much does it cost to keep the mare ? " 
 
 ^^ Thirteen shillings a week." 
 
 Presently they reached the foot of the Mill, Hill. 
 " How are you going to get up this hill ? " asked the 
 stranger. 
 
 " Oh, I mun get my shuder, and push up here." 
 
 " I'll help you a bit," said he ; and he at once put 
 his shoulder to the cart, and pushed up the liill well. 
 
KINDNESS. 191 
 
 When they reached the top, the hauler said, " You 
 an' me been as good as a chain horse.'^ 
 
 " Well, well,'' said the stranger, ^' I don't know 
 how the poor horse's legs are, but mine ache very 
 much indeed. I suppose you can manage now?" 
 
 " Yes, thank you," said the hauler ; and, wishing 
 him good-day, they separated. As soon as the stranger 
 was gone, a tradesman asked Griffiths if he knew who 
 had been helping him. 
 
 ^^ No," said he, ^' he's a perfect stranger to me." 
 
 '^ That was Mr. Gladstone," said the tradesman. 
 
 " Mr. Gladstone ! " responded the hauler. ^^ I dun 
 know what he'll think o' me, then ; for I never sir'd 
 him, nor nothin'. I thought he was some farmer." 
 — Christian Register. 
 
 SAVED BY A TENDER ACT. 
 
 William Wirt in his younger days was a victim to 
 the passion for intoxicating drink, which has been the 
 bane of so many distinguished in the legal profession. 
 Affianced to a beautiful, intelligent and accomplished 
 young woman, he had made and broken repeated 
 ])ledges of amendment ; and she, after patiently and 
 kindly enduring his disgraceful habits, at length dis- 
 missed him, deeming him incorrigible. Their next 
 meeting after his dismissal was in a public street in 
 the city of Richmond. Wirt lay drunk and asleep 
 on the sidewalk, on a hot summer day, the rays of the 
 sun pouring down on his uncovered head, and the 
 flies crawling over his swollen features. As the 
 
392 KIXDXESS. 
 
 young lady approached in her walk her attention was 
 attracted by the spectacle, strange to her eyes, but, 
 alas ! so common to others who knew the victim as 
 to attract little remark. She did not at first recognize 
 the sleeper, and was about to pass on, when she was 
 led by one of those impulses which form the turning 
 points in human lives to scrutinize his features. What 
 Avas her emotion when she recognized her discarded 
 lover ! She drew forth her handkerchief, and care- 
 fully spread it over his face, and hurried away. 
 "When Wirt came to himself he found the handker- 
 chief, and in one corner the initials of the beloved 
 name. With a heart almost breaking with grief and 
 remorse, he made a new vow of reformation. He 
 kept that vow, and finally married the owner of the 
 handkerchief. — Christian Register. 
 
 WHY HE DID NOT WIN. 
 
 The following true incident, though a trifle, has a 
 suggestive meaning for many readers : 
 
 It was the day for the public exhibition of athletic 
 sports in Blank College. The grand stand was 
 crowded with matrons and pretty maidens. Below, 
 the faculty, the trustees, and fathers of the boys un- 
 bent from their grave dignity, and laughed over base- 
 ball games and races of fifty years ago. Around the 
 ring were crowded the students from a rival college. 
 The men who were to take part iii the '• events '^ of 
 the day wore close-fitting flannel suits of the college 
 colors, white and blue. 
 
KINDNESS. 193 
 
 Two brothers stood near each other. The breast of 
 one was covered with silver and gold medals ; the 
 other had not one. 
 
 "Champion, hundred yards dash." *^ First prize, 
 L. L. tournament." " First prize, mile run," said a 
 bystander, reading some of the inscriptions on the 
 medals. " How many of these things have you, Joe? '' 
 
 " He has over twenty at home," said his brother, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "And you none, Tom ? How is that ? " 
 
 "Never could come in first. I think I shall take 
 a gold bar to-day though. There is one thing I can 
 do — the hurdle race." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried a child^s voice behind him, in a tone 
 of bitter disappointment. 
 
 Tom turned, and saw a little girl seated by a poorly- 
 dressed woman. Both were looking at him with 
 startled, disappointed faces. 
 
 "Who are they?" Tom whispered to his friend. 
 
 " Bradford's mother and sister. One of the charity 
 students. He's in the hurdle race. I suppose they 
 thought the poor wretch would win the gold medal 
 and be asked to dinner with Prox to-night, along with 
 the first prize men." 
 
 "Yes," said Tom, thoughtfully, as he walked away. 
 
 Bradford was a dull fellow, he remembered, and 
 neglected by most of the students who were better 
 clothed and better bred than himself. If the boy won 
 this prize and appeared at the president's state dinner, 
 it would certainly give him a standing, in future, 
 among the boys. A moment later, a lady who knew 
 13 
 
194 KINDNESS. 
 
 him, called Torn to the grand stand. " This will be the 
 victor in the hurdle race/' she said to the ladies near 
 her, who smiled; while Tom blushed and laughed. 
 
 The sports began. One event succeeded another. 
 The hurdle race was called. Tom and Bradford 
 started together, but Tom passed him easily. All of 
 the hurdles were passed but one. Tom glanced aside, 
 saw the strained face of the shabby woman and the 
 child's tearful eyes, and the next instant tripped and 
 fell, while Bradford leaped past him. 
 
 The president himself gave the prizes. The band 
 played and the men shouted, as he handed the gold 
 medal to Bradford. Joe had, as usual, half a dozen 
 prizes. Tom stood by, without any. 
 
 But the president said to the lookers-on : " There 
 was nothing to trip that boy. He fell purposely, that 
 Bradford might win." 
 
 " Shall not you let him know that you know it ? " 
 
 '^ No ; the man who can conquer himself, even in a 
 trifle, needs no other reward." — The YouWs Com- 
 panion. 
 
 SMILES AND GENTLE WORDS. 
 
 A smile is but a little thing 
 
 To the happy giver, 
 Yet full oft it leaves a calm 
 
 On life's boisterous river. 
 
 Gentle words are never lost, 
 Howe'er small their seeming ; 
 
 Sunny rays of love are they 
 O'er our pathways gleaming. 
 
 — IVeasure Trone, 
 
KINDNESS. 195 
 
 ^*Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them." — 
 Matt, vi, 1. 
 
 DOING GOOD UNOSTENTATIOUSLY. 
 
 The death of Eichard T. Merrick, of Washington, 
 one of the best lawyers in this country, has called out 
 the following incident, which shows that he was as 
 great in the qualities of his heart as of his head. It is 
 told by the Washington correspondent of the Times: 
 
 " While he was busy over his law books one day in 
 his Washington office, just after the war closed, a thin 
 and careworn middle-aged lady entered the room^. 
 She was dressed in widow's weeds, and her eyes 
 dropped hesitatingly as they encountered the keert 
 glance of the lawyer. She told her story between? 
 nervous starts and frequent hesitations. At times her 
 soft brown eyes would look up to the cold face before 
 her, as if mutely appealing for sympathy from the 
 lawyer. Yet not a word did Merrick say until she 
 had finished. Then he abruptly asked only a prac- 
 tical question as to whether she had any documentary 
 evidence to produce. From the pocket of her wid- 
 ow's dress she brought forth a packet tied with faded 
 ribbon. ' Perhaps you might want to look these over, 
 Mr. Merrick,' she said. ' Very well, madam, leave 
 me your address ; and, when I need them, I'll send 
 you word. Good-day.' The door swung in and back, 
 shutting out the little figure in black with its pathetic 
 face. Weeks followed, and Mr. Merrick's client had 
 received no word from him. At last, unable to bear 
 the suspense of hope too long deferred, the anxious 
 
196 KINDNESS. 
 
 woman once more climbed the stairs to the busy law- 
 yer's office. A brisk and imperative ^ Come in ! ' in 
 answer to her knock, invited or rather ordered her to 
 enter. An officious young man sat at a table, scratch- 
 ing away at a paper before him. He took in his vis- 
 itor at a glance, and rudely demanded her purpose. 
 * I'd like to see Mr. Merrick if I could,' she faltered. 
 ^Well, you can't see him.' 'Is — is he — busy?' 'I 
 should say he was. What do you want with him, 
 anyhow?' 'He told me he would write to me; but I 
 haven't heard from him yet, so I thought' — 'Oh, 
 you thought! Why didn't you wait till you did hear 
 from him ? I tell you what, you'd better go home, and 
 wait for that letter you say he promised to write. 
 I've no time to be bothered just now. Good-by.' 
 The pompous young man waved the caller to the 
 door, and turned once more to save the world by 
 grinding the end off the point of his pen. 
 
 "Just as the poor woman, the tears starting from 
 her eyes, was about to withdraw, the half-closed door 
 of the inner office opened, and Richard T. Merrick 
 himself, with his face flushed and indignation blazing 
 from his eyes, strode in. ' Young man, I've no fur- 
 ther use for you.' The young man did not hesitate. 
 The tone of the lawyer left him no room for doubt, 
 and he left without ceremony. Then that forlorn 
 caller was made happy. Mr. Merrick had that very 
 day discovered evidence that substantiated all hor 
 claims. But more. He had discovered, too, that the 
 husband whom she married had been a member of 
 his own company in the army, when there v/as a title 
 
KINDNESS. 197 
 
 of Captain Merrick in the Mexican war. The money 
 she sought, to which he was able to prove the justice 
 of her claiiiij he promised should be in ker possession 
 eventually ; but in the mean time, for there was dan- 
 ger of the law's delays, the lawyer — he vv^hom the 
 world had sometimes rated as cold-hearted — asked, 
 for the sake of the old Mexican war memories, to 
 provide her with funds sufficient to give her ease and 
 comfort. To-day this lady lives in a Maryland coun- 
 try town, one of the many who mourn the departure 
 of a generous spirit— generous away from the world's 
 gaze.'' — The Christian Union, 
 
 THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS DINNER. 
 
 In most of the provinces of Norway there is a 
 pretty custom of feeding the wild birds on Christmas 
 day. All the animals belonging to a family have 
 double their usual dinner, and share in a great festival. 
 
 The kind-hearted peasants also fasten up wisps of 
 oat-straw all about their houses for the birds, who are 
 quick to tell each other the news, and flocking down 
 in great numbers to peck at the grain. 
 
 In the town, great bunches of unthreshed oats are 
 brought to the market-place ; and, no matter how 
 poor the people are, they will be sure to have one bit 
 of money saved to buy the birds a feast. 
 
 The little sheaves are seen fastened on the house- 
 tops and outside the windows ; and nobody in Nor- 
 way would frighten a bird that day, if he could 
 help it. 
 
198 KINDNESS. 
 
 It is certainly worth while to make the least of 
 God's creatures happy ; and many of those fowls of 
 the air who do not gather into barns are good servants 
 of the farmer, and eat up the insects that would de- 
 stroy his crops. 
 
 Suppose the boys and girls take a lesson from the 
 Norwegians this year, and throw out a dinner of 
 crumbs for some of the birds, and tie a bunch of grain 
 here and there on the trees and fences for the wander- 
 ers who may need food in the cold winter days that 
 are to come. — Youth's Compayiion. 
 
 WHAT ONE WOMAN DID. 
 
 Some years ago, in a foreign city, horses were con- 
 tinually slipping on the smooth and icy pavement of a 
 steep hill, up which loaded wagons and carts were 
 constantly moving. Yet no one seemed to think of 
 any better remedy than to beat and curse the poor 
 animals who tugged and pulled and slipped on the 
 hard stones. 
 
 No one thought of a better way, except a poor old 
 woman, who lived at the foot of the hill. It hurt 
 her to see the poor horses slip and fall on the slippery 
 pavement, so that every morning, old and feeble as 
 she was, with trembling steps she climbed the hill, 
 and emptied her ash-pan and such ashes as she could 
 collect from her neighbors on the smoothest spot. 
 
 At first the teamsters paid her very little attention ; 
 but, after a little, they began to look for her, to ap- 
 preciate her kindness, and to be ashamed of their own 
 
KINDNESS. 199 
 
 cruelty, and to listen to her req^uests that they would 
 be more gentle to their beasts. 
 
 The town officials heard of the old lady's work, and 
 they were ashamed, too, and set to work to leveling 
 the hill and re-opening the pavement. Prominent 
 men came to know what the old woman had done, and 
 it suggested to them an organization for doing such 
 work as the old lady had inaugurated. All this made 
 the teamsters so grateful that they went among their 
 employers and others with a subscription paper, and 
 raised a fund that brought the old lady an annuity for 
 life. So one poor old woman and her ash-pan not 
 only kept the poor, overloaded horses from falling, 
 and stopped the blows and curses of their drivers, but 
 made every animal in the city more comfortable, im- 
 proved and beautified the city itself, and excited an 
 epoch of good feeling and kindness, the end of which 
 no one can tell. 
 
 "A soft answer tumeih away wrath ; hut grievous tvords stir up anger J* 
 — Prov. XV, 1. 
 
 WATCH YOUR WORDS. 
 
 Keep watch of your words, my darlings, 
 
 For words are wonderful things ; 
 They are sweet, like bees' fresh honey — 
 
 Like bees they have terrible stings. 
 They can bless, like the warm glad sunshine, 
 
 And brighten a lonely life ; 
 They can cut, in the bitter contest, w. 
 
 Like an open, two-edged knife. 
 
 Let them pass through the lips unchallenged. 
 
 If their errand is true and kind — 
 If they came to support the weary, 
 
 To comfort and help the blind. 
 
200 KINDNESS. 
 
 If a bitter, revengeful spirit 
 
 Prompt the words, let them be unsaid; 
 
 They may flash through a brain like lightning, 
 Or fall on a heart like lead. 
 
 Keep them back, if they're cold and cruel, 
 
 Under bar and lock and seal; 
 The wounds they make, my darlings, 
 
 Are always slow to heal. 
 May peace guard your lives, and ever, 
 
 From the time of your early youth, 
 May the words that you daily utter 
 
 Be the words of beautiful truth. 
 
 CAREFUL BOB. 
 
 Bob was an old horse on my great-grandfather's 
 farm. He was a very clever horse; but it is not so 
 much for his cleverness as for one thoughtful thing 
 which he did that his name has been handed down to 
 us who live so long after him, and who never saw 
 him. 
 
 He was very fond of children. The boys who lived 
 near used to have many a pleasant game with Bob on 
 sunny afternoons when he was grazing in the fields or 
 by the roadside. Sometimes they chased Bob, and 
 sometimes he chased them ; and it was a funny sight 
 to see the old horse running after a troop of boys, 
 uttering a peculiar whinny, which said as plain as 
 words could say, *^ Isn't this real fun, boys ? '' 
 
 One day Bob was coming slowly through the one 
 long street of the village, dragging a loaded cart be- 
 hind him. There, right in the middle of the street, a 
 little child was sprawling iu the dust. No one noticed 
 
KINDNESS. 201 
 
 it until Bob and the cart were close upon it. Was 
 the child to be trodden beneath the horse's feet, or 
 crushed beneath the broad wheel of the cart ? No ; 
 just as the mother rushed out of a doorway with a 
 shriek, Bob stooped down, seized the child's clothing 
 wdth his teeth, and laid the little one on the foot-path 
 out of harm's way. It was done tenderly, quietly, 
 and it was over in a moment. Then the wise horse 
 went on, as if he had done nothing surprising. 
 
 Do you wonder that we keep Bob's memory green ? 
 And isn't his thoughtfulness a lesson for little boys 
 and girls whose common excuse for carelessness which 
 injures others is, ^^ I didn't think?" .Bob thought, 
 and his thinking saved a child's life. — Sunday-SchooT 
 Times. 
 
 PIERROT, THE FAITHFUL. 
 
 I was hurrying along the Boulevard de Comcelles. 
 A female rag-picker, pale and famished, led by the 
 bridle a poor little donkey, which seemed a hundred 
 years old, and which dragged a poor little cart full 
 of the rubbish of the street — rags, broken bottles, 
 torn papers, worn-out skillets, crusts of bread— the 
 thousand nothings which are the fortune of the rag- 
 pickers. The woman had done good work since mid- 
 night, but the donkey was ready to drop. 
 
 The sight touched and arrested me. A man v/ould 
 have cursed and beaten the poor beast to arouse him. 
 The woman looked at him with an eye of motherly 
 pity. The donkey returned the look, as if saying r 
 
202 KIXDXESS. 
 
 '^ You see it is all over. I have done my best for you 
 night after night, because I saw your misery was 
 greater than mine. You have treated me well, shar- 
 ing your bread with me, and your neighbor's oats, 
 when you could get them. But I am dying at last.'' 
 
 The woman looked at him, and said, gently : 
 '^ Come, come, dear Pierrot, do not leave me here." 
 She lightened the load by taking out a basket of 
 broken bottles. ^^ Come, now," she said, as if talking 
 to a child, " you can get along nicely now." She put 
 her shoulder to the wheel, but the donkey did not 
 move. He knew that he had not strength to walk to 
 St. Ouen, his wretched home. She still coaxed him. 
 " How do you think vre can get along this way, Pier- 
 rot? To be sure, I could drag the cart. But I can't 
 put you in It, and you would be ashamed to be dragged 
 after it." The donkey raised his ears, but no move. 
 
 I was going to speak to her, when she ran into the 
 nearest bake-shop. The donkey followed her with 
 anxious eyes. He seemed fearful that he would die 
 without his mistress. He was so little you would 
 have taken him for a Pyrenean dog. He had grown 
 gray in the harness. A few tufts of gray hair re- 
 mained here and there on his emaciated body. He 
 looked like a mountain burned bare in many places. 
 His resigned air showed a mind free from worldly 
 vanities. He was far past the age when one strikes 
 attitudes. He was almost transparent in his leanness, 
 but his face was all the more expressive. It had 
 something almost human in its intelligence and good- 
 ness. Why had he been condemned to such suffering? 
 
KINDNESS. 203 
 
 The rag-picker soon returned, bringing a piece of 
 bread and a lump of sugar. The donkey turned, and 
 showed his teeth, like old piano keys. But, although 
 it was his breakfast time, he had no more strength in 
 his mouth than in his legs. She gave him the sugar. 
 He took it as if to oblige her, but* dropped it agaiD, 
 and the same with the bread. ^^Ah, what shall I do ? '^ 
 said the rag-picker. She thought no more of her cart. 
 She was full of anxiety for her friend Pierrot. " Pier- 
 rot ! " she cried again. Two great tears came to her 
 eyes. She took his head in her arms, and kissed him 
 like a child. The caress did what nothing else could 
 do. The donkey roused himself, and brayed as in his 
 best days. 
 
 I approached, and said to the woman : " You seem 
 to be in trouble.'^ 
 
 ^^ Oh ! " she said, crying, " if you knew how I love 
 this beast. I saved him from the butchers four years 
 ago. In those days I had only a hod. I have raised 
 seven children with my hook. The father is gone, 
 and one other, and my eldest daughter was taken only 
 a fortnight ago. It's no use. You can't take good 
 care of them when you work in the streets all 
 night.'' 
 
 One of my friends passed by. I said : " Let us buy 
 this donkey, and put him on the retired list. This 
 good woman will take care of him. How much did 
 the donkey cost ? " I asked. 
 
 "Ten francs." 
 
 '^ Go back, and buy another donkey, and take care 
 of this one," I said, putting the money into her hand. 
 
204 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 That evening the woman came to me in tears. I 
 understood at once. 
 
 ^^ Oh^ sir, he is gone ! " 
 
 "Poor Pierrot?" 
 
 " Yes^ sir. Yv^e got to St. Ouen one way or another ; 
 but, when he came in sight of our hut, he fell on his 
 knees. I tried to raise him up, but this' time it was 
 all over. Think of it ! he wanted to die at home, after 
 finishing his day^s work.''— Jo honnot^s Natural History, 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 . CONTENTMENT. 
 
 •"^ Contentment,^^ says Webster, "is a resting or sat- 
 isfaction of the mind, without disquiet ; acquiescence." 
 This does not mean the satisfaction of mind that 
 makes one indolent. It means the satisfaction that 
 comes from doing one's best under the circumstances. 
 It means an absence of forgetfalness and worry. It 
 means the ability to enjoy what we have, to make the 
 best of it. It means to do cheerfully what seems best ; 
 to keep a good heart. Not to grumble and snarl and 
 whine and frown. 
 
 He that holds fast the golden mean, 
 And lives contentedly between 
 
 The little and the great, 
 Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, 
 Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, 
 
 Embittering all his state. 
 
 — Cow per: Horace. 
 
CONTENTMENT. 205 
 
 Still all great souls still make their own content ; 
 "We to ourselves may all our wishes grant; 
 For, nothing coveting, we nothing want. 
 
 — Dryden. 
 
 My crown is my heart, not on my head ; 
 Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones, 
 Nor to be seen ; my crown is call'd content ; 
 
 A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 BE THANKFUL. 
 
 ^^ I don't want any supper/' said Kate. " Nothing 
 but bread and milk and some cake — just the same 
 every night." 
 
 "Would you like to take a little walk?'' asked 
 mamma, not noticing Kate's remarks. 
 
 "Yes, mamma." 
 
 Kate was pleased so long as their walk led through 
 pleasant streets ; but when they came to narrow, dirty 
 ones, where the houses were old and poor, she wanted 
 to go home. " Please, mamma, don't go any farther." 
 
 " We will go into the corner house," said mamma. 
 
 Some rough-looking men were sitting on the door- 
 steps. Kate felt afraid, and held tight hold of her 
 mamma's hand ; but on they went up the tottering 
 steps- to the garret. So hot and close it was that they 
 could scarcely breathe. On a straw bed near the win- 
 dow lay a young girl asleep, so pale and thin and still 
 she looked as if she were dead. 
 
 Hearing footsteps, she opened her eyes. Mamma 
 uncovered her basket, and gave the girl a drink of 
 milk, and placed the bread and cake beside her. 
 
2eb CONTENTMENT. 
 
 Kate's eyes filled with tears as she saw the girl eat 
 her supper. Not a mouthful had she tasted since 
 early morning. 
 
 Her poor mother had been away all day working, 
 and now came home wishing she had something nice to 
 bring her sick child. When she found her so well cared 
 for, she could not thank mamma and Kate enough. 
 
 The supper seemed a feast to them. 
 
 " If we can keep a roof over our heads,'' she said, 
 "and get a crust to eat, we are thankful." 
 
 Kate never forgot those words. Let us all learn 
 the same lesson, and cease complaining and fault- 
 finding. If we have a home and food to eat, let us 
 thank God; for many wander the streets homeless 
 and hungry. — The Standard, 
 
 CONTENT. 
 A hermit there was 
 
 Who lived in a grot, 
 And the way to be happy 
 
 They said he had got. 
 As I wanted to learn it, 
 
 I went to his cell ; 
 And this answer he gave, 
 
 As I asked him to tell : 
 
 " 'Tis heing^ and doing, 
 
 And hewing, that make 
 All the pleasures and pains 
 
 Of which mortals partake. 
 To he what God pleases, 
 
 To c?o what is best, 
 And to hxive a good heart. 
 
 Is the way to be blest." 
 
CONTENTMENT. 207 
 
 THE ISLE OF CONTENT. 
 
 There's a land in the latitude near to us all, 
 Where each dweller may follow his bent. 
 
 It is under no monarch's tyrannical thrall, 
 And is known as the Isle of Content. 
 
 It's a wonderful spot. If you ask it will bring 
 
 To you quickly whate'er you desire : 
 What it can not produce (it's a singular thing), 
 
 That is just what you never require. 
 
 By the balmiest zephyrs of happiness fanned, 
 
 It is neither too cold nor too hot ; 
 And the lassies and laddies never care in this land 
 
 Whether school is in session or not. 
 
 In Content, though but poor, yet you feel, ne'ertheless^ 
 
 You are equal in wealth to a king; 
 While a tear in the trousers or darn in the dress 
 
 You consider a capital thing. 
 
 If you haven't the money to purchase a meal 
 (I have been in that strait once or twice), 
 
 Take a reef in your vest, and you'll instantly feel 
 (If you live in Content) " very nice." 
 
 When I notice a lad with a bright, sunny smile 
 
 That extends for three inches or more. 
 Then I nudge myself inwardly, thinking the while, 
 
 "He's encamped on Content's happy shore." 
 
 I have dwelt on this beautiful island at times. 
 
 While inditing small verses for you ; 
 And I often have wondered if, reading my rhymes, 
 
 You were there as a resident too. 
 
 — St. Nicholas^ 
 
"208 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 WHERE DO YOU LIVE? 
 
 I knew a man, and his name was Horner, 
 Who used to live on Grumble Corner, 
 Grumble Corner in Cross-Patch Town, 
 And he never was seen without a frown. 
 He grumbled at this ; he grumbled at that; 
 He grumbled at the dog; he grumbled at the cat ; 
 He grumbled at morning ; he grumbled at night ; 
 And to grumble and growl was his chief delight. 
 
 He grumbled so much at his wife that she 
 
 Began to grumble as well as he ; 
 
 And all the children, wherever they went, 
 
 Reflected their parents' discontent. 
 
 If the sky was dark and betokened rain, 
 
 Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain ; 
 
 And if there was never a cloud about. 
 
 He'd grumble because of a threatening drought. 
 
 His meals were never to suit his taste ; 
 He grumbled at having to eat in haste ; 
 The bread was poor, or the meat was tough. 
 Or else he hadn't half enough. 
 No matter how hard his wife might try 
 To please her husband, with scornful eye 
 He'd look around, and then, with a scowl 
 At something or other, begin to growl. 
 
 One day, as I loitered along the street. 
 My old acquaintance I chanced to meet. 
 Whose face was without the look of care 
 And the ugly frown that he used to wear. 
 
 "I may be mistaken, perhaps," T said. 
 As, after saluting, I turned my head ; 
 
 ^'But it is, and isn't it, the Mr. Horner 
 Who lived for so long on Grumble Corner?" 
 
CONTENTMENT. 209 
 
 I met him next day; and I met him again, 
 
 In melting weather, in pouring rain, 
 
 "When stocks were up, and when stocks were down ; 
 
 But a smile somehow had replaced the frown. 
 
 It puzzled me much ; and so, one day, 
 
 I seized his hand in a friendly way. 
 
 And said, " Mr. Horner, I'd like to know 
 
 What can have happened to change you so ? 
 
 He laughed a laugh that was good to hear, 
 
 For it told of a conscience clean and clear ; 
 
 And he said, with none of the old-time dread, 
 *' Why, I've changed my residence, that is all ! " 
 '' Changed your residence? " " Yes," said Horner, 
 ''It wasn't healthy on Grumble Corner, 
 
 And so I've moved ; 'twas a change complete ; 
 
 And you'll find me now on Thanksgiving street." 
 
 Now, every day, as I move along 
 
 The streets so filled with the busy throng, 
 
 I watch each face, and can always tell 
 
 Where men and women and children dwell. 
 
 And many a discontented mourner 
 
 Is spending his days on Grumble Corner, 
 
 Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat 
 
 To take a house on Thanksgiving street. 
 
 CONTENT AS A KING. 
 
 Once upon a time — so runs tlie stoiy, and a pleas- 
 ant story it is — when Louis XII. of France was at the 
 royal castle of Plessis-les-Tours, he went one evening 
 into the kitchen, where he found a small boy engaged 
 in turning a spit for the roasting of a loin of beef. 
 The lad had a peculiarly bright-looking face, keen, 
 14 
 
210 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 bright eyes, and features really fine ; and his appear- 
 ance greatly prepossessed the king in his favor. 
 
 Laying a hand upon his head, he asked the little 
 fellow who he was. 
 
 The boy, looking up and seeing a plain-looking 
 man, in a hunting garb, supposed he might be speak- 
 ing with one of the grooms, or, perhaps, chief riders, 
 of the royal stables. 
 
 He answered, very modestly, that his name was 
 Simon. He said he came from La E-oche, and that 
 his parents were both dead. 
 
 '^And are you content with this sort of Avork?^' 
 Louis asked., 
 
 ^^^^hy not?'' answered the boy, with a twinkle in 
 his eye and a suggestive nod. ^' I am as well off as 
 the best of them. The king himself is no better." 
 
 ^' Indeed ! Hov/ do you make that out ? '' 
 
 " "Well, fair sir, the king lives, and so do I. He can 
 do no more than live. Further, I am content. Ls the 
 king that ? " 
 
 Louis walked away in a fit of thought deep and 
 searching. And the image of that boy remained in 
 his mind even after he had sought his pillow. 
 
 On the next day, the astonishment of the turnspit 
 may be imagined upon being summoned to follow a 
 page, and finding himself in the presence of the king, 
 and the king his visitor of the previous evening. 
 
 On the present occasion, Louis conversed further 
 with the lad, when he found him to be as intelligent 
 and naturally keen-witted as he had at first appeared. 
 
 He had sent for him with the intention of making 
 
CONTENTMENT. 211 
 
 him a page ; but, instead thereof, he established him 
 in his chamber as a page-in-waiting — really the posi- 
 tion of a gentleman. 
 
 And Louis had not been deceived in his estimate of 
 the boy^s abilities. 
 
 The youth served Louis faithfully, and in the last 
 years of the reign of Francis I. he was known and 
 honored as General Sir Simon de la Roche. 
 
 THE STORY OF GRUMBLE TOM. 
 
 There was a boy named Grumble Tom who ran away to sea, 
 " I'm sick of things on land," he said, " as sick as I can be I 
 A life upon the bounding wave will suit a boy like me ! " 
 
 The seething ocean billows failed to stimulate his mirth^ 
 For he did not like the vessel or the dizzy, rolling berth. 
 And he thought the sea was almost as unpleasant as the earth. 
 
 He wandered into foreign lands, he saw each wondrous sight, 
 But nothing that ho saw or heard seemed just exactly right. 
 And so he journeyed on and on, still seeking for delight. 
 
 He talked with kings and ladies fair, he dined in courts, they say, 
 
 But always found the people dull, and longed to get away, 
 
 To search for that mysterious land where he should like to stay. 
 
 He wandered over all the world, his hair grew white as snow. 
 He reached that final bourne at last where all of us must go. 
 But never found the land he sought. The reason would you know ? 
 
 The reason was that north or south, where'er his steps were bent, 
 On land or sea, in court or hall, he found but discontent ; 
 For he took his disposition with him everywhere he went. 
 
 — St. Nicholas, 
 
212 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 SUPPOSE. 
 
 Suppose, my little lady, 
 
 Your doll should break her head; 
 Could you make it whole by crying 
 
 Till your eyes and nose were red ? 
 And wouldn't it be pleasanter 
 
 To treat it as a joke, 
 And say you're glad 'twas dolly's 
 
 And not your head that broke? 
 
 Suppose you're dressed for walking, 
 
 And the rain comes pouring down ; 
 Will it clear off any sooner 
 
 Because you scold and frown ? 
 And wouldn't it be nicer 
 
 For you to smile than pout, 
 And so make sunshine in the house, 
 
 When there is none without ? 
 
 I 
 
 -Phoebe Cary. 
 
 THE BROKEN ARROW. 
 
 A little boy went to his mother with a broken 
 arrow, and begged her to mend it for him. It was a 
 very beautiful arrow, and the delight of his heart, so 
 his mother was not surprised when she saw his quiv- 
 ering lip and the tears in his eyes. '' I'll try to mend 
 it, darling," she said ; "but I am afraid it will be impos- 
 sible." He watched her anxiously for a few moments, 
 and then said, cheerfully : '^ Never mind, mamma, if 
 you can not fix it. I'll be just as happy without it." 
 Who will try this week to imitate that little boy, and, 
 if troubles come, make up his mind to bear them 
 bravely and cheerfully? 
 
CONTENTMENT. 213 
 
 AN INDIAN LEGEND. 
 
 The following story, selected from the " Life Les- 
 sons of an Eastern Teacher/' may be applicable in all 
 climes and by all people : 
 
 ^' There was once a beautiful damsel upon whom 
 one of the good genii wished to bestow a blessing. 
 He led' her to the edge of a large field of corn, where 
 he said to her : 
 
 ^' ^ Daughter, in the field before us the ears of corn 
 in the hands of those who pluck them in faith shall 
 have talismanic virtues, and the virtue shall be in pro- 
 portion to the size and beauty of the ear gathered. 
 Thou shalt pass through the field once and pluck one 
 ear. It must be taken as thou goest forward, and 
 thou shalt not stop in thy path, nor shalt thou retrace 
 a single step in quest of thine object. Select an ear 
 full and fair, and according to its size and beauty shall 
 be its value to thee as a talisman.' 
 
 ^^ The maiden thanked the good spirit, and then set 
 forward upon her quest. As she advanced she saw 
 many ears of corn — large, ripe, and beautiful, such as 
 calm judgment might have told her would possess 
 virtue enough ; but in her eagerness to grasj) the very 
 best, she left these fair ears behind, hoping that she 
 might find one still larger and fairer. At length, as 
 the day was closing, she reached a 2)art of the field 
 where the stalks were shorter and thinner, and the 
 ears were very small and shriveled. She now re- 
 gretted the grand ears she left behind, and disdained 
 to pick from the poor show around her, for here she 
 
214 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 found not an ear wliicli bore perfect grain. She went 
 on, but, alas ! only to find the stalks more and more 
 feeble and blighted, until in the end, as the day was 
 closing and night coming on, she found herself at the 
 €nd of the field without having plucked an ear of an^ 
 kind. 
 
 " No need that she should be rebuked for her folly. 
 She saw it clearly when too late, as how many, in all 
 climes and in all ages, in the evening of life, call sadly 
 jind regretfully to mind the thousand golden oppor- 
 tunities forever lost because they were not plucked in 
 their season ! ^' — Christian at Work. 
 
 BETTER WHISTLE THAN WHINE. 
 
 As I was taking a walk I noticed two little boys on 
 their way. to school. The small one stumbled and 
 fell, and, though he was not much hurt, he began to 
 whine in a babyish way — not a regular roaring boy 
 cry, as though lie were half-killed, but a little cross 
 whine. 
 
 The older boy took his hand in a kind, fatherly 
 y/ay, and said : 
 
 '^ Oh, never mind, Jimmy, don't whine ; it is a 
 great deal better to whistle. '^ 
 
 And he began in the merriest way a cheerful boy 
 whistle. 
 
 Jimmy tried to join the whistle. 
 
 ^^I can't whistle as nice as you, Charlie," said he; 
 '^ my lips won't pucker up good." 
 
CONTENTMENT. 215 
 
 "Oh, that is because you have not got all the 
 whine out yet/' said Charlie ; "but you try a minute, 
 and the whistle w^ill drive the v/hine away/' 
 
 So he did ; and the last I saw or heard of the little 
 fellows they were whistling away as earnestly as though 
 that was the chief end of life. — Early Deiv. 
 
 A RUSSIAN FABLE. 
 
 On the monument erected to Krilof, the " Eussian 
 JEso-p/^ is a bass-relief telling pictorially one of his best 
 fables, that of " Fortune and the Beggar : '' 
 
 A wretched beggar, carrying a ragged old wallet, 
 was creeping along from house to house ; and as he 
 grumbled at his lot he kept wondering that folks 
 vv'ho lived in rich apartments, and were up to their 
 throats in money and in the sweets of indulgence, 
 should be always unsatisfied, however full their pock- 
 ets might be, and that they should go so far as often 
 to lose all they have, while unreasonably craving for, 
 and laying their hands on, new riches. 
 
 " Here, for instance,'' he says, " the former master 
 of this house succeeded in trading prosperously, and 
 made himself enormously rich by commerce. But 
 then, instead of stopping and handing over his busi- 
 ness to another and spending the rest of his years in 
 peace, he took to equipping ships for the sea in the 
 spring. He expected to get mountains of gold ; but 
 the ships were smashed, and his treasures were swal- 
 lowed up by the waves. Now they all lie at the bot- 
 tom of the sea ; and he has found his riches melt away 
 
216 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 like those in dreams. Another man became one of 
 the farmers of the spirit tax, and so gained a million. 
 That was a trifle, and he wanted to double it. So he 
 plunged up to his ears in speculations, and was utterly 
 ruined. In short, instances of this are countless. 
 And quite right, too : a man should use discretion.'' 
 
 At this moment Fortune suddenly appeared to the 
 bego-ar and said : 
 
 ^' Listen ! I have long wished to help you. Here 
 is a lot of ducats I have found. Hold out your wal- 
 let, and I w^ill fill it with them, but only on this con- 
 dition : all shall be gold that falls into the wallet ; 
 but if any of it falls out of the wallet to the ground 
 it shall all become dust. Consider this well ; I have 
 warned you beforehand. I shall keep strictly to my 
 compact. Your wallet is old. Don't overload it be- 
 yond its powers." 
 
 Our beggar is almost too overjoyed to breathe. He 
 scarcely feels the ground beneath his feet. He opens 
 his wallet ; and, with generous hand, a golden stream 
 of ducats is poured into it. The wallet soon becomes 
 rather heavy. 
 
 " Is that enough ? " 
 
 " Not yet." 
 
 '' Isn't it cracking ? " 
 
 ^^ Never fear.". 
 
 *' Consider, you're quite a Croesus." 
 
 " Just a little more ; just add a handful ! " 
 
 ^' There, it's full. Take care, the wallet is going to 
 burst." 
 
 " Just a little bit more." 
 
CONTENTMENT. 217 
 
 But, at that momeDt, the wallet split, the treasure 
 fell through and turned to dust, and Fortune disap- 
 peared. The beggar had nothing but his empty wal- 
 let, and remained as poor as before. 
 
 MAMMA'S SUNBEAM. 
 
 Willie was one of the dearest little boys when he- 
 was happy, and was loved devotedly by his papa, 
 mamma and two aunts who lived in the family. The 
 house in which they all lived was in the country, and 
 had windows on all sides. Willie played out of doors 
 every pleasant day, and was not happy when the 
 weather prevented his being out of doors. He had 
 never been a very strong little boy, and his mamma. 
 was compelled to keep him in many days when he? 
 could not understand the reason ; and he was not very 
 patient on such days, and sometimes made all wha 
 loved him sorry, because he would not be consoled by 
 any means in their power — he wanted to be out of 
 doors, and nothing else would do. 
 
 Now, Willie's mamma was not at all well or strong;, 
 and when she heard her little boy worry so it worried 
 her, and made her head ache worse. Aunt Susie, wha 
 loved Willie almost as much as though he were her 
 own little boy, thought of a way to make Willie see 
 how unhappy he made everybody in the house when 
 he would not accept his mother's decisions as best. 
 
 One bright, sunshiny day in April Willie was out 
 of doors, running and playing with his dog. He was- 
 perfectly happy, and had been so sweet and lovable 
 
218 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 all the morning that Aunt Susie thought, " This is 
 just the (lay to show Willie the difference between 
 having a bright, sunshiny boy about the house, and a 
 tearful, fretful one/' The spare-room shutters were 
 closed ; and the room would have been very dark and 
 dreary if one stray sunbeam had not found its way 
 through the shutters, making a bar of gold across the 
 floor and a dancing spirit of gold on the wall. Aunt 
 Susie found the place in the shutter through which 
 the sunbeam came, and covered it up, making the 
 room perfectly dark ; and then she called Willie in, 
 and took him upstairs into the room. After they were 
 seated, she asked Willie: "How do you like this 
 room, Willie?" 
 
 " I don't like it at all, Aunt Susie ; it's all dark." 
 " Then you would not like to stay here ? " 
 " No, no. Aunt Susie, I want to go out of doors." 
 Aunt Susie went to the window, and took away the 
 towel fastened over the crack in the shutters, and in 
 <lanced the lovely sunbeam. 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " said Willie, " how pretty ! " and he ran 
 and stood on the carpet where the sunbeam lay. 
 Then he knelt down and held his hands in it. Aunt 
 Susie went to him, sat on the floor, and took Willie 
 in her lap. Then, very sweetly and lovingly, she 
 said: " Willie, this room is just like mamma's life ; 
 and you are her sunbeam. When you worry and are 
 cross, her life is like this room without the sunbeam." 
 Willie's big blue eyes grew large and sorrowful, 
 and the tears gathered in them ; and then, with a lit- 
 tle sob, he put his head on Aunt Susie's shoulder, and 
 
CONTENTMENT. 219 
 
 said, ^^I'll ^member, Auntie Susie, I'll ^member." 
 Aunt Susie took him by the hand, and soon they were 
 playing out of doors again, as happy as ever. 
 
 Two weeks had passed, and all in the house were 
 impressed with the great change in Willie, He had 
 controlled himself whenever he was deprived of a 
 pleasure it was not best he should have, and imme- 
 diately interested himself in v/hatever substitute was 
 offered. Two or three rainy days had followed each 
 other, and still Willie had been a delight and comfort 
 to all in the house. One day, when everybody had 
 grown tired of the wind and rain, Willie came quietly 
 into Aunt Susie's room, and stood by the window 
 for some time. Crossing the room to Aunt Susie, he 
 whispered, '^ Auntie Susie, has n't I been mamma's 
 sunbeam since you told me ? " Aunt Susie took him 
 in her arms, and kissed him again and again : '^ You 
 have, W^illie darling. You have been a sunbeam for 
 us all." With a contented little sigh, Willie nestled 
 in her arms, and said, '^ I'se tired. Aunt Susie — -I'se 
 tired." And for years after a frown on Willie's face 
 would disappear, or the cross tone from his voice, 
 when he heard the question, " Where is mamma's sun- 
 beam ? " — Christian Register. 
 
 The highest point outward things can bring unto 
 is the contentment of the mind ; with which no estate 
 can be poor, without which all estates will be miser- 
 able. — Sir Pliilip Sidney. 
 
220 OBEDIENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OBEDIENCE. 
 
 OBEYING ORDERS. 
 
 An English farmer was one day at work in the 
 fields, when he saw a party of huntsmen riding about 
 his farm. He had one field which he was especially 
 anxious they should not ride over, as the horses^ hoofs 
 would greatly injure the crop. So he sent one of his 
 boys, and told him to shut the gate, and keep watch 
 there, and on no account to let any one go through it. 
 
 The boy went, and had scarcely taken his post there 
 before the huntsmen came up, and ordered him to 
 open the gate. He declined to do so, telling them 
 what his orders were, and that he meant to obey them. 
 They threatened him, but he did not mind their 
 threats. They offered him money, but he refused to 
 receive it. At last, one of them came up to him, and 
 said, in commanding tones : 
 
 ^' My boy, you do not know me ; but I am the 
 Duke of Wellington. I am not accustomed to be 
 disobeyed ; and, now, I command you to open the 
 gate, that I and my friends may pass through.^' 
 
 The boy lifted his cap, and stood uncovered before 
 the man whom all England delighted to honor, and 
 then answered firmly : 
 
 ^^ I am sure that the Duke of Wellington would 
 not wish me to disobey orders. I must keep the gate 
 
OBEDIENCE. 221 
 
 shut ; no one can pass through it but by my master's 
 express permission." 
 
 The brave old warrior was greatly pleased with this. 
 Then he took oif his* own hat, and said : " I honor 
 the man or the boy who can neither be bribed nor 
 frightened into disobeying orders. With an army of 
 such soldiers, I could conquer, not the French only, 
 but the world." Then, handing the boy a sovereign, 
 he put spurs to his horse and galloped away. 
 
 The boy went back to his work, shouting out, as he 
 did so : ^^ Hurrah I hurrah ! V\e done what Napoleon 
 couldn't do — I have kept out the Duke of Welling- 
 ton." — Bible Models. 
 
 THE STRENGTH OF THE CHAIN IS IN ITS WEAK- 
 EST LINK. 
 
 A dog was barking furiously at a stranger and 
 making frightful tugs upon the chain which enabled 
 the visitor to elude him. 
 
 " No danger, honey," said the old negro at work in 
 the inclosure. ^^ Dat chain's a very strong bit of iron." 
 
 The visitor trusted him, the chain yielded ; there 
 was a fearful experience for a few minutes. When at 
 length order was restored, an investigation showed 
 that there was one weak link. 
 
 '' No matter how strong might have been the rest 
 of the chain, its real power lay in that one link," said 
 the visitor, who had been so startled. ^^And we all 
 know that a chain can be no stronger than its weakest 
 link." 
 
222 OBEDIENCE. 
 
 Let our readers take this thought and apply it to 
 the chains they may be forming. Here is one boy 
 who has determined to be an obedient scholar in 
 future. " I will/^ says he, " obey every rule the 
 teacher requires, except one. He has utterly forbid- 
 den the use of translations in the school. Now, I can 
 not see how I can do without these helps. I will obey 
 in all other matters.^^ 
 
 Look at the weak link in your chain of obedience, 
 and remember its power decides the strength of the 
 chain. 
 
 " I have fully resolved,^' says another, " to obey my 
 father, except in that one prohibition about the ice.'' 
 
 Another weak link ! 
 
 No principle is more noble, as there is none more 
 holy, than that of true obedience. — Henry Giles, 
 
 He praiseth God best that serveth and obeyeth Him 
 most; the life of thankfulness consists in the thank- 
 fulness of the life. — W. Burkitt. 
 
 Life is made up, not of great sacrifices or duties, 
 but of little things, in which smiles and kindnesses 
 and small obligations, given habitually, are what win 
 and preserve the heart and secure comfort. — Sir 
 Humphrey Davy, 
 
ANIMALS. 223' 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 ANIMALS. 
 
 A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast. — Prov. xii, 10. 
 But ask nmv the beasts, and they shall tell thee ; and the fowls of the. 
 air, and they shall tell thee. — Job xii, 7. 
 
 The duty of kindness to animals should be thor- 
 oughly impressed upon the pupils of every school in 
 the land. It is believed that there is no better way 
 to do this than to present to the pupils the noble deeds 
 of animals in true stories. 
 
 If children at school can be made to understand 
 hoAv it is just and noble to be humane even to what 
 we term inferior animals, it will do much to give them 
 a higher character and tone through life. There m 
 nothing meaner than barbarous and cruel treatment of 
 the dumb creatures who can not answer or resent the 
 misery which is so often needlessly inflicted upon 
 them. — John Bright. 
 
 If you do not realize the state of the ant under 
 your foot, know that it resembles your condition under 
 the foot of an elephant. — Persian, 
 
^24 ANIMALS. 
 
 NEPTUNE TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 An exchange tells the following story of a dog's 
 first visit to the theater : The owner of the dog told 
 me the story, and I deem it well worth repeating. 
 The animal was a pure Newfoundland, and brought 
 up to care for his master and his master's family ; but, 
 like his noble species, it was his wont to care for 
 everything that really needed and deserved his care. 
 
 One evening the gentleman went to the theater, 
 sitting in a private box, and taking his favorite dog 
 with him. In the course of the drama, which verged 
 slightly upon the sensational, the stage became the 
 scene of a fierce struggle between a mother and two 
 ruffians for the possession of a little child. One of 
 the ruffians had grasped the woman's shoulders from 
 behind, and the other was about to tear the child from 
 her frantic grasp, when a new and unexpected actor 
 appeared upon the scene. 
 
 Good Neptune, from his master's box, had seen 
 about all that kind of work that he cared to see, and 
 had evidently only been waiting for good men, where 
 there appeared so many, to hasten to the rescue ; but, 
 when he saw the ruffian's hands upon the child, he 
 cleared the railing of the box at a bound, and lighted 
 on the stage, and, at the first onset, he fairly knocked 
 one of the ruffians over, thus setting free the child. 
 His next attention was bestowed upon ruffian number 
 two, whom he was dragging down upon the stage, 
 when the scene-shifters and property men came to the 
 rescue. But not until the owner of the dog had come 
 
ANIMALS. 225 
 
 upon the stage, and the two ruffians had left the 
 mother and child in peace, could the noble animal be 
 subdued. 
 
 The gentleman of the box tried to explain to the 
 audience, but there was no need. They understood 
 fully ; and the noble Newfoundland received round 
 after round of applause, uproarious and hearty.— 
 Christian Register, 
 
 AMONG THE NOBLEST. 
 
 *' Yes, well your story pleads the cause 
 
 Of those dumb mouths that have no speech, 
 
 Only a cry from each to each 
 
 In its own kind, with its own laws ; 
 
 Something that is beyond the reach 
 
 Of human power to learn or teach— 
 
 An inarticulate moan of pain, 
 
 Like the immeasurable main 
 
 Breaking upon an unknown beach." 
 
 Thus spake the poet, with a sigh ; 
 Then added, with impassioned cry, 
 As one who feels the words he speaks. 
 The color flushing in his cheeks, 
 The fervor burning in his eye : 
 ^' Among the noblest in the land. 
 Though he may count himself the least. 
 That man I honor and revere 
 Who, without favor, without fear. 
 In the great city dares to stand 
 The friend of every friendless beast. 
 And tames with his unflinching hand 
 The brutes that wear our form and face. 
 The were-wolves of the human race!" 
 
 — Tales of a Wayside Inn. 
 
 15 
 
226 ANIMALS. 
 
 THE LITTLE GRAY MISSIONAKIES. 
 
 Capitol Square^ in Richmond, Va., is a beautiful 
 little park of about sixteen acres, intersected with 
 winding walks and shaded by noble oaks and other 
 trees. It is adorned with fine statuary ; and near the 
 center stands the State Capitol, which was also the 
 Capitol of the Southern Confederacy. But the place, 
 replete as it is in historic attractions, possesses no 
 feature more interesting to the lover of animated 
 nature than the gray squirrels with which it abounds. 
 There are troops of them, and all as tame as kittens. 
 They are a little shy of strangers, but quickly learn 
 to recognize any one who treats them kindly. Let 
 such a one sit down in one of the rustic seats with 
 which the park is furnished, holding out a nut in his 
 hand, and soon a little gray squirrel will be seen run- 
 ning down a tree and bounding over the grass toward 
 him. The little creature will then sit straight up, 
 scanning the visitor with a keen and knowing eye. 
 Having assured itself of his friendly intentions, it 
 springs upon the bench or runs up by way of his foot, 
 and takes the proffered nut from his hand. Soon it 
 will be joined by others ; and one may find one sitting 
 on his knee, another on his shoulder, a third on the 
 back of the seat, and others all around him, all nib- 
 bling away at the nuts he continues to furnish them. 
 One pair of squirrels have wandered away from the 
 park and established their home in the hollow of a 
 huge mulberry tree directly in front of a grocery. 
 Whenever meal-time comes, and it comes pretty often, 
 
ANIMALS. 227 
 
 the mother squirrel runs down the tree, enters the 
 grocery, and helps herself to a nut from the stock of 
 the kind-hearted grocer, who always makes her wel- 
 come to all she \vants. 
 
 Now, these squirrels are all missionaries of mercy. 
 They not only amuse every one who sees their cun- 
 ning and intelligent antics, but they also awaken in 
 the heart of every child in Richmond a feeling of 
 tender interest in all God's harmless creatures. The 
 child from whose hand they fearlessly take their food 
 is learning lessons w^iich will make a better man or 
 woman. It would be well if some of our Chicago 
 parks could be peopled with squirrels — not confined 
 in wired inclosures, but running free and making 
 friends with the troops of children who would delight 
 in treating them with kindness. — Humane Journal, 
 
 THE DEAD BIRD. 
 
 We found him in his gilded cage 
 With drooping head and folded wing — 
 The little bird that ne'er again 
 To us his merry songs will sing 
 To cheer us on dark winter days 
 Or greet us 'mid the bloom of spring. 
 
 Dear little bird ! With loving touch, 
 
 We held him fondly in our hand, 
 
 And wondered if he had not found 
 
 A paradise beyond our land, 
 
 Where he would flit from tree to tree, 
 
 'Mid brighter scenes and airs more bland. 
 
228 ANIMALS. 
 
 We thouglit how oft of prison bars 
 This little bird had seemed to tire, 
 To reach the sunny skies beyond 
 Had often felt a vain desire, 
 Yet ever as he tried to soar 
 He beat his wings against the wire. 
 
 » How often, like the little bird, 
 
 We long to rise and fly away, 
 For wings to soar above the cares 
 That ever seem to bar our way, 
 The while almost within our reach 
 We see the fair, unclouded day ! 
 
 But yet, unlike the little bird, 
 We do not sing through all the year, 
 Whether the air is full of bloom 
 Or winter's skies are cold and drear, 
 Nor always have a loving tone 
 The weary and the sad to cheer. 
 
 And if a loving Father bends 
 To mark a little sparrow fall. 
 We half believe that there must be 
 A sunny paradise where all 
 These happy birds may sing, or flit 
 From bower to bower with loving call. 
 , — Christian Register. 
 
 CARLO. 
 
 How well we all remember Carlo ! He was a dear 
 old dog, and belonged to Mr. Rhodes, the constable 
 of our town. 
 
 Carlo always made a point of attending all the fires 
 in the town. He could mount a ladder like a fire- 
 man, and well do I recollect the last of his adventures. 
 
 It was toward evening on a holiday, and a few peo- 
 
ANIMALS. 229 
 
 pie were in the place, as most of the citizens of the 
 town were absent on a popular excursion. 
 
 I remember feeling sadly disappointed at having to 
 miss the excursion myself. At about five o^clock the 
 bells in the church began to ring very loud and fast ; 
 and Carlo, who had been lazily sleeping and watching 
 the place, started up and, with two or three expressive 
 growls that summoned his master, ran with all speed 
 for the fire. 
 
 The dog was very busy and intelligent all the time, 
 dragging down the stairs with great speed and care 
 things of every description. 
 
 As the last house was burning, the cry of a child 
 was heard in the upper story. 
 
 Of course, it was out of the question for any one 
 to go up and expect to come back ; but Carlo seemed 
 to take in the situation at a glance. Knowing in his 
 dog mind that the first stories were already in a blaze, 
 he leaped up the ladder, and jumped in through the 
 v/indow. The fire and smoke soon drove him back, 
 but his master, who appeared at that moment, shouted 
 to him to go in, and the people cheered. Whether 
 he understood or not, he again entered the window ; 
 and when all hope of his return had been given up, a 
 loud shout announced his arrival. He was terribly 
 burned before he reached the ground, still holding, 
 with wonderful firmness, a little babe. 
 
 The child did not prove to be greatly harmed, but 
 poor Carlo's injuries were fatal. The brave dog re- 
 ceived every care, but he died the next day. — Effie 
 SquieVy in St. Nicholas. 
 
230 ANIMALS. 
 
 A TRUE CAT STORY. 
 
 A lady in Manchester, N. H., owned a cat and a 
 canary. Entering her sitting-room one afternoon, the 
 cat ran to her, put its paws upon her dress, and mewed 
 loudly. What the animal — usually very quiet — meant 
 by such demonstrations, she did not understand. Pres- 
 ently, noticing that the bird — a great singer — was 
 silent, she looked up to the cage, to find its door open, 
 its former tenant gone. 
 
 ^' Kitty, have you killed Dick ? ^' she asked, in an 
 angry tone. 
 
 Again puss j)ut its paws on her dress and mewed, 
 at the same time glancing at the top of the window. 
 The upper sash had been lowered, for ventilation, and 
 it at once flashed through the lady's mind that the 
 opening thus made had furnished the canary's means 
 of escape. 
 
 Soon the cat manifested a desire to leave the room, 
 and was let out. Nothing \yas seen of it for three 
 days, when it returned, bearing in its mouth the fugi- 
 tive bird, which it laid at its mistress's feet unhurt. — 
 Youth'' s Companion. 
 
 A GALLANT THRUSH. 
 
 A young Highlander, having set a horse-hair noose 
 in the v/oods, was deligiited one morning to find a 
 female song-thrush entangled therein. He carried 
 home his prize, put it in a roomy, open-braided bas- 
 ket, secured the lid with much string and many knots, 
 and then hung the extemporized cage upon a nail near 
 
ANIMALS. 231 
 
 the open window. In the afternoon the parish min- 
 ister was called in by the boy's mother, who wished 
 him to persuade her son to set the captive free. While 
 the clergyman was examining the bird through the 
 basket^ his attention was called to another thrush 
 perched on a branch opposite the window. 
 
 ^' Yes ! '' exclaimed the boy ; " and it followed me 
 home all the way from the woods." 
 
 It was the captive's mate, w^iich, having faithfully 
 followed his partner to her prison, had perched him- 
 self where he might see her, and she hear the sad, 
 broken notes that chirped his grief. 
 
 The clergyman hung the basket against the eave of 
 the cottage, and then the two retired to watch what 
 might happen. In a few minutes, the captive whis- 
 pered a chirp to her mate's complaints. His joy was 
 unbounded. Springing to the topmost spray of the 
 tree, he trilled out two or three exultant notes, and 
 then alighted on the basket-lid, through the hole in 
 which the captive had thrust her head and neck. 
 Then followed a touching scene. The male bird, 
 after billing and cooing with the captive, dressing her 
 feathers and stroking her neck, all the while flutter- 
 ing his wings and crooning an under-song of encour- 
 agement, suddenly assumed another attitude. Gath- 
 ering up his wings, he erected himself, and began to 
 peck and pull away at the edges of the hole in the 
 basket's lid. The bird's ardent affectiou, and his 
 effort to release his mate, touched clergyman, mother, 
 and boy. 
 
 ^^ I'll let the bird go ! " said he, in a sympathetic 
 
232 ANIMALS. 
 
 voice, as he saw his mother wiping her eyes with her 
 apron. 
 
 The basket was carried to the spot where the bird 
 had been snared. The cock-thrush followed, sweep- 
 ing occasionally close past the boy carrying the basket, 
 and chirping abrupt notes, as if assuring his mate that 
 he was still near her. On arriving at the snare, the 
 clergyman began untying the many intricate knots 
 which secured the lid, while the cock-bird, perched on 
 a hazel bough not six feet away, watched, silently and 
 motionless, the process of liberation. As soon as the 
 basket-lid was raised, the female thrush dashed out, 
 with a scream of terror and joy ; while the male fol- 
 lowed like an arrow shot from a bow, and both dis- 
 appeared behind a clump of birch-trees. It was an 
 excellent lesson for the boy — one which he never for- 
 got. — United Presbyterian, 
 
 SAVED BY AN ORANG-OUTANG. 
 
 A nobleman had a favorite monkey, a large orang- 
 .outang, which you know is the largest species of mon- 
 key except the gorilla. This monkey was very much 
 attached to his master and to the baby boy, who was 
 the pet of the whole family. One day, suddenly, a 
 fire broke out in the house, and everybody was run- 
 ning here and there to put it out, while the little boy 
 in his nursery was almost forgotten ; and when they 
 thought of him the staircase was all in flames. What 
 could be done? As they were looking up and won- 
 
ANIMALS. 233^ 
 
 deriDg a large, hairy hand and arm opened the win- 
 dow, and presently the monkey appeared with the 
 baby in his arms, and carefully climbed down over 
 the porch, and brought the child safely to his nurse. 
 JSTobody else could have done it ; for a man can not 
 climb like a monkey, and is not nearly so strong. 
 You may imagine how the faithful creature was 
 praised and petted after that. 
 
 This is a true story, and the child who was saved 
 was the young Marquis of Kildare. — Children'^ 
 Treasury, 
 
 THE SPARROW. 
 
 I returned home from the chase, and wandered 
 through an alley in my garden. My dog bounded 
 before me. Suddenly he checked himself, and moved 
 forward cautiously, as if he scented game. I glanced 
 down the alley, and perceived a young sparrow with 
 a yellow beak and down upon its head. He had fallen, 
 out of the nest (the wind was shaking the beeches in 
 the alley violently), and lay motionless and helpless 
 on the ground, with his little unfledged wings ex- 
 tended. 
 
 The dog approached it softly, when suddenly an old 
 sparrow, with a black breast, quitted a neighboring 
 tree, dropped like a stone right before the dog's nose, 
 and, with ruffled plumage and chirping desperately 
 and pitifully, sprang twice at the open, grinning mouth. 
 He had come to protect his little one at the cost of 
 his own life. His little body trembled all over, his- 
 
*234 ANIMALS. 
 
 voice was hoarse, he was in an agony — he offered 
 himself. 
 
 The dog must have seemed a gigantic monster to 
 him. But, in spite of that, he had not remained safe 
 on his lofty bough. A power stronger than his own 
 will had forced him down. The dog stood still, and 
 turned av/ay. It seemed as though he also felt this 
 power. I hastened to call him back, and went away 
 with a feeling of respect. Yes ; smile not ! I felt a 
 respect for this heroic little bird and for the depth of 
 his paternal love. 
 
 Love, I reflected, is stronger than death and the 
 fear of death ; it is love alone that supports and ani- 
 mates all. — Tourgenieff. 
 
 KINDNESS TO ANIMALS, 
 
 Turn, turn the hasty foot aside, 
 
 Nor crush the helpless worm ; 
 The frame thy wayward looks deride 
 
 Required a God to form. 
 
 The common Lord of all that move, 
 
 From whom thy being flowed, 
 A portion of His boundless love 
 
 On that poor worm bestowed. 
 
 The sun, the moon, the stars, He made 
 
 To all PTis creatures free ; 
 And spreads o'er earth the grassy blade 
 
 For worms as well as thee. 
 
 Let them enjoy their day. 
 
 Their lowly bliss receive ; 
 Oh ! do not lightly take away 
 
 The life thou canst not give. — Gisborne. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 HABIT. 
 
 There was once a horse that used to pull around a 
 sweep which lifted dirt from the depths of the earth. 
 He was kept at the business for nearly twenty years, 
 until he became old, blind and too stiff in the joints 
 for further use. So he was turned into a pasture, or 
 left to crop the grass without any one to disturb or 
 bother him. But the funny thing about the old horse 
 was that every morning after grazing awhile he would 
 start on a tramp, going round and round in a circle, 
 just as he had been accustomed to do for so many 
 years. He would keep it up for hours, and people 
 often stopped to look and wonder what had got into 
 the head of the venerable animal to make him walk 
 around in such a solemn way when there was no 
 earthly need of it. But it was the force of habit. And 
 the boy who forms bad or good habits in his youth will 
 be led by them when he becomes old, and will be 
 miserable or happy accordingly. — Th^ Evangelist. 
 
 Habit is a cable; we weave a thread of it each 
 day, and at last we can not break it. — Horace Mann. 
 
 We can only break it as we made it — by breaking a 
 thread each day. 
 
236 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 START TRUE. 
 
 " Now start me true," cried Fred, 
 
 To his mates on tlie hill one day, 
 As he sped on his bright new sled 
 
 From the snowy crest away. 
 The hill was long and steep, 
 
 While a narrov/, shining track 
 Climbed up through the snowy deep 
 
 To the top of " Camel's Back." 
 
 Near by, on the mountain-side, 
 
 The tallest pine-trees grow ; 
 While a dark and angry tide 
 
 Dashes over rocks below. 
 But Fred, with a steady care, 
 
 Knows well where the dangers lay; 
 No rock, or a hidden snare, 
 
 Shall turn him out of his way. 
 
 How swiftly now does he glide ! 
 
 Past gully and stump and curve, 
 And nothing can turn him aside— 
 
 Not once from the way does he swerve. 
 "Hurrah ! " he cries, "I am there," 
 
 Till the rocks catch up the refrain. 
 And he waves his cap in the air 
 
 As he touches the snowy plain. 
 
 And so, in the journey of life, 
 
 Start tnie, my dear boys, and pray ; 
 Avoiding intemperance and strife. 
 
 And the evils that lie in the way. 
 May you thus, when eternity's light 
 
 Flashes up on your course at the last. 
 Break forth into songs of delight 
 
 O'er dangers triumphantly passed. 
 
 —Mrs. IL a Blakeslee. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 237 
 
 FIVE CENTS A DAY. 
 
 The cumulative power of money is a fact very gen- 
 erally appreciated. There are few men living at the 
 age of seventy-five^ hanging on to existence l)y some 
 slender employment, or pensioners, it may be, on the 
 bounty of kindred or friends, but might by exercis- 
 ing the smallest particle of thrift, rigidly adhered to 
 in the past, have set aside a respectable sum which 
 would materially help them to maintain their inde- 
 pendence in their old age. Let us take the small sum 
 of five cents which we daily pay to have our boots 
 blackened, to ride in a car the distance we are able to 
 walk, or to procure a bad cigar we are better without, 
 and see what its value is in the course of years. 
 
 We will suppose a boy of fifteen by blacking his 
 own boots, or saving his cherished cigarette, puts by 
 five cents a day. In one year he saves $18.35, which, 
 being banked, bears interest at the rate of five per 
 cent, per annum, compounded semi-yearly. On this 
 basis, when our thrifty youth reaches the age of sixty- 
 five, having set his five cents per day religiously aside 
 during fifty years, the result is surprising. He has 
 accumulated no loss a sum than $3,983.18. A scrutiny 
 of the progress of this result is interesting. At the 
 age of thirty our hero has $395 ; at forty, $877 ; at 
 fifty, $1,667; at sixty, $2,962. After fifteen years' 
 saving his annual interest more than equals his original 
 principal ; in twenty-five years it is more than double ; 
 in thirty-five years it is four times as much ; in forty- 
 five years it is eight times as much as the annual 
 
238 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 amount he puts by. The actual cash amount saved 
 in fifty years is $912.50, the difference between that 
 and the grand total of $3,893.18— namely, $2,970.68— 
 is accumulated interest. What a magnificent pre- 
 mium for the minimum of thrift that can be well 
 represented in figures ! — Anon, 
 
 DO YOUR BEST. 
 
 Little Johnnie sat near the open window in church. 
 The day was sultry. The minister used long words. 
 Johnnie was drowsy. He looked from the window at 
 the waving grass, which seemed to beckon him out- 
 How he wished he could go! 
 
 Just then the minister's words were, "We must 
 earnestly strive to do our best: then, when the end 
 comes, our spirits v/ill take their flight to heaven.^' 
 Johnnie heard, and drowsily wondered if birds and 
 flowers had to strive to do their best, and if they had 
 spirits to fly upward when their lives were done. In 
 a moment more the little fellow was sound asleep, and 
 dreaming that he was out in the fields with the birds 
 and flowers. They seemed to be having a service of 
 their own. The birds sang sweetly together. Then 
 a venerable dandelion, whose once golden head was 
 now white as snow, said: "My work is done, my 
 short life is nearly ended ; but my heart is light. I 
 long to fly upward, for I have done what I could to 
 beautify God's earth. My parting Avords to all are : 
 Earnestly strive to do your best, and you will be 
 ready for any change." 
 
* MISCELLANEOUS. 23^ 
 
 Here all the flowers and grass nodded ; while the 
 birds sang loudly in concert, ^' Do your best, do your 
 best.'' 
 
 In the midst of the music Johnnie awoke from his 
 short nap. The solemn strains of the organ filled the 
 church. 
 
 As Johnnie again looked from the window at the 
 waving grass and flowers, he saw a downy white dan- 
 delion-top rise silently from its stem, and soar far, far 
 up in the air, until fiually lost to view. 
 
 Poor Johnnie was puzzled. The sermon, the dream 
 and the dandelion-top were so mixed up in his little 
 head that he could not study it all out. He could not 
 help thinking that it was the snowy ball as it rose in 
 the air, and not the good minister, who had said, " Do 
 your best; and, when the end comes, your spirit will 
 take its flight to heaven.'' 
 
 In all after years he was never able to tell just 
 how much was dream and how much reality ; but he 
 has never forgotten that quiet Sabbath morning, nor 
 the resolution then formed always to " do his best." — 
 Christian Register. 
 
 BUILD WELL. 
 
 High on the granite wall the builders, toiling, 
 Heaved up the massive blocks and slabs to place, 
 
 With swart and streaming brows and straining sinews, 
 Under the summer's blaze. 
 
 And higher yet, amid the chills of autumn, 
 
 Tier upon tier and arch on arch arose; 
 And still crept upward, coldly, wearily, 
 
 'Mid winter's sifting snows. 
 
240 MISCELLAXEOUS. 
 
 From stage to stage upsprings the master builder, 
 Instructing, cheering, chiding here and there ; 
 
 Scanning with scrutiny severe and rigid 
 Each lusty laborer's share. 
 
 Anon his voice to those most distant shouting, 
 
 Through the hoarse trumpet makes his orders swell; 
 
 Or utters words like these to rouse and hearten : 
 "Build well, my men, build well! 
 
 "^^ The ropes are strong, and new and sound the pulleys ; 
 The derrick's beams are equal to the strain ; 
 Unerring are the level, line and plummet ; 
 Let naught be done in vain ! 
 
 "Build that these walls to coming generations 
 
 Your skill, your strength, your faithfulness, shall tell, 
 That all may say, as storms and centuries test them : 
 ' The men of old built well ! ' " 
 
 And ever thus speaks the great Master Builder 
 To us, where'er our "journey work" may be: 
 *' Whate'er the toil, the season or the structure. 
 
 Build well— build worthily ! " —H. S. Brotvi\ 
 
 'Tis slander, whose breath 
 Hides on the posting loinds, and doth belie 
 All corners of the world. — Shakespeare. 
 
 SLANDER. 
 
 A. lady visited Sir Philip Neri on one occasion, 
 accusing herself of being a slanderer. ^^ Do you fre- 
 quently fall into this fault ?^' he inquired. 
 
 " Yes, very often,'^ replied the penitent. 
 
 "My dear child," said Philip, "your fault is great, 
 but the mercy of God is greater. I now bid thee do 
 as follows : Go to the nearest market and purchase a 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 241 
 
 chicken just killed and still covered with feathers. 
 Then walk to a certain distance, plucking the bird as 
 you go. Your walk finished, return to me.'' 
 
 The woman did as directed and returned, anxious to 
 know the meaning of so singular an injunction. 
 
 ^' You have been very faithful to the first part of 
 my orders/' said Philip. " Now do the second part, 
 and you will be cured: Retrace your steps, pass 
 through all the places you have traversed, and gather 
 up one by one all the feathers you have scattered." 
 
 " But/' said the woman,, ^' I cast the feathers care- 
 lessly away, and the wind carried them in all direc- 
 tions." 
 
 " Well, my child," replied Philip, " so it is with 
 your words of slander. Like the feathers which the 
 wind has scattered, they have been wafted in many 
 directions. Call them back now, if you can. Go, 
 sin no more." — The Quiver. 
 
 WERE I YOU, LITTLE LAD. 
 
 Now, my gay little lad, trolling out your blithe air, 
 
 With the dew all unswept from your day, 
 Do you know what it is I would do, were I you. 
 
 With the years stretching out o'er my way ? 
 Do you wonder, my lad, with your eyes' yet so clear 
 
 That they rival the heaven's clear blue. 
 And your chin all unpricked by the pressure of years, 
 
 What it is that I think I would do? 
 
 It is this : I would try, did I know that I stood 
 
 The first heir to a wondrous estate — 
 The estate of true manhood — to keep myself pure 
 
 For the years that I knew were in wait. 
 
 16 
 
242 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 I "would watch tliat no cloud, e'en the size of a hand, 
 Rose to dim the bright gleam of my noon — 
 
 Yes, on guard I would stand even now, were I you; 
 You will find it not one day too soon. 
 
 Were I you, little lad, I would see that each day 
 
 Was swept clean ere 'twas folded away ; 
 Aye, so clean that at night I could say with all truth ; 
 
 " 'Tis a bit of good work done to-day." 
 Do you know why of some, when death closes their door, 
 
 It is said as our tears wet the clay. 
 And the grave is filled in with a nation's remorse, 
 
 "'Tis a great man that's fallen to-day?" 
 
 I will tell you, my lad; 'tis because of the years 
 
 That stream back of them, golden and bright ; 
 Not a blur for the mantle of friendship to shroud, 
 
 But from boyhood to manhood all light. 
 Oh ! a record like this is worth more, little lad, 
 
 Than the gold of a mountain when won, 
 But a record, you'll find, that can never be gained 
 
 Save by watching the days as they run. 
 
 — Belle Kellogg Tovme. 
 
 Let another man praise thee, and not thine oivn mouth. — Prov. 
 xxvii, 2. 
 
 SELF-PRAISE. 
 
 A man once walked along the banks of the mighty 
 Euphrates River. Its waters moved softly and 
 silently along. *^ Why do not thy waters surge and 
 roar?'' asked the man. And the river replied : ^' I 
 need not shout aloud; my name is known widely 
 enough. The green meadows which I water and the 
 lofty trees upon my banks— these tell who I am.'' 
 
 The man came afterward to the banks of the Tigris 
 River. Its waves dashed along wildly and with 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 243 
 
 clouds of foam. " Hallo, how loud you are shout- 
 ing ! " said the man. "Ah/' said the river, " my 
 shouting does not help me at all ! I still am not 
 praised like other streams, however loudly I proclaim 
 that I am something in the world.'' 
 
 The man went further. He saw trees with the^^ 
 costliest and most beautiful fruit. They offered their 
 fruits without a sound. "Why so still, good trees?"' 
 he asked. " AVhy not rustle like your companions in. 
 the wood ?" " We are known/' they replied, " by the 
 fruit we bear, however silent we are." Soon the man 
 came to a wood whose trees towered to the skies, and 
 whose empty crests kept up a constant roar. " Why 
 do you make such a noise?" he asked. "Ah," they 
 replied, " we have shouted loud and long, and yet we; 
 are not treated as we deserve." 
 
 " Now I know," said the man, " who pra'ses him- 
 self amounts to nothing. The truly meritorious re- 
 quire no self-praise. That truth I will not forget." — 
 Jewish Messenger. 
 
 GROWN-UP LAND. 
 
 " Good morrow, fair maid, with lashes brown, 
 Can you tell me the way to Womanhood Town?"' 
 
 " Oh, this way and that way, never a stop, 
 'Tis picking up stitches grandma will drop, 
 'Tis kissing the baby's troubles away, 
 'Tis learning that cross words never will pay, 
 'Tis helping mother, 'tis sewing up rents, 
 'Tis reading and playing, 'tis saving the cents,. 
 'Tis loving and smiling, forgetting to frown, 
 Oh, tiiat is the way to Womanhood Town ! " 
 
244 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 "Just wait, my brave lad, one moment, I pray. 
 Manhood Town lies where? Can you tell the way?" 
 
 " Oh, by toiling and trying we reach that land — 
 A bit with the head, a bit with the hand ! 
 'Tis by climbing up the steep hill Work, 
 'Tis by keeping out of the wide street Shirk, 
 ! 'Tis by always taking the weak one's part, 
 
 'Tis by giving the mother a happy heart, 
 'Tis by keeping bad thoughts and actions down, 
 Oh, that is the way to Manhood Town ! " 
 
 And the lad and the maid ran hand in hand 
 To their fair estates in Grown-up Land. 
 
 — City and Country. 
 
 " My soiif if sinner's entice thee, consent thou not." — Prov. i, 10. 
 THE FORCE OF EXAMPLE. 
 
 A little boy in ray parish, only six years of age, 
 was sent by his mother to fetch his father home from 
 a public house. He found his parent drinking with 
 some other men. One of them invited the little fel- 
 low to take some beer. Firmly and at once, the boy 
 replied : 
 
 " No, I can't take that. Fm in the Band of Hope.'' 
 
 The men looked at one another, but no one was 
 found to repeat the temptation. The man then said: 
 
 " Well, if you won't take the beer, here's a penny 
 for you to buy some candy." 
 
 The boy took the penny, and said : " I thank you, 
 but I had rather not buy candy. I shall put it into 
 the savings bank." 
 
 The men looked at one another, and for some mo- 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 245 
 
 ments were silent. At lengthy one of them rose, and 
 gave utterance to his feelings in these words : 
 
 " Well, I think the sooner we sign the pledge and put 
 our savings in the bank, the better.^' — Golden Censer. 
 
 HARVEY IN TROUBLE. 
 
 Emily Harper went through the hall singing : 
 
 ^' ^And for bonnie Annie Laurie IM lay me down 
 and — ' What on earth is the matter?" She did not 
 sing that last, but said it in a wondering and dismayed 
 tone, as she 'suddenly opened the library door, and 
 found her brother Harvey lying flat on his face, in a 
 perfect storm of tears. 
 
 Harvey crying was something new under the sun ; 
 he hardly ever stopped whistling long enough to cry. 
 
 He wasn^t very gracious to Emily. " Keep away,'' 
 he said, poking out his elbows as though he meant to 
 push her off; but she wasn't easily pushed off; she 
 shut the library door, and went down on her knees 
 beside the heap on the floor, and said, in the most 
 coaxing of sisterly tones, " Tell me all about it, Har- 
 vey.'' 
 
 And Harvey told ; he couldn't help it. It was bad 
 enough. At twenty minutes of three he had started, 
 a merry, whistling boy, for the post-office, to mail a 
 letter for his father — an important letter ; his father 
 had called after him that if it failed to reach that mail, 
 there would be more than a hundred dollars' loss. 
 ^' And he said he would trust me," sobbed poor Harvey. 
 Well, he knew the mail did not close until fifteen 
 
246 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 minutes after three, and he knew he could reach the 
 office in five minutes; so he laughed at the idea of 
 failing, and told his father it should be there sure. 
 But going around the square, he met Joe Bailey, who 
 told him that their folks had brought home a parrot 
 with them from the city ; the cutest fellow, who could 
 whistle and sing, and say, " Hush up ! '^ and do ever 
 so many funny things, and he had gone down the left 
 -side of the square instead of the right, because he 
 Jsnew it would make no difference in the time, and 
 }iad stopped just about two minutes to look at the 
 parrot. 
 
 ''And missed the mail ! '^ exclaimed Emily, in a hor- 
 rified tone. 
 
 "No, I didn^t miss the mail, either," said poor 
 Harvey, very crossly ; he felt so bad, he thought he 
 couldn't help being cross. " Keep still, can't you ? 
 /'m telling this story ; I didn't forget about the letter 
 at all. I didn't stay three minutes ; but there came 
 a big wind along, and blew off my hat, and I had to 
 climb the picket fence to get it, and then I made for 
 the post-office as fast as I could ; and when I got there 
 the letter was gone." Then he told how he went 
 back, and searched all the way, and searched the yard 
 at Bailey's, and Joe searched, and the parrot searched, 
 or seemed to, but no letter could be found.' 
 
 " What did father say ? " Emily asked, after a mo- 
 ment of dismayed silence. 
 
 " That is the worst of it," Harvey said, sitting up 
 with dry eyes, feeling too miserable to shed any more 
 tears. " I haven't told him a word about it ; I don't 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 247 
 
 see any use in telling ; the letter is gone, and he can^t 
 find it, for I looked everywhere; and the mail is gone, 
 he can't send another, and I might just as well keep 
 still, and not trouble him, to-night at least." 
 
 Then Emily found her usual busy tongue. " Oh, 
 Harvey, that won't do at all ; maybe he could write 
 another by that very early mail in the morning that 
 would help some ; or he might telegraph, or send 
 somebody on the train ; men know how to do ever so 
 many things. You ought to tell father right away. 
 He could do something, I^m sure ; and you've got to 
 tell him some time ; I should think you would want 
 it over." 
 
 One word in this sentence carried weight with it. 
 Harvey rose up, his face pale ; " I forgot all about the 
 telegraph," he said ; " I must tell him right av/ay." 
 Now, some people might suppose Mr. Harper was a 
 very fierce man, since his son so dreaded to tell him 
 of the accident; but the truth was, if there had been 
 nothing but a whipping to dread, Harvey would not 
 have wasted so much time nor so many tears. His 
 father was the kindest, most patient of men, and Har- 
 vey 60 loved and respected him that to bring trouble, 
 by his carelessness, on that good father was something 
 that he could hardly bear to think of. Besides, they 
 were not rich, and a hundred dollars was a good deal 
 of money for them to lose. 
 
 Mr. Harper had come home from the office, and was 
 in his room, a grave-faced father ; he listened quietly 
 and sadly to Harvey's eager story, but before it was 
 half through he put an arm tenderly around the boy, 
 
248 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 and when it was finished leaned over and kissed him. 
 " Thank you, my son/^ he said. " I was feeling very 
 sad over it all; I thought you were going to try to 
 deceive your father by saying nothing to him about it.^' 
 
 ^' Why, father ! " said Harvey in great astonishment, 
 "did you know anything about it?" 
 
 Then the father told his story, how one of the clerks 
 from the office, passing down the south side of the 
 square, a few minutes before mail time, saw a letter 
 lying in the grass near Mr. Bailey^s house, and, picking 
 it up, he recognized it as the one that was of great 
 importance, so, without loss of time, hastened to 
 post it. 
 
 "And I saw him coming out of the post-office just 
 as I was walking back there the second time, when I 
 couldn't find the letter ! " exclaimed Harvey. " If I 
 had only told him." Then, after a moment of silence, 
 he added one more word that his father was glad to 
 hear. " Father, I truly meant to tell you all about it, 
 but I thought I would wait until morning, because it 
 would make you feel so badly ; but Emily said, tell 
 you right away. And, father, I won't stop for any old 
 parrot after this." — Young People. 
 
 FOUR LITTLE SUNBEAMS. 
 
 Four little sunbeams came earthward one day, 
 Shining and dancing along on their way, 
 Resolved that their course should be blest. 
 "Let us try," they all whispered, "some kindness to do- 
 Not seek our own pleasure all the day through — 
 Then meet in the eve at the west." 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 249 
 
 One sunbeam went in at an old cottage door, 
 
 And played hide-and-seek with a child on the floor, 
 
 Till baby laughed loud in his glee, 
 And chased with delight his strange playmate so bright^ 
 The little hands grasping in vain for the light 
 
 That ever before them would flee. 
 
 One sunbeam crept to a couch where an invalid lay 
 And brought him a gleam of a sweet summer day 
 
 Its bird-song and beauty and bloom, 
 Till pain was forgotten and weary unrest ; 
 In fancy he roamed to the scenes he loved best, 
 
 Far away from the dim, darkened room. 
 
 One stole to the heart of a flower that was sad, 
 And loved and caressed her until she was glad 
 
 And lifted her white face again. 
 For love brings content to the lowliest lot, 
 And finds something sweet in the dreariest spot, 
 
 And lightens all labor and pain. 
 
 And one, where a little blind girl sat alone, 
 Not sharing the mirth of her playfellows, shone 
 
 On hands that were folded and pale ; 
 Then kissed the poor eyes that had never known sight,. 
 That had never gazed on the beautiful light, 
 
 Till angels had lifted the veil. 
 
 At last, when the shadows of evening were falling. 
 
 And the sun, their great father, his children was calling^ ^- 
 
 Four sunbeams sped into the west. i 
 
 All said, " We have found that in seeking the pleasure 
 Of others we 've filled to the full our own measure." 
 
 Then softly they sank to their rest. 
 
 He that does good to another does good also to 
 himself, not only in the consequence, but in the very 
 act ; for the consciousness of well-doing, is in itself 
 ample reward. — Seneca, 
 
250 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 TEN TRUE FRIENDS. 
 
 Ten true friends you have, 
 
 Who, five in a row, 
 Upon each side of you 
 
 Go where you go. 
 
 Suppose you are sleepy. 
 They help you to bed ; 
 
 Suppose you are hungry, 
 They see that you 're fed. 
 
 And these ten tiny fellows, 
 They serve you with ease, 
 
 And ask nothing from you. 
 But try hard to please. 
 
 Then with ten willing servants 
 
 So trusty and true, 
 Pray who would be lazy 
 
 Or idle — would you? 
 
 GOLDEN-ROD. 
 
 Tell me, sunny golden-rod, 
 
 Growing everywhere, 
 Did fairies come from fairyland 
 
 And make the dress you wear? 
 
 Say, did you get from mines of gold 
 Your bright and shining hue? 
 
 Or did the baby stars some night 
 Fall down and cover you ? 
 
 Or did the angels flap their wings, 
 And drop their glitter down 
 
 Upon you, laughing golden-rod, 
 Your nodding head to crown ? 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 251 
 
 Or are you clothed in sunshine caught 
 
 From summer's brightest day, 
 To give again in happy smiles 
 
 To all who pass your way ? 
 
 I love you, laughing golden-rod, 
 
 And I will try, like you, 
 To fill each (fay with deeds of cheer — 
 
 Be loving, kind and true. — Our Little Ones. 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S OFFERING. 
 
 What shall little children bring 
 As a grateful offering 
 
 For the ever watchful care 
 
 « 
 
 That surrounds us everywhere ? 
 
 Gathered in a happy fold, 
 Safe from wintry want and cold, 
 Fed by hands that never tire. 
 Warmed at love's unfailing fire, 
 
 Sheltered by protecting arms 
 From the great world's sins and harms ; 
 While a patience wise and sweet 
 Guides our little wandering feet. 
 
 Thou who hear'st the ravens call, 
 Thou who see'st the sparrows fall, 
 Thou who boldest safe and warm 
 Lost lambs in thy tender arm ; 
 
 Father ! dearest name of all, 
 Bless thy children great and small. 
 B-ich and poor alike are thine. 
 Knit by charity divine. 
 
 Willing hearts and open hands, 
 
 Love that every ill withstands, 
 
 Faith and hope in thee, our King — 
 
 These shall be our offering. — Louisa M. Alcott. 
 
262 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 THE THREE BOYS. 
 
 There was once a poor man vv^ho had three boys, 
 named Can't, Won't, and Try. They were very dif- 
 ferent from one another, and you would scarcely have 
 thought that they were brothers. 
 
 Can't was a very idle boy, and a great coward. He 
 was afraid to spring across a ditch, for fear he should 
 tumble in. He was afraid to climb a tree, for fear he 
 should fall down. 
 
 When asked to do anything. Can't was sure to say 
 he could not do it, though he might not have tried. 
 It was just the same at school or in the play -ground. 
 If he was asked a question, he would say, '^ I don't 
 know." If he had to learn a lesson, he would say, 
 " I can't do it." 
 
 Won't was not idle, and he was not stupid ; but he 
 had a bad temper, and was very stubborn. If he had 
 made up his mind not to do a thing, you could not 
 make him do it. 
 
 If Won't was cross, the school-boys could not get 
 him to play, no matter how much they begged him. 
 If he wanted to play, he would not learn his lesson, 
 even though he was sure to be punished for such bad 
 conduct. 
 
 Won't was not good at a game, for he wanted to 
 have his own way in all things ; and he did not suc- 
 ceed in his studies, as he would not do what he was 
 told. In fact, he was disliked on account of his bad 
 temper and his obstinate ways. 
 
 Try was a very little fellow, and the youngest of 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 253 
 
 the three. But he had a brave heart, even if he was 
 little ; and he was always ready to do what his parents 
 and friends told him. 
 
 If Try was asked if he could do any hard thing, he 
 would say, " I don't know that I can do it, but I will 
 try." Sometimes he would fail, of course, but almost 
 alv/ays he was able to do what he tried to do. 
 
 Once he tried to jump across a brook, but it was so 
 wide that little Try fell into the water. Still, he did 
 not cry. He made up his mind that, when he was a 
 bit older, he would make a fresh trial ; and ere long 
 he could spring over the brook in its widest place. 
 
 "When Try first went to school, one of the teachers 
 said, ^' Can you read ? " " I^o, sir,'' said he, " but I will 
 try to learn." " That is all I ask," said the teacher ; 
 ^^ I want boys in my school who will try to learn." 
 
 In a few months Try was at the head of his class. 
 Can't was still at the foot of his, and Won't had gone 
 down to the foot of his. Which do you think was the 
 happiest of the three ? 
 
 All three are grown men now. Can't is servant to 
 a master named Must ; Won't is a soldier under Cap- 
 tain Shall ; and Try is a partner in the great firm of 
 Success & Company. 
 
 "MISS POSITIVE. 
 
 The girls called her that, because she was always so 
 sure that she was right. Her real name was Ida. In 
 Miss Hartley's school, the scholars each said a verse 
 from the Bible every morning at prayers. One morn- 
 ing, Ida had such a funny verse it made all the schol- 
 
254 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 ars laugh ; and even Miss Hartley had to pucker her 
 lips to keep a little sober. 
 
 This was the verse, repeated in Ida's gravest tone : 
 
 " It never rains but it pours." 
 
 Now, all the girls knew enough about the Bible to 
 be sure there was no such verse in it, except Ida. 
 She was "just as sure it v/as in the Bible as she was 
 that she had two feet ! " so she said ; " and, if they 
 didn't believe it, they might ask Miss Hartley." 
 
 So at recess they all asked Miss Hartley at once : 
 
 "Miss Hartley, is there such a verse?" "Miss 
 Hartley, there isn't, is there?" 
 
 And Miss Hartley had to say that, so far as she had 
 read the Bible or heard it read, she certainly never 
 had heard any such verse in it. 
 
 But Miss Positive was not convinced. She shook 
 her pretty brown head, and said she couldn't help it, 
 it was in the Bible — in the Book of Proverbs, and she 
 could bring the book to school and show them. 
 
 Miss Hartley said this would be the very best thing 
 to do. So the next day came Ida, looking pleased 
 and happy, with a little bit of a book in her hand, 
 and pointing her finger in triumph to the verse in 
 large letters : 
 
 " It never rains but it pours." 
 
 " But, dear child," said Miss Hartley, " don't you 
 know that isn't a Bible?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed," said Ida : " it is out of the Bible, 
 every word of it. Don't you see it says ^Proverbs' 
 on the cover ? Everybody knows that Proverbs is in 
 the Bible." 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 255 
 
 Then the girls all laughed again ; and Miss Hartley 
 explained that the book was a collection of the wise 
 sayings of different men, and that they were called 
 proverbs, because they had so much meaning in them 
 and were used so much. 
 
 After a good deal of talk, Ida had to own that she 
 was mistaken, and that there wasn't a word of the Bible 
 in her book from beginning to end. Then, how her 
 naughty little playmates teased her ! 
 
 At the play-hour they buzzed around her like so 
 many mosquitoes, and giggled and asked her if she 
 ^^got caught in the rain,'' an.d " if it poured hard to- 
 day,'' and ever so many other silly things that they 
 seemed to think were funny. 
 
 Ida stood it very well. At last she said : 
 
 " I've got a verse for to-morrow that is surely in 
 the Bible. Uncle Ed found it for me : ^ Set a watch, 
 O Lord, before my mouth ; keep the door of my lips 
 shut.' And, girls, in spite of all your teasing, I am 
 going to try to keep the door shut." Then all the 
 owners of those naughty tongues slipped away, one 
 by one, looking ashamed. It wasn't the thing to say 
 so much just about a mistake. — Christian Standard. 
 
 A USEFUL ERRAND. 
 
 Bertie is a little boy who had a bad way of saying, 
 " I don't care." One day, Aunt Nell said to him^ 
 '^ Bertie, will you do an errand for me ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am ! " cried Bertie : '^ what is it ? " 
 
556 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 " Take your naughty ' donH care ' away up in the 
 garret and hide it.'^ 
 
 Bertie laughed, and then looked sober. Then he 
 said^ " I will, Auntie Nell.^^ And away he ran. 
 
 I think he must have hidden it very carefully, for 
 he hasn't found it yet. — Christian Observer, 
 
 Little drops of rain brighten the meadows, and little acts of kindness 
 highien the world. 
 
 EACH CAN DO SOMETHING. 
 
 What if the little rain should say, 
 
 " So small a drop as I 
 Can ne'er refresh those thirsty fields; 
 
 I'll tarry in the sky." 
 
 What if the shining beam of noon 
 
 Should in its fountain stay; 
 Because its single light alone 
 
 Can not create a day. 
 
 Does not each raindrop help to form 
 
 The cool, refreshing shower ? 
 And every ray of light, to warm 
 
 And beautify the flower ? 
 
 Then let each child its influence give, 
 
 O Lord, to truth and thee ; 
 So shall its power by all be felt, 
 
 However small it be.